The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The sudden death of Stevie Starlight in 2015 proved to be as an unlikely, as it was unexpected, personal turning point for me.

I virtually stopped crossdressing and picking up paying clients on Craigslist overnight. Even the weekly appearances at my local gay sauna gradually tailed off, and eventually nearly stopped completely, save for occasional visits to scratch a particularly strong itch.

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn’t that I had suddenly become born again. I wasn’t helping the homeless or volunteering at a charity. I had just stopped, and was getting on with a dull boring vanilla life. Like a mindless drone in standby mode, bereft of purpose or new instructions.

In 2017, Bill Henry passed away, peacefully in his sleep, at a ripe old age, three years after his final Sunday national radio broadcast.

In contrast to Stevie Starlight, and despite the persistent rumours which continued to dog his final years, there was a very public outpouring of grief for this much loved national treasure of broadcasting, which those of us who knew the real Bill Henry found distinctly nauseating.

But the pressure of all those rumours and old history were like a dam waiting to burst, and without Bill Henry alive, and actively managing the threat, barely a year later the truth finally emerged. At first in drips and drops, and then suddenly in a shocking torrent, culminating in a public inquiry to discover how it could ever have been allowed to happen, to apportion blame, and to reassure the masses that action had been taken.

Out of this maelstrom stepped Tom Willard, the young newsreader, on his white charger to save the day.

Those of us victims who were still alive finally found it easy to play this new public role expected of us. There was much needed compensation money on the table, and the offer of free therapy to help us make sense of our broken lives. In return, a new generation of newspaper readers were titillated and corrupted by the sensational stories of our disgusting exploits.

Eventually nearly everyone signed up to Tom Willard’s victim support scheme.

I was determined my final chat with Jenny Wilson would go well, especially after my somewhat embarrassing over reaction at the previous penultimate session with the young journalist.

Plus today was really just a formality for Jenny get a few final quotes from victims about how the therapy had fixed us, for a self-congratulatory final article, ahead of a big celebratory bash being thrown by Saint Tom Willard to mark the successful conclusion of the support scheme. All right again with the world. Nothing more to see here.

But for the second time, I was immediately thrown on my arrival at the hotel by the latest transformation in Jenny Wilson.

If last time her change had been from demure to sexy, today’s look could only be described as verging on the downright slutty, and I should know. Her boots had become knee length with a stiletto heal. Her skirt could only reasonably be called short, the top, cropped, and her makeup, heavy.

The overall effect was that I found myself immediately feeling ridiculously horny. I had a sudden vision of me, on my back, legs held wide open, as Jenny Wilson ploughed my sissy pussy with a strap-on dildo. My randy daydream of Jenny morphed before my eyes, and now it was my therapist Stellar, or Mistress Stellar as I knew she should be addressed, fucking my ass, telling me what a good gurl I was with each hard thrust of the dildo inside me.

I blinked, and the unexpected vision vanished, leaving me once again wondering what the hell was happening to me. But if I had shown any outward signs of shock as Jenny Wilson welcomed me, then she ignored it, greeting me like a gushing airhead friend.

Stellar, Mistress Stellar, had apparently been helping Jenny write her final story about how well we were all recovering. The bimbo journalist babbled on and on about how wonderful Stellar and Tom Willard were. When I was finally able to get a word in edgeways, I confirmed that yes, I thought the therapy had indeed been beneficial.

I had been sceptical of the therapy at first, but eventually I discovered it helped me relax and embrace my inner nature. I understood now that denying who I truly was, would only ever lead to fear and exploitation. I had to stop being the victim. Take back control. Own it.

There would always be alpha men and women in the world, just as there would always be beta bois and girls to serve them. That was just nature’s way. But me, the others, all of us, we couldn’t be abused when we owned and controlled it. Empowered to choose. In charge, with the freedom to do what comes naturally to us. Meeting our own needs.

The old stigmas and shames were long gone. No-one cared anymore what consenting adults got up to in private, as long as it was safe and made them happy. We were in charge of our own destinies and desirers now, safe and free to serve as the obedient submissive sextoys we had always needed, and chosen, to be.

I had already decided to start crossdressing regularly again. To show that I owned it. Not that I was going to tell Jenny Wilson about all that of course. Just as she didn’t know that even right now, as we chatted, I was wearing bra and panties under my boi clothes.

And I’d chosen to start going back to the sauna too. Naturally, I told Mistress Stellar in detail how I’d taken what I wanted from the alpha men there on each visit, and she congratulated me on how empowered and in control I was becoming.

