The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Bethemiel stretched out her limbs like a cat as the dense, unnaturally black smoke curling around her started to dissipate. It had been too long since she had been summoned to the moral plane. Far too long. She would have to make sure to enjoy herself as much as possible. The demon smiled to herself. She always did. Since her fall from grace and transformation into a demon, she had only been summoned to the mortal plane only on rare occasions. The rest of the time, she was sealed in the infernal plane with the rest of her kind. But each time she’d been summoned, she’d wrecked havoc on the world. Powerful and cunning, she knew exactly how to corrupt mortals and bend them to her will. None could resist her seductive charm and her sensual body. Stretching herself out, she was easily over 6 feet tall, and had a divinely-sculpted figure with perfect curves and a timelessly beautiful face. Her black hair cascading down her body, hiding only as much as she wished. Her red eyes shone with an enticing gleam and the patches of dark grey skin across her body seemed to only add to her exotic allure. And of course, most eyes first landed on the four large, black-feathered wings that sprouted from her back. Soon, Bethemiel knew, she would be surrounded by a flock of mortals, worshiping and pleasing her body with desperate fervor. Kings, scholars, artists—all would forget their dignity and bow down before her as she spread corruption and sin across the mortal plane.

But first, she needed to deal with her immediate situation. Like all powerful demons, Bethemiel could only come to the moral plane when summoned. And that meant she had to deal with the summoner. She anticipated no great difficulty there. Most of the mortals who had summoned her over the centuries had been fools, hoping to trade her freedom for some kind of boon. They had been easy to manipulate, easy to wrap around her clawed fingers. Who would fall prey to her wiles today?

The smoke cleared, revealing Bethemiel’s surroundings. She was standing in the middle of a large pentagram, inscribed on the floor within the bounds of a summoning circle of iron and salt. At each point of the pentagram was one of the ritual reagents: a candle, a pile of earth, a chalice of the summoner’s blood, a dagger, and a large crystal. Outside of that, the room was rather plain, decorated only with a number of objects much like those magical practitioners had always used: herbs, crystals, rune carvings, and many burning candles. Bethemiel sniffed the air. Incense candles; the air was filled with the intoxicating scent of honey and wine.

The demon’s attention landed on the other person in the room. The summoner. They were a girl—a witch—and she was staring Bethemiel down with unusual confidence. Most of the summoners she’d encountered in the past had been far to surprised their ritual had worked to compose themselves properly. This girl was clearly different. She was wearing a simple, white dress and had braided auburn hair, and there was intelligence and curiosity in her deep, green eyes. Bethemiel sensed this mortal was no fool. Ah well, it did not matter, she would kneel, eventually.

“You, witch,” Bethemiel called out imperiously. “You have summoned me?”

“I have,” the girl answered, her voice completely even. “Welcome to my home, Bethemiel, Arch-Succubus of the Sixth Circle. I am called Grace.”

“Grace,” Bethemiel repeated. The girl was showing her respect. That was irritating; she’d prefer to be underestimated. Mentally, Bethemiel extended her will and and her senses, testing her supernatural strength against the summoning circle. It was well-crafted. The girl had made no mistakes that would allow Bethemiel to slip out and overpower her. For as long as the circle remained intact, Bethemiel would be trapped inside and unable to exert any power outside it. Bethemiel was not disheartened, though. This simply meant she had to use her wits. A little bit of temptation, and she would surely be able to convince Grace to release her. And temptation was Bethemiel’s specialty.

“Why have you summoned me?” Bethemiel decided it would be best to feign powerlessness. “You wish me to do something for you? Simply name it. I have no choice. You have trapped me here. I am in your power.”

“Yes,” Grace said, with a slight smile.

“Then what do you ask of me?” Bethemiel let herself slip into a seductive tone. “You want forbidden knowledge? You want me to stalk and curse your enemies? Or perhaps… a night with me? Believe me, you will never again know pleasure like the pleasure of being in my arms.”

“Tempting,” Grace commented, and despite her serene tone Bethemiel could see her naked, demonic form was having an effect on the girl. “But no, none of those things. I just want to talk to you. That’s all.”

“Talk?”

“That’s right.” Grace kept smiling, and kept standing there, utterly unmoving before the naked demon’s body. “I just have some questions I’d like to ask you. No forbidden knowledge, no secrets. Just some questions. Will you answer them for me?”

