The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For some reason I felt perfectly at home in the mellow lighting, the chatter of conversation, the hushed but raunchy music of MAXIM’S GENTLEMEN’S CLUB.

Zip teeth dug into my moist pussy. My nipples ached in their stiff leather cups. My split crotch hotpants and chrome-spike bikini top fitted the club’s dress code perfectly.

Many of the girls wore little more than nipple clamps and the raw, whiplash welts from last night’s flogging wrapped round their naked bottoms.

And as for the men—their dogs’ masks sent a voluptuous shiver through my body. Not a single male face was on offer to the specialist hookers they were chatting to. Every man in the room was wearing a full-face leather mask with pointy ears, a leather snout and narrow wolfish eye-slits. Their weightlifters’ belts and the chains tangling their pierced nipples were more for display than any attempt to conceal their manhood.

I could tell I was in a deeply brainwashed state. I’d felt the click in my brain back in my bedroom. The clicks running up my spine were growing stronger and more voluptuously thrilling. The tingle in my head bathed the room in a sumptuously exotic light. The lovely mellow feeling was taking possession of every pore of my body from my painted toenails up to the tips of my wavy black hair.

I swayed in time to the music. I felt my crotch zip gripping my cunt tighter and tighter, the wetter my pussy became, my jelly-soft tits overflowing stiff leather and spiky studs.

Knowing I was brainwashed, that someone had brainwashed me, that some total stranger had control of my mind and my body, was wonderfully exciting. I was still in love with Doctor Bradford, but the hypnotized feeling was so strong Walt’s teacher was just a fading image at the outskirts of my consciousness. I could hardly remember what Greg even looked like any more.

I was too taken up with my date. I was too absorbed in the ‘gentleman’ who’d booked me for tonight. I’d hardly known what ‘booked’ meant when I swayed in off the sidewalk, except that it was something exotic and exciting, but the minute I’d walked through the doors of MAXIM’S GENTLEMEN’S CLUB, I’d suspected, I’d known, that my date would be the stud who’d been stalking me, his face first hidden by a glory-hole partition, then by a biker’s helmet’s visor, and tonight by his leather dog’s mask. It was thrilling. I appreciated the fact that I couldn’t see the face of the dude who was going to fuck me, only his eyes glinting in their wolfish slits.

Except for the chains round his neck and a Sumo wrestler’s leather belt, my date was butt naked, his monster cock dangling down, a gold ring, like a gypsy’s earring, twitching in his foreskin. It was just like old times. It felt like I was getting to know him and his kinky ways.

He nodded:

“Come!”

He led me to the bar.

I perched on a leather-upholstered stool and crossed my legs, let my crotch zip sink into my melting gash. I’d zipped my hotpants up for the journey but there was no hurry to flash anything straight away, my stalker already knew how wet I could get.

He manspread on his high stool, his gold ring gleaming, his thick cock dangling a long way down.

He growled:

“Service!”

He waved the barman over.

He ordered our cocktails in an angry voice, a dry Martini for himself and a daiquiri for me. He didn’t ask me whether I wanted a daiquiri or not, he just ordered it. He spat his words out, but the voice was somehow familiar.

It was Walt.

It had to be.

The guy I was about to fuck was my son!

My date certainly had the same sort of physique as my son, heavily-built, broad across the shoulders, pumped pecs and powerful abs muscles. Walt spent plenty of time in the gym. This guy did too…

… But a gold ring in his foreskin… ?

No.

It couldn’t Walt.

… A large gypsy earring twitching in the tip of his thick cock… ?

It was impossible. Walt would never disfigure his body like that. Only freaks and perverts adorned their penises with piercings. Only misfits who wanted to hurt and be hurt. Walt’s penis had certainly been extra big as a child when I used to wash him in his bath, it must certainly be extra big now, but my son had more sense than to get a penis piercing…

… Besides, as a man, Walt had become super discreet. When puberty hit Walt had become shy and sensitive about anyone seeing his penis. He always wore roomy boxer shorts. He never failed to take care to lock the bathroom door when he showered. He never got undressed in front of me. It was almost as if Walt was scared of his mother even seeing his cock…

… Our stools were close together…

… I reached across and stroked my date’s big thing…

… I lifted my stalker’s superbly relaxed penis on the tips of my fingers…

… My knuckles grazed his tight balls…

… His sensationally relaxed cock stretched out in my hand lolling from my fingertips to well up past my wrist… this dude wasn’t shy about his size…

It couldn’t be Walt. It was impossible. My son would never brainwash me like this. Walt would never take advantage of me in this way. This stud wasn’t my son. I was free to enjoy whatever his fit body had to offer.

My date was angry, that was for sure. His voice quivered with barely suppressed fury:

“Like a big one do you, bitch?”

I shrugged.

“Maybe.”

No. It couldn’t be Walt. Walt would never speak to his mother like that. My son could get angry, Walt was furious with me at the moment for not getting Greg to change his exam results, but Walt’s anger had never been as berserk as the fury I heard trembling in this guy’s voice.

I murmured:

“It depends where you wanta put it.”

It was dangerous teasing an animal like this but I couldn’t help myself. His big raw cock was as angry as the rest of him… angrier, the more I gently pumped it, the stiffer I got his big thing throbbing… he was furious I could get his over-sized penis as pumped and rock-hard as it was growing in my hand, on the brink of losing control at the next slightest squeeze. Depends where you wanta put it? He knew what I was talking about. This animal remembered perfectly well where his swollen spear-head had been already, in my mouth at the glory-hole, up my ass bent over his motorbike. He already knew how hot I was.

