The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

CHAPTER #8.

Homer had thoughts. Was she a moaner, a screamer, a pottymouth, or one of those inscrutably silent women? Was her statement intentionally suggestive? If so, on what course would they tread if he followed her lead? What would it be like to be treaded on by her? What did her feet look, and of far more importance feel, like anyway? He was knowledgeable about the power of suggestion. A suggestion can lead to curiosity, and curiosity could lead to desire. SOMEONE with WHOM he was certainly comfortable, by WHOM he was frequently fascinated, of WHOM he was amiably afraid, and to WHOM he was verily vulnerable and salubriously subject had shown him so. Even attempting to ascertain whether or not she was being flirtatious might magnetically draw and deftly deposit him firmly in her charmingly captivating clutches. He knew this to be true. He had to rid his mind of such thoughts. “This story is called, “The Three, Not Necessarily Little, Pigtailed Hypnotic Dominatrixes Gruff.”

“Ou, ou I know that one.”

He knew she was fibbing. “Oh good. No one has told me a story in a long time. I think you should tell it to me.”

“But, you tell it sooooooo much better than I do. And besides, you promised Me a story.”

“You told me you’ve heard it.”

Mistress da Vinci began pouting. “You promised Me a story.” She sniffled several times. “I’ll get you for this. My big brother will beat you up. So! there!”

If she was going to make statements, resurrect attitudes, and reenact scenes typically associated with childhood, then amen unto thee. He would adopt and play the role of the bully in this childish, little tableaux and possibly pivotal skirmish in this very adult war between these two representatives of their respective sexes. “Hmmmmmmm, the word sexes is a palindrome. Sexes is almost a homonym for the phrase “sex is.” Sex is.” If he did not derail this train of thought, Homer knew he would be lost for sure. He snapped his mind back to his target. “So, the little girly is going to tell her big, bad brother on me? Ha, ha! ha!!!“‘ I’m not afraid of your puny, little big brother.”

“Oh, yeh? Well, I’m gonna tell LADY MESMER on you. KRYS!—TAL!” it suddenly occurred to her she did not know his name, “the bad, bad man won’t tell Me a story.” She began stamping her feet. “He won’t tell Me the stor!—eeeeeeey!” Her feet moved faster and faster.

“If it means that much to you, I’ll tell it. But, only this one time and only if you put a smile on your face and no! more! tantrums!”

“Goodie!” She clapped her hands excitedly. She remembered that, sometimes, throwing a tantrum was an effective means of getting one’s way. It had worked when she was a little girl. Men, especially, were particularly susceptible to emotional outbursts, flattery, cozying up to them, and other little girlish tricks of the trade employed by girls of all sizes in all cultures for all time. She wondered if these moments were her first inklings of the true power femininity wielded o’er the hapless minds of helpless males?

“What about the tantrums?”

“I promise to be good. I don’t never wanna be a bad girl. Bad girls and boys get spankings. I will be a good, little girl. Just you wait and see. I will be sooooooo! goooooood!” Her feet fell silent. She regarded him slyly. This time she simultaneously played with both of his ankles.

Homer wondered why it was getting warmer in this room? “Why are you doing that?”

A cherubic expression adorned her visage. “I’m not doing anything. I told you I would be good.” Her tone was the essence of innocence.

“Very well. Once upon a time or perhaps in the future or maybe both of the above there existed or shall be created or both a wonderful and marvelous realm. The name of this everlastingly enchanted, utopian air castle in Spain was, B&D-D&S-S&M. In this wondrous world dwelleth erotic dominants of all ages, sexes, races, sexual preferences, abilities, classes, erotic interests, experience levels, extra-erotic fascinations, motivations, appearances, and types. There also lived in this vast and varied land many kinds of erotic submissives, willing sexual servants, and those who voluntarily adopted the role of slaves to their, erotically-speaking, mistress, or mistresses, master, or masters, or one of the various combinations of these elemental choices.

