The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Hector had come over to see Tracey again. They were sitting on her couch beside each other.

Since they’d fucked last time, Tracey was feeling amorous, desirous of him. He was looking at her like she was the thing he most wanted. And to sense that approval from him just made her desperate.

There was no pang in that anymore, either. She’d resigned herself to their situation. She’d given up the last thing. She’d let him kill her into this, and there was no regret in her about that. It was too late for authenticity, now. Too late for her true self to ever be on display; her true self had been too altered, now. It was too late, and she had just become this.

But what she was, was a thing worthy of his desire. She had his desire. She would rather have his desire and be something different. She wouldn’t have wanted to keep the true version of herself in a more unaltered form, if the price of that would have been Hector’s lack of interest.

She was what he wanted now, and that was all she cared about.

He was still in control of everything, though, the one allowed to dictate. And she was desirous of him, did want him.

But she would only get to have him again if he allowed that. He was the one who had the power to either grant her desires or give them interdiction. So she’d have to try her luck.

“Hector,” she said, from his side. “It was so good last time— I want you again. Let me have you again, please.”

He gave her a considering look. “You can have me again, Tracey,” he decided. “You seem to recognize I’m the one who holds authority over this. You’ve shown me respect enough.”

He took her hand, and led her into her bedroom. That was so the way things should be: him leading, her following. Him deciding which things would happen and which things wouldn’t.

He could pose her however he wanted once she was on the bed, too. Could have her in any position. She held no complaints in store for him, no arguments.

He kissed for a moment, a more calm less frenzied kiss, as they stood beside her bed. Then he pushed her down onto it, and rolled her onto her side.

She wondered if that was a way of testing her. Wondered if he imagined she’d find this an uncomfortable position. Wondered if he imagined she would find their connecting-point cramped in this position. If he imagined she would complain about it. But she still held no complaints in store for him. There was no complaining impulse inside her.

He rucked her skirt up, even though he had to drag it along beneath her body. She’d had no underwear on today, either.

He took a moment to undress himself, even though he’d kept her mostly clothed. That seemed right to her too. She looked exactly the way he wanted. She was wearing the kind of pure femininity he’d wanted to see on her before. She was wearing bolder pinks. So of course she should remain in clothing that pleased him, while he got to have the dignity of being naked.

He lay down beside her also on his side, and started nudging his way through her folds, pushing his way in.

This was a good position because it made for a tight fit. She welcomed the discomfort. She hoped he was looking at her clothes while he was fucking her, taking pleasure in the fact that they were there and that she was dressed according to the style he wanted for her.

It was perfect. She was the costume, she was the image he wanted. She was being the image he wanted even while they were doing something wild and unsophisticated. It was good that she always had to be this rigidly the image, that she could never be anything more than the image. She loved that so much.

They were still moving together on the bed. Tracey was looking over Hector’s shoulder as he kept thrusting into her, looking into the open doorway of her bedroom. She was feeling the way she’d felt before: glad to be what he wanted, no longer caring that she wasn’t anything more than that.

But then, like a specter from out of the past, she saw Marvella there, in the doorway.

How could she be there? Was Tracey hallucinating right now? She felt haunted at seeing the specter of Marvella, and that jarred her out of her complacency. Yes she was meant for him, yes he’d made her for himself, yes that was all she wanted, and she contented herself in that.

But something else was still going on here. And it might tear everything down and ruin it.

She thought of when once, earlier, she’d kneeled before the picture of living-death. Thought of when she had presented that performance to Hector. She’d let him believe she was kneeling beneath an ideal she held above everything else. And Marvella was standing there in the doorway. Tracey was watching her stand there in the doorway— and she was the ideal. At least, the ideal of a perfect destroyer that Tracey had at one time pushed herself to seek and become entangled with. The ideal was real this time, and not a prop in a performance she was showing to Hector.

And Marvella was there— but only in her mind.

Hector was moving into Tracey, and watching her face obsessively as he did. She was staring over his shoulder at something, with a completely stunned look. As if she’d seen someone from the past she’d never expected to run into again. He thought of her mind as something that was still somewhat damaged, so this kind of behavior seemed fairly commonplace for her.

