The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chloe looked like she wanted to die of humiliation as she walked into the restaurant with her soon-to-be-stepfather. She was dressed like a slut and she knew it. In her transparent red sheath dress, she could well be charged with public indecency.

And yet the maitre d’ at the restaurant didn’t blink. He was used to rich men bringing their expensive prostitutes to dinner, and he merely showed Chloe and Michael to their table, in the middle of the room, where Chloe would have no privacy at all.

It was an expensive restaurant, and, as Michael had promised, it was far from their home, where no one was likely to recognise them as stepfather and stepdaughter. Michael wanted Chloe to have the simultaneous feelings of being a beautiful princess, a piece of expensive property, and a pile of disgusting slutty trash, and this setting was perfect for it.

After they were seated, Michael picked up a menu and perused it in silence.

Chloe was confused. She had thought Michael would have some further degradation for her, or at least take an interest in her, but he was ignoring her.

Michael simply waited.

Chloe’s hypnotic compulsion told her she had to be “seductive” with her dates”. In the car she had been stroking his cock—which was still hard—but the table was wide enough that she couldn’t easily reach it. He wanted to see what she would do instead.

Her face twisted with the need to obey her compulsion, even as she fought against it, disgusted by the ideas that were presenting themselves to her.

Finally she gave in.

“Daddy,” she said in a small, quiet voice. “Do you think my tits are pretty?” And she leaned forward to give him a good look at them down the neckline of her dress.

He barely looked up. “No, Chloe,” he said. “They’re very mediocre.”

She looked as though she’d been slapped. Part of her told her that she shouldn’t care what he thought about her breasts—but no girl likes to hear they have disappointing tits, and Chloe had been sure that Michael was sexually interested in her, even if she didn’t want him to be. And in addition, she had been slowly learning to associate his praise with good things happening, and his disapproval with pain and punishment.

He waited again. It took a while, but Chloe eventually gave him what he wanted.

“Why don’t you like them?” she asked, in a small, offended voice.

He looked at her directly now. “I think you know, Chloe,” he told her. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong with them?”

His question engaged her compulsion to be sexually honest. Her deep insecurities were dragged out of her by the Daughter Tuning process, forcing her to answer, even as it turned her face red with humiliation.

“They’re too small,” she said quietly. “They should be bigger.”

He almost laughed. It was a pleasure to have discovered this secret urge in her, that had clearly been there long before he came around—this societal pressure telling her that she needed bigger udders in order to be pretty. It was good to hear her confess to it.

“How big should they be, Chloe?” he asked her.

“Like a porn star,” she whispered. “Huge.”

“Would you like me to arrange you a boob job, Chloe?” he asked her. “To make your tits bigger?”

She practically vibrated with fear and degradation. She didn’t want to answer.

“Yes,” she said in a choked voice. “No. No. Yes. I don’t know…”

He reached over the table and stroked her hair. “Would you like to have boys stare at your tits all the time, Chloe?”

She still didn’t know. “Yes…” she whispered. “No. I don’t want to be… I… but… “

He whispered himself now. “I’ll tell you a secret, princess,” he said. “I don’t need your tits to be bigger in order to enjoy them. But the fact that you want to make them bigger, to please me, makes me very happy. The fact that you’d change your whole body just to be a better fucktoy makes you a better person. That’s the kind of thing a good girl does. Do you want to be a good girl, Chloe?”

She didn’t know. Part of her wanted very much to be a bad girl, to rebel against him, to escape his control.

But part of her was telling her that she liked her hair being stroked…

“Yes,” she squeaked.

He smiled at her—and saw her melt a little at his smile.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he told her. “They’ll get bigger when you get pregnant.” And he almost laughed as her eyes widened in alarm.

He didn’t let her respond to that, though. “Tell me four more ways your tits could be better,” he told her.

“Can’t we talk about something normal?” she protested, her face flushed.

“Sure we can, princess,” he told her. “What do you want to talk about?”

Except her hypnotic tuning was hammering away inside her head. Be seductive. Be seductive.

She looked down, defeated.

“I guess you’d like my tits better if they were exposed,” she said.

“I would,” said Michael.

She remembered how he had cum on her face after she had watched him fuck her mother’s mouth—and what he had said afterwards. And what he had said again in the car. “And maybe they’d be prettier… if they had cum on them,” she added.

