The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Now Nicole was facing a serious threat. Now she was in a dangerous situation, and she wasn’t the only one in danger. Her marriage was in danger too, and though Trent didn’t know it, so was he— in the sense that everything he relied on, everything he needed and sought support from, within the bounds of their marriage, was at risk too. He was in danger in the sense that something so essential to him and his happiness was at stake— and if it fell apart, if it did succumb to the danger, his happiness and trust would be shattered forever.

But like with many things, including her own pleasure, Trent was oblivious to this fact of reality. Nicole was not.

Initially, it had seemed harmless. To look at Brad, and think he was a little attractive— to have whatever kind of stupid frivolous fascination she had allowed herself to experience. She hadn’t tried to smother it out— now when she thought of that time, she thought she had definitely been infatuated with him. It didn’t occur to her that in realtime, at those earlier moments, she’d been uninterested in Brad. Now it seemed true to her that she had always been infatuated.

But it had only harmless at the beginning, she thought now. Or she’d mistakenly taken it for harmless. It wasn’t harmless anymore. She’d masturbated in front of the man— and after he’d left her there in the closet, she’d been craving his touch. If she saw him, she would lose herself to that craving. She’d beg him to put his hands on her— and who only knew how far she would let herself go, given her lust for him?

It was not something she could deny anymore. And again, when she thought of her earlier self first meeting, she only concluded that she had lusted for him then, lusted immediately, there had been no ambivalence— in her mind it had been written out of the narrative— she’d simply always lusted for him, and she’d been in denial about it at that time.

But no longer. The only way to successfully navigate the dangers of this situation was to acknowledge them, at least to herself. She was attracted to Brad. She’d let that attraction go so far it had become an obsession.

And now, if she let that obsession go farther, she would let him put his hands on her body, and who knew what else. She had let things go as far as they had— and shame on her for that— but she wouldn’t let them go any further. They weren’t past the point of no return yet. There was nothing guilting her conscience— nothing she needed to confess to her husband, nothing she had done which would break his heart.

Masturbating in front of another man was in a gray area for her. In the same area as faking orgasm for the sake of her husband’s pride— for Nicole, things hadn’t yet crossed the line. But if she let Brad touch her, if she let him actually lay hands on her skin— that would cross the line— she would have to confess to Trent then, otherwise the guilt would consume her from the inside.

So she would be more careful. She would save her marriage, protect her against outside attacks.

Because Brad had become an obsession now. At night she dreamed of him looking at her as she masturbated. And she had started masturbating in her sleep. It was as if that first orgasm had given her body the taste of something it had long lacked, long been missing, and now that it knew how to get it, it glutted itself constantly.

When she was awake, it was always in the back of her mind that she could masturbate, but she always refrained.

As soon as she fell asleep though— she dreamed of Brad, and her hands and body got immediately to work. This enhanced the pleasure of her dreams, as her body was presumably going through orgasm after orgasm.

When she woke up, it was never possible to tell how many times she had climaxed. She just knew it had been a lot, because she always found her panties ruined, and found her body slicked with sweat. “Full of good chemicals and rosey with life,” Brad had predicted— that was how she woke up each morning.

Trent had not noticed her sleepmasturbation. But given her obsession was at this level, she would not risk even seeing Brad one more time. She dreamt of him watching her masturbate— his eyes— his fist against his face, his ring glinting— and while she dreamt her body pleasured itself unconsciously— if he was in front of her, she would lack the strength to deny herself his touch— she should never have let the obsession grow, she should never have underestimated, let her feelings get to this point. But she had, so now all she could do was enact some damage control.

So starting the morning after her little rendez-vous with Brad in the closet, and every morning and day after, she was careful. It had been immediate damage control that first morning— it had taken a few more mornings to realizing she was dreaming of Brad, to realize she was masturbating in her sleep, but when she had, and when in the next few days she noticed it kept happening— then she felt even more certain in her course of action.

About a month passed this way: during which time, she often reflected on the difficulty, the danger of her situation, and felt relief at what she was doing to handle it.

Simply put, she was refusing to be around Trent’s workworld in any capacity. This meant no stopping by the office to bring him something he forget. This meant no dropping him off in the morning or picking him up in the evening if she happened to need the car during the day. Now when she did need to go out for errands in the day, she just took a can to and from wherever she needed to go.

