The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

By the end of the week, Clarisa had worked out a system. She started keeping a detailed checklist by the door. Verifying that every item of clothing was in place before she left the flat did help ensure that she arrived at work fully dressed. It didn’t stop her from disrobing in her cubicle. She asked Stephanie to check on her frequently.

Regular cunny-calming sessions with her fingers or a growing collection of vibrators did help keep the arousal at bay too, at least a little. Friday morning she discovered she was doing herself even as she double-checked the list. The thought of the spectacle she would create as she removed each piece of clothing on a crowded street got her so hot she unwittingly slid one hand under her skirt to stroke herself.

The flippy pink mini was too short for the office. Clarisa figured it hardly mattered these days. She had a new theory that dressing to draw attention might sublimate her urge to draw attention by undressing. Unfortunately the brief skirt, and the hot pink stay-ups she was wearing with it, made access to her lovenest a little too easy. By the time she became aware of what her rogue fingers were up to, it was too late to stop them especially since her other hand was in on the conspiracy.

“Oh noooo, I’m going to be late,” the stacked blonde moaned, as she stumbled backward onto the sofa. She tossed her guitar out of the way, spread her legs and gave in to the urges. A vivid fantasy of stripping her way down a man-crowded street in broad daylight propelled her to climax in minutes. Then, after she cleaned herself up and changed her panties, she had to check the list all over again.

“Terry wants to see you,” Stephanie said on Tuesday morning. She was standing in the doorway to Clarisa’s cubicle, in sweater and slacks as usual. She had her ever-present coffee mug in one hand. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good so far,” Clarisa lied. She stopped the hand that was trying to unbutton her blouse. “Wearing layers helps. At least it slows me down.”

Clarisa was wearing two blouses and a pullover. The top one was red. The layered look was more or less fashionable and played down her chest, a little. On the other hand, the stretchy black miniskirt didn’t play down anything, especially with firetruck-red, over-the-knee stockings and high-heeled boots. The minimal skirt was an extension of her draw-attention-to-stay-dressed theory. It certainly succeeded in drawing attention.

“Any luck with getting a counselling appointment?”

“The secretary said it would be two weeks before they could see me.” Clarisa looked at the floor. “The thing is, making the call set me off. I was down to my underwear by the time I rang off.” She paused for a beat. “How did I do that while I was holding the phone in one hand?”

Steph shook her head. “Better go see Terry now. While you’re still . . . presentable, as it were.”

Clarisa made her way warily down to the supervisor’s office. As word spread of Clarisa’s compulsion, aided by frequent demonstrations on her part, the office had become an increasingly uncomfortable place to be. She passed Ned, who leered at her automatically. She was wearing so much on top it almost hid her endowments. Ned stared at her legs and ass instead. Clarisa bit her lip. She was wearing red enamel earrings that matched her stockings.

She noticed clueless Bob watching her as she went by. His was a more thoughtful, almost guilty look, rather than the blatantly sexual stare of Ned the nookie-nut. Bob turned away quickly when she caught his eye. Now Clarisa frowned. He had been doing that a lot lately.

She arrived at Terry’s office. It was barely bigger than her own cubicle. At least Terry had a door. The supervisor himself was a middle-aged man, handsome in a hang-dog sort of way. His brown hair was greying at the temples. His face bore a perpetually weary look, that Clarisa had always assumed was the result of too many years in cubicleland. “What’s up boss man?” Clarisa said, as cheerfully as she could.

Terry looked at her critically. Then he took his glasses off and looked at her again. Clarisa was very aware that she was wearing a barely legal club outfit to work. The way Terry’s eyes lingered on her boot-capped legs below the rump-hugging mini instantly made Clarisa want to bend over a chair and spread wide to give him a better view.

“Clarisa,” he said at last, “how are you? Are you feeling quite well?”

“Of course,” Clarisa replied. “Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?” She gesticulated broadly. She had a hunch where this conversation was going. She plucked nervously at the buttons on her blouse.

