The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It started as a game, an experiment. We loved each other, loved making love TO each other. At first he had been timid with me, touching me gently, softly, not wanting to hurt me. I loved that about him, was touched at his careful treatment of me... but I wanted more.

Not all the time. Not even a lot of the time. Most nights his gentle lovemaking was exactly what I wanted. I didn’t come all the time, but when I did it was warm and sweet, like my body was melting into his. And yet... there were still those nights when I wanted more. Nights when, as he slept beside me, I imagined him standing over me, grabbing me, FUCKing me. I imagined myself submitting to him, calling him sir, and answering his every demand with pliant obedience as he took me over, and over, and over again.

I didn’t mention it at first. It wasn’t as if I didn’t enjoy our lovemaking, at all, but my first gentle overtures about him taking a more... dominant... role in the bedroom didn’t go over well. He avoided the question for the most part, even retreated from it, usually mumbling something about respecting me too much. I mentioned past relationships where I would be the sub, where a dom would take me. “I don’t think I could ever hurt you on purpose,” he answered, and then changed the subject.

I was going to let it go. He was a gentle soul, and if that meant that one part of me was left wanting, that one itch left unscratched, then I could do that for him. I had been hurt in the past, after all, and not being subjected to that again was a good thing. Not all pain was hurt, but if he couldn’t understand that, then I would do without. I loved him that much.

It was around then, however, that I noticed a... change... in him. In the way he touched me, in the way he spoke to me. Early on he had always waited for me to move first, now he was often kissing me without warning, pulling me to him. He would take things out of my hands, remove my glasses, cup my chin or wrap an arm around my waist. It was... stronger than before, more possessive. I liked it.

It took a week or so, but the changes started appearing in the bedroom. In the way he stared into my eyes as he made love to me, in the way his breathing and voice became more forceful, in the words he whispered as we made love. He called me love, his woman, treasure, always claiming me, always possessing me. One night, he pulled me to him, rolled on top of me, wrapped one arm under the small of my back, and placed the other on my forehead, and I heard him simply say; “You are mine.”

“I am yours!” I called back as he thrust into me. He said it again, and I repeated it again. Thrust. “I am yours!” Thrust. “I am yours!” Thrust. “Yours!” Thrust. “Yours!” Thrustthrustthrustthrust...

That night I had an orgasm like I hadn’t had in years, and as I basked in the glow of it, nestled in the crook under his arm, I looked up at him and asked him what that had been all about. His look was distant, and when he started talking, it took me awhile to understand.

It wasn’t the sub/dom dynamic I knew. No physical bindings, little to know pain as pleasure. Mind control, hypnotism, mentalism, brainwashing, it was known by many different names. He’d read the stories, watched the porn, even written some of his own, and one day realized he had a fetish. He was a dom, but like none I had ever known. I wondered, still tingling from the feel of him claiming me, if this was a way... a passage to the passion we had just experienced, not in replacement to our usual lovemaking but in addition to it, a spice of variety.

He said no. It was short, strong, curt. It was a command, plain and simple. I could have pushed it if I wanted, but basking in the power of the sex we’d just had, I obeyed. I was his. He’d said so himself, and I had affirmed it. But when he went to sleep, I was still dreaming of it.

Sex continued to change as weeks grew into months. He was more assertive, at least privately. Always a perfect gentleman in public, when the bedroom door closed he started speaking in a stronger manner, stating simply what he wanted, or asking what I desired. I delighted in providing what he asked for. The first time I rode him I basked in the control of the situation... and then his hand touched the small of my back. A shiver rolled over me, as I lowered myself over him, gazing into his eyes. I was in the lead, but he still held me, strongly, securely. It made me feel safe. The orgasm was mind numbing.

Our day to day schedule was changing as well. I pulled closer to him when we slept together, wanting to feel his strength surrounding me. When his arms reached me and wrapped around me I slept better than I had ever slept before. I found it difficult to get out of bed in the mornings, so often I would stand to go shower only to feel his hand touch mine and pull me back to him. Sometimes I gave a small verbal complaint, usually I didn’t. We were still in the bedroom, and he was in charge. I could have argued, and he’d have listened. He always listened when I spoke. But I didn’t need to. He was in charge. I was his... it was worth being late sometimes.

None of our friends suspected. I was known for my strength, for my assertiveness, for my passion, while he was known more for his smile, his affable laughter. When we were out with others he nearly always deferred to my opinion on things, and even when he did not, he listened carefully to what I wanted. It was the small things... a finger brushing the small of my back, a kiss held longer than it was meant to, a squeeze to my wrist that reminded me of what lay in wait when the bedroom door closed. I could be whatever I wanted out here... he would love and support me. In there, I was his. It made me wet just thinking about it.

