The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Resolve

by Bad Penny

Anna’s been trained long enough that she should recognize the symptoms of her conditioning, but they always sneak up on her. Kind of like her period used to—oh, that bloating and cramping meant something?—she sometimes thinks just before her focus narrows down to pleasure. It’s humiliating. Her conditioning makes her actions shameless, not her thoughts, so she promises herself that next time, she’ll stop herself.

Her handlers say she can. All she has to do is not answer the door.

So each Wednesday, she wakes up and tells herself this is the day it ends. She wipes the steam off the mirror after her shower and spends fifteen minutes staring herself in the eye. “I will not answer the door,” she says, pleased with the grave set to her normally pixyish face.

As her coffee brews, she listens to the comforting gurgle of the coffee-maker. “I will not answer the door.”

She repeats herself until she’s confident of her resolve. As an added layer of protection, she repeats her mantra in front of the bathroom mirror again after brushing her teeth.

She will not answer the door.

By two o’clock, she’s finished her (programmed) chores and is left to her own devices. She sinks onto the couch in the family room, pleasantly fatigued by the dusting and mopping. Anna knows she’s been doing her chores long enough that they shouldn’t tire her out so much—doesn’t the body get used to exercise after awhile?—but she likes the delicious hum in her body and the rubbery feeling in her arms and legs, so she never dwells on that line of thought for too long.

Besides, since she’s not going to open the door, she finally has time to catch up on her reading. She’s been trying to get through Moby Dick for months now. Best to concentrate on that. She’s always loved to read, even before her handlers found her.

She manages a few pages before the itching starts. Anna does her best to ignore it, but it’s no use. She curses herself for not realizing how sweaty all the housework made her and sets the book down to strip off her shirt. The air is cool against her skin and makes her nipples harden in her bra. She smiles at how nice it feels to be topless and rolls her shoulders and neck to work out the kinks.

Then Anna hesitates for a moment, one hand hovering over the book, the other playing with the button of her jeans. The denim is damp and clings to her legs, and though they haven’t started to itch, she can tell they will. Best to take the jeans off, too, so she’s not distracted again.

But she is distracted again, this time by her panties. They’re damp, more so than her jeans. Anna frowns and strips them off impatiently. Why she bothers wearing them when they’re so annoying is beyond her, and what is up with her bra? It’s now uncomfortably tight and feels a little too rough against her sensitive nipples. Does she really need it? She knows she rides the cusp between perky and bouncy, so if she planned to answer the door, she’d keep the bra on.

If she planned to answer the door, though, she’d still be fully dressed. Since she’s this far gone, why not get entirely comfortable? At least she’d be able to concentrate.

But being naked doesn’t help. Her arms and legs still feel rubbery, and the hum is becoming more distracting as it centers in her cunt. Anna sets the book down with a frown. She can’t really remember what she’s read, but she knows it wasn’t particularly arousing. Moby Dick isn’t smut. She backtracks a couple of pages to make sure. Yes, she’s reading the classic, not some kinky parody.

Something’s making her hot, though. Not Melville’s language. Her eyes are already glazing over again. She sets the book down with a sigh and slips a hand between her legs. She’s already wet and, she realizes when she runs her middle finger around her clit, not particularly anxious to climax. She strokes herself lazily, relishing the silky feel of her fingers in her cunt. She’s too high-strung, she realizes. Shouldn’t have tried reading until after she’d calmed down...

Her orgasm, when it comes, is like a blissfully cool shower on a hot day. She lets herself pant for a few moments afterwards, eyes closed, as the rubbery feeling starts to seep out of her arms and legs. It lingers in her knees, but by the time she’s sucked her fingers clean, she’s mostly steady. Steady enough to read, anyway.

The doorbell rings. Anna jumps up and is in the entrance hallway before she remembers her resolve. She stops, clenching and unclenching her fists at her side. Why hadn’t she noticed when the itching started? It always starts with the itching, and now that she’s come, she may be too far gone. She takes a deep breath and tries to recapture her determination. She is—

Step.

—not—

Take the collar and leash from their hook on the wall.

—going—

Kneel.

—to—

Put on the collar; tighten it to the second to last notch.

—answer—

Breathe; make sure the collar is pleasantly tight.

—the—

Lean forward and release the deadbolt.

—door.

Head bowed, present the leash.

Anna whimpers just before one of her handlers opens the door. She hadn’t meant to answer! They said she could end this...if she wanted to. Didn’t she?

“You look lovely on display,” her handler says, and Anna recognizes the rich voice of her cruel handler, the one who never lets her look up at him, the one who makes her burn with both pleasure and shame until she can’t tell the difference.

His comment isn’t praise, or shouldn’t be, Anna knows, but it still sends a tremor of pleasure through her. She feels her breath hitch when he takes the leash from her outstretched hands.

“Heel.”

She crawls behind him, keeping her head down. She feels the flush creeping across her chest and face, but embarrassment doesn’t keep her nipples from hardening, or from that electric hum intensifying in her cunt, or from her muscles constricting in anticipation. She doesn’t want this, does she?

He leads her back into the family room, has her brace herself against the coffee table and stare down at its polished surface as he fusses with the television and DVD player.

Anna’s stomach lurches. She knows what he’ll make her do. Her cunt may be wet with anticipation, but her mind isn’t.

“No, please,” Anna says, and she hates how small and uncertain she sounds. “I don’t want to see.”

