The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A Priest in Her Service


Derek sat at his desk at work the next day. He was getting absolutely no work done. His mind was swimming with questions about his power, his responsibility, his life, and his wife.

It’s all just so complicated, he thought. I don’t feel guilty, but I don’t know if that’s because I’ve been changed. I don’t want to hurt people, but I don’t think I have. But how can I tell?

Additionally, he was horny again. In a sudden fit of self-disgust, Derek walked out of the office, not even bothering to tell anyone that he was leaving. He wasn’t even really paying attention to where he was going. He found himself in the office building lobby, leaning against the wall. He closed his eyes, thinking if only I could talk to somebody.

He opened them again, and was looking directly at the office directory for the building. The first line he read was ‘R. Hickman, PhD LP—Counseling and Therapy’. Is that a sign? Does the Goddess do signs like that?

Nevertheless, moments later he was trying the suite door, which was closed but unlocked. He stepped through into a nicely appointed but empty waiting room. There was a desk for a receptionist, but it was empty, and a single, large door stood half open behind it.

Tentatively, Derek stepped behind the desk towards the door, calling “Hello?”

A woman’s voice came from the other side, saying “Come in.”

No, not another woman! It won’t help if I just turn her into my sex slave! Part of Derek wanted to flee, but he wasn’t sure if he’d have the guts to try again if he chickened out, so he steeled himself and entered the office. The office itself was similarly well equipped to the waiting room, with several comfortable chairs, a couch, and a desk. He felt a moment of relief as he saw the woman rising from her chair behind the desk with thoroughly gray hair. As she stepped around towards him, the grace and elegance she projected was impressive and attractive, but not it didn’t arouse him.

He tried to guess her age. More than 50, less than 70? Her hair was silver-gray with hints of red, her face was well-preserved, though in the modest light that could have been makeup. She offered her hand and said “I’m Dr. Rowan Hickman. What can I do for you?”

“I need someone to talk to,” sighed Derek. Please say yes please say yes please say yes.

“I don’t usually take walk-in patients,” she replied, and his heart fell, “but you look like you need it. I think I can make an exception, just this once.”

Did I do that? I think I did that. Damnit, I wasn’t going to do that. As he introduced himself, Derek had another horrible thought. I’m going to have to do it again. If she doesn’t believe me her solutions will all be about trying to cure my crazy.

“So,” she said, “Why don’t you sit down and tell me what caused you to seek out the closest therapist you could find” as she crossed the room to close the door, then settled into her own chair next to the desk. She held a pen and a notepad.

There was no other way. Believe that the story I tell you is true. Not just that I believe it, but that it actually happened this way. And he began.

Dr. Hickman was a good listener. She was quiet for long stretches, as he recounted the events of the last few days, but whenever he got lost or side tracked, she gently guided him back with questions. If he glossed over or skipped any significant events, she probed him for more details. She was interested in a surprising amount of detail about the sex, but she asked the questions in such an even tone that Derek soon forgot his embarrassment in giving her the sordid details.

Through the whole conversation, Dr. Hickman made no commentaries and gave no indication what she thought of his tale. Finally, Derek’s story concluded with this morning’s angst and his decision to come talk to her. She sat, silently, for a moment, then said, “Well, as I’m sure you are aware, your problems are pretty far outside the typical range I deal with professionally. I’d like a moment or two to collect my thoughts. But first, I have one more question. Did you use your power on me?”

“Yes,” said Derek, dejected. “I wasn’t going to, but first you weren’t going to see me, then I realized that if you didn’t believe me, all you’d be doing is figuring out how to have me committed.”

“Ha. That’s certainly true.” Then she paused, and laughed again, more freely. It was a beautiful laugh. “You know, in a circular way, you’ve proved your power twice over.” In response to Derek’s quizzical stare, she continued, “I do believe you. I shouldn’t, though. Your story is fanciful. Thus, the fact that I believe such an unrealistic story is proof that you have the powers you describe, and that I should believe you. Of course, for that proof to make sense, I have to believe you already. Thus, the circular reasoning.”

She leafed back through her notebook a few times, deep in thought. Then, she began, “I don’t know what to tell you with any certainty. But I have a few thoughts on your general situation, some practical advice, and a proposal on what you can do next to help yourself. Would you like to hear them?”

“Yes, absolutely,” Derek replied.

“First, I think worrying about how much you have changed, or rather been changed, is, after a point, self-defeating. Normally, self-reflection is healthy, but in your case, it may be futile. If you have been turned into a monster, you can’t choose to turn back. Your path has been set, or not, by your Goddess and this Mistress. Knowing what they have done won’t change it. I know that sounds fatalistic, but I think it’s important.”

“Now, given who you are now, the question is, are your actions moral? The most common way we interpret morality in our culture is as a set of instructions from God. Now, in the last hour, I’ve learned that God may not have the monopoly on giving instructions. So, in one significant sense, it may be impossible for actions taken by the will of the Goddess to be immoral.”

“You may find that strange, but think about it. Millions of people build their morality on what God thinks is right. You have far more proof that this Goddess exists than anyone does that God exists, so why can’t you do the same?”

“Alternately, people build morality from basic principles that simply feel right. That’s where we get the idea of consent for sexual activity, and that violating that consent is wrong. But your actions don’t fit into that paradigm. Should we think of your power like compulsion, as if you threatened someone with a knife? Or like persuasion, as if you had a conversation and convinced them to do what you wanted? Or, most likely, is it something that we don’t even have a framework to talk about, and think about, because nobody thought it was possible?”

