The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


by Vendatrix


Tamantha awoke slowly from her nap. She glanced at Kira beside her, curled up like a kitten. The room was still dim, with the late afternoon sun sending its rosy hues through the blinds on the window. Through the room wafted the deep musky scent of female arousal. Tamantha hesitantly reached down under the sheets and touched herself: soaking, she was. Then she glanced over her sleeping friend and saw the slight bruise marks of tender love-making on the girl’s alabaster breasts. Did we do it? wondered Tamantha.

Kira stirred as if awakened by Tamantha’s gaze. The oriental girl stretched like a kitten. Then she, too, began to note her surroundings and her body’s still smoldering responses. The two girls looked at each other for a long time.

“Do you suppose—?” began Tamantha.

Kira reached over the covers and put a finger to Tamantha’s lips.

“Shhhh,” she said. “Maybe we just had a dream. I don’t know what happened. But I do know this: I need a man,” she said, and both girls burst out laughing. Then Kira looked closer at her friend. “Gosh, I can tell they did some work on your face, Tamantha. You look terrific!”

“You think so?” asked Tamantha dubiously. “I think they overdid with my lips. I can barely talk!”

“Oh, that’s just normal swelling Tamantha—I’m sure that puffiness will go down. Stand up, let me see the rest.” To her relieve, Tamantha could speak a little better, although it felt better to use simple words.

Tamantha shyly slipped the covers off and stepped on the floor. “Ouch,” she said, “my feet. Wait, I need to get my support heels on.”

Kira said, “They did that foot-traction thing with you, too? They told me it came from too much jogging.”

Tamantha slipped on the ankle-clasps to her high-heeled sandals. When she stood up, she did a little pirouette for her friend’s benefit.

Kira laughed with delighted amazement. “Well, they certainly didn’t hold back on your breasts,” she said”

“You don’t think they’re too large?” asked Tamantha anxiously, cupping her enormous breasts. “I feel I can open doors with them.”

“With breasts like that, the men will be opening all the doors for you, never fear, my dear. You know what they say—the bigger the better.”

Tamantha said, “Right—the bigger the better, as they say. Now it’s your turn.”

Kira obligingly got out of bed, put on her high heels, and strode about the room. Tamantha applauded in appreciation. Her friend had always had a slender body, but now her figure was just about perfect. Tamantha could see that the oriental girl had likewise received substantial breast augmentation, but nothing that was out of proportion to her petite form.

They both regarded each other in the mirror above the vanity. “Too good for mortal man, I’d say,” said Tamantha.

“But we owe the guys a chance for some fun,” said Kira. “After all, that’s what our bodies are for, isn’t it?”

Took the words right out of my mouth, thought Tamantha. That’s funny. But then the thought drifted away, like so many were doing recently on this voyage so far. . .

The two girls sashayed into the clubroom. Already they had become adept at walking in their high-heeled deck sandals, placing each mincing step directly in front, their backs arched alluringly, their calves already sculpted from the strain of walking on their toe-points. The gentle roll of the ship taught them the art of balancing, as they learned to swing their hips to compensate. Their breasts jiggled and swayed with every step. Hips swinging, hair bouncing, breasts jiggling—how could they not attract attention, this time? And sure enough, it was not long before their small table attracted more and more men, until they were playing host to half the guys in the bar. Tamantha’s eyes met those of her friend Kira, and the oriental girl winked at her. “Things are looking up!” said Kira. And then she glanced over at the waist of one of their admirers standing by their table. Tamantha’s gaze followed her friend’s, and she could see what double meaning of her last statement—this guy was obviously aroused just to be around them.

The thing was, Tamantha was just as randy. It seems like every guy she laid eyes on, every tight butt or hard abdomen or flexing bicep, just seemed to make her insides quiver with a kind of simmering lust. She even found it hard to follow the conversation around them—all she could think about was how good it would feel to be held by any of the guys, to be stripped, to have him press her against his—

“Tamantha!” Kira’s voice broke into her fantasy. “I’m going to go visit with this guy over there on the couch. See ya!” And before Tamantha could reply, her friend was already being led by the hand to one of the low, comfortable couches in the darkened corner of the lounge.

A man slid smoothly into the seat vacated by Kira. He talked, at Tamantha did her best to keep up. Such big words he used! She tried to reply, to banter back in her old, cynical, put-down way, but the words just didn’t seem to form in her mind. Besides, when she did say anything, her collagen-enlarged pouty lips and modified mouth made her speech slurred and laborious—she felt like she was talking with marbles in her mouth. What a way to make an impression on this guy, she thought with despair.

