The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Trisha woke up feeling absolutely delicious.

The first thing she was aware of that morning was an amazing warm glow that seemed to flow through her entire body, as though every inch of her was swimming with pleasure. She’d never felt anything quite so good in her seventeen years—it was like the perfect warm bath, combined with the comfort of a close friend’s hug and the exhilaration that she felt after she’d cheered her school’s team to victory at the championship. Sighing softly, she shifted her weight in the bed, and became aware that she was also sore—but it was the sweet soreness that follows a heavy workout or a really intense massage. A smile crossed her lips before she opened her eyes and realized that she had absolutely no idea where she was.

For most of her seventeen years, Trisha had always woken up in her big canopy bed in her tasteful bedroom in the rather large house in the small Texas town where she grew up. She loved that room, and her parents, and the house, and the small town, but for some reason she woke up that particular morning in a totally different place.

Trisha sat up quickly, and winced. The soreness was more intense when she moved, and her head started to pound, making her feel slightly dizzy. She noticed that her throat felt sore and tight, as though she had screamed a lot recently, or worn a shirt that was too tight in the collar. Ignoring the discomfort, she looked around and saw that, so far as she could tell, she was alone in a cheap hotel room.

Trisha was not the kind of girl to go to a cheap hotel room, much less wake up in one. Everyone in town knew that Trisha was a good girl, even the guys who fantasized about her not being so good. She attended church every Sunday with her parents, who were pillars of the community. Her family had been among the town’s founders; it bore their name. Everyone Trisha knew adored her, even the social deadweights she was too busy and popular to acknowledge.

Good grades didn’t always make a girl popular at Hartsville High, but Trisha managed to nab a place on the honor roll as well be a captain on the drill team. Her teachers regarded her as an example for the other students. When a lot of the girls she knew had already snuck around behind their parents’ backs to sleep with their boyfriends, Trisha had taken a virginity pledge and talked her closest friends into doing the same. She had even been involved in getting the “Silver Ring Thing” people to come to Hartsville and put on one of their shows about the virtues of chastity and the dangers of pre-marital sex.

Yet there she was, in a sleazy no-tell motel. The bed sheets were all awry, and the pillows were on the floor. Running her hand over her head, Trisha realized that her longish blonde hair was just as much a mess as the room. She rolled over and flipped on the light, her body protesting as she did it. On the nightstand was a little pad of paper, with the hotel letterhead: The Pine Cone Inn. Oh, jeez, Trisha thought, this is the worst place in town. She felt her pulse quicken unexpectedly at that thought.

Written on the pad was a list of five names: Otto Brown, Russell Stillwell, Michael Koch, Tyrell Johnson, and Steve Lindsey. She recognized the names. They were all boys who went to her high school, though not really ones she would normally associate with. They were losers, outcasts, nerds, or delinquents, every one of them. There was other writing that she couldn’t make out as well. She had no idea why these names were on a list, but what really disturbed her was that she recognized the handwriting. It was hers.

Trisha pulled her eyes from the pad and felt compelled to forget about it. She had a sense that it would be important at some point, but she wasn’t ready for it yet.

Wincing again, Trisha slid out of the bed and staggered toward the bathroom. Her head was still pounding. She stopped to stare at herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, and she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

She was not so much surprised by the nudity of her reflection in the mirror as by the discoloration she saw. It was all over the pale skin of her breasts and neck, like tiny bruises. In a flash, it hit her what they looked like: hickeys. An image flitted quickly through her mind: a dark-haired man kissing and sucking all over her bosom, making her moan as his teeth raked her nipples. She’d never imagined anything like it, and the thought made her gasp sharply before it flitted out of her brain. She became aware that one of her hands was tweaking a nipple, which had sprung to attention.

Trisha turned lightly on the balls of her feet to check her reflection, and something caught her eye. She rotated completely, staring over her shoulder, blinking in even more amazement. Her buttocks and the backs of her thighs were striped with bright red welts, some of which stood above deep blue-black bruises. She touched one of them gingerly with her finger, and memories flooded her mind, borne on a current of pleasure and pain.

Trisha saw herself then, as she’d been when she gained those stripes. He’d bent her over. No, wait, she’d bent over for him—not once but again and again—first over the chair and then over the desk and then over the mattress, with her jeans on the whole time. He’d talked about how hot her ass looked in tight jeans as he brought the paddle down onto it. Then he’d ordered her to drop the pants, and she remembered standing before him in her blue bikini-style bottoms, her head bowed almost shyly. He’d swatted her ass several times with his big hand while he kissed her lips, and her little cotton panties had barely provided any cushion.

Trisha turned to look at the mirror over the sink, and she remembered bending over the bathroom counter, lifting up on her tiptoes as he slid the blade of a straight razor under her panties and cut the straps. She had seen him do it in the mirror, had seen his hungry expression as he spanked her bare bottom with his hand and then the paddle, had even seen her own face as she cried out with pain and ecstasy.

The girl realized that she had resumed the position again, placing her elbows on the counter, flexing her calves so that she stood on the tips of her toes. She could recall how she used the mirror to watch him brandish a riding crop above her ass. Trisha shuddered at how she had begged him to use it, had begged him to raise those welts on her soft flesh, had begged him to punish her for being a naughty tease. Where had those words come from? She groaned to recall how much the pain and degradation he’d inflicted had aroused her.

