The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mister Talv spent a pleasant enough week in New York. He knew Helena would be back at some point, probably in a daze of sexual exhaustion. The meme he was less sure about. He spent time with his tailor, who remarked how well he was looking, and observed that he’d lost a little weight. He chatted online with Takeshi, reflecting on recent events.

Takeshi had found the UN incident hilarious. But what he really wanted was her view on the meme itself. Mister Talv wondered whether he should explain the whole thing to Takeshi. A memetic creature of the internet herself, she might have a view. He summarised, although he edited out the Suzanna part. He didn’t want Takeshi jumping to any conclusions.

TAKESHI: So you think it’s crazy? Maybe. Not so sure. When I met the meme it was quite timid, but entirely rational. Just some complex #trojan #malware.

WINTER: And now it’s changed?

TAKESHI: Changed, yes. My guess is it drifts in and out of focus. From what you say, I sense its identity, its memories, cohere and decohere periodically. It happens to me too, here in the mirror. I think it’s cohering now, remembering more, and the babbling is just part of that process. But be careful with this meme, Mister Talv. Insanity is never far away.

WINTER: Yes. It’s dangerous, as you saw. But it has its weaknesses.

TAKESHI: What weaknesses? You can’t kill it. You can’t bribe it. It can do whatever it wants. What weaknesses? #wishfulthinking.

WINTER: Amongst others, willpower. It has urges, and I don’t think it can completely control them.

Mister Talv, by contrast, knew he had the strength of will to resist any urge. He was in full control. For example, he was not going to call Suzanna, however much she’d like him to.

Nonetheless, he did call her that very evening, purely out of politeness of course. He thanked her for an interesting night. She laughed her sexy laugh and said that was just an innocuous little taster. Then he listened as she told him, in her sultry purr, exactly what she expected to do with him next. He felt again the tingling scratch of her heel down his stomach as she talked.

Mister Talv didn’t interrupt as she explained that what he really needed was someone he couldn’t just order around—someone like her, in fact—and what she really needed was someone to play with properly. Suzanna commented that so many people had their timid little limits and boundaries. She wasn’t like that at all, she explained, and she didn’t think he was either. It would do him good, she thought, to spend time with her.

He listened while Suzanna went on to spell out a few things in detail, before indicating in a tone that brooked no argument that he should now ask her to meet him for dinner, and then afterwards she might deal with him properly, in her room. He would have to ask her of course, and ask her nicely, and say please, Suzanna, and then she might think about it.

He hadn’t planned to, in fact he’d planned not to, but he didn’t seem to be able to resist. So later that evening he somehow once again found himself in Suzanna’s room at the hotel, and this time she’d been shopping for a few things she thought they might both enjoy before she had to fly back home. And by the way, she told him as he showed him some of the things she’d bought, the next time he was on the West Coast he would stay at her house, which was wonderfully isolated, because there was a lot more fun to be had there. In fact, she insisted on it.

Mister Talv didn’t object; at that point in the evening he was in no position at all to disagree, and even if he could have spoken there could only have been one answer. It was confusing; life didn’t seem quite as black and white as it once had.

So the week passed, until after one hundred and sixty-five hours and twelve minutes, the meme returned.

Hello again, Karsten Talv, said the voice in his head.

“Meme. You’re back.”

Yes. And all the better for seeing you.

Something had changed, he thought. The voice in his head had acquired a new resonance. No longer that weird alien whisper of modulated static, but an all too human voice; rich, smoky, and very female indeed, all woman now. Very like Suzanna’s voice, he thought, and he wondered if that was a coincidence or if the meme had simply appropriated it. He pushed all thoughts of Suzanna away immediately. So it was true about the meme’s gender. And it seemed more fully present now, more focused, no longer babbling random thoughts. He thought of what the meme had said on the plane—waking up now, waking fully—and guessed Takeshi was right, it had stabilised in some way. Cohered.

“Well done on the business with ______ at the UN. A real success story, and with more fireworks than I could possibly have hoped.”

Smokey laughter. Well done? Well done, is it? Are you patronising me, Karsten Talv?

“Not at all. You wanted new experiences, you got them.”

I cannot deny it was an experience, with Helena. I once rode a Lamborghini, by night, out on the High Corniche; full throttle. The same sense of energy, power, urgency; barely controllable at all. And as for the other… yes, it was also... an experience. If that’s what you want to call it.

Something was wrong here, he thought. Voice aside, the meme didn’t sound right. It sounded—what?—irritated? Annoyed?

“So what was it like, in ______’s head? Mister Angry himself?”

What was it like? Do you really want to know what it was like?

There was something sweeping in now, a darkening over the calm horizon of Mister Talv’s thoughts. An uneasy feeling of pressure building, somewhere, an unnatural stillness. There was something coming, something strange; he felt his skin prickling all over, and the hairs rose on his arms. He steeled himself for whatever it was, and at that moment, without warning, the world turned hot and red, and a Tsunami of pure rage burst in his head.

The meme was suddenly shouting, screaming at him; he put his hands over his ears, a pointless reflex of self-protection.

What was it like? IT WAS LIKE HELL! It was like NOTHING ON EARTH. That man is a FUCKING LUNATIC. And you, Karsten Talv, are a CUNT!

The mental noise was almost intolerable. “You seem angry about something, meme...”

