The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The timing sucks but I have to force Majestic Woman to take another two-day leave of absence just two days into the hopeless hunt for Powerhouse. I need her full attention for that “rack of lamb” dinner guest. Besides that, she’s probably going to be in rough shape after this dinner thing. She’ll need some extra down time.

Blake and Claud are both livid. How can you leave now? But ultimately they have no choice. She’s going. This is the thing she was afraid of back when she was trying to resign. It’s not happening “in the heat of battle”, but even so. Her teammates, her friends, they need her, but Her Lord calls so she has to abandon them.

In the penthouse, it’s mid-morning. I’m not there, but Julia is. She’s dressed, oddly enough, in restaurant-style kitchen whites.

“Oh Cindi. Thank Gawd you’re here! Master decided at the last minute that he wants me to cook and serve, and he wants you to show me what to do. He wants you to teach me everything. Is that even possible?“

Cindi is confused. “Wait. What will I be doing?“

“I think he wants you to, um, ‘entertain the guest’. But could we please not think about that now?” She grabs Cindi by the shoulders. The Aussie’s eyes laugh and plead at the same time as she realizes what she is about to say, ”Help me, Majestic Woman! You’re my only hope!”

“Okay, okay. It’s all going to be just fine, Julia. Calm down. We’ve got all kinds of time. I just need to know where to start. Do you cook much at all?”

“Sure, I cook for Fred and m’self, but he doesn’t like to eat fancy much: fish and chips, pie and sauce, steak and potatoes. Nothing like...this.“

“Have you ever made a big holiday meal? Christmas? Easter? Anything like that?”

“I always helped Mum?”

“Okay, It’s gonna be a bit like that, except now you’re ‘Mum’.”

“Ugh, she’d get a chuckle or two out of that if she were here now.“

And so they get down to business. Cindi gives Julia complete instructions, verbally and in writing, with copious notes. They walk through all the steps over and over again. They practice every technique that is even slightly out of the ordinary. Every flick of the wrist. Every flip, every swish of a pan. Every moment when Julia will have to pay attention to three or four things at once.

After five grueling hours for Julia, she feels like she’s already made this dinner ten times. She’s as ready as she will ever be, and they both know it. It’s now two and a half hours before dinner, and Julia has things to do.

Cindi stays and helps until they hear my key in the lock. Julia says, “Go,” and Cindi is there, prostate on the floor before I can get the door open. She’s welcoming me home, seducing my shoes with soft, steamy kisses. She doesn’t notice the small flat wooden box I’m carrying.

“Cindi, I need your attention.”

She rises up, hugging my leg and gazing up at me with complete adoration. I have to shake my head to stay on track.

“Remove your collar. Tonight I wish to impress our guest with some decoration to complement the natural beauty of my slave.” I open the box. Inside is a priceless necklace of gold, diamonds, and lapis lazuli.

“For...for me, My Lord?”

“No, baby bitch, for me. For me to display on my property. Are we clear?“

“Y-yes, My Lord. Please forgive m—”

“Take. Off. Your. Collar.”

«“Less talk, more action.“» Off comes the collar. She uses it to help hold her hair out of the way while I fasten the necklace. The jewels form a triangle below her throat pointing toward, but not into, the deep valley between her tits. The lapis and gold offsets her olive skin perfectly. The diamonds glitter with her eyes. Cleopatra herself could not have worn this bauble more elegantly. In spite of myself I smile at her. She can’t stop touching it.

“Put away the collar.”

She hurries to put it on the dresser in the bedroom, then lingers, looking into the mirror.

“Stop admiring yourself. We have things to discuss.”

She hurries back, kneeling, eyes downcast, chest proudly out-thrust to display my property, all of my property.

“Tonight you will help me entertain our guest in any way that I might demand. Is that clear?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“He is an arrogant and crude man in some ways but very persuasive in others, so I want you to remember this: Even if I turn you over too him, you will still always obey my instructions first. Do you understand?“

She can’t imagine how someone could make her forget her loyalty to me, but still she answers, “Yes, My Lord.”

“When he comes to the door greet him exactly as you attempted to do with Julia when you met her last week. You will remain polite and deferential no matter what. Do not embarrass me. Make me proud.“

Now she’s even more puzzled at these strange instructions, but she responds with confidence, “Yes, My Lord. I live to make you proud.”

