The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Daylight. Delirious. I fell back and breathed in the sky, bright blue and sunless. Red hair fanning out, blanketing the grass in elegant waves. I was home.

The garden draped me in simple pleasures. The chirping of birds that were not really there. The feel of cool grass beneath me, between my toes as I clenched them.

Fingers worked through me, pressing urgently, and I moaned. My love was inside of me. Taking possession of what was already hers. No need to ask.

Lucinda’s doting eye studied my form, naked in an ocean of organic green. My breasts heaved. My long legs stretched as far as they could go. My fingers followed the path of her eye, gently stroking my own skin.

She wore nothing beneath her short dress, flimsy silk clinging to her, fluttering in the breeze. Lucinda’s body was nearly perfect. Tantalizing flesh, all too visible. Flawless curves. Dazzling green eye. Golden hair, spilling over a raven eyepatch. She smelled of flowers that did not exist.

“Mira, don’t wander out so far this time. It’s cold out there. It burns.” Her fingers probed deeper. I nodded as pleasure sparked in me, the lighting of a firecracker waiting to explode. Lucinda always makes me explode.

Lucinda lets me wander beyond the inner lawn. Through the hedges, the orchard, the vineyard. No where else. Not safe.

Sometimes I see the phantoms making their rounds, whispery as ghosts. They are beautiful to me. Perhaps real, perhaps not. I love them either way.

I touch them when I can, show them love in the only way I know how. If Lucinda knows, she says nothing. She does not wander as I do. Her eye remains fixed.

I danced in the fountain, giggling and kicking my feet as I swept through the air. No effortless spin could summon dizziness. No loss of footing could sway my balance.

Water cascaded down on me, forecasting every fluid motion of my body. My dress clung to me like a second skin. Lucinda watched from her armchair, smiling and smoking a cigarette with no flame. I was the center of her world.

I leapt into the grass and took a bow, at the edge of laughter. Lucinda clapped, of course. Fun. Excitement. So seductive. I stared lustfully at her, a familiar heat rising in me. If I tore away that scarlet evening gown, what would I find? She nodded at me, her eye burning with a passion to match my own.

The dress fell at my feet, but not my bra and panties. Green lace leaves on tangling vines, dripping wet as I drew onto her lap. Loving, dutiful, eager. A kiss for my love. Another. Our tongues were rolling heat. Hands on me, all over me. Foreplay.

My love, crawling on me. Black stockings whispered over the grass. Red garters hugged smooth flesh. My mouth ran rampant in an erotic paradise, enthralled by sexual imagery stitched in lace. Feverish, I offered myself to her, handing her control. Anything to feel this way.

My love, naked against me. I submitted to every unspoken command. Passionate, wild. My mouth on her neck, on her breasts. Her tongue deep inside of me. Shaken by the force of it. Throbbing, so much throbbing. So much heat. I cried out her name.

Lucinda always makes me explode.

Silence. Wet grass. We embraced each other, naked, vulnerable. I brushed Lucinda’s eyepatch with my fingertips. Just one touch, and she jerked away. I bowed my head, pressing it to her breast with a tender kiss. Ever rebellious. “Does it hurt?”

She fixed her eye on me, smoking a cigarette in a golden holder. Oral fixation. “We don’t talk about that, Mira.”

We don’t talk about anything, really.

Night. Alone. The trees dazzled me as always. Glimmering branches bending to my will, satin leaves brushing my fingertips. I breathed in their purple flowers, consumed them. The taste was heavenly.

A phantom woman flittered among the trees. Her light had nearly died away, and I longed for her. I hugged her gently to me, patient as she blossomed in my arms. Bright eyes, parted lips. Radiant. Blissfully unaware. She did not see me. What did she see? Was it as beautiful as her smile?

I pressed her against a tree, savoring her smell. Feminine, erotic, ripe. Tracing her breast with my finger. Dreamy eyes stared through me. My hand pierced her shirt, sank into her chest. Caressing her from the inside, filling her with light. We were love.

We kissed, our lips pressing and melting together. My hand slipped lower, to the core of her sex, and she moaned without making a sound. Hands moved as one, disrobing her. Silky, pale red panties. No bra. We merged, and her body rocked against me. Through me.

Soft grass, whispering in the breeze. Warm flesh, teasing my lips. A young man watched my phantom from the hedges, little more than a shadow. His eyes were nervous, curious, excited. I beckoned him, moaning beyond his hearing, and he slowly gave in to temptation. He was hesitant. I was patient. I loved him.

He stood over us, dazed. Their eyes locked, and they shared a grin. I reached up through his tight jeans and gripped his cock. Hard. Slippery. Resistance gave way, and my fingers slid through him. Consuming lust. He was mine, ours. Descending upon us.

In her. In my mouth. In me. We tangled together, flooding the orchard with light. Unwitnessed, I conducted my symphony of free love.

