The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jason dreamed.

He was sitting on the couch, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, with the TV on. It could have been just about any day after work except for two things. First, it felt like he hadn’t left this position in hours, something he rarely afforded himself in reality. Second, he was surrounded by beautiful maids. The black-and-white clad women swarmed over every inch of the carpet from around his seat to the entertainment center, all bowed down scrambling to clean from the carpet every escaped morsel of food and each stain of fallen beverage.

And it felt glorious.

A Hispanic maid approached him from behind. “Monsieur Yason,” she called sweetly.

He turned slightly in his seat to view her. She was very pretty, with her caramel-colored Colombian skin. She looked as if she was 20, with large tits and a pretty smile. Unlike most of the maids, she wore no gloves, with her squared-off inch-long black nails with white tips to be fully exposed. Jason’s cock hardened.

She asked some question or another, the words all falling on Jason’s deaf ears. He didn’t speak a lick of Spanish or French and the girl couldn’t speak English at all. Only the simple, servile look on her face and the acute understanding they both had of their relative positions made it obvious what she was asking.

“I’ll take a beer, Marceline. Then I need you to go to work on my shoulders and back.”

“Oui, Monsieur.”

A second maid, crawling on her hands and knees, approached him and nodded at his stiffening shaft. “Monsieur?”

“Go for it, Solange. I haven’t busted a nut all Goddamn day.”

Solange, a Japanese maid with dyed red hair pinned under her maid cap and jade-colored eyes slid the front of Jason’s sweat pants down, letting his cock spring up. She cooed in delight.

He grinned.

Marceline brought the cold bottle of beer out on a serving tray, which he readily took, popping the top into the crowd of his servants to find and bringing it to his lips.

Solange worked her skilled tongue around the head of his throbbing cock, swirling around and around to get it into its proper position for release.

Marceline put her tray down, began to help him remove the wife-beater he was wearing.

If it wasn’t for them, he didn’t know how he’d make it through a day.

The French-Colombian maid gently scratched at his shoulders with her painted talons. Jason let his eyes roll back in his head.

As beautiful and talented as Marceline, Solange, Fifi and the rest of the maids he’d had access to were, none of them could ever match the one he had truly set his sights on.

But she was unruly, undisciplined. He could hear her on the TV set on his favorite show. Monsieur Le Marche, the man behind the growing population of beautiful French maids would have to train a new one every episode, disciplining her, helping her find her servile tendencies and to accept absolute authority.

Sometimes that meant spanking, sometimes the lash, sometimes things far worse in what Monsieur Le Marche called The House of Humiliation.

Thankfully, Jason had great hope for his particular maid. She’d started taking to her role early on, had led herself down a path of servitude. That didn’t always happen.

And maids who failed to serve their masters became permanent fixtures at Monsieur Le Marche’s House of Humiliation, serving him for the rest of….

Jason didn’t quite know. The maids didn’t seem to age. Monsieur Le Marche had a timeless look to him as well.

Could it be true that they were maids forever?

It was too much to think about. And it was irrelevant. They were just maids anyway. Sexy, devoted maids, sure, but it wasn’t like they were really people.

He guzzled the rest of the bottle down, his naked stomach extending outward into a pudgy six-pack, softly pushing Solange’s head away from the base of his cock. She dove in with relish to continue her fine work.

Marceline ran her long nails down Jason’s back while thick black hairs sprouted from his pores.

On the television set, he watched Cosette- poor, barely-trained Cosette- nuzzle Monsieur Le Marche’s weathered hand like a cat. For all her flaws as a maid with regard to cleaning and Jason’s own ability to control her, it didn’t require much effort from Monsieur Le Marche to get exactly the right reaction, the right amount of dedication from her.

Jason was going to have to step up his attempts to bring her under his control.

Gentle, gloved hands began working at his feet as a third maid began working on him. She was a pretty Irish girl who was allowed to keep her pale complexion and fiery hair even as her accent had, like the others, moved to something more befitting a woman of her profession.

He felt himself glow as he released his seed into Solange’s pretty red mouth.

A warmth spread throughout Jay’s boxers. He’d cum. Courtney was shifting around next to him, restlessly. He felt a tinge of guilt at fantasizing about her role, at asking her to move far outside of her realm of comfort to pretend-play such a demeaning role. That guilt was awash now in a river of desire that the dream had only helped to push along.

His boxers were encrusted with the leftovers stains of multiple wet dreams.

Jay stirred from his restless sleep. Courtney was next to him still struggling to rest. He forced himself up and walked into the bathroom, running cool water over his burning eyes. He felt like shit, his muscles weak and straining with each action he attempted to take.

