The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Clarissa was so excited, stood in front of her door, for what she hoped was about to happen that she dropped her keys, then rattled them in the lock for a long second before managing to get it open. Somewhere in the back of her mind was a whisper: Something isn’t right here.

But Alistair was right behind her, and had his hand on her ass, pushing her forward into her house and groping her at the same time. Again the whisper: This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.

She heard him shoulder the door shut behind him and then his hand was on her shoulder, spinning her around, and she turned without protest, her eyes excitedly shining. Take charge, dammit, she thought; be the alpha you know he can’t be.

And then his mouth was on hers and they were kissing and the heat between her legs was a white-hot fire melting the cool steel arrogance of her mind. He leaned into the kiss and backed her against the wall of her hallway, took her arms one at a time by the wrist and pinned them above her head, still kissing her, and Clarissa was so drunk on the hypnotic arousal he’d bound her with that she didn’t object, didn’t struggle, didn’t even push back against his intent, even knowing she should be.

She had no idea why she was going along with this, except that she had a sudden hunger for cock and she had this strange sense that only Alistair’s dick would do. Keeping her wrists braced against the wall, he started drawing them both down at once and, just to keep her shoulders and elbows at comfortable angles, she sank down slowly until she was on one knee, the other tucked awkwardly outside Alistair’s foot, and her face was level with his crotch.

“Undo my belt,” Alistair said. Her hands were still trapped, and an experimental twitch of her wrist led him to renew the pressure keeping them there. For a moment she wasn’t sure how to do as he asked, but (to her mild surprise) she really wanted to. Tentatively she leaned forward, let her tongue lick out, hooked the underside of the leather in his belt, the taste shockingly delicious—she had a sudden flash of memory to her first meeting with Alistair and the yes set that had put the taste of boot leather in her mind—and drew it out of the buckle slowly.

Taking the leather firmly between her teeth, her hands still restrained, she drew it back, teasing the belt’s prong open, her eyes almost cross-eyed as she tried to focus on it. Working the tail clear of the buckle, she finally let it fall, only to be confronted with his fly.

Still, if she’d secured the belt (and she felt strangely proud of herself for that) she was sure she could handle this. The button at the waist popped open surprisingly easily when she put her mind to it; nuzzling her way in to be able to take the zip between her teeth she was rewarded with her first proper contact against his cock, already hard for her even while concealed by his pants. Drawing the zip down required a little hard work but she found herself thinking if I ever do this again, it’ll be easy.

She tried to grip the waistband of his boxers with her mouth and was almost disappointed when, after a couple of fumbles, he released one wrist to pull the last cloth barrier down to reveal himself. All the same, her hand stayed exactly where he’d put it, her wrist pressing itself against the wall, her body language and her posture still trapped even if her arm was technically free.

Her eyes locked hungrily on to the tip of his cock, following it as automatically as she’d tracked the pocketwatch a few nights previous.

“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Alistair asked.

“Yes.”

He was rolling his hips, rocking it side by side, and clearly enjoying the sight of her head turning to track it.

“You want it in your mouth, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me to fuck your mouth?”

“Yes.” Her lips were suddenly dry at the admission. She swallowed, licking her lips, as the whisper in the back of her mind protested inaudibly.

“But you can’t just swallow me right now. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” A shiver went down her spine.

“You need to be given permission, don’t you?”

“Yes…” It came out as a sigh.

“That’s very good.” He smiled. “So what do you want, Clarissa?”

“I want to suck your cock.” It came out, even to her own ears, like she was dreaming, mumble-moaning her words but saying what they both expected her to say with a sense of inevitability.

“Say please.”

“Please can I suck your cock?” she asked. “You’ll enjoy it.”

“Let’s try ‘please fuck my face.’”

“Please fuck my face?” she asked eagerly. Her mouth settled into a wide, welcoming O.

He put his hand back against her wrist, pinning her down, and stepped closer. She bent her head to take him in, and his hips jerked with excited anticipation, and her head rocked back on her neck, her tongue rising to greet him, as she let him fuck her face, even encouraged him with muffled moans and squeals of excitement, until she had to gulp down his gift as quickly as she could and her body shook with her own pleasure as his cumming made her do the same.

Alistair left her kneeling, hands braced against the wall as if pinned back, a trickle of his own cum running from the side of her mouth down past her chin to drip onto the tee shirt she’d been wearing to meet him, and went off to explore the house. It didn’t occur to her that she might be allowed to get up and move around, didn’t occur to her that ‘allowed’ wasn’t usually even a consideration.

