The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Did you turn her gay?” The voice sounded 3 am drunk.

Ceri pulled her cellphone back from her ear and looked at the display. She’d picked the cell up as it buzzed beneath her computer screen; too engrossed in code to bother checking the caller.

Ceri didn’t recognize the number. Great, she thought, a homophobic prank caller. She swiveled away from the encryption project on her computer, sitting in her sweats and a white tee beneath the naked light bulb in her tiny den.

An urge to hang up prickled under her skin. The tinny sound of the drunk kept screaming at her from the device.

She ran her left hand through her cropped brown hair; perhaps, whoever this moron might be, he could be talked down far enough to not call again.

Keeping it carefully neutral, Ceri brought the cell back to her ear, “Hello, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking too?”

She looked up at the poster hanging on her wall between the shelves of disks, notebooks and loose-leaf manuals. A beautiful woman, her face framed in silver chrome, gazed into infinity, captivated by a laser beam of blue and white light.

“As if you don’t fucking know!”

She pressed two fingers to her temples; a sudden weight fell across her shoulders.

“Martin? Martin, you sound drunk,” Ceri sighed, “ . . . And I cannot be bothered dealing with your shit whatever it is. Where’s Wendy? Can you put her on?”

And come to think if it, thought Ceri, how did you get my number, you asshole?

Wendy must have written it down some place that Martin, Wendy’s boyfriend, could find it. Grrr. She bit her lip. Wendy could do so much better.

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You make me sick.”

“OK. Put Wendy on or I’m hanging up in three . . . two . . . .”

“Wendy isn’t here now, is she! She said she’s a dyke just like you!”

Her jaw dropped. Martin continued to rant, but the words floated into the ether as Ceri gulped air. “What!?”

“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t kn-.”

She cut the call. Her fingers flicked to block that particular number.

The top of her head felt light, like a lid had popped open to aerate her brain. An image of Wendy, all blonde curls, long red nails, flouncy summer dress and lush curves flitted through Ceri’s head. Which happened all the time, but never, not even once in college, had Wendy ever been interested in girls. Not romantically, anyway.

She finished entering Wendy’s cell number and waited for a pick-up. She licked her suddenly dry lips and stood, pacing in acute circles in the tight space between the shelving and the desk. Her heart skipped. She felt the way she used to before playing a big college basketball game, back when Wendy had been her number one fan. And unknown to Wendy, Ceri had always been Wendy’s. Ceri strangled the thought out of habit.

“Heya! This is Wendy! I can’t answer right now! Sorry! But please leave a message for me after the tone and I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as I can! Thanks so much!”

Her shoulders slumped slightly, waiting for the peep to come, “Uh, hi, Wendy, it’s Ceri. Uh, I got a call from Martin. I . . . he seemed drunk, I guess it sounded like you guys . . . um . . . broke up. So, you know, give me a call. I’m totally here for you, you know that. K. Loveyabye.”

Ugh.

She grabbed her favorite blue hoodie from where it had been flung on the back of the rowing machine in her living room and headed out the door. The wind whipped in Ceri’s face as she bustled down the street to the 24 hour deli. Her head felt fuzzy like it had taken a hit from a two by four. Can’t be true? Can it?

The plexi-glass door of the deli swung open as she arrived, the mild permanent odor of burnt eggs and bacon wafting into the dark street as a couple of teens left, obviously out way past their curfew. She ignored her sinful urge to devour delicious charred dead animal, and instead slid sideways down the narrow aisles to the beer fridge. Her cell buzzed in her jeans pocket.

Ceri let out a little gasp, fingers fumbling to yank the phone out. She pressed her left hand over her ear to try and hear more clearly over the animated pseudo-haggling happening at the deli counter. “Wendy!”

“Hi, honey! I’m sorry you had to deal with Martin, he must have got your phone number off the list on the fridge door.”

“Oh, right, ok, uh.” She looked up at the peeling paint on the deli’s ceiling. How to say it? “Um, he said . . . .”

“We split, yeah, it’s true. I bet you’re not too disappointed, haha!”

“Oh, no. I mean. . . . Yeah, true.”

“Ha, knew it!” Wendy took a deep breath. “I met somebody amazing.” Faintly, Ceri thought she heard a door open behind Wendy. “Omigosh, she’s back! I’ve got to go, Ceri, talk later, hon!”

