The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Black Mother, known to her ‘children’ as Kali, sat within the confines of the comfortable chair, the I.D. card of a woman who had once been Jaquylenne Pierre, chief of security for the French Museum of Natural History idily was flipped idly between her slender fingers. She smiled at the terrorized woman with a bright white, dangerous smile against her dark lips.

Everything is in place. I have orchestrated this Dance perfectly. The darkness of it all evades even the Salamander’s mind. He suspects, but cannot guess. And the Cat ... She is Power. But she is blind to her own weakness. They are too full of hatred to see that their power is their enemies weakness. Kali will yet taste you all in Death.

She gazed at the former capable woman, who had now been turned into a Ancient-Fearing Mouse. Yashra crossed her muscled legs and leaned back in the chair. The flicker of the security monitors gave her form light, beauty, and mystery in the otherwise dark room.

Little Mouse quivered from her position on the floor. Strong leather straps had been wrapped around her body, tightly around her waist and cunt, biting around her breasts. Her feet were laced in calf-high boots with over-accented high heels, a spreader bar placed between them. Her arms had been bound in the leather straps as well, tied cruelly to the straps around her cunt, causing her to wallow in the shamefully humiliating pleasure of her situation.

You still remember who you are, don’t you, Little Mouse? Yes, I can see it in your eyes. The fear. So out of control. Your body is compelled to go against your mind and your darkest fears, and you cannot fathom why. You know nothing of Ancients. Nothing of the Dance. A foolish mortal. Ignorant, and insignificant. A wasted branch off of the River. An excellent tool. And a lovely cunt-licker.

Yashra pushed a leather booted foot into Mouse’s crotch, pressing firmly on her blossoming lusty heat. Leaning forward, her eyes seemed to be glowing with perverse pleasure, flickering in the black/white shadow light.

She slowly rotated the sole of her boot in a circular motion around her prey, and whispered, softly, “You have served me well, Little Mouse. Everything is falling into place perfectly. I will give you a choice. But choose it wisely.” It was her favorite question. The only question she asked that seemed to give her Purpose.

“Life, or Death?”

Little Mouse whimpered, fearing the almost obsessive joy that the Dark Lady took in asking her the question. Her plea for freedom was momentarily distracted from Yashra’s mind. The Black Mother smiled. Welcome to the Dance, Isis. You are grand, and indeed The Temptress of the Ages.

She shivered, watching Isis even from afar had a stirring affect between her legs. She pulled her mindfucked toy to her, lifting the Mouse up by her hair, and then setting her head between Yashra’s thighs.

“Lick well, Little Mouse. Lick, very well. Or I might decide the answer for you.”

Scorpion’s eyes closed in the flame of the passion, before she quelled her lusty mind and focused it on the task at hand. Shivering delightedly, her legs wrapped smoothly around her slave, squeezing in pleasure—and a threat of death, should Mouse’s tongue waiver. She pressed her thighs against Mouse’s sides tightly, toying with the idea of watching her squirm with gasps for breath in her steaming cunt.

This was the moment. The Salamander’s agents would act. Soon.

Merely looking amused at the Mouse’s reaction, Yashra turned and watched the screen as Isis led Cleopatra and the four servant girls into the emptied halls of the museum. She imagined the Dance done, Isis at her bidding. Bound. Shackled. Begging for her life.

The scream against her inner walls was enough to send Yashra over the edge, as her lips bit down and held Mouse’s ministrations within her. The Black Mother’s legs buckled tight, and she found her hands sliding across her smooth, naked stomach, uncovering her breasts.

She bit down on her lip, and shuddered at the small flow of blood that welled, even as her sharp nails pinched her own darkened nipples. Her body shuddered, as she watched the Great Mother of Egypt fall.

Even striking the floor, Isis’ trained courtesans were poetry. The voltage of the invisible filaments danced visibly from body to body, even striking at Isis herself. The very moisture of the room had been prepared carefully by Salamander.

Isis, so used to the desert, had not noticed.

Isis strained and struggled to keep her feet as the currents lashed her. Current sequenced by a special computer to constantly change cycle and wattage became more than Isis could stand or deflect.

Salamander was a genius with his toys.

Little Mouse felt it too, the orgasm sliding from the Black Mother into Her slave, and it racked her body. The more Little Mouse tried to pull out from the Black Mother, the tighter Yashra held onto her, impassioned eyes glued to the monitors.

Yashra’s eyes were transfixed, held to the screen. She couldn’t help herself. Her mind wanted...

Oh, Isis! You fall so deliciously easily! The Tongue of Ages, on my cunt! The Cat, ... the Pussy, at my thighs, licking me for eternity. My slave. My slut. The Greatest of All, fallen, broken, in bonds, at at my merest whim. Lick my cunt, you Pussy. Lick my Dark Cunt, and taste it. Become Mine forever ...

