The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I had Leanne and Janet dress again and clear up all the mess from the earlier sex and so forth, and I dressed myself—this suit was expensive; I had no intention of letting anyone else get their hands on it. Of course, Kirsty—also frantically dressing—would probably want to, but I figured I’d let her so long as she knew she had to go easy on it—something not difficult to achieve, given the control that the gems gave me over her.

It seemed like a straightforward, simple process, or at least my rationalisation of what it did seemed that way. The theory behind it, of course, and it’s workings, were no doubt hideously complex, but as far as I could tell, from discussion with Leanne and inference, the gems worked like this.

One piece of the jewellery worked to exert dominance over the other—the ring had power over the pendant. If the gem in the ring made line of sight contact with the pendant gem, the ring exerted this power over the pendant—the visible reminder of which was both gems flashing white. Whoever wore the ring could then control whoever wore the pendant, but that wasn’t all. While the new slave wore the pendant their mind was cooped up, shut out of the loop of control, unable to make the body in which it lived move in any way, while the pendant gem instead took over, following the orders of the ring’s wearer exactly.

And inside this locked-off mind a conditioning process was going on; every time the body obeyed a command, a flash of orgasmic pleasure ran through the mind in reward. Every time the mind tried to fight against a command—futilely—infinite pain for the same brief space. At all other times the eyes remained covered with that dull, blank sheen. Once the pendant had been worn for long enough it could be removed and the mind would still obey the wearer of the ring. Clearly there was more to the gems than this—it allowed me to edit memories and emotions, for example, so some sort of control had to be left in the minds of my girls—but I believed this to be the basic principle. So did Leanne; I’d asked her a few times just how she felt about this procedure, but she just shrugged. She genuinely didn’t seem to know how she felt, how she should feel. Before she had been herself; afterward, fifty weeks of the year, she was still herself in every way. The rest of the time, as she’d said once, “It’s still me at the core. I can’t not do what you want, and I can’t not enjoy doing what you want either, unless you make me not enjoy it. I suppose this is awful, really, but...” She shrugged. “That’s looking at it objectively. I can’t; I just have to let you control me and hope I’m allowed to enjoy it. I’m not explaining this very well at all, am I?”

She’d looked really apprehensive when she asked that; I get the impression they, or at least she, is/are scared of me. I’m not sure that’s fair. I don’t use whips, I don’t chain them up, and most of the time I don’t order them around. When I do, I either make sure they enjoy it at the time or I allow them to look back on it with amusement—or it gets wiped from their mind. All I ask is two weeks, and let’s face it, I could take much more than that.

OK, so it’s not a great argument, but the fact is, I can’t help myself. I’m a control addict; I can’t resist taking these girls over. Once I have... well, I get tempted. I do ration myself but that’s the best I can do.

And yes, I know this is the lamest excuse since Michael Douglas decided he was a sexaholic, but tough shit. It’s what you’re getting.

The thing is, I think I know what Leanne meant. But I can’t express it any better than she could.

None of which has anything to do with what I’m telling you, though; I’d got the room as clean as it had been when Kirsty came in that morning, so she wouldn’t suspect anything. I told her to close her eyes and allow herself to become a mannequin, a posable toy. She couldn’t move herself but she’d hold any position anyone put her in until snapped out of it.

I took her necklace off her, raised her arm, then opened her hand and closed it around the clasp so that it dangled like a pendulum. Now she was posed as if holding the necklace up at eye level in an attempt to hypnotise someone.

I was going to give her what she’d wanted; the belief she was in control, that she’d hypnotised me. What wasn’t quite how she’d envisaged it was that she was going to order me to be dominant, because she wanted to submit to me so much. Which she didn’t, yet, but that’s the beauty of emotional control. In effect I was having my cake and eating it; I get a kick out of trying other people’s fantasies but I don’t like to lose control. I like being in control. OK, it wasn’t quite what Kirsty had wanted. But she did say she only needed to feel as if she was in control.

“Leanne, Janet, wait downstairs. When I ring one of the phones downstaiirs, you will answer it, Leanne. You will convey my orders to Janet and then you will both obey them.”

“Yes, master,” they said. I smiled and turned my attention to Kirsty, who still had her eyes shut and her hand raised. I set up the pool table myself, broke, and walked around to stand in front of her with the cue in my hands.

“OK, Kirsty,” I said, “I’m going to see just how good you are at acting. This is a role no actress is ever going to be asked to play, and you’re going to play it for real. You will remember that you are in fact my slave, you will remember the manner and scape of your enslavement, and yet you will believe utterly that now is during that pool game we played just after you walked in, and you have just hypnotised me with your necklace. You will be a submissive; an unbelievably total submissive. However, you slid into being submissive as an adult; in the last few years, in fact, since you joined us, the desire has formed. And it has formed around the idea of submitting to me. Only me; you’re not even remotely interested in submission to or sex with anyone else. But you’ve finally realised that you can’t submit to me unless I dominate you, and my total lack of interest in you has driven you to this act. You must control me to have me dominate you. All of that clear?”

“Yes, master,” she said.

“Good. After we’ve finished you can try and explain it to me. All this will happen when you open your eyes, which you will do in... five... four... three... two... one...” I shut my eyes and lapsed into a monotone voice. The cue slipped from my hands. “Yes... I will obey... mistress.”

