The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


1: Elevator

I met Mari in a Minneapolis hotel elevator. I still don’t know exactly what she was doing there, but I was attending an AI conference and had to pass through the lobby several times over three days. I saw her, one other attractive young woman, and several other people near the entrance to the hotel spa. She seemed to notice me. Some sort of concierge? Regardless, on one post-luncheon trip up the elevator, I found myself alone with her. She looked me in the eye, lifted the back of her hand to my cheek, allowing me a sidelong view of her long, clear, pointed fingernails, which seemed to have some sort of red-gold tracery embossed onto them or perhaps even inside them. She had a strong, aristocratic face, pale rosy white skin, sleek black hair curled in waves past her shoulders, a colorful tattoo on each toned upper arm, a tight stretchy skirt that came to the top of her knees and showed off her strong legs, and a riveting gaze. She looked like she spent time in the gym and her smell hinted of exertion. The tops of her breasts and cleavage showed over her chemise. In 3-inch heels she was over six feet tall, though her penetrating eyes were still a couple inches below mine. Her rich lipstick was blood red.

“I like this,” she said several seconds later, before lowering her hand from my cheek. She reached for my wrists and began raising them. “I like this even more,” she said.

This was a bit unexpected, to say the least. Her grasp was gentle yet firm and I let her raise my arms to shoulder level. “I don’t think ...” I began.

“I’m just measuring, nothing crazy is happening,” she said softly. “Just humor me a minute and let me look into your eyes ... there’s something I need to ask you about them.” I allowed her to raise my arms above my head. She came in close. Then closer.

Her eyes were blue-green with an orange-gold pattern surrounding the pupil, a hazel splotch at two o’clock, a green splotch at six. It seemed like there was motion, too, flowing slowly outward, holding my gaze. But the truth is her eyes were blurry this close up since I wasn’t wearing my reading glasses.

“Um ...” I said.

“I know. You like my eyes, don’t you? They’re fascinating and you could look deep into them for hours,” she said, but seemed puzzled at my reaction, like it wasn’t quite what she’d expected. Then she noticed the glasses in my shirt pocket and smiled. “I bet you’d like to see them more clearly, wouldn’t you?” She gathered my wrists together, still above my head, and held them with her left hand, revealing a little more of one breast. She lowered her right hand to place the glasses over my nose and it was like a strong breeze or even an ocean wave hit me. Sure enough, it was easier to see the details of her eyes now and I couldn’t help but look deeper. They were amazing, that orange-gold pattern around the pupil appearing like a 30-or-so point flower, the motion making it slowly change shape. I tried counting its points but kept losing track.

“It’s hard to look away, isn’t it?” she asked, her tone triumphant, her look even more predatory.

“Yuh ...” was all I could manage. My tongue felt thick and slow.

“The tattoo on my right arm is of a tigress, did you notice? You won’t be able to look now since all your attention is on my captivating eyes, where it belongs, but I wanted you to know,” she said. “The tattoo on my left arm is a secret only I know right now, because I’m sure you didn’t notice on your own, did you?”

“Nuh ...” was all I could manage.

“I’m a little bit of a tigress myself, in case you couldn’t tell,” she said. “And there’s something about you I want to know, but can’t quite put my finger on ...” She placed her right hand against my cheek again, alternating the front and back every few seconds, letting me feel the warmth of her fingertips, the cooler touch of her nails, and a barest hint of sharp points at their ends.

“Goooooood,” she said, our eyes still locked together. “Now try to describe my eyes. It’ll be difficult because you’re feeling sleepy from that delicious lunch. Your eyes want to close into a nice nap, just for a few minutes.”

My mouth opened but nothing besides a little breath came out. My eyelids were indeed feeling heavy.

“You can nap on your feet, I know you’ve done it before,” she said. “And I’m very strong, I can hold you up if you start to ... slide down. It feels so good to be like this with me, so relaxed, losing yourself to the motion in my beautiful, boundless eyes. So relaxed, so soothing, so sleepy, so safe.”

