The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He did not see the Xizang temple, the mountains, or even the inside of his eyelids. He saw the Great River. His eyes closed, his breathing sweet and very slow, his body thought he was dreaming, and was relaxed as only deep sleep allows.

Or death, though he was not quite dead.

The River moved around him like a dream of moonlit fog. Rushing points of emerald light went by him at speeds much greater than the slowing local current.

He could still smell the slight tang of gunpowder, earth and fresh snow. Those scents mixed with the strong smell of his own blood and blood of the students of his student.

In his dream, he recalled how the blood warmed the snow into crimson slush.

Around him, the Great River pulsed slower as his dream deepened.

He had been shot at close range. The damage was no small matter. The speeding bullet had penetrated his rib cage, skipping between ribs, scarring his heart and ripping a lung.

He saw it lodged within his antique flesh close to his spine. He dreamed the line of damage inside his body and studied it. The slug of metal was alloy jacketed to produce greater penetration and break his dense bones. It had nearly exited through him, but it was in one piece.

His breath moved in the same pattern as the Great River. Slow.

The dark pain he had felt coming was now here at the Temple and had a name, a young Kinspawn who called himself the Golden Master. Last night’s dream had told him of the terrible ache of this Kinspawn’s mind. Yet, he had not guessed it could also involve Celestial Fu. The Ancient Horror had been sculpted and seared in the Great River and remade. It seemed to be the work of the young Golden Master.

Yet he has not the skill or strength. Questions. So many questions. I need to know more. Always the same, when the opportunity to die is offered, there are too many questions to be answered. Lady Death will have to wait. I must question the Ruined Dragon. Celestial Fu will have answers.

He returned his attention to his body. He studied the black stain of the bullet as highlighted by the River moving in a slow eddy around it. It would take too long to move the spent slug by touching it. He concentrated his dreaming upon the torn flesh around the metal invader.

Slowly, flesh fingered the bullet and squeezed it back along the trail of damage. Small increments became fractions as they then became centimeters.

The Great River offered him more and more power as his breathing slowed even more. He was amused.

An old trick of the River. The River has known me for so long, yet considers me weak or desperate enough to accept so much power blindly when I am most vulnerable.

He ignored the greater rush of energy, staying with the gentle trickle that was accomplishing so much. He allowed his manroot to absorb and hold the excess energy of the River.

The metal slug squeezed out of the wound and dropped inside his tunic.

Then, with a searing touch of the Great River, he closed the entry wound and several tears along the line of damage. Along some points, he made hasty repairs.

His breath still moved in the same pattern as the Great River. He reminded his flesh of his presence and commanded it to move.

The soldiers dragged the few bodies to a common grave and threw them in.

It was obvious that the killing portion of the operation was done. The Golden Master had easily conquered the Xizang Temple and its respected High Lama. He held council within now. The men shared small conversations.

Despite the dread warnings of the Golden Master, the operation had gone very smoothly and very well. The men shared a cigarette and commented on the cold weather.

The loose soil of the common grave tumbled away to reveal a very thin hand pushing upward.

The Crane dreamed within the Great River. There was no pain. There was no Death.

He pushed aside the earth and moved upward on the strength he trickled into his flesh.

Slowly.

To move harshly and with passion would open him to the resources of the River more than he needed or could afford right now. If the River became the reason for his motion, he would die.

Horribly.

And then so would everyone for a hundred kilometers. All their dreams would end with his.

So he danced carefully forward in the dream and touched the soldiers.

Children. You have done well. Play now. Overcome fear, behold wonder.

The soldiers began telling jokes and stories. They laughed. The humor was infectious. It was grand. Each story led to waves of more laughter. Each new tale added to the pleasure of the one before. They were each of them suddenly philosophers, artists, and creators taking delight in each other’s brilliance.

More soldiers arrived, looking to understand what the commotion was about. Within moments, they were stunned by the deep and wonderful discourse of the growing group. Then they found themselves similarly inspired.

It was heady joy and all consuming.

No one really noticed as the gangly corpse-pale peasant in his bloodstained tunic passed through the growing crowd and entered the Xizang Temple.

They were too busy creating wonder.

The Crane dreamed within the Temple. He brought the dream with him like a gentle storm. Mortal eyes registered him as a dream, and since they were awake, there was no one to see.

The dirty scarecrow figure drifted to the upper floors where the dark pain was, stopping along the way to caress the invading soldiers. Finding the incarcerated monks in their stupor, he blew the cool strands of the dream across their singed minds. He sadly noted the damage done to them by the Golden Master.

For Crane, there was only the dream. Yet, he was generous. As he passed them all, he gave each a thread of the dream. The dream touched them each in turn.

Children. Play now. Overcome fear, behold wonder.

Soldiers clasped each other as long lost friends. Two men stepped into the shadows and kissed each other with heady passion. Senior officers began to explain the intricate politics of the mercenary world that baffled their ambitious younger adjuncts. Older veterans began to teach younger toughs important pointers.

A feeling of intense emotion rippled through the Temple. The troops were gifted with a greater sense of themselves as a community.