Lucinda hates fire most of all. It took her husband and child, left her blinded and broken in smoldering remains. Left with those she cares nothing for, those who scorn her name. Liar. Temptress. Traitor to a dream.

Lucinda caught me at garden’s end. I just wanted a peek of the other side. Just one little peek.

Or maybe not.

Far from the inner lawn, the trees of the orchard grow mossy. Lucinda tells me not to wander so far. I’m drawn there, though, as I’m drawn to her. Enthralled by her.

The moss is such a mundane, pointless thing. That day, I passed from tree to tree, seeing nothing remarkable about it. Yet I kept walking, until the trees fell to rot and the grass grew coarse at my feet. I kept walking, until I lost track of the way home. Alone in a dying forest.

Undaunted, I wandered among broken husks of trees. The sky was hideous yellow above me, the grass deathly brown at my feet. I wanted to go home. I did not want to go home. I pressed onward.

Finally, the forest gave way to a clearing. A broken wooden fence blocked my way, teetering at the edge of an abyss. I was afraid, but I stepped forward. Ever rebellious.

Invisible hounds barked all around me. The smell of fresh paint was strong in the air. I reached out and grasped hold of something. A doorknob? My heart raced.

Lucinda boxed my ears. No pain. I fell, sprawled on the unsightly grass, my face twisted, enraged. She was not angry, though. Her eye was sad. Afraid. Lost. Why do I do these things to her?

Her eye bore down on me. Nothing lasts forever.

Daylight. Inner lawn. There she was, amorous and glamorous in a sparking blue gown. Lucinda, the queen of broken hearts.

I knelt before her, nude, pliant. My body on display, a token of my endless affection. Red smoke drifted from her cigarette, idle between her fingers. Her smile left a bitter residue. “You want something, Mira?”

I toyed with the grass. It would not come undone, not by my hand. “Tomorrow, can we visit the others? Just for a while?”

Lucinda sighed and stroked my hair. “It’s safe here, Mira. You’re happy here with me. All that awaits you there is suffering and death. And I’ll never let that happen.”

I nodded and composed myself. Lucinda’s word was absolute. It was not my place to question.

I cried.

Her eye bore down on me. I was naked and wriggling on the lawn, a worm caught on her hook. The grass spiked upward, piercing my flesh, losing definition. The sky rained blue tentacles. My body bent and wavered, melting into everything. Streams of golden hair. Flesh tones. Paint dripping down Lucinda’s canvas.

I was not Mira. I was not the dancer in the fountain. I was not the broken shell of a barren womb. I was a solitary eye, fixed in time and space. And I was not alone. Shining eyes swarmed through infinite chaos. Carrying out missions of their own design, epic and mundane. Seeing what I could not.

And Lucinda, the brightest of all. A sliver of blinding light hovering before me. I had witnessed it a hundred times over, but only then did I see. Only then did I understand. Lucinda was the devil, and there was no God.

Her light eclipsed all else. I was transfixed. I paid witness, dutiful. Rebirth. She played a thousand emotions in me like strings on a violin. Engulfed by her transcendent song of submission, joy, love.

Animal lust.

Daylight. Inner lawn. The illusion was complete. I climbed atop Lucinda and tore at her gown, blue paint splitting into rivers that splashed at my fingertips. A thousand sapphires glittered and fell away to bare, luminous skin. Lust.

We fused, a perfect machine of willing flesh. There was no groping for position, not a single wasted embrace. Lucinda was sex. Lucinda was inspiration.

I fed on her, my tongue loving her from the inside out. Shock waves of matter rippled from the source. Spectrums wavered in midair, dancing along our bodies. I was beyond caring. Naked lust.

We orgasmed in unison, our screams echoing through the fabric of space. Fourth of July. The garden was torn asunder, ripped to shreds around us. Fourth of July. Everything fell away to nothing. Darkness. Fourth of July.

Pleasure faded, leaving me cold. Yet a new heat burned within, filling an empty place inside of me. I had never felt so complete.

We were lost in the abyss. I clung to her, knowing that she would find our way home. Lucinda would not be defeated. I felt safe in her embrace. Peaceful. Content. For a while.

Lucinda, my love. Lucinda, queen of illusions. She cradled me in her arms, pulling a cigarette from her ruby lips. “I love you, Mira. Of all that walks or swims, flies or slithers underfoot, I love only you.”

I love them all.

Why do I cry? Lucinda takes care of me. She builds her world around me, showers me with love under watchful eye. There is no pain. There is no death. There is green grass and blue sky. There is love and harmony.

Yet I long for something beyond the garden, beyond paradise. A rotting world. A world that stings and turns to dust. Ice. Machines. Music. Stars. Life.

I want to cast myself into its flames. I want to drown myself in its chilly depths, to suffer every trial and indignity. I want what was taken from me.

When Lucinda brings forth night, another thrall to her blinding gaze, I will say a prayer. For life. For love. For all things invisible to the naked eye.