The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Gabe opened the front door and saw an immediate danger sign. “Ummm … Abbe?”

Her voice floated in from the bedroom. “Yes, dear?”

“Why is my black suit hanging on the closet door?”

“Because,” she said, appearing before him in nothing but a silky robe that she held closed with a hand, “I just picked it up from the dry cleaner on my way home.” She took the suit on its hanger and headed back for the bedroom.

Gabe followed. “And why, pray tell, did that suit suddenly need cleaning?”

“It was musty-smelling,” she replied, hanging it carefully in the closet. “I want you all fresh and crisp for our April adventure.”

“So you have an idea, do you?”

“Absolutely. Something we’ve never, ever done before.”

“And it requires that we dress up? I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Don’t be like that. I haven’t even told you what it is yet.”

Gabe shrugged. “Fair enough. But try as I might, my love, I can’t think of a single fun option that requires formal wear.”

“It depends on your definition of fun. Here, let me make it easier for you.” She opened the robe and tossed it to the bed then came forward, put her arms slowly around Gabe, and kissed him at length. “You’d like to try something new with me, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course, love,” he conceded.

“And not everything new we try has to be sexual, does it?”

“I suppose not.”

She kissed him one more time, letting her naked body press closely into him. “Good. Because I’ve already bought tickets to the opera this weekend.”

He couldn’t help himself – a loud, pained groan escaped his lips. “You’ve got to be kidding me! That’s such a cliché!”

“Maybe it is, darling, but it’s what I want.” She stepped back toward the closet area. “You can use your veto if you want to … but then you’d lose an opportunity to see me in the very sexy new dress I was just trying on.” She reached into the closet and pulled out a sheer, wispy cocktail dress, stretching it in front of her body seductively.

Gabe leered appropriately. “I prefer what you’re wearing now. Isn’t that a bit racy for a stuffy opera house anyway?”

“It’s designed to keep you awake and attentive,” she explained. “And I think you’ll be surprised at how not-stuffy this particular opera will be.”

His face lit up. “They’re doing Tommy?”

A throw pillow from the closet struck him squarely on the chest, prompting Gabe to duck and run even as they both laughed.

“You know,” Gabe remarked as their cab closed the distance from the restaurant to the opera house, “you never did tell me what show we’re going to see.”

“No, I didn’t,” she agreed. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, my dear, we’re getting close. You’ve tempted me with that delectable dress and softened my heart with steak and wine. I am fully resigned to an evening of voices screeching in Italian about God-knows-what.”

“English.”

“Excuse me?”

“The original was in German,” she told him, “but this is an English translation. And I think you’ll like it. It’s all about obsession, lust and revenge.”

“Oh, really?” he said, sneaking a finger inside the low front of her dress to trace the outline of her breast. “Now lust is something I can relate to right now.”

“Clearly.” She firmly removed his hand and set it on his lap. “But there will be time for that later. We’re here.”

The cab pulled up in front of the opera house and they got out. “Salome,” Gabe read from the signage at the entrance. “An opera from the Bible?”

“Adapted from it, anyway. Just you wait and see, my dear. I think you’ll be captivated.”

An usher took them to their seats, which were in the sixth row house left. Gabe leafed through his program and read the brief synopsis. “Holy crap – I don’t see anything about vikings or fat ladies.”

“Of course not. Would I drag you to something I didn’t think you’d enjoy?”

“You might,” he countered, “just to watch me squirm.”

“You’ll squirm,” she promised. “Trust me.”

The house lights dimmed and the orchestra began to play. The music captured Gabe’s attention quickly, alternating as it did between brooding and frenetic. The stage lights came up to reveal the opening scene, a banquet hall filled with revelers. From afar, a young man sang of the charms of Princess Salome. The spotlight picked out a young brunette and Gabe’s interest perked up. “She’s hot.”

“Shhh!” Abbe whispered. “The dress code may have relaxed a bit but talking is still frowned upon, love.”

So he watched in silence as Salome crossed to the terrace where her admirer stood and the next scene played out. When Salome began using her seductive voice and body to tease the admirer into bring the prisoner forth, Gabe found himself fascinated by the actress’s brazenly sexual body language. “She reminds me of you, a little,” he whispered. “When you want something, that is.”

