The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Now Cindi is back home for the day, a driven slave determined to make me proud. But she is a bit surprised at how she finds herself. She is in a great-dane-sized dog bed in her own bedroom. At first she has a warm feeling thinking that I had not sent her home after all, but then she realizes that it is in fact her bedroom, not mine. Besides, this dog bed is a different color and a slightly different shape than the one at my house.

Looking up, she sees an envelope taped to the bedroom door, with Annette’s beautiful flowing script. But this note is at her standing eye level and labelled “Cynthia”. Inside she finds...an apology?

I’m terribly sorry for spacing out while going through your morning routine a few hours ago. In the tub this morning I was trying to shave your legs and I forgot to “pray down the shield” first. I’m afraid that I not only ruined your blade, but actually broke the razor too. I’ve never shaved my legs before so that might be an excuse, except that Master specifically had reminded me, and I forgot anyway.

But that’s not the worst part. Having made that stupid mistake, I then forgot to “pray down the shield” again when I started blow-drying your hair. Needless to say the brush broke off at the handle. I guess I just don’t know your own strength.

(hand-drawn smiley)

So after breakfast I went out to replace your broken toiletries, stopping at the Bull’s Eye store just down the road. On the way back I noticed one of those big-box pet stores and decided that I would surprise you. Master said you really liked the doggy bed, that it gave you “good little subbie goose bumps” the first time you saw it. So I figured you might like one here at your home too.

In any case, welcome home! And sorry about the breakage. I’ll do better next time.

Cindi could not help but smile. This time she simply had to write something in return. But her regular crapola handwriting just wouldn’t do. She had to rummage around for her calligraphy pens and bond paper, and then she had to test the pens to see which ones still had ink since the first two she tried were dried out. But soon she was getting down to it.

Your apologies are entirely unnecessary. If you had any idea how many razors, brushes, pens, scissors, kitchen utensils, hammers I have accidentally broken over the years, you would have just shaken your head and laughed (At least, that’s what I do).

But thank you for replacing the items. And thank you ever so much for my new bed. It makes me feel so close to our Lord and Master, I get tingles just looking at it. It makes me wonder if I should go out now and get a doggy dish.

But most of all I want to thank you for taking such great care of my body while I am away, and for allowing me to use your amazingly sensitive, sexy, perfect body in the exchange. I will continue to follow your care instructions to the letter. I hope that by being a good steward, our Lord will continue to allow me to feel the explosive thrills that I can only feel in your body.

Having posted her response envelope—addressed to “Dearest Annette”—on the inside of her bedroom door, she now begins to seriously consider how to best please me on her new mission. The first thing that occurs to her is that her old self is so utterly foreign to her new nature—her true nature—that in order to remember to properly impersonate Majesticu—, um, Majestic Woman, she will have to give herself constant reminders.

Inspiration strikes her as she is putting away her calligraphy pens. She takes the pen in her hand, and looks into her desk for some sticky notes. This would be the ever-present mnemonic she needed to insure that she would be the best imitation Majestic Woman that she could be. Everywhere she would look she would see them. Every time I might need her to wrap the shell of Majestic Woman around her true self she would be prepared to do it. All she has to do is keep THIS thought in the forefront of her head at all times. It is simplicity itself. She manages to run out of notes before her pen runs out of ink. Now she just needs to distribute them.

After this her day now devolves down to waiting. I have told her that I would notify her if needed, so that she should spend her day immersing herself in the things that Majestic Woman would immerse herself in, if she only had time. It had been a long time since she had read Sun Tsu. The man had been born a contemporary of hers, but, of course, the vast gulf of geography made it impossible for them to have ever met or even to have heard of each other. Even so, there was something about knowing in an intimate, native way the times that were the backdrop for his writings that Cindi felt made Majestic Woman appreciate The Art of War in a deeper way. Her true self, Cindi Cumdump, couldn’t have cared less, except that this is part of the service I require of her.

And so, determined to make me proud, she reads, treating it as if it were all still relevant to her life. Even at that, she still pauses often in her reading to reflect on the nature of leadership, and how much she wishes she could just leave behind the life of a leader and not have to deal with it anymore. She hopes I will end this masquerade soon; in only two more years it would be time for her fourth rotation as chair of the Legion of Heroes. Three terms was already the most that anyone had ever served, her burden in a way for being the last surviving founding member. It would be so much harder to keep up the masquerade if she had to be “on” all the time.

sigh «It’s all up to Him.» She feels again the peace in knowing that I am the one in control, that she only has to serve my will and make me proud.

