The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The morning after the party, Sui-ling decided to drop by and see how Zoe felt. She ambled down the stairs to Zoe’s room and knocked. Zoe answered the door almost at once, wrapped in a large pink bathtowel, another towel around her blonde hair. “Sui-ling! Hi! I missed you when the bop ended last night. Where did you get to?”

“Oh, I gone—I mean I went—for a walk with a couple of boys I meet. Shuggy and Ian, they brothers, very nice boys. You like them. You enjoy the bop?”

“It was OK. Maybe a little long. I didn’t meet anybody new, but I had a good time talking with Frederica and Britt. Britt’s Danish, she says she knows that Danish prince that lives at King’s. She could introduce us, if you like. And please, Sui-ling, you have to be careful of those townie boys. Some of them are serious drug dealers, I mean big time. Better stay away from them.”

Sui-ling grinned. “It OK. I take good care.”

“I had a funny thought, I think it was a dream,” said Zoe. “I saw you and James Braxton-Hicks, um, kissing. Did I introduce him to you last night?”

“I’m not sure. Meet many people. Forget names. If I kiss him, I sure remember though,” laughed Sui-ling.

“Well, if you do meet him, watch out. A bit of a cad, is James. Not to be trusted.”

Zoe was having a strange day. She went to her Art History lecture, and put in a few hours at the library. But she kept having these ideas—visions, almost—that didn’t belong. First, there was James. He sat near her at the lecture. At one point, apropos of nothing, he turned and grinned—almost leered—at her. At once she had another flash of James and Sui-ling—well, they certainly weren’t just kissing.

Then, at the library, she had been leafing through a Modigliani catalogue, and she saw a painting she recognised. “Lady with a Rose.” She had a sudden image of it hanging on a wall, to the left of a dark wood door. She had seen the painting recently, somewhere here at Cambridge. But where? It wasn’t in any local collection she knew of. And why did she not remember? Modigliani was one of Zoe’s chief interests, and she did not see a Modigliani every day, even at Cambridge. She bent to read the fine print under the picture. “Lady with a Rose. In the private collection of Lord Braxton-Hicks.” Braxton-Hicks? That must be James’ father.

Zoe closed her books and left the library, frowning with concentration. She imagined herself in front of the painting. The wall was pale yellow. The floor was polished oak, with some kind of oriental rug. There was a large mahogany bookcase to one side. The memory was so vivid, she could almost sense the presence of the painting, in... let’s see... that direction. She turned and walked down Trinity Street toward King’s College.

Ten minutes later, following the wisps of memory, Zoe found her way to a doorway of Porter House, King’s College. She read the small wooden placards giving the residents’ names. “The Hon. James Braxton-Hicks.” She climbed the stairs to the top and found James’ door. She took a deep breath and knocked. She suspected that James was a cunning little shit, and she didn’t relish the idea of appearing stupid in front of him. There was no response, and she was about to turn away, when James opened the door, wearing a dressing gown and slippers.

“Why Zoe! What a delightful surprise. What can I do for you on this temperate afternoon?” Zoe found his accent unbearably plummy.

“Hello, James. Well, I know it will sound odd, but I have a very particular question to ask you. No, I don’t care to come in yet. The question is this: on the wall, just behind this door, is there a painting hanging?”

He smiled. “It’s certainly possible, Zoe. Why, are you adding clairvoyance to your other talents?”

She felt light-headed, as though she were standing on the edge of a precipice. “Never mind that, James. Is it a Modigliani?”

“Better and better,” James laughed, showing his perfect teeth. “But Zoe, what would I be doing with a priceless—well, not exactly priceless, Modigliani wasn’t Vermeer—a rather valuable Modigliani hanging in student digs?”

“Your father might have loaned it to you.”

“He might. Pater is quite generous. One must entertain, and to entertain one must decorate.”

“May I see it? Please?”

“I can deny you nothing, Zoe. Especially when you say ‘please’ like that. Do come in.”

The painting hung on a pale yellow wall, between the door and a mahogany bookcase. Zoe stared at it. It was “Woman with a Rose.” Zoe felt a lurch, as though the earth’s axis had shifted slightly. “All right, James. Would you mind explaining to me what the hell is going on? I think perhaps you know.”

