The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The day was so beautiful it almost didn’t look real. The Earth wasn’t supposed to have this kind of picturesque scene in it. Sights like this were reserved for photoshopped postcards or masterwork oil paintings or computer-generated movies about elves.

Except that Daphne could feel the grass between her toes. She could feel the sunshine pouring through her. The bucolic wonder of the Cotswolds spread out before her, the rolling greenery just on the edge of hurting the eye with its brilliance. Low stone walls and lazy stands of trees punctuated an otherwise endless sea of close-cropped grass.

Daphne ran forward, whooping in joy. Her flip-flops dangled from her right hand, a small handbag in her left. The wind moved through her sundress like water over stones. This place just seemed to radiate a feeling of childlike freedom. Daphne needed that; it was why she’d come to the English countryside on vacation in the first place.

Her friends, all languishing from hangovers back at their bed and breakfast, would surely have thought she was crazy, galloping across hill and dale like this. They were all city mice by nature. Columbia University was a great school, sure, but it suited people like her friends more than it did Daphne. She longed for the pastures of Chenango county, where she had grown up. There was a sublime simplicity to life there that she’d missed since moving to Manhattan. When freshman year had ended and the opportunity to get away to the countryside had popped up, she had pounced on it.

Her friends saw it as yet another excuse to get wasted, hook up, and annoy older locals. Daphne wasn’t into that kind of debauchery, though. She vacationed to a destination for the destination, not for whatever local beer tasted like the beer she already liked back home.

She topped the rise of a hill and stopped to catch her breath. She’d been walking for at least a couple of miles now, and her latest giddy sprint had winded her a bit. The view from here was wonderful. The sun shone off a creek in the distance to form a ribbon of metallic gold just below the horizon.

What really caught Daphne’s eye, though, was a tree. The Cotswolds were hardly forested, but a few proud trees stood here and there even so, usually to add texture to the landscaping of a house. This tree was no exception; an adorable brick cottage sat a short distance away from it, smoke puffing happily from the chimney.

What made this tree special was its size and its lushness. It was easily the biggest tree that Daphne had seen since her group had arrived in England four days ago. It looked like a beech, though Daphne couldn’t be sure, especially since it was far bigger than any beech she’d ever seen. The limbs pointed skyward at angles, like a woody hedgehog determined not to let the sky get the best of it. Greenery burst from the ends of the branches in great torrents, looking for all the world like a massive green firework frozen mid-explosion.

Daphne’s vision stripped away from her, replaced with visions of her childhood in upstate New York. The forests near her house had seemed endless. Each tree was a friend with its own story. She had spent many a long afternoon wandering the forest with friends or on her lonesome, naming the trees. She would speak to them and imagine that they replied in funny voices, inviting her to climb them or play with their discarded branches.

Climb them she had. She could remember the feel of the bark of her favorites, massive pines and elms that cradled her in their shade, creating forts from their leaves. Nestled amongst their boughs, Daphne was protected from the outside world. She wasn’t just some child wandering around the middle of nowhere. She was Daphne, Queen of the Woodland, Cherished of the Woody Ones. The shade of the sky over that forest still lingered at the back of her mind, mixed with sap and green needles. Now, seeing the titanic beech, it all flooded back.

She raced down the windward side of the hill toward the tree. A decaying stone wall lurched to knee-height, but Daphne vaulted it with ease. The slack of her dress flowed behind her like the tail of a comet.

She was breathing hard by the time she sprinted under the tree’s circle of shade. Looking up, she realized that it was even bigger than she’d originally thought, easily two hundred feet of sturdy majesty. The largest of the branches was barely head-height to her. She paused to look around, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Out here in the aristocratic old meadows of the Cotswolds, it was easy to feel like she was being watched and judged by a stern old schoolmarm, or perhaps by a priest who had grumpy words regarding girls who ran about frivolously while spending their parents’ hard-earned money on vacations with layabout friends.

But no such scowling figure appeared. Daphne was alone with the massive tree. Even the cottage that belonged to the tree—Daphne couldn’t imagine it was the other way around—rested a discreet distance away, as if happy to give the ancient plant its privacy.

