The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The three hunters gapped as the old man gestured with the meat and said, “Needs something. A tad bland. Maybe some more blood?”

The three hunters threw themselves to the ground and groveled.

“Oh great wise one,” said Belly as he shivered in fear. “We have come to ask for your help.”

Wind Talker snorted. “Of course you have come to ask for my help.”

The three hunters gasped in shock.

“You have foreseen our arrival?” asked Tusk as he shook.

“No,” said the old man with a chuckle. “But nobody comes here unless they need my help. They all think I am a crazy old Shaman who can turn them into fish.”

Raccoon looked up from the ground and said, hopefully, “So, you are NOT crazy?”

“Course I am,” said Wind Talker as he stood up and brushed himself off. “All Shamans are crazy. How else could we work with the dark spirits and deal with the twisted logic of magic?”

He finished off the meat, turned to enter the forest and said, just loud enough for them to hear, “Well, you coming or not?”

As the men swiftly gathered up their things to follow, Belly looked back at the shore and exclaimed, “But our boat...”

A voice drifted from among the tree trunks as the three hunters loaded up their bags and secured items to their body. “Who would dare steal from my island?”

The three men thought about that statement for a few seconds and then hurried to follow the Shaman into the dark woods.

Wind Talker walked fast for an old man. His hair was long and uncut. His jacket was soaked in seal’s fat. His body was hard and lean from years of living with nature. He was powerful. He was ugly. He smelled.

Nature was harsh. Nature cared nothing for man or any creature. It was not EVIL. No, it was just indifferent. Nature was not unjust. It cared nothing about Good or Evil. It just didn’t give a damn about man and his worries. A Shaman’s job, part of it anyway, was to help The People deal with that very fact.

Wind Talker listened to the stomping feet, gasping breath, and sounds that tools made when knocking against other tools. These men were scared but also brave. They had learned, long ago, not to take hard times as a personal insult towards them. They were not here to complain about daily life.

But there were some things that DID hate man. Some of the ghosts, spirits and animals did. The Shaman was also there to help deal with those dangers, and not with advice or hot tea.

Sometimes a Shaman had to fight. He sensed he had a fight coming. He could feel the waves of worry and fear from the visitors.

He remembered a long ago fight that he had lost. It had happened in a faraway place, where deer and foxes were the main source of meat. It was a place with no shores but many lakes and no wood but many biting flies. He had been a different person, with a different name, and a different life then. He had lost and now he was here.

Here was an island. It was a powerful and twisted island. It was his new home, his new school and his own private hell.

He shook his head, peeked over his shoulder to make sure the three where still with him and warned them, “Keep close.”

The hunters followed. They stepped over tree roots, jumped over small streams and climbed over large rocks. They even had to crawl under some thick thorn bushes.

Soon they came upon a longhouse made of snow. It amazed them. It was a white, long, building without windows or even a door!

It was not uncommon to use snow and ice during the middle of winter to block the wind, for a short period, while one rested and prepared to move on. But those were tiny things which would fall apart after being abandoned for only a few days.

This snow house stood in the middle of a forest that, while cold and windy, was not yet cold enough to support such a structure. They watched as the old man moved one of the blocks of snow and gestured with his chin.

“In.”

They obeyed.

He followed and turned around once inside, to face the exit. He grabbed the block of snow and pulled it back into the doorway it had revealed.

The room inside was about nine feet across with a raised platform made up of packed snow. On top of this platform was a pile of furs. A thick Musk Ox fur acted as a mattress with lighter Caribou furs on top. The furs were protected from getting wet by a layer of water-proof skins. Ribs helped keep the whole bed from sagging into the snow.

A tiny soapstone lamp kept a tiny flame burning with moss and seal fat.

“Undress and get into the bed,” he said. “Tomorrow you will tell me your tale.”

As the three men silently pulled off their clothing and slipped under the top furs, Wind Talker sensed the powers outside his home. They twirled and whirled around, brushing against the outside walls, laughing. They knew what was going on.

Wind Talker sighed. Anything the spirits of this island found humorous was NOT going to be something HE found funny. He undressed and slipped into the bed. He prayed that his sleep would be dreamless, but he doubted it.

The next morning the four men woke up, had a fast breakfast of fish, and exited the snow house.

Wind Talker sat against one of the many trees outside his magical home and said, “Tell me your tale.”

The three men started to tell him their horrible tall tale of the invisible unknown horror that fucked their women folk, ate their food, and took their tools. The Shaman let them use their own words and never stopped them to ask questions or have them give more details. He allowed them to weave their own tale with their own hopes, fears, and views.

