The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I feel a little naked. My feet are bare, and my only rag, a pair of boxer shorts, seems loose and about to fall. Around my neck, a chain holds a sign at my chest, a twelve by eight inch wooden advertisement. Very novel, I’d have thought—once.

There’s a stench of garbage everywhere, a smell that grows worse when I pause from my slow, wandering route. I remember that this is Haiti, where the streets are framed by sewage, though the thought doesn’t mean a lot. The smell is made worse, I imagine, by the heat, though I don’t seem to feel it as much as sense it through the increased aroma of waste. Something about me can’t appreciate the heat, and I want to rub my arms together to cut the false sense of chill, but I just don’t. Fact is, I don’t a lot of things, though I should have done one less thing than I did, that’s for sure. Of course, that’s a deep thought, something very well repressed, as are all of these things here.

It was a long time ago, this thing I shouldn’t have done, maybe a few years, maybe a few days ago. I do remember things, though in little waves. I don’t show it, and I don’t say it, but under here I do remember things. I sense you looking at me, wondering if I do, before scrambling by a little fearfully, your glances a strange mixture of pity, fear and disgust. Soon you are gone, but the street is full of humanity, the looks for me never ending, and thus of no consequence. Once in awhile someone will look at the sign, and do some quick figuring in their minds. I don’t really know why they chose me, but I know it is best to follow if the money is put in the slot. The customer hustles me on. It’s good to concentrate when that happens, because my agility isn’t what it used to be, and some have negated their transactions after I’d fallen in the mud or sewage.

“You like?” She’d said simply.

I was in country for the first time, part of a cruise. The ship was stopped in Haiti for three days, what some might have thought of as the lesser three days of a two week cruise. The ship was down in the harbor where there were restaurants and shops set up just for the tourists. I’d always thought of myself as a little more adventurous than that, and was a town over, wandering the dirty streets that they’d told everyone onboard not to go near.

“What, Miss?” I answered, my defense mechanisms on full.

“You like. I’m a working girl. If you like, we can spend some time, Sir. I can show you around. Later maybe, if you want, we can find a room,” she said, not at all threateningly.

I admit the idea of finding a whore had appealed to me. In fact, I had a condom in my wallet. It’s just that I’d thought I’d find one closer to the ship. Now here was this young woman, barely legal if that, who, in broad daylight had picked me out of the crowd, and punched my button. She was very dark. She was also very beautiful. Her hair was in braids, and in the heat, she barely wore a thin dress that ended half way between her knees and what she was selling. There was nothing under that but exotic flesh.

“You show me around? That would be nice,” I said, not wanting to sound as eager as I must have looked. Soon we were off to see that end of the island. She was perfect company, charming, and surprisingly intelligent. We went to places I’d have found less than comfortable without her guide. Night fell, and I was hoping we’d be nearing that room.

“In here. You’ll like this bar. It’s very authentically Haitian,” she said, leading me into a corner bar that was up a metal staircase on the only two story building for half a mile.

The place looked very French. The ceiling fans cooled it barely, and there was a short bar. Four tables were occupied by whores and a couple local men whom I assumed were customers. She led me over to a short, overweight woman in the middle of the room.

“Mama, this is Joey,” the girl said to the older woman.

“You been out with my daughter, mon?” Asked the older woman, as if making an accusation.

“Oh, now, wait a minute,” I said, holding up my hands in defense.

The older lady laughed, breaking some ice. “You no worry. She good girl.” The older woman looked over her shoulder, and waved to the bar, “Monique! Two beer!”

It was a little bit of a shock to me, the little girl part, but not as much as the idea that this was the girl’s mother. I decided to sit and be diplomatic. After all, the place was authentic indeed, wooden walls, furniture that looked like it had been here since slave days. The fat lady was all smiles. I’d only paid the girl twenty bucks for what had to be the best tour service since I’d embarked, so I’d hardly been cheated. As for whores, this place was as good as any other, I imagined.

“You own this place?” I asked.

“Ahhh mon. Yes. You like?” She said, nodding towards another table where a middle aged whore sat smiling our way.

Well, I really couldn’t say, “No, I was really counting on fucking your daughter,” so I said, “Oh yes. Very nice. You have lovely ladies here.”