“Let’s sit down and be comfortable, Zoe. Then we can talk about... things.” He led the way to a large leather sofa. “Now, can I get you anything? Cup of tea? Coffee? How about a nice line of coke?” James lifted a small silver salver and opened the lid. On the tray were two small lines of powder, white with a distinct pink tinge.

Zoe stared at the salver. The entire universe contracted to the two tiny off-white lines, and the little silver straw beside them. She heard herself say “I really shouldn’t James, it’s too early in the day.” She knew as she said it that it sounded stupid.

“Don’t be daft, Zoe. You know you want to. Don’t think, just take it!” He raised the salver to her face and pressed the straw into her hand. Instantly Zoe dipped her head and put the straw to her nose. She had inhaled an entire line before she realised what she was doing. Hastily she set down the straw. James watched her expectantly. Zoe wrinkled her nose. There was no sting. “Are you sure that isn’t just baby powder, James?”

“No, I don’t believe so. Let me just do a little line myself, from my other stash, and then you can tell me what you think of my special coke.”

Zoe sat quietly while James carefully prepared a line for himself and delicately inhaled it. He looked at her. She was staring at the intricate fretwork pattern of the Persian rug at her feet. “Feeling alright, Zoe my love?”

“Yes, James.” She didn’t look up from the rug.

“Good. Good. You seemed a little agitated when you arrived. I’m glad you feel better now.”

“I do. Thank you, James.”

“Zoe, I have an idea for a little diversion. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I’d like to photograph you. For a project I’m doing for my Fine Art course. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Just relax while I fetch my equipment. Let’s see—I think we’ll use the Hasselblad 4x5 still camera and the digital video camera. This won’t take a tick.”

Zoe watched quietly as James set up two tripods, and mounted the cameras. He used a light meter to calibrate the still camera. “Now, Zoe, first I’d like to take a few tests shots of you, just to establish that the lighting and the setting work. Please turn your head to the left—that’s good—and gaze out the window. Good.” He operated the Hasselblad. “Now kneel on the sofa with your hands on your knees. Good. Loosen your hair and run your hands through it. Lean back. Very good.”

Zoe did as she was told. She was enjoying herself. This was fun. She was aware of the complement James was paying her, having her model for him. “He’s not really so bad,” she thought. And of course she was glad to be helping him with his art project. Zoe took coursework very seriously.

“My project involves analysis of styles based on commercial ‘glamour’ photography. I’m sure you know what I mean. Do you have any objection to nude photography, Zoe?”

“Um, no. I mean, not in theory. But, but, I wouldn’t do it myself.”

“That’s too bad. Are you sure?”

Zoe was tempted. She wanted to help James with his project. Art was important. But she wouldn’t pose nude. She never had. Not even for... for... for Steven. Now that was odd. She had almost forgotten her boyfriend’s name. “No, sorry James, you’re very nice, but I wouldn’t feel comfortable.”

“That’s quite alright. I wouldn’t want you to do anything you might regret. Speaking of which, why don’t you finish off the other line? Shame to waste it.” James was holding out the little salver again. The remaining line sparkled.

“Sure, why not?” It was only polite to accept, thought Zoe. It would be a shame to waste it. James was awfully hospitable. She inhaled the line with relish.

“Enjoy. Now let me tell you about my project. I want to show the continuity between the upper end of the glamour photography genre—‘Playboy’ for example—and the more conventionally ‘artistic’ nudes done by Man Ray and others. Have a look at a few of those magazines—there, on the lower shelf—and see what you think.” Zoe took a couple of magazines and leafed through them. They were “Playboy”, from the 1970s. The girls were young and lovely, with a wholesome and unprofessional look. They were shown shopping and riding bicycles, fully dressed, and relaxing at home wearing only wisps of lingerie. Zoe thought the pictures were wonderfully shot. The girls appeared unposed, fresh and sweet. They smiled innocently. They knelt on carpets and lounged on sofas, half-dressed, looking happy and approachable. She could imagine how good the girls must have felt, in their moment under the lights, having their images captured as they sat beautiful and natural and unashamed. Each girl was enjoying the tremendous complement being paid to her beauty. Each girl seemed to be smiling directly at Zoe.

