The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

You’re traveling and I’m traveling too and you see me at the little hotel breakfast room as we are both having a simple continental breakfast, and you don’t know why, but the moment you see me you’re flooded with an image of yourself, on your knees, sucking my cock.

You don’t know why. You’re not available right now, and you’ve never seen me before, and though I’m good looking I’m not your usual type. You didn’t come on this trip hoping to give blowjobs to strangers.

But what really surprises you is how vivid the image is. You feel the hotel carpet soft on your knees. You feel the texture of the head of my cock on your lips, the hardness of my shaft in your hand. You hear the sound of your own slurping, and my groaning. It surprises you in the way it surprises you when waking up after a very vivid dream.

In this fantasy of yours, you’re sore, too. Looking at me in the hotel, you’re trying to figure out why this fantasy is so vivid, and you don’t find the answer, but you realize another detail: in your vision, you’re sore because I’ve just spanked you.

I catch you staring and smile politely. You feel your cheeks get warmer and smile, but look down quickly, in a panic.

Your heart starts thumping hard because somehow you’ve decided to come talk to me, so you pick up your continental breakfast and you’re dizzy with nervousness as you approach me.

“Um, is this seat taken?” you mumble, looking at the floor of the hotel breakfast room. You feel ridiculous and embarrassed, approaching a stranger. You try to convince yourself that you’re just being friendly, and try to muster up some confidence, but it doesn’t come. You’re not approaching me to be friendly; you’re approaching me because you can’t clear your mind of the image of servicing my cock.

And then, you feel a new flush of nervousness you realize that I’m watching you. My eyes are sliding up and down your body, and you feel like you’re on display. I’m not shy about it; I’m checking out your body, looking at your tits, your legs, your shoulders, and your reddened face.

You adjust yourself to a slightly more flattering position, but you still feel awkward. You wonder to yourself: can I tell you’ve been thinking dirty thoughts about me? Are you being that obvious?

And what do I think of you? Do I think you’re slutty? Brazen? Crazy? Am I going to take things too far? Worse, am I going to turn you away? Do I like what I see?

“You seem like my type,” I say, and at first you’re so relieved that I like the sight of your body that you don’t quite realize what a strange thing that is to say to a stranger.

Still, you take it as an invitation, and you sit down. Now that you’re closer, the image is more intense. You look at the ground under the table to see if it’s carpeted; maybe you could suck me off right here and now?

You try to dispel the notion from your mind.

You’re arranging your breakfast and I’m watching you, amused at your awkwardness. It makes you blush even more. Your joints feel like jelly and, to your great embarassment, you spill something. You panic and stumble away to the breakfast counter to get a napkin and as you’re fleeing you realize with absolute certainty that I’m watching your ass as you go.

You think back to the way that, in your fantasy, I spank you.

You gather napkins and rush back and start cleaning up your breakfast, mumbling more apologies, tripping over yourself in your eagerness.

You really, really don’t want me to think you’re ridiculous. I’m still eating my breakfast, and as you’re leaning over to clean up your spill, you see me looking down your shirt.

I catch your eye and quirk a smile and you feel your chest flush, too. You decide that I can look down your shirt all I like.

Soon enough, you’re cleaned up, and you sit down and take a few bites of breakfast.

“I’m so clumsy in the morning,” you say.

“Mm,” I reply, noncommittally, and you see that I’m staring at your body still.

If you weren’t so turned on, you might be offended.

“I don’t usually just approach people like this,” you say, “but you seemed like someone I’d want to talk to.”

You’re proud of yourself for saying that so smoothly. You feel yourself recovering a little more.

“I’m glad you did,” you say in reply, “You seem like my type. Have we met before?”

You blink. The question surprises you. “I, uh,” you say, “I don’t think so.”

And I reach across the table and touch your cheek, taking a tender and familiar liberty with you. My hand feels warm and welcome, and you’re surprised with how comfortable you are, being touched by me.

“Remember me,” I tell you, and you do.

