The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You’re safe now,” the policewoman tells me, her blue eyes searching mine. “Jean Paul Blanc has been arrested. Here—”

She tries to wrap a loose robe around me but I shrink away, the mantra in my head screaming: Good girls display their bodies for men’s pleasure. Good girls shun clothes. Good girls remain nude at all times.

“You don’t have to pose like that anymore,” she tries again, her brow furrowing as I continue to thrust my bare breasts out, gripping my wrists behind my back, doing my best imitation of a beautiful, baroque statue.

For months I’ve been part of Mr. Blanc’s ‘Museum of Misfits’, or rather girls he’d taken special notice of for their unique features and then decided to turn into a living art show. I’ve got an interesting face, (“Very Romanesque”, Jean Paul used to tell me), with slightly wide-set eyes and a perfectly straight nose, my lips are elegantly carved, and my tall body has always been naturally toned like a female warrior, complete with eye-catching, large, milky-white breasts.

Did I originally want to be a living decoration? Did any of the girls who started modeling at Natural Submission Studio want to give up their lives for this? I don’t remember anymore—but I do know, deep down inside, that it’s all I was ever meant to be. All we were ever meant to be, the warmth in my mind hums, completely at bliss with my role in the garden of girls Jean Paul selected; mindless and happy and prettier than pictures, our bodies sheer art and our holes always ready for use (should a viewer find himself overcome with lust at our lifelike perfection). But when I look around, my body and face perfectly still while my eyes sweep the room, all I see is people in harsh black uniforms taking my fellow sister art pieces away and destroying everything we all worked so hard for.

“I don’t want to go with you!” I scream as the policewoman tries to help me down off my podium.

“Rodgers, we’ve got another noncompliant one! Can you—” she pauses as I take a sloppy swing at her, my body stiff from the constant posing. “Can you deal with this please?”

“Sure thing, Helvey,” an officer answers her, nodding as she throws the robe down at my feet in disgust and ambles away. “Hey there, sweetie,” he murmurs to me, his stout frame drawing close. “Can you tell me your name and what natural submission means to you?”

The warmth in my mind flutters all through me, the anger receding back into the pool of endless calm. I love it when men pay attention to me. I love when they give me soft demands. I love it when their eyes trail over my body (like Officer Rodgers is doing now) and how their pupils dilate when they notice my exposed, tear-dropped shaped breasts and smooth, bare pussy.

“My name is Luna Blanc,” I answer him honestly (Jean Paul married me to ensure full, legal control over my person, as I was his first twenty-four seven art piece and he wanted everyone to know it was “lovingly consensual”). “Natural submission is about giving in. Natural submission is about binding oneself to discomfort for the pleasure of another. Natural submission is about letting go of the self—and letting one’s body be used for a higher purpose.”

“And what is your higher purpose, Luna?” the officer asks me in a soft, coaxing voice.

“I am a living decoration for the pleasure of men. Pose me any way you like. I exist for your viewing pleasure. My holes are free to use for any purpose.”

Arousal courses through me as I tell the officer what I’m made for, making saliva pool in my mouth and making my pussy leak down my thighs with anticipation. Even my anus lubes up naturally and loosens, with all the experimental drugs Jean Paul has fed me—and it’s heaven knowing that at any moment I’m ready to be used like a cumdump. It’s heaven being a quick-release doll for anyone who wants to thoroughly enjoy my beauty.

“It would please me if you would put on the robe and come with me, Luna,” Officer Rodgers says softly. “Do you want to please me?”

Bursts of cold mingle with the dizzying warmth inside my brain. I don’t want to cover myself up with the robe, and I don’t want to get off my podium (unless it’s to be fucked on the floor), but I do want to please Officer Rodgers, and I do want to go with him (because he might want to use me somewhere else, in private). I’m also vaguely aware of being told that Jean Paul has been arrested, and although I’m not cognizant enough to realize all the implications of such, I do realize on some level that I’m without a master.

Maybe Officer Rodgers will be my new master, my mind spins dreamily as he gives me a patient smile and holds out his hand.

Gingerly, I pick up the white robe and put it on, hating the scratchiness of cloth against my smooth skin. I don’t latch it in the front, demurely smiling as my breasts sway and catch Officer Rodgers’ gaze as he helps me off the podium.

“She’s going to need deprogramming with most of the others,” the policewoman, Officer Helvey, says as she sidles up to us. “It’s really not in our jurisdiction though. This place is on the Charleston line, but they called Nomar precinct in because—”

“Charleston cops are corrupt. I was at the same meeting you were.”

