The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Thought-record, month of Toxins, 2001

: fifty-first-khan-to-serve

Ghostly-mirrored petals sailed the sky in patterns of magenta-edged smoke. The radiant dodecagon of the chancel’s sun sank: a raw sweet sunset that set rooftops to heavenly incandescence. Stray flickers of cloud-light painted the ghost city details in hellish red.

The fifty-first-khan-to-serve arrived with the Viscountess of Skin’s evening poison draught and found her standing on the open windowsill, her hands crossed on her breast. A pair of songbirds darted in and out of the open frames with exuberance.

The khan cleared his throat with only a quick glance at the open birdcage by the bed. “Viscountess, I have your evening delight. Would you like me to re-cage the birds?”

The day’s end gilded the Power’s hair and her skin darkened in response. Rue shook her head. “No, it’s not necessary. They finally detested me enough to be vulnerable to my tears in their water. They shall be interesting anchors.”

“To serve is to know joy.” The khan avoided the pointed glare of the birds.

So it is written, month of Tabbies, 2011

: Inès

A solid knock landed on the driver’s glass. “I need your car. Get out.”

Mlle. Demorouge recoiled and examined the woman sternly through the window. No gun. No one of importance. Foreign dress. Black. Lifting one shoulder she looked forward again. Hopefully the light would change.

The passenger door opened and the woman got in. “Fine. Be a pissoir. Remember later that I only wanted your car.”

Demorouge gaped in anger. “Get out!” She glared at her pristine Porsche and noted with dismay the still-locked doors. She opened her mouth to ask, but the intruder stabbed at the cars ahead in the congested city intersection.

“Drive.”

“Out!” Demorouge growled. There was a pistol in the glove box, but reaching for it seemed impossible given the moment. A fact crept up and kissed her running thoughts: the invader had knocked from her left, but then slipped in the locked door on her right. Had there really been time for her to cross behind the car? No. Impossible. Yes? No.

She jerked her thoughts back to the moment and realized the unwanted guest had leaned into her. “You filthy—.”

“Drive. Now. I just told the lights to change.” The crazy bitch reached and snapped a finger against Demorouge’s earlobe.

Stars exploded through her skin and tremors cascaded down her neck. The lights changed. Traffic lurched forward. She put the car in gear and accelerated. Or rather her hand and foot did those things. Huffing through her nose with pain and shivery with growing alarm, she willed her foot to the brake.

Nothing.

The insane foreigner lit a dark cigarette and snuggled into the black leather seat.

Demorouge barked, “How dare you! Put out that cigarette! What have you done to my foot; my hands?”

Smoke with the scent of licorice drifted out of the stranger’s purple lipsticked mouth. “Nothing. They seem to work fine.” She nodded with a secret smile.

A hiss of frustration coiled between Demorouge’s clenched teeth and she yelled: “Help! Help!” Her throat hurt with the force of her need. “Help!!”

The shops and streets slid by ignoring her. The passenger blew smoke in a precise, snide manner.

Demorouge thought of a wild threat. “I’ll close my eyes and we’ll crash.”

“Close your eyes,” came the throaty half-laugh, “you’re so busy being hysterical. You think I’m counting on you to drive? If you do shut your eyes, please shut your mouth as well.”

No one had spoken to her like this since her grandpère died. She wouldn’t stand for it. Her face mottled with rage. Foreign bitch! She stared at her hands as they executed a smooth turn south. A little more gas and the speedometer said they were almost at sixty-five k.

The Porsche ran a just-red light to the sound of horns.

A muttered curse from the stranger in a language Demorouge didn’t know. “Great. A puritan. Apparently, your inner voices are so happy to be set loose that they are quick to take a reprehensible joy in their freedom, mademoiselle. Please think more Catholic thoughts.”

Oh? So that was the way it was, eh? Good thoughts were a trap? Demorouge tucked her elbows tight to her torso. She fumed. The street was one she knew, but if this craziness continued for even another fifteen minutes, they would be hitting routes south of Paris. She eyed the black woman surreptitiously.

She envisaged the ludicrous Porsche ads with their handsome men behind sunglasses and the women who were so cheap no matter how expensive the clothes they wore. Her foot twitched and pressed down eagerly. The speedometer jumped five k in an instant.

