The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Tell me a story, Kylos.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“For many, many reasons, Dheren.”

“Do any of them matter, though?”

“Well there’s the fact that, much as you may act the opposite, you’re a grown man and not a fussing child.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed my acting skills, after all? Father’s been paying for lessons, and I was hoping—”

“No, Dheren.“

“But why? You’re a storyteller. You tell the best stories out of any of them—is it because I’m not magic?“

“Everyone is magical, Dheren. Some have gifts beyond others’, but everyone has talents all their own. Yourself included.”

“So I’m special, now? You charm me, Kylos.”

“That isn’t what I—”

“Too late! You gave me a compliment. That means I’ve won.”

“Yes, yes, fine. You’ve won. Now shut your eyes and rest already, you precocious Prince.”

“I’ve tried that already, Kylos, a hundred times tonight.”

“And?”

“I can’t sleep. That’s why I called for you.”

“For the last time, Dheren.”

“Just one, please? It can be fast, can’t it?”

“No. That’s final. It’s improprietous enough to be found alone with royalty, and in one’s private chambers no less!“

“But it was I that called you here. You didn’t just intrude on me.”

“Think, Dheren, of how it would look to any soul that might step through those doors there. Myself, a vagrant storyteller, only lately on your father’s retainer, having spent more time in these particular halls than any entertainer he’s yet contracted. My time is running short, they would think, and so I turn to drastic actions: kidnap, ransom, or worse.”

“You’re here because you tell stories well. You’re the very best.”

“I am accomplished. And yes, I am magical. But I am not the very best, nor shall I ever be. However, I am in your father’s good graces, and I should like to remain that way. Now. Excuse me Prince Dheren, I must take my leave.“

“Wait. Don’t go.”

“I must. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to seek another remedy for restlessness.”

“But mustn’t you?”

“... yes, that is what ‘must’ means.“

“At least answer one question of mine.”

“And that is?”

“Would you stay? If you could. If you were someone else, or—or if I were someone else. Not my father’s son, but... um... no, it doesn’t matter who, so long as I’m not myself. Would you stay, then?”

“For the you that is not you, Dheren? I would stay hours upon hours. I would tell you stories as wondrous as the wind, soft as slumber, deep as dreams themselves.”

“... and who would I be?”

“You just said that that wouldn’t matter, and I’m inclined to agree...”

“No, I... I’m terrible with stories, you see. Even in this idea of mine, I’ve no idea who I would become instead. And you, you’re so quick, Kylos, always with your wit and cleverness and words so fine off the tongue that I think them all sharpened weeks beforehand.“

“When in truth, hardly any one is so prepared. There are only so many stories, Dheren. So many heroes, so many villains, so many twists and turns; and still, so few of them. But when you know those stories and understand them—the ways in which they arrange themselves—you can create them, feeling so new to the ears that they may as well be unique all their own. It’s a trick. A trick like the one you are trying to pull right now.“

“Th-there’s no trick!”

“Yes, there is. You’re trying to make a story, one that would keep me from leaving your bedside and returning to my own, and one that would accomplish your childish need for a dreamtime tale. Correct? And in doing so, you would not be engaging with a story of mine, but one of your own design, and I would simply be filling in the gaps, and anyone who saw harm in that would be seeing harm not in my actions, but in your development, and thus would run afoul of your best interests and subsequently those of the King...“

“Well, that was the idea, but if you don’t want to stay...”

“... if I didn’t want to stay, I too would be harming you, is that correct? Not through malintent, but through neglect of your ever-expanding curiosity. Creativity is a trait of all good Kings, and if I were to stifle your development, I would be harming not only you but the very future of our humble Logis?“

“It isn’t that I would think you such a threat, but for our fine castle’s more ‘scrupulous’ denizens? The guard already can’t stand you because you refuse to perform at their dinners.“

“Those are brigands in all but name. Loud, rude, and with no respect for the arts. And they have a stench to them.”

“... hm. Now that you mention it, I suppose they do. In any case, I doubt I even need to mention the many servants whose ire you’ve drawn.”

“Too gossipy and too nosy. Any one of them could make a right and proper spy, no training needed.”

