The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Oh yeah, that’s it, it’s so big, fill me up, do it, fuck me, I want it, fuck meeeeee,” Carol’s voice dissolved into an inarticulate cry of pleasure as her last john of the night shoved his cock into her needy pussy. The guy had no technique, but the whore didn’t care, she just wanted to be used. Needed it, after what had happened earlier that evening.

Carol dug her fingernails into the man’s back, not enough to break the skin, but enough to hurt. Because she knew he liked that. Her knees were pulled up, almost to her chest, as the man rode her, in and out. She’d looked at him, expression all coy innocence, a finger lightly on her lips, her naked body lewdly exposed, seen the hunger in his eyes, before he’d lunged in, unable to restrain himself any longer. It had been the way she’d rocked her hips from side to side, heels touching her arse, pussy wet and open, that had pushed him over the edge.

It didn’t take him long to finish, but that didn’t surprise Carol, she’d been teasing him from the moment he’d walked in her door. Pouting, tempting, giving him glimpses of the little of her body the short skirt and tight top covered. He’d loved every minute of it. That was the beauty of regulars, you knew exactly what they wanted. He’d been even happier when Carol gave him a striptease, putting to use everything her madam had made her learn. It had turned her on as well, offering herself, knowing he was going to fuck her, knowing she was being paid. Her arousal always burnt hot, with every act of prostitution. She came, the waves thrumming through her body, moments after her john did.

Carol gave the man a smile and blew him a kiss as he left, giving her head a little shake to send her loose pigtails flying around her face.

One of the man’s hands twitched as he struggled for control. He lingered in the doorway, obviously wondering if his wallet and his body were up to buying more of her time. Eventually he shook his head and in a voice tinged with regret he said, “See you next time.” Then he swallowed before closing the door after him.

Always leave them wanting more, Carol smiled to herself. Then she stopped and frowned. She wasn’t sure she’d see the man again. Conti’s was only days away and then she was done. Or at least she was supposed to be. While the man was a regular he wouldn’t come back that soon. Maybe she was already saying goodbye.

Carol didn’t let herself think about it. Definitely didn’t want to consider the way the thought hurt. There were too many things to think about. She held her memories to what she’d done tonight, here, in her room. The raw pleasure of men taking her, fucking her, the knowledge that she was being paid, had kept the pain and the guilt at bay. Stopped her remembering what she’d done to Brenda. Even readying herself for her next john, waiting in her room or preening in the line-up with the other girls, had been enough to occupy her mind.

She’d been worried that Stephanie might reappear, that she’d be trapped again in her own mind. She knew that she was playing Stephanie, needed to stick to her role. But even when the passion overwhelmed her, head thrown back in ecstasy and crying out as hot rivers of bliss rode her nervous system, it had all been Carol.

It didn’t mean she free of that other part of her. She had sensed Stephanie there in her head, along with all the other fractured pieces of her mind, but the girl was just an image, a whisper, nothing like the burning presence that had ripped control from her earlier in the evening. Not even stray thoughts to torment her. Whoring made her feel safe, kept all the hurt at bay. Even as she knew how wrong that was.

I can stop. I know I can, Carol told herself, and wished the thought wasn’t riddled with doubts. She’d known too many junkies, heard their protestations about how they had their habit under control, could stop whenever they wanted to. She told herself she was better than that. She was a policewoman, or at least she could be one again. She didn’t think about that for too long. It was like a present on a Christmas wish list. If you didn’t think about it too much, then maybe it would be the one your parents bought and you’d find it under the tree and everything would be right with the world.

Thoughts of the future pushed aside, shift over, Carol headed home, tired and fretful. No longer able to lose herself in her work she couldn’t avoid the memories of what had happened earlier in the evening, what she’d done. Tears threatened to come, the guilt making her feel numb. By the time she returned home the trip had given her far too long by herself. She couldn’t escape the thoughts of what she’d done to Brenda.

Carol was crying, unable to stop the flood of tears as she opened the door.

“Hi,” Janice called from their kitchen. Carol hadn’t expected the redhead to be up, not at this hour of the night. She suspected her friend had deliberately stayed up to see her.

“Um,” Carol swallowed, her voice choking, “H-hi.” She started to head to her bedroom. She didn’t want Janice seeing her like this.

The redhead’s face appeared around the doorframe, “Steph? What’s wrong?”

Oh god, not that name, please, no.

Carol wiped away the tears, tried to put a smile on her face, “I’m okay, it’s, it’s nothing.”

Janice frowned at her, arms crossed, “No it’s not, Steph, I can tell.” Her lips formed a thin line when Carol didn’t reply, “Talk to me, is it the other night again? It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault.”