“We’ll see. We have about a half hour. Come help me pass the time.” She follows me to the sofa, eyes lighting up as I order her to take out my cock and blow me.

Her effort is no less enthusiastic, even with the necklace. However, after a while I notice that she is using one hand to hold down, to protect, the necklace while her head bobs up and down over my groin.

I don’t allow her to cum when I do, which disappoints her, but she doesn’t let it show. Good girl. As she is making her third pass at tongue-cleaning me, the doorbell rings. She hurries to answer it.

Opening the door from her knees, she immediately curls up into a humble ball. “Welcome, Sir, to My Lord’s home. Please enter and make yourself at home.”

The guest reaches down and lifts her up by the chin. He looks her in the eye appraisingly.

“This isn’t her! What game are you playing, Master,” the last word said almost contemptuously.

For her part, Cindi is in shock. «Ares! What is he DOING here? How can I defend mys- “Polite and deferential” “Make me proud.“»

The seeds have their intended effect. Although inwardly she is deathly afraid, facing her greatest enemy with none of her powers, outwardly she calms herself. She does not fight him. She does not try to pull away from his powerful grasp.

Ares is attired as a Greek warrior: battle tunic, bronze breastplate, sturdy sandals. No weapons though. His weapons are the powers given to him by the “Gods”: strength, rapid healing, flight, limited invisibility, and one more thing. He has the ability to cause humans to feel strong passionate emotion, mostly lizard brain stuff: rage, fear, lust, greed.

The Shield of Athena has always protected Cindi from Ares’s manipulation in the past. Of course, she has no shield now. She’s defenseless. She’s at his mercy.

“Let go of her, Ares. Let. Go. Now.”

The rogue God obeys Cindi’s God/Lover. Cindi struggles to calm herself further. She wants to believe I will protect her, but she knows just how powerful Ares is.

“It’s not her,” maintains Ares, more indignant than before, “As many times as we’ve fought did you think I wouldn’t recognize her?”

“Oh? Tell me then,” I chide, “the last time we ‘spoke’ would anyone have recognized the body you were wearing?“

Ares shivers a shiver that Cindi recognizes immediately.

«Ares has experienced My Lord’s Discipline. So why isn’t he kneeling and begging to serve like I do? Is Ares made of stronger stuff than me after all?»

«“No, Cindicunt, he’s just insane. It’s harder to tame a madman. I’ve had to settle for teaching him manners.“»

Then aloud, “Cindi, tell him exactly who you are.” «“Just the way you did when you first met him.“»

Cindi is still trembling. She is truly afraid of the demigod. But she knows to whom she must answer. She obeys me. She looks steadily up into Ares’s eyes. She remembers their first meeting in the air over the British Channel, with death and destruction raining down all around them. She saw him when no one else did. Hovering above the water. Enjoying his handiwork, the mayhem he had wrought.

She speaks to him now as she did then, proudly, angrily. “I am Kynthia, Royal Princess of the Amazons, Daughter of Hippolyta.”

“Zeus’s LIGHTNING.” Ares’s eyes grow wide and wild. Now he is the one remembering. Defeat upon humiliation upon narrow escape, all at the hands of this arrogant Amazon bitch. “Come, ‘Daughter of Hippolyta’. We have things to...discuss.”

“Stay right where you are, Cindi.” Then to Ares, “Dinner will be served soon. Why don’t we have a drink? What would you like?”

“Bourbon.”

“Sorry, no bourbon. Gin, vodka, scotch, akvavit, irish, three flavors of schnapps, three or four different cordials...”

“Scotch, neat.”

“Cindi, scotch rocks for me. Go.”

I direct Ares to the “comfy chair” beside the couch.

Cindi returns shortly, bearing two drinks in trembling hands. She kneels and sets mine down on the coffee table so that she can present the tumbler to Ares.

“Your drink, S-sir.”

“I like you like this, Majestic Tits,” He touches her face, her chin. He examines her necklace, “Your Master has adorned you nicely, slave. I approve.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Now she presents to me, “Your drink, My Lord.” In her eyes a silent plea for help goes apparently unnoticed. She can’t think of anything else to do, so she sits at my feet and hugs my leg. She stares at Ares with eyes of fear as though he were a cobra ready to strike.

