The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She was mesmerizing; wearing a black corset that hugged her waist tightly before blossoming outward to display her swelling breasts to perfection. She sat at the bar, waiting and watching, and I couldn’t believe that she wasn’t thronged with people. In a club where many of the women wore makeup to look paler against the mostly black clothes they preferred, she needed none. Her hair was dark until one of the lights from the dance floor hit it. Then the dark red highlights showed like flames, matching the burgundy leather miniskirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs. Her crossed legs showed off black leather boots with stacked heels—no stilettos for her. Her boots were like her: full, shapely, and voluptuous. I realize in hindsight that I am describing her like anyone else would. But I am not anyone else, I am her slave, and to be truthful, the first thing I noticed about her was her necklace.

It was a large red stone. People talk about blood red as being a dark color, but blood is really impossibly, vividly bright. This stone was instead a deep wine color, much like the drink she was swirling and sipping as she surveyed the club. No warm gold for her, either. It was set in silver that looked old—I don’t know what to call it—but it was silver chased with black and a little on the ornate side. Antique, perhaps. The stone was large and the chain was long enough that the pendant could almost get lost between her beautiful breasts. But it didn’t. It stayed in place even as my eyes strayed lower, wondering if the nipples that were barely restrained by the top of the corset were dark like the stone or were the pale pink that her skin tone promised. But again, when the lights hit it, it flared into life as her hair did, with brighter and somehow deeper red tones.

I stopped still as soon as I saw the pendant, then took a moment to look at the woman wearing it. I suppose my lack of motion caught her eye, because she immediately turned in my direction. Her eyes widened slightly in invitation, an invitation I thought could not be for me. I must have looked puzzled, though, because she then raised her chin slightly, motioning me toward her. And I had to go, as I have had to do everything she has required of me since.

The bar at this club is raised a step above the dance floor, and she stopped me before I was able to take that step. I am not a tall man, although I found out later that I am still taller than my mistress even when she is wearing those high-heeled boots. But this difference in floor height, added to the fact that she was still sitting on a barstool, put my eye level right at the tops of her breasts, so that I was staring directly at the pendant. She did not seem to find this strange at all. In fact, she greeted me with, “You are drawn to the stone, aren’t you?” I assented. “It pulls you in, doesn’t it?” Again, I nodded. “I could feel it call to you. You are very receptive.” Her voice was warm and sexy. I was lost in it.

“I am Rachel, but you may call me Mistress.” I know it seems like an odd thing for her to say to someone she had just met, and with some part of my mind, I noticed, but for the most part, I felt completely helpless to wonder about such things. When I didn’t answer, she asked, “Would you like that?” Without considering the question at all, I heard myself answering, “Yes, Mistress.”

She sipped her wine. “Look into my eyes now.” I raised my eyes to hers very slowly. I was torn between two alternatives, staring at the pendant and obeying her voice. Both seemed urgent, although I could not have told you why. “My eyes are much like the stone you are drawn to,” she said reasonably. And then I saw it. Of course they were. Looking into her eyes was just like looking at the stone. “Do you see that now?”

“Yes, mistress,” I answered. I knew that it wasn’t logical, but on the other hand, I knew that it was true. It was like I couldn’t control my own mind. She had taken it over and now she and her dark eyes and her deep red pendant got to determine what was logical and what wasn’t.

“You want to obey me, don’t you?” she asked.

“Yes, Mistress,” was the only possible reply.

“When the stone calls to you or my eyes capture you, you have to obey me, don’t you?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

“Good. Then follow me.” She took one last sip of that ruby red wine, leaned down to kiss me so deeply that I could taste it in her mouth, and walked away without looking to see if I was following her.

