The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘Look, Ms Holloway, I’m just trying to present to you the options that you have, and ultimately, you will be choosing one evil over another. So, what it really comes down to is—which do you prefer?’

‘Some lawyer you are,’ Jo spat back at him, ‘there must be something you can do!’

‘Your boyfriends case is rock solid. There is no evidence of mistreatment prior to the event. And your explanation reads a little too text-book for any jury to take seriously.’

‘But it’s the truth!’

‘Regardless,’ the suited man held her angry gaze from across the table, ‘it’s not going to fly. Your best option is to cut your losses and plead slovenliness on your part. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I’m thinking you’d prefer that to the alternative.’

Jo let her eyes fall in defeat, unkempt blonde hair falling across her face. Her clothes this day were a far cry from her usual fashionable attire, sat as she was in a drab blouse and trousers coupled with a pair of vaguely-heeled shoes.

The lawyer gestured to the guard nearby and the cell door swung open moments later.

‘Are you ready?’

Jo met his gaze briefly, lost in her own thoughts.

‘All I have to do,’ she fought for the words, ‘is tell them that I acted like a slut?’

‘Well, no,’ the man smiled awkwardly, ‘you have to convince the jury that you are presently—and have in all living memory always been—someone who is psychologically unable to keep her legs closed when you’re presented with the opportunity to have sex.’

‘Making something up about losing your virginity at a young age should suffice, just be creative’ he added off-handedly, before gesturing for her to follow him. He deliberately ignored her solemn look as she struggled to her feet, reassuring himself that he was doing the right thing for her.

After all, who wanted to be condemned to slavery at the hands of their abusive ex-partner for the rest of their life?

‘So, Ms Holloway, am I to understand that you have decided to change your plea?’

‘I have,’ Jo mumbled, only too aware of the crowds of people all around the stand in which she stood.

‘Maybe a little louder, Ms Holloway, I don’t think the court can hear you,’ the Judges voice rang out.

‘I have, your Honour.’

‘I see. So now you’re saying that your ex-partner, Mr Gormless, wasn’t to blame for your repeated infidelity with one Mr Briggs? Indeed that you weren’t encouraged to perform privately for Mr Gormless alleged friend and accomplice, and that he didn’t threaten you with bodily harm when you displayed reluctance to indulge his fantasies?’

‘I am, yes,’ she kept her eyes lowered, unable to find the worried eyes of family and friends that she knew to be behind her. The jury looked on intently from across the room.

‘And how, now, do you plead, Ms Holloway?’

Jo took a deep breath before attempting to make the words in her mouth.

‘I.. had sex with Jeremy Briggs because... I’m a slut.’

It had taken some convincing. The prosecution had pressed deep into the fabricated history, laid bare all her supposed sins, humiliated her as she gave details of sexual encounters and dormant desires that had never actually taken place. Her family and friends no doubt took her words to be truths, since she had no way to convince them otherwise without blowing her chances of winning over the jury.

As the courtroom reconvened to present a verdict and summary punishment, Jo was almost in tears.

‘Very well, Ms Holloway, it is the courts decision that you will be spared the punishment of personal enslavement at the hands of Mr Gormless on the charge of infidelity. Based upon your original testimony, it is unlikely that evidence would have sufficed to clear you of the charge presented. However,’ the Judge paused and took on a stern visage, ‘the state does not take kindly to slovenliness. In this new sexual culture, free of the many inhibitions of the past, it is asked only that sexual activity remain strictly within the confines of a partnership; until such a time that the partnership is concluded, and the proper physical check-ups can take place before moving on.’

‘It is people like yourself, Ms Holloway, that make it exceedingly difficult for the state to maintain proper birth control. It is people like yourself that spread infections, without considering the implications of your acts. No, that just will not do. You are hearby sentenced to six months in state prostitution, during which time you will service the needs of others in order to earn your right to the thrills that currently dominate your life’s agenda. From this moment onwards, you are denied the rights to sexual pleasure until your sentence is completed. Pending unfavourable review, you will serve a maximum of three years as a state-sanctioned prostitute, during which time you will be reconditioned.’

