The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter Three

I simply didn’t know, during those days, what I should have been expecting. After the first time we’d “met” Miss had simply disappeared. I hadn’t seen her on the street, nor had I even been able to find the storefront where I’d been displayed as some kind of fetish trophy. But she had come back, and she had had me prepared, I thought. Readied for something.

Replaying those scant two hours or so over and over in my head, it all felt so much more humiliating, degrading than it had in the moment. I knew I had felt the opposite of my current overwhelming ache of emptiness during each moment—her eyes had filled me, body and soul, with a sense of joy, fulfillment and destiny. Sure, I knew at the moment that spa employee looked back at me that I was not acting like a normal man but I still would have done anything she asked.

Actually, the “anything” part scared me for a while. Would I really have done anything? I didn’t dare think of what “anything” might have been, or might yet be—though even that fear didn’t for a moment dampen my wish that I could see her again immediately; that I could lose myself once more in those eyes.

I said “those days” but in honesty I went through life in a daze for at least six months. The memory of her eyes glowed in my mind each time I closed mine—sometimes I think they flashed into my subconscious with each blink.

I didn’t bother to reschedule the date with Rebecca, my previously promising blind date. It wasn’t because I still couldn’t explain my new tattoo; it was because I didn’t have a free thought to spare on anything or anyone but Miss.

Even recalling her previous disappearance, I fought to stay optimistic, thinking that she would come back for me. It might only be a day or two before I would again see her eyes twinkling in my doorway, before my own gaze would alight on her perfect silhouette, before I would hear the music of her exotic voice echoing in my ears.

It is embarrassing to admit, but I went so far as to keep myself ready for her. I started wearing women’s panties instead of my normal boxers, having ordered quite a few and varied pairs in styles and colours similar to those she’d left me with.

I kept myself shaved as well. I tried it on my own at first, with razors or Nair (a painful mistake), before I resigned myself to the humiliation of returning to the spa. I became a regular client of Lucy’s, the petit brunette who had first serviced me. She got a great laugh out of my tattoo upon my return to her, though she grew more like a sister to me over time. She seemed to appreciate my consistently generous tips and I think she sensed my deepening sadness as yet another session would come and go with no contact from Miss.

Rebecca stopped calling after a month or so and even my closest friends got tired of my malaise. Acquaintances at work would ask now and again if I was okay but that petered out as well, no doubt since my monosyllabic responses gave them nothing to work with. Perhaps they were afraid one day I would actually tell them.

I had been so sure she would return at first, but than certainty faded as the weeks went by. Hadn’t I been good? Obedient? She had come back before so why not now? Was she testing me?

I didn’t give up hope all at once, but rather as a very slow awakening—something akin to deep-sea divers floating slowly back toward the glistening light of the surface ever careful not to ascent too quickly, lest they succumb to the bends. Sometimes, by then, it would take me nearly five or six seconds to conjure up the detailed memory of her eyes.

My visits to Lucy became more infrequent, finally stopping altogether. I sent her another $200 in a sealed envelope addressed to her at work when I came to the realization I wasn’t going back—realizing only then that I had never learned her last name, despite the fact that she shared some of my deepest secrets.

My collection of panties went into the back of my drawer, replaced once more with boxers. I didn’t quite have the heart yet to throw them out but I knew that day would come. Three dial-and-hang-up phone calls later, I even managed to make an appointment to have my tattoo removed.

By now, my own mental reaction to what I’d been doing, how I’d been acting, and what I’d found myself contemplating doing for Miss had changed from excited, fearful anticipation to unbelief—almost to a kind of disgust at myself for allowing my wants, my desires, even the fabric of my life to fall under the sway of a woman I didn’t know, no matter how lovely. It was like I was slowly remembering my own actions the morning after a night of drunken debauchery, feeling disgusted with myself. There were times that only the tattoo, now days away from removal, kept me from believing it had been a bad dream.

Somehow, though much begging and pleading, claiming a mental dark period due to a death in the family, I even managed to get Rebecca to see me again. I had to start over with a lunch date, moving up to drinks, then finally agreeing to a dinner out on a Friday night. I had splurged on her each time, choosing the finest establishment I could get us into.

The dinner date with Rebecca was wonderful from start to finish. The first time I heard myself laugh with her the sound from my own lips seemed so foreign, almost forgotten, that it took me a moment to recognize it. Rebecca’s laughter was special too. It was it a joyous sound to hear and it lit up her face, as well as causing some wonderful tremors in the generous amount of cleavage her body-hugging dress exposed to view.

