The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Face to Face”

Darcy had been imagining this moment in her head for a long time. She wasn’t exactly sure how long—the knowledge of what was happening to her had seeped into her brain gradually, pieced together from months of noticing odd decisions and incongruous actions and strange, bewildering gaps in her memory. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d brushed off a few hours of missing time here and there, snapping out of a fugue she didn’t remember entering with a slick mess between her thighs that some hidden part of herself whispered insistently to ignore.

Even the purchases—a sex toy here, a slutty outfit there, an upgraded cell phone with a vastly superior camera compared to her old model—they didn’t trigger alarm bells by themselves. Darcy was an up-and-coming young executive, and she managed her money wisely for the most part; if she decided to splurge every once in a while on one of those fancy remote-controlled vibrators that connected to the Internet, who cared if she didn’t have anyone in mind to use it from the other end? It was fun and flirty and she liked to daydream about the possibilities, that was all. Until Darcy noticed that she daydreamed a lot. And very, very vividly.

That might have been when she began to fully put it all together. When she realized that it wasn’t just her imagination, and the toy between her legs really was buzzing harder every time she pictured a faceless stranger stroking the surface of their tablet to bring Darcy to new heights of helpless ecstasy, she began to think—loosely and without any real result those first few times, but think nonetheless—about the way vibrators like that worked. For someone to be controlling it, she would have had to give them permission to link to the toy through the Bluetooth connection on her phone. And Darcy didn’t remember doing that.

Until she did. Slowly, sluggishly, pushing against some subtle resistance in her mind that insisted it wasn’t worth thinking about, Darcy began to uncover memories of absently picking up her phone while her mind and her other hand were preoccupied with pleasant distractions, and tapping on settings in the vibrator’s free app with a vacant, thoughtless smile on her round pink cheeks. And when she thought about that smile, that carefree expression of vacant bliss she wore when she handed control over her pleasure to a complete and total stranger, Darcy found it to be ominously familiar. She recognized it from other times. Times she realized she’d glossed over in her mind as easily as she had the moment when she let someone she didn’t even know fuck her soaking cunt.

Darcy told herself at first not to worry about it—it was just a fantasy, after all, and she’d been fantasizing about being under the control of a seductive stranger for as far back as she could remember. But gradually, she began to recognize the artificiality of the voice in the back of her head; it wasn’t a figure of speech, something in her mind was literally telling her to ignore her growing misgivings and go back to thoughtless masturbation. And once Darcy knew it for what it was, she could push against it and gradually connect the memories of that blank, blissful smile back to other times she’d experienced the same kind of dreamy vacancy in her own head.

She realized that ordering the toy in the first place had been a decision she’d arrived at without any real consideration on her part, an impulse that popped into her head one afternoon while she stared vacantly at her phone and floated in a bubble of empty bliss. She finally began to think about her long Sunday drives in the countryside, and her inability to recollect exactly where she’d gone and what she’d done when she got there. And Darcy slowly remembered that when it came to her fantasies of being controlled by a stranger, ‘as far back as she could remember’ wasn’t very far at all.

That was when she began to daydream about this day instead. When it finally hit Darcy that her thoughts and desires weren’t her own, but instead the artificial construction of some stranger’s hypnotic skills, she imagined what it would be like to meet him at last and find out what kind of man would... and could... defeat her will so completely for so long. She had no real doubt that it was hypnosis behind her strange compulsions and otherwise inexplicable behavior—the details of her subjugation remained frustratingly difficult to recall, hidden at the headwaters of the insistent current that pushed back Darcy’s every effort to think about her own conditioning. But she retained a vague notion of a sparkling sapphire pendant, held just over her eyeline until her eyelids fluttered from the exertion of staring at it. And unlike so many of her memories of the last few years, she felt certain that this one was real.

Darcy began to plan. At first her schemes were little more than a new kind of fantasy, marked by elisions in logic that led to her confronting the sinister hypnotist in his lair and winding up down on her knees in a reaffirmation of his power over her. But she recognized those daydreams as merely another manifestation of her programming, pushing back on them with determination and structured concentration on the practicalities of achieving her goals. She focused on the things she knew she could achieve, feeling more and more certain every time she resisted the urge to masturbate to the notion of their final meeting that she was getting stronger. She wouldn’t fall victim to him. Not again.

She put tracking software on her own phone, certain that at some point her hypnotic controller would push his luck and try to compel her into another visit. She added keystroke logging on her computer, and even looked into asking her wireless provider to restore her deleted text messages; they couldn’t get back what she’d so blissfully erased, but that didn’t deter her. Neither did weekend after frustrating weekend of snapping out of a fog of hazy, obedient rapture only to find that she’d once again turned off the services she’d installed. She only pushed harder. All Darcy needed was to hold out just a little bit more against the programming in her brain. Once she could do that, once she could find him, then she could confront him on her terms.