“Some of them already are, I’m sure.”

“Really?”

“... well I’m not sure, sure. I have a hunch about it. And you know all about my hunches.”

“Yes. They’re consistently terrible.”

“Exactly! Which means that even more of them than I have a hunch for could be lurking through the halls, right now, digging up enough dirt to put you ten feet below. It’s a very lucky thing for you that the Prince has, time and time again, staked his own royal reputation on his very favorite taleteller.“

“And as I have said too many times and not nearly enough, he has my deepest and most bottomless gratitudes for his clemency and care shown toward this most poor and unfortunate man.”

“But he always insists, that dashing and ever-so-generous Prince, that there’s no need, it’s simply his pleasure, nothing at all could ever be owed for it? Not the littlest of little favors?”

“Are you blackmailing me, Dheren?”

“Only a little.”

“You’re lucky, then, that I don’t want to leave. Now, now, don’t be so flustered; you’ll never fall asleep if your cheeks stay that warm. Lie back. All the way back. Here, let me fetch your pillow, and... there, just so. Comfortable?“

“Mmhmm.”

“Good. Now then, I am obligated to warn you—”

“—you’re a storyteller. I know, Kylos. You’re going to be telling a story—sorry, you’re going to be telling my story, and you’ll be... using magic to do it.“

“That is my craft, my nature, and my purpose, Dheren.”

“I know. It’s nice.”

“Then this is a tale you’re willing to listen to? A story that you’re willing to be a part of?”

“Yes.”

“Good, Dheren. Settle in beneath those covers now. You won’t be getting up from them again tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Trust me, my Prince. This is something I’ve done before.”

“Really?”

“You could not even begin to imagine. Because, as of now, you will be far too busy imagining something new, something fascinating: a story all your own. That sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does. Everyone dreams of having stories told about them.”

“Ah, no no, this is not a story told about you. It is a story told for you, and indeed, it will be told by you. For in this tale is not you, but the you that is not you. That ephemeral person that you are not, but that you can still dream of being. Tell me now: who is that you, Dheren?“

“A peasant. Wait...”

“Surprised, are we? Just minutes ago you couldn’t conjure an identity to save your life, but now?”

“Now... now I can see myself. O-or not myself. My unself—I’m so dirty. And ragged. And my shoes have holes in them. Did... did you magic all of this into my head?“

“Not a thing, Dheren, and that is the truth. All I gave you was fertile ground, sun, and water. You chose the seed for me, and it was your creative spirit that chose how it would grow, what it would become. But the ground is not always so soft and hospitable. Your shoes have holes in them, and the stones dig into your soles with every step, but you continue to walk, don’t you...”

“Jevah. Wait, but you didn’t even ask me—”

“I don’t have to ask you, Dheren. It’s not a question for you and yourself, but one for Jevah, your unself. His story you create, you shape, but it is a story all his own. And why are you walking, Jevah?”

“To go somewhere.”

“And tell me where that is.”

“To the castle. I want to see Kylos, the storyteller.”

“’But you’re right here,’ you’re saying to yourself, Dheren. As am I. Sitting at your bedside and telling that story with you. But how can I be here, while Jevah insists that I am there, somewhere within his story, and thus somewhere within your mind? That’s the power of stories, and the power of magic. Because in an instant: you’re not on hard, rocky ground. No, you’re on a clean, white bridge, paved with gleaming bricks, walking up and over the moat and through the castle gates. You can see the lawn, the fountains, the trees...

“And you walk. But the walk is much easier, now, and much quicker. You’re getting closer. You turn through these hallways that you don’t even know, one after another, down corridor after corridor, until?”

“I can see the room. The door is open.”

“Then step inside, Jevah. Step into the bedchamber draped in orange, and tell me what you see by the dying hearth’s flames.”

“There’s a man. In the bed. His eyes are closed, he’s talking in his sleep...”

“Do you know his name?”

“I’ve seen his face. In paintings... do I know him?”

“Who is the man sitting beside him?”

“Kylos.”

“Who is Kylos, to you?”

“The very best storyteller in all Logis.”

“And how do you feel about him?”

“He’s powerful. Kind. Dependable. Comforting. Handsome. Strong. Warm.”

