The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Walking past, you might have mistaken them for two friends, one holding something: probably a rock to throw into the water. But you weren’t walking past—these two men had come out at night for secrecy, and had made sure that they were all alone.

“Don’t ask too many questions,” Todd said, attempting to be threatening. “That was our agreement, remember?”

He continued weighing the object in his left palm, feeling the pull of gravity on its otherworldly density. If it had made a more terrifying weapon, perhaps the choirboy smoothness of his voice would not be as laughable. But, as matters currently stood, he was a slim and unimpressive man holding a gigantic golden coffee bean that was intended to be used as a luxury sex toy.

Jeff laughed, having done his own weighing and found himself to have outclassed Todd in every department. “You’ve given me the money,” and he brandished the thick wad of used notes. “You’ve given me a piece,” and he lightly rubbed the tell-tale bulge in his left jacket pocket, the only reason that he was wearing such ridiculous clothing on a beach. “Now, you give me an explanation. Just call it,” and he squinted against a tropical sun that had already set, “just call it something that old friends do.”

And Jeff laughed again, whether with an old friend or at the concept of being friends, Todd did not care to know.

Todd sighed. He had never been very good at force. But, he reasoned, he had always been good at manipulation. In a bright voice, the natural salesman coming out, he manoeuvred the vibrator sideways on his palm with his fingers, one-handed. Jeff watched the flourish with guarded skepticism.

“This little baby is a powerhouse. It operates so easily,” and Todd used thumb and forefinger and suddenly it was buzzing, “and it delivers such feeling,” and his hand closed around it so that down to his elbow he showed a remarkable degree of smooth vibrating movement, “that it is probably the most amazing sex toy in the entire world. And it’s also a prototype for which the plans have been lost. It’s literally one of a kind.”

Jeff opened his mouth to speak.

Todd’s beat him to the punch: “Let me show you its unrivalled power.”

He extended his hand towards Jeff’s head, reaching for his right temple.

Jeff started to move his head away.

“Oh, come on, don’t be scared. I’m just trying to explain to you why I want this expensive toy. It just buzzes real good, that’s all.”

Jeff looked unconvinced, but masculine instinct told him to show no fear.

And when Todd’s hand reached a particular part of the side of his head, where the vibrations immediately started massaging a part of the brain beneath, he asked, “Do you like it? Does it buzz real good?”

And in the long vowels of the last three words, Todd taunted his victim; the victim who had previously been the bully.

Jeff’s eyes were already rolling back in absolute loss of control as he said “yes”. And, in that word, from the mouth, there was an odd vibration.

As if he had quite simply started to lose control.

“You’re Todd? Yes, Jeff, the taxi-driver, he told me that you’d come up and talk to me.” She smiled a smile of absolute innocence, while shading her eyes with her hand, as if this was necessary beneath both the floppy-brimmed hat and the sunglasses.

Todd smiled back, as if both pleased and surprised. “He did, did he? I hope he said nice things.”

She was as much as he could have realistically hoped for. Taller than he liked, and more slender. Her youthful body sprouted a face that was still clearing itself up after the wild parties of spots brought about by teenage years. But, in her favour, she was clearly accepting of the kindness of strangers.

And, most importantly: she was currently alone.

As he plotted and schemed, her mouth opened and closed. He wasn’t listening. His hand, guarding the loose baggy pocket of his shorts, tried not to play with the smooth and sensuous device.

“...overall you just like to show people how to have a good time, don’t you?” she finished.

He snapped back to attention in order to reassure her. “Well, when you are new to a remote place like Caraiva, you need someone to show you the ropes. Once you know a little about the area, it’s a paradise. This is your first time in Brazil, I take it?”

As she replied “Yes,” Todd plopped down next to her beach towel, his feet scorched by the hot sand. Nothing ventured, nothing gained: “Well, the most important piece of information that I can give you is that it’s getting close to the traditional time to hit the bar. I’d like to educate you about the local drinks, if you’re interested. Do we need to wait for anyone else to join us?”

“Oh, no. I have a friend coming down to follow me. But she won’t get here for a few days, now.”

His heart leapt into his mouth. Looking out from the beach to hide the hunger in his eyes, he made small-talk to give himself time to recover.

“I hope she’s having fun all on her own. She might not have people like me to look after her...”

He had made her try both caipirinha and caipiroska. She was a slightly red-faced mix of their volatile underlying spirits. He was betting that, like many young ladies, the drink would lubricate her into some good-natured risk-taking.

