The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first time Princess Yennivier went to see it was on her Day of Naming, out of lurid fascination. Its capture was news throughout the kingdom, and had been taken as an auspicious omen. As she crept down the spiraling stone stairwell to the dungeon in her nightdress, she found the guard asleep in his chair, flagon of ale fallen to floor. Not surprising given that the whole castle was required to celebrate the fact that she was now expected to start accept suitors. Sliding back the bolt on the heavy oak door as quietly as possible, she swung it open.

In the candlelight, the cell was eight or ten times her width, and at least twice her height. Square except for the concave far wall and filled with an earthy, musky smell not unlike wet soil. And there was the creature, a large mass of matted fur and knotted muscle under leathery skin, all curled up. Six heavy chains stretching out from it and embedded themselves firmly into the walls on both sides at regular intervals. A line of paint on the floor, colored red with sourberries still giving off their distinctive smell against the muskiness, marked a safe distance on the floor. Drawn by curiosity, Princess Yennivier walked up to it.

The creature shifted, lifting one of its arms to reveal a beady eye embedded in a shallow socket. It shone with a yellowness, and the princess found herself transfixed, held in place. Shaking itself, the creature rose to its full height, chains clinking, filling the far end of the cell. Yennivier could clearly see it’s six muscular limbs—four arms, two legs—and skull-like head and muzzle now. She was also under its full, otherworldly gaze now. Unable to help herself, she stepped over the line.

With speed and grace—although maybe that was just an effect of the way that the yellow light in the creature’s eyes seemed to make everything slow down—it lunged towards her, grabbing her wrists, spinning her around and pinning her facing and against the wall. She could feel its large leathery palms rough against her wrists and forearms. As its upper hands held her fast, its lower ones grabbed at her nightdress, lifting it higher and higher until first her butt and then her breasts were exposed. One huge hand holding the garment up, the other ran itself over her body, slowly clawing then stroking, and she found its roughness and insistence intensely arousing. Looking up, she saw the creature’s head above her, so much closer now, and the yellow in its eyes seemed to pour down into hers, filling her with docility and pleasure. She shuddered from it, more wet than she’d ever been before, the scent of it starting to compete with that of the creature.

With what appendage she knew not, it gradually penetrated her, inching deeper and deeper, and the fullness was more than anything her fingers had ever been able to provide her with before. She let out a long, low moan, and a thick, glistening, tubular tongue snaked out of the creature’s mouth, feeling its way into hers. Both lower hands on her breasts now, it began to thrust gently at both ends.

As the intensity of the thrusting increased, time seemed to slow down even further for Yennivier, as a huge climax built inside her. The soft moanings of the creature as it pushed into her, continuing to hold her gaze, gradually became more guttural. And in unison, it gave several short, sharp thrusts, filling her hole with a thick liquid, as her own pleasure reached its peak and washed over her too. Her unrestrained sounds of release were stifled by its thick tongue.

It gradually backed away from her, releasing her gently and returning to its curled position at the far end of the cell, chains clinking. But its gaze didn’t leave hers for a moment as she shakily turned to follow its line of sight. Stumbling to her knees, leaking the creature’s liquid from herself, Yennivier gradually came back to her senses. Breaking eye contact, she returned her nightdress to a semblance of order, looked lingeringly back at the creature once more (its eyes were still on her) and left the cell, closing and bolting the door behind her.

It was the first of many times. She would wake in her lavish bedchamber, her loins burning despite the nighttime breeze from a tall window left open by a maidservant, or the cool light of the moon streaming through the curtains that she’d started to request be left undrawn. She would make her way down the spiraling stairwell again, the same guard always miraculously standing asleep outside the heavy door, and unnoticed, give herself to the creature’s firm, intense, mind-bending ruttings.

Though not entirely unnoticed. On one occasion, as the creature was taking her from above on the stone floor, her butt in the air and eyes rolled back in her head to be held by the ghostly yellow ones hanging over her, she caught a glimpse in her periphery of the guard, now inside the cell. Even if she’d been capable of anything other than lust in that moment, any concern would have quickly been allayed. His breeches were down, and he was energetically jerking himself to the sight of their coupling, eyes also shining yellow. He climaxed when they did, his ejaculate falling to the floor next to where the keys to the creature’s chains were attached to his belt. That night after they were reclothed, he wordlessly and respectfully escorted her back to her room, as though in a trance.

