The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

[fd, mc, mf, hm]

synopsis: As much as he enjoys it, Jonah knows he’s addicted to femdom humiliation. Perhaps his sister Angela, a skilled hypnotherapist, can help him with that.

Losers Can’t Be Choosers

(By S.B.)

Chapter 15 — Vixen Dreams

Jonah’s return trip to his sister’s house wasn’t as bumpy as the road to the hospital save for a moment of distraction that could have proven fatal. As he sat behind the wheel, mumbling mantras of adoration to his one true Goddess, the storm to rule them all, he slowed down close to a derelict building, one with far more personal history than any other building in the world, and reality collapsed like a sand castle all around, his vacant eyes ignoring everything else. Even though he shouldn’t, he too fell into a pool of memories, ones that had helped create the man (and slave) he now was.

His first contact with the world of erotic femdom humiliation happened a few months before Angela’s relationship with Gregory came into play, an unexpected guilty pleasure inspired by another woman. Her name was Felicia May, she was the only daughter of Harold and Lana May, owners of a cybercafe about to go bankrupt, and she dreamed of being a sex worker twenty-four seven although it was unlikely she would ever have her way while she lived under her parent’s roof. Unbeknownst to anyone, the day she turned eighteen, she set up a fake profile on one of the most prestigious fetish directories at the time and made her voice heard, attracting horny, submissive men like flies. Being half-Brazilian and half South-African, she had a fiery, exotic temperament, and it was easy for people to fall in love with her dark skin, almond eyes, and more than infectious laugh.

Financial Domination coupled with humiliation was what she enjoyed the most, crushing egos and wallets at the same time. When her parents were busy looking at how much money they still had to make to cover the month’s expenses which, admittedly, was pretty much all the time, she would seek refuge in a little booth near the basement entrance, exchanging dirty words via a protected server. Her true identity was safe from anyone except a pair of prying eyes.

Friends since forever, Jonah was the first to have his feelings shift into some form of romantic affection, one that was both foolish and unrequited. Felicia didn’t really love people, just fresh bills that could eventually afford her a one-way ticket to Paris or London and he was still far from being the promising athlete that would one day charm the world. Whenever they were together, she hardly paid him attention for she was daydreaming of the next persona she would create to impress all the anonymous wankers all over the world ready to part ways with their hard-earned salaries in a little under five minutes. Her personal record was four thirty-nine yet she knew she could do better if she knew the right triggers to press.

Jonah discovered her “extra-curricular activities” by accident on a Saturday afternoon when her parents were out of the picture. With no customers in sight, she closed shop not realizing he was still inside. The look on her face when he peeked at her screen and read what she wanted to do to a poor sap’s ball sack was priceless.

“Oh, wow!” He blurted.

“What are you doing here?” she vociferated. “Fuck, you weren’t supposed to have seen this!”

“DreamVixen?” Jonah noted. “Cute alias.”

“Not my first choice, but thanks,” she said, slipping away from the computer to get a cold drink. He didn’t follow her, instead continuing to look at some of the things she had written.

“No wonder you hardly have time to hang out anymore... this is...”

“Jonah, let’s get one thing straight, okay? You’re sweet and all but I’m not into you the way you’re into me. And I never will.”

“No, you’re into verbally trashing others, it seems.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“I never imagined you the type, that’s all,” he replied, most of his dreams shattered.

She came back to him, coke in hand, denim skirt hugging her sumptuous curves. “Yeah, imagination was never really your strong suit, right?”

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

“Nice or not, Jonah, it’s the truth. You think too small at times when you should think big and holding on to every opportunity that comes your way. Thinking small is the loser way like those silly creatures I talk to. I often wonder if they’re just big cocks in disguise and nothing else and, frankly, that’s probably true for most.”

“Jesus, Felicia! You’re sounding like a lunatic now!”

“Tell that to your own cock who’s enjoying being belittled as I speak. Here, let me give you something to prove my point...”

Her warm spit hit his face, rolled down his stark chin and dripped onto his Summer clothes. It left a spiraling stain on his brand new turquoise V-Neck T-shirt.

“Why did you...?” he asked, flabbergasted.

