The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

La Princesa Sensual weighs anchor perhaps two hours after Dar, Sabine, and me came aboard. Our staterooms face portside, out to the Atlantic, so we have to go up on deck to watch the ship’s departure from Miami. There’s a Grand Promenade up on A Deck, and we make our way up there. The sun is beaming! It’s a beautiful day.

On the promenade, there’s already about forty beautiful young women, all dressed in tiny bikinis, all glowing with the excitement of the moment. They wave cheerfully to the crowds down on the marina peer. Three La Princesa female crew appear, bearing trays of champagne flutes. Bubbly is quickly served.

“Goddaaaaamn,” comments Dar, eyeing the other bikini’ed women. “These bitches, they’re all top quality, aren’t they?”

“Of course,” Sabine sighs. “I told you: Lascivo wants the best. He’s made a lot of s in our industry.”

She’s not kidding. As I glance about, I can personally recognize about half the girls here.

Most are models. Right off the bat, I spot six well-known fashion-and-runway models, girls who are famous for just being beautiful. All of them have graced billboards across the city, and three of them have appeared on Vogue’s cover. There’s also more than a few fitness models, who are more muscular, and lingerie-and-swimsuit models, who wear the tiniest of bikinis and are much curvier. Over by the bow, I recognize two chicks who are renown for posing in the nude, although they are wearing swimsuits now. And I think those four platinum blondes by the banister are all erotic models, featured on pay-websites that I would never patronize.

But there’s also some non-models here, too. I spot at least a half-dozen actresses. And I’m pretty sure those chicks by the bar with too many tattoos and obviously fake boobies must be high-end strippers. Hmm. I didn’t think Lascivo would go for strippers, but there they are. Who else…? Those really skinny women standing in a tight cluster by the railing may be ballerinas? Or possibly yoga influencers? No sé. And then, there are a whole bunch of women here who are just gorgeous, and I couldn’t begin to tell you what they do.

All the women here are beautiful, more beautiful than the day. Seriously, I’m a professional model, and I feel positively common when stuck into this crowd. Its an unusual feeling for me. Everywhere I look, I see long legs, tight buttocks, teeny waists, trim shoulders, graceful arms, glowing skin, delicate little feet, svelte hips, and breasts of all sizes. Every girl here is displaying a lot of cleavage. A lot of cleavage.

“I might not have brought the right kind of swimwear,” frowns Dar, looking about. “All these chicas, they wear barely nothing! Goddamn!” she exclaims, as a Triple-D porn starlet wearing the world’s tiniest string bikini flounces right by us. That woman’s nips have already slipped, and she hasn’t noticed yet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Sabine says breezily. “There’s a boutique down on D Deck where you can pick out new outfits. They have a huge selection. Lascivo will buy whatever you want.”

“Of course he will,” I say dryly. “That Lascivo, he knows what he wants, doesn’t he?”

“Yeah, he’s a pig,” agrees Sabine. “But who cares? We’re getting… Ma stai scherzando??? What are those???”

Sabine’s spotted the brand new Tiffany earrings dangling from my earlobes. I grin maliciously, but quickly drape my hair over both ears.

“Nothing,” I lie casually.

Sabine glares at me, but says nothing.

Within an hour, La Princesa is cruising across on the open ocean. Miami has retreated over the horizon, and although there are still seagulls circling overhead, we seem to be miles from civilization. The Atlantic is a deep crystal blue, stretching out in all directions. Hermosa.

Dar, Sabine, and I decide to explore the ship. We’re impressed by the enormous interiors, especially the atriums over the master staircases. And the décor on every deck is both impressive and stylish. ¡Impresionante! This yacht is really a private cruise liner, built for the gluttonous pleasures of one man.

