The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next morning, Diane made me breakfast. I kissed her on the way out the door, and almost made myself sick at the domesticity of it all. At work that day, I made arrangements to take a few months leave. I finished up the work on the few contracts on my desk at the moment, then sped home.

Diane wasn’t there when I got home. I had begun to worry when at seven-thirty, she walked in the door with a large suitcase. “I... brought some stuff. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. In fact, you can pretty much bring all your stuff over. But you should also quit your job. We’re going to take a trip.”

“Where?”

“To your roots, so to speak. We’re going to find Dave’s house, and then...”

“Then what?”

“Then I try my hand at the black arts.”

“You’re... you’re going to...”

“Yep. Dave screwed up because he didn’t know how to write a contract. My whole life has been nothing but contracts. This one may be a little unusual, but I think I can handle it.”

Diane just looked at me, as if she didn’t know what to say. “Put your stuff upstairs, then make yourself some dinner.” With that same bewildered, frightened look on her face, she climbed the stairs with her suitcase. I sat down in front of the TV and watched as Diane made herself dinner. She brought it to the couch and ate next to me, in silence. When she finished, she put down her fork, turned and said, “Are you sure you want to do this? Finding Dave’s place, I mean.”

“Yes.”

“Please,... ”

“What?”

“Be careful. Very careful.”

I smiled at her.

The next day, we packed our things and headed out. It would be about a two day drive, so we decided on a halfway point before we left, called ahead and reserved a hotel room.

The drive over was pleasant and uneventful. I discovered we shared a taste for jazz and the blues. We traded stories about various concerts and artists as the miles rolled by. Diane always looked a bit skittish, though, even at her most relaxed. By the time we reached the hotel, however, I was cranky and tired, and the conversation had stopped about a hundred miles before.

The room sported the standard hotel amenities: rough towels, old TVs, and “Sanitized for your protection” toilet seats. The bed was comfortable enough, and I immediately availed myself of it. Diane followed me into the bedroom and busied herself unpacking. My legs and arms and eyes were all tired from the drive, but laying down I felt the tension begin to drain. I closed my eyes.

I heard Diane finish whatever she was doing with the suitcase, come over and lay down next to me on the bed. For a couple of moments, there was only the sound of her breathing, then I felt her hand on my arm. “Jonathan?” she whispered.

“Hmm?” I said sleepily.

Pause. “I need it.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Please.”

I was most assuredly not in the mood, but I was interested in how far she would go to get her fix. “Well, you’ll have to... arouse me.”

“How?”

“I think you know.”

A thoughtful pause. “Keep your eyes closed for a few minutes.”

I had no reason to object. “All right.”

I heard her slide off the bed, reopen her suitcase, and then rustle around for about fifteen minutes. All the while, I felt myself slip more and more towards sleep. Finally, I heard her slip back into bed next me. “Open your eyes now, Jon.”

I did, halfway at first, then fully open with surprise. Diane lay next to me, in a black lingerie corset and stockings. Her hand was inside her silky panties, drawling lazy circles underneath the fabric. “I need you, Jon,” she said in a low voice. “My little cunt is so wet and itchy for your hard cock. I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck your little slut. Your little bitch is in heat, Jon. She needs your hot come all over her whore face.” I saw her hand slip further into her panties, and it looked like she was fingering herself. “Ohhhh, Jon, it’s so hot... it’s so wet. It needs a hard dick to fill it up.” She took out her hand and slipped her middle finger into her mouth, sensuously licking her juices. “I taste so good, I’m so hot, a little slut whore who needs your cock. Please. Fuck your little bitch. Fuck her little cunt and come on her face. Please.”

I had gone from almost asleep to wide awake in about two seconds, just from the sight of Diane. By now, my erection raged to be released. “Help me undress, slut,” I told her as I got off the bed. Diane enthusiastically complied. Soon I was naked and Diane was kneeling in front of me, her magical mouth working up and down my cock. “Oh yeah, bitch, lick it, lick my cock, eat my dick you little slut whore.”

“Love your cock... love your cock...”

I reached down and played with her breasts through the fabric of her lingerie. I marveled at their perfection; supple and soft, yet firm and perky. “Stand up, whore,” I said. She left off of my dick and complied. “Get up on the bed and turn around on your knees.” She obeyed. Her ass waved ever so slightly at me as she knelt on the bed. I moved the gusset of her panties aside, and rubbed my fingers along her slit. It was flowing with juice. My saliva-coated pole slipped easily inside. “MMMMM, YESSSSSS, screw me with that HARD COCK, mmmmm FUCK YEAH FUCK FUCK fuck your little SLUT WHORE BITCH!”

“C’mon, screw me back you little slut, you little hot bitch, move your ass! Fuck me back slut!”

Diane started to pump her ass up and down my cock. The combination of her pumping and my thrusting quickly brought me to the edge of climax. “You hot little slut, gonna make me come, gonna make me come...”

“Wait... wait... ooooooOOOOOOOO....”

“UMMMPPPPHHHH YEAH!” With a final deep thrust, my jism spewed deep into her oily pussy. Diane climaxed along with me, and I swore I could actually feel the muscles of her pussy contract. Finally, we both came down, and Diane realized with a shot that I had not come on her face. “Damn...” she muttered. Shuffling forward on the bed, she slid herself off of me, and then reached between her legs. A single finger slipped into her sopping cunt, and came out coated with juice and jizz. She quickly popped it into her mouth. “Mmmmmmmmmmm,” she cooed, then reached behind again. I sat next to her on the bed as she snacked. Three or four dips later, she had fished out most of the come she could reach. She coiled around to the other side of the bed and slid up against me. “Next time, aim a little higher,” she whispered. I chuckled, then frowned.

