The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Every so often, doing a good night’s patrol of Midas means leaving Sylvia in the garage and hoofing it across sidewalks and rooftops. She’s far too loud for me to make any attempt at being inconspicuous and I hate abandoning her with the intention to double back.

I keep telling myself I’ll get her augmented with some sort of extremely high-tech anti-theft measure but then baby needs all new clothes because she’s growing like a magical beanstalk and there goes Sarah’s “hobby” budget. I love the girl to death, really, she means the world to me and more, but sometimes I wish she could pull her own weight just a little. As soon as she can walk I’ll be sure to ask if she can get a part-time job so her mommy can make her motorcycle more functional.

Tonight is important though, and I know that. If I had bothered to find a way to dim my skin for this, I would have used it tonight. The night is dark and even without a spark I stand out like a sore thumb. White knee high-boots, a gray skirt with a white border, a white sleeveless top, and long white gloves aren’t the best for night duty . . .

But criminals are a superstitious lot. Light represents righteousness and justice. Sometimes standing out like that is all you need for an edge.

Just as I anticipated, my prey follows the same route she has the last two nights I’ve shadowed her. From what I’ve been able to find out, she only takes this route every other Friday. She never takes a detour. She always takes the same amount of time.

Like the addict she is, she’s always riding high and her inability to stand up straight would give that away even if nothing else did.

I follow her for blocks at a distance, from above, from beside, and from behind. I could wait in ambush, but that feels too simple. Simple conventional plans work the best, but she’s not working alone. If she were, then she wouldn’t be important enough to grab. I’d let the badges take care of this, but maybe not. If she were working alone, then she would be the woman in this operation that I know too well . . .

I hate thinking hypothetically sometimes.

Every step she takes, I try to gauge her reaction times and just how fit she is. Her long raven black hair bobs in the night and catches the surrounding light beautifully. It does so just enough to expose her blonde roots, but I wish I could say there wasn’t something appealing about that. Her skin is pale, but only pale enough to be a recent development.

Recently enough for her skin to still show she had a tan, but let it slip away. She looks elegantly out of place in her gothy boots, but the amount of lace and showing skin the matching wardrobe sports makes up for that one seemingly out of character detail.

I’m cheating just a little with the tan. I know she had that from her last yearbook photo before she dropped out. The “missing” pictures are recent enough to look like she does now, only with darker skin.

The length of her body is graceful curves, and the swell of her chest is no exception. She has nothing on Olivia, but they’re young breasts and those always have an appeal. It’s probably as much a lack of gravity as a good push up bra drawing my eyes to that particular bit of black lace and her dipping neckline, but I don’t mind. Just because I have a girl and a baby at home doesn’t mean I’m dead.

Parenthood sure as hell hasn’t stopped Olivia’s eyes from wandering, not that I mind.

Her destination isn’t far at all. If only her destination were important, that would make all of this a lot easier, but it’s just an apartment. The building this course starts from every week is just another apartment building.

Every Saturday, she’s nowhere to be found. I’ve even gotten on Olivia’s bad side by staying out till nearly dawn with no hint of where she goes off to, but I’ve seen the pictures.

My final hiding spot is just within a dark alley. The street light casts an obscuring shadow that hides me well enough. Her footfalls click on the sidewalk and my stomach knots. Just because I’m getting better at this sort of thing doesn’t mean I don’t worry every time right before that last little moment.

It’s been a good year and a half since Quillspawn. I’ve had plenty of time to experiment with my sparks again, but if I didn’t feel a little worried every time I used them they would fail, or they wouldn’t be enough, then I would get lazy. If being Patina taught me anything it taught me you can’t let victory become something you expect. You have to fight for victory. You have to be ready to do anything for victory or you wind up with a nasty taste in your mouth.

I never want to remember what happened that night.

Just as she steps past, I grab her forearm and pull her into the shadows. Before she can let out a sound she’s pinned against the wall and a pair of sparked fingertips is pressed against her lips. She quivers like a moth wrapped up in a light bulb’s enchanting glow and I savor every aspect of her expression. Her eyes glass and the light from my fingers makes every dull gray fleck in her irises look flat compared to the rest of her gorgeous blue spheres.

“Shhh Chelsea . . . I know you’ve been missing, but you’ve just been found . . .” Her body shudders in response and I use my own to keep her pressed firmly against the wall. The sparks on my fingers glow brighter and her lips start to twitch. “That’s a good girl. Don’t struggle . . . You’re safe with me.”

