The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I believe in the Lord God Almighty, the King of Kings. I believe He sent His only son to redeem our sins. I believe His is the only way to salvation. I believe He is the source of all that is good and true and righteous in this world. I believe He created everything, and that He did so in six days. I believe He rested on the seventh day, so I keep the Sabbath holy. I believe I was created in His image.

I believe He is the source of my power. I do not know why He has given me my abilities; I only know it is part of His design. I give Him all praise. I try to remain humble in the face of the blessing He has bestowed on me. I have tried to remain meek as I know it is pleasing to Him. I have never used the power He has given me to gratify myself. I use that power only to secure what I need to glorify His name.

I see a world of hatred, a world of people who would perpetuate that hatred in His name, and it saddens me. The Lord made me what I am … a woman who loves other women. Some people, many people, would call me an abomination. Yet they are merely sinners, just as I am, just as we all are. A sinner has no place to label any part of God’s creation an abomination. To do so is true wickedness … the true abomination. It is the way of the Evil One.

And yet, this wickedness seems to be growing all across God’s creation. Everyday I see them damning me, blaming me and people like me for all that is wrong in this world, never once looking to themselves. I struggle, every single day, to remain holy. I praise His name, and they denounce me for it. All the while they surround themselves with decadence, they covet power, they quote Scripture to justify their material lusts and their intolerance … and they call me the sinner.

I read about their actions in the newspaper and I hear their words on the television. They cry out for all believers to destroy people like me who are, like them, nothing more than servants of the Lord. They judge me and ignore that they will be judged.

I read the newspaper that day, one story in particular having caught my eye. A group calling themselves The League of Conscientious Women had labeled the flooding, and subsequent destruction, of a city as God’s punishment for the existence and tolerance of people like me. As if they had a plenary understanding of His will, they’d arrogantly listed all that would need to happen to escape His wrath in the future: We were not to be teachers in public schools, we were to be excommunicated from our congregations, our children were to be taken away from us … the list went on. Their words were couched in the language of reasonableness. The article included a picture of the head of this League. Dr. Maure Stanley was a beautiful woman, blond haired and green eyed. The spokesperson for the League, one Erica Kay, was just as beautiful. I’d heard her speak later that day as I watched the news after work. Satan and his minions will take forms pleasing to the eye to spread their evil. For that reason, I knew The League’s words would be heard, just as I knew what they said was the true pornography. Mine was a kind and just God. People that I knew, people that I loved, had suffered in that flood. Some had died. If I were the wicked one, God in His infinite kindness and justice would punish me, not them. They were innocent. The League was using this tragedy to further their terrible agenda. Not for the first time, I wondered why He permits this …

I believe I am beginning to understand His purpose for me.

The League’s headquarters were much as I imagined they would be: An island of glass and steel in a sea of green lawn, all designed to overawe the visitor with their power. Not His. In front a flag pole jutted 4 stories into the air. An enormous American flag flew atop the pole.

The lobby was busy with many freshly scrubbed, serious looking, conservatively dressed white folk moving to and fro. Everyone wore a crucifix on their lapel; nearly everyone wore a small American flag as well. This bothered me. I am grateful to live in this country. I believe the United States of America is the finest nation He has seen fit to create. But He also transcends nation and creed. God is not an American; the efforts of groups like The League to convince us otherwise are confining to Him. I walked up to the security desk.

“How can I help you, Sister,” the guard asked. He was black and wide shouldered, with a distinguished frosting of grey to his hair. There was a crucifix in his lapel... He struck me as a Godly man.

“I’m here to see Dr. Stanley,” I replied.

I’d dressed conservatively, but well. My dark suit was immaculate and sharply pressed. My skirt was an inch below my knee, but cut so as to accent my hips. I believe in dressing like a woman, not a librarian. My long, black hair was up, held in place by pins to form a tight, severe bun. My silver rimmed glasses, perched at the end of my nose, completed the look. I was not to be trifled with.

The effect was not entirely lost on him. Judging from the way his eyes swept over my body to my face, he liked what he saw. Nevertheless, his surprise was apparent. Not many folks like us marched into The League’s headquarters expecting to see Dr. Stanley.

He asked incredulously, “Do you have an appointment?”

“No,” I answered, then took a deep breath. For some reason I have never been able to discern, the first time I use my power each day is the hardest. It always takes a little extra effort. “But it is important I see her.”