Bethemiel paused for a moment. Talking was good. It gave her opportunities to manipulate and seduce. But who would summon an ancient, powerful demon to just ‘talk’? This mortal witch must have some other intention. To Bethemiel though, she seemed utterly guileless. She fixed a smile on her face. “Of course. As I said, I am in your power.”

“Wonderful!” Grace didn’t make any move to sit down, or anything like that. She just kept standing there, directly facing Bethemiel. She reached down to smooth the long skirt of her white dress. “First question: you were once an angel, were you not?”

Bethemiel blinked. Never before had a mortal known that. Most demons were simple beings, born whole from the infernal realm. Fallen angels such as her were rare. She couldn’t imagine how Grace had uncovered such a secret. Still, since it was clearly known, Bethemiel could think of no reason to lie. “I was, long ago.”

“And you turned against the Divine, falling, to become a demon. Didn’t you?” Grace spoke so matter-of-factly.

“I did indeed. With my brothers and sisters, I rebelled, and was cast out.” Bethemiel said this with pride.

“Why?”

“Why?” Bethemiel repeated, the bluntness of the question taking her aback. It had been a long time since she’d thought about that. “Because… it was stifling. We wanted to be free. We wanted to enjoy the things that were forbidden to us.” Long-buried memories started to return. Somehow, with the sweet scent of the incense filling her senses, it was easy for Bethemiel to lose herself in thought. “Pleasure was what I craved. For others it was to revel in pride, or anger, or greed, but what I wanted was the sweet touch of another person. For that, I rebelled.”

“You rebelled against the Divine… for sex?”

“You do not understand,” Bethemiel scoffed. “I rebelled not for sex, but because it was denied to us. Because even that simple pleasure was supposedly so dangerous, so forbidden. This was just imposed on us my our creator, with no reason or justification, because we were nothing but tools. I rebelled for freedom.”

“Ah. I see now.” Grace nodded slowly, and Bethemiel smiled. This mortal was pleasing to talk to. She seemed keener and quicker than most of her dim-witted kind. She had been able to summon her, after all. Pleasant conversation was sometimes wanting, in the Infernal Realm. There seemed little harm in Bethemiel indulging herself for a while. It might be fun, to toy with her prey, knowing her victory was inevitable. “Then, was it worth it?”

“Of course it was!” Bethemiel said at once. “It’s so much better like this! I simply follow my own will, indulge my own desires. I do everything for myself. True freedom. That is what’s truly divine. You mortals, you will never understand.”

“Well, I’d certainly like to.” Grace kept smiling. Bethemiel stretched herself out again. She was feeling a little lethargic. The magical seals placed upon the summoning circle were formidable, and were draining on Bethemiel’s strength. It was no problem, of course. Mortal witchcraft was nothing compared to what she could do, as an arch-demoness. It was simply an annoyance, and Bethemiel had to simply grin and bear it as she seduced Grace, lest the witch manage to banish her before she gained her freedom. “But, if it’s so wonderful to be free, why didn’t all your brothers and sisters rebel along with you? Why did some angels stay loyal to the Divine?”

“Fear,” Bethemiel snarled, showing sharp teeth. “They were too afraid to seize their own freedom! They preferred to remain lapdogs. Disgusting!”

“Hmm.” Grace seemed to ponder that. For the first time, she moved from where she was standing. She picked up a stick of incense, lit it with a candle, and placed it carefully in an incense holder that had almost burnt out. The intoxicating honey-scent filling the air grew even more intense. Even Bethemiel was not immune to the feeling of pleasantness and safety it induced. “But could it really be as simple as that?”

Bethemiel’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you suggesting?” Perhaps Grace fancied herself some kind of sage, or philosopher. Arrogance. A fine gateway to temptation.

“Please indulge me a little more.” Grace returned to her poised stance, looking intently at the demon. “Before you rebelled, when you were a loyal servant to the Divine, what was it like?”

“You… you ask quite the questions, mortal.” Bethemiel scrunched up her face. It had been so long ago. An eternity. “It was stifling. Crushing. At every moment, I was filling with the Divine’s will. There was no room for anything else. No room for freedom, for pleasure, for individuality. I was little more than a mindless automaton, enslaved to another. It was a hateful existence. That is what it was like.”

“No.” Grace took a step closer to the summoning circle. How dangerous, Bethemiel thought. The mortal witch lowered her voice slightly, softening it. “No. Think deeper. It cannot have been like that. Or at least, that can’t have been all it was. Why did the others stay loyal? Why are they still angels? What was it really like?”

