The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He sat on the blanket under his umbrella, and he watched the minds go by.

It was a lovely day. The sun floated high in the sparkling blue sky, and beneath it the gulls gracefully circled and the colorful kites floated on the steady breeze. At least one portable radio played somewhere nearby, tooting cheerfully shallow summer-music, with the gulls contributing an occasional cry. The gentle waves slopped against the shore, and further out could be seen the numerous white triangles of the sailboats, bobbing on the larger swells.

He was aware of all of this, of course, and approved in a mild sort of way, but none of it held his interest or attention. The minds were the only things that really mattered, and today there were dozens, perhaps even hundreds of them swarming back and forth in front of him, a jostling stream of multicolored bubbles, each wrapped in a shell of varying thickness and strength. Flaming and shrouded, colorful and drab, cloudy and clear, flecked here and there with the bright sharp pinpoints that galumphed happily about on four legs instead of two. An infinite variety, a smorgasbord spread out for him and him alone. (Well... alone more or less...) He waited, one set of eyes hidden behind very dark glasses and pointed at the hardback book he held open and unread in his lap, the other set watching and waiting for one of the passing spheres to especially stand out from all of the others. For one always did in the end, one with the deepest and brightest of colors, the most complex patterns. Already several had gone by that he would have snapped up in an instant in earlier days. Earlier days, before he had become the true connoisseur which he now was. He absently flipped a page and took a sip from the water bottle beside him.

It came. When it did, he could see it halfway down the beach as it approached, the thoughts and the emotions glowing like streamers of red-hot magma behind the thin cracks in its tough protective covering. He watched it come, letting everything else fade to the very background of his awareness. As it gradually bobbed into range he reached out and loosely cupped his hands around it for a long moment, not actually touching it but savoring the glow, feeling the heat and cold from the glorious ripples wash against his fingers, and beneath those, strong and powerful, the first hint of the deeper tidal currents, the ones that flowed forever in the freezinghot blackness. (Well... not forever...) Then the proper moment had come and he could no longer hesitate or resist. He sucked in a mental breath and he brushed the surface of the cracks, just with the tip of one finger, slow and oh so careful. He felt a deep tremor of pleasure; that very first touch was actually one of the finest moments of the entire procedure. The moment of connection...

It was also the moment when everything hung in the balance. He could simply smash his way in if he cared to, dig his fingers down into the cracks and from there into the swirling ridges and valleys of the mind underneath; even with a thick shield like this one, there was nothing to stop him. But early on he had learned the painful lesson that this approach would in seconds ruin everything that came later. Choking down the moment of the sharp yellow and red jags of fear and hate was like swallowing a particularly noxious insect just before sitting down to a delicious multi-course banquet. The taste and the experience lingered always in the back of the palate, in the back of the eyes which were attached to the violated mind.

So now he was slow and painstakingly careful. It took so very little at first to cause anger and alarm in the target mind, especially a mind like the one he now hovered around, and that must be avoided at all cost. So a single brush, a calling of attention, a sliding of the finger...

this way... look this way...

Perfection. There was a moment of blinking surprise, but no fear. The mind had been jogging. It broke its stride, then turned itself, oriented, saw his body sitting there on a blanket reading a book, not looking at it. A wash of curiosity came bubbling up. (Nothing more, not yet...) Another stroke now, just a little stronger. Two or three fingers. Pushing the cracks a hairsbreadth wider.

come closer...

The curiosity deepened, and streamers of something more began to weave themselves into the mix, rising up out of the magma. The mind hesitated a moment longer, argued with itself...

come...

It came to him, floating across the tight-packed sand, and it settled down in front of him, wide-eyed and smiling. He looked up for the first time, glanced for a moment at the kneeling female body which was attached to the mind; tall, slender, long straight brown hair, wearing a dusky red tubetop and a pair of tight-fitting cutoffs. Big blue eyes under brim of a white baseball cap which was matched by the tennis shoes. Very attractive, of course. It was a sad fact but a true one that simple physical appearance often did make a very big difference in such matters; it was so much easier for a mind to blossom and grow strong in a world that constantly supplied it with nurturing and positive (if admittedly sometimes crude) feedback. Of course, all of that pampering could cut both ways; some of the most vile and shallow of the scum-filled puddles which he had encountered lurked inside the most pleasing of bodies...

“Hi!” The mind spoke to him brightly, pulling him back to the moment. The attached smiling lips moved as well, saying the same thing.

“Hello.” He stroked yet again. The colors in the cracks bubbled happily under his fingers. As long as he didn’t do anything overly stupid or hasty from this point on, the outcome was pretty much assured. Still, it was always interesting to let things flow and develop on their own. To a certain degree. He waited, and the mind spoke again after a moment.

