The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When Dee had just turned sixteen, she spent much of that summer alone. It wasn’t that she lacked friends, far from it, but she had grown up enough that she wanted to see her part of the world. She spent her days walking for miles learning the roads and fields around Gynt, and finding her way into each farm’s barns, tool-sheds and dairies.

She wasn’t brave or stupid enough to venture into the caves which dotted the countryside. Every family had a story to tell of a brave young soul who began to spend time in the caves, becoming obsessed with their majesty, and, one day, failing to return.

Much of the land around Gynt had been cleared, but there were a few majestic oaks still scattered. The limbs of these trees started a way off the ground, and Dee had challenged herself to master getting into every single tree. Once one had gained the first limbs, the rest were easy, and being slight of build, Dee could get into the highest branches, with the lovely feeling of the wind in her hair, the whole of Gynt laid out like a wooden model beneath her.

The oldest, and tallest, oak tree was at the top of the rise near Mrs Beale’s house. Dee had taken a long time to muster the courage for that particular challenge, having visited the tree many times without attempting anything. It was an old tree, but sickly, and she would have to be careful with the termites and the rotten limbs. She finally mastered it with a somewhat ungainly shimmy up the trunk. She ascended the next limbs easily, and she was feeling like queen of the world as she stood high in the tree, looking down on Mrs Beale’s roof, the smoke from her chimney far, far down.

With the first gust of wind, the limb she was standing on, and the branch she was holding with her hands, both separated from the trunk with a loud crack.

Dee was suddenly falling, and, for a very short time, she felt like a bird, but then was on her back. The wind was knocked out of her, and the branch was on her leg. As she struggled for breath she realised that she had been fortunate, as the grass and leaves under the tree were wet and had cushioned her back in the fall, and the treacherous limb had already rolled away. Then the pain started in her thigh. She knew that her leg must be broken, but she didn’t have the breath to scream in pain.

Fortunately, Mrs Beale had heard the crack of the branch falling, and came out her house to take a look.

With her daughter Tsanja’s help, they carefully rolled Dee onto a stretcher. By now she was white with shock, and Mrs Beale could see that the heavy limb had snapped her femur.

As Dee was carried into the house, Mrs Beale whispered reassurances to the poor girl, and told her that she could be healed. She had by now got her breath back, and tears of pain were running down her face. They carried her into the main bedroom of the house. Mrs Beale and Tsanja, very carefully, rolled her face up onto the bed, and Dee could not help but think, morbidly, that it was the one that Mrs Beale had shared with her husband before he had died.

Tsanja was sent off to inform Dee’s mother, and Mrs Beale began to explain about the healing process.

“Dee, you have had a very bad break. I can heal it, but it will take some time. Please, don’t be distressed, but my healing methods may seem a little strange to you. You are in a lot of pain now, but just let me work, and you will be soon be feeling much better.”

Mrs Beale, very carefully, covered Dee with a sheet, and gently removed Dee’s clothes. Each time anything touched her thigh, Dee had to bite her lip to stop herself screaming in pain. Mrs Beale got into bed beside her, and removed all of her own clothes, being careful not to bump Dee’s leg, while preserving the modesty of both of them.

Mrs Beale carefully spooned herself against Dee’s broken thigh, and held her around the middle.

“Easy, Dee, easy ...” whispered Mrs Beale, her face close to Dee’s own.

Mrs Beale’s arm was comforting, and her legs twined around Dee’s calves. Around her thigh, Dee did not feel skin against herself, but a strange presence. It quickly warmed her, and dulled the pain of her break.

Mrs Beale stroked Dee’s hair, and soothed her, and Dee began to feel her leg being stretched, the broken ends bone being moved. The pain should have been excruciating, and Dee kept expecting a burst of pain to return, but, as the two ends of the bone were brought together, she felt only a surge of relief.

The bones felt right again. They were in their proper position.

Dee was held in the bed this way for hours. Mrs Beale continued to pet her, and talked the small talk of life in the village. Dee remained silent, expecting for some time that the bones would shift again, and the pain and feeling of brokenness would return.

Nothing of the sort happened, and Dee was comforted by Mrs Beale’s friendly face, and her gentle voice. Dee began to feel a growing affection for her, almost a kind of love.

In the evening, Mrs Beale shifted up the bed a little, and Dee’s leg was still held immobile.

