The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I woke up only seconds away from an orgasm. That was the first surprise.

My hands had latched onto my naked tits, pinching and pulling both nipples at once. My areolae were pale pink and puffed-up, ending in two darker pink points that had never before been this full, sensitive, or erect. Under the sheet, which was covering me only below my waist, I felt myself bucking and thrusting, as if matching the actions of an invisible lover.

Another moment, and my hips lifted, my pussy spasmed, and I shrieked. Repeatedly. While still clutching my B-cup beauties and squeezing my nipples in what should have been a very painful manner.

After I-don’t-know-how-long, my string of climaxes stopped, and with a final shudder, I was able to release my aching tits from their captivity. They were red and somewhat raw, and I could see bruises forming at the top of both breasts, where my thumbs had each pressed a bit too hard, for a little too long.

It finally penetrated my consciousness that I was lying in a wet spot of my own damn making, and that I really needed to clean myself up and get to the bathroom anyway. So I whipped the sheet off of my lower half, and that’s when I discovered my second surprise.

I was bare-ass naked. Not even so much as a thong. And I almost never went to bed naked, and sure as hell hadn’t done so last night. Furthermore, the goddamn sheets were fucking drenched with my sweat and secretions, which meant that I would have to wash them all later.

For some reason, this turned me on. I wanted to sleep naked, and I wanted to perform domestic chores.

Huh? What the fuck was wrong with me?

And why couldn’t I remember whatever crazy dream had caused this?

As I tried to figure out what was going on, I glanced at the alarm clock, and received my third surprise of the morning. It was just after 6:30 a.m.! I was wide awake at least 30 minutes before the first buzzer—and I’m normally the gal whose snooze button comes with a snooze button!

I desperately needed a cleanup, so after moving the dirty sheets to the hamper, I grabbed a big towel and headed for the bathroom that Stuart Wilcox and I shared. I didn’t bother with a bathrobe, of course—Stu’s job had him out the door by six on weekdays, but it also meant he was usually home in time to whip up dinner.

With today being Friday, I knew I pretty much had to be out the door by 8:10 in order to be in by nine. But I was up, and way too goddamn perky, a full hour earlier than I was used to. By the time I’d traveled the whole ten steps to the bathroom door, I had decided to treat myself to a full bath and grooming, including shaving the stubble from my slender legs.

Let me tell you a bit about myself. My name is Bridget Kathleen Quinn O’Shea; can you guess where my grandparents came from? Most of my friends just call me Bee. I turned twenty-two last month, and I’m working as a paralegal for a mid-sized office downtown. I am five-foot-two and 95 pounds after a big meal, with the expected long frizzy red hair and china-white skin. No freckles, though; thank the High Almighty for small favors.

I’ve known Stu since middle school; we’d gone on dates once or twice, but had never really hooked up. He’s a great guy, chubby-cute and safe to be around, and when he told me last month that he’d found a two-bedroom first-floor rental, in a private home less than two blocks from the subway, I jumped at the chance to move out and let Donald (my oldest younger brother) finally have his own room.

I put my bath towel down on the counter, and set the taps to medium-hot. By the time I’d finished taking care of business (peeing, brushing my teeth, and whatnot), the tub was ready; so I poured in some soap, grabbed my razor and lotion, and got in.

After a quick dunking, I grabbed the loofah and started lathering up. It felt even better than usual, as if my skin was still extra-sensitive from earlier. The caress of the soft sponge across my skin was arousing me as much as one of my ex-boyfriend’s backrubs; and as soon as I brought it across my beauties, I nearly jumped out of my skin! A quick touch already had me just as aroused as before, with a double nipple erection that didn’t feel like it was going anywhere any time soon!

Confused and horny, I put the loofah down and picked up the razor. The water was hot enough that I didn’t need any lotion—and besides, I didn’t exactly trust my response right then to rubbing up my own legs. No luck, though. Even gliding the razor over my legs had me squirming against the bottom of the tub.

Under the thrall of my own arousal, I decided to try something else I’d never done before. I perched my ass on the edge of the tub and spread my legs wide, and brought the safety blade to my pubic mound. Carefully avoiding my engorged clit, I scraped away at my curly red bush, until all that was left was a one-inch triangle, coming to a point about a half-inch above the top of my glistening pussy.