She also was being more hands off with hostessing duties. She made all the arrangements beforehand— then she hired a caterer to serve what she had already cooked and left warming— then she made sure to absent herself from the house— to go over to be with friends, or to go out and see a movie, or have dinner at a restaurant alone.

It was all a huge inconvenience to her— but worth doing, because it protected her marriage, and protected her from her own worst instincts. And it was working— if she never, ever interacted with Trent’s workworld, she simply couldn’t cross paths with Brad.

Of course, Trent was not happy with her lifestyle change. It was causing some friction in their marriage. He hadn’t accepted that she would never willingly go back to the way things had been— and she would never come out and tell him it was Brad she was trying to avoid, so he could entirely understand why she’d wanted to change this, why she wouldn’t go back on it. He still called her in the day, about as often as he’d used to, asking if she could bring him something. Then he was hurt when she refused.

Or when she told him of some errand she’d done, he’d get frustrated to find she’d paid cabfare there and back, frustrated because they had a car, and why couldn’t she just use that, and figure out who needed it when and how best to share it, as they had done in the past?

But Nicole didn’t care. She was doing what she needed to to save her marriage. She was never going to cross paths with Brad again. She was certain of that this time. So Trent could be as frustrated with her as he wanted— it was a worthy price to pay, in exchange for marital security.

So one month of this turned into two— with Brad nowhere on her horizon. She would have almost being starting to feel safe— if it wasn’t for the fact she was still having the dreams. Still masturbating in her sleep.

That was frustrating. But again. She could put up with those symptoms of a dying obsession if she had to— even if the obsession eventually faded and the symptoms stayed, she could put up with them forever.

Now it was a Tuesday night, just past the two-month mark of Nicole’s lifestyle change. Trent had come home late. There had been a few terse words exchanged— tonight there’d been a function at the office. The kind of thing Nicole had once attended— and beforehand Trent had, again, tried to convince her to come— and after the fact he had again expressed his frustration that she had not. Then finally he’d gone upstairs to bed.

Nicole had stayed down in the living. She had the lights on the dimmest setting, and she was sitting on the couch in her softest, most comfortable bathrobe, no slippers, just her barefeet tucked up underneath her on the couch— she had been reading a book before— and Trent had gone up over an hour ago.

She still wasn’t quite tired enough to go to bed— and she was enjoying her book— Trent was definitely asleep by now, work functions always tired him out so much. But even though she could go to bed, and wouldn’t have to go through another argument first, she still didn’t want to. She should go on reading her book—

But she’d looked up from the page, because even in her little haven of relaxation, with the dim lights, the good book, and the soft bathrobe— the comfortable couch in the openconcept livingroom— something was bothering her. Something niggling her in the back of her mind—

Nicole slapped her forehead. Of course. It was garbage pickup tomorrow, and in the rush of doing everything else she’d had to do that day, she’d forgotten to put their bag out in the bin.

Well, she’d just have to do it now. She’d have to set her book down, and do it now. When she did get tired enough to go to bed later, she wouldn’t want to delay in order to put the garbage out then. She should do it now because she still had the energy. She’d just be quick— she wouldn’t even put her shoes on— just run quickly outside, still barefoot. She knew her home, knew her property. She kept both their walkway and driveway fairly clean— she’d only have to wipe her feet on the mat a few times once she got back inside. And it would be faster than taking the time even to slip on shoes.

That settled it. She closed her book and put it on the coffeetable next to her halfdrunk glass of red wine. She crossed the livingroom, passing in front of the stairs, to reach the other side of them— they bifurcated the mainfloor, the kitchen was on the other side.

And she got there, and opened the garbage bin. She tied off the garbage bag, and hefted it with one hand.

Then she moved back across the mainfloor to the frontdoor, and quickly pulled it open, then pulled it again shut, behind her.

The night was pleasant. There was a faint song of crickets, a light breeze. And the street was dark, apart from the porchlight behind her which had automatically flicked itself on.

Quickly shuffling both her feet and legs, Nicole descended the frontdeck.

She rushed onto the lawn, which was left of both the frontdrive and the walkway— she felt dewy grass between her toes— and rushed for the edge of the grass, where it gave way to curb— where the garbage bin was sitting.

She took the lid off, put the garbage bag inside, and then put the garbage lid on it. The garbage bin had been sitting on the edge of the lawn— because Nicole had left it out here a couple days ago, knowing garbage day was soon, but not wanting to put the bin on the street until the night before.

