The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Nimetu. Come here.”

I watched as the woman approached Mister Talv. Slow, elegant strides.

The woman was tall, very statuesque, with a clearly defined hourglass figure. Her breasts were huge, almost defying gravity, the nipples prominent and stiff, and the combination of these, her narrow waist, and her full, round butt gave her the look of an Amazonian sex goddess.

Her lips were full and red, her eyes were a sultry brown. Strong features. Long platinum blonde hair, scraped back into a tight ponytail.

And from neck to toe she was wearing what looked like a one-piece skin-tight latex bodysuit. Whatever it was made of, it looked completely sprayed on. The suit looked like nothing so much as a very high gloss paint job, completely seamless. It ended, again seamlessly, in six inch heels. I was impressed. I had no idea how she would get in and out of that.

She stood in what I could see was a circle painted on the floor. A chain dangled from the ceiling above.

Mister Talv walked over and unlocked the glass case. “Sisyphus,” and at this her body tensed, her head snapped up, suddenly at attention, although I detected no particular thought. “Join us.”

Sisyphus stepped out of the glass case and did so. The other woman—Nimetu, whatever that may mean—was at least a head taller, not least because of those heels.

“What is this?” I asked the Takeshis.

“Entertainment,” one of them said.

The two women stood in the centre of the room, no more than a couple of feet apart, looking at each other. Nimetu’s flawless face was expressionless and calm. Surgery, I thought, but good.

“Tonight I have a small dinner party. Informal. Let’s make sure your routine is in order,” he said. “Sisyphus: prepare.”

Immediately, automatically, she held out her hands straight out in front of her, offering them to Nimetu, palms down. The other woman was quick and efficient; with two quick clicking movements there was a sudden weight at her—my—wrists. Two steel bands. O rings dangled. Unbidden, Sisyphus raised her hands above her head. The other woman deftly secured first one, then the other, manacle to the dangling chain, and I heard the click of a padlock.

For the first time, a thought flared, a sudden firework in the dark chamber. Fear.

Nimetu stepped back, expressionless.

Mister Talv had now ensconced himself in an impressive looking armchair, and was watching. He lit a cigarette. “Let’s go,” he ordered.

Nimetu began to run her hands over her own breasts, her belly, her buttocks, her crotch, stroking, squeezing herself, moving to the beat of her own drum.

In her chains, Sisyphus began to writhe and pant. Nimetu stepped close.

Looking right into her eyes, she began to stroke Sisyphus’s breasts, first one, then another, paying special attention to the nipples. This body thrilled to the touch, the Conta-

- but no, whatever the black material might be, it was impermeable. It didn’t feel like plastic, though, but like very smooth skin.

Without breaking eye contact for a second, Nimetu reached down and stroked between her legs. Sisyphus squirmed and pushed against her hand. The heat was becoming a firestorm. And then, lips parted, Nimetu leaned in and kissed her, long and deep and slow, strong tongue thrusting.

Contact

Then she pulled back—and through Nimetu’s eyes, for the first time I saw what had been Takeshi. A sex toy dangling from a chain. An object.

I could feel Nimetu was strong and calm and certain of herself. Her thoughts were clear and focused and extremely simple. Again she put her hands to her own breasts, caressing, stroking, every nerve ending electric. Hypersensitised, I thought. It must the material on her skin, I thought, as she basked in the warm electricity of her own touch.

Nimetu turned and bent, and from the floor behind her picked up a riding crop.

I knew what was going to happen, of course, but there was no way back.

Nimetu walked slowly over to Sisyphus and showed her the crop. All for show. Nimetu walked around her, stroking the suspended body of the girl with the tip of the crop, watching her writhe. Slowly, slowly, stroking every inch.

And then Nimetu drew back her arm and began the show in earnest. I felt her excitement. I felt her thrill of anticipation as she raised her hand and brought the whip down for the first time. But it was Sisyphus that felt the lash.

Across buttocks, and belly, and thighs, gently at first and then faster, harder, as the suspended Sisyphus turned and twisted, helpless to escape it. I felt Nimetu’s determination that every blow should count, and her fierce joy she raised the whip and brought it down, over and over.