Terry said: “Yes, well, that’s good. That’s good. It’s just that . . . you seem a tad . . . out of your groove the past while.”

“Really? Why do you say that? Or does someone else say that? Out of my groove? Nonsense. I’ve never been more in my groove. I’m groovy. I’m deeply, deeply grooved.” She was pacing back and forth as she spoke. Terry’s tiny cubicle-office allowed about two steps in either direction before she had to turn around again. She looked more like she was preening than pacing.

“I’m relieved to hear that. I want to let you know that if you have any personal problems, or really anything you want to talk about Clarisa?”

“Yes? Please go on.”

He was looking at her quizzically. “I was saying that if you have any . . . issues you would like to talk about, my door is always open.”

“OK. Good. OK. Thanks, Terry.” She was still pacing. She noticed one of his shirts lying on a filing cabinet. It was the same colour as her blouse.

He followed her pacing with his eyes. “Is there . . . anything . . . you would like to talk about?”

“Uh, no. Nothing right now. No.” What, besides the fact that she kept stripping her clothes off in public without realizing that she was doing it? And that it made her hotter than a furnace burning aviation fuel? How could she discuss that? What would she say?

“You’re . . . sure?” He looked uncomfortable. Oddly, he wasn’t staring at her legs any more. That hardly seemed possible.

Clarisa was still pacing. Another of Terry’s shirts was lying on a chair. Why didn’t he hang them up? “Yes, of course I’m sure. I know my work has been a little erratic lately, and . . . I’ve come in late a few days this week, sorry about that, I’ll make up the time, but it’s nothing really, nothing. I’ve been a trifle . . . distracted with personal issues. Nothing major, I can—what’s wrong?”

Terry’s eyes were wide. He tried to say something, but nothing came out. He waved one hand about vaguely, more or less in her direction.

Clarisa stopped walking. She looked down. Somehow, in the course of a brief conversation, she had stripped off all three layers of outer clothing. Her blouses were scattered about the tiny room. She had just opened her red, front-clip bra when Terry stopped her. Her glorious globes bounced boldly before his bulging eyes.

“Oh please, noooo” Clarisa cried out. Shame and embarrassment and sizzling heat washed over her, all at the same time. She was suddenly so turned on she could barely think. She shuddered, whether with fear, or arousal, or both, she couldn’t be sure. Panic seized her. If she didn’t get away in a few seconds she was sure she would pounce on her startled boss like a cat.

She made a keening sound in the back of her throat as the sexual need grew. She had to get out of the room! “I—I’m sorry Terry!” she blurted, “I, I didn’t mean to oh!” Her eyes found the erection rising in Terry’s pants.

The half-naked blonde licked her red lips. Her top-half strip tease had caught him by surprise. Terry might be her boss, but he was still a man. How could he resist a blonde bombshell like Clarisa with her staff-stiffening tits fully exposed (now that she had shucked off her bra completely) and the rest of her ripe figure deliciously displayed in tight mini, red stockings and boots?

“Terry,” Clarisa breathed, stepping toward him. Her eyes were hooded with desire. “Maybe there is. . . something . . . you could help me with. You see, I have this . . . problem . . . with my big, beautiful titties. They want. . . they need . . . to be touched and stroked and loved.” She used her hands to illustrate her words. Terry was staring, speechless. It only drove her temperature higher. “Can’t you help me, boss man? Please? I need a sweet loving man to adore my yummy big titties.”

She was standing close in front of him. As she spoke she straddled his chair and settled herself nimbly into his lap. Terry opened his mouth to protest. Clarisa leaned forward and pressed one red-nippled boob between his lips. Within seconds his mumbled objection transformed into eager lapping and licking. “Mmmmmm, yes, big boss man, my titties like that, they like that a lot!” Clarisa cried. She lifted both his hands to her tits, where they stayed as if glued.

Clarisa lifted herself up a little so she could clumsily fish around for his fly. “Mmmmmm, that’s niiiiice,” she murmured, “but, oh god, my cunny needs something too. Fuck I am so fucking horny.”