He was back inside a couple of minutes, though, and grinning. “Did you like me fucking your face?”

Clarissa could feel herself blushing, and she didn’t know how to react to that. “Yes,” she answered, because saying yes, she had learned, was easier. Agreement was easier. It was easier to accept. To go along.

“Good.” He brushed a hand against her cheek. “But you still want more.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered “Yes,” all the same, because it had the kind of weight that felt like a question.

“You want me to fuck your tits.”

“Yes,” she breathed, and her body was tingling throughout with excitement just at the prospect.

“You want me to fuck your pussy.”

It still wasn’t a question, it was a challenge, and she backed down from the challenge by saying “Yes.” She wasn’t up to the challenge right then, and it felt like she should know why, but she didn’t.

“Are you willing to earn it?”

“Yes,” she said again. Anything, she didn’t say. No, moaned the whisper in the back of her head.

“Good,” he said. “I was going to order in, but you can cook for us instead. From the looks of your kitchen, you’re good at it.” And he took her by the hands and detached her wrists from the wall.

Clarissa should, really, have told him to go fuck himself. It was true that she enjoyed cooking, but it was also true that she considered it a pretty private activity, and she planned and shopped for one. But she smiled, and rose to her feet, and went through into the kitchen, and she found herself genuinely intent on making something he’d like, just to be sure that when he fucked her needy pussy and her eager tits that he’d do his very best.

He followed her into the kitchen. She hated doing just about anything that involved concentration when anyone else was around, but she couldn’t exactly object. Especially not after she’d agreed to so much, so easily.

And it was easy to agree.

He stood next to her as she wielded the knife, diced onions, minced garlic, diced onions. Once the knife was down, he reached out, ran his hand over her ass, and she stiffened immediately, suddenly very sensitive to his desires, wanting to find the perfect opportunity to please him, to ensure he’d fuck her good and proper.

“Definitely preferred the outfit you were wearing the night we met,” he said. “Showed off your body so much better, didn’t it?” His voice had that familiar teasing tone it had whenever he was about to play his yes set trick. The whisper in her mind had started to watch for it, not that it ever seemed to stop her from agreeing to things.

“Yes.”

“You like showing off your body, don’t you?”

“Yes.” It was broadly true, with the occasional exception. But these questions weren’t looking for nuance, so Clarissa felt unable to add it. And after agreeing, everything felt more widely true.

“You want me turned on by your body, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You want to see my cock hard for you, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

She was coming to enjoy the monotony of agreement. And she did want to see his cock hard. If it wasn’t hard he wouldn’t give her the fucking that almost her entire head was insisting she needed.

His voice was even more amused, even more of a tease, as he pressed on. “You want to fixate on my cock again, don’t you?”

Had she done that, when he’d had her pinned against the wall? It felt like it… If that was the word for the way she’d locked on, the hunger throbbing inside her, the intense satisfaction when he was finally inside her, using her, fucking her, then yes, yes, she did. “Yes,” she whispered.

“You’re going to take your clothes off, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she agreed. It was so much easier to agree. She let the spatula rest against the rim of the pan and pulled her baggy black T-Shirt off over her head, letting it fall beside her, then reached behind and released the clasp of her bra. She slipped the straps from her shoulders and dropped it onto her fallen tee. The combat pants—Clarissa disagreed with the idea that women shouldn’t have pockets—were discarded more happily, her long legs and her muscular thighs glad to be free.

His hand went straight back to her ass as she slipped her panties off, squeezing her buttocks again, and she knew that her ass was one of the things he really liked about her. Then, as she picked the spatula back up—she had to cook for him, after all—he put his hands on her hips and swivelled them to face him. Clarissa was confused for a moment before realising he’d be reading the tattoo just below her hips, which he wouldn’t have had a chance to see before, the red word from which the trail of plants across her stomach grew:

DOMME

Alistair laughed, and Clarissa knew he must be laughing at her tattoo, and the whisper in her head said Get mad and break free, and she flushed awkwardly and thought about his cock and kept cooking. “Cute,” he said. Then, “Of course, you’re cooking. You don’t want to be completely naked when cooking. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” she said. She’d long ago stopped thinking about her answers before giving them. She knew he hadn’t hypnotised her, had never hypnotised her, but her head was wrapped in a warm, horny fog in a way she imagined must be quite like being hypnotised.

“Good. Here, put this on.” What he held out to her lived in one of the closets in her room; there were three, one for her personal life, one containing outfits for her professional life, and one where she stored surprises to foist on her clients. This—a white frilly apron that did not go above the waist, that hung down barely far enough to hide genitalia, and that needed to be tied off with a bow at the back—was from the last of those, and was not something Clarissa would ever usually wear.