Daphne dropped her purse and sandals among the tree’s gnarled, mossy roots and scrambled up the trunk to the lowest branch. It wasn’t difficult; the bark was both thick enough for her fingers and toes to fit between and sturdy enough to support her weight. She wasn’t surprised. She’d always been petite, and years of climbing trees had given her a sense of balance and grip that had never faded.

She plopped onto the lowest bough and let out a breathless laugh. The tree’s bark had been warmed by the sun, and it soaked into her with a soothing stillness. It felt solid under her. She could imagine a chainsaw touching the tree and breaking, metal teeth flying helplessly away from the old beech. Something this magnificent couldn’t be hurt by something as prosaic as machinery. It felt like it could outlast the world.

She sprang to her feet, balancing easily on the branch, then jumped to grab the next. Her hands latched onto it and she hauled herself up. Her gymnast’s muscles hadn’t seen much use since she stopped competing a couple years ago, but she still had strength to spare to haul her hundred pound weight up with both hands. The heat of the tree was comforting against her palms as she swung herself up.

She was behind the tree’s curtain now. The shadow within her leafy cave made the hills beyond too bright to look at. All around her were bursts of vibrant green leaves, beyond which lurked only the uniform sunniness of the world outside of the tree. Whispers of wind tickled the hanging branches, mimicking Daphne’s own hoarse giggles.

She was about to head higher when she noticed something. Her hands had a slightly greenish tint to them. Curious, she brought a palm to her face, but the strange sight faded like water into soil. Her hands were completely normal. It must have just been a trick of the light filtering in through the leaves.

She stepped to another branch and then swung a leg up onto another. Even here, sheltered from the sun, the bark was warm to the touch. The tree seemed to radiate a calming, healing warmth, like sharing a bed with a trusted lover.

Daphne thought back to the last time she’d experienced that. It had been a long while. All the boys she knew at Columbia—all the boys she’d known for years, actually—harbored crushes on her with various degrees of secrecy. Just last week, on the plane ride from New York to London, her friend Bobby had ordered a few too many in-flight drinks and confessed to Daphne in a slurred whisper that he was in love with her. Daphne had only sighed and told him that they could talk about it when they landed. Bobby had promptly passed out and forgotten the whole thing, but Daphne knew the feelings that were lurking behind the civilized facade of his sobriety.

It wasn’t that Daphne didn’t like boys. She liked them more than most. But she’d been raised right, and it showed. She hadn’t given up her virginity to her first boyfriend until they’d really been in love. The second—and last—boy she’d slept with had waited over a year until she was ready. That kind of intimacy was special, and Daphne didn’t plan to cheapen it like so many of her big city friends did.

She shook herself, coming back to the warm cocoon of the tree. She’d really gotten lost in thought for a moment there. With a little less childlike enthusiasm than before, she continued her climb.

It was slow-going. Not because Daphne was tired, but because she really savored every moment. The air in here was heavy with the scent of life, soil and butterflies and pollen. She gripped the branches and her hands came away green. Her knees rubbed green off the bark, which faded into her skin like lotion. The wind tickled the leaves around her, and she laughed. At times it sounded like words that she could understand, and she found herself nodding.

She made a fist and her fingers briefly stuck to her palm. Sap. Did beech trees even have sap? She wasn’t sure. Maybe this wasn’t actually a beech? It didn’t bother her, though. The sap soaked into her skin in just a few seconds. She felt fantastic, not at all tired. The scent in the air made her vision swim. Still she climbed.

It was so freeing out here. She wished that her friends would have gone camping with her. They could have slept out here in the balmy weather. They wouldn’t even have needed tents. England was supposedly a rainy country, but Daphne couldn’t imagine being bothered by something as silly as rain. She belonged out under the open sky, with only the leaves and her own skin to shield her from the elements.

She had left her purse behind. Her shoes, too. Why wouldn’t she? She didn’t need anything but nature around her. She slipped one thin strap of her dress off of her shoulder, then another. She sprang to a leg-thick branch a few feet away, unconcerned with the fifty-foot drop that hung beneath her, waiting in case she missed the jump. The dress slipped off of Daphne’s body, fluttering to the ground below like the queen of all leaves.

