The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Amanda Lee silently closed the door to their favourite room, smiled wickedly at Eagle, and let the latch click into place. Along one side, stretching out to her left, Eagle had strewn pencils, pens, brushes, paints, stacks of comic books and blank paper. On the other, mirrors and a bar, as in a ballet studio, covered the far wall; in front of this, restraints and implements, benches, racks of costumes, recording equipment and a desk with computer were neatly arranged. The bliss room served both their aesthetic needs.

Eagle grasped the bar and began stretching, partly to avoid injury and partly to display his toned thighs and calves. He had changed to tights and mini-kilt, his torso bare, when they got home. No one at the convention would have known he was such a show-off. His simple shell-pink kimono had graciously yielded the focus to Amanda’s ornate “Gardens-of-Babylon” ensemble. The matching silk bow still adorned his wispy blond ponytail, which Amanda strode over to pull possessively.

“Messy room. Bad boy,” she reproved, forcing her supple partner to an upside-down view of his topsy-turvy work area. She noted with pleasure the tautness of his abs, the arch of his back.

“I love you,” he breathed. The simple sincerity of it caught Amanda off guard. She had expected a sulky comeback, egging her to punish him. She released his hair, stroked his close-trimmed beard as he sank to his knees.

“How did we get to be so perfect?” she wondered aloud, as Eagle buried his face in her voluptuous belly. She was naked, as usual. The avocado eyeshadow and pomegranate lipstick from her costume still graced her Persian features.

“Who’s perfect?” Eagle asked, running his hands over her ample hips and buttocks. “I’m a bad boy.”

“Yes you are and you are going to be punished,” she laughed. “I suppose you thought you could get out of it with that ‘I love you’ nonsense.”

He gripped her ass tighter and began to suck her inner thigh. She yanked him back by the ponytail. “That’s not going to work either. And what is this? Fancy pink bows are for good boys!” She unclipped it and tossed it in front of the appropriate dresser. Eagle’s hair spread across his wiry back and she greedily grabbed a double handful of it. She forced his head back and let the tip of her nose rest on his.

“Look deeply into my eyes now,” Amanda commanded. She was the epitome of relaxed strength, and Eagle yielded happily.

“Relax and keep looking deeper and deeper.” Her eyes were wide with lust, irises the colour of ripest olives, pupils dark as the desert night, growing. His turquoise eyes were like pebbles falling into a well with no bottom.

“Listen carefully. I am going to say a series of words. Relax and let yourself respond freely to each word that I say. When your responses tell me that you are ready to sleep, I will say the word ‘sleep’ and immediately you will relax completely.” Amanda felt Eagle’s breathing synchronize with hers, watched him twitch and blink in time with her phrasing. He was her best instrument and she had him tuned to perfection. She said the first word:

“Ready?” He murmured blissfully.

“seed”

“grease”

“horn”

“moon”

“swim”

“bite”

“Sleep!” Eagle’s eyes closed and he sagged against her. She guided him to a prone position on the mat, rolled him onto his back, and straddled him. The feel of his belly, firm even in complete repose, was a delight to her crotch and thighs. Amanda’s flower opened its petals and brought forth fragrant nectar. Her full breasts heaved as her nipples swelled. She leaned to whisper in his ear, gasping when those sensitive nipples touched his chest.

“It feels so good to relax so completely, doesn’t it? You are so pliant, ready to cooperate with anything I want to do. Just let your body sink deep down into the mat, and let all your power to move drain away.” He let his body melt, even as her heat and wetness made him hard beneath the kilt.

Amanda looked over at Eagle’s paints and smiled. This was going to be perfect. She whispered again, “such a messy boy——your things are all over. I’ll put them to better use.” Eagle’s whole body began tingling in anticipation of her mischief.

She sprang up and skipped over to the drop-cloth that protected the floor from her lover’s chaotic livelihood. The cover of Lovable’s latest issue gave her a thrill every time she looked at it. There she was, Empress Amanda, ruling her Empire of Harmony with an invisible silken fist. Her masterful social integration policies had made her adoring public absolutely content, each citizen finding it most rewarding to conform exactly to the law. Each and every one, that is, except the lone desperado, Eagle, her arch nemesis and the only lover who had ever satisfied her. Well, that last part was true to life.

Amanda hummed the theme of the surrealist miniseries the comics had spawned as she chose her weapons: red, blue, orange, and violet tubes of acrylic paint, a big brush and a small one. She skipped gaily back to her peaceful prisoner.

“Now you just be good and still while I make you all pretty,” she admonished. “Really I should be the painter. I do it better than you.” Pleasure washed over him: he knew she would make it awful.

Amanda opened the blue tube and squeezed a glob of dark blue paint onto Eagle’s large Scandinavian nose. “Your nose should clearly be blue. I can’t imagine why God didn’t think of it.” She corrected God’s error and moved down.

