The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nicole had not masturbated that night; she had behaved herself alone in the library, and she had been patient and good until she at last she heard the sounds of Trent’s guests leaving. It had only been some fifteen minutes later than Brad’s departure from the library— she had to begrudgingly admit his skill. If he could close a deal that had been discussed for weeks and weeks, and tonight, for hours and hours, in just fifteen minutes, then he really could close a deal.

And she knew just how much that deal had been discussed; she’d had to be the sympathetic wife, hearing Trent out night after night as they lay in bed before sleep, humoring him on how frustrating the roadblocks, how dismal the situation. Yet in fifteen minutes Brad had just waved it all away, and it had dispersed.

Once the guests had left, she’d gone back into the diningroom. Trent had expressed that he was going to bed, and he’d see her upstairs; she’d started to sort the afterdinner mess; put to soak what was too caked on to dishwash, putting to dishwash what was ready for effective cleaning— then found the dishwasher loaded full, so she’d run it. It was probably going to be two or three full dishwasher loads before they were caught up on dishes anyway.

She’d gone upstairs, prepared for bed, and found Trent already snoring. She’d laid down beside him, wearing her soft cotton nightgown, and pulled the blankets over herself.

She had lain awake for a while, consumed by nerves. Would she masturbate herself in her sleep? It was a humiliating prospect— doing it asleep, she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself, wouldn’t be able to control herself— and if Trent woke up it would be obvious to him what she was doing. That had made her flush into blushing while she lay there.

She had eventually fallen fretfully asleep— all the time fearing what her body would do when she went slack in unconsciousness.

She woke the next morning, lying in a patch of sunlight amid the tossed blankets of their doublebed, and Trent already gone for the day. She woke only to find that she had not masturbated— there was no cream between her thighs, no twinging of her cunt, no pruning to her fingers— no slickness to her touch.

And Nicole knew the state she had been in last night. If she had masturbated her body in her sleep, it would have been obvious come morning— she wouldn’t have been able to stop at one orgasm, at one gush— she would have just kept orgasming and orgasming until her nightgown was drenched at the crotch and the bed drenched beneath her body— she wouldn’t have been able to resist, given her lowered barriers in sleep.

But for whatever reason, she had behaved herself. When she felt beneath her nightgown, her slip was a little dewy— but nothing out of the ordinary. She had not dreamt any particularly erotic dream, either. When she had charged dreams sometimes, her body would still complete orgasm for her, even untouched— but the same evidence meant the same thing, even if the second potential would have demonstrated fewer proofs of itself.

If she had come untouched, dreaming an erotic dream, there would still have been pussycream between her thighs— though the bed wouldn’t have been drenched, the nightgown neither, and her hand wouldn’t have pruned. But there was still no cream.

She was grateful— she woke up from such orgasms a bit a shamed of herself, in emotional terms feeling she was a little grimy and reprehensible. After all— she never managed to come when she was being intimate with her husband— but in her sleep, if her mind wandered to some craven place, then she suddenly could.

Such considerations, memories, were not important now. She had not masturbated, and had not orgasmed. Her fears had been unfounded.

People said, didn’t they, that in daylight nighttime fears were supposed to vanish. But though daylight had come and transformed the stress of the night, nothing was resolved. She was still afraid, but now, not afraid of her body. Now she was afraid of Brad. Even though that ring had just been a trick— with that charming manner her had, and that was all it was— he’d had her really frightened— frightened throughout the rest of the night and into the next morning.

Then she dismissed her own fears. Yes, Brad was unpleasant, but he was someone who worked with her husband. It wasn’t like he was a neighbor living next door, or someone within their nearby community; a shop-owner she visited every day, or someone else who lived on their street. He worked with her husband, how often was she ever really going to see him? There was a good chance, even, that she might not ever see him again.

Because sure, Trent did ask her to throw dinner parties and organize events— but it was possible to prepare even an entire dinner party and not attend one’s self. She’d done that a few times in the past, actually— if she’d been sick or otherwise occupied. Those times she’d paid someone to essentially waitress for the night. She could do that from now on, and tell Trent the condition of her attending would be Brad’s absence— and if he wanted Brad there, he could be, but then she would not come along.

Trent generally respected her wishes when she was serious about something, so she was fairly confident he’d respect her wishes on this. Because she would be serious about this. Brad had frightened her, had made her so uncomfortable and upset, and from now on, there was a good chance she really would be able to manage avoiding him. So, jerk though he had been, he wasn’t her problem anymore, and she didn’t have to worry about him. She could avoid or ignore him the rest of the time he worked with Trent, and so really there was nothing to fear.