I’m curious to see all those amenities that were described in the ship’s brochure. The movie theatre and salon are bigger than I’d imagined, but the supposedly-Olympic sized pool is disappointingly small. Oh well. Up on B Deck, near the bow, there are five restaurants, each with their own master chef, each rated five stars. Dar, Sabine, and I make reservations at the Fusion Mexican/Thai place for tonight. After we eat, we’re getting dressed up for the midnight party in the ship’s nightclub.

The best location on board La Princesa, I’ve decided, is that nightclub. Located in the bowels of Deck C and D (the club is two decks high), the nightclub is large, inviting, and very, very dark. Sexy! There’s a generous dancefloor, with two wide, open bars on either side. I note with approval that all the bartenders here are young, male, shirtless, and very, very hot. I don’t think Lascivo has a thing for men, so I assume the bartenders are meant to amuse us ladies. ¡Lo apruebo!

One thing’s for sure: this DJ is top-notch, too. The sound system blares with excellent dance music, throbbing with energy and rhythm, but not too much so that you exhaust yourself. Dar, Sabine, and I quickly down three tequila shots each, and then we’re thriving away on the dancefloor. ¡Esto es increíble! Oh, I feel so alive!

As I start dancing, I quickly ire myself and my girlfriends in one of the wall mirrors. For tonight, I’m squeezed into my Layla Diamante minidress, the tight little number that pushes my boobs together while making my tummy look superflat. I fucking love this dress, but I can’t bend over while wearing it; the skirt is far too short. In my four-inch Swarovski heels, my butt sticks out a bit, but that’s the point. Dar managed to tease up my hair, and I look like a slutty princess. I look hot. Hot.

And, yes, of course I wore my new Tiffany earrings. ¡Por supuesto lo hice! I had to. Every bitch on this ship will glance at them, and instantly know: I’m Lascivo’s new fave gal.

Dar and Sabine are in outfits similar to mine, as are most of the girls here at the club. Its like a minidress convention in here.

Speaking of: The dancefloor is packed with hot models, all gyrating away, all getting a little sweaty, all having so much fun. Half of these women are almost certainly gay, and I couldn’t care less. As the room gets hotter and steamy, I allow other women to casually touch me. A gentle caress of my bum here, an iring hand brushes my arm there, someone touches my stomach in ing. I’m fine with it.

Models—you have to understand—are remarkably comfortable with our bodies. All of society tells us that we are the physical ideal of womanhood, that everyone looks to us for what is perfection. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in a dressing room or backstage at a fashion show or in a model friend’s apartment, and I’ve walked about completely nakey. Its fine. And now, with so many hot models dancing and swirling about me, I am even more comfortable with my body. I’m young, I’m hot, I like the attention. Soy una diosa.

As I dance, waggling my hips, swinging my arms, and strutting to make a peacock blush, my gaze happens to fall toward the darkest corner of the club. There, sitting on what looks like a throne, is Lascivo Grasso. The Internet Zillionaire is being fussed over by six models, all wearing microdresses, all fawning over him as if they’re madly in love. There’s so much jiggling cleavage about Lascivo, I’m guessing there might be twenty pounds of silicon on display.

And yet, Lascivo’s gaze is locked upon me. His gaze wanders from my chest to my butt to my eyes then back to my chest again. He’s obviously undressing me in his imagination. The other women competing for his attention can’t distract him.

I grin evilly to myself. I’m the one who’s got Lascivo attention, it seems.

Fuck you, Sabine. I’m the bitch now.

The rest of the night is a blur. I drink, I dance, I flirt, I laugh, I tease the bartenders, I repeat the whole process over and over again. ¡Que bien! I’m a party fanatic, I know it. So awesome.

The next day, I’m nursing a bit of a hangover, but—eh—nothing I can’t walk off. Some extra fluids couldn’t hurt. Using the ship’s intercom, I arrange to meet Dar and Sabine for a late brunch up on A Deck’s Bord de Mer bistro. We three secure a small, outdoor table overlooking La Princesa’s bow and the Caribbean Sea.

“How late were you out last night?” Dar asks me curiously.

