The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The shopping center was about two miles from my apartment, and as it was such a beautiful afternoon, I decided to walk there for a change. The early autumn sun felt good on my bare face and arms, still tanned from a summer spent mostly outdoors—and on my breasts, warm beneath my purple sweater vest. A slight breeze ruffled my short black skirt and soft red curls, and I could feel my thighs brushing against each other, the thin hose making a soft zipping sound.

At the time, I must admit, I wasn’t thinking in such sensual terms. My memories have obviously been colored by everything that has happened to me since. It is no longer possible for me to think, or act, with objectivity. Sex and sensuality influence my every thought, define my every action. And I admit, somewhat biasedly, that I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I turned off the main road a block away; I’d heard somewhere that there was a shortcut to a side entrance, that avoided most of the traffic. Sure enough, at the end of the street was a narrow dirt path; and beyond it, the parking lot. But I paused for a moment; then two; then three.

What had caught my eye was a small neon sign in the window of one of the houses, announcing that a mystic named David was willing to tell me my fortune, no appointment necessary.

I’d never met a male fortune teller before; the idea intrigued me. And I realized that I was a bit tired from my stroll, and could use a chance to sit down before I wandered all over the mall. Before I knew it, I was ringing the bell.

Within half a minute, the door was opened by a good-looking guy, slender with broad shoulders, wearing a white poet’s shirt and black jeans. He had short dark hair and a goatee, and didn’t seem all that much older than I was. Until I looked into his eyes.

They were blue, deep blue; a purer blue than I’d ever seen before—or since. They made him seem much older than he looked. And they made me feel very small, but also very important, all at the same time. I’m trying to describe what there aren’t any words for; let’s just say that I couldn’t turn away.

After all eternity had passed, he stepped back into the hallway—and something changed, and I could move again. Sweeping his hand downward to invite me across the threshold, he said, “Hello. I’m David.” He spoke softly, but in a rich baritone that I thrilled me then—and even more so now.

Closing the door behind me, he added, “And you must be Portia. I’ve been expecting you.”

At that, I almost freaked. If he hadn’t been between me and the exit, I’d probably have bolted. Instead, backing up two steps, I stammered, “What the—H-how did you know my name?”

“Come now.” He barely smiled, but his tone was gentle. “Would you really have expected me to tell you about your future, if I couldn’t even lay claim to knowing who you were?”

Put that way, it made sense. Almost. I still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was being set up, somehow; maybe this David had seen me around campus, or else it was possible that we had a friend in common. But his soothing voice put me at ease—and I couldn’t shake the memory of those beautiful blue eyes. I decided to trust him for now; after all, I told myself, if I hadn’t wanted a mystical experience, I would’ve just kept walking.

There was a door on the left, and a staircase straight ahead. David opened the left-hand door, and led me through what looked like a small waiting room. There were a couple of chairs and some new age magazines; through the thin curtains, I could see the back of the neon sign that had caught my eye.

The next room was larger, but somehow more intimate. There were no windows; just some heavy, off-white curtains draped along each wall. (I would later learn that they helped to soundproof the room.) Some kind of backless, black leather sofa took up most of one wall; a sturdy bookcase, most of the other. In the center, two black leather chairs faced each other across a round wooden table maybe five feet across, covered with a thick cloth that exactly matched the drapes. On it was the traditional crystal ball, along with two white candles in brass candlesticks, forming a perfect triangle. The electric light in the ceiling seemed almost out of place.

While I hesitated in the doorway, David made his way around the table, to the chair closest to the crystal ball. As he seated himself, he said, “Please, Portia, make yourself comfortable. You needn’t take the chair if you prefer the divan.”

So that’s what the couch thingy was called. I thought about sitting over there; I was still a little spooked at him knowing my name. I decided against it, for two reasons. I didn’t want him to know I was freaked, and I wanted another look int—I mean, at his beautiful blue eyes.

“I’m good,” I replied as I walked over to the empty chair, the one closer to the candlesticks. My fingers brushed the soft leather, then the smooth wood; it felt as inviting as it looked.

As I settled in, my body suddenly remembered how tired it was. Without thinking, I closed my eyes and stretched, toes to fingertips, my back arched and my chest thrust forward. I held the position for a full fifteen or twenty seconds, longer than usual, enjoying the tension as it drained away.

When I opened my eyes, the room was much darker. “No big,” I thought. “I’ll bet he has a remote on his side of the table, to control the lights or something.” He smiled his secret smile again, like he knew what I was thinking; but he didn’t say anything.

I wondered if he’d been watching me stretch. It actually excited me a bit, the idea that he might have seen my arms twisting, my breasts pressing upward, my throat fully exposed. I grinned foolishly as I squirmed in my seat. He smiled back, and even in the half-dark, I swear his blue eyes twinkled!

