The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

circa. 1776.

June 16th. Isabol watched with a sense of profound loss as her young Masters, Philip Sturrows, and his eldest son, Roger, fell in line behind the growing army of Revolutionaries on their way to Columbia. Like all good men of conscience, the Sturrows felt a sense of civic pride and duty in taking up arms against the tyranny of King George and his policy of ‘taxation without representation.’ Even if it cost them their lives, they could do no less than to fight with their brothers against this oppression and win freedom and complete independence from England once and for all. So far, only minor battles and skirmishes had occurred, but everyone knew a war was in the works. It was only a matter of time.

Isabol, a young girl from the Caribbean islands, had been taken with her mother at a very young age by slave traders. After being bought and sold a few times, the young girl was eventually separated from her mother and sold to the Sturrows family. Despite the terror of her situation, Isabol gradually became content with her lot in life. Philip and Marianne Sturrows were a kind and loving folk, and treated all their slaves and workhands like members of the family. After being treated harshly, as if she were nothing more than a piece of property, the Sturrows’ kindness was a soothing balm to her many emotional wounds. Eventually, Philip freed her, giving her money and the chance to go where she wanted, to perhaps try and find her mother, but the intelligent girl knew that the chances of finding her mother after so long was nil, and that she had found a warm and secure place with the Sturrows, so she decided to stay on with them. When Marianne died a few years later giving birth to young Penelope, Isabol stepped in to take charge of the children and the household, proving her worth once again. It was a pleasure, and she raised the children like her own, for she had discovered not long after coming of age herself that she could not bear children of her own.

Life was good for her on the plantation, and she lived a happy and fruitful life. There was but one dark spot on her life. Benson Williams. The brother of Marianne, who had moved into the large plantation with her sister. A burly young man, Benson quietly kept to his own, helping out by tending to the animals and helping with the harvesting. On the surface, Benson seemed a completely benign individual, but Isabol and the other servants knew different. Benson was a cowardly man, full of hatred and jealousy, and while he did a good job tending to the plantation, he deeply resented having to depend on his rich brother-in-law to take care of him. He took out his frustrations on the other slaves, mistreating them at every turn, and whipping them brutally for the slightest mistakes. The Sturrows rebuked him time and time again for his harsh treatment of the servants, but for Marianne’s sake, Philip could never bring himself to send the young man way. The felt that in time he would change his ways, and realize as they did that everyone is a person, no matter the color of their skin or the social class that they came from.

Benson, however, continued on as before, heedless of their continued patience with him. Now, however, he became more careful, and more mindful of his handling of the slaves. He generally focused his attentions on the newer slaves, the ones less sure of their place and less likely to complain to the Masters. Even though Isabol was no longer technically a slave, Benson treated her with the same disrespect as the others, often ogling her, staring at her voluptuous form with half-lidded eyes. The thought of him thoroughly repulsed her, yet since he made no actual move against her, she couldn’t complain to the Sturrows about him. Still, she always kept one eye on the blackhearted young man, watching for the day when he would make his move.

That day, it seemed, had finally come. Philip and Roger had heeded the call of their country and had joined the Revolutionaries, and Benson, seizing the moment, had volunteered to stay behind and watch over the plantation. “This here place needs a strong MAN to watch over it, and to protect it in case them Redcoats decide to march,” he said. “Don’t yall worry none, I’ll take care of the children and make sure that they’re kept safe. You all just go fight, and make this land safe again.”

He was all smiles and manners, as the two men rode off to join the rest of the Colonials joining up, but once they were out of sight, a visible change overtook him. His face hardened, his easy smile replaced by an evil smirk. Turning to the gathered slaves he yelled out, “What are yall standing around here for? There’s work to be done! Get off your lazy backsides and get to the fields! MOVE! I want this land cleared as soon as possible, and if I catch any of you slacking off, there’ll be hell to pay!” He emphasized the threat by snapping his ever present whip loudly, and the servants all scattered at the loud crack of the leather.

The children, young Ian, the next oldest at 11 years, his sister, Megan, at 7, and the baby girl, Penelope, age 5, stood in shock. They had never seen their uncle act so strangely before, and he frightened them terribly. Ian walked up to his uncle, saying, “But Uncle Benson, Father would NEVER order the servants around like that. Besides, its nearly evening now. It’ll be too dark to work the fields, and its time for the servants to rest.”

Benson looked down at the boy in disdain. “Are you questioning me, boy?” he snarled. “Your Pa left ME in charge here! This is now MY plantation, and I intend to run it as I see fit. You have a problem with that, then you go out in the fields with the rest of them niggers and work along side them!” He shoved the boy roughly aside. “If I were you, boy, I’d watch my step. This is going to be my land PERMANENTLY. Everyone knows that King George’s army is unbeatable. What have we got? A bunch of farmers and settlers, that’s what. The Revolutionaries will never know what hit them. So you can kiss you daddy and your brother goodbye, because they AIN’T coming back.”

