The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ray Wylie Hubbard once sang, “She sparkled with wildness like the blue yonder . . .Bein’ in love with her is like living in a thunderstorm.”

That was, or rather still is, Charlotte.

We met in Oahu when I was a very young Air Force Loadmaster, and she was enjoying life between her sophomore and junior years. Her day job was working at the Hilton. We were in crew rest there, hanging out by the pool, the pilots trying to pick up any stewardess within reach and the others drinking beer. Me? I’m off by myself swimming and reading.

So here is this auburn hair-tanned-fit- 5′10″ vision asking me what I want. I’ll spare you the details, but my opening gambit was as smooth as a bar of Lava soap. Something about our names being similar. I’m Charles, she’s Charlotte. Get it?

The amount of scorn she dumped on me in next 10 seconds was phenomenal. Worse than that, she guessed I was Air Force and being the runt of the litter I was most likely the Load, and her Daddy—the Colonel—had made one thing clear: enlisted, especially junior enlisted, ranked just above one-celled organisms when it came to her choices in men, especially one who looked like he only shaved once a week.

I fell in love with her right then and there.

We ran into each other several times over the next three days. It was all one sided. Brush-off and putdowns countered with humor and patience.

But all good deals come to an end; we were alerted for a flight. The crew met in the coffee shop for an eight o’clock bus back to base. I looked around for her—nothing. But when the waitress handed me the check, there was a folded note underneath. Her name, address and phone number along with a request to come back soon.

I caught the next Space-A back to Hickam.

My second favorite Hubbard lyric is, “We hit it off like a metaphor….Like a metaphor for a hydrogen bomb.” We decided to get married three months later. At the wedding, her Dad told us we wouldn’t make six weeks; her Mom was more positive—six months. 33 years, a bunch of moves and long hours, and an Academy grad daughter later, we’re doing all right.

So why am I sitting here naked, a ball gag in my mouth and a rising erection watching Charlotte getting her ass lubed by our neighbor’s wife as he is slowly stroking his cock to full mast?

I got in late from Spokane last Friday night. Charlotte was half asleep on the couch, still dressed.

“Hey,” I whispered. A gentle shake. A half-opened eye in response.

“You’re wasted, honey,” I observed.

“Yeah. Esparza’s. I’m sorry. I lost count,” she muttered.

Esparza’s is the local Friday night hangout. Whoever shows up gets a corner table and the folks come and go. The house has one rule though. No more than two Margaritas without eating. The waiters are real good about keeping count, but we tip well and remember our favorites at Christmas. So sometimes you can get away with it. And if you can’t recover, they’ve been known to drive you home rather than risk putting a valued customer in an unknown cab or Uber/Lyft. We’re all professionals or in management; no one needs a DUI.

I smile. “How many?”

“Uhhhh. Three maybe.”

“Three maybe means four?” I asked.

She coughed, “well, maybe three and a half.”

“The car is in the garage . . . you didn’t . . .?”

“Unh uh. Stephanie drove.”

“She just as wasted?” my concern rising.

“Oh, no, I means yeah, but Roque drove us home.”

“OK. Let’s get you to bed.”

I drunk walked her down to the bedroom. A little mouthwash to clear out the tequila and probably a cigarette or two. Balance her on the bed and get her into her night shirt. Under the covers, fluff the pillow, light out.

“Nite,” she sighs. Then, “Charles? Why haven’t you ever tried to fuck me in the ass?”

I pause. I’ve got 7,000 plus hours in a C-141; I’m upper management for a good sized logistics company. I’ve seen and dealt with more emergencies and crises than any one save EMTs and ER docs.

“Huh?” That’s the best I had.

“Stephanie says it’s the best and that I have a really nice fuckable ass. So why haven’t you?”

I stand silent. In vino veritas. Must have been a hell of a conversation.

She starts sleep breathing, I tip-toe out. I put my brain in neutral and after a couple of shots, I slide between the sheets.

