The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jamie wiped at a bleary eye and sniffled. Finally she felt safe. Walking into her apartment had been like stepping into a panic attack. But now the steering wheel was steady in Charlie’s big hand as they flew down the highway, pitch black desert on either side. The night air played with her hair.

“Thank you,” Jamie said to Charlie, as she rolled up the window, “thank you for saving me.”

“I’m just giving you a ride, Jamie Doll. And a place to crash,” Charlie said

Chris Isaak crooned about how he didn’t want to fall in love from the speakers. Charlie stared ahead into the darkness.

“What happened to you after college?” Jamie Doll asked.

“Medical school.” Charlie said, jaw set. “Then I went overseas. There was a… special program. After my dad died, I didn’t have anything keeping me back home.” Charlie cleared his throat, “After I lost you, I didn’t even want to visit.”

“That’s a little melodramatic, Charlie,” Jamie laughed.

“I guess it is,” he sighed.

Oh god, was he really whining? Jamie rolled her eyes at her window. He was such a little bitch. “Do you want me to leave? I’ll get out of the car, right now,” Jamie pouted.

“No,” Charlie said, eyes straight ahead, “I want you to stay.”

His jaw was clenched. She’d hurt him, sure. She had cheated and lied. She fucked a few of his friends. And she talked some shit, but she was strung out, so that wasn’t really her. Jamie didn’t even why she’d been so angry at him. She heard from their friends that he’d had a one man pity party and then disappeared. Boo hoo.

He needed to take some responsibility for his own feelings. She would work on that with him. For now she’d just have to massage Charlie, the big dick doctor, into taking her back.

“I’m sorry about how things ended,” Jamie said. She did her best to look really sad.

“Things haven’t ended, Jamie Doll,” Charlie said, “They’re off to a new start.”

That’s right, Charlie. You still want me. Jamie leaned sideways in her seat, staring at Charlie with big mooning eyes. He was so fucking handsome.

“You know… I loved you, Charlie,” Jamie whispered. She had him. Time to reel him in.

“I used to love you too,” Charlie said.

“Can we try again, maybe?” Jamie asked in a little voice. She leaned toward him, and put a hand on his thigh. She kissed the stubble on his cheek. Charlie reached up and stroked her face. She thought he might pull her head toward his lap. She was willing. Jamie Grace gave legendary head. Charlie was just a man after all—who was he to resist?

“I have a partner, Jamie Doll,” Charlie said. He pressed her away gently.

Jamie slid back into her seat and scowled. He’d said ‘partner’ Jamie thought. Not ‘girlfriend’ or ‘wife.’

Jamie sniffled and wiped a tear. She was going to get her Charlie back. Even if he had a ‘partner.’

Charlie’s compound was behind a high earthen wall, at the end of a long private road, after of miles of desert highway. It was almost sunrise when Charlie’s car swept up the drive.

From inside, Catherine Schuyler watched the black SUV flit across the screens of security cameras. Cat scowled and slinked toward the garage. This is a bad idea, Cat thought. A really bad idea.

Everyone called Catherine ‘Cat’—Cat like a kitty, with a “C” not a “K”—since she was old enough to know anything. And if she knew anything, she knew that Jamie Grace was a bad fucking idea. Jamie had a family and—even if they were estranged—they would eventually miss her. The Grace family had money, serious money, call the Governor money. And worse, Jamie had been specifically requested by the client. She was a “Targeted Item” and those were always dangerous. They almost never fit the profile for behavioral modification. They were unpredictable and hard to control.

Even worse, Charlie had a personal connection. He had a vendetta against this poor little rich girl who’d wrecked her life and turned out to be a fat, strung-out, drug-dealer.

Cat huffed and clenched her delicate fists. She looked at herself in the mirror, something that always made her happy. Cat was, in her own opinion, absolutely perfect. She had soft lips and a sculpted jaw line. Her high cheekbones were accentuated by an elegant nose. Her eyes were a deep, sapphire blue. She tussled her thick blonde hair, hanging down to her lower back, until it was just right.

She was gorgeous.

Cat smoothed her red silk romper over her tiny waist. She had a thin neck and slender arms. She ired her tight butt, invitingly perky, and slid the palm of her hand down her thigh. Cat had long, toned Barbie doll legs to complete her 5′11″ frame. Her legs were what people noticed about her first.

Or her tits.

Cat adjusted her big, gorgeous tits. She had perfectly shaped F-Cup breasts. Soft, flawless, perky, tear-drop tits. Her little pink nipples were hard against the cold desert night. They were natural. Well, Charlie had sculpted them with her own fat. They weren’t implants.

Cat was Charlie’s first and only failure. Charlie had tried to make a fuckdoll out of her, but Cat had a strong mind and resisted the clinical techniques that turned other women into cock-slobbering bimbos. She hadn’t completely resisted of course, no one could. But even if Cat was mentally conditioned, she was still her own person.

Charlie brought her into his operation and Cat became Charlie’s ‘slut wrangler.’

Together, Charlie and Cat turned women into living, breathing, sucking, fucking, sexual fantasies. They turned women into a lot of money.