But if she wanted him to fuck her tits and her pussy, she had to agree. And besides, it was so much easier to agree. So she did, and she accepted the flush of her cheeks as a price she simply had to pay.

Alistair moved to stand directly behind her. The meal was almost ready; she leaned over to find her salt cellar and began to season, and she jumped as his hands slid under her arms and took her by the tits. He squeezed, and despite her best efforts, she couldn’t help it; she moaned. Her vision swam as her eyes crossed. Being pawed at, being used, everything being totally out of her control… none of it should be a turn-on. Usually none of it was. But that night she couldn’t imagine anything that’d be better.

“How long am I waiting?” he asked, and she wanted to say Do me now before her struggling, lust-addled brain realised he was asking about food. Maybe he needed it to recharge before he was going to fuck her?

“Just a couple minutes left,” she said. “I thought you’d want me to be quick.”

“Well, you were right.” His hands didn’t leave her tits.

Emboldened, she asked “Are you looking forward to fucking my tits?”

He laughed. “Not as much as you are,” he said, and he tugged on both nipples and Clarissa’s attempt at a response devolved into an uncontrolled groan.

After dinner he made her walk upstairs in front of him, untying her apron on the way. He took her wrists in each hand and crossed them in the small of her back and snapped his fingers, and suddenly her wrists were tied together and Clarissa wasn’t sure how she’d missed that happening.

Alistair put his hand between her shoulderblades and pushed and in spite of having the strength advantage on him (she was pretty sure) she stumbled forward. Her knees hit the edge of the bed and she fell forwards, feet extending off the end, ass up in the air, face buried in her quilt. It wasn’t quite how she’d been when she toyed herself and dreamed of his cock, but it was close enough that suddenly she could think of nothing else.

He ran a finger along her wet pussy lips and chuckled to himself. “You’re going to feel like this is the best sex you’ve ever had,” he said, and she wasn’t sure if he was predicting, boasting, or giving her an instruction, so she just wriggled her hips as invitingly as she could.

He parted her thighs and she heard his zip open again, and then he had her by the hips and he pulled her back onto him. She squealed in delight, keeping her face buried in her quilt, making herself just a pussy for him to fuck, a sex toy that would hump back, and as he started to thrust, setting a callous, impatient pace, she could feel her thoughts lose cohesion again until she was a melting vessel of emotion aware only of the cock inside her.

It wasn’t the sex she liked to have, it wasn’t even how she occasionally enjoyed being fucked, but true to what she had now decided had been an order, she felt like it was the best sex she’d ever had.

Clarissa awoke the next morning lying on one side of the bed rather than in the middle, spread out across the space of the king size mattress as she usually liked. She was dimly aware of a man’s warmth behind her, a man’s arm lying across her body, a man’s hands within brushing reach of her nipples, but it somehow didn’t occur that this meant a person was sharing her bed, as if a veil had been drawn over the next logical step in her mind.

She slid out from under the arm, got out of bed, and stretched, not thinking about how it was her habit to stretch while still under the covers to really enjoy the last moments of her time before getting up. Instead she went for a shower, which left the man in her bed alone in her room—decidedly not something she’d have done if she was thinking particularly clearly about it.

The hot jet of her shower brought clarity, and she mentally reviewed the day before; her messages with Alistair, her meeting with him, slapping him, letting him fuck her face in the hallway, letting him bind her wrists and fuck her on her bed…

Clarissa frowned.

She wasn’t sure what, but there was definitely something wrong with that timeline. Fleetingly she considered not complaining to him about his attitude given the strangely mind-blowing fucking he’d bestowed on her, but it wasn’t right. He didn’t recognise her alpha status; to him she was clearly some beta bitch. She wasn’t willing to put up with that attitude.

The veil in her mind lifted and she realised he was still in her bedroom. Wrapping herself in a towel, she stormed back through to confront him.

“This has got to stop,” was her opening. “The sex is great, don’t get me wrong, but you’re acting like the ultimate alpha and actually? You’re basically a goof. Which isn’t alpha at all, and trust me, nobody is impressed. Least of all me.”

Alistair was lying back in her bed, hands behind his head on the pillows, smiling sleepily. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she snapped back. “And yeah, I’m aware of your little trick there. It’s always sets of five, isn’t it? So I know what I’ve got to do to stop that working now, jackass. You don’t get to play the same trick on me twice and think it’s going to work.”

Alistair chuckled. “That’d be more like five times,” he said. “Fool me once, shame on you. What is it for fooling you four times?”

