The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We spent the next day walking through the woods, trading stories. Iason, it turned out, came from a long line of monster-hunters. His father had, in the chaotic lands east of the Black Sea, acquired a sword made of a terrible black metal, far harder and sharper than bronze, that fell from the sky in a blazing, dying star. On his deathbed, Iason’s father had willed his armor to Iason, and the sword Iason’s older sister, Iola. Iason had now been searching for her for three years.

While we walked, he showed me the sword, and I whistled, impressed. Enormous magical power was sealed inside it, unshaped and raw. The result was a weapon with no special powers of its own, but able to amplify and reflect the powers and abilities of its wielder. It was something special, all right.

For my own part, I told Iason about my escapades at the Academy. You have never seen a party until you’ve seen mages party. Especially when they’re the young elite, trained enough to know better and too drunk to care.

Late in the afternoon, we emerged from the woods. A ridge rose ahead of us. Behind it, according to Iason, was a swamp that extended along the length of the main river in these parts, all the way down to the sea. On top of it was a looming, brooding castle of brown stone: Castle Brinksmoor.

“What’s your plan?” asked Iason.

“Simple,” I said. “I’m going to walk up and knock on the door, tell them I’m a sorceress from Lemuria and ask to see Lord Brinksmoor. I’ll use my feminine wiles to persuade him to let me see the library, and if one of the books is in there, I’ll take it and blast my way out. Meanwhile, you can ask around about your sister.”

“That is,” he said simply, “quite possibly the worst plan I have ever heard.”

“What’s wrong with it?” I demanded.

“Well,” he said, clearly picking his words carefully, “local standards are, uh... well, you’re a little...”

“What?” I said irritably, already suspicious of where he was headed.

He gestured vaguely at his chest. “I’m not sure your, um, ‘feminine wiles’ are quite up to the task.”

So I kneed him in the groin. I think it was a reasonable response. Plus, I’m very, very good at it. Leather breeches or no, he fell to the ground with a groan.

“I think that they are perfectly sized for someone of my petite build!” I told him. “And I’m sure I can persuade Lord Brinksmoor of the same, if he has even an iota of taste. And if not, I’ll just blast my way into the library.” I stormed up the path toward the castle.

Halfway there, I glanced back to see Iason hobbling along behind me, clearly keeping his distance. Bastard. And after I’d been thinking all those nice warm thoughts about his muscle-y chest, too, he had to go and say something mean about mine.

There were three guards at the front gate, with spears. “Halt!” said one. “State your name and business.”

“The Lady Lemma Kyrie baSontara of Lemuria, here to discuss matters of arcane import with Lord Brinksmoor.” I glanced back at Iason. “And my retainer.”

One of the guards ran back into the castle, and a few minutes later, we were ushered into the courtyard. It was typical Islander crud—bad stonework, a severe shortage of decorative plants, and no fountains to speak of. Just an open space with a well where some knights could hold off a siege for a while. At the far end was the main hall, a long, low wooden building. At least it had windows.

“Interesting,” said Iason, coming up next to me. “The guards were all women.”

“So?” I said.

“Woman warriors are almost unheard of here in Kyrno. They show up occasionally in Breizh, and more often in Alba, but they’re still much rarer in the Tin Islands than Lemuria.”

“Huh,” I said. “I guess that is a little unusual.”

Two more spearwomen stood at the doors to the hall, and opened them for us. We stepped into an antechamber, where Lord Brinksmoor and two servants stood. The two girls were both young and, by local standards, fairly pretty. They were also, by local standards, unusually short and thin—I noted that, as it might help my feminine wiles strategy. They wore matching black frilly dresses with white lace trim, with short puffy sleeves, low necklines, and short skirts. They were utterly impractical outfits, clearly meant to play up their physical assets rather than be useful to do work in. Both girls were also clearly utterly besotted with Brinksmoor.

Brinksmoor was thirtyish, balding, tall and chubby, with an oversized nose. He was wearing a lot of purple and ruffles, and a long black cape. He looked like an actor parodying a nobleman, and it was very obvious he had one of the magic books, because he was dripping with glamours.