“Somebody ate all my fresh seal meat one day,” said Belly, his face full of pain as he remembered all the meat he would never get to eat. “Oh, how could they?”

“Somebody took my best knapping kit,” said Tusk, his eyes wet with the memory of his lost love. “It was my very best. It never failed to make a fine point or a good edge.”

“Tools have gone missing,” said Raccoon with great unease, “that nobody is even willing to admit ARE missing. They are there one day and then gone the next.”

Wind Talker nodded as they slowly ran out of details.

“So somebody who is hungry,” said the old man.

The three hunters nodded.

“And somebody who is greedy,” said the old man.

The three hunters nodded.

“And somebody who likes to fuck,” said the old man.

The three hunters nodded.

“I know who it is,” said the Wind Talker with a smirk.

“Who?” said the three hunters.

“One who is always hungry,” said the old man as he stood up and collected some items he would need when visiting the village.

“Who?” said the three hunters as they too grabbed their equipment and followed the old man.

“One who is greedy,” said the old man as he walked through the woods, over streams, and past huge rocks.

“Who?” asked the three hunters as they followed, dodging swinging branches and splashing through puddles.

“One who likes to fuck,” said the old man as he tipped the boat right side up and started to arrange his items in it.

“WHO?” almost shouted the three hunters as they also started to load their boat.

“The Raven,” said the old man. “Now stop asking stupid questions and let’s get to your village quickly.”

Miles away and a few hours later Tadpole Boy was thrusting deep into the older woman and laughing as he slapped her tits. The Chief’s wives had become more responsive to his advances after he took The Raven’s advice.

Mink moaned and dug her fingers into his back as he pounded into her willing body. His penis rammed in and out of her wet, gapping pussy. Her nails left marks on his back but he didn’t notice. He had been ready to explode this morning and planned to fuck all three wives again and again till he was spent.

The Raven happily played with his sex toys; the Chief’s daughters and slaves. His shape shifting ability made for some interesting positions; not that Tadpole Boy noticed. He was too excited and focused to notice.

He had found out that Mink, like the other wives in the village, had some interesting likes and dislikes. Mink enjoyed it when he slapped her face. She shivered, moaned and got wetter much faster than when he just suggested it. He realized that she just enjoyed a certain amount of pain.

All of the women enjoyed something. By finding out what it was, he had increased their pleasure and his own pleasure. The women were climaxing without being ordered to do so. It was almost like normal sex!

His discovery made him even more eager to have sex with the women in the village. He wanted all the women in the village—even the younger ones. They all had different desires and passions. His need to uncover them all renewed his interest in sex. It felt like a game or a hunt.

Yes, his interest had waned for a tad. However, with The Raven’s new advice and his discovery of the women’s fetishes, fuel had been added to his inner fire.

As he felt his body shivering and the sperm flowing into her from his member, he slapped her face one last time and said, “You will remember everything. You enjoyed everything. You want more and will always look forward to being used by me. You just will not tell the men in the village.”

Mink moaned and squirmed under him like a live fish on the cutting board as she nodded and screamed aloud in delight.

Tadpole Boy slide out his soft, wet cock and turned to smile at Omen, the oldest wife. She licked her lips at him. It turned out that she enjoyed oral to the point that she was willing to suck cock in return for the pleasure of sucking cock. You did not need to touch her body at all—her enjoyment came from the act itself.

As she started to work on his limp but soon to be hard shaft, he sighed happily. The Raven had been so right. Why make them forget when you can make them remember with pleasure? Make them want it. Make them willingly ask for it. Make them even willing to hide it from the men folk.

Tadpole Boy stroked Mink’s sweat covered face with one hand and fingered Robin’s tight little ass with the other. He closed his eyes and enjoyed being the center of a four-some.

The Raven had noticed something that Tadpole Boy had not. It was something the boy was too busy to notice. Robin’s face, for a second, had jerked in disgust when the boy had inserted his finger.

The Raven recognized that there were also some things that the women did not like. One may like being slapped but not having her hair touched. Another may like oral but hate being on top.

The Raven had noticed some of the women were becoming slow to carry out actions they did NOT wish to do. It was barely noticeable but The Raven had noticed it. It was small things like a frown here when ordered to do this or a delay there when told to do that. One of the slaves did not like being tied up for example.

The Raven hoped that the new form of suggestions would reinforce their submissive, willing, sexual behavior. Yet if the boy kept hurting or upsetting some of them...

The Voice was, in other words, losing its power over the humans. The boy needed to use it wisely, without overdoing it.

The Raven, of course, could have pointed this out to Tadpole Boy, but where was the fun in that?