Her unwanted guest came back from staring out the side window. “What are you doing? Don’t even try to—.”

Demorouge laughed and conjured the image of a trashy white advertising model rubbing lotion on the athletic ass cheeks of a black swimmer. She thought the black should be a man but the notion quickly revealed as a woman who rolled over, sat up, reached for the blonde haired vixen and kissed her.

She twitched her ass and tried to drag her hands from the wheel.

“Freeze it! Look you! Freeze not with forces you don’t even freezing want to call here.”

The stranger’s raw anger had an edge of anxiety that spurred hope in her pounding heart. Laughing, Demorouge jammed her foot to the floor. She couldn’t believe how strong and daring she could be. Her breathing raced to match the outside blur of streetfront.

“Freeze.” The black threw her cigarette over her shoulder at the back window. A brutal snap of sound followed and Demorouge looked in the rearview mirror; saw a long hole in the glass with tiny icy cracks around it. “Fifty-nine thousand ways to ruin a good exit strategy and I pick you. Last time I shop on a Friday for a while.”

Demorouge forgot everything staring at the hole and the city retreating beyond. Awful. The sunlight danced on the glass cracks. Potent. A moment became two. Fearsome. Three slow blinks.

The stranger reached and snapped a finger against the underside of Demorouge’s chin. It bit sharply and made her face very hot. She gasped and felt tingles shiver through her skin.

“OK, now you’ve tangled yourself with the car and made me feel responsible for you. If you don’t go mad, I’ll try to get you back home after we ditch the Misérables. Drive.”

Tangled? She twisted the wheel and went around a slower car. A glance at the speedometer disturbed even more as the numbers gleamed reversed and purple. The needle indicated the Porsche hitting one-thirty-five k now. She smirked at the vibration running under her legs and cheeks. But chasing the thought of her resonating ass against the leather began a shiver in her belly. No. Tangled? Now what?

“What’s your family line, mundane?”

Demorouge blinked. “Um—.”

“Name? What do I call you, silly pissoir?”

“Demorouge.” The leather was so warm and she sopped in the crotch. Her hose slicked. “Inès Demorouge. Who are you? What—.” She glanced away from the rapid street weave ahead to confront her passenger.

The stranger was Asian. Now a bit shorter, but a dusky Asian in a shiny peach leather catsuit that was nothing like the earthen slacks she had on when she forced her way in. This face fell just past elegantly pretty but with a wide mouth. Demorouge thought the world shaken and put back wrong. Little black snowflakes swirled at the edges of her vision. And then with a nasty tear of cloth and hose, the car seat probed up hard between her cheeks and penetrated her ass. The thrust struck within so very hot and thick.

Demorouge screamed.

The stranger put hand to forehead and sounded tired. “Freeze. Of course you love the car.”

Thought-record, month of Sundays, 2003

: Saint Rat

“What are you doing?” The Viscountess slapped her gloves down on the back of a smiling policeman poised in the four-point prayer mode. He flushed and whispered a groan.

I looked up from the fishbowl. “Watching the ‘gallop poll’ at the mind control board.”

She glared. “Rat, I’ve had a terrible day, can’t you do something more useful? More philosophical? More stimulating?” Behind her, a figure in the old master painting slipped quietly out of the frame and disappeared; a good sign things were about to get nasty.

I decided not to answer and returned to scanning the water. In the Sunset Realm, things happen when they will. I waited.

She strutted back into the room as the dipping sun developed several holes along its left side. The Viscountess had been out walking the IRS agents and she was still pissed if their lolling tongues were any indication of the harshness of the promenade.

“Audit!” They froze as she tossed their leashes down on the marble floor. She sparked across the floor to stand next to me. “Are you still at that babble? What is so freezing interesting?”

“Capitalization of slave names.”

She had walked past me but she stopped short and swung halfway around. “What timeline are you looking at? Is this the mcforum or the MCforum?”

“Guess,” I replied with a smile, reading the latest post. The koi had just finished correcting the typos for me.

Rue threw back her head and laughed. Already holed, a crack ran through the sun and it shattered. The sudden dark made the IRS agents whimper in place but they did not move an inch. She swung around still riant and ripped her clothes off. “Freeze. I hate it when you spoil a perfectly good tirade.”

I smiled and took her to Bed.

