The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hey Klystron, gotcha a present!

Fireball! BOOM!

Look, reporter girl. Stay down. Stay behind me. Don’t get killed. I ain’t tellin’ this story twice.

Lightning Bolt, Snap-CRAK!

Way cool. PD can probably sell that cruiser for a tidy profit. Plenty of collectors will pay a tidy sum for abstract art, especially with super-villainess providence. Maybe even enough to pay for this wreckage.

Another Fireball! Ka-BOOM!

Just a suggestion, little police-people, but perhaps you should flee!

See Police. See Police Run. Run Police Run!

Run, that’s right, run! Oh dear. The Mayflowers haven’t fled and all the cops have. Well, I warned them. If they chose not to flee whatever fate may befall them is entirely on their own heads and not my responsibility at all. Absolutely Klystron’s stubbornness isn’t something I could be expected to predict after a mere eight years living and heroing with the Mayflowers.

You’ve underestimated me Klystron. Should have flown, because it’s been a picnic up till now.

Beware The Wizardess, because she is not-so-subtle and quick to anger. Well, suck on this, former league-mates mine:

Katie’s Spiked Tentacles of Forced Intrusion!

Do you think the name’s a touch too much, reporter girl?

I mean, I put a lot of research and development time into this spell and I damn well deserve to hang my name on it. That’s your entry into the spellslingers hall of fame right there.

What, you didn’t think I was christened (at all), or that I’m from the family, ‘Wizardess’, first name ‘The’ did you?

I’d not have made it five minutes before going evil! I mean, Katie’s bad enough… Ooh, Twister, shouldn’t have tried to fly just then. Your pretty ankle caught by a tentacle on takeoff.

No, that’s not my problem with ‘Katie’s Tentacles’. It’s that ‘forced’ descriptor. It’s not really up to me, is it? Once I’ve cast the spell, oh look, they’ve got Twister’s wrists now too. And ooh, they’re getting ready to tear that super-reinforced spandex off of her like so much wet tissue paper.

Those naughty tentacles, will Klystron be able to keep them from fun? And just how racy is Twister’s underwear? Tune in tomorrow!

So, back to my problem. It’s really up to Twister and Klystron, whether the intrusion’s going to be resisted or not, isn’t it? Though Twister certainly seems to be resisting. Yet her struggles just make the tears in her uniform grow all the faster, revealing more of her gorgeous alabaster skin with each passing moment.

Slaveslut! I need your tongue on my slit right frickin’ now!

Interesting materials failure fact. Once a certain critical number of defects have grown into tears, the material will suddenly and unexpectedly undergo catastrophic failure.

There it goes!

Aren’t her breasts just as smooth and subtly curvaceous as I said? Look how firmly the tentacles wrap them, tendrils caressing and teasing and pricking her nipples. Hard already in spite of herself—unless she’s decided to relax and have fun.

Those little tentacles, their spines are all prickly, you really feel them, when they press into your sensitive places. So it’s Klystron to the rescue, huh? Screaming in, microwaves zapping, to free her league-mate Twister. Pity there’s no water in those tentacles really.

Nothing for microwaves to affect you see. Oh, they’ve caught Klystron too now. Those clever tentacles. I wonder how long her uniform will last?

Excuse me whilst I push Slaveslut’s oh-so-naughty tongue just a little deeper.

Not too long at all apparently. Wow, such a thick tentacle, to be sliding inside her so easily, Klystron must just be sopping down there. Oh, and Twister also now. It’s just filling them completely. Mmm. I could wish it was me. The spines are about to rise, in them, pricking against the walls of their sex.

Don’t be ridiculous, reporter girl, of course it hurts.

But, you know, in that good way.

Must be a surprise for dear prissy Klystron. Those strong rippling muscles pulsing inside her. Spines rubbing as she struggles. It’s even better if you struggle just a little bit.

Believe me, I know.

Soon their pain will fade into more pleasurable sensations, restraining appendages will massage captive limbs. Not just sexual places. Tiny silken fronds will be spreading into their ears, tickling. Bringing them to the ambiguous border between almost pain and pleasure.

It’s even relaxing, being suspended so strongly. Almost like being in an immersion tank. Except that you’re far from sensory deprived, as you’re stimulated by quick, clever, spider-silk thin tendrils.

They can touch you anywhere. And they know just where to do so, to make you ecstatic. I made them that way, and it feels oh-so good. And if you’re a hero, so wrong.

When you’re a villainess such wrong things always feel so right.

Lucky women, Twister and Klystron. Rushing blood and pleasure will be swirling amid their thoughts. Listen. Can’t you tell by their unbidden moans? Would it be so wrong to rejoin my league-mates, just this once? For old time’s sake?

Uhh, ugh, oh, oh, ooh, mhnnmm. Yes, Slaveslut, yes, Oh YES! Mmm, thank you, Slaveslut. You’re a good girl. Have a hair tousle.

I suppose it wouldn’t really be appropriate to get not-raped by my own tentacle spell, would it?

I still have to go out there, of course. To make my getaway, but more importantly, because those two are stealing all my free media, even if it is a bit too x-rated for the evening news.

Eleven o’clock, maybe.

Time to go. You coming, reporter girl?

You’re media person. So picture this. Longshot, through the smoke of burning PD cruisers, tentacles wave. Two heroines, restrained and pleasured. Evokes the eroticism of horror in the viewer.

