The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

copyright Date: Oct. 10,1998

Rev: Dec. 9, 1999, 1999

Invisible Bonds, Gentle Discipline

by Trey Gallant

I was headed for the Solar Science Fiction Convention, a week-end long party combined with a sort of family reunion for fans of science fiction, fantasy, sci-fi movies and television, role playing games, and many other forms of speculative and imaginative entertainment. Although at my age (late 40’s, if you must know), the family reunion aspect held more appeal than the four days and three nights of non-stop revelry. Fandom was my extended family, but conventions were my business. Literally. My one-man firm took its name from a popular series of stories from the Golden Age, and dealt in a line of costume accessories which appealed to both the hi-tech SF fanatic (“the ones with rivets”), the Medieval fantasy buffs, and the serious historical re-creationists.

Well, it’s a living, if a mighty frugal one, and I could always use some help with the travel expenses, and with the work of setting-up, watching, and taking down my table in the Hucksters’ Room. When John, a friend of mine, heard of my dilemma, he refered me to another friend of his, Keri Black. “She wants to go, but couldn’t afford to go by herself, and she’s got some buttons and used books to sell. Besides, you two should get along fine.” In fact, he had introduced me to Keri in the first place, about a year ago. I think John is something of a yenta, and was hoping we would become a pair. He is something of a near-sighted, cross-eyed match-maker, though; Keri is almost 20 years younger than I am. She and I see things from the opposite sides of that Great Rift Valley in the American social fabric, the 60’s. I’d lived though it: the Civil Rights movement, Vietnam, the sexual revolution, et al. Been there; done that; can show you the scars, if you’re interested. To her, it was all history, accomplished fact.

Still, I had met her, and had seen her at least once since, so she was not a complete stranger; almost, but not quite. I had to concur that she would be an agreeable traveling companion. Keri was almost as tall as I am, full figured in an Earth Mother way, with black wavy hair and hazel eyes in a baby-face. More important than her appearance, she had a quiet, soothing presence which would be useful to ease the tensions of a long drive. While we disagreed on just about everything, I respected her opinions as rationally arrived at from basic moral principles. I knew her by reputation to be reliable and used to long drives. She knew me to be entirely trustworthy.

For those unfamiliar with SF Fandom, at least as it was before the Punks and Goths, it may seem unusual that two almost strangers could or would travel together, share a hotel room and a business venture. Fandom was more like a family in those days, and such arrangements would not even cause a raised eyebrow. Besides, John vouched for her, and I was known as a perfect gentleman, a reputation I had worked hard to obtain, and even harder to maintain, considering the neo-bohemian, anything goes atmosphere with-in fandom. A dozen girls had shared my quarters, even my bed, under similar circumstances over the years, and never had there been the least cause to accuse me of the slightest impropriety.

Keri came to my house the Tuesday night before we were to leave, and we set out early Wednesday morning. We drove 24 hours straight, alternating the driving, while the passenger either napped or talked to help keep the driver alert. We learned a lot about each other during that drive. Through Maryland and Virginia, it was mostly small talk. In North Carolina we were gossiping about mutual aquaintences. By the time we crossed the southern border of South Carolina, there was nothing left to talk about but ourselves.

At a rest stop in Georgia, about three-fourths of the way through the night, we changed drivers for the fourth or fifth time. I settled in behind the wheel, and flexed my shoulders and stretched my neck to ease the stiffness.

“Here, let me,” Keri said, and reached over and kneaded my shoulder muscles. It felt wonderful.

“Ah!” I sighed. “Thank you!” And I put the car in gear and got back on the Interstate. As I drove down the turnpike, concentrating on the road ahead, I felt a soft touch on the back of my neck. I glanced over at Keri. She had reached along the back of the seat, and was caressing the nape of my neck with the tips of her fingers. She was watching me with a strange look, between speculation and evaluation.

“I’d like to give you a massage,” she murmured. “You respond so well.”

“It’s a deal!” I replied enthusiastically. “After we get in, and set up, tonight you rub my back and I’ll rub yours.”

She did not answer, but smiled knowingly.

Driving on in the hours before dawn, our conversation tended towards more and more intimate revelations of ourselves to each other, as we had run out of other topics to talk about. I got the feeling that Keri was testing me, probing for reactions with this casually dropped remark or that personal revelation, but I ascribed it to the effect of the lateness of the hour and the exhustion of more mundane topics.

“Do you know what ‘polyamorous’ means?” she asked at one point.

