The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

California looked a lot farther away on the map. I know how fast my bike can go, but it still feels strange to have gone so far in such a short time. Mom said her trip away from Midas lasted close to a year, but she wasn’t going from point a to point b. She was trying to do as much good as she could while rebuilding herself as Lucia Colloten.

Building up Electrum hasn’t been the most important part of this trip, though she has managed to do more than just stop a bunch of jewel thieves. Yesterday I actually foiled a bank robbery. It felt strange to approach the police and ask if they wouldn’t mind my help, but I’m sure it was a mark in my favor.

I even managed to catch myself on the TV in my motel room. It was the second time in a week, but it still felt thrilling. The thought of being the kind of heroine who always ends up being at just the right place for exposure? It’s nice.

Mom was never the kind of super heroine who got a lot of news coverage. Patina got a fair amount after foiling The Argentum Project, and Quillspawn, but the only time she got a lot of notice as Silver Girl was after she helped take down The Lady and her machinations with the badged supers program. That lovely bit of coverage also involved some photos that are still circulating the net.

It feels nice, though strange, to feel that I might one day surpass her legacy. I guess that’s what I’m supposed to do, but she saved the world from a red moon. They might not know it, but I do. Maybe that’s why it feels strange.

Underneath me, my golden steed purrs and I relish the sound. It reminds me I’m moving forward, even if my thoughts keep pulling me backwards. Even thousands of miles away, as far across the country as we could get from each other without her being in Maine and me in Hawaii, it still feels like she should be here.

Sylvia . . .

It’s getting late, and even only half an hour from my aunt’s there’s no way I could drop by tonight. When I called her she seemed happy enough to hear from me, but I doubt she would be at two o’clock in the morning. Another night in a motel won’t kill me.

A car’s lights flash and I glance over as it pulls up beside me in the other lane. I get a quick glance and look away, certain if I looked much longer I’d plow right into someone without even noticing. Inside was a very pale woman, a yummy pale that looks cultivated as much as a good tan, wearing one of the most interesting outfits I’ve ever seen. I only looked for a moment, but I’m not sure how much of it was black, and how much was white. It seemed to change depending on her breathing, but it seemed designed to draw my eyes straight to her cleavage.

She had lips that looked painted white, but a flesh tone of pale white, and her dark eyes . . . she’d seen me looking at her, and she’d grinned. Her hair was so dark, contrasting her creamy skin in just the perfect way.

I really need to get laid, and not by some crook. I need a girlfriend. I need a lover. I need to be held even more than I need to fuck. My first thought seeing a woman that yummy should not be whether she gives good hugs.

The car keeps up with me, and we end up stopped beside each other at a red light. It feels like we’re the only two people out on the road, even if there are still a few cars here and there. Without looking over I can feel her eyes on me. Each second feels like a million. How long can a light stay red? Maybe I should do some research on street lights to pass the lonely nights.

The light turns green, and I speed off into the night.

It’s almost disappointing now to not see myself on TV. I shouldn’t be used to it already, and I definitely shouldn’t be expecting it, but I am. Hopefully I can grow out of that. Becoming one of those “hero” types who only help people in high profile situations is the last thing I want to do.

I tear off my shirt – only mine because I needed something not attacked by automatic weapons’ fire – and toss it with my jacket over on the nearby chair. Slowly I run my fingertips over my skin, and savor the soft feeling my skin never has when it’s metal. It’s always yielding, feeling so warm and delicate even when it shouldn’t, but when it’s metal it feels . . . smooth. Not soft, but smooth – at least compared to skin. It’s not a bad feeling, and Sylvia definitely loved it, but I’ve felt it too much lately. I’ve had to be hard and smooth all he time.

Reaching back, I unhook my bra and toss it over on top of my shirt. Maybe I should have stayed in Midas after all – or asked Sarah to come with me. She would have in a heartbeat. My fingers slide along the curves of my breasts, tugging out a long, slow sigh. It feels so good to be soft again. I like being soft so much more than I’d admit to anyone else.

Sylvia could admit it. I don’t think anyone would ever doubt it. Why did we set each other up to be everything we weren’t? Looking at it now from nearly the outside, it almost makes me want to cry. I tried to become just like my metal, and she tried to be just like her wispy, almost fragile-seeming mist.

Did we really think we could lack those aspects we saw in each other? I don’t need to think it twice to know I did. I know I’m only just barely a week older than I was when I thought that, but it feels like a thousand years ago. I feel so much older realizing how young and stupid I was. We’d both done so much to hurt each other over the years without even thinking. So many times one of us reasserted each other’s dependency, forcing each other to be less of us, more of them . . .

