The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

How I Got Here


I arrived for bar trivia nearly an hour early. My heart pounded in my chest in anticipation. I knew I needed to talk to Carrie, but I had no idea what I was going to say, or, for that matter, what she was going to say. I had a beer while I waited, to calm me down, then panicked and started worrying that it would affect my judgment, so I declined a second. Then I felt awkward, and ordered a diet coke instead.

Finally, I started to see other bar trivia players begin to filter in. Not many had arrived yet when a single representative of the paralegal group entered. I didn’t know her name. It was odd that she came alone, since usually they arrived as a group.

She scanned the bar, spotted me, and started heading straight over. Oh shit, I thought, as she reached the edge of the table.

“Carrie’s not coming tonight,” she said, destroying any hope that I had that her errand had nothing to do with my recent experiences. “Can we talk?”

Wordlessly, numbly, I gestured for her to sit. She did so, sliding her petite frame onto the bench. She had deep brown skin and carefully straightened black hair past her shoulders. Her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes were wide and expressive.

To try to stop myself from staring, I introduced myself.

“I’m Taylor,” she replied. “I’m friends with Carrie.”

She paused, studying her long nails for a moment.

“She’s obsessed with you,” Taylor began. I blinked in surprise. “She says she’s in love. You’re practically all she talks about.”

I didn’t think I had any expectations, but that was not one of them. I started to ask a question, but Taylor cut me off.

“She’s not here, because she’s terrified that you aren’t interested in her back, and she can’t face the possibility of finding out in person. So she sent me to check and see if you want to see her again.”

I started to speak again, but Taylor still wasn’t done.

“But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I need to know what the hell happened to my girlfriend.” Her tone made it clear she didn’t mean in the romantic sense. “Did you drug her? Some kind of voodoo magic?”

I waited to be sure Taylor was done speaking this time, sitting through a couple seconds of her withering stare while trying to think of something useful to say in reply.

“I didn’t do anything,” I started. Taylor was clearly not about to accept that answer, so I continued, “but something happened. To her. To us. I don’t know what. I wanted to talk to Carrie to try to figure it out.”

She game me a careful look that went on longer than I was comfortable with. Then she said, in a less confrontational tone, “Has anything else like this ... happened?”

I knew my blush gave me away, so there was no point in lying. “Well, yes. Carrie was the first time it happened, but there was one more, uh, time.” Embarrassment robbed me of the power of coherent speech for a moment, and I was grateful that Taylor didn’t press me for details.

“OK,” she said, after a moment. “I think you’re being upfront with me, but Carrie’s still pretty messed up. I think the three of us should talk this out.” I didn’t exactly want Taylor around when I next saw Carrie, for a variety of reasons, but I didn’t see how I had any say in the matter.

We left the bar in Taylor’s Audi TT, leaving my car behind. She drove fast and aggressive enough that I didn’t want to distract her with conversation and put my life any more in danger, but that did mean we were only a few minutes before she was pulling up to our destination, an old fashioned stone fronted side-by-side duplex in a nice neighborhood.

Rather than knocking, Taylor had a key to open the front door. I briefly thought that perhaps when she said girlfriend earlier, she meant actual girlfriend. She opened the door and stepped inside. The home was dark, and she did not call out a greeting. Something seemed off.

Taylor was turning on a light or two, illuminating the main room, which was narrow and had a double height ceiling. Stairs against one of the side walls led up to a second floor in the back half of the space, with an open passage to a kitchen and dining room underneath.

“So, where’s Carrie?” I asked, already suspecting the answer.

“She’s ... not here,” Taylor responded. “This is my place, not hers. There is one more thing I need to know before we talk to her.”

For the first time, I saw it coming before it happened, though admittedly, not very far. Taylor turned full on to me and began walking forward, her demeanor completely changed.

“Carrie said that sucking your cock gave her the best climax of her life. I need to know if she was right.” She stopped in front of me and reached around my neck, pulling my head gently down into a deep kiss. I kissed back, and we were lost in each other’s taste for a moment.

