The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Theatre of Night

by Jay Petto

The balcony where I sat was bathed in shadows. They were but weak reflections of those Shadows whence I came, yet they suited my mood, as did the magician’s outfit I have favored of late. Above me and below, the theatre was revealed in haphazard fashion by street lights. The city’s name eluded me, but still I savored the nightscape as I did my cigar. The darkness is eternal for me; the Theatre of Night is my home and it is never seen before the sun sets.

Not by mortal eyes, at least.

It is the way of things that few people question our arrival or note our departure. In each new city, notices appear and people come to see a show. Most often these are mere trifles—displays of magic that are taken as trickery. Occasionally I put on something special, for audiences of a more unusual nature.

It was nearly two; dawn was several hours off and then the Theatre would vanish for a time. I wondered where our next stop would be—the old girl does like to wander. Perhaps Hong Kong—it had been several decades since the Theatre’s doors opened on those streets.

But there were things to do before then. I had made a discovery at that evening’s otherwise ordinary show, a new performer for Professor Darke’s Theatre of Night. She had been sitting in the audience, young, attractive, blonde and completely unaware of her hidden potential as a star performer. It had been obvious to me, of course—my title may be self-granted, but I pride myself on my perception.

Jenna—that was her name—would probably not agree with my assessment at first, but then that was always the appeal of recruiting new talent.

Her friends had gleefully urged her on when I called for a volunteer. You are no doubt familiar with the Vanishing Lady? She enters the cabinet, dramatic words are spoken, gestures made—and the lady is gone. The scene is repeated and Lo!—the lady is back. Applause follows, the show ends and everyone goes home.

But sometimes one of them comes back. Pardon me—is summoned back. What I have made to vanish, I can make reappear.

Leaving my perch, I returned to the stage and the cabinet that waited in the spotlight. It was time to indulge my more immature side. Out of habit, I rapped the sides first, gestured and only then exerted my will upon the universe. The doors swung wide.

Jenna sat unmoving in the open cabinet, blue eyes closed in slumber, her hair golden in the stage lights. She was dressed for bed, in panties and a long tee-shirt that almost concealed her voluptuous form. I caressed her cheek and smiled in anticipation of playing with my new toy. A snap of my fingers and her eyelids flickered as she began to wake.

“And here she is again!” I took Jenna’s hand and drew her forth.

Her eyes snapped open and she snatched her hand back. “What the hell? Where—how did I get here?”

“A magician never reveals his secrets.” I made a slight bow and flashed her a smile. “Welcome back to the Theatre of Night, my dear Jenna.”

She looked around uneasily. “You’re that magician from the show!”

“Guilty as sin.” From the way her eyebrows dropped, I guessed Jenna had a temper. The explosive ones can be so much fun. “Professor Darke, magician, puppeteer and general ne’er-do-well.”

“And kidnapper.”

“That, too. Oh, pardon me.” A quick movement of my hand and the cabinet, its work done, glided across the stage to the wings. We were about to need more room.

“Cheap tricks don’t impress me, buster. I don’t know how you got me here, or for what purpose—but whatever it is, you can forget it!”

“I do have some better tricks up my sleeve, but first—congratulations on joining my show.”

“Your ... show?” Anger warred with disbelief on her face. “As if.”

I gave Jenna a genial smile. “You’re going to be in my show whether you like it or not, my dear.”

Jenna angrily tossed her blonde hair back, then aimed a finger at me. “You can’t get away with a stunt like this.” she said. “I’m a grown woman and I do what I please! I’m an American! I’m ...”

I snapped my fingers. “You’re a jiggly little marionette.” Her clothes changed, leaving her almost clad in a silver g-string, knee-high stockings, impossibly high heels and full length evening gloves. Besides the new wardrobe, she also sported cute little pink ovals on her cheeks

Jenna stared in shock at her costume, such as it was. “What? How the hell did you do that? I demand you give me back my clothes!”

“And what a fetching toy you make”, I added. “Especially as a stripper—very modern.”

“I am not your toy—or anyone else’s, for that matter.” She covered herself with gloved hands.

“Really? Look up and tell me what you see.” I pointed above her, where an oversized marionette control waited patiently. “Know what that is?”

“Puppet controls.” She scowled. “But I don’t have strings.”

“How careless of me.” I snapped my fingers again.

The strings hanging from the controls lashed downwards, seeking out their appointed spots on Jenna’s lovely form. One touched each shoulder, two more seized her slender wrists and another pair sought out her knees. The last one touched just above her wonderful buttocks.