The judge stood, and the courtroom stood with him.

‘Should you prove unresponsive to treatment, then you will lose your rights to have sex with a fellow human being. You may then join the rest of your kind in the squalor of the pig farms. Let that be a warning to you.’

‘This court is no longer in session.’

Jo was led away immediately, hands and legs cuffed as they took her to an adjacent room just off the courtroom. She had an idea of what was to come next, but her traumatized mind needed a while to catch up with the present. Even as she was brusquely undressed by the female staff in stiff white outfits, Jo’s lips were apparently unwilling to complain.

State-sanctioned prostitution. She knew the implications. The whores serviced those that the state deemed worthy of reward, or acted as mediators within the intimacy of the family home—settling potential infidelity within a partnership by directly entertaining such desires. It was perfectly legal and accepted throughout modern culture. Disillusioned men no longer had to stalk the red light districts for a lingering regret, they merely had to apply to the state. And of course, the women were in on the act as well.

Jo was roughly positioned on a steel device that pinned her legs open, fastened as they now were to the ends of the device. Her bare bottom was cushioned by a small seat that supported her back, and led to a contraption overhead that was swiftly lowered in place.

The headpiece covered her pretty head, all senses numbed within the strange helmet that fit snugly against her ears, nose and eyes and pulled her lips open to force inside a mound on the inner ring as the whole thing was fastened securely below her chin.

And then came the prodding of her vagina. From what little she could tell, one of the women was searching for her clitoris. Jo was suddenly still and jointly terrified. She could hear something coming from the earpieces, a constant humming that seemed laced with words that were too quiet to understand. Deeply entombed within her sensual deprivation, the fingers slowly rubbing her clitoris were quick to induce undesired pleasure. Her legs fought in vain to prevent the humiliating stimulation, but there was nothing she could do but steel herself against it.

She kept finding herself drawn back to the sounds in her ears, but would just as quickly be shocked back to the sensations between her legs.

And so it continued. Unknown to heavenly-bodied Jo, she was strapped to the device for over half an hour, sweating it out as the orderly expertly fingered her bulging clitoris. The rubbing increased in intensity whilst the hypnotic track soothed her mind.

Almost snapping awake, she suddenly realised that she hadn’t orgasmed yet. Or had she? She was distantly aware of the fingering she was receiving, but it felt somehow different. Surely she must have been driven over the edge, because all she felt right now was a numbing sensation. The humming and the quiet voices sprang back to the fore of her attention before she realised that the woman had removed her hand.

She lost herself in the sounds and was shocked back to reality by a dildo pushed into her exposed cunt. They fucked her with it whilst she struggled against her bonds, the pleasure suddenly the dominant factor once again. They were slow and rhythmic, and as before, time blurred away into a meaningless chasm, and she was unable to recall the point where the dildo ceased to pleasure her tight passage.

As fingers came up to excite her nipples and hands cupped her breasts, a final defiant thought managed to realise that they were conditioning her erogenous zones, numbing the nerve endings and her apparent ability to feel pleasure. As the sheer terror at this revelation began to stir, the humming sound quickly found her wandering attention and effortlessly pushed that thought aside.

She could hear the words now. They were telling her what she was now—what she had always been. Of all the filthy things she had done when was younger. All the dirty thoughts and suggestions. The lack of underwear. The string of blowjobs in alleyways. The grades gained by giving favours to teachers.

The eventual infidelity caused by her slutty desires.

She didn’t initially understand why they were telling her the things she already knew to be true, but then she realised to her apparent delight that it was her very own voice.

Jo snapped back to attention when she realised that she had been moved from the first device, the helmet-like contraption gone and replaced with a more modest pair of headphones and blindfold. Her arms and legs were free, but she was apparently unwilling to question the appendages further. She seemed to be kneeling on the floor, straddling something with her knees apart, sat upright with her hands flat against the surface of the object below. It felt soft against her hands, and it was only then that she realised that there was something large piercing her cunt, stretching her hole wide open yet barely registering at all to her numbed senses.

