The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Red looks at me, fingers dancing along my freshly-regenerated member. I can feel a tickle run up my stomach as though a second set of fingers were gliding around my navel as Red looks into my soul, her brilliant emerald-green eyes twinkling with mischief as her words echo through my head.

‘No, fuck me, I can heal.’

Whatever bizarre astral Viagra she shoots into me doesn’t just fill my shaft with blood, it also gives a hit to my brain, like when you dream you’re falling and your mind snaps to fight-or-flight wakefulness.

“Did you just tell me what to do?” I ask with a smile, going ghost to escape her grasp and floating backwards a few feet.

Red doesn’t answer. Not with her voice, anyways—I seize complete control over her physical body as soon as she tries to react—but both her smile and her mind say, ‘Yeah. I did. What are you going to do about it?’

“How quickly we forget our place,” I say, my mind racing with possibilities.

It doesn’t take long for inspiration to strike. I extend my hand towards Red and she begins to float slightly, her arms and legs dangling limply beneath her as though she’s hanging from a string coming from between her shoulders.

When I twitch my fingers, she feels ropes wrap around her elbows, wrists, and knees, working her arms awkwardly in tune with the fingers on my right hand while her legs twitch with the fingers on my left.

I have no idea how puppetry works, but we’re not in a place of realism—my hand movements are all theatre as I make her shamble and bounce with my imagination. The movements aren’t sexy at all—despite the fact that it’s a stunning supernatural goddess whose glorious breasts and outstanding booty are swaying and jiggling about—but the extent to which Red has lost control catches her off-guard, and a flush of heat paints a pink hue onto her porcelain skin.

‘You’ve gotten better’, she thinks at me. ‘Have you been practicing?’

I break character for a second, leaving her body suspended as I respond, “No, actually. I think I’m just getting better at this weird ghost shit. Turns out restraining you with my mind is easier when you’re physically tied up.”

‘Technically, I’m not physically-anything here,’ she responds, her lips still outside of her control but her words themselves somehow smirking.

“I believe last time we met, you denied me a strip tease by blasting your clothes off. So technically, you owe me a dance.“

For the first time tonight, I feel Red really yank against my control—her mind doesn’t object, but a part of her seems to have some kind of a major trigger when it comes to dancing in front of other people.

‘Ready?’ I think at her, a little uncomfortable with this sudden turn.

‘If you tell anyone about this I’ll rip your heart out through your eye socket,’ comes the response.

Weirdly violent permission, but permission nonetheless.

I smile and clench my fingers, snapping Red into a flamenco pose. I don’t actually remember how the actual dance is supposed to look, but the dramatic arm posture gets a wonderful jiggle out of her breasts, and the power of the stance actually seems to milk a little surrender out of the beautiful little redhead instead of the usual submissiveness.

Red begins to gyrate her hips, rotating in a slow circle, letting me see every soft curve and rippling muscle (I swear to you, her glutes look so powerful that I wouldn’t be surprised to learn she could use her ass to rip my heart out through my eye socket). On the second turn, I lower her hands, her fingers trailing down her face, along her neck, grasping her breasts as she stares lustfully into my eyes as she continues to gyrate her hips. (Her stares are mine, but the lust is all her.)

The slow rotation stops with her back to me, her hands slipping down her sides, over her hips as she slowly and sensually bends at the waist, back arched, legs shoulder-width to reveal her glistening treasure.

One of Red’s hand peeks out from between her thighs, gently parting her beautiful, still-unaltered lips for me with her index and ring finger, gently slipping the middle finger along the moistened length and lightly grazing the sensitive button at the cleft. Her other hand snakes back up to her right breast, pinching a nipple as a moan tries desperately to force its way out of her lust-racked body before being smothered by my control.

Red’s hands withdraw from her pleasure and she whips around, her dancing taking a tonal shift to something that I’m a bit embarrassed to admit is much more familiar. Instead of a sensual tease, her body breaks into lewd gyrations, suggestive caresses, arches that display more than a refined lady ought as she leans back and braces herself against a pole that isn’t there.

When Red realizes what I’m making her do, her embarrassment becomes anticipation, and that rare glint of surrender once again solidifies into submission. Every thrust of her chest and swirl of her hips bring Red closer to a state of bliss, and every caressed breast and parted labia sends a shock of pleasure coursing through her body.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re enjoying this,” I tell her, my full-to-bursting member revealing that, indeed, I too am having fun here.

