The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You’ve written and are producing your own film now. What’s that experience been like?” The interviewer from Cinematic asked.

Isbel sipped her cappuccino and considered the question.

“Making a movie is really hard work, but when you get to the highest level it also becomes really cool and fun. There’s challenges, but at that point you just go and do it instead of having to think about how you are going to do all this stuff and make it work and schedule all these things. You have to push through and not think about the little stuff.”

The young blonde woman smiled and nodded as though particularly pleased with that answer, and moved onto her next question.

“How was it writing the screenplay? Did you find that difficult?”

“It was a long writing process. It’s a story I’ve been thinking about writing for a long time. I often considered turning it over to someone else, but it was just too important to me. I wanted to wait. And now I’m lucky enough to be able to do it myself. But at first I didn’t know what it was going to be. I’ve been writing ideas down in diaries and journals since I was a kid. About a year ago I figured out what the movie was really about and I started actually putting scenes together. I’ve had so much help from the friends I’ve made making different movies.”

Isbel’s phone vibrated. When she saw who it was, she immediately picked it up.

“I’m sorry.” She told the interviewer. “I’ve got to take this. Hello?”

“Hello, Isabel. It’s Alex. How are you?” It was Mr Lydon. She had not heard from him in weeks.

“I’m good, thanks. How are you? Are you back from Paris?”

“Yes. I arrived back today. I’m actually still at the airport. My aides are dropping off everything at my offices. The reason I’m calling, is that I was hoping I could visit you today. It’s regarding that letter I entrusted to you. I do need to take it back soon.”

“Oh. Of course. You can come up to my apartment. When is a good time for you?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Okay. I’ll send you my address.”

“Excellent. Shall we say five, then?”

“That’s no problem. See you then.” She told him.

“I’m sorry.” She told the interviewer. “Something’s come up. I’ll have to finish this with you tomorrow or something. Give Jacqueline a call and we can arrange another time.” She gathered up her coat and bag and hurriedly left the cafe.

Mr Lydon hadn’t told her when he would return from France, but she was still surprised to hear from him, especially as soon as he arrived back in the country. In truth, Isbel had been glad she hadn’t seen him for so long. It had given her enough time to diet and exercise enough to fit into his gift. It had been worth it. She thought she looked fantastic wearing the exquisite corset. I should show it off to him, she thought. I’ll wear it when he comes round.

She took her time getting changed. She found now that when she placed the corset onto her naked skin and pulled the busk tight, she could easily buckle the belt. And although she had to pull in her stomach and force out a lot of breath from her lungs first, she could now lace up the whole thing. She was proud of how good her body looked in the mirror.

To properly compliment such a wonderful piece of clothing, she had spent several days shopping for a skirt and boots she thought would pair well with it. She eventually decided upon a black Amanda Wakeley pencil skirt and a pair of Louboutin calf leather heeled ankle boots.

Once correctly attired and made up, she sat down to wait for Mr Lydon. She decided to wear a robe to conceal herself. I’ll surprise him, she thought. Around five, the building superintendent called up to let her know he had arrived. He appeared from the elevator and she greeted him into her home. It was clear he had also had some tailoring done whilst in France. He was wearing a sharp dark suit with what looked like blue and brown alternating pinstripe. With a blue shirt and a gold tie, she had to admit he looked impressive, as though years had been taken off him whilst he was away.

“Please, take a seat.” She beckoned to him. He seemed unperturbed that she was wearing a bathrobe at such an early hour. She would just have to take the initiative. As he reclined on one of her large sofas, she shook the robe from her shoulders.

“What do you think?” She asked, turning around to show off the corset.

“Oh, you look wonderful!” He clapped. “Like the Hollywood star that you are. I had hoped that the corset would accentuate your posture and comportment, and it does so magnificently. I’m delighted to see that it fits you so well.”

“Of course it fits. It was no effort at all. I can’t thank you enough for such an amazing gift. I love it.”

“You love it enough to accept my invitation?” He smirked.

“Would you like to take Elizabeth’s letter back now?” She asked him, choosing to avoid the question.

“I’m afraid so, Isbel. I really hadn’t intended for it to be absent from Wilmot’s for this long. But with the Paris conference and everything, I thought I should return it as soon as I could.”

She retrieved the precious envelope from her bedroom, and held it out for him. She realised she was reluctant to part with it, even though she had read it so many times she had practically memorised it. Particularly the parts she found explicitly provocative. He reached out his hand, but hesitated.

“Would you like to read it one more time?” He asked her.

“Yes, please.” She decided.

“Well, why don’t you read it aloud to me?”

“Okay.”