“Drink, Dee, you need to keep up your fluids until you are healed. I’ll have to hold you like this all the time until then. It will take a good while.”

Mrs Beale shifted the sheet and pulled out one of her breasts. She held a nipple up to Dee’s lips, and, although a little disconcerted, Dee suckled. She was rewarded by a trickle of warm milk. It was relaxing, and comforting, and Dee could feel her thirst and her appetite assuaged. It was as if she were a toddler again, and she felt that Mrs Beale was very kind.

As she suckled, images began to enter her mind, and Dee began to fall into a kind of waking dream.

She saw three people, in this very bedroom. One of them looked like a younger Mrs Beale, and there was also a baby, and a man Dee did not know. He was holding the baby, proudly, and Dee somehow could read the feelings on his face. He was in love with Mrs Beale, and also a little in awe of her, but he had an ineffable sadness about him, as if he were about to leave his family on some long journey.

As Dee finished drinking, the images faded away, and she settled back into quietness.

Being held by Mrs Beale was comforting, but at night time, in her dreams, being held became something more. Mrs Beale’s face was ever present, and ever smiling, and she began to fill all of her world. As Mrs Beale smiled, Dee felt a strange feeling of pleasure beginning to rise in her. It was like one of those dreams she had started having this year, filled with strange signs and places, in which very little happened, but she felt an emotion that was new to her, a strange, mysterious feeling. It was pleasurable, and it grew in strength, and Dee would always feel that something momentous was about to happen. Each dream ended with a gush of pleasure, just before she woke up. She always felt sticky, and her pyjamas needed changing.

The feeling in her dreams with Mrs Beale was more intense than her dreams at home, it was cloying, and echoes of it stayed with her every day after she woke up. There was also something horrific, something palpable, underneath the feeling, and Dee began to feel that she would do almost anything to feel like that again, to see where the feelings led her. If she were older, she would perhaps have recognised them, and might have attached them to a person, but, being only sixteen, Dee did not understand.

Every day, Mrs Beale continued to hold her, and gave her breast-feeds. The visions Dee saw as she suckled became clearer as the week progressed. The vignette with Mrs Beale’s family kept returning, and the baby, who Dee soon recognised as Tsanja, became a curious toddler, and Mrs Beale’s husband, for that is who it must have been, grew sicker, and paler.

He was always sitting in his armchair, in this very bedroom, and he kept a cloth close by. He was often overcome with a great, hacking cough, and he spat blood into the cloth, red, fresh blood, and he could do nothing but lie back in his chair, exhausted..

As he sickened, Mrs Beale tried to give him comfort, and keep him alive, but her healing powers were clearly not omnipotent. He steadily grew more weary, and grey, and withdrawn, and began to argue with Mrs Beale, although Dee could not hear any words. Dee perceived that his decline was quite slow, that her daily visions were spanning months of time, and young Tsanja became quieter as she realised that something was wrong with her father.

Some decision was eventually made, and Mrs Beale acquiesced as Mr Beale gave her a final embrace. She opened the large chest that sat in the bedroom, but Dee could not see what lay within. Mrs Beale helped her husband to it, and he carefully used a little set of steps to climb up to the rim.

Mrs Beale detached Dee from her nipple.

“That’s enough now, bairn.”

That was the final vision.

A week had elapsed since entering Mrs Beale’s house, and Dee’s leg was released from its strange confinement. As she gingerly made her way out of bed, she was relieved to discover that her bones had knitted perfectly, and her muscles were strong and limber, and she stretched, and twisted, in joy.

Tsanja had brought some clothes for Dee from her mother, and Dee felt eager to see her family, to return to her life, to start exploring again. However, before she was allowed to leave, Mrs Beale made her some tea, and sat her down at the kitchen table.

“Dee, my dearest, you are a very special girl, and I have given you very special attention. I hope and trust that from now on you’ll only come back to my house for pleasant reasons”

“You must forget what happened in this week. Don’t dwell on it, just go back to your life. I will give you something that will protect you. It is very precious, Dee, it is usually only given between Healers, and you must never take it off.”

Mrs Beale showed Dee a leather choker, with a red stone woven into it, much like the one Mrs Beale herself wore.

She knotted it around Dee’s neck.

The strangeness of the week with Mrs Beale evaporated, and Dee’s memories disappeared like smoke. She did not speak of her broken leg, or how it was healed, or her visions of Mr Beale, for a very long time.