The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Caroline Finche sighed, and pushed the doorbell again. The girl’s work was late. If she didn’t start meeting deadlines, Caroline would just have to find another proofreader. The door opened, and an anxious face peeked out. Seeing Caroline, the girl’s shoulders slumped.

“Hi Ms. Finche. Um, have you seen Andrea?”

“Sheila, I need those manuscripts back. You were supposed to—”

“Andrea’s been missing, see,” Sheila went on, “Nearly six days now. Have you seen her?” She looked down. “Wow. Cool shoes.”

“Thank you. Now when are you—”

“Just a second.” The girl looked back into her apartment. “...oh, will you please keep quiet? Please?” There was silence; then Sheila’s cheeks reddened. “For the last time, I don’t want to! Pervert!”

Caroline closed her eyes. Of all the proofreaders in New York, she had to hire this one. She closed her eyes and began counting to ten, just like her therapist had told her to.

When she opened her eyes, Sheila was looking at her.

“Um, Ms. Finche? Do you still collect books? Because I’m trying to get rid of something.”

Andrea knelt on the bed and giggled, naked except for the five-inch heels. Her master watched her from across the hotel room. They had met in some dance club last Saturday. She’d been looking for him, but couldn’t remember why. All she remembered was his cock rubbing against her on the dance floor; and his voice urging her on in the cab, while she bent over the cab driver and licked.

“You look great, babe,” her master said sipping his champagne; one hand held that funny book he always talked to. Sometimes, he even talked to it while he played with her. That got her horny, and she giggled whenever she was horny. This past week, she had giggled a lot.

Andrea spread her knees wider. He’d told her to pose real sexy, like those chicks in his magazines. She couldn’t read the magazines, of course—reading was for smart people like him. But the pictures were real pretty, and the chicks looked real hot. She giggled again.

“You’re just my horny little airhead bimbo, aren’t you?” He tried to stand from the couch. His legs wobbled, and he grabbed the table for balance.

“Oh yes, master,” she squealed. “Your horny little airhead bimbo.” She loved it when he made her say that—it got her so horny, she was ready to hump anything that moved. Like that bartender from the dance club. Or that waiter who brought in the champagne, and looked at her funny while she played with herself on the bed.

She stretched—just like the chick in the magazine—and ran her hands up her boobies. She looked at the empty champagne bottle. Was her master going to order more champagne? Maybe he’d give her to that cute waiter as a tip.

“Keep playing with your tits, babe,” he said. He swayed towards the bed, still clutching the book. One hand was fumbling with his belt buckle. Maybe she was going to get fucked. Or spanked. Either way, she giggled in anticipation. He stopped in front of her, still swaying. Her nostrils flared at the smell of him, standing so close.

She inched forward until her nose nearly touched his crotch. She sniffed, then began to nuzzle against him. Her senses swam in his maleness. She reached for his zipper, but her master pushed her hand away.

“Use your mouth,” he said.

She nodded eagerly, and rubbed her face into his crotch, thinking of his taste. She ran her tongue up his fly, and seized the zipper between her teeth. She whimpered, and began to pull it open.

“Good girl...now keep...keep playin’...with your tits...”

His voice was real slurry—and slurry voices got her so hot. Twisting her nipples between her fingers, Andrea yanked his zipper down, and nuzzled into his fly. Her wet tongue flicked out, searching. There was a big thud—

Andrea frowned. Where did he go? A second ago, he was standing in front of her. She peeked over the edge of the bed.

Oh, there he was—lying on the floor. Did he fall asleep? He didn’t like being bothered while sleeping. The last time she woke him up, he didn’t touch her for hours. Even after she tried real hard to convince him.

Andrea pouted. If he was asleep, then he couldn’t fuck her. Or spank her. She wanted desperately to touch herself down there, but her master had told her to keep playing with her boobies. Maybe she could rub against something. Stroking her nipples, she looked around. The bed post looked the right height.

She heard another noise and turned to the door. It was that dreamy champagne guy. He wasn’t wearing his cute waiter outfit, but he still had a nice ass. If she asked him real nice, maybe he would fuck her.

Still playing with her boobies, she watched him cross the room. He squatted down beside her master on the floor, and felt his neck. Then he picked up the book, and carefully placed into a chrome briefcase.

He looked up at her. She giggled, and pushed her boobies out at him.

“Like...hi there,” she said, giving him her prettiest smile. “You’re...like...kind of cute, y’know?” She sniffed the air, stroking her nipples. “And you smell nice, too.”

He sighed and sat down on the bed—she scooted over to make room. “Hullo, Andrea,” he said, pulling something from his pocket. “Welcome back to the land of the thinking.”