Red looks at me without a clever comeback, or even a coherent thought. Instead, she stares at me with pure, raw, lustful intention.

With a gesture, I bend Red’s knees and shoulders, causing her to suddenly stop her dance and float in place as her hands and feet are locked behind her.

With the ethereal rope that I’d used as puppet strings, I tie her ankles to her thighs and each hand to the opposite elbow, tilting her back slightly so that she’s splayed and ready, as though she were a lewd piece of furniture patiently waiting to serve its ultimate purpose.

I slowly walk up and feel a shock of need roll through Red’s nervous system, causing her to shiver from the inside out before I even touch her.

I bring my painfully-erect cockhead close enough to her sex to feel the heat radiating off of it (and not just normal heat—it seems my fiery little friend runs quite a bit hotter than average), and I stop.

“Something’s missing,” I say aloud, smiling down at the warrior-goddess shackled before me. “Hmm, what could it be...”

Red struggles against my control, trying to snap her legs free so she can wrap them around me and force me into her so hard that it liquefies my pelvis (Jesus fuck, this girl’s sexual whims can get violent).

“Ah!” I say, and snap my finger, releasing control of Red’s head and throat.

It takes Red a second to realize how much I have given back to her, clearing her throat and then looking up to me.

Red can barely start a “Wuh” sound before I slam myself into her, swinging her into hips by her own restraints, turning whatever she was about to say into a surprised yelp that melts into a long, satisfied moan.

I’m usually ignorant of my own sexual sounds, but I groan louder than I’ve ever let myself before. I haven’t been balls-deep in a woman since before the fall, and I don’t remember it ever feeling quite like this.

I draw back slowly and slam hard into the redheaded valkyrie, her lust-maddened mind otherwise completely blank. Her grunts and moans are loud and unrestrained as I begin pounding into her faster, her head looking me in the face and nodding encouragement one second, then the next throwing itself back so she can howl at the wall behind her.

It takes a few minutes of thrusting to realize why this feels different. It’s the temperature—plunging into her pussy is like sinking into a hot tub that’s a few notches below scalding, giving a gentle bite of pain when you first plunge in that becomes a soothing, all-encompassing pleasure that you never want to leave.

From the pleasure pouring out of Red’s mind, I can practically feel myself thrusting inside her—the thrumming friction supercharging her nerve endings, the satisfaction of being so completely filled, the mounting pressure whipped higher with each thrust of the hips.

Feeling it only fair, I try to push my own sensations into her mind, giving her just a taste of her tight inner walls rippling around my shaft, each jolt of her pleasure causing her to shudder and squeeze around me. I see her eyes widen as she registers the extra sensation, and I squeeze a wonderful breast in each hand and use them to plow even harder into her.

My own eyes grow wide as I feel an extra sensation—as though a second ring somewhere within her were closing around my shaft, slipping up and down, teasing and circling the head.

The extra sensation becomes too much for me. For us. Our pleasure is a feedback loop, each building higher atop the other’s crescendo, my orgasm feeding her orgasm feeding my orgasm again. The second ring of sensation clamps down, eagerly accepting the most violent burst of seed I’ve emitted in my life—I’m far too distracted to use this astral shit to artificially exaggerate the volume, but I still feel like I dump a full quart of essence into her hot fiery depths, and she returns the favor by releasing a deluge of her own juices over my cock and onto my thighs.

Red lets loose a cry that sounds like it’s trying to wake the dead, and I grit my teeth so hard that I can actually feel my molars ache as we tense up every muscle in both of our bodies.

Then, almost all at once, both of our lust melts into an amalgam of love and exhaustion. Red’s head leans back, but it doesn’t fall all the way—it seems to stop as though landing on an invisible pillow, her long red braid floating and coiling beneath her like a snake under water.

My cock is still buried deep inside her, and I can feel my deposit starting to leak out around me. At the end of my dick, I can feel the second ring of sensation start up again, gently gliding up and down over the ridge of my cock while what feels like a tongue begins to flick up and down along the frenulum.

It almost feels as though she’s cleaning me.

“I don’t know how you’re doing that, but it feels fucking amazing,” I tell the magical redhead. “Weird, but amazing.”

A smile stretches across Red’s face. “That’s not me.”

