The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Disclaimers:

  1. The following story contains events sexual in nature. If it is against the law in your location for you to read such things don’t read this story.
  2. The following story is fictional. The characters are fictional. The archaeological group and translators are fictional. Nothing and no one is based on any non-fictional events or people.
  3. Insert copyright notice here along with threat of instant karma (the bad kind).

Author’s Notes:

Thanks to everyone who e-mailed me regarding the story. Your interest renewed my interest. E-mails welcome but I may not have the time to respond:

Spring’s Third New Moon

The slave trader arrived today and things went smoothly setting up her tent and stalls in the courtyard. But my mind was only half on the day’s work, I found myself alternating between three events of the few days past.

The day after bringing brer and tama home I whetted and sent tama to my sisters. He was soft and gentle before the whetstone and strong and energetic when I brought him out. He left our house with a single-minded purpose and I turned my own energy to the albino.

brer’s first whetting had gone well. Gaen was with us to learn how to whet a messenger. She sat quietly by the doorway and kept the fire bright so brer could see. brer knelt before the stone with a little hesitation. He was strangely luminescent in the Whestone House, his back orangey in the light of the fire and his chest a moonlit reflection of the stone before him. I realized why an albino would be a messenger from a god. Which one is looking down from the moon at the pale skin that is so like her home?

“Are you nervous?” I asked him.

“A little.”

“Let your eyes settle on the wheel. You can move your eyes to focus on different parts of it, but don’t look at anything else. The longer you look at it the calmer you will get. You’ve let your mind wander before and this is very similar. Your mind is wandering but that is because it is waiting for its master.”

“And you will be my Master?” he asked softly. I could see his erection growing. When I glanced to his face I saw that he was looking at my breasts.

“Wrong Whetstone, boy. Look at the stone, not at the flesh,” I glanced at Gaen and saw her suppress a giggle. brer tore his eyes away and looked again at the whetstone.

“I will be your Master and you will be my messenger. You have done quite well with the simple things like quick obedience, alertness and calmness in the public room, dressing me and my daughters. All my daughters approve of you. They say you are obedient without fuss and are interested in their comfort. So I am proud of you, as is your mother. Now, tell me what the whetting will do for you.”

I wanted his mind to dredge up everything he wanted to improve about himself and everything he feared I would do to him. He was quiet a moment and I let him think.

“After you whet me I will be smarter, stronger, and more willing to please. I will be able to have sex for hours and hours until you tell me to stop. You will take away my mind and give me a new one and I won’t be able to resist. You will find out the message I carry and my skin and eyes and hair will be normal.” He glanced at me quickly but then settled his eyes on the whetstone again. I stood behind him and ran my fingers soothingly through his hair. His erection returned.

“You will be smarter, stronger, and more willing to please. You will be more creative and last longer at sex. But you will still have your own mind. And you will still have your own skin and eyes and hair. I am not a witch. I cannot change these things. But I can change the way you think about them. We’ll leave it alone for now but at the second whetting, if you want to accept the way you look, I’ll consider helping you with that. But I do not replace minds, merely hone them. Thus I am a whetstone. I shape and sharpen your mind like a whetstone shapes and sharpens a knife. In fact, that is the basis for the beginning of the primary chant. Today and any other time that I whet you we will start with this chant. I will say a phrase and then you will repeat it back to me. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Master.”

“The whetstone sharpens the knife.”

“The whetstone sharpens the knife.”

“The whetstone sharpens the mind.”

“The whetstone sharpens the mind.”

We went on, repeating the stanza until his eyes grew heavy and his body lax.

“brer, who is your master?”

“You are. Whetstone Kapra is my master.”

“You serve her with your body and soul.”

“I serve her with my body and soul.”

“You are devoted to her and her household.”

“I am devoted to her and her household.”

“You live to help her any way you can.”

“I live to help her any way I can.”

“You especially love helping her by being her messenger.”

“I especially love helping her by being her messenger.”

“You are very smart and have a keen memory. You remember everything anyone tells you, even if it’s only said once.”

“I am very smart and have a keen memory. I remember everything anyone tells me, even if it’s only said once.”

