The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

You can call it an inspiration if you want, but that’s not really how it felt at the time. It was more like a realization that came over a period of a few years, with the culminating point being a revelation. Learning is like that. Take math, for instance. You don’t understand it, and you don’t understand it, and you don’t understand it, and then you understand it. It happens all at once; a gestalt experience, the Great Ah-Ha.

That’s how it was with the creation of the Black Object. I call it the Object because I don’t know what else to call it. To explain, maybe I should begin at the beginning: My background is mechanical engineering. I went to MIT, and graduated with honors, although I wasn’t anywhere near the top of my class. I enjoyed the way things fit together into efficient, purposeful manifestations of the dreams in someone’s head.

Maybe it’s because I’m a woman in a male dominated field, but I felt I had a keener insight into that aspect, at least philosophically.

After leaving school, I worked, of all things, as Director of Research for a cooking utensil company. It was horribly unsatisfying, but it paid the bills. It also left me time to pursue other interests. Really, there were only two. They were reading and sex. I know at this point that you would like me to say I was more interested in sex, but that simply wasn’t the case at the time. I was having trouble finding a partner, for one thing. In Kleeport, North Dakota, there aren’t many outlets for lesbian engineers. The only women I met were pretty backward in taste and in knowledge. I don’t mean to sound snobby—it was simply a case of no one really “clicking.”

As a result, I had a rather large collection of sex toys. Dildos, vibrators, plugs, clamps, electronic gadgets... and although I had my share of orgasms, the overall effect was rather hollow. I was searching for the perfect toy, the perfect lover, the perfect anything that could get me into the fantasized state of no longer caring what was happening around me except for unbridled lust.

Don’t look so incredulous; if you tell the truth about it, you have always wanted that too. I know, because we’re all the same in very basic ways. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

At the same time, I was reading several books. They were all typical of the genre I was currently pursuing: Sort of Eastern-philosophy mind-over-matter creative-visualization “we create our own reality” books. As I said before, I enjoyed looking into and exploring the link between what we think and how we manifest our thoughts into real objects. It had occurred to me more than once that what we create is nearly always a compromise between what we can fashion with our hands and what we think in our minds. There is always the flaw that comes from moving from the psyche into the physical world.

Once I was done with my latest books, I found myself looking for a new book at the local mom-and-pop bookstore when a little paperback caught my eye. It was brown, not very thick, and had along the spine, very simply in yellow block letters, the words “Subjective Reality”. The title didn’t appear on the cover, and neither did the author, but it was on clearance, so I decided to pay the $1.50 and take a look.

I opened it up that night and the first words written were, “You alone are responsible for the amount of information you get from this book. You already know it, and this book, if you let it, will guide you to what you already know but do not realize.”

I read it all night, three times, from cover to cover.

I don’t know if I can truly explain this part—it’s so personal, and so profound that it is hard to describe. It was like watching all the pieces fall into place. Everything I’d been taught, from the Golden Rule to Higher Math, seemed to suddenly make sense. Areas of philosophical conflict were easily and methodically brought to resolution—it was like the coalescence of every moment and event in my entire life. The information was simple, in fact. It was simply that we create our own reality.

Here is an example.

You touch something to your tongue. That creates a chemical reaction which creates an electrical current which is sent to your brain. Your brain interprets the electrical signal and you think something along the lines of, “That tastes great!” or, “That tastes awful!” Well, what I came to see is that EVERYTHING is that way. The only reason that a house exists is because we believe it exists. It exists for more than one of us because we AGREE that it exists. We each have unique interpretations of it, and they may not match at all, but since we cannot see into each other’s heads, we simply agree that we must be experiencing the same thing.

Taken a step farther, I could be lying asleep on planet Zortax healing my nineteen tentacles, and dreaming every bit of this up. If that is the case, then if I imagine something convincingly enough to make it real, then it will be real. If others agree that it is real, then I have wandered into a state of consciousness where I think great prophets and miracle workers have ventured. I know many of you have had these thoughts, but suddenly I knew them more truly and deeply than I had ever known anything in my life. I was leaping into a new reality, and I was ready for it.

By the way, as far as I know, I’m only Rachel Tellis, a human female on planet earth.

Anyway, that’s how the creation of the Black Object got started... I was in a new reality, and I was also horny. I decided to meditate to take my mind off my arousal, but it kept coming to me stronger and stronger, along with the new knowledge I had. There was a primal form shaping in my mind. I kept trying to make it into a woman but it kept falling back in on itself in my head. It ended up and a vaguely phallic thing, almost like a banana, with a little tip.

As I gave into my imagination, it became a sort of transceiver for sexual play. It sent out pure erotic energy and as it returned, it stored it like a battery, changing its functioning based on the information it received. It was relentless in its pleasure, and it changed the reality of the person it came in contact with. Everything it touched became erotic and subject to the pleasure and whims of whoever was engaged in its irresistible seduction. It would use my own realization of the nature of reality to change the reality of whoever used it.

