The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first time I saw Her, it was by accident. Honest.

I should probably introduce myself, right? My name is Angela, but the only people calling me that are my Mum and Dad. Everyone else calls me Angie. When this happened, I was working for… I probably shouldn’t say that, right? Um, I worked as a short-distance messenger. That means that when someone needed some papers or some package delivered to one of the other sites, I picked it up and delivered it. Oh, right, I was nineteen years old then, so this was kinda my first real job. I was (and still am) taller than most people I know, and… well, my body is… well, most people think I’m a boy. A lot.

So. Anyway. How it happened. I was doing my daily deliveries to one of our downtown sites and I… may have taken a shortcut through some gardens. It’s like ten minutes shorter than going around, okay? And I thought, Angie, you just got extra ten minutes to spend, you can take a short break. So I found this nook by one of the houses – it was pretty hidden, so I knew that even if there were anyone in any of the other houses, they wouldn’t be able to see me and call the cops on me or something – and stopped there for a while. I mean, I thought it was only for a while; I just meant to catch my breath and go on. How was I supposed to know She was in that house?

I want to make one thing perfectly clear – I wasn’t a virgin at this point, okay? Sure, I had only had one serious boyfriend, and we broke up over a year before, but I knew what was what. I just had been a while for me, so it’s perfectly understandable that I didn’t realise what was going on at first. Oh, right, I’m skipping ahead. Sorry.

What was going on was that I started hearing some noises from the house. As I said, I was in this nook, but what I didn’t notice before was that there was a window into this nook. I mean, I did notice it when I got to it, but I thought that there wasn’t going to be anyone home at this time, so I didn’t care all that much about it. But when I started hearing those noises, I couldn’t help myself. I took a peek through the window. And I saw Her.

Now, mind you, I had had a boyfriend before. I knew how it worked. Girls went out with boys and boys went out with girls. At least proper girls and proper boys. I knew about gay people, of course, and I also knew I wasn’t one of those. But all these thoughts flew out of my mind the moment I saw the girl of my dreams lounging on a sofa in the middle of the room.

She was gorgeous. Long red hair, beautiful eyes, full lips, the kind of curves a girl like me could only dream about (and dream I have, ever since). As I found out later, She was only a year older than me, home from college, but at that time She seemed so far from me I couldn’t even consider guessing Her age. And She was stark naked. And those noises that piqued my interest before were Her voice, moaning as She rubbed Herself with Her delicate hands. When I realised that, what She was doing, that was the moment when I was lost. Without any conscious thought from me, my hands started taking orders from a higher power as they slipped under my shirt and into my trousers – God, at that point, I was so happy that my messenger uniform was loose enough I didn’t have to bother with buttons or zippers.

Just like with sex in general, I was not a complete stranger to masturbation, but just like with sex in general, it wasn’t something I had been doing all that often. This was not what I knew. For one thing, masturbation had always been a means to an end – getting a release. Now, I realised that it had a meaning in and of itself; it was not about climaxing as soon as possible, but about prolonging this feeling for as long as I could. And so, with my eyes glued to the divine spectacle inside, I was, for the first time in my life, truly jilling myself.

It was a small miracle that I was able to get through this without screaming my orgasms to the sky – yes, orgasms; just like I had had no idea what masturbation truly meant, I also hadn’t known until then that I could have more than one. She, of course, had no such need for secrecy, and Her voice rang in my ears like angelic choirs as She climaxed over and over. In fact, Her multiple orgasms made me feel so intensely giddy, knowing that we were both able and capable of them and that this somehow connected us on a deep, profound level, that I was almost ready to break open the window and run to Her, to worship at Her feet.

But I didn’t. Because She got off the sofa and walked out of the room and out of my sight.

I came to my senses a short while after. My shirt and sports bra were pulled up so I could play with my breasts, my hair was looking worse than a bird’s nest, and my panties were completely soaked. Luckily, it wasn’t much visible through the trousers, but I resolved to take better care next time. I straightened my clothes and ran my fingers through my hair to get it under control before realising my fingers were still dripping wet with my orgasmic juices. That thought made me blush pretty deeply, but on some level I was pleased. Just like my panties sticking to my skin, the faint smell of my climaxes coming from my hair was a proof of my actions there.

Worse thing was, I had already lost almost a half hour there, so I spent the rest of the day in a near sprint to make up for it. When I finally got home to my teeny-tiny flat, I was burning with an intense desire to recapture the feeling from that morning, so as soon as the door clicked close behind me, I started taking off all of my clothing until I stood there as naked as She was. I almost leapt to my bed (there really wasn’t enough space for a sofa in my flat) and started jilling myself to new and exciting heights. By the time I fell asleep, too tired to do anything other than pull a blanket over me, I was lying in a puddle of my own juices. My last coherent thought was wondering whether my pussy would look better shaved.