One day, when I came home from work, he sat in his chair with a glass of wine still mostly full in his hand, his eyes faraway. When I said his name he looked up at me, smiled, and put down the wine. His eyes turned inquisitive, and then after taking a deep breath, he patted his lap. I was surprised... it was a command, and we were still in the living room, not yet in his realm. Was he expanding his sphere of influence, becoming Lord of the Household? I was in his lap before I had time to think about it, feeling the wetness between my legs.

“You wanted to know about... me being a dom.” It wasn’t a question, but I nodded in the affirmative excitedly. He was going to do it. My breathing quickened.

“There are... ways. Ways I have never tried myself, but...” he paused, considered. “You want to be a sub. You want to submit to me... more than you already do?” Again, I nodded. His pulse was racing... I could feel it through the hand on my thigh.

He was quiet for a time. I felt his fear in the way he avoided my eye. He was retreating again, subverting himself. I wanted him powerful. I wanted him to TAKE me, to FUCK me. It didn’t have to be always, or even often, but I wanted it so badly I felt I might explode. I kissed him, deeply. “Yes. Take me. Make me YOURS.”

He considered, then nodded. “There is one requirement.” I waited, eagerly. Of course I would submit to his requirement... I just wanted him to give them! “You will have an out. A Word. A way to break my hold, and to be of your own mind again completely. It may break the... illusion, I don’t know. But it will always be your choice to end this. Without that... we won’t do this. Understood?” I nodded eagerly, then he gestured to the couch. “Lay down,” he said, moving to the window and closing the blinds. “And get comfortable, this could be a long night.”

The watch swings gently before my eyes, which can no longer track it. I do not see it, I can only see him, standing over me, so strong, so powerful. Every word he says is true, I know it with all my heart. I am what he wants me to be, what he wills me to be. I feel weak as a kitten but it does not matter. He has me, I am his. I feel empty as a dry cup but I know he can fill me, and that he will. I am his, completely, totally. His loving, docile, obedient woman. I let out a soft sigh. His woman.

“Can you hear me?” He asks. His voice fills my mind, echoes in my soul. It is ALL I hear.

“Yes, sir.” I answer dreamily. His voice hesitates, perhaps at my tone of respect, but I could have nothing else for him. He continues.

“Do you remember the Word?” The question bears down on me, a demand for information. The sensation is much like when he settles on me for sex... I submit eagerly to it.

“Yes, sir.”

“That Word is your release. When you speak it, you will awake from any trance, no matter how deep. If you have been gagged, you only need to TRY to say it, in order to be free. You can be free at any time, just by wanting it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another pause. “Say the Word.”

I felt my lips form it, air rushing forward from my lungs to power it, and then...

“That was incredible,” I said to him, glancing over at the watch. “How did you...”

He shrugged. “You had your misspent past, and I had mine. Now... obey.” The world tunneled. All sound that was not his voice was forgotten, irrelevant. I stood straighter, smiling beatifically as all thought or worry crashed away...

“Take off your top... the bra, too.”

“Yes, sir.” I shrug easily out of my shirt, and unclip the bra from behind, allowing both to drift on their own to the floor. I feel my breasts bob free of restraint and note his hungry look with joy... he loves my breasts, always has.

“Your shoes and jeans next.”

“Yes, sir.” I kick off my shoes quickly and slowly ease the jeans away, allowing him to enjoy the process while my breasts sway to the motion. I consider losing the panties as well but it has not been commanded of me, yet.

“Come here, now.” The tone of his voice has a husk to it that was not there before, and I rush into his arms, my entire body rejoicing as he pulls me into his grasp, his hand cupping my chin, the other holding my hip. My mouth opens to verbally submit to his command, but his lips press down on mine, silencing me. I do not care.

I do not know how long we stand there, but when he pulls away, I am weak in the knees. I am always weak, he is the strong one. I cling to him, needing him, BELONGING to him. He gestures to the bedroom. “Let’s go to bed,” he says playfully, and gives me a pat on the ass.

I am playful as well. “Yes, my lord,” I purr back to him as I practically prance there. I am crawling back on the bed when his command pierces the air.

“Stop.”

“Yes, sir.” I am all obedience, again, his tone demanding instant attention even as it prevents me from seeing him. I hear him removing his clothes, hear the thud of his pants and belt hitting the floor, see his shirt flying to the laundry out of the corner of my eye.

Then he is behind me. One hand is on my hip, a finger hooking under the strap of my panties. The other hand finds my breasts, softly kneading. Then I feel lips upon my back... he is kissing my tattoos. I gasp... I have always loved when he does this.