“Late…” I reply vaguely.

Sabine, who is wearing enormous sunglasses, frowns. I suspect that I’ve made her jealous, what with snagging my Tiffany’s earrings (which, yes, I am still wearing!) and obviously catching Lascivo’s attentions. I could brag or drop subtle comments about how I’m the new Favorite Girl, but I don’t want to rub things in. Not just yet.

Our table is outside, facing the bow, so Dar, Sabine, and I can see the front of the ship and the glittering ocean before us. There isn’t a cloud in the aqua sky. Its hot, but the sea-breeze is pleasant on our mostly-exposed bodies. From my chair, I can see the A Deck promenade, plus the open spaces on B and C Decks.

My girls and I are wearing string bikinis, of course. Mine is this cute little pink number, although I don’t like how it rides up my hips. Demasiado apretada. Dar is wearing this revealing blue outfit that holds her boobs up, and Sabine of course opted for bright fire-engine red. Pecaminosa. I doubt the three of us are wearing more than a square foot of fabric combined.

Of course… when you look about La Princesa, there are at least twenty beautiful young women visible, all in tiny swimwear. Some are sunning themselves on deck chairs, some are strolling, some are drinking at the outdoor bar. Every woman is showing off lots of skin. I guess that’s the price of ission here.

Sabine was right: Being a yacht girl is not so bad.

My friends and I sit silently, listening to the dull rumble of the ocean, smelling the salted breeze, enjoying the playful sun licking our bodies. La Princesa cruises on, yet she is steady as a rock upon the waves. I can’t feel the usual sway of the deck that you associate with a ship at sea. The whole world seems quiet and tranquil.

Our waitress appears, carrying our brunch orders upon a silver tray. Like all the female crew on this ship, she appears Asian (Chinese?) and wears that small, revealing uniform. The waitress sets our omelets and glasses of white wine onto the table.

Sabine’s lips curl into an ugly scowl. “I ordered soufflé, not frittata!” she berates the waitress. “Take it back!”

“Yes, ma’am,” the waitress quails, and quickly retreats with the offending dish.

I grin to myself. Sabine did, in fact, order a frittata. So either she drank too much last night, or she’s just in a mood to be horrible to the wait staff. Either way, it means I succeeded in getting under her skin.

Unable to resist myself, I remark brightly, “I was thinking about asking Lascivo to give me a personalized tour of the ship. Maybe you guys will be allowed to come too?”

Both Dar and Sabine shoot me resentful looks, but I work to look as innocent as possible.

But before either friend can respond, another member of La Princisa’s crew approaches. We three look up in surprise; its Yua Suzuki, the young Japanese woman who welcomed us aboard, just yesterday. She looks positively terrified to see us again.

“What?” Sabine demands, not bothering to be polite.

“Forgive the intrusion, ma’ams,” grovels Suzuki, “but the ship’s itinerary officer asked me to remind you: You ladies have an appointment in the spa, in a half-hour.”

Instantly, Sabine’s ugly mood vanishes. “Right!” she chirps, sitting up in her chair. “I’d forgotten!”

“Oh yeah,” mutters Dar. She rolls one shoulder. “I could use a massage.”

I slice into my omelet, considering. If the three of us go to the spa, I can’t flaunt the fact that Lascivo is into me. I mean, I could, but I’d have to bring it up in conversation myself. I was planning on strutting all over this ship with Lascivo on my arm, lording him over all the other girls.

“Mmm, you guys go,” I say carelessly. “I still think I want my tour.”

Sabine cocks her head at me. “No, Cara, you absolutely have to spa with us! I’m telling you, the staff here is better than BodyHaven or Eau Palm Beach. The ship’s masseuse is a fucking wizard with muscles.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that from some of the other girls,” Dar remarks. “His name is…?”

“Mateo,” supplies Sabine.

