The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The traffic is terrible and it isn’t like Midas traffic is known to be mild. There’s a big difference between lazy and near-gridlock. My concert is the epicenter. It’s hard to resist the thought of driving my namesake on the sidewalk, but there are some traffic laws I’m not ready to violate quite yet. Aurora could probably pull it off, but I’m still a little inexperienced.

Parking might be worse, but I can’t risk going into the VIP lot, and I can’t namedrop to get a hand. Getting unnoticed to an important event is hard when everyone is there because of you.

A few blocks away from the park, I dismount Sylvia and look around for security. There’s a smattering here and there, but none I recognize.

I’m going to hope that my fans having a reputation for impressive dye jobs will work in my favor.

Casually, which doesn’t mean whistling like a cartoon character, I approach the back of the line and tap the woman’s shoulder. Her hair is tied back in a pair of ponytails, most of it dyed silver excepting a few violet streaks. She turns around, and the only thing brighter than the smile on her violet-and-silver-painted lips is the sun glinting off the silver frames of her glasses.

“Excuse me? Sorry to bother you, but I’m in a bit of a bind and you could really save my ass.” My cheeks hurt from my oversized smile. I can’t help but feel a little paranoid. “See, I heard on the radio that the concert is sold out, and—”

“You’re . . . you’re Sylvia!” The girl squeals out her first ‘you’re’ so loud I think I feel something in my ears pop. Her voice quiets instantly when she says my name, like some intimate secret. The woman standing in front of her turns only for a moment, then back around with a roll of her eyes. I try not to sigh in relief too obviously. As much as her help would be nice I want to to avoid causing a scene. I really don’t need too much attention.

I turn my focus back onto my dyed fangirl. She can’t be any older than I am and that might be pushing it. Her voice is bubbly like boiling water, and her body is definitely sizzling and . . . perky. If I wasn’t here with a purpose I could have her in a minute.

This isn’t the first time a fan has squealed like that, but it still feels special. My cheeks are still burning. “Well, yeah. That’s kind of part of the reason I need your help. You see, I-mmm!”

Her hands have a vice grip around my wrists, and as I start to pull my arms back she pulls them down. My lips mash into hers with all the raw passion that only someone that loves you enough to take part of your identity as their own can muster. Her lips are amazingly soft, full, and warm. The curve of her breasts arching against mine through the thin fabric of her top is enough to make my toes curl.

An eternity later, she breaks the kiss, both of us panting and trembling. “So, you see, I’m like your biggest fan. I’ve recorded all of your interviews, own the Korean release of your CD with the extra tracks and the American version, your poster is on my wall, and I went to your first show here in Midas. I’m just a student at MCU so I can’t afford to tour with you, but I listen to you every night before I go to bed. When I heard you were putting on a concert in honor of your mother I had to come to show my suppo—!”

Her eyes bulge behind her thick lenses as I grab her wrists and pull her into another kiss. Her hips arch against mine, her thighs clenching just as tight as mine. I don’t need to add any of my power into this kiss to make it magical. Just by existing, just by touching her, showing her love and tenderness of my own volition, I’m fulfilling a daydream.

Something inside of her lips starts to crackle against mine, until I feel a strong current sizzle down my spine, making my whole body stiffen and slicken. It’s hard to feel where our bodies meet. The kiss is so intense my vision starts to fill with bright blue patches of light.

When the kiss ends, or when my next conscious thought hits, I’m fluttering my eyes and moaning, leaning against her for support. My knees won’t stop shaking just enough to make me feel wobbly.

“Oooh fuck . . . You’re a super . . . You’re a very, very dangerous girl. I think I like you!” A surge of giggles wells up in my mind. I can’t fight them off. Instead I just giggle like an idiot, hugging her as tight as my tired limbs can.

“Uh-huh! I’m not really that powerful or anything, I can just make a little electricity. It’s pretty useless if anyone is wearing rubber, but I can keep a cellphone going if it starts to run low.” She grins, and my lips curl to mirror. “You’re sort of an inspiration for me. My parents were supers, nobody special, but they did the whole ‘save the world’ shtick about twenty years ago. They’re retired now, but I always felt I’d let them down if I didn’t put on a mask. After I get my degree, I want to work two jobs.”