You close your eyes as the memory floods your brain. It was a different city and a different time, when you met me.

You were younger then, still a teenager, barely a woman, less sexually experienced than you are now, and maybe less guarded. I was younger too, and you caught my eye that day.

It was not a subtle feeling of embarrassing fantasy then. When I saw you, you felt it between your legs. You felt your cunt get wet and clench up before you knew why, and you looked across the sidewalk and saw me sitting in a cafe, drinking coffee, watching you through the window, and you knew that whatever you were feeling was something that I’d caused.

And it was full of instructions. You weren’t stumbling and hesitating. You changed directions and walked right into the cafe without really thinking about what you were doing.

I quirked that same smile as you approached, and looked you up and down.

You walked right up, barely sure of what you were doing. You stood close to me, your legs between mine, your body closer to mine than polite company would allow. You pushed your body out and struck a little bit of a pose, wanting to look sexy for me.

You could tell that I liked what I saw, and it kept you turned on. You felt wet between the legs, perhaps a little uncomfortable with the intensity of it, but you didn’t hesitate.

You wanted to offer me a deal: if I spanked you, you’d give me a blowjob. But the words didn’t quite reaach your lips and you didn’t really know just how to say anything right at that moment, so you communicated what you wanted as best you could: You reached down and took my hand and lifted it to your lips, and sucked on one of my fingers.

You could see that it turned me on when you did that and you liked it. You kept eye contact with me and sucked my finger into your mouth, working your tongue along the bottom of my finger.

You remember the texture of my finger, the slipperiness of your tongue, the flush of excitement as you realized what you were offering me. You remember feeling not a bit of hesitation as you pushed my finger as far as you could.

Then you took my finger out of your mouth and took my hand and led me down the street.

I knew where you were leading me, of course, but I felt no need to discuss it with you. Soaring with excitement, you walked as if by instinct down the street to my hotel, then to the elevator of the hotel.

In the elevator, you pressed your body against mine and looked up at me, unable to speak, hoping that I’d know what you meant.

We were alone in the elevator. I reached down and cupped your ass cheeks, smiling at you. You felt satisfied, knowing that I’d gotten the picture.

Back then, that time, you were too excited to be nervous, too committed to hesitate. You practically skipped down the hall as I pulled out my key and opened the door to the hotel room. You didn’t think about how you knew where the hotel room was. You just went inside and waited for me to come in and close the door.

You stood in the middle of the room, arms wide open, letting me watch you. I sat on the bed and looked you over again and nodded and you took that as your cue to undress.

You undressed quickly; you might have wanted to tease me, but more than that, you wanted to make yourself available to me. You folded each piece of clothing as you took it off, and you set it on a chair in the hotel room. Once you were naked you stood there and let me look at you.

You were still getting used to that body, but you were eager to offer it to me.

Do you remember now?

You stood there, glorious in your shameless nudity, and smiled at me. Your hips rolled a little because you knew I’d find that sexy. I smiled and looked down at your breasts and you gaps as you realized how hard your nipples were. You could feel the air suddenly cool against your nipples, and you realized just then that you were completely naked and vulnerable.

And you liked it.

Then I nodded, and you sank to your knees and crawled over to me, excited to be doing something so submissive. You felt like a servant or a pet. You kept your eyes on the ground as you approached, but you could feel my eyes on you, enjoying the softness of your skin, the way your back moved as you crawled toward me.

You worried, briefly, at that moment, at the flaws you saw in your body, the supposed imperfections that you’d fussed over. I didn’t see them as flaws, though; I was excited by your body and your nudity and your service. When you finally reached me you looked up and you could see that, see how I wanted you, and once again you felt yourself clench up with intense sexual passion.

You were expecting that the next thing you might do was to suck me off; it was what you were offering me when you sucked on my finger in the cafe, to be sure. But that’s not what you did. Instead, you took off my shoes and socks and set them aside and kissed each of my feet, quickly but gently, and looked up at me.