Her lips part mid-whine and I slide a finger gently between them. The familiar feel of lips trapped around my open circuit makes me clench nearly as hard as it does her. I can feel her nipples harden through the fabric between us and that feeling turns mutual. Her hips shake against me and the high-pitched groan that vibrates along my finger makes my eyes hood almost as much as hers. Feeling her body tense and struggle for more as her mind thinks less and less makes my uniform feel several sizes too small.

Chelsea’s eyes nearly shut, but in the wet center of her pupils I can see a pair of sweet shimmering silver stars twist into her mind. She’s already so far gone in response to such a gentle stream of sparks. When I press my lips to her forehead to give her a few gentle sparks right to her mind I can taste Dust on her thick as chalk.

I never saw anyone not being dusted with gray eyes like this. I can only imagine how much is filling up her head. All of Dust could be curled up inside of her like a nest of dirty mischievous bliss. When I pull my finger back it’s black with her lipstick. Even without more silver coursing through her, Chelsea can’t stop whimpering and rolling her body against mine. The lipstick on my finger tastes so much like Dust’s. The only difference is in intensity.

She probably applied it with a kiss herself.

“Now tell me, Chelsea . . . Where is she . . .? Where is your dusty supplier?” I slide my hands slowly up along the curves of her body, fingertips moving in tender little circles, hoping to find something or at the very least soothe her body and mind more into the silver haze.

I feel the texture of plastic under her right breast and slide my hand down and under her top. My hand stays against her flesh and slides along the smooth warmth of her stomach. Her lacy bra feels warm and soft to the touch; delicately I trace the pattern until I feel flesh.

My fingers hook under the edge and pull just enough to trace past her nipple and under the luscious curve. Her skin is damp with sweat, enough that the plastic feels slick. Gently I pull it out and she sounds a soft cry at the feeling of the plastic stroking along her tender skin. Once free from the confines of her underwear, I hold up the bag and stare. It’s a small bag, but it’s overflowing with Dust. Chelsea’s half awake eyes widen at the sight and she inhales hard through her nose.

At once, every small part of her body quakes against me with so much more desperation and need than before. She speaks with an exhausted, hungry voice, and even tries to raise her hand toward it. “Dust . . . Want . . .”

“No, no little sweetheart . . . Anyway, this stuff goes right to your eyes.” Quickly I tuck the dust away into my belt and smile at the thought of putting it in the pouch right beside my Icarus powder. The Domina would certainly find that amusing. “But . . . if you tell me where Dust is . . . I might be able to drop you off . . . And make it feel as good for her . . .” I slide my leg up between hers and pour the silver energy into her most sensitive of places, shuddering as her thighs clench hard, “as I can make it feel for you . . .”

Chelsea whines and just barely manages to shake her head. “N-no . . . Dusty girl . . . is a good girl . . . Can’t tell . . . Won’t . . .”

Dust must have really done a number on her. She’s obviously so addicted to Dust’s . . . sprinkles . . . and she doesn’t seem to have much resistance to my sparks, but she’s still holding on to some brainwashed loyalty. Unless she’s embraced the false sweetness she showed me after Chronos fell apart, Dust doesn’t deserve this kind of loyalty, especially from a girl she tore right out of high school.

Sighing, I press my forehead to hers and look into her dazed eyes. “No, no . . . A dusty girl is a naughty girl . . . a dusty girl is a very, very naughty girl . . . and you need to help me . . . be a good girl, accept the high my sparks can give you, and I can help you . . . I just want to see her . . .”

My eyes glow as I form sparks inside of them, slowly making them twirl. I can see the sight inside of Chelsea’s eyes, the tiny stars twirling and twisting, dancing so bright and distracting, and she gasps as she watches. Being so forceful with a victim isn’t a thought I’m especially delighted by, but I need this information and she’s already enjoying this. My knee is still between her legs even as I’m laying off on the flow. Too much silver and I’ll just fry her senseless.

“Look into my eyes, little sweetheart . . . See the pretty silver stars . . .? They’re what make me special . . . Dust has felt them before, you know . . . That means all of the little sprinkles in your head have somehow been touched by my sparks . . . That means right now? Being so close to me and being exposed to so much of my . . . touch . . . it’s a lot like being dusted . . . isn’t it?” I sigh and make the sparks in my eyes glow brighter, infinitely thankful that bright lights don’t bother me in the least or I’d be blind. “Dust couldn’t hold out against these either you know . . . but she loved how it felt . . .”

