The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When I woke up, the sun was streaming through my bedroom window. My arm was asleep, as it was crooked under my back in a funny way. My head felt like it was being split in two. I literally fell out of bed on to the fortunately carpeted floor. Stumbling to my feet, I managed to make it over to the window and closed the curtain. My headache eased a bit.

I called into work sick, took some aspirin, and got back into bed. As I stared at the ceiling, I tried to put last night back together from the pieces floating in my head. It was just challenging enough of an exercise to keep me occupied for the next hour. As I relived Diane’s ministrations, my erection returned, and I idly stroked myself as I remembered Diane’s body and words. After an hour and a half, I felt well enough to get out of bed and make breakfast. Over my waffles, I decided one thing: I was going to find Diane, no matter what it took.

The following evening, I returned to the bar where I had met Diane. I casually asked a few questions, but no one had seen anyone fitting her description. I nursed a drink, trying to think of what to do next. I tried to remember everything I knew about her, when suddenly I remembered her tattoo. There couldn’t be that many tattoo artists in the area. I walked to the back of the bar, found the phone, and tore some pages from the phone book listing various tattoo parlors. Most weren’t open, and those that were did not recognize either Diane or her tattoo. Discouraged, I went home and slept.

After a boring day of preparing contracts at work the next day, I dropped in to the remaining tattoo shops. Nothing. No one had done a tattoo of an upside-down spider, let alone one on a buttock. I dragged myself home, trying to think up a new lead. I considered hiring a private investigator, but thought better of it. How would I explain that I was looking for someone I wanted to fuck?

As I ate my mediocre dinner, I went over my evening with Diane, trying to remember any clue she might have given me. I realized that she had been purposefully evasive in the car when I had asked her about her job. No way to get at her through that angle. Tattoo’s were out, and it didn’t seem like she would be going back to the bar. I pictured her in my head. Her halter top, her skirt, her hair, her boots...

Her boots! There couldn’t be too many people who dealt in calf length leather boots. Maybe one of them would remember her.

The next day at work, I called around to various boot and shoe stores, asking all if the had calf length leather boots. Only four carried the item I was looking for. After work was over, I sped to the first three and got no where. The fourth was a little place in a mini-mall, Boots ‘N All. I went inside, and a young man, no older than 24, met me inside. “Sorry sir,” he said, “but we’re just about to close.”

“That’s all right,” I said, “I actually just wanted to ask you a question. Did a woman come in here recently and buy a pair of calf length boots? Leather, black, shiny? She had sort of auburn hair, about your height, slim, attractive.”

The young man gave me a suspicious look. “Perhaps,” he said, “perhaps. Does she dress sort of... provocatively?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right, did she come in?”

“Hey man, I’m not even sure it’s your girl. But someone like that came in about two weeks ago and bought a pair of boots like that.”

My best lead yet! “Do you have a sales record, a credit card slip, something like that?”

“Hey hey hey, no way. I could loose my job if I showed you those.”

I had been expecting something like this. From my suitcoat pocket, I pulled out a moneyclip containing ten $100 bills. “A thousand dollars if you let me look through the sales slips for the past three weeks.”

My associate’s eyes grew like saucers. He looked around furtively, as if the Bribery Police might burst in the door any moment. He then reached up slowly and closed his hand around the money. I snatched it back. “Hey hey hey,” I said, “not until I see the records.”

He swallowed hard. “OK, come on back. Hey, what am I afraid of? Someone who can wave a thousand dollars in my face hardly needs someone else’s credit card number.” He took me in the back and up the stairs to a small office. Unlocking a file cabinet, he fished out a bunch of sales slips. I began to paw through them, searching for her name. There were actually two false Dianes, who had bought sensible hiking boots, before I found it. Diane Cook, a MasterCard number, and the record of a sale of a pair of calf length leather boots.

I had her.

A week later, I sat outside Diane Cook’s apartment in my car, observing her door and drinking some horribly bad coffee from a near-by diner. At 10:00 PM, a cab pulled up, and Diane’s door opened. She came out, and she was dressed to kill. She was wearing the boots, a lycra mini-skirt, and an oversized white leather jacket. She scurried down the stairs and got into the cab. As it pulled away from the curb, I pulled out and followed.

