The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

His name is Karsten. Almost everybody calls him Mister Talv.

Mister Talv was not feeling particularly happy.

For one thing, his private plane had been held at Sheremetyevo for an hour due to some sort of security lockdown, and he had had nothing to occupy himself except fucking the Ukrainian stewardess. Sure, she’d been compliant enough, and she’d squealed and moaned and wriggled satisfyingly when he’d bent her over the plush leather seat, but it was hardly an experience that would live long in the memory. He’d taken her details just in case, but there was no way she would make the cut against his usual aesthetic standards. Oh well. Perhaps he’d deal with her again on the flight back just for fun, and in a few ways that might surprise her.

For another thing, whilst this particular pied-a-terre was well furnished enough, it wasn’t up to the standards of his other places, and it lacked a number of pieces of equipment that would have been really quite useful this evening. He hoped this would not be an impediment to the discussions. He did not think it would be.

And for another thing, Sergei and his team were late again.

Slightly annoyed, he drummed his fingers lightly on the table and eyed the item he had brought for Sergei. He had designed and made it himself. He considered it to be a valuable piece indeed, in fine condition, aesthetically pleasing, and an attractive and desirable addition to any collection, although the market for such things was regrettably small and select.

The money, of course, was relevant only in a symbolic sense.

Mister Talv did not have a problem with self-worth. Indeed, he often took inspiration and analogy from Michelangelo himself:

“In every block of marble I see a statue as plain as though it stood before me, shaped and perfect in attitude and action. I have only to hew away the rough walls that imprison the lovely apparition to reveal it to the other eyes as mine see it.”

From the raw materials he had found, he had carved something rather wonderful. The subject of this work, according to the blurb he had written for Sergei, was “Presence in Absence”. This was a subject he had revisited a number of times—a Leitmotif, to use the jargon of the trade. In this case, he had invested a great deal of time and effort in conceptualizing the piece, creating it, helping it to emerge, and then honing it to his satisfaction.

He had grown very fond indeed of this item, and considered it amongst his best work to date. But his priorities had shifted to a new project – he was now looking for something new, something very specific, and he needed to clear the decks a little. Mister Talv was nothing if not a pragmatist.

He had taken care to display the object to maximum effect. It was showcased on a plush black leather cushion, which in turn sat on a raised, pleasantly polished teak dais. Mister Talv had arranged the lighting just so.

He checked for messages on his smartphone. Nothing from Tokyo, and nothing from Sergei.

The first thing you learned was that his standards were extremely high.

For example, take the matter of the jewellery. As always entirely his own design, it was exactly perfect.

The metal was inlaid with filigreed patterns of gold and silver, intertwined in a mesmerising fractal. There was some reddish material woven into it as well, which you knew instinctively would set off your hair beautifully. Displayed on a plain black cloth, it drew your vision intently and you found it hard to look away. The piece lay there in two precise semicircular sections.

“Look at it carefully,” he had said. “The two sections fit together perfectly. I didn’t bother with any rings – I thought it spoiled the symmetry, and in any case if I want to lead you around I can do it in many other ways.”

You know from experience that he is correct in this observation.

Now, he demonstrates. Click. A perfect circle. You stare, transfixed. Clack. He opens the object again and sets the pieces back down on the table.

He gazes at you with his steady green eyes.

“There are decisions to be made,” he states. “And once made, they cannot be unmade. Do you understand?”

You shake your head, not comprehending.

“We have been playing, so far, you and me,” he murmurs. “Serious playing, of course, and we have both enjoyed it, yes? Now we move to another stage in our, ah, relationship, which I wish to make more permanent. This has been designed exclusively for you. It is not designed to be removed. This object represents a commitment.”

You are beginning to understand, you think. You can’t quite meet his eyes.

He picks up one of the pieces and, holding it in both hands, presses his thumbs at two spots near the ends, just where the seam would be. You hear two soft clicks, a shift in a delicate mechanism.

You pick up the two pieces. It is truly very beautiful. You guess that he has put a great deal of thought into creating something that, if it were to be worn permanently, would work as a piece of jewellery as well as a clear statement of intent. Turning it around and around in your hands, the light plays in ever changing ways over the complex filigree of the metalwork. Of course it is heavy, but not so heavy that it would be a problem to wear. But what if … ?

At the front, a square of plain gold and a single letter in elegant type. Your initial.

You understand.

There is trepidation here, a fear of the unknown, mingled with desire, and your stomach flutters. He has had you in so many ways, and you have always begged for more. But this is a very big step, and you need time to think this through.

Maybe a couple of days—maybe more.

Perhaps you could persuade him to allow you to try it out before finally deciding? How would it look on you? Would people really take it for jewellery, or would they assume … know … that you were …

You feel the pulse of danger and desire.

Decisions, decisions.

The Object had shifted slightly from the position he had decided to display it in. Mister Talv made a small adjustment to one of its fixings, and it was still again.

He tweaked one of its nipples and chuckled as the Object responded to his touch.