She was staring at whatever she saw there in just the way she’d once stared at walls in Designed-Oblivion and seen projections of her past on them.

But even if she was only staring at empty space in that same way, he may as well turn and see that she was staring at empty space. Then he could know for sure the same pattern was happening over again. If it were, and he thought about it in just the right way, he might even be able to see some kind of promising indicator in that.

He turned to look behind himself— but there was really someone there— and it was Marvella!

“Marvella,” he said, stunned. “You— you know she’s still alive?”

He still felt very interested in fucking Tracey, but considering the attempts Marvella had made to seduce him in the past, he didn’t care to go on fucking Tracey while Marvella was standing there.

He pulled out of her, and rolled over, so he was sitting up beside Tracey. She was still on her side, with her skirt rucked-up and pinned under her. He didn’t bother to give her decency. But he shifted one of her covers over him so that he had decency for himself.

“I know she’s still alive,” Marvella confirmed. “And isn’t she wonderful like this, Hector? Partly, at least, if not fully. You’re so obsessed, wouldn’t you like to drive that destruction in her— deeper? As far as you can drive it?”

Even in what she was saying, she was tempting him. But Hector frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You can destroy her,” Marvella said. “If you take her back to Designed-Oblivion again. This time the break really will kill her. And then she really will be the destroyed-good. Living body, dead mind. You could make her like that. You could make her perfect like that. You should.”

“But why would you want— I thought you were her friend!”

“You should make her like that,” Marvella evaded with a smile.

It was incredibly tempting— like Marvella had known the exact words to say, the exact language to speak with to convince him. He couldn’t question it. He couldn’t stop anything right now.

He looked back to Tracey. “Then I guess we’re going back to Designed-Oblivion, now.”

He was acquiescing to Marvella’s suggestions, chasing after what she’d imagined for him.

He stood from the bed and began dressing himself, watching Tracey ruck her skirt back down and smooth it.

Marvella had known exactly what to say to him, even if parts of what she’d said still hadn’t made sense to his mind. How could it be said that Tracey hadn’t been completely destroyed? How could it be said she hadn’t been completely destroyed the last time she’d been in a subsumption-machine? But there must be something of her left— and witnessing Marvella appear had made him deeply suspicious there was more at play here than what he’d thought was going on. Marvella had been doing something more than she’d been letting on, too.

But now he would take Tracey to Designed-Oblivion. Perhaps even to the side of a subsumption-machine, whether he chose to put her in it or not. Since he was taking her there, he’d find out what really had been happening.

“You really should kill her this time,” Marvella volunteered again. “If you take her to the subsumption-machines, and put her in one, you can program it just the way you saw her program it the time you saved her. Program it the way you saw that one destroyed-good program it the time you thought you lost her. You’ve got a good memory. You what you saw them do.”

That was still a tempting idea. It had been tempting ever since Marvella had raised it by implication.

He considered that temptation. If he did kill Tracey— really kill Tracey— if there was something in her left which hadn’t been killed yet— things would be different.

After she’d died the last time, he’d been able to find her again. And find some enjoyment again. There’d been something to stir him, reach him through his despondency.

This time if Tracey died, there would be no one to stir him. No one like her that he could find again. Nothing would work; he would be stuck with the same fixations he had now, as he had been before, but no one would be able to provide him his fantasy. Make him feel— make him fall, fall into either devotion or obsession. He wouldn’t be able to continue feeling what he’d felt lately, either, since he’d started using Tracey.

But he had to take her to Designed-Oblivion. He had to find out what was going on. He had to learn why Marvella had appeared here.

Hector was dressed now. He looked back at Marvella, who’d moved into the room to clear the doorway.

“Designed-Oblivion is in this neighborhood now—”

She told him which one.

“And at this address—”

She told him which address.

“If you ride the train to this stop—”

She told him which stop.

“Then when you’re there, if you go to the third floor, you’ll find the picture of living-death there. And if you continue on to—”

She told him where.

