The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Evening. Had a long night, have we?

Mm. How could I tell? For starters: you’re looking worse than all the hells put together.

No, no, I’m only kidding you. It’s just that you’re soaked through—right, of course, the storm. I only got here a little before the skies opened up, then... ugh. Just look at it. The roads will be a nightmare to travel on in the morning, and I don’t expect anyone but us to turn up to a tavern in weather like this.

What? Oh no, not while I’m just sitting here. Martin! Hey! Some mead for my new friend here—bread and cheese too, while you’re at it. Don’t worry about the price; it’s on the house’s tab.

Do I work here? Oh gods, no. But... I suppose I do, in a way. You see—ah, here we are, thank you Martin. Drink up, friend, you need some warmth inside your bones. Anyway. I’m a traveler—not unlike you, I expect—and storytelling is my noble trade.

A bard? No. Gods, no, I haven’t touched a lute since I was but eleven years old, and even longer for a flute. Singing voice isn’t too miserable, but you’d need a few of those in me before I even thought about belting out a tune. I’ve already had plenty; see? Water’s all he’ll give me for the rest of the night.

Martin’s a fine man. I’ve stopped in here a few times before; brought in some fine-sized crowds for a tavern in the middle of nowhere. I get free meals, free drink, free lodging, and a few extra coins off the top of the tidy pile he takes home at the end of the night. Not a bad bargain, if I say so myself; many other innkeepers are amenable to the same deal.

Oh, sure, I’ve been all over. Been heading towards Watchmount for a few days now.

Really? You, too? It’s a small corner of the country, I suppose. Not many places to go from here—the road only goes two ways, after all. You probably could’ve gotten as far as Clovegreen tonight, but for all this rain...

It really is thick, isn’t it. Look how he’s got that lantern hanging outside; it’s a wonder the thing hasn’t guttered out, or swung right off that hook in this wind. I’ve been watching it for hours, and just a bit ago I swear it was falling sideways, and...

... ah. Right. You would’ve been in that.

No! No I am not smiling. I’d never dream of it.

... fine, maybe a little bit. Here, let me get this coat off of you—hush, it’s the least I can do. It’ll dry out by the hearth just fine, see? Better, isn’t it? You could sit closer as well, if you like. Might do better at warming you up than a word of mine ever could.

Ahh. Yes, I know exactly what you mean. It’s why I’ve been sitting here, really. Close enough to the fire to catch some warmth, far enough from the bar to hear how Martin grumbles... and right before the window. It’s kind of soothing, to me. I’ve always liked performing when it rains—when I’ve got a crowd before me and a roof above me, that is.

I’m sure you understand, you were just out in it. There’s something so safe, so comfortable about sitting inside while the outside tries to drown itself. I think that’s why I like the sound: the drumming on the roof or the din when it blasts against the window, just like that. It reminds me that I’m safe inside, and lets me be more than glad for not being out there any longer. Not that I was in it tonight, but you understand, right?

Hm. I wouldn’t say it’s always distracting to telling a story. Sometimes it can even be useful. Say that I’m trying to describe a thousand soldiers marching in step, going off to a war they know they’re destined to lose, but they’re bound by fate to continue even still... what better aid could I ask for than some beating rain to bring that feeling across? The sound of it, certainly, but also the feeling of danger pressing in on all sides, of unnerving calm, of inevitability... or—

Or that! Right there; did you see it? No? Wait, quiet, just listen...

... and there. Great big boom, just like wardrums. You would think that’d be distracting, that it’d take the audience’s focus off of me and onto the outside, but you’re dead wrong. When lightning flashes through the window, everyone sees it. They all know there’s going to be a thunderclap to follow it. But what none of them know?

When it’s going to happen. It could be close, and the thunder could come almost instantly; or it could be far, and the rolling booms could take nearly a minute to reach their ears. Sometimes it might not even come at all. But everyone sees the flash, everyone expects the sound, everyone holds their breath waiting for it to happen...

And it does. They can exhale, then, they can relax, they can refocus on what’s important—but that’s the trick. They’ve been focused the entire time.

Am I losing you? I feel like I might be losing you. You’ve been drumming your fingers on that mug like you’re supposed to be the bard in the room.

