The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The young man, who was sometimes called Reaching Pine, looked up from his half-fletched arrow as he heard the sound of many horses trotting into the village.

“They have prisoners!” Called someone who was closer.

Along with the other young men, he abandoned his work and ran to see. The raiding party had returned with several young children, and most excitingly, three young women who were near the right age for marriage, assuming that they could be made to follow the way of the People. Such was the give-and-take of war: the white men had killed many of the tribe’s soldiers, and now the tribe had replenished its population from their ranks. The women and the children all looked so scared. All but one, who looked very angry.

That one had been carried across the lap of one of the warriors. She kicked and screamed, even with her wrists bound by leather cords. She was dressed in long, flowing, ethereal fabric, layers and layers of it. Her long, wavy hair was the color of golden morning sun, and her face was pink with exertion. The warrior let her slide off his knees onto the ground, and several of the young men and warriors laughed at the comedy of her flailing around in the pile of fabric like a felled bird.

The laughter ceased, though as she suddenly was on her feet and trying to run away from her captors—although she didn’t seem to realize that she was running deeper into the village, straight towards where Reaching Pine peered on silently. Surely she had little hope of escape, surrounded as she was by men on horseback, but Reaching Pine’s young warrior instincts, honed by years of playing games of chase with his brothers and cousins, flared up immediately, and he took four long strides, intercepting her and knocking her cleanly off her feet with an outstretched arm.

Reaching Pine rolled on top of her, grinning, holding her down, and turned to show the warriors that he’d succeeded. Before he could say anything, though, a fist flew up and knocked him across his jaw. He reached for her hand, but she started to squirm away from him. He was kneeling on part of her costume, but somehow she just slipped right out of the part he held, and she stood up, still wearing the shorter, coarser bottom layers of her outfit. He grabbed one of her ankles, and she fell on her face again. He climbed onto her back, and held her down, holding her more closely with her reduced costume. She started spouting a long string of angry words, and Reaching Pine recognized a few of them—soldier, gun, kill. These were the words most important to young warriors.

Reaching Pine turned, grinning again, and was somewhat surprised to see that the soldiers were not coming closer. In fact, the rest of the young soldiers, who were looking on in amusement, were still staring at the spot on the ground where he’d first brought the girl down. Most disconcertingly, there was a small flock of sparrows, which were hanging in the air, not moving at all.

He jumped to his feet, looking around. The entire world had stopped moving, it seemed, but for him. The warriors, the prisoners, the elders and wives and sons who’d come to greet them, all stood abnormally still. No, not all. The girl, the white-clad prisoner girl groaned and struggled to her feet.

“What have you done?” Accused Reaching Pine.

The girl looked around at the strange situation and didn’t seem to be very surprised. She considered his face closely. “Sky Spirit angry,” she said in the People’s speech.

Reaching Pine reflexively looked up. Could this girl really know the Sky Spirit? Had the Sky Spirit made everything stop moving but for the two of them?

Suddenly fearless and calm, the girl walked over to the nearest of the boy warriors. She reached out and took his wrist—Reaching Pine stiffened. But she merely demonstrated the immovability of the young man, pushing against him firmly. Reaching Pine approached as well, and pushed experimentally against the hard, unyielding skin of the other.

“Why is the Sky Spirit angry?” Asked Reaching Pine.

The girl searched for words. She obviously knew very little of his speech. “War,” she finally said.

Was the Sky Spirit really so displeased by the war? It was true, some said that the Spirits did not like how the white men had asked them to kill other white men. They had hardly been favored in battle. But what sort of punishment was this?

“Why?” Asked Reaching Pine, suddenly feeling very small.

For a long time, she tried to explain. They stumbled over words. He knew that hours had passed, but the Sun remained stationary in the sky. Who but the Sky Spirit could stop the very Sun? He felt very thirsty. She seemed to notice, and gestured for him to follow.