Even as Isis succumbed, falling limp to the floor against the might of modern technology; technology she had so stubbornly shunned, Yashra felt it.

The throes were like a Tsunami, in Yashra’s unnatural body, growing larger, and more powerful—ending in an all consuming wave that coursed through her—through Mouse.

How fragile mortals were.

She nudged Mouse off of her with her boot, an apathetic gesture. For a moment, she gazed at Little Mouse with an almost childlike curiousity, cocking her head in an intrigued manner. The smell of sex and power were pungent, given off like incense from Mouse’s smoking body.

She grinned languidly to herself. Oh well. This one served her purpose, well enough. It’s time to enter the second round of the Game. No doubt the Old Salamander will be waiting for me to cross him. It’s time to bring Bridget into this. A pity, though. The fear in her was so wonderfully pure.

A knock came at the door, then opened it. She stood up, naked save the intricate black cloak that billowed about her frame. She pulled it closed, and narrowed her eyes at the slim-framed man that occupied the door.

He nodded sharply to Scorpion. “The Salamander will see you now, Lady Death.” He made a simple gesture, and waited for her to follow.

Poking Mouse’s smoking body again with the edge of her toe, Yashra merely chuckled. “I know where he is. Be a good little boy, and clean this up.” She gave him a menacing grin, and licked her teeth.

He paused, then nodded swiftly. “Yes, it would not be good to leave such evidence behind,” he grated through angered teeth. Obviously he did not enjoy being commanded by this Old Evil, he was the Salamander’s, and made it known by each sharp, concise gesture.

Ignoring the formality, and the disgruntlement of the Salamander’s servant, Yashra briskly walked past him, as if he didn’t even exist.

Things were going perfectly.

Cleopatra slowly awoke. She drifted in and out of consciousness, her mind uncertain as to what had happened. Or where she was.

Her body ached, with slow numbing pain. She could feel the throb in her head, the sickness in her stomach. It all attacked her at once. She tried to move; and found herself bound.

She struggled, and still could not move. An unfamiliar tightness, of cold harsh steel was at her wrists, and ankles. She was naked. Not that she could bend her head to see, another cold metal brace across her forehead kept her from moving that too much as well. The cool sterile air wafted over her exposed cunt, her tight nipples. Her body had been trained to wallow in this twisted pleasure by her Goddess and Mother. Now it was an evil, twisted and cruel, holding her a prisoner to passion, helpless.

Worst of all, ... she knew she had failed Isis. Utterly, and completely.

A single bead of wetness dripped from her cunt, and hit the floor. She cried, hating herself for being so easily aroused. She wanted to die. She wanted to save her Goddess.

She wanted to kill whoever did this to her Mother.

Groggily, she moved her eyes to the sound of the door opening, and closing. A smooth-mannered man dressed in a immaculate lab coat entered the room. Quietly, he picked up a syringe laying on the steel table in front of Cleopatra. He looked at her, thoughtfully. A vauge smile slid across his face.

“No need to worry,” The nameless man informed her, in a distant tone. “The Salamander just wishes to confirm you have none of the Old Cat’s blood in you, before he turns you into a common street whore, to benefit his finances.”

He moved to talk, but found the taste of pasty rubber on her tongue. She bit into it hard, and struggled again; nothing came of it.

He shrugged, lightly, “Of course, he could achieve far more gain by selling you to someone else; and perhaps quell them for a bit. But, this, as he says, is personal. The Great Isis’ daughter a common street whore.”

Filling the syringe with a pale liquid, he began to approach her. “You want to know where the Old whore is?”

He nodded in the direction of a color monitor, “There, of course. This will take a few minutes. Go ahead, and watch. In the five hours you’ve been unconscious, your ‘Goddess’ has just begun to respond to the brainwashing. A few more days, and she’ll forget she ever was even an Ancient.” A small smile of satisfaction crept into his tone. “You’re going to get the same treatment. You might as well know what’s in store for you, little pussy.”

She shook her head, twisting at her metal shackles. She needed to go save her Goddess. Damn the Salamander! Why can’t he let us live in Egypt in peace! Damn all of them! And their eternal conflicts! Tired, she subsided. And looked up, to see the peril that Isis was brought into.

Her cunt twitched at the sight, despite herself. Arousal began to drip down her thighs, her pussy drooling in ecstasy. Oh, Isis! Mother! She moaned.

