The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dalia found herself returning to that room, night after night. She seemed to find herself there often.

She never remembered going there. Never remembered the transition from being home, to being there. The memory of the journey was also missing from her head when she looked for it.

Every night was the same: she would have a normal evening at her place, with no strangeness in it at all. Then, when it was late and time for bed, she would get ready for bed, go to sleep, and fall asleep…

And then she would wake up, and find herself not at home, but instead in the room. And she would try to remember how she got there, but she found when she was in the room that it was very hard to think, let alone remember.

She’d keep her awareness for a time, and then eventually she would lapse back into unconsciousness; after which she would wake up and find it was morning, and she was home in her own bed again.

At first, Dalia had thought it was just a very vivid recurring dream. That had been a comforting thought, while she had still believed it. People had recurring dreams all the time— some people had recurring dreams that were much more disturbing than hers. Not just of finding themselves returning to the same room night after night, but instead of nightmarish horrors happening to them over and over again. If it were only a vivid recurring dream, Dalia had thought she could handle it.

But she’d realized it wasn’t a dream. After many nights of only “dreaming” that she returned the room, another woman began to join her in it, and when the woman was there, they would touch each other. At first, the woman’s touches were benign; stroking Dalia’s hair, or her cheek, or running her hand along Dalia’s arm. But after some time, these touches became more and more overtly sexual, until they devolved into outright fucking.

And this was when Dalia had realized the room wasn’t a dream— the first time she and the other woman had fucked, she’d stripped Dalia to her underwear, and had ground her own naked pussy down on Dalia’s in an undeniably erotic repeating motion, separated from Dalia only by the fabric of Dalia’s underwear. They’d fucked for some time this way, until both Dalia and the woman had come— and Dalia still ranked that as one of the most powerful orgasms she’d yet had in her life.

But when morning had come, and Dalia had taken off the underwear she’d slept in to get ready for the day, she’d noticed something disturbing.

There were streaks of discharge and arousal on the outside of her underwear.

If they had been on the inside, she could have explained them away. Her recurring dreams had been erotic— she was coming to them in her sleep, and spilling arousal into her underwear. And while there was some traces of her own arousal inside, it hadn’t been enough to soak the fabric through, and the traces on the outside had got to some places that, even if Dalia had soaked through, she just wouldn’t have been able to reach.

Not to mention that, when Dalia had raised her underwear to her face for closer inspection, she’d gotten a whiff of the tracks of arousal there. They most definitely did not scent of her— she knew what her own arousal smelled like, and it wasn’t that. This was another woman’s— this was foreign, it hadn’t come from her.

The fact that, when she’d realized this, her next impulse had been to hold her underwear to her face and give a deep inhale had also disturbed. But this impulse, she resisted, and the most disturbing thing at all was the realization that there was another woman, which meant she really had been going to visit that room in the waking world all the time she’d thought she’d only been dreaming of it.

After that, she’d tried everything— taking sleeping pills to so thoroughly knock herself out that she’d sleep through the night in her own bed, asking friends to sit with her or sleep over in the same room as her, drinking cup after cup of caffeine, staying awake all night. But inevitably, she would fall asleep and then wake up in that room, with that woman. And every time she woke up there, she found it harder to think within its walls— and found herself to be more aroused, and more desperate for the touch and taste of that room’s woman.

Dalia had wondered for a while after that if she were being kidnapped in the middle of the night— but she ruled that out. She got herself a night vision camera, and recorded herself sleeping. And when she’d watched the tape back, she’d seen herself fall asleep— and then as soon as she’d fallen asleep, she watched herself get up out of bed, still in her pajamas, and leave the room, like a sleepwalker.

This was upsetting, too. She had no memory of getting out of bed, and walking out of her house. And the camera could only show her leaving the room— it couldn’t show her whatever happened after she left it, or where she went. And she’d had no history of sleepwalking before she’d started seeing this room in the middle of the night. And she’d never heard of a sleepwalker leaving their own house to go to a second location. She wasn’t even sure how she was doing that. Surely it wouldn’t be safe for her to operate her car in that strange sleeplike state…?

But she didn’t recognize the woman from the room as any one of her neighbors either, so how far was she walking each night to get to her, and wherever it was she was keeping that room…? She didn’t understand, either, how it was possible for her to walk all the way to another location while still being unconscious.

She’d watched the footage of her sleeping self rising from the bed back multiple times after that first morning. She’d filmed herself other nights, too, to compare. It was the same every night. She fell asleep, and then her sleeping self rose, left the bed and then left the room to go out to wherever that room was, and meet the woman there.

When she lay down to sleep at night, it was like something else inside of her woke up and took over. And Dalia really didn’t like that— but none of the tricks she tried seemed to keep her in her room through the night. She tried locking herself in, but if she left the key in the room, the Dalia she watched on camera would pick up the keys and let herself out. If she made sure to leave the keys outside of the room before locking herself in, then the sleeping Dalia would climb out the window. Or if she locked the window, too, then the sleeping Dalia would break the doorknob off and so break the lock, and go out through the unlocked door.

Or if she replaced the doorknob and its lock mechanism which couldn’t be so easily broken off, then the Dalia on camera would break the window with her end table… That had been pricey to repair, and after that Dalia didn’t bother trying to lock herself in the room anymore.

When she asked friends to stay over and watch guard for her, that didn’t work either. Some of them fell asleep, and like the heavy sleepers they were, slept through Dalia leaving.

Some of them did wake up and try to stop her… but the sleeping Dalia seemed to talk to them until they fell back asleep again, and then she would leave, the same as usual.

Then when Dalia asked them in the morning if they remembered waking up in the night they would have no memory of it all.

After a certain point, Dalia just had to give it up as a lost cause. Nothing she did could stop her sleeping self from getting up, leaving, and going to find that room out in the world. If that version of her was so determined to get there, then, really, what was the point in trying to stop her? If she were willing to break doors and windows to get there… then clearly, she really wanted to get there.

And besides. Whatever happened in the gaps in her memory, when she was actually in the room and awake, it wasn’t as though she didn’t enjoy it. There was something… pleasant… about being unable to think. She was always unable to think when she found herself there, within those walls… and the sex she had with that woman was some of the best sex she’d ever had in her life.

What was there to complain about, really? She was always returned to her own bed in one piece, at the end of it… and in the meantime, she got to taste that delicious thoughtless, and have that incredible sex.

It wasn’t so bad, really. She could accept it. She, Dalia, had a strange kind of sleepwalking condition that sent her back to that room and that woman every night, and then returned her to her own bed every morning. Strange, but acceptable. She could live with it. She could even enjoy it, sometimes.

If it really was a condition of hers, then she hoped that she would never be cured of it. Returning to that room again and again every night of her life sounded more and more like something she wanted to do with every passing day.