The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There had been other things... once... a lifetime ago.

Friends. Names. Curiosities.

Mysteries to be explored.

Little black boxes... to be pried open.

But now...

Now there was... only darkness.

Eyes were closed,

Lids were heavy... so monstrously heavy...

Locked shut.

Darkness before

Darkness again.

But then a moment arrived... a particular moment...

And eyes were opened again, a pair of them.

Lids were lifted.

There was still only darkness

A sound less than silence, a low dead hum, the sound of the void between the stars.

Time passed.

Then at the center of it all, at the center of the blackness where a moment ago there was nothing there was now something.

A pinpoint.

A speck.

A dot.

A dot of light.

Spinning and then turning back in on itself.

A dot now of color

Shrink and expand.

A seed in black soil.

Pulsing like a heart

Like a malignant tumor.

Smaller... and larger... and smaller... and ever larger.

More colors.

More and more colors budding... and hatching... and swelling outward.

Colors starting to flow.

And the sound, louder and louder.

Still a hum but mixed now... with the throb of ancient drums... from deep in a jungle

The thin sweet thrill of pipes... from the depths of a midnight sea.

Sea of ruins.

Deeper. Deeper.

Sea of colors.

And those colors flowed.

All of the colors now, they flowed... and they spun... and they pulsed... and they

flowed.

Red and blue and puce and chartreuse and vermilion and a million other shades,

every color of the rainbow there... and back again

refracted in the depths of an endless prism

seen from every side all at once.

top... and bottom... and back... to front... and inside out.

The sounds and the colors came together

Strand meeting strand

Weaving a texture... layer upon layer... as they expanded... and grew...

A rippling texture that begged eyes to watch, even though the lids attached to the eyes were still heavy... so very heavy...

Colors that squirmed against those watching eyes... peeling back... those heavy heavy lids... their trails stitching those lids... firmly in place.

The colors and the sounds swelled.

Brighter. Stronger. Ever deeper.

Colors that had formed shapes

Circles... and squares

Inserted... circles and squares

Between parts,

Sliding into the cracks

Prying... and expanding...

Pushing apart.

Reducing those parts...

to a collection of meat.

New shapes, moving

Flowing.

Setting the collection in motion.

Floating in the flow.

Arms... and legs

Fingers... and toes A heaping pile of worms now... their plump stretchy bodies doing endless square dances to the throb... and the beat... and the hum... of the sound... around and around in beautifully interlocking circles...

tearing apart... and instantlyarrivingan eternity l a t e r...

back exactly where they started from.

Bigger. Ever bigger.

Moving the meat.

Moving the parts.

Arms... and legs.

Fingers... and toes

Elbows... and ankles

Breasts... and cunt

-How can a square dance go in a circle?—

One of the pieces of meat was a collection of intangibles.

Being pried apart, like all the rest.

A mind, it was a mind, and it squealed the thought, a thought which stabbed among flaming multicolored ruins, sea awash in ruins, one last backlash against the colors that filled the sky from horizon to horizon, south north west and east side of everything.

Colors that had spread out... and out...

Leaving the screen...

The screen that had started all of this, a screen hooked to...

-Mysteries-

Circles... and squares... collapsing in on one another

Devouring one another.

Devouring thoughts and memories and resistance

Becoming one another

Circles have four sides

Square are perfectly round and

They go all the way down

Down... and down... and down

And up.

Feet kicking shoes away

One after the other.

Bare feet.

Rising to stand.

Hips swaying

To the beat

Pulled back and forth by the colors... and the drums ...and the flutes

a thousand puppet strings

of every color and tone

Hands, crawling like insects, sluggish, awakening from hibernation.

Plucking at clothing

A blouse

A skirt

A bra and panties

Taking them off

ripping them off

Throwing them away,

One scrap at a time.

Last of all the hair... sweaty and already half-unwound... unpinned and

spilling down a naked back

And now surfaces pressed against the flesh of meat. Smooth and cool but yielding

Against a butt, against an ass, a rear, an arching spine, a thigh and another thigh

and between them, down at the spot where they came together —.

Chair.

A chair.

The meat’s parts were piled up in a chair, a soft wide chair, with legs pushed apart, long smooth legs pushed wide apart, long naked legs stretched and stitched into place to expose the thing the hole the gaping empty maw that dribbledandthrobbed there between them

Marinating in the deadly glow of the colors.

The colors flowed.

All the colors flowed.

Cerulean... and Marigold... and Umber Burnt Brown

The pipes and the drums howled.