My heart skips a beat. “But... no, I’m talking about inside you...”

She shakes her head again. “I know what you’re talking about—I could feel it when you shared yourself. And that wasn’t inside me.”

I quickly pull out of her, unplugging her canal and releasing an admirable-sized glob of spunk—but I can still feel the ring of pleasure working the head of my cock. “What the fuck... I can still feel something on my dick.”

Red nods. “Yes. You can feel something on your dick.”

I look around feeling about the space for something—anything—maybe the hidden thoughts of some invisible friend, or fuck, even a malicious actor getting ready to strike.

Nothing.

My eyes widen with terror. Am I getting a blowjob from a real fucking ghost? Is some drippy skeleton going to materialize with my dick in its mouth?

Red rolls her eyes. “You feel something on your real dick, Sherlock.“

It takes a few shameful seconds to calm myself enough to realize what she means. When I look down at my body, sure enough, Jen hovering over me, lovingly licking my cock clean.

“She’s pretty good at that,” Red says as she, now free from my mind, effortlessly snaps the bonds I’d imagined for her and floats to my side.

I nod. “Jen’s definitely full of surprises.”

The redhead gently pokes me in the side. “I hope you two aren’t supposed to be an exclusive item. I mean, I’d probably still fuck you, but I’d feel super shitty about it.”

“Not exclusive,” I say with a shrug. “We like each other, but she wants to repopulate. She’d already figured that I’d be hooking up with the other girls we’d found.”

Red chuckles to herself. “Yeah, your little group did seem a bit... harem-y.”

I sigh. “Isn’t every group harem-y? The churches turned most of the single men into brainwashed sentinels, and most of the others died trying to fight for their loved ones.”

“It’s actually the other way around where the demons won,” my beautiful world-weary warrior tells me. “With a few exceptions, demons usually like going after women and children. They’re big on the whole victim archetype.”

I furrow my brow. “So... why would they even let demons win?”

Red laughs and shakes her head. “Listen, I didn’t want to correct you the other day because you were saying things that your friend needed to hear, but this invasion wasn’t a Stay-Puft.”

“But... actual angels?”

“Ha!” Red slaps me on the back with a surprising amount of force. “They fucking wish. Everything that came back, angel or demon, spirit or god, were all just manifestations of normal peoples’ beliefs. Most of the angels are just hundred-year-old assholes who thought they were righteous enough to earn wings. You didn’t notice that their views were a little... dark-aged for an enlightened being?”

I stare off into space. I feel the lips finally leave my semi-flaccid penis and then press against my forehead. Then, the wonderfully comfy feel of Jen’s warm body curling up beside me, her head resting on my chest as she drifts off to sleep.

They’re all... ex-humans. It never occurred to me before. Or anyone in town, really. But it makes so much goddamn sense.

“How do you know that?” I ask.

“How do you think I learned to fuck with the atoms in the air and shoot fire from my tits?” she returns. “A half-baked demon that still had some humanity taught Omega how to do it, and he taught the rest of us.”

I nod slowly. “Guess that’s sort of how I got my gift too, isn’t it?”

“Ding ding ding. Give the man a prize.”

I wrap my arm around Red’s powerful shoulders and give her a gentle squeeze. “I think I already got my prize.”

Red’s arm snakes around my waist and returns the hug. “You’re goddamn right you did. Uno mas?”

I chuckle. “That sounds fucking wonderful, but I feel like you squeezed my soul out of my balls there.”

“Oh? Is that all?” she asks with a smile.

I feel a throbbing pain in my crotch as an obscene amount of freshly-materialized blood flows into it.

Fuck me. She heals.

When my body wakes up, I can hear the sink running in the master bedroom, and feel a thick towel resting on my stomach and chest. My libido feels like a dry, overworked husk of its former self, even though the rest of me is unnaturally energized.

I would have thought that literally staying awake and fucking ’til dawn would have some effect on my mind, but apparently ‘healing’ also means bypassing the need for actual sleep.

I roll out of bed and crane my neck around the footboard to see Karen’s little nest of pillows empty. Before I can wonder where she’s off to, I hear her distinctive squeak of pleasure from the bathroom.

I guess I’m not the only one who feels a little energized after last night.

I look down and notice that the towel is... a bit of a Jackson Pollack. Apparently Red wasn’t kidding when she said what we do in the astral plane happens in the real world as well.

