The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After lunch I must show you the technical wing of the manor house. I have a high speed networked computer room, dedicated satellite links and various other bits and pieces of telecoms equipment including a video conferencing room. Most of this equipment was installed and configured during the same summer that I was working so hard on Amanda.

I like to think of myself as a progressive boss. Certainly I’ve never been afraid of technology. It’s my belief that home working is the way of the future and I’ve pioneered the experiment in my own company. Now I wouldn’t want to give you the impression that I had all this work done simply because of the plans Vivian and I were making for Amanda. I see my technical wing as a much longer-term investment. But it is true that there was a convenient synergy between the active commissioning of the manor house home office suite and the next stage of development for our lovely surrogate mother to be.

I put it to Amanda when she was at her most vulnerable.

“I need you to relocate”, I told her. “I’ll be working from home on a regular basis from now on and its inconvenient to have my P.A. based in the office. You’ll have to move. That way you can be on call 24/7. There’s no problem with accommodation. My housekeeper, Mrs Tibbs will make you up a room in the manor house. In the current property market I expect that you’ll be able to sell your own flat very quickly. Why don’t you get started on the arrangements? I’ve a free day a week on Friday so we’ll get you settled in then shall we?”

It is a true testament to the progress of Dr. Stebbing’s program that Amanda did no more than swallow nervously and stutter some easily quashed objections as I rode roughshod over her residual independence with my outrageously cavalier demands. And by a week on Friday, I was driving my pretty P.A. safely into captivity... She didn’t know it, of course, but once I’d got Amanda to the manor house she wouldn’t be leaving again. Ever. With her ex boyfriend happily fucking Carol she had no one to worry about her absence; nobody, indeed, who knew where she’d gone. And there was so much more that could be done to her in the comfort and security of my own home.

But as the car wound through the county lanes my luscious blonde catch suspected nothing. Hours of subliminal conditioning and regular doses of drugs in her water had completely suppressed any suspicions and all of the appropriate worries. Which didn’t mean that she wasn’t left with a few inappropriate worries, the main one of which centred around my wife. She was mortally afraid that Vivian might find out what we’d been up to.

“I think we shouldn’t... You know. Not in your house.”

Her evasive circumlocutions amused me. She was too shy even after all our intimate explorations together to come out with the direct words.

“Shouldn’t what?” I teased her, knowing full well what she meant.

“Shouldn’t carry on the way we are. Shouldn’t...”

“Shouldn’t fuck, you mean? Nonsense!” I insisted. “There’s nothing to stop us from continuing our special exercises. We’ll just have to be more careful that’s all. There’s no reason why Vivian needs to find out anything if we take reasonable precautions and act discretely.”

But I could tell Amanda was still doubtful.

“Now what about your flat”, I asked, forcefully changing the subject.

“It’s with the agent you recommended”, she said meekly. I knew that of course. I’d left noting to chance, keeping a very close eye on these last arrangements that Amanda would be making as a free woman.

“Good. Good”, I said absently, letting my hand trail down to stroke her knee.

When we came in sight of the manor house my pretty P.A. let out a gasp of surprise. You must admit (and I hope I’m not boosting) it’s an impressive pile of stones.

Mrs. Tibbs was waiting for us in the porch way. My housekeeper is an absolute treasure. I’ve yet to introduce you to her, so perhaps a little description is in order. She’s in her early fifties, rather short and stout with iron grey hair she usually wears pinned back in a severe little bun. She has a naturally ruddy complexion and a thin lined face which seldom sees a smile, but she’s very efficient and stands no nonsense from tradesmen and estate workers under her supervision. As she shook hands with my P.A. giving her a rather brusque ‘good afternoon’, I fear Amanda was a little intimidated by the older woman, although in theory her own job was of considerably higher status. I wasn’t surprised. Sometimes I’m even a little intimidated by Mrs. Tibbs myself! Fortunately she’s one of the ‘old school’ who believes in the absolute right of her employers to do as they see fit in all matters. And she’s the soul of discretion. My wife and I had spent some time hesitating over whether we should involve Mrs. Tibbs with our unconventional plans for Amanda but in the end we had ventured to chance discussing the situation with her. It was a delicate and subtle negotiation, exploring her attitude without revealing too much until it was safe to do so. But Mrs Tibbs had no qualms about our little scheme and was quite happy to help us.