Even it if was my son who was brainwashing me—the material I’d found on his computer pretty much made it certain that it was Walt who was controlling my mind. Greg had said that Walt had the know-how and equipment to perform remote control experiments— but even if it was Walt who’d brainwashed me, that didn’t mean that it was my son’s penis that was growing heavier and heavier in my hand, that didn’t mean that this was Walt’s cock I was pumping to its full power and extension perched on a stool in a gentlemen’s club. It was someone else. Someone Walt had sent. For some reason Walt had sent this dude to stalk me. Walt was angry. Something was eating at my son. He’d flunked his exams. He was getting mixed up with the wrong sort of people. He owed those thugs who’d visited me three thousand dollars. Walt’s mind might be all screwed up, my son might well be angry, but he’d never fuck his own mother. This animal wasn’t him. It was some stud Walt had sent to punish me for not getting his exam results changed. I was free to enjoy his big cock to the full extent of its punitive power. I could fuck him with a clear conscience, knowing my ‘date’ was only someone Walt had sent to destroy my voluptuous pussy.

His throbbing spear-head had already slipped free of its tight foreskin, his raw tip pecking at the palm of my hand, the gold ring standing up stiff and quivering, hot and slippery with pre-cum.

It certainly wasn’t Werner behind the mask. Werner was big, but the wolfish slits were too narrow for Werner’s lopsided eyes. It couldn’t be any of the thugs who’d crashed the house demanding the three thousand dollars Walt owed them. My ‘date’ was too ripped to be the stringy spiv who’d massaged my tits in my bedroom. It certainly wasn’t the fat guy who’d finger-fucked my luscious pussy. It couldn’t be the black guy. The Asian guy was too short. It was someone else. Someone Walt had found me. Someone whose identity I’d never know. Some predator to fuck me stupid tonight, to teach me not to disturb my son’s unsettled mind. It was lucky for him I felt like being fucked stupid. I was exactly in the mood.

He ordered another round of drinks.

He was still angry. Our conversation hadn’t progressed far beyond him calling me ‘bitch’ and ‘whore’. If it was a bitch he wanted this one was hot and juicy. If he fancied whores, this whore was ready for action.

I sipped my daiquiri—I’d never had a daiquiri before but the banana taste was nice—and tickled the gold ring twitching in the tip of his rock-hard cock, quivering on his drumming piss-slit like a basketball hoop after a slam dunk. The gold was chunky enough for me to slip a manicured nail through the ring up as high as my supple knuckle and coax a fraction more weight into his pounding piston.

I laughed:

“With this ring I do thee wed!”

For a second my knuckle got trapped in the smooth gold band. I could feel how badly this spunky dude was aching to fuck me.

His eye-slits glittered:

“Fuck you, bitch!”

I slipped my finger out of his penis ring, my hot palm anointed with his pulsing pre-cum. I wanted to be fucked. I needed to be fucked hard and deep. I hoped the slippery feeling didn’t mean he was going to cum in my hand.

I giggled:

“Do you come here often?”

“Drink your drink and shuddup!”

It felt good getting him angry.

A girl tottered past, sobbing inconsolably, her make-up smudged, her curvaceous body wound in raw welts.

I’d already heard the screams and the snap of a whips above the music.

Further down the bar a guy had his date over his knee smacking her sumptuous ass a darker shade of crimson.

This was a place where gentlemen came especially to get angry.

The mellow brainwashed feeling was hit by a heady blast of rum. That daiquiri tasted good.

I uncrossed my legs and showed my date how my crotch-zip was quaking. I waited for him to unzip my hotpants and see how wet I was.

He didn’t.

He just sipped his Manhattan. He sat on his stool and swallowed whiskey and stared at my curvaceous body. I was the full package. He didn’t know where to start.

I was enjoying the daiquiris a bit too much. I was drunker than I’d imagined. A braying voice startled me out of a daydream:

“Someone’s hit the jackpot tonight!”

He was tall and fat, with a hairy paunch. The leather mask was the same as all the other gentlemen wore but the voice was high and horse-y:

“Some lucky dude’s hit the jackpot bigtime, what?”

He leered at my body. The ‘jackpot’ was me. The guy was drunk. He was much more plastered than I was. His hairy paunch knocked against my hip. His cock dangled, thick and drunkenly limp.

His eyes slits took in every inch of my silky skin. His dog’s snout snorted:

“Not a freaking mark on her!” A whinnying laugh. “Not yet anyway!”

I shivered. I was dressed to be whipped. In my hotpants and bikini top I’d come arrayed for a flogging, but the relish in the dude’s voice was scary. It was going to take terrible things to get his inebriated cock to stand up.

My date growled:

“We’ll see.”

The drunk leaned across me. His huge paunch almost knocked me off my stool. His breath reeked of gin. He leered at my split.

He put on a face British accent:

“Why! My de-eeear fellow… yer haven’t even unwrapped… I mean unzipped… yer present yet!”

My date grunted:

“Plenty of time for that.”

He wasn’t into making light conversation.

“… Mind if I…?”

My date shrugged.

“Go ahead.”

Drunken fingers struggled with my zip toggle. The toggle kept slipping from the fat guy’s inebriated fingers. My zip was too tight for his hammered grasp.

A fierce tug.

An instant’s stinging heat split my luscious pussy open.

Another tug and the zip gaped wide open between my legs.

I lifted my butt off the stool so he could unzip me all the way round to my tail-bone.

He breathed gin in my face:

“… Oh my days…” He grinned at my date. “… You lucky bastard…”

“Mm-mmm.”

The drunk staggered:

“… Mind if I have a taste, old man…?”

He wanted to eat me out.

My date hissed:

“Go ahead.”

The guy grabbed my knee. He slithered down between my legs. He buried his head between my thighs, pulling his mask up into his hair, freeing his mouth from its leather snout so he could feast on my juicy cunt.

My breath got stuck in my throat.

‘Go ahead?’

My date was sharing me around! He had no intention of keeping my voluptuous body to himself…

… Like Walt was sharing me around…

… Like my son had sent Werner and his thugs to scare me…!

Walt didn’t mind if the stringy guy massaged my breasts! My son wasn’t concerned if the fat guy’d finger-fucked me!

