From borisl@room3b.demon.co.ukMon Nov  6 16:30:18 1995
Date: Sun, 05 Mar 95 21:22:11 GMT
From: Boris Ludmenkov <borisl@room3b.demon.co.uk>
To: dhuberma@copper.ucs.indiana.edu
Subject: MENTAL CRUELTY


[Attached File: C:\AMIPRO\DOCS\FUNANDGA\MINDCONT\TOLOUVRE\MENTALCR.TXT Size: 22571]
mc-mental-cruelty.txt

I did not write this story.
This story was obtained from the internet or a BBS. Most of the
multi-part stories were consolidated at the time, and some minor
adjustments made, mostly of a cosmetic nature. Enjoy !

                              Mental Cruelty:
                      A Mind Control Sex Fugue (Part 1)

   I know you don't really remember anything, and the nights when you wake 
up screaming have almost completely stopped.  But I do.  I remember 
everything.  Here's how it happened.

   You were sitting alone in the campus cafeteria, drinking coffee and 
reading a book.  You were dressed casually in a blouse and jeans.  I had 
never seen you before, but I could tell that were you the type of person 
who put serious effort into getting and staying in shape.  I liked that. 
Along with your intelligent face, currently lost in concentration, this 
made you a very attractive package.  I slid into the chair next to you.  
You looked up, startled, and dropped your book.

   "Who are ...," you started to say.

   "Don't move," I interrupted in a loud whisper.  You found to 
your amazement that you couldn't.  Your mouth was still hanging open with 
the third word you were going to say.

   "Look at me," I said.  "Smile and nod as though I'm a good friend that 
you haven't seen in a long time and you're fascinated by everything I'm 
saying."

   A wide smile broke out across your face.  Even though there was a 
frightened look hiding somewhere behind your eyes, you nodded and leaned 
towards me.  I gave you some instructions.

   "In a moment, I'm going to count to five.  When I do, you'll be able to 
move, although with certain restrictions.  You won't be able to leave; you 
won't attack me; you won't do anything to draw attention to us.  In fact, 
you won't be able to do anything except for the normal postural 
repositionings that take place when two people are engaged in conversation.  
Definitely engage in those.  Also, please don't say anything until I tell 
you to.  When I give you permission to speak, keep your voice down, and 
answer all my questions honestly and completely.  Now, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5."

   You shuddered.  You tried to scream, jump up, anything, but nothing 
happened.  You realized that you were a helpless prisoner, locked away in 
your own mind, unable to control what you did or anything that happened to 
you.  Your body was a puppet, and for the moment someone else was pulling 
the strings.  The most you could do was slide back in your chair, scratch 
your arm, and cross your legs.  As you did so, your foot brushed my pants.

   "Wait.  Hold it right there.  Slide your shoe off and rub around a bit.  
I'm sure you've done this before."

   Your eyes narrowed at this further indignity, even as you nodded 
compliantly.  You knew things were going to get a lot worse before they get 
better.  Your foot gave several compulsive jerks, eventually causing your 
shoe to drop off, and your toes began to massage my leg.  Suddenly, you 
felt your foot cramp, even as it kept trying to do its best in the 
important job of giving me footsie.  Of course, you still maintained full 
sensation in every part of your body. 

   As the observant host of this little party, I noticed your touch 
becoming erratic and your eyes crinkling in pain and figured out what was 
wrong.  At this point I didn't want to cause you undue distress.  "Okay, 
stop with the foot action and put your shoe back on.  Any pain that you may 
have accidently experienced will disappear.  Time for you to tell me 
something about yourself."

   Miraculously, the pain went away.  You wondered how I had this power 
over your body, and even more, how you were unlucky enough to be finding 
out about it personally.  Compelled, you leaned forward and started 
whispering sweet nothings in my ear.  These included your name, age, 
height, weight, measurements, phone number, address, sexual orientation, 
current relationship status, occupation, bank account, and credit card 
numbers.  You saw me busily copy everything down in a small notebook for 
future reference.  It was dog-eared, fairly thick, and at that time, looked 
to be about half-full.  Once a minute, as per instuctions, you stopped 
speaking, slid your tongue out between your smiling lips, and gave my ear a 
playful lick.  You hated yourself for doing this, for not being able to 
figure out a way to escape.  That was pretty irrational; even then I was 
well-practiced in my conversational skills.  You hated me even more for 
turning you into a helpless automaton.  I expected that.  Finally, you were 
done with the core dump, and you leaned back in your chair.

   "Time for us to leave.  You will follow about 10 feet behind me.  You 
can stop smiling for the moment.  As we go, don't give anyone any 
indication that anything unusual is happening.  If you see any friends, 
greet them the way you usually do.  If they want to stop and talk, say that 
you're in a hurry and that you'll get back to them.  Oh, and take all your 
belongings with you and dump your trash as you go out."  Like all good mind 
control sadists, I try to be conscientious about the environment.