Recoiling at the memories, Trisha straightened up, shaking her head to banish the recollections that seemed alluring and revolting at once. She had to think. But even as she tried to focus, her eyes caught a detail of her reflected appearance she’d not noticed before.

It was her pussy. It was clean-shaven.

With her hands shaking, Trisha reached down to touch the smooth skin. It was true. She was completely shaved. Her fingertip grazed her lower lips and then her swollen clitoris, and she took a deep, sharp breath. New memories were flowing into her head, and her knees felt too weak for her to stand.

Trisha stumbled back to the bed and collapsed onto the bare mattress, trying to fight off the thoughts that were invading her mind. They were too strong, though, and they made her body feel far too good for her to stop them.

She recalled how the dark-eyed man had knelt at her feet and gently shaved the blonde hair between her legs. Her fingers, still unbelieving, caressed the whole area as thoughts of the sensation came back to her. She’d been terrified that a strange man was holding a straight razor next to her most vulnerable parts, yet she’d known that she wanted him to do this, to change her according to his will. When he had finished, he’d washed her with a soft, wet cloth and then he had . . . he had . . . licked her.

Trisha moaned aloud, surrendering to the memory and her fingers’ sweet betrayal. For some time, she lay there, touching herself and remembering his tongue on her pussy. She’d heard other girls talk about that, but she’d never had it done. Heck, she never even touched herself, she thought as her fingers frantically frigged her clitoris. Suddenly, the stimulation was too much, and her body froze, trembling for several seconds before she writhed in orgasm.

When at last she recovered from her bliss, Trisha was able to focus on her situation. What had happened to her? Who had that man been? Why did he make her feel like that? She thought about him and moaned again. Think, Trish, think. What did he look like? He was handsome, she thought, or at least really attractive. His face was . . . She couldn’t quite pull up an image of it. Her mind presented other men’s faces when she tried: Johnny Depp, Vigo Mortenson, Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Orlando Bloom. She was pretty sure it wasn’t one of them. His hair was dark, and his eyes . . . his eyes . . .

Trisha remembered when his eyes met hers for the first time. She had just said something to him. What was it? Oh, yeah, it was, “May I take your order, sir?”

She’d been at work on a Friday night, the last Friday night before football season. Trisha’s dad made enough money at the bank that she didn’t have to work, but he thought a job built character or something. Besides, the local burger joint was a cool place to work. If it had been built recently, its style would have been fifties retro; but it actually had not changed much since the fifties. Still, everyone came by for a burger and a shake at some point, and the most popular girls usually got jobs at the counter there.

Trisha took a deep breath, focusing on what had happened that night. It was pretty late in the shift, almost time to close up, and all the local customers had gone home, when he came up to the counter. She’d smiled her fake-vote-for-me-for-homecoming-queen smile and asked for his order and then . . . she’d looked into his eyes.

She kind of remembered him smirking slightly. He said something like, “Yes, you may take my order. In fact, I believe you just might end up taking a lot of orders from me.” She had giggled a little nervously, which is how she handled comments she didn’t understand. She started to redirect the conversation back to hamburgers and onion rings, but he cut her off.

“What’s your name?”

“Patricia Allison Hart, sir.” Why the heck had she just blurted out her entire name? “Everyone calls me Trisha.”

“Pleased to meet you, Trisha. You want to do everything I say.” He paused to let it sink in, and she realized it was true. “You believe everything I tell you, and you obey me enthusiastically. Is that clear?”

Trisha smiled, more genuinely than before, and answered, “Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ll have four cheeseburger combos to go, and I want you to bag up four of whatever you like to eat. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and one more thing, Trisha,” he said. “You find me really attractive, say five times more attractive than the best-looking guy you’ve ever met, and you’d really like to catch my attention. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” Trisha nodded, absorbing the profound truth of his words. She wanted to say something really clever back to him, but the most popular girl in Hartsville High suddenly found herself tongue-tied. She stood there and blushed until he said, “Aren’t you going to get my food?”

After she put in his order for the fry cook, Trisha took a deep breath and ducked into the break room. After several more deep breaths, she felt the dizzying glow of his presence subside. She knew then that there was something utterly wrong about that man and the way he talked to her. What he said didn’t make any sense. Why would she want to do what a stranger told her? Why would she give her full name to some guy she didn’t even know? He could be a dangerous psychopath. Scratch that, he was definitely a dangerous psychopath.

On the other hand, he was attractive, really really hot. No, wait, she told herself, you just think that because he told you to.

“Hey, Trisha,” the manager interrupted her attempt to sort out her thoughts. “That lobby ain’t gonna clean itself. Just ‘cuz we got a customer waiting don’t mean you can goof off.”

Trisha bit her lip, thinking, I’ll just ignore that man, I’ll just ignore him. She tried to concentrate intently on her pre-closing duties: cleaning the windows and wiping the tables. The whole time, she felt acutely aware that he was watching her with his dark eyes. She found herself wanting to look back at him, but she didn’t want him to notice; every time she stole a glance that way, he was already looking at her. The thought made her heart race, though she couldn’t be sure whether it was from panic or fascination.