Mr Lydon sat back. His eyes seemed to tell her to remain standing before him, so she did. She opened the envelope again, unfolded the letter carefully, and began to read.

“My most Sacred Master. I must confess to you, my Lord, tho’ the admission thussly be the utter ruine of my virtue …”

Isbel continued. When she finished he gently applauded.

“Wonderful. You really breathe meaning into the words. And I can tell by your expression that you have enjoyed the contents of the letter immensely.”

There was no way to hide the blush that gave away her feelings, but he seemed to take no notice.

“Perhaps when we have time we can discuss your opinions regarding it in greater detail. I’d like to know though, what is your favourite line?”

She hesitated, unsure if she wanted to reveal how closely she had studied each word and phrase, over and over.

“I do like the line, “My once-haughty pride is buried and forgotten in the hot fierce pursuit of the Joy before me.”” She admitted.

“Interesting. Well, as I said, I wish I could talk more with you now, but I have another engagement.”

She nodded as she gave him the envelope. He looked to be mulling something over.

“Thinking about it, it would be an awful shame for you to waste your night, after making the effort to be so beautifully dressed. I’m meeting someone for dinner at the Citizen. The reservation’s for two, but I can see if they’ll add a seat. That is, if you’re interested?”

Isbel considered his offer.

“That depends, I suppose. Who are you dining with?”

“A young man named John Williamson.”

“Is he another member of Wilmot’s?”

“Well, if he was, you know I couldn’t tell you. But actually, he’s not. He was, until recently, the youngest director of United Environment.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of them. The aid in Africa.” Isbel exclaimed. “It’s one of the largest non-profits in the world.”

“Yes. Well, he’s returned home now and I’m considering bringing him aboard for next year’s senate race. Would you like to get to know him? He has a keen mind like yourself. You two might hit it off. Do you want me to call the restaurant and make the reservation for three?”

“Yes, okay. It sounds fun.” Isbel replied. He sounded like an interesting man.

With sandstone columns, high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows, the Citizen Hotel was a building steeped in history, the original home of the city’s first daily newspaper. The restaurant was clean and modern with an eclectic menu.

They arrived a little early and took their seats. Several people, men and women, turned to look at Isbel in her corset and skirt as they walked by. She tried to ignore them. Mr Lydon ordered them a particular vintage of red wine. She decided to forgive his presumption this time and trust his choice. She was glad she did when she tasted it. She wasn’t really a wine drinker, but this was delicious.

A tall man, casually dressed, arrived, and Mr Lydon greeted him like an old friend. He looked to Isbel to be very young, not that much older than herself. He was handsome, in a bookish sort of way.

“John, this is Isbel McCauley. I’m sure you know who she is!” He said warmly.

“Of course! This is amazing! It’s so nice to meet you!” Williamson gushed, his face turning pink. She wanted to tell him to relax, he was so excited she thought he might burst. He took a seat and stared nervously at her, until Mr Lydon launched into conversation with him. He seemed to have several pressing topics to discuss.

Isbel listened passively to them talk as she waited patiently to be introduced into the conversation. She had been practising Mr Lydon’s technique to unfocus her eyes and remaining quiet until addressed directly. He had been right, she thought. The last thing she wanted to do was be an irritating person who can’t stop chatting. She liked to pretend she was waiting for permission, a cute fantasy she allowed herself. As she did so, she felt deep relaxation radiate through her body. The two men began a discussion of international politics. Williamson held his own with the older man. He seemed possessed of a fine intelligence.

“… you have to realise the Chinese have already expressed their willingness to negotiate. I know that there’s high-level discussions at the beginning stages …”

“But I thought China had asserted that it won’t back down and will retaliate against the tariffs by matching them dollar for dollar?”

“The opinion in the trade office is that’s all bluster …”

Time passed. The two men almost seemed to have forgotten Isbel was even there. She wondered when they might talk to her. With her eyes so relaxed, she found her concentration drifting, only grasping at the edges of their discourse. Mr Lydon was talking in his usual manner, leaping from topic to topic, but Williamson seemed just as energetic.

“Well, that’s why we need to ensure market balance and stability to respond to any eventuality.”

“No, the better approach would be to raise the incomes of ordinary workers so they can spend …”

From time to time in her tranquillity, she fancied she could hear Mr Lydon gently whispering to her.

“Still and peaceful … still and peaceful … still, and peaceful …”

Even though her eyes had settled into a comfortable blur, she still had a sense that Williamson was continually taking long, lingering looks at her body. She could feel his eyes all over her, but in particular on her chest. She felt acutely aware of how the corset accentuated her breasts.