“Stop. Tell me... Jevah, tell me why you’ve come to see him.”

“Because I can’t sleep. I’ve been walking for days and I haven’t slept.”

“Yes, but... why Kylos, specifically?”

“He’s the best. I want to be near him.”

“... alright. Do you see him now, Jevah?”

“Yes.”

“Can you sense his presence behind your shut-tight eyes, Dheren?”

“Yes.”

“How does that presence make you feel? Having him so close to you, so near to you?”

“Happy. Safe. Excited.”

“Right, that... right. Yes. No. Concentrate, damn you, Kylos. Think of where I am, think of who I’m with... think of what he might want... think of who might find out... and think of how it could be worth it... then remember the captive audiences. Jevah, can you hear me now?“

“Yes.”

“And can you hear Kylos now, speaking to you in a deep and firm voice, telling you of the dangers in opening your mind to tales from one so capable as he?”

“Yes.”

“But you open your mind even still, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You open your mind, and his magic enters you. He folds a spell so delicately and so subtly that he can scarcely notice doing it. It’s his nature, you see, his purpose. It is not a mystic incantation with indiscernible words, but you can feel as though it were. There are the syllables of a story in his voice, but you do not need to hear them with your ears; they sense only the melody, the cadence, the soothing whispers as he takes hold of you, and lays you down, down, down so deep, now.

“Down and down you go. From the picture painted in your mind, across every sense that you have, you know that you are going down. Your eyes are closed, Jevah, and the deeper the story goes the heavier those lids become. You know this because he is telling you this. He is just beside you, as close and comforting as you like him to be, leading you lower and lower. It is different now than any other story you have read, heard, or lived; ‘because,’ he tells you, ‘you are already fast asleep, and now you walk inside your dreams.’

“This dream takes you deeper and deeper down. And you dream not of yourself, the peasant with ragged clothes, but instead... you dream of a Prince. Youthful. Resplendent. Dare I say... charming. His name is Dheren, and Prince Dheren walks himself down slowly, slowly on shoes stitched from softness themselves. He strides in fine silk, not a shoddy sack, with his head held high and his eyes held open. His eyes are open, for he needs to see as he descends, down into the dark through a long, long cavern.

“He is on a journey, a long and tiresome journey. He has been on it so long that he cannot even count it all. But he is so close now, and so far from each and every trouble. Down here, down so deep, worries and cares and fears cannot reach him. Down here, down so low, he thinks only of his destination, and what awaits him down below. But do you recall even that, Prince Dheren?”

“... no...”

“And that’s alright. That’s just fine. Because you’re made it there, you’ve come all the way down. There is a man in the dark. He approaches, and you can feel his power in each silent step. He speaks, and you can hear it in each melodious word. He is near to you, and you are near to him, though he tells you that few come so deep to be so close to him. He is as much a danger as he is a kindness, and so very few can feel so safe as you do. Do you want to know why you’ve come to him?”

“Mmm.”

“Because you cannot sleep, Prince Dheren. The world above is so loud, and every step is so tiring, and... and you seek something more from him, yes?”

“Mmh. Mmyes.”

“His hands touch your face now, Prince Dheren. He can feel the warmth of your cheeks, and you can see the way that Jevah stirs beside his Kylos, and the way that Dheren shivers beneath his sheets. He is a sorcerer, you realize, great and powerful, and in his knowledge lies a spell for the deepest, most wonderful and unattainable sleep. A sleep even deeper than you are now, deeper than Jevah’s dream, and deeper than the magic in Dheren’s own story. A sleep so full, so warm, so safe and so close, that you can see its dreams even now... the things that you desire, the feelings that you seek... the sorcerer asks, ‘can you see them?’”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then these are the dreams that you are willing to dream? The dreams that you’re willing to be a part of?”

“Yes.”

“Dreams of want. Dreams of desire. Dreams of danger, risk, and many, many rewards. Dreams fit for a peasant, dreams fit for a Prince, dreams fit for you, Dheren—dreams upon dreams upon dreams. With muddled memory and fleeting, foggy feelings, you’ll while the night away in deep, slumbering bliss, my Prince, as you sleep.”