The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Is destiny engraved within the marbled halls of time, and humanity its actors, unable to stray from the course? Or is it a thing of choice, chance, and will? Are we its’ puppets, or its’ creators?

These are questions of humanity that may forever go unanswered for most...

The ones that do find these answers, often wish they had not.

HOLLOW LIFE

I felt utterly dreary.

My psychologist had pushed me to take a vacation from the stress, work, and home life that were eating at my emotions. I had arranged to take leave, and now found myself a week into my trip, going out of my mind. The guide I’d hired to take me around the grasslands, and jungles of the more unpopulated parts of Africa had taken ill, and there were few others here who were willing to tolerate the companionship of a strong willed white woman. Despite the effort I put into learning the backwards language, I was still treated as a hated outsider. I saw it in their eyes, as I sipped my drink at the bar.

My thoughts and mind trailed, cursing myself for taking this foolhardy trip when I could be sipping cocktails on some white sandy beach in Hawaii, and having a tall dark native man giving me a coconut oil massage.

Dark, and uncomfortably silent, the few occupants of the bar proved to not be any relief to the monotony of the evening. Time slowly, slowly, ever so slowly, ticked away.

I was jarred out of my wandering, quiet thoughts by the bar door thrusting itself open. I looked up, my pale hand sweeping the hair from my vision. For a moment, I almost felt relief; four gentlemen of pale persuasion, such as myself, sauntered into the room.

Their accents were unmistakably English, and they were celebrating something. Noticing me, one of the younger men came over, and grinned. “Need some company, little lady? My friends and I have a need to celebrate. We just bagged ourselves the King of the Jungle,” he chortled. The other men grinned, with superior smirks, and cheered like fools.

“That’s right, girl,” Another offered, moving closer to my table. Obviously, they were trying to impress me. I was so completely lonely for company at this point I really didn’t care. A darker tan, this one, his hair as black as the night air that surrounded the place, eyes as dark as the gloom that I felt from the natives that currently shared the bar with us.

I smiled, relieved for the companionship that proffered itself; at least, that’s what I told myself. “I thought lions were illegal to hunt?” I asked, curiously, hoping to make a little conversation. I also hoped they’d sense my own mood I wasn’t the sort of girl for fun and games. I twisted the wedding band around my finger a bit, as if to draw notice to it politely. There is, after all, a certain comfort, in finding something familiar, in so foreign a land. I didn’t want to lose it. I leaned back in my chair just a little more, distancing myself from any advances that might come my way.

The younger one, a touch more blonde than me, gave a grin, “So? Out here, there’s little law. Who cares, anyways? It’s just a damn lion. We’re having it stuffed, and sent back to Merry Old England.” A more suggestive smile took over his face. “Or maybe we’ll just make a rug out of it. I hear it’s great for fucking on. You ever hear that, lady?”

I smiled politely back, “I’m Bridget. I’m just here to get away, really.” Deciding I didn’t like these men too well, I attempted to steer the conversation to a close. Remembering there were four, I glanced around, to look for the other two.

Not surprisingly, they were attempting to talk to another woman, this one a native. I hadn’t noticed her before. She was cloaked, indifferent to the world around her, as if she was above anything and everything around her. She saw no importance in the events around her, ignoring the men with ease. As my companions continued to talk, continuing their efforts to impress me, my interest turned towards this native woman and her reactions towards the two whites. They were growing more impatient with her indifference.

I filtered the voices nearest me out and strained to listen to what was happening at the other table. I was too intrigued and the men were too focused to pay attention to the other natives that had been drinking their sorrows away. They had slowly slipped outside, unnoticed by the rest of us within.

“Listen, girlie,” said the thin one; his hair was spiked, his eyes were dangerous, the sort that young women feared to ever encounter alone. He edged over to her, closer; the left hand planted itself on the table, showing off the spiraling dragon tattoo inscribed upon his bicep. Suddenly, I was afraid, and looked to those sitting with me.

I saw the same look, in their eyes. I swallowed, struggling to find my voice, and courage all of a sudden, “Really ought to be turning in. Thank you, though.” I slid out my chair, to leave. I wondered if they could hear the thunder of my heart, pounding against my chest. I wondered how white my face was.

My chair was shoved back in, forcefully. “Not just yet,” said the younger one. “I said we needed to celebrate. You two young ladies are lucky.” He snickered, and the others joined in with the hedonistic laughter.

Desperately, I looked towards the other woman. Her head was still down, still hidden beneath her cloak. Without warning, the silent brooding woman spoke. My bones froze.

“Depart.”

There are few people who can convey a world of meaning in a single word. I was immediately filled with hope; and even a darker, deeper fear. I felt every hair on my body bristle in primal terror.