“Then you’ll find the subsumption-machines. And if you arrive at them— you really can kill her. As I said. You how to program them. They really did program it right, that time. She just has a resilient mind. But you’ve done a lot to break her down since then. And if you’re the one to put her in this time, it will just shatter her. It will have the desired effect on her, finally. She’ll become nothing more than a destroyed-good.”

Marvella gave him a small smile, and a small flutter of her fingers in a wave. Marvella had given him very specific information, offered him more temptation but…

So many questions, and would he ever get the answers to any of them? Had Tracey left Marvella with a key to her new apartment? And most importantly, what had Marvella been doing all this time that she’d been keeping hidden?

He wanted to know. But he also wondered what was wrong inside of him. He had an idea of what some of his issues were. Yet he couldn’t explain why he felt he could neither ask for explanation of nor delay the course of action that lay ahead of him. He wanted to ask Marvella his questions and make her answer, but he was the problem in this equation. Everything in him, which had only grown stronger on what had happened recently with Tracey, was against him. So much of him was more interested in giving in to his baser desires. So much of him preferred the idea of that over everything else. He couldn’t now redirect that impulse. He was in the grip of his obsession. He had to go along with it.

And Marvella had somehow known how to speak directly to his baser desires, speaking in a language they could understand. He didn’t feel he’d been directed, though. He didn’t feel he’d been controlled into this. She hadn’t, technically, done anything to him which was direct. She’d only spoken in a way his baser desires could understand, and now it was his own wants that were causing him to act.

He took Tracey by the arm and pulled her out of the apartment, intending on a final course of reinforcement for her. But promised himself still— he wouldn’t kill her.

Hector pulled Tracey by the arm, and started walking her out in public. Tracey was going toward the new experience frightened. She had to face it. There was no escaping it. They were going to have this experience. It was too late to evade this experience, and there was nothing that could be done now. They were just going to have it.

As they walked down the street, Hector shifted the grip he had on her. Shifted the grip so his arm was linked through hers, so he was no longer as obviously dragging her by hand.

She felt the way she’d felt when those temporary destroyed-goods had come to abduct her. They’d found ways to walk near her without looking suspicious. So of course now Hector was demonstrating the same tactic. Those destroyed-goods had come to her through him, because it had really been his power directing her all through that experience. She was receiving the same power directly now, or she was receiving it directly from its source. Just like she was taking the poison that was him directly from its source. She felt she was guzzling his poison more recklessly than she ever had.

And he was leading her now, leading her by the place their arms were linked together, walking her to the nearest transit-station.

She felt she was trapped inside a strange inversion of what had happened before. Once, she had been the one to lead him, by wandering ahead and letting him watch. Now he was the one leading her. He was the one who’d assumed control and authority. He was leading them both forward, by continuing to walk.

They were entering the transit-station. They were entering the transit-station and they were going to get on a train, just as they’d so often done earlier. But they’d never been this close any of those times— had never been touching. And they were touching. Tracey couldn’t help her enjoyment of that.

He was leading them, but he was only leading them toward harm and damage.

He leaned in close to her ear— whispered to her now. To anyone watching them, it might have looked like he was whispering adoration to her.

“If you really didn’t fully die in the subsumption-machine, if what Marvella implied to me was really true, then I suppose you what we did earlier, too. You walking ahead of me. You me following you. And you all the trains we rode, don’t you?”

Tracey shrunk into herself. He was just playing with her. He was just, just playing with her!

She tried to pull her arm free of his. “Hector, I don’t— I don’t want to go, I don’t want to do this!”

He pinned her arm more tightly between his own and his body.

“That doesn’t matter, Tracey. I’m making you go.”

Something in her sagged. She couldn’t now only be the costume. That wasn’t acceptable to him anymore. Now it was like he was asking her to perform her role for him, like he wanted her to do that. All that time he’d never known she was performing, and now he wanted her to perform. Now he suspected.

“It will be good, Tracey. You’ll like it. You like the experiences I give you, don’t you? I have every right to decide what happens to you, don’t I?”

