The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I was the only one who cried for her.

I couldn’t stop. My body shook with sobs, until it hurt. That was how I wanted it.

I was the only one who mourned the loss of the angel.

My skin bristled at the touches of relatives, and strangers, who asked me if I was all right, if I would be okay. Touches meant to be kind and consoling instead became cruel daggers, digging into my skin.

They were pretending. They were all pretending.

They started the parade around her coffin. It was closed, just like those beautiful sea-green eyes I’d so often lost myself in. Soon, their masks would be off, and they could forget all about her. It was just another few ticks of the clock out of their day.

Have you ever lost an angel?

I bit my lip, and felt the blood flow into my mouth. I swallowed. I cried.

No pain could be enough.

It was my fault.

That was what her parents told me.

It was my fault!

I had turned her from God. I had soiled her, brought great sin upon her body, and in His Almighty Wisdom, He had taken her back, before her soul became lost forever.

it was my fault!

I was Unclean. A dirty dyke. A tainted whore, who didn’t know what was right. Lesbians were the daughters of sin, and Satan. I was the Devil Incarnate; I had seduced their daughter, and it was my fault!

If I hadn’t turned her into a lesbian, she would have been happier, they said.

She would still be alive.

Bullshit!

She was gone.

They didn’t care.

It was easier to hate me, then to mourn her.

But it was my fault!

I hated them for being right.

I was the only one who cried for her.

There was nothing sacred about it. There were no fanciful tales to be told down the line, when we went to parties and met other couples. There had been no seductive flirtations upon my part over the slow course of days, weeks, or months to lure her into my bed. There was no romance, no flowers, no secret admirers writing secret letters and gorgeous prose, it was purely chance.

Two young women at a party, from two different tracks, sitting, and talking, amazed at how much they had in common. Drinking.

One has a boyfriend; one just broke up with a girlfriend. Inhibitions lower, curiosity piques, questions are asked.

Yes, I’m a lesbian. No, I don’t hate all men. Yes, it’s ... well, hard to explain ...Well, ... are you sure? ...

And soon, clothes discarded sometime later, we fell asleep sexually sedated in a stupor of bliss, and wonderment.

That had been all there was to it. She tried to hide me from her parents, but the inevitable happened. They took her home; her father yelling threatening words I felt he would back up with violence.

I trembled, that night. Alone, and cold in the bed that was far too large for me. Empty.

She was my angel.

I was her heart.

We were symbiotic, feeding ravenously off each other’s love on a street where people ridiculed our life together. Damn Catholics, and their self-righteous ways.

We were strong together.

I was nothing, now. Nothing, without her.

Yet, in the end, she had left her family, and come back to me. I asked her to marry me. It was silly, and sincere.

She accepted.

That year I felt blessed.

All that ended, soon enough. She was taken away from me. A simple trip to the local store; all I’d wanted was a couple of Cokes. The drunk didn’t have his headlights on. She didn’t see him.

Now I was the only one who cried for her.

My whole body hurt. It felt good. It was almost painful enough to numb my mind from the realization that my angel, my guardian angel, was gone. I wept dry tears now, into a drenched pillow, baptized in the salt of my tears.

Anything to forget that it was my fault.

And it was.

Everything was done in the dark, that night. The lamps were unplugged, the blinds and curtains pulled across the windows. Blankets hung over railings, stuffed under the doors. None of it could get in.

Once, I had been a beautiful Goddess, trussing Bri up as my heart’s desire—one night a innocent naïve little schoolgirl, the next a house maid, anything I wanted. We fit into each other like two matching pieces of a puzzle.

Perfect.

And the world was the rest of the picture, scattered and torn around us. Yet, we had held together in the strength of our love.

I complimented her in my gentle Dominance, and she succored my love and nurtured my needs through her submission.

It was perfect.

I was no longer beautiful. The pain in my heart, the ache in my body. These were scars, hideous and monstrous, to be hidden and not seen.

The darkness hid that.

Everything was done in the dark.

Eventually, the drudgery of the day, the procrastination of the clocks’ hands began to catch up with me. After days, I fell asleep.

I dreamed.

