The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Okay, I admit it. It was the goddamned cum to end all cums. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t a frigging fruitcake.

At least, I thought so at the time.

Except that thinking was getting harder. Shit. What would you have done, if you were suddenly desirable, suddenly beautiful after a life of bone-fuck ugly? Would you have tried to think your way out of paradise? Don’t laugh. You might get the chance to see, someday, and then you’ll know how high the fucking wall really is.

“Relax and listen to the CD, slavebonnie. It will guide you.” Mistress Rochelle’s voice was not asking. It was fucking drilling in like the sound of the dentist doing a root canal in my brain. I relaxed and listened. Besides, what the else was there to do?

I closed my eyes. When I opened them a few moments later, the CD had ended, and she wasn’t in the room. After a moment of being dazed, I hit me that this might be my only chance to get the hell out, to get my ass away from this screwball example of bad taste mixed with a psycho Queen. The woman was the fucking Wicked Witch on acid.

My feet stuck to the floor as I stood. Except She’s beautiful. And I’m beautiful with Her.

I was glued into a moment of glistening elegance, my mind putting a strangle-hold on my escape.

The sound of her returning footsteps broke me out of my snake-eyed stupor. Kee-rist! I bolted for the front door, down the steps, across the yard, and down the sidewalk leading me back to some kind of sanity. I ran the single block to where I had parked my car. It was a good thing I saw it—I hadn’t really paid any attention to where I’d left it.

I jumped behind the wheel, started the cat, jammed down hard on the accelerator, and then, after a few miles, began to relax. My sanity kicked in like an old friend. The last thing I needed to do was get pulled over and try to explain what I was doing racing away from a neighborhood on another side of town than my own. I was good, but I had a record. And I had hot jewels at home that could get me in big trouble.

Jesus H. Christ, I thought, that was way too fucking close for comfort. I drove, numb. I was too tired and freaked to do much of anything but drive and stare. It was like my brain had been turned to idle. Just once, I thought, Lunatic bitch. Otherwise, it was a grey drive.

Much to my relief, it was already seeming like a bad dream by the time I got back to my pit. I was still shaking though, so I decided to do something to calm down. I popped a Valium and turned on the bath. What the hell, it was my version of luxury. After a long, hot bath, I settled into my bed, took a swig of some crappy whiskey, and drifted off to sleep.

Back arching. Tongue on my clit. Rasping. Edgy. Cum slave. bonnieslave. slavebonnie. Taste cunt. Lick. Kiss. Nipples burning tongue lashing clit screaming cum... cum... cum... lick and feel and cum and fire and someone was... drumming. Ancient, native drums of power. Making my feet dance. Making my head spin. Little Bonnie Dance-A-Bitch. Ba—ba—ba—Boom! BA—BA—BA—BOOM!

I woke up slowly and realized it was my door. “Coming!” I yelled. Don’t you hate it when people pull that shit? That was my world though: morons and assholes. Always thinking that they have something to say that’s more important than getting your sleep.

I threw a knee-length tee over my head and went to the door. “Who’s there?” I asked, still feeling the groggy syrup of deep sleep. My head bobbed as I pulled my shirt down.

“It’s me.”

Christ. Murray. As if I needed his bullshit. I’d known it was bound to happen—he was no mental heavyweight—but I had been hoping I wouldn’t have to be a total bitch to get rid of his slimy ass.

“Just a second.” I opened the door and stepped back as he walked in.

“Man, Tripsie, you look like you’ve been through the ringer twice! Got a beer for your sweetie?”

I went and pulled out a beer and tossed it to him. “You’re not my sweetie, Murray. We are over. Actually, we never were. I wanted to screw, you wanted to scoop snow up your nose. It was an arrangement, and it’s done. Nice knowing you. Keep the beer. Turn out the light when you leave.” I turned and walked back into my bedroom, feet dragging.

I jerked sideways in surprise as Murray’s beer can hit the wall beside my head, covering me with beer and suds.

“You stuck up little whore!” he shouted. “You want to fuck when you want, but not when I want, is that it? Fuck you, you stinky-cunted wonder slut! In fact, I should have given it to you up the ass to get your pussy stench off my dick!”