“Because I can. Now ask yourself what are you going to do about it? A true Alpha would have reacted with aplomb already instead of asking stupid questions but Alpha is just a letter in the Greek Alphabet to you, isn’t it? That’s not what you want to be because that’s not what you are and trying to change your nature will do you nothing but harm so here’s what will happen. I’m going back to my affairs and you will walk home, wearing that mark with pride all the way there. When you enter the house, lock yourself in the bedroom, take off the shirt and rub your filthy cock of yours on it until you cum. When you’re done, send me a picture of the mess you made, got it?”

He flustered. It was hot indoors but not as hot as to make his cheeks turn crimson. “You’re out of your mind!”

“More like inside yours. Jonah, even when I ignored you in the last couple of weeks, you kept on showing up, puppy eyes, stupid smile. You nodded every time I said something, you laughed at my silly jokes when I was trying to get rid of you so I could get back to earning some big bucks for myself. You’re standing there taking this abuse and just pretending to be slightly upset with it. You fool no one and, one day, every woman that wants to use you as a doormat will, and you’ll love to be trampled by them. I don’t want you, but I will still take control today. Leave. You have half an hour to report to me. Bye!”

Felicia resumed her place behind the screen. The last horny beta to have contacted her had just sent her a dick pic, the “classic” way of getting oneself blocked in two seconds unless she was in Hyper Feisty Mode. Grinning from ear to ear, she typed:

“Congratulations! You’ve earned the prize of the ugliest piece of meat I’ve seen all day. Send me another picture and fifty dollars and I’ll laugh at you for two minutes straight. Deal?”

The familiar “ding” of the money pouring in made her smile. On the other hand, Jonah’s continuously befuddled expression infuriated her.

“One minute already gone, dickwad! Get a move on!”

He should have stood his ground. He should have struck her. He should have grabbed her by the hair and force her taste his cock and balls so she would know who was the one in charge. He should have done all of this and more to prove his masculinity. Instead, he exited the café and walked home as instructed, the warm sun blinding him, dozens of people walking in the streets eyeing the conspicuous smudge and the traces of spit still stuck to his jawbone. “Jonah Barnes, pathetic and useless, pussy-whipped without remorse!” he thought.

Halfway there, he got a text with an image of Felicia’s wet pussy smiling. “Jerk off to this who will be filled by a big black cock the moment I leave this god-forsaken city. Oh, and now I want a video instead of a simple picture. Start filming the moment you get your pecker out and don’t stop until you shoot your load. I think your pillow is a good place for you to do that. Sleeping in your own cum is appropriate, isn’t it?”

Yes, it was. Everything was appropriate when she talked to him like that. The early moments of embarrassment and distrust were now fully submerged under the hormonal rush taking over his brain. He picked up the pace, and dashed towards his house, eager to comply with her perverted wishes, which he eventually did. It was the only time Felicia dominated him before exiting his life for real. The last time he had heard from her in some capacity had been in the form of a couple of clips he had downloaded from an obscure porn site. She was good, a true vixen.

In the present day, and without realizing it, Jonah found himself emulating that journey from before, confusion spreading everywhere. Having left the car behind, all the recent and past triggers heightened his memories, nightmare fuel brought to life. He had to return to Angela as quickly as possible but he also had to masturbate senselessly for his long lost crush and listen to Princess Ashley’s silky voice telling him how much he needed to eat his own cum for her and do anything Gail ordered him to for he was her mindless obedient hypnotized slave and she had...

Raped him.

He stopped moving, cold air blowing on his overheated thoughts. Gail was a Goddess incarnate, the most powerful and beautiful woman being to have ever lived on the face of this Earth. He had to obey her no matter what but she had...

Raped him.

It was her prerogative, of course. He was a piece of property, he had no rights. Receiving the end of her strap-on inside his tight ass, being fucked silly until he bled out like a squealing pig for her amusement, was everything a loser could hope for. He was so lucky to be owned by her, to be whatever she wanted him to be and yet she had...

Raped him.

He shouldn’t let the word bother him, he shouldn’t consider it important not even for a second, he shouldn’t entertain the idea of violence as a direct result of any of her actions for she was his rightful ruler and what felt wrong to an untrained eye was in fact an act of true love, worship, adoration. His ass was her ass, his cock was her cock, his mind was hers but the nagging idea remained, the troubling certainty he wasn’t allowed to verbalize.