The scene coming together in her mind, she assumed she was straddling some likeness of a man, for it certainly didn’t feel organic beneath her fingertips. The penis of the likeness was erect and deep inside her, but that was about as much as she could tell from the limited nerve responses between her legs.

The humming caught her attention for an indefinite period of time, before Jo realised that she was alone. Why had she been left here? Was this some kind of sadistic sleeping arrangement to remind her of what she had lost? Why couldn’t she seem to render the desire to lift herself off the dummy and remove the headset?

She became aware of sporadic humming, and her mind wandered.

Next thing she knew she was riding the device, thrusting herself up and down on the huge everlasting cock, panting and gasping in pleasure, though she quickly realised that she felt none what-so-ever. Though Jo couldn’t hear herself, her lips were spitting out words fuelled by phantom cravings, demanding and begging she be fucked ever harder even as she thanked the fucktoy for using and humiliating her. The humming in her ears drowned out everything else as subliminal voices taught her the tricks of the trade. Taught her how to ride a cock like a proper whore should.

It was four hours later that she was lifted from the dummy mid-thrust and taken elsewhere to rest, eyes and ears finally free to reconnect with the harsh reality in which she found herself.

Barely half an hour later, she woke to find herself in a different room. Bulky headphones were set over her ears, but otherwise, she was completely unrestrained and already on her feet. Before her was a clothes rail, packed with skimpy outfits of all sorts, from flimsy lingerie to nurses outfits, and every figure-defining and chest-enhancing garment in-between.

One of the female orderlys gestured her forward, then pointed at the first outfit on the rail. The humming throbbed in Jo’s head as she moved to comply, and she saw the orderly once again gesture towards the outfit with strong body language.

Assuming that she was expected to dress herself, Jo fished the indicated garment from the rail and looked at it for a long moment, before sighing to herself and separating it from the hanger. The woman smiled at her as she slipped into the silky chemise, resting the straps on her shoulders and feeling no less naked than she was previously. The violet fabric exposed her curves and did little to hide her bulging nipples. She was sure that the silky material would have aroused her a little had her breasts still been capable of stimulus. As it were, the orderly held up her hand to indicate that Jo should wait, and all that existed for several long minutes was the humming, loud and insistent, boring deep into her consciousness.

And then words came.

‘Take off your clothes.’

There was no delay. Jo tugged the straps loose and her small hands fed the chemise to the ground, rendering her naked once more. Almost immediately, the orderly gestured strongly at the discarded attire and Jo instinctively bent down so that she could once again dress herself in the flimsy garment.

Minutes passed once again, Jo’s eyes watching the firm ‘wait’ command of the orderly as she did just that.

‘Strip,’ came the voice.

The chemise fell to the floor. At the following gesture, it found its way back onto her slender figure, pulled taut around her firm breasts and dangling just short of hiding away her newly unresponsive fuck-hole.

‘Get naked.’

As the humiliating display continued, covering all conceivable variations of the same command, she realised suddenly that the voice was not entirely the orderlys own. Rather it was a blend of several voices, male and female alike, all overlapped or blurred together to create a vocalization that was neither distinct nor linked to any one individual.

She guessed that meant that any voice would provoke the same response. She was being programmed to accept visual and auditory prompts that would force her into performing as the whore that she was well on the well to becoming. By putting on the chemise for the very first time, she had provided the necessary muscle memory to force herself to undress merely by reversing the movement involved in putting it on.

Jo was on the verge of panicking at this latent brainstorm, but the humming inconveniently distracted her, and she struggled to remember what she had just been thinking about as the orderly finally gestured towards the second outfit on the clothing rail.

Stood waiting in a pleated skirt and slim white blouse, her necktie hanging in the space between barely-contained breasts, Jo had plenty of time to ponder what kind of pervert would want her dressed in such a sexualised interpretation of the catholic school uniform.

But that quickly became irrelevant as the orderly’s lips mouthed a familiar instruction.

‘Take off your clothes.’

Jo reached around her neck and loosened the tie, before setting her straining breasts free one button after another.

Minutes later, she was a naughty schoolgirl once more.

