The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Listen to them – the children of the night. What music they make.” The delicate, silken voice seemed to slither through her mind. As if on cue the writhing, softly moaning woman heard several other loud cries join her own climactic scream, finally given release after hours of delicious, tortuous arousal. Her head rolled slightly on the bed of grass beneath her as her slightly unfocused eyes looked up at the night sky. The pale woman with those eyes, terrifyingly intense, lust filled eyes, her long dark hair and long white flowing gown waving wildly on the growing wind seemed to float above her.

As had become my habit of late I woke just after sundown, the moonlight pouring through the large double windows gave the room the most incredibly calming ethereal feeling, despite the ache of tiredness that filled me, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. I almost forgot that I’d had that same strange dream again, the same dream every night for three weeks, I’d never had the same dream even two nights in a row before, and it was so real, if I didn’t know better, the way I felt I’d have sworn it had been more than a dream, much more. I wondered what the point was of coming to a retreat if, despite all the relaxation, you felt more tired than when you’d arrived.

Stretching, I sighed softly as I climbed out of bed, my long sheer chiffon nightdress caressed my skin like a sensitive lover. Brushing the errant hair from my face lifted the soft material, lightly teasing my already sensitive breasts, I felt a slight tingling heat as the delicately thin material lightly brushed between my thighs. Why was everything so deeply and intensely arousing of late, even the deep soft pile carpet caressing the soles of my feet gave me reason to squeeze my firm thighs together. The seemingly ever present moisture dampening the deliciously soft chiffon pressed against my wonderfully sensitive sex.

I rose and started slowly padding toward the window, wetting my lips as I enjoyed lusciously soft carpet beneath my feet, I caught sight of myself in the full length mirror on the wall and stopped. Turning toward it I looked at the figure looking back at me and couldn’t help but wonder if that really was me, gone was the slightly plump, slightly saggy breasted, heavily tanned, mousey haired woman I’d known for so long.

The woman in the mirror seemed almost as ethereal as the room she stood in, long lush deep brown hair flowing freely in waves over her delicate shoulders. I could see her otherwise naked body beneath the pale sheer chiffon nightdress. Her slim arms with their delicate hands, the fingers with their slightly too long nails. Her full and firm breasts with their large pink areolae and deliciously sensitive nipples pushing at the thin cloth, her taught belly and perfectly slim waist. The sweet curve of her hips and the deep brown, neatly trimmed triangle above what she knew was a moist, pink, aching womanhood. And the long, toned, slender legs ending at her small, delicate feet.

I enjoyed the familiar feeling of deep arousal growing from my increasingly wet sex and flowing like furiously burning lava throughout my entire being. Not once did I question why, in the heat of need, my hands were not caressing my tingling flesh, nor did I wonder why my fingers hadn’t long ago slid between my thighs into the hot, wetness waiting to once more feel...something..

There was a glint of secret pleasures in my eye as I turned from the mirror, moving as if in a dream to the small writing table I sat and started typing into my laptop.

The Castle Retreat.

Review by Jennifer Harker.

I have to admit I was sceptical when my editor called me into her office and handed me this assignment. I mean seriously, who would think of building a retreat for women in a place like the Carpathian mountains, not to mention directly on the site of the infamous Castle Dracula?

Honestly, I had expected a large draughty and eerie castle reeking of damp and rot, how wrong I was. I have been repeatedly, more than pleasantly surprised.

The surroundings are stunningly gorgeous from the myriad of bright, vibrant greens and browns of the forests, to the incredibly crisp white snow peaks of the mountains that sit majestically on either side of the retreat itself.

The castle initially has the appearance you may expect in any restored castle, with its grey stone walls, high buttresses and even higher towers. Only if you look much closer can you see that the designers have very skilfully, and with great sensitivity, added and blended some modern touches and this, only to increase the natural light inside.

The interior, while keeping the overall feel of the original castle is no less stunning than the surroundings. The opulence and warmth of the tapestries, oak covered walls and beautifully restored artworks, to name but a little of what awaits the visitor, are both welcoming and relaxing.

