The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Terry hung up the phone, her whole body shaking. She sat down in the chair next to the table, the chair she and Kyle had bought together a month after they met. She stood up, walked over to the window, pulled open the drapes that Kyle always hated, but they’d never bothered replacing after they moved in together. She turned, stared across the room at the Olivia print that Kyle had insisted in hanging where it could not be missed the instant anyone walked into the apartment. The woman in the print, slinky and submissive, returned Terry’s baleful stare with a sardonic grin.

She sat down again, stood up again, unable to control her shaking, wanting to say something, do something, yell something, anything to release the tension. She looked down at the pad next to the phone: Dry-cleaning, pay gas bill, call Joan to let her know I’m staying with her tonight. She restrained an impulse to write “Break up with Kyle” on the next blank line, and walked into the bedroom, just to feel herself move.

The bedroom was full of Kyle: the little fish-shaped dish he had gotten her to hold her stud earrings; the picture of the two of them (last Christmas, happy as clams) grinning stupidly in front of someone’s refrigerator, tucked into the mirror; trashy lingerie she’d only worn once, the night after he bought each piece (lots of that, she had scattered it to and fro as she was packing her suitcase).

She sat down the bed, suddenly drained of her nervous energy. Why didn’t she just leave a note? She had planned to handle it that way for the last week, when she made her silent decision to leave. Why did she have to call him, ask him when he was coming home, using the classic code of the disgruntled woman. “We have to talk. No, not now. When you get home. Loveyoutoobyeclick.”

It’s not like I didn’t know he was having an affair, she told herself for the thousandth time. I knew. I knew he couldn’t keep it in his pants when I moved in with him. We never talked about it, but it was just one of those things. Don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t worry. But he promised, she contradicted herself. He promised he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. And I made him promise that he wouldn’t bring anyone else into our bed, and he promised that, too. I didn’t make him promise anything else, just that. I could deal with anything else, anything besides that.

She reached into the open suitcase, fished out the black lace bra, holding a strap between thumb and forefinger gingerly. She turned back and forth. Who’s is this? she wondered, yet again. Janet? Dinah? Connie? Felicia? None of them are big enough for this monster, she thought with a sneer; I never knew he liked fat chicks.

She mentally slapped her own wrist, dropping the offending article back into the suitcase. Don’t get nasty, girl, she reprimanded herself. Focus on Kyle, she thought, as she had been thinking all week. Whoever he was schtupping isn’t the problem, Kyle is. He must know what’s going on; there’s no way that whoever made her hasty escape, leaving her bra behind like a glass slipper, wouldn’t have called Kyle, who would have looked for it, and who wouldn’t have found it because I found it first and stuffed it into my purse, and then he’d know it was all over.

Terry flopped back on the bed with a sigh. He wouldn’t know it was over, she told herself; don’t be stupid. He’d assume he could explain, apologize, grovel, and she’d forgive him, and that would be that. It had worked a hundred times before, why not now? There was no reason it shouldn’t, except... except that she was tired of it. Tired of the game of making up, pretending it would be OK, but it was never OK, it never would be OK, he wouldn’t change, and she should get that through her thick skull. And then she should call Joan, and tell her that she’ll be doing it, that she’ll be sleeping there tonight.

She picked up the phone, punched in Joan’s number. The machine picked up, again; she left a message, again. Please, Joan, call back, she begged silently; I don’t want to just sleep in a hotel tonight.

The sudden ringing of the door bell nearly made her fall off the bed. She walked back to the living room, composing herself. With a deep breath, she yanked open the door. Joan was standing there, smiling broadly; Terry could have dropped to her knees and kissed Joan’s feet from relief.

“Oh, God, Joan, I didn’t mean you had to come out here!” Terry started.

Joan just nodded, her brown eyes deep with understanding. “I know, Terry. But I had to come over anyway.” Terry stared without comprehension at her friend, her best friend since grade school. “What do you mean?” she asked Joan, but Joan just walked into the apartment without a word, brushing past Terry. Joan walked into the hallway, Terry trailing behind. By the time Terry had reached the doorway out of the living room, Joan had emerged from the bedroom, carefully folding the bra, her bra, with deliberation, her expression thoughtful.

