The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Alexa swayed, transfixed. Paulo was coming towards her; he seemed impossibly tall. He held something in his hands—what was that? Some sort of leash? There was a little tag attached, and on it she saw her name. She tried to bat him away, shout, but her arms were so weak now, and her voice was just an inarticulate moan.

Please don’t do that, she cried, and it sounded like nothing more than the echo of a lustful sigh on the wind.

He reached behind her neck, and she felt, rather than heard, the click of a lock.

“Duly labelled,” he said. “For the avoidance of confusion.”

Alexa’s breath was ragged with confusion; she pawed at the collar around her neck, mewling ineffectually. The fiery heat of the drink was flooding through her now, and everything was warm and fuzzy. She swayed on the spot, unable to move.

“Maybe we gave her too much,” said Paulo.

“Silly,” replied Francesca, punching his arm. “You can’t have ‘too much’. It doesn’t work that way.”

Alexa’s vision was blurring. What had that drink done? She tried shouting one more time—please let me out!—and the room rose in an answering chorus of low wordless moans from whatever was in the cages.

She knew it must be a hallucination, but Alexa felt a sudden heat at her groin, an insistent and demanding pulse. The surge took her breath away.

Paolo handed Francesca the leash, and she gave a gentle tug on it. Alexa couldn’t help taking a step forward. She stumbled, rocked by the imagined wind. She opened her mouth again, but nothing came out; just another weird windswept moan, like an animal startled in the forest. Francesca tugged the leash again, harder, and Alexa felt a stab of pain.

The wind roared in her head; a buffeting gust, a gale, a whirlwind, a melancholy storm.

The shadowy figures in the cages swam into focus. Behind the bars she saw many women, hundreds of them stretching into the distance, a kaleidoscope of breasts and legs. One of them looked at Alexa across the room and smiled, licking her lips. Another puckered up and blew her a kiss through the bars of her cage. Dark eyes stared out at her.

She saw a blonde woman on her hands and knees, showing her pert rear; she looked at Alexa coquettishly over her shoulder. She had a graceful tail, long and slender. She waved it at Alexa in sinuous invitation. The shock was electrifying.

There were men in their hundreds, too. One of them grinned at her, indicating himself, priapically displaying his wares. The cages stretched off into the dim and indiscernible distance.

Francesca saw her looking. “It never gets full, just like Hilbert’s Hotel. Don’t worry, we’ll find you a nice one.”

She felt like jelly. Her fingers wouldn’t work; her hand felt like mittens, like paws, and she was overcome with heat. Francesca led her over to a huge bed, its beams tall in the gloom, and pushed Alexa onto her back. She fastened the leash to the headboard. Alexa lay there mewling faintly in fuzzy-headed arousal and consternation, all words forgotten.

There was a chorus of moans from the cages, wind sighing in trees. She could barely hear Francesca through the noise.

“They’re quite restless tonight,” said Francesca. “A new guest always gets them excited.”

She moaned again, questioning. Francesca pulled her leash playfully, and her body wriggled harder in response. Dimly she realised that her couldn’t control her arms and legs any more.

“What’s that you say, Alexa? You have questions. Am I right?”

She tried to nod. Her breathing was fast and shallow. It was becoming impossible to think.

“You’ll figure most of it out for yourself,” said Francesca. “You’ll have plenty of time.”

Paulo was selecting something from an array of rod-like items hanging from a rack by the bed. He held one up; Alexa saw it was strangely curved, fluted, and covered in round protrusions of various shapes and sizes. Francesca nodded.

“People always had legends about the tesseract,” Paulo said conversationally. “It was difficult for them to understand though, let alone visualise. Who can truly imagine this?”

The women in the cages started howling joyfully at that, in sudden gusts, and Alexa howled back.

Francesca glanced at her watch and turned to Paulo. “She’ll be back soon,” she said. “Do you think she’ll like this one?”

Paulo shrugged and waggled his hand. Perhaps, perhaps not; we can but try.

Alexa sighed and moaned. What do you mean, ‘she’? What do you mean, ‘like’? Again she tried to rise, but her arms and legs weren’t working at all now, all connection cut. Her body just wriggled on the bed, uncoordinated and helpless, with a life of its own. The heat at her groin was becoming an intolerable craving. All was lust.

“Let go, Alexa. Just set your body free,” said Paulo. She tried again to rise; he laid a hand on one of her swollen breasts, squeezing gently but insistently, pushing her down again onto the bed. Francesca joined him, putting her hand right onto her most intimate parts, pressing. Her body responded, squirming like an animal, its own wants taking precedence, pressing urgently back, and a rush of incongruous happiness washed over Alexa.

How simple, how easy it would be to submit to this warm wind of desire. She began to lose herself in their touch again, and dreams of her lovers blew through her; past, present, and future all mingled as one; all her lovers to eternity, endlessly swirling in her mind like leaves in the wind.

Francesca watched her writhe. “Who can truly imagine this,” she murmured. She turned to Paolo. “Remember when that writer came to visit us?”

“You have a very long memory, Francesca. He called to you, didn’t he, through the storm?”

“He did. He was nice. ‘Willingly I would address those two together coming, which seem so light before the wind’, he said. He wanted to know our story. Such a shame he wouldn’t stay.”

“He got it all mixed up, though, the writer. Too black and white. He thought he was in the other place.”

Alexa felt herself slipping away, sinking into a joyful daze of heat, melting, dissolving into the lust. Francesca stroked her down there, and she throbbed under the touch. The sudden hot squall of orgasm roared through her. She gasped, helpless, lost in windswept dreams; her body moving to its own tune now, an instrument of pleasure beyond all conscious control.

“Be quiet now, Alexa,” whispered Paolo. “Remember who’s in charge, and try to impress her when she comes. There have been a few cases of release.”

He paused, thinking.

“Well—one case, at least. But we all live in hope, don’t we?”