Tears well up in my eyes enough to make it impossible to see. As long as I can get my stability and vision back before I run into Nikki, this lovely girl’s ego boosting will definitely help.

I take a deep breath and focus as much on being ‘Nebula’ as I possibly can. When I was a little girl, that meant being cute and affectionate. Now, it means being confident, charismatic, and heroic. I just have to avoid arching my chest too much when I get into the role. In this top, it can have an entirely wrong effect. “I’m glad to help, dear. But now, like I said, I need your help. I need a ticket to get inside, and uhm, if I could borrow your hair ties? If you can do that, and give me your name, and a way to find you, if I get through this okay you can have a ticket every time I’m in town, backstage VIP treatment.”

“You mean . . . wow! Of course! Here . . .” She tugs her hair free, holding out the ties before reaching into her ass pocket. “How come you aren’t just well, walking out on stage in a few minutes? Something going wrong?”

Quick as I can, I have my hair tied back in a loose imitation of the way hers looked a few moments ago. “You could say that. In fact, you probably shouldn’t be here. At all. I didn’t even know this concert was going on. I came back home when my mother disappeared, some bad things happened and this concert is a surprise I don’t like. How’d you know it was me, and not just a very convincing fan?”

“The piercing helps, the pattern of your hair . . .” She blushes more intensely than I’ve ever seen anyone blush in my life. “I’m an obsessed fan, I’ll be honest. I’m not a creepy stalker – I never thought I’d meet you. It was just kinda nice to imagine memorizing little details like which strand turned silver or violet where . . . but uh! Here’s my ticket. My name’s Kat Alejandro. I’m in Midas City University’s south dorm. When this blows over, that should be more than enough to find me. I’ll let you get to work!”

I tuck away the ticket and let out a slow sigh. “Take care of yourself, Kat! I’ll find you, I promise.” The last of that giggly feeling fades farther away she moves away. My empathic abilities still aren’t entirely under my control. If she’d stayed a little longer, or been a little more pushy, I might have started to mirror her fanaticism.

At least this time, in theory, I wouldn’t have tried to rape my own mother.

The line moves painfully slowly. Small parks make for crappy venues, and it seems we sold a lot of tickets. Every minute makes me think of more things I’m not ready for. This is obviously a trap. All they’d need would be a couple hired guns and a few hostages. I want to believe Nikki didn’t really think we’d made up and there’s no impostor about to stand in my place, but that seems like wishful thinking.

I pull out my cellphone and wince. I might not get in before the show starts. Also, I’m a moron for not getting Kat’s phone number.

Nikki’s opening riff for “Conquest” throbs from the park. No one else plays like Nikki. She’s always so soulful, so passionate, and something about the way she plays makes it sound like little spirals of music twisting around in the air. Her fingers are so amazingly precise. I’m not about to lie and say I don’t enjoy the times our band has curled up together, but I’ve always loved time with Nikki the most.

“Your ticket?”

Oblivious. Way too oblivious. Normally I’m not this bad. “Oh, uh, right!” I pull out Kat’s ticket and try not to make eye contact. “Here you go. Sorry. Just kinda excited.”

She hands it back to me, and I let the other guard pat me down. I stay tense the whole time she’s touching me. It’s not like I’ve got any contraband. I’m just sure she’s going to shove me onto my chest, hold me down tight while another one shoves buds into my ears and-

“Enjoy the show.”

“Yeah, of course, thanks!” My legs burn with how quickly I run to the stage. One of these days I really need to learn how to teleport around like Mom. Correction: one of these days I need to learn how to teleport around like Grandma.

My own voice rings out alongside Nikki’s guitar. It doesn’t sound like a clever imitation, or how I sounded at another concert, or how I sounded on the CD. It sounds like me, signing with a new little twist I would have sung if I was up on stage.

I run faster and look up to the stage. Sure enough, there I am. I’m wearing the same costume I usually wear to concerts, the star cut-out, the short skirt, the heels, the navel ring . . . and I look hot. Pushing through the jumping fans isn’t easy.

