The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He’d left Helena at ______’s hotel, meme safely ensconced in her head, and by just after midnight he was back at the apartment, alone at last except for Suuori. Mister Talv had no idea where Helena was now, or the meme. He’d expected to meet Helena, sans meme, back in the hotel bar for a debrief, but she hadn’t shown up at all. He wasn’t unduly concerned; wherever she was, she was probably enjoying herself immensely.

Mister Talv’s apartment in New York was identical in almost every respect to the one in Tallinn, a familiarity he found comforting in times of troubleshooting. He wondered how Helena was getting on, and hoped she hadn’t got too sidetracked. Helena had taken some persuading to leave the apartment at all, let alone follow the plan. The meme, on the other hand had been fairly well behaved, and had seemed to be looking forward to a new experience.

“Helena, please take your hands off me,” he’d scolded her in the car. “You won’t have to wait long. Listen to the meme.”

“Mmmmmeme,” purred Helena, closing her eyes in some kind of joy he couldn’t read. “Lovely, beautiful meme.”

The meme seemed to have found a way of dialling down Helena’s instincts just a little, at least sufficient to give her enough self-control to get from A to B without jumping every man she met along the way; just as well, really, or it could be a very long night.

A sweet dose of delayed gratification; anticipation, mmm de-de-delicious delay, the meme had told him. Makes the build-up even more exciting for your empty little vessel, your Void-ridden succubus. It’s all I could find to work with...

“Stop using that word. Call her Helena, dammit.”

Make me. Make me, if you can, Karsten Talv. And that weird cackling again, a detuned radio.

The bar was absolutely packed, and there were only a couple of seats, sandwiched in between a very striking mixed race woman in a tight black dress and a rather less striking overweight businessman in a crumpled suit. Mister Talv made the suitable apologies as they squeezed in. He did the gentlemanly thing, of course, and Helena wriggled in next to the woman. He was minded to tell the sweaty businessman to fuck off and make some space, but now was not the time for a scene. So they sat for few minutes, uncomfortably squashed in, evaluating the situation. It was important not to attract attention at this critical moment. He hoped the meme would behave.

Helena twitched on her bar stool, unable to keep still, while he scanned the room for the target. It didn’t take long to spot _____’s entourage. Focusing in through the crowd, he saw they were parked in a sort of booth, a bullet-headed collection of thick-set men, their jackets bulging with who knew what firepower. He counted eight.

A further layer of gorillas was arrayed around the core group, and outside that, a layer of hotel security—all cordoned off by a red velvet rope. Behind all this he could see a door. And behind that private door, he knew, would be more security and the private key-coded elevator to the private floor at the top of the building; all access thoroughly denied.

He knew he had been right to bring Helena.

With a whisper of good luck, he released Helena like a heat seeking missile, and watched with interest the sway of her luscious bottom as she sashayed her way towards _____’s entourage, her eyes fixed on them like a huntress. All eyes followed her. The entourage was a tough looking bunch, he thought, but they would be no match for Helena in this kind of fight. Hotel security muttered and mumbled, but someone somewhere in the middle of the entourage must have said something, because the velvet rope was shortly unclipped, and she was in.

He edged away from the businessman, glad to reclaim some personal space, and watched discreetly from his perch at the bar as Helena practically lap danced them right there in public, whispering her sweet filth in their ears. Within minutes they were off and running, the obvious head of the security detail visibly undressing Helena with his eyes; very soon the door to the private accommodation was opened. The man led Helena through into the darkness beyond, closely followed by three of the others. The door closed behind them, and the remainder of the assembled muscle returned to their duties, eyeing the private door enviously.

Whatever happens, she’ll enjoy herself tonight, he thought. He sipped his drink and relaxed. Things were in train at last.

The athletic coffee-coloured woman next to where Helena’d been sitting was eyeing him with blatant intent, he saw. Her lipstick was very red. He flashed her a reflexive smile. She smiled back, raised an insouciant eyebrow, and waggled her empty glass. Mister Talv signalled to the bartender, the universal gesture that said ‘bring the nice lady a drink, on my tab’. She edged closer, slipped into the seat that had been Helena’s, and looked at him with dark eyes, almost black. ‘Sultry’ was the correct word, he thought.

“Why, thank you, kind sir. I’m Suzanna.”

“Karsten. Talv.”

He held out his hand, and she shook it. Her handshake was firm and dry. Maybe late thirties, early forties, he thought. He watched the muscles tighten under her skin, and thought of other muscles.

Four minutes had passed. By now, he imagined Helena would already be stripping off ready for action. She didn’t waste time on the pleasantries, Helena.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Karsten Talv. Are you staying here?”

He shrugged, as if it was something he sometimes did. “Not tonight, no.”

