The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Betsy

You feel her tongue gliding over your tummy, her hot saliva cooling you as the tongue trails down, down, down. Down to your palace, to your heaven, to your pussy. You arch yourself, all of you opening, you bloom at her touch, unfurling on the bed. Legs spread. Arms sprawl. Head tilts. Moans escape. There is nothing left in you other than what she puts inside. You are empty, and she is everything. You are a desert, and she is a garden. You are parched, and she is wet.

The first slip of her tongue is creation itself. It’s lightning and rain. It’s green upon green, your garden ripe and running with juice down your legs. For years your body has been a barren place, a place of pain and course sand running down your spine. Now your pleasure is a waterfall. You found an oasis with a blue viper, but it led you to Eden. Eve is waiting for you.

Or perhaps she’s Lilith.

She kisses a small trail like rose petals over your thighs. They lead you through the garden, the verdant life pressing in all around you. It’s hot here, and the sweat trails down between your breasts, following the same path of her tongue. All things follow that path. All things lead you home, to the center of yourself. All thoughts come from your dripping cunt, sticky and desperate. It is the point of Genesis, both action and reaction, faith and thought, all of them come from your pussy.

You whimper as she caresses the forbidden fruit. Her long tongue whispers sweet lies in your ear—lies you can only believe in this state, lies you hope to never forget. She is a goddess of half-truths and whole deceits, but what she promises is heaven reborn. The words spiral through you, sliding through crevices, finding the lost places and calling them home, waking them up.

She gives you knowledge of good and evil. Good: ears are erogenous, moaning intensifies pleasure, sheets tangled up in flesh are sheets well used, tongues are for more than talking, fingertips are human lightning, laughter is erotic, sex is play, play is good. Evil: denying yourself, keeping silent with a lover, avoiding your pleasure, martyrdom, giving up what feels good, modesty, prudence, temperance, faithfulness to anything less than dripping divinity.

She plucks the fruit and offers it to you. It’s ripe and soft, ready for you. Your whole life, you’ve been good, you’ve ignored what hangs so freely from the trees around. Now it waits for you to take it, begging you to taste. You imagine the juice running down your chin. Perhaps she’ll clean up after you, licking where you miss. You wonder if you could taste it on her lips, perhaps steal the juice back. Who would win if you fought for it, kissing hungrily to be the one that swallows the final drop?

You lean in and take a taste. It’s sweeter than you imagined.

Betsy stopped leaving the house. She couldn’t control her thoughts anymore. The real world was too much temptation. Every woman she looked at became a porno in her mind. Even her neighbor, Esther, an older woman in her late fifties, became the subject of Betsy’s twisted fantasies. She was fit and attractive, and Betsy couldn’t help but wonder how fit she was. She went running in tight tops, and anyone would notice she had a nice bust. But what about her stomach? Her legs? Her ass? Betsy wanted to know more, and whatever she didn’t know, her filthy mind imagined it for her. In her mind, Esther had a tight stomach and swollen tits. There was the cellulite or varicose veins of age, but she was experienced. She’d been a widow for a few years. She was probably hungry and horny. Betsy could go over there right now and offer her services. What did Esther taste like? What could she do with her tongue and—

No. Betsy stopped. She took her hand out of her panties and stood up. She should get dressed. That’s what she should do. It’s harder to masturbate if you have to get through jeans. Maybe a skirt … Yeah. She could still reach down and play with—

No. Dammit. She should shower. She had to get out of the house. She’d been here for a week. Ben had been sweet. He thought she was sick because she spent all her time in her pajamas and in bed. In reality, when he went to work, she went back to the Blue Viper Files. Madame Sasha hadn’t been on in the past few days, so she had to content herself with pre-recorded files. After a few hours of those, she’d watch porn and draw soft circles against her clit with her fingers. She’d edge endlessly, but she couldn’t cum. Madame Sasha made it clear before she left. Without the presence of her mistress, she was forced to edge, driving herself insane.

It felt like she was back in college during the most stressful weeks of her life. It was like being in love for the first time, taking five different finals, doing five different papers all in the same week while behind on all your work, not eating or sleeping, and dealing with poison ivy all over your skin. Everything bothered her that wasn’t being in trance or touching herself. Her skin sweated and itched, longing for touch, for tongue and more. Everything was too bright and too loud and too boring and too plain.

