The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sometimes I don’t really remember driving home after a long night. Like, I just do it on instinct, muscle memory, habit. I stop at the red lights (I hope), make the same left-hand turns I’ve made a thousand times before without having to think about it. The familiarity of it doesn’t register as a memory at all.

This was different.

I was staring at that lopsided stack of boxes against the wall in my apartment building garage, the ones my landlord had told me to move at least a dozen times. There was sunlight streaming in from the street-level windows above it as I sat in my car, my hand still holding the key in the ignition.

I didn’t remember making the 45-minute drive home from the airport. It was daytime. A full 12 hours since my plane touched down.

I was really tired. Tired on my body. I caught a whiff of dried sweat and unfamiliar perfume. My lips felt raw. I looked exactly the same as I did when I dressed the morning before, but everything was different somehow. I was an unmade bed.

My blouse was out and half-buttoned. My boobs were untucked inside my half-cups. I felt the broken clasp above the zipper on my skirt. It was like I had undressed and dressed in coat closet. In the dark. In a hurry.

But my purse and coat were beside me on the seat. My black suitcases were there in the back of my two-door. I was home safe and … sound? I hadn’t had anything to drink except for the Bloody Mary in the airport bar while I waited for my connection, yet I felt woozy. Like I had been asleep. Maybe I fell asleep in the car. I didn’t think I was that tired.

I tried to retrace my steps. I could remember sitting between two extra-large men in business class, listening to one snore and the other sniff his nose from the cold he had probably just given me. Collecting my stuff in baggage claim, which I recalled was a hassle since everyone’s bags seemed to look exactly like mine.

Then boarding the shuttle to the long-term parking lot. I smiled. That I was remembering.

It was a coast-to-coast flight, with a short layover, so it was after midnight by the time I caught the van. I hadn’t had a chance to sleep between the stopover and the snoring and the runny nose, but knowing my long day was nearing its end made me suddenly exhausted.

It had been a long week. Too much work and not enough fun. Not that I expected to meet some tall, dark, handsome man on this venture, but I held out hope. I wasn’t yet ready to admit to myself that I was becoming sexually frustrated. It didn’t matter. I didn’t get lucky on this business trip.

The jovial driver loaded up my bags and said his pleasantries as I flopped onto the first seat I could see. The two rows faced each other, but there was only one other person onboard—a striking blonde-haired woman checking her phone. She was sharply dressed, another businesswoman, seated near the back. As the shuttle lurched forward I had to catch myself, pressing hard against the seat to keep from toppling over. I was pooped.

It was about a ten-minute ride to the parking complex, so I scooted my ass forward a bit, trying to make the hard seat at least a little more comfortable. I noticed the woman had done the same. No reason not to try to relax here, now that we were away from the boardrooms and clients and co-workers who would have expected us both to remain square-shouldered and professional.

The woman had put away her phone—the movement caught my eyes. Then she reached up with her hand and covered her mouth for a long, albeit ladylike, yawn.

I read somewhere that watching someone yawn makes you yawn. Some kind of weird reflex of human nature. Well, it’s true. Because I yawned back. I half-laughed an exhale when I saw her look at me for the first time. Yep, she gets it. The end of a long day of business and travel. Thinking about being in bed instead of rolling down the road in the middle of the night.

It was a nice smile. Not fake. Very genuine. Like two girlfriends sharing a private joke. I probably held my smile a bit too long, but she didn’t seem to care. We were fellow midnight travelers.

I didn’t want to come off creepy, too familiar, so I looked out the window at the few passing cars and the bright lights of the airport that grew smaller as we drove away.

I saw movement again out of the corner of my eye. She was stretching her legs out in front of her—long, shapely legs below the tight black skirt. A hint of toned calf, the sheen of her stockings attached to very expensive heels. I thought, I would kill for legs like that, although I must confess mine aren’t too bad, even without hose.

