The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Thought-record, month of Rigors, 2007

: Perdy

Perdy popped the stiff throbbing shaft out of her mouth. “Is this still good? Am I doing it right?”

The Duke groaned and looked down at Perdy’s lipsticked-smeared mouth inches from his cock. He nodded. “Perfect, my sweet thing.”

“It makes me so hot, your grace. Just like eating chocolate bars. Can I finger myself?”

He winced when he noticed Perdy already had a hand under her skirt. She might be bending more than he realized. “Perhaps three times is enough,” he muttered.

“No!” Her eyes glazed further, Perdy gripped his thighs hard and thrust her mouth back onto his heated prick. It was almost too hot for her mouth now, but she loved the repetitive rhythm of it banging deep against the back of her throat. She loved having her mouth full. Oral made her so hot.

Her eyes rolled up in her head as she imagined mouthfuls of dark candy and shoved three fingers deep into her snatch. The sweet blackness of being blind with heat comforted her. She squealed and sucked when he came.

Thought-record, month of Rigors, 2002

: Saint Rat

“They’re all talking about you. You’ve become a symbol of the epoch of transgression.” Rat picked up a Clementine from the leather bowl and skinned it with her sharp thumbnail.

Rue peered up from her gazette and squinted a grin. “My bad. Tell me something important. Did you get it? Did she sign?”

The dark woman twitched a crooked smile and removed a glossy photograph from her cross-slung kit. Two graceful steps and she placed it in front of the Viscountess. “From Alyson to Rue, with love.”

Rue trembled and ran a finger gently down the crisp edge of the photo. She sighed with something greater than lust. “The first media star to flense a man before ten million souls. I’m a lucky noble.”

So it is written, month of Rain, 2007

: Viscountess Rue

Rue took her seat and smiled at the Duke. “Business or personal today?”

The young man looked uncomfortable and fiddled with the ring of his office.

“Business,” the Viscountess said. She saw his hands tremble the slightest bit.

He nodded—his mouth an unhappy line. “Our Beatific came and ‘spoke’ to me about Rose. I am to draw you out about your melancholy and soothe the Chancel.” He saw the line appear between Rue’s eyebrows. “I think Rat really fancied Rose. Were you jealous of Rat’s time with the girl? Should I infer you needlessly exposed Rose to the Line?”

“That’s freezing untrue. Rose challenged me.”

“Formally?”

“In the mortal way, yes.”

“So we need to talk about this. Our Beatific ‘suggests’ I understand your actions here for the good of us all and because of my inexperience.”

The room remained silent for several minutes with both Powers in consideration.

Rue decided to not make it so difficult for him. She took out a dark cigarette and lit it. “So did herm say how goes the War?”

“Well enough—as best I comprehend.” He gestured in a way that said he didn’t understand as much as he would like.

The Viscountess smiled. The Great War beyond the Weirding Wall, like the Beatific themselves, defied the understanding of the Powers. “I’m so freezing glad your Grace has the job of dealing with herm now. Our Beatific gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

The Duke nodded in agreement and cleared his throat. “Our Beatific ‘suggested’ you tell me about Abraham Lincoln.”

The corner of Rue’s mouth tightened. Slowly she stubbed the cigarette out in her bare palm. “Abe,” she whispered as an unpleasant wisp of smoke rose from her hand.

Her face looked so tight it might crack. The Duke coughed dread from his throat. “I know you have an agreement with Chase Nightenruhk. These conversations will be archived. I respect your oaths stepping on my privacy in this situation.”

“Thank you.” She leaned forward and dusted off her hands over the ashtray. “I know just how distressing dealing with Our Beatific’s ‘suggestions’ can be, seeing as I counted as the most potent of our Chancel for years. I won’t make it worse for you.”

“Thank you,” he said gently.

“But—.”

He twitched an eyebrow upward in question.

Rue stood up. “Allow me to distract you from the pain of my confessions. Get naked, Your Grace. I can talk while you service me.”

He paled. “I hardly think…”

“Floppsie, two years ago you were mortal. You would have banged a mousetrap if it had big tits and smiled at you. I’ve been a Power for over a hundred years. Trust me. It will be easier on us both if you just let me sex you hard while we chat about my sordid past.”

“Go. To. Hades.” He glared. “Where matters of my official capacity are concerned, I don’t—.”

She vaulted the desk from a standing start splitting both side-seams of her skirt as she scissored her legs wide. Rue slammed into his chest, knocking his seat over backwards and pinning him to the floor with her groin. She shifted, ground her slick sex across his mouth and grinned at his wide-eyed shock.

His arms flopped wide in the fall, he struggled and twisted under her spread muscled legs but found himself pinned. The Duke tried to voice a stern order but choked on her sizzling juices as she slid to his nose and clamped her mound tight to him.