It looked like a camera, but without the hole in the middle. She watched him bring it up to her face, an inch in front of her nose. It whirred and clicked. She giggled; there was a series of faint tones, like musical notes, then—

“Omigod!” she screeched, jumping back on the bed, folding her arms over her chest, and shutting her eyes tight. Her head thumped against something hard—probably the backboard.

Then the memories flooded back, like they always did.

“Andrea,” he said. “You okay?”

Andrea looked up. The bastard was smirking at her; she smirked back, hopped off the bed, and kicked him in the shin.

His smirk went away. He yelped and hopped around for a few seconds. “What was that for?”

“Habit,” Andrea said, feeling satisfied. She looked around for something to cover up with. The bed sheets were lilac with pink hearts; she wrinkled her nose, and tugged them off. “Where have you been? You were supposed to follow us from the club.”

His smirk came back. “I lost you in that riot you started.”

“Oh. Well I couldn’t help it. I was very horny.”

“You were. The crowd just...ate you up.”

“Humph.” Andrea finished wrapping the sheet around herself, and peered down at her erstwhile master. He wasn’t too bad. Not like that last girl, with the cat fetish. Or that other guy, the spanker—she was sore for a week.

That was odd; something was tugging at her chest. She peeked under the sheet. Bloody hell—

“I see you’ve finally noticed your new accessory,” he said, chuckling.

Andrea sighed. A nipple ring, of all things. She checked for other surprises, but found none. “Anyhow, that’s another manual we’re bringing in. Is that the last one?”

“They mailed out one more before we shut them down. Plus, you still haven’t vaulted the pen. The lab guys are having a fit.” He rubbed his shin. “You know, I think I prefer the former you.”

“Oh, shut up, Jack.” She rifled through a nearby closet: unbelievably skimpy tops, impossibly short miniskirts, and absolutely no underwear. Men were so predictable. She pulled out a hideous neon blouse, and nearly choked. “Please say you brought me clothes. This will barely cover my boobies—”

She blinked. “I meant breasts. It won’t cover my breasts.”

“I heard that—you said boobies.”

“Shhh. Don’t be childish.” Andrea sat down, thinking hard. Something was bothering her. Had she done anything incriminating this time around? The last time, her mother had been visiting. Poor Mom; Andrea had to blank out two days worth of her memories. Still, Mom had been a shockingly good kisser...

Now, what had she done this time? She had made a phone call, and—

Her face turned white. “Jack?”

“Hey. What’s wrong?” He sat down next to her.

“I think I broke up with Sheila.”

Sheila finished proofreading another manuscript. Without the book talking to her, she could finally work. And if she could work, she could keep her mind off Andrea.

Well, not really.

Still no clue where Andrea had gone. Nothing but that giggly voice mail. Maybe if she called Andrea’s workplace, they’d know—but where was that? Nearly half a year together, and Andrea still refused to tell her. Maybe she could go through Andrea’s stuff again.

There was a sound from the living room. The door? Sheila dropped her manuscript—maybe it was Andrea. If it was Andrea, she’d welcome her back with a long, wet kiss. Then she’d club her senseless, and lock her in the closet.

She sighed. It was probably just her editor, trying to return that silly book. Well, that was too bad—there was no way Sheila was going to take it back. It had said some very rude things. Just because Sheila had fallen asleep while it was talking. Shaking her head, Sheila headed out to the living room—

And stopped in mid-step.

It was Andrea. Standing in the middle of the room, looking at her.

Maybe it was just another dream. The real Andrea wouldn’t be caught dead in that awful neon blouse. Although her dreams about Andrea usually didn’t involve any blouses. Or clothes.

Andrea stepped closer. Nothing nearby to club her with. Sheila took a deep breath.

“Um...hi Andrea. Mfffffff—”

Andrea kissed her.

And kept kissing her. Off-balance, Sheila stumbled back and plopped on the couch with Andrea on top, still kissing. Finally Andrea pulled up, breathing hard.

“Wow,” Andrea said. She started to unbutton her blouse. “I should leave home more often.”

Sheila just stared. “W-where have...” she stammered. “Where have you...”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“You broke up with me on our answering machine!”

One of Andrea’s buttons wouldn’t unfasten, so Sheila ripped the blouse open. The button sailed off, and landed in a nearby flowerpot. Sheila grunted, and moved her hands down to Andrea’s skirt.

“Well...I had a reason.” Andrea’s voice trailed off. “And it was a good reason, too.”

“Better be. Or else.”

Andrea pushed Sheila back onto the couch, and settled down on top of her. Her lips hovered above Sheila’s. “Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll...” Sheila faltered. “Or else I’ll kiss you to death.”

Andrea’s lips moved closer. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Sheila yanked Andrea down, and kissed her hard. She ran her hands under the torn blouse; her fingers found Andrea’s nipples, and—

And something else. “Andrea? You have a...a...”

