The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Yes Master.”

It had just sort of slipped out at the dinner party. They had played earlier that day. So, when Will had asked her to pour him coffee, her mouth had said it without her brain consciously telling it to.

Of course, the party’s attendees were greatly bemused by their hostess’ accidental revelation of an intimate detail. Before the guests had even gone home, the juicy anecdote had already spread through the overlapping network of Facebook and WhatsApp groups which served as the neighborhood’s main vector of gossip. By Helen’s visit to the mall the next morning, she had been trailed by whispers and poorly concealed giggles. She had fled the place after grabbing only a few essentials, her face beet red.

In fact, she was still blushing that evening, when she arrived at her friend’s house for a previously planned small gathering of friends.

“Oh come on now,” Morielle Nguyen reassured her. “Sure, it’s embarrassing, but it’s not like it’s anything to be ashamed of. People gossip all the more when it’s about something they don’t want to admit to doing themselves, you know.”

Helen dug her face out of her hands and looked up at Morielle. “You think so?”

“Of course! It’s normal. Everyone does it.” She’d grown up in France—though her father was Vietnamese, her mother was French—and actually still spoke with an accent. (Helen suspected her of maintaining it on purpose.) Especially on sexual matters, she spoke with a natural confidence that made Helen trust her instinctively. She was also her best friend.

“So does that mean that you also, uh...” She got caught in her words and trailed off.

Morielle picked up immediately, “... call my husband master sometimes? Of course! Monsieur, sometimes, when he’s feeling exotic.” She flashed her a broad smile, a naughty glint in her eyes.

Helen’s skin was already beginning to return to her normal skin tone. “Thank you,” she said.

The next morning, Helen was loading the dishwasher and humming a little tune when Will came in.

“It’s good to see you feeling better,” he remarked. “I’m glad you talked to Morielle.”

“Thank you,” Helen said.

He gave her a peck on the forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said. She pulled him in for a longer kiss and embraced him.

They held each other for a bit.

“Plus,” Will said once they’d let go of each other. He had a bit of a mischievous grin. “It would be a real shame to lose the use of my best servant.”

She blushed and gently punched him on the arm. He rubbed her head in response, but ceased suddenly and just held her hair. “I know I’ve said it before, but you would look really good as a platinum blonde.” There was a hint of desire in the way he emphasized “really.“

Helen put on a faux-innocent smile in response. “Are you telling me that as my husband or as Master?” she asked.

His eyes brightened. “You’d like that, huh?” he asked, giving her head another rub. “Being ordered to dye them.“

She blushed again.

“Am I wrong, my pet?”

She gave his arm another push and shooed him to the door. “Come now, silly man. You’re late for work.” There was some more back and forth, and a lot of laughter, but she did finally get him to go. She managed to never answer his question though.

The matter stuck with her throughout the morning. She’d never before seriously considered dying her hair, but it suddenly seemed very tempting. She went back and forth for a while, but eventually decided it would be a nice change of pace and called her hairdresser. Being a friend, he gave her an appointment the evening of that very same day.

On leaving the hair salon, she ran into Morielle, whom she ended up confessing the whole story to. They agreed to wander the mall together for a bit. “It is no trouble,” Morielle had said. “I wanted to buy a few toys for monsieur anyway.” She’d had the same glint in her eyes again.

“So you really think it’s normal then?” Helen asked a bit later.

“Of course!” Morielle exclaimed. “Everyone does it. Just look at those girls over there. You

think they’re wearing those for fashion?” She pointed at two young women who were walking past them. At first glance they appeared to be wearing hoodies over black dresses. On closer inspection however, the white trim, long white stockings with doll shoes combo, and especially the hints of lace caps peaking out from under their hoods revealed that they were in face wearing French maid uniforms. Quite fetishy ones, judging from the hem length.

Helen stopped and stared. “But, but that’s outrageous!” she said.

Morielle pulled her along. “That’s just kids experimenting with desires we all have,” she said.

The girls giggled at having been discovered, but otherwise continued on their way, seemingly unperturbed.

Helen walked silently behind Morielle for a bit, lost in thoughts. She trusted Morielle, but it did seem strange to her. Hadn’t she received stares in this place just yesterday for something much more minor? Perhaps the standards were different for young women than for a married wife though, she reasoned. Or perhaps she’d just imagined things yesterday.