She rocked her pussy side to side on his mouth, watching his eyes twitch. Energy spattered on the leather chair still under him. Rue reached up and pulled the pins from her pillbox hat. She tossed the trim chapeau over her shoulder and it sailed, spun and settled on the top peg of the coat-rack near the door.

He landed a feeble knee jolt to her kidneys.

Rue pinched the top of his ears until his skin screamed. “Isn’t it so hard to be stuffy and formal when your face is full of regret? No need to answer, Floppsie. I know you’re feeling warm and squishy right now.” She flicked a finger at his temples; left, right.

He shuddered. A muffled curse blunted into her sex. He felt his cock harden and roar a challenge. An attempt to get his ankles up and crossed around her neck failed.

Rue hummed a tune that Saint Rat had made famous in the Paris clubs.

The Duke slid in and out of sensuous fog and his tongue worked her depths without his encouragement. He stopped trying to wrestle her. His was the matchless noble potency of the Chancel, but his physical resources were inversely limited. He knew she outstripped him in the flesh. She said something that buzzed between his ears. Lords above, his ears hurt. Buzz.

Buzz. Zzzz. Buzz.

He blinked. Rue came into focus above him. She had removed her jacket and blouse and he stared at the underside of those petite champagne-goblet tits. He couldn’t move his arms and he wanted to fondle her.

“Yes, fondle me. I really need it. And if you’re too weak to reach my nipples, then I’ll just have to punish you, Floppsie dear.” She smiled at him.

His blood boiled.

“I know just how to burn down your objections.” Rue picked up her tiny purse from the floor and rummaged until she had a fifty-pence coin pinched between her thumb and finger. She waved the brightness back and forth in front of his face.

His tongue stropped her sex faster. The reflected light of the coin in his eyes made his loins burn. His thoughts went to scalding molasses.

She wouldn’t?

“Now pay attention, Floppsie.” She leaned in a bit, teasing with the nearness of her nipples. “This is the good part.” Rue eased the coin down and down her torso.

He smelled the worn metal as she tucked it past his nose.

She slid it into the slit of her searing snatch. It disappeared with a clink and a drop sound. Immediately, her hips started shivering and bucking. He groaned and started coming. Yes. Mechanical. Bought. He knew he had many such coins in his desk. Or could he get her to do other tricks with the coins from his exotic collection? He shouldn’t spend those. But she could convince him. Yes. Her slot. His coins.

The stars of heaven cracked open the world and did Busby Berkeley on the inside of his eyelids.

So it is written, month of Rest, 1923

: Saint Rat

The Venice canal reflected late twilight skies overhead. The Viscountess and Saint Rat, still in their party dresses, ate watermelon, drank wine and talked about forbidden things. As Rat had cut the gondolier off from hearing the here-and-now, he whispered a quiet banter with his dead grandfather.

Rue spit a seed and hit a cat on a windowsill fifty feet away and twenty feet up. The feline scampered with a yowl. She chuckled. “Attend! I am puissant, pussy.”

Rat grinned and whistled an accolade. She cocked her head; spit a seed. Sixty-one yards down the canal, a cutpurse slapped a woman’s face and then died when that seed impaled in his brain.

Rue slouched further down in the little boat and snorted. “Drunken show-off.”

So it is written, month of Rain, 2007

: Viscountess Rue

The Duke squinted at the darkness. Silently he counted to a hundred to be sure his focus returned. Good. He found his center as Rue had taught him. He swallowed, difficult considering how swollen and large his tongue still was. “Tho, tell me abwout Abwaham Wincoln.”

Rue sighed next to him. She rolled on top and straddled his hips, neatly sliding his hard cock into her sex. “No one of your generation recalls the real Abe or the disaster surrounding his assassination. No one remembers the gossamer Void-Zeppelins, the moon landings of 1887, or the black woman who rose to be First Lady. No one can because the Misérables eradicated the Power of Void Motion and killed Lincoln. The Misérables ate thirty years of history and the world will never get it back.”

He mustered his surprise. “You bewame the Powhar of Thwin in that year?”

“1865. The 1865 we have left after that mess. The one where Abe died too soon.”

“So the Misérables killed him?” Lord, what heat she gave off still. This all must touch her core, of course.

“It wasn’t Booth that sucked his brain out the back of his head. The patched together history became my second ‘suggested’ mission as a new Power. That task graced my really pissoir entry into our freezing exclusive club when the Great War wasn’t going nearly so well. It was a terrible fix-up I did. So many things I didn’t think of. The mend wasn’t very good but it holds.

“The first task Our Beatific ‘suggested’ I complete involved avenging the recently deceased Power of Skin. Freeze, it’s hard to kill something with your face and voice.”