   I got up and hurried to the door, a little too fast.  You found yourself 
jumping to your feet, practically knocking the chair over.  Then your 
well-honed legs automatically went into a little jog, as you stuggled to 
keep up, almost tripping as you involuntarily halted at the wastebasket.  
You had forgotten about that part.  You were forced to furiously sidestep 
to avoid bumping into people as the incoming lunchtime crowd thronged in 
the other direction.  You felt pulled desperately along, as if there were 
an invisible tether between us.  I was careful to make a lot of sudden 
stops and unforeseen changes of direction, which your body obediently 
mimiced.  I've always enjoyed being pursued by beautiful women; it's quite 
a kick.

   Finally we got outside, and you felt fortunate that you had avoided 
seeing anyone you knew.  You would have despised being forced to particpate 
in some grotesque charade of campus comradery, especially with my amused 
observation from the background.

   We got to my car, and I told you to get in on the passenger side.  
First, we needed to make a little sidetrip to your house.  You would be 
picking up some accessories for later fun and games.  We arrived at your 
house quickly; it was only five minutes from campus.  I told you what to 
get, providing the usual instructions for encounters with third persons.  
As you went inside, you saw some of your housemates sitting around in the 
living room in front of the TV.  You waved at them, and they waved back.  
You tried to blink a message of distress to them, but it was too late.  
Your disobedient feet had already carried you past the doorway and to the 
stairs.  

   Still following my instructions, you ran up the stairs to your room.  
You pulled out an overnight bag and tossed it on the bed.  In it you packed 
the following items:  a makeup kit; toiletries; a change of underwear; a 
miniskirt, one size too small (prefereably black leather, but you only had 
a regular black one); black high heels (which you had); a black tank-top, 
one size too small (you realized I was into tight black clothes); clear 
panty-hose; your favorite party tape; a small tape recorder; and a bath 
robe.  As you passed the mirror, you saw your own blank expression,with 
only the eyes alive, helplessly staring back at you.  You tried desperately 
to think of something you could do to escape the prison of your own body.  
There was nothing.  Irresistibly compelled, you rushed back down the 
stairs, not even looking at your housemates, and got back into my car.

   Now it was time for a longer ride, and we could get comfortable.  We 
were looking for a suitable motel.  Following my instructions you reached 
down, past the seat belt (wouldn't want you to get injured) and took off 
your socks and loafers.  Then you carefully lifted your left leg and 
positioned your left foot in front of my chest.  I graciously moved my 
right arm out of your way.  I was impressed with your flexibility.  Your 
upraised foot spasmed for a moment, as you tried to resist me, then arched 
itself, then began to gently rub its ball across my crotch.  I became 
instantly hard and almost swerved off the road.  I placed my hand under 
your strong left calf, feeling the muscles bunch as your heel and toes 
rubbed themselves along my left inner thigh.  Boy, I was having a great 
time.  You could tell, I was into foot stuff.  You were more worried about 
the other things I might be into.

   I looked over to see what the rest of you was doing.  I wouldn't have 
wanted any of you to be bored.  I saw that your head and shoulders were 
turned away from me, and that you were staring determinedly out the window.  
Maybe you were trying to zone out from acknowledging the rebellious 
complicity of some of your other body parts.  Even then, the clever little 
toes of your left foot were tugging at my zipper.  I knew I could have 
assisted your inner escape attempt in several ways.  I could have convinced 
you that both your feet were solidly planted under you.  I could have put 
the rest of you to sleep.  I could have made you think that you were back 
on campus or having a dream.  Last, but not least, I could have made you 
even more anxious to to give than I was to receive.  I could have done any 
of these things, but I chose not to.  They were all too easy, and not 
particularly a lot of fun.  In my own way, I respected you too much not to 
leave you the privacy of your thoughts, not to violate your awareness.  At 
least, not yet.  After all, who else was in a position to appreciate my 
work. 

  I suggested that you turn and look at me.  Your face was impassive, and 
no longer as pleasing to look at.  This would never do.  "Smile for me, 
won't you?" I asked politely.  Politeness is another one of my good 
features.  I also rarely lose my temper, since loss of temper can be 
dangerous, especially, for those around me.  I watched the corners of your 
month creep slowly upward.  A second later a tear burst from the corner of 
your right eye, ran across your upturned cheek, and finally dropped onto 
your well-flossed gums.  You always hated that idiotic, mindless, cow-like 
smile most of all.  I leaned over to carefully brush the tear away and 
said, "Please don't cry."  Suddenly you found you could't.  You didn't feel 
any less helpless or frustrated, and the stupid smile was still sitting in 
the middle of your face, but suddenly your eyes were totally dry.  I 
suspect you started to wonder at this point if you would be able to get out 
of alive, or at least with your sanity intact.

