The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

SOPHIA AND WILL

BY VOYER

“Hello, Will. Working on another one of your little stories?” The dark-haired girl set her things down on the next table over and slid into a chair, carefully smoothing her long grey skirt under her as she did so.

“Hmm?” The target of her question looked up from the battered spiral-bound notepad in which he was intently scribbling. “Oh... hi, Sophia... yes. Well... trying to...” He paused and studied her, absently tapping the remnants of the pencil’s eraser on the pad. “Say... maybe... um... you could help me here..”

“Oh?” A sound with a mixture of emotions behind it: 80% disinterest, 10% mild caution, 10% even milder curiosity.

“Well, I’m sorta stuck on this stupid thing at the moment. Maybe I could bounce a few ideas off of you, and you could tell me what you think? We writers always appreciate feedback.”

“OK... I guess.” She looked pointedly at her watch. “But I came here to do some research, and I don’t have much time...”

“OK. Great. Thanks.” He quickly flipped back a page or two. “This won’t take long. Now... I’m writing this story... and in this particular scene, there is this man and a woman...”

Sophia sighed in annoyance, and rolled her dark eyes towards the tiled ceiling.

“Will, this isn’t another one of your love scenes, is it?”

“Huh? Oh, no. No no. They actually don’t like each other very much. Well... they certainly aren’t in love, anyway. The man’s name is... uh... Homer. I guess. I’ve changed that about six times now... and the woman is named Jane.”

“Me Homer, you Jane?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Will. Never mind. Go on.”

“Oh. Well, they’re meeting in a.. " The brown-haired man shrugged and looked around in a slightly embarrassed fashion at the sagging, book-loaded, shelves that surrounded them. “... in a library... Here, I’d better read to you what I’ve got down..I’d let you just read it yourself, but my handwriting...” He shrugged again, cleared his throat, and started reading, tapping the metal of the pencil on the wooden table now instead of the pad:

HOMER AND JANE

BY WILL

Holding her books to her sweater-covered chest, sexy Jane Manderly swayed her shapely ass around the end of the last shelf of the university’s library, and noticed with an annoyance that bordered on disgust, that Homer Tarquain had already taken her favorite table. The skinny glasses-wearing geek had a large pile of books and papers next to him, and was paging through one thick book with great intent, pausing only to add a note to one of the many pages that lay in front of him. Several crumpled sheets lay on the floor near his feet. The voluptuous, blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl sighed in annoyance, and was turning to go to another part of the library, when she saw there was something else on the table besides books. She paused, looking at it. She wasn’t sure what it was. It stood about a foot high, perched on three black legs. Fancy scrollwork came together at a point near the top of the thing. At that point, held by more iron, was an odd glass or crystal sphere.

Only it was irregular, had lumps sticking in and out of it, like a golf ball. What was really strange about it was that the thing was filled with coils of some kind of heavy white gas. The gas went around and around in a restless but sluggish fashion. Despite herself, she stared and stepped closer.

Homer looked up as she came up, holding his pen nervously between his fingers.

“Oh. hello, Jane.” His eyes looked at her suspiciously from behind his glasses. “What do you want?”

“What’s that thing?” She asked, pointing at the thing on the table.

Homer confessed:

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m here at the university’s library; trying to figure it out.”

“Don’t you have any classwork to do?” She sneered.

“I finished all of my work some time ago. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m really...”

“Where did you get it, if you don’t know what it is?”

“As if it were any of your business, I inherited from my mysterious great uncle, who died last month.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” She felt bad for what she had said before.

“I barely knew him.”

“Didn’t the will say what it was?” Normally, she avoided the geeky Homer, but the gas fascinated her. She continued to stare at it as it went around and around, the coils wrapped together like lovers, thick and white and heavy.

“No. My great-uncle willed me a large steamer trunk. This thing was inside, along with other things. Now will you go away? I’m very busy.”

“It’s pretty.” She didn’t go away, but continued to watch the coils go around and around, the stark whiteness of the endlessly twirling, copulating gas sharply contrasting with the pointed-tipped black iron claws that held the methodically dented sphere firmly in place. The intertwined strands of gas seemed to flicker as they passed out and back into sight behind the nearest ‘claw’, white on black, white on black, going around and around, the black iron catching bits of white from the dim lights, the white gas floating specks of dark in among the ever-shifting coils and suggestively organic folds. The living, twirling coils, going around and around. White on black... black on white... twirling together, closer and closer, going down and down and down... around and around... forever and ever...”

(Will smoothly broke off from the narrative for a short moment, and glanced at Sophia. She was staring at him, her eyes slightly glassy. He carefully, quietly, set the pad down on the table and continued speaking without looking at it, looking at Sophia.

Gently tapping the table with the pencil’s metal band. Tapping more and more slowly.

Speaking softly and smoothly.

Staring into her eyes.)

“... deeper and deeper and deeper. Down, down into the whiteness, the creamy smooth whiteness. Endless whiteness. Down, down into the blackness, the rich, warm, blackness. Bottomless blackness. Infinite white, going out forever. Eternal black, going down always. Both together, spinning together, going deeper and ever deeper, as the black and the white, the white and the black, went around and around... down and down... slower now, black on white, white on black, mixed thoroughly together, mixed deeper and deeper and deeper... black and white.... much, much, slower now... the colors spinning, pulsing, gently pulsing like a slow, calm, breath... slower and slower... deeper... and... deeper... much, much, deeper... ever deeper... black and white... and white and black... the two coming together now... while your slow... calm... breaths come further apart... much further... much slower and deeper... merging slowly into one.... black on white... white on black... merging ever so slowly into one... breaths... almost stopped now... almost there now... white... black... and... black... white... black... coming... together... forming one... only one... color... no color... all colors... all at once... everything slowing... time... space... thoughts... everything... stopping...”