“… there’s going to be another crash, any competent economist could testify to that.”

“No one can see a bubble, that’s why it’s called a bubble …”

“And that’s why I keep repeating that everything depends on making the economy firm and keeping it firm …”

Isbel had lost track of time, unsure of precisely how long they had been talking, and how long she had been silent. She imagined Mr Lydon was correcting her posture now.

“Keep your back straight … your chin up …” So strange her thoughts, sometimes.

Williamson’s eyes were on her again, she knew, as though she were a painting to be admired. I’m no one’s object, she thought, even if I choose to dress to arouse men. That’s just my natural biological urges. But if he keeps it up I’m really going to give it to him, she determined. As soon as she was permitted to speak. She heard Lydon change the subject again and they wandered down another conversational path.

“… it’s a question of Christian-conservatives and evangelicals and what language they use to construct their reality. We need to understand it to be able to counter it.”

“That’s why I want to create a think tank to weaponize populist economic and social ideas. Citizenship is public agency after all …”

Isbel blinked. She realised Mr Lydon had finally decided to speak to her. She turned to him and smiled.

“Sorry, Alex. What was that?”

“I was asking you your impression of John. Do you like him?”

She looked across the table and realised Williamson’s chair was empty. She spotted him winding his way through the tables. He was heading to the restroom. She wondered how much time had passed while she had been daydreaming. It only felt like minutes, but she found her glass was empty, and several bottles of wine already on the table. She considered the question as she filled her glass, and decided to be tactful.

“He seems nice. Knowledgeable.”

“He’s very taken with you.” Mr Lydon replied. “I’m sure you noticed he could barely keep his eyes away from your body these past several hours.” He flashed his crooked teeth.

“Yes. I did.” She pursed her lips.

“So, what do you think of that?” He asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Your outfit is having the affect you desire. You are exuding a powerful sexual allure. You know he’s in the restroom right now, thinking about you and your body. You know you have made him aroused. You must admit it.”

“All right, I know that. So what?”

“Remember what we’ve agreed. You are here to arouse and in turn be aroused. How does it make you feel that he is in there, obsessing about your body, fantasising over you?”

“It … it makes me excited.” She had pretended it wasn’t there, but now she had made her confession, the heat inside her body couldn’t be ignored.

“Sexually excited.” Mr Lydon encouraged.

“Yes.”

“Yes. And what that does that make you want to do? What urges do you have no choice now but to follow? You must honest with yourself.” He pressed.

She sat and thought, and felt a powerful shiver run down her spine. She picked up her glass and drained it. She stood up and followed Williamson to the restrooms.

As John rinsed his hands he felt like kicking himself. He had been sitting opposite one of the world’s most famous actresses for hours now, and he had managed to say barely a word to her. He felt embarrassed and awkward. Isbel McCauley had just sat there in silence, not even giving him a single glance. She was singularly distant, whilst Mr Lydon had seemed utterly unconcerned with her presence. He wondered why he had invited her only to ignore her all night. He puzzled at what their relationship was, and why she seemed so docile around him. She was nothing like her public persona.

He towelled himself dry, and pushed open the door that led into a small separating corridor.

He started in surprise. Isbel was standing in front of the far door. She was breathtakingly beautiful, her brown hair teased winningly around her bare shoulders. He tried not to stare at her body, encased as it was in a tight red corset that left little to the imagination.

“Isbel … are you …” He faltered. She had a dazed look in her eyes, as though she was almost puzzled to know where she was.

He was trying to think of something else to say when she suddenly propelled herself towards him. She pinned him against the wall, mashing her whole body into his, pushing her thigh between his legs, forcing him to spread them apart for her. Her brown eyes locked onto his, and John could see they were no longer docile, but filled with a fiery dark lust. She quickly discovered the zip of his trousers with her fingers and pulled it down.

Before he could process what was happening, her soft warm hand had pulled out his manhood and was rhythmically pleasuring him into full hardness. He was too far lost in shock to protest or even think that they might be discovered at any moment. It was all happening so quickly.

A fierce passion seemed to overcome Isbel, and she began stroking him vigorously. In only moments she skilfully made him orgasm in desperate gasping spurts. She slowed her hand down, milking every last drop, and then stopped, never removing her gaze from his. He shrank back, spent. He’d never come so fast and so hard in his life.

Isbel slipped her hand from him and looked down.

“Look at the mess you’ve made!” She yelled. Not only was her hand sticky wet, there was the shining evidence of his orgasm all over her black pencil skirt. She stormed into the women’s restroom, leaving him breathless with both gratification and confusion.