“Loving parrots?” I quipped in reply, knowing very well what it actually meant, although when I was growing up, they had used the term ‘promiscuous’ instead. Different times, different values, different semantics.

“No, silly!” she retorted, giving me that same look I had seen just after she had massaged my neck.

At another moment she casually mentioned that she was bisexual. Now, I already knew this from John, our mutual friend, and to tell the truth, it was more than I thought I needed to know about her, since I wasn’t planning on getting involved with her in a physical way. But you can’t get along in fandom unless you can accept at least some variation in sexual behavior, so her being bi was no big deal to me. As they say, some of my best friends, and at least one of my ex-lovers, were.

When that revelation provoked no negative reaction (and why should it have, since it was none of my business?), she next mentioned that she “was into bondage.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Tying each other up, whips and chains and stuff like that?”

“Stuff like that...", she agreed.

“I just can’t see the point in tying my hands while I’m making love,” I said, in a more negative tone than I had used in regard to any other topic all night. “It would keep me from touching and holding...”

“It’s not quite like that,” she interrupted, murmuring coyly, and smiling to herself as if at a private joke. But she let the subject drop.

Finally, we arrived at the hotel where the Convention was being held. The rest of the day we spent checking-in, unloading, setting up our displays of merchandise: swords and daggers; jewelry; books and buttons with slogans like: “Solipsists Unite,” “Frodo Lives!,” “Guys have feelings, too...but, like, who cares,” and “It only seems KINKY the first time.” Then we took turns watching the table, while the other checked out the program: lectures, panels, Art Show, movies, readings of works in progress by the writers, the ConSuite and the parties. By evening, we were both ready to turn in early, so we skipped the Con’s nightlife and returned to our room. There we changed into our pajamas: mine consisted of a loose pullover shirt, and loose, elastic waisted pants; hers were similar, but the top was longer, more of a tunic, and they were made of a silky, clingy fabric.

Both thus modestly attired, we exchanged back rubs, seated on the edge of my bed. Keri was very skilled with her hands, and she left me pleasantly relaxed. We slept in our separate beds (our room was a double), and I for one slept like a baby.

The next day was Friday, and even busier than the first. I spent most of my time trying to convince costumers that this sword, or that cloak pin was just the finishing touch their ensemble needed for the Masquerade, while Keri hawked her books and buttons to a clientelle whose convention garb always seemed to include some item of black leather or lace. Our differing interests drew us in separate ways when we weren’t at the table. After the Hucksters Room closed, I didn’t see Keri until she returned to our room. I was already in bed, sitting up reading, when she came in. She grabbed her p.j.’s and headed for the bath.

“I’ll just be a minute!” she cried.

Shortly, she was back, freshly showered and in her night clothes.

“Massage me first,” she proposed. “Then I’ll do you.”

“O.K.” I assented, a little surprised. She hadn’t said anything about this all day.

So I rubbed her back and shoulders, as the night before, but she responded in a disconcertingly sensuous way, catlike, leaning into my touch and purring languidly. Next it was my turn. No question: her touch was decidedly slower and more sensual than the night before. She couldn’t be coming on to me, could she? Still, after ten hours of trying to convince 300 people that this dagger was just what they needed (and only selling one), followed by 4 or 5 hours sitting in hotel folding chairs, her hands felt great, and by the time she was finished I was already half asleep. The last thing I remember seeing before I drifted off to sleep was Keri lying in her bed across from mine, giving me the same look as she had in the car: knowing, speculative, evaluative, a little self-satisfied.

And the first thing I saw in the morning was her face peering at me from across the gap between our beds. When she saw I was awake, she slipped out of her bed and hopped into mine. “Time to get up, sleepyhead,” she chirped, banishing the last fogs of sleep from me with a quick, playful, ticklish rubdown.

Saturday was much like Friday: busy, busy, busy. I only saw Keri at our Hucksters’ Table, as we changed shifts. She did give me a big smile each time we shifted off, together with a friendly pat or squeeze. John had been right; we were getting along fine, I thought.

That evening, Keri was in our room when I got there. Somehow she had turned down the lights to a soft pink glow. “Don’t dawdle,” she called as I headed for the bath. “I’m waiting for my backrub.”

When I came out, she was not sitting on the edge of my bed, but lying face down on it. I walked over and sat down beside her. She was still wearing her pajamas, so I figured everything was still on a friendly rather than a romantic basis. I started to give her as good, relaxing a massage as I could. I could feel her start to relax; then suddenly she just melted and started moving under my hands as if under the caresses of a lover. “Don’t stop,” she breathed, when I reached her lower back, where I here-to-fore had stopped. “My legs are sooo tired from all that walking and standing, I’d like you to rub them too.” So I did, all the way down to her toes.