My panties are slowly dragged away as his hand teases and his lips tantalize. I cannot move, I have been commanded to stay. I obey him. When I gasp he chuckles. “You like that, my love?”

“Yes, my lord.” It almost feels like a familiarity, but he accepts it. My panties pulled away, he gently parts my legs. I am sopping between them, I need it. I need him. Oh Gods, I need him! I feel him position himself behind me, even as his teasing continues... his finger gently tracing my tattoos as his kisses keep falling on my skin, and me never knowing when or where the next one will come! Then, his hands go to my shoulders, and I feel him... there, the tip of him gently touching me. I could rock backwards and he would be inside me... but that would be disobeying. I could sooner fly to the moon. And so I beg.

“Oh please, sir. Please take me. I need it. I need you. Please, please, please... take me, I am yours!”

He pauses, and I feel I might scream, but then he clears his throat. “Do you remember the Word?” My eyes widen. He can’t WANT me to say it... we have only just begun! I have to answer him.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that he plunges into me, filling me, dominating me, owning me. I come harder than I have ever come in my life. A few minutes later, I do so again.

Neither of us spoke about it the next morning. We went about our morning as usual, him holding me to him a bit longer than I wanted, but he finally allowed me to go when I said I would be late for work. I half expected him to tell me to obey, and I wondered if I would have to use the Word, but he didn’t. Impressed by his restraint, I went to take a shower.

That night I came home to a beautifully prepared dinner, complete with my favorite Cabernet. Afterwards, he washed the dishes while I picked out a movie, and held me close while we watched “Dangerous Beauty,” my favorite film ever. That night, we made love, and I found that the kind, attentive, gentle man had returned. It was perfect for the evening, exactly what I wanted. I even resolved to use the Word if he told me to obey... last night had been incredible, but this was what I needed tonight, not domination. He never did.

As weeks passed it became just another part of our sexual repertoire. Sometimes he would go down on me, sometimes I would go down on him. Sometimes he was on top, sometimes I was. Sometimes he was gentle, sometimes he was more forceful, others he would tell me to obey, and I would become his nearly helpless sub, completely beholden to his every desire and whim. For the first few months he would ask if I remembered the word, and only when I affirmed that I did would he continue.

One day, while I was at work, he called me, asked if I would be able to come home early. It was a quiet season and I knew I could, and told him so. He’d never told me to obey over the phone before... which made it all the more exciting when I did...

I am careful as I pack up to go home. No one must see that anything is different, that is his command. I’m not even allowed to call him “sir,” simply “my love.” As I say it, it sounds like “my lord,” but he seems pleased. Nothing else matters.

The drive is short. I would come to him even faster but he has commanded that I be safe, and drive legally. I obey him, of course, my panties soaking before I can even get to the house. I even wave to the neighbors as I get out of the car to walk into his home. Hanging by the door is a french maid outfit I bought last Halloween. I remember the look in his eyes when I wore it then, and smile. I look for him, and remember that he is not here... his car is not in the driveway.

My phone rings and I answer it. “Wear the outfit, and prepare my dinner. I will be home soon.”

“Yes, sir!” I say eagerly, and soon I am changed and cooking. He loves chicken alfredo, and I prepare the pasta exactly the way he likes it. As I set the table, I set only one place. His commands have been vague, but the uniform tells me what he wants. I am ready for him when he arrives.

“Your dinner is ready, master. May I serve you?”

“You may,” he says with a smile as he takes his seat. I stand at his shoulder, awaiting any commands he may have for me. I refill his wine, bring seconds when he calls for them. I want him to take me, but I will wait until I have pleased him enough to deserve it. A servant serves at the will of the master.

When the meal is mostly finished, he says he is ready for dessert, but stops me from retrieving the warm cookies I had baked. “Not THAT desert,” he says, and glances down. I melt inside when I know what he wants, nearly too happy to respond in any coherent manner.

“Oh, YES, Master. Thank you, Master.” I gently kneel at his side, allowing him a look down my uniform, before crawling under the table. My hands gently undo his belt and pants, and carefully, nearly worship-fully, release his penis from them. It is already firm, but I touch it expertly to get it fully rigid. Then, placing my lips around the head, I slowly allow my head to slide down around the shaft, settling into his lap like a offered gift.

I hear him moan quietly. I am pleasing him. I have been wetter than this before, but not by very much. I go on for some time, feeling the life pulsing in my master’s rod as I love it with my mouth, then feel him jerk as he comes inside me. I swallow every drop, licking the shaft to assure it is clean... a maid must adhere to cleanliness, after all.

He pulls me out from under the table, tells me to clean up the mess (while saving some dinner for myself) and then to come to bed. When I arrive, he removes my uniform with his teeth before fucking me for hours in his bed. I have pleased him, he tells me. I am unsure if it is his cock inside me or those words that bring the orgasm, but it is so strong I have difficulty breathing afterwards.