If she left the house, it made things worse. She couldn’t go to the gym anymore after she started touching herself in the locker room, whimpering loud enough to get caught. She practically groped a hot college girl on the treadmill next to her. The grocery store was full of women shopping to feed their families, and she imagined them going home to empty houses, bored and desperate for someone like Betsy to come along and beg to lick their pussies. Shopping for clothes was the worst. The dressing rooms were a den of sinners and aching sluts, she was sure. The clothing all had models with round hips and cute asses. The underwear department? Unbearable. How could anyone stand it?

She couldn’t even turn on the TV or the computer. Every advertisement was using sex to sell their products. Women in bikinis sell you beer, and frustrated MILFs get hotter and refreshed when they get new dish detergent. She hoped every television scene would devolve into a sex scene. She stared at breasts and cleavage, hoping for a peek at nipples or panties under a skirt.

The only way to stop any of it was trance, porn, and edging. It numbed the pain, but she knew scratching the itch only made it worse. There was no way around it: she was a pervert. At first, it bothered her that all the fantasies were about women, but that concern was long gone. She still felt attracted to Ben, absolutely. But her fascination was with a world of women with smooth and round bodies. She wanted flesh and curves, crevices and slick juices. Ben was wonderful, but she was craving something else, addicted to something new.

The hardest part of the day was whenever Ben was home. He wanted to keep doing their usual: eating dinner and watching a movie. He wanted to go on dates. He brought her flowers and presents, including some hot lingerie. He never tried to push things further because he’d been conditioned over years of marriage that if Betsy didn’t start, things weren’t happening. But now she wanted things to start. She needed things to start. But she couldn’t cum. Madame Sasha wouldn’t let her. Would she let her even fuck her husband, the man she was trying to steal her away from? She doubted it.

She was in her new normal: a state of frustration and relentless horniness, when a knock came at the door one day. She tried to ignore it, but the knocking was insistent, urgent. She sighed, closed out of the porn on her phone, and threw on comfortable pajama bottoms and a loose top. She ran down the stairs to her front door and opened it.

Her neighbor, Esther, was there, in a bathrobe, her hair wet, holding a small, clear plastic bag filled with shampoo and other shower accessories. Betsy should have been surprised, but her eyes went immediately to the part of Esther’s robe between her legs, hoping to see how much clothing she really had on.

“Uh, hello?” she said.

“Hi,” said Esther. She had good skin for an older woman. Not too wrinkled, a good tan, and deep green eyes. Her hair was typically blonde, but it was darker now that it was soaked. She had a kind smile, and her face showed her obvious embarrassment.

“Can I help you?”

“Do you have water?”

Betsy’s eyes darted to down over Esther’s body again, trying to see how large her tits were. Jesus, is this what twelve-year-old boys go through? She had to make a conscious effort to maintain eye contact and not look for any hint of forbidden skin.

What did she ask about? Something about water. Right. “Uh, like, to drink?”

“No,” laughed Esther. She had a kind smile. “My water just got cut off. Was yours?”

“Um, let me check,” she said. “Come on in.” Betsy ran to her kitchen and turned on the faucet. The water came out cold and clear. “I’ve got water,” she said as she came back. Esther was inside, and the door was closed behind her.

They were alone.

“Well, shit,” sighed Esther. “Guess it’s just me.”

Betsy nodded, but she wasn’t really paying attention. Esther’s robe had parted just a bit. The older woman was wearing a bra and panties, but Betsy couldn’t take her eyes off all the bare skin. She wondered what it tasted like.

“Oh, sorry,” said Esther, closing her robe tight. “I was in the middle of the shower when it happened. Talk about embarrassing.”

She laughed and Betsy laughed along with her. “Yeah,” said Betsy. “It’s like the beginning of a bad porno.”

Esther stopped laughing and looked away.

“Not that I’d know,” said Betsy, blushing and trying to recover.

“Right,” said Esther, but she didn’t make eye contact. She looked at her feet shuffling back and forth in front of the doorway, but she didn’t leave. And Betsy noticed that she didn’t leave. Maybe she wasn’t embarrassed. Maybe she was turned on.

“Did you want to … uh …” Betsy mimed washing her hair. “Finish?”

