The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I spend the next few days mulling over what Kellie has told me. She’s been escorting much longer than I have. While we’re the same age—I actually think I’m two years older—she is much wiser than I am when it comes to sex work. I can learn a lot from her.

Other parts of my life take over. At the office, we have a rush deadline, and I’m working twelve-hour days. And when one of my regular clients flies in from New York, I manage to sneak away to service him during lunch. He wants me to dress up as a naughty schoolgirl. Good thing the outfit is tiny enough to squeeze into my lunchbox.

Roger calls me on Wednesday and wants to book me for the following Friday. Damn. I was thinking about flying out of town for a weekend to myself. But he is insistent. After our second date, he has paid me a total of $57,400. One more date and I’m debt-free.

So I cancel my flights and the following Friday I am Ubering back to the Park Hyatt, where I guess Roger lives permanently…? Kellie made some reference to how Roger is going through a nasty divorce. I guess after he and Mrs. Roger decided to split up, he moved into that penthouse. He must be crazy rich.

I find the penthouse door open, and I let myself in. In the main sitting room, there are four other young women, all beautiful, all wearing tiny dresses. At a glance, I know: they are all providers. So I am not alone on this date.

Great.

The other women glance at me, then return to their smart phones. I guess no-one here knows one another yet. I don’t see Roger, either.

Feeling awkward, I enter, only to hear someone in heels behind me. I turn; Kellie has just entered the penthouse. She must have been on the next elevator. Like me, she’s wearing a provider’s standard uniform: low-cut dress, lots of leg.

“Hey you,” she smiles, and kisses me on the cheek.

I’m relieved to know someone here. The other girls observe us without expression, almost with an air of resentment. This is, like, the worst cocktail party of all time.

“Com’on,” says Kellie. She commandeers the full bar and pours me a Roman Coke. The other girls drift over, and Kellie bartends. I’ll give her this much; she knows how to break the ice.

Two more girls arrive, making a total of eight. I’ve never been with so many providers before. It’s a little weird. We all engage in light conversation, but I have a feeling everyone is nervous. I know I am. What the hell is Roger planning?

And just when I think about the man, he appears. Roger emerges from the penthouse billiards room, and I’ll be damned if he isn’t wearing a full tuxedo. He counts us quickly, and it appears everyone is here.

“Good,” he comments. “Everyone, put down your drinks. Anyone need a bathroom?”

After those logistics are sorted out, Roger leads us back through the penthouse. All nine of us cram into the library.

Our host clasps his hands. “Now,” he tells us, “everyone sit on a sofa. Feet on the floor, hands on knees, sit straight up, please.”

I know what this means. I sit next to a stunning blonde with a Barbie figure. Kellie sits next to me. The other girls squeeze into remaining seats. Across two sofas, there is barely enough room for all eight of us; we sit shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip.

“Close your eyes,” Roger orders us. I glance at Kellie, but she’s already complied. I can tell from her posture that she is already entering a trance. Roger’s voice has a, well, hypnotic component to it, and already I can feel my own muscles respond as he tells us we are relaxing. I wonder how many times he has hypnotized Barbie.

I let my eyes close, and suddenly Roger’s voice fills my mind. “Breath in, breathe out,” he tells us, but I’m already doing that. In fact, I can feel my arms go completely limp, my fingers curl, my stomach begin to unclench. I’m entering hypnosis so quickly, it’s a little surprising.

“Allow your body to drift into complete relaxation,” says Roger. He’s walking up and down the floor before us, and I hear him occasionally lean forward to touch or say something specific to a girl. At one point, he lifts my wrist, and my whole arm feels like a limp dishrag. At another point, he touches my shoulder. I fall even deeper into relaxation.

I feel Barbie’s hand slide off her lap and plop down against my leg. She’s going under, no doubt. I wonder if Kellie’s superdeep yet.

Roger continues to drone on and on, and I just let his voice wash over me. Then he does something he’s never done before.

“At the count of three,” he says, “you will awaken, yet stay perfectly relaxed. One… two… three!”

My eyes open and I lift my head. Somehow I can’t move my body or even look at the other women. I just stare blankly ahead. Roger is actually standing just to my left, in front of Barbie.

“Sleep!” Roger commands the blonde, and she collapses across my lap; I feel her weight on my legs.

Roger moves to Kellie. “Sleep!” he orders her. She is out like a rag doll. Now it is my turn.

“Look at me,” he murmurs to me. I lift my eyes to stare into his. I can’t look away.

“Sleep!” he tells me, and I am gone. I am vaguely aware of being leaned against Kellie’s limp body, but soon even that is distant to my senses.

“FOR THIS EVENING, YOU ARE ALL WAITRESSES, WORKING IN THE WORLD’S MOST EROTIC CATERING COMPANY. WHEN YOU AWAKEN, YOU WILL STRIP NAKED, FOR THIS IS HOW YOU ALWAYS SERVE FOOD. YOU ARE POLITE, SEXY, AND SUBMISSIVE.

