The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Title: Lady Luck

Categories: mc mf ff md fd bd hm

Synopsis:

A man’s fate is in the hands of Lady Luck.

Preface:

Such terrible ideas are the fodder of fantasy and fantasy only.

Chapter One

He was good looking, witty, smart, discerning and thoughtful about other people’s feelings. He stood over six feet tall, and he filled his clothes with masculine proportions without being overly broad in the shoulders. He had piercing blue eyes that had their own personality. When Thomas was interested in a subject (person or topic), his eyes would widen and his intrigue would be so evident and sincere it seemed to change the colour of his eyes in an indescribable way. He had a good sense of humour, ranging from the dry to the vulgar. Yet whatever silly things he said, it would always remain clear that the joke was to be shared with good nature. He wasn’t academic, and he animatedly hated pretension. Yet it was impossible for him to avoid occasionally coming across pretentiously, not because of his intelligence, but because of his intelligence combined with his almost too-extensive education and his passion for topics that would have to fairly be described as intellectual. And he could read people. Machiavelli would turn in his grave if he could see how well Thomas understood the base motivations of other people, and how he did not take advantage of them. Instead, he helped people understand their baser parts and tried to frame them in a positive and rational way in an effort to empower them to become better people.

The problem was, people didn’t really want Thomas’ help.

While initially coming across as an attractive personality you would want in your circle of friends, over time as a friendship became closer and more comfortable, Thomas would start coming across as judgemental. And he was. He loved seeing people being, in his mind, good and doing good things. And his blood was made to boil when people got away with hurting others, especially out in the open through backhanded means.

But Thomas disciplined himself against his irritation and anger. It was hard for him, trying to live up to a high standard, and watching others happily make do with much lower standards, without the decency to feel embarrassed or ashamed of how little responsibility they took for themselves and the consequences of their actions on others.

Today, Thomas is 29, separated, and wages an inner war against his own bitterness that goes well, but not great. He has not sworn off women, but since his failed marriage he has not found it within himself to accept propositions or dates. For on top of the difficulties piled inside Thomas, or rather in the very centre of that mountain of trouble, there lived a very tiny but immortal romantic. These days that tiny romantic was a mouse, scared of open spaces. For whenever it did venture out, even just for a moment of fresh air, there always seemed to be a terrible cat ready to jump out from some hereto unnoticed hiding place, ready to chase Thomas’ mousey little romantic in some direction it just didn’t want to go.

So Thomas lives alone, lonely, with friends in various stages of judging him as being too judgmental, misunderstood, and struggling to stay on top of his always crumbling social circumstances and his own difficult inner world.

Lady Luck is a shy, middle aged woman, smart, a smart dresser, with thoughtful and complicated tastes regarding the use of her telepathic ability. She likes being shy. She is comfortable with silence, and likes to get to know people slowly. She hates it, in fact, when people try to tell her that she should not be shy or try to comfort her about it. At 43, she is neither young nor old. It is no longer time to look ahead, and is not yet time to look back. Now is about now. That’s how she thinks about it, and she has done a lot of thinking. She’s good at it. When she sits down to think about something, she disciplines herself against undo daydreaming and makes a stepwise plan to achieve the means to her ends. And whatever she does, it is a sure thing that she will do it looking good. She has a passion for smart clothes, dress, stockings, and heels when appropriate. Even when the circumstances suggest casual wear, she will present herself in barely less than a pants suit. She often wears a neutral, thoughtful expression, knees, feet, and hands together.

And what goes through her mind is unguessable from the outside. There she sits with a glass of white wine in a pub by herself. She is listening. Like turning a radio dial, she receives the thoughts of the waitresses and patrons. Back and forth, turning the dial, until the mind she has been searching for appears.

Thomas is right on time. He walks to her table and sits in the booth opposite her.

They seem cut from the same cloth. Both are dressed up a little too much for the pub, she in slacks and a blouse with a simple gold chain necklace, he in a white collared shirt tucked into jeans drawn together by a simple black belt with a dull silver buckle. Both of them are wearing dress shoes, though neither has come from an office or formal affair.

“Are you Lady Luck?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you for coming.”