We continued to go over aspects that would make him a good messenger until finally his responses to my questions were quick and automatic. I tested him with his first message.

“Gaen your mother calls you. Eat with me tonight. Gaen your tummy calls you. Eat with me tonight.”

It was silly but it was true that I wanted to sit with her a while. Her studies had kept her with her tutor and it still felt like something was missing when I went to sleep.

I brought brer out of his trance and he prostrated himself.

“Speak.”

“Master, thank you. I remember everything and you’re right, you didn’t replace my mind with something else. I feel wonderful.”

“That’s good to hear,” I eyed him as he wiggled uncertainly in his sitting position.

“Speak,” I ordered again.

“Master, may I deliver the message now?”

“You may.”

He jumped up and ran around the fire pit to Gaen, where he promptly prostrated himself, waiting for her to allow him to speak, and I had to laugh. It was a quicker response than even po had had. And it was his first whetting. It was a pleasure to work with a young man so eager to please. Perhaps it had something to do with being able to give a message to someone rather than carrying it around and never being able to deliver it. Gaen, quite graciously and seriously for her age, bade him speak and accepted the invitation.

“Tell my mother this:

“Whestone Kapra your wish Is my command Serve my favorite dish And I will be at hand.”

brer bowed to her and scurried over to me, again prostrating himself. When I asked him to speak he gave me the message and I bent, one hand under his chin to tilt his face up, and kissed his forehead.

“You were obviously born for this. Now go tell the kitchen to make suckling pig and vegetables for Gaen and me. We’ll eat in my room. You can serve me and ael will serve Gaen.”

The three of us went our separate ways, Gaen back to her tutor, brer to the kitchen, and I to the sick house.

I found niokos bound and gagged and napping facedown but he opened his eyes when I told him to wake up. He started to roll himself over but I stepped on his shoulder with one foot to hold him down.

“I know you have been hurt and you are still recovering. No need to move just yet. But when you are better we will see how well you can prostrate yourself. You are Gareka. We heard you speak in your sleep. Do you understand Amaz?”

He nodded, looking calm and in control of himself, as if it was natural to be in his position.

“Then listen well. You are being punished for your attack on my messenger. Because he cannot take my words to the world, you may not speak. Because he cannot run for me, you are bound. Because he cannot service me, you are castrated. Pray to your gods that I do not make all these things permanent. Pray that I have mercy and believe you when you tell me you are sorry and that you repent.”

niokos did not respond at all to my words. His breathing was even, his brow smooth, his body relaxed.

“Either you have excellent self control or you do not believe me. I will let you think about it a moment.”

I stepped out of the door and walked until Paka was in sight. I raised my hand and he trotted over. Leading him to the sick house I thought of how best to shock some fear into niokos. There seemed little that would surprise him and little that he would not do to gain his freedom. Again I found my thoughts returning to the whetstone. To my own path.

Leaving Paka at the doorway I went to fetch the Gareka.

“Stand,” I commanded. He did not move. I whistled and Paka stepped in. I signaled and Paka bit into the ropes around niokos’ wrists and dragged him off the pallet. I signaled again and the horse let go.

“Stand.” Again he did not. I had Paka drag him to the doorway of the sick house.

“Stand.” niokos craned his head to look up at me and his eyes were distant and seemed full of laughter. Paka dragged him into the Whetstone House, around the coals, and deposited him in front of the whetstone.

“Thank you, Paka, you may go.”

niokos was still on his stomach, wrists behind him chaffed and red, clothing dirty and twisted from being dragged. His head was pointed in the right direction so there was little for me to do.

“Stand,” I commanded one last time. And he did not. We were silent for a moment. I had realized he’d be difficult but I did not want to admit that I’d need another person’s help to break him. I left him and went to get some rope. When I returned he still had not moved.

“I know you understand whetting and just how powerful it can be. Soon you will be responding to my every command. Resistance is futile. If you must resist to satisfy your ego your eventual surrender will be the more bitter for you and the sweeter for me.”

