The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Little Indians

Chapter 9 – Life inside with Pamela

Life soon settled into a sleepy, dream-filled routine. Each day was like any other. Everything the inhabitants required was within the four walls of the house, and the melancholy emptiness of the outside world discouraged them from leaving its comfort, except for Dee, who was still in the habit of taking an afternoon walk.

The six of them had settled into a routine. A little time was taken in the mornings to keep the house clean, and to do all of the other tasks associated with maintaining a household. Poe, Mrs Beale and Pamela would take themselves to the front room every morning until lunch time, and always locked the door. When they emerged, Mrs Beale took Dee to her room, Poe took Madeleine, and Pamela took Penn.

This existence could have been stultifyingly boring, but the daily breastfeed did far more than keep hunger at bay. Penn’s life was suffused with a sense of mystery, of unreality. Along with the milk came half-remembered dreams, strange personal connections.

Today, Penn was soaking up impressions from Jane, a girl he could not remember while awake, but did dreamily remember as he fed. Penn enjoyed her company. It was almost as if she were in the room with them, almost as if he were in her mind. He soaked up impressions, impressions which had been hidden from those around her. He felt Jane’s insecurity, her questioning of new emotions arising within herself, the changes in her maturing body, and her sweet anticipation for her nightly experiments. She appeared to have great personal reserve from the outside, but the Jane underneath was in a constant state of hunger. She was filled with desire for someone special.

Penn wished that he could see her outside this strange dream world, that he could be with her in the flesh, he wished that the hunger she felt was for him.

If the feelings had seemed like echoes, Penn would have been sad for her, but it was as if her spirit were present, her innermost dreams and secrets on her face, readable like an open book. The communication was of utmost eloquence, but she could not speak. He could only read her feelings, and it was as if there was something at the tip of her tongue that she wanted to tell him, as if she were about to speak, but could not. There was comfort, though, in there being no capacity for misunderstanding, or judgement, or competition for attention.

This intimacy with Jane was too delicious to leave by choice. He would usually fall asleep as he fed, with Pamela stroking his hair, and making little cooing sounds, as if he were a baby

Today, the connection was broken when Pamela fell asleep first.

Detaching, Penn lay beside her on the bed. He felt a sense of wonder for everything that his association with five very special women had given him. Penn gazed with love and adoration at Pamela’s fine beauty, and stroked her milk-white breast, the nipple still erect, and moist.

Pamela, now only pretending sleep, gently lifted back her robe to reveal what lay beneath. Penn had never seen Pamela naked, and could not resist regarding her in all of her beauty. At first he thought that the light was bad, as his impression was that her tummy and mons were still in shadow, so he quietly shifted from the bed and opened the curtains to let in the grey afternoon light.

As he stared, he still could not see. The strange wall at the rear of the cave came into his mind. Below Pamela’s breasts, he could see nothing: no colour, no texture, no impression of anything, just an absence between the folds of her robe.

Penn put his hand on a breast, and gently crept it down, cupping underneath, and then turned his hand to slide it lower.

Pamela smiled as he felt an impression of moisture and warmth. Penn saw nothing unusual, but he soon realised that his hand was no longer visible. Feelings of comfort stole over him from the unseeable hand, as if in anticipation of being stroked, and he let his hand linger, and let it lower. His feelings of curiosity were replaced by desire, and an erection strengthened in him. Penn could not resist wanting more of that lovely feeling, so he gently moved to cover Pamela, so that his chest was against hers. As he moved against her centre, the feeling became intense, and he was past worrying about any sense of embarrassment.

He had seen Mrs Beale in this position, and seen her ecstasy, and now he would know what she had felt.

It was delicious just to lie with Pamela and let the pleasure wash over him. It was like an afternoon in bed with Madeleine making love, no need to hurry. Pamela’s eyes drifted open, and she smiled, and held him, and talked quietly, and dreamily, chiding him,

“Oh, Penn, you naughty boy. You like your mother-to-be as you like her daughter, do you not? That’s very nice, Penn, it’s nice that you like to hold me. I have something special inside me. Hold me, Penn, hold me, and I’ll make you feel nice.”

Pamela reached up, and began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Each turned, and held the other, and drank in the other’s essence with their eyes. Pamela was beautiful, and Penn could see Madeleine in her eyes, but older, and more confidant, and hungrier.

The feeling of humid warmth on Penn’s chest moved down, and stole across his tummy, and he felt his pants opening, felt warmth and humidity on the tip of his cock-head. With delicious slowness, he was enveloped. It was not really physical. There was no sense of touch, but it was if a hard, radiant, heat was held near to him. It did not burn him, but excited his nerves, filled him with liquid lust. Pamela promised untold delights if he could push into her, if he could penetrate her maddening teasing.

“You are safe, Penn. You are safe for now. She cannot touch you while we are protected. Feel her, Penn, feel her desire. She’s safe inside me, Penn, and I won’t let her out. She radiates health, and life, and healing. She loves to feel you, Penn, but you must never, ever, let her touch you. She is so sweet, Penn, and so dangerous, you would be consumed. ...”

Penn pushed, and strained, but he could not touch, or see, or even perceive whatever it was that Pamela was holding within herself. He pushed his hips and hardness into that maddening emptiness, and felt its heat, its seduction, its hunger. He wriggled around, he thrust himself into its mystery, and soon gushed into Pamela’s centre. It was like spending into a hot wind, the maddening lust was still there, but there was no satisfaction, he could not look, he could not touch.

“Madeleine needs you now, Penn, remember that. She will not need you forever. Don’t be afraid, Penn. If you give yourself to Lilith, you will feel the love of a god, you will know eternity, you will transcend your physical self.

“I am here now, Penn, always ready for you. I am open to you, my body is yours, I love you, I want you. Help Madeleine, love Madeleine, but come to me whenever you want. One day I might let you feel what you are denied, I might show you how the world ends.”

Penn lay beside Pamela, and stroked her hidden centre, and felt her heat, where her womb should be, where he should feel wiry hair, her lips, a moist opening, but it was not available to him. It was a delicious feeling, but empty. His desire for her was like a blast of the blackest jealousy: he wanted her, he wanted to know her mystery, but it was denied him.

Almost with a sense of resignation, he covered her and plunged into her again, and their lovemaking was violent, with her arms around him as he thrust into her with a rhythm faster than any he had known with Madeleine, and her legs matched him, pulling his thrusts into her centre.

Even as he worked with a kind of mad passion he had never before felt, and they both panted with exertion, he could not touch, he could not reach his goal. Even as Pamela sighed her completion, even as his semen erupted, even as it left him and spurted into her, her could not feel her flesh, he could not know what she was.

Pamela’s body was open to him, and he knew that she would never refuse him, but there was a spiritual completion being denied to him, a physical touch that was missing, a final completion that he hungered for with all of his being, all of his soul.

Penn hoped that what he longed for was not his own death.