But wait—isn’t a girl’s greatest asset her body? That’s what it’s there for, to give pleasure. . . the thoughts just seemed to pop into mind. She was oblivious to the fact that the lessons had been repeated countless times through the earphones during sleep. Now they seemed like the answer to her problems.

Tamantha took a deep breath and projected her breasts forward. She also tossed her hair and lightly ran the tip of her tongue over the pouty lips. Sure enough, the guy leaned forward, obviously drawn to her. Tamantha blushed at her success, and felt a moist heat building in her loins. Her head was spinning from this unexpected rush of passion so much that she missed what he asked next, and he repeated his question. “Wouldn’t we be more comfortable on one of those couches?” he asked, and he rose and offered his hand. Tamantha obediently took it without thinking and found herself snuggling with him on the soft cushions of one of the couches in the darkened corner.

He murmured something in her ear. She didn’t really understand what he said, but it did not matter. The important thing was that he was paying attention to her, letting her show off her new and exciting physique. She knew she could use her bust to attract him further (“That’s what breasts are for, the bigger the better. . .” the conditioning whispered in her mind), so she made a point of thrusting her chest out and letter her soft, warm globes press against his body.

His response to this lasvicious gesture came quickly. His hand slipped up and caressed her breasts, playing with them openly, right there in the club. True, it was dark in this corner, and many of the other men were brazenly touching and fondling their dates, but. . .

Then he leaned forward and kissed her deeply, while his other hand slid between her thighs and without warning began stroking her sex. Before she had a chance to protest, her loins quivered at this touch, and she felt herself compliantly spreading her legs to give him great access to her. (“That’s what your body is for, to give pleasure to men. . . .that’s the purpose of your body, that’s why you’re so beautiful, so you can let them play with you. . . " the conditioning ran like a endless-loop tape.) A slight moan escaped her pouty lips as his masterly guided touch seemed to spark off one sensation after another. Through her half-lidded eyelids, she could see Kira from across the room. Her friend was straddling the hips of her date, facing him as he sat in a great wing-back chair. The seated man’s hands were roaming all over her body, and the oriental girl writhed sinuously with pleasure at this touch. From time to time he pulled her close to kiss her, and Tamantha could only imagine the sensation of having Kira’s silky black hair caress one’s cheek as she leaned forward—actually, she didn’t have to imagine it, she reminded her self, she had experienced that exquisite sensation herself. The memory sent another jolt of desire through her body.

Her own date’s caresses were growing increasingly hungry and demanding. He took her hand and placed it over his hardening cock tented underneath his trousers, and Tamantha obediently began to stroke it to hardness. When she glanced back at Kira, the oriental girl was now slowly gyrating her hips in an unmistakable motion. She’s fucking him, Tamantha realized with a shock. Right here in the club! She tried to get up to intervene, but her own date held her fast with on hand while he unzipped his trousers with his other. Then Tamantha felt his strong fingers reach up and entangle themselves in her hair. The next thing she knew she felt her head being pressed down with gentle pressure until her lips hovered over the man’s throbbing cock.

I’m certainly not going to give him a blow job right here, she thought to herself. But the head of his cock brushed against her lips, and she felt a sudden tingle in her loins at the thought of taking that delicious, rock-hard cock into her mouth. Already she had automatically wet her lips. The pressure of his hand pressed her lips over the head of his cock, until the shaft surged forward and forced its way into her waiting mouth, or rather the narrow velvety-smooth tunnel that her mouth had become.

And then an odd thing happened to Tamantha. Her mind seemed to go blank. The minute her date began to thrust his hard cock past her lips, her head began to bob up and down over it of its own accord. The motion was familiar. . . This isn’t so bad, she thought, unaware that hours of subliminal programming had conditioned her for this function. Up and down her mouth slid over his cock, her puffed-out lips making an airtight seal. Her saliva glands were working overtime, as evidenced by the warm, glistening stream that gushed out of her mouth and lubricated her date’s cock. She could feel the head of the cock sliding back and forth through the narrow tunnel her mouth had become, feeling him spasm in pleasure as he forced his manhood past the rows of “speedbumps” that had been build in by the clinic.

