The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I am not the sort of person to be spiteful or vengeful. I have always felt that it would make me sink to the level of the person I sought to hurt. I still feel that way but you can only push a person so far. It was Ryan that persuaded me to not just let it go this time but it would be a lie to say that I had not wanted it just as much—no, even more. And it was me that made it so I could not back out—even if I had second thoughts.

OK, I guess deep down I did have a lot of built up resentment. JUSTIFIED built up resentment when you get right down to it. How would YOU feel if you were always misjudged based solely on superficial characteristics?

You see, I am blonde and beautiful. I know that sounds conceited. It is not meant to because I would be the first one to say that my looks do not make me better than anyone else. But if you want to think that I am stuck on myself you can—you would not be the first person to jump to that conclusion.

Bottom line my looks are almost more trouble than they are worth. I am not expecting Jerry Lewis to throw a telethon in my honor or anything but it is not all happyhappy joyjoy for me.

First off I have not had a real friend since 5th grade. Before that there were a group of girls that I hung out with—we did the whole sleepover, Barbie Doll thing. Then puberty hit and all bets were off. Suddenly I was pitted against these girls, they looked at me like competition. They all let lies and rumors poison them or one of them would like a boy and he would like me and suddenly I was labeled a slut (at that point I had never even kissed a boy) ... and a familiar scenario was born.

See, I will try to make friends with someone and their boyfriend would have a drink to many and get grabby or start ogling me. Either they would catch him in the act or my conscience would make me confess and suddenly I would be the one out in the cold.

Being beautiful is liking being in a caste system. You are supposed to stick with your own kind—at least what others deem to be your kind. What is my supposed kind? Blonde, stupid, untrustworthy, materialistic ... The only one that fits me is the blonde but the rest of the labels soon follow. It is a package deal.

I know, I know. There have been studies. Beautiful people get better jobs, better tables in restaurants, even better grades, etc. But when everyone is all to willing to dismiss your every accomplishment as a byproduct of how you look or who you allegedly fucked then the studies are cold comfort.

You think you have heard all of the dumb blonde jokes? Nope, but I have. People feel compelled to tell me them and if I do not laugh I am either humorless or people think that I don’t “get it.” By the way—did you hear about the brunette that told one too many blonde jokes? No? Keep reading—you will.

But really, the only friend I have in this world is my boyfriend, Ryan. He never treats me like a dumb blonde, or a conniving whore. I know he finds me beautiful and likes me on his arm but he has always looked deeper than that. He accepts me for the person I am deep down and I accept him for the person that HE is—you see if anyone understands genetic flukes it is me.

I guess I should explain. Ryan has the power of mind control. I feel like a dumbass saying that but it is true. REALLY true. Oh, I did not believe it at first either. In fact I almost broke up with him when he told me over dinner. I thought that he was trying to screw with me—the airhead—and I thought that he was better than that. I was stunned that he thought I would buy it. I thought he was something special and honestly had been planning to go to bed with him that night.

As he tried to persuade me of his ability I just got angrier and I was just about to really let him have it. The waiter came over to the table with a pitcher to refill my water glass. Ryan looked right at him and said, “Stop! What are you doing? The glass is already full!”

The water looked at the empty glass, gaped for a second, and then began to apologize. Ryan told him not to worry—everybody has days like that and the waiter walked away, shaking his head.

At that point I was so angry I was shaking. I called Ryan an asshole and asked if he paid the waiter to be in on his little joke or did he just agree for the sheer hell of it—to fuck with the dumb blonde! Ryan reached imploringly across the table, as if to grab my hand. I told him not to bother and ran out of the restaurant.

The headlights and streetlights were blurry through my tears of anger and hurt. I was torn between being pissed that he thought I was that stupid and hurt that this guy I was falling for turned out to be such a jackass. I felt like the worst judge of character ever and was beginning to think that I was the biggest dumb blonde joke of all. The punchline would be me standing outside of a restaurant and figuring out if I had enough money for a cab.

Ryan walked up behind her and grabbed her elbow. “Brynne, c’mon, let’s talk about this! Please!”

