The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lida still hasn’t contacted me. It’s been too long since she said she just had to leave to check on Sarah. It hasn’t been nearly as long since she said she was never going to leave me again . . . When we first got serious about our relationship she told me there were complexities about her life beyond the obvious, and I’d accepted it. I still do, but I love her too much not to hurt at the thought that she might not be coming back.

I fall back onto the couch and slide my fingers through my hair rubbing the dirty blonde strands between my thumb and finger for no other reason than to feel something besides the ache in my chest.

When Lida had told me she was sure that Sarah was in danger I was worried I’d never see Sarah again. I would never trade my daughter for my lover, but it doesn’t feel fair that I can never have both. We were supposed to finally have the chance to be more of a family for her. We were supposed to finally be able to grow old together and tell each other every last detail of the years we’d been apart.

We didn’t even get a year together. Twenty five years apart almost on the dot . . . It was hard enough not to be sad on Sarah’s birthday before this happened. She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, but the first day I saw her was the last day I saw Lida for twenty five years.

My thoughts keep going in circles. Sarah calls me every other day on her lunch break to make sure that I’m okay and to ask if I need her to be here or if I need to be there . . . Valerie calls when she thinks of something new that she might need to know about the baby. I’m going to be a grandmother and my daughter in law is afraid of staying on the phone too long because she feels guilty.

At least in comparison to what I learned about regular pregnancies carrying a witch-girl was a cake walk. It was quicker, I didn’t turn into nearly as much of a balloon until near the end, and while it wasn’t a painless birth, it was more like a workout than pushing a watermelon through a garden hose.

I’ve been going to work at least, but work isn’t enough of a distraction. My baby is jumping rooftop to rooftop and racing around in that motorcycle we got her way too fast. My granddaughter isn’t going to know her other grandmother or her other mother.

If I stay on the couch like this all night I’m just going to end up sore. Maybe I’ll go window shopping, or buy another pint of ice cream.

Fate may have blessed me with a figure, but it sure as hell doesn’t seem to care about giving me much chance to make use of it.

As I steer my car into my drive way I feel a little lighter, but the rocky road isn’t going to do much to help that. There’s no reason I should really worry about that much, so I guess I won’t. After all, who’s going to care if I balloon up on some nice creamy sweets anyway? Isn’t dairy supposed to be good for you anyway?

On the way in I stop at the mailbox and open it up. Most of it is trash. There are coupons for food I would never consider eating, much less paying for, and bills. While I don’t appreciate the bills, I’ll at least open those up before throwing them away. Underneath all of that is . . . an envelope, marked only with “Susan” in pretty almost calligraphy styled cursive.

Carefully I slide my fingers along the texture of the envelope, and it feels more . . . expensive than any envelope I’ve ever received before. It’s the kind of envelope I always dreamed about sending wedding invitations in, with some engraving of course. Lida and I never really had that opportunity though. I’ve still counted us as married, just as much as I count the right Sarah and the only Valerie as married. I know that Sarah would have if she . . . if she gave her the gift that Lida gave me.

Who would give me a letter like this? They’d obviously have to drop it off by hand. There are a lot of women named “Susan” here in Coredelia. Maybe it was Lida . . .?

No. I have to stop myself from thinking thoughts like that. It took me awhile twenty five years ago. It hurts to have to start the whole grieving process over again so soon after realizing she wasn’t gone forever. Maybe she’ll be back again? No . . . that’s too much to hope for.

Either way, it’s bound to be more exciting than my bill for the electric company.

After I’m inside I toss the bills onto my coffee table with the letter on top. Right next to it goes the ice cream. A quick run into the kitchen to fetch me a spoon, and I’m back on the couch again curled up on my favorite side. It’s not the same without Lida there to curl up to me, but it’s got to be good enough from now on. I’m a married widow again.

I wonder if there’s a word for that. There has to be, but it might be French or Latin. It probably scores a lot if you use it to hit two triple word scores at once.

Mmm . . . Ice cream is probably the most decadent desert there is, especially when it’s full of chocolate, marshmallows, and things that go crunch when you just about break your jaw to snap them in half. It certainly tastes that way.

The letter feels like it’s staring at me. Susan. It’s my name. Of course it’s my name. No one else has lived here, really lived here for a long time. Just me and the ghosts of the past, but we never needed anyone before. We appreciated it, but we didn’t need it. Nope. Definitely not. That would just be silly . . .