The rebellious one snickered, the edges of his fingertips playing about the pistol handle that was kept tucked within the tight belt around his waist. “I’ll give the orders ‘round here, bitch. Why don’tcha take that robe off.” A crooked grin followed those words. “Then ya can take the rest of it off. We’ll ‘ave a bit of a go with you, an’ the pretty li’l white bitch, too. It’ll be fun.”

To this day, I’m not sure what happened. It was like watching a bad martial arts film on fast forward. The pistol-pointing youth’s arm snapped, backwards, and he collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. Out of the corner of my eye, the robed woman effortlessly blocked a punch from the punk’s friend, and twisted him. The sick snappity-crunch-pop of his neck turning three hundred and sixty degrees echoed against the dark wooded walls of the bar.

She sat down, silently, and picked up her drink again; indifferent to the screams of pain by the one she’d so smoothly disabled.

The two by me, maddened by what happened to their friends, rushed the lady. She again stood up. Her cold stare pierced my own for a single frozen moment of time. Then she seemed to almost take a dancing position as she grasped the end of the cloak about her shoulders. She used it as a weapon; the darkness of it changed colors against the low lights, patterns of the deepest and darkest of blues flashing hypnotically, a butterfly’s wings opened with a deadly predator waiting within. So intrigued was I of the unnatural patterns, almost as words they were, that I almost found a mental escape from the death show I’d ended up within. As if it had a mind of its’ own, the robe lashed out at the first attacker as she detached it from her neck. Mummified by the ornate garment, she pulled him close to her own half naked body.

Terrified as I was, I could not leave; I was transfixed, rooted to my seat by fear, by wonder, by a power that compelled me to not even close my eyes, but to watch this inhumane killer play with her prey. She arched a perfectly muscled leg up with unnatural dexterity, caught the second attacker by the throat and sent him hurtling back into a mess of tables.

The captured man was desperately trying to break his bonds, and run away. Her

Eyes flickered to him, and she smiled, bright white teeth against dark hued skin. Suddenly, the killer was gone; in her place a seductress. Pushing ample breasts into his chests, she slowly licked his lips, pausing. Her calf ran across the back of his, as her hands felt along his back. The caught victim had no idea what to think of this, and neither did I.

She smiled at me, and leaned forward. Had I not been so frozen with terror, I would have been jealous I had never been kissed in such a manner. Her lips ravished his very spirit, suckled him, nurturing passion and pleasure and he melted almost immediately to her touch. Dark cheeks caved in, and she arched as if she were trying to bury her tongue down his throat; he moaned in pleasure, knees sinking. Strong, Amazonian arms held him up, as she suckled at his mouth. Slowly, carefully, her lips left his. Her tongue ran across his lips, then hers. Her eyes transfixed to the sole remaining man that was just starting to get up from were he had been kicked amongst the debris of crashed tables.

A strangled cry of desperation broke the uncomfortable, death given silence. Its source was the man wrapped in her robes, on the floor. His throat, as it began to swell, unnaturally. I watched, transfixed and horrified as the skin about his neck bloated, inflating like a balloon. He quickly choked to his untimely death, writhing and twisting in the realization of the Dark Angel that had come to haunt his door as he uselessly tried to free himself from the confines of Death’s cloak.

The lone male survivor moved to bolt out the door; he was met with a knife sticking him in the back of the neck that had seemingly come from the shadows of oblivion.

I fainted, when she looked in my direction, and smiled again.

When I awoke, I was upon a grassy plain. Stars blanketed the night sky, miniscule pinholes of light against the velvety black canvas. An almost nude woman of the darkest skin sat in front of me; the fewest of animal skins covering her breasts, and a loincloth about her waist.

I didn’t realize at first who it was, and found myself disoriented as to what happened, and how I’d gotten to be here. I wearily rubbed my head to clear it of the dreamy haze surrounding my sight, and thoughts.

“Life, or Death?” She spoke, in that cool, indifferent voice; the same voice that had left my bones freezing all over again. I’d left one nightmare, only to enter another.

I pulled myself up into a seated position, clutched my arms protectively around my bare calves. I was afraid, terrified, and worst of all I didn’t understand the question.

“Life, or Death?” She repeated.

There was only one logical answer. “Life?” I whimpered, fearfully.

She nodded. “What do you have to buy it with?”

Again, I didn’t understand. That must have been obvious to her, because she explained, “My services are not given freely, especially to those of your blood. You have chosen Life. Death would have been swift, and left you no debts. For your Life, you must satisfy me. Do so by a gift, a service, or by eternal servitude.”

I couldn’t find my voice. Gift? Service? Eternal Servitude? Was this woman mad!? My thoughts were lost in a swirling storm, and there was no eye of calm within.

She eyed me, slowly, withdrawing a slender dagger from beneath her loin cloth, and began to strike it against a smooth stone near her. “It is not a difficult concept, even for your frail mind. What do you have that would interest me?”

I thought, quickly, “I have ..., money,” said, quickly. Yes, I was rich, and wealthy. All of it I had earned through my own hand.