“Right,” Helvey says, blushing. “I’m just saying this girl isn’t our responsibility.”

“She’s married to Blanc though. We’re keeping him, yeah? I think I’d like to take her to the captain to interrogate. You can send the other ones to Charleston, if you’d like….”

Helvey looks at me with a mixture of resentment and disgust as I stare blankly at Officer Rodgers, warmly waiting for his next question or directive. “Fine.” She stalks off, shouting into her communicator device, “I need a van sent to transfer the apprehended cult members to Charleston! Pronto!”

“Wow, she’s a pretty thing isn’t she?” Captain Griswold murmurs, circling me as I stand in the middle of a cold, metal room. “You know I’ve heard that he never even needed to feed them? All the drugs and mind control supposedly stabilized their bodily functions somehow. All they do is pose all day, every day. Does she even sweat, I wonder?”

“Couldn’t tell you, sir—I brought her straight over.” Officer Rodgers shuffles slowly from foot to foot, clearly nervous yet excited. “I thought you’d want his wife to complete your investigation….”

“Yes, she’ll certainly help put him away for a long time. I mean look at her—the poor girl is hardly human anymore.”

Once again, I’m doing what I’m made for and standing stock still, naked, (my robe thankfully taken by the captain to prove his point) while I thrust my tits and ass out, my palms raised up towards the sky and my face tilted down, eyes cast to the floor.

“She does look like she’d make a good lamp,” Officer Rodgers says with a laugh. “Or a coatrack.”

The captain huffs and gives Rodgers a sidelong glance. “And here I was thinking she might make for a good blowjob machine….”

“I think you might be onto something,” Rodgers agrees quickly. “You and the boys could use some stress relief before the trial—and she can always be deprogrammed later.”

“Or not at all.”

Officer Rodgers frowns but nods, his dark eyes troubled.

“It’s all right here, isn’t it? You wrote down her higher purpose—and it seems clear it’s all she really wants to do.” The captain laughs, tapping two fingers on the notepad he holds, a sneer overtaking his face. “Don’t you think she’d make a fine decoration for my office? I could use something to rest my feet on.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Luna, Harvey Rodgers is looking a little tense. Can you pose, kneeling, and let him use your throat as a cocksleeve?”

Delicious heat spreads all through me. I sink to my knees, my mind expanding and floating away like a weightless balloon, my mouth opening and panting excitedly, a string of drool spilling down my chin.

“Sir?” Rodgers gulps. “I-I’m married, sir.”

“So am I, Harvey, but we’re in this together, right?”

My mind sings as Officer Rodgers clumsily undoes his belt buckle: Good girls know that their holes are made for men’s pleasure. Good girls exist to please men. Good girls use their mouths to suck. Good girls happily swallow.

He frees his half-hard cock, the mushroomed tip peeking out of a rolled mass of foreskin, and approaches me hesitantly. My mouth waters in anticipation but I hold perfectly still, only my tongue undulating welcomingly, eagerly waiting for him to stuff himself inside me.

“Mmm,” I moan as his salty cockhead pushes past my lips.

The urge to suck takes over, and I get lost in a sea of warmth as I pull him deep inside, shivery pleasure going through me as he quickly hardens, his cock going bone-rigid in my mouth.

“Christ,” he groans, lifting a shaky paw of a hand to grasp at my long, chestnut hair. “She’s good at this.”

“And how long has it been since the missus bothered?” the captain says with a goading smile.

“Years,” Rodgers rasps. “Maybe even a decade….”

“So we all deserve a pretty little sucktoy, now don’t we, Rodgers?”

“Yessir.”

I moan happily around his twitching cock as he massages my breasts with his free hand, squeezing and pulling at each of my dusky pink nipples in turn.

“Natural double D’s,” the captain says appreciatively. “This one was made for sex.”

Rodgers groans as I begin to deepthroat him passionately, the warm drum in my head spurring me on, my entire being ready and eager for his cum. My insides hum from head to toe and heat curls low in my abdomen, making my pussy clench around nothing, making me eager for a mindnumbing release, making me gurgle and drool as I rock forward to slam Rodgers down deep.

“Christ,” he moans again, his entire body stiffening as his cock spasms in my throat, thick gushes of cum flooding into my waiting belly.

I swallow greedily and noisily, demurely gripping my hands behind my back as Rodgers finishes fucking my face.