Quick magic lesson time! There are three main kinds of magic that affect people’s minds. I’ve already mention geas, which can control people’s actions. Magically binding contracts and oaths are a kind of geas, and you can also cast one on a person with some of their blood, although it makes it easier if you get their permission, like a certain bastard Archmagus tricked me into doing. Then there are illusions, which mess with people’s perceptions. They can make you see things or hear things, that kind of thing.

The subtlest, most difficult and dangerous kind of mental magic are glamours. Glamours alter emotion and interpretation. You can either cast a glamour on a person to change how they feel about something— say, to make them hungry, or horny, or lonely—or on an object or person to change how everyone reacts to that thing. For example, you can cast an illusion on an ugly old man to make him look buff and healthy, or you can cast a glamour on him to make people attracted to him. People looking at him will see an ugly old man who is still somehow really sexy. You haven’t changed what they see, but you can change how they feel about it. Got it? Good.

Anyway, Brinksmoor was dripping with glamours to make him seem attractive, charming, trustworthy and likeable. Of course, one of the many enchantments woven into my gear was an anti-glamour spell of my own devising. It allowed me to see his glamours, which alone was enough to make them nearly harmless, and simultaneously upped my resistance to mental effects. I could also see the glamours wrapping around the two servant girls. I won’t go into too much detail about what he did to them, but suffice it to say I was surprised they were merely besotted, as opposed to, I don’t know, falling to their knees and begging for him to take them. Yeah, he had them that badly ensorcelled. What a sicko.

I glanced over at Iason. He was eyeing Brinksmoor suspiciously. That confirmed the suspicion I’d formed from the lack of male staff: Brinksmoor was using gender-specific glamours. That probably meant the boSuntel book, but I’d need to see his library to be sure.

Brinksmoor spread his arms. “Welcome, Lady Lemma, to my humble abode. It is no doubt far less than you are used to in your ancient and mighty realm, but what is here is yours.”

“Thank you, Lord Brinksmoor,” I said, giving the slimeball my flirtiest smile. No point in letting him know his glamours weren’t working, especially not if I was going to play the feminine wiles card.

“Now, I understand you are here to discuss the arcane arts? I have studied them all my life, as did my father before me,” he said. “While my library is nothing compared to the legendary halls of learning in mighty Lemuria, it is nonetheless my pride and joy. Perhaps you would care to see it?”

Oh, this was just too easy.

“But first,” he said, “I am sure you and your retainer are tired. Perhaps you would like to refresh yourselves, and then join me for the evening meal?” He snapped his fingers. “Mira! Brea! Show our guests to their baths.”

Baths? Did he say baths? I was starting to worry nobody in these stupid islands had ever heard of baths! They certainly smelled like they hadn’t. The girls led us down a hallway to a branch, and then one went left and the other straight.

“I’m not sure we should split up,” Iason said.

“Well, I’m not taking a bath with you in the room and I’m sure as hell not passing up the chance at a bath, so I don’t see that we have any choice.” I shooed him down the hall after one of the girls and turned to follow the other. “We’ll meet up later. See if you can find anything about your sister.”

I practically skipped down the hall with glee. I was going to get CLEAN! The girl—Mira, or Brea, I wasn’t sure—led me to a small room with a mosaic-tile floor, with a large copper tub, a large basin of cold water, a roaring fire over which was a large pot of boiling water, and, glory of glories, a gooey mass of soft, squishy, but very real SOAP!

Brea, or Mira, poured a little cold water into the tub, then boiling water on top of that, until the mixture reached a nice steamy-hot level without being scalding. She clearly had a lot of practice in drawing baths, because she got the temperature absolutely perfect. She stood by while I stripped quickly out of my travel-stained clothes, silently gathering them up and folding them before placing them on a nearby shelf. As I settled into the tub with a sigh of absolute pleasure, she stepped out of the room, closing the door.

