The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter One

Jim practically dragged me out of the Palms and into a cab. I was lost in thought, but I did hear him ask the cab driver for the hottest strip club in town.

“Lil’ Darlings is the best,” said the cab driver.

“Make it so, Number One,” said Jim in his best Captain Picard voice. Then he turned to me and said, “Dude. You need to practice on strippers.”

The cab pulled out into the night, navigating the gauntlet of The Strip, a spectacular neon canyon at the bottom of which flowed a river of restless traffic.

I hadn’t been listening. “Strippers? What?”

“Strippers, man. Think about it! They’re cynically using the false promise of sex to get your money, right?”

“OK,” I said dubiously. I had never heard Jim argue more passionately or eloquently before, but I wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“Strippers manipulate men to get what they want.”

“I guess so.”

“So they’re fair game, dude! Let’s go manipulate them to get what we want!”

So it was “us” and “we” now. Jim was angling for some kind of poontang partnership, but I wasn’t necessarily buying it.

“You are a piece of work, man,” I said to Jim. “Why should I pimp for you, anyway?”

“Because you want to know if you can do it, dude! You want to know if you’re powerful enough. Can you project your will and make a woman drool over someone besides you? And because,” he paused, “I’ve never asked you for a favor before. Ever, man!”

We were both quiet for several minutes. The cab bumped over railroad tracks. I looked out of the window at the seedier side of town. It was around midnight, and on this side of town, it was darker and more foreboding than on the Vegas strip. An ugly prostitute in mini-shorts, 5-inch heels and a leather jacket postured and watched us pass. It wasn’t necessary for me to withhold the connection. None formed.

Our cab finally pulled into the dirt parking lot of the strip club. Weeds grew around the edges. I felt a vague sense of apprehension as the cab pulled up to the main entrance, but Jim was whispering “Oh boy, oh boy,” under his breath as we got out of the cab. And then Jim did something I’ve never seen him do before. It made me realize how very important this night really was to him.

He paid for the cab ride.

Chapter Two

Inside Lil’ Darlings, the music was so loud it was palpable. I could feel the bass guitar in my chest. We each paid a twenty-dollar cover charge. The tuxedoed maitre d’ hollered over the music, “All you can drink, guys!” At the bar, though, we learned that they didn’t serve alcohol. I gave Jim a look of annoyance, but smiling and unperturbed, he ordered us two cokes. We sipped our cokes and turned our barstools one hundred eighty degrees, giving us a great view of the stage.

The stage was a large U-shaped peninsula, sunken into the center of the club, so that patrons higher up, at the bar and at the surrounding tables, could all have an unobstructed view of the proceedings. Four chrome poles reached from floor to ceiling on the stage, two near the front, and two at the rear.

From one of the front poles, a naked blonde with a tiny waist and huge breasts with wide, pink nipples, hung upside-down, supported only by the scissors action of her legs. She spread her arms outward in the “aren’t I wonderful” ges ture used by circus performers and professional figure skaters. Her straight blonde hair swept the floor. Those breasts, dangling upside-down, pointed at the floor like huge plumb-bobs, and they moved in circles in time to the music. Even from the bar, I could see the crescent-shaped scars under her breasts, betraying her augmentation surgery.

The music ended. She stood and gathered up her costume parts, holding them in front of her breasts as she waved and exited the stage at the rear. The gesture seemed quaintly modest to me, considering her complete exposure only seconds before.

“Let’s hear it for Melody!” The DJ in the corner hollered into his headset microphone, and whoops and applause filled the room. Then, the lights lowered dramatically, soulful strings began to play through the loudspeakers, and a spotlight cast a solitary yellow circle upon the empty stage. I recognized the recording immediately. It was “Street Life”, by the Crusaders. Randi Jackson’s plaintive voice whispered and then wailed, filling the room:

A sense of anticipation filled the room. The Crusaders’ horn section climbed to a crescendo and the rest of the band kicked-in in earnest, locking into a relentless rhythm. The volume was near the threshold of pain, but the sound quality was excellent. I could feel the music in my stomach.

Right then, a vision of loveliness stepped into the circle of light.

She was medium height, and slender, wearing white five-inch heels and a long, white sparkling gown, bejeweled and cut low between the breasts to reveal a deep cleavage. There were jewels sparkling in her golden blonde hair, too. It was full and long, cut straight, three inches below her shoulders and straight across at the brow.

Hi-tech makeup made her flashing blue eyes look bigger. They peeked out innocently from under the sparkling fringe of blonde bangs. Her nose was petite, and it curved upward ever-so-slightly at the tip. Her lips, glossy-rose, full and beautifully defined, parted to reveal perfect white teeth. Her incredible beauty stunned all of the patrons of the club. I stole a look at Jim. He was as entranced as the rest of the audience.