Even regretfully, thinking of Sylvia while stroking my breasts is enough to make my nipples feel like metal. Her eyes always glazed in the most erotic way at the faintest teasing touch, and if I’d say something dirty while looking deep into her eyes, her hips would buck.

I close my eyes and give my nipples a firm twist. My thighs clench hard and only my teeth closed around my lip keep me from screaming. Sylvia was never rough with me, and suddenly I wish she had been. I wish we’d used our powers more, played games like we used to overhear Valerie and Sarah playing late at night if we were quiet and awake late enough. Right now I’d do anything for a memory of her holding my hair in her hand, forcing my face down as her fingers thrust into me from behind.

She has dozens memories like that from me. She always loved having her hair pulled, gently. She liked feeling weak in bed. It made her feel better about feeling vulnerable out of it – at least that’s what she told me. For some reason now, I doubt it.

Lingering thoughts keep turning me on more, thoughts of Sylvia’s flushed sex, the sound of her whimpering out my name, the way it felt to be screaming hers, but too many thoughts of guilt keep countering them only enough to be infuriating. I tear off my pants, almost literally tearing them as they join my bra on the chair. My panties join them, and I slide my fingers deep between my legs.

Even my teeth can’t stop the scream.

I force myself to lay back on the bed and splay my legs. Force. It’s my body, it’s me, but forcing myself to do it, even just imagining that, makes it sting sharper and burn hotter. My body twists as my fingers pump inside of me, harder, faster, pinning me down to the bed with my own thrusts.

My eyes close tight as I grind my thumb into my clit and grind my hips up to meet each thrust of my fingers. All over my body throbs in pleasure, tingling, pulsing, quivering in blinding pleasure. I don’t even know when my fingers turned metal, just that they did. I don’t know when my other hand started twisting my nipple and forcing current into the sensitive nerves, I just know how fucking amazing it feels.

Pleasure, that’s all it is, pleasure, but it’s so strong and it’s everywhere. Such a simple thing can be so powerful in the right amount, and this much is purely overwhelming. All I can do is shudder, quiver, and groan. It feels like my body is moving on its own, even though I know I’m controlling each thrust. I let myself imagine I’m back at home on the couch, Sylvia’s lips by my ear, sparkling mist sliding into my ear as she tells me just what to do with, to, my own body. I can see her grinning, see her fingers teasing my thighs, feel her breasts pressed against my arm, and it makes my fingers move quicker.

I imagine her telling me to let go, to cum, and I do. The main crest of pleasure hits, and I ride the waves of the afterglow doing nothing but panting and groaning. My fingers melt back to flesh as I mewl and stroke along my tender flesh. I’ll be sore – not sore enough to wince when I move but enough to feel – but for now all I feel is yummy heat.

“Super heroine by day, by night, part of the reason you should never sleep naked in a hotel bed . . .” I laugh at myself, glad that I’m on top of the covers and not under them.

My fingers slowly pull up into the air at my bidding, and I gaze intently at my lust glistening wetly over them. Wet. Sticky. Slick. If my fingers had just been inside of Sylvia, I would suckle them clean to savor her taste. It was always such a strong taste, the kind that made my eyes roll back and my knees feel weak even laying down. Maybe someday-

“Nooooo. No. No ruining good orgasms with hope that is only self-defeating.” I wipe my fingers off on the already-soaked covers before shakily rising to my feet. I chose this motel for one reason: a bathtub. Just thinking the word makes me smile.

Sarah always felt baths were a little too much like stewing in your own juices. Sylvia agreed. That was one of the things that felt like a special mother-daughter connection between Valerie and me. We both love baths. I know it’s not much, but as much as part of me was always angrily yelling “she’s not your mother!” in the background of my thoughts, another part was always wanting to make her proud of me, too.

Maybe I should have considered looking into medicine.

A shudder shoots down my spine. Just the thought of using needles makes me feel sick. I’m glad I never felt that was a viable path.

Sitting on the edge of the tub, I push in the plug and start the water. I didn’t bring anything to make the bath better than soap and warm water, but that’ll be enough. I’ve had to settle for showers, and it’s gotten old. Nothing makes me feel half as clean as a nice long soak.

The tub fills slowly, and I dip in a toe. Hot. It burns, but I keep my toe steady. I’m not a masochist, but some part of me loves that burn only hot water can give. I know I can pull my toe back, or turn down the water, but it feels good even as it hurts. Maybe there’s something wrong with me but, if so, I’m not particularly sure I care.

Once the tub gets about half-filled, I settle into the water and moan. The hot water tingles as it burns its way into my pores. It feels so fucking amazing, and it almost feels like somehow the water’s heat is bringing back my afterglow.

Mmmmm . . .

