The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


It wasn’t so much the dance that she performed as the way that she did it. Every step, every move, every sway was pure seduction. From the audience, she looked like a sultry angel. The spotlight cascaded around her lithe form, illuminating her pale skin and highlighting her dark, flowing hair. Every man in the place wanted her. That was how she imagined it. It gave her strength, and it gave her purpose. Her dance had more meaning when she imagined that her movements were getting a rise out of the crowd.

She looked out into the semi-darkness, scanning the faces who watched her. Some appeared drunk. Others were disinterested, or were paying attention to someone or something else. But one man caught her gaze and held it. Even through the smoky haze of the club, she could see his dark eyes staring at her. She almost thought she could feel those eyes, examining her body with laser-like intensity. A shiver ran down her spine. She returned her thoughts to the dance, letting herself get caught up in the fast-beating music. Her boss and her friends always told her never to get involved with customers. Not off-stage, and definitely not during a number.

She wrapped herself around a pole at one edge of the stage, sliding up and down with the pole between her legs. She clenched them together, grinding her crotch into the pole. With her hands, she squeezed her breasts together around the pole, reveling in the feeling of the cold metal against her hot skin. She closed her eyes and threw her head back, falling back while holding onto the pole with her hands. She heard the men cheer, like they always did, when she looked like she was lost in the lustful haze. The song was nearing the finale. Time to collect, she thought to herself. She moved her way along the edge of the stage, waiting for the men to reach up with bills, to put them into her g-string. She steeled herself against the touching she had to endure. Every feel they cop is another buck in my wallet, she reminded herself.

This was a particularly generous crowd. She could feel the money almost overflowing her barely-there outfit. If only she had more nights like this, she could pay off her bills, quit this business, and go back to real dancing. That was her dream. Pipe dream, she thought, shaking herself back into reality. The day she could go back to being a real dancer is the day she’d fall in love too. Neither one was likely to happen after the last time. The music faded, and she took one last look around the room. Her eyes searched the back corner, where she had seen that man during the dance, but he was nowhere to be found. Oh well, she sighed, I guess he got what he wanted.

Backstage, she pulled out all of the tips, threw down the stack, and put on a silk robe. Then she counted the stack. A lot of the guys were cheap, just stuffing singles to get their piece of her. But some had been good, with fives and tens. Then she got to the bottom of the stack, and was stunned to see Ben Franklin staring up at her. She had never gotten a hundred before. She picked up the bill and looked it over. It was one of those new bills, with the big portrait off to the side. She flipped it over, and she saw a note written on it.

“Dance for me again.”

The message gave her a shiver. She smiled slightly, and clutched the bill to her chest. It was the same feeling she got when she saw that guy in the crowd.

* * *

One of the things she loved about her job was getting to watch the sun rise right before she went to sleep. In the hour or so between quitting time and bedtime, while the adrenaline slowly worked its way out of her system, she frequently walked the streets around her apartment. If it were New York or Chicago or some other big city, she probably wouldn’t feel safe being out at night. But in suburbia, at 4:30 in the morning, she never felt scared about the night.

It was almost quiet. There were a few sounds of insects chirping, and the low whoosh of cars on the interstate could be heard in the distance. The only other sounds she heard were her own footsteps. And when she stopped in front of her building to look up at the sky, as the last stars faded away as dawn approached, there was perfect, unbroken peace. “Hello, my dancer.”

She jolted, turning to face the voice. It was him. The guy from the club.

“Don’t be frightened,” he said soothingly. “I won’t hurt you.” He smiled gently. She noticed also that his eyes, which were so focused and intent when she first saw them, were relaxing now. She wanted to believe him, and the more she stared into those deep, dark eyes, the more relaxed she felt. “What do you want?” she asked. Her voice was still hesitant, not quite ready to trust.

“I want you to dance for me. And I want to give you something in return.”

In her mind, that explanation didn’t sound right, or good, or anything like that. But there was something in his eyes which demanded that she believe him. That she trust him. And even something more.