“I’ve got a crop in this room,” she pointed out, and her tone was a warning even as her cheeks flushed. Had she really responded to a yes set so many times?

Why couldn’t she remember?

Either way, Alistair had taken his hands out from under his head and he now held them up as if in surrender, although that didn’t fit with the smirk on his face. “Okay,” he said. “Not using that trick today, then.”

This was clearly a trap, but she couldn’t see how. “Right,” she said. “Now, I’d like you out of my house…” Fleetingly, she realised he hadn’t fucked her tits yet, and as she thought about that she found that once again she really, really wanted that, on a level she hadn’t expected. “Or if you’re going to stay, I’m definitely owed last night’s washing up, and you can make me breakfast too.”

“Counter offer,” Alistair said, and he swept aside the quilt, revealing his naked body. Clarissa glanced down the length of it, checking cautiously for she didn’t know what—his watch, maybe? Finding nothing, she looked back at his face -

- or rather, she didn’t, as her eyes had locked onto the tip of his erect cock, and she found herself fixating on it as she had done in the hallway the night before. Irritated, she glanced at his face to see his expression—or tried; her eyes got about halfway up his chest before returning to the tip of his cock as if held there by some magnetic force.

But she was pretty sure of his reaction, all the same, when she saw his erection stiffen and rise even straighter. She was aware of a strange mewling sound in the room, and flushed when she realised it had come from her.

“Focus on my cock, Clarissa,” Alistair said with a smirk in his voice. “That’s right, just exactly like you already are. You can’t look away—I can see you already know that. Do you know why?”

She wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but something in her intercepted the words before they left her mouth. “I know I’m not hypnotised,” she said. “But your cock controls me.”

“Again,” Alistair said firmly.

“Your cock controls me,” she said again, and she was wetter by the time she finished the sentence than she had been when she’d started it. She had the strangest notion that she’d said it often before, that it had become so familiar it was an automatic response for her mouth under the right circumstances. A dim idea of chanting it, over and over, as her chant became a drone became a breathy, eager mumble.

“Drop the towel,” he said, and one of her hands took hold of the edge of a towel and tugged it down sharply before the fabric fell from suddenly listless fingers. She’d done exactly what he said, and without the yes set to pull her in, while she couldn’t take her eyes off his cock. His cock which controlled her. And her behaviour there had been the proof.

She sighed and felt herself relax. Just because she’d done as she was told?

“There. Isn’t that better?”

“Yes,” she said meekly.

“I thought it would be. What’s easier?”

“It’s so much easier to agree and obey,” she told him, and again there was the strange sensation that she’d said that a lot lately.

“You will agree and obey.”

“I will agree and obey.”

“And why?”

“Because your cock controls me.”

It was so easy to answer. Her mouth knew the answer even if she wasn’t sure her mind did, and whenever she said it, she had the sudden feeling of certainty; when she said it, she knew immediately that it was true, must be true.

“Do you want me to fuck your tits?” he said, and there was laughter in his voice, and his amusement sent a shiver down her spine. Clarissa had a sudden flash of how her clients must feel; understood properly, for the first time, what it was to take pleasure in submission.

Her eyes still locked to the tip of his cock, following its motion as he luxuriously stretched in her bed, her mind so deep she couldn’t remember what thought was, she nodded and quietly said “Yes.”

Alistair sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. For a moment her line of sight to his cock was broken by his thigh and Clarissa had a moment of stunned, reeling clarity, but then his cock was back in her line of sight, now, close to the edge, and she was lost to it again. “Come here,” he said, and she obeyed, her eyes never leaving his cock, her body swivelling beneath her neck to comply. “Kneel.”

She knelt, thighs upright, her tits on level with his cock, her eyes so close. Her mouth had begun to water. She sighed happily, relaxing even further. If she had been asked in that moment what frustrated her, what angered her, what upset her or what caused her stress she would have been entirely unable to answer.

“So here’s what’s about to happen,” Alistair said. “You’re going to fuck your tits with my cock, and as you do so, you’re going to let go just like you did at the party, just like when I took you to bed last night, and you’re going to go back into that deep sleep you like so much. What are we calling that again?”

“Bimbo bliss for sleepy subs,” she answered him dreamily, euphoric at the promise her tits were finally going to get the fucking they deserved from the cock she craved, the rest of it all more complex than she wanted to think about.

“That’s right. And then we’ll talk over how alpha you really feel, and whether you’d rather be a beta bimbo. Understand?”

