The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Your Place Or Mine Chapter 4

She had made us choose to sit still and quiet, so we had done so since she’d left 2 hours ago. She also told us we could think, and I imagine Chris did a lot more of that than I.

She wasn’t able to return my glances at her as she had been frozen into her last position of looking down at the floor. Her body occasionally convulsed and shook very slightly—likely as much as allowed by her choice—as she continued to cry. She had quite large breasts, and the left bore a slight trace of my cum that had dripped onto it from her face.

What could possibly be going through her mind? I don’t know how quickly She had turned the tables onto her, or what choices were given to her that led to her being silent, naked, and compelled to return home in Her car. It was impossible to accurately guess what she’d been like prior to this evening of course, but I could actually imagine her to normally be the kind of woman who was strong, energetic, charismatic and gregarious in the company of friends but intimidating to strangers. She’d very likely never be that woman again. I imagined her to be in her early 30’s. Just as with me, every trial and tribulation, every celebration and accomplishment and victory she’d experienced in her life, every hobby she’d pursued, skill she laboriously developed, or belief system she’d formed... it was all now deemed irrelevant and meaningless in the capricious wake of a twisted stranger’s impossible power. Witnessing the devastating, violating effect of Her magic on another person left me just as frightened as pondering its effects on myself had. And yes, equally aroused as well.

I glanced down at myself for possibly the 20th time since She’d taken me the night prior—probably not quite even 24 hours ago. I left the bar with her that night as a well-dressed single man, and for all I know it would prove to be the last time in my life I wore such clothing. This feminine, submissive outfit She’d imposed on me could be forever, or eventually it may be replaced with another like it. Either way, the clothes I wore from this point forward would no longer be a willful, calculated expression of my intent, class, social status, aspirations, etc. Instead, they’d express what She’d shaped me into, with a succinctness my own choice in clothing never could. The clothes and I combined to symbolize submission and compliance, power reversal, perversion and kink. And as defeated as I felt by glancing at the clothes I was imprisoned in, I had to admit that they actually felt good on me. Very good, in fact, and I imagine they were expensive. The immaculate soft smoothness of the fabric, the juxtaposition between how feather-light the material was yet how tight and omnipresent the bra straps, stockings, and panty lines felt... the physical sensations of the clothing conflicted with how I felt by looking at them.

I glanced again at Chris, and the thought suddenly occurred to me that her abduction might prove to be a huge mistake. I’m sure she’d reported the license plate of Her car as part of routine and protocol. Obviously, the police would have quite a lead to follow once Chris’ car was found on the side of the road and/or her absence was noticed. And if She were arrested... well, what would become of us? It wouldn’t quite be liberating to be removed from Her clutches while still under Her power’s effects, particularly with me unable to orgasm, remove this outfit or even pull my panties past my stockings without Her permission. Could something like hypnosis counteract Her control? I very strongly doubted it.

I heard the sound of squeaking brakes outside, followed by a car door closing a few seconds later. The engine still seemed to be running. She didn’t have neighbors in very close proximity so I imagined it was Her. A few seconds later I heard the car drive away—if it was Her arriving, She had been dropped off by someone.

I felt myself tighten with anticipation when I heard Her keys enter the lock, something I imagined I’d do every time in the future. I looked at Chris. Her trembling resumed, though again likely limited by her choice-imposed paralysis.

She entered the living room casually with two large bags in tow. This understated air was a radical departure from Her previous, more dramatic entrance, yet it presented much more authority over us. No need to taunt you it said. We all know where we stand here.

“Sorry it took me so long,” She said almost distantly, as if She was speaking while sorting mail. “I’m back now so I guess you both can move, and you can speak Isaac. But Chris, you can either remain on the floor on your knees, or lie face down on the floor.” Chris meekly chose the second. I imagine her knees were incredibly sore. I noticed a large silver circle protruding from her ass, probably a metal plug I hadn’t seen or used yet.

“Miss,” I said, since I didn’t know how else to address her. “What about the police? Won’t they notice Chris is gone and know...”

“Isaac, I’m touched!” She interrupted. “Both by your concern and how formally you addressed me. But I’ve got that all taken care of. It wasn’t actually my car I was driving when I hauled Chris off. It was a fancy Audi of some sort I took from some older gentleman who preferred to give me his car to giving me his daughter. So I just dropped it off downtown with the keys in the ignition after wiping it down and took a cab back. I don’t think they’ll know where she is, and we’ll probably be moving to bigger digs soon anyway.”

She reached into her bag and produced two collars. “Now Chris,” She said. “Tap your left foot to the ground if you want your body’s absolute obedience to me to be signified by wearing a black collar, or your right to the ground if you want it signified by wearing a chrome collar.” Chris tapped her right to the ground with no noticeable trace of the decision’s magnitude. Miss knelt to the ground, removed Chris’ crucifix, tossed it aside, and applied the chrome collar, locking it in place with a small metal padlock.

