The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

RUSH TO SURRENDER

Part Two

Jen froze in surprise as she became aware of something other than the cravings that surged through her body over and over. She was hearing the sound of the door opening. Ilsa was back! She could get Ilsa to satisfy her need and then... she’d figure it out later.... She did know it wasn’t really surrendering. She wasn’t really letting Ilsa turn her into a lesbian. She was just going ahead with her plan.

Footsteps approached, the same rhythm as Ilsa’s but a bit louder and sharper. She heard faint tapping sounds, and felt her body relax. Her need receded a bit—still strong enough to desperately require release, but muted enough to allow her to notice and think about other things.

For a moment, she wondered if there might be some other way out of this. She couldn’t get herself to think of any.

She blinked as her blindfold was removed. She tried to catch Ilsa’s gaze, to make her believe she was ready to give in, but the other woman turned away and moved out of her field of view.

Then she heard two loud metallic clangs and the ticking of gear work. Her platform began to tilt, head rising and feet sinking. The top of the far wall came into view, and then she was distracted as her body suddenly slid down the incline. Her feet came to rest on a shelf —she vaguely remembered discovering it while trying to explore as much as she could by touch—and she settled into a splay-footed stance.

As her gaze got closer to horizontal, she saw a tri-fold full-length mirror in front of her. Her body , naked except for the bands around her arms, legs, and neck, continued its descent in triplicate: one front view and two three-quarter profiles.

She imagined herself caressing herself—literally. She imagined four of herself rubbing and massaging each other. She felt a spike of sexual desire almost as strong as the ones she’d been experiencing for... however long Ilsa had left her to “soften up”.

Ilsa strode into view, next to the left-hand mirror. She wore a shiny black leather corset that—just barely—cupped her breasts from below and matching thigh-high high-heeled boots. Between was only a tiny leather patch covering her pubes. As she moved in front of the mirror, Jen saw that it was held on with narrow thong, leaving her butt fully exposed.

She stood directly in front of her for a long moment. Then Ilsa took a deep breath and smiled. “Well, well, well! Even with the libido stimulation turned off so I could get your attention, you’re still hot and wet!”

“Turned off? She tried to make sense of that. “That can’t be. I still feel more horny than I’ve ever felt before. I shouldn’t be feeling like this looking at another woman. It must still be on, maybe dialed back a little. She must by just saying that to trick me somehow....”

She shuddered as another tingle raced through her body.

She stopped trying to figure it out. It didn’t matter why she felt this way. It had to stop. She needed to make it stop. There was only one way to do that....

Staring directly into Ilsa’s eyes, she tried to tell her “I want you....”. It came out of the gag as something like “Mm wnnnnmb mrooo...”

“Still insisting you won’t do it?” Ilsa snickered.

“No!” “Nnmmmm!” Jen had a feeling that was the wrong answer, somehow, but couldn’t concentrate enough to figure out why.

“Yes, you will. It’ll only take another hour or so, depending on just how long you continue to fight it.”

Another hour or so might as well be forever for Jen. “No! Fuck me now!” “Nnmmmm! Ffggggbb mmm nmmmwb!”

Ilsa shrugged off the interruption. “No, Jennie darling, no one is going to get you out of this. You are going to be mine. Not just yet, but soon—”

She didn’t want it ‘soon’ She wanted it now! “Nnmmmm! Nnmmmm!” she cried into her gag, over and over.

Yes, Jennie darling, not ‘no’. You’ll be ready to say ‘yes’ as soon as you’ve had a few adjustments to your self-image.”

“Now!” she shouted again, trying to emphasize the “w” sound so it would penetrate the gag. Out came the same “Nnmmmm! Nnmmmm!” sound.

Ilsa ignored the protestations. She turned away, saying “Excuse me a moment.”

“Nnmmmm! Nnmmmm!” Jen couldn’t help herself when she saw Ilsa leave, though she knew it was counterproductive.

Jen took a deep breath and quieted down when Ilsa returned, carrying a small three-legged stool. She reached into the top of one boot and took out a large felt-tipped marker, then sat down directly in front of her bound captive.

The tip of the marker tickled her belly as it swept across her skin. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips as it swept downward to the upper fringes of her pubes. When she opened them again, the first thing she saw was her image in one of the side mirrors. Ilsa had drawn a large Valentine-style heart across her lower body, with its upper curves meeting at her belly button and its lower lines not quite intersecting but swooping down on a direct course toward her wet needy opening.

The drawing was in a pinkish-purple color that was somehow brighter and more compelling than anything she’d ever seen before. She was vaguely aware of Ilsa reaching up and waving her hand in front of her eyes, but her gaze remained steady.

“Try to take your eyes off it, if you can.”

Jen couldn’t. She did try—complying with Ilsa’s requests seemed like the best way to convince her to go ahead and have her way with her—but could not.

“I’m particularly proud of this bit of brain-hacking. The cerebral modulator is searching for any optical signals in this key color and feeding them directly into the brain centers that build your mental map of the world, bypassing all the usual filters. You can’t ignore the image. You can’t deny its significance. You can’t let any other thought contradict it.”

Jen stared at the heart, increasingly aware that she was not simply horny... she was falling in love.

Ilsa then began writing inside the heart. She wrote “ON” in one of the upper lobes, then paused. Just as Jen noticed something wrong about the “N”, Ilsa leaned forward and began licking the letters off Jen’s belly.

The touch of Ilsa’s tongue sent electric thrills through Jen’s body. Desperately she tried to call out, Lower! Go lower!”

