The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The world had changed. Mind Control, once a closely-guarded secret of isolated individuals was now the socially-accepted right of a select elite, practised openly and routinely. Along the way, other changes had taken place: sexual relationships among sisters in their late adolescence had become the norm. Small breasts had become vanishingly rare and were considered freakish. Along the way, a social harmony was achieved, the like of which had never before been seen in human history. This harmony was now broken only briefly and only rarely. Until Mercedes De La Croix came along.

At age 19 Mercedes had long been accustomed to mentally reshaping the minds and bodies of parents and siblings, teachers and friends, and random strangers. All these alike were pawns to her, and often sexual playthings. This was routine in this day and age, and Mercedes was considered a youth full of wonderful potential. But she wanted more. She had become determined to violate her world’s remaining taboo, the one that ensured the idyllic harmony in which people now lived: she intended to dominate other Mind Controllers.

As far as Mercedes was concerned, other Controllers were no less fit to be enslaved by her than the common rabble, provided her will to power exceeded theirs, as she had no doubt it did. When she took over the Lady Mayoress and Council of Dommes from her township (Controllers, who in previous times might have had to rule furtively, by manipulation of mere elected officials), I was called in to investigate.

Looking at the files on the township’s ravishing Mistresses, I could understand Mercedes’ urge to possess them. Still, she had to be stopped. I would need my wits about me when I arrived there to confront her, so I selected no more than half a dozen of the train’s comeliest passengers to service me in my private car on the way. Clearly, Mercedes had tremendous power, so my advantage lay in her youth and inexperience.

I disembarked at noon, along with my two favourites from among the guests in my train car, their former destinations and purposes now forgotten. Their new purpose was to carry my bags and continue keeping me company until I chose to release them.

To my surprise, I was greeted outside the station by a gratuitous display like the kind I had enjoyed when I still flaunted my power as a teen. Before me knelt a bevy of stunningly erotic women, nude except for studded collars around their necks. I recognized them immediately from their photos. This was the former Council of Dommes, and at its centre, the Lady Mayoress. The haughty expression from her file picture had been replaced with a look of breathless, helpless arousal. The women crawled forward and took turns kissing my shoes. Clearly a message from Mercedes.

As I said, I had outgrown this sort of lurid public spectacle. I now saw that my target knew of my coming, unless she’d just given the Mayoress and Council a standing order to act as the town’s Submissive Welcoming Committee. Still, I did feel a thrill, knowing that these fawning subservient women had formerly ruled over the town with their mental prowess. No question that Mercedes’ meretricious ambition would have been mine, too, at her age, had I not lived through the bad old days and known better.

“Mistress Mercedes De La Croix sends her most humble servants to request your company, Sir,” the golden-haired Lady Mayoress said to me, her eyes downcast.

I squatted to be closer to her. Gently I slid a finger from her temple down under her chin and lifted her head to look her in the eye.

I grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger and saw her nervously evading my steady gaze.

“Look at me,” I said softly.

Bashfully, blinking often, she lifted her gaze to mine. My forefinger on her chin stroked slowly back and forth. Her pupils locked on mine and dilated to take up half the area of her blue-green irises. Her taut, breathless body quivered. The depth of her psychic conditioning impressed me. Many Mind Controllers couldn’t have achieved comparable results even on a normal person. Mercedes had done this to one of our own, and in less than a month, according to reports.

I said, “Tell Mercedes De La Croix that Pierre Lodestar thanks her for her kind offer. I would be more than happy to dine with her this evening after I have settled into my lodgings.”

“By your leave, Sir,” the enslaved Lady Mayoress whispered, swaying forward on her hands and knees, “the Mistress has prepared lodgings for you. You may follow us, and we will take your baggage.”

I smiled. “I can take care of my own luggage,” I retorted, gesturing to the pair of lovelies behind me who patiently stood with my bags. “And while I thank your Mistress for the offer, I prefer to select my own lodgings, but I do hope to see her tonight.” I stood.

The Lady Mayoress craned her neck to keep looking up at me. Her face showed puzzlement. Presumably she no longer comprehended that anyone could decline a request from the Mistress. I set off, and at a gesture from me, my travelling companions followed with the suitcases. The Council of Dommes and the Lady Mayoress gazed after me like a pack of despondent puppies.

I arrived at the township’s attempt at a luxury hotel, a modest six-story structure within walking distance of the train station. I stared at the desk clerk for a moment in order to probe his mind for information about the hotel’s accommodations and occupants. Then I walked to the elevator with my companions who were now a bit fatigued from the baggage. I had not picked them for their virtues as porters, after all. Fortunately our trip was practically over. The elevator moved slowly so I had the two of them set down the bags and fondle each other on the ride up. We arrived at the penthouse level and entered a short hallway connecting four suites. As I had expected from reading the desk clerk’s thoughts, a cleaning lady pushed a cart down the hall. I gestured at her to open the door to Suite C.

“Excuse me,” a man’s voice called from inside with a trace of irritation. “This room is occupied.” The cleaning lady stood back to let me enter. Inside, as I had expected, a middle-aged businessman and his slightly younger wife sat on one of the suite’s king-sized beds while their college-aged daughter sat on the other. The television blared. I gazed into the man’s eyes as his irritation turned into confusion. My travelling companions entered the room and the man’s expression shifted again to trepidation.

“I reserved this suite for the whole week,” he protested lamely. His face showed that he knew his objection was pointless.

“I’m sure you will have no problem finding other accommodation,” I replied as my women began unpacking my suitcases. The man sat up and straightened his tie. “Meanwhile, your wife and daughter will be well taken care of, I assure you.”

