The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Samantha rolled onto her stomach with a sigh. She’d found her slice of paradise, for now. Summer was her favourite season to begin with, heat her favourite temperature, and tanning her favorite summer activity. Even with the chattering of people around the resort pool, she was able to relax and let go of her everyday worries.

Sure, in three days, her stay at the resort would end, and she’d have to go back to her “real” life. But lying here, face down on one of the resort’s reclining chaises, with the warm summer sun bearing down on her skin, it was hard to remember that this was going to end. In the summer sunshine, the piece of happiness and rest she had found seemed eternal.

She exhaled again, adjusting her neck so that her cheek was pillowed on the towel beneath her more comfortably. It was hot enough the she could feel the beginnings of beads of sweat rising to the surface of her skin. She could fell them particularly beneath the tie of her bikini top.

She was going to get a tan line right where the tie of her bikini sat against her skin. It was an unfortunate consequence of the resort’s lack of nude beaches. They weren’t “that kind of resort,” or so the front desk clerk had told her when she’d asked.

She’d walked up the coast for awhile, hoping to find a beach secluded enough that she could strip and not be caught, but she’d had no luck. There’d been quite a few other resort tourists at each one she’d found. The only time the beaches emptied out was after sunset, and sometimes not even then. And after sunset was no use to her, anyway.

She was definitely going to get tan lines around her bikini bottom, even though she’d chosen one of her skimpier bottom pieces to try and minimize the area of pale skin that would be left behind. But maybe she could get a full tan on her back. Her top had cups beneath the fabric, so her breasts would stay covered at least.

Maybe it was the heat, or the way she felt she was melting happily into the chaise beneath her, but she felt bold. With a determined confidence, she reached behind her and undid first the tie below her shoulders, and then the tie at the nape of her neck.

Even that small amount of freedom from clothing caused her to sigh. She could feel the cool resort air on her back, that lovely breeze caressing her skin, even as sunlight kept pouring heat onto her. At least she’d have a solid tan on her back, for when she wore the backless tops and dresses she so loved.

“Excuse me, but is anyone using this chaise?” The voice interrupted her dazed reverie. She almost sat up before she remembered herself. The best Samantha could do was crane her neck a bit—not comfortable at all—and squint to her left, to the vacant chaise next to her that was barely a hand’s reach away. She craned her neck as far as dared—as far as she could without actually rotating her shoulders, and causing her breasts to slip out of her bikini cups.

Luckily it was far enough to make out the woman now standing over her, and the chaise. Standing in the perfect position to cast her shadow onto Samantha’s skin and block her sun. She looked vaguely European, though she had not spoken with an accent. Maybe European was the wrong word—but she looked very put together, and elegant.

She was wearing a gray bikini, but it was wider and less revealing than Samantha’s pink one. Her face was shadowed by the large black sunhat she wore, which had a wide but wavy brim, vaguely retro in style. In a white the same hat would have looked soft, delicate, but the black gave it weight. From what Samantha could make out within the shadow of the hat, she was wearing red sunglasses, and wore her hair to her shoulders in soft, brunette waves, but she couldn’t really make out the woman’s facial features.

“No one is using it,” Samantha replied, hoping the woman would sit in it and leave her alone.

“Perfect,” she said, and removed her black hat. Her sunglasses were slightly oversized for her face, still making it hard to discern her facial features, but she quickly removed them as well. Her face was distinctive, but not beautiful by any stretch. In the next moment, she was laying out a towel of her own on the chaise, and stretching out onto her stomach, so that her face was next to Samantha’s, only a few inches over.

Samantha made a point of turning her face to the other side, so the back of her neck was facing this woman. She hoped that would send the message clearly enough.

“I’m Roberta, by the way,” the woman spoke, clearly missing her hint. Samantha only grunted in reply.

“What’s your name?” Roberta asked, still oblivious.

“Samantha,” she replied, her voice short. Roberta ignored this—or maybe she was still oblivious. Who was Roberta to disrupt her tanning time, and disturb her peace? Didn’t most people know better than to lie right down in the chaise next to a stranger? Why hadn’t she gotten the memo?

“Well, Samantha,” Roberta said, her voice cheerful. “You’re going to be my next slave.”

Samantha stiffened at the word, all the tension that had melted out of her in the hot summer sun coming right back. Slave? Like... a house servant, or a sexual slave? Or sexual slavery as in, human trafficking? She was in a foreign country, after all. It was always a risk. Was Roberta telling her she was going to kidnap her? If she got up right now, and made sure Roberta didn’t follow her back to her room, would that be enough to keep herself safe?

Would it be better to address this strangeness, or to ignore it and make her escape as soon as the opportunity presented itself? Damn her for untying her bikini. If she reached back to retie it, Roberta would be on to her for sure.

“I’m going to enslave you, Samantha.” Roberta continued, her voice a soft murmur. “Don’t you have anything to say to that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Samantha replied stiffly. “And if you think you’re going to kidnap me, I’d like to remind you that there’s resort security only about 500 metres away from us under that tent. I will make a scene if you try anything.”