When we separated for a moment, and Taylor’s hands began to roam lower, I said “Are you sure? From what you’ve said, it changed Carrie pretty deeply. Do you want that to happen to you?”

“Carrie is different, all right,” Taylor said. “I didn’t tell you this before, but she ended a five year relationship the day after you, after she, after it happened. They were all but engaged.” Her hands were running up and down my chest, now, and sinking lower and lower. “And I think,” Taylor paused and took a deep breath, “I think it’s too late anyway. I’m so goddamn wet right now from being this close to you it almost feels like I pissed myself.”

I pushed her shoulders back so she stepped away. “Then show me,” I said, walking past her and sitting on the couch.

“Show you what?” Taylor said, following closely, but not touching me again.

“Show me how wet you are. Prove to me you’re already caught up in this … whatever this is.” What the hell, I thought. If it was going to happen again, I’d make it happen on my terms.

Taylor nodded and stepped back a few paces. She undid the zipper on the side of her skirt, and slowly inched it downward. A pair of deep red panties with a touch of lace came into view. She stepped out of the skirt, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, and turned to set it over the back of the chair she now faced. Then she slowly bent over at the waist. She was quite flexible, and easily bent down to show me her ass, her shoulders almost touching the chair’s armrests.

And it was quite a nice ass, not large but rounded and firm, even covered by the panties. There was a hint of darkness in the red of the fabric, right in the center. She reached around and pressed her fingers against where the panties were beginning to soak through, and the darkness deepened and spread.

“I can feel it with my fingers, even through my panties,” she said. “Can you see it? Or should I show you more?” I didn’t feel this question needed an answer, so I remained silent. Taylor looked back at me, her head upside down, and saw my expression.

She slowly, peeled the panties down. They disengaged from her reluctantly, leaving strands of liquid between the red of the fabric and the pink of her inner lips. As the panties descended, the tendrils snapped one by one, until Taylor was bent double, panties at her ankles, pussy pointing straight at me. The contrast between the dark skin or her legs and asscheeks and the bright pink inside her was captivating.

Taylor reached back again and, without her panties in the way, dipped one finger deep within herself and slowly withdrew it. She then held it up behind her, and I could see the juices glistening on it. I felt the strange disconnectedness that had taken me the last time, but I was ready for it and pushed it back.

“Very nice,” I said, and Taylor’s thighs quivered slightly. I noted her reaction for later, but continued, “I think we need more proof that you are already changed, though.”

“Like what?” asked Taylor. She was still presenting to me, but she had lowered her hand and was stroking herself, now. “This isn’t enough?”

“What about your nipples?” I asked in turn. “Are they hard?”

“They’re so hard it feels like I’m wearing clamps,” Taylor replied. She straightened and turned back to face me. “You want to see?” She tossed the jacket aside, and yanked the shell over her head. Her bra matched her panties, though I barely had a chance to see it before it too, was unclasped and discarded.

Taylor was now naked, save for her heels, earrings, and a piercing in her belly button. Her tits were a little larger than I had thought, ample handfuls that sat high and proud on her chest. Her nipples were small and nearly black, and were indeed sticking straight out, the flesh around them stretched and prickly.

She was stepping towards me, leaning in and about to speak, when I said, “You’re beautiful.” Partly because I meant it, and partly to test a theory. Taylor gasped and lost her balance, only catching herself where her hands on my knees. I don’t know what she saw, staring into my eyes, but I saw her smoldering with lust.

“What just happened,” I asked, innocently.

“I came,” she said. “I fucking came and you weren’t even touching me.”

“You’ve proven yourself,” I responded. “You may suck my cock now.”

Taylor rolled her eyes at this, gave me a look of disgust, but since she was sinking lower as she did so, and reaching for my pants, I figured I hadn’t overstepped my bounds.