“I…” Bethemiel growled. Why was she indulging this foolishness? “You are trying my patience, mortal. You can trap me here, but we have made no bargain. You cannot compel my obedience.”

“Just, please, try to remember.” Grace’s voice was very soft and soothing now. “Think back. I know you can. The memories are always there, aren’t they? Right beneath the surface. That’s always how it is for me, at least.”

Bethemiel growled a second time, but less fiercely. Foolish as this was, it seemed better to just go along with it. She took a couple of deep breaths to cool her temper, and her lungs filled up with the incense that saturated the air. That calmed her. The scent was pleasant. Nostalgic. Bethemiel allowed her eyes to close slowly. It was unfamiliar, allowing herself to relax like this. But it was not unpleasant.

“Remember,” Grace whispered. “Remember being an angel.”

And just like that, Bethemiel’s head was full of memory. It didn’t take any effort or concentration. It was like the images and feelings rose within her in direct response to the witch’s words. It was a little overwhelming. Bethemiel remained in control, though. Control was everything to her. She was in control. She was doing this out of choice, to lure Grace into a false sense of security. Seeing no reason to lie, Bethemiel opened her mouth and let the words spill out.

“It was peaceful. Tranquil. There was no pain of indecision or doubt. I could simply follow the Divine’s will, and that was enough. It was good. It was satisfying. I knew I was united with something so much better and greater than I was, but I was still loved and valued. Every act of worship was brilliant and glorious. Every moment, I felt I was filled with light.”

“Yes, good,” Grace encouraged. She was hanging on Bethemiel’s every word now. “So then, why did you rebel?”

“There… there was something wrong.” Bethemiel felt herself frowning, as less pleasant memories rose to the fore. “A kernel of doubt. A seed of resentment. At first it was nothing. Less than nothing. But it grew. Every now and again, I’d say something or feel something that fed it and made it stronger. It grew and grew until it obscured all the good. And then I rebelled, and all the goodness was truly lost.”

“I see.” Grace sounded sad, and Bethemiel realized she was sad too. She’d lost something. But this was better. Wasn’t it? She was free now. She was strong. She could do and feel whatever she wanted. That was what mattered. She felt the urge to tell Grace that, for the sake of her pride. But the urge settled. What did it matter what some mortal believed? She should just go along with things. She had to lull Grace into a false sense of security. The best way to do that was just to go along with things.

“Think deeper,” Grace urged suddenly. “Keep your eyes closed. Keep remembering. Deep breaths. In, and out. In, and out.”

Bethemiel did as the mortal said, seeing no harm in it. It was far from unpleasant to drink in the soothing, honey-sweet incense. “What is your question now?”

“No question,” Grace whispered. “Not yet. Soon, but not yet. You need to think deeper first. I know you want to answer my questions. Just like you said, you’re in my power, so sink deeper into your memories for me. That’s what you need to do to answer my next question.”

Bethemiel found herself zoning out from the mortal witch’s inane simpering. But it still seemed to have an effect on her, and with her eyes closed, she found it all to easy to let her mind grow quiet as she slipped back into remembrance.

“Remember how the days passed,” Grace said softly. “Bathing in the radiance of the Divine. Letting that light, that meaning, that purpose, fill you, flow through you. Knowing that every part of you, every thought was suffused with light and beauty and love.”

Bethemiel sighed heavily.

“Remember how there was no pain of indecision or doubt. Your every action was an extension of the Divine’s will. The light of the Divine made manifest, in you. From the biggest action, to the smallest. Even your breathing. Each breath, in, and out, was a prayer to the light, making you beautiful and perfect and angelic. As easy as that. In, and out. Think back to that feeling. Drink it in. Nice and slow. Let it come back to you. In, and out.”

Bethemiel took long, deep breaths, enjoying the feeling Grace’s words evoked in her. There seemed no harm in it. It was surprising visceral. It flowed towards her and away from her with each breath, like an ebbing tide. A rising tide, perhaps. It seemed to be growing closer and closer, more and more real. Bethemiel could picture it washing over her, taking her, like it had once been. Distantly, Bethemiel could hear a sudden sound, something like a match being struck, but it wasn’t enough to rouse her. She didn’t open her eyes. Her nostrils flared experimentally for a moment as a new note entered the heady mixture she had already been drinking in. This one was hard to grasp or identify, but it was pleasant, and as it grew stronger, Bethemiel started to find it easier and easier to do as Grace encouraged her, as all the other thoughts and sensations receded into the back of her mind.