“Here’s your security key miss”, she said to Amanda, passing the blonde a magnetic swipe card. “We all have one here at the manor house. It controls access to all the rooms. Don’t lose it!”

I showed Amanda to her room. It was a light and spacious apartment overlooking the back lawn. You can see the window from here if I point it out. That’s the one, the third from the left on the second floor. My P.A. didn’t have much in her suitcases. I’d supervised her packing—just a few of my favourite clothes and some of her personal effects. I’d told her that the rest would be going into storage whilst she was living with me. Actually most of her possessions went straight down to the rubbish tip, but I managed to get a decent price on a couple of choice items of furniture from a 2nd hand dealer. Every little helped to recoup the costs of the operation!

It was quite touching to witness the care with which she arranged her few ornaments, trying to make the alien room seem like home. But I was soon impatient with her.

“There’ll be time for this later”, I said. “Now how about a proper introduction to the manor house, eh?”

I kissed her firmly and guided her to the bed. To my surprise the girl put up a considerable degree of resistance, which I quickly realised was in no way feigned. This was her natural shyness coming to the fore again in a strange location. Appealing in its way. I remembered how long it had taken for her to accept a fucking in the office. And although this was ostensibly a more private location she was acutely conscious that it was my wife’s home as well as mine. She really was embarrassed all over again and afraid of being discovered. But when I used the key subliminal words her resistance crumbled in the end as I’d known it would. Dr. Stebbings techniques had established some very firm hooks inside her mind!

“Come on Amanda, let’s have these shoes and stockings off...”

I found Amanda’s first fuck in captivity a very satisfying experience. Although I was now familiar with the pleasures of her flesh it did not lessen my enjoyment of the nubile young blonde who was now so compliant and increasingly well educated in the techniques and positions I liked her to adopt. She needed little in the way of explicit instructions now. A tap on the bottom or a sharp pinch on one of her nipples was sufficient to inform the girl of the actions I wanted from her. Hours of gym work and a strict diet had improved her physique from a good baseline. She was now a very fit young woman with a splendid figure, athletic but emphatically feminine and sexy. Amanda was on the cusp of some important changes. She still thought of herself as an independent agent with a choice about her career decisions and a free life ahead of her. Probably she imagined that she’d meet some new man soon—that she’d get engaged and married—that this job and our relationship was only a temporary affair. Certainly she had no idea of the path my wife and I had laid out for her!

But as I rode her bucking hips, I knew differently. From this moment onwards she would be available to me 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Her conditioning would be accelerated and I could have her whenever I wanted her. The days of her freedom were at an end. Very soon now, she’d be learning some facts that wouldn’t sit well inside that pretty head of hers. But it wouldn’t matter. She would do as she was told whether she liked it or not because her own hopes and dreams were no longer of any account. And with that thought I gave a grunt of mingled pleasure and triumph and came inside my luscious little over excited victim, long and hard.

My wife had been spending a week at her office in Paris and didn’t return to the manor house until Saturday morning, So on Saturday night we had a formal dinner party to welcome Amanda to our household. This was Vivian’s first opportunity to meet the girl, face to face on our own territory. Because it was a formal occasion, smart evening dress was the order of the day. My wife wore a dark red velvet bodice with a wasp waist and a matching knee length skirt, split at the side to reveal a hint of thigh, sheathed in opaque black stockings. Shiny black court shoes lifted her heel and helped to define the line of her long legs. The slopes of her ample milk white breasts were prominently displayed above the daring décolleté of the bodice and a simple ruby on a silver chain adorned her deep cleavage. Her long raven black hair was braided into an intricate bun and the few wispy wayward locks that traced curving lines down her elegant neck were free by artifice rather than by accident. Vivian was no doubt reminding me why I’d married her, and very effectively too. She certainly looked gorgeous; elegant, sophisticated and very sexy. The ruby was a subtle reminder that she was independently wealthy as well because it was jewellery she’d owned before we were married.

