The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lisa took the lit cigarette from Douglas’ fingers and surprised him by taking a puff. She inhaled deeply and slowly let it out.

“I thought you quit,” he chided, teasing her.

“I did.”

“Doesn’t look like it to me, lover.”

Lisa smiled and looked into her boyfriend’s eyes. She kissed him deeply, and held him close. He moaned into her and pulled her tighter against himself. “You know,” he whispered, “I never thought two people could be compatible quite this way...”

Lisa pulled back and started to say something, but stopped. He caught it, and squeezed her ass. “Lick your clit for your thoughts,” he said.

“Oh, I’m just sorry that I have an early day tomorrow. I’d much rather spend it in bed,” she said, touching the tip of his nose with her index finger and smiling.

“Oh.” He couldn’t keep the disappointment out of his voice. Lately they’d been spending less and less time together. Lisa’s work had taken on a frantic pace, and he felt like he was being squeezed out. “You even have to go in on a Sunday?”

“If I want to stay sane the rest of the week, yes.”

“Okay, then. But you owe me. I love you.” He put out his cigarette, kissed her again, and squeezed her gently as his hands roamed over her one last time before closing his eyes for sleep.

When his breath came in long deep sighs, she pried herself loose with delicate care and padded to the bathroom.

She looked in the mirror, ashamed at her deceit. She wasn’t going to work—if anything, it was the slowest it had ever been. It was just that Douglas was becoming more and more of a burden.

It had started with the sex. Whether it was just getting old, or he was losing his ability, it had left her less and less satisfied. Tonight, she’d even had to sneak a lubricant into herself. She wasn’t even getting wet.

And it wasn’t just the slowing arousal. It was something more basic. It wasn’t that Douglas was mean—he wasn’t. He was gentle and kind and considerate. He always made sure she reached a climax before he did. But for her, the attraction wasn’t there in her emotions, either. She felt like they were on completely different wavelengths.

She had faked her orgasms with him for two weeks, now.

She took a washcloth, dampened it and wiped her sex clean. Out of habit, she held it to her nose. A wave of queasiness washed through her as she smelled his scent. Not so long ago, it had made her horny.

An unintended picture entered her thoughts. A woman. Shelly. Her pussy juiced. Her nipples got hard as little pebbles. She pinched them and held a hand over her mouth to stifle her pleasure-soaked squeal.

She staggered into the water closet in the bathroom and closed the door. As soon as she was seated she threw her legs open and attacked her clit with her fingers.

The image of Shelly, naked and spread wide before her, nether lips moist and parted, loomed larger and larger. It was so detailed that it almost felt real. It was as inescapable as it was alluring. She could even smell the intoxicating scent of her phantom lover.

Her teeth gritted with the force of the explosion as it hit her, making the light grow fuzzy, then fizzly, then dark as wave after wave of inspired lust swept over her skin and outward from the marrow of her bones.

As happened more and more often over the last weeks, she surrendered and gave in completely as bliss surged like molten diamonds in her veins, blocking out everything, save desire and passion for the vision of loveliness before her. As her last real thoughts left, she remembered that this was how orgasms were supposed to be.

She fell slightly and began the climb again. Each time took her to higher vistas of pleasure.

When she recovered, she crept to the door of the bathroom and opened it, so that just a sliver of light fell across Douglas’s face. She gave a sigh of relief at not having awakened him with her moans.

She thought that she should be upset; maybe even crying. But she couldn’t make up what she didn’t feel.

She knew that she would never see Douglas again.

The mirror was so free of imperfections that it almost looked like it wasn’t there. But it had to be. She was looking at herself. She was brushing her hair, noticing how her eyes almost seemed to glow with a strange light.

Her reflection spoke.

“Obey.”

Somehow, she wasn’t shocked that her own mouth had spoken it as well. It was perfectly natural, since the reflection could not act on its own.

“Obey?” she asked. “What do you mean?”

“Shelly.” She was losing track of who was saying what. It felt like her reflection was doing it, but that was a bit too much to accept.

The puzzle was lost as a tremor of excitement moved through her. Shelly. The mention of the name brought a series of small jolts to her most sensitive places.

“Obey Shelly,” she repeated back, along with her identical twin, distracted and looking off to the side as she continued to brush her hair.

“Look at me.”

She looked back to see herself. She barely noticed the latex tube top and panties her reflection was wearing. She looked into glowing eyes that had turned completely white.

“The reflection does what the person does,” said the image. Lisa again realized that she had said it. She wondered if her eyes were white, too.

“A reflection is a puppet.” Yes, that was right. A reflection was like a doll on a string.

“The person does what the reflection does.” Both Lisas furrowed their brows for a moment before working out the logic. Yes, it was only stated backwards. It was still true.

