...But Is It Really Mind Control?

I admit it: I'm a purist. There's a lot of stuff on the EMCSA that I just don't consider real mind control.

Some of it's what I call body control: the controller takes such a firm handle on the victim's erogenous zones that the victim will submit to anything in order to get her or his needs satisfied. Or else the victim finds his or her body completely controlled by an outside force and watches helplessly as s/he is made to do things s/he really doesn't want to do. Folks, it's not mind control if the mind is completely free to protest.

Then there are the "possession" stories, much rarer on the EMCSA but still out there. An outside force takes control of a victim and destroys or shunts aside the victim's personality, replacing it with his/her/its own. Again, that's just not mind control; it's replacement.

No, mind control is taking the mind that's there and altering it somehow: binding it, paralyzing it, molding its thoughts and desires like Play Dough. Mind control is putting a leash on someone's will - and, ideally, teaching them to love it.

Not that I don't occasionally enjoy stories about body control or possession; in fact, I have at least one of them on my Reader's Picks page (I've never told the author what I really think about her/his story because in the end it didn't matter; the story was still damn hot). I just don't necessarily think that kind of stuff belongs on a site called The Erotic Mind Control Story Archive.

Edited to Add: I've just been surfing Model Mayhem again - just can't say enough good things about that site. Anyway, is this, or is this not, one of the best "mindfucked" pics you've ever seen?

A Pinch of This, a Dash of That

Just a few random, disconnected notes tonight; it's been a long two weeks.

First, one friend has already asked me about my use of the name Marina in my new story, and I'm sure there are plenty more of you out there wondering, so I'll just go ahead and answer you all now. No, I didn't name the character in the story after Marina St. Mark, at least not consciously. The fact is that I see that first name on a file at work from time to time, coupled with a Hispanic last name that flows from it quite beautifully. My Marina's surname was originally going to be Italian, but I changed my mind and found another nice combination of Hispanic syllables to gift her with, as you'll see once the whole story is posted.

Speaking of which, I finished the rough draft last night and will have some time to start polishing over the weekend. It usually takes me about two weeks or so to work and rework things to my perfectionist satisfaction, so you can probably expect to see "Mirrored in Your Eyes" on the EMCSA sometime in mid-to-late July.

Now let's stir a new ingredient into the blog mix. Evil Dolly recently sent me an e-mail inviting me to read one of her stories. Okay, first, let me be very clear about this: I normally cringe at such requests, because as a former English teacher, I have very high standards when it comes to writing; yet at the same time, I hate to be cruel. So most of the time I end up taking a quick look at the first paragraph of a story; come away cringing even harder; and then respond to the writer as briefly and politely as I can. You are hereby warned: don't ask me to look at your stuff unless a) you know it's hot shit, or b) you know it needs a lot of work and are looking for advice. Anyway, Evil Dolly gave me a pleasant surprise by delivering a really hot, well-written robot fetish story with MC undertones called "Ex Machina," which you can find here, if you're so inclined.

I haven't read anything else on Evil Dolly's site, but I do recall her sending me another piece a year or so ago which made me cringe even more at the outset, yet still left me smiling in the end. She took it upon herself to write a brief sequel to A Tenpack of Trixies. Now, please, folks, do not mess with my stuff - or if you do, for crying out loud, have the courtesy not to wave it in my face. I still shudder to think of the absolutely repulsive addition to Sucker Punch that a certain buffoon once posted on the old MC Forum. Evil Dolly did a nice job, though. I wouldn't suggest she do it again (;-)), but she got away with it that time, and actually came up with a scenario I could approve of. As for the rest of you, don't go there.

Heh, just for a second there, I felt a wee bit Dommish. ;-) Must be that story I'm working on.

Anyway, back to the shelf for a new ingredient. I owe a belated thanks to Andre Marchandise for offering up his own fetish photography site for viewing in a comment under my "Free Fetish Stuff" post. Niiice pics of Kumi Monster in lace and spikes. :-) Unfortunately, I didn't see his comment until several days after he posted it, and then I couldn't find an e-mail address to send him a thank-you. So here you go, Andre: merci beaucoup, and may your site find much business.

And now for the icing on the cake. I've just stopped by the Hypnopics Collective to find that Tabico has posted some scrumptious new photomanips. I'd link you directly to her page, but URL's on the Collective have a strange way of migrating, so I'll just let you find your own way to her album. Don't worry; I'm sure you'll have fun getting there.

My First Interview

Just a quick note to say that my fellow EMCSA writer sara castle was kind enough to make me the guinea pig in her newest experiment at the MC Garden, "On the 'Good' Doctor's Couch." This is the first in a planned series of interviews with various EMCSA writers, so be on the lookout for more in the coming weeks or months. In the meantime, here's my interview. Note that replies to this post are in a separate thread, linked at the bottom of the page.

Thanks again, sara. I really enjoyed the experience.

And the Dance of the Veils Goes On....

