Content Warning: This story deals in dark themes, including relationship trauma and death.

I hope you enjoy this mind control story. It came to me in a nightmare.

Puppeteered

Gracie hated the old house. Hated visiting it. The memories of the place. Coming back was never easy, but Harold was acting so strange when he called. Exasperated, but tired. He sounded sick. Old.

The future she thought she would have with him felt like it evaporated with the house. When Harold’s grandfather passed and Harold thought it was a blessing. To have a home in this economy. Even if it was out in the sticks.

Gracie hated the country too. Loved the buzz of the city. The spark of life on every corner. That died in their relationship when she moved to the rural farmhouse. Died in every suggestion to modernize, spend some money and make it their own which Harold ignored. She didn’t want a museum, filled with strange, ancient relics from someone else’s life.

She knocked on the old oak door, nestled in a frame of flecking white paint. The whole house was peeling. It looked as if the wind was washing it away from the landscape, piece by piece.

No answer.

“Harold?” she called.

Still nothing. The creaking of a shutter the only sound from the remote farmhouse.

It gave her the creeps. Leaning to look through the window beside the door she saw nothing but an empty hallway. Next Gracie walked to the living room window, and there she saw Harold, at last. His eyes sunken, surrounded by deep black. His lips shrivelled and coarse. She could only see him from the shoulders up, her head barely reached over the windowsill.

He was moving, almost vibrating. She knocked on the window. “Harold, open up.”

Harold opened his mouth a little, a sliver of drool trailing from it, dangling. To his right, the top of a small head seemed to be bobbing in the room. Gracie wondered if someone was there with him.

“Hey, let me in!”

Still nothing. The man she was once engaged to had turned from a vibrant, toned country boy to a skinny shell. His cheekbones were too prominent. Too sharp. Something was very wrong.

Gracie jogged to the front door and tried it. No one ever locked their doors way out in the countryside. Harold was no exception; the handle fell and she pushed open the wooden door with a low metallic groan.

The living room was the first left off the hallway. Bare floorboards bent beneath her feet. The place was disintegrating. A sheen of dust lingered on everything. Up the stairs, the attic door hung open, a faint light pouring down from it. Gracie turned into the living room and let out a gasp, then clasped her hand over her mouth.

Sitting on the sofa was a husk shaped like Harold. So bony and slim he was barely alive. He was completely naked, save for one thing. In his left hand he was manipulating a puppet. A creepy little thing with beady black eyes, crimson red lips and a black dress into which Harold’s hand vanished. In his right hand was Harold’s throbbing, erect penis, which he was pumping up and down in a consistent, even rhythm.

Harold didn’t even look at his ex-fiancée. The puppet did. Its face turned to look at her and Gracie found herself staring at it. She could have sworn it smiled.

“Harold what the hell is going on?”

Harold ignored her. Gracie looked into his empty eyes. He wore a half-smile, but he looked almost dead. As if the life had been drained from him.

“He’s not here right now, sweetie.”

The voice was Harold’s, but pitched up. Two mouths moved. Harold’s and the puppet’s. She sat in an armchair opposite him and shook her head.

“What the fuck? Is this some kind of insane prank?”

Harold’s hand didn’t stop moving up and down. A trickle of pre-cum leaked out. He looked directly forward. His expression blank. His mouth moved again, and the puppet’s with it.

“Shhh now dearie, Harold is far, far away. He’s very happy of course. I made sure of that.”

With a slow twist of her head, and a slight tilt to match, Gracie locked eyes with the puppet. Inside its black orbs she momentarily saw a swirling pattern. Something that gripped her, that commanded her attention. Then it was gone and she was looking at the dead eyes of a doll-like toy that must have been over a hundred years old.

“You’re scaring me, Harold. You look like a corpse. Why did you call me out here? What’s happened to you?”

“I told you,” came that high-pitched tone, “Harold can’t hear you. He’s lost in a world of pleasure.”

Harold’s hips bucked. His entire body quivered. His ribs stood out as he inhaled sharply. The puppet on his hand appeared to glow slightly. As though it were surrounded by a golden light. Its eyes again shone, flickers of starlight and vast galaxies. Gracie blinked.