So it is written, month of Tabbies, 2011

: Inès

It was hot. So rough. She smelled of sex and leather. The sun sank and she’d lost count of the orgasms after nine. And even marveling at the intense anal sex, she thanked Mother Mary the car had finally run out of gas.

“Freeze. It didn’t run out of gas.” The odd stranger offered her a cigarette, and Demorouge surprised herself by wanting one. “You are apparently a damn fine auto-eroticist.”

Demorouge sucked in her cheeks and glared at the woman sitting in the passenger seat. She really wanted the cigarette even though she hadn’t smoked in ten years. Both car doors were open. They sat stopped on the roadside near a nice straight run of two lane and trees and slanting sunset. The stranger had one foot up on the window sill on her side.

“What kind of person sits unperturbed through my anal rape?” She studied the dark cigarette still offered.

“I don’t argue with Porsches when traveling at high speed. Besides, you both enjoyed it.”

Demorouge nodded at the steering wheel. Did she enjoy it? “Can I move my hands? Please? I want the smoke.”

The Asian features formed a wry and silent, ‘oh’. She reached across and flicked a finger against Demorouge’s wrist. A look of concentration flickered over her face.

So these things did involve effort. Stiff hands slacked and she gently massaged her wrists and palms, rubbed her arms for good measure. She gently took the cigarette and allowed the stranger to light it. “Can I get up and stretch my legs? And what is your name?”

“Yes. Rue.”

Demorouge drew in the licorice-flavored smoke. Her eyes watered for just a bit. “I did not enjoy it.”

Rue shrugged.

“I didn’t.”

“Fine. You didn’t.”

Demorouge nodded once sharply. She caressed her left palm over the steering wheel and then along her sweaty thigh. She shifted so slightly she didn’t think it showed, but still the seat wedged firmly thick within her ass. Getting up at the moment seemed problematic. Damned if she would ask for help, she went with questions instead. “What were we running from?”

Rue stiffened. “I wasn’t running. That was an exit strategy. I don’t fight Misérables without a bit of help.”

Demorouge remembering the cigarette thrown through glass, peeked in the mirror and studied the cracked window. Time crawled in the flaky edges of the hole. She licked her teeth slowly. A sunset-rose-rimmed hole. Glistening. In the back. Puckered. Pussy dripped. Thighs clenched. She’d forgotten what now? “So I saved your life or something?” She blinked and smiled.

A scowl. “No. You just wouldn’t give up your precious car. So I bummed a lift. Don’t go dramatic on me. Freezing fairy tales and their twisted ethics. It just so happens I’m not a big fan of Porsches. Or puritans. You got yourself into this.”

Her pussy gushed. Demorouge realized she had been squeezing her ass in rhythm. She tried to stop and failed. That guilt shifted inside. “Sure. You had nothing to do with this.”

“Practically nothing.”

Demorouge snarled. “Twit.”

“Puritan.”

“Freak.”

The Asian winced and the corner of her mouth tightened down. “Car fucker.”

Hot shame patterned along her thighs. “Porsche fucker, dammit.”

Rue choked a laugh. Smoke gushed from her mouth and draped over the dash.

Demorouge sniggered and put a hand over her mouth.

Which made them both laugh harder.

Suddenly the smokes were thrown away and their arms reached and they tangled. Rue threw a leg over her lap and their mouths were dirty and wet against each other. The extra weight on her lap made Demorouge fluttery with the added hot pressure up her ass. “Rock me,” she murmured between kisses.

The lady obliged. Rue’s hands pressed and smoothed at Demorouge’s breasts while she hunted and kissed the map of the upturned face. Then the seat distorted slowly. Leather stretched and groaned. A slice of panic went through Demorouge. Mostly steel and aluminum and leather and how did the Porsche know what might crush them; mash them in their frail flesh?

It became a question that excited her.

The elongating leather pained her eyes, but Demorouge swallowed hard and internalized the shiver when the car seat gentled them, wrapped them both and cuddled. The two female bodies wedged tight together.

Rue whispered something.

“What?” Demorouge tingled and dripped and begged with her eyes.

Rue leaned back and flicked a finger against the underside of Demorouge’s chin. A volcanic heat rolled slowly down Demorouge’s neck and over her breasts, leaving hot embers floating where her nipples fattened.