“NO! You’re lying! They WILL come back, they will!” Young Penelope shouted, starting to cry. “You can’t say that about my daddy! When he gets back he’ll show you what for!”

“Shh, Penelope,” Megan whispered, holding her baby sister tightly, afraid that her uncle might strike her. “Be quiet, sister. Uncle seems very mad, don’t make him angrier.”

“Stinking little brats!” Benson yelled, marching up to do just that, He reared back to smack the girls, when a strong lean brown hand grabbed his. Turning, he glared into the angry face of Isabol.

“That’s ENOUGH, Benson!” she said in a slightly accented voice. “What ya thinking, mon? You gonna hit a coupla kids? Dey’re your own family, for God’s sakes, your sister’s kin. And how DARE you tell dem that dere Father’s not coming back?”

Benson pulled free and slapped her brutally across the face. “Don’t talk back to me, Nigger!” he growled, picking up his whip. “I am in control of this place, not you! Defy me, and you’ll get a whipping like all them other niggers working the fields. You think you’re all high and mighty just ‘cause my brother-in-law made you a House Nigger? Well that don’t mean a damn thing to me! You step out of line one more time and I’ll beat you to within an inch of your miserable life. Now, get out of here, and take them miserable kids with you!” He turned and walked off, towards the fields. “If you want to keep them from getting beaten, do your job and keep them outta my way!”

Isabol sighed softly, running her burning cheek, and gathered the teary eyed children to her. She picked up Penelope, and ruffled Ian’s mousy blonde hair. “Don’t pay him any mind, children,” she said softly. “Your Father, he’ll be comin’ back to ya, that I can promise. He wouldn’t leave us all to the care of that piece of... to your uncle,” she finished, biting back her insult.

Megan sobbed softly, clutching her nanny tightly. “But I’m scared, Isabol,” she said in a soft voice. “Uncle Benson never acted that way when Pa was around. Why’s he being so mean now?”

Isabol sighed again. How could she explain the evils that exist in some men’s hearts to a seven year old girl? How could she tell her that her Uncle, her own flesh and blood, was a despicable petty man, who would as soon as toss them all out on their ear as to look at them? “Come, children. It’s late, and I have dinner to prepare. Go and wash, and I’ll set the table.” Leading the children back into the house, she caught Benson glancing at her sideways. He licked his lips and gave her a nasty glance. Despite her own reassuring words moments ago, Isabol shuddered.

July 23rd. After a week under Benson’s tyranny, Isabol felt deeply for the Colonists suffering under King George, for if he was anything like Benson Williams, then they had indeed suffered greatly. Morale at the plantation was at an all-time low, and the slaves performed their jobs with a quiet air of despair, afraid of feeling the lash of Benson’s ever-present whip at any moment. They worked the fields from the crack of dawn till well after dusk, continuing on by lantern and by torch light, until Benson felt the cost of burning fuel for lights was too high and ordered them to bed. Isabol and the children survived by staying out of his way, thought Benson continued to give Isabol devilish and predatory looks. The waiting made her anxious, but still he made no overt attempts against her. Life continued on as usual, if not normal, and slowly everyone fell into a rhythm again.

Exactly one week after the Sturrow men had left, a squad of Redcoats marched up the hill, heading towards the plantation. Isabol and Ian watched with a sense of dread. Despite her dislike and distrust of Benson, he was a strong, and well-built man. Telling the children to hide, she ran from the house into the fields, to find him and warn him of the approaching danger. She found him, as usual, standing in the middle of the corn fields, yelling instructions to the dark skinned slaves picking the harvest.

“Benson! Benson!” she yelled breathlessly as she stumbled to a halt before the man. “The enemy! The Redcoats... dere on the way here!”

Benson paled visibly. “Here?” He grabbed the young woman, shaking her violently in his panic. “How many of them are coming?” he demanded. “Were they armed? Were they marching here in formation, or just WALKING here leisurely? Speak up woman!”

Isabol pulled away, panting, trying to focus. “Easy, mon! Give me a chance to TELL you! Dey were a squad of about... ten men. And dey were walking, leisurely. I don’t tink dey mean to attack, but still, you got to be wary o’ dem!”

Benson stood there a moment, collecting his wits. “Okay. Go back to the house and keep those brats out of sight! The LAST thing I need is for one of them to open their mouths about their big brave father going off to fight the English! As for YOU, go and set up a spread of snacks for our guests. I’m sure they will be hungry and thirsty after their march.”

“Hungry? Thirsty?” Isabol gaped at him in disbelief. “Don’t you realize dey are the ENEMY? Your brother and nephew be out dere fighting for dere country, and you want me to prepare to treat dem as honored GUESTS?!?” His response sent her to the ground, clutching her battered face again.

