The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Madrigal Feyen closed the lipstick and stared at herself in the mirror of the ladies’ room. She was about to destroy her career as a Special Agent in a most humiliating way. “I tell you this plan will not work. It will do nothing to help my sister, you scheming dog. Don’t make me do this.”

Her small companion smiled, “Nevertheless, my tanned dove, I promise you that if you do this, Metis will be rescued. Trust in my knowledge of the stupidity of men.”

She fussed with her purse, refusing to look at her outrageous costume. “I don’t know why you make such promises. Allah knows that Evil such as you may speak of things that will never happen.”

Fariq looked at her. He was wearing clothes that marked him as a European tourist, white baggy slacks, wraparound sunglasses, and a pale green linen shirt. His tiny frame carried the clothes with elegance. He slouched with white-gloved hands in his pockets, resembling a young boy trying to look ‘cool’.

Madrigal knew what he really was—something wicked, powerful, and inhuman.

He slowly took off the glasses. His green eyes, often sleepy looking, were now twin emeralds of intensity. “What if I pledged on Allah’s name?”

She swallowed and stared at him. Could he do that? No. Well, if he could. Yet—. She looked at herself in the mirror again. She was wearing white from head to toe, a color favored by those members of the exclusive Closed Club where her sister was held. Likewise her face was made up heavily, earthy smoke-gray eyelids, and flaming red lipstick, thickly applied. A cloud of incense surrounded her clothes.

If I was generous and thought of them as clothes.

She wore a linen dress very generous of material. It would have looked like a nun’s robes for length and shape but for the fact that it was of the thinnest material and became transparent in any decent amount of light. White high heels, white thigh-high stockings, and no briefs were the rest of her ensemble; she shivered with horrid lust.

I never would have believed that wantonly exposing myself could bring such pleasure. I am so ashamed. Even though he forces my actions, I can’t deny how aroused I become. I’m changing. He has changed me.

They were inside the Bureau’s building in Cairo. Fariq had pulled these clothes out of a large shopping bag and revealed his plan to her. At his command, she started to change right in front of him. She found herself enjoying it in a perverse way. Forced display of her body was arousing to her since the Den of Shame in Tunisia. The whole day was a nightmare growing progressively more insane.

Moreover, she was sure now that Fariq would never let her wake. That was the price for Metis’ freedom. She was Fariq’s slave so that Metis could be freed from the ‘Temple That Walks’, the owner of the Closed Club. She knew in her heart that it was a fair exchange for this strange man who could not be bought and did not fear the goddess or her wrath.

Her sister for herself. That was the deal.

She had given up the pretense she did not agree to it all. “Yes. Vow on Allah’s name that Metis will be taken from the Closed Club and returned to me.”

He nodded. “I, RiverDancer, the Sgian Dubh, called the Quick Knife, master of Madrigal Feyen, pledge to rescue Metis Feyen and return her to you in the name of Allah.” My old lost Companion, may his sleep be blessed.

She nodded. “I’m sure it’s a trick, but I accept your pledge.”

He shrugged and grinned at her with a lascivious smile.

The door to the room rattled, then started to swing open.

Fariq vanished in a blur.

Madrigal stared at the space he had been in, before looking quickly away. A simply dressed woman entered the room with a brush in her hand. Madrigal saw her eyes widen with shock at the way the agent was dressed. She went to the mirror after nodding hello. She fussed with her hair. Madrigal sighed. This too, was arousing. It had already begun; tongues would wag for months. She looked at herself one final time in the mirror, feeling wicked lust.

Suddenly, the secretary gasped and jumped forward as if poked from behind. Her face flamed red and her hand instantly was on her buttocks rubbing there as if pained. She turned closer to Madrigal and slapped her. Then hissing she left the room.

A soft chuckle echoed around the tiled space.

Madrigal closed her purse with an angry snap. “Yes, yes, I know, Fariq. You’re quite sorry.” She fumed, “Your sense of humor is barely controllable. You beg my forgiveness.”

Gentle breath, sweet and green seemed to blow in her ear. “I appreciate your understanding. I’ll try to do better.”

“Fuck you!” she whispered. A pulse of pleasure followed her curse. Strange how wonderful it felt to blasphemy the Ancient in such a vulgar way.

She walked alone to start the plan in motion, but she was sure there was ancient menace at her side.

Shamik looked up as the office door opened. She gaped. Feyen?

