The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You’re home pretty late tonight, Sarah . . . Did everything go okay? After spending some time out there with you, you know I hate sitting here waiting for you to come home. I know the kind of trouble you tend to get yourself in.” Olivia always greets me with some variation on the same theme. At first it bothered me, but now it’s something I look forward to. Whether she knows what I’m up to that night or not she’s always ready to cheer me up with a little hard time.

The first thing I do when I get home is strip.

Getting out of my sweat-soaked uniform feels amazing. It’s not just sweat-soaked of course, but I can pretend. At least we’re not still in the old apartment without a built-in washer and drier. “I had to drop the girl off, Liv. Her parents deserve to know their daughter is safe, and so do I. That’s why you volunteered to stay home and take care of Aurora while I save the day . . . and besides, if you remember right I am pretty damned good at getting myself out of trouble!”

“I stay home because we have a nine month old, and I’m actually enjoying being a stay at home mom. When she says her first words while you’re out making the nights of Midas brighter, I get to say I told you so.” Olivia grins, and bounces our little bundle of joy in her arms. “And don’t all me ‘Liv’, Sar!”

As soon as the last of my uniform is pooled on the floor, I move over and wrap my arms tight around my loving family. Aurora gurgles against me and nuzzles into my shining hair as it falls around her. Her tiny fingers reach up to try and grasp at some of the strands and all I can do is stare. She does the same thing every time I hold her but it always feels new and amazing.

Nothing has ever felt nearly as precious as anything Aurora does. Some moments in my life have come close, like when I met Lida or when Olivia and I made Aurora . . . but the latter involves her anyway. A few times when I was being controlled felt close, but they weren’t tender, warm or maternal.

Aurora feels like the most right thing I’ve ever done. Even being Silver Girl feels lesser, but now even being Silver Girl is about her.

“I know, Olivia . . . I know . . . I don’t know how I ever tear myself away from her each night, but it’s the best way I know to make my baby safe . . . I want to make this city a good place to raise our daughter in, and a good place to stay the rest of my life with the woman I love.” Very gently, I spark my lips and kiss Aurora’s head just softly enough for her to feel the brushing of my lips. She sequels in a way that always makes my heart quiver, and I squeeze closer. “I love you so much . . . both of you, so much . . .”

Olivia grins and leans over Aurora to kiss my lips. She might not have sparks, but her lips still send electric shudders down my spine. “We love you too, Sarah . . . We love you a lot . . . Now let’s get that shiny silver ass of yours to bed . . . Aurora made my nipples sore and I know just the thing you could do to help them feel better . . .”

My hands pull back and gently clasp over Aurora’s ears. She squeals, but otherwise doesn’t object. “Come on, none of that in front of the chilin’. I’m sure as soon as we get her in a bed instead of her crib she’ll walk in on us soon enough. Let’s hold off prematurely corrupting the little dear until then, huh? But . . . I’ve been thirsty all night, and I think I know just the way you could help . . .”

“I’ll put Aurora down . . .”

“And I’ll get into something a little less clothing.”

Saturday is the best morning of the week. I still work Saturdays, at least I do as Silver Girl, but it’s better than a call center and Silver Girl. Today I’ll just worry about stopping Dust. As soon as I can get that done, the rest of the day is for Aurora. It really shouldn’t take too long to finish that up, but I’ll plan to waste the whole day on it anyway just in case. If it ends up that way, I’ll spend all of tomorrow with her.

Silver Girl doesn’t work on Sundays.

Usually, I only pull the justice routine nights but on weekends it always feels better to work days. The biggest reason is that Saturday Nights are crowded and my usual suspects aren’t the kinds who love parties. I’m not the best at dealing with the ones who do anyway, so it’s just better for all concerned.

Olivia’s auburn hair is spread over my pillow, and I smile as I walk my fingers along the strands. It’s a cliché that a sleeping lover looks like an angel, but it really feels true with Olivia. Sometimes when she sleeps some parts of her turn golden. I savor being able to kiss those places knowing she’ll feel it but be less likely to wake.

Aurora was unusually quiet last night, and I think the little sweetheart with hair that before long enough is going to match her mother’s will finally grow a bladder.

“Stay asleep sweetie . . . I’m going to get an early start of it. I’ll wake you up before I go . . . Promise.” I kiss the center of her forehead where just a fleck of gold sparkles in the dim light before standing up with a long, loud yawn. Hopefully after a shower I’ll be able to think straight enough to stop Dust from robbing any more people of the ability to think straight.

Damn, I’m exhausted.

I manage not to hurt myself on the way to the bathroom, but when I glance into the mirror the sight of myself is painfully hilarious. My hair looks as if I’d shoved my finger into an electrical socket. The thought of my own electrical socket sends me into a fit of giggles that I have to keep down for fear of waking either of my sleeping beauties. Having a solid relationship and a daughter has really given me back a sense of humor and taken away the constant paranoia.