“I told you what would happen if you defied me again, nigger!” he growled dangerously. “Get back to the house now, or I’ll see you hung once these men leave!”

Still clutching her throbbing cheek, Isabol ran back to the house, just as the Redcoats made their way across the field. Putting on his best smile, Benson made his way over to the commander, welcoming him with a air of humbleness.

Back at the house, Ian and Megan were waiting for her in the kitchen. “Children! I told you to stay hidden in the attic!” she said frowning. “Now go back up dere dis instant! Those soldiers are almost here.”

Ian glanced up at Isabol’s face, glaring hotly. “He hit you again, didn’t he?” Isabol placed a hand to the bruise beginning to form on the side of her dark skinned cheek. “I HATE him! I hope the Redcoats drag him away! Then everything will be like it used to be.”

Isabol clutched the children to her tightly. “It’s okay, my little one,” she said softly. “It’s okay. It won’t last forever. His kind never do. Soon enough, your Father will return and set tings right again. We just got to hold on till then, okay?” Both children nodded. “Good. Now, go back upstairs and hide, like I told you, and look after Penelope.” Nodding, they obeyed, running up the stairs to the attic. With a sigh of resignation, Isabol began preparing some quick snacks and a large pitcher of lemonade for the soldiers.

Benson entered the house with a loud commotion, and Isabol glanced through the parlor door to see him laughing and shaking hands with the commander of the Redcoat squad. “It’s too bad we had to meet under these circumstances,” Benson was saying, “its seems my fellow are all up in arms about something or another. Dissidents, all of them.” He literally oozed charisma, as he led the commander and his men to have a seat in the parlor. “Personally, I’ve ALWAYS been loyal to the crown. A true public servant, that’s me. After all, it was high Majesty, King George, that allowed us the freedom to come here and make a new home for ourselves in the first place. And as you can see, we have prospered.”

“Indeed,” the commander said, glancing around the tastefully decorated house. “This manor is even richer than my own back in England. Very tastefully done, I might add.”

“Make yourselves at home,” Benson said, fawning over the man like a lovesick calf. “My home is your home. I noticed that your men looked a bit tired and worn out from the traveling, so I have taken the liberty of having some refreshments prepared. It’s not much, but I had little warning of your coming.”

“That is how it was intended,” the commander said with a smirk. “Though there ARE loyalists like you around, most often we run into Revolutionaries, who would rather try to attack us than give us shelter and provisions. My squad is a small reconnaissance team, and we are here just to gather information and supplies for the larger army. It would not do to advertise our intended destination.”

“Oh, of course,” Benson nodded. “I quite understand. Here, let me summon the serving girl. Isabol! My Guests will be served now, thank you.” Hearing his summons, Isabol walked out carrying several silver platters of snacks: fruits and cheeses, cut slices of meat from lunch, and several loaves of bread. The soldiers tore into the feast with gusto, washing it down with the lemonade. Isabol watched with disgust, but hid her feelings behind a stiff smile. Suddenly, a hand on her shoulder caused her to start. Turning, she saw the commander looking down at her very attentively, in a manner reminiscent of Benson himself.

“A very lovely Nigress you have here, Mr. Williams,” he said softly, letting his hand glide across her chin. Isabol stood frozen. No one had EVER touched her that way before, so casually, as if she were an item on display. “An interesting people,” he commented casually as well, as if she couldn’t hear him. “They are not quite... civilized, but they are not all without... their good qualities.”

“Unhand me!” she sputtered, getting control of her body and tongue again. She pushed away from him in disgust and horror. “How dare you?”

“Spirited too,” the commander commented dryly, continuing to appraise her.

“You leave Isabol alone, you stupid fucking bastards!” Ian said, causing everyone to turn to the top of the steps. Isabol didn’t know what had shocked her more, the bad language the boy had spoken, or the fact that he had disobeyed her and had chosen to try to defend her honor.

“Quiet boy!” Benson snarled. “I told you to stay in your room and stay out of my affairs!”

“Shut up!” Ian yelled, running down the stairs. “You’re not my father, you can’t tell me what to do! I hate you, I hate you!” he yelled, pounding in Benson’s chest with his small fists. With a snarl, Benson hit the boy in the gut, knocking the wind out of him and crumpling him like a discarded piece of parchment. Gasping, crying, he fell to the floor, and Isabol ran to him, to protect him from any further pain, only to be pulled aside by the soldiers.

