The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The question lingered in the air, with no one to answer it. “Who am I?” she repeated, harder this time, hard like the hot asphalt under her bare feet. The road looked like it might stretch on forever in both directions, and the way she felt it might as well have. She felt trapped in limbo, out here where the sign insisted it was Highway 37.

She felt like she might cry, so she forced herself to focus on what she did know. She had red hair, long and curly. She wore nothing but a bra and panties, red lace and red bows. The landscape looked like it might be northern California, although how she would know that she couldn’t say. It was daytime, around noon judging by the sun overhead. If she stayed out here long she risked sunburn and heatstroke, although her deep tan made the former seem less likely. The only way to be reasonable here was to find shelter as quickly as possible.

She began walking and took the handgun with her. It was a small revolver and gleamed in the bright sunlight. The only explanation she could think of was that she was a cop, but she didn’t feel like a cop. She didn’t feel like anything. There was no identification on her, no other possessions, no clues to who she might be and what she might be doing out here. So she followed the road toward the distant horizon.

If the highway could talk, it might ask what she thought she was doing here. There was no one in sight, and she worried she might out before she ever found any sort of help. As she trudged along, feeling helpless, she tried again to . Nothing came to her. The scenery, such as it was, was unfamiliar.

Something black appeared on the distant horizon, just a speck at the moment. She stopped where she was, hoping that help was on the way. She didn’t like being exposed this way, but the sooner she got her skinny body out of the sun the better. She waved her free arm as the speck began to take the appearance of a car.

It occurred to her then that the gun might be a problem. No one wanted a hitchhiker with a gun in their hand. She considered dropping it, but she felt unsafe as it was. Instead she gripped it harder, her little metal security blanket. It was heavy in her hand, and she wondered if it was loaded. Christine would have said that the revolver was a substitute for good survival instincts.

Wait, who was Christine? The car was getting closer, looking like a sports car of some kind, but now part of her wanted to focus on this new bit of information. She knew someone named Christine. That was close to having a memory. Still, she knew it was important she find a way out of the heat. It wasn’t going to get nicer out here. The only clouds in the sky were white and wispy.

The sports car stopped its racing, and now she was thinking of another Christine kernel of wisdom, only she was pretty sure she’d heard this one before. Christine thought hitchhiking was a good way to wind up dead or worse. Of course, most hitchhikers didn’t have a pistol to defend themselves with.

She kept waving, and the sports car slowed on approach. It was a Jaguar with tinted windows and nice, shiny rims. It pulled up alongside her before stopping. She felt very afraid. Why would this person stop for a woman with a gun, even one in sexy lingerie?

The driver’s side window rolled down. A man wearing a business suit and dark sunglasses was at the wheel. He smiled a friendly smile and placed his arm out the window. “Well, hello there, beautiful. Looking for a ride?”

You’re corny, she thought, but didn’t say. The car was idling. The man looked to be alone. She struggled for words. “I, uh...”

“Need a lift? I can take you as far as Provincetown. That’s fifty miles up the road. Nice town. College town. You a college student?” He was grinning and nodding his head. The car had a vintage hula girl standing on the dashboard, and the enger seat was home to a very unfriendly looking weasel. Suddenly, she wasn’t sure she should be accepting rides from strange men, even if she was out in the sun. Dressing this way and being alone with a man seemed like a recipe for disaster. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked.

“I...think I’ll be fine.” She raised her hand. “Thanks, anyway.”

He ran his fingers through his dark hair. “You sure? You’re all alone in the deep, dark forest.”

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again they seemed out of focus. “Uh...”

“At least let me take you as far as Wattaloola. You can get some clothes, maybe call someone for help. I’d let you use my cell phone, but I’m out of minutes.”

She hesitated, her sense of spatial distance still out of whack. She did really need a ride, but was it safe? “...okay.”

“Great.” The man took the weasel in his hand and put it on the backseat. “I’m Rich, by the way. Make yourself at home.”

Forcing a smile, she circled around the Jaguar and got in on the enger side. The interior was leather, but fortunately the air conditioning was on so the seat didn’t prove too hot. She closed the door. “Thank you.”

As she buckled up, Rich looked her over. “Nice.” She blushed furiously, but he didn’t react. Instead, he hit the pedal, and the car took off. “So you got a name?”

She thought about it longer than made sense. “Claire.”

“Claire. Nice name. You’ll fit right in at Provincetown U.” He sped up.

She was going to question that comment, but then she was struck by a memory. She was at a football game, out on the field. Cheerleaders were lifting each other up in their light blue and silver uniforms. Was she one of them? “I...go there, actually.”

He was going seventy now, making her grip the car door handle. “Really? Go figure. You like it there?”

She pressed her lips together. The cheerleaders were smiling in her memory, but was she? “I don’t know.”

“Well, you’ve got to love what you do, that’s what I always say. Otherwise, what’s the point?” The road curved, and he slowed a little. “Might as well just pack it in, you know?”

She wasn’t sure what to say. She looked out the enger window as houses ed by. “So you’ll take me to Provincetown?”

“If that’s what you want.” He tipped down his sunglasses and eyed her. “Is that what you want, Claire?”

For a moment, she just stared back at him. Then she leaned down and began to suck his cock. She didn’t know what she was doing or why. It just seemed like the thing to do. “Oh, there you go. There you go. That’s what you love, Claire. What you need. And we all have to do what we need in life. We all have hopes and dreams, but this is your dream right here. Just to suck and suck until everything else goes away.” He came, and she swallowed. “Just suck cock, and nothing else matters.”

“Yes, Master,” she said. She hadn’t expected to say it, but now she couldn’t stop thinking that he was Master. She smiled a little, then began sucking his cock again.

If the only thing she ever did again was suck cock, that would be all right. She knelt on the floor in a red lace teddy, waiting to suck again. The room was dark, a motel room from the looks of it. She thought it was night now.

Master approached with another man. “Sadie?” Master asked.

“Yes, Sadie.” The man stroked himself looking down at her. “My daughter Sadie.”

“Okay.” Master stroked the side of her face. “Sadie, this is your father. This is your master. What do you do for Master, Sadie?”

Sadie sucked Master’s cock. That was what she did.

In the morning, Master would go to work, and Sadie would wait kneeling by the bed in sexy lingerie. There were certain things she was allowed to do during that time, like eat, but she always returned to her knees by the bed. Today she was wearing a green lace bra and panties. Christine would say that she was dressed to thrill. She didn’t know who Christine was, but she thought of her from time to time. She thought Christine wouldn’t approve of what was happening to her. She thought Christine would try to stop it if she did know. She thought Christine was a friend, a good friend of hers.

She thought her own name was Kennedy Gentry. She thought she wanted to be herself again. She thought she was going to cry now.