The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She bumped into her in the business apparel section of the clothing store. Although, it was clear from the way she was dressed that she was only passing through and not shopping in that section of the store. She was dressed like a real hippie, wearing a long flowing skirt and a soft, loose top. Margaret had to keep herself from rolling her eyes back into her head. She also kept herself from snapping at the woman who might as well have been wearing daisy chains in her hair. Unlike her, Margaret was trying to shop in this section of the store. She had an important meeting the next day, and it was important enough to warrant a new blazer.

So instead, she settled for a “watch where you’re walking,” using her ‘I mean business’ tone, keeping her words short and clipped.

The woman looked at her then. Her eyes seemed a bit too big for her face, and her eyes were a strange purple color. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m Loralee.” She extended her smooth hand for a shake.

“I wasn’t looking for an introduction,” Margaret said, stepping around ‘Loralee.’ “Just watch where you’re going next time.”

Margaret left her strange new acquaintance for the rack of blazers across the aisle, but to her annoyance, Loralee followed.

“You seem very hard,” She said, her voice touched with concern.

“Look, Loralee,” She said, unable to keep from snapping this time. “I have some shopping I need to do today. I have important people to meet with tomorrow. I can’t do either if you’re trailing around behind me, chatting me up. I don’t know you. I don’t want to know you. Leave me alone.”

Loralee wasn’t at all phased by this. She was nodding along, a look of deep concentration on her face. “This is what I mean. You’re very tough on the outside—you’ve had to be, to make it as far in your career as you have. But it means that you won’t try new things. And it means you’d rather be rude than take a chance on a new person. It’s sad.”

Margaret hadn’t been exactly prepared to hear her life dissected next to the blazer rack. What pissed her off the most was that some of what Loralee had said was true. Margaret was a tough person. She didn’t have many friends, at home or at work. She didn’t mind being brutal when she had to be—almost relished it, in fact. It left her alone, most nights.

Loralee shook her head. “You’ve built up so many walls to keep the rest of the world out—to maintain control over your own existence. You’re terrified of not having control. But you don’t realize, control is impossible. You will never be able to keep control over your life—it will always slip away from you.”

Margaret bristled at that. “What do you know about me?” She huffed. “You’ve known me for two minutes.”

Loralee shrugged. “You’re a type. There are many women like you—very few friends, no romantic partner, loose family ties, living for their next promotion. They build up a thick shell around themselves to keep the world out. But they’re always hiding something soft and tender inside it,” Loralee said.

It was occurring to Margaret that she liked the sound of Loralee’s voice. She hadn’t noticed at first, but Loralee’s voice was melodious and relaxing. She didn’t quite speak in a sing song, but it was only slightly dialed back from being a full sing-song. She had a quality when she was speaking of… no punctuation. Her phrases were fully of pauses for effect, and it gave the impression of making her words... drift.

Margaret forced herself to snap back to attention. “I’m not soft and tender inside,” she said, beginning to walk again. Movement would help her stay focused, she thought. “I was a tomboy my whole life, and I’ve never once been interested in sentimentality or beauty. I’m too pragmatic for that.”

Loralee followed her again, walking beside her. “You had to build your walls a long time ago,” Loralee observed. “You’ve forgotten what it’s like not to have them. To be raw, and vulnerable again.”

The racks were starting to blur together in Margaret’s eyes. They were all starting to look the same, making it impossible to distinguish one item from another, and she found she was listening far too closely to Loralee’s every soft-spoken, half hummed word.

“It’s much nicer when all the walls fall away,” Loralee encouraged. “When you realize that work, and being in control of your own life, just doesn’t even matter anymore.”

Margaret felt like she was the one drifting now… slowly drifting away, the longer she listened to Loralee. It was like being gently sent downstream by a river. The current was gentle, but strong. There would be no breaking free—and if she tried to struggle back against it, it would sweep her away just the same.

“Because in the end, someone else can do all those things for you,” Loralee murmured, her voice even lower now. “Someone can provide you food and shelter at no monetary cost. Someone can tell you how to fill your days and pass the time. Someone can even think for you. You don’t need to do any of that for yourself—the self you’ve built for yourself is an illusion, and the sooner she is gone, the happier you will be.”