   I wanted to give the rest of your limbs some tasks, because you seemed 
entirely too restive, and I was worried about dropping my guard.  At my 
prompting, you leaned over slightly and started stroking your left hand 
along my right arm and the top of my right leg (the part not already 
covered by your left).  At the same time, your right hand involuntarily 
snaked down between your legs and started gently massaging the outside of 
your pants-covered bush.  This was merely for purposes of symmetry.  I 
didn't expect you to become aroused until later, but I liked the aesthetic 
of keeping both your hands busy.  I glanced briefly at your large, round, 
upright breasts, but ended up shaking my head.  I decided that we were 
still entirely too visible, and that there would be more than enough 
opportunity later.  Your right leg seemed okay where it was.  

   One final thing was necessary to complete the present scenario.  I 
ordered you to search your memory and describe for me, in chronological 
order, all of your previous sexual experiences and your thoughts about your 
partners while engaging in them.  For a moment your face seemed to blanch, 
then your passionless monotone filled the car.  I could work on improving 
the quality of your voice later too.  For the moment, I was quite 
satisfied: your left foot, left hand, and right hand were industriously 
occupied; you were smiling along with me, apparently quite happy; I was 
hearing an interesting story; and we were rolling merrily along.

                            (End of Part 1)



                             Mental Cruelty:
                     A Mind Control Sex Fugue (Part 2)

   I finally saw a good motel coming up on the right.  I was glad, because
I was finding it hard not to come from the tender ministrations of your
left foot.  I prefered to wait for future developments, which should be
even more exciting.  I lifted your foot from my crotch.  It continued
squirming around in my hand, still trying to complete its assignment.  For
a moment I wondered if you were ticklish.  I looked over at the rest of
you.  Your face was pointed in my direction, as ordered, still smiling at
me.  Your mouth was telling me the story of the time you got drunk and
secretly slept with your best friend's fiancee, two days before their
wedding.  I was sure that somewhere inside you were horribly embarrassed at
being forced to expose yourself like this.  It sounded like a great story,
with plenty of pathos, but there was no time to hear the end; we were about
to move again.

   I gave you some new commands.  "Okay, that's enough talking for now.
Stop everything you're doing with your hands and feet and put your shoes
and socks back on.  When you're done with that, sit still in your chair.
And by the way, you can stop smiling."

   You did as you were told.  Your left leg trembled noticibly as you
returned it to your side of the car.  It was obvious to me that you were
tired and needed a few minutes to recuperate.  That was okay with me,
because I also needed some time to think.  I had to be careful with the
exact phrasing of the instructions I planned for you to follow in getting
us a room at the motel.  I didn't want to give you any escape clauses or
let you do anything out of the ordinary as a result of my verbal
imprecision.  That could be messy, and I prefer not to be observed on these
little outings.  You wondered about my silence, but felt relieved at the
temporary respite, because your cheeks ached from the lengthy smiling
almost as much as your left leg did.

   I pulled into the parking lot of motel and we both sat quietly for
several mintues listening to the car cool down.  I ran through your
instructions in my mind one last time and then repeated them aloud.  I had
you repeat them back to me, which you accomplished flawlessly.  I knew you
were smart.  You unlatched your seatbelt, opened the door, and climbed out,
closing the door behind you.  Your feet crunched in the gravel as your
sturdy legs carried you unswervingly towards the manager's office.  I saw
you go in.  Less than two minutes later you were back out and returning to
the car.  "Room 17," you told me in that special monotone, as you handed me
the key.  I drove over to the room following your directions (that's a
switch), and we parked the car.  I got out and started walking towards the
room, carrying your overnight bag, when I realized that something was
missing.  Silly me.

   I opened the driver's side door again and leaned in.  "Get out, close
the door behind you and follow me.  Don't do anything conspicuous, like
attacking me, and try not to make too much noise."

   I unlocked the door to the room, switched on the overhead light, and we
went in.  The room was perfect for my purposes, secluded, with a kingsize
bed and separate bathroom.  I then told you to stand quietly, facing in my
direction, next to the wall on the far side of the bed.  While you headed
over, I drew all the shades and shoved your overnight bag under the bed.  I
sat down facing you.  You were standing there as ordered, your face
expressionless and drained, your hands hanging limply at your sides.  Time
to give you something more to do.

   "Take off your clothes," I blurted out.  I like to begin slowly, but I
was a little excited.  "Save the bra for last."  You were expecting this
all along, but you still managed to turn a deep shade of red.  Your body
shuddered as you vainly strove to reconnect your consciousness with your
the motor centers of your brain.  Despite your best efforts, your hands
came up and started unbuttoning your blouse.  A pile of clothes grew by
your side, as your traitorous hands continued with your shoes and socks,
your jeans, and then your panties.  I saw that your bush was a bit darker
than your hair.  Finally I saw your hands reach behind you and unfasten
your bra.  They dropped it on top of the pile.

