The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Barry parked his car in the alley behind the church and picked up the backpack in the passenger seat. Carefully, of course—between the liquid accelerants and the igniter, the backpack could easily could blow him and the car to bits, and what a waste that would be. Explosions didn’t interest Barry; they were too quick, too violent. He liked the ongoing energy of a roaring blaze, the dance of flames, the color and light. If he wanted explosions, he would have gone into the family firework business.

Not that they’d have him after that incident with the truck. But good riddance to them anyway, to anyone who didn’t understand. At least in this line of work, he could get paid to pursue his passion, and how many people got to say that in this day and age?

Still. Had to be careful. This was a dangerous game, and if don’t blow yourself up was rule one, don’t get caught and don’t leave evidence were rules two and three. He closed the car door quietly, made sure his mask was in place, and took a step away from the car.

A giggle echoed in the alley.

Stay calm, Barry thought. Could be a kid out on the street or something.

“Hello, Mr. Fireman,” said a high, breathy voice, definitely the same that had just giggled.

Barry looked around franticly, but couldn’t see anyone.

Perched on the fire escape above him, MP grinned. You’d think in a city full of superheroes, people would learn to look up occasionally, but somehow they never did. “’Cept you’re not that kind of fireman, are you Mr. Fireman?” she asked innocently. “You’re not the kind that stops fires.” She giggled again.

Barry turned back to his car. This was sounding like cape shit, and he wasn’t being paid enough for that. But before he could open the door, a slender, slight figure dropped onto it, and he boggled.

The woman who landed in a crouch atop his care was wearing a deep blue trench coat, closed and with the collar turned up. Long brown hair tumbled from beneath her red fedora, and a black domino mask completed the classic vigilante ensemble. “Which I mean, I can understand!” she continued. “Fire’s pretty. But that’s why we have, like, bonfires.”

Carefully Barry set down his bag. She wasn’t going to let him run. But she was small, and he’d heard of her. “You really want to start a fight, Manic Pixie Dream Girl? Yeah, that’s right, I know who you are. Running around like a cape, but you don’t even have powers!”

She smiled. “I’ve got this, though.” And then she shot him. The gas pellet him in the chest hard enough to wind him, and then burst into thick, sweet-smelling smoke. He heard her giggling as she hopped off the roof of his car, felt her soft hands as she caught him, and then he was fast asleep.

Barry woke with a start and looked around in confusion. He was home in his apartment. How’d I get here? he wondered.

Slipping out of bed, he opened the door to the hallway and padded downstairs. It was still dark outside, but light spilled out from the kitchen to illuminate the bottom couple of steps, and since when did his apartment have stairs? He reached the bottom, turned to the right, and walked into his mother’s kitchen. This isn’t right, he thought.

“It’s funny, you know,” said Manic Pixie Dream Girl from behind him. “Everybody thinks I don’t have any powers, just because I don’t have anything I can use in combat.”

Barry gasped and spun around. She wasn’t there.

“But in some ways, I’m the most powerful Protector,” she continued. “Everyone else has limits. But under the right conditions... I can do anything.“

Her hand was ice cold on his shoulder and he couldn’t help himself. He shrieked. Instinctively he tried to hit back at her, to spin around again—but once again there was no one there. But in the window, he could see her reflection, right behind him! He spun again, but she still wasn’t there.

“Everybody always falls for the silly bimbo act, too.” She cocked her head to the side, widened her eyes, put a finger to her lips, and giggled. Then she dropped the finger, straightened, and continued, “See what I mean?”

“Wh-what do you want with me?” Barry asked. “Please, just leave me alone!”

“Barry,” she said, her voice silky and dangerous. “I want what you want.”

“I don’t—” he began, but then she stepped through the window into the room. As she did, she opened her trenchcoat, revealing the skimpy leotard she had on underneath. He gulped.

“Do you understand yet?” she asked. “Do you begin to get what I can do?”

“I... you’re offering...”

“It’s simple enough,” she says. “I give you sex like you’re never—heh—dreamed of. No strings attached.”

“What do you get out of it?”

She smiled mysteriously. “I’m a hero. Fucking petty scum I pick up off the street is absolutely, unquestionably wrong. And that is so fucking hot.” Her hips swayed as she stalked toward him. The kitchen seemed to dissolve away, and he felt the backs of his knees strike his bed.

