The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Isabel kicks her shoes off onto her apartment floor after another crappy, pointless date. She drowned out this one’s inane banter about hedge funds with a trio of Cosmos and was disappointed her friend Ella didn’t reach out with the “fake emergency” much earlier than she actually did. Even a little bit tipsy, since she had absolutely no desire to stay for a meal and counteract the alcohol with food, she effortlessly reaches behind her back with one hand and flicks open her bra to relieve the pressure on her chest from the push-up functionality, freeing her 32Bs to return to their more natural state.

She drops her purse onto the kitchen table next to her open laptop and brushes some stray brown hair from her face.

“Why?” She groans out to her empty apartment (and the universe in general).

She types into her web browser: Why am I alone?

The top suggestion is 25 things to do when you feel lonely. As it turns out, she’s done everything but “adopt a pet.” She mentally thinks this might be an option after one more failed venture into the dating world.

“I just want one perfect date,” she mutters and then types “one perfect date” into the search bar. The film Miss Congeniality is a part of the first two options, but third on the page is something called Choose Your Own Adventure: One Perfect Date.

In the mood for distraction, she clicks the link.

“Great,” she says aloud in at a drunken level, when the computer screen flashes and swirls, nearly melting her brown eyes into puddles, but then the site loads.

She types in her name, Isabel Francis, when prompted and is then asked:

Are you over 18?

Yes.

No.

“By a good five years, thank you very much,” she mutters at the computer before selecting “yes.”

From here on out, all of the sections will end with multiple options to continue. Do you understand?

Yes.

No.

“That’s kind of the point of a Choose Your Own Adventure, isn’t it?” she asks the computer, then selects “yes” again when it doesn’t respond.

To which gender do you identify:

Female

Male

“Female,” she says with a hiccup. “At least, last I checked.”

She looks down her blouse, checks out her now-free breasts, and assumes she’s right to select “female” with a smile and a thumbs up.

The computer spinning wheel whirls for a second. In her somewhat intoxicated state, she swears the whole page spins in front of her. Isabel feels momentarily woozy following it with her eyes and is grateful when the first element of the story appears.

“What is it?” you ask your mother.

“Why it’s a royal decree!” Your mother says excitedly.

“A royal decree saying what?” you ask.

“The Prince,” your mother explains, “is asking you out on a date!”

“Me? Why?”

“Isabel, don’t look a gift horse into the mouth, daughter. Go and start to get ready. Your date is tonight!”

Isabel, how do you first prepare?

Brush your hair

Choose the perfect dress

Pick out the perfect shoes

Brush up on your conversational skills

Read a book

Go for a swim

Try on jewelry

Eat something healthy

Nap

Isabel thinks, in a perfect world, any one of these could be a good start, but she’s more than a little annoyed with all the men that have presented themselves to her lately. None of them are of princely quality. She dismisses all of the beauty options—the hair, the dress, the shoes, the jewelry, the healthy eating—immediately after reading them. She needs to do something for her and her alone. That also nixes brushing up on her conversational skills. She’s more than capable of holding her own with the troglodytes from Tinder and Bumble. With all those choices out of the way, that really only leaves going for a swim, taking a nap, or reading a book as her options. She likes the idea choosing to read a book inside of a story. The sheer meta-ness of it all is appealing.

Isabel selects—Read a book.

Isabel pushes some light brown, wavy hair out of her eyes so she can continue reading the story. For bookish Isabel, reading provides her with everything she needs, whenever she needs it. When she needs to learn how to build or fix something? The answer’s always there just waiting for her in a book. When she wants to be transported to some faraway land? A book can do just that. When she feels lonely and wants to get off? She just has to open up some cleverly crafted erotica of her choosing and only close her eyes only when it gets her right up to the edge. And certainly this site of tales will grant her more than a share of amusement as well.

You casually stroll up to your room. You pull a well-worn volume off your shelf and find perch in your window seat, letting the sunshine light the pages within. You’re through only a few pages when there’s a knock at the door. More a pound than a knock, in fact. You peer down through the window to see the unmistakable form of Burke. How can word have spread so quickly, you wonder. Burke has oft been after your affections, but you have no time for that boorish oaf who thinks only with muscles below his neck.

Isabel, what do you do?

Confront him

Stay hidden in your room

Well, Isabel thinks, I know I never get to tell off any “boorish oafs” in real life so I would have to say that doing so in this story would be much more appealing than staying hidden which is more in line with how I live my life.

Isabel selects—Confront him.

A rush goes through Isabel. She loves being daring, making bold choices, and speaking her mind. She happily looks back on telling that “hedge fund bozo” off tonight, striding out of the restaurant even before the waitress had time to bring back their drink order. He only ordered the 21-year old Scotch to impress her and all she felt was—mission not accomplished.— before verbalizing that. The look on his face when his seemingly demure date opened up a full can of whoop ass on his pompous ass will make her proud for weeks.

