The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Good,” I said. I reached down and picked up the cue. Holding the back end of the cue near to her mouth -the larger end—I lifted her arms up and wrapped her hands around the cue. She offered no resistance, but clung to where her hands were placed. “Fancy giving someone a blow job, Kirsty?” I asked. She smiled slowly, delightedly, and nodded.

“That’s convenient,” I said. She turned her head to look at me. I shook my head. “No, no, not me. The guy you’re holding now. The guy with the most amazingly huge cock you’ve ever encountered.” She focused back on the pool cue and looked at it oddly. I hadn’t bothered to alter her memory, so I suppose it must have been like one of those dreamscapes where something turns into something else if you don’t pay attention for a second. I grinned, and provided her with some extra information to be treated as the truth. “He comes after exactly four minutes and... eight seconds,” I said, plucking a number out of the air. “You’ll feel this no matter what, and take it back out of your mouth. Have fun.”

“Yes, master,” she muttered, before plunging the pool cue as deep into her mouth as she could. I sat down on the sofa, put my feet up, and timed it, just out of interest. I started a bit late, so she shuddered and pulled the cue from her mouth slightly before four minutes were up by my watch, but I had no doubt that she’d timed it perfectly. Most people have some inkling of what goes into a second, when forced to have one. I took the cue from her and wiped her saliva onto her shirt, dropping the shirt back to the floor when I’d finished. “Your next wish, of course, was to seduce me as if nothing had happened,” I said. “We’ll set tomorrow morning aside for that, I think. Until then, come downstairs with me. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

“Yes, master.”

Kirsty’s eyes flew open when she saw Leanne and Janet still playing table tennis against each other with an entirely imaginary ball—which hadn’t stopped them falling into such perfect sync that if you knew what they were doing you could practically see it.

“What are they doing?” Kirsty asked. Evidently it wasn’t clear if you didn’ already know, so I told her. She giggled. Then, in a meditative tone, she said, “Have you made me do anything like that?”

“What, anything that’d make you look stupid?” I asked. “Yes. And you know something else? You don’t care.”

“Yes, master.”

“You were doing something very stupid when you gave that guy a blow job just now.”

A pause. Then, “You know, I did think I was holding a pool cue... but when I looked, it...”

I laughed. She broke off and looked at me, a little upset. I stroked her breast, still naked. The nipple sprang into action and she lost that slightly sad look. “So what did you blow?” I asked.

“A cock,” she said positively. She closed her eyes in blissful reminiscence. “The biggest I’ve ever seen.” If I hadn’t known she was mistaken, I swear her tone of voice would have made me feel quite inadequate. “It must have been,” she said, evidently trying to reassure herself. “I mean, pool cues can’t come, apart from anything else, right?” I decided to be generous.

“Absolutely,” I said. “By the way, can you see the ball they’re playing with?”

“No,” she said positively. Then, a little confused, “Why can’t I?”

“Because there isn’t one,” I said. “But you can see one now. Go and catch it and bring it to me.”

“Yes, master,” she said with feeling, and walked forward doubtfully. I smiled. Not actually fiddling with their memories was as much of a buzz as the power buzz I got when I did; watching Kirsty now, for example, I saw a woman who knew something did not exist and yet had to fetch it for me.

She approached the desk over which Janet and Leanne were playing and stood still for a while, her eyes following the play. Then her hand lashed out and closed on air. She smiled and turned back to face me, while Janet and Leanne stopped playing and started to complain.

“What the fuck?”

“What’d you do that for?”

I laughed at them, and they didn’t even seem to notice. Kirsty was intent on giving me the ball, though she did look back apologetically. Leanne and Janet were staring at Kirsty in a way that should have been fatal, but just standing there. It was like they just couldn’t believe it had happened.

To be honest, I was surprised. I hadn’t told Janet and Leanne to use the same ball and when I’d gone back upstairs for Kirsty they’d appeared to be playing two halves of two different games. Now all three of them were fixated on a small sphere of empty space surrounded by Kirsty’s hand.

“Crush the ball, Kirsty,” I said.

“Yes, master.” Her fingers closed on empty air, apparently meeting initial resistance.

“Now give it back to them.” Kirsty smiled malevolently, something I definitely hadn’t expected, turned, and deposited the object, to judge from the direction of their gazes, at their feet with a flick of her wrist.

“Leanne, you do realise they can be re-inflated if you blow into them hard enough?”

I watched her stoop down and scrape the ‘ball’ off the floor, then hold it up to her pursed lips and begin to blow. And I laughed, and I laughed all the harder at the puzzled expressions on the faces of Janet and Kirsty. It’s sometimes fun being the only one who gets your jokes; when it marks you out as the only one able to see what’s funny, for example.