“IN A FEW MOMENTS, MY PARTY GUESTS WILL ARRIVE. THEY ARE ALL INCREDIBLY HANDSOME TO YOU, AND THE MORE TIME YOU SPEND WITH THEM, THE HORNIER YOU WILL BECOME. YOU WILL HAPPILY SERVE THEM FOOD OR DRINK. YOU WILL FLIRT A LITTLE. THE MORE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO THEM, THE SEXIER THEY BECOME, THE HORNIER YOU BECOME.

“IN A MOMENT, I WILL COUNT FROM ONE TO FIVE. ON THE COUNT OF FIVE, YOU WILL AWAKEN. YOU WILL FORGET THIS CONVERSATION, BUT EAGERLY FOLLOW AND OBEY ALL OF MY SUGGESTIONS. ONE… TWO… THREE… FOUR…!”

“Five!”

I open my eyes. Every time I come out of trance, I have this momentary disorientation, the way you feel when you are dreaming deeply and then the alarm goes off. For a split second, you believe you are both in your dream and climbing out of bed to hit that alarm. It takes a second or two to get your bearings in the real world.

I am slouched on the back of the sofa. Kellie is leaning on my shoulder; Barbie is still sprawled on my lap. I stir, and feel Kellie and Barbie awaken too.

As we girls blink and sort ourselves out, I remember why we’re here: Of course! We’re the naked catering company. We have a party to host tonight. Without much thought, I stand and shimmy out of my dress, then my panties. Barbie stares at me for a moment, then imitates my action. Kellie is already up and dropping her dress on the couch. Damn, that girl looks great in her birthday suit.

All us women are now naked. Nothing strange in any of this. Roger smiles, deliriously happy at so much nudity. I don’t know why this is unusual for him; we’re professional naked food servers. We do this all the time.

He pulls out his cell phone and dials. When the person on the other end connects, he simply says, “They’re ready,” and hangs up.

To us, he instructs, “Come with me, ladies,” and then leads us through the penthouse into the kitchen. There, we see a chef who has labored for hours preparing trays of hors d’oeuvres. As we food servers march in in all our naked glory, she stares at us, scandalized. That’s odd. We girls have been serving their food like this for a long time now.

I briefly make eye contact with Kellie, and we exchange professional nods. We’re pros at this. I select a tray of champagne flutes; she a tray of lobster toasts.

Roger now leads us back to the main sitting room. Somehow, a large bowl of wrapped condoms has appeared on the center table. That seems unusual.

Coming through the foyer are a gaggle of college-aged boys, all wearing slacks, sport coats, white shirts, and school ties. They stop dead in their tracks and gape at us.

“Holy… shit…!” one of them exclaims. It is the only sound.

We catering ladies assume respectful positions on our side of the room and simply stand there, holding our trays, waiting. I’ve done this naked catering thing so many times, this routine feels old hat to me.

Roger approaches the boys, and grabs one by the neck. “Happy birthday, son,” he beams.

The boy who must be Roger Jr. is wonderstruck. “Dad…” he manages. “You… you said the guys and I were going out to Scores.”

“Naw,” demurs Roger, “this is better. No?” He gestures for me to come over.

I cross the center of the room. All male eyes are locked on me, either my face, my breasts, or my hips. I don’t mind; this is totally common in the naked catering business.

As I draw closer to Roger’s gobsmacked son, I feel a stirring within myself. The boy is young, but not that young. He and I must have a, what, three years’ age difference? That’s nothing. He’s cute. No, he’s gorgeous. And sexy.

I feel flushed. I am definitely turned on this guy. Maybe we can screw? Why am I horny?

Roger takes flutes from my tray, and hands them out to our guests. My tray is now empty, but I don’t budge. I want to stay close, if I can.

“A toast!” Roger shouts. “To Benny!”

“To Ben- to, err, Benny. Ben!” the other boys chorus, stumbling over one another’s words. Benny, the birthday boy, turns bright red as my gaze meets his. They drink.

“Dad,” Benny says, still staring straight at me, “won’t Mom—“

“Your mother?” spits Roger. “Fuck her. This is your night, son. And I’m sure this will top that Ferrari she got you, eh?”

Roger takes my hand and draws me closer to his brethren. Oh god, the closer I get to him, the more I want to jump him. This is unlike me… I don’t know why I’m feeling this way.

“Isn’t she magnificent?” purrs Roger, caressing my cheek, then neck, shoulder, and finally chest. He takes my tray. “She’s Taylor. She’s all yours, son.”

Benny looks between me and his father several times.

“Go on,” Roger coaxes.

So Benny approaches me. I’m turned on, but there’s no denying that this boy is awkward in the extreme. He literally comes at me with arms, tongue, and erection all extended.

