The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’d been nervous all afternoon — after all, there were so many things that could go wrong with this — but my heart did not start to pound until the pilot announced that we were starting our descent into New Orleans.

I was shaking with excitement and fear. Nine years daydreaming about this missed opportunity had not made it easy for me to be here now. And she didn’t even know I was coming!

I chewed gum as the plane landed in New Orleans. I knew she would not be at the airport to meet me when I disembarked, but I nonetheless scanned the crowd for a woman with long red hair. Of course, I didn’t see one. But I wasn’t disappointed.

I didn’t even have a carry-on bag, so I didn’t have to wait at the luggage carousel. In only a moment I made my way through New Orleans International, bought a dozen red roses for $18, and hailed a taxi.

“Alexis Hotel, in the French quarter,” I told the cab driver. He nodded and swung out of the airport.

I was so antsy that I counted all the bills I had on me, twice, to make sure none of them were minted after 1994.

When we pulled up to the hotel, the fare turned out to be nearly eighty dollars. I mentally reminded myself to be as careful with my cash as I could — after all, I had no other source of money and no credit.

I felt like I was floating when I walked through the elegant double doors. My heart was beating like a 33 record played at 78 RPM, and my hands were shaking. I don’t know how I managed to keep my voice steady as I asked the receptionist for Colleen Harrison’s room.

The attendant looked through a guest book. “I’m sorry, I don’t see her here.”

I swallowed hard. Surely I hadn’t given myself the wrong information? Or maybe Zelasha had lied to me in the first place? “Can you check under the University of South Dakota chamber singers?” I asked.

The receptionist nodded and started looking again. I could almost hear Zelasha’s voice telling me how she’d been disappointed — was being disappointed. “Look, I understand if you changed your mind about seeing me,” she had growled, “but you could at least have called. I waited an entire day sitting in my hotel room when my friends went out site-seeing.”

“Yes, here it is,” the attendant said.

“Thank goodness! Can you tell me which room?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t disclose that information.”

Oh, dear lord. Dear Lord. A pause. “Can you ring her room and tell her I’m here?”

The attendant grinned at me. “I think I can do that. Just a moment.”

“Miss Harrison? Yes, this is the front desk, you have a visitor. A Mr . . .” she looked at me.

“Brannock,” I told her.

“She’s on her way down,” said the receptionist.

Lord God Almighty. I thought I was going to explode. Being madly in lust with Zelasha had been bad enough the last time I’d spoken with her, eight years ago. In the time since — despite the painful memories of our romance fizzling out and her marriage to some other man — I’d never forgotten her personality and the way she used to seduce me over the phone. My memories emphasized how crazy she made me feel, not how we’d broken each other’s hearts. And best: here — in 1995 — none of those unpleasant things had happened yet.

And down the grand staircase she came.

I hadn’t known what to expect. She’d sent me a picture years ago, but I’d thrown it away when the final break-up had come. (That’s if you can call having phonesex with an internet friend you’d never met a “relationship.") The picture was only from her shoulders up, though. More than once, Zelasha had described herself to me as “grossly overweight.” That worried me. I’d been in enough a relationships to know that it can’t work out with people who don’t love themselves, Megan being only the latest example. I hadn’t come all this way for Zelasha’s looks. I had prepared myself to be disappointed, but harbored the secret hope that I’d want her for her body too.

There was no question that I desired her. Zelasha was a little bit plump, but hardly obese. And as I looked at her I could tell that she understood how to act beautiful even if she didn’t think she was. Attraction is a matter of personality and style more than looks. Zelasha had generous hips, but she knew how to use her body to her advantage. I felt my own body responding to her even from twenty yards, for although I was looking at her face I could still see her hips, the way they swayed deliciously — delightfully — as she walked. I was seized by the desire to sink into her lascivious flesh, to slide my member between her legs.

I had meant to run to her, but I couldn’t. I just stood there and let my eyes drink in her beauty. Her hair was drawn back, so I could just see a crimson gleam framing her face, sliding away out of my vision. Her face was oval, and her green eyes were huge and sparkling. She had full lips, and wore a black leather jacket over a white turtleneck. Her hips — God her hips — were cozily hidden in blue jeans, and she was wearing high heels. My eyes met hers again — deep, shadowy green eyes with long dark lashes.

