The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Raven stepped out of the house and looked about, rubbing his full belly. Breakfast had been large and hot. Nothing but the best for Tadpole Boy’s best friend. Well, only friend.

The Raven moved down the slope towards the beach. The few guards there waited and yawned and grumbled. They seemed slightly confused and many were leaning on their weapons as they tried to fight sleep.

“Nothing has happened yet,” said The Raven to himself. “Bad, very bad...” He turned back and re-entered the house. He was alarmed by the lack of action against them.

Tadpole Boy was inside the house and therefore didn’t hear a word The Raven had said. In fact he was too busy having an orgy to care about anything else.

The Raven snorted and sat down by the fire. He glanced at the food prepared for Tadpole Boy and wondered if maybe he still had some room inside his belly. He was so focused on the food that he failed to sense what was happening outside.

On the far side of the village away from the beach, a horde of tiny spirits flowed out of the forest like a flood of ankle deep water. Kakwik was many but he was also one. Each tiny creature moved forwards, silent and deadly, a hunter moving in for the kill. Each knew what he was doing and each knew what his copies were doing. There would be no wasted motions. None of the little Kakwiks would target the same person twice.

The first target was an old lady, coming out one of the houses near the edge of the village. She was brining more fresh fish to the orgy of her master.

Before she could even react a tiny spirit leapt up and disappeared into her chest with a twirl of light. Out the other side came the tiny wolverine and in his jaws was a tiny struggling raven.

The old woman sat down with a grunt and blinked in the morning sunlight. She felt like she had just awaken from a deep sleep.

“What has happened to me?” she said aloud.

Raccoon was at her side in a wink of the eye to help her back up and smooth her fears.

The tiny wolverine sprits entered lodges, sometimes going right through the walls. They trapped, ambushed and pinned down the Raven Voices that inhabited the people of the village. One by one people were freed. One by one they blinked in the sunlight, looked about, and tried to understand what was going on. Slowly the horror dawned on them, as memories flooded into their heads, and they started to cry out in shame.

Behind the spreading arch of invisible spirits and the growing crowd of grumbling people came Wind Talker, Belly, Raccoon and Tusk. They helped people up, told them there was nothing to fear, and asked them to hold their questions till all was well.

Wind Talker collected the wiggling Raven Voices. He smashed and mashed them together, forcing them to rejoin as one. He followed the swarm of his spirit and smiled.

The guards on the beach, facing the sea, did not notice anything happening. They did not see the four invaders. Nor, of course, did they see the invisible mob of tiny predators encircling the Chief’s house like an army about to crush a helpless foe.

The Raven first noticed what was happening because he could SEE the tiny wolverines flowing through the wooden walls like syrup through a net. They swarmed in from all sides, leaping into people, tackling the spirits within, ripping them out with silent battle cries.

“We are under attack!” shrieked The Raven.

“What?” mumbled Tadpole Boy from under a pile of young women. He tried to push their wet, wiggling, moaning bodies off of his but it was too little, too late.

For even as he shoved them off the women started to look confused, scared, or horrified.

“What is going on?” asked one as she touched her naked breasts in confusion.

“Where am I?” asked another as she tried to cover herself with a blanket.

“AGGGH!” screamed another girl as she tried to stand up, accidentally kicking Tadpole Boy in the groin.

“Stop!” Tadpole Boy said after regaining his voice. “Stop! Obey me!”

But the Raven Voices were being removed and dragged away, to the outside of the house, to the waiting Wind Talker. Tadpole Boy’s own Voice had been removed by three tiny wolverines. It had been powerful and big but outnumbered.

“What is going on?” screamed Tadpole Boy as the people became free again. Some ran away, some stood and stared about in wonder, and a few started to attack Tadpole Boy.

“You did this to us!” yelled one of the old women, hitting him with a pot.

“You scum!” screamed Mink as she hit him with a rage-fueled right hook.

“Get him!” said another girl as she picked up a knife.

The Raven was already flying up through the smoke hole, in his bird form, making good his escape from the private orgy turned into a private Hell.

Yet he would not get very far. For Wind Talker was ready, his hands holding a glowing ball of energy. The energy used to control the villagers was now about to be returned to its true owner.

Wind Talker waited. He waited for the remaining pieces to be bought to him by his spirit army. And he waited for just the right moment, when the ascending spirit, black wings flapping, tried to level out and go out to sea.

The three hunters moved to the beach, giving comfort and aid to those who walked about as if in ill or confused. Many noticed the large bird flying above them but did not realize what it was.

“What happen?” demanded the Chief as Raccoon helped him stand.

“You have been freed,” said Tusk as he pointed to mumbling ball of pure Voice in the Shaman’s hand.

“Gotcha,” said the Shaman and he released the ball of energy when it was finally complete. It shot right towards The Raven, like an arrow out of a bow, like a child returning to its birthplace.

“Stop that!” screamed Tadpole Boy. He came out of the house, bruised, batted, and bleeding. Right into the waiting arms of Belly.