“Let me go! You English bastards! Let me go to the boy!” she screamed.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!” the commander growled, silencing everyone. Walking over to young Ian, he picked up the poor boy and shook him lightly. “You, boy, need to learns some manners. This is grown-up business, and you have no reason to interfere, but if you want, we’ll be glad to include you.” He shoved the boy over to Benson, who held him tightly, frowning, uncertain what the commander had in store. “As for YOU,” he said, turning his attention to Isabol, “you DARE to insult his Majesty’s loyal troops? You, a common slave, dare to disrespect your betters? You have a serious lack of respect, young lady, and I think you need to be taught a lesson!” Without further words, he ripped Isabol’s clothes, tearing his simple homespun dress completely, revealing her naked body. With a cry of anguish, she struggled furiously, trying to break free, but the soldiers held her still, as the commander continued stripping her of her clothes.

“Isabol, no!” Ian yelled, trying to go to his beleaguered nanny, but was likewise unable to escape his Uncle’s grip.

“Be quiet boy,” Benson growled, placing a hand over his mouth. “Be quiet, or you’ll be next!” He held Ian still, face front, making the boy watch what he knew would be a lesson neither he nor Isabol would never forget.

The soldiers pushed her forward, lifting the struggling woman onto the table. Several hard slaps and punches to the midsection finally calmed her down, and she ceased her struggles, merely glaring up at her captors with pure hate. The commander merely smirked as he slid down his britches. “Consider this your FIRST lesson in etiquette, my dear,” he said venomously, as he slid his rod deep into Isabol. She gasped, then grunted, trying to close her legs and halt his progress, but the soldiers holding her merely grabbed her ankles as well, pulling her legs further apart.

Isabol screamed her outrage as she was raped, the commander thrusting deep into her private place, again and again, forcing her body to respond even as her mind rebelled. His cock was small but thick, and it stretched her insides in a way that was driving her crazy. Her vaginal muscles clenched it involuntarily, welcoming its presence. It had been several years since she had taken a lover, the last when she had discovered that she was unable to bear children. In all that time she had never as much as caressed herself down there; now, against her will, she was being violated, and as much as she fought the feeling, she found herself becoming aroused. Suddenly, without warning, the commander came, flooding her tunnel, and she gasped, biting her lip as the sensations forced her to climax as well. A part of her died at that moment, even as she gave in to the pleasure, arching her back as she spasmed.

The commander grinned, looking on her in disgust. “I dare say you enjoyed that a bit too much,” he scoffed. “Edwards, Gregory, Tibit, all the rest of you, this woman is a slow learner. Each of you will get a turn, and see if you can BEAT the lesson into her. Another soldier, Edwards, moved into place after the commander, and Isabol turned her head away, letting the tears begin to flow. She felt him enter her and everything went gray...

June 28th. Isabol sighed deeply, and opened her eyes. She discovered that she was lying in her bedroom in the manor house, with a cold compress being applied lovingly to her forehead. She blinked and glanced up into the face of her friend, Martha. The young black slave girl smiled down at her. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Isabol,” she said softly. “Thank God you’re awake. The children have been worried sick about you. How do you feel?”

Isabol sighed deeply. Physically, she felt sore, inside and out. Battered and bruised from the brutal raping and beating she’d endured, it had taken several days to recover. Mentally, however, she felt even worse. Not so much for herself, at being violated and abused, which was bad enough. The thing she remembered the most from her ordeal, the thing that had haunted her dreams and turned them into nightmares, was the look of horror on young Ian’s face as his uncle forced him to watch her fate. He tried to look away again and again, but the cruel man had forced his face in her direction, and held his eyelids open. Her throat dry from non-use, Isabol croaked a reply.

“Ian? How is... Ian? Is he... okay?”

Martha sighed deeply, turning away. “He’s okay. He wasn’t hurt. After it was all over, he was the one that ran and got me, and told me what had happened. He watched while we carried you away and bathed and cleaned you. I told him you’d be okay, that you just needed time to recover... but... Isabol, that boy’s hurting inside. Making such a young good-hearted boy watch something like that happen, and him helpless to stop it... it was the mark of cruelty. He blames himself for not being able to save you. He hasn’t spoken a word since that night. He won’t eat and he barely sleeps. Isabol.. I know its asking a lot, and that you’re tired... but if you could just talk to him for a few minutes, show him you’re alright...”

Isabol nodded gently. “Show him in.”

Martha opened the door, and Ian walked in, wringing his hands, looking down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. It was worse than Isabol had imagined. “Hey,” she managed to croak softly. “Ian? Is dat my handsome noble Knight in shining armor?” He looked up at her ashamed, her kind words only cutting deeper into his heart. Sensing her mistake, she placed a hand gently on his shoulder. “It’s okay, Ian. It’s alright. I’ll be okay. It wasn’t your fault, boy. Dose men...” she shuddered softly, “dose evil men, dey wouldn’t be stopped by da likes of one boy, or one man, or five men. It was ten of dem against you, by your lonesome! A normal child would have run away scared, but not you, no, you charged in like an avenging angel.” She smiled at the boy, and he tentatively smiled back. “I’m proud of you, Ian. Don’t feel bad about me. I’ll heal. I’ll recover. Instead, feel bad about da ones responsible for dis.” Her expression darkened. “All of dem, dey gonna pay for what dey did to the both of us. This new world has its way of dealing out justice, but back in my homeland, dere was another way. An older way. I may be young, but I still remember the ways of my Mother.” She glanced over at Martha, who looked away, unable to meet her eyes. Sighing, she turned her attention back to young Ian. “Don’t worry, my beloved young man, everything is going to be fine. Now, go and play.” Ian leaned forward and kissed Isabol on an undamaged cheek and ran off.