Well, I really haven't much time to write this week, but the story is still coming along nicely - in my head, anyway. Next week I should have more of a chance to actually write things down. In the meantime, as promised, here's a sneak peek at the opening scene. I suspect you'll think I'm even more of a tease after reading this!

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"slave."

i turned, though there were other slaves in the vicinity and none of us had individual designations. we all turned, as we were conditioned to do.

The speaker was a lovely young woman with long, wavy black hair; olive skin; and kohl-rimmed eyes half-hidden behind designer sunglasses. Lady Marina. i was not allowed to form opinions of the young women who commanded me, but i did notice a special tingle whenever this one looked my way. As she did now.

i placed my hands against my forehead, palms out, and spread them while bowing: the traditional symbol that my mind was hers to command.

She gestured me over and i knelt at her feet, crouching until my forehead touched the sand. "How may i please you, Lady?" i murmured, raising my head just far enough to see her face.

She stretched languorously in her lounge chair, slyly watching my mirrored eyes track across her perfect breasts and legs. "you like my body, don't you, slave?"

"Of course, Lady. You are beyond beautiful."

She touched a finger to her lips in teasing thought. "But do you like it because you're programmed to like it, or do you like girls *all* the time?"

i blinked. i had no way to process a question such as that, but obedience demanded a response. "Lady, i must apologize, but i cannot answer you properly as i have no memory of my life before internship. i do not know what my sexual preference was."

She reached to stroke my naked breast, a casual gesture of both ownership and affection. "I remember you," she purred. "Would you like me to tell you about yourself?"

i bowed my head. "Lady, you know i would not be able to process the knowledge. The nanites in my brain--"

She cut me off with a chuckle. "I know. you can't even hear your own name now, can you, -----?" A sound left her lips, but it made no sense to me, and i forgot it the instant i heard it.

A little thrill electrified me from clit to skull as i considered just how tightly my mind was bound. i had been a person once - and would be again, when my internship was over - but for now i was a nameless, will-less slave. And thanks to the wisdom of the Dominants, i reveled in every second of it.

It was not in me to question how much of my arousal was my own and how much was generated by nanites and chemicals. All i knew - all i was allowed to know - was that the Dominants did everything they could to make the population *want* slavery. Our Founders, whose Supreme Dominance was unassailable even hundreds of years later, had stipulated that no citizen be forced permanently into a role not of his or her own choosing. On the other hand, the world did run more smoothly with a pliant populace. And most jobs were best performed by workers who never grew bored or distracted or just plain lazy. So anyone who might be willing to entertain the notion of permanent submission was encouraged to do so by every means possible. Internship was the prime example. Every citizen had the chance to experience six months of total submission in his or her late teens. There were no exceptions.

Really, ours was the best of all possible worlds; the nanites assured me of this. The only truly unhappy citizens were those who lacked the will for Dominance yet feared the ecstasy of surrender. Oh, our Rulers made allowances for perversity both small and great; the Constitution demanded it. There were varying levels of submission available to the hesitant, and the truly deviant were always free to eke out their miserable existence far from civilized society. In fact, our Rulers had set aside a small continent in the southern hemisphere just for them.

The Dominants held all the power, and submissives who retained a bit of free will and who possessed the right skill sets could rise quite high; but it was those who gave themselves up completely to slavery who lived the happiest lives. The nanites assured me of this even as they kept me from questioning the idea. In fact, they *told* me they were keeping me from it, and then told me how good that felt. i had no choice but to agree.

Some day, roughly six months from now, i would complete my internship and be restored to personhood. Then I would decide whether permanent submission was right for me - and if so, just what kind of permanent submission. Or perhaps I'd realize (remember?) that I was a Domme. There would be no internship to help me decide if that were the case; Dominants just rose naturally to the top like the cream they were.

Anyway, right now i couldn't even *consider* the idea of being a Domme, nor did i want to. submission was absolute heaven.

Watching me, Lady Marina's lips curled in a charming smirk. "I'm going to grant you a favor, slave," she announced. "I'm going to let you oil my body." i bowed again in acknowledgement of the joined honor and command. Then i crept to the bottle of suntan oil and poured some into my palm.

my own skin, like that of all submissives, was impervious to the sun's rays. A silvery layer of epidermal nanites protected us from most forms of damage - and also marked us as being less human than machine. Only a Dominant (or an untested schoolgirl like Lady Marina) displayed Her or His natural skin to the world. A suntan was a mark of prestige.

As i slid my slave-marked palms across her body, Lady Marina plugged a cable into the tech-jack behind her right ear, pretending to ignore me while she absorbed her lessons for the day. i could tell, though, from the way her nipples rose beneath the tiny triangles of her bikini, that she was enjoying my ministrations. slaves were conditioned to notice such things.