Special Agent Madrigal Feyen entered like an obscene sleepwalker. Dressed in a nearly transparent gown, Shamik could see Feyen’s hard dark nipples. The agent’s eyes were unnaturally wide and blank. The doorknob drifted slowly out of her hand and she glided into the office headed right for Director Aman’s door.

“Agent Feyen, is something wrong? Do you have a problem?” she jumped up to intercept the woman.

“Messssage. Mussst give messssage,” she whispered in monotone.

A struggle began in which Shamik had an easy advantage. Agent Feyen seemed to move sluggishly and it wasn’t hard to keep pushing her away from the director’s door. “Please, Feyen. You’re not yourself. Stop a minute and talk. You can’t go in there this way.”

“Messssage. Mussst give messssage,” she whispered again. Her movements were clumsy but determined.

“Feyen! Stop!” The scuffle sounded loud in the small office. Shamik became aware of how firm the flesh under her hands was. How warm it was.

The director’s door opened. Aman stepped out. “Shamik?” Then he saw Feyen and halted, gaping. “What’s going on here? Allah forbid! Feyen, you can’t walk around dressed like that!”

“I told her that!” Shamik offered. “She doesn’t hear me. She’s in some sort of trance. She only says she has a message—.”

Aman’s eyes narrowed. “Bring her in here, Shamik.” He pushed his door open.

The assistant guided Feyen into the inner office. She moved her to a chair, but it was obvious after a moment that Feyen couldn’t see the chair or didn’t understand she could sit.

“To Director Aman, from The Temple That Walks, greetings. I want—.” Feyen whispered on in a monotone.

“That is all, Shamik, out!”

The assistant recognized that crisp tone and despite her growing excitement at hearing the beginning of Feyen’s message, she valued her position more than her curiosity. She bolted from the room. The door closed loudly.

Feyen continued oblivious. “—to thank you for your offering of the young woman, Metis. Unfortunately for you, the sister, Madrigal, who is, I know, one of your people, could not keep her nose out of my business. I am generous with your inquisitive people as a rule, Director Aman. But this agent’s persistence I could not permit to continue. If you wish to feel aggrieved at this, I would be glad to discuss it with you at my Club. I don’t think you have the nerve for that. As a consequence, I return your agent to you without her fine mind. You will see to her medical care as you have other vegetables I have returned to you.”

Feyen stopped and simply stood.

“Foul blood of a rabid dog!” Aman cursed. “Repeat the message.”

Feyen began again word for word with no change in tone. Her still face showed nothing of any reaction. She ran down to the end, “—without her fine mind. You will see to her medical care as you have other vegetables I have returned to you.”

Aman slammed his fist down on the desk. He picked up the phone and dialed. “Berganesh. Yes, Aman. Feyen just returned to my office a fucked zombie. She must have done something stupid at the Closed Club. What’s worse, Isis knows we tried to draw her out. Knows we dangled Metis for her to pluck. She sent Feyen back as another message that she can squash the best we have.”

A pause.

“Yes.” Aman looked up at the blank-faced agent. “No. I thought she was in Tunisia trying to track the Quick Knife. She had been researching his whereabouts. What are we going to do about the Old Cat?”

A longer pause.

“Look, I understand the President’s concerns, but I can’t afford lose agents like Feyen. I agreed to this plan on condition that Feyen be watched and assisted if things went bad. We all know how dangerous the Cat is. I warned you. Now we have nothing.”

A brief pause. Aman gripped the phone tighter.

“I understand. Goodbye.” He hung up gently, and then cursed for two minutes. He roughed at his face with one hand. Finally, he stood up running one hand back over his thinning hair.

“Feyen. Can you hear me?” He grimaced.

Nothing.

Feyen stared at him, thinking furiously beneath the placid mask that Fariq’s commands had fashioned. Aman had been her mentor, like a father. She knew he was stern, but a dedicated man. She thought he was a man who fought evil.

No.

It was all true. Fariq’s plan had revealed all. Aman was stained with the battle. He was filthy with innocent blood. And he had trained her. He had made her a soldier in the war. So she was just as dirty. Her own sister. She was played in a game for her own sister. She was dirty.

Fariq had been right. He had been deadly accurate in his guesses. The first day they had met, he had questioned the circumstances of Metis capture. He had put his finger directly on the element she had not seen in all her frantic work to effect a rescue. Her sister was offered to Isis as a pawn. A living gambit to reveal weaknesses in the wicked goddess. A cynical way of spiking passion in one of the Special Agents, and perhaps a way of drawing another ancient Evil into killing the Old Cat.

Vile. All of it.