Dinner turned into drinks, and drinks turned into an invitation up to my place for a nightcap. The offer was accepted and let to a flirtatious cab ride with the adolescent high of making out in the back seat. I had to keep myself under some control, since my incriminating tattoo wasn’t due to be removed until the next week, but I was definitely in the cocktail-fuelled mood for a little under-the-bra groping.

I tipped the smirking cabbie generously and led her, arm in arm, up to my condo. I showed her the view, got her settled in the living room and showed her the stereo, suggesting some mood before heading into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine.

I made my way to the kitchen to pour the wine, smiling as I heard that Rebecca had chosen a moody R&B album that was both soft and slow. As I turned into the room, my smile turned into shock.

Miss was there.

Black leather boots with spike heels stretched up to her knees, and the tight leather skirt she wore hugged her hips. Her matching corset top was laced tightly for full effect. Her lips glowed red, as though a light source powered them. She looked so out of place on the tile floor, half leaning against the countertop—out of this world, even.

And her eyes. In that fleeting moment, the months melted away. Gone was my depression, frustration, along with the resolve I’d built up. When I had gotten back with Rebecca, earning her trust once more, I’d made myself a promise to turn away from those eyes, should they ever return, but it was hopeless—I didn’t even remember the desire to fight. All I wanted was to see them forever.

Her gloved finger on my lips silenced my attempt at speech. She had opened a bottle and poured two glasses of wine already, using a set of glasses I’d received as a gift years ago—they were a simple, classic shape, but each was a different coloured glass.

She leaned into me and whispered into to my ear. The touch of her breath was like honey. “Enjoy your drink with Rebecca, my Edward, and I’ll be here waiting. Be careful to drink the right wine—yours is the pink one.”

She turned me towards the living room and I moved out in a daze. It just couldn’t be real. I needed to go back and see; surely the kitchen would be empty if I returned—besides, if she was there for real, how could I not simply stand or kneel before her, gazing into those eyes?

There had been firmness in her eyes, even as her tone teased me. I had been given a command, and I dared not disobey. I dared not disappoint her—would she disappear again?

I forced a smile as I saw Rebecca half-relined on the couch, waiting and smiling. Her dress, and her body in it, was truly dangerous but my thoughts had been redirected completely onto the beauty and power that was currently residing in my kitchen.

She giggled a moment when I handed her the blue glass, keeping the pink one for myself. I felt the heat rush to my face—I felt as exposed to her as if she could read the tattoo that marked me—yes, under the power of Miss’s eyes, I was just a sissy slut.

I was fighting to concentrate on the beautiful woman in front of me as we talked and laughed. I couldn’t stand to look at her face—her eyes seemed so empty and lifeless in comparison—so my eyes drifted over her body, from the cleavage that had fascinated me only moments before down to her smooth legs even more exposed as her dress rode up as she moved on the sofa.

She interpreted my looks as growing interest and leaned forwards even more, like she wanted to tease me with her assets. A giggle escaped her lips then a broad, almost confused smile spread across her lips. She managed to get the nearly empty wine glass to the coffee table before she slumped over sideways, though just like her, it slowly tipped and fell onto its side. Her eyes were wide and in their glassy wetness I saw the reflection of Miss approaching behind us.

I turned to her, almost standing for a second, but then sliding off the couch to kneel before her instead. I think I felt just a flash of anger—all the feelings over the last months bubbling: those miserable times of hope, depression, rage at how my life had been nearly destroyed—but then it all vanished, gone in one slow blink of her luxurious lashes as my knees hit the carpet.

I wondered for a moment if Rebecca was lucky enough to register the beauty, the power of those eyes—to gather up the pure joy and peace they offered—but then all my thoughts were of Miss.

She looked down on me, exposing no emotions, and in my trousers, tan shirt, loosened tie and summer sports coat, I felt completely bare before her. Finally, she spoke.

“I’ve been watching you, my Edward. Keeping an eye on you, and what you’ve been up to.”

Even with these words of implied reprimand I could hardly feel the fear I should have, since watching her eyes move, slide over me and come to light with her words was sending warmth all through me. I felt like I had come instantly from winter to summer, without ever really knowing I had been cold.

“But we will discuss all of that later,” she smiled, as though she had simply moved on to a more pleasant thought. “Go to the bathroom, take these and return with only them on. Oh, and my Edward, I think that based upon my conversations with Lucy that you had better touch up your legs while you’re in there.” She dropped a couple of items of clothing before me; I gathered them up quickly and raced to the washroom.

I decided to jump into the shower quickly, to best shave my legs, and while the water warmed, I examined the clothing she had chosen for me. It was a bra and panties, both were shockingly pink, but rather than fine silk or lace, they were made of thick, stretchy latex.

I had no time to think as I was quickly into a delicate job that I wanted to be thorough with. Even in my eagerness to return to Miss’s view, I was in no mood to rush a razor around my privates. In minutes I stepped out of the steamy shower, once again as hairless below the waist as I could be without assistance.