The next few weeks went by easily; luckily, Trent didn’t want another event any time soon; the deal the last dinner party had been seeking after had gone through, and the extra work required by that client, in addition to all the other clients Trent’s business had, was keeping his whole operation so busy that he wasn’t trying to sign new contracts— and when Nicole asked him about this, he said probably not for another few months at least.

So this meant she didn’t even have to have the conversation about dinner party attendance with Trent; it could wait a few months, just like Trent’s dealmaking, and save her the slight awkwardness of that conversation.

But it was about three weeks later, during a weekday— on Wednesday of that week at about 11:00 in the morning, that Trent called her cellphone right while she was in the middle of straightening up around the house.

“Hi, love,” Nicole said, once she’d picked up.

“Hi, Nicole. You made that really delicious pasta last night— I forget what you said it was called, but it had so many different kinds of meat and vegetables in it— and that sauce I’ve never really tasted anywhere else before— really so well spiced.”

Nicole laughed. She always enjoyed how much Trent appreciated her cooking.

“It’s not called anything because it’s just something I invented from scratch. I wrote down what I put in it though, so I’ll be able to make it again.”

“Of course, I should have realized it was an invention of your genius. Anyway, ever since I ate it last night, I was looking forward to having it for leftovers today. It’s been a real slog at work lately— well, you know—”

She did know. Supportive as she always, she’d been listening to the tales of Trent’s workplace trials, as she always did.

“And for the past couple weeks I’ve been feeling like there’s nothing that can really cheer me up or make me feel better about this whole software bug issue thing. The developers are working overtime, the client liaisons are bending over backwards to keep people happy, I’m having meetings hour after hour and late into the night trying to keep giving good instructions for how to get us through this—”

“I know, honey,” Nicole cut him off. All of this was well-visited ground; nothing new she hadn’t already heard before.

“So when I tasted that pasta last night, I was like, ‘here’s something at last that actually cheers me up. It makes me feel better about the situation at least for a half an hour or so.”

Nicole smiled. “I’m glad, sweetheart.”

“So I wanted to bring leftovers for lunch today, and I thought I had grabbed them, and all morning I was glad I had because it’s been as bad as ever today, maybe even a little worse, and that was like the one light among the shadows, knowing that when lunch hour came, that was going to be my lunch, and eating it was going to make me feel happy again— it was kind of the only thing I was holding onto all morning. But just now, when I went to check the fridge in the breakroom, I realized I forgot the tupperware full of it at home in the fridge.”

Trent had gone through a pretty roundabout narrative to arrive at the point, but now Nicole was starting to see it.

“I know you have your own stuff going on during the day— but do you think, just this once, you could get in your car, and bring that tupperware full of leftovers to me at the office? It would really save my day— like I said this morning was a little worse than usual, and I’ve got the whole afternoon and evening to get through still. Just this once? Please?”

Nicole pursed her lips and then unpursed them. The office. Brad would be the somewhere— she was trying to go the rest of her life without ever seeing him again, seeing him after three weeks of successful avoidance was not part of that plan.

But Trent rarely ever asked her to bring him anything at the office. In fact, she couldn’t remember an earlier occasion on which this had happened before. And— it was a big office. Trent had a whole building leased to run his operation out of— Brad’s office within the building might not be anywhere close to Trent’s; or maybe Brad would leave the building to go by lunch somewhere. Either way, the odds were good that Nicole wouldn’t even see him; and even if he was there, maybe he wouldn’t see her. And even if he did, there was nothing that said she had to talk to him; she could just walk past and ignore him, never talking to him at all— since ignoring him was her entire strategy anyway.

“Alright, honey,” Nicole said. “I’ll grab the tupperware and come right to bring it to you. Does your lunch hour start now?”

“I’m taking my lunch at 11:30. I’ve got one more half-hour meeting first, but I figured it would take you about a half hour to get from home to my office door, and I wanted to be able to spend my entire hour enjoying your delicious cooking. I might not be home tonight until 11:00, or midnight. And I packed that tupperware full; it should keep me full basically for the rest of the day; and if I don’t finish all of it then it can be my dinner too.”

“Got it. On my way, baby.” Nicole tapped her phonescreen to end the call, and headed for the kitchen. Getting there, she opened the fridge, and sure enough, there was a large tupperware on the highest fridge shelf, full of the leftovers from the night before.