Some Controllers are fond of wearing insignia or robes of office. I always considered such ostentation frivolous. People can tell what I am from my bearing, my voice, the look in my eyes. My authority comes from an innate air of command, not some decoration. This man needed no direct manipulation to know the score. Later he might come to be grateful for the attention I would bestow on his loved ones, but now he merely swallowed his resentment as he slipped on his jacket and shoes and scurried about, collecting his things. The wife and daughter stared at me breathlessly. I returned their looks with nonchalance. In a moment, the man was gone and my baggage was fully unpacked. I had my women sit on the daughter’s bed and massage each other’s feet.

I looked over at Mrs. Businessman. She looked like a former trophy wife, still in fine shape for a woman in her forties. The daughter was in fine shape for a woman of any age. The older woman’s face showed signs of real character, though, and experience. Right now, too, it showed that she knew what was in store for herself and her daughter, and that she still had her generation’s prejudices against such things. The daughter’s face simply displayed nervous excitation. From a glance at her and a cursory probe of her mind, I knew that she had long anticipated a moment like this, having been accustomed to obedience her whole life, but having never had her consciousness truly possessed. For her, this moment would be like losing her virginity all over again. Except that it would be much better. I would make sure of that.

I started with the mother, though. I have long asserted that parents must set an example for their children, and the experience of a mature woman is often a match for a younger woman’s beauty and vigour. She wore a long black dress, with black hose. Her hair was up in a loose bun, now unravelling a bit. I beckoned her forward, watching the daughter only from the corner of my eye.

The woman arose, flushing bright pink (I covertly observed her daughter’s face take on a matching shade). She walked toward me slowly, looking down. When she came within one pace, she began to kneel, but I caught her hand, stopping her. I raised her hand to my lips, just brushing them across her fingers. The little lines on her knuckles smoothed out, and I gave her fingers a little squeeze, then let go as I willed her to warm toward me a bit.

“Pierre Lodestar,” I said by way of introduction. “Enchanté.”

“Ah—Angelica Lang,” she replied, barely above a whisper.

“Angelica,” I repeated, now stroking her cheek. “How very apt.” Her eyes now looked into mine, anxiety giving way to longing. I walked her to the full-length mirror on the closet door beside daughter’s bed. Barely glancing in their direction, I observed that my travelling companions were now happily taking turns licking and sucking each other’s newly-massaged feet. The college girl stared raptly at her mother and me, fascinated and, even with no direct stimulus from me, jealous. I stood Mom in front of the mirror, my arms around her waist from behind. I felt the daughter’s gaze burning in the back of my head. With my left hand I stroked Angelica’s face again.

“Such an angelic face,” I whispered in her ear. With each stroke of my hand, crow’s feet smoothed out, the lines on her forehead softened and faded, gray wisps of hair regained a golden hue. I took care not to erase her overall air of character and intelligent poise, however. On her own, though, she began to grin like a horny teenage girl. Smiling so broadly would bring some of those wrinkles back, eventually—not that I cared. Tenderly, I kissed her cheek. She closed her eyes and moaned softly. On the bed behind me, the women’s ministrations to each other’s feet and calves became more fervent and heated. Little Miss Lang shifted and fidgeted.

“Such an angelic face,” I repeated, and kissed the base of her neck as I grasped the zipper on the back of her dress and tugged it slowly down, “but such a sinful, tempting body.” Angelica pressed herself back against me. I slipped the sleeves of her dress over her newly-supple arms, baring her heaving breasts. They sagged a bit, without the support of the dress’ built-in cups. I reached up to support them with my hands, and with a few caresses, their little white stretch marks melted away and they became as firm as the breasts of a woman 20 years younger. Her nipples protruded impudently beneath my fingers. Her ass, itself growing firmer and bouncier, ground into my crotch.

“Angelica,” I said, just loud enough for those behind us to hear, “I think it’s time you demonstrate for your daughter how to suck cock.” I swung her around so that we faced the bed, then pulled her dress down past her waist. She stepped out of it, now wearing only black hose and a pair of silk panties. As Angelica knelt at my feet I now looked straight at the hot and bothered young woman on the bed. She glared at me. I smiled. Near her on the bed, my travelling companions stripped off each other’s clothes. Angelica undid my belt and fly.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I asked the girl, keeping my voice and my glance as steady as I could while Angelica expertly wetted the length of my shaft with her tongue.

“Clara,” the college girl responded testily, pouting and crossing her arms below pert tits. While less sizable than her mom’s, Clara’s breasts heaved the same way, and had equally erect nipples, as I could tell despite the sweater she wore.

“Clara, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Angelica slid her lips around my glans.

Clara drew a sharp breath and exhaled audibly. She looked down at her mom and back up at me. She was seeing her mother as a sexual being in a way that she never had before. This was not mortifying like hearing Mom and Dad’s fucking muffled by the bedroom walls. No, seeing her suddenly hot mother give head to a handsome stranger was something else altogether. Clara’s nostrils flared as she stood. The two women remaining on the bed rolled around playfully in the space just freed.

The girl paced forward with the deliberation of a cat stalking prey. Her eyes smoldered. She took a couple of quicker strides and puffed out her chest confrontationally, hands on her hips.

“How can you do this to my mother?”

Clara Lang’s voice was carefully restrained, but with an undisguisable passion. Not the passion now displayed by the pair on the bed, but a suppressed passion, still nascent.

I stroked Angelica’s hair as she moved her head up and down my shaft.

“Why not? You see how much she’s enjoying herself,” I replied. Angelica moaned in enthusiastic agreement.

“Only because you made her feel this good about it,” Clara replied, a little quaver in her throat. I gave her mind just the gentlest little nudge.

“But see how good she looks now?” I responded. “Doesn’t your mom look hot doing this?”

“But you can’t do this to her.” Her voice now had a pleading tone. She no longer glared at me, but stared raptly at her mother, who shifted her knees on the carpet.

“You still haven’t told me why not,” I replied. By now I had become a little light-headed as Angelica’s speed and suction had increased. Fortunately I didn’t need much concentration to give Clara another little psychic nudge.

“Because,” she said, choked up, “I want you to do it to me.” Moisture showed in the corners of her eyes as she blurted out this admission.

