The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Author’s note. This novel is pure fantasy and if you can’t realize the difference between fantasy and real life seek psychological help. Don’t read further if you’re under age and be aware that this mind control story focuses on dominance, humiliation and submission: you can expect very little romance, if any.

Copyright © 2014 Submeat! (editing by Malos) Few rights reserved (this work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike License).

Do you mind if I brain?

Chapter II. Reaping the fruits of the season

Some days later I’m ringing Sarah’s doorbell. I’ve checked her shift work at the police station and I’ve found out that today is her night off.

—“Yes?”—she asks in the video-entryphone

—“It’s me, Jason”—I answer with my most melodious tone.

—“Jason who?”

—“The Navajo Bridge, don’t you remember? We met again at Heaven’s Pub last Saturday.”

—“I remember. What do you want Jason?”

—“I was hoping that you let me in for a chat between old friends.”

—“Perhaps another time, Jason. I’m going out to a party within twenty minutes.”

—“Oh... what a pity”—I weep cracking my voice—“I bought a present for you and I would be very happy if I can give it to you, anyway. You know, I was quite worried about your fainting.”

Pause. Then, with sigh of resignation she opens the gate of the building.

—“Ok, Jason. Seventh floor, but don’t be offended if I’ll throw you out of the apartment in ten minutes, ok?”

—“Ok”—I answer and walk in the direction of lift. Time will tell, Sarah, but I predict you’re going to stay at home, tonight...

She waits me by the door, wearing an embroidered silk dressing gown: in spite of home clothes, she’s nevertheless very elegant. I greet her warmly with hugs and kisses.

—“I’m happy to see you’re fully recovered, Sarah. Here is my little present for you.”

—“Thank you Jason, how kind of you”—she says, softening a little.

—“Open it, I hope you’ll like it...”

She unwraps the little box and pulls out a necklace with a falling pendant shaped like a bungee jumper.

—“Wow! It’s lovely!”—she declares with sincere delight.

While she admires the necklace, I can not withstand my curiosity: at bird’s eye view, I survey her mind to see if the red flag is still in place. Being careful not to betray my presence, I also check the steadiness of the barrier. To my surprise, it seems that she was able to open a little break through the barrier, causing a small leakage of electricity. What a strong willed bitch!

—“Well, Sarah, I have to admit that the door of your apartment in very roomy and comfortable”—I smile ironically to evoke a sense of guilt for how she’s treating me.

—“Oh dear... I’m sorry, Jason. Sometimes I completely lack in courtesy. Come in, but remember that within few minutes I have to go.”

—“I know. And thank you for inviting me in, at least...”

She leads me into the living room where we sit down on two facing armchairs.

—“So, what did the doctors say about your illness on Saturday night?”

—“My blood tests were perfect. So, the diagnosis was stress, only stress. Too much stress, to be precise.”

—“Luckily, you had already given me your address, when you fainted.”

—“Did I? My memories of that night are quite confused. Thomas is persuaded that someone drugged me, but I don’t remember taking any drink or stuff.”

—“I can testify that you were perfectly clear-headed the second before you fainted. Basically, you get up from the sofa of the pub, take a few steps and fall down unconscious.”

She remains silent for a while, absorbed in her own thoughts. I take the chance to sneak in her mind to relax her a bit. Why don’ I loosen up a bit? I’m safe with Jason—I whisper subliminally to her inner ear, while warming up the image of her uncle I used Saturday night to evoke a sense of intimacy. She absentmindedly displays a faint smile and sits more comfortably on the couch.

—“I’m happy I’ve found you at home. I was afraid I would never see you again”—I lie making sheep’s eyes.

—“Jason... I want to be honest with you: you’re very sweet and I thank you very much for your kindness, but we will never be more than good friends, ok? This must be stated to avoid delusions.”

—“I do prefer sincerity too, thank you, Sarah. I know I’m not your ideal man”—I say with a smile to play down my words, and then, to enhance her sympathy, I add—“My previous love stories were ill-fated too... but I hope you’re happy with your sexual life.”

The abrupt allusion to her sexual life takes her off guard and unconsciously triggers in her mind a turmoil of erotic memories. Before she can push them back, I jump in her thoughts and loop them on recall mode.

—“I...”—she starts to say, but then fall silent and blushes unable to stop the never-ending cycle of her sex memories. I enjoy her disorientation, followed by a more prominent flushing of her face and an acceleration in the rhythm of her breath.

I pretend not to notice her troubles and resume talking casually.

—“Oh, you don’t need to state it. I’m sure your sexual life is satisfactory: you’re a young, healthy and sexy woman, with a breathtaking body... what can hold you back from achieving complete sexual satisfaction?”

—“I...”—she starts again to say, unable to form a coherent thought, so I reinforce my grip on her with my string of talking.

—“My last girlfriend had a problem of frigidity, she was unable to achieve orgasm... it was quite frustrating for her... but I don’t know why I’m telling you this: it will surely be boring for you to listen to my worries, and moreover, you probably never had troubles to climax, had you?”

I take care to switch off the sexual memories loop in synch with the question. Sarah sways as if out of balance for the sudden stop of the sexual reverie.

