The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

SUBLIMINAL SAX

I stand firm like a mind-controlled lover, like a lover-controlled mind, searching once again for she who I will control through love and who I will love to control.

She will come this time. I know. She will come.

Holding her golden shape, knowing she is about to speak of my love and passion to all who come tonight. A thought from reflection and discovering some truths from which the obvious is now realised for both past and future, bringing with it their discovery—the serenity to be happy with the present, and to look forward, without fear, to what may yet come this night, or maybe the next, or the next; being only a variation of the main theme.

They are there. She is there. My feet are planted firm on the stage, of my life, of our future, when she comes. My knees are bent, yet only slightly, just enough for the first penetration, the first entry.

Then the first note that will soar through the sea of dark faces and find hers waiting this time, maybe. If she’s there it will find her gentle ears and waiting lips—for that first kiss, before I arrive in her life in full.

I grip my golden she who will soon speak to ‘her’ for me, through me, from me; gently beneath her golden bottom, cupping, lifting, squeezing, feeling each curve, each gracious, slender arch to then lean forward as if approaching her from behind, unknowingly, yet not entirely unexpected.

I hold she who will call her to me with her note-words of my spaces of sincere intent, of passion awaiting; of lust unbridled, raw, electric and savage, unchallenged; knowing there’s no challenge, like no challenge.

Tonight she will hear the call and maybe heed, and maybe come to me after the show. Or maybe tomorrow night. The night of the world is young. I will wait forever. One night, she will come, and I will receive her in abundance. She will not want, after that first kiss.

But first I must kiss her with her knowing not, yet feeling me in all manly musk and essence, strong and heady, intoxicating and raw, rough and gentle in all forms of who I am, and who I will be to her, after that first kiss, after that first note.

I am gone, but I have been; touched by the moonlight of the sun and the liquid warmth of her fire and passion, only yet dreamed. And the heat of her I have enjoyed, but too much to remain as new as the first yesterday. Dark nights ahead. Yet I will see clearly each and every pore upon her nakedness, her complete nudity.

Yes. Dark nights ahead, brightened by the truth of what is yet to come, bringing the known warmth of all moments past that have led to now; a truth she will feel in the Jewel of her Nile as the rivers flow full and flooding; a truth she will hear, if she comes tonight.

To see beyond this moment with the eyes of youth from this side of my birth is a blessing of calm and joy, an inheritance known. For I shall be hers, and she shall be mine in all her moods.

Then I will take her as she is expecting to be taken-like the female she has always wanted to be, yet always restricted by society; a product of her environment.

But I shall set her free, and in so opening her natural centre like the first flower in spring, so too, will my own freedom arrive to set loose the fiery burning in her breasts and nipples; the torching flame racing up and down her spine, weakening her knees and loosening her throat in moaning at the thought of how many times, how many different ways, and how often she will be loved, invaded, and then taken as who she really is-my female so fine.

I ready in warming my golden girl’s deep-throat bell, holding her gently, encouraging her sensual and throaty tonal tenor texture, for I need all of her talents tonight. I need her voice to call, to speak for me, to search and to find her, if she’s there.

And if she is, she will hear and feel her own rivers run in full flood of passion in just listening, sitting tranced in her paid seat. Then that first kiss will arrive, and her lips will be already open to receive me, before I have even arrived.

I breathe gently, closing my lips and teeth as I would on her shaft, grazing lightly with ivory fire, that part of her I shall hold firmly in my lips, warming her belly, her forest, entrancing her with warm breath meant only for the inner channels of her toned shape alone.

Seeing her always have I looked with gentle vision, sometimes hardened by situations of hurt and merit at her not arriving, not listening, yet trying always to reclaim the heart’s perspective with time, of what shall be, will be, and of what has been, was that which was meant to be.

The rustle of silent dark tells me they are waiting expectantly, patiently, yet I see them not. But I feel them, their heat, their longing to hear who they really are, and so they have come again on another night. And maybe she has too. If she has, she will hear. And after she will come.

Then she will be taken, as she has always wanted; opened, as she has always yearned; deflowered, as she has always needed to be; to see her own femalehood so strong and so fine; to meet who she really is and always was; together again for the very first time.

And I will make three. In acceptance of what has been, and what will be, comes joy in the lifetimes of moments next, for calm and tranquility only are the conquerors of mortal illusion. And I stand calm. I stand proud. I stand strong and set in my belief that she will come this night.

