The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Do you mind if I brain?

Chapter V. Heartbreak and consolation.

After the orgasmic evening, when I leave Sarah’s apartment we promise to love each other forever. We kiss passionately at the door and she stares at me so lovingly that I’m sure to have her in my power.

— “Tomorrow I’ll be very busy with a photo shoot. I think I won’t be able to phone you in the morning” — I inform her.

— “I hope you will keep your promise to use me as a model for an erotic art shoot” — she smiles licking her lips.

— “Surely I will, baby, but remember: the highest form of beauty can’t be seized in photos, since it dwells here” — I say touching her head and pushing a shiver into her mind.

She shakes form backbone to her legs and gives out a muffled moan.

— “Mmmmm... I’ll call you in the late afternoon, then” — she says — “as soon as I’ll finish working hours”

— “No, I want you to phone me at lunch time” — I reply with a rather commanding tone, to test her reaction.

An instinctive flash of challenge gleams in her eyes, but at once it fades away and she looks down, tamely.

— “As... as you want, Jason.”

I smile to reassure her and I would kiss her forehead, but, albeit barefoot, she is eight inches higher than me; so I opt for an equally patronizing pat on the butt.

— “Jason... I... I don’t want you to treat me like this: it makes me feel like a owned thing” — she feebly protests.

— “I beg to differ, Sarah... I believe you don’t know what you really want. The truth is you’ve always hidden to yourself your sexy and submissive side: you’re afraid of it and overstressed with the fixation to be always in control. Anyway if you give in to your true nature, happiness and fulfilment are just around the corner.”

— “Perhaps... perhaps you’re right” — she says listening to the echoes rising from the depths of her subconscious.

— “You have to overcome fear, insecurity, as well as the illusion of being in control... you have to let go and flow with the feelings in your heart: cease to fight against your true self and the stress will reduce immensely.”

— “When I listen to your voice, everything seems so easy...”

— “I’ll take care of you, baby, don’t worry. Just follow my lead and repeat after me: I can abandon myself to love and worship.”

She smiles and obeys.

— “I can abandon myself to love and worship” — she assert not only with her voice but also with her eyes.

— “Seen? It’s easier than it seems... and it’s stress curative too!”

Another kiss. Then I take the lift and leave the building feeling lightheaded if not euphoric: my eyes keep on seeing her face in every woman I meet along the streets and a pleasurable warmth spreads through my whole body. Moreover, I can’t hide to myself that I’m developing a strong sense of protection for Sarah. How can it be otherwise? How can a man be uncaring to a gorgeous barefoot woman who takes a nap in his lap and looks at him with love and devotion? Mmmmh, perhaps it’s a side effect of my middle age crisis, but it seems that I’m falling in love with her.

The following morning I’m humming all the time an old catchy chorus of the Beatles: “all you need is love, na-na-na-na-na, all you need is love...”

However, Wednesday lunchtime passes away and my iPhone doesn’t ring. I wait all afternoon long, then my delusion grows so harsh that I decide to break the rules and make the first move. I call her. She doesn’t answer. I call her again and again, without getting a reply. It comes to my mind that something bad may have happened to her: perhaps she was wounded during a fire-fight or had a car accident... I shudder with fear at the thought that I may never see her again. At a quarter past eight pm I can’t stand the wait any longer and I give a ring to police headquarters, but the voice of a male officer reassures me saying that Sarah safely completed her work—shift and went home more than an hour ago.

I close the conversation, puzzled and disheartened by the revelation that she’s avoiding me. She’s. Avoiding. Me. How is it possible, I say to myself?!?! I was sure to already have Sarah in my power and, besides, we both were undeniably falling in love! That is an intolerable mistake for a mind controller who knows his business. On the other hand, my failure is somewhat expected since it’s well known that business and love don’t amalgamate like whisky and sugar...

I try to relax myself a bit with a sumptuous dinner at an exclusive French restaurant, kindly offered by the head-chef after I make him believe I’m an editor of the Good Food Guide. But the food isn’t as tasty as it should be, or, more probably, I’m not in the right mood: an unpleasant sense of constriction clasps my stomach and I’m bothered by a vague nausea. To aid digestion, I decide for a little walk but my feet take control of my thoughtful wandering: within an hour, they lead me in front of Sarah’s apartment. I ring the bell, yet I’m not more lucky than with my iPhone: no reply.

