The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter One: For the cost of a coffee

Dara coughed lightly as she walked down the road, she did her best to avoid the students and tourists that filled Cambridge’s pavements. Maybe if they thought she was infectious they would give her a wider berth. She felt infectious, most people avoided her, even though she was blossoming into her twenties she never really had got the hang of social graces.

Dara frowned, even her parents were glad to see the back of her; their insistence that, “She would be better in a place of her own”. Well now she was. She had been for nearly 12 months. The bedsit, a single downstairs room in a shared house. It was all she could afford on the salary she ground out of the shoe store. She snorted, at least she didn’t have to go to that dump today. Depression settled on Dara like a comfort blanket, worn and smelly, but familiar all the same.

She was abruptly brought out of her thoughts by walking straight into the back of a tallish woman in front of her. Typical tourist, she had stopped, instantly mesmerised by the site of a Costa’s coffee shop. The tall form swung around and drawled an apology.

“I am so sorry, that was dumb of me. Are you OK?”

Dara hopped momentarily and gingerly put her trainer clad left foot back on the floor, pressing lightly she winced.

“Oh, I’ll survive,” no thanks to you, she thought bitterly.

“Oh, I have hurt you, let me at least buy you a coffee?” The slender woman smiled and extended a delicate hand, “I’m Presence, nice to meet you.”

Dara glared upwards. “Well Presence, you can take you coffee and...” Dara paused, a confused expression passed over her face, “...and I will be delighted to drink it!”

Dara extended her hand and grasped Presence’s warm palm. A tingle raced up her arm setting her heart racing. What she felt threw her into confusion; was that desire? Why now, why for a woman? By the time Dara came to her senses she was sat in Costa’s with a steaming caramel latte in front of her, a cranberry muffin nestled on the saucer.

“My favourite, how did you know...” Dara’s eyes hardened, “Do I know you?”

Presence smiled and tilted her long neck a tad to the right.

“Coincidence I expect, It happens to be to my liking too,” her smile broadened, “As for knowing you, I doubt it. I only flew in from JFK today. Now tell me is it always this cold and dark in Cambridge at four-thirty?”

“It is in the middle of ruddy December,” Dara groaned.

“Well I must be going, nice to er bump into you Dara, enjoy the drink.”

Dara watched the woman’s elegant form wander back into the Lion Yard.

“Don’t hurry back on my account!”

Presence turned and smiled disarmingly.

“You know Dara, I think you should go home and rest. It might just improve your mood.”

Dara went to make a witty reply, but Presence had vanished. Dara rushed from the coffee shop and into the bustling shopping centre, she looked this way and that. There was no sign of the woman. The lady vanishes thought Dara, just as well, ruddy know it all Yank. Rest my arse, all I need is some space.

Even so, after returning to the coffee shop she finished her snack then Dara walked directly home. On her way she cursed at her sudden tiredness, none to quietly.

“Fuckin’ job wears me down even on my soddin’ day off!”

A shocked shopper gazed at the source of the foul mouthed tirade. Dara replied by elegantly extending two fingers and jabbing them viciously upwards. Satisfied with the shocked response of the disgusted elderly man she walked on. Once she was in her room she didn’t even undress, she just slumped on to her single bed and a second later she was fast asleep.

Chapter two: Alone again

Dara slept, but it was not restful. Images danced before her, enticing her mind to new heights of arousal. It was a woman that entranced her, a woman like Presence, but it was not her. Fluid erotic delights slipped past, her vision blurred in a liquid heat. Something in the sculpted breasts and jutting nipples was so very familiar. Dara even recognised the trimmed pubes and luxuriant labia, slowly it dawned on her somnambulist mind; this was her and yet it was not her. It was Dara transformed, a pale delicate version of her slightly dumpy form. Oddly she desired this woman, this alter ego, yet she held back. As delightful as this was there was something dark that seethed under the glowing surface.

With a start Dara awoke, desperately her eyes scanned the darkened room. There was nothing. The room was as dull, unspectacular and just as safe as it had always been. She went to part her lips, intense dryness stuck them together and a powerful thirst raged in her throat. She lay a bed for several minutes waiting for the thirst to part; she tried swallowing, but she had no saliva. Finally she stood up and thrust her hand under the bed searching for the coke bottle she had thrown under there earlier, to her disgust it was empty. She sighed, no choice, she had to go to the bathroom; out of her haven of safety. Dara shuddered at the thought, she was not usually this spooked, but the dream and Presence had got to her. Suddenly she laughed, this was crazy. What the hell, nothing ever happened to her, she, Dara was invisible to the world. She walked confidently from her room, through the hall and into the cold bathroom.

She hadn’t gone more than two paces through the door when something moved in the mirror, a flash of someone behind her. Dara swilled quickly on the cold tiles; nothing. Jesus, she was doing a first class job of spooking herself! Dara carried on into the bathroom, lifted her nightdress and squatted on the cold porcelain rim. It was then it hit her; pungent wafts of arousal teased her nostrils, god she was horny.

For the first time in months her hand fell to her groin and her fingers danced with a once familiar rhythm. Soon she was gasping, her sex swelling in response to her now urgent digital manipulation. Dara shuddered as a warm tongue swept across her proud clitoris; her breath caught and her eyes flew open with shock. In the dim light she was sure she got a glimpse of a nodding head between her thighs. When she looked again there was nothing, save her thrusting wet hand. Despite her fear, or maybe due to it, she howled as her passions peaked and echoing her delight around the walls of the chill house.

