The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Charlotte was a vicar, ordained by the Church of England and only recently moved into her new parish. She was only beginning to associate names and faces in her congregation; but she’d met less hostility to change than the horror stories from the time, just a few years ago, of the first women vicars might have led her to believe. The Vicar of Dibley had probably been a big part of that; it’s hard to be quite as offended by the idea when you’ve found yourself warming to Dawn French’s portrayal of Geraldine Granger.

Not, she thought with a trace of a smile, that she looked like Dawn French; no, her figure was trim, with C-cup breasts and legs kept shapely by a strict exercise regimen. Indeed, if there was anything negative about her appearance it was that her long blonde hair sat oddly with the clerical collar, but that wasn’t anything she intended to change. Her congregation seemed to be getting used to it, after all...

And, this particular Saturday night, she relaxed in the Rectory, idly watching the big film on the BBC and fine-tuning tomorrow’s sermon in her head.

The doorbell rang, and she rose to answer it. It wasn’t like the film would be difficult to catch up with when she got back; typical summer blockbuster, no plot to speak of and all action. And it also wasn’t like the call was likely to take long.

Opening the door, she saw Jack Davison. One of her younger parishioners, she’d married Jack to his wife Laura just a couple of weeks ago, and he was standing there looking a little worried. He had something in his hand-

He raised the spray can and squirted a quick blast of something into her face. She stepped back, mouth open in astonishment, and blinked.

At least, blinking was the intention. But once her eyes were closed, they wouldn’t open again. She felt strength seeping from her, felt her legs buckle, her arms go limp, felt herself falling—but the young lad caught her, carried her further inside her house, and laid her down on the sofa. She still couldn’t open her eyes, or move. Why couldn’t she move?

The sound of her front door closing made her worry all the more. She was still helpless, and it looked more and more like Jack had planned this. The movie babbled on in the background, unwatched. The drama unfolding in real life demanded all of her attention.

She felt his hands close to her body as he fumbled the buttons undone on her shirt, one by one, and slipped it off. Judging by the tugging at her waist, her belt was next to go, followed swiftly—denim slid unstoppably along her legs—by her jeans. As a seeming afterthought, he pulled her slipper-sox off.

She realised that all that stood between her paralysed self and nudity were her bra and panties, and wished that the realisation had prompted some physical response. Sweat, shakes, hair standing up—anything to suggest she might soon be able to move again. But it evidently wasn’t going to happen.

Lips touched hers, just briefly; a chaste kiss. But not a mutual one...

Then a needle jabbed into her arm. Presumably she was being injected with something, but what it was she didn’t-

She came to. And she wasn’t on the couch. Rather, she was kneeling before Jack, her eyes fixed on the slow swing of the pendulum in front of her eyes. She became aware that her hand was frantically working away at her slit, and that she was wet as hell.

And why not? Jack was in front of her, and Jack was the sexiest man on the planet. More, he was truly divine... He embodied the word in a way she’d never understood.

She loved God; but if what she felt for God was love, then this was lust. Primal, raw and powerful, she was it’s creature; and his creature, by extension.

He was saying something, but she couldn’t make it out. It didn’t matter. While the pendulum was swinging before her, she wasn’t supposed to be capable of understanding the world around her. That wasn’t what Jack wanted from her.

She heard herself saying something in answer, but she couldn’t make that out, either.

Her hand began to work faster—she understood that alright, only too well. He said something with only one syllable, that she still couldn’t interpret. Orgasm exploded between her thighs, and through her mind.

She was only dimly aware of falling sideways, eyes closing of their own accord-

Six thirty in the morning.

The alarm clock shrilled, and she awoke. Another fine Sinday to enjoy, she thought, and thanked God once again for allowing the world a day every week of pure indulgence.

The doorbell rang, almost immediately after the alarm; and she sprang out of bed, casting around for the preparations she made every Saturday night for the following Sinday.

Only half done. What had she been doing last night, that she wasn’t fully ready to bless the first of her parishioners with sinful communion?

Oh, well, she’d just have to improvise. She was already wearing the silk stockings—not her choice, but she knew some of her churchgoers were silk fetishists, and they’d have to be obliged—and of course, denying worshippers entrance to her temples was to be forbidden. So she decided to ditch much of the outfit and hold an impromptu service today—indeed, only going as far as donning the white dog collar with ‘God’s Slut’ written on it, the holy symbol of her trade.

And then she was downstairs, flinging the door wide open.

As was the case every week, Jack Davison and Laura were the first of the devout to visit, though Laura looked a little... spaced out, was perhaps the way to describe it... this week. Still, her shirt was only barely buttoned, and the wide, flowing floor-length skirt no doubt concealed a beautiful Sinday outfit from anyone of another religion who might be offended by the sight of Christians coming to worship.