She. Had. Raped. Him.

“Excuse me? Sir, are you all right?” a sweet feminine voice whispered next to him.

He looked to his left to see a mid-twenties woman with silver hair, almost inexistent breasts, and a pink nose ring sticking out. The latter matched the color of her training jumpsuit and worn-out sneakers. Though small in stature, she looked more than capable of kicking his ass but her concern was genuine. A bottle of water dangled from a black belt around her waist.

“You seem off,” she continued. “Need a drink?”

“I’m fine,” he replied even though that was far from the truth. Fine is the easiest word of all, four letters combined that can mean everything or absolutely nothing at all. He believed its meaninglessness and wouldn’t go past beyond it with a complete stranger. Besides, why would he indulge in her liquid delights especially that night? For all he knew, the water could be drugged. There could be a van waiting outside his field of view to take him to a dark dungeon where she, alongside her group of merry friends would take turns in...

... raping him, just like Gail had done, just like she was still doing at that precise moment, infecting his ideas, turning him into an automaton capable of going against his sister, his mother, his own self. Gail, the storm that would not subside. Gail, the fierce and festering sadist. Gail, the wretched bitch that had crossed all lines already. Gail, the...

“... what will you do if you find yourself doubting your allegiance to me?” the dominant secretary cooed on the back of his raging mind.

“I will take a deep breath, collect my thoughts, and repeat my new mantra until the bad feelings go away,” he replied, lips frozen in place.

“That’s right. Stop fighting me and say your mantra now. Five times isn’t enough now. Make it ten. Or rather, make it twenty.”

“I... won’t...” he struggled with his inner demons.

“Yes, you will. You have no choice. I’ll be kind enough to help you get going again. The correct words are: Gail is my Goddess and I’m her bitch. Repeat.”

“G-gail is...” he muttered.

“Sir?” The late night jogger queried.

“... my Goddess...”

“Huh? Who’s Gail? Are you sure you’re okay?”

“... and I’m her...” his whole body spasmed, mental convulsions crossing the threshold of insanity.


“... bitch,” he exhaled furiously, both hands reaching out for her tense shoulders. “Gail is my Goddess and I’m her bitch. Gail is my Goddess and I’m her bitch. Gail is my Goddess and I’m her bitch. Gail is my Goddess and I’m her...”

“You’re crazy, that’s what you are!” The woman backed away, not before kicking his right shin. “Stay away from me, you hear? Geez!”

“Gail is my Goddess and I’m her bitch! Gail is my Goddess and I’m her bitch!” Jonah growled, bloodshot eyes and feverish demeanor all around. Jack Torrance of The Shining wouldn’t hold a candle against his cackling despair. He was his own haunting, multiplied by five, ten, twenty, and infinite.

Gail had raped him but she was his Goddess and he was her bitch, her slut, a walking mass of nothingness to who deserved nothing but to be filled by her iniquitous dominance. Gail and Felicia would have made a wonderful couple together, one-upping one another at every turn, and he could jerk off to them time and time again while Angela licked their pussies clean, Princess Ashley tried on a new pair of ball-crushing boots, and his mother stood to attention in the corner of the neon-lit room, a latex statue that would never open her disgusting mouth to speak ever again. Glorious sight, wonderful dream, paranoia beyond control.

Jonah continued walking, his whole self exploding at random intervals, unable to fight the brainwashing from sinking deeper. The only way out was deeper into the rabbit hole, coming early or not coming at all. He soon forgot the stranger that had tried to help him, forgot the furious cars, and basic safety measures. He forgot everything except his loser condition, eternal slave. Asking Angela for help had been a grave mistake for his addiction couldn’t be cured, only intensified. Gail had shown him the truth and he wouldn’t doubt it again. He would beg her to rape him again the moment he was alone with her once more.

Avoiding death almost as if by miracle three times in a row, he finally made it to his sister’s house, now nothing but a mausoleum instead of a harem of entertainment. He entered her bedroom, picked up the clothes she needed and ran back out to the hospital once more but not before leaving her a sticky present on the bedcover and frilly pillows. Lovely!

“My Goddess will be proud,” he said, the frenzy slowly subsiding. He put on his normal face one more time and vixen dreams became real.