The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

8

Cassandra felt crazy.

Her mind was split, fragmented, splintered: part slave and part mistress, her soul a shattered mirror reflecting the pieces of itself, so that she could not tell who or what she was. Cassie ordered Karm to remember, forced her to override the commands of Mistress Wynn, and oh, it was like using a sharp knife to peel away her own living skin from the raw pulsing flesh beneath. As Cassie she commanded betrayal. As Karm she wept at the pain of it. Mistress Wynn, the good, the beautiful, would be angry, would be desolated. If she remembered, her heart would stop and she would die.

No, Cassie insisted.

Yes, Mistress, Karm answered in a miserable whimper.

Karm suffered and so Cassandra suffered as well: two minds but one body. Karm screamed silently. Leftover commands flooded her split mind, made her tortured body writhe. She tore at her clothing, ripped it off, because her skin felt as if it were on fire. Memories poured into her mind and overflowed and became Cassie’s memories, too.

Vivid pictures of a beautiful Wynn flooded into Cassie’s skull. The memory of Wynn’s words

eat me

drink me

love me

made her fingers seek her clit, made her rub herself to orgasm and release. Then, riding the crest of a wave of pleasure, Cassie could remember Wynn’s other commands: Forget Shock. Forget Lacey. Forget, forget, forget.

But now she remembered, and memory brought back the lash of an imaginary whip, the cut and bite of its blows across her bare buttocks and back, as real as her pleasure under the lash of Lacey’s tongue, somehow even the same as her pleasure. Other pictures, other memories: Lacey pleading for help, Lacey all but bleeding from the snap and crack of a whip made of air and of imagination.

And when Cassie held it all in mind, just as she thought she would never forget anything about that night and day under the thrall of Wynn’s control, it all wavered and began to fade, like a painting seen through a rain-washed window, parts of it blurring, parts of it misting out. “No!” she ordered the part of her that was Karm, and as Karm she begged, “Yes, please! Please let me forget!”

Cassie couldn’t forget. Karm had to forget.

They were two, they were one, she was crazy.

Mercilessly, Cassie stripped away the fantasy, the implanted suggestions, Wynn’s orders and commands, and she burned at the obscene memory of what had happened that night, of how Wynn had stolen Lacey’s will from her, had warped her into a plaything and—

what about Tek?

Guilt welled in Cassie. Yes, she had made Tek into her toy and her plaything, but, but it wasn’t the same

wasn’t it?

not the same at all. She, she had made Tek better, made him more mature, more considerate as a lover

as a slave

and he was far more to her than just a fucktoy

his cock

used for her own pleasure

his fingers, his tongue

she had done it for his own good, not like Wynn’s selfish abuse of Shock and Karm

Wynn’s pussy hot and wet under her tongue, so good, so good she came from the memory of the taste

not like that at all.

She had to thrust all that away, ignore it. Pleasure, pain, distracted her. She had to remember, had to save it all in her mind, could not let the memory

joy

of being Wynn’s slave steal from her what she had to know. You are free of Wynn, she told herself firmly. Cassie is your Mistress, Slave Karm. Wynn is nothing

everything

to you!

For a moment so real that she could not call it memory or dream, Cassie was Karm and Karm was on her knees, feeling the thrust of Wynn’s strap-on dildo deep within her as in turn Cassie tongued Lacey/Shock to orgasm, Lacey writhing under the expert caress of her kisses and licks, cooing, “Yes, yes! Oh, God! Help me, Cassie! No—yes! Yes, lick me! No, help me!”

Help me, she had begged! Hold on to that! Cassie ordered her other self.

Yes, Mistress Cassie, the humble Karm promised.

When at last Cassie allowed herself to become whole, when Cassie enfolded Karm and held her in her mind like a lover, like a child, she became aware that she was lying naked and sweating on the floor of her room. The window framed dark night, blackness like that at the heart of the universe. Out there somewhere, lost there somewhere, was Lacey.