She began to sway to the music. It seemed as if the pulsing of the music was actually moving her, pulling her body slowly back and forth. Hips flared gracefully, breasts swayed hypnotically, and everyone in the room was tuned to her wavelength, including me. I felt a connection begin to form.

“Good evening gentlemen!” Two great-looking ladies wearing nearly nothing, one black and one white, had flanked Jim and me. Their perfume was very sexy and nearly as loud as the music. My connection to the beautiful dancer on stage was broken by this intrusion.

The white girl who had spoken stood near enough to me that her breasts rubbed my upper arm. I saw the girl near Jim put a hand on his thigh near the crotch as the other hand quickly and surreptitiously tweaked his nipple and then rubbed his arm. Her smooth skin was the color of dark coffee. “You guys looking to have a good time tonight? How about we give you two a private dance? Just two on two!” She had pitched her voice to carry over the insanely loud music.

I looked at the two intruders and said, “No thanks, ladies. We’ll just watch the stage show.”

“We can give you a much better show in the back,” said the one near me, in a suggestive tone. She reached for and found my cock with her slender hand, squeezing it through my jeans. “Damn, cowboy,” she said to me with surprise in her voice. “You’re a big one!”

In spite of myself, my cock began to grow under her hand, and a connection swiftly formed between us. “I know you want to... um... want to watch us... um...watch us....” Words began to elude her. Her heart was beating harder. Her eyes were focused on my crotch. I looked at Jim. Both he and his girl were waiting for her to finish the sentence.

“Watch us dance!” said the pretty black girl, finally, trying to be helpful. I turned toward her and allowed a connection to form with her, too. Her facial expression changed. Her mouth opened a little bit, and her eyelids closed halfway. Her nipples raised under the skimpy tank top. She said, simply, “Ooo.”

“Oh man,” said Jim, to me. “Are you doing that?” I just smiled.

Chapter Three

I was in both of their minds at once. Their thoughts and feelings flowed over and through me.

“You are doing that,” he said. “Holy shit!” I continued to make adjustments.

Both girls turned toward Jim in unison, and their pulses quickened. How had they failed to notice how hot the guy was? The white girl left my side, walking around to get between Jim and me. He was suddenly everything she wanted in a man. Both girls could feel the incredible attraction. Both began to breathe slower and deeper as they reached out and pulled Jim up off of his barstool. Both girls felt trickles of moisture between their legs whenever they touched Jim’s skin. They looked at each other and nodded as if a decision had been made, and they led Jim off toward a back room, touching him constantly. Jim had a goofy look on his face. He had just been guaranteed a very good time tonight. I was betting that there would be no charge.

Chapter Four

Meanwhile, back on stage, the stunningly beautiful blonde dancer was farther into her routine. Her gown had fallen away to reveal a tiny sparkling halter and g-string. To say that her body was perfect would be an insult.

The lyrical upward curve of her breasts was breathtaking, her narrow waist, awe-inspiring. She swayed to the music with hypnotic grace. As she slowly pulled the sparkling g-string down to the floor, my eyes followed the amazing line of her hip and the profile of her buttocks, and continued down the long, graceful curve of thigh, all the way to her toes. I looked back up just in time to see her snap-off the tiny halter, revealing her rude, almost-too-large, dark-copper nipples that hardened immediately in the smoky air of the club

The music pounded. I don’t think anyone in the room was breathing.

From the ceiling directly above her, suspended by an invisible cable, a white translucent shower curtain descended on a circular rod, hiding first her head and neck, then her breasts, stomach, hips, legs and finally, her high-heeled feet. The curtain created a private circular room for her on stage, five feet in diameter, with a two-foot wide opening that allowed only a small portion of the audience to see her. As the curtain began to rotate, everyone in the room, in turn, caught precious glimpses of her as the opening flashed past.

Gleaming in the spotlight, a shower of glitter, representing water, began to fall from the ceiling. The naked blonde began the most erotic pantomime imaginable, slowly “washing” herself with loving strokes. The curtain continued to t urn, giving tantalizing glimpses every time the opening came around again. The music pounded relentlessly, and the sexual tension in the room was very real. Even the few women in the room, patrons and waitresses alike, had stopped to watch this intensely sexual peep show.

A connection formed with no conscious thought on my part. When the curtain opening came around again, the dancer’s posture had changed. When it next came around, her hands were on her breasts, squeezing. In the next glimpse, her hands were at her abdomen. In the next, her hands both caressed her crotch.