Amanda was dressed rather more simply in a short-sleeved black silk cocktail dress decorated with a silver trim. It was cut just below the knee so that her lightly tanned bare legs and high-heeled open toed sandals were displayed beneath.

It was quite delightful to dine with two such beautiful women, harbouring the knowledge that I had bedded them both and that they both knew it. Surely any man who had succeeded in moving his mistress into the same household as his wife would have felt something of the same frisson of satisfaction and potential I felt that evening. And yet Amanda was not my mistress. She was simultaneously so much less and so much more than that...

“I trust my husband has been looking after you properly”, Vivian asked Amanda.

“O yes... yes he has”, the younger woman said, blushing deeply. From her awkward almost stuttering reply I think my wife might have guessed there was something between us even if she hadn’t already known. Amanda wasn’t very good at concealing her feelings! But Vivian only gave her a bland smile.

“I hope you won’t find it dull here. There isn’t much to do on your own in this house and Peter needs you to be on call all day. But I expect he’ll keep you busy so you won’t have much time to be bored. I’ve heard he’s a bit of a slave driver.”

Amanda gave a nervous little laugh.

“Oh I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Vivian’s raised eyebrow was an eloquent comment on that remark. I was enjoying the opening of a little game of social fencing between two rather mismatched opponents! Over the first course of fish and steamed potatoes, my wife’s conversation was sharp and probing in places and her quick witted teasing often caught Amanda at a loss. Under other circumstances my P.A. would have responded more effectively to Vivian’s little jibes, because she was not unintelligent, but she had been brought up to be polite to her hosts and she was new to the manor house and heavily conditioned by Dr. Stebbings treatment. So Vivian made mincemeat of her.

“I think you’d better not have any pudding”, I told her when Mrs. Tibbs brought in the dessert course, consisting of treacle tart and ice cream.

“Amanda’s on a diet”, I ‘explained’ to my wife. “She needs to watch her figure.”

“My commiserations. I can see your problem dear. Some girls do find it hard to keep in shape”, Vivian offered. “Fortunately, it’s never been an issue for me!”

Amanda just blushed again, unable to defend herself against a comment verging on the rude. She waited patiently as we ate our sweet.

“May I be excused from the table?” she asked diffidently at the end of the meal. I was very pleased by this spontaneous deference. She sounded like a child. The habit of asking my permission for the most trivial independent acts, a habit which I’d so carefully instilled over the last few weeks at work, was now carrying over naturally into her so called ‘private’ life.

“Yes, I think you’ve had enough”, I told her. “Off you go then.”

We both watched her retire to her room with hungry eyes.

“What do you think?” I asked my wife. Vivian smiled.

“I’m impressed darling. You seem to have little miss rent-a-womb well under control. I can hardly wait to get the bitch started on growing our child...”

“Is anything the matter Amanda?", I asked innocently. We were sitting in the west wing upper office, my P.A. taking notes as I dictated my thoughts on some relatively minor matter of company organisation. It was the Monday morning following Amanda’s installation into the manor house and we were beginning to establish a new working routine. Amanda straightened in her seat and mumbled something inaudible. She was wearing a smart navy blue suit, a white blouse, sheer white stockings and shiny black high heels. The matching navy skirt was short enough to allow me a generous look at the tops of her thighs. For the past hour or so, she’d been fidgeting on her seat, febrile little motions of increasing agitation as the morning progressed. Periodically she crossed, uncrossed and re crossed her legs, affording me very pleasant glimpses of the insides of her thighs. In between times she began to squirm uncomfortably.