Stephanie and Rick live about four houses down, having moved in about six months ago. They’re marriage counselors/therapists.

We know them from neighborhood gatherings and Rick on occasion rides with the Saturday morning 30-40 miler group. Driving down to the bike shop, I debated bringing this up, but then again it was just drunk girl talk. Charlotte probably doesn’t remember it. Anyway, he wasn’t there.

When I got back, Charlotte was still in bed with the pillow over her head. By the time I showered and dressed, she was up—mostly. 10 minutes later it’s coffee, juice and bagel on the patio.

I opened the bidding with, “Late night?”

She passed.

I doubled with, “Roque brought you home?”

She shrugged.

So I went ahead and bid the slam, “Sounds like you and Stephanie busted the altitude limit. I’ll have to thank Roque generously.”

I paused. Then—“What’s with the remark about us not having anal sex? We’re all grown-ups, but that’s about the last thing I expect to get when I come home.”

She squinted and sat up straighter. In the back of my mind the National Weather Service issued a thunderstorm warning to include moderate hail.

“Well we haven’t! And you haven’t even asked or tried”

“And where did this come from?” I shot back. “Stephanie give you a lecture on how anal can save a marriage?”

“Not in so many words. She got to talking about all the stresses in a marriage—money, family, kids, sex. And how sex was the easiest one to resolve. Which then turned to what to do if one partner wanted something and the other didn’t. Like anal. And then she got to talking about how great anal is and the more she talked the wetter I got. And then I told her we never had so she wondered what our problem was, ’cause on the outside we seemed so happy. And I didn’t have an answer. So why haven’t we?”

So, now we have variation number 23 on the “does this dress make me look fat” list of cobras to pet.

“Well, for starters, why would I put my clean, dare I say pristine, penis in the hole from which you evacuate your bowels?”

“Because it’s naughty? It’s sensual? It’s sexy?”

“Ok, so there’s an old locker room saying about nothing being quite as satisfying as taking a big dump, but that’s what your ass hole is designed for.”

She snorted, “Well, what if I want to do it?’

I smiled, “Hey, you’re the hottest 53 year old MILF I know, so bring it up at the next block party.”

I ducked as the bagel sailed my way.

Raising my hands, “Truce! OK, “Serious-Word” (our code for cut the crap—total honesty now). I have a block. Recall that as much as I have massaged your ass and nethers I’ve never crossed the DMZ. Never been tempted; never been curious. And neither have you.”

“Fair enough,” she said retrieving the bagel. “It’s just that Stephanie was going on and on about how exhilarating it was and that she had Rick did it more than anything else.”

She paused.

“Look, Rick’s a counselor, maybe he might have some advice.”

“Serious-Word?” I asked.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“Deal,” I agreed. My batch processor had been reviewing the MILF remark. I was sincere, she’s still a head turner, but saying “53” was it much. Katie turned 30 earlier this year, and Charlotte was still not happy about it.

A call to Rick’s office Monday morning gets me a six o’clock appointment. It was in a section of homes converted into businesses. Inside it was quiet and peaceful as a counselor’s office should be. He was outside with the receptionist. As I walked in, he looked up and said, “I saw the name, but wasn’t sure if it was you.”

“Yeah, you got a moment for a small chat?”

“Personal or social?” he asked.

“More social,” I said.

“Fine; you and Charlotte never struck me as having an issue. Step in,” he gestured.

His office had the obligatory couch, but I took the chair.

“What’s up?” he opened.

Shrugging, “Well, it seems Charlotte and Stephanie got wasted the other night at Esparza’s. And somewhere in the haze, Stephanie was extolling the virtues of anal. And so I came home that night to the question of why I won’t do my wife in the ass.”

“Ah. Well, there’s the issue of marital privacy and all that. And so?” he replied.

“Yeah, look, I’m not coming in here asking you to tell your wife to mind her own business. Well, that didn’t come out right. But maybe I am. Look, we’ve never done it. I’ve never asked and neither has she.”

“OK—. And?”

