The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The girl felt the tendrils crawling inside her mind. Sifting. Changing her consciousness, her very being. The swirling mass of what she once was melted and reshaped itself into twisted, perversity.

Until now, Mistress Joanna had been life. A revelation of purity and beauty.

This was nothing like Mistress Joanna’s touch. The girl writhed and moaned, the raging flux of the dark river pouring into her. She was vaguely aware of her physical self, thrashing about under the merciless orgasm that was ravaging her screaming cunt. Every fiber of her being shrieked under the sweet agony... begging... supplicating.

Memories combusted, charred into oblivion by the will of Sondra, her unholy ravager. She smiled a blissful, insane smile, taking pleasure in knowing that all she once was would be forever destroyed. There was no need of loving others, of worshiping false truths, of caring and cherishing for anything else. The new Truth-Sondra’s-was the one single star that burned in her universe.

There were other memories she was allowed to keep... thoughts... twinkling, contorted into abnormal, hellish shapes. The girl felt her very body being fleshcrafted, to the whim of the succulent evil which had lured her to delightful perdition. Skin and muscle slithered over mending bones, breasts inflating, hips narrowing...

shape me... make me serve you... turn me into whatever you wish...

She did not realize she was screaming.

She saw herself, her body now that of a wicked succubus, kneeling before the altar of evil and corruption, while a tenebrous maelstrom raged inside her.

Friends... family...

-Tools to be used as Sondra saw fit...

Her soul... her being...

-An instrument of Sondra’s darkest will...

Mistress Joanna...

-Break force conquer crush destroy obliterate KILL

The girl howled as her mind cracked open, releasing all of her old self in a psychic geyser, vanquishing the disgusting changes slutjoanna had made to her. Her very identity gushed out of her, while the seeping wickedness slid inward, deeper and deeper.

take me hurt me use me fuck me... until i am nothing

The single star in her universe went nova, and consumed her whole.

The boudoir in Headmistress Faulkner’s home, with its plush carpet, sparse furnishing layout and russet tones, proved the ideal place to conduct mindfucks, teleplasty and enslavement.

Sondra’s eyes glowed darkly, as she fed upon the girl’s sweet essence. She sat in the center, legs folded, back arched, in a Lotus position which was conducive to the task at hand. She exhaled gradually, letting her breath hiss through her teeth, before focusing on the slave’s tiny, twitching movements. The helpless girl was lying before her, a broken doll about to be restrung.

The corners of the ravisher’s mouth curved upwards as she noted the rhythm of the captive’s spontaneous pelvic spasms, which gradually shifted until it matched that of the two other twitching, unconscious girls lying upon the floor.

All three of them... Bound in darkness... bound to me.

The pungent smell of arousal rose from damp patches between their legs. Their eyes rolled frantically behind closed eyelids, while the Gracing continued, raging in every one of them.

Sondra shifted slightly while taking care to maintain her meditative posture, stretching the muscles of her frame to accommodate them after the long hours she had spent carefully chiseling and chipping away at the souls of her thralls until they held a new shape.

She rubbed her left index finger on the tip of her knee, slipping in and out of the common psychic bond she now shared with the thralls. She pictured her finger touching their budding clits, releasing scorching waves of mind-numbing pleasure across their bodies, and observed with amused interest as all three cataleptic, responsive girls mewed and squirmed in unison.

She would soon be able to draw enough of their spirit, to fuse the broken slivers of the ancient gift which still could be found deep inside them... fueling her own efforts to dive into the torrential streams of the High Realm, allowing her to merge with her distant, obedient cunt-slave.

Emma.

Thoughts of the auburn-haired beauty, bowing sweetly before her, heightened her arousal gloriously. Emma was so devoted and eager to serve. Never prone to the weeping pathos of gentle little Claudia.

Which, she supposed, was a deep shame.

“Come to me, child,” she called out to the figure standing in the darkness.

“I am here, Mistress,” Claudia breathed, stepping into the light of the single flickering candle which illuminated the boudoir. Her head hung low, shadows dancing across her face to the rhythm of the dancing flame.

“Sweet Emma has found her mark, it would seem,” Sondra informed her young servant. “With her help, this Cum-Goddess may yet fall to me, as this pitiful nymph-slut Joanna surely will.”