—“I...”—she sighs—“to be sincere, I had some problems too, in the last week, after Saturday’s fainting. I think I’m really over-stressed”—then after a pause, she promptly recovers her self-control and adds—“But now it’s me annoying you with my things and anyway we have to end our chat: as I’ve already told you, I’m going to a party.”

—“If I may say, I think that’s not a good idea, Sarah. You have to keep your mind at ease, relax at home, slow down and take your time to find out what’s teasing you. Take a break this evening, loosen up on your own and push out from your mind the rush and the stress of everyday life.”

While speaking, I enhance the power of my words by gently enveloping her mind with a warm sense of prostration. It would be nice to give in to this tempting delight—I whisper in the back of her brain...

The woman hesitates, but in a while resumes her determination.

—“You’re kind to worry for me, but I’m far of age, Jason. I really don’t like people who pretend to tell me what to do. Now if you follow me, I’ll show you the way.”

She jumps to her feet, waiting for me to do the same. Damn! I have to think fast. She’s bigger than me and, being an officer, she probably masters more than a single martial art, therefore I can’t attack her hoping to stun her with a blow on the head. Moreover, my super-blast of mental energy is far from fully recharged: I can’t risk to hit her if I’m not sure to drive her unconscious, she would discover my powers and probably break my neck. And with her conscious, aware and conflicting, I can’t bend her strong will easily.

—“So, Jason... do I have to carry you out?”—she smiled not very friendly.

—“Sadly, I’m coming...”

I rose from the couch and form a mental scrape, brushing it along her visual pathways so to trigger a spreading wave of hyperexcitation in the occipital cortex. As an immediate result, scintillating disturbances invade her visual field.

—“Oh... what happens now?”—she said nervous.

I look at her with a puzzled expression, mimicking I don’t understand what she’s talking about.

—“I... can’t see well”—she tries to explains—“There’s a glowing... a strange sparkling growing in my eyes.”

—“Sit down, please, I’m afraid you may

afraid you may he sofa.

ah...ed expression. ck.icer.thought, so I continue in my rity.

faint again Sarah and... I think this time I would die of fright!”

She sits back on the sofa.

—“Perhaps it’s a serious illness!? If I look at you, Jason, I see only half of your face! The other half is blinded by a shiny sparkling!”

—“Mmmm... I think it’s a migraine attack. My mother suffered from migraines. Some minutes before the attack, there’s a shiny sparkling that’s called aura and when it recedes the headache starts.”

—“But... why?”

Taking advantage of her agitation, I carefully creep again in her mind, reinforcing her thrust in me. While she is all focused on the visual disturbance, I go downwards in the basement of her mind and evoke from infancy the image of her father, linking it to me.

—“Basically, I think it’s a consequence of the massive stress you’re enduring. It’s a problem of somatization. You’re an officer, you risk your life every day...”

—“And what can we do now?”

I allow myself an inner smile, since she has used the “we” pronoun.

—“You will relax at home forgetting that stressful party and I will stay until you feel better.”

—“Thank you, Jason... it seems you have become my guardian angel.”

—“In a while the sparkling light will fade, but then the headache will hit you. I think it’s better you eat something and take an aspirin.”

—“Good idea.”

She unwraps a packet of cracker and I dissolve the aspirin in a glass of water, adding a powerful aphrodisiac to spice up the evening.

—“Now relax. It will be painful when the headache turns up. My mother sometimes had to go to bed, shut the blinds and stay in the dark with her eyes closed.”

—“That’s quite worrying.”

—“Is the sparkling gone?”

—“Not completely.”

—“Well, it would help if you relax on the couch and close your eyes.”

She complies: considering that she have promised to “throw me out of the apartment in few minutes” it’s already a remarkable result... I resume my talking.

—“Oh, dear, I think you’re really pretending too much from yourself and this is the way your body tries to warn you about. The fainting, the migraine and... of course also the blockade of the sexual climax you mentioned before, they all are symptoms of over-stress.”

—“You display the knowledge of a doctor in medicine, Jason...”—she says as telling jokes.

—“My mother was a doctor and probably I absorbed the standards of the art.”

I decide to wait the headache to come up prior to push my next assault: she seems to be completely off guard, but I don’t want to risk she spots me while I walk through her mind.

—“Oh my God, here it comes...”

Waves of pain, the next always larger than the previous, flow and strike hard through her head. Her expression deformed in a grimace of agony.

—“Hopingly, within an hour, aspirin will taper it down, but I’m afraid that, until then, the pain will hit hard.”

—“MMmmm... it seems that a hydraulic press is mashing my head. And it gets worse by the minute.”

I carefully approach her mind and gradually amplify the pain of two folds.

—“You’re suffering deeply, aren’t you?”

—“I am, I... ghhh...”

Again, I amplify the pain of three folds, making it truly unbearable. She whines in sharp pain: her mind is extensively blurred, so that I can travel through her brain undisturbed.

—“Sarah, are you happy that you’re not alone right now, I mean, that I’m here with you?”

—“Yes, Jason...”

I seize on the happy thought and pump up the volume of it.

