The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jack was an accountant by trade, but he had studied psychology earlier in his life, so when Katerina came to see him as a client, it presented him with interesting opportunities.

She was pretty and rich, but her most impressive attribute was the size of her tits—almost comically huge, and constrained in a tight sweater. It struck him as ridiculous that this woman should be looking for help with her finances rather than offering herself up to be fucked like the cow she obviously was.

When Jack tried to give her the professional services she was seeking, he discovered she was a bitch as well. After a frustrating hour of attempting to help her, he exploded.

“You came to me for help in restructuring your family trust,” he said, the irritation clear in his voice, “but you won’t accept a single suggestion I put to you. The truth is that to gain the tax benefits you’re asking for, you will actually need to make some changes in the way you have this set up.”

Katerina pursed her lips bitchily. “I didn’t ask for problems, I asked for solutions,” she said. “I knew I should have insisted on a woman to do this work. It’s just like a man to try and tell me how I should live my life.” She sneered. “Maybe if you stopped staring at my breasts you’d do a better job.”

Jack felt anger well up inside him—but pushed it down. He decided right then and there to teach this stuck-up cunt a lesson.

He extended his appointment with her by an hour—because she was unsatisfied, he said—but from that point on he began speaking to her differently, in a full-throated droning voice, with emphasis on suggestive words. He watched her closely, as her eyes glazed, and then closed, until finally he was certain that she had entered a deep hypnotic trance.

“Can you hear me, Katerina?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“Say ‘yes, sir’, Katerina,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said, in a thick, sleepy voice.

“Good girl,” he said. “Katerina, I am going to suggest some things to you, and you are going to accept my suggestions, because you know they are right and that you deserve them. You will hear me make suggestions, and you will know that you deserve them, and you will accept them at the deepest core of your being.”

“Yes, sir,” said Katerina.

“Katerina, I suggest that you want to show me your tits,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“If you want to show me your tits, you may do so now,” said Jack.

Katerina moaned, and then pulled off her sweater to reveal her huge breasts encased in the cups of a black lacy bra. Then she reached behind her, unclipped the bra, and shrugged it off to reveal the full beauty of her giant mounds of titflesh.

“Katerina, I suggest that your breasts are very slutty, aren’t they?” said Jack, smiling.

Katerina moaned, and looked embarrassed. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“From now on, Katerina,” said Jack, “I suggest that you won’t be able to look at your breasts, or touch your breasts, or think about your breasts, without immediately thinking about how whorish and oversized they are, and being ashamed of them.”

Katerina’s face went a much brighter red. Her arms twitched as if they might cover her tits, and then lay still, as her competing urges to show her tits to Jack and hide her shame fought with each other. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“And in fact, I suggest you won’t think of them as breasts,” said Jack. “You will think of them as tits, or udders, or slutmelons.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I suggest that from now on, anything that focuses your attention on your tits will make you feel aroused,” said Jack. “If you think about them, it will make you aroused. If someone looks at them or touches them, it will make you aroused. If they are in pain, it will make you aroused. If you are ashamed of them, it will make you aroused.”

Katerina squirmed in her chair, pressing her thighs together. Her neck was flushed now, and her nipples were hardening. “Yes, sir,” she said.

“And I suggest that whenever you become aware that you are aroused, you will think to yourself that you are a stupid slut who deserves to be raped,” said Jack. “The thought will occur to you naturally. You will think that you are a stupid slut that deserves to be raped.”

Katerina moaned and looked distressed. “Yes, sir,” she said.

Jack paused, staring at her gorgeous udders. “What are you thinking, Katerina?”

“My udders are so slutty and whorish and big,” moaned Katerina. “I’m so ashamed that you can see them, but I’m so horny. I can’t help it. I’m a stupid slut who deserves to be raped.”

“That’s right, Katerina,” said Jack. “Good girl.”

“Thank you, sir,” mumbled Katerina.