“Hello, Zelasha,” I whispered.

Zelasha pulled me into a huge hug. “Hello, Nikolai.”

My arms slipped around her, and I dropped the roses. She’d already clasped her hands around my waist. Shy, she wasn’t — this was, after all, the first time we’d met, and she showed no hesitation at being close to me.

And then I looked down at her face.

God, she was beautiful. Her face was attractive, but it wasn’t what was pulling me to her. It was the way she looked at me. Her sparking green eyes — the eyes that I’d come thousands of miles and back in time to look into in person — were gazing at me, staring down into my soul, and drinking me in. She was looking at me with lust, and passion, and desire — telling me “I want you” with her gaze, the way only a woman can. She smelled deliciously of perfume and leather.

I was drowning, speechless, when Zelasha grinned a crooked smile and disengaged from the hug. She whirled around to my right, and slid her arm through mine. I picked up the flowers and handed them to her.

Zelasha smelled the roses and a look of bliss came over her face. “They’re beautiful,” she said. And then she murmured in my ear: “Let’s go upstairs . . . you can see the view.”

“As you wish,” I said impishly, and walked arm-in-arm with her up the stairs. I noticed she’d twisted her long red hair into a French braid — thick as my wrist — the end of which brushed her belt.

“Mmmm, so how was your trip?” she asked, brushing the side of her head against my shoulder as we rounded the steps.

“Oh, exciting,” I said. “I was terribly nervous. I don’t think it was the plane, though.”

“I thought you were driving.”

Whoops. “There was a slight change of plans.”

Zelasha gave me a sly look as she led me down the hallway and unlocked the door to her room, then slid her hand down my arm and wrapped her fingers around mine. “Wait until you see the city from up here. It’s spectacular.”

The hotel room wasn’t large, but it was glamorous. A red velvet bedspread was the first thing that caught my attention — it almost beckoned me to sink into it, even though it was wrinkled and the white pillows scattered all over the bed. The walls featured a fleur-de-lys paper, a large mirror was above the dresser, and each wall held a Monet print. The dresser, wardrobe, bed and mantelpiece were all wooden, carved in the same style; and the noon sun shone in the south window. There was a slightly unpleasant tang in the room — it was a smokers’ room. She’d been serious about the panorama, as well — the spectacular Victorian architecture of the city was spread out below like a detailed model train set.

Zelasha walked to the window — again I noticed her come-hither, suggestive, beckoning stride — and gazed out it. “Come see, Nikolai.”

I walked to the window, but stood behind her instead of beside her, and slid my arms around her waist. She moved slightly — neither encouraging me nor resisting me — but her hips were now touching mine, and my body was responding to her nearness and femininity.

I laid my chin on her shoulder and once again caught the odd, delicious combination of scents — perfume mixed with the leather of her coat. “I see something more beautiful than the city.”

Zelasha turned her head toward me. Our faces were less than an inch apart. She searched my face with her gaze. “I can see what you want, Nikolai. Don’t bother telling me that I’m beautiful — I’m not.”

Recollection of Colleen’s lack of self-esteem flowed back into me. I remembered this about her, of course, but it had been a decade since I’d faced the emotional impact of her inability to accept a compliment. How had I flirted with her? I tried desperately to remember.

“It’s hard to understand why a woman who radiates sensuality the way you do can’t understand why someone would want her. Beauty is as beauty does, Zelasha. You have the art mastered.”

“I’m overweight, and in time you’ll turn away from me.”

I shook my head, and caressed her cheek with my little finger. “I — will — not — turn — away.”

Once again Zelasha gave me The Look. As she looked into me, her green eyes seemed to grow larger and deeper. I felt like she was drinking up my soul. She didn’t make a sound, but I heard the siren call of her femininity singing to me from the depths of her penetrating lapis lazuli eyes.

I slid the leather jacket off her, and it fell to the floor. Our faces touched and moved around each other, and then our lips joined simultaneously. We went immediately in deep, as her tongue slid around mine and I yearned desperately to kiss her forever. Her arms were tightening around me; I slid my hands to her waist and held her close. To my surprise, I tasted a hint of soot — and then remembered that Zelasha smokes. I tend to have allergies around smokers, but on her lips the taste didn’t bother me. The luscious softness of her kiss more than made up for it.

