The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It’s late at night, and I’m walking down one of Midas’s sidewalks though I couldn’t tell you which. The detail that stands out the most is that it’s dark. It’s never really dark in Midas. Sure, there are some dark alleys here and there but the whole city is dark.

The stars are the only things illuminating the world. It’s so unreal. Street lights are still all around me, and traffic lights are still at the edge of every block, but they’re not lit. It’s as if some goddess took a deep breath and blew so hard that all of the light in Midas flickered out like a candle. Only the heavens are lit up, and even there I can’t find the moon.

Somehow, a darkened Midas feels . . . lonely.

Every window reflects the starlight, but it’s not the same. All of the light is coming from a place so far away that it feels like abandonment. The bright part of existence is so far away, and all that’s here is just . . . the remains. Nothing looks desiccated or ruined, but all of it feels shattered. A fire escape is tied in place with barbed wire. Every single point shines with the available light and makes my body quiver at the mere thought of who would do such a thing.

I used to always look for fire escapes . . . They were the quickest way to the roof of a building, and even though I couldn’t fly they felt more proper. Walking at street level makes me feel heavier, paler . . . simple. I don’t like feeling common, not like this.

Something looks wrong in one of the windows, so I step closer to investigate. It’s a store front – the kind where glass makes up two sides of the building, and the other two sides are parts of the buildings on either side – but when I look in . . . there’s nothing. Somehow, in another life, I knew this place. It was always full during the day, and at night . . . there was at least a light in front, a sign . . .

The woman who owned it, she . . . Her name makes my lips purse and tingle, but I don’t know why. She was important to me, and I . . . I left her. I left this . . . but this wasn’t why . . .

This doesn’t make any sense . . . why would everything be dark . . .? What could I do to make this happen? I can feel that I did, somehow . . . but I don’t know. I feel as if I . . . as if I delivered the town to the darkness and hid it from the light . . . for myself or . . . for someone else . . .

“Don’t give yourself so much credit . . . You’re a bystander. You’re always a bystander. Just sometimes? You’re there at the right moment, and you get credit for doing what anyone would have done. It’s nothing special, but when you do it enough times? People start to think you’re some kind of magic woman. Even if it’s just dumb luck, no one can believe that. They have to make sense of everything. No matter what you say, all they hear is refusal to share the secret.” The voice sounds familiar, but I haven’t heard it in a long time. It sounds a lot like . . .

Me.

I don’t know how I could have missed it, but I’m there. I’m here too, but up there, I’m holding onto the cord stretched from one pole to the other, swinging where a traffic light should be. It’s not . . . I’m not quite me though, she’s . . .

Argentia. She’s dressed in the same party store cape and mask, the same leather boots it took so much begging to have mom buy, and the same tight jumpsuit that made me look comic-book stacked . . . My hair was silver back then, nothing else, but my hair . . . It’s amazing, I didn’t feel old until I saw her. I can’t remember being that young. Just imagining myself as her is a migraine. My smile never looked that youthful, and I could have sworn I had worry-lines at fifteen . . .

My voice was softer back then. She’s not trying to pretend to be threatening. She’s just using her own voice. The mask is nothing if someone recognizes her voice, like I do. But then again, I’m her.

She pulls her legs back, and then kicks them forward. It doesn’t look like enough force but somehow it’s enough to help her spin around on the cord and then launch herself gracefully to the street. Argentia sticks the landing and shapes her body like a perfect uppercase “Y”.

With how much chocolate I used to get away with shoving down my face it’s amazing I was able to be so good at gymnastics.

“What’re you doing here . . .? You haven’t even existed for . . . I’m almost twenty six now . . . nine years. If I’m here, then how are . . .?” She just smiles, and fluffs her hair in the same way I always used to. Her lips sparkle like an actress and I can’t imagine how good she looks. Did I look that good when I was seventeen? How could I be shy when I looked like that?

Argentia shines. She’s bright. She’s so full of light that she makes the world seem darker every time she moves just a little and accentuates it with a cute innocent little spark. If I was really that bad it’s amazing that my skin didn’t turn tanned silver like it was before I lost it all the way back when I was just eighteen.

Instead of answering me, she just stares at me inquisitively. I can sense her hesitance, her fear or unwillingness to respond. Something is holding her back. Something is making her feel uncomfortable . . .