Jenna gasped as the strings coiled around her limbs, then began to glow. The excess line faded, as if drawn into her body. When the radiance died, she and the strings were indivisible.

“That’s not possible,” she cried.

“You see? Strings.”

“Take them off me! Right this instant!” She grabbed the string on her left arm. “It’s stuck on!”

“Of course—they’re part of you. How else should I manipulate my busty little puppet?”

“You bastard! I’m not a puppet and I will not be part of your sick fantasies!”

“Aren’t you? You’re made up like one; you have strings and a control—I wonder if it works?”

“Oh no—you wouldn’t dare!”

“There’s nothing to worry about—if what you say is true.” I gestured and the controls above responded. Her right arm jerked upwards as the line tugged on it.

“Hey! I—I can’t control my arm.”

“But I can—let’s see what else I can do.”

“No! Stop!”

I made more gestures and Jenna’s arms rose above her head.

“This can’t be happening! Let me go!”

“The pretty little puppet doesn’t want to be played with? She doesn’t want to dance?” My hands moved again.

Her left leg arched gracefully up until it reached waist level.

“Please, please don’t do this to me! I don’t want to be a puppet! Stop pulling my strings and let me move again!”

“Ah—so you admit you’re a puppet?” I made her lower her leg.

“I ... sort of.”

“But look at how you’re dressed—or should I say undressed? What sort of marionette has an outfit like that, I wonder?” There was something missing from her outfit, but I couldn’t recall what.

Jenna’s face paled. “Oh my god—you aren’t—you don’t mean ...”

“You must be a sex puppet!” Ah, yes—tassels! I leaned forward, blew on each nipple in turn and watched as a pasty, complete with tassel, appeared to adorn it. One must uphold community standards, after all.

She shivered in a most appealing way. “S-sex puppet?”

“The sort of toy who does erotic dances and then has her silly brains fucked out.”

“I can’t be your ... sex puppet!“

“You can be whatever I want you to be, Jenna. College student, puppet, sex toy. My desires shape who and what you are.”

“Oh fuck.”

“Not yet, my dear—not yet. We still haven’t seen how well you dance.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

I took hold of her breasts and gave them a few friendly squeezes. “Because you are the perfect toy for me to play with—my own little fuckpuppet.” My hands roamed around her firm young body. “Say it for me.”

“No, I ... I’m your fuckpuppet”. Her eyes widened. “I wasn’t going to say it! I could never admit that I’m just your busty little plaything—a helpless toy for your amusement. Oh, shit.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you can admit it or not, Jenna. All you have to do is respond when I pull your strings—and you don’t have any choice in the matter. Let me demonstrate.”

“Please, I ... oh!” Jenna wasn’t expecting to suddenly bow at the waist. “I don’t want to ....”

Her voice broke off as I had her pop back upright. This sent her luscious breasts bouncing in an amazing way. Before Jenna could speak again I began to really manipulate her, sending her on a series of jiggle-inducing leaps across the stage.

Jenna found herself spinning both tassels. “Stop!” she cried.

“Puppets don’t make demands”. I said with a grin. “You have no more say about being played with than any toy does. But you really shouldn’t try to lie to me—your body tells me the truth.”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

I had her prance her way back to me. “You’re starting to get wet, aren’t you? My little fuckpuppet wants to be played with before I put her back on the shelf. She loves the pull of her strings, needs the touch of my hands,” My hands traced her collar bone, then moved to cup her breasts again. “She aches to be used like the sex toy she is.”

“I—I’m just nervous! Stop saying these things ... I want ... let me go!”

I began to pull at the tassels, first right, then left, as if they were switches controlling her arousal. Note to self. “I really love your tits,” I said. “and you love it when I play with them, don’t you?”

“Yes ... I ... no, I won’t ... give in,” she said with a little moan. Jenna was obviously wet now.

“You’re a good toy, Jenna. A doll who can’t help but respond when she’s played with.”

“Mmmm ... ”

One of my hands found her pussy and began to tickle it. The other slid around her waist to embrace her. I pulled her close and whispered, “And dolls need to be played with, don’t they?”

“Yes,” she hissed as my fingers slipped inside her. “P-play with me.”

“And you know what puppets like to think about, don’t you Jenna?”

“N-no.” She shuddered as my lips brushed across her neck.

I whispered in her ear. “They—you—think little puppet thoughts—about being played with, having your strings pulled, being in a puppet show—how much you need these things and how happy they make you.”

“Happy puppet,” murmured Jenna.