She led him to the place where water was kept inside a hide for drinking. She demonstrated how she could reach her hand through the water, close her hands around it, and then bring it up to her mouth to drink. He tried it, and the still water tingled around his skin like poison. He found that if he did not close his fingers tightly, the water would be like ice, hard but not cold. Then she demonstrated that she could also bring life back to food in this way, and even insects and mice.

He found he was very tired. He made as if to return to his blankets, but they were hard and unforgiving. So too was even the dirt of the ground, unless he pulled it up with his very hands. The girl provided the answer once more, showing him how to roll the blanket and bring life back to it with his fingers.

Inside his family’s house, he slept.

Many days—or at least periods of sleep—later, she was finally able to explain what she knew in The People’s speech.

“Some people can make the sky stop,” she said.

“Is it you?” He asked.

“I have never before. But my mother and father do.”

“How?”

“They do it together. They touch, and it happens.”

“How do we make it start again?”

“First thing,” she said, “you must help me.”

“Help you?”

“Get back to my people.”

“This is your People now,” I said, gesturing at the sleeping village.

She reddened. “It will never be. My place is...” she spoke the name of a place.

Reaching Pine considered. “If that is what it takes to please the Spirits,” he conceded, “then so be it.”

Together they loaded half of the prisoners onto a cart, which they painstakingly returned to life enough to pull it across the unyielding ground. They walked for a day, until they came to see a sight which made Reaching Pine’s blood boil. There was an entire army of the white men—more than there were people in his entire village. They looked grim, determined, angry. There would be little hope for the people if they were overrun by this horde.

“What of my people?” He yelled into the silence.

She stepped towards one of the men in the front. “This is my father. I will tell him if the kindness you’ve done and he will make them go back.”

“Why will they listen to him? He does not look like a warrior.”

“They will listen. He is very important.”

“Fine. If the Sky Spirit does indeed watch us, he will know if you lie.”

It took two more days to finish ferrying the frozen prisoners to a spot near where the white warriors were. They collapsed, sore from doing the work of a horse.

“So what now?” Asked Reaching Pine.

“Well, we’d better get far enough away that they won’t shoot you.”

They walked some ways off, and she turned to him. “First we must touch.”

He held her hand. He realized with a shiver that it was the first time he’d touched her bare skin since that first moment when the sky had stopped.

“Now,” she continued, “focus on the sounds that are missing. The wind, the trees, the birds. Think of life.”

For ages she continued to coach his thoughts, but nothing happened. They returned to the camp, and rested, and ate, and tried again, but nothing happened. For days, for weeks they tried all variety of ritual, but nothing happened.

She convinced him to take the very long walk to her home, in the white men’s fort. When they arrived, the girl shied away from a neatly arranged row of cloth-draped bodies—warriors fallen in the People’s raid, so long ago to them but still fresh to the frozen world. She led the way into the house, to a room filled with books. He watched with interest as she scanned the shelves, removed a volume, and carefully convinced the pages to open. She stared at it for enough time for the sun to move far across the sky, would that it could.

“I have tried everything,” she said at last, “but for one thing.”

“What is that?” He asked wearily.

“My mother tells me of when this thing first happened to her,” she said, “it was on the night of her wedding.”

“Yes?” He prompted, not catching on right away.

“It was when she first... lay with my father.”

His eyes widened and he seemed to look on her blushing face anew. Then his eyes narrowed.

“I have been deceived!” He shouted, “you are a Temptation Spirit!”

“A what?” She asked incredulously.

“A mischievous Spirit come to tempt me into losing the wife my mother would choose!”

“I am no such thing!” She insisted. “It is simply the only option we have left.”

“No! I deny you! I will resist you forever, until this foul dream ends!”

He ran out the door. She started to follow, but she had no hope of keeping up with his warrior’s legs.

For three years he was completely alone.

He returned to the sacred places where the elders sat. He meditated. He starved himself. He smoked sacred herbs, opened himself to the Spirits, blasphemously called their names to the sky. After a time, he gave up, and simply existed.

He aged normally. His body finished its growth. He became adept at returning life to things, even rabbits and fields of corn and squash, which grew strangely in the constant light. He was tempted to try to restore some other people, but his attempts at reviving a live deer were so hideous as to be unrepeated.