Nicole took it in hand, and grabbed her carkeys off the counter. Just about a half-hour later, she had made it all the way up to Trent’s office. The car was parked, the elevator had ascended, the hallway to his door had been walked, and now she raised her hand to knock on his door.

She was already feeling better than she had on the phone when Trent had first asked her to come. So far, there had been no sign of Brad anywhere. His office really must be on another floor. Now all she had to do was hand off the tupperware. Then she would turn around and leave the way she came, and get all the way back home without ever having had to see Brad at all. As hoped for, she could make it the rest of Brad’s employment contract with the company before she ever saw him again.

She knocked again, and the door opened.

It was Brad on the other side.

Her mouth fell open— and his eyes gleamed, as if he was pleased with her apparent shock.

“Right on time honey, I just finished my meeting with Brad, so it’s lunch hour for me. Just give the tupperware here, and then you can get back home and get on with your plans for the day that I so rudely interrupted.”

Nicole forced herself to shut her mouth, and step past Brad.

Trent was sitting behind his desk, looking appreciative. He reached out a hand, and she slid the tupperware into it.

Then she leaned down to give Trent a peck on the lips. “Have a good rest of your day, baby,” she added, when she pulled back, and Trent gave her a crooked smile.

When she turned, she saw that Brad was no longer in the doorway. So things were looking up— she’d settle for one strange mocking look momentarily shared, if it meant she got out of here without seeing him again. It had only been a look, after all— she hadn’t actually needed to speak to him.

She closed the door behind herself— heard her husband’s microwave chime inside the office behind her.

She jumped when she saw Brad was standing just to the side of the door.

Was he waiting for her?

Determined, she fixed her eyes straight ahead, and started walking. She closed her fist around her carkeys just to feel them there against her palm.

Brad fell into step beside her. She didn’t look at him.

“I haven’t seen you since the night of the dinner party three weeks ago.”

She kept her lips sealed together.

“I thought maybe you might come by the office sometime, wanting to see me— thought I’d see you sooner than three weeks later.”

She remained silent.

“Have you been thinking about me since that night?”

She knew she needed to just leave the office as soon as possible. She did know that. But his insinuations were so outrageous— she couldn’t keep herself shut up anymore, they needed refutation.

She stopped walking, and turned to face Brad. “Nothing happened, Brad. I don’t why you’re speaking like something did— I don’t know why you would think I wanted to see you again, and I don’t know why you would expect me to have kept thinking about you all this time. There’s nothing going on between us. I love my husband, and I’d really prefer never having to speak to you again.”

Brad waited patiently through this tirade, and when Nicole was done, her chest still rising and falling from her impassioned speech, he gave her a small smile.

“I have the ring in my pocket, Nicole. I’m going to put it on now.”

She shivered in fear. It wasn’t really a mystical ring. Those didn’t exist, it wasn’t possible— but the last time he’d started telling her lies like this, he’d still really scared her— he’d had her worrying all night, and even when she’d woken up, she’d woken up still worried, and it had taken a few minutes for those worries to disperse.

She didn’t want to be scared that way again.

Brad reached into the right pocket of his dresspants— he shifted his hand around in there, then drew his hand out, and hooked his thumb through one of his belt-loops, his hand resting against his right-hip. It was the fear, that was why— that was the reason, that was what caused Nicole’s gaze to drift downwards to his resting hand, that was what caused Nicole’s eyes to latch onto the ring, even though she had never wanted to look at it at all.

“It can’t do anything to me,” Nicole said— though she imagined she must be paralyzed by fear, because she was still unable to look away from that obsidian band with its set-in redstone.

“I think the two of us should talk more, Nicole, before you leave. Why don’t you follow me? The two of us should really go somewhere more private.”

It was the fear paralyzing her, she thought so again— that was why her feet obediently shuffled to walk as Brad walked. He moved his hand to her shoulder, and she was still looking at the ring as she walked, not where she stepped— it didn’t matter she had to tilt her chin down, turn her head to the side— she had her eyes on the ring all the time.

He led them down one hall after another— past cubicles and office doors alike— into the stairwell, down the stairs— the next level down, no one was there.

“Your husband wants to expand our staff hugely— he’s going to put all the new hires here, but they’re still getting this floor ready— we’ll be very private here.”

He walked them closer to the wall, and opened a closetdoor— stepped in, and she stepped in too.

The light was one of those overhead lights that turned on by chain— he reached up, and pulled it.

The two of them were so close in the closet— he was resting his fist against his face, as if in contemplation, but it kept the ring in her view all the time.

