The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

No question, she was a true bombshell. Not just in the vernacular of the day, but literally; an unexploded item of unknown destructive potential. She was funny and sweet and sexy and she could kill you with her eyes. She knew what she wanted and she knew how to get it, and so did he.

The twenties were roaring off and big changes were coming. We were all practicing our vocals that year; the talkies were looking like a whole new ball game and we all wanted to play. The big news of the month was that Greta—no, not that Greta, the Norwegian one—had just been kicked off Hughes’ new film. Lovely as she was to look at, nobody wanted to hear her hurdy-gurdy-Scandi gargling in this brave new age of sound. It was just too risky, with so many dollars at stake. They said she was going home, that she’d had enough of the industry, now, that she didn’t like the direction it was taking. It was a shame, but one girl’s misfortune is another girl’s opportunity, and one less great rack in the way of mine.

Actresses were circling The Part like alley cats round spilled milk. Everyone knew it was going to be somebody’s Big Break.

They said I was a shoo-in; the front runner; or at least in with a damn good chance, depending on who you listened to. They even said James wanted me on board.

We all knew each other, of course. It was a very small town in those days, and it was best to sheath your ladyclaws and maintain a certain politeness. You never knew who you would need to do on the way up, let alone who you might need to do on the way down.

She’d even bagged a few lines in a talkie already, with more famous Jean and Clara—no, not me, unfortunately, I’m talking Super-Famous Clara. As for me, I’d been bit parting my way through an endless series of forgettable Saturday afternoon fillers. I was one hell of a flapper, I could do sweet and romantic too, and I looked a treat roped to a railway line, a tree, a telegraph pole, whatever was handy. For some reason I always seemed to get tied up in those damn films, although I can’t pretend I minded.

That Friday night the two of us were sat smalltalking in a booth at the Brown Derby on Vine, swapping casting couch stories, and believe me, we’d both spent plenty of time on that couch, although not as much as some others I could name.

She always had the inside story. Who was doing who, who wasn’t doing it with who they were supposed to be doing it with, who was really a queer—all the usual scoop and scuttlebutt, just killing time. As we chatted, I could tell she’d been working on her en-un-see-ay-shun, and I wondered if she could tell I’d been working on mine.

Casting for The Part was scheduled for ten o’clock sharp tomorrow morning. We weren’t exactly friends, but she was a sweet enough girl to chat with when men weren’t around. When they were, that was a different matter entirely. Then it was like there was only one spotlight in the whole wide world, and it was pointed right at her.

She poked at an olive. “They say you might be in line for Howard’s new film,” she said. “Y’know, the Angels one?”

Had she heard something? Well, there were few enough secrets in this town. I sat up straight and made sure she knew she wasn’t the only one with the assets for this job.

“I don’t know about that. Who wouldn’t want it, though?” I replied. “It’s Hughes. What about you?”

She looked at me, blue eyes hooded, inscrutable. “They say it’s a really good part. They say it could be the beginning of something, for someone.”

“That’s what they say.” I tossed my brown curls. “They say they want a brunette.”

She pouted at me, a perfect red cupid’s bow. “I heard they want a blonde. And they say they want someone with the mouth of an angel.” She laughed at that, and so did I.

“They say they want a looker,” I said, “not a hooker, so that rules you out.”

“I can do demure, honey. It’s just underwear makes me uncomfortable. I can’t breathe when I’m wearing a brassiere. My parts need air.”

I swirled my cocktail. “That’s ‘cause you were born in the gutter. Or at least, you like people to think so.”

“They say we could be sisters, if it wasn’t for the hair. So what does that make you?”

I laughed at the jibe. She was always so sharp. “We’re all ‘sisters’, in their eyes. They say we’re all just the same. Interchangeable.”

“Nobody interchanges Baby. I need that part, honey” she murmured, suddenly serious. “I want it. I was born for it.”

“We’d better get some sleep then,” I retorted, “if you’re talking competition. Best chest forward, honey.”