My legs spread helplessly. My silky thighs parted for the drunk’s slobbering mouth.

A blast of gin prickled my wet cunt. He forced my knees wider apart and breathed hot alcohol into my pulsing pussy. His tongue was thick and slippery, a moist slug slipping between my slit’s melting lips.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

He took a full mouthful of quaking meltdown. His drunken tongue jabbed and probed, lapping up my helpless juice.

I grabbed his hair.

“… Oh fuck…”

He was too drunk to eat me out properly. Even my sleazy ex husband used to suck my pussy more skillfully than this. Strong teeth closed round my throbbing clit.

My tail-bone kicked. My butt lifted off the stool. My pussy kicked and bucked, jerking my pulsing wetness into his mouth.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

Through glinting eye-slits my date studied my every twitch and quiver of ecstasy. My stalker’s cold eyes examined my least helpless spasm of desire. His glittering eyes despised my voluptuous body’s undulations. He loathed the way my hot cunt was rutting on the slippery tongue stabbing into it, the speed with which I raced towards the brink.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

The drunk guy was back on his feet. He lurched to his feet, hairy knuckles pumping his fat erection. I was alluring. I was irresistible. Even his limp thickness, his drunken dangle… I’d got it rock-hard…!

My butt jerked and bucked on the stool. My sumptuous body undulated helplessly.

He neighed:

“Mind if I fuck her, old fellow?”

My date shrugged:

“She’s all yours”

I jumped backwards. My wet crotch-zip slithered on barstool leather.

“… No…”

I wanted to be fucked. I needed to be fucked hard… but it was my date I needed… it was my stalker’s monster cock I was yearning to feel deep inside me…

My date nodded at me, an abrupt command:

Go on. Fuck him.

It was an order. An ultimatum. I had no say in the matter, not in MAXIM’S GENTLEMEN’S CLUB.

I swayed backwards, an elbow slithering on the bar. My legs spread. My silky thighs parted helplessly. I could feel my juicy pussy lips unfurling succulent wetness for the drunk’s thick cock.

“God dammit!”

Warm rain pattered on my belly. Hot spunk trickled in my groin. Pulsing semen lassoed my bikini’s leather cups. He was cumming. The drunk was holding onto his penis, climaxing bigtime. He never even gave his thick cock a chance to ram itself inside me.

“Oh fuck!”

A stab of hot triumph shot through my body. I was irresistible, too irresistible for this drunken slob. His cock was in his hand pumping spurt after spurt of helpless sperm onto my hotpants, into my navel, down the slippery rails of gaping zip teeth.

He staggered away, hastily pulling his mask back down over his face. For a second I thought I recognized the puffy jowls and beady eyes of our town’s deputy mayor. It wasn’t important. He was gone.

My date looked at me:

“Enjoy that did you, bitch?”

I spread the drunk guy’s slippery load around on my pulsing belly.

“Mm-mmm. Yes. I did. Why?”

Hot cum was trickling down my silky thighs. I was a mermaid in a pair of gaping hotpants stepping out of an ocean of throbbing semen.

I’d enraged my stalker even more. I moue-d:

“Don’t look at me! It’s not my fault!”

When he all at once dragged me off the stool I realized how drunk I was. I staggered into his arms. I sensed how bad my date was going to hurt me when he got me into one of the torture chambers leading off the dance floor.

I lurched against him. I lurched in time to the lazy, raunchy music. We were dancing. I put my arms around his neck, to keep myself from falling over as much as to pick up the slow tempo of the music.

I crushed myself against his hard, muscular body. I ground chrome studs and stiff leather into his ripped pecs, my luscious tits jellying to slip free, my taut tight nipples yearning to write hot messages on his powerful chest. Perhaps onced he’d fucked me he’d finally take his mask off, show me who he was.

“… Yes… yes…”

His strong palms cupped my sumptuous ass-cheeks. His big hands palmed skin-tight leather into my sumptuous softness.

His cock was so thick and tall that, even in high heels, my slippery belly was grinding against his rock-hard spear-head way up past my navel.

“… Yes… ye-eeeeeeeees…”

My belly button swiveled against his aching shaft. My stomach’s luscious crater rotated voluptuously on his pounding piston. My belly massaged the drunken stranger’s semen into my date’s big prong.

I murmured into the leather shielding his ear:

“… Gonna whip your hot bitch…?… you gonna flog the living daylights out of your bitch for being so hot and juicy…?”

I knew exactly the sort of talk he wanted to hear. It was exactly the kind of talk I wanted to speak. My sleaze-bag ex husband used to knock me around a bit. Walt’s slimy father didn’t mind taking a strap to me on occasion, but he’d only ever been a bungler at the best of times, nothing like the sort of exquisite punishments I could feel my date had in store for me. I’d never really experienced sophisticated torture. I knew what it felt like for a man to get angry with me. But I’d no experience of skilled fury, of a sophisticated man when he went berserk. I decided to drive my date berserk.

I whispered into his mask:

“… Gonna hurt me real bad…?… wanta hurt me the way I liked to be hurt…?”

His big hands tightened on my butt. His broad palms crushed my skin-tight leather and silky ass-cheeks in his powerful grip. He jammed my unzipped cunt’s sumptuous wetness hard against his throbbing shaft.

I knew how to drive my stalker berserk. I held on tight to his neck. I murmured:

“… If I scream for mercy, don’t listen… if I’m begging you to stop, you carry on, alright…?”

The gold ring twitching in his throbbing spear-head gouged my silky belly deeper and deeper. His drumming piss-slit pressed his foreskin ring harder into the silky give of my helpless stomach.

“… Yes… yes…”

He crushed me against me. We were no longer in time with the music. We were no longer dancing. Our bodies shifted into rutting rhythm. The fucking rhythm took over. His stallion buttocks jerked. His muscular tail-bone kicked. I held on tight. He exploded. My stomach, my tits, my glossy cleavage, the silky expanse of my voluptuous belly got their second big load of the night.