Terry managed to pull himself away from tit heaven long enough to express confusion. “C-Clarisa, please, should we ahh! What are you . . . should we be . . . right in the office . . . I mean Ahhhh!” His feeble protest ended in a gasp when Clarisa’s dextrous hands found his stiffness.

“Oh, yes yes yes, so horny,” Clarisa murmured. She was insane with desire. “So so horny, need you in me boss man, need you so bad.” She worked his stiff wang out in the daylight with one hand while she hitched up her micro-skirt with the other. “Need you so bad,” she repeated as she sank downward, slipping her black panties to one side, and slowly impaled herself on his cock.

She fucked him energetically right there in his tiny, crowded cubicle. Anyone could come in the door, or even lean over the top of the walls and look in. Clarisa was too far gone to stop. The possibility of being caught fucking her boss turned her on even more. Certainly everyone could hear them. Clarisa wasn’t even trying to be quiet. She bounced up and down like a berserk kangaroo, panting and groaning and crying out with every stroke.

Clarisa was already at the edge of her second orgasm when she felt Terry start to tremble beneath her. She threw her arms around him and held him tight, but continued lifting herself up and down. She felt his cock twitch deep in her pussy. A moment later he came inside her, each ejaculation punctuated with a loud grunt from deep in his throat. The last of these was the catalyst Clarisa needed to send her over the top, again.

The second cumming was enough to let Clarisa cool down enough to regain a bit of self-control. “Oh fuck that was good,” she muttered as she let him slip out. “So, so good.” She staggered to her feet. She was dishevelled and sweaty. A wisp of reality began to seep through the post-orgasmic glow. “Terry, I, I oh man what have I done now!”

Her stupefied boss hadn’t even zipped up his pants yet. He looked like he could die a happy man. Clarisa yanked down her skirt, grabbed a couple of blouses and bolted from the room. Holding her clothes over her chest with both hands, she dashed to the ladies’ room as fast as her high heels would let her. That wasn’t nearly fast enough to avoid the shocked stares that followed her down the hall.

When Clarisa had calmed down and cleaned herself up enough to sneak sheepishly back to her desk, she had replaced two of her three tops. She had been back at work for an hour before she realized she was braless again. Her sexy red brassiere was still lying in Terry’s office, along with her third top.

Was her lack of upstairs support the reason Bob had watched her so carefully as she went by? Unlike every one else, he wasn’t simply memorizing Clarisa’s curves, or staring in shocked outrage at her scandalous behaviour. He seemed more nervous than ever.

Clarisa blinked. She sat up. “Of course!” she said to the air. “Why that—that pervert!”

She got to her feet. She tugged down her skirt and pulled up her scarlet stockings. She strode out of her cubicle with angry resolve, no longer carrying that everyone was staring at her or that her unrestrained boobs were bouncing enticingly with every stride.

She arrived at Bob’s cubicle. “It’s you!” she declared. “You did this!”

Bob looked up from his work. He was a small, timid young man, whose nerdish oddities everybody ignored because he was harmless. “Me?” he said blankly. “Me what? What did I do?”

“You you fucked me up, that’s what. You screwed up my head! You and that stupid hypnotism business. Remember? At the retirement party three weeks ago? You planted a command in my head, you lousy, sneaky little pervert!”

Bob shrank back from the verbal assault. “No, no, wait, Clarisa, c’mon. I, I didn’t do anything. We thought it might help you focus on your songwriting. You said you were blocked. That’s all I tried to do. Honest!”

“Oh stuff it up your rear,” Clarisa rejoined. “You did . . . something, and I know it. Every since that party I’ve been fighting some bizarre compulsion to well, it doesn’t matter what, the point is that you snuck in some, what’s it called, a subconscious command or ”

“Post-hypnotic suggestion?”

“Yes! You gave me a post-hypnotic suggestion while I was under. Of all the sneaky, twisted, sick things to do!”