I just smiled at her.

“Look at me!” She gestured at herself emphatically. “I’m younger. I’m hotter. Damn it, I’m not married. Why are you fooling around with her?”

An immature young person has little appreciation for the gratification that only comes after waiting patiently. I understood this.

“Don’t worry, Clara, you’ll get your turn,” I replied in my most soothing tone. At my mental urging, the nude women arose from the bed to start stroking Clara’s sides. She looked anxious at first, but quickly warmed to their touch. They peeled off her sweater, revealing a finely toned torso beneath.

Clara compliantly removed her bra herself. As the women bent to suckle her stiff nipples, she now looked grateful. The two of them fumbled with her belt and fly and she began to grin. Soon, she was completely nude, luxuriating in the caresses of two pairs of hands, two pairs of breasts, four pairs of lips.

After a moment, I instructed her, “Clara, get down here beside your mother.” She stifled a squeal of delight as she dropped to her knees.

“Watch your sexy mother’s technique,” I told her. “She’s very good, and I hope that you take after her.” Clara stared again at her mom, not in stupefaction this time, but in unrestrained arousal and an admirable eagerness to learn and to obey. She licked her lips. Her breath was hot against my stomach and thigh.

One of Clara’s hands ran up my leg, unbidden, to fondle my ass. Her other hand stroked Angelica’s back. She had responded to suggestion beautifully.

“Put your mouth on my balls,” I told the girl, who obeyed immediately.

I motioned to the two women from the train. One pulled down Angelica’s hose and panties and began to caress the older woman’s wet crotch. The other knelt down right behind Clara and began fondling the girl’s breasts.

Clara, I had determined, was the sort of normal who lusts after Mind Control and Controllers out of envy. The desire to be like us leads to a lust to be controlled as a way of vicariously partaking in our power. Hence, she had been jealous of her mom for getting controlled by me and fellating me, but she had also been jealous of me for my control over her mother. At the moment I allowed her to switch places with her mom, sucking my cock while Angelica suckled my scrotum, the jealousy was forgotten, though not the lust. I rewarded her with a long ejaculation, and I had her give mommy a big wet kiss as thanks for the instruction and as an act of reconciliation.

Much later, after I’d made good use of all four women and we lay in a tangle of naked bodies on the bed, Clara snuggled up to me and whispered in my ear, “So, why’d you pick my mom first?” Still a little insecure, though I had amply demonstrated my attraction to her.

“I wanted to save you for later,” I replied.

The girl was not satisfied.

“It’s because she has bigger tits, isn’t it?”

I just chuckled. Clara had amply demonstrated her own newfound attraction to those breasts earlier. Her own tits, not much smaller than Angelica’s, were nothing to be ashamed of.

“If I had bigger boobs than her, you’d like to fuck me more, wouldn’t you?” she asked, taking on a more seductive tone. Reaching down to fondle my crotch, she said, in a voice just above a whisper, “Make my tits bigger than hers—huge... I’ll suck your cock.” Her eyes lit up with a renewed passion.

“You’ll do that regardless,” I pointed out.

She blushed and affectionately squeezed the subject we’d just been discussing as it rehardened.

“But wouldn’t I look hotter doing it with huge tits?” she entreated.

I just smiled, pondering the question. Angelica’s head nuzzled my side as she slept. Clara crawled between my legs, still stroking me with one hand. She bowed her head to my belly and mashed both of her breasts against my penis.

“Wouldn’t you like this better with a pair of big, soft pillows? So big I could suck my own nipples without stretching?”

This particular enthusiasm of Clara’s was none of my doing, but I was intrigued. I lay back, smiling but impassive, and just watched her efforts of persuasion. She moved her mouth to my glans and licked happily. Meanwhile I peeked a little closer at the lovely girl’s dirty thoughts. Her insecurity about her breasts and her resentment toward her mother made a potent combination, particularly now that I had added some new eroticism to the mix.

“You’re really jealous of her big tits, aren’t you?” I asked, gesturing with my head toward Angelica’s blissfully oblivious form. Clara, knowing better than to remove her mouth from me to answer, instead moaned her agreement passionately and worked her mouth up and down with increasing vigor. I saw the image in her mind of herself with a massively increased bust and I discovered that it was actually rather pleasant.

“Well, you know I can’t just make breast flesh appear out of nowhere,” I teased. Clara pleaded with her eyes as she sucked. “It sounds to me like there are unresolved issues between you and your mom. Maybe the best thing to do would be to discuss them with her.”

Clara looked confused, but she knew to obey. Keeping her hand and mouth on my cock, she nudged her mother with her free hand. Angelica awoke, looking momentarily dazed. Then she saw her daughter giving me head and immediately sprang to full wakefulness. She placed one hand on Clara’s hand around my shaft, and groped the girl’s breast with the other. Her tongue flicked around Clara’s ear. The girl moaned anew. This edifying spectacle finally brought me to the edge of climax just as Clara withdrew her mouth in deference to her parent.

Fortunately, the more experienced woman’s lips and tongue made short work of my well-primed hard-on and I soon squirted in her mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” I warned her. “Clara needs extra nutrition now so she can grow.”

Compliantly, Angelica turned and let Clara drink greedily from her mouth.

“Now, you two obviously love each other very much,” I began. They moaned their assent as they groped each other and made out with my cum sloppily dripping from their mouths. Clara’s dazed expression showed that lust had momentarily overwhelmed her hard feelings.

“Still, I think Clara has a few things she wants to get off her chest.” I nodded to Clara, at the same time mentally prompting her to unleash her bluntest sentiments.

“Well, Mom,” Clara started, hesitantly, “I think you got everything you ever had just by being, well, a gold digger—with big tits. The house and the jewelry and all your fancy clothes and the car and stuff, Dad paid for all that.” Now she had hit her stride. Angelica just stared meekly, her hands still caressing the girl lightly.