I learned early in life that I was different. To be perfectly accurate, my family noticed it first. Everyone always agreed with me, everybody wanted to do what I told them no matter how unreasonable or outlandish I was. At first, we assumed it was because I was pretty … pretty people always have an easier time of things. For a while I thought it was my voice. There’s always been a sort of husky timbre to my speech. I’ve been told, more than once, I should be in radio.

It wasn’t until high school that I realized it was something else. I was a wild child, far more concerned with having fun and having my way than paying attention to my studies. I’d failed an English test, and failed it badly. Full of the audacity and arrogance of youth, I’d told my teacher I wanted an “A”. Mrs. O’Reilly was the toughest grader in the school and I’d more than earned my “F”. But she changed the grade, on the spot, without a word of protest. That’s when I realized it wasn’t my face, or my body, or my voice. It was me. I’d done it. And it was at that moment I was saved, because I also realized He was the only explanation for my power.

Brotherman’s body was strong, but his mind was malleable. He succumbed instantly, “Of course. I’ll call Dr. Stanley’s office and let them know you’re on your way up. Please sign in.”

He pushed forward a ledger and offered a pen.

“I don’t need to sign in.”

He withdrew the pen, “You can use the middle elevator.”

As he picked up the phone, I addressed him one last time, “After you call Dr. Stanley’s office, as soon as you hang up, you will forget I was here.”

He nodded, as if I’d said nothing more momentous that, “Have a nice day”. I went to the elevator.

It opened directly into the waiting room of Dr. Stanley’s office. The furnishings were sumptuous, with leather bound chairs and sofas, thick, spotless carpeting. An array of fresh fruit and bottled water was set out. The room was pleasantly fragrant. The secretary eyed me curiously.

“I’m sorry Miss …” she began.

“Washington,” I said. “Diana Washington, like the singer.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Washington,” she continued. “Somehow your appointment didn’t make it on to Dr. Stanley’s calendar. She’s booked solid for the rest of the morning. We can reschedule, of course.”

I was surprised that someone of Dr. Stanley’s prominence would employ someone as young as this woman as her secretary. But the girl’s mind was well ordered. She wasn’t just intelligent, she was perspicacious as well. Getting her to submit was more difficult, but it wasn’t impossible. After all, He was by my side.

“You find nothing unusual in that,” I replied calmly. “You will cancel the rest of Dr. Stanley’s appointments, then you will let me in to see her.”

The secretary flinched slightly as the new reality took hold, “Well … please make yourself comfortable. Dr. Stanley’s on a call right now, you can go in once she is done.”

“Thank you.”

Sin is the product of human weakness. My weakness has always been beautiful women. The secretary was making me feel a little weak. She was small, with radiant skin and a delightful smile. Her blond hair was short and stylishly messy. I watched her closely as she worked, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks and in my loins. I did nothing to stop it; it would serve my plan well. After a few minutes she picked up the phone and announced I was waiting. The rest of their conversation was conducted in whispered tones. I paid it no mind.

“Dr. Stanley will see you now,” she announced.

“I thanked her. As I walked past the desk I said, “You will not react to anything you hear in Dr. Stanley’s office. You will not interrupt us, nor will you allow anyone else to interrupt us unless you have my permission.

She understood.

Dr. Stanley rose from her desk and came around, arm extended, as I entered. We shook as we took care of introductions and she led me to a couch. She sat in a nearby chair.

“I take it my secretary explained the mix up with the schedule,” she asked.

“She did.”

“So you’ll understand if I can’t give you as much time as you were expecting?”

“We’ll have all the time we need,” I said. She seemed taken by my assertiveness. I continued, “I wanted to talk to you about the flood down south.”

She nodded.

“I read you interpretation of it with great interest.”

“I don’t think of it as an interpretation,” she said coolly. “It’s an indisputable fact.”

“Well,” I smiled. “Like you I believe in the Will of God. I wanted to talk about the possibility that God’s Will is something other than what you believe it to be.”

“And that would be …”

I shrugged, “I would not presume to know His Will. It isn’t our place to divine His purpose. Perhaps He really is punishing us for our wickedness. I only know that wickedness is not what you think it is.”

Anger clouded her face, “It isn’t?”

“No,” I said firmly, “it isn’t.”

She gasped loudly as the arousal the secretary stirred in me was injected into her mind. On my end, it felt like a torrent of water forced through a small opening. Dr. Stanley was drowning in it. She slumped in her chair, and as she did, I rose.

