The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Maddie was a featured speaker during the first morning of the conference, and she found herself at loose ends for the rest of the day. She had resolved to attend most of programs put on by other speakers, but she was only half listening, drifting from room to room in the big conference center, taking a seat in the back so as to be present, but not involved. She was no longer able to get interested in the proceedings. She had to admit: It was the same tired rhetoric, she had heard so many times before. She watched an angry woman in a camouflage jacket, working herself up into a hysteria, as she harangued all males as part of some international conspiracy. The few pathetic males in the audience hung their heads in shame. Maddie let her mind drift; she thought of men. Men!

It was a subject always on her mind of late. Not the sort of pasty, weak-kneed, bloodless males that attended this sort of conference, the “male feminists” who tripped over themselves in their efforts to be ‘sensitive’. No, she was feeling the need for a real man, one who would take her, and use her to satisfy this lusty needs. For days now, there only been one thing on her mind: Sex! Sex, sex, sex! It had been driving her crazy! She saw men watching her: imagined thick bulges tightening the front of their pants, their eyes following her with the look of a man wanting a woman. She felt she could see it in their eyes: rutting lust; raw, animal lust. Was she, could she be... a sex object? Did the men who watched her? Want to fuck her?

As the day wore, on she became increasingly restless. Thoughts of sex turned her insides to mush; leaving her all fluttery. For no reason, a powerful surge of randiness would ripple through her. One time, she had to rush back to her room in the middle of a talk, so as to roll on the bed,, with her hands jammed between her legs, gripping herself, hard, and rubbing with the heel of her hand till she abruptly came in an explosive shudder. Masturbating in the middle of the day in a strange hotel room! She shook her head in disbelief. What had come over her?

Back in her hotel room, after the interminable afternoon session, she immediately stripped to her underwear, fell on the bed, closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and squeezed her moist, aching pussy. With her hand trapped between her clenching thighs, she would rub her mons in desperation, palming her needy sex, arching back. The creamy rise of pleasure made her moan, electrified her, left her shaken...and wanting more. More. She had no choice. She had to get out, to escape this bloodless, boring conference of endless talking, and flee into the city outside. To find a man.

She swung her legs over the side, sat up on the bed, breathing deeply, passing a hand over her sweating brow. Her hair was soaked. She realized she was sweating: dripping wet. She moved fast now, stripping off her bra, pausing for just a second; then quickly slipping off her panties. She snatched up a light-weight cotton print, wigging into it in a heated rush, letting it slither down her nude body, reaching up in back to find the zipper. Tugging the thin dress into place, she quickly slip bare feet into a pair of waiting sandals with wicked 5″ heels, she had bought the day before.

In the mirror, she paused to study her reflection, smoothening the body-hugging dress, cupping her plump little breasts, fluffing them up a bit, before running her hands down her body and over the flare of her hips. The summery dress hung by two spaghetti straps, baring shoulders, neck and chest, and the tops of her tits, all sheened with perspiration. The bodice was drawn smooth, taut against the firm bulges of her small, pert tits. Her nipples were already tightening, growing, hardening; you could just make them out, twin points pressing against the tightly-stretched fabric—peeking out with expectant audacity. Her nipples had been so very sensitive as of late. Frisky nipples, lightly teased till they came out to play. She twisted to look back over her shoulder at her behind. ‘Hey babe, nice ass,’ she chuckled to herself, giving her small butt a sexy little wiggle. A final tug on the hem in back, and she was ready to go.

The terrible horniness had an iron grip on her now. Wild and wicked; she was so excited that she had to work to control her shaking hands when she grabbed her lipstick—gleaming, wet-red. Curling her painted lips, she pressed them together, and give the mirror her best, lipsticked smile. She studied her hair. Her fingers brushed down her bangs, then she combed clawed fingers through the sides of her hair, imagining a man doing it; sifting her silky hair through his fingers. A shake of her head loosened the mop. Giving herself a final, big smile, she turned to go out into the night heat.

