The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nebula Volume I: The Soaring Phoenix

Chapter IV: Mistress’s Melody

The song is gone.

Its absence is startlingly powerful and makes me ache. It feels . . . lonely to have it gone. It felt special to have a song filling my mind, felt so soothing to listen and melt into the song, becoming the song, a conduit of the song’s essence and beauty. It would make a great b-side, maybe with some softly hummed words to make sure more than just a few people listened. I know I’d listen to that song as an instrumental for an eternity.

So what if I can feel my body again? That’s insignificant compared to the beauty of the song. I wonder what my mother would think of the song. Not the Silver Girl that’s still around, but The Domina Argenti . . .

“Wakey, wakey, my little nebula. You had a nice little nap, and now you should feel all better.” Miss Corvi’s voice is the first thing I hear. More perfection. My eyes are open but I’m too fuzzy to actually see anything. I feel like I slept for a year. Mmmm, if only that had been a year. A year of that song, of Miss Corvi . . .

Mistress Corvi.

I probably shouldn’t give her titles in my mind. If she wants me to think of her as something besides Nina or Miss Corvi, she’ll tell me. That’s what it means to be her slave. If she wants something, she just needs to tell me. I’ll do it. The song she wrote in my mind will carry me through each motion, driving me, showing me my purpose while perfecting me in the surrender.

Fuuuck the shudders that sends down my spine are so amazing. My nipples ache, and I feel so slick. All for her. I’d love to sing for her. Singing to a crowd is amazing, but sometimes singing for one very important person is even better.

“Mmmmorning . . .” My throat feels a little sore from all the moaning, but using it for her makes it feel better. My voice is hers to command.

After a slow flutter of my eyelids I can look up to see her. My head is nestled into her chest. Such a safe, warm, intimate place to stay. It’s my favorite place in the world. Her eyes look down to mine, and her crimson lips curl luxuriously, in a way that screams pleasure. It almost hurts to hold back the mewl and I fail in the end. “You know, I don’t usually take time out of my day to actually be there when my singers wake up. I definitely don’t hold them like I’m holding you.”

“Ooh . . . I-I . . . Miss Corvi . . .” A tear slides its way down my cheek before I even realize my eyes are full with them. “I just . . . I just listened to the song and your voice. I was even easy to manipulate. I wanted it. I wanted to be in the palm of your hand. I want what you want from me.”

“And that, is something new. Usually there’s more reinforcement about now. Usually, I wait at least a day before approaching my latest acquisition just to be safe. You can never be too careful with mental enslavement. People’s minds behave so chaotically. It’s hard to be sure just when one person’s submission isn’t another person’s rebellion.” Her hand slides up along my body, sending tingles through me so deep I can feel them at an almost cellular level, before it rests on my cheek. Her thumb brushes away the tear.

Her touches are so tender. I can still remember what her fingers felt like between my legs, and it makes my eyes roll back. I feel like a new woman in her arms; really a woman, not a young woman, not a girl.

More. I feel like more in every sense of the word.

Even if there are fewer options open to me, the world I’m in is bigger now – so much bigger. It’s all so much more important, valid, worthwhile. Everything is just so . . . perfect now.

She grins a little more before her thumb begins to slide slowly along the curves of my lips. “And don’t call me Miss Corvi. That sounds so formal, and as if we have a professional relationship. We do of a sort, but not the one to which that word would usually refer. You are not my employee. You are my slave. My toy. My possession. Outside of these walls, Miss Corvi will suit. For now? I need no other name in your mind than ‘Mistress’, understood my little nebula?”

“Of course, Mistress! I understand. I am your slave, and you are my owner. Mistress.” Slowly I pout my lips against her thumb. She has such soft skin I can’t resist the urge to suckle at her flesh, just enough to savor the way her texture and her taste mingle in my mouth and in my mind.

Mistress’s taste.

Mistress’s texture.

Mistress’s Perfection.

“That’s right. My little nebula. Less than a woman, but infinitely more valuable to me. Such unique natural beauty, and such an eagerness.” Soft sounds of pleasure drift out from under her breath as I continue to suckle, teasing her flesh faintly with my tongue. “Mmm and young enough to still be ripening. Plucked from the vine, yet still growing riper.”

Her hand, the hand I hadn’t been paying attention to, grasps my breast to emphasize her point. I moan around her thumb, lips reluctantly parting as a shudder rolls over me. Mistress is so powerful to make so much of her control roll through me with such little effort.

Her fingers release my breast and grasp my nipple before I can manage to whimper. It’s so divine to feel her twisting and pulling so firmly. I scream and can’t stop until her fingers release my hardened nipple with a flick. “So very eager. I would be suspicious if I hadn’t done this so many times before. Are you just faking, immune to my influence, waiting for the right moment to strike after you’ve collected enough evidence? Unlikely. Still, the why of your easy surrender does worry and puzzle me. Tell me, why? Is it for your dreams? You could have had those without this. I think there’s more.”

