Another Peek Beneath the Duct Tape: Mirrored in Your Eyes

SPOILER ALERT: Please don't read this blog entry until after you've finished the story. I'm going to discuss some important plot points here.

Okay, still with me? Well, "Mirrored in Your Eyes," as I mentioned several blog entries ago, is yet another of my dreams-turned-stories. This dream had a bit more plot to it than most of mine do, and I've stayed fairly true to that plot as I've fleshed it out into a story. Here's the gist of the dream, minus the bits where my conscious struggled with my unconscious mind over how things should go:

I was at a school, staring into a mirrored wall and wishing I could be MC'ed. Suddenly my pupils expanded and I spun off down the hall, marching toward some unknown, programmed destination. I was wearing a schoolgirl's plaid miniskirt with latex suspenders and nothing else. Soon I heard a piano playing, and I followed the music into a room with a bunch of schoolkids and a teacher or two, all of whom had gathered around a girl playing the piano. She looked just as I describe Marina in the story. The whole room fell back in alarm when I entered because they knew why I was there: to capture one of them and make him or her like me. The girl pulled out a stun gun and tried to shoot me, but I shot her first, then carried her off down the hall in a wheelbarrow. Eventually I came to the office, where the administrators strapped the girl to a table. I knew now that I would help pleasure her into slavery and afterwards be released, myself. Then I'd get to choose whether I wanted to be a Domme or a sub for life. The dream faded out at that point; but somewhere later in the night, still in a dreamlike state, I realized that not only did I want to be a sub, but I wanted that particular girl to be my Domme.

Karen is mostly me, with a few red herrings and a couple of in-jokes added for flavor. Her thoughts and actions are pretty much what I'd expect mine to be if I lived in a world like hers. Marina isn't based on anyone in particular (and to reiterate, I didn't borrow her first name from Marina St. Mark; I got if from a file at work), but I really do like her physical type. Fortunately, I have three adorable young coworkers of varying ethnicities who more or less fit the bill. No doubt they were one inspiration for my dream.

The corset karen wears in an early scene really exists; you can see it for yourself here. Isn't it gorgeous? I so want one. ;-) Marina's gown in that same scene is a confabulation of a lot of different costumes I've seen over the years. I suppose Moulin Rouge was probably the biggest inspiration there.

Sappho came late to the party, but was most welcome. I was thinking of ways to flesh out Marina and karen's relationship and decided that some poetry from the Mother of all Lesbians might be nice, so I googled her and was amazed to find several pieces that fit just perfectly into my story. If you're interested in reading more of Sappho's work, there are plenty of websites available; but I used this one and this one.

Marina's brainwashing scene was, in large part, scavenged from one of my oldest MC fantasies of all. I think I was about 11 when I first came up with the basic scenario of the girl strapped to the table, the will-wiping drug, the shrinking and expanding irises that signified her struggle, and the eventual turning of her eyes to silver. Of course, the three mocking Dommes were one mocking Dom back then; but the biggest difference was that in my old fantasy, the girl was faking her brainwashing with the help of the doctor (also just pretending to be brainwashed) and some Bene Gesserit-like body-control techniques. Do you sense that I was a bit conflicted over my fetish back then? Well, I think I've got that sorted out now. ;-)

And so on to the ending....I bet you were expecting something a little darker from me, eh? In fact, I actually counted on it to heighten the drama. Hey, if I wasn't notorious for nasty endings, you might never have had any doubts about whether or not Karen would get her Domme. I do hope, though, that I played up the mystery enough to keep new readers guessing. Anyway, as I've said before on the EMCSA and elsewhere, I do have my 'mantic side; and I felt such strong emotion for the olive-skinned girl from my dream that I couldn't have ended my story any other way.

Don't get too used to the nice thrall, though. My Muse hands me a semi-traditional happy ending every once in awhile, but Her gifts are much more likely to come bound in black.

Notes Wrapped in Tentacles

Best news first: I've just e-mailed the final draft of "Mirrored in Your Eyes" to Simon, so expect to see it in the next EMCSA update. Then stop back by here for a "Peek Beneath the Duct Tape" on the story.

Next, remember that guy I mentioned who didn't seem too worried about being sued for posting all those Susan Wayland pictures? Well, guess what? His site's gone. I imagine the final straw for Sway's lawyers was when he started asking people to pay him to view the pics. Real genius, that guy...but I am going to miss his site. He had a lot of great fetish stuff to share.

Anyway, onward. I'm still exploring Model Mayhem and just recently discovered a picture that somehow managed not to make it onto the Cthulhu Lhust list, even though it very definitely belongs there. If you're into anime, manga, cute young Japanese schoolgirls, tentacles, or any combination thereof, you'll definitely want to have a look at this.

Oh, and speaking of Model Mayhem lists, I've been toying with the idea of creating one of my own, probably calling it "The Ecstasy of Submission." Those two MC-themed pics I shared with you recently would be at the top of the list, and I could easily come up with twenty or thirty others to follow them. Of course, I can't create an official Model Mayhem list because I'd have to be a member to do that; and I'm not eligible for membership since I'm not actually involved in the modeling industry. Tch, snobs. ;-) Anyway, it would be easy enough for me to post a page of thumbnails on my Yahoo/Geocities account, each linking you back to a page at Model Mayhem. I'm seriously considering the idea, but the problem is time, so don't expect anything too soon. Eventually, though. I hope.

I Just Can't Get Enough

Okay, I promise I'll do another polish on "Mirrored in Your Eyes" over the weekend and probably get it sent off to Simon next week. But in the meantime, I'm just having way too much fun exploring Model Mayhem. Like I said before in my "Free Fetish Stuff" post, one link leads to another, and you can just go on forever. I've just added a new set of links to the right-hand sidebar of this blog specifically to showcase my favorite Model Mayhem pages. Expect that list to grow in succeeding days. As for now, just let me point you toward the work of one specific photographer with a huge, varied collection both on Model Mayhem and on OneModelPlace: Jeffery Scott. He's got the goth chicks, the women warriors, the gynoids, and a whole slew of other freaky stuff that's well worth a look. Just be sure to use those "prev" and "next" links at the top of individual pictures so you don't miss the ones that don't have thumbnails. Those are usually the best of all. :-) Here's just a taste to get you started. There now, doesn't that make you want to see more?

...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."