Bob held up his hands as if she might hit him. “No, no, Clarisa, come on, calm down. We I mean I, didn’t do anything. Not really. I’d never really hypnotized anybody before! It never worked on anybody else. When you went under, we thought you were faking. We thought you were trying to pull a prank on us. So, uhm, Ned suggested that, you know, we tell you to do something that you would never do, like, uh, showing off your . . . you know . . . and that would force you to reveal that you weren’t really asleep after all and oh my sweet lord.”

He stopped in mid-sentence. His eyes went wide the way Clarisa suspected they did when a new Xbox was released. She looked down at herself. She was hardly even surprised to see her blouses gone and her generous blessings exposed to the air. Not even arguing with Bob could keep her from flashing, it seemed.

Clarisa let out a groan of frustration and lust. Exposing herself before Bob turned her self-control to mush. As recently as she had fucked Terry, she was instantly ready to go round again. “Look what you’ve done, you . . . you incompetent . . . oh Bob!” she complained. The last words came out sounding like an exultation. She fought the urge to touch her titties, to squeeze and fondle them for Bob’s enjoyment.

She couldn’t lose control again. Desperately, she grabbed a blouse from the chair she had thrown it over and pulled it on. She hastily fastened a few buttons, then pulled the other blouse on over the first. Having her tits under cover dampened the heat in her pussy a little. It was like banking a fire though; the heat still smouldered inside her.

To make matters worse, Ned came around the corner at that moment. Perhaps he had been roused by the shouting. More likely he wanted another chance to check out Clarisa’s legs.

“Hey, what’s all the commotion?” he asked, stepping into the crowded cubicle.

“Please!” Clarisa begged. “Don’t make me . . . don’t let me . . . again.” She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. “Bob, honey, you have got to hypnotize me again. Right now. You have to get rid of that . . . stripping suggestion, so I can have my life back. Please.” Even as she spoke she imagined herself naked in front of both men. Maybe she could fuck both of them at once? She shook her head to drive the thoughts away. Her pussy was creaming.

Bob spread his hands. “Clarisa, I don’t know how! I’m no hypnotist. I read a book. It was luck that you went under the first time. You must be very suggestible, or something. Uh, Clarisa . . . your shirt.”

With a groan Clarisa stopped her hands that were peeling off her outer blouse. She pulled it back again, but not before another firebrand of desire lanced through her. “You have got to try. Please, Bob, do it right now. Ned, go get Stephanie. In case so you don’t try anything.”

Ned had been memorizing Clarisa’s curves since he arrived. “Oh all right,” he said begrudgingly. He trotted away.

Clarisa sat down in the only other chair in Bob’s office. His eyes dropped reflexively to the point where her legs disappeared under the tiny skirt. Clarisa started to spread her legs to give him a better view. She wondered if he had a nice cock. “I really hope you can help me Bob,” she said softly. She liked his eyes on her legs, so she deliberately pulled up her bright red socks. By the time she was finished she was certain he could see her bikini panties. They were wet.

Bob looked guilty and turned on at the same time. “Clarisa we didn’t mean we didn’t intend to god you’re beautiful.”

“Clarisa! Stop that! Sit up straight!” Stephanie stepped into the cubicle, Ned in tow. Clarisa suddenly realized she had lost a blouse again.

She sat up. “Let’s do this right now,” she said. “Hurry.”

Bob took off his wrist watch. He held it very close in front of Clarisa’s face. “I hope this works,” he said. “Now, watch the watch. Keep your eyes on the watch. Let everything else slip away, concentrate on watching the watch.”

Clarisa watched the swinging watch. She heard Bob’s reassuring voice, telling her to relax and sleep. She felt the tension drain out of her. Watch the watch. The shiny timepiece swung back and forth before her eyes. Back and forth. Back . . . and forth . . . .

Clarisa woke up. She looked around, blinking. How long had she been under?

Bob was sitting close by. “How do you feel now?” he asked.

Clarisa smiled. “I feel fine. Great, actually. Did it work?”

He shrugged evasively. “I’m . . . not sure. You went under easily enough. I’m not completely convinced you took the new suggestion. There seemed to be uh, Clarisa?”

