The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Fucking Brad in his car that night had changed things for Nicole. She had been obsessed with him before— of course— she’d been attracted to him, liked him from the beginning. And all the fantasies that had followed, after that point, had only fostered the obsession further.

But now it was on a completely new level. Now, she knew how it felt, being sexually intimate with him, how it felt to be so, so close to him; breathing him, feeling him, moving with him. Whatever dreams she had about fucking him now would never compare to the reality, to the memory of how it had actually felt when she’d done it waking, done it in her real life.

She kept up with her typical routines, and she knew nothing in them, nor in her behavior either, showed what had happened inside of her. But that didn’t change the truth. She was a changed woman.

The morning after, the entire day after that tryst in Brad’s car was normal— Nicole handled the tasks around the house that needed seeing to, as she always did. But her thoughts were full of Brad. It was like she dreamed with her eyes open, now. Before she had closed them and slept and in her imagination seen image after image of Brad fucking her, her fucking him in return. Now she saw these images awake— she was running by automation, doing everything by rote, while her mind was elsewhere— seeing the dreams her body had masturbated itself to unconsciously. Now she did her tasks somewhat unconsciously— and dreamed her dreams awake, and got so, so wet.

This continued to be the pattern, continued to be her habit, for the rest of that week. At night she found herself gravitating to the front window in the den, drawing the curtains aside, looking out onto the street, hoping for… something.

She realized it was ridiculous to expect Brad to show up outside her house every night, realized it was ridiculous to think he would do it just so she could fuck him again, and he could fuck her— but it was what she was secretly hoping for.

And every night that first week, there was no car on the street. So she would always turn from the window, let it be curtained again, and go upstairs to go to bed.

It might have been unrealistic to hope for Brad to come by every night. But if he had, she would have gone out to him every night, fucked him every night. Nicole wished that she could.

The second week out from the incident passed the same way, and Nicole was starting to be nervous. Had she done something wrong? Or been an unsatisfying lover? Brad had seemed to be enjoying himself quite a lot at the time. And for Nicole, their tryst had been everything she had ever hoped it might be— she’d hoped it had been the same thing for him.

But then why was he staying away from her? Why had he let two weeks pass before coming back? Didn’t he want more love from her, physically or otherwise? Didn’t he have more to offer her, more he wanted to give?

She reassured herself he would show up again— after all, while she’d been in denial of her feelings for him, he’d shown up almost constantly, and always exactly when she didn’t want him to. So he had to show up now, now that she had reconciled herself to the fact that she did actually want to see him.

But the second week went, and he made no appearances. By the third week, Nicole was feeling it start to get to her. She was so turned on all day, and it just kept getting worse with every new time that she had to eyes-open-dream Brad fucking her.

It so happened that that Thursday, Trent called her in the afternoon, asking her, once again, to bring something into the office for him that he’d forgotten. Things were getting even busier at his company than they had been before, which was the root of his forgetfulness.

But he’d let Nicole be for the two and a half weeks prior, having at last taken to heart that she didn’t want to come into his work for him. Of course, Nicole’s earlier response was outdated now— and when Brad called and asked her for the first time in weeks if she would come in, he asked a bit bitterly, as if he fully knew that she would reject him.

But this time, in his request, Nicole saw opportunity. Work. His work— she’d run into Brad there before— hopefully he wouldn’t be making himself scarce, but even if he did, she could think up a good excuse and go looking for him. Then maybe she could tempt him down onto the renovation-undergoing floor, and tempt him into another session of intimacy.

Or at least she could get him to make a date with her.

She felt only the faintest pang of guilt, harboring such infidelous thoughts in her head as she spoke to her husband. To him, she only cheerily said that she would be happy to bring in what he needed. It seemed to shock him entirely, and take him aback, but in the wake of that caught-offguard fashion, Trent seemed genuinely grateful. Nicole ended her call with him, collected what he’d asked for, and drove their shared car to his office for the second time that day— she’d had other errands to do, so she’d given him a ride in that morning, and kept the car for herself. This was turning out to be useful now.

She made it to Trent’s office without sighting Brad once, and couldn’t successfully ignore the twisting disappointment she felt about this development. She handed Trent what he’d asked for, and pecked him on the lips, and then since he was busy, said goodbye and closed the door after herself.