Her hands reached out. While the fingers of one hand encircled the base of his cock, her other hand stroked and caressed his balls. That’s what men like, her mind told her—lessons learned from hours under the earphones.

Then the rhythm of his thrusts increased, became more demanding. His cock slid wetly through the narrow channel of her mouth, with barely enough room for her tongue to slaver over the underside of his shaft. Tamantha’s nostrils flared as she tried to keep pace with the quickened tempo of his thrusts. Her tongue ran slavishly over every vein, every fold, every heated contour of that pistoning cock. She discovered that if she drew in her cheeks, she could create an even tighter squeeze for his pleasure. As she leaned forward to service him better, she felt her full breasts swing out from the scanty deck dress she was wearing, her erect nipples apparent for all to see.

Tamantha wondered briefly how she most look. Leaning forward, breasts slipping out She felt thrilled to know she was now the center of her date’s universe, that she was bringing him to the pinnacle of pleasure. Soon his powerful thighs were driving his cock almost to the back of her throat. Then his strong hands gripped her head hard, holding it steady, as his manhood seemed to swell in size right in her mouth. He came deep down her throat, hot jetted spurts of his cum almost choking her. She swallowed again and again, her tongue teasing the underside of his gland to wean out every drop of fluid. Never once did her full lips break the seal at the base of his cock. Gradually he withdrew himself from her glistening lips. He patted her head, and she got wet all over at the thought of his approval.

The man stood up from the chair, and she felt a momentary sadness—leaving so soon? But he was no sooner gone than another man slid into the waiting seat. Without discussion, without even introductions, he reached forward to fondle her breasts, squeezing the nipples hard. Tamantha could not suppress her groan of delight. Then before she knew it, she was eagerly sucking on his cock as well. It was so much easier the second time around, now that she knew what was expected of her. The male scent of musk intoxicated her, and her head bobbed up and down as she serviced this second date. . . and later a third. . .

Once between cocks she stole a glance over at her friend Kira. The oriental girl had abandoned all inhibitions, and was know kneeling on the booth-seat on knees and elbows, while a standing stud with a muscular back thrust back and forth into her rear. The standing man gave her buttocks an occasional spank, which made her frantically redouble her efforts to match her bucking hips with the rhythm of his thrusts. Then the man reached forward and grabbed a clump of her glossy black hair. He pulled her head back as one might rein in a horse. Kira arched her back and let out a moan of pleasure as he buried himself deep inside her backside.

The evening seem to go on and on. It seemed to Tamantha that she had lost count of her all-too-willing partners, that she had even served the same man more than once. When both girls had passed out, they were carried back to their room, sponged clean, and left in the king-size bed together. But not before securing the headphones snugly over each girls’s mussed hair. Their lessons continued while they slept. You’ve been such a good girl the whispered voice assured them. It felt so good to give pleasure to so many men, didn’t it?. . . so much pleasure. . . it’s so easy to give pleasure. . . all you have to do is what you’re told . . . just to what you’re told. . . that’s what you’re hear for, to give pleasure. . . after all this is a pleasure cruise, isn’t it? Nothing but pleasure. . . no work . . . no thinking . . . just giving pleasure. . .now that you have the body for it. . . you’re so such a good girl to give so much pleasure. . . Gradually her mind was conditioned to regard sexual compliance as the controlling stimulation of her behavior. The lessons went on and on. . .

Tamantha awoke slowly, in a state of simmering arousal. She opened one heavy-lidded eye and saw Kira curled up next to her, the slender fingers of the oriental girl in her sleep slowly stroking Tamantha’s pussy, like a slow motion guitar strumming. Tamantha caught a scent of the girl’s perfumed hair and ran her own caressing hand down the sleeping girl’s flanks. Kira murmured something and snuggled closer. As she drifted back to sleep, Tamantha’s earphones whispered, “. . . and girls too. I love giving pleasure to other girls, if that’s what I’m supposed to do. I love the feel of soft skin on girls. . . I want to be a good girl and good girls do what they are told. . . that’s what I’m here for, to do what I’m told. . . I love doing what I’m told, it gives me so much pleasure. . . and I love giving pleasure to other girls if that’s what I’m supposed to do. . . it feels so good. . . all I have to do is do what I’m told, and I get to have more pleasure. . . I have such a beautiful body. . . I like to show off my body. . .” Tamantha drifted back off to sleep.