“A little cum on your tits makes them look much prettier,” Michael agreed.

She tried to remember other times he had told her she was pretty.

“Would they look prettier… if I were crying?” she asked uncertainly.

“Absolutely,” said Michael. “You look much sexier when you’re crying, princess.”

“And…” she paused, and then knew what to say. “They’d look prettier if I were pregnant.” She was staring intently at the table as she said it.

Michael just smiled, and said, “Good girl.”

There was silence again for a while after that. They ordered their food, and a little later it arrived.

Chloe was clearly waiting for Michael to initiate conversation, but he didn’t need to. He only needed to leave her alone long enough, and she’d do it herself. She had to be seductive—and she knew by now exactly what turned him on: her humiliation and degradation.

“I masturbate when I think about being raped by you,” she volunteered, entirely without prompting, after her first mouthful of her medium-rare steak. She looked ill, hating herself for saying it without being forced to, hating that it was true.

“Do you think nice girls do that, princess?” he asked her.

“No,” she whispered.

And a bit later she offered, “Do you want to hear about all the things I’ve put inside my pussy?”

“Of course, princess,” he laughed—and for the rest of the dinner he was treated to an account of everything Chloe could remember ever having stuffed into her pussy, which was a surprisingly long list, starting with tampons and her fingers, and proceeding through several plush toys, a rolling pin, her mother’s dildo, several pairs of her panties, a zucchini, the base of a thin wine bottle, a Barbie doll, and the handle of a softball bat.

He loved watching her go on at length on the topic, as if it were a perfectly normal thing to discuss in a restaurant, even though she knew it was not. Several times he pretended not to hear her, and made her raise her voice and repeat herself, so the people at the next table could hear her confess to shoving kitchen implements up her snatch in a slutty attempt to reach an orgasm.

When they finally finished the meal and stood to leave, Michael had a secret smile as he caught sight of the back of Chloe’s dress. There was a wet spot, just at the bottom of the ass. Despite all her humiliation, Chloe had been so aroused throughout it all her cunt had drooled enough to soak into her skirt.

The next stop was the cinema, which was another short drive. Back in the car, once they both had their seatbelts on, Michael unzipped his pants, and pulled his erect cock into view.

Blushing, Chloe reached out one hand to play with it—but he slapped her away.

“Look but don’t touch,” he said. “I’m driving. If you want my approval, you can play with your own pussy.”

She blushed. She didn’t masturbate—but she also didn’t look away from his cock, as he started to drive away from the restaurant.

“Do you think you deserve to be raped, Chloe?” he asked her casually.

Her sexual honesty programming compelled her answer. “Yes,” she said, quietly.

She couldn’t help but see his cock twitch in response.

“Tell me all the reasons you deserve to be raped, princess,” said Michael.

And again her tuning compelled her to answer.

“Because I’m a slut,” she whispered. “Because they say hypnotism only works on you if you want it, and I let it make me do all these things…”

Michael smiled. Dr Martin’s tuning process worked whether Chloe wanted it to or not, but it was wonderful that she believed at some level that she must be allowing it to.

“Go on,” he told her.”

“I deserve to be raped because I cocktease you all the time,” she whispered. “And I get wet thinking about you, and the things you do to me, and the time you… fucked me.”

She meant “raped”, but again he liked her choice of words, a tacit admission that she had enjoyed what had happened.

“I deserve to be raped because I’m a whore at school, and I give everyone blowjobs,” she went on. “And because I get wet when I kiss my mom. And because I’m stupid, and because my tits aren’t big enough, and…”

She was crying now—but even more interestingly, she was rubbing her pussy now, seemingly unaware she was doing so, and her eyes were fixed on Michael’s cock, watching how every word she spoke made him harder, seeing the evidence that her humiliation and degradation were nothing but entertainment for men.

They had reached the cinema. He parked the car, and then reached over and undid Chloe’s seatbelt.

“There, there, princess,” he said. “Let me wipe those tears away.” And he pulled her head down towards his cock, and wiped the tips of his cock across her eyes and cheeks. Chloe barely even struggled. Her hot, salty tears felt amazing on his dick, and when he was done he had left a smear of his pre-cum across her face.

“Say thank you,” he told her.

“Thank you, daddy,” she whispered—and without even being told to, she kissed the tip of his cock.