That scared her again. “No, please, I don’t want to go—” But she’d leaned in and whispered it back— still co-operating that much.

“Don’t you feel sorry for me, Tracey? You’ve always felt sorry for me, haven’t you, in this past while we’ve been in each other’s company again? You know how much it destroyed me to see you die. I guess, now, if you didn’t really fully die, you understood that then and understand it still. So don’t you owe this to me? You let me think you really died. You let that destroy me.”

She flinched at hearing what he’d just said. That twitch had probably been interpreted differently too, if it had been seen.

“So now you have to make it up to me, and this is what I want. Do it.”

He’d said he’d make her do it— and that had been a hypothetical, something not yet done. But now he was doing that. He hadn’t even used an overt method to ensure her co-operation. He was just taunting her with the past, with further earlier events. That had stopped her resistiveness.

There’d been something manic in his manner, too. Something almost unhinged. She feared that, feared him even more.

They traveled. They rode the train.

They were going to Designed-Oblivion and she knew they were, now. She’d known at the moment it had become clear that Hector was going to listen to Marvella.

They were going to Designed-Oblivion, Hector was taking her to Designed-Oblivion, as once she had taken him there.

But there were doing more than just going to Designed-Oblivion. He was taking her to the site of his destruction. All the pain he’d cowed her with in mention had been born there, in the place he’d thought he’d seen her die. He was making her go there.

And just now, he was sitting beside her on the train as it went, keeping his arm linked through hers so she couldn’t pull away. That was only ive force though, and the true force here had come from the manipulating statement he’d just spoken to her. The thing really forcing her to go was that statement. It had raised in her her sense of guilt, and her desire to soothe and be the comforting thing.

Those impulses in her were the reason he’d been able to get her to make herself the costume. And they were the reason he’d gotten her to go along with this, now. He’d compelled, she’d tried to resist, and now nothing else would happen.

The train moved on. At the appropriate stop Marvella had told Hector to exit at, Hector stood and she stood with him. It caused a pang in her to realize everyone watching them must think they were such a sweet couple they just wanted to keep their arms linked together constantly.

Hector led them both again. They walked off the train and out through the transit-station, then began walking through the ramshackle neighborhood of the ilk Designed-Oblivion tended to appear in.

When they approached the abandoned building it was being hosted in today, Tracey’s sense of co-operation broke again.

“You can’t take me in there!” Now there was no one to see, or think what Hector was doing was suspicious; try to help her.

But that also meant there was no one to keep up appearances for. She really truly tried to struggle against him, tried to rip her arm out from under where he had it pinned near his body. Tried to rip her arm, rip herself away, throw herself back. If she could only get free of him, even if she had to throw herself on the ground to do it! She’d get up and she would run. She didn’t care how much she loved him in this moment. She didn’t care how desperate she usually was to provide him anything he wanted. She would try to flee if she could.

She was pulling and pulling, struggling and struggling.

Where had this impulse in her been before? Something like it should have appeared before she’d found Marvella. Then maybe she would have taken a better path in her life. And if life had been kind, it would have led her to Hector, and they could have been something before they were this broken, something better before they were both broken, something at all.

“Tracey,” Hector said. Not sounding dismayed, but sounding a little dismissively judgemental. “There’s no avoiding this now,” he told her. He kept her one arm pinned, and now he wrapped his other arm around her. Pulling her so she was in an embrace against him.

She sagged into him for a minute. He was still what she craved, what her body craved. Embraces like this one— were still what she craved, and what her body craved. He’d turned her against herself on so many levels. There was so much going for him, and so much going against her.

“There is no evading now,” he added. “This is what we have to do. This is what we’re going to do.”

She knew. It was just too late. She should have had this impulse earlier. She’d only had it once, that time Marvella had stopped her from running. Tracey should have brought it back in herself after that— but she never had. Now it was too late.

Hector was still embracing her with that embrace that made her sag. With that embrace that she felt was giving her the thing she craved. But the embrace was also constraining. She understood he was giving it to her also to restrain her. If she’d been able to go on pulling at the arm he’d had pinned she probably would have gotten free after a moment or two more.

