The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

James:

I allow myself a smile as I enter the hotel. I’ve long since taken care of the night manager, and he keeps me apprised of any new desk staff he hires, so it’s simple enough to ensure that they’ll “forget” about any noise complaints or other minor concerns that result from our adventures there. This place is more home than my apartment, the location of which I have no intention of sharing with you. There, I’m surrounded by reminders of my caution and the need for it. I’ve been doing this for a while, long enough to know that there are predators out there who are far stronger than I am. I make my way in that world by both hiding from them and befriending them—teaching them enough to either be in my debt, or to leave a suggestion or two behind that I can slow down any assault long enough that I’ll have enough time to escape, should it come to that. Probably. Maybe. Enough to have a shot at escape, anyway.

Here, though...well. This ground is as safe as any can be. The staff won’t bother us, and the suite that we’ve arranged is, I have to admit, quite lovely. One of these days I’ll have to pull back from you—it’s a dangerous game we’re playing here, and I don’t quite believe your claims of friendship. For now, though, it’s certainly fun. You may take more risks than I would approve of, but I have to admit that it’s a bit intoxicating, and a hell of a lot of fun.

And my goodness, we did pick well. I have to hand it to you—you know how to put together an aesthetically pleasing pairing. The two playthings are already locked in a passionate embrace as I enter, but I can tell that they aren’t lost in their desire for one another. Each movement is chosen to show them off to good advantage, to offer a watcher a perfect view of their bodies. They’re performing for you, but they have no idea that that’s what they’re doing, not yet.

I shake my head in appreciation. You’ve turned them into exhibitionists simply by your presence. Even when you’re not looking at them, they want to show themselves off for you.

“Well, well, well,” I say as I close the door behind me, flicking the deadbolt without turning away from the spectacle already playing out. “What do we have here, Tracy? A couple of eager sluts, it seems.”

Rhea:

I don’t look up when I hear you enter. I keep my attention focused on smoothing out the collars. But I do hear the soft “thud” against the plush carpeted floor as they immediately drop to their knees at the sound of your voice. I don’t have to see them to know that they each have their hands laced behind their heads and are thrusting themselves out for your inspection. I hear them say in unison, “How may we serve you, Master?” their voices bright and eager. I wait a few beats before I turn around to see your reaction.

The suite is large. I made a fuss at the reception desk when they didn’t give me the presidential suite in the first place. I might have had to adjust a few minds which then adjusted a few reservations. I didn’t worry about whether or not I would draw any sort of undue attention. I knew you’d clean it up. One of these days I will cut you loose.... perhaps after I have a little fun with you, first. But for now, you’re useful to keep around—and complement my lifestyle quite nicely. Plus, I prefer to go to a show with a date.

“Well?” I say, spreading my arms wide to emphasize the tableau. They are looking up at you hungrily, their breath coming in soft, eager pants. “How may they serve you?”

James:

Your impatience is all over your work with them, particularly with the girl. For all that you keep complaining about all of the little tranceslaves being the same, you don’t seem to recognize that you’re the one who makes them that way. If I had been the one who brought them here, you would have been kept waiting for an hour or so, true, but you would have been greeted with a great deal of nuance. Some embarrassed uncertainty from Lauren, just a hint of doomed resistance from the boy. Perhaps they would already be half in love with one another, yet unable to turn that affection into the power needed to break free of their mental bonds. They would each have a different, exquisite flavor to them.

And yet...well, there is something to be said for the classics, isn’t there? For all your lack of subtlety, your sense of the dramatic is breathtaking.

I make a show of looking them over, then cross the room to where they kneel, each a perfect extension of your will. It’s the sort of thing that I could never do myself, or at least not without a week to shape them. I let my gaze settle over them, the cold part of me that drives me to do this in the first place starting to take over. I’ve laid the foundations for this night for a while, took care of your little mess in the lobby, and ensured that nobody will bother us before morning.

Work time is over.

“How can they serve me?” I ask, scoffing. “I doubt they’re worth my time, to be honest. I reach down, running a hand across the girl’s shoulder. “Look at this one. She’s pretty enough, I suppose, but nothing special.” Crossing to Mark, I give him a once over, nudging his cock with my boot. “And look at this. Not even hard for us yet.”