“No,” she whispered. Her voice was heavy with love and astonishment at what she had dared to do. “You are my master. You will control me. I am not your equal; I want you to be in control. Dominate me.”

“Yes... mistress.” I said, and opened my eyes. I reached up and took a hold of her breasts through her suit, and squeezed. She let out her breath in a soft, drawn out hiss of content, and I smiled at her reaction. “You’ve been bad, slave,” I said. “I distinctly remember telling you to get out of those clothes.”

Her eyes widened in shock and, for the first time, fear. She’d expected domination. She just hadn’t expected her new master to manufacture excuses to punish her. “But... master... I...”

I squeezed harder. The underwiring in her bra gave slightly, now bending in to press hard against her flesh. When she took that bra off she’d have red marks left behind for sure. Deep red marks. Her protests cut off like I’d flipped a switch. “Are you questioning me, slave?”

She swallowed. “No, master. I beg forgiveness.” She began to disrobe. I stepped back to get a better view and looked her up and down thoughtfully. By now I’d seen her naked enough to be analytical rather than just aroused. While the arousal was there I could now be critical again.

Very nice tits; round about my size, even if they now sported flushed lines from the aftereffects of the bra. I made a mental note to make sure she went home braless; didn’t want any permanent damage, after all. If anything, perhaps a little smaller than I would have preferred on someone her size, but so close it wasn’t worth getting worked up over. Her nipples had spent most of their visible time standing out proudly, which I liked; a slave should enjoy her servitude, I always think. I don’t necessarily act on that but I don’t want them setting the police on me after the two weeks are up, and I don’t want to change anything about them permanently—it’s too likely to show—so I always make sure they enjoyed the two weeks and look forward to next year. In any case, now they were as rigid as they’d ever been, standing out like ancient Celtic stone monoliths on the hills of Scotland. I thought about that comparison, found I liked it, and turned back to my laptop. Starting it running, I loaded the file in which I kept my idle musings and stored it away. Someday I’m going to turn all these aphorisms and profundities into a poetic epic and make a fortune. I keep telling myself.

As for the rest of her...

Beautiful, but there was some hint of... something. I didn’t know what it was, so I took a couple of steps forward and ran my hands over her belly. To the touch the minor stretchmarks became more evident. They didn’t make any real difference to her appearance, being, as I said, minor and unobtrusive. Clearly whatever had caused them had not had the most profound of effects and had been well countered.

“Kirsty, were you fat when you were younger, or did you have a child?”

“I had a child, master.”

I raised my eyebrows at this. She had to be a single parent; there wasn’t a love in her life that anyone could have known about from her office. I went downstairs and checked out the personnel files; another big bonus when the boss is away, the filing cabinet is left in charge of the senior staff member. Which is me.

No record of any domestic arrangement; no record of any child, either. She hadn’t taken any time off for pregnancy in this job, I well remembered; she hadn’t ever seemed to get any bigger, either, and with the sort of suits she favoured you could tell about that; they weren’t exactly what you’d call loose and flowing. No mention of it in her reference. I wasn’t sure whether that was significant or not; I don’t work in personnel and I haven’t seen enough references to know. I couldn’t see how it was particularly relevant to how well she could do her job, though, so I decided it probably didn’t mean anything.

This was starting to bug me, now; I went back up, grinning at Leanne and Janet despondently moping as I left the room, and asked her when she’d had her kid and what had happened to it.

“I had Joshua when I was thirteen, master. My parents had him adopted.”

Thirteen? My interest was piqued. “Were you not paying attention when they explained this whole pregnancy thing at school?”

She blushed crimson. “I...”

I waited for about thirty seconds, then held up my hand. “Oh, never mind. I think I can probably fill in the blanks as I go.” I sat back and thought. Traditionally, this sort of thing should probably have given Kirsty pathological nightmares about men and sex, but it didn’t seem to have. Listening to her tape, I’d got the impression from what she’d said about her own opinions that she was pretty much Little Miss Average. But Little Miss Average doesn’t end up pregnant at thirteen. She might be having sex but she won’t be getting pregnant. That only happens but rarely.

Her legs were good, too; very shapely, bot a spare ounce of fat on them but topped off by a magnificent behind and a bush kept neatly trimmed.

I put my hand on her breast and stroked it softly. Then I dug my fingernails in; Kirsty screwed up her face in pain but avoided making a noise. I grabbed her by the arms, spun her around and shoved her face-forward onto the pool table. She ended up bent forward, clinging to the table, her backside raised in the air and her legs akimbo. I brought my hand back and smashed it down, open flat, on her buttocks. The slap echoed round the room, bringing Kirsty’s hips and crotch into sharp contact with the edge of the pool table. That knocked the air out of her in a rush and left her gasping for breath, clinging onto the table even more fiercely.

I walked away, having reaffirmed I’m not particularly interested in bondage. I went back downstairs and had a conversation with Janet, during which Leanne was busy playing table-tennis with a file envelope against an imaginary opponent, and losing. I decided this was something else to commit to video the following day, preferably with her topless; it was hilarious, may as well make it erotic while I’m at it. Following that I went back up to the rec room, again leaving the girls behind me—Leanne still playing table tennis, and Janet had now joined in—and had another look at Kirsty, who was still in exactly the same position she’d been in before.

“All right, Kirsty, you no longer believe you’ve hypnotised me or feel the total submissive that you were. You’re just my slave again. Understand?”

“Yes, master.”