I whipped around and looked at him. “Why ask? Why say please? Can’t you just use your wondrous powers to make me listen?”

Ryan gave me a seemingly sincere look. “I could, there are just a few problems with that.”

“And those would be?” God, I just really wanted to smack the phony assed sincerity right out of him.

“Because I did not chose this ability and I am not sure that it is right to use it at all, because I need for you to really trust me and believe me, and because I happen to be in love with you and never would want to change you in any way. Now, can we go somewhere and talk about this?”

“You want to TALK about this? You want me to believe you, really believe you? Well, let’s go!” I kicked my high heels off and started running like a crazy woman. I know that is what people must have thought but still I kept running with Ryan right behind me, calling after me. “You want me to listen to you—then come with me.”

I ran down the street, down an alley, down the block and into a park. Ryan yelled. “Brynne! What are you doing ... this is not safe!”

“Why not? Tell the muggers that it aint a gun—it’s a banana—also useful for flashers!” I gasped this out as my breath began to fail me. I stood in the middle of a lit path and saw a jogger approaching. “There, do something with him!”

“What, I...”

“You want me to believe you? Make him believe that ... I don’t know, that there is a rabid dog in the path. Go ahead, do it!”

The runner approached and gave me a not too subtle once over. Ryan moved in front of him and spoke although a little halfheartedly. “Dude, watch out, there is a dog up a ways and it looks like it is foaming at the mouth.”

The man stopped and looked at Ryan. “Bullshit man. There has not been a case of a dog with rabies in this area in about thirty years.” He met Ryan’s gaze though—sizing up what the angle was. He was trying to figure out what we were doing in the park, me in a nice blouse and skirt but barefoot, Ryan in a suit and tie—neither of us looking like we were dressed for the park.

Ryan paused as if debating with himself, looked tenderly at me, and continued. “No, really,” he pointed to a dark patch, “he is right there! Don’t you see him? Look at those huge teeth!”

The man looked and suddenly there was a sharp intake of breath, as if he saw something in the shadows. “Shiiiiit! Ah Shit!”

Ryan spoke again. “My mistake man. It is a little dog, a poodle. Do you see that it is just a toy poodle and it is wagging it’s tail?” And the runner blinked, as if he could not believe his eyes. As if he did see a poodle, but how could that be? He turned and ran, seemingly more scared then he was when there was a rabid dog before him. I watched him go out of his way to put some distance between us.

I felt disorientated. I felt like throwing up. All I could do was speak in a weak voice. “You know him, too. That must be it.”

Ryan spoke gently. “Brynne ... I had no way of knowing you were going to bring me to the park. You picked the restaurant tonight ...”

“But this does not make sense. People cannot just make people believe things—unless they work hard at it. Brainwash them or hypnotize them. No, these people HAVE to be in on it. They just HAVE to.”

Ryan looked at me tenderly and brushed a strand of hair out of my face that was damp with tears and perspiration. “I know it is hard to believe—but is it any harder than believing that everyone is in on a joke against you? You are too smart for that to make sense! Let’s go to my apartment and I’ll make us some coffee and we will talk.”

I suggested my place instead. I wanted to be some place familiar and safe. I knew that we did have to talk. If we didn’t the questions would just eat me up. I didn’t want coffee though—I was already enough on edge. I asked him to explain.

“I am not sure I can. I can’t even tell you why—my only guess is when I was 13 I was in a car wreck and was in a coma for over a month due to a head injury. Maybe that did something but I honestly do not know how it happened. I just realized that I could make people believe and do what ever I tell them.”

“How do you just realize a thing like that?”

“Slowly. When I was thirteen I was a real geek. By all rights I should have been low man on the totem pole but instead every girl I set my sights on fell for me. I lost my virginity to my twenty-two year old baby-sitter. I did not get that it was something special that I was doing. I thought maybe I was just extra smooth or sensitive or they felt bad because they heard about the accident ...

I am not a genius but eventually I got that there was more going on. I mean, everybody fails sometimes, right? It hit me that maybe I had some sort of freaky ability but I did not believe it until I concentrated really hard to get someone to do something and it still worked.”