“All you ever did to get anywhere was have these huge titties and let somebody fuck you!” The girl, now getting redfaced, squeezed said ‘huge titties’ for emphasis. Angelica gasped.

“And now,” Clara paused for breath and put her hands on my chest. “Now that a real man comes along.” Another deep breath. “Now he likes you better, too, because of your damn tits, and mine never grew as big and it’s just not fair.” Clara stifled a sob.

For her part, Angelica had suffered the abuse graciously. Now she even cradled the distraught girl to her bosom, source of contention though it had been, and stroked her hair.

“Well, Clara,” I said, gently, “what do you want to do about this situation?”

The girl took a few deep breaths and replied in a quivering voice, “Like I said, I want you to give me big boobs—bigger than hers. And... and... because Mom never achieved anything except by fucking, that should be all she’s good for. She should be just a slut who wants to get fucked, so she doesn’t have any potential that’s going to waste. Just a fucktoy for your pleasure.” After a pause, she added, in a much smaller voice, “and mine.”

Angelica’s face and even her thoughts displayed more perplexity than the alarm or anger you might naively expect. She cast her eyes down meekly. Much as I had initially been taken with her signs of character and experience, I now began to think that perhaps the fresh ideas of youth had some real potency, something I had to bear in mind for my mission.

In the back of Angelica’s mind, and through none of my own doing, a little voice whispered to her that everything Clara had just said was true. It was a voice she’d known long before Clara came out and said it bluntly. She hated and she loved that voice. This made my task rather simple: I just made that little voice a bit bigger, and made her love it more and hate it less. As I did so, I watched her hold Clara to her breast with a little less tenderness and more raw passion, and I knew her pussy was lubricating anew. Clara, having some vague sense of this as well, began to lick one of the large tits she envied so much. Angelica moaned.

I smiled at this heartwarming tableau and decided that the time had almost come for me to depart for my meeting with young Ms. De La Croix. Soon after fucking them both, I showered and shaved, then dressed and set out on my way. I left the women with instructions to remain there until my return.

“Order anything you like from room service. Never mind the expense,” I added. “Clara, you will need to eat a little extra.” With that, I took my leave.

Now, lest the reader imagine that this entire scene has been described solely to titillate or to boast, allow me to explain its relevance to my mission. In fact these entertainments, enjoyable though they were, served as preparation for my impending confrontation. The accumulation of a small stock of minds under my control served as a defence against Mercedes’ powers, as my grasp on their minds formed a sort of psychic buffer. Further, I had to go into my encounter sexually sated, as I knew that other people’s lust for her was one of Mercedes’ most potent weapons.

I persuaded the passing driver of a luxury car to pull over and pick me up, then to make a detour to Mercedes’ residence. The driver knew the location, of course. Everyone in the town did. I debarked at the porch of the mansion once owned by the Lady Mayoress and in which, I gathered, she now lived as a mere servant. The door was answered by a petite but buxom girl in a tiny maid’s uniform. She smiled at me vacantly and led me inside through the sumptuously appointed foyer into a similarly lavish sitting room, panelled in dark lustrous wood and glittering with crystal. Even more lavish than the room’s furniture and decor was the array of nude and collared beauties it contained. I saw most of the former Council of Dommes there, and others whom I did not recognize. A gentle probing of their minds indicated that, like the Councilwomen, these others were themselves Mind Controllers who had fallen into Mercedes’ orbit. One of the women, ebony-skinned and regal, with jutting breasts, stood at a small wet bar.

“Would you like a drink before the meal, sir?” she asked with a hint of an accent.

“Your finest single malt and just a splash of water,” I replied.

There exists a popular superstition among the masses that the effects of Mind Control are enhanced by the target’s consumption of some sort of drugs which may be concealed within food or drink Any reader harbouring this notion might consider me exceedingly ill-advised to sip the drink and partake of the hors d’ouevres laid out there. Yet I did precisely that.

In fact, to date, no one has discovered any means whereby a subject’s use of psychoactive chemicals can aid in control of the subject. A subject who is drunk, for example, is harder to read, and any mental influence exerted during the subject’s intoxication will fade with his sobriety. The only real advantage to Control over a drunk subject is that, once one has established it, it is easier to re-establish Control over that subject when he becomes drunk again.

That said, any intoxication on the part of the Controller also leads to inhibition of Mind Control abilities, so in that sense I did put myself at risk. In the same sense, I suppose I risked the food and drink being laced with arsenic or cyanide or blowfish poison. However, I was dealing with Mercedes De La Croix, not Lucretia Borgia, and nothing in her background indicated that she’d use such a crude tactic—at least not as an opening gambit. I knew she would rather try to take me over than to kill or incapacitate me.

I sat patiently on the sofa, and soon I was joined by one of the lovelies on either side, and the Lady Mayoress kneeling at my feet. The women beside me raised appetizers to my mouth so that I would not have to reach across the blonde nuzzling my knees.

“Mistress De La Croix will be joining you shortly,” the woman on my right whispered in my ear while holding prosciutto-wrapped melon to my mouth. The name of her Mistress positively dripped from her lips, causing a shudder in her two fellow slaves who were close enough to hear it. I smiled serenely and waited, noting gentle little feelers at the edge of my consciousness, but not responding to them as yet.

I pondered whether the assembled women retained any of their own talents or instincts of Control. From what I could observe, Mercedes had rendered them little more capable of autonomous action than a pile of ragdolls. I conjectured that Mercedes regarded her own power as so overwhelming—or their powers so feeble—that the assistance or advice of her subordinates was unnecessary at best. Still, it never pays to disregard potential threats too glibly, and I resolved to keep an eye on them. Nor was this resolution challenging in the slightest, for surely if there’s anything a man can keep an eye on, it is a group of gorgeous collared nudes.