Claudia shifted uneasily on her bare feet. The shadows masked the sulking pout, but her body had already betrayed a twinge of jealousy. She reviled the spirit in Sondra’s voice as she pronounced the other Truthsayer’s name.

“Mistress, What do you require of me?” she murmured, in a docile manner she hoped sounded sweeter than usual.

Sondra looked up at her standing and obedient cunt-slave, studying her intently. The shifting currents of the Gracing still flowed between the three inanimate bodies of the thralls, elevating their Mistress’ consciousness beyond the blunted and inferior reality of the physical world.

Sondra tasted Claudia’s fear, as well as her yearning and despair...

She rode the currents, and felt her perceptions expand... she observed the dazzling shift of light, waving particles which trickled through the room, wrapping around her cunt-slave, bathing her with a myriad of shaded colors and tones...

“Naomi is perched upon me like a hawk, child. Her claws have already dug in my shoulders, and she would like nothing better than the opportunity to slide them slowly across my neck.”

Her tone was harsh with introspective honesty.

“I want them, child. I want them both. Emma will yield to me for a time, while I ensure this Cum-Goddess understands my truth above all others. You are to take necessary steps concerning the nymph-slut; I don’t want her to interfere.”

A could of worry fell upon Claudia’s face, as she remembered the stern words of the Matriarch. Sondra, surely, remembered them as well, but she now seemed intent in walking a dangerous path. She fell on one knee, and bowed her head slightly, her long dark hair flowing off her slender shoulders.

“Mistress Sondra... if Joanna is to become Truthspeaker for the Covenance, should we not come to her openly? If she were to harbor ill will against us—”

She saw Sondra’s middle finger flick an instant before feeling the burning envelope her clit. She tried to stifle the scream tearing out of her, but the shattering climax could not be denied. Throbbing pleasure coursed inside her, a fluid, rippling agony, robbing her of all thought. She fell to the ground, her hips jerking frantically, her cunt and asshole feeling the slithery, brazen kiss of primal desire.

Understand, child, Sondra projected, her thoughts searing themselves into Claudia’s brain with the heat of holy flame, Understand that this nymph-slut will bow to ME in due time... she will serve ME in all things... just as the Cum-Goddess will

The Mistress’ eyes continued to glare at the wriggling body of the cunt-slave, while the bitter taste of having to suffer disobedience quickly gave way to the thrill of enforcing punishment. She deftly reached inside Claudia, snatching a rare, cherished memory of her infancy. It sparkled like a sapphire, burning with ethereal radiance amidst the murky, suffocating recesses of child-mind.

The Mistress shuddered, feeling the gentle throb of the jewel’s naked beauty. Her breathing quickened as she the felt the intoxication of her power over Claudia rise inside her once more. There was no sweeter taste in existence.

Sondra wrapped icy tendrils around the unearthly gemstone. It pulsed frantically, like the beating of a trapped animal’s heart. She peeked through the numerous, shining facets, and glimpsed an image of a very young Claudia, wrapped in the arms of a kind, smiling woman.

Sondra splintered the memory like a brittle mirror.

Claudia cried out once again, drowning in an ocean of all-consuming wantonness, and Sondra echoed the scream with her own as she pulled her cunt-slave in, deeper and deeper.

Former Executive secretary Emily Mills reclined upon her chair, without a shred of clothing upon her, while the sweet song of ecstasy continued to speak to her. Wetness had pooled on the seat, sliding between her thighs. The carpeted floor of the office was softly caressed by her naked toes, shifting back and forth as her legs trembled and quaked in perfect harmony with the lofty hymn.

In the quiet moments when the symphony of voices fell silent, presumably because her lust-starved body could barely endure more of what she had come to label as “the joining”, she thought of her last hours as a lost and directionless woman, imprisoned by Mistress Joanna’s slaves until the time was right for her to join the flock. She had shrieked madly when the girls had taken her to the holy bed that saw her conversion, and Emily was still a little puzzled by her utterly nonsensical reaction to impending, heavenly illumination.

Things were simple now. There was love, and there was obedience.

And there was Mistress Joanna, who was all things in between.

The former secretary sat, trapped in the surroundings of her old life, not caring for them, wishing the Mistress would call out to her, so she could undertake a menial task for her sweet pleasure.

cunt-slave...

Emily froze in her seat.

come... come to me... cunt-slave...