—“I’m happy too, because I can be of help. Do you want me to help you, Sarah?”

—“Oh yes, Jason, please... if you can do something, anything, help me... my head is splitting in two.”

I register the network related to her request of unconditional help and play it along until she is fully persuaded that she will do anything to decrease the pain.

“Well, when my mother had her worst migraines, she asked me to massage her temples. She said I had the magical touch. I can try it with you.”

—“Yes of course, Jason. Anything, anything...”

I walk behind her coach, place my hands on her head and smile.

—“You will start to feel better by the moment”—I say massaging her temples—“My mother found that my touch was not only able to relive the pain, but also relax her in a very pleasant way.”

She lays completely abandoned. I go deeper down on her, reaching the barrier I built on Saturday night. It’s self-evident she threw herself so bravely against it to succeed in damaging it: there is a little leakage at the left edge. Probably she was able to achieve a faint orgasm. I have to admit that the willpower of this girl is surprising me. I give a rough repair to the barrier, just to be sure it won’t fall down extensively and begin to target the pain. I pick the thalamic pain pathways and reduce their hyperactivity.

—“It’s... I think it’s working, Jason...”—she squeals—“I start to feel better.”

—“I was sure of it. You have to trust me. Do you trust me, Sarah?”

—“Yes of course!”—she says devotedly.

As usual, I map the trust pattern of her thoughts and add it to the other two loops. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust...

For some minutes, I let the echo bounce from side to side in her head, until it reverberates in every cavity of her brain. It’s time to test my control over her numbed mind.

—“My mother found also that the pain decreased faster if she sucked on her thumb. You should try, I’m sure it will work for you too.”

—“I... I don’t’ know...”

—“I know that you don’t know! And that’s because I’m suggesting you what to do. Trust me. I know it will work because it always worked for my mother. And my mother knew it because he was a doctor in medicine. Suck on your thumb: I know the pain will decrease.”

Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust...

—“But it’s ridiculous... ... This can’t be a true! It looks like a magical ritual rather than a scientific thing, I can’t believe it.”

—“Scientific knowledge deals with experimental verification and not with intuitive gossip: your beliefs are irrelevant and you can’t contradict anything without experimental proof. Suck on your thumb: my experimental proofs confirmed a decrease in pain. If you don’t try it, you can’t tell if it will work or not.”

—“You’re right, but...”—she begins to protest, but then falls silent, unable to find a bug in my line of reasoning.

Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust...

—“Go on, Sarah, it’s right to do anything to get some relieve from this agonizing pain.”

She slowly moves her trembling hand and almost reaches her mouth with the thumb.

—“It’s easy to open the mouth”—I add—“it’s easy to slip the thumb inside, it’s natural to suck on it: babies do it very often. The pain will decrease, you will be happy, thrust me.”

Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust...

Finally, I increase a bit the pain to give her a little more motivation. Bingo.

—“Ghhh...”—she cries and in a while she opens her mouth and puts the thumb inside.

—“Very good, Sarah. Suck on it. The pain in lessening, can you feel it?”

Gradually, I shrink the output of the thalamic pathways dipping her headache.

—“Incredible... it worked!”—she admits.

—“Don’t put out the thumb too early! The pain will immediately build up again! My mother used to suck on the thumb for at least five minutes to avoid recurrence of the pain! When you want to speak, you must do it keeping the thumb in your mouth!”

And to confirm the truth of my warning, I fire up the pain pathways once more.

—“Don’t you feel the headache coming back? Quick, resume your sucking!”

At once, Sarah puts again the thumb in her mouth.

—“It’s getting better?”

—“Mmm-mmm...”

—“Continue to suck, Sarah, until I decide you can stop. Focus on the sucking: you must feel the thumb inside you mouth to amplify the benefit. Empty your mind and fill your mouth. It’s getting far better now, isn’t it?”

—“Yeeshhhhh...”—she answers continuing to suck on her finger.

—“I know it. It’s always better when you do as I say.”

Enjoying my power over her, I grin of satisfaction and savour a familiar stir in my pants: it’s not difficult to predict that sooner or later Sarah will be on her knees, sucking my cock.

—“Eee e-eiii ishh oe... en ai shhho shhuiin?”

—“Not yet, Sarah. Suck on another minute and we’re done”—I reply, but I find it hard not to laugh at the brat princess slobbering words with a thumb in her mouth.

While she is completely rapt in the ritual, I record the network of the sucking subroutine and link it to the region of the right somatosensory cortex where tactile representation of left shoulder’s skin are assembled.

—“Good work, Sarah. I’m proud of you: my guidance is important, but it’s self-evident I’m able to help you only because you’re so trustful and... obedient.”

I stress the last word inspecting the reaction of her brainwaves and I detect a spike of activity in the prefrontal cortex which I blunt conveying a rebound of the happy-do anything-thrust loop to the area.

Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust. Happy, do anything, thrust...

—“Ok Sarah, I think we are no more at risk of recurrence. You can stop sucking.”

She pulls out the thumb and a trickle of drool lengthen up to five inches before splitting. I find the image quite sexy. I stop massaging her temples and go back to sit in the couch in front of her.