The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

His sense of sadism satisfied for the moment, Kendall whirled the group rapidly through the remainder of the complex. Every nook and cranny was presented to the ever more impressed client. The new guy, Keith, seemed a little distracted, but Kendall was pleased to note that Cain’s newest client was getting into the spirit of the place. The pudgy scientist had his arms around Avril and was openly cupping and squeezing the steno girl’s breasts.

“Chet!”

Kendall turned; it was Klaw, followed by a maid carrying more drinks. “Please, have a drink.” The maid obligingly served them all but Avril. It was an unspoken rule that women at the Gilded Cage complex were not allowed alcohol unless male permission was granted. No one had bothered to let Avril have a drink, though Kendall was amused to see her staring longingly at the champagne being served.

“May I show you my art gallery, Chet? We have time before the night’s festivities.”

The scientist pinched Avril’s ass and leered. “Sure, Mr. Klaw—let’s see it. Got to warn you though—I’ve never been much of an arts lover.”

Kendall nudged Keith in the ribs, whispering “He’ll like this stuff!” The new man raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything.

The group entered a tall-framed door. On each wall hung huge oils of the most exquisite detail, with expressive characters and vivid landscapes—a wash of rainbowed murals and simple black ink sketches. All were devoted to the depiction of various states of female submission.

Jackson was clearly impressed. “Say, this thing with training women... it seems to be a bit more than a scientific or, uhm, business interest with you, Mr. Klaw. From the looks of your collection, it would appear to be a philosophy of life.”

Klaw’s steel gray eyes swung toward his guest. Kendall felt a moment of unaccustomed unease as the older man’s eyes took on a dark, purplish tinge. No doubt a trick of the light.

Klaw smiled. “Indeed it is, Mr. Jackson. Indeed it is. You might say that I take an historical view. There is a science, there is a business, there is an art and there is a philosophy to proper subjugation of the female. I am interested in all aspects. Look at the faces of the subjects of these paintings. They remind me of a favorite of mine from de Sade. You know de Sade?”

Jackson nodded. “That French guy, right? He wrote those books. A real pervert, wasn’t he?”

Klaw looked disappointed. “You are being hard on him. If you only knew, understood what things were like in France before the revolution. Why, we used to... but I digress.” He gestured at the paintings. “The faces,” he said. “Note the misery, the humiliation. Then consider de Sade’s words: ‘If the objects who serve us feel ecstacy, they are much more often concerned with themselves than with us, and our own enjoyment is consequently impaired. The idea of seeing another person experience the same pleasure reduces one to a kind of equality which spoils the unutterable charms that come from despotism.’”

“Despotism?” The pudgy scientist was unclear.

“De Sade was speaking of all kinds of despotism. At one level, he was referring to his own position and that of the aristocracy in pre-revolutionary France. Of course, all of that was changed ultimately, although the despotism of the rabble and that genius Monsieur Guillotine had a certain... je n’sais quoi...”

The look of confusion on Jackson’s face was almost comical.

Klaw smiled. “But, for our purposes, let us consider the despotism of sexual slavery. Let us start with ‘The Prize.’” He pointed at a painting. “See the wench captured by her new barbarian master? Look at the fear in her eyes. What will he do with her? Will he be kind—or cruel? It makes no difference—she is his now!”

Kendall felt himself becoming aroused. Klaw’s lectures on sexual slavery and sadism always had this affect on him.

“Or ‘The Subdued’—a study of training. See the slavegirl being taken for a walk? Like a newly captured animal, she is being tamed by her master—taught to crawl behind him—like a pet on a leash.”

“Hot,” Chet agreed, visibly pleased at knowing what Klaw was talking about, “real hot.” His hand slipped up his flesh and blood bitch’s skirt. Avril giggled.

“What’s this one, Mr. Klaw?” Keith asked.

“Oh—‘The Prancer’ Keith. A slavegirl is taught many skills—dancing provocatively for men is an important one. In this piece, a slavegirl is performing for men. But notice—they are ignoring her. The frightened expression on her pretty face is appropriate—if she fails to arouse the men, her master may beat her! This one and the first two were part of Pope Horatio IX’s private collection. The Vatican parted with them in the mid 80s during a credit squeeze—marvellous pieces. All by Fragellus, you know.”

“Let me guess—this one is ‘The Harem Girl’, right?” Jackson’s eyes were bright as he stared at the painting. His hand moved up and down under Avril’s skirt while the steno girl moaned softly.

“The ‘NEW Harem Girl,’ Chet. You see the veteran harem girl, the one responsible for training her, is now presenting her for the Sultan’s pleasure. Or the Sultana—the object of their attention is unknown.

Though there’s no doubt who possesses the girl in this next piece. ‘The Minx and Her Mistress’ are paired nicely. A proper English lady and her naughty ladies’ maid together for a cold winter’s evening—with nary but a whip and a minx for the Mistress to entertain herself with. You can see the Mistress resting herself, but judging from the marks on the maid’s back, she has been busy!”

The men stood, enjoying the intricate ink sketch. Avril closed her eyes, humping her crotch up and down, evidently on Jackson’s finger.

They moved on to another painting. “Now she has been let down and she is ‘The Caged,’ put away from the evening till her mistress or master wishes to use her another time. When will it be? She wonders as the darkness falls.

Or finally, my favorite: ‘The Chastened.’ The punished woman, panties pulled down to display her red, shamed bottom. She waits, the adult grown woman, like a child for permission to pull them up and return to serve—with an improved attitude. Whatever indiscretion she has had the temerity to commit, we the viewer can be sure from the chastened expression on her handsome face that she will never err in that way again! Delicious.”

Keith spoke up: “And who did these last sketches, Mr. Klaw? Fragellus?”

Klaw’s hard, needle-thin smile returned, with a faint blush of pride. “Why you flatter me. No—those are my own, Mr. Hynde!”