Her breath caught in her throat as her most ardent wish was suddenly, miraculously granted. She quickly got up, feeling the stickiness between her thighs, and hoped the Mistress would notice, and be pleased by the evidence of her cunt-slave’s passion for the new ways.

She quickly left her office, after slipping on her requisite stilettos. She had no idea where to go, of course, her mind already soothed by the calling song... but her feet would know the way.

Her stroll took her up three long flights of stairs, though the roofed passage that connected to the Earhart building, and by the Queen’s Hall library. She walked towards the voice, without a care or thought for the students around her, cunt-slaves who served Mistress Joanna’s will to the last, and who went about with purpose, as Emily did herself.

Awareness returned in a sweeping rush, her oblivion a receding tide which left her standing in the inner sanctum of her Mistress. Emily stood high upon the extra three inches of her heels, shoulders held back, shapely breasts thrusting forward. The cold air of the corridors, during her forgotten journey, had teased her nipples into titillating hardness. Her thighs, legs and ankles were closed together, and she proudly arched her ass back, while her hands rested casually at her sides.

She had no eyes for the extravagant surroundings of the Susan B. Anthony sitting room, no interest in the intricate detail of the oak paneling, flanked by beautiful canvases of brush-stroked outdoor scenes, nor any consideration whatsoever for the carved plaster ceiling, with its leisurely, curving patterns.

Instead, her eyes were instantly drawn to the figure which loomed before her, perched majestically upon a richly sculptured high-rise chair.

Emily knew the girl to be younger than she appeared, with her fully developed body and stunning looks complementing a self-possessed, confident nature that would have likely been encountered during the audience of a reining monarch at the height of Medieval Europe. Her ravishing curves were barely concealed by the sleek folds of the carmine silk robe which cascaded from the tip of her shoulders down to her mid-thighs, and seemed barely held in place by a thin stripe of the same material, tied in a loose knot around her narrow waist.

Mistress Joanna’s enigmatic countenance peered into her very soul. Emily finally found herself able to look aside, and noted that two others besides her Mistress were in attendance. She recognized Vanessa Withford, but could not remember the name of the reddish-brown haired girl. They were lovely cunt-slaves, favored lovers of the Mistress.

There was no jealousy in Emily as she stared, only a desire and aspiration to attain the same, blessed honor.

Of the pair, Ms. Withford especially seemed to enjoy the special attention of Mistress Joanna’s peculiar fashion tastes, and the former teacher’s lustful expression left no doubt as to her delight in yielding to the young girl’s will. Her whole body was enveloped, from her neck to the tip of her high-heeled boots, in a skin-tight patent leather bodysuit that oozed sexual debauchery, sheathing her every curve and contour in shining, ebony slickness. Tiny holes allowed her aureoles to show and her erect nipples to poke through... and a gash in the crotch exposed her hairless slit.

A shining, purple lozenge hung upon her pierced left nipple, a mark that branded the woman as a prized member of her Mistress’ herd.

Compared to Vanessa, the reddish-brown haired girl appeared positively demure, despite her crimson leather stilettos, nearly transparent pinkish sweater and obscenely short skirt. She also carried the jewel on her left nipple, it’s outline bulging out of the thin fabric which covered it.

The Haven symbol... yet another reminder of the new Truth which now governed Emily’s life. It had been the last thing she had seen as a lost woman... the twinkling little gemstone that had swallowed Emily’s will to resist. Joanna herself had presided over the baptism ceremony which had reshaped her existence.

Emily’s gaze returned to her Mistress, her heart filled with amorous thoughts. Then, her eyes dropped to the girl’s hand, as she glimpsed Joanna’s smooth gesture.

In a practiced and fluid motion, Emily kneeled before the one who commanded her, taking great care to spread her thighs in a wide V so her Mistress could see how wet she became as she obeyed the command. Her feet arched painfully for a moment, but the ache was momentary. She kept her shoulders out, but lowered her head slightly, in reverent deference.

“How are you, Emily?” Joanna asked, her angelic voice filled with genuine concern.

“I live to serve you, Mistress.”

Joanna smiled faintly.

“I know, cunt-slave. But tell me how you feel.”

Emily processed the request for a moment. She remembered something about her old life... a thing known as polite formality. But she could not imagine it applied in the present case. How could she see herself as anything else but a devout, lowly worshiper of her Mistress?

Still... the Mistress seemed to desire a specific response, so Emily carefully played along.