She smiled that smile. “Mm hm. May the best girl win, I say, so long as it’s me.” We clinked glasses, acknowledging. “Anyway, let me introduce you to a friend of mine. Hey, Gilbert! Mister big shot! Over here!”

A tall, dark, very good-looking guy in his early thirties came sauntering towards our booth. His smile was dazzling, and the eyes of the girls in the other booths followed him hungrily. I knew who he was, of course.

“John, say hello to Clara,” she said. “I just know you two’ll get on like a house on fire.” And then, stretching catlike, she stood. “Be my guest. Me, I need to slip into something more comfortable and get my head down. Big day tomorrow.”

We kissed our goodbyes, and, as she swished away turning all heads in her usual fashion, he slipped into the booth and eyed me up and down, grinning. My God, he was confident, in that easy Latin way. Everybody knew he was already on his third marriage—he’d run off to Vegas with the new one, and it had been the talk of the town for a full weekend. But he’d never allowed little things like being married to get in the way of his lifestyle. They didn’t call him the Great Lover for nothing. The girls called him a lot of other things too. I’d heard there was something about him that women couldn’t resist.

Suddenly it was as if the house lights had gone down, and the spotlight was all on me.

‘’I guess you’re in the business too?” he said, by way of introduction. Just standard protocol, really; every single person in the Brown Derby was part of the movie scene, including the staff. Especially the staff.

I nodded. “Not a star though. Not like you.”

He waved a hand dismissively. “A dark star at best. This movie game’s like shoot-the-chutes. You’re in breathtaking ecstasy one minute and down in the doldrums the next. I’ll take breathtaking ecstasy every time.”

I had to smile at the presumptuous directness of the man. “Me too. There seems so little of it about, these days.”

“True. So, lovely Clara,” and he looked at me with dark eyes. “What is it you’re looking for?”

He was stirring his drink, slowly. The chink of ice on glass, rhythmic. I noticed one of his eyes—the left—showed a tiny bright segment of green amidst the brown. I’d never seen such a thing before. Fascinating. Darkness murmured around us.

“I don’t know. A big break.”

Chink, chink, chink. There, deep within the green, something else I couldn’t quite make out. I looked closer.

Look. Zoom in. There at the centre of the green, a tiny spider’s web of gold, recursive, and within that, was that a hint of blue?

For some reason, even now, I can’t remember a single word he said, although we must have talked for an hour. I think he did most of the talking. His voice was deep and low, and I just couldn’t tear myself away from him. Every time I made to leave, I stayed, just for a few more minutes, and then more. What harm could a few more minutes do? I was helpless in this spotlight, and boy, was it making me wet.

Chink, chink, chink.

Blue on gold on green on brown. There was no Brown Derby, there were no people around us, there was no booth; the filigree detail of the segment loomed in ever closer focus, and I saw all the intricate patterns of life there. Look. Zoom deeper; beyond the gold, within the blue, an unstarred continent, microscopic, complex, depths within depths. Deeper still, clouded with green and brown, almost exactly like a -

Surfacing from something, I do remember muttering something like: “Does anyone ever say no to you?”

And then he said something like: “Sometimes. But once we get talking, people usually realise what they really want, deep down.”

“And what’s that?”

“They say every girl has a part they’re just born to play.”

Chink, chink, chink.

“You’re a natural for this, Clara. Embrace it to the very best of your natural ability. It could be your big break.”

I nodded. I wasn’t sure what he was asking me.

“And speaking of breathtaking ecstasy, what are you wearing underneath, tonight?”

Clearly the Great Lover didn’t mess around, but then again, why should he? I wasn’t shocked; the question seemed entirely natural. “Just the usual.”

“And underneath the usual? Don’t you want to show me?”

“Yes.” And then, just as anybody would, I leaned close and whispered: “Now?”

He grinned wider. “Why not? The ladies’ room is right over there.”

“Yes.”

