The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My old apartment, and John’s unfortunate resting place, was a shitty basement apartment beneath a crappy bungalow, in the poorer section of town. It might not have been the nicest, but it turned out to be an ideal apocalypse shelter. The door was at the back, so when the occasional roamers came by to rob, rape, and kill, they would pop into the upstairs flat, find severely decomposed remains of the old couple who lived there, and carry on down the block. But after I agreed to her proposition and insisted we repair the door and clean the mess instead of uprooting and moving immediately, I could understand Nyx’ perplexment.

“I have been wandering the countryside as long as I’ve been here, and have found no issue with staying in a more... affluent home,” she told me, still standing statue-still in the living room.

“And how many pets have you gone through?”

She fell silent for a moment. “I’ll not spend the rest of your life hiding in this hole.”

“Well, if you want a pet that you can drag around, you can always get a hamster.”

Her eyes flickered with annoyance. “That’s not what I meant. You are not alive because I need a living creature. You’re alive because you resisted me. Which means you have something special.”

I went to the closet and fetched a black garbage bag. Hell of a way to send off someone you spent the apocalypse with, but anything short of rotting in the street is the most you can hope for these days. “Did your dog have something special?”

She made the sound of a sigh, which didn’t strike me as odd at the time, but in retrospect is absolutely bizarre in telepathic communication. “In a sense,” she followed. “She could sense a major returned entity from miles away. A very unique, and very helpful gift.”

“Could she tell friend from foe?”

Another sigh. “You don’t get many returned around here, do you?”

I shook my head. “Most of what we see are either passing through and uninterested in us, or they’re animals who aren’t much for conversation.”

“Most of my kind are thoroughly mad. They will kill anything they perceive as an impedance without a second thought. I understand most of the other kind are the same.”

A choir of angels, raining flaming sulfur down on New York City, razing downtown Manhattan altogether, killing an estimated eighteen million. The last image most major American news channels aired. “I can believe that.”

Nyx shook her head. “Shame about her reckless appetite.”

I stared for a moment at a finger on the floor. The first piece of John that was recognizable as a part of him. I felt something well up inside me. “Shame.” I opened the bag and picked up the finger, delicately placing it inside. “I think I need gloves. Are you going to help me with this?”

In a flash of darkness, Nyx was gone.

“Well fuck.”

Paul thought about how life was before the world ended, and smiled. He watched his two daughters, four piercing blue eyes shining through faces caked with dirt. Carrie held Nancy to the torn blouse that covered her breast as they both stared at him, angry, hurt, but ultimately defeated. It was that last part that he loved. Ever since his wife died, these girls, these sweet, innocent things that could scarce remember the world before, had consumed him. They were both his wife—those incredible eyes, that blond hair that was now matted with neglect, those slender frames. Carrie, at the tail-end of puberty, had a small, perky chest and hips slightly larger than his wife, and had his wife’s unfortunate resistance to his desires, but Nancy, born days before the world came crashing down, was now freshly filled-in, and was now almost an exact match to her mother.

Every look his daughters gave him was his wife’s condemning glare. He could feel her screaming, “Why did you leave us? Why did I have to die, you fucking coward? You’re not a man.” And with all that, what else could he do but prove to them just what kind of man he is?

The girls’ eyes suddenly changed. They weren’t hateful, they weren’t piercing, and, more disturbingly, they weren’t looking at him.

“We’ll go,” Carrie said. “Please, just save us.”

Paul rose to spin around, but a dark blur whirled around him and knocked him to the ground. By the time he regained his senses, the blur had taken the shape of a woman. Taller than he liked, but still slender and undeniably sexy. He his head ache and the front of his pants strained as he quickly sprung the most painful erection of his life.

When he noticed the face, he was, for a moment, confused: She seemed to be wearing a blank mask, but it was the sexiest blank mask he could have imagined. He leaned forward to kiss it, or suckle on those hard nipples, but she shifted her weight and his shoulders slammed back on the floor. He instead settled on reaching up, sliding his hands around the sides of her breasts. For how solid her flesh looked, her breasts were surprisingly soft and supple, and her firm nipples made his head pound as his dick grew to the point where it was physically cramping in the confines of his underwear.

The creature leaned forward—he thought at first to kiss him, but a forearm laid firmly across his neck told him otherwise. Instead he felt sharp claws gently trace the outline of his painfully erect cock, then very quickly draw upwards, rending the fabric, his painful erection finally, blissfully free.

The figure raised herself, lifting her forearm and instead pinning him down with one hand while the other searched for his throbbing shaft and slid it up and down the rubbery shell of where her pussy would be. It was then that he noticed that she didn’t have nails—those claws that had ripped him free of his pants were her actual fingertips, covered in the same sort of shell, coming to a sharpened point. It struck him as amazing that the soft hand that was whipping his precum all over her crotch was adorned with similar cloth-shredding razors, but all thoughts of her physical form instantly slipped away as he felt the armor move along his cockhead, sliding out of the way of soft, hot, dripping-wet flesh.