She takes a break for lunch and gives herself a little downtime from the impersonation. At that moment she remembers that I want her to learn how to dance. How to dance erotically. How to dance for my pleasure. She squeezes together her suddenly damp thighs at the thought. She’s on her laptop now as she eats her salad, googling for local dance classes. To limit the hundreds of listings she tries a number of limiting keywords until she sees this under the results for “dance class erotic”:

Erotic Belly Dancing

This class is designed to teach you how to dance in a way that will please anyone who is attracted to the female form. This is a class for beginners, but the latter sessions of the class will be quite challenging. You should be in good shape. We will be patient with shyness, but some nudity will be expected, especially in the last 3 weeks. Please leave your inhibitions and hangups at the door.

WHAT THIS CLASS IS NOT:

• This class is not an aerobic dance class, although it is quite a workout.
• This class does not teach the “westernized” form of the dance frequently featured at Middle-Eastern- or Mediterranean-themed clubs or restaurants, although many of the moves and rhythms are the same.
• This class is not a striptease dancing class, although most dances involve at least some removal of clothing.
• This class is not a stepping stone to dancing or stripping jobs, although you might be well-qualified for either at the end.

WHAT THIS CLASS IS:

The purpose of this class is to help you learn to express your sexual desire through the medium of dance. If this appeals to you, we would love the opportunity to teach you.

“YOU MUST BE TALLER THAN THIS LINE TO ENTER”:

• This is a ladies-only class; sorry, fellas.
• This is an adults-only class; dancers younger than 18 may not attend.

Cindi called the number and was rewarded with a pleasant female voice on the other end.

“Yes, I’d like to sign up for course number DA-526, it looks like the next section begins in two weeks, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, but we need to set up your interview with Yasmin first.”

“Interview?”

“Yes, ma’am. She likes to screen the student base, you know, since the class is kinda provocative.”

“Sure, that makes sense. Do I meet her somewhere? Phone her?”

“She prefers in-face meeting and will meet you anywhere public in the Portal City metro area, but she will do phone if you absolutely cannot make the times work.”

“Um, okay, can you schedule for her?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“OH! Great! How about, um, now...seriously, say, 30 minutes?”

By now I’m inside the staffer’s head. «Wow. Isn’t she the eager beaver!» “Let me text Yasmin and see if she has time now.“

“Sure.” Cindi waits impatiently, until...

“Yes, ma’am, that works fine if you can meet her where she is. She is at Teddy Bear Skull Coffee Shop, near our offices on University. Would that work for you?”

“Absolutely. Tell her I’ll be there in, say, 20 minutes. My name is, ah, Cynthia.”

“Great...She says she’ll be easy to find. She’s the one in red.”

Dishes rapidly done Cindi grabs her keys and gets in the car, where she suddenly realizes she’s still naked. Growling at herself in disgust, she literally flies to her bedroom and throws on underwear, jeans, t-shirt. As she drives off she thinks about her dull, functional bra and panties.

«Maybe I should go shopping afterwards.» Then a warm alternative occurs to her, «Noooooo. Maybe I should ask Annette to do it for me.»

Daydreaming about how her more experienced “little sister” might surprise her, she almost runs a red light. It sucks her back to reality. Majestic Woman is fanatical about traffic safety. It’s not just a matter of being law-abiding. She dreads the prospect of trying to explain how she emerged from a wrecked car without a scratch.

«Maybe I should move one or two of those sticky notes to the car.» she thinks.

As she enters the shop she looks around at the few customers she sees and muses silently about how time has made the Grateful Dead “mainstream”. Almost everyone is in suits or other business attire, while the walls, windows, and tables are adorned with Deadhead memorabilia.

«Um, no one in red though.»

Then behind the counter she sees the cashier, a small curvy woman whose olive skin matches Cynthia’s own. She is wearing a bright red shirt with teddy bears marching across the chest. “Hi,” she says, smiling, “From the look on your face I’m guessing you must be Cynthia.” Then she yells to the back, “KARL, TAKE THE REGISTER. I’M ON BREAK.”

