The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

With both myself and Madison under his control, it was child’s play for Mr. Leigh to ensnare Chloe. The three of us invented a reason to delay her after school, and then Chloe was given an opportunity to score Titsee points off our master. He was ready for her. Perhaps because Chloe had been hypnotized by him once before, she fell under his sway even faster than Mads and I did.

By five o’clock, Madison, Chloe, and I were happy puppets, our thoughts warped by whatever Mr. Leigh placed in our minds. We eagerly followed him to the house he was renting, the red brick cottage out beyond Hickory Farms, and we stayed with him there that evening.

With guilt, I now realize that our parents must have been worried sick. Madison, Chloe, or I never phoned them or sent word of any kind. We simply didn’t go home. Of course, we had been hypnotized to forget our families and think only of our firm devotion to our new master. But that is little comfort today.

That night, Mr. Leigh re-hypnotized us, no doubt to strengthen his control over our minds. When he awoke us, Madison, Chloe, and I all stripped naked and began having sex with one another. Thinking back, all I is a great lust, an insatiable hunger to squeeze Mads’ big, naked breasts in my hands or to taste Chloe in her pussy. And for those two sex goddesses to feast on my own body. Three-way sex between women is inherently unstable; one woman is being satisfied, one is satisfying, and the third is caressing on the sidelines, impatiently waiting to become either the first or the second.

Mr. Leigh watched us like a hawk, taking his time to remove his clothes. He spent a little time stroking himself, just stimulating his cock, but not actually charging it up to masturbate. I guess he wanted to see how long he could witness woman-on-woman-on-woman sex before his own lust overwhelmed his self-restraint? I’m not sure. But after what felt like hours of sucking on Madison’s and Chloe’s bodies, I suddenly felt his strong hands on my bare buttocks. Our master was ing our party.

Instantly Madison and Chloe swarmed to him. Madison had been lying beneath me, and I had been kissing her deeply. I was about ready to finger inside her vagina when Mr. Leigh gripped me from behind. I gasped, possibly exclaiming, “Oh, master!”

Instantly, Madison wriggled out from underneath me, while Chloe began running her tongue down Mr. Leigh’s torso. I was on my elbows and knees, and once Mads wasn’t beneath me, I dropped even lower, pushing my ass higher into the air. I wanted my master to have unfettered access to my vagina. As Madison wormed her way to his side to Chloe, I felt him insert his cock, and start pumping.

And the four of us fucked one another, over and over again, deep into the night.

I don’t know how late it was when I drifted off to sleep, nor how late it was when I opened my eyes in the morning. When sunlight soaked my closed eyelids, I awoke to find the four of us all sprawled on Mr. Leigh’s bed. Chloe’s head was on my stomach; I had been her pillow.

As I blinked, I dimly ed my dream from my slumbers. In the dream, I was a mountain gorilla, captured from the wilds of Africa. I was in a metal cage, loaded onto a ship via a crane. As my cage descended into the blackness of the ship’s hold, I glimpsed one last look at Africa; green, rich, lush.

But shortly, Mr. Leigh was awake, and he quickly asserted control over Madison, Chloe and myself. I don’t know how he did it, but there was something about how that man spoke to you; he would simply tell you what he wanted, and then the desire to obey him filled your mind. There was no resisting him.

One-by-one, we all showered, then dressed. Mr. Leigh seemed in a hurry.

Madison, Chloe, and I were to drive to Mobile, then board a west-bound train with Mr. Leigh. Problem: How does a middle-aged man travel the country with three teenaged women (who are obviously not his daughters) and not arouse suspicions? After all, it was 1965, and people were shedding the sexual innocence of the 1950s pretty darn quick. A man with three girls would alarm some watchful soul somewhere along the line.

So Mr. Leigh’s solution was to smuggle Madison, Chloe, and me as religious fundamentalists. He would pose as our minister or something, and the three of us would wear these specialized black dresses, which covered us head-to-toe, everywhere but our faces and hands. Additionally, we wore light veils which masked our faces. Once in these garments, no-one could tell our age, race, or even our nationality. Heck, even our gender was unclear. We were amorphous, black blobs. In the 1960s, it was an effective disguise.