She beamed, handing me my beer, and swallowing the first of her own. “Two dollar,” she said, the best price for a beer I’d seen since Ohio.

We drank while I tried to figure out if her daughter was one of the whores or not. She talked about Haiti and about customers. I made up big stories about my life, but was mostly lying. The lies got bigger, and probably more transparent, the more I drank. Somewhere around the fourth beer, Mama opened a few buttons on her dress, and all I saw was tit flesh. She wasn’t showing nipple yet, but god. I stopped thinking about the little girl, and started wondering what it would be like between those enormous breasts.

“What you like? Monique? Cherri is very nice,” she said after I’d come back from the john.

“Uh, well, to be honest, you’re the real beauty here,” I said.

“Oh no. You not want me. I make man slave. I no like sex with man. I like man who be my slave. You like big momma make you slave?” She said, with a wicked half smile.

Oh god, I thought; this was getting more interesting by the minute. The daughter was gone, when I looked around, off talking to another man at a side table. I looked back at the mom, and tried to look as sophisticated as I could when I said, “I’d love to grovel at your feet, Mistress.” A smile was lofted to try to preserve some of my dignity. I was imagining this huge woman hovering over me with a crop. My cock was a rail.

“Ahh. You want me make you my zombie slave? Me no believe you,” she said, licking a finger and stroking it between her breasts. She too smiled, implying to me that I’d find plenty to like about the scene.

“You got a room?” I asked, about ready to explode.

“No room. This my place. I own whole block. First floor my house. You be my zombie if I like. Come here, let me see,” she asked, pushing out the chair to her side, and coaxing me nearer.

I walked over to the chair, and sat facing her after she’d turned hers. People in the bar were starting to notice, some coming a table closer, and others just stopping conversations in mid stream. I was a little inebriated, so I barely noticed, sitting there with my knees almost touching hers. “So, what you think Ma’am,” I said, breaking the stare, and hoping this little part of our play was short lived.

“Let me examine mon,” she said, feeling my arms and shoulders. Her hands touched my chest, and then my thighs. Her face shrugged as she said, “Not bad. You make OK zombie. Me like. Me accept you my slave. Go back and sit in chair,” she said, still smiling kindly as I want back to my original seat. Someone in the back laughed, and clapped her hands once.

“Well that was special,” I said, another phrase, this time loud, meant to preserve some dignity.

“Monique, zombie drink. And, my powder,” said the Haitian woman. Monique brought a shot with a milky white drink in it. She looked at me, as if giving a warning, before retiring back to the bar. At first I thought the drink was milk, but it had some grey flakes in it, and it was a little too translucent. I decided I wasn’t going to touch the stuff. Monique came back a second time with a candle and a baggy of what I was sure was cocaine. I wasn’t into cocaine, and I determined that when the time came I wasn’t going to have a thing to do with that either, as Monique sat the candle between me and the momma. Again the bar lady gave me a warning look, and I was starting to think maybe I should tell her to mind her own business. Mama and I leaned towards the center of the table, my eyes drawn to the huge lady’s eyes and cleavage.

“Now, you like this very much. Me make you my zombie, then take you away to be my slave boy,” said the woman, looking at me intently. Her breasts were now leaning on the table, two huge mounds of breast spread out like no tomorrow. Around us I could hear chairs scoot closer, and a few people chuckling as if they’d seen this before and thought it a funny thing. Hey, I was all for fun, though I was eager for the private part, rock hard thinking about that woman’s beasts all over me.

“I’m ready,” I said with a little bit of a slurred voice due to the alcohol.

“Want you look at my eyes. Yes. See my eyes as the candle flickers on them. See the flame in my eyes. See the burning flame move on me. You see?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” I said, concentrating on the eyes, and the yellow shimmering reflection on them cast by the flame.

“You be very peaceful. Being zombie is very peaceful. You no longer fight. You no longer think too much. Life much more relaxed. Just relax. Look at my flame. Look and see my eyes. I am like flame. I am like wind. I am like fire. I take all your flame. You give me. You be very comfortable and relaxed. Me take you down to sleep, yes,” she said.

I found myself a little bored, but repeating, “Yes.”