Half an hour after that, she was a hot little French maid. Jo’s delicate figure had been squeezed into every known predilection that the male mind could conjure up to best show off the female form in all its finely-curved splendour. Her hands were tired from all the zips and buttons that had been zipped up and unzipped, fastened and unfastened. As the final garment hit the floor for the last time, she knew that they were breaking her. There was nothing she could do to fight the programming that was making her into the perfect brainwashed harlot. The frustrating part was that she barely registered the changes they were making until it was too late to take action.

But she’d be damned if she’d let them know it, and she’d be damned if she would just lie back and accept her new role as a whore. Any client who saw fit to use her for his own pleasure was going to get a piece of her mind and perhaps a few teeth marks for emphasis. Any man who was too much of a loser to get a partner or find ways to keep his own sex life interesting without involving a prostitute was far from deserving of a hot little thing like her. Like hell would she be treated like a toy, cast from one man to the next. And like hell would she spend any time making sure she looked good enough to eat—she wasn’t going to pamper herself just to give some asshole a hard-on.

Yes, she thought to herself, almost managing a smile, she would add a few surprises to her list of services that would make them think twice about messing with her again.

The serving maid outfit slipped to the floor.

Her eyes blinked open.

Jo felt the bedsheets beneath her hands as she took in her surroundings. It seemed a normal enough bedroom, familiar, yet not so. An alarm clock found her gaze, and she froze, as if suddenly remembering something.

‘Oh my god, I’ve overslept,’ she exclaimed to herself, jumping from the large comfortable-looking bed and rummaging in the underwear drawer for a pair of knickers.

It was getting dark outside, a view granted by the solitary bedroom window that overlooked a quiet alleyway. Jo found a black bra that matched the knickers, then took them both in hand to the en-suite bathroom off to one side.

Locking the door behind her, she got the shower ready and stepped into the warmth of the cubicle as her mind raced ahead to the big night out. She scrubbed herself clean as she considered what to wear. Tonight was a girls night out, but that of course was rather misleading, because the night was very much about the men who would be hitting on them. All that really mattered was making sure she had her pick of the finest. Hmm, maybe the black mini-dress with those high-heeled boots.

After a vigorous scrubbing all over her tight body, Jo fixed herself before the tall mirror and set to straightening and drying her long blonde hair, before parting carefully to one side. Sat in only her bra and knickers, she expertly applied her make-up and spent over an hour seeing to it that her reflection beamed back immaculately, before slipping herself into the tiny mini-dress, and returning to the mirror to ascertain that she looked just as stunning as she suspected.

The boots came next, her thoughts hungrily playing out the possible scenarios of the night out to come. A little more perfume, and she was finally ready. She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.

The orderly gestured for her to follow her down the cold-looking white-painted corridor, lined with a multitude of doors just like the one that Jo had left moments before.

It took a moment for Jo to realise her error, or at least part of it, and it shocked her to the core. She felt dizzy. What had just happened? How much time had even passed since the explicit fashion display? As far as she had been concerned, she had honestly believed that she was meeting up with the girls tonight. Now that she thought on it, she didn’t even know the alleged girls names.

She was given little time to ponder the whole episode further, finding herself ushered between a doorway that led into a finely-decorated bedroom. The door locked shut behind her.

And she was confronted at last by her new duty and punishment. This was the room in which she would graduate as an official whore of the state. A desexualiseed and brainwashed whore, but a whore none-the-less. But even she couldn’t have possibly expected to see the man that now strode towards her, already naked, his member firm in his hand. He smiled down at her, his eyes feasting on her luscious curves.

‘You look hot, Ms Holloway, so very fucking hot’ the Judge broke the silence as his hands reached out to touch her, groping her breasts and bottom through the thin fabric of the dress and finding no resistance from Jo as she was reduced to watching him fondle her. Finding her voice, she tried to ignore his hands gliding across her; fingertips probing inside her knickers; and the throbbing penis he pressed excitingly against her crotch.

‘Mr.. erm... I don’t know your... Judge, please, I only pleaded guilty of slutty behaviour because my lawyer said it was the best option I had.’

