The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

What she likes about Bill, Maggie realizes one Friday during Happy Hour at the Purple Lotus, is that he understands she’s unattainable. In fact, he more than understands—he seems to appreciate it, the way he doesn’t bother hiding his lingering glances, the way he catches her eye and gives her a teasing half-smirk, one that says, “Don’t we share a nice little joke?”

The rest of the Office Gang should be like Bill, willing to look but not touch. Still, Maggie’s a little perplexed (and all right, a little upset) that he’s never asked her out. He’s no longer new enough to use the excuse she’s intimidating. She is, but Maggie’s well aware her brand of intimidation is akin to a siren’s call.

Maybe the rest of the Gang has filled him in on their failures with her. Or maybe he gets off on the fact he’ll never have her. Maybe he jerks off to the vision of her straddling his hips, or sucking his cock, or taking him between her breasts until he comes on her face. Maggie likes that thought. That thought makes her slide up onto the empty stool next to him, arranging herself in one of her more flirtatious poses.

“How come you’ve never asked me out?” she asks, watching him lazily stir his dry martini with its olive garnish. Something about the way the dim light keeps catching the ruby on his class ring makes it hard for her to look away, but she manages to flick her gaze up to his face when he answers.

“Oh, I respect you too much as a coworker,” he says, giving her that teasing-half smirk.

Maggie smiles, and her gaze drops back down to his hand and the glint of his ring. “The others warned you off.” She knows they call her a cock tease, and she supposes she is. What’s the fun in being gorgeous if you don’t make people want you?

“Perhaps. How come you’ve never asked me out?”

Were the play of light on his ring not so captivating, Maggie would throw her head back and laugh. But the ring is captivating, and Maggie decides it’s not really fair to be an obnoxious cock tease. So she chuckles and parrots, “Oh, I respect you too much as a coworker.”

“Well, then. Ours is a doomed romance.”

Maggie does laugh at that. Bill’s always so serious in the office. She likes the quick wit he’s showing now. And she really likes his ring.

“Yes, doomed,” she echoes.

“Besides, I think he’s more your type.” Bill points down the bar. Maggie follows his class ring, finally tearing her eyes off it when he flicks his hand as if throwing her gaze to the man he’s deemed her type.

And Maggie’s not really surprised to find that Bill’s right. The gentleman at the end of the bar is older, a hint of gray at his temples, well-dressed and well-groomed. His face is a little craggy, and his suit is expensive enough that Maggie knows it’s likely tailored to hide a softening gut, but if she wanted washboard abs, she’d be haunting the gyms.

When he notices Maggie staring at him, she smiles and raises her martini glass in a toast. He casts a quick look around before raising his own glass, eyes widening momentarily when Maggie slides off her stool and stalks towards him.

She doesn’t remember their conversation, or his name, or which one of them suggested they leave, or even if she offered her place or if he insisted on the motel. She does knows the motel isn’t her style—she’s a five-star hotel girl if her place or his won’t do—but when he pulls her car into the dark parking lot, she’s so turned on by the idea of a one-night stand in a seedy little joint that she leans over to give him a lingering kiss, stroking him through his pants until he hardens.

“I’ll get us a room,” she says, very aware of the fact she sounds like a horny, breathless slut.

“Do that.”

She laughs a little at the order and makes a show of sashaying into the office. The clerk, an overweight, slovenly man, makes Maggie giggle. By definition, a seedy motel has to have a matching clerk, and Maggie’s tickled by his stained wife-beater and greasy hair. He gives her a knowing look that goes straight to her cunt. Because it’s fun kicking loose and acting so wanton, she flashes him entirely too much cleavage as she pays in cash.

Maggie has another moment on the way back to the car where she knows paying isn’t her style either, but then she feels both her bar conquest and the clerk watching her, and it’s almost electric and almost like having their hands on her breasts and thighs. She’s overwhelmed by her need and pulls her bar conquest into another long kiss outside the motel room door, wrapping one long leg around his waist and arching against him.

He obliges her and slides warm hands up the back of her thighs to cup her ass. She moans into his mouth.

He breaks the kiss after a heated moment. Maggie slides down to her knees and nuzzles the front of his pants, rubbing her cheek against the bulge of his erection.

“Want me here?” he asks, his breath ragged.

“Mmmm, yes. Want to suck you right now.” She can’t believe she wants his cock so bad. Just the idea has her soaking. How much wetter will blowing him—in public, no less—make her? A small part of her panics. This really isn’t her style. But the rest of her decides that’s what makes this so hot.