“Speak up!", I ordered.

“I... I need to go to the bathroom...”

I paused, as though considering her request. I knew exactly why she was making it! I was playing a little practical joke on my P.A.

Dr. Stebbings had provided me with a series of instructions for the next stages of Amanda’s enslavement, upon completion of which she would finally be ready for the use my wife and I had in mind.

“The girl must be kept in a near constant state of arousal so that her consciousness is distracted and unable to mount any resistance to the conditioning “, he’d said. “The drugs will do much of the work but try to ensure that she receives regular stimulation. It doesn’t particularly matter if she’s allowed to climax or not but long periods of low level sexual tension should be the order of the day!”

Now that Amanda was safely installed in my house it was easy to make some special arrangements in this regard. Mrs Tibbs was looking after Amanda’s laundry and on my direction she had made sure that after her panties had been washed they were liberally sprinkled with a fine white itching powder that would transfer itself onto her skin. The poor girl was now feeling the full effects.

“P... P... Please!” she begged.

“Oh very well but hurry up!”

I admired Amanda’s succulent arse as she tottered out of the room. It looked very tasty sheathed in what was really an exceptionally tight skirt. The lines of her beautifully shaped buttocks were clearly delineated against the taut cotton, which all but hobbled her. She was obliged to take a succession of tiny tripping steps, flexing the globes of her bottom urgently against the limits of its fabric prison. The poor girl must be desperate for relief from the incessant itching, which was maddening her sweet little honey pot. But that wasn’t the cunning part. The cunning part was the way that this approach meshed with a fresh dose of subliminal messages.

I had a new way of administering the constant feed of messages that were required by Dr. Stebbings technique. Her bedroom contained concealed cameras, microphones and speakers. In the night and particularly during phases of REM sleep the speakers whispered incessant statements which would worm their way inside her unconscious mind. And over the weekend the messages were these:—

• ‘I am obsessed with my boss.’
• ‘I need to have sex with my boss.’
• ‘I must have sex with him.’
• ‘I mustn’t let his wife find out!’
• ‘I have to do what my boss says.’
• ‘I must have sex with him!’
• ‘I mustn’t let his wife find out!’

The combination of the chemical itching induced by my powder and the new dose of emphatic messages were meant to work together to confuse her. With any luck she’d imagine that her dreadfully irritated loins were her own fault—a consequence of her overwhelming desire for me. I had little doubt that she’d be fingering herself now to try to get some relief, but once my powder had worked its way into the skin the only real way to sooth it was with a special antidote I kept in an ointment jar in my pocket. I’m such a bastard when I want to be!

It was some ten minutes before Amanda returned, her face red, her clothing not quite so smartly adjusted.

“Are you alright Amanda?” I asked with mock concern. She mumbled something incomprehensible. We proceeded with our work but it wasn’t long before she was fidgeting again!

“For goodness sake whatever’s the matter!”

I spoke with a trace of impatience. And this time in hesitant, low but increasingly desperate tones, she confessed.

“P... P... Please sir! Please fuck me! I n... need it! Please fuck me sir! O please sir.”

It was quite obvious how much this confession cost her. The look of shame and abject misery on her face as she was obliged to plead for something she had once resisted was exquisitely poignant.

“Well you’ve changed your tune!” I said. “What about all that nonsense of cooling off you were spouting when we were driving here only last Friday?”

“I didn’t mean, I mean, I didn’t...”

“Obviously”, I chuckled. “But this is all rather forward isn’t it?”

She simply swallowed and lowered her head.

“What we do in our own time is one thing but these are business hours after all. When you’re working from home self discipline is important.”

I was quite enjoying my role as a pompous hypocrite!

Amanda looked like she was about to cry. “P... Please?”

“Oh very well , just this once but it had better not happen again. Bend over the desk.”

