The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“...Four...And five! Wide awake, now!” Zusa’s enchanting voice commands me, followed by two quick finger snaps.

My eyes open. My mind is fuzzy. Phone still pinched between my cheek and shoulder.

“How are you feeling, my toy?” She giggles, and my body convulses.

Between gasps for air, I say, “I want to do whatever you desire.”

“Of course you do. You are my toy and I have properly programmed your mind.”

“Yes, Zusa.” That’s my default response, conditioned by a year of phone sessions.

“You’ve been such a good toy. I think it’s time to take your to the next level.”

My heart pounds. Next level? I’ve already sent her my income tax refund!

“You will enjoy the rare privilege of serving me in person. A live session is something most of my toys only dream about.”

“I am?” My hands are shaking. Beads of sweat break out on my forehead.

“You are.” I hear the shuffling of papers. “I have an opening next week on the seventeenth. Three in the afternoon.”

“Yes, Zusa.” I gulp. This is more than I hoped for, probably more than I can handle. But what Zusa wants, Zusa gets. It’s literally impossible to say no to her.

She laughs. “I had a feeling you would agree. The tribute will be a thousand dollars. But I promise you an amazing experience. See you on the seventeenth, and don’t forget my tip.”

“Wait,” I say. “Where are we meeting?”

Zusa giggles and in a deep throaty voice says, “Remember.”

In my head, bright as a neon light, an address in Quincy, Massachusetts flashes. I repeat the address.

“See? I’ve already installed all you need to know.”

“Yes, Zusa.”

“Good toy. Goodbye for now and dream of me.” She ends the call.

I lay in bed half-nervous, half-excited, and totally aroused. I’m going to meet Zusa in person!

The 17th is a Friday, but I put in for two vacation days. My supervisor gives me crap, but I don’t care. I’m flying to Boston on Thursday, because I don’t want my session with Zusa to be at risk of the US air traffic control system.

By 11 a.m. on Friday, I am in Quincy parked in my rental car around the corner from Zusa’s house. Don’t want to worry about a flat tire or construction making me late. I check the envelope in my breast pocket for the twenty-fifth time, and count ten crisp, new hundred-dollar bills. Plus, the $250 American Airlines gift card for a tip.

In my head, I do the math. For a two-hour session, that’s $625/hr. Forty hours a week would be $25,000. A year (with 2 weeks off for vacation) that would be 1.25 million. Of course, there are holidays and Zusa certainly takes more than two weeks off a year as evidenced by all her travel photos on Instagram. And I’m sure she’s not doing sessions forty hours a week. On the other hand, she makes money from recordings and unsolicited gifts. Maybe she is making a million a year. It’s obvious, she’s doing very well for herself as evidenced by the huge Victorian homes in her neighborhood.

I try to read a book, check my phone, listen to the radio, but I can’t focus. My mind keeps returning to Zusa. What will she be wearing? What does she have planned for me? How far will she push my limits?

The minutes agonizingly tick away. At 2:50 (I synced my watch to the National Time Server), I step out of the car and pace down the street. I pass by her house three times. At 2:58, I’m back in front of her place. I push open the wrought-iron gate and amble along the flagstone walk. At 2:59 I’m at the door, my heart pounding, my knees wobbling, my stomach doing flip-flops. I hope I don’t pass out. As the second hand reaches twelve, I ring the bell.

Five seconds... Ten Seconds... Fifteen Seconds... No answer. Is this the right house? Do I have the time wrong? I’m about to panic when the door swings open and there stands Zusa.

She smiles at me with blood red lips. Her blues eyes are framed by horn-rimmed librarian-style glasses. Her blond hair is straight and down to her shoulders. She wears a brown leather jacket over a size-too-small white blouse with the top three buttons undone. A purple pendant hanging from a silver necklace, rests just above her cleavage. A leather micro-skirt matches her jacket. Fishnets and brown knee-high boots with three-inch heels complete her look.

I fall to my knees and gaze up at her in awe.

“James.” Her voice is like an angel.

“Yes, Zusa!”

“So good of you to come.” She giggles. “Of course, it’s not like you have any choice.”