Suddenly I flush red as I realize that Jen was sleeping on me. She’d cleaned up my first orgasm, and helped me through the second, but she was probably asleep for the rest of the night. I didn’t... get her... did I?

Not that my wonderful little minx would complain. And that would definitely explain her friskiness this morning.

A few moments later, the door opens and Jen walks out, freshly showered, with a mischievous grin on her face. Behind her, Karen is still sitting on the bathroom counter, legs parted, eyes closed, a massive smile on her face as she basks in the afterglow.

“Someone had fun last night,” Jen says with a wink.

“Yeah, I... I’m sorry about that.”

“I’d ask if you thanked her for me for saving my life, but...” Jen gestures to the towel.

I awkwardly glance towards the door, unsure what to say.

“Listen, I hope this isn’t out of line, but... last night, right after you passed out, I...”

I take Jen by the chin and pull her wet lips to mine, smiling as I taste some residual Karen. “I know,” I tell her. “I could feel it.”

“You... you could?”

“Both of us could.”

Jen begins to blush, but her colour shifts back to normal as the statement catches in her brain. “Wait—what?”

“Yeah, that ghost shit is kinda fucking weird. But she says you’re really good at that. And I whole-heartedly agree.”

The blush returns, and Jen leans in to give me another kiss, this one long and lingering.

“Get cleaned up,” she whispers as soon as the kiss breaks. “If you’re going to walk around smelling like cum all day, we’re not going to get anything done.”

Another quick peck, and she adds, “Also I don’t think everyone would like it as much as I do.”

With that, Jen practically bounces over to the walk-in closet and begins fishing for an outfit.

Karen exits the bathroom, her skimpy little outfit balled up in her hands as she sheepishly sidles past me, blushing furiously.

The morning is weirdly chipper and leisurely for everyone. Gwen and Bell are both glowing again, giggling awkwardly like a pair of teenagers who were just making out in the broom closet. Karen flutters around naked humming various old Pink Floyd songs as she collects and washes the dishes, her freshly-washed cupless bra and crotchless underwear dry over a chair. And Jen is even more affectionate and cheery than usual—something that, if I couldn’t read her mind to know otherwise, I would swear was an act she’s putting on while she works out whether to plunge the ice pick into my heart or my balls.

After breakfast (or, more accurately, brunch) Gwen and Bell run off to gather anything in this house we’d left when we didn’t have the wagon, and once they’ve tromped upstairs (well, Gwen tromped, Bell sashayed—I swear I Bell walks so lightly you wouldn’t think they even touch the ground), Jen beckons Karen over.

“Before we go,” Jen begins to her servant, barely loud enough for me to hear, “I want you to run upstairs and find an outfit for me.”

Karen nods.

Jen continues, “I want it to be the hottest, sluttiest thing you can find. Something that, whenever either of us sees you in it, we’ll have to fight... so... hard... to resist the urge to throw you down...” she leans in a bit closer... “and fuck your face raw.”

Karen swallows hard, and then nods again.

“Hop to it, little bunny!” Jen says, slipping into her usual chipper self and giving Karen’s ass a playful swat.

Karen mews with pleasure at the spank and then calmly turns away and walks out of the room, barely able to suppress the urge to sprint upstairs to find the perfect dress.

“So,” Jen says in a hush, leaning close to me. “What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“You know...” Jen’s voice drops to a whisper. “Space sex.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Exhausting,” I begin. “Relentless. Apparently she can heal me in there... and apparently ‘healing’ means... y’know...”

Jen laughs and gently brushes my crotch as she nods. “Everything,” she finishes for me. “I felt it a little too when she was fixing me.”

“Right. And I don’t know if it was just me, but... the line between us sorta... blurs a bit.”

She nods, still gently rubbing my groin, my energized body betraying my recovering libido and creeping back to half-mast.

“Hence why she could feel me, suck on you,” Jen confirms with a curious smile. “Cool.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t quite the same as real in-person sex, but it was still very...” I fish for a good word but come up empty, so I settle for “cool.”

We’re interrupted as Karen slowly walks down the stairs, gold fabric balled up in her hands. “I... found... something...” she mutters with submission-spattered pride.

“Great!” Jen says, clapping her hands together. “I’ll whore it up when we get back to the shop.”

“The shop?” I ask.