“So, um, Master,” again Ares says the word like a nasty taste, “How did you do it? How did you tame this insufferable bitch.“

“How did I get you to join me for dinner? Why do you call me ‘Master’?”

“Yes. That whole body-swapping thing. It’s a useful trick. But now I’m here in my body. Your slave seems to understand what that means better than you do.” Cindi has turned as pale as her complexion with allow. She is shaking like a leaf. Her fingers are digging into my leg painfully. I’m a solid lamppost to cling to in her own personal hurricane.

“Excuse us, Cindi,” I say, “we’ll be right back.”

Suddenly, from Cindi’s perspective, the man she is holding is no longer Her Lord. It’s the same body, of course, but the person inside it clearly is not me. And the man she sees across from her is somehow softer—feminine?—and certainly no longer Ares. Other people are inhabiting both of those shells now. They speak to each other—angrily?—in some language Cindi doesn’t know.

Then the man in my (Greg Wolfe’s) body says in heavily accented English, “My wife would like you to let go of my leg. I, on other hand, do not mind at all.”

In the mean time, Ares and I are in my dungeon. I am in the dungeon master’s body. Ares is bound to the waterboarding table in the dungeon master’s wife’s body. Ares and I are going to come to an understanding. Right here. Right now.

At some point it may just become too much trouble to bring him to heel, but we are not there yet. I am willing to give him the carrot that he desires, but first he will have to show me that he respects the stick. Really all it takes is this display of my power. He crumbles immediately.

I drown him anyway. He has to respect the stick.

It takes only minutes to make my point. As quickly as we departed, we are back. “Do we have an understanding now, Ares?”

“Yes, Master.” He still chafes at the word, but now his voice has a fresh edge of fear as well.

Julia appears. Without looking away from Ares I hold up a finger to her, silently commanding her to wait. She can see how horrified Cindi is, and though she doesn’t know why, Julia’s face now reflects that horror. I’m engaged with Ares still. Not speaking. Just meeting his eyes. Eventually he breaks the stare and looks down. Cindi watches in awe. Ares is still a cobra, but now one trapped in a glass cage. I nod to Julia.

“The entrée is served, Master.” “Entrée” in the Aussie sense (well, the everywhere-but-North-America sense, really), an appetizer, not the main course.

To Ares, “Shall we?” To my slave, “Come, Cindi.”

The appetizer is finger-food, peeled grapes and currants, mixed with shelled pecans and walnuts in a chilled bowl. Cindi is actually hiding behind me, gripping my shirt. Ares is already working on her, ratcheting up her fear. That is within the rules we established; he’s allowed to do that. Even so, I’m suddenly...reluctant to give her the order. Ares looks at me expectantly. “Well?” he prompts.

“Cindi, help our guest with his food.”

The symbolism of feeding peeled grapes to her greatest enemy as a naked slave girl is not lost on her. But more important to her at the moment: Her Lord is ordering her to step into the cage with the cobra. She is my true slave. Trembling, she kneels at Ares’s feet.

“How may I serve you, Sir?”

“Ha, HA! Oh this is rich. Call me ‘Master’, bitch.“

“Cindi, do NOT call him ‘Master’!”

Ares eyes me levelly, but again drops his gaze.

“Then call me, ‘Mister Ares’.” They both look at me. I nod.

“Yes, Mr. Ares, Sir.”

“Climb onto my lap, wench. Tempt me with your...morsels.”

“Yes, Mr. Ares, Sir.”

On his lap she can no longer hide the wetness and heat between her legs. Up close she can no longer hide how hard and tight her wrinkled brownish-red nipples are, how flushed her face and lips have become, how deeply her fear is feeding her arousal. Her most hated enemy has her literally in his grasp. Somehow that has her uncomfortably on the edge of an orgasm.

I’m not completely comfortable myself. That nagging acid stomach, my “stress” problem, has decided to make an appearance. Well, I guess I know the cause now. It’s pretty hard to deny. But I can’t back out. Ares and I have a deal.