I ate and drank in silence for the next few minutes. The women throughout the room caressed each other and smiled lasciviously at me. The Lady Mayoress caressed my thighs with her hands and cheeks and hair. Here was a woman of renowned power and ambition. Although she’d only headed this small township, rumour had it she was already being considered for an appointment as governor someday. Now she showed none of her famous hauteur. Collared, crouching at my feet, affectionately nuzzling my crotch, she was as adorably obsequious as any Mind Controlled subject I’d seen before. With my free hand I stroked her head. She purred against the growing bulge in my pants.

I had finished my drink and eaten quite a few appetizers by the time the maid called out, “Dinner is served.” The Mayoress planted a teasing kiss where my the head of my cock strained against the fabric that held it. Then she bounced up with a mischievous grin and ran halfway across the room on tiptoe before dropping to all fours to crawl into the dining room. I stood, taking care to shift my erection into a comfortable position, then followed the Mayoress, accompanied by a naked girl on each arm.

The long table had place settings at its head and foot. At the head of the table stood a girl with dark hair and eyes. She wore a red silk evening gown and long matching gloves. The effect was well-calculated: surrounded as she was by nudes, covering her own body this way gave her an air of mystery and uniqueness. Nor did the dress entirely conceal her body’s ample charms. The plunging neckline displayed ample cleavage, and the slits along the sides revealed the black lacy tops of her stockings. The maid pulled out the chair at the other place setting, and the Lady Mayoress crawled beneath the table, then turned around to face outward. I took the proffered armchair and scooted up to the table. The pair of lovelies who’d escorted me in stood back and embraced each other. The maid poured me a glass of wine while the Mayoress undid my belt and fly.

The girl across the table settled into her seat, then raised her glass and called out, “Welcome, Pierre Lodestar. I’m delighted to make your acquaintance at last.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” I replied, raising my glass in turn. The mayoress slid her lips around my cockhead. Her tongued probed my urethra. Mercedes’ psyche was a tangible presence—not actively challenging my mental defences, but impossible to ignore.

I savoured the wine and fellatio as the maid served the first course. While I remained alert for danger, how could I not enjoy myself? The Lady Mayoress seemed to be enjoying herself, too.

I had scarcely taken more than two bites of the braised lamb when the scarlet-clad hostess threw down the gauntlet.

“So, you have come here to stop me,” she said.

“In a manner of speaking, yes,” I replied calmly.

“And do you really think that you are powerful enough to do it, when even that pretty little blonde thing sucking your cock right now could not?”

“Well, in short, yes,” I said. “She’s doing a fine job, by the way. My thanks,” I felt the Lady Mayoress moan appreciatively at the compliment.

“However,” I went on, “I would prefer not to think of us in purely contentious terms. Let’s say, rather, that I expect to persuade you of the error of your ways.”

“Such confidence,” my dinner companion replied with a wicked smile. “You do have some power, I can tell. Maybe even more than she did. That is sexy.”

Suddenly she swept her place setting off the table. Fine china and crystal shattered on the floor and she climbed atop the table. The Lady Mayoress redoubled her efforts, and the light feelers probing my mind turned into a steady pressure, though not yet a full assault.

Sweeping aside the floral centrepiece between us, the voluptuous girl crawled forward on gloved hands and stocking-clad knees with the sensuous grace of a stalking panther. “It will be so delicious to watch all that confidence and power melt away under my control,” she purred. Now she had her hands on my end of the table, her face inches above mine, her generous bust right before me, hanging down so that she risked staining the fine silk with the food on my plate. Now psychic emanations came strongly from her, attuned to my very real lust, designed to amplify it and transform it into obedience. It was a substantial attack, though nothing I could not parry. Instead, though, I took the blow, knowing it was not so strong as to overwhelm me. I did feel an urge to submit to her, but I just acknowledged the feeling and proceeded as I had determined to.

“That’s a good boy,” she breathed. “I thought you’d put up a fight, but I see you already know that even the great Pierre Lodestar can’t stand up to Mercedes De La Croix.” With that she wrapped her hands around my neck and gave me a slow, tender kiss. I returned the kiss and reached up to her immaculate coif. I gave a little yank and pulled my tongue out of her mouth and began to laugh. She was nonplussed. That’s when I felt the real psychic assault, but not from her. Fortunately, my defences were already prepared.

“I told you I’d show you the error of your ways,” I said to the pretty girl, louder than before. “To begin with, you are not Mercedes De La Croix.” She looked more startled by that than by me pulling her hair. She looked exactly like the photographs of the rogue Mind Controller. She sincerely believed she was Mercedes, but there are certain subtleties that betray any telepathically-imposed persona, if you have sufficient expertise to spot them. I gave her a mental jab sufficient to partially recall her real self: a minor Mind Controller who’d been among Mercedes’ early conquests.

I pulled my cock out of the Lady Mayoress’ mouth and stood. The girl on the table just stared in confusion. I turned to the busty little maid, not bothering to cover my wet and throbbing member.

“I must admit, this was a cleverer stratagem than I would have given you credit for.” I stepped closer. The real Mercedes had already dropped her dummy persona as the maid when she made her premature fullscale psychic attack on me. She smiled ruefully as I put my hands on her shoulders.

“Now, as rude as it is to play a trick like that on your own dinner guest,” I told her, “I can overlook it. What I have come here to impress upon you though, is that I cannot abide having a Mind Controller in servant’s garb.” To emphasize that point I yanked hard on her little uniform top, exposing her big breasts and pinning her elbows to her sides. She made no effort to resist. Her nipples protruded as if reaching out to me. Though thwarted, she was as turned on as I was.

There were no panties covering her wet pussy under the gauzy wisp of a skirt she wore, so in a moment I was fucking her against the wall. I doubted she was one for being ravished ordinarily, but I knew her calculation: even if her ruse had failed, she assumed, I had already been getting head, so I would inevitably cum first, and she’d have a shot at my mind while my defences were down. I was taking a risk this way, but I felt that she owed me this hospitality after her earlier discourtesy.