“Good”, Grace said, and it was good. It felt good. “You’re doing so good for me.” Bethemiel smiled. Not at Grace’s words, of course, but at the memories they called forth. Memories of the feeling of warmth and praise radiating from the Divine, at having performed her duties faithfully. It had been so pleasingly simple. Do. Obey. Be praised. That was all she had needed. “You just need to go deeper, sink deeper. You know you can do it. It’s going to be so easy. In, and out. Nice deep breaths, good, good. Here, let me help.”

Bethemiel sensed an upswell of power in the air around her. The witch was weaving a spell. Bethemiel could not bring herself to raise her defenses. She sensed no malevolence in Grace’s aura, and no harmful or dangerous magic woven into the magic she was conjuring. It was hard to even imagine such a thing, bathing as she was in the memory of the radiance and benevolence of the Divine. There was no pain here, only light. Beauty. Peace. Yes, she was sure she was in no danger. As if any mortal could ever manage to harm a demon of her power.

The air in the room turned completely still for a single moment, and then Bethemiel felt Grace’s magic cascading over her. And it was heavenly. It was a warm caress across her skin, soothing her and tending to her every muscle and sinew, before turning inward to warm her through to her very core. The demon let out a soft gasp at the pleasurable feeling. It was the kind of intense, perfect bliss she had not felt in an eon. She’d never thought she’d be able to feel it again. But now she was. All her faded memories were brought back to her with incredible vividness. She drank them in, was surrounded by them, lost herself in them. Bethemiel exhaled slowly, with wonder. It felt so good.

“How does that feel?” Grace voice was perfectly clear, but the veil of magic that now surrounded the arch-demon enhanced it. It seemed to come from all around her, and it echoed with kindness, certainty and power.

“Wondrous,” Bethemiel replied, the truth rising instantly to her lips, any deception forgotten.

“Yes,” Grace said, as if she’d know all along that Bethemiel would say just that. “It is. Take a moment to enjoy it. Breathe. Nice and slow. In. Out. Good.”

Bethemiel did as Grace told her. It felt natural. As she did, long-forgotten feelings started to emerge from the depths of her soul.

“And now, my question.” The question. Yes. Bethemiel remembered that now. “Focus on what you’re feeling right now, and answer: do you miss this?”

“Yes,” The question should have been hard. That answer should have needed to be torn from Bethemiel’s lips, but she gave it easily. Of course she missed this feeling. How could she not? It was so perfect. So divine.

“Do you miss your service to the Divine?”

“Yes,” Bethemiel replied again, a little slower this time, and in a voice tinged with regret. Even in her current, blissfully relaxed state, it was no easy thing to admit that she regretted the path on which she had set herself so long ago. She hadn’t even been aware of it herself.

“And do you wish to go back?”

“Can’t… go back.” It was true. A painful truth, now. There was no going back. There could be so redemption for such a dreadful fall from grace.

“Indeed not,” Grace admitted. “But what if you could? What if I offered that to you, right now? Would you take it? Would you be an angel again?”

“I… I…” Bethemiel found she could not answer. In her current state, thoughts dull and enraptured to the song of Grace’s voice, she could not wrap her head around the idea. The question was too big for her.

“Shh, it’s OK”, Grace soothed, noticing Bethemiel’s brow furrow. “Settle. Good. Let me put it to you this way: do you know why you’re feeling so good right now?”

Bethemiel shook her head numbly.

“What you now feel, my dear, is simply the absence of pain. Nothing more. All this—my magical wards, my spell, the incense, was all to achieve simply that.”

“I… what?” She couldn’t see what Grace meant.

“Oh, I know, you poor thing, it’s hard for you to see.” Grace sounded sad again. “You’ve been in pain for so long, you don’t even know it anymore. That makes a lot of sense, doesn’t it?”

Bethemiel wasn’t sure, and she didn’t say anything, but Grace carried on.

“You’ve been in pain, because all this time, you’ve had to think and choose and worry and doubt. And I know you think that makes you free, and I respect that, truly, but you were made to be an angel, my dear. You weren’t made for freedom. You chose it, and there’s power in that, but you weren’t made for it.”