I could feel my pussy on fire as the fantasy and meditation went on and on. My nipples were aching and erect—my years of dissatisfaction pouring into this moment. My body was moving of its own accord, and inside my mouth and even in my anus I was feeling slick and chilled—my mind was becoming lost in a sea of obsession and my reality was shifting faster than I could control it.

My finger pinched my nipples and moved to my clit. I thought about my tongue as a clit and pinched it and immediately realized the change taking place in me. My breathing was rasping and as I screamed in pure ecstasy my pussy and anus and tongue orgasmed together and I tasted melon sherbet on my tongue. Soundlessly screaming as I leaked cum over and over, my mind awash and lost in a sea of blasting, thunderous ecstasy, music beyond words filled my brain and caressed my skin like a thousand snakes’ tongues as I slipped into delicious slick chill blackness...

I awoke sometime later, thick and groggy and itching from the dried sexual juices that had flowed from me. My mouth was dry, and as I reached up to touch it, I realized that I had the same juices covering my face that were covering my thighs. I made my way through the darkness to the bathroom and turned on the light and went to the shower. As I turned on the water, I nearly convulsed from the shivers of ecstasy as the water ran down my body.

Every nerve I had was singing to me, and I came hard, almost falling over in the tub.

I rinsed off as best I could without succumbing to the delicious, almost evil sensations coursing deeply through me and into my brain. Even the towel was making my pussy slick and yearning... something in me had definitely changed, and though it was scary, it was too powerful to push away. As my hands wandered my body, I realized that my mouth was thickly slick too... like sweet ambrosia... and as it slid gently down my throat I found myself losing any thought save the pleasure that was building once again. Suddenly, like a dam bursting, I fell to the floor, convulsing with pure, raw pleasure. I could feel every nerve in my body respond and transmit and amplify my orgasm, and before it even crested another was upon me, and then another, stacking and stacking, a mountain of bliss and lust. It kept pouring like Niagara into my soul as I lost all thought and existence to primal, irresistible lust and abandon, the Black Object filling my head until it was more than everything, it was the Goddess, it was existence...

This time when I woke up, I didn’t even try to clean myself off. What I had experienced was so earth-shatteringly beautiful that to change it would be something akin to blasphemy. I made my way carefully, not touching anything except my feet to the floor (which was enough to keep me hotly shivering). I stepped over to my bed, and stopped cold. Lying in the folds and wrinkles of the sheets (which reminded me, oddly, of the folds of a vagina) was the Object of my meditation and fantasy. Here was my vision, black, perfect, slightly otherworldly due to the almost imperceptible iridescence it had as the light played along its sides. The Object.

If you can imagine this, it was incredibly rude and intrusive, yet at the same time it evoked an almost tangible sense of curiosity.

Okay, now I was scared. It’s one thing to realize that we create reality, and quite another to actually create it. I reached out to touch it gently, to confirm it in my mind.

>spark<

I lifted it, felt its weight. As my arm broke out in goosebumps and my nipples hardened, I felt the swoon of the slick chill blackness of my earlier vision. My mouth went slick and swollen along with my pussy. I felt the urge to taste it, to feel it inside my mouth.

The power of this thing was greater than even my fantasy. Quite honestly, I don’t know how I managed to unwrap my fingers and let it go. Maybe it had a consciousness and knew me as its creator, or maybe I just got lucky. I knew somehow that if it ever made it into me anywhere, its potent sexuality would consume me, despite the fact that it came from my own wicked dreams. Even now it was insidiously shaping my thoughts. Investigate this thing. Take it to the lab. Analyze my own secretions. Need new samples. Put it in my mouth. No. My pussy. NO! My ass! NO!!! I realized it was a losing battle. My own lust had been the germ that created it. It operated like a terrible feedback loop, taking my sexual energy, sending it back to me, my own mind adding to it, sending it through again, amplifying it ten, a hundred, a thousand times.

How do you defend yourself against your own most secret and obscene desires?

I dragged myself to the kitchen and got a pair of plastic tongs. I picked up the Object with them. Mmmmm tongs pinching my nipples... no, taking it to the window and dropping it to the sidewalk below, hearing the Object smash on the ground... I felt the thing shatter inside my head, wracking me with pain and despair. This was far beyond anything I had ever thought earlier in the evening. I went to bed and crashed into sleep, thinking vague and half-crazed thoughts about what door I had opened...

I woke up late the next morning, feeling a little run over. With everything that had happened, I had forgotten to set my alarm. Luckily, I was only a half-hour later than normal so with some luck I would still be ready when Laura, my carpool partner, arrived to pick me up for another dreary day.

I thought about the night before and felt frightened and elated at the same time. Somehow, I had managed to completely transform my experience of reality, or gained the ability to transform reality itself.

As far as I knew, it might be a unique experience.

The sudden sense of responsibility was staggering. I went to the open window for some fresh air. I was thinking about how “in control” I would have to be with this new knowledge, when I looked down and nearly lost my composure completely. Instead of shards of shattered black, there were several identical Black Objects laying scattered on the ground outside. Seven of them, to be exact.