I began by slowly pulling the pins from my hair. They made a gentle noise as I dropped them to the glass table. I shook my bun loose and peeled my jacket off. I though of my first time with another woman, the French exchange student my sophomore year of college, of the giddy and wonderful discovery that gentle fingers plucking at my folds and soft lips on my breasts felt so perfect. Maure watched me closely as I undid my blouse. She flinched as each button came free.

“You’re married, I see,” my top slipped from my shoulders. She nodded raggedly, her nipples already poking through her blouse. “Any children?”

“Thuh … three.”

I thought about that; this next part had to be worded carefully, “You will always give your husband the honor and respect he deserves as the father of your children. You will work with him in the best interests of your children, and you will be reasonable and open minded when you do so.”

Maure groaned her acceptance.

“But you will never be with him again. You do not love him like that anymore. This is what you love now.”

My skirt dropped to the floor. Maure gasped. I’d worn my matching powder blue undies, the ones with the panties cut high over my hips and the bra that really defined my cleavage. I pivoted and walked slowly to the office door.

“What’s your secretary’s name?” I asked over my shoulder.

She moaned it, “Elle.”

I opened the door a crack and stuck my head out, “Elle, call Erica Kay’s office and tell her that Dr. Stanley wants to see her right away.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I closed the door and turned back to Maure with a smile, “Elle’s quite attractive, don’t you think?”

“Yesssssss,” she hissed, hiking her skirt up to rub herself through wet panties.

“Very good, I see you’re beginning to understand,” I chuckled. Maure nodded, eyes closed, gnawing on her bottom lip. “There’s nothing wrong with loving another woman, is there?”

She shook her head savagely. Sweat was beginning to plaster down her bangs.

“This is what God intended Maure, isn’t it, for people to love freely?”

She nodded again. Her fingers had slipped under the waistband of her panties. I could smell her.

“Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” her voice cracked.

“You were wrong.”

She nodded again. Her fingers strained against the silky material; she was rubbing frantic circles around her clitoris. Her other hand teased the crease of her vaginal opening.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Wruhhh …” she croaked. “Wrong … so wrong.”

I went to the couch and lay back to watch Maure. She moved spastically, with her left hand on her vagina as her right unbuttoned her shirt and pulled down her bra cups. Maure was older than me, old enough to have produced three children by now. Despite all of that, her body was still lovely. She took wonderful care of herself. Her belly and hips were sleek; her breasts bounced enticingly as she pleasured herself. They were round and full, capped with big, puffy nipples so light in color they almost blended into her skin. A cross on a gold chain dangled between her breasts. Maure’s eyes locked between my legs. I looked down. Without realizing it, I’d begun to touch myself. I smiled and let my leg drift to the floor, opening myself.

“Maure, come here and show me you’ve accepted God’s will,” I commanded.

She literally fell out of her chair, landing on her hands and knees. She crawled to me, pushing the coffee table out of the way to give herself room. Maure was a little more aggressive than I expected, removing my panties without any prompting. Because there wasn’t room for the both of us on the couch, she had to come at me sideways, her body pressed against my leg. I could feel the soft material of her blouse against my thigh as she loved me.

Her technique was crude, but enthusiastic. The sensations coursing through her, the bliss of having finally seen the light, made her frantic. Her mouth and tongue were everywhere, but never for long: My lips, between my petals, my clitoris. Her fingernails dug into my legs and hips. I put a hand on her head and guided her, pushing her away when she was too rough, pulling her in when she did it right, directing her to my most wonderful places and holding her there. She learned quickly.

The tingle was growing between my legs. Maure had discovered the benefits of going slow. She was lapping at me slowly, bottom to top, occasionally stopping to give attention to my clitoris and I loved what she was doing. Involuntarily, my hips began to grind. My hands went to my breasts … I grabbed the soft orbs and massaged them. I’ve always enjoyed having my breasts touched during sex.

I began to thrust faster. Taking her cue, Maure took my clitoris into her mouth and suckled hard. She slipped a finger into me, then a second, and worked them in and out. The tingle was stronger now, spreading up my belly, invading my chest. I could feel Maure mount my leg; she humped herself on my shin. In fits and starts I could feel my orgasm approaching. I was gasping loudly now, thrashing on the couch. Maure loved me so well.