Feeling his eyes on her, Trisha started thinking about her appearance. Would he think she was pretty? Why did that matter so much to her? She told herself that it didn’t, yet she found herself checking her reflection in the window. Her blonde hair was pulled back. It would look better if she brushed it out. No, that would be too obvious. Still, if she tossed her head just so, her pony tail would catch the light.

Trisha knew from overhearing boys that she was “hot,” and now that she thought about the dark-eyes watching her, she was glad that over a decade of dance classes had given her a trim, shapely body. Cleaning the restaurant’s glass door, the drill team captain could see her reflection even more clearly, and she noticed that her nipples’ hardness was plainly visible through her thin, clingy white top and the sports bra beneath it. His eyes peered at hers in the glass reflection; the dark orbs looked hungry. Before she knew it, she reached up to wipe the top inch of the glass, raising her arms and arching her back to show off her c-cups. Her tight top already showed a bit of midriff, but the maneuver made the cloth ride up to bare her navel.

As she swayed back and forth on her tip-toes, Trisha’s jeans settled lower on her hips. Low-hipped jeans were the style—and her father had even raised an eyebrow the first time he saw her wear this pair—but Trisha prided herself on not being as indecent as some of the girls in her school, like that tramp Gina Miller. Still, she remained on her tip-toes with her arms upstretched long enough that the dark-eyed man could probably see the straps of her panties. The thought that he was staring at her body overwhelmed her fearful curiosity as to why she would want him to, making her blush and tingle.

Mustering her courage, Trisha decided she was done with the glass. It was time to get closer to him. She bounced to a table across from where he was seated, and she bent over it to wipe it down, even though it was already clean. Because she was facing him, he had a view right down the v-neck of her top. One time in math class, she had bent over the teacher’s desk like this and accidentally given one of the geeks on the front row a prime view of her cleavage. She had shot the geek a dirty look and straightened up as soon as she realized it. This time, though, she blushed deeply as she showed off for the stranger. Bending from the waist and pressing her tits to the table with each wipe, she knew she was being a worse tease than the girls she looked down on at school, yet she felt like she just couldn’t stop. Her eyes were locked on his during the whole show, and she realized she was licking her lips with each dip of her waist.

At last the fry cook called out that the order was ready, and she found herself able to break away from the man’s dark gaze. Stepping back behind the counter, she felt suddenly embarrassed at her own behavior. What the heck is happening to me? she wondered. She held his rather large order—which inexplicably included four of her preferred sandwich, the grilled chicken club—in a bag, facing away from the lobby as she tried to sort out what was going on.

It was definitely him. There was something evil about him, evil and powerful. He was making her behave that way. Heck, he had said as much. And he was always right. She wanted to do everything he told her to do. She wanted to obey him—no, that was wrong; he was not someone she should obey. But it felt good to do what he wanted, deliciously good.

Get ahold of yourself, Trish, she thought. Just take his money, give him his food, and don’t look at his eyes. He’ll go away.

Steeling her resolve, Trisha summoned him to the register to pay. Look at the ground, look at the ground. She could tell from his shadow that he had reached the counter. She held the white bag of food out to him, her hand shaking. He reached over to take the bag and brushed her hand with his. His touch felt hot. Trisha yanked her hands away from him and clutched at the countertop for support. Determinedly ignoring him, she stared intently at the silver ring on her left hand, in the spot where her wedding ring should go someday.

“What are you looking at?” he asked softly.

Don’t answer him! she thought.

“My ring, sir,” she whimpered.

The dark-eyed man replied, “Your ring? Aren’t you a little young to be engaged?”

“No, sir.” Don’t talk to him! Don’t tell him this! “It’s not an engagement ring. It’s a virginity ring. You get it when you pledge to abstain until marriage. They had a big thing at my church.”

He actually snorted. “Are you telling me a naughty little tease like you has never had sex?”

Trisha blushed, still staring down. She’d always been proud of the ring before. And she wasn’t naughty! “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. I mean, I’m saving myself for the right man. For marriage.”

“Wow, Trisha,” he commented, sounding almost conversational, “I didn’t know people still did that. It’s cute.”

Just look down, she repeated to herself.

“Trisha, honey?”

“Yes, sir?”

“When you’re truly ready to surrender, you’ll give that ring to me,” he said in a soft monotone, “as a trophy.”

Trisha was sure that her entire face had turned bright red. She couldn’t believe he’d said that. It made absolutely no sense, but it had to be true. Everything he said was true. She just hoped he would leave without saying anything else.

Then she heard the words she dreaded most of all.

“Look at me.”

Trisha tensed her neck muscles, trying not to lift her head. Her pulse was pounding in her ears, and she felt dizzy. Her breath was fast, making her chest heave, and her nipples had become painfully erect. Her head tried to rise. She fought it. Her hands tensed on the counter as she fought his command with every bit of willpower she could muster. She strove to resist, but her head slowly lifted up; her eyes, brimming with tears, rose to meet his; and she sighed with more than relief when she gave in. She couldn’t have imagined she would love surrendering to him so much after fighting so hard.

With her voice quavering, she asked, “Is there anything else you want, sir?” She twisted her body slightly, trying not to betray how suddenly flirtatious she felt.

He smiled at her as he replied. “Yes, get me your manager, please.” Trisha’s knees felt weak as she hurried to do his bidding. When she returned, he held out his arm, and the drill team captain slid under it, allowing him to place his hand at the small of her back. She melted into his side as though they were dating.

