The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Garvey walked nonchalantly along the little path through the city park, a small bag of potato chips in one pocket and a can of Coke in the other. This was Sunday and since the weather was so nice he intended to relax by the little brook that issued from the edge of the blackberry thicket, beyond which no path in the park would venture. Sometimes he wondered where that little stream originated and would sit on this last bench on that path and imagine that it sprang from some mysterious tiny fountain deep within a magical forest glade. The path ended here and he would have to turn around and retrace his steps in order to get back home, but that never bothered him. This was a nice walk, and perhaps because the path dead ended that was why so few others came this way. Reaching the little bench, he sat in the morning sun and munched on the salty chips. A chipmunk scampered in front of him and he sprinkled some crumbs of oily potato on the ground as an offering, which was quickly accepted with a flurry of happy chirps. Sipping now upon the Coke, he again turned his attention to the origin of the little stream.

Had he dozed off? He couldn’t seem to remember. He had been eating chips and drinking and feeding the chipmunk and wondering about the stream, and then there seemed to be a skip of his consciousness, like the skip of a record. He looked at his watch. And hour had probably passed since he first sat down. This did not exactly bother him, this loss of perhaps fifty minutes, but it was slightly disconcerting in a dreamy sort of way. There was a little Coke left in the can and he drank this now, noticing the unpleasant sensation caused by warm liquid entering his mouth when he had expected it to be cold. Of course it was warm. It had been sitting for nearly an hour on the bench beside him in direct sunlight, and prior to that had ridden in his pocket for nearly twenty minutes. There was no trash can here so he put the empty can and the little cellophane bag into the pockets from whence they had come, and then he saw it.

There upon the ground directly in front of him was a tiny purple ticket. Why had he not seen this before? It was so obvious. Had someone else been here while he slept and dropped it? Surely he would have heard such footsteps as he was a very light sleeper. He only had to move a few feet off the bench in order to pick up the little ticket, and as he brought it closer to his face to bear inspection, he noticed that it was a lottery ticket. He seldom bought these things but he still knew that no lottery tickets were purple in color. There was a number on the ticket and on the back an address.

Scratching his head in casual reflection, he tucked the ticket into his shirt pocket and turned to make the journey back home. He would prepare a light lunch for himself to watch during the baseball game on television. As he began to walk away from the bench, the thicket of blackberries behind him, and gurgling from it the little brook, he heard the chipmunk chattering madly. He regretted that he had not brought some peanuts with him.

Back through the park and out onto the narrow shady streets in this gentle suburban landscape, he mused as he walked about the little purple ticket in his shirt pocket. Several times he would take it out and examine it. When he got home he would check online to see if the number matched that of the winner. He had never won anything, really, but it was foolish not to pass up such an opportunity, albeit what he knew logically to be a very slim one. Reaching his home, he waved casually at the young lady next-door, carefully sweeping her porch and humming softly to herself. She was quite beautiful and he had often thought of asking her out on a date. He knew that she was as single as he was, and it seemed peculiar that such an attractive woman would not have a flurry of gentlemen callers pecking away at her front door as might hungry bluejays peck at a ripe sunflower.

Garvey made a sandwich of smoked turkey and Swiss cheese with a little Dijon mustard, put some slices of cucumber on the plate beside it, and opened a bottle of imported beer which he poured into a tall pilsner glass. He placed these items on the little table beside the sofa and turned on the TV. Still fifteen minutes until the game began. Sipping once from his beer and then popping a slice of cucumber into his mouth, he rose and went into the den where he booted his computer and connected to the electronic tendrils of the internet. He withdrew the little ticket from his shirt pocket once again and scrutinized it with a magnifying glass in order to find the name of the lottery corporation and thus be able to check the number against their records. Try as he might, he could find no name of any lottery corporation. There was simply the number on the front along with the word “Lottery” on the top, and on the back the address. Perhaps this was not a real lottery ticket at all but some sort of prop from a children’s game?

Returning to the sofa he found enjoyment in his sandwich and beer, and as the baseball game began and progressed he became involved in the back-and-forth struggle between his team and the opponent. Somewhere along the line his consciousness skipped again and he suddenly found that he had lurched from the fourth inning directly to the ninth, just as his team was winning. Damn! He was sorry that he had missed this. It sounded from the excitement in the voices of the announcers and the passionate roars of the crowd as if it had been an extremely good and exciting game. Watching for another few minutes to determine what had taken place, he got up and switched off the machine, disgusted with himself for not having paid more attention. He was not tired and it was not like him to fall asleep while watching television, certainly not in the daytime and certainly not after only one beer. As he stood to pick up the plate and beer glass he noticed that the little purple ticket, which he was certain had been in his shirt pocket, was now tucked quite deliberately under the edge of the remote control. How has that gotten there? He went to the kitchen, washed and put away the plate and glass. Returning to the living room he picked up the little purple ticket and once more looked at the address on the back.

