The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ellen sat at the kitchen table, staring unseeing into her wineglass as she absent-mindedly swirled the dark-red contents within. It was past one in the morning, she knew; another sleepless night in what felt like a sleepless life.

She was glad, at least, that Christina and Leslie were friends again. Christina had been a living vortex of grouch for months; she should be easier to live with know that she and her girlfriend were back together.

Ellen smiled wryly to herself. Girlfriend. At least that was one worry taken care of. Christina probably thought her mother didn’t know about her feelings for Leslie; but it was pretty obvious that their little spat had meant more to Christina than just two friends falling out. It was, frankly, a relief; at least if Christina were doomed to repeat the mistakes of Ellen’s youth, she was doing it in a way that didn’t risk pregnancy.

Of course I’m happy with how it turned out, Ellen assured herself. She loved her daughter! That was what made it so difficult. How do I say “I love you” with one breath and “Don’t make the mistakes I did” with the other, when those mistakes are the reason she exists? But as long as Christina stuck to knocking boots with other girls, she was at least safe from that.

Ellen sighed and took a sip from the glass she’d been nursing since she came downstairs. Tomorrow she had to go in to work and get yelled at, again, by a boss who knew less than she did—but he had a college degree, and that was what mattered. He hadn’t had to drop out to have a baby, hadn’t had to spend eighteen years juggling a full-time job and a child that between them ate any time and energy she could have used to go back to get it.

She sighed. It could have been worse—at least she had parents who left her a fully paid-off house when they retired to Florida. It was a good neighborhood, and it meant Christina went to good schools, and property taxes cost a lot less than rent on even a small apartment, meaning she could make ends meet on the job she had.

So why all the one a.m. pity parties? she asked herself before downing the remaining wine. It was time to try again to sleep; maybe she could squeeze in four hours before she had to be up for work.

Thump.

Ellen jumped at the sound, and even more at the feel: something had just hit the floor from below, directly underneath her. She froze, waited in silence a moment—

Thump.

There it was again! Like an impact against the floor, or the ceiling of the basement below. A trapped animal, maybe, or a pipe being weird. With another sigh, Ellen tightened her fluffy pink robe and walked into the living room to grab the poker from the never-used fireplace. Armed, she opened the door to the basement stairs and descended slowly.

Karnath floated invisibly in the corner of the basement. Nothing of his prison was visible to mortal eyes, but he could feel it, see it: a kind of shimmer in the air that he knew he could not touch. The pentagram, the physical drawing, was long gone, but the power—the prison—it represented remained. Ceiling and floor were part of that prison, too, which was frustrating; Ellen sat directly above him, her frustration and loneliness burning in his mind, screaming to him: Here is prey.

He wanted her. That was what it was to be an incubus: unending want, the constant desire for physical pleasure, insatiable and infinite. To have that desire frustrated—well, that was familiar, the millennia he’d spent banished from the physical plane having been made of nothing else, but familiarity did nothing to dull it.

He drifted up toward the ceiling, a thin layer of wood and insulation and wood again, all that separated him from his prey. No mere matter could contain him—but this mere matter represented the prison into which Christina had summoned him, and therefore could not be passed.

Not passed. But could it be touched? The more souls he possessed, the more he could do; with the equivalent of one, he’d been able to seduce and corrupt, the core powers of an incubus. Now he had two. That should be more than enough to—

Thump.

It worked! He could make noise. And if he could make enough to attract Ellen’s attention... A few more thumps, and then the door at the top of the opened. Dim yellow light spilled down the staircase, and then, slowly, Ellen’s footsteps carried her down the slanting column of light.

The hunt was on.

The stairs to the basement always gave Ellen the willies. As a child growing up in this house, she’d been terrified of the dark maw of the basement door. As an adult, she rationalized the fear as natural concern about descending a dark staircase to a hard floor, and thought of herself tripping, falling, and breaking her neck, but in truth, it was the same fear. Something about walking down into that basement had simply always unsettled her.

She reached the bottom without incident, as she had hundreds of times before, and pulled the string to light the bare bulb that was the main source of light for the basement. She turned toward the corner she’d been sitting above—

And nearly dropped her poker. A man was there, standing in the corner, seemingly waiting patiently for her. She nearly screamed—but then his face registered, and she took a half-step forward. “Guillermo?” she managed, voice shaking.

He smiled, and it was the smile she remembered, the confident, dangerous smile of the foreign exchange student her family had hosted, that she had lusted after with all her young heart. But it wasn’t quite him; he was older, perhaps halfway between their ages then and now. And even then, there were differences—bits and pieces of other men she’d fantasized about.

“Hello, Ellen,” he said, his voice seeming to vibrate right down her spine, melting its way down.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “Am I... am I dreaming? Who are you?”

“Does it matter?” he asked, still in that deep, delicious voice, dripping in dark honey.