Carol stood in the middle of their lounge room, unable to move. Yes, it was, it was my fault. Carol wasn’t sure if she meant the other night at Angel’s or what she’d done to Brenda. Right now everything seemed like her fault. She’d put herself in this position, it was her responsibility.

“Steph?” Janice asked gently.

“Don’t,” the brunette begged, “don’t call me that.” She was scared by the hint of panic in her voice. She never panicked, you couldn’t afford to in undercover work. She always kept calm, always, that’s who she was, not this shaking mess of emotions.

Janice hurried over to her, put a hand on the trembling brunette’s arm, “Carol? What’s the matter? Please, talk to me.”

Carol let Janice lead her to the lounge, let her friend sit her down.

“Carol?”

I can’t tell her. She’ll hate me. She should hate me. I hate me.

“Please, look at me.” Janice’s voice was becoming frantic.

Carol turned, looked at her friend. She couldn’t hold the redhead’s gaze. Instead she put her head on Janice’s shoulder and cried.

Janice coaxed and pleaded until Carol couldn’t say no anymore. She knew that Janice would despise her for what she’d done to Brenda. But she couldn’t bear the weight alone. She had to tell someone or she was going to break. Slowly, haltingly, with tears and apologies punctuating her tale, Carol told her friend the story of the evening.

“You need to get out,” Janice said at last.

Carol nodded. She didn’t blame her friend for telling her to leave. For what she’d done it was mild as punishments went. Slowly she got to her feet.

“What are you doing?” Janice asked, confusion creasing her brow.

“Leaving, you told me to go,” Carol said, the pain in her chest making every breath a struggle.

“Oh God,” the redhead cried, “sit down, that’s not what I meant, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She pulled Carol back down, refused to let her go until Carol promised not to leave.

“I meant you have to get out of this. You have to stop. It’s tearing you apart.”

It was Carol’s turn to frown in confusion, “Sorry? What?”

Janice sighed. “Look, I think I know what happened. Well, I can make a guess, anyway. You didn’t know what to do, you were stressed, really stressed. After the other night and what she wanted you to do tonight, well, no surprise, right? We all put on an act when we have to, hide behind it, use it to avoid our problems. And you’re better than anyone at taking on a role. Tonight, when you didn’t know what else to do you just let the role take over. Really take over.”

“I suppose,” Carol agreed, wanting whatever absolution she could get.

“But I don’t know how much more you can take. What happened to you wasn’t normal.”

Part of Carol wanted to agree. The part that said she should stop whoring, go back to her old life. But that part was small and weak. “But I felt okay, afterwards, working. I felt good.”

Janice shook her head. “Maybe, I don’t know. No stress there I suppose.”

“So I don’t have to stop?” Carol asked, hopefully, then caught herself. Her voice had been too bright, too eager. Far too enthusiastic for someone who was supposed to give up whoring in a matter of days. Eventually she continued, hoping she sounded more sober. “I can’t just stop now, not for a few days more, anyway. And like I said, I was okay tonight. Afterwards, anyway.”

Janice studied her for a moment, concern showing in her eyes, “Well, maybe not the work, no. But everything that goes with it? You come across something else you can’t handle and you might lose it again. You want to take that chance?”

Carol paused, uncertain. She could sense that other personality in her head. But it was dormant, unthreatening. Was Stephanie just waiting for her opportunity, or did Carol have her under control? Would anything too stressful see her trapped in her own head again?

“So, you think I’m so fucked up I’m getting multiple personality disorder or something?” Carol asked glumly.

“Oh god,” Janice blurted, “I don’t know. I’m not an expert. Hell, I’m only a sophomore.” She stopped and ran a hand through her hair, worry creasing her face. “I don’t think so. You said you remember everything? And when you were, umm, her, you could remember everything too?”

“Yeah,” Carol sighed.

“Then no, I don’t think so.” Janice said at last. “But switching personalities like that, blacking out. It’s not good, Carol, it really isn’t.”

“I think I can handle it, I have to,” Carol insisted, trying to persuade herself as much as Janice, “but what I did to Brenda….” She could feel the tears starting to come again. She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap.

Janice took her friend gently by the shoulders, bobbed down so she could look Carol in the eye, “I know it’s harsh, but don’t worry about Brenda, I think she was going to do it anyway. You said how much she wanted the money. And I can’t believe that someone playing at mediation will do to herself what Copeland did to us. So don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?” Carol wanted it to be true, that nothing she’d done had changed Brenda’s fate. But it was so hard to believe, with the guilt eating at her.

“Yeah, I am,” Janice said, “Come on, you think sitting on the floor going ‘om’ is going to turn someone into a prostitute? It took Copeland a lot more than that to do it to us.” Carol frowned as she see saw a shadow pass behind Janice’s eyes.