Looking at myself in the mirror as I pulled the panties up my legs, tucking my cock and balls into their skin-tight embrace, I felt another pang. This woman had humiliated me, not once but twice, in ever increasing though admittedly inventive ways. Did I want to go through this again? But when I covered my eyes to think all I could see were her eyes and I knew they were just outside the door. I stretched the pink bra on and rushed back to the glory of her gaze.

She smiled as I approached and all doubt melted away. I could have devoted the rest of my life to just describing the way the corners of her eyes moved, the way her lashes fluttered, and to providing proof of the existence of twinkling. The corner of my eye and a smaller corner of my mind noted Rebecca stretched out on the sofa.

Before her, on the floor, were a pair of shoes that in their own way, perfectly matched the latex panties and bra I was wearing: bright pink and with ludicrously high heels. I didn’t need instruction to know I should step into them, so I did.

It was a challenge to balance atop them, and even more so when Miss knelt down to strap me into them, as the valley of her cleavage, rising with her breath, made me dizzy. I recovered before she rose, perhaps slightly jolted by noticing that the straps of the shoes where secured around my ankles with gleaming steel padlocks.

Now, even as she stood again before me, my new height dared me to use that vantage to observe her décolletage, but the draw of her face—her lips, her smile, her perfect porcelain skin, her eyes—was unmatchable.

She moved behind me, and her fingers drew the straps of my brassiere down my shoulders, just enough for her to stuff the cups full with breast-shaped latex sacs of gooey fluid, thicker than water by the way they moved and almost warm against my chest. The bra was re-adjusted, and now I stood before her with immense bouncing breasts.

Next was a matching pink leather collar, scalloped to suit my neck and a minimum of three inches wide, that she placed and laced tightly around my neck. I could feel it snugly and it certainly kept me from lowering my head, had I been tempted to break her staring link to my soul.

She smeared more than applied the matching pink lipstick onto my lips.

“Go to your bedroom, my sissy slut Edward. You’ll see that I’ve made the bed ready for you—crawl up and kneel on it.”

My mind raced, and my body could not move fast enough atop the torturous heels, especially with the altered centre of gravity that my new tits gave me—tits that certainly did not stay still while I moved. The bedroom? Really? Might she actually consummate this relationship that had mad my mind and soul hers from that first glance?

She had indeed made the bed ready for me. My own bedding had been replaced with Disney princess sheets in pink, baby blue and white, trimmed in lace, with images depicting castles and images of Cinderella and similar characters. The other change I immediately noted was the replacement of my headboard with a massive mirrored one. I clambered up onto the bed, kneeling up on all fours, facing the mirror. Shame at my situation grew with each moment until her reflection appeared in the mirror as well.

I could feel the tight panties, having a kind of high boy-short cut to them, ride up and surely give Miss an intimate view of my tattoo. She approached me and, as though my thoughts were open to her, ran her fingernails over the ink, the letters, the virtual brand marking me as her sissy slut.

“These words are so true, my Edward, even more than you know yet.” Her words drifted over me, with more mystery than menace. “Do you know what tomorrow is, my Edward?”

Through it all, the highs and the long, deep lows, I had never quite fully believed or understood her effect on me, her power. At that moment, my disbelief and amazement knew a new level. I didn’t even have to think, as the answer came to me immediately, like I had been waiting for the question.

“Tomorrow it will be one year ago that you found me, Miss.”

“Yes, it will be. So tonight, I’m going to take you again, in a new way. I loved it when you dressed for me, when you posed for me, tanned for me. I loved it when you were shaved for me, marked for me. Today I will love you anew. I will take one more thing from you, and you will give me something that I think you’ve saved all your life for right now.”

I watched her in the mirror, moving behind me. She slid out of her skirt, revealing black ruffled panties framed by the garters that held her stockings so perfectly. She was slow, methodical and careful as she buckled the harness around her waist, between her legs, positioning the gleaming metal ring that joined the various straps.

I knew it was coming, long before her thin fingers fit the pink rubber dildo to the ring, before she tugged the panties down to my knees. Rather than apply lubrication to me, she actually swirled the toy in a mixing bowl of mine she had filled with a shocking amount of KY.

And so it was; I knelt there on princess sheets, restrained only by her eyes in the mirror, watching her move and myself kneel as she thrust into me and took the only virginity I had left. If there was mercy, it was only in the first slow thrust. After that, there is no other way to describe it but to say but that I was fucked. My immense gel-filled tits swayed with the motion that grew faster and faster, deeper and more enthusiastic as each moment passed.