“I’m... fine, Mistress.”

Joanna’s smile grew a little, and Emily felt a flush of warmth bathing her loins.

“Emily, you are one of the few persons in my entourage whom I can still ask this question. I think I will try to keep it that way. I love my little cunt-slaves, but I fear I might have been a little careless in binding them to my will...”

There was a strange note in her voice. Concern? Melancholy? Emily found it discordant-wouldn’t the Mistress wish for her slaves to be wholly devoted to her?

“I... want to become like the others, Mistress.”

The others. The blessed few, growing in numbers, who were already far beyond their old lives. So filled with longing for Mistress Joanna that it had finally drowned every memory of their tainted, besmirched past.

The girls and teachers, many of whom had been first among the blessed, now spoke in a strange voice... sometimes with no voice at all...

But all the aspiring cunt-slaves of the Mistress heard them, and understood.

Something beautiful was occurring at Fillmoore. Something Emily desperately wanted to be a part of. She looked up into Ms. Withford’s servile, empty eyes, a telling sign of the advanced state of her transformation.

She looked... and wished they were her own.

“Not yet, my little cunt-slave” Mistress Joanna whispered. “I still have much for you to accomplish.”

Emily turned to her Mistress and listened raptly.

“First, when is Headmistress Faulkner’s Ivy League seminar scheduled to end?”

The former secretary’s thoughts turned to the grand dame who had escaped the blessing of Joanna’s divine revelation. “Later this week, Mistress. She might visit family upstate before returning the Monday after.”

“Quite uncharacteristic of her, but of no immediate consequence. What about the daily routine here at the Academy? Any upcoming contact with the outside world?”

“All deliveries and visits much be scheduled and cleared first. Businesses follow a regular timetable. All parents save those of five students reside out of town, and call the main office at least a day in advance if they visit.”

“Is anyone coming in the next few days?” Joanna continued.

“No one at the moment. But that won’t last-there are a few holidays early next month.”

Joanna nodded. “I need you back in the office, fielding calls as they come. You will conduct minimal official business, stating that you have been accepted as temporary executive supervisor by the Academy’s board, and hold final authority on all matters pending the Headmistress’ return. You will discourage any outsiders from coming here to the best of your ability.”

“Yes, Mistress”

“Good. Now, does the name ‘Valerie Foster’ mean anything to you?”

It took a mere moment for Emily to place it. “She the daughter of Nicole Foster, and studies Physics, I believe.”

“Studied, Emily,” Joanna said with a wink. “Now she worships. Quite a gifted tongue actually. As good as your own.”

Emily shuddered, feeling the soft kiss of her Mistress’ touch in her mind. Images flashed. Sensations.

For an instant, she smelled and tasted the essence of Joanna, upon the girl’s probing tongue. She blinked, and found herself kneeling once more before her Mistress. Emily’s moistening eyes rose up to meet those of She who ruled her, thanking her for the unexpected, divine gift.

“I assume you know of Valerie through her mother’s friendship with Headmistress Faulkner?” Joanna continued, her tone suddenly businesslike.

“Yes, Mistress. I’ve scheduled several luncheons at their request.”

“And Ms. Foster currently sits on the Client Advisory Board at Three Boroughs Investment Banking?”

“Yes, Mistress. She counsels major clients on financial and strategic issues, and occasionally deals with major shareholders and vendors who are crucial to a company’s expansion.”

“I’m sure that will be quite helpful. I want you to give her a call.”

Emily’s eyes flashed in eager enthusiasm.

“Do you wish me to lure her to you, Mistress?”

Mistress Joanna answered with an obliging smile. “I trust it will not be difficult, my dear cunt-slave?”

“Not at all, Mistress,” Emily answered happily.

Her voice switched to mock-solemnity.

“I’m afraid poor Valerie has been having a lot of problems in class, Ms. Foster. Her grades are plummeting, and there have been other issues as well. Fillmoore is considering expulsion, unless you can come as soon as possible. It’s my hope that with your help, we can deal with this rather difficult situation.”

Joanna’s laughter sang out to her, and she reveled in the knowledge that she served her Mistress well.

Claudia once more walked the halls of Fillmoore, trying to shun the beautiful song around her.

Everywhere around her. Enlightened females. Reborn. Every woman and girl. Serving Joanna, and chanting their joy of it with all of their bound, subservient spirits.