“What’s that you’re reading?”

His mouth quirked in genuine amusement. He hadn’t even noticed which book he’d taken off his shelves when packing his bag that morning.

He closed the volume and looked at the cover, blinking his eyes a little to focus them. There was a painting of a muscular man wearing a leather loincloth, wielding a sword and battling an enormous red-eyed snake. The combatents were on a stone platform high above a rocky landscape, and above them was the title in large crimson and gold letters, which he read aloud: “’The Eastern Side’ by one S. K. Ingersoll.”

The mind gave a delighted laugh, showing a set of nicely white teeth.

“Oh, hey! You read Ingersoll’s stuff? I just loved ‘23 Raptures in Blue’ when I read it in college.”

“Really?” He slid a single finger into position, the first penetration inside the shield. The rest of the world started to go slowly cold and dark for the mind; he could see the colors patterns begin to orient themselves towards his touch.

Towards him.

And only him.

“Oh, yes! That whole scene where Memser finally arrives in Wuldurcan, you know, before he gets attacked again... just as the night is falling, and the city’s lights are coming on...” He stroked, and turned on the lights of Wuldurcan. They were wonderfully bright and complex, running in golden strings down the wide ivory streets between the golden domes and spires, towards the cliffs and the bustling harbor. Behind the jungle-green hills, the sun was at last sinking out of sight, turning the stretched clouds pink and gold. The mind sighed happily. “Yess. Just like that. It was so... I dunno... poetic and beautiful.”

“It made you just want to run off to Wuldurcan, right there and then?”

“Yess.” The mind nodded her head then lifted it back up with an effort. “Travel beyond the horizon on a ship with big white sails... but...” She brushed an absent tanned hand across her face... “...that’s just being silly, isn’t it?”

“Of course not.” He stopped using his mouth; words were only forced bits of air, and just got in the way after a while. The mind didn’t notice. -It shows that you can see beyond the ordinary and the mundane. It’s a gift.—

Another laugh. And just a little flushing. The colors deepened.

“Now you’re the one who’s being silly.”

-No, I’m quite sincere. So, tell me, my lovely traveler, what’s your name?— He could have of course eventually read that information for himself if he wanted to, he could read every scrap of information filed away in her head, but it was far more pleasant and informative to hear the mind say it, lighting up far-flung bits and pieces of itself in always-unexpected ways, showing him her true name beyond the simple label that had been assigned to her at birth, all the layers and shadings.

“Oh, I’m sorry! Kelli Anne Lukins.” Ahh... green and violet flowers, thousands of them in sprawling fields, high in alpine meadows. She offered him her hand, but he absently stroked a different finger and the appendage flopped bonelessly back to rest on her thigh, palm up. “What’s yours?”

-My name really isn’t important.—

“But I have to call you something, if we’re going to...”

-Yes?— Another finger slotting into place. -Going to what?—

Definite flushing.

“I don’t know. I just thought that we... when I saw you sitting there, all alone... maybe you’d like some company?” The last was almost plaintive, but not quite. She was strong and independent, this one.

-I don’t know. Are you here alone? No boyfriend or husband lurking about to get jealous if we share a stretch of beach for a time?— He already knew the answer to this, of course, without even having to probe; love and particularly marriage cut deeper and more spectacularly intricate grooves in the mind than anyone could possibly realize. He enjoyed spending afternoons with both attached and unattached minds, watching the former as their flow reached out to him, sloshed and spurted its needy way out of those grooves, turning to deliciously forbidden and helplessly guilty colors under his fingertips, before all guilt and shame were washed away...

“No. No boyfriend or anything. I just came down here for a jog. To get some sun. So maybe I could join you on—”

-No.— His tone for the first time was slightly sharp, but he held her in place as gently as ever, soothing her muscles back to rest. -You’re right. You need to get your sunlight. Work on your tan. And I prefer... that you remain in that position.— Another finger slithered into place as he spoke those last words. Yes, he preferred to have the body remain kneeling in front of him. His tastes had become steadily more... aesthetic... over time, but certain things remained fairly constant.

“Oh... OK.” She even managed to frown, just a little. For a second. But with his fingers now inside her, getting angry, staying angry, were both fairly impossible. “But I still don’t know your name...”

-I’ll tell you what, Kelli... may I call you Kelli?” A finger.

“Yes, of course.” Anger gone entirely now, gone and forgotten.

-Kelli, why don’t you try and think of a name for me, if such things matter so much to you? Come up with one that you think is appropriate.—

“Um... sure... OK. But...”

-Yes, Kelli?—

“I’ll have to talk to you some more.” She leaned a little closer. “Listen to your voice some more. I don’t know you well enough yet.”