“Mmmm there isssss . . .” So stimulated and aroused, it’s hard to form coherent thoughts that aren’t all about Mistress. “Mmmm it’s in the family. Grew up hearing so many stories, so many little details about being controlled, twisted, owned . . . Sarah always described it like a bad thing, but I could see in her eyes she loved it. I could tell she savored those memories. I saw her and Valerie when they’d play with their powers . . . make each other melt, play in their minds. Then . . .”

No, even if she owns me, I can’t tell her that. I can’t betray Aurora’s confidence. Even if I was always the one who told her to be less obvious. Even if I was the one who always told her we had to be discreet when she wanted the world to know how we felt about each other.

Mistress laughs, making my body arch against hers. My head hurts. It feels like there are claws tearing at the center of my forehead, pulling, tearing . . . letting music flow in. The pain starts to ebb and the song returns. I’d just started to forget about it too. Forgotten that it felt like the way chocolate pudding tastes turned into sound and wrapped around every neuron, filling every synapse, covering my body and purring into places nothing else has ever touched . . . MMmmm . . .

“Mmmm . . . S-sarah told me about thisss . . . self . . . reconditioning? Mmmm my own mind being used to twist me, reshape me . . . Make me wet and pliant . . . already so . . . much!” The air conditioning around us feels so cool over my slick body. I can barely feel it through the thick sound, but just a little cool air can be so much.

I don’t know what kind of room I’m in, and now my eyes won’t open. I think it was that room where I first saw Mistress. The chair at the far end of the table, where she sat like a queen, I think that’s where my body is. I feel farther and farther away from that spot every moment.

The song is carrying me back inside myself. It feels so amazing, so perfect; toes curling, fingers shuddering, lips trembling, slick . . . so slick . . . sweat, sex, obedience.

Her lips press into my ear and I feel so much farther away from everything than I did even the first time I was hearing the song. “So you do have some resistance in you after all. Still, you’re succumbing to the programming remarkably well. It must help to understand how it all works. It must help to know precisely what we’re doing to you. It must help to know how helpless it is to resist, and how we’ve no doubt made resistance condition you further. And don’t worry, you’ll never melt like this on stage. Autopilot serves us much better than a panting pile of singer.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. That makes the song louder, the thought of just . . . a thousand people watching me, ten thousand, more, a sold out venue, singing along with the song and then the slightest bit of resistance . . .

The microphone quivers in my hand. I drunkenly slur out one last line of lyrics. Then I fall down to my knees. The microphone rolls out of my hand, hitting the stage with a loud screech, as my body melts down into the stage.

For the first time in their lives over a thousand people all hear the sound of a helpless slave moaning in pleasure as her own mind betrays her. Maybe some know what’s going on. Maybe none of them do. Maybe they all find out, and a thousand little girls are raised being told about that singer who collapsed on stage and moaned like someone was stroking her no-no places.

Goddess, that would be . . . Mmmmm . . . the song is so loud. I can feel it prying inside me, searching out the source of my resistance, of my disobedience. Don’t want to betray Aurora, even if she betrayed me. Love her, even if she made me want this even worse.

“You won’t last for long, my silver-and-amethyst-swirled singer. We analyzed the risks in grabbing up the daughter of a super heroine, you know. Two, if you think Valerie counts. Since you lost yourself in the song, Valerie has been reminded just what happened when you came here. It’s not what you remember, of course, not that you’re able to vocalize it to anyone but us.” Mistress nibbles on my ear and I scream as the song plunges deeper. “It’s not being forced in. Gently slid into place. Details perfect. All of it, so perfect. She’ll be going back to Midas soon, and you’ll be here under our care.”

When she goes back to Midas there’ll be no one to save me. No one will even recognize if I start acting differently. If they program me to be different over a long enough time, no one would ever suspect it was because of them. They’d all think it was just me growing up. Just me being affected by the ravages of fame. Little Sylvia, all grown up, just how the Soaring Phoenix wants her to be. Exactly how Nina Corvi wants her to be.

There’s no real chance to resist. There hasn’t been since I walked into that elevator. Sarah told me about the elevator at Chronos, but she always left out what I could feel in her. I could see it in her eyes, and feel it when I misted just enough to feel closer to her. I could feel the thrill, the tension, the panic, the desire . . . the passion.

If only she knew that all of those times, telling me those stories, letting me feel those stories, would make me crave to have my own . . . I wonder, would she have lied or would she have admitted how even years after Chronos was gone she still felt aroused at the thought of that dusty elevator?

Mistress’s fingers trail along my inner thighs and lights burst over my vision even with my eyes closed tight. I can feel just how impossible it would be to open them. Closed, to isolate me from anything but the song training me in my obedience. I’ll need to beg her to make this a song for me to sing to on a CD. Even with all of its power taken out, I’d be conditioned more with a hot tingle each time I heard it.

I’d just sit in a dark room, eyes shut tight, listening to the same song that invaded my brain, pretending it was forcing me to obey. I don’t think my fingers would stay dry for very long. If anyone found me it would be so easy to just play off . . .