As Cindi reaches over to grab a handful of fruits and nuts, Ares reaches for her own low-hanging fruit. Grabbing and slapping an ass cheek with one hand. Hefting a breast with the other. Pinching her nipple. Eliciting involuntary squeals of fright from the helpless slave. She is more afraid of Ares now than she ever was of me, even during our discipline sessions in the dungeon. And just as in those sessions, she thinks she must be going crazy, because her arousal is building to a fever pitch.

“What are you going to do with those grapes, girl?”

“Sorry, Mr. Ares, Sir.” Cindi begins feeding him. One hand holding the food, the other feeding him individual bites. On almost every bite, Ares traps her fingers with his teeth, teasingly, cruelly. While Cindi’s hands are occupied and harassed, Ares’s hands are roaming Cindi’s body, massaging, pinching, pulling, smacking. His assault is relentless, yet it never goes beyond the boundaries I established. Boundaries that, by mutual agreement, Cindi knows nothing about.

Cindi’s fear is beginning to push out all other thought. And the arousal rising on the heels of that fear is driving her mad. It’s as if her own body is committing treason against her. She endures almost on autopilot, feeding him until her hand is empty, then grabbing another handful from the bowl. Whenever she glances at me, pleading silently for me to save her, I just nod my head toward her enemy, urging her to continue.

It’s not what I want to do, but I have to. Ares and I have a deal. HA! That’s becoming my mantra. I’m clinging to it even as the pain in my stomach rises.

When Julia brings out the soup, Ares orders Cindi roughly to serve him, to feed him, all while he continues to torment her body. Her hands are shaking so badly that she cannot get a spoonful of soup from the bowl to his lips. Until now he has avoided verbal abuse, although that is also within the rules.

But when the fifth attempted spoonful of soup lands squarely in her lap, he explodes, “You foolish...clumsy...whore!” He pushes her off his lap onto the floor—still barely within the rules—and grabs her hair drawing her toward his crotch.

Cindi is shocked into silence, but a small cry emerges from the kitchen. I’m in Julia’s head ordering her to stay out of it. She obeys.

Cindi whimpers as the fear possesses her, “Please, Mr. Ares, Sir. Please don’t hurt me, Mr. Ares, Sir.”

Ares continues his verbal assault, “Here, I have something a worthless cunt like you might be able to do without fucking it up. Take it out! Get to work!” Still within the rules. Sobbing uncontrollably now she fishes out his rigid member with trembling hands and begins to service him.

Between spoonfuls of soup, then between bites of salad, then while cutting and spearing and chewing his meat, Ares keeps up the veiled threats and abuse, never quite crossing that line but coming as close as possible over and over. Cindi continues to bob up and down on his member, trembling like a leaf, crying and pleading for mercy whenever he allows her to come up for air.

Long after he is done with his dinner Cindi is still working on him. At long last he grabs her hair and pulls her off his member. Immediately she begins to sob and beg, even as gout after gout of his cum spews onto her hair, her face, her jewel-laden chest.

He’s still within the rules. I can’t call it off. I can’t stop him. I pull out my new ever-present companion, my roll of antacids, and take two. Unfortunately, the worst pain is no longer in my stomach.

Holding her limp body by her hair as she cries and begs and shudders, he growls, “We’re not done yet, bitch.” Then to me, ”Master, please have your other cunt clear the table.” I motion to Julia. Silent but both furious and frightened the red-head quickly clears the dirty dishes. As Julia carries away the last load, Ares hauls a seemingly paralyzed Cindi to her feet. He slams her back across the table, spreads her legs, and enters her traitorous sopping vulva in one smooth stroke.

Against her will her frightened mewling is interspersed with passionate groans. Against her will her mask of fear gives way to a look of yearning.

Now Ares taunts her again, but it’s not the same, “Do you like it, bitch? Do you want it?“

Cindi moans louder but does not answer.

“Say it, you cheap whore. Say it or I’ll stop.”

“I nnnnnnggh I like it.“

“I can’t hear you.”

“I LIKE IT, MR. ARES, SIR. I WANT IT.”

“Beg me for it. Beg me to keep going.”

“PLEASE, MR. ARES, SIR. PLEASE DON’T STOP.”

“You pitiful slut.”

“PLEASE FUCK YOUR PITIFUL SLUT. PLEASE FUCK YOUR CHEAP WHORE. PLEASE DON’T STOP, MR. ARES, SIR.”

