The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 1

Life-changing events ought to come with a road sign and a warning label: “This Way to New Existence. Dangerous Curves Ahead.” The one I’m writing about had neither. If I’d known what was coming—well, who knows? I probably would have done the same thing, and certainly I’ve got no regrets. But I might have been a little bit better prepared.

As it was, all that I knew was that I was in danger of failing computer science, and I needed help. It was my own fault. I’ve always been a good student, and never had any trouble learning new things. By my junior year in college I was confident that there was no subject that I couldn’t figure out on my own. I juggled classes, a job, extracurriculars (mainly the theater club), athletics (intramural tennis) and a boyfriend without ever letting anything get out of control.

This brings us to spring semester of junior year. Computers, I’ve been told, are the way of the future, so I thought it would be a good idea to know how they work. I enrolled in the class, blithely ignoring the professor’s warning that there would be heavy programming requirements. The first couple of assignments weren’t too bad. The third was tough; I spent twenty hours working on it, and still got it back with a mediocre grade. This shook my self-confidence a little, but I’m also stubborn as hell. I got assignment number four and struggled with it for more than a week, emerging with the feeling that I had just lost a wrestling match with a steam roller and hadn’t slept in days. The last day to drop classes was rapidly approaching, but I didn’t have another class to take its place. From being completely cocky at the beginning of the semester, I had become completely desperate.

The first place I looked for help was from my boyfriend, Brad. He was a senior, and had taken the class the year before, so I expected him to have some sympathy.

“Well, what did you think would happen?” he said. “I told you it was tough, Susan, and you took it anyway.”

I bit back an angry reply. I needed his help, and besides, I didn’t have the energy for a fight.

“I don’t mind tough,” I said, “but this is impossible.”

“It isn’t impossible,” Brad said. “I took it, and didn’t have this much trouble.”

“Maybe you’re better at this than me,” I said. I knew Brad thought himself smarter than me, which usually annoyed me, but might make flattery work. No go.

“Sure. But that doesn’t mean I should do your work for you,” Brad said, which made me even madder.

“I don’t want you to do it for me,” I said between gritted teeth. “I just want some help!”

“Sorry,” Brad shrugged. “I’ve got a more than full load myself. Spending hours leaning over a computer isn’t my idea of a fun date.”

At that I blew up and told him what kind of date he could expect with me. He stormed out, and I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling and wondering if I could make up an extra class next fall.

A knock came on the door, and my roommate stuck her head in. Arlene is Chinese, very small and pretty, with a cute, pixieish look that always makes me feel like a female elephant standing next to her. I’m over five ten, and the word “dainty” would never be applied to me. I’d been a chubby kid, and while that hadn’t been true for years—thanks to lots of hard work and hours of tennis practice—the mental image still stuck with me.

“Well, from what I overheard I’d say that didn’t go so well,” Arlene observed brightly.

“You can say that again,” I agreed. “Brad is such a jerk. I don’t know why I started dating him.”

Arlene came in and sat in my chair. “At the time, I thought it was probably the rippling biceps. But no doubt there were deeper reasons.”

“Thanks a lot. If you have any other helpful comments, please make them now, so I can go back to wallowing in despair.”

Arlene laughed, but showed no signs of leaving. “Actually, I have three comments. First: you should take a nap. You are not attractive when you’re short on sleep. Second: Jack took that class a couple of years ago, and he said they were pretty good about giving extensions on assignments.”

“No can do,” I protested. “If I hand this one in late, I’ll have even less time for the next one. They keep getting harder. And if you think I’m unattractive now, think how I’ll be after getting no sleep for weeks.”

“Which brings us to my third comment: hire a tutor. Jack had trouble with this class too, and he found a brilliant guy to help him. He said that the tutor made everything much clearer than the professor and the textbooks, so by the end of the class he could write the programs on his own without trouble. I can get his phone number from Jack, if you like.”