Dropping myself back into the tub (and the razor onto the bathroom floor), I gently thumbed my still-erect and still-sore nipples, while rubbing my clit really hard and thrusting two fingers into my sopping pussy. It took me maybe fifteen seconds to come; twenty more seconds for it to ease up; and another minute to repeat the whole damn thing!

I had a sneaking suspicion about what was happening, or maybe my subconscious was trying to clue me in somehow. So after draining the tub, and taking a quick shower to rinse off and do my hair, I grabbed the towel and started patting myself dry. Sure enough, as soon as I touched my tits, I felt myself getting horny again. The longer I touched, and the harder I rubbed, the hornier I got.

What the fuck? I couldn’t go in to work like that. Every touch, every brushing of my clothes against my boobs, would drive me crazier and crazier; by the end of the day, I would be pretty much constantly in the executive washroom, and probably getting fired to boot! Couldn’t have that, so I called Deb at home, claiming really bad cramps. Fortunately, the workload was light; Deb said she’d cover, but I owed her one.

With that out of the way, and an unexpected extra bundle of energy, I decided to wash the sheets. I put on my extra-long Betty Boop nightshirt and granny panties, gathered everything up, and headed down the stairs.

Big mistake. Huge mistake! By the time I’d made it down to the laundry room, the ever-so-slight jiggling of my tits under my nightshirt had gotten me all worked up again. I turned on the hot water, tossed in too much soap, and stuffed the sheets in as quickly as I could, growling softly. I was all set to fly upstairs and grab ‘Old Buzz’ from the bottom of my sock drawer, when I had a truly wicked idea.

I spun the dial, setting the machine to extra-long wash, and switched the water to warm so it would fill up faster. After an agonizing two minutes, the washer started pulsing as the dual agitators kicked in. I was ready; in fact, I had already been rubbing my clit against one corner, right through my shirt and panties, in anticipation.

Heaven! My nipples were gun turrets; I pulled at them right through my nightshirt. That, and the powerful throbbing of the washing machine, brought me off in under a minute. By the time the extra-long wash had run its course, twelve minutes later, I’d had three more orgasms, and my shirt and panties had joined the sheets inside the machine.

Naked and happy, I crawled back upstairs to clean myself up again. The next few hours were a blur. I know I ate breakfast, naked; put the clothes in the dryer, naked; took a quick nap on a clean bath towel, naked; woke up horny and made friends with Old Buzz, still naked; ate lunch, naked except for an apron; brought the sheets up and put them back on the bed, back to all-the-way naked; vacuumed, dusted, did the dishes, all without benefit of clothes; took a quick shower (obviously naked), and then retired to my room for another nap, still in my birthday suit. It wasn’t that I couldn’t wear clothes, exactly. It was that I was just barely this side of too-fucking-horny, and any extra stimulation would have pushed me right off the fucking cliff.

I woke up—still horny, but fortunately not cumming—when I heard the click of the front lock. It was about twenty after four; Stu was home. With a start, I realized that I hadn’t locked my door; there was nothing (except his manners) stopping him from barging right in. And half of me wanted him to do just that. What the hell was going on here? I couldn’t even muster the willpower to pull up the sheets, even far enough to cover my naughty bits!

He must have seen my car still in front of the house, because almost the first thing he did was knock on my door. “Bee? Are you okay?”

I had to use my pillow to stifle a moan. I wanted to shout, “Get in here!” or “Take me!” or something like that, and it took every ounce of strength to hold back my tongue. “I’m fine!” I called out instead. “Woman thing, is all!” He seemed to accept that, and asked me if I was up for Chinese. I told him to order whatever, not trusting my voice or my willpower to a long conversation, and five minutes later he yelled back that it would be here in another thirty.

