The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A week later, just as Hetty had previously advised Russel, Hetty gave a quiz. It was the last quiz before the final exam, which was three-weeks out. There was one assignment due the following week— the final assignment of the course— and then, after that, the second last week of classes would be all review. The final week of classes would see the final exam held during the time that, normally, this class’s first course of the week was held— after which, the course would be complete.

But for today, all Hetty had to concern herself with was istering the quiz. And it was called a quiz, simply because the percentage of the final grade that it represented was more minimal than some other things. But writing it was still going to take a majority of the class period, for her students.

And if Russel was ing her stripdance correctly, then he knew every single answer already.

Hetty sat in the chair behind her desk at the front of the room, and looked over her students. At this moment, they all looked similar; each one intently looking down at their quiz-paper, each one either intently writing, or intently chewing at their pencil or pen in thought. None of them were looking at her.

Since no one would see it, Hetty let herself look over at Russel. He was doing a good job of playing this part. Hetty was thrilled again, suddenly, at the secrecy. No one knew what was going on between her and Russel. If any witness had stepped into the room just then, and looked at Russel, he would have completely blended in to the crowd of other students. There was nothing in his manner that gave him away— and even if she had been seen looking at him, she was sure there was nothing in her look that would have given her away either. No one knew what they meant to each other.

Hetty allowed herself to daydream for a moment. Maybe Russel was ing the answers by replaying her stripdance in his mind. That thrilled her, too— she wondered if he was hard, sitting there in his seat— watching her do things with her body as she told him one quiz-answer after another— it was making Hetty hot, just thinking that he might be doing that. How incredible that she could give him a private stripdance in the middle of class, in front of everyone else— through the power of memory.

The quiz ended at last. And Russel had worked things out perfectly for himself— for the both of them. He made sure that he was the last one to hand in his quiz, so he and Hetty were alone in the room.

“I’d like to be alone with you, Russel— for a while,” Hetty told him.

“Did you want to come over again, like last week?”

Hetty shook her head. “I don’t want to wait for evening. Is there any way you could make yourself available for the next few hours?”

“I could skip my next class,” Russel said, and it sounded like a genuine offer. “I haven’t missed much of it through out the semester. I’m sure missing it just now won’t make much of an impact.”

Hetty smiled genuinely. “Then let me go do something for fifteen minutes, and we’ll meet in the classroom across the hall. There’s nothing scheduled there, in the next period.”

Fifteen minutes later, Hetty was in that very classroom. Russel entered only a moment later.

He closed the door behind him. Hetty quickly moved nearer him, and locked the door, then switched off the light.

The room still had a dim glow even in darkness, because there were windows on the opposite exterior wall. The blinds over them were effective— but not entirely.

“Was there a reason you needed my company today?” Russel teased, with a smile Hetty could see through dimness.

She pushed him back into the wall, and opened his pants.

She got her cock into his hand— got him to crouch a little below her, and then she mounted on him.

“We’ve been dancing around this for a while, Russel— but today, thinking of you ing my stripdance to the quiz-answers— I knew I didn’t want to wait anymore. I just wanted to— ahhhhh— feel you in my pussy. And that’s not all I want.”

It had taken a little effort to settle into this position, but now it was feeling really good. “Don’t put any effort into your assignment next week— or the final. I won’t give you any answers— but whatever you give me, I’ll be able to look inside it and see brilliance, see genius. And whatever it is, whether you deserve it or not, I’ll give you the second-highest grade in the class. No one vies for second place— so no one will ask for justification.”

“And we can keep fucking like this after today? As often as we enjoy our little treats?”

Hetty moved on his cock again, felt it shifting inside her. She let out a grunt of satisfaction. “Yes,” she groaned. “I want things to be like this from now on.”

“I want something too, Hetty,” Russel said, softly. “Do you know what that is?”

She moved more eagerly on him, but shook her head.

“I want you to leave your boyfriend for me.”

Hetty shook her head, out of habit— Gerard— no, not him…

But she felt Russel moving in her so perfectly. Gerard never fucked like this, never fucked her this well. And everything they had been doing together all semester to draw closer— all those delicious moments shared the entire semester to date. She’d never done anything half as erotic with Gerard.