I laid there next to him for a little while, chuckling to myself while he kissed my neck. “So how long have you been planning THAT?” I ask, teasingly.

He grins at me. “Ever since you bought that thing... just wanted to wait for a special night, is all.”

“Special night? Our anniversary isn’t for a couple months yet.”

He only smiled at me, and then went into the kitchen, finally returning with a tray of food for me to eat. While I ate it, I realized that it had been a full year since the first time he made me obey, and after he took the tray away, I pulled him to me, kissed him and thanked him for the wonderful anniversary gift.

It wasn’t until that night, as he snored beside me, that I realized that he hadn’t asked if I remembered the Word... whatever the reason that made him so insistent that I remember it, it seemed he finally trusted himself at last. I kissed him gently, and then went to sleep, snuggled in his arms.

After that escapade, I couldn’t leave it to just a sexy maid outfit, now could I? One day when he was sick I bought a fetish-nurse outfit from a specialty store, and he triggered me almost the second he saw it. We planned a Starwars marathon and I bought a Metal Bikini for the occasion... we ended up saving the movies until the following night.

At my request, we even got some old fashioned bondage gear. After I put the ball gag in, I expected to be triggered, and prepared to use the word... there was no point in being bound physically if one was bound mentally. I figured it wouldn’t matter since he wouldn’t know... he wouldn’t hear me say it, after all. But he didn’t make me obey. Instead,he seemed to relax into the role I asked him to play, using the whips and paddles in a way that wouldn’t injure me, learning how pain didn’t have to be hurtful, but never took command of my mind. He seemed to get that it was the choice that mattered. It was so fucking hot that I reminded myself to invest in some more of the gear.

That was how we lived our lives. We worked, we played, we made love. We had our children, raised them together, watched them grow up, watched each other start to get old. It didn’t matter, our desire for each other was insatiable, even if most of the time we were now back to normal, vanilla lovemaking. It was what we had the strength for, and it had always been enough.

Then, one night, as I watched our youngest get into the car to go to a sleepover, her brother already in college, he crept up behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and told me to obey. It had been years. My answer was instant.

“Yes, sir.” The time since last I belonged to him like this falls away like cobwebs under a hose. I am his, he is all that matters. He only barely manages to close the front door before pushing me down to the floor, fucking me in the front hallway. Buttons fly from my blouse and his shirt in his hurry to get them off. I moan like a pornstar as he takes me... he has been less confident of late, his sudden rush of authority washes over me like a wave of aphrodisiac.

He lays back on the floor, when he comes, panting for a moment while I lay beside him. “Go down on me,” he commands, and I obey without words, sitting up, kissing my way down his chest, and then take his shaft in my hand, kissing the head and licking at it. As it stiffens I smile before lowering my head over the shaft, my red hair cascading down over his waist in curly rivulets. I tingle all over as I taste him. I know he has worried about his age and ability, but now his cock dominates me, filling my whole being as it goes rigid in my mouth.

“Ride me,” He commands.

“Yes, sir!” I say as I move, slowly positioning myself over him before lowering down onto him, impaling myself on him. It is incredible, as if my body was made to be filled by him. His hand touches that spot on my back and I gasp, the other gives my butt a small smack and cry out. “Oh, yes, sir!”

Suddenly he pushes up, still holding me against him. He tries to get me into the bathroom... he settles for the hallway, holding me propped against the wall as he pushes into me. I cry out every time. I haven’t orgasmed this much in years. Next he gets me into the shower, commanding me to clean him. I do so, with soap, with lotion, with my hands, with a luffa. He bends me over and takes me from behind. I feel him come again, and again, and again.

He keeps me triggered all night, barely taking a rest. I serve him dinner, finger foods that he eats off of my freshly cleaned body. His tongue cleans my nipples and I gasp. We go out to the hot tub, and I ride him in the hot, frothy water, only the high fence keeping us safe from our neighbors eyes. A jet of water is aimed at my pussy and I nearly purr. Finally he makes me crawl to our bedroom, and once there he holds me all night, fucking me when able, caressing me when not.

He tells me he loves me, that he has always loved me. I love him back. When he sleeps, I watch him for a long time, in case he should need for anything. I am his, I would do it, whatever it was. I belong to him, need to serve him, need to be with him. Nothing could ever change that.

Not even the Word... for I have long forgotten it. Never once have I needed it. Triggered or not I belong to him, mind, body, and soul, and would not break that for anything. I know he will always love me, will always care for me, will always honor and respect me. For my part, I will always be his.

Triggered or not.