Claudia had never experienced anything like it, not even during large gatherings of the Lost Daughters who served the Covenance. She had heard ancient tales of islands before the dark days of the patriarchy, when the voice spoke to all women and reverberated across valleys and hills...

Then, there were the rumors involving the Ambrian sect, and the unique awareness of their followers, who sifted across the higher realities, to glimpse secrets from the Consciousness which had been lost to History.

She wondered if this song she heard was akin to it. She wondered if Emma was hearing it at this very moment, deep in the lair of the crone, struggling as Claudia was to keep it out of her mind for fear of loosing herself in its slow, soothing rhythm.

She did not have to struggle much. Thoughts of Emma led to Sondra. And thoughts of Sondra led to-

She banished the nightmarish images and trained her eyes forward, searching for the prey she had been sent to ravish. She finally caught a glimpse of the woman she was after, and slowly began her approach. She mimicked the lady’s swaying of the hips almost instinctively as she trailed her through the corridors, and wondered what tigresses felt as they stalked.

Surely not what she felt. It was so wrong to do this... but the price for disobedience would be-

No she thought. I can’t.

Her heart pounded in her ears, while her unsuspecting victim dallied on a corner, gently petting the ass of a young student.

No doubt hoping to sample a taste of her during the nightly rituals Claudia mused, trying to focus once again on the task at hand.

She probed inside her own mind, feeling the fresh emptiness of yet another obliterated memory. It had been an important one to her-that much she still remembered. Like so much of her past... fragments that would be forever lost.

Despondency welled like an overflowing river. The Covenance forbid this kind of action amongst Truthspeakers, but how could she deny Sondra?

She stood by a wall, watching her prey, trying to keep the song from entering her mind and the tears from flowing down her cheeks.

Emma. Sweet, obedient Emma.

Sondra admired her will to serve, if nothing else. The girl had known the risks, as Sondra sent her in the lair of the crone. Several key triggers had been planted in her mind in case of discovery, triggers that would leave Fiona with nothing but a useless corpse. Emma herself had insisted Sondra be thorough, perhaps because she genuinely did not want to serve anyone else.

A servant’s honest, true dedication was a rare thing.

Sondra mulled the thought over, which led, despite itself, to Claudia, and the woman shook her head, shifting in her meditative lotus stance, cursing her lack of concentration. She tried to focus on the flow of energies stemming from the unconscious three who still rested upon the floor of the boudoir, lost in the abyss, waiting for Sondra to use their lifeforce for whatever task she wished to undertake.

Claudia... the lust and violence she associated with the name threatened to boil to the surface... there was so much she could do to her...

If only the day would come when the Covenance did away with the arcane, senseless law designed to protect women who, in the end, scarcely deserved the title of Truthspeaker.

She went over the memories of Claudia’s subjugation of Joanna’s thrall. A quick, simple series of commands had been implanted as the prey squirmed at the pretty girl’s feet. The images and impressions Sondra had fetched from Claudia’s mind were somewhat clouded, a sure sign that her cunt-slave was troubled. But as she perused the stolen memories, she could still admire the shining quality of the smooth leather that seemed to slide across the thrall’s body.

Odd.

Claudia had whispered nonsense about the song that every little drone carried in their minds, a simple, awkward way for the nymph-slut to keep the attention of her herd of sluts focused. She had wanted to delve deeper into her cunt-slave’s psyche, but Emma and the Cum-Goddess were waiting...

She welcomed the twinge of satisfaction, delighted that her distant trap had been sprung.

Oh what tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive.

The Cum-Goddess had fallen into the web, though no one yet suspected who had woven it.

Sondra concentrated. Breathed in. Out. In. Out.

She summoned the essence of the girls around her, and sensed it trickling... sweeping forth into her... Sondra’s consciousness lifted, then soared across the void. It wandered for a time, before finding the vortex...

Sondra felt another presence, waiting. She allowed herself to mingle with Emma’s consciousness... eager to subjugated it...

Time to show the Cum-Goddess the error of her ways she thought.

Claudia sat in the darkness, watching. Mistress Sondra was pale, motionless, in the circle of the candle’s flame. Wicked shadows danced behind the cruel woman, perhaps the true reflection of her demonic soul.

It would be so easy... simply to reach out...

The girl quickly turned away from that path, not knowing what kind of twisted self-inflicted punishment would result if she indulged in such dangerous musings for too long.

