The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Amy was on her way home from work. She liked work these days, liked her job at the library far better than she had ever liked her job at Pet-R-Us. Sure, she had risen fast through the Pets-R-Us ranks, but that might have been because she was the only person on the staff capable of engaging her brain while working who also thought work meant more than doing the bare minimum until the next break.

In the library at Upstate University, Amy was among people who thought all the time, who believed that thinking and learning were life-long pursuits. Sure, there were still jerks and idiots and people too impressed with themselves for their own good, but most of the patrons were decent for the most part, and the work was much more pleasant; she wasn’t exactly teaching-a life-long dream-but she was helping students to learn, and that was pretty damn good.

Best of all, she had insurance. So, in the two years that she had this job, she had gotten a few of her own health issues taken care of and gotten some counseling that had helped her get out of an abusive relationship with an absolute bastard. While he had never hit her, she had come to realize that there were several levels of emotional abuse going on, and he was sponging off her income. She was well rid of him.

She was well rid of him because of Karen. Karen Chapel, Ph.D. taught military history at the university and had come into Amy’s store looking for help with her cat, who wasn’t eating the food he was given. Karen was rather no-nonsense, and, after trying to deal with one of the slackers who usually ran that department, was grateful for Amy’s prompt, knowledgeable, and courteous assistance. Karen came back to the store a few times over the next several weeks, always asking for Amy, even when she just needed to know what shelf the Friskies was on. Finally, she got up the nerve to ask the clerk out for coffee. Then lunch became a regular thing. This led to Amy having an inside track when the library job opened up.

About six months into her new job, and a month after she had left “The Bastard” for good, she had Karen over to her studio apartment for pizza. Karen felt like a good friend she could hang out with. No, a really good friend. A really, really good . . . there was just something more to how she felt about Karen that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. It couldn’t be what she and her therapist had been talking about, could it?

Anyway, that night, when Karen came over, she didn’t want any wine, “And maybe you shouldn’t have any either, Amy.” This seemed ominous. Karen took Amy by the hand and sat her down. “Amy, you know I’m gay, right?”

“Umm . . . yeah. You showed me pictures of your partner, the one who died. You and she were in bed together, at parties together, holding hands in the park, dancing together. I could work it out.”

Karen bit her lip hard and took a deep breath, then took both of Amy’s hands. “Amy, sweetie, I care about you a lot.”

“I care about you, too.”

“I know you do,” Karen blushed. “But . . . and I know this is hard, and I know that you’re straight, and I didn’t want to take any advantage of our friendship or have you think that I was trying to get into your pants or anything, and that’s why I kept trying to not tell you this but, Amy, I just can’t keep pretending with you. This may ruin our friendship but, sweetie, I love you.”

There was a long silence, as Amy kept looking into her friend’s eyes.

She and her therapist had been talking about this, about the possibility that Amy was attracted to women, about how these were attractions she resisted because of her family’s expectations and prejudices they had put into her. These had even pushed her into her bad relationship with “The Bastard” rather than something healthy.

There was some more long silence. Amy realized that-of course!— this was the feeling she couldn’t quite put her finger on, one she could barely admit to herself: she was falling in love with Karen, and had been for some time. She leaned in and kissed the tears that had begun to slip down her friend’s cheeks, then kissed Karen on the lips, the first time she had ever kissed a woman like that. “I love you, too,” she said, and then began to blurt out everything that she had been feeling and wrestling with for months. It was such a relief for her, and yet she could still feel her parents’ disapproval, though they were both long gone.

There was a lot of talking that night. And some kissing. And some cuddling. They took things slowly for a while, as Amy continued to process her feelings and work out how all of this fit into her life and her growing understanding of herself. She was the one who initiated their first lovemaking as they held each other one night. “Karen?”

Karen kissed the top of her head: “What is it, baby?”

Amy was already stroking her friend’s pussy. “I want to make love to you. Now. I want you to take me. Please! Tell me what to do. Show me! I want to, I need to, I’m not sure how . . . please show me how to give you pleasure.”