Amongst B&D-D&S-S&M’s dominant denizens were three sisters named Gruff. The first name of one of these triplets was Fascination. She was far more irresistible than any other dominant person. Her charm, gentleness, physical attractiveness, compassion, nobility, intelligence, and all other appealing characteristics a sensually dominant individual could possess surpassed those of all her rivals. Another sister who bore the surname Gruff was given the name Fearsome. She was more terrifying than any master or other dominatrix. Her strength, willpower, ferocity, mental focus, imagination, and those characteristics deemed worthwhile in the makeup of a very, very strict disciplinarian type of dominant were beyond compare. Their parents had assigned to the third sister the given name of Paradox. She did not excel either of her sisters in any way. Paradox, however, did possess a lesser version of each characteristic which gave each of her other sisters her respective and noteworthy power. For some reason, which was hidden even from the siblings, all of them wore their beautiful hair in pigtails. Each of the siblings severally and simultaneously adopted the idea that hypnosis was a linchpin in that woman’s ability to initially influence, then consequently control, and at the last dominate the desired and willing submissive subject. One of the erotically submissive beings inhabiting B&D-D&S-S&M was called, the Most Eligible and Stimulating Submissive—or simply “the mess”. All of the land’s dominants vied to captivate and thereafter capture the mess. One of those who had failed to do so was a very powerful magician. This sensual dominant did not take rejection, or any other kind of disappointment, well. For some time the spurned magic worker seethed in a sinister stew of wounded pried, hurt feelings, and anger. To wreak the wielder of wizardry’s vengeance, the misanthropic manipulator of mystical artistries cast an evil enchantment upon the mess. The mess, by this spell, was transformed into a hideous, fiendish, disloyal, and monstrous troll. In only one way could this cursed charm be broken. The greatest of all dominants must utilize his or her powers to seize the decrepit head and civilize the savage heart of the horribly transmogrified mess.

The spell cast upon the mess manifested itself in some rather bizarre fashions. One of these was that from time to time the mess was forced to lurk beneath a bridge. When anyone set foot upon the structure, the mess would lunge out of his hiding place and scream forth a bone-chilling, bloodcurdling, and heart-wrenching cry. Many who heard the faintest echo of this sound afar off were frightened out of their wits into temporary yet total catatonia. Only the most stalwart of those who heard it up close would keenly feel the mess’s anguish and torment.

And so it came to pass, that a clarion summons called all the erotic dominants to the most monumental of all gatherings in this domain’s existence. The mess was underneath the longest and widest and highest bridge which spanned the deepest part of the swiftest and loudest river in all of creation. Each of the dominant persons was given a chance to use that individual’s respective ‘magnum opus’ to break the foul and reprehensible witchery which bound the mess in perpetual torment. Any person who accepted the challenge stood alone at the center of the bridge. The mess would then come forth and utter his mournful, wailing cry. The erotic dominant would then use the greatest of that person’s powers. If the mess cried once more, the dominant had failed for all to see. Many tried to undo the grievous wrong. The techniques employed were as diverse as the persons who utilized them. Yea, verily, did many a person mightily attempt to countermand the potency of the malicious, magical machination. Not one bore any fruit.

At last did the three sisters Gruff come forth. Fearsome Gruff unleashed her most terrifying trick of the trade. It met with nought, save failure. Then did Fascination Gruff cast forth her most charming coquettishness. Indeed it did fail most miserably. Paradox Gruff was the mess’s final hope of salvation and sensuous submission.

From amongst the unsuccessful and heretofore noiseless dominants a voice was heard. Thus spake Fearsome Gruff. “I command the ultimate force of fear. No one is more frightening than I am. Yet, I could not break the spell.”

A second voice arose from the throng of mistresses, masters, dominatrixes, and dominants. Now was heard the speech of Fascinating Gruff. “The absolute allure of attractiveness do I wield. My spells of charm could not dispel this ceaseless charm cast cravenly upon the cerebral and corporeal constituents of the cursed mess.”