James saw that Zoe’s breathing was slow and deep, and her pupils were enormous. “Pretty, aren’t they,” murmured James. “You could look that pretty. I’m sure you’d like to look that pretty, in a photograph, wouldn’t you Zoe? Those girls enjoyed modeling. You’d enjoy modeling too, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, James, I think I would. But I’d like to... to not entirely undress. Is that OK?”

“Of course, my dear. Whatever you want.”

James rummaged in a wardrobe and produced a Japanese silk robe and a tiny two-piece silver lame playsuit. He told Zoe to put them on behind a Chinese screen set up in one corner. As she changed, she felt as though she were in a strange and pleasant dream. She fastened the robe about her and emerged. James had set up a few lights around the sofa. James suggested that Zoe should select a picture from one of the magazines and adopt that pose. She chose one in which the model sat almost fully clothed, her shoulders turned away from the camera, smiling back toward the viewer over one bare shoulder. “Good, " said James, taking the shot. “You look extremely pretty, my dear.”

Zoe glowed from the complement. She would try to be a good model for James. She adopted pose after pose from the magazines—all clothed—standing, kneeling and reclining. Zoe knew her legs were good, so she extended and displayed them to best effect. James complemented her extravagantly, and she felt giddy with pleasure at his approval. Soon Zoe ran out of fully clothed poses to imitate. She knew that for his project James needed some more daring shots. With mixed feelings of trepidation and excitement, she untied the belt of the robe. Zoe posed with the robe opened to partly reveal her body. She experienced a pleasant heat She began to feel quite delighted with herself. “I can do this,” she thought. “I can look as good as those girls!” She wondered if this was turning James on. “James is a lovely boy,” she thought. “I want to look good for him. I want his pictures to be erotic, but sweet and tasteful too. Maybe if I drop the robe and show a bit more of one breast...”

Zoe began to invent poses, revealing the sides and tops of her breasts, then a nipple, then two. She peeled off the top of the playsuit, as James took shot after shot, saying “That’s beautiful, Zoe. You’re a beautiful, sensual woman, you love showing your body to the camera.” Zoe felt like a butterfly emerged from its chrysalis. Her dowdy, cautious self was forgotten. She felt a fever of delight and a burning desire to please James with her new-found beauty. Now she was wearing only the skimpy thong of the playsuit, and she knew that retaining it contributed to her air of semi-innocence, which James liked.

And then James was saying “Now I want an expression of desire on your face. I want you look like you’re inexperienced, and feeling a great lust for the first time, seduced against your will into lust, almost shocked by the power of your longing for sex.” And it was true, she did feel that way. Her bosom heaved with gasping breaths. Her private bits seemed to be on fire. She stared at James with bewildered longing, and her groping hands slid the thong down and off her legs. She heard her voice say “Oh James, please, no more pictures. James, I want you, please take me now.”

James strode forward, tearing off his dressing gown. He caught her in his arms, turned and sat, lifting her onto his lap. Slowly she lowered herself upon him, impaling herself. She groaned with lust. She paused for a second, and then began to rock her hips, forward and back and in slow circles, leaning back in his arms as James sucked on her nipples with long straight pulls, teasing the tips with his tongue. Every inch of her skin tingled with pleasure. She felt as her mind was being wrapped in great folds of purple velvet cloth. The cloth grew thicker and heavier as her thought ceased and her body vibrated with delight. And then there was a great soft explosion in her loins as she came, and she collapsed forwards against James’ chest. For a long moment she floated in bliss, careless. But Zoe knew that James hadn’t come yet, so with a huge effort she sat up and began to rock her hips again, forward and back and around, until he gently bit her nipple, and she came again. And again.

In James’ bedroom, Sui-ling lay on the bed and watched the writhing bodies on the TV monitor. She surmised that James—that perverted bastard—was getting a kick knowing she was watching. She gently touched herself, and wished that James or the Prince would shag her again. “Zoe is really passionate when she gets stoned,” she thought. “She may turn out to be good fun. And I only lied to her about one thing, about my boyfriend.” Sui-ling’s lover back in Kuala Lumpur wasn’t really the son of a Cabinet Minister. He was a Cabinet Minister.