The breeze felt good on her body. It rolled across her belly, across the small of her back, whirling between her thighs. She climbed higher, her arms and legs whistling internally with infinite endurance. Out of the corner of her vision, Dapnhe saw more green sap soak into her, drawing brief rays of color along the centerline of her abs and between the cords of her forearms. Barely-seen green stains mottled her bra and panties.

Bra? Why would she wear something like that? She was free here. At some point she’d have to go back to that dreary village with its insufferable B&B and her chatting friends, constantly texting and taking selfies and driving cars. The tree had no need for cars or phones or friends. Or clothing. Why should she?

She unclasped her bra and let it fall, following her dress down into the green abyss of the lawn far below. She felt a rush of glee at being free of it. She hadn’t realized how restricting it was. With a languid stretch, she brought her hands up to her breasts, running her hands over them. They just barely filled her hands, pale nipples almost invisible against her skin. They felt wonderful, alive with the same heat that pulsed from the tree, the same heat that pulsed inside her heart.

She climbed another handful of branches. The trunk was thinner now, almost thin enough so that she could wrap her arms all the way around it. She tried it and her whole front came away green. Her breasts felt wonderful, her nipples hardening like flower buds in the sunshine. She laughed, high and wild, and jumped to the next branch, her hands sure as a monkey’s as she swung up onto it. Her panties fluttered down on the breeze to rest among the roots. She wasn’t conscious of having taken them off.

She nodded, laughing still, answering some question that someone must have asked. She couldn’t guess who, but it didn’t matter. The only sound other than her giggles was the rustling of the leaves in the wind, and they couldn’t say anything. Not really. Though Daphne was sure that they were pleased with her.

She paused, standing on a branch far away from others. It was barely as thick as her arm, but it held her weight as surely as a steel catwalk, and with a much more satisfying comfort. Her left hand raked at her breasts, teasing her nipples. Her right slid between her legs, finding the tantalizing space where her lips met, coaxing a small, shining bit of moisture out onto the tip of her finger.

She remembered her past boyfriends. She remembered how good they had made her feel. She thought of all the things that boys she met surely wanted to do with her. Do to her. She thought of how she had rejected so many of them, turned away from what they wanted. From what she wanted, in truth. How could she not want that kind of touch? A man, playing with her body the way she was playing with it in this moment? What could be more freeing than that, letting go of her inhibitions and insecurities and getting lost in those sweet threads of pleasure that were winding around her? What could be more natural?

She’d held herself back. But that wasn’t what she was. Not really.

She braced herself against the trunk of the tree, crouching down. Her legs opened and her fingers worked at her pussy more earnestly. Moss from the trunk crawled down into her hair, the shining black strands tinged more and more with green. Pleasure flowed not just from the teasing at her clit but from every point of contact she had with the tree. Both bare feet crackled with happy feeling every time she shifted her weight. Tendrils of green sap wound their way along her ass and up her spine.

She pulled herself to a new, more stable position, her hand coming away green. When the verdant finger touched her pussy again, she cried out. Her eyes shot open, as wide as they could go, and a bolt of heat lanced into them. Her whole body locked up, spasming. Her finger vibrated against her clit. She could barely feel her body. It was like she blended into the background, as bright as the sundrops she could see through the leaves.

The tree spun around her, as though she were drunk on the green sap. A tornado of leaves and twigs danced with her at the center while she explored her body with hungry hands. Her anguished cries cracked like thunder in the storm. More and more her hands roamed. Her skin eagerly soaked up the pervasive warmth of the wood that she sat on. Her legs spread wide, and she reveled in the debauched feeling of exposing herself to the world, of freeing herself from all chains of what she’d always thought of as decency.

This was all she needed. The world had invented so many distractions to pull her away from focusing on her body, this primal service to pleasure that she so desperately sought to indulge. Now, though, she could see the truth. She was a part of nature, meant to eat and drink and run and fuck. And fuck. And fuck. She needed no shelter but her body, and her body needed nothing but to feel this heat.