Now, though, she put down onto the road. And she would have turned away and gone back inside, but just then, she heard a quick “Nicole,” called out to her.

She looked up, standing and facing the road— her eyes scanning along it.

Maybe it had just been a trick of the wind.

But then she heard it again. “Nicole,” called— musically— a little louder— her eyes scanned.

There was a car parked on the other side of the street. The window was down, but the car was in shadow, so Nicole couldn’t see who’d called to her.

The car was parked the wrong way— on that side of the street, it should have been parked so the driver’s side faced in towards the street, but the car had been parked the opposite way, parked so the passenger side faced in towards the street— so the shadow obscured whoever was in the car behind the windshield, but being able to see into the car on the passenger side did nothing, because that seat was empty.

The window of the car was down— through which the mysteryperson-in-the-car’s voice had projected out to her.

“Nicole,” she heard again, called out so musically, almost called out like a song— and she heard it— and it just pulled at something in her, pulled at it with the power of a summoning. She just had to seek the thing which had sung her name— no matter how dangerous it might be— no matter what might be the cost.

She stepped around the garbage bin, and walked barefoot across the quiet street. Toward that parked car.

She leaned in through the window, her hand on the car-roof to brace her, her eyes searching the shadow.

She found Brad in it. His eyes glinted in the dark.

And a lunge of fear jumped in her chest— she tried to jump back, but Brad put his hand out onto the side of the passenger seat’s shoulder— and Nicole saw he was wearing the ring.

It couldn’t— really do anything— it was just the ridiculous obsession in her head, the obsession she had with him. But she felt like the ring was sticking her in place, stopping her from jumping back, from running away. She felt like it was watching her again, like it was casting some light on her which she could not step out of.

“Open the door, and sit down inside,” Brad said. He flexed fisted his hand in the passenger seat, flexing it— the ring glittered more clearly.

Wordlessly, staring at Brad now instead of the ring— but still feelings its light on her— Nicole ducked back out of the car to standing, and then her hand closed on the door handle. She pulled against it, and then made the door swing open.

Then she got into the car, sitting down on the seat.

She knew Brad’s hand was still there on the seat’s shoulder. She felt the light of the ring falling on her. But she was looking at him.

And she was in his car. He could take her away— take her anywhere— lock the doors— she had to get out—

But she was stuck looking into his face. Into his eyes.

And suddenly she felt so comfortable in the car she knew— she couldn’t make herself turn away from Brad— beautiful sight that he was— she couldn’t make herself get out of the car— she was stuck here, until Brad dismissed her— until he didn’t want her anymore— that had to happen, right? Especially if she said something he didn’t like?

She should try that, then.

“So what is this?” She asked, putting as much disgust and judgement and derision in her tone as she could. She did mean it— he was still a nuisance to her. And he was a threat to her marriage, which she wanted to protect at all costs.

It was just that he had such an attractive face.

“You’ve taken to just stalking me, at this point? Just parking on the opposite side of my street, and watching for me to come out?”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Nicole. For two months. And no, I haven’t been parking here nightly. Every now and then I’ve just driven by, to see if I could catch you coming outside. One night I saw you taking out the garbage, about this time— late— I checked back a few more times at around the same time, and saw that it was a pattern for you. So tonight I knew you’d come out about this time— and I figured two months was as long as you were entitled to. So here I am.”

“That makes you a bit obsessed with me,” Nicole reproached.

“And what about your obsession with me?” Brad smiled.

Nicole flushed. He couldn’t know about the dreams. The sleep masturbation— he couldn’t know, he couldn’t, how could he?

“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nicole protested.

“Have you just been afraid of masturbating in your sleep, Nicole, or have you really been doing it? And what might have you been dreaming about while your body took care of itself, I wonder? What erotic fantasies were you seeing in sleep, and who was starring in them? If I’m a little obsessed, driving by your house, figure out your schedule, figuring out when I could get you to see me— then you’re a little obsessed too, jilling off every night in your sleep and dreaming of me.”

He was too good at reading people— or at least he was too good at reading her.

She crossed her arms over her chest, pinning her bathrobe tighter-shut. “Fine. I’ve been dreaming of you, my body has been taking care of itself in my sleep— so maybe I am a little obsessed with you.”