“Nipple ring? Yes, dear, I know.” Andrea stripped off the torn blouse, and threw it off; amazingly, it landed on the same flowerpot. She kissed the tip of Sheila’s nose, then began to work her way down. “I’ll explain later. After the make-up sex.”

“Make-up sex?”

“Shhh.”

“Wow,” Sheila said, much later.

She lay on the bed, too comfy to move. They had somehow ended up in the bedroom, leaving a trail of clothing behind them. Andrea was curled up beside her, fingers stroking softly between Sheila’s thighs. With her other hand, Andrea was poking through her purse. “Mmmm,” Andrea said, looking up at her. “That was at least a seven.”

“Maybe even an eight.” Sheila wriggled as Andrea’s fingers found a good spot. Andrea had done that a lot over the past few hours. “Not bad, after a week without practice. Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

“Well, don’t worry anymore,” Andrea said. She held up one of those gadgets she kept bringing home from work. It whirred and clicked, an inch away from Sheila’s face. Her voice dropped to a low monotone.

“Now, you should forget all about that...just forget that I was gone for a week...”

Sheila pushed up against Andrea’s fingers. “Forget? The make-up sex wasn’t that good.”

“I said forget about it...I order you to forget...Just forget...”

“Andrea, you had me worried to death!”

Sheila felt Andrea’s fingers pull away from her crotch. She sighed, and looked up. Andrea was shaking her little gizmo. She pointed it back at Sheila. “Okay—let’s try that again. Forgetting anything?”

“Andrea, please!” Sheila pushed the gizmo away. “I was going nuts trying to figure out what happened. I called your ex-boyfriend, I went through your work files, I even ordered that silly book, and—”

“Book?” Andrea’s eyes widened. “The manual? From my files?”

“Yes! Among a million other stupid things I did trying to find you.”

“Sheila, you have to tell me about that manual. Now.”

“No! You first!” Sheila blinked rapidly. “I didn’t know if you were ever coming back! You didn’t even let me say...let me say...ohhhh—”

Andrea’s fingers started stroking again.

“Oh, Andrea—that’s not...that’s not...fair.” Sheila shook her head. Now what had she been talking about? Andrea’s fingers quickened, making her gasp.

“Please, Sheila.” Andrea started nibbling at one of Sheila’s nipples. “It’s really important. The manual...”

“I...I read about it...ohhhh...in your files. So I...mmmm...I ordered a copy.”

“When is it supposed to arrive?”

“Ohhhh...It arrived yesterday—yeeeagh! Don’t bite!” Sheila pushed herself up, rubbing her nipple.

“Sorry, sorry.” Andrea was already sitting up, looking around. “It’s here? W-where is it?” Her eyes widened. “Oh dear god. Please tell me you didn’t read it.”

“Of course I read it. Real weird. It was talking to me, too.”

“Oh, no. Oh please, no.” Andrea was looking at her very closely now, her face all scrunched up, like that time after Sheila’s bike accident. “W-what did...oh god...what did it...”

Sheila frowned. Andrea looked genuinely scared—and Andrea rarely got scared. “Kept trying to tell me what to do. Very annoying. I couldn’t get any work done.”

“Annoying? " Andrea’s voice sounded strained. “It was just...annoying? ”

Sheila’s cheeks flushed warm. “Well...it got me a little horny, with this cheesy, porno-monologue-thingie. Got me thinking about that girl from the X-Files. You know, the pretty one with—”

Andrea was looking at her with raised eyebrows. Whoops. Well, at least she looked calmer now.

“Um, she was only there at the start. Most of it was with you. Honest.”

“Really.”

Yup, she definitely looked calmer. “Anyway, it wouldn’t shut-up. So I gave it away.”

“You...gave away the manual?”

“Sold it, actually. Got my twenty-nine bucks back.” Sheila frowned. “Look, you still haven’t told me where you’ve been for the past week.”

Andrea shook her head urgently. “This is important. I need to know who you gave it too.”

“Oh no. You’re not worming out of this one, you...you...um...”

“Sheila, I’ll explain later, but—”

“No, I want my explanation now! And...um, an apology too.”

Andrea was quiet. Finally, she sighed. “I’m sorry I worried you.” She traced a finger lightly over Sheila’s leg. “I’m very sorry. I really didn’t mean to worry you.”

“Okay.” Sheila folded her arms. “Now, I want that explanation. And don’t think you can distract me this time.”

“Distract you?” Andrea kissed Sheila’s ear. “No, of course not.”

“Good.” She batted at Andrea’s hand as it reached her waist. Obediently, Andrea’s hand moved away and began to trace its way lower. “Now, what was I saying?”

“You were talking about the manual?” Andrea said, nuzzling against Sheila’s cheek.

No, that wasn’t it. What had she been saying? She felt Andrea’s fingers brush against her clit, and her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh yes. Right there.”