Carefully I put down the ice cream next to the stack of bills and grab up that envelope again. The handwriting is so beautiful. It must have taken whoever wrote this a lifetime of practice just to get the detailing around the first “s” right. Every stroke seems just so carefully deliberate in a way that couldn’t be mistaken as anything else.

Lida’s handwriting was never this fancy. It’s not that I keep every love note she ever handed me in a box under my bed for the nights when it’s harder to be sure that I’m going to be okay, but I know that even at her best her hand writing could look delicate but never regal.

Her personality could seem regal, but it was mostly when she was posturing, or just in one of her moods. I swear she’s where Sarah got her adventurous streak from and her flare for the dramatic.

My fingernail slides under one envelope and slides along the diagonal and then up the other. It was stuck shut, but only enough. Whoever dropped this in my mailbox made sure that I wouldn’t ruin the contents. Do I have a secret admirer? Do I have a stalker? Either would be flattering, though for the later I might ask Sarah if she knows where I can get some mace.

As soon as I pull the flap back I’m overcome by the sweet scent of flowers. It’s such a familiar scent but I can’t quite put my finger on just how or why it is, but it’s the kind of familiarity where I don’t really care, to be honest. It feels good, and that’s enough for me.

Something about it makes me think about being wrapped up in, or sprawling out nude on satin sheets and sliding myself carefully across its smooth surface. Maybe thinking about a secret admirer or even a sexy stalker is just getting my thighs a little steamier than I’d care to admit, especially if that admirer is smart and capable enough to deliver something as thoughtful as this.

I haven’t even read the letter yet, and I’m already feeling just a little light headed in my favorite ways. It’s too bad that I can’t have someone here to help me with that.

With a sigh I extract the letter and just hold it out in front of me. The paper doesn’t feel just like ordinary paper either. It actually feels like parchment, the kind used for something ancient and sacred.

If this is a love letter, then it is adding up to be epic before I’ve even read the first word. Hopefully whoever sent this is as cute as they are thoughtful. Maybe it’s time for me to find someone just a touch more reliable than a witch with flight problems.

The handwriting of the letter looks just as flowing and ornate as my name written on the envelope. I’m almost afraid to read it. The setup is so good and nothing like this is ever going to happen to me again. I don’t want the actual letter to be a let down. What if I end up not even knowing half of the words? I wouldn’t be shocked.

Still, it’s sooner or later, and if I wait till later even the best written letter will not pack as much of a kick. I want to feel that kick straight on . . . as hard as it can manage.

I take in a deep breath with the letter right against my nose and sigh at the blissful mingling scents of fancy paper, flowery perfume, and what must be the ink. There’s no way to imagine this letter being written than with either a fancy quill pen, or an exquisite dip pen with a shining metal nib.

Either option makes this even more romantic. I don’t care if this is the IRS telling me I forgot to send them five dollars they’re owed, it’s going to be romantic . . .

This is it. I can’t delay this any longer . . . I just have to bite the bullet and read the letter. I know that I won’t regret it if I just start and read through to the finish. I owe it to myself. This is just so enthralling.

Finally I hold the letter far enough from my face to read, and take in a deep breath of the perfume before even letting my eyes rest on the first word.

Dear Susan,

Long have I been watching you from afar, just watching, too timid to interact, but I feel that the time is finally right for us to meet. The sorrow on your face as of late has been so profound that every time I see your face it fills me with a sorrow deeper still. Who can see the pained face of an angel so exquisite, so gorgeous, so gentle, and not feel a sorrow deeper than any they have felt before or since?

Words less than these feel unworthy of your eyes, so I have chosen each with the utmost care. You deserve the sun, and everything that it shines down upon. If this letter has even made you smile in the slightest then I have lived more of a life than a thousand others who have lived a thousand years longer than I have.

Do you even know the aura of majesty that surrounds you? Have you ever looked in a mirror and seen the angel that I see in your eyes? Surely you see more wonders in the woman in your mirror than I do in the one in mine.

Every smile you make makes the sun and the stars shine that much brighter. You make my world shine brighter simply by being of it, by being a part of it even though you seem brighter than everything around you as if you were cut from a different cloth or were a photo of a more perfect world expertly spliced into ours.

If you desire to feel how deeply I care for you, and how very important you are to me . . . all you need to is press your lips to my signature. I know in my heart that will be enough, and I will know that you have, and that you feel the sincerity. I would beg or plead, but such things must be given freely, of desire and craving. Forcing a miracle strips it of all meaning.

You have too much meaning to me, as I hope this letter has for you.