I luxuriated in the tub for ages, interrupted only once, briefly, when Mira or Brea stepped in to drop off a fluffy white towel and a robe. Otherwise, I just soaked, letting the hot water sweep away all the nasty strain of travel and exile. Finally, as the water started to cool, and worried I was going to get all pruny, I grabbed the soap and started scrubbing myself down. It was glorious—I scrubbed myself clean from head to toe and even washed my hair. Six months of accumulated grime. How did the savages stand it? I really needed to work out a spell for creating hot baths and soap on the road. Why hadn’t they taught that at the Academy?

Finally clean, I rubbed myself dry and then pulled on the deliciously soft, clean cotton robe and wrapped the towel around my head. I was feeling a little dizzy, probably from the steam, but very relaxed and happy.

The girl stepped back in, and I said, “Hi, Mira or Brea,” then giggled. I’m not normally given to giggling, but that was the state of bliss I was in. “Which are you?” I asked.

“I am Mira, m’Lady,” she said, with a little dip, like a mini-curtsey. “His Lordship requests that you do him the honor of wearing this dress to dinner,” she said.

“Oooh,” I said. It was a killer dress, absolutely gorgeous. I knew the moment I laid eyes on it I had to have it. It was made of some shimmery, sheer fabric, and vibrantly, beautifully green. I took it from Mira and began pulling it on. It had a high neck, and fit perfectly, clinging to and emphasizing my smallish, but high and round, breasts and slim waist, then flaring at the hips into a floaty skirt that fell nearly to the floor. It was perfect, accentuating my assets without being slutty.

Mira held up a small mirror—which must have cost Lord Brinksmoor a fortune—and I studied myself in it, doing a little spin to feel the skirt flare. I don’t wear skirts normally, but this dress just felt so comfortable and sexy I found it impossible to care. I sat happily while Mira combed out my hair and then pinned it up in a sophisticated twist. I looked awesome, more like the pampered daughter of a Council mage than a scholarship kid.

When Mira was done, she put a pair of slippers on my feet and then curtseyed. “Shall I take you to see His Lordship, m’Lady?” she asked.

I nodded, trying to suppress a shit-eating grin. I was so hot in this outfit, I was going to have Brinksmoor eating out of my hand. That book was as good as mine. And hell, after seeing me in this, maybe Iason would like to take a turn eating out something else. I giggled at my own thoughts, and then followed Mira down the hall.

“Dinner will be ready shortly,” she said. “His Lordship will entertain you in his study until then.” She opened the door, then stood by as I walked into the room. A thick rug covered the floor, and tapestries depicting what I assumed were great battles in the Brinksmoor family history covered the walls. A roaring fire made the temperature in the room just a little too warm, but gave a nice orange glow to everything. There was a writing desk at the far end of the room, a pair of high-backed chairs, and a long, low couch. Brinksmoor was sitting on the couch, holding a goblet of wine.

Brinksmoor stood and put his wine aside as I entered. Taking my hand, he bowed low and kissed it. “Truly, you are a stunning vision, Lady Lemma.”

I felt heat rising to my cheeks. “You look quite dashing yourself, my Lord Brinksmoor.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, guiding me to sit on the couch. He was still holding my hand, I vaguely noticed. I decided I was okay with that.

“Were the bathing accommodations adequate?” he asked. He really did look dashing in an open-necked white ruffled shirt and black breeches.

Wait, dashing? Since when did I think fat, balding men could be dashing? I mean, yes, his weight was evidence that he had wealth and power enough to never go hungry in a nation where that was a real problem, and they say receding hairlines are evidence of virility—I cut my own thoughts off. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. Was I that horny, that this guy was looking good? I mean, yeah, the dress was sexy as hell, and the bath left me feeling really good... wait, he’d said something, hadn’t he?

“My lady?” he asked, stroking my hand with his fingertips.

I wished he wouldn’t do that. There was something important I had to focus on, and it was very stuffy and warm in the study. Hard to think. “Huh?” I said, demonstrating my razor-sharp mental acuity. Gods, a few months without screwing, one hot bath, and a nice dress? I couldn’t believe that was all it took to get me going. But I couldn’t deny it: it was all I could do to keep from melting into his arms.

Ick! Focus on his nose. His big, ugly nose. It looks like a beak. Long and hard and thick... I wonder what else of his is long and hard and thick, that I could get inside me... I shook my head.