Now he sat again in front of his computer and accessed an online map service into which he entered the address from the ticket and clicked so that he might see the location geographically. There it was, down by the river. Strange place for a lottery office as that what is the realm of commercial boats and barges, their cargoes being unloaded and transferred to trucks and freight trains. On his way to work in the morning he could swing by and check this out, if that’s what it truly was. He suspected more and more that he would find nothing at all.

That night he dreamed of the girl next door. He had gotten up the courage to ask her on a date but when he went to the door he had found her to be gone. When he awoke he was a bit surprised to find himself raging with more desire than usual and attributed this to the frustration of the dream, brief as it was. Noticing that he was slightly late for his morning schedule, he skipped breakfast and hurried to his car. By not eating he would now not only make up for lost time but also have enough extra time to devote towards investigating the address on the back of the ticket. He checked once more that the ticket was in his shirt pocket as he pulled out of his driveway and headed into town.

Taking the route which he knew would lead to the docks, he soon found himself driving slowly along the long row of wharfs and cranes. Each building had a clear address marked upon it so it should be easy to find the address from the back of the ticket. When he arrived at the number just before and abruptly arrived at the number just after, he fell almost happy with vindication that he had proven this whole thing to be a hoax. There next to the entrance to a suite of industrial offices was one of those pickup trucks with a quilted aluminum canopy that announced it quite plainly as a mobile service providing hot coffee and sandwiches to the workers of this area. Garvey rolled down his window and asked the proprietor of the truck if he knew where the address was, having memorized it by now.

“It’s on the other side of the street!”, laughed the man. “You’re right across from it!”

Garvey swung into the parking area directly in front of the building which now spewed forth hungry clerks in need of morning coffee and doughnuts. Asking if it was okay to park their for a few minutes, he received an answer in the affirmative, walked across the street and stared bemusedly at an old barge upon the deck of which sat a dilapidated metal shack. There on the side of the shack was the number which matched the address on the ticket. Walking up the gangplank and onto the barge Garvey somehow felt strange and out of place, almost as if he was dreaming all of this. He knocked on the door and immediately heard a voice inviting him to enter. It was a woman’s voice and a delightful one at that, full of mirth and sexiness, triggering visions of some slinky vixen as he strained his eyes in the darkness of the little shack to see who was the owner of such enticing words.

“Do you have a ticket that you wish to check?”, came the sexy voice again. Still Garvey could not see in the dim light where the woman was. The sound of her voice seemed to be coming from all around him, but he just put this down to the metal walls and figured that soon his eyes would adjust to the dark and he would see a beautiful face before him. Producing the ticket from his shirt pocket, he held it out in front of him as if it were an invitation to the woman to show herself. Again came that voice, so soft and inviting, so alluring and slightly intoxicating. “Congratulations Garvey! You are a winner!”

With a thunderous shock he wondered how on earth she could have known his name! He had never mentioned it! And with that, a lone incandescent light bulb hanging from the ceiling suddenly burst to life, flooding the room with a harsh yellow light. Staring frantically in every direction, he could see no one. There was a desk directly in front of him and behind that an office chair on casters. To the right there was a coat rack as empty of coats as a coat rack could possibly be. To the left was a water cooler with a nearly empty five gallon jug and but one paper cup in the dispenser. Behind him was the door which had previously blown closed but now blew open again, adding bright sunlight to that issuing from the lightbulb. “Hello?”, he called. “Hello?” He repeated it several more times but to no avail. Aside from himself, this little room was quite empty.

Suddenly feeling an unusual thirst he decided to make use of the remaining paper cup in the dispenser next to the water cooler and have a short drink before he left. He wasn’t mad, but he did feel that a trick had been played on him, and his mind was racing furiously to determine which of his friends would have been this devious and put so much effort into luring him here. Filling the little paper cup and drinking, he found it odd that the water tasted slightly of blackberries.

The day at work was as usual as any day could be. He attempted to skillfully query some of his friends to see if they had played a joke on him, but all seemed honestly perplexed. As he drove home that evening he could not help feeling that it was not over. He did not know how or why or when, he just knew there was more to come. As he pulled into his driveway he noticed the girl again sweeping her porch, her lovely long blonde hair swaying back and forth in time to the broom in her hands. “That must be the cleanest porch in all creation with the amount of time she spends sweeping it”, he thought to himself as he exited his car and walked into the welcoming familiarity of his home. Supper was a casserole from the supermarket which he heated in the oven and ate without thinking. A little wine with his meal helped him to relax, and after he had done the dishes he sat before his computer and checked his emails.