And of course I did, my legs shaking from the intensity of her kiss and the inevitability of my obedience. She walked onto the dance floor and turned to me. That part of my mind that was still mine—that tiny corner—told me to leave. I was no dancer. I was an observer, a basically shy person who came to the club with friends to socialize and watched the women who wanted to be watched. I had never once even considered entering the dance floor myself. But when she turned to me and stepped so near me that I could smell her perfume, I had to obey. Her pendant caught the light and my eyes were drawn to it. I moved with her in a way that was breathtakingly intimate. Her hands pulled me toward her and guided my hands to her waist, her hips, her face. I wanted her more than I had ever wanted anything, and being able to touch her, even in such a public setting, was intensely pleasurable. After an eternity of this rhythm and motion, the music changed and again she motioned for me to follow her.

I noticed that when I couldn’t see her eyes or her necklace, I was more able to think for myself. Not that I wanted to disobey exactly, but it certainly seemed like she was leading me to do things I wouldn’t ordinarily do. However, when I was looking into the pendant or staring into her eyes, I was only vaguely aware that I used to be a person with free will.

“I require something from my car,” she said, turning toward me. “You will accompany me.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The air outside was much cooler than the packed club had been. She led the way to a sleek silver car parked at the very end of a row of cars, partially hidden by an old tree that the parking lot pavers hadn’t had the heart to get rid of. It was an Acura NSX. When I could feel the pull of her pendant, there was no way that I could even entertain the thought that she wasn’t the most perfect, most utterly sexy woman in the world. But so far even my rational mind approved of her taste in wardrobe and cars. And if her taste in men was a bit avant guard (she did pick me, after all), who was I to complain?

She walked around to the passenger side, putting the car between us and the rest of the lot, and unlocked the car. I never did see where she got the key from, or for that matter, where it went after she used it. There was a small black package on the seat. She picked it up and sat down sideways in the seat, keeping her feet on the ground. This I watched with great interest, especially since the view down the front of her corset was breathtaking. With every breath, her full round breasts seemed to rise almost to the point of spilling out of their confines. “Kneel,” she said, and I did it without question. She opened the package, and I tore my eyes from her to see what it was that she uncovered. It was a pair of long black gloves, made of some stretchy, silky material. I am not good at knowing these kinds of details, but whatever they were made of made me yearn to touch them. She separated the pair and gave me one, telling me that I should help her put it on. She showed me how to gather up the material (“like putting on stockings,” she said) so that she could put her hand directly into the glove. Then I smoothed the rest of the glove up over her arm slowly while she closed her eyes and tilted her head back slightly. The feel of her arm through the sleek material was unbelievably arousing.

In fact, I had had an erection ever since I was convinced that her invitation at the bar was for me. And normally, that fact would have made me even more likely to avoid the very public dance floor. But I could only think of her and her eyes and her ruby-red pendant. When she motioned for me to put the second glove on, I moved with a little more assurance. And if I thought I was aroused before, I must have been kidding myself, because I was rock hard now, looking at the silky material covering her arms, leaving her white shoulders and breasts more splendidly bare. “Did you enjoy that?” Her voice brought me back to awareness, if you could call my state awareness. “Oh, yes, Mistress,” I breathed. Her eyes captured mine as I continued kneeling in front of her. “Now you will give me pleasure,” she said. All at once I knew what she meant, and I simultaneously thought that I could never do that here, in a public place, and that of course I would do it because she required it of me. Her hand strayed down to the silver chain, the pendant, and below, drawing my eyes. The sight of her black-clad fingers caressing her breasts made my breath catch in my throat, but it was looking at the red stone set in silver that made me know immediately that I would have to obey.

She brought my hands to her legs, letting me run my fingers up the insides of her thighs as she opened her legs and I lowered my head to taste her. I started tentatively, using only my tongue to caress her, but her moans made me kiss her and suck her more insistently. I could think of nothing but making her come and how wonderful she tasted and felt and sounded. Her hands found my hair and pulled me against her as I buried my face between her legs. I couldn’t stop—I couldn’t think of anything else until she came with a long shuddering moan that was the most beautiful sound in the world to me. Far from being self-conscious (although I knew with some part of my brain that I should be), I was happy to have pleased my mistress so well.