“Tell me, nebula . . . Tell me what your mind is trying helplessly to resist. Such a bad word, resistance. It’s disobedience, and I know you don’t like that word. It’s associated with such cruel things. I’m sure your mother taught you that. We don’t need to hurt you, whip you, starve you, or anything so banal to show you that. If you disobey, you merely lose the bliss of obedience, which can be equally terrifying, before we make it so that will never happen again.” How does she know just what to say?! It feels like her fingers are inside my mind as they stroke my neck.

“Sister . . . Before I left Midas, my half-sister . . . She has Sarah’s power, just weaker, softer . . . She pinned me down in her car, filled me . . . MmMMmmmmm . . . with that light, with that current . . . Made me hers, for one last night. She’d never done that before, I’d never felt . . . We’d fuzzed each other before, to take the edge off, to make things . . . better . . . but she’d never taken control of me. She’d never made me obey. She never made me just lay back and let her take me . . .” Telling her is almost enough to make me scream again.

Now that I’ve done it, now that she knows, I feel better. I’ve betrayed Aurora. I’ve betrayed my own desires. I feel so much better. I’ve shown just how helpless I really am. Something about that feels perfect.

So wetly, acoustically perfect . . .

Valerie is being probed, memories rewritten. Mistress knows what Aurora did to me. Sarah will never know anything happened here, to me or her Amethyst Angel.

Those thoughts . . . they aren’t mine. I don’t care, but my mind, it hasn’t . . . hasn’t just been doing what I’ve wanted, it’s . . . oh the song. The song, there are lyrics. My own voice, the voice of my own thoughts. Singing what to think. Singing for me to realize, and remember, that it can reshape me at a whim. Can teach me at a whim. Take control if I act out.

I’m glad Mistress is so safe from any mistake I could possibly make.

“Your sister . . . your own sister, taking you in her car, making you hers for a night. Even if it felt the same, it’s not, nebula. This is not the same at all. There’s no game over here. This doesn’t ever end. You aren’t going to wake up tomorrow free of my influence.” Something moves and suddenly I can feel my body shoved into the table. My breasts are grinding into the top, my hips into the edge. She’s grinding me against it, hands rubbing over me as her voice whispers in my ear. How are my legs keeping me up? I don’t know, but the song does. “This is for life.”

My thoughts and the song’s sing out in bliss. “I didn’t want it to just be for the night . . . Nnnnn! But she never asked. She just left me there. Wanted to be controlled more, to be kept, but she left me there . . .”

“Don’t worry, nebula. I won’t let that happen this time.” Two of her fingers thrust inside me, sending ripples through the song. Hurriedly the tempo changes, matching that of her thrusts as she starts pounding them inside me. I can feel them like a hard bass beat, making those bright lights in my vision swirl and twist with each hard thump. “There’s no going back. Never. You’re mine until there’s no more of you to give, my soaking nebula.”

Her skin is so soft and smooth, but her thrusts are so hard and rough. I struggle back into each thrust even as she keeps me pushed down against the table. I can feel sweat pooling over my body, echoing through the song.

Her nebula, I’m Mistress’s soaking nebula! I feel sore from her thrusts, from being forced into the table, from so much pleasure over such a short time, but I can’t stop. I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want any of it to ever stop. I want the rest of my life to be this between concerts, this between stints in the studio, this . . . this between everything until there’s nothing of me left besides my songs and my screams.

“Tell me about your sister while I fuck you. Tell me all about your sister, and what she did to you. That memory is still far too important to you. It’s still far too fresh. If you’re going to move on in your new role, excel, exceed, you’re going to need to break its hold over you. You need to purge the last of your loyalty to her, with your obedience to me. Tell me everything.” Her voice is so husky, so deep, and it’s practically a moan before it stops. She’s loving this! I’m glad her lips are so close to my ear or I don’t know if I’d be able to hear her over my own whimpers.

It’s hard to focus my thoughts together when she’s fucking me so raw. I can feel her fingers grinding that loyalty into powder like a pestle with each thrust. There’s less and less reason to hold back every time my hips try to grind back to meet her fingers.

And she asked me to tell her everything, so I tell her. I don’t, not really, I’m too lost in the pleasure, in my own screams, but that me inside of me, the autopilot, it does a wonderful job of somehow controlling my lips. It tells her everything. It tells her about every curve of Aurora’s body, the way her skin tastes, the way her sex tastes, the way she sounds when she moans, how firm she feels when she turns to metal, the way her current feels . . .

The song, she tells Mistress everything. She tells her Aurora’s hopes and dreams of being just like her parents. She tells Mistress how much Aurora always loved me. How Aurora was my first kiss, my first fuck, my first everything. She tells her that Aurora barely even looked at other girls until I encouraged it.

She tells her about the way Aurora would be crushed if she knew I was telling her this.

“You can stop now, nebula. Stop everything. It’s time for my singer to take another nap.” Her fingers give one last hard thrust before her hand pulls back, and I fall into her chair. “Get a good one, when you wake up it’ll be time to say goodbye to your last hope for freedom.”

Eagerly I nod and melt into the chair more than I already have. I feel so sticky, so worn out and used. It’s the best way to fall asleep.

Even if she no longer means anything to me at all, Aurora taught me that.

Some day, I might need to let her know I took her lesson to heart.