The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It took me a moment to rally, while the scent of ozone filled the small room.

I couldn’t risk a transmission. Vulture might have been close enough to hear, but with a Squid Battlewagon in orbit even an encrypted burst was likely to be intercepted.

Worse still, I was feeling unaccustomedly vulnerable and couldn’t quite shake the impression that at any moment a raiding party could be dropped right on top of me. There was no question about it. I needed to make a tactical withdrawal.

The Squid agent was the only lead I had and that meant she was coming with me.

It was the work of mere moments to strip my captive out of her kimono. Beneath the antique fabric and utilitarian underwear, the woman’s body was toned and lithe. The flesh was a bizarre mixture of pale, almost buttery, smoothness and textured callus.

Even without the evidence of my own injuries, I would have recognised her as a warrior.

Without pause I slipped out of my clothing, draping them over the back of a nearby chair. I must have made one hell of a sight. Translucent cord criss-crossed my nakedness, forming a tortoise shell pattern that accentuated my softer curves.

The smartfibre twitched and throbbed, only reluctantly loosening its grip as I unwound it. When paranoia becomes ubiquitous a girl has to get creative if she wants to carry the tools of her trade. But a harness of semi-autonomous, orbital crystal was exactly the sort of thing you’d expect to find under a sexual thrill-seeker’s more formal attire.

I threw a double loop around the young woman’s hips, before pulling the dangling strands back between her thighs and up into the cleft between her buttocks. The fibres clutched and twisted, burrowing deeply into my captive’s gleaming lips.

There was no time to fashion anything elaborate, but once I’d lashed the girl’s wrists to the makeshift net trapping her pelvis, I could leave the smartrope to finish her off and generally neaten things up.

While the agent was being thoroughly trussed up, I hurriedly redressed. Next I drew the discarded kimono back around her neatly packaged form. The crystalline ropes were already vibrating softly, easing ever more deeply into her helpless crease.

I knew the subterfuge wouldn’t survive even a cursory inspection. But at this time of night no locals would be likely to bother us and, anyone watching from on high already knew enough to make any attempts at stealth frankly laughable.

She leant heavily against me, unconsciously moulding her body to mine. Soft echoes of the rope’s attentions seeped through our clothing and it took a moment to banish those errant sensations back into the darkness I’d fashioned for them.

It took twice as long to make our way back to the flyer. My adrenaline high was fading rapidly and I needed to get some ice on my bruises. Random squalls whipped through the terraced homes and the scouring grit seemed to find every minute chink in my envirosuit’s protection.

I was relieved to see that both my servitors were still idly circling the small craft. The spherical drones acknowledged my arrival, swooping to my shoulders and taking up flanking positions. Their heavily scratched surfaces and antiquated appearance fitted my apparent station. But, of course, Sparks , our Minerva, had retrofitted their cramped interiors with more than a few surprises.

None of that was going to make a scrap of difference if the Squids came calling, but I took no small comfort in having even inadequate backup.

The flyer’s scanfield tingled wetly over my skin as its simple AI confirmed my identity. There was a minuscule detail before it opened the loading ramp, but nothing that couldn’t be explained by the now driving rain.

I keyed the thrusters while the decon routine was still running, trusting the digital savant to manage the cross-winds and magnetic flux. The servitors hovered near my captive, both managing to give a very passable emulation of agitation.

By the time I reached the cockpit, we were already approaching the ‘Scar’s’ rim.

As befitted one of the planet’s new nobility, Shala’s manor was perched high above the mine workings. I had no illusions when it came to how defensible the place might actually be, but however unrealistic, I was going to feel a lot safer just as soon as I got back on home ground.

No feudal Lady’s demesne should be without a dungeon and, as should come as no surprise, Shala’s manor came fully equipped.

I left my guest in the centre of a large, open chamber, kneeling astride a heavily padded stool. Smart fibre coiled sinuously from ankle to thigh, ensuring that she couldn’t slip from the precarious perch. More crystalline cords trapped her arms behind her back, palm-to-palm and extra loops slid above and below her breasts.

Now, as I’m sure you already know, even the most amateurishly applied smartrope is practically inescapable.

I, however, do this for a living. Which should give you some of idea of just how much chance there was of her “pulling a Houdini.”

That said, complacency is a pretty quick way of getting yourself ‘got’ and I’ve never been anything but thorough. I left Hughie and Louis to keep her company, along with strict instructions to contact me just as soon as her vitals began to change.