Half an hour before I had to face him. In a daze, I tried to decide on what to wear. But the fact that he was home, the very man-ness of him, seemed to short-circuit my brain. I’d intended to throw Betty back on, this time with a tight bra and loose sweatpants, on the theory that less jiggle meant less stimulation. Instead, when the doorbell finally rang, I discovered that I had put on my sexiest lingerie instead, a lavender satin-and-lace bra and panty set. The satin parts were cold and smooth, and the embroidered lace stimulated the tops of both nipples, and was rubbing against the freshly-shaven and still-raw skin just above my pulsing clit. I’d covered everything with a silk top, sheer enough to show off the color of my bra and my obvious tittie hard-on, and a tight blue denim skirt whose length was somewhere between mini and micro.

In the ten seconds between realizing what I’d just put on and hearing Stu calling me to the kitchen, I blushed, started to change outfits, changed my mind instead, took a deep shuddering breath, felt my clit throb and my nipples pound, and steeled myself to face my roommate and not rip into his clothes right off.

I succeeded, at least that far, though I almost lost it when he looked up at me while spooning out the fried rice. His eyes widened in shocked surprise at my outfit, and I almost—very almost—jumped him right there. I quickly scooted over to my chair, and practically forced myself to sit down and concentrate on the food.

Stu finished divvying up the boneless ribs and mixed veggies, trying to avoid staring at me. It turned me on even more to know for sure that he still had the hots for me. At the same time, however, being in his presence was somehow almost calming. I was still ragingly horny, and I still didn’t understand why, but I felt like I could make it through the meal. It was as if someone had pushed the pause button, and I was waiting for everything to start up again.

Finally he sat down too, and was able to look me in the eyes again. His were brown, I noticed; a deep-chocolate brown at least as dark as his short hair and full goatee. We ate, and we talked. He told me about his day at work, and except for commenting on the cleaning job I’d done, didn’t pester me about staying home. A perfect gentleman, Stuart is. He’d probably assumed that I’d meant something else by ‘woman problems,’ and had decided not to pry. If he’d asked anything more personal, I don’t know if I would’ve found the strength to not answer him.

We’d each had a glass of white wine with dinner; by unspoken agreement, Stu took the bottle and our glasses into the living room while I cleaned up. But tonight, even just throwing out the paper plates and wiping down the table seemed to take on a new dimension. My earlier feelings of arousal were back, and I realized it wasn’t really doing the chores that was turning me on—it was the idea of pleasing Stu. And with that, I could finally remember that morning’s dream, and I knew what I had to do next.

Trembling with need, I sashayed into the living room, and planted myself on the couch where Stu was, about a foot closer than I usually did. My tittie hard-ons were back, I could feel them tenting my blouse right through my bra. Stuart was too much of a gentleman to do more than quickly glance down at them; but as soon as he looked up into my face, our eyes locked, and the tip of my tongue touched my lips. I was radiating desire in waves, and I didn’t have to dip my hand into my snatch to know that it was leaking again.

Accepting my glass of white wine, I said, “Thank you.” Then, as if someone else had taken control of my mouth, I quickly blurted out, “There’s something I have to tell you. The real reason I stayed home today is that I was too fucking horny to go to work.”

His breath caught, and his eyes flared. Glancing down quickly, I could see the outline of his cock forming quickly beneath his slacks. I was thrilled; my boldness had gotten me the response I’d wanted. Stu chose to say nothing, always the gentleman, instead listening attentively as I continued.

I told him about waking up ready to explode, about all the chores I’d done and why I did them, and about how I’d barely stopped myself from calling him into my room earlier. He shifted position twice, and his breathing got faster, but he wisely didn’t interrupt.

I summed up my feelings during dinner, then added, “And then I realized I could finally remember what had woken me up this morning. I’d been dreaming, and in my dream you had taken control of me and made me cum.”

In all our time as friends, I had never been this forward! Stu finally overcame his stunned silence long enough to ask, “What do you mean, took control? Me? How? I never—I hope you don’t think—”

He was so sweet in his confusion! I put my finger to his lips. “Of course I don’t think you did anything, sweetie. This feels more like, well, like me, I guess.” I pressed my finger against his mouth before he could interrupt again. “What I mean is, it feels like my own subconscious desires may have done this to me. I’ve always fantasized about, well, you know, letting some guy take advantage of me like this. And I think I may have finally just told myself to, to, give in, I guess. I trust you, you know.”