Jen gives me a smile. “Well, given that it’s already early-afternoon, I figure it’ll be dinner by the time we hit the shop. Plus, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think we should drag our loot all the way across town until we’re sure the roads are safe.”

I nod slowly. The girl keeps surprising me. “You’re right,” I concede. “We don’t want to wave food in front of any desperate survivors.”

“I was thinking more waving guns around in front of sentinels,” Jen says sweetly, “but I guess the food is another reason to travel lightly.”

Karen lets a moment of silence pass, making sure that she isn’t interrupting. “Mistress? Would you like to... see what I found?”

“Your uniform should be dry by now,” Jen says, waving a dismissive hand. “Add it to that suitcase and I’ll let you know how well you’ve done later.”

“Yes, mistress.”

“Now get the others, love,” Jen says, flicking her wrist towards the stairs. “It’s time we were on our way.”

Karen nods and retreats back upstairs.

“Quite regal,” I tell Karen, mimicking her hand gesture. “Are you sure you prefer Mistress over Queen?”

“Quite sure,” Jen says with an impish smile before scootching back and bowing deeply before me, adding, “Unless the Master wishes it otherwise.”

The gesture is exaggerated, but I can tell there’s an element of truth behind it. And suddenly, a part of her clicks into focus.

She prefers Mistress—but not because she likes it over Queen. She prefers it because she wants me to be Master, and she wants to rule by my side.

“Mistress is just fine, my sweet,” I say. My brain intends the ‘my sweet’ to be sarcastic—talking like a medieval king to his princess, but it comes out completely genuine, like an elegant pet name for a treasured loved one.

Even weirder—Jen doesn’t laugh or call me a nerd when she hears it. She actually blushes.

Indeed, there’s a weird air about the house today. Best to head back to town before it gets weirder.

The road back to town is far, far bumpier when you’re dragging a wagon like a shitty, stumbling donkey. Every lump in the asphalt, every blade of grass growing between the cracks, and every patch of dirt where the road has completely crumbled away, all feel like I’m jerking a semi truck through a pit of molasses.

Still, I don’t complain. Hell, I barely even feel it. I’m aware that it’s hard work, and I know how much I have to shove and strain to keep that thing moving, but the energy that Red spent all night blasting into me (or, at least, the energy that I didn’t manage to blast back into her, so-to-speak) seems to burn through me like the goddamn Energizer bunny. (Another reference that people who don’t remember the pre-hell world wouldn’t get.)

The trip itself is otherwise uneventful. Gwen and Bell gossip about the farm we’re going to build in town—the crops we’ll grow, the chickens we’ll raise, the society we’ll build...

Jen finally calms them down by telling them about the pre-fall amenities that we might be able to get back—not just water heaters and stereo systems but central heating, air conditioning, cable TV...

...the mention of cable starts a tangent that somehow ends up with Jen and Karen peppering the poor bunkmates with one-liners from old sitcoms that make zero sense in the context of this world.

Still, Gwen and Bell humor them, asking questions to try to understand some of the old-world details like what a cop is, and why they were allowed to have families, and why that poor abused cop wouldn’t just threaten to shoot the eccentric genius next door in the head to put an end to his terrible antics.

That last suggestion brings a chorus of laughter among all us before-timers which lasts several blocks, until we start to get in range of the store.

The laughter stops as soon as I put on my game face, raising my hand to silence my allies.

I continue to approach, still pulling the wagon, but much more cautiously, gesturing for my companions to hide behind it.

I can sense something inside the shop.

A person.

No, two people.

The out-of-towners that I sensed hiding in one of the apartments above the strip mall. They definitely would have noticed us entering and leaving the store. They must have grown brave and have come down to see what’s had us popping in and out the past few days.

As we get closer, I can start to feel their thoughts clearly. They’re poking around the racks, basically shopping for new clothes. The man is looking for practical things—denim that can take a beating, sweats and sweaters for cold weather, his heart already swelling with joy from having found a pair of long johns. The woman is also thinking practical, but wants to look good while she does it.

No. Not wants. Needs to. In her mind, her appearance is life-or-death.

When we slowly roll into the parking lot, I’m surprised to find that I can actually see some of the topography of their minds. No digging this time—if I close my eyes, I can see their minds laid out like a map. Swaps of regret. Deep-cut rivers of habit.

And one massive iron crate that contains a secret they desperately want to keep.