“That’d be great.” Esther sighed with relief. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Great. Where’s the shower?”

Betsy took her upstairs and into her bedroom. She held her breath as Esther walked through, half expecting her neighbor to peel off the robe, kiss her, and pull her into the bed.

But nothing happened.

Esther got situated, and Betsy asked if she needed anything. She didn’t; she brought everything she needed with her. Except for a dry towel. Betsy handed her a fresh towel and stood outside the bathroom door while Esther showered.

And she wished that was all she did.

She wished she had run to the other shower in the house and freshened up, cum, and reappeared beautiful and less wound up.

But Madame Sasha wouldn’t let her cum.

And Madame Sasha wouldn’t let her ignore the fact that a hot MILF was in her bathroom, naked, right now, rubbing herself, rubbing soap over her body, over her breasts, between her legs.

So Betsy fell onto her bed and touched herself. She listened to the sound of the running water and imagined herself being brave enough to go in there, to ask Esther if she wouldn’t mind taking a shower together, and then kissing Esther for all she was worth. Her first woman. It could happen now, just like this, in her bathroom, with her neighbor. She would pull Esther in here, no matter how wet they were, tasting her lips and her body, finding each inch of her and tasting it over and over.

Betsy moaned. Maybe Esther had lots of experience with women. Yes. That’d be perfect. She probably knew all about pleasing women, and she could teach Betsy. She could be her mentor, showing her the ways of a woman’s body. Betsy barely even knew what felt good to herself. She had so much to learn. And so what if she couldn’t cum? She wouldn’t need to cum. She’d just please Esther over and over. She’d become an artist with her tongue. She’d be delicate with her touch and gentle with her kisses. She’d learn everything she needed to so she could please Madame Sasha and make love to her when she was finally released.

She moaned louder, arching her back and thrusting her hips into the air. Any moment she’d go in there and take Esther. She’d grab her by her hair and pull her down, forcing her face into Betsy’s pussy. That’s exactly what she’d do. Esther would shriek at first, but then she’d quickly give in to it, eager to lick Betsy once she saw how wet she was. She’d give it her all, diving into Betsy’s pussy and worshipping it, beginning a long line of daily fuckings between her and her neighbor and -

The water turned off.

She was coming. Oh goddess, she was coming. She’d open the door and see Betsy like this, a horrible sticky mess, and she’d offer to help clean it up, and she’d slink over to the bed, still dripping, and climb onto Betsy’s eager body.

Betsy moaned. She was so close. Maybe she could cum. Madame Sasha’s power couldn’t stop her, could it? That was impossible. Hypnosis was only in her mind. She moaned again. She was close. She could push through. She could find the spot and take it. She could take herself there. Esther was the key. Women were the key. She couldn’t cum without women present, but now Esther was here, feet away while she touched herself. If she came out and caught Betsy, that’s all she’d need. Then she could cum.

She arched her back and moaned louder, sitting up and finally opening her eyes as the pleasure flooded her body. This was it. She was going to—

Esther stood in the doorway looking dumbfounded and disgusted. She didn’t smile or bite her lip. She didn’t slip off her robe and offer to join Betsy. She looked like she was going to be sick, and she said nothing as she darted back into the bathroom, grabbed her stuff, and left the bedroom. She didn’t even shout a thanks as she left the house.

Betsy knew she should feel mortified. She knew that somehow soon the whole neighborhood would hear about this, that Ben would hear about it, that at every meeting and social event for the next century, they’d whisper about this, but she didn’t care. She didn’t want to stop. She just wanted to cum. She was so close. She was so goddamn close.

After an hour of watching porn, trying dildos, trying vibrators, and touching herself, all editing the fantasy of Esther, changing the past so she came out and fucked Betsy endlessly, nothing happened. She couldn’t cum. Madame Sasha’s final command held, and there was no escaping her.

Without any other option left to her, and finally at the end of her sanity, she called Ben.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Come home,” she said.

“Is everything alright?”

“Come home right now, or I swear to God —”

“Alright, alright. I’m coming home. Sorry.”

Betsy took a quick shower. She didn’t care if her hair was wet. She got into her sluttiest lingerie, which wasn’t saying much. It was a nice dark blue babydoll with lace detailing. She knew she would need something more sultry in the future, perhaps a whole wardrobe more sultry if she was going to succeed in seducing women like Esther.