“Isabol,” Martha said after the boy had gone, “are you SURE you want to do this? You always said that using the black arts would darken your spirit as well. That using voodoo to get rid of old Benson would be like stubbing your toe, then chopping it off to get revenge on the thing you stubbed it on! The cost would more than outweigh the gain!”

“Look at me, Martha,” Isabol said quietly but with force. “I’ve been abused and raped and beaten. Worse, that young boy was forced to watch, something he’ll carry with him for the rest of his life. Everything that they did has changed me, hardened my heart the way that black magic never could. I have nothing left to lose, except my immortal soul, and even that’s a small price to pay for revenge.”

Martha sighed and reached inside her pocket. “I had a feeling you would say that. Here.” She handed Isabol a small tin filled with ten separate small pieces of hair tied with string. “I managed to snip this from those English dogs while they slept here and rested for their march the day after. Sorry, but I couldn’t get close enough to Benson to get a piece of his hair.”

Isabol glanced at the hair samples in her hand for a long time. “Dat’s okay,” she answered finally. “I have me own plan for DAT particular bastard. For making my Ian watch that display, I’ve got an even worse fate for him dan death for the soldiers.”

Midnight, July 1st. After resting and recuperating for the past three days, Isabol was finally ready to make her move. Waiting until the last of the lights had gone out, she crept down the stairs, moving silently past the Master bedroom that housed Benson, and out the door, moving through the woods to the old abandoned shack near the creek. Despite the darkness, Isabol walked with a sure and steady step. She had pondered her decision to go through with it for hours on end, but in the end, her resolve held firm. They had been kept under Benson’s evil reign for far too long, and it was time to end.

The cool breeze felt good against Isabol’s skin, and she let her nightgown open up a bit wider as she walked. The grass was wet with dew, and her bare feet slipped slightly as she made her way down the small hill to the wooden building at the bottom. Catching herself at the last moment, she avoided a nasty fall. A lucky thing, too. How would she have been able to explain getting dirt and mud on her bedclothes in the morning? She managed to make it there without incident, and lighting the lantern she had brought with her, she crept inside.

The room was just as she had left it. The floor had been cleared and swept clean, and her gathered supplies had been stored safely inside the cabinets. Slipping off her robe, she moved naked to the first cabinet and took out a small jar of white powder. Making a circle on the floor, she then took out the candles, and the small iron pot she managed to hide from the kitchen. Lastly, she knelt down to the lower cabinets and removed the small brown field rat she had managed to trap the other day. “Dis first one is for da enemy soldiers,” she whispered aloud. “I send dem my vengeance, my hatred, and my curse. Let the pain dey inflicted on me be returned to dem a hundred fold.” Softly, she began to speak the ancient words as she mixed the ingredients in the small iron pot. She dropped in each hair sample taken from the soldiers, and spoke their names aloud as she added each one. “Edwards, Gregory, Tibit,” she chanted softly. “Marshall, Fredricks, Andrews,” she spoke, sweat starting to drip from her brow. “Evans, Peterson, Burke!” she nearly screamed. “And last, but most definitely, least, your commander, Michaels!” With the last name, she grabbed the rat by its neck and twisted, cutting its squeal off instantly. Ripping off the head, she poured the blood over the mixture, and continuing to chant the words, tossed a spark from the candle into the pot. The mixture blazed up, then subsided, sending out a cloud of thick green smoke. As Isabol continued to chant, the smoke swirled higher and higher, rising to the roof of the shack, then suddenly vanished.

Several miles away, Commander Michaels and his squad were settling in for the night. It had been a rough few days once they had left the Sturrow Plantation, having to dodge Colonial militia on their way to meet back up with the rest of the troops. Despite a few close calls, they had all arrived safe and sound back at the campsite. Michaels was reporting in to his commander, Major Harrison, when a cry went up from the camp. Thinking it a sneak attack from the Revolutionaries, Michaels and Harrison left their tent and sounded a general alarm. They quickly located the source of the commotion as the fire where his men had stopped to rest while he reported in. Five of his men were lying still, their unseeing eyes wide and blank. Three others were crying out in agony, clutching their faces, shaking violently. The rest of the men stood well away from the ones suffering, afraid to touch them, but a murmur went through the gathered men, spreading like wildfire: A curse. Evil magic. Voodoo.