A wicked laugh echoes from behind me, and it’s a laugh that sounds as familiar as the voice, it’s just deeper . . . huskier . . . “It’s you of course. Or do you think it’s unreasonable for a young woman to be scared by how hungry your eyes look? You’re looking at yourself like a shining piece of meat. Is that all she is to you? Can you only look at her with desire? Can’t you look at her with pity? You know what’s ahead of her. I, for one, wouldn’t wish that on anyone. I guess that’s where fate cast us asunder, don’t you?”

I turn to look, and the store front isn’t the storefront anymore. It’s the rooftop . . . the rooftop where I saw The Domina before I confronted her. She’s standing at the very edge, one foot up on the raised edge of the building like some explorer looking down at a new horizon from a tall mountain. She’s dressed in the costume she wore the first time I met her, looking more like dark cloth wrapped around her than clothing.

Even from here I can see the self satisfied grin on her face. With her here, how is it a surprise that Argentia is here? Argentia . . . The Domina Argenti . . . They’re names aren’t much different, but they look worlds different. The Domina looks weathered, and though around her lips are subtle laugh lines . . .

Worry shines from her eyes. Self doubt makes her posture seem somehow slackened from one of bold confidence. Argentia looked bubbly even if too serious and too ridiculous. The Domina looks over sexualized, over idealized . . . over compensating. She pretends to be more confident than her younger counterpart, but the teenager has far more of it than the tyrant. One aspires to be more than she is, and the other wants more so she can aspire to less.

My head feels so twisted and strange . . . I was Argentia, but I won’t be The Domina. Would I have, truly? If things happened . . . the way they did for her? If I’d kept The Lady just a few years longer, would I have abandoned all of that hope . . .?

“Hope? You came here because of hope. Midas City. You only remembered the golden things you heard. You forgot the tragedy. If King Midas had been satisfied with the gift then he never would have grown beyond himself. He never would have realized the value of sentiment and sentience. You’ve forgotten what it means to hope like that. Hope for you now means scraping by. It’s not the bright optimism that made the women you helped home from The Diner feel safe . . . You’ve forgotten what it means to believe in a brighter future for yourself or anyone else. All you can see is the darkness.”

This voice sounds far more familiar, and I spin about to catch a glimpse of the speaker. The barbed wire from the fire escape is gone, and Silver Girl is holding onto the last extension of the stairs as it clicks into place with the last rung less than a foot from the ground below.

Her white boots catch every last bit of star light, and so does the matching sleeveless top. The light gray skirt offsets the white just enough to make it more pronounced, and the white lining just above her legs makes the silver of her skin seem darker. Her hair falls gracefully over her face and over one of her shoulders as the wind lightly tosses it in the air. Her expression is a sad one, but it only makes her look thoughtful. The sadness doesn’t really reach her eyes . . .

That was me. I was her, not The Domina, I was her. Silver Girl . . . The Silver Siren, the Argent Avenger . . . I might not have made the biggest impact on the city, but I made one. Every man, woman, and child I helped seemed like they smiled brighter knowing someone cared about them and was sure the future would be all right for them as long as they tried their best and people like her protected them.

She might have been simple and naive, but she believed in an innate goodness to Midas. Even when she was outnumbered by that gang, it took the chain to the head to make her fold like a pair of twos.

Nothing kept her down for long. As soon as she could go back to work, she was back to the rooftops. She was someone you could count on. Even when she needed the help of someone like Silhouette or Jade . . . She was still something. She was a heroine.

“Then things got tough. Then she saw what the world really was. She had what made her special stolen. Justice stole her family. She spent goddess knows how long hooked up to a machine that filled her with her own fluids. She learned that if offered ambrosia at the cost of her friend’s mind, she would take the ambrosia. She gave up hope, but she didn’t give up. You gave up. We gave up. We knew that wasn’t something we could risk being anymore – a shining heroine. After The Infidels fucked me, I even learned to see the value in causal sex with women I’d never even met. We might not remember their names, but they must remember ours, huh? Right, Lucia?”

The voice is darker. It’s a harsher, meaner voice. Under feigned compassion is distaste and annoyance. Following the trend so far, I know exactly what I’ll see as the roaring of the engine brings Patina close enough to see.

On the silver bike, a sweet slick Italian piece of luxury, Patina looks much more like a dark knight than an argent avenger. She’s wearing her first outfit, the one she tranced out of Jessica, and it doesn’t at all remind me of the cute seventeen year old standing just far enough away to be clearly visible.

Her boots are just past her knees just like Silver Girl, but the black makes them look intimidating instead of . . . well . . . heroic? Her leotard is just as dark, and it may glitter, but it only glitters with the stars . . . not like the others manage to do with their own light. The silver band holding up her hair shines only dimly. It’s already starting to be effected by all of the air rushing past it, and the blackish color seems to almost taunt her once hair color.

