The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“hey amanda.

oh my god those pics u sent me were so hot. i can’t believe u did that! uve always been such a good girl. idno what happened to u, but i like it. i like it a lot. germany’s fine but i miss you. gonna have to try not to chk my email 50 times a day after what u sent.

lots of love,

dave”

I didn’t speak to Bert again for a week. Felt too awkward about what had happened, I guess. Like, I’d clearly, clearly crossed a line. Right? Just taking the pictures was bad enough, but…getting off in front of my best friend?

“Cum for me. Cum for the camera.”

Remembering my best friend’s words made me shiver with guilt.

Well, mostly guilt.

Maybe I shouldn’t have even sent the pics to David, but it was the only way I could feel like they served some purpose. Like I really had been doing it for him. For our relationship.

For unselfish reasons.

But—and yes, I realize I should have seen this coming—he started pressing me for more. More, more, more. More pictures, more nudes.

If you give a mouse a cookie…

He’s not a particularly needy guy, normally, but he must have been missing me as much as I was missing him. I mean, he probably wasn’t getting naked and jacking off for his friends, but he would have been feeling the loneliness as much as I was.

I held out for a while, but then I noticed him tagged in a picture. He was in a German pub, surrounded by a bunch of slutty-looking girls.

I texted Bert the next day.

“Hey B. Do you think we could maybe take some more pictures for David? He really liked the last ones.”

Normally I’ll obsessively re-read and edit any text that I’m feeling nervous about, but as soon as I typed the last word, I found myself hitting send. Before I chickened out, I guess.

The reply came almost instantly:

“Hey A! Haven’t heard from you in a while. Was starting to wrry my camera had stolen your soul. Yeah, I can do that—I’m pretty slammed at the moment though. Only time I’m free is tomorrow night, around 8 or 9?”

It was like I was watching my fingers reply, like I had no control over the message they sent.

“Sorry,” I lied. “Been busy lately. Tomorrow night’s ok. My place again, ja?”

“Ja,” he replied. I don’t even remember when that started—I think David used it once instead of ‘yes’ in a Skype conversation. I’d told Bert, and we’d just been doing it ever since. “Looking forward to it.”

The next night, Bert arrived early. “Hey A,” he said, flashing a smile as he entered the room.

I’d spent the whole day with butterflies in my stomach, unable to focus on anything. To be safe, I had even gotten off right before he arrived, just to make sure I didn’t lose my head again. As he entered my room, my hair was still wet from the shower—I’d tried to wash away my nervousness, and trimmed my pubic hair slightly.

You know. Just in case.

“Hey,” I smiled back. I was wearing skin-tight jeans and a white button-up top. It was revealing but not slutty. I mean, with my tits it was hard to wear anything that wasn’t a little slutty, but this was a relatively modest top.

And this time, I was determined to keep it on.

“You mind if I rearrange the lighting?” Bert asked. “With no sunlight, it’s going to be a whole different setup.”

“Sure thing,” I nodded. As he flitted around the room, moving lamps and making the light bounce off different pieces of furniture, I took a deep breath.

“Listen…”

“Mmm?”

“I think…”

God, why was I so nervous? It was Bert. Bert! Nothing to be worried about.

“I think we should just…not go that far this time, okay?”

“For sure,” Bert agreed as he played with the dimmer switch. “What kind of thing were you wanting?”

“Like, a few sexy pics from some new angles is fine. I want just enough to keep David interested, you know?”

Bert laughed, and I could practically see his tonsils.

“Amanda, honey, you won’t have to work very hard to keep David interested.”

I nodded, the tightness in my throat not going away.

“Just let me know what you want,” he said soothingly. “I’m yours to command; the B.E.R.T. Model 2.0, okay?”

“Okay,” I said. Why didn’t I feel any better?

It wasn’t like I was cheating. This wasn’t cheating. This was for David.

This was for my boyfriend.

“What do you suggest?” I asked, sitting down on the bed.

Bert smiled and sat beside me, casually draping one hand around my shoulder.

“I put together a few options.” He pulled out his phone; all of his recent pictures were tasteful black-and-white images of sexy women. Some were in lingerie, some were in shirts or tight dresses without bras.

