The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Wind Talker sat at the front of the boat, peering ahead. The three hunters and their paddles worked behind him, pushing the boat through the deep, cold waters. They had started late in the morning, stopping only once for a quick lunch of berries and to take a restroom break.

The dark blue ocean seemed calm and the afternoon sky was clear of any clouds. Wind Talker knew that was a Bad Sign. Did The Raven not realize that the shaman was coming? Of course The Raven did. He must have known about the hunters sent to get Wind Talker.

Wind Talker would need to prepare for The Raven’s trap. He would have to outthink The Raven. Wind Talker frowned. That would not be easy. The Raven was one of the oldest, smartest and most paranoid of all the spirits.

“Tell me,” he said as he crossed his arms and closed his eyes, “is there a nice, clean beach before we reach your village, where we can stop?”

“Yes,” said Raccoon with a nod, “There are a few that I know of. We sometimes use them to camp while on longer hunts.”

“Good,” said Wind Talker. “We need to stop and prepare ourselves before we enter the village. The beach must be clean with no bones or graves. The sand should be level.”

“But if we stop we may not get to the village till tonight!” said Belly, thinking about all the good food going to waste at home.

“No,” said the Shaman. “We will not get there till tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?” said Tusk as he steered the boat from behind, focused on the balance of his paddle.

The Shaman told them.

Tadpole Boy liked Mink the most. That was why he had her suck him while he hid in the bushes, watching the beach next to the village. Her lovely mouth did wonders for his cock. He enjoyed the vibration of her tongue along the underside, the wet lips leaving behind trails of salvia and the way her eyes closed as if enjoying a good meal.

He was not the only one watching the waves. All the males able to carry a spear, knife, or club were waiting among the boats pulled up on the beach. Tadpole Boy had told them that three evil warriors and an evil Shaman were coming to rape their women, eat their food, and take their souls. Even the Chief seemed eager to crack sulks and break bones with his huge war club. He was very upset about how many of his women folk had been raped, how many of his items had been stolen and how much of his food had been taken.

Of course Tadpole Boy was to blame, not the three hunters. However, in the Chief’s mind the memories had been changed and the facts twisted.

So the men of the village waited. They waited and sharpened their spears. They waited and tested out their clubs on invisible enemies. They waited and picked their teeth. They waited and cut their toenails. They waited and gossiped with their friends about other people’s wives.

But the sun was almost dipping into the water, about to return to its home to turn in for the night and the hunters with the Shaman had not yet appeared.

Tadpole Boy pondered this while pushing his hands against Mink’s shoulders, making her take his cock deep into her throat, making her gag. He ignored this noise as he turned his head to say, “Are they not coming?”

The Raven shrugged and tried to sense the power of the Shaman. However, in his half-human half-bird form carrying out magic was very difficult. Even if he took his favorite form of the bird he would have trouble sensing the Shaman’s soul.

Of course, if The Raven discarded his physical shell, he could easily spot the danger approaching them. However he would also be spotted, like a candle in a dark room.

Mink’s eyes flickered as her face turned red and drool dripped down her chin and throat. She was trying to suck air around Tadpole Boy’s shaft, trying to keep her lungs working while at the same time she grabbed his naked ass cheeks and tried to force her lips all the way down to the base of his penis. Nobody noticed her struggle between life and sex.

“Maybe they have been delayed,” said the spirit with a tilt of his head. “Or they are getting ready.”

“Ready?” said Tadpole Boy as he grabbed Mink by the ears and forced his cock further into her bulging mouth, making her head bend backwards. Then he slapped her face lightly.

“The Shaman knows he is facing a powerful opponent,” said The Raven. “He will prepare himself by calling on his spirits. He will use them to search for knowledge and to scout ahead.”

Tadpole Boy looked pleased. He failed to realize that The Raven was talking about himself, not the village boy.

The Raven pointed to the beach and added, “He will not come until he has learned everything. He will not come as long as the beach is guarded.”

“Than we will keep the beach guarded every day.” said Tadpole Boy. Mink groaned happily at his playful abuse of her face. This made her suck and slurp at his dick even more eagerly. He pulled it out of her mouth with a wet pop and listened to her gasp for air at the same time she moaned for more.

“Every day?” said The Raven with a shake of his head. “All those men doing nothing?”

“Not all of them,” said Tadpole Boy as he shoved his cock back into the eager, warm mouth. “Only a few at a time. Taking turns.”

Tadpole Boy said nothing else. He was too busy exploding in the mature woman’s mouth. She seemed to enjoy every drop of her reward.

The Raven barely noticed as he stared out over the vast sea, beyond the totem boats, beyond the bored mob that was starting to yawn, beyond the lapping waves which were turning red with the setting sun. Something was not right here. Shamans were not stupid.

The Raven knew the Shaman would not come until he was good and ready. When he did come, a bunch of armed villagers would not prove much of a challenge. The Shaman would come with his own spirits and his own tactics. A Shaman was nothing if not an individual. He would have his own ways in dealing with The Raven.

Tadpole Boy stood up and escorted the Chief’s wife back to her home. There the other women would serve him all night long. The Chief would not even notice it after he came back from the beach, enjoyed his dinner, cleaned his tools and retired to his empty bed.