His hands tremble slightly as he unfastens his belt. Maggie’s aren’t much steadier, but she manages to free him, and his cock is so perfect, smooth and strong, and taking it in her mouth is better than the first sip of one of the Lotus’s dry martinis. And when he comes with a groan, when she swallows, she wants more.

The room key is under the palm she placed on the ground to steady herself. Maggie fumbles with it for a moment before giving up and handing it up to her conquest. He unlocks the room without comment, and Maggie half-tumbles, half-crawls into the room.

“Yes, like that. Crawl.” He grabs her by the hair.

The small part of Maggie that panicked earlier is outraged now. She’s not some little slut to be dragged around the room! Except tonight, she is, and god, the scrape of carpet against her palms and knees is almost as hot as his harsh litany of “Want me so bad, don’t you? Want to spread those long legs wide for me, don’t you? Want to beg me to pound your cunt, don’t you?”

Either she begs or he looses patience, because then she’s on her back, with her panties tossed...somewhere, her short skirt hiked up around her waist, blouse unbuttoned, and her legs over his shoulders. He’s teasing her, slowly rubbing his cock along her slit and over her clit. Maggie moans and tries to thrust up to meet him, but his wide hands pin her down.

“Eager?”

Maggie moans. She knows what he wants to hear, what she wants to say. “Yes. Eager slut. Want your cock so bad. Want to feel you split me wide. Want—” he enters her, and her moan is a wail of release. “Want you fucking me. Hard. Oh, god, harder!”

She loses track of everything they say. They’re fucking hard, and she’s screaming and moaning because it’s all so perfect. If they have neighbors, she doesn’t care that they can hear her begging for more through the thin walls, doesn’t care that right now, she’s nothing more than a horny little slut, because right now everything is building to that perfect point of release, and then she’s in it, and all that matters is the explosion of light, the smelltaste of their sweat and sex, and the pulse of his cock as he comes deep inside her.

The clerk gives her the same knowing look when she returns the key, licking his lips like he wouldn’t mind getting her legs over his shoulders himself. Maggie flashes him entirely too much cleavage again and gives him a saucy beauty queen wave on her way out the door. Not her style, but isn’t that the fun?

She drives her conquest back to the Purple Lotus in silence. He doesn’t even look at her when he exits the car. A small part of Maggie is offended at the dismissive treatment, but the majority of her gets a tingling thrill from it. She imagines him bragging to his friends about the hot little number he banged, legs like you wouldn’t believe wrapped around his shoulders, begging him for it. Maybe she’d see him at the Purple Lotus again, and he’d nudge his drinking buddy and point her out. Maybe the three of them would return to the seedy motel and have her beg to take it at both ends.

That thought sends Maggie to sleep with a smile.

It’s not until months later—three? four? she’s lost track—that Maggie starts to worry. Before, it wasn’t like she never had a one-night stand, but...she frowns. Before is both hazy and sharp, and thinking about it is almost too much effort. It’s just...before, she never had so many one-night stands.

Of course, before she never had such amazing sex. She never knew she could get so hot begging for it in a cheap motel room with stained carpet and stale linens. Now she always takes her conquests to the motel. She craves the knowing leer of the clerk, craves her room with the water stain in the middle of the ceiling, the torn wallpaper in the corner of the south wall, the worn paisley bedspread riddled with cigarette burns.

And the men! Not ones she’d normally pick, but just as her designer clothes make a nice contrast to the seedy motel, she makes a nice contrast to her conquests. No, a hot contrast to her conquests, because she’s the one begging for their attention when really, they should be the ones at her feet. She’s fucking gorgeous—all long, toned legs, narrow hips, and firm breasts—and they’re not. They’re middle-aged to older, softening to fat, average and forgettable. And she worships each one.

It’s Bill, Maggie knows. He’s done something to her. She keeps trying to confront him, but they never have time at work, and when the Gang goes to the Purple Lotus, she’s always distracted by the play of light on his ring until he points out the man he thinks is her type. Then Maggie’s sashaying down the bar wearing her most dazzling smile, and all she wants is her conquest.

She’s glad when she’s picked for the team going to Boston to help get the new branch office up and running. It’s a minimum of three months, maximum of twelve, and she thinks the time away from Bill will straighten out whatever he’s done to her.

There’s an Office Gang in Boston, and they admire her, flirt with her, try to get up her skirt. She giggles and laughs and acts coy to hide her relief at her ability to refuse them. She’s still somewhat herself, then.

But she’s not entirely her Before self. Her Before self would not prowl the bars near the apartment the company’s rented for her and take her conquests to the cheap motel off I-90.