You rush down the stairs, walking past your mother to approach the large, muscle-bound man in the doorway. “Burke, what do you think you’re doing here?”

“Didn’t you think I’d hear, Isabel, about you accepting a royal decree? For a date?!? Why do you want to make me a laughing stock?”

“I’m not the one making you a laughing stock. When you don’t listen to the words I’ve thrown at you since we were children, you’re the one making you a laughing stock.”

“Oh, Bel, you naive girl, that just proves you haven’t known what’s right for you since you were a child. You need me to take care of you, to protect you from the world. Without me, who knows what will happen to you?”

Isabel, what do you do?

Slap him

Continue to verbally rebuke him

Muscle-bound, oaf types don’t respect words. They only understand actions.

Isabel selects—Slap him.

The “date” tonight was hopeless. He came seeking Lady Isabel’s services, but didn’t know the first thing about obeying. Rule number one is, was, and always shall be—do what Lady Isabel says—exactly what Lady Isabel says—or be punished. The “date” tried to order for the both of them. Clearly a bit of his neanderthal peeking out. Orders never come from the sub, they come from Lady Isabel. When he didn’t shut his mouth immediately on command, she shut it for him with a hard slap that only drew blood because one of his teeth caught his lip. For all of his manly bluster, he sure didn’t know how to take even the first hit. There was no way her sort of arrangement would work out with him. He would need to find someone gentler to maybe ease into the life. A lot of the “powerful” men who bark orders all day want to be commanded, but not all of them can handle it, especially when it gets… physical.

You slap Burke hard across the face.

Your mother gasps behind you in response to the act. For his part, Burke merely recoils.

“I tried to help you, Bel. I tried to be your friend. Whatever happens to you once I’m gone, I have no hand in.”

Burke leaves and you turn around to see your mother’s hands on her hips and a stern look on her face.

“That is no way for a lady to act. That is not the way I raised a daughter. Now, you go to your room, you get ready and be prepared to be on your best behavior tonight on your date with the prince.”

Isabel, do you -

Simply say, “Yes, mother.”

Stick out your tongue in defiance

Isabel sees that this character has some of the same problems I’ve had with her own mother, thinking—She never understood me. She never took the time to understand me. She lives with incredibly outdated thoughts on what constitutes a woman and femininity. You get her story Isabel.

Isabel selects—Stick out your tongue in defiance.

Yes, the shift to an all-latex wardrobe raised some eyes, but Isabel didn’t care. It was what she felt most comfortable in—what most represented her as a person. She was stronger than the edgiest side-eye and not about to be brought down by gossip. In fact, little rebellions, little acts of thumbing her nose at authority, were a surefire turn-on and she would pepper them throughout her day so that when the time came for her to bring herself to orgasm, it guaranteed the experience would be absolute fireworks.

You stick your tongue out at your mother and she mutters, “Why I never…” as she leaves you be. The time has come to stop reading, to stop slapping Burke and disregarding your mother and to start getting ready. In your closet, your clothing options are limited. You can probably highlight one aspect of your body.

Isabel, do you -

Accent your chest

Accent your ass

Accent your feet

Accent your legs

Isabel thinks this was clearly written by a man because the options of “accent your personality.” “accent your capability,” and “accent your intelligence” are sadly missing. Isabel thinks Story Isabel should do something she doesn’t have the capability of doing because of their champagne flute size.

Isabel selects—Accent your chest.

Taking the first money she made as a Dominatrix and investing in a breast enhancement was one of the best business decisions Isabel could’ve made. Not only is business booming, but so is her chest, pushing herd against the ever-so-tight latex to the point of nearly busting out. Nearly. She’s not some “sex worker,” she’s a personality and a service provider, giving discipline to those who need it the most. Constantly pronounced nipples is just sexy advertising.

You choose a billowy shirt that accents your chest in the hopes of drawing the prince’s attentions to this asset and winning his favor.

Ready to leave, you rush downstairs and not a minute too soon because the carriage arrives just as you open the front door. The coachman helps you in and you are on your way to the castle, thoughts of a bright and prosperous life in front of you.

The carriage jerks to a stop in a particularly dark part of the forest.

“Never you mind, none, dear. Just a fallen tree in the road. Nothin’ I can’t clear.” The coachman hollers inside to you.

You hear him step down.

Then, silence.

Then, his scream.

Curious and alone, you drop down from the carriage to investigate and find yourself besieged by wolves who were the coachman’s undoing.

You cover your eyes and hope for a quick end.