Actually, Madison and I had trouble with our dresses; our busts were too big to squeeze into those outfits. So Mr. Leigh made us wear heavy shawls over our chests to hide our cleavage.

The dresses were heavy, itchy, and didn’t breathe. I was sweating in mine within seconds of pulling it over my head. Perhaps sensing my discomfort, Mr. Leigh insisted we do a hypnosis session on the spot.

“Hannah, Madison, Chloe,” he told us while we were in trance, “you are all devoted followers of the Paradise Cult. Your only thought is to serve the cult in everything you do. You will happily follow me to the train stations where…” And more detailed instructions followed.

When I awoke, my only thought and concern was to serve the Paradise Cult—whatever that was—with every fiber in my soul. I was happy to wear the hot, itchy, confining dress because, well, that’s what women in the cult did. I was devoted. I was committed. I was happy to be a slave.

…or was I?

And then we were off to the Mobile train station. The weather was especially hot and humid, making our dresses even more miserable than ever. The hypnotism controlling us insisted that we were happy to sweat and suffer, but, man, it was hard.

While Mr. Leigh purchased tickets and arranged for his luggage to be collected from his rented house, Madison, Chloe, and I waited and sweated on the train platform. We were silent, both because we were so uncomfortable and because we had been hypnotized to be meek and withdrawn. Nonetheless, we attracted the stares of fellow engers.

As I watched the luggage porters load up our train, I suddenly ed my dream as the captured mountain gorilla. It occurred to me that this was the last time I would ever see Georgia. Despite my brainwashing, a pang of fear and homesickness swept through me.

A male voice spoke from behind me, interrupting my thoughts. “I heard about these women,” it said. “They’re fundamentalist. Or somethin’.”

This fellow sounded like an older man, much like Hopper Douglass’s Principal Simmons. He also had that judgmental edge in his tone, which Southern gents sometimes adopt.

“What’s that mean, fundamentalist?” a second male voice said, this one much younger.

“Don’t you know nothin’, boy?” snapped the older fellow. “These women are snake worshippers or Muslims or Indians or somethin’. Lord knows.” He sighed. “In my day, you’d never have heard of such a thing. Nowadays, every religion is comin’ out of the woodwork.”

I found myself listening intently to this conversation.

“How come they dress so funny?” asked the younger man.

“They believe sex is dirty, I do believe,” the older fellow said. “I was in North Africa, you know. During the war. They make their women dress head-to-toe so their bodies can’t be seen by another man. Its to suppress the sexual urges of the body, I do believe.”

The younger man seemed to consider this.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Leigh on the other end of the platform. He was collecting tickets and wrapping up business with the train people. Soon we would be boarding. And then we would never see Georgia again.

“You’re tellin’ me,” the younger man drawled, “that although this is the most un-Christian thing we’ve seen all week, I cain’t arrest no-one for this kind of… religious behavior?”

Arrest? My ears perked up.

“Un-Christian ain’t illegal, son,” the older man said sternly. “May be immoral, but that ain’t what the badge on your shirt is there to enforce.”

A light bulb went off in my head. The men behind us were Mobile police! Cops!

Although I was still thoroughly brainwashed and wanted to board that train into slavery, a part of my mind must have still been my own. Without quite knowing what I was doing, I turned and approached the officers.

They were standing not five feet behind me, sweating in their black-and-blue spring uniforms. The older fellow was heavy-set with a rumpled, bulldog-like face. He was squinting and chewing tobacco. His junior partner was short and skinny and barely filled out his breeches. Both squinted at me in surprise as I approached them.

“Greetings to you,” I said, immediately speaking as a Cult Woman would.

“Ma’am,” the older fellow grunted. Both cops looked me over, obviously uncomfortable.

Behind me, I heard Mr. Leigh approaching. “Hannah,” he said sharply, his voice betraying alarm.

“May this day find you well and full of paradise,” I said to the cops, and then bowed.