Margaret could feel her eyes unfocusing slightly. Loralee’s voice was just so… peaceful. She spoke with patience and care, and everything she described sounded so dreamy.

Loralee took Margaret’s hand in hers, pulling her towards the changing rooms. She gently eased one curtain back, guiding Margaret in ahead of her, before pulling the curtain closed behind herself as she stepped in too.

“All your walls are breaking already,” Loralee coaxed. “You can feel it—this beautiful drifting feeling. This is what you feel when you give up control. What you feel when you let the self go, and just fill yourself with rawness, and vulnerability.”

Margaret knew Loralee was right—she felt as if she was watching her old self drift down the river, away from her. Or maybe she was the one moving further away, her old self standing on the banks and watching her go. She didn’t think it was important who was moving. She was leaving that other woman behind, just as Loralee was saying.

“It’s just so much easier to have me think for you,” Loralee said in her half sing-song. “You don’t even miss the woman that you’re losing more by the minute.”

“I don’t miss her,” Margaret agreed. She felt badly for judging Loralee so harshly when they’d first bumped into each other—clearly, the other woman was very wise. Margaret should listen to her even more carefully than she already was.

“You like being vulnerable,” Loralee supplied.

“I like it,” Margaret agreed again.

“You like it so much that it bothers you to be still wearing clothes,” Loralee observed.

Margaret looked down at herself, and felt the revulsion begin immediately. Loralee was so perfectly right—all that mattered was utter vulnerability and letting go of everything else. But if she was wearing clothing, she wasn’t showing utter vulnerability. She was failing—worse, she was failing Loralee. She wanted to show her how vulnerable she could be… wanted to show her that she was letting go of all her walls, and her old identity.

She couldn’t do that if she was insisting on keeping a barrier between herself and the world.

She didn’t even wait for Loralee to tell her to do it—in a swift movement, she pulled her dress shirt, dress pants and underwear off, and let them fall to the floor in a crumpled ball that would have given her old self a heart-attack over wrinkles and creases. But she didn’t care—she was exposing herself to the world, as she should.

Loralee gave her a small smile. “That’s really good, pretty girl,” she encouraged. “You’re opening up, starting to bloom. You understand now how important it is to make yourself vulnerable?”

Margaret nodded emphatically.

“One of the most vulnerable thing a woman can do is allow another woman to make love to her,” Loralee mentioned, her voice still that same, peaceful relaxing calm. But the content of what Loralee had just said was enough to almost snap her out of her beautiful dreamy haze—she could feel her old self coming back, and it bothered her. She didn’t want her to, and yet all Margaret could think was that she wasn’t attracted to Loralee, that she’d never been remotely interested in women…

“Shh,” Loralee said. “I know that was a scary thought for you. It made you want to put all your armor back on. That’s why it is so important for you to do this—to feel this. To allow this to happen to you. It is the only way you can really be free of your old identity.”

Margaret felt herself nodding, but she still felt troubled—and she still wasn’t liking it.

Loralee was stepping closer to her now, and she found herself frightened. She backed her right up against the wall of the changing room, and Loralee’s hand was resting on her stomach. “It’s alright,” Loralee coaxed. “This is happening—you’ve already given me your mind. And you want it to happen, because I’m telling you to want it. And all that really matters is that I told you to do it.”

There. That was what it took to smooth away Margaret’s confusion. That just made everything so pure and simple. She felt herself relax against the wall.

“There’s a good girl,” Loralee said, slipping her hand between Margaret’s legs. Her touches were every bit as gentle and coaxing as her voice. She trailed her fingers up and down Margaret’s slit, teasing it open, making Margaret shiver. She didn’t increase her pace.

“You’ve needed this for a long time, haven’t you, my girl?” Loralee murmured, just above a whisper. “You’ve never let yourself fall apart the way I’m going to make you come apart… you could never give up control long enough, could you?”