The manager seemed harried and a little perturbed at being bothered right at closing, but he emerged from the office to see what the customer wanted.

“Hi,” the dark-eyed man said to the manager, “you want to do everything I tell you.” He paused again. “How much longer until Trisha here gets off work?”

The manager thought about it. “’Nother hour, more or less.”

“I see,” the dark-eyed man nodded. “And is she working any more this weekend?”

“Yep,” the manager answered, “she’s scheduled to close tomorrow night. Why?”

“Well,” the dark-eyed man said, “she’s done such a terrific job that you should let her go early tonight. If anyone asks, she’s going to a friend’s house to spend the night. Got it?”

The manager nodded blankly. “Right, a friend’s house.”

“And you won’t need her tomorrow. You’ll call someone else to cover for her, all right?”

“You got it,” the manager said.

“Also,” the dark-eyed man said, “she deserves a bonus. How much can you spare?”

“Um, a bonus, right,” the manager replied. “The store could spare a couple hundred, I reckon.”

The dark-eyed man frowned. “That’s not good enough. Add a thousand dollars to her next check. Dip into your own savings; sell your car if you have to. She deserves it, right?”

The manager reeled back on his feet, as though something had hit him, but then he nodded dizzily. “Yep, she deserves it all right. One thousand dollars.”

“Good. Now go back to your office. You have work to do.”

The manager kept nodding. “I’d love to stay and talk, but I have work to do.”

“I understand.” The dark-eyed man turned to Trisha. “How do you get home?”

Trisha bit her lip. “My mom picks me up.”

“I see,” he said. “Do you have a cell phone?” Trisha nodded in response. “Call your mom and tell her that you’re going to spend the night with your best friend. Make up a good reason.”

Trisha pulled the phone out of her purse and hit speed-dial. In her mind she rehearsed what she was going to say: Hi, Mom. Some creepy weirdo is making me do everything he wants, and I want you to come get me before I admit to liking it. No, I mean, come get me before he makes me his eager love-slave. No, just please come get me.

“Hi, Mom? Some creepy, um, some creepy, um, some creature feature is showing on cable tonight, and Brandy wants me to spend the night so she doesn’t have to watch it alone. Can I say yes? Her mom will give us a ride.” She couldn’t believe that the lies had just slipped right out of her mouth.

Trisha remembered her mother sighing over the phone. “No, Honey, I don’t want you staying out all night, and I don’t want you watching that garbage.”

Yes, good Mom. Come save me. “Aw, Mom, why not?” Was she really protesting?

The dark-eyed man had quietly taken the phone from her then, and Trisha could remember what he’d said. “Hi, you want to do everything I tell you to do. Understand?” There was a pause. “Good. Trisha’s not going to be home for a while, but that’s perfectly okay. She’s perfectly safe, she’s going to have a fantastically educational time, a weekend that will change her forever, and you’re not worried about her at all. She’s nearly eighteen, and she should be taking care of herself now. You’re happy for her, okay? Brandy’s mom even called to work it out with you. Got that? Good. One more thing. Are there any sexual fantasies you’ve ever refused your husband?” He paused again. “Really? Just that? Well, listen carefully. Starting right now, fulfilling his fantasies fills you with unbelievable sexual ecstasy. Okay? Good. Have a great weekend; you have the house to yourselves.” With that, he hung up the girl’s phone.

“All right, Trisha,” the man had said, returning her phone. “I have you all to myself now. You should feel good about that. You know I can make you do anything I want, and that fact really turns you on. Got it?”

Trisha remembered smiling a very flirtatious smile at him, pulling her shoulders back as is to offer her tits to him, even while nuzzling her crotch against his thigh. “Yes, sir!” she purred.

“All right, then. Let’s go.”

Trisha rolled over on the bare mattress, returning to her present condition after reliving what had happened at the restaurant that night. Her body tingled as she thought about him, and she realized that same flirty grin had returned to her face.

Snap out of it, Trish, she thought. That man did something wrong to you. He made you do bad things. She felt a little rush of excitement course through her body. Mmmm, he sure did. Wonderfully bad things.

No, just plain bad things! Think, Trish. You have to be able to describe him to the cops. You have to call 9, um 19, um . . . Damn it, what the heck is the emergency number?

Trisha lay in the bed, trying to remember how to dial the phone for an emergency. The simple number just wouldn’t come to her. She thought about going to the police station and describing what he’d done to her. How would she explain it? Had he raped her? Is it really rape if you beg for more? A thrill ran through her body. Had he kidnapped her? No, she could remember getting into his car of her own free will.

Wow, cool car, she remembered saying. It was bright red. Or was it black? No, wait, silver blue. No, black. She wasn’t sure, but she remembered it was cool, a sports car. No, she shook her head, it was a Hummer. Or a Mini-Cooper. She realized that he’d told her that she couldn’t remember what his car looked like any more than she could describe him. He had just said it, and it became true. God, that is so hot . . .

Trisha remembered that he said a lot of things to her during the car ride. She couldn’t quite remember all of them. Some of it had to do with new things she was going to like, things she would really enjoy when she got to do them. He’d also asked her a lot of questions, and it seemed to her that she’d told him everything he wanted to know: where she lived, what school and church she went to, where her dad worked, who her friends were, what her drill team uniform looked like, the name of the first boy she had kissed, the fact that she kind of had a boyfriend at church but she didn’t do anything with him. She remembered admitting that she never even masturbated.

