The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She had had a wonderful time.

The event was fresh in her mind, yet the images came back to her if they were fond childhood memories, repeating themselves over and over like a good film. The fun and the energy found in the recent past kept her going, regardless of her lowering stamina levels. The reel played, and she saw dancing and laughing under the incandescent street lights and the thrum of bass. Mental photographs of running and screaming under the starred sky, grass between their toes. The trees in the park were shadows against a bright city landscape. The flowers in the fields vibrant and of powerful hues.

He took her out on a date, but instead made her feel alive—made her feel as if she were special. Then again, wasn’t this a fact of nature?

And yet, as the moon climbs higher; the familiar constellations of seven to eleven p.m. move away and new, unfamiliar ones take over the night sky; and the darkness starts to feel unwelcomed; she realised she wanted but one thing only. The night had reached that point that, regardless if you were safe and alone in the world without a threat in sight, you felt uneasy. It was time for them to part, sadly, and she did not want to. What she wanted was a question. She wanted him to ask it, so she could say yes.

Standing in front of his door they were, keys in his hands, her lips on his lips. He didn’t move, and she thought he was startled. She liked that—fewer things for him to think about. She parted, and looked only into his eyes, allowed him to look at nothing but her eyes; and she hoped, hoped and wished to hells above and heavens bellow that he understood! Understood the words the kiss had replaced! Her heartbeat was a drum of anticipation: what if the wrong words were uttered? Were there any wrong words? Yes; she wanted to. No; they should wait. Duality and indecision; confusing on their own, destructive when allied. Waiting, she held him there in that moment of eternity. She held him from the rest of the universe.

Decisions are paths—roads that diverge and twist and branch out in so many different directions one cannot hope to count them all. One decision, long ago, created the path that lead to this point in history, in this life, leaving what was undecided as a separate reality of its own. Somewhere in the multiverse a new, alternative universe was born; one where he had kissed her goodnight and left her to the night and cold and a walk of silence. One where so many things could’ve happened, where so many other possibilities would’ve given birth to an infinity of realities. But he stood before a diverging road and took one path, turning one reality into his universe and not any other. One decision, that brought them together.

Her desire was met, and a door closed, and she found herself in his home.

Her feet touched the warm floors. He whispered something reassuring and lovely, and then the click of a closing door echoed in the empty home. Darkness swallowed her in the blink of an eye and didn’t let go. She called out for him, and then felt his words kiss her ear. And just like it happened before, just like every time they explored the world at night and he kissed her, those very words made her legs melt and she fell and fell and fell and fell until her thoughts were no more and she wasn’t really there.

Darkness truly swallowed her then.

Slowly the world came into focus. Shapes that were not shapes took form. Feeling returned and the world was once more understood by the five senses. The air on her skin told her she was naked; the ghostly hum familiar to those who enjoy lonesomeness’s companionship told her she was alone in a silent room; the orange, flickering shadows on the ceiling told her there was a candle nearby; the scent of his skin and soap told her she was on his bed; and the taste in her mouth told her she had slept for long.

She sat upright, feeling her body move and pull, muscles waking and tendons remembering what they were supposed to do. She stretched and moaned before standing groggily. The room was empty, save for the bed, a desk where the green rested on, and a door. She wrapped her arms around her chest, trying her best not to shiver and not to give way into the feelings the increasing speed of her heartbeats foreshadowed. Her feet carried her forward, stepping on the coldness of the floor.

Inside the room she found nothing. And calling his name only helped her realise just how deafening that silent hum of empty rooms really was. It felt wrong to mutter a single word and break this reverie of silence; so she remained silent, and investigated the room for something that would shed light into her confusing half memories.

She found nothing discernible, no trace of anything. Not her clothes, not her prince charming, nothing. She sat on the bed, feeling the cold crawl up from the floor and into her legs.

Pondering, and wondering. What had happened? What manner of reality had she walked into when she chose to go out with him? She knew it was a wonderful reality, but one she had yet to understand. Wasn’t this one of his games; one of those interesting pieces on entertainment he concocted out of thin air, and made real with words of seduction and caresses to calm beast? Last time it had been similar, if what she could remember was to be believed.