“Ok. I’m leaving. This is a pretty sick thing to do to your ex, Harold. You need help.”

Gracie moved to leave, but looking at the man she once loved sent a pang of guilt through her. He didn’t look like a man playing a joke. He looked like a man on the verge of death, mindlessly masturbating himself to an early grave.

“Please… put the stupid doll down and talk to me, it’s Gracie, Harold. You called me, remember?”

A low, rumbling laugh. Then a hacking cough, a death rattle, emerged from Harold’s dry throat. The laugh started again. Rising in pitch until it became a terrifying cackle. Gracie looked at the puppet, which was throwing its head back in apparent glee.

“He didn’t call you, silly girl. I did.”

She froze. The armchair she was sitting in felt as though it was pulling her down. Like gravity had increased in the room. This had to be some sort of bizarre joke. Or a breakdown. Maybe their breakup hit him harder than she thought.

Reluctantly, Gracie looked at the puppet. “He won’t talk to me himself, so I guess I’ll talk to you.” The only thing she could do would be to embrace the delusion. Yet, something else, a muffled voice in her head. The primal part of her, the one that was scared of horror movies and being downstairs in the dark. It was prodding her. Telling her something else was happening.

“Good girl,” the puppet said. Or Harold said. Gracie felt it was important to remember that. “You’re starting to understand.”

“What’s happened to him?” she asked.

Harold’s arm moved, and the puppet turned and drifted close to his ear. Its mouth opened, and Harold’s lips moved, but Gracie couldn’t make out what was being whispered into Harold’s ear… by Harold.

He shuddered suddenly and the puppet moved away. Harold was convulsing in spasms, his cock oozing pre-cum, his hand moving faster now, pumping with a furious pace. That wasn’t what took Gracie’s attention, though. Her eyes were locked on the puppet’s.

“You see the pleasure he feels, when he listens to me?” it asked.

Gracie stared at it. Those eyes were glowing again. In fact, the aura around it was clearly visible. A golden light, pouring from Harold into the puppet. Again, Gracie tried to rationalize, even as she found herself staring into the deep, shimmering black eyes of the puppet. It was all a game. It was a joke. A chance for revenge from Harold, whom she left only months before their wedding.

“You can’t quite look away, can you?” The puppet said.

She dragged her eyes from the puppet’s and looked at Harold. Harold, who was sweating and beet-red. Harold, who was panting and twitching and his cock throbbing. A man lost in some deep, erotic fantasy. His mouth contorted into a joyless smile, open but toothless. He looked so old, as if he could keel over and die at any moment. And he kept going faster.

“You’re killing him,” Gracie said after a long silence.

Another hideous laugh. The laugh she knew from Harold but stripped of love and life and happiness, and turned into this mirthless cackle.

“I’m giving him everything he wanted.”

Her head snapped back to the puppet. A feeling of something fiery red, and dark, and jealous rose in her. Anger and fear and guilt and… shameful arousal. Gracie was aroused. She stared at the puppet and hissed, “And what is everything he wanted?”

“Comfort, pleasure, love. All the things you denied him.”

The thing’s eyes were swirling now. Pulling something from Gracie. Taking it from her. Her rage. Her passion. She felt smaller. Those eyes were compelling her to react. She had no choice but to fight back.

“I left because he couldn’t stop thinking about this stupid house, and not our future.”

The puppet, Gracie could truly see it now, smirked. A cheshire cat grin that made her feel her stomach lurch. Fear, panic, terror gripped her. But the puppet’s eyes felt somehow warm and safe.

“It’s ok, you’re a sweet girl really. You just got a little lost.”

Gracie felt warm, wet tears welling up. She was lost. The city apartment was empty without him. She nodded.

“I’m here now, just like I’ve been here for Harold. But he’s almost ready to move on.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Harold’s breaths coming slow and ragged. She knew what move on meant. Not from Gracie. Something much more frightening.

“Don’t be afraid, my good girl.”

Its eyes held her. Spiralling galaxies compelling her to stay rooted to the spot.

“He’s enjoyed himself so much. Lived more in his time with me than he ever had before. Felt more pleasure and joy than most people experience in decades.”