I’d even blown the Uber driver on my way over to the hotel today. I could still taste his delicious salty cum in my mouth as I chatted with the unsuspecting Jenny Wilson. Anyway, I bet the little bimbo whore had probably given the same service to her cab driver, the slut.

Tom Willard had recently moved into a huge palace-like mansion on the back of his new found fame.

The party he was throwing for us tonight, along with his next generation of celebrity pals, was no less lavish. A celebration of all they had achieved, through his victim support scheme, to lay the past to rest.

The doorman took my heavy coat as I arrived. I shrugged it off to reveal just the stockings, bra and panties I had chosen to wear to show that now I owned my own future.

I smiled, seeing that all my beta friends, old and new, had also chosen to make a stand, dressing the same provocative way. It made for an odd tableau in the large ballroom. Plainly dressed young celebrities mixing with the rest of us. It looked like someone was throwing an underwear models and bankers themed party.

Tom Willard appeared on a small raised platform to give a short speech, drink in one hand. I had only seen him on the TV before, but was immediately struck by how strong and handsome he looked. It made me go all giggly and tingly in my panties.

I didn’t really pay attention to what he was saying, my gaze captivated by our therapist standing alongside him. Mistress Stellar, a commanding vision in red patent thigh boots and black corset. I desperately hoped she would approve of my choice of lingerie tonight.

Speech done, the celebrities applauded, and the pair hopped off their makeshift stage into the crowd. The party proper started. There was a buffet and a free bar, just like the old times, and very quickly there was the same sexual tension in the room, pleasantly reminiscent of all those TV after parties.

The only slightly odd element was the choice of party music. It seemed to be an extended version of Tom Willard’s news bulletin theme on endless loop. There was no accounting for celebrity megalomania I suppose. When it first started to play it felt like it was drilling into my head, but it quickly just became background noise you could block out, and I felt happy, blank and empty.

I mingled through the ballroom as the party began to turn hot and horny. There were a good number of new young sluts, as well as us old timers.

I bumped into ‘The Twins’ who I hadn’t seen for more than twenty years. Back in the day, these two blonde nymphos were infamous for their voracious sexual appetite and depravity. I don’t think they were really twins, just friends who sculpted themselves for Bill Henry to look like sisters. The double act still looked alike, and were still hot, even now. And if no longer in MILF territory, it would appear from the gaggle of flirty young celebrities already around them, that the GILF vibe was firmly in fashion.

I knew them well enough, and we had fucked and been fucked together enough, to tell that any minute now ‘The Twins’ would be taking what they wanted from their young celebrity prey.

I left them to it, determined to find that journalist slut, Jenny Wilson, who had promised she would be at the party. I eventually found her in one of the many little anterooms off the main ballroom, with Tom Willard and Mistress Stellar no less, but I could see they were already too busy to be disturbed.

Willard was sat in a big leather armchair, a naked Jenny Wilson on all fours between his spread legs, the little slut’s head bobbing up and down on his big impressive cock. Stationed behind Jenny, Mistress Stellar was banging her wet pussy with an especially large looking strap-on dildo. See, I told she had a natural inner slut just waiting to come out.

Not wanting to intrude while Jenny was receiving what she so obviously needed, I headed back into the growing orgy of the main ballroom, starting to think about what I might want and need tonight.

A fit young black actor I vaguely recognised from the TV made eye contact, and we smiled at each other. I was kissing him after less than a minute of small talk, but any worries I had that he might take offense at me using him so wantonly quickly vanished as I felt his tongue forcefully exploring my mouth in return.

Despite my reputation and extensive experience, I had only been with a handful of black men before. So I was more than pleasantly surprised by the size of cock I could feel, as I groped the material of his pants while we kissed, seeking out what I wanted from him.

Taking charge, I knelt, unzipped him, and took that huge dark member into my eager mouth. Things were just so much easier when you took control. I just hoped he didn’t think I was taking advantage of him.

But such thoughts were soon dispelled when he pushed me over, pulling my panties aside, and he plunged his mighty cock deep into my needy sissy pussy. Our shared moans and grunts mingling with the sexual cacophony growing right across the ballroom orgy.

I urged him to cum inside me, to breed my sissy ass, to give me what I needed and demanded from him. And as I felt him fill me up with his hot potent seed, his pulsating, throbbing cock stretching me out, he told that he was my new ‘Leader of the Pack’.

The old abuses and mistakes could never be allowed to be happen again. This next generation of young alpha celebrities had taken charge. They would ‘Make it Happen’ for all us beta bois and girls, old and new.