The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

What brought me to the Christian Singles site?

I wonder this as I stare at the un-started questionnaire on my laptop computer.

Well — self — the obvious answer is that I’m Christian (Presbyterian, to be exact) and single…

…And I can’t seem to find someone to cure my perpetual loneliness.

I’ve dated all of the reasonably attractive members of my church choir. Despite our shared religion, after a while, they seem to want what all guys I’ve ever dated seem to want — sex. One date in, two dates in, eight dates in — eventually, it’s all about the sex for them. Not connection. Not romance. Just a desire to get their new girlfriend naked and under them. They never care if I’m “not ready.” Even guys that I thought were “the nice ones” end up calling me a “tease” (or worse) behind my back. Just like the boys at the Christian university I attended. Somehow, it always gets back to me and I’m always disappointed in them. You’d think I could find someone who was willing to wait with me, and for me, but so far, no dice.

My discomfort with sex probably started with my very first boyfriend, Brian—literally the boy next door. Being homeschooled, my options were limited to the neighborhood. Maybe if my parents weren’t so strict, I could’ve met someone more in line with me early on, and we could have grown together, but alas, I was stuck with Brian. At first, he was sweet. He took me to movies and always bought me a drink and popcorn. He even let me pick the movies. We were sixteen and innocent. At least, I was. One night, after a movie, we were kissing when he started grinding up against me. He didn’t even ask, he just did it. I felt his… thingy… get hard. Then, harder. Then, he took my hand and held it against his… you know… and it started spasming in my hand as he made a weird, grimacing face. I felt his pants get wet and sticky and so did my hand. I’m not an idiot. I sat through the distasteful Sex Ed class. I knew what he had was an orgasm… but he did it up against me, forcing my hand on top of it. It was so disgusting. So animal. Ultimately, the exact opposite of romantic.

The romance in my life never comes from men… at least not the flesh and blood ones. I find myself drawn to erotic stories online. I feel guilty about them, and I’m not about to include them in my Christian Singles profile because I don’t want anyone to get the wrong opinion of me. I’m willing to divulge pics of my collection of Fullmetal Alchemist books. I’m open about my Avatar: The Last Airbender fanfic — Azula and Ty Lee belong together, but I won’t share that. I’ll even let people in on my preferred roleplaying character—a Lawful Good Paladin named Robinson. My incognito browser material often included dominance and submission. I’d read oy-girl and girl-girl with equal admiration, so long as the writing was good. It was always about the writing, really, not who was involved. I rub myself to an orgasm with every quality slow burn fan fic or, a personal favorite, some Commander Shepard/Liara fic. Why didn’t that happen in reality? After I’d come down from orgasm, the shame used to take over and I’d feel no better than I did when I was sixteen and Brian held my hand in place. When I started, I would I say “never again” like… every time, but no more than a few nights would go by and I’d be back on the sites, reading and rubbing. A few years of that and my guilt gave way to a numbing emptiness afterwards. I don’t know if that was an improvement, but it kept me from having to wait a few days between sessions. So I’ll call it a win.

And now, here I am.

Ready to post a picture and profile online.

I try to find a flattering picture to upload. Something that shows off my dark, wavy red hair, my pretty brown eyes, and not too much of my fair skin or freckles so as to give anyone the wrong idea in the case that they don’t read my headline—Looking for a MEANINGFUL relationship. The best picture I can find is my employee ID photo—buttoned-up dress shirt, khakis, minimal makeup—all my natural state.

I “first answer, best answer” the rest of the profile, click submit, and say a little prayer aloud.

“If you’re listening, I’m lonely. I don’t have friends. I don’t have a special someone and I don’t know what to do with myself. Any help would be truly appreciated. Amen.”

I nod up to Heaven, open my eyes, and see that I’ve (miraculously?) already received a response to my profile.

The message simply reads: I really think there’s potential for us to have a truly MEANINGFUL relationship. It’d be great if you could take this additional quiz and share your results… if you still want to afterwards. —Teddy

Fueled by curiosity, I click the embedded link.

Welcome to WeaverFeed Quiz: Your True Self.

We’ve compiled all forty-two female archetypes and can identify you accurately based on your answers to ten simple questions, as well as the amount of time it takes you to choose.

If you’re a male and have reached this page in error, please click this link to take the male version of this quiz. Thank you.

Purple Square

Closest color to my favorite Green Lantern character—Star Sapphire.

Beach

Mixed bag really, I love the beach, but have to really lather myself in sunscreen to avoid going “full red.”