My eyelids closed. The elevator seemed to have stopped moving.

“You can feel my hand around your wrists, holding them to the wall,” she said. “My hands are so strong, it’s easy for me, in fact you can’t really move your hands or arms at all, except you can feel them start to rise even higher, keeping you upright as sleepiness from that lovely meal and my soooothing voice overtakes you. It feels so relaxing, your mind sliding down lower and lower while your arms rise higher. Feels so goooood. Relaxing. Safe. Warm. So comforting to be inside your own thoughts as I keep you safe. Feel my magical eyes on you even through your closed eyelids. Feel the flow within them slowly carry your gaze outward, just as your thoughts drift away and out through the walls. Feel your inner eye close just like your eyelids. Feel my voice echo around your empty head, so empty of thoughts, so relaxed, so soothing, so warm, so safe.”

Her words came more slowly now, my mind trailing behind.

“Feel thoughts skate across the surface of your mind, like a gentle breeze across a frozen pond, only a few dry snowflakes stirring as they pass. No need for thoughts, not when I’m here to support you, to keep you safe as you drift. Feel my hand around your wrists even as it drops to caress your cheek. Feel your body unable to move even as it slips into such a comfortable zoned-out feeling.”

I could feel the fingertips of both her hands on my cheeks now, and sure enough my wrists were still pinned above my head against the wall. She began to flex her hands against my face, from jaw to temples, alternately letting me feel her warm, soft fingertips and the tips of her sharp fingernails.

“Feel how relaxing my fingers are against your face. Warm fingers, sharp nails, keeping you safe, making you long for them. So strong, so sharp, so gentle, so warm, so ... arousing. You might enjoy being able to think of what I would look like without all these clothes if you could concentrate right now.” She leaned into me and I felt her firm breasts and erect nipples through my shirt.

I sighed. Her hands moved up the side of my head, still flexing every few seconds to let me feel the sharp tips of her nails. Her groin pressed against mine. Sure enough, I was getting hard. Her lips moved to my ear. She whispered “but you can’t concentrate with me pressed against you like this, making you so horny, so aroused, so hard, getting you so turned on you have no choice but to do as I ask. Because you want me. You like my body pressed against yours, you want my hands on you, letting you feel my strength, my power, your desire for me, your need, my power, your lust, so close to satisfaction, your need to let me tell you what you want. Your want for me to tell you what you need. So close. So warm, so ... wet. You can feel your precum starting now, can’t you? I can make you feel that. I can make you so hot, so hard. Inside me it’s even hotter, I’m like a furnace, consuming your thoughts and desires, and you’ll be so much harder when I squeeze you there. I’m so strong, so flexible, so powerful.”

My sigh was more like a moan. I might’ve felt like this was the hottest thing that had ever happened to me except I was having trouble putting coherent thoughts together. This was more like sensory overload. She pressed harder against me and I felt the taut muscle of her chest, around and beneath her breasts. She pushed her pubic bone in and up, down and in, mashing against my cock and balls.

“So hot,” she husked into my ear. “There’s something about you, something I want to learn about you, and you will tell me when I ask. So hot, so aroused, so safe, so pliant to my wishes, my needs. So controlled. Tell me you want me to take control of your arousal.”

“Yes,” I whispered when I could find my voice again.

“Tell me you want me to take control of your cock.” I don’t remember being this hard in 20 years.

“Yes.” My whispered reply was more a gasp.

“Tell me to control your cock.”


“Tell me you will obey me.”

Putting a sentence together through the spinning fog now shrouding my thoughts was almost beyond me. “I ... will ... obey ... you,” I managed.

“Again.” She snapped her fingers, the sound sending a jolt through me.

“I ... will ... obey ... you,” I said. It came a little more easily this time.

“You feel a jolt of pleasure every time I snap my fingers. Tell me you will obey me.” [SNAP]

“I will ... obey you.” It was like my reply was on automatic pilot, but the jolt was stronger.

