The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“She’s gone. Your nosy little friend. She won’t be a threat anymore.” Miss Blanc stands over me domineeringly. I’m tied down. Everything around us is white. Unsurprisingly, I’m naked. Looks like it didn’t take me very long to fail at the whole heroine thing. “You’ll be eliminated shortly, as will your sister, and that lovely band of yours. How does it feel to know you’ll be avoiding the sophomore jinx?”

“Pretty rotten . . .” I struggle and tug as fiercely as I can at the bonds, but they’re metal and I’m not my sister. “No chance you’ll reconsider?”

Miss Blanc laughs. She laughs the same exact way that Nina Corvi laughed. She looks and sounds so much like her it’s uncanny. If not for the white makeup and the shorter hair I’d think they were the same person. Her minion nearly beat me. I should have known that you don’t have a minion like that unless you can overpower them.

Sarah isn’t here to save me this time. I knew she couldn’t be there every time, though a little part of me crossed fingers anyway. I should have called her when I decided to start doing this. I should have asked for her help, her advice . . .

Nightmare fuel incarnate, Miss Blanc leans so close that I can feel her soothing heat as she whispers darkly into my ear. “Oh little dear, you were given the same choice. I told her to beg for you to reconsider. I hate doing things like this, you know. I prefer rule through fear. Now, it’s time to melt you down. It’s time to white you out. Goodbye, Sylvia LaSilvas. It’s really too bad. I wanted to hear your next album.” She pulls back with a passionate laugh and slowly shakes her head.

I scream loud as my trained throat can. I thrash and tug at my bonds even though all it does is make the metal bite into my wrists. I can’t just let her do this to me without putting up a fight. I can’t let her do this to me!

“Don’t you miss kneeling at my feet now?” Nina leans over to look right in my eyes. My blood runs ice cold and I scream.

Diane squeezes me before I remember she’s in bed with me. I realize I’m still screaming and my arms wrap around her on instinct, pressing myself close to her as I can. I’ve never had such a visceral nightmare, but Diane is alive. Diane is okay. Aurora is okay. The band is okay. I’m okay.

As far as I know.

“You had a nightmare, Sylvia . . . It’s okay. Nothing’s wrong. Everyone is okay . . .” She squeezes me tighter as my scream quiets. I wish I’d begged the band to stay the night. I’ll need to hear all of their voices to know nothing happened.

I envy Sarah. Everyone she ever really cared about besides her mother and Auntie Alyssa were supers good at keeping themselves out of trouble. Aurora is a super, but if I know her she’s getting herself in more trouble than out.

The nightmare won’t let go. I cling tighter and start to cry. That could have been real so easily. There’s not a lot that I could have done. My powers might have helped. Why didn’t I use them in the dream? Just because I’m not Aurora doesn’t mean my powers couldn’t help if I was trapped like that. I have the range advantage on Aurora. If Nina or Miss Blanc were that close to me, they wouldn’t be in full control of their faculties for long. I don’t think either of them would be that stupid, but I could still try.

Am I ready to go through the same life that my parents had? Sarah just tried to make the world a better place and she lost the woman she loved, had to watch herself be a martyr, and spent years as a slave if you add up all the time she spent lost to herself. Am I ready to take that risk? A punk with a gun might get the better of me first, but that seems (hopefully) less likely.

Maybe that’s my lingering Colloten-envy.

“For now . . . Everyone is okay for now . . .” My voice sounds so fragile. I took control of Christina. I ended the threat. I succeeded. I shouldn’t feel so scared. I should feel proud, shouldn’t I?

“And if anything happens again, you can worry about it then. I know you can do it. I believe in you. You’re a great singer, and a great heroine. If anything comes up that you can’t beat, you’ll find a way regardless.” Her lips press to my cheek, Diane’s soft, smooth lips, and I nuzzle into the warm place between her breasts. “You know it, too. Come on, I can order us a pizza or something, my treat!”

I don’t have the heart to say no. That doesn’t mean I manage to stop myself from crying. Sarah would always order pizza. I miss her so much. I miss Valerie. I even miss Aurora.

Diane seems encouraged by my acquiescence. Her smile is so vibrant. Maybe I should find some way to lose her now before we get any closer. My life is only going to get harder. I saved her. She cheered me up. We don’t owe each other anything, do we?