“I take all you flame. Me take you. You be very still. You relax so much. You so happy being so still as I take your flame. You feel me take your flame?”

“Yes.”

“I count to five. When I get to five, I take your flame. You be in me. You see flame on my eyes, but then it come in me. I take it, and you have no flame. You can hear me. You can hear my voice. I want you to hear me say, one. There you go. You coming in now. I feel you so much. I feel your flame come to me. Two now. You very happy to be very relaxed and let me take your flame to me. You want so much to help let go, and be so peaceful. I take your flame, and I feel you in me. You are inside of me, like sex. I have you there in my eyes. Three, and you are half in me. I have half of you in me now. I can feel you letting go. I have more than half of you, and you can no longer take it back because I have most of your strength plus mine. My eyes have flame inside, and it is your flame, mon. You understand this that you give me?”

“Yes I do,” I said, my eyes frozen upon hers. In my mind I could hear others murmuring beside me, but I didn’t want to hear their distracting words, my will fixed upon concentrating upon the flame in her eyes.

“You do what I say. It no matter. What I like is what you do because I have you in me. You come in now. When I take you to four, you be in me very much. I make you and me same. I be the one who has you in me, so I tell you what to do. I tell you what to do, and it no matter. You do what I tell you, because it is no matter. You come now. I take you to four. I have you four now. Four and that is almost all of you. Now you do what I say. You obey me very much. You say, yes Mistress when you talk to me now. I make you my slave, and you say, yes Mistress when I talk to you. Nobody else has you inside. I take you inside at four. You understand you must obey me now, slave?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, the words like butter to my lips. My eyes were saucers.

“When I take you to five, you no longer in you. I have you in me. I take you in me to keep. You be my prisoner then. You very afraid, but know you no longer man. When I take you, you be slave. Then, when you safe in me, me can seal you inside me and make you zombie. You not be able to stop me then. When I say five, you no longer man. You no longer inside of you. You slave then, and so you very afraid, but I am going to say five anyway. You know that?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, a shudder rippling through my body. I was frozen on her eyes, watching my flame in her eyes, and realizing it was me there, being taken into her mind. I saw, mingled in with the flame, my own reflection, and saw how small and still I was, how hopelessly stopped.

“That good. You very afraid, Huh mon.”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, wanting to pull away, but unable. Her hands were on mine, I realized, cuffing me by the very touch. Just outside my reach, her massive breasts breathed, the very breath, I realized, that would give her the fuel to utter the dooming word five. I saw her breasts an entirely new way then. Those breasts were breathing in the word. Those breasts were about to consume me. I shook, trying to reclaim my hands, only managing to move them an inch. People around me started to talk, aware of the struggle.

“That is what I want. I want my slave to know fear. You will know to fear me, the keeper of your soul. I have all power now. I have four. You only have one. When I take one more, you no longer be man. I have you. You ready now. I say word. I say it now. Five.” She looked at me, and I at her, her feeling my soul moving from me to her, and then trailing off the last of its edge until it had disappeared inside of her entirely. I stared, no longer seeing the flame in her eyes as anything more than a reflection of the candle. All I saw was myself, reflected as a small, meaningless speck under her huge control. I couldn’t speak. I had nothing inside to say. I was vacant. I was a shell, no longer a man. I felt my penis lose it’s erection, and I felt my body sag in the chair like a rag.

“I now have you in me. I cannot give it back. You would have to take it, and you don’t know that way. Even if you did, you are no longer inside to take. I now own your soul. You are a slave. As long as you remember to obey, then you will not need to fear too much. I not murder you, but you soon dead. I feel your body, and it good for much work. Now, you five. Now you nothing. Time now for me to send you the wind. You feel the wind for now. Very good to feel the wind. You breathe the wind when it comes, because it is good to feel. You soon miss feel very much. Here I send the wind to you,” she said, taking some of the powder out of the bag, and putting it into her hand. Around us I could hear the people in the room laughing. I was terrorized, but unable to move as I braced myself to receive the wind.

She pursed her huge lips, leaned right up to my face, and flew the white powder at me.