I look down at him, cold, implacable. “It should stroke itself. Maybe it will earn our attention that way.”

Rhea:

I smile mildly as the plaything looks to me for permission to obey. I give a nod and reply, “You will obey Justin as your Master. Go on, fucktoy. Stroke.” I catch your eye with a smirk. I like giving you just enough control—but this one still belongs to me. I could have the girl this completely, too, even with your failsafes. But best not to let you know that just now. I have some restraint, after all.

I toss a collar to the girl and tell her to place it around the boy’s throat. He continues to stroke, soft moans starting to escape his lips. I’d collar him, myself—but I hate to get my hands dirty right away. With a few short commands, the girltoy lowers herself low to the ground and wraps her lips around the boy’s cock until he can get another collar around her throat. I let them stay like that for a few minutes, letting her rise and present herself again, while his hands return to stroking himself for you. He is desperate to gain your attention. His eyes are pleading and his gasps are coming faster.

I retire to the couch on the side of the room to relax and watch what happens next.

James:

I meet your gaze steadily. The “hierarchy” game is one that you come back to again and again, demonstrating your greater strength at every turn. After a moment, I nod, as if acknowledging that you’re really the one calling the shots.

It costs me nothing to allow you to believe that it’s true, after all. And while you might be aware that it’s an act on my part, there’s always the chance that you don’t. No risk for me, and at least some possibility of a modest return. It’s not the large bets that you make a living at, after all. It’s the small ones, the occasional return here and there that add up to that critical edge at just the right moment.

I turn my attention back to our prey—they do make a lovely pair, with their now-matching collars. Red leather this time, I note. That usually indicates a desire on your part for more sexual play than direct power games. Not always, but usually. Another piece of data to file away, for when the time comes. But for now, there are two collared sluts begging for my attention.

“Stop stroking,” I say to the boy, and he drops his hands to his sides immediately. “No, keep holding it, just stop stroking,” I correct him, noting his cock twitching a little as he obeys, wrapping his hands loosely around his erection. “Better.”

Turning to Lauren, I note her breasts heaving a little with each breath, almost panting with need. Her eyes widen when she feels my gaze on her, and she arches her back a little more, presenting herself to me the way she imagines that she’s done dozens of times before. “Very good, slavetoy,” I murmur, and she shudders with delight. “Now, repeat your mantra for me.”

She pauses for a moment, then slides a hand between her legs with a moan. Her fingers rest at her stiff clit, rubbing almost imperceptible circles over it. “i am a deeply hypnotized piece of slaveflesh, and i must obey my owner,” she begins, her voice slipping to a near-chant as she rocks on her knees, struggling to remain steady even as the combination of pleasure and submission drags her deeper down with each repetition.

“i am a deeply hypnotized piece of slaveflesh, and i must obey my owner”

“i am a deeply hypnotized piece of slaveflesh, and i must obey my owner”

“i am a deeply hypnotized piece of slaveflesh, and i must obey my owner”

“i am a deeply hypnotized piece of slaveflesh, and i must obey my owner”

“Oh, my. Very good, slavetoy,” I say with a smile. “Keep at it.” She nods breathlessly, but doesn’t respond except to continue teasing her clit and chanting. What a delicious slut.

I turn my attention back to the boy, whose eyes have drifted to the spectacle that Lauren is making of herself. I can’t blame him, but it’s still a sign of sloppiness—on his part, and on yours.

I snap my fingers sharply. “Boy. Look at me.” To his credit, he obeys immediately, and I note that his cock swells a little more as he does so. You’ve certainly created that feedback loop effortlessly—another of your favorite maneuvers, and one that I approve of heartily.

I circle him slowly, deliberately. Letting my body brush his, the material of my jeans rasping a little as it slides over his naked form, drawing his attention to his own nakedness even more directly. “Now,” I say, “you’re quite something, boy. Naked, offering yourself to people you’ve never met. Touching yourself, just because they said so. Collared, because that’s what they wanted from you.”