Forever yours, Q

All she signed it with . . . was a Q? Is that her name, or an initial . . .? Is she too shy to tell me who she really is . . .? I don’t even know any women with the letter “Q” in her name, but she did say that we had never interacted. If she has such deep feelings for me I can understand such a meeting would be very traumatic if it went poorly . . .

Whoever this Q is, she knows how to make a woman feel wanted, how to make her burn with desire. Someone actually sees me like that, feels about me like that . . . and all she wants is for me to kiss the overly elaborate Q that she signed her letter with? It seems too little to give a woman who has just given me so much, and she truly has. I was feeling old and unappealing, even if I was stewing over my beauty going to waste, I was more worrying if there were any still there.

Can I resist fulfilling such a request after a letter like that? It would be like stealing on a more emotional level. If such a simple thing would fulfill a woman with such depths of passion I have to.

Delicately as I can I hold the letter higher, and then closer, before pressing my lips tenderly against that Q, and just leaving them there, pursed, just like I would against a pair of lips. It almost feels like I can actually feel the letter reshaping itself under my lips, shaping its self to my lips like another pair.

An eternity later I sigh and pull my lips back from the parchment before slowly fluttering open my eyes to look at the Q.

It did change! It’s not a Q anymore, and all of the elaborate detailing shifted along with it. It’s a . . . a pair of black inky lips, colored and shaped so well that they look almost real, real like you’d see on a carefully drawn movie poster or the cover of a romance novel. They look pouted and swollen from a long . . . kiss . . .

Don’t be afraid . . . You’re safe now . . . Lick your lips . . . You can feel me against you. You can feel me inside of you. I’m here for you, in ways that no one else ever could be . . . And I’ll never leave.

I actually heard a voice, felt a voice, in my mind . . .! But it doesn’t scare me, no, I feel safe, I feel . . . warm, warm and safe in ways that can’t be safe, but oh goddess do they feel like it.

There’s no reason not to do what the voice wants me to do. The voice must somehow be linked with the letter, and whoever wrote it. Someone who could write a letter like that would never want to hurt me, they would just want what was best for me. They would just want to be here for me during one of the most difficult times in my life . . .

My tongue slides across my lips . . . and it tastes ink. My whole body shudders, and I moan as I keep moving my tongue, feeling it smear across the surface of my lips like gloss. It’s thicker than gloss though, and once it’s fully coating them, I can feel it . . . kissing my lips, somehow applying pressure, so firm, so firm that it’s impossible not to try and kiss back. I can . . . I can actually kiss it back! I can feel the pressure, the delicate firmness, the . . . oh . . .

My eyes flutter and with a groan I stretch myself out across the couch. No kiss has ever felt so good, not even a kiss from . . . from . . . I shouldn’t be doing this . . .

A kiss from Lida . . .? This isn’t about Lida, and this isn’t betraying Lida . . . This is about Susan. This is about not betraying Susan, and giving you just what you need. I want to give you everything that you need. I want to give you more than you need. I want to give you a whole new world. I want to give you fulfillment . . .

When I have to break the kiss to breathe, the ink on my lips starts to slowly separate, and I can feel it melting down along either side of my neck, and reforming into . . . ooh . . . into smaller pairs of lips, kissing all along my neck, along the curve, over my collarbone . . .

Take off your clothes, Susan . . . Let me finish what we’ve begun . . . Let me fulfill the ache that burns within you for more than just your own touch . . .

“But I . . .” My hand is already reaching to unbutton my blouse, but I have to stop myself. Letting someone else touch me, touching someone else . . . I haven’t wanted that since I met Lida, I’ve never wanted this from anyone else but her . . . until now. “I shouldn’t . . .”

The ink at my neck reforms, shifting, reshaping . . . I can’t see it, but it feels like tongues, appearing and disappearing along the base of my neck, flicking, tracing, just enough to make my whole body shudder and scream. My nipples feel hard as diamonds. I would just love to feel that ink there, but I . . . I just shouldn’t, this isn’t right, this isn’t-

Susan, this isn’t about what’s right or wrong . . . This is about craving . . . This is about desire. This is about fulfillment. There is no right or wrong in pleasure. There is nothing but pleasure. Don’t deny this to yourself. Indulge in this. Become this. Let it become you.

It feels so forceful but so gentle, the voice, that I know can’t just be a figment of my imagination. It can’t be, it’s just too real, it’s just too complete and dominating . . . I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life.