She kisses me, and I kiss her back. I can’t put her at risk. Sarah left Alyssa for Olivia. Olivia still didn’t fare too well. Maybe I should just stay single and alone.

I pull the blankets around me like a cocoon as Diane leaves the bed to find her cellphone. Her naked body makes my heart race. Knowing that I could tackle her, or pull her on top of me, and have her do anything I wanted or do anything I wanted to her is . . . so irresistible. Just thinking about her fingers or her tongue makes my thighs clench. I want her. Maybe I even need her. Staying with me is her choice to make, but can I let her make it?

With a sexy little wink, Diane wiggles her hips and starts to order. The bed feels so warm. She feels so warm. Is it wrong to want this? Is it wrong to not care about anything else? It feels good for both of us, and we both know the risks. Hell, if she kicked me out right now she’d be well within her rights. We are in her apartment.

Sleeping in her apartment felt like a victory lap around Christina. It made Diane feel so much better.. It was worth the risk. Am I risking myself by staying with her, and putting her at risk if I leave?

Diane smiles as she hangs up. “It’ll be here in like an hour. Probably less. Wanna check the news? I don’t have a TV, but I have a computer. I imagine after what you did yesterday you’ll wanna know how it all went down.” She doesn’t own a TV. I don’t know why but that makes me happy. Maybe it’s because that means she’s different? It means she’s by default not the same thing I grew up with. It means she’s not normal, even if she’s so much more normal than I am.

“That sounds good. Can I borrow a robe or something? I’m not wearing anything more than you are under here. It’s cold.” I force myself to smile as brightly as I possibly can. I doubt I can soothe her fully, but maybe I can help her relax. My eyes still burn from tears. My head aches. I didn’t get enough sleep.

She doesn’t say a word; she just holds up a finger and then walks out of the room. She returns with a big fluffy terrycloth robe and holds it out for me to slide into. I reluctantly slide out of the blankets and pull the robe around myself tightly.

With her, just being in the same room feels amazing. She treats me like a princess. Humming under my breath I half-dance, half-stumble to her computer. She giggles, following me as much with her body as her eyes. It’s hard to do anything sexy in a white robe that doubles my size, but I add a little more hip into it as I plop down in her chair.

I might be in New York, but Midas City’ll still give a damn that one of their own did something this big. I pull up one of their newspaper’s sites and grin. I made the news.

“Singing Daughter of Local Heroine Cleans Up New York. Mom’ll definitely hear about this!” I almost doubt it for a moment, before I remember what a news junkie Sarah is. She doesn’t enjoy most of it, but she always ranted about the importance of staying informed. When you have to deal personally with half of what’s on the news, I guess that is pretty important. “Huh. Video. Let’s see if it turned out anything like I imagined.”

The video takes forever to buffer but once it loads, I eagerly press play. The local Channel 4’s fluff-piece reporter is interviewing some woman that feeds pigeons. At least Miss Fluff is fun to watch. She has a nice set of curves. Maybe I should watch Channel 4 a little more. Just when I’d be ready to turn the station, Christina approaches the reporter. Her eyes are glassy and hooded. Her posture is slouched. She looks a lot like the last time I saw her.

“Wh-who’r-what the hell?!” Christina thoughtlessly pries the microphone from the reporter’s hand, forcefully but not violently. I doubt anything but her pride is wounded. “Give me that back!”

Christina stands a little more in front of the camera and holds up the microphone. “Miss Whitney Blanc, the business woman and scientist, my employer . . . is guilty of murder, intimidation, theft, kidnapping . . .” She doesn’t stop, listing crime after crime after crime. When she runs out of crimes she starts listing what, to who, when. I can’t help but grin wider and wider. After maybe five minutes, she pauses. “There is more, but I will only tell it to the police. Miss Blanc, Sylvia LaSilvas says hello and hopes you’re well.”

After her little rebellion is over, she slouches forward and her eyes flutter closed. Hot. An edge of creepy, but mostly hot. After she threatened Aur-everyone I care about, she deserves worse. Luckily for her the laws I break don’t center much around physical violence.

Miss Fluff (apparently her real name is Pamela Davis) takes over in the present and starts speaking to the camera caring about this story instead of the shamefully boring one. “The young woman you just saw, named Christina Harvey came with my camera crew and I to the police with no resistance. There, she corroborated everything we’d recorded. She provided eyewitness accounts, gave information that would lead to evidence, and Miss Blanc is now in custody. The evidence is very substantial, and though it is believed that this confession was coerced . . . this reporter believes the insurmountable evidence will prevail.”