It seemed as though my contact with what I thought of as my rational mind was slipping. I would do anything my mistress wanted. After a few moments, she gracefully rose, motioned for me to stand up, and kissed me deeply. Her hands pressed my body to hers, trapping my erection between us, torturing me with pleasure. Looking into my eyes, she said, “You are a good slave. I knew you would be. The stone calls to you very strongly.” She paused, while I marveled at how her eyes and the pendant were so much alike, at least in their effect on me. “You will be rewarded.”

She turned to go, and I hastened to shut the car door and follow. At the door to the club, we were readmitted without question. I suppose the call of the stone worked on more than just me. We went back to the bar, where she ordered two drinks but did not sit down. When they came (again, I did not see any payment or discussion of payment take place, so I assume the willowy blonde behind the bar was also in the power of my mistress), she handed me one and led the way toward a spiral staircase whose foot was guarded by a club employee. I had long known that the loft above was really a private club, and I was not at all surprised when my mistress and I were passed through without question. Since I was still following obediently, I got to watch the play of her hips under the tight leather skirt as we climbed the stairs. At the top, we sat at a small round table where we could watch the dance floor below. Five or six similar tables were occupied around us.

“Taste your drink,” she said with a smile. It looked like a Coke, but it was laced with the unmistakable taste of Jack Daniels. She sipped the same thing, then leaned in to kiss me, probing my mouth greedily with her tongue. We sat like this for a few moments. I could not say how long, because I was content to just watch the play of the lights over her hair, her eyes, the pendant, and her beautiful breasts. “You want to touch them, don’t you?” she asked.

I was taken slightly aback; I didn’t realize how transparent I was. I nodded obediently. “Do it,” she commanded. And just as I thought I could never reach my hand out across the table in front of the others seated on the balcony with us, I did it. The pull of her voice was so strong that I couldn’t help myself. Her skin was like velvet. I took several deep breaths. She smiled. “I think it’s time.”

She rose from the table and led the way to a door set in the back wall. Unlike the crowded club below, with its large bathrooms, the balcony had a much smaller private bathroom, which we entered together. She locked the door behind us. Had I been able to spare any thought to the matter, I would have been embarrassed that all those other people saw us go in together, but I could only think of her. Once inside, she walked over to the mirror and gazed into it. I followed, and once I got there, she pulled my hands around her so that I was caressing her breasts with the front of my body pressed to her back. I could look over her shoulder into the mirror and watch her face as I touched her. When she stretched her hands above her head and her nipples finally did come free, my thumbs found them and her moans intensified. I kept looking at my hands on her body and the red pendant hanging between her breasts.

After what seemed like an eternity, she turned to me and ran her hands up under the tshirt I wore. I gasped as she touched my chest and pulled on my nipples. Her hands found my belt and before I knew it, my jeans were around my ankles and her hands were touching my cock through my boxers. “You want me, don’t you?” she asked. “Oh, yes, mistress,” I breathed. She was stroking me now, very slowly. “Then you will take me.” She pushed me back just enough that she could turn back and bend over the sink. I got rid of my boxers as quickly as I could and then I felt her hand come back and guide me into her. Her leather skirt I pushed my cock deep inside, feeling how wet she was, watching her eyes in the mirror the whole time. She gasped and moved against me until we found a rhythm. My hands were on her waist, which felt tiny under the black corset, as I pounded into her again and again. She was so tight and wet around me. Her moans got louder and louder until she came so loudly that I knew the others on the balcony could hear her, even over the music. “Now you,” she commanded, and I came in a rush that left me weak. What an amazing feeling that was.

And afterwards, sitting back at our table, sipping our drinks, the lights flashed on her pendant as I listened expectantly to where she wanted me to be the next weekend. I am truly her slave, you see, and my mistress gets whatever she wants.