She sat in the bedroom, ready to be sprawled out on the bed and waiting for her husband to take her the moment he walked through the door. She looked outside the window like a child waiting for Christmas, her legs squirming and thighs rubbing together, her hand between her legs idly stroking her pussy at all times. Across the street, a black SUV she’d never seen before was parked. There was a driver and a dark-haired woman inside, but they weren’t getting out or moving. The woman seemed to be watching their house, and for a moment, Betsy was afraid Esther had called the police. But the thought quickly turned to a fantasy as Betsy imagined the woman handcuffing her to the bed and then riding her face with her pussy.

Ben pulled up, and he sprinted out of the car and into the house. Betsy got in position, trying to lounge on the bed as seductively as possible while leaving access to her pussy, stroking it slowly for him.

“Betsy?” he shouted, slamming doors and storming through the house. “Betsy?”

“Up here,” she shouted.

In a moment, the door flung open, and Ben rushed into the room. His eyes were wide, and his chest heaved as he looked around, his gaze slowly settling on his wife.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “What’s the emergency?”

“I need you,” she said, hoping it sounded husky.

“That’s the emergency?”

“Ben, if you don’t fuck me, I’m going to explode. That’s the emergency.”

Ben froze for a minute, looking around. Slowly, a smile crept across his face, he peeled off his clothes as fast as he could, and Betsy spread her legs.

“I’ve been wet for you all day,” she lied. “Please, I need it.”

Ben nodded, slipping off his boxers and climbing over onto the bed. They kissed, but Betsy didn’t have the patience for much more.

“Get it inside me,” she commanded. “Fuck me.”

“Give me a second,” he said between kisses. “Let me get there.”

She grabbed his cock and stroked, trying to get it hard. She broke their kiss and moved down his body, sucking on his nipples and flicking her tongue over them. He moaned and arched his back, but he still didn’t get hard. She roared with frustration and flipped him over, finding new strength in her lust. She slammed him into the bed, but before he could protest, his cock was in her mouth. She reached up while she sucked and flicked his nipples with her fingers. He arched and moaned, but he was still soft inside her.

“I can’t,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Betsy ignored him. She let go of her aggression and tried to soften her touch, going slow and gentle, seducing him into it. She flicked her tongue gently over the soft head of his cock. Her nails trailed gentle tracks over his skin. She moaned and put all her acting abilities into it. She just wanted to cum, dammit. Why, the one time she was close, could he not get hard?

“She said I can’t,” he whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck,” she said, standing up and storming away. She paced in front of the bed, her hands tangled in her hair, trying to think.

“Sorry,” he muttered again.

“Stop saying that.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The word sent a shiver through Betsy. She loved it. No. She needed it. With a surge of confidence and strength, she climbed back on top of him, determined to ride his cock one way or another. Ben did his best to humor her, grinding his hips and moaning while she pressed her clit against his soft dick, but he couldn’t get hard. And she couldn’t cum. No one was going to please the other while under their Mistress’s commands.

“Malen’kiy,” came her voice from the door, and instantly Ben’s cock stiffened inside his wife. Betsy moaned, arching her back, forgetting to care about the stranger in their bedroom. The strange they both worshipped.

Madame Sasha strode in clad in jeans and a tight black sweater like it was any day of the week and not the beginning of their new life together. Ben said nothing as she bent down close to him, coaching him on how to please his wife. Betsy said nothing as Madame Sasha whispered in her ear about their new life together, about how her every fantasy will finally come true.

“Malen’kiy,” she said, standing up and moving to the front of the room. Both Betsy and Ben stopped and focused on her. “Our time has come,” she said. She peeled off her sweater, revealing her naked torso covered in a tapestry of tattoos and commands. Both Betsy and Ben gave their total attention to the most important word: “Love.”

“It’s our wedding day,” she said. She bent down and took out two boxes that looked like they held necklaces. “Are you ready to begin the rest of your life with me?”

“Yes, Mistress,” they said at the same time.

“Very good.” She went to the bed and reached out a hand. Betsy took it, and she pulled her bride-to-be to her feet, off the bed. Betsy moaned slightly as her husband slipped out of her, but any pleasure it gave her was a pale shadow compared to the joy of seeing Madame Sasha, here, in the flesh before her.