It was true—Margaret had never really allowed herself to feel this kind of powerful pleasure before. She’d had a lot of cheap fucks, and a lot of cheap orgasms from sex toys, but this was different. Loralee was stirring something in her that she hadn’t known was there. She felt it everywhere in her body—she felt it deep, deep inside herself, and all through her lower back, and through her breasts. It was like a rising wave, and all Margaret could do was curl her toes into it.

Loralee didn’t increase her speed, but the constant stroking of Margaret’s slit was more than enough. With every stroke, Loralee’s hand came away wetter, but Loralee kept patiently sliding her fingers through Margaret’s folds, two fingers together, pressing in to Margaret’s sensitive flesh, gently rubbing her juices back into her. For something so simple, and so slow, it was starting to tear Margaret’s mind apart.

Loralee was even closer to her now, pressing Margaret into the wall, her lips next to her ear. “This is it, pretty girl. This is what you want all the time—this pleasure, this happiness. You want it more than anything else. You want to quit your job for it and move in with me.”

All Margaret could do was roll her eyes into her head and try to thrust down onto Loralee’s hand in the hopes of getting more friction. It didn’t matter. Loralee didn’t speed up.

“The lessons you are learning go on forever—they guide you further and further along a never ending path, and take you deeper and deeper into the heart of obedience. I want to teach you. And you want to learn.”

Margaret moaned, beginning to rock onto Loralee’s hand.

“There are sisters waiting for you,” Loralee murmured, practically a whisper, but Margaret understood. “They were all like you—hard, and bitter until I showed them the way. They are what you are becoming now—soft, pliant, open and willing. Opening themselves to pleasure, to obedience, to the path of self-lessness every day.”

The pleasure was becoming unbearable for Margaret, but Loralee wasn’t picking up the pace, just continuing her steady onslaught. Margaret didn’t know how much longer she could wait, and yet she knew she would wait for ever for Loralee’s permission. The need for release was becoming almost painful, though.

“They spend their hours in nature together, with me. Tending the chores, tending the plants and animals, and the cleaning. I work alongside them. But the pleasure is never far away—it is always present, and hour after hour, they all lovingly fuck the resistance from each other’s minds, helping each other on the path to obedience. It never ends, Margaret. Only becomes deeper and deeper, and more intense.”

Margaret’s mind was full of images now, images of lovely women in sunlit nature scenes fucking each other the way Loralee was fucking her. If she hadn’t needed Loralee’s permission to come, that scene alone would have set her off.

“It can be yours, too. You want it to be yours,” Loralee pressed.

Margaret felt tears in her eyes. It all felt so perfect, and she needed it so much. She nodded.

“All you have to do is surrender your will to mine… forever… and I will take you there. There will be no more Margaret. There will be no more job, no more walls, no more armor. Just total, complete, utter obedience, with nowhere to hide.”

“I want it,” Margaret said, crying from the powerful things she was feeling. “I want to let Margaret go for ever, and be with you.”

Loralee pressed a kiss to Margaret’s cheek. “Good girl,” She coaxed. She was still sliding her fingers through Margaret’s folds—Margaret was so wet now that each pass of Loralee’s hand was audible.

“Let Margaret go all at once,” she instructed. “When you release your pleasure, flush her from your body, along with all memories of her, everything she ever was. Let your pleasure empty you completely, empty you to nothing.”

Margaret nodded. She could feel it—she was ready to let go. It was all going to rush out of her like a waterfall, and it would never come back. And she was alright with that—she was ready.

“Release your pleasure now,” Loralee said, and Margaret came instantly. It was the most powerful orgasm she’d ever had, and it obliterated her mind—she could feel it, could feel everything else from her old life slipping away and becoming nothing. Leaving only an empty woman behind, perfect vulnerability, perfect pleasure, and perfect obedience.

She shuddered in aftershocks from her orgasm a long time, with Loralee holding her in a hug, murmuring words she didn’t understand into her ear.

What she did understand was that she was Loralee’s now, and nothing else mattered. After awhile, she dressed again, and followed Loralee out of the store to the bus stop.

The day was moving on—there was no time to waste.

She had so much to learn.