Of course, I may just be saying that because last night Aurora didn’t wake me with one of her screams that always makes me sure someone is in her room.

Deep in my mind I make a mental note to visit Valerie and Sylvia some time this weekend. Sylvia and Aurora get along better than any kids I’ve ever seen in my life. Sylvia is only a little bit older than Aurora, but if you looked at them they’d look like twins. Their biggest detail apart is Sylvia’s hair being a deeper brown than Aurora’s reddish hue. They even have the same deep brown eyes.

Before I step into the shower I splash my face with some water so as soon as the floor turns slick I won’t be too unaware and fall right onto my ass.

This morning, I feel the impatient kind of tired, so instead of letting the water hit just the right temperature first, I step in so the showerhead is just behind my own head and reach behind me to turn the water on.

Instead of water coursing through my hair, I’m hit with a flow of something hard and gritty, something like . . . something like sand.

The feeling is dirty but warm, and is it feels so good as it slides down over my back and pools over my ass. Some of it streaks down over my chest and stains its way down along my stomach. My head feels dizzy and my thighs shake. It feels so familiar, smells like musty old books, like . . . like . . .

Oh goddess, my shower is spraying me with dust!

My hand shakes as I try to grasp the knob again. Dust keeps pouring down over me, over my face, over my scalp, along my hips and arms . . . Every breath takes it deeper into my lungs and I can feel it crinkling into my ears. I close my eyes to stop it from covering them, but all that does is make it melt between the lids and seal them shut. I try to open them as I struggle with the knob, but all it does is make them seal tighter. I won’t be able to stand much longer, think much longer, so I put everything into one last desperate twist of the knob.

Instead of turning the flow off, the knob breaks clean off and the flow hits me harder and faster. All my strength feels so far away. All I can do when I start to fall is reach an arm behind me to stop my neck from snapping. Every small part of my body itches and tingles as the dust piles over me. Just thinking about the feeling is enough to make my head spin, and the granules feel like they’re working deeper . . .

Between my thighs feels so dirty and sticky, making my toes curl and cries shudder out from my throat. Can barely move, can barely think, can’t even try to quiet myself or scream louder as the dust tingles and stimulates me, fuzzing over the darkness behind my eyelids . . .

Finally it stops falling onto me, but it doesn’t matter. The tub already feels half full. My eyes won’t open, and I can’t close my thighs as the dust rubs between them. It feels so good, so dirty, so wrong . . . and I love it. It’s been so long since I felt like this, since I felt her inside me, but it feels familiar as if I’d only last kissed her yesterday.

Dust was like my sister with a sweet little body and lips that always made me feel so good. Loved the way it felt to suck on her hot dusty fingers or lick my own dusty body if I was close to her. Can’t open my eyes, but I’m seeing everything I need to see.

Hot, familiar, and helpless darkness.

“Mmhmm, worked just like a charm, totally knew it would . . . yeah . . .” From the darkness I can hear a voice, a woman’s, young . . . but it’s no one I’ve ever met before. It’s certainly not Dust. There’s no way I could ever forget the way her voice sounds. I imagine the words over again but coming from the young looking goth hottie, and shudder at how it sounds.

Someone sniffs hard and groans. “Ooooh . . . Well we did use the extra strength stuff . . .” I groan as the dust shifts or someone sprinkles it over me and the second voice laughs. “This is what you get!”

“Yeah . . . Stay the hell away from Dust . . . She doesn’t need your shiny tits in her business, huh? We’re gonna make sure that you don’t remember anything that Chels told you . . . And you’re just gonna love it, aren’t you? She said you have sensitive tits . . . I wanna see . . .” Hands close over my dust-covered chest and all I can do is scream as they start to knead. It feels so good to have the dust worked into my skin, so good that I . . . that I almost forget I can make all of my skin spark.

Her hands, delicate hands, shudder and grasp me tighter as the pleasure courses through her and my back arches to grind the dust harder into my nipples. Wish I could stay still, but I can’t. There’s just too much stimulation. I’m too used to how this feels; it’s been so long, but it still feels too much like old times.

The second voice gasps just loud enough to hear over the groans of her friend. “Shouldn’t have done that! Dust told all of us that she could do that . . .!”

It feels for a second like someone is trying to pull the first girl’s hands off my breasts, but that feeling stops as soon as I start to spark harder. It’s hard to focus on, but it makes the dust feel better. A second scream besides my own sounds out and all I can do about it is quiver at the yummy feeling of dust and being touched while my mind is being wrapped up with cottony blankets.

I could stay like this forever. Just covered up in dust while being kneaded and touched as the pleasure of sparking is the only focus I can really keep up . . . Makes her hands knead harder when I spark harder, love making the rhythm feel like waves, washing over me and pulling me down . . .

When the dust overtakes me, my last thought is that I wish I could move just enough to thrust some of it even deeper between my legs.