Mostly, though, she remembered that he had taken her hand early in the drive and placed it in his lap, and that she had answered all his questions while squeezing his granite-hard cock through his trousers. She remembered that it was big and felt fantastic in her hand. She also remembered that he’d had to peel her hand off it when they pulled into the hotel parking lot. The street lamps had glinted off her silver ring as he did it..

The last thing he’d said to her before he went to check in echoed in her ears: “Not only does it really turn you on that I can make you do things, but the more slutty, degrading, and humiliating the things I make you do are, the hornier they will make you, and the more sexual excitement you’ll get from them. Think about that.” Then he’d left her alone in the car while he checked them in.

Trisha lay there on the bare mattress, and she remembered how she had struggled while he was gone. The shock of her situation had come back to her when he left the car, and she contemplated how wrong it was. This man—she realized she didn’t even know his name—was taking her to a cheap hotel, and she knew he was going to do unspeakable things to her unless she ran. She remembered thinking that she could just open the door and flee. She had reached for the handle, but somehow she just couldn’t bring herself to move it. Leaving the car without permission was simply out of the question. Had he told her that? She realized that she couldn’t quite remember everything he’d told her, just that it was all true. It made her worry about what else he might have told her.

What could she do? She remembered her phone. It was still in her purse. Maybe she could call her mom for help. She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.

Trisha stared at it. It wasn’t her phone. It was her hair brush. Dang it! It had felt like her phone. She dropped the brush in her lap and reached into her purse again, letting her hand seek out the familiar shape of her phone—and she pulled out her lipstick. Passion pink. Fudge!

Making one last grasp at salvation, Trisha’s hand dove into her purse and whipped out the phone. Sighing with relief, she hit speed dial. When her mother finally answered after seven rings, Trisha felt like crying.

“Y-yes, Honey?” Her mother sounded slightly out of breath. “What, unnhh, is it?”

“Mom, can you come get me? I’m scared. There’s this man, and he . . .”

“Ooooh,” Trisha’s mother moaned. “You shouldn’t let that movie sc-unh-scare you. Wh-where are you, Angel?”

I’m at the Pine Cone Inn. I’m in some maniac’s car. “I’m at Brandy’s house.” She couldn’t believe the words had come out like that.

“Oh, Honey, I’m sure you’re perfectly safe with your friend. I don’t—unhhh—expect to see you for several days.”

“But, Mom, I . . .”

“Now, listen here, young lady. You’re nearly eighteen, and—oh my, oh my, oh my god—you can take care of yourself. You need to just relax and have fun. I’m sure you’ll have a weekend to remember.” Trisha’s mom had moaned just before the phone clicked off.

He’s gotten to my mom, she’d thought as she sat there in the car. Everyone just does what he says. Damn, that is sooooo sexy!

She looked at the brush and make-up in her lap. By the time he opened her car door, Trisha’s hair hung free from its ponytail, her lips were passion pink, and she was practicing pouty looks in the vanity mirror.

Trisha realized she was touching herself again as she remembered her struggle, as she thought about how she had been unable to escape even when he left her alone. Her hands kept going on her sex and her nipples as she relived how he’d smiled at her when she got out of the car and how she’d smiled her best smile right back at him. He’d pinned her to the car and kissed her for the first time, right then. She’d snaked her arms up around his neck and held him close while her world spun.

The little blonde was quite sure that there had never been a hotter kiss in the history of human romance, and then Trisha realized she was essentially making out with a guy she’d just met, in the parking lot of the sleaziest joint in the worst part of town. Heck, she might as well be dancing down the street at Vixens. Her pulse raced doubletime at the thought of how naughty and humiliating her situation was, and she kissed him harder, pressing her body against his, acutely aware of his hardness. Reliving that kiss, Trisha frigged herself faster and actually screamed when she came.

Gasping for breath after her orgasm, Trisha remembered that he had told her then that the best was yet to come.

She’d already remembered how he took her to the room and spanked her. Able to piece the events together more coherently now, she recalled how he’d punished her poor bottom after cutting off her panties with the straight razor. Trisha could even see them lying on the floor, a useless scrap of cloth now. On opposite sides of the room, she spotted her top and her bra, and she remembered lying on the bed, moaning as he slid the cold razor blade under her top next to her navel and cut the garment in half. When he’d gotten to her sports bra, he’d sliced it as well, right between her breasts; she remembered now that the shreds of both garments had still clung to her shoulders while he savaged her tits with his mouth. Trisha knew some girls who didn’t consider making out, or even oral sex, to violate the virginity pledge; but she’d never let anyone, not even guys she’d gone out with, take off her bra or lick her nipples. She’d even slapped a guy for trying to squeeze her breast after the Spring Formal one year. Now she groaned to remember how much she’d enjoyed the stranger’s assault on her tits.

The dark-eyed man had allowed her to fling off the ruined garments when he was finished sucking her nipples, and she now realized that the shaving of her young womanhood had come next. She tossed on the mattress remembering how he’d licked her pussy after that; it had been her first orgasm. The room had spun. Trisha was getting wet just thinking about it.