The cab stopped at a bar on the other side of town, a seedy-looking place called the Hotsy Totsy. She went inside as I pulled into the parking lot. I turned up the radio and settled in.

An hour later, Diane emerged with a man on her arm. He was older, around 40 or 50. He led her to his car, and they pulled away. I followed closely behind. He never went over the limit once as he drove back to his house in a middle-class neighborhood. They went inside as I parked across the street.

Half an hour passed. Whitney Houston belted “I will alwaaaaaays love you” as the door to Diane’s latest victim opened and she emerged alone. I quickly turned off the radio and hopped out of my car. She was looking down the road the other way and did not see me. I walked up to her as quietly as I could. About fifteen feet away she noticed me.

“Hello Diane,” I said.

Her eyes seemed to pop out of her head. “Jon?” she said incredulously.

“That’s right. Now, unless you want me to call the police and have them find our unconscious friend in there, I suggest you get into my car and keep quiet.”

Diane looked one way and then the other, as if to search for an escape route. “Don’t be foolish, Diane. Look at how you are dressed, and is that semen I smell? No one is going to believe you if you yell rape or run away. So, shall we?”

Diane seemed to shrink and droop all at the same time. “All right,” she said, “I’ll come along. Just... don’t hurt me.”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly. Come,” and I offered her my arm. She took it, and seemed to perk up a bit. We went back to my car, and started driving to my house.

“Well, my slut...” I began.

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t... call me that.”

This was a change. “Well, you seemed eager enough last Friday. And judging by the bit of come you missed on your cheek, it seems like you were eager enough tonight.”

Diane’s hand snapped back and searched out the last bit of semen on her face. Finding it, she scooped it up with her finger and popped it into her mouth. She seemed to savor it like a fine wine, and a shudder ran up and down her body. “Then you go and do something like that. You might give a guy the wrong impression.”

“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, I’m afraid you don’t have much choice in the matter. We either talk about it, or we drive straight back to Mr. Sleepy’s and place a call to the local PD. What is it?”

Diane was silent for a moment. “You won’t believe me,” she said.

“Try me,” I replied.

Diane exhaled in exasperation and brushed her hair back. “I’m cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“By a demon.”

Of all the possibilities, this was one that had not occurred to me. “You’re right, I don’t believe you.” At this moment, we pulled up to my condo.

“It’s true. God how I wish it weren’t, but it is.”

“Come inside.” We got out of my car, and Diane followed me meekly into the house. I turned on the light and helped Diane out of her coat. I led her into the living room and sat her down on the couch, taking a seat opposite her. “So, you were saying...”

“What’s the point? You already said you don’t believe me...”

“I don’t believe you yet, I should say. You’ll have to convince me whatever you say.”

Diane cradled her head in hands, shaking it back and forth. “OK, OK, OK.” She looked up at me. “You know, I used to be a college student. Biology major. I was going to study whales. But then...”

“Then?”

“Then Dave came into my life. Rather, Dave ripped me out of my life. I think he was a staff member at the college. I never found out. Never even knew his last name, really. Apparently he’d been watching me for a while. One night, I woke up...” Diane’s eyes filled with horror. “This... thing... it had wings, big muscles, a face... it was hideous. It picked me up, and it seemed to... take me through the wall. We seemed to twist, and suddenly I was in Dave’s room, in the middle of a pentacle. I couldn’t move, and I couldn’t hear, but I could see Dave. He was on the outside, talking to the demon. He seemed to be arguing with him. Then the demon picked me up, turned me over, and touched my butt. Then he put me outside the pentacle. I still couldn’t move. Dave turned me over and looked under my nightgown. I couldn’t see what he was looking at, of course, but he seemed satisfied. He talked to the thing in the pentacle some more, and then it disappeared, and I could hear and move again. And I was incredibly horny. I couldn’t believe it, but if I didn’t have sex right at that moment, I thought I would have died. Dave obliged me, and when he came, he did it on my face. I didn’t care. It was delicious. It was like the greatest thing I had ever tasted, I couldn’t get enough of it. I was lying on the floor, scooping his come into my mouth, when he started talking to me. He told me I was his slave, his sex slut. He said the demon had made him my master, and that he had total control over me. He said that I would crave sex all the time, and that if I went to long without it, I would die. He said I was a slut now, and that I would never like sex unless I thought it was as dirty as possible, and that I had to eat come or die. He was right. I tried to escape, but he would simply tell me to stop and come back, and I would. He made me have sex with him constantly. He could come as many times as he wanted. He said the demon had done that too. He told me that the curse would keep me beautiful forever, that I would never grow old. I hated him. But the sex... it was the best thing I had ever experienced. It was like a drug, I couldn’t get enough. He said I would be his slave forever.”

