The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Prudence met Gabrielle and Angela for dinner. To call it “awkward” would have been a titanic understatement.

Not a word was spoken during the meal. None of the three women would even look the others in the eye. The only good aspect of the encounter was that the meal was small and brief; Angela had been forced to make it herself, since the servants were still enjoying their day off.

With the plates cleaned, Prudence decided that she could take no more. “Angela,” she said, looking the bodyguard in the eye. “The queen and I have been intimate.”

“I know,” Angela said simply.

Prudence suppressed a frown. Of course Angela already knew. She probably knew how many rats were in the castle. “Before her session tonight, I want to make a confession.”

Angela leaned forward. “Confession?”

“I haven’t lied to either of you,” Prudence said. “But there are truths I have not spoken. Truths you must know before this goes further.”

Gabrielle still aimed her eyes at the table, not looking Prudence in the eye. Perhaps not trusting herself to stay awake if she did. “The Captain of the Guard asked me to remove you,” she said flatly.

“He thinks I am a buffoon who makes fools bark at the moon, I suppose,” Prudence said.

Gabrielle raised her head despite herself, looking at Prudence, shocked. “Yes,” she said, “she said those words, almost exactly! How did you know?”

“I’ve heard it many times before,” Prudence said. “Most men do not fear my skills, as much as they fear being shamed in public by my skills.”

“Let us retire to the sitting room,” Angela said. “We risk everyone in the castle knowing our secrets.”

In the sitting room, Gabrielle and Prudence sat on opposite sides of the fire, facing each other. Angela stood well behind Gabrielle, back to the wall, with her arms crossed.

“My parents were both dead from illness by the time I was sixteen,” Prudence began. “Shortly after that, I met the man who would teach me how to do what I do. He and I trained for three years, and I thought he was a good man. He was a scoundrel — he often robbed his entranced subjects — but he never took advantage of the trance states he induced in me.”

Angela fidgeted at the mention of robbery, but Gabrielle seemed not to notice. She was watching Prudence’s eyes as the story began. Cobalt shot through with starlight, she thought, and could vaguely remember having had that thought before, though she knew not when.

“When he thought I was ready, I took my first subject. Adrienne was my age, about the same age you are now. She was the daughter of a union between Spanish and French nobles on either side of the Pyrenees, living with her father on the French side. The daughter had an odd anxiety: she was unable to go outside. The sky felt like a ceiling to her, and a rickety one, always on the verge of collapse.”

Gabrielle was having difficulty imagining such a phobia. Every time she pictured the sky, it was the deep and powerful blue of Prudence’s eyes. The sky became an ocean, on which she could drift away with the tide.

“You can’t be cured of a phobia that strong, but you can learn to hide it,” Prudence said. “I helped her do that. She had a gift for trance, just like you do, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle’s lips curved into a faint smile. Her thoughts drifted through cobalt.

“Her anxiety was,” Prudence started to say, then caught herself. “The cause was deep in her childhood. The hypnosis was an intimate process. We fell in love. And only then, did I find out the sort of man that my mentor really was.”

Prudence saw that Gabrielle took no notice of the story’s change in tone. With a harsh sigh she said, “Gabby, close your eyes and rest.”

Gabrielle’s eyes dropped instantly. Her shoulders sagged and the erect royal posture turned to jelly. Her head lolled forward until the chin was on her chest.

Prudence stood and walked over to Angela, who wore an unreadable expression. “I suppose that story wasn’t intended to put her to sleep?”

“Even when I don’t want her to go into trance, she goes,” Prudence complained. “It doesn’t make any bloody sense.”

“What were you trying to tell her?” Angela asked.

Prudence took a sewing needle from the sleeve of her dress; she’d stuck it there for exactly this demonstration. She held it up to the light, long enough that she was sure Angela could see. Then she walked over to the entranced queen and jabbed it into the back of her hand, hard.

“What are you—“ Angela began, stalking over to her.

Prudence took the needle away, and held it up to the light again, to show Angela the blood it had drawn. “This is the danger,” she said. “Because I love her like I loved Adrienne, and like Adrienne, she has a mind that can allow this to happen. I have to understand, or it could happen again.”

“She may need the help,” Angela said quietly. “She had the dream again last night.”

“Fucking dream,” Prudence muttered. “I thought it would go away after we made love. I thought the Thing in the room was her feelings for me, that the dream was about being judged by the Council or the church or whomever.”

“What is the dream about, if not that?”

“I don’t know,” Prudence said. “There’s a wall in her mind. I’m tired of playing around it. We’re going to knock it down with a battering ram.”

“Is that what you’re, ah, supposed to do?”

“Angela,” Prudence said, as she tossed the sewing needle into the fire, “I love her, and I want to help her. Either trust me or kill me.”

“Can’t very well kill you,” Angela said dryly. “You never showed me the safe way to wake her up.”