“Fuck YOU, you goddamned junkie cocksucker,” I responded coldly. Well, I meant to say that, damn it. I could feel it change on the way from my brain to my lips. “This little bitch obeys her Mistress.”

My eyes rolled back into my head from the assault of pleasure that hit my cunt. It burst into flowering wetness and I moaned deeply as my words drove the pleasure into me like the tongues of ten skilled whores. I knew I was fucked. I didn’t know what made it so frigging good, but I knew it felt like a fucking blast furnace on my hot little bitch-for-Mistress clit.

I mewled and sighed as my orgasm subsided... and then remembered where I was. My eyes went wide and I covered my mouth with my hands, hoping he would just leave it alone.

Oh, sure. Murray, leave it alone? Talk about frigging pipe dreams. He stood there, frozen, as the words ate through the fog around his brain like the morning sun. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” he squeaked. I remember a kind of detached curiosity, wondering what storm of abuse this was going to bring on.

But there wasn’t a storm. It was worse. He started to laugh, great puffs of air shooting out of his nose as he tried to hold it in. His body quaked and the laugh broke free as he doubled over, pointing at me. I could feel my face going red. “You’re a freak!” he yelled, his howling laughter burning my ears. “You’re a sick fucking freak dyke slut!”

Now I was getting pissed. I’d heard that body language means more than words, so I showed him my example of that theory as my foot caught his head sideways and sent him sprawling out the door. Bastard.

I slammed the door shut and locked it as he shook his head and started to get up.

“Don’t worry, you little ugly-cuntfaced dyke!” he screamed, pounding his fists on the door... making sure the neighbors heard every word. “I’m sure your sick-fuck lesbo Mistress can take better care of you. I don’t want your filthy shithole face in my life ANYWAY!”

Okay, so it hurt. Not because it was Murray, but because it was always this way. Ugly endings. But... it was worth it, getting that loser out of my life. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about. Like the woman who had fucked with my head so completely.

Mistress, a little voice said, correcting me. Mistress Rochelle, slavebonnie.

I grimaced, pulled out my numbers, and called Juan.

Juan was the only truly bad ass guy I knew. I didn’t hang with him very often, or for very long. His friends usually didn’t last, by either choice or fate. His enemies never seemed to worry about collateral damage, if you know what I mean.

I wouldn’t say we were close friends. I’d say he owed me one. Big time.

“Yes?” he said, picking up the phone.

“Tripsie here, Juan. I need a favor. Really need it. Can we meet?”

“Of course, Trips. Same place?”

“If it’s still safe.”

“It is.”

“Cool. And Juan? Thanks.”

“Thank me when I help you, chiquita. Not before.”

I smiled. Of everyone that I knew, Juan always treated me like someone worth something more than a score, a fix, or a little of both. I wished his life were a little less of a war zone. But then, I might never have met him.

And right now, I was never more glad to have known anyone in my life.

We met in a cemetery, by a grave. A grave we both knew far too well.

“I come here a lot, still, you know,” he said.

“I don’t,” I replied.

He nodded, knowing what I meant. “So what’s up?”

I spilled it. Everything. The job, Rochelle, Murray, everything. Well, as best I could. He listened intently. I’ll give him this much... he never laughed, never cracked a smile. I finished with what I knew he would clinch it, given the nature of how much it sounded like Miracle Shit Salad Dressing. “Look, if I’m crazy, and if I’m just losing it, I need to know that, too. So check it out. If I’m telling the truth, please take care of her. If not, commit me. Something. This is just too freaking weird.”

He sat for a long time. Well, a long time for Juan. He finally stood and said the one word I wanted to hear. “Deal. I’ll be in touch when I have something for you.”

“Thanks, Juan. Really.”

“No problem, Trips.”

I hugged him, and he was gone, and I walked back home, feeling better again, finally.

I spent the next two days laying low and sulking. And, if I’m going to be uncharacteristically honest, mourning. She had fucked with me for sure, but Rochelle had shown me something wonderful. I had more than a moment of wondering, with as fucked up as my life had been, if what She had to offer was really that much worse. If it wasn’t actually better. By a long shot.

