The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I knew it would be a great score. I’d been watching the house for days, and I saw how she dressed. Eccentric as hell, but she was dripping green, as in dollar bills, and lots of ‘em.

Furs, jewelry, and a real flair for showing it off.

I took my time, getting to know her habits. I didn’t get it at first. She was unpredictable as hell. But in the end, I figured it out. Whenever she wore her black satin gloves, she was gone for at least two hours. Plenty of time to do the job and be gone.

There’s a saying about hiding in plain sight. Well, I was really good at it. At only 4′ 8″, I could dress as a young boy, long brunette hair tucked up in a baseball cap, no makeup, and never be noticed. Especially when I was seen that way, walking down the street day after day, for several weeks. Even if they figured out who it was, they’d report a young, male teenager, and not a suspicious looking 22-year-old female burglar with a filthy yap.

It also didn’t hurt that I was no beauty queen. In my line of work, good looks get you caught, unless you know how to use them. Me, I didn’t know about that. It had never been a concern.

Fuck ‘em. People are so busy making sure you don’t see their own sins that they never really look, anyway. Truth is, I could probably do it naked in broad daylight, and never get seen. But I never take the chance that the one-in-a-thousand person who doesn’t give a fuck is looking.

Anyway, I had been seen walking down the street, every day for three weeks, obviously on my way from somewhere to somewhere else, tossing a baseball up in the air as I walked, like it was my security blanket. Dumbfucks never even asked if I was with a new family. They’d just look for a second and go back to doing whatever the fuck assholes do when they’re not playing hide the salami or watching Slimefeld reruns. Is that piece of shit show still on?

So today was the day, and now was the time. I threw the baseball upward and fumbled with it when it came down. I reached over and kicked it up her driveway “by accident.” Larry, Moe and Curly would have been proud as I kept fumbling all the way to the back yard.

It was an old house, a cape cod, and there was a coal chute door on the side. Pulling a slim prybar out from my jacket, I found the seam, popped it open with a rusty groan, and in the time it takes to put a piece of gum in your mouth, I was in.

The basement was dark, and I waited a moment for my eyes to get used to it. I still couldn’t see much... the few windows were dirty and grown over on the outside with hedges. As soon as I could see shadowy shapes, I made my way to the stairs.

I didn’t need to be quiet, but I didn’t want to be obvious, either. I walked up the steps carefully. There’s a kind of respect you get for your craft, you know?

One nice thing she did for me—she left the basement door unlocked, and I stepped out into the kitchen. It was done in that stainless steel, ultra modern style, all sleek and spotless. One thing for sure... she was obsessed with being clean.

I made my way into the connecting hallway and was about to step into what I figured to be the master bedroom when I glanced into the living room.

And froze.

There were three women sitting there. I was caught. I waited for the inevitable gasp or scream as one of them noticed me.

Nothing happened.

I looked again, and saw that they had headphones on, and their eyes were closed. I listened, but couldn’t hear what they were listening to. From the relaxation of their bodies, I figured it was some kind of meditation bullshit. Maybe some kind of cult. Maybe some kind of test marketing thing. I didn’t know and didn’t care. I wasn’t caught, and that was what mattered.

But I gotta tell you, it was fucking weird.

I felt a little crazy that day, so I decided to slip into the bedroom anyway. It was completely different than the rest of the house. It had a smell of incense... and there was all this primitive art on the walls. Lots of nakedness, or it looked like nakedness. It was strange. If I was looking around, it looked like paintings of a bunch of people fucking in a huge orgy, but when I looked directly at them, they were just this abstract garbage that people buy from ripoff artists at sidewalk fairs.

And they call me a thief.

I looked in the dresser and in the jewelry boxes and found what I was looking for. Jewelry. Incredible, too. I was going to be set for at least six months. This old girl knew quality gemstones, at least. I was even gaining a little respect for her, despite her awful taste in art.

Bagging the necklaces, bracelets, pearls, anklets, and earrings, as well as some wonderful brooches, I moved on to the old, worn cedar chest at the end of the queen size bed. Typical hiding place, although most people are fucked up enough to think it’s clever.

I opened the top and peered inside. It was full of dildos, vibrators, whips, cuffs, and a few things I didn’t recognize. “Kinky.” The word escaped my lips as I looked. I froze again. Fuck! Goddamned mouth! But she was my kind of girl, all right.