My lips slowly melt into a grin, and one by one I open the buttons on my blouse and sigh at the feeling of being exposed and vulnerable to the ink. Can it see the curves of my breasts as I unbutton down past the edge of my bra? Can it see the flush at my chest? It doesn’t matter, I can feel it, and I can see it. If it can speak to my mind, and if it can read my thoughts . . .

I don’t even wait for the ink to move before I reach back and unhook my bra. It feels so good to feel the air around my breasts, to feel how sensitive they are that even the air is enough to make me mewl quietly to myself . . . or can the ink hear and appreciate my sounds?

Susan . . . I appreciate each, and every part of you . . . More than you could ever know . . .

I believe the voice, more than I’ve ever believed anyone in my life, even myself . . . It just feels so good to believe . . . To trust . . . and the ink slowly starts to melt down along the outer curve of my breasts, making me shudder and cry as I feel it melding along the under curves before sliding higher to latch around my nipples to turn into tiny lips again.

Goddess! They feel like real lips, so wet, so warm, and I can even feel a wet inky tongue flicking against the tip of each nipple . . . ungh . . . It feels sooooo much better than I’ve ever felt in my life!

I can feel that the ink likes my body, loves it . . . my breasts being their current size is thanks in part to genetics, and also thanks to Sarah . . . they feel so sensitive, so much more sensitive than they’ve ever felt in my life. I can feel every touch making my toes curl and my senses pulse with over stimulation, and not the kind that hurts, but the kind that makes my eyes close and my teeth close around by lower lip.

There’s nothing else . . . I ever want to feel in my life . . . Just this forever, the ink loving me, touching me, taking me . . .

We’re not even near finished Susan . . . Finish, sweetheart . . . finish pulling off the last of your clothes, and I can take my angel to a place higher than heaven . . . and you’ll never need to feel anything short of bliss ever again . . .

How can I resist? How could I refuse? I’ve already gone too far to go anywhere but deeper now. I need to see where this leads. I need to be where this leads. It’s all that I’ll ever need . . . I trust the ink, I love the ink. The ink won’t abandon me, the ink would never hurt me, the ink will only give me bliss, I know it . . . I know it more than I know my own name, it’s more important than my name, it’s more important than I am.

I arch up my hips to tear off my pants as fast as I can, and I don’t even care that I hear something rip as I tear them off, or that I hear something fall when I throw them. My panties feel so unworthy of this moment, they’re so white, so plain . . .

They fly across the room, and I spread my legs as much as I can, one falling off of the couch, and the other trying to hook over the back. I don’t even feel exposed, I just feel . . . free.

It’s hard to feel exposed to something so sweetly black so deep inside of me, and crawling over me, sliding down along my body to . . . oooh goddess . . . I can feel it like a tongue sliding down my slit, latching over . . . suckling so hard, flicking at my clit . . . oh goddess just like I want it, just like I need it!

Need it, goddess I need it, I’d lose all of myself for more of this, to feel it consume me, to feel it, oooh goddess it’s thrusting inside of me, it feels better than fingers and somehow so sweetly feminine, so . . . the essence of female lust, pouring into me, pouring over me, filling me and covering me . . . I feel so full of ink, and my pussy feels so alive.

Everything that can be stimulated feels stimulated, throbbing, licked, suckled, nipped, rubbed, it’s like being fucked with sex itself. This isn’t making love, its fucking me, it’s fucking me and I don’t even care if I never make another decision in my life besides for more.

More . . . So much more . . . an eternity of more . . . nothing but more . . . never less . . . just more . . . and more . . . until there’s nothing left . . .

It feels so good! I’ve never felt anything like this! Even Lida’s sparkled touches never felt like this, not even a fraction. They just made things feel a little better, made my body feel a little bit more sensitive, her touches stronger, but it never made me feel like every nerve in my body was being fucked by something better than . . . better than anything!

There’s nothing better than this, there never will be, there never could be!

But there is sweetheart . . . because in a few moments, you’re going to lose your hold on reality . . . You’re going to cum . . . and it will feel better than this, it will feel better than bliss, better than pleasure, better than arousal, better than anything . . . and after that . . . just wait . . .

I can’t wait! I need it now, need it now, nee . . . need . . . unnnn . . . goddess . . . so much . . .

My whole body burns as I feel myself bucking, hear myself screaming, but I can’t focus, I can’t focus on any of it, besides the feeling of the ink moving inside of me, moving so much deeper into me than my pussy, filling up my body, up along my spine . . . more of it into my mind . . . so much more . . .

Just . . . oh goddess . . . every thought, every perception smears the ink around more, just smears it deeper . . . Nothing could ever make it go away or weaken, it’s just too strong, too powerful . . . too complete.