She kept moving on Russel’s cock. She felt it pull shallow, then felt it thrust deep. Felt it pull shallow, felt it thrust deep. Every time it drove into her, her true feelings were a little clearer to her. The reason she was enjoying this so much, the reason she had even wanted it to happen at all, after all this time— was because of what she felt for Russel.

— Felt him pull shallow, felt him thrust deep—

Russel, Russel, Russel… She felt for him…

— Felt him pull shallow, felt him thrust deep—

She had so much emotion for him— he was so important to her. He was practically the most significant person in her life. And what was the point, really—

— Felt him pull shallow, felt him thrust deep—

— in staying with another man when Russel was the one who mattered to her the most?

She felt his cock pull shallow again, then thrust more deeply into her.

“I’ll give you what you want, Russel,” she said, with a sigh. It felt so good to accept the reality of the situation— that Russel mattered to her more.

“I’ll give you what you want, and break up with Gerard.”

Russel pressed a kiss to her mouth. “You’re so good.”

In that second, hearing those three words was the most erotic thing she could imagine. She started whining, because she could feel her orgasm taking her— and it was a rough orgasm. She was clenching hard on Russel, her body twisting in the ecstatic pain— and as her vaginal muscles milked Russel’s cock, he began to spurt into her, too, which only made her orgasm worse.

She thought, gratefully, of the bottle of birth control pills in her purse— and the one that she had taken that morning upon waking up. She’d kept up the habit even though she hadn’t slept with Gerard in… months?

She was glad now that she’d gone to her class— in the fifteen minutes Russel had graciously spared her. She’d written instructions on the class chalkboard that all her students should spend the period doing the final readings of the course. She’d also advised that they could spend the time working on their final assignment, or studying for the final. She’d also noted that everyone on the class roster would receive their attendance grade for that day’s class— so her students could handle themselves for today’s class period, and she was free to do as she wanted. Initially, she’d been thinking she’d spend the time fucking Russel. But now, in the wake of their tryst, she thought she actually needed the time to go and break it off with Gerard.

Her orgasm was finally winding down. She dismounted Russel, straightened herself up. “I’m going to go break up with him right now. I’ll see you later.”

She left a kiss on his cheek behind her, when she left the room.

About half-an-hour later, she had pulled up outside of Gerard’s house. Given the day of the week, he was likely to be home at this time, considering what his schedule tended to be. She rang the doorbell. This could be a doorstep conversation. She’d do him the courtesy of breaking up with him in person. But she wouldn’t be so courteous as to go inside, or drag this out.

A moment later, Gerard opened the door.

“Hetty!” He said in surprise. “I haven’t seen you for so long. I’ve mostly just been leaving messages on your phone’s voicemail.”

“I just came to make this official, Gerard,” Hetty said, in her most impartial tone. “I’m breaking up with you.”

Gerard’s shoulders rolled inward, into a hunching forwards.

“Not entirely surprising since you’ve been avoiding me, but— why? Do things really have to be this way.”

Hetty lost her impartial demeanor. She smiled a mean smile— it would be fun to exercise a little cruelty on him.

“There’s someone else. You don’t need to know who he is— but he’s better and sexier than you could ever be. He means more to me than you ever meant. So we’re done.”

That had been mean— Gerard’s face was crumpling as if he were about to burst into tears.

Hetty just turned around, and walked back to her car.

The only fair thing to do, after that, seemed to be going over to Russel’s home, to let him know that she had done it.

When she got there, though, everything looked dark inside— tracking Russel down herself would be hard— he was probably still on campus, but he could be anywhere. Spending hours wandering around looking for him was not a good use of her time. Neither was waiting here for him to come home.

And spending hours trying to find him— on campus, on foot— that was an even more ridiculous proposition if he kept moving around, which most students on campus often did. While searching in one place, he might be in an entirely different building— yet by the time she reached that building, he might have ended up in the place she’d already searched. She was a professor— she had some wisdom. She had deal with this situation intelligently.

She took a pad of paper out of her purse, and a pen.

