The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You hear about San Fran? Had a nasty earthquake, the whole city burned like a torch. Papers were saying they had to blow up whole city blocks just to stop it.”

“Aye, poor bastards. Some of those lads who came through last week were from outta that city.”

“Glad the earth don’t shake around here.”

“Not unless you’re nailin’ Big Jenny!” The two men laughed loudly.

Krysta sighed as she took a drag on her cigarette. Every night she had to listen to the bouncers’ inane banter, at least until the johns showed up. Britain had not proved to be the land of opportunity she had been promised. The “opportunities” for a pretty and poor young Polish girl here were somewhat worse than the old country. She leaned back against the wall of her cramped tenement, reaching her arm up and flicking ash away out the open window. Looking out the window was a form of advertisement; the madam encouraged it, so naturally most of the girls didn’t do it.

The girl was a redhead, with shoulder-length hair that curled slightly. Redheads were less rare in the nation that included Scotland and Ireland, but Krysta had a charm about her that still drove the clients wild. Her caftan dress was also red, and had once been beautiful, but poor laundering of its many stains had left it in a sorry state.

The bouncers below stopped laughing all of a sudden. “Hey, d’ya see somethin’?”

“What are you on ab-agh!” Krysta could only hear the man’s frightened scream, punctuated by the breathy sounds of an animal’s growl. A gunshot rang out. “Back off! Get the fuck away from me!” There was a second gunshot, followed by a man’s wearied grunt.

There was silence for a moment, and Krysta stood up and peered cautiously out the window. The side street in the red light district was not crowded yet, and the few figures she could see were rapidly running the other way, knowing better than to inquire after sounds of trouble in this part of town. Krysta looked straight down and saw the two bouncers, scattered around like discarded ragdolls, and between them was a dark, shadowy something, crouched like a dog but far too big.

She had little time to puzzle over the thing’s identity, as she saw a brief gleam of animal eyes staring back up at her before the dog-thing leapt fifteen feet into the air to land in her windowsill. It is to Krysta’s credit that by the time the thing arrived at her windowsill, she had already retreated to the far side of the room, and was paralyzed with fear for only a moment before she began to scramble for the doorknob, but before she could negotiate the device, she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Get off me!” she shouted, whirling around. The hand belonged to a woman; blond haired and dressed all in black, with a fashionable black hat sitting atop a head of blonde hair.

“Shh…” the woman said, placing a finger to Krysta’s lips.

“I said get off!” Krysta said. “You’re her, aren’t you! The East End Witch! You’ve been killing hookers all over the neighborhood!”

“Wrong, and wrong,” the intruder said. “Black is good for night work, but wearing it doesn’t make me a witch. I’m a woman just like you; though I was more fortunate in my upbringing. And I haven’t been killing hookers.”

“Then what have you been doing?” Krysta asked, not believing a word from this demon’s mouth.

“Saving them,” the not-witch said with a smile. “I don’t know how it all works myself, but sometimes girls go to a faraway place when they pleasure themselves. I was the first one to ever- oh dear.” Krysta was not content to listen to her and had made a dash for the open window, seeking freedom even if it meant a broken leg. She was just about to clear the windowsill when something wrapped around her waist and forcibly pulled her back. A red ribbon had sprouted from the thing’s black dress which now tethered her firmly to her attacker.

“Let me go!” Krysta shouted, now starting to panic. “I don’t want to be dragged to hell!”

“Did I say hell?” the woman in black asked. “I don’t think you’ve been listening to me. And I do suppose that’s my fault for being so rude.” She approached Krysta, a smile on her face as she looked the other woman in the eye. “My name is Alice Liddell, and you are?”

Krysta was ready to spit in the other woman’s face, but there was something about her eyes, such a pure, deep blue. The witch’s gaze slipped into her mind and began to wrap her will in velvet shackles. The young woman’s eyes hooded as her self-preservation instinct was subdued and replaced by a calm submission. The red ribbon around her waist retreated, sensing that it was no longer needed.

