The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She thought idly about what she had in her closet, not because she was going to do what Stan had suggested and wear something tight and hot but just because she was thinking about it. She wasn’t really sure she had anything that was much more exciting than the skirt she’d worn today. And for tops…she did have some tighter things that Stan might like that she was thinking about but…

She found herself at Clothes Horse, a slightly edgy boutique, without really remembering driving herself there. She was not going to go in and then she was inside and was looking at a camisole top with a scoop neck and bunched fabric that hung down in a way that she didn’t really want to think about but was thinking about. There was a tight pencil skirt with a slit. And then there were a lot of…other outfits.

She put the tip of her middle finger in her mouth and looked at herself in the mirror at home. She was wearing a tied off half shirt which showcased a lot of cleavage thanks to a new push up bra. Her stomach was bare. The short, tartan schoolgirl skirt swished when she moved. She’d tied a ribbon in her hair. She looked like a (doll)—well, she didn’t exactly want to think about what she looked like.

She couldn’t wear this to the office, obviously. Though thinking about sashaying in and Jordana’s mouth dropping was oddly intense. Or thinking about Stan complimenting her. “I am glad you thought about being my doll, Carla. Good job,” he’d say. He’d give her a thumb’s up. Or maybe some other part of his anatomy would be up. She played with her hemline and made a pout for the mirror. She thought about…oh. Her fingers had gotten…past the hemline. And—had she forgotten to wear panties? She should lie down and think about what a bad girl she was for not wearing….

She gasped and thought about Stan saying “think about it” as her fingers teased her clit. Two slid inside. She came so hard she toppled over, and ended up in a mess on the floor. A mess in more than one sense. Her new skirt was not really new anymore. Which was probably for the best. She couldn’t wear it to work obviously. Not in its current state. Not at all! She didn’t know how she could even have been thinking about it.

She did have other options for tomorrow though. She’d bought quite a lot. She thought about calling Len and modelling them for him. Even though she’d just…well. But she was still revved up. So zoom sex with Len could be fun. But then she’d have to tell him how much she’d bought. She’d put a frightening dent in her college fund. “What were you thinking about?” he’d say.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m thinking about,” she said out loud to the mirror. She was naked now; she’d crawled to her feet again. She could see her erect nipples, the sheen of damp at her crotch. “I don’t know,” she said again. Though she was afraid she did.

She’d thought a lot about wearing a purple sparkling micro mini that was completely inappropriate and barely covered her butt cheeks. And by “barely” she meant it didn’t cover them. It wasn’t even acceptable for clubbing, much less for the office. She thought about dancing at the club and someone’s (Stan’s) hard cock pressed up against her ass. She thought about it so long she had to think about it some more on the bed with her fingers and it had made her late.

But she didn’t wear the micro mini. She had gotten control of her thoughts (clit) and had worn a flirty red skirt that was still too short but not too short. She’d topped it with that camisol top that showed a lot of cleavage. It was borderline acceptable if she wore a jacket over it. She had been planning to do so. Then her thoughts got caught thinking about the mini. And the fingers. And Stan looking at her cleavage. And her erect nipples which were not that well concealed when they were erect which they very much were. Especially as she saw all the stares from all the men (and a few women) as she walked to her desk, hips swaying in the 3-inch pumps, cleavage cleavaging without any sort of coverage from the jacket which she had forgotten.

Or decided not to wear. One of those. She couldn’t remember. Her head was whirling. She needed to go to the bathroom to calm down. Water on her face. Fingers in her.

After the first good, solid cum, she felt a lot better. After the third, she felt positively blissed out. She staggered out of the stall, with a sigh. The endorphins had quieted her brain all the way down. She wasn’t thinking about anything. Not a thing.

And in the absence of thinking about it, she thought, “I need to go home and never come back.”

She sat at her desk, blinking. There was paperwork. She didn’t want to do it. She sort of wanted to see Stan. He’d been at a big meeting and not in his office. He should be coming back soon. And he would like her skirt. And the top. Or the lack of it.

But also seeing him was (dangerous) a bad idea. He was…there was something wrong. She should be angrier at him. He was sexually harassing her. Wasn’t he? Somehow the thought made her bits twinge, which didn’t seem possible after she’d fucked herself so thoroughly, and yet there it was.

Something was wrong. She needed money, yes, but. She’d just blown much of her savings to dress like a tart for her boss. Whatever was happening, she needed to get out. Now.

She stood up, looking for the jacket. Then she remembered she didn’t have it because she’d wanted everyone to see her tits. The thought made her nipples hard. Which reminded her she needed to leave.

And just then Stan came in. And stopped dead.

“Wow,” he said. “That’s…” His eyes appeared to be glued to her cleavage. “Holy shit.”

She tried to brush past him but she had been thinking about this moment a lot and it was hard to think about anything else.

