The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Alannah stirred her spoon through her tea as she sat at the wooden table in her rustic little kitchen. Then she took a thoughtful sip.

The sun had gone down only a half hour before, but the sunsets were getting earlier and earlier, and the first snow had long since come. She’d brewed her tea with extra spice, in the hopes that the spice would have a delayed warming effect. That as her body processed it in the coming hours, with each new digestion, as the spice was broken down, it would give her a spike of warmth right when she needed it most.

Even if the human body didn’t really work that way, she hoped it might be fooled into working that way by placebo. But even if the tea did nothing for her but warm her in this moment, at the very least, it helped her to feel that she was doing something to prepare herself for the evening.

She took her time drinking it, to do everything she could to slow her digestion down; to keep the tea, and the spice, longer in her system. To give it every possible chance to work as she intended, and provide her jolts of heat long into the night.

As she sat at the table, surrounded by her wooden counters and cabinets, and the wood panelling of her walls, she listened to the silence that filled her home. The only disruption to it was the faint ticking of her kitchen clock— reminding her to take her time with her tea, but not to take too long.

When finally her mug had been emptied, and all spice and tea was sitting safely in her stomach, she stood and put it in her sink basin.

Then she crossed out of the kitchen, and into the main room. She’d brought her clothes out of the bedroom and left them on her stiffly stuffed sofa before going in to make her tea.

She’d chosen all her warmest clothing— cotton underlayer soft pajamas to go on first; then her mid layer; bulky, down-lined pants and flannel shirt; then finally her warm, heavy parka to go on overtop.

She had her knit hat to put on over her ears, too, and her thick, heavy boots. She took her time lacing them, and by the time she was fully dressed, she was already feeling very warm. But the layer of her cotton pajamas was light enough beneath the weight it was layered under that her skin could breathe. Even though she felt hot enough that it was like overheating, she wasn’t breaking a sweat under everything she wore. She’d perfected her combination of clothing for ideal warmth, and it was working the same way it did every night— just as she expected it to.

At last she was ready. She moved through the main room to her exterior door, and opened it with a great heaving pull. It was a thick, wooden plank door so pulling was necessary.

When Alannah got the door open, she was greeted with a gust of cool air to her face. She didn’t mind it. It was refreshing— the rest of her body was so warm under her attire that a little cooling on some part of the surface of her skin was welcome.

Just as she’d needed to pull the door to open it, she needed to push it back to close it. The unfortunate result of this was that, inevitably, it meant she’d end up pushing some trace amounts of snow back over her threshold and into her house.

But at least Alanna had a water proof rubber mat laid down on the inside of her threshold, so the snow wasn’t a complete disaster.

She gave her best shove, and the heavy wooden door settled back into place. She fumbled in her pocket, for a second, to retrieve her key. Once she had, she put it in the lock, to turn the heavy bolt in the door. Living out here alone in the woods like this meant locking her door wasn’t strictly necessary. It was more of a formality, a habit left over from Alannah’s days of living in civilization.

But it was still a formality she liked to maintain. The woods could get a little oppressive at times; could take on a sinister atmosphere, and at times like that, Alannah was always grateful for the bolt in her door.

Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. As Alannah put her key back into her heavy coat pocket, she glanced up at the sky. It was one of those perfectly moonlit nights, which were only really possible to fully appreciate out here in the wilderness. The silver blue moonlight came down in streaking waves, but when it hit earth, it sent itself over everything around her; it glinted on the snow, whether that snow lay flat on the ground, or in clumps hanging from evergreen branches.

Alannah had never regretted moving to the woods for a second. But on nights like this, when it seemed as if the forest had been created just for her, she was especially grateful for her past decision. The snow was magical under the moonlight, and far from frightening, the trees were a friendly, comforting presence tonight.

Alannah appreciated all of it. She made this walk every night, but on nights with a new moon instead of a full one, it was considerably more unsettling. In near-total pitch black, with only a lantern to light her way forward, the slightest creak of a branch could make her want to jump out of her skin.

And on nights when she made the walk through storm, or bad weather, it was equally unsettling. Those were nights when she was more grateful for the bolt in her door even more than usual, too. It took most of her strength to pull and push her door open and closed, but the high winds that sometimes swept through were more than strong enough to rip her door open— maybe even off its hinge— if not for the bolt, turned in place, preventing them.

Now, with the knowledge of her bolt fastened securely in place, Alannah could go, and forget about her house for awhile. Forget about everything but being a wanderer in the forest.

The moonlight guided her way through the trees. In parts where the trees were thicker, Alannah had to physically move evergreen branches aside to pass through; some of them left behind tracks of snow on her coat as they brushed across her.