My lips hurt as my smile pulls them wider than they’ve ever gone before. Miss Blanc was arrested. Christina won’t be hurting anyone. Not too bad for my first foray as a super heroine. I think this tops Silver Girl’s early career.

Diane wraps her arms around me tight from behind the chair. “I heard all of that. Great job. I think you’d make your mother proud. You should give her a call. I bet she’d love to hear from you.” Her tone is sweet, but she doesn’t know just how bad the last time we spoke was. I don’t know if she’ll ever want to talk to me again. I was pretty cruel.

“Nah . . . I don’t wanna bug her, she’s probably on patrol, and the other is probably working. What I want to do, is meet up with the band and celebrate. I know you have to work, but hey, that just means you can ask your boss if she could give us a hand. Not as payment or anything. You just said she might be willing. I’d be more than willing to do more than just put her name in the credits somewhere.” Of course, mentioning that I’m fucking one of her subordinates might not be the classiest thing. Sex sells, but it also makes some pretty hefty purchases.

“Fair enough! I’ll see what I can do. I’d be surprised if she said no, especially outright. You know how to actually get home now, right?” She raises an eyebrow playfully before sliding into my lap. Her lips press to my forehead and I squeeze her tighter. Blushing furiously, I nod. “Good. Then let’s have some breakfast . . . take a shower . . . and then if I ever let you out of it, I can get to work and you can meet up with your friends.”

I nod again, and begin nibbling my way slowly down her neck.

I should probably get a new uniform. I brought a simpler change of clothes, just a sleeveless tight black glittery blouse, a short black skirt, and the same heels, but for the future it might be nice to have some different spins on my uniform. Maybe I should get an insignia.

Maybe if I ever lose my singing voice I should go into marketing.

I hopped a cab home. It feels weird to call the apartment Nina got for me home, but it is home. Some day soon I need to do some personal arrangement and decorating. Even if I decide to stay with Diane. I don’t want to move in with her yet.

Nikki’s number is just a couple clicks away on my phone, but I want to spend a little time alone before I call her. It’s hard not to think of her as my second in command. The rest of the band is great. I care about them, but they don’t feel as much like they’d want the responsibility or like they’d mind. Does anyone need to be in charge? When we were last together it almost felt like some unspoken agreement that I was.

We’ll need to talk things over.

The couch Nina picked out is amazingly comfy. The only thing it doesn’t have is a recliner, but it’s long enough and plush enough that I can still lay back on it pretty easily. I spend a long time just laying there, some of it listening to my own CD like the vain woman I am, and then awhile in silence.

A knock on the door rouses me from a half-nap, and I sit up with a half-yelp. Nothing like the scream from this morning, but I admit still not particularly pleasant. It takes another knock for me to realize that’s the sound of my door.

New apartment—you can’t really blame me.

The reporter from Channel 4 is outside my door. She’s wearing a different color, but still the same generic reporter outfit she had online in the interview I accidentally interrupted.

I think I remember doing an interview or two where my answers were scripted by Nina, but I’ve never talked to the media with my own thoughts behind the answers. She looks like she’s alone, but she could have a hidden camera in her watch for all I know. Still, my cheeks instantly turn red. I admit that I didn’t expect this to happen. Sure I’m front page news, but hopefully more people are focusing on what Miss Blanc did than what I did. I did kinda obtain that evidence for the police in a very illegal way, but it was honest self-defense.

“Hi! I’m Pamela Davis, I don’t know if you watch Channel 4 much but I was the one that intercepted Miss Blanc’s little minion.” She sounds so much more . . . normal than she does on TV. I don’t know how to describe her TV voice by comparison. She sounds a lot less professional right now. “She mentioned your name. I was wondering if you might be willing to talk with me.”

“On, or off the record? For later broadcast?” I lean against the door frame and force myself to look serious to stop myself from grinning. She might not be the most important reporter ever, but the story I gave her will make her a big deal pretty quick. “Sorry, just want to know how relaxed I should be before I let you in.”

My voice is way too happy. Damn it. There’s no way she can take me seriously if I grin like a moron or sound more excited than a first-grader. Thankfully, she’s probably more concerned about me not wanting to take her seriously.