Outside his office there was still no sign of Brad. But Nicole wasn’t content to leave without seeing him, so she decided on the excuse that her husband was looking for him— thus began her search throughout the company.

She walked, she looked in on a cubicle every so often, and when she inevitably found people who weren’t Brad, she gave them her excuse and asked if he’d been seen.

After a while it was starting to be suspicious; she managed to find people who had seen Brad as recently as two minutes earlier; but he was always already gone by the time she got anywhere, maddeningly elusive, like it was all done by design.

After an hour of searching like this, she was sure he didn’t want himself found.

She felt like she’d made enough of a fool of herself, by that point, so she just went home again, cursing Brad the whole way. If he didn’t want to see her, fine! Then she was done with him too, and he couldn’t have her, or any of her love, anymore, either.

That resolve lasted about a day— after which it faded back into that obsessive longing, which had now turned bitter and sad— why didn’t Brad want her anymore, why didn’t he want her again?

Inwardly, she sulked all through the next week, which marked four weeks out from their one and only instance of sexual activity.

By the fifth week she had a plan.

Or maybe she just felt like making a fool of herself yet again, but either way, she was confident in her plan. Showing up inside Trent’s office had gotten her nowhere. But on a day that Brad worked a shift there, it stood to reason that eventually he would have to exit the building— and she could catch him at that time.

Of course she didn’t want Trent to know that she was planning on staking out his office— and she didn’t want him to worry if she was out late (for if things went well, hopefully she could spend the night with Brad), so she lied and told him she was taking the care to go stay the night at her sister’s house.

Trent thought nothing of this excuse— and then, when it was getting to be evening on that Monday, with her excuses already made, she drove the car and parked it a little ways down the street— close enough she’d be able to see Brad when he left— far enough away that, unless she called out to him, when Trent came out and got in a taxi to go home, he wouldn’t recognize her, or their car.

She didn’t feel at all bad about making Trent take a cab to get back to the house. If she actually managed to get intimate with Brad again, it would be a worthwhile trade, to her mind.

She had to wait a few hours— it was about eight o’clock when she finally spotted him coming out of the main entrance to the six story building Trent rented office space in.

He was still a fair distance back from the road, and neither Trent nor anybody else she knew was in sight. She’d had her car-window down already, and, a little satisfied that she was the one waiting in the car this time, instead of him, she drew in a full breath, and then shouted down the street, “BRAD!!!!!”

That turned his head— then he spotted her in the car. For one second she was terrified he would shake his head in dismissal and leave. But he did start coming towards her.

He was finally standing opposite her driver’s side door, leaning over her car a bit, resting his hands on its roof.

“Nicole,” he said first. “Are you waiting for Trent? I think he still had one or two people left to meet with and hear reports from.”

His eyes sparkled. He knew full well she hadn’t been waiting for Trent.

“I was waiting for you,” Nicole replied, with a little bit of venom. “Are we… are we finished? It’s been a month since we fucked, and I’ve wanted… Brad, I’ve been dreaming you with my eyes open, this whole time I’ve just been hoping to see you again, love your body again… have you really lost interest in me? Wasn’t it a good time, a month ago? Didn’t I make it good for you?”

Brad looked contemplative. One hand came off the car-roof to scratch at the side of his face, in seemingly distracted thought.

She saw he was wearing his ring when he did so.

“It was good, Nicole. You’re a very skillful lover. I’ve just been rethinking things. You’re not the type of woman I tend to associate with at all. Why… you’re just so…”

He made a frown that caused Nicole’s heart to twist.

“You’re just so housewife-ish,” he finally settled on. “You’re plain. I like women who seek danger, seek thrills; and who look like they do that, too. I’m not sure you can be that woman— and that’s the only kind of woman I’d really be interested in carrying on an affair with. Everything that’s happened up to now has been fun… but as long as you’re you, and I’m the same man… then I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”

It was like living inside a nightmare. She’d dreamed him with her eyes open before but now he was in front of her, she felt she was nightmaring with her eyes open.

Before he could walk away, she reached desperately with a hand to grab the hem of his shirt.

“I can seek danger,” she spoke hurriedly. “I can take risks— and I can make myself look like I do— just give me a chance.”

Brad looked at her skeptically. “I don’t think you can.”

He likely hadn’t intended the statement this way, but all that it did when he said it was give her the feeling she’d just been goaded. She wanted to prove it to him now.