Now he had both his arms around her— tight, like they were binding her. No matter how she struggled in this position, she wasn’t going to be able to get free. He was giving her what she craved but only incidentally. The reason he was doing that at all was just because he wanted to have control of her body. It was because he wanted to have control of her behavior. And this embrace gave him those things.

Why couldn’t she have that impulse for flight in this context? She should be angry he was holding her this way. If she wanted to defend herself and get away from his hold, she should be trying to stomp down on his feet, knee at his legs, slide down his body to get out from his arms and then roll or scuttle away. But now he was holding her, she was just standing there and letting it happen.

And that impulse shouldn’t only be in her— it should be changing things in her heart. She should want him less, since he was treating badly. She should want him less since he was being this cruel.

His behavior should make all her emotions shut off, should make them all turn off easily. But it hadn’t done that. Wasn’t doing that.

“That’s better,” Hector said. Clearly he’d seen that she wasn’t struggling anymore, at least for the moment.

“You’re the costume I made you, aren’t you? Now you have to perform your old role— you were playing one, weren’t you?”

Yes— that confirmed for Tracey that seeing Marvella had aroused all kinds of suspicions for him.

He let go of her, but this time she didn’t try to run. This time, that impulse wasn’t in her.

“Go into the building,” he remarked. “You heard what Marvella said. She really did used to tell you where Designed-Oblivion would be that day. She was the one who used to tell you, wasn’t she? Not Fredrick. She didn’t mean to tell you today. She only wanted to tell me. But you heard as well as I did. You know where to find the picture of living-death.”

He was marching her ahead of him without even touching her. And following her. She felt him following her, heard his steps behind her. She was leading— playing the role for him, but she had nothing like the kind of power of influence she’d once had when she’d previously led him like this. She was leading and he was following, but this time she was leading because he was making her. He was still the one directing their journey. And he was only directing it toward harm and damage.

She had heard what Marvella had said, though.

She moved into the abandoned building, and up its first few flights of stairs to the floor Marvella had indicated. She moved from the stairs onto that floor, and across it.

After a while, the picture of living-death came in view. It was unchanged, apart from some of the particular details of its adornment. It had been dressed differently today, and posed differently. But it was still on the display-throne. It wasn’t wearing the magenta suit-skirt combo Tracey had a copy of. It was dressed in periwinkle blue, dressed in a blue dress of that shade and wearing a matching shawl that rested comfortably at both bends of its elbows.

Tracey was standing before the picture of living-death now. She didn’t know what Hector expected of her anymore. She’d done what he’d said, but he hadn’t give her follow-up directions. Hadn’t indicated what she should do once she got here.

And now as she looked at the picture of living-death, she was not unaffected. Seeing it heightened her fear.

“If you were playing a role,” Hector said, coming to stand beside her, “then I guess you never felt the way you pretended to feel when you kneeled in front of her. She wasn’t an ideal to you. You didn’t feel reverence. You only wanted me to think you did.” Every word he spoke was dripping with malice.

“What do you feel when you look at her now?” he asked.

“Now I’m scared,” she said. And this was only occurring to her now. She’d so long wanted to say something authentic to him, something honest. And now it was finally happening, but in the worst context possible. If they hadn’t been so damaged, both of them so damaged, this could have happened in better contexts, kinder contexts. If she could have found him instead of Marvella…

“You should be scared.” And he was only saying that to damage her even more cruelly— she believed that. “You should be scared, because Marvella appearing earlier has made a lot of things add up for me. I’m going to get explanations out of you, even if it hurts you.”

He took hold of her again. The picture of living-death’s eyes were closed as ever. No one could see what was happening to her.

Today the wardrobe had been set up in front of the throne and to the side of it. Hector had taken forceful hold of her, and now he shoved her into the side of the wardrobe. He’d forced her with a driving step, and now he was holding her body against the wardrobe there, trapping her against it. But she could still see the display-throne.