“Yes, you are—but not an ordinary puppet. Do you remember what kind of puppet you are?”

“F-fuckpuppet?”

“Correct—and fuckpuppets need love. They want to be treated as sex toys. You crave that. You want to be groped and fondled, you ache to have your pussy—your empty, needy pussy—filled. Perhaps I’ll manipulate you into giving me a blow job—you’d really like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Y-yes!” gasped Jenna. “Will you?”

My finger traced the redness of her lips. “Puppets don’t ask to be played with, Jenna. They must wait until the Puppet Master wants to use them.”

“Oh.”

I grinned. “Actually, they don’t talk unless they’re made to.”

Her mouth snapped shut and broke into a happy smile; now Jenna could only respond silently to the pull of her strings. Only her eyes revealed her true feelings, a delicious mix of confusion, arousal and embarrassment.

Time to make her speak. I stepped back.

Jenna’s arms were tugged to spread wide. “Ta-da!” she said. “I am the number one fun puppet! You can make me do anything you want!” Her hands moved to cup and raise her breasts. “You’ve turned me into a jiggly marionette, so I can’t do anything unless you pull my strings!”

“And how does that make you feel, Jenna?” I let her answer me honestly.

“It feels so ... ohhh ... so good, but I ... I shouldn’t ....”

“But you will.” I produced a diaphanous white cloth from the breast pocket of my jacket, pressed all five feet of it into Jenna’s hands. I pursed my lips and whistled a few notes. She jerked upright, raised the veil before her and pranced several feet back.

“And now the tune to which you’ll dance.” I whistled again, this time launching into Love Potion Number Nine. As the strings tugged at Jenna’s body, her hips began to twitch. She dropped the cloth to peek over it, then shook her shoulders and winked. A quick turn followed, which ended with her facing away from me, her legs spread in a wide stance. Bare buttocks wiggled to the music, then slammed to the left as Jenna smiled at me over her shoulder.

Releasing one end of the cloth, she turned sideways and began to swing it back and forth, alternately hiding and revealing her face. Her hand suddenly released it to go sailing forth, and it fell in a heap on the stage. Another turn and she faced me again, her arms close by her side, shoulders and hips moving. The tassels began to swing, but were suddenly stopped as her hands were pulled onto her breasts. Jenna gasped as she was made to squeeze herself. Fingers tugged at the pasties; for a moment the adhesive resisted, then there was a quiet peeling noise and tiny decorations were thrown to either side.

My helpless marionette strutted closer, sank down into a crouch. Both hands returned to her breasts, then jerked down her stomach until they reached her g-string. Jenna’s blushing head arched back as her hands slid under the tiny garment and stroked between her legs. The gloves were obviously damp as they slid apart and ripped the g-string from her panting body. In one motion, Jenna bounded up, her hands rising over her head. The g-string went flying, leaving her totally exposed to my appreciative eye.

She took her bow as I finished the tune. “Please enjoy me in any way that pleases you, Puppet Master.”

“Oh, I intend to.” I raised my hand and Jenna straightened, pressed herself against me. Her eager eyes held no hint of resistance, nor did her lips when I crushed her to me. She tasted so good I decided to have seconds.

Another gesture, Jenna was raised off the floor and tilted backwards. The lines attached to her knees moved apart, causing her legs to spread and giving me an excellent view of her pussy. I relinquished control of her vocal cords—at least for certain sounds.

“You’ll enjoy this, too.” A few steps forward put me inside her legs; I leaned forward and breathed in the scent of her desire. Invigorating! One finger teased her for a moment before my tongue joined in.

Jenna’s pubic hair tickled my nose as the tip of my tongue found her clit and toyed with it. Her juices ran down my chin. Ah, to drown in such a sea! I moved my hands to cup her ass, squeeze it, press her up against me. Her nub got a brief respite while my tongue swirled wide. She moaned, a low noise that started like a purr, broken by gasps as her breathing changed. I could feel her spasms; she was nearly there, so I switched back to her clit.

Jenna stiffened and gave a cry as she came.

I pointed upwards. “Your sisters come to greet you!”

My other marionettes, dressed in the costumes of their respective eras, slowly descended on their strings into the light. I manipulated their smiling forms, walked them over to surround my newest plaything. Their hands reached out to stroke her glistening limbs, to caress her smiling face. Suzette, clad in her abbreviated maid’s uniform, bent at the waist to plant a welcoming kiss on Jenna’s lips.

Licking my fingers, I stepped back to enjoy the scene. Jenna was warm and beautiful and glowing ...

... And forever mine.