The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tim tried not to judge by first impressions, but after an unexplained wait of almost an hour between landing and disembarkation, followed by a barrage of hostile questions from a surly immigration official who appeared to be under the impression that the country was waging a War on Tourism, he was finding it difficult not to start hating America.

If the directions posted on the forum were correct, the hotel shouldn’t be much further. Good thing, too. It was past nine, local time, which meant that on GMT it was, what, already after two in the morning?

He became aware that there was someone standing straight in front of him, and stopped walking just in time to avoid a collision. His suitcase slipped from his aching fingers and thumped to the pavement (no, here it was the sidewalk) beside him.

Focusing on the stranger in his way, he perceived that it was a young woman, with russet hair in a ponytail that trailed in front of her left shoulder. “Are you BritBoy?” she asked.

That was indeed his username at the forum through which this gathering had been organised. He just about had the energy to nod his head.

“Cool. Some of us were getting worried that you hadn’t shown up yet. I’m Malefficient.”

He mumbled something barely coherent about the delays at the airport.

She rolled her eyes. “Should’ve guessed. Need a hand with your bag? You look kinda beat.”

Tim looked down at his case, the handle an impossibly vast distance from his hand. “Thanks.”

“Whoa!” she exclaimed as she lifted the case. “What’ve you got in here? Gold bars?”

“Not quite. Some chocolate bars. I’ve heard you don’t get the good stuff over here.”

“British candy, huh? I might have to check that out.” She hefted the case and motioned with her head for Tim to follow her.

Tim’s fatigue-frazzled mind was only superficially aware as ‘Malefficient’ guided him to the hotel, helped him to check in, and led the way up to the suite she’d booked, which had been designated the main hub for the next few days’ activities.

As they drew near to the door, he saw that it bore a paper banner displaying the logo of the webcomic that was the forum’s primary focus. That should save him from having to do anything complicated like remember a room number.

The room held around a dozen other people, and Tim found himself subjected to a bewildering chorus of introductions. Some of those present gave only their forum usernames, others indicated a preference for being addressed by their offline names, and a few didn’t mind either way.

In his current state, he found all this information overwhelming, and the babble of voices that swirled around him made him want to curl up into a ball and cover his head with his arms. That would have looked weird, though, and maybe offensive, and he didn’t want to upset or alarm anyone.

These were good people, he reminded himself. Earlier in the year some of them had helped him get through the worst days after Elaine, the only girlfriend who’d stuck with him for more than a month, had finally ditched him. Nevertheless, right now they were more than he could cope with, so he just stood in the midst of the crowd, swaying slightly on his feet, breathing through his mouth as he tried to assemble coherent thoughts.

‘Malefficient’ was right in front of him again, saying something. He focused as best he could, and the auditory soup thinned, allowing her voice to penetrate his awareness.

“…you sure that you’re okay? The bedroom’s through there.” She indicated a door. “If you wanna crash in there a while, go ahead.”

He mumbled his thanks, and she took him by the arm and helped him navigate into the adjacent room. The lights were not on, though enough illumination spilled in though the doorway that he could make out the shape of the bed. He shambled forwards and collapsed onto the mattress.

The door clicked shut, plunging the room into merciful darkness and reducing the noise from the chatting horde to a bearable level. Tim dragged a trailing limb or two up over the edge of the bed, rolled onto his back, and let his eyelids slam shut.

Exasperatingly, sleep eluded him. He lay there, too weary to move, but some treacherous sliver of his consciousness clung to awareness, refusing to allow him to sink into slumber. Half-formed thoughts tumbled through his head in no coherent order, sparking surreal chains of association that curved back on themselves only to spiral off into inexplicable tangents: confused waking dreams that tormented him with reminders of the unconsciousness they denied him.

Eternities passed. Brightness momentarily penetrated his eyelids, accompanied by a brief increase in the volume of the background noise, indicating that someone had opened the door. Then back to blackness, the voices again banished to the edge of perception.

The sound of another door opening and closing. Running water. Somebody was using the en suite. Suite tooth. Tooth or dare. Tim’s free-associating mind ducking into new alleyways, knocking over the bins (garbage cans) to spill more disconnected ideas into the mental maelstrom. Riding the random tandem down a helter-skelter into chaos.

Again the bathroom door slid into his awareness. A presence at the foot of the bed, a slight tugging at his right foot. Of course, he hadn’t even managed to take his shoes off, and now the bathroom user was doing it for him. That was good of them.