Going out like this, with no bra or panties, was an incredible turn on for her. She felt naughty and wicked and marvelously free—all at once. She threw back her shoulders and let her hips sway, as she strolled along the crowded avenue in her high heeled sandals. ‘Fuck me’ shoes—the words came to her out of thin air.

The thrill of knowing she was naked under the thin dress cut through her like an erotic knife. But no one could ever know how much it turned her on. A tiny voice inside warned her to be careful. She tried to keep an uninterested look on her face as she passed men on the street, pretending not to notice their stares, the sexual hunger in their eyes. It suddenly came to her: ‘I’m a bitch in heat.’ The words ‘bitch in heat’ hung in the air. And they know it! Men sense it somehow, instinctively. Do they know I’m completely naked under this thin linen dress? Do they know my pussy is wet, throbbing with aching need? She couldn’t help smiling to herself.

‘Men! They just can’t help themselves. I know their cocks are swelling up as, they stare at me with desire in their eyes. They dream of stroking my perky, half-exposed breasts; getting their hands on my cute little ass wrapped in that tight dress. They’d sell their souls to know what I look like beneath my dress, the short, sexy, summer dress that barely covers my bottom, and leaves exposed my bare legs from my toes almost to the cheeks of my ass. They stare at my firm, sweaty breasts and wonder what they’d look like if they were freed; strain to make out the imprints of my excited nipples, my tingling, rock-hard nipples. Their cocks stiffen, as their eyes follow me with pitiful longing. You can almost see them salivating. Pavlov and his dogs.’

Still smiling, she sashayed along, her ‘fuck-me’ heels clicking on the pavement, feeling wicked, feeling like a whore. But with a one important difference. She wouldn’t boldly meet those hungry stares, don’t give them one of those seductive, welcoming smiles, that whores give to likely prospects. No, she would keep her eyes distant and remote, her chin in the air. She knew those guys would love to see her bare-assed naked; imagine what she’d look like, imagine doing things to her—all kinds of things. Like fucking her plump little tits while she squeezed them around a surging cock; or forcing her to her knees, to make her suck them off, to lick and gobble greedily, and suck on their big, stiff cocks; to weigh a set of big balls in the palm of her hand. She’d be made to service many men. Lots of naked men who would crowd around her in a lose circle, while she’s on her knees, reaching for their cocks, stiff pricks quivering with hot male lust.

Throbbing pricks would erupt; they’d come on her face, all of them, all at once, showering gobs of cum all over her lips and chin, splattering her face, and even her hair, with thick gooey strands of their cream. And all the while she’d grovel at their feet: a cum slut, a love slave, wallowing in sex. Sex, sex, sex; down and dirty sex. Her womb jumped; quivered at the deliciously erotic thought that electrified her, leaving a shiver of lust to ripple in its wake. The warmth rose up from her loins; she felt her face flush with the rising heat.

She knew she was horny, practically trembling now. ‘Damn it,’ she thought, ‘I need a man!’ A strong guy, whose wide hands are hungry for the feel of my body. He’ll feel his way down my back till he can grab my ass, and he takes me, and fucks me; fucks me while I lay on my back, legs waving in the air. He’ll clamp my ankles, open me up, hold my splayed legs wide open, while he pounds into me with teeth-jarring fury, his cock driving into my opened cunt like a well oiled piston, hard, deep, relentless, in and out. It’d just go on and on. Or maybe he’ll take me from behind, while I crouch on hands and knees—an excited bitch, wagging her tail in heat. Clamping my hips, he’d hold on while he savagely jams his powerful cock into me, rams it in all the way, holds it there, deep in my churning cunt. His big, hard prick! Then his solid hips will be pounding against my jutting ass, and all the while I’ll be moaning and squirming and tossing my hair around wildly, while this guy fucks me savagely, from behind, like a fuckin’ animal. He’ll ride me, and fuck me. Fuck me, FUCK MEEE!

She saw before her a bright neon sign of a trendy, wood-framed bar, and the single redhead in the short dress and heels headed straight for the front door.