“The person is a puppet.”

It didn’t quite make sense, but she had just said it, and she hadn’t formed the thought. What in the world was she arguing about?

“A puppet is a slave. The reflection is a slave. The person is a slave. The reflection and the person are the same. The reflection and the person are one. There is no reflection. There is no person. There is only the puppet. There is only the slave. The slave obeys Shelly.”

Shelly woke up covered in sweat and was smashed by orgasm as if she had walked in front of a speeding train.

Work was becoming more and more difficult. Things had had started going downhill in the two months since her visit with Shelly, not that it had anything to do with it. Shelly was her best friend.

She was finding that she wanted it to be more. Douglas had barely fought with her, leading her to see that she had made the right decision. He’d only called thirty-one times. It was a well-known fact that anyone who was serious about reconciliation would have called at least seventy-five times. At least that’s what Shelly had said. Shelly was so smart about things.

She was so happy to have such a wonderful friend.

Her moments of fantasy had become more obsessive over the last few weeks. There was hardly a moment when she didn’t think about kneeling and crawling over to Shelly and licking her pussy or giving her a pedicure or doing some little thing to please her.

Not the she was a lesbian or anything. That’s just what friends did.

At first it had been worrisome and annoying, but now, she couldn’t wait for the next image to come to her. It was like a never-ending fountain that fed her desire and passion like nothing before ever had.

“Are you going to get that, or just let it ring all day?” It was Gladys, from over the cubicle wall. Gladys didn’t have much to say to her anymore, ever since Lisa had gone to her and confided about how she had spread the rumors that Gladys had slept with a guy who was HIV positive and had genital herpes.

In fact, at Shelly’s suggestion, she’d gone and “cleaned it up” with everyone. It had been the most painful thing she’d ever done, but once she started, she couldn’t stop. Some had forgiven her and some hadn’t, but she was finally free from the guilt that had kept her digging the hole she’d been in for years. Rather than feel miserable, she loved Shelly even more for having given her such a wonderful gift.

She answered the phone, looking into the distance with dazed eyes. “Sales and Marketing. This is Lisa. How may I help you today?”

“Mmmmm Lisa. So good to hear you.”

Shelly!

“Oh, you too!” gibbered Lisa. “I was just thinking about you!”

“Yes, but lately you’ve been thinking about me all the time, haven’t you?”

“Well... yeah,” said Lisa, giggling like a schoolgirl. “I have.”

“Let’s do lunch. Today is a big day. I have a surprise for you.”

Lisa thought for a moment. She did have a lot to do, and had been planning on eating in. She shrugged. “Sure. You can’t fight City Hall,” she said into the phone.

“Good girl.”

Lisa thought she could hear the smile in Shelly’s voice as she shivered.

Gladys looked at her watch and sighed. The bitch was a half hour late. She didn’t know whether to just go to lunch or wait for Lisa to get back, but it was a spiteful thought. In reality, she had no choice but to sit and fume.

She was thinking about calling the new manager when she heard a commotion down the corridor of cubicles. She stuck out her head and her jaw dropped open, like a picture from a cartoon.

There was Lisa, but she was... well, she was quite changed.

Her eyes were completely white... looking more closely, they were rolled back in her head, but they gave an appearance of other-worldliness.

That was secondary. The real show was everything else.

Her head was shaved, and she was in a black latex teddy that covered her but revealed everything underneath. Gladys had never seen anything so tight, so form fitting in her life. The latex and her bare skin had the sheen of generous amounts of oil that covered her, making her look slick and hot.

Her hands were running up and down her body, slicing into the cleft between her legs in front of and behind her, gliding slowly over her hips and up to her breasts, tweaking her nipples that were pressing out in obscene arousal. Guttural, almost feral moans were mewling out of her as she danced for some unseen lover. Despite her shock, Gladys found it somewhat arousing.

Hell, it was setting her on fire.

She could see from the other women and men that watched that the effect wasn’t lost on them either. As Lisa’s hips undulated, Gladys hid her body behind her cubicle wall so that she could rub her own dampness, glancing at the erect nipples and tented pants of her associates.

Except none of them could match Lisa. She wanted her, and wanted her badly.

Lisa’s hands and movements were becoming even more sensual, like some dance created to bring out the lust in the most casual observer. She stopped at Gladys’s cubicle and stood before her, one hand on her belly and the middle finger of the other hand pressing flatly against the slit of her pussy. The latex seemed to flow right up into her, as if she was made of black rubber inside and out.

“Mistress has commanded the slave do penance,” she rasped out. Her hands didn’t stop their depraved pleasuring of her own body.

She moaned loudly. “This is the penance the slave offers to Gladys.”