As our lips and tongues and mouths slid and pressed and explored each other, I remembered a conversation we’d had. Zelasha had told me that she would quit smoking if she and I ended up together. At the time I was going to suggest that we turn her nicotine addiction into a sex addiction, but she actually said that to me before I’d vocalized my thoughts. It suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea when we’d had that talk. It probably hadn’t even happened yet.

Zelasha stopped kissing me and started caressing my face. “You’re a sensual man, Nikolai.” Again, I was blown away — this time she’d used The Voice. Zelasha had a way of speaking — only slightly different from her natural voice — that made men want her, and I was no exception. It was a slightly lower pitch, and was somewhere between whispering and singing. The way Zelasha used The Voice was one of the things that made me lust after her so wildly — and it was partly why we’d had phonesex. The phonesex that hadn’t even happened yet. I’d never forgotten the way she’d spoken to me, but then, I hadn’t heard it in eight years.

Zelasha was alternating kissing me — making my body go wild for her — and caressing my face. I shifted a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position so my stiff member wouldn’t be quite so obvious. She noticed, and grinned.

“Do you want me, Nikolai?” she said, playfully using The Voice. It was somewhere between a request and a statement.

“I do want you, Zelasha,” I grinned back, my eyes drinking in her beauty.

Surprising me, Colleen turned around and walked back to the window. She still used the come-hither walk, but it was more muted than before.

“Nick,” she said softly, in her normal voice. “Nick, come here.”

I was with her and had my arms around her, staring down into her face, in a millisecond. “Zelasha?”

“I don’t want sex,” Colleen murmured. “I want, Nick, will you make love with me?”

I stared earnestly into her bottomless green eyes. Being seductive was something Colleen knew how to turn off and on, but she had a natural beauty about her as well — a beauty that I wanted to wrap myself up in.

“Yes,” I whispered back. “Yes. I will make love with you, Colleen Gwendolyn Harrison. I want to make love with you.”

Suddenly the seductress was back, and she was unbuttoning my shirt, starting at the top and working her way down. She was approaching me, slowly, with tiny steps, making me walk backwards. All the time her captivating green eyes held mine, and once again I felt like I was falling in.

At some point I’d told her about my turn-ons — the sexual fantasies I’d had for years. When had that conversation been? Was that before or after I’d stood her up in New Orleans? Although I hadn’t told her every detail about my fantasies, Zelasha practically embodied my dream woman. I’d told her that my fantasy was being put under a spell. She understood this; after all, we’d met in a vampire chat room. Her Zelasha character was an ancient, powerful vampire sorceress. Nowadays people describe my fantasy as a hypnofetish — but this was 1995, and the term hadn’t been coined yet. It wasn’t until 1996 that I’d discover the Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive and feast on the wonderful stories by RC and everyone else. I decided I must have told her about wanting to be spellbound the following summer, after we’d made up and were having phonesex — before she got married and moved into a trailer park.

Zelasha was caressing my bare shoulders and chest with her pale hands. “Look into my eyes, Nikolai,” she murmured. “Look at me.”

Maybe I HAD told her already.

Zelasha tossed her braid over her right shoulder — on my left — and started to undo it. I’m certain I’d told her how much I loved her hair. Men love long hair on women.

“Keep your eyes on me,” Zelasha murmured, using The Voice. “Look at me. Do you want me, Nikolai?”

I nodded. Zelasha took her braid down and shook her hair out. It fell sensually, softly, like a lion’s mane, down, down to her belt. Her red tresses were incredibly long and thick. She let it glide over her shoulders on both sides of her head. There was one lock of blonde hair jutting out from just above her left eye.

Zelasha basked in the way I stared at her . She was smiling her crooked smile again. “Tell me, Nikolai.”

“I want you, Zelasha.” The bed was behind my knees, and she was standing so close to me I couldn’t move.

“Tell me again, Nikolai.”

“I desire you, Zelasha,” I repeated. She slid her hands from my neck to my shoulders and slid my dress shirt off my back. My arms slid around her waist — my skin sliding across her soft, sensual, perfect hair — and found the back of her shirt. I lifted, and pulled, and up it came, off her head, her coppery hair tossed and falling down around her again. I looked at her again — her smooth white flesh held in place by a white bra, and yes, she was slightly overweight. That didn’t stop her from being the most sensual woman I’d ever beheld, though. For an instant I noticed her pendant — it was a dark green marble, clasped in a pewter dragon’s claw, and hung on a leather string around her neck.