On the wicker the candle burned, still tall. The wax melted, covering the brass recipient in lumps that took shapes unique to every beholder. Her eyes brightened and she perked up. A candle. A memory flickered, and she could see a similar light floating in front of her eyes, his voice soothing her, and then sleep.

Instructions.

She opened her eyes as if from a daydream. The fantasy was forgotten, the memory put back in the coffers. She walked towards the candle, now half its size. She took it with a smile, a smile of pride, a smile of eagerness, a smile that knew – or at least understood – what might come soon. The door didn’t make a sound as she opened it, and the shadows didn’t scream in agony as the candle’s light pierced through their immaterial flesh to give her a sense of direction.

She was in a hallway.

Right or left? Left or right? Which one would you chose, if presented with the riddle? One choice leads into a reality of whirring, electrical sounds. I know this, for a fact. The other choice leads towards a universe of colour theory, of sensation and burning. Neither road looked dissimilar to one another. They were tunnels in the dark, were shadows and promises dwelled.

If given the choice, which universe would you rather make your own?

Her flesh travelled in space, cold air kissing it, yet her mind was elsewhere. Around her, shapes of furniture looked menacing and like monsters out of Tales from the Crypt. Then again, in the dark, alone, with only a dying candle to light your way, even your favourite toy would seem menacing. But none was relevant. She didn’t accept the shadows, or the air, or the candle in her hand as being relevant. She had instructions, she wanted to be somewhere, and nothing could deter her from her goal, as no thoughts could form.

In time she reached another door; plain, uninviting, and whitewashed. Her hand hovered over the knob, stopped by this thought or that thought. Her questions rattled inside her head like a maraca, but a memory of his voice, of his soothing voice, and his Machiavellian games calmed her. The bombo in her chest returned to being a drum and she opened the door.

The candle died in a dance of death. It went out, and like that, the war of shadow and light was decided. Darkness enveloped her. She stood frozen, not wanting to speak, yet unwilling to hear more of that ghostly hum. In utter darkness everything felt like a dream. Her actions were second guessed; her thoughts were confusing; and she didn’t know, at all, if she was moving out of her free will or because an unnatural force played with her strings as if she were a puppet. Was the feeling of air touching her skin real anymore? Was the blood heating up her body hers at all? What was, and what wasn’t?

Darkness swallowed her once more, and silence enveloped soon after. The room was silent, too silent. Not even the ghostly hum could be heard. She was alone, with but the sound of her own heart and her own breathing to keep her company. She reached into the shadows to touch something. When had she let go of the wicker and the candle? Her ten fingers touched something warm and fleshy.

She heard his voice and smiled. She wanted to hit him, to hold him, to kiss him; but she felt him smile in the dark and then heard his whispering words and then she greeted the darkness once more.

Was she floating? Her feet were not touching the floor, and her back was not touching the velvet caress of a bed. Where was she? She could feel neither strap, nor rope suspending her in the air, yet there was this tickling feeling that something should be holding her. Her weight wasn’t concentrated on one point – it wasn’t supported anywhere by anything. She was floating. And she couldn’t see anything.

A lifetime of experience told her that her hand was in front of her face, with her fingers dancing to a tune she could barely remember. Internalized thoughts told her that her nails were this colour, that her skin was home to a thousand shades. But she could only see the grainy illusion of blood on her eyes. Or was it a trick of the mind, trying to make up for the lack of visuals? The reality she had walked into, was the dark.

She turned her head, hoping to see anything. She called out his name, but only an echo answered back. And after that there was nothing but silence. Silence and darkness. So silent thinking made her feel queasy. So dark that even mental images had a hard time forming. It was as if the darkness were sacred, and should not be defiled.

Droplets of sweat formed on every corner of her skin. Her heart beat in the familiar throbs of fear. She called out again in a voice that broke and shrilled. And once more she heard the taunting echo answering.

She didn’t know how long she remained there, alone, silent, suspended in the air as if she were floating. She swore she felt air brushing her skin as if she were moving, swimming, but it was a delusion. She spent enough time to allow her to get used to the dark. Long enough that the sudden cacophony filling the room was like lightning in a clear, sunny day!