I stop and press my boot against his erection, collecting a few drops of his arousal there and then lowering it back to the floor. He waits for orders, his eyes wide with anticipation, fear, and something else.

“That’s right,” I smile, almost purring. “Clean it up, fuckmeat.”

Rhea:

I take a sip of the champagne I had the hotel staff prepare for me as compensation for the mix-up with the rooms. Some people are such pushovers if you apply just the right amount of pressure.

You are an artist, I’ll give you that. Even the way you move is precise and calculated—as if every step, every shift of your weight has a purpose to it. I don’t like to waste the time I have with steps and procedures... life is too short. But I do enjoy a good performance, and you never disappoint. The way you emphasize the boy’s submission, the way you increase and fine-tune his craving just by your proximity—it really is a delight to watch.

And the look on your face is just wicked when the boy slinks across the floor and presses his lips and tongue to your boot. Perhaps it’s the champagne, but I am getting warm in all the right places just looking at the curl of your lip.

When that ceases to interest me, I look back at the other fucktoy, mindlessly repeating that mantra. Always the same one. You’d think you’d change it up a bit from time to time, but maybe that’s the only way you know. No matter. I want to decorate her some more... a good show requires good costuming. I rise and snap my fingers to draw her attention and lead the whimpering little thing over to the table where I have laid out all the toys. A scarlet rope to go with the red collar, I think. I like drama.

You’re busy with your slave, so I take my time examining her body, cupping a breast, deciding just what I want to do. I opt for a chest harness with a few intricate knots. I don’t have the patience for much else, but I do want my sweet toy to be pretty. A knot rubbing against that swollen clit and a little handle in the back completes the effect. She falls to her knees at just the right moment, and I lead my pretty pet back over to you.

“Get yours ready. I want to see a show.”

James:

I allow the boy to continue licking and kissing my boots, long past the point where there’s anything there to taste but the leather beneath his lips. I’m aware of you taking some action with the girl, but I decide to be surprised this time, and don’t bother looking over. Instead, I get the boy’s attention again and drop to one knee beside him, leaning in to whisper a series of commands, fast enough that he couldn’t repeat them even if he tried to do so later.

It’s the rhythm of the thing that’s most important. A second voice would make it easier, but a while back I stumbled across a technique that works particularly well with men. Get them touching themselves in a particular rhythm, and only let them pause when they’re on the brink of orgasm, and the words you slip in while they’re in that few moments of recovery will sink even deeper. This one is a particularly eager slut, and the state you’ve worked him into makes it even easier. By the time we’ve gone through a few rounds of this, he has a particularly strong need to be reshaped.

Oh, and he’s somehow gotten the idea that he no longer deserves a name. Funny, that.

Well. It wouldn’t do to not reward him for his abject fall, would it? By the time you bring the girl over to us, I’m handing him a razor and a pair of clippers, and instruct him not to show his face to us again until his head is shaved completely. He practically snatches the tools from me in his eagerness to obey, his cock bobbing with each scurried step as he pushes past you and into the bathroom.

“Sorry for the delay, but it won’t take more than few minutes. It just needs to prepare itself for us.”

Rhea:

I raise an eyebrow at you. This is a new development. Generally you are not one to throw caution to the wind by having a mark change his appearance. It doesn’t bother me, of course. Property is property, and I can do whatever I want with it. But you have chastised me for similar things in the past. Could it be I’m rubbing off on you? Good thing, too. You’re wound too fucking tight as it is.

I tug on the harness. “Come, pet,” I say, leading her closer to you. She falls instantly into the mindset of an obedient, mindless almost-animal at the mere suggestion. I stop a foot or so away from you and drop the harness. She stays put as I move away to pour myself another glass of champagne. It’s really excellent stuff.

“Beg your Master, sweet thing.”

She instantly raises herself up on her knees, pressing her hands together in front of her chest, just like a good pet would. She looks up at you with a whimper, “please?” she says, voice slightly higher pitched. I love when that happens. “Please may i suck Master’s cock?”