“Wait a minute,” Roger cuts in quickly. He faces me. “Look into my eyes,” he orders me.

I do so without thinking, and instantly I’m in his power.

“When I snap my fingers,” Roger tells me, “you are convinced Benny is James Bond, the sexiest and coolest man alive, and you can’t wait to fuck him.” His fingers click before my eyes.

My thoughts skip for a moment. When I regain my senses, I’m stunned to see James Freakin’ Bond before me. Omigod, does he look good in a tux! I am wet instantly.

“Mr. Bond,” I say in greeting, and I push myself into his arms. Bond responds, kissing me with increasingly deeper tongue. I press hard against his entire body, and then guide his hands to my butt for good measure.

We kiss even harder. I know all eyes in the room are staring at us, but I don’t care. How often does a girl get to fuck James Bond? I’m so horny, I’m going for broke. As James fumbles with my ass cheeks, my own hands wander down his body and undo his belt. Then his fly.

And then James Bond’s pants are falling down his legs to the floor. His erection is positively huge.

I drop to my knees and rips down his underwear. (Who knew James Bond wore tightie whities?) While I play with his dick in my mouth, he quickly kicks off his shoes.

I scramble back to my feet. How do I want him inside me? Who cares; what is the position that will get me laid by James Bond the fastest?

I pull James to the center table. Then I swivel around, placing my hands on its cold surface. My rear is facing him and his magnificent cock.

“Fuck me, James,” I moan over my shoulder.

Mr. Bond frantically grabs a condom from the condom bowl. I hear him tear it open and then squeeze his tree-like penis into that rubber sheath. He grabs my hips.

And then he is hammering away inside me, going as deep and as fast as he can with each thrust. It is like being pleasured by a dildo cross-bred with a jackhammer. I cry out with delight. My arms buckle, and my torso collapses onto the table. James pounds on. It is wave after wave after wave of chemical bliss. I am shrieking uncontrollably with joy.

In the corner of my eye, I see that everyone else has circled us and are watching silently. The hors d’oeuvre trays are set aside uneaten as women silently pair up with men.

I don’t have a lot of brain power to think about it, but let me tell you: It is really weird when a handful of college guys in makeshift suits and another handful of gorgeous, naked women are all watching you getting fucked like you are street dancing or something. Everyone is getting aroused; the guys are growing erections, while the women are rubbing their nipples or clits.

For a moment, I see Kellie. She looks so turned on.

James roars with delight as he cums. I realize I’ve already been cumming, perhaps from the moment he first rammed in. It doesn’t matter. I clench my pussy muscles, doing what I can to clamp onto James’ slimy dick; guys love that.

As he slides out of me for the last time, I pick myself up. My pussy is still vibrating. Fuck yeah, I think to myself, I just boned with James Bond.

I spin around, press myself back against James’ hard body, and melt into his kiss. His erection is already deflating, and I feel it slither down my belly. My vagina is lit up like a Christmas tree; I can still feel the fireworks dancing inside me. Oh, this feels so good.

As I am making sweet love to James’ mouth, Roger shouts out, “Ladies, when I clap my hands, you all must sex…! Now!” He has used his hypnotic voice; its like I hear him in my mind, not with my ears. He claps.

And it is like a sex bomb has gone off in the room. Instantly, all the women grab a boy and start tearing at their clothes. Kissing, sucking, groping, moaning, and thrusting are the only activities here. Many hands claw at the condom bowl, snatching what they can. Clothes are tossed is all directions. We are all on the floor, doing our best to hump one another without banging against the table.

As for me, my mind is enveloped by a sex-crazed haze. James slides off me, pulled away by Barbie. He latches onto her huge tits and never looks back at me. That’s okay; I’ve found another stud and am already sucking on his belly. I feel hands on my ass and inner thighs. A tongue or two explores my sweaty back. A cock appears before my eyes, and without thinking, I begin sucking it.

We roll over and over, forever trading partners, never once stopping for rational thought. At least, I can’t stop to think about what I am doing. I am like a sex Terminator; whomever is before me, I must attack and ravage. I fuck and am fucked several times, and I honestly can’t tell you with whom. I don’t care.

At another point, I roll over and feel someone open my legs. A tongue penetrates me and I bellow with pleasure. At that moment, I see Kellie’s face, and without a millisecond of hesitation, I grab her face and kiss her. She kisses me. I slide a hand down to her breasts. Damn, I’d forgotten how nice her girls are.

And on and on and on. Kellie is claimed by another partner, and that’s okay, because I am too. How long we are all fucking, I can’t tell you. I just never want it to end.

But at one point, I pause to catch my breath. There, sitting across the room, is Roger. He is watching us intently, smoking a cigar, and stroking himself. He never joins us; perhaps that is just as well.

Not one hors d’oeuvre is consumed.