“You have your coat,” he said, and looked at me intently, “so there should be no problem.” I felt his lips brush my ear. “You’re a natural. And then we can talk about what we’ll do with you later.”

Obviously I was going to do no such thing, so without further ado I slid out of the booth and headed for the ladies’ room. It felt like exactly the right thing to do, under the circumstances.

In the cubicle, I hung my coat and shuffled out of my dress. Then—entirely my own idea—I stripped off my bra and panties. I decided it was only logical to leave my stockings on. Standards must be maintained, after all.

Perhaps I should have chosen a longer coat, I thought; this one barely reached mid-thigh. I opened my bag and stuffed my underwear and dress into it. Opening the cubicle door, I belted the coat tighter and checked myself in the mirror. My legs looked longer somehow, in this outfit, and my garters just peeped below the hem of the coat. I tugged at the hem, but that wasn’t going to make it any longer.

I reached into my bag and fingered my underwear. I was absolutely, certainly, definitely, not going out there in this state; but looking at it another way, there were a number of very compelling reasons to do so. I just couldn’t quite think what they were.

“Satisfied?” I said as I approached the booth, walking very carefully so as not to let the coat flap open. I was sure everybody was staring at me. I gave a little twirl in front of him. It seemed appropriate.

“Much better,” he said.

Gingerly, I slipped back into the booth. I could already feel the coat riding up my thighs as I crossed my legs. My cleavage was going to need keeping an eye on too, although the Great Lover was doing a pretty good job of checking that out already. As were a number of other individuals—mostly, although not exclusively, male. I felt pleasingly exposed, secretly open to the world.

He held out his hand to me. “Please. May I?”

“Yes.”

I opened my bag and handed him the rest of my clothes, frillies and all. He turned them over in his hands.

“That dress was fifty bucks,” I said. “Give it back, now.”

“Ask nicely, Clara. You need to be nice to me.”

It was true. I definitely needed to be nice to him. “May I have my dress back, please?”

He held up both hands, suddenly empty now. “Of course. If you can find it.”

His smile was ridiculously infectious.

“You are very beautiful,” he said, “and even more so now.” I sat up straighter, liking the compliment. Somehow, he had me hooked. I was beginning to understand what the girls meant, I thought. “We’ll have a wonderful evening. Breathtaking, in fact. Now, let’s talk some more about me.”

The next few hours were a blur. Under my thin coat, I was conscious of my nakedness, and happily conscious that this was entirely the correct state to be in. Under his gaze, I felt more naked still, and if I could have jumped him right there in the booth, I would have. Brown on green on blue on gold on green on brown -

One thing led to another thing and then another, and through a haze of lust we were in his limo, heading for his place. By then I was ready—more than ready—and eating out of his hand, and much more besides.

Needless to say he had a very impressive pad, but I didn’t see much of it in the rush to get to the bedroom.

The Great Lover didn’t linger over the niceties—he practically ripped my coat off as soon as we were through the door, and he took me at once. I don’t know why I was surprised by his size—after all he was known for it—but oh Lord, it felt good. He had me up against the wall first, strong hands on my ass as I wrapped my legs around him, and then he had me across his dresser, and only then on the big soft bed, and I came and came and came.

He must have said something to me, I guess, while he tied the first rope around my wrist, but I can’t remember what. I just remember his strong hands on my flesh, and the luscious feeling of the rope tightening, and him testing the knot until he was happy. Then the other wrist, and I remember holding it out to him, compliant, offering myself to him. I must have moaned as he tied each loose end to a bedpost, and I certainly moaned as I lay there, arms spread, secured.

He definitely said something when he began to tie my ankles. All I remember is a vague murmur, and then the sudden awareness of my position. I tugged at the bonds, already knowing that the knots were strong, and that he had tied them well. I had thought myself naked before, but now I was learning a whole new meaning of the word. Stretched wide, to the limits of my limbs, every inch of me was on proud display and available to him.