“This will sound strange, but consider online piracy.” Derek blinked. It did sound strange, but Dr. Hickman continued, “For a long time, people tried to call it theft. There was even an advertisement that said ‘You wouldn’t download a car’. But that missed that piracy was fundamentally different from theft, in that it didn’t deprive the owner of their property, so many people responded to the ad by saying ‘If I could download a car, I absolutely would.’ We needed, and still do, a new way of thinking about piracy, because our concept of theft just can’t encompass it.”

“But,” she warned, “that doesn’t make it automatically right. Even if it’s not theft, many people believe there’s something wrong with pirating music, or a movie. The same may apply to you. What I am saying is that we don’t know, because we don’t have the tools or the vocabulary to figure it out.”

“So, what should I do?” Derek asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Dr. Hickman. “I’m sorry, but it’s too strange a case for me to know. If you truly believe in the Goddess, and I think you’ve been changed that much, then I would fall back on that, when in doubt. It’s no less moral than what is taught about God. But be careful. The Goddess may be moral, in a sense, by definition, but that does not mean that the Mistress automatically is.”

“Now, some practical advice. Your wife is trying to join you as an equal in your new relationship. That will never work. Her little stunt with your friend … Julie, was it? … was a play for power. But she doesn’t really have power in your relationship. There is a fundamental power imbalance that neither of you can eliminate, and pretending it isn’t there will just cause you grief. You need to convince her to take a secondary role, or go your separate ways. I think I know which you’ll choose.”

“Also, I would stop worrying about affecting people without trying. I don’t think you are. Or rather, I do think you are, but I think it is a different power of yours than the mind-whammy, and probably one that is entirely outside your control.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you clearly don’t see me as sexually desirable, but after spending an hour in a room alone with you, I want to jump your bones so bad it hurts.”

“I’m sorry,” Derek stammered, taken aback. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know you didn’t,” Dr. Hickman interrupted. “That’s what I’m saying. I think it’s not about what you mean to do, or what you want. It’s just a fact of your presence. I swore off men over 30 years ago, and you are making me regret that decision.”

“But,” she said, standing up, “You don’t seem inclined to do what is necessary to help me with this problem, so I’d like to end our session here. I need some alone time.”

Derek blinked. Did she just say what I thought she said? But Dr. Hickman was shooing him out of the room. She guided him into the waiting room, and said “Claire, honey, this is Derek. I’ll see him whenever he needs. For now, cancel my 1 o’clock, please, and keep holding my calls.” She shut the door behind her, firmly.

Derek turned to see who she was addressing. Claire was at the receptionists desk that was empty earlier. She was dark-skinned but her background was difficult to place. Indian? Native South American? She had jet black hair held up in some spiky arrangement by a clip, and the most striking facial features that Derek had ever seen, with high cheekbones and deep, alluring eyes.

Derek’s pent up desire, which had no outlet with Dr. Hickman, suddenly broke free. His erection thrust his pants forward, lewdly. She noticed, and was fixated on the sight.

He strode over to the desk, and said, “You have a phone call to make.”

“Oh? Right.” She turned, and started pulling up a number on her computer. He pulled her to her feet and knocked the chair away. He was pulling down her slacks as she dialed.

“Mrs. Johnson? This is Claire, from Dr. Hickman’s office. I’m (oof),” he shoved her forward, and she fell on her elbows on the desk, “terribly sorry, but Dr. Hickman has had an emergency and won’t be able to SEEEEEEEE you” he stuck two fingers into her soaking vagina, “at 1 PM, as … scheduled. Yes. I understand, but it couldn’t be helped. We can reschedOOOOOOOOLE,” he thrust into her from behind, “No, no I’m fine, I’m just ...” he began to pump “a little … emotional … from dealing … with the … problem,” she gasped out in between thrusts, bucking back into him. “I will … call you … when we … have things … sorted … out. Thank you … for ...understanding.” Claire could barely talk now. “Have a … good … daaaaaAAAAAYYYEEEEEEEEE!” She slammed the phone down as her last word turned into a howl of pleasure.

Derek rode out Claire’s orgasm, keeping hard despite having just emptied into her, and keeping his thrusting up throughout her spasms. When she came down, her cries turning first to gasps then mere heavy breathing, he reduced his tempo slowly but steadily until he pulled out a moment later.

“Wow,” said Claire, elbows still on the desk. “That was intense. I’ve never felt anything like that before. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Derek was pulling his pants up as she turned around, still wobbly and using the desk for support. “But you liked it,” he said.

“Liked it? That was incredible!”

“Well then. I may see you whenever I need, too.” She flushed, despite her skin tone. Then, Derek had a thought. “Your boss. She’s a lesbian?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Is she interested in you?”

“She looks, but she’d never do anything inappropriate. Plus, I’m not into that.”

“Oh,” said Derek, brushing Claire’s cheek, “I think you might find it unusually fulfilling.” He began unbuttoning her blouse, and she leaned into him kissing. He pulled her pants off, had her shirt all the way open (her panties were small enough that he had just pulled them to the side), and stood her up.

Derek broke the kiss, and pointed Claire towards the closed office door. “Why don’t you go in there and see if Dr. Hickman, if Rowan needs any … help.”

Claire still resisted. “I couldn’t, I don’t know if I...”

You want to please Dr Hickman, in any way. You want to obey Dr. Hickman.

“I’m sure she could help you figure it out.”


You want to give Dr. Hickman pleasure. You want Dr. Hickman to give you pleasure. Dr. Hickman can give you more pleasure than anyone else.

“Go on.”

She stepped towards the door, then turned back, “But I’m not...”

Dr. Hickman is a sexy woman. You want to have sex with sexy women. You want to have sex with Dr. Hickman. Right now.

With a shudder, Claire reached out and opened the door. Immediately, Derek could hear moaning from the other side. Good soundproofing, he thought.

Claire entered, and said, demurely “Dr. Hickman, I … Oh my!” She shut the door behind her.

Derek showed himself out.