Okay, okay. I frigged my pussy like crazy thinking about Her. Satisfied? I wasn’t. Every time I played, or even came, it just made me think of Her more, and bring myself off again, imagining laying at Her feet, Her eyes bright, watching my pleasure. God, what a word. I ran it over my lips, over my mind. Pleasure.

I’d go for fucking hours like that.

Then, like an addict on the edge of an overdose, I’d dry out. But all it took was a brush of my fingers, a thought, and I was right back into it.

I was beginning to wonder if it was all me, it was so intense. I wondered if I’d snapped, and if it was all in my head. How did I know I’d really even gone back? I didn’t remember driving there at all. Believe me, I tried.

Then, Juan called. I bit my lip and waited for the verdict. It didn’t take long.

“Trips, you were right. This woman is definitely on the outside edge. She’s damned good at what she does. But everything’s okay, now. You’re safe. And you’re going to be fine.”

“You didn’t...”

“Kill her? No, but she’s not going to be bothering you again. That’s a promise.”

“So what did you do?”

“I can’t talk about it over the phone. Can I come over?”

“Yeah, yeah, give me twenty minutes to get showered.”

“You got it, chiquita.

“And Juan? Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Trips. See you in twenty.”

I didn’t do too much, really. I mostly wanted to get washed up a little and get the smell of sex off of me and out of my apartment. I was just finishing when I heard him knock.

“Juan?”

“Yeah, Trips.”

I unlocked the door and let him in. we hugged and he went over to the sofa to sit down.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked.

“No, I’m fine,” he answered.

“So what happened?” I pressed, wanting the details.

“Well, it was just like you said. The women, Rochelle, the CDs. I watched for a couple of days, until she was alone, and sneaked in through the back door,” he said. The bastard was trying to keep me in suspense.

“I was wrong, though. One of the women was still there. She was a real case... apparently completely zonked on whatever she does. She kept repeating this little game.”

“Oh, too wierd!” I said, enthralled.

“Yes, it was. Even for me, it was weird. And funny.” He came over to me and gently took my wrist. “You’ve got to see this... ”

His eyes were laughing, so I agreed.

He placed one finger on my pinky. “This little piggy loves Mistress...”

I pulled back suddenly. Something wasn’t right. But his grip was like fucking iron.

“This little piggy’s a drone... this little piggy’s a puppet... this little piggy is owned... and this little piggy goes weeee weeee weeee weeee right back to Mistress’s home... isn’t that right... butterbrain?

Yep. That was me. Cooked in butter. Stick a fork in me and call me fucking toast.

“You see, chiquita? Mistress doesn’t bother you at all...”

The drops were the fucking worst. I could feel my eyelids stretch back as the drops tightened the muscles. To say I was hysterical wouldn’t come close to where I was. You know how a cornered alley dog looks? I know I looked more terrified and desperate.

“I’m so glad you came back to Me, slavebonnie. You worried Mistress so!” She crooned, smiling with her green eyes and amber light. But I was going to be strong. I was going to win against this crazy bitch. I didn’t have a doubt in my mind. I was abso-fucking-lutely sure. I had to be. I had to make it.

“This little bitch obeys her Mistress!” I spat.

I didn’t know I would cave so fast. I started to cry. My mind was going. Maybe already gone. For the first time, I couldn’t remember what I had been trying to say.

As if she knew, Mistress Rochelle smiled, kissed my forehead, and pressed the play button on the CD player beside me. It seemed like she’d done that before, but I wasn’t sure.

I am looking again at the paintings on Mistress’s walls. They form a pattern of surrender. They are all that I see. I see surrender. I am surrender.

I sit, motionless, bound and immobile. Not by ropes or chains, but by Mistress’s will. It’s so easy just to give in. So easy to be beautiful. It feels so good to destroy my resistance. So natural. So right. My resistance is the enemy of my joy.

I am being shown. Shown. Always more. Shown more. Mistress is whispering to me. Mistress is my mind.

I cannot fight it. I struggle, but even the struggle is part of Her plan. My struggle brings my surrender closer. Closer. I am surrendering. I am surrender. I can hear Her words all the time. The CD is Law. This is the fifth CD. This is the fifth Law.

