The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sarah didn’t just look pretty in pink—she looked gorgeous. That is, if your definition of “gorgeous” was a top-tier public servant dressing up like a sexy baby. But it took a little work to get her there.

After sending Sarah home following her latest surrender, Lachlan had video-chatted with her that night, helping her pick out her new style for the coming week. He had made her go through her entire wardrobe, holding up each item to her phone camera for his approval. Most of it was unsuitable. Her taste leaned heavily towards “professional” and “respectable”, which didn’t align with Lachlan’s interests at all.

He was tempted to make her throw it all out, but he knew that was unnecessary. Sarah had surrendered her style, so she wouldn’t wear anything that Lachlan didn’t approve of, regardless of what was in her cupboard. And she was still the Secretary of the Department of Women, and there was no sense disposing of outfits that she may still need.

Still, her wardrobe could use a pruning. He made her throw out all her footwear that didn’t feature high heels. He told her she could buy herself a new pair of sneakers, so that she’d have some practical shoes for exercise, but they had to be pink and girly.

He got her to put most of her more modest casual-wear in the garbage, too. She didn’t need to look professional outside of work hours. Her short skirts, tight shirts and clubwear could stay.

He took a moment to single out three particular T-shirts, though. One was pink—which he might otherwise have liked—but it bore a slogan on the front, in black lettering: “This is what a feminist looks like.” The second was white, with the words “Girl Power” in red. And the third was a cheap white gimmick shirt, with a photo of her own face printed on the front.

“My father bought me that for a present,” Sarah confessed. “He thought I’d like it, but I’ve never worn it. It’s tacky. Who wears a photo of themselves?”

“Oh, no, I think it’s perfect,” said Lachlan. “Take all three shirts to your toilet. You can use them to wipe with, once you’ve used up all the pages of your feminist books, and wash them and reuse them when you’re done.”

The look on her face was priceless, and Lachlan only regretted that he couldn’t also watch her expression the first time she used the picture of her own face to wipe her ass.

He helped her sort through her panties and bras. Everything boring went to the garbage. Most of her lace and satin was allowed to stay, as long as it looked like something that was invitation to fuck the wearer.

Then he gave her a list of new things to buy. He wasn’t sure she’d be able to find them all that weekend, but that was all right—he would make do with what she had for now. The new purchases would include items that were tacky, see-through, overly tight, revealing, or had demeaning slogans. Most of them would be pink.

She was given a special command to buy herself a range of half-cup bras that would reveal her nipples, and crotchless panties, along with an instruction.

“Let a man see you wearing them in the changerooms,” Lachlan said. “If they don’t have a male on-staff at the store, bring your own man. Show him every item of lingerie on your body, and ask him if it makes you look like a slut. Don’t buy it unless he says yes. I want fourteen complete pairs of half-cup bra and crotchless panties.”

Lachlan knew that lingerie wouldn’t come cheap. The underwear alone would cost Sarah a small fortune. But she was well-paid—she could afford it. And if she couldn’t, that was even better. A poor Sarah was a vulnerable Sarah—and an exploitable Sarah.

“Oh, and Sarah?” said Lachlan, as Sarah grimaced at the thought of exposing herself to a man in a lingerie store changerooms. “Let’s talk about your style at home. From now on, there’s only four kind of outfits you ever wear at home, regardless of what’s happening, or who’s visiting.”

He counted them on his fingers. “Number one, you’re completely nude. Number two, you’re wearing high heels, half-cup bra, and crotchless panties, and nothing else. Number three, you’re wearing a T-shirt, and nothing else. And number four, you’re wearing any panties you choose, but nothing else. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sarah unhappily. “But if I have guests…”

“That’s up to you, Sarah,” said Lachlan. “You can have guests, and show them your new style, or you can just not invite people to your house. It’s up to you, but there’s no exceptions.”

“What about when I visit others?” asked Sarah—clearly hesitant to ask in case she didn’t like the answer.

“Look attractive,” said Lachlan. “At least for now. Like you’d be pleasant to fuck—but it doesn’t necessarily have to be an invitation to rape, if you follow?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sarah. It was better than she had feared.