Wendy hung up. Ceri lowered the phone.

She. She’s. Not me.

Ceri mentally smacked herself around the head for that. I should be happy, she thought, I should be happy for my best friend. She shuffled the beer fridge’s sliding door open and grabbed a six pack.

She could feel a powerful thirst coming on.

Ceri staggered slightly into her bedroom, kicking a soccer ball underneath the bed and collapsing still dressed on top of the covers. She could feel memories of college pressing up in her mind. She’d dream tonight, she always did when that happened. Ceri grabbed the old duvet and rolled over, wrapping it around herself.

She tugged her knees up against her chest, sleeping fitfully. The dreams disturbed her sleep, taking her back to college, painting the past so vividly that they might have been memories. But they could never be memories because then her memories would make no sense.

Ceri lead Wendy between the tall stacks in the basement of the main library building. Water pipes gurgled softly somewhere in the background, rows of neon lights ran overhead.

“So, that boy Martin I told you about? He asked me on a date after graphic design ends tomorrow! What do you think? He seems nice.”

Ceri grunted. Glad that Wendy couldn’t see the grimace on her face. “I’m not one to judge.”

“Hehe! But just because you’re a lesbian doesn’t mean you can’t still say whether you think he seems nice, can you?”

“I think he’s horrible then, don’t date him,” said Ceri. She put her books down on the small two-sided desk in their study alcove, conveniently located well out of the way of any other students, which allowed Wendy to chatter at will and Ceri to watch Wendy chatter.

“Oh, don’t be mean!” Wendy pouted. “You haven’t even spoken to him.” She sat down opposite Ceri, as she leaned forward her red dress embroidered with little white hearts parted at the top, giving Ceri a breathtaking view of deep, delightful cleavage. “Do you think I should hold out for somebodyelse?”

Ceri’s tongue stuck to the top of her mouth. Imagining running it down into the soft valley between Wendy’s big breasts. Not stopping there.

“What do you think?” said Wendy.

Is she flirting with me? Is she? Should I ask her out on a date? That would be great. That would be so awesome. But what if she’s not flirting? What if she doesn’t like me that way at all?

“I’m happy if you’re happy. Go on a date with him. Have fun.” Ceri stuck her nose in a software tutorial.

“I really care about your opinion, Ceri,” Wendy smiled, big, blue eyes drowning Ceri. “C’mon, really, should I date Martin, or do you think I could do better?”

Better. So much better. Date me. Fuck it. I can’t stand this any longer. I’m doing this.

“No, you shouldn’t date Martin, you should d . . . .”

A confident female voice cut in, “Ceridwen Jones! So, this is where you’ve been going to hide from me!”

Oh, god, no. Mistress. Ceri’s pussy dampened at the rebellious thought, her small, pale brown nipples hardening underneath her plaid shirt. The heat in the basement, always high, suddenly rose to scalding. Sweat popped on her back.

“Mistress, what are you doing down here?” Some tiny part of Ceri chimed in that this proved it must all be a dream, because a real person’s name couldn’t be Mistress. And a real person would have real form, not a hazy impression that slid away. Red hair? Incredible height? It all melted together, leaving only a distinct sense of her presence.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Mistress said, her green(?) eyes rooting Ceri to her chair. Ceri squirmed, the urge to bend over the desk and beg Mistress to spank her for being so bad, almost irresistible. Only the horror of Wendy seeing her do such a shameful, hot, nasty thing held Ceri back.

Mistress held out a hand to Wendy, “I’ve seen you at all our games. I asked Ceri to introduce us, but she’s been remiss in obeying.”

Wendy shook the proffered hand enthusiastically, “Omigosh! It’s amazing to meet you! We all think you’re super-human!”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Mistress, “Thanks, it’s true, I have good genes.”

“Haha! Ceri and I come and study down here together a lot, what brings you down? We don’t see a whole lot of other people.”

“Curiosity. Did she teach you my technique to help concentration?”

“Uh, no.” Wendy’s eyebrows rose a touch. A hint of skepticism tracing round the corners of Wendy’s smile that Ceri could have kissed her for. With tongue, naturally.

Ceri’s pussy ran, the juices soaking into the denim of her crotch. She couldn’t let this happen. She rose, “Wendy, Mistress probably wants to help me concentrate now, so I better go with her and see you later.”