And that was what they did. Both cried joyful tears as they knelt on Karen’s bed that night and undressed each other. Each was sure they had never seen as beautiful a sight as the other naked, open, offering herself so freely. Each knew that, from that moment on, they lived for each other, always.

This first time began tentatively. Gentle kisses, and quiet instructions from Karen—“oh, yes, right there baby . . . you can use your teeth there a bit . . . put your fingers . . . OOOOOHHHH, YES!!! . . . Oh, honey, you did that so very well . . .”

Amy was not surprised to find she loved the taste of Karen’s juices, but she was a bit surprised how much. Her friend was soon returning the attentions, and Amy felt many things for the first time that brought her joy. Around midnight, she had her first full-on, no-hold’s barred orgasm, and insisted on trying to get Karen there, too. Karen was sure they must have woken the neighbors.

They slept off and on that night, held each other constantly, and were grateful for the next day being Saturday. As she lay atop her lover, whose cat was batting her wiggling toes, with early light streaming in the windows at the far side of the room, Amy kissed Karen’s cleavage and admitted, “Karen, I think I like being dominated.”

“I know, baby.” Karen never even paused in stroking her friend’s long, dark hair. “I sensed that about you when we first met. I figured it out when you told me about ‘The Bastard.’ And I was really sure about it when I saw your reactions to me giving instructions during sex. You got goose-pimply when I told you what to do. But you would really like to be dominated more, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Maybe even be completely controlled?”

“Mmmmmmmmmm . . ."—she nuzzled into Karen’s neck—“YES!!”

“Well, I have a secret for you, my precious, sweet babe.” Karen took a deep breath. “I am a domina. Not professionally, mind you, but with a few people with whom I have been close. I had a very long relationship as a domme with a submissive who was . . .” Her eyes misted up, and her voice caught, “She was very special to me . . . we connected as I never had with anybody . . . well, you now . . . it was . . .”

“Fern?”

Karen nodded as she cried. Amy pulled herself up and pulled her lover into her bosom, holding her and rocking her. When the sobs stopped, Karen said, “you’re the first person to be in this bed . . . hell, any bed . . . with me since I lost her. You mean all the world to me, Amy.”

“I know.”

They curled up and slept, then had a bit of brunch together, Amy in a borrowed pair of shorts and a T-shirt. Karen’s bras wouldn’t fit her, so she went without . . . which didn’t seem to bother her hostess in the least.

After brunch, they sat with some tea in two comfy chairs, facing one another. Karen began: “I’m not some kind of whips-and-chains domme, lover. Oh, there is a place for a dildo or butt-plug, or even some cuffs or a gag, from time to time. But that doesn’t mean I want to be tying you up or causing you pain.” She stood up, walked over, and caressed Amy’s cheek: “Why would I want to bruise any of this?”

Amy sighed in relief, because the one thing that had concerned her about dominance and submission was what she had read about physically harming the sub as a show of power. “But, then, where is the control?”

“I use hypnosis. I find that the mind is the most powerful bondage and control tool, and, by using soothing patterns in my voice and saying some things over and over, again and again, by just repeating certain ideas, repeating, again and again, over and over, especially with a trusting person, someone who trusts a lot and who is imaginative, someone who is trusting with a good imagination . . . well, I find if I repeat myself again and again, over and over, with someone who is trusting and imaginative . . .”

Amy adored Karen, and had never before accused her of droning on like some professors do, but, just this once, maybe because she did so little sleeping the night before, it just seemed as if her friend was talking in circles. She was having trouble tracking the train of thought.

Karen continued, all the while continuing to stroke Amy’s face: “. . . I am able to get that person to relax and be open, with as simple an exercise as telling her to count down from ten, each time relaxing another part of her body, repeating after me. Ten.”

“Ten,” the librarian barely realized what she was saying.

“Nine.”