In the clear picture of the monitor, Isis was bound as well; but in a completely different manner. She was laying on the floor, a half-corset of white leather laced almost painfully tight gave her a much larger bust size than she had ever carried. Her arms were pulled behind herself, laced up in long leather fingerless sleeves—each of these tied to the other, and in turn this laced into the back of the corset. Her skin glistened with an almost erotic slickness, unnatural, and bright.

Long white stockings had been slid over her luscious legs; her feet tied with rope at the ankles and a smooth metal spreader bar at her knees, leaving her exposed cunt vulnerable.

An exquisite white leather collar was about her neck, the leash of it chained to the floor. A ball gag bit hard into Isis’ mouth.

Cleopatra shivered with the intensity of the scene. Oh, Great Isis! Forgive me! But ... seeing you like this, Mother. Oh, please! Let me show you the same affection, the love, the loyalty, that you have shown me! Let me .. she swallowed, biting down against the rubber bit. It was so forbidden, she’d never even thought about it, until now.

A tear rolled down her cheek. The chill rolled across her body like a smooth fog; she knew it would never come to pass. They were doomed. All of them.

She knew her time was close. She could hear Salamander’s servant finishing, and shivered hard, as she saw Isis’ leash pulled, hard. Isis lurched forward, still dazed from the tazers—as if she’d been kept purposefully in a stupor.

As her Goddess staggered on the monitor, Cleopatra saw the sparks flare from the spreader bar and collar. It quickly became apparent that each movement that was not properly submissive was coupled with some sort of painful attack on her senses. And as Isis shivered and twisted, Cleopatra saw that at the back of the collar, a line of twisted wires ran down the Goddess’ back to a plug in her ass. Every correct motion and response brought some sort of pleasure that made Isis gasp and orgasm.

Oh, Worshipful Bast! To sup one last time upon your nectar! You are so much wiser than I! Why did you not see this? Please, give me Wisdom.

The chuckle of the lab tech interrupted her prayer. She looked through bleary eyes at the monitor.

A man.

The Salamander.

Naked, and dragging Isis roughly about. Teasing her. She could see the rage, the humiliation, ... the pleasure ... on her Goddess’ face. Etched into the Temple’s very being.

Cleopatra came. Hard.

The technician looked up, and chuckled, “Well,” he mused, “Randy and ready, are we? The Salamander will be pleased. Once he’s done with the Bitch.”

He moved to Cleopatra, her eyes focused by her own twisted will on the monitor.

She’d never seen a man fuck one of the girls in the Temple, or the Club. And she’d never seen a man touch Isis.

It was obscene. It was vulgar.

It was exotic, and compelling.

The hatred in her heart was venomous. But that didn’t stop her cunt from drooling any less. Isis bound, helpless ... it was a disturbingly erotic image, ... and Cleopatra wanted more.

She heard a huge crash. A loud thump. She pulled her gaze away, to see a young woman, blonde and tiny standing over the man. A puzzled expression was on her face as she held the remains of a hard metal that had been on the flat, stainless steel table.

The girl was mostly naked, and Cleopatra felt joy. There was a chance after all, to save her Goddess. She eyed the girl with a strong fondness, as the girl slowly dug the keys out of the technician’s pockets, and freed Cleopatra from her bondage.

The ball gag out, Cleopatra licked her lips, worked her jaw, and was out the door with a, “Thank you,” before she could even notice the mark of Death on Bridget’s shoulder blade.

Bridget shivered, suddenly. Where was she? She looked around the unfamiliar landscape, sank down on her knees, and cried.

Cleopatra paused at the door. An arrow was smeared into the wall in ... someone’s blood. No time to wonder whose. My Goddess needs me.

She rushed down the hall, her bare feet smacking against the cold floor, following the trail of blood to her Mother.

Salamander gripped the control hilt of the leash and watched the most perfect woman in the world dance to his tune. Already it was working. A slight tug on the leash, and Isis wobbled forward despite the ungainly impediment of the spreader bar. A smile from him while he pressed the pleasure command, and a electronic orgasm shattered through her concentration. “I think you already like this dance, Isis.” He drawled. “And think how long you tried to avoid this. You could have saved us both much time and wasted effort.” “Squat! Knees apart!” Isis’ rage surfaced immediately in her face, her eyes. He triggered the pain command. She jerked and twisted. Her knees flexed and she lowered her crotch just a bit. He immediately gave her the reward of another orgasm. Her pussy lips bloomed and dripped. She closed her eyes, biting down hard on the ball gag, as if trying to chew through it. The breasts of ages trembled, taut nipples pressing into the floor.

Salamander smiled. She has no idea that I’ve given her a drug that doesn’t allow her to ignore the Great River. Each moment of higher passion just reinforces itself by drawing the River into her sex.

“Yes, you like this dance. Be a good girl, Isis, and I might let you be my whore, when we’re done.”