Roberta let out a peal of laughter. “No, not like that. I assure you, when it’s time to go, you’ll come quite willingly. That’s the whole point of enslavement, Sam. You’ll be helpless to resist—you’ll want to come with me. You won’t even be able to remember that you didn’t want to, originally. You’ll be consumed by the desire to follow me. Because your enslavement will have been executed so perfectly that you’ll have no will to resist.”

Samantha’s brow furrowed in confusion. It was like Roberta was speaking another language. She knew what all these words meant, technically, but had never heard them used together like this before. She still didn’t really understand what this woman meant. She looked ahead of her chaise, wondering—hoping—that someone else was hearing this insanity, that they would stop and question this woman properly.

She gave another laconic reply instead of angrily questioning Roberta as she wanted to. “My name is Samantha, not Sam.” Her voice was clipped.

Roberta laughed again. It was too harmonious to belong to such a psycho. “You belong to me, Sam. You already belong to me. You are entirely, and totally, my property. I’ll call you what I like. I thought Sam was slightly more respectful than ‘slave’ or ‘slut’ or ‘pet,’ but if you prefer, I can switch to one of those. Or some combination of the three: ‘Slutslave?’ ‘Slavepet’? ‘Petslut?’”

“Look, Roberta, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you can’t just sit down next to a stranger and—”

“I didn’t just sit down next to a stranger. I sat down next to my future slavepet, who already belongs to me, and who is just desperate to be enslaved to my power.”

Samantha swallowed. She’d never been into power games, or dominance behaviours, and they had never been a feature of any of her relationships, but the way Roberta was purring her words was... having an effect on her. Or maybe it was just the heat getting to her. She hoped it was.

“You can’t talk to me like that,” Samantha said, falteringly. She was facing Roberta—she didn’t know when that had happened. “At least—we’re in a public place, you can’t—”

“We are in a public place,” Roberta murmured. “But you see, I’ve perfected the exact vocal pitch you need to fly under the radar. My voice is so smooth—rolling and flowing—that it just washes over people’s conscious awareness, and they don’t catch anything I’m saying. It’s a voice that’s so easy to tune out, that people feel so comfortable tuning out, that I can say anything I want—even the most depraved things, and no one will look up and take notice. Not even the people ten feet away from us in the pool.”

It was true—Samantha looked to the couple swimming near the edge of the pool, only feet away from them. They weren’t looking at them at all.

“In about 15 minutes, you’re going to be spread out on bed, with your tongue in my cunt, and you’re going to love it. Eating me out while I eat you out in return is going to be the act that seals your enslavement forever. I think after that maybe I will stop calling you Sam—or maybe I’ll call you samslave; or samslut. I’ll certainly make you earn the title of horny slut. I will fuck you for hours, and you’ll fuck me, until you forget your own name, and until you forget that you were ever anything other than my horny pet slut.”

Samantha could feel her cheeks burning. At that moment, Roberta leaned over so Samantha could feel the hint of her breath on her face—breath that sent shivers down Samantha’s neck. “Did anyone look up?”

Samantha’s eyes had been scanning the people within a 5 to 20 foot radius of them—and not one of them had looked over during Roberta’s string of crass language. She felt oddly isolated, even among so many people.

“No,” she croaked. The heat was starting to make her feel dizzy—and something other than sweat was starting to soak through her bikini bottom.

“And they won’t,” Roberta breathed. “My voice flies under the radar every time. Do you know how many girls I’ve taken, just like I’m taking you right now? Of course, I don’t keep them all. But I like you—you might be something of a permanent fixture of mine for awhile.”

“Why me?” Samantha asked, turning her face back on to its right side so she was looking at Roberta again.

“You had a lovely look of boneless relaxation when I saw you for the first time—like you were melting into that lounging chair. It’s the ones who can melt who always make the best slaves. If you can already melt in relaxation, it will be so much easier for you to melt in obedience, melt into your enslavement.”

Samantha swallowed. “You keep using... that word.”

“What word?” Roberta asked, her voice coy, a sparkle in her eye. “Enslavement?”

That time, Samantha shivered at it.

“It’s because it’s the perfect word. You will be enslaved. Made into my slave. Your slave identity will consume your old ‘Samantha’ identity. Your desire to be a slave will take hold of your mind, and wipe out anything that stands in the way—until you are perfectly obedient.”

Samantha wanted to look away from Roberta now, but her body was sagging comfortably onto her towel again, and she couldn’t quite make herself turn over. Her breathing had slowed, growing heavy, and she couldn’t seem to look away from Roberta’s dark eyes. She knew she needed to get up, even if it meant holding her bikini in place by hand. She needed to get away while she still could—the longer she laid here, the more it seemed like Roberta’s 15 minute prediction was going to come true.

“I’m getting up,” Samantha said, her voice thin, and in danger of breaking. “I’m getting up, and walking away, and I’m never going to see you again.” Her voice lacked the certainty she needed to feel in control in this situation again. She didn’t even sound like she believed her own words.

From the look in Roberta’s eyes, she knew it.

“You could get up,” Roberta said, her voice playful. “Or you could slip your hand into your bikini bottom for me.”

