The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Time passed, and at last I heard him descend the stairs to the Secret Garden.

“So, Katya. I see you’ve been playing. I didn’t think you were ready for this, so soon.”

I listened to his quiet footsteps as he walked into the room.

“Blodeuwedd’s Perch. According to the story, they had to bind her like this, before the owl incident, of course. A wonderful device, for taming the wild things, and one I’ve often used. You look very striking. I bet you wish you could see yourself as I see you, don’t you?”

I nodded, as best as I could.

I sensed him close. He squeezed my nipples, and I gasped, against the gag. Then he reached down and tugged gently at the padlock, and I gasped again.

“Please feel free to enjoy Katya,” he said. I jolted, tense. Mister Talv had brought someone else. Who was touching me? Who was this person?

“Would you like to feel her, fully?” said Mister Talv’s voice. There was no response. But I assume the man, or woman, must have nodded, because at once there was a quiet click, down there, and the slip of the chain through my rings.

There were fingers, inside me, in the slick warm wetness. They were not Mister Talv’s. Some part of me knew I knew I should resist, but I pushed against the hand, urging it on. I was in such heat. There was no helping it.

“Yes,” I heard Mister Talv say. “This is irresistible to her, now. Please, let me show you.” The fingers withdrew.

I let out a soft moan. Something was rising gently out of the seat beneath me, pushing against me down there. I couldn’t move forward or backward to escape it; then it—a shaft of some sort—slipped slowly inside me, implacable, and began pushing deeper.

I tried to shout, but of course I couldn’t.

How big was this thing? I tried to raise myself but, manacled in position, could lift no more than an inch from the seat. Still it kept coming, sliding into me, penetrating still deeper, and then with a click it locked into place.

I could just about accommodate it, I thought, but relaxing and settling back into the seat pushed it still deeper. I tried to raise my bottom again, seeking relief, moving as best as I could on the shaft.

The shaft began to throb, a deep subsonic rhythm, and I began to lose myself.

“A device,” he said, “for the pleasure of women.”

My pussy felt as if it was on fire. I writhed on the frame, pinioned on Blodeuwedd’s perch, heedless of shame.

“Katya has a rare talent,” said Mister Talv, not to me.

I squeezed on the shaft inside me, testing its length and breadth, and felt the yearning pulse of my body. Surely now. So close -

“Come,” said Mister Talv. “Let us have a drink. Katya will be happy here, I think.” And I heard the door close.

As it did, I felt a second shaft begin to rise irresistibly out of the seat, behind the first, nudging at me ever more insistently and—pinned in position by the first—there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

Locked in my darkness, I quickly learned the whole thing worked in a cycle, from low, to high, from the front shaft to the rear shaft, from discomfort to unbearable peaks of arousal—but just as I felt the beginnings of orgasm, it began to wind down again. It would never take me over the edge. And at the precise moment of winding down, the pain: a sharp stab of electric shock through both shafts, and another, and another, and then the cycle began again.

I guessed an hour must have passed before he came back, and by then I was demented with lust and pain, and unsure which was which.

I heard the door opening, and then the blindfold was off. He quickly unfastened the gag. I was panting hard. The cycle of the thing was unrelenting.

“How are you enjoying yourself, Katya?”

I squeaked, breathless.

“Well enough, it seems. You are very beautiful, like this. I appreciate your commitment.”

“Thank you Mister Talv,” I panted.

“But,” he continued, “I did tell you not to enter this room while I was out.”

The cycle built again. “I wanted—” I gasped, “please, I was only playing,” I said. I tried to laugh. “I didn’t mean to trap myself in it. I didn’t lock the final bond, it did it itself…”

“Yes, I’ve seen it do that, when its subjects need a little extra persuasion. Admirable commitment, on your part. But I did say you weren’t to come down here without me. And disobedience requires a lesson, does it not?”

“Yes, Mister Talv. But who was that other person…?”

“That is no concern of yours,” said Mister Talv. “One man is much the same as another, don’t you think? Apart from me, of course.”

“Yes, I mean, no, absolutely not, I mean yes, Mister Talv,” I managed to croak, not really hearing him, as the device hit its peak. I could tell I wasn’t going to get very far with that line of questioning in any case. I squeezed down, desperate. So close, but never close enough. I couldn’t stand much more of this sweet torture. And then the pain knocked all breath, and all words from me.

“And what might be an appropriate lesson to learn from this?”

“I don’t know, Mister Talv. Not to go looking for the key?” The shafts were throbbing again.

“But maybe you’ve found it. A means of unlocking something, perhaps. You can stay here overnight. Time enough for you to be persuaded of this. And then tomorrow, you will have my full attention.”

“Wait! Please—”

With that, he walked to the door, and with a nonchalant little wave, he closed it firmly behind him. The lights flicked off and it was suddenly deep dusk.

The level below was quiet and still, but I had no sleep that night. The device had a relentless rhythm of its own, and it didn’t stop for a second. Counting, I estimated the typical cycle ran around five minutes. That would be twelve peaks per hour, for twelve hours, a total of one hundred and forty-four near orgasms, and one hundred and forty-for agonising punishments. My legs were tiring; I could no longer keep myself raised even that desperate inch above the seat, and as my muscles finally gave up the struggle I started at the depth of penetration of the twin shafts inside me. But I could no longer fight.

After what I estimated was the second hour, the twenty-fourth cycle, I was beginning to get delirious. I needed to come so badly. I was clenching down on the shafts as hard as I could, over and over, seeking release, but no chance. In fact the slightest shift or squeeze just made it worse.

I counted fifty cycles. Surely the thing must let up? But no—on, relentlessly on, up the slow climb to orgasm and then, just when it seemed I would surely come, the rhythmic pulse died away and the cycle went back to the beginning, and the pain shot through me, and the repetition began all over again, and again, and again.

In the darkness, I thrashed and begged, but that just made it worse too. My bonds held tight and the penetration was inescapable. After that, I stopped counting entirely, and stopped squealing, and committed myself to it completely.