You hear tussling and open your eyes to see a beastly figure bringing his wrath down upon the wolves. Outmatched, they scatter.

This leaves just you and the beast.

Isabel, do you -

Thank him for saving you

Turn and run

Courtesy is a lost societal trait. If the monster attempts to eat me, having beaten down the competition, Isabel hope that the Isabel in the story is as good with a riding crop as she is.

Isabel selects—Thank him for saving you.

Reciprocity is a tenet Isabel lives by. Initially, her dealings with clients were all very clinical—a carefully doled bit of punishment and abuse followed by an exchange of money. However, she started to notice more than a few clients leaving with hard-ons. Hard-ons created by her presence, personality, and physique. She could not abide by this. Every client now leaves fulfilled. She makes sure that she empties their pants as well as their pocketbooks. Business has never been better.

You calm yourself before speaking but, even so, your voice is laced with fear and anxiety. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”

You reach out a hand for a handshake. Ironically, that hand shakes on its own.

The beast comes out of the shadows and reveals that he wears fine and well-appointed raiment, though there are a few new tears from his encounter with the wolves.

He slowly approaches you, so as to not trigger any additional fear, then bows low, speaking in as pleasant a growl as possible. “My lady.”

You curtsey in response.

“I apologize I could not come sooner to your rescue, poor Claude was a good man.”

The beast seems to know the coachman’s name, so you ask, “You knew him?”

“Yes. He was in my employ. I do not look forward to informing his family of his fate, but I will make sure that his widow and children want for nothing.”

Confused by the beast’s familiarity with your situation, you probe further, asking, “Who are you?”

“I had hoped our introduction would be in a friendlier setting, but I believe you received my decree earlier…”

The beast’s eyes look apprehensive, but hopeful.

You do the math.

This beast… is your prince.

“I see the picture is clear to you now. I understand if you feel deceived and wish to return to your home. I would prefer that to not be the case, but I would understand.”

Isabel, do you -

Go on the date regardless

Ask to return to your home

In Isabel’s experience, every man is a beast in some way or another. Better that he wear it on the outside and have good character, then appear pleasant-faced and be a true and awful bastard inside.

Isabel selects—Go on the date regardless.

“How long am I going to have to wait?” The man calls out from Isabel’s bedroom.

“Waiting is delicious torture.” Isabel calls back to him.

She’d shown up for tonight’s date in her tight latex corset, equally figure-hugging pants, and matching high heeled knee boots and his reaction was as expected—instant rapture. She didn’t mind that he was some hedge fund bozo because his eyes gave her compliments matched only by his clear and immediate arousal. This was exactly what she looked for in her recreational fucking—a man well-prepared to worship her fully and completely even as she yields just a bit of control over to him. The purposeful delay she took to read this story before joining him in the bedroom ensures that he’s sexually starving when she finally decides to gift him with her company. That ravenous hunger will make him downright beastly, putting her on the receiving end of some punishment. In her experience, which is considerable, a voracious man licks pussy the best. Her exquisite form deserves the best and she will accept nothing short of just that.

“There is no need for me to return home right now. We haven’t had a chance to even begin our date,” you say.

While the sizable and sharp teeth of the beast’s smile in response should bring about some concern, the warmth and hope in his eyes tell a different story. And you’ve read enough stories to know better than judge a book by its cover.

You’re delightfully surprised by a truly romantic date and wish that it would never end even as the time comes for you to return home. You set plans for the next day, and then then next day after that. Soon, you are engaged and then married. The beast remains a perfect gentleman outside of the most intimate relations.

His wedding gift to you?

A massive library with every book imaginable, forever proving that he knows the key to your heart is through your mind, though the daily ravaging doesn’t hurt either.

Isabel closes her laptop with a smile. She stands, wearing only the high boots from her evening’s ensemble, and struts to the bedroom. Within, her date is naked on the bed, his hands and ankles cuffed to the bedposts.

“You look exquisite,” he says already straining against his bonds to reach out and touch Isabel.

“Good enough to eat, I hope,” she says as she climbs onto the bed and drops her pussy down onto his mouth.

She finds that he’s equally equipped at compliments and cunnilingus, proving that he was a good choice. She grinds against his mouth and tongue until both are covered in her juices. When she comes down from her orgasm, she reaches back to touch his engorged cock. She shudders, then gets off the bed.

“Where are you going?” He pleads.

“Oh,” she says. “Did you think your delicious torture was done?”

She walks to her door, giving him a good view of her ass and her footwear. She speaks over her shoulder. “Delicious torture is a process. You’ll get release. I promise. Just… not… quite… yet…”

She closes the door as he’s mid-groan.

She knows when next she returns, his cock will be absolutely throbbing for her entry to her wet hole, but for now, there are more stories to be read.