   I told you to step two feet to your right, so that my viewing angle was
unobstructed.  You were and are a flawless construction, even better than I
had hoped.  I needed to see everything, and I wanted you to do some of the
work in displaying yourself for me.

   I make some additional requests.  "Clasp your hands behind your neck,
push your tits forward, stand on your toes, and slowly turn in a circle."
As you completed your first rotation I noticed two main things.  First,
your skin was practically unblemished.  Second, the globular tightness of
your ass nearly rivaled the perfection of form of your breasts and your
calves.  You were very symmetrical, and I liked that too.

   I definitely had to get a better look.  As you kept revolving, I turned
off the overhead light (with the shades drawn it was quite dark) and
positioned the smaller lights in the room to highlight your best features.
The contrast effect was breathtaking, and I smiled as I realized that your
command performance (ha ha) was for me alone.  I was starting to get hard.
I tried to think of something else for you to do to heighten the mood.

   "Say things to turn me on.  Convince me that you like being in my
control.  Beg me to fuck you and to play with your body.  Think of things I
could make you do that you would most loathe, or most fear, or find most
demeaning, and ask for those.  Please, try for some variety."

   You unhesitatingly licked your lips, and started right in.  "I love
being your slave.  Being helpless and aware in your thrall is the best
experience I've ever had.  I want you to keep me this way with you,
forever.  Today is the happiest day of my life."

   "Command me," you continued, your voice trembling in despair.  "The
touch of your voice sends shivers down my spine.  I ache to obey your every
whim.  I hate thinking for myself.  Program me to come at your command."
You still didn't sound all that passionate, but I was certainly enjoying
the content.

   As you came around again, I walked over and leaned in close.  Your eyes
were already filmed over with tears.  Your loquacious mouth was inches away
from mine and I felt the hot breath of your words ruffle my beard.  "If you
ever make me leave, ever make me forget, promise that you'll brand me with
your power.  Make me dance naked in my sleep, masturbating, while dreaming
of you.  Make me scream out your name every time I come.  Make me reject
future lovers, because they don't remind me enough of you.  Make me steal
from my family, unwittingly, to send you expensive presents that you throw
away.  Please, I beg of you."

   Your quivering lips looked totally kissable, but I didn't want to
interrupt while you were on a roll.  You listened to your own words in
horror and disbelief.  "I'd like to help you capture other women.  First,
we could start with my friends.  I'll help you meet the prettier ones.  I
want to do it with them while you watch.  Then, you can fuck all of us
together.  Afterwards, you can make us think that we're animals and have us
do amusing tricks."

   Your voice broke in uncontrolled sobbing.  Tears ran down your face and
dripped over your breasts.  I had managed to tap into some dark underside
of your subconscious, whose imagination was even more depraved than my own.
I'm sure you felt deathly afraid that I would take you up on one of your
suggestions.  You needn't have worried.  I've always found that it pays to
plan these things well in advance, and our brief sojourn was no different.
However, this didn't stop me from jotting down a few of your more creative
ideas to take up with your successors.

   After several minutes of wracking sobs, all the while spinning around
helplessly, you managed to continue.  I sat back down on the bed, anxious
to listen.

   "I want you to treat every part of my body as a toy, purchased solely
for your amusment.  I love that you're giving me this opportunity to
display my body to you.  Make me into your favorite mannekin.  Dress me up
however you like and let me pose this way for you for hours.

   I loved feeling up your cock with my foot on the way over.  I couldn't
tell you before, but it was making me incredibly hot.  If you want, I could
stand by your bed all night and massage your cock with my foot while you
sleep.  You have only to ask.

   Please don't forget my tits.  I hope you like them.  The rougher you
handle them, the better I'll like it.  My nipples tingle whenever you're
near.  I'd love to slowly rub them across every inch of your body.  Let me
make you come between them.

   Most of all I want to feel your big cock in my cunt.  Fuck me now.  Fuck
me over and over."

   I was sweating furiously and I desperately wanted to make you hurl
yourself at me.  However, I could also see that you needed some time to
compose yourself.  I gave you your next set of instructions.

   "Stop turning, and face me.  You can put your arms down now and come
down from your toes.  You can also stop with the sweet talk."  You stopped
talking with an audible woosh and coughed briefly while trying to get your
breath back.  Your eyes were red and sunken and your nose was running
copiously.  It wasn't particularly appealing.  I ran into the bathroom and
grabbed a wad of toilet paper.  "Here," I said, thrusting it at you.  "Wipe
your damn nose."  I sat back down on the bed.  Finally, after several
minutes your sniffling subsided.  It was time to make you come to me.




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