The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I shake myself awake as I realize I’ve drifted off. Again. This time I’m on the southbound train, and by the looks of it, I’ve missed my stop. Again. I grab my phone to look at the time: it’s a quarter past midnight and I’ve got a few missed calls from my sister. Again.

‘Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!!!’ I say to myself—under my breath to not draw unwanted attention—as I throw my head back in frustration. Looking around though, I notice I’m the only one in this section of the train, and so I’m left with two realizations: I could’ve just screamed that out loud like I’d wanted to, and there should be at least a few other people on here. Sure, it’s the middle of the night, but I’ve had plenty of conversations with other third-shifters on their way back home over the years. Sometimes there’s only a couple more people and sometimes there’s tens of people; constants and variables: there’s always been someone else on the ride home.

But now, I’m all alone.

It’s a weird thought, and an even weirder feeling, so I try not to give it much real-estate in my head. Especially because almost as soon as I’m making this realization, the door to the car in front of mine opens, and in walks a cute chic wearing way too much. To each their own—the last thing I’d want is to police someone else’s body—but it’s the middle of summer; yet she looks like she’s about to go hiking in a blizzard. That said, the black fur coat does look good on her, and contrasts her white hair incredibly well. I try not to stare, but she’s got a heart shaped face with a jaw that looks like it could cut glass, and the glasses on her face complete her look perfectly.

I internally laugh at myself; I’m so damn tired that my mind slips and I think about how those look like porn star glasses. But only an incredibly immature freshman would ever say something as ridiculous as that out loud, right? So I just sit there quietly, pulling my attention away from the beauty that’s walking ever closer to me; hoping that it didn’t come across as rude how easily she grabbed my attention. I go to look out the window, and only have enough time to catch my reflection before my attention is drawn back to her.

“Is this seat taken?” She asks with a soft titter in her voice; before I can even turn my head fully—let alone answer—she sits down in the backwards-facing seat across from me and leans forward towards me. “Because it is now.” Wow she’s a weird one. Incredibly attractive, but still a bit weird.

“That must be a pretty comfy seat for you to want to sit in it specifically,” I try to joke with this stranger who decided to invade my personal space. Now that she’s leaning forward, her face is only a few feet away from mine.

“Huh? Oh!” She pauses, then cocks an eyebrow. “Well, yeah, I guess it’s a little comfy. But truth be told—now that we’re face to face—I can say with full confidence that it’s neither the comfiest nor the handsomest available seat in here.” She’s got a shit-eating grin on her cute face and… wait, is she hitting on me!?

“Lady, I literally just woke up from a nap, but I think I need you to pinch me so I know I’m not still dreaming.” I say, leaning a little bit forward—still with a good couple feet between us—and smirk back at her. “Maybe it’s cause I just got jostled awake, but my memory isn’t working too well. Maybe you can help me remember: Do I know you from somewhere?”

“Oh, we’ve never met before.” She leans a little bit back, but extends her left hand out. “At least in person. I’m Sira Lop, by the way.”

I straighten my back up and reach my hand out for hers. As I shake it, I feel a quick jolt of electricity; almost as if she were wearing a joy-buzzer. I can feel the hairs on my arm stand up, and the feeling runs all the way up to my spine. I blink my eyes and shake my head quickly—not sure what that was all about—and uncharacteristically of me: I pull her hand closer, lean down, and kiss her hand like some cliche excessively-flirtatious romance novel character.

“And I thought I was being forward!” Sira laughs a little, and I find it cute. She’s biting her lip, and I can see a slight blush spread on her face; although her face is pale—nearly white even—the blush looks nice contrasting on her skin tone.

“Normally I’m not so forward, but with the state of the world, why hold yourself back, right?” I give a lighthearted smile and although I’m still slightly caught off guard by everything, I let myself give into temptation, and chase this desire. “So which stop is yours? I actually missed mine, but I’d be more than happy to keep you company till it’s time for you to get off.”

“Oh I’m sure you’d like to keep me company until I get off, but why not walk me home while you’re at it? I only live a couple blocks down from the station.”

“And should I be surprised if you invite me inside for a drink once we get there?”

“Only if you want some hot chocolate. I usually make myself one as a night cap to help me get to sleep.” I can only laugh at the absurdity of this all, but I’m enthralled already.

“Hmmmm, tempting, but how do you like to make your hot chocolate.”

“Well,” she says, leaning a little forward, placing her hand on my knee, “I take some milk and chocolate,” she pauses to slowly work her hand up my thigh, “and then I like to get it all hot and bothered.” She keeps moving it till it’s almost at my crotch, but then she stops. “I make sure to savor the flavor before swallowing each mouthful until it’s all gone.” Suddenly she pulls her hand back with a slight snort. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. Anyways, no, I’m not some heathen who makes it with water. If it’s not obvious already, I have pretty good tastes in most things.” Which she finishes saying with a wink.

I’m honestly speechless, which is probably for the best. I keep listening to her ramble on about the most ridiculous of things, but it gets to the point that I truthfully start to zone out as I stare into her eyes. All I can do is focus on the fact that I’ve never seen that color blue; oh damn, am I hooked.