I fiddled with the rope in an attempt to pull his head back so he would see only the whetstone, or perhaps the floor, when he opened his eyes. I attached the ends to the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. Stepping back I could see that it barely worked. I’d have to send someone in periodically to check on him. I knelt next to his head and started stroking the hair in long languid movements. We sat quietly and I could hear his labored breathing. It could not possibly have been comfortable.

“You poor man,” I crooned to him softly, “bound up like an animal. I’m sure it’s unpleasant to have that rope pulling back on your forehead and that other one under your jaw. I hope you don’t move too much otherwise that tender skin will chafe. But there is a way to escape any pain or discomfort you’re feeling. All you have to do is look at the whetstone, see how it’s cracked on the left side? How the crack runs, ever thinner, towards the center? And how old and pitted it is. No one’s used it to sharpen knives for generations. My mother had it before I did. Her mother before her, and her mother before her. Back even farther than we know.

“There is a story my mother told me and that I tell my Gaen. How the first woman found her wheel. How the first man came under its spell. Her name was Anyas-ka-Patep. A very long name. She must have named herself. My family name comes from ‘ka.’ My arch rival and good friend’s family name comes from ‘Anyas.’ ‘Patep,’ of course, is the name of the Whetstone family to the East. We vie for the privilege of taking on the boys from the best families and we work together to keep Amaz strong.”

I heard niokos grunt through his gag.

“What was that? Did you want to say something?”

His eyes were shut tight and he didn’t respond. I continued with my story.

“Anyas-ka-Patep had many men. She was so fruitful that she had a son and a daughter by each of them. But she had a favorite consort, may, and had countless children by him. may was very handsome. He didn’t need paints or clothes to catch a woman’s eye. He stood tall and strong and worshiped the ground his Master walked on. But he was sad that his sons would not be with him in his old age.

“One day Anyas-ka-Patep and may were walking in the forest. She was carrying her bow and arrow at the ready. He was carrying her quiver and a pig that she had felled. They weren’t heading home, however, because she wanted a krawk [not sure to which bird species this refers] for its feathers. She was going to make a headdress for her eldest daughter to wear in battle. Her eyes searched the branches above and a glimmer of white flashed high up in a tree. As they drew nearer she saw it was a stone resting in the crotch of a pika [not sure to which tree species this refers].

“ ‘may, hold my bow for me. I’m going to climb the tree and see what’s up there,’ she said to her consort. And with that she climbed and climbed but no matter how much she climbed she could not reach the stone.”

I glanced over and niokos’ eyes were open but hooded, staring at the dirt floor. Beads of sweat were starting to appear on his forehead.

“She soon grew tired and gave up and it seemed like a small jump to the ground. may was laughing at her and she was so mad that she hit him. He kept smiling and knelt to kiss her feet. She forgave him. She could never stay angry with may. So, still frustrated, they went home. That night she was talking to her daughters around their fire. She told them about the stone and they were all very curious. Her youngest, Pika, who was named after the tree, said she wanted to see the stone. The next day Anyas-ka-Patep and Pika tried to find the tree again. When they spied it Pika gasped and said,

“ ‘Mother, I dreamed of this stone. Let me climb up.’

“She ran to the tree and started climbing and, whereas her mother couldn’t reach the stone, Pika made it up so quickly that she had to stop and catch her breath. She leaned a hand against the stone, which she could now see was a whetstone, and it felt warm to the touch. If you had your hands free, niokos, you, too, could touch the whetstone and see how warm it is. So nice to look at and touch.

“Pika called down to her mother: ‘It’s a whetstone. It’s warm and soft.’

“She leaned her whole body across it and heard a voice saying, ‘Take me home.’

“When Pika told her mother this, Anyas-ka-Patep was surprised. How could a stone speak? This was only one of her questions, but she trusted her daughter. Pika was full of dreams from gods: warnings and messages and sometimes just a ‘happy birthday.’

“ ‘How can we take it home if I can’t climb up there?’ the mother called up to her daughter.

“ ‘The stone says you can come up when you have rope. Go on, mother, I’ll stay here.’

“Now Anyas-ka-Patep was a little concerned. What if something should happen to her daughter while she was gone?