Nikki loved taking me to concerts, and one big thing she taught me was that if you want to get closer to the stage, you go on the left side of the crowd where you’ll be closest to the bassist. It’s only half as crowded, even if Heather is one hell of a bassist.

I reach up to my hair as I approach the stage, tugging the hair ties free. I’m not going to face myself looking like an imitation. It’s so hard not to be captivated by her. Little lingering bits of Kat might be. She looks so amazing in ways I’ve always hoped I look. She has so much energy as she belts out every note like it’s her whole purpose in life. Her eyes are shining, her skin glistening, her assets displayed so proudly and obviously but not too slutty . . . damn. If that’s even half as good as I look and sound every time I perform, I’m amazing.

Something about her isn’t just like me. I can’t pinpoint it, but I know she’s not me. It helps that I’m me. I’m not sure I’d be so convinced she was a fake if I was anyone else.

Maybe it’s a good thing Aurora took her time getting home.

Being nice isn’t getting me any closer to the middle of the stage, so I step on a few feet and get involved in a little rougher shoving than I feel proud of. Soon, I’m in front of . . . me. She looks down at me, and our eyes meet. I only give her a moment before I kick off the ground, glowing a bright silver as my nebula wraps around me, and soar up in front of her with a little help from my parents’ mutual flight.

The crowd quiets, and so does my impostor. The rest of the band doesn’t. “You, are not me! You’re a really good impersonator, but you are not me!”

“Sorry, but I think you have you confused with someone else!” The me on stage smirks as she manages to make her words go along with the melody of the song. “Don’t worry everybody, she won’t be ruining this show!” She winks, and her eyes shine with the same swirling energy that I know is filling mine.

It’s so hard not to scream and throw a five-year-old’s tantrum. She’s stealing my limelight and using my own song against me! “Sorry, dear, but this show should be mine!”

Flying isn’t something I do very often, hovering even less, but I know how to do it. I can’t move at all. My body won’t move. I can feel my power trying to move me closer to the stage, but I’m being held in place. It feels like something invisible wrapping around my wrists, my ankles, and my waist, holding me perfectly still no matter how hard I try to do . . . anything.

A woman steps out from backstage. No one in the crowd can see her—she’s too far back on in the stage’s shadows. In her hand is a long staff covered in glowing runes, and she’s dressed in what looks like a slutty special ops security uniform, tight white with light blue piping. It shows off her midriff and her legs. The cruel smile curling her lips makes me try struggling harder, but I can’t even pull away. All I can do is feel myself tensing against the force keeping me still.

The woman holding the staff spins it around with one hand, moving her free hand strangely. She chants something almost inaudibly that makes absolutely no sense, and then throws her hand out towards me. A slow rolling fog begins to spread out from her hand, maneuvering carefully around the women still performing on stage.

None of them even look at me or acknowledge I’m there besides the other me. Nikki looks so uncaring about anything besides the strings of her guitar. She’s never failed to notice me, or smile at me, or . . . it’s more crushing than I would have imagined.

I try to scream, but the same thing holding me in place is holding my mouth shut. The other me holds out her hands, and the fog swirls around her as though it were my nebula.

It’s sort of the same color, and it’s gaining the same twinkling, shimmering texture the more it moves towards me. Whoever is doing this is very, very good at what they do.

The fog wraps around me, dissolving into me, making me whimper and groan. It doesn’t feel like my nebula at all. It feels . . . fuzzy . . . It feels so heavy, like it’s all moving inside of my head, weighing it down, wrapping around . . . obscuring everything.

My thoughts feel slow and hazy. The me on stage, the other me, maybe the real me, jerks her hand back sharply, and I’m pulled down to kneel at her feet. I’ve never seen myself from my own feet. It’s so disorienting.

It’s hard to remember what I was going to do. There’s so much fog inside of me, mist, nebula . . . it’s harder to hold onto who is who the longer that fog swirls. She said she was me, and she sounds like me, looks like me . . . and I don’t feel very sure who I am anymore. She moves her hand up in the air, singing out the song, and I feel myself pulled up to my feet.

If I wasn’t being held up, I’d sink right back down to my knees. It’s strange, it feels so light, so wispy, but my everything feels so heavy. Holding my eyelids open feels more difficult than carrying an anvil. Even with support my knees shake.