I wasn’t sure what I was thinking. Maybe I wanted to show mine off to her—we were best friends now, right? More likely, though, it was exactly what I wanted to do. My legs had spent five hours trapped under a plane seat and they were stiff. So I stretched them out, flexing the muscles that needed flexing, and—alright, I admit it—not minding at all if she wanted to admire them just a little.

It felt good to relax. The woman looked relaxed too, though she wasn’t slouching. Just spread out like I was. I may have been holding my eyes on her figure a little too long for when they drifted back up to her face she had an even bigger smile. A grin, really. I grinned back. I was busted. I was gawking at her. Her short, light hair and trim body. The roundness of her bust inside the matching jacket and white blouse. Gold earrings, understated necklace, swanlike neck. She was definitely a looker. Maybe a few years older than I was, but she was young enough to still have everything on her body perfectly placed and proportioned.

It was nearly October, but it was getting a little warm in the enclosed van, so I unzipped my coat. Her eyes came off me—obviously things were getting a little too flirty—but she brought her delicate hand up and ran it slowly along the buttons of her blouse.

She undid the top button gracefully. It was definitely getting warm in there. I thought about taking my coat off altogether, but when I gazed down I realized I had unbuttoned my blouse halfway down. She undid another, and I arched my back slightly, letting my bra peek out. I am no exhibitionist, believe me, but it seemed a natural thing to do. Warm night. The end of a long day.

Normally, I would have told myself that I was taking our little game too far, but I felt the cool air on my neck and kept unbuttoning. I saw her smooth, white skin through the opening in her blouse, the gentle slope of her right breast. I felt myself leaning, as if I was trying to catch a glimpse of her nipple.

Don’t ask me why I felt so bold. It was clear she wanted me to see and I didn’t mind admiring her more fully. I don’t think I had moved my eyes off her since I caught sight of those long, sexy legs.

She crossed them. Sloooowly, at the ankle. Twirling her foot in those $500, four-inch, black heels. Playfully, idly. Round and round. My eyes spun as I watched it go round and round and round. I heard a clack … and looked down as if my head felt weighted. My right shoe had fallen off my foot crossed over my left ankle.

I wanted to bend over and pick it up, but I was just too lazy. I kicked off the other one. It felt good. Really good. No need for shoes here. No need for formality or etiquette with her. My feet were tired. I was tired. I should have been embarrassed with myself. Embarrassed by my behavior in front of a total stranger. But … I wasn’t. I wasn’t really thinking about anything. I was relaxed and comfortable now.

I’m not sure what I was thinking. Really, I wasn’t thinking about thinking at all. I had momentarily taken my eyes off her and when they returned to hers she was staring hard right at me. The smile was gone. Had I done something wrong? Gone too far? I couldn’t think.

The harder she stared at me, the more I was stuck.

Those blue eyes were hypnotizing. I almost shivered from the icy blue. Yet I also got the sense that she was somehow disappointed in me. Like I was misbehaving and she was scolding me with her eyes. Didn’t we … have a connection?

I’m not sure why I did it. Honestly, I didn’t think about it. But I opened my legs. I wanted her to look and see and smile like she had before. I think that’s what I wanted anyway. I wanted to be as naked as I felt.

Her expression, that stern expression, didn’t change. I could feel my body shaking. I wanted to say something. All that came out was a kind of whiny whimper. I needed to see that smile. I spread wider. I was not going to take my eyes off her again! What was I thinking? Here! See? It’s for you!

Everything around me was fuzzed out. The only clarity I found were those blue eyes and that unwavering face. They seemed closer now, much closer.

The shuttle hit a pothole or something, and the sudden shake made me blink. She was sitting directly in front of me. Her legs were parted.

I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that it was wrong of me to take my eyes off her eyes, but I felt a pull. My eyes drifted down, down between spread long legs. And the baby-smooth perfection of her pussy. An invitation. So inviting to me that I was willing to just let go and leave the rest of myself behind.

The fact that she wasn’t wearing a bra or panties—hadn’t she been wearing hose?—didn’t really strike me as odd. She wanted me to see her. And I wanted to see her. All of her. I think I sighed. She wasn’t mad at me! She wanted more.