“ ‘You should come down with me and we’ll get the rope together,’ she called up.

“ ‘I can’t come down until you have the rope,’ her daughter called back.

“With a furrowed brow Anyas-ka-Patep raced back to her house and grabbed some rope. She was so fast that no one saw her, not even the forest animals. If she had had her bow or knife with her she could have feasted for the next three weeks. But all she cared about was her daughter. When she got back to the tree she could see that Pika was fine. Her daughter was laughing and talking to someone.

“ ‘Who are you talking to?” she asked.

“ ‘The tree and the stone. They like me. The tree wants me to stay even after you take the stone away.’

“ ‘You can’t stay up there! You aren’t a bird or a monkey! I am coming up there and then you and the stone are coming down with me.’

“She was angry with the tree and its bark scratched at her as she climbed. But it let her up. The moment she touched the whetstone she felt peaceful and happy, like she had found a childhood toy. She and her daughter wound the rope around and through the axle hole, which looks just like the one in front of us, and tied the other end to a stout tree branch. They gently lowered the stone to the ground. They started to untie the rope.

“ ‘You go first,” said Anyas-ka-Patep to her daughter.

“ ‘I want to stay up here,’ her daughter whined.

“ ‘No, you must come with me. But you can visit whenever you like.’

“ ‘Then leave the rope here so I can climb up and down easily.’

“The mother agreed and her daughter climbed down. When they were both on the ground they tipped the stone upright, loosed it from the rope, and rolled it home.”

I had been watching niokos and his eyes were either closed or staring at the ground. I had been petting him absentmindedly this whole time and now I stopped. His eyes flew open and rolled wildly. He made a guttural sound as though frightened.

“Shh, niokos. I’m still here. It seemed that you were too tired to listen to the rest of the story. Would you like me to continue?”

He took deep breaths and did not reply. It was clear that he had started to drift. I decided to be quiet but keep petting him. His mind would probably start to relax again in a few moments. When it did I would start a hidden litany. Hopefully it would reach past his conscious and into the darkness below. Finally he closed his eyes and his breathing slowed.

He was snoring by the time I was quiet again and I left him, still trussed and unable to move his head. I told ada to check on him periodically and let me know when he was awake. If he did not wake before dinner ada was to untie his head and make sure that he could not move from his position.

Dinner with Gaen was quite enjoyable; partly because it was such fun to be with her, just the two of us, chatting about her dolls and her studies and her sword arm. Her world is so full of events and wonders. But eventually Gaen changed the conversation.

“Mommy, I saw the Gareka in the Whetstone House. Why is he all tied up like that?”

“He is a very dangerous man and does not accept whetting. He will fight it as hard as he can. He’s bound in his position so that he can see nothing but the ground or the whetstone when he opens his eyes. First he will accept my voice, then he will accept the sight of the whetstone, then he will open his mind to whetting. I hope, at least.”

“Do you think he can be stronger than whetting?”

“In my experience, no one is strong enough to resist it. But Gareka are not Amaz. They may not even be entirely human. We shall see.”

“What if he never breaks?”

“Then he will die. There is no way we would ever be safe from him.”

“And what will you do with him if he does break?”

“I am waiting to hear back from your Aunties. They may have some ideas. He could help us in the war, tell us things about his warriors and their thinking that will enable us to drive them out.”

“Could he teach me how to fight with their swords?”

“Yes, he probably could, if we could get hold of a few.”

Throughout our meal brer was silent and attentive, taking his cue from ael, who seemed to be even more fiercely devoted to Gaen. I had trouble keeping my hands off the boy. He sat to my left, his right thigh near mine, clad in a house slave’s loincloth, seemingly unaware of my growing desire to have him in my bed. The rest of the household had seemed to grow immune to his looks in very little time, but I was still taken aback and drawn to him. I was torturing myself by having him feed me.

Finally dinner was over and I hugged and kissed Gaen goodnight. brer undressed me and waited to be sent away. po and popo were kneeling outside of the doorway, waiting to be let in. I told them to sleep in the men’s house tonight. When they left I turned to brer, who was kneeling by the doorway, and saw that he was trembling slightly. I moved to stand by the bed.