Michael put his cock away, and they went into the cinema. Chloe didn’t even seem to notice that she had pre-cum on her face, as he sent her to buy him popcorn and a drink. None for her, of course—she would be having a different snack.

The movie was a piece of softcore French erotica, about a young woman who mercilessly cockteases her poor, innocent father. In the film, she hopelessly corrupted their relationship due to her slutty needs, and in the end, when the father finally raped and beat her before passing her around his friends as the town whore, it was treated as her well-deserved punishment.

Chloe wouldn’t see much of it, though. Michael took her to a pair of seats up the back designed for couples on a date, with no barrier between them. He sat, and pulled Chloe down next to him, then put his popcorn on the next seat, grabbed a handful of Chloe’s hair, and pulled her face down to his groin. He extracted his cock from his pants again, and Chloe submissively took it into her mouth.

She started to bounce her head up and down on it, but he grabbed her hair and held her close to his groin so she couldn’t move.

“None of that,” he told her. “Just hold still and suck like a lollipop.” He balanced his container of popcorn on her head. “Don’t let it fall,” he told her.

Chloe was compelled to hold completely still to avoid the popcorn spilling. The only way she could interact with his cock was to suck as if it were a sweet treat, and feel every flex and twitch of his dick within her.

“Good girl,” he told her. “Just like that, and keep thinking about why you deserve to be raped.”

It felt amazing. Michael thought he could happily spend his entire day with his dick in a slut’s mouth just like this. He thought by the time he had both Chloe and her mother trained, he could probably make that fantasy come mostly true.

Even as Chloe couldn’t move without disturbing the popcorn, neither could Michael thrust, and so it was an excruciatingly slow, delicious kind of blowjob. His orgasm was only at the halfway point of the movie—when the daughter in the film disrobed before her father, showing him her perfect tits and cunt, and begged him to rape her. He felt it coming, and moved his popcorn, and held Chloe down with both hands as he quickly bucked against her face once, twice, three times, before spurting his seed down her throat with what felt like epic force.

He felt Chloe gag, and try to lift her head, but he held her down, and she managed to swallow his cum.

“Good cocksleeve,” he told her. “Now stay put and try and make me do it again.”

He got hard again relatively quickly, as he stroked her hair and ate his popcorn, but finding a second orgasm was harder, and by the time the credits were rolling he was merely ragingly horny.

“I need to clean myself up, princess,” he whispered to Chloe as he allowed her to rise from his cock. “Do you want it on your face or your tits?”

She didn’t understand for a moment—and then she did. She considered the consequences of having more pre-cum on her face, where everyone could see it, versus taking it on her breasts, which she could conceal again afterwards.

She opted for her breasts. She blushingly lifted her left udder out of her dress, and Michael wiped his cock across it, loving the feeling of her hard perky nipple against his glans, leaving a long smear of pre-cum across her titflesh. Then he put his cock away, and she put her breast away, and they left the cinema.

Afterwards, they sat together in the car in the parking lot.

Michael hadn’t started the car. He was just waiting.

Chloe shifted uncomfortably. “Are we going home now?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Michael. “Are we?”

Chloe flushed. Even after her humiliations that night she managed to summon a spark of rebellion. “Fuck you,” she whispered.

“We can go home if you want, Chloe,” Michael said. “You just have to say it, honestly. Do you want to go home?”

She made a little choked noise, but was otherwise silent.

“Come on, princess,” said Michael. “Do you want to go home?”

There were tears in her eyes. She was looking away from him, her hands clenched into fists.

He watched her. She was genuinely torn, unable to honestly answer the question, fighting within herself.

After a moment, he showed her mercy.

“Let me make this easy for you, princess,” he said. “Tell me this instead. Do you deserve to go home?”

And it was easier for her to answer that one.

“No,” she said.

“What do you deserve?” he asked her.

“To be raped,” she said, in a small voice.

He reached out and put a hand on her chin, turning her face up, forcing her to look at him.

“Do you want me to rape you, Chloe?” he asked her.

She looked at him through her tears. Her whole body vibrated with shame.

She could only answer honestly.

“Yes,” she breathed.

He smiled.

“Then let’s go to our special place, in the playground,” he told her, “and we’ll make that happen.

He started the car.

(TO BE CONTINUED)