“I christen thee ‘The Good Ship Bluenose,’” she pronounced and wrote his new name in large, orange block letters in two lines on his chest. As an afterthought, she signed in red cursive, ‘by God.’ “I’ll give him the credit.” Eagle tensed in irritation. As an atheist and a skeptic, Eagle found this sort of nonsense unbearable. He found all nonsense unbearable, poor thing.

“We’ll put some nice blue waves on your tummy,” she continued. “And off with these silly clothes because I have to paint your penis purple. There!” Amanda admired her artwork. She gave Eagle’s erect penis a few extra teasing strokes with the soft brush. He moaned as it throbbed with pleasure. Then she added random blobs and swirls of paint on his arms, face, and legs.

“Now you look just marvelous! Relax more deeply and lower your inhibitions while I get the camera set up.”

Eagle rehearsed their script to lower inhibitions, feeling his intense aversion to silliness slip away as if a part of him were falling asleep.

Everything is acceptable…My thoughts fly swiftly to my body…No time to examine or block them…On and on it rolled through his mind.

Amanda had the video camera ready. “All set, cutie?”

“Mm-hmm,” he murmured.

“Good. Now when I count to three, you will remain in this lovely uninhibited state, but your eyes will open and you will stand up and face me. Ready? One…Two…Three.” Eagle stood, marveling as always at the strangeness of it, like being drunk without losing coordination. He smiled.

“Well aren’t you gorgeous? Now,” Amanda crooned as she checked the camera angle, “how much of ‘The Good Ship Lollipop’ do you know?” A ridiculous song——she bet he didn’t know any of it.

Without hesitation Eagle sang, “On the good ship Lollipop / it’s a sweet trip to the candy shop / where bonbons play…That’s all I know.”

It was better than she could have hoped. “Splendid! Just sing that part then, over and over, only say ‘Bluenose’ instead of Lollipop because it’s about you. And do some kind of dance, just as long as you keep facing the camera.” She hit ‘record’ as he began to sing, dancing as if he had a hat and cane, grinning merrily. Sometimes she wished he could be this playful anytime, but she suspected his intuitive grasp of narrative style was inseparable from his compulsion to suppress any thought, word, or action that fell short of that style’s rigourous standards.

She was having such fun watching her darling. If she said nothing, he’d continue until he got hungry or tired, or more likely thought of some really clever idea for the comic book. Finally she took pity on him.

“And stop. Well done!” She clapped and cheered. “Take a bow! Fabulous; take a stern.” He turned around and bowed again, showing his sexy ass to the camera. Oh, he was quick! He was the only one who could ever really get her like that. She stopped the camera.

“Come here,” she said. He was happy to obey. “Take a look at yourself, seriously.” She was only pretending to be serious herself. “What do you think you’ve been doing?” His fair cheeks began to turn red—so cute!

“Go and clean yourself up. Take the time to return to your usual self, then come back in here.” She smiled. “Don’t bother to dress.”

Eagle nearly ran to the bathroom, propelled by the potent mix of emotions Amanda had stirred in him. She watched him hungrily, then set up the bench and TV and dressed for the climax.

When Eagle returned to the bliss room, Amanda was reclining on the padded bench, right hand toying with one of the wrist cuffs. She extended the pointed toe of one black leather boot toward him, leg beautifully straight. Her left thigh lay alongside her soft round tummy, held in place by her leather-clad forearm, gloved hand stroking the stiletto heel of the other boot. Eagle admired the softness of the flesh above her right boot: this woman was not one to kneel. Her expansive thighs were bare; sleek brown skin pulled his gaze ever upward. Amanda was giving him an excellent view of her plump, succulent vagina and thick, black pubic hair. He felt an urge to bury his nose there, and in her tight, pink anus. His eyes traced the swell of her tummy——what a Goddess!——up to her large, luscious breasts, now covered by a red silk scarf that she had wrapped around them diagonally, leaving much of her chest in view. The scarf covered her arms down to the elbow-length gloves. Mounds of curly black hair adorned her shoulders and framed her heart-shaped face.

“You are truly the most beautiful woman in the world,” Eagle marveled.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” But she felt warm inside, knowing that he meant every word; he had once spent nearly an hour presenting his proof that this was objectively true. “Ready for your punishment, sinner?”

“Amanda, I really don’t like your casual use of religious language…” He frowned. “Actually, I should say ‘your use of religious language’ since it really has no use and I certainly wouldn’t want you to use it reverently, or ecstatically, or——”

“Oh, you’re so ready! Get over here!” She bounded off the bench and dragged him by both wrists back over to it. “Lie on your back——that’s it. Your head hangs down here facing the TV...” She straddled his chest to secure his wrists and head, letting him feel how wet she was. “…And we get your ankles nice and cozy in these cuffs here…Perfect!” She pushed ‘play’ on the VCR. He began to get an erection.