A few were topless.

“Did you make these?”

“Oh god, I wish! Nah, these are from a portfolio I found online.”

I raised one eyebrow and looked at him.

“What were you searching for?”

“These,” he said frankly. “I just typed in ‘cheesecake’ and saved my favorites. I’m not as good as these guys, not yet, but I appreciate you letting me build my skills.”

“Well, you can practice on me, but I’d better not make your portfolio.”

“You wish!” Bert replied with a laugh. He was still scrolling through the images of hot, mostly-naked women. “Which ones do you like?”

“The ones that aren’t topless.”

Bert nodded.

“Lay down on ze couch,” he said in a bad German accent. “I vill solve allll your problems.”

I giggled. I didn’t have a couch in my room, so I positioned myself on the bed instead. Bert began pulling camera parts out of his pockets and assembling his camera.

As he did, a packet of condoms fell out of his pants and landed on the floor.

“Uhh…”

Bert didn’t seem to have noticed.

“What is that?”

“Oh, you noticed!” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen his face light up like this. “I got one of those dual-telescoping lenses; I thought it would help because of the low-light conditions. Good eye!”

“No,” I said, a slight tremor audible in my voice. “What is that?”

Following my disdainful glance, Bert noticed the packet of condoms on the floor.

“Oh, those!”

He casually leaned over and scooped them back into a pocket.

“Did you know you can use condoms for underwater photography?”

“No?”

“Yeah, it protects the lenses, lets you do some cool stuff. If you ever want to take some underwater bikini pictures for David, we can try it out sometime.”

I forced myself to take a deep breath. Carrying condoms didn’t mean anything sinister. Lots of guys carried condoms. Hell, even I had some in my bag.

I was just so on-edge.

“Okay Betty Grable,” he said, snapping the last part of his camera into place. “Lay down on the bed.”

As I obeyed, Bert took my hand and moved it to his chest.

He started slow, telling me to give the camera some saucy looks and run my fingers across my exposed skin.

I did as he commanded.

Click, click, click.

I started a little shy, but it didn’t take me long to get used to following directions. The clicking of the camera was starting to get in my head, like it was somehow connected to my pleasure center.

As the camera kept on click click clicking, I started to feel increasingly sexy. Aroused.

“Unbutton your top,” he said softly.

Posing for the camera, posing for Bert—no, for David—I began slowly, seductively unbuttoning my top. Beneath it was a blue demi-cup bra.

“Lower one strap,” Bert instructed. Click, click, click.

“Not topless, remember?”

I pulled down one of my straps.

“Of course not,” Bert nodded. “David’s going to love this—it’ll be as close as we can get without really revealing anything.”

Before I could say anything, Bert reached out. One of his hands adjusted the cup of my bra; I could feel his spry fingers against the flesh of my breast as he did.

“And no touching!”

By the time I thought to swat his hand away it had returned to the big black button at the top of the camera.

Click. Click.

“There we go,” he said with a smile. “Perfect!”

Click, click, click click click click click.

“Lean forward a little?”

I did as I was told, realizing a little too late that without the strap, the bra-cup was dislodged, revealing my rock-hard nipples.

Click, click, click, click.

“These look great, Amanda.” I had already leaned back, but I knew the camera had seen my arousal. I knew that Bert had seen it. My bedroom was warm enough that I couldn’t even blame the temperature. “This new low-light lens is working wonders.”

In response, I just rolled my eyes, and made a mental note to make Bert delete anything that exposed too much before he left.

Click, click, click.

Bert paused, and pulled his phone out of his pocket. Three swipes later, his phone was showing a picture of a topless woman, her hands cupping her breasts.

I stared at it, entranced.

“I bet David would love something like this,” he said, his eyes penetrating me. “And you wouldn’t have to be topless. Not really. Wanna try it?”

“Bert…”

“Mmm?”

My head already felt like it was spinning once more. What was I even doing? I had a boyfriend.

This was for my boyfriend, I reminded myself.

It wasn’t just warm in my bedroom, it was hot.

I took a deep breath.

“You’re not just trying to get me naked, are you?”