Okay, that was great, but I have to think about my current situation. She looked around the room, trying to banish her memories and think about her current predicament. I’m not sure what day it is, I have no way of getting home, and I . . . oh, boy, I don’t have any clothes except my jeans, which are somewhere around here. Do I even have my purse? Piling the blankets and pillows onto the bed, she managed to locate her purse, her baby pink tennis shoes, and her white socks.

Then she found her jeans—or what was left of them.

I don’t remember him slashing these up. Dang it, Daddy paid good money for these. On a quick examination, she thought they were still wearable. But the slashes right under the back pockets would show her ass when she walked. Suddenly, she remembered him handing her the razor and saying that her jeans weren’t naughty enough; she’d slashed the denim herself. At least she wasn’t wearing them at the time. A wave of shame swept through her, followed by tingle that made her hands quiver. She tossed the jeans on the bed.

Under one of the hurled blankets, the drill team girl found the white bag from the drive-in, with the wrappers from four of his cheeseburgers and her chicken clubs in it. I’ve been here long enough to eat four meals. Dang, that could be a day or two.

Trisha remembered being totally ravenous after her first orgasm. She had torn into her sandwich ferociously, only to have him stop her with a caress to the cheek. She shuddered as the memory of what happened next came to her.

“If you’re that hungry,” the dark-eyed man said, “I have something you’re going to love to eat.”

Sure, Trisha had heard that men liked to be sucked, just as she’d heard that some women like to be licked. The knowledge didn’t really prepare her for what she saw when he dropped his pants and the damn thing stared her in the eye. It looked even bigger than it had felt.

“Lick it,” he hissed.

Trisha shook her head. Good girls didn’t do what he was telling her to do. “I can’t. It’s . . . ”

“Disgusting? Degrading? Is it humiliating? Is it slutty? Is it turning you on?”

She bit her lip and nodded, trying not to moan.

“So how does that make you feel, Trisha? What do you really want to do?”

Trisha’s whole body was shaking by now. She had been sitting on the edge of the bed, but she slowly slid onto the floor to kneel at his feet. The snake hovered close to her lips, and she realized that her mouth was starting to water. In fact, it wasn’t the only part of her getting wet.

She knew he could tell she was struggling. When she looked up at him, he wore that little half-smirk that she found both endearing and infuriating. She felt as though every fiber of her being was screaming that the thought of his cock in her mouth was disgusting, but she couldn’t deny that her disgust made her want to suck it even more. No, she screamed silently, good girls don’t do that!

The dark-eyed man shifted his weight slightly, and his cock brushed her cheek. She wanted to recoil, but instead she felt her neck stretch slightly to increase the contact. A faint moan escaped her passion-pink lips, as she rolled her head slowly, savoring the feel of his hot prick sliding along her cheek. Letting her head fall back, she felt the underside of his shaft press onto her lips. He leaned gently forward, bringing his balls into contact with her throat and chin. She moaned a little louder.

She knew this was wrong. She knew he was an evil bastard who was somehow controlling her, making her into a naughty, dirty girl. And she wanted to serve him more than she’d ever wanted anything.

Trisha knew that she had to resist or she’d lose every bit of who she believed herself to be. I took the pledge. I’m a good girl. I’m not a tramp. I’m not a slut. I don’t make out with boys, and I don’t suck their cocks. She winced slightly to realize that she’d thought a bad word. By now her breath was coming hot and fast on his balls, and her clitoris was throbbing. He’s making me want to do these things. I will not give in!

Just then, he spoke to her, very quietly.

“Lick it, slut.”

Trisha heard a sound come from her throat, half grunt and half moan, as her tongue darted out to lick the length of his shaft, from the balls to the head. She stopped, stunned, when she got to the top of it, and for a moment she stared in amazement at what she had done, at what was before her. It was a hard, hot, raging, beautiful cock, and she had no desire in the world except to suck it.

It was his turn to gasp when she sunk her mouth down on it. Trisha even felt a little bit of pride that her sudden action had taken him by surprise. Opening as wide as she could, she pressed her lips all the way to the base of his shaft, then suddenly gagged as his head banged her tonsils. Hacking, she pulled back off it.

“Shhh, it’s all right,” he said, stroking her hair. “While you’re pleasing a man, you’ll never feel the need to gag again. Now keep going.”

She looked up at him as though she’d just received the best present she could imagine. Then she licked her lips, gave him a naughty grin, and attacked his manhood enthusiastically. Her mind reveled in the sensations of his hard prick in the back of her throat, filling her whole mouth; then she would think about what she was doing, and the thought would disgust her. But that in turn aroused her further, spurring her to greater efforts to please him. Before long, she’d brought both her hands up to help: stroking his shaft while she flicked her tongue around his foreskin, caressing his balls while she deep-throated him. When at last her efforts were rewarded with a spurt of pre-cum, she was at first revolted by the salty burst on her tongue; but then he hissed, “I order you to swallow like a slut when I cum, and I order you to cum like a slut when you swallow.”

That was all the encouragement she needed to redouble her efforts. Moments later, Trisha heard his moans turn into shouts and screams as he burst between her cheeks. Sucking hungrily, she worked to swallow every drop, and he was still pumping hot fluid into her throat when the orgasm racked her body.