In truth I was looking forward to this pumping, which I intended her to find a thoroughly degrading experience. Of course I had to be careful. I didn’t want my prick to come into contact with any residue of the itching powder. Which is why I was going to treat Amanda to her first buggering, an event which I had long been anticipating!

When the girl was in position with her hands gripping the edge of the desk and her bottom prominently displayed, I pushed her short skirt up around her hips and pulled her white stockings down. The panties, which had inflicted so much secret and effective discomfort quickly followed.

A marvellous sight met my eyes. Amanda’s beautifully sculpted derrière was now fully exposed, thrusting shamefully away from the nylon and cotton that had hidden it, defenceless and naked even as her head was buried in deep embarrassment between her hands.

I couldn’t resist delivering a light slap across her bare bottom although I had no pretext for it. Her vulnerable buttocks, pale and flinching seemed to beg for another beating and I promised myself I’d find a proper excuse to deliver one in the near future. But on this occasion it would have been a waste. The pain of a thrashing would only have distracted her from the exquisite torture of her desperately itching loins. I wanted her to experience that maddening sensation to the full and to know that only I could cure it.

It was almost as if Amanda were performing a little dance for me. She was trying to keep still but her buttocks were flexing and shifting against one another in an effort to ease the itching. I watched her twitch and writhe in suppressed urgency for a delightful minute then took my time, releasing my prick from my trousers. When I was comfortable I reached out to her buttocks, taking one in each hand and kneading them firmly. She whimpered in anticipation, expecting to be impaled by the conventional route. But that wasn’t going to happen. I separated the cheeks of her arse to study her sphincter. It pulsed in rhythmic agitation as I eased it open by further stretching.

“Oh... Oooooo. No. Not there.”

Amanda’s little soft voiced moan of surprise told me that she’d realised my intentions!

“Yes”, I said firmly. “That’s exactly where...”

Her gasp as my prick eased into position was all I needed to tell me her token protest was futile. It was time to enter her rear passage for the very first time! I sensed it was going to be difficult because the way was narrow. But I was persistent and the girl did her best to accommodate me, despite the fact that I knew it was really her main entrance, which was desperate for relief. But she had no choice. It was her backdoor or nothing and hoping that even the indirect pressure of this anal reaping might help, she spread herself as well as she could.

“But it’s hurting!” she squealed. “Please. No. I need. I. Arggg! Oooooo!", she sobbed in a manner I found most amusing.

“Keep your hands on the table!” I instructed the humiliated blonde rather sharply, sensing that she wanted to use her fingers to rub her sex raw. Instead she gripped the far edge of the desk more tightly and thrust her soft bottom back towards me. It took some time to complete my invasion. I knew that Amanda had never experienced this particular mode of use before and her rectum was still very tight and subject to involuntary convulsions, which hindered my progress. I slid one hand up the back of her blouse to press her down against the table. Careful stroking of her thighs and the back of her neck accompanied by a timely pinch or two helped her to relax and contract her muscles when it suited me. And at last my full length was buried to the hilt in her exquisitely tight rear end. Only when I was fully ensconced inside her hot and quaking flesh did I show any mercy, taking the ointment jar and rubbing it into her burning cunt.

“Something to help you keep your self control in future”, I said truthfully enough without revealing that it was another chemical which had helped her to lose it. How she bucked and writhed against me! And when I injected a healthy dose of hot sperm up her rectum and she climaxed to a synchronised clitoral pinch, I felt the additional satisfaction of a job well done. Amanda would now associate my gratification with her own release; in whatever way I took my pleasure with her. There would be no more of this nonsense about refusing any of my whims when I fancied a dalliance with her body. She’d be pathetically grateful for any attention because she had an addictive craving for sex with me. Her illusions of free thought had been thoroughly quashed. She needed me now and she knew it!

And too, my prick had enjoyed itself in her sweet young bottom for the first time, which was rather a bonus.