It was killing him. The puppet was killing him. But he looked happy. He looked so happy now. His eyes were rolling back into his head. His expression one of pure bliss. His mouth moved when the puppet talked but independent, somehow, of the moans and groans he released as he bucked and squirmed.

“Please… don’t do this,” Gracie whispered to the puppet.

It tilted its head to the side, bedraggled hair flopping lifelessly down. “But darling, don’t you want to know how good it feels?”

“N-no,” Gracie mumbled.

“Are you sure, dear? You seem so confused. Been so lonely, hasn’t it?”

The words rung true. She was so lonely. If she had moved on from Harold, why was she even out here? What had she been thinking? Their relationship was over, but she missed him every day. Missed his smile and his laugh and his face. His face, full of life and joy.

Now empty and vacant and decaying. He was already gone. She could see it now.

But she wasn’t. She was alive. And looking into the puppet’s eyes all she could think of was… how much pleasure could turn Harold into whatever he had become?

“I know you’re curious. I know it doesn’t make sense. You have to feel it. Feel the pleasure he has. That’s the only way to know.”

Could it read her mind? As she looked into the darkness of its eyes, she felt as if she were looking into another world. A place beyond her comprehension. It was pulling her in. The temptation of the unknown dragging her to it.

“No. I won’t.” she managed.

“I understand. Change is so scary. Life is so hard alone. I know.”

Gracie tried to stand, but she felt dizzy and confused. She wanted to cry. Her emotions were out of control. She wanted to be held and comforted and loved.

“He can’t do it anymore. He’s mine, and I’ve got what I need from him. But you…” said the puppet.

She had to escape it. It was tugging at her emotions. She felt them all now, coming up together. Fear at this bizarre thing. Anger too, anger at Harold for not leaving this trap of a place. Loneliness and guilt that she left him behind and then… disappointment. In herself.

“I’m here for you.”

Gracie felt a tear fall down her cheek. She was tired. So very tired. Somewhere deep inside was still telling her to go.

“I want you to feel good again, like you deserve.”

The puppet was still talking but Gracie was doing her utmost to ignore it. She pressed her hands into the armrests of the chair and stumbled to her feet, avoiding eye contact with the hideous thing on Harold’s arm. Her legs were leaden as she stepped across the room.

“To give in to nothing but pleasure. No more fear, no more sadness or anger.”

She could feel all of it at once. Overwhelming. Crushing her chest like a weight was laid upon it. And underneath it all desire. Latent lust telling her to give in. To surrender and just be happy like Harold. He did look happy. He looked on the edge of the greatest orgasm of his life.

“You can feel just as good as he does.”

The door was so close. She gripped the frame and dragged her heavy legs through it, into the hallway. And then she heard his voice. Not the strange tone he used for the puppet, or the puppet made him use… Harold.

“Gracie. Don’t go.”

Like invisible strings were tied to her body, she found herself wrenched back to the room. Guilt and shame overwhelmed her. Fresh, salty tears flooded from her eyes now as she sat down in the chair again.

“Harry?” she whispered.

“Cum for me, Harold,” the puppet said. And he did. His hips rocked forward and semen erupted from his cock, slapping against the wooden floor between him and Gracie. The puppet’s eyes shone like black diamonds and Gracie stared into them, deeply, lost now in the infinity that lay beyond them.

Harold’s moans turned to empty, agonised gasps as his body fell finally limp, and his mouth opened to speak, but Gracie saw only the puppet now.

“Your turn, sweetie. Wouldn’t you like me to take all those bad feelings away?”

For a moment, her mind swam against the current, before she realized she was simply too tired, too weak to do anything but what she was told.

“Yes,” Gracie breathed, “please.”

An instant change gripped her. She felt a spark, a longing between her legs. Harold’s arm moved from his lifeless body, and his mouth flopped open.

“Then take me.”

Gracie reached out and took the puppet, and Harold’s arm flopped to the couch. She placed the strange thing over her hand and immediately felt a surge of deep, aching arousal, then her mouth moved of its own accord.

“Good girl, go on and take care of that… you’ll have so much pleasure with me.”

With a glance at the form of her ex-lover on the couch opposite her, Gracie shut her eyes, pushed her hand between her legs with a desperate gasp, and understood everything.