Lachlan also oversaw subtle changes to Sarah’s makeup preferences. He replaced her dark red lipstick with a light pink shade that made her look younger, prettier, and less intelligent. A little more rouge across her cheeks and nose gave her the suggestion of sexual arousal. Darker makeup around her eyes made her look more vulnerable. It all came together to make her look less like a powerful, intelligent female executive, and more like a slutty teenager hoping to get laid at a nightclub.

And then he picked out the clothes she was going to wear to work on Monday. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t inappropriate to wear in public in any way—and yet he knew it would humiliate her to wear it to the office, and the thought of that humiliation made his cock hard in anticipation.

The best part of it was that she hadn’t surrendered control of her clothing—she had surrendered her style. Each instruction he gave her slowly settled into her mind, and became what she wanted to wear—what she considered it correct to wear—even if she still knew that it made her look slutty or infantile or trashy. Once he had told her that she would go half-naked around her house, and only wear crotchless panties in future, she would feel awkward if she ever had to wear anything else—anxious and embarrassed, like she was a fraud, dressing up as someone that she wasn’t.

And his last instruction to her was the one she hated most, even if it was the least revealing of them all.

“Buy some pink ribbon,” he told her, “and put your hair in pigtails. Cute little blowjob-handlebars like a cute little daddy’s girl. That’s how you wear your hair now.”

He watched her face carefully, hoping she would swear at him and call him names—another breach of the Code of Conduct that would force her to surrender something—and she almost did. But, in the end, she managed to keep control.

“Yes, sir,” she said, her hatred blazing openly on her face.

“Good girl,” he said, and ended the video call.

He was surprised to receive a phone call from Sarah on Sunday night. He picked up the phone, remembering her last out-of-hours call, and immediately worrying that she had gotten drunk and done something stupid again.

But if she was drunk, it didn’t show in her voice.

“Lachlan,” she said. “Sir. Can I come and visit you?”

“Why?” he asked her.

There was only silence down the phone. Was she angry? Embarrassed? Scared?

“If you’re not going to tell me, then no, you can’t visit,” he told her. “But I can visit you. Do you want me to come over?”

Silence again. They both knew how she would have to dress for him.

Then, quietly, “Yes, please, sir.”

When she answered the door, she was everything from Lachlan’s fantasies. She had chosen to wear nothing but a pair of her satin panties. Her full tits were exposed, her hair was pulled up in a pair of pigtails, and her new lipstick and makeup made her mouth look exquisitely fuckable.

She was bright red—possibly the most humiliated he’d seen her so far.

“This is a pleasant surprise, Sarah,” he said, deliberately eyeing her up and down.

“Don’t make a big deal of it, sir,” she said. “This is your choice, not mine. I hate it.”

He knew that wasn’t true. Her mind was already telling her that this was her look—the kind of thing that was appropriate for a woman like her to wear.

She walked away from the door, into the house, and he followed, admiring the curves of her ass in the satin panties, and the movement of her bare shoulderblades.

“What is this about, Sarah?” he asked.

“I need… you know what. For dinner,” said Sarah, without turning to look at him.

“Pretend I don’t know what,” smiled Lachlan.

He could see her clench her fists in frustration and hatred. “Cum, sir,” she said. “I need some of your cum so that I can eat dinner.”

“Don’t you have… other men for that, on the weekend?” he asked her.

“I can’t,” she said—and Lachlan was surprised to hear a choked quality to her voice. Sarah was on the edge of tears. “I just can’t, sir.”

He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, turning her around, so that he could see the tears in the corners of her eyes—and, more importantly, her impressive naked tits.

“Why don’t you come over to the couch?” he said. “You can tell me what’s happening, and masturbate me while you do, so you can see how aroused your unhappiness makes me.”

She almost swore at him then—he could see the “fuck you” forming in her mouth—but, once again, she restrained herself. He was offering her what she wanted, after all.

They both went to the couch, and Lachlan took his cock out of his pants, and Sarah began to stroke it as she talked.

“So what’s with the panties?” Lachlan asked. “Did you not buy the new lingerie?”

“No,” said Sarah. “I did. It’s just… what I’m going to tell you about. And I thought if I wore the shirt—the least slutty option—you might refuse to give me any cum, so… this is the compromise.”