Bert’s eyebrows shot up, and he recoiled like I’d slapped him.

“Wow. Amanda, I…I have a huge shoot tomorrow morning, and a long list of clients waiting for their prints. I don’t have to be here—you asked me for a favor, and I’m just trying to help. If I wanted to look at naked women, I could just go on the internet.”

My face burning, I started to apologize, but my best friend didn’t pause long enough for me to get a word in.

“If you don’t like the idea, that’s fine, just say so, but there’s no need to accuse me of anything. We can keep taking tame photos all night if you want—I’m just trying to be helpful.”

He stopped. My hand on his chest, I could feel his heart racing.

“Okay,” I muttered, a pit of guilt forming in my stomach. “Jeez. No need to get mad. Turn around.”

Was I agreeing to this because Bert was angry, because David would want it, or…?

I didn’t even want to think about the third option.

Bert put his camera down on my dresser, fiddled with it for a moment, and turned around. As I unhooked my bra, the black lens was pointing straight at me.

I covered my breasts with my left hand and arm. I could feel my stiff nipples against my skin.

“Fine,” I said. “I’m ready.” I sounded like a petulant child.

As he turned around, Bert’s mouth fell open.

“Whoa,” he said, eyebrows raised. “That’s a really good look on you.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, picking up his camera. “Next time you have an interview, you should consider wearing that.”

He snapped a few pictures of me from across the room, then sat beside me on the bed. Before I could say a word, he flipped the camera around and took a selfie.

The preview appeared on the screen—him, a goofy grin on his face. Me, topless, covering my boobs with my arm.

“Hey!!”

“Just checking the lighting,” he said smoothly.

“Bert, I…”

“Smile for the camera,” he said, and took a few more pictures.

I put on a fake smile. What was he going to do with that selfie? If David saw a picture of the two of us with me topless, he’d…god, I don’t even know what he’d do.

He’s in the military. I’ve never been scared of him, but for a moment, I was scared on Bert’s behalf.

“Say Cheese and Die,” Bert said in a deep voice. When we were kids, we’d each owned half of a collection of Goosebumps books. My parents still had my half, up in the attic somewhere.

My fake smile broke down and I found myself laughing for real. It was impossible to be mad at Bert—he was such a goof.

And he was totally harmless.

Of course he was.

“There’s my Mandy,” he said, smiling back. “Okay, do a little spin for me.”

“Spin? Where?”

“Turn around,” he instructed. “Face the wall.”

“Uh, okay.”

Bert took a quick string of photos of my bare back and my ass, showcased by my tight jeans.

Click, click, click, click.

I glanced back at him. He looked like he was totally focused on the camera, on the shots.

On making me look sexy.

For David.

“Lay down on the bed,” he said. “Perfect. Now, move your right arm under your jeans.”

“Under where? In front?”

“Yeah. Like last time.”

I nodded and blushed.

“Okay,” I said reluctantly. “But I’m not touching myself.”

I unbuttoned my jeans and slowly slid one hand down the front of my pants. I was already wet.

From earlier, I tried to tell myself. From getting off before Bert came by.

That was all it was.

“Great,” Bert said. Click, click, click, click. “You said you wanted some new angles, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess David would want some variety.”

Click, click, click, click.

I tried to imagine what the camera could see. One hand between my legs, the other covering my tits. My face, staring at the camera.

There was no way I didn’t look hot as hell.

Click, click, click, click.

I realized my fingers were softly stroking my pussy again, and forced myself to stop. I wasn’t going to lose control this time.

Not again.

“You should try to sit up a bit,” Bert advised. “It’s hard to see your face.”

Click, click click, click.

My right arm stayed between my legs as my left hand grabbed a pillow, putting it behind my back to hold me up.

Click click click click click.

It took me a moment to realize—I’d just exposed my breasts to the camera again. There were now photos of my bare tits on Bert’s camera.

It took me another moment to realize that I’d started stroking myself once more.

“Delete those,” I moaned. “Please.”

“Mm-hmm,” Bert purred in response.

Click, click, click, click.

For the next few minutes, the only noise in the room were the rhythmic clicks of the camera as Bert again photographed my masturbation. I’d given up trying to stop myself—my fingers were uncontrollably manipulating my clit as I writhed in pleasure, the camera capturing every moment, every movement.