“I did not rightly have a choice. I had a dream about you, wherein you told me to come here, at this time. In the dream, I got the impression you compelled me and that I could not avoid coming, as if under a spell.”

She takes a sip of her drink and smiles mildly. She speeds things along, setting her inner radio to transmit instead of receive. He is made to see the truth of her telepathy, her ability to be inside another’s head—free to see whatever she wished, make changes, and force actions. And she shows him her plans for him that night.

When she is done, Thomas blushes a deep shade of red. He can feel his cheeks and neck burning. As he opens his mouth to speak, she inhibits his emotions, moderating them so that he can better articulate himself.

“I do not want to do those things.”

She does not respond. By the quarks of their personalities, they end up sitting in silence while she finishes her drink. It is her turn to blush, albeit mildly, as she sets down her glass a final time, picks up her purse, and makes to leave. He follows her out, as he is compelled to do.

They take her car, a black BMW. They do not speak. Thomas looks out the passenger side window until they get to her house. It is indistinguishable from the other houses in the suburb.

Time slows after the car stops, and as he is compelled once again to follow her, his senses become hyperalert. Sounds shout at him: the jangle of her keys, the locking of the car door, their steps on the asphalt driveway, the front door opening, and then closing behind them.

They make their way up to the bedroom where Thomas will be doing things he does not want to do.

She opens the bedroom door for him to the sight of a young woman tied to the bed. She is spread eagle, hands and feet tied to each of the four posts framing the mattress. She is fully dressed, including an apron announcing her as a Starbucks employee.

Thomas stands at the doorway, emotionally paralysed, but Lady Luck sits down on a victorian style brown leather chair beside the bed and puts her hand down her pants.

What happens next is not born from the will of the man at the doorway. He strides to the bedside table, picking up a large pair of scissors. He takes them to the foot of the bed where he begins to cut away the employee’s black dress pants from the ankle cuff.

He has to move onto the bed as he continues to cut up to the knee, the hip, finally struggle with cutting through the waist band. He looks up at her then. She is very pretty despite the gag, blue eyed and blonde. He has shut out the fact that she is struggling against him up until this point. She makes high pitched whining noises and struggles against her bonds. She makes eye contact with him, pleading.

In response, he cuts away her Starbucks apron and begins to cut her black polo T-shirt from below her navel and up through her cleavage. Underneath she has a plain black bra. He continues to cut away at her clothes while she struggles as if to cover herself, now wearing only black running shoes, white ankle socks barely visible, black boxer-brief underwear, and black bra. The socks and shoes stay on and the rest are cut away.

Thomas finds himself undressing until he is naked at the foot of the bed, his penis upright. Finally, Lady Luck says something:

“Now rape her.”

He gets onto the bed and lies down on top of her, her flat stomach and pert breasts beneath him feeding his arousal. He pulls her blond hair and lines himself up between her legs. He pushes. She is wet. He gets through. As she whines in a higher pitch against her gag, he pulls her hair back further exposing her throat. He bites her exposed neck where it meets her shoulder and flexes his back, pushing himself in harder. Over and over he pushes, feeling the light caress of her legs against him, tied where there are. It arouses him further. He slows down his pace but increases the power of his thrusts. He makes it last, slowing down even more and pushing even harder. Always pulling her hair, his free hand moves over her lightly, from her extended arm, down her breast and side, settling on her hip where he can hold her still while he challenges himself to push into her as hard as he can.

He comes inside her at first. Halfway through he comes out to scramble on top of her, his semen seeming to go everywhere, until he finishes on her exposed neck where there is a livid bite mark.

Afterward, as if the compulsions that have guided his action all the while never were, he opens his fist from around the hair he has been pulling and climbs off of the bed.

“Don’t feel guilty, it was my rape fetish,” says Lady Luck from her chair.

Standing naked, looming over the girl he has just done over, he says the only thing that is on his mind.

“How can I not feel guilty? I just raped this girl…”

As his hands go to his face, Lady Luck crosses over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Thomas, I have many fantasies of control, power, and rape. I like you, and I’ve chosen you to help me with them. This is only the beginning.”