Amid all of this it is almost too easy to forget the saunas, the massages and sun room. Then there’s the gymnasium, swimming pool and much more. And of course there is the the incredible abilities displayed every day by the chefs.

I finished typing and emailed the review to my editor at “Dream Life Magazine” with a pleasing thought, that should get the spa squad rushing to get here.

Though I couldn’t see it, I knew there was a wicked little glint in my eye to match the wicked little smile I gave myself. I stretched and sensed rather than noticed it was close to sunrise, rising from the little table I veritably floated over the carpet and slithered under the soft silk sheet. Within seconds I slipped into the deep, welcoming, almost deathlike sleep that had awaited me.

“My children of the night. What music you make.” The delicate, silken voice seemed to whisper from between her own lips. As if with her word the writhing, softly moaning women slowly raised their voices in a chorus of loud climactic screams, finally given release after hours of delicious, tortuous arousal. Their heads rolled slightly on the bed of grass beneath them as their unseeing eyes looked up toward the night sky. The pale woman with her terrifyingly intense, lust filled eyes, her long dark hair and long flowing sheer chiffon gown waving wildly on the growing wind seemed to float above them. A long wail joined the loud cries of the women below her as she bathed in the heat of their release.

Once again I woke soon after lady moon had risen from her rest. Though I had dreamt once again, I took pleasure in a tiredness no longer present. I felt the heat begin to rise within me once again. As I slipped from between the delicately sensuous silk of the sheets, I smiled and paused to listen. The soft music of winds rustling through the leaves of trees seemed to float into my rooms. I slowly stepped toward the large windows, I inhaled deeply as I pulled them open and caught the lush scent of nature, at that moment the wolves added their mournfully howling voices to the wild song.

Stepping out into the night I felt the blanket of grass beneath my bare feet, each tender blade a sweet caress. I sighed and smiled as I closed my eyes, the breeze began to whip my hair and I heard the light flutter of wings within the night’s music. In the pale light of the new moon I raised my arms and felt the breeze tug at the long flowing chiffon nightdress, like the sheer cloth I made no attempt to cover my nakedness from the night’s soft light. I felt the heat of rising desire as I opened myself to the secrets that drift through the darkness.

As I embraced the howl filled, windblown night I walked away from the false light within the castle. It was as if each caress of the wind swept through my skin, each slight motion of sheer chiffon sent tingles of pleasure to my core, fuelling the fire of desire which radiated from deep within my womanhood.

The wind and howls of the wolves grew more wild with each passing step, as it grew outside me so to did it grow within me. I embraced my need as I embraced the night, accepting the wildness within and without. Each step seemed lighter, less necessary until, as if freed by acceptance I felt myself begin to drift forward, no longer needing to step.

I looked ahead and saw them before me on their bed of thick green grass. I thrilled at the sight, a sensuously delicious mass of writhing sexuality. I licked my lips as I watched and felt them, lost in their need to pleasure each other. I saw them as if in the light of a hundred candles, each delicately curved neck, each soft and peaked mound of breast. I sighed with delight at every gentle curve of writhing, twisting waist and hip. Within my mind I caressed each rounded buttock, each strong, toned thigh. A low growl of lust escaped me as I inhaled the intoxicating aroma of a dozen aching, lust-filled women.

I rose above them, my long dark hair and flowing sheer chiffon gown waved wildly upon the wind. I looked down at them, seeing each subtle difference in their bodies as my own desire grew. I reached out to them and whispered in their minds.

“Now is the time my children, free your music for me.”

I felt their need thunder through their writhing, lust tormented bodies, each raising her voice in a primeval scream of climactic release. I shuddered and wailed with needful thirst and, as the thunder began to growl through the night sky, I began to drink deep from the well of their near insatiable lusts. As the thunder crashed and lightening cut a swathe through the darkness, I felt the energies of the night’s children fill me, I felt a strength unlike any other before.

It was a most delicious feeding. It has been said that none can compare with your first, this was indeed a most intense and delicious time and yet, perhaps I am unusual, but for me, each feeding is as delicious as the last.