And the captured monks, the numb minds that Golden Master had ruthlessly burned with the Great River into slavery and submission were eased from their tight-strung obsession of obedient passion and went into healing sleep. They dreamed of the Temple in better days. They dreamed of classes and honors that they had won. They dreamed of warnings that they had heard in recent days that a terrible test would come to the Temple.

A test that might swallow the strong and the weak equally.

A test of the pain of the world made manifest.

They dreamed and did not feel the pain of having failed that test.

The Crane dreamed within the Holy One’s own rooms. He examined three figures there.

He envisioned his greatest student secured to a table. He dreamed of the hundreds of acupuncture Golden Needles making a beautiful mockery of the bright mind of his student. Crane moved as the Lord of Dreams and stood beside the Horror, Celestial Fu. Crane dreamed of the Golden Master in a twitching net of darkness and pain on the cold stone floor.

He brushed sweet earth from the shoulder of his tattered tunic.

Ruined Dragon. I’m sure your tale of arriving here is an interesting one to hear. You have seen changes. I would be honored to hear of them.

RiverSlut tore her hungry eyes away from her Golden Master. “Surely you are not talking to this walking cunt? I am RiverSlut. I do not know this Ruined Dragon. I do know you, Miyu. Riddler.” She spit.

Crane bowed and smiled.

Indeed, I am talking to you, RiverSlut. I am honored to see you after so many years. You have overcome fear. I am in awe of the change.

“Go away, Crane. You survive only because my beloved Master did not know your ugly face and would not listen to me. He did not solve the riddle of the bell polisher that you presented him and so killed you in error. Now he suffers in the torrent of the River. This can all be laid at your feet.”

Crane nodded.

I see this. I am distressed for you. I could help him. But he is deep in the River sickness.

“Do not touch him. I am his courtesan. I would help him if I could. For if he dies, my life has no meaning and I wish then to perish with him.”

Crane dreamed briefly within himself and once again studied the repairs he had made there. He turned his soft sleepy eyes to RiverSlut.

You have overcome fear. You have always been the most powerful slave of the fear. You are free for the first time. Looking back, do you know now why you were the Dragon? Do you understand any better the philosophy we have spoken of in the past?

The old amber eyes glinted and narrowed in the young face. “I am not a Dragon. I am a walking talking cunt. My Master is my philosophy. I am not free. I am his slave. You are mad. You have been mad for many years, ever since the Ogre smashed your mind.”

I agree. I am ‘mad’ as it is accounted among our kind because I have set aside the Dance. Yet I know you will not stop me if I help him.

Crane smiled. He stepped forward.

In the dream, he blew cooling strands of the River on the Golden Master. The young Kinspawn cried out in his world of pain. Crane dreamed silently across the room and lifting both hands, the Golden Needles were lifted away from the prostrate High Lama and consumed by the Great River. His champion was free, if not well. He blew strands from the slowest currents of the River upon the beloved face of his student.

Then he stepped back.

How is the Ogre? Our last battle taught me so much about myself. I have never thanked him.

She sniffed at the idea of his thanks. “He is nearly recovered from that battle, Ancient Crane. I think he will come out of the mountains someday soon and give you your final lessons in killing. He survived his injuries, but has cherished a hatred for you since then.”

Crane looked at the Golden Master.

Do you love this Kinspawn, RiverSlut?

“I am his. Yes. I love him.”

Crane nodded.

And how does an Ancient love? You are an Ancient still, yes?

RiverSlut paused, a strange confusion crossing her face. She squeezed her thighs together and wished again for hands and fingers so that she might stroke her sex. She gazed at her naked arms where they ended at the elbow.

Crane smiled.

Yes. Love. What a strange thing it is. An impossible mortal thing. ‘Ancients can create love, but not feel it.’ Hasn’t the Dragon said so in the past?

“Yes.” She said with feeling. She stepped closer to the Golden Master. “Yes, I remember saying that. Impossible. It is strange, but I do love him. My passion flower drips with yearning for his harsh slap against my face. I thrill to performing public acts of whoring for him. I love him. It fills me.”

Crane bowed to her. Love pervades and fear retreats. You are free. In your binding, you have found freedom.

She studied him. He was a gangly, dirty old Mongolian. “If bound, what am I free of?”

Fear. He studied her amber eyes. Overcome fear and you behold wonder.

“Ancients fear nothing. You are mad.”

Crane gestured to the fallen figure. But if he dies?

RiverSlut cried out. “No! He cannot die!” Yet she saw then that this was not her own fear. It was fear for him. For herself, she had no fear. The sensation of love inside her mind flared hotter. She moved then, getting to her naked knees and using her teeth to pull the coat and robes apart on the fallen Kinspawn. She snapped the buttons off with her teeth in her haste. She managed after much effort to get her mouth to Golden Master’s limp cock. She began to suck.

Crane gestured a hand.

Gently, RiverSlut.

Crane stepped behind her and began to massage her neck, shoulders and breasts with dreamlike gestures.

She moaned under the Crane’s dirty fingers. She gentled her searing heat. The Great River wanted to rush through her passion flower and speed her mind. It wanted to enflame, but she slowed her responses.

Crane caressed her ears and eyelids with his fingertips.