This time two voices rang out. The two previously indomitable and victorious sisters had a common thought. “Is not each of us the greatest of her kind? You have never been stronger than either of us. How then canst thou circumvent the sinister sorcery that doth enmesh the mess?”

For the first time did Paradox Gruff put forth her utterance. “Indeed it is so. I have never bested my more powerful sisters, Fascinating and Fearsome. Yet shall I put forth my modest capacities in my striving to achieve this Herculean labor and thereby lift the mess’s Atlas burthen.”

Then did Paradox Gruff walk to the midpoint of the bridge. Up came the mess, as at other times, and out of its mouth came that horrible sound. Paradox Gruff then did impress upon the imprisoned mess the twin, and frequently categorized as mutually exclusive, powers of fascination and fear. All assumed they would hear once more the roar and howl and wail of the mess. And it was so, that the troll was jolted by the contradictory, and yet symbiotic, feelings wrought and stirred up by Paradox Gruff. The eyes of all in this assembly beheld a miraculous thing. The troll was transformed into a more glorious mess than was extant prior to the descent of the undeserved doom.

What did take place after these things? The vile magician was stripped of all great powers and lesser abilities. They were conferred, as one might rightly divine, upon none else save Paradox Gruff. She and the mess lived in perfect harmony and bliss. Fearsome and Fascinating Gruff learned much wisdom from their younger and, though this fact was previously unknown to all of them, far more powerful and influential sister. The elder Gruff’s became even more accomplished than they had ever been beforetime. A cry went up throughout the lands of B&D-D&S-S&M. “All hail to thee, the greatest of dominants, thy name is Paradox Gruff.” For the remainder of her never-ending days, whenever any mortal one was blessed by heaven to spy her, that greeting she did hear. Her deed did cause exuberant exaltation in the mind, heart, and soul of each who witnessed it and in everyone who heard the telling of the tale. Yes, all did rejoice. All, save one. For the transformation the mess had been forced to endure, at the hands of the dastardly and villainous worker of magic, was returned upon the sorcerer’s own head. His curse could be lifted in the same way as the enchantment upon the mess was broken. Such never came to pass.”

Homer took several sips of water. It was time to needle her—just a tad. “Since you are familiar with this fairy tale, it is only right that you expound its morel.”

She leaned her chin on her left hand and retreated into deep contemplation. “I remember now.” Had he created this story during the course of their interactions? She yearned to know. Asking this query would mean acknowledging she had been untruthful when she talked about remembering this tale. This was out of the question. She reviewed the story’s main points. There must be a lesson one could glean from this tale. She latched upon one. She almost let out a gasp or shriek of excitement. She wanted her recitation of the proverb to show she was paying close attention to the knowledge and, of more import, the wisdom he had imparted. She reviewed her printed notes. “The more NACMAP elements one has or SAPTOP items one possesses or both, the greater will be the power of that erotic hypnoteuse or hypnotic dominant.” She smiled to herself. She speculated that his asking her for the maxim was designed to trip her up. He had failed. A minuscule victory is better than never winning at all.

“You have learned well.”

“If this is so, more credit is due to My instructor than to Me.”

He forced himself to execute his plan’s next phase. “What are some of the problems associated with the use of statistical probability?”

No one who knew what her profession was had ever asked her such a question. “Mathematics and philosophy were My best and favorite subjects. I never got a grade lower than the first letter of the alphabet in either of them. Would you give Me an example of what you mean?”

Her response was even better than he had hoped. It even provided a hint of an inkling to a further step in his scheme. “Suppose nine out of ten physicians recommend a particular drug. What is wrong with this statistic?”

She considered for some moments. “I can’t see anything wrong with it. Ninety percent is a high percentage of doctors. If I needed to do so, I would take a medication which was so highly endorsed.”

“What do we know about the doctors?”

“We know that nine of every ten of them would prescribe this drug.”

“What else do we know about the doctors?”