Jack paused again. “Do you exercise, Katerina?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. “I jog around my neighbourhood every morning.”

“Good girl,” said Jack. “I suggest that you want to continue doing that. You’ll do it every day, before 10 am, no matter what.”

“Yes, sir,” said Katerina.

“But I suggest that when you jog, you will do it with your tits bare,” said Jack. “You will jog with your tits exposed for everyone to see. You will not wear a bra. Your tits will be completely unsupported. They will bounce with every step. It will be painful.”

Katerina moaned unhappily. “Yes, sir.”

“I suggest if jogging does not leave you in agony, you will buy weighted nipple clamps and attach them to your nipples while you jog,” Jack added.

“Yes, sir,’ Katerina whimpered.

“And when your tits are in pain,” said Jack, “I suggest that it will make you think about why women are inferior and only good for being fucktoys. These thoughts will come to you naturally. You will think they are your own thoughts. You will think they are correct and logical.”

“Yes, sir,” said Katerina.

“Do you think you deserve to be able to cum, Katerina?” he asked her.

She shook her head. “No, sir” she said. “I’m such a stupid slut who deserves to be raped.”

“Good girl,” said Jack. “Because that’s what I think too. I suggest that from now on, you will only be able to cum if you first make a public admission that you are a stupid big-uddered slut, and that all women are sluts.”

Katerina moaned. “Yes, sir.”

“And Katerina,” added Jack finally. “I suggest that after you cum, you will video call me from wherever you are, completely nude, and describe to me everything that led up to you having your orgasm.”

She started to cry then—and at the same time, she reached down under her skirt and started masturbating violently through her panties. He took out his phone and started to film her.

“Is there something you would like to say, Katerina?” he asked her.

She looked at the camera, crying, masturbating, and said, “I’m a stupid big-titted slut who deserves to be raped. All women are sluts. We’re so stupid and slutty and…”—and then she squealed, as her orgasm took her, and she began to shake with lust and shame.

And Jack filmed it all.

He didn’t let her remember any of the hypnotism, of course. He wanted her to think this was all her own idea. He specifically told her to not allow herself to think about any connection between what she was doing and her meeting with him.

And so when Katerina awoke the next morning, stepped outside for her morning jog, and then lifted up her sports bra to bare her tits to the world, she had no idea why she was doing it.

What am I doing? she thought, panicking. She wanted to raise her arms to cover her tits—but at the same time she didn’t. Her tits should be bare. This was right.

After all, they’re such big, disgusting whorish udders, she thought, and blushed. Then she felt her cunt wetten, and her shame deepened. God, what’s happening to me? I’m such a stupid slut who deserves to be raped!

She started to jog down the street. With every step, her huge tits bounced, first flying up, then slamming down against her chest. It hurt.

They’re so giant and slutty, she thought to herself. God, women are so pathetic. I can’t even run without having a bra to hold up my slutmelons. She felt herself getting wetter between her legs as she jogged. I’m a slut who deserves to be raped, she thought.

There weren’t many people out at this time of day—but there were enough. Men stared at her as she jogged. Some whistled and catcalled. “Nice tits, lady!” called one. “Look at that fucking slut!” called another. Passing cars tooted their horns at her.

Katerina was consumed by pain and shame and arousal. Her tits hurt so much. They were too big to go jogging without support. They flopped about ridiculously. I’m not evolved to run, she thought. I have tits like this so it’s easy for men to catch me and rape me. I should be at home getting impregnated and sucking cocks. Her cunt inexplicably got wetter and wetter. I’m a stupid slut who deserves to be raped, she thought.

Every time she thought about rape, she pictured it—an anonymous man catching her, forcing her down, shoving his cock into her pussy. She never even realised that the anonymous man in her thoughts looked exactly like the accountant she had seen yesterday. And every time she pictured her violation, she got wetter.