Jack is Arlene’s boyfriend, and a really great guy. She’s not only prettier than me, she has better taste in men. Or, anyway, she used to. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Her suggestion was a bitter pill to swallow. I sometimes tutored other people; I did not hire tutors myself. I sent Arlene away and took her first piece of advice, waking up to spend another night fruitlessly banging my head against the computer screen. No good. Swallowing my pride, which at the moment had shrunk down to a comfortable bite-size, I had her get the phone number from Jack.

For the first couple of rings I hoped that Mr. Tutor was out. Then the phone picked up on the other end, and a light tenor voice said “Hello?”

“Hi,” I said, “is Richard there?”

“Speaking,” he said.

“Um, hi.” Brilliant conversation, this. “My name is Susan Davis. You probably don’t know who I am...”

“Sure,” he said. “I’ve seen you around campus. You act, right? And play tennis.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Well, I’m taking CS 110...”

A long pause. “Yes?” he prompted.

“And, um, I’m having trouble. A friend of mine...Jack Webb...said that you were really good at this sort of thing...”

“So, you want tutoring,” he said.

Goodbye, pride. “Yeah.”

“No problem. I’m not tutoring anyone at the moment. Why don’t you come over tonight?”

“Tonight,” I said fervently, “would be great. Where do you live?”

Richard gave me his address—an apartment off-campus—and made the appointment for eight, then rang off. Now that I’d done it, I felt relief. I had hated the idea of quitting. Hiring a tutor was not much better, but at least I had finally done it. One small step for a woman, one giant leap, et cetera.

Of course, I didn’t know how giant a leap it really was.

Chapter 2

Richard’s apartment was very close to campus, so I walked there that evening. Normally, evenings would have been bad for me, crowded with rehearsals and such; but this semester my workload had convinced me not to try out for any plays, for which I was now very grateful.

I punched the button by the name ‘Richard Maddox’ by the door, and after a moment he buzzed me in. His apartment was on the top floor; I climbed the three flights of stairs, feeling my heart pound in a way which had little to do with exertion and a lot with meeting my tutor for the first time. I was ridiculously nervous. After all, I normally enjoyed meeting people. At the top of the stairs, I paused for a long time before pulling myself together and rapping sharply on the door. It swung open at once.

“Hi, Susan,” the man in the doorway said, offering a hand. “I’m Richard Maddox. Come on in.”

I shook his hand, feeling a little stunned. I don’t know why I had expected him to be a thin little guy, except that that was my preconceived image of computer geeks, and his voice on the phone had been a high tenor rather than a deep bass. But my expectations were completely wrong. Richard looked much more like a football player than a computer geek. He was comfortably over six feet, with broad shoulders, sandy-brown hair falling in somewhat rumpled waves over his forehead, a massive chest and piercing gray eyes. I opened my mouth and said the first thing that came into my head.

“Hi,” I said. “You’re shorter on the phone.”

Richard laughed, a sudden explosion of sound that left my ears ringing. The laugh made his voice seem bigger as well. Maybe he talked quietly deliberately, so as not to deafen his listeners.

“A lot of people have that reaction,” he said. “Come in.”

His apartment was small, but looked comfortable: a livingroom/kitchen combination, with a big computer desk set in one corner and a huge stereo system filling much of the rest of the space; doors that presumably led to a bedroom and bathroom. There was a big futon against one wall, and two slightly battered-looking armchairs. The walls had mounted prints of Monet and Van Gogh paintings. The floor was covered by a slightly worn oriental rug. The air held a strange but not unpleasant mixture of smells: incense, peppermint, and laundry soap.

“This is a great place,” I said, “but don’t you find it a bit small?” Clearly my internal censor was still on strike.

“Obviously my size has made a big impression on you,” Richard said. “No pun intended. Have a seat.” He gestured towards one of the armchairs. “Can I get you something to drink? Herbal tea?”

Incense and herbal tea. He must wish that he’d been born a hippie. “Thanks,” I said, settling onto the edge of the armchair. “That would be great.” He moved into the kitchen, and I started fumbling with papers in my book bag. “I’ve got all my CS 110 work with me,” I called after him.