“Nrrrrgr! Gnnm nrrrgr!”

Ilsa looked up at her with a smirk. “’Never’ is a long time, Jennie dear. Once you’ve absorbed your new self-image, you’ll let me lick you down there—all the way down there—whenever I want. And you’ll gladly return the favor.”

Jen’s eyes widened, and she took a deep breath. She almost tried to yell “Now!” again, but remembered that Ilsa kept hearing it as “No!” and stopped herself. She tried to look pleading. She knew that if Ilsa did this for her, then yes, she would return the favor. She vaguely remembered that she’d hoped to avoid that. That wasn’t important any more.

After rubbing the damp spot dry with her hand—sending another thrill through her captive—Ilsa began writing again. This time, the letters went the right way in the mirror. They spelled “NO BOYS ALLOWED”.

“Yes, Jennie darling, look at this message, read it, absorb it, accept it.”

She was doing just that, Jen knew. She remembered letting men finger and lick and fuck her down there. She even remembered feeling good from it. But she knew, the way she knew up from down or black from white, that she would never do it again. It just wasn’t her.

Ilsa’s expression became thoughtful, as if puzzling over some difficult problem. “But how will you get the satisfaction you need so badly?” Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped in a sudden ‘eureka!’ look. “I know...” she said in an exaggeratedly bright tone as she again applied the marker to Jen’s torso.

Two large intersecting circles just below Jen’s breasts and two cross-marks at their bottoms like handles made two intertwined female symbols. The iconography was obvious even before Ilsa wrote the title “LESBIAN” across the drawing.

Jen stared at the new image and shuddered. This was what she’d been trying to avoid, she remembered. But as she took in the sight of herself bearing the label, she knew that it was unavoidable. She was a lesbian. That was simply part of the way things were. Her memories of being attracted to men, of insisting that what had happened between her and Claire meant nothing, of fighting against what Ilsa wanted from her... all started to seem a bit like some old fever dream, not really part of her life at all.

She did not merely want Ilsa to grant her physical release from her sexual cravings, she realized. She wanted to be Ilsa’s lover, now and forever. Most of all, she wanted Ilsa now. She was so horny, so eager. She could hardly stand to be kept waiting.

There had to be some wording that would make its way through the gag in a form Ilsa wouldn’t misunderstand. She tried “Take me to bed!”. In her excitement, the words came out in a rush and slurred together even before being muffled:

“Tddggkkm mmbbbgth!”

Ilsa chuckled as she took a riding crop from her left boot and swatted it into her palm. “You’ve just earned yourself a spanking later, my dear. It will help you remember that you are the dyke bitch and I am the dyke butch....” She stood up, her gaze almost intense enough to draw Jen’s eyes away from the writing on her mirror image. “Not that I have any objection to the word itself, mind you. It’s really just a label for what I’ve been ever since I found myself noticing the girls and not the boys.” She continued as she applied the marker to Jen’s forehead. “It’s just a label for what you are going to be from now on.”

Jen looked at herself in the mirror. The irresistibly eye-catching characters proclaimed her identity as a “DYKE”.

“What I won’t tolerate is the sort of disrespectful attitude you were expressing.”

Jen was about to try and deny it, but squelched the urge. Whatever she tried to say, Ilsa interpreted as ongoing resistance. That meant she’d have to wait longer for this to be over.

“I am the Mistress; you are the slave.” As she spoke, she added a few more marks to Jen’s forehead, above and below the label. The label now identified Jen as “ILSA’S DYKE BITCH”.

Her writing hand moved to Jen’s neck, marking her collar rather than her skin. The label “ILSA’S SLAVEGIRL” was, if anything, a bit more compelling for that.

Jen felt pleased with herself for keeping quiet. She was Ilsa’s slave. It was not her place to speak to Mistress Ilsa unbidden.

Ilsa stepped back and to the side, taking the stool with her, to admire her handiwork and give Jen a full unobstructed view of her triplicate mirror image.

“Behold the new you, Jennie darling. Every time you see your reflection or your picture, every time you consider how you appear to others, every time you engage in introspection, you will know that this is what you are. Just give your new self-image time to settle firmly into place.”

Powerful need and ragged remnants of resistance joined forces for a moment, giving Jen the backbone to speak up to Ilsa, to register one last protest against being kept waiting.

“Now! Don’t wait!” “Wnnnnmb! Bmomb wrmmrrbt!”

“I’m surprised that you’re still capable of talking back to me or trying to insist that you’re ‘straight’.” A flicker of disappointment flashed across Ilsa’s face. “I suppose I’m going to have to let the process run for two hours, just to be sure.”

Jen gasped into the gag. She then forced herself to be quiet, to look calm, to stare directly into the mirrors portraying the new self-image Mistress Ilsa had crafted for her, to let it wash over her and seep into her.

She showed no reaction as Mistress Ilsa turned away. She couldn’t help but quiver a bit in anticipation as she heard tapping at the keyboard. She drew in a deep breath and arched her back as raw lust filled her more intensely than ever. She gaped wide-eyed at the images of herself, at the writing that now seemed to glow like the business end of a branding iron.

Jen’s whole world was lust and need saturating her body. Her only thoughts were of the words and images in the mirror, searing themselves into her very identity. It was almost unbearable.

She could bear it for two hours. Mistress Ilsa wanted her to. So she would.

Then Mistress would come for her, to claim her.

As Ilsa left, Jen squirmed in an agony of unsatisfied need, holding on to that thought as her lifeline.