The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I didn’t feel like I’d been having sex at all. Especially not the supernatural, beheading variety. Who’s heard of such a thing? I felt OK: light, free, relaxed, like I’d just taken a nap. He led me to Lauren’s room, taking my hand as I dreamily followed? Why did I follow? I was a like a dopey bouy, I simply was bobbing after him. I could still hear my own voice, saying stop stop stop, don’t do this. But it was like when you’re at work, listening to the radio. It’s there, but most of the time you have no idea what it’s saying. You say to yourself, did a voice just say stop stop stop?

So he tugs me up the hall, this little boy from the club. But not him. But who? Who knew? All reality and perspective was gone. My bud felt soupy, drawn like a dart.

“What did you just call it?” he said, stopping in the hall. Had I spoken aloud? Hell if I knew. I felt like I was inside of his aura, his magnetic field, looking out.

“What?” I said, stoned out on bliss, or what I took for bliss.

“Did you just call this,” he brushed it gently “a bud?”

“Yes, I guess so,” I said, my answers coming naturally and dispassionately, like I was talking to my brother.

“Don’t call it a bud. Who calls it a bud?”

“Well, what should I call it?”

“Who cares,” he said, smirking. “Call it anything else. Buds come in bottles and they taste like shit. You taste good.”

“Um, OK,” I said.

He actually knocked on the door. I mean, why bother? But he did. Lauren sleepily beckoned us in. She had gotten into a frilly number. I think I had bought it with her. Maybe she was under his influence or hypnotized like me or whatever. But she had brought out the good stuff, a nice green number: smooth.

She was still smirking, an echo of his. I wonder if I had that look on my face. She seemed like herself, but expectant and ready to go. But where were we going? And what was I doing here?

“Lauren, are you OK?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think,” she said. “Am I hypnotized?”

“I don’t know,” I said, looking for an answer to the night’s master of ceremonies.

“Do you wanna be hypnotized, Lauren?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she said, in a fugue. I could feel the heat in the room, coming off of her, coming off of me. My bud…

“Don’t call it that,” he said, this time a little exasperated.

“Sorry, sorry,” I said, very confused. He was reading my mind. Was he reading my mind? “Are you reading my mind? Am I hypnotized?

“Shh,” he said. So I stopped.

“Lauren, stand up,” he said. She rose, standing at attention. He seemed more interested in her cds and posters. He was nodding with approval, and took a worshipful gander at Lauren’s signed record sleeves on her walls.

“Lauren, is Kevin in town?”

Lauren nodded, eyes wide and shimmering. “He’s gonna bring donuts over later.”

“Nice,” he said, the glimmer of a plan falling over his skin. He began waving his hands in front of Lauren, sort of classic hypnotist, like from black and white movies. The look on his face got insanely intense, and Lauren stood glued to the ground and to his stare.

“Lauren, I am hypnotizing you. Do you understand?” he said, taking on a serious, deep, Citizen Kane-like voice. What’s his name? That guy?

“Orson Wells,” he said.

Yeah, Orson Wells. Is he reading my mind now? Jesus. Whatever. Orson Wells.

“Lauren, do you understand me? I could count down or tell you you’re relaxing, but you know what I’m talking about, right?” he said, still waving his hands wildly. I giggled to myself. I don’t know why, but it was funny. Or everything was funny. This show was for my benefit, it seemed. A little private joke.

Lauren seemed to be drawn to his hands, like when you pass a magnet near a paperclip. She was the paperclip, leaning toward his with every pass, half-swoon.

“Sure, I understand.”

“Good,” he said. “My arms are tired.”

“Do your arms get tired?” I asked, holding in another laugh.

He looked at me sweetly with a crooked look. “You probably don’t want to know the answer to that,” he said, and it immediately sounded true. I don’t know if the Mr. Mysterio act was an act, but it rang true to me. I probably shouldn’t ask questions I didn’t want the answers to, I thought.

“Have you ever done this before?” he asked, beckoning toward Lauren’s bed.