“… Yes… yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeees…”

His gold ring twitched and leapt on my silky skin’s slippery pulsations. My date pumped surge after surge of hot cum all over my belly. Hot spunk spattered on my collar-bone. There was already a mountain torrent of pulsing sperm streaming down my gaping hotpants.

His anger shifted up a gear.

“You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you!”

His rage turned hard and merciless. I was irresistible. He was as helpless before my allure as the drunken deputy mayor. I felt his fury turn white hot.

He dragged me into a room filled with torture equipment. It was why I was here. My torture chamber was empty. We were alone. There was not a soul on earth to see what fate might befall me. He’d said he was going to kill me. It wasn’t a problem. I didn’t mind dying as long as I could orgasm on his monster cock one last time.

He tore my bikini top off. The chromed leather was fastened securely at the back. My big tits quaked as he wrenched my stiff cups away. My helpless nipples pronged empty air, suckled shivering candle-light.

I groaned:

“… C’m on… c’m on…” I was insane. I lost control. I was completely crazy. “… Wanta string me up, big fella… ?… wanta hog-tie your hot date…?”

I stretched my hands high above my head. I offered up my supple wrists to the leather shackles hanging on a thick steel chain from the ceiling. I laughed in his face:

“… I scream out for mercy don’t listen, alright…?… if I beg for mercy I don’t really mean it…!”

“You freaking slut!”

His anger suddenly felt too hot and personal to bear. I was glad.

He shackled my wrists together tight. He dragged on a pulley. The leather bit in. The chain lifted me off my feet. I spun and skittered on tiptoes.

“… Oh… oh…”

My ankles burned. First one ankle, then the other. He fasted a rope round each of my ankles. He wrenched my legs wide apart, my succulent pussy overflowing my zip’s gaping teeth. My slippery thighs parted helplessly. He secured my ankles miles apart, roped to rings in the walls on either side of the room.

“… Please… ple-eeeeeeeease…”

I didn’t know whether I was mocking him or if I really wanted to die. Either way, I lost control. So did he.

He had a whip in his hand. A short-handled executioner’s knout. The sort of cat-of-nine-tails they used in more barbaric times. Nine leather thongs knotted at intervals for extra pain.

“… Okay bitch…”

He drew the lash slowly up my wet pussy. Knotted leather bathed in my luscious juice. I shuddered. He was going to whip my pussy. He intended to flog me where it hurt most! My hot gash responded. My molten slit drenched the whip in its pulsing welcome.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

I was at the other end of the universe, suspended, splayed above an abyss of fathomless desire.

Slap

“… Oh-hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…!”

I spasmed ecstatically. I came instantly. I jerked and thrashed in my bindings. I climaxed rapturously on the merest, gentlest graze of leather up my yearning wetness.

Slap

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

I went into rut on the deft flicks of the thongs. He was skillful. He didn’t want to hurt me after all. My date only wanted to pleasure my pulsing pussy.

Slap

The juicy slaps sank in, soft as moist kisses, deeper and deeper. I jerked and bucked. The whip’s slaps picked up speed. My hot gash slipped into an urgent fucking rhythm. My succulent pussy went into helpless rut.

Slap Slap Slap

“… Yes… yes… fuck… oh fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

I climaxed helplessly again and again. My shoulders ached. My wrists tugged in their shackles. Coarse rope burned my ankles. The whip’s delicate slaps carried me over the brink again and again and again too ecstatically to feel anything but…

CRACK

“… Oh…?”

The heat when the whip found my luscious ass-cheeks, stinging, burning, branding my silky softness… took my breath away. Raw agony blacked me out.

CRACK

“… Ow-wwwwwwwww…!”

The fury of the knotted leather slamming into my toned butt was stopping my brain from working.

CRACK

He wanted to hurt me.

CRACK

He hated me.

CRACK

I jerked and thrashed. The force of the blows threw me around bodily on the chain, scalding my butt, scouring my hips, burning my belly, stinging my breasts. I didn’t know where the next sting was coming from.

CRACK CRACK CRACK

What had I done to him? I didn’t know him from Adam. What had I done to arouse this volcanic fury lathering into my hot ass?

“… Yes… yes…”

I was cumming. Cumming was enraging him. Climaxing was only infuriating him more and more. My helpless ecstasy was only making his vicious strokes burn hotter and harder.

Waves of helpless pleasure surged up my splayed body through its blur of pain. An ecstasy stronger than I’d ever felt in my life gripped the hot swamp quaking between my legs. I rutted on pure agony. My stalker’s whip wound my sumptuous body in a garment of delicious pain.

“… Ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

He hissed:

“You dirty bitch!”

“… Yes… yes… I’m your bitch… I’m your dirty bitch…”

I belonged to him. I was his personal property. My body was his lowliest, cheapest possession. I didn’t know who he was. I’d never seen his face, but my sopping pussy belonged to him and him only.

“… Fuck me… please… fuck your dirty bitch…!”

He was somewhere behind me, his strong hands plying the lash. I head the whip clatter to the floor. His broad palms took hold of my hips. His fingers dug in. His powerful hands drew my hot butt backwards.

“… Ple-eeeeeeeeese…!”

His chunky gold ring, bathed in slippery pre-cum, twitched on his throbbing spear-head and slid into my helpless meltdown. His big cock slammed hard and fast and deep into my juicy fuck-hole.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

His strong hands held my helpless quaking still. My date rammed pile-driver after savage pile-driver into my sopping surrender. He held me still, a sinuous doll undulating on his rock-hard prong. His muscular thighs thudded relentless heat into skin-tight leather and my jellying ass-cheeks, his foreskin ring somewhere deep inside me, his gold ring gone in the tsunami surging up my body.

Where did this voluptuous sensation come from? I’d felt it somewhere before. My cervix mouthing at his merciless spear-head? My hot womb opening for his pulsing seed? I couldn’t remember. The memory was gone in a blur of ecstasy and sickly-sweet daiquiri.

“… Yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

The stranger exploded deep inside me.

I wasn’t on the pill.

I hadn’t taken contraception for nineteen years!

It was too late to worry about that now. I couldn’t care less. My date’s hot semen pulsed into my luscious gash. My stalker’s spunk spasmed into the sweet opening where babies are made. His potent explosion was unstoppable.

He held my splayed body still, impaled and throbbing on his big cock. After-shock after delicious after-shock thrilled through me. The chain creaked. Leather burned my wrists. His thick cock filled me full. His pounding piston stretched my pussy lips tight, his hot cum streaming down my inner thighs like the throbs from a pressure washer.

I was brainwashed. This had only happened because my mind was no longer my own. The click in my brain. The hot clicks running up my spine. The tingle of light spreading outwards through my eyes. The mellow feeling owning me entirely. I was hypnotized. This dude had only fucked me because Walt had brainwashed me. This stranger had only possessed me because my son was controlling my mind.

He finally pulled. A torrent of cum and juice slid from my pussy and dropped onto the floor. His foreskin ring was drenched in sperm. His gold ring glistened with the luscious juice I’d bathed his big cock in.

His leather snout quivered. His wolfish eye-slits glittered.

He didn’t speak.

I held my breath.

He lowered me to the floor. He undid my shackles and untied the robes around my ankles. Not a word passed his lips.

My date wasn’t pleased. He wasn’t pleased with me at all. My stalker wasn’t satisfied. In fact I’d only made him angrier than ever.

I was wearing another woman’s dress.

I drove home, my body burning.

Every detail of my torment—and my ecstasy—in the ‘gentleman’s club’ stayed etched in my brain, yet how or why I’d fucked my stalker again—fucked him and let him hog-tie me and humiliate me—remained a blur.

My mind wasn’t working right. I was still totally brainwashed.

It was only when I parked the car outside the house that the tingle stopped tingling, the light in my brain went out and the mellow feeling turned to a poisonous stinging in my guts.

My brain ached. My mind reeled in pitch blackness. The clicks froze in my spine and buckled me over the steering wheel. I emerged from the brainwashed state.

My whole body was wrapped in a blur of stinging pain. I felt the full force of the raw ache between my legs where my ‘date’ had fucked me.

I groaned out loud:

“… Oh… oh…”

What was going on?

Who was doing this to me?

My hotpants and chrome-spiked bra were gone.

My stalker must have stripped me naked at some stage while I hung suspended from the ceiling.

I was wearing a light-weight summer frock, no bra or panties, the dress loose-fitting so as not to abraid my tortured skin. Someone… some woman— by the innocent hang of the sundress, not one of the ‘gentlemen’s club’ hookers— had loaned me a spare dress to go home in.

I climbed stiffly out of the car. My bottom stung. My breasts burned. I dreaded the moment when I would have to see what my stalker had done to me.

The house was in darkness.

I switched on light after light but every room was empty.

Walt wasn’t home.

I opened my phone. There were a lot of messages from Greg. Worried messages wondering where I was, if I was okay. Greg must have sensed that something bad was happening. From the tone of his messages my boyfriend had sensed that I was in peril.

I decided to ring him straight away. I needed to gaze into Greg’s wise blue eyes, see that he still loved me. I yearned to feel Greg’s arms around me, holding me tight, nursing me through this pain.

Yes. It was late, but I’d call him immediately. He’d come at once. He’d come and spend the night with me. Or I could drive over to his house. I felt safer when I was in Doctor Bradford’s house…

No.

A shower first.

A shower and some clean clothes.

I felt sticky all over. My belly was still clammy from where the drunk man— had it really been the deputy mayor?— ejaculated on my stomach. First I needed to wash my pussy, get my stalker’s cum off my inner thighs and out of my stretched gash.

I swayed into the bathroom. I felt dead tired. I switched the shower on full blast. I pulled the dress off over my head. I looked at my body in the mirror…

… I couldn’t go Greg’s house…

… Asking my lover to come and spend the night with me here was out of the question…

… God knows how long it would be before I dared show myself to the man I loved again…

My breasts were wound in red tentacles where the whiplash and clung and stung. My belly was a mess of hot welts.

I turned round.

My back was cross-hatched in red stripes. My bottom had been flailed a vivid crimson, the raw slashes beaded with pinpricks of blood where the knotted thongs had sunk into my sumptuous softness.

Only my arms and face had been spared, my arms because I’d been hanging by my arms from the ceiling, my face for God knows what sinister reason.

I stepped under the shower jet.

“… Ouch…!”

It was like being whipped all over again, this time thrashed stinging clean. I washed between my legs. I sponged where my stalker’s potent cum drenched my raw slit.

I froze.

I hadn’t used contraceptives.

I wasn’t on the pill!

I dug with my fingernail in deep where I’d felt my cervix opening as I climaxed, mouthing for my date’s hot semen!

Dread clutched at my stomach.

Surely I wasn’t pregnant.

I couldn’t be pregnant to that faceless animal! It was impossible!

It was yet another reason why I couldn’t spend the night with Greg, why I’d never see Doctor Bradford again! At some stage during my orgy at the club I’d lost the man I loved!

How could I go to Greg in this state? How could I offer him this flogged body? Walt had stepped between me and the man I loved. It was Walt who was brainwashing me. It was Walt who’d sent me to the club in my brainwashed state. It was my son who’d sent my ‘date’ to fuck me and ravage my voluptuous body so that I’d never show my face to the man I loved again. If I went to Greg tonight I’d have to tell him everything. Greg would want to know how I’d come to be hurt so badly. I’d be obliged to confess to him all the vile acts I’d performed with my stalker. Not just the hotpants and halters and fuck-me tube skirts… sucking my stalker’s cock at the glory-hole… accepting a ride on the back of my stalker’s motorbike so he could fuck my ass in a clifftop carpark… every sordid detail of my night in Maxim’s Gentlemen’s Club… it was impossible. I couldn’t face it. I’d never see Greg again. Our brief affair was over. Our love for one another had been heartlessly torn apart by my son. It was Walt who’d broken me and Greg up. He’d done it deliberately. I’d never see Greg again. My son had deliberately broken my heart.