She’s not entirely her After self, either. Oh, once she gets her conquests to the motel, she’s as eager and vocal as ever, but it’s not the same. Something’s missing. Something’s keeping her from coming.

She can’t even masturbate to completion, so it’s a very frustrated Maggie who returns home six months later determined to confront Bill and regain her Before self. He’s on vacation her first week back, but he’s at the Purple Lotus on Friday. Maggie tears herself away from the newest member of the Gang to talk to him.

“You’ve done something to me.” She fights her normal urge to flirt and instead holds herself still and stiff.

“Well, hello and welcome back. I’m having a wonderful vacation, thank you. How was Boston?”

Maggie forces herself to not stare at his hand, at the ruby, as he lazily stirs his dry martini. “Frustrating. You’ve done something to me.” She bites at her lower lip because the urge to look down is so strong, she needs something to distract her.

He tilts his head so the subtle pulsing light from the cozy seating area slide across his glasses in an interesting swirl of colors. “What makes you say that?”

She blinks, following the play of light. “I can’t come.” And then she tells him everything.

He listens patiently, nodding at all the right places. Maggie knows she should be embarrassed sharing such intimate details with a coworker, but she can’t help feeling relieved. Now that she’s confessed, Bill can fix her.

There’s a long silence when she’s done. Maggie realizes she’s shifted forward, leaning almost to the point of tumbling into Bill’s lap. She gives him a weak smile. He can fix her, right?

“It sounds like,” Bill says, pausing to sip his martini, “you like having someone make decisions for you.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Maggie draws back.

“Oh? Why don’t we test it?” He gestures with the hand holding his martini. “Find your own man tonight. See how satisfying the encounter is.”

Maggie’s mad enough to try. “Fine!” Then, a bit of her Before self pokes through. “What about you? Think you’re a satisfying fuck?”

Bill gives her his teasing half-smirk. “Oh, I respect you too much as a coworker.”

“Too afraid of a doomed romance?”

He sips his martini again, and it’s all Maggie can do to not follow his ring with her eyes. “Too much Gothic literature can burn a man out on them.”

She’s not as quick-witted as him, but at least she knows how to make an exit. Then she takes his advice and finds her own man. The motel clerk acts as if she’s never been gone, giving her the key to her regular room.

Her conquest is like all the men she had in Boston. She’s louder than usual, more eager, hoping the extra effort will push her over the edge, but all it does it make her more desperate to come. Bill’s still on vacation the next week, but Maggie knows he’ll be at the Purple Lotus on Friday, so she dresses to kill.

“You’ve done something to me,” she says when she’s settled on the stool next to him. “Hypnotized me or something. With your ring.” She says the last watching him stir his martini.

“The ring is a red herring.”

She blinks and looks up at him. “What?”

“I said, the ring is a red herring.” He waves his hand, making the ruby wink. “But by all means, look. It is quite lovely.”

“You’ve done—”

“Nothing you don’t want, isn’t that right?”

There’s something dark and dangerous and demanding in his tone. Maggie starts to draw away.

He wraps his hand around his martini glass. Maggie’s eyes are immediately drawn to his lovely ring. “Isn’t that right?” he asks in the same demanding tone.

Maggie nods.

“You want the men I pick for you, isn’t that right?”

Something slides into place in her mind. “Yes. Want.”

“You need the men I pick for you, isn’t that right?”

Of course. “Yes. Need.”

“You want to debase yourself in front of them, isn’t that right?”

It’s so simple. “Yes. Want.”

“You need to debase yourself in front of them, isn’t that right?”

How could she have missed it? “Yes. Need.”

“You want me to choose your conquests, isn’t that right?”

She’s so lucky Bill’s here to set her straight. “Yes. Want.”

“You need me to choose your conquests, isn’t that right?”

A slow smile spreads across Maggie’s face. She knew Bill could fix her. “Yes. Need.”

Maggie blinks when the bartender sets a dry martini down in front of her. Bill’s staring at her expectantly. She frowns. They had been talking about...about red herrings! Yes. And she had been angry. She pokes at the olive in her martini. But she isn’t angry now. Now she’s...blissful.

“So?” she asks, because Bill’s still waiting for something, and she can’t remember what she’s supposed to do.

“My payment,” Bill says.

“Your...payment?”

“For my service.”

“Oh!” Maggie opens her purse and fishes out the check. “Right. Twenty thousand dollars.” It’s everything she has, except for the cash in her wallet, but Bill has promised his service is worth it.

She hesitates. When had he promised that? Hadn’t she come here tonight to confront him about something? Hadn’t she been angry earlier?