She whimpers again, waiting. Such a good girl. I sit down again and raise my glass to you before

I take a sip, settling in to watch.

James:

I watch as you down another glass of the champagne. It’s good that you’re drinking, since it dulls your reaction time just a little. Not that I expect anything to happen tonight that would make that extra edge necessary, but still, I can relax a little. After all, you’ve done a lovely job wrapping this slut up for me. I’ve never been one for ropes, myself, but I’m beginning to understand what you see in them. The girl’s breasts look delicious with the red bonds encircling them, and I can see that you placed that knot between her legs just so. It’s nice work, and I nod an acknowledgement to you.

She sucks my cock like it’s her life’s work, her lips and tongue working along my shaft with just the right mix of hesitation and hunger. I can practically feel the relief at being given what she asked for rolling off of her in waves, and it would take a much less observant man than I to NOT notice the way she rolls her hips, rocking her clit against the braid of the rope again and again.

She’s so good, in fact, that I almost don’t notice when the boy walks out of the bathroom, his glassy eyes looking to me for guidance. “Fuckmeat,” I manage to growl, “offer yourself to your Mistress. Obey her as you would me.” He nods, suddenly full of purpose, and slides to his hands and knees, crawling smoothly to your feet, lowering his head to rest on them in a show of supplication.

Rhea:

The champagne is starting to go to my head a little. I’ve never been much of a lightweight, but I set the glass down for now. I am capable of showing some restraint when necessary.

The boy’s scalp is cool against the bare skin of my ankles. I do like the change. I’m wondering how you plan to hide this one—but that’s not my problem. I let the slave worship my feet, slipping off one shoe to give him more access. He is quite good at it—taking his time, balancing desire with service. As I said, you are an artist.

But soon, I look over at you and see you throw back your head in pleasure as my pet wraps her mouth around your cock so expertly. She must have had plenty of practice, the slut. Not even I can make that level of skill work without a bit of time and effort. I can’t see how you would be able to concentrate... which gives me an idea.

I stop the boy and lift his chin so that he is meeting my gaze directly. “Obey me always, little one. Always me.” A few more whispered commands, a couple more rhythmic squeezes of his wrist, his shoulder... and then he is rising and walking up behind you. His hands reach around your front, and his hands slide quickly beneath your shirt, up to your sensitive nipples. He toys with them, strokes them, circles them, squeezes them... you can feel his smooth-shaven head against the nape of your neck as he nips at and kisses your shoulder.

I sit back and grab that glass of champagne again. I do love a good performance.

James:

Her skills really are amazing, and I don’t even notice the boy sidling up behind me until his hands are already on me, rubbing and squeezing my nipples almost before I’m aware that anything has happened. I look over at you, shaking my head to try and clear it, but it’s not at all easy, not with his lips brushing over my neck even as the girl begins pumping my cock even as she sucks so deliciously.

It’s not possible that you could have turned him that quickly, is it? You’re good, but surely not that good. Or are you?

Fuck, it feels good.

I lean my head back with a moan, whispering softly but urgently for him to stop. I just need a moment to clear my head.

Rhea:

Oh, you are an easy one. I always thought you might be. I am not counting on this lasting, but the effect is something to watch. The boy knows the right rhythm to use on your nipples—and soon, he and the girl are working in time. Just different enough to distract your conscious mind. She in a constant 4/4 rhythm, he working triplets on your chest... I’m glad that music was the one thing I had the patience to practice.

“Don’t fight it, Justin. It feels too good to fight. Gods, it feels good, doesn’t it? The rhythm is so thick and sweet and good. It just pulls you right down.” My voice gets slower and my register deepens just a bit, the cadence speaking in time with the pulse of her lips on your cock and his fingers on your nipples and his tongue on the nape of your neck...

I take another sip of champagne. This could be fun.

James:

I can hear you speaking, and what you say makes sense, and I’m vaguely aware that that’s a very bad sign. But the specific words are fuzzy, and in any case the combination of touch is very, very distracting. Just when I feel like I have a sense of the rhythm of it, there’s the flick of a tongue or a twist of my nipple that feels out of place, and I find myself groaning a little, sent back to the beginning of my process to make sense of it.

