The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I pulled a sour face as I forced the ugly, shapeless bottoms up my legs. It’s just to answer the door, it’ll be over soon. I repeated to myself, attempting to drown out the vivid scene in my imagination where I opened the door in my bra and panties.

Dead-legged and trembling, I stumbled as hurriedly as I could down the corridor, trying to ignore the cruel sensation of feeling colder when I was more covered up. It was hard to believe that this baggy jumper and jogging pants combo was something I would have felt comfortable leaving the house in just a couple of weeks ago. Now the thought that I would be seen in them for even a minute or two was making me sick.

I wiped the cold sweat from my forehead as I pulled open the door and looked with some apprehension at the delivery man with a stack of packages in his arms waiting for me.

“Took your time, didn’t you?” He dumped the stack on me, and automatically I accepted the load. “Just a minute, I’ll go to the van and get the rest.”

But I didn’t order anything. The words died on my lips before I could say them as I became colder still, my stomach contracting revoltingly. That settled it; if the sickness was trying to prevent me from rejecting them, then I knew exactly who the packages must be from. I placed them in the hallway by my side, and then pinched the bridge of my nose between my finger and thumb, shutting my eyes tight to concentrate.

I felt awful enough undergoing the ordeal of being seen dressed like this, but now I had to pull together the willpower to tell the man to take the delivery back. Fear rushed me, and I became faint even contemplating it. I needed time to fortify my resolve. But I didn’t have time, as the man loudly cleared his throat while dropping the remaining pile by my feet. I opened my eyes to see him holding out a handheld electronic device—“Mark here, please.”

Resigned, I vaguely swiped the blank spot with my finger to leave something that resembled a signature, and then without a word shut the door on the man before he could speak again. As soon as I heard the click, I tore off my clothes and threw them away from me down the hall. I felt somewhat better, but not completely. Looking down at the plain, sensible underwear I was wearing, I felt another stab of revulsion.

Having taken a few seconds to collect myself, I beheld the pile of carboard boxes on the floor. Of course, I should just throw them out. The shivers renewed in me. If I did that they would be lying out for days until collection, and I knew that the thought of them would be preying on my mind the entire time. I could take them to the dump myself, but then there was the prospect of multiple trips back and forth on trembling legs, fighting against the compulsion to turn back. I wanted to avoid that if possible.

The final option was to look for a return address—that would still leave me having to play the waiting game, but somehow it didn’t feel as bad as tossing them in the bin. In fact, curiously, the grey feeling didn’t seem to mind the idea at all.

In three trips I carried the parcels through to the living room so I could sit down while I examined them, piling them beside me as I knelt on the fluffy rug in the centre of the room. I fully intended to avoid opening any of them if at all possible. I picked one up and turned it over in my hands. It felt warm to the touch. No return address to be seen. Placing it down on my other side without opening it caused another lurch of frigid pains, and I swallowed. This was going to be tough.

One by one I repeated my examination on each of the packages, feeling worse with each one I set down still sealed up. By the time I reached the last one, the thing was trembling in my hands, and I dropped it once while trying to rotate it. Still nothing. I could hear my breath rattling as I stared down at it, my vision muted and blurry, knowing that all it would take was to open it and I would feel so much better.

Well, I mean… There might be a return address on the inside, like on a receipt or something. I tore open the top and reached inside.

I felt fabric, and it was as if my hand was submerged in soothing warm waters. I lifted the item of clothing out and my eyes widened. It was a pleated baby-blue skirt, and it looked like it would barely cover anything, reaching well short of mid-thigh on me. Instantly I forgot the cold and the dread; the pulsing was back with a fury, and I was burning up, unable to stop the image playing out of swaying my way down the street in this skirt, pretending I didn’t see the people stopping to stare. I groaned aloud, rubbing my thighs together and feeling the throbs.

N-no, stop that… C’mon… Gotta keep looking for that receipt. I laid the skirt across my lap, moaning at how it felt on my bare skin, and grabbed inside the box again.

This time I pulled out a narrow tube of shiny polyester, and I was a little confused for a moment before I realised it was meant to be a crop top. My eyes fluttered shut and I bit my lip, whimpering as I thought about just how much flesh that would expose. It looked tight enough that my tits would have to be squeezed into it, they would be threatening constantly to burst out over the top. I could almost feel it against my nipples—you definitely weren’t meant to wear a bra with this—and just the ghost of the pulses that would cause made me tremble.

Feverishly, I upturned the box, dropping the remaining items of skimpy neon clothing out beside me. My hand was unconsciously stroking my breast in slow circles, teasing my erect nipple, as I greedily devoured the garments with my eyes. More. I’ll open just a couple more.

Over the next hour I opened every package, taking my time to thoroughly check each one, becoming exponentially more aroused as I studied and stroked so many gloriously erotic clothes. Gradually I became surrounded by clothing—far more clothing than I had owned beforehand, and all of it scandalous.

There were skirts, tiny little tops, dresses, lingerie, and hosiery—more slutty styles than I’d ever imagined existed—as well as shoeboxes containing heels that should have seemed off-putting, even impossible, but now caused stars to dance before me at the thought of how they would push my ass out.