I dried myself off carefully. I found some calendula cream and skin balm in the bathroom cabinet. I dabbed ointment where my breasts flinched. I applied the ointments as gently as I could to my belly, my hips, my buttocks and inner thighs— my date had even flogged my silky inner thighs! The pain eased a little. The all-over stinging sensation cooled to a dull ache. I rubbed the ointments in. The tension faded away. Perhaps my skin would heal after all…

… Yes…

… I felt a little better…

… I’d call Greg after all… I needed him so bad…

… I decided to go and see him… or Greg could come here….

I loved him. He loved me. I’d been brainwashed. Greg would understand when I told him everything. He was noble and wise and loving. He’d forgive the things I’d done with my bestial stalker.

My heart was already beating faster.

What to wear?

The dress I’d come home in was nice. A loose-fitting light-weight summer sundress, green with a blue rose pattern. Knee-length with a high collar. Sleeveless, but my arms had escaped the whip. If I wanted, I could totally cover the marks the whip had left on my body. Greg needn’t see how I’d been flogged. I wouldn’t have to tell him about the gentlemen’s club! Or the glory-hole or the clifftop carpark either! I could get away with just making up some story about where I’d been tonight.

The sundress fitted me perfectly. I looked nice in it, a clean-living mid-thirties woman, still attractive but not in a sleazy or vicious way.

The house was freaking me out. The empty rooms felt spooky. My home felt as if it had been put under a spell by a wicked magician, or at least by a screwed-up magician with something eating at him. I didn’t want to be here when my son came home. I had a feeling Walt was even angrier with me than ever.

I didn’t ring Greg. I hopped in the car and drove straight over to his place.

It was after midnight when I pulled up outside. The lights were still on in Doctor Bradford’s stone-mullioned windows.

I rang the bell:

“Christie!”

I blurted:

“Can I stay here tonight?”

Greg’s smile bathed me in its healing warmth. He didn’t need to answer. He was already ushering me into his living room’s mellow lamplight.

We’d known each other for less than a day. Our love affair wasn’t even twenty-four hours old. Greg was delighted to see me. His eyes shone with a tender care for my well-being. I could see he was wondering where I’d been for so long tonight, why I hadn’t answered his calls, but not feeling he had the right to hassle me for an explanation. He was looking forward to sleeping with me… but he’d immediately picked up the fact that something had disturbed me, the sudden nervousness I was feeling… and that maybe I wouldn’t want to make love tonight. Not making love tonight was fine by him. He was glad to see me, but I could tell he was still slightly disturbed.

I sat on the couch. My bottom stung like crazy but I managed to sit still.

Greg asked:

“Have a nice evening?”

Our love affair was so recently begun he knew he had no right to question me about my arrangements. He was too thoughtful to demand details if I made my answer vague enough.

I murmured:

“Mm-mmm. It was okay. I went over to a friend’s place.”

I wasn’t a good liar. I couldn’t think which of my friends it was best for me to name, not that Greg knew any of them yet.

He smiled:

“I rang you a couple of times.”

He’d rung me over half a dozen times.

My face burned. Greg was looking at my bare arms, where was the whip-end of a red mark strayed out from under the summer cotton.

I mumbled:

“… I… erm… yes… we went out … my friend and me… we were at the cinema… I couldn’t pick up… we were catching a movie…”

I dreaded him asking me which movie, but he saw my discomfort and tactfully changed the subject.

“I’ve been reading through that brainwash material you found on Walt’s computer.” He shook his head. “It’s heavy stuff, Christie.”

I looked at him. I saw how worried he was:

“I know.”

“Walt has all the Theta brainwave theory at his fingertips and he knows more than enough about radio wave technology and neural receptivity to have implanted mind control triggers in your brain.”

His concern for my well-being was evident in every word he spoke. I tried to be as helpful as I could.

“… Yes… this click I get in my brain… a sort of tingling light…”

Greg frowned:

“Yes. I’ve downloaded a map of all the local cellphone pings from the cloud. There’s some very disturbing radio wave activity round your house, the places you’ve been.”

I described the way the tingle in my brain turned to light filling my eyes, how the clicks flowed up my spine and the mellow feeling overwhelmed me when I was brainwashed. I felt bad. I didn’t mention the things the mellow brainwashed feeling had made me do.

I blushed:

“… That… that’s great…”

It was great, but I didn’t sound very convincing.

Greg’s eyes sparkled. It gave him real pleasure being able to use his scientific know-how to help me.

“Yes. It is. I’ve begun data mining the neural ambience of the locality. Once I can access the metadata on Walt’s phone I’ll be able to reconfigure his encryptions and he won’t be able to brainwash you any more, at least not remotely.”

“… That’s… that’s good…”

It was good but I felt such a weight in my heart, I’d been through so many sleazy ordeals—and ecstasies— I couldn’t manage to summon up the enthusiasm I knew I ought to feel.

Greg was high on his expertise, on his passionate wish to help me because he loved me. I felt terrible not telling him where I’d been tonight.

“Hacking metadata’s time consuming. I’ve been working on it every available second, Christie, but it’s going to be another few days before I break the circuit and block Walt’s access to your mind.”

All I could do was mumble:

“… Thank you… thank you so much…”

He took my hand. It was the hand belonging to the arm where the tip of a whiplash crept out from under the shoulder of my sundress.

“Are you okay, Christie? You seem a bit uneasy tonight.”

My body went hot all over. My unblemished face burned like the whipped skin under my dress. My stung bottom squirmed on the couch.

“… Yes… really… I’m okay… I’m fine… I’m perfectly fine…”

“Have you got your period?” I was appalled. “You don’t want to… do anything tonight?”