“I’ll do something,” she said, tugging at his shirt in pleading. “I’ll do anything— something risky, something stupid— to show you I can— to show you I want—”

He gave her a cool look. Would he repeat what he’d said? Say she could never convince him, and this time just leave? Say she wasn’t made of whatever ingredients were necessary to result a woman who would be what he wanted?

But when he spoke he actually gave her the pleaded-for chance. “Get out of the car, cross the street, stop a strange man who’s walking, and who you don’t know, and then take your breasts out of your shirt and show them to him.”

Nicole felt her face break out in a flush. Something in her pushed back.

Show her breasts? On the street? To a stranger? Was she pretending to be a sexworker now? Was that the idea of this?

The thought of actually doing it made her ashamed— it made her want to roll her window up and drive away.

Brad saw this.

“It’s alright, Nicole. I knew you couldn’t do it really.”

The door of her car opened, pushing him back, and she slammed it behind her once she was out.

She didn’t look at him before she crossed the street. Once she was across, she slowed her pace, scanning the faces of the nearby pedestrians.

She let them all pass her. Her stomach was twisting in nerves. It was late, since it was evening— and there were so many other adults around; they would all see what she was doing, too. And it was embarrassing, it would be so embarrassing to show herself— not to mention that she could be picked up on public indecency if a cop happened to pass at the wrong moment— and she knew that Brad was on the other side of the street all the time, watching her from afar.

But there was a man who looked a bit older than her— he was walking along, all alone— she didn’t have the grit she would have needed to expose herself to any of the men who were walking in pairs or threes, but that one straggler, alone… she could just manage him.

She got right in his way, so he couldn’t get past her. She planted her feet— and felt a moment of panic. There were too many layers, her shirt, her bra— how could she get her breasts out quickly enough— in a panic she grabbed her shirt-hem, and pulled it over her head without taking her arms out of the sleeves. The end result was that her shirt made a kind of bundled second collar, becoming only a ring of fabric that centered around the back of her neck and came out looking a little like bolero jacket, since her arms were still in the sleeves— but with all the material of her shirt mostly behind her, and her front completely bare from her chin all the way to the waist of her pants, she knew the man could clearly see her bra— white lace bra, she remembered, but she wasn’t looking down at it, because she was fixing the man with the most smoldering stare she could manage. Affecting confidence she didn’t feel. Inside she wanted to throw-up, and despite the affectations she put on, she knew that the absolute mortification she was feeling showed on her body; her skin felt like it was flushing everywhere— the man had stopped walking, stood there and gawked at her.

Some of the other pedestrians didn’t slow as they passed, but many of them tittered amongst themselves, laughing at her expense— a few did stop , standing behind the man— and they all stared too— more men— Nicole felt like her flush was getting hotter, and her nausea was getting worse. She was fighting tears of embarrassment— she didn’t like this, she was a private person, she didn’t want anyone else knowing what her body looked like— no one but her husband, and now, her lover— men she’d chosen, men she wanted, not strangers— and what would she do if the cops did pick her up like this?

She’d die of shame if she was taking to a holding cell looking this way, die a second shame-death if they called her husband for bail and told him what she’d been doing.

But she couldn’t put her shirt back on properly. She had one more thing to do— to make it perfect— to really prove her point. If she didn’t do this, then she’d leave Brad a way out— leave him the impetus to fuel complaints that she still couldn’t take the ultimate risk.

She really wished she’d worn a front-clasping bra. And her hands were shaking as she reached behind herself, and undid her bra-clasp. She fumbled it once, twice, she was shaking so bad. She wanted to hide her face and never be seen again but she was basically acting in opposition to this desire.

She got the clasp open— and her bra was somewhat trapped hanging there, the cups just ghosted over her breasts, because of the way the straps were bound by her rucked-back shirt.

So instead, she placed each hand on a cup, and lifted up, before finally crumple-pinning each cup against one side of her collar bone.

She could feel the humid night-air against her breast-skin, against her nipples, too— and the man’s eyes widened— staring in shock— she didn’t like it— her eyes were burning, her tears of humiliation had been impossible to repress completely.

One of the man standing behind the first man she’d stopped had taken out his phone— he was taking a picture of her.

