The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A week passed in Tallinn, and we had yet to go down to the Secret Garden again. It was a very frustrating time. The beautiful rings, and the chain, and the lock were whipping me up into a frenzy of arousal, and it worked like a charm. Every day, I woke up more horny and ever more desperate. Every day I begged him to unlock me, and every day the answer was the same. I pleaded, I prostrated myself, and nothing worked.

Worse, Mister Talv enjoyed stroking me, playing with me, bringing me close, and then just letting me simmer, a pressure cooker unable to blow. Through the constant heat haze, I wanted nothing more than for him to take me, and I squirmed in frustration. His precious object was in a constant foaming state of lust.

I did everything I could to tempt him. My mouth worked marvels on him. Nothing worked.

By day seven in Tallinn, I had started to lose all self-control.

He had meetings that day, and I was rummaging desperately through the apartment, looking for the key. If I could find the key, I could finally get what I needed, and I could think of nothing else. Nothing else mattered but the key. I couldn’t find it anywhere on the top floor.

On the floor below, the second apartment, I discovered room after room, rooms within rooms. Wandering through what must have been at least ten thousand square feet of floor space, it was easy to get lost. I could lose myself here, I thought. There was no key to be found.

The door to the Secret Garden was unlocked. He had told me not to go in there without him.

The door to the Secret Garden was unlocked. What would anybody do?

The scent of flowers was strong.

Down the stairs I went, to the level below, to the Secret Garden. Maybe I would find the key there.

I looked at the chair-like structure, spotlit in evening gloom. It seemed to dominate the room. And as I got closer, at either end of a crossbar at the top of the tall back of the chair I perceived manacles, open, bolted into the wooden structure, artfully disguised. I approached it with some fascination, my heart beating.

Experimentally, I reached up and put my wrist into one of the manacles. It was deep black, coated metal perhaps, and lined with leather. It looked like it would fit snugly, if closed. I pressed my wrist down into it—and with no warning the thing snapped closed around me.

Panicked, I pulled, but my wrist was securely fastened and the cool leather was tight against my skin. Outside, the dark metal band was rigid. I thought hard. It must be a pressure switch, to close the thing. Therefore, there must be a release mechanism. Where was it?

Twisting, I felt with my other hand. Yes. There, around the back of the beam, was a button. I pressed down and, to my relief, the manacle snapped open again, freeing my wrist.

I looked closer. The legs of the chair were widely spaced and at the end of another crossbar near the floor, maybe four feet apart, were two more manacles. There must be one for each wrist, and one for each ankle. Leaning in, I could see the little pressure switches embedded just where each bond was bolted to the frame.

I stepped back and looked at Blodeuwedd’s Perch. What would it be like? What might it feel like?

I slipped out of my dress and looked around. I wore nothing, now, except for his gift of commitment. I examined the items arrayed by the chair. Some of them I didn’t recognise, but others were familiar enough.

There were items I could use. A fitted blindfold. A gag. These items in hand, I approached the wooden structure. It would require co-ordination, I thought. I lowered myself into the seat, and stretched my legs wide, my ankles seeking their metal homes. First one ankle–clack. Then the other. The kiss of cool leather on my skin.

I slipped the blindfold over my eyes and the gag into my mouth. All was dark and quiet. Gently, slowly, I felt for the manacle to my left, at head height, and with my arm now raised at a right angle I pushed my wrist back on the pressure stud. The manacle snapped closed.

Very carefully, I felt for the right manacle. Gently I laid my wrist between the leather-bound steel loops, taking great care not to touch the pressure stud. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. So this is what it would feel like if he was to—

—Clack. With no warning, the final manacle snapped shut. A shock of fear, and an unexpected thrill of something else. I knew, I was sure, I had absolutely, definitely not touched the locking mechanism.

I tested the bonds, and there was no give at all. I was completely stuck; at full stretch, spreadeagled on the device. No way back, now. I felt as naked as any woman had ever felt.

I realised I was glad.

I had to find a way to get him to unlock me, to give me what I craved, and maybe this was it.

So I would receive him, then–silent, blind, bound. I stretched and wriggled, at least getting comfortable on the seat. Mister Talv would be here, soon. He would find me, and if there was any justice in the world, he would love me, like this.

Fully committed.