Madame Sasha extended her other hand, and Ben took it, rising to his feet. She pulled them away from the bed and had them stand before her, all three of them holding hands, on the first day of the rest of their lives.

She handed one box to Ben and one box to Betsy. She turned to Ben. “Do you, Benjamin, give your wife, Betsy, to be my eternal bride and servant as long as any of us shall live?”

Ben looked back at Betsy. His wife was smiling with tears in her eyes, she nodded, and he sighed with relief, smiling. “I do.”

“Then give her to me.”

Ben opened the box. Inside was a deep purple collar with the word “lyubimaya” embossed on it. Sasha bent her head, and Ben wrapped the collar around her and buckled it tight.

“Tighter,” she whispered, and Ben tightened it further. She looked up and kissed him softly. “Thank you,” she said. The two stood for a moment, forehead to forehead and smiling. They’d never been more in love, never been more at peace, then they did in the presence of their mistress.

“And do you, Betsy, give your husband, Benjamin, to be my eternal groom and servant as long as any of us shall live?”

Betsy wiped a tear from her eye. “I do.”

“Then give him to me.”

They repeated the gesture, Betsy collaring Ben with a collar identical to hers. The two kissed lightly again but quickly turned to Madame Sasha to see what was next. How would their new lives begin?

Madame Sasha pointed to her chest, to the word they worshipped, to “Love” etched on her skin. “You may now kiss the bride,” she commanded, and they moved together, in harmony now that they were both under Madame Sasha, and kissed the word on her breast. She sighed in relief as two pairs of lips, two tongues, caressed her flesh.

Her two pets, her Malen’kiy, moaned as they kissed her. Ben’s cock twitched and quivered as he drank in the taste of his mistress. Betsy’s knees softened. She was closer to orgasm than ever before, finally living one of her twisted fantasies.

“Come,” said Madame Sasha, breaking the kiss. “We must consummate this.” She turned to Sasha. “Undress your bride.”

“Yes, Mistress,” whispered Betsy. Sasha smiled at her and pulled her in for a kiss, then pressed down on her shoulders. Betsy lovingly took off her bride’s heels and then peeled the tight jeans off her body. She hesitated at the panties, paralyzed by the smell of Madame Sasha’s lust.

“You may kiss it,” whispered her bride. “Just once.”

Betsy gave Sasha’s pussy a light kiss and then peeled off the panties. Madame Sasha moved to the bed, laying back on it and spreading her legs. “Come, Benjamin. Make love to your bride.”

Ben laughed with joy as he moved to the bed, as he slid into her easily. As he thrust the first time, he felt a surge of peace. It was all worth it. Years of sacrifice and a sexless marriage were worth it. He didn’t divorce Betsy. He didn’t leave her for Madame Sasha. His marriage was reborn, forged in the love of his mistress, made holy again by her binding power.

He thrust, but Sasha did not cry out. She stared at him, rubbing the “Love” tattoo with one hand, and massaging her clit with the other, rubbing the spot where Sinja’s tongue met her pussy.

“Betsy,” she said. “Help him. I want you to fuck me together. Then we shall be together forever.”

Without a word, Betsy moved behind her husband, pressing into him. She thrust and pushed his cock deeper into their bride. He moaned as she did, and she joined him. She felt the pressure of her body on her clit, but it wasn’t enough. Of course, it would never be enough. She would need to fuck Esther next door and MaryAnne across the street and Milicent at the book club and so many more. She would fuck them all with her mistress, and it still wouldn’t be enough. The fire burned in her, and it would never go out.

But as Ben fucked his new bride, as his wife helped thrust his cock deeper and deeper into Madame Sasha, he felt the promised love of his mistress wash over him. Not just her love, but the love of Betsy. He felt it in her warmth, in her desperation as she forced him deeper and harder, faster and faster, into their mistress. He felt it when she moaned and whimpered as she forced her husband to fuck another woman. But not just any woman, their bride, their wife, their Mistress, their everything.

At that moment, he felt closer to Betsy than he ever had in his life. They were of one mind and one purpose. Everything was for and through Madame Sasha. She had not taken his marriage from him, but given it back, shiny and new. She had healed what was broken and made it stronger where it was wounded. They would never be far from each other ever again. As long as they served their new bride, they would be together.