Dara sat slumped for several minutes; recovery came slowly with each ragged fall and rise of her chest, eventually she stirred. She rose on rubbery legs and staggered back to her rumpled bed. Seconds after hitting it she was asleep once more, immediately the dreams came; she was back propped up on the loo gazing down at the mop of hair that danced between her thighs. Sparks of bliss flew away from Dara’s clitoris as an unseen mouth nibbled and then bit with practised ease. Maybe the intensity was so high because the mysterious intruder was the first person other than Dara to touch these secret spots; maybe it was the decrepit surroundings.

Whatever it was Dara felt her heart sing, she glanced across the and saw herself in the mirror. She was the beauty once again, ethereal and languid, between her thighs a narrow back could be seen squirming, she caught sight of a perked breast tipped by a savagely erect nipple. The perversity just drew her on towards the inevitable orgasm. When it came it was cataclysmic; universes spilt asunder and vanished. As she gasped the head between her thighs moved craning upwards until Dara could clearly see the features. Presence grinned sardonically at her; the sadism was confirmed on the curved lips where both Dara’s spending and blood mixed in pools and rivulets.

Dara sat bolt up right in bed, her heart pounding partly from her recent orgasm, but mostly from blind fear. She pulled her hand from under the covers and stared at it; copious secretions and virginal blood coated it in equal measure. She started to weep.

Chapter three: The visit

The hour had arrived; midnight on the longest night of the year...

Presence unwound herself from the wild couplings of the mass orgy; carefully she licked the vestiges of her last meal from her lips, adjusted her hair and walked to the mirror.

Through it she observed the tumble-down bedsit room just as she had so many times before. Her heart leapt at the sight of Dara’s pitiful state, Presence grinned a vulpine grin.

“Taste it Dara, it is the only thing that will slake your thirst!”

Puzzled Dara turned to face the dressing table mirror.

“You, how do... I do know you, don’t I?”

“Yes Dara, you rented the room from me. But I covered that memory, not well enough it seems. That interests me, you will be a worthy opponent and an excellent addition...”

“Addition? To what—you are insane lady; I am so ruddy out of here!”

Dara lent over and grabbed her jumper from the floor flinging it straight on over her nightdress, then she bent to pick up her jeans and froze in a painful spasm.

“You will go nowhere. It is already too late,” Presence swayed to one side and picked up a glass tube, “This hypodermic contains something precious; my essence mixed with my blood. Remember Dara, you voluntarily asked for my drink, the caramel latte that was also my favourite? Well, my version just has a little more ‘bite’".

Dara listened, as she had no choice; nothing would move, except a solitary tear that ran down her left cheek.

“My noble blood mixes with yours, giving it such passions. Do you like my passions Dara?” Presence paused, and then grinned, “You may reply”.

“No I don’t! I never wanted girls, I had even given up wanking. It doesn’t matter to me. I have a right to be like that. If I want!”

“Oh you humans you give such attention to rights; judges, parliaments, enquiries and laws. But you all take away rights every day and in much worse ways than I”.

Dara’s mind was immediately filled with images of killing fields, wind swept Ethiopian plains, huddled masses, the gates of Belsen...

“Stop it!” Dara’s cried.

“Whilst I just trade freedom for pleasures...”

The horror in Dara’s mind was replaced by sighs, entwined matching bodies, turgid flesh and orgasmic cries. Against her will the tell-tale dampness seeped from her.

Presence smiled and added a little chuckle.

“See it is what you want!”

“No it isn’t, I chose freedom. I want to go!” Dara screamed.

“You chose, you want? Enough! Speak no more; your choices are now mine, your freedom—just a memory”.

Presence’s face widened to a snarl.

“I like a challenge, but you border on insubordination. I have no choice. You will clean your hand, taste of the blood and my presence in it. Then you will remember why all women are capable of sensuality with another of their kind. The sensuality of Mother, the provider, the breast, suckling at the nipple”.

Dara’s face crumpled in disgust as her tongue snaked past her lips on its indelicate cleansing quest. Despite her the errant muscle dipped into the pooled deposits on her hand. Darkness came; Dara went.

Presence stepped through one mirror and out via the other into the cramped, pungent bedsit. Dara turned to face her, her chin slick with the leftovers from her now immaculate hand and fingers.

Presence used the sharpened nail on her right forefinger to open up a scarlet wound above her left nipple; she walked to the waiting girl.

“Come little one, it is time to feed”.

Dara fed.

Chapter four: The passing

Dara that was, held Presence’s hand as they passed through the mirror and into the vault. She stood patiently waiting as Presence crossed the room and placed the syringe into a jewel encrusted case. Softly the vampire clicked it shut and threw it down onto the large circular bed. Presence walked back toward Dara, as she did so she trailed her hand over the skin of one of the reclining girls that occupied the bed. The girl writhed in ecstasy, her mistress’s touch just adding enough fuel to power her to another plateaux of pleasure.

Dara watched as Presence first stood in front of her, gazing, apparently drinking her in. Then Presence raised her hand to Dara’s chin.

“All these girl’s were once like you; disowned, unloved and uncared for. The faceless one’s, but now they have a face. Now they are owned and they are happy”. Presence leant forward and kissed Dara lightly on the lips. “Go Dara, join your sisters. For you are home”. Presence smiled into her mirror-image face; it adopted an identical smile.

Dara walked to the bed and lowered herself between a spare pair of gaping legs; without a thought she bent her neck and tasted the wetness of the first woman she had ever wanted. Soon she was feasting like a gourmet and using her lips to circle a rapidly swelling pearl of hard flesh. She felt someone part her buttocks and a warm tongue slipped past her anus, stretching her deliciously. Dara was no longer on earth; this was heaven.

Yet although this felt so right, there just was a doubt. Dara knew somewhere in her soul that she had lost more than she had gained, that this was not her. She was no longer Dara Clissom. Somewhere in the infinite darkness that occupied her, a small voice screamed its protest.

It mattered not, for the longest night had begun. Its black tyranny would last for eternity...