He looked at the candle on my left; a moment later, it flared. I flinched; David chuckled. “Don’t be alarmed, Portia. It’s only a minor spell; a cantrip, really. Watch as I light the other one.” He stared at the unlit wick. His eyes flickered, and for a moment, seemed to go gray. Sure enough, the other candle flared to life, just like its twin.

From seemingly nowhere, he produced a cone of incense and a brass plate. He touched the tip of the cone to the tip of the flame, and it started to produce a thick smoke. He placed it in the dead center of the plate, and set the plate down in the exact center of the crystal ball-candlestick triangle. Then he muttered a short phrase I can’t remember, in a language I don’t know, and finished with a little puff of air.

I was amazed. The smoke from the incense formed a roundish cloud about the size of a basketball, and settled itself around my head. It had a musky spicy scent, at once totally alien and tantalizingly familiar. It was kind of sweet, not unpleasant, and while I had no trouble breathing, I could barely see David through the thick haze.

At the lowest range of my hearing, I thought I heard a slow bass rhythm, almost like a chant. “Is there a sound system in here?” I asked. “Where is the music coming from?”

He chuckled. “From within. Don’t listen for it, Portia. Let it come to you.” He paused, and I continued to breathe in the smoky musk, and not quite hear the music. He said something else I didn’t catch, and within moments, the smoke was gone.

I was too dazed to be surprised. So when David said to relax and look into the crystal, that’s exactly what I did. And when it began to glow, I took it in stride. And when he began to sing, and his song matched the one I was almost hearing, it just felt right. The waves of sound seemed to draw me forward, deeper into the pulsing, glowing crystal.

And when the globe sensed it had my full attention, the pattern shifted. Flickering lights appeared, dancing as if just for me.

At first, the patterns were simple: each color of the rainbow softly fading into the next. At the edge of my awareness, I could sense more than hear the change in the rhythm, as it slid up and down the musical scale. Was David still chanting? I couldn’t tell anymore; my attention had been captured by the crystal.

The colors, and sounds, began to take on variety, almost like they were telling me something. Subtle auroras and gauzy waves of color held my eyes, while my body pulsed to a soothing, irresistible beat. Mesmerized, I was helpless as the patterns shifted yet again, moving ever faster. My body twitched, but my eyes stared fixedly at the globe. I imagined David’s voice telling me to let go, to not resist. Or maybe it was the music.

Faster, faster, ever faster. The sound and light flowed; they were all that was real. I had no sense of time, of identity, of consciousness. I don’t know where I went, or how long I was gone. There was color, and rhythm, and an unshakeable conviction, that I should trust David, listen to David, and do as David says....

An eon later, the colors at last faded, the music quieted, and I became aware of myself once again. I took a deep breath, noting that the spicy musk had completely disappeared. The table had been cleared, and the ceiling light had been turned back on.

I asked myself what had happened, and had no answer. I felt slightly dazed, as if I were in a dream; my thoughts wouldn’t quite focus. My skin tingled, my shoes and hose felt uncomfortable. My breasts were full and tight, the nipples trying to press their way through bra, blouse and sweater. There was a familiar throbbing in the lower part of my body; in my mental state, it took some time to figure out that it was located in the center of my womanhood.

On their own, my legs began to flex and relax, flex and relax, stimulating an already erect and super-sensitive clit. My PC muscles kept pace, building the excitement, spreading the heat and wetness throughout my nether region.

Without thinking, I gathered up my pleated skirt, rubbing my palms up and down my inner thighs. I was so sensitive, that when one of my hands brushed against my pulsing nub, my hips jerked forward, even though hand and clit were separated by two layers of cloth.

I jammed one hand down the front of my panties and hose, while the other dug its way underneath my sweater and blouse. “Oh, wahhhh...!” The cry of passion was torn from my throat, as I began to stimulate myself with a vengeance.

I’d completely forgotten where I was, and even who else was in the room. So when David finally said, “Hmm,” I half jumped out of my chair. But my hands didn’t—couldn’t?—stop their attack, and I sank back into my seat, masturbating furiously while licking my lips and staring him straight in the eye. I didn’t have to say anything; my hunger was obvious.

“That’s a somewhat unexpected reaction,” he commented, just as I managed to finally push my bra up and away from my tender and swollen breasts. They were still hidden from view, but at least I could get at them and play with them, the way my desire (or was it the spell?) was forcing me to do.

“According to the notes, the ‘Limina’ spell was only supposed to free your mind and body, allowing me to guide you better along your chosen path. It didn’t say anything about releasing your inhibitions,” he squirmed in his seat a little, perhaps making adjustments down below, “especially such ... passionate ones.”

He stared at me, obviously aroused, but also trying to gather his thoughts. “I wonder.... Maybe your arousal is a necessary component of the spell. Let me try something.” He pointed behind me, to the backless leather divan sofa thing. “Portia, would you please stop playing with yourself for a bit, and go sit over there?”