She grins and shrugs. “Off the record? You’re the heroine that twists criminals’ minds so they walk to the closest camera or police station and spill their guts. I’m walking into your apartment, if you let me. Won’t that be up to you? Honestly though, I’m just here to talk, as Pamela Davis the woman, not the reporter. I just wanted to dress pretty. If you prefer, I can go home, change into something a little simpler and come back. It’s your call.”

She’s a little too disarming. That should probably bother me, but she’s also so fucking genuine. Shrugging, I move out of the way and motion inside. She curtseys in the most adorable way before stepping in. I close the door behind her.

“Off the record sounds good. Christina threatened to do some awful things to me, and my family. Sure all I had to do was keep my nose clean, but I’ve never liked letting people get away with things. Now that I’m sort of falling into my family’s tradition, I like it even less.” I motion to the couch and smile. “I think I have some coke in the fridge, or water from the tap.”

“Coke sounds good.” She sits back on the couch and slowly glances around. “I heard what happened to you . . . Sounds awful. You seem like you’re bouncing back pretty quick.” When I come back from the kitchen with a glass of soda, Pamela smiles brightly and takes a deliberately slow sip.

She’s genuine, but obviously very meticulous. That should probably set off some alarms. It’s hard to know what’s being thorough and what’s being paranoid. I have no reason to suspect she’s out to get me. She’s just a little rehearsed. That should probably mean she’s not genuine, but it feels more like she’s just very aware of herself. She’s a show woman like me. There’s a certain level of facade even when we’re honest.

I sit on the other side of the couch and sip from another glass. “It was pretty bad. Not always so bad in the middle of it, but yeah . . . It was pretty bad in hindsight. I met some great musicians because of it. I wouldn’t take it back if it meant I never met my band. I just need to deal with it, and well . . . hitting the streets helps me feel empowered.”

Pamela nods knowingly and takes another long, slow sip. Now that we’re alone and hidden from the outside world, she looks a lot more relaxed. A little more of that practiced air fades each moment. “That makes a lot of sense. Being on camera does something like that to me, too. I know you’re a singer—which is way more of an entertainer than a news reporter has any right to admit to being, but I bet you get a similar feeling from singing up on stage. No one can touch you. Invincibility. They’re all watching for you, right?”

“Yeah!” I blink at my own enthusiasm and then let myself smile a bit more exuberantly than before. “A lot like that. Only this, well . . . My singing makes people happy, and I’d like to think it’s pretty good, but it doesn’t intrinsically make the world a better place. If my powers were a little more violent I might not use them to feel like I’m making a difference, but you saw Christina. She was fine. Physically. She’ll be fine mentally after a couple days.”

Pamela smiles a lot brighter. I don’t know what it was that I said, but something obviously clicked inside of her. She looks a lot more laid back, and takes an exceptionally longer drink. It’s still a sip, but with how long and drawn out it is the definition of a small drink doesn’t fit. Only the gentle, dainty meaning could even vaguely apply. She’s definitely an entertainer.

I smile a little more and try to casually check her out while maintaining perfect eye contact. Peripheral vision doesn’t do her justice, but it’s still nice. Her long honey-brown hair is gorgeous. The suit shows that she’s entertaining as a bit of an actress and as curvy eye candy. Her legs look impossibly smooth, and I shake my head to clear the image of nuzzling my cheeks between them.

She smiles a little brighter before setting down her glass. “She was fine by the time I left. Whatever you did, you obviously didn’t go out of your way to make it permanent.” Pamela pauses for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and then firmly nods before continuing. “Although I did come to just talk I did come with . . . an additional motivation.”

“Oh?” I take another drink, and slowly raise an eyebrow. “Motivations aren’t bad, but you almost say that like you’re worried I’ll say no. I’m pretty open-minded.”

“I know, or I wouldn’t have bothered dropping by.” She grins, hooding her eyes as she slides a little closer on the couch. Her leg brushes against mine, so silky, warm, smooth, and I tremble against her. “I don’t want you to do anything different than you have been . . . pursue your musical career. Follow in your parents’ footsteps. Just . . . keep me in the loop. Let me know where. Let me know when. We can boost each other so far . . . You’re the full package. Sexy. Talented. Heroic. Just help me give you all of that good press you need to make you a legend . . .”

