The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I entered the subway car.

It was Tuesday night and, as the youngest and newest employee fresh out of college, I had worked late. I was glad to be going home, even if it was on the Chrystal Heights subway system. It had to be a Tuesday thing. I could never get the hang of Tuesdays, for some reason. They had a mind of their own.

It was moderately late at night, so there was a fair number of passengers. Available seats were plentiful, however, and I selected one.

I settled into the seat. Sliding my Kindle from my purse, I powered it up and started reading. Soon I no longer heard the clacking of the rails.

A few minutes later, I glanced up. Belatedly, I realized we had arrived at the first stop. As my destination was over an hour away, this stop hadn’t even registered with me. It was the woman standing directly in front of me that had caught my attention.

She was a couple years older than me and taller as well, with long raven hair. Her looks were striking, but it was her clothing that demanded attention. A skin-tight, black leather skirt, black garter stockings and a leather bustier. It was unapologetically challenging, and the woman wore the outfit like a business suit.

“I don’t like the subway,” she said, “but I visit my mother every Tuesday and it’s the quickest way to get there.” She looked me up and down. “It’s twenty minutes to my stop,” she continued, “and since you’re the only thing in this car that looks good, you’ll have to serve as my entertainment.”

“Excuse me?” I said, eyebrows raising.

“I have time to kill,” said the woman, taking the seat next to me. “I’m bored and I don’t wish to be, so you have work to do.”

I stared at the woman incredulously. Her aura of authority was almost tangible and she moved with precision. She was obviously used to instant compliance.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I’m reading. Thank you just the same.”

“Shush, girl,” said the woman, pulling something from a small bag attached to her leather and chrome belt. “I wasn’t asking you.”

The woman held up a liquid lipstick. It was bright red. She placed the fingers of her other hand under my chin and tilted my head slightly. She began coating my lips liberally with the red lipstick.

I blinked. My body was ignoring my commands. My hands made no move to stop the woman.

“There we go,” said the woman, pulling the lipstick from my slightly-parted lips. “We’ll give it a minute to dry.”

My mind whirled as I tried to comprehend what was happening. My heart beat in my throat.

The woman stared casually out the window. A minute later, she turned back to me.

“They’re dry now,” she said. “Gives you a very classic slut look. I approve.”

This was crazy. I couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to be ignoring us. “I don’t approve,” I said, “and I’ll thank you to sit somewhere else.”

The woman laughed. “That’s rich,” she said. “Now shush and kneel between my legs.”

I stood up. “I’ll do no such thing,” I said, stepping over and dropping to my knees in front of her.

The woman shifted, sliding her skirt to her waist. The garters were connected to the garter belt, but she wore no panties.

“Lean closer,” said the woman.

I was stunned at her blatant audacity, but even more stunned when my head lowered toward the woman’s sex. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. It couldn’t!

My face was inches away from a woman’s pussy. My breath came in short, shallow gasps. I could smell her.

“Now, my little slut,” said the woman, “lick my pussy until I tell you to stop.”

And just like that, on my knees in a moving subway car, I became a pussy licker.

I couldn’t stop. My red lips sucked the woman’s clit. My salivating mouth stroked the woman’s sex. My traitor tongue tasted the woman’s juices.

She laid a hand across the back of my head. “Yesssss,” she said. “Good slut.”

I whimpered, but couldn’t stop. And then I realized my heat was building.

“Good slut,” she said again.

My hair fell forward, framing my face as I licked this woman. My belly muscles clenched, jumped. A warm flush enveloped me as my tongue searched for places it instinctively knew to be most sensitive. My body wriggled as it accepted its job of pussy licker without my permission.

The woman pressed her sex firmly against my mouth, and I realized her pressure was growing. She was getting off on using my mouth. My cheeks reddened, but my lips and tongue worked her clit without cessation.

This was impossible. I was on my knees licking another woman! I was in a public subway car, kneeling between a leather-clad woman’s thighs, lapping her pussy. This just couldn’t be happening.

My cheeks were wet with her juices. Her head was back, lips parted slightly as I worked her sex.

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yessss...”

Her fingers tightened in my hair as her hips undulated against my mouth. Then she pulled my face from her pussy.

“Stop,” she said. “Now, play with yourself.”

“What?!” I said, eyes widening.

“I said, ‘Play with yourself,’” she said, “and that means now.”

“I can’t do that!” I said, but my hands were already pulling my knee-length business skirt to my waist.

“Yes, you can,” she said, “and I want to see it.”

My hand slid inside my panties and suddenly my fingers were inside my pussy.

“Oh!” I said. “I...I can’t...I mean...stop it...!”

“Spread your knees more,” she said.

My knees parted further, sliding along the dirty subway car floor. My fingers sunk deeper inside me, pistoning over my clit as I worked my own pussy.

“That’s it, slut,” she said. “Work that hot little box.”

Oh, gawd. I couldn’t stop. My heat was through the roof. Despite myself, I wanted...I needed...to climax in the worst way. I needed it.

I mewled. “Please,” I said. “Please stop. I...I’m going to...”

“Before me?” she said. “No, I don’t think so.”

My fingers continued working my overheated pussy. I was near my peak, but I couldn’t break through. The woman was right. I couldn’t climax.

I moaned in need.

The woman’s fingers locked in my hair again and she pulled me face-first into her pussy.

“Now, resume your licking,” she said.

My tongue slid over her clit and my eyes widened. Every stroke over her heated button felt like a stroke over my own.

“Mmmmmmmmm,” she said. “That’s it. Keep it up.”

My mouth worked the woman’s sex desperately as my fingers pumped my wet pussy. I couldn’t tell if the woman was physically controlling me anymore, but it didn’t matter. I couldn’t stop licking or fingering myself in either case.

“Yesssssss,” she said. “That’s it. Good slut.”

I whimpered into her hot slit. I was so close. So close.

Then both her hands grabbed my hair. She pushed her pelvis against my face and held it there, breath hissing through her teeth.

We remained in that position for nearly a full minute, my face locked against her sex. Then, just as she started to relax, my orgasm started.

I squealed like a teenager into the woman’s wet pussy. Every muscle in my body contracted and relaxed at the same time. Pleasure radiated from my belly and became a liquid presence inside me. Colors flowed in waves, each fuller than the one before, and my fingers continued working the whole time. My knees splayed wide as my face ground against the woman’s sex. I saw nothing but the woman’s lower belly. The train had ceased to exist.

Some time later, I stirred. The woman pushed my face away from her sex. I sat back on my heels, blinking. My cheeks were still wet from her juices. I smelled like her.

“Good work,” she said, standing. She patted my cheek. “This is my stop. Bye.”

I tried to pull my thoughts together. Bye?

“Ummm,” I said, desperately trying to think of something to say. “Do you want to know my name?”

The woman smiled and shook her head. “What for?” she said. “I only needed you for twenty minutes.” She walked around me and headed for the door.

I turned and watched her exit the car. My mind whirled. I was kneeling on the dirty subway car floor, my business skirt hiked above my hips, my face covered with a stranger’s juices. My lips were slut red. I had been used.

It had been the strangest, most intense experience I had ever been involved in. For me, it had been a night of breathless intensity, a night of blazing sensation. For her...it had been Tuesday.

I never could get the hang of Tuesdays.