Fortunately, though I have my way with my choice of women, I am not an ungenerous lover, and very soon I had her at least as near orgasm as I was. I looked back toward the table. There, the Lady Mayoress and the girl who’d thought she was Mercedes huddled together in confusion and arousal, uncertain now who was Mistress and who was slave, but aroused all the same. I turned back to Mercedes and saw with pleasure how she bit her lip and held her breath. Our psychic powers were locked in an embrace as intense and passionate as that of our bodies, but whereas I was significantly larger physically, and had her pinned besides, she was at least my equal in raw mental prowess. Fortunately, she had expended a great deal of psychic strength in her desperate attack before and now I made sure that she’d be at least as distracted as I was by climax.

Her pussy clenched and gushed as my cock gushed into her. I kept thrusting, not letting her come down from her orgasmic high, until my penis softened and slipped out of her.

“Goodbye,” I told her then, and kissed her. I stepped away and placed my dripping cock back inside my pants. It seemed a shame to do that without getting it licked clean first, but I was in a hurry.

“Don’t go,” Mercedes pleaded, breathless. It could easily have been taken as a sign of defeat, but I knew better.

“I’m sorry. It’s been lovely, and perhaps we can do it again, but I’ve had a very long, full day,” I replied as I walked away. I paused to pet the heads of the false Mercedes and the Lady Mayoress, then strode off without a sideways glance. Outside, the driver who’d taken me there waited in the car with the engine running to take me back to the hotel. Though I had managed to match Mercedes even on her home territory and even in the throes of orgasm, it had taken my deepest reserves of mental power, and I knew that at her age, she would recover her vigour far faster than I. Entreating me to stay, she looked deliciously needy and submissive, but I would have been a fool to let myself believe that was truly the case. Fortunately, I soon arrived at the hotel, where genuinely needy, submissive women awaited me.

As I wearily entered the room, I saw my four enthralled beauties lying together on the bed. The two girls from the train reclined on opposite sides of the delightful mother-daughter pair. Angelica lay near the foot of the bed, wearing only black high heels. A black stocking bound her ankles together and another held her wrists behind her back. She was up on her knees with her reddened ass in the air, with her face down in her daughter’s lap.

And Clara—what a vision of loveliness she now was! I could tell she’d been dutifully making use of room service because the pillows on her chest had begun to rival the ones on which she lay. She practically squealed with delight and gratitude at my return.

“Yay, you’re back!” Clara cried out, sitting up. “We’ve all missed you so much. Look how big my boobs are now!” She glowed with pride as she hefted her improved breasts.

“They really are bigger than Mom’s now,” she continued, awkwardly lifting and turning her bound mother to sit up and face out toward me so that I could see for myself. Indeed, while Angelica’s pair would easily stand out in a crowd, Clara’s now dwarfed them. Angelica’s sticky, insipid grin showed that she did not mind suddenly being in second place, however.

“I tied her up because she was being naughty,” Clara explained. “Whenever I was getting room service, she kept trying to suck off the guy bringing the food. She’s so dumb and horny now! I told her that her mouth is just for your cock now. And her other fuckholes, of course.”

“Of course,” I replied. “That’s a good girl.”

Clara beamed with the praise.

“It was fun being in charge of her,” she said, embracing her mother from behind. Angelica cooed as Clara’s giant tits pressed against her.

“But now that you’re back,” Clara went on, “I’m just a helpless fucktoy slave like her and these two.” Her voice quavered with passion.

After a demanding mission, I was immensely relieved to get such a warm welcome. I had seen from the beginning that Clara had great potential, but even so, I was pleasantly surprised by how adorable she now was.

The other two girls were taking my coat and tie and shoes as Clara crawled off the bed to kneel at my feet.

“So, did you go out and fuck lots of hot little sluts?” she asked as she undid my belt.

“Only one,” I replied, my voice betraying my fatigue. “Plus a blowjob from another, and a kiss from one more.”

“Is that all?” she replied as she undid my fly. “You poor thing. You deserve much more than that. We’ll take good care of you now.”

I relaxed as the ladies removed the rest of my garments and Clara stroked and kissed my flaccid cock.

“It’s all sticky with pussy juice,” she exclaimed. “Did the little slut you fucked not even clean you off after?”

I sighed and replied, “Clearly not.”

“What a naughty girl,” Clara huffed. She licked at the juices of her predecessor and pressed her boobs against my thighs. “She should be punished, shouldn’t she?”

I stroked the girl’s blonde hair and sighed. If only it were that easy. The other two girls, having folded and put away my clothes returned to fondle my sides. I gave each one a kiss and squeezed her ass appreciatively. Angelica just sat, tied up and staring with the same vacant grin.

“You know,” Clara said, pausing from her oral ministrations, “It’s really Mom who should be making up for the other girl, since she has to make up for being naughty herself. Even if your cock is delicious with all that slutty pussy on it.” She turned toward the bed and said, “Angelica, get down here!”

The older woman complied immediately, wriggling forward on her ass since she couldn’t push up with her hands. Clara helped steady her as she dropped to the floor to kneel by the girl. Angelica, now as vapid as her daughter had wished her, had lost none of her expertise in fellatio. With her arms bound, though, she did need Clara’s support to position herself just right. Clara herself could not resist leaning in to assist her mother in getting me hard again. Meanwhile, I continued to kiss and grope the other two girls, and before long my cock was once again erect and slick with the Langs’ saliva.

Clara looked up, shyly, and said, “Can I maybe make a suggestion, please?”

I nodded indulgently.

“Well, you know, I tied Mom up and spanked her for you, but I think what could really teach her a lesson...” She paused, blushing. “Is if you were to give me a nice good fuck and she could only watch.”

I could not help but be moved by the girl’s touching sentiments. I had done a lot to reconcile her with her parent, but I could not deny enjoying the remaining sense of rivalry on Clara’s part.

