The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The battle-scarred Strat slung low across her front, Helle struck a classic pose: her left hand holding the neck, as if to strangle it, her right hand high in the air, holding a pick made of shiny black stone for all to see.

She was in full regalia: black leather and latex from head to toe, shining and snug, like a second skin; stiletto-heeled leather boots; and shades as black as night. With a chain collar tightly around her neck to complete the look, she had come a long way from the open-mic singer she’d been barely a year ago.

Amidst a blazing stream of feedback, she smiled behind her shades, swinging her arm down, igniting the strings with the pick she’d found tucked between them when she’d bought the battered, second-hand guitar. The notes streamed forth, like a hurricane wind. Helle snarled her lyrics into the mic; the Belles, her band, joined in, the music rising in waves, moving out to touch the screaming mass of humanity, pulsing at the foot of the massive stage.

Helle smiled and licked her lips with her supple tongue, eyes glowing yellow behind the impenetrable shades. She had, indeed, come a very long way, as this audience would soon know. They would love every ear-bending, soul-twisting minute of it.

Jace and Trina were late, very late, missing the opening act and arriving halfway through the first song of the main event. The opening act wasn’t important, some throwaway called “Bite” (“and they probably did” was the joke the two had shared in the car). They were here to see Helle, and they’d missed part of the show in traffic.

Two days before, Trina had listened to a radio interview of the hot new star she’d never heard of before, the story of how Helle--real name Melinda Turner--had been late to a concert one day, and been shut out in the rain, listening through an alleyway window, and been blown away by the sounds of wailing guitars. The next day Melinda, a struggling coffee shop musician, had gone to a pawn shop and bought the only Stratocaster she could afford: a well worn, early seventies model with a missing fret. When she had gotten the guitar and a tiny, cheap amp home and plugged it in, a strange pick had fallen out, made of some black, obsidian-like stone. Touching the pick, she felt an electric chill. Playing the guitar, her first rock song, “Belle’s Beast,” had practically written itself out of thin air. In no time, Melinda was no more and Helle was playing stadiums with her Belles.

Trina had been captivated both by the star’s words and by the impromptu jam session which followed, calling in to win tickets and then hysterically calling her best friend, Jace, to join her at the show.

Jace didn’t get it, really--Trina wasn’t into heavy rock--but her friend had been insistent and wouldn’t have taken “no” for an answer.

The wall of sound was inescapable; the guitar seemed to call out to them through the doors and hallways, leading to the floor, a long, wailing call like the winds of an oncoming storm. Trina pulled them both on, practically dragging Jace, the latter girl stumbling frequently to keep up.

Then they were there, among the crowd, moving down in.

The scene was mesmerizing: waves of light in reds and blues streamed forth from center stage, seeming to pass through those they touched. The crowd was immobile, frozen, fixated on the show.

Jace noticed it first; Trina had stopped, frozen like the rest. Those bathed in the light didn’t seem quite right somehow, blue light seeming to glow from within them. As she turned to her friend, she saw Trina bathed in her own blue stream of light. The rest of the crowd stood silent, as if waiting their turn.

It was hard to think. Jace knew something was wrong, but the sound and the scene seemed to wipe those things away. Her fears began to fade, to slip beyond her reach, carried on the insistent, wailing notes. Her head half turned, back toward the exit, seeing it as if through fog, a short walk if only her very heavy legs would carry her.

It was impossible to move now. Jace watched, imagining at first that she saw some of those glowing fans swaying, slowly, their hips beginning to gyrate, almost sexually. Through half lidded eyes, she saw some slipping from their clothes, their skin seeming blue beneath, shining in the strange light.

Slowly, the undulating blue bodies began moving toward the motionless fans nearby, grinding against them in an erotic dance as clothes fell away. The people, entranced by the music and the touch, began to respond in kind, their bodies swaying and grinding as hands and arms intertwined. Eyes glowed yellow, with pupils edged in red as slick blue skin tangled in entranced bare human flesh. As the dance quickened, Jace noticed what her slow mind told her were horns. Blue skin touched blue skin, bodies intertwined like swaying vines, the lovers moved with the ever-present music. On stage, Helle was speaking, in words Jace couldn’t place, strange words that seemed to stick to her, to her mind and to her body, which seemed to burn with fire, with growing need.

There were police, she could see, and security; they had come in and stopped frozen, just as she had, held fast by the same musical chains. Jace saw them as if through a distant glass. Something in her mind told her to relax and listen and look at the sexy beings all around her as they danced and played.

Time was lost to her. She was lost in her own space and bound by sound and words she could not understand, but could feel throughout her body. She drifted in her mind with the musical waves that flowed around her. Her body stood frozen, as time flowed away.

The near-forgotten exit sign still glowed not far away as Jace felt a touch. A face appeared, capturing her gaze, a face she knew but didn’t know, all at once. It was Trina, her pink, wet lips glistening against her soft, blue skin, her stunningly beautiful blue skin. Jace was lost in her eyes, those yellow, glowing eyes, as she forgot about the growing mass around her, forgot completely her need to get away, and forgot that the people she’d seen coupling with blue ones had now changed themselves; yellow horns and eyes and blue skin now sought out new lovers as the process repeated.

Jace forgot as her body was touched, as it was caressed, and as it began to respond in kind. The need, the burning need, ruled her now, her mind bound in soft, warm, invisible wraps and falling into the dance with her lover, her friend. The forgotten exit faded from her mind as their naked bodies swayed and gyrated against each other, like slender trees bending and twisting in a storm of light and sound. She barely heard the words as they began to make sense, gaining purchase in her mind which she could almost feel.

Her body seemed to melt into Trina’s, skin fusing into one as their dance quickened. Her mind, her world exploded and vanished in an orgasm of red and blue, shimmering as she felt new tingles in her scalp. Parting from her lover, she moved, swayingly, forward, her vision filled with a new hunger, moving to a woman, a police woman who’d just arrived, frozen in time and seeming to wait her turn.

On stage, Helle screamed as new energy surged through her, smiling and licking her lips, the strings alive under her fingers and flowing from the depthless black stone of her pick. Looking out over a sea of seething sex and shimmering blue bodies, she saw police officers and security guards swept up, welcomed by the growing army of her children. She had indeed come a long way, and she loved every ear-bending, soul-twisting minute of it.