The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A man waiting for a woman to prepare and dress is never patient, but Simean kept his promise, leaving her entirely to herself for the time it took to shower, dry her hair, clean her teeth, all the usual stuff. Her preparations eventually brought her into the bedroom, within easy earshot of him.

But she couldn’t just carry on without voicing her fears.

“What is going to happen to me?” She stood in the doorway to the lounge, her bath towel tucked around her.

He was sitting on the sofa watching TV, and now twisted around to look at her.

“At last,” he said, predictably, then considered. “In the short term: physical training to tone you up,” his raised hand halted her indignant exclamation. “Yes, I know you keep yourself in shape, but if you thoroughly devoted yourself to it—or if you were made to—you could take your fitness to a whole new level. You’ll also get some skills training, which I’ll leave to your imagination, and a lot of tests to find out how permanent your conditioning is.”

“And in the long term?” Her voice threatened to catch, and she screwed her eyes shut for a moment, determined not to let him see her cry again.

“That depends. Sexual servitude of some sort, I expect. Oh, don’t look like that, Carol. Most women throughout history have been slaves of some sort; wives and baby machines if they were lucky, sex slaves if they were just a bit less lucky. You will be continuing a long and distinguished tradition. Learn to live with it—and who knows, you might even enjoy it!”

“I doubt it.” She turned away in a fury, but he had set her thinking: the way her new wiring had reacted to sex… Perhaps he was right.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” his voice needled her. “Get dressed, and remember it’s February.”

With a frustrated shrug, she let her towel drop to the floor and began sorting through her drawers for suitable clothing. As she worked, pacing backwards and forwards across the room, it struck her how odd it was that she had been unwilling to let him see her angry expression, but was suddenly not at all concerned about her nudity. After all, though, they had just fucked—yes, that was the right word—and you couldn’t get much more personal than that! Or was her extrovert behaviour just more conditioning?

She couldn’t even trust her own feelings. It was a fresh stab into the depths of her violation.

For now, though, she seemed to be free to think and move as she wished. As she applied make-up and picked clothes, she schemed: maybe, just maybe, if she did as he wanted for the next few minutes, she could lull him into trusting her for just long enough to break free of him. If she could get somewhere public, then she could get help—go to a hospital, or the police.

She had chosen a surprisingly short pile of clothes, although she had tried to pick for every possible eventuality. To wear, she selected a tartan skirt, and was pulling a crop-top tee-shirt over her head when Simeon’s voice interrupted her. “Pack a sports bra and running kit, and do you have some sunglasses?”

“Yes. By the front door.” She didn’t bother to turn around. Two sets of sports bra, cropped lycra shorts, socks and running shoes went into her bag, more than doubling its contents.

After a few moments, she caught his presence in the corner of an eye. “Are you happy that this is enough, Carol? I mentioned it’s February,” he said, peering into her bag.

She considered, and added a pair of denim hot-pants. “There. That’s all I can think of.”

“Really?” he smirked, infuriatingly. “What about boots, against the cold?”

She stared at him for a moment in exasperation, then with a flounce she delved into her wardrobe and pulled out knee-length leather heel boots, the highest she owned. “These will be far too constricting,” she grumbled as she sat to swap strappy stilettos, which she threw in the bag, for kinky boots.

His smirk had grown to insulting levels, but she clamped her lips closed, refusing to give him the satisfaction of asking him what exactly he found so amusing. “Pack some toiletries, and we’ll be off,” he grinned, handing over her sunglasses.

So this was it. She swallowed down on a growing lump in her throat, hoping he would mistake her nervousness for fear of the journey rather than anticipation of escape.

He grabbed her half-full bag and zipped it up. “Right. Silence. Follow Me.”

Enslaved again, she trooped after him as he walked out of her flat and started down the stairs, leaving almost all of her possessions—indeed her whole life—behind her. She just had to get away, and soon, but her conditioning made it so easy for Simean to control her, so hard for her to do anything he didn’t want. She would have to be watchful and bide her time.