Isbel closed the stall door behind her and pinched out several towels from the dispenser. She wiped off her fingers and then did her best to clean up her skirt. She threw the damp crumpled paper into the toilet bowl and flushed them away. She spent longer washing her hands, allowing her breathing to calm, and her heart to stop beating so hard and fast. She fixed her hair, and after a spell, felt ready to return to the table.

She sat down next to her dinner companions, feeling as though some previously unfelt tension had evaporated from the air around her.

“Shall we order dinner?” She beamed with gusto.

She was breathlessly talkative as the three of them ate their meals. As Isbel enjoyed her salad she encouraged them both to ask her anything they wanted. Williamson was red-faced and embarrassed but she soon coaxed him into conversation about the different countries they had both visited, and soon he was talking about his charity work in Africa. They all drank more wine and Isbel sparkled gaily, feeling as though she had just woken up from a delightful dream.

She felt sad when Williamson excused himself, telling them he had to catch an early flight in the morning to the capital. Isbel had hoped they would stay out all night. She stood up, kissed him on the cheek, and told him she hoped to see him again soon. He smiled and gave her an affectionate look.

“This has been an interesting night.” Mr Lydon said as he shook Williamson’s hand.

Once they were alone again, he inspected Isbel for a moment, and then gently touched her arm.

“I’m afraid I must be going too.” He told her. “But before I do, I have another little bribe for you.”

Isbel smiled in spite of herself.

“It won’t stop me from saying no if I choose to do so, Alex, no matter how many expensive gifts you buy me.”

“We’ll see.” He replied, and produced a medium-sized box. He placed it in front of her.

“Open it up.” He told her.

Isbel lifted the lid and pulled out two unusual items. They were two long straps, strikingly similar to her corset. They were made of the same blood red leather and were laced up in the same way through the same silver grommets. Mr Lydon plucked one from her hands to explain.

“These are decorative wrist straps that were crafted by the same Parisian leather-smith I commissioned to create your corset. They’re unique, based partially upon medieval archery arm bracers. They are to match your corset. I promise you, once you start wearing them, you’ll never want to take them off.”

Isbel allowed him to slide first one on over her hand, and then the second. She realised how long they actually were. They started at her wrists and stretched halfway to her elbows. They were so striking, so unlike anything she had ever worn before. Mr Lydon laid her arms flat so he could tighten the laces. When he was done she lifted up her forearms to admire them closely.

“Wow. I don’t know what to say, Alex. These are amazing. Just amazing.”

She noticed that there was a small loop of steel embedded in each, just near the edge at the back of each hand. She looked closer. It was a small bow-shaped bar, securely attached to the bracer in turn by a small piece of leather. At each end of each bar were large holes.

“What are these for?” She asked.

“I’ll show you. Cross your wrists now, one palm facing down, and one palm facing up.”

She did so. He took her wrists in his own hands and moved them until he was happy the holes were lined up properly. He produced another item, a steel pin that was flattened into a disc at one end. It looked like a key with no teeth.

“This pin will only fit in these shackles.” He told her.

“Shackles?” She asked, confused.

He skilfully threaded the pin through the holes of the bars and her wrists were suddenly locked together at right angles, back to back.

“Now, try to free yourself.” He said.

Isbel tried to pull her wrists apart. She wrenched, but the rings would not budge.

“That’s not funny. Take the pin out and free me now.” She told him, incredulous that he would play such a trick on him. He laughed, but did nothing.

“I’m serious!” She said, in a tone that told him she meant it. He dutifully pulled the pin out, and she uncrossed her wrists with relief.

“Don’t do that again.” She spat.

“Don’t worry, Isbel. I’ll keep hold of the pin, so you don’t ever have to worry about being shackled when I’m not around.” He smiled again.

“Okay.”

“Then you agree. I will keep the pin, and decide when and where to use it. Otherwise, I can’t let you keep your bribe.”

“Oh, alright.” She decided. “Thank you, Alex. I love them. They’re great.”

That night, whilst running a hot bath for herself, Isbel stood in front of her mirror and watched her fingers slowly unlace her corset. She had revelled all night in how nice it had felt, against her body, and how wonderfully tight it was. She had been naughty and not told Mr Lydon the fact she hadn’t worn any underwear beneath her skirt. She was naked but for her lovely new arm decorations.

She looked at the pink buds of her erect nipples, felt the hot pulse of her heartbeat reverberate though her body. She thought about the pleasure she had given John Williamson, and wondered where that sudden urge had erupted from. She realised she had been lost in the hot fierce pursuit of joy. She had wanted to do it so much. The great end for which women were created. And it had made her feel so, so good.