“Lie back on the bed, sugar,” I told her. She jumped up to spreadeagle on the centre of the bed. I had one girl untie Angelica’s hands and help her to her feet. The other one set about licking Clara’s tits from the left side. Once the first girl had positioned Angelica on Clara’s right side, she went around and joined her companion in breast-licking. Meanwhile, Angelica eagerly lapped at her girl’s right tit. As Clara’s bosom became as slick and wet as my cock, I climbed up and straddled her torso.

Clara gazed rapturously as I placed my shaft between her immense new mounds. She squeezed them together around it, and I began to thrust back and forth.

“You do like me with big new boobies!” she cried. She kissed my cockhead as it neared her mouth on every upthrust. I tweaked her nipples. Soon the girl was moaning and writhing as if every thrust was hitting her g-spot. Greater size was not the only improvement I’d made to those tits.

“Oh, sir!” she cried out, then kissed my glans again, “Oh, God, sir! It’s so good.” Kiss. “Oh, Master!” Kiss. “Oh, God!” She began a series of screams and full-throated moans, her body undulating in an orgasm even more intense than all the ones I had given her or made the women give her before.

Panting and gasping for breath as my thrusts continued apace, she looked in my eyes and breathed, “I love you.”

In response, I slid my cock in her still-open mouth and began to ejaculate, letting her suck it all down herself. Her eyes closed and she shuddered with even more orgasm.

After a restful slumber, I had room service bring us a big brunch, then proceeded to recuperate by spending a lazy afternoon leisurely exploring the myriad configurations of copulation that my four playthings and I could form. At one point I had a hotel maid join us for awhile, and I delighted Clara by letting her order the girl around for me. She beamed with pride like some big-boobed empress. At length, I settled down to a late afternoon nap.

I was in the midst of some dream which I instantly forgot when a loud knock came from the door. I sensed a nonthreatening male presence beyond it and rose to pull on my bathrobe. I pulled the door open, frowning. Before me stood the diffident concierge.

“Didn’t you see the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign?” I asked, pointing down where it hung from the doorknob.

“Please pardon the interruption,” the concierge stammered. His eyes wandered past me toward the bed where the four women lay.

It took him a moment to regain his composure, but he proceeded, “We are terribly sorry, but it seems that payment was cancelled on the check that paid for this suite. Perhaps if sir has another means of payment...?”

“Don’t you know who and what I am?” I replied. “If the man who rented the suite originally failed to pay, you could bother him this way, but I’m here now.”

“Oh, yes sir,” he responded with a gulp. “It must be some oversight. If sir will speak to the desk manager, I’m sure we’ll clear it right up.”

I followed the man to the elevator. As incensed as I felt, I realised this was probably an honest mistake on the part of the hotel staff. The desk clerk last night should have known I was taking possession of the suite and its female occupants, as is my right, but he had evidently failed to properly record the fact. Mr. Lang, by contrast, had obviously acted out of malice, not incompetence. What effrontery, to cancel payment in a fit of pique, even while his wife and daughter were still in the suite having the time of their lives. The elevator doors opened, and I stalked toward the front desk, then froze.

Clustered around me there were half a dozen of the largest and most athletic women I’d seen last night at Mercedes’ mansion. They now wore leotards and athletic shoes along with their slave collars, and I could detect that their Mind Control powers were active, though they remained controlled themselves. The man at the desk and the concierge behind me had gone stock still and slack-jawed. I cursed myself for a fool. I should have demanded that the manager come up to me, rather than the other way around. I should have probed harder for danger. I knew that after last night, Mercedes wanted me more than ever, just as I did her. These women’s combined Mind Control powers, though potent, would be no match for mine. Also, much as I abhor violence I could have defended myself physically against one or two of them.

However, I also detected the presence of a vastly more powerful mind. I couldn’t see her, but Mercedes was not far away. Her slaves surrounded me, and I could not grapple effectively with them and maintain my psychic defences at the same time. I determined that physical capture could be escaped, but mental capture might prove permanent, and so I offered little resistance to their expert arm locks and other holds. Fortunately these, though firmly incapacitating, were at least not painful. Under other circumstances, of course, such close contact with this bevy of shapely women would have been pleasurable. They carried me out to the curb where a stretch limousine awaited. They placed me inside on a bench seat, then climbed in after and shut the door. There was ample room for all of them and me, along with the passenger who’d waited inside the car.

Mercedes De La Croix sat there, now wearing her own visage and clad in nothing but elbow-length black gloves and knee-high black lace-up boots. She held a black riding crop and smiled.

“Pierre, darling,” she purred, “so good to see you again.”

Her two slaves at my sides held my arms against the seat as I glared at Mercedes.

“You know,” she said, “I took to heart what you said about how a Mind Controller shouldn’t dress like a servant. I trust my look today is more to your liking?” I kept my face impassive, but could not keep my cock from nodding in agreement.

She stepped around the wine chiller between her seat and mine to give me a closer look at her, stooping to maneuver beneath the low ceiling. The car began driving away.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she went on, settling her bare ass on my knees, “but these other girls still wear slave collars because they really are slaves now.

“And they really are much happier this way,” she continued, undoing the belt of my robe. “Aren’t you, girls?”

The girls enthusiastically agreed, uttering “Yes, Mistress,” in husky voices or just squealing in delight.

“You’ll be much happier that way, too,” Mercedes concluded, running a gloved finger up and down my bare chest.

Trying to remain implacable, I replied, “I would have thought the use of physical coercion like this was beneath the mighty Mercedes De La Croix. Perhaps your mental prowess has been overrated.”

She laughed, then shifted around to straddle my thighs.

“Well, baby,” she said, “I tried the subtle approach last night, and it just didn’t seem to work.

“I guess I’m just gonna have to be,” she whispered, wrapping her silk-covered hand around my cock, “crude.”