She screamed as deafening music and shouts filled the room. Loud, painfully loud! Coming from everywhere and nowhere. Her hands found her ears, pressing tight, pressing hard. How did it go through her hands? Why could she still hear that hellish sound? Her belly trembled, as the bass and drum echoed inside her. Her heart beat faster, and her body produced the hormones of anger and fear. Blood boiled and she screamed for silence to return.

It took her a while to realise the only sound in the room was her own screaming.

She was once more, swallowed by silence. Yet the silence had changed. Wherein before it had been a scary, passive silence, the contrast between the shrilling guitars and this was stark. She felt shrouded, surrounded by enemies. The silence was abrasive and enveloping. It made her feel... it made her feel too much.

And it happened again. The horrible silence, followed by a music that would make Mars weep, that would make Morrigan cry, that would make Tyr sob. The silence that drank all of her thoughts, and then the sounds that brought into her mind a tumult and avalanche of stimuli so loud and hard that she couldn’t comprehend her own ideas. It burned every time. And it came again and again, every time worse than before.

Until the touch.

She was no longer waiting. Just like one does not wait for dawn, or the appearance of stars, she had stoppedd waiting. Floating in this inescapable darkness she had turned into the one reality. She knew the sound would come and would surprise her, and as such she didn’t need to wait and ready. Regardless of what she did, the outcome would be the same. She simply accepted the fact of her reality and found herself, more and more, losing the very ability to think about it at all.

Until he touched her.

It was soft, it was loving. It came from nowhere and it went down her back and made her arch it, and moan and smile. She knew that finger, she knew that touch; and she wanted more. Oh, how many nights had they spent together, touching and exploring each others’ bodies. Oh, how well did she know that feeling of his hands on her—and after all this time, the feeling was the sweeter. She called out his name, asked him to stay. The words bounced off walls and returned from an empty room. And as the last echo went dead, his voice reverberated her very being. He teased her! He said things that came from far of, and then finished sentences by letting his words kiss her neck. And those words... those wonderful, tasty words. They made her feel so good. So happy. It brought warmth to her entire body, balm to the soul, calm to the mind.

He whispered words that made her skin feel tighter than it was. He spoke things that she could not help but follow until she had no reason to not follow. Once he ran his hand over her legs, and he said something that made her close her eyes and feel as if leg was being covered by something delicious. His words made her forget who she was, made her realise who and what she wanted to be, and, once more, made her become the girl she had always been since the day they met each other.

Images of memories, the past coming back. This had happened before. Over and over it occurred, repeated itself until her mind was nothing like it had once been yet as untarnished as he had found it—she had but an inkling of recollection. She could feel the memories, but not drink them, not think about them. She didn’t know, yet she knew. She had always been what he wanted her to be, and that was who she wanted to be. The game had been played once, and the game will be played again.

The silence came back, and this time she smiled. For she knew, she understood now what the game was. His game. Another one of his games. She laughed in the dark, and it was sweet.

A tease came out of the dark. A kiss in a warm place. A kiss that made her squirm. From the dark his voice came, and from the dark it told her things so beautiful, so delicious, that she was glad her decision had brought her to this universe and not any other.

What path had he walked upon to make him make the choices that led him to this place, she couldn’t tell. What his reasons were, she knew he had explained to her, once, long ago. But those words were echoes of memories with no weight on the balance of her life. He had a reason to turn her into this beautiful being, and she didn’t cry out against it, didn’t complain, didn’t question it—because she knew it was as much her desire as it was his, and because he cared for her.

The teasing, the touching, the kissing and the waiting continued. Days? Nights? Months? She had no way of understanding time. Time was irrelevant, an abstract concept that had no space in her life. She lived in that moment, enjoying his weight over hers. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, a belt of slender beauty as his belt. She knew he was smiling, she knew how that face was twisted. And she knew that hers was no different. Her nails sunk into his flesh, her throat let out a wonderful sound, her skin was on fire. She felt him enter her, and she arched her back, and she let the pleasure enter her body and mind.