“Well, we’ve done it in all sorts of places over the years, but that is just plain dirty. Sticking your dick where people shit—to be blunt.”

“That is one way to put it.” He gestured to the side. “All those books are filled with theories and explanations as to why people do what they do. Nothing wrong with your view.”

“Well, seeing as their conversation put me in a corner, can you ask Stephanie to back off?” I asked.

”How about you take one Viagra, wait 30 minutes, apply lube generously, close your eyes, hold your nose and push,” his tone indicate little if any humor.

“Yeah, right,” I replied.

He leaned back, thought for a moment, took a deep breath, “I need to go do something,” he said standing. Reaching to the side of his desk, he picked up a thumb drive and stuck it in the USB port.

“My bike light needs charging for Saturday. I’ll be back in a moment and we can chat some more. But to take the edge off, why don’t you count the strobes, see if you can figure the pattern. Just put your brain in neutral.” He put a little 3x5 card screen in front so the light was a soft blue.

“Ok,” I said. “I know I’m a little testy about this, sorry.”

It took a moment to get the rhythm. Was the third group five or seven? One-Two-Three-Five- Six? No seven. OK, again One-Two-Three-Five-Seven. Over and over. I’m letting everything go, just thinking about the pattern. At some point it hit me—prime numbers below 10. But I kept watching—and watching—and watching.

I did not hear him come back in. But at some point he was back at the desk, talking very quietly about relaxing, focusing, letting go, trusting, being open, being honest. Trust and be honest. Trust and accept.

He asked questions, and I answered.

And then he offered suggestions and things made sense because he said that it did.

The issue was that Charlotte was the dominant one, always had been. I was the submissive. And now she had asked for me to perform, but I could not submit because of a personal taboo. And so there was conflict.

He encouraged acceptance.

And then he decided it was over. Out time was up.

For some reason, I could not really recall what was said, but I felt more at ease.

I stood. We shook hands.

“Come back Wednesday; let’s talk some more,” he said. “By the way, if you can’t bring yourself to do you wife in the ass, maybe she can do you.”

I stopped in mid-step, trembling.

And then, “Or I could do her for you. Think about it.”

Under other circumstances, this called for an angry retort or snappy come-back. But something was telling me that what he said made sense. If Charlotte had a need, and I could not satisfy it, then perhaps for her I should acquiesce.

It was a quiet night at home; the weekend’s issues did not come up.

But when I got home on Tuesday, I passed Stephanie’s car coming out of the driveway. Charlotte was out on the back patio, lost in thought. I let her be while I changed. But when I came out, she was alert and perky as usual.

The next day I kept fretting over going back to see Rick. But at 4:00 I got a call from his office reminding me of the appointment. She asked me to count the strobes twice, and when I finished with the second one she told me Rick insisted I be there as scheduled. As she hung up, I realized I had to go.

When I arrived, Rick was waiting and waved me into the office. He motioned to the chair. As I sat he lowered the lights and started the strobe again. The filter this time was red.

“This worked well—relaxing and distracting you, so let’s do it again,” he said. “You recall the count?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s easy to remember.”

“And very easy to let go and relax, the light is not too fast, not too slow, just the right rhythm for relaxing. Not thinking, just counting and listening. Understanding and agreeing. Obeying and agreeing.”

I paused.

“That’s why you came to see me, right?” he prompted. “You needed to understand your feelings and attitudes towards something new, don’t you recall?

“Yeah”, I sighed.

“And part of that is letting go, opening you mind so that you can understand and this requires you to understand and obey.”

Something about ‘obey’ made me pause.

“Obey?” I struggled to get out.

“Of course,” he said. “You agreed the other day, that in order to understand you had to obey with my suggestions and directions.” He paused. In a softer voice, “Would comply be a better word? We’re friends, I can help, but you need to agree to comply. Can you do that for me Charles, please?”

It was like a barrier was lowered. That made sense.

I relaxed and slumped further in the chair. “Yeah, sure, I can comply.”

