The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Samantha had heard about that seedy bookstore off Interstate 51, but she believed those were only stories; people’s kinky fantasies with a dash of dramatic effect. Still something compelled her to sort through her wardrobe. Something deep, deep inside her ached.

She made conscious effort for hours to shift her focus to something, anything else. Taking a hot bath, drinking a mug of warm, relaxing tea, but nothing seemed to quench her longing. Her loins ached, she had to know, NEEDED to know if that seedy place was real. A part of her wanted it to be real. It was almost as if some outside force was compelling her to find it. The more she tried to simply forget about it, the more her loins ached for that seedy bookstore. She was incomplete without dressing to find this forbidden store.

Samantha felt so... so... free, as if her inhibitions had limited her and now the hidden desires were in the front of her mind... on her skin... in her mouth... Her thoughts compelled her to find a very short skirt, a very tight black skirt. Why, when she bent over she could see her cunt in the full length mirror in her dressing room. She paused a moment to look into her own eyes. They seemed glassy, glazed over, like someone in a trance. Whose eyes were those looking back at her from the mirror? Thoughtlessly, she slipped into her thigh-high, leather, heeled boots and admired her perky breasts in the mirror. Seedy, sleazy bookstore that may not exist. Why is she doing this? Doesn’t matter... She snapped her black, silk bra on and slipped a see through black chemise over her body. Stepping back to look at herself in the mirror, she tried to find a word for the way she looked. Sexy... she was beyond sexy... slutty... yes, she looked like a slut. Funny, she didn’t feel like one... Who was that slut in the mirror with the faraway look and the compulsion to find a seedy bookstore that may not exist?

Samantha picked up her keys and almost automatically, put them down again. Without a thought she knew to take the bus. Sam wasn’t in the habit of taking the bus, but this did not seem the least bit peculiar to her.

At the late night hour many men leered at her on the bus. She didn’t mind. Once, she stood and bent wayyyy over to pick up an imaginary quarter from the floor, knowing how slutty it was to show her pussy that way. This sent waves of pleasure through her. She could smell her own arousal. Samantha had the bus drop her off about a half mile from where she thought this imaginary store should be. Walking, like a common street whore, made her tingle and twitch inside. There was something so wonderful about being a slutty whore. Her mind drew erotic pictures and her thoughts were only of her desires, now. The closer Samantha got the more her logical reasoning seemed to disappear. It was almost as if someone, or something, else was controlling her mind and body.

Something inside her flashed a brief moment of fear. What was she doing here dressed like this? The thought was absorbed into the back of her mind as Love’s Bookstore came into sight. Samantha quickened her pace to the door. She was so happy the store really existed! She straightened herself and stepped inside.

Immediately, Samantha noticed a familiar smell, like a sweet delicious pipe tobacco and she noticed the air in the dimly lit store was practically hanging, dripping with the thick... sweet... smoke. Again, a moment of fear struck as she noticed a large, dark-skinned man, (native American maybe) with a deep scar on his cheek was watching her; they made eye contact and he disappeared into the haze. Sam scanned the room, for what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. The store didn’t look the way she’d expected it to look. It was just a trashy bookstore. With more confidence and a little disappointment, she lit a cigarette and made her way to the back, looking at the aisles of books and videos and other whatnots.

She enjoyed the new cigarettes she had found. They smelled of vanilla and she noticed the red tip on the end grow bright. Her slut red nails were exaggerated by the long, black cigarette holder between her fingers. She glanced at the clock on the check out counter. Watch the Clock. (Watch the Clock) Sam could barely make the time through the haze, but watch... the... clock... seemed important to her. She inhaled deeply on her cigarette, ruby red lips, almost pouting as the smoke entered her mouth in a puff and then back out again in a slow hypnotic stream. She could hear two men talking behind her from somewhere in the back, but couldn’t make out what they were saying. Samantha inched closer, dragging another long, slow draw from her cigarette.

Suddenly arms pinned her own upper arms to her sides and she jabbed the cigarette backwards with the intent to stab the assailant. She heard him laugh and realized her short 5′2″ frame was surrounded by a large, towering man. His laugh echoed from about a foot above her head and she struggled. The heel of her boot came down into the toe of the man and his low growl let her know he wasn’t happy with this. She twisted her body in attempt to escape. His hand quickly clamped over her mouth and nose with a bandanna. What was that smell? Samantha held her breath. It seemed familiar. He drug her backward into a room Sam hadn’t previously noticed was there. The last thing she remembered seeing before she was pulled into the darkness was the clock on the counter. Watch The Clock...