Back behind me, that woman with her staff slams it down onto the stage. Her eyes glow a bright blue, and I feel my eyes pulse. The fog turns into chains, wrapping around my thoughts, around my mind, and I can’t do anything at all. I can’t even try to move. All I can do is wait. Her eyes, her power, whatever it is, is reaching deep inside of me, and trapping me inside myself. I don’t even feel in control of my own mind anymore. I’m just a passenger, struggling to hold on to the rails.

You will walk backstage. You will not use your power. You will only do what you are told. You cannot resist my power.

“I will . . . backstage . . .” My voice is too quiet for the mic to pick up. The power holding me lets go as the me holding the mic lowers her hand, and I walk steadily back to the woman holding the staff. The people behind me start to cheer louder. They’re cheering for me, or her. I can’t even tell anymore.

I can’t resist her power. She’s in control. She’s in complete control.

You will obey Mistress Counter Spell. She controls your mind. She controls your body. You are her toy. Her lips move, but I hear her words in my mind. Mistress Counter Spell’s words are in my mind. They’re overriding my mind. They control my everything.

“Yesssss . . . Control . . . Mistress Counter Spell . . .” I’m in the shadows, kneeling in front of her. Her eyes are so bright, brilliant, shimmering with that perfect blue light. I can’t think around that blue light. I can only obey. It feels so good to obey. It feels so perfect to obey. I am her toy, a toy that is controlled body and mind. I can’t do anything but obey. Thinking thoughts like these is obeying her will.

She laughs coldly, quietly, and holds her staff behind her back. There’s satisfaction in her eyes, deep, bright satisfaction. I can feel it clenching through my mind, chaining and bolting me down. It’s so intense.

“And Doctor Lys thought you were going to be tricky because you helped free Screamer. Hard to believe. Then again, with her guidance, I’m even more powerful than I’ve ever been before. Psiona was a big help.” Psiona . . . The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. I can’t think. My mind is her toy. My back shudders and she laughs. “Oh I love the way she taught me to bend this spell. It’s even more powerful this way. And it was already so powerful.”

She is so powerful. Doctor Lys . . . Screamer . . . those names . . . I almost scream as I feel something try to break through the chains of fog. I feel so helpless, so chained and powerless. It should feel good, entirely good, but . . . something makes it wrong, something . . .

Mistress Counter Spell sighs, slowly rolling her eyes. She holds her staff above her head, chanting again. Every word makes me feel heavier, dizzier, until she presses the staff to my forehead. The runes on it glow, and I can feel the chains in my mind grow tighter, stronger, turning from velvet to steel. Overwhelmed, and too weak to resist, I fall forward onto my stomach and groan.

Everything is getting further and further away as I feel held down tighter and tighter. It’s hard to tell if I’ve fallen forward or backward, if I’m floating or sinking further, if . . .

Sleep. Sleep, and obey. When you awaken, you will learn your new purpose in life. For now, you will sleep, melt, like the slave you are, and be easy to carry.

I try to mewl out some sort of response, but my eyes start to seal shut, and soon even if my body isn’t asleep, my mind is.

Obeying Mina is amazing. Her lips are so soft, her body so nice and curvy, and all she wants to do is touch me and have me touch her. My hands feel clumsy and tired, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I stroke along her back, along her hips, and savor the taste of her lips.

She tastes so . . . good. Amazing. I don’t know why I ever worried there was something wrong with this. Her warm body pressing down against mine, her warm hands reaching up for my bare chest, feeling the curves of my breasts, twisting the hard nubs of my nipples, it just feels so right. “Miiiiiiina . . . !” She nips my lower lip, tugging my nipples firmly before just caressing, stroking.

The way she touches me feels like she knows everything there is to know about me. It’s like we’ve been lovers for years. It feels like she knows me as intimately as Sylvia. Maybe . . . maybe even more.

She hoods her eyes with a playful grin and I melt more into the couch. Her hands pull back, stroking along my cheeks. She feels so soft. She feels so warm. Mina could be my whole world, and I don’t think I’d mind. Every so often something she said filters up into my consciousness, but it never seems important enough to stop and think. If I had to think about something, Mina would tell me.