“Yes?” She looked at him brightly.

“I tried to give you a counter-suggestion, to over-ride the old one. I’m not very good at this! So I can’t really tell if . . . that is, you . . . you may still . . . uhm, still . . . uh, Clarisa?”

“What’s the matter?” Suddenly he seemed to be tongue-tied.

“I I don’t think it worked.”

Clarisa followed his wide-eyed gaze. Sure enough, since waking up she had shucked off one blouse completely and unbuttoned the one underneath. She giggled and watched her big titties jiggle. “Oh, Bob honey, can’t you do anything right? I told you to remove the compulsion!”

“I tried! Really I did. Look, you’ve been under for almost half an hour! You kept resisting the commands. We tried everything we could think of, but you always shook it off. Eventually I tried to . . . get at it sort of roundabout.”

She eyed him warily. “Which means?”

“Uhm, I gave you a suggestion that you wouldn’t be bothered about the flashing any more.”

“You what! You gave " She stopped. She looked down at her breasts, still half-exposed beneath the unbuttoned blouse. She flexed her shoulders, making them bounce. She didn’t feel the slightest hint of embarrassment. Matter of fact, it felt rather nice. “Well I’ll be,” she continued in a warmer tone. “You’re right.” She shrugged. “Well, whatever.”

Then something occurred to her. “Wait a minute. Where’s Steph? She was supposed to keep you from pulling stunts like that.”

Bob pointed. Stephanie was sprawled on the floor, leaning against one wall of the cubicle, fast asleep. “She went under even faster than you did,” said Ned, kneeling beside her. He turned to Bob: “I’ve got to get a watch like yours.”

“Great,” Clarisa opined. “My life is ruined by an incompetent hypnotist. Now I’m going to go around pulling my clothes off and I don’t even care! How can I oh! Oh, wait a minute!” Clarisa’s eyes grew wide as a great idea struck her.

“What? What’s the problem?” Bob asked, still nervous.

Clarisa leapt to her booted feet. “Bob, you’re not incompetent, you’re a genius! A Grade-A, certifiable, fucking genius! Oh honey, I could kiss you!” To prove her point she leaned over and did so. She kissed her astonished co-worker straight on the lips. She used both hands to hold his cheeks so he couldn’t get away. She kissed him warmly and thoroughly, using her tongue. By the time she finished he was gasping like a stranded fish. Clarisa could see the erection tenting his pants.

“Uh, I helped with the suggestions,” Ned said hopefully.

Clarisa was all smiles now. “This is so, so perfect! I can have my own career now. Why should I get upset about showing off my fabulous bod?” She ran her hands down her flanks. “Come on, look at me! I’m a barbie-doll on steroids. Oh, and my girls are getting a little excited.” She hefted her boobs with both hands, showing off the stiff nipples. The men stared helplessly.

Still grinning, Clarisa wheeled about and walked out of the cubicle. She had to step over Stephanie’s legs. “Wake her up,” she told Ned, with a wave of her hand.

She turned back at the doorway. “Oh, Bob honey, give me a call sometime. I’d like to thank you properly.” She puckered her lips into a kiss.

Bob looked like he might go off in his pants. “Where where are you going?” he asked.

Clarisa giggled. “To go see Terry and quit this awful job.” She paused. “Maybe I’ll seduce him again while I’m there. He’s a great lay.” She wiggled her fingers at the astonished pair. “See ya, boys!”

With that, the chesty blonde strolled away, looking incendiary in her open blouse, tight mini, flashy red tights and high-heeled, black boots. For Ned’s benefit she put a little extra strut in her walk, letting her hips sway under the spandex skirt. She fastened a couple of buttons on the bottom of her blouse. “Fuck but I have fabulous titties,” she said to herself.

Behind her, she heard Ned say: “Stephanie, can you hear me? Good. Steph, you don’t like wearing trousers. They’re uncomfortable. Miniskirts make you happy.”