“Nine.”

“Eight.” . . .

The next thing Amy knew, she was awake in Karen’s bedroom. Awake and naked. Karen, just as naked, smiled: “I don’t want you to sleep through this, sweetness. Amy is Amiable.”

Suddenly, Amy could not move. Karen was tracing fingers lightly over her skin, occasionally licking or kissing her, even playfully nipping at her right nipple. Amy could feel all of it, maybe feel it even more than usual, but she couldn’t respond: not a sound, not a twitch.

“Amy is my pet. Amy-pet can see how much power Ma’am has over her, and Amy-pet is awestruck.” Karen began thrusting two fingers in and out of her pet’s snatch, slowly at first. “Amy-pet knows that Ma’am has absolute power over her, and so Amy-pet will do whatever she is told.” The thrusting steadily accelerated, and a thumb massage of the pet’s clitoris was added. She was riding a huge pre-orgasmic wave that would not crest, and she couldn’t move, couldn’t beg, couldn’t even whimper. She desperately wanted to grind into Karen’s hand, but it was out of the question. “Amy-pet,” Ma’am kept reminding her, “will not cum until Ma’am says so, until Ma’am tells her she is a very good Amy-pet.”

Amy had a thunderous orgasm-her sixth in the last fifteen hours, but almost enough to make her forget the first five-and Karen caught her as her knees buckled. “That was incredible, Ma’am!” That word just slipped out of Amy-pet’s mouth (did she just think of herself as Amy-pet?), but it all felt exactly right. She was now the pet of a wonderful woman whom she loved! “But how?”

“Oh, just some hypnosis and a few triggers, sweet pea. As I said, it can be much more efficient than ropes and chains and whips and clips. I think,” she took her lover over to the bed, smiling, “that you will enjoy learning more and more as we spend time together.”

Through the winter, spring, and summer, there was more and more of this learning. One day in late May, just after commencement, Karen arrived at Amy’s with a package in bright wrapping, complete with a bow on top of it. Amy giggled as she opened the package; inside was Velcro belt that seemed to be attached to a music box mechanism, complete with a key sticking out of it.

“This,” Ma’am promised, “is part of a new trigger I put in you during last night’s trancing session.” Karen wrapped the belt around Amy, just below her bust, so that the mechanism was on the back. As soon as she wound it, Amy froze as stiff as when the “Amy is Amiable” phrase was used. Then Ma’am said, “Execute pattern number seven.” Then she released the key. As soon as she heard and felt the clicks of the little mechanism on her back, Amy-pet began to dance and twirl around the room, stopping stiff when the mechanism broke down. She couldn’t believe it!

She wasn’t able to stand straight until Ma’am came to assist her. “That was simply incredible! I was so controlled!! Can you do more.”

Karen stepped away for a moment, returning with a double-sided dildo. She lubed one side, removed Amy-pet’s pants and parted her legs bit, and slid the toy into her, then strapping it to her to hold it on as she heard her gasp. Then she wound her toy again and whispered, “Execute pattern number three,” into her pet’s ear.

As Amy began to shift a bit, Karen went over to her bed and smiled. Amy-pet walked over mechanically, deftly removing Ma’am’s clothing and pushing her onto the bed, almost toppling onto her herself before squirting lube on the other end of the toy and finding her way in. She was thrusting almost mechanically, in rhythm with the wind-up device on her back, to the pleasure and astonishment of Karen, who was so floored by the power that she didn’t quite notice her toy slowing down until, when Ma’am was just on the verge of climax, Amy-pet stopped, thrust half-way in. All she could do was pant.

Down below, Karen was also taken aback: “Well, that was inconvenient.” It took her a few minutes to reach up and wind the device again, then Amy-pet picked up where she had left off. It took too more orgasms for Ma’am and one more for Amy-pet, along with one more winding, to get the pattern to end in a place where Amy removed herself from Karen before the box wound down.