“No,” she said truthfully, “but I agree. And I will obey.” It’s so much easier, she thought, to agree and obey.

He snapped his fingers, and as she leaned forward, cupping her tits and lifting them so she could wrap them around the cock that controlled her, she sank into bimbo bliss for sleepy subs.

He left his pocketwatch behind when he left that day. Left it in her own hand, held in front of her own eyes, swinging from left to right, her eyes tracking it. It was a poor substitute for the tip of his cock, because it could only fuck her mind, but it was something. Her lips moved, her voice not much more than a murmur, repeating the same thing over and over again.

“It’s so much easier to agree and obey. I will agree and obey. Your cock controls me. I’m your beta bimbo. It’s so much easier…”

She had been told to keep her pocketwatch with her phone, and to keep both of them by her, and to expect a call every day.

“No need to think. No need to question. Only need to fuck and suck and obey. Your cock controls me. No need to…”

She had been told to answer the call, no matter what, and to lift the pocketwatch before her eyes and set it swinging.

“Don’t want to think. Don’t want to question. It’s so much easier to agree and obey. Your cock controls me. Don’t want to…”

Every day she was given a new mantra. Every day she droned it back to him down the phone, and he listened for several minutes, occasionally making encouraging comments or—even better—satisfied noises of arousal.

“Ain’t alpha. I’m your beta bimbo. Being beta’s best for me. Your cock controls me. Ain’t…”

He would ring off when he was sure his work was done, but she would continue to repeat the mantra until the pocketwatch ran out of momentum and became still.

“My pussy is yours to fuck. My boobs are yours to fuck. My mind is yours to fuck. My…”

By the second half of the week this treatment went on, Clarissa’s hand would twitch occasionally, keeping the watch swinging for longer.

Dominating her clients was such a struggle, Clarissa wondered sometimes how she’d ever emerged from a session refreshed and energised and ready to take on their next client. It just… well, it didn’t seem natural anymore. It should, she told herself forcibly; her clients were all beta or below, she’d known that for years. They wouldn’t come to her and ask to be dominated if they weren’t.

And yet when she tried to work herself up, it didn’t work. The only thing that was getting her through sessions was imagining that they’d told her to dominate and demean them. When she pretended she’d been ordered to do something, she could agree and obey, but it was still a significant mental effort every time, and she didn’t find it nearly so much fun.

Just in the first week of Alistair’s calls, she lost three clients; each of them quietly, nervously messaged her some while after the session to cancel their next session, and her heart sank. She’d failed them somehow.

It was an uncomfortable feeling; Clarissa wasn’t used to not having confidence, and there were times when it felt very wrong. But then she’d get another call from Ally, or he’d DM her something, and she had something new to agree to and obey, and that felt much better.

Conversations with Ally had become just the best thing, because she always came out of them happier, hornier, and feeling more like the person she wanted to be, or maybe the person he wanted her to want to be—it was complicated, he’d told her, and after a few moments to consider (consideration was taking longer and longer these days) she’d decided not to think about it.

The first time she’d called him Ally she’d heard him grunt, and even over the phone line she could tell he was both startled and pleased. “Did I do good, Ally?” she asked, and her voice was a cheerful, clear sing-song as she did so. “You did, baby,” he assured her, and there was a huskiness to his tone that she’d learned to listen out for. It meant he was turned on.

She loved it when Ally was turned on. It meant he’d give her another good fucking soon.

“Ally?” she asked him at one point. “You’re clever. Can you help?”

“What possible problem could you have?” he asked, and he sounded amused. She loved it when Ally was amused. It usually meant he was thinking about her boobs, and if they were in the same place, that meant she was going to get tied down and groped. Or made to think she was tied down. It was sometimes difficult to tell.

“It’s my clients,” she said. “I’m having difficulty… you know.”

“I know?”

“Domin… dominan… dominating them.” It took her several attempts to get the word out. It was a complicated word, all of a sudden, and for all the familiarity she had with it it tasted strange in her mouth.

“Ahhh.” He laughed long and loud, and she smiled to hear it. She loved it when Ally was happy. Making him happy with something a beta bimbo was supposed to do. “Okay, yeah, I should have thought about that. Leave the door unlocked and I’ll come round this evening.”

“Okay, Ally!”

“In the meantime, maybe put on a nice outfit and then go watch my watch.”

“Okay, Ally.”

“See you soon, babe.” He hung up, and she put her phone down. Ally was going to sort it.

She couldn’t wait to find out how. Maybe he’d have to finally hypnotise her to make it work.

Hypnotise was an easy word, she discovered, where dominating wasn’t. Strange.