In the following days, I slowly metabolize my heartbreak and start to review more rationally the situation. It’s self-evident that I’ve fallen in love with a woman who doesn’t exist: I’m affected by my mental image of Sarah but this idyllic perception is far different from her real self. It may seem a stupid circumstance for a mind controller, who is supposed to be a leader on this things, but I command that you keep in mind that I’m a human too: emotive reaction to loss has taken control over me and I fail to grip the steering wheel, turn around my mind and drive towards the right direction. I’m at the mercy of a roller coaster who goes up and down, high and low, but instead of feeling the adrenaline rush, I remain numb and disconnected from anything.

It takes a whole week before grief loosen its grip on me and I start to see things from the right perspective. Then, at no particular moment long after midnight, all of a sudden my mind blasts off a shock wave of energy to itself and I reboot. I beat my fist on the table and cry to myself, cutting the net which is pulling tight on my spirit.

— “What a bitch! I will never forget it, since I’ve learned it by heartbreak: you’re just a brat princess, Sarah, an uppity bitch who under normal circumstances would never look at me with sympathy or consideration. You don’t deserve my love.”

Talking out loud to myself not only gives me confidence, but is also a real headway in clarifying my thoughts and even lifting my mood.

— “As they say, revenge is a dish best served cold and laughs best who laughs last...” — I add.

In fact, if the barrier I set up in Sarah’s mind to block her orgasm is holding up, it’s very likely that in the end she will be the one to phone in search of me.

— “Yes, all I have to do is wait” — I resolve.

And to celebrate my almost full recovery, I decide to pay a visit to Dorothy.

I leave the car in the off road parking and ring the door bell of her sumptuous house. She lives in a spacious semi-detached villa in a tree-lined quiet residential road near the centre of the town.

— “Yes?”

— “Open, it’s me.”

— “Oh... err...” — she mumbles and startles at the commanding tone of my voice, as a tingle of excitement runs through her body.

— “So? You know I don’t like to say things twice. Open, Dorothy.”

— “I’m... I’m not alone, Jason.”

— “Don’t waste my time, slave” — I say rising my voice — “Open!”

With a mechanical rattle, the wrought-iron gate opens and I enter. Dorothy is a pretty blonde in her mid thirties; she is a well paid actress in tv series and comes from a wealthy family: both in her garden and in her house everything is luxurious. I cross the patio and reach the main door. She comes up to me vaguely worried, wearing a silky jumpsuit full of swirling prints.

— “Jason, please... I have a guest, he’s interested in me and I like him too... he’s the producer of K&N reality show and... ” — she says trying to hold me back.

I give a light pinch to her nose: it’s the trigger I installed in her brain months ago and it activates her mimic muscles to depict a permanent happy smile. As a result her nervous expression is replaced by a frozen mask of joviality. I give her a friendly pat on a cheek and go beyond her without a word. I cross the threshold of the large living room while she trots behind me like a helpless puppy. Sitting on the sofa, there’s a tall and athletic man, dressed in a black and elegant after six tuxedo coat.

— “Make presentations, Dorothy” — I say with rudeness.

— “Please, Jason... I...” — she says almost crying under her ridiculous smile.

— “Is this man bothering you, Dorothy? Do you want me to throw him out of the house?”—says the business man.

— “No... I c-can’t, you can’t” — she stutters almost mentally deranged.

I enter into her head through the secret back—door I built in her mind to have quick and undisturbed access on her higher functions and I pump up the volume of her sexual drive.

— “Ouuuhh” — she moans — “no... Jason, I implore you, not now... n-not in front of...”

— “I think Jack won’t mind at all: it’s essential for him to understand your true nature if he has to become your boyfriend.”

— “Dorothy, what’s... what’s going on?” — asks the man, puzzled — “Why you’re stupidly smiling ear to ear? Who is this man and why he knows my name?”

— “You must be Jack” — I answer for her — “since when I left her a month ago, my last order was that the name of her next lover had to be Jack.”

— “Jason, why are you doing thiiis to me?” — she whines while she lightly fondles her left breast.

— “Because you want this.”

— “No... this... thiiiis is evil.”

I look at her with fiery eyes: how does she dares challenge me?

— “Are you some kind of fucking equal to me, whore?”

— “No, sir, I’m below you” — she answers somewhat confused.

— “Then why the fuck are you happily walking in my presence? Crawl bitch!” — I roar while pushing the pet play button in her subconscious.

— “I’m s-sorry, Ja-ster...” — she says as she immediately drops to her hand and knees.

— “Fetch me a beer, bitch!” — I order.

Jack stands stiffly, his mouth opened, looking at the always-smiling-Dorothy who obediently hurries on all fours to the kitchen. When she comes back fetching a small bottle of beer, obviously with the bottle-neck stuck in her mouth, he storms away slamming the door.

I sit on the expensive white real-leather sofa.

— “Hello slave, welcome back” — I jokingly say and wave her to spit out the bottle in my lap.

