The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Drop me off here, tyrone,” Monica told her driver and bodyguard. Not so long ago, he had tried to become her pimp; now he was her slave, completely controlled by her arts—and he knew it. She did not trouble herself to make him enjoy his servitude, or to become emotionally devoted to her. It amused her to keep him perfectly obedient while hating it, fearing her, needing her without wanting her. Moreover, the conflict in his mind generated a great deal of emotional energy, which both nourished her and provided a strong, sharp flavor to her feeding from him. It was killing him, though, she knew. Soon he would have to be replaced. But that was for another day. For now, “Park the car, tyrone, and follow me at a discreet distance. Don’t scare off the clientele, do you understand!” She walked away without waiting for his mumbled reply. She knew he would do as he was told.

Monica walked through the shopping center with a feigned nonchalance veiling her predatory purpose. She was wearing her “hunting clothes,” a tight red sweater, short black skirt, high heeled pumps ... and no underwear. Her long brown hair hung loosely to the middle of her back, lending a camouflage of youth and innocence to her otherwise provocative outfit.

She strolled slowly and casually along the sidewalk in front of the glass walled shops and offices. That way, she could observe her potential prey in the reflections without them being aware that as they watched her pass by, swaying ever so subtly and provocatively, she was carefully monitoring their responses. Thus she could pick her next victim, aiming a significant gesture here, a meaningful movement there at just the moment he would be watching most intently, capturing his eyes and his mind even before she made eye contact and dissolved his will.

That one? she asked herself, catching the reflection of a young man whose glance had lingered a dangerous fraction of a second too long on her swaying arse. No, he was too young, almost still a boy. She was not a cradle-robber; the young men had energy and stamina, but no experience or financial resources to draw on. Unless a youth looked innocent enough that it would be sufficiently entertaining to corrupt him, he was hardly worth her time.

How about the well dressed, gray-haired gentleman, who already could hardly keep his eyes off her? No, too old this time; she had no wish to cause a fatal exhaustion in one night. She restricted her movements, shifting from a hypnotic undulation to an innocent walk. The gentleman came to himself with a start, sighed, and looked away.

Ah, Monica thought, there was her man! The driver of an expensive, late model sedan had almost hit the curb when she threw a distracting gesture his way. She paused, pretending to window shop as she watched him drive on. Yes! He was circling back, as if looking for a parking space; he probably thought he was, consciously. Her non-verbal, neuro-linguistic messages communicated below the level of conscious thought.

As he passed her the second time, she shifted her weight from left to right and back again, adding just the right suggestion of sensuality, and letting the movement of her skirt’s fabric across her firm posterior hint at the absence of underlying garments. That should bring him back for more! she exalted, as she moved on to the next window after he passed by—passed on, but only after slightest tell-tale hesitation. Yes, he was circling again. She moved, as if at random, away from the busy concourse of the center, towards the section of offices, almost deserted at this time. Come to me, she cooed to herself, and telegraphed to her victim by body language. Third time’s the charm.

Monica carefully positioned herself near a parking space, and watched as the car came slowly up behind her. When she was sure the driver’s eyes were on her, she bent over as if to adjust the strap of her shoe. As she intended, the sight of her bare, firm buttocks brought him to a complete stop, his attention helplessly ensnared. Gracefully, she straightened up, her left hand drawing the hem of her skirt up to keep his gaze fixated. She turned her upper body, looking askance over her left shoulder at him. His eyes were finally drawn reluctantly away from her provocatively displayed arse. Her gaze met his, locked, and he was hers!

She turned, smoothing her skirt down over her hips and approached the car. The hapless driver reached blindly over to open the door, his eyes transfixed on hers. But as she stooped to get in and claim her prey, two men seized her by the arms. She looked from one to the other. The older was the well-dressed gentleman she had considered, and rejected, as a victim. The younger man .... She had at first thought he was approaching early middle age, but now she realized he was still young and strong. She winced at his grip. Very strong! Some stress, some great trial of body and mind had prematurely aged him, but only on the surface. He had prevailed in that struggle, she saw, and it had toughened him to the core. The cold blue fire in his eyes made her fear she knew the nature of that trial.

“That will be far enough, succubus!” the older man spoke quietly, but firmly. He spoke to his assistant, “Carl,” and indicated with a nod the still frozen driver.

Carl slammed the passenger side door shut, and slapped the roof of the vehicle. “Okay, buddy, take off!” The startled driver snapped out of his trance, took in the situation at a glance, and leapt to the obvious wrong conclusion. He hastily drove away, scrupulously observing all the traffic rules, however.

Monica looked around for Tyrone, but the hulking ex-pimp was being expertly restrained by an even larger man in a chauffeur’s uniform. There was a clear family resemblance between the man who effortlessly held back her bodyguard, and the elegant man who had her by an elbow lock. She guessed now into whose hands she had fallen, and her heart sank.

“So, Dr. Harker, I presume?” She allowed no trace of the apprehension she now felt to show in her voice or face. “Can’t an honest working girl make a living without you busting her?”

“Shut-up, bitch!” snarled Carl. “You gave yourself away for what you are when you recognized us.”

“Carl,” Leonard Harker admonished his new colleague with a gentle word. He signalled, and another of his team piloted a van around the corner. In the background, Baxter hustled Tyrone away. Monica began to regret that she had lured her victim away from the busier areas of the Mall to this more isolated spot.

“Calling up your mob of peasants with torches and pitchforks?” she asked scornfully.

“You’ve watched too many of the wrong kind of movies, Miss,” Harker replied mildly. “We’ve modernized our methods, just as you have.”

The van pulled up opposite them. The two vampire hunters forced Monica inside, and closed the door behind them.

Lilith and Elizabeth were having tea in the drawing room, when Green entered with a somber expression on his face.

“Madam, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Harker and his people have taken your grand-daughter, Monica.”

“No!” exclaimed Lilith.

“Is this certain?” Elizabeth asked, simultaneously.

“When word reached us, I had some of our people contact Tyrone, the procurer she had enslaved as her bodyguard.. He has come out of the spell she had woven about him, and is going through the usual withdrawal symptoms. His description of the man who prevented him from intervening fits the information we have about Harker’s son,” he turned to Lilith, “and the description of one of the hunters appears to match Miss Lilith’s ... friend, Carl Williams.” Lilith gasped at the news. “The other man may have been Dr. Leonard Harker himself.”

Lilith turned to her grandmother. “Are we not going to do something about this?”

“There is nothing we can do, now,” the older female replied. “Nor would I be inclined to act, if I could. That her slave is coming out of his trance may mean she is already destroyed, but she was lost to us long before. Your cousin had become what you were in very great danger of becoming before you returned here: a predator; a killer; a slaver. The destruction she wrought caused unwelcome attention to our way of life. She was a danger to herself, and to us, as well as ... no, because she was a threat to the normal humans we must live with. In a very real sense, she brought her death upon herself.” Elizabeth sighed. “If she is dead yet, that is. I think many of our family may find it convenient to take extended absences for the time being. How would you like to pay a long visit to your Aunt Sabra?”