I was a natural, and I embraced the role to the very best of my ability.

And then, the extraordinary thrill as he began to run his hands over my helpless body. The gentle stroke of his fingers at my thighs. He ran his hands slowly over the smooth surface of my breasts, my erect nipples, first one, then another, and then over my buttocks. He reached down and stroked between my legs, and I pushed against his hand, seeking. Then his rough tongue between the lips of my pussy, the fiery orgasm, the best I had ever had at the hands of a man, and believe me baby, I’ve had a lot.

I don’t remember dozing off, but of course I must have done, because I do remember waking up all of a fluster, knowing I had somewhere important to be and something important to do and that it wouldn’t wait for little old me. It had been quite a night.

It was light outside. I looked at the clock on the wall. Eight thirty—plenty of time. Relieved, I stretched and sat up, got out of bed, slipped into his robe, rubbed my eyes, thinking of coffee and a cigarette and a shower, and headed for the bathroom to freshen up.

Only I didn’t do any of that, except in my head. With a shock, I realised that I was still tied up. I tugged at the ropes, but they were strong, and he had tied them well. Nothing doing. I could hear him padding around in the next room, probably making breakfast and looking forward to another session. But I didn’t have time for breakfast, let alone the other.

There was a part with my name on it out there right now.

“Hey! Lover boy!” I shouted. “You’ve forgotten something here!”

Soft footsteps outside, and then his handsome face peered round the door, coffee in hand. He grinned, and waggled his eyebrows at me in that suggestive tic of those who’ve spent a lot of time in the silents. I had to laugh, and it was all I could do to stop myself calling him to me again.

I smiled at him seductively. “You want more, honey? We can always get together again later. But I’ve really got to get going. Things to do.”

He said nothing, and just grinned, running his eyes over me, head to toe. I knew he liked what he saw. You would have too. But business called, and time was ticking.

I wriggled temptingly on the bed. “C’mon, untie me now, honey. We can do it all again tonight. I’ll do anything. But I’ve got a big audition at ten.”

A long beat of silence; a tiny spark of green.

“I know,” he said at last. “She told me all about it.”

“So? Then you know how important it is.”

“Yes, I do.” He winked at me. “So I guess I’ll see you later.” And just like that, he shut the door and left.

For a moment I was too stunned to speak. Then came the hot rush of fury. I shouted and cursed at him, and at her, and you wouldn’t believe some of the words that came out of my mouth. But the door didn’t open again, and shortly I heard the front door close, his car pulling away, and then the house was quiet.

I pulled and pulled at those ropes with all my strength, but nothing would give. I tried to slip first one wrist, then the other, but the ropes were perfectly tight. I could see the complex knots weren’t going to come undone by themselves, and no amount of wriggling would loosen them. I couldn’t even reach them with my teeth.

Through it all, I was somehow still turned on, and becoming more so. What was it about this man?

I breathed deep and tried to stay calm. There was no need to panic. Surely he would come back soon. What could I say to Hughes? I could beg him; surely he’d understand. A simple case of crosstown traffic, then my car had broken down, and then the door had got stuck and I’d had to break the window to get out, and then—yes—when I finally fought my way through the gridlock, climbing over the cars, there were no cabs and then I tried to run but as luck would have it broke a heel and then had to stop to help a man having a heart attack that turned out to be just indigestion and then, and then—of course!—there was a total eclipse of the sun, and everybody stopped to—

A flash of green at the edge of my peripheral vision.

I tried to ignore my lathering arousal, which wasn’t going away any time soon. I thought of his hands on me. I couldn’t even touch myself. I strained again at the ropes, for new and different reasons.

As I thrashed around helplessly on the big soft bed I watched the clock tick inexorably on, past eight forty-five, then nine, then nine fifteen.

When the hands passed nine thirty I threw back my head and screamed in frustration until my throat was hoarse. But there was nobody to hear me, and when he finally did come back, it was far too late.