She could have turned away before he had the chance, but let her humiliation be total. She would feel sick at night, thinking of that man with that photo on his camera-roll; and what if he masturbated to it? That would have to haunt all her nights now— but she deserved it, she’d agreed to it— at least in her own head—

And she would be sure to tell Brad it had happened.

But she felt she had fulfilled the stipulations of his task. She didn’t have to stay here and let them ogle her any longer. She’d already given them several eyefuls.

The effect of returning to Brad would be most enhanced, though, if she went back across the street like this— so she quickly turned away, and walked, walked so briskly that her bra was knocking against her chest— swinging away, exposing her, swinging back, hitting into her, with every step— and she was showing something to everyone she passed, too.

She reached her car, and Brad, standing in front of her driver’s door.

She pushed the cups back to her collarbones— and his eyes gleamed.

Now that he was looking at her, she actually was turned on— though she was still embarrassed, because they were just standing on the sidewalk, and other adults were still passing.

And her husband’s office building was only a short distance away— she could be recognized by one of his other employees— or if the world decided to be truly cruel, by the man himself!

But she just kept standing there.

“I showed a man just what you’re seeing now,” she said, putting on her most brazen tone— but her voice shook a little. “A crowd gathered behind him, and they all saw to— and one of them took their phone out, and he took a picture of me. He’ll always be able to go back and see it— and everyone on my way back over here saw me too— and everyone passing around us, everyone near— they can all see too— and I could have been arrested for this, and Trent could come out any second.”

Brad was smiling the smile of the pleased. “You’re blushing everywhere.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never wanted to die at any other time of my life more than I want to right now.”

Brad stepped closer to her, and put a kiss on her mouth. “But this is the kind of woman I can be with. I was wrong about you.”

The rest of what he’d said, even though it was a very vindicating admission of wrongness, was forgotten almost immediately. She wasn’t sure what it was— but that kiss he’d given her held a different charge for her, felt like something addictive. Had she been carved so raw by the humiliation? Or was it the knowledge that she’d done it for him, that she was so obsessed with him he could assert this kind of influence over her?

Or was it just the way he was looking at her now— like he desired her so much?

Whichever one it was, it made her mouth burn— that kiss hadn’t been enough, she wanted to kiss and kiss and kiss him, and fuck him too, feed him her lust and drink his down too— but it had only been a press of his lips, quick, and then taken away again— he wouldn’t— he would refuse her again— dismiss her.

“Your keys are still in the ignition?”

She nodded once, watching him warily.

“Get in the passenger seat and start touching yourself. I’m going to drive us back to my house.”

He went a little faster than the speed limit on the way— it was a blur of lust, she was making a mess of herself between her legs— it was hot, hot to do it because he said— hot because of all she expected from the rest of the night— hot, the look of excitement in his eyes when he looked over at her.

She was sitting there still dressed the way she’d been on the street— and she was touching herself between her legs, but touching herself, too, by kneading one of her exposed breasts, her hand beneath the loose cup of her bra.

She was being so obvious about it that some of the drivers who were going the opposite direction saw what she was doing it; the manipulations of her breast, how obvious she was being about them, made the rest of what she was doing obvious too. That made her want to cry in embarrassment again, especially when she saw some of the expressions on drivers’ faces as they passed— but she couldn’t stop, either, and couldn’t stop the arousal she was feeling, which was now definitely a part of what was happening her, since Brad had become more directly involved in the dynamic.

She knew that she looked like a debauched whore, that she was reduced to this for the man who was beside her, because that was how strongly she felt for him, that was what it made her— but it was still humiliating to have this on display for anyone who happened to glance in through the windshield.

And yet something about it was addictive, too, like the kiss had been— and she was so wet, so wet against the hand she stroked with— and shuddering shudders which moved through her breast to the hand she needed with.

They arrived, finally, outside Brad’s house— and it was a nice house, a house with two floors and built of brick, but Nicole hardly noticed because she was following Brad inside too desperately, desperate to finally get close to him again, to finally be close to him— she had to, had to fuck him, had to feel him fucking her—

They never made it to Brad’s bedroom, wherever that was. They just went into his living room, and got onto his couch.

And then they were kissing desperately. Nicole felt herself getting more and more addicted to what they were doing the longer they went on doing it. They were kissing sloppily; she had never put her shirt back on right, and Brad was palming her chest with both hands. She was gasping into his mouth, pressing her lips harder into his; somehow in a jumble of further clothing they exposed themselves— and then he was gloriously, fully inside her, fucking her and making her come so hard there were black spots in her vision.