“No, that’s fine, sit down, Ceri,” Mistress didn’t even glance in Ceri’s direction. Ceri sat. Wendy stared up at Mistress’s (what color? didn’t they have a color?) eyes. “It’s a technique I use with all the basketball squad, it helps us win games.” Mistress leaned in close to Wendy’s ear. Ceri’s heart thudded as she saw Wendy’s eyes dilate. “It’s a secret,” whispered Mistress, just loud enough for Ceri to hear. “Would you like me to teach you it?”

Wendy trembled slightly, she shook her head. “I . . . no. This feels . . . something weird.”

Ceri could have burst. Wendy turned her head towards Ceri, her eyes looked confused. “Ceri? What do you . . . say?”

Mistress slid behind Wendy, her fingers traced the lines of Wendy’s hips. Wendy didn’t seem to notice, instead, her back arched. “Yes, Ceri, tell Wendy if you think she should do it?” Mistress smiled, showing all ten thousand of her sharpened fangs.

No, no, she’ll make you her slave.

“Yes, Wendy, it’s wonderful, just trust Mistress, you can trust her just like you trust me.”

Wendy relaxed. Ceri’s pussy creamed. She brought her hands down beneath the table, needy fingers twitching by her jean zipper.

Mistress reached up with her right hand and gently pulled back Wendy’s long blonde hair, so that she could press her lips close to Wendy’s left ear. She started murmuring to Wendy, too low for Ceri to hear, but the sweet, repetitive sounds made Ceri rub her thumbs against her clit through her pants.

“Nooo . . . ,” Wendy’s eyes fluttered, the lids opening and then falling closed as if struggling against an overwhelming force. Pride welled up inside Ceri.

“Ceri, tell Wendy, who you are,” said Mistress.

She shuddered on the brink of cumming, her voice husked, “I am an owned and obedient slut, I love my Mistress. Obeying Mistress makes me want to fuck. Fucking Mistress makes me want to obey. I am an owned and obedient . . . .”

Wendy’s eyes flew open, staring at Ceri. Her mouth formed a perfect circle. “Ceri . . . .”

Mistress’s fingers raised to trace the undersides of Wendy’s breasts, then up to the hard caps of Wendy’s nipples, standing out underneath the light red cloth. Wendy’s breath hissed in, her eyes shut.

“Yes,” said Mistress, “That feels so good doesn’t it, little Wendy? My fingers tracing around your big thick nipples like that, teasing and tracing, tracing and teasing. You’re feeling so very aroused now, aren’t you? So arousing, listening to Ceri tell you what an owned and obedient slut she is, your best friend Ceri who you trust sooo much, she feels soooo good obeying me. Just like you do when I tug and trace and tease, don’t you?”

Wendy’s neck arched, she nodded, “Yesss.”

Mistress eased the cups of Wendy’s dress to one side. Wendy didn’t need a bra. Even as aroused as she had already become, Ceri gasped as the sight of Wendy’s gorgeous naked breasts. “Stunning,” smiled Mistress, her fingers rose to squeeze Wendy’s flesh in long slow strokes that ended in tight sweeps over the tips of Wendy’s pink nipples. Mistress glanced at Ceri, “You can play with yourself, slut, but you’re going to get a spanking later.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Ceri slid her zipper down, thighs parting, fingers thrusting into her sodden panties. She bit her lip as she found the spot, hips jerking in a sharp spasm of pleasure.

Mistress had started whispering again in Wendy’s ear. Wendy nodded, half-words reaching to Ceri, making her jerk and cream. “Submit. Owned. Obey. Fuck. Cum. Slut. Slave.”

Wendy’s eyes opened, “I am an owned and obedient slut, I love my Mistress. Obeying Mistress makes me want to fuck. Fucking Mistress makes me want to obey.”

The shame of it made Ceri mewl.

Mistress clucked, “This is a library, Ceri, you can’t start being noisy. Wendy bend over the desk and use your tongue to keep Ceri quiet.”

“Yes, Mistress,” said Wendy. She bent over, breasts mashing against the wood and one of Ceri’s software tutorial books. Ceri saw Mistress lifting the back of Wendy’s dress with one hand, wetting two fingers in her mouth with the other. Then Wendy’s lips met Ceri’s and it all slipped away. Just the electric feel of Wendy’s tongue in her mouth, her own fingers playing in her hot cunt and the jerks running through Wendy’s body as Mistress’s fingers made Wendy cum.