“Tell me,” he said, pinning her into it hard enough to hurt her. “Tell me why you were performing, how Marvella was involved, and why she was the one calling you, telling you where Designed-Oblivion would be, instead of Fredrick.”

He had driven her with a driving step, and now he was trying to drive her with what he did here. He pushed her harder into the wardrobe, making it hurt more.

He’d dominated her sexually several times now, but this felt like the greatest showing of physical dominance he’d ever made.

And he was doing it to her now for real answers. Nothing about this interaction was following laid-out design. As when Marvella— Marvella—

He had Tracey constrained against the wardrobe. Still holding her, but it was hurting her. Still trapping her, driving her, pushing her.

“Fredrick was still real, wasn’t he? You discarded yourself for him, for a stronger man, because you were pathetic.”

That pain could manipulate her too. But he was speaking of that moment of discard— as a reproach. Not a tragedy that showed her own pre-existing damage. He still didn’t understand anything about that. But maybe he’d successfully drive that explanation from her.

“Fredrick wasn’t real,” she said.

“Ah,” Hector said. “That other man was illusion too. Only another part of the performance.”

He was hurting her so much where he had her pinned. It brought that impulse to flee out in her again. She struggled to fight free once more, but he just kept constraining her.

“You’d have liked it if he were real though. Wouldn’t you have liked that? You’d have liked belonging to someone that established, someone with all that security. You’d have wanted someone like that to take care of you. You’d even have died if they’d told you to. Someone as established as Fredrick’s role portrayed him to be… someone as fit, and well-maintained and strong… someone as attractive.”

His jealousy was hurting her too.

“Please,” she begged, because he was causing her so much physical pain. That pain had shocked her mind clear, and in that clarity, the only thought which could enter was— the thought that if she did give him the explanation she was looking for, he might finally spare her.

“I’ve just told you. There wasn’t a man like that, there was only Marvella. And— I did have good intentions, later. I did perform the way Marvella told me to, trained me to. But when I saw what had happened to you, when I saw what it had really done to you to believe I was dead, I had good intentions. I tried to run. I wanted to spare us all of this. I couldn’t do anything about it by then. Marvella’s a telepath, Hector. She knew I was going to try and run and she showed up to stop me. She— shifted something in my mind so it would never be possible to leave our situation. I would have left, I didn’t— want us to damage each other any more—

“I did— I did, though, I did pretend to be Fredrick’s belonging even though he was only illusion. He was just another destroyed-good of Marvella’s who played the role for her just that once. I pretended to be his belonging. I pretended I wanted to belong to him, craved and depended on him.

“Marvella did what we led you to believe Fredrick did. And Marvella did what you’ve done to me since, but she did it first. She taught me how she wanted me to behave— the way you’ve taught me how you want me to behave. You made me the costume, but she made me a costume before you did. She taught me behavior, she gave me all the guidelines. Made it so I’d know— so I’d know— so I could catch you with my performance.

“But you’ve made me do all the same things. Coached me into a different kind of performance, made me a new costume. You didn’t let me be myself, either. You weren’t the first one to show me that kind of treatment—”

He slammed her against the wardrobe again, and it stopped her from saying, neither was Marvella.

“How could you? How could give a performance like that? I hate you for showing me a character like that. Everything you showed me was all illusion— and you entranced me with my own desire! Drew me down to the level of my baser instincts.”

As Hector slammed Tracey into the wardrobe again, he couldn’t help but think that her entrancement of him had been skillfully and beautifully done. Couldn’t help but think that was still true, no matter how resentful he was of it now.

He wanted more answers from her, though. He wanted more explanations. This was where his obsession had led them to, and it was going to lead them still further. He didn’t want to let go of her for a moment. He wanted full say over even where her body was positioned and what was happening to it. And in this moment, he was very pleased to be causing her pain. Very pleased to be hurting her. He didn’t want to stop hurting her.

But he could accomplish more elsewhere, he thought. He let some of his vengeful anger dissipate— only some. He pulled her away from the side of the wardrobe, holding her arm under-hand as he had not allowed himself to do in public.

“Come along again, Tracey. We’re going to go find the subsumption-machines.”