My eyes closed instinctively, and then shot open as I breathed in the wind. My face was coated with the powder, and my lungs felt the sharp sting as soon as the wind touched them. I felt like I’d been bitten by a snake. My lungs stopped, and then gasped. I choked, and felt the sting moving out from inside of me until it got to my skin. My skin tingled. I touched it on my arms, fighting the burning until it started to fade. The room was roaring with laughter. I looked around, and saw the women and two men entranced, talking and laughing at me as if I’d grown a second head. Then, under my hands, I no longer hurt. In fact, as the seconds ticked by I could feel less and less until I had to look at where my hands were in order to tell that they were still touching me. I touched my chest, and then my head. Finally, I touched my limp cock, and it was just as dead. I couldn’t feel a thing. It was horrible. I looked around at the woman who had my soul, and saw her smiling, not with joy or friendship, but with conquest.

“Sit up to the table, slave,” she said.

I turned, unable to disobey. “Yes, Mistress.”

“I make you slave. Now I make you zombie. You be my zombie. That way you no go away. I keep you when you dead. Zombie like pigeon, always come back to one who holds the soul. Now you die. Me help you. Me get very horny knowing you die for me. Me make you zombie,” she said, terrorizing me. I looked down, and saw her hand covering mine, it had already moved to grasp the shot glass of white fluid. I couldn’t feel it under my skin, but I saw it, and when her hand left mine, I realized that I could hold it even though I had no sense of feel.

“You very afraid?”

“Yes, Mistress,” I said, my words no longer clear, but almost meaningless mush when heard by my own ears.

“Good, slave. Now me make you walking dead. You drink. I make you. I tell you to drink. You no able to stop me. Drink and you be my zombie,” she commanded with a soft voice.

I was not going to do that, I told myself. I just was way too smart to do that, I screamed at myself. My hand was rising. I told it to stop, but it kept coming up. Stop! I yelled in my mind. God damn it! Stop! The glass came up to my lips. I think I’d missed my lips a bit, unable to feel anything, but the young girl was beside me, and her hand helped me correct a half inch so it was right there. I looked over, and saw her innocent young face, and knew that this had been the evil plan all along. She’d been the bait. The mother had been the one pulling the strings though. I saw the young woman give me her first cold, heartless stare. I was nothing to her, I realized, but another zombie. I looked down at the glass. It was tipping. Oh god no!!! My mouth was filling. The small hand beside me pulled the hair at the back of my head, and tilted my head back so the fluid wouldn’t leak out of my unfeeling lips.

“You have done well. I not have to tell to swallow to most slaves. Me think you were very smart. Too bad you no longer smart when you be my zombie. Me soon make you very, very dumb blanc. I guess me need to tell you to swallow. You swallow, slave. Me own you soul; now you die. You no swallow, me send you soul to Satan! You swallow now,” said the woman on the other side of the table. The laughter and chatter had ended as they watched me, my head tilted slightly back, and my mouth full of milk. I, and I say that word I loosely, swallowed, the liquid that went down, soothing, and taking away my worry. I swallowed again. The reservoir of milk soon sinking. I swallowed again. The room was filled with maddening laughter, but the more I swallowed, the less I cared.

My will had gone numb when she’d counted to five, and my skin numb when I’d breathed the wind, but now my mind started to fade, the room growing grey, and remote. By the last two swallows, I thought absolutely nothing about the drink. It might as well have been water. The hand at my hair stopped holding me. The room was a swirl of people stepping over to look at me. I felt nothing. I cared about nothing.

The more I sat there, the further away my mind wandered off, as if brain cells were dying, as if I’d really died, and if there was no air in five minutes, I’d be, well, a zombie. In five minutes I was literally in a dream, as if nothing mattered as long as I could sleep. Before me, the Mistress got up, and said something to me. My corpse got up, and followed her, it didn’t matter enough where for me to remember. She was in a dark room, and retrieving a sign with a medium gage chain on it. The sign said, “Four hour’s work, one dollar. Any chore OK.” It was signed, Madam Montoya. Under the lettering was a card slot for the money. She put the sign around my neck. She led me to a dirty cot in the basement that was already shared by one of the other dead people. I was told to sleep. All that meant was that I had to close my eyes. I reached up with my hand, and pulled them shut.