Oh, yes, she had been angry at the bank. The manager wanted to know why she was closing her accounts. None of his business, that, but he had still wanted to know. And then she had been worried she didn’t have enough for Bill, but that was silly. She had told him how much she had, and he had said it would be enough.

She hands him the check with a smile, admiring the way the bar light catches on his class ring as he folds it in half and tucks it in his breast pocket. “What now?” she asks.

“Leave me your car keys. Take a cab to the motel. You won’t be disappointed.”

She nods and drains her martini, leaving her keys next to the empty glass. Bill always finds someone to treat her like a worthless whore. She’s wet just thinking about it.

The cab fare uses up most of her remaining cash. She’s two dollars short for the room fee. The clerk gives her Bill’s teasing half-smirk when she begs him to let her have the room anyway. She wonders, briefly, if Bill knows him, but really, she has more important things to worry about. Like getting into her room.

“Please,” she begs. “There has to be something I can do for you that’s worth two dollars.”

“Sorry. Going to have to fuck in the car if you want it so bad. Tell you what, though, I’ll let you stay in the parking lot.” He crumples her money in one fist. “This’ll cover the parking fee.”

“I’m meeting someone here. I need the room. Please.” Maggie runs a hand down her stomach to fiddle with the top button on her skirt. “There has to be something!”

The clerk licks his lips. “Strip.”

She moans in relief and pulls her shirt, a tight blue v-neck, off slowly. She tosses it to him, then runs her hands up her long torso, cupping her breasts through her sheer bra. Her nipples are already erect and straining against the material, but she rubs her thumbs over them anyway because it feels good and because the clerk’s eyes are on them, and he seems to like what he sees.

Maggie runs one hand over her stomach to undo her skirt’s buttons. She twists her hips, and the skirt slides down her legs, pooling around her ankles. She steps out and kicks it over the desk.

The clerk looks her up and down. Maggie reaches behind her back and unfastens her bra, and then she leans forward to shimmy out of it. She lets it fall to the floor and plays with her breasts, pinching the nipples, raking her fingernails along the smooth flesh.

“Panties,” the clerk says, his voice and eyes husky.

Maggie smiles and hooks her thumbs under the elastic. His eyes follow the slow slide of her panties down her legs, then snap back up to the moisture glistening on her thighs.

She reaches between her legs and strokes herself with a low, shaky moan. God, how she needed to be reduced to this! Her fingers are wet when she withdraws them. She takes them in her mouth, smiling as she sucks them clean.

“I need help with the stockings,” Maggie says, crawling up onto the desk.

The clerk is sitting in a rolling chair, which suits Maggie fine. So does the erection tenting his khakis. She kicks off her heels and places her right foot in the center of his chest, pushing him backwards. His eyes are locked on her cunt.

She places her feet on his shoulders. “Please?” she asks, tracing slow, lazy circles around her clit.

He licks his lips and places a sweaty palm on her inner thigh, just above the top of her black stocking. “Mmmmm, yes,” she moans as he rolls the stocking down her leg.

“Want me to suck your cock?” Maggie asks as he works the second stocking off. He doesn’t answer right away, so she spreads her legs wider. “Want to fuck me on your desk?”

He gives her a cold smile. “Maybe the next time you’re two dollars short.” He watches her playing with her clit as he retrieves her room key. “Like the idea of being a two dollar whore?”

He slides the key tag between her outer lips and drags it up towards her clit. Maggie nearly comes. Her answer’s a whorish moan.

“Yeah, bet the people you’re meeting want to see you spread wide on the bed, playing with yourself like that,” the clerk says. He sticks the key tag in her mouth.

Maggie smiles around it and slides off the desk. That’s exactly the sight she wants to present. She plays with herself on the walk to the room, the key bobbing from her mouth. A very small part of her is horrified that she’s walking across the parking lot, naked, with one hand pinching her nipples and two fingers sliding in and out of her cunt, but Maggie knows that very small part of her is from Before, so she ignores it. And it’s good that she does, because her path to her room takes her under the parking lot’s sole light and curves her into the sight of oncoming traffic. Her Before self would be mortified.

Once she’s in her room, she doesn’t have to wait long. For a moment, all of her is horrified when the Office Gang and her boss—oh, god, she’ll be fired for sure—pile into the room and form a loose semi-circle around the bed. Then the sight of them sends her over the edge, and she’s writhing for them, coming for them.

Bill is notably absent, Maggie notices when her orgasm’s faded. She hides her disappointment and traces her nipples with fingers slick from her cunt. She’s speaking, asking who she’s going to suck first, who’s going to fuck her ass, her cunt, or do they want to watch her some more?