Curled around the handlebars her bare fingers look so pale in contrast with the dark glittering gloves. If the moon could give her a tan, she might have one, but probably not.

Over the perfect place just above her cleavage that silver pendant sits . . . and it feels like unlike Argentia who glowed with unknowing beauty, Patina thrusts hers out just as dangerously as anything filling the belt around her waist. If I saw her in a dark alley, I wouldn’t be soothed . . .

I’d be scared.

How could she think that was better than Silver Girl? Is tough better than trustworthy? Is fear better than underestimation? Silver Girl still had a wicked set of legs on her . . .

“You know it’s not about fear. It’s about seduction. She and I have that much in common. We had our lives fall apart and all we had to show for it was our memories. They’re so strong to the two of us, that we’re sure everything is just going to be more of those memories, or is just going to disgrace them. We learned that if you want to make a difference, you can’t be a smiling crusader and just hope that’s enough. You have to make yourself enough. You have to change the world to suit you. You have to fix the world. Even if we have different methods . . . we’re not so different. Are you and I even all that different? I don’t think so.”

The Domina’s voice flows luxuriously from her lips as she leaps from the building. She just skips right over the edge of the roof . . . and after pointing her toes down at the ground like a dancer, she starts to glow and pulse with that silver inner light, and glides gracefully down to the ground before stepping over to Argentia and wrapping a soothing arm around her.

Argentia wraps both of her arms around her older . . . my older . . . self, and hides her face from me in the crook of The Domina’s neck. She looks so fragile, clinging to herself like the world is just too much for her. No . . . it’s not the world . . . it’s me . . .

The Domina said that Argentia was afraid of me . . . and I don’t blame her. Everything surrounding Quillspawn must have me looking even worse than I did when I was Patina . . .

Am I still Patina? She was powerless. She couldn’t protect the ones she loved . . . I can. I saved Valerie . . . I think . . . I don’t know. Did that even happen in this world? In the dilapidated and cracked Midas . . . that might never have happened. Time is twisting me around and pulling me apart. I don’t even want to try figuring out which way is up until I can figure out which time is now.

I wish one of the windows was reflective, but none of them are. I want to see my face. I want to know who I am, and . . . what I am.

“You’re Silver. Who else could you be? You follow all of the things you learned in Chronos as if they’d given you a diploma. You even think of everything just the same way you used to back then. How can you pretend you don’t still want that cozy little place back, all one hundred stories of mindless bliss? It was easier for you back then. You didn’t have to choose between Aureus and Amethyst. You had Dust and Pink both. They both wanted you. You wanted both of them. It was the easy way. What little of me got to shine through that . . . wasn’t the same. You think you can put back on this uniform and be Silver Girl again? As soon as The Lady claimed me . . . I wasn’t me anymore. Even when I went on patrol . . . It was Silver.”

Silver Girl steps slowly away from the fire escape and positions herself on the other side of Argentia, farthest away from Patina. She slides a protective arm around Argentia just like The Domina did and kisses the back of her younger self’s head. She looks so graceful, so full of love . . . so full of life.

Dust and Pink . . . Is that anything like Amethyst and Aureus? Which would be which? Sometimes I miss them. I know that Dust is still in Midas. Even The Domina knew about her selling her dust . . .

I’ve never sought her out. I’ve never gone out to face her, to stop her, to save the women whose bodies and minds she wants to pollute. Rumor even has it that dust is sold in high school to girls sixteen and up. Some people even think that the cops who try to take the rings down end up with shiny, glazed gray eyes, scratching under their noses and smiling half asleep, half awake.

Pink . . . It’s hard to imagine Pink anywhere far from The Lady. If The Lady was behind her disappearance, then I know she brought Pink with her. She warned me that Pink wasn’t as innocent as she seemed but if anyone could make her behave it would be Her. No . . . her. I’m not in Chronos anymore .. .

She’s just a woman. She has a normal name. Jesse Colloten. She doesn’t get capitalized pronouns anymore. She’s not a goddess. She’s just a normal woman . . . a normal . . . twisted . . .

“Twisted? Her? We took her last name! You remember that, don’t you? When we left Coredelia, when we left Lida and Susan, and even Jessica to go around the world until the wind brought us back here to Midas . . . We took her name. We were Lucia Colloten. We were Patina, the orphan of Chronos. Remember that? Orphan. She was our mother. Just because she was also our lover, our owner, our world . . . doesn’t change that. We don’t really think what she did was wrong. We’d tell anyone who asked, but deep down inside we know the only thing she did wrong was get caught doing it. If we hadn’t ratted her out to Jade in some lame ass attempt to be a real heroine again . . . then she’d still be behind that desk, clicking those silver magnetic balls back and forth, and we’d still worship the ground she sat above.”