“Krysta Komorowski,” she said flatly.

“Well Krysta,” Alice said sweetly. “I’m here to help you. Do you want that?”

“Yes…” the word escaped Krysta’s lips as a sigh, more than a mere answer, it was an affirmation.

“Great!” Alice waved her arm in a wide circle, and the dirty little room seemed to melt around the two women, leaving them lost in a swirling haze of shadow. Alice’s clothes melted into the darkness, though Krysta’s had to be disposed of in a more mundane way. She moaned softly when Alice put her hands upon her, undoing the sash holding her caftan together and allowing it to fall away.

“Now if you want to come with me, you have to come with me.” The non-native English speaker did not understand the wordplay, but she smiled vapidly anyway, basking in her own mindlessness. Alice sat Krysta down, the “floor” of this swirling space felt soft and fluffy as a cloud. They lay down beside each other, and Alice took Krysta’s hand in hers and guided it to her warm, wet womanhood. Alice put her hand on Krysta’s pussy in turn. Krysta looked sideways, taking another glance at those beautiful blue eyes. Their blue depths told Krysta what to feel, what to do, and gave her the promise of what was to come. They held Krysta tightly as Alice’s fingers worked a different kind of magic. Two sets of fingers worked quickly, and then there was bliss… followed by everything going white.

When Krysta opened her eyes again, she saw no blue. She saw nothing at all, only blank whiteness above. “Well, she did not take me to hell,” she said aloud.

“I most certainly did not.”

Krysta jumped where she lay, sitting bolt upright. She was on some sort of solid surface, though she could see nothing. Nothing except her. She was the same as before, blonde hair, blue eyes, shapely figure this time concealed by a blue-and-white dress, but she was different somehow. The aura of seduction and dominance was gone, and she seemed like any normal woman Krysta had ever met.

“You!” Krysta shouted. “You’re… Alice?” The memory came slowly to her.

“Indeed. Good of you to remember, not all of them do. We’ll take that as a good sign.” Alice offered her hand to Krysta, who used it to stand up. Krysta took the chance to look down at herself, finding that she was clad in her old red caftan, though it was not old any longer, but as pristine as the day the brothel madam had first given it to her, the day when the promise of Great Britain had failed.

“What is a good sign? Where are we? Am I dead?”

“I’ll take those in reverse order,” Alice replied. “First, no, you’re quite alive. Second, this is Wonderland. Well, that’s Wonderland,” she corrected, pointing far off into the distance. Krysta could see objects there, dim on the horizon, the only thing besides herself and Alice that she could perceive in the void. “We’re pretty far off the map.” Alice drew a map (made from a very strange looking parchment) from her dress, touching a finger to the map’s southern edge, and then moving her finger down into blank space.

“The third answer is harder to explain. But this land, it’s like a sanctuary for lost women and girls, or a crucible. Here you will either lose yourself forever, or you will find power.”

“Power?” Krysta asked.

In response, Alice changed, first into an angel, then into a devil, then into a fearsome wolf-creature, then into the lady in black, before turning back into Alice. “The power to do anything or to be anyone,” the shapeshifter said.

“But what’s the alternative?” Krysta said fearfully. “Losing myself forever?”

“That is no great peril,” Alice said. “There is no true hardship in Wonderland. If you fail, you gain an eternity of simple pleasures of fun and flesh. You will never remember or care about anything else.”

Krysta paused for a moment. “I’ll do it,” she said.

Laughter came out of the void. “It’s not like you have a choice anyway. You have to go forwards even if you wanted to go back.”

Krysta looked around curiously, before a symbol of a sideways eye appeared in the blank whiteness, followed by a featureless feminine thing. “What is that?” she asked Alice.

“Oh, that’s Whatever. She’ll help you along the way. Whatever, this is Krysta Komorowski. Have fun!” She morphed back into an angel, and flew off towards the horizon.

“Will I be able to do that?” Krysta asked.

“That’s a very good question,” Whatever replied.