She’d just come to this conclusion when she bumped into Morielle, who had stopped in front of one of the stores.

“Smith’s” was written above the door in enormous, cursive letters. Below, the words read in a slightly smaller font: “slave accessories.”

Helen gawked at it, for which Morielle chastised her. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “I told you it’s normal. Your master wants you to dye your hair. Mine wants me to go and buy a collar. Come on.” She went inside.

Helen stayed outside for a bit longer. She could have sworn this store hadn’t been here before, and it seemed way too salacious to be allowed inside a regular mall. Clearly this store had not popped up over night though, and eventually her trust in her friend prevailed. She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and followed Morielle inside.

The inside was bright and cheerful. Generic pop music came through the speakers. In every way it had the appearance of a regular clothing store, except that the items on display were not shoes or T-shirts, but a variety of fetishy uniforms, leather outfits, latex gear, various coils of rope, and of course, lots and lots of collars.

Their visit quickly took on the spirit of a regular shopping trip. Morielle tried on nearly every collar—asking Helen for feedback every time—before finally settling on a simple, black leather model. Then, they fell upon the rest of the inventory, and it was Helen’s turn to be the main model. She was even eventually convinced after much cajoling to try on one of the full-body latex suits, though she ended up buying nothing. In any case, they left the store in high spirits, giggling and making jokes.

Right outside, they met Sally May, a mutual friend, and Helen was again stopped in her tracks.

Normally a shy and reserved girl, she was now dressed in nothing but a pair of lace panties and an equally sheer bra. Additionally, a bright blue rope had been tied across her chess, belly and upper thigh in a truly impressive display of bondage handicraft. It tied her arms behind her back, so that she had to present her chest in order to stand upright. A leash was attached to a knot around her wrists, which trailed behind her and ended in the hand of Anna Smith, Sally May’s wife.

“What on earth are you wearing?!” Helen exclaimed.

Sally May didn’t respond, merely throwing a questioning look back at her wife.

“You may speak, slave,” she said, without even looking up from her phone.

Sally May turned back to Helen. “Why, it’s advertising. Mistress wants people to see her wares.” She blushed, before shyly adding, “She says I’m a very good model.”

“Her wares?” Helen asked, this having won out among the various points of confusion bouncing around in her head.

Sally May nodded at the storefront, where “Smith’s” was still written in its massive font.

Helen had been sure Anna owned a shoe store. A shoe store, which, in fact, had been right here, in this very location, just yesterday.

Her vision went blurry. It was as if the world was shaking. The confusion had just overwhelmed her. Dazed, she stumbled away from the conversation. She ran for a bit, unaware of her surroundings. Confusion overwhelmed her. Weird and contradictory dreams presented themselves to her as memories. She felt hot and aroused. Eventually, her legs gave out and she collapsed against a wall.

She came to a short while later to the sound of someone speaking to her.

“Are you ok?” Morielle asked again.

Helen nodded, unsure if it was a lie. She accepted her outstretched hand and got up.

Once she’d helped her up, Morielle noticed something on the wall Helen had collapsed against. Her face dropped and she stared ahead sadly.

Helen followed her gaze. It led to a poster that was hung on the wall.

SLAVE AUCTION

it proclaimed, in large blocky letters over an image of two naked women and a naked man. The date was given as the next day.

“Master is taking me,” Morielle said before turning back to Helen. “I’m going to be sold.”

The last shreds of confusion immediately left Helen’s head, replaced entirely with sympathy for her friend. She embraced her.

They held each other like that for a moment.

“I am so sorry,” she said eventually.

“It’s ok,” Morielle said. “This, too, is normal. Sad, but normal.” It sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Helen. She broke out in sobs soon after.

Helen just continued holding her.

“Promise me you’ll come,” Morielle said she calmed down a little. Her eyes were still not fully dry.

“I promise I’ll try,” Helen said.

Helen had a vague notion that the dress she was wearing—a tight little black number which clung to her tightly and left most off her legs and a significant part of her breasts bare—was a party dress which she’d worn only once before. She shook her head to dispel the thought. This was her “envy dress”—the dress Master ordered her to wear when he wanted to show her off—and she was glad to be wearing it. It meant they were going to the slave auction. Master had listened to her pleas.