Her lips press to mine before I can pull away, and I groan at the sensation. Her lips burn and tingle against mine. Pamela grinds closer to me, and I whine as her hands caress my face. Her hands are incredibly soft. Her body is all so soft, and her lips . . . I’ve never felt something so intense. Not even Aurora’s lips made my whole body arch like this.

Words keep rising to my lips and then falling away when she touches me. She’s just too . . . distracting. The way she touches me makes me feel like I’ve never been touched before. She touches my neck, caressing it like a sacred idol, and I feel my thighs clench so hard that it almost hurts. I try to keep my eyes open, to look into hers, but I can’t until the tip of her nose rubs against mine. Then, it feels like I’ve never even wanted to close my eyes.

I feel like I’m forgetting how to close my eyes.

“That’s right baby . . . attention focused all on me. You know my mother said I should be a teacher? I have this way of making people very . . . attentive . . .” Her hands trail down the front of my body. More on instinct than action, I grind and rub into her touch. “Because if we . . . focus . . . together . . . I can make you legendary . . .”

“Mmmm . . . Legendary . . .?” It’s so hard to hear my own voice when I would rather hear her silence. Her voice would be even better, but she can’t speak every moment. Which, it’s really a shame. She’s got such a nice voice.

She’s got a nice everything.

She nods slowly, and I make my nose dip with hers so I don’t lose the contact. Pamela giggles before letting her face twist into a grin. I can barely see past her eyes, but they’re shimmering. “Major things happen . . . you send it my way. If I need you, I call you and you come to me. If I want you . . . you come to me. I want to be your media agent. I’m no good at representing you as just a singer, but as a heroine, and a singer, and a beautiful young woman . . . I can represent you in ways that no one else can. It sounds nice, huh? Would give us plenty of excuses to stay very, very, very close.”

Pamela’s leg slides against mime before she straddles me, hips pressing firmly against me, legs over mine, her body so warm and smooth. I can’t stop shuddering. I don’t want to stop shuddering.

“Does that sound like an equitable arrangement to you, Sylvia . . .? All you need to do is think of me as your guardian angel. You call me when you’re doing anything . . . exciting.” Her forehead rubs against mine. The friction of my skin against hers, even skin that’s not usually sensitive, makes my clit throb. “Don’t need to call me about anything . . . personal. Just keep me apprised. Super villain? Villain? Have me on your speed dial. Just a quick text. Some special surprise benefit concert? Just let me know where I need to be, or where I need to have people be.”

“Yessss! Want it! Want excuses to be close to you! Want to be a legend! Need!” I scream as my hands grasp at her hips, and I grind against her with all the fire in my soul. “Give it to me! I want it, need it, need it, need you . . . Fuck me!”

Pamela kisses me and my vision whites out. Her lips pull back, and I can feel the afterglow, I can feel my toes uncurl, but something happened that I can’t quite . . . fuck she felt too good. I groan and rub along her legs to feel her heat, to feel more of my media angel, and every inch of her flesh is more satisfying than the last. I could rub her body for an eternity without losing this initial fascination.

Her eyes flutter, never gone from mine for more than the slightest of moments, and I arch into her gaze with a moan. “Good, Sylvia . . . Good . . . There are a few other things I wanna teach you . . . but they’re . . . secrets. Little tricks. Little things for no one else but you and me.” White. Pure. Hot. Searing. White. My world drips away . . .

. . . and when it drips back my hands are holding her breasts, kneading them in tune with some mantra, a series of numbers, that I can’t focus on enough to ever hope to remember. I keep chanting them, numbers that could be phone numbers, could be addresses, could be safe deposit boxes, passwords, and her lips burn away my world again.

Hot. Searing. White.

I flutter my eyes, gasping, groaning as I desperately try to force my eyes to focus through it. I’m in her lap, naked, both of us, as her hands stroke my thighs. This time I’m whispering words, chanting them, forcing them out. I try to focus on . . .

“No, no, no . . . this lesson is one that when we’re done . . . You won’t even remember having. This is prep. A few little things hidden so that I can give you . . . stage directions . . .” Her lips press to the base of my neck, rawly, firmly, and I drip away again.

Flashing back, flashing away, white kisses punctuating it so perfectly, I lose what feels like a week at her lips, and love every moment of it.