“What did you concentrate on?”

“Having the girl next door walk over to me and give me a blow job.”

“And it worked? You are telling me that it WORKED?”

Ryan looked sheepish. “Well, yeah, but only because I think only because I was relatively close to her. Gave me a major headache.”

“Yeah, which head?” I was feeling sarcastic and violated. “So just how often have you used your powers on me?”

“Never.”

“Bull!”

“Brynne, NEVER. Never to get you into bed obviously, never to get you to go out with me, never to get you to even kiss me goodnight. Never.”

“Oh, you did not use it to make me fall in love with you?” There, have him deny that. From the surprised and pleased look on his face I knew I made a mistake right away.

“You love me?”

“I was starting to—now I am just confused and unsure if it was ever real.”

“It was real. I have not deliberately used my power to take advantage of someone in years. Once I realized I had it I felt guilty. I never meant to coerce anyone into anything. My father raised me to believe in everyone having a level playing field and I could not believe that even without thinking I took advantage of people.”

“But, Ryan. Most people would kill for your ability!”

“Yeah, just like most women would kill to look like you. But you have made me see that it is not all that it is cracked up to be. Why? Because success isn’t really success if it does not feel earned. You worry that every promotion is due to your face and body—or at least that everybody believes it and it makes it hard for you to enjoy your good fortune. Is it so hard to imagine that using my ability would take away the reward for me? Oh, nobody will know why I got ahead—nobody but me but it is still the same.

When you told me how hard it was for you, Brynne, I knew that you were someone that maybe could understand me.”

“I ... I guess I do a little bit,” I told him. And the thing is that I was being honest. “You never use it? How can you control it”

“I have used it a few times. To make people nicer, more charitable but I still do not know if even that is right. As soon as I realized I had the ability I was able to choose not to use it. I guess it is like anything that we do unconsciously and without thinking—it is second nature and you are not always aware of it unless you choose to be.”

“And you are never tempted?”

“I am tempted every day. Often every hour. In many cases several times an hour. Every time I wait in a long line, every time I see a beautiful woman, every time I am sick of fighting for something—when struggling seems so stupid when it could be so easy. Yeah, I am tempted.”

“Ever tempted with me?” I had to know. I wanted the answer to be yes.

Ryan laughed until tears came to his eyes—as if he could not believe that I would even have to ask. “You fall into the category of several times an hour—hell, constantly.”

“You could ... have any woman you want?”

“Yes, I could.”

“ANY woman?” He nodded. “And you are here with me? For how long?”

“I am hoping forever.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.”

“Oh.” I sat there and let that sink in. And then I realized something. Something that I thought Ryan needed to know. “Do you have any idea how horny I am right now?”

His eyes darkened. “No—are you.”

I moved closer to him on the couch and met his gaze. “Yes, I wanted you so much that I cannot even stand it. I have wanted you a while now for a lot of Hallmark reasons but right now that is not what I am saying.”

“What ARE you saying?”

“I am saying that I have never felt such lust for anyone as I feel for you. I will worry later about why you having this ability is the hottest thing that I have ever heard. You do not have to use your power on me and I still will be with you—in the bed, or right here on the couch, or on the floor. I really do not care as long as I have you inside me soon. But you know what else ...?” I began to unbutton my blouse and slip it off and his eyes were upon me, looking at my breasts swelling out of the lacy black bra I put on because I knew that he would be seeing it.

“Brynne ... I ...”

“Ryan, I am sorry but that is not the proper response.” I unhooked the bra and my full tits sprang free, the hard nipples bearing testimony to the truth of my arousal. I knew he wanted me too, maybe as badly as I wanted him—and I knew that he was trying to be a gentleman. “And you know what else?”

“What else?” His Adam’s apple bobbed and he swallowed.

I straddled him. I could feel his hard cock pressing up against me—and even though there were layers between him and me it still felt so good. The friction and the heat. “You do not have to use your power, but I don’t care if you do. I give you permission.” Even the scent of him was making me insane and I began to hump him.

“Brynne ... I... I...”