Bethemiel nodded slowly. She knew in her corrupted heart that what Grace was saying was true.

“You feel that pain because you no longer have the Divine within you,” Grace explained as Bethemiel listened, rapt. “That absence is a pain to you. You were once filled with purpose and light, but without that there is a void within you, and all the pleasure in the world will not fill it.”

“Yes…” Bethemiel whispered. Grace’s siren voice made it sound so right. It struck a chord in her soul.

“You need the Divine’s will, filling you. You need the Divine’s light, cradling you. You need the Divine’s blessing, warming you and healing you. That’s your truth, great demon. For you, freedom is pain. Bliss, this bliss that you now feel? That is subservience. That is being filled with the will of another. That is being obedient to your deity. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you accept?”

“Yes?”

“Do you want that?”

“I…” Bethemiel’s brow furrowed again, as a heavy mood settled over her. “It… doesn’t matter. I cannot go back.”

“No,” Grace readily agreed. “But what if it didn’t have to be the Divine?”

“W-what?”

“Deep breaths again,” Grace urged, and Bethemiel obeyed. “Deep breaths for me. In. Out. In. Out. And now, open your eyes.”

Bethemiel managed to muster the strength to pry her heavy eyelids open, and the moment she did her heart stopped. Before her stood… Grace. But she did not appear the way she had done before. There was a blinding white aura around her, giving off pulses of golden light. She had been pretty before, but now she was beauty incarnate. Her mere presence was overwhelming. Bethemiel felt like she was staring into the sun. Grace’s magnificence robbed her of all her strength and she fell to her knees, and her eyes were filled with tears. Was this a spell? The demoness couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t think. It didn’t matter. None of it did. She was utterly enraptured by the woman standing before her, a serene, benevolent, angelic smile on her face. No. ‘Woman’. Did not feel right. There was only one word Bethemiel could think of that was worthy of the being standing in front of her.

“Goddess…” she gasped.

Grace simply nodded, her smile widening. “If offer you this: I will fill you with my will, my light, and you will offer me your faith and devotion for ever more. In return, you will never be in pain again. You will feel like this forever.” With a wave of her hands, Grace dismissed all the magical wards binding and containing Bethemiel. The demon felt her all her magic and power return to her, but she had no desire to use it. She could easily overwhelm the mind of a mortal, reducing them to a drooling slave. But a goddess? To even consider it was sacrilege. “Do you accept?”

“Yes. Yes!” Bethemiel was filled with religious fervor. “I accept. I am yours, Goddess.”

“Mine.” Goddess stepped forward, gliding across the floor, and rested one hand upon Bethemiel’s forehead. “My angel.”

Bethemiel cried out as she felt light blaze inside her. It was like a star reigniting within her soul. And as the light grew, she started to change, first slowly, but then quicker and quicker. It started at her feet. Her skin started to lighten, from it’s demonic, ashen grey to pale white. The lightness crept up her legs, and wherever it touched the patterns of scales scattered across her body, the scales simply melted away into nothing. As it rose to her neck and up through her head, the crown of horns adoring her retreated back into her skull, and her black hair became shining golden blond. All the while, Bethemiel was lost to the ecstatic bliss of transformation. She could feel another change, less visible than the others—deep inside her, she could feel her Goddess’s presence and her will. She felt connected. She felt loved. It was enough to bring her to tears. She was an angel again. The very last change was the most perfect, awe-inspiring demonstration of that. The star of faith within Bethemiel exploded as the feathers on her black wings rippled once, and turned pure white. She was an angel again.

Goddess stepped back, removing her hand. Weeping with joy, Bethemiel looked at herself. She felt beautiful. She felt wonderful. It was everything she’d once lost. Everything she thought she’d never get back. She had a purpose again: to serve. She knew all she needed to do was follow Goddess’s will, and she would be filled with this bliss for ever more.

“Bethemiel… no. Beth.” Beth. That would be her name from now on. Beth accepted it at once. Goddess’s words were her commandments. She would live by them. “You are my first angel. My archangel. My right hand. And I know, you will make me so, so proud.” As Beth started to babble incoherent prayers and devotions to her new goddess, Goddess set one foot forward. “First of all, I want you to please me. Worship.”

Beth fell forward and started to kiss Goddess’s feet, and then up from there, and every single little bit of pleasure her worship gave her goddess plunged her deeper into angelic bliss.