Cindi is not very impressed until she sees the woman move. Taking off her apron, walking around the counter, pulling out a chair at an empty table, sitting, every movement flowing, sensuous, inviting.

«Yes. I think I came to the right place.»

“So, ah, Cynthia, why do you want to take my class. ”

“My, um, boyfriend would like me to learn how to dance. Erotically.”

A pained look crosses Yasmin’s face. Suddenly she seems to find new significance in the steel collar locked around Cindi’s throat. “Cynthia, when any...conscientious...person teaches ‘sexy’ classes for women, they look for certain...signs. You just threw up the reddest of the red flags I look for. I won’t tell you how to live your life, but I think you need a better boyfriend, not a dance class.”

As Yasmin rises sinuously from her seat, Cindi grabs her arm, “Wait, Yasmin, it’s not like that!” «Yes, it is! But...» “He just asked me if I could dance. He didn’t, like, force anything on me. I had to tell him ‘no’; I’ve always been more athletic than artistic. But the thought of dancing for him made me feel so...hot!“

Taking her seat again, Yasmin replies, “Well, then. Let’s try this one more time. Cynthia, why do you want to take my class?“

Falling all over herself to answer, she blurts, “The first time I dance for him I want to make him cream his shorts!”

Yasmin chews her lip as she thinks over Cindi’s answer. Them she looks up and smiles. “Welcome to the class, Cynthia. Please be on time. For the first class any comfortable workout clothes will do, but most students favor yoga pants and tank tops. DON’T wear a sports bra, athletic girl. You’re gonna want things to, uh, move. And we’ll be taking measurements that first class. We want to get them right.” she said, looking unabashedly at Cindi’s chest.

“Don’t forget to pay the costume fee, or I swear I’ll make you dance naked.” With a grin the dancing woman departs, back to her day job.

Later that evening, after dinner—Peking duck with home-made plum sauce—she reads a passage from Sun Tzu that sets her Majestic Woman simulation to thinking:

“We cannot enter into informed alliances until we are acquainted with the designs of our neighbors and the plans of our adversaries.”

«An alliance...I wonder if we could get the Magic Lamp Corps to do some of the heavy lifting on the Betelgeusean situation? They’re supposed to be some kind of cosmic police force. Maybe a planned invasion against a non-spacefaring world would come under their purview.»

She puts together a brief three-page analysis and fires it off to the executive team. Within minutes she receives a very positive response from Magic Lamp himself, praising her profusely and cursing himself for a fool for not thinking of it himself: “...It’s been so long since I have been earthbound that I forget that nearly everyone else in Earth is. Yes, this sort of threat is exactly the kind of thing the Corps was created to fight. May I send your white paper and your previous reports to Uena?“

Close on the heels of that message is one from the Wraith, praising her profusely and giving his permission, as chair, to release the reports, including Power Man’s original recon report.

Then praise from the rest of the team starts to trickle in. «I’m surprised by all this wave of relief, or at least Majestic Woman would be. Sure it was going to be a tough fight, but we were certain to win, even on our own. Maybe Majestic Woman just didn’t project the right air of confidence in her previous reports.»

Then another thought comes, filling her with pure ecstasy, «OH! My Lord will be so proud of me! Majestic Woman couldn’t have done this better herself!»

«“I am!“» I tell her immediately. «“I’m very proud of you. Be ready to go in thirty minutes.“»

Joyfully she strips off all those awful clothes and curls up nice and cozy in her new bed. Then she rises quickly as she remembers to write Annette a quick PPS about buying lingerie, but she makes it back to bed in plenty of time.

When you are a eons-old body-hopping spirit that can read minds, very little surprises you. So you relish the surprises when they come along. Well, at least, that’s how it is for me. I don’t have any other data points to offer. So I was growing quite fond of the inventiveness of my new slave. Arriving at my penthouse flat, she changed her “greeting”. Prostrate on the floor she looked up at me with smoldering eyes. In a low sultry voice, she uttered, “Thank you, My Lord, for making me your slave. I can never repay you for this gift. What worthless service may I perform to show you how grateful I am?”

I was later to see that this was just a start. From now on every entreaty to serve me would start with some fresh note of gratitude for her new life.