“He will be punished according to our laws,” said Belly to the howling women and the men who came out the large house. It was very brave of him, for many in the crowd were armed with knives, clubs, and burning branches. Many of the women had bloody mouths and fingernails. They had already started the boy’s punishment.

“Oh crap!” screamed The Raven as he was engulfed in his own greedy, overwhelming, dark karma.

The explosion seemed to darken the sky and shake the ground. It allowed Tadpole Boy to escape from Belly and run into the woods. Even Belly could not hold on to the boy in his shock and awe.

The Chief and his many hunters followed the boy into the woods as soon as they could recover their wits. Yet Tadpole Boy had disappeared during the confusion and could not be found.

The Chief and the angry warriors went to the Shaman after they returned from their useless hunt.

“Help us hunt the boy down and punish him,” they demanded.

“I have come and done what I have been asked to do,” Wind Talker said with a shake of his head. “He will be punished enough in time by the shame of his failure.”

“If you will not help us track him,” said the Chief, “explain to us WHY we can not track him! Why is his trail invisible? Why has he escaped our keen eyes and sharp ears?”

“You are full of rage,” pointed out Wind Talker. “And you let your rage blind your senses. You can not track him like a bear or a deer. Your mind is clouded. Maybe when you are calm, yourself healed, than you can hunt him.”

The Shaman, and the three hunters, made sure all the people were back to normal. All were checked, this minds and souls cleaned, their bodies bandaged, their skin cleaned of blood and dirt.

The village, after much questioning and repair, started the process of healing within a few hours. The only thing that remained was a rage at Tadpole Boy and the knowledge that, for years to come, they would be wary of his return. That wound against their pride would take years to heal.

The Chief swore to himself never to be tricked again and decided to learn as much as he could about spirits and magic. It would take years but he would become a better, stronger, more enlightened leader.

Things were in fact looking up. Wind Talker even took Tadpole Boy’s mother as his wife. She, and her daughter, were not to blame but he felt they would be treated badly by the villagers. True, she would look better with some tattoos on her face, but he was not a picky man.

The Chief even rewarded the three hunters Raccoon, Belly, and Tuck with great wealth, good wives, and much praise. The women were happy to have such rich and powerful husbands as many were now not virgins, because of The Raven and Tadpole Boy, and finding husbands through the normal tribal traditions were now near impossible for them.

Tadpole Boy sobbed and crawled out of the small space among the tree roots. He had escaped, just barely, with his life. He was not sure how he had escaped. Maybe some of the Raven’s magic still lingered within him. Maybe he was just lucky.

For what it was worth. For without tools, without other people, without food he would not last the winter.

In fact it was unlikely he would last the week.

The hunters would not give up. He would be hunted and chased and, if they caught him, killed.

He started to walk deeper into the woods. He knew staying here was death. He feared a painful death more than anything else.

Maybe if he went far enough he could join another band of people? There were rumors of people far to the east who ate raw meat, herded the deer, and even lived in snow houses. It is said that Wind Talker in fact came from the east.

Tadpole Boy realized anything, even searching for a mythical people, was better than being dragged back to his own real people to face harsh justice.

The Raven felt about with his wings and tried to push his crushed body with his mangled legs. He yelped in pain as something, many things, stabbed him in the face. In the inky darkness of night he peeked at the object in front of his body.

It was hard to see what was in front of him. He had to use some of his power to adjust his eyes slightly to see in the darkness. It was a plant. A plant covered with spikes. Hundreds of spikes.

To fly about with such dangerous trees about would be dangerous. He grunted and changed his wings and bird legs into four legs. He grew his ears out to try to catch any sounds that could help him understand his new surroundings.

He moved very carefully. Even with his new vision he found strange, twisted plant life all around him. The ground was also strange. It was not snow but cold sand. Yet he heard no waves, no ocean nearby.

The night was cold. Not as cold as nights normally were where he use to be but still cold. He covered himself in fur as he tried to find food with his sense of smell, the only sense that seemed to be effective in the darkness.

The Raven was not like men. He was a spirit. He could not be destroyed. He could be mauled, broken, transformed, and transported but never killed.

“Where am I?” he thought as he navigated the strange bush and shifting ground. Maybe he would need to wait for the sun to show him his surroundings. But when would the sun come? What if this was winter and it was months before the sun would show itself?

But he sensed this was wrong. Maybe it was his nose or maybe it was his newly formed paws on the ground. It was not like the cold region he was use to. This was different.

He was right. Within a few hours the sun came up and painted the landscape in red and yellow and orange.

“Where am I?” thought The Raven.

His ears picked up a sound that made his heart beat happily.

He trotted over the ground, zigzagging over the cool desert dunes and between the tall yellow grass, to follow the sounds.

He found the source near a small river. Girls!

They are young and tan, wearing colors he had not known had existed. They spoke a strange language and had their hair in a weird way but he did not care.

The Raven was a survivor. No matter where he went, as long as there was food and women and fun to be had, he would survive.

“Now how to get them to trust me,” said The Raven. “Maybe a name change...Coyote?”