“I grew tired of the choice method with her,” She explained to me. “Now let’s try this out. Chris, stand up, pull that plug out of your ass, and place it into your mouth.” Chris did as told immediately, likely powered by the same unstoppable reflexive mechanism that regulates her heart beat. The plug was enormous, and Chris’ mouth was nearly unable to accommodate it. She breathed out of her nose frantically, eyes nearly as wide as her mouth.

“Very good. Now get back on the floor, face down, and stay there.” Chris again complied. This was an incredibly brutal act, and I felt very grateful that I hadn’t been rude to Miss when I’d met her. I imagine that feeling was part of the purpose of Her order.

She casually sat on the couch next to me, almost as if we were equals. “You know, all of this has made be pretty damned horny. I was going to make Chris here try to get me to come by rubbing my clit on her nose, but you know... I think I just want a good old-fashioned fuck. Would you follow me to your room?” I rose to my feet and followed Her, cognizant of how I’d much rather She fuck me instead but still more than eager to comply.

We walked down Her small hallway to a locked door that led to a room I hadn’t yet seen in my cleaning rounds. She unlocked the door and entered, me following right behind Her. It was sparse and small and tidy, something that had probably been an office prior to Her discovery. There was what looked like a full-sized bed on the far wall with a four post iron frame, and a chest of drawers across from it. A large mirror was mounted on the wall to the right of the bed. The closet to the left had mirrored doors. It was dimly lit by an overhead fixture, but I could still make out the leather cuffs attached to each post by rope. It didn’t take much of an imagination to anticipate how they’d be used.

“I like to fuck on top, as you may have guessed,” She said. “Go lie on that bed on your back.” I obeyed again, still driven by my own will but also aware that resistance would ultimately be futile at best and severely punished at worst. She walked over to the foot of the bed, slightly lifted my left ankle, and fastened the cuff firmly around it. She repeated the same with each of my limbs, then knelt to the side of the bed. I felt each restraint pull taut to the point of completely immobilizing me, my hands and feet suspended a few inches from the bed. She then stood next to the bed, placed a small leather gag into my obedient mouth, fastened it behind my head, and began to undress with a seductively predatory smile.

When She was naked, She walked to the chest of drawers and produced a harness with a dildo already attached. This dildo was actually a bit smaller than some She’d previously used, probably the same size as the first one I’d been introduced to last night—about eight inches in length I’d guess.

She must have seen my eyes widen in delight, but She merely shook her head and approached me. She then began to fasten the harness to me, working underneath my French Maid dress but on top of my panties. She pulled the straps tightly enough to make me wince, and then climbed onto the bed on top of me.

Without saying a word but wearing a smile that said plenty, She mounted the strap-on and began to ride it. Slowly at first, but with plenty force. I watched helplessly as She pleasured herself upon me without me feeling anything but slightly painful pressure, desperately wishing I’d been inside of Her as She moaned in teasing ecstasy. She quickened her pace to porn-star levels, rising up and crashing back down upon the dildo at ridiculous tempo. Visually and audibly this resembled incredible sex, only without any physical reward on my part whatsoever. I did feel my ass clench upon the plug I still had in me as a result of Her vigor, but it did not resemble the blissful anal sex She administered enough to be pleasurable.

The psychological effect—likely well-considered on her part—was profound. I’d felt used and marginalized by Her before but not quite close to this level. She tauntingly alternated between fast and slow, experienced incredibly erotic, forceful orgasms, placed Her hands on my dress and caressed pretend tits, stopped entirely to catch Her breath on occasion, and even collapsed upon me and embraced me a few times. Her arousal was blatant, as was the fact that it was caused by the dynamic between us and the predicament She’d inflicted upon me. There was not much of a trace that She was attracted to any quality I naturally possessed—rather, She was turned on by how She’d rendered me. If there was a better way of establishing me as little but Her plaything, I couldn’t imagine what it could be.

When She was finally finished, She merely rose from me dreamily and left the room without saying a word, shutting the door behind Her. I hadn’t been bound to the bed by any choice She’d laid out, but I was completely immobilized by the rope and cuffs. I tested their strength, not quite sure what I’d accomplish even if I escaped the bonds. But after a few seconds I knew they wouldn’t give. I glanced down to see the dildo pointing towards the ceiling mockingly.

Several moments later I heard a door shut down the hall, I imagine from Her own bedroom. I began to wonder what predicament Chris was in, but a few moments later I heard Miss’ cries of arousal again, occasionally punctuated by shouts of “Lick harder!” or “Faster, slave!” This was later replaced by the unmistakable sound of a creaking metal bed frame mixed with firecracker-like slaps. In comparison I suppose I got off easy. Well, I didn’t technically “get off” at all, but you know what I mean.

Eventually the night became quiet. The silence was eerily unwelcome.