“Good. Just put it on the coffee table there and relax.”

I obeyed, while he poured water into the kettle and turned the burner on. Still feeling nervous, I stared at Van Gogh’s cypresses on the wall, rippling green flames, suddenly frozen on canvas. Calming. What did Richard think of the way I’d been acting? So far, his first impression must have been less than stellar.

By contrast, Richard was very impressive. Not just his physical presence. The force of his personality almost shouted out at me. It was a little unnerving. It was also attractive as hell. Brad was a big guy, and so were most of my previous boyfriends. But none of them had a fraction of Richard’s quiet power.

Quiet in more ways than one. I nearly jumped as his voice came from behind me. “That’s the most pathetic example of relaxation I’ve ever seen,” he said. “Here.” He held out a steaming mug.

I clutched my heart, gasping. “Please try to make more noise than that when you walk,” I said, still in full babble mode. “I’m too young to have a heart attack.”

“If stress is any indication,” Richard said mildly, “you’re well on your way.” He put a hand on my shoulder and gently pushed. “Lean back. This is an armchair, not a stool. Good. Now, drink your tea while I look at your work. Relax. I’m not a dentist.”

Rebuked, I tried to lean back and sip my tea. Richard sat in the other chair and began going through my work. He did move softly. He sat without fidgeting as well, moving only to turn over pages. His concentration was oddly soothing. I sighed, and felt a knot of tension in my chest disappear. The tea was peppermint. No doubt that explained the smell in the air. I settled back further into the chair. It really was very comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that I was reminded of how little sleep I’d had in the last two weeks. If I wasn’t careful I was going to nod off and pour hot tea all over myself. That would just about cap my convincing impersonation of a clueless ditz.

“Well, that’s a little better,” Richard said, taking me by surprise again. I wondered how long he’d been looking at me while I stared into space. “You’ve still got to work on this relaxation thing, though.” He handed back my work. “I’d say we’ve got something to work with, anyway,” he went on. “When is your next assignment due?”

“Tuesday,” I said.

“Not much time,” Richard said. “OK. Tomorrow, go see the head TA of the course. Tell him that you’ve hired me as a tutor, and ask him for a one-week extension. He knows me; he’ll give it to you.”

“But what about the assignment after that?” I asked, sounding plaintive even to myself.

“We’ll get them both done,” Richard assured me. “It’ll mean a lot of hours, but you can do it. After that, you’ll be caught up, and hopefully more comfortable with the material.” He gave me an odd look, and added “Don’t panic—I’ve done this before, with people a lot worse off than you are. You’ll be fine.”

His perception was acute, because for a minute there the thought of completing two assignments in one week did have me very close to panic. My heart was thudding painfully. It was a shock to realize how intimidated this course had made me. Was my self-confidence that fragile? Richard smiled at me and removed the forgotten mug of tea from my hands.

“Here,” he said, setting it aside. “Just sit back in the chair. Look at the Van Gogh there, for a little while. Pick one of the trees and study it. Good. Now, pay attention to your breathing. Breathe slowly, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Very good. Now again. Slowly...”

His voice was very soothing, and I felt myself relaxing again. I listened to him and looked at the print.

“Very good,” he was saying. “Now, let your muscles relax. You don’t need them for this. You’re not going to fight anyone—not even yourself. That’s right. Whenever you’re feeling panicky, it’s good to have somewhere to retreat and collect your thoughts. This chair can be your place. Just think of relaxing in this chair and breathing. Very calm. Very peaceful. Very quiet...”

For a moment I seemed to lose the thread of what he was saying. Then his voice came to me.

“Susan!”

I blinked open my eyes, a little confused because I didn’t remember closing them. Richard was looking at me.

“Did I doze off?” I apologized. “Sorry about that. I’m kind of short of sleep.”

“That’s all right,” Richard said. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yes,” I said, surprised to discover that I was. I felt calmer than I had in weeks...maybe months. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Richard said easily, rising to his feet. “We can start all our sessions like this, if you like. No extra charge. But enough of the New-Agey approach. Time to hit the machine...”