“But you’re such a lovely slut. Our clients enjoyed the show.” He finishes with the setup and moves behind her to sit on the couch, wrapping the leash around his left hand. “And you seemed to enjoy yourself.” He jerks on the leash, forcing her head up.

He starts the DVD. Anna can’t help but watch as her image appears on the screen, leaning over the kitchen table. She remembers the party on Friday, the cameras her handlers set up.

On the screen, she stares directly at the camera. “Oh, god, I need it! Please! Give me your cock!”

She never saw the face of the man behind her, and Anna is secretly pleased she can’t see it now. The camera cuts him off just below the shoulders, so he remains a faceless stranger. He had been rough when he entered her with one long stroke, Anna remembers. Her hips jerk forward at her onscreen moan.

Oh, how that man filled her! She remembers the exquisite feeling of him withdrawing until the head of his cock teased her inner lips and slamming back into her, hard and deep. She tried to rock back to meet him, but he was so strong! Strong enough to drive her hips into the edge of the table so she felt the sharp pain of each thrust both inside and out.

On the screen, she’s screaming, saying “Yes!” and “Harder!” until pain and pleasure reduce her to sobbing moans. His grunts are satisfying, too, as is the smack of his thighs on her ass, the way her breasts bob wildly and brush against the tabletop.

Anna’s ashamed but not surprised when she realizes her hips are jerking in time to the fucking on the screen. Her handler slides his free hand between her legs. She rocks back onto it with a low moan.

“You know we’re recording this, too.”

Anna answers with another moan, eyes flickering briefly to the painting hanging on the wall over the television. The camera’s hidden behind it, she knows, its dark lens disguised as the center of one of the sunflowers. It may have even been recording earlier; she doesn’t know. The idea excites her, though, almost as much as it shames her. Do her handlers watch her gather her resolve in the morning? Do they laugh when they see her succumb to distraction and masturbate? Do they watch her struggle in front of the door? She never sees these recordings, but she’s certain if she asks, her handlers will laugh and tell her what they see.

Her handler slides two fingers into her. Anna rocks back onto his hand, still keeping time with her television image. The heat between her legs is building, but the angle of his hand is wrong. His palm rests firmly on her ass, not over her mound. She shifts so his fingers are at least grazing her G-spot on each of her thrusts.

“I hate you,” Anna says, biting back a moan. “I—hnng—don’t want this.”

“Really?” He lets the question dangle for a moment. “Then why are you fucking my hand?”

“You’re making me,” Anna says between pants. Her breath catches as he slides a third finger in her.

“Hardly. You want this. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have answered the door.”

On the television screen, Anna screams, grimacing as she arches into her climax. Anna feels her cunt clench in response, but the angle still isn’t quite right. She whimpers and shifts again.

“You want to come.”

Anna grits her teeth. “Yes.”

His other hand, the one holding the leash, grazes her stomach and settles lightly on her mound, just above her clit. Anna tries to thrust up into it, but he moves with her.

“Admit you want this.”

“Fuck you!” She knows her defiance would carry more weight if she’d stop riding his hand, but she can’t—or won’t—control her hips.

“Oh, you’ve already been fucked quite thoroughly. Besides, I can’t have you accusing me of anything improper.”

“Improper! You—ahhh—have me on a leash!”

“You put yourself on it. I’m merely respecting your wishes.”

Her breathing is ragged. On the screen, another man is saying he doesn’t like sloppy seconds, so he’ll have to fuck her ass. On the screen, she’s bucking her hips back towards him begging for more, saying she needs it hard.

“You did like that,” her handler says, and Anna knows he’s referring to her performance on screen.

“You made me.”

He laughs, and Anna whimpers at the tingle it sends down her spine. “Actually, I wasn’t there. Out of town on business, unfortunately. It is always a pleasure watching you in person. So eager.”

“Bastard.”

“Sign of the times. More and more single mothers, but that’s beside the point.”

“I hate you.”

“Yes, you said that already.” He sounds bored, so Anna instinctually quickens her pace. “But hate me or not, you still want this. Admit it.”

“No!”

“Don’t you remember? You volunteered for this little experiment.”

Anna moans. “You’re...lying.” But she knows he’s not. Her handlers never lie, and he somehow triggered her memories, so she remembers brief flashes. Confessing she always wanted to be dominated, to be owned and whored out to strangers, to experience the humiliation of being controlled by a need for pleasure. Listening to her handlers concoct their scheme. Agreeing to letting them condition her, to make her their whore, to make her struggle against her desires. The burn of the first injection at the start of her conditioning. The stimulation, the voices, the commands burrowing deep into her mind. The relief when she finally crumbles. She moans again.

“Ah, you remember now.”

She’s so close, she’s trembling. “The conditioning,” she pants, remembering how perfect it felt. “I want you to renew it.”

“Look straight into the camera. You know where it is.”

She looks up to the painting above the television. “Please! Please keep me like this.” She gasps a soft “oh!” when her handler shifts his hand in her cunt, adding another finger to stretch her wide. “Yes, please,” she begs.

“Whore.”

The rough edge of his tone almost sends Anna over. “Yes! Please—haa—keep me as your whore. I want it!”

He finally slides his hand over her clit. Release is almost immediate and consuming enough that she almost misses her handler’s low, satisfied laugh. But there’s no missing the way it intensifies her orgasm and makes everything sparkle for one perfect instant. Anna smiles.

Her handlers never lie. She can stop this at any time...if she wants.