“Sheila, who did you give the manual to?” Andrea murmured, still nuzzling.

“W-who? Ohhhh...gave it t-to...ohhhh...Ms. Finche...”

“Finche the Grinch? You gave the manual to your editor?” Andrea’s fingers paused for a moment, then went on stroking. Sheila felt Andrea shift on the bed beside her, felt Andrea’s lips very close to her ear.

“Now Sheila, from the start.” Andrea’s voice was so nice. So rich and husky. “Walk me through everything that’s happened since the manual arrived. Don’t leave out any details. Will you do that for me?”

“But you...need to explain...ohhh...”

Andrea’s small, pink tongue flicked wetly behind Sheila’s ear. “Please, Sheila?”

“Mmmm...okay.”

Shelves lined the walls of Caroline Finche’s home office—all the books in her collection, carefully dusted every other day. Caroline had nearly put this new book there, too; good thing she decided to browse through it first.

She settled back into her armchair, and ran her fingers across the book’s brown leather cover.

It was a marvel. So silly of that girl to let it go.

Caroline laid the book carefully on her mahogany desk, and licked her lips. She looked down at her secretary’s tousled head nuzzling between her legs. “Good slave. You can stop now.”

Her secretary pulled away. “Yes, Mistress Finche,” she said. She rested her head against Caroline’s thigh; her face glistened with wetness.

Caroline bent forward, and took the other woman’s chin between her finger and thumb. It was slick. She tilted the woman’s face up, and ran her tongue slowly up the soft jawline, to the smooth, wet cheek. The woman opened her mouth, and licked back at her. Their tongues touched briefly, then Caroline pushed her back down to the floor.

“Play with yourself, slave,” Caroline said, pushing back her chair. She stood and stretched, enjoying the cool air on her nude body. She and the book had a long, delightful conversation last night. And today, she would take the first step of their grand plan. She knelt down over the naked body of her secretary. The woman was lying face down, her cheek pressed on the carpet. Both hands were at her crotch, playing. Caroline brushed the woman’s hair back from her face—her eyes were closed, and her breathing was shallow through parted lips.

“Slave, I need you to call our publisher.” Caroline ran her hand up to the woman’s backside, feeling the tightly muscled flesh between her fingers. “Who can we ask to come over?”

The woman’s eyelids fluttered. “W-who...?”

“Who can we call, slave?” Caroline finger found the woman’s asshole. She circled it, feeling it twitch. “Who can we call to come over?”

“Ohhh...The CEO...?”

The CEO? Caroline frowned, thinking. Short man, pudgy. Lots of body hair. Ewww.

“No, slave. A woman.”

“Ohhh...a w-woman...?”

Caroline scowled. Her secretary was normally more efficient than this. She looked at the other woman’s glazed eyes—too horny to think? That just wouldn’t do, of course; Caroline would train her better in the future. She bent down to whisper harshly into her secretary’s ear, “What’s wrong, slave? You can’t seem to handle—” she pushed her finger into the woman’s asshole, “—the pressure.”

Her secretary gasped, and looked into her eyes.

Caroline smiled. It didn’t matter. Soon it would be time to spread the word. They would call a publisher, and cut the book deal of the century. Then they would call another. And another. Caroline pushed her finger deeper. Her secretary gasped again.

Caroline chuckled. She ran her other hand down her body, to her own moist slit, listening to the woman moan under her touch. Soon enough, the whole world would know the power of Mistress Finche. And her secretary. And their book.

And then they’d take over the world. One book publisher at a time.

Andrea lay entwined with Sheila’s legs, watching Sheila’s sleeping face, listening to her breathe. She ran one hand—still sticky—over Sheila’s red locks, smoothing out the tangles, careful not to wake her.

The inducer hadn’t affected Sheila at all. Then she’d tried the other stuff she had lying around: the amulet, the subliminals, even the VR gear. She still couldn’t find the pen, but that probably wouldn’t work either.

Maybe she could get some heavy duty stuff from the office tomorrow. Maybe the nanite stuff they confiscated last month. Or else she’d have a lot of explaining to do.

But the manual was definitely heavy duty. And it didn’t affect Sheila at all.

She felt Sheila stir, giving her just enough time to pull her arm out from underneath. Finally able to stretch, she took the phone from the bedside table and dialed. Sheila nestled her head at Andrea’s breast like she always did, still sleeping. With her free hand, Andrea stroked her lover’s hair, listening to the phone ring. A voice answered, thick with sleep.

“Jack? It’s me.” Andrea’s breath caught as Sheila’s lips brushed against her new nipple ring. For some reason, Sheila seemed to like it. “I think I know where the last manual is.”

Sheila mumbled sleepily. Her tongue came out, and began to lick at Andrea’s breast. Andrea inhaled, trying to keep her voice steady.

“And I think I know who can get it back safely.”