“You look beautiful, Sarah,” he said, with genuine sincerity, and was delighted to see her blush with real, unfeigned pleasure in response, despite her embarrassment and hatred.

He sighed as she pumped his cock, and took her hand, and repositioned it slightly, so that his cock was pointed directly at her face.

Then he said, “So, what happened?”

“I hate this, you know?” Sarah said. “Not just the surrendering, or that I’m basically naked and jerking you off, and all that. But I hate that you’re the only one I can even talk to about it. It’s either process it by myself, or share it with someone who’s just going to use it against me.”

“It’s good that you do share it,” said Lachlan. “Honesty is an important part of the Code of Conduct, after all.”

His grin may have gone a little too far, because Sarah’s hand tightened on his cock briefly to the point of being painful, as she glared at him. But she relaxed again before he had sufficient cause to point out that assaulting a co-worker was itself against the code.

“So I went to buy the lingerie yesterday, like you told me to,” she began, when her anger had subsided….

Despite her best efforts, Sarah had been unable to find a lingerie store with a male employee, so getting a professional to look at her in her new slutty underwear hadn’t been an option even if she wanted it. Neither was she keen on bringing a friend or acquaintance to help—in the absence of Sarah being able to explain her behaviour, it would inevitably be interpreted as an invitation to an ongoing sexual relationship that Sarah didn’t want.

So she had gone to the mall that contained her chosen lingerie store, and looked for the thing every mall had—teenagers with nothing to do. She picked out a relatively attractive young man that she thought was over the age of 18, waited until he went to use the public toilets, and then cornered him as he was coming out.

“How old are you?” she had asked him sharply.

“19,” he said.

“Do you want to see me naked?” she asked.

He had looked her up and down, his face flushing, and then said, “Yes.”

“Then come with me, say ‘yes’ whenever I ask you a question, no matter what it is, and otherwise keep your mouth shut,” she said.

She took him to the lingerie store and had him wait as she selected fourteen sets of slutty underwear. Then she took him back to the changerooms, and tried on the first set.

It had taken an act of will for her to open the changeroom curtain and let the teen see her in the first pair of crotchless panties and half-cup bra, but she had managed it, her face bright red.

“Does this make me look like a slut?” she had asked him in a small voice, scared the shop attendants would hear her.

His eyes bulged at her exposed nipples and the sight of her labia poking through the hole in her panties. She saw his cock stiffen in his pants.

“Yes,” he said—and that was enough for Sarah to nod, close the curtain, and try the next set of lingerie.

She showed him the second set, and the third, and the fourth—but she became aware that something was happening to her as she did so. Her pussy was responding to the gaze of the teen—and perhaps to his obviously erect cock, and the pheromones of his arousal. With each new outfit she modelled for him, her pussy was becoming wetter. It was turning her on, and she couldn’t stop it.

By the time she was showing him the seventh outfit, her cunt was leaving wet smears on the panties as she took them off. She hoped the shop attendant wouldn’t notice.

By the eighth, her voice had a hoarse, lustful rasp to it.

“Do I look like a slut in this?” she asked, modelling a pink set that framed her nipples in little satin love-hearts, and which parted wide at the crotch to fully expose her twat.

“Yes,” said the teen—and then added, “I like how it shows off your…”—and he paused, blushing.

Sarah had given up control of her vocabulary, and when she thought about saying, “My breasts?” she instead said, “My oversized sex-melons?”

The teen’s eyes widened, and he nodded. “And your…”

“My wet cunt?” asked Sarah.

He nodded again.

After the ninth pair she stopped closing the changeroom curtain, and just let him watch as she stripped naked and put on the next outfit. After all, the lingerie hid nothing. He had seen it all already.

By the eleventh pair her cunt was so wet that she couldn’t help teasing it a little with her fingers before pulling on the next pair of panties. The teen saw her do it, and after telling her that she looked like a slut in the new outfit, he tentatively unzipped his fly, and pulled out his hard cock, and began to stroke it as he watched her.

She let him do it. She knew she shouldn’t. But she let him.

By the fourteenth she was openly masturbating as she changed. “This is the last outfit,” she told him, deliberately spreading her pussy lips with her fingers to give him a better look. “Does it make me look like a slut?”

