The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I didn’t know the naked woman’s name. I didn’t know how the woman had gotten into my house, or even to my house, while utterly nude. There wasn’t any sign of tossed clothing, no trenchcoat she might have worn while breaking in through my window. It was as if she’d simply strolled down the street naked, opened the locked door, and sat herself on my living room love seat.

She had deep black hair that seemingly absorbed the dim light of the room, bringing my eyes to it—and chocolate brown eyes the same shade as my hair. She had porcelain white skin, the difference making it abundantly clear that not a single hair graced her beneath the eyebrows, not even a hint of stubble on the long graceful legs that she had spread to each side. Not a curly hair above her slit, which two fingers were sliding across as I came into the room. She spread herself open, the shock of pink a stark contrast to the paleness that claimed most of her body.

I stared at her. watching as she gently dipped one finger into her sex, and then lifted her wet digit to touch and stroke the nipple of her left breast. Her small, delicate-looking hands made her humongous tits seem even larger as the pale digit slowly moved around the bright pink skin of her areola, letting a drop of pussy juice linger between her finger and nipple as she applied pressure to the stiff peak. Then she lifted her hands to her breasts, and smiled at me as she began to gently rub her palms in slow circles over each tit.

I wasn’t aware of my body moving until I felt pressure on my chest, hands pushing at myself through my shirt. Standing in the doorway, in full view of anyone who might walk by, I was beginning to rub my breasts through the buttoned-up blouse I wore, undoing the buttons of my gray jacket to gain more access to the black cloth. My cheeks blushed, absolutely mortified, and I wanted to close the door. The woman before me didn’t want that, though—I could sense that. Instead, I turned toward my front door, and gripped the cloth of my shirt.

My neighbor’s daughter, Darla, was staring at me. She was a college student, who still visited home to do laundry. Barely nineteen, and still dependant on her parents for everything. She’d probably never even had a lesbian experience, or a failed job interview, or a stranger in her home. She had a bag of clothes in her hands and wide eyes locked on my hands as I began to grab my blouse and pull it slowly over my head. I could feel the tight cloth traveling over my stomach, the air hitting the underside of my tiny tits—and then jacket and blouse were on the floor. I was in my padded bra, my fingers reaching behind my back to undo the last strip of fabric between me and that college girl’s watching eyes. I begged my fingers to stop, but it was my merciful foot that moved to slam the door shut. The bra dropped away and my own breasts were sprung free.

I was horribly aware of my nipples, standing on edge, showing arousal despite the desperate situation I was in. Some strange lady had come into my house and taken control of my body, but I couldn’t bring myself to care as I started to strip myself of my pants and the light heels I wore for height. Standing at five foot nothing, even with the leggy stranger sitting, I felt dwarfed by the pale intruder who had entered my home. I felt vulnerable and utterly nude, not just naked but stripped of power as my hands lifted to begin undoing the tight bun I kept my brown hair in. Loose wisps of hair floating around my vision, I walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. The strange woman followed, staying a pace behind me as I entered the door. I could not see her, my head would not turn, but I could feel her behind me. I could hear the slight echo of her footstep, stepping almost exactly as I did, feet sliding into place where mine had been a moment before.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror as I walked by, expecting wide-eyed fear. My brown eyes were as placid as a cow’s, though, arousal in my nipples the only sign that something unusual was happening. I strained my eyes to see if I could at least catch a reflection of the woman behind me, but it was useless. My head wouldn’t move away from its straight forward and locked position. My eyes wouldn’t move from the shower knobs, and I expertly turned on the hot water, with just a hint of cold to even things out, the way I did after every hard day’s work. I stepped into the shower, facing the nozzle as I always did, letting the hot water strike me between the breasts and wipe away a day’s sweat, slickening the valley between my breasts. Not that anyone had ever noticed that valley, my chest being small enough to cover completely in my palms. Today, however, a woman’s fragile-looking hands slid beneath my arms and gently took hold of my breasts. They pinched my nipples, silently tugging at each peak until a whimper forced itself from my mouth and my knees began to shake. Then they moved down, forefinger and thumb cupping the little apricots that were my breasts, lifting upward and slowly rubbing the bare skin. It was nothing like the dulled sensation that had come through the cloth. Her ivory fingers on my skin—tan by comparison to her pure white digits—felt like electricity running through my body. No woman had ever touched me like that. No one had ever touched me like that—there had been boys who clumsily grabbed, and pinched and squeezed, or even delicately stroked, but none had felt as electrifying as this stranger who had taken control of my home and mind.