Sometimes Nimetu would pause, for two seconds or five seconds or ten, before resuming, just to make sure that Sisyphus never knew whether it had stopped or whether there was more to come.

It seemed to go on forever.

At last, satisfied, Nimetu unlocked the shackles.

“Kneel before your mistress,” ordered Mister Talv.

Sisyphus did so, head bowed. I could see the weals on her buttocks. Nimetu reached down and grabbed her hair, jerking her head back to look her in the eyes. A quiet click, a seam opening, and then there was the feeling of cool air on Nimetu’s wet lips, down there. On her knees, Sisyphus leaned in and began to lick.

Contact

For some reason I found myself thinking of Nimetu’s feet, shiny black heels, seamlessly blending into muscular legs, and the clear simplicity of her mind. Was she even human?

The Virgin was sobbing on the floor of the empty room, with the shame and the humiliation of it all. Well really, you would have thought she’d seen worse by now. TakSlut was just lost in ecstasy.

“Where the hell have you been!” screeched CyberTak, fists balled. “We thought you’d left us!”

I can’t help admitting it would have been tempting.

“There was once a man,” I told the Takeshis afterwards, back in the glass case, “a nobleman. French. He had some fairly extreme views, for the time, about freedom. He considered himself unrestrained by morality, religion or law. And there was a woman.”

“What were their names?”

“His name was De Sade. The name says it all. And as for my name, that’s long forgotten now.”

“De Sade thought nature was the primary driver of all human experience. If nature had given sexual appetites and desires to man, then they were sacred, and must be pursued, whatever they were, no matter how violent or—ah—different. And by seeking to constrain people with man-made rules of morality and law—anything that might prevent one from exercising one’s desires—mankind offends nature.”

I paused, remembering. “So what do you think to that?”

“Such depravity,” sighed the Innocent. “We must maintain standards, rituals, conventions, or we are just animals.”

“#liveandletlive, I say,” shrugged CyberTak.

“Cool,” breathed TakSlut. “What did he do?”

“His back catalogue was extensive, in pursuit of ‘nature’, and his assumed rights thereby. Sex-slavery, orgies, rapes, bondage, ravishment, torture, and any number of similar things, amongst boys and girls alike.”

“And you met?”

“Yes,” I said. “I was hired as a servant. I was very young, and when I saw what was going on, in that castle of his, I tried to run away. But he caught me. He chained me, and beat me, for days. Fed me a diet of Spanish Fly. Sodomised me. Made me his plaything. It was only natural, he said, that I should learn to express my true nature. I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t stand it any more, and then something just—changed,” I said.

Again I paused. I’d almost forgotten my own story—hadn’t thought of this for many decades, repressed it, perhaps—but suddenly everything was fresh and clear.

“The next moment the pain was gone and I was looking down at myself, my own body, slumped over the wooden frame I’d learned to dread. As he raised his hand to me again, he stopped. Seeing me, suddenly still, absent, I expected remorse, regret, something, anything; but he felt nothing. Nothing at all.”

The Takeshis were looking at me, silent.

“Listen. I was terrified, alone, in a body I couldn’t control. Like you. I didn’t know what had happened, how I had got there. I even had to watch as he disposed of my own body. His thoughts were terrifying to me, then. Like knives made of ice.”

“For a long while I lay low, afraid he would know I was there. And I saw some things, experienced some things, I will never forget. And after a while,” I said, “I began to enjoy them, embrace them, make them part of me. His thoughts. And after a long while, I learned how to travel, and then to acquire new thoughts, new ideas, from others—to grow. To live. To self-actualise.”

“What happened to him? To De Sade?”

“I happened to him.”

“What do you mean?”

“People were outraged by him, at the time. But he was very cunning, very manipulative, and very good at hiding. But overconfident in his own abilities, sometimes. So I tricked him into going back to Paris, and he was arrested there. Imprisoned. Sentenced to death. I was jubilant, as I left him.”

“So he died, then?”

“No,” I said. “He was too clever, too strong. He appealed, successfully, and died peacefully in his sleep nearly twenty years later.”

The Takeshis shifted uncomfortably.

“He was a nightmare,” I said. “Not real, any more.”

Mind you, I’ve often heard that said about me.