It was quiet in the forest, tonight. This was not one of the nights with high winds, when the bolt in the door was necessary to keep nature from tearing her house open. There was no wind at all. Everything was so still it was like it had crystallized into place. There were some icicles on the branches, and a thin layer of ice on the surface of the snow, but this feeling was more than that. It was like Alannah had stepped onto a postcard, or had wandered into an ice sculpture exhibit. She might have felt frozen in place too, just one more ice statue, if not for her motion forward as she walked.

The only sound was the crunch of snow under her heels as she went. It was her only company in the woods.

Sometimes, on her trek, she would cross paths with a deer, maybe eating some berries. There was a bush just ahead the next bend of trees that sometimes had blood colored berries ladening its branches, and on occasion, the wildlife of the forest could be found eating the berries from it.

Sometimes they left streaks of blood red berry juice on the snow when they did.

But when Alannah came around the next bunch of trees, she saw the berry bushes were bare— clearly, they had recently been picked clean by the animals of the forest.

Alannah continued past them. This was the part of the walk where the trees thinned out— there was a stream that ran through this deepest part of the forest. In spring or summer or fall it ran with clear, clean water— sometimes, Alannah came out in the middle of the day to fill a water bottle directly from it. It ran down from a spring higher up in the forest— Alannah drew her household water from the same source. But something about getting the water as it was running gave it a different flavor that was more satisfying.

At this time of winter, the spring no longer ran. It was iced over, and as Alannah came to walk alongside it, she appreciated again how beautiful the ice looked as it glittered beneath the glow of the moonlight. Only a little further now— the stream only ran on parallel to her for so long, and its banks were only sparsely dotted with trees: these one birches, instead of evergreens. The icicles on the birch branches were even more dramatic than the other icicles around in the forest.

After many more steps, the stream turned away from her, to run deeper into the forest where she would not follow. She would keep walking on her track, straight ahead; always parallel to the heart of the forest, but never turning to the left to venture into it, and follow after the iced over stream.

When the stream turned away from her, and went off on its own direction, it was always a sign that she had nearly arrived at her destination. She only had to make it through the next cluster of trees, and then she would reach the clearing.

She moved some more evergreen branches aside, to make her way through the final part of her trek. They rustled as she disturbed the snow that had rested on them, sending it falling to join the snow on the ground that crunched underfoot. She reached the last few trees— the clearing was on the other side of them. She pushed through their thicket, and came out the other side.

Here it was.

And there she was. Christine.

She was always waiting for Alannah each night that Alannah made the journey out here. She always looked regal, and elegant. She was waiting for Alannah each night she made the trek out here. And Alannah made the trek in all weather, good and bad, storm and clear. Here she was.

She was sitting on the rock in the center of the clearing, as was her custom. Sitting perfectly still, her eyes on the spot from which she knew Alannah would eventually emerge so that she’d catch the sight of her the second she appeared.

Alannah found herself lost in Christine’s knowing smile. But she shared the knowledge of what would happen now; Christine would lead her from the clearing back to her cabin. Alannah could only ever cross its threshold if Christine led her across it. Forget crossing the threshold, Alannah could only find it if Christine led her to it. She’d tried to retrace steps to it from the clearing a hundred times, under light of day, without Christine by her side, and she’d never once found it— even though she knew she’d followed the exact path Christine led her down.

There had been a time it had bothered her. She should have been able to find the cabin on her own. Even leaving the cabin aside; if Christine lived in the woods, and only a simple walk away, Alannah should have run into her more frequently around the forest. She never did; she had never seen her by light of day.

But it didn’t bother her anymore. It had been too many nights in the forest— too long that she’d lived away from civilization. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been coming out to see Christine, now. Could barely remember the first time she’d met her, now. The memory seemed to grow more distant with each visit.

And the visits themselves were only hazy memories of whispered commands and shared physical warmth; and demands that slipped in deeper to Alannah’s mind than she could track, demands that lingered and were always sitting quietly in her mind when she inevitably woke up the next morning back in her own house with no memory of how she’d gotten there.

None of it mattered now that Christine was giving her that knowing smile, and beckoning to her.

When Christine beckoned that way, Alannah would follow her anywhere. She would follow her everywhere— even if she had no idea where Christine was taking her. Even if, someday, Christine led her to somewhere other than her own cabin…

Christine beckoned once more, and stood from her rock. With that last crook of her finger, she turned her back to Alannah and began walking.

Alannah stepped quickly across the surface of the snow, her feet barely sinking through its surface. Once she reached the clearing, her footsteps seemed to become lighter— every night it was the same.

She moved quickly after Christine, remembering the last crook of her finger. It was as good as a summoning; Alannah had no choice but to follow.

And she would have no choice but to come back tomorrow night to follow again. And the night after that… and the night after… again, and again…

She’d made this same trek countless times. She would make it countless more. It had always led her to the same place: it always would. Back to Christine’s side— back within Christine’s reach.

That was a destination worth making the walk for, in all weather.