And if not, she will come tomorrow. And I will be just as proud, just as strong, and just as calm when I finally take to her eager junction like a bee to a honey jar; lapping hungrily from her stem to her stern; from her top to her bottom; from her back to her front and all places, valleys and ridges in between.

And while having her trapped in mind and sound I will taste her truly as she has waited for me to taste her, savouring each liquid velvet drop of her special blend; to fill my full and hold her mind trapped in mine with the first note signalling the arrival soon of that first kiss.

Until I drain her centre dry in the arrival of her tumultuous peak and passing while I drink her greedily, lick her hungrily, suckle strongly on her as if trying to draw moisture from a stone. And she will give me her yield in all its fullness.

Then I shall be sated, but only for the moment while she rebuilds and waits impatiently for that first note to arrive; that first space, that first kiss.

Yes. I can breathe deeply now. I sense her urgency to begin. I sense their urgency-they who wait, and maybe she, and maybe her urgency. They have come in expectation. So has she, maybe. And so have I.

All is ready. I am ready. They are ready. She is ready. And maybe she has come and waits now, sitting out there in a darkened aisle.

I know she is ready. She has waited long. And so have I; for that first kiss to arrive, before we meet in full strength of each others’ yearning and impassioned needs, and I drink my fill, and feast well upon her flesh.

Now I can breathe life into her, into the air, into her life, if she’s there to receive, that first kiss. That special, never-to-be-repeated first kiss. The end and the beginning for both, the never-ending circle of affection through all of its highs and lows.

Dizzy heights and bottomless pits, beginning as tenderness born in lust and passion, ending in tenderness, just as it began; just as soft, just as warm, and just as sensual and loving for the never-ending circle just shared.

While all the time I breathe, so that first note can hypnotize fully and finally, the second and final note pre-destined to take her fully to the bottom of my mind and heart’s desires, before we even meet.

So, with its birth, that first kiss, yet undelivered in flesh, yet often practised in sound for this very night; to face my audience of only one, feeling suddenly brazen as always each time; strong, daring.

To catch her attention with the flickering intensity of that first note, cool and challenging; holding it, drawing it out, beckoning with the sound of my warm mouth; soft, strong, waiting, and arriving.

Tantalising her with my eyes, cold and impervious I imagine her, fingers curling into fists, disbelieving turning into fury at wanting that first kiss, not yet there, not yet arrived.

Yet when it does, to envelope her in its warmth, its trance-like passion arousing; its security, intoxicating her with the musk of the male I am, can be, and will be, for only her.

Raise the note and then cause it to fall to its knees, along with her before I take her that way in full, her female shape born of grace, delivered by each note deft in anticipation, and space in anticipating, along with my own.

Stroking her body with my eyes seen only by her in the dark as I breathe, lingering on her firm and fresh curvaceous tonal thighs, and every delight betwixt and between.

Flirting with her underwear, feeling her swell in ripening fullness in her growing arousal with the arrival of that first note.

I know only that my audience of only one is somewhere out there, entranced already, if she is there, out there in the darkened space of cyberspace, of audience space, where there is no dark and no light, just the spaces in between the notes, and that first kiss coming now.

That first note is taking it to her, bringing it to her on wings of thought and fire that she will receive; that she will want to receive, and be ready; all heat and wetness as she sits in her waiting; a seamless radiance bathing in her groin, in her aching loins, waiting for her void to be filled and completed, hardening her nipples, and swelling her succulent shaft so fine.

To shock and tease her, but hold nothing back of my intent, of that first kiss, for she deserves it all in its fullness of strong and fiery arousal, to draw the stiff, engorged length and girth of me into her humid mouth and feel her hands tighten as they cup and hold and gently squeeze.

To guide me between her legs, each note and before-after space relishing the hard length of me surely there. And now let that first note fall and follow with the savage brace of the second which is the ending sought; the next, sensuous, seductive; flirting with the warm air she breathes right now like falling silk, then crackling suddenly in her ears and loins like a restless, burning flame.

Lingering on the air in a moment held frozen in time is the middle of that first kiss, delivered with warm and knowing breath; lost in the silent exploration of her body; her, lost in the silent exploration of mine; knowing all men and women are the same, yet males and females all are different to each, each every time new.

The middle single note held long to the end by the before-after space; telling all in feeling if not in touch; the voyage of discovering naked skin for the first time while hearts thump wildly against cages of ribs that restrain, and with practised deliberation to let her fingers stray to the buttons of my shirt.