He led her down the street, past dozens of passers-by. Few even looked her way. Most who did were men, who paid more attention to her thinly-clad body and her painfully erect nipples than to her face. None of her admirers noticed her frantic looks and hand signals, or if they did, they must have assumed she was just crazy. Who could blame them given her appearance?

Simean, utterly calm and self-confident, ignored her completely as he strode along, fast enough that she had almost to run to keep up as they left the street and zigzagged through the local car park. A little running was fine by her, despite the bra-less bouncing—the exertion warmed her up a little.

He stopped, so abruptly that she collided with him.

“This is mine.” He unlocked the big, black Jeep Cherokee with a flick of a key. “Get Into The Car.”

They had even given her a command for that! Without her volition, her body climbed in, shut the door and folded its arms, then once again she was frozen.

Simean climbed in beside her and locked the doors. “I think that went well. I Release You. Put your seatbelt on.

Dutifully, she reached over—and pulled the door handle. The central locking opened with a thud, and she was off, actually running for her life for the first time ever. Despite her heels, she sprinted directly away from the car, across the car park and up a grassy embankment. That way he would have to get around his truck before he could chase her.

As she scrambled to the top of the bank, she risked a look behind her. He hadn’t even followed her! He was standing by his open car door, raising something to his lips. A phone? Was he calling down help? She wasted no more time, leaping over a low fence and accelerating over the road beyond.

Clear above the sounds of traffic came three sharp whistle blasts. It was Simeon: he must be summoning help from close by! She ran all the harder…

Except that she didn’t. Instead, her legs slowed her down, braking her to a halt just as she reached the path on the opposite side of the road. And there she waited, chest heaving from her exertion, her eyes staring down the passageway she had been aiming for: towards freedom.

Three whistles: it was yet another command, one that could freeze her at a distance. And silence her, since she found that she could not say a word in reply to the puzzled stares she received from the passing pedestrians.

“Hello, Carol.” It was Simeon, of course. “Why don’t we take a walk? Follow Me.” He walked her a little way down the passageway, then turned to her, took her by the shoulders and firmly pushed her against the wall, bearing down on her. Strangely, he didn’t seem particularly angry.

“Stand At Ease.” Grimly, he watched her strike the pose. “…And the purpose of that little exercise was to show you that you have no chance. No chance at all to escape. Nevertheless, you did run, and you need to be taught a lesson.”

Like a lover, he pressed his body against hers, his broad chest brushing her nose and lips. A hand slid up inside her crop-top and cupped her breast, massaging her, and the same unnaturally powerful lust began to overcome her once more.

“What shall we do with you?” he asked as his other hand joined in with the groping. “I think it should be sexual. After all, you are a sex slave. How about I make you Play With Yourself right here in this alley-way, in broad daylight?”

Her conditioning needed no more than the three command words, and her hands responded instantly. One pushed his massaging fingers away and pinched a nipple, while the other pulled up her skirt and thong to find her clitoris. He assisted, lifting her top to her shoulders, then continued his massage of her free breast, and he began to kiss her frozen, closed lips. Her blood seemed to fizz as her body responded to the stimulation, but despite the heady mix of pleasure and lust that burned in her, some part of her—the part that would still remember when this was over—jibbered with gut-wrenching fear and horror.

He pulled back, then, and let her continue by herself. Her hips ground against her driving fingers and she snarled. She was almost there...

Back on the street, two teenage boys walked past, laughing and swearing to each other. One of them must have caught a glimpse of her in the corner of his eye, because a moment later they were back, staring at the spectacle of a beautiful, half-naked woman coming to climax in the middle of the town.

“Is she a hooker, mister?” The bolder of the two stepped into the shadow of the enclosed passageway.

Through the fog of her rising climax, she felt a little sorry for the intruders. Simean would inevitably lash out at them—before he drove them away. But instead, he turned to them and laughed. “No. She’s my slave, and she’s here to be punished.”