I threw on my robe, grabbed a broom and dustpan from the kitchen, and went outside to pick them up. As they rolled from the sidewalk into the dustpan, even the light tinkling sound made my tongue go slick and I felt my clit swell. The sound was sweet corruption—it blended into the music that kept echoing through my head like a song that was stuck there. By the time I got them to the living room, I was staggering from the erotic visions burrowing into my mind. Even the wallpaper looked like it was swirling and dancing in rhythms that made my hips move and my tongue rasp against my teeth, bringing forth a nerve-shattering clitoris-like sensation I couldn’t resist.

I stood on a precipice, the music and memory calling me with dark, black, slick promises of unending sexual fire. It was as if the chill black Objects were now working in concert, calling me by something deeper than my name, something more basic than breathing. My splintering mind barely commanded my arms to put the dustpan down, and I fell away, rather than walked out of the living room.

In the hall, I caught my breath, and after a few minutes my mind cleared a bit, and I made my way to the bathroom for a quick shower. Every motion was an agony. Step. Step. Pull back the shower curtain. Lean over. Turn on the water. Turn on the shower. Step in. Pull the shower curtain closed. Turn around. Luckily, this morning, the water was just water. My mind was finally starting to wake up again, although my fingers seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time washing my nipples and crotch. I realized with a start that touching my own body had changed.

My fingers and hands, although I controlled them, felt like someone else caressing my body. You know what I mean; it never feels as good to fondle yourself as it does when someone else is doing it. Well, at least that’s how it was before that morning. I was drying myself off, unable to stop my mind from wandering into more thoughts of lust and beautiful abandon, when I heard Laura call out, “Rachel?”

“Be there in a minute, Laura! I’m running a little late—I’ll be right down!” I responded. I put a simple outfit on the bed and towel-dried my hair. Thank the Goddess (the image of the Object brought a brief smile to my face) for short hair. Funny how the Object was appealing and revolting at the same time.

>spark<

I felt my mouth go slick and a rush of arousal hit my pussy and I suddenly remembered the Objects on the coffee-table.

“Laura?” No answer. “Hey, Laura!” I shouted and ran to the living room. Nothing prepared me for what I would see. Nothing in my entire life. There was Laura, her legs spread widely, on her knees leaning over the couch. Her clothes lay in a crumpled pile nearby and her eyes were wide and wild with panic. But the sight of my naked friend was not what shocked and frightened me. Not at all. Her mouth was full of obsidian blackness pumping in and out with her tongue. Her hands were at her crotch, one pumping a black glass deep into her pussy, the other pumping an Object alternately, slickly, in and out of her anus. She looked like some bizarre sex cultist, her body undulating obscenely and with total disregard to anything else in the world.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

Her body arched backwards as she came, and she fell to the floor, her legs bucking and flailing, here eyes now closed, her mind apparently lost in the sensations my creation was giving her. Her mouth sucked and gagged at the copious juices she fought to keep from escaping her mouth. As she lost consciousness, I tasted melon sherbet on my tongue and remembered how good it was. How it could hardly be better. How I was born for this. How I wanted to do it. How silly my objections were. How I could not stop. How I had to obey. How I had to let go. I shook those thoughts off, or at least tried to press them down to a manageable level. I had to think fast or we’d be in even bigger trouble. As she lay there, I went to the kitchen and called into work to report that I wouldn’t be coming in that day. I called Laura’s supervisor, and asked if she could loan her to me for a special research project I was working on. That done, I returned to try to help my friend.

I swear, I had only the purest of intentions. I know it was wrong, but as I walked back into the room, a wave of raw lust hit me and I lost it. After a night and morning of being assaulted with unimaginable arousal, I surrendered to the primal need coursing through me in wave after wave. I looked at Laura, and knew I should help her. Help her. Help her. Help her. I walked over to her passed out form. I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I reached down to the coffee table and picked up a Black Object. Before I even had a chance to think, my hand pressed it easily into my slick vagina. I gasped and my eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. It was so fucking good. I’d had no idea. I knew right then that it was of no use to think of morality and ethics.

There was only desire. The blackness, the Object and desire. I giggled as my brain began the musical and repetitive rambling of lunacy. The Object of Desire. The Obsidian of Orgasm. The Lodestone of Lust.

I grabbed the coffee table as I fell to my knees as a wave of unrestrained bliss washed over me and filled me. My fingers grabbed for purchase and found instead another chill curve of black glass. As if obeying the call of a deeper demon, my hand plunged it unprepared into my anus as my mouth went slick and dripping with sexual essence. My mind calmed. Nothing more than this. Nothing less than this. My eyes closed as music filled my head, music from heaven and hell, music that would not be assuaged with reason. I felt Laura stir and turned to look at her. Her eyes both pleaded with and called to me.

“I’m going to help you, Laura,” I said gently, careful not to disrupt the passion singing in my ears and flowing over my skin. “Everything will be fine,” I whispered as I leaned over and put my mouth to hers, and began pumping the chill black glass in and out of her mouth, and in and out of mine, keeping time with music beyond imagining...