The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Click, drag, click, doubleclick...red on black on red on black...

My lips are slightly parted, my eyelids frozen open. Only my eyes move—and my finger. Click, drag, red on black on red on black....

I really need to stop now; it’s eleven o’clock, and I have to go to work in the morning. But I have time for one more game. Red on black on red on black on red. I’m going to win this one. Click, drag, click, drag, doubleclick, doubleclick, doubleclick, doubleclick. The cards cascade, bounce, disappear: my all-too-quick reward for winning a round of solitaire.

Do I want to play again, the computer asks? Well, why not? Just one more game won’t hurt. Click, drag, red on black on red on black....

I read once that when we really focus on a task, like reading or writing or using the computer, our concentration approaches a kind of self-hypnosis. It pleases me to think of myself that way: numb, expressionless, enslaved to a game that rarely lets me win. My eyes are unfocused now, but that’s all right; the numbers and colors are burned into my brain. I know exactly what to do.

Click, drag, red on black on red on black....Damn, I’ve lost. Well, I can’t quit now, can I? I have to go out winning. Yes, I tell the computer, I want to play again.

The King in the center has eyes that move. They shift from side to side, watching me as I make my chains of cards. Left, right, red, black, click, doubleclick, drag, drag, drag. I really am getting sleepy now. My body feels like it’s full of lead, and my eyes keep trying to roll back in my head. But the face cards drag me back each time, back to the swirls of clothing—and the Monarchs’ imperious eyes.

I try to glance down at the corner of my screen, just to see what time it is, but I can’t make myself look away from the game. I have to finish, have to win.

Doubleclick, doubleclick, doubleclick. The cards cascade again, the beauty of their slow-motion dance wiping all thoughts from my head. Do I want to play again? Of course I do.

There is no sound but the click and tink of cards as they lock into place—or is there? Somewhere deep in the bass of my speakers is another noise: a whisper, a hiss, a cascade of meaningless syllables. The Kings and Queens command me to ignore it. Click, drag, click, drag....

There’s no question now that I’m in a trance. I can feel my whole face sagging around my open mouth and frozen eyes. My limbs are still heavy and useless, but they’re not filled with lead anymore. Now it’s sweet warm water, or maybe champagne. Certainly I feel something bubbling up from my crotch. Moaning with effort, I begin to shift in my chair, rocking backwards and forwards so that my inseam massages my clit. I don’t actually reach for it, though. I don’t want to break the trance.

Click, drag, click, doubleclick. I no longer have any desire to look at the clock. I am content to wait here, chaining my thoughts together and spinning them away into nothingness. Each lost game is a rebuke, a challenge to my dedication. Each win is a reward that whirls me deeper into trance. Red, black, red, black—there’s a deeper meaning here, I know. But my mind is still too full to grasp it. I have to concentrate.

Click, drag, doubleclick, doubleclick, doubleclick. My thoughts cascade away, bouncing off the screen and out of my life forever. Somewhere far, far away I hear a staticky whine: my modem. I’m going online, though I have no memory of logging on. Did I do it and forget, or did the Kings and Queens do it for me? It doesn’t matter. I am being rewarded. I have progressed to the next step. My free hand twitches, but I couldn’t bring it to my crotch now even if I wanted to.

Blip. An ugly gray window intrudes on my trance. It says something about a download and something about “virus-like activity,” but I don’t bother to read it. The Kings and Queens will tell me what to do. Following their command, I click the appropriate button and get back to my game. Meanwhile, the download commences in the background.

Click, drag, click. There’s something moving across the bottom of the screen now, like a tickertape stock report. I ignore it, rapt in the imperious eyes and faces of the Monarchs. I can hear them clearly now, although I still can’t make out what they’re saying. Something about red and black, and how it relates to me. Elecric pleasure spirals through my cunt. My body is trembling and I’m close to orgasm, but I can’t even rock now. I am frozen in place.

Click, drag, drag....Now I can’t even twitch my finger—but the cards are still moving on their own. I watch spellbound as they spin across the screen, and I shudder with each chink that locks one into place. My thoughts, I think, and watch them cascade yet again. But this time the Kings and Queens remain.

I stare at Them in awe: Their cold white faces and flashing eyes. Their voices fill my head, mentally petting me, soothing away the last of my will. i am not afraid. They are telling me the secret now, and it is this. my mind was full of busy thoughts, cards flipping and flapping, failing to line up properly. But They have swept it clean, and all that is left are the colors. Red is my body, and black is my mind. There is nothing else.