She took me hard and I think she came before she stopped, or rather paused. She took only the time needed to free the dildo from the harness, step back to photograph it jutting out of my ass, pull it out of me with a humiliating plop, toss it aside and select another, larger toy to use on and in me.

I know that I moaned, gasped, screamed and begged that night. I don’t think I cried until the third one: an immense red rubber monster that was covered with raised nubs. With each one, the ritual was repeated: Miss would use me to the point of her own pleasure, release the toy from her harness, photograph each one jutting obscenely out of my used ass, with the shot no doubt capturing my tattoo, my panties pulled down to my knees on my silly, sissy sheets. Fuck, photograph, repeat.

The last one I remember caused me to shudder as soon as I saw it. I was jet black and it gleamed. It was moulded to realistically replicate a man’s cock and balls, complete with cockhead and veins—that is, should a cock be found that was over 14 inches long. I screamed as she took me with it, but my eyes never left her reflection. Her eyes were in fact the last things I saw as I passed out from a mixture of exhaustion and pain, just as dawn started to brighten the room.

When I woke, I could tell by the brightness in the room that at least a few hours had passed. Physical sensations moved slowly to my dazed mind. I realized that I was lying fully stretched out on my stomach. Attempts to move were met with tight resistance. I looked up to see that my wrists were fastened via leather cuffs and rope to the corners of my bed and I could only assume the same was holding my ankles. Also contributing to my inability to move was the full weight of her body on me. I felt her breasts, bare, against my back and I could tell from the speed of her breathing that she was still asleep.

I could also tell that my ass was still full—though there was no way it was with the last dildo. The fullness was large enough to be uncomfortable and unmistakable, but not excruciating. As she stirred, I felt the dildo move inside me as well, so I knew that it was also still attached to her harness.

I found the strength to lift my head off of my new pink princess pillows to find the mirror. My lipstick was even more smeared that it had been at application and my collar still surrounded my neck stiffly.

And there, stretched out on me, with her strap-on dildo still impaling me, with her weight squashing my immense fake tits to the bed, was Rebecca—still unconscious.

It was another hour before she finally slept off whatever Miss had dosed her wine with. An hour for me to be bound beneath her, to feel her shifting body torment my ass with the dildo. An hour, when trying to think of any way to explain something like this, can be a very long time.

She came around slowly and groggily, and she discovered her own position with a shock on her face that put mine to shame.

I don’t know what she could have thought then, but she was gasping, apologizing, fighting to remember how it had happened, while having no rational reason to believe she hadn’t wanted every bit of it. After all, how could I have done any of this? I didn’t get a chance to get more than “it’s okay” in myself, almost thankfully, since my mental torment over the previous hour had yielded me nothing.

I noticed that Miss had found time to remove Rebecca’s panties and bra from the apartment—she could certainly not find them in the frantic four minutes she gave herself to dress, free me and run out; I never found them even long afterwards. Even more artfully, I noted than Miss had even shortened the hem of her dress, and increase the scoop of her neckline.

She looked like a hooker who had overslept, and I had to laugh as I noticed that while she had gotten the dildo out of the harness (and out of me) while trying not to touch it, the straps of the harness itself were clearly visible under her snug dress.

I then had time to try and deal with my own situation. I wanted to shower desperately since I felt sticky with sweat, not to mention the stickiness of used KY all over my sore ass, but my feet were still locked into those high heels. In the end, I decided they looked plastic enough to handle it, and stripped myself of all that I could, everything but the shoes and the collar, and spend most of an hour in the refreshing steamy shower.

I promised myself that I wouldn’t think about the future until I got out and had at least two mugs of coffee, but it was impossible to dodge all the questions my mind threw at me. What to say to Rebecca? What about Miss? Was I alone again, this time for a year? How was I going to get these fucking shoes off?

I shut the water off and dried myself, shaking my head at how the heels looked on my hairless legs. I pulled a robe around myself (noting that my own white terry robe had been replaced with a sheer pink sheer number that barely reached my ass) and went into the kitchen for that coffee. I was still not very good at walking on the five-inch stilettos.

Steaming mug in hand, I had strength enough to survey my bedroom once more.

Surprises never seemed to stop for me now. Miss was waiting there, dressed in black leather boots, seamed stockings, a tightly stretched black vinyl skirt and wearing a laced corset over top of a sheer white blouse. She was smiling and filling a cardboard box marked “Goodwill” with all of the contents of my underwear drawer.

“Finally,” she said, smiling wide, her eyes nearly knocking me off my shoes. “Didn’t you wonder if that tramp would never wake up?”

I couldn’t really form any words.

“We have work to do, my Edward. We are making some changes today, and we have to decide to do with little Becky when she comes back for more.”

All I knew was her eyes.