Dizziness followed. “Um. Fuck. So. Nasty.” Her lip trembled at heat she never knew her flesh could have. She shifted against the bondage.

Rue whispered. “I said I shouldn’t have seconds behind a Porsche. Push back.”

Demorouge groaned and shoved back.

The seat hugged hard against Rue’s legs. “German machines have no sense of humor.”

“But they’re very good at sex.”

“So the French tell me,” Rue sniffed. She leaned down with that and began chewing the Parisian’s lips harder. “Imagine your nipples are hornier than your pussy.”

A livid burn commenced in her hard nipples. She gasped and flutters ran over her clit. Demorouge forgot that she might be insane and just enjoyed being trapped between hot leather and hot lover. Foreign hands found curves and sweat drenched blouse. The leather seams under her dragged slowly for effect across her tingly ass while the beginnings of rocking motions came from the chassis and springs.

Sunlight around them became dusty and red.

Licorice scent tumbled in and out of her mouth like ocean surf. Demorouge lost control gradually and completely. Her legs pinned wide, she squirmed deeper onto the heavy leather prick. She arched against the slight hands on her tits.

The dirty kissing became slicker and rough. Her skull felt lighter, like candle wax. Her wicked fuck-thoughts seared within the base of her brain; then sagged, slithered, and flowed south through her heated flesh. Her waxy skull seemed slippery and flexible. Her brain slipped and tilted, too hot for the container. She came.

Even better—Rue did then as well. Best of all—neither Rue nor the Porsche were stopping just yet.

Sunlight was not required.

Thought-record, month of Broken Toys, 2009

: Chase

She turned to me—smiled—slashed suddenly past my ear with a knife that had not been in her hand a beat before.

“Saint Rat!” I shivered in time with my imagination, holding back a cringe. “What—”

The gleaming blade had vanished. “No worries, Chase. You had a misconception about me that I wanted to nip in the bud. All fixed now.”

My cock hardened like a rock. My head hurt. I wished—.

So it is written, month of Tabbies, 2011

: Inès

It was dark. Night. It was hot. She sat a mass of wet heated pussy and warm tired muscles. Her name came back to her. Demorouge smelled of sex and leather. She decided not to go crazy, which led to more questions. “What are you?”

“Shut up. Knees apart.”

Her knees acted before she could decide and hot thighs stretched again. That sent a thrill through her brain she didn’t quite approve of. A kiss came out of the dark—next a tiny bite on her mouth.

If she was not crazy, then hands and feet could conspire to drive cars without eyes or owner’s permission. Another kiss forced a petite groan from her. If she was not daft, then knees might stretch apart and invite without respect to years of abstinence and demure habit. Fingertips twisted her nipple. She nodded for more of that. If she was not a pitiful lunatic now, then her knees listened to this odd demanding woman, slavishly considered how hard to stretch, how far to spread, and how to convey the incredible sensations back through her body to prompt heart thrum and melting privates. It excited her terrifically to know that the world had such secrets and she learned them moment to moment pinned to her Porsche seat.

Certainly because of Rue.

If cars felt desire, why not knees? Or everything else? Shoes might sip at the vibrant flavor of sweat. Hose might wriggle in syrupy delights.

And her toes curled in her steamy shoes. A simmering twitch of her legs confirmed eager agreement. Some more refined structure in her head melted apart. She heard the whispered ‘slut’ pass from her knees to her clitoris. Demorouge panted as her knees yanked even further apart forcing lava flows from her swollen sex. She kissed Rue hard to avoid spitting delicious obscene encouragements to the fleshy conspiracy. Or was it only her lips that decided?

Rue’s slippery savory tongue forced in and out of her mouth and cinched potent proof.

Demorouge orgasmed again certain the sizzling shrouded conspiracy of lips, pussy, thighs, mouth, breasts and knees burned down her will.

The Porsche groaned. The seatcock pulsed inside her.

Rue whispered, “Do you know what Inès means? Lamb. Pure. Innocent.” The tone hinted gentle mockery in the dark voice, the scented breath sweet.

“What does Rue mean?” It was a mistake Demorouge realized somehow as soon as she asked it.

“Street. Pathway. Regret.” With a sudden shift of weight, Rue slid out of the car and walked away.

Gone.