“Need a hand removing your jeans?”

I nodded. It felt right. I don’t know why, but it felt right.

I was so fucking turned on.

“Leave my panties on this time,” I said, lifting up my hips.

Bert lowered the camera, taking pictures as he did, and reached underneath my body. I appreciated him being careful, but it resulted in him spending a lot more time with his hand on my ass.

After a few minutes, I was starting to regret asking him for help. While my friend’s hand was under me, I’d tried to stop stroking myself, but as his skilled digits moved around my butt, I found myself continuing to caress my wetness.

Click, click, click, click.

Finally, Bert finished pulling off my jeans. My legs were entirely exposed, my panties totally transparent, and my arm was the only thing stopping me from being topless in front of him.

If it wasn’t for my soaked panties, I’d be completely naked in front of my best friend.

Bert’s words were looping in my head: That’s a good look on you.

Click, click, click.

“Great,” Bert said raspily. “Keep going.”

I knew I wasn’t imagining the need in his voice this time, but I didn’t slow down.

“With what?” I panted.

“Keep touching yourself,” he said. “I want to get you cumming from a few different angles this time.”

As my fingers stroked my needy pussy, I tried to object.

“I told you, I don’t want to do that again…”

“I thought you said David really enjoyed it?”

“He did, but…—“

My weak protestations were interrupted by an expletive. Bert stopped taking pictures.

The silence was deafening; I immediately found myself missing the comforting click, click, click of the camera.

“What’s wrong?”

“My battery’s running low. You want to finish this now, or should I come back? I’m free in…two weeks, I think.”

“Now,” I grunted.

“Okay,” Bert said, raising the camera to his face once more. “Let’s do this then. Touch yourself, however you like it.”

Worried about the battery dying, I pulled my hand out of my panties and started rubbing my clit through the fabric.

“You should go under the cloth,” Bert advised. Click, click, click, click. “The way the fabric stretches over your hand makes some awesome shadows; it’s sort of reminiscent of Erik Almas’s early work…”

“Fine,” I moaned again, sliding my fingers under my panties. I couldn’t remember it ever feeling this good when I touched myself.

“Perfect. Wait!”

Bert put the camera down and started fussing with the lights again.

Instead of stopping, I continued to rub my clit. I could feel my orgasm approaching. I moaned softly.

“Okay,” he said, after a minute of microadjustments. I couldn’t see any difference, but Bert seemed happy.

“I want to try this.”

“Try what?”

“This,” he repeated. Without warning, Bert let the camera dangle around his neck as he grabbed both my hands and readjusted them slightly. As a result, his fingers brushed up against my nipples and my clit at the same time.

His accidental touches were like electric shocks to my exposed body.

It was so quick. He was my friend. It must have been an accident.

It had to be.

Before I could react, he picked up his camera and quickly started snapping pictures again.

Click click click click.

I knew I was letting him get too close. I knew I had to stop what we were doing.

But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. All I wanted was to come, and everything about the situation was turning on me on like nothing else. The camera, the exposure, the exhibitionism…the cheating.

Click click click click.

I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t cheating, that none of this was cheating, but the word just kept rolling around my head.

Cheating, cheating, cheating, cheating.

Click, click, click, click.

As Bert continued taking photos, he reached down to make adjustments with increasing frequency. Sometimes it was a part of my bedsheet, or the angle of my leg. Sometimes it was the positioning of one of my hands, changing the way I was cupping my breast or the way my hand was positioned inside my panties.

Each time he positioned me, arranging me how he pleased, I could feel his skin against my skin.

He never stopped taking photos.

Click, click, click, click.

I wanted to stop him, but instead I grew more and more used to his touches. It no longer felt weird when he moved me—instead, I started to look forward to him incidentally touching a sensitive spot, like my inner thigh.

The minutes flew by as Bert continued to take pictures, his camera’s battery apparently no longer a problem. Click, click, click, click, click. He continued to take photos from all different angles, highlighting different aspects of my near-naked form.

I found myself looking less and less into the camera, and more and more at his focused face.