Then he felt hands at his waist, undoing his trousers, which was more than he was comfortable with. Still too tired to move, to say, ‘No,’ to do anything but lie there helpless as the too-helpful person took hold of the cuffs and tugged.

His growing tension must have manifested in some physical reaction, as the pulling stopped.

“Are you awake?” asked ‘Malefficient’s voice.

“Yes!” he wanted to scream. “Awake, aware, trapped in an unresponsive body while my mind chases its tail down the rabbit hole towards insanity. Help me, or if you can’t help, at least leave my clothes on.”

Wanted to, but couldn’t. He remained immobile. After a moment, the tugging resumed. The same involuntary response must have followed, as his trouser cuffs were released again.

The presence moved away. A bedside lamp snapped on, and the light would have made him screw up his eyes if he’d been able.

A thumb touched his left eyelid, pulled it open.

“Well, you’re not asleep. But you’re not really awake either, are you?”

Inside his head, he expressed his vehement agreement with her diagnosis. Outside, he couldn’t so much as manage a nod.

She released the eyelid, which fell shut again. He felt the light touch of fingertips on his temples, slowly moving in soothing circles.

“C’mon, relax,” she cooed. “You need to sleep. Just let go, sink, relax…”

A drowsy haze overlaid the jumble in Tim’s mind, and a pleasurable tranquillity flowed down from the gently massaging fingers, spreading throughout his body. The haze became a fog, and Tim felt the corners of his mouth twitch into the slightest of smiles as her words and her touch steered him into welcome oblivion.

Tim opened his eyes. He felt rested. What light made its way around the edges of the curtains (drapes) and into the room indicated that it was morning.

Memories of the preceding night flooded back, and he became aware that things had happened without his noticing. He now lay under the bedcovers, wearing only his T-shirt and underpants. In many ways that was better than having slept fully clothed on top, but it also raised some questions.

A knock at the door. A second knock, he realised: the first had been what woke him.

“Come in,” he called.

‘Malefficient’ peered round the door. “Danny bought bagels for everyone. And there’s OJ. You better hurry, though, or the guys from Missouri are gonna eat ’em all.”

“Thanks. And thank you for everything you did for me last night.” Everything? He still wasn’t sure how he felt about the removal of so many of his clothes, but now was not the time to raise the issue.

“If you can try to save a bagel and a glass for me, I’ll be out as soon as I’m dressed.”

“Sure thing.” She drew the door closed behind her as she left.

Tim continued to mull over the gaps in his knowledge as he changed into fresh clothing. This was the room, the bed, in which he’d been lulled to sleep. Her room. Her bed. So if he’d slept here, where had she? It was big enough for both of them (heck, it was practically big enough for an entire county), but sharing a bed with a woman he barely knew? Dodgy.

Another bang on the door. “Okay to come in?” asked ‘Malefficient’s voice.

He only needed to tie his laces. “Fine.”

She entered the room, a little awkwardly because she was carrying a glass of juice and a napkin with a cream cheese-loaded bagel on it. “I got these for you. Only just beat Steve to ’em.”

“Thanks again.” He took them from her. Perhaps it would be best to try and find out what had happened after he’d dropped off now, while they were one on one. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Go on.”

“Well, this is your room, and I’d made arrangements to share a room with ‘Darth Evitable’ and split the bill, so…”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t sweat it. We worked something out. You’re in here now.”

“Then… where did you spend the night?”

She nodded towards the room where everyone else was. “Through there. I got a suite with a folding bed in case somebody needed a place. Didn’t expect I’d be the one using it, but…” she shrugged.

“It was very kind of you.”

“I could see you needed it.”

“Even so, thank you.” Another thought occurred to him. “By the way…”

“Yeah?”

“What would you like me to call you? ‘Malefficient’s a neat pun, but it’s a bit of a mouthful.”

“My friends call me Effie.”

“Effie it is, then.”

The group went out to socialise, see some of the local sights, and have lunch in a diner. When they returned to the suite, a few of them set up board or card games, and little huddles of players formed in different parts of the room.

Tim would have liked to join in with a game, but he was starting to feel tired again. Nothing like he’d been the night before, but enough that he might get irritable, and as a couple of the forum’s hard core gun rights advocates were among those present, he didn’t want to risk getting into any arguments, so he slipped away into the bedroom for a lie down.

Less than a minute passed before the door opened and Effie stepped through. “You okay there?”

“I’m fine. It’s just, my body clock’s still all over the place, so I thought I should get a bit of rest before we go out again.”

“Let me help.”

He would have told her that there was no need, but then her hands were at his temples again, tracing deliciously relaxing rings, while she softly spoke calming words to him. He allowed himself to drift away.