Nothing can, nothing could, and nothing will . . . Now you just have to do one more thing before I let you lose all of yourself to pure inky bliss . . . to pure inky loss . . . As you are, unclothed and soaked with sweat and sex . . . open the door . . . and then turn to face the inside.

It doesn’t even feel like I have a choice to obey the voice in my head anymore, it just feels like I am, like that’s all that I am, just the voice inked all over my mind, all inside of my mind.

It’s perfect.

Legs shaking I stand, and brace myself on the couch. It’s so hard to stand, to be upright, my whole body is still throbbing and glowing. Everything feels so unreal, like the scent of the letter, or the words. I feel like they’ve carried me away . . . I don’t even know if I’m still in the same house I was when this started.

It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters besides what the ink desires, because the ink desires what I desire, and that makes me feel good. The ink makes me feel good. The ink is good, the very concept.

Shaking a little more I stumble to the door and twist the knob slowly, before pushing it open. It’s late. I don’t know how long I’ve been like this, the outside is so dark but it was just twilight when I got home. It doesn’t matter. I turn my back to the open door and shudder at the feeling of a gust of cool air grazing my wet thighs and my sweat covered back.

“The apple doesn’t fall far, it would seem . . .” A hand grabs me, my sex, still feeling inky and black as the fingers start to rub and knead. I can’t help but cry out and grind down into the hand. I know it belongs to the ink. The ink is everything . . . “Don’t turn around . . . Just walk a little farther forward. I can get the door.”

“You can g-get . . . whatever you want . . .” Whimpering I take those steps, just like she wants, and it’s so hard not to arch my ass towards her to feel her fingers between my legs again, rubbing my pussy, grazing me just where I love to be grazed.

She laughs, but it’s not a mean laugh, it’s a happy, sweet laugh. “I know, Susan . . . I know. You were mine the moment you took the letter out of the mailbox, did you know that?” I shake my head, and scream in joy as her hand returns to its place, fingers rubbing inside of me as I whimper and clench around them. “Of course you didn’t . . . You didn’t need to. It wouldn’t have been very good foreshadowing if you had . . . or good characterization for you to take the letter even if you knew . . . You weren’t that kind of character before you read the letter . . . before you became my character . . .”

Her words feel like the ink, talking in my head, but louder, stronger. Her fingers feel even better then the ink, and her hand clutching and kneading my breast from behind feels better than any touch to my breasts has ever felt. Everything only keeps getting . . . more.

“A lot of things are going to change sweetheart . . . but to be honest . . . They don’t involve you. But, I would feel bad if I left you out of this, and it would spoil my plans . . . So instead . . . You get to be a part of my plan, and you get to be in complete and total bliss . . . with no other cares in the world . . .”

The hand between my legs feels like it’s pushing me, herding me, and the ink feels like its agreeing. With a whine I let her lead me into my own bedroom, and bend me over the bed as her fingers start to move quicker, and deeper. I don’t care if I’m not involved in her plan anymore than she needs me to be. I don’t care if this was all she ever wanted of me. It just feels . . . Too good . . . Too complete to really care.

Her hand pulls back, and her lips press to both of the curves of my ass so tenderly before her tongue slides along my slit from behind. Her tongue leaves so much more than saliva, more of that ink, more of that wet, wet bliss . . . squirming inside of me, filling me . . .

She sighs and kisses the back of my head before gently swatting my ass in a way that burns but makes me feel so valued. “Up onto the bed sweetheart, and close your eyes . . . In a moment, you’re going to hear the front door open and close . . . and when you do, you’re going to roll onto your back, spread those long pretty legs wide . . . open your eyes . . . and the rest of your reality is going to flow over your thighs.”

Goddess! Just the thought makes me quiver and twist in ways I’ve never felt before as my eyes close and I crawl up onto my bed. My reality is going to melt out of my pussy, through her hot ink? It feels too good to be true, it has to be too good to be true.

But it is true, I know it’s true, because she said it.

“Good night, Susan . . . I’ll be sure to give Sarah your regards . . .” I can hear her walk away, and I know I should wonder or worry what she means, but all I feel is excitement and anticipation. I want to hear that door slam! I want to feel what she wants me to feel . . . so much.

The door opens! My body is on fire! My nerves feel so alive! I feel more alive than I’ve ever felt in my life, more perfect, more pleasured, more anything!

All I need, is to hear . . . to hear . . .

Oh goddess!