He waved me towards the computer desk, and I obediently rose and went to it. We settled down to work, Richard chatting about the principles behind the assignment, and the right way to think about writing a program, making it all seem much more approachable than the professor ever had. Maybe tutoring wasn’t going to be such a bad thing after all. With a tutor like Richard, I could quite get to like it.

Chapter 3

The marble of the corridor floor was cool against my bare feet. The walls were hung with tapestries. Oil burning lamps were suspended at regular intervals, filling the air with a smoky redolence. Despite them, it was dim, almost gloomy. High windows along one wall, little more than slits, let in only a dull gray light, as though the day outside were overcast.

“Where are you?”

The voice seemed to come from all around me, quiet and loud at once. It was infinitely familiar, but I could not say whose it was. My mind felt distant from my body, as if a veil of gauze came between them.

“I’m...in a corridor...” I answered. My voice seemed no more than a whisper. “...in a palace, somewhere. There’s marble...tapestries... burning lamps...”

“There’s a mirror on the wall, next to you,” the voice came again. “Look at yourself and tell me what you see.”

I hadn’t noticed the mirror before, but sure enough, there it was. I turned to look into it. The face that looked back was mine—high forehead, broad cheekbones, green eyes and wide mouth—and yet, somehow, different. It was a me from an another reality.

“I see...myself...” I said.

“What are you wearing?”

What was I wearing? I realized that I was totally nude, except for a gold chain around my neck and another around my waist. There were rings on my fingers, and gold loops dangled from my ear lobes. I was elaborately made up, with my eyes brought out with dark liner and my lips heavily rouged. My nipples were rouged as well, standing in sharp contrast to the paler skin of my breasts. My bronze-colored hair was done in elaborate braids, encircling my head like a crown, held in place by a jeweled pin. A diamond glittered at my navel. I looked barbaric, and sexy as hell. Definitely not the usual me.

“Nothing...” I said to the voice. “Jewelry...”

“What are you?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I’m...a dancing girl...in a palace...”

“All right. Now go down the corridor. Where does it take you?”

I followed the corridor, my feet padding along on the cold marble. The corridor seemed very long—impossibly long. The lamps came one after another overhead, each casting a circle of yellow light, with shadows in between. I walked slowly, patiently, neither hesitating nor rushing. I would get there when I got there.

Abruptly the corridor ended in a pair of large double doors.

“There are doors...” I said.

“Open the doors and go through.”

I raised my hand to obey, but the doors swung open before I could touch them. I walked through. The room beyond was immense, and crowded with people. Men and women, dressed in brilliantly colored robes and decked with gold and jewels. Despite all the people, the room was utterly silent. Everyone was waiting. Waiting for me. I continued to walk forward, and the crowd parted before me, closing in behind me as I passed. In spite of my nakedness, I was unembarassed by the eyes on me. A dancing girl is used to being looked at by strangers. I cared nothing for them. There was only one I cared for...

I reached the end of the crowd. A high dais filled one end of the room, holding a line of guards armed with curved swords, and a richly-decorated throne. A man sat on the throne, a big man with dark, unruly hair. He was dressed plainly, compared to most of those in the room, but there was absolutely no doubt who ruled here. He was looking at me. Not smiling. Not frowning. Waiting.

With a dancer’s grace, I sank to my knees and bowed until my forehead touched the floor. Then I looked up, smiling joyfully, glad that I had arrived at last at the place I had always been seeking.

“I’m here for you now,” I told him. “Richard.”

He smiled at last, and held out his hand to me.

It was dark. For a minute I was totally disoriented. I was lying in my bed at the dorm, body tangled in the bedclothes, bathed in sweat. As I blinked in confusion, I became aware of a streetlight shining in through the window, the dark shadow of my desk bulking in the corner of the room. It had been a dream. Only a dream.