Thump, thump, thump. The beat at my clit takes over my whole body, shaking me so hard the wheels on my chair rattle. But i can’t move a muscle unless They let me, and my body is rigid with longing.

Meanwhile, something is happening to the mouse. It’s heating up, beginning to tingle in my hand. “Virus-like activity,” warns the computer again, but i click it aside at the Monarchs’ command. Now the tingle is moving up my arm. From the corner of my eye i can see tiny arcs of electricity, red and black, crawling down the mouse cord and up my skin. Rather than feeling frightened, i am elated. i smell sex and imagine the same colors are arcing outward from my pussy, but i couldn’t look down even if i wanted to. i shudder again, and hear a faint squelching sound. i’ve soaked the chair. Soon my whole body is crackling with red and black fire. Then the sensation moves up my spine and into my skull, where it brands its patterns permanently into my brain. i can’t tell whether i’m sighing or screaming or giggling.

The crackling tapers off but does not stop; They’re not done with me yet. But the voices in my head are much clearer now, much easier to understand. They are pleased with me; i’ve progressed so far without a hint of struggle. For some reason They find this very amusing.

i wait humbly as They discuss me among Themselves. At last a female voice speaks up: “I will take her.” Other voices rise in protest, and i listen raptly as they debate my fate. i am pleased that so many powerful Monarchs would wish to own me. But the original voice speaks more loudly and clearly than any of them. “I will take her,” She says again, and Her tone brooks no argument. “She is Mine.” The other voices fall silent, and their cards disappear from my screen. Now there is only Her. my head crackles with electricity as She burns Her symbol into my mind: a perfect scarlet diamond. Then She speaks again, a single, beautiful word: “Disrobe.”

i release the mouse instantly and pull my blouse up over my head, ecstatic at the chance to serve my new Mistress. The half-second when my view of Her is blocked is torture, but i would suffer any pain in Her service.

Thinking of this, i experience a flicker of hope: maybe She will reward me for my pain. But i quickly quell that thought; a slave hopes for nothing but to please her Mistress. Tearing off my bra i move to unfasten my jeans. It’s a challenge to get them off without losing sight of the screen, but i manage—knocking the chair out from under me in the process. That’s all right, though; i belong on my knees. i struggle out of the tight jeans, whimpering at the impediment of my shoes. Then my panties are off and i jerk to kneeling attention. Despite myself, i am pleased at how well i’ve performed. Maybe now She’ll let me—no, i mustn’t hope for anything.

And yet, there on the screen, is a new button. It says nothing but “please.” Surely this is a sign from Her.

Agreeing, i click it eagerly, only to find it replaced with, “please, i beg you.”

Yes, i do beg Her. Click.

“Please, Mistress.” Click.

“i live only to serve You.” Click.

“i am the lowliest of your slaves.” Click.

“my mind is yours.” Click.

“my body is yours.” Click.

“i deserve nothing, not even to come.” Click.

“Please let me come.” Click.

“Please, Mistress.” Click.

“Very well, then,” She says.

i shriek with delight, clutching the mouse with both hands and lavishing it with kisses. After all, it is the instrument of my Queen and i must demonstrate my gratitude. i plunge it straight into my slit.

Somewhere in the last few minutes the mouse has changed shape, but the ball is still there and i roll it across my G-spot, my juices foaming and sizzling with electric discharge. i orgasm instantly, my eyes rolling up just for a moment to catch the red and black fireworks inside my head. Then my gaze snaps back to the screen, while everything below my eyes jerks and mewls and convulses with ecstasy.

Gradually the crackling—and the seizures—subside. i press my lips to the monitor, careful to touch only the bottom of the image, and lick it lovingly.

My Mistress’s card swells to fill the entire screen. “Who are you?” she asks, and i pull back just enough to type my name, leaving the mouse where it lies within me. i am thrilled to be allowed to converse with Her.

“No,” She answers, and i sink instantly into despair. i have displeased Her. “you are the lowliest of slaves. you are a two. Who are you?”

Electricity crackles in my head again, burning away my old name and replacing it with the designation She has given me. My pussy flares with fresh pleasure. “i am a two,” i type gratefully. my Mistress is so kind to correct me this way.

“Where are you?” She asks, and i answer her eagerly, typing in my home address.

“This is your collection point, nothing more,” She tells me. “The Jacks will claim you and bring you to Me. Until then you will wait - and attend to My Scepter.”