“Yeah, Mateo,” Dar nods. “When I mentioned that I had an appointment with him this afternoon, two of the other yacht girls immediately wanted to buy my appointment. They almost begged me!”

I frown. “Still…” I sigh dramatically, “I dunno. Not feeling the spa vibe. I’d rather see what Lascivo is up to, I think.”

“Oh, Mr. Grasso has left the ship,” Suzuki pipes in. “He departed by helicopter this morning.”

I drop my knife and fork in shock. “He left?!?”

“Er, yes ma’am,” says Suzuki, clearly bracing herself for another tongue-lashing. “Mr. Grasso frequently flies back to the mainland for business purposes.”

Angered, I glare at the Japanese woman. “He’s abandoned us girls? ¿Hablas en serio?”

“I’m sure he’ll be back,” squeaks Suzuki, wincing. “Its quite common that he leaves during the day, but then returns for the evening.”

“See, Cara?” Dar gloats. “So you might as well spa with Sabine and me. Or I can sell your appointment…?”

“No, I’ll go,” I sulk.

“You totally won’t regret it,” Sabine promises. “In fact, after five minutes’ of Mateo’s pampering, you won’t want to leave.”

The Spa Diamant is located down on D Deck, behind the gym and not far from the swimsuit boutique. Jesus Christ, the place actually has its own customized logo, etched across the double frosted glass doors that mark the spa’s entrance. Lascivo is so rich that he commissioned someone to make a logo for his own private spa??? Cómo concedido.

Dar, Sabine, and I enter Spa Diamant, finding ourselves standing inside an all-white waiting room, decorated with fresh white lilacs and crocuses. Gentle incenses have scented the air. The lighting is soft and welcoming.

Before us is a thin young Asian woman, dressed in a Princesa uniform, although her uniform is all-white. She is quite beautiful, with a radiant smile resting upon her lips.

“Welcome to Spa Diamant, ladies,” the woman says warmly. “You must be Miss Preciosa, Miss DiPlanta, and Miss Marina? Welcome! I am Galese, and it will be my pleasure to situate you today.”

“I’m sure you are,” Dar says with suspicion.

The beautiful Galese takes no notice of this barb. “Now, might you ladies care to—”

“Right, right, right,” interrupts Sabine. “Is Mateo on-staff today?”

“Of course, ma’am.”

“I’ll take the first massage, then,” Sabine declares, already heading towards one of the rear doors.

Dar and I glare at Sabine. Why does she always have to go first? Perra codiciosa.

But Galese merely smiles again. “Of course, ma’am. If you ladies would like to get changed in our Dressing Room, I will make your appointment preparations.” To Dar and I, she asks, “While Miss DiPlanta is seeing the masseuse, would either of you ladies care for an Essence Facial? Or perhaps a manicure? Or pedicure? Or a salt bath?”

“I’ll take the mani/pedi,” Dar says lightening-fast, before I have a chance to volunteer.

“Of course, Miss Preciosa,” smiles Galese.

Inside, I fume. Why are my girlfriends such greedy bitches? Ugh.

Dar, Sabine, and I retreat to the Ladies’ Dressing Area, which is a lavish sitting room with white leather couches. Personal storage compartments line the far wall, all with privacy locks on them. The temperature is elevated and the air moist, and you can smell the floral aromatherapy candles that are burning in small alters along the room.

Following Sabine’s lead, we three strip naked, each of us placing our clothes into a compartment. Then we don complimentary white robes, which are thin but surprisingly warm and comfortable. Then we help ourselves to matching slippers.

“Ciao, ladies,” sighs Sabine, gliding towards the door. “Mateo awaits…”

Dar and I ignore her and return to the greeting room, where Galese is awaiting us.

“Follow me, please,” the beautiful crewmember smiles, gesturing.