“This village is mine,” said Tadpole Boy as he entered the large house.

The Raven, still near the beach watching the warriors wait for the enemy, overheard the young human.

“For now,” said the spirit as he transformed into a black bird and went to join his human partner.

Inside the Chief’s house the orgy had already started. Even The Raven was impressed by the sight.

In the center was Tadpole Boy, buried under moaning, shivering female bodies shiny with sweat. They sucked on his toes and licked his nipples. They attended to his manhood and balls with tongues and lips. One of the younger women sat on his face, riding his tongue while screaming out his name. Her long braided hair tossed about like a tail.

Hanging from the ceiling were wiggling cocoons of leather and blankets. Women had been tied up, bound tight in material, hung up with wooden and bone dildos shoved into their many orifices. Wet leather slowly dried in the heat of the house, pushing and pulling, squeezing breasts and shoving dildos deeper into the women. Their eyes were wide as their gagged mouths made endless noise. Were they pleading for release? Were they asking for more?

All around the orgy men worked to make more sex toys. Older women lashed at the naked female bodies with tiny whips as they demanded the girls to work harder to please their master. A few younger children kept the fire going and the stew stirred.

The scent of sweat, wet leather, and burning wood filled the house.

The Raven was impressed but still his mind was elsewhere. He hopped over to a corner, enjoying the shadows away from the fire, and decided to wait. He was a spirit. He could wait as long as need be. True, it was hard to do with all that food and sex available right in front of him, but The Raven knew how to wait. Many things were worth waiting for. Waiting to see what would happen next was one of them

Wind Talker danced. He danced in a circle on the cold beach, his naked skin seeming to glow. His long hair, untied, bounced and wiggled like black snakes. He spoke in a tongue the three hunters could not understand. His face was blackened with ash from the fire. His fat soaked clothes, with his animal claws and feathers, were piled next to the boat, forgotten, as he made contact with his spirits.

The hunters were nervous. They could not hear what he heard. They could not feel what he felt. Nor could they see what he saw. His spirits had come a long way. They had come over the white wastes, over the great mountains, over the lakes and streams. But they HAD come!

His greatest spirit, Kakwik, danced about him, sometimes on all fours. Sometimes the spirit danced on two legs like a human. Kakwik, the gray wolverine, was from the time when animals were first created. He danced and danced with Wind Talker around the fire the hunters had made.

Wind Talker murmured and moaned and waited. His second spirit, Hikik, the red-haired squirrel, had already come and gone. Gone to scout out the village. Gone to dance over its rooftops and between its buildings. Gone to smell and see and hear all it could.

Like the spirit Mouse Woman, the red-haired squirrel would poke its nose in places it did not belong. Unlike Mouse Woman, it would neither lecture nor complain about improper behavior. It would just remember and return.

Still Wind Talker and Kakwik danced around the fire. Kakwik had to make himself many and make himself small so that he could help Wind Talker do battle.

“Prepare yourself,” sang Wind Talker as he danced, his hair twisting in the air, his hands lifted towards the sky. At his command Kakwik divided into two smaller versions of himself. And he did it again. And again.

“Tomorrow we go to war,” sang Wind Talker as he danced with a dozen Kakwiks.

“Tomorrow we save some people,” continued Wind Talker with a toss of his head.

“Tomorrow we may die!” chanted Wind Talker with a leap over the fire.

The three hunters watched and waited and fed the fire. They knew nothing of what happened beyond the thin veil that protected their minds from the supernatural world that boiled about them. They did not see the river of power that flowed over the land nor did they see the clouds of time that burned in the sky.

Wind Talker could see those things. Soon Wind Talker was dancing with a crowd of tiny invisible wolverines, like tiny people, glowing with energy and power. They circled the flames, sometimes leaping over them and sometimes playing with the coals. They sang their song of battle.

Then there was a chirp and Hikik returned, leaping over the ground and entering the light.

Wind Talker stopped, sat down and listened to his second spirit. He nodded and mumbled and shook his head. His face seemed to drip black blood, as the ash from the fire mixed with sweat and ran down his chin. The Kakwiks continued to dance around the fire as the Shaman and his other spirit talked of guards and tactics and battle.

“One of my spirits has scouted out the village,” said Wind Talker. “They wait for us with club and spear on the beach.”

“The spirits?” asked the three hunters, a tad confused.

“No,” said Wind Talker with a roll of his eyes. “The villagers wait for you, with club and spear. The men plan to kill us once we land on the beach.”

“Then what can we do!” cried out the three hunters.

“We can’t go to the village by sea,” said the Wind Talker.

“No, no,” said the three hunters.

“We can’t fly to the village,” said the Wind Talker.

“No, no,” said the three hunters. They were a tad disappointed that they had the only Shaman on the planet who was not able to fly.

“So it is simple,” said Wind Talker.

“It is?” said the three hunters. They were all sure they were not going to like the answer.

“We walk,” said Wind Talker as he stood up and smiled. “Put out the fire. But pick up a few burning torches. We have a long walk in front of us.”

The three hunters moaned.