Cassie rolled to her belly, rose to her knees, and dragged herself into bed. Lacey. She had to remember Lacey. God, spring break was coming soon. What would Lacey’s parents think when their little college girl didn’t come home, didn’t call? Or would Wynn make Shock assume Lacey’s voice, give the DeMores a chirpy little call:

Hi dad, hi mom, I’m spending the break with a friend, you’d like her, oh, sure, next time I come home I’ll show you her picture, I’m thinking of moving in with her it would be great to have a roommate . . .?

Where had Wynn gone? How had she come into money all of a . . . sudden . . .

The damned game, of course. All Wynn had to do was find someone older and richer who was a game geek, who was a devotee of “Zabzik.” Bank clerk maybe, somebody who could get his (her?) hands on cash. Enslave the victim, and then collect the money and tell the dupe to forget. Simple.

Wynn was dangerous.

Good God! Thousands of people played “Zabzik” online! Wynn could have them all as her slaves if she—

No, wait, she couldn’t have done that, not yet. Surely that would have been noticed. Thousands of people played the game, but millions more didn’t. No, Wynn would have to go slowly and carefully, and besides—

Wynn was distracted. She was having fun with Lacey.

Cassie was sure of that. Wynn was methodical, meticulous, and thorough. She would take her time, testing every step, making her way patiently to whatever goal she had in mind. Wynn didn’t play the game. She had not created a character.

She was the game master

game Mistress

who called the shots. She was the one who had to be in total control, totally sure of herself and of her ability. She wouldn’t be ready to take the last step, not yet, not while she had Lacey to dress up like a slut doll, not while she could order Lacey to suck her tits, lick her clit, take her dildo in mouth and ass and pussy. Not quite yet. No, unloved Wynn, too queer to get a man, too ugly to get a woman, would be on sensuous vacation, glorying in the dyke she had made, enjoying Shock’s passion and submission. She wouldn’t quite be ready for the next step.

Cassie closed her eyes. Somehow she knew Wynn, almost as well as she knew herself. In a way she could observe the landscape of Wynn’s life, a bleak and barren world without warmth and without love. But now, with Lacey at her beck and call, with plenty of sex, oh yes, plenty of that.

Wynn asked, What are you, Slave Shock? And Lacey whimpered, Mistress, I am a dirty whore bitch cunt skank slut.

Cassie balled her hands into fists. She told herself, I have to find Lacey.

She asked herself, But how much of Lacey will there be left?

9 “Here, Mistress.”

It was Saturday, and in Tek’s immaculate apartment he had just printed out pages of programming language, pages which he had been unable to read, thanks to Mistress Cassandra’s suggestions.

Cassie took the sheaf of papers from him and laid them aside. “You have done well, Slave Tek,” she said. “You deserve a reward. Take off your clothes.”

She had stripped already. She burned with lust for him, partly because of the lingering effects of Wynn’s suggestions, but more because of her own. Sex could be two edged, painful as well as pleasurable. Sex could be weapon and reward. If she could be clear in her attraction to Tek, she would be less drawn toward Wynn. If she could fuck him until she could fuck no more, then reading the lines of text wouldn’t trigger some response to Wynn that would make her weaken and forget.

She fondled and caressed her own breasts as she watched him strip, promising him and teasing him. Tek shed his clothes and stood naked before her. She knelt in front of him and began to stroke his cock, soft and warm. “I want you hard,” she whispered to him, and his erection began to pulse and throb in her hands. “I want you long and hard and eager. Do you like it when I take you into my mouth, Slave Tek?”

“Oh, yes, Mistress,” he said in a voice chocked by desire.

“You will not come until I tell you to come,” Cassie said. “But you will love what I am going to do to you.”

He groaned as she bent forward, her auburn hair swinging, and engulfed his cock head with her mouth. She sucked, softly at first, then with a growing eagerness. She felt his cock engorge itself to its utmost inside her mouth. Her tongue caressed its smooth dome, her cheeks sucked precum from its slit, a copious ooze, slippery and salty. Her right hand caressed Tek’s balls, heavy with his semen. Her left hand fondled and kneaded his buttocks, controlling his involuntary thrusts, keeping them slow and long, feeling his cock flatten her tongue and quest for her throat. Heat built at her own center, and she felt her pussy flowing with juices. She shifted so that she could raise her right heel. The curve of her heel fit the cup of her pussy, and she rocked, teasing herself, building sensation in her clit until she shuddered with the first of what she knew would be multiple releases.