“Something’s wrong...” I said thickly.

“Shh...” he said soothingly, still stroking my hand with one of his, while his other hand caressed my cheek. I closed my eyes, feeling a need for him storm through me, much like the need to own the dress had earlier.

The dress! My eyes snapped back open and I stared at him. The anti-glamour wards woven into my clothes! I’d stripped them off happily to take a bath, and I wasn’t wearing them now. All those spells to make him seem attractive and charming were affecting me. But now that I knew they were there, I could resist.

He was still stroking my cheek. “What’s wrong, my darling?” he asked.

I felt a little bubble of happiness as he called me that, my inner teenager squealing He likes me! He likes me! But that was just the glamour talking. I could fight it down. “Not... going to work,” I said. “I can resist the glamours on you.”

He smiled confidently. “But what about the ones on you?” he asked. “The spells of relaxation in the towel and robe. The dress beglamoured to make it look beautiful, and make its wearer feel aroused.”

Shit, my horniness was coming from the dress? Should have seen that. Damn clever of him, to hit me with two sets of passive glamours at once, so I’d have to divide my attention. Now that I knew it was there, I could see it, threads of magic twisting from the dress into my mind. “I can beat you,” I told him.

“Can you?” he asked, running his hand up my arm. I shivered. “I am very good at this. I am fast, and clever, and have an incredible gift for glamours.”

He was right. These were incredibly well-made spells, and he’d tricked me right into them. Beating him was a lot harder than I wanted to admit—and that was the magic again, making me feel like he was so smart and talented. But wasn’t he? I mean, sure, lots of people at the Academy could do magic like this, it wasn’t that advanced, but he was out here, all alone, learning it himself from one book. Who knew what somebody with that kind of natural talent could do with more knowledge? He was so clever and good at magic, and that made him even sexier. “You’re casting them now,” I said. I closed my eyes and concentrated, trying to find the exact spells he was using and intercept them. But while I focused on that, the glamours making me want him were free to do their work. I was getting really turned on, and the fingertips softly caressing my jaw and neck were not helping.

“Look at me, my love,” Lord Brinksmoor whispered, and I opened my eyes to see his face close to mine. He took my face in his hands, and his thumbs caressed my temples as his gray eyes bored into mine.

“Gods,” I whispered, and licked my lips. He was unbelievably hot, the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. I wanted to rip our clothes off and fuck him, right then, right there, mission and magic be damned.

“You can’t beat me,” he said. “You can’t resist my spells. You don’t want to. You want to submit, to surrender.”

I did. He was glorious and powerful, so far above me, so amazing and wonderful. I wanted to kneel at his feet and worship him. That was a glamour, working its way through me, getting stronger by the moment as he layered it. He was casting the same spells as he’d wrapped those servant girls in. “No...” I said feebly, not sure I meant it.

“You desire me desperately, don’t you?” He brushed one of his thumbs across my lips, and I groaned.

“Yes...” I admitted.

“Don’t fight it. You want me to take you. To make you mine. Let go, and you will know the bliss of belonging to me.”

I closed my eyes again. I wanted that. I wanted him to fuck me, to use me. I wanted to be his—no!

“No,” he said, “look at me. In your heart, you have already given yourself to me. You know you cannot resist my magic.”

I could resist it. I could still fight this off, and break free. But if I did, I wouldn’t get to fuck him, would I? I wouldn’t get to feel the surrender he was promising. I looked at him. He was like a god. Why would I want to fight this? “Yes...” I said again, and then I closed my eyes as he kissed me.

I knew he was a lousy kisser. If anybody else had kissed me like that, it would have left me cold. But this was Lord Brinksmoor! The kiss made my toes curl. The touch of his tongue to mine practically made me cum. I was dripping wet, flushed, and a little dizzy when he broke the kiss.

“I want you...” I gasped, no longer able to think about anything else. I reached for his belt, and he took my hand in his.

“Not yet,” he said. “I will take you when you are completely mine.”

“Please,” I begged, “I can’t wait!”