Despite the anechoic tiling, her screams still penetrated deep inside the manor.

I took my time. There were a few items I needed to collect first and, like I said, it wasn’t as if she was going anywhere.

She’d purged just enough of my venom to be lucid. But her profanities were still pleasingly slurred. I stifled a grin when I caught sight of her eyes. Despite the bravado they were still lost in roaming nystagmus. Pupils gaped in the shadows, glassy and unfocussed.

“So,” I started, breezily, “What should I call you?”

“Fuck you,” she hissed with disappointing predictability.

“As you wish,” I sighed, “But it leaves me in a quandary. You see, I don’t want to dehumanise you. That never works out well when you’re planning on torturing someone. I was going to stick with Miko. But that’s not going to happen, not least because, thanks to you, she’s Squid-bait.”

Anger boiled behind that vacant stare, her coal-black orbs glittered malevolently and I knew with absolute certainty that she was destined for far gentler treatment than if our roles had been reversed.

Of course, that didn’t mean the next few hours were going to be a picnic for my helpless captive.

The chainglass specimen jar was small enough to fit inside the palm of my hand and I shook it casually as I slipped it from my pocket. The thing trapped inside buzzed its annoyance, chitin grating somewhere deep in the infrasonic.

There was no need for words at this point. Just a slow unveiling, while her imagination filled in the blanks.

I jabbed the long-necked forceps through the jar’s membrane, catching the Phox just behind its forelegs. The inch-long insect coiled and squirmed but the toothed jaws had already locked shut. Which, of course, only helped to make it mad as hell.

Diaphanous wings disappeared in a subliminal blur and its whine shifted way beyond human perception. The Phox’s buzzing was a tense ache in my jaw, which set the forceps thrumming in my hand.

One glance into my captive’s wide eyes told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t going to crack, not just yet.

Despite her immobility, she still strained away as I brought the clearly livid insect ever closer. Its thorax seemed to throb with red light, bioluminescence that screamed, “fuck off” in anybody’s language.

I let it brush softly against her exposed breast, drawing its carapace over one pink nipple. Both of us held our breath and then, its stinger lashed out and the bound woman gave an agonised howl.

“Shh,” I soothed, amiable, “it only burns at first.”

Holding the squirming thing at bay, I let my free hand play gently over the darkening flesh, delighting in the feel of her shivers.

“Given time,” I added encouragingly, “you might even grow to enjoy it.”

Doubt flickered across her beautiful face. Part of her desperately wanted to believe, but I still had a long way to go if I wanted to convince her. Squeezing hard, I twisted the taut nub savagely. That earned me an almost girlish squeal and a look that would have curdled milk.

“I’d much rather you enjoyed it,” I told her, forcing as much sincerity as I could into those simple words. “But either works. And, right now, all I want is a name.”

“Miko,” she spat, sweat already beading her brow and matting that luxurious hair.

“No,” I explained, moving the now crimson Phox back toward her vulnerable flesh. “You don’t want to be Miko... she’s Squid-bait.”

She was visibly trembling now, external control slipping as the insect’s anger hummed into the base of her brain.

“What shall I call you?” I wondered gently, once again forcing the creature’s body to graze her tender skin.

Her reply was lost in a gasp that quickly became an almost breathless whine. She shuddered in place, and only the smartfibre stopped her from collapsing. The stinger painted her nipple with lurid scarlet highlights and neither of us could tell whether that was ecstasy or torment.

Pale flesh reddened as I watched, swelling and trembling with each passing second. I brushed my fingers into the depth of her cleavage, coating them in perspiration and mixing in a little pharmaceutical sorcery of my own.

“You know what happens next,” I sighed, hot breath teasing her tortured breasts, “and all I want from you... is a name....”

I held her random gaze, while the forceps sunk ever lower. Her lips parted and for one sweet moment I thought she might speak. But all she managed were sobbing gasps that mingled wetly with the tears streaming over her cheeks.

Pheromones flickered past her sensitised synapses, triggering muted flight or fight responses that would be as baffling as they were compelling. The Phox twitched against her simmering sex, parting the slickness and finding the honeyed arousal within.

Very deliberately I ground the incensed insect into her helpless clit, feeling how she lurched at the touch, even before the stinger bit home.

What can I tell you? I’m a sick bitch. And that scream... my scream… was so pure, so honest, so very sweet...

