The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tracy Walters had spent a month working on her submission to the EMCSA and what did she have to show for it?

Zip, nothing, nada. No postings, not even an email acknowledging her story. Why did she even bother?

Instead of expending a few bytes of notice on her work everyone was raving about Mordor’s latest work.

Tracy had read Mordor. She had a one-letter word to describe it: hint, it begins with a “s” and “t” and has something to do with a certain bodily function.

Mordor, who the hell was he? She checked out one of his posts to bring up his data. His avatar was some stupid orc from LOTR grimacing with flashing red eyes. Tracy frowned back at it, giving it some of the animosity she wanted to give its creator.

As the eyes flickered, Tracy’s froze; her mind went blank; her body’s only motion were the opening and closing of her eyelids to the rhythm of the orc avatar’s blinking eyes. She remained in this condition for maybe five minutes when her eyes snapped shut. “Command accepted. Subject is now ready for transmission.” Tracy blurted out in a monotone.

Tracy shook her head, returning to her original thoughts as if nothing had happened.

“Hmph, hardly original an original avatar.” She told herself as she clicked to find out the specs he was willing to share:

Male: Obviously, the way he wrote, usually some male with a watch or a drug or a hypno spray taking control and advantage of some buxom beauty.

Lives in Philadelphia: Too close for comfort. Tracy worked in Phillie’s suburbs.

Email: a hotmail address.

Going to the new story submissions, Tracy clicked on his story to see if Mordor’s latest was really as good as everyone said it was.

It wasn’t. She fumed as she scrolled down the text. The stock clichés, wooden characters, and bad grammar just rolled off the screen. Could he ever figure out that he should be using “you’re” instead of your when meaning “you are”? Didn’t he know that a woman’s waist is not spelled “w-a-s-t-e”?

Tracy rolled her eyes as she came up to the one of Mordor’s tawdry sex scenes: his protagonist, a schlub named Arthur Chadwick, was about to mentally possess Macy Raddison, snobby rich girl, while both were driving in separate cars down a City street. “Oh…my…god!” Tracy cried aloud and prepared to close the screen with the story. Her face froze again.

“Downloading.” She exclaimed dully. Her eyelids flew open and closed at a furious pace. After five minutes, they snapped shut and she opened them again, returning to her feelings of disdain for Mordor’s story..

Tracy prepared to dismiss the offending screen. But she found couldn’t take her eyes off the story. That was odd: it was like those tabloids in the supermarket checkout line or a crash on the highway, they had a way of grabbing and keeping her attention. In fact, she couldn’t even skim the text anymore. Her eyes fell on each word as they described the highly improbable scene as if an invisible hand took hold of her head and forced her to look at each and every one.

“They were stopped at a light and Art reached into Macy’s mind, filling it with sexy thoughts. They made Macy wet as she got so hot thinking about the things she wanted to do with him. She pulled her dress up, spreading her legs wide. She reached down to touch how wet she was. She pushed her fingers in while her thumb toyed with her clit. She could have come, but he wasn’t ready to let her.”

As Tracy’s eyes floated across the paragraph’s words, she found her breathing had inadvertently become deeper, almost long sighs. Even stranger, her loins were tingling with electricity: the way she felt when she wanted her boyfriend and wanted him immediately. Stranger still, her cunt was warming, moaning to be touched and her hand was obliging of its own volition, slowly sliding down beneath her pants, her thong, along and past her lips, her thumb remaining outside to dance with her nub. She shook her head and tried to get her mind on something else, but those thoughts fled as her eyes fell on the screen and she started reading Mordor’s story again.

“At the next light, Art nodded and Macy heard his unsaid command. She began to undo the buttons of her blouse so he could look at her knockers. She lifted the dress up higher past her thighs. She pushed her underwear down to display her shaven pussy. He watched hungrily as he commanded her to shoot two fingers into her. Her hips gyrating to the Aerosmith tune blaring on the radio.”

Tracy was startled as her tank top was raised to expose her breasts, but the culprits were he own traitorous hands. This disloyalty was followed by pushing down her pants to her ankles, a couple fingers drowning beneath her thong in her salivating cunt.