Somewhere in there my hand drifts down to the girl’s head. I’m going to push her away. I have to push her away so I can focus. I need to focus because it’s dangerous for me to lose focus around someone like...around someone like...

I clench my hand in her hair.

I’ll push her away. Soon.

Rhea:

I see you struggle momentarily, and wonder if you’re about to break out of it. I watch that hand reach out for her, knowing you intend to push her away, knowing that if you succeed, you’ll break it before I have a chance to latch on to your mind. Good thing you’re already distracted enough to hear my suggestions.

“That’s right. Take her hair. Take it and help her. Help her take you deeper in. Help her take all of you in. Going deeper—that’s right. Hold on to her and let her take you deeper. More. Deeper still. More. More. More.”

You don’t push her away. I know I have you now.

James:

Deeper. So good. The girl’s lips are like nothing I’ve ever felt before, and that seems like it should worry me, but it feels so good. Maybe the reason it worries me is that I’m not helping. I tighten my hand and rock my hips toward her, ever so slightly. That’s better. That feels right.

My other hand slides up to the back of the boy’s head, over the smooth skin there. It feels nice. Almost as nice as his lips on my neck. But I should help him, too. It’s not right to only help her.

I tilt my head aside, ever so slightly. Exposing my throat, ever so slightly

So good.

Rhea:

Oh, yes. You exposed your throat. Perfect. I rise and pick out one of the other collars I had carefully placed on the table. A white one, I think. Something for an obedient thing. A hungry, eager, obedient thing.

As I return to you, preparing to place the collar—I wonder if I’ll let you remember this moment? We’ll see how the night goes.

James:

“When the collar slips around your neck, you will return to this state. This quiet, deep, solitary state. Do you understand?”

Yes. I understand.

“Very good. And no matter what happens once the collar is around your throat, you won’t fight it. You will allow the one who collars you to use your body however they wish. You will behave as a slave should. You will answer their questions as a slave would. You will obey as a slave would. Do you understand?”

Yes. I understand.

All hypnosis, they say, is self-hypnosis. I’ve never been sure that I agreed with that argument, but there’s something to it. At the very least, the DEEPEST hypnosis comes when the victim—willingly or not—contributes to his or her own entrancement.

“That’s right. You’ll behave as a slave would when you feel the collar around your throat. You’ll obey as a slave would when you feel the collar around your throat. You’ll speak as a slave would. You’ll agree as a slave would. You’ll do nothing to bring attention to yourself. Do you understand?”

Yes. I understand.

“Very good. And even as you behave and speak and agree and obey as a slave should, your conscious mind will return here. To this place. To this quiet, deep, solitary place. And here it will wait. Do you understand?”

No. I don’t understand.

There are many ways to set up failsafes. One obvious one: Always have several boltholes with enough money and other resources to hide you when needed. Leave a trigger inside every mind you touch. Just in case.

“Your mind will return here. On the surface, you will be whatever is expected of you. You will be the perfect slave, full of lust and devotion for the one who collared you. But underneath that, the part of you that is -you- will remain here, until the time is right. You will observe through your slaveself’s eyes, but you will not act until your collar is removed. But when it is removed, you will return to the surface, and put whoever did this to you in their place. Do you understand?”

Yes, I understand. But what if...what if the collar never comes off?

All hypnosis may not be self-hypnosis, but when practicing your craft, self-hypnosis is a part of it. I have explored my mind many, many times. Mapped its strengths, noted its weaknesses. Crafted an induction so subtle and effective that even I wouldn’t remember after the fact. It took me weeks—weeks that are lost time in my memory.

And I left a trigger for myself. Just in case.

“Then you will remain a slave. This isn’t exactly Plan A, here. If you’ve already been collared, then your fate is mostly sealed. This gives you a chance, if only a small one. Be happy you have that much.”

Yes. I understand.

The slave in the white collar looks at his Mistress with lust and devotion. The slave behaves perfectly. Obeys perfectly. Responds perfectly.

And in that deep, quiet, solitary place, James waits.