The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

By the time we finally returned home, I wasn’t sure how long I’d been away, but I did know that Mister Talv could do more or less anything he wanted with me, and that there was more to see in that building of his. There were level s below the mirrorworld, further hidden depths, he told me on the plane back. But we would have time enough for that later, if I wished to see them.

There are always choices. You can never make anybody do what they don’t want to do.

In one version of a long-recurring dream, I first come across her in a gilded cage, and my initial thought is that she’s a free spirit, trapped, subjugated. She has long blonde hair, like me. Her eyes are blue, exactly like mine. She has her hands on the bars of the cage, gripping them, and she’s looking out. Maybe she’s a nature spirit. Ethereal, but physical too. The cage is set in a clearing in a sunlit forest. There are many flowers, and not just the obvious ones. There are no words in this dreams. It is silent, foreign feeling, or perhaps from a time that isn’t the past or the present or the future, just sometime else.

It’s a beautiful and romantic and mysterious sight. I watch as a man approaches through the forest. He’s curious. What is this? They look at each other through the bars of the cage. She presses her face right up between the bars. He looks puzzled, coming across something like this in the forest, but he cannot take his eyes off her. Her expression is unreadable, ambiguous.

And then he steps forward, slowly, tentatively, and unlocks the door of the cage—he has a tiny golden key, and I know, in the way of dreams, that it was given to him by a wise woman, and he’s always wondered what it was for, only knowing that it held destiny—and the door swings open. He hands her the key.

For a long unfathomable moment, they look at each other through the open door of the cage. There are no bars between them. And then she reaches out and pulls the door of the cage shut, locked, looking out at him through the bars, proud and independent, and throws the key as hard as she can into the forest.

Earlier this evening—before he finally asked me the third thing he would ask of me—we’d returned to his apartment, in the City, where sometimes normal things happened in a normal way. It didn’t feel normal, any more—it felt bland and empty. I wished I was back in the Secret Garden, or in the Cage of Mirrors. I was beginning to wonder were fantasy ended and real life started; what was a game and what was not; and whether there was really any difference between these things at all.

“What am I now? Who am I? In real life?”

“A very interesting question, and one to which we should return in due course,” he said. “Hidden depths.”

I nodded. No doubt he had a view on this. I went to my knees, automatically, and began to unbuckle his trousers. I felt proud, empowered, as my body throbbed at his command. The paradox of choice. I opened my mouth to him, wishing I could open everything else, and locked my lips around him, ecstatic.

“Not now, Katya,” he said, stroking my hair.

He pulled me to my feet. I was surprised. Didn’t he want me? Didn’t he want this? He looked at me, evaluating, and then put his hands on my face, both cheeks.

“Katya, sometimes one must make sacrifices.” Then he grinned, and mimed the hanged man. “Just like in the stories. We have work to do, tonight, at the Club. Time for the third thing I ask of you.”

Work? I looked back at him, wide eyed and insolent and frustrated, my body inaccessible and chained, wanting him in my mouth again. What did he mean, work? The world blurred at the edges.