And finally it happened. Darcy came back to herself one Saturday morning, a well-used feeling between her slippery thighs, and discovered that her phone had been to a small town some forty miles away while she was off in her dreamy daze and thinking about nothing. She recognized the place—she’d gone antiquing there a few times, back when she first got her promotion and bought her condo downtown and wanted to find some nice furniture to give it character. Right around the time she began to believe she’d always fantasized about being someone’s blank, obedient plaything. Right around the time when the gaps in her memories began. Darcy smiled a grim smile as she realized her real dreams were about to come true.

And now she was here, sitting in her car across the street from a modest little red brick bungalow with its shades drawn despite the enclosing gloom of dusk. It wasn’t Darcy’s first visit—she’d spent several weekends getting badly lost despite her GPS, as her unconscious mind subtly but insistently steered her away from her destination until she had to pull over and shove three fingers into her cunt to clear the fog of lust out of her brain. But she’d made it this time, and she could see a few little gleams of light peeking out from the windows that told her that her quarry was at home despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise. She had him. She was going to confront him face to face at last. Darcy forced herself to think about exactly what she wanted to say, scripting the conversation in her head to prevent her deep self from steering it in an unfortunate direction. And finally, determination in her eyes, she got out of the car and walked up to the front door.

She tried the doorknob first, determined not to give him any warning of her presence if she could possibly avoid it. It was locked, but Darcy looked under the cheerful little welcome mat and found a spare key. Thanking her lucky stars for the relaxed attitude small towns had toward personal security, Darcy unlocked the door and let herself inside.

She slipped off her shoes, fighting the impulse to continue undressing until she was completely naked, and tiptoed through the foyer with her senses on high alert. Whoever this man was, he’d taken her will once before, and Darcy couldn’t discount the possibility that he might do it again if she couldn’t catch him off-guard. She didn’t think he would try anything if she surprised him—despite her fantasies of a tall, muscular man with smoldering eyes and a husky baritone, she suspected she was probably going to find a skinny little weasel of a man with a patchy beard and big eyebrows. And she was determined to batter him with the full force of her personality and make him see that what he was doing was—

“Hello, dearie.” Darcy’s jaw dropped as she rounded the corner into the living room and found a plump Caucasian woman in her late forties with graying hair and a wide, cheerful smile waiting for her. “I thought I heard someone at the door. Please, do make yourself at home. I mean, you’ve been here before, of course. But you probably don’t remember your previous visits, do you?”

Darcy didn’t take her up on the offer. She didn’t even move. She stood there, staring in goggle-eyed confusion at the complete and total confoundment of all her memories and fantasies and assumptions, dressed in a flannel housecoat and smiling at Darcy’s evident bewilderment. “I... you... but you were, I was....” She blinked heavily, unable to reconcile the woman in front of her with any of her vague and inchoate recollections of her hypnotic subjugation. She couldn’t think of any other way to put it—she was expecting a man. She’d spent so long dealing with demanding, commanding, presumptuous men who thought she was meek and submissive and available that it never even occurred to her to picture anyone else.

“Oh dear.” The woman looked anything but dismayed; if anything, the gleam in her hazel eyes had an anticipatory excitement to it. “You really didn’t remember, did you, dearie? Allow me to jog your memory.” She reached into her housecoat and pulled out a necklace with a sapphire pendant dangling from its chain. Darcy’s whole world lurched into dizziness at the sight of it, and she forced herself to look down at the stranger’s feet with what felt like a real physical effort.

“You came to my store a few years back looking for an accent piece for your new sofa,” the woman continued, her voice bland and calm and insidiously tranquil. “And I thought to myself, ‘Well, Henrietta, if that isn’t the prettiest young thing who’s come through your door in a month of Sundays, then you just need to get your vision checked, don’t you?’” She chuckled. “I’ve got a pair of reading glasses, mind, but I don’t need them to look at you. You’re very easy on the eyes, little missy. And I’ve got the pictures to prove it.”

That should have infuriated Darcy, but she was far too numb with shock to consider her own feelings. No matter how hard she tried, she still couldn’t connect the plump and cheerful older woman in front of her with the fantasy figure in her daydreams and his big swinging dick. How could her subconscious have fooled her so easily? How could it have tricked her into believing she was the obedient slave of exactly the kind of muscular, massive alpha male she didn’t even really like in real life? Was that some artifact of her resistance? Did she construct exactly the kind of figure she hated in order to gin herself up to fight Henrietta’s hypnotic control? She didn’t know. She couldn’t think. Just keeping her eyes away from the pendant took almost more willpower than she possessed at the moment.

