The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I still remember the time we went to Monterey together, and stayed up to all hours drinking Tequila and dancing, and then lay together through the heat of the day, slowly making love. I remember the time that we walked through the fog on the beach south of Big Sur until we felt that were all alone in the world, and I made love to you, and tasted the salt spray on your skin, and the sweeter salt that came from within you. I don’t know if you remember anymore, or if you still cherish those times as much as I do.

Do you remember when we went hiking in the Sierras, singing all your favourite show tunes as we walked? Or when we both got food poisoning from that restaurant at Tahoe, and we looked after each other? Or the times we quietly lay together on the couch and watched movies?

Do you remember the life we’ve built together?

I quickly checked my hair in the mirror after I parked the car in front of Moira’s house. It looked fine, so I brushed a few imaginary wisps away and got out of the car. I clattered up the path to Moira’s door in my high-heels; perhaps a little clumsily, as I hadn’t worn them regularly since I met Steven five—no it must be almost six—years ago. But I knew that they really showed off my legs well, and Moira and I were going to have fun going out on the town tonight!

I rang the doorbell and waited. Steven had sounded a little disappointed this morning when I told him that Moira and I were going out again tonight. He’d said that he’d hoped that I would be free because he wanted to go out to dinner with him. But Moira had asked me first, and it would have been rude to cancel at such short notice.

Today is the sixth anniversary of the day we met. I’m guessing that you didn’t remember that. I’d really hoped to spend some time with you this evening. To perhaps re-kindle our fire, or maybe just to talk about the stuff we always used to talk about. Or just to enjoy a good meal together.

I’ve barely seen you at all in the past month. You’re always rushing off to work in the mornings, and you’ve been going out after work every night. I think it was 3 am when you got home last night. And when you are home, you barely talk. You’re either half-asleep because you didn’t get enough rest, or you’re spending time in chat rooms.

I heard Moira’s voice yelling “Hold on!” from inside the house, and a few moments later she was opening the door. She was wearing a simple white terry cloth robe, but she looked good even in that. I knew I was slightly early, since I’d sneaked out of work a few minutes before 5 and rushed over as fast as I could. But I also knew that Moira wouldn’t mind.

“Wow! You look great! Come on in, Bren!” she gushed.

She was smiling a smile which lit up her whole face. We hugged closely, she kissed me chastely on the cheek, and then ushered me into the living room.

“I’ve still got to shower and dress before we go out. Why don’t you watch TV while you wait for me.”

“No problem,” I said.

I sat down, and reached for the remote.

I know Moira is one of your oldest friends, and that you have years of catching up to do. I know from what you told me shortly after you met her again that she’s been doing some interesting things. But you’ve gone over to her place every night after work for the past month. At least, you say that you’re with Moira.

It might be unfair, but at this point I can’t believe that there isn’t something going on. If you’re punishing me for something I’ve done, then let me know what it is so I can make amends. If you’ve found someone else, let me know. If you’re having a brief affair, it’s time to bring it to an end.

And it’s not fair to make Moira cover for you all the time like this.

And if you really are just going out and having fun like you say you are, that you now care so little about me that you barely even see me, then what we have—what we had—is dying or dead.

The TV screen was black, tuned to a station with no signal, and I was kneeling, naked in front of it. My sex was wet and hot, and the fingers of my right hand were sticky with what were surely my own juices. My clothes were neatly stacked on the coffee table beside me

I felt curiously disjointed. The last thing I remembered was sitting down in front of the television. I must have fallen asleep in front of it, but that didn’t explain why I was naked. And I knew that there were things I had to do, but I didn’t know what. And a feeling of anticipation, like the feeling in the air just before a storm breaks. But I didn’t know why.

I picked up the remote from where it lay on the floor, and turned the television off. My knees and legs felt stiff as I stood. I probably should have dressed myself, but it didn’t seem like the right thing to do just then.

A shower felt like the right thing to do.

I walked purposefully through to the guest bathroom, and turned the shower on. Something told me that this shower was a cleansing in more ways than one, so I turned the water on as hard as possible, and the heat up until it was almost painfully hot.

Steam billowed around me as I stepped in to the shower. I cleaned myself thoroughly, and as I washed my hair I found myself singing my favourite song from “South Pacific.”

I’m hurting a lot right now, but I want to bring us back together if that’s at all possible. I love you Brenda, that’s the simple fact. You ought to know that. I think you still love me to, although you might have lost track of that in whatever it is that is consuming you now.