He remained silent. There seemed no response for the irregular fall of tears hitting his chest from her chin. But he understood a little of why she desired sex during this. Powers were forbidden to fall in love and he sensed love threaded all through this tale.

Sex made it less painful to remember love.

“Go on.” Love was a value he quite missed in the short time he had been ennobled. He touched her breast lightly and she sped up. His balls tightened.

The Viscountess whispered. “It would be entirely too dreary to get into details. The American nation pulled together after the civil war fueled by grand visions spun by my Abe; by his plain eloquence. He was a genius. I was his mistress. After Mary died, Abe married me in a White House ceremony. He got people to stop hating each other and work together. ‘With malice towards none.’

“The damn Misérables Deceiver that got Abe wore my face. My whole family ended up arrested and hanged in this timeline. Our Beatific tapped my shoulder as my history excruciated and showed me what would happen to me, to everyone; offered me a chance to get back at the Things that had killed Abe. I could not say, ‘no’.

“Of course, I didn’t know what I had agreed to. And Abe was already dead when I arrived in the right timespot.”

His limbs chilled through and yet his core seared so very hot. He felt all of her pain but also the gift she lavished on him. He saw a small part of what Our Beatific might wish in this. With luck that insight would take root and grow. “So the previous Power of Skin?”

“Eaten by the Deceiver days before Abe died. The Thing mimicked the Power of Skin from the dregs. That’s how it waltzed past the guard with my face and ripped Abe’s future out. The police escort knew Mary didn’t mind me being at the theater. She was real sweet on both Abe and I. Interesting, yes? Of course, she saw what really happened to him and Crossed the Line. She was never the same, her mind broke that night.”

“But you were hanged?” He almost came, but she suddenly stopped and gripped his cock until he nearly blacked out. He panted. The darkness disoriented his pleasure. He resisted the temptation to enslave the lights and turn them on.

“I saw me hanged—the current history me. They named me a conspirator with Booth. Much got covered up. No one wanted the public to dwell on negroes involved in the plot. I was already a Power by then. I couldn’t save my family, juggling too many things and too new to the world beyond the Line.”

He blinked. His thoughts burned bright. She had him pinned hard, but the sex kept her tears at bay. The heat roared between them. “How does dual history work? Who understands the real story?”

“Only Powers can remember the way it was, or anchors to powers alive before the 1865 alteration. It’s happened before and since. Rat told me about a five hundred year hole in the past few remember.”

“Hard to believe,” he whispered. But the mechanical piggy bank on his desk assured him she spoke the truth. It was an antique from 1843. “Can a Deceiver so well impersonate a living woman?”

“Of course, young man. Remember, the mundanes prefer to ignore Powers and keep their sanity. Coming eyeball to eyeball with a Misérables Deceiver is worse.”

It hit him then: he pronged Lincoln’s First Lady. Er, second First Lady. That rocked his lusts. “You change skin so nimbly, I didn’t suspect you were actually black.”

“I’m not now. I’m every Skin. Abe would have thought it a hoot. Would’ve stiffened him up real nice, too.” A dark smile curved through her response.

Her cunt released and then gripped him so tightly he nearly choked. Lava erupted within his ears. The room tilted.

“The Misérables not only killed my husband, they ate my future, they ruined my past, they killed my whole family, and my two children that were never born in the White House. Yes, I’m bitter. I’m very dedicated to the War effort, Floppsie.

“I want Rat to know, you to know, that I didn’t go after Rose. Rose pushed, yes. I could see from the first in her association with Rat that she might Cross the Line. Was I a tosh jealous for the sparks between she and Rat? Maybe, but I tried to help her across and she may yet recover. Chase did without being an anchor to a power.” She moved again with a grind.

He savored the rise and fall of her groin and the audacious twisting grip of her sex. “You killed a Deceiver all by yourself? One that looked like you and had dregs of your power? You wouldn’t be bending me, would you?”

She laughed. “No. That would be this—.” Her hips did something horribly obscene and abrupt.

His Grace howled—but not as loud as his dick. Duke and dick exploded together. Then oblivion.

Thought-record, timeless

: Duke of Mercenary Devices

I had three older sisters when I was mortal. There should be a law that a fellow gets his own apartment to live in when he’s thirteen and all of his sisters are primping for dates.

Criminal. Of course I spied on them. How could I not be fascinated?

In this dream, one of my sisters was black, half-dressed as I peered around the doorway and saw her tickling herself between the legs. But grown now I knew what that meant. Yet how had she become black? Her skin gleamed a night treasure waiting to be touched.

She spotted me and crooked a finger come hither. I tried to run, but her eyes pulled me into the room. Then she showed me a secret. A sexy coin. A hot slot. A buzz warned from somewhere in the house.