You surrendered to me there and then with that simple act. With that look, you made it clear: anything I wanted from you, I could take.

I reached down and took your hand and led you to stand up, and then laid my hand on your waist and gave you a confident smile. You were my possession and I liked it. And then my hand slid up to the small of your back and I pressed you down a little.

You bent over my lap then, guided by my unspoken instructions. Once you realized what I was doing, you settled into place and pushed your ass up in the air. You were expecting me to smack you hard from the very beginning, but I didn’t. I ran my hand over the soft skin of your ass, and you grew accustomed to my touch, to my hand. You relaxed as you settled into my lap, smiling into the mattress of the hotel bed as you waited for what was next.

I ran my hand over your ass for a while, sometimes as far high as the small of your back, sometimes down your thighs, gently caressing your ass, sometimes squeezing to enjoy the wonderful shape of it.

By the time I finally gave your cheek a smack, you were eager for it. Not impatient, of course, because you had given yourself over to me and trusted me, but you were anticipating it and you loved it. That smack felt satisfying, and you felt your nerves waking up and your eyes open a little wider.

Wake up, your nervous system told you, pay attention. Something’s happening here.

You were too excited for that first smack to hurt, but you jumped from the loud sound that your own skin made. You sighed in delight and pushed your ass up into the air and your need was satisfied: I spanked you again on your other cheek, and you could feel the shape of my hand exactly as hot pink intensity on your body. This time the sigh you gave was a throaty purr.

And I kept spanking you as you lay there. You felt yourself grow feverish with excitement, adrenaline rushing, moans escaping your lips. One spank after another I kept working on you, and you felt the pain build along with your hunger, hitting you harder than you ever thought you might like.

Over and over again, you felt your body wake up: Pay attention. You’re getting smacked. SOmething’s happening here.

You didn’t realize you were crying until I stopped spanking you. You could hear your own cries echoing in your ears and you really, really couldn’t tell if you had just had an orgasm or not, but you knew that something had just happened. You wondered how long it had been and you had to admit you had no idea. You had been on overload, moaning and bucking and jumping as I spanked you.

You kept crying a little while longer, hands clutching my pants or maybe the bedsheets under you. You weren’t frightened or unhappy, just overwhelmed. Your tears and sobs were a release, letting your awareness slip down from the hyper-consciousness of being spanked back to the normal world.

Then you caught your breath and stopped crying, because you felt me slide a finger into your pussy. You were so wet and so open then, my finger easily slipped all the way in. You moaned and clenched, loving the way my finger filled you. You wondered if you were going to have another orgasm, or your first, or something. You were certainly happy to let me fuck you if I’d wanted to. You pushed yourself up into me and moaned, a long growl of delight.

You weren’t disappointed when I pulled my finger out; you were still warm with pleasure, and if I didn’t masturbate you to orgasm, you knew that you’d get yourself off later. Right then, at that moment, you were offering your body to me, not making demands.

But you were a bit surprised by what happened next. That same finger, slippery from your juices, pressed against your asshole. You hadn’t expected that, but once you knew what I wanted to do, of course you cooperated. You pushed back against me and tried to relax yourself to accomodate me, and the tip of my finger slowly, gently pushed into your anus. You groaned and found that you liked that, too. You were nervous it would hurt too much, and it felt strange, but your body was mine, and you certainly wouldn’t say no to any new sensations I decided to give you.

I slowly worked my finger up your ass, then slowly worked it out again, and then I was done with that. Halfway through, as you closed your eyes and let yourself feel the intensity of it, you realized something else: if I’d wanted to, you would have happily let me sodomize you, too.

But apparently that wasn’t what I’d wanted, because then my hand was lightly resting on your as cheek again, caressing you even more gently. It made you feel splendid, such careful loving touch to comfort you after your spanking had reached such an intense crescendo. You smiled again and hummed in delight.