Ceri woke up with a start. The morning light filtered in between the curtains of her bedroom.

Ceri finished running spell-check and then converted the doc to text before attaching it to the e-mail. She pressed send after noting the word length and thanking the webmaster for his time. She usually left it up to him to make up the synopsis, Ceri could never think of good ones.

That dream, she thought, it felt like it really happened. Just like always.

She’d started having them after graduation and had found turning them into online fiction a good way of getting the bug out of her system. After a while, Ceri’d just accepted that she’d developed a mind control fetish.

Anyway, she had more important worries. Wendy hadn’t answered her cell or returned the messages Ceri had left, which wasn’t like her at all.

Maybe, she’s just having an awesome time having lots of hot lesbian sex. For days on end.

Rather than feel sorry for herself, she decided to go out for a bike ride by the bay.

It’s not like her at all to not want to share though. Not at all.

Something’s wrong.

The thought came unbidden and she quashed it. Not appropriate. She couldn’t start projecting baseless fears onto Wendy’s new relationship like that.

Ceri let the bike roll down the hill, hugging the line of parked cars following the river bend. The wind stirred the line of trees running next to the river parkland. She turned into a street flanked by large red brick warehouses, planning on heading down towards the docks. A yellow cab pulled up ahead of her, opposite a white street door. A red van lay parked a little further way up the dingy street. As she passed the cab, a woman in dark glasses and a black polo neck with long raven hair running down her back got out. A blonde with a short bob in a brown overcoat got out behind her, holding the raven-haired woman’s hand.

Instinctive curiosity made Ceri stand up on the pedals for a second, flicking her head back to get a look at the cute couple before speeding on.

Wendy!

Truck!

“Fuck!”

The truck honked as the driver yanked the wheel violently, it swerved into the middle of the street. Ceri hit the side of the red van with her knee, coming to a hard stop. She heard the truck driver screaming thoroughly justified abuse in her direction as his vehicle faded into the distance.

She turned. The cab had pulled away from the sidewalk, following the truck. She saw the white door close on the street.

“No, Wendy! Oh, shit. Dammit. Ow.”

Her knee stung. Ceri hopped gingerly off the bike and wheeled it across the road. Checking carefully for on-coming traffic. The street stayed empty. Looking up, she could see large windows in the second storey. It looked like studio space. A couple of pink and blue night club fliers lay on the cracked concrete outside the door. The buzzer didn’t work.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Ceri propped her bike against the brick wall and fished her phone out of her waist bag. She got the voice-mail again.

“Please leave a message after the tone.”

“Hi, Wendy, it’s me, Ceri. You’re not going to believe this, but I just saw you with your, uh, girlfriend. I’m outside the apartment now in the street. Um, yeah, hit my knee on a van. Hah, uh, well, give me call! Lovyabye!”

Ceri put her cell back in the bag and re-zipped it. She shook out the sting in her knee. The studio windows had long black curtains, and that, and the reflection of light, obscured any chance to see inside.

“Great,” said Ceri to nobody in particular, “I’m becoming a stalker.”

If Wendy wanted to live her life without contacting her, well, she’d live with it. Her stomach felt hollow. She picked the bike off the wall and swung back on.

“Bye, Wendy, see you soon I hope.” Something had got in her eyes.

She kicked the pedals and had just reached the red van when she realized her phone had been buzzing.

“Omigod!” Ceri pulled over hard against the van, ignoring the sharp jab of protest from her knee. She scrabbled open the zipper and grabbed her cell. “Wendy, hi!”

“Who is this?”

Ceri didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. “Uh, this is Ceri, I’m Wendy’s best friend, uh, since college. Are you her girlfriend?”

“My name is Mallory,” said the woman.

“Oh, so pleased to talk to you, I, you know, just saw you two, and thought I’d call.”

“Wendy is tied up in something at the moment, can you come back in an hour?”

She suppressed a squeal, “Oh, yes! Absolutely! I’m going to bike ride by the bay, I can be back in an hour, sure. I’d love to meet you.”

“See you then.” The woman hung up.

She’s a little abrupt, thought Ceri, oh, well, I’m sure she’s nice. She better be or I’ll cut the bitch.

She chastised herself for her lack of charity as she pedaled off towards the bay with a sudden furious surge in velocity.