Grasping his penis like a microphone, she enthused, “we’re here live with Broadway sensation, Eagle Allen!” The painted, hypnotized Eagle appeared and began his hat-and-cane routine.

He groaned. “How do you come up with these things, Amanda?”

“Eagle, tell us about your artistic vision. What drives you to create a masterpiece like this?”

“Amanda be gentle please!” He was rock hard. She mounted him.

“Amandaaa!” His hips started bucking like crazy, lifting her boots right off the floor. She dug her nails into his sides at the waist, finding all the sensitive points.

“Oh God! Oh! God! Oh my God!” The words felt wonderfully dirty in Amanda’s mouth. She closed her eyes. Eagle screamed her name over and over, thrashing against the restraints in complete abandon.

“God!”

“Amanda!”

“God!”

“Amanda!”

Amanda began to come, lips pursing in tender, plaintive cries. Eagle relaxed, letting her control all motion. She rocked back and forward, panting, palms spread flat on his torso. He was in agony; the tape was still playing, violating him every moment, but he remained still. He felt he would explode soon.

Amanda reached down to finger herself to a second orgasm. Her soft cries and the tensing of her vagina around his shaft brought Eagle near the edge. The recording ended. Amanda pushed her gloved hand in his face, wet fingers stroking the hair above his lips. He inhaled deeply, her special fragrance mingling with the leather, then exhaled in a moan as he ejaculated. She lay against his chest, listening as the wild beating of his heart slowed to normal. The white noise from the TV annoyed her so she turned it off, then undid the restraints. Eagle rolled off the bench and curled up on the polished wood floor for a nap. She looked down at him fondly. What would she have done, Amanda wondered, if this beautiful man had never brought her into his world of suffering and desire? That reminded her that she had wanted to reflect on some ideas from the lecture they had attended at the con. She unlocked the top drawer of her desk and retrieved her journal, a sensuous leather-bound book with nice thick pages, and her calligraphy pen. Leaving these on the desk as a reminder, she went to take a shower.

Eagle soon woke from cold. The love of his life was well padded and hot-blooded enough to lounge around the place naked, but he’d have to dress.

First he’d clean up. The wet wipes Amanda used with her clients made that easy. Then he picked out a gold brief, tights and shoes, an ultramarine tunic and pink plastic apron. It was time to make dinner. On his way out he noticed the journal: he’d ask Amanda about it over the meal.

The kitchen was small, as were most of the rooms in their condo. Fully half of the space was devoted to the bliss room, which with a little work could be made perfect for every kind of entertaining. Eagle had painted homey Hobbit scenes on the formerly white cupboards and walls. The ceiling was a cloudless noonday sky, where a mated pair of golden eagles soared.

At the con they had played ‘Replicator’ with a Dutch couple while waiting for their real lunch in the hotel restaurant, though it was definitely not a Star Trek convention. One of the meals Amanda had dreamed up was chicken and chutney salad with garlic bread and white wine, and Eagle knew they had all the ingredients on hand, except jicama for the salad. He doubted she’d mind radishes instead. And it would be a nice occasion to try the Sauvignon Blanc Amanda had just received for Mother’s Day. She was Godmother to her best friend’s daughter, who had excellent taste in wine for a three-year-old.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Amanda could hear Eagle singing ‘Of Wolf And Man’ in the kitchen. The smell of chicken breasts in the oven made her mouth water as she returned to the bliss room.

“In wildness is the preservation of the world…So seek the wolf—” Amanda shut the door, cutting off all sound. One of the few drawbacks to this man she wanted to be with always and forever was his time of month. When the moon waxed full he’d be off on his Harley to Algonquin Park for a howl. A few days later he’d come back and by now everyone just accepted it, even the rangers when the park was otherwise closed.

‘Great and Greatest Control in Frank Herbert’s Dune’ was the title of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood’s lecture that afternoon. They were a fan group in the sense that the Klingons and Jedi Knights were——very fanatical, but nice. In Dune, the Bene Gesserit are an elite order of concubines who selectively breed to produce the ultimate deductive genius, a man who can extrapolate the fate of mankind based on existing data. Their nearly magical neuro-linguistic mind control skills and molecular-level mastery of their own bodies are their main assets in this struggle. The novel tells the story of one of these women, the Lady Jessica, who defies orders of the most paramount importance out of love for her Duke, whom she could easily control—or could she? The speaker, an Amazon beauty in a white robe, had argued that she could not, and hence the Duke really exercised a more subtle and powerful form of mind control over his Lady.