She was confused. Her thoughts wandered back to the prey she had enthralled momentarily. Indeed, she had obeyed Sondra, against her better judgement.

Her Mistress followed orders of the Covenance in letter, rather than in spirit.

Claudia had done it too. She had obeyed Sondra’s orders.

To the letter.

Why?

Strange, conflicting thoughts writhed in her mind. But behind them, she could hear the faint trace of a curious melody.

Sondra’s ravenous soul beamed with exhilaration.

Mistress, is Your servant pleasing You?

Yes... cunt-slave... you are doing wonderfully. I am able to do anything through you I could do in person. It’s perfect. And... she is already more malleable than even I would have imagined.

Ohhhhhhh Mistress, it feels so wonderful and... right to please You... You are more than worthy of worship, adoration, love and lust...

Hush. I already know, cunt-slave. It has always been thus.

Names were unimportant save one. This was the first lesson.

The dedication of her life to the fulfillment of her station, exemplified by the new name-the one that mattered-was the second lesson.

Nicole Foster heard this, hear every dripping word, seeping into her awareness, and still she struggled against it. She fought against an implacable, relentless assault, the terrifying reality of her vain effort to shake it off with all her being quite apparent to her.

What was less so was the painstaking fashion in which she was being taken-a necessary precaution if she was to be of value to her...

Mistress?

The word trickled into her receptive brain. It felt so right.

As right as being bound and gagged, and laid naked atop a heavy, varnished oak table, resting amongst the finely woodworked stacks of the lavish Queen’s Hall library, at the Fillmoore Academy.

A stray thought entered her mind, as she pondered how her co-workers and clients would react if they saw her like this: ropes tightly fastened to her wrists and ankles, her neck collared, the ball gag’s leather straps stretching against her rosy cheeks... She felt twisted urges swirling inside her, pulling her body and soul in a million directions all at once.

The conflicting thoughts fused and melted, until they glowed in a new, different light.

Maybe I can invite a few clients over

The idea of bringing the male ones was plainly ridiculous. The very statement was absurd and self-explanatory. Male would never produce the natural arousal she knew she’d feel if she saw other naked females bound to a table, as she was.

What? What is happening to me?

She called out to the Mistress. It seemed the natural thing to do.

The Voice came to her once again, as enticing as before. It had taught her the two lessons, and the joy she detected in it’s inflections told her that it knew, somehow, that the lessons were sinking in rapidly.

You have to take care of something for me... it whispered.

The swirling urges inside her seemed to respond to every word, and she found herself moaning through the gag, while she gyrated her hips. She really wished she was being fucked by-

The image that flashed in her mind at that instant did bring a twinge of surprise. The jarring or disturbing feeling normally associated with it was nonexistent... a simple sense of rightness overcame her, so much so that she was at a loss to explain why she had not understood this reality earlier in her life.

She looked down at herself, feeling the collar tighten momentarily at her throat. She still had a shapely body, keeping youthful curves despite her age. Her flesh was burning, slick with perspiration, screaming for a touch.

She barely blinked when her desperate prayers were answered. Her reality was dissolving quickly, replaced by whatever the Voice wished. And the Voice would take care of her.

She saw someone she knew. A girl, looming over her, at the edge of the table. She was kneeling on the table’s surface, between her spread legs.

The girl’s name-

Valerie, was it?

No. cunt-slave.

Yes. That was it. that was the girl’s name. It was her name as well.

The cunt-slave, dressed in a negligée that hid very little, quietly waited, looking at the bound woman with voracious hunger in her eyes... eyes that were strikingly familiar. And the high cheekbones... and the straight, auburn hair...

Mother?

The bound cunt-slave heard a different, girlish voice, calling from far away, and justly guessed it belonged to the young one kneeling between her legs. She did not especially wonder why or how the waif was communicating with her, becoming rather preoccupied the burning itch of her pussy, screaming for a kind of attention her tied limbs could not provide.

Mom... the Mistress has allowed me to remember you... she wants me to know the pleasure of sucking your sweet pussy... she wants me to be the one to take you into the fold...

This jarred a few memories, and the bound cunt-slave suddenly recalled unimportant things which sat idly in the back of her mind. She, too, was being allowed to remember.

The will of the Mistress was strange and mysterious, but perhaps there was the promise of undreamed of ecstasy in the moment when a mother felt her daughter licking and sucking her pussy to a mind-consuming orgasm.