The auction was outdoors, and had the energy of a fair. There were quite a few visitors, many of them from out of town. It saddened Helen all the more, as it meant she might not see her friend again after today.

Morielle herself was easy to find, being the tallest of the slaves for sale and drawing the biggest crowd. Like with all the other slaves, a box with a slit stood at her feet. From time to time, people came up to it and put in small, folded pieces of paper—their bids.

She herself was naked save for the collar she’d bought the day before. She looked rather sullen, though an auction attendant made sure all the slaves maintained more or less the same posture: chin up, back straight. But she smiled when she saw Helen.

“You came!” she said.

“Of course,” Helen replied. She tried to reach out and grab her hand, but the attendant intervened and shot a reprimanding look at Will. He pulled her away.

They waited around for the bid winners to be announced. As Will socialized, Helen ground her teeth anxiously. She dreaded the announcement, but at the same time couldn’t wait for it to arrive.

It arrived in time though. The slaves were moved to a pen. A presenter took their place. He called up the slaves one by one and read out the winner of the bid. The old and new owners would then come up, and money would change hands before the next slave was called up.

The whole process was agonizingly slow even without the presenter making an unnecessary spectacle of it. It took ages for Morielle to be called upon. She gave a faint little brave smile to Helen on her way up the stairs, before the attendant again made her take up the sale position.

The presenter slowly produced the winning bid from his pocket, unrolled it as if he was some emperor’s messenger, and finally had the audacity to put in a dramatic pause before reading out the winner,

“William De Coninck!”

Morielle ran down from the stage and embraced Helen, nearly tackling her to the ground. Tears streaked from her eyes. Helen returned her embrace on autopilot. She was still quite stunned herself. She hadn’t even noticed Will putting in a bid. They held each other for a while, not making a sound, merely softly crying as all the built up stress and sadness from the day was now released as joy.

Will meanwhile had finished the transaction, and now came down from the stage. Morielle let go of Helen and curtsied to him.

“I trust you’re going to be a good and loyal slave to me?” he asked her.

“Yes, master,” she replied.

“That’s what I like to hear.” He put an arm around her and pulled her in for a kiss. She reciprocated and he leaned in, tasting his new slave with deep gulps. His free hand started to roam her body. They started at her butt and thighs, then moved on to her waist, and finally reached her breasts. He groped them roughly, encouraged by Morielle’s increasingly loud moans.

Helen’s worldview collapsed again. She had a brief sense that she should be happy for her master and her new fellow slave. Then something shifted in her mind. She suddenly saw it as her husband kissing another woman—her best friend, in broad daylight and in full view of a group of people. She saw those people looking at her like an equal to this naked and collared whore, who was moaning loudly for everyone else to hear. She looked around wildly, hoping to find someone else in the crowd who found this wrong. There didn’t seem to be any.

Her looking around had whipped a bunch of her hair in front of her face. She grabbed some of it and held it up to her eyes. It was blonde. She remembered having it dyed the day before.

She remembered it being her own choice.

She hadn’t been ordered to. They had merely joked around. Calling Will “Master” had been a game. It had been a roleplay they’d entered into together, as equals.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to yell that this wasn’t normal, that something had gone horribly wrong.

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She could only stand by meekly as her husband finished trying out his new toy, a simple smile on her face.

She didn’t say anything when he finished groping her. She didn’t say anything when he ushered them back to the car. She didn’t say anything when Will gave Morielle the front seat while she was relegated to the back.

And as she continued without saying anything, the clarity faded from her mind. The memories drifted away. Eventually, thoughts left her brain entirely. She drifted on autopilot, registering nothing.

When she awoke she was on her knees. She was in front of the couch in the living room. Morielle was next to her. Will sat in front of her. He’d pulled down his pants.

“Now then,” he said. “Why don’t you two show me just how grateful you are?” Helen turned to Morielle, who was kneeling next to her. Their gazes met. Helen smiled, happy to have her friend here with her. She couldn’t remember feeling any other emotion, couldn’t even conceive of a reason for one.

Morielle smiled back.

They both looked up at Will and said the only thing that made sense to them—

“Yes, Master.”