Aman’s expression had grown darker. He made some decision. Suddenly he stepped up to her and slid a hand up her hip and over her tender breast. His thumb played with her aching nipple. It felt good, but then her mask snapped as some hot fluid sluiced through her mind. “In the name of Allah, may this Thing be destroyed,” she spit in his face.

Aman started back. Then he grunted loudly in surprise. He pulled her nipple hard.

Fariq materialized sitting on the forward edge of Aman’s desk and nodded at Madrigal. “A wise choice.”

Aman turned at the voice behind him, looking even more surprised.

Madrigal noticed a spreading crimson stain down Aman’s back, and then saw the slender silver knife sticking out of his back. She gasped. Where had that come from? Where had Fariq managed to hide that?

Aman turned around, blatant wonder was on his face. He tried to speak, then quietly folded to the floor.

She stared at Fariq. The silver knife was in his hand now and clean. Or it was another? She looked at Aman on the floor. No. There was nothing in his back now. The blood was spreading fast. A wound directly to the heart would do that. She felt as though she was standing on the edge of a cliff looking down at Aman’s body. She was dizzy with the height.

She looked back at Fariq. “Why? Because of what I said?” She felt like an entranced doll standing over the dead man.

He nodded. “Such is the power of faith, my tanned dove. You had me swear this mission by Allah’s name. I am his hand now in this. The quick hand of Justice.”

She shivered in realization of how her words had destroyed her sister’s defiler. And inside the numb trance, she began to boil with strange arousal at that knowledge.

“And I recommend that Shamik not escape the wrath of Allah, either. She can name you as being here. Others in the building who might have seen you can be discounted.”

Innocent blood? No. Probably not that one. Shamik was of the inner circle of Operations at the Spoken Word Bureau. “Yes. There is also another. Berganesh. He is the President’s national security advisor. It was his plan it seems.”

Fariq nodded. “Very well. I want you to make your way to the Closed Club now. Change back to your street clothes. I will find you before you arrive at the Club. It won’t take me long to finish here.” He hopped off the desk.

“Yes, Fariq.” She felt oddly grateful to him. He didn’t question her choice or her pain. He had said this would work. He had said he would free Metis.

She turned and opened the door stepping through into the outer office. She heard Shamik make a small squeak and turned to look at the assistant as she moved to the exit.

Shamik was standing now trying to pull the slender silver knife out of her breast. Blood spread down her blouse to the waistband of her brown skirt. This time Madrigal noticed more; how the knife glinted in the harsh lights above, how the hilt was wrapped in dark leather and the handle ended in small curved horns. Shamik collapsed having only tugged on the knife lightly. There was no sign of Fariq.

She opened the hallway door, imagining the Hand of Allah now loose in the building. Perhaps Berganesh was falling to the floor this very moment with a puzzled look on his face. She felt a hot righteousness. She smelled her arousal. She walked quickly back to the ladies room to change.

Eighteen minutes later, she left the building for the Closed Club.

Fariq was waiting for her at the small alley entrance to the Club. He lounged in the shade of a recess.

She studied her own reflection in his wraparound sunglasses. “Tell me something, Fariq Lyr.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why did you want to know how old I was? Why is that important?” She watched him closely.

“Greed, my tanned dove. I was wondering how many years I might enjoy your company before your mortality took you away again.” He moved easily to the oak door of the Club. “Let us proceed. Your sister awaits.”

They went within.

The bouncer was a big man, wide at the shoulders and his arms gleamed with muscle. He squinted at them as they stopped. He looked at Madrigal and frowned. “You again.”

She nodded.

“I don’t have you on my list,” he said simply. “You’re going to have to leave. We aren’t going to tolerate your antics here anymore.”

“Am I on your list?” Fariq asked. “She is with me.”

I belong to him. And at a word from me, you would already be dead. Madrigal remained silent, even as her cleft registered more arousal. She was curious to see how this diplomacy would work.

The big man looked at him. “You, I don’t know. Name?” he asked politely.

“Le Poignard Rapide.”

The fellow’s hand pulled a thin white leather book from a small recess. He flipped through and then scanned a page. He looked back at Fariq. “This is an old account. I’ll have to call.”

“Do so.”

He spoke into an old style phone for a moment. He hung up and sketched a bow with his head only, “Yes. The Club’s owner wishes to speak with you, M. Belloq. You and your guest may go right in. Your account is in good standing.”

It was too early for the nightclub to be active. The dark interior was silent. No musicians lounged behind the stands. The tables were set with their white linens and scented flowers for the coming of night.