The girls pinning my arms began to tongue my ears and Mercedes pressed her mouth hard on mine while sliding her slippery silk glove up and down my shaft. Others closed in to caress my legs and suck my toes. I could not keep track of the blur of bodies, hands and tongues. Though spacious for a car, the back of the limo was a confined space for an eight-person orgy, but I must admit my captors did a skillful job. All the leotards and running shoes were quickly thrown aside. I was no longer bleary from having my nap interrupted, and was instead full of renewed energy. Unfortunately, I had little outlet for it, restrained as I was, and busy fending off the relentless probing of my psyche.

Mercedes kept her mouth locked to mine, and her silk-gloved hands on my bare skin. The many other mouths and hands and breasts fondling me were anonymous and ever-changing, but they touched me all over, all the time, and soon I was no longer actually pinned, just erotically immobilised by the press of womanflesh. My cock, hard and throbbing and wet from a succession of caressing hands and lips and tits suddenly found itself deep inside a tight, wet cunt. Mercedes was fucking me again, while her slavegirls pleasured my body.

I called upon my reserves of stamina and willpower, but I knew I could not hold out indefinitely. Even making Mercedes cum right along with me would not suffice this time. If I empathically projected my own orgasm, I might even make her and all the slavegirls upon me cum then, but that would result in, at best, a temporary respite. My heart raced and my dick pulsed as an intense climax approached. Mercedes’ will weighed down on my own as my reserves of concentration began to falter.

I came. My cock spurted again and again, up into my captor’s tight little pussy. I saw only white light, and I tingled all over. The car lurched to a halt, sending the girls staggering. With a desperate effort, I wrenched myself free of them, having to shed my robe in the process, and I pulled open the door, then stumbled out and ran.

As a last resort, I had transmitted my orgasm not to the girls upon me, but to the one driving. To my great surprise, it had worked. I ducked across traffic and down an alley, my still-hard dick swinging and dripping as I went. Fortunately, the giant luxury car could not make sharp turns and so I put some distance between it and me even barefoot.

Midway down the alley was a chainlink fence, and I did not hesitate to climb it, though I did take great care in hoisting my naked body over the top. I hoped that even if the driver succeeded in squeezing the limo down the alley, Mercedes would not have her crash straight through the fence. That gave me a few precious moments before the car rounded the block. I still felt the press of Mercedes’ telepathy, though, trying to force me to slow down, to halt, to surrender. I did feel tempted, but not enough to give in.

A scattering of pedestrians wandered the streets at this hour, and I used what little Mind Control power I could spare to make the nearest man set down his groceries in order to remove his shoes and pants and toss them down the alley, for a reason he’d never know. I hurriedly put them on. Though not my size or style they gave me renewed confidence. Just then, the limo drove into sight.

I just vaulted the fence back the way I came, forcing Mercedes and her slaves to repeat their circuit of the block. Traffic was not heavy, but I hoped it was heavy enough to slow my pursuers a little. I had no better option now than to return to my hotel and take refuge in my room. I ran through the alley, back across the street, and down another narrow alley, pausing to scatter some garbage cans behind me in case the limo followed this way. I came out on another street and felt Mercedes’ mental pressure fade a little with distance. I took a breath and tried to get my bearings. Having so nearly succumbed, and still having to maintain my maximum psychic defense, I was as disoriented as a drunkard. Looking around, I saw through the windows of a hotel bar on my left, and had made my way past them to the entrance before I realised that this was not my hotel at all. I pondered taking refuge inside anyway, but then I felt Mercedes drawing nearer and I ran again, past the hotel and a neighboring construction site, to a street that looked half-familiar.

I paused to catch my breath and surveyed the town’s low skyline for signs of the six-story hotel from which I’d been abducted. I could not see it, but I spotted train tracks a few blocks away, and knew that they would lead me back to the station. I had just resolved to make my way toward them when, too late, I heard running footsteps behind me, then a guttural shout, and then I lay facedown on the sidewalk.

I didn’t feel anything for a few seconds, though I was peripherally aware of a man in a business suit running away from me and a discarded board clattering on the sidewalk behind him. Then the back of my head began to throb as if a nail were being rhythmically driven into it. I staggered to my hands and knees, wincing and looking about. I telepathically probed for my assailant, and detected, in the distance, a furious and distraught man, so intoxicated that I’d failed to notice his approach in my distracted state.

With difficulty, I stood, and I saw the limousine pull up beside me. The door opened, and I stepped inside. The women within cushioned and soothed me with their naked bodies. Mercedes tenderly stroked and kissed the bump on my head. It was not bleeding.

I will never know if she could have bested me fairly. It was just her dumb luck that that fool, Mr. Lang, had stumbled across me in a drunken rage. It was the worst kind of luck that he had so strongly resented the minor inconvenience of getting a new hotel room, even though he must have known I’d make sure to improve his wife and sweet daughter while I was there, and was not planning on keeping them. Nevertheless, that’s how it happened that my last guard against Mercedes’ power was forcibly dropped.

Though I knew I was bound to serve Mercedes now, I knew, too, that her efforts were doomed. Where I had succumbed to her will, an assassin’s bullet or a bomb might not. Whatever success she attained before then would encourage others to follow her example. The harmony of our world’s strict hierarchy would be at an end as Mind Controllers vied in rivalry. Worse still, dissension among us would only encourage those normals who, driven by adolescent rebelliousness, wanted to escape the rule by their betters. What Mercedes had not learned yet, but what I knew all too well, is that within every human heart, primitive and childlike, there lies an impulse to liberty, a passion for equality, an unholy instinct for revolt. All the governments, all the churches, all the schools and factories and television networks in the world had failed to defeat this tragic defect in humanity, and now, I realised, even we had failed. I knew this as surely as I knew the murderous pounding in my head. I would do all within my power to assert Mercedes’ supremacy, or at least safeguard her survival, but I held no illusions that the days ahead would be anything but dark.