The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

PROLOGUE

I look down at her pleading empty eyes as she eats me out, and I wonder if this is anything like it was for my brother back when they were together. I wonder what she’s thinking—if she could think—looking up at me. Rowyn and I had the same striking eyes; I’m reminded of that every time I look in the mirror, and it hasn’t stopped hurting yet. Speaking of hurting, I’m not even forcing her head down and yet she’s easily tearing up; did she tear up this much gagging on his dick?

I’m tempted to ask, but there’s no going back to the way things were, so why spoil the moment? ‘Might as well try and get her mind off everything; it’ll be good for both of us.’ That was my central thought when things went down.

“Cheer up, buttercup,” I say pushing her black hair out of her face and patting her flushed cheek; my speech only marginally slurred from the whiskey she’d poured me. “I told you I’d help take your mind off everything. Now, why don’t we get to the main event?”

She can’t even form words at this point, and that gives me momentary pause; I hadn’t intended to trance her this soon. But when we’d started talking after the service, it was obvious she wasn’t in the right headspace. Are any of us nowadays? Well, that was nearly six hours ago, and we’d talked almost nonstop from that point, so at the very least I can say she had enthusiastically consented to anything that could help.

‘Maybe you’re looking down at all the pain you’ve caused by leaving us, dumbass, but I’m not one for the supernatural, so I’ll do what I do best and let my work consume me.’ Sitting still, I briefly look at the ceiling, mentally flicking that shit-for-brains off for all the unsettled, well, shit we had.

As I reach for my strap though, I take a second to think about whether any of this is right. And so with a heavy sigh I put it back on my nightstand and run my hand through her silken hair. It’s been almost a decade since he’d last talked about her like this, but I still remember how he gushed over this hair. Said it framed her round face in a way that no camera would ever be able to do her justice. It explains why he likened her to the moon so much.

Not wanting to spend too much time thinking about it though, I lightly grab it—not even a full fist—and she lets out a moderately loud moan. It flows into my ears and feels like honey: sweet and sticky; yeah, in this new world of monsters and men, I’d say she’s a Siren.

Using my other hand, I reach for and take a swig of the glass; I don’t drink much nowadays, but everyone has their way of mourning. And after this past week, I should enjoy myself; after all, I don’t intend for much of this night to be habit forming anyways.

‘If you are looking down here, dickwad, I want you to know she’s in trustworthy hands. I know how much that always worried you; especially after you fucked everything up and the two of you became strangers years ago.’ I know that last part isn’t really true, and I really wish he had known that too, but I know how much he internalized it. How he let it rot his mind out; like a septic wisdom tooth untreated at the back of his head, poisoning the rest of him until he was as a shell of what I know he could’ve become. And I can tell she’d agree with me. Honestly, if I had the chance to bitch-slap one of his cheeks, I bet she’d want the other one for herself. I think both of us knew how much he was capable of accomplishing if he’d just gotten the right help; I can’t tell which one of us would be chewing his ear off if we could. Fuck. I feel tears starting to form and so I paw at my face to wipe them away.

My thoughts keep bouncing around: I wonder what kind of life he’d be living if the two of them had never met. I feel like a wolf at the door and all I want is to take my rage out on her. It’d be so damn easy. There are so many physically & mentally sadistic things I already have in mind. But what’s done is done & ultimately none—and I do mean absolutely none—of this is her fault; he just needed a better grasp on reality …and probably a lot less childhood head trauma too.

At the end of the day, there are only so many ways to say that I’m frustrated, and I’m slowly getting tired of this internal monologueing; jesus, what am I, some noir detective? No, I’m feeling a lot more Jessica Jones right now. I finish the rest of my drink and weigh the choices I have; it doesn’t take me long to make a decision.

Of all the days to go against my moral compass, I refuse to allow myself to hide behind a weak excuse like blaming it on my inebriation. My heart’s been beating in my ear for what must’ve been an hour by now. I should really just stop; no one else can read my thoughts, and so I need to turn intention into action and have it show on the outside.

When I woke up this morning, I had no intention of gaining a sub, and so this is far from my initial attempt at consoling both her and myself. The only type of getting laid I had planed was laying him to rest. Well, at least I can still laugh at myself; he’d want me to be able to.

Plus, I know for a fact that his life WAS improved by the time they were together, no matter how painful it was for him at times putting up with her family’s incessantly rude comments; in many ways, I’m thankful for her. We’ve all got messed up families though, so that feels like another layer of kinship with her. I brush my hand softly against her cheek thinking that this feels pseudo-incestuous and I don’t know how to feel about that. The more thought I give it, the more I’m starting to think all of this is wrong; I can feel a pit starting to form in my stomach as I hear the word ‘wrong’ echoing louder and louder, replacing the tell-tale heart in my head.

See, this is the kind of self doubt that’ll get you hung up for hours, and I’m a woman of little words at heart, so I KNOW I should tap out.

And so I do; literally tapping her on the forehead, getting her attention.

“You’ve been doing a marvelous job down there, Lavindyr, but I think it’s about time I bring you up out of trance. Can you be good for me and look into my eyes so I can bring you back up safely?” I try to say it all as sweetly as possible; a saccharine tone might seem unnecessary for her unconscious mind, but I’m also constantly reminding myself to be gentle for my own sake. Whether I let myself acknowledge it or not, I know I’m still hurting too.

Everyone deserves aftercare; that’s non-negotiable.

“Let’s start by having you up here on the bed with me. As much as we both enjoyed you being severely underneath me, ultimately we are & will always be equals; no matter what I might’ve said earlier.” I now say as I bend forward and bring both hands under her armpits. I have no idea how much she weighs—I have no desire to find out the number; all I know is that each pound looks fantastic on her—but she honestly feels as light as a feather in my well sculpted arms. There are definitely a few advantages to being a buff ass butch.

With her now hoisted onto the bed with me, I start to help bring her back together; a part of me hopes she’s at least a little more put together than she was before I brought her down.

That’d at least make one of us.