She pushed Tek back onto his bed and straddled him. With a sigh she impaled herself on his cock. “Harder, Slave Tek,” she teased. “Thicker. I want a big cock.”

And his body strained to oblige. She felt him swell inside her, her cunt lips locking around the hard rod, as hot and hungry as her mouth had been when she began the blowjob. At her command, Tek reached up to fondle her tits, to squeeze and tug at her nipples. He could not help whimpering as she rocked and rode his cock, but she took one, two, three orgasms without telling him he could come, and he had to wait. She rolled over and lay with her legs locked around his waist, urging him with hands and legs and words to fuck her harder, deeper, faster. He gasped in his exertions, plunging and bucking. His balls slapped against her ass, his rod sheathed itself deep in her slippery, clutching cunt, drew almost out, plunged in again. Finally, she gasped, “I’m coming! Come now, Slave Tek!”

Deep within her pussy his cock bucked and throbbed, and she felt the hot jet and gush of his cum. The blinding orgasm took her, and she cried out in release. As it began to fade, she squeezed his shaft, expertly milking the last of his cum from him, feeling his exhausted dick begin to soften. She spread her legs and he withdrew, his heart hammering so hard that she could feel it thudding against her breasts.

I could order him to get hard again and he would have to do it.

She could fuck him until he had a heart attack. She could love him to death.

“Sleep now, Slave Tek,” she said as he rolled away from her.

He did not even respond verbally. He was already unconscious.

Cassie stood and felt his hot cum drip from her cunt lips. She absently cupped her hand, caught a little puddle of it, and licked it up.

God, I’ve gotten so I love the taste of cum. I’m such a dirty slut.

Leave me alone, Slave Karm, Cassie ordered mentally, licking her lips, tasting the tang of her lover.

With sticky fingers she picked up the print-out, settled naked in the chair in front of Tek’s computer, and began to read, occasionally, casually, stroking her slit, licking her fingers clean. Now and then she skipped a section, feeling the tug of Mistress Wynn’s will reaching up from the paper to draw her in. At last she picked up a pencil and began to edit the print-out. It would work, she thought, if she did not show Tek the changes he was making in the order they appeared in the program. He could do a search-and-replace, randomly changing the mind-control program in ways she would instruct him.

He could do it. He was almost as good at computers and programming as Wynn.

She might be able to make him even better than Wynn.

Mistress Cassandra could tell Slave Tek to surpass himself, to become better than he was capable of being, better even than Wynn on her best day, and he would have to do it.

But Wynn had no mistress to urge her along. She was the mistress. What was she doing to Shock?

Cassie closed her eyes and remembered how Lacey had looked that night outside Secret Rose: the black leather corset had compressed her waist and had thrust her breasts upward, so that the cleavage between them was deep, so that the aureoles just showed, pink and tempting. The black leather skirt had barely covered her ass and pussy, and the open-weave diamond stockings had emphasized the length and contours of her legs.

Slave Shock could eat pussy so well it drove you crazy.

Not Shock, but Lacey, Cassandra told herself. She wasn’t a thing, she wasn’t a pet

my pet, I’d take care of her and let her watch Tek and me fuck

she wasn’t a—a thing.

There had to be a way to free her

own her

from Mistress—no, from Wynn. From plain Wynn.

Cassandra sighed and forced her attention back to the print-out.

What she was going to try was, admittedly, crazy.

But she was crazy, split into two minds, one dominant, one subservient.

If Cassandra didn’t do this, Wynn would do it, eventually.

And Wynn was evil.

Cassandra was

Lacey, my love, Lacey my pet, lick my clit while I fuck Slave Tek

good, she had Lacey’s best interests

fuck her ass, Slave Tek, and let me lick her hot pussy

at heart.

Didn’t she?

Didn’t she?