Once the dildo and the wind-up box were removed, Ma’am gently kissed her Amy-pet and held her close: “You did so amazingly well with that, dearest! Did you enjoy it?”

“Ohhhhhh, yes! It was just such marvelous control . . . and yet I was fucking you . . . but only because you willed it! This was . . . . WOW!”

Over the summer, they perfected that technique, even as they decided to move in together. “Your place is bigger,” Amy said as they rocked together one night. “I don’t have very much stuff that I would miss.”

“Yes, but, dearest, it is my place, and before that it was . . .”

“. . . yours and Fern’s . . .”

Karen nodded, wiping a few tears, then regaining herself as she looked in her love’s eyes. “We need a fresh start. A place that is ours. With a new bed. I have tenure now, and would like to stay here. Would pet like a place where we could grow old together?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

So they found a charming little bungalow with a spare room on a small lot with a few trees and a garden, close enough to walk or bicycle to school. This truly was an excellent time to be house-hunting with a nest egg; they got a great deal and a short escrow, and so, as Amy parked in front of the building, having come home from work that day almost exactly two years after starting at the library, they were getting ready to pack up the last few items at Karen’s-Amy had been moved out of her place for a couple weeks. The mover’s were to arrive in the morning, but their new bed had been delivered to the new place, and the two lovers planned to take a picnic supper over and inaugurate the new mattress, linens, and pillows.

“Ma’am?” she called out, “Nobody saw you at school since lunch, precious. Is everything o.k.?” The place was oddly quiet . . . then she heard a high-pitched moaning from the bedroom.

She ran in and saw Karen, trussed up and naked on the bed, with a crotch rope in the odd assembly so that every time she moved a knot in the rope rubbed her clit. From the redness and the dampness Amy could see, it was clear that quite a bit of rubbing had occurred. Karen had a dreamy, almost vacant expression on her face, and it was almost as if her hair had pink highlights-definitely not one of her typical fashion choices; she hated “bubblegum bimbos,” as she called them, thinking they played into too many chauvinist stereotypes. But there she was, like that, with that blank look, giggling between tiny moans. “Hi, Ames!! You wanna play with us?”

“Us?” Amy whirled around as the door slammed shut. There stood a woman, thin, tall, grayer than Karen’s pictures, her face somewhat twisted, but . . . It was Fern!

“You must be the new one, Amy.” Fern rasped. “She’ll just leave you when something goes wrong, you know.”

“You were in a huge accident, overseas . . . that conference . . . your body was never found.”

“Well it was . . . just not by my supposed true love.”

“She looked for you,” Amy was almost spitting, and advancing on Fern, “she waited for three years! There was NOTHING!”

Fern saw that this could take a nasty turn, and she began to shout: “Amy is Amazing! Amy is Awesome! No . . . hmmmmmm . . .” as her attacker got close, she said “Amy is Amiable!”

The librarian froze in her tracks. “Ah,” Fern continued, “I knew that there would be some trigger or another in there. As soon as I heard you call her ‘Ma’am,’ I knew she had been playing those same games with you. Which explains this.” The invader displayed Amy’s wind up box and belt. “We played games like this, too. Kari used to like to control her women.”

“I have been working for a pharmaceutical company the last couple of years. Didn’t get tenure like Dr. Chapel and other people who weren’t nearly blown to bits, but it has given me time to pursue . . . umm . . . private projects. One of those projects is inside our lover now, melting her famous mind. With each orgasm, she gets spacier, and hornier, needing more orgasms. There is an antidote in here,” she tapped her bag, “buuuuuut about six more orgasms and it won’t make a difference.”

Amy was seething, but she couldn’t move. This woman . . . this nutcase . . . was in control of both of them. And she was strapping the wind-up box to Amy!

“It’s wonderful that my Karen-I mean, Kari, now-is sooooo predictable. She keeps using such similar triggers. Well,” Fern paused while Karen mindlessly came again, “there’s no reason why she should be having all the fun.” Fern wound the box, said “Execute pattern number two,” and dropped her drawers.