She obeys and answers.

— “Hello... maaaaster” — she moans, more and more aroused.

— “Disrobe. I want you barefoot and naked but your frilly French maid babydoll and apron. Proper make up, of course.”

She crawls away upstairs. I admire her sexy swaying on all fours as she climbs the design stairs with crystal steps. I turn on the 70″ curved LED HDTV and wait sipping my beer.

When she comes back I wonder to myself why I decided to get rid of her a month ago: although she’s not an Amazonian queen like Sarah, her curvaceous body is strikingly sexy. All the time smiling, she approaches an all fours licking her fiery red lips with her ample tits almost popping out of the sexy French maid outfit. She’s getting really horny.

— “Here, my pet, stand on your hind legs and worship my cock.”

Dorothy achieves comfortable position on her knees, carefully undoes the zipper with one hand and takes out my cock encircling it with her fingers. In a while she starts to lick the base of my cock and takes it in her mouth working on the shaft with her tongue. As she slides up and down on my cock, I can’t avoid to think that Sarah was far more skilled and stimulating.

— “And now it’s time for some ass-play” — I say, fantasizing that the bare bottom on display is the one of the stubborn policewoman.

I lubricate the tip of the beer with my saliva and then gently shove the neck bottle in her ass. Dorothy remarks her anal violation with louder moans echoing in the living room and improves the pace and pressure as she go on sucking my cock.

— “What a bitch in heat” — I tease her — “look at you, soaking wet, givin’ a blowjob with a bottle fucking your ass!”

Dorothy doesn’t care any more: she has dropped into an animalistic state from the intense pleasure stimulation. She pushes her bottom back and forth wantonly on the bottle neck, adding extra-pressure to the improvised dildo I’m shoving in and out her ass. For a second, she switches from handjob to blowjob to declare her complete debasing.

— “I’m your bitch, master... I’m your hot slut, your fuck toy! Whore me out, use me!” — she screams out of control and promptly goes back to deepthroat my cock. It’s amusing how horniness can improve woman brain functions.

I’m almost ready to cum in her mouth, but again and again the thought of Sarah spoils my sexual arousal. On the contrary, Dorothy is lost in her bliss: her nipples become more prominent, her breathing gets faster and she starts to gasp. Moreover, her eyes tend to become glazed, an obvious signal of her approaching orgasm.

— “Oh pleeeease master, may I cum? May your... diiiiirty worthless fuck whore cum?” — she screams with voice broken by her panting breath.

— “Do you believe you have truly earned it?” — I ask Dorothy, even if, to tell the truth, I’m visualizing Sarah on her knees in front of me. My bitterness against the policewoman is so sharp that I decide to play with my visual memory pathways to evoke a three-dimensional image of Sarah in my mind and to overlay it on Dorothy.

— “My beliefs are irrelevant. I... I only deserve what my master deems me to deserve!”

— “Good pet... and who the fuck told you to stop sucking my cock? I think you deserve a rough spanking, whore!”

During her past taming, I mixed up pain and pleasure feedbacks to Dorothy’s cerebral cortex, so that a tolerable pain would further boost up her sexual arousal. Consequently, a few sharp spanks are enough to shock her brain with an unbearable rush of lust. I give her a rest, shifting to some light strokes, and for a while I trail her ass crack with my fingers. Then, from nowhere my hand lands again on her ass with a sound “smack!”. Her butt wiggles back and forth so much that the bottle-neck almost slips out of her rear hole. Dorothy gasps and moans while other smacks fall down, ranging from light stingy slaps to deep heavy thuds. Every now and then, I pause and stroke her tenderly, making her crazy with pleasure: I enjoy feeling a woman overwhelmed by sexual arousal as much as when I cum myself. Dorothy’s clit is so directly wired to her butt that every new slap is sending electric shocks to her love-bud. Her eyes are rolling back, her face is heavily flushed with perspiration and her cunt is such a messy moisture that she’s wetting in-between her legs. She’s deepthroating my cock without rest as if she doesn’t need to breathe and her mind is so dizzy that I don’t have to switch off her gag reflex.

— “Let this be a lesson, Sarah” — I say fully absorbed in my sexual fantasy — “you naughty, naughty, naughty whore! Cum for your master, now!”

I shout the last “naughty” in synch with my last slap, landing it very close to her ass crack to touch and shake the bottle partially buried in her rear hole. That’s what she needs to be pushed over the edge and climax.

— “Thank yooooouuu massssteeeeuuuhhghhhhiiiiiiiii...”

Dorothy cries out very loudly and every muscle of her body spasms while a series of waves of ever—increasing pleasure climbs to her mind, till eventually the last one is so mind—blowing that she nearly passes out.