I felt her legs, suddenly pressing between mine. She massaged her knee slowly back and forcing my unwilling legs open and gently pressing the round bone in the space between my thighs. As my hand automatically moved to grab the shower hose and tug it down toward myself, she grabbed my hand and guided it past my stomach and to my slit. The stream of water struck between my thighs as she rubbed my nipples, finding that special spot inside me that made me moan and quiver.

For an hour, I touched myself. Her hands guiding my own, running my fingers over my breasts, making my nipples stand on end as I pinched and twisted them, rolled them between my fingers and slowly slid my wet digits around each tiny mound.

In the back of my mind was the outrage and fear that should have consumed me, knowing someone was not only controlling my actions but using me like a sexual marionette. The front of my mind was pure bliss, though, a relaxing wonder as the stress was melted off of me by the massage of the shower head. The hot water had begun to ebb by the time I reached for the soap, so I hastily began to scrub at my arms and stomach and undercarriage. Lavender shampoo, and then conditioner, as the water started to turn cold and my pussy stopped responding to the heat of the moment.

I left the shower shivering, but also humming lightly in delight at what the strange intruder had done with me, and even the little voice in the back of my head had to admit with frustration that no man had ever made me feel that good. I toweled my body off, letting soft red fabric wick away droplets of water from my chubby belly, my flat ass, and my short legs. The thought occurred to me that I was nothing compared to the woman who had invaded my home. She was everything my body had ever hoped to be. That thought was surely coming from said intruder, though, just like the rest of this.

The next step in coming home was to get dressed, and get food. So I needed to recollect my clothes from the front lobby—but instead, I found myself walking boldly from the room, into the dark living room, and striding straight to the curtains. My heart was trembling, my cheeks were red—and Darla was peering through the blinds, with an open mouth and a lifted phone. Before she could take a picture, I snapped the blinds closed and smiled. The image in Darla’s mind, I thought, would have to last her—and again, there was the certainty that someone else had put that thought in my head. There was no way I was fantasizing about my neighbor’s nineteen year old daughter dreaming of me at night. …Where had that last bit even come from? She’d probably just wanted to show all her friends the naked crazy lady who lived across from her mother. Or perhaps she’d seen the white figure standing behind me, and I had just closed the blinds on my only chance for salvation.

Dreading now what must be going through Darla’s head after I had closed the window blinds, I wanted to chew my lip. It was a habit that I had when I was frustrated or worried. My lip remained unchewed, however, and there was instead a smile on my face as I walked to the kitchen. I pulled open the fridge door, and looked past the chocolate cake to the greek yogurt and half-forgotten salad I’d bought when I felt guilty about eating too much junk food. I pulled out the bag of lettuce and poured it in a bowl. I found a fork and began to carefully eat, without regards to the rumbling in my belly that wanted more. This was food that food ate, not what I should be putting in my stomach. Not what I wanted in my stomach. It was all I was going to get, though, and I only ate half the bowl before getting up and getting some plastic wrap to store the rest in my fridge.

As I moved toward bed, I was able to catch sight of the white woman again, just as I turned. She had her fingers inside her pussy, and at her breast, like when I’d first seen her. She didn’t make a noise, but I knew she was playing with herself as she walked perfectly in time with me. When I reached the bedroom and crossed the threshhold, I didn’t close it like I wanted to. I walked toward the bed, my back to the door, and heard it slam shut as if by the wind. Except there was no window open.

I crawled onto the bed, but tossed off the covers, revealing the blah that was my body. The perfect shape of the white woman crept atop me, wrapping her arms around my back and pressing herself into me, breasts touching breasts. She was light as a feather, warm as a blanket wrapped around my being. As if I had really just pulled the covers over my head.

Our torsos matched, though her legs were longer, and her wet sex pushed slightly against mine. I could feel her dripping onto me, and could pretend that it was only her arousal that I was feeling, there in the bed. Only her arousal, and nothing else.

I closed my eyes, aware of her lips on mine, even with the light contact. Tomorrow would be a different day, I reminded myself. The woman would have to let me go to work, or people would notice me missing. She’d have to let me get food, or I’d starve. I tried not to think about how many weeks it could take for someone to notice my absence, or the letters building up in my mailbox, but it was my only hope. Someone would notice my predicament.

Someone would rescue me from this pale apparition.

Eventually.