A moment ago, I couldn’t have pulled my hands out from under my clothes; now, I couldn’t keep them there. Somewhat like a puppet on a string, I found myself lifted out of my chair, spun around, and marched over to the center of the divan. I sat there wordlessly, my clothes disheveled, my panties soaked and useless, and my clit and nipples still throbbing. I could smell myself, too: a rich, spicy scent very much like the incense that David had just used.

He was mumbling something I couldn’t quite hear. Then, without warning, my legs jerked forward as my black Mary Janes flew off my feet. A moment later, I felt a powerful tug, as invisible hands drew my hose and panties down and off my legs. Another set of hands attacked my sweater vest, forcing my arms upward as they yanked it over my head. Within moments, my blouse and bra had been removed just as efficiently, leaving me stark naked to his gaze—at last!

Still somehow unable to touch myself, I arched my tanned chest forward, enjoying the rush of freedom. My breasts bobbled, the erect nipples pointing upward in a way they had never done before. Then again, I’d never been this horny before, either. Without thought, my legs spread apart, farther than I thought they could go, exposing my curly red thatch—and the very obviously slick, swollen, and wine-red gash beneath.

Just as I was getting frustrated at not being able to relieve myself, David spoke. “I just want you to know, Portia, that I didn’t just undress you for my own pleasure; though I have to admit, you are even hotter now than you were before—and you were damn sexy before!” He grinned; I felt a wet spot form as my channel flexed, leaking pussy fluid onto the expensive leather.

“I’ve been thinking, and it seems to me that in order for the spell to complete itself properly, I have to be the one to bring you to climax. If you’d brought yourself off, that would probably have canceled out the spell; and as important as this is to your future, I couldn’t take the chance that you wouldn’t have stuck around long enough to let me try it again.”

With that, he started up his chant, pretty much the same tone that he’d used moments ago. Sure enough, I felt the invisible hands again—only this time, instead of pulling off my clothes, they were fondling and stroking my naked and helpless body.

Throughout David’s little speech, my body had held itself at a slow simmer. As soon as it felt those insistent caresses, the heat started to rebuild. “It’s only minor magic,” was my last coherent thought, as I arched upward, trying to press my skin into those maddeningly unreal hands. “Nothing to be, ahh, afraid of.”

Something twisted me sideways a bit; I fell back and closed my eyes, whimpering with pleasure. My nipples felt tight and crinkly, and the wet spot had grown to the point where I was sliding around on top of it. The musky incense smell had returned; I knew I was less than a minute from climax—

Another set of hands slid underneath my waist. These were different; they were actually strong enough to lift my hips off of the sofa. I opened my eyes; sure enough, it was David in the flesh, totally naked and gorgeous, and sporting the straightest, thickest cock I’d ever seen.

His voice had gone ragged, but he was still chanting; I still felt the other hands, tickling my clit, touching my inner thighs, stroking the small of my back and flickering across my breasts. He seemed to know just how close I was: the hands sped up, driving me closer and closer, as he positioned himself in front of my barely non-virginal gate.

And just when I was ready to cross the threshold, the magic hands disappeared—to be replaced instantly with one incredibly deep and very real thrust! It was enough; I climaxed, and I felt my pussy clamp around his monster, urging him to join me. His warm spurts were enough to set me off again; and even as I gave myself over to the pleasure, I felt the musk finally penetrate all the way inside of my head. I didn’t know what it was doing, but I knew that it was changing me. And I knew that, at last, I was ready to welcome the change.

As David explains it now, his bringing me to orgasm did turn out to be enough to complete the original Limina spell. But he hadn’t taken one thing into account—and to be honest, I think whoever wrote the spell book may have left that part out on purpose.

You see, because of our mutual climax, the thrust of the spell was somewhat—changed. David became tied to me far more closely than he’d obviously intended. Kind of like Pandora, he’d ‘opened my box’ and released my inhibitions, and there was no way to contain them; not that either of us minded that part, believe me.

More to the point, David had become somewhat more than simply my spiritual guide. I guess you could say he’d become, umm, extra-sensitive to my needs. Whenever I did look for guidance, he was there for me, sure—and his advice was always good. But it went further; a lot further.

For instance, whenever I was aroused, which was pretty much daily, he was often hard as well—and usually waiting for me. I’ve never had to wait on a meal; by the time I noticed I was hungry, the food was already on the table. That sort of thing. I didn’t exactly command him, though he was more than willing to do pretty much whatever I asked. Instead, it was like he knew me perfectly, inside and out.

Needless to say, I moved in with him within a month, and we made it official that summer, right after I finished my B.A. Eleven months later, I presented him with David, Jr.; two years after that, we added a daughter—who he, with his wonderful sense of humor, insisted on calling Mercedes. Both of them were blessed with my red hair, and my husband’s beautiful blue eyes. And, just like in the fairy tales, we’ve lived happily ever after.

Very happily ever after.