“What a shame. I am; the rooms are lovely. Your eyes are very green. And what do you do for a living, Karsten Talv?”

“Troubleshooting. Firefighting. That sort of thing.” He gave her his self-deprecating smile. That usually went down well, in his experience, and certainly much better at this stage in a relationship than the smile that said ‘do what I say or else’.

“Sounds intriguing,” said Suzanna. “Me, I run a hedge fund. Nothing special.” He imagined the exact shape of her breasts beneath her dress. They looked to be just how he liked them. Beneath the dress, they told him the woman was already very interested.

It was a blessed relief, he thought, not to have the meme chattering away in his head. He’d almost forgotten what it was like. She was very direct, but he guessed Suzanna wasn’t a pro, not that it made much difference. There might be time for a little innocent R&R, he thought.

Six minutes, now. Helena would probably be locked thoroughly in the throes of multiple penetration by now, and the meme should be well on its way. He calculated quickly. Four men, although there would be more upstairs, and with Helena’s capabilities in mind…

Mister Talv finished up his Martini, stood, and offered his hand to Suzanna. “Your room, then. We have three hours. Let’s make the most of it.”

Now, back at the apartment, he replayed the memory of Suzanna as one might replay a dream, as if it had been a dream, and maybe it was.

If she had been surprised at his speed of action, she certainly didn’t show it. It was Mister Talv who had been surprised that night, and more to the point he had surprised himself, and this was what concerned him now.

“Strip, please,” were the first words he said, up in her room; a standard opening line. “But leave your heels on.”

Suzanna grinned at him, unperturbed. “I always do, Karsten Talv.”

She slipped out of her dress, eyeing him as she did so, and out of her underwear too. She never broke eye contact, he noted; almost daring him. In her heels she was almost as tall as him. Yes, she was certainly aroused, he thought, and maybe she was used to making the running herself. Suzanna stood there calmly, her dark toned body on proud display. She indicated it with her hands. “You like? I think you do.”

He undressed, taking his time, in control. He walked up to her, so close now that he could feel the warmth of her. She made no move to touch him. Her chest rose and fell, her breath quickening under his gaze.

Protocol was straightforward from this point on, and needed no explanation. He would take the lead, take full control of the situation as always. There would be foreplay, of course. Various positions would follow in an order to suit the individual. If there was time, and if she was willing, which she probably would be, he might bind her for a while. In due course, satisfaction would be achieved for all parties.

But there was an idea in his head, nudging at him insistently, and he wasn’t sure where it had come from. There were images in his head that he didn’t recognise. A man crawling in the dark, blindly seeking; a woman, her eyes wild and unfocussed; insatiable hunger.

Succubus, he thought, and immediately wondered why he’d thought it, and then knew.

He must have spoken aloud, although he wasn’t aware of it; her beautiful brow crinkled slightly, and then she smiled. “Succubus? Sounds dirty, Karsten Talv.”

He grinned, startled, and improvised. “It is. It’s like a, ah, an insatiable, irresistible woman, feeding on sex.”

“Mmm. Insatiable I can be, for sure. And as for irresistible…” She eyed him, and licked her lips, just like Helena. “What do you think?”

She moved closer. Her nipples brushed his chest, and Suzanna sighed at the touch, and at the touch of his growing erection elsewhere. “Oh yes, you do think so, don’t you?”

Her dark eyes were wide, now. She smiled, slow and sensual. “Mmm, yes. I do feed on it. And I’m soooo hungry…”

He could smell her animal scent. There were images in his head. An ancient garden, overgrown with fruiting trees; low sun through branches. There on the grass, in a clearing, a woman straddling a man, her hips moving in unconscious rhythm, lost in ecstasy. A dark figure in the distance, indistinct. Now was the time for him to take control, he thought. Normally he would.

“And the one thing I want more than anything,” she continued softly, almost purring, pressing herself against him, “is to feed on you right now.”

She was a beautiful predator, he saw. Not his normal mode at all; but now new thoughts rose. Take control, he told himself, what are you thinking of? But then, what would it be like to just let her do what she wanted? A sudden alien urge to just go with it, yes, to go with the flow, for once in his life to let go, just let go, what’s the worst that could happen - What had the meme left behind in his head, he wondered?

He put his hands on her breasts, relishing the tightening of her nipples. Suzanna closed her eyes, and put her head back, humming.

Yes, she was irresistible. Why not just lie back and enjoy her, let her do whatever she wanted with him? Why not just let go?

“Insatiable…” murmured Suzanna. “Mmm, yes, I soooo need to feed. And you’re going to let me, aren’t you, Karsten Talv? You’re going to let me do whatever I want.”