Her breathing was feeling ragged. And that strange feeling— she felt it again, that arousal she could not explain. It was simmering in her pussy— it seemed to simmer other places in her body too— in her breasts, yes, but also like it was lying low in every muscle. She’d sat in the library remembering this feeling after Brad had left— but she hadn’t felt it anymore. Why was she feeling it now, when she was so afraid?

“Now, Nicole,” Brad said, as if he was indulging her. “Why don’t you tell me if you’ve thought about me since the last time we saw each other?”

Nicole let out a shaky breath. The simmer seemed to have risen in temperature slightly— she thought her body might have been shaking too.

She told herself it was still the fear that made her confess— she simply could not believe any other explanation was possible.

“Only that night— I thought of you that night— I sat in the library— and the feeling I felt when you were lying to me about the ring, that was gone— but some kind of arousal seemed to linger, and I was afraid— so afraid I was going to masturbate in my sleep— because I wanted to masturbate so badly while I sat there alone in the library. And I couldn’t understand why I felt that way—” Nicole’s breath hitched.

“Did you masturbate that night, Nicole? Awake, or in your sleep?”

Nicole was definitely shivering now. “N-no,” she said.

The redstone in the ring glinted. It felt to her like it stared.

“Do you wish you had? And how did you feel, imagining your body doing something you wanted to stop when you couldn’t control it anymore? Imagining yourself asleep— your husband asleep next to you— and your hand creeping down, running over your breast— down your stomach— tucking below the hem of your nightgown, finding that wetness proceeding from you which cried out in demand?”

Nicole’s chest rose shallowly in another breath.

“I think it was a little unfortunate you denied your body, Nicole. Trent’s not taking care of it. Not giving you the orgasms you need and deserve. And you wouldn’t masturbate willingly when you were awake— a shame your body couldn’t just take what it wanted while you slept— while you couldn’t interfere… just start stroking itself, fingers finding your clit, rubbing the wetness in— rubbing and rubbing until that orgasm unfurled— too bad it didn’t keep going, forcing you to keep orgasming the entire time you slept— you would have been flushed with so many good chemicals when you woke up, rosey with life— and you would have been satisfied for the first time in a long while.”

Why was it such a tempting picture? Why did she breathe as if she was caught by the temptation?

Why was the arousal in her feeling like it was boiling her alive?

Brad’s lashes were low over his eyes as he looked down at her.

“How are you feeling now, Nicole?”

She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want him to know— but she was speaking— “I’m horny,” she confessed anew; her voice was part-whine.

“And will you let me touch you?”

Even being constantly boiled; even feeling that arousal constantly bathing her, excruciating her with desperation, she shook her head vehemently. “No,” she said, forcefully. “I love my husband, I won’t be unfaithful— another man— I won’t let another man—”

“Shh,” Brad said, soothingly. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, Nicole. But you shouldn’t deny your body again. It knows what it needs. It knows what it wants— let it show you. Just follow the sensations. You deserve a little satisfaction.”

He expected her to— he expected her to masturbate? Here, in this closest, not three inches away from him? Here, in this closet, while he watched?

His words had set something surging in her, though. Her body seemed to be crying out to her— begging her for release— when was the last time she’d even had an orgasm?

Brad’s fist was still resting against his face— but it was his eyes that she was looking at now, his face— why did he have to look like that?

“Come on, Nicole. Touch yourself— give your body what it wants.”

A cry— maybe of alarm, maybe of mourning— maybe of desperation— escaped her— she felt the arousal too powerfully in her body. For that moment, it had been so overwhelming it had driven her to cry out.

There was so much pleasure in her, begging to be released, begging to be achieved— it need to build, it needed to clench, and then it would feel so good— she would feel all better when— and she wasn’t— it wasn’t strictly speaking infidelity— if Brad wasn’t even going to be touching her— if she could just get her orgasm over with, she knew she would feel more like herself again— all of this strange, unexplainable, unpreventable behavior— she would be able to understand it.

Breathing with her mouth hanging a little open, Nicole nodded her head once. Yes— she could let herself— she’d make sure it was quick and then—

Brad shook his head. “Give your body the full experience it deserves— if you were being intimate with your husband, you would undress him, you would undress yourself. Take all of your clothes off— give yourself total access to every part of yourself. Put it all within reach, make it so you don’t have to reach under any kind of fabric.”

She wetted her lips with her tongue. That would probably make things go faster— if she could more easily touch her skin without any hindrances.

