The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Whether You Want To Or Not

Chapter 2

What a crazy dream. An extremely hot one, actually, which made me reluctant to open my eyes and close the door on that dreamworld. But I did, because something about my body position didn’t feel quite right.

The first recognizable object that entered my field of vision was a door, which confused me. Why was there a door on the ceiling? As the cobwebs began to clear from my befuddled brain I noticed several things simultaneously.

One: I was not lying down, but sitting. Two: I was naked. I was sitting in a padded chair, and as I began to try to move, I found I was attached to it, in at least five places: forehead, wrists, and ankles. The forehead strap limited my ability to look around, but I could see I was in a small room with bare white walls.

No more than ten seconds had passed from my confused awakening when the door opened and the girl from my dream lithely slipped in, wearing, in addition to her ensemble from my dream, a smug grin. “Good morning, sleepyhead!” she said half-mockingly. All of a sudden it clicked. It hadn’t been a dream, and I was in a very, very bad situation.

She sauntered towards me and I couldn’t keep my eyes from traveling up and down her wonderful curves, covered and enhanced here and there by white Lycra and tight shimmering black. My body began to respond of its own accord, in a very visible manner. Her grin became rather smirk-like, telling me she had noticed.

“Who are you?” I barked, trying to feel for an instant as though I had some sort of control over the situation.

“I’m the one asking questions,” she retorted, affecting an air of being insulted. “Or at least I will be.” She then switched to the part of a shy maiden, and with a little curtsey, asked “D’ya like my outfit?”

My rising erection made it pointless to answer in the negative and unnecessary to answer in the positive, so I just narrowed my eyes at her.

“I see that you do,” she winked, now with an air of sultriness. “We thought you might.” She moved closer, looking slightly downwards at me.

“We?” I repeated back as a question, though not really expecting an answer.

In response she just smiled and reached out a gloved hand, resting it on my inner thigh. The sudden electricity of the contact and the eroticness of her close presence made my body jerk. “How do I make you feel?” she whispered, while letting her fingers graze my balls and drawing another jerk from me. I growled at her from frustration and sexual tension. “Mmm?” she said, as though pressing for an answer. She brought her face and her piercing blue eyes closer to mine.

The sense of helplessness was terrifying, and there was no doubt in the higher centers of my brain that I was in a bad situation, but at such close range her beauty was overwhelming . . . I strained forward against my forehead strap.

She showered me with the musical tinkling of her laugh and moved away. I sat back, frustrated by losing her close presence and frustrated at myself for so easily responding in the way she wanted. “Perhaps that’s enough foreplay, what do you think?” she said as she moved past my left side, out of my field of vision.

I heard a brief rattling of glass as she took something from somewhere behind me, and then breezed back into my field of vision, throwing a bit of a spin into her motion so as to bring her short white skirt up a few inches. My eyes snapped to the creamy white skin between her shimmering stockings and her skirt. I felt keenly how even the direction of my gaze was utterly under her control.

“Now,” she began, as she hopped up on top of me, straddling my legs. The sudden contact of leg on silk and leg on leg took my breath away. “Have you ever heard of vasopressin?” she continued. She brought one arm up to show me what she had brought: a small syringe filled with a clear liquid. “No, of course not,” she grinned, answering her own question.

At such close range her eyes, not to mention her tight top, were entrancing, but I forced myself with growing dread to listen to her words. “It’s a male hormone, naturally occurring, that causes that surge of affection and attachment after orgasm. Y’know? Some guys do have more than others, though. Anyway, it helps loosen the lips, too. That’s where all that silly rambling pillow talk comes from.”

The contrast between her sexual presence and her matter-of-fact tone was both odd and erotic, and the way her voice dropped to a whisper at the end send shivers down my spine.

“What do you think I’ve got here?” she asked. I just stared back, numbly. “A synthetic version of the hormone—in this amount, more’n a hundred times stronger than the stuff you’ve got naturally. Won’t go away, either, ‘cuz your body won’t know how to get rid of it.” She brought her face even closer and grinned predatorially. “Get this running through your system, and after I make you cum harder than you ever thought you could, you’ll worship the ground I walk on. You’ll be so devoted to me you’d to anything for me, even kill or die.”

And you’ll tell me anything and everything we want to know.

A cold shudder passed through me as suddenly, everything made sense.

I’d of course had the standard training for resisting torture, and I knew lots of false, plausible information that was supposed to save my skin in a normal torture situation. Although honestly, I’d never felt too confident about how well I’d hold up. But this . . . this . . . there’s no way . . .

“Are you ready?” she asked solicitously through rhetorically. One black-encased hand went down towards my crotch, taking my thoughts in the same direction. Then her other hand, holding the syringe, came up to my shoulder as though to embrace me.

“Not fair . . .” I whimpered, utterly and completely helpless. She giggled. I wanted to struggle but couldn’t see any point in it.

“It’ll just be a little prick,” she cooed in my ear and she brought the syringe to the side of my neck. I felt the slickness of her hand begin to massage my erection up and down. I groaned, distracted, and then felt the prick in my neck. I imagined I could feel a warmth spreading from one prick to the other.

After a few interminable seconds, my mind split between the sensation in my neck and the movements of her hand, she threw the empty syringe away behind me, and I heard it clatter on the floor. With a sudden surge of motion she . . . threw both arms around me and pressed her body against mine. In any other situation I would have called it a hug. Her breasts, straining against their prison, pressed against my chest, and I felt her glossy mane of hair brush against my side. With a girlish giggle she asked “How does that feel?”