Sadly, the drink had also loosened her mouth. Now he knew everything—first, her name, Anna, which he had forgotten to feign interest in by asking about it earlier. Her friend, Billie, was up the coast to the north, in Porto Seguro, and had stayed behind to sort out a break-up with her Brazilian boyfriend. The journey, by canoe, 4x4, and the ‘taxi’ commandeered by Jeff—a donkey pulling a cart—had not fazed her. She was in a beach front villa at the most popular pousada.

Thankfully she didn’t talk while she was eating. Anna picked at the king prawns as he squeezed his hands in anticipation, holding them beneath the table, pumping the stress out of his system. His only other movements were regular checks on one of his pockets.

“It’s really relaxing just sitting here, isn’t it?” he lied, on edge and nervous and worried that people would start asking questions. Before she could answer he excused himself. When he turned away, his hand went immediately to check on the device, and his face immediately fell into the depths of some calculated wickedness.

Not that Anna saw, she picked at the remnants of the meal and worried if she was a bit too tipsy. She asked herself whether she trusted Todd. She looked around to see if there was anyone else to replace him.

He was gone for a little longer than would be reasonable.

But, even with that extra time, she hadn’t managed to latch onto anyone who seemed equally friendly and less suspicious.

When he returned, he was twirling keys in his fingers and looking oddly triumphant. “Which villa do you have, by the way?", as if she hadn’t told him before.

In a quiet voice, she told him again.

“Grand, grand, you won’t believe it but that’s next to mine!”

And one hand bounced and jostled the keys, but the other was silent and still, like a coiled dragon sleeping watchfully on a hill of gold coins.

He bounced and jostled her along, too, suddenly becoming assertive.

“Let me show you how to make the most of your villa. That way you can properly enjoy your time before your friend gets here.”

“I think I understand it perfectly well,” she said, and started to pull away.

“Look, look,” he placated, “I’m just trying to be friendly. I’m sorry that I annoyed you.”

Her head was clear and free of the booze that she started to reflect he had pressed upon her a little too readily.

“I know you think that I’m a child,” she said, “but I’m old enough to pick up on when a guy is getting a little too fresh. I don’t even want to know what your deal is.”

And she was at the door of the villa. And she was unlocking it, fingers supple and swift and not at all hampered by either vodka or rum.

Todd let his whole body collapse in on itself, like a mine-shaft, and his face followed. All the bon viveur glossiness drained out of him. He let himself be the nervous wreck that the damnable device was actually making him into.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sounded so pitiable that she turned around out of politeness.

Door open, slightly ajar, she waited to see what he might say before she locked him out.

He knew he had a moment, so his deception had to be sudden and fluid. “Jeff and I know each other because we worked together.” True enough. “I brought him out here as a gift, to keep him interested in that work. But he went native and decided to drive a donkey taxi instead.” This barely believable comment was backed up by the indisputable evidence of Jeff most certainly driving a donkey taxi, and enjoying it in a simple and carefree way.

Annoyed enough to be critical, Anna asked: “Why did you want a village idiot like that to work for you?”

“Oh, he’s not an idiot,” or at least wasn’t until I changed him, “he’s a very spontaneous kind of genius.” Todd looked for a route to pull back somewhat from the crumbling precipice of the untruths. “Anyway, he helped me with this,” and he took the golden coffee-bean shaped thing out of his pocket. That was much more honest. “It’s one of a kind.” Completely honest. “And I need his help to mass-produce it.” A quick, sharp, short jab of a lie to get the whole thing over with.

There was one thing Todd always held to when lying: start with the truth and don’t stray too far.

Anna’s dark eyes studied him. Her long eyelashes were suddenly more attractive with the threat of their removal from his influence. He realised that he would happily build a grand boat of lies for her if that was what it took to keep her focused on him for just long enough.

Then she studied the golden coffee-bean in his hand.

“What does it do?", she asked, clearly impressed by its regulfgent properties.

“Well, what you’re noticing is that it is actually covered in real gold. That’s what I need Jeff for,” and this came to mind unbidden and almost made him bite his tongue with glee, “he’s great with materials. And we need something cheaper than gold.”

“Why gold?” And she almost stepped forward to see the object, to feel its heft, to study its smooth texture.

He did not step forward. He could not chance breaking the spell. Instead he held it, just so, at the right level that her eyes could obsess on it.

“Well, when turned on, this sends out extremely relaxing waves. You put it under your pillow, you don’t hear it, but it really improves your sleep.”

There was a pause as she breathed, and stood, her arm behind on the forgotten door, her eyes drinking in the light of the sunset as it bounced red from the object.