The door opened. Cat smiled automatically as Charlie showed Jamie inside, puffy-eyed and disheveled in a black velour tracksuit, shuffling down the hall.

When Jamie saw Cat, she looked like she was going to cry.

“Jamie Doll, this is my partner, Cat,” Charlie said. “Cat, would you show Jamie her room?”

“It would be my pleasure.” Cat said with a cold smile.

It was time to microchip this bitch. That will really give her something to cry about.

Jamie stumbled down a long, windowless hallway, planted a hand on a wood-ed wall and wretched. Nothing came up.

Her teeth chattered. A white micro-bikini dug into her lovehandles. Her clothes had been gone when she woke up. She was sure Cat had left this skimpy swimsuit as an insult. Fuck her, the dumb cunt.

She staggered along under soothing lighting. It reminded her of the fanciest rehab center her father had paid for. Jay Grace, the king of assholes, who’d sent her to one pastel prison after another—

A bolt of pain shot through her head. Stop thinking and just exist. Just breathe. There had to be help somewhere.

“Hello? Charlie? Anyone in this fucking maze?” Jamie winced. She willed herself forward, turned a corner, and found another long, curved hallway. She whimpered and started opening doors. She found a storage room filled with antiques. Then a home theater, a reading room filled with old books, a game room with billiard tables… It went on and on.

Jamie tried to last night. The effort almost buckled her legs. Cat, that skinny blonde bitch, had given her a tour before putting her to bed. Charlie’s house was really a compound. And it extended deep underground, tens of thousands of square feet; it had taken forever to get to her room.

She rubbed her dry eyes. The walls of her bedroom seemed to talk to her, but that was probably the cocaine. She’d slept like shit. That was definitely the cocaine.

The world swayed three degrees to the left. Jamie leaned against the wall unsteadily. Intense erotic dreams had her sucking cock and getting fucked up the ass all night. She’d had a bombshell body in her dreams. Charlie had been in her dreams, telling her she was beautiful with his deep voice. Charlie had slid his jumbo dick into her in her and… Jamie’s headache subsided just a little. She licked her chapped lips with a dry tongue. Jamie was unpleasantly aware of her body. Her sagging boobs spilled out of her tiny top and her thighs rubbed.

She opened another door and found a fully stocked bar. Dim lighting revealed rows of liquor bottles, beer taps, wine bottles, an ice machine, a fridge.

Her tits slipped out of her bikini as she lurched through the door. She didn’t care. She cracked open a can of Coca Cola and guzzled it so fast it felt like it was tearing her throat. Jamie grabbed a bottle of rum and another can of soda, then slumped onto a low circular couch. She took a long pull of rum. It settled her nerves.

The couch was wrapped around a raised stage. An empty stripper pole glinted above her. Jamie instinctively fixed her bikini top, covering her hard nipples. She licked her lips, looking up at the pole. Jamie had been sucking and fucking in her dreams and… her hand slipped down to her slit. A surge of pleasure flushed through her. The pounding headache vanished, replaced by an insistent throbbing in her clit. Jamie sat slumped on the couch, playing with herself. Sharp breaths came closer together as her pleasure overflowed up into every little corner of her body. She could do this all day…

The sound of someone clearing their throat made her jump.

“Hello?” An absolutely gorgeous man in swim trunks leaned against the door. He had curly blonde hair, gray eyes, and not an ounce of body fat. He was all white teeth, chiseled abs and muscled legs. It was like a surfer had materialized in the middle of an empty strip club.

“Yo! You’re awake!” the man said, “you must be Jamie, the new girl. I’m Trevor.”

Before Jamie had the chance to speak, Trevor pulled her up into a hug. He smelled like salt water and fresh air. The residual heat of the sun was on his tan skin. She let out a gasp of pleasure.

“Sorry, I’m a hugger. We were wondering when you’d wake up.”

“Where’s Charlie?” she croaked.

“Charlie had to bail. He had a work thing. But he left like two days ago, so he should be back tomorrow.”

“Two days? I saw Charlie last night. We drove here last night,” Jamie rasped.

“Girl, you’ve been asleep for, like, 72 hours,” Trevor laughed.

She’d slept for three days? Jamie squinted, pain strobing in her head. The ground under her seemed to slide and she reached out a hand, which Trevor used to guide her out of the room.

“There’s no natural light down here, so people really conk out when they first arrive, but goddamn, you might have set an all-time record.” Trevor grinned.

Jamie blushed. Trevor was hot. Jamie’s hands involuntarily caressed her thighs…

Trevor’s hand drifted down to the base of her back, pushing her forward, “C’mon, let me take you upstairs. You can keep the bottle.”

She sheepishly took another drink of rum as Trevor motioned her through the door.

She heard him chuckle through his teeth. “Hey, uh, what’s ‘Crag’ mean?” He asked.

Jamie’s stomach dropped. She loathed her exposed, chunky, sagging body, and she hated that stupid, embarrassing Crag tattoo on her ass! That fucking dirtbag. Jamie felt like she was going to cry again.