Terry turned on her heels and ran back into the living room, collapsing onto the couch, huge sobs racking her chest. She couldn’t think of anything to say; why did it have to be Joan, Joan of all people! Anyone else, she could have handled, anyone else, it wouldn’t have mattered. She could hear Joan’s heels click on the floor, stop near the center of the room, but she couldn’t look up, couldn’t say anything.

After a moment, Joan began again, voice soft but firm. “Terry, we have to talk.” Terry just shook her head, tears soaking into the nubby fabric of the couch (Kyle liked furniture with nubby fabric). Joan continued, “Kyle will be over soon. We need to talk before then.” Terry looked up, more puzzled than upset. “What... how do you know? What is going on between you and Kyle?” As she blinked away tears, she could see that Joan had reached into her purse, pulled out something, a black tube, like a small flashlight. Terry gave another sob, and shoved herself upright. “Wha.. what’s that?” she asked, still not quite willing to believe it was Joan, it had been Joan all the time.

Joan pushed a button on the tube, and light flashed out of the end, brighter than a flash on a camera, brighter than anything Terry had ever seen before. Not just brighter, different. Suddenly stunned, unable to react, Terry just stared at Joan; there was no after-image at all, despite how bright the light had been. She tried to talk, but couldn’t; she felt drained, immobile. Joan walked forward; Terry tried to track her with her eyes, but she could only stare directly ahead, right where she had been looking when the flash went off. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that Joan wasn’t wearing a bra. That must hurt, Terry thought abstractly; Joan always did have the biggest breasts of any of my friends.

Joan knelt down next to Terry on the floor, and turned the light back on, playing it over Terry’s eyes. “Terry, you never thought that Kyle was so successful with women because of his charms, did you?” Sweep, blink. “He’s nice enough, but he’s always had some help.” Sweep, blink. “You’re probably the only woman in the last ten years that got involved with him just because he was charming.” Sweep, blink. With each sweep, Terry could feel a piece of her mind get erased, like an eraser sweeping over a blackboard. No, not her mind; she was still Terry, she still knew everything she did before, she still was everything she was before. Something else was going, something else was disappearing with each sweep. Sweep, blink.

Joan’s voice had gotten sultry, throaty. “It was fun while it lasted, Terry. You know, you being just a girlfriend.” Sweep, blink. “Kyle really doesn’t like being dumped, so he sent me over to talk to you first.” Sweep, blink. “Time to join the rest of us, Terry.”

That’s it, Terry realized, her thoughts suddenly clear. Sweep, blink. It’s my will that’s going away. Soon, I won’t have any will at all. For some reason, that thought was not particularly bothersome, just a fact, like a plane crash in a distant country. Unfortunate, but irrelevant.

Joan’s voice was right next to her ear, her breath hot on Terry’s skin. “Kyle likes his women slutty, Terry. Whorish. Obedient. Submissive. Ready to fuck all the time, since he’s ready to fuck all the time. You’re not like that now, but you will be.” Terry could feel herself get wet. “You’re going to be Kyle’s slave, Terry. One of many.” Terry just nodded, feeling herself become ready to be molded, transformed... and she knew that Joan knew just how do that. She gave a soft moan, and leaned back as Joan’s free hand started stroking her hair, the light still playing across her eyes.

Kyle walked into the bedroom, a smile on his face at the scene in front of him. Joan was propped up against the headboard, her fingers stroking the small, hard nipples crowning her dark areolae. Terry’s head was busy between Joan’s legs; her ass held up high, waiting, offering. Kyle’s blue eyes gleamed as he started unbuttoning his shirt. “How did your talk with Terry go?” he asked Joan, his voice light.

“Just fine... aaah, that’s it, Terry, that’s perfect,” Joan gasped out. “Terry still wants to talk, but... aoooh, yes, that’s it, do it... but not now. She shouldn’t talk when her mouth is... aaah... full.”

Terry didn’t get a word out before Kyle’s cock slid into her pussy, but her moan was more eloquent than any words.