“I’m no—” he protested, but she cut him off.

“You are. Petty scum. Just an absolute loser.” She affected another of those bimbo giggles. “Except tonight you’re a winner. You play your cards right, be a good boy for me, and I will blow your mind. Deal?“

He nodded impulsively. “Deal.”

“Good.” She pounced suddenly, and he fell back onto the bed with her on top. Straddling him, she asked, “Do you know what a manic pixie dream girl is, Barry?”

He shook his head. She was soft and warm against him as both their clothes dissolved. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear, “It’s a kind of character. A quirky girl who shows up in the male main character’s life and changes him for the better.”

She traced a finger idly over his chest and he shivered in pleasure. “In my case, though, it’s a little more literal than that,” she continued. “The pixie part, for example.” She bit his ear, hard enough that he yelped, and he felt his already stiffening cock go rigid in response. “I’m half fae, Barry. And you just made a contract with me... my good boy.”

“No,” he said. “I’m not—I didn’t mean—”

“Hush,” she said, and his voice vanished. No matter how he tried to speak, nothing would come out.

“You must have realized by now that you’re dreaming,” she continued. “And in dreams, my power is total. I can do anything I want, make anything happen... but only in dreams.”

She slid sinuously down his body. “And I do so love turning bad boys good. And the best part is, my powers don’t extend beyond the dream... but the bargains I make here do. You’re my good boy now.” She trailed her tongue slowly up his cock, from balls to tip, and then met his eyes with a scorching smile.

A whine escaped his throat, actually audible, and he tried again to speak. He still couldn’t.

“Of course you can still whimper and moan,” she said. “I like whimpers and moans. Good boys give me lots of them.” She stroked delicate fingers up and down his cock, and he couldn’t hold back the whimper. Couldn’t even try to hold it back.

“That’s right,” she said. “Good boy. And like all good boys, you feel so good when I call you the good boy you are...” He gasped as a flush pleasure swept through him. “Just like that.” She suddenly took the length of his cock into her mouth, ruby lips gliding up and down it, and he moaned.

She sucked, briefly, and then pulled off his cock with an audible pop. “Yum! And that’s right. Good boys love being good for their dommes, and you’re a good boy.” Pleasure. Her teasing fingers danced up over his abdomen to his chest, scratching lightly through the thicket of hair. “Tell me you’re a good boy.“

No, he thought. Even if it meant being allowed to speak again, he wouldn’t.

Her smiled turned from pleased to cruel in a moment. “Good boys obey.”

The words echoed in his head. He didn’t want to. But he was a good boy. (Since when?) He didn’t want to, but he was a good boy, and good boys obeyed, so that meant he was going to obey. Good boys obeyed. “I’m a good boy.”

“Yes,” she said. “You are.” And again that rush of pleasure.

Because she told me I would, he thought. And good boys obey. It made sense now.

“And of course good boys also don’t set buildings on fire.”

“Nnn...” he groaned. But I love fire. It’s my job. But I’m a good boy. But...

She frowned. “Resisting? You must really like fire. But, my silly boy, good boys don’t resist. They obey.” She swallowed his cock again, bobbing her head.

I obey. I’m a good boy. But—fuck that feels good! He clutched the sheets, struggling to think through the pleasure. I’m a good boy. I obey. Good boys don’t... don’t resist...

She popped off his cock again. “That’s right, my good boy.” He shivered in pleasure. “You obey. You don’t resist. And good boys don’t set fires.”

Good boys don’t set fires. I obey. I’m a good boy. “I... I don’t set fires.“

“Good boy,” she said again. “Now cum.“

He obeyed.

“MP,” Athena said as her colleague entered the control room of Protectors HQ.

“Hey, ’thena,” said Magic Pixie Dream Girl.

“Bring anyone in tonight?” Athena asked.

MP shrugged, her eyes wide. “You know I don’t like arresting people. It’s mean!”

Athena sighed. MP’s work almost never led to any arrests when she did it solo. But the areas she patrolled did see a drop in crime. She was obviously doing something right, even if all she ever seemed to do was flirt or tease or make bizarre pronouncements.

MP smiled to herself. Everybody falls for the act, she thought. Everybody.