“Because you trust me?” his voice was even softer.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

He began a series of questions about my past, my relationships with my parents and grandparents. I recall talking about how much influence my mother and grandmother had, how much I desired the approval, how often I deferred to their wishes and suggestions and input.

From there we talked about Charlotte and how I deferred to her. With a little prodding, he had me admit that she was the dominant one in the relationship whereas I was the submissive. And then he praised me for accepting the truth.

Then he stated it had been obvious to him and Stephanie when they first met us, that I was the submissive. They found it interesting that I had such a responsible position in the company, but then again, my submissiveness was the result of the strong women in my life.

He then asked me to tell him again why I had come to see him.

I could barely get it out. “Because Charlotte wants to try anal.”

“And?”

Even lower. “Because I can’t.”

“And you know the ‘dirtiness’ that bothers you could be overcome by a condom, don’t you?”

I whispered, “Yeah.”

“But what we really know is that while you can make love to a woman, anal sex is just something your mother and grandmother would disapprove, don’t we?”

I paused.

“Comply Charles. Don’t think, Count the lights. Listen to me. You know I’m right and you agreed you would comply.”

I just stared. He was right.

“Yeah, I can’t do it.”

“And you won’t ever be able to it, ever?’”

“No.”

“Excellent, Charles. Excellent. Now sit here for a while, keep focusing on the lights and commit to who you are.”

Before he left, he did something with his computer and then stopped the lights. Words started flashing on the screen too quick to read in time to a sound. It was the same 1-2-3-5-7 rhythm. It was easy to watch, even if I could not read or hear clearly.

At some point, I realized I was out it in the hall and agreeing to a four o’clock appointment on Friday afternoon.

The secretary ushered me into the office. Rick was behind the desk typing on the keyboard. Motioning me to the chair, he turned around as I sat. No greeting. Instead, “count for me as the light starts,” he said in a stern tone.

The light was a deeper, darker red. I began as before: 1-2-3-5-7 over and over. After a couple of minutes, he demanded I look at him, again sternly.

“I am going to go through a list of words. Tell me if they apply to you. You’ll recognize them from out last session:

Open? Yes.

Willing? Yes.

Obedient? Yes.

Willing? Yes.

Accepting? Yes.

Willing? Yes.

Submissive? Yes.

Willing? Yes.

Cuckold? I hesitated.

Cuckold? I paused, then soflty Yes.

Cuckold? Yes.

“Say it together, I understand I am a willing, submissive, cuckold.”

I repeated it

“Three more times.”

I complied.

“As we discussed Wednesday and you agreed, Charlotte just wants to try something new. And you love her. And so given your inability to perform, you are willing to step aside. You’re not giving her up; you’re just indulging her. Agreed? (I nod.)You’ve admitted you are an obedient-willing-submissive so consenting to her exploring her urge is harmless. Correct? (I nod.) And being a cuckold just identifies your role. It’s harmless since you readily admit you are willing.”

I sat silent. His words made sense.

He interrupted my thoughts. “Remember, at the end of the hour you watched the screen as it displayed several descriptions. And by watching it you agreed these were accurate. I selected those words because you admitted to them in our discussions. So here, watch them again, and keep counting to yourself. You’ll accept these are true. I’ll give you a couple of minutes.”

As he left the screen started flashing the words, slowly at first, but then flashing quicker. I noted the words flashed in sequence to the numbers: willing-obedient / obedient-submissive / submissive / submissive- cuckold / cuckold / cuckold / cuckold / cuckold- willing / willing / willing / willing /willing / willing / willing. And then starting again in a random order.

At some point I accepted it—for her. And because that is who I am—a willing, submissive cuckold.

And so as I kept watching, I became more and more accepting.

As I was leaving, a one word text from Charlotte: Esparza’s?

Three letters back: OTW.

The early arrivals had claimed the corner. We mixed and mingled per usual. The one rule was no politics so it required folks to think to keep a conversation going.

A variety of nachos and quesadillas provided the fuel; sangria and margaritas the lubrication.