Amanda thought back to her first inkling that the scruffy starving artist with such apparent contempt for her work had been more than met the eye. She had been fundraising door-to-door. The neighbourhood wasn’t the greatest, but for some reason it had been on her route; well, they say the most generous people are the poor, she thought.

He had been dirty, disheveled, and smelly in old track pants and undershirt, yet strangely sexy under it all. There was no denying he had a great body.

“So what are you selling?” He’d challenged. “Goods? Services? Indulgences?”

One of those, she’d thought. Better be matter-of-fact. “Indulgences. I’m collecting for the Salvation Army.”

He’d looked her up and down, appraising her. “You do this for free?’

I work for an independent, not-for-profit company hired by charities to fundraise for them. I’m paid ten dollars an hour.”

He had actually seemed relieved by this. He had gotten a very strange look in his eyes that still excited her, as if he thought he were seeing a mirage. “Ten dollars an hour?” He’d asked.

“To fundraise,” she’d said firmly.

“How much to model?”

“What?”

“I want to draw you.” He’d taken a deep breath. “You see I do this comic book and it won’t sell and all the sorts of people who would read it say it needs a female lead and a new title and the next issue has to go to the publisher tomorrow and I’ve never seen a woman good enough for the role but I can’t seem to make one up and, and…You’re it! You’re her! So you can’t say no.”

And indeed she had not been able to. “Okay,” she had managed.

She had posed nude for two hours and he had paid her forty dollars.

“Right. Now get out so I can finish this thing,” he had said.

She had been startled by this after such intimacy. “Can I read your comic book?” she’d asked.

“It’s a free country.” His favourite expression, she had later learned.

“What’s it called?”

“Shit! I mean, it’s not called that. It’s called Dis-Integration, but people don’t seem to get that. Uh, what’s your name?”

“Amanda”

“What’s it mean?”

“Lovable”

“Perfect. Well, you’ve got your money——out!”

“You’re welcome,” she had said, as the door closed in her face.

Amanda smiled. He had learned such good manners and fashion sense in the last five years.

Had Eagle exercised a more subtle and powerful form of mind control over her? How much had the character ‘Amanda’ influenced her own development? Certainly she loved to play her alter ego. She had done the voice for the cartoon miniseries, opposite James Marsters. The actor had turned out to be a fan of the smart, psychologically intense comic.

She began to catalogue traits and events in her journal, loving the weight of the pen, the texture of the paper. She knew that she and Eagle were separable from each other, conceptually if not emotionally. She had a long list and was categorizing traits for analysis when Eagle called her to the table.

“Have you been having deep thoughts, my Love?” Eagle inquired as he poured the wine.

“I was remembering when we first met.” She sipped appreciatively and let her shoulders relax against the high-backed chair. It was not good to write too long without a break——this was perfect timing.

“Oh no!” He said in mock alarm. “I don’t think I can take another of your punishments.”

She laughed. “Relax. I punished you well for that one.”

“I was awful to you, wasn’t I?”

“Not really. The year of silent treatment afterward was infinitely worse. I was so lonely!” She started in on the salad, remembered loneliness reminding her of present hunger.

“I know and I’m sorry. I had to check up on you.”

“You had to stalk me, you mean!” During that year he had displayed phenomenal stealth in finding out what she would happily have told a casual acquaintance if asked.

“Sounds like somebody wants to play ‘Police,’” he teased.

“And I never realized it the whole time,” she marveled. “You were so quiet, like a wolf on the prowl. Even my voice instructor never heard you.”

“But you’d have caught me at the library if you could see over a bookshelf.” Eagle stood six feet tall to her five-and-a-quarter.

“Honey, remember what I did to you the last time you made a short joke?”

“My knees won’t ever forget it.” He was on seconds already: he ate like a wolf too.

She was silent for a time, mind and mouth both chewing. The tart mango chutney and radishes complemented the cool yellow pepper and cucumber.

Then she said, “Why did I never consider being this way?”

“You always wanted to be a therapist.”

“What I do is not exactly therapy.”

“I don’t hit myself anymore,” he pointed out.

“That’s true. I punish you much better.” She leaned over and filled his glass with wine.

“Which is what I was afraid of.” He downed half the glass. “I was so afraid.”

“I was going to get out the letter earlier, before dinner,” she said, remembering her astonished delight on ‘their first anniversary.’ “If I did, would you read it to me?”

In answer he began to recite:

“I, Eagle Allen, having succumbed to the ineluctable charms of you, Amanda Lee, and laying my liberty at the mercy of your love…”

Even after they had shared so much, been so deep inside each other’s minds, he was constantly surprising her. “You memorized it?”

“You know I memorize every contract I sign.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Even when the terms are unconditional?”

He laughed and drained the glass. “Especially when the terms are unconditional.”

“Then recite. Tonight you’re going to surrender all over again.”