“Your turn,” Keri cooed.

I sat on the edge of the bed, hoping to cool down a situation which I felt was getting a little out of hand. She was almost young enough to be my daughter, for Pete’s sake! Keri pouted, then smiled and knelt behind me, and began to rub my shoulders. Her fingers stroked, and kneaded and pinched until I relaxed, and relaxed some more. When my head was lolling on slackened neck muscles, she leaned against me, and murmured in my ear, “Now lie down like a good boy.”

So I gave up and stretched out on my stomach. Keri worked me over from head to toe, and then started back up again. I was just floating. So when she got back up to the small of my back, and said “This is in my way,” indicating my shirt, “you don’t mind if I take it off, do you?", I couldn’t have actively objected if I had minded. I let her peel it over my head, and gently rub my bare back. The last I remember was the weight of her body on mine as she leaned forward from where she was kneeling at my hips to stroke my shoulders and neck. I fell asleep under the charm of her hands.

Again the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Keri watching me from her bed. She smiled, and this time there was nothing of speculation or evaluation in her look. Whatever she had been wondering about, now she knew. She slipped out of her bed and into mine, and began teasing me with her fingertips again.

“Busy day today,” I said. “We better get up.”

“I think you’re already up,” she smirked, brushing her hand over my groin.

“Oops!” I exclaimed, sitting up and grasping her hand in mine. “Let’s not start something now.” I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “We really do have a lot to do.”

I did get us out of bed and dressed, and on our way to the Hucksters Room, by reminding her that we had to close down and pack up. Moreover, we had tonight and the next morning, after we finished packing, for recreation. I didn’t want to humiliate myself by possibly misinterpreting Keri’s playfullness for sexual invitation. I didn’t want her to think I had either implied or infered any sexual commitment to our taveling and staying together at all. I thought I had skillfully and diplomatically defused a delicate situation; I was deceived. Keri had set me up.

That evening, after working the Hucksters Room and packing the car, I took her to dinner to thank her for all her help. I was quite pleased that she had come with me, she had been a big help. And I had enjoyed our little (and so far, innocent) flirtation. I was 15 to 20 years older than she, and it was flattering to have an attractive young woman pay attention to me.

When we got back to our room, Keri claimed the shower first, and came out wearing only the top of her sleeping clothes. It was long enough to cover her from her neck to mid-thigh, but the hint that she wasn’t wearing the pants was disturbing and exciting. When I had finished in the bath and returned, she had turned down the lights again, and had set some light, flowery essential oils to evaporating in a pot-pouri censer on the night stand. When I gave her her back-rub, she just relaxed, with conspicuously less of the sensuous display of the night before. I was relieved to feel that she did have briefs on under the night shirt.

“Your turn,” she said cheerfully. “Take off your shirt. I have some oil I want to use tonight.”

I complied; after last night it was futile to pretend that much modesty. I sat on the edge of my bed, with Keri behind me. She started with my temples and gently rubbed my head and neck. Then she applied a light film of massage oil, and rubbed it into my shoulders, arms and back as far down as she could reach. The warm, fleshy scent of patchouli mingled with the light floral incense and the fragrance of her freshly showered body. Her touch was dreamy and slow, and once again I found myself relaxing whether I would or no.

“Now turn around, and face me,” she said quietly. She shifted back to give me room to sit cross-legged facing her. She positioned herself so that the flame of the candle under the potpouri was reflected in her eyes. She smiled slightly, and began stroking my temples again.

“Just relax,” she said in that same still voice. “Let the muscles in your face go loose.” She stroked her thumbs across my forehead, then her fingertips down my cheeks, again and again. “Close your eyes and picture you and me alone, surrounded by a bubble of warm golden light. Warm soothing light which shuts us off from the world completely. The bubble encloses us completely, shutting out all noises, all thought of the outside. There’s just you and me, safe and warm inside this beautiful golden glow. You can see only me, feel only my touch, hear only the sound of my voice. Close your eyes and concentrate on my touch and the sound of my voice, and relax. Let your-self go.” As my eyelids drifted shut, she brought her hands lower, stroking my shoulders and arms. “Your arms are relaxing, all the muscles becoming loose and easy, easy and loose.”

At last it penetrated my shrinking conciousness that Keri was trying to mesmerize me...and doing a damn good job of it! I struggled to open my eyes. Keri noticed my resistance.