He craned his head up, but the woman’s hand obstructed the view of their point of contact. Still, he knew goddamn well what was happening as he felt the heat of her engulf the head, then slowly slide its way down his shaft. The sensation was more incredible than he could imagine. Her pussy wrapped around him as she gradually worked his way down, and the first thrust brought him to the brink of orgasm. As though she sensed this, she stopped at the hilt, and his cock momentarily went numb.

Wanting more desperately than anything in the world to continue, Paul tried to thrust his hips into her, but found himself completely incapable of bucking her up for friction, as though this slender creature weighed a ton.

“This won’t last long,” he heard a voice, presumably hers, in the back of his mind. “This is what has happened. I am an angel, of sorts: I have come to answer a prayer.”

Paul returned his hands to her chest, again tweaking those wonderful nipples. “Hallelujah,” he grinned.

“Your daughters reek of ruination and abuse. They have long ago acknowledged their own lives as forfeit. They’ve only ever had one desire.”

“Daughters…” Paul had nearly forgotten that his daughters had been there all along, watching him fuck this—angel? He had serious doubts about that label. He craned his neck to see them both watching, once again having regained his wife’s conviction.

“Yes,” came the voice as her clawed hand descended upon his head, forcing his ear to the floor—and his face to his daughters. “Look at them. Watch the hate and betrayal in their eyes. When you orgasm, I’m going to take much more than a squirt of protein from you. I’m going to take a whole meal. All your energy. All your moisture. All your substance. But what ought to concern you most is this: When you cum, I’m going to take your soul.”

Paul tried to turn his head to look at the creature atop him as the heat returned to his cock, but she responded only by pressing harder—hard enough to bring a mighty crunch of blinding pain as something—maybe everything, for all he could tell—cracked. He could feel her hand descend an inch into his head, but even with such intense pain in his face, and the shame he felt from his daughters’ hatred, he still couldn’t pull attention away from the sensation of the woman’s hips sliding slowly up his shaft. The ecstasy and pain smashed together in his mind, then for a moment both receded before washing over him in an indistinguishable mixture. He was unable to differentiate between agony and ecstasy, and the combination was the best feeling he’d ever experienced.

He had been so quick to use his dick to subjugate women. He had gotten off on making women feel like shit, yet in the end he didn’t even mind the looks his daughters gave him. He felt tiny and pathetic, and that somehow seemed right. He wondered if it was too late to beg their forgiveness—maybe even fight through this and set things right.

Then, in that moment of regret, he came. His balls tightened as they emptied into her marvelous snatch. He poured what felt like gallons of cum into her, but as he did so, he felt a peculiar tingling throughout his hips that gradually spread over his entire body as it shot out the end of his prick. As his natural orgasm subsided, so did the pleasure, but the cum still kept spilling from him, now as though it were being painfully ripped, and the tingling became a burning. His breaths became shallow and panicked, his throat incredibly dry, and his vision went blurry for a moment before going completely black. In his final few moments, the only vision he had was that of his mind’s eye, and all that could see was his wife. Sad. Hurt. Disappointed. ‘I’m not going to see you,’ he imagined saying to her, while he still had the faculties to imagine. ‘I’m going to the bad place.’

I always thought teleportation would have some sort of a sound effect to it. Like a magician’s poof, a cartoony pop, or that iconic comic book Bamf. In practice, It didn’t even have a flash or a lingering smoke. So when I finished stuffing the dog carcass into its own garbage bag (naturally thinking it disrespectful to bury John in the same bag as his killer, despite the fact that they would both end up in an undignified shallow grave under the upstairs neighbors’ old tomato garden), it’s understandable that I jumped out of my goddamn skin when Nyx reappeared.

Nyx scared the shit out of me, but her friends were just confusing. Two girls, cute in a post-apocalyptic sort of way, were each holding a hand and staring forward blankly.

“Thralls,” Nyx told me.

“What?”

“I retrieved them to help you repair your little hovel. They will follow our every command.”

I looked cautiously to one, then the other. “Are they—” I started, not really certain exactly what I was asking.

“They have pledged their lives to me,” Nyx said, “and, in turn, have pledged their lives to you as well.”

“Yeah, but—they seem a little…”

The elder girl opened her mouth to speak, but Nyx quickly answered for her. “They have had a difficult day, and would rather not talk about it.”

“Oh.” I tied off the dog’s bag and gestured towards the closet. “Garbage bags are in there. Use whatever rags and cleaner you can find—try not to touch the stockpile in the fridge, though. We’re saving those for trade. Let me know if you need a hand with anything.”

The two girls silently nodded.

They both released Nyx’ hand and started towards the closet when I remembered something. “One more thing: I really don’t want to remember what happened here, so if you can, please try to make it spotless.”