I sighed and let myself sag back onto the pillow. I’d had dreams and fantasies like that for years—ever since I’d hit puberty—but that was the most vivid that I could recall. And despite the total absence of any actual sex, the most vividly erotic. I could feel my pussy tingling; I knew I was wet. My nipples were tautly erect, rubbing almost painfully against the t-shirt I’d worn to bed.

So, I told myself, you’re sexually frustrated and you have the hots for your tutor. Big deal. Get over it.

Richard and I had been working together for three weeks. The first week had been tense, at least on my part. Whatever he said, I had been far from confident that I could finish two assignments in one week, and I’d arrived at each tutoring session with my pulse beating like a jack hammer. Richard seemed to sense this; before working, he would always have me sit in the chair and go through the relaxation exercise. I had protested a little at first at the wasted time, but he’d been right. In a calmer frame of mind, I worked much better, and absorbed his explanations and corrections more thoroughly. At the end of the week, I had handed in both assignments, and gotten them both back with A’s.

After that it was much better. I felt more confidence, both in myself and in Richard. Now, at the beginning of each session, I sat in the chair without prompting and relaxed myself. It was strangely pleasant...letting go of all cares and worries and just drifting, timelessly, emerging to a feeling of warmth and relaxation.

The problem was that now that I was less stressed out, I was becoming more and more acutely aware of how attracted I was to Richard. The physical closeness when we worked together was starting to drive me crazy. He showed no sign at all of being interested in me. At least, not in that way. I wondered what he would do if I suddenly turned and threw my arms around him, as I was often tempted to do. He’d freak out, probably. Or maybe not; I might not be as pretty as Arlene, but I was good-looking enough, I thought. I remembered the image of myself from the dream, naked and unashamed, and felt a sensual shiver pass through me. I’d had no trouble finding boyfriends. But Richard...it would complicate things. We had one kind of relationship already. Would he want another? For all I knew, he already had a girlfriend. I really knew almost nothing about him.

I was wide awake now, and my body was vibrating like a live wire. I kicked the covers off myself, then peeled off my sweat-dampened t-shirt and panties. The air felt deliciously cool against my bare skin. My nipples were as hard as pebbles. I touched one, and gasped aloud at how good it felt. I’d rarely been this turned on even when making out with a guy. I began stroking and tugging my nipples, writhing with the pleasure of my own touch; I felt wild, and sexy, and out of control. One hand slid down to my pussy, which seemed to radiate heat. A finger slipped inside me, bringing a whimper from my throat. Two more fingers slid in and began pumping, while my thumb teased my clit into fiery arousal. My other hand was kneading my tits, sending further jolts of pleasure through my chest. It was almost as if my hands belonged to someone else; they moved without my conscious direction, playing me like an instrument. I was so close. I was so...damned...close...

Climax broke over me like a wave, sweeping me up, drowning me. A strangled moan forced itself from my throat. My hips bucked against my hand as I coaxed surge after surge of pleasure from my overheated flesh. Finally it passed, leaving me limp, almost dazed with ecstasy. Jesus, I thought. Who needs men? I can slice, I can dice. I’m a one-woman-band.

There was a tentative rap on the door. I grabbed the covers and pulled them over me. Not that they would be likely to help...the room must smell like a whorehouse with the scent of my arousal.

“Susan?” It was Arlene’s voice. “You all right?”

“Yeah!” I croaked, then cleared my throat. “I’m fine,” I called back. “I must have been dreaming. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah.” The door opened a little, and Arlene peered at me uncertainly. “Were you having a nightmare?”

“Not exactly,” I said. “But it was intense.” Man, was it intense.

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Can I get you something?”

“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m fine. I’m going to try to go back to sleep. Good night.”

“Good night.” She closed the door and returned to her own room. I heard her own door close, and the creak of her bedsprings. She must have been able to hear me thrashing around in here. It must have sounded like I was having a fit. Maybe I was.

I was buzzed from the aftereffects of my orgasm, like a drug still flowing in my system. I thought about getting a fresh t-shirt and panties, but my body was highly disinclined to move. I was still thinking about it when I drifted back to sleep.