Brad nodded. “We’re both a bit obsessed with each other, just like I said. It’s only natural, when we’re each as attracted to the other as we are.”

Nicole shook her head. “I’m a little obsessed, you’re a little obsessed, we’re attracted to each other— fine, but it doesn’t mean anything… it doesn’t have to…” her voice had become pleading. She felt almost like she was pleading as much with herself as she was with him. “We don’t have to do anything about it. I have a husband, I love him, I want to protect my marriage!”

“Even if you hadn’t confessed, pretty easily, to what’s being going on with you the past two months, your behavior during that time, alone, would have given your true feelings away. Why would a person need to drastically change their entire lifestyle, and avoid all the places they used to go, and avoid all the things they used to do, if they were completely unaffected and uncaring?

“Why did you need to go so extremely out of your way? It’s like you were afraid to see me. You say you want to protect your marriage, but if you know that just seeing me once will be enough to destabilize— to the point that you have to go to such extremes— then there wasn’t much strength in your marriage to begin with, was there?”

“I was afraid to see you,” Nicole admitted. No strength in her marriage, no. And no strength in her either, to defend it, not now she was here with him. This was the face she’d seen, the body she’d seen, the person she’d seen, night after night— she’d seen him last night as her body had touched itself— if she’d gone to bed when Trent had, and fallen asleep, she’d be dreaming him right now, and masturbating along while unconscious… the sustained object of her desire, of her obsession— she’d watch him do some many things to her, things she’d always wanted, she’d watched herself do things to him— things she’d always wanted to do— things it was never quite the same to do to Trent, because he just wasn’t sensual in the way she was sensual— and she never felt fully intimate with him, fully connected to him, not as long as he didn’t know her secret, the ways she’d been faking.

“And how did you feel the last time we saw each other, when I left you there in the closet?” His eyes sparkled— like he knew that was the answer.

“I wanted you to touch me,” she spoke on an inhale— “and I’ve dreamed you did, every night since then.”

It had been one confessed gasp— and he was so close— she couldn’t— she felt the ring’s light on her— she couldn’t—

She wasn’t sure who had moved first— if it had been him, or if it had been her— but somehow, the two of them collided, their lips meeting between them— both facing away from the dashboard, facing to their sides, facing to each other— and now they kissed, and it was glorious— it was everything she’d dreamed, everything she’d obsessed over— Trent never kissed like this, like his tongue was seeking, like it was licking hers out, licking over all sides of it— Trent’s tongue was never so responsive when she licked it back, never so responsive as Brad’s was now— their tongues twined— and her hands ached to touch him more, she slipped them up the back of his neck and twisted them in his close-cropped hair, barely able to find a grip but so enjoying the feeling of touching him— moving her hands on his body— and moving her mouth on his, so beautifully.

They kissed in a hurried rush of passion for a few moments— Brad was the one to break it— he pulled her to his body, just embracing her.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to, Nicole. I won’t touch you, if you don’t want that. You didn’t want me to touch last time, not at first.”

He was being a tease. He was being cruel. Her whole body was singing with the sensation of being closeheld in his arms— of holding him back— his body so firm and there and present, not a dream, not anymore— he needed to be touching her— she could no more step out of the car than go on without his hands on her body.

“Touch me, keep touching me, please, everywhere—” Nicole breathed. Her mind was too clouded by his presence— she couldn’t remember why this was wrong, why she shouldn’t feel good things like this, why she shouldn’t have his hands on her.

He pulled back from embracing her, and then he was kissing her again, his hands were stroking her back, running up her side, running over her breasts— and she wanted to touch him too, the impulse was in her hand. She ran her hands down his front as she kept kissing him, ran her hands over the bulge of his erection, still held back by his pants— and their tongues moved together more hungrily— they shifted their faces to keep the ideal angle of connection.

Brad had already moved his seat back in its track as far from the steeringwheel as it could go. So in the next moment, when his hands started to guide Nicole across the centerconsole, there was plenty of room for her.

As she moved, he was turning to face forwards in the seat— and she came to straddle over him, still leaning down to kiss him, feeling the steeringwheel against her back— everything in her was thrilling— it felt hot, felt exciting to be making out with a man in a car, where anybody might drive by and see— look in the window and see— she’d never done anything like this with Trent— and she was losing herself into the kiss, holding Brad’s face steady, kissing deeper into his mouth, deeper into his kiss.