He pressed the controls on the leash again, smiling with the pure pleasure of victory in his heart, as she trembled in the throes of another orgasm. Soon, old Cat. Soon you’ll be my whore. And everything of yours will be mine.

“Are we through, Frederick?”

The smooth, cold voice of Yashra broke the Salamander’s moment of glory.

He glared at her, hard. “Yes, bitch. Our business is concluded.”

She showed no emotion at all, “Very well. We are again even, Salamander. Remember that.” Turning from the door, she strode out into the hallway.

The Salamander nodded to Trent, who had been observing the entire ordeal on the video monitors from the security booth. “Escort her out. Use any means necessary.”

Turning back to the twitching Cat, Frederick grinned, pressing the controls again, watching the Cat spasm in ecstasy. He licked his lips. I can have you anytime I want, now, Isis. Forbidden. Temptress of the Ages. The most beautiful of whores. Mine. As it should be.

He couldn’t restrain himself. The striking image of the intoxicating woman trembling in her lustfull submission to pleasure, the anger and fury of her mind, was too much for him to grasp.

He’d dreamed of this for centuries.

The Salamander took the Cat. He slammed into her, cruelly, a device for his pleasure, and his pleasure alone.

She screamed through the bit, in fury, in rage, ... in heat.

The River joined the two.

The Power that the Salamander had forced into Isis now became the tool of his own prison, capturing him to the lusts of Isis, whose own arousal had long since burned off the layers of skin coating that The Salamander had sprayed over her to immobilize her pheromones.

The Great River rolled about them, the stored purity of power in Isis had been held, and now the floodgate to it had opened, slamming hard into The Salamander.

There was no thought. There was nothing.

There was only the Great River. Burning, into their sex, smoldering the air about them.

Lost, in each other, in the River.

“Isis!”

The voice came out of nowhere, as Cleopatra skittered hard through the doorway. She froze, momentarily at what she saw. Tears burned her cheeks, and her lust leaked down her thighs at the taboo act of lust she came upon.

“Isis?” She said, more softly. Her thighs squeezed together, imagining it was her, in place of Salamander. Oh, Isis!

She called harder. “Isis! Wake up!”

The River had consumed Cleopatra’s Mistress; as it had the man who was driving her hard from behind, like two wanton dogs in eternal heat.

They slammed together hip to hip and Cleopatra felt the invisible heat coming from them in waves. Molten sexual heat wafted in the air, and tickled Cleopatra’s skin.

The Daughter shivered, and saw that Salamander didn’t react to her either. Swallowing, she moved with all the pride and love, and strength that Isis had given her, circling the sight of the primal mating. She lowered herself.

And smacked Isis on the cheek.

“Take Him!” Her voice was filled with command, the same she used on Isis’ servants.

The Goddess’ head shook, her distant eyes seemed to look beyond the raging River. She focused, and pushed with her cunt, even as Cleopatra untied the ball gag from Isis’ lips.

Her tight cunt gripped Salamander tightly, her Scent filled the man who was now drowned, utterly in the River.

Cleopatra smacked Isis again, ”Take Him,” she commanded again. ”Bend Him. Twist Him. Fuck. Him. Up.“ Her rage and fury for the debasement of her Goddess wanted the Salamander to pay.

The Cat shivered again under the blow, swallowing. She nodded, almost meekly, and threw her Voice at Salamander. ”Sleep.”

The forces of the River consuming him, combined with Isis’ power, threw The Salamander out of his own fugue. He fell down, lifeless, asleep, at the whim of Isis.

Cleopatra sighed a look of relief, and nodded to Isis, as if waiting for her Goddess’ direction.

She orgasmed, when she saw that Isis was looking at her in that same exact way.

Waiting. For. Direction.

In the control room, Lady Death smiled at Trent’s incapacitated body. “You should count yourself as lucky,” she mused quietly. “Death needs some life, to keep it amused.” She glanced at the monitor.

Isis, my dear. You’ve lost more than you gained. You’re the whore you never wanted to be. She grinned, tartly at that. And Salamander. Your own ego has been your downfall, just at it was for The Cat. Instead of striving to be One with the River, you sought to conquer it. And Great Isis used that against you. Neither of you may ever recover.

Her eyes looked upwards, to the sound of faint footsteps crossing the carpet coming towards her.

Bridget was a mess, her hair in tumbles, knotted, her face red from crying. She was busy fingering herself, knees quaking, as she tried to fight her own lusts.

“Who AM I?“ She screamed at Yashra.

Lady Death smiled, easily leaning back in the chair. Her arms drifted behind her head as she did so, and promiscuously crossed her legs. “That, my dear, is exactly what we’re here to discover.”