His two hands clasped mine gently, pulling my finger away just enough to let him speak. “You trust me? But you just had a dream about letting me do things to you against your will! I don’t get it.”

I pulled my hand out of his; like a gentleman, he let go instantly. I smiled, cupped my hand around the back of his head, and pulled him toward me for a gentle kiss. He tasted like white wine. “But that’s exactly why I felt I could give myself to you, Stu! Because I trust you. Even if I turn myself over to you, you’ll treat me like a lady. Some of those goddamn assholes I’d been seeing would have sold me into white slavery if I’d offered them this chance. Understand, now?”

He exhaled sharply, his mouth still inches from mine. “I guess.” He kissed me again, still not quite with tongue, but definitely more forcefully than before. My pussy pulsed and my nipples jumped. I stroked the back of his neck until he pulled away. “Bee? Can you tell me more about what happened in your dream?”

“I’d love to!” I smiled warmly, and he smiled back. I settled back on the couch, taking a small gulp of wine and a deep breath.

“I can’t remember how the dream began, so I don’t know everything for sure. What I do remember is that we were here, in the living room, but there was a working fireplace where the mantle is. I think that you—in the dream—might have used the fire to put me into a trance.

“I remember wanting you, desiring you. Loving you. I wanted to serve you, to do whatever you said. And my body was super-sensitive to pleasure, especially all my secret spots: my nipples, throat, inner thighs, even the base of my spine.” Even though I needed to tell him everything, I still blushed as I revealed some of my seduction secrets. Armed with that list, Stu could have had me anyway, any time, even without the help of the dream!

“You told me to fall in love with you; which, by the way, I think I really have. You told me that I would be horny when I was around you, and even when I was just thinking of you. I would find you attractive—which I do—and would want to obey you anyway. But then you gave me a special phrase, one that would force me to do anything you told me to. Once you said that phrase, my will—I don’t know, got buried, I guess—and I had to do whatever you told me to. Even eat sushi.”

Stu smiled at that; he knew how much I hated fish. “Did I really make you do that?”

My own lust was betraying me; I took another shaky gulp of wine. “You did. And you made me like it. You even told me that that was sort of what a woman tasted like.” I looked down; sure enough, his bulge had gotten bigger. Fair enough; my pussy had gotten wetter.

I knew had to finish this story, so that I could finally be released, and then get release. The last few words came out in a rush. “You ordered me to strip, and then to blow you. I did, and you tasted as wonderful as you looked. You saw my red pubic hair, and told me to get rid of most of it before the next time you saw me—which I did, this morning, by the way,” I added, blushing harder. Stu was squirming now. “Then you ordered me to cum. I was in the middle of obeying that command when I woke myself up.”

Stu had lost the battle with self-restraint; his eyes had gone all glassy, and his hand was rubbing his package through his slacks. I wanted to take over for him, but there was one more thing I needed to tell him. I waited for him to ask.

He didn’t disappoint me. “What was the phrase, Bee? You know, the one that ... forced you to do whatever I said?”

I tried not to tell him, just to see if I could. It was no use. I whispered, “W-willing submission.”

“And would it really work, now I mean?” he panted. “I just say, ‘willing submission,’ and you become my love slave?”

“Ohh,” I moaned, hearing the words pass his lips for the first time in reality. “I become your love slave.”

A warm fog had settled over my mind, kind of like being completely wrapped in warm cotton. I could still see, still feel everything, still remember. But I knew that one word from Stu, and I could be made to forget what had happened, and even what was about to happen. I hoped, deep within my dulled mind, that he didn’t make me forget; my fantasy had finally come true, and I wanted to enjoy this.

Stu wasn’t completely convinced; I could see it in his eyes. I understood that; I don’t think I would have believed such a bullshit story myself, if I’d heard it coming from someone else. So I knew he was going to test me, and I was looking forward to passing whatever test he came up with.

Again he didn’t disappoint. “If you’re really my slave now, Bee, then I guess you wouldn’t mind showing me what you’re wearing underneath that sexy outfit, right?”