He put his knuckles into her back, as another man held her legs motionless. This wasn’t to injure her but should hurt badly enough to make her draw a deep breath inward. As she did he held the bandanna over her open mouth and pinched her nose. She was forced to breathe and struggled for air through the cloth. The hands on her body held her tighter. The hands on her mouth were relentless. She breathed through the bandanna. Everything was getting further and further away. Her body was becoming limp. Her mind was becoming limp. She remembered, just before everything went black, somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d done this before.

Samantha groggily began waking to find herself bound, wrists together and strung to a hook from the ceiling. Her boots were barely touching the floor, as she realized, they too were shackled by chains. This she could tell by the sound they made when she tried to struggle. She struggled to see in the dark, when suddenly, a bright light was turned on about two feet from her face. She could now see the man who had drugged her. It was the man with the scar. He moved in front of her, positioning himself between her face and the light. Samantha was having trouble collecting her thoughts. Fear. There was fear but each time that fear came there was an element of desire, a longing she’d never before experienced.

He spoke, “What are you now?”

When she shook her head in refusal to reply, the other man put a knife blade to her throat from behind. Why did an answer to that question pop into her mind? She felt like her mind was trying to act on it’s own, against her own will.

“Again,” he sneered, “What are you now?”

“Slut,” was her whispered reply. The humiliation of such an answer washed over her. Why did this make her desire build? The blade pressed firmly into her throat.

“Say it louder,” he demanded.

“A slut,” came her tearful cry. What is she doing? Why does she know the answer to his question?

“Good,” he stated, “Now let’s make you look like one.” He pulled the knife from the man’s hand that had been pressing against her throat and cut the chemise from her, slowly sliding the blade edge up her stomach, chest, neck. Fear again. Her pussy twitched. He then cut her breasts free as both the chemise and bra fell from her body.

The man behind her never spoke, but he pushed her skirt up around her waist. Now, completely exposed to these two strange men, she struggled to free her arms. She twisted her legs, her boots rubbed the floor. She was helpless to be a slut for these two men. Samantha whimpered and felt the cloth over her face again.

The tall man grabbed her breasts and twisted her nipples hard. She gasped. Again he twisted and she tried to cry out. Her mind fogged again but she didn’t blank out like before. The bandanna was removed from her face and the man behind her began lashing her ass and the backs of her legs with a leather strap. It stung but her clouded mind could not react, she did not cry out. Her legs were unchained and lifted around the large man’s waist. She felt his cock, hard and hungry between her legs. Again the lashes... 2... 3... 4... Samantha was counting them and then as she writhed to move away from the lashes, suddenly found herself impaled on his enormous cock. Again the leather struck her 5... 6... 7... 8... her shoulders, her back, her ass... 20... 21... 22... Sam was squirming to move away from the stings. Each squirm excited him more and drove him deeper into her soaked pussy. Lash. Squirm. Cock. Watch... the... Cock...

“Lock your legs around me.” He demanded. Samantha complied. His large hands pulled her to him again and again. Deeper and Deeper. She moaned. The lashing had stopped. She felt the other man press his cock against her ass. She implored the man who’s cock she’d been riding “No, Please” and was silenced as her eyes met his. He peered deep, deep into Samantha’s eyes. Into her soul. He knew what her thoughts were. He thought for her. She didn’t have to think... She relaxed and the other man entered her ass hard and fast. Samantha bit her lip. Pleasure and pain had become one. The furious pace began again and Samantha felt as if she may be ripped in pieces. Groans, moans, sounds of pleasure filled the dimly lit, smoke-filled room.

“Say it,” he demanded.

“I’m a slut,” she cried out over and over again. “I’m a horny slut,” and in that moment she knew she was and as her pussy spasmed in orgasm she felt the cock filling her cunt do the same and the man behind her thrust one last, long hard thrust and filled her ass with cum.

“Now you are a cum-filled slut,” he said removing her wrists from the hook and her arms fell around his neck. Her weak legs found the floor and she hung there, exhausted as the other man untied her wrists. Then both men left the room without another word.

As Samantha gathered her clothes, she realized she would have to return home, practically naked, like the slut she was... She left the tiny room and re-entered the back of the bookstore and saw that clock. Watch the Clock... Watch... the...

The clock on her bedside table said it was four in the morning. Samantha tried to gather her bearings. Her forehead soaked with sweat and her pussy throbbing, Samantha realized it had only been a dream...

Somewhere a thousand miles away Alex was dreaming, too...