She began scrawling a note on the top piece of paper, scrawling quickly. She had broken up with Gerard now, she wrote. She almost wrote that she was single, but that didn’t feel like an accurate summary of her situation. She belonged to Russel so much that the thought of caring about any other man than him had been so ridiculous it had convinced her to break up with her boyfriend. She kept the note brief, instead of saying anything inaccurate. She hesitated at the note’s conclusion— before now, all their interactions had essentially either happened on campus or started there and moved to a different location. The whole point of it was they didn’t have a more direct method of communication. She had never made herself so vulnerable as to provide her mobile number to Russel. She hesitated at the thought of writing it down even now; but the memory of feeling Russel inside her— pulling shallow, thrusting deep— set her pen to page, and produced the digits of her mobile number for her.

Then she tore the page off her writing-pad, folded it, and slid it under Russel’s door. After that, she went home. There was no point in going back to campus. The class-period she’d left her students to fend their way through alone only had about twenty minutes left in it— and that class was always her last class of the day, anyway. It made just as much sense for her to go home early.

Russel didn’t call her that night.

He did call her early the next morning, though, waking her up at around six am.

“I’d like you to come over now, Hetty, and give me some nice early-morning attention. Help me to wake up. Motivate me, make my morning nice.”

It was a real inconvenience to get up at this hour— usually, she didn’t get up until later in the morning. If she hung up this call, she could get some more sleep. That would be the sensible thing to do, really. If she did go over to Russel’s, she’d become very engrossed in… giving him the attention he was asking her for. Which meant she’d either be incredibly stressed, and in a rush to make it to her first class of the day on-time, or she’d be late, or she’d miss it. If she was going to be a responsible professor…

“Hetty?” Russel asked. “Will you come?”

Her heart melted. Actually, it felt like all the muscles in her body did that too. It was her feelings for Russel— they were too powerful to stand up to. Just hearing him say her name… it made her want to be with him, made her want his happiness over everything else. He just had to give her a little attention like this and she would dissolve formless— then he was so wonderful, so wonderful and incredible that he’d be able to take her formless form, and put it back together in a new shape. She’d like that shape better— being in Russel’s attention felt like having the sun directed at her— having the sun directed at her wear she was made of ice— and she could melt into water that was captured in a bucket. And that bucket could be taken and poured into an ice-mold of a different shape— and in the right conditions, it would re-solidify— then she could be that sculpture instead, until Russel wanted to direct the sun on her again— She loved him.

“Yes, Russel,” she breathed. “Yes, I’ll come.”

She broke a few speeding laws on the way over to his place, but didn’t get caught. He was in bed, when she entered, though he must have gotten up to unlock the door before lying back down.

She laid herself along him, then took him in her mouth, and sucked him long and slow— since he’d been asking for something involved like that. Long and slow until finally, he spent his pleasure into her mouth.

As it was, she was late to her first class of the day.

That week ended, and the next week came. Russel handed in his assignment, having done as she instructed, and only written a lot of nonsense done. But she looked into the nonsense, and chose to see genius— to interpret every phrase as charitably as possible, essentially building arguments for him all in her interpretation— they were just barely plausible, but the notes she wrote on his assignment were in dialogue with her own interpretation, using his own words as a secondary thing. He received a ninety-six percent on this final assignment— the second highest grade in the class.

Russel called her to come over again the next day, and the two of them sat on his couch together. Russel still hadn’t chosen to define their relationship in any kind of way— but it was nice just to be with him, even if they weren’t anything official.

Russel was looking at her, his elbow to the back of the couch, and his face resting against his fist. “What do you when you’re not working?” He asked her.

She had never discussed her hobby with him— but he was shining his sun on her, and she wanted to melt in it. “I mostly read. I read so much— new academic articles and books. Actually, I have a new book I’ve been waiting to read— I’m going to—”

“You’re not,” Russel said. “You’re not going to read like that anymore. You need a better way to spend your time.”

She had run to water in his bucket. Now he was pouring her into the ice-mold. She was his. She belonged to him. Of course he had the right to dictate what her hobbies were. To a stop a hobby he didn’t like, and replace it with one that he did.

“You don’t want to read anymore,” and she felt herself pouring into the mold, “you want to get better at stripping. You want to take pole-dancing classes, burlesque classes. You want to excel at erotic dance, and that is the hobby you want to give all your time to. You want to take those classes; and you’re not interested in reading or study anymore, not about anything academic. All your interests lie with this hobby— that is where your energy as a researcher must go. You have to find recordings of great strippers, and study them. You have to go to strip-clubs, and take notes.”