About a half-an-hour and one full margarita later, I noticed Rick and Stephanie had arrived. He caught my eye and gave a head nod towards the patio. I shrugged and told Charlotte I’d be back in a moment, as if she could hear me over the two conversations she had going on.

I followed him out to the patio and then around the corner.

“What’s up,” I asked.

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and triggered the bicycle light. Putting his other arm around my shoulder he turned me so that no one could see the light.

“Count for me,” he whispered in my ear.

I sagged into him and counted, “five-seven-one-two-three-five . . .”

“Stephanie and I have decided we want to come over after this winds down. I plan to indulge Charlotte’s desires and fantasy. Charlotte should be talking to her right about it, arranging her consent and calming any resistance. You will likewise consent. And you know why, don’t you?” he directed.

Pausing for a moment. Then—Because I can’t do it, because I’m submissive and obedient,” I replied.

“And you are willing to play the role of a consenting, willing cuckold aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Indeed, you find the prospect arousing. I bet you’re starting to stir with the thought of my fucking her ass and you not being able to resist, aren’t you?” He turned me a little and stroked my cock.

He was right; I was starting to stir. I was helpless.

“Count one more sequence for me, and then when I put the light down, we’re back inside until I tell you it’s time to go.

I followed him inside, weaving a little bit. As we came back to the table I saw Charlotte was over in a corner talking to Stephanie. Stephanie was fingering her necklace and stroking Charlotte’s shoulder like she was comforting her. Moments later they were sitting together, off to the side.

I sat back down, trying to make conversation, but my mind was scattered. After about 10 minutes, Rick tapped me on the shoulder and leaning over said quietly, “It’s time for you to go, tell them you’ve got a call to make.”

I stood as directed and made my excuse. Charlotte was at the door waiting. As I got to her, she said, “I invited Rick and Stephanie to stop by; we weren’t through chatting.”

I just nodded.

The ride home was quiet. As we pulled into the driveway, I saw Rick and Stephanie getting out and walking up behind us.

We gathered in the kitchen. There was a brief pause, and then Rick spoke.

“Would you give me a moment with Charles, please?”

Stephanie took Charlotte by the arm, and said, “Sure; I want to see your guest room.”

As they stepped out, Rick had the strobe going. “Focus and Count. From here out you will do exactly as I say. You will submit and obey without question. This is who you really are—a submissive obedient cuckold. Understand?’

“Yes,” I said.

“Now, Charlotte has agreed to let me fuck her in the ass. You’re going to watch me master her and watch her enjoy it. I’m doing this because you can’t; you’re too submissive, understand?”

I hung my head, “Yes, I do.”

“Now, Strip; Naked: Completely.”

I knew I shouldn’t, but the realization that I was submissive and the erotic thrill of being dominated overwhelmed me.

I left my clothes on the floor. He then reached into Stephanie’s purse and pulled out a ball gag and Velcro cuffs.

“Can’t have you changing your mind and interfering. Let’s go to the guest room.”

I led him down the hall, adjusting my breathing for the gag. His hand was on my neck. He steered me to the corner chair.

When we got to the room Charlotte was naked from the waist down and sitting on the bed. Her eyes widened when I came in, but she said nothing. Rick kicked off his shoes and then removed his jeans and briefs.

He then stood in front of her, fondling himself.

“I know Stephanie has told you what happened. After the anal talk with Charles, he came to see me. He was worried he could not perform. So we talked about it and after a while he came to realize he would never be able to do it. He’s just too submissive. You on the other hand are not. I know Stephanie has had several of her uniquely persuasive chats with you this week as well. So, you can see my cock is getting harder and it’s getting harder for you. You’re ready aren’t you?”

Charlotte blushed, hard. Looking down at the growing cock, she murmured, “Yes.”

He kept stroking, “Tell me to fuck your ass. Beg me.”

She took a deep breath, “Yeah, OK, OK, I want to do this. Fuck my ass.”