I flutter my eyes as I lift my foot, and use it to turn off the water. Tomorrow is an important day, but I don’t need to worry about that now. Right now, I just want, and need, to relax.

I close my eyes and let out a slow moan as I feel the water around me shift with each breath I take. A nice little water nap would really, really hit the spot.

“Mmmm . . .” I can’t tell if I’m awake again or still dreaming. My body feels like it hasn’t moved in a year. I take a deep breath, and feel the water ripple around me. I must be awake, but I don’t feel awake. I feel too . . . soft and smooth. My eyes don’t want to flutter open. They feel just a little too heavy, too weak. It almost feels like something is keeping them closed, but not enough for me to care.

A single fingertip, soft, warm, delicate, traces along the curve of my jaw. In a fluid motion it moves from my jaw to my cheek, the touch becoming a slow, lazy spiral that makes my knees quiver. It almost feels like something from inside of her finger reaches down into me, spreading out over me, making me shake as it coils inside. Still, I can’t open my eyes. Feeling so good, I don’t want to. My fingers twitch, trying to find something to grasp, but I don’t mind when they can barely move enough to make a loose fist.

The water almost feels like it has that same coiling, twisting feeling to it. I can almost swear I feel it twisting around me, moving around me, holding me as it somehow moves closer, pulling, pressing some magic heat inside of me.

My lips tremble as I realize just what this is. I must be dreaming, dreaming of Sylvia filling the bath with her mist, coiling it around me, coiling it inside of me . . . I can feel that heat melting into my sex, and it forces a hard shudder through my body. Feels so good to feel heat like this again, even if it doesn’t feel quite the same. It is a dream, so that makes sense.

“So pretty . . . It’s hard to believe you’re the same young woman who’s been giving us so many problems . . .” That voice isn’t Sylvia’s. I’ve never heard it before in my life, but for some reason it doesn’t scare me. It feels special, soothing, calming, like whatever is pinning me in the water from inside of me.

Her finger keeps tracing that same spiral over my cheek, again and again and again, and I can feel it spinning down inside of me, deeper with each twist of her finger. She’s not Sylvia, but maybe this is my dream trying to give me another woman to love, another woman to crave, one that won’t reject me, one that will always want me.

A dream woman just for me, real just for me, so nothing can take her away . . .

The water starts to coil around my breasts, sliding around them in perfect timing with the finger on my cheek. I can feel it pulling itself inside of me there too, somehow, doesn’t make sense, but dream logic never does. It feels so fucking amazing, stimulating every little tingling nerve as it coils deeper, coils tighter, binding me, fucking me, and all I can do is whimper and moan.

Something feels wrong, just a little, but like it’s a hint, sign, whisper of something more. I can’t figure it out, and everything feels so good, but it makes a small part of me whimper in a way that isn’t about feeling good, but feeling scared. I wish I could just make it stop. I just want to feel good.

“That’s good, little Electrum . . . Fight against your own defenses for me, so I don’t have to. I’ll make you feel amazing, more amazing than any woman ever has. I’ll make you feel pure perfection. All you need to do is lay back, and want it. Crave it. Yearn for it, and give me your everything. I’ll take care of it for you.” Her voice feels like it slides into my ear the same way her touch feels against my cheek, and it makes me clench.

I don’t just crave what she’s giving me, I need it. I need it more than I’ve needed anything in my life. I won’t let anything get in its way. I can’t let anything get in its way. I need to give up everything, my defenses, my thoughts, my control, all of it, to her. She’ll make everything better.

“Now, open your eyes, and give me your soul.” Her voice commands, and I obey. My eyes open, and all I can see is one large spiral, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen before. It’s so amazing, black and white, swirling, twisting, spinning around and around and around as the feelings in the water, in my body, all start to reverse. Mmmm instead of melting in, everything is being pulled out.

Black and white twist and swirl, trapping my eyes in the very center of the spinning bliss. Like a hot, wet vacuum, I can feel it tearing out everything I’ve ever had. It feels like cumming, only it’s between my eyes, not between my thighs.

There’s no more perfect truth than my infinite surrender to The Spiral.

“That’s my good little metal slut. Just stare with fuzzy, shining eyes as deep into the spiral as you can, while I have a little fun. Then, you’re going to make up for all of the trouble you’ve caused us.” If her voice didn’t sound so overcome with arousal, I would be wracked with guilt. Instead I’m overcome with bliss as her body lowers into the bath above mine. I can’t see her, only The Spiral, but I can feel her breasts pressing into mine.

Her voice is a part of The Spiral, her fingers inside of my pussy, her lips around my nipple, everything, just another part of The Spiral. The Spiral is my world, my life, my purpose, my everything. My moans are even a part of The Spiral.

The Spiral has my soul, and I never want it back.