I looked up at Zelasha’s face, her crooked smile, her soft nose, her mysterious green eyes, and saw her grinning. Grinning in desire and in triumph.

“I’m a witch, Nikolai, and you’re falling under my spell. You can’t resist me.”

I slid a hand around her torso and unclipped her bra. “No . . . I don’t want to resist you.”

She sank a little, still looking up into my eyes. There seemed to be a tangible energy around us — I was aware of nothing but her, heard no other sounds than her voice. But my sense of touch was magnified as I felt her unbuttoning and unzipping my jeans. A half-formed thought fluttered by that this style of black Levi’s wouldn’t be invented until 2000.

Zelasha’s jeans were blue, and I had to glance briefly at her waist to see where to undo her belt and pants. In a moment our eyes met again. Her green pools were pulling, drinking at me.

“You’re under my spell, Nikolai. You want me. You can’t resist me.”

“I am under your spell, Zelasha,” I said. I didn’t think Colleen was really a witch, but the way we were acting made me feel like she had put a spell on me — and that was all that mattered.

Zelasha slid her black panties and pad — I noticed briefly that she was on her period — down her legs, and then pushed my boxers down as well. I was naked, except for the temporal monitor Stewart had given me. In a flash she’d pushed me down on the bed and was crawling over to me. Zelasha lay down on her back, and started pulling me toward her.

“Would, would you like to be on top first?” I whispered.

Zelasha looked honestly surprised by this. “You want me to be on top?” she breathed.

“Yes, at least for the first time,” I said as I ran my hands up and down her body, caressing from her thighs to her breasts. “I don’t see how someone can fear a person they’re on top of.”

I saw understanding dawn in Zelasha’s dark eyes — although now I’m not sure whether she comprehended that I wanted to dispel any fears that I might do something against her will, or whether she just thought I was being submissive. She growled, and rolled over on top of me. Zelasha surrounded me with her flesh — her hips were on top of mine, her wet pussy sliding over my member and driving me mad — and her breasts teased my chest. She slid her hands over my arms and laced her fingers around mine.

“I’m not scared,” the redhead murmured, as she moved a hand to brush her long red hair over her right shoulder and replaced her hand in mine. “No fears. No worries. No regrets. I want this. You want this.”

“I do want this,” I repeated as she rubbed her wet flesh over my member. “I hunger for you.”

“Oh God, you feel great,” Zelasha growled. “You want me, Nikolai.”

“I want you . . . oooohhh . . .” I gasped as she took me inside her.

“You’re under my spell,” she told me as she started to flex her hips and move back and forth. “You can’t fight me.”

“I am under your spell,” I whispered. Zelasha started kissing and running her teeth over my neck, giving me chills. I smelled the perfume in her long red hair, and my senses were reeling. I imagined Zelasha as a vampiress, and I was at her mercy. We were moving steadily together, our bodies delighting in each other. My fantasy of being with this amazing, sensual woman was coming true.

Something else was coming, too, so I slowed down. “Why are you stopping?” Zelasha asked, looking up, her lapis lazuli eyes again boring into mine.

“I’m about to come,” I breathed. “Not yet. You first.”

Her devilish smile lit up her face, her body, and the whole room. “Yesssss,” she grinned triumphantly. “You can’t resist me.”

“I can’t resist you,” I repeated as the almost-there feeling slid away and we started moving again.

“You must obey me.”

Oh, Lord. “I must obey you.” Our bodies were moving in perfect motion, I was lost in her green eyes, her soft, gentle face, her smooth lips, her long coppery hair with the blonde streak gleaming like a queen’s crown.

“You can’t fight me,” she groaned.

“I can’t fight you,” I gasped.

“Oh, kiss me.” Zelasha and I were kissing, kissing sensually, and kissing passionately — our tongues wrapped and slid around each other as our bodies heaved. “Oh, God. You . . .” she breathed, as her green eyes opened wider in abandon. “You are my slave.”

“I am . . .” I repeated, as the intense, powerful, almost-there feeling returned and electrified my whole body. “I am your slave.”