Patina’s words cut through me like a knife. She’s right. Of course she’s right . . . She’s me, she’s . . . I want to blame her, but I can’t. She’s just . . . She was just the rebound. I fell from Jesse’s arms into the arms of her persona, and as soon as I got my sparks back I wanted to fall right back into Jesse’s. She’s not there . . .

She hops off of Sylvia, off of her bike, off of mine . . . and stands in front of Argentia with her arms crossed over her chest. Her right hand keeps twitching, not really twitching, but shifting . . . I know that means she wants to grab something from her pouches.

How can I even pretend to be anything more than Silver? I’m even letting . . . if that’s happening now . . . Silhouette calls me that. I’m calling myself that. I’m calling her my shadow.

If Yana hadn’t brought up anything besides Chronos, she might have won me over . . . if that even happened. If she hadn’t brought up Valerie or Olivia until after . . . If she’d called me up telling me that she could help me find The Lady I probably would have fallen for it. I would have dripped the ink into my ear myself . . . I would have helped her ink up everyone I cared about . . .

“How?! How . . . How could you let . . . How could you let me become you . . .? Mom always told me that I was too young to be a super hero, that I looked ridiculous and that I had more important things to focus on, like school, but . . . you’re not too young! You can make a real difference, and no one will tell you that it’s a school night! You . . . You can’t even remember me unless I’m right in front of you . . . and even then you don’t remember who I was! You just remember how I look. You just remember how terrified I was. I was scared, and I was always too preoccupied with the future to do as much good as I could have, but I was more of a hero than you ever were . . . I won’t let myself turn into you!”

Argentia tears away from Silver Girl and The Domina before shoving her way in front of Patina. Her big brown eyes are covered with tears, and her tan cheeks bare the marks of the tears that have already fallen. Her hands inside of her gloves are clenched into tight fists, and none of her body can stop shaking.

Every shake makes her hair bounce, and the cape on her back shift. I want to stop so bad, but I keep following the tear tracks down to her body. She’s curved just enough to be curvy, and she looks so much . . . perkier . . . than I remember being. It’s wasted on her. She doesn’t know what she has and what it feels like to lose it. How could she? That’s all she can remember being. The little girl with the black hair in the photo album doesn’t look a thing like her . . . except for those eyes.

Mother always used to say my eyes were brown with fertile soil whenever I used to moan about wanting innocent looking blue eyes. She used to tell me that I could plant whatever dreams I wanted in my eyes, and the sun shining in them would make it grow. I couldn’t get green eyes, but I could fulfill all of my dreams.

When my eyes turned silver for the first time I was sure it was my wish for blue eyes taken to the next level. Silver is just as much about purity as blue eyes are . . . that’s what I told myself.

She hasn’t experienced that yet . . . she won’t be her by the time she does.

“You’re not me . . . If I have to use my power like you do to make you see that I will! You’re not me, I’m not you . . .! You’re wrong, you’re just . . . You’re wrong . . .” Her eyes start to sparkle, and before I can start to pull away she’s on top of me, her legs wrapped around my waist, her arms around my neck, and her young supple lips are grinding into mine just as much as her body.

I can feel her youthful passion melting me, making me feel weak, but I can’t fall over, my body feels too stiffened, every muscle is tight with the jolts searing through it. Her fingers lace through my hair, and if I could cry out at how it feels to have her sparked lips mashing against me as her sparked fingers claw through my scalp I would, but it’s too much to react to, it’s too much to feel. I’m so over stimulated, but it feels so good, it feels better than anything I could ever want, anything I could ever ask for, anything I could ever know I needed.

My own young body grinding into mine, my own crossed feet grinding into me feels like all of my deepest desires coming true. I would wrap my arms around her, over her cape, but my arms can’t stop shaking over hers. I can feel my nectar juicing down my thigh, but I can’t react, can’t think, can’t . . .

She’s so bright . . . She’s one of the stars, fallen from the heavens, fallen . . . fallen onto me, clutching onto me . . . I don’t want to let her go, can’t let her . . .