“And so I offered to show you some of my end tables,” Henrietta went on, her hungry smile giving the lie to her placid tones, “and wouldn’t you know it, the light just happened to catch my very pretty necklace. And of course you asked about it, and I was very happy to show it to you and tell you its special history... and oh, my darling girl. You were such a good listener. I was going to just make an afternoon out of you, but you dropped so deep for me that I knew I had to keep you. I’m sure you understand, don’t you? An accommodating girl like you always understands.”

Darcy shook her head violently, attempting to get rid of the deepening fog that clung to her thoughts. “N-no, no, this... it can’t be. This isn’t right, I... I know you fucked me.” She took a drunken, swaying step forward, trying to find some of the anger she felt when she walked in. “You had a cock, dammit, I know it!” It was a stupid argument and she knew it, but her brain felt muzzy and dumb with the effort of keeping her eyes off the necklace and she didn’t know how to explain herself any better.

Henrietta chuckled. “Oh, was it a cock you came here looking for?” she asked, loosening the sash on her housecoat and letting it fall open to reveal her naked body. She had heavy, pendulous tits and a pooched, curvy belly, but what immediately drew Darcy’s attention was the frankly massive strap-on that sprung up the moment she spread her legs. “I sometimes like wearing it in the evenings,” the older woman admitted modestly, her free hand encircling the base and giving the silicone shaft a playful wiggle. “After all, you never know when a body might stop by for a little socializing.”

Darcy took another step, the effort of lifting her rooted feet almost more than she could manage. “N-no,” she mumbled, all too aware of the slurred and sleepy quality in her voice as she swayed in place like a punch-drunk prizefighter. “No, I... I resisted, I fought you, I....” She tried to think of something else to say, something clever and cutting that would put Henrietta in her place and demonstrate that Darcy wasn’t going to be her mindless sexual plaything anymore. She realized absently that her jaw was hanging open in a perfect cocksucking ‘O’ during the extended pause, a tiny streamer of clear saliva trickling from her lip as she stared at the cock more helplessly than she’d ever watched any of the other woman’s hypnotic pendants. “I fought you,” she muttered petulantly, the last of her defiance sputtering and fizzling in the face of so much promised pleasure.

“You did,” Henrietta agreed, her voice calm and mild as she closed the trap again. “And didn’t it just wear you out?”

Darcy sank to her knees, then, her resistance collapsing as she realized just how many times she’d fought Henrietta’s power and just how much energy it cost her. She fell into weary lethargy, the fog in her mind sweeping in to swallow her whole as she remembered at last all the times she’d confessed to Henrietta exactly how hard she was resisting and smiled in vacant bliss as the older woman encouraged her to struggle, knowing it would wear her out and break her all the deeper when she finally failed. She crawled forward, that same smile spreading across her face now at the notion of sucking the silicone cock between Henrietta’s thighs.

Once her lips were wrapped obscenely around the shaft, even the notion of resistance died within Darcy’s mind. She didn’t have any way of arguing anyway, not with her head bobbing up and down on Henrietta’s cock and swallowing every inch down to the molded silicone balls, and Henrietta kept talking smoothly and evenly to her while she melted herself deeper into obedience. “That’s my good girl,” the older woman purred, her hands tangling into Darcy’s long blonde hair. “That’s my sweet little slut. It feels so much better when you fight and fail, doesn’t it?”

Darcy nodded with her whole head, sinking up and down in a metronomic rhythm until her mind emptied out completely and all she could think was Henrietta’s words back to her. She felt her fingers tugging at the buttons of her blouse, pulling off her skirt, presenting her smooth and sultry body for her owner’s enjoyment. Of course it felt better to fail. Every time, the struggle against Henrietta’s will always ended in the same way and always defeated her so deliciously. Every time, she thought she was winning only to discover that what she truly desired was to lose. Every time, she wound up on all fours begging wordlessly to be fucked.

And Henrietta fucked her. She slid the spit-lubed strap-on into Darcy’s cunt and railed her until the younger woman was first moaning, then mewling, then screaming with ecstasy. She pounded Darcy’s slick, messy pussy until the hypnotized slave’s muscles gave out and she collapsed to her belly on the living room floor, and then she fucked her some more. And when Darcy’s mind collapsed completely into pleasure, when words finally deserted her completely and her consciousness crumbled into blank, helpless bliss, Henrietta turned her over and took the opportunity to reinforce, face to face and eye to eye, everything that made Darcy her obedient, perfectly programmed good girl.