(Gabrielle de Vess found herself in the darkened hallway. Again she was nude. Again Morphelia the cat was with her, but smaller than the last time, the size of a panther, its fur midnight black. ”Gabby,” the cat said. “We need to find the Thing. We need to open His door. Do you understand?”)

You said I was safe right where I am. You said you couldn’t help me with Him.

(“Are you afraid of Him, Gabby?”)

Yes. He’s huge.

(“Do you trust me when I say that I love you?”)

Yes.

(“I don’t want to see you afraid forever. Knock down the door and confront Him.”)

Look at that door. I can’t knock it down. You’d need an army to knock it down.

(“Gabby, this is your dream,” Morphelia said. “You have all the power here. You are strong and you are loved. Confront him.”)

(Her voice was so powerful. Gabrielle could not refuse. She stood and padded over to the door on her bare feet. As she stood there, she heard a slithering sound on the other side, and something very large struck the door from the inside.)

(Gabrielle felt deeply calm. She raised one fist and struck the door, as if giving a strong knock. She had intended to knock three times, but on the first strike the door exploded inward, as though struck dead center by a rock thrown from a catapult. Gabrielle flinched away from the flying splinters, but none hit her.)

(“Gabby? Is the door open?”)

Yes.

(“What do you see?”)

(Gabrielle turned back to look. Inside the shattered doorframe there was simply a stone floor. It had an eerie white glow to it, as though lit by moonlight.)

Nothing. It’s just an empty room.

(“You should go in, Gabby.”)

Are you coming with me?

(“You’ll find that you don’t need me. You have all of the power here. You are strong and you are loved.”)

(Gabrielle stepped into the empty room. Somehow she knew there would be no splinters of the door underfoot, and indeed there were none. The room was completely empty. Though she could not see the walls or the ceiling, she sensed the room’s curvature, feeling that she was in an oval-shaped room with a ceiling far above her.)

Where are you? Show yourself!

(“What do you see, Gabby?” She did not know where Prudence’s voice was coming from. She could not see Morphelia the cat any longer. It was not important.)

(She was about to answer, but as she opened her mouth a voice said, “Gabrielle.” She knew the voice from somewhere, but could not place it; it was guttural, muffled, as though trying to speak through a blanket. “Look for your stars.”)

Where…?

(Gabrielle’s voice was not as forceful as before. The energy was draining from her body.)

(The voice did not answer. Gabrielle felt her arms moving. She looked down to see ropes tied around her wrists and elbows. More ropes led up from her legs. Prudence’s voice was saying something. Gabrielle couldn’t make it out. The voice was receding, receding, carried away on distant winds.)

Puppet.

(The ropes on her legs were lifting her off the ground, sending her floating into the air. A rope was under her chin, tilting her head backward. The ceiling glittered with a galaxy of starlight, Cassiopeia gleaming in its center.)

Prudence had felt optimistic about the process at first. As they explored the dream, Gabrielle seemed to become more active in her trance, more present in the room. She spoke with less of the drowsy affect that her trances had previously had. She turned her head back and forth, even as her eyes remained closed, looking at things only she could see.

But, after a few moments of being in her dream room, something changed. Gabrielle’s shoulder sagged, again. Her head began to nod, slowly. “Where,” she said, in a thick voice that sounded completely unlike anything Prudence had heard in her previous trances.

“What do you see, Gabby?” Prudence said, a note of urgency creeping into her tone.

“Where,” Gabrielle said, but did not finish whatever thought she’d been trying to have. There was a space of maybe five seconds when Prudence thought that she might have to wake the queen up, before she said, “Puppet,” in that strange thick trancevoice.

A second or two after that, Gabrielle collapsed. She did not simply drop her head to her chest, as she had so many times in trance before; her entire torso buckled and she flopped forward, bent double at the waist. Angela and Prudence both moved to catch the queen as she began to slide out of her chair, and they eased her limp body to the floor.

“What was that?” Angela said.

“Quiet,” Prudence said, looking at the queen’s inert form. “I need to think.”

She’s getting worse, Prudence thought. Going under when I don’t want her to, and going deeper than I expect. But that’s ridiculous. Hypnosis is not a case of the grippe; it can’t get “worse.”

Prudence knelt by the queen’s head. “Gabby,” she said. “Concentrate on the sound of my voice. Tell me what you see.”

No answer. The queen’s chest rose and fell, smooth and slow.

Prudence took one of the queen’s hands. It was limp and clammy to the touch. The pulse in the wrist was strong. “Gabrielle de Vess,” Prudence said, adding gravity to her voice, a loyal peasant making a request of the Crown. “I must know where you are and what you see.”

No answer. Not even a twitch of the queen’s lips.

“Is she asleep?” Angela said quietly. “Real sleep?”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Prudence said, angling her voice away from the queen. “But I don’t think so. Gabrielle, if you can hear my voice, squeeze my hand.”

Gabrielle’s hand clenched, squeezing tight. Angela saw it and made a small, amused sound of surprise.

“Gabrielle, if you know that I love you, squeeze my hand.”