Anything? His thoughtfulness was shocking.

“… No… no I haven’t got my period… it’s just… it’s just that…”

I reached round behind me. I unzipped my dress. Sleeveless cotton slipped around my elbows. The loose-fitting sundress slid easily from my naked breasts.

Greg’s jaw dropped. His eyes went big and wide. He gaped:

“Christie! What happened!”

I couldn’t speak. Finding words was impossible. I showed him what had happened.

I rose to my feet. Green cotton and blue roses rustled round my bottom and dropped to the floor.

“… I… I…”

He saw everything.

I was in his arms. Speech was impossible.

He hugged me tight. His strong arms encompassed my flayed body. The tenderness with which he held me didn’t hurt at all, not even where his powerful biceps cuddled the slashes on my back, not even where my stinging breasts crushed against his heartbeat.

His kiss was even more gentle and more loving. Our mouths battened with breathless tenderness. Our tongues twined in hungry gratitude. I still loved him. He still loved me.

He gazed deep into my eyes:

“Who did this, Christie? Who’s done this to you? Surely not Walt!”

I was gabbling:

“… No… no… not Walt… I’m certain it’s not Walt… some guy Walt’s sent to stalk me…”

I told him everything.

Interspersed with kisses and the feel of his grizzled hair bristling under my fingers, I confessed everything. I told Greg every sordid detail and… he didn’t stop loving me… sucking a stranger’s cock at the glory-hole… Greg’s heart still beat lovingly against mine… taking the biker’s cock up my ass in the clifftop car-park… I held my breath… Greg’s gaze was as totally committed as ever… my night in Maxim’s Gentlemen’s Club, in the torture chamber with with the stranger with the foreskin ring in his monster cock… Doctor Bradford loved me even more deeply than before…!

I told him about the six thugs who’d paid me a visit looking for the three thousand dollars Walt owed them. I told him how worried I was about Walt:

“Walt’s getting himself into trouble. I don’t know why he hangs out with these guys. They’ve got some sort of hold over him. They’re threatening to do something terrible if he doesn’t pay them the money.”

I described Werner’ squashed nose and lopsided eyes. How gross the fat guy was. How sleazy the stringy guy was. How big the black guy was. The Asian with his army crewcut.

“I’m scared, Greg. I’m frightened they’re going to hurt Walt.”

I didn’t mention that Werner and his thugs wanted to gang me. I didn’t want Greg to worry more than he was already worried. He was cuddling me too tenderly for me to want to make him anxious.

I took his hand. I slipped his strong warm hand under my dress where the light-weight summer hem was riding up.

My stalker’s whip had at least spared my pussy. My date’s cat-o-nine-tails hadn’t hurt my moist slit. The knotted thongs had chosen instead to get my luscious gash ready for his big cock. My stalker had flailed the rest of my body red raw. I was a blur of pain all over, but I could still feel how lightly he’d drawn the knotted lash up my sopping gash, how he’d prepared my hot cunt with skillful flicks, bot scalding blows. Some part of his brute animal mind hadn’t wanted to hurt me there. I could still feel my molten slit drenching the whip in its pulsing welcome, the juicy slashes, soft as moist kisses, sinking deeper and deeper into my succulent wetness, slipping into an urgent fucking rhythm as they picked up speed and my molten meltdown went into helpless rut.

“… I love you, Greg… I love you so much…”

He touched my clit. He felt how wet and wide open my pussy was. His eyes filled with alarm. He didn’t want to hurt me.

“… Please… ple-eeeeeeease…”

My dress was gone. I was unbuttoning his shirt. He slipped his pants off. My heart began to sing. The man I loved’s cock was rock-hard.

We didn’t need to speak. He knew what I wanted. He knew me to the very core of my being.

He lay down on his back on the couch. My lips yearned to close round his throbbing spear-head. I longed to fill my mouth with all my beloved’s pulsing power. I ached to offer my throat for his luscious cum but I didn’t have time.

I straddled him. My split arched where his swollen tip lifted to take me. My hands slipped and slithered on his muscular pecs. My knees sank into plush leather. I yearned above him, a flayed angel descending for the son of man’s hot semen, not daring to touch my lover skin to skin, not one inch of my flogged belly daring to graze his pumped abs, not an ounce of my stinging tits daring to even brush against his muscular pecs… just my pussy rutting on his throbbing shaft, his gorgeous cock impaling my voluptuous depths, his delicious semen pumping into me, filling me full.

I slept the night in Greg’s arms. In spite of my lacerations I slumbered blissfully. By morning I could feel my hurt body already beginning to heal, pore by pore, all over, from my purring pussy outwards.

Our love, that had been rock steady from the outset, was cemented a second time.

Over the breakfast table Greg frowned as he sipped his coffee.

“You can stay here today. It’s better you don’t go home. Not with Walt in the mood he’s in, and those guys he owes money to.”

“Okay.”

I was more than willing to take up his offer. He was right. I was safer here.

Greg smiled:

“I’ve got a lecture to give but I’ll be back around five. I’m sure you might need a bit more sleep…” He was right. I was blissfully exhausted. “… In fact I think you’d be better off staying permanently here, Christie. Till I break the circuit and Walt stops brainwashing you.”

I leapt at the offer.

“Alright. I’ll just nip home and pick up some stuff.”

I needed to get some fresh underwear. The stranger’s sundress was starting to feel a bit grubby.

I unlocked my front door.

Butterflies swarmed in my stomach.

Walt still wasn’t home. The house felt more than empty, it was as if my home didn’t belong to me any more.

I hurried into my bedroom. I was scared Walt might come back and catch me decamping to Greg’s place. I could feel my son’s anger in every empty room of our house.

I threw some clothes into a suitcase. Modest sundresses. Demure tops appropriate for a woman in her mid thirties. Jeans. T-shirts. Underwear.