His hands were on her breasts, then, and she gasped into him instead of kissing into him— just for that moment. He touched with an expert touch, working her breasts with both hands. Yes— two months ago, in the closet with him— she’d wanted his hands here, since then she’d dreamed of his hands here— and now they were here—

The front of her bathrobe fell open, and then he shifted to put his hands on her naked breasts instead. That drove her even wilder— and when arousal ran out of her, it ran between her naked thighs, down her naked legs— and— the only thing that could be possibly better than this—

She felt Brad’s hand on the back of her right-hand. He took hold of it, pulling it back from her breast, and dropped it into his lap.

Nicole had to arch up a little more, so she could fit her hand down, while she was straddling so close. His intention was clear— he’d shifted her so that now her hand was again resting on his erection.

Then he took her other hand, and replaced his own hand on her left-breast, with it. He took hold of her right-breast, with his right-hand— his other hand slipped in through her open bathrobe, to find her clit.

He was touching her naked genitals— it didn’t seem quite fair that he should be the only one. And he had put her hand on his crotch.

As she felt Brad’s hand slipping between her legs, she worked the fastening on the front of his pants— got it undone, and immediately felt a swell of victory in her chest.

The she brought his fly down— and wrapped her hands around his cock. He must have expected something like this to happen— inside his pants, his cock was naked, so Nicole was able to immediately guide it free of what Brad was wearing, get it into the open air— get it into her hand.

Somehow this was more satisfying than everything else— feeling Brad’s girth sitting within her grip. She only regretted not spitting in her hand first— it was a bit of work to unwind her hand, to bring it up to her mouth. But she did get it there, and once it was, she spat into it— then got her hand back down. It took more co-ordination to navigate around both their bodies, to navigate around both of Brad’s arms— but finally she reached his cock, this time with her hand fully slicked— and she spread that slicking of her saliva over his cock, working him fast.

His hand had just been resting against her, brushing her slit, but as soon as she started working him, he started working her. She inhaled sharply as his hand stroked through her slit, parting her folds. Inhaled again when he brought his fingers up to tweak at her clit— she pumped him with her hand, feeling all parts of the experience at once.

They weren’t that close together, not really— not compared to how it would have been if Brad were inside her— and some traitorous part of her was wishing, now, that he could be.

But even though they were a bit held-apart from each other, Nicole still felt they were all entwined together. Brad’s hand was on her right-breast— his other hand was on her clit— her left hand was on her left-breast, and her right hand was on his cock— both of them had a hand on the other, masturbating on the other’s behalf— and sometimes, even above such a flurry of activity, they still found away to surge closer and kiss sloppily again.

There was so much sensation. She kept thinking it, but it really— it hadn’t been like this— with Trent— not ever.

Then there was too much sensation, and she wasn’t even thinking at all anymore.

The velvet feel of Brad in her hand— the wonderful feel of his hand on her breast, as her other hand was on the other. Both her breasts being squeezed, twisted— as there was a cock in her hand, gliding in her spit— and all the time her clit being tweaked, being spun— and when Brad was kissing her, those times that he was, a tongue tangling with hers, lips pressing against her own— pleasure from her lips, pleasure from her mouth, from her tongue, pleasure from her clit— pleasure from Brad’s hands, pleasure from everything all together— and her mind had stopped working— it was just pleasure— and then she was just— gushing, gushing down on Brad’s hand, writhing, but still managing to hold onto Brad’s cock, still managing to work it just that much further— and then she felt Brad’s cock shaking— and as she still rode her orgasm, he was coming, spurting and spurting onto her hand, onto her body, where it was exposed between the sides of her gaping bathrobe.

She loved the feeling of his spunk coating her, even though it was such a filthy feeling— and their lips broke apart— both of them sat there, foreheads resting together. They both just panted.

Finally, Brad pulled his hand back.

“I should get back inside,” Nicole said quickly. She dismounted Brad, crawled back for the passenger side, and clasped her bathrobe shut again— hiding where Brad’s semen was painted onto her body.

And Brad didn’t say anything at all to her. She didn’t look back to him, either. She got out of the car, and slammed the door behind her, running back into her house like she was fleeing.

She heard the sound of a car driving away behind her.

She thought practically. First order of business was showering herself off. And then putting her bathrobe in the washing machine, and running a wash cycle.

She managed to do both these things without thinking too much.

It was when she got to bed that the guilt lay itself on her.