The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jerry encouraged his beat-up Model-T up the long, elegantly manicured drive. This was one of the grandest of the grand Mediterranean-style homes in Hollywoodland. The whole development on the hillside was barely ten years old, but the movie stars who had moved into them had tried to make them look ancient, as if this would make the whole motion-picture business look like a true art form rather than a popular fad. This was, in many ways, the grandest of these homes. Despite the heat, Jerry straightened his tie and put his jacket back on as he stepped out of his heap, glad that the junker had made it so far up these hills.

With any luck, this story would be the one to put him over the top, to get him a regular job with the West Coast bureau of Life, rather than just being a stringer. Then he could let this ancient Ford go to its final reward, and get one of those new Dumonts. With one last glance back at his girl, Callie, her short, red hair peeking out from beneath her flapper cap—she had just wanted to come along and wait in the car, “for moral support,” she said—Jerry turned on the ball of his right foot and stepped up to the door.

As he lifted the huge iron knocker on the large, heavy, oaken door, he thought about how this seemed to be more of a relic than his roadster. He wondered if the rumors were true, if these doors had been brought over from some northern European castle. Then he really looked at the shape of the knocker, and jumped back; it was a carved into a furry face with angry eyes, flaring nostrils, and a snarling mouth that held the heavy ring. He touched it, and could have sworn he felt a faint spark. The adjoining door’s adornment was nearly—though not exactly—identical, and, as he glanced around, Jerry noticed other stone carvings, almost like gargoyles, in the same motif. All of this seemed to fit in with the rumors about the odd tastes of the owner of this house, the mysterious person he had come to . . .

“Well, hello! Aren’t you delicious!” The sultry, short brunette stood there, having opened the huge door with apparent ease, gazed upwards at the young journalist. He found himself almost falling into her chocolate irises. She looked every bit the woman whom he was here to interview: Louise Belle, the famous silent film actress. She had been in seclusion the last few years, and it was quite a coup for Jerry to get the story. But this woman was too young; maybe a niece, or a much younger sister or cousin. There had been rumors of an illegitimate child, that said child was why Louise dropped out of sight, but this girl would be too old to be her.

“Delicious . . . but rather impolite, eh?” Miss Belle was extending her hand, and Jerry realized he had been standing, gaping. He pulled his brown felt hat off his head and held it by its wide brim in his left hand as he shook hers with his right.

“I’m . . . I’m so sorry miss. I just . . . just lost my place there for a minute. I’m here to see Miss Belle, I’m . . .”

“. . . the young man from Life. I know. You’re here to interview me.”

“No, no miss. I’m here to see Louise Belle . . . your . . . aunt?”

“Oh, but you flatter me,” she glanced upward, her voice almost a purr, “as must this light.” Sure enough, as Jerry looked again, he saw some telltale wisps of grey in her hair and a few tiny laugh lines by her marvelous eyes. “But, I assure you, I am Louise Belle. And you are the young man who wrote that wonderful travelogue series about your travels with your fiancée.” She looked over Jerry’s shoulder: “Ooo! Is that her? She shouldn’t stay in your flivver on such a warm day!”

“Oh, Miss Belle! Callie just came along for the ride, and she is just fine. She didn’t want to . . .”

“Nonsense!” The actress looked past him and called: “Callie! Callie, is it? You come right on up here and join us! I have some drinks set up in the solarium! Come right along now.”

Before the two young lovers knew what was happening to them, they were being whisked through Louise Belle’s stylish home. It was much more modern on the inside than the façade had suggested: very art deco-esque, and very bright; she clearly had a fondness for white walls, upholstery, draperies, etc. There were also more than just a few statues, carvings, even one tapestry of that same beastly figure that had graced the door knockers—though here, as well, each one was ever-so-slightly different while being eerily similar.

Jerry took all of this in, consciously sure that he would need background details for his article, subconsciously struggling with the nagging feeling that an escape route would be an excellent idea. He also took careful notice of how Miss Belle took Callie’s arm, stroking it gently as they walked from room to room. It seemed, at first, to be overly-familiar to him, but he reminded himself that these movie stars were often cuddlers, and that Callie probably hadn’t given it a second thought. Surely, he was just being over-protective.

Callie was doing her best to smile politely at their hostess as she was led through this fantastic house. She knew how important this interview was for Jerry, and she loved him so much. But Miss Belle was being so terribly . . . tactile; Callie just didn’t feel very comfortable, but Jerry wasn’t saying anything, and this was so important to him, so . . .

In a blink, Louise had them seated at a small table in her solarium, Callie sandwiched between her lover and his assignment, all three of them sipping something that tasted like lemonade but seemed to have a bit more kick. “Promise not to tell the G-men?” she said with a wink.

Callie felt a warm blush move through her, from her stomach up to her face, but she wasn’t zozzled yet, and she did her best to appear as if she were taking it all in her stride.

Jerry, meanwhile was distracted from his own blush by the crystal statuette of a beast right in the middle of the table. He couldn’t help but reach out and touch it and, when he did, it felt as if a jolt of electricity raced through his fingers, right up his arm, and directly into his brain. He was quite sure his eyes must have flashed—but that would be impossible, wouldn’t it? He looked over at his girl, remembered how incredibly hot she was, and began to stroke between her bare shoulder blades . . .