In short order, she was sucking me off. I have since learned of many different ways a woman can pleasure a man orally, but Taylor was vastly widening my then-limited experience. It was completely different from with Carrie, and equally different from my previous, disinterested girlfriends. She spent a lot of time licking or stroking me, then dipped in to take me all the way down her throat for a few seconds, then pulled off again. It was active, it was energetic, and it was hot as hell. I thought I was fully hard before she started, but somehow the strain in my cock became even greater.

Taylor started speaking in a low voice, when her mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied. “You like this, don’t you?” she said. “Do you want me to lick it more? Will that make you come?” She wasn’t looking for answers, one statement coming straight after another, but I responded anyway.

“Just like that, slut,” I said. Taylor looked up, surprised that I was speaking, but her eyes widened and she moaned softly. I paused, but the next time she had me all the way in her mouth, I said, “Keep it all the way in. I like it when my bitches do that.” Taylor gasped, or tried to, when called a bitch, and it felt incredible.

I was nearing my limits, so I thought it would be polite to let Taylor know. “Are you ready to be my cumdumpster? Are you ready to get painted?” I pulled out of her mouth and she pistoned my shaft with her hand, ready. “I’m going to splatter all over your gorgeous face,” I said (OK, I admit it, I wasn’t very good at the dirty talk thing. It was new to me) and her strokes faltered as she practically convulsed in front of me.

I was close enough that I didn’t need her help to finish, though, and I did what I promised and came on her face. I didn’t come any harder than I normally do, but I came for longer. Enough longer that Taylor had recovered from her own orgasm enough to pay attention, and I still caught her with one or two strands from the end of my own release.

“Goddamnit, I came again. That’s twice now. How do you do that?” Taylor sat in front of my chair. She was cleaning her face with a wad of tissues.

“I don’t know. Sorry about the ... the dirty talk. I don’t know where that came from.” I wasn’t sure what she thought of it.

“Cumdumpster? I should slap you for that,” said Taylor, “except at the time, it was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Now,” she continued, “I’ve gotten off twice and nothing has even come close to my little kitty, here. If that’s what you can do without touching it, I have to know what you feel like inside me.” She grabbed my arm, dragging me towards the stairs and her bedroom.

However, with my physical lust sated (though Taylor’s clearly was not, despite her having rapidly growing orgasm count) I wanted to return to my original reason for coming along.

“Not now,” I said, resisting her pull. Taylor looked determined, so I put a little emphasis in my voice. “Get dressed,” I said.

“You don’t want to?” she asked, pleadingly, but she stopped pulling on my arm. “I took care of you, baby.”

“Yeah, and what were you just saying about having already come twice? But I want to actually go where you said we were going. Get dressed and take me to Carrie’s.” When she didn’t immediately move, still trying to convince me otherwise with her eyes, I continued, “It’s not fair to leave her hanging like this. She’s probably a wreck right now and she has no idea what’s going on.”

That convinced her. Taylor scampered about the apartment, leaving her discarded clothes behind and dressing in jeans and a sweatshirt. I steeled myself to survive another of her suicidal driving, but traffic was lighter and she was clearly in a more sedate mood.

We headed back downtown to a high-rise condo building. Taylor texted Carrie with one hand while she looked for parking, bringing back a little of my earlier terror, but she found and slotted her little car into a spot without disaster.

The doorman waved us past to the elevators with a smile and greeting, so Taylor’s texts must have gotten through.

“What did you tell her?” I asked, as we rode up to the 11th floor.

“That I was coming over with you,” she said. “Nothing about anything else that happened.”

“I’m not going to keep that from her,” I replied.

“No. But it seemed like too much for a text.”

“What was her response, anyway?”

“She said to hurry.”

I didn’t have a response to that, but I didn’t need one, since the elevator doors opened.

Taylor led me to the door to Carrie’s unit and knocked. There was no response, and she looked puzzled. I stepped up and tried the knob. The door was not locked.

“Should we?” Taylor asked.

“She said to hurry,” I replied, and reached to pull open the door.