My eyes never leaving my face; my throat, my chest, and the hard nubs of my nipples afire for her and her coming touch with that first kiss of her tongue.

My gaze deepens and glows into the dark, in the dark, like blue coals, and I breathe silently, unnoticeably, not too intense, not too soon, can’t sustain; nothing left for the climax; a difference between her intimacy and my intimate intentions as her hand tightens on her thighs before our lips have even met for that first time.

I stand holding golden skin closely and very tight to my chest; the shapely, curvaceous golden deliverer of my first kiss to her, so far away, out there in the dark, somewhere.

I stand firm like my body, like a lover, hot and urgent I breathe and she speaks to her for me; her notes the frenzied fall of having her out there in a adrkened space, yet so near.

My hands grasping strongly her warm, golden metal, and also upon her; her flesh, warm and trembling; my body rough and gentle both; impatient, greedy to have and to hold; my lips and mouth, ravenous, intolerable of any barriers between us.

My spaces of heat intent grows with her notes in crescendo one and all; blowing hard now, almost too hard; already reaching the plunging, lunging rhythm of penetration as notes and spaces thicken the air before her in the temperate darkness.

So far away, out there, yet she is here with me as I play for her now, and endlessly deliver, that first kiss.

Each note screaming now, rapturous, blissful, frenzied in its release to her; electric, ecstatic as they dissolve into her while she receives each and all in the one and only lustful seductive spacial intent, they find her caught, retrained, confined, overpowered, heated, and finally enslaved before I have even arrived.

She is mine now. I own her.

Hearing and feeling, feeling and hearing each note and space and its full measure for her only; each note alone, yet a bearer of heartlore alone; living only for her now.

Blowing hard, breathing heavily, thrusting hard and deep, then withdraw to circle the mouth of her trembling , regretful wet entrance just to torment, then plunge again, thrust hard again, then withdraw again, just when she is ready to come, to me.

My mouth removed to her windreed centre; to kiss her there first, smoothing the heated tissues with my tongue until she longs for nothing more to her life than soft and gentle lapping, before that first kiss.

And then to blow again, breathe again, thrust hard again in surprise, yet not entirely unexpected; not an unwanted surprise; to fill her aching void again and again and again and again; her void that longs for me already; her body full and vibrating in sensual torment with pounding notes and spaces of lust and rapture, of rawness, of fiery passion so fine I drive each space and note and space deeper than the last, just to hear her moan in the darkness before me, for I recognise her for who she really is. Mine. And she knows it truly.

Parting like the tumultuous bow waves of a boat, her flesh of centre parts for each space, each note; accepts it fully into channel and cervix to baby-makers’ fine home awaiting; driving into her, carrying her to the explosive heart of her orgasm already rushing headlong to meet her with a vengeance; a fury not known, not experienced, yet wanted for all time since her pubescence began.

She can already feel her climax rapidly and uncontrollably approaching; the muscles of her thighs trembling as she listens to the ending, and she hears all, takes all, and gives her all to each them in full as she is entered, invaded, penetrated; hilted to the core with the reverberation of each lust-driven spacial quaver.

Now she knows the end is near.

She will make it nearer in the audience dark, hasten its arrival, although it needs no help from her urgent-seeking hands and long slender fingers that know each and every desired move that will compliment the fiery inevitable.

She will not refuse me now; cannot refuse me to join her in her conditioned woman’s little death and female’s freedom, until bodies begin to cool; each space and note not meant to master, but to enhance that which already is, but not yet fully known.

To cool, to slow breathing fine now; breathing, slowing to thunderous, rapturous applause as she looks hesitantly around to see if anybody has seen, has heard, has felt as she has.

Nobody has. Everybody has.

And then to breathe softly while she settles; to join her in her afterglow before the first meeting, each note and space from my tongue, reaching her now to lick clean her sweat born from every crease and pore of her flesh; to freshen her in readiness of being kissed that first kiss, having already experienced, in full, what is yet to come.

And then, as always with each concert, I bow, and I wait, like I always do, for her.

Yes. I am gone once again, but I have been, yet to return to take up where I’ll leave off; to relearn lessons lost and missed from tonight.

Sadness not an issue, but is an eagerness to inhale fully of what is remaining ahead, but, to try to get it right, next time.

So, play it again, Sam, one more time, from the top.

The End.