Mina’s smooth nails rake slowly down my sides as she hooks her fingers under the waistline of my jeans and gives them a good sharp tug. I writhe and mewl as she pulls my pants down around my ankles. My thighs tremble and I moan out her name again as loudly as I can. It still almost sounds like a whisper.

“Mmm don’t worry about being loud, ‘Rora. I know it’s hard to do much right now. The magic drifting through you is making you feel so heavy and weak. You aren’t going to be able to do much for awhile. It’s okay. Your friends told me we have a facility set up just for you and your special needs.” Fingertips trace along my slit and the sensation pulls my eyes wide open. “Sensitive . . . It’s a shame we aren’t back home. Even before your friends got to me I knew a few . . . fun girls. They’d love what a fun body you have.”

“Fun . . . Mmmm . . . Might need to go . . . Together . . .” Cruising for women with my own cousin sounds so deliciously horribly hot. It’s one thing to fuck a cousin, but to share a cousin with another girl, to look for the kind of girl that would be into that, or if one can’t be found, to make one . . .

Mina rubs her fingertips against my clit. My eyes won’t stay open no matter how hard I try, but I don’t struggle for long. It feels so much better to let my eyes cross and close, all the while bucking my hips to the rhythm of her hand.

Kisses melt down along the curve of my neck. I moan a little louder with each one. “They seemed to be right about you. You didn’t take a very hard shove. All I did was make you question your motivation, your drive, what you want . . . made you acknowledge your submissive desires, your experience with Sylvia having trained you to relent to that for a taste of submission and pleasure . . .

“You’re becoming enslaved, Aurora. It always sticks longest when you’re given pleasure, affection, and aren’t left alone long enough to realize you don’t like being alone. I think even without control, you’d loathe being alone. You find something about solitude unbearable, but your role models are people who suffer such willful isolation.” Mina rubs my clit between her finger and her thumb, fingers moving rougher, more and more . . . raw.

I moan and she kisses me. She kisses me so hard, and it makes me feel heavier, weaker, so . . . powerless. I try to arch up, to pull her closer, and she rubs her breasts roughly against mine. “I think that you have a genuine slave mind, and the only way it can really be sated? Is through dominance. Something about the relationship you shared with your sister? Who are you really trying to save by becoming a heroine, Aurora? Is it the world? Is it yourself? Is it her? Or are you just Mommy’s little well-conditioned, second generation heroine?”

If her voice sounded cruel or harsh I’d be crying. I feel so powerless right now, so fuzzy-warm, and if she said something mean I’d be sobbing. Instead her voice just sounds so . . . curious. She sounds like a scientist with a case study, intensely craving yet . . . warm. Understanding. She wants to know so she can help. She wants to help me.

I need her help. If not hers, I need someone’s, and I need it so bad. The more she asks, the less I think I know any of the answers.

Someone knocks on a door somewhere far away before Mina kisses between my eyes. She pulls back her hand and I try to arch towards it with a slow whimper. “That should be your friends. They’ll be so happy to hear what wonderful shape you’re in. They’ve missed you so much. I’ll go get the door. You just wait here and mewl.”

I mewl and let my eyes drift shut. I wish her hand was still between my legs. She has such incredible fingers.

“Thought I’d never get the pleasure of seeing you again . . .” I flutter my eyes open and whimper. The woman in front of me is familiar, but I can’t quite place her. Her hair is tied up in an elegant bun. Her eyes are white, entirely white, but the way she’s looking at me . . . she doesn’t look blind. She’s wearing a crisp tight white uniform with blue trim that hugs her body like a glove. “You don’t seem to recognize me. I definitely recognize you.”

She moves closer and holds her hand out in front of my face. Someone . . . did I do that to her eyes? I can’t remember her name, was a long name, a fancy name, an important one . . .

She grins and presses a fingertip to the center of my forehead. “Time for you to take a little nap outside the flow of time. I’ll wake you when you’re home. We’ve got a very special room just for you. You’ll even get to see your mommy again.”

Tears well up in my eyes as reality slows, and I whisper out one word before I feel . . . everything just . . . stop.

“Mommy . . .”