After a little while, though, I nudged you and you moved along with my intended direction, sliding around and down to your knees in front of me. I leaned forward and kissed you on the lips, and you opened your mouth to my tongue. You were a little surprised that I’d want to make out with you just then, but of course you would happily do it if that’s what I wanted. You kissed me back, suddenly needing my lips on yours, leaning into me, pushing your breasts forward in case I wanted to fondle them.

You kept your eyes closed a moment or two as I broke off the kiss and leaned back, and when you opened them you had a devilish smile for me. You reached up and unzipped my pants and pulled them down a little, just enough that you could pull my cock out. It was already hard in your hand.

You looked at it in awe, then back up at me, and blinked a little. You looked at me for confirmation and I nodded. You were glad I wanted you, and you looked at my cock as you stroked the shaft, up and down. You considered it carefully, considered what you were about to do with it.

You decided then that you really, really liked it.

You wrapped your fingers around it and sat up a little straighter and kissed the tip, then pursed your lips and put a little more inside and looked up at me, hoping that I liked it. I was right there, watching your eyes, and then I nodded. You opened your mouth a little further and slipped a litle more of my cock in, and you were satisfied as the ring of your lips passed over the head of my penis and you heard me groan.

Then you felt my free hand in your hair, and you liked that too. I clutched your hair lightly and guided you down on my cock and you liked that even more. You slid back out, then in again, and when you felt my hand tighten you felt a little pain but you were glad anywhere because you knew that meant you were doing it right.

You started to build a rhythm, sucking up and down, eager to do anything that made me moan louder. You could feel when my muscles tensed and relaxed, you were very conscious of the pace of my breathing, and most of all you were aware of the delight of my cock in your mouth. The taste, the texture, the urgency.

That was the moment: hotel carpet on your knees, only occasionally aware of how sore your reddened well-spanked ass was, the sound of your own slurping, the hardness of my cock in your hands.

Then, I pulled you up by your hair to look in your eyes and you looked up at me, worshipful. I kept your head in place with a fist in your hair and raised my other hand to slap you. You looked in my eyes and presented your face to me.

You don’t remember, now, if I slapped you or not. Even after the memory of everything else comes back, somehow you can’t remember that. Either I didn’t slap you, but the excitement and expectation of it was so much that you half-remember it anyway, or I did slap you, and the strangeness and shock and intensity of it was so much that you half-forget. You can’t tell.

But you do remember looking up at my, your hair in my hand, and knowing that you’d let me slap your face if I wanted to. You remember feeling so thoroughly owned in that moment, looking up at me, open to anything I wanted to do to you. You could see how much it excited you, and then I pushed your head back down onto my cock.

After that delicious moment, it didn’t take much longer for me to come in your mouth. You were proud and satisfied then, turned on, eager to masturbate and have your own orgasm whenever I decided you could.

But then I did something else instead.

“Get dressed and go,” I said to you, “and don’t remember me.”

I told you not to remember me, so you didn’t.

That day, you were only a little confused about why you were late to where you were going. Only vaguely, subconsciously aware of the way your clothes were just a little bit disheveled. Only mildly curious about why your ass was so tender and sensitive.

That night, you were stunned at your own lust as you masturbated furiously. You came so hard, but couldn’t remember why.

“You used me,” you tell me, and you want it to sound like an accusation, but it comes out too breathless. You want to sound outraged, but you’re back at that breakfast table with me, pushing your chest out a little bit, your eyes soft.

“You liked it,” I said and you can’t disagree. You loved it.

I look you over one more time and give you a lascivious grin. “You’ve filled out nicely,” I tell you, and you can’t repress the urge to smile shyly and thank me.

You try to remind yourself that you’re not available, but it’s no use. You’re eager to be used like that again. You’re always available to me.

You make a decision and smile and look in my eyes.

You don’t know how I made you mine, and you don’t know if I’m doing it again or if you’re just excited from the memory of it, but you offer yourself up to me.

You take my hand and feel sexy and confident again as you begin to suck on my finger.