“I’m glad we’re in agreement,” the captain says as Rodgers pulls away, his breaths labored and his hands clumsy as he hastily puts himself away. “There are recording devices in here if that were to change….”

“Never, sir. I stand behind you completely.”

“Good. You are dismissed. I’ll begin my interrogation privately.”

Officer Rodgers gives me a quick, solemn look before he spins around and exits the room, leaving me breathless and panting, mindless of the cold, hard floor bruising my knees.

“You’re a good little slut, now aren’t you, Luna?” the captain croons to me, drawing close so that he can stroke my pinkened cheek lovingly. “I doubt you can even get pregnant—so what’s the harm in enjoying myself with a young, tender cunt like you?”

I flutter my eyelashes at him, enjoying the attention and desperate for more cum. I can only climax anymore with explicit permission, as Jean Paul had to find a way to stop me and the other living decorations from constantly playing with ourselves (so that we could be good, perfectly still statues), and even though I’m not cognizant enough to truly hope for anything, I still really want to orgasm, especially if it’s on an ejaculating cock.

“Sit on the edge of the table, legs spread wide, and grasp your ankles,” Captain Griswold demands.

The directive wraps around my mind like a hot, golden rope, tugging me up off my knees, and pulling me over to the long, silver table. Everything feels so good and warm, a fluttery bliss pulsing through my veins as my mind chants: Good girls love to be mindless sex dolls. Good girls are made to be raped.

I hop up on the table, spreading my legs as wide as they’ll go with my bare toes curling around the edge, showing off my puffy, pink pussy and leaking fuckhole. It feels so natural to pose like this, my slender ankles in both hands, my ample chest pushed out invitingly. The captain watches me, a finger pressed to his thin lips, his grey eyes blazing with heated anticipation, and his cock straining against the zip of his trousers.

“How fortunate Rodgers was stupid enough to bring you to me,” he whispers. “What fun I’ll have, ploughing all your holes and then using you as the office Christmas tree. Maybe I’ll make everyone eat sushi off you for Kent’s retirement party next week. Would you like that? To be my fucktoy as well as a serving plate?”

I moan sluttily, pleasure pulsing deep inside me as the captain tells me all the perverse ways he wants to help me fulfill my purpose. I’m so lucky that such a caring and wonderful master wants to take my husband’s place, even if I only realize it for the flash of an instant, before my attention is consumed by the thick cock pressing into my pussy, stretching the unused tunnel open for the first time in weeks.

“The best part is how uncomfortable your presence will make all the service women here,” the captain whispers, moving a hand between my spread legs to play with the engorged bud of my clit. “I hate having them on the force, mind you, as they are nothing but a distraction. And most of them have only risen in rank for letting me do something like this….”

He slams his hips into me, hard, the table rocking as his balls slap against my jiggling ass. My huge breasts flop all around as he begins to pummel me quickly, the sound of our flesh smacking against each other loud in the still, cool air of the metallic room.

“None of them are as young and tight as you though, sweet girl,” the captain murmurs to me, slowing down to nuzzle my long, outstretched throat, my head tipping back in ecstasy. “Are you going to cum with me?”

I squeal as he pinches my clit softly, my pussy tightening around his shaft as he slams into me again.

“Yes,” I gurgle, grateful tears filling up my eyes as hot pleasure rolls through me. “Yes, yes!”

All I am is Captain Griswold’s cocksleeve, my mind pure mush as he wraps his arms around me and fucks me with sharp, measured strokes. His grunts and groans fill my ears like sweet, methodic music, and when his entire body shudders, stars explode behind my eyes, the hot spurts of his cum making my body twist in violent climax under him, the grey room narrowing to one dark point as my vision tunnels.

“Fuck,” he groans, stilling against me as he drains the last of his balls in my spasming cunt. “You’re a tight squeeze.”

As promised, he later poses me in the middle of his office, my sperm-soaked cunt stuffed with a glittering golden plug, and my body wrapped in strings of green and red lights.

“It’s just a little harmless fun,” he tells Officer Helvey, who opens the door on him covering me with tinsel. “I’ll even let you put the star on her head, Veronica.”

There’s something in his words that indicate they have a relationship that might not be entirely professional, but I’m too blissed out to notice the tension between them as the pretty, blonde officer approaches me with a tormented frown.

“She does look very festive,” Helvey whispers in a resigned way, her hands trembling slightly as she affixes the starred-crown to my head.

I smile demurely at her, my entire body thrumming with purpose. I might not be in the mansion anymore, but I’m still a living art piece, and that’s all that really matters.