Thirty minutes later, Dar and I are in an ading room within the spa. Dar sits in an elevated chair like a queen, while Galese tenderly works on Dar’s tiny toes. I am reclining on a tanning chair, with my robe open, a mask over my eyes, absorbing the hot ultraviolet energies. My body feels relaxed and tingly. Soothing New Age music plays on the room speakers. I’m beginning to drift off…

“Sabine’s such a selfish whore,” Dar says suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Erm?” I grunt softly.

“Its like…” Dar pauses, considering what she wants to say next. “Its like, every time we get together, she has to be the most important one among us. Lookit how she flaunted her knowledge of this ship, of the spa, of Lascivo. Its like if she can’t be acknowledged as the alpha, she gets all pissy.”

Privately, I think that Dar behaves the exact same way towards me all the time. But I hold my tongue.

The timer on my tanning chair expires, and the ultraviolet lamps dim. I slide the mask off my eyes. My body feels warm and sweaty.

“I really wish Sabine could be put in her place,” grumbles Dar, slouching in her chair. “And besides that—“

Dar’s face suddenly twists with anger. “¡Oye imbécil!” she barks at Galese. “Did I ask for paraffin wax? Well, did I?”

Galese recoils. “My apologies, Miss Preciosa! The paraffin is a standard service at Spa Diamont. Its is entirely complementary.”

“Oh,” Dar says, considering. “Oh. Fine. Go on, then.”

At the moment, there’s a soft BONG as the intercom sounds. Through the speaker, male voice says, “I am ready for our next patron.”

Galese smiles at me. “Mateo, our masseuse, will see you now, ma’am.”

Sitting up, Dar protests, “But I was to have the next appointment!”

“Your wax treatment is still drying, ma’am,” Galese informs her. “I’m afraid you must remain here a while longer.”

Dar shoots me a disgusted look. “Go,” she says resentfully.

I close my robe and glide from the room.

The Massage Room is surprisingly small and dark, with one massage table, currently set at an angle. The only illumination are from twenty thick, white candles, which burn inside little alcoves, set into the wall. Its hot in here. Recorded birdsong softly chirps from hidden speakers.

As I enter, Sabine is tying up her own robe, a dreamy-yet-dazed look upon her face. “Così carino…” she murmurs to no-one in particular.

Then Sabine slips out of the room, not even glancing at me as she departs.

Que grosera.

“Miss Marina?” a husky male voice asks.

I turn about. There, in the shadows, is a tall young man, broad-shouldered. He’s shirtless, which shows off his impressive physique: He’s very muscular, with defined pectoral chest muscles, ribbed abs, and powerful arms. God, his meaty hands look like they could crush bricks! His bronzed, bare skin gleams, either from sweat or oil, I can’t tell. Erótico.

This fellow is quite handsome, with a square chin, a short, cropped haircut, and dark, smoldering eyes. He grins, and the whiteness of his perfect teeth almost shines through the dark haze. I can’t guess his ethnicity, but the man’s skin is bronzed. Muy atractivo.

“I am Mateo, ship’s masseuse,” the hulking man explains. “You are booked for a full-body treatment. Would you prefer thirty minutes, or the full hour?”

I hesitate, taken aback at the sheer sexiness of this moment. En serio, this whole setup feels like a scene from a softcore porn flick. I’m kinda tempted to make a move.

But, no. Mateo is the servant, I’m the customer. He’s here to tend to my wants. Besides, I don’t fuck a guy sight unseen. Maybe later, though…

“I’ll take the hour,” I decide, knowing full well that this means Dar will have to sit on her ass and wait for me to finish.

“Very well, ma’am,” Mateo rumbles, his rich baritone easily filling the room. He gestures to the massage table, while turning his back. “If you would remove your robe, then lie down…?”

I watch the masseuse long enough to be sure that he won’t sneak a glance, then take off my robe. Fully naked, I lie belly-down onto the table. I set my face into the “O” ring at the top, so I can stare down at the floor while my neck and head are fully ed.