“I have no need for it,” she replied, quietly. “Africa’s export is within my grasp. My patience is not as tempered as the Mystic’s.” She pondered, for a long moment, her eyes feeling as if they were looking into me.

The dagger was slowly moving towards me. I had watched what she had done to those men; I was powerless to stop her.

A button from my shirt popped off. I swallowed, a whole new fear consuming my heart. I stammered, “What do you w-want?” I swam around in the vast ocean of my mind like a pitiful dog clambering for land.

She watched, she waited, gauging my reactions. Waiting, for something. I felt my throat catch on my breath, my skin prickled, as another button slowly popped off. The sharp steel of the dagger tickled at my stomach. A pink tongue slowly wormed its way, contrasting against her dark hue. She licked her lips, and smiled, quietly. “That’s for you to determine. Before I take what is here.”

I squeezed my thighs together, to close them off to her. I shivered at the cool night air passing through my partially open shirt. I searched for something, anything, to appease her. I had a family, a home, a husband! I wasn’t a lesbian! “I’ll try to get my people to leave these places alone?” I asked, in a sudden hopeful, and desperate whimper.

My midriff was bare now, as another button flew off into the soft grass we were seated upon. The glistening silver moon revealed the trim build I’d worked so hard to attain. I felt the ache in my breasts, and the pressure of peaked nipples against the hard fabric. The breeze blew the soft sounds of the animals around us to the hilltop. There were no lights, no other sounds. We were alone for a hundred miles. And I was at her mercy.

She smiled, devilishly. “There is little fun there. You seem deathly afraid, little mouse.” At my bust line, a tight button flung off into the night. I shivered with fear, and anticipation as she pushed the shirt back, to reveal the thin white lace beneath, and the full ample breasts that they held in place. I closed my eyes, shivering.

Her voice continued, “Go to Egypt. Find the place that is most powerful. There, in the darkest and oldest of alleys, is a club. When dawn breaks, draw yourself upon its roof, and follow the edge to the garden. From there, you may sneak within. Follow the tiles to the center room. Within a dusty cabinet, set to the back amongst all the collected glories, there is the least of old, ancient scepters. Take this, and only this.” Her eyes were glimmering now, as I found the shirt pulled off my body.

The steel of the dagger pressed against my breasts.

I shivered, and arched into it.

“Take it to France, where you will put an ad in the paper. It will simply read, “Death pays Salamander Her Dues.” You will then turn this crown into a historical museum. We will consider the debt then paid.”

The pointed edge of the dagger drew a dangerous line down my trembling, cool stomach. I inhaled, sharply. It slid across my bare skin, drawing intricate, imaginative patterns. It was all I could do to stay still.

She breathed softly, “But for now, little mouse,” she smiled, “I am feeling generous.”

She leaned forward, to kiss me.

Her body arched into mine, and I felt the sweet sting of her tongue invade my trembling, fearful, and yielding lips moistened by my own subconscious desires she’d lured out of me. My body began to swell with pleasure, and unholy fog. I fell into bliss, submission, and wantonness. I found the purity of pleasure within her darkness, and felt the dark unnatural sins within my own. I sank into that warmth, gladly.

Her lips parted from mine, as she stroked my hair, “You enjoy being played with,” she asked me? Or was it told? My mind was so foggy, and I really didn’t find myself caring.

“Play with me,” I crooned, quietly, arching my back into the dangerous, seductive way she toyed with the dagger, my life, and my arousal.

She cooed, quietly, “You’re a servant girl,” she told me, “Born to be a toy. Born, to please and pleasure.”

I whimpered, pleaded, the need welled within me and there was nothing I could do to cease its torrent. “A toy. Service. Pleasure. Please?” I begged, desperation buried deeply and soundly in the lost voice, that didn’t quite sound like my own. I found myself leaning forward, my tongue pushing against sensual folds, darker than my own tongue. The taste was sweet, and my mind folded over, lost within its fog.

Nodding, she allowed me to bury my face between her supple dark thighs, and I shivered as she carved her mark into me, with the end of the dagger. She breathed in my ear, her voice heady and soft; no longer the dangerous tone of Death, “You are Yashra’s Property. She owns you.”

I felt my body explode, in wonder of pleasures it had never even tasted, and heard myself say from far, far away, slurred and pleased, “Yashrrrrrra’s...Property...”

I sank my tongue into the warm cavern that parted, and opened for my need to attend to her. My mouth watered with the thought of, and then the taste of her. My body throbbed, my blood boiling as her sweet Sting coursed over me again. I was changed forever, and I found myself wanting more.

The next morning, I found myself on the hotel bed. I remembered the bargain between her and I. Somehow I knew it would not be the last time we met. And somehow I knew there was no way I would be allowed to betray her.

This would be the beginning of my new fate. A fate that I was no longer sure rested in my own hands. I had always wished for a more eventful life, one less empty. That wish became the first of many regrets.