The next question came naturally to her. “Do you even still want me to teach? I could stop— I could learn stripping as a hobby, but then—”

Russel shook his head. “I still want you to teach. But things will be different next semester. I’ll be choosing the topics you’re going to teach— which courses you’ll be handling, what lesson-material you cover each day. That’s my decision now, isn’t it?”

Almost like he was testing her— trying to see if she were ready to accept how thoroughly he owned her, and how thoroughly she belonged to him.

But she knew the thoroughness of that belonging. Hearing him say this only seemed sensible to her.

“Of course!” She answered happily. “That’s your decision to make.”

Russel nodded to himself. “Did you used to do anything besides reading? Before you became so interested in stripping, I mean.”

Hetty thought hard about it, and it actually did take quite a lot of concentration. Stripping was top of mind for her now, and it seemed so fascinating to her. She couldn’t wait to start tracking down videos, and watching them— going to strip-clubs, watching strip-shows and taking notes on them— enrolling herself in all those different dance classes, just to get her dancing raunchier and better.

But Russel actually wanted to learn more about her, and she had to help him do that. Because she loved him.

“Apart from when I used to read? Sometimes I met up with friends, to do things with them.”

Russel looked thoughtful. “We don’t have to do this next thing all at once. But in the next little while, just make to invite your friends one at a time over to do something with us as a couple. I’ll form an opinion on each of them this way— at the end of the night, I’ll tell you if your friendship with that friend will be continuing, or if it’s over.”

The only emotion Hetty was experiencing in this moment was excitement. Russel had just referred to them doing something “as a couple” for the very first time. Which meant he had just acknowledged that they were a couple, for the very first time. If he never gave her any more acknowledgement than that— then that was fine.

“That’s your decision to make too,” Hetty reassured him. “Everything in my life is yours to decide for me. Everything in my life should become the way you want it to be.”

Russel smiled, then leaned in to kiss her.

The next week was the second last of the semester; in all of Hetty’s classes, she just held review sessions for her students and answered questions. Russel didn’t bother to show up that week— knowing that whatever nonsense he wrote on his final exam would be said to have genius in it, because Hetty would choose to find it there. Review sessions were the nature of Hetty’s days, but the nature of her evenings and nights was a little different. She still technically had her own home, but Russel decided for her that she should come to stay with him. That way, if he wanted sex, or wanted access to her body— if he wanted her to dance for him— she was conveniently available for any of those desires. It was the decision Russel had made for her. It was the right decision.

The final week of the semester came; Hetty held the final exam for each of her classes. As expected, Russel turned in a final exam of nonsense. But as Hetty marked it, she again chose to find genius in it— and all the notes in red pen that she wrote on his work spoke to her interpretation of it, trying to make it seem impossible that anything other than her own interpretation could even be plausible. Again, he received the second highest grade from among all the final exams in his class— and one of the highest grades in her course, over all. He didn’t deserve it, in the sense he had not done the work to earn it. But as far as Hetty was concerned, he deserved it completely, just because he was Russel, and he should receive everything that he wanted to.

All of Hetty’s classes for the first semester of the year were done, then— and she was staying at Russel’s home every day. Sleeping in his bed, waking him up with sex— the days were melting away in a haze of lust and of worship.

What she had felt for Russel, at first, had been fascination. Fascination had morphed to infatuation— then her crush on him had first been small, then big— then she’d been in love with him. Prior to her current situation, she’d still been feeling that love, but with an added dash of excessive affection.

That had been changing in the past few days and weeks. She’d loved him, but that had gotten deeper every day, that had happened. Each morning, a little more in love with him than the day before. And where that’d ended up, eventually— the destination it had gotten to— was total worship. He was not her lover— not even the man she wished might one day be her boyfriend, or husband. He was her god. He was her idol. Everything she did was in worship of him, and he was so holy and awesome that he seemed a deity to her— she needed no other religion than him, and gave him devotional adoration.

When she made love to him in the morning, it was like she was worshipping in a holy space— taking communion— loving the body of her deity, licking and kissing and tasting him, being satisfied only by him and nothing else; when he fucked her— being filled by him, and nothing else. She was his devotee, and he was not a love to her, anymore, but a faith. And every day spent with him only deepened this faith.