Time melted away from her. She loved her body for being light and lithe and graceful. Time melted away. She loved her body for holding such joy in it.

The branches moved around her, not just swirling drunkenly but in a tactile, deliberate way. A curtain of branches and leaves wrapped around her like a blanket, removing her from the bough she sat on. Her fingers never stopped worked even as the branches lowered her in a natural sling. Back down through the boughs toward the ground, the trunk thickening at her back the whole way, the roots rising to meet her. Her arms and legs were free to move, nestled in her perfectly safe cocoon.

The branches retreated, leaving her spread wide on the ground, sunlight dappling at the edge of the shadows near her feet. The tree had deposited her safely on the ground, as gently as a mother putting a baby in a crib. Her hands never left her body. The feel of her finger sliding in and out of her pussy was too good to give up. She panted as her fingers made her cum again. How many times had she cum already? She couldn’t possibly remember.

“Thank you,” Daphne groaned, out of her senses. She wasn’t sure if she was thanking herself or someone else.

“Well now. I expect you’re having a fine day.”

A man’s voice. Daphne’s eyes shot open, more surprised than alarmed. Nothing could hurt her here.

Just a few feet away stood an old man. He was every picture of an English country gentleman that Daphne had ever seen, right down to the brown tweed cap. He held a cane in his hand, but didn’t appear to need it. His skin was weatherworn and wrinkled, but his shoulders were still straight and his legs sturdy.

“I…” Daphne could get no further than that. At one time she had been eloquent and spoken to people often, but that had been a long time ago, before she had met her tree.

“It’s all right, lass. You don’t have to say nothing. Mind if I come closer?” He didn’t wait for a response, but edged his way toward Daphne, an open palm extended as though she were a dog who needed to sniff him out.

She nodded hesitantly, taking her hand from her pussy finally. The world immediately felt empty.

“That’s all right. Don’t stop on my account.” The man finally reached and extended his fingers to touch her chin. She instinctively tried to shy away, but the tree trunk was at her back. “Let’s see those eyes.”

Daphne met his gaze, and he smiled with grandfatherly sweetness. “Right. Green as I’ve ever seen.”

That couldn’t be true. Daphne had brown eyes. She always had.

The man traced his fingers down Daphne’s body. He lingered over the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, the swell of her breasts. He drew a line down her belly, and she opened her legs for him. His finger slipped inside her pussy, and she arched her back like an animal soaking in the sun.

“Wonderful,” he said. “What a sweet little thing you are. I suspect you don’t have much need for names any more, but we’ll get to know each other even so. This is my land, as much as it can be anybody’s. Not that I put on airs about it overmuch.” He chuckled, looking up into the branches overhead. The leaves swished in what sounded like an echo of his laugh.

“You’re welcome to say here,” the man continued, “as long as you like. That’s my home right there.” He pointed to the nearby cottage, chimney still curling with smoke. “You can come in if you like, though the others almost never do. There’s the stream down yonder slope. Never did figure out what you all eat, but if you need anything, the larder’s full.”

Daphne finally found her voice. “Daphne.” It sounded like a flute on the wind.

“What’s that, little thing?”

“My name. Daphne.”

He snorted. “Supposin’ if it wasn’t your name before, it should be now.”

Daphne couldn’t stand it any more. His fingers were in her, but besides that he was so distant. She grabbed the back of his head, her fingers sinking into his thick, white hair, and pulled him in close for a kiss. He obliged her, his rough lips meeting hers with care. He tasted like earth and cedar. She tasted like rainwater and honeysuckle.

She leaned back into the nest of roots, pulling him with her. His body felt wonderful atop hers, though he was wearing far too many clothes. She began to peel them off of him, his blocky farmer’s muscles revealed in tantalizing increments. Where skin met skin she felt alive. She felt like she would never get enough of that feeling. His hands lifted under her ass, pulling her wide open for him, and she trilled a song against his mouth. His cock filled her, welcoming her to her new home. Overhead, her tree echoed her cooing with its own joyful rustling, a song that Daphne could finally understand.

THE END