Take me Valerie Nicole whispered inwardly, knowing this to be the final time she would speak to her daughter using the strange, uncouth name, Teach me the Truth of the one you serve...

The girl’s smile glowed with divine zeal as she prostrated herself before the female who had given her life, slowly sliding her wet tongue past her lips, to partake of the honeyed wetness that flowed from the glorious folds.

The Mistress gazed coldly upon the pair, daughter lapping up the flowing essence of her newest servant. She had need of Ms. Foster for a time at least, and thus was content to postpone a proper enslavement for the needs of practicality.

She did not have to stare back to know slave-chelsea and slave-vanessa stood in the library with her, the ever present hawks who protected and served.

She breathed slowly, mindful of her next move. The utmost care was to be exerted, if there was any chance of saving vanessa... and gaining the advantage.

“Ms. Foster knows for a fact Headmistress Faulkner hasn’t left Academy grounds,” she said, before turning to face her slaves.

“This means Emily has been altered to lie about this fact, probably to keep me from searching Fillmoore. Somebody is be here, watching over me. Somebody powerful.”

Vanessa lunged forward as her hand flew out, fingers tight. A short, stabbing motion. Her aim was Joanna’s solar plexus. The follow-up would come seconds later, as Joanna doubled over, a vicious hit with the elbow, driving into the occipital. Joanna would be out before she slumped on the floor.

slave-vanessa struck empty air.

She lurched forward, loosing her balance. Her knees bent sharply while she tried to regain-

The probing tendrils of Joanna’s mind seared into vanessa’s consciousness. Every muscle in the slave froze, and the momentum of her blundered attack sent her sprawling to the floor.

Termination commands swelled between the hemispheres of vanessa’s brain, like cold, icy daggers, but she felt a Goddess-like hand sweep them aside.

Frantic, conflicting thoughts fought for control inside her.

Her whole sense of purpose was clouded, and a burning emptiness swelled deep in her heart. What had she been doing—?

She was acutely aware of Joanna’s presence inside her, searching for something. She couldn’t shake the impression that something was very, very wrong. She realized she was lying on the floor, and tried to get up. She only managed to twitch like a helpless child, without dexterity or coordination.

Unusual imagery fluxed behind her terrified eyes... strange pictures which materialized in her brain, and were not the product of her own mind...

She saw a queer looking box, sculpted out of ebony, with intricate carvings on all it’s sides. It floated oddly in the void, rotating in an intricate, spellbinding fashion. She saw the goddess-like hand, reaching for it. It grasped the box, snatching it deftly.

The fingers of the hand felt around the edges of the box, slowly, probing the surface.

Click.

slave-vanessa looked on, bewildered, as lost memories abruptly flooded back into her mind. She saw strange, cold faces, speaking harsh, sacrilegious words, driving her to act against Mistress Joanna.

Sorrow and grief tore out of her, as she realized the extent of her betrayal. Warm tears flooded openly while she contemplated the naked horror of her blasphemy. She began to shake and quiver, her entire world crashing down.

She had tried to hurt Mistress Joanna.

She wanted to die.

Even the soothing voice of Mistress Joanna herself was not enough to wash away her wrenching grief, and so unconsciousness came as a blessed relief when she heard the mental command, and slept.

Joanna stared at her cunt-slave’s slumbering form, feeling a pang of guilt. She nodded to slave-chelsea, who had obeyed her instructions to stay away moments ago. Now that the tense moment had passed, the cunt-slave approached vanessa, tending to her.

It had been a necessary thing. Even now, as Joanna tasted the imprint of this Claudia, she knew it. By turning the key, she had strung the trap. She had seen the cascading dominos inside slave-vanessa’s mind, as well as the hand which had carefully put them in place there.

She had an intuitive edge now. A better understanding of the workings of another mind, one who had left its imprint upon slave-vanessa.

Joanna took a moment to examine her feelings. Her soul was chilled by the intensity of the rage that simmered within her... but she wondered if it was the idea of a mysterious spy watching her, or the co-opting of one of her personal servants that angered her the most.

She looked down at her hand, summoning the sensation of the heavy box in her palm. She flexed her hand, feeling her nerves respond... touching the incorporeal, patterned engraving with her fingertips.

She had the key.

Now, to find the lock...