The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I guess it was Jena’s big mouth that gave me the idea. Her corrosive sarcasm, her excessive verbiage (garbage may be substituted), her endless stories about NOTHING, her tone, her manner, her constant interrupting of others, her constant need to hear her own voice, her use of the royal “we”, her need to be the subject of every conversation, her... well, everything.

The sweet irony of silence. White noise. Whiteface.

It was like sticking a giant cork in an angry volcano of self centered verbiage, that was building to an ultimate explosive eruption of egomania. A little dab (bucket) of white will do ya.

I, myself (being a man of action NOT words) have found a channel for this bountiful unspent misdirected energy. One with many positive benefits. One I can share with the world. So much wasted effort, so much inflated ego, so much hot air, So much energy that...

Once, I even speculated that were her “mouth” energy harnessed it could power a wind farm large enough to power a small third world country. Ok, so that is a slight exaggeration. If you knew her you would know how slight. But then again you may have seen her around (not that you would recognize her), on a street corner or in a park, or the county fair. She keeps busy.

The sweet sweet irony of her silence.

I like to keep Jena busy. All that miming keeps her in shape, and it is a shape worth keeping her in. 36 D’s, hourglass figure, fiery lone flowing silky red hair, fantasy art body, long well toned legs, full pouty lips, exotic oval face and great big expressive green eyes... ahhhh. But I digress.

Remember the first time you wore white eyeshadow into public? It was the beginning. A fashion statement. The color was so you, the new you you were becoming. Glossy shimmering white. Mime white. White eye shadow? So Good, so soothing, a mask to hide behind. You get strange looks from passers by but you do not notice. They must have been admiring your ravishing beauty.

Funny how most people overlook this aspect of mime , uh mind control. The keeping fit of one’s “servants”. Fit and ready for, well whatever. Regular mime is very handy in this regard.

A slave just sitting around all day just waiting to please master is either A) gonna get to look like the Pillsbury dough boy pretty quick (sex don’t burn THAT many calories, or at least most sex don’t) or B) Gonna end up an anorexic skeleton without the necessary (very necessary) strength to put in a full session if you know what I mean. Yes yes I know, the world hates mimes. And to tell the truth I am in that majority. And this makes fucking one till they silently scream for you to stop all the sweeter. Ever seen a mime miming oh my god oh my god oh my god...it’s hysterical! And so was Jena (among the true haters of mime), she even had a real mime/clown thing. They totally creeped her out. They call it Coulrophobia . I guess it covers all performers in whiteface since there isn’t one scientific name I know of specifically for mimes.

Beginning to see? And better the idea that she would never be able to speak again except through gestures... ironic, ironic and perfect justice.

Remember that day you went to your favorite pretentious restaurant? They nearly didn’t let you in because of the dress code. Ahhhh, you didn’t understand. See anything wrong with your buffoonish attire?. You looked like a dolly with white cheeks to go with the exaggerated and ever expanding eyeshadow.

Had a little trouble getting the waiter to take your order? You didn’t even know you weren’t saying half the words but miming. How embarrassing had you known. Ah, that’s right you did. Poor Jena, flailing away... “trout almondine you fool, can’t you take a simple order?”

Mime eating mime. Mime swimming fishy’s and squirrels eating nuts. Mime a big tip. That’s right, mime the waiters hand up under your skirt for a quick feel, the waiter who put up with your idiotic miming of the menu earned it. The next couple he serves wonder if the special of the day is tuna, but that is not your concern is it? Mime Jena, mime your horror at what you just did. Mime the secret mime smile, the one for master. I will be pleased. And part of you is pleased to have pleased...

But I must admit this idea did not come to me all at once. It was something that time and events (happenstance really) randomly brought about. If life gives you lemons? Well life gave me... mimes and Jena. The perfect body (and she knew exactly how to maximize the use of her...ass-ets) and a mouth so foul, so ugly, so emasculating (one wondered why she even dated men) that it could make a guys manhood shrivel (hmmm... maybe wither on the vine would be more accurate) and full grown he-men cry for their mommies.