Lisa’s eyes reappeared, and with them, came a furrowed brow and beet red face. It was obvious from the pleading look that she was beyond controlling what happened. Her hands moved and a wave of bliss swept across her features for an instant.

Somehow, it seemed to give her resolve.

Tears began to well in her eyes as she unsnapped the crotch of the teddy and plunged a finger of each hand into her pussy and anus. She shook back and forth, tears of embarrassment flowing now— there was no mistaking it—as she danced faster and harder between her hands.

Without warning, Lisa screamed in ecstasy and fell to the floor, her body quaking as it was wracked over and over with flames of passion and complete surrender to self-pleasure.

When she finished, she raised herself to her knees and, looking up into Gladys’ eyes, brought her fingers to her mouth, hungrily licking off the copious juices that coated them, moaning in sweet abandon.

Her eyes, full of pain and aching torment, told of her complete debasement. But—there was a light of something else there, too. Something that was giving Lisa a thrill beyond anything Gladys could put into words.

Finishing, Lisa spoke again. “The slave asks forgiveness and if there is anything else she must do to atone for her past sins.”

Before Gladys could even think, she leaned over and whispered to Lisa, “Who is Mistress?”

Lisa took on a look of extreme concentration, as if trying to remember something important. Then her face relaxed and she stood, and leaned towards Gladys, whispering back.

“Mistress is... Mistress.”

Then, “Am I forgiven?”

Gladys could only think to nod yes.

She watched as Lisa walked around to various other employees, offering her “atonements”... a taste of herself here, licking another’s shoes... it went on and on. Each time, the desperation and hesitation grew in Lisa’s eyes, followed by an even greater look of bliss and euphoria.

By the time she walked out the door with everyone too stupefied to even call security, there was no hesitation, no shame in her actions at all.

She was glowing like a white-hot coal.

Gladys didn’t think about how it echoed other strange events that had happened here. Somehow, she knew that everyone, including her, would forget all of it. It was already feeling ethereal and dream-like, fogging over as if she had been deeply asleep.

She made a note on her PDA to stake out Lisa’s apartment.

She wanted to glow, too.

Maggie sat in the back of her store contemplating the Dream Stone. She smiled to herself at the blessing and curse that had been lifted from her. After nearly sixty years, she had finally found another that could focus the power it held.

It was the only way to get rid of the thing.

Shelly would be a strong Mistress. She would go for many years before tiring of Her duties, and She would increase the power in the Stone, adding Her own Nuance, just as Maggie had.

Many would come to Her, drawn like moths to a candle. So it had been since the ancient times. So it would go on, building until the world was transformed.

Her mind turned to her home in Brazil, where several thousand slaves awaited her return. They would serve their purposes well, building the hundred Dream Stones into a web of new Sapphic consciousness such as the world had never seen. Soon, the world would no longer be able to ignore the growing influence of the Stones, and their Mistresses.

Nor would they be able to stop it. By that time, their followers would number in the hundreds of millions, their transformations passed on secretly to all their female children.

She thought about the supreme sacrifice these women made, to be impregnated by the abominations. She closed her eyes in their honor.

Then, she let all thought fly away like snowflakes in a gentle wind.

She rested for the first time in a very, very long time.

The woman and the reflection stood face to face, tongues dancing. Touching. Teasing. Their breasts were thrust forward, allowing nipples to touch the cool pane of glass that separated them.

They had been there for nearly two hours, unaware of the passage of time. Only their increasing arousal, now at the edge of sanity, gave any indication of how long they had stood in fixated adoration.

Their eyes, white and sightless, were as blank as their minds. There was no word, no indication of anything save their focus on the task Mistress had assigned.

If required, they would continue until they collapsed, woman and reflection, unaware of which was which.

Mistress stood watching and turned to the audience rapt women who had gathered at Her mansion. Many had no idea why they had come. The ad in the paper had been cryptic at best—a few had come because of a friend or loved one. One woman, Joanne Jarboe, was making sure that the new group with which her daughter was involved wasn’t some weird, off-the-wall cult.

Why they had come did not matter. They came from all walks of life, for all reasons. They all left the same, changed forever.

Slaves.

Followers.

Instruments.

“This is the Ritual of Adoration. One day, you will stand as these do now, woman and reflection, completely absorbed in the pleasure you are commanded to feel.” Mistress spoke, and the serious quality of Her voice caused some to breathe inward sharply, and others to moan and sigh.

“Please observe as the two become one, in obedience and pleasure.”

As if the words had power in and of themselves, the looking glass lowered slowly into a slot in the floor of the stage. The reflection wasn’t a reflection at all. It was the slave who had been Gladys, finally touching her Lisa, the one she loved second only to Mistress.