This was the first time Madrigal had seen it quiet like this. This was the only time she appreciated the daze of today’s events. She felt safe with Fariq in this dangerous place. The daze buffered her thoughts and there was no tension in her.

She glided. Fariq seemed to float at her side. He stopped to admire a pedestal display of an elegant headpiece and a scepter mounted on a soft drape of white silk. He nodded to himself and sketched an elaborate sign in the air with his gloved hand.

“Henri Belloq, you little scamp, why have you been absent for so long?” the soft voice was like liquid flame pouring in Madrigal’s ears.

She glanced away from the antiquity and took in the woman. Yellow eyes looked back from under dark lashes. Orbs slitted like a feline’s. Very long and flowing black hair ran like a glistening river down her back to her ass. She wore a white dress that was very like the one the agent had worn at the Bureau, but on her, it did not look shameful or tawdry, it looked like a mantle of near invisible temptation. It displayed dark full breasts, a flat stomach of slight soft curves highlighted by a gold navel ring, and a pair of legs that stunned her with their perfection.

Suddenly, Madrigal’s mouth was watering and she was having a tremendous erotic response. Her cleft was sopping wet.

This must be the owner that had always refused to see me. A kindness then, for surely I would have fallen in love with her on sight. Today, the daze of my thoughts, the events of the day seem to protect me somehow. But it is a close thing.

I want her in a most wicked way. Now would not be too soon.

Fariq smiled and spoke quietly. “Isis, you leave me breathless. To remember your beauty is to be cheated, only in person can you be truly contemplated. Memory is too frail a thing to hold your Truth.” He put a hand over his heart and bowed slightly.

She smiled as if his words were only her proper due. She purred, “Henri, you aren’t still playing at Knight Errant are you? Please don’t tell me you’ve taken up this girl’s cause. Metis is mine. I won’t give her up without getting quite nasty. You know how protective I can be when my property is at stake.”

Madrigal swallowed. I want to taste her. Yet she talks about my sister as if I’m not here. Mortals are just playthings to her.

“Let me tell you a story, Mother Egypt.” He waited.

“Very well, Father Knife. Let us be comfortable about it.” She led them to a near black room with three lit candles. They reclined on silk cushions in the scented air.

Madrigal couldn’t take her eyes off Isis. She started to play with herself with her hand up her skirt. She knew it was awful. She hoped Isis would notice. She hoped that Isis might smile at her or motion her closer, but the goddess only had eyes for Fariq.

Which is absurd. Fariq cannot compare in any way to Isis. He will never free Metis. I should not have asked. She is too much for him, for anyone. She is magnificent.

Refreshments on silver trays were brought by oiled sweet young women. The two ancients began to speak in some language that Madrigal couldn’t follow. Fariq told the tale with gestures and expansive changes in tone, as if it were an adventure of fabulous myth. His voice changed as he did uncanny impersonations of Madrigal and others in the drama. She recognized the voices of other figures from the last few days of travel. Certainly, even through her languid sexual heat, she noted the tones of Director Aman’s voice as Fariq laid bare the events that had brought them here.

She couldn’t penetrate the language, but then again, she pretended to be glad that they were so involved that no one was staring at her while she masturbated. She couldn’t seem to find orgasm, but it didn’t slow the pleasure of trying. She sat in pure pleasure, imagining that Fariq might sell her to Isis.

Then she and her sister would be together again. She imagined what kind of pleasure that might be.

A nude oiled woman stepped silently to block her vision of Isis. She leaned close. Her sky-blue eyelids were outlined in ink. “Would the lady like to move to another room where I might tongue her wet fire?”

Madrigal spread her knees wide. She wanted to be fondled. Yes! Oh my hot cleft! That would be—.

Isis’ calm voice spoke Arabic again. “No, Teu! The lady is a not a normal guest. Leave.” The girl fled immediately to the retreating sound of bare feet.

Madrigal blushed with shame. Now the only thing saving me from making a slut of myself is an Evil goddess. How much lower will I sink?

But she could not stop fingering her hot pussy.

Fariq finished his story. “And so I came to talk. I think you are badly treated by these Egyptians of yours, Isis. I thought, perhaps you could use the warning of their activities. I found their actions cowardly and I’m afraid that my sense of humor did get the better of me.”

He paused, as if admitting the next was a burden. “I killed them for the harsh things they said about you.” He shrugged. “And so I am here and my tale is ended. I hope you find it interesting.” He dropped his face and held his arms out from his sides.