“Pretty . . . Ohnnn . . . Pretty . . . but can’t . . . Can’t tell you that, wouldn’t be safe, wouldn’t . . . ah!”

My knee shines against her again and her crotch’s level of warm and wet skyrockets. I can tell my words are having an effect. She can feel the truth in them, I know she can. “I just want to see my old friend . . .”

Her voice takes a softer, weaker tone as she grasps onto me, almost hugging me but it feels too instinctual to be given a name. “Nnn . . . not friend . . . She told us about you . . . Knows . . . Knows you’ve been trying to find her . . . Isn’t happy . . .” She coos and arches herself against me even as she strains against the mental conflict. “Pretty silver girl . . . sparkles . . . feel gooood . . . want to tell but . . .”

“I am her friend, even if she doesn’t think so . . . A long time ago I saved her from a scary place . . . Did she ever tell you about that, sweetheart? Did she ever tell you about the time her friend Silver saved her pretty mind . . .?” Sighing, I grasp her cheeks and grind more against her, and more against the wall letting my body course with subtle sparks. I really don’t want to overload her too much, I just want to get some information. If I spark her up too much, she won’t be in any state to answer my questions . . .

“No . . . Told us you were goody goody . . . Dirty girl that doesn’t want to admit it . . . With a hot ass . . .” Her lips curl into a lazy grin as she faintly moans and presses herself against me tighter, shuddering into each spark.

Coming from Dust, that means something. “I am . . . but us goody goodies are very loyal . . . aren’t we? I’m being a dirty girl with you right now . . . Sparking up a pretty dusty girl so that I can meet my old friend again . . . that’s not too goody goody, is it . . .?” After a slight flutter of my eyes I send the sparks from mine to hers and she screams loud enough to break glass.

My knee feels so damp and her expression has melted from steady defiance to warm confusion. It seems I’m doing something right. “Are . . . True . . .”

“Then tell me, Chelsea . . . Tell me where Dust is . . . And I can stop teasing you . . . I can see my friend again . . . Do that for me, please . . .? I spend my nights making Midas safe . . . it’s a small thank you . . .” I know I could have made this quicker, but not all of my experiences since the return of my sparks have been pleasant ones and I’m still afraid of making an unintentional Yanta. Being Patina taught me to be subtle. It’s hard to have such a powerful ability at my beck and call again, even if I was Patina for such a short amount of time . . .

She whimpers and looks a new kind of desperate as she tightens her hold. “Pretty . . . pretty silver girl promises she won’t hurt Dust . . .? Promise Dust is your friend . . .?”

Maybe I just want to be tender with her mind because it’s the right thing to do, and I don’t want to be like the villains I’m out here trying to stop. Even Machiavelli wasn’t so hot on the ends justifying the means as a way of life. Mind Control is a means that almost always glows with a taint . . . I need to find a way to reconcile myself with that or work past it.

“I promise . . . I would never hurt Dust . . . She’s too special to me, she was too kind to me in a time when I was hurt and afraid . . . She can be cold and cruel, but she’s like a sister to me, and I haven’t seen her in . .. it must be years . . . Please . . .?” If this doesn’t work, if this version of the truth doesn’t work then I just might have to give her everything I have and wait for her to be able to use cohesive language again. Dust has been doing this at least since I stopped The Argentum Project, and I’ve done a lot since then. A few hours won’t make that big of a difference . . .

“Then I’ll tell you . . . Just you . . . Trust you . . . You make me feel good . . . Feel safe . . .” She quivers and makes a sound an awful lot like a sniffle before whispering into my ear. “Dust makes me feel good . . . I don’t want to make her hurt . . .”

She tells me where Dust’s central warehouse is located and even gives me some directions. The only thought on my mind is how much her words sound like something I could have said about Her. It’s been so long since I kneeled at Jesse’s feet, but I can still remember every moment of how it felt. I hold her close and let her know Dust will be safe, everyone will be safe . . . because I’m not going to let her stay on the street dealing dust until someone with less of a personal connection decides to take her down.

She is special to me. I didn’t need to lie with a single word. Neither did she.