It was strange, actually... she knew she’d seen them every week since the wedding, since sleeping with her became a truly sinful thing for them both—since it led to breaking their wedding vows on a weekly basis. Granted, that had only been a couple of weeks, but already it felt like a well-established tradition... but when she tried to remember seeing Laura since the wedding, to compare her appearance, she couldn’t seem to... Or Jack, for that matter, though she had some confused recollection of something the previous night... but she wasn’t sure what.

A smile spread across her face, knowing, welcoming, inviting. “Good morning,” she purred, shuddering slightly in pleasant anticipation. The moistness of her slit had already begun to find release, slicking her inner thighs. She squeezed them together happily, stepping back slightly to free up the doorway. “You’re the first as usual,” she continued. “Won’t you come in?”

Jack and Laura nodded, stepping over the threshold. As the door closed behind them, Laura shed her shirt, revealing herself to be naked from the waist up except for dainty black nipple tassles. Charlotte tickled the sensitive underside of her breasts gently, smiling. Both knew what was coming, as sure as anything.

Jack had moved on past them, heading upstairs to the guest bedroom, the scene for all Charlotte’s Sinday sexual excesses. His suit was gradually coming off as he moved upstairs.

Charlotte took the free moment to slip her tongue into Laura’s mouth, exploring it afresh as she did every week. She knew the woman intimately—yet somehow, Laura felt novel against her, and Charlotte wasn’t quite sure why. Perhaps it was because the woman seemed slightly different this week—which would also explain the momentary delay in returning the kiss. Indeed, momentary revulsion might almost be called for in describing it. Still, Laura was passionate enough once the moment was over, returning the kiss with vigour and dipping a couple of probing fingers into Charlotte’s dripping sex, before smearing the juices across her own lips, and cleaning her fingers with her tongue.

Charlotte smiled to see her friend so much recovered, and turned to join Jack in the guest bedroom, knowing Laura would follow once she had shed her skirt. As she turned, her eyes fell on a small scar in Laura’s arm. A pock-mark such as might have been made by an injection. She decided not to ask; Laura would tell her if she decided to.

As she ascended the stairs, she noticed the pock-mark on her own arm, and smiled brightly. Just the same as Laura’s... That brought them closer together, she thought happily.

Jack was waiting for her, naked, in the room, standing by the bed. He gestured at it, and she willingly slid herself onto the bed, waiting for him to enter her, legs wide, sex glistening with moisture.

Laura walked into the room, having discarded the skirt. Now Charlotte could see what she’d been wearing under that; not much would be only a crude description. Her crotch, hips and buttocks were swathed in a construction of thin black leather interlacing straps that still left her utterly accessible and, really, hid nothing, but somehow seemed to heighten the attraction she possessed. Doubtless they would have been painful had she not shaved carefully. Thigh-high black PVC books completed the look, though her expression had reverted to that vague, slightly dazed look. She stared off, unseeing, for a few moments before the sight of Charlotte’s willing body snapped her back to reality and set her walking toward the aroused vicar.

Jack slid his fingers inside Charlotte, stroking her juice-covered clitoris for a brief moment, smiling at her. “Just a quick communion before the service, don’t you think?”

“Make it a long one,” Charlotte purred.

“As you wish, dear,” Jack smiled.

Laura climbed onto the bed, stiletto heels piercing the mattress to either side of Charlotte, then manoeuvred herself into a kneeling position straddling the vicar and effectively anchored to the bed. Her sex was directly above the vicar’s mouth, and the woman of God slipped her tongue into it’s folds, working at her skilfully. Her hands came up and clutched at Laura’s buttocks through the leather network, squeezing gently. In payment, Laura reached down behind her and began to caress her breasts.

And Jack climbed onto the bed, his member erect, and entered Laura.

If her mouth hadn’t been otherwise occupied, she would have smiled.

The altar boys weren’t the usual complement, Charlotte thought as she stepped into the vestry. A couple of them actually looked older than any altar boy, and all the youngest were gone.

Nevertheless, they each approached her in the vestry in turn, so she knelt before each one and took them into her mouth, using all she knew to extract every drop of their communion wine and swallowing it greedily.

As each altar boy left the vestry, she saw them handing money to Jack, and wondered briefly what for...

But she decided he’d tell her if she needed to know.

She pulled the harem girl waistcoat on, working hard to fasten the too-small garment but finally getting it secure, and paused to admire herself in the mirror; dog collar with the legend emblazoned on it, harem top, crotchless white silk panties, and her white silk stockings and garter belts. All was as it should be, and so she stepped into the main body of the church and made her way to the altar to begin the service.