“Let’s say you try it. If you liked it—really liked it—then maybe you could tell Jeff how good it is. It might make him drop this whole stupid ‘let’s be a taxi-driver in a paradise’ thing. He could come home with me, get it ready, make millions in a few short years. Then he could come back here rich, have the money to really enjoy paradise. And I’d remind him that he owed you.”

“I don’t know...” she offered in lame excuse. She realised where she was again, and checked through the door. “I was thinking of watching some TV, having a shower.” She would have added ‘and I want to ring Billie’, but with disappointment she remembered that mobile phone signals did not work here without an antenna.

With crashing serendipidity, there was a power cut.

The lights around them went dark, and suddenly the redness of the sun took further hold over the world.

Disappearing in darkness, “come on, take it, you’ve got nothing to lose.” Like a demon speaking in promises from the depths. And the only thing about him that caught the last sighs of light was that golden shape.

And he turned it on, and it buzzed on his palm, and she thought: where’s the harm in that?

She woke up, clear blue eyes shining in the swell of morning. Behind them, a clear blue sea of untroubled thoughts. And above that, a clear blue sky of nothingness.

She breathed the air of summer and knew nothing but one continuous, blue moment.

He reached under her pillow and took something and something ended at the same time. It did not occur to her to be scared that he was in her room. It did not occur to ask him who he was.

It did not occur to her to ask herself who she was.

It only occurred to her to miss something.

“Good morning,” he said, and her face beamed beatifically in response.

“You used my toy all night.” And he held it in her gaze, and twisted something, and something went away even more.

She opened her mouth and made a mewling sound. She knew one thing—that object was the one thing that she wanted to know.

“You’d like it back? I’m sorry, it’s mine.” And he helped her sit up, propped with pillows, to provide support to her poor, weak frame.

He studied her nakedness, trying not to get too aroused in response, taking in her clear eyes, her curled dark hair, her dark nipples and slight breasts, and tomboyish shape. But still resolutely, completely, and utterly feminine.

He stiffened, unbidden, and fought it. There was still more to do.

He brushed her hair with his hand, trying to stimulate wakefulness.

“Can you talk yet? I know that it gets inside you and turns your synapses into little wriggly worms. I know your mouth is full of glue. But you have to speak to have the toy back. Do you understand?”

Her head was buoyant and fluffy with candy-floss, but she was now able to see through what was moments ago a thick and unnavigable forest. She nodded.

“Excellent!” And his praise and joy were her praise and joy and she wanted more.

“Now, you need to choose something to give to me. Something I can have in return for you having time with my toy. Just look at it,” and she did, she was already, she could do nothing else, even when it was not actually there it was here, here inside her, a voice in whispers, a touch in shimmers, a play of light on a rippling pool. “Whatever you give me, you’re going to let it go. And I’m going to take it outside and play with it on the beach. And then it will be mine to give back to you when I choose to. Do you understand?”

Dream logic for a dreaming person. She nodded, signed the dream contract with a dream pen.

He turned it back on with a practised flick of his fingers. It droned through the air and tasted her with its tendrils.

She was wet and she wanted to touch herself.

“Mmm,” she tried.

She squirmed.

“Bu-uu-uh!” she exclaimed.

She writhed.

“My... bbbbody,” she finished, and having made her decision it floated towards her on the air and touched her head. Her mind was full of its exquisite gyrations.

And beneath it all, “I’m still me, he only has my body, I’m still me.”

She had no useful concept of time. Before the touch and after the touch, before the last thought and after the last thought, were all the categories she knew. She would not have been surprised to have woken up a moment after closing her eyes, or a year, or the day before. Such details were meaningless.

What was important was that she could enjoy the stimulation in return for almost nothing, just her physical body, just an appendage hanging off what was of real importance. Just a life-support machine for the brain.

And all her body was good for was to hold the golden object to her head as she swam in the underwater caves it provided, the water a jelly, shocking and stimulating her with electricity. Sealed off from the world by rock and by secrecy and uninterested in it.

But he had said “put that down now,” and she had, because she had lent him her body.

Still, it was a good deal.

The air was cooler and the light was dimmer. But who knew when or where or who she was. There was only one fact now, and it filled her up. She was that fact. A fact of total obeisance.

“Please,” she murmured, and she looked up with true love and real desire.

“I took your body out onto the beach, yes?”

She nodded.

“And it is mine to command and to control, yes?”

She nodded.

“Your body needs looking after. Wash, eat, drink.”

She did not ask why, she did not offer reasons why not to, she simply acted. She had given him ownership of her body and it glided around to follow the orders. Her mind, free and independent, simply waited for the next chance it had to get what it desired.