When Tamantha finally awoke, it was late afternoon. The rumpled sheets still bore the sweet perfume of her friend, but Kira herself was nowhere to be found. Tamantha slipped on the barest of string bikinis and then bent over to put on her high-heeled sandals; it was impossible to walk without them now. She caught a glimpse of herself in the full-length mirror: long-legged, hair cascading over her shoulders, her newly-inflated breasts jiggling as she walked, the whole picture reinforcing her developing self-image as a bimbo.

Her eyes strayed to the desk where her laptop computer still sat unused. Her brow furrowed for a moment—there was something she was supposed to be doing with that computer, but she could not remember. She reached out to touch it as if to jog her foggy memory, her long-nailed fingers now unable to work the keyboard. As a matter of fact, she couldn’t even remember how to turn it on. Somehow, that did not seem important anymore. Anyhow, she should be outside, where all the fun was, Tamantha thought, so she opened the cabin door and stood blinking in the bright sunlight. The sea was azure-blue as always, and the deck sported several sunbathers. Thoughts of the computer vanished entirely.

“Good morning, sleepy-head,” said one the young men, raising his head from his arms. He was lying on his stomach, wearing the briefest of speedo swimtrunks. His eyes were covered by wrap-around sunglasses, but even without those, Tamantha could not tell if he was one of the men she had serviced last night. Nevertheless, she warmed at the thought of being recognized.

“Hi,” she said with a seductive smile, and then felt at a loss for anything else to say, because the man was not alone. A woman knelt next to him, rubbing suntan lotion lovingly over the muscles of his bronzed back. She wore a dreamy expression and little else.

Tamantha shaded her eyes with her hand and looked over the deck. Most of the men and all of the women were sunbathing in the nude. It was as if this was the day that everybody tossed off the last of their inhibitions.

“Mmm, harder,” said the man, and the girl bent over her task, her oiled breasts swaying with each movement of her arms. Tamantha noticed the girl did wear something after all—the gold medallion on the choker around her neck, of course, and the electronic device hooked to the string thong of her swimsuit. With a start of surprise, Tamantha saw the name on the medallion: “Candi”. The once-brash fashion editor had undergone a kind of sea-change. Her body, like Tamantha’s, had been perfected after frequent sessions in the clinic. Her blue eyes were limpid and pretty, with only a look of puppy-dog devotion in them.

“That’s enough on my back,” said the man. “Now do my front.” He turned over. To Tamantha’s surprise, Candi’s hands obediently slid over the man’s muscular thighs and gripped the elastic bands of his swimsuit. She pulled the trunks down over his legs, revealing a cock that was already throbbing into hardness. Candi squirted some of the white lotion into her hands, and went to work on his shoulders and chest, with her breasts brushing teasingly against his swelling cock. The man exhaled in pleasure as the docile girl worked over his chest with her hands. Then lower to his torso. Another squirt of lotion. . . and then Candi matter-of-factly was massaging the man’s cock with the lotion, masturbating him with those slender, glistening fingers. She made an “O” with her forefinger and thumb, and squeezed is dock up and down like a piston-driven pleasure ring. Tamantha watched as the man’s body flexed and hardened with each stroke, and she found herself wishing she could be the girl rending such pleasure. After all, she thought, isn’t that what I’m for? The thought seemed to drift back out of her head as she found a place on deck to sunbathe.

Later that day she was strolling past one of the crew cabins when she noticed a clipboard lying on the deck. She picked it up and idly examined it. The top sheet listed names under the heading “passengers”. She saw her own name, soon enough, and Kira’s. . . and Candace’s. . . but where were all the other guests? Her eye roamed over the first names listed on the sheet, with pencilled notes: Barbara, an agency executive. . .Samantha, heiress to a Hudson River fortune, Kristen, listed as an “actress/model”. Suddenly she felt a light go on in her head as she remembered the voluptuous hostesses in the ship’s restaurant with the medallions that proclaimed “Barbi” and “Sami” and “Kristi”. Through the fog of her docility, a hint of danger whispered. She cradled the clipboard and went in search of Kira.

Kira was in their cabin, putting on her make-up. (She hardly ever wore makeup before this cruise, thought Tamantha), but then Tamantha held up the clipboard for Kira to see in the large vanity mirror.

“I think there’s something strange going on,” said Tamantha. She had to work to get the words out past her collagen-engorged lips. “All these women were passengers, and now they all have these silly girly names like Bambi’ and Stefani’, and they all work on the ship, dressed like, you know, like us. . .”