Trisha realized she’d been standing there holding the white paper bag full of sandwich wrappers for quite some time. She was out of breath just from remembering the amazing experience of her first fellatio. She wondered briefly whether that would happen every time she swallowed a man’s spunk, and then she realized she’d already put it to the test. Repeatedly. She couldn’t remember quite how many times, but thinking about it, she wished she had his cock in her throat again.

Whoah! I’m not really thinking that! She forced herself to put down the bag and pick up her purse. Trisha Hart is not like that. He made me feel that way, but it’s not who I am. I have to get out of this room and forget everything that happened here. If I can just get out of here, I know I’ll be all right.

Trisha fished her phone from her purse. Whom could she call? Her mom? That hadn’t helped before. Her dad? How could she explain what his sweet little girl was doing in a hotel room with her clothes ripped the shreds? What about Josh, the guy from church she dated? She thought about him coming to pick her up, thought about meeting him at the door in only her jeans, thought about sucking him off . . . Nope, can’t call Josh. Brandy didn’t have her own car. What about Daniel? He went to her school, owned a truck, and was even in her Sunday school class. She knew he’d had a crush on her for years, so she knew he’d do anything she wanted and keep it a secret if she asked him.

The phone rang a couple of times before he answered it. He sounded kind of sleepy.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Daniel,” she said. Her throat felt a little raspy. “It’s Trisha. Can you help me with something?”

“Yeah, sure. Um, do you know it’s like six o’clock in the morning?”

“Oh, fuck,” she said, amazed that a curse word had come out of her mouth. “I mean, uh, no, I don’t have a clock here.” She realized she could have just looked at the time on her phone before she called. “Um, what day is it?”

“It’s Sunday. I have to get up for church in a few hours.”

Oh, crap, she thought, Mom and Dad will expect to see me at church with Brandy.

“Yeah, Daniel, that’s actually what I was calling about. I need a ride to church, and I need you to not tell anyone about it. Can you come get me now?”

“Okay, give me a few minutes to get dressed,” Daniel replied. “Um, are you at home?”

“I’m at the—” she paused, realizing how this was going to sound, “—the Pine Cone Inn, Room 217.”

“What are you doing in that—never mind, I don’t want to know.” She could almost hear what he was thinking about her. It made her pulse race. “I’ll be there soon.” He hung up without saying good-bye.

Great, he thinks I came here to bang some guy. Well, that is one thing I didn’t . . .

Trisha looked down at her left hand, and she noticed that her ring finger was bare. Frantically, she glanced around the room, hoping to find it; instead, she saw disheveled bedsheets, her clothing thrown here and there. Her breath caught as an image filled her mind: She was looking up at him in rapt awe, placing her virginity ring in his hand, kissing his fingers rapturously as she curled them around it. Oh, God . . . I did . . .

The pictures raced through her mind like shots in a music video: her on her back, him towering over her as he plumbed her depths; him on his back as she rode his huge manhood, lost in ecstasy; her bent over the chair as he took her like a beast; him sitting in the chair as she lowered herself onto him again and again; her ankles next to her ears and then locked above his ass, pulling him deeper; her side rubbing the carpet as he straddled her leg and took her sideways on the floor; her standing on one foot while the other ankle rested on his shoulder as he pierced her, in a position only a dancer used to doing high kicks could achieve; him holding her up in the shower as he banged her against the wall; her impaling herself on his magnificent cock while she sucked his big toe and he spanked her already bruised ass . . .

Oh, God damn, she thought, sinking back down onto the bed, he’s a fucking machine . . .

Reclining on the bed as more encounters invaded her memory, she noticed something on the iron headboard. It was a carabiner clip, not unlike the one she sometimes used to clip her keys to her belt loop when her pockets were too tight to accommodate any contents. And there was a second one clipped to the headboard a few feet away.

That’s curious, she thought. I wonder what those are for?

No sooner had the thought formed than she remembered. After she’d sucked him off—she licked her lips reflexively as she remembered it—that’s when she’d offered him her ring. In response, he’d produced a set of cat collars, all red leather lined with felt, and bound them around her wrists and ankles. Each one had a little bell on it, and a ring for a leash. Instead of putting leashes on them, though, she remembered now how he had clipped both her wrists to the headboard, spread-eagled, and then clipped both her ankles to the same carabiners that held her wrists. Had he taken her picture? She wasn’t sure, but she did know that he had licked her pussy again, her still-virgin pussy at that point. Before long she was moaning and gasping, and his manhood had recovered from the serious slaking her throat had given it.

The heat of his prong pressing near her virginity made her writhe with anticipation. “Please,” she gasped, “please take me.”

“Take you? Where?”

“Take me!” she whined impatiently.

“I thought you were waiting for the right man.”

Trisha couldn’t believe he was stalling, teasing her. It felt so hard and hot against her thigh. She tried to wiggle to get it in, but her restraints made her even more helpless than she had been before.

“Please,” she begged, “I want the wrong man. I want you.”

He smirked again, the bastard. “What do you want me to do? If you can’t say it, I won’t do it.” His cock rubbed her labia.

Do I have to beg for it? she wondered. That’s so dirty.

“Pleeeeease?” she whined.

“Say it, slut,” he hissed.

Hearing that word applied to her again made something snap inside sweet little Trisha Allison Hart.

