The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Walking after my ‘fun’ with Sylvia is not the most enjoyable experience of my life. I forgot that I’d realize how sore I really am the farther I get from home. I don’t want to be anywhere near home for what I’m doing next.

I wonder if there’s an exact point where a slippery slope loses all traction and drops you off into a downward spiral.

The neighborhood around me turns a little dingier. Even the poorer areas in Midas City aren’t that bad and I’m not intending to drop into one of the worse ones. As it is, I just want to pick something up that you don’t see in the nicer neighborhoods. Some people even think it’s gone. The news doesn’t talk about it anymore. I have my own suspicions as to why.

A girl stands under a streetlight rubbing her nose. It’s an idle gesture, just a little itch. That doesn’t begin to say half as much as the little specks of gray that dot her irises. What I want is commonly touted as being all natural with no side effects.

No supporters ever mention the gray eyes.

My mom had gray eyes even before the factory that makes this stuff herself gave her a very direct dose. I got a dose back then too, though I don’t remember it. I was way too young. Sarah told me the story.

I approach the woman with the gray eyes and try to look casual. Sometimes I think it’s hard to look casual in a leather jacket. Something about them screams personality. If I weren’t so attached to the thing I’d throw it out, but it’s warm, comfortable, and makes me feel a little stronger. Maybe that’s why it’s hard to look casual.

“Nice eyes.” She looks into mine and nods before grinning. Sales women like it when you point out the one drawback of what they want to sell as though it were a feature. “You got any?”

She starts to nod before turning a little too stiff. Damn it. I’m just a little too intimidating like this and seeming way too in-the-know for a girl with brown eyes. I need to work a little harder on not looking like a law-abiding (or enforcing) citizen. I think what I just did shatters the former, anyway.

Instead, her head shakes and she looks around nervously. “S-sorry. I’m waiting for a ride to come and pick me up. She’s running a little late. I work late. You know how it is. Shit job, huh?”

“Yeah. Sounds like one hell of a shit job. Selling dust can’t be all that great. Your lying isn’t much better.” She jerks like she’s about to dart, but I grab her shoulders before she can. Dust doesn’t make you paranoid if you use it too much. It doesn’t make you jittery, nervous, flinchy, or any of those things – but I do if I’m holding on to your shoulders with a kung-fu grip. “Sorry. This is a lot less personal than the last woman I did this to.”

My victim only struggles for a moment as my grip turns metallic. I had to force a lot of juice into Sylvia to make her stop struggling, but this girl is a lightweight. It only takes the equivalent of a wine cooler to make her eyes turn to fogged glass.

I am getting way too used to this way too quickly.

“See, the woman that makes this stuff owes me, and I know how you work.” Sarah told me so much about these Dust Rings to discourage me from trying the stuff or from getting involved. Oh well. She also told me rape was wrong. She also told me to only use my powers for protection of the helpless and for self-defense – unless the person consented. May as well keep going, huh? “How far is the place you take girls to make sure they aren’t cops?”

“J-jusssst a few minutes away . . . Can’t be too far . . .” She coos in a voice that sounds so young. Her eyes are closed, and her body melts more against mine with each moment. She feels so fucking warm.

She has to be older than me by at least five years. How easily I can control a woman who could very easily be in a position of authority over me turns me on. This makes my possibilities seem endless. She’s beautiful, yeah. She has a cute short haircut, pretty gray-flecked eyes, and a pretty voice. But most of her appeal comes from how I’m experiencing her.

This slippery slope is slicker than my pussy.

“Good. Take me there. You need to take me there, and just the thought of it makes you wetter than all of the dust in the world being melted into you by Dust herself.” She groans louder than I’ve ever heard a woman groan, and when I let go of her she fuzzily moans and begins to lead he way.

Every step she takes makes her body shudder. Her nervous system is full of my juice right now. For a moment I think about asking her for her name, but then I decide it’s better this way.

This way she’s just what I want her to be: an obedient little dust slut.

She’s right – the hideout isn’t very far. It’s an old, abandoned bus shelter that probably hasn’t been serviced in my lifetime due to changing routes or budget cuts. The sign for the schedule says it was last updated in the year 2008!

There’s a small bench inside the enclosure. Grinning crookedly, I take a seat. “Sit in my lap, and tell me what you do when you bring women here.”

Her warm weight melts into my lap as her small chest presses against mine. Her head rests on my shoulder as she speaks in her arousing helpless-little-girl voice. “I find a way to . . . pretend to ac-cidentally dust them . . . just enough so they get fuzzy, and I ssstart asking them the questions . . . why they want it . . . if they’re a cop . . . vigilante . . . dust them more . . . if they’re good, tell them the terms of s-service . . . bad, and I send them to Her with a baggie . . .”

What a dangerous bunch of drug dealers these girls are. It’s hard to believe they haven’t been taken down yet. Then again, they supposedly have been at least five times that I’m old enough to remember.