“What went wrong?”

“The demon took him one day. His voice was... horrible, like a thousand screams. He said that Dave had broken the contract. Dave... he ate him. Gobbled him up, in two bites. Then he just... looked at me. For about a minute. Then he laughed and disappeared. I ran. For about a week, I was happy. Ecstatic. Then... I got sick. I felt horrible. Queasy. Weak. I realized what was wrong. I tried to fight it. I lasted another day. Then... I had to eat semen. I found a drunk, in an alleyway. Unconscious. I sucked him off. His come tasted wonderful. I felt a little better, but not much. I realized what I needed. I needed to be... be...

“Dominated.”

She nodded. “Used. I picked up a guy in a bar three days later. Fucked him at his house. Ate his come. He wanted me to stay, but I couldn’t face him. I ground up some sleeping pills in his coffee, and slipped away. I’ve scraped by, moving from town to town, getting work where I could.”

“How long have you been doing this?”

Diane sucked in her breath. “Fifteen years.”

Diane did not look a day over twenty. “No way.”

She sighed, and pulled open her purse. Taking out her wallet, she opened it and flashed her driver’s license in front of my face. Her birthday was over thirty-three years ago. I noticed with idle curiosity that her address on the license was different than the one of her apartment.

“What about that tattoo?”

Diane giggled softly. “You know, it was about two months before I even remembered to look back there? That stupid upside down spider. It took me months to figure out what it meant. It’s a black widow, but the colors are reversed. The black widow kills her mate. Her nature drives her to it. So it makes a twisted sort of sense.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have to mate to survive. The female widow dominates the species. I need to be dominated to live. Upside down and inverted. The demon had a sense of humor.”

I shook my head. “This is... well, unbelievable. But, here you are. Thirty-three years old with the face of a nineteen year old. That’s hard to dispute.” I moved closer to her on the couch. She shrank. “Please,” she said, “I... don’t want to.”

“Listen to me, Diane. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to keep you in a basement, and all that. But you have something I want, and I have something you need. You need to be a slut, about every three or four days. I could be your... what, temporary master for that day? The other three, you can do anything you like. Work, live, whatever. You’d be safe, you’d know what to expect. You could stop running.”

Diane looked at me with a mixture of fear, confusion and desire. “I... I don’t know.”

“Well, think about it. I’m going to bed upstairs. You can leave or stay as you like.” I got up from the couch and went up the stairs to my bedroom. Getting quietly undressed, I strained to hear what Diane was doing. I couldn’t hear anything. I got into bed and turned out the light.

I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, someone was slipping into bed beside me. I rolled over. Diane stared at me in the darkness, the moonlight barely illuminating her fine skin. “Let me make one thing clear,” I said. “I expect to be obeyed. Don’t think that just because I won’t lock you up when I leave does not make you subject to my commands. I’m your boss. Your master, if that’s how you like to think of it. But I won’t treat you too harshly. Agreed?”

Diane swallowed and nodded.

“Kiss me, Diane.” She did, timidly. “Kiss me like a slut.” She swallowed again, and then proceeded to thoroughly French kiss me for several minutes. “A good start,” I said, after we broke our kissing. “Now, get some sleep.”

Diane put her arms around my neck and snuggled against me. I idly played with her hair for a moment. “Diane,” I asked softly, “do you think you could find the house where Dave lived?”

“I... I think so. Why?”

“You said the demon took him because he broke the contract, correct?”

“That’s what it said, yes.”

“You know what?”

“What?” she said sleepily.

“I write very good contracts.”