Amy was horrified, but couldn’t help herself as she dropped to her knees and began tonguing this madwoman’s slit. She cried as the juices ran over her face, ultimately bringing Fern to two orgasms.

Then the harridan stood Amy up and turned her around. “You know,” she smiled, “if our Kari collected smarter, stronger women, she would have a chance. A stronger woman could break the trance. A stronger woman could defy the triggers, even though in her mind that meant defying Ma’am’s will, and losing that sense that Ma’am is always there for her.” Fern was winding again. “Execute pattern number two,” she hissed as she shoved Amy toward her bimbofied lover. “You seem quite good at it, and its somehow appropriate for you to be the one to push her over the edge.”

Amy-pet fell forward, then mechanically crawled toward Ma’am. There may have been even more tears now then before, because she was to be the instrument of her lover’s destruction. She struggled with the idea: ”Maybe I could break the trigger,” she thought, but then she was besieged with thoughts of how she would lose her connection with Karen, how it would be an act of betrayal. Kari/Karen added to the dilemma, breathily cooing, “Oh, please, Ames!! Please come fuck me with your tongue!!” And she could smell the sex of the woman she wanted so much. That smell was as much part of her trance state as anything now.

But a clear thought came through, ”If you do this, your Karen will be gone.” That concept seared through her mind, and with a huge force of will she grabbed at the Velcro strap, growling “No . . . I . . . will . . . not!!” She pulled the device from herself and hurled it to the wall, smashing it.

The next few minutes were a blur. Amy leapt up, grabbed a box cutter, and cut enough of the ropes to free Karen. In the process, she accidentally cut Karen’s leg, but the pain actually helped Karen shake out of her drug induced haze. Karen curled up in a fetal position, still disoriented, as Fern lunged for the bed: “You can’t do this!”

Amy whirled around, punching Fern and knocking her to the floor: “Sure I can. I’m there for her, too.”

She found the antidote in Fern’s bag and gave Karen a shot. Neighbors, hearing a commotion, had called 9-1-1, and police and an ambulance were soon there. The police took Fern, who had, evidently, poisoned a few of her fellow chemists in Biloxi while working on her “private projects.”

That night, Amy and Karen curled up, not where they planned, but in Karen’s hospital bed-at least until the nurse shooed Amy off for being there past visiting hours. Karen was improving rapidly, and would need only an overnight observation and a few days of bed rest . . . in the new bed. The pink highlights in her hair, however, might require a stylist to be removed.

“Fern had a lot of time to chat with me while she watched me grind my own brains to oblivion,” Karen sighed, stroking her beloved’s hair. “Turns out she was unconscious without her papers after the accident, and couldn’t speak for a while, and, in that part of the world, didn’t receive the best of care at first. By the time she and her doctors could sort out all the whos and wheres, she’d had a breakdown. That was when she decided not to come and find me or let me find her, but to get revenge on me instead. It’s really rather sad.”

The tears in Karen’s eyes and the pain on her face gave away the understatement in “rather sad.” Amy pulled her in close: “There was nothing you could have done. She wouldn’t let you find her. Your Fern really died in that accident.” That was all true, but the pain was still there. For a long time they just held each other, silently, sharing tears.

Karen was the first to come up for air and grab a Kleenex: “And what about you, dearest? Do you think you ever want anybody to control you again?”

“Only if it is you,” Amy replied, “but I broke the links. Fern told me I broke the links and destroyed that. Besides, would you ever want to domme anybody again?”

“Only you, sweet pea. And it may take some time before I am ready. But Fern didn’t know everything. We can make new links, think up some new triggers and some new patterns in our new home.”

Amy thought back to what her life had been: the blankness, the pain, the denial, the sterility. Then the blossoming that came when that wonderful woman walked into Pets-R-Us. “Amy-pet will be ready whenever Ma’am is. As long as we can both always be there for each other.”