“Silence!” Major Harrison shouted. “Voodoo curses and magic, indeed! A lot of rubbish. You there, Sergeant. What happened to these men? When did all this begin? Did they have something to eat or drink that made them sick?”

“No sir,” the sergeant replied, gazing warily at the three others as they went still. “They had just sat down, and were telling us of the plantation where they had picked up those supplies. Suddenly, without warning, they just, well... started to convulse. As if something inside them was trying to claw its way out. They started screaming and at first we all thought it was a joke, but them one of them starts vomiting... and he vomits up blood! Then the rest of them, one after another. The same thing. None of them had eaten anything, they had only just sat down.”

The Major turned to the Commander, and frowned. “What’s going on here, Commander? Your men just suddenly had an attack of some sort and fell over dead? Could the supplies you brought back with you be tainted somehow?”

“That... that’s impossible, sir,” Michaels stuttered, looking with dread at the bodies of his men. Only Peterson and himself remained live and well. “We ate from the supplies several times over the past few days, and never once suffered any ill effects. No poison I know of can last for five days then suddenly kill you out of nowhere. Besides, I trust the man that gave them to us. He was a Loyalist supporter. He even shared in the food on our last day. If it was poisoned, he would have killed himself as well.”

“It was HER!” Peterson yelled, standing up suddenly. Sweat was beading off his forehead. “It’s her,” he repeated, looking around anxiously. “The woman, that black slave girl we raped! She did this!” Another murmur went through the crowd as Peterson spoke aloud his suspicions. “She... she cursed us for raping her! Oh God in Heaven, I can hear her voice in my head even now, laughing.. laughing! She’s going to.. AAACCKK!” Peterson clenched his stomach, and with wide eyes, fell to his knees, and began to shudder. He screamed and screamed, until Michaels could stand it no more, and shot him in the brain with his pistol.

Harrison looked at his commander in shock. “Is this true?” he asked loudly, when Michaels turned back to face him. “Did you RAPE and beat one of the Colonial’s slave women?”

Michaels shook his head fervently. “Absolutely no, Major,” he swore passionately. “You could see the man. He was in great pain, and obviously delusional. He didn’t know what he was saying. Believe me, Major, its probably something they picked up on the way here. There is nothing wrong with the food, and as everyone knows, there is no such thing as black magic and curses.”

“And you SWEAR to God Almighty that this is the truth?” the Major asked doubtfully.

“If not, then, may He strike me dead,” Michaels replied, just as a severe pain struck his gullet...

Several minutes later, the fire in the pot flared up again, then died out completely. Isabol lowered her head softly. It was done. The men that had wronged her were no more. As she had feared, she was unchanged by the deed. Her heart was already so blackened with hatred and so filled with the need for revenge that succumbing to the black arts had little effect on her soul. “So be it,” she whispered softly. “Dis one shall be da last. But his trial shall be the greatest. No swift end for him, no... he shall endure to suffer his fate for years to come.”

Isabol mixed the last of her ingredients together, the holding a long silver knife from the kitchen, pricked her finger, letting three drops of her own blood into the mixture. She waited a moment or two, then hesitantly scooped up some of the mixture and, spreading her legs, applied it to her naked mons, smearing the poison all along and inside her pussy. She hissed slightly at the touch, as her flesh began to grow cold wherever the liquid touched her, but she bit her lip and continued to apply the potion. Her flesh would warm again soon enough.

Benson tossed and turned in his dreams, moaning softly. In slumber, he was once again witnessing that stuck up bitch, Isabol, getting raped, only in his dreams, HE was the leader, and he was the one to take her first. He sighed deeply, stroking himself under the bedsheets, and as he came in his dreams, so did he in real life, spurting his seed, soaking the bedsheets thoroughly. Gasping, he opened his eyes, and slid out from under the covers, sighing deeply. He’d had the same lovely dream for the past week, but with the girl so weak and injured from the brutal raping, she was in no shape to fuck. Tomorrow, he vowed silently, tomorrow, I’ll take her no matter what condition she’s in! That nigger is gonna know what its like to be fucked by a REAL man!

A flash of light made him start. Over in the corner, a lantern came on, the blinder opened to reveal the light. Isabol’s form shone softly in the glare. Benson, embarrassed, and a little frightened at her coincidental appearance, shouted. “What in heaven’s name are YOU doing here?”

Isabol merely smiled, sliding her robe off her shoulders, revealing her naked body. “I dink you already know da answer to dat, Benson,” she said with a low crooning voice. “I heard you talking in your sleep, calling out my name. I saw your hand working your meant under the covers. And I saw that thick monstrous cock of yours shoot its load all over the Master’s bed.” She slithered her way seductively up to the bed, sliding a hand over Benson’s surprised face. “Don’t try and deny it, mon! I know what I saw. You want me, don’t you Benson? You always wanted me... just as I have always wanted you.”