“Even now, you don’t care she’s hurt. She’s a part of you! She’s a teenaged woman, and she loves you! She’s only crying because she wants more for you! She wants more for herself, and instead of trying to make her feel better, you’re just letting her spark all of the sense out of you! You’re a victim not of circumstance but of your own preemptive surrender. You could fight through it! Her sparks aren’t nearly as strong as yours and you know it. You could open up a conduit into her mind and make her see that the world isn’t so bad, that you’re not so bad . . . but you don’t . . . and you are.”

Silver Girl’s words reach my ears, but I can’t be sure she’s talking to me. She might be . . . She might be talking to The Domina or to Patina . . . I don’t know. Argentia moans against my lips as she starts to roll her body against mine like some silver stripper’s pole, and just the thought gives me just enough force of will to make my hands grab her tight ass to pull her tighter against me.

Oh I can feeeel the warmth of her thighs burning around me. She must be even hotter than I am, wetter than I am . . . I used to want another silver-haired . . . then silver skinned woman to make love to so bad. I didn’t want to have to be different, to have my lover just thinking I was different . . . wanted it . . . special . . .

My first time, she . . . It was with that woman, the woman I saved as Argentia . . . She was six years older than I was at least . . . She’d told me that kissing me when I made my lips sparkle made her feel weak in the eyes. I’d thought she was being clever, not telling me it was making her mind feel fuzzy and warm and melted and drippy. She’d given me her body to do whatever I wanted, and then she’d returned it all . . . but it . . . it wasn’t about me . . . it was about the mask, the cape . . .

A woman’s body presses against my back, somehow unencumbered by Argentia’s feet, and her lips press to my ear. Her voice is tender, sensual and loving . . . warm . . .

“You’re not me . . . You’ve never let yourself be me . . . When that woman was making love to Argentia, when she was telling her heroine that her body was all she had to offer . . . She wasn’t neglecting the woman behind the mask. Has there ever been a woman behind the mask? One year for Halloween our mother made us a cape, and we wore it every day until it tore beyond repair. We cried when that cape broke . . . and we saved up our allowance until we could buy one on our own. We didn’t wear it around anyone else . . . but it was our security blanket. We always wanted the mask . . . so we could be lost behind it. So Sarah could be lost behind it. There is no Sarah LaSilvas. Maybe . . . there never was . . .”

Argentia’s tears mingle with mine and I moan as her own hands grasp my ass, and we grind and grind as both of our bodies start to spark in tune. Something in her flow must have opened something in mine . . . it’s like with . . . with Amethyst . . . only instead of feeling my mind mingling with someone else’s I just feel . . . younger.

I can taste how much she wants me, how much she wants to believe that in this kiss there’s nothing but craving and desire. I know how much she wants me to be imagining I’m kissing her without the mask and that if I saw her between classes I would grind her against a locker and kiss her just as hard.

She doesn’t want me to fuck her. She just wants me to feel her and for me to let her feel me. She just wants me to give her passion, romance . . . and I know she’ll love the feeling of her mind being melted like a silver pendant . . . Sarah behind me moves away with a kiss to the base of my neck, and I don’t even try to stop her. Soon, Argentia and I, we’ll have our own world . . . the rest of the world doesn’t need to be bright . . . we’re our own world . . . just her and me . . .

Me and me . . .

The world is dark around us, but in this kiss, there’s nothing but light. We’re bright enough that together, if we just keep kissing, if we just keep sparking and grinding and screaming into each other’s mouths as our orgasm tears through us, we’ll be enough to breathe the light back into Midas . . .

Was it when Silver came back, The Lady’s Silver, that Midas lost its own light? Was that it? Was it the light that Chronos gave back when it fell apart . . . was that enough . . .? Is any of this real . . .?

Argentia breaks the kiss . . . and stares into my eyes. Her eye’s aren’t brown, they aren’t silver . . . They’re purple, with silver pupils. Her hair looks like a swirl of silver and violet, and something about her skin tone looks different than mine . . . She’s not wearing a cape or boots or gloves . . . She’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but she’s still wrapped around me . . .

“Will the fact that I’m The Domina’s daughter stop you when I’m old enough to ask you how your sparks feel? “ Her voice . . . It might not be one I recognize, but that’s because I’ve never heard it before.

I won’t hear it for at least seventeen years . . .

Sylvia doesn’t wait for an answer and just mashes her lips back into mine. I can feel the mist she spreads through me binding me to her, sucking all of my light out into her, and sucking my screaming voice into hers just as strong and hard as Argentia did. I can taste and feel every single part of her mind invading mine, melting mine, replacing mine . . .

She might not be my daughter, but I’m still proud, still . . . still so . . . turned on that she looks so much like me . . . I guess that I am as narcissistic as The Domina . . . and I love it.