As my torso tipped forward, the shawl around my shoulders slipped and fell to the ground. I felt a breeze and the top of my chest was exposed.

The two cops stared into my cleavage, caught off-guard.

“Hannah!” Mr. Leigh shouted, hurrying over.

“The Paradise Cult wishes you joy and sexual ecstasy,” I said to the police officers.

And with that, the older cop’s eyes widened. “Paradise Cult?” he exclaimed.

And then things happened quickly. Mr. Leigh seized me and tried to force me onto the train, all the while shouting orders at Madison and Chloe. The three of us wanted to obey him, of course, but then there was yelling, confusing us.

“Stand fast there!” the older cop roared, drawing his nightstick.

There was a scuffle between the three men. I was flung aside. In that moment, I felt a rush of heat, and then my head began to spin. Before I knew what was happening, I collapsed and blacked out.

When I came to, I was lying on a cot, a cool breeze drifting over my body.

“Here,” a voice said. Chloe’s. I felt a cup pressed to my lips. I drank; the water was cold and delicious.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I was in a small, dim room, lying on a couch. Chloe hovered over me, with Madison behind her. The relief of my friends’ faces was palpable.

None of us were in those awful black robes. Madison and Chloe were wearing summer dresses, faded and too sizes too large. I looked down at myself; I was in something similar.

“She’s okay,” Madison said to Chloe, beaming with relief.

I blinked, sitting up. My mind was reordering itself, quickly. I ed it all: being hypnotized and then brainwashed by Mr. Leigh, luring my friends into his trap, having group sex, being determined to run away and be sold to a foreign husband. I ed everything.

But now, all of those desires in my mind were gone. Completely gone. I was mentally free.

“You’ve been out for a while,” Chloe informed me. “After your little stunt, they tossed Mr. Leigh into the county jail and whisked us here. The Sheriff says Mr. Leigh’s wanted by the FBI.” She smiled, her eyes filling with tears. “We’re free,” she said.

“We’re going home,” Madison added.

I stared at my friends in wonder. “Wow,” was all I could say.

Chloe playfully punched me in the arm. “Your quick thinking saved us,” she said iringly. “What made you do that?”

I shrugged.

“Well,” pronounced Madison, “twenty points each for the cops. Plus a bonus thousand for saving our hides.”

Madison, Chloe, and I were returned home. After some awkward explanations to our folks, our lives slowly returned to normal. Our boyfriends never learned about the incident, thankfully.

The Titsee Contest did not resume, of course. Mads, Chloe, and I always knew that the contest was playing with fire. After our experience, we simply never spoke of it again. It seemed… distasteful somehow.

And yet, ever since I’ve always been aware of when men stared at my cleavage. Some days, I ignore the extra attention, other days I’m annoyed by it. But since the Titsee Contest, however, I have never enjoyed it. Indeed, I spent years wishing I had A-cups, if only to shed myself of all the male leering.

Life rolled on. Madison, Chloe, and I graduated from Hopper Douglass, got married, and then had our children. Suddenly life consisted of breast-feeding, poopy diapers, mashing up baby food, playdates, mommy clubs, station wagons, nursery schools, Sunday schools, soccer practices, birthday parties, endless cleaning, and a lot of exhaustion. My husband, Hank, worked at the mill, so most of the childrearing was on me. Suddenly I forgot entirely about cleavage.

And then the kids were teenagers and before I knew it, my daughter Katie was developing. I caught her getting ready for school, padding her bra and iring her body’s profile in the mirror. Suddenly I ed what it was like to be sixteen and realize the boys noticed you.

And for the first time in years, I thought about the Titsee Contest.

That morning, I happened to drop the kids off at school and then hurried on down Route 45 to the Flapjack Diner, clocking in for my shift in the nick of time. Madison was already there, and she gave me a knowing smile as I threw on my apron and snatched the coffee pot.

In Booth 12, a young man, maybe two or three years older than Katie is now, was mulling over the specials list. I bent over to refill his coffee.

“You know what you want, hon?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, then glanced up. Right into my cleavage. “I… uh…”

And despite myself, I smiled. Five points!