“Like us?” asked Kira helpfully. “What’s so strange about that? After all, that’s what we’re here for.”

Tamantha thought she heard an echo in Kira’s statement of something she had heard many times before. It was all so confusing. She took her friend by the shoulders and turned her around.

“But what are all these women—most of them career women, like we used to be—like we are,” she stammered, getting more confused, “like we are, doing as part of the crew. It’s almost like they’ve been kidnaped or something.”

A look of flickering awareness finally flitted across Kira’s face. Her oriental eyes narrowed and she seemed to be struggling to think. Then she regarded Tamantha with concern. “I see a problem,” she said.

Tamantha nodded hopefully. Maybe the two of them could figure this out together.

Kira continued. “What are we going to do with your hair style?” the oriental girl asked. “There’s a party in the restaurant tonight and we need to get ready. Look at you! What if the men don’t think we’re pretty?”

Tamantha stared at her friend in despair, then slowly backed away. “Kira. . .not you too. Don’t you see? We’re in deep in something on this boat that could be very. . .” she searched for the word but couldn’t find it. In frustration, she fled from the cabin.

As Tamantha ran down the hallway as best as she could on her high heels, a man was just stepping down stairs in front of her. Strong, lithe arms reached out and caught her. “Why are you in such a rush, my dear?” said the French-accented voice.

Tamantha hammered his chest with her fists. It was futile, her own balloon-size breasts got in the way of her punches.

“There is something going on!” wailed Tamantha.

“Nothing is going on,” replied Andre.

“Yes, there is. Look what you you’ve done to all those passenger girls. Look what you’ve done to Kira. And—” Tamantha stepped back to gesture at her own voluptuous body. “And look what you’ve done to me!” She could barely hold back the tears.

“Now, now, Tamantha, nobody has done anything to you that you have not requested? You were the one who wanted to avail yourself of our fine clinic, no? And this exquisite tan you’ve acquired—Nobody has been forcing you to sunbathe on the deck, no? Come on, dry those tears. Sit next to me and tell me why you’re upset. You’ve always been such a . . . good girl onboard.”

Tamantha obediently responded to the trigger words “good girl”, implanted early in her conditioning. She sat down next to Andre. He put his arm around her in a friendly way, and she caught a whiff of that Parisian eue de cologne that he never seemed to be without . . . intoxicating. And Andre began to speak low, comforting words. He seemed to her like the high school principal, the mentor. Although she had a hard time following what he was saying—so many big words!—she still felt warmed by his attention. Phrases came though, all coated with his Continental charm.

“But what about the clipboard?” she asked. She had to labor to talk clearly. Not only was her mind so confused, her full-pouting lips and tunneled mouth reconfiguration made it such an effort to talk.

“Ah, the clipboard. Of course some of the passengers help out as crew, it’s part of the fun of the cruise. In a way, we are all like a happy family here. All cares tossed aside, always among friends—that’s what cruises are for, no?” And as he spoke, his hands slid down her flanks to rest on her hip, and Tamantha felt a bolt of sexual energy surge through her. Her eyes were now doe—like and burning with the embers of desire. The more his knowing hands caressed her, the harder it became to concentrate on what Andre was saying. Andre then began to lace his conversation with the trigger words he knew had been grooved into her mind. Each word raised her heat a notch higher.

“And why should you bother yourself with such concerns, hm? Isn’t that our job, the people who are looking after you? Hm?” He reached up and gave a playful pinch to the hardened nipples of each breast in turn. The sensual heat seemed to course its way like lightening straight to her loins. By now the poor girl couldn’t even think straight—her eyelids fluttered in a dreamy state of prolonged arousal. Her weak protests were swamped by the sexual heat being fanned by Andre’s expert touch. Her body was incredibly sensitized from countless hours of mental conditioning. Andre placed his fingers lightly between her legs, and she actually found herself rubbing herself shameless against his hand.

He said, “So you see there is no problem.” He noticed her breasts were rising and falling with each panting breath, and her unabashed scent filled the hallway. “So if I am not mistaken, you were going to meet your friend for an afternoon on the deck before our party tonight, no? Isn’t that what you came here to find out?”

Tamantha nodded. “I almost forgot,” she said. “I’ve been rather forgetful lately. Thanks for talking to me.” In fact, she had forgotten all about the clipboard.

Andre watched her hips sway and she climbed the stairs to the deck. “Thank heavens for little girls,” he said with an ironic smile.