Samantha let out a tiny gasp. The idea made her feel woozy.

“You’re more aroused than you realized, aren’t you?” Roberta asked, her voice sympathetic. “You’ve been slowly soaking your bikini this whole time I’ve been talking to you, because the idea of being enslaved turns you on. The idea of me fucking you into a state of enslavement turns you on even more. And you’ve been trying to ignore it, and talk yourself out of it, and argue with me, but right now there’s nothing you want more than to slip your fingers between your legs and start luxuriating in the moisture there. You are so wet for me, aren’t you, samslave?”

Samantha couldn’t deny it now. And even the use of the degrading, humiliating nickname, ‘samslave,’ a name which was by no means erotic—at least, it shouldn’t have been, but the way Roberta’s damn lips curled around it—(like they would be curling around Sam’s clit in 10 minutes or less—no!)—had a fresh spurt of wetness seeping out of her.

“Y-yes,” Samantha admitted, her voice faltering.

“Good,” Roberta said. “So you can get up and walk away... or you can start fingering your clit for me, just the way I tell you to. I think we both know which one you really want.”

Samantha swallowed. She was starting to feel doomed. Her mind was swimming with arousal—the sun was making her dizzy—Roberta’s words were getting all jumbled up in her head.

“Touch yourself for me, Samantha,” Roberta purred. “No one will even be able to see that you hand is in your cunt. That’s the beauty of lying on your stomach. And doesn’t it make it so much hotter—to know that even though we’re at a public pool, no one will ever know what is happening in your mind, in your body right now?”

Samantha only barely managed to keep herself from grunting in arousal at that. Something about that idea was turning her on like a faucet. Her hand slipped between her legs almost of its own volition, peeking into her bikini.

“Good pet,” Roberta breathed, her warm breath caressing Samantha’s face again. “I want you to touch yourself in very slow, deliberate circles for me.” Samantha felt a cry freeze in her throat, as she saw Roberta slip her hand into her own pussy. “Just like this,” she murmured.

Samantha’s eyes followed Roberta’s hand down. It was only the fact that they were lying facing each other that allowed Samantha to see what she was doing—from the other side, or even from above, Roberta’s motion would have been invisible. But from Samantha’s angle, she could she the side of Roberta’s bikini piece bulging, breathing in and out in a tell tale pace.

She felt a spot of drool leak out of her mouth, and wordlessly, began moving her hand in time with Roberta’s.

“That’s perfect, pet.” Roberta encouraged. “Just keep on touching yourself just like that, and imagine that it’s my hand working you. And it’s your hand working me. We can’t touch each other yet—but we will, so soon. It’s going to feel so good, isn’t it, slave?”

Breathless, Samantha nodded, her eyes fixed on the front of Roberta’s bikini bottom, watching her hand ripple beneath it.

“You’re already obeying me. Your mind is already being enslaved to my control. Deep inside, you already know how to surrender. Surrendering to me is just like surrendering to the sunlight—my power is the sun beating down on you. And you know in the face of that power, all you can do is melt into a puddle of relaxation and peace. All you can do is curl up in it, and rest. It dopes your mind up with such deep, utter release and peacefulness you can’t possibly focus on anything other than the feeling—and you don’t want to. Can you feel my power bearing down on you?”

She could. It was baking itself into her skin, drawing sweat out of her—drawing her arousal out of her. It was making her very sleepy.

But she couldn’t tell Roberta that. If she opened her mouth now, only a truly indecent moan was going to come out of her. Her hand—Roberta’s hand—was working her in circles so perfectly that her cunt was giving out a consistent stream of her essence, soaking her hand, soaking her bikini, soaking her towel—so much that surely it must be dripping onto the tiled walkway below her chaise.

“Samantha,” Roberta spoke, stirring her from her reverie. “You’re ready. Would you like to come back to my room?”

Samantha felt her eyes cross at the thought of it. She could hear Roberta’s voice in her head—if she went with her, she would be enslaved forever. With her tongue in Roberta’s cunt, and Roberta’s tongue in hers... she’d forget her own name. She’d lose herself, her identity, her life to endless orgasms—licking, fucking, touching...

She was already lost. The only thing out of that last warning to herself that she’d retained had been the idea of Roberta’s tongue in her aching, needy cunt. It was the only thing she cared about, the only thing she wanted—no matter the cost...

“Yes,” Samantha breathed. And with a smile, Roberta helped her to tie her bikini on—even as she whispered “you won’t be needing that,’” into Samantha’s ear—and she helped her up.

“It’s been 14 minutes to the second,” Roberta murmured to her, as they passed the front desk on the way to the elevator. “I told you I was going to enslave you,” she added, her voice smug. She slipped her arm around Samantha’s waist, making her head spin. “My timing predictions are never wrong.”

All Samantha could do was stare blankly at Roberta. She was too aroused, too hot to speak properly.

And even as she passed through Roberta’s hotel room door, the thought that she was leaving Samantha behind forever and stepping into her new life as a slave didn’t bother her.

The only thing she could think about—care about—was that she was about to be fucked by Roberta. To her, that was the only thing that mattered in the world.