The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nancy was wearing a carefully assembled outfit that day. She had dressed up just to dress up. She didn’t have anywhere special to be— nowhere that was new, no place she hadn’t been a hundred times before. But she liked dressing well — enjoyed it.

So even though today, a weekend day— a day off that was going to be spent visiting local sights she was well familiar with, she’d be visiting them dressed with the kind of care and attention she might have used if she was going somewhere else. Away. Some place that really was new.

She’d put her black, long-sleeved top on first. The neckline of it sat right against the base of her throat. But past that neckline, the material slipped off her shoulders into two openings which bared each one. Then the sleeves continued down past their off-the-shoulder beginnings, finally arriving at a three-quarter length, where they ended.

After getting the shirt on, she’d put on her dusty rose-colored khaki skirt with the high waist— a waist that sat three or four inches above where her own rested naturally along her hips. She’d tucked her shirt in before pulling the skirt all the way up. The shirt’s fabric was so snug and smooth that there were no unpleasant folds or bunches in it to suggest any tucking in at all.

The skirt was pleated, with a row of white buttons which ran down the skirt’s central pleat. And the skirt only extended a third of the way down Nancy’s upper thigh, at which point its hem rested. This left the central third of her upper thigh naked and visible beneath it.

With shirt and skirt on, she had next pulled up her boots. They were tall, more than half the length of her leg. Black velvet— with steep heels. The body of each boot rose up over her calf, kept going past her knee, and then covered the bottom third of her upper thigh; leaving that same central third of it showing naked skin in the gap below the hem of her skirt.

She’d decided to wear a sweater over her shirt; once she’d pulled it into place, its long-sleeves obscured the sleeves’ ends of her shirt underneath. The sweater was large and white, made of the finest cotton. Soft and warm on her body. It was the complete length of her torso— from her exposed shoulders to the first peak of skin below her skirt’s hem. It had no buttons or fasteners on its front, so it gaped open.

Its sleeves came all the way to her wrists; they were loose, and baggy, until her wristpoint, where they narrowed into a thin circle that sat right against her skin. At the point that the sleeve of her sweater narrowed to hug her wrist, there was a decorative ring in the material just above it that marked it out.

Her sweater was off of one shoulder, just having naturally fallen that way as she was adjusting it. She thought it looked better with it sitting partway down her arm, so she decided not to pull it back up. This way the top of her shoulder was visible. The other shoulder of the sweater had not fallen, and was still sitting high. Since the one side of the sweater had slipped down, it had actually hitched the other side up higher.

The sweater’s base on Nancy’s left side had ridden up to rest right at her hipline, her natural waist. The inner edge of the sweater on the left side lined up with the second button of her skirt, and sat several inches below her skirt’s waist.

When she’d finished with her clothes, Nancy had gotten out her straightener, and straightened her hair. It was generally straight by nature, but when she got herself dress up to go somewhere, she liked to put in the effort to make her hair perfectly straight.

Once her hair was done, she’d put a cap on her head. It was black silk, domed. It covered the top of her hairline, dipped just slightly down on her forehead, and then circled her head to loop in behind and sit along the base of her skull in the back. It fit well, and wasn’t too tight. Its black shade was the same as the color of her top, and her boots.

The manicure from a few days ago was still decorating her nails. She’d chosen white nail polish to adorn their sharpened triangular points. White went with everything, and would suit any outfit. The only thing that clashed with white was its knockoff variants: off-white, or cream, but she didn’t have any clothes in those colors, so they posed no problem for her.

She’d placed a silver ring, shaped like a heart, on the middle finger of her left hand. In her right hand, she held the purse string of her small, black, square purse. It had a silver interlocking latch on top, which closed and open it. The purse’s strap was thin, and string-like, and looped in through two circular metal loops on each end of the purse.

The final touch to her look had been a pair of sunglasses. It was sunny outside, and she expected to do a lot of walking out in that sun. This would be easier if her vision was shaded.

Her sunglasses had large, wing-tipped, curved pink frames around each tinted lens. The glasses were large enough that they filled the space on either side of her nose, from the tops of Nancy’s eyebrows down to line up with each nostril.

She had then painted her lips the same color of pink as her both her sunglass frames, and skirt. Dusty, desert rose.

Hers was a complete outfit, and she looked good in it. It was suitable for that day’s excursion— that day’s channeling of the archetypal tourist, carried out while overlooking the known and familiar.