Rick stepped back as Stephanie stood her up and jerked the bed spread off. “No need to get that messed up; turn around and get on all fours.”

She then pulled a tube out and smeared a gel on her fingers and on Charlotte’s crack. First a full handed massage from back to front several times followed by little darts of the long finger as the anus, followed by slight penetrations leading up to one, then two fingers in. Charlotte had dropped her head and was wiggling her ass on each penetration, rocking slightly.

Charlotte was moaning. I was wide-eyed as my own dick was starting to stir.

Rick was almost fully erect as he opened a condom. It goes on easily.

He tapped Stephanie to move back, looked over at me and then repositioned Charlotte so I have a full side view. He stroked her thighs several times and then placed one hand on her neck and plunged the other up against her pussy, massaging, stimulating, and penetrating. She started to hump his hand, rocking back when he withdrew, trying to keep him in.

He then pulled his hand back up to her ass, using her juices to lubricate her further.

She rocked forward, and he removed his hand, using it to place his tip at her opening. When she rocked back trying to find his hand, she instead found his cock. She squealed and pulled forward, but was stopped by the hand on her neck. He brought her back to where his hand was holding the tip and he pushed in slightly. She gasped and grunted.

As he pushed in, he told her, “You’re clinching, take a deep breath, extend forward and relax. I’ll go slow.”

I watched him go in an inch, back half way out, go in an inch and a bit, then partially back. Slowly, he went a little deeper each time. Insert, pull back, repeat. Insert, pull back, repeat.

All l could do was stare. I could not look away. It was so smooth and seductive. I could feel my pre-cum leaking.

As he would push in, Charlotte was squirming, trying to get him in deeper. “Deeper,” she moaned.

“We’ll get there soon; enjoy the journey,” he growled.

A few more strokes and her ass was up against his thighs. When he was fully in, she started rotating, trying to drill him in further. A moment later, she wrapped her hands in the sheets to give her a grip and began to rock forward and back. Once she got the sense of how far she could go, she began to lunge forward and backwards, accelerating with each stroke.

Rick was gripping her ass with both hands trying to control her, but she was not stopping. Suddenly he arched and groaned and then the tremors started. Gasping, he told her to slow down which she did. While they were gently rocking, she suddenly pulled out and flipped to her back, masturbating herself to a quick, screaming orgasm.

While she was taking care of her needs, Rick turned to me and leering, removes to condom. He reached into his pants and pulled out the light, triggering it and triggering my trance.

Switching hands he removed the gag. As I’m gasping for air, he made me count while he directed me to open my mouth. “A submissive cuckold would swallow my cum. You are too scared to put your cum in her ass, but you’ll swallow my cum. You can’t put your cum in her, but you don’t want mine making her messy. She should be clean in case I want go again. Open up cuckold, take it.”

I resisted for few seconds, but he told me to start counting and obey. I opened up; he poured; I swallowed.

As he pulled me up to a stand, I noticed Stephanie was kneeling on the bed over Charlotte, taking Charlotte’s hand and pulling it up and into her vagina, rubbing against it, talking softly to Charlotte as her eyes glazed over.

Rick took me back to the kitchen and out came the light yet again. I welcomed it for refuge, focusing on counting and not what just happened. Escaping, his voice is in the far background.

“This was your doing, you could have just held your nose and fucked her instead of bitching to me about a drunken conversation between our wives. Granted, Charlotte is the hottest one of the group, but I don’t stray as a general rule. Besides, this was Stephanie’s idea as much as it was mine. But we need to make some adjustments now. Put the ball gag back in, keep counting the lights and listen.

The Blairs had stopped by for a post Esparza’s after Margarita drink or two. Charlotte and Stephanie seemed to be getting to be closer friends. Rick is part of the bicycle group, but he is a quasi-shrink—mainly marriage counseling. May be paranoia, but I find myself guarded around mental health folks. I feel like they’re always looking for a weak spot.

But they’re neighbors, so mi licor us tu licor. But that’s as far as it goes.