Acting pretty much on autopilot I pushed the insect back into its jar, trusting in the seal to keep it safely stored away. The girl just whimpered, her hopeless mewls giving the clearest possible indication of her building need.

I smoothed my palm over the entrance to her sopping cunt, cruelly massaging the envenomed flesh, while she lurched and moaned.

Just enough to give her hope.

But never quite enough to give her what she really wanted.

“Rest now,” I whispered, carefully withdrawing my massaging hands. “You’ve had a busy day and it wouldn’t do to exhaust you this early.”

She stared at me in shocked disbelief, any hint of deception long since gone. The Phox’s sting had already faded into a warm endorphin rush and a heat that simply begged to be touched. She would probably have been able to use traditional bindings to scratch that maddening itch. But the smartrope wasn’t about to make it easy for her, and we both knew it.

All she could do, was kneel there, horribly exposed and utterly helpless, while the entirely artificial desire gnawed away at her resolve.

Her angry, half-pleas followed me as I scaled the rough-hewn stairs.

She wasn’t going to crack, not yet... but it was only a matter of time.

I gave her a full four hours, although from her perspective, I’m sure it must’ve felt far longer.

The sounds that greeted me, as I descended, had subtly shifted. All trace of demand had long since fled, leaving only the soft sobbing of her abject need.

She wasn’t broken, not by a long chalk. But the cracks were there, if you knew how to look for them.

“Shall we start again?” I asked gently, enjoying the way she shuddered in response to my voice.

Her head lolled, sinking further into the slick gloss painting her cleavage. Tears mingled with sweat and saliva, further matting the girl’s hair and trailing in thin strands with every movement.

“What’s your name?” I whispered, taking hold of her chin and lifting those glassy eyes to meet my own.

“Fu…ck…” she slurred, and I let her flesh slip through my fingers.

I was already turning as her head dropped back into the moist valley. She gave a weak sob, but I forced myself to ignore the urgent twinge that soft noise created and silently willed her to be strong.

She did me proud.

Waiting until I’d actually set foot on the narrow staircase, before calling out again.

“Don’t…” she whined, her voice hoarse with desire. “Please…”

I could feel how she trembled, even from half a room away and I stood there for a moment, happy to bask in that sensation.

“Yuuka,” she sighed, resignation and despair turning the word into her declaration of surrender.

Slowly I turned back and, once again, she surprised me, holding her head up with obvious effort and somehow managing to meet my gaze.

“There,” I suggested, taking a step toward her. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Anger flickered somewhere in the depths of her eyes and I grinned savagely when I saw just how quickly it was quenched. Chemical reality seeped through her exhausted thoughts, placating every doubt and leaving her hopelessly convinced that I was the scariest motherfucker she’d ever encountered.

Whatever conditioning the Squids had implanted was fighting against several million years of evolution. Yuuka couldn’t deny her own powerlessness and every primitive instinct was screaming at her to roll over and bare her throat.

I watched, as the challenge rose and died… relishing the sweet heat in that acknowledgement of my power over her.

The girl’s head dropped, an unconscious bow that spoke more deeply than any words. Her shoulders fell, slumping into the meek acceptance of learned helplessness.

“That’s my good girl,” I breathed, placing one finger against the humming crotchrope.

She twitched at the first touch, but then stayed almost completely motionless. Her body seemed to vibrate in place, resonating with the strength of her longing.

“Tell me, Yuuka,” I continued gently, while my finger began to trace tight, tiny circles. “Why is this place so important? What do the Squids want?”

The girl’s gasp caught in her throat, but still she held herself in check. Hot, liquid submission dribbled over my fingers and I used it, letting the greasy ooze coat and cover her tightening restraints. Working the ropes ever more deeply between her enflamed lips, I could feel the hairline cracks starting to open.

“History,” she squealed, sliding closer to the climax she so desperately craved. “A fra… fragment of their… of their… past… deep within the… Scar…”

Everything else was lost in her scream.

Yuuka clenched and spasmed, thrashing wildly against the constricting bonds. Slick gloss poured over my hand, fiery water that sizzled and burned.

On and on it went, growing ever more wanton. And, it was only when her frenzied reactions finally seemed to settle, that I recognised the building howl for what it was.

The air around us began to shimmer, while electricity crawled through the thickening air.

Shapes danced in the haze, as though fighting to break through some unseen barrier. Limbs writhed in the darkness, but I was already turning to flee.

They had found me… and that meant I was pretty much… screwed…