“You’ll take my come where it comes, where I choose, got it, slut?”

She nodded meekly. “Sorry.”

“Hey,” I said.

“Hmm?”

“It was still a little funny.”

She smiled, a pearl of come escaping her lips.

By the time we reached the house, it was late afternoon. The sun hid behind it, casting it in shadow. It was a large house, near the top of a hill, surrounded by a large wrought-iron gate. The gate was rusted through, and it took all my meager strength just to screech it open. No one could have possible moved it in many years.

I had had a cover story prepared if any one happened to be there, but fortunately I did not have to test my acting skills. The paint was peeling off the sides of the house. Several windows were broken, and the rest were caked over with dust and dirt. The front door was ajar. I knocked anyway, calling, “Hello?” There was no answer for several minutes. I pushed the door slowly open. It was rusty as well, and the floor under it was warped.

Pushing open the door, I brushed aside a small pile of mail that had accumulated. I picked up one letter, and dusted it off. It was a power bill, marked “Last notice”, and by the postmark it looked as though it was about fifteen years too late. I fished through a few more letters, and noticed that there was no postmark later than fourteen years past. I started to walk further into the house, when I noticed Diane had yet to cross the threshold. “Come on,” I said.

Diane swallowed and shook her head. I humphed. “Shall I check the house first?” She nodded her head vigorously. “All right, wait there.” I took a flashlight out of my pocket, turned it on, and walked further into the house.

There wasn’t much there. The furnishings, what was left of them, were Spartan at best. There was a central living room containing only a molding couch and an old TV on a stand. In the kitchen, a card table served for a dining surface. At least, it had, before two of the legs had fallen off. The refrigerator, yellowed with countless sunrises and sets, smelled of... something. I wasn’t brave enough to actually open the door. Beyond the kitchen was a short hall, in the middle of which was a door to the basement.

The first thing I noticed were the steps. Stone. Worn in the middle. I noticed next that it was very dry. Hardly any moisture at all. There was a musty smell, like old dust, as I carefully picked my way down the stairs. My flashlight swept over the stone walls as I reached the bottom. The basement was spacious, and perhaps the most decorated room of the whole house. Manacles and shackles lined the walls, a central altar stood in the center of the room, and beyond that something flickered in the light on the floor. I moved towards it, slowly. As I played my light over it, I realized what it was: a silver circle surrounding a five-pointed star, all etched permanently into the stone in some shiny metal. I backed away slowly, not wishing to disturb anything. As I played my light again over the altar, I noticed something lay on top of it, almost the same size. I examined it closer, and suddenly realized it was a massive tome, covered with years of dirt and grime. Holding my flashlight in my teeth, I carefully picked up the ancient book. An encircled star similar to the one on the floor adorned the cover. I tucked the book under one arm and returned upstairs to the front door. Diane stood there still, furtively glancing here and there.

“Nothing’s been here for years, Diane. It’s safe to come in.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Come on, we’ve got to get this place cleaned up.”

“Cleaned up? Why?”

“We’re moving in.”

It took some doing, but I managed to get title of the house transferred to my name with the help of a little palm grease at the country office. I contracted out of town to have some people clean up the exterior and furnish the interior. It took about a month before the house was fully livable again.

During that time, Diane and I made ourselves cozy. I fed her my come every three days or so, which she happily accepted, and during the rest of the time she made her way around town, investigating job opportunities. I closed up my practice and arranged to have the rest of my stuff shipped out here. And, of course, I studied the book.

As I expected, it was a book about summoning demons. It was written in a variety of styles and handwriting, leading me to believe it had been composed over a period of lifetimes. The early stuff was impossible to understand, but around the third or forth scribe it started to make more sense. It seemed the a demon could be summoned with a name, a blood sacrifice into a pentacle, and then needed to be given a contract. It could agree to it or not, but could not leave the pentacle until the summoner released it. If the contract was broken by either side, the breaker was at the mercy of the other party. Beyond those basic facts, the book listed various demons who had been summoned, various contracts attempted, and various disgusting ends that had come to those who had broken their deals.

Over the next few months, we lived off my savings. We kept to ourselves mainly, Diane having found a tech support job in town during the swing shift, and I studying the book at home late into the night. After three months of studying, I began the next step. Slowly, I crafted a contract. I spent weeks studying the mistakes my predecessors had made, noting other inadequacies and loopholes that could have been exploited. I spent days dreaming up various powers and abilities that I would demand of my summons. I carefully weighed each one, making sure that no over- or under-exaggeration of my wishes would be made to harm me. Then, I started drafting it. Drafting day in and day out. Redrafting. Reworking. Closing loopholes. When I finally thought I had something fairly ironclad, I threw it away, all of it, and started again. I went through four such phases, ironing out language nuances that might be turned against me.

After six months, I was done. My contract was over two hundred pages long, in the most precise legal-eze I could make it. I took it and the book and went over every point, looking up possible weaknesses that had been exploited before me. I found none I had not considered.

I was ready to deal with the devil.