The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first thing he asked of me was, I think, commitment. I wasn’t sure what he meant, at the time. There were lots of things I wasn’t quite sure of, with Mister Talv.

On the plane—his plane—and what kind of person owns their own plane, really?—we talked, just like normal people. Mister Talv had business in Tallinn, he said. But aside from that I would have his full attention for as long as necessary.

“What do you do, exactly, Mister Talv?” I must have asked him this question a dozen times, but whatever he said made no sense to me.

“Troubleshooting. Firefighting.”

“What does that even mean? Who do you work for?”

“Myself. The greater good. Believe me, there is always something for me to do.”

I missed him already, and wondered what other mysteries this trip would bring.

“Let’s talk about commitment,” he said.

“Commitment to what, Mister Talv?”

“Katya means purity, you know,” he said. “You are a precious object. On that note, I offer you a gift. A token of commitment. I will give you an address to go to later. Arrangements will be made.”

I was confused. I often was, with Mister Talv.

He seemed reflective, heading into the Old Country again. I sensed he’d been away a long time. “There is a very beloved folk tale, Koit and Hämarik. Considered one of the most beautiful stories, in the North.”

I knew the story, and as he spoke, Little Katya rose in me, the child I had been not so very long ago, the innocent, the dreamer.

“In this story, Hamarik is the Dusk, the female spirit, and Koit is Dawn, who lights the Sun in the morning. Every day, every morning, as they come together, we see the sunburst colours of their passion. Every morning, they are renewed, over and over, circling each other forever, in an endless cycle they can’t escape or control.

“Commitment, you see.”

Then the plane began its descent, a slow sweep over an alien city, rooftops speckled with spires, and he raised his glass. “To the dawn and the dusk, and the long polar night,” said Mister Talv.

He showed me around his apartment in the centre of the city, nestled in a beautiful landscape of historic buildings, and very foreign to me. It was more than just an apartment, of course. The elevator went straight to the top floor—bright, modern, contemporary, in spite of the traditional facades. I was impressed. And after showing me around, he unlocked a door, and led me down the stairs, into a darker space. Heavy furnishing and wall hangings, and a very different feel.

I turned to face him. “There’s a whole other apartment here!”

He just looked at me. “I own the whole building. I use this one for entertaining. Business, friends, that sort of thing.”

I’d never thought of Mister Talv having actual friends, like you or I might have. Who on earth has another apartment? Who owns a whole building, in real life?

And there in the corner, in the exact same spot, another door. As above, so below. Heavy, locked. I tugged at the handle.

“What’s behind there?” I said, laughing, pointing at the locked door. “Another apartment? And then another?”

“A secret garden,” he said. “Just like in the stories. Come and see.”

He unlocked the door. Down the stairs, I wasn’t surprised to find a third cavernous space, but what I was surprised to find was that in the third apartment was a true indoor garden.

“I’d prefer it if you only came down here with me,” he said.

I wandered through, marvelling. Amidst the foliage, there were strange and exotic flowers everywhere, and the ceiling was a trompe-l’oeil of sunset, here in his Secret Garden.

“There is always another level,” he said. “As above, so below. Hidden depths.”

The sense was of being in the middle of an ancient, nameless forest, a forest of myths. It was breathtaking and strange. Trees and undergrowth, brambles and briars, crowded in from the sides. I couldn’t see the walls.

In a single spotlit clearing right in the middle of the room was a large wooden chair-like structure. Twisted wood, wrapped around by vines. It seemed to be growing out of the floor, like trees intertwined. The beams or trunks must have been six inches across.

“Blodeuwedd’s Perch,” he said, by way of explanation. “For another time.”

I gave it a wide berth, as you would a high ledge and a steep, steep drop. I sensed this was a special place for Mister Talv.

As for his gift—diamonds are a girl’s best friend, they say. It was quick, professional, and painless. Within a few minutes, the woman had inserted three small, but quite thick and solid rings into each of my labia. It didn’t hurt at all. The rings glistened, gold, and into each was set a diamond. The weight was interesting, and, combined with the final ring at my clit, they drew all my attention, and they were beautiful.

“How do they look?” said the woman.

I examined my adorned sex in the mirror. I felt exotic, erotic, unashamedly different.

“Good,” I said. “They look very sexy.” And they did.

“Mister Talv give specific instructions, about rings,” said the woman, dropping tenses and articles like a true Balt.

I wasn’t surprised. Mister Talv’s attention to detail was impressive.

“Yes,” she said. “Is one more fitting to be done.” Opening a stainless steel drawer, she withdrew a short length of gold chain and a selection of padlocks.

“We have small, medium, large. Please choose one.”

I was confused. “What for?”

“Mister Talv wishes you to wear, down there.”

“—”

“Mister Talv keen to follow instructions. Can assure no pain. Suggest medium weight. Please lie back.”

I lay back on the bed, wondering what this could mean. Quickly, she threaded the chain through one ring, then another, overlapping, until all rings had been chained, one to another, and then looped it through the clit ring and back down. I felt the firm click of the padlock closing.

“See?” said the woman. “Easy. Please stand up now and look.”

I stood, and suddenly a shocking new weight swung between my legs. I looked in the mirror at the dangling padlock. ‘Medium’ was not light at all. In fact it was quite substantial. Tentatively, I reached down and explored. I could feel the lips of my pussy were now tightly closed, and thoroughly secured with the chain and lock. The length of the chain offered no give. Nothing was getting in there—and I guessed that was the point.

Purity. Commitment.

I took a deep breath. “And the key?”

“Of course,” she said. “Mister Talv has key.”

As I left, she added: “He said tell you to enjoy yourself, now, until he gets back.” And as I got up to leave:

“Welcome to Tallinn.”

Enjoy yourself.

I walked back along the harbour. The sun was low over a grey sea. I was very aware, walking the few blocks it took, of Mister Talv’s gift. I found walking a certain way was very pleasurable indeed.

And back at his apartment, I couldn’t sit still. There was something about the rings, and the chain, and the tug of the weight of the lock that was turning me on more and more. It continually brought the focus of my attention to one thing.

I thought about Mister Talv and his troublefighting, fireshooting non-job. I thought going for a walk, and then I thought about sex, and I thought about it some more, and then some more.

I stripped off, admired myself in the mirror. In my distracting chains and rings I was at a loose end. I wandered the spacious acres of his apartment. He had said he would be back by eight. Long hours dragged. I was always surprised at how bereft I was, when he wasn’t with me.

I could hardly wait. I thrilled with excitement at the prospect of seeing him later, and showing him how well his precious object wore his rings.