“You can open your eyes now,” she said in response, “but you can see only me, here in our bubble of warm golden light. Look at me and listen to the sound of my voice, and the pleasant and helpful suggestions I’m giving you.” I opened my eyes, but they were caught by the glint of the candle flame in her eyes, and I couldn’t look away.

Keri now began to stroke down my chest. “Your arms are completely relaxed now. And now your chest muscles are letting go, becoming more and more relaxed and easy.” Her hands slid lower with each pass. “Now your diaphragm is loosening, and you can breathe easily and deeply. Take slow deep breaths, let your breath out slowly. Feel the tension flowing out of you as you exhale.” Her fingers slipped over my abdomen, so gently, so soothingly. Lower still, as she continued her litany of my muscles which were relaxing as she touched them: belly, lower belly, thighs...

When she got to my knees, she reached forward and clasped my hands. “You’re soo relaxed now, so completely loose and easy. Just let yourself lie back and relax more and more.” And she lowered me onto my back and stretched my legs out beside her. “You’re so comfortable lying there, so easy and loose. You don’t need these any more.” She slid her hands inside the elastic waistband of my p.j. pants. “Let me remove them for you.” And she pulled them down and off. Once again kneeling by my side, her leg pressed lightly against my right thigh, she slid her oily fingers up my left leg. “There. Isn’t that better? You’re so relaxed now, so completely concentrating on what I say and do, that you’ll do anything I tell you, won’t you?”

“I...will..?” I mumbled in response.

“Yes you will. I’ll show you,” Keri insisted, quietly but firmly. “Now when I tell you to, I want you to count from 1 to 5, but you won’t be able to remember ‘three.’ Ready? Count.”

“One...two..,” I began. “...?...”

“That’s all right,” Keri reassured me. “Just continue, and at each count you will get more and more relaxed.”

“Four...five,” I finished.

“That’s good. Now you’re completely relaxed and open to me. Haven’t I made you feel so good? Everything I have said and done, everything I had you do, has given you pleasure. Now I don’t want anything to separate us.” With this, and by a series of movements too complicated for me to follow in my bemused state, she shed her panties. She drew them out from under her nightshirt and peeked at me over them, holding them like a veil before her face. Next she languidly trailed them over my mouth and nose, murmuring, “Breathe deeply now. Slowly in. Slowly, slowly out. Let the aroma of the incense, and of the massage oil, and of my body fill your head.” She tossed the panties aside and ran her hands up the inside of my thighs. “Surrender to the pleasure I’m giving you. Spread out your arms and legs. Imagine that they are tied down to the bed. You can’t move them. Try, but you can’t.”

I tried, but I was very deeply under her control by now, and I could not budge, anymore than if I actually had been tied down with ropes.

Keri smiled triumphantly. “Now I’m going to give you a really intense orgasm.” And with me immobilised by the invisible bonds of suggestion, she proceeded to caress and fondle my manhood until it was throbbing erect. Then she drew off her shirt over her head, and straddled my loins. “Just keep your eyes on me,” she purred, “and surrender to the pleasure.” I had thought I was ready to explode right then. I was wrong. Keri kept moving, and gripping me within her, and caressing my chest, tweaking my nipples, raking her finger-nails down my flanks for what seemed like forever. I grew more and more excited.

She clutched at my chest and leaned down close to my face. “You want to come now, don’t you? You really want to come now!”

“God...oh,yes!”

“Ask my permission!” she demanded. “Beg me to let you come!”

“Oh! Keri...please!”

“Say: ‘Mistress, may I’.”

“Keri, please....Mistress, may I come now...please?”

“Yes! You must come now! I demand it! Give me your orgasm! It’s mine! I created it. Give it to me!”

My release was like a burst of fireworks, incandesant from my head to my toes. It was so intense that I passed out for a moment. When I came to, Keri was lying beside me. She had wrapped my arms about her waist, and was gently stroking my face. “Now that,” she whispered, “is what bondage is really about.”

“Is that all?” I murmured. I seemed to have a little trouble focusing and speaking. Keri’s nearness and her touch were ...distracting, to say the least. Still, I was relieved that this hadn’t involved any of the humiliating things I had heard vaguely about.

Keri smiled. “Well, not all,” she purred, like a cat contemplating a dish of cream. “Count from 1 to 5 for me.”

“One...two...four...five,” I began. “No, wait! One...two...?”