. . . just as Louise, who was looking deeply into Callie’s eyes, slid her foot out of its sandal and ran it along the back of the young redhead’s left calf. The actress’ well-manicured left hand was on her guest’s right leg, moving up idly from the knee toward the short hemline of her sheath dress.

“I see you have noticed the unusual artwork, Jerry.” Miss Belle blushed slightly: “We are all, of course, familiar with artists who work in only one medium all their lives, but with many subjects. Well, I have an eccentric friend who works in many media, but continuously recreates the same subject: this beast from some ancient fairy tale.” She looked even deeper into Callie: “You know how single-minded men can be.” Then she seemed to be speaking to Jerry again, “Of course, he is such a dear friend, and he keeps wanting to give me these pieces of his. How can I say ‘no’?”

While he found the story ridiculous at first, the more he listened, the more Jerry was sure that Mistress Belle always made sense. He also began to realize that, as much as he wanted to grab his Callie and hump her brains out, he wanted to worship Mistress’ body even more.

Louise smiled broadly. “Kneel at my feet, Jerry.”

Jerry responded with a guttural, barely-audible growl, as he took the commanded position and began kissing her left toes. He suddenly seemed to have a prodigious growth of beard, and his jacket and shirt were ripping as his back and shoulders began to broaden. He slipped, seamlessly, from kissing her toes to licking them, ravenously.

Louise smiled broadly as she recognized Callie’s rapt, unblinking gaze. She moved to kiss her titian-coiffed guest, deeply.

Callie gasped in surprise, and almost yelped, but found herself responding lustily.

The star broke the kiss, but not her gaze, and waved absently in the direction of the staircase: “Up those steps, Jerry, third door on the left. Go in there and begin to run the shower. Get everything nice and steamy, and we will be right along.”

Jerry’s shoes ripped at the seams, his extremities becoming more like paws as he loped up the stairs.

The two women were quite nearly naked when they stepped into the steamy marble bath. They were kissing with abandon and caressing one another as they each wiggled their panties to their feet and stepped out of them. The creature who had been and might be Jerry scooped them up and sniffed them—both pair—as he crouched in a corner, waiting for new instructions.

Louise stepped back a bit to admire her flapper thrall as the first droplets of water cascaded over them both. She did not wait long, however, before nibbling on Callie’s shoulder, whispering between the nibbles, “You see, my dear; I told you that this would be just fine with Jerry.” Her hands slipped over her subject’s slick hips: “I told a little fib to you both before, a small white lie about the artwork downstairs. Many, many years ago . . . oh, eight centuries, give or take an era, my master and I were exposed to a . . . contagion of sorts. Doctors call it “Belle’s Beast” now.” She was behind Callie now, running her hands over the girl’s small, well-formed breasts: “It seems to transform men into these creatures, not very pleasant, but extremely strong and obedient. As they age, instead of dying, they become statuary, or carvings, or tapestry, or the occasional painting.” The starlet enjoyed Callie’s moans while tweaking her nipples. “Each one who has served me, as a last gift to me, has passed the contagion on to the first man to touch the artifact he has become. They are so loyal, so sweet, I simply cannot bear to get rid of them.”

One of Mistress Belle’s polished nails slipped into Callie’s velvety vagina as her other hand took an azure bottle off the shelf and poured sweetly-scented oil over the young red head. “Women exposed to this seem to live a very long time, hardly aging at all. This was delicious, but I discovered something even better. When my body did wear out, I could move my essence into another. I have been a few courtesans and a few actresses, and even managed to be an empress’ consort once—usually a man’s job, but better my way, I think. Louise is simply the latest host for Belle.”

Rivulets of the strange oil began to mix with Callie’s nectar as it leaked onto her thighs, and the smell of it opened her mind to a new presence. The older woman licked her subject’s ear lobe: “It is almost time, my sweet. When we cum together, Callie Belle will supplant Louise Belle, becoming the niece who breaks into pictures . . . for a while, at least. Jerry will be your faithful companion, although you are already recognizing how much better Sapphic attentions can be. And, when it is time for him to be put down, you will find a new pet.”

Callie’s mind swam in the marvelous new sensations, her passions inflamed in ways she had never known before. She saw Jerry in the eyes of the creature in the corner, and somehow knew his humanity could never be reclaimed. And she felt her sexy Mistress driving her closer to a mind shattering orgasm.

She knew what she must do.

There were screams and howls . . . then silence.

The house had been silent for over a year when, after everything crashed on October 29th, somebody noticed that she hadn’t called her broker in all that time. Her assets were gone.

The sheriff’s men broke into her huge house, noticing an aging jalopy in the drive, and finding things oddly calm indoors. Yet it was almost as if somebody had been there, and was suddenly taken away: they found partially-consumed drinks in the solarium, women’s clothing strewn on the stairway—clothing for two women, apparently—and, in the bathroom, they found the strangest sight: there were skeletal remains of an evidently ancient woman lying in the bottom of the shower. There was also a life-size marble statue of a beast, like the beasts in so much of the other weird artwork around the house, in the oddest place, right in front of the sink and toilet.

Unlike what they found in the rest of the house, however, this statue was not just of a beast. It was reclining, in obvious ecstasy, with a woman straddling it. The details, right down to trickles of water on her nude body, were exquisite. “This would be great art if it weren’t so perverted,” a deputy remarked.

And, as his hand rested on the statue for a moment, he felt the oddest electric surge run up his arm.