You promise that I’m not boring you? I just never get a chance to talk about the craft, I’m always too busy showing it off. But so long as you’re sure...

How about this. A wager. We’ll both keep our eyes out the window, watching for those flashes, listening for those booms of thunder. If by the end of the hour, you’re unconvinced that a little distraction like that could help my work, then I’ll... hm, I’ll cover a bed for you, tonight, out of my own pocket. Sound fair?

Hah. Of course it does. Now keep a close eye out for it, and a closer ear for it. But not too close—I’m still going to be talking that ear off. It’s not just lightning and thunder that make my job easier. Anything can do it: so long as there’s anticipation involved.

Anticipation? It’s the backbone of all storytelling, really. It’s the reason anyone comes to listen in the first place: they see a storyteller, and they have an expectation that they’ll receive a good story. So you come, and you sit, and you listen, and you spend the whole time anticipating a wonderful conclusion, just like—

There. You saw it. Now count with me, two, three, four, five...

Boom. Simple, isn’t it? And you haven’t forgotten any of what we were talking about—how you listen, how you expect, how you anticipate—and in fact, you’ve just had it demonstrated. The same thing happened to you, just as I described it. You saw the flash, you expected the boom, you listened for it, you anticipated its coming, and then it was there. Just like sitting down for a story. It wasn’t hard, it wasn’t complicated, it was barely at all distracting.

I’d go so far as to say it’s natural, to anticipate. So much of it happens in our daily lives. When you leave for work, you anticipate coming home to a warm meal and a comfortable bed. When you lay down to rest, you anticipate falling asleep and rising refreshed. When you dream, you anticipate strange images, strange thoughts, and awaking to remember so little of it.

But it’s even more natural than that. Surely, you’ve noticed how you’re anticipating my words while we sit, and watch, and listen, because you’re expecting to win that lovely and comfortable bed from me. But have you noticed the anticipation in the span of your breaths? You breathe in... and you breathe out. Expectation, and anticipation...

... and release. You don’t have to hold your breath, just because I’m talking—you’ll find a rhythm that’s as natural as listening. But that release I mentioned, that lovely exhalation; that’s why anticipation is such a powerful tool. Think of the lightning. Were you outside in all that rain, instead of just hearing it as a dull roar, you’d be fearful when you saw that arc of light, afraid of how close the following boom would be. And inside, some of that might remain—there’s a little moment of tension, a little startle at the random flash, and then you wait, and...

You hear the noise, and you can relax. There’s no need to be on guard, not when you know the danger is miles and miles away. Hearing the thunderclap is a sign of safety, of comfort; that’s why I told you I liked it so much. You didn’t fully understand it then, but you do now—that’s another sort of anticipation, isn’t it? You hear me say something, you wonder at what it means, you expect you’ll find out, and when you do...

... you can relax. You can smile, knowing your cleverness has allowed you that nice, good feeling, like a breath of fresh air from your toes to your head. And that only makes the anticipation stronger, you see. Because when you know that good, wonderful release is coming, you just anticipate it even more, don’t you?

That’s right. And it’s so wonderful, and indeed, so convenient, that you’re anticipating all the time, now. You take that deep breath in, and you hold it...

... and you release it. And you feel that wave from toes to head, that sense of goodness, safety, and comfort that comes over you. Because letting go of such a breath allows you to take another, and so long as you keep breathing, you keep on living—and that’s quite a good thing to anticipate, as well. So you breathe in...

... and you breathe out. And you feel wonderful for it. Because the more that you focus on that rhythm, and the more you hear of my oh-so-clever words, the more you feel that wonderful feeling. The stronger it becomes. The deeper it travels. In...

... and out. It gathers first in your toes, in your soles, soothing those muscles and climbing to your ankles. In...

... and out. It rises higher then—because you anticipate that it will, don’t you? Feeling that warm, safe, relaxing sensation in your feet means it must climb higher and higher still, more and more with each breath you take. In...

... and out. It’s gentle, and soothing, like the rain and the storm outside our window. It helps you to focus, and the focusing is so easy, because of how natural this breathing, this feeling is. In...

... and out. Higher and higher, you might not even have noticed just how far it’s gone. To your thighs? Your stomach? Your chest? Wherever it’s risen, however far it’s come, you know it will rise higher, feel warmer, go even deeper. In...