She devoted her cerebral facilities to this question. After expending some effort, a light bulb flashed on in her mind. She discerned that once more there indeed was method to his madness. “We do not know anything else. I perceive this is the point you have been prodding Me to realize. The reported data does not reveal nearly so much as is often assumed it shows. The given information does not enable us to ascertain how or why any of the medical professionals came to whichever of the conclusions that individual espouses? We do not know if any of the physicians has the appropriate expertise or competence or both to render a worthwhile opinion on the drug’s efficacy, side-effects, and so forth? We have no way of knowing if any of the doctors has any kind of direct, or indirect, vested interest in the medication’s development, manufacturing, promotion, distribution, administration, follow-up care, etc? We can not be sure that any of the queried persons was in fact an accredited healer, nor that a survey was actually taken? What has not been reported may be vastly more important than what is stated.”

Her last sentence caused something to nudge at the edge of her recollection. He had told her a story. It was only fair that she return the favor. “It seems there were two countries which had been the bitterest of rivals since their ancient beginnings. On one occasion, due to exceptionally inclement weather, boats from these two nations were the only ones to complete a grueling sailing regatta. The losing country’s government-controlled news media reported the race’s results thusly. “Our sovereign and glorious nation’s crew sailed a most excellent race and finished in second place. The team representing the most loathsome and reprehensible kindred ever to walk the Earth only managed to wind up second to last from amongst all the sailboats which finished this competition.”

“A fitting illustration of your last point.”

A waiter, who fervently hoped his eavesdropping was inconspicuous, approached and asked Mistress da Vinci if she wanted anything. She gave him her answer. He then asked her another question.

“Would he like to have something?”

Her huge and penetrating eyes rolled in disbelief. “Why are you asking Me this question?”

He leaned close to her and whispered furtively. “Miss, he’s blind.”

She began to laugh incredulously. Now she heard some of her initial attitudes concerning this blind man emanating from the mouth of another. The mind from which these words sprang must surely be manipulated by presumption or steeped over the gills in ignorance or both. She was used to having the upper hand. She felt it was imperative for her to meddle with someone’s mind. She had not been able to penetrate the man sitting across the table from her(This sightless man’s penetration would have to wait for a more opportune and private moment.) . This waiter would have to do. Besides, it was bad enough that she had been such an obnoxious sighted person. Now there were two of them. That might be much too much for anyone to take. She had to do something which might redeem the reputation of her people. “I could be wrong about this, but I don’t think I am. I am almost sure he knows that he can’t see.”

“But how can he know what he wants?” the server inquired.

“What does being blind have to do with the ability to make a decision?”

“He can’t read the menu.”

“You could have offered to read it to him,” she suggested and admonished and reproved the man with the same sentence.

The waiter stood there dumbfounded. He shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

Homer let the man squirm uncomfortably and stew in his own juices. Mr. Herreshoff’s merciful instincts kicked in at last. He gave the waiter his request. The man stumbled over his reply and thereafter nearly tripped over his own feet as he scurried away.

“How do you stand people who do things like that?” She vividly recalled some of her earlier lines of dialogue with this man. For one of the few times in her life she was thoroughly disgusted with her previous attitudes and prior behavior. For these reasons she was very much embarrassed and quite deeply ashamed. “I should have asked, “How do you stand people like Me who do things like that?"”

“It can be aggravating to encounter such a closed mindset in stone and interred in cement.”

“If someone talked to Me like that, I would probably want to disembowel him slowly and excruciatingly or at least make him wish I had done so,” she declared.

“How one responds in such a circumstance is dependent upon many factors. One’s current mood, present train of thought, predilection in handling such matters, and whether one is alone are some of the determinative factors of one’s response. He did provide me with two benefits.”

“What were they?”

“He gave me some time to think and he was a distraction.”

“From what?”

“From.” Something was happening within him. It was linked to this woman. Before this day he had not known of her existence. Nevertheless, what he was feeling seemed all too familiar.

TO BE CONTINUED...