I forgot something very important.

I agreed with her that my name had always been Floppsie. I came hard and something broke.

Thought-record, month of Rain, 2007

: Duke of Mercenary Devices

“Explain to me how this is more uncomfortable than the bunny suit,” demanded the Viscountess. She sounded peeved with my complaints.

I noticed the fellow at the next table turned slightly to look at us. He winked at me.

“Lower your voice, Rue.” Damn. Chase Nightenruhk avoided my pleading look. I tried to remember exactly what being a man felt like so I could explain my need to Rue. My new sex gushed between my sizzling thighs as I pictured cock. My cock. My lost cock? I huffed with what I hoped sounded like hot indignation. “I understood Powers were immune to miracles from other Powers? How did you do this to me?”

“Call it feminine wiles. You gave me the idea. I cheated, of course.”

Obviously my training period had not covered such wiles. Why did this not surprise me? It was damn hard being a young noble. Rat was a few thousand years old, Rue admitted to being over a hundred; both of them my senior in years but junior in pure power. The Saint was more direct. The Viscountess was a conniving hellion.

I admired them both tremendously.

“I’m waiting, Floppsie.”

“Women are too damned complicated,” I offered. “I’ll never do it proper. At least with the bunny-sex, there isn’t a public yardstick of success. And it doesn’t happen in front of mundanes. And what if the Misérables attack? I’ll be so off-stride that something serious could go wrong. Please change me back, dear Rue.”

Rue squinted at Chase, who looked away quickly. “So being a woman for an afternoon is a sort of humiliation you’d rather not do in public?”

Relieved she understood, I almost agreed. Some mystic sense of my possible ruin shouted warning at me. I swallowed. Oh dear. Oh damn. Could there be any good way to answer that?

“During my confession, you wondered about impersonations. We need an unbiased third party,” Rue said. She crooked a finger at the curious fellow at the next table. He pointed at himself. She nodded.

He got up and joined us, sitting next to me. Damn it. I flushed. My body coveted every attention.

Rue made introductions. His name was Morton Halt. Rue asked him straight out if he had an attraction to either one of us. ‘Who would he date?’ I smothered a moan as heat kicked me in the bum. My face cherried. My skin itched in all the wrong places.

“I think Floppsie is the cutest name I’ve ever heard,” said Morton Halt. “I’m smitten. I’d have to ask you out first.” He stared into my eyes. I wanted to tell him Floppsie was not the name given to me by Our Beatific, but that notion was ridiculous and dangerous.

Rue said, “She’s a winner.”

Morton Halt repeated her cadence, “She’s a winner.”

“A real scorcher.”

Morton Halt nodded, “A real scorcher.”

I tried to ignore the sizzling look Morton Halt painted on me. My nipples yearned with his regard. Chase stared at me hungrily. Two men ogled my curves. My brain sagged with the heat.

“She gets you hard. Looks like she really wants some prong.”

Morton Halt swallowed staring at me. “She gets me hard. Looks like she really wants some prong.”

His lust coated me an inch thick. I twisted my ankles together harder as my crotch sponged on the seat. The thrill flooded through me.

Rue grinned. “Whatta hefty set of boobs.”

Morton Halt nodded, “Whatta hefty set of boobs.”

I blinked. I found myself wondering if I could change back if I only could get a good look at another cock. Remember the terrain, as it were. Perhaps taste it. Lick it. Rue had me dizzy, damn her. My wet bottom slid on the seat when I shifted, slick.

Rue nodded and her voice was bitter. “There. Age old question solved. Women are not complex. They are easy to impersonate. Even a boy novice can do it cold; unfortunately, even a Thing never-alive from beyond the Weirding Wall.”

Boy Novice. Morton Halt blanched, gaze locked dizzy with mine. He looked longingly at my tits and then my eyes again. He got up slowly and didn’t quite run out of the café.

I looked at Rue, stunned; then glared at Halt’s retreating back. I folded my arms to stuff down the heat in my chest and swollen puss. “Men!”

Rue waved to the waiter. “Check, please. I think my work is done here.”

Thought-record, month of Remorse, 2011

: fifty-first-khan-to-serve

The fifty-first-khan-to-serve set her evening poison draught on the stand by the bed.

After a few minutes more deep in her book, the Viscountess looked up, surprised to see him there. “Yes?”

He bowed. “May I watch you drink, Excellency?”

Rue rolled her eyes. “Very well. I should never have done this where you could see.”

Some minutes later, the fifty-first-khan-to-serve left the suite with a radiant smile and a jaunty step. He never tired of the horribly painful faces the Viscountess suffered quaffing her evening delight.

He so enjoyed hating her.