Nancy, finally ready, left home and walked outside.

And now she walked her city’s downtown streets. She was moving in the general direction of some downtown sight-seeing attractions. But she’d gotten going pretty late in the morning.

She’d slept in to start off, like a tourist on vacation would have done. Slept in the way she did when she was tourist in foreign cities. She figured repeating the habit would help her get into the mindset.

Then it had taken her a while to get prepared, what with the straightening of her hair, her other accessorizing, and the application of her makeup… so it was almost lunchtime now. Getting close to twelve o’clock noon. She’d been so absorbed in getting ready that she’d skipped breakfast. Had slept in, gotten ready, gotten downtown, and now— she was hungry.

There was a diner just down the next city-block. She hastened her step, undeterred by the tall heels of her boots.

This diner was unknown to her: she’d never eaten in it before, but she was too hungry to hold out for some other place that she’d previously frequented. Besides, it added to her staycation’s illusion. She was only a tourist in a new city, here to see the sights. She’d never been here before, so of course she’d be eating in a restaurant that she didn’t know.

When she pushed the diner door open, the bell above it rang. She was a little ahead of the mid-afternoon rush, and the diner inside seemed to be in a partial lull— there was a couple, one man and one woman, sitting in the back corner booth— but there were no other customers inside.

When Nancy looked over to her, the waitress behind the counter nodded at the sign which stood just inside the door: Please Seat Yourself.

Nancy considered her plentiful seating options. She didn’t want to crowd the couple in the back by sitting in the booth right next to theirs— but she preferred booths to tables, so she chose a booth that was three down from theirs.

The waitress stopped by to leave a glass of water and a menu— then disappeared in the back.

Nancy wondered if she was working back there, or if she had snuck back to take an unauthorized break while it was slow. Nancy would have done that herself, if she’d been in the waitress’s position.

The couple seemed to be having an intense conversation. Nancy wondered if they were having an argument— fighting— or maybe breaking up—

But actually, since they were the only ones in the diner— and since the music playing from the speakers was low in volume… Nancy found she could hear the couple perfectly, even though she was three booths down from them. The man was speaking in a low voice, with intensity, but Nancy could make out every word. The woman wasn’t speaking at all.

“You hear each word I say, as I speak to you. And with each one, you feel yourself become more accepting of what follows next after it. The longer you listen, the more you accept what you hear. What is said becomes your belief, and the more you listen, the more that these beliefs become true in your mind.”

Nancy stared, over the top of her open menu. How was she supposed to interpret what she’d just overheard? What did that string of nonsense phrases even mean?

And why wasn’t the woman speaking back? She was only sitting there… listening… was she really taking in each word the man said; just as he said? Was she believing them, just because he told her to do it?

Nancy felt a touch curious. What would that be like, one word rolling on after another, making the listener increasingly accepting and credulous with their advance?

How would it feel, to believe each word and idea more and more strongly as they followed each other? Would being rolled along that way lead somewhere. Where would it lead? It seemed the man had planned this all out…

Why did she suddenly care so much about this? Why had it become so intriguing to her?

“As I speak, you are changed,” the man continued. Nancy imagined herself, rolled along by his words in just the way that he’d described… and told herself it was only imagination, only make believe… a roll-along like that would feel… good… and soothing… Was the other woman feeling this too? Did she really believe what she heard with increasing fervor as she listened? Did hearing what the man said really change her into something else? What must that be like, Nancy wondered again… and Nancy almost felt like she was rolling on the words herself…

“Now you want only to please your master,” said the man, and Nancy assumed that was who he was to the woman. Her master. He spoke as if he could control her… and though the woman’s back was to her, there was something about the stillness she sat in that made Nancy believe he really could. This man was not a master to Nancy… so he couldn’t control her… but the thought of obeying a master… if she had a master— she didn’t, she realized, and she was almost sad about that…

“You want to pleasure him, if he wants that… or to obey him, if he wants that… You want to give him anything he wants, and do exactly as he says. You’re his slave. That’s a slave’s truest desire.”