Finally Leanne took her lips away, looked across at Janet, smiled, and the two returned to their table and to the game. They quickly got back into the swing after apparently not focusing on the same point of air immediately, and I settled down to watch them for a while with Kirsty standing mute beside me.

Eventually I tired of this and stopped them. Then I had Leanne and Janet approach me, since I’d neglected them of late.

At my instruction, Janet knelt before me and began to pull gently on my penis, bringing me quickly enough to attention. Meanwhile, Leanne removed her suit jacket and shirt and stood behind her, legs apart and straddling Janet so that her crotch pressed hard against the back of Janet’s head, the two women almost blending into a single erotic figure. I brought my hands up and went to work on Leanne’s breasts while Janet worked me up to the appropriate state and took me in. I kissed Leanne and she kissed back. “Kirsty,” I said out of the corner of my mouth. “The table-tennis table’s free.” I snagged one of the makeshift paddles and handed it to her. “And, you know, we don’t want anyone else taking charge of it... be a dear and have a game with that player waiting there, would you?”

“Yes, master.”

“Thanks.” I returned to the other two girls, who easily held my attention for the following little while.

By the time that was over it was gone four; less than an hour to go before we knocked off. And with no new business coming in all day, I could hardly postpone that. Not with the receptionist still standing sentry, and I’d tacitly granted her freedom from being put under for sundry reasons which hardly deserve investigation here.

I stopped Kirsty playing and dressed Leanne once more; then I sent Leanne and Janet back home, as they’d really had no reason to stay this long. The receptionist perhaps half-expected the long stays every day of the fortnight, though; Leanne had done the same thing last year, during Janet’s first stint under me. Many more years of this and she’d probably get suspicious; of course, many more years and we’d be two receptionists further on in this randy-old-man-for-a-chairman-business. Nothing to worry about.

“OK, Kirsty, just you and me now,” I said, and I smiled. “Come upstairs.”

“Yes, master,” she said.

“Now, you don’t remember the tapes, do you?”

“No, master,” she said.

“Good. In fact, you don’t remember any of what really happened today, do you?”

“No, master.”

“Even better. Right, I want you to focus on the eight ball... keep your eyes firmly on the eight ball, all right?”

“Yes, master.”

“And see nothing but the eight ball. In fact, don’t smell anything, don’t taste anything, and don’t even consciously—consciously, mind you—hear anything until I squeeze your left breast. After that, you will be in control of all your senses once more, subject to my specified conditions. Clear?”

“Yes, master.”

I was getting to like this. As I’ve said before, I hadn’t started meddling with people’s memories before, just their perception of them. Now I was pulling out all of the stereotypical tricks. And it has to be said that they’re stereotypical because they are actually a turn-on, though more so when you do them for real than when you just read about them. All the same, I don’t like being stereotypical, so I’ll cut this ramble short.

“You said during the tapes—and I know you don’t remember, so just take my word for it, take your master’s word for it, that’s right—that you might well have quite enjoyed seducing me yourself. Guess what you’re going to do tomorrow.”

“I—am I going to seduce you, master?”

“Well done. Clearly your IQ is not utterly wasted. You won’t remember this, you won’t remember being instructed, you will simply come in tomorrow wearing the sexiest business suit you have—the one you use on those rich clients, you devious little girl—and no underwear, and you’ll attempt to seduce me. And I think that will take care of the morning, no?”

“Yes, master,” she said blankly. I smiled, stepped behind her, and squeezed her breast, my hand withdrawing before she noticed.

“God, only an hour to go?” she asked.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I said, checking my watch as she turned around. “Time flies when you’re playing pool.” I handed her the cue. “You’re spots.”

“Oh, right.” She looked over the table, chose her shot, and placed one hand on the baize as a bridge. But instead of lowering the cue into place, she checked her movement and lifted her hand off the table. “Oh, disgusting...” she said. “It’s sticky. Did you spill something on it?”

“No,” I said. I caught her gaze and held it. “You did,” I said, truthfully enough; it had been her and Leanne, after all. “Did I?” she said. “Oh.” It didn’t seem to bother her that much. She lifted her fingers to her nose and inhaled.

“This smells familiar,” she said. “I can’t place it...”

Presumably because she’d never expected to smell it on a pool table in the rec room at work, I assumed. I smiled faintly, and made a mental note to make sure I covered all the bases in future. And to be careful taking my shot; the ball would be slowed considerably by the damp.