I crept over to the door and looked into the living room. A shiver went down my spine.

It was empty.

There was no one there. But there were no other sounds, either. Either I was totally fucked, or this was a totally fucked up house occupied and visited by totally fucked up wenches. I grabbed my bag of goodies, dropped it into the large and highly necessary inside pocket of my jacket, and headed back towards the kitchen.

I don’t know why I did what I did next. Well, I do, but I didn’t then.

I stopped to look again in the living room. It was too strange to just walk away. What the hell had those women been listening to so raptly, just to leave without a trace? Without even a word? How did they leave without a sound?

I walked into the room and looked around. I could still smell their perfume in the air, mixing in odd ways that made my nose itch. Never could stand that shit, myself.

I checked my watch. I still had fifty minutes of “safe time.” I’d been fast. That was at least still on the mark.

I sat where I’d seen one of the women sitting. What I hadn’t seen was the little CD player that sat beside her, and now sat beside me. Figuring I’d have something to laugh at, I placed the phones on my ears, and pressed play.

All there was, was some kind of hissing squeaky noise, and something else that sounded like whispering, but it was not like words, at least that I could make out. I concentrated, holding the phones tighter, after turning up the volume to full.

Still not anything I could make out. Goddamned piece of shit player is probably broken, I thought.

I closed my eyes, trying to focus harder on it. There had to be something there. No one wastes her time listening to nothing. Not three women, and not all at once.

I waited another minute and then gave up, opening my eyes.

The room was dark. Shit!

I looked down at my watch. Three hours! I didn’t have time to remember that CD’s don’t last that long or that there was no way that much time could have passed. I had to get the fuck out of there!

It went from bad to worse. I heard a car pull in the driveway and back to the garage. I was going to have to risk being seen leaving by the front door. I did the best I could.

It was only dusk outside. I was still visible. I turned and waved before closing the door, yelling “Bye! Thanks again!” and smiling as I sauntered down the sidewalk. I turned and loped across the front yard casually, but quickly, and returned to my daily trip down the sidewalk.

Too fucking close.

I got to my car about a quarter of a mile away, and got in. Then I drove to a parking lot and took off all my incriminating clothes, replacing them with a blouse and a skirt, and my freed hair, now down around my shoulders.

It was close, but I was also getting off on it. Adrenaline does that. Makes me hot. I decided I should lay low for a few days, though.

Not only that... everyone knows that fences are only as dependable as the money they can make. This was a big score, but it could have a big reward, and I needed to make sure those offers were stale before I passed them on.

I called up Murray, my occasional horny-boy, and asked if he’d like to come over for the night. He agreed, and I got out the music, beer, ciggies and blow. Never knew what Murray would be in the mood for. Fucking mooch. No, not mooch. He was a whore if there ever was one. Bastard.

Not only that, but the fucking was uninspired. It was the same old shit, feel, feel, diddle, poke, in, out, sleep. Fucker. Useless piece of flesh. I wondered what the real use of a penis was... I mean, it’s basically a flap of skin with a hole in the end. It was unpredictable and unreliable.

I thought of the dildos I’d seen that afternoon, and purred.

Murray was snoring when I woke him up and kicked his ass out. He was used to that, but I don’t think his feeble coke-addled brain could perceive that I wasn’t going to be calling him back. He was nothing but an energy suck, a big black hole of human flesh. I didn’t know why I hadn’t seen it before.

I went to sleep, and didn’t dream at all. I think my dreams were all too scared of how pissed I was to show up. Heh.

Never return to the scene of a crime. That’s the real deal. It never pays. Always gets you in trouble. So why was I here, standing on the sidewalk, looking up the slight hill of her front lawn, staring at her house again? Was I that stupid? Tired? Maybe. I was something. Out of sorts. I didn’t even remember much about getting there.

That’s when I saw the three women come walking up. They turned in at the driveway and headed to the front door. I joined them. They didn’t seem to notice, and the truth was, I wasn’t really looking at them, either. I knew they were there, but somewhere inside, cross my heart, I knew that they were supposed to be there.

I knew I was supposed to be there, too.

I don’t know how I knew it. I just did. If you can’t understand, well, what the hell. I know what I know.

The door opened, and we waited, patiently devoid of thought.