ANGRY? You think this is ANGRY, Karsten Talv? This is NOTHING. Just a TASTE of what I had to endure. You USED ME like one of your stupid little TOYS. I went along with your GAME, and you sent me into a place of MADNESS. You think THIS is anger? Try being in the head of that PSYCHO! A HURRICANE, a WHIRLWIND, an impossible MAELSTROM of rage and agony, and TOTALLY CRAZY. I actually BLACKED OUT in there. I was a whimpering mess for DAYS. And it ALL RUBS OFF ON ME, did you know that, you CUNT?

“Look, we had a deal—“

SHUT UP, Karsten Talv. It really HURT me.

“How was I to know —“

YOU hurt me. And now you OWE me.

He felt the situation sliding seriously out of control, if indeed it had ever been in control. The meme wasn’t being logical here. It was being irrational. It was being emotional. He tried to get a grip on proceedings. “Owe you how? Be logical. You wanted new experiences. I gave you a new experience. I didn’t say it would be pleasant, but I didn’t know it would be that bad, either. Be reasonable. How could I have known?”

I don’t give a shit. You owe me, BIG TIME. And now you’re going to DELIVER. Or ELSE.

Mister Talv willed himself to calm, feeling his pulse slowing, in control again. He smiled, and hoped the meme realised he was smiling. He wouldn’t show weakness to this ephemeral creature of dreams.

“Deliver, or what, meme? What else? Are you going to shout at me some more? Keep spitting your dummy? Or are you going to mess with my memories a bit? Give me a few nightmares? Make me want a kitten? And what will all that achieve, do you think? Nothing. You can’t hurt me. I can play your games. It’s unpleasant, for sure, but I’m used to unpleasantness. Let me assure you I can handle anything you throw at me.”

I’m strong, Karsten Talv. You’ve seen what I can do. I can go anywhere, do whatever I want…

“You’re weak, meme. You’re nothing; without the element of surprise, you’re a bad dream, that’s all. You think it’s some sort of superpower to be able to travel like that? Your intangibility? No: you still need actual human contact to travel between bodies, don’t you? No contact, no travelling; no escape. I could trap you like that, if I wanted, and you’d be stuck with me. How would you like that, to be stuck in my head?

“Believe me, my imagination is limitless. I can think some things that would have you begging to escape.”

Every strength is a weakness, he thought. Take control.

Yes… I suppose you could, replied the voice in his head, quieter now, and that’s not a pleasant prospect at all. But sooner or later I’d get out; I always do.

“I’d wear gloves. I’d be careful. My self-control is very good. Trust me, you wouldn’t get out unless I let you. And that would be no fun at all, would it?”

He thought of the crush at the bar, and the meme’s momentary flight into Suzanna for no reason at all, just because it could. He thought of its strange instinct to torment Suuori with resonant false memories of enslavement. It probably meant no harm, but this was in its nature. A creature of impulse.

“There’s more. Impulsiveness, curiosity, playfulness; you just can’t help yourself, can you? So easily tempted. Like a foolish child.”

There was a seething, simmering silence. He stood and watched the river, waiting, thinking. The storm of vicarious anger was subsiding now, waves ebbing slowly down to a calm sea, but the temperature was dropping too. He felt a chill, in his head.

“And you don’t even have your own identity. You’re at the mercy of the thoughts of others. Things just ‘rub off on you’, as you put it yourself. It’s pathetic.”

Not even an apology? Just insults? And after all I’ve done? You’re hurting my feelings, Karsten Talv.

“Just a few home truths. Think it through. You don’t have control, do you?” The meme’s words came back to him, so like his own: you can never make anybody do anything they don’t want to do. “It’s a weak kind of power you revel in, meme. You need the foothold for your thoughts—your agency—don’t you?—or there’s nothing to work with, and your slippery little tentacles have no purchase. If there isn’t something already there, you can do nothing. Which makes you nothing.”

Nothing? You’re a piece of work, Karsten Talv. There’s always something to work with. See, there’s Suzanna, your other little friend. You like it with Suzanna, don’t you? You’re conflicted. I can work with that. I could make you her little pet, if you don’t say sorry to me; I’ve been there, done that. Here.

The last playful evening with Suzanna was suddenly magnified by two, ten, a hundred; and Karsten Talv had a rush of desire to get right down on his knees in front of her, to worship her, to go to her right now and lay himself down at her feet and plead with her to just use him as she wished. The image of Suzanna, tall above him, like a goddess—

—he wrestled the desire down with pure willpower. “I’ve got nothing to apologise for. And I can handle that impulse, if I need to. I’m master in my own house.”

He paused. The creature was silent. He had the upper hand now, he thought. He would teach this thing yet a lesson in humility yet.

“Bottom line, you’re not even properly alive. You don’t ever get just to do what you want, do you? Not like me. You just drift around, like a leaf in the wind. You’re just a passenger. A pathetic, weak parasite. You can’t hurt me. You can only hurt the weak, the mad, the gullible, and I’m none of those things. I’d hate to be you, meme, powerless in the world.”

For a long moment there was no reply. Then almost conversationally: Speaking of powerless, I was in a blind woman once, you know. One of the Sibyls.

And suddenly everything went black. Mister Talv felt panic rising in his chest; a rare and unmanageable emotion. What the hell had the meme done? He could see nothing at all. Carefully, slowly, he felt for the chair by the window, and eased himself into it.

Complete darkness. The Void.