The brunette recalled the image she had of Brenda meditating, but it didn’t seem so bad now. It was almost funny. She imagined a big cheesy grin on the girl’s face as she chanted the words. The girl in her imagination stopped, shook her head and said, “Man, that’s so fake.” Then got up and walked away. Carol could only hope that she could do the same in a few days. The image was reassuring, but Carol wasn’t sure she completely believed it. She knew what repeating the words over and over had done to her and Janice. She’d just have to hope Brenda didn’t suffer the same fate.

“You really think she was going to do it anyway?” Carol asked, her conscience needing the reassurance.

“Yes, I do, I,” Janice paused, a cloud passing over her features. “Mrs Bowen talked to me about her.”

Carol’s eyes widened in surprise, “She did? Did you meet Brenda?”

“No,” Janice shook her head firmly, “and Mrs Bowen didn’t say anything about involving you. She just told me about this girl, Brenda, and how much she wanted money and what a good prostitute she’d make. If I’d known she was going to get you to help I’d have at least told you.”

“Oh, okay,” Carol replied, “but when did you talk to her?”

“She, umm, well,” Janice stumbled, “she just told me.”

Carol could tell her friend was hiding something. Her instincts were screaming it at her. Something that made her friend more than just uncomfortable. There was guilt there as well. Carol had interviewed enough people, witnesses, suspects and sources, to know when someone was covering up. To know when you got near to something the person really didn’t want to talk about. And whatever Janice was hiding was something her friend wanted to keep hidden.

“You okay Janice?” More guilt flashed through Carol. Janice had been there for her, but if something was worrying the redhead she hadn’t noticed. Carol wanted to think she was a better friend than that.

“Yeah, I’m, I’m fine.” Janice looked away, waved a hand feebly in Carol’s direction.

“No you’re not,” Carol insisted. “Look, you’ve been here for me, too much lately. If you need to talk, I’m here.”

Janice looked back at her, a wry smile on her face, “No, I…. Not tonight, not now. I’ll tell you, but not now. Promise me you won’t ask me until after you’ve got the girls back.”

“Janice…” Carol wasn’t happy at leaving it alone, whatever it was.

“No, promise me you’ll leave it. Really.” There was a finality about Janice’s statement, a firm look on her face.

Carol sighed. Pushing her friend would only make the redhead clam up tighter. “Okay, but you’re telling me soon. You going to be alright?”

“Yeah,” Janice swallowed then nodded, “I will. Let’s just say you’re not the only she’s had do things you don’t want to.”

Carol frowned. ‘She’ had to be Mrs Bowen. The brunette was half-tempted to try again to get Janice to open up, but the look on her friend’s face dissuaded her. Janice wasn’t going to say any more tonight. That wasn’t going to stop the brunette worrying about her friend. Just the reverse.

“Okay,” she agreed at last, resigned.

“Good,” her friend smiled at her. “You just think about the girls. You can do it. I know you can.”

At least one of us does, Carol thought.

Janice must have sensed her doubts, “No, really, you can.”

Carol knew that had to be her focus. She held on tightly to the thought. She had to help save the two last girls, Karen and Laura. Only a policewoman could do that. She could remember what it felt like to be one. Her training had never left her, her sense of duty. It was why she was here, partly at least. Over the next two days she made herself remember, made herself think like the policewoman she once was.

She still enjoyed her time with every john. She couldn’t stop that, didn’t want to. The policewoman was there though, observing, assessing, practicing her undercover skills. Carol could feel herself changing, the habits, the thought patterns, coming back, like slipping on a pair of old familiar shoes. In some ways it was reassuring, the knowledge that the old Carol was still there a relief. But she couldn’t shake the fear that she was just assuming another role. The uncertainty cut deep, she was so afraid, so scared, that the policewoman was nothing more than a charade, like every persona she took on. The thought sent a chill through her. A horrifying, hollow, feeling that all she was was her roles and underneath them was nothing at all. I’m real, I’m me, I’m a policewoman. She clung to the thought, had to. But Carol couldn’t shake the feeling that she was fooling herself.

Pain lanced behind her eyes.

You sure she’s real?

Carol froze in the middle of fixing her makeup. The thought had been in her head, her voice, but she knew where it came from. The image in her mind matched what she was making herself into. Decorated, beautiful, tempting. Ready to fuck, ready to whore. Anything but a policewoman. Stephanie smiled at her, bright eyed and knowing.

“Go away,” Carol spat.

Can’t, the girl shrugged, looking bored.

“I can make you,” the brunette threatened.

Really? Stephanie asked, interested now. Go on then.