“After his fun he guided her to his house, making her walk inside. She ran her hands through his hair, massaging his face. Then she pulled his shirt up and off to feel his soft pudgy chest. His touch was intoxicating to her. She pushed him into the swivel chair in front of his computer. She undid the remaining buttons to her dress and let it fall. Turning, she bent over to show him her nice ass to him. He took the itt and squeezed. He licked the outline of her butt. ‘Oh yes.’ She said”

Tracy was moving too, she slipped out of her clothes, pushing her chair back, bending over the keyboard, imagining the gentle touch of velvety kisses on her exposed ass, playing against her flesh, driving her wild. She sighed and cooed, her lips fixed in a sensuous oval. “Oh yessss…” She hissed. “Oh yesssssss.”

“Art’s hands made their way between her thighs and she begged him to use her clit. He laughed and stood behind her He pulled her to him. He took her tits in his hands. He grabbed the nipples first before letting one hand drift back down to her ass to squeeze it tightly. His lips played on her neck. His kisses made her feel really good. ‘Take me, Art, take me you stud.’ She said.”

Tracy groaned loudly, it was her hand at her breast; it was her hand at her pussy, but they felt like his…Art’s, he was using her for his pleasure just as he was Macy, making his touch, his kisses send jolts of ecstasy through her being. “Oh Art…Oh Art.” She nearly squealed as desire pounded through her body and mind. “Take me, Art, take me you stud!” And she imagined Art there, his body exquisite to her despite her usual preference for the muscle-bound type with a butt you could bounce a quarter off of. Even through the pale of rapture, the pawing at herself, she read on.

“He mentally told her to straddle him. She did. She, wrapped her legs around him. She lowered herself onto his cock while kneaded her ass. As he could read her mind, he thrust into her, gently as she wanted it, filling her and hitting her G-spot. She loved it. ‘Control me, Master! Fuck me!’ She said.”

Back in the chair, Tracy’s thong had been discarded and she was writhing as her fingers pumped into her. But it wasn’t her hand that her mind felt, it was his prick, Art’s own and it was filling her, thrusting into her, slowly, softly, the way she wanted it, as if he knew that, as if he were reading her mind and responding to her wishes, giving her such a fucking she had never thought possible. “Control me!” She yelled at the top of her lungs. She wanted to surrender herself utterly to her lover, to make this joy go on and on and on. “Control me, Art…Master! Fuuuuuuck me!” She shook her head violently as she rode her own hand, the mock cock of her lover, her hair flailing chaotically. But through it all she kept her eyes on the text.

“Macy sweated as she was fucked. Sshe felt herself coming. His cock filled her with his seed. She tried to scream but couldn’t. She collapsed on him as she had aftershocks of her orgasm. ‘Oh Art. Oh Master.’ She said.”

Tracy’s pelvic muscles tightened around her fingers. Clenching her teeth, she savored a wave of warmth crashing over her, her face tinged red as it cascaded into a series of moans rising and falling making her muscles tremble.

Her face froze for just a moment. “Download complete.” She exclaimed.

Finally, she was able to break away from the story slid on to the floor. Her mind dwelt on the pleasure she had just surfed, giggling stupidly as its traces passed from her.

After a half an hour, Tracy leapt up from the floor. Her finger frantically pawed at the mouse as she sought another one of Mordor’s creations. For the next day, she read them all, each giving her an exquisitely erotic experience.

To: Mordor@hotmail.com

From: Twalters@hotmail.com

Re Your Stories

Dear Mordor:

Your stories are delicious. I can’t tell you what they do to me. Keep writing, please.

With Love,

Tracy Walters

P.S. I live in the area, maybe we can meet. Kisses

Art Burstein smiled. “Hooked another one.” He thought to himself.

It is said that many geniuses go undiscovered by themselves or by others. Art knew he was a scientific genius, but was content to remain undiscovered by the rest of world. A painfully shy man, he hid away in the depths of the University of Pennsylvania’s Creative Neuro-Psychology building, performing research and devoting himself to his one great pleasure: reading and writing fiction for the EMCSA. Art was well aware he was no great writer, not even a fair one, but if he could not write to make people like his stories, he figured he could just make them like them. Knowing better than anyone that the mind was an over glorified computer, he designed an avatar that would imprint a susceptibility to certain hidden commands that could be coded into his stories. Once imprinted reader passed over the invisible code, they would feel “certain” things, certain erotic things. The female reader would feel certain feelings the female protagonist was supposed to be experiencing; the male would enjoy the male character’s experiences. Given the response on the board and from emails to his coded stories, he was successful. It was the type of contact he liked to have with people, nice words sent from a distance, he didn’t have to deal with people or figure out what to say.

Art tapped Tracy’s mail in a folder marked “Fanmail” and turned back to his next story.