Nancy felt like she had been spinning the dial on a radio, progressing through its available stations. She had by accident tuned herself into some sermon on an unknown channel— and the irrefutable truths of life were now being preached to her— yes, she did want to please her master now… she wanted to give him pleasure, or obedience, whatever he wanted, whenever or if ever he wanted it… she was his slave… and that was a slave’s truest desire…

She had been swept along by the man’s words of control after all, led into believing their suggestions as promised. It hadn’t only been imagination or make believe, as she’d first thought. But she was unalarmed. She was changed— she wanted her master, wanted to please him…

Her master wasn’t this man, though… sadly, she still did not have a master. But she needed a master, because she was a slave. Whoever he was, he was the other necessary half of the equation which she occupied… she was a slave, so she must have a master, but… she… didn’t.

That was so wrong.

The man was done speaking now. He guided the woman up. Now he was leaving, no longer speaking words that could change his slave, or Nancy… but as he walked towards Nancy’s table, she hoped. He saw her sitting there, he was looking at her right now, as he guided his woman by the arm. He knew Nancy had heard every word, knew she had been changed. She could see it in his expression. And if he stopped at Nancy’s table and told her, “I am your master,” he would become that… and she would have one— she wished he would—

He looked at her once more; and then his look turned into one of disdain. He looked away. Then he exited the diner with his slave and left Nancy behind, sitting alone at her table.

Rejection in one glance— and it crushed her. She had— no one, nothing, no master… and no purpose without one. How could she give pleasure or obedience if there was no one to ask it of her? How could she serve if there was no one to serve?

She had been hungry before— but felt that no longer. She had looked forward to her staycation exploration of her city’s sightseeable sights, but had lost that feeling too. What she wanted now was more important than food and more important than exploratory fun. She stood from her booth and also exited the diner.

If she was looking for a master— and she was— where should she look? Where could one be found? Should she hope to cross paths with that man again, so she could beg him to reconsider?

Or should she stop a random man who was passing her on the street, and offer herself to him? How would she know if any them were— right? How would she know if the man she stopped was really hers, the one she should belong to, the one who should own her? If she offered herself to any random stranger— she might choose wrongly. She was only a slave, after all. She couldn’t properly think for herself. She needed a master to direct her. And if she chose at random, she might not be able to find him that way.

So should she offer herself to someone she knew? Someone who had been pre-vetted by her free mind, back when she could still judge accurately? If she did, who should she offer herself to? Was there anyone—?

She thought of Sean. He was an old friend of hers— and in her right-mind, she’d always thought of him as a trustworthy, reliable, steady guy. Offering herself to him seemed safe— he would take good care of her. He was a collector, mostly of art pieces, but occasionally some antique items made it into his collection. He always took good care of his collectibles. He knew how to own… he should be… her master… yes, he was… she just had to go his home, and give herself to him.

She rode the subway out to his nearest subway stop. Her free self had been in the habit of going over to see him semi-regularly, so as a slave, she still remembered the way there. Nothing could have made her forget the path back to her master— nothing.

Having walked the streets back from the subway stop, she climbed the steps of Sean’s front porch, and knocked on his door.

He was home— probably because it was still only the mid-afternoon on a weekend day, and he came and opened the door. Sean took in Nancy’s entire outfit in one look. He clearly appreciated it— but he seemed surprised to find that Nancy had showed up unannounced. She usually called first before coming over.

He was even more surprised when he heard what she had to say.

“Master,” she began. “I am your slave— please accept my service.”

He blinked at her. “What did you say?”

She knelt down right there on his porch. “I’m your slave,” she repeated, and it seemed to become more true. “Accept my service, master. Please.”

He made her stand again, helping her up with his hands.

“You’re have to help me understand, Nancy. This is making no sense. Where is this coming from? What’s made you say it?”

“I overheard the truth as it was spoken,” she said, “and it changed me. When I heard, I knew, and I know still: I am only a slave. I must please and obey my master. But when first I heard, I realized I did not have a master. I was sad about that, until I realized I did— and he is you.”

Sean shook his head. “I have too many questions, and only one linear order to ask them in. What is this ‘truth’ you overheard? Where did you hear it, and why did it change you?”

“Another master was teaching his slave where I could hear. He told her that listening to his words would change her, and then when I heard them, they changed me too… He told her she was his slave, that she wanted only to please and obey him… and so then I wanted to please and obey you, master. Has my answer done this?”

“I’m not sure I want to play along with this game yet. You were indirectly affected by someone else’s game… but why have you chosen me as your co-player?”