The hunt for the receipt had been long forgotten by the time I was done, and I sat in the centre of a semi-circle of flimsy fabric, gasping as I ran my hands lovingly over it all. My eyes danced over the vivid colours, and then settled on a rich blue that sang out to me even from all the other exciting options—a set of lacy lingerie. Slowly, almost with reverence, I raised the bra to my chest, a soft whine leaving my throat as the delicate strands of lace tickled my skin. Just this—I’m just going to try these on. I’ll never wear the rest. Compromise, it’s a compromise.

Setting the bra down with care, I stood and undressed. I flung the hideous off-white underwear across the room, and as I sneered after them, it occurred to me that was going to take quite an effort to convince myself to put anything like them on my body again. I looked down at my naked body, turning this way and that as I marvelled. Curves in all the right places, it was a blank canvas for erotic fashions. I revelled in my nudity, writhing against my own hand as it ran down my hip, and the eyes of my imaginary audience of one rewarded my sexual display with deeper pleasure.

After a few moments though, I returned to the task at hand. The bra was first. I fastened it over my stomach and then turned it, pulling it up to cup my breasts from below. It pulled my tits up and together, and the deep cleavage was as much a treat to my eyes as the silky fabric was to my skin. Next, I pulled the matching panties up my legs, and they settled snug into place. My eyes rolled back in my head as the touch against my pussy sent pulses up into me.

I strutted into my bedroom to check out the long mirror. Even walking wearing this was a sexual experience, each minute movement I made creating a new chain of reactions. My mouth dropped open with a hoarse groan as I witnessed myself.

The lingerie fit perfectly, as though she had known my sizes just by looking at me. I was incredible—anything I might have been insecure about was wiped from my memory in an instant. How could I complain about anything when those gorgeous tits made my mouth water, when those hips looked so grabbable, when that ass was so luscious?

And yet, the pulses began to fade. I began to feel a little numbness in my fingertips. How could it be? I wasn’t done yet, my reward felt incomplete. My eyes fell on my phone lying on the dresser, and my nerves tingled a little. The little black eye of the camera seemed to glint, to wink at me.

Well… Just a couple, just to commemorate the only time I’ll wear these. I bet once I’m over this I’ll be able to look at them and laugh. I raised the phone above my head and took a selfie, and the resultant burst of heat and colour made me whine.

They’ll be for my eyes only! Nobody else will ever see them.

Once I started, I couldn’t stop. A chain of snaps from above, not needing to force the smoky-eyed please-fuck-me expression onto my face after having spent the last hour being teased to the very edge by the pulses. The camera leered down into the deep crevasse of my cleavage, and I hooked one thumb under my bra strap, pulling it so close to exposure as to drive an audience mad. My nostrils flared as I swiped through the images I’d taken, and I knew I wasn’t finished. M-more, more… Just a few more!

I propped up my phone and set a timer so I could get a few shots of myself reclining on the bed. I lay on my side like an artist’s model, arm stroking my flank so as to emphasise the full breadth of my curves. It still wasn’t enough.

On my knees from the back, looking over my shoulder, raising my ass from the bed to show off it’s firm swell. Not enough. More.

Hand and knees, facing the camera, my tits so close to falling out of the bra that you could see a hint of areole. Each flash was like a deep thrust within me, stimulating all of my erogenous zones, as if the camera were actually fucking me better than I’d ever been fucked before. more more more more

I picked up the phone again and switched to video. Starting from my face, a finger at my wantonly pouting lips, I let the camera roam over my beautifully presented breasts and my stomach, before rotating around to capture my behind. Another video I took from overhead as I lay on my back, pinching my nipple with my free hand over the bra as I eye-fucked the camera, stroking my stomach playfully to the top of my panties and then stopping. The videos were soundtracked by the raw gasps and sighs that I couldn’t stop myself from making. My hands seemed to be guided by the tingling, every shot was taken as if I’d practiced this for hours.

Once whatever manic energy had possessed me dissipated, I began to review my work, absently selecting all my favourites and transferring them to another folder. I was still only half paying attention to what I was doing, having gotten used to following my instincts and the guidance of the pulses as I played for the camera. Before I knew it, my messaging app was open, and her number was selected.

I frowned and shook my head. No, absolutely not. Surely not. And yet the send button was so tempting; drunk on arousal as I was it promised yet more pleasure. The hand that had unknowingly crept under my new panties and had been stroking my clit picked up speed, egging me on. doitdoitdoitdoit

Well, I mean obviously I shouldn’t, but… I mean, compromise and all… I mean, I could make up for it by… Ah, fuck it.

I let out a long groan of total surrender as I attached a photo to the blank message and pressed send. My reward was instantaneous, and my hips thrust up off the bed as the white-hot current ran through me. My thumb was already working to set up another message. Every time I sent a file the voltage ran from my pussy and into and around my entire nervous system, and I couldn’t hold back my voice. I’d never cum so loudly or sounded so desperate as I came. The release that I had been building to ever since I opened the first package was so powerful and so gratifying.

Finally, I’d sent the final attachment, and my hand slowed down gradually to a stop as my hips came back down to rest on my mattress. Respite. My hand, still holding my phone, flopped down onto my chest.

But then it buzzed, alerting me that she’d responded.

‘So gorgeous, so sensual sweetheart! Thank you.

I’d be angry at you for the tease, but I know it won’t be long before I get to claim what’s underneath

Xxx’

Her gratitude was like nectar to me, and I moaned as it began all over again. Breathless, I stroked myself to yet more climaxes.