Successive glimpses showed her sliding to the floor. The shower of glitter stopped and the circular curtain rose to display the dancer facing my direction precisely. Her legs were spread as wide as possible, and her pussy lips gaped. She was exposing herself to me completely, pink and wet, while looking directly across the room, up into my eyes. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, and began to finger her exposed clitoris. Men down near the front who had been whooping and cheering were stunned into silence. I saw a couple of them rubbing themselves through their trousers. The music continued to pound.

She licked her lips slowly, hungrily. Then she stood and turned away from me, and to the delight of the patrons on the other side of the stage, bent toward them and arched her back, showing her breasts and hard, dark nipples to them, while presenting her beautiful, round ass to me. Her arms came around behind, and her long fingers and painted fingernails reached to spread her ass cheeks wide for me. She began a perfect imitation of copulation, hips pumping rapidly as though she was being fucked hard and fast from behind.

I was in her mind, helping. My entire concentration was on our connection. She could literally feel the mental image of my hard cock sliding in and out of her from behind. I lost consciousness of my surroundings. My cock had become uncomfortably stiff in my jeans. It must have looked like I was hiding a huge flashlight in there.

Through the connection, I felt her crotch lubricate generously. I awakened every one of her senses so she could see the effect she was having on the room, feel the hunger in the assembled audience, pull the loud music into her body and hear, at the same time, her own breath rasping in and out. Back at my seat, I was becoming incredibly aroused. I felt my scent glands release, and I did nothing to stop it.

In only a second or two, women in the crowd began to fondle themselves and the men near them. One waitress humped the knee of a guy at the bar. Dancers came into the room from the back, drawn by scent and intuition. The two with Jim didn’t show, but there were at least a dozen of them, all beautiful and all very turned-on. I sent connection tendrils out through the smoky room to every one of them, and to every other woman in the place. They began to tear off their clothes and present themselves to the nearest men for service. And the music continued to pound as my scent filled the room.

The main connection, though, the one that almost totally occupied my consciousness, was the trunk line directly between my solar plexus and that of the dancer on stage. I walked to the foot of the stage. I didn’t take my eyes off of hers and she didn’t look away, either. She dropped to her knees as I stepped up onto the stage, and she immediately pulled my zipper open and worked to release my hard organ. It was too big to be pulled through the zipper opening, so she tore at my belt, and my jeans dropped to the floor of the stage.

The scene around us looked like one of those rare, erotic classical paintings of debauchery. For every woman, sweaty and in heat, there were at least three men fucking every available orifice, in every conceivable position. Naked dancers lay back over cocktail tables, heads dangling off to the side, sucking cocks presented to their inverted open mouths while their cunts were being filled by more hard meat. One dancer stood over two men, lowering herself first over one hard cock, and then over the other, while each of her fists were pumping away at two other lucky stiffs.

The smooth skin of my dancer’s lovely face sparkled with glitter. She was worshipping my own stiff member. Licking every inch of it, and with her jaw agape, sucking as much as she could between her lips, she lavished attention upon my huge organ. Gagging when it went too deep. Pulling away, and sliding her hands over and around the saliva-covered head of my cock and then over her own nipples. I loved the look of those large dark nipples. I thought briefly how outrageous those hard dark nipples would be if they were even bigger, and I heard her gasp as they tightened and grew longer, curving upward. “Oh god,” she said, and she began to come.

It wasn’t me that her come. It began on its own, somewhere down deep. I could feel her orgasmic contractions rising rapidly to the surface like whales from the deepest ocean, breaking the surface like an explosion.

I was in her mind/body now where wave after wave of deep spasm took her, tightening her cunt and abdomen and even her ass, surprising her with unbelievable intensity and duration. And when she thought she couldn’t take any more, they grew even more intense.

In the center of her chest, she felt a fire smoldering and it felt to her like some kind of dangerous new emotion. Her eyes rolled back into their sockets. Her body jerked. She began to chant something rhythmically, and men out in the room began to moan as their cocks erupted, spurting semen over the women. Nearly two full gasping minutes later, when her eyes came back to mine, they weren’t the same eyes. They had changed. Her chant became clearer. She was droning over and over in a low monotone, “Fuckmefuckmywetcuntfuckmenow!”

Still on those 5-inch high heels, she stood, faced me and spread her legs wide apart. My cock swung upward, hard as a rock and slick with sweat and saliva, head smacking directly against her drenched pussy lips. With eyes gleaming and an enigmatic smile, the incredibly beautiful creature pushed forward against my cock head, and engulfed it in liquid heat. The music changed to a long, slow, throbbing blues number, and my dancer, my partner, pushed further forward until her breasts and hard, curved nipples were against my chest. And then, deeply impaled upon my cock, she began to do what she does best.

She began, once again, to dance.