And she knew what would be happening. The number of suitors was mounting. Her lack of decision, or interest in even the most comely and least pompous of them, was starting to draw comment. Soon, her father would be making the decision for her. He, and the entire kingdom, wanted a marriage, and needed an heir. Yet she found that she didn’t care about any of these things in the least, and to the best of her recollection never actually had. So when next the mists filled the valley, they would leave. Her, the creature and their guard, to live in its world, where it was a form of royalty of a more natural, less affected kind. And she would serve it with her body and her mind, receiving its unsophisticated affection and caregiving in return, and bear the offspring that were already taking form inside her.

CODA

They came from the most shadowed and tangled depths of the forests, into a kingdom in decline from the lack of any hope of an heir and surrounded by neighbors poised to invade and divvy up. The story was the same from village to village: creatures known only from folk tales, recognizable but disturbing in their weird organic immediacy, would slide from the shadows at the edges of civilization, and begin subduing the humans. A gremlin on someone’s back, holding them down with its bodyweight. Small winged fae herding and locking people into a stable. A swarthy centaur cornering a few soldiers too dumbstruck to mount any defense.

Then the new ones would arrive, that even the old folk had difficulty remembering any reference to in ancient lore. Upright and regal, pale and with angular humanoid features. Two legs but four arms. Deep-set eyes that exuded an intense yellowness. And they would pass from person to person with firm but gentle touches, looking each in the eye, each in turn visibly relaxing and even smiling. A short red line was daubed on the forehead of every villager, from small wooden bowls of crushed sourberries reverently handed to the newcomers by the forest beings. Then the celebrations would begin. Fires lit, foods prepared, mead uncorked, all under the shadowed, anticipatory watchfulness of those not too long ago considered to be merely myth. As the human merriments reached their peak, the subtle yellow that had infused their eyes would ignite, and one by one—and sometimes more—a creature of some description would pounce on them, all giving themselves up to the pleasures of their particular body together. In bonfire light, goblins; incarnations of insect and tree spirits; satyrs and centaurs, all coupled with humans who moaned and came harder than they ever imagined they could, loosing themselves in the process. The pale ones would be offered those most comely to their etheric and abstract tastes, and would fill eyes and bodies alike as cries of helpless ecstasy and release reached from the throats of their thralls into the night sky.

The castle was easily taken, the stories of warning heard, but by an infantry without the capacity to make any sense of them. When faced with their literal truth, combined with having to fight against villagers from the kingdom they were sworn to protect, only a handful of soldiers were able to put up any meaningful resistance. With minimal loss of life on either side, and surrounded by a ring of her offspring, Yennivier returned to her childhood home. Clothed in tight-fitting armor of dense bark, bearing a knotted wooden staff, she strode majestically through the torchlight of the stone passageways, her eyes leaving a trail of yellow energy. No longer the timid, pliant but curious youth, but a warrior queen, strong-framed and commanding, forged by her submission to something beyond her understanding.

Bursting into the chamber where her father lay dying, the energy in her eyes dimmed as she approached and looked down at him. His amazement and delight in seeing her after so long animated his features in a way they hadn’t been for many years, and they exchanged gentle words as the light slowly left him and he passed.

Yennivier turned and walked to a high open window. The sounds and scents of human celebration were beginning below—fires crackling, meats cooking, bards taking up tunes—and she knew how things would go, gradually shifting into the dark preternatural orgies she had gifted her people with. There was much to do, not least reinforce their borders against invasion from scrupulous neighboring kingdoms. But for now it was time to rest. The yellow returning to her eyes, she strode out of her father’s bedchamber and towards her own from her youth, where she knew the creature would be waiting for her. It would strip her roughly of her armor as she stood helplessly before it, bend her in whichever ways it wanted, and use and reward her by filling her full of itself. Even after the many years that had passed, her pace quickened at the thought.