You bring warmth into my life. Without you it’s cold and dark. Another lonely, moonless, winter night. It scares me to think of us not being together any more. Your laughter makes me smile; when you’re sad I yearn to make you happy; when you sing, my heart sings too.

I love the curve of your breast. Your cheek when you smile. Your lips in the dark of night. I love brushing away the wisps of hair that fall over your face. I love your taste. The whisper of your voice. The way your nipple moves under my tongue. The way you tell me about the books you’ve been reading. The noise you make when you come. I love lying with you, naked, afterwards and feeling the arc from your hip to your shoulder.

I Love You.

I noticed a fresh, black silk robe hanging on the back of the door as I finished drying myself. It felt right to put it on, and I luxuriated in the feel of the fabric on my naked flesh. My sense of anticipation was rising.

I needed to go to the bedroom.

When I reached the door, it was like the sun turned on.

Moira was there.

My love.

My one true love.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed in a robe just like mine. She stood, holding her hands out to me and I walked toward her, dreamlike.

The world had been cold and dark, I realised. Like a moonless winter night. But Moira brought warmth to me. Memories started filtering back to me. Endless nights kneeling before the television as the swirling patterns explained to me this truth, then hid it under layers of winter ice, waiting for the sun to reveal it.

Moira stood and smiled as we held hands, almost chastely, like teenagers preparing for their first dance at the prom. And her smile was radiant, and I was radiant too. Her hands were soft as they held my own clean, cleansed, hands. Clean and pure, like my love for her.

We stepped together as one, and our lips met. Softly at first, but then with more vigour. Where we touched through our silken robes, I felt her warmth. Our breasts pressed together. Our legs intertwining. Her hands moving across my back and lower.

We fell onto the bed, and I let the fire of the sun consume me.

But we can’t go on like this. Tonight was the last straw. I started writing this at 9, and its 1 in the morning now, and you still aren’t home. I’ve tried to talk to you about all of this, but you’ve just brushed me aside every time.

I’ve been thinking for the past few days that the only way to bring your attention to what’s happening is for us to have a break. To think things through.

I even packed an overnight bag with clothes two days ago. Last night, I put all my papers and documents in my car. You didn’t notice either.

This is the hardest, most painful thing I have ever done. But I think it’s the right thing. It’s what we need right now.

One of the many times during the night that we woke from light sleep to languidly make love again, I remembered Steve. It was a distant thought, barely reaching my consciousness through the sensations of Moira’s tongue and mouth gently exploring my breasts.

“Moira, when we’re done this time, I should go home.”

Moira looked up at me, her chin resting on my breast. She knew what I was thinking, of course.

“Don’t worry about Steven. He knows what’s right for you.”

It’s true that he does, and Moira’s words set me at ease. I relaxed and let Moira have her way with me once more.

You can keep living at the apartment. I’ll find something for however long you need. You can keep your car, I’ll keep my car. There’s not much point in me taking any of the kitchen stuff or the furniture, but if, God help us, this is to be permanent, I’d like to come and get the furniture which I inherited from my grandmother.

If you want to talk, you know my cell number. If this is more serious than I could possibly imagine, so serious that you cannot be civil to me, hire a lawyer and have him call me.

But when you are ready, call me.

The grey light of dawn was lighting the sky as I came back to the apartment, and my warm breath made small clouds of vapour as I walked from the parking lot. I needed to grab some clothes, get some things I needed for work. The apartment was dark, and Steve’s car wasn’t in the lot.

I opened the front door with my key, turned on the lights, and called out a hello, but I didn’t expect a response. The room was much warmer than the outside, and the fireplace held the last embers of a dying fire. But the room still felt claustrophobic and unwelcoming.

I took off my coat and gloves, and hung them in the closet. All of Steve’s coats and boots were missing.

There was a letter on the living room coffee table.

I sat down.

I read it.

I read it again.

When I finished reading it, I called Moira briefly on my cell phone to let her know that Steve had left. It warmed my heart to hear her voice again, even though we had been apart no more than 30 minutes.

I went into the kitchen and found the stepladder. I went back into the living room and unscrewed the smoke detector. I deftly removed and turned off the subliminal ultrasound generator that I now remembered hiding there 3 weeks ago.

The message of defeat that it had been broadcasting ended, and I felt the room lighten around me.

Then I took the letter to the fireplace and touched the top corner to the embers in the fire.

As it burned, I read it one last time.

You can think of this letter and the love I am putting into it as a beacon fire to lead you home. I’m burning for you. All you need to do is look.

A single tear rolled down my cheek.