The Lady's body arced into my hands, inviting them to close in across her chest. my programming steered me true, allowing me to anticipate her needs and meet them before she could even think to command me. my hands slid beneath the fabric of her top, gently massaging her breasts; then squeezing, kneading, gently tweaking her nipples.

my own body was on fire. my nipples, which had been stiff silver nubbins from the first moment of my internship, felt hard as diamonds now. my cunt was as slick as the Lady's oiled body, and my clit quivered with the kind of need a slave had no right to feel - or, at least, to fulfill - on her own.

Without warning, Lady Marina grabbed my right hand and plunged it beneath her bikini bottom, deep inside her snatch. She screamed as i began automatically to tickle her clit with my thumb while simultaneously plunging one finger, then two, and finally three deep inside her - in and out, in and out, more quickly than any mere human could have managed. Slave reflexes were augmented for just such occasions as this.

A whine built deep inside me as i felt the Lady approach climax. my only desire was to make her come, yet this desire burned so brightly within me that completing it would quench my own flames, too. That was the way of slavery.

Lady Marina flung her arms and legs around me, bucking her hips hard around my hand and shrieking like a siren.

i had serviced other girls at the Academy before now, but never any who had reacted as strongly as this. Pleasing my Lady so thoroughly made me feel as though i were exploding from the clit outward. Only the nanite reinforcements held me upright as orgasm turned my legs to jelly.

Eventually Lady Marina looked up at me and grinned. Her sunglasses had slid all the way to her chin, and her warm brown eyes sparkled with glee. "-----," she said, using my name again, "you are absolutely the best slave ever. Absolutely perfect."

I'm Such a Tease

The new story is coming along well, and though it's nowhere close to finished yet, I thought you might like a hint of what's to come. So here's the title block, as it stands now. Next time I'll give you a glimpse of the first scene.

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"Mirrored in Your Eyes"

by thrall

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synopsis: In a future where Dominance and submission are the driving forces of society, schoolgirls are forced to experience a bit of both worlds...and then choose.

color code: red

story codes: mc, nc, sf, rb

Note: If you are not at least eighteen years of age, this story is not for you. Go away.

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Your Third Peek Beneath the Duct Tape: A Tenpack of Trixies

This time I'm going to give you a bit more background on A Tenpack of Trixies. In the introduction to that story, I mentioned that it all started with a dream in which I was the first in a line of identical slavegirls, walking hand-in-hand, pressed tightly together, as the Trixies are in the opening scene of my story (and as the Stepford Cuckoos almost are in this pic I posted once before). There wasn't much more to the dream than that; I had to craft the rest of the story the hard way, with my conscious mind.

But there is another piece to the puzzle which I've only revealed to a couple of people before now. Not often, but occasionally, I model certain characters on real-life actors and actresses. For instance, I've already told you that John Dominic in What Do You Give the Man Who Has Everything? is really Jude Law; and somewhere down the line I'll tell you about Penelope and Daphne in Raggedy Anne (Here I go, teasing you again. Sorry, I just can't help myself. ;-)).

But maybe you've guessed whom Nicole and Naomi are based on already. After all, I didn't even change their first names or their physical appearances. And Nicole Kidman and Naomi Watts are famously...chummy...in real life, as this site will attest. I'll just give you a few thumbnails of some of the tastiest pics here; if you want the larger versions (in some cases, much larger), just follow the link. Trust me, it's worth the trip. ;-)

My Secret Identity

All those superheroes you see in movies and read about in comic books, the ones who have so much angst about leading a double life? Well, I think I know how they feel. Here I am, a notorious writer of the kinkiest sort of lesbian fetish porn, yet in real life I come across more like a human-sized hobbit. I even look like a hobbit, if you subtract a few inches and add some hairy feet. I love eating and laughter and avoid risk whenever possible. I'm the kind of person people feel embarrassed to curse around. My boss calls me "darlin'" - and not in a sexual way. I go to church (a very liberal one with a mostly gay congregation) and take my faith very seriously.

But again, here I am, a notorious writer of the kinkiest sort of lesbian fetish porn.

Only four people know me in both my identities: a former girlfriend who quickly got squicked out by my writing; the love of my life, who thinks my stories are hot as hell; and two longtime e-mail friends with kinks of their own. But sometimes it's hard not exposing my secret to anyone else. Oh, I cover my tracks pretty thoroughly on my computer; the problem is, sometimes I just find myself wanting to tell someone. A male coworker who knows I'm gay will point out a pretty woman and ask what I think of her, and I'll have to bite my tongue to keep from saying, "Oh, she's cute enough, but she's no Susan Wayland." Or I'll be watching a movie with a friend or family member, and an MC element will creep into the plot, and I'll suddenly feel stark-naked exposed even though I'm careful not to move a muscle. Or someone will curse in front of me and then apologize, or gasp when I let slip a "damn"; and I'll stifle a giggle as I think, "If they only knew how I talk in my stories."

For years I've thought of myself as a closet exhibitionist. The fact is, I want people to know the truth about me, even as I dread their finding out. I'm so conflicted that I've even hidden variations of my real name in a couple of my stories (And no, I'm not going to tell you which ones).

Who's Peter Parker's therapist? I need to look him or her up.