“Do you want to cum, you slimy hole?”

“YES, MR. ARES, SIR. PLEASE LET YOUR SLIMY HOLE CUM. PLEASE, SIR, PLEASE.”

This goes on for what seems like forever. Ares is pushing her harder, make her plead for him in more and more disgusting ways. I’m getting sicker and sicker. But none of this is outside the rules. Ares and I have a god-damned, motherfucking deal. Finally, as he is making her scream her pleas for release, he looks upon her, says only, “No,” and shoots his load into her.

He hauls her head up once again, and forces his tongue deep past her cum-spattered lips. A loud humming moan passes through her nose. She reaches toward him, but he pulls away and spits on her face. Holding her at arm’s length by her hair, he turns to me and says, calmly, conversationally, “Well, I must say that I haven’t had this much fun since I tricked Heracles into conquering Themiscyra.”

Inside some small part of Cindi is livid to hear even a hint of Ares’s role in the humiliation of the Amazons. But she has her own humiliation to worry about. And she is too weak, too afraid, too ashamed to move. She sobs quietly. Utterly broken. Utterly defeated.

I’m ready to burst, but I keep my calm. Through gritted teeth I say, “So, you got what you wanted?”

The demigod grins broadly and shakes my unresisting slave, “And then some.”

“And you will hold up your end?”

“As of now I’m ‘retired’, Master. Just like that fool Heracles. Neither of you will ever see me again. Goodbye.” With that he releases Cindi’s hair and lets her fall to the floor. He pushes her limp form out of his way with his foot. He walks out onto my balcony and flies away.

Out of nowhere, Julia rockets past me, pushing me aside. She falls to the floor and gathers Cindi into her embrace.

“Julia...she’ll be fine.”

Julia turns and glares at me. Even if she weren’t trembling as she stares me down I would know that it frightens her deeply to defy me. I have to admire her courage. She holds a quaking, sobbing Cindi and rocks her gently, kissing her hair, vainly murmuring reassurances that she herself doesn’t believe.

After Cindi has cried herself out in Julia’s arms, she pushes the redhead away and crawls over to me. She starts kissing my feet and repeating, over and over again, like a weak, feeble chant, “Please, My Lord, I’ll be good. I’ll be good, My Lord. Please, I’ll be good...”

I shush her. I pick her up. My vision is blurred by my tears, but somehow I get her to the couch. I rock her and rock her and cry with her. Why am I such a mess? Everything is going according to plan, right?

Julia leaves us alone. She starts cleaning the kitchen.

As I hold Cindi tight, she turns to my ear to speak to me again. She’s whispering horrible, horrible things. She’s trying to bargain with me.

“I’ll do Majestic Woman porn, as Majestic Woman. I’ll do dogs. I’ll do horses. I’ll do...I’ll do pigs. But please don’t let him have me again.“

“I’ll be your crack whore on the sleaziest street corner in Bangkok. I’ll smoke crack. I’ll take meth. I’ll shoot heroin with dirty needles. Whatever you want. I’ll fuck AIDS patients. I’ll fuck lepers. But please don’t let him touch me.”

“I’ll let you waterboard me every day...I’ll...I’ll...I’ll b-b-beg you to waterb—” suddenly horrified at herself, her voice catches in her throat, “I’ll beg you to waterb-b-board me every d-day, but please, please, My Lord, please...“

That one is too much for me. I sob loudly and hold her even tighter. She pulls back and looks up at me in shock, in wonder. I’m crying. “Never again, baby. You’ll never see him again. Just like the torches. Just like the mob bosses.” My shoulders are shaking. “We have a deal, Ares and I. You paid the price.” I’m openly wailing. I can’t hide my pain. “You’ll never...never...NEVER...see him again.”

She’s touching my face. She’s kissing my tears. She’s comforting me. I can’t imagine where she finds the strength. After a while Julia lets herself out. I’m still holding Cindi, she is still holding me, when she finally falls into sleep.

I carry her to bed, the real bed, not the dog bed. I give Greg some instructions in case I’m not there when she wakes up. Not much chance of that; I’ll be monitoring her all night long. I tell Annette that Cindi will be sleeping in Annette’s body tonight. Then I swap to my next body and continue my endless day.