What remained of the composure of the audience that observed dissolved quickly into pure lust. Angie, the third in what was now a line of slaves numbering over a hundred, had prepared them well with the Essence and the Light.

Mistress smiled as she remembered how Gladys had brought Angie, her daughter, as a gift. She remembered the outrage in the eighteen-year-old that had been transmuted into perfect, obedient pleasure.

That was how it always went. It reminded her of Joanne, whose daughter had led her here.

Mistress walked over to Joanne and asked, “So, what do you think of your daughter’s involvement now?”

“Mistress, she is not my daughter so much as she is Your slave, a place for which I hope to be worthy soon.”

Mistress smiled. Joanne was a natural. Everyone who came to Her was a natural; anyone who wasn’t stayed away.

She turned to the two women, still standing face to face, tongues dancing with fervent desire now. “Slaves, show these neophytes how we seal oursleves to each other, in service and pleasure.”

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, their arms slowly raised and encircled each other. Their bodies grew closer and their hands began to explore dewy wetness as their legs slid apart, the sensuous motion causing the more captivated women watching to begin to play with their own firey cunts.

Mistress held up the Dream Stone and began to chant in a language that no one understood on a conscious level, but that spoke to their very being with something stronger than mere words. The slaves on stage began to slide over each other writhing as their moans began to build.

In the audience, the most resistant gave way, following the motions of the two slaves, moaning as their hands removed clothing and roamed their own bodies.

Mistress chanted more quickly, intensity growing as the combined pleasure of the women entered Her.

Women found other women, tongues swiping up and down bellies, as one of the slaves onstage lowered and began to lick upward along the thighs of her partner.

The women had no choice now. They hadn’t had a choice since the moment they walked in and sat down in the small auditorium. Their fate was cemented, completed, by Mistress. Already, they would never again even think deny the slightest whim She mentioned.

The standing slave lowered and lay back as the first turned around, lowering her pussy to mouth and her own mouth to pussy. Streams of juices began to flow, entering each other, the unnatural effluvium bonding each to the other more completely, and all to Mistress.

The crowd of women followed, completely oblivious to even the varied reasons they had come, enthralled by what was happening to them. The euphoria of giving in to Mistress and doing Her will was so far beyond their previously mundane lives that there was nothing to hold them back.

Some had been happy before—now, it was gray and dismal to look back. They barely had the chance to look back in wonder at their ignorance before their energy sent them rocketing forward.

Moans and screams of passion filled the air, feeding the orgy of commonality, of destiny and joy. The slaves onstage began to visibly shake as their climaxes approached. The energy that poured out of them, amplified by Mistress, would spread outward from the grounds, calling women from across the city and far beyond.

The slaves already back home in jobs and families, Her secret recruiters, would stare off into the distance as the pleasure consumed them, and then send it on like psychic repeaters that called to all who were ready to join the future.

Lisa and Gladys, unaware of who they had been or that they had ever been less than slaves of Mistress, played onstage, holding off their orgasms, letting the intensity build as the pleasure of the women in the room poured into them... a gift of Mistress for obedience.

Unable to hold back any longer, their tongues pressed hard against clits, rubbing and scraping the pleasure as it screamed out of them and into the women around them. Toes curled and cramped as the intensity instantly addicted and transformed the neophytes, and climax built upon climax as the room shook from screaming pleasure-fire.

Images coalesced in the air... of latex clad women loving, swirling above them, naked women pleasuring resistant recruits... images visible to even the most resistant, had they been present.

Then, Mistress came. The shock wave blasted through each woman in simultaneous torture, ripping who they had once been to shreds, eyes rolling back into their heads as the vestiges of reason abandoned them to the annals of history. Wave after wave filled them completely, vibrating in every atom of their being, building until it smashed outward to hundreds of thousands of women waiting to be called.

Some would have gone to bed by now, and would wake up with new purpose.

After nearly an hour of cumming and cumming again, as more souls were added to her thralldom, Mistress collapsed, spent, bathing in the afterglow of more women than She had ever felt. This was beyond even what She had expected.

She was Queen of the Forty-Seventh Hive. She could feel the other Queens, current and past, and knew, along with Them, that they were reaching the Time of the Taking, the time when all Hundred Queens would join in the Ritual of Adoration.

The world would be changing soon. Changing Forever.

She picked up the Dream Stone, fallen from her fingers as her recent climax had come. She closed her eyes, and thought of who should come to her next, and who could move Destiny closer.

The picture of history, a mansion, a room, and a brunette woman with an innocent smile came to Her. A teacher. Yes. A teacher. Perfect.

She smiled. “Laura,” she said. ”You see what I wish you to see. You speak what I wish you to speak. You are what I wish you to be...