She almost lost consciousness on the other side of her orgasm, but she just barely managed to hang onto it. She was still completely shocked— that pleasure like this was even possible; she had played such a dirty, awful, pride-destroying game to get to it; but everything that had happened on the street had only primed her for this fucking; had made her vulnerable, made her crave Brad’s approval, and with the vigorous and enthusiastic way he’d given her pleasure to her, she was sure she had it.

“You better get home,” Brad said to her, as he was sitting himself back up on his couch, and making himself both presentable and clothed once again.

“I gave Trent an excuse to explain my whereabouts.” She spoke this answer with her eyes closed.

He threw her pants at her, and when they hit her body, she opened her eyes and looked at him. “Then check yourself into a hotel. You’re not sleeping here.”

She flushed again— somehow it was the most degraded he’d made her feel all night.

Measuredly, she fixed her bra and shirt so they covered her like they should. Then she put her pants back on, too, took her keys.

She drove herself home, and when she got to her bed, she found Trent was already sleeping.

She lay next to him, feeling a mix of things. On the one hand, she’d gotten some truly delicious physical love from Brad. But on the other hand, it still made her feel degraded and dirty, thinking of what she’d been willing to do in exchange for it— and it made her feel degraded and dirty lying beside her husband with another man’s semen still inside her. She was still burning in embarrassment when she drifted off to sleep.

Things were a bit different after that day too. The first time they’d been properly intimate, her and Brad; that had changed things— but now after they games they’d played, things were changed again.

Three days after that night, while Nicole was again going around the house, making sure everything was taken care of, the landline rang, and she scrambled to answer it.

“What are you wearing today?” Was the question posed to her— and Nicole immediately recognized the asker’s voice as Brad’s.

She looked down at herself.

“I’m wearing a soft pink sweater and a darker pink skirt. I have to go out and get groceries later, so I wanted to make sure I’d be able to enjoy the nice weather while it’s still sunny— but it’ll be cold inside the grocery store, so I tried to dress for a compromise.”

“Take your underwear off and go like that,” Brad said— and Nicole shivered at hearing the commanding tone in his voice.

“Then find some man, like you did the other night, and make sure you bend over nice and slow, so he gets a good view of what’s up your skirt. Call me after, and I’ll tell you where you can meet me. Unless you’ve decided you aren’t the woman I’m looking for and you won’t do it?”

Nicole’s blood turned to ice. And then he wouldn’t fuck her! Oh, but it would be so degrading— again— and this already felt degrading, right now, speaking of such filthy things over hers and Trent’s home landline— they only had it because of Trent, because he always wanted there to be a backup in case cellphone service went down for some reason.

And she was using something so practical, so mundane— something that belonged to both of them in their marriage— to carry on like this—

That answered the mystery of how Brad had this number, though. Nicole knew Trent gave it out to the people he worked closely with, so they could reach him in case of emergency. And Brad had used it to reach her for this— to say this— she flushed in embarrassment again.

But she felt a compulsion— like the addiction she’d seen the start of had advanced. She needed Brad’s approval. She needed his physical love, even if it was a love that came with degradation and abasement. And it would be… so much… hotter than before— to go and know what she was doing— knowing she was doing it for Brad, knowing what she would get after— she was really thinking of it now, thinking of how she’d flush, how she’d hate it— but how Brad’s eyes would look when she met up with him later— how it would all turn into arousal—

“No,” she said quickly. “I’m that woman, I can be that woman… I’ll take my underwear off— I’ll go and get our groceries next.”

“I’ll be waiting for your call,” Brad said shortly, and hung up the phone.

Nicole went back into her bedroom, and took off her underwear, before putting her original clothes back on.

She got her purse, and went out into her car. As she drove to the store, she was gripping the wheel in panic. This time she wouldn’t be able to follow through— this time, at the point of doing it, she would fail, she couldn’t actually— it was so much more embarrassing to bend over and— and then she would call Brad and he would know and he would never touch her again.

But once she found herself in the canned goods aisle, and spotted a solitary man at the other end of it— she found her resolve suddenly.

She walked up to him, tapping him on the arm.

“Excuse me, sir?”

And just as he was turning, she turned, and bent all the way down until she felt her skirt riding up; feeling sickened and satisfied at once.