“Come, boy,” I said in a low voice. He rose, walked the short distance, and knelt at my feet. I touched his pale hair with my fingertips and felt a thrill run through me. I placed both my hands on his hair, slid them down to cup the back of his head, then forward to meet under his jaw. I let my fingers wander over his face, touching his eyelids over his strange blue eyes, down his throat and over his pink shoulders.

“Stand.”

I ran my hands over his chest and nipples, which had hardened and now stood at attention. I traced over his biceps and forearms to his hands, lifting them and brushing his fingertips over my temples. His touch made my skin tingle and I realized I felt no revulsion, only attraction and fascination. I let go of his hands and they dropped back to rest by his side. I ran my palms over his stomach, down around his hips, and unknotted his loincloth. It fell to the floor, revealing golden fur and a ruddy penis. I held my breath. I had expected it to glow, but this color was almost as strange. An image flashed in my head of me kneeling, sucking on it, and the heat between my legs started to intensify. I held it gently and it jumped in my hand. brer blushed, his face turning nearly as red as his penis.

“Are you afraid?” I asked him.

“No, I want to worship you,” he said softly. His honesty and fearlessness surprised me. His mother had told me he was still a virgin and he confirmed that when I asked him. I looked up at his face and, even though he was blushing, breathing quickly, he seemed unhurried, unconfused. I was quiet, letting my hands roam across his body, and he took the opportunity to speak again.

“I’ve dreamed about you every night since leaving my mother to live here in your household. In my dreams you have cat eyes and we are making love. When you come your nails become claws and you scratch at my chest. I realized today what it meant.”

“What did it mean?” I asked softly, realizing our dreams were linked.

“It meant that we would be lovers and that you would take my heart without asking.”

I flared my nostrils. If that’s what the scratching meant, then would he take my heart, too? It seemed impossible. But my attraction to him was unusual in its intensity and quickness. I had the urge to stop before we reached a point where I did love him, and I rested my hands on his chest, thinking.

“Did I say something wrong?” He asked, a concerned look on his face. His blue eyes were struggling not to meet mine. He wanted to search my face for a clue as to why I’d stopped.

“No, you haven’t said anything wrong. You should always be honest with me. Your dream gives me pause.”

“Why?”

“Shhh, let me think.”

We were silent for a moment and his penis began to soften. I realized I was staring at it. I realized I wanted it in me more than anything. Should I wait and speak with my sisters? Should I wait and speak with the witch? I was very confused and that, too, was a new sensation.

“You should go now, brer.”

“I don’t understand. Is it because I’m an albino?”

“Your skin and hair and eyes attract me, to be honest. You must not think you did or said anything wrong. Now go and send po to me.”

I sat on the pillows by the table, waiting for po, thinking of my reactions, admitting that, more than anything else, I was afraid. A whetstone in love is an awful woman, full of energy and emotion. A good whetting requires as little emotion as possible. My own grandmother was in love for three or four blood moons [menstruation cycles, probably] in her youth and villagers still talk about what she had done to their sons. A youth seized with the desire to decorate every room in his mother’s home with flowers. An old concubine, who should have been whetted to accept his retirement, broke into song whenever he saw his master. What would I do if I found myself giddy with love? Would I take leave of my senses like she did?

po arrived and I told him to lie on the bed. I joined him and untied his loincloth. I made him lie still as I massaged his penis, making it hard. I was still wet and wanted to be filled.

“Are you well enough to be my lover tonight?”

“Yes. Let me serve you. I’ve missed this,” he said quietly.

I mounted him, felt his cock slide into me. It was like welcoming an old friend. I rode him slowly, gently. We were both silent, our eyes closed. I felt like I could go forever. He started to buck against me and I stopped to signal that he should be still. When he was, I started moving again. The air was still and warm and I started to sweat. I felt far away, removed from what my body was doing; as good as this felt, I would not be satisfied until I had brer in me. When I admitted this to myself I had an orgasm. I saw his face in the middle of it, like a bright spark that starts a fire, and I bit my lip to keep from calling his name.