Mistress savors the capture. Therefore, I savor the capture. It is not some kind of grand vision. It’s about what She desires. What She loves. Everything She does is about us and for us. Her slaves. I was born to this. It is what is. I am Mistress Rochelle’s property.

I am a woman who loves women. I am a lesbian. I do not question. There is no need to question. I love Mistress Rochelle above all others. I live for Mistress Rochelle. I love to please and obey Her. I am her slave. I am obedience. I am anything She wills me to be. I was always within Her will. I will always be within Her will. There is no other way. There is no other life.

Surrender is obedience. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is pleasing Mistress. Obedience to Mistress pleases Mistress. Pleasing Mistress is the Road to Unending Orgasm. Unending Orgasm is the reward of Obedience. Obedience is Pleasure. Live to obey. Live to please. Live to cum. Cum to live. Please to cum. Obey to please. Surrender to obey. Live to surrender. Cum to live. Please to cum. Obey to please. Surrender to obey. Live to surrender...

“Who are you?”

Mmmmm. The Voice of Mistress.

“slavebonnie, Mistress,” I answered. I didn’t question. I just knew.

“And why do you live?”

“I live at and for the pleasure of You, Mistress Rochelle, my greatest love and perfect purpose.”

“Do you have any questions for Mistress?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Ask.”

“What may your slave do to please You, Mistress?”

“You just have, slavebonnie, you just have.”

I felt the orgasm start in my toes. No shit. My toes. My toes were cumming from the inside out. Up my ankles, consuming me... calves, thighs, even my fucking kneecaps. I saw my legs trembling as the earthquake fired and sent visible waves of gooseflesh over me, rising to my crotch and exploding in my clit... it was like I was covered in orgasm, raining orgasm, washed away in the fire of lust and inconceivable layers of cumming for Her, ripping away the last of my defenses, my barriers, a fuckdoll, a cunt lover, a pussy slave... I heard the most unearthly scream of pleasure barrage my ears and drive me higher... and then I realized that the scream was mine... and I was Hers... melting into the mold of Her will...

“Draw the curtain.”

And there I was. Like now, I remembered most of it. But it was inside, like the orgasm I could feel, always bending me, always shaping me... and I was Bonnie again.

“And if I don’t go along with this? If I turn You in?” I already knew I wouldn’t but god damn it, I needed to show some spirit.

Her face changed. I’d say darkened but that’s too frigging polite. It changed into something fucking demonic. “If you turn Me in, I have a trigger I’ll use that will twist your tiny little mind up so tight that a pretzel will look like a highway through Kansas by comparison. And once that’s done, no one will believe your story. They’ll think it was merely a prelude to your twisted, sick, masturbatory obsession.”

I closed my eyes and shuddered involuntarily. I knew it was true. I mean knew it like I know the sun rises every day. When I opened my eyes again, She was back to Her normal, glorious Self. It was so different that I thought for a moment that I’d been daydreaming. As if She read my mind, Her eyes flashed briefly.

Okay, it wasn’t a dream. I was Hers. Underneath. Always. And I had a mission.

So that’s why I’m here. She needed my particular kind of edge to pull this off, and I’m honored to have a gift for Her that She can use.

I’m sorry I had to tie you up, Mrs. Abernathy. I know it’s a real pain in the ass. I was only going to replace some CDs in your collection... with a little something extra added. I wish you hadn’t walked in.

What? Oh, I’ve been watching, just like in the old days, except a little closer. So I know which you listen to the most often. I promise you, I’m not here to steal anything. I’m here to give you the best fucking gift in the world. Mistress knew what my training had been for. All She had to do was show me.

What you’re about to hear is the First Law. I know you think I’m nuttier than a damned fruitcake, just like I thought She was. For a little bit, you’re going to be wondering if you’re crazy yourself. But you’ll come around. And when you do, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll lick your luscious cunt like it’s never been licked before. Mmmmmmm.

Don’t be afraid. I’m sure Mistress will be pleased. So will you.

And Mrs. Abernathy? Before I have the honor of changing your life forever, I just wanted to tell you... you look incredibly beautiful. Just like me.