“Fuck me!” the virgin screamed. “Fuck me hard! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

Trisha had always imagined, when she thought about it at all, that she’d lose her virginity on her wedding night, to some dashingly handsome and polite young man of whom her parents and pastor approved. She would be completely in love with him, and he with her, and they would consummate their love in a magical experience, surrounded by a thousand candles, silken sheets, soft music, and the sound of waves crashing on the beach outside the bridal chamber windows. He would be gentle with her, and she would demurely share her long-guarded treasures with him before falling into a sweet slumber in his loving arms.

Instead, Patricia Allison Hart was screaming, “fuck me!” at the top of her lungs while some man she halfway hated banged her virgin pussy for all it was worth in the sleaziest hotel in Hartsville. The thought of how slutty it was drove her crazy. Before long, her words gave way to inarticulate moans and howled gibberish. She had never imagined that anything could hurt like hell while making her feel better than she’d ever thought possible, but his enormous cock seemed to fit the bill. At one point, he slowed down long enough to whisper some words in her ear. She was too sex-crazed at that point to fully comprehend what he was saying, but she knew it had something to do with increasing her pleasure and opening up new areas of sensitivity. And she knew it was absolutely true.

If she’d thought it was great before, Trisha couldn’t believe how it felt next. Within a few thrusts, her orgasm began to climb to a peak. Before she could quite realize what was happening, it crested, and she felt a sweet golden warmth flow through her. She could have floated from that one all night, but he was far from done with her. More thrusts brought more pleasure, until she lost count; soon the individual releases merged into one perpetual state of orgasm. She had no idea how long it lasted, but at some point she became aware of a noise, and then became aware that it was her screaming, and she’d been cumming and screaming for so long that she could hardly imagine an existence in which she was not cumming and screaming. It was her purpose in life.

Then suddenly it stopped. The silence seemed deafening, and she realized what had stopped her scream.

He was strangling her.

Trisha stared up at him, aware of his thumb pressing on her windpipe, holding back her scream and her orgasm with one strong gesture. The only motion in the room was his thrusting into her flooded pussy with slow, deep, deliberate strokes. The thought crossed her mind that she was going to die, that he was going to kill her here in this cheap hotel room, that she would die a filthy slut, and everyone in town would know.. And then, as the room started to go black in her vision, she realized that she would die because it was his will, and she longed to do his will. A blissful smile crossed her lips as the room went completely black.

Then suddenly she was screaming and cumming again, as though both the noise and the rapture had been building the whole time he choked her. She realized he’d released her throat, and she knew that he owned every fiber of her being. She reveled in his violent thrusts until her burst inside her, his screams loud enough to match her own.

Trisha’s reverie was broken by loud knocking on the door. “Open up,” she heard Daniel calling. “It’s me.”

“Oh, fuck me!” The phrase just slipped out as Trisha realized she was still naked. Then she giggled at the irony of her word choice. She knew that she never talked that way before the weekend, but now the words just seemed natural. She’d have to watch that.

“Hold on, Danny!” she shouted. She struggled to wiggle into her jeans. They’d been pretty snug before, but with the welts on her ass, she really had to work to get them on. The pressure of her jeans made the bruises hurt in an all new way with each step, and she couldn’t help but grin at her secret. Then she realized it wasn’t entirely a secret. The slashes he’d told her to add to the jeans revealed bruised flesh. The dark-eyed man wasn’t even there, but he was still torturing her.

Trisha looked around for her top and then remembered what had happened to it. Damn it, I meant to ask Danny to bring me a fuckin’ tee-shirt. She picked up her sports bra. It was hopeless, so she tossed it aside. Her top from Friday night was sliced right from the point of the v-neck down to where her navel would be. What the fuck was she going to wear?

Daniel banged on the door again. “Trish,” he shouted, “are you okay?”

“Yeah! Just a sec.” She pulled the mangled top on like a vest and tried to tug it shut in the front. The stretchy fabric came nowhere near meeting in the middle. Sighing, she gripped the bottom corners of the cut, rolled the lower part of the shirt up to just below her breasts, and tied it in a big knot between her nipples. The effect was something like a midriff-baring halter top, except that she was braless and the fabric was very thin and clingy. It was decent, but just barely. Her nipples were clearly visible. She knew Danny would see some of the bite marks on her breasts, not to mention the spot on her ribs right between her breasts where that bastard had rubbed his prick while she squeezed her tits around it. Oh, God, that felt great. She struggled not to slip into another flashback. Daniel would see her looking like a tramp, with an improvised halter top and ripped-up jeans, and she realized this was one more humiliating thing that sadistic bastard had made her do.

Sure enough, Danny’s jaw dropped when Trisha opened the door. She could tell he was trying not to gawk, but he was failing. She was likewise trying not to blush, and she was failing. The worst part was that she could feel the tingle of sexual excitement creeping through her body on the heels of her embarrassment, and she could tell without even looking at Danny’s crotch that he was getting hard looking at her—which simply embarrassed and titillated her more.

“Are—Are you ready to go?” he stuttered.

“Yeah,” she said, before stopping and shaking her head. “No, wait, there’s one more thing.” Trisha turned on her heel and bounced to the nightstand, where she picked up the notepad and shoved it into her purse, not bothering to glance at the writing she wasn’t allowed to read yet.

“What’s that?” Danny asked as she slid past him out the door.

“Oh, that?” Trisha replied. “It’s my homework assignments. I really can’t explain it, but I’m about to have a very, very busy week.”