Salad

I prefer to drink my calories.

Pint of Beer

This is how I prefer to drink my calories.

Boy Shorts and Tank Top

I prefer comfort to “sexy.”

Handcuffs

I respect the law… but also have read a whole lot of BDSM stories online so I’m equal parts intrigued, embarrassed, and unsure.

Chocolate

Guilty pleasure. It’s especially a good snack after I finish a quality “me” session.

Couch Overlooking a TV

Simple pleasures. Who needs clubs when you have Netflix

Puppy

There’s nothing sweeter than a puppy. Well, maybe chocolate, but that’s about it.

Heart

Love over money. All the time, every time.

Calculating…

Calculating…

You are 17 percent Princess.

Aw, that’s sweet. I wonder if they mean like one of those fairytale cartoon princesses and if so, which one? I see myself as an Ariel, maybe because we’re both gingers.

You are 23 percent White Trash.

Now, that’s significantly less sweet. I don’t think I am or have ever been “White Trash.” I barely know what that really means. Is that like a trailer park thing? Who’d want to be called that?!?

But your true self is…

The LIPSTICK LESBIAN

You appreciate all things girly, including girls. Your makeup is on point, as is your fashion sense. There’s nothing you like more than suckling another girl’s breasts or licking her until she screams and you use your powerful feminine wiles to accomplish this whenever possible.

When you find this quiz to be surprisingly accurate, pass it along to all of your friends.

I can feel the blushing burn of embarrassment emblazon my skin — my face, my hands, my chest. Where does this quiz get off on labeling me a lesbian? What in my answers warrant that? Nothing I answered screams “I love women.” Nothing.

I can’t actually be a lesbian. That’s not how I was raised. I was raised with strong Christian values. It just… It just doesn’t add up. At all. I think of all the sinful thoughts I’ve stamped down over the years and the few that have boiled over. Is this naming a punishment for all of that? Am I to be judged for the occasional appreciation of the female form I’ve had. Never sexual, always aesthetic and enjoying the Lord’s craftsmanship in our creation.

I am not a lesbian.

I never have been.

I never will be.

Why…?

No.

This result is nothing more than a prank and it will mean nothing to me after a good night’s rest. And if I dream of woman in various states of dress and arousal, it’s nothing more than me sublimating this result. And, when I wake up, this uncomfortable, all over blush will go away and I’ll be fully in control of my body and its reactions.

I wake up reasonably refreshed, considering the frustrating night I had. I check my profile on my phone to see if there have been any changes. My inbox has that one email I will never respond to and nothing else. Meh.

I shower and spend a little more time than I usually do working on my hair and makeup. I think I just want to feel extra pretty today. Sticking with that scheme, I pull a sundress out from the back of my closet and a pair of bright flats — both a sundress and flats that I didn’t even know I had — that will match it nicely.

I catch a couple looks on the train into the city and a few more as I enter our office building. However, when I reach my floor, you’d think a celebrity was stopping by with the looks I get. I blush and take hurried steps to my cubicle. It isn’t long before Tanya, the closest thing I have to an “office friend,” stops by. She leans down and for a moment, I’m pulled, like a magnet, into the cleavage that puts on display. I drink it in for a bit, then shake my head and look up into her eyes.

“Christine… I didn’t know you had anything other than khakis and dress blouses.”

A bit self-conscious, I ask, “Good thing or bad thing?”

“Good thing. Definitely. I like what you’ve done with your hair and makeup, too.”

“Thanks.”

Tanya points at me, like a great thought has entered her mind. “We’re overdue for a lunch.”

“We totally are,” I emphatically agree.

“Free today?”

I nod.

She adds, “No time like the present,” and walks away. I find my eyes pulled down to the almost hypnotic sway of her ass until she’s out of view. I find myself wondering what kind of underwear she wears because I saw no visible panty lines.

Work seems to dredge along as I keep looking at the clock, waiting for lunchtime to roll around.

Tanya swings around at 12:01, purse slung over her shoulder, and I leap up, grabbing mine.

We dine at a nearby healthy place and meet at the table with our prepared salads from the line. We eat in relative silence, both examining each other. I never realized just how pretty Tanya was before today. She’s always well put together, but the elements eluded me. The soft blonde of her hair. The gentle slop of her neck. The lovely curve of her well-formed bosom. The tantalizing appeal of her lips…

Tanya interrupts my reverie. “I didn’t think so previously, but I wonder if I’m right about something — Please don’t hate me if I’m wrong to ask but — No. No more preface, I’m just going to come right out and ask. Do you like women?”