Suddenly, Bert reached down and spread my legs, slightly more than was comfortable. His camera pointed at my rapidly-moving fingers, he made strong, direct eye contact with me.

“Cum,” he ordered. “Cum for me—now.

“Cum for the camera.”

“Oh, god,” I panted as my fingers began to rub my clit more and more intensely. I started moaning louder and louder.

Reaching down, Bert ‘repositioned me’ one final time—his firm fingers grabbed my ass, moving my entire body half an inch to the left. Even as I was cumming, moaning loudly in my bedroom, I could feel him take control of my body, touching my skin. My ass.

I knew it was wrong. We didn’t have that kind of relationship. I had a boyfriend. But in that moment, I was beyond the point of caring—my mind was clouded with pleasure.

I was going to cum.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick.

I hazily realized I was no longer covering my breasts, I was fondling them, pinching my nipples and grabbing my soft flesh.

“Fuck,” Bert muttered, under his breath. “You are fucking perfect.”

“Ahhhh,” I moaned. “Yessssssss.”

I was grateful that my parents weren’t home, because they would definitely have heard my shrieks of pleasure as I came, my body trembling as I grabbed my tits and rubbed my clit, naked but for a pair of panties.

As I came, the camera continued moving around my body, capturing my moment of climax from all possible angles. I was vaguely aware of Bert’s intense gaze—not at me, not at my physical body, but at the small LCD screen that was digitally capturing my form.

After a fifteen-second orgasm, I collapsed back onto my bed. As if that was a cue, Bert deftly began disassembling his camera, returning its components to his various pockets.

“That was great,” he said with a smile. “Lots of good stuff in there, I bet.”

As I came down from my high, the enormity of what I’d just done hit me.

I grabbed the pillow from behind me and held it in front of my chest. Not that it mattered—Bert had not only seen my tits, he’d touched them. He’d photographed them.

The digital images of my naked breasts would probably be around longer than I would.

“Ummmm.”

I couldn’t believe things had gotten out of hand again.

Literally.

“David is going to love these,” Bert said with a smile. “What did he say about the last ones?”

“He, uhh…he said they were great. He was surprised. But he liked them very much.”

Bert nodded, and my voice crawled back into my throat once more.

“Perfect,” he eventually said, breaking the silence. “He’s going to be over the moon about these. I’ll try to get them ready for him as soon as I can, okay?”

I nodded, still hugging the pillows.

Bert continued to chat to me for a few minutes, talking about all the upcoming gigs he had, keeping the conversation light. Safe.

As he was about to leave, I finally found my words.

“Bert…”

“Ja?”

“I…don’t…”

He waited patiently for me to finish my thought.

“I, uh. Can you delete those pictures of me topless, please? Now?”

“I’d love to,” he said, a half-frown on his face. “But the battery’s dead.”

“Okay…” I said, not wanting to sound like I didn’t trust him. Of course I trusted him. It was Bert, my best friend. I’d known him my whole life. “Soon as you get home?”

“Of course, Mandy,” he said, and with that he was gone.

Despite his busyness, Bert managed to get the photos to me before I woke up the next day. Again, they were so much more tasteful than I’d expected—when I was worked up, I guess my mind just imagined everything to be much dirtier than it actually was. There were none that showed my nipples, none that really even showed my hands inside my panties. If you didn’t already know what was happening, I bet you wouldn’t even have been able to recognize it as masturbation.

I paused on one that showed my face flushed, a drowsy smile on my face, and realized it showed me immediately post-orgasm.

Tame though they were, I couldn’t help but feel ashamed and guilty that I’d once more gotten duped into cumming in front of someone who wasn’t my boyfriend. I tried to remind myself that I was doing it for David.

For David.

Bert was just a friend. A helpful, completely professional friend. Who’d been touching my ass as I came.

No. No, I was being paranoid. He was just holding me up, moving me for a better shot.

Still, I knew I couldn’t make this a regular thing. After this set, David would just have to accept that there were no more photos.

Before I sent them to my boyfriend, I decided to look through them one more time. And thank god I did, because I realized…

My hands. They were both visible in almost every picture.

There was no way these could be selfies.