“Please,” he said.

That was all it took. She never did take her eyes off him, or at least his eyes never let go of hers, but she smiled and nodded slightly.

And she felt that shiver again. This time, it was more, though.

It was much more.

* * *

Her apartment was pitch black. She had tinted windows, vertical blinds, and thick drapes. And she had chosen an apartment with an interior room which she used as her bedroom, so there were no windows to leak in the slightest bit of light. The room was smaller than she would have liked, but she didn’t lack for space either.

Without thinking, she led him into her bedroom and shut the door. She turned on a small lamp with a red bulb. She had picked it up in a hardware store. The bulb was meant for a photographer’s darkroom, even though she didn’t take pictures. She just liked the surreal effect the red light gave, and it seemed appropriate given the strange circumstances of his request. He sat on her bed and watched. Watched and waited, always with those eyes intently fixed on her. She felt like he was sending a message to her with his eyes, but she couldn’t tell what the message was. Instead, she just felt it, and she followed it on impulse.

She turned on her stereo and pushed the “play” button on her CD player. The high-pitched whir of the Savage Garden CD came up, followed by the fast, synthesized beat. The pre-programmed song came up, and she moved on instinct.

It was a dance she had performed a thousand times before, although never for an audience of only one. It was very different, stripping for a single person. She had been in a couple relationships since she started dancing at the club, but when those guys found out what she did for a living, they became jealous rather than understanding, angry rather than curious. Strangely, she thought, those guys were more upset that other men were watching her dance than they were happy about the idea of having their own private dancer.

This man, though, obviously had no such qualms. He watched intently, his face betraying only the slightest bit of... something. He didn’t look like the usual patron. He wasn’t leering or staring. If anything, she almost felt like she was being studied. Analyzed. But he had a strange upturn around his mouth, and his eyes were wide and attentive. She let herself get lost in the music. Every time she returned her attention to his gaze, she felt more and more like she did before, in that one moment. She was finally able to put a word to that feeling. Lust. Feeling his gaze made her hot. Her skin was warm, and her body was ultra-responsive. She was sure he could see how hard her nipples her, and she was sure he could smell the wet musk of her arousal.

As she danced, she removed her clothes for him. And in her mind now, she could hear him telling her what to do and how to do it. “Pull off your top,” the voice said. She followed the command.

“Take off your pants.” She complied.

“Now your bra.” She obeyed. Her breasts swayed free. She didn’t need any more instructions to know what he wanted her to do. She cupped her tits with her hands, pushing them together and kneading them. She was so turned on now that her own ministrations were taking her to orgasm.

“Not yet,” he said out loud. “Not until I say so.” He got up from the bed and knelt in front of her. He pulled down her panties and fastened his mouth to her sopping sex. His tongue plunged deep inside her, and her knees buckled from the stimulation. Her hands rested on his shoulders so she could keep from falling over. She whimpered repeatedly, each gasp louder and more forceful, but she did not climax. The jolts he was sending through her were almost too much to take. Finally, he released her, and let her topple onto the bed. He came down on top of her, hovering powerfully above her sex-charged body.

Somehow, suddenly, she knew what was next. Whether it was her mind or her body that figured it out first, realization came an instant later.

His dark eyes seemed to glow, and she watched with lurid fascination as his lips peeled back, revealing fangs. “Now,” he whispered.

As his sharp incisors pierced the luscious flesh of her breast, all her pent-up sexual energies exploded in a fearsome orgasm. Her body bucked violently, grinding her hips against his hard cock. She would have reached down to tear his clothes away if she could have, but he had her hands pinned to the bed and his mouth was fastened to her chest, sucking at the blood that poured from her.

White-hot ecstasy engulfed her for endless moments, and suddenly it subsided. At that moment, she knew so many things. The sun had come up.

Her life, as she knew it, had forever changed. And when she danced again, she would be the hunter, and her master would watch her dance with delight for all eternity. Her eyes closed, and she smiled at the thought. A shiver ran down her spine.