“Of course, I —“

“I don’t mean as friends. Do you like women?”

Forced to look inside and really truly consider her question, I probe for my inner truth. I don’t feel my body involuntarily blush at the idea of liking a woman that way. In fact, it seems as natural as breathing, as natural as waking up in the morning and appreciating the day. Why would I ever even blanch at the subject in the slightest? The form of a woman is beautiful and alluring. Tanya is beautiful and alluring. If she asked me to do anything for her, with her, or to her, I wouldn’t hesitate. I would welcome the request.

I’m slow to nod, but I feel my head going up and down with increasing speed and eagerness.

“How close is your place?” She asks in response.

“A train ride away.”

“My place it is then,” she says, grabbing my hand and leading me out of the restaurant.

We each have a hand rubbing the other’s thigh as we sit in the back of the Uber. I’m sure the driver, who spent a good deal of time eyeing his rear view mirror, will think about the two pretty women in the back of his car when he gets done today, even though we try our best to keep it PG.

The moment we get through Tanya’s door, however, PG is quickly out the window. I’m as hungry for her as she is for me. There’s nothing slow down or draw out about our foreplay, we’re so desperate to see each other naked. She frantically pulls the sundress up off of me, revealing my pert breasts, pale skin, and white lace panties. I immediately return the favor, unbuttoning her top even as she pulls her slacks down her legs. This answers my question from earlier — she has no visible panty lines because she simply doesn’t wear panties. I groan at the sight of her pretty, pretty pussy. Her pendulous breasts need the support of a bra, though, so I’m happy to free them from it so I can wrap my mouth around one of her nipples to kiss and suck it. The moan it elicits from her ensures that I’m wet. She slips a finger into my panties and discovers that for herself.

We tumble to the floor with a shared laugh. Our eagerness outweighing our desire to stay upright. We finger each other as our tongues intertwine. She bucks against my hand and I know that I’m doing something right. Her touch is ecstasy, quickly achieving a pleasure I never experienced on my own. I mimic her escalating pace.

“You feel so good.” I breathlessly tell her. “You look so good.”

“Oh Chrissy,” she moans like the music of angels. She purrs, “You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever met.”

I start to tense, pushed over the edge by her words. I’ve never felt sexy before in my life, but right now, under her attentions, I damn well do. I shudder as wave after wave of bliss flows through my body. Her own orgasm quickly follows, possibly from my ministrations and possibly because she liked watching me cum. She’s loud, with beautiful wordless music reverberating out of her mouth with each spasm of her body. She soaks my hand. She’s a squirter, something I’ve only read about. I relish this first cum of the day and pull my finger from her pussy to my mouth. As I taste her nectar on my tongue, I think, this is why I hate men… There’s no way something this sweet and delicious has ever come from their oafish, unattractive bodies.

She takes a deep inhale, clearly breathing me in, before her kisses return gently to my mouth.

I feel wanted.

I feel safe.

I feel like I’ve never felt before and can’t imagine going another day unless I always feel this way. She is an answered prayer.

“I have champagne in my fridge,” she says with a smile. “Call in sick?” She adds.

“Absolutely,” I respond, ready to spend the rest of the day… the rest of my life… with this gorgeous woman, exploring every inch of her body and finding new and exciting ways to get her off.

The champagne exhausted, Tanya runs her fingers through my hair and whispers with a giggle, “You are such a lez.”

Naked, drunk on sex and bubbly, she passes out in my lap.

I run my finger over her face, her neck, her breasts, her stomach — everything I can safely reach without waking her.

I think of what we’ve done, and all the things I still want to do, and I realize — I am such a lez.

I come home much later, and very much orgasmically exhausted because after Tanya woke up our party began again. The quiz is still open in one of my browser windows. The quiz, quite accurately, identifying me as a lipstick lesbian. A lover of women and all things pretty. I couldn’t agree more. While I’ll always appreciate everything other women have to offer, I think I’m more of a one woman type of girl and Tanya is it.

I take my last waking moment, before dreams whisk me away to replay the day of sexcapades with Tanya, to copy the link and forward it on to every member of my church choir. I don’t know if this will answer any of their prayers, but I’m hopeful that it will.

I feel free.

Free to love.

Free to be…

Free to be beautiful.

Free to be sexual.

Free to be happy.

Free to be Chrissy—the woman Christine a distant memory of my past that I have little to no connection to anymore.

I’ve been blessedly released from her holds and limitations.

The only way that will ever be bound again is at the will of Tanya and I wouldn’t have it any other way.