No one else I know has tits as big as me, she thought. I’m the biggest cow I know. Even some porn stars have smaller tits than me. Why did I ever think I was good for anything except raping? I’m so stupid—probably because of my giant whore-handles. Probably because I’m a woman. I’m a stupid slut who deserves to be raped.

She couldn’t help it anymore—she reached down the front of her jogging shorts and began to masturbate as she jogged. Her panties were soaking wet, and she rubbed frantically at her clit, before finally pushing the crotch of her panties aside so that she could penetrate her fuckhole with her fingers. Occasionally she withdrew her fingers to raise them to her mouth, so that she could taste her whorish arousal. I taste like a rapetoy, she thought. This is the taste of stupidity. This is the taste of an animal who needs men to control her.

The reactions of people she passed grew more outraged. “How dare you!” yelled one outraged woman. “You disgusting slut! I’ll call the police!”

I am a disgusting slut, Katerina thought. You’re right. But you’re a slut too. All women are.

“Hey baby, bring those fuckbags over here and I’ll help you out,” said a man, but Katerina just jogged past him, blushing from shame and arousal and moaning from lust and agony. A part of her hoped he would chase her down and rape her, but to her disappointment he just watched her jog away, tits bouncing wildly.

This is what I deserve, she thought. This is what all women deserve. We feel pain in our tits to remind us that we’re rapetoys. I was so rude to that accountant yesterday. He should have raped me on the spot. I’m a stupid slut who deserves to be raped.

She wanted to cum, but she couldn’t. Something was missing. She couldn’t think what it was ¬- because I’m a stupid slut—but she felt she knew, instinctively, deep down.

Her tits hurt so much—in fact, so much that it was starting to confuse her. The pain felt like pleasure. It was good that her tits hurt. It made her want to cum. She needed to cum. She wanted to cum from the pain in her tits. She wanted to cum from her shame and humiliation.

She finally finished her circuit of the neighbourhood and got home. She practically flew inside, running to her home office, stripping off her remaining clothes, booting up her computer.

She went straight to her social media account. She used the desktop camera to take a quick picture of herself, bare-titted, and immediately uploaded it so all her friends and family could see it. She blushed at the vacant, lustful, stupid expression on her face in the photo. This is the real me, she thought. I’m finally seeing the real me. I’m showing it to the world. My identity is my udders. Everything else is just decoration.

“I’m a ridiculous giant-titted fuckslut,” she typed into the status update. “All women are sluts and we deserve to be raped.”

And at the moment she pressed the button to publish it, she orgasmed, full of the knowledge and shame of what she had just done, what she had just shown everyone in her life, what she had just confessed to. It was the most powerful, and most humiliating, orgasm she had ever had.

She sobbed as the intensity of the orgasm faded, as the lust vanished, leaving only the shame. If she hadn’t thought she was a slut before, she did now, as the full truth of how she had just behaved hit her without the cushion of lustful endorphins. She couldn’t believe she had done that—and she also couldn’t believe the knowledge that now struck her that she was going to do it again, and again, every day from now on.

She watched from outside herself as she typed in the internet address of a sex store, and ordered herself a pair of weighted nipple clamps, knowing that she would start wearing them while jogging as soon as they arrived, picturing the raw agony they would cause her as they yanked on her nipples with every bounce. Yes, she thought. My tits were intended to be in pain, because they’re so slutty and big.

Crying now with humiliation, she adjusted the desktop camera to better show her naked wet cunt as well as her tits and face. She needed to make a call. She needed to talk to that nice accountant from yesterday. She needed to tell him every slutty thing she had just thought and done.

And when the call connected, to show Jack’s grinning face, she didn’t even care that her computer reported him recording every moment of her nude confession. And when he began to suggest to her, in that deep, droning voice, that she should forget that the words “girl” or “woman” had ever been appropriate to describe her, and instead use “slut” and “cow” to refer to herself from now on, it seemed like such a natural thing to agree to, and accept, and internalise…