The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Denise was on her exercise bike when the doorbell rang. She walked down the lushly carpeted hallway, wiping the sweat from her brow with a small pink towel, and opened the door.

It was the Dry Cleaning Store delivery guy. Steve or Sam was his name, something like that, she seemed to remember from the years he had been making her weekly delivery. Over his arm was the familiar collection of clean garments on hangers, each in a thin transparent polythene protective bag.

She flicked her head, tossing long auburn hair to one side, and treated Steve/Sam to one of her best, perfectly bleached, dazzling white MILF smiles, taking the dry cleaning from him.

Wordless transaction complete, she closed the door again and walked back down the hall, placing the clothes on a chair near the bottom of the stairs, before returning to the bike to finish her exercise schedule.

Denise was the very picture of a forty-something, fit, career focused top executive. Very, very, early forties, she liked to remind everyone. Well-off, well-dressed, super-fit, with that natural air of superior authority of a woman who knows she is in charge.

Not that her career choices hadn’t come at a price. Boyfriends had come and gone, all eventually driven away by her single-minded focus on her career, which left no room for distractions like children, or long-term commitments like marriage. So by far her longest lasting relationship to date was with her vibrator.

It was a price she had found easy to accept. Besides, there was still time to marry a handsome eye-candy house husband, and adopt a couple of kids for him to look after, without it having to trouble the trajectory of her career.

It wasn’t until later that day, in the afternoon, that Denise took the pile of dry cleaning upstairs to her large walk-in dressing room to put it away.

It was only then that she saw the store had made a mistake. A wrong garment tucked unseen in the middle of her own clothes.

A wrong dress. An obscenely short wrong dress. A hideously green sequined, obscenely short, wrong dress. As if anyone would ever think she would wear a cheap and nasty dress like that. Although it looked about her size, it was so short, it would clearly rise up exposing the buttocks as soon as the unlucky wearer bent over in the slightest way.

She wondered what type of person would actually choose to wear something like that, and to what type of event. Clearly an event that involved no bending and ideally as little movement as possible.

Denise removed that garment’s protective plastic covering to examine the little grey identifying ticket pinned onto the left arm by the dry cleaning store. Printed on it was her name and address. She groaned. No simple mistake then. She would have to return it to the store in the hope they could identify the real owner.

She looked at the manufacturers’ black label sewn inside the neck of dress. All it said in a punk style white script was ‘Bitch Slut’. Well, they got that right at least, she laughed to herself.

Denise put the rest of her dry cleaning away, and left the wrong dress out, hanging on a closet door handle, to return it tomorrow.

She slept fitfully that night, for no obvious reason. At 4.30am she woke and padded to the bathroom to pee. On her way back to bed, passing her dressing room, she glanced, almost anxiously, at the wrong green dress. Through the moonlight filtering into the house, it looked as if the sequins were moving and shimmering expectantly in the pale light.

Denise woke unaccountably late the next morning, perhaps due to her disturbed night. After visiting the bathroom to shower, she walked naked into her dressing room.

On a whim, she picked up the slutty green sequined wrong dress by the hanger, to see it against her body in the full length mirror. If she was going to a Tarts & Vicars party it would be ideal, heaven forbid, but it would have to be longer, she doubted this one would even cover her modesty.

There couldn’t be any harm in trying it on, she suddenly thought, just to see how bad it really was. After all, she had just showered, so her clean naked body wouldn’t leave any traces when she took it back to the dry cleaners still in pristine condition.

The silky lining material slipped effortlessly over her head and down her body, at least as far as it went. Her skin felt good, almost tingly sensitive under its touch, and against all expectations, no pubic hair was actually visible, just.

She regarded herself in the mirror. Bitch slut was right. If she ever needed to fall back on prostitution to survive, then this green dress would most certainly do. Still, there was no denying it felt unexpectedly good on, tingly, nice. No, better than nice, her nipples were erect, and her pussy damp. She was feeling positively horny she realised, even as she zoned out starring at herself in the mirror.

Denise snapped back to reality when the doorbell rang. There was no time to change, so she simply padded downstairs in the green dress to answer the front door.

Sat on her doormat, in the warm lunchtime sunshine, was a dog. A big dog. One of those slivery husky types with intelligent looking piercing blue eyes.