Some white cream dripped out of his boxers onto the floor.

“Fuck,” he said, poking the toe of his sock into the pearlescent liquid and smearing it around before abandoning it and the bathroom to carry on with what remained of the day.

Jay spent the rest of his evening feeling out of sorts. Nothing seemed to calm his jittery desire to see that dark fantasy become reality but he also struggled with just how easy it seemed to be cold and callous to the maids in his dream, to demand so much of them while holding them in such contempt.

Having Courtney walking around half-dazed wasn’t helping. Every time he looked at her all he could think of was that horrid, erotic dream and her omnipresence teased at him.

The least she could’ve done was bring him a beer so he could even out.

December 27th

Shit, he thought yesterday had been rough.

The dreams last night, though.

More mewling maids, craving his attention, crawling all around him, sucking away at his soul. They filled his dreams. And sometimes he found it necessary to punish them for the sake of his own sanity.

He was the one who had to call on them, to make demands, to show them who was really in charge. He was the one who had every right to be needy, not some black-and-white clad serving girls, no matter how attractive they were.

Lovely Cosette hung at the periphery of these dreams, watching him make messes out of spite, feeling every strike of his hand against the bare backside of her maid-sisters, learning from the examples he was setting how best to serve his particular- and growing- needs.

He rolled out of bed, grumpier, angrier, than he’d felt in a long time. Courtney didn’t want the costume, fine, he’d get rid of the damn thing.

He stomped into the kitchen, picked up the box, and considered tossing it wholesale into the dumpster outside. But why should he? It was just a damn costume and as soon as they could both admit that this was something pretty normal that couples did, they’d be able to decide if this kind of role-play was even for them. Courtney didn’t even want to give it a try and that was pretty unreasonable and selfish on her part.

He tossed the box back under the guest room bed. He’d get her to wear it sometime. Maybe after a cooling off period.

He fixed breakfast for one. Let her fend for herself, she had the day off to do nothing while he worked his ass off again with ungrateful customers.

“Did she try it on?” Tyrone asked, coming in to help with the evening shift.

Jay narrowed his eyes. He’d been bitter all goddamn day. “No. I just don’t understand what the problem is. It’s just a costume.”

Tyrone clapped him on the back. “Take it easy. She’ll come around after awhile and you’re both going to have a hell of a lot of fun with it.”

Jay nodded. This conflict was a foolish thing. Maybe Tyrone was right, that it could be something they’d enjoy together, but maybe not. Maybe it was more important to respect Courtney’s wishes and get rid of the costume as soon as he got home. The confusion ate at him. Did he want to see her in the costume once? Sure. But did he respect her enough as a person, as his partner, to give up his desires? He waffled on that one, but suspected that he should.

He hurriedly counted the afternoon tills, hardly caring if he was completely accurate. He had to make amends with Courtney after how terse and uncompromising he’d been with her.

“Courtney,” he called as he came in the front door. “Are you here?”

He sat down on the couch and began to pull off his shoes.

“Good evening, Sir,” she said from behind him.

Jason swallowed hard at the lump that formed in his throat. He never expected to see her in the costume after their talk, but a part of him had dared to hope.

Courtney came around to the front of the couch where he sat. She was fully dressed from the cute little maid cap atop a bun of blond hair to the pretty blue contacts that covered her real eye color to the black choker that wrapped around her thin throat to the costume itself with its little white apron. Long white gloves ran up to her elbows just as long white stockings covered all but the topmost part of her legs. On her feet were a pair of open-toed heels.

“How may I serve you?”

He blinked twice. She wasn’t only demure in her words, but her whole body seemed to suggest an ease with a servile position.

“Court?”

She held out a gloved hand to help him off of the couch and pulled him gently toward her. “This is what you wanted, no?”

Jason took her hand and lifted himself from his seat. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? The stirring erection in his pants said yes, but he couldn’t be sure. Courtney’s blue-colored contacts could not hide the love and loyalty that he always found in her eyes, but there was something more there now. Or less. A desire that only he could fill.

“I thought I did,” he said, perspiration bursting from his hairline, body trembling. “What’s happening to me, Courtney?” He swallowed again, but the fight was draining out of him. He was going to have sex with her tonight while she was in the costume.

She smiled encouragingly. “It’s okay, sir. Don’t you want to be my master?”

Her voice taunted him, teased him. Fear gave way to intense need. Broken, he leaned forward, kissed her, his hand rubbing vigorously at her stockinged thigh.