I didn’t hear the door open, but I heard what happened next.

“What is going ON in here?”

I popped up on my elbows and looked over my shoulder. A young looking, thin woman stood in the doorway, a look of revulsion creeping across her face. Erica Kay had arrived, as ordered.

“Get in here and close the door,” I said. It was hard to sound commanding with all the joy Maure was producing between my legs. The look on Erica’s face went instantly from disgust to shock as she complied. “Sit there.”

She did as she was told, taking the seat Maure had been in, “Who are you?”

“A servant of God, just like you … ohhhh,” I gasped as Maure flicked my stem just right, “come to show you the error of your ways.”

“No …”

“Yes,” I let Erica feel a little of what Maure was doing to me. She almost jumped out of her chair.

“I won’t …”

“You will sit in that chair and you will listen to His true will,” I said. Our gazes locked. Erica’s icy blue eyes were wide with panic and fear, as though she already understood the Truth she was about to hear would destroy the hubris her whole value system was based on.

“You’re a sinner, Erica, and you’ve sinned against many of your brothers and sisters. Your sin is you’ve judged them for who they love when love is pleasing in the Eyes of God.

“Look at Maure,” Erica’s gaze shifted downward. A strand of her long brown hair fell across her face. From her angle, she had a perfect view of Maure’s buttocks as it bounced up and down in front of my leg. “She understands now. She understands how beautiful it is to love freely. She understands it is God’s gift to all of us.”

Maure moaned loudly, as if in agreement.

“And because God loves you, Erica, he wants you to understand how beautiful it is,” my voice caught as Maure pressed a third finger into me. “And because you love God, you WILL accept this gift from him.”

Erica’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. She watched mutely, entranced, as Maure gave me her love. Her legs were pressed together tightly as she shifted slowly in her chair, her right hand caressing her left breast.

My arms gave out and I collapsed on to the couch, “Oh Maure … oh, ohhhh … yes … so nice!”

I was beyond words now. Maure’s tongue seemed to be licking the whole of my soul. I panted and groaned in time with the pace she set. My orgasm was gathering strength, building momentum, waiting for the moment to be unleashed.

My eyes opened, and Erica loomed over me. Her silvery white shirt was open, exposing her white bra and the way it gathered up her full breasts. Her pants were gone, they lay in a pile by the chair. The insides of her thighs were slick and shiny. Her legs were spread slightly, to show me how ready she was … to show me how she understood. She knelt down.

Meekly, she covered my mouth with hers. Our tongues touched, and with a sharp intake of breath, she kissed me hard. Jaws working, tongues stabbing, we groaned into each other. My hand went between her legs and found her engorged clitoris. I pulled at it. He head jerked up and she cried out with joy. Erica’s trembling hands pulled at my bra, releasing my breast from the cup. Her mouth went to the nipple, slobbering over my flesh.

I released with a loud, throaty yell, my essence baptizing Maure’s face. My body went rigid, but still I shook, for a long and exhausting amount of time. It was glorious. As I lay on the couch, dazed and spent, Erica threw herself onto Maure. The pleasured each other on the floor; their orgasms were feral … cursing, grunting, taking His name in vain, spurring each other on.

As soon as my strength allowed, I rose from the couch. Maure and Erica were a mound of cooing, quivering flesh on the floor. I’d been forgotten, which was fine for the moment. My cell phone was in my purse, which was under my skirt. My first call was to Debbi, a “friend” I’d shared the Good News with some time ago. When I told her about my plan the previous night, she’d been eager to help. My second call was to my friend, Elvis, and yes, that’s really his name. Don’t laugh. Despite all of his problems, Elvis Presley was a Godly man. All I told them was where to meet us and when, they already knew what to do.

“Get dressed ladies,” I said after I’d finished the calls. “We have places to go.”

Getting dressed proved a slow affair; Maure and Erica couldn’t keep their hands off each other, or me. We finally stumbled out of Maure’s office, our legs still a little rubbery from the intensity of our climaxes. Elle looked up from her work, taking us in: The disheveled state of our clothes, the messiness of our hair and make up, our general giddiness, the smell billowing from the office. As I said, she was intelligent. She immediately discerned what had happened. I shared His will with her, gave her a taste of the bliss Mare and Erica had just felt and watched as her cheeks turned the loveliest shade of crimson. Elle suddenly seemed to smolder.