The mysterious hound appeared to be alone, with no collar to identify an owner. Denise stepped out to the side of the dog so she could look left and right for the missing owner, but no-one else was there. A prank then maybe, she thought, I mean how else did it ring the doorbell?

As these questions went through her mind, the dog appeared to take matters into its own paws, by walking into her hallway. With no prankster in sight, and no-one else around, Denise simply followed him in and closed the door.

“Now let’s see if we can’t find out where you are from” Denise said, as she knelt alongside stroking his silky soft fur. “Oh… my… and you’re such a big boy too” she added as his red dog cock unsheathed in response to her stroking.

The hound’s lustful, scarlet red rocket had a pointed flaring tip to allow for easy entry, the impressive glistening shaft thicker and longer than Denise’s trusty vibrator, with the crowning glory at the base, the bulbus dog knot, to dominate and trap his mate, consuming her with his hot juicy passion. And juicy it certainly already was, squirting almost constant self-lubricating canine precum. There was just so much of it!

Denise had almost forgotten how horny and tingly she was already feeling herself in the strange dress, as she moved one hand inappropriately, as if in a dream, towards the delicious glistening dog cock. Her other hand moving across her thighs to begin fiddling in between her own legs.

Nothing is wrong though she tells herself. She is a Bitch Slut after all. Her pussy is reassuringly wet with lust. And the fingers of her other hand are slick with the dog’s precum as she wanks him. Without thinking Denise sucks her sticky fingers clean before returning to the job in hand. Just a Bitch wanking her Stud.

Mummm…. Dog cum is delicious she tells herself. Wait, is that her own inner voice? No, she can hear another voice in her head, getting louder, stronger. She can hear the dog. Her Stud. Her Master.

She is such a good girl for Him. A Bitch Slut for her furry lover. Dog cum is delicious. But dog sex is the best. Her Stud’s thoughts fill her mind to the exclusion of all others, as she again sucks her sticky fingers clean. Good bitches get on all fours. Good bitches obey.

In mindless obedience she moves onto all fours on the hallway carpet in front of her canine Master. The green dress plays its part, riding up over her bare ass, exposing her to Him, as she wags her tail invitingly. A Bitch in heat.

She feels a cold nose against her labia, then a long rasping tongue licks her once, twice, three times. She orgasms from the overwhelming pleasure.

Then the Stud mounts her, his big dog cock slapping against her bare ass repeatedly in quick thrusts as it tries to find its mark. She reaches round to help guide it into her wet pussy, and supports his weight on top of her by steadying his front legs with her own, paw to paw.

Her world explodes into mindless bliss as the perfect big dog cock fills her, violently jackhammering in and out of her cunt with the unimaginably rapid thrusting of her enthusiastic furry lover. She quickly orgasms again, and then a third time, howling with pleasure under the assault.

She feels that huge dog knot starting to press up against her pussy with increasing urgency, threatening to tear her open. Then suddenly it has popped inside her, her vulva closing back around it like a seal stretched tight, Bitch and Stud locked together in perfect unison.

Her Dog Master’s jackhammer fucking finally ceases, only to be replaced by strong pumping spasms of the big dog cock locked inside her. She feels her stomach distending as her puppy bearing womb is filled with gallons of potent dog cum. It is as if a piece of her soul is there, wrapped tightly around that dog’s twitching, squirting dick. She imagines her titties swelling for her new pups to suckle.

The lovers stay locked together in ecstasy for what feels like hours, her body absorbing more and more of the dog cum plugged up inside her. And when her Dog Master finally dismounts his Bitch, she passes out in satisfied, elated exhaustion.

Denise doesn’t wake until the next morning. Naked on the hall carpet, her mouth and cunt encrusted with dried dog cum.

The wrong green dress, and the dog, have both vanished. She is alone.

Denise quickly showers, phones in sick to work, and drives straight over to the Dog Pound to adopt a stray. A nice big Stud Master. Or maybe two, or three, she smiles to herself, after all this Bitch has three good holes for servicing her new pack.

Far away, in another city, in a small store, a row of dry cleaning awaits delivery.

Tucked away, on a plastic covered hanger, among someone else’s clothes, is the wrong green dress.

A little grey dry cleaning ticket is pinned on the left arm. Printed on it is your name and address.