He is losing his mind. Someone has taken him into deep currents of the Great River where he could be burned. He was sick before he came here. He has fallen in with the pain. He believes it grants him power.

She nodded. That made a strange sense. Was not pain a tool of power? She was sure she thought so once.

Crane dreamed his thin fingers across her nude form. He excited her wonder.

In a bizarre fingertip dance, she saw that he lingered those gestures at the stumps of her arms. He tickled the tender skin there, making her squirm with a delight that was foreign to her memory. She gently sucked at Golden Master’s cock and pushed strength through her hot lips into her Master’s exhausted body.

How beautifully you suck him.

She could feel her Master’s mind in a rough and uneasy drift. He was ill. Very sick. She gently felt the scars of his mind. Someone had been burning him. Who? She was sure it had not been herself. She moaned with concern for the pain in his mind. She tried to take the pain into herself, leaving him free of it.

No. You are no Healer. You are the Ruined Dragon.

This did not work. She was no healer. So she sent him the strength of her passion instead.

Yes. You are a wonder.

Her lips caressed his beautiful manroot. Her mouth gentled upward with sucking embrace. Golden Master hardened slowly. She spread her legs. She began pressing her passion flower into the floor between her legs with her excitement. She ran her tongue in spirals around his stiffening root. She descended and brushed her lips against his balls. Her cheeks hollowed as she softly drew upward. Her hot lips drew along his veined wonder and she orgasmed with the delight.

Share the passion.

And so shared the strength with him again.

Golden Master groaned. He moved weakly.

The Crane slowed his caresses of RiverSlut. In the moments that he had caressed and dreamed over RiverSlut’s flesh, he had seen the past within her power and passion. Now he understood. His questions had found some answers.

The Phoenix.

Celestial Fu had tried to join with the Phoenix and been driven mad. He was quietly excited beyond his expectations. Yet, he did not know which Ancient had mastered the Way of the Phoenix. Someone had offered the prize to Celestial Fu and the Horror had tried to possess it by force.

The Golden Master’s eyes fluttered open. He moved a hand weakly to caress RiverSlut’s ankle and foot.

The Crane moved his fingers down RiverSlut’s spine, drawing archaic signs upon her chakra. He tongued the chakra at the base of her neck. She moaned aloud with cock in her mouth. The Crane slid his hand between her narrow ass cheeks. He found the tight kiss in that valley.

He softly blew out a breath as he eased his finger into RiverSlut’s cold ass.

She squirmed. Her mind raced hotter. Never! I have never! No one would dare this! I am so hot! This walking cunt can use such heat for strengthening her Master. This is then good.

The Crane ran fingers gently over the stump of her left arm. He stroked that recently healed flesh. She shuddered with the tickling pleasure. The pleasure made her giddy. Crane continued to draw upon the stump with forgotten signs.

She barely suppressed the laugh that wanted to come forth as his fingers teasing her. RiverSlut orgasmed and began to push her ass down on his finger. She sucked her Master’s hard cock. I am a walking sucking cunt who likes her ass finger-fucked. I am free.

Yes. You are free. Remember, my Ruined Dragon, above all, we must all be free. He kissed the chakra on her neck again.

I am free to be humiliated. I am free to be enslaved. I am free to save my Master, so that he may punish me for letting you escape his plans.

The Crane sighed and nodded. Yes. You are free. We must all be free. That is part of the wonder, too.

RiverSlut orgasmed again. She felt the heated finger in her chilled ass. It seemed to pulse with a pleasure matched to the thrusting of her petals on the stone floor. She spread her planted feet even more. She increased the tempo of her motions. Every orgasm could add to her Master’s strength. She sucked hot cock and felt the first strands of heated cum leaking from its tip. I am a walking sucking cunt who likes her ass finger-fucked. We must all be free.

The Golden Master’s eyes flickered open. He saw nothing, but his grip on RiverSlut’s ankle tightened.

The Crane pulled his finger quickly from her ass. She came very hard and grunted around her sucking. He kissed the back of RiverSlut’s neck once more. I must go before he fully wakes. There are things I must do. Remember this, RiverSlut. You are the Ruined Dragon. You are the Horror. Even in finding love, you are what you are. If you do not acknowledge this, then your Master will be destroyed when you truly wake. That love will be destroyed as well. Remember this, Ruined Dragon, and you may both survive what will come.

The Crane reached up to RiverSlut’s ear and pinched a tiny bit of gold post out of the center of it. It looked like a clipped off needle. It vanished into the Great River. Then he turned away. He nodded at the table holding his champion and it began to slide with a low rumble across the rough floor. The Ancient Crane walked through the room with the encumbered table sliding gracefully behind him like a faithful dog. He glanced at RiverSlut again. Remember.

RiverSlut sucked the Golden Master and shivered with another orgasm waiting for him to cum in her mouth. She did not see the room, the lake, or even the mountains beyond the unglazed windows. She did not care about anything so trivial. She waited ardently for her Master’s will.

Then he exploded hot streams of power into her warm moist mouth. He cried out. She sucked greedily for it was fully engrossing. She came again. She was complete.

She was free. It was wondrous.