“I want you to call a car for us,” I instructed her. “Then I want you to call the Four Seasons downtown and reserve the most expensive room available for us. I want you to put the room in The League’s name and to put the charge on The League’s card. Make sure they know Dr. Sawyer and Ms. Kay will be using the room.

She nodded. By the way her eyes bulged, I could tell she understood why we wanted the room. She was hoping I’d invite her along. This was likely to end poorly for Maure and Erica, and Elle had her whole life ahead of her. I shook my head.

She sighed with disappointment, produced a small rectangle of paper and wrote something on it quickly, “This is my card. Call me if you have a problem with the car or the hotel …”

I turned the card over. She’d written her home phone number there.

“… or anything else,” she said hopefully.

“When we leave, you will forget I was ever here,” I smiled and held up the card, “until I call you at home. Then you’ll remember everything.”

Elle shook with anticipation. I spun gracefully and walked to the elevator. Maure, Erica and I whisked down to the ground floor. I let them walk a few paces ahead of me. They were such a scene, walking hand in hand and looking more than a bit whorish, that no one noticed me. We found the limo Elle had ordered, piled in and we were off. Erica and Maure enjoyed a torrid make out session as we traveled. The driver saw the whole thing.

We met Debbi in the lobby of the hotel. She was a breathtaking Vietnamese-American with a doll like face, brown hair streaked with blond highlights and a small, tight build. I explained to Maure and Erica she was a kindred soul, eager to hear His word. They understood immediately. We went up to the room Elle had reserved for us. We’d barely gone through the door before Maure and Erica were tearing Debbi’s outfit from her body.

I rolled off the bed almost four hours later, sore and exhausted, but completely satisfied. They’d arranged themselves in a circle on the bed so they could perform cunnilingus on each other: Debbi on Maure, Maure on Erica, Erica on Debbi. I watched the as I dressed, the beauty of it all brought tears to my eyes, especially considering what I had to do next. His plan was not yet complete, and this would be the hard part. Carrying out His will wasn’t always beauty and bliss.

I made my way through the suite, to the front door. Elvis was in the hall, his camera on a strap around his neck.

“They’re in the bedroom, on the other side of the suite,” I said. He started in. “You’ll leave Debbi out of it, right? She’s only doing this to help me.”

“As much as I can. It’ll have more impact if they got caught with a hooker.”

“Exotic dancer,” I corrected. “Ex-dancer, actually.”

“Close enough, the wing nuts will lap it up. There’s nothing they like better than having something to be pissed off about,” he griped. “But don’t worry about your friend. After all, who remembers Desiree Brown?”

I nodded and walked away. Elvis closed the door behind him.

The story came out two weeks later, not as quickly as I thought. But it was all I could have hoped for.

“Hypocrisy at Right Wing Org,” the banner screamed. I knew Elvis didn’t write his own headlines, but I couldn’t see how he couldn’t like this one.

It was all there: How Maure and Erica were lovers and how they’d used League funds to pay for their get togethers. He’d scored some anonymous quotations from people who’d been in the lobby that day when the three of us left. He’d found the driver. He even put something in from Debbi, though he only identified her as “an ex-exotic dancer who worked under the name ‘Exotique’.” She’d made it clear in the cleanest possible language that she’d been with the both of them, at the same time even, and that they were absolutely insatiable.

The reaction was immediate. The League’s lawyers were braying all over the news how it was untrue and how Elvis’ paper could expect to be clapped with a lawsuit “imminently”. I heard from Elvis later than when the League’s lawyers showed up at his office that very morning to demand a retraction, the paper’s lawyers were there waiting for them … with the pictures Elvis had taken.

Erica was fired before lunch that very day. The League released a statement saying they’d take some time to reflect on Maure’s fate, and to pray for her. To her credit, when she heard what happened to Erica, Maure resigned in protest. The last I heard they were living together and doing consulting work for a left wing PAC.

If anything, the effect on the league was more profound. Elvis’ follow up story the next day detailed how The League’s entire board had resigned in protest and how funding sources were drying up. There was talk about a class action suit to recover donations already made. By the end of the week, The League’s interim director was begging member and funders to stick by them. Most of the pundits I read predicted they’d be out of business by the end of the month. His Will be done!

I waited a week after the story broke to call Elle. She moaned when she heard my voice. I invited her over to my place, she immediately accepted. She was so sweet when she received my love. I believe she was His reward for a job well done.