The massage table is somehow computerized, for motors activate to gently shape the table to fit my body. Soon, I am lying peacefully, perfectly comfortable, enjoying the warm air on my backside.

“Very good, ma’am,” murmurs Mateo, somewhere above me. “I’ll just place this towel over you here…”

I feel a warmed cloth placed over my buttocks.

“Very good,” Mateo says, sounding pleased. “Now, let’s simply relax, ay?”

I hear what sounds like oil being squirted, and then strong, slick hands appear on my upper back. Mateo goes to work.

…oooooooooooh…! ¡Oh Dios!

Oh man, is Mateo good! I’ve had other massages before, of course. Usually, the masseuse is too forceful, or their touch it too wimpy to have much effect. But Mateo…

This dude knows what he’s doing. His hot, oily fingers probe my muscles, squeezing them and smoothing out their tension. At first, it’s a little painful, but then I feel my back dissolve into what feels like warm butter. Tension and stress break down into relief, and I immediately begin to slide into a relaxed stupor.

Oh man, Sabine was right! This is like… wow.

“You have been carrying quite a bit of stress,” observes Mateo as he works. “I can feel it. Would you like a meditation exercise as I operate?”

“…ugh?” is all I can manage in reply.

“Just listen,” Mateo says gently, still working away. “Did you know that as human beings, we are physiologically wired so that all our body tension is carried in our shoulders? It is true. The more stressed you become, the more tension your shoulder muscles absorb. If you can’t sleep at night, try to concentrate and relax your shoulders, and you’ll drift off into sleep within moments.”

Mateo’s voice is deep and rich and both gentle and powerful. The scent of the aromatherapy candles fills my nostrils. On their own, my eyes slowly close.

“I want you,” Mateo says softly, “to imagine that as I massage you, I am drawing all the tension from your body. That my hands and my fingers are slowly relaxing you into a peaceful state of tranquility. If you imagine it so, it will be so. See, as I work on your rhomboids, here? And here? See how it is so easy to imagine all that tension you are carrying to simply dissolve and float away? Yes, allow it to happen…”

The masseuse’s calm voice fills my mind. As I feel my body slip into a kind of relaxed coma, Mateo’s words glide me along. At times, it seems like he has twenty hands, all working away on me. I feel my shoulders, my back, my arms, my thighs, even my buttocks all massaged and squeezed, then collapsing into a pure, irresistible relaxation. It feels wonderful.

As Mateo speaks on, the world seems to fade. How is he doing this? I do not care. My body seemingly floats in this universe of physical peace. I can’t move, nor do I want to. I just want Mateo to treat me forever.

“You concentrate and relax even deeper,” I hear Mateo saying. “Excellent. You are allowing yourself to go so much deeper. Deeper and deeper, Miss Marina. You relax all on your own, permitting me to guide you so much deeper with each and every breath. Very good.”

The masseuse’s voice becomes seductive. “Wonderful, ma’am, most wonderful. You are deeply relaxed, so very, very relaxed. You cannot move, you do not want to move, you only want to relax deeper and allow yourself to follow my instructions.”

Sluggishly, I find myself happily agreeing. I cannot move… I do not want to move… I only want to relax… and follow Mateo’s instructions…

The man’s voice commands me: “What you will find is that you are focused and concentrating on my voice, and my voice alone. You are completely captivated by my voice. My voice has become a guide for you, and you must follow and obey it. From now on, you will find yourself automatically following and obeying all the commands and suggestions that I give you. You cannot resist.”

Yes… I am focused and concentrating on Mateo’s voice… Mateo’s voice has become a guide for me… I must follow and obey it…

I cannot resist…

“And now, sleep, Miss Marina. Sleep. When I snap my fingers, you will drop into a deep, mindless sleep, where you will be aware of my voice and my voice alone. You cannot resist.”

…I cannot resist…

I hear a soft clicking sound, Mateo’s fingers snapping before my closed eyes.

…my thoughts…

…vanish…