The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The trailer door is open. The wind is up. Night comes on earlier.

The crew wear sleeveless jackets over their sweatshirts tonight as they breakdown a set and put up another. My head aches from weeping; I have not been able to get in touch with Jim. It’s only discipline that keeps me on the picture.

I sneer and tell her that I don’t do foolish things just because a dame tries to hook my eyes with hers.

She tells me I’ll regret my cruelty one day.

I tell her that I’ve had my fill of regrets and I’ll be fine from now on.

She sneers now and says she still wants, but she doesn’t say what because she’s startled by the loud ring of the phone.

Yeah, I say, lifting the receiver.

He was good. So was she. Afterwards she offered to sleep with him.

That’s really nice of you he said but I’ll get through it.

You don’t have to worry about performing or anything like that. How ‘bout I play the role of a guy? She winked; she was teasing him, but not meanly, not making fun of him. She meant what she said like a friend.

It’s nice of you…

…but, she did not let him finish, took his head in her hands and guided it, brought it slowly closer to hers until their breaths mingled and she could feel him getting dizzy. She brought his mouth to hers and pushed her tongue inside his cavern and filled it, and then she sucked his tongue inside her mouth and he felt as if she had pulled him inside her completely.

Then she pulled back.

Don’t move, she commanded.

He complied.

Open your eyes, she commanded.

He looked into her eyes fixed on his.

You will do everything I tell you to do exactly as I tell you to do it.

Yes, he uttered hoarsely from the back of his throat.

Watch my eyes, she said. Find the rhythm of my breath. Breathe with me. Slowly. Feel how dizzy you are becoming. Feel your mind locking. I own you.

She pulled at his belt and unsnapped his jeans and pulled down the zipper and took hold of his balls. His cock was high and hard. She rubbed her self beneath her short tight skirt and pulled her thong to the side and rubbed herself and brought herself down over his cock and probed its head with the lips of her cunt and then took him in.

Her heels were still on, and if he had been able to see the arch of her instep, it would have killed him.

He stiffened. That’s right, she said. When I take you inside me, you stand at attention. The entire body, not just the cock. You exist for me.

He was holding his breath as she rose and fell upon him. He felt himself on the verge of bursting, and as the need to explode increased, so did his power to keep himself from exploding. Force and resistance struggled with each other and aided each other, climbing upon each other until he felt himself vibrating like a taut string of silk or metal.

Great shattering fields of dissolving gold broke before his eyes as his entire body began to rise and fall as if magnetized. She grabbed him by the throat and rammed her tongue into his mouth all the way down to the back.

Suck it like it was Jim’s cock she said, pulling away from him, slowly moving nearer, parting his lips with her tongue, and he began to suck it like Jim’s cock as she writhed in a frenzy upon his.

You’ve come to get my story.

What else is left?

He turns on the bar stool and faces her.

A red spot light plays upon both of them.

He lifts his glass. Nothing your readers would care to know.

Why don’t you let me judge that, she answers gently.

He drinks from his glass, feels the effect of his drink. I’m tired of judgments, he says biting down.

What gives you the right to all that bitterness and self-pity?

He just looks at her until he can’t keep it down anymore. Funny, isn’t it, that you have to ask, sugar?

You once knew how to make me feel like a woman, she retorted. Now…

Ok, leave it there, Nicola shouted.

I look at her, only it’s not a movie now, but her attention is somewhere else and I go off to my trailer, suddenly feeling exhausted.

Jim called Tuesday, chirpy as if nothing had been going on and we’d just seen each other. So even though I was glad that he was friendly, and even though I melted and shivered at the sound of his sweet voice, I hated myself for being affected by him and my resentment at how he’d walked out on me when I needed him three weeks ago soured my current pleasure and even made it suspect.

So where do we go from here, Mary?

What’s that supposed to mean?

It’s not supposed to mean anything. It’s obvious.

What are you miffed about?

You can really ask me that? What nerve.

Are you going to start that again?

Start what?

I’m not going to do this.

Jim.

Let’s cut it here. I’m sorry I called. Let it go. Let’s say you and I have different priorities. So long. Ciao.

And then the line was just a long dark silence resonant with the possibility of voices and haunted by their absence.

Nothing much happened the next fortnight.

She’s in the shower, behind frosted glass that nevertheless renders her an alluring silhouette. He is lower right, pulling off his shirt. She emerges with a towel around her and a turban round her head to dry her hair.

Who let you in here, lover?

The elevator boy took a shine to me.

Look, Frank, I told you last night that I was through, and I meant it.

You’ve said it before, lover, hundreds of times, to how many guys? But the smart ones are the ones who don’t believe it.

We finished the picture. I left London; flew back to Paris. Jim was in San Francisco—for good? Weird expression. Irma went back to Hollywood to co-star in a Jack Nicholson picture. We never made it together again after the strange night I’ve already described. In fact she hardly looked at me the rest of the picture. But we played our scenes with life running through them, love scenes as well. I glided through them like I was in a trance.

(Months later, the critics noticed it and said there was rare chemistry between us seldom seen, and they hoped to see us together in another picture soon. Jezus, I hope not.)

She could be a heartbreaker if you let her, and mine’s broken already. Maybe the best thing would be to crumble it up and toss the whole thing out.

I decided to take my losses, and doing so gave me a funny kind of strength. It was the strength of lightness, of emptiness. Taking your losses means feeling everything is gone. And that makes you light enough to float. So I floated through Paris.

It was in early September. The day was gray. The sky was banked with clouds billowing along the arcs of its dome.

I passed Jonathan at Shakespeare and Company, sitting outside and playing his fiddle. We saluted each other. He stopped and we made friendly small talk for a few minutes. I noticed the freshness of his young lips as he spoke and the clarity of his skin and felt his scrotum in my hand even though we were not touching. And then I left him as he fiddled I Got Rhythm with a lot of vinegar.

A half hour later by the Luxemburg Gardens I was caught in a rain storm that could have been the prelude to Noah’s flood and was soaked to the skin. In summer, this might be pleasant. But there was a chill in the air and a trace of it had penetrated inside me.

When I got to my place on Rue des Ecouffes, the rain had let up, but the day was continuing gray and the episode of rain had not been the last.

I pulled off my clothes, and turned on the shower, steamed up the room, soaped myself and felt the gentleness of my hands caressing my genitals, my thighs, my nipples. My eyes relaxed and became fixed on my reflection in the mirror as I stood after the shower shaving my chest.

When I finished, I caressed it, rubbing the palms of my hands over its gleaming oiled smoothness, and lower to the erect shaft of my cock, stiff with a ring I had slipped on before tumescence around its base.

My eyes fell shut. I forced them open, stretched them.

Then the warmth began and a steady flood of sensation coursed through my whole body, through my arteries and veins and capillaries and filled my muscles with hot iron. My cock was stiff and hot and hard and shuddered on the brink of explosion and then I blew up. My knees buckled and my insides collapsed.