There were the usual communications from his office, an invitation to his college reunion from an old friend, the obligatory spam, and at the very end something which he almost deleted due to it’s unrecognizable nature. The subject line was only one word, “WINNER”. He opened the email and was thunderstruck by the contents. There before his dumbfounded and watering eyes was the smiling face of the young woman next door, surrounded by a dark purple background, and underscored by that one word proclaiming him winner. If a spaceship full of rowdy aliens had landed in his backyard at that very moment he would have been no more surprised than he was by what now faced him on his computer screen. His mind raced and his heart pounded. He felt dizzy, and his consciousness skipped a beat.

Garvey suddenly found himself walking up the steps to his neighbor’s porch. He was fuming, not with anger but with the most intense curiosity he had ever felt in his life. He could almost taste it. He felt like screaming. He knocked on the door and waited, expecting her to come quickly as she had been there only an hour before, sweeping away. No answer, and he knocked again, more loudly this time. Still no answer. “HEY! I know you’re in there so please can we talk about this?” Silence, and more silence. Descending the steps, he walked around back to where he knew her kitchen was. Perhaps she was using a noisy appliance such as a blender, or perhaps she was vacuuming and just could not hear his knocking. No lights were on anywhere in her house and he suddenly felt, with some embarrassment, that perhaps she had been sleeping and was now fearful of who might be pounding at her door and screaming for her to come out. He quickly walked back to his house and poured himself a stiff brandy.

After several more glasses of brandy he found it curious that he felt no effect whatsoever from the alcohol. He could’ve been drinking water for all it mattered. His computer chimed a little bell sound indicating that a new email had arrived, and as if in a daze, Garvey went to check. Not even bothering to read the subject line or to see who it was from, he merely clicked on it to open. Again a shock went through him like lightning. There was her face, this time smiling wickedly, and underneath it the words, “Why didn’t you just come in?”

Garvey ran and stumbled and almost fell. The door to her house was now slightly ajar, yet still no lights burned inside. He wished he had brought a flashlight with him. With the greatest of trepidation he walked gently inside as if the floor were made of eggs. Feeling on each side of the wall for a light switch, he found none. There was a little illumination coming through the windows from the street lamp outside, but it was still very hard for him to see, and he strained to penetrate the darkness with determination and will, neither of which seem to do much good. “HELLO, HELLO! Okay, I’m here and I know you’re here, so you might as well show yourself!” He felt suddenly embarrassed to have spoken so forcefully to a woman, even one who had been playing jokes on him and now refused to be seen. A sudden rush of dizziness came over him, and his mind skipped.

Garvey was now sitting on the little park bench at the end of the path, staring stupidly at the brook babbling in front of him as it shot from the blackberry bushes. It was bright daylight and the sun felt good on his skin. Lazy clouds drifted softly overhead and all thoughts of work and responsibility were completely absent. He thought he could taste blackberries on his tongue.

A whisper seemed to rise within his mind, her voice, that voice from the little metal shack that he now knew also belonged to the girl next door. As he realized this it suddenly dawned on him that in all the years he had lived next to her he had never heard her speak until now. He had waved and she had waved back. She even smiled at him sometimes and he had attempted to return those smiles in a confidently controlled manner, (though he usually suspected that blushing skin betrayed something else). Now this whisper of her voice, almost a breath unnoticeable, yet clearly distinct in it’s certain recognizability. It was her. It could not possibly have been anyone else. “The number on your ticket was the right one, Garvey. Now you can claim your prize, if you dare.” And she laughed, not loudly, but again simply as a whisper. That whisper was sending shivers up and down his spine and he noticed the unmistakable sensations of sexual arousal building within him, not forcefully, not urgently, but very very slowly, like some sort of never-ending prelude to a symphony of pleasure beyond imagining.

Prize? What was the prize? And suddenly he knew. The prize would be his ability to walk beyond the thicket of blackberry bushes and follow the stream to it’s source. Rising softly and gliding as would a sleepwalker, Garvey moved forward towards the blackberries. There was now a narrow arched opening into the thicket and through this he proceeded. It was dark in here and it seemed oppressively hot, as there was no movement of air that he could detect. He did not have to stoop, for the ceiling of this thicket was high enough above his head that it was not necessary, yet he felt stooping slightly was in order, so he did. It seemed almost an action of reverence. He walked in this fashion for what seemed like minutes, though in his present state he would scarcely have known if it was hours or even days. He felt a slight concern that the thicket, and this tunnel through it, would never end, but right beside that feeling of concern was an equal feeling that he simply did not care, and gradually that feeling of not caring won out. It was sort of like falling asleep as he walked forward. It was almost like falling slowly down, the way a feather would drift when dropped from a lofty height.