“Yes,” he breathed—and then he was stepping into the changeroom, pushing her against the wall, and his cock was inside her, pushing through the hole in the panties, into her “wet cunt”, and he was kissing her as he crushed her tits against his young, firm chest.

His kiss was so hard it felt bruising, and that was good, because if her mouth had been free she might have screamed with desire and pleasure when she felt him finally ejaculate into her, and matched it with her own powerful orgasm. When he released her, she fell to her knees, and that meant that his cock was in front of her face, cum still dripping from the tip. He didn’t ask her to, but nevertheless she leaned forward and licked it clean.

“Was it good?” asked the teen nervously, and it occurred to Sarah now that this might have been his first time with any woman.

“Very good,” she said, with real affection in her voice. “You’re going to make a lot of girls very happy. Now get out of here, and don’t ever tell anyone about this, okay?”

He did up his pants and scampered—and that was when Sarah realised her dilemma.

Not only were most of the pairs of panties moist with Sarah’s arousal—but the pair she was wearing was now visibly stained with cum. Cum was still leaking from her pussy, and a good amount of it had dripped onto the pile of bras she had left at her feet.

She had to clean up.

The first step was to stop her pussy from dripping. Her first step was to try and catch the cum that was drooling from her twat with her hands, but that just made her hands sticky with sperm, so she raised them to her mouth and licked them clean, and repeated, until the majority of the cum had gone into her mouth.

Then she took the bra she had come in with, and wiped the cups back and forth across her pussy, wiping away the remaining sperm and pussy juices. She winced as she then put the bra back in place over her breasts feeling the sticky mess press against her bare titflesh, but it would have to do.

She put on the rest of her original clothes, and then tried to clean the slutty lingerie. She tried licking at the fabric with her tongue, and while this was effective at cleaning off the majority of the cum and pussy juices, there were still white stains on the bras, and her saliva just made them all wetter.

She looked at them, and knew she would never be able to wear any of them without thinking of this moment—kneeling in a changeroom with an anonymous teen’s cum in her pussy, trying to lick sperm and pussy juices out of the fabric of the whorish underwear. She felt dirty down to her very soul—even as her new ethics were telling her that this was normal and appropriate behaviour for a woman.

In the end she had to take the wet, stained lingerie to the retail counter, and stand, blushing, as the shopgirl stared at it, and then stared at her. Sarah offered no explanation, just paid, and left as quickly as possible, with the shopgirl’s accusing, disgusted stare following her.

“I haven’t even washed them yet,” Sarah confessed to Lachlan as she stroked his cock. “When I got home I just dumped them in my room. I couldn’t even look at them. I couldn’t look at myself. And I couldn’t go to one of my usual men for cum for my dinner. Doing what I did in the changeroom was…. a humiliating experience. One I was forced to do. But if I did it twice in one day, it felt like it would be who I was now.”

Lachlan looked at her. Her face looked so cute and vulnerable and ashamed—so far from the powerful, bitchy Sarah Rose who commanded the department. He almost wanted to kiss her.

“Go and bring me the pair you were wearing when you were fucked,” he told her.

She looked surprised, but let go of his cock, and ran and got it. He approved of what she handed him—a sexy green outfit that made it completely clear that its wearer was desperate to be raped.

He took the items from her, put her hand back on his cock, and held the bra cups over the end of his cock.

“Make me cum,” he told her.

“Nooo…” she moaned. “Please….”

But she was hungry, and if she wanted to eat she needed his cum. She pumped his cock, and her look of pure misery was enough for him to quickly reach orgasm. Soon he was filling the inside of the bra cups with his sperm.

“You can clean enough for your dinner out of those,” he told her. Then he took the panties, and used them to wipe his cock clean, before grabbing her hair and pulling her face down so she could lick the last of the cum from his phallus.

He passed the cum-stained underwear back to her when she was done licking.

“Wear these tomorrow to work with your new outfit,” he told her. “Don’t bother cleaning them first.”

He stayed around afterwards long enough to watch her cook herself hamburger meat, mix it with his sperm, and then eat it on all fours out of a dog bowl. Then he left.

He couldn’t wait to see her new outfit in the morning, and introduce the world to the new Sarah Rose.