“I...” She shook her head and raised the poker. “I asked you a question!”

“Oh, you are a strong one,” he said. “You have fire.”

“Yeah, I do,” she replied. “Weirdo. Now answer the question or get burned.”

He laughed. “You would force me to depart? Your words are fierce, but you step closer every time I speak.”

Ellen gulped. It was true. Just being in the room with him, seeing him, hearing his voice, sent thrills through her. He was impossibly alluring, but everything about him, and about this situation, reeked of danger.

And yet that just made it even hotter.

“Who I am doesn’t matter. All that matters is the heat you feel filling you, the passionate need rising in your heart and... other areas.”

Ellen let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. And then she hit the stranger with her poker, as hard as he could.

He caught it effortlessly, and then pulled. She could have let go, but that tug, combined with the almost physical, magnetic attraction that seemed to be dragging her feet forward, was too much for her. She took a couple of quick, small steps toward him—and then she was inside the pentagram. She had no idea it was there, but nonetheless she could feel the change, an electric tingle in the air as his power was suddenly unfiltered.

He tossed the poker aside, and smirked down at her. “I am Karnath,” he said, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her toward him. “And you are mine.”

She stared up at him, her blue eyes huge and fascinated, desire and terror warring in them as her mouth hung open in shock. His touch, even through her clothes, even just against her back, tingled and tantalized, every nerve ending in the skin under his hand thrumming like a plucked guitar string.

Then his words penetrated the fog of lust spreading through her mind, and she burst out laughing. “Seriously? Would you like some wine with that cheese?” His spell momentarily broken, she tried to pull away, but his arm was unyielding.

Instead, he pulled her closer, the whole length of her body pressed against him, warm and soft against the hard, hot planes of his body. “Prove me wrong,” he said, his voice echoing from her ears down to the base of her spine, her body filling with a golden heat that sank slowly down with his voice. She struggled to stay hard and cold, to resist, but she could feel herself melting in that heat.

“You see?” he chided softly in her ear, and then nibbled lightly.

Ellen gasped. The nibble burst through her brain like lightning, leaving behind a languorous heat that threatened to do to her mind what his voice did to her body, softening and melting it.

“No,” she murmured, rallying as best she could, half-heartedly pushing against him, but when he moved from nibbling her ear to nibbling her neck, all she could do was grasp him as she cooed in confused pleasure. Her brain was melting now, drip drip dripping down her spine, the growing wetness between her legs marking where it threatened to leave her entirely. She was teetering on the edge of something she dimly sensed, something glorious and exquisite and oh so very dangerous. She could stop here, could look for a way to try to escape while she was still herself—because, she realized with a pang of terror that cut through even her lust-addled state, that was what was at stake here. She was in danger of losing herself.

Then he stroked slowly down the neckline of her robe, a single teasing finger right on the edge of covered skin, that lethally pleasurable, electric feeling seeming to arc across her breast, fork and circle her nipple. She couldn’t help but whimper in need.

“Why don’t you take it off?” he murmured, and in the moment she couldn’t remember a reason.

She fumbled eagerly at the knot holding her robe closed, and as she did, the overwhelming desire grew even stronger, or her ability to withstand it weakened. Either way, she could feel herself starting to slip away even as her robe fell to the floor—and it felt very good.

“See?” he said. “Obey and feel pleasure.”

Ellen trembled. She’d crossed a threshold and she knew it—but when it felt this good, how could she stop?

He lifted her nightie, stroked her bare thigh, and she trembled. She could feel her mind and sanity dribbling down her thigh, and it felt so very good, after a lifetime of struggle, to just let go.

“Now take this off,” he whispered, and she tried to resist, truly she did, but it was so hard to remember why, so much easier to let herself wash away in that tide of pleasure and desire...

Her nightie fell to the floor, and his smirk flared into incandescence. His own clothes dissolved into nothing, and she didn’t question it. She was beyond questioning, almost beyond thinking; there was only sensation and action, pleasure and need.

She was going to lose herself completely and she knew it. There was no need even for him to order her; she felt the desires he put in her mind, and she obeyed them. She still, barely, had the choice not to—but she no longer cared. Her delicate fingers sang with pleasure as they danced along his cock; her mouth watered as she strained upwards for his kiss.

When his tongue entered her mouth, it found hers ready and eager, while her hands glided and stroked over him, exploring with desperate heat. When at last he grasped her hips in his hands and lifted her like she weighed nothing, she wrapped her legs and arms around him and impaled herself on his cock with abandon, gladly throwing away the last of her will.

She was open to him completely now, her surrender total, and he drank deep with every thrust. When at last he claimed her soul, her cries of ecstasy were muffled only by his mouth on hers.

And then there was no more Ellen, just one more empty shell he could use like a puppet. With her mouth, and his own, and even Leslie’s as she slept dreamlessly in her bed, Karnath smiled.