Benson felt a stirring in his groin at her words, and though he had just released a moment ago, his cock stiffened into readiness once again. Isabol slid her soft hand down to stroke it gently. “Mmmmmm,” she moaned sweetly, making Benson writhe in pleasure. “Oh, its so damn big! And so thick. Oh, dis will feel so good in me. Don’t you want to take me now, my handsome Master?”

With a passionate growl, Benson pushed Isabol back into the bed, and crawling forward, slipped his hard cock into her dripping wetness. Isabol let out a deep long moan at being filled so completely. Benson groaned in pleasure. Despite being repeatedly taken days ago, her pussy felt tight and snug, as if she were still a virgin. As he began giving her strokes her pussy began to heat up dramatically, flooding his cock with her juices. He grinned sardonically, believing she had cum so soon. “You like that, nigger!” he said in a low deep voice. “Well the night’s just begun. I’m going to fuck your brains out!”

Isabol merely smiled devilishly, wrapping her legs around him, and pushing over, rolled him onto his back. Before he could protest, she placed a finger to his lips. “No, my handsome MASTER, let your SLAVE do dat for you. You just relax and let the SLAVE do all the work.” She began a vigorous humping then, riding his cock like a bucking bronco, opening and clenching her vaginal muscles repeatedly, making Benson’s eyes glaze over in pleasure.

Mmmmm... damn this whore is good! he thought to himself as he gave into the pleasure. And I like the way she called me her MASTER. Mmmmm.. yesss.. and that she is my SLAVE. Master and slave... slave and Master... ohhh yeah.. I could get to like this.

Isabol smiled, picking her words carefully as she increased the tempo, seeing the initial effects of her spell beginning to work. “Oh yes... it feels so good inside me, feels so GOOD to be fucked by the Master. Feels so good being a slave and getting the Master to fuck... so good.. oh oh soo good..” Isabol moaned deeply, feeling the spasms of a rising orgasm coming her way, so she slowed the rhythm just a bit, trying to get herself under control. This was more than a simple fuck, it was a battle of control. If she lost control and came before him, the spell would turn on HER, enslaving her to his will for all time. Biting her lip, she began rocking as she pumped, giving his ramrod prick even more stimulation, feeling him shudder and writhe underneath her. “Tell me, Benson, doesn’t it feel good when a Master fucks with a slave? Doesn’t the slave enjoy it sooo much? Doesn’t it feel so heavenly, mon?”

Benson sighed deeply, nearly swooning from the heavenly sensations enveloping his engorged cock. He was befogged in pleasure, and too concerned about his own pleasure to notice anything amiss. “Ohhh.. yeah, baby, just like that... yeah... whatever you say,” he mumbled incoherently. Isabol began a vigorous humping again, emphasizing each word with a brutal thrust into his plentiful cock.

“Oh YES(thrust) indeed! It feels so GOOD(thrust) when a MASTER(thrust)fucks a SLAVE(thrust) it feels sooo GOOD(thrust) it makes you almost want to SWOON(thrust) in the pleasure, just RELAX(thrust) and let the PLEASURE(thrust) take you, let it suck away all your worries (thrust), all your doubts (thrust) all your THOUGHTS (thrust) until there is NOTHING(thrust), nothing left but the PLEASURE(thrust). Just the wonderful PLEASURE(thrust).”

“OHHHH YESS!!” Benson groaned deeply, as he felt a deep pressure building in his balls. The girl was right, it was so much better when he just let go, stopped thinking about everything and just gave into the pleasure. Master fucking a slave. Slave being fucked by a Master. It was so good, so damn fucking GOOD. He felt his head swimming, consumed with the wonderful sensation on his cock. He was close now, very close. He wanted to take control, like he normally did, and force the situation, and make himself cum sooner, but he felt disjointed, weak and confused. He couldn’t think of how to TAKE control, let alone what to do if he ever did. All he could do is sit back and relax and let the pleasure come to him at its own pace.

Isabol groaned deeply. She was in real trouble and she knew it. Her pussy was clenching his cock like it had never felt it before, and desperately wanted to savor every sensation. She was starting to become lost in her own spell, and though she knew she HAD to slow the rhythm, and give herself a chance to recover, her libido had other ideas. Her body seemed possessed with the pleasure, as surely as Benson’s, and she knew she was close to cumming as well. She had to hang in there, somehow, had to strengthen her hold on HIM while loosening the spell’s grip on herself. Closing her eyes, she imagined her brutal rape again, but instead of focusing on herself, she remembered Benson, holding Ian. Her Ian. Making him watch, tears running down the boy’s eyes and he tried to look away. A deep swelling anger began to fill her, and it nicked away at the euphoric fog threatening to overwhelm her. With a clear head again, she finished the last of the ceremony.