She pulled her top over her head— undid the clasp of her skirt, and slid it down her legs— stepped out of her shoes— she was standing naked, and Brad was watching her.

Somehow his looking at her made her feel like her entire body was blushing. But she didn’t need any more invitations from him. Her body was ready, and if she really listened— as she so rarely did— she could feel where a pocket of pleasure would be nicely complimented by the application of touch.

The pleasure in her breasts was at boiling pitch— they seemed to tremble, and her whole body shook. Shyly at first, she put a hand on her right-breast— and let out a little gasp at the immediate relief she felt to be holding that heft of flesh in her hand— her breast had needed contact, it still needed more— she started to knead it within the same grip she maintained, twisting, rolling it— pulling, squeezing.

Pretty soon she had to arch her back out, to force her breast farther into her hand. Then she clutched it more forcefully— she could feel rivulets of arousal running from her pussy. It felt good, her whole body felt good, but she needed more.

Brad wasn’t saying anything now. Wasn’t disturbing her— on some primal level this made her happy. She felt she had gone down to a more primal place, a place where she was angry at the whole world, as if it had conspired to keep her pleasure away from her— finally, at last, someone was letting her have it without standing in the way.

He looked very happy with the way things were going, though. She tried to ignore him, ignore the manner in which he was drinking her in, ignore just how that seemed to make the boiling pitch of what was within her many temperature points hotter.

She’d gotten the touch to her right-breast just right. She was rolling it, but every time she rolled it, now her very erect nipple brushed the center of the palm of her hand, sending erotic shivers into the depth of her breast, sending those same erotic shivers up and down her spine.

And rivulets were still pouring out of her. Her left-breast ached in the want to be touched— ideally she would have serviced both breasts together, but she was hungry, craving for more, her pussy was practically seeming to scream at her for attention. She could leave her left-breast untouched in favor of touching her pussy.

She ignored the whisper in the back of her mind, telling her that Brad could have reached forward and played with her left-breast for her. Then she could have had the stimulation she needed in each of her three main erogenous zones— but she still didn’t want him to touch her, so she would deny her body this.

It didn’t feel like a denial anymore a second later, when her left-hand found her pussy. She was sooooo wet there, she couldn’t remember the last time anything had gotten her this wet. Her body demanded and she gave, streaking fingers through that wetness, streaking her slit, feeling it spark incredibly in response to the glide of her fingers.

She scooped them, then, scooping some of her moisture too, and rounded them around her clit, letting out a moan. She felt her nipple kiss the center of her palm in one hand, felt her entire breast reverberate with her squeezes— felt her clit spark under her circling fingertips. She was holding herself.

There had been something in her, something in her that had starved for so long, and now she was feeding it— she was glutting it, it was feasting— all sensations combined, building themselves into a tower, overlaying each other in endless combination to keep reaching higher— higher— and when the spire at the top of the tower seemed to point up as far as anything could go, it felt like she jumped, like her body fell— and the orgasm was a crash—

She screamed. She fully screamed, with her full throat, with all the air in her lungs— she had never tasted such a release before— her whole body burned in flames— almost every muscle seemed to spasm, and above all her womb spasmed, her pussy spasmed, clenching faster than the rate of her heart, even though that raced too— and she felt— full and good and sleepy… in her mental daze she could only be grateful Brad had brought her to an abandoned floor, where her screams had not been heard— as if— he had known— her orgasm would be something that glorious— that all-encompassing, that complete.

She felt sated.

Brad bent down, but did not bend down by leaning forward— he just went into a crouch, descending vertically— leaning forward would have meant knocking into her body, and he was still very carefully not touching her.

Having gotten close to the floor, he picked up both Nicole’s discarded top, and skirt— he handed them both to her.

“Would you ever masturbate like that in front of your husband?”

The strange honesty was still gripping her. Quickly, she shook her head. “It would reveal my fakery. He’d see what satisfaction really looks like on me. I gave up so long ago, committed myself to pretending. In the early days, I explained as many ways as I could, but he just never… got it. And that was frustrating him, so I switched to making pretend— and if he saw the reality of my orgasm, he’d know— he’d be so hurt.”

Brad just shook his head. But then appraised her once more with his eyes.

“I really love seeing the ring do all my work for me. It makes you so easily seduced— even seduced to yourself. And what a nice show you make when you are. The reality of your orgasm is beautiful.”

His hand was in his pocket again— it shifted— it was without the ring when it came back out.

She held her clothes to her chest.

He ducked his head to her. “Until later, Nicole.” Then he left the closet.

She wished he had touched her.