The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

How do I tell him?

How can I tell him?

What can I tell him?

What will I tell him?

I pace the kitchen, the living room,

the hall, the bedroom,

I sit on the neatly-made bed,

big enough for two,

wonderful for two,

perfect for we two,

but the nervous energy is too much

and I cannot think of sleep,

not of real sleep, anyway,

but I can think of sleep-like states

of being awake but too relaxed to move

of being aware but too distant to know

of being active but not in control

of being

of being

of being

his

but

How do I tell him?

How can I tell him?

What can I tell him?

What will I tell him?

I cannot sit any longer and stand on long legs and look longingly at the full-length mirror, arrange my long hair just so and adjust my glasses just so, stretch just so and make myself beautiful, more beautiful, more beautiful to him, but to me, I see every imperfection, every flaw, where my pants squeeze or my shirt hangs loose or my eyes are close together or my nose is too big or my skin is scarred or

I step away from the mirror

I know he will tell me I look perfect,

and I have to trust him,

want to trust him,

want to trust him so much that he can pry open my mind

want to trust him enough that he could do whatever he wants

whenever he wants

and I do

which is why

when I walk back to the living room

there on the table

a book

a well-worn book

read through many times

from before we met

dog-eared pages and

read-over highlights and

lightly-marred passages and

fingerprints and thumbprints and pages stuck with saliva and...

a book, a how-to book, nothing more,

but so much more,

a book of fantasy

of my fantasy

a book I want to see him read,

see him devour,

see him use,

see him love as much as I love,

as much as I love him,

see him fantasize about what he could do to me

with me

with that book

with the brilliant blue jewel in the silver setting on the silver chain

taken from where it sits on the table

dangling before my eyes

and me

unwilling to look away

unable to look away

my body falling out of my control

my mind following him without question

knowing and trusting

my hands moving where he tells them

my mouth saying what he directs

knowing and trusting

and I can’t help myself

to think about it

as I pace

I pace because if I sit

or if I lie down

the fantasies will take hold

will control me

will move my hands, my voice, my thoughts

and I want to save myself

save my energy, my passion

for the moment he walks through the door

when I can

if I think about that too hard it won’t matter that I’m not sitting

so

How do I tell him?

How can I tell him?

What can I tell him?

What will I tell him?

My eyes fall on the jewel

on the pendant

on the object

it could be any object

that hangs in front of my eyes

that keeps me staring

while he talks

while he brings the me out of me

and puts in what he wants

making me more than me

but the jewel

the jewel matches his eyes

and I can imagine,

looking at the jewel,

that it’s the same as his eyes,

that his eyes do to me

what I want the jewel to do

what I want him to do with the jewel

make my knees weak

make my mind weak

make my mind and my heart and my soul

fly

fly

fly away

fly up

fly to the skies

fly through mists and fog and clouds

fly into other places other worlds other parts of myself

and I look away

because I’m staring at the jewel

and imagining myself flying

and I have to stop

or when he gets home

I won’t have anything left for him

and if I can’t breathe,

can’t talk,

can’t think,

How do I tell him?

How can I...

A key in the door

I run to the door

he’s opening the door

he’s opening the door!

My breath in my throat, I’m going to tell him, I’m going to tell him about the book about the jewel about the fantasy about flying about going weak about his eyes his eyes I see his eyes and I kiss him hello and I want to tell him and his hands are on my back and he kisses me hello and how was your day and oh fine you know but I want to say it I want to say it and how was work and he grins and his hands are on my ass and I thrill to the touch and I want to say it and then

his hands are on my skin

his skin on my skin

and not under my clothes

because I have no clothes on

and I didn’t know

until just now

a hundred conversations come back to me

a thousand memories

ten thousand touches

hundreds of thousands of words

his hands wander over my body

as I wonder, in wonder,

how I didn’t notice,

how, again, I didn’t notice,

how all day I’ve been

his hands interrupt my thoughts,

divert them, defer them,

and his eyes are deep crystal blue

and my knees go weak

and my mind goes weak

and the floodgates open and his hands are on my breasts and his tongue tastes mine and my hands are undressing him and touching him and stroking him and I drag him to the bedroom and he’s one me and kissing and caressing and in me in my body in my mind and everything is perfect and the book and the jewel are wonderful and

I fly

I fly

I fly.