Without undue haste, but neither with any inefficiency, she performed her chores. And she went back to the bed and demanded more with her eyes.

He had watched her with amusement throughout, and was watching her still.

Finally, he relented.

“What will you give me this time?” he said, all the way over there, in a chair, grasping the object and keeping it from her. She quivered with rage at the separation.

“Fuck me,” she demanded. She writhed and rolled on the bed, trying to excite him. Her hair tossed over one shoulder. Her eyes were hotter than the air, hotter than the sand outside, they burned with the necessity of feeling lust for him. She was on all fours, displaying ass and pussy, grinding against the length and girth of him that she imagined.

“Very good,” he said, calmly, not feeling calm at all. “While I am interested,” and he was interested, he strained and beckoned for her so strongly that it almost went beyond what he imagined possible, and it gave him serious pause. Yet her desire was far stronger than this, far more powerful, and he needed to barter more. “While I am interested,” he repeated, “I already have your body.”

“Yes, yes,” she admitted, “but you still haven’t taken it.”

“No,” he frowned, suddenly angry. “I don’t need to take it, it’s already mine. Let me show you. Lie on your back.”

And she did so, yet again without query.

“I’m going to stimulate you with my little toy. And you’re not going to orgasm. Not unless you give me something else of your to take out of the door and onto the beach. Something that you give of yourself freely and is mine to give back when I choose.”

She cried out in frustration. She wished she could have kicked and squirmed but her body was his and she had given of it freely.

There was a buzzing in his hand and suddenly it was on her body, right over her navel.

She groaned.

“Sexual stimulation. This is what it was originally designed for,” he admitted. “But it turned out to be able to do so much more.”

And it moved to her erect nipples and they were alive with nibbling, dripping sexual promise. Golden honey poured down on them and coated her and left sticky sweet trails.

“Of course, being a vibrator...”

She did not understand how, but she did not orgasm. She merely pushed against the threshold again and again and again. She battered her body against its limits until she was worn out. Her clitoris, engorged and ripe, soaked up the stimulation regardless, and she was alive with the same flowing trickle of liquid fire.

It stopped.

“Do you want to orgasm?”

She was so pleased that it stopped, so pleased that she could breathe. Her lungs burned with abuse and her tendons screamed with shaking. But she wanted more, more, enough so that she could go over the edge. Whole universes more, dust coalescing into stars in planets into asteroids swirling in galaxies of dust dancing around each other in a cosmos of vibrating order all pointing towards one aim.

Her breathing and her open legs and her hungry eyes were all the answer that she needed. She didn’t want to speak in case she screamed, in case she screamed so loud and so long that the walls fell down around her.

He knew this so he leaned close so that she could whisper. “I need something,” he prompted.

And she said, very quietly, “my voice,” because I don’t want to give up my self I want to keep that so I can truly enjoy the vibrations and the sensations. If I give him my self then he will have me so much and so hard that he will be able to deny me what I most want and I will be able to do nothing.

And she gave him her voice, she gave it up freely and it was not hers any more except for this one last use. For, as the device found her at her rawest and most sensitive, she cried out in release and it was her voice that cried out and it was her voice that was released and what she released was part of her self and he bottled it and took it away to play with on the beach.

And it was not hers any more.

But she didn’t care. The last thing he did, before the shadows lengthened and night fell across the land far far above the underwater caves, was to place it against her head again. And she held it there and it smelled of her and she realised it was a part of her and always would be a part of her and she would do anything to be near it.

She was holding it, but it wasn’t working.

She held it against her head and it did not buzz and that meant it did not fill her with the buzz.

She held it against her nose and her mouth and while it smelt of her and tasted of her it was like a dead part of her and she tried to breathe life back into it.

In desperation, she held it against her pussy, in case that would bring the spark back. It moved, but only with her movements, and her movements were not hers.

Just like in the underwater caves it was dark, but she didn’t care. This place was unimportant and unreal. Where she truly was still throbbed and shimmered but you needed a special golden ticket to get there. And without her the place sobbed and simmered and cried out for her, and she felt its cries, and she would dig the earth and throw back the sea and crack the ground to find union with it again.

Bubbles reached the surface of the water and popped. Anna realised who she was, and that she was holding something very dear to her, but that it was separate to her and simply needed to be turned on.

She tried to ask the question but her voice wasn’t hers. She sat in her body, and she listened to her own voice, and neither of them belonged to her any more.

All she was and all she could be was the centre of the swirling maelstrom, biding its time and waiting to spin faster.