Another tight squeeze.

“Gabrielle, if you know where you are, squeeze my hand.”

The hand remained limp.

“Amazing,” Prudence said to Angela. “My mentor told me about this, but I’ve never seen it before. She’s gone so deep that she believes she’s speaking to me, but her mouth and tongue are too relaxed to form the words.”

“Sorry,” Angela said, “but do we actually know anything more than before we started?”

“We do,” Prudence said. “But we’re not going to get much more out of her with hand squeezes. I’m going to wake her up. It may take awhile.”

Indeed it did. First Prudence counted up from one to five, suggesting that the queen’s body fill with energy more and more with each number. On five, the queen did not respond, did not even open her eyes. Prudence counted again, this time from one to twenty. For the first fifteen numbers, Prudence feared that attempt would give no results either. On eighteen, the queen’s fingers and feet finally began to twitch; on nineteen, she rolled over onto her back. But on twenty, the gray eyes of de Vess opened to reveal a blank stare.

“Gabrielle, how are you feeling?” Prudence said.

“Sleepy,” the queen said, her voice empty.

“God,” Angela said. “How long will she stay like this?”

“Gabrielle,” Prudence said. “On the count of three, I’m going to help you stand up. You’ll find that you have more than enough strength and energy to stand and walk. You will walk up to your bedroom, bar the door, and sleep as soon as your head touches the pillow. One, two, three.”

Using Prudence’s arm as a brace, Gabrielle stood smoothy. She walked out of the room without acknowledging either of them.

Prudence and Angela looked at each other for a long time. Finally Prudence said, “Let’s retire to the kitchen. I think we’re going to need a lot of tea to get through this.”

Rose had returned to the kitchen, saying she needed to prepare for the next day. Angela suspected that the younger woman was showing off, looking to get in the Crown’s good graces, but she didn’t mind as long as it meant someone other than herself could make the tea.

“The queen will be fine,” Prudence said, as the two of them sat at the small servants-only table in the corner of the kitchen. It was well past sundown, the room lit with candlelight. “A good night’s sleep always removes the effects of a trance.”

“Always?” Prudence arched an eyebrow as she sipped her tea. “Can you be sure? Even I can tell that Her Majesty is not doing the things you’ve always seen.”

“This is not completely unknown to me,” Prudence said. “It’s simply extreme, compared to most times when I have hypnotized people. Let’s talk about what we just saw.”

“This is not where my skills lie,” Angela said. “I don’t know what I just saw.”

“She went into the room from her dream,” Prudence said. “But there was no monster. Just an empty room.”

“And then she collapsed,” Angela said. “I suppose something in the room made that happen? Something she couldn’t describe to us?”

“No, before that,” Prudence said, gesturing with her teacup. “She said the word puppet.”

“There was a puppet in the room?” Angela asked.

“Or perhaps she’s the puppet,” Prudence said.

“I wish no offense,” Angela said quietly, “but have you considered that you may be the monster in her dream? That she’s afraid of you making her into a puppet?”

Prudence was not offended, in part because it was not an easy question to answer. She took a long swig of her tea before responding. “Once, I asked my mentor what made a great hypnotist. He said, just about any bloody fool can put someone into as trance. But a great hypnotist understands what is happening in the other person’s trance.”

Prudence looked at Angela. “I can’t tell you how I know this. But she is not afraid of me. I understand what is going on with her. She is afraid of something else.”

Prudence yawned. It was getting too late to be turning this over and over in their heads.

Angela matched her yawn, a thing that Prudence’s mentor had been obsessed with — the way that one person yawning could suggest that others start yawning. At that moment, Prudence understood. She had never studied the classics, had no idea who Archimedes was, but she knew what the word Eureka meant, and in that moment she had a Eureka moment to end all Eureka moments.

She reached across the table, grabbed Angela’s wrist, and hissed, “Someone else is hypnotizing her.”

Angela blinked. “What?”

“The Thing in the room is another person, hypnotizing her. She is afraid that the person is turning her into a puppet. Until she had experienced trance with me, she didn’t understand what the other person was doing. It raised fear in a part of her that could only come out in her dreams.”

Angela shook her head slowly. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Gabby had never heard of hypnosis before she met you.”

“I know,” Prudence said. “On top of that, she should have remembered any other hypnosis session. She remembered going under for my show, even if it felt like a blur. There are definitely holes in my theory, but this is the only explanation which makes sense.”

The word sense nearly got lost in another tendon-creaking yawn. Angela’s face changed, and in one abrupt motion she swept both of the teacups off of the table.

Prudence’s vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes closed, and when they reopened, she saw Angela clearly again. “What is it?”

“Tea,” Angela muttered, her eyes closing. “Rose.”

Prudence rose from her chair, turning as she did so, to find the young servant. But the world skewed, sickeningly, as it would do in the middle of a bad drunk. Her vision blurred again, and the kitchen’s cold stone floor slapped her in the face.