I looked at her gratefully, perhaps worshipfully. One corner of her mouth turned up. An almost-smile with what I felt was expectation. There should have been other things I paid attention to—the van making a turn, the occasional chatter from the shuttle service dispatcher, a distant police car’s siren. But there was only one thing—one person—that consumed my mind. It felt really good.

She nodded. Nodded to what, I had no idea. I only knew I couldn’t disappoint her again. I was leaning back, nearly horizontal in my seat, my elbows pressed against the hard plastic. And my shoeless foot slowly pressing into her.

It was warm and wet and wonderful. Like I was being submerged in a soothing tub. I wiggled my toes and almost giggled. I could feel the stiffening clit, the open lips, the steaming wetness as I rode into her.

She was smiling again! I pressed harder, thrilled by the smile. I felt my body tingling, felt my nipples hardening in excitement, felt the rush of pleasure in the throes of mounting ecstasy. There was nothing else, really. I was completely immersed in lust. There was only this gorgeous woman’s smile and my overpowering need to please. Pleasing her was pleasing me.

You would think that all this brazen, bizarre behavior would have halted me. Made me get a hold of myself and beg her forgiveness for being such a slut. I wasn’t in an airport shuttle. I wasn’t anywhere. All that I was aware of was how good it all felt. Warm and sticky wet. Every other sense was shutting off.

I moved my foot inside her and out again. With each lunge came a moan—not from her but from me. Her smile had turned crooked. Was I doing a bad job? Did she not feel what I was feeling? I was a small, smoldering flame of desire that couldn’t ignite fully. Yet it couldn’t be doused either by the wet-wet-wetness that covered me. It was hot and boiling and burning and fluid. Everywhere.

I gasped. I was being engulfed by the rush to orgasm. Her blouse opened, and I could see those two, perfectly round tits on display. I wanted to roll my thumb across them—they were that inviting. I felt the pull, a pinch, as a hand played with the nipples exposed beneath my bra. The sensation dove quickly down between my legs—spread and open to another hand deep inside me.

But the explosion never happened.

The woman stood up and turned from me. I could see my shoes in her hand.

It was mind-blowing. Sitting in my parked car, I could remember that van ride so clearly now. Everything after that, though, was like looking at snapshots. As if it was someone else in my memory.

My blouse open, my boobs hanging out. The clear, sticky cum all over my fingers and the unbearable urgency to finish what we had started. I stopped doing what I wasn’t aware I was doing. Not even realizing at the time that I had been fucking myself furiously.

I stood up as if yanked on a rope, watching dumbly as my suitcases were unloaded. The broad smile of the driver as the woman passed him a couple of crisp bills. Almost tripping as I stepped down and out behind her. The humid air outside.

I felt another tug—it wasn’t real, was it? I walked without feeling my bare feet. All I thought about—all I could possibly think about—was keeping my eyes fixed on that perfect woman. Her tailored jacket, white blouse buttoned, a hint of a bra underneath. Her swishy skirt, loose over her thighs, with a trace of panty lines showing. That sultry gait.

I could have been a million miles away, not twenty yards from my own car. I heard the click of a door lock.

“Get in the car, doll.”

Twelve hours later, and here I was sitting in my car. I laughed. I remembered it all, as best my mind allowed me to, except for what happened after I climbed in her car and went … where? To her home? A motel?

However, the biggest question that stuck in my head as I sat unmoving in my car in my apartment building garage in the bright light of day was why?

I didn’t object to what I had done when that women played with me like a wind-up toy. Letting her do what she wanted without protest. Doing what I wanted to do. Why did I enjoy it so much?

And how had she known that I would?

I needed to know. I needed to feel the way I felt when I felt it. Not hours later. I wanted her. I wanted her wanting me. I wanted her to turn the crank sticking out of my back and wind me up again. I started my car and backed out of the garage.

I didn’t need to think where I was going.

I was already there.