“Yes, Zusa.”

“Now, about my tribute.”

I pull the envelope from my pocket and hold it up like an offering. She takes it with a delicate hand. Slim fingers with red nails that match the color of her lips rifle through the bills. Those lips curl into a smile. “And the gift card?”

“Two hundred and fifty dollars.”

“Well done. I am very pleased. And it pleases you to please me.”

“Yes, Zusa.” A wave of pure ecstasy engulfs me.

She glances at her watch. “Oh, got to run. I’m due to take a call from some Russian Oligarch who loves to be age-regressed and call me Mommy.”

I’m puzzled. “But what about our session?”

She laughs. “This was the session. I promised you an amazing experience, didn’t I? How else would you define being FinDommed out of $1250 dollars in less than five minutes?”

I start to speak, but she raises her finger to her lips, making the shushing motion.

She looks at me with those blue eyes, so full of power, so full of contempt. “James, my toy, time to run a long.” She waves her hand dismissively, gold bracelets jangling.

I can’t refuse her eyes. I can’t disobey her voice. I defy her will. I scramble to my knees and trudge back down the flagstone walk. With every mocking laugh of hers, my heart breaks a little more.

Back in my car, I slam my fists against the steering wheel. I’m fight conflicting feelings of rage and arousal. She took twelve hundred and fifty dollars in five minutes. That’s fifteen thousand dollars an hour. At forty hours a week that comes to six hundr—

I slap myself in the face. Don’t think about the money. Don’t think about her. Don’t think about what she just did. Don’t think about the way she laughed at me. Don’t think about her eyes or her lips or her breasts or her legs. Don’t think about how angry I get when she uses me, exploits me like this.

I’m falling back into her trap. Have to get her out of my head. Block her number and her email. Don’t risk any contact with her. Then I’ll be okay.

I last three days before I send a fawning, begging email to chat with her again.

I’m back at her door on the 31st, but this time I have a guarantee. She promises me a full two-hour session. Zusa is many things: supermodel hot, exploiter of men, cruel HypnoDomme. But she’s not a liar.

She opens the door. She’s wearing a while silk robe covered with red roses, it barely reaches the top of her thighs. Her legs are tanned and shapely. Her feet bare. Her toenails a bright red. Her blond hair is up, secured by chop sticks. No glasses this time, just intense blue eyes that stare right through me and pierce my soul.

“Right on time, toy. Punctuality is greatly appreciated.”

My knees wobble and I’m back on the ground. I reach out and hand her the tribute. Another thousand dollars. This time the gift card is for Sephora. She counts the money and nods approvingly. She motions me to rise and I follow her into the house. She leads me down a hallway lined with art by the old masters to a sitting room. On the far wall is a fireplace with a roaring fire. A grandfather clock stands in the corner. Other walls are lined with full bookshelves. I glance at the titles. The subjects range from Psychology and Neurobiology to Economics, Science Fiction, and Fantasy.

Zusa takes a seat on a maroon couch and pats the seat next to her. I sit. Her scent, like the air after a summer thunderstorm, engulfs me. Steam rises from a cup of tea on the table. She takes the cup, blows, and sips, but doesn’t offer me anything.

She sets down the tea. “Ready to begin, toy?”

Toy. The word echoes in my mind. That’s all I really am. Just a plaything to Zusa. And that’s exciting. Regardless of what depravity she has in store for me, all I want is for her to play with me. I can’t imagine what she’s going to do to me, the anticipation is maddening. What dark and twisted things does she have in store for me, my mind, and my soul?

“Yes, Zusa.” I nod.

“Excellent.” She flashes a smile with her dazzling white teeth. “I want your opinion on this.” She picks up a crystal atomizer from the table. It’s filled with a florescent blue liquid.

“A new perfume?’ I ask.

She grins. “Not quite.” She lifts it high, points it at my face and squirts. Tiny droplets shower me. I instinctively inhale. Suddenly, I am quite tired, my body heavy. I try to speak, but my tongue and jaw feel numb. I try to say, “What?” But it comes out like, “Wuuhhhh...”