My heart was pounding from the surfeit of sensation. I was sure she could feel it, as close as our bodies were . . . a thought which made me even more excited despite myself. I felt an almost irresistible impulse to throw my arms around her as well, and squeeze tight, but fortunately my wrist straps prevented me.

Finally she disengaged herself from me, dismounted from my legs, and purred, “Now for the fun part.” The sexual energy in her voice and movements made me even harder than I had been, and her hand went back to my cock. She wrapped her gloved hand around it and squeezed. The sensation of the silk against my manhood was driving me wild, and then she began stroking rhythmically up and down, up and down.

I strained against my bonds, although perhaps it was more out of my lust-filled mind’s desire to get closer to her than out of a desire to escape. She must have sensed that, damn her, because she purred, “Getting impatient, are we?” She dropped to her knees while keeping her oh-so-wonderful hand on my cock.

“No—” I protested, seeing what was coming. She drew languorously closer to my cock—her lips drew closer to my cock—and I felt like I was going to cum from anticipation alone. The sight of her shiny hair cascading over the crisscrossing back straps of her corset top was breathtaking. And then I felt her warm breath on the tip of my manhood. Involuntarily—I swear it wasn’t a conscious movement—I thrust my pelvis forward, trying to get closer. She deftly moved back as I did so, maintaining the exact same distance.

Okay. Cool it, I said to myself. I shut my eyes and tried to suppress the fires of lust in my mind. Get a grip. Think of the most unerotic thing you

My brief attempt at internal rebellion was interrupted as I felt warm wetness on my cockhead. I gasped out loud as her mouth enveloped first my tip, and then moved down on my shaft. With my eyes closed, my entire world of sensation was filled to the brim by her mouth sliding down on my member, squeezing, licking, sucking . . . oh God!

“No!” I cried out, opening my eyes to see the lithe little black-haired beauty bobbing now down, and now up, in time with the pleasure coursing through my veins like hot . . . ohhh . . . electricity. I couldn’t decide which was worse; that breathtaking sight or the intense pure feeling of having my eyes closed.

“Fuck . . . why . . . damn . . . I . . .,” I gurgled, a stream of random words like the random spasms of a machine short-circuited by an overload of current. “Please . . . please . . . please . . .,” I began repeating like a mantra, like a broken record. I don’t know if I was asking her to please stop, or to please stop playing around and just fuck my brains out.

I felt groan-inducing tightness along my shaft as she gave one last squeeze with her mouth before coming loose with an audible pop. “You can’t just—” I started.

“I think,” she interrupted my meaningless protest, “you’re getting ready to cum for me . . . what do you think?” Barely giving me a moment’s rest from sensation, she teased my balls with her long, silk-covered fingertips as she tilted her head up to fix me with her piercing, mesmerizing blue-eyed stare. It was clearly a rhetorical question, as she seemed to know my body even better than I did.

“I—I don’t know,” I lied in a whisper, unable to deny her but unwilling to give in completely.

“Feel free to try and resist,” she smirked mockingly. “More fun for me that way! But you’re mine now, and I’m going to make you cum whether you want to or not—believe you me.” I believed her. “So, what do you think I’m wearing under here?” she asked, brushing her feathery white skirt with her idle hand. I just shook my head helplessly at the sudden conversational swerve. She stood up, bent forward, and whispered in my ear: ”nothing.”

As she mounted me once again, sliding her hands up my sides, I felt as though I could hear a silent roaring in my ears. The sound of my life as I knew it, my free will, approaching a dead end at full speed. “No!” I shouted, as though I could avoid my impending doom with volume alone. She just laughed and nuzzled at my neck faux-lovingly as she wrapped a hand around my cock and gave another squeeze, tearing a moan of pleasure and frustration from my lips.

With her other hand she lifted her skirt, and though my forehead strap kept me from looking, I felt like I could sense the closeness of her welcoming slit. I whimpered as without a pause she began to guide me in. The tip of my cock felt delicious warmth, and then an even more delicious tightness as I slipped inside my enslaver. My hips bucked of their own accord.

Suddenly a moment of clarity—an eye in the storm—came upon my lust-filled mind. This girl was going to make me explode against my will, and in the process steal everything I have to offer, up to and including the rest of my life. Perhaps after she had drained me dry of cum and willpower, after they had drained me dry of information, they’d try sending me back to the agency as a mole. Which would probably get me killed . . . but then how precious is life really, when it’s no longer your own?

Then the moment had passed, and the sensations began enveloping me like a riptide. Her smooth legs sliding against mine and her skirt tickling my thighs. Her Lycra-encased breasts pressing against my chest and the sight of her silky hair against her bare upper back. The . . . aaaugh! . . . tightness on my cock, varying from merely tight to mind-searing as she squeezed me inside her once, twice, thrice . . . and then stopped. She pulled her head back a little and looked up at me. “Any last words?”

I opened my mouth to respond. All that came out was: “unnngh!”

Satisfied with my answer, such as it was, she resumed squeezing my cock inside her, now also rhythmically undulating her luscious body against mine. It was all too much. Everything about her was clearly engineered to press my buttons, and I felt the stirrings, pulsating deep in the base of my cock, that meant I was losing it. I tried to fight the unwanted pleasure suffusing my body but it—she—was far beyond my ability to resist.

As though she could tell—probably from the increasingly guttural moans slipping from my lips with each undulation of her petite hips—how close she was to forcing me to orgasm against my will, she accelerated her pace. “You’re mine, baby,” she hissed into my ear as I reached that point of no return.

As she drove me over it and I felt my load begin to shoot into her, I let out a final wordless yell.