She swatted him with her program, but the gleam in her eye told him he’d scored a point or two. He watched again as Salome’s attentions turned from the young guard to the prisoner Jochanaan. As the seductive Salome offered herself to the captive prophet, singing of his pale skin and black hair, Gabe found his left hand idly stroking Abbe’s thigh.

The guard, distraught at Salome’s obsession with the prisoner, killed himself. Abbe cocked her head toward Gabe and winked. “See? It never pays to lose your head over a woman,” she whispered.

“I want to jump your bones,” he replied quietly. “Is there a coat room here?”

“Patience, love.”

Having rebuffed Salome, the prisoner was taken back to his cell and King Herod himself took center stage. The king’s overt advances to Salome gave way to a theological discussion in song, and for the first time Gabe found himself noticing the time. “My butt’s going numb,” he complained quietly. “When’s half time?”

“They call it ‘intermission’,” she told him. “And there isn’t one; this is one long act.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Don’t worry, love – there’s a nice distraction coming.”

Gabe felt suddenly disoriented as her hand reached into his lap. He heard her voice whispering into his ear but the words passed through his conscious mind without registering any meaning. By the time his head cleared the focus was back on Herod, who entreated Salome to dance for him. Even Gabe knew what was coming next and he felt himself shifting in his seat in anticipation.

Salome left the stage and returned draped and prepared for the famous Dance of the Seven Veils. The music changed to something strongly Asian in flavor. Tamborines sounded in the background as Salome began her slow, rhythmic dance. Gabe found himself staring at the actress, watching her every sensuous move with growing fascination. As the first veil came off and floated away he felt his body respond with the beginnings of a hard-on. By the time the second veil hit the floor his arousal was patently obvious to anyone who happened to look his way.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Abbe teased quietly. “You know, it’s common for Salome to wear a body stocking for this scene, but I read in a review that this actress opted not to. We should be able to tell pretty clearly from here, don’t you think?”

Gabe didn’t answer; he was distracted watching the fourth veil get peeled off. Tantalizing patches of skin were beginning to show, and Gabe found himself fighting the urge to stroke himself. His eyes remained glued to the actress, taking in every seductive move, every flash of creamy skin beneath the veils. Another veil came off and he choked off a moan that tried to creep out of his throat.

“Enjoying the dance, my love?”

He realized what had to be happening and wanted to glare at Abbe, but his eyes wouldn’t move from Salome. The last two veils fluttered and swayed, alternately revealing and then hiding the actress’s body in bits. His cock pressed hard against his pants as the sixth veil drifted to the stage floor and he felt a growing pressure at the base of his shaft. The last veil barely covered, giving him and the rest of the audience frequent glimpses of buttock, of breast, of groin. His body squirmed in the seat like a little boy in desperate need of a restroom break, arms gripping the arm rests hard enough to turn his knuckles white.

The last veil was dropped and Gabe felt himself right on the brink, staring at the naked actress on stage. She lay herself at Herod’s feet and as her hands stroked across herself Gabe’s body applauded by releasing the climax he’d been holding back. He strained to keep quiet, to stifle the sounds his body wanted to make, and the more he thought about the prospect of being noticed the harder he came.

As the orgasm subsided he realized he’d been clenching his neck muscles. He willed them to relax and felt the sharp spasms of tightness as they let go, bringing on a momentary headache that even managed to distract him from the naked Salome on stage asking for Jochanaan’s head.

The action on stage progressed from Herod trying to dissuade Salome to his conceding to her demand for the prophet’s head. Gabe sat still, keenly aware of the sticky, damp sensation in his pants and glad that he’d worn absorbent cotton underwear.

In due time Salome was killed and the lights came up. Gabe applauded, making every effort not to look around to see if anyone was looking at him strangely. “I will get you for this, you know,” he told Abbe.

She faked an innocent look. “For what? All I did was make sure you fully enjoyed the opera.”

He grinned back. “Of course. So you’ll understand completely when I ensure that you fully enjoy the cab ride home.”

“Oh, my ...”