Carol frowned. She concentrated, reaching for the feelings of being a policewoman. She could touch them, almost taste them…

Still here, Stephanie teased.

“What do you want?” Carol’s teeth ground together. She knew that it was insane, talking to herself like this. She didn’t want to think about how close to madness she was.

I’m you, you’re me, so what do you want?

“For you to disappear.” Carol threw down her makeup brush in frustration.

Liar! the girl grinned, You’ve got a problem, sweetie. You think you can give this up? You don’t want to give this up. It’s controlling you.

“I am going to stop, I will,” Carol insisted, trying to ignore the desperation in her voice.

Blah, blah, heard it before. You say you want to give up, but deep down you don’t. You can’t. But you don’t want it owning you. What’s poor little Carol to do?

“Rescue the girls, go back to what I was before. What I do after every case.” Carol was getting angry now. She stood up, started pacing the room. The room where she’d fucked so many men. This was stupid, arguing with herself. She wanted to throttle the girl. If only they didn’t share a throat.

Stephanie laughed, light and breathy and even Carol could feel how sexy it was. You think it’s going to be that easy? After everything you’ve done? You can’t be her again. But if you stay here, like this, it will eat you alive.

Carol didn’t want to admit it, but she knew the truth in the girl’s words. She’d thought the same thing. That after all she’d done, with how much she loved whoring, needed it, she wouldn’t be able to go back to just being a policewoman. Copeland’s words would still be in her head, the need he’d put in there driving her, controlling her. After the months she’d spent feeding those desires she wasn’t sure that she could just cut them off, go cold turkey. But she knew that if stayed as she was it would control her, utterly, her need as bad as any junkie’s.

“I can beat it, I can stop,” Carol had to believe that.

Sure you can sweetie, Stephanie said, admiring her nails. Then she smoothed out her short skirt. She waited, smiling that smile. The one Carol knew so well, the one she used. Half innocent, half-temptress.

“What do you want?” Carol cried.

Just to help.

“Help? How?” Carol couldn’t believe the girl wanted anything that innocent. Anything innocent about this Stephanie was just a show she put on.

It doesn’t control me, Stephanie smirked.

Carol frowned, unsure what the girl meant. Her thoughts drifted back, the girl, just an image n her mind but also so much more, pushing them, to the other night, when Stephanie had been in control. She could feel the girl seeping through her, reaching out from the corner of her mind that was all she now was. Could feel Stephanie’s self-satisfied smirk pulling at her lips, feel the girl preen as she looked at herself in the mirror through Carol’s eyes. Felt her laughter, her selfishness, her pride in being desired, the joy she took in whoring. Stephanie liked whoring, revelled in it. But she didn’t need it. Not like Carol did.

See? the girl asked, a smug look on her face.

“Go away,” Carol fumed. She knew what Stephanie meant. The girl didn’t need to whore. She wanted to, but she wasn’t trapped by it. Carol didn’t know how. Maybe it was because she wanted some part of her to not need it and Stephanie was the product of that dream. Another role she could inhabit. But she couldn’t let the girl take over, couldn’t become her. Stephanie had become a monster. She’d helped turn Brenda into a whore without a second thought.

I want to be a prostitute, Stephanie said, laughing.

“No, I,” Carol looked around the room, desperately seeking a way out. But she couldn’t escape the image in her head, its voice. Her face, her voice.

C’mon Carol, you know you want to. Just say it. I want to be a prostitute.

“I want, I want to be a prostitute.” Carol couldn’t believe what was happening, that some piece of her own mind was making her do this.

I love being a prostitute

She was helpless, she couldn’t stop herself, “I love being a prostitute.”

I want to be paid for sex

“I want,” Carol’s breath caught. Not because she stopped herself saying the words, but her pussy was dripping, her nipples rock-hard, her arousal spiking so high she could barely speak, “I want to be paid for sex.” The brunette gripped the back of her chair, she could barely stand, her legs had turned to jelly.

That’s it, Stephanie smiled brightly, Got to agree with you so far. Now one more. I need to be a prostitute.

“I need to be a prostitute.”

Guess what? Stephanie smirked, I don’t.

“I don’t need you,” Carol growled, refusing to think about what it meant that she was arguing with a piece of her own mind.

Yes you do. And when you work that out, I’ll be here. Then she laughed and blew Carol a kiss before disappearing back into the recesses of the brunette’s mind.

Carol collapsed back into her chair. She couldn’t believe what had just happened, refused to believe it. She promised herself that she’d take back control of her own life. She’d prove Stephanie wrong. The girl wasn’t real, just some twisted image her subconscious had dreamt up to torment her. Carol didn’t need her. She’d be a policewoman again, she had to be.

“I will be,” she told herself.

(To be continued)