I kissed him then. And he kissed me back. And his hands reached up to touch my breasts—to cup them and caress them. I do not know how much later I pulled my mouth away from him and whispered in his ear. “You can if you want. You can make me do whatever you want—be your perfect lover. I want to be that—the best you ever had or ever will have.”

His tongue flicked across an erect nipple and I almost lost it right then and there and then he whispered back. “I won’t use you.”

“Too bad—I want you to use me. I want to use you, too. C’mon Ryan—let’s use each other.” We gazed into each other’s eyes and saw each other clearly. I knew he understood me and I him. And I knew that he would not be leaving that night or any night in the future. He saw the dark side of me that wanted him to dominate me, that wanting to be able to submit to him. And that night we did it on the couch, the floor AND the bed if you must know.

I could give more details but that is not what this story is about. All you need to know to understand the next part is that we became obsessed with one another but it was—and is—healthy. Well, as healthy as obsession ever is. Does he use his power? Sometimes and that sometimes is enough to tie me to him completely. No other man can make me cum like he can—screaming his name, begging for release, clawing his back, sometimes sobbing with the intensity of it and he can do it even without any extra help.

I could tell you about all the fun little games we play, how we cannot wait to get at each other at night and sometimes have to sneak out early from work to be together. Sometimes I start thinking about him and become the airhead that everyone wants to see me as anyhow. But I am not here to tell you that—but to tell you about what I did, what WE did for revenge.

We had been together officially for three months when I got promoted and became assistant to the president of the company. I thought my coworkers were bitchy enough to me before but I swear it was so much worse afterwards.

Of course the rumor, which people made sure I heard, was that I was fucking my boss. Just as I supposedly fucked ... well, the list was long. Anyhow, my boss, who knew that he was decidedly not fucking me did not have the brain power to realize that if that was untrue maybe the rest of the list was a lie spent time making comments that let me know that he believed the rumors.

I did my job well, and competently, and pulled his bacon out of the fire more than once and yet he still had a tendency to talk to me in a condescending manner—over explaining things that I could have explained to him.

But I could not be too angry at him because he was clueless—not cruel. He paid me a decent salary and after I turned him down a couple times backed off and that was enough for the moment. Although I imagine he promoted me to get me into bed he never held “no” against me.

It was the women in the office that made me sick. The whispers, the innuendoes, the mock friendliness that was transparent as glass. It hurt—like it had been hurting since fifth grade and my first training bra—when the invitations to the slumber parties ended and the rumors began. As if my breasts were a scarlet letter proving me to be a slut and my blonde hair was evidence that I was stupid.

So these women, that I had always been kind to treated me like trash and there was nothing that I could do—I would not crawl but even if I did it would change nothing—only add ‘pathetic’ to the list of words applied to me. And the worst of the worst was Christina Pierce.

Christina lied about me—said she was working late one night and thought she was all alone. Only she heard a noise and went to investigate only to discover me having a little party with Alan Bartlett and Malcolm Woolrich—respectively my former and current bosses. She always stopped short of saying what she saw. Of course she was clever enough to know it was really better that way—let people come up with their own images.

The others would whisper about me but be sweet as pie to my face—except for the little digs that I was supposedly too stupid to get anyhow. Christina was far from subtle, did not even make the pretense of liking me. All the others worshipped her for her guts in being a bitch to me right to my face—how brave to not worry that I would sic Malcolm on her.

Call it PMS, call it frustration that my romantic life was so perfect and my professional life was so nightmarish. Funny how just when you should be at your happiest you notice all of the things that are still wrong with your life—the great part makes the crummy part more obvious. But it all came to a head one day. I walked in to the office and Christina called out, “Oh, Brynne ... what’s a blonde’s favorite nursery rhyme?

“HumpMe, DumpMe—try something a little newer Christina.”

“Well, considering the age of your boyfriend I thought you liked ‘em a little seasoned.”

“My boyfriend is twenty-six.”

“Sorry, you have so many men in your life that it is hard to keep up. Maybe I should have said your sugar daddy—the one that hired you for your DICK-tation and covers for the fact that you are completely inept.” Christina laughed and everyone in hearing either gasped or snickered. “Oh, don’t be mad ... I was only joking. Leave it to a blonde not to get the joke. Hey, everyone, why is a blonde like an old washing machine? Because they both drip while in use!”