Hurrying to get out of the house before I had to face my son I paused at the open door to his bedroom.

A crazy impulse told me to open his computer, see if there was any more damning evidence on his laptop.

There was no sign of his computer anywhere in the room. Walt was making sure I didn’t pry any deeper into his secret schemes.

I opened his wardrobe. In the bottom of his wardrobe, thrown in among the shoes…

… A pair of spilt-crotch hotpants, still gaping, the zip undone, the red leather leather sticky…

… A chrome-studded leather bikini top, the catch at the back broken…

I ran for my life.

Back at Greg’s place I didn’t mention what I’d seen. My stalker definitely wasn’t my son, but I knew for certain now that the stud with the foreskin piercing in his monster cock was doing my son’s bidding.

Over the following days my body healed. The calendula ointment seemed almost magical in its power to turn a raw red welt into a pink shadow sinking into my silky skin and vanishing altogether. I applied skin balm religiously and watched in my mirror as the cross-hatched lesions and slashes faded like an inflamed fishnet robe slipping from my perfect limbs.

I began to feel happy again.

Greg and I made love with rapturous tenderness, our embraces more and more passionately skin-to-skin as my wounds healed.

Things were going to turn out alright after all.

There were no more clicks in my brain, no more light in my head, no more clicks flowing up my spine or the treacherous mellow feeling taking possession of me. Walt stopped his long distance mind control. For six whole days I didn’t feel brainwashed even once.

Greg was nearing the completion of his work on remote control brainwashing. On the sixth night he announced that he’d soon be able to break the circuit of the Theta wave-length radio signals Walt was implanting in the defenseless regions of my ‘limbic receptivity’.

That night I went back to the house feeling strong and resourceful, to pick up some more clothes. There was a lovely, white broderie-anglaise full-length shift I particularly wanted Greg to see me in.

I was hurrying from my bedroom with crisp white cotton under my arm when I heard a voice:

“Where the fuck have you been?”

Walt glared at me with a face like thunder. Why was he always so angry with me? What had got into him? Where was the happy, confiding little boy I’d grown up with? ‘Where the fuck had I been’? He had no right to talk to me like that.

“… Nowhere… just… Greg’s place… I’ve been staying with Doctor Bradford…”

My words only seemed to make Walt angrier.

“Got yourself a new boyfriend have you? Moving in with your new man, ey?”

He was talking like a hurt little boy but his voice still managed to sound murderous.

I needed to stand up to him. I had to confront him, tell him it was none of his business, ask him what were my hotpants and bikini doing in his wardrobe? Why had he set a brute animal on me to stalk me? Why did he keep brainwashing me? I had to stand up to him, but the look in my son’s eyes scared me.

He snarled:

“What about the money?”

I was confused.

“… What about what money…?”

He exploded.

“You know what money! The three thousand dollars I owe Werner! Did Werner and his gang pay you a visit?”

“… Yes… yes they did…”

It was days ago now, but the six thugs cornering me in my living room was etched vividly in my mind.

“And?”

That same ‘And?’ The ‘And?’ he always asked me.

“… And… ?… what…?”

I felt flustered. I didn’t know what he was talking about.

Walt’s eyes narrowed. He was my son, he was my own flesh and blood, but the glint in his eyes was evil:

“You want them to break my legs? You want them to beat me up, ey?”

“… Of course I don’t…”

“You want them to kill me?”

“… No, Walt… no…”

“Then why didn’t you repay the debt?”

“… Me…?”

I had no idea what he was talking about.

Yes I did. It hit me all at once— Werner’s lopsided grin: ‘A high class whore like you’s five hundred bucks a night. There’s six of us. Five hundred bucks each. A full night, mind you. That’s three thousand dollars, Mrs Morel. The three thousand dollars your darling Walt owes us.’ The thugs jostling me, pushing me around, touching me. ‘If we don’t get paid… you wouldn’t want anything to happen to Walt now, would you?’

It wasn’t just evil that was glinting in my son’s beautiful eyes, it was terror.

He screamed:

“You wanta help me or not?”

The front door slammed. The house shook. Walt was gone.

I felt a click in my brain. The click turned to a tingle of light flooding my mind. Click after click thrilled up my spine. The lovely mellow feeling engulfed me from head to toe.

I decided not to hurry back to Greg’s place after all. I had all the time in the world. It was only early evening. It would be nice to spend some time on my own in my own home… think things through… see where I stood…

I switched on the light in the living room. It had already turned dark outside.

I returned to my bedroom and hung my broderie-anglaise shift back up in the wardrobe.

No.

White broderie-anglaise full-length shifts didn’t suit me at all. The hem came down past my knees! The neckline was ridiculously high! I looked like a mousy Sunday School teacher.

Here.

This was better.

Much more suitable.

One of my online purchases!

A butt-length red party dress. I hadn’t even had a chance to wear it yet!

A plunging neckline down as far as a girl’s perky belly button.

Two narrow swags of red silk parting on plenty of cleavage, barely wide enough to hold back some lucky girl’s full, sumptuous breasts.

I wiggled into the stunning little creation. I got the skimpy silk adjusted where it climbed up my luscious ass-cheeks.

Thank god the red marks were all gone, just a few pale whiplash tattoos on my nice toned butt.

I climbed into a pair of five-inch strappy sandals. Swaying in stiletto heels came so easy these days!

I was admiring myself in the mirror when the doorbell rang.

I hastened to open it.

I knew who my guests would be already.

“Werner! Boys! So nice to see you!”

Werner’s squashed nose and skewiff eyes. The fat guy’s greasy hair. The stringy dude’s beer smell. The Asian stud’s crewcut bristling. The black guy took my breath away. The bodybuilder still shirtless, he hadn’t even changed his cammo shorts from his last visit.

They were thugs… but such spunky thugs… they were animals… but such prime studs…

I was only doing it for my son’s sake. I didn’t want Walt to get beaten, did I? I murmured:

“… Hi… do come in…!”