I savour my absolute power over the Dorothy-acted hologram of Sarah and enjoy the show of her basking inside her post orgasmic daze. After a while I push her away from my lap and place her kneeling body face down and prone on the sofa seat. During the change of position, the bottle of beer pops out of her asshole. I nibble her ear and Dorothy’s post orgasmic gaze turns into giggles.

— “Thank you... thank you massshterrr... ih, eh... I love you...”

I push my cock inside her wet and eager pussy, taking her from behind.

— “Feel me both inside of your cunt and your mind, slave... feel the pleasure of total submission” — I say as I start to fuck her. I map her neural response to my words and reinforce not only her sexual bliss but also the awareness that I’m the only one who can take her to cloud nine.

— “Yeshhhhhh” — she mutters smiling with body and soul as she closes her eyes.

— “Here, catch the beer and suck on it.”

I pick up the bottle from the floor and throw it on the sofa, near her face. She dreamingly gropes around in search of the beer with her right hand, then bring it into her mouth, keeping her eyes shut.

— “You’re such an obedient slut, Sarah” — I say, getting more aroused by the second.

Dorothy doesn’t react to me calling her for the second time with the name of another woman: she’s so far away in her personal heaven that her brain is capable only of sucking and cumming. The erotic dancing of her tongue on the bottleneck is so sexy that within half minute of hard pumping in and out of her, I climax.

We both lay down on the coach, embraced, entangled in one another. I start to gently stroke and fondle her hair: everything is quiet and there’s absolutely nothing in our minds but the soft breathing of our souls.

When my load begins to drip out of her pussy, Dorothy recovers some clarity of mind and puts into words her concern.

— “Master... Jason, please, don’t leave me again...”

Her affection is so intense that I feel shivers running along my spine.

— “Dorothy...” — I begin to say, but she kisses my lips and my voice catches in a cold knot.

— “I’m yours. I love you Jason... I’m a worthless slave, without my master...”

Her eyes sparkle with upcoming tears and I feel the urge to reassure her.

— “Don’t worry, my pet. I will never abandon you again” — I whisper to her ear with such intensity that it must be clear I’m telling the truth. She smiles and I think to myself that the forces that bind two people in union are powerful, but love’s dissolution is a trauma of equal strength and surely can damage both brain and body. Perhaps, recent events makes me more empathic with Dorothy, but like never before I realize how much stress and pain a person can experience as a result of heartbreak from love lost. And recalling how I threw Dorothy away when I get tired of her I’m overwhelmed by a sensation of nausea...

— “I’m here now, baby, and you will stay with me as long as you want” — I add to drive away my guilt.

— “I... I will stay, even... even if you don’t love me, master...” — she says as if she has the ability to read minds too. Her gaze is soaked in oxytocin and the most primitive parts of her brain steer her actions like puppet masters. Obviously, during Dorothy’s taming, I worked on her hypothalamus, in ancient reptilian brain and on dopamine transmission in ventral tegmental area to motivate and reward her drives for sex and love; nevertheless, as usual, my job was that of a “promoter and coordinator” of what nature had already set up in motion in our brain during hundreds of thousands of years of evolution. As a result, I can soothe my guilt: the problem is human brain and not the possibility that there is something inherently wrong in my task of fine tuning pre-existing natural control strategies.

— “Shhht, hush my little pet: your master loves you” — I say to both her and her mind.

— “Ohhhh... that seems really true...” — she giggles overjoyed, then adds somewhat more thoughtful — “but even if you want me just as your house pet or French maid I... I will be the happiest woman in the world...”

And as soon as she says it, moving in a very sensual, feline manner, she slowly slides from the sofa to the nude floor. She kneels again at my feet, takes off my shoes and starts gently rubbing my soles with her thumb in small circular motions. Then, after some twenty minutes of relaxing foot massage, she looks up at me with a subservient smile and curls up on the floor next to my feet.

An hour later my iPhone beeps twice to signal a new message. I open it and find it’s from Sarah: Tomorrow 9 pm at my apt.

Bingo.

Of course, the following day at 9 o’clock in the evening I’m in front of her apartment. I ring Sarah’s bell and she opens the gate. When I reach the seventh floor I find the door ajar, so I enter the apartment but by the instant I cross the threshold, Sarah’s voice stops me.

— “Don’t move a step further, Jason. I have my gun here and this is a silencer” — she says showing her revolver — “I can kill you and, believe me, I have the right connections to succeed in making you disappear and nobody will ever know it. Now, sit down on the chair on your left, near the door.”

She is in the next room, sitting at a table at the far end of the living room: it’s about ten meters in distance, that is, out of reach of my mental powers.