Not long after, his mother started to visit his dreams.

He knew where his mother stood—not far from where this whole ordeal had started. He’d visited her often. But she came in his sleep, and sang to him, like when he’d been an infant.

“I have met the white girl,” she said after a time, “she’d make a fine daughter.”

“But mother, she is a mad Spirit!”

“How do you know?”

“She tried to make me lie with her.”

“She is only doing what the Spirits tell her she must.”

“I would not lie with any but the wife you choose for me.”

“It is so chosen.”

“But mother, how do I find her?”

“She remains at the place where you left her. Take her a gift, as it is done.”

“And what do I call her? She has no name of the people.”

“Call her Yellow Flower.”

Outside the tent, the girl started towards her home, tucking the dreaming potion back into her pack.

He woke in a cold sweat, and immediately set to slaughtering his finest rabbits. A deer would be better but there was no challenge in killing a motionless deer anyhow.

When he arrived at the house, he found the girl, dressed in a pristine white garment he’d never seen before, waiting in the front of the house. He noticed that at some point she’d moved or buried the long row of dead men. She had changed, matured. She looked somewhat weary, but also somewhat more confident.

He approached her, as close as he dared, and held up the gift. She nodded. “Am I to be your Yellow Flower?” She asked.

He nodded solemnly.

“Then come, and I will show you that I know how to be a wife.”

It was strange being in the house with her. Something delicious was cooking over a fire.

“How did you know I was coming?” He asked.

“My mother came to my dream,” she told him, “she knows what the Spirits hold for us.”

She fed him, and showed him the fine shirt she’d made for him. Then she showed him to a room where a bed was laid for them. She looked at him uncertainly, but desire was plain in her parted lips. They embraced. It had been so long since either of them had felt any human contact that it was more intense than they had ever imagined.

Reaching Pine had talked with the young husbands enough to know what was required of him in a general sense, but he had always expected that his father or his uncle would tell him more before this moment. He touched her sun-touched body nervously, his hands trembling.

Yellow Flower had also heard some of what might be expected of her on this day-lit wedding night. She removed her dress for Reaching Pine, and all her layers of underthings, then started to undress him. She’d never seen between the legs of anything but a baby boy, and she was totally unprepared for what she saw.

Reaching Pine grinned. “Now you know where my name comes from,” he whispered.

The thing she beheld did indeed resemble the trunk of a tree more than what she’d imagined. She knew little of her own body, but she couldn’t imagine fitting his straining thing into any part of herself. He waited, his breath ragged, for her to proceed.

She leaned forward and kissed him again. He stayed still for long minutes, but then started to grow restless. His own instincts told him what to do. He pushed on her hips, trying to encourage her into the place where he could be inside her. She felt the massive head of the thing against her place, felt herself expanding, felt moisture spreading, felt her own weight doing the impossible, driving his thing inside her. It was briefly uncomfortable, but the sensation of fullness, of rightness, gave her a new sense of purpose.

Reaching Pine watched on in awe as this beautiful creature showed him what it meant to be a man. He’d stolen glances at nude mothers or young girls before, but he’d never seen anything like this moving feminine body, a body which was now his to do as he wished. And the way she took the length of his man-tool inside her, it was like some kind of magic, that she had a place inside her that could take the entire length of it.

She settled on top of him, and threw her head back, her namesake golden locks falling behind her head. He felt a strange sensation inside of her, and when he heard the sound that she made he knew that it was the sound in the night from the young husband’s houses, the musical, mysterious sound that the men grinned at and the boys whispered about, that made the girls and wives blush. He was now truly a man, the most powerful kind of man, and he felt his seed shooting with great force into his wife’s body.

It took a moment before he was able to notice the sound of nature resuming outside. Yellow Flower noticed as well, and crawled off him, leaning to look out the window. The sight of her bending over, though, led to another natural response entirely.

Soon, the winds had stopped again, and then started again, over and over before the long-overdue day was finally allowed to proceed.