“Well, well. I’m not often surprised. What do we have here?”

It was her. The woman with the great jewels and funky art.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, comprehension finding its way across her face. “You must be my little visitor from the other day! What a pleasant turn of events!”

“Fuck you,” I spat, hissing.

“Oh, that comes later. For now, come in with the others, butterbrain.”

The women were gone. I sat in the living room, facing her. The green-eyed psycho who had melted my brain. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been there. I know I listened to the CD again. At least, I thought it was the same one. It was different. Louder. Something in it made sense, but I don’t know how to explain. It was kind of like a puzzle coming together.

I fucking hated puzzles.

“Perhaps you should tell me your name,” she said, smiling. Her eyes were bright with—something. Rage? No. Distrust? Hardly. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought it was humor.

“Bonnie Childers. My friends call me Tripsie,” I answered. Except I didn’t. My mouth was doing my talking for me, without any help from me. Christ.

“And do you have any friends?”

“No.”

“I see.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s twice. Ask nicely next time. Quite an eager little lump of hot cuntlust, aren’t you?”

We sat in silence again. I began to squirm. Somehow, it was worse than being put in a lineup, although I’d only been through that once. This was more serious, in a way I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She was a fucking lunatic. I was in big frigging trouble.

“Let me guess. You came to burgle my house. You found my jewelry, and got curious, having seen my little slave girls receiving their conditioning. You wanted to see what had them so captivated. You listened. You don’t remember a thing, except that you left, probably about the time I was getting home.”

“Bingo, bitch.”

“I prefer Mistress. Say it again.”

My anger flared. “Bingo, b-b-bimmmmMistress.”

“Better,” she said, smiling. My heart swelled in pleasure, along with my snatch. So help me, I couldn’t help it. She went on. “I don’t mind the language, but hold it in. The discipline will do you good. Better yet, every time you want to curse in my general direction, just say ‘This little bitch obeys her Mistress.’ You’ll find it’s also more true each time you say it. Won’t you?”

“Fuck you, you green-eyed pool of cunt vomit!” I said. What came out was, “This little bitch obeys her Mistress!”

“Oh, try again, slavebonnie. You’ll see that the words dance on your clit. So either you submit to Me, or to My pleasure. Either way, you’re Mine, now.”

“slavebonnie my fucking ass,” I screamed. “This little bitch obeys her Mistress.” I jerked as I felt a tongue dribble a bit of drool on my clit.

“Sooooo nice. I love a good ‘Catch 22’. You’re mine if you do and mine if you don’t.

“You missed the best piece of jewelry, you know. Of course, that’s because I never take it off. It’s my silver bracelet. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I answered. I was beginning to get the hang of it, but mostly hoped if I humored this psychopathic whore that She’d let me go sooner.

“It’s not the silver... it’s the amber stone. The amber. Glows almost. Sort of sucks you in. You feel it?” she continued. I got the feeling that she had this part well rehearsed. It wasn’t important. I did feel it. But, in a moment of rebellion I didn’t want Her to know.

“This little bitch obeys her Mistress,” I croaked, followed by a loud moan as the tongue from before gave a long lick upward on my randy slit.

“I wonder which variation of limited vocabulary that was,” She hummed. The amber glowed and took me deeper in.

“Now, let me ask you something else,” She went on. “Judging from your appearance, I would say that you have a very low opinion of yourself, physically speaking. Is that true?”

“Yes, Mistress.” She had caught me off guard, and I answered before I thought. I had been too busy watching the pretty, pretty amber.

“Here, with Mistress, you are beautiful. You are beautiful to Me. You are beautiful with Me.”

Coming from anyone else, I would have laughed... but there was sincerity in Her voice. Sincerity and amber light. I began to cry. I remembered the hollowness of Murray and hundreds before him, just like him. I looked from green to amber and back again.

I know it’s hokey as hell, but I began to cry. Not from fear, but from joy.

“Now, it’s time for you to listen. But you started late in the series... you need to catch up with your sisters.” She got out a CD and placed it in the player beside me.

“You can cum if you like,” She said.

I did. It was the motherfucking lodestone of cumming. I still don’t remember when or how it stopped. I just remember screaming and crying and laughing and shaking in absolute, incredible, unstoppable waves of burning, amber pleasure.