... and out. And you find you can still focus so easily on my words, so naturally on my words, because you anticipate them. As naturally as you anticipate exhaling, releasing, and feeling, you anticipate the sound of my voice, the shape of my syllables, the feelings that they bring you. In...

... and out. Because I’ve shown you such pleasures already, such interesting and curious insights, you expect them even more. You focus on them even more. Because when I’ve spoken, and when you’ve understood... you feel that release, that pleasure. In...

... and out. The pleasure is not just of your body—that’s what the anticipation, the rhythm of what your breathing is for. The lungs take in warmth, they blow away stress. They serve the body through such wondrous anticipation. But when you focus and anticipate my words, you use not your body. You use your mind, instead.

Your mind is what hears these words, what conjures meaning from them: whether that’s in shape, or sight, or sound, it does such full and encompassing work to understand, to follow, to listen so very well. And why do you listen well?

Because you anticipate. Because your expectation is felt, and known, and rewarded by my words. Your mind, for all the lovely work that it has done thus far, has already felt release, reward, and pleasure. You’re feeling it right now. You have been, for some time. Because it’s natural to, because it’s good to, because it’s simple to. As simple as breathing in...

... and breathing out. Like the lightning, you see the thought I speak into your mind. You see the shape of it, the seed of the idea, the truth that I want you to understand. And then you expect—you expect your own understanding, your own realization of what it is that such a thought means, that such an idea implies, that such a woman as myself might want you to know. You expect to understand, and your mind, so beautiful and wonderful a mind that it is: it does. Automatically, with so little thought, so little struggle, so much concentration, you understand. You see what I say, you hear what I speak, and you follow it. And for that easy, wonderful task, such a natural and implicit anticipation...

... you feel pleasure. Like the warmth that’s flooded your whole body, just from the anticipation of your next deep, warm, lovely breath, that feeling can flood into your mind. Rewarding you, for seeing the thought, thinking the thought, and understanding that idea. You follow so very well. You should be rewarded so very much.

That is why with each sentence, each phrase, each clause, even each word, an audience hangs on to what I say, what I mean. I speak, and just like breathing, they are rewarded for listening. Every other moment is spent in anticipation, every other second is spent in reward. And feeling even the slightest pleasure encourages even more of that warmth to blossom: for you know how good it feels, how simple it is, how natural it can be when all you must do is focus to feel such a release.

Now you understand why anticipation is such a powerful thing. For if you were to even imagine a flash of lightning, simply seeing it in your mind, you would listen, and you would wait, and you would wait, and you would wait...

... and you would hear the sound, right now. As natural as breathing, as easy as relaxing, as pleasurable as any reward can be.

Good. Very good. It can be tiring, building up so much anticipation, having so many moments of release. You should relax a moment. Enjoy a few deep, simple breaths. Think on and understand the comfort, and the warmth brought into your mind. Test the muscles of your body, here and there—see how relaxed they’ve become. Maybe there’s a lovely tingle to them, maybe a weight like lead. Whatever the case may be, smile, and understand, and enjoy this reward.

And if you happen to feel another sort of pleasure, in your body and in your mind... hold on to that feeling, too. Carry it with you, the same as your relaxation, your comfort, and your safety.

For in the stories I tell, there’s one more thing that everyone anticipates—the ending. You must’ve sensed it by now: the feeling of winding down, the mood and tension beginning to relax. You should stretch your body, wiggle life into your toes, strength and invigoration into your fingers. Turn your neck from side to side, roll your shoulders around and around, move your back, move your hips, even stretch fully into the air from your seat.

Smile. Enjoy. Blink.

And wake.

Nice to see you, too.

Magic? Oh, don’t be silly. Do I look like a sorceress to you?

On second thought... perhaps you should keep that answer to yourself. Now if I recall, I believe we’d put together a little wager?

I knew you’d be convinced. Wait—now why on earth would you go reaching for your coin purse?

I told you I’d pay for a bed of your own, if you won. I didn’t say anything about what I might offer if you lost.

Well? Don’t just sit there—Martin’s dozed off now, so you can follow me.

To where? To where you’ve been anticipating all night, obviously. Come, and quickly now! I have a need for some release of my own...