I was moving before he’d finished his sentence. “Of course not, my master, my love.” Standing in front of him, I sexily unbuttoned my blouse, letting him get a peek at my barely-covered nipples, threatening to poke their way right through the lavender lace. Instead of taking my blouse off, I left it on but wide open, turning my attention to unzipping and wriggling out of my short denim skirt. The rolling motions I made with my lower half served to get my tits shimmying as well. The cool satin played against my skin, making me even hornier, as I finally got the blue denim over my hips, where I let it bind my legs together, halfway down my smooth white thighs.

Completely without shame, I presented myself to my new master: blouse unbuttoned, denim skirt halfway off, my lavender lingerie completely exposed. Stu was obviously horny; his slacks were the only thing holding back his manhood. When it became obvious that I wasn’t going any further, he finally asked, “Why’d you stop there?”

“I did exactly what you asked me to, Master Stu. I’m showing you what I’m wearing underneath my sexy outfit.” I couldn’t move very well, but I would have been happy to pose for him all day. The growing dark purple stain at the bottom of my panties showed him just how happy I was.

“I see. So as my slave, you have to literally do whatever I say?”

“If that is what you wish, my master. I can be perfectly literal, or I can use whatever judgment you permit me.”

“And if I permitted you full judgment, right now? What would you decide to do?”

I glanced at his cock, deliciously rampant beneath the tan cotton. “I would finish undressing myself, and then I would undress you, Master Stu. Then I would mount you and fuck you until we both came.”

He laughed, and that made me happy. “I like your judgment, Bee. Let’s do that.”

“Yes, sir!” I scooted happily out of my top clothes, then reached up to unclasp my front-hook bra. As I peeled it back, I saw my master’s eyes widen, and another rush of hunger swept through me. Dropping it quickly, I all but yanked my own panties off—and they’d cost me fifty dollars!—in my haste to unwrap Master Stu.

He inhaled sharply as he saw my shaved mound for the first time. The little triangle was flame-red, as were my swollen inner lips, engorged and visible—and damn slick, I should add. Had he asked me to, I would have paused and posed; but since he didn’t, I attacked his clothes with the same vigor I’d applied to my own.

His maroon polo-style shirt was the first to go, as together we yanked it over his head. It exposed his hairy chest and somewhat-full belly; I thought he was absolutely perfect. Moving quickly, I flipped open his belt and slid his tan slacks straight off, along with his boxer-briefs—in my haste, I couldn’t even have told you what color they were. His musk slammed into my nostrils, however; I felt my cunt flex with need, forcing precious juices down the insides of my thighs.

He’d already taken off his shoes, so I just pulled his black socks off, turning them inside-out in the process. Pushing the clothes onto the floor and out of the way, I straddled him, practically slamming my pussy onto his vertical monster.

I don’t think it took us ten seconds. He didn’t even have time to reach up and fondle me, and I didn’t have time to care. As soon as I felt his seed explode inside my walls, I lost it. My back arched, my PC muscles kicked in, and I rode the crest of my climax for all I was worth.

As I came down from my orgasmic high, it took a few moments for me to notice that someone was yelling and moaning; it took a few more before I figured out that it was me. The old me would have blushed, and demanded to pack up and move out of embarrassment. But Bee the slave had no shame. Bee the slave would happily do it again, with an audience, out on the front steps—of the police station.

I allowed myself to collapse on top of my master’s sweaty chest. After all, he had said I could use my full judgment, and I judged that I wanted to feel him next to me, skin to skin. He obviously had no complaints, since his strong arms wrapped around me in a gentle, secure hug. I nuzzled him, whispering, “I love you, Master Stu.” He responded by squeezing me a bit tighter. “I love you too, Bee. I think I always have.” That made me so happy to hear that!

We lay there for a bit, breathing hard together, his deflating cock still inside my pussy, along with quite a bit of his cream. Though I knew that all he had to do was command it and I would be willing to carry his child, deep down I was glad that I was on the pill. That way, our fun could continue without a baby getting in the way.

After a few moments more, I felt my lover and master take a deep breath, kiss me on the forehead, and suggest, “Why don’t we move this party to my room?”

“Good idea, master!” I gushed.

In more ways than one.