Her hand is on the side of my right shoulder. Her nails are sharp—black with pink tips—and I can feel them through my white t-shirt. Her face is closer than ever before, and I can tell now that her lipstick isn’t black, but instead a deep shade of sea green. Was she whispering in my ear just now? All I know is that her lips are moving, and so regardless, she’s definitely speaking to me now.

“Wait, what?” I shake my head again. “Sorry, what was that last bit?”

“I said this is our stop, Rowyn.” She laughs and her smile is delicious. Although it only sits in my mind for a split second, I briefly wonder how she knows my name.

I get up and follow her out the door, too distracted following her to thank the operator & wish them a good night; I wonder how much I look like a puppy on a leash. My eyes are on the ground, trying not to stare at her deliciously pert ass. Instead—while my eyes are down there—I finally notice her heels; they’re the only part of her outfit that actually seems appropriate for the weather. Black peep toe mesh wedges with gold accents, with the laces tied corset style.

It isn’t long before we arrive at her place. It’s nice; something tells me that the interior is actually hard wood and not just a vinyl layer.

“I’d say make yourself at home, but that seems a bit cliché to be honest.” She says, putting her coat in the hallway closet; the dress shirt & vest underneath land her somewhere between business causal & strictly professional in my mind. She continues while walking away and rolling up her sleeves “I’m gonna get started on the hot-chocky if you wanna relax on the couch.”

Which is exactly what I do. Although I can’t help but chuckle at her phrasing. Sitting on the couch, there’s a wooden coffee table in front of me with a few science and fashion magazines as well as a lighter and incense holder; it’s slightly ornate, stylized as if it were some squid tentacle that holds the stick. It’s been cleaned recently—or maybe it’s brand new—and so without any ash on it, I turn it over in my hand; enjoying the small artistic details. I think there’s writing on it, but it’s not a language that uses an alphabet similar to ours. I dismiss it as being a character based system.

“I see you found my burner!” She says, looking at me through the cutout ‘window’ between the kitchenette and living room. I sheepishly go to put it back on the table, yet she encourages me to use it. “There are some sticks in the drawer. Would you mind picking one and get it going?”

“Oh! Yeah, sure. Do you have a preference?”

“Nope! Please, you’re my guest; whatever you choose will be perfect for the occasion.”

She definitely has a way with words. As I open the drawer, I’m greeted by a few different boxes with interesting labels; their all quirky, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she named them herself. Eventually, I settle on the peculiarly named ‘Your Tied Hands Should Try Dancing With Mine’; seriously, if she named these, she’s got to have a fairly decent label maker for such long-winded titles. Anyways, I light the kinky sounding stick and waft it gently towards myself. It’s sweet—as if you soaked strawberries and peaches in a bowl of rose water—however after a little while I start to notice how it’s become a bit pungent; both off-putting and yet constantly drawing me in to smell it more. I can’t decide whether I’m actually enjoying it or find it distasteful to the point of driving me back. Normally I’m a decisive dude, but it’s causing a short circuit in my thought process. I wonder if this is what it’s like to experience sensory overload? Over the years, I’ve witnessed friends have all kinds of anxiety attacks caused by it, and yet I had no idea it could be this …intense.

Luckily, whereas that seems to be the border of my thoughts, I’m helped over the threshold by her returning me from my reverie with her “hot chocky”; although I’m still a bit zoned out, as if I’m getting a contact high.

“And here ya go! Sorry it took a little while, but it’s a whole ritual of melting the chocolate and infusing it with the cane sugar. Truthfully, it’s a slower process than I’d prefer, but by the time I’m done with it, it’s just a nice syruppy mix, malleable for me to use as I see fit. But once the hard part’s done, all I have to do is pour my cream into it, stirring it to make sure it spirals up and down, getting lost in the consistency of the drink.” She giggles, pausing to take a sip of her own. “Mmmmmmm, delicious every time, perfect to the last dripping drop I squeeze out of it; so what do you think?”

“Huh?” I say, as if there’s a delay between my ears, brain, and mouth. “Oh, right!” I grab the mug and take a sip. The first short one turns into a couple long ones as I enjoy the taste; letting it sit on my tongue for as long as my mouth can handle the heat. It’s got a little kick to it; I know spicy hot chocolate is a thing, so maybe that’s just how she likes hers? “It’s tasty, for sure!” I say with a dopey grin on my face. She’s got a grin on her face too, although I’d say it looks more malicious than matching.

I’ve gotten halfway through the mug when I’m finally hit with feeling drowsy. I was afraid of this, as I tend to fall into my bed immediately after getting home. I put the mug back on the table, and then she puts her hand on my shoulder again. I feel a yawn coming on, and fail at suppressing it.

“Sira, it’s been lovely getting to know you, but I should probably get going; I feel like I could pass out at any second.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. Well, it’s a good thing this couch is pretty comfy. Don’t worry, it’ll catch you when you do fall asleep.

“I’m not following.” Or at least that’s what I’d intended to say; I got halfway through the sentence—slurring it at best—before having my entire world fade to black.