Then he was somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. Not like before: his mind remained placid, even as he became aware that Effie was now seated on the bed, cradling his head in her lap.

“Okay, Tim. You’re safe here with me. Safe, and calm, and contented, and relaxed, and open.”

He smiled. It did feel good to lie there like that.

“Now, I’d like you to do something for me, Tim. I want you to tell me all about Elaine. Can you do that for me?”

Talking about his ex should have been painful, especially just a few months after the break-up, but Effie started to stroke his hair, and he felt distanced, detached from the emotions, as the words spilled from his lips. Once Effie had heard about the relationship, its highs and lows, and where it had gone wrong, she asked about his other failed relationships, unrequited crushes, and paths not taken.

Eventually he’d laid bare the whole wasteland that was his romantic life, still at a remove from all the hurt, the guilt, the regrets.

“You know,” Effie said, “back when you posted about the split, I hated Elaine for what she’d done to you. But now that I know the whole story, it sounds like she tried her best to make it work.”

“You mean it was my fault?”

“Kinda. Kinda not. Sure, you’ve sabotaged every relationship you ever had or could’ve had, but not on purpose.”

He should probably react to that assertion in some way, but the emotional numbness kept him from knowing how. “What do you mean?”

“Hell, look at Elaine. You didn’t even tell her how you felt until you were about to move away for that new job. But she still tried to make it work long-distance while you were on the other side of the country.”

She gave further examples until he had to concede that she was right. He’d spent over a decade choosing the wrong moment to speak up, overlooking signals that should have been obvious, wasting opportunities, falling for women who were out of his league, or had future plans that weren’t compatible with his aspirations, or had only sisterly affection for him…

“But it’s always been subconscious. You never knowingly did any of that shit. And I think I know why. You wanna know?”

“Please.” How could he not want to? He could see the destructive pattern now, but what chance would he ever have of changing it if he didn’t understand it?

“Your problem is, you’ve bought into the suburban dream. Grow up, get a job, marry a nice girl, have kids, have debts, all that crap. You think that’s what you want, because that’s what they told you to want.

“Only, that’s not what you need, and you know it. You don’t let on, ’cause that’s not ‘the right thing to do’.” She attempted, rather unconvincingly, to mimic a ‘Queen’s English’ accent for that last expression. “But deep down you know it’s not right, not for you, so any time you’re close to getting suckered into it, you make it all crash and burn. And then you wonder why it never works out, and set your sights on another wrong target ’cause you still haven’t figured out what you should be looking for.”

“What…?” He swallowed. “What do I need, then?”

“You need a ‘bad’ girl.” Observing his bewilderment (the strongest reaction he was capable of right now), she clarified, “Not an actual psycho bitch, just someone your parents and teachers and authority figures don’t like ’cause she doesn’t have time for that white picket fence suburban bullshit. One who’ll fuck you because fucking is awesome, not because it’s how you make babies. Who’d make you happy, and be happy with you, no matter where you live, what you do, how much or little you own.”

He could see where this was leading. Unless his self-sabotaging side was misreading things to try and lead him astray. “Someone like you?”

She chuckled. “Could be.”

Someone knocked at the door. “We’re going in a minute,” called a female voice.

Effie lifted Tim’s head, slid out from under him, lowered his head back onto the bed, and stood up. “Think about it.”

She clapped her hands together. A shock ran through Tim’s body: invigorating, not painful. His emotions snapped back into focus, dominated by a sense of relief at finally understanding why his life was the way it was.

He sat up. “It’s a lot to think about. But thank you.”

They ate, went to a couple of tourist attractions that were still worth visiting this late in the day, and then split into smaller groups, some seeking bars or other establishments that remained open late into the evening and night, the rest returning to the hotel.

Tim chatted and played games for a while longer, but still found himself flagging some time before most of the rest of the hotel contingent were ready to call it a night. Again he slept in the bedroom, but this time he changed into his pyjamas before turning in, and during the time that passed before he drifted off, he reflected on what Effie had told him that afternoon, not reaching any conclusion before his thoughts became too disjointed to follow a train of reasoning.

The sound of the bathroom door woke him. He raised his head and blinked. Effie came into focus, tiptoeing past the bed, freezing with a guilty start as she saw him looking at her.

“Sorry. I knocked, didn’t get any response, figured you were still asleep, and thought I could creep in and out without waking you up.”

“No problem. It’s probably about time I was getting up anyway.”

“Yeah.” She moved towards the door, stopped again. “Just so you know, I’m gonna be sleeping in that bed tonight.”