The Scepter—so that’s what the mouse has become. my hands drop to my sides and my thoughts drift raggedly to the weight between my legs. i dare not look away from the screen, but from the corner of my eye i can see the arcs of light traveling down the length of the cord. A subtle throb, throb, throb tells me they continue into my body. i slip a finger inside myself, feeling the base of the Scepter, and squeal when It twitches in response. Then It begins to twist and swell inside me.

i do not understand what is happening, but because it is what my Queen intends for me, i am content. i flex my muscles around It and push It gently with my fingers, encouraging Its growth and pleasing myself in the process—though i dare not bring myself to orgasm without permission. Soon the Scepter has filled all the space inside me, and it oozes out across my nether lips, sealing off everything except its own crackling cord. But within me, it pulses with a steady low hum.

Again i drop my hands to my side. Then i wait.

Time is meaningless to me now, so i have no idea whether it is minutes, hours or days before i hear the scrape of metal at my door. The Jacks came prepared with lock picks, and soon i hear the door creak open. But i do not turn around, even when they take me by the arms and lift me back into my chair. i only see their arms from the corners of my eyes: red and black, clad in leather.

The Jacks are no more inclined to communicate with me than i with them. They work in silence.

i feel a sting at the outer corner of each eye, then pressure. It hurts a bit, so i concentrate on the Scepter until the pain passes.

Syringes appear, aimed at the inner corners of my eyes, and i feel a spark of unease. Will i be forced to look away from my Queen? i cannot move, but i struggle to remain focused on the screen as the needles pierce my tear ducts.

Suddenly my eyes film over, and wonder of wonders, my Mistress appears before me, hovering inches before my face. A Jack takes my chin and turns my head away from the screen, but still i see Her, that pale, haughty face and those robes swirling with the reds and blacks of my own empty mind. She speaks to me again, telling me that Her image is being projected from the back of my eyes onto the inner surface of the film over my corneas.

i thank Her silently for the gift. Now i can move and serve Her without ever leaving Her presence. i can even see the Jacks now, behind Her transparent image. But they are important only insofar as they are the agents of my Mistress’s will. i ignore them and go back to gazing at Her.

The Jacks are still busy. Now they have inserted tiny plugs in my ears. i relish the sensation of them burrowing, burrowing. When they fetch up against my eardrums, they whisper to me in my Queen’s own voice. Again i give silent thanks. Now i will never be without Her commands.

One of the Jacks reaches between my legs and tugs at the cord. It comes away easily, leaving the still thrumming Scepter lodged within me. Then they lift me out of the chair and stand me on my feet, where i sway, unblinking (the film over my eyes eases the dryness, though i barely notice). Then they smear depilatory cream across my head and body, removing every last shaft of hair. My Mistress informs me that only a King or Queen is worthy of hair, and again my heart swells with gratitude. She is so kind to correct me.

Now they begin to dress me, beginning with a tight black hood. There are no ear holes, but that doesn’t matter because i have my Mistress’s voice in my head. Likewise, there are no eye holes, only dark tinted goggles; but i have no interest in my surroundings. A round screen over nose and lips allows me to breathe, and the Jacks detach it briefly, to ensure my Queen has easy access to my mouth. She does, and they screw it back into place.

The rest of my body is bound as thoroughly as my head, as thoroughly as my mind. i do not move because i have been given no commands, but when the Jacks steer me, i feel the material (latex? rubber? PVC?) tug and hear it creak. i am cocooned inside and out, a thought which pleases me so much i flex against the Scepter again. It responds with a reassuring buzz. i am becoming just what She wishes me to be.

When every square inch of skin is covered, they lead me to a full length mirror to show me what i have become. Stick-thin stiletto heels thrust up against my black-bound legs, which draw my eyes on upward to my crotch—and the small round port marking the base of the Scepter. my breasts jut up and out above a corset that creaks at every breath. Above them, my head is a near-featureless blob. The eye- and mouthpieces are fashioned so cunningly that they almost disappear into the hood. But no one would notice them anyway, thanks to the huge, blood-red “2” which covers most of my face. Other than that, the only spots of color on my black-clad body are the diamonds over my nipples: one pair.

One of the Jacks produces a box with a long cord, which he plugs into the socket at my clit. At the push of a button, my crotch lights up again, arcs of red and black hissing outward to envelop my body. The bodysuit ripples, squeezes, melds with my skin, becomes my skin. my mind shorts out from all the electrical activity, and when i am rebooted, i have no memory of any life before this moment. All i know is that i was created by my Mistress, for my Mistress. i am Her slave, Her two. And i love her.

A Jack tugs on my leash and i turn, the cord slapping gently across my inner thigh. My Queen speaks again, a command that reverberates in all our heads, and together we march out the door.

The computer still hums behind us, but the mouse is gone.