The Saturday night crowd at Smoky’s was boisterous and loud. The room was packed. Strobe lights flashed across the gold-trimmed stage. Pulsing music poured from the speakers. Leggy waitresses in bunny costumes ferried endless drinks to the thirsty crowd.

Cindy and Mindy, the club’s best dancers, where moving in unison on opposite sides of the stage, which thrust out into the crowd by a long walkway. The two girls wore identical gold underwear sets, gold mesh stockings and acrylic platform heels. The music ended on a quarter-note high. The girls stopped in their final poses, smiling at the crowd. The lights dimmed as the crowd clapped and whistled.

Somehow, a microphone on a stand had appeared at mid-stage, illuminated by a single spotlight. Abruptly the crowd was hushed. Everyone was eager for the headline act.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” came the smooth voice of the announcer, “for your deliction and delight, Smoky’s Entertainment Emporium is proud to present, performing one of her own compositions, the Vixen with a Voice, the Songstress of Seduction, the Lyricist of Love, our very own Clarisa D. Cupps!”

Eager applause followed. It quelled at once when Clarisa appeared in the shadows at the back of the stage. She stepped forward deliberately in her five-inch heels, setting one foot in front of the other, like a panther stalking the microphone. Every man in the room followed the sway of her hips. The bartender stopped pouring drinks.

Clarisa wore a very long, very tight, white skirt and a matching, tailored jacket. A few inches of her glistening stockings were visible along her calves. Her broad-brimmed hat was red, like her gloves, and worn low over one eye. The classic suit made love to her curvaceous figure, yet only hinted at the perfection that must lie beneath. Her lip gloss was scarlet to emphasize the movement of her lips.

For a long moment she stood silent, surveying the crowd. They were getting bigger all the time. She loved the thought of it: all those hard men waiting to see her, to hear her, to get turned on by her luscious body and silken voice. Toward the back of the room she could make out Bob and Ned, with Steph sitting between them, showing off in one of her tiny miniskirts.

Clarisa stepped into the light. She raised both hands to the microphone. She stroked it gently with red-gloved hands. A hundred men in the audience twitched at the same time.

Her accompanyist began to pick out a soft melody on the piano. Clarisa began to sing; slow, deep and sultry, her voice made every syllable a hot breath in the listener’s ear.

“I don’t belong in clothes . . .

My love I’ll tell you this . . .

I want your touch to curl my toes

And tremble from your kiss”

Clarisa’s red lips danced an inch from the bulb of the microphone. Her body swayed. Her hands moved. By the end of the first verse her jacket was on the floor, revealing the stunning cleavage beneath. Her brassiere was crimson, edged with roses. The crowd watched, silent and rapt.

“I don’t belong in robes,” she sang, sliding into the second verse, “let all my gowns slide down . . .” By the end of that verse the skirt was gone too. Clarisa’s panties and garter belt matched the red bra. Her stockings were tight and shimmering. Her voice grew deeper, with a tiny catch from moment to moment, coloured with arousal.

No one in the spellbound crowd understood how she could strip so artfully and sing at the same time. They were all too busy staring to figure it out. That she was clearly and unmistakeably becoming aroused as she sang only magnified the erotic power of her performance.

The song built to a climax in the fourth verse. By then Clarisa’s hat and gloves were gone too. She was twisting and writhing on the stage, a woman in heat, making love to the microphone and every man in the audience at the same time. “Oh my love,” she sang, “I don’t . . . belong . . . in cloooothes!” She held the last triumphant note as her hands deftly unfastened her bra and flung it high into the air.

The crowd leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering and calling out for more. There wasn’t a man in the crowd without a hard-on. More than a few had wet spots on their trousers. Even the women looked turned on.

Clarisa took her bows. She was trembling and damp. Openly fondling her stiff-nippled breasts, she turned and wiggled off the stage, lithe and swaying in her tall spike heels. Cindy and Mindy, their faces flushed and eyes hooded, stumbled in to gather her clothes, along with the shower of bills, flowers, jewellery and room keys landing on the stage.

The crowd was still cheering as Clarisa disappeared behind the curtains. She was smiling all the way.