He considered her words. “Does that mean you want me to take the folding bed?”

“It means you have a decision to make.”

She went out, and he headed for the bathroom.

As on the day before, they visited places of interest, ate out, played games, joked around, and generally had a fun time. Tim had his first taste of grits and sushi (not in the same meal), bought and wrote a couple of postcards, and continued to think about the new life that could be his.

If he and Effie were to become an item, one or other of them was going to have to relocate. Probably him, but he didn’t know what she wanted, and had better find out before he made up his mind. Either way, there was going to be a lot of bureaucracy involved. Unless they became fugitives from the law (which was probably a lot more stressful and less thrilling than the movies made it look). It was a bit ridiculous, really: reject the societal norms, defy convention, make your own way in life—but only once you’ve got the approval of the relevant authorities.

Those complications were still some way off, though. Tonight was, obviously, less than a day away. And getting closer with every passing second.

He’d never been particularly adventurous, sexually speaking. Judging by several of Effie’s posts to the forum that he could remember, she was into some more kinky stuff, and the thought of that scared and excited him in roughly equal measure.

A few of the others had already made knowing (and in a couple of instances downright ribald) observations about their sharing the suite, and the length of time they’d spent together in the bedroom on the previous afternoon, so there were no real objections that evening when Effie started dropping not-so-subtle hints that the rest of the party might want to continue their socialising elsewhere.

As the crowd thinned, Tim vanished into the bedroom. His bags were still in there, so even if he chickened out, he’d still at least need to collect them. He sat on the side of the bed facing away from the door, his thoughts churning.

“I’m taking a shower.” The sound of her voice startled him: he hadn’t heard her come in. “If you’re still here when I get back out, I will fuck your brains out. Clear?”

He gulped. “Clear.”

“Oh, and no PJs. I don’t know how you Brits even reproduce if that’s the kind of thing you wear in bed.”

He nodded. “Got it.”

She ran her fingers through his hair, sending a pleasurable shiver through him. “See ya.”

By the time she emerged from the en suite, wrapped in a dark blue towel, he was sitting naked in the bed, his lower half under the bedcovers, with a semi just from the anticipation.

“Good boy.” Smiling, she unwrapped the towel and dropped it to the floor, and he hardened at the sight of her body: her breasts not huge, but delightfully perky, the neatly-trimmed hair below her waist still slightly damp, tapering towards her prominent lips.

She stepped forward and twitched aside the covers, acknowledging his erection with an approving nod. “Now lie down.”

As he did so, she climbed over the end of the bed, dropping into a crawl and advancing until she was over him, her knees either side of his chest.

“Have you ever gone down on a woman before, Timmy?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Then it’s time you learned.” She leaned forward and down, allowing her breasts to touch the upper half of his face, then gently rocked back and forth, her tits massaging his brow much as her fingers had before. His eyes rolled up in their sockets, and he drew a shuddering breath. “Y-yesss!”

She moved on over his body until her slit was positioned above his head. “Do you at least know what to do?”

His eyes transfixed by her pussy, he answered, “Yes,” and leaned up to run his tongue across the lips.

“Nice! But you’ll have to go a lot deeper. Now lie back.”

He obeyed, and she lowered herself onto him, shuddering and giving a contented hum as he pushed his tongue inside her and started to lick. With a series of encouragements and small motions she guided him to her clit, letting out a gasp of pleasure as he teased at it with the tip of his tongue. She pressed down on him, and he increased the speed and intensity of his licking until at last she came, her juices flooding onto his face and into his mouth.

Effie moved back down his body, planting kisses on his forehead and lips. “What was that you said about me being ‘a bit of a mouthful’?” she teased.

Her hair tickled the tip of his cock, and with a little wriggle she took the first inch or so of his length into her warm wetness. “Do you want me?”

“Yes,” he gasped.

She took him deeper. “Do you love me?”

“Yes!”

Excruciatingly slowly she started to move up and down on him, going that little bit further every time he answered another of the questions she fired at him, each successive ‘Yes’ sounding more desperate, more fervent.

“Do you want to be mine?

“My lover?

“My slave?

“My master?

“My toy?”

With a thrust that took in the whole of his shaft, she fell forward onto him, her mouth to his ear. “Then give yourself to me.” Her hips bucked with each word. “Completely. Totally. One hundred and ten per cent.”

Tim’s final ‘Yes’ was barely audible as he exploded into her, feeling her clench around him with her own climax. Their motions subsided into a comfortable embrace.

“Sleep now, baby,” she whispered. “You’ve got a busy day ahead of you.”