“She’s your what?” The youth took another step toward them, his eyes goggling at her, followed by his more nervous companion.

Embarrassment and shame tore at her. Occasionally she had suffered from a recurring nightmare in which she found herself walking down a busy street and, looking down, had discovered that she was stark naked. She had known that the dream was merely a sign of inner turmoil, a manifestation of her inner fears. Now she lived that nightmare in reality, and worse. Her hands worked patiently at her body, their every move followed by the eyes of her audience.

“My slave,” Simean repeated. “Would you like to help me punish her?”

The boy stared in disbelief, torn between curiosity and fear, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down in indecision. Then he took another deliberate step forward, his buddy shadowing him.

“What would you like me to do?”

“What would you like to do?” Simean pulled her toward him by her shoulders and turned her to face them, still helplessly frigging herself. “She’ll do anything I tell her. She’s mine to command.”

“Er… They…” The boy’s eyes followed her restless hands as they moved across her body. She. Was. So. Close!

“Have you ever had a blow job? Behind the bike sheds, maybe?”

Whether egged on by the subtle jibe, or by the very open offer, his decision was made. He stepped up to look her in the face. “What do I have to do?” His eyes were exactly level with hers, and a washed-out blue.

“Tell her to suck you off, and she will. Stand At Ease, Carol.” To her relief—and disappointment—her hands dragged themselves away from her body, and she stood, relaxed and helplessly half-naked.

“OK,” the adolescent took in her body again, and she imagined his view of her: high, firm breasts tipped by gleaming metal rings, slim waist tense and sweat-sheened from her exertions, hips flaring to finely turned legs finished off by black leather boots that left her tottering on high, high heels. He very obviously liked what he saw. With a lick of his lips, he said, “Suck Me Off, bitch.”

And down she went, knees slapping against flagstones, hands quickly undoing his fraying belt.

Simean edged past to stand beside the second youth so that they effectively formed a screen between the erotic show and the street. “The ‘Bitch’ was a nice touch, but unnecessary,” he said, conversationally. “Are you sorry you ran away, Carol?” It was another rhetorical question. Of course she was, though she felt no desire to answer him.

The boy was already so hard that she had trouble freeing him from his underwear. His cock was surprisingly thin but surprisingly long. Her hands guided him into her mouth, and she began to work on him, chewing and sucking.

“Jesus!” he groaned.

“Is she good, Wayne?” It was the other boy, stepping around to get a better view.

“Oh, Yeah!”

Now she slowly took his whole length into her, his tip pushing deep down her throat. She was surprised to find that she could resist the urge to choke, even though she could feel his throbbing dick growing longer.

“Oh, Jesus!” he said again and, as Simeon had before, took a bunch of her hair in his hands.

She let him take over then, expertly sucking on him as he drew her head way back, then thrusting into her again, then again, and again…

After only a moment more, he cried out and pulled her head right forward, so that her nose was buried deep in his pubic hair and the tip of his penis felt like it was half way to her stomach. At that, his balls leapt, and she felt his hot fluid spraying down into her gut.

She hadn’t yet been ordered to stop, and her lips and jaw now started working again.

“Fuck me!” Wayne cried out. “She hasn’t had enough!”

“You’ve had your turn. Carol, Stand At Ease.”

His dick fell semi-hard from her mouth. His face, as she stood, was filled with frank admiration.

“What about you?” Simeon addressed the second youth.”

“Yeah, Sure.” Made bold by his mate’s obvious delight, he pushed in front. His face was thin, like a rat’s, and he was a good couple of inches shorter even than she was. “She likes being punished, eh?”

“Yes. And she disobeyed me.”