And of course it was right that he should decide everything for her— he was her god, and she his follower, and everything he decided was His Will, and she must carry out his will in order to be the good faithful for him. It all made perfect sense to her, now. And she worshipped him more fervently by the day.

The rest of the month, that December, went by after all her finals were given and all her marks turned in. Soon, arrangements were being made for the following semester. The courses were made available to professors, for them to request. Russel had her requesting classes she had never taught before, ones which were sometimes even tangential to the field of her expertise.

But as he was sitting there, circling them on the paper she’d printed out for him, he looked up at her. “These are the credits I need for my degree this semester.”

She did get a majority of the class she’d requested (at Russel’s request), which meant she’d be teaching him a lot more often in the winter semester.

January came, and she started to teach. Since it was the new year, it also seemed the reasonable time to take up her hobby— new hobby, new year— though it was already the most important thing in her life, though it was barely done yet. She signed up for as many erotic dance classes as she could get into— stripping, pole-dancing, chair-dancing— each evening, she had a different class. She came home so horny.

As she danced in her pole-dancing class one day, she thought of her devotion to Russel. Everything she had done in all the time she had known him— it had all been her own idea, definitely her own idea. It had all been her own desire, definitely her own desire— everything she had done, she had done because she’d cared for him. Helping him more and more with his coursework— giving more and more of herself to him romantically and sexually. It had felt gradual, then. She thought of it as evolution now— something better coming to replace something worse, because the better thing made more sense, and worked better than the worse thing in so many ways. She had evolved— but things had gone so far now, to such an advanced level that Russel truly controlled every aspect of her life. And as her deity, that was his right to do. She was his devoted follower— she belonged to him, and to his awesome power.

She slid herself down the sleek silver poll. She was performing her adoration to him— giving him religious adoration in this act, because she was dancing in this class to serve his will. That was her private secret inside, her personal faith, but she was dancing to serve his will, because she danced here to improve her skill, and she would take it home to dance for him— he could have a poll like this installed where they lived, even, and she could do this dance just like this, just for him.

She slid up the poll, braced herself off it, letting the weight of her body hang diagonal off it. She loved him. She adored him. She would do anything he said. She would obey as a devotee being religiously obedient to their good. She would follow his will— she spun herself a few times quickly around the pole. She adored him. She slid down it again— she adored him. She adored him, she adored him, she adored him.

When she left class that day, she was as turned on as ever. Every day, whichever erotic dance class she was leaving, she was always this turned on or more. Performing adoration for him for that long each evening really worked her up. It was like being in a holy place and considering the statue of her god.

But when she got home, it was always like she was communing with him directly. At dance class, she only had a symbol of him. At home his spirit and presence were there.

Today, when she came in, she found him sitting on the couch, looking through a magazine.

“Let me worship you,” she entreated, reverently, reaching for him as she walked across the room. “Let me worship, let me worship!”

Russel set the magazine down, and Hetty dropped to her knees and opened his pants. Someday, when she had perfected her skills, she would say the same thing about something else. Let me dance for you, let me dance, let me dance… it was enough to worship him carnally for now, even if she could not yet do a dance of worship to the exacting level of perfection she expected of herself.

As she wrapped her lips around Russel’s cock, she was lost in her adoration of him. Everything in her life that she had, she had through him, because he had decided to let her have it— he’d decided to let her keep teaching, decided which courses she should teach. And even when she was making her lesson-plans, she always let Russel look over them. He had far less knowledge of books on the topics his classes covered, but he still always told her to choose readings for her students to do that were “easier,” always steered her away from denser and more obscure texts.

And as he had promised her, they’d had her friends over, one by one, and some of them had been good enough, by Russel’s estimation, and some had not been good enough. Those friends deemed good enough— she could still see them, when Russel decided it was a good time for her to do that. But those friends who had been insufficient she had cut out of her socializing without so much as a twinge of sadness. Because Russel had said. Russel was always right, because Russel was divine— and she was ready to do whatever he told her, as soon as he told her. She must always do his will. She wanted to serve him faithfully.

She could suck him like this for hours— for now, she was teasing him to make it last longer— drawing him to the edge of his pleasure, then drawing him back. This was done through him, too. The second he signalled impatience, she would trigger his orgasm immediately.

But he was smiling upon her— letting her worship, as she’d pleaded for him to do.

She worshipped him— in this moment, and in all her life.

THE END