“And....”

“...stopped.”

Stopped.

WILL AND SOPHIA

BY VOYER

“Sophia? You still with me here?”

Sophia Mullins gave a little start of surprise, and blinked rapidly two or three times. She looked around in confusion for a moment, and then her eyes came to rest on Will Attercomb, who sat nearby. Holding his battered notepad, he smiled in a self-mocking sort of way.

“I was hoping my story wasn’t that dull.”

“What? I can’t... no! I mean... no, it was great! Really, Will!”

“You’re not just saying that? You seemed a little bored towards the end there.”

“No! No, of course not! I was enthralled! I hung on every word!”

“Any suggestions about anything I should change?”

“Oh, no! In fact, I think...” She broke off, and looked down at her watch. “Oh, crap. How did it get so late? I have to go. I’ll talk to you later about it, I promise, OK, Will?”

“Sure.”

Sophia got up and gathered her things, started to leave. She hurried away, but after only a few steps, she abruptly stopped and turned, as if something had just occurred to her.

“I really liked the story, Will. I mean it.” She licked her lips hesitently. “Do you think that maybe I could... come over to your place tonight, and hear another one?”

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised.

“My place? Are you sure you want to?”

“Of course I’m sure. How about eight, or so?”

“OK. Yes. I’d like that.”

“You live at 2474 Eastside Drive, right? Apartment 23?”

“That’s right. Actually, now that you mention it, I think I’ve got a story idea that you’ll like a lot. I’ll get to work on it right now.”

She smiled warmly.

“It’s a date. I can’t wait to hear it.”

She hurried off.

Will sat alone at the table, again tapping the pad with the pencil. Then he smiled as well, and flipped ahead a few pages to a blank sheet. He whistled tunelessly through his teeth, and wrote slowly and carefully across the top of the sheet, in firm block letters:

SOPHIA

BY WILL

Sophia liked listening to Will’s stories. Ever since he read her his story in the university’s library, the story about Jane and Homer and the black and the white going down, down forever, Sophia would go to his apartment, and sit quietly in a soft, comfortable chair. Just sit and relax for hours and hours and hours, and listen to one of Will’s stories. Listen to it again and again and again, listen to Will’s words wash over her, sink down into her mind, see the pictures they formed deep in her mind. Bright, vivid, wonderful, pictures, pictures that resolved themselves so realistically before Sophia that it seemed she could just reach right out and touch them, feel them. Pictures so bright and vivid she could just step right out and merge with them if she wanted. Seamlessly become the pictures. Become the wonderful, happy, pictures completely and without hesitation or fear, whenever she wanted. Merge with the pictures whenever it was needed for full enjoyment of the story. Merge whenever it was required of her.

And her favorite story, the picture she liked best of all, the brightest and clearest and most wonderful of them all, was the story about Sophia the Sex Slut. Will could talk for hours and hours in his hot sexy powerful voice about the wonderful, steamy, adventures of Sophia the Sex Slut, and Sophia would never get even the slightest bit bored or tired or distracted. It was the easiest of all to merge her mind with the Sophia the Sex Slut pictures. So easy, Sophia didn’t even have to make any effort when Will started to talk about Sophia the Sex Slut in his powerful hot sexy voice. So easy it was almost as if it was inevitable. Almost as if she had merged with Sophia the Sex Slut even before Will had opened his mouth. Almost as if she had written the story herself...

SOPHIA THE SEX SLUT

BY SOPHIA

Sophia the Sex Slut never gets bored or tired. Sophia the Sex Slut is always eager, always happy, always open, always wet, always ready. Ready to have fun. Ready to experience pleasure. Ready and open and eager.

Eager to experience pleasure, and even more eager to give pleasure to others. Sophia the Sex Slut is filled to the brim, bubbling and dripping and overflowing with pleasure, and it is her duty, her ecstatic... wonderful... glorious... duty, to spread that bottomless, eternal, pleasure to whomever she happens to be with. Spread as much of it as she possibly can, as often as she can.

And when she isn’t spreading happiness, spreading her pleasure, Sophia the Sex Slut likes to listen to Will tell his stories. Likes to sit quietly in a comfy chair and listen to Will. Likes to listen only to Will.

Only to Will.

Will.

WILL AND SOPHIA THE SEX SLUT

BY VOYER

“Will.”

Sophia the Sex Slut looks up from her slick, stylish, notepad, her eyes smouldering with lust. Happiness. Joy. Devotion. She smiles from her chair, and slowly... slowly... runs her pink tongue around her full lips before speaking again.

“Well... Will... Did you like my... story?” Raising the expensive pen to her moistened lips, she runs its shaft down her tongue, watching him all the while through half-lidded eyes. “I wrote it just for you.” Leans forward in the chair.

Will casually leans back in his, and looks at the ceiling, his hands folded behind his neck.

“Not bad for a first attempt. Not bad at all.” He looks down again. “Where did you get the idea for it? As a writer myself, I’m always curious about these things.”

Sophia the Sex Slut tosses away the pad and pen, and rises to her feet. Opens the sheer black robe, and lets it drift down onto the chair behind her. Underneath is nothing. Or to be more accurate, everything.

She crosses the floor of Will’s apartment, hips swaying, and leans over him, her dark ringlets of hair spilling forward over her pert breasts. Her dark eyes are very wide now. She whispers in a grave, confidential, tone of voice:

“Actually... It’s sort of autobiographical.”

“Ah.”

“And now... if it’s all right with you, Will... I’d like to do... a little more... research.”

“Ah.”

And after a moment...

“Aaaahhh....”