I “rewarded” her immediately, pushing her over onto her back and taking her there on the hardwood floor, giving her orgasm after orgasm, looking into her eyes and telling her over and over what an especially good girl she was. Unfortunately, after only a few minutes I picked up frantic thoughts from Annette about a 5-alarm fire in a tenement in Portal City. ARRRRRRGGGGH. I reluctantly threw myself into “high gear” and came after only a few more thrusts. It took another minute or two for Cindi to make the descent from her orgasmic mountaintop, though.

“Was that a ‘quickie’, My Lord?”

“Yes, unfortunately. There’s a major fire in Portal City. They need Majestic Woman.”

“You’re sending me back.”

“Just until you’re done.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

I make the switch, and she’s ready to go, Annette has already dressed her. I tell her not to bother watching the news report; I’ll brief her on the way. As Cindi opens her back door, she looks at the sticky note placed on the door frame at eye-level, one of dozens just like it scattered around the house:

WWMWD?

In minutes she’s on the ground talking to the fire captain. Tom Cornet is the professional; she is under his direction, as always. They have worked together many times before. They are a team. He tells her that he doesn’t think she should carry in more water, they’re already dumping half the river into the building; eight streams at full pressure. He wants her to save the people trapped on the upper floors. Tom, incidentally is a bit puzzled by the stainless steel collar, but then again, her whole wardrobe is so over the top that he doesn’t waste time thinking about it. He has a building full of people to rescue.

Majestic Woman is on the job immediately. But instead of her normal haphazard search and rescue approach, she has me. I direct her straight to the tenants who are in the most danger of suffocation or burns. Shield of Athena protects her from heat, flame, and smoke. She gets them out first. I look into the heads of the firemen exiting the building and see which supports are the closest to giving way. I find all the trapped people above those supports and direct her to them next. Then I just point out the rest, starting with the children, then the adults, then the pets that have not died yet.

It’s the best large building fire rescue she has ever run. Almost 300 saved by her alone out of 500-plus total survivors. The very fact that she had time to rescue dogs and cats is a first. Only 4 confirmed dead. Only one of those was one that she had pulled out. Of course, that’s the one she can’t stop thinking about.

«“She was old, Cindi. She had been breathing smoke for almost 5 minutes when we found her. Give yourself a break.“»

«But I could have been there sooner.»

«“How?“»

«I...I could have been at home when Annette first heard.»

«“What, like before I took over? I get it, Cindi. Really, I do. But you have weigh the pros as well as the cons. WITHOUT me scouting for you, how many more lives would have been lost? Come on, Cindi! What WOULD Majestic Woman do? Would she really beat herself up like this?“»

Her thoughts are scattered, hard to track. Against all logic she feels guilty for cumming in my penthouse while people were burning in Portal City. But ultimately she realizes that this rescue effort really was something special. «You’re right, My Lord.»

Even so the old woman’s face lingers in Cindi’s mind.

Hours later, after she had finished her post mortem with the smiling, ecstatic Tom and the rest of the tired firefighters, she flies back home. I swap her with Annette as soon as she shuts the door.

Back in the penthouse I had been sitting in the floor, back against the wall, cradling Annette’s head and chest in my arms. She had been frantic over the fire. But then suddenly finding herself in an orgasmic afterglow was a bit of a shock to her mind. I had been rocking her and reassuring her while she cried softly. None of that had taken my attention away from the fire. By the time Majestic Woman was lighting down by her back door, exhausted and sleepy, Annette was ready to go back.

So Cindi finds herself cradled in my arms, looking up into my eyes. “You saved all those people. You are the real hero. Whatever I can do for you could never be enough. But I want to try, My Lord. How may I serve you? How may I SERVE you?“

“I have a few ideas about that,” I say as I maul her breast and I dive down onto her lips.

The weather has taken a turn for the better, unseasonably warm in fact, so we are having dinner on the balcony. Cindi has prepared tuna steaks with mango salsa and some sort of tangy creamed potato/wasabi combination. We’re sharing a fine 2008 California Chardonnay. She’s of course by my side, hip and thigh pressed against me, face down in her bowl. I’m idly petting her as I eat, feeling her arousal from the inside.

I have some odds and ends to address, so I do.

“You haven’t taken a leave of absence from the Legion in a couple of years; I think you should.”