Darkness everywhere else. All doors closed and locked, all windows closed and locked, all curtains pulled tight,

every light bulb smashed.

The mind suddenly remembered, flickering feebly one last time in the ruins

Before they vanished beneath the flow.

A hand attached to the end of an arm smashing them, smashing the bulbs, one after the other. The arm reached back towards the mind spinning in the darkness. The mind didn’t remember the decision to do it, didn’t remember a hand pulling a hammer from a drawer in a kitchen or dropping a hammer when the task was finished, but she remembered the

swing of a hammer slamming down

It was so wonderful, the heft and the weight of it

smashing the light, the bad evil horrific lights with no colors

A flash bright and sharp

Every last one of them

Even the one in a refrigerator, leaving the door standing open.

No more lights that distracted from the colors.

Locked and closed and smashed to pieces.

The colors flowed.

Bigger. Stronger. Deeper.

The hammer was gone

Dropped to a carpet and forgotten

The colors flowed.

The hands were moving again.

The hands were sliding against stained and sweaty skin

Fingering boobs

Pulling at quivering nipples

Endless circles going... around... and around... and falling forever into squares.

Down.

The colors flowed.

Thick and wet

Pushing the hands.

Down ...and down and ever down

Pushing them into the throbbing thing, the thing exposed and gaping between the legs spread so very very wide, fingers going deep. Deep and probing.

Slender fingers.

Deeper and deeper.

Square into circle

Circle into square

interlocking loops going

Forever around and around

Thick and wet

Gushing fluids.

Flowing fluids.

Hips bucking

Toes curling sharply into the carpet.

Whimpers filling a throat.

No release. Stitches of color thousands of stitches of color pulled tighter

and ever tighter.

Fingers thrusting like pistons. Eyes rolled back into sockets, looking at the colors

Listening to the song

Listening to the words

The colors flowed.

The colors flowed across the screen that had sent its runners out in every direction. Down off the low wooden table, across the floor and up the walls, onto the ceiling, radiating out from there into the rest of the building, into the sky, pulling the stars and the sun and the moon into the flow, circles into squares and pulled down forever. Time and gravity and electromagnetism swallowed whole made to dance.

The beat.

The beat.

Eyes were rolled up into sockets, but the sounds the words continued to flow to dribble to gush to pour without relief from the speakers which had grown larger and larger, six times nine times twenty-three times larger and now filled up all the spaces and the cracks between the colors. The colors became the sounds, the sounds became the colors, wet and twisted and sticky and larger and wet

The colors flowed.

Butt and thighs sliding off a chair

Knees down onto a carpet kneeling

Down and down and down

Legs still spread

Pulled ever wider apart

Pieces of meat dumped in a scattered pile.

Bobbing in the flow.

Eyes rolled up and stitched into sockets seeing only the colors

The colors flowed

Half of a collection of dripping fingers extracted reaching out crawling blindly across a carpet trail like a slug.

Finally finding something wrapping around it.

Plastic and metal cool and slick rows and rows of bumps.

Lifting it.

Other fingers extracted from the colors, from the hole.

A throat moaned in despair.

The colors flowed.

Tighter.

Stronger.

Faster.

Deeper.

Colors into numbers

Numbers into movement

Circle into Square

A finger poked again andagain.

5... 5... 5... 4... 2....

The colors flowed.

A hand lifted a thing to an ear to a mouth as fingers went darting back into the hole between two legs, sucked back in sucked back into the colors.

Thecolors flowed.

Periwinkle and Sienna and Black

Black and black and PitchInkyBlack

Wait and thrust and wait and thrust and whine in the back of a throat.

The colorsflowed.

A noise a new sound a new piece of song both query and order.

A voice in reply even now vaguely familiar when absolutely everything else was gone washed away by the flow.

Thecolorsflowed.

“Becky Tashburn is meat. The colors flow.”

A tone of confirmation a single short word and.

Every piece frozen instantly in place.

Eyes flipped out of sockets... wide and staring at the colors

On a screen on the side of a pried-open black box sitting on a coffee table in a blacked-out apartment.

Phone locked in position.

Fingers still... in the hole... jammed... in the gaping... wet... throbbing... hole

But no longer moving.

A new voice... a totally unfamiliar voice.... but still a voice that the meat had been craving...

Craving to hear... craving for days now...

Session... after session

Exposed... to the colors...

And to their hot ...

wet ...

filthy ...

glorious ...

f l o w...

A voice issuing orders

Issuing absolute iron commands.

The colors froze.

The orgasms began to flow.