-Of course.—

“So... What do you do? For a living?”

-You might say that I’m a therapist, of a sort.—

“Really? Mental or physical?”

-A little of both, I suppose. Do you need any therapy, Kelli?— At the word ‘therapy’, another finger. The mind gasped, but rallied gamely.

“Nno. I’m quite... well adjusted, Mr. Therapist, thank you very much.”

-Yes. I know. That’s exactly what attracted me to you.—

“I don’t understand.” Her eyes were bright now, and colors flowing freely.

-Never mind. That’s not important. But since we are on the subject, are you sure? There’s absolutely nothing about yourself that you’d like to change? To improve?—

“I... well..”

-Tell me, Kelli.— Finger. -Tell me everything.— Deeper.

“I wish that I wasn’t such a klutz. Physically, I mean.” The words came blurting out and she started to bend all the way over, reach out to him. “I’m always breaking stuff.” Again he gently pushed her back, placed her hands back on her thighs. Locked her muscles in place. “It just seems some weeks that I have to spend about half my paycheck on super glue and bandages.”

-I see. Well, later, I will look into the problem, and see what I can do.— A stroke, lighting up a new region. The scene of Wuldurcan had never gone away; they were on the beach beneath the steep cliffs. Now the picture zoomed down to a single street, a single building, a single room, a tall brown-haired woman spinning gracefully on a stage, leaping high in the air on strong legs... -You would like to be a dancer, Kelli?—

She was able to twitch. Once.

“A dancer? Me? I’ve always had two left feet!”

-That can be fixed. It’s amazing how many things can be fixed, at the end of the day. You can dance if you really want to. You should be able to express yourself in that way; you have much to tell the world. So much to share. I know it better than anybody.—

“Oh, please.” She flushed bright red. “You have to stop saying things like that.”

-I’ll say whatever I want. And, Kelli, you can’t stop me.— Three fingers in rapid succession...

Can’t

Stop

Me

“I can’t stop you.” She breathed the words, smiling.

-You don’t want to stop me.—

“I don’t want to stop you.”

He turned off her eyes and ears, turned off to everything but him. No more gulls or kites, no more waves or wind, no more summer-music.

-And what do you want, Kelli?—

“I want... I want... to dance.”

-And?— Fingers. Many of them, all of his hands, swarming now. He took the rest away from her. There was not even hot sand under her bare knees.

“I want to know... you... better. I... want...”

He turned off her mouth entirely. The body was perfectly still now, a tall healthy statue. The mind on the other hand was frantically active, tying itself into knots around his fingers, which were everywhere now, going in all of the cracks in her shell.

—...to choose a name for you. To be with you. To know you.—

Tighter and tighter.

Brighter and brighter.

-Yes. And before this day is over, you will come to know me very well. In certain rather shallow ways. But in other ways... you will not even begin to understand me. Regrettable, perhaps, but nevertheless true.—

-I... don’t... understand.— The colors strobed bright and runny, in time with her words. The undercurrents were rising to the surface now, like the tentacles of a kraken.

-Exactly my point.—

He took everything away from her, light and sound, name and history, leaving only the colors behind the cracks. He opened her shell, from the inside, and the lights... the lights...

-Where... are... we?—

-It has no name. It is beyond names.— They spoke not with words, or even the thought of words, but lights flashing back and forth in the darkness, his surrounding hers... -but it is a place that you have never been before, and that a... that one like me can only visit with the help of someone like you. I will probably be here again, tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. You, however, unless you are very, very fortunate, will never be here again.— He set her mind to spinning, spinning in endless circles, faster and faster, still centered on him. -So enjoy it, relish it while you can. We have traveled together beyond the far horizon, beyond even the places that Mr. Ingersoll can take you with the very best of his words. And here you will remain, until it is time for you to be returned. Dance for me, my traveler..—

-Ohmgud...— The colors reached out in the void, tentatively at first, then exploding with the discovery that the gravity and the walls were all suddenly gone, larger and larger, the arms of the undercurrents forming a whirling galaxy of unleashed joy, dancing free and wild and still firmly within the grip of his fingers, totally in the grip of his millions of iron fingers, directed solely down the paths he wished to follow, pleasuring him and pleasing him exactly as dictated. The mind flared.

-I... KNOW... YOUR... NAME...—

-Tell me my name.—

-MASTER-

-Yes. That is a very appropriate name. Very appropriate indeed.—

He stood her body up, got up himself. Had her body brush the sand off his shorts and gather his things to carry. Together, they walked up the beach, back into town.

Back to his apartment.

The horizon receeded further behind them, and the galaxy continued to grow.