Tenacity is a good survival trait for a drug ring.

“Well sweetie . . . This time is different. You’re not following Dust’s rules. You’re following mine.” I hold her face in my hands and look into her gray-flecked eyes. Olivia’s eyes were gray . . .

Fuck. I am not going to cry. I’ve always wanted gray eyes. Sarah has silver, Olivia had gray, Valerie has violet, and mine are just brown: the most common eye color. Common, not worth noting.

“And my rules means you do what I say.” Metal melts over my lips as I kiss her firmly. My current seizes her nerves again and she whines as her whole body spasms against me. “That means you obey me. That means you’re my little dust slut until I tell you that you’re not. How’s that sound?”

“Sweeet . . .” Her voice sounds like a five year old responding to the question “What does candy taste like?” if they hadn’t slept for a year but were quite happy to be asked. That shouldn’t make me clench but it does.

It’s not the thought of her so much younger, it’s knowing how visceral of an affect I have on her with such little effort spent.

This was a better idea than I thought. Sylvia only opened up this desire, but as much as she quenched it she made me yearn for more. I had to be gentle with her. I was afraid not to be gentle with her. I don’t feel like this with her, whatever her name is. I feel free. I feel like for all eighteen years of my life I’ve been keeping myself caged. I don’t like how that feels but I do like how much that makes me savor the freedom I have now.

The metal over my lips pulls itself back inside as I let out a long, slow sigh. She can’t resist me. She doesn’t want to resist me. She craves to obey me. She’s my dust slut, and she likes it.

A girl could get used to this!

With a purr I slide my fingers along her sides, memorizing each and every curve. “You know, when I came out to find a Dust Girl, I was just going to melt you down and take some dust . . . but now I want more, and so do you. Have you ever been fucked in public?”

“Nnnn . . . no . . . close, could be seen through a window, was pressed up against it, eyes rolled up into my head but no . . . n-never in public . . .” I wonder how her nipples looked squished against a window. Anyone looking through could have seen her being used. I should not be taking notes. I should really, really not be taking notes.

I might need to do that another night. “Well you’re going to be. After we’re all done, if you’re a very good girl, I’ll let you have half of the dust you have on hand.”

She makes a sound of agreement, though it might be a moan as my hands slide up under her top. I feel on fire. Her nipples are bullets. I’ve never been so thrilled to find a girl not wearing a bra.

“Turn around, and push your back against me.” She almost falls as she obeys. Somehow the thought of her falling due to her helpless state is even more sizzling. I’m starting to not care how fucked this is.

My fingers reach down past her waistband and revel in the feeling of her pussy grinding against them through her soaked panties. I’m glad she has those. Her reactions feel even better with that one layer in my way.

The bus shelter is back against an older brick building, and the glass is tinted. It’s still dark. We’re out in the open, but no one sees as metal melts over my fingers and I sizzle her clit. No one is around to hear her whimper and whine in her lost and melted voice as her body shivers and shakes. This is ours.

Roughly, I nibble on her ear and tug on her nipple, driven by the sounds of her mewls. Her each and every movement is just what I need. Maybe I don’t need Sylvia after all. Maybe, I just need this. Maybe this can fill all of those empty places inside me.

She clenches around my fingers as I thrust them inside her, and her orgasm comes so quickly I almost miss it. Something about how cheap and meaningless this is makes me cum right along with her.

I’m so exhausted. I’ve never used so much of my current in one day, and it makes me feel cold and shaky. That might also have something to do with how much sex I’ve had but I doubt it. It feels more like how I felt the time Sarah asked me to sizzle until I couldn’t anymore, but more . . . consuming.

“Stand up . . . nnnn . . . Sit next to me . . . how much dust do you have . . .?” My voice comes out slower than I want it to. Everything is going slower and I feel a little disoriented. Dizzy. I guess that’s to be expected.

She collapses next to me on the bench, almost falling again. A part of me almost orders her to fall. “I have three bags . . .”

“Give me two . . . Feel free to use the last of it for yourself once you can think again. You’re not my dust slut anymore . . . and tell Dust to put it on Aurora LaSilvas’s tab . . .” Such crappy phrasing, but I don’t care. I feel so good. Yeah, I feel used up and as if I could sleep for a year, but it feels good.

She mumbles something incoherent, but I ignore her entirely after she hands me the bags from her jacket. I’m done with her now. I got what I came for and even more.

I shove one of the plastic bags into my jacket before opening the other. I always wanted gray eyes. I pull out some dust and sprinkle it down over my face before I start to walk home.

It feels so strange. Its texture feels like I should be wanting to sneeze, but I don’t. I do feel a little itchy, but it’s not a bad itchy. It’s an arousing itchy. I sprinkle a little more and inhale as deeply as I can. I can see why this stuff is so addictive.

Wherever I fall asleep along the way will be more comfortable than any bed I could share with Sylvia.