And then he whispered a word in her ear.

Her mind went blank, as pleasure wrapped its fingers around her neck and tightened.

Darkness swallowed her.

Light flooded into her world, painful at first, and then a relieve. She blinked and squinted until her eyes got accustomed to the light, as a newborn child gets used to it; so long had her descent into the dark been. Or had it? There was no way of measuring time in such places.

There was a room and she was in it. Slowly she remembered how to walk and how to wake up. She stood and felt something amiss. Was it normal to feel your own skin tighten as you move? Was it normal to feel so good in your own skin?

She stood from the bed and forgot about it. There was no space in her mind for beds, or questions about her skin, for anything at all. She knew what she was for. She knew what her mind was for. She knew what her body was for. He had whispered, he had told her the truth that night, which dreams made it seem a time so, so long ago. It was a truth that had taken her a while to accept, but she had accepted her in the end, thanks to the love he showed her; with those whispers and caresses that made her skin tingle and tighten and her lady beauty warm up, he had helped her realise what and who she had always wanted to be. She breathed in deeply, relaxing herself – it wasn’t yet the time to let her needs roam free. With every breath she could feel something tighten over her chest, over her arms, over her legs. Breathing made her skin tighter, and she liked it. It made her unable to think, and she wasn’t supposed to think.

Her steps were wobbly at first, but soon she remembered how to walk. She walked through a haze of red towards... towards what? What was she walking towards, and why?

The questions became irrelevant as she lay eyes upon the mirror. Oh, he had planned it. He was a devious man, and she liked it. He played her like a toy and had unwittingly helped him. And that didn’t feel wrong. It felt, as it should, like her own decision. But that didn’t quite matter, of course—he would play with her, because she was a doll. Nothing more, nothing less. She was a doll, his doll; and what do you do with dolls, if not play with them? Play with their minds and bodies and make them feel perfect.

She laid eyes upon her reflection, and nearly fell to her knees. She looked like a doll; without a face, without any feature. Her body was red, from head to toe, and no face. She had no features safe her red skin and her body itself. And the image, the powerful image of her entire body encased in tight, tight red, aroused her. It made her tingle inside and outside, it made her remember things he whispered, and it made her forget. Most of all it made her forget. The girl couldn’t look away, didn’t want to. She looked upon the reflection of the nameless doll and knew it was her, and that was all she was supposed to be. Who she had been before, who she had wanted to be; those thoughts were irrelevant. She was a doll. She obeyed.

She obeyed?

The doll’s stand was quizzical. Thoughts and questions swirled in her head. She was a doll, true, but did that mean she obeyed? She didn’t need to remember the girl she had been, or her name, or her memories; she only needed to know she was a doll to smile and feel fulfilled. But thoughts of obedience made her feel strange.

The doll looked at her image, at her shiny, red skin, at her silhouette of blood and felt no need to ponder useless things. She was a doll, and she knew it, and it was all that mattered.

A sound echoed in the room, but her instructions were clear. She was to look at her reflection and become the doll she had always been. Because she had always been a doll; a doll trying to be a woman, but a doll nonetheless. The sound neared and neared and the closer it got the harder it was for her to think of anything but her faceless, beautiful features.

He appeared on the reflection and she couldn’t help but to fall to her knees. His visage, his presence, and her reaction made her feel as if she had had a warm bath. It made her feel so good.

He ran his fingers over her tight, red scalp, over where a face should’ve been, over her neck and over her entire body. He smiled and stood in front of her and kissed her lips, such as they were.

He smiled and snuggled her close. His words kissed her ears and the question of before was finally answered.

She heard a voice that didn’t quite feel like hers whisper the answer to the questions he had asked, and to the questions she needed to hear. What he had said, he said it in a language only she could hear.

His features brightened with a smile. His face could’ve been that of a villain, for what he did; or it could’ve been that of a savior. But his face was the face of a man, and it was a face that expressed love and joy and, hidden under the doe-eyed stare of a man madly in love, regret.

“I love you.” He whispered to her.

Darkness swallowed her.