Isis laughed. She brought her hands up and clapped. The motion sent a shiver of flesh through her breasts and her smile reflected enchantingly from the candlelight. “Wonderful. Truly wonderful. I miss the old tales. No one knows how to do it as well as you. Thank you for that.”

She shifted her glance to Madrigal. A teasing sound seemed to come from Isis’ throat, a low purr. “So the Spoken Word Bureau thinks I’m a mouse they can trap, do they? They dare much and understand little. Because I choose the comforts of my own home and do not wander, they think they can predict me or hold me in any way?”

“They are fools, Isis, and mortal besides. They do not understand how like spiteful children they are,” Fariq offered.

Isis shifted from her cushions. She moved like a slow rolling fold of a huge velvet tapestry until she leaned close to Fariq. “Sgian, you and I—.”

He grinned. “Yes? Understanding that I’m not your type.”

She laughed sweetly, her slitted eyes widened. “Understanding that, yes, but I like small and clever things. I think I could make you over as a very pretty girl.”

He leaned closer. “To be a pretty girl for you would be sweeter than drinking the Salamander’s blood, oh Isis.”

Her eyelashes made a slow sweep. She breathed heavily across his face and licked her lips.

He cocked his head like child, his eyes reflecting the wonder of Mother Egypt.

She laughed and pulled away. “Well. We can dream about such things, can’t we?”

He nodded.

“I don’t want you to leave without something. You’ve given me a fine afternoon, an excellent story, and a pleasant amount of blood spilled for me. I choose to forget I gave you no permission to come here. I remember you still have one free passage granted you anyway. That is still yours.”

“Isis is generous,” he smirked.

She laughed again and almost touched his chin, but stopped the required distance from doing so. “Old Father, how do you stay so young?”

“How do you stay so beautiful? It is what I am.” He shrugged.

She smiled into his eyes, and then looked at the slowly masturbating agent he had brought with him. “Would you like a matched set? I have her sister. She’s a fine dancer and licks like a hungry kitten.”

He studied his quiet slave and said nothing.

“Yes. Take the sister with you. No doubt, you’ve made promises? Some choice barter?” she probed slyly with a grin.

“It could be,” he said.

She nodded. She shifted slightly and clapped her hands. Bare feet came at a run. A naked girl went down on her knees and touched her forehead to the floor.

“Fetch young Metis. My old friend is going away with a gift. Go.”

The girl bolted to her feet from the floor in an instant and left.

“I’m honored, Isis.”

She nodded. “You may kiss me farewell, if you like.”

He laughed softly. She joined him with an earthy voice.

“I’ll have to hold myself strongly to resist that offer. You are still the Temptress.”

“And you are still a wonderful liar,” she purred. She stood first.

He came up from his cushion. He reached a finger into the Great River and tugged Madrigal’s invisible leash. She stood up, pulling her hand from her dripping snatch.

“Farewell, Father Knife,” Isis purred.

“Until the world conspires to put us together again, Mother Egypt.”

He left to gather Metis.

Madrigal awoke in her own dark apartment. She tried to remember how she got there. Nothing. They had gone to the Closed Club. Inside, the guardian had let them pass.

Then what?

She shifted and found a slender body sprawled next to her. She quickly searched with her hands and peered closely. “Metis! Allah be praised.”

“Allah is kind,” came the quiet whisper from the dark.

She stilled. “Fariq.” She swallowed remembering the price. “Why have you brought me here? Am I not your property now?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“So enjoy yourself. Report back to your Bureau. Brazen out your return to the fold. I’ll be back when I want to see you. You will know your master’s voice when it calls. You will never know when I might be watching you undress or reaching to stroke your sex.”

She was stunned. “I don’t think I could work for those Bureau bastards.” She pointedly ignored the greater revelation of his words.

“Whatever. It is your choice.”

“And now, Metis? Will Isis ever come to take her again?”

“No.” His soft words reached out of the dark. “My tanned dove, I leave you to your sister. She will need affection and sexual attention. She is changed and I do not think you have thought that through. She will need a strong mistress, if not you, then some other woman who may not love her as much or as well. I advise you to be the strong woman she needs now. I’ve heated and doused you in the Little River. You’re stronger. I’ve tempered you as well I might after this brief affair. We shall see how you grow now.” She heard him blow her a kiss from the darkness.

Then nothing.

She still wanted to hate him. She couldn’t. It frustrated her.

She tried to grasp what he meant. Stronger? Tempered? He made it sound as if he had plans for me. Damn, him! Why does that fill me with such tight hot anticipation?