She didn’t feel the pleasure of his hands against her flesh, nor his lips pressed to her neck, not even the strange thrill of his playful smacking of her rear as she spoke, but that didn’t stop the dislocated sense of arousal that filled her mind like a drug. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, trapped emotion that had no means of escaping, no external pathway to relief. It was just there, unexplainable and uncontrollable, detached from the rest of her body and cast adrift to watch as it was manhandled right before her eyes.

‘I mean, I didn’t.. I’m not actually a slut. I just made all that up because I knew no-one was going to believe what really happened. I’m glad I got this chance to speak to you. Maybe we could sort this out, put things right again.’

Stern-faced, the Judge turned back to the four-poster bed that dominated the room.

‘Strip.’

Jo tugged the dress down until it lay in a heap at her feet. The judge climbed onto the bed and beckoned her over as her flimsy underwear joined the tiny dress. His eyes watched her large tits as she neared him, and he quickly reached out to grasp them when she was poised before the bed, now naked except for the well-heeled boots.

‘He made me perform for his friend, you’ve got to believe me. Every night it was always the same, he would watch me get fucked by him and then he’d punish me with really rough anal sex after the guy had left. It was humiliating, but I only did it because I thought he loved me.’

The judge gestured at something folded over one arm of a nearby chair. Jo picked it up and discovered a black and pink-trimmed playboy-bunny outfit, complete with fluffy tail and ears. He gestured for her to put it on, and her conditioning effortlessly did the rest.

‘I would’ve been his slave for god knows how long if I hadn’t changed my plea,’ she struggled to continue as she forced herself into the corset-like piece, ‘but you could have another look at the evidence maybe, or we could talk some more about what happened?’

The headband replete with its floppy ears sat delicately over her head as she pulled on a tall pair of gloves to complete the getup.

He pulled his bunny-girl onto his lap then lay back comfortably, eyes never really leaving her luscious form.

‘You do believe me, don’t you?’

He fed her onto his erect shaft and let out a gasp of pleasure as he slipped inside. Jo felt nothing, and was only truly aware of it when her hips drove her against him.

‘Oh yes, you little slut, I believe you.’

But by then, Jo was already riding him wildly, her face contorted in mock pleasure as she randomly cried out her delight to the sound of the headboard knocking against the nearby wall, the floorboards creaking whilst she pleaded frantically for him to cum inside her. Hands clawed at Jo’s generous bust and pert bottom, all dressed up for him in his favourite fantasy outfit. This latest whore looked so fucking hot that he couldn’t stop himself spurting thick cum deep inside her cunt after mere minutes. But the Judge had paid for an hour of servicing, and he was going to get that whole hour from petite blonde Jo. With some whores, he tired of them after just one fucking, but this new girl was something else. He was quite sure he would need to book her services again in the future. Maybe an air-hostess next time? It would look good on her.

He lifted her off mid-thrust, and had her stand, waiting, to one side of the bed whilst he flicked through the channels on the small television that she had failed to notice previously. His cum trickled down her thighs as she looked on with a disgusted expression, her eyes noticing his limp penis beginning to stiffen as he worked through the various adult channels.

He turned and beckoned her over.

Jo screamed inside her head as she was positioned on his cock once again. I’m not a whore. I am not a fucking whore. Don’t let him use you. Don’t let him have his way with you. Tell him you’ll not be his whore a moment fucking longer. He’s an old man who should know better. You’re too fucking good for him. Snap his cock or bite it off, and see if he’s still smiling then.

A million defiant thoughts raced through her head at that moment.

Her hips lifted her up and she proceeded to fuck him as hard as she could, milking him of his spunk in a matter of minutes. And then the most shocking thought of all suddenly occurred to her.

She missed the sensation of a cock inside her. The absence of pleasure was a new breed of sensation in itself. Or maybe more than that, it was a whole different kind of mental conditioning. She needed to get something from the experience—even if it was painful or sickening or both—it would give her an anchor to cling on to. The way it was now—this no-nonsense dress-up and go process—it was too institutional, too work-like. Without the emotional torment of being fucked and abused by a complete stranger, flinging her towards an exotic concoction of gratification and bitter anguish, she really was just nothing more than...

A whore.