I lost it. I knew better than to let it get the best of me but it did. “You fucking nasty assed bitch!” I went for her—like it was grade school, like we were on the playground. Hands grabbed me and wrestled me back. Men’s hands. It was Malcolm.

“What ARE you doing, Brynne. I came in here to hear you talking like you belong in a gutter and lunging at another employee.”

“I ... I ... she, she started it!”

“Really! You are a woman in your twenties—way too old to be acting like this. Come into my office.”

I went in and sat across from him. And I knew, I KNEW that already the stories were flying about what I would do to keep my job. What would be going on behind the closed door. What could I say to him anyhow? If I told him that I was angry that Christina started the crap about me fucking my way to the top he would say something, SOMEthing that indicated he felt it was true in the past and then ... I do not even know what I would have said then. Instead I told him that I quit and asked him to please not make me have to work my two weeks—to just let me leave. In his defense he looked concerned ... and then agreed. I knew Christina would be sitting in my chair within the hour.

I wanted Ryan so desperately but at the same time did not want him to see me hysterical. And I WAS hysterical all of the way home, through the hot shower, and as I crawled into bed. What was the point anyhow?

Apparently Ryan called me at work and Christina answered—due to the fact that she was ensconced at my ex desk. She told him that I was no longer employed there. And so he ended up coming home and finding me in bed. I sat up as he sat on the bed and I wrapped my arms around him and sobbed my heart out as he stroked my hair soothingly and whispered in my ear that it would be OK—that he would make it all OK.

I calmed down after a while although I was still miserable. We ended up at the kitchen table eating leftover chicken soup. I knew I loved him with all my heart at that moment—if I ever doubted it for a second before I never doubted it again after.

“Ryan? What did you mean you would make it all OK?” A thought began to insidiously worm it’s way into my consciousness but I fought it away. Still I had to ask.

“Baby, it just seemed like the thing to say, to make you know that I would do whatever I could to help you.”

“I know. You have just helped me by being here.”

We lapsed into silence for several minutes and then Ryan spoke quietly. “I can do more than that if you like.”

“What do you mean?” But I knew. I knew what he was offering.

“You deserve better. You deserve everything. You don’t deserve to have people that do not even know you treat you like shit. Let me help you. Let me make them treat you with respect.”

“No, Ryan. Nothing has changed I need to earn it. I cannot let you do that ... I ...” I stopped talking.

“What?”

“I am not saying that I want you to do anything at all but part of me wants you to—but, not to give me an unfair advantage. Part of me wants it to be payback time. I hate that Christina and a lot of other bitches like her never get what they deserve.”

“Are you saying that you want revenge?”

“Yes, I want it. I am not taking it but I want it. And I cannot help but think about ways that you can help.”

“How? Tell me how.”

“There is no use because I am not doing it and I am not asking you do it either.”

“Why not, Brynne? You deserve it. I can get it for you. I want to get it for you. I gave up using my power because it seemed immoral to me but what has been done to you is more immoral. I hate this woman because she hurt you and I would do whatever you ask and not think any less of you. You want it, don’t you?”

I felt ashamed. “Yes, I want it. But I know I would regret it when the anger subsided. Unless ... crap, never mind”

“No, let’s talk about it—you can tell me anything. You should know that.”

“You could tell me not to regret it. You could make it happen. I know it is awful.”

“No, it is smart—like you. Let me do it now—before you change your mind. Let me fix it for you.”

I felt myself nodding. I was not proud of it but years of anger made me hunger for vengeance. I wanted Christina to pay for all of the people that did not give me a chance. “OK, go ahead.” I felt tears well up in my eyes.

Ryan looked at me tenderly, our eyes met. “Brynne, I love you. Tell me how you want revenge—and no regrets baby, no regrets because you will do nothing that you need to regret.”

And I knew that he had fixed it. I trusted that it was just that simple. And I told him what I wanted, and we fucked like bunnies, and we were closer than ever.