“YES! Benson!” she nearly screamed, putting her hands to his face, forcing his half-lidded gaze to meet her own. “It feels so good, doesn’t it? TELL ME it feels good!”

Moaning, groaning, writing under her, he answered softly, “Oh yess.. feels... good.”

Isabol smirked evilly, feeling the power over him building to a crescendo. “Yes, it DOES feel good to be fucked like this. It feels good when a Master fucks a slave, taking the slave to unknown heights of pleasure.”

Benson nodded softly, murmuring in reply. “Uh, uh, yeah... Master... fucking a slave... so good... such pleasure!”

Isabol locked down hard on his cock, clenching him with all her strength as she stared deep into his eyes and spoke. “And YOU are the SLAVE, Benson, and I am your MASTER! And I am going to make you release, NOW!”

Whether it was her words, or the clenching, or a combination of the two, Benson’s trigger had been pulled and he arched his back, releasing his pleasure deep into Isabol. His cum began dripping down their thighs, a red sickly color, tainted by the poison she had applied to her own body, now being absorbed into his with that titanic release. Slowly, Isabol felt her own rushing climax begin to recede a bit, feeling the mindless pleasure return to something normal, as it transferred itself to Benson. Benson, however, opened his mouth and screamed his intense pleasure, his mind snapped, broken, shattered into a million pieces. The intense pleasure mixed with her last words as they deeply ingrained themselves into his psyche. He was SLAVE. Her slave. She was his Master. Owner. Controller. Trainer. Mistress... yes... that word fit perfectly. His MISTRESS.

As he gasped softly, letting his breathing and heartbeat return to normal, Isabol grinned softly. Sliding off of him, she whispered into his fragile childlike mind. “Very good, Benson. Just remember who is your Master now, and who is her loyal and obedient slave. Go back to sleep, and let dis all be a dream, but deep inside you will know and you will remember your loyalty to me. Always. And you will come to me tomorrow night, again, to pleasure your Master with dat slave cock of yours.” Benson nodded once and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.

July 4th. Word had come down from the capitol about the Declaration signed by the leaders of the Colonies, and had spread like wildfire throughout the states, including South Carolina. It was evening, and Isabol sat relaxing on the swing, watching the children play, trying to catch fireflies. On the porch, a few feet away, sat Benson Williams, watching the activity with a look of amusement. Indeed, it was just that, a LOOK of amusement, for Benson no longer felt amused, or anything for that matter. He would have worn the same spaced-out look should someone have informed him that his hair was on fire. All that existed for him now were the words of his Mistress, and the deep satisfying pleasure that obeying her perfectly would bring. “Slave,” Isabol whispered softly, knowing full well that Benson was actively attentive to her every word. “Slave, its getting late, and dinner is cooling on da table. Call da children in.”

“Of course, my Mistress,” Benson answered softly. He rose to his feet and turned to the yard. “Hey! Hey you kids!” he shouted, sounding every bit his old self. “Time to come in and eat. Your supper is getting cold!” With reluctance, the three young children came running, past Benson to Isabol, she stood smiling, with open arms.

“Let me see what you got,” she said smiling. The three children held up their jars. Ian, of course, had caught the most, seven fireflies. Megan had caught the next best, five, but proudest of all, the baby, Penelope, had caught two fireflies.

“Look, Isabol!” she said proudly, holding up her jar. “I caught them all by myself. Nobody even helped me! I did it!”

Isabol smiled grandly, kissing the darling girl gently on the forehead. “Yes, child, so I see. I am very proud of you. Of ALL of you,” she added. “Now, go and wash up, its time to eat. But before you go, you need to let your little bugs go free.”

The children let out a groan, but Isabol shook her head. “What’s da matter with all of you? Didn’t you hear the letter from your Pa I read to you earlier? Today is our Independence Day. Da colonies are officially declaring der independence of King George and England. Everyone is finally going to be free to live as dey choose. Everyone. And dat includes fireflies.”

“Okay, Isabol,” Ian said, unscrewing his jar. “I’ll give my fireflies their independence too!” Likewise, the two girls unscrewed their lids as well. The three kids then ran into the house, to wash up for dinner. Isabol just laughed and watched them go before turning back to Benson. Her expression grew solemn, then hard as she gazed at him.

“Well, not EVERYONE is free today, are they slave?” she said in a low deep menacing voice. Sensing his Mistress was displeased in some way, he began to shudder. “It’s okay, Benson. I do not hold it against ya anymore, mon. You’ve paid for your sins, and will continue to pay for dem, every day of your life from now on. So come on, let us all eat at da table, den later, we can go upstairs and celebrate OUR own holiday. Today is your in DEPENDENCE day, my slave, for you be depending on me for everything now.” She slapped him on the back of his arse, sending him running into the house.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Life is gonna change here for all of us.”