“You mean, with Lauren? No. I’m not a lesbian.”

“Do you want to?” he asked, curious about my response as Lauren stretched as tall as she could, straighter than a rocket to the moon.

“I don’t know,” I said, clearly not in a place where decision-making was easy or desirable. The faraway voice felt like it was pounding on the inside of my forehead.

“Tina, we’re gonna try something new tonight, OK?” he said. I knew he wasn’t really asking a question. It was clear that he was gonna do whatever he wanted. I mean, this was what he wanted, right?

I began to mumble a response, and I realized he was holding my hand again. I could suddenly feel waves of, whatever: radiation, heat, light, sound, flavor. It felt suddenly like I was popcorn in the microwave, and rising.

He gently took his index finger and tapped my unwrinkled, relaxed forehead. My brain suddenly cleared. Good night, voice. Good night, doubt. It felt tremendous, like someone pouring a beer down the drain. I was empty and small. And my feet had left the ground. Literally. As literally as I can tell it. I was a balloon, eager for helium, fill me fill me fill me.

And he walked into me, calm blue light swirling. I felt him like before, inside my folds and corners. He was everywhere. It was him and me. Go team.

And we were floating, two-headed, four arms and legs—an octopus or hydra, headed through the air slowly toward Lauren. She looked so sweet, her eyes had closed. She smiled as if she was having another drifting terrific dream.

All of whatever we had become felt real. I buzzed from whatever he was putting out. My box salivated, brushing against his piece. They were connected and separate. We were together but also fluid, he continued to adjust in my body as we crept closer. He moved his face up to Lauren for a kiss, a lingering. I lost him in peripheral vision, I couldn’t turn my head to a helpful angel, but she seemed to be falling the way honey might fall from the open skull of the honey bear: forever slow, held up by his lips.

Lauren’s hands were at her side, her body a wave crashing up and up. Our hands, my hands, whoever’s, they were at her face, on her breasts, a hand slithered up from navel to sternum. Whose hands were all of these? How many hands do two people have? At that point I had no idea. None at all. I was deep in a vein of bliss. I wish I had a thesaurus, I might have said savor or relish. Didn’t I get an English degree? Was I still me?

And thus we pounced and pounced. On her and

We boarded Lauren like pirates jumping the lip of another ship, hands circling to touch every last piece of her. I could feel desire and I didn’t know who it was coming from. We built a circuit, a circuit we couldn’t, wouldn’t break. I felt everything. Everything I was and he was and we were. It felt like her hands were passing through us to tickle ribs or tug at a gut. Her breasts and our breasts. His dick down through me and spilling into Lauren. She twisted like a crescent moon, impossibly joyfully up. I don’t know who was driving the car. We tumble of cliffs and onto more cliffs from which to fall.

Was I hypnotized? Was I up or down? It took me some time to realize he had left my body and entered Lauren’s. He’d fully twisted to face me, and I was pierced by him and pressed to her. Legs traveled to invented angles. I felt fingers in my mouth, deliciously round and sweet, dipped in a zone that pulsed with, what? Flavor? There is no word.

How was this happening to us? I felt yanked upwards, as if on the wind. I could feel it alternating and swirling, this blue cloud. Briefly pierced by all cocks, or close to just faces: his, her, mine—hishermine?

I felt drained and licked clean and refilled with fragrance, potency. I felt thirstier.

I was beckoned down (down?) to drink something for somewhere (cock? cunt? soul? flowers? night?): salty, clean, hot and buttery. It was everything: all fluids. All essences. Whatever we were. Everything felt tipped, as if pulled into italics and—

Wait—

And—

It was all too much. My hard drive crashed and was replaced by an infinity sign of coming. Coming and coming and coming, until coming made no sense either. Just a hollow word to describe the feeling of pouring out and out into the universe. Whoever I was it felt too good to ever lose. I was a moment, spreading out across the room like a faint blue light. Yes: a blue, blue, blue, blue, blue light.