At last Garvey emerged from the thicket and looked out upon a gentle forest glade. The stream had been beside him all the way and now it wriggled and bubbled in front of him like a liquid thread, beckoning him to wander beneath the great leafy trees. The sound of happy birds greeted him as his feet plunged forward over the soft grass and spongy moss. This was better than any of his dreams or daydreams of this place had ever been. This felt safer and more wonderful than anything he had ever imagined and now it felt completely real. Was it real? It didn’t matter and he didn’t care. He just, ……. didn’t care at all.

Eventually the stream which he had followed for so long, both in his daydream quests from that little bench behind him in the park, and now physically through the thicket, divulged to him what seemed like the holiest of secrets, its origin. There before him was a well, the mortared stone circle containing it only several feet high, and covered above with a little roof of wood resting upon two posts. There was moss growing on the stones and some sort of lichen clinging to the roof and it’s supports. No winch and bucket hung from underneath for the water came right up to the brim and spilled gently over the edge. This was the beginning of the little stream.

For what could have been only a few seconds, but just as easily a few hours, Garvey stood and stared in gentle amazement at this beautiful place. Then his reverie was broken by a whisper once again arising within his mind. “Make a wish.” The voice was teasing and he felt somehow that he should be very careful and not act with any haste. It did not feel as if she was trying to trick him, but it very much felt as if she was trying to lure him. “Go ahead, make a wish.” It was so hard to concentrate, so hard to think clearly. His mind was dreamy and fuzzy and full of the most exquisite sleep. All he wanted to do was just lay down on that soft green grass and fall, fall, fall. His mind skipped.

He was standing closer to the well now, less than a foot from it. Although she was not whispering now, he could feel her presence in his mind, streaming through it like the water, rippling and bubbling and cavorting, enticing him and luring him deeper and deeper into this delicious feeling. He wanted more of her presence in his thoughts. He craved it. He longed for it. It was like being thirsty beyond the experience of the most desperate desert traveler who suddenly finds an oasis of magically cool sweet water and is allowed to drink and drink and drink, yet with every drop consumed the craving would grow. It was not a sense of desperation but it was definitely a sense of longing. It was almost like a loneliness, crying for companionship, this sense of thirst for her presence in his mind. At the same time it was not loneliness because she was there, and this paradox of fulfillment and longing circled around and around his thoughts, an upwelling whirlpool of joy and love and desire. To have called it a crescendo would have been an understatement, for this seemed to have no end just as it seemed to have no beginning. It was a loop, and it felt like hopelessly divine addiction.

Suddenly Garvey had and instant of conscious clarity and realized that he could choose to stay here forever in this circle out of time, or he could at any moment he wished return to full awareness, return to the life he was familiar with. The delicious lure off her presence was so enticing and so difficult to resist, and he was able to realize in that instant of clarity that there was a danger here. Although he had the choice to leave he did not want to. If he left, could he return? If he stayed, would he gradually lose his ability to leave? Would losing his ability to leave simply take the form of losing his will to leave?

“Make a wish”, her voice again within his mind, this time full throated and full of sexual tension, the very opposite of a whisper. “Make a wish.” It was cooing and it was singing and it was supremely wonderful.

Summoning all of his strength, he focused as intently as he could upon being conscious, upon being critically aware. “Who are you? What will happen to me if I stay?” The words almost stuck in his throat and barely made it out into the air. The birds, which had been chirping wildly had now fallen silent. Only the sound of the gurgling water remained in the background, though he could’ve sworn that that sound of gurgling was as much within his body and mind as it was within that little stream. The sound of the gurgling within him seemed like the most wonderful sexual ecstasy, which never peaked and never diminished, but roiled constantly stronger and stronger the more attention he paid to it.

“Wish for that and see.” Her voice agonizingly seductive. She knew his every thought and he saw that he could hide nothing from her, no matter how hard he tried.

“Who are you? Please tell me.” His voice was full of anguish, devotion, and fear.

“I’m the girl next door, silly. And you already knew that.”

And his mind skipped again.

Garvey was laying next to her on her bed. She was sound asleep, nestled against him, with one arm draped over his chest and her head pressing against his shoulder. She smelled of blackberries. He could scarcely believe his good fortune, to have found such love and such joy. She had been here all along and all that he had to do was simply initiate contact. But had it really been he who had initiated the contact?

As he drifted back to sleep, his mind and body satisfied in cat-like drowsiness, he could hear the sound of her bathroom faucet running. The sound of gurgling water, like her thoughts within his mind, were both comforting and a little frightening, but he just didn’t care.