So why on earth would anyone stay with such a killer shrew? She could also bring life to the dead at a mere touch and make he men cry for their mommies (for a very different reason) when she kept her mouth shut.(Correction: When she did something other than talk).

What else was I to do?

Besides, if you’ve never had mime/clown sex you shouldn’t knock it. There’s an element of perversity that goes way beyond mere masks and makeup. A sense of something forbidden. To think of something so innocent/childlike as something to be made bad. Perverted. Ahhh, the wonders of the mind. And to make Jena BE something so twisted, so despised, so secretly something else altogether than what she seemed. She was the mime she feared. The one who was “something else” behind the smiles, the funny gags, the tricks.

Remember when it all came to you, what had happened, what you had donew, how you humiliated yourself, how you mimed in public and in our bed? And I calmly explained what had been done to you, slowly over a long painful period of time?

Remember how you mimed calling the police on me and they sited you for making crank calls? How you couldn’t stop miming when they questioned you and they called in a doctor to check you out? A psychiatrist?

Good thing I took responsibility for you eh? They were going to lock you away. For a very long time. Forever in fact. You couldn’t tell them could you? But we both know I’ll take much better care of you than they ever would...

She was smiling for another reason, she NEVER gagged, and brother did she know some tricks no mime on any street corner would ever perform in public, or private. Although she KNOWS I could make her become that serial clown any time I wanted. And she would not hesitate to obey. She could only watch in horror from “the little room” inside where I left her, free to watch but nothing else. That too is sweet. She knows. She watches. She does not protest, just performs with all her heart. The part of her that knows remains forever silent, the part of her that knows this is what she was meant to be remains gratefully silent as well.

Silence IS bliss.

Bliss is Jena miming that she wants me to use her. I love ravaging her... makeup, the touch the feel, like finger painting used to be. Like her whole body is lubed, frictionless, a canvas of perversion. Mime my ass she tells me. We don’t stop the makeup at her face or hands anymore, she is a complete mime/clown, but people who she performs for do not know what lies beneath her clothes. That she is not a mime, she is a mime completely. She is careful never to reveal herself, except to me.

Jena, mime a cock deep in your ass, now mime surprise at how big it is... mime it is a controlling rod and you are the puppet/ dummy it controls. Mime you want more. Mime you want it to pop out your belly like the monster in “Alien”. Mime whole body orgasms coming from your ass. I know you are not faking... anymore. You have mimed many times that you want to be my mime slave, need, only live for it. Where could you have gotten an idea like that? Mime you don’t know.

Remember the last time you wanted to resist? How you begged me to make sure you were never bad again? To lock the bad you (the independent bitch) away in the little room... in your mind, so the good slave mime Jena would never have to worry about bad evil Jena interfering again?

Now, Jena, Let it go. Mime terrible disappointment that you couldn’t take more of it. Get on your knees and mime tears. You are a sad slave mime who has failed to complete a task and expect punishment. That’s right, slave mimes don’t make eye contact.

Yes Jena.

Be a clown be a clown.... It is what you have always wanted. Tp perform, be the center of attention. All eyes MUST be riveted to you. You are in the center ring (at cocktail party’s, informal gatherings, when you are with friends, or on street corners) at the center of the universe and everyone must know it! Everyone must acknowledge your place... Everyone must see!

Remember your little mime demonstration at the open air market? So many fruits and vegetables, so little time. So many succulent flavors, so many textures. So many cops came out of nowhere... Personally I liked the “how to pick a ripe melon” bit the best. You made such hysterical use of the props nature gave you. The zucchini guy gave you a whole sack of them to take home. All different sizes. He hand picked every one.

But you are not a clown are you?

You are an annoying mime, a hated mime, the lowest kind of street performer short of a prostitute. Mimes will do ANYTHING for money, you’ve seen them, they are shameless, you are shameless.... But you are a prostitute mime aren’t you? One in training at least. I could pimp your miming ass out if I ever get bored with “exclusive use”. Mime gratitude that I don’t put you out onto the streets at night to “perform” for a few coins. Mime your heart out for me to keep that from happening. Mime me till your hands are wet and sticky, till you rub my hate of mimes deep into your creamy white mime tits. Mime more gratitude. Be thankful that you’re all mime.