She opened her eyes again, suddenly bright and focussed, and he saw she was ready, more than ready. Suzanna put a strong hand on his chest, pushing him gently but firmly towards the bed. For once, he didn’t try to take over. He didn’t resist. The woman grinned at him, lascivious, all full red lips and moist pink tongue. “Lie back, now. It’s feeding time.”

A sense of inevitability, then; the smell of another’s perfume, like flowers; the feeling of many soft hands pulling him insistently down. He lay back on the bed. She stood over him, and slowly lifted one long leg and put the point of her heel on his chest, pressing.

“All mine, now, Karsten Talv. I can see you’re getting excited.” She drew the spiked heel slowly down over his stomach to his erection, and stroked him there, from base to tip. “Are you ready to play?”

He must have said something in response, but he couldn’t remember it now.

As she straddled him, his strong hands on her hips urging control, control yourself, came strange unasked-for images, dreamlike: the blurry double exposure onto Suzanna’s dark face of another face, pale, the face of an angel perhaps; the sweep of warm wind through a distant room, curtains flapping like wings; then another face, equally beautiful, grey eyes flashing; then another, and another, scrolling past in an endless sequence, irresistible.

Smiling, she took his hands from her hips, pushed them down on the bed and held them there with her strong hands; she whispered to him then: “Do you think you can control this? Do you think I’m just some plaything? Do you think you can control me, Karsten Talv?” And with a quick sinuous movement she was tying her stockings around his wrists, and then deftly to the bars of the double bed. She stood over him again, hands on hips, her lips pursed. Suzanna bent and pulled something from her handbag. He couldn’t see what, but he knew very quickly, as she secured his ankles too with a spare pair of stockings.

Suzanna sat back on him, smiling, and very gently began to squeeze down there, her own rhythm, in her own time, at her own pace, watching him, slowly teasing him with her body. He watched the muscles in her belly tighten and ripple, and felt them do their work on him, outside his control.

“Oh, I can feel you’re getting desperate. Am I irresistible, now?”

“Yes. Irresistible.” He pulled at the bonds at his wrists, at his ankles, but nothing moved; she was good at this, and there was no escape. Do you really want to escape, Karsten Talv? whispered a voice, hers or his or another’s, he wasn’t sure. Everything felt blurred.

She leaned down and her lips brushed his ear. “You asked for this, didn’t you? You wanted this. Now you’ve got me right where you want me… or have you?” She laughed, and wriggled, sliding on him, teasing again, and he felt himself swelling further inside her, almost unbearably so. “Sucky, sucky, succubus,” whispered Suzanna, licking his ear, and then she leaned back, put her hands behind her head, and closed her eyes in ecstasy. As she rolled her hips, feeling the sweet slide of him inside her, she hummed joyously to herself; mmm mm mm mmm mm, a fragment of a melody, a soft French lilt; fleeting; the hint of an unheard channel as the dial turns, tuned in for just an instant, and then gone -

A moment of clarity; the meme must have been inside her too, taken that fleeting opportunity—maybe just a fraction of a second—while they’d waited at the bar—yes, the crush, Helena’s arm had brushed hers, as they squeezed in to sit, too close—but why? For a reason? For fun? Or just because it could?

Somebody said something then, with Mister Talv’s voice.

“Oh, yes,” she whispered back, “if you ask me, really nicely, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll let you come, first, just maybe… or maybe not. I could do this all night long. Which is it to be, Karsten Talv?”

Somebody said something else.

She rode him harder then, and faster, rolling her hips deliciously around him, then with obvious willpower slowing again, teasing him a little, tormenting him, and then a little more until he could barely stand it.

And then from somewhere, a whispered voice, a name: Lilith.

“Suzanna,” she panted, close now. “My name’s Suzanna, and don’t you dare forget it, Karsten Talv.”

He must have spoken again, without even knowing, as one talks in a dream. Lilith. What were these visions, these voices, he wondered distantly, as Suzanna finally let rip and went for broke, bucking and screaming on top of him, feeding, taking what she needed. Were they distant echoes of the meme’s long life story, left behind in its passage and now resonating on hitherto unknown frequencies? Other peoples’ thoughts, fantasies, stories perhaps, picked up and assimilated along its journey? What else was in his head, now?

And what was truly real, here? He wondered, as he finally climaxed inside her, as she squealed and writhed and clutched at him.

There was snow outside, then the flicker of sunlight, then darkness; the sound of gunfire in the distance; the sound of thunder; the sound of traffic, the sound of rain.

When he left, she handed him her card, and asked him—told him, really—to take it, and to call her when he was next in town. There was a feral look in her eyes which he hadn’t noticed before, but which he suspected would never leave her. Karsten Talv, call me. This is just the start. Think what we could do together.

He took her card, of course.

He did not give her his.