“You’re still under my hypnotic spell,” she said in quiet triumph. “Try to move your arms or legs. They are still tied to the corners of the bed, and you can’t move them without my permission!”

This is absurd, I thought to myself. I’m lying on my side, my arms are around Keri. Even if they were tied to the bed corners, I’d have to be able to move them, there would have to be slack. So I tried. The mental command must have gotten lost somewhere between my head and my shoulders, because my arms didn’t stir. So what, a different part of me felt, it is very pleasant holding her like this. Why do you want to move?

Keri leaned into me, rolling me onto my back, pinning me with her soft weight. She reached behind her back, took my wrists and extended my arms up over my head. She pressed them firmly down to the matress, and left them there. She smiled, her face inches above my own. “See. You can’t move, can you?”

“I can’t,” I admitted. “That feels really strange,” I continued, as she moved her right leg to cross my thighs, pinning them beneath her as well.

“You can’t move, unless I tell you to,” she repeated. “You feel really strange.” She began stroking my forehead, and rubbing her body against mine, and her thigh across mine. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“THAT feels good,” I confessed, enjoying the touch of her hands and breasts and leg.

“Yes, it feels good,” she continued. “What I am doing...what I have done...makes you feel sooo goood.” As she spoke, she continued caressing me with her fingers, body and inner thigh. Especially her inner thigh. I began to get aroused again.

“I can make you feel soo good. Now, your hands are free. Bring your right hand down and fondle my ass. Bring your left hand down and fondle my breast.” Without thinking or hesitating, I complied. “Mmmmm! That feels nice, too, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” I sighed.

“Yes, Mistress Keri!” she corrected, slapping my cheek.

“Yes, Mistress Keri,” I answered, automatically.

“You see,” she purred, “I can control what you do. I can control how you feel. Acknowlege it. Say: ‘Mistress Keri controls me.’ Say it!”

“Oh, Keri,” I protested weakly, “do you really want me to...”

“Say it!” She slapped me again. “Relax! Go limp! Your arms are to heavy to lift!” My hands fell to my sides. “Admit that I control you, that I can make you do anything I want.”

“Mistress Keri controls me,” I murmured, “She can make me do anything she wants.”

“Goood boy,” she cooed, moving her hand down to my penis and stroking it gently. “And I can can give you such pleasure when you do as I say. I make you feel so good when you obey me. It feels so good when you obey me. I can make you do what ever I want, and I can MAKE you like it. Say it.”

“Mistress Keri can make me do anything she wants and she can make me like it.”

She slipped out of bed and stood beside me. “Stand up,” she commanded gently. I sat up, swung my legs off the bed, and stood facing her. She moved to the armchair by the desk, and sat down. “Come here!” My body moved without my volition, my legs carrying me to stand before her. “Kneel!” My knees bent, and I was looking up at her. The illusion she projected of a queen enthroned, with her knight paying her homage, was spoiled when she giggled.

Quickly taking advantage of the momentary slack in her control, I asked, “Keri, what are you doing to me?”

“I thought that would have been obvious,” she replied, with a cute smirk. “I am making you my sex-slave, my prisoner of love.”

“That’s not... I’m not.... You’re not going to make me do anything disgusting or dangerous, would you?” I pleaded in trepidation. Protesing appeared futile. She seemed to be able to strongly influence what I could do. Her talk of Bondage and Discipline came back to me. I had a flash vision of manacles and whips. Perspiration broke out on my brow.

“No, silly boy,” she smiled. “If I want to, you will, believe me. But that is not what I am interested in. Pleasure is what I want from you, and proper deference and respect, of course. After that crack you made on the trip down here, I couldn’t resist teaching you your proper place.” She bent forward and took my face between her hands. “Now kiss me to pledge your everlasting obedience to me.”

I leaned towards her to brush my lips against hers. She softly kissed me back, but chuckled and corrected me, “Not there, darling. Lower.”

I bent my head to her breast, and began grazing the velvety flesh with my mouth. I circled her nipple with my tongue, then drew it into my lips. “Nice try...very nice, in fact. We’ll get back to that. But you know what I mean. Kiss me down here!” She pointed deliberately between her legs.

“Oh, Keri,” I objected weakly, “I really am not into oral sex.”

“You don’t want to?” she purred. “Even better. This will show you that what you want doesn’t count. Kiss me there, now!”

With a sigh, I bowed my face to her lap, and surrendered. I could feel my will dissolving as I did. Keri had won, and I was glad, I found. I let my self sink into the warm pink cloud of pleasure and drift away.