“You’ve got an art collection; a few antiques too. When my mind thought of owner, with the dreamlike associations of enslaved thought, it associated the term with you. You take such good care of your collection— your art and your antiques— but that was not the only reason. I’ve always trusted you, master, even before I knew you were my master. If someone must have me… and someone must, I must be had, because I’m a slave... I want you to be my master. I will be safest with you. You’ve only ever been kind to me, and have only ever shown yourself to be reliable, and steady. That’s why I’m offering myself. Please accept me. Please let me please and serve you.”

At last Sean seemed to understand, and his eyes were still appreciative as he considered her while she stood in her outfit. She had not dressed herself in it for his sake, but now the sight of it was for his enjoyment, just like everything else about her was.

“Alright, Nancy. I accept your service. You may come up to my bedroom with me.”

She obeyed his suggestion with an eager skip forwards. She would be allowed to please him— to obey him, and she was doing it already. He’d spoken, and now she acted.

In his bedroom, he instructed her to help him out of his clothes. She left her own on, as he entreated and did it gladly. It was clear to her that her outfit pleased him, and she always — and only — wanted to please him. Pleasing him was her singular desire.

The last remaining task to complete, in order to seal her obedience, was to move her underwear aside underneath her skirt. And then lift her skirt slightly— as she lowered herself down onto master’s thick and satisfying cock.

“Am I pleasing you, now?” She asked eagerly, thrusting up and down on him in little half-jumps. “Does this please you?” Her tone shimmered with earnest desperation. It felt like the most important question she’d ever asked. She’d never felt so obsessive while waiting for an answer.

“Oh Nancy.” Master’s voice was a little strained. “Yes, it pleases me. You are pleasing me. Just keep riding— exactly like that— don’t speed up or slow down. Just maintain this pace— I want to enjoy this as long as possible.”

She kept bouncing on him just as directed— her white sweater was falling to her elbows, shaking off of her with the intensity of her motion. Her sunglasses were going askew— her cap was slipping off and tilting towards the side of her head. She was becoming dishevelled in her appearance thanks to the intensity of their intercourse. That made her sorry… she didn’t want to ruin the image of her appearance that master so clearly loved…

“You look sad, Nancy,” he noted— he was so observant! “Tell me why.”

She had to tell him— he had asked her a question, and she would always have to give him an answer when he asked for it— she would always have to obey— but obeying was so fun to do. She wanted to tell him.

“I’m riding exactly as you told me,” she explained. “But it’s ruining my image— it’s putting my outfit all out of order.”

“You look even more perfect like this,” he corrected. “I like this image of you just as much as the other. You’re looking like this way because you’ve served me so well. You’ve earned it— and I’m proud of you.”

She felt pleasure flare up inside her at his praise. It felt as good as the sex itself, and amplified her pleasure within it. She could feel herself flooding him with slickness as he moved in and out of her.

“That’s how much I want to obey you,” she told him, a bit out of breath. “Please let me— say you’ll let me forever— that’s how much—“ She was losing her train of thought. The pleasure was coming on too fast and too powerfully for her. She was still holding the pace he’d told her to, though.

“Hold on, now,” he said, and put each hand on one of her hips, holding her by them. “I’ll take us through to the finish.”

He drove up into her more rapidly— he was setting the pace again, physically this time, instead of by secondhand instruction. She could only follow.

It was only once he was spurting inside her— and she felt it— that he told her in a whisper. “Come for me now.” She followed this instruction too, like all the others.

Her release was delicious. Pleasure was even better when it was released as an act of obedience.

Afterwards the two of them lay together in his bed for a while.

Nancy thought maybe he had fallen asleep. She didn’t want to speak. Waking him would be disobedience if he’d judged that he preferred sleeping to wakefulness. But after some elapsed time, he did speak again, proving himself to be awake after all.

“You may be my slave forever, Nancy,” he assured her. “I can see how much you want it, and you served me so well, I’d like to reward you.”

“Oh master, thank you!” She rained kisses on him, his cheek, his mouth, the side of his face— too excited to stop herself, or worry about disobedience any more. He could stop her if it was necessary. “I’ll be the perfect slave for you! I promise!”

“I know you will,” master told her with a smile.

Nancy went on lying there, in master’s bed, with him— settled into a steady state of contentment. This was the most perfect place in the world in that moment: cuddled up with master, basking in his trust. She never wanted to leave it— and never wanted to leave his side, either.

He’d agreed to let her serve him forever. She would never have to, and the relief of that realization eased a happy sigh out of her.