He must have come in from the beach, where he had played with her body—perhaps strumming it like a harp—and sang with her voice. She wondered if her body and her voice had talked to other people, or perhaps even been shared by them. Perhaps everyone in this sleepy seaside place had crept into her like a glove and tried her out, swinging her arms and tossing her hair and dancing with her legs and speaking with her vocabulary and in her soft accent.

Not that they were hers any more.

This was just a passing thought. She felt like she had lost nothing and gained everything, for they were not real anyway.

This was the moment when he struck. When she had almost nothing, and wanted almost nothing, and he held it all.

“Do you want more?” he asked, rhetorically, tossing the very thing she wanted in the air and catching it like one who did not realise how important that gift was.

Give it back, she wanted to cry, but could not. That is part of me now and you are hurting me by taking it away. But it wasn’t part of her, she just wanted it so much that it was oh so easy to pretend that it was.

“If you want more, you have to offer up everything.”

Everything?

“I have your body. I have your voice.”

Yes, and you took them onto the beach and played with them. You said you would give them back to me but I don’t think I’ll be able to take them back anyway.

“And now you have to give me the rest. Your mind, your soul. That is the price to pay.”

Everything.

Her thoughts, unctuous liquid black molasses, looked for cracks in the trap or flaws to escape through. These thoughts were all she had to use, so she had to use them.

He waited, as he had come far enough to have learned patience.

And it could have been the same day, or the next day, whatever days were, but he tired of her treacled assault against his trap.

“I don’t need to convince you,” he said, and yet convinced her at the same time. “I have your Voice.”

She didn’t know what that meant.

“I command your Voice to tell you how much you want to possess this golden object.”

And her Voice did. And her Voice could tell her exactly what she wanted to hear, or exactly what she couldn’t afford to hear. She forgot which was which.

“I command your Voice to tell you how easy it would be to give just that little more up.”

And her Voice did. It wheedled and whined and pleaded and sulked. She was a fairground of voices, all her own, each one demanding something different.

“I command your Voice to say ‘yes’.”

And her Voice said yes, but also the thing behind the Voice said yes. She said yes. She totally and utterly said yes.

And the day came, although Anna did not know how long it had taken.

Billie, blonde and fretful and twirling the ends of her hair in her fingers, discovered the pousada and asked for her friend and found her, nestled in amongst the happy sun-baked stuctures.

The door was open and the sunlight was being sucked in rivulets towards the void of the dark room.

There were two people in there.

“Who is this?” asked Billie, cautiously polite.

“Oh, this is Todd,” and Billie had heard about Todd already. Good things, I hope, but he did not really need to hope as he was in control. It was just another lie.

Wasn’t it funny how hard it was to get here?

Wasn’t it funny how Jeff’s taxi was a donkey?

Anna was not Anna. She was as cold and hard as a robot behind her face but Billie only looked at her face and didn’t know. There was a curtain and behind the curtain a little wizard but there was no dog to show the meanness of the trick.

“I was just telling her about some local phrases. Have you heard é minha praia?” asked Todd, eyes fixed on Billie, toying with his new prey. What he saw would do, it would do, being shorter and blonder and curvier and altogether what he wanted in a woman. Still, he’d always have a special place in his heart for Anna. She had showed him so much about side-stepping a person’s volition.

“Oh yes,” and a flick of her head and hand to send hair back over her shoulder, falling in a trickle like sand. “’That’s my beach’,” she translated. “It’s the thing that fits you. My parents would say ‘that’s my cup of tea’, but...”

And before Billie could continue and go on about not actually liking tea herself, “I’ve found my beach,” said Anna, quiet and confident.

“Is it the one out there?” asked Billie, turning, looking out of the door that faced the beach and being blasted by the glorious colours, the glorious heat, all melting into the rippling playfulness of the ocean.

“No, it’s here,” and Anna held something up. To Anna’s eyes, the light in the room moved itself to point towards it, as if it were a magnet. Shadows raised themselves in agony and fell in despair as the light destroyed them. It sucked in the light and gave it out again in glowing bursts and Anna felt its light invade her soul, as if there were shadows to chase away there, too.

Billie had to turn back around to look at this new toy which Anna had found to fit her so completely, to be ‘her beach’. But before she had finished turning and her eyes had focused and she knew what was happening, Anna had flicked the toy on and was already holding it to Billie’s temple and saying, “shh, shh, we’ll still be friends on the other side.”

A deep, vast, empty blackness.

A few final words chased after her.

“But our friendship will belong to another, like everything else.”

Billie started to be concerned, but she felt the water and its heat and her mind was filled by the sparkle of the cave above.

And things were different, now, already.