That gets her attention! “To stay here with You, My Lord?“

“No, sorry. Don’t get too excited.” She turns back to her food.

“It’s just that...it’s been a while since you last visited your mother, hasn’t it? An old-fashioned girl should let mommy know when she’s fallen in love.”

“Are you mocking me, My Lord?” Odd how she asks that while on all fours with her head over a dog dish.

“No! Not at all!”

Silence. “My Lord, does it really bother you that I love you?”

“No...No, baby bitch. It’s okay.” It’s an honest answer, and not the one I would have given a few days ago. I’ll have to think about that more before I put the plan into motion. I can’t go soft here. I also can’t let myself get sidetracked.

“Seriously, your dance class doesn’t start for another two weeks. Everyone in the Legion is head-over-heels with Majestic Woman’s handling of the Betelgeuse situation. Your life has changed more in the past week than it has in the entire previous two-plus millennia. You ought to visit Themiscyra. Hoist some grog with some old army buddies. Remember the places and people of your youth. Talk. To. Your. Mother.”

She gets that it’s not really a suggestion. “Yes, My Lord. I will report my leave as soon as I get back. How long do you think I should stay?”

“A few days at least, a week might be too long, but you should probably tell the Legion a week, just in case. You wouldn’t want to miss out on anything because you have to cut it short.”

“I won’t be able to spend as much time here, will I?...Um, My Lord.”

“You picked up on that pretty quickly. No, you won’t. You’ll be with a lot more people, a lot more hours of the day. If you can manage to get 8 hours sleep time you can spend all 8 hours here. Sleeping hours in Greece overlap some with sleeping hours here so you’ll be better off if you stay up late carousing with your pals.”

I can’t tell her the whole story about this yet. She’ll just fret and worry about it. In any case, if things go well everything I just said will be accurate.

“I figured. Thank you, My Lord.”

“If you manage to have a real heart-to-heart with Hippolyta, you will thank me. I promise.”

The groan from the vicinity of the dish is NOT sexual. “My Lord, if you had ever attempted to have a ‘heart-to-heart’ with my mother,” the last word said with all venom of a frustrated teen-aged girl, “you might not say that.”

“Be that as it may...”

“sigh Yes, My Lord. I...I will not fail you.“

Dinner is soon done, after she finishes she begs permission to bring me off under the table. It’s becoming our “after dinner” thing. I lean back and look out over the sky line while she works me. She’s getting better, almost no hesitation at all as I go down her throat.

Later, after she’s cleaned up, she surprises me with another first. She reports for discipline:

• for impatience (chafing at the need for her masquerade)
• for misrepresenting me to a muggle (Yasmin)
• twice for lack of faith (1: after the fire, 2: during dinner)
• twice for breaking character (1: while driving, 2: after the fire)
• for defiance (during dinner).

Most of these perceived “sins” are utter crap. Today has been her most perfect day of service yet. But I know better than to tell her that. You can’t tell a devoted slave who thinks she’s failed you that she hasn’t. She’ll think you don’t care. I know, it sounds nuts, but it’s true.

So I take her to my bedroom. I hear her confession. I give her the stripes from my belt that she demands. I hold her and reassure her and give her the best verbal guidance I can. I make sure she understands the mitigating factors. I help her avoid making the “same mistakes” in the future.

Then, I lay her back on the bed. I begin to stroke her in a different way. Looking her in the eye, I slowly and carefully explain the myriad ways in which she has proven to be a good and faithful slave today, making her cum after (and sometimes during) each recounting:

• the “WWMWD?” Sticky notes
• her apt choice of The Art of War for keeping her Majestic Woman character sharp
• the absolute perfection of her cooking
• the brilliant insight to bring allies into the struggle with Betelgeuse
• how good and kind she was to her sister slaves Julia and Annette
• her flawless obedience to me during the fire rescue

And on and on, I must have come up with a dozen different “good girls”, and I rewarded her with at least one orgasm for each one. She is stunned speechless and crying tears of profound joy when I finally let loose my seed within her.

After sending her home, I sit brooding for several hours. She had been on the way to turning herself into a complete pain slut, and I had pulled her back from the brink. Why did I do that? Considering what was yet to come for her, developing a pain fetish would have made her much more...tractable.

This plan is too important for me to screw it up now. This is about survival. I need to keep my head in the game.