Then they’re stripping. Maggie loses track of everything when they pull her roughly off the bed. She’s begging, she knows, until one of them—her boss, she thinks—grabs her by the hair and shoves his cock in her mouth, and then all she can do is moan. Hands are all over her, pulling her legs wide, probing her cunt and ass, pinching and slapping, pawing her breasts.

Cocks replace the fingers in her cunt and ass. The man in her mouth comes, and there’s some jockeying before she gets to suck another. The rhythm of taking it three ways is awkward at first, but then she settles into it, and there are cocks, smooth and slick, in her hands.

She’s nothing more than a vessel now. When one of the cocks in her hands shudders and pulses, splattering her arm and neck with come, she whimpers and reaches blindly for another. She’s stretched wide, and every thrust seems to send her up and up and up into perfect release. She shudders and moans and just lets go, just lets herself be filled.

It ends much too soon, Maggie thinks, even though she’s exhausted and sore. She’s kneeling on the floor, legs still spread wide, watching the men dress. Their come is still warm and sticky on her face and neck, chest and shoulders, stomach and thighs. She thinks some is leaking from her and dips her fingers in her cunt.

Her boss kneels in front of her and dangles the room key in front of her face. She watches it swing back and forth, back and forth. Her fingers slip from her cunt.

“You know what to do now?” her boss asks.

Maggie keeps watching the key. Back and forth. “I’m sorry. I have to quit.”

“And just when you became a team player.”

Back and forth. “Yes.”

“We are, of course, sorry to see you go, but we understand your need to expand your horizons.”

Back and forth. “Yes.”

He slides the key tag into her mouth. “Run along now.”

She crawls from the room and across the parking lot to the motel office. Bill’s straddling one of the high-backed chairs in the lobby area. The clerk’s behind the desk, counting out bills. She drops the key at Bill’s feet.

“Well, aren’t you a sight. You’re not disappointed, I hope.”

The mocking undercurrent in Bill’s tone is electrifying. She’d probably come if she wasn’t so exhausted. “No.”

“Resignation accepted?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s good, because I don’t offer refunds.” Bill rises and walks over to the desk. “Think she’s worth keeping?”

Maggie whimpers under the clerk’s appraising look. “She’s damn hot begging for it. Damn hot like that, too.”

She feels herself growing wet. Exhausted or not, she wants them. “Please,” she pants, not quite able to rise up off her hands and knees. “Please, I need more.”

Bill laughs. “Oh, no. We don’t fuck the merchandise.”

Her breathing grows ragged. Merchandise. She has a hand between her legs. Yes. Merchandise. “Please. Anything. Just let me come.”

Bill unzips his pants and frees his cock. He’s half hard, and Maggie watches him stroke himself into a full erection, matching the pace of her stroking to his.

“Please,” she begs as he begins to jerk himself off in earnest. “Yes, please. Oh god! Need it so bad.” She can’t stop her babbling. As he speeds up, all her words tumble together, and then she’s panting and gasping, “Yesthankyou!” over and over until they both come, her with a wail, him with a grunt.

Bill’s come is a splattered trail on the floor. Maggie crawls towards it and lowers her head. She looks up at him. “Please?”

“Come now. Beg me properly.”

She moans at the thrill his scorn sends down her spine. “Please let me have this. Just this once. Please. I need it.”

“Your needs mean nothing.”

Maggie’s breath hitches. Her mind shifts, and it’s like all the mismatched pieces have suddenly smoothed into nestled curves. She can feel the heat building inside her again, stronger than she’s ever remembered it. “Please, sir, may I lick your come off the floor? If I’ve pleased you, please let me have this.”

“Tell me what you are.”

The heat is too much for the miniscule part of her that remembers she had been something else, once, something equal to her owners. The curves in her mind nudge that part aside so she’s able to say, “Merchandise.”

He nods. She lowers her head to the floor and comes at the first taste of him. The curves in her mind snap tight, and the last scrap of Maggie falls away.

Epilogue

Sometimes, the gods she worships try to trick her. One in particular always tries to catch her in the same trap after he’s showered and is almost ready to leave.

“You don’t remember me from before?”

She smiles and writhes on the bed as she fondles herself. “This is no before. Only now.” And now she wishes he’d come to her again. She aches to be filled.

He looks a little sad when he leaves. She wants her gods to leave happy, so this one always worries her, but he keeps returning, keeps letting her worship him, and the gods who own her never comment on his sadness, so she never dwells on it for too long. She’s always so empty when a god leaves, always aches to be filled. Without a god to worship, her fingers will have to do...