Suddenly out of her Starbooks cum-fortress strides the villainess of the piece.

Hey, maybe I can get an endorsement, huh? Evil global coffee-chain, evil villainess? Could be on to something there.

She’s all beauty, naturally tall, and taller in her heeled thigh-high leather boots. Shimmering dark hair cascades down her neck, curling charmingly around the tops of her breasts through the cutout in her armour.

Reflected firelight glints off her glasses. I’m a picture of corrupted innocence, librarian good girl gone bad. Slaveslut, dressed in the rags of her disguise, scampers after her mistress. A Floating Disk trails us. Poor, captured heroine ‘Trancica curled foetal upon it.

And behind follows a reporter, a career woman, her suit smart and just a little sexy, paired with sensible shoes and ruined hose. A few strands of plain Jane hair escape from her severe bun to frame her face enchantingly. Spare pencil tucked above her ear, spiral notebook in hand, her cute nose turns upwards seeking a story.

That is, if you’re coming, reporter girl.

I put my fingers into my mouth, and whistle. From the far side of the ring of PD cruisers, hoof beats echo against the tarmacadam. A heartbeat later, you can hear his snorting breath, on the long mikes. Then he’s visible, leaping over the incinerated wreck of a PD cruiser, centre frame.

Our ride and my friend: Nightmare.

He’s as black as midnight, carthorse tall and thoroughbred sleek, his eyes glowing crimson with an evil intelligence, but who am I to judge? Flames pour from his mane and tail, and fiery sparks dance from his hooves. A horse, in the same way Klystron or Twister are human.

That is to say, kind of.

A dry heat shimmers off him as I slide onto his shoulders. He’s so hot on the bareness of my inner thighs as I drape ‘Trancica over his neck before me. At his burning touch she shudders, moans at the prickle of his short hair. She’s finally quiescent and the mark on her forehead pains her no longer.

How many fans do I have watching through the cameras? How many more women wish they could be in ‘Trancica’s place, to be so stolen away?

Slaveslut at least achieves their desires, wriggling onto Nightmare between ‘Trancica and I, snuggling her head into the firmness of my leather armour, between the restrained swells of my breasts.

How many more watchers now wish they were her, terrible price or no.

Then I reach down and pull the plain Jane reporter up onto Nightmare behind me. Her hands are light on my shoulders at first, till, laughing I pull them down between The Sorceresses head and my breasts. This ride is going to be too wild for a shoulder hold, sweetie. Maybe the touch of her hands under mine on my breasts hardens my nipples.

That is, if you’re coming, reporter girl.

Nightmare rears, though we four are but a light burden for his strength, iridescent hooves pawing at the air. He’s as much a showman as I.

Villains and villainesses make our bones on our reputations. People should tremble at our names, children should hide behind couches when we come on the news.

And teenage girls should slide naughty fingers into warm dampnesses.

Then we take off, streaking past the tentacles still pleasuring Klystron and Twister. The wetness of their need coats the tendrils, pouring down like rain onto the talented appendages. In this moment their bodies are ragdolls, trapped in ecstatic bondages of flesh, my spell plumbing the depths of their pleasures.

If only Twister had let me do that for her before, maybe things would’ve turned out differently.

But maybe not, too.

Hey! Something’s kissing Twister, forking and bifurcating inside her mouth. I can tell by the bulging in her cheeks, the subtle movements of her neck as she sucks and swallows. The horny little witch. How badly do I want to join her now.

Unnoticed, my hand slides under Slaveslut’s rags, stroking the smooth skin of her belly. She moans, too quiet for the mikes to catch.

It must be terrifying, for the news crews. By tradition, they’re immune, but that must be a thin reed of a thought. Or maybe they’re just thinking of the ratings because this is the money shot.

Tortured heroines in the background, writhing in tentacles framed by burning PD cruisers, just soft focus enough for broadcast, just sharp enough to titillate.

The visceral feeling of Nightmare bearing down on you, through the barrel of the camera. The Wizardess astride his back, arcane power crackling between my fingertips, my captive, my chronicler and my willing victim co-riding this daemonic horse with me.

Then Twister finally noticing us spiriting ‘Trancica away, finding the will to spit tendrils from her mouth and cry warning. She and Klystron finding the strength to break free of their delightful bondage, and racing after us, flying only feet above the roadway, rooster tails of wreckage and rubbish leaping up in their wake.

Especially Twister’s.

It’s surprisingly easy, to slide your fingertips inside a girl, riding before you on horseback, though Slaveslut’s wetness certainly makes it easier. I doubt the camera’s will catch that. Though they should, with a good clear lens, see her throw back her head and moan into the sensitive skin of my neck.

Feels good.

Nightmare leaps, his hooves denting the roof of one of the news vans as he clears the cameras and anchorpeople in a single bound. I wink at a particularly pretty one, from WHDH Channel Seven, whose news I watch simply because of the way her skirt hugs her shapely buttocks.

Maybe she’ll wish to have gone into print, to be you, pressed up against my back, for the lust and the publicity and the scoop.

That is, if you’re coming, reporter girl.

Then we’re over, bouncing higher, from a shop-canopy igniting behind us, from a third-story balcony shattering plant pots into ruin, to a fifth story tenement roof and then, then we’ll be out of shot of all but the helicopters.

So how do you think that’ll look in the long shots, reporter girl? Good, huh.

Then let’s do it!

That is, if you’re coming, reporter girl.