The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I think of that moment now, as I open the door to Room Seven and step inside, to do the third thing he asked of me.

If you’ve ever been there, you’ll already know that this is the best of the club’s accommodation. The room is always kept available for visiting dignitaries and other very important men. I had been to Room Seven often enough with Mister Talv. It is a large and sumptuously appointed room, particularly the bed. On the bed lies my outfit for the evening. A mask; complex, Venetian, white flowers entwined. There is a white collar, with matching lead.

“In Room Seven, you will receive a visitor,” he’d told me earlier, in the bar of the club. “Somebody you might recognise. Do what you want. Do what he wants. Do as he says. But do not speak to him.”

I am truly awake. Trembling with unfocussed, programmed lust, and breathing heavily, I undress. This evening, I am in the service of—what? I’m locked up tight, down there, and I feel the weight of the lock, always freshly shocking to me.

“I am going to lend you another key, for tonight,” he’d said, “just in case.”

I unlock my padlock, but it doesn’t seem right, somehow, so I thread the familiar chain back through the overlapping rings, and click the padlock shut again. Carefully, I put the precious key in my purse.

I put on the wig and mask and collar, and sit down on the bed to wait.

I consider what Mister Talv had told me earlier, in the bar.

“This man is difficult,” he’d said. “Very demanding. I need him in a certain mood for a certain discussion I need to have with him, later. I am very persuasive indeed,” and I had nodded, knowing this to be no idle boast, “but often an extraordinary woman can persuade where a man cannot. I believe you’ll be able to put him in exactly the right frame of mind.”

So I wait, awake and wondering.

After a while there is a light knock, and the door opens, and I stifle a gasp of surprise at the sight of the man who walks in, who is very well known to me. In fact, he is very well known all over the world, and in some places even admired. Many feel he is a handsome man. Certainly he feels this himself, and he reinforces his power and authority and masculinity at every opportunity. He is the kind of man that some women entertain fantasies about, and although I had not done so myself, I’m both thrilled and shocked to find him here, looking at me with desire.

Then he speaks, a single word.

Arousal pulses, in my pussy, in my breasts, urgently, and I begin to positively tingle all over. Waves of pleasure rise and fall, and I am helpless before the Very Important Man.

At a command, I stand before him and hand him the lead.

The Very Important Man speaks to me, roughly, in accented English, but as instructed, I don’t speak back. He orders me to do things, and calls me his sex toy, his slut, and I comply accordingly, and I don’t care. Some of the things I do are acceptable only because of the pleasure they bring, and I don’t care.

The Very Important Man is keen to explore my mouth, and I happily oblige. He knows the words Mister Talv has taught me, and in response I do my tricks to perfection, even better than before, and I don’t care who I am doing them for.

I am very well trained, he says. I feel proud.

The Very Important Man notes that I am closed down there, and I wonder if I should get the key. I think not, on balance. But then he jokes it is probably for the protection of others rather than me, and in any case that particular entrance isn’t something he’s interested in, yet, and that I should bend over for him accordingly.

He speaks a word I have never heard before, consciously at least, and my heart begins to beat faster.

Although I try to be quiet, I squeal when he penetrates me in the other place, and he is very energetic, and my time on Blodeuwedd’s Perch pays back in with interest. It’s better than I could have ever imagined. The Very Important Man mistakes my squeals at his entry for the pleasure of his own work, and goes at it harder still. I come hard and often, which is a revelation to me.

Then, only then, does he demand the key. And by then—ärkama—I’m as wide awake and wet as I have ever been, and ready for anything. The Very Important Man is almost as relentless as Mister Talv, and I’m glad of his stamina, that night.

When he has finally finished with me, the Very Important Man gets dressed and leaves. It has been truly excellent, he says. I have been excellent, he tells me. He very much looks forward to seeing me again soon.

As I lie on the bed in my mask and collar and lead, slightly dazed, I know it had felt good. Abdicating will, a slave to the whims of a Very Important Man; just for one night, why not? Who wouldn’t?

I have achieved excellence, and I want more.

Afterwards, having dressed and reassembled Katya, I need to understand, and I tell him so. “What was really going on there, Mister Talv? He knew your words—”

“Yes. That was convenient.” he smirks. “Ärk —”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I mean, that man is, who he is—” He holds up a finger to my lips, shushing me, suddenly serious.

“This is the trick,” he says, quietly. “To know everybody’s name, everybody’s motivations and vices, but to never let them know yours. To know them, without them knowing you. And they do say power is an aphrodisiac, don’t they?”

I sigh. “He said I was excellent. He said he looked forward to seeing me again soon. Was I persuasive enough? Is he placated? Is he in the right mood for you, now?”

“Not yet,” replies Mister Talv, “but he will be, later. He’ll see you again sooner than he expects, when he watches it all replayed in vivid high definition. The sound quality is excellent too. And if I may say so, Katya, your own performance was—extraordinary. I’ve never seen anything like it. You stole the show.”

“You had cameras, in the room?”

“Many and various angles. I doubt I’ll need to distribute it more widely than an audience of one, and that alone should persuade him where his best interests lie.”

I am starting to understand, at last. “Troubleshooting, then.”

“Of a sort. Sometimes it’s about telling people truths, stories, persuading them that way. Sometimes it’s about the stories that don’t get told, ever, the secret tales. One has to be choosy about these things, in my world. Now,” he adds, holding out his hand, “we celebrate.”

He whispers a word to me, and I am instantly lost.

It is the next day, and Mister Talv is a happy man.

“He,” and here he names the Very Important Man, “is no longer proceeding with a certain course of action, and instead is persuaded to pursue an alternative course. All down to you, Katya.”

I choose. Of course I choose. I am strong, independent, in control, and I do what I want. I am perfectly, exquisitely submissive, but always I do what I want.

I wonder if I have crossed Mister Talv’s event horizon already, without even noticing. How does one tell?

“My secret weapon,” he says. “And there are always more choices. More adventures. For the greater good.”

As he begins to explain what he means, and what he expects of me, and what might happen, and why, I realise I’ve only scratched the surface.

And as I listen, I think of the strange dreams. I think of his words, and what they do to me, and I melt at the thought. I think of the Very Important Man, and I wonder what shadowy courses have now shifted; what troubles have been shot, what fires fought. But mainly I think of Mister Talv, always full of surprises.

And I wonder: whatever will he think of next?