“Do you like the bow in my hair? It reminded me of a doll. I…I’m not feeling well. I should go,” someone said. She realized it was her.

Stan’s eyes were very much not on the bow. He seemed to be trying to memorize her legs. She stifled an impulse to turn for him so he could see her back. And her butt. “I don’t feel…” she said again.

He didn’t look up, but he did manage to sound at least mildly concerned. “Well…uh. What’s the problem? Do you…I have Tylenol in my desk, I think?”

“No,” she said. She was thinking about turning around and making a show of looking in her desk so she could bend over. Stan’s gaze had shifted to her chest again. Her nipples were completely engorged now; they felt like they were going to pop. “I don’t have a headache. It’s…it’s kind of personal. I just really need to go.”

“Oh,” Stan said. He sounded disappointed. And then, for the first time he looked up and he smiled, as if he’d suddenly remembered something truly wonderful. His whole face was transfigured. Though not exactly in a good way.

“Well,” he said. “I understand that you don’t want to talk to your boss about personal issues. But, you should know you can trust me. You can trust me absolutely. I’m not just your boss. I’m your best friend. I’m here for you. You can tell me anything, no matter how embarrassing, and I’ll never betray you. You know talking to me will make things much better, right?”

Carla knew nothing of the sort. Stan had been sexually harassing her and sizing her up like a piece of meat. Also he was her boss. She absolutely could not tell him she had finger-fucked herself into near catatonia in the bathroom while thinking about him looking at her ass. As just one example of things she could not tell him.

Also, Len was her best friend, obviously, not Stan. She’d trust Jordana more than Stan, for that matter, and she barely knew Jordana.

Oddly, his massively inappropriate reassurances had made her feel more like herself, somehow. Stan was being a dipshit. That was normal. That was the status quo she expected. He was trying to manage her with all this business speak “you can trust me” gobbledygook because he was a loser who didn’t know how to handle a sick employee. She would dismiss him and leave and (never come back) get on with her life. It was all good. Or not good. But sort of normal bad. A bad she could handle.

She blinked her eyes and gave him the look of gratitude she knew guys expected from their subordinates. “Thanks, Stan, but…I think I just need to get out of here. I’ll feel better tomorrow, I’m sure.”

He nodded. He was still smiling. He actually took her hand. “Okay,” he said. “But…you can trust me. You know you can. Just think about it.”

“Yeah,” said Len. “I hate it when the boss tries to be your friend. Though I guess it’s better than when they are actively trying to destroy you.”

“I…I don’t know if it’s better?” Carla said. She was still wearing the camisole top and there was still a lot of cleavage. Len had obviously noticed, though unlike Stan he was able to look at her face occasionally as he tried to validate her work stress.

“You’d prefer outright hostility to false condescension?” Len said. “How dare you, you bad employee!? You are fired immediately!” He paused. “Did that work?”

It had worked rather too well, Carla was afraid. She’d been thinking about Stan dressing her down and then Len had pretended to dress her down and now, down below, she was…thinking. Or leaking. One of those. She took a breath. Len’s eyes drifted down to the cleavage again.

“It’s…it’s not that he thinks he’s my friend that’s weird,” she said. “It’s that I felt like he was trying to convince me that I could trust him. Like he thought he could get me to tell him what was wrong.”

“Well, yeah,” Len said. “Bosses pretend they’re your friend so they can have more control over you.” He paused. “What was wrong, by the way?”

Carla thought about masturbating furiously in the work bathroom before she’d seen Stan. Then she thought about masturbating furiously in the work bathroom after she’d seen Stan. She thought about her shopping trip and the purple micro mini and fantasizing about someone in the office, anyone in the office, rolling it up her hips and fucking her until she couldn’t see. She thought about how Len was her best friend and she should be able to tell him anything and how she was worried he wasn’t going to be her best friend for long.

She licked her lips. “It was…it was nothing. I just had a headache. And was sick of being at work.”

“Well, not too long and you’ll have saved up enough for college and be out of there,” he said, encouragingly. He was looking again. “So…not feeling up to the zoom sex?” He put a little whine in his voice, which was cute because he was joking and also because obviously he wasn’t joking.

She was still really horny. And here was her boyfriend, eager to get her off. She could watch him play with himself and play with herself and cum. Again.

As she lay in bed, wondering why she hadn’t, she kept thinking about Stan. She didn’t want to tell Stan about her boyfriend and zoom sex. She didn’t want to tell him how horny she was all the time now. She didn’t want to tell him that she was thinking about quitting work because he was making her cum over and over and it was freaking her out.

And of course she didn’t have to tell him anything. She didn’t trust him. He didn’t have anything to do with her not having zoom sex or the fact that she couldn’t stop finger fucking herself.

She wasn’t going to tell him anything. She kept thinking about telling him so.