“My Heart,” Brianna smiled, gazing down lazily upon me. She had never looked so perfect. I felt the warmth of her healing lips, taking away the hurt of the world we endured, to live together.

“My Angel,” I responded, in kind. I slid my hand between her small thighs. She shivered, delightedly. I returned the kiss with a ferver.

Our clothes slowly found themselves lying upon the floor, as we twisted and writhed against each other’s heat. Our passion was a Beast, alive, and it consumed the whole of us, set us on fire.

I shook with the force of the orgasm, as I drove the long dildo into her slickness, and she tongued mine.

We fell asleep, in each other’s arms.

A whisper. “It was not your fault.”

I awoke, surprised to find a smile placed over my lips. I was cold. Shivering, I realized the sheets were off of me, and my clothes were lying on the floor. My cunt was sore.

Disbelievingly, I looked at the thick, protruding dildo that seemed to stare back at me, lying between my legs. It was soaked and slick, sheets seeped with the stains of sweat and sex. I couldn’t help but inhale their scent.

Strawberries and Sex.

I smelled her.

I was easily sent back into tears. The sense of smell is more than just a sense; it is a stimulus, and a trigger for horrid things. I was too frightened by my own mental breakdown, by my own loss to realize that the ache in my body was gone. Stolen.

It would soon come back.

I could not go to work. I was a wreck, mentally and physically. I couldn’t be seen in public. I was ugly. I clutched the blankets around me, in the emptiness of the darkness. I wasn’t worthy to live. I wanted to be with Bri.

Suddenly, that seemed like the best idea I’d had in a long, long while. I could be with Bri. I could end the madness that was surely taking me.

I found the blades after a bit of blind searching. I didn’t even numb my wrists.

Sleep began to take me.

Soon, my Angel. Soon, I’ll be with you again. And I’ll beg your forgiveness.

I knew it would be soon, and I set back in the bathtub to let it happen. i was so tired...

“My Heart,” Bri murmured in my ear. She stroked my long, luxuriant hair. She loved my hair.

“My Angel,” I replied, love struck, and nuzzled my way into the crook of her neck, like an infant needing comfort.

“I forgive you.”

I woke, suddenly, to ice cold water in a room that was filled with pitch-blackness that consumed all light. I quickly got out, shivering madly, and dried myself off as best I could.

I was starting to go mad. I knew, I just knew I’d slit my wrists. The razors were proof of that. I feverishly searched for them, where I knew I’d put them. They weren’t there. I spent a day tearing the house apart, looking for a reason not to call myself mad.

I failed.

I was the only one who cried for myself.

My world was gone.

It had been a week, and I only felt worse. My only reasoning was that I was sleepwalking, now. Torturing myself for my Angel’s death. I was the one who had sent her out.

It was my fault.

It was all I could think of. I’d woken up with a crumpled pleated skirt near the end of the bed, with knee-high stockings on, when I’d gone to bed in fully dressed in clothes that I’d worn the last two days.

The next occurance, my nipples were erect, cold, hard, unforgiving clamps over them. I had put all our toys away in a box, in a closet.

The last time, I’d found a paddle in my hand, a pair of ‘Hello Kitty’ panties near it that Bri loved to wear, and my own ass stung hotly, pleasurably.

Yes. I was going mad.

I was looking forward to dreaming, again.

Everything made sense, there. I forced myself to sleep, to see Bri again. One last time, I told myself. One. Last. Time.

“My Heart,” she said, as always.

“My Angel,” I returned, hugging her tightly. It was right

“Wake up.”

I woke up, to find my arms wrapped around myself. It felt strangely warm, and eerily familiar. My lips spoke, though I hadn’t spoken in days.

“Thank you. You always loved me, so much. You helped me to come back,” she said.

A tear welled in my eye. But she was in control now, and she wouldn’t let me weep. “None of that, now,” she crooned to me, quietly through our lips.

Our hands moved up, to touch our face. We smiled at us, and our heart began to beat faster, the warmth of love flowed through our body. We were beautiful again.

Our lips said to me, “I forgive you.”

I turned the light on.

It was perfect.