“Right.” An evil glint entered his eyes. He pushed her, roughly, on one shoulder so that she spun and bounced back against the wall of the corridor, watching with glee as her bare breasts jiggled and bounced. “You’ve been a bad girl!” He slapped her across the face, his eyes intent on her chest. It was the lightest of blows, and he was just a little squirt. On another day, she would have broken him in two, but now she just stood against the wall, arms behind her, legs apart, taking it.

“You’ve been a bad girl!” he said again, and drew his hand back, and hesitated, looking first at Wayne, who just grinned back, then at Simeon.”

“Do what you like, but don’t bruise her.”

With that encouragement, his inhibitions left him. He wrapped a scrawny hand around her throat and swung his arm at her, slapping her sharply across one breast.

She screwed her eyes shut and felt tears streaming down her cheeks. Was this Hell? To be trapped in a body no longer her own, tormented and tortured, with no hope of escape? At least she could shut out his brutal, gleeful expression.

The rain of blows became a downpour, heavier and heavier, landing on breasts, face and stomach, while the little thug murmured under his breath, “…bitch, bitch, bitch…” over and over again.

Finally, his blows petered out, and she opened her eyes to find him just staring back at her chest, panting. After a long moment, he reached forward and took a firm grip of each of her nipple rings. Watching her face closely for a response, he jerked savagely upwards.

The pain was incredible, so intense that she felt she would pass out from it. He watched, then curled his lip, perhaps frustrated that her face showed no pain, and hauled even harder. “Little slut!” Through the sea of agony, she could feel her weight being lifted off her feet.

“That’s enough, Son,” Simean said, and the boy’s eyes darted away from her eyes. For a moment he let off the pressure, but his face hardened again, and he gave one final mighty tug, pulling her forward harshly enough to make her stagger a few steps.

“You fucking bitch,” he whispered, and released her at last, but only to raise his arm to slap her face again. As his hand swung through the air, though, another hand flew out and caught it: Simean, finally bringing the game to a close. The youth’s face clouded with anger at this intrusion on his fun, but after a moment he subsided. “Stupid tart,” he sneered at her.

Simean firmly pulled him away and stepped into her frozen line of sight. “I think we’ve all learned a few lessons today.” He raised a sardonic eyebrow at her and reached forward to lower her top over her tortured, throbbing breasts. “You’ve had your fun, boys. Now get lost. Carol, Follow Me.”

Once more she had a modicum of freedom, though she couldn’t even turn her back on Simeon. The boys were still looking on in fascination, blocking their path back onto the street.

“Go on. The fun’s over. Fuck off.”

Finally, they did as he had ordered, backing away like courtiers leaving the presence of their king and queen.

He wasted no time leading her back to the car, and commanded her into the passenger seat as before, her eyes glued to a spot on the dashboard. The car rocked as he climbed in beside her.

“So now you know you can never escape, and you’ve had a taste of what can happen if you even try to disobey me. Are you going to behave in the future? You May Whisper.”

“Yes.”

“Good. Try anything again and it will be much worse. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” She seemed to be cried out. She felt relatively calm, even relieved, that the ordeal was over for now. As to the future, she would have to take it as it came. Perhaps she really was beginning to accept her new situation.

“Good. Seatbelt On.”

Her body moved again, her eyes finding the clip of the belt behind her and her hand gripping it and pulling it across her. Once finished she returned to her relaxed pose. So there was a command for the seatbelt: a command which Simeon hadn’t bothered with that first time. So he had been playing with her, had deliberately given her an irresistible chance to escape. She should have realised.

He started the engine and pulled away. “We’ve got a long drive ahead of us, Carol, and I don’t think I want you to see where we are going. Go To Sleep.”

Another command, but it didn’t send her to sleep, exactly. Instead, she found herself in a sort of limbo. Her eyes snapped shut, and though she could still hear and feel the movements of the car, even hear his voice as he spoke on his phone, the sensations seemed to slip away, and his words were just a meaningless babble. She was still able to think, though, and to remember, and to wonder what lay in store for her: what horrors, and what delights.

To be continued...