She pinched my nostrils together, the points of her nails digging into the bridge of my nose. “Stronger each time. Don’t inhale. Beg to obey Me. Beg Me to control your cock.” [SNAP]

“Pleeeease let me obey you ...” I managed to gasp while I still had breath for it. She released my nose, leaned away and brought one hand to my crotch, cupping my balls, and squeezed. I inhaled sharply, desperately.

“Goooood,” she said. “I know just what you want, know just what you need. So safe, so hot, so aroused, so pliant to My wishes, to your needs.” She squeezed again, and again, gently but firm, then moved the heel of her palm to pulse my cock against my groin, my breath catching each time she did. I shivered and tensed uncontrollably. I was so close. Then, in between tiny licks of my earlobe that each made me shudder and moan, she whispered a few more things between finger snaps that I couldn’t quite remember, me gasping an increasingly desperate affirmative each time.

“Now I’m going to guide you to a place we can satisfy both our needs. You’ll feel My hand on your cock, exactly where you most want it, leading you, the pleasure so great that you will want so much to follow, it will be the hottest thing you’ve ever felt, but you won’t cum. You’ll feel My hand around your wrists, glueing them together, and you will love that helpless feeling. You will follow without thinking, needing nothing more as we walk, each step bringing you deeper into My control. I control your cock. I take it where I want it to go, to pleasure, Mine and yours. So hot, so strong, so safe, so powerful.”

She nipped my earlobe and goosebumps rose down my entire body. My cock surged in her hand. She squeezed it again, letting the tips of her sharp nails tease the shaft and head through my pants. My body went rigid. “That’s right, your body is so responsive to Me. So compliant, you need what I can give you soooooo much. This is going to be so good. I control your cock, and it is soooooo hard, so responsive to Me. Now I’m going to lower your arms around Me. Your wrists are still locked together, so responsive to My will.”

I felt her detach my wrists from the wall above my head, and sure enough she lowered my arms until they surrounded her. She pressed herself more fully into me, grinding her pelvis, hooking one muscled leg behind my knee, her foot winding all the way around the front of my ankle, her narrow high heel pressing painfully down into my arch, using it as a step up so she was higher than me, her tongue penetrating downward past lips and teeth, probing deep. I was fucking on edge. She tasted of horehound.

OK, probably not so many people would know about horehound, but my small-town Midwestern mother told me she used to love horehound candy when she was young, and I knew the flavor from those expensive European herbal cough drops. That thought stuck a little harder then anything I’d been able to think for the last I-don’t-know-how-many minutes. My mind connected free associations as she turned away, my arms still locked around her, and I felt the elevator begin to move upwards—she must have stopped it at some point. Horehound, lamiaceae, labiatae, I recalled from my gardening research. Labia, yeah, I know about those and that seemed to be where I was headed, but ...

“My name is Mari,” she said. “I will call you Madeline, a name you will come to cherish. Because I will it. Come with Me now.” [SNAP] The elevator door opened and so did my eyes. She slipped under my embrace and I felt her phantom long-nailed hand on my cock, tugging me to a place I wanted to go with her. I felt her other hand around my wrists, locking them together, but she was also three steps ahead, not touching me, stepping into the hallway. A number pretty high up the elevator control panel was lit. It was a 36-floor hotel.

Wrists still together, I hit the elevator door close button, then the button for floor 3. “Parasitoid wasp,” I said, shakily.

“Wha ... DAMNit!” I heard Mari say as the door closed between us. Through the doors I thought I heard a low, sultry chuckle. “Next time,” she whispered, possibly only in my head.

As the elevator descended, I took a deep breath, blinked, and stared down at my wrists, their sensitive inner surfaces still “glued” together. I regarded them, took another breath, then separated. It didn’t hurt as I’d been afraid it might if the “glue” had been physical. There was a little resistance but not for more than a moment. Or maybe it was a few seconds. Or a few dozen. In any case, by the time I reached the 3rd floor where all the conference rooms were, with three more passengers picked up on the way and my head still spinning, I had a considerable amount to ... consider.

Next in chapter 2:

Mari — Bob doesn’t leave town soon enough.