I slump forward. I don’t have the strength to stay on the sofa. My mind is foggy. My eyelids heavy, I’m falling. I’m out before I hit the floor.

Cold water pours on my face, into my nose and my mouth. I gag. Where am I? What happened? Am I being water boarded? The water stops and I blink open my eyes. Zusa is standing over me, grin on her face, empty water pitcher in her hand.

“You’re awake, my toy!”

My arms and legs are heavy and stiff, I sit up with great effort. “What happened?”

She sets the pitcher down, sits on the sofa, and crosses her legs in a most deliberate manner. “You took a little nap.”

I search my memory. Things are starting to come into focus. “The atomizer!”

She giggles. “One of my latest inventions. You were my first test subject. I am most pleased with the results.”

I crawl to the sofa and climb back on. “Okay, I guess that was fun. What’s next?”

“Next?” A puzzled look crosses Zusa’s face. “There is no next. Our time is up. The session is over.” As if to punctuate her point, the grandfather clock strikes five.

I start to protest. “But th—”

She makes the zipping your lips motion and I stop. My action isn’t voluntary. Somewhere deep in my mind, she implanted a trigger. I see her make that gesture, and now I’m incapable of speech.

She giggles. “Our agreement was a full two-hour session. If you can’t stay awake the whole time, that’s not my concern.” She smiles, daring me to contradict her, knowing that I can’t.

And once again, I am consumed with rage. Not at Zusa, but myself. She did it to me for a second time. And I should have known she would. I can’t say no to her. Don’t want to say no to her. I want her to use me and exploit me like this. I don’t deserve her. I deserve her contempt.

“Time to go now, pet.”

I rise, the erection in my pants in noticeable.

As I head for the door she calls out, “This was fun, James. We need to do it again, real soon.”

Less than forty-eight hours later, I’m begging Zusa for yet another session, sending Amazon gift cards to gain her favor. My finances are becoming shaky with all I’ve spent on plane fares, car rentals and tributes.

Another Friday and I’m back in Quincy, sitting in the car waiting for three p.m. This time things will be different. Zusa agreed to a two-hour session this time, and she promises that I will be fully awake and aware the entire time.

I ring the bell. She opens the door and I gasp. She’s in a black leather cat suit clinging to all her curves. The zipper is open almost to her navel. I fall to my knees and stare at her black thigh-high boots.

I repeat the ritual and offer the tribute. She flips through the bills and squints at the gift card. ”Panera Bread?”

“Think of all the grilled cheese you can buy with two hundred and fifty dollars.”

She laughs and waves me in. In the sitting room there’s a laptop computer on the coffee table. Instead of sitting on the sofa, she grabs something from a roll-top desk. I can’t tell what; her hands are closed. She walks up to me, opens her hands, leans close, and blows.

I am engulfed in a sparkly silver mist. I raise my hands to wave it away. Or rather I try to, but my arms won’t move. None of me will move. I am frozen in place.

Zusa snaps her fingers twice and looks quite content.

“I promised you’d be fully aware and awake, toy.” She laughs and slips her hand into my jacket pocket and removes my wallet. “Imagine two hours of me maxing out all your credit cards, while all you can do is watch. So hot!”

She sits at table, and powers on the laptop. She removes my credit cards from the wallet, lays them on the table and proceeds to shop. As each card maxes out, she drops it on the floor, and crushes it with the heel of her boot.

For two hours I watch as she spends my hard-earned money on luxuries and frivolities. I try to calculate just how much damage she can do. And yet again, I’m mad. Not at her, but myself. She deserves this and so do I.

When the two hours are nearly up and the last of my cards is rendered worthless, Zusa closes the laptop and approaches me. Her lips brush my ear and in a throaty whisper she says, “How are you going to come up with the cash for your next tribute. What about a loan from your 401-k?”

She laughs. If my body could move, I would shake with rage. But I can’t. I’m still under her spell. As the clock strikes five, I look at her curves in that black cat suit, try to convince myself that I won’t be calling HR on Monday asking how to initiate a 401-k loan.

Zusa snaps her fingers and once again I can move.

As I walk out the door and down the walk, I tell myself, I won’t let her take advantage of me next time...