“Oh yes, oh God, oh yess, yesss . . .” Zelasha moaned. “You’re all mine, mine, mine, aahh, aaaah, aaaaaahhhhh . . .”

I exploded. It was long, and I felt it all through my body and soul. I was on fire. Zelasha’s womanhood was spasming, and she collapsed on top of me. My arms went around her as she shuddered, and I started stroking her long red hair as it flowed over her broad back.

“Oh God, that was . . . that was . . . wonderful,” Zelasha said. She turned her head to look into my eyes again. “Wow. Do you always do . . . that?”

“You ain’t seen nothing, yet,” I grinned. Sure, I was being arrogant — but I was also lucky. In movies, the lovers get together, and have magical, perfect sex the first time. It rarely works that way in real life. The lovers have to get to know each other’s bodies first — and it can’t easily be done in one night. There should be lots of practice touching and discussing each other’s bodies before sex.

I was lucky that Zelasha’s body and mine fit so well together naturally, and lucky that we both climaxed the first time. Heck, Colleen had told me it had taken weeks for her to climax with her first boyfriend — the one that she just broke up with last month, if I remembered right. I was lucky that our bodies were as sexually compatible as our minds were. And I was lucky that — after I’d missed this opportunity and daydreamed about this lost day for ten years — I hadn’t been plagued by self-doubt and unable to do it. Colleen was so sexy, I needn’t have worried — I’d been aroused ever since I laid eyes on her.

Zelasha was murmuring in my ear. “Really? Let’s do more.”

I grinned. “It’ll be a little while before I’m able to go again, darling.”

“Yessss, well, you ARE mine,” Zelasha murmured into my ear as she slid her hand down to caress my damp member. Then she made a face.

I looked down. It was that time of the month, and we were both covered in blood.

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” Zelasha said as she rolled over next to me. She lay down on one side, her head propped on her elbow, facing me. Her coppery hair flowed down all around her on the bed.

“Don’t worry,” I said, and leaned over to kiss her. She kissed back hungrily, and I nudged her face closer.

“It doesn’t gross you out?” she asked between kisses.

“I’m a vampire!” I said, making her giggle. I’m not a vampire literally, of course, but Zelasha and I had met in a vampire chatroom, and we both had a thing for those movies.

“Look into my eyes, my lover,” she murmured, again fixing her gaze on my face. It seemed both of our fetishes were a mile wide.

Her hand began caressing my limp member. “You are under my spell. You want me. You cannot resist me.”

Amazingly, my body responded to her words and her caresses. I was getting aroused again.

“Under . . . your spell,” I gasped, as my body obeyed her command. “I want you. I cannot resist you.”

“You will do anything I ask,” Zelasha murmured.

“Anything you ask,” I repeated, as she coaxed my member into stiffness.

“You need me,” she murmured.

“I need you,” I breathed. I did want her — not only figuratively, but literally, as I was now rock-hard.

“Come to me,” Zelasha commanded, and lay back on the bed. In a moment, I was on top of her, snuggling into her and brushing her long red hair out of the way. I moved inside her, and it was flawless.

“You need me,” she breathed as her lapis lazuli eyes pulled me in just as her body held me.

“I need you.”

“You’re in love with me,” she said — but she wasn’t using The Voice, this time. She was asking as much as commanding.

“I — am — in — love — with — you.” I said, putting emphasis each word.

“Oh . . . god, Nick . . .” Colleen gasped, and pulled me down to her. Kissing — French kissing — our arms and bodies wrapped around each other — we kept on lovemaking like we were the only people in the world.

Zelasha’s hands were playing all around me. She was caressing my chest and running her nails down my back. I felt like I was melting into her. She was stroking the back of my head . . . stroking my hair . . . stroking . . . guiding me into her neck.

“You must obey me,” Zelasha murmured as I covered her neck in licks and nibbles.

“I must obey you,” I said between kisses. Zelasha’s neck is erogenous, and she started to tremble even more.

“Oh yes, oh yessss, don’t stop,” she murmured. I bit her neck, and she cried out — in orgasm — and the collapsing walls of her womanhood squeezed me so perfectly that I felt it rising in me as well.

“You — love — me,” Zelasha panted.

“I love you,” I gasped as I came.