He leaned forward. “Not until the spell is complete,” he whispered in my ear, then kissed the corner where my jawline met my throat. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the threads of magic that contained my submission and desire wrapping tighter around me. Part of me was still screaming at me to stop, to fight, but the sooner I silenced it, the sooner he’d fuck me.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” he asked, pushing up my long skirt to stroke my thigh. “Say that you want me to take you!”

“Yes, please!” I begged. His hand on my leg had me dripping. His other hand was behind my back, fumbling for the series of concealed hooks that held the dress on. His lips were on my throat, and my hands dug into his shoulders, clutching desperately. I was terrified he was going to leave me like this, empty and desperate. I needed him in me, and I didn’t care what I would have to do get him.

I felt a breeze on my back, and realized he’d undone my dress. He peeled it down to my waist, exposing my torso, then pulled me in for another searing kiss while he undid my hair. As it cascaded down my back, my nipples stood up like tiny pebbles, and a flush ran from my collarbone down to my breasts. I moaned incoherently as he ran a hand up along my flat belly, toward my breasts. Then he ran a thumb over my nipple, and it was like a line of lightning connected it to my dripping pussy.

“You need me,” he whispered.

I nodded, eyes tightly shut. I couldn’t speak.

“What will you give me in return?” he asked, squeezing and stroking my breasts. I didn’t normally like having them played with so roughly, but right now it was wonderful, pleasure and desire rising so high it hurt.

“Huh?” I moaned, then gasped and panted as he pinched my left nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger.

“What will you do for me?” he asked again. “What will you do to get me to take you now?”

“Anything you want...” I whispered, grabbing his head and pulling it to me for a deep kiss. I was completely overwhelmed. I knew there was something I was supposed to be doing, but I didn’t care. I wanted him, and nothing else mattered or was worth paying attention to.

“You’ll always do anything I want, won’t you?” he asked, trailing kisses down my throat.

“Yes, always,” I agreed. And it was true. Of course I would. “I’d do anything for you. I love you!” Love? Yes, love, of course. I loved him. I’d only met him, but I knew I loved him. His lips reached my nipple, his tongue curling around it. He sucked, once, sharply, and I screamed.

“In fact, I own you, don’t I?” he said.

Owned? Nobody owned me! I was a free person. Wasn’t I? But I would do anything he wanted, I knew that. Doing whatever he wanted made me happy. He was so clever, and so good at glamours. He really was so much better than me. It would feel so good to belong to him. It felt so submissive and sexy. He teased my nipple with his tongue and lips, while kneading my other breast. My breathing was ragged and my brain dissolving and running out between my thighs. If this was how he used his property, I was going to enjoy it. “I’m yours!” I agreed.

Grasping the waist of my dress, he pulled it off the rest of the way and let it pool on the floor. He caressed my thighs and hips, then grasped my soaking panties and pulled them to the ground. I trembled as he stroked my legs, pushing them gently apart, then licked at my left knee. Sighing, I lay back, clutching his head in my hands, urging it upward, writhing and moaning as he kissed and licked his way up my thigh. I’d never felt so incredible in my life. So incredibly turned on and submissive, my whole body primed for orgasm and my whole mind focused on HIM.

“My Lemma. My servant. My slave.”

Slave? But—oh gods he reached the top!—I’m not a—his tongue!—I needed to—my clit!—“YES!” I shrieked, my orgasm exploding me, shattering the last tiny shreds of annoying resistance so that He could finally take me, make me His slave as I now knew— felt, to the core of my being—I was born to be.

“Master...” I moaned softly, as He quickly stripped off his shirt and breeches. I wrapped my arms around his neck as He came down between my legs, thrusting His powerful cock into His slave’s unworthy cunt. He felt so big and hard, and I was so tight and slick and wet. It was the best feeling I could have ever imagined, and I moaned.

“Say it!” He gasped as he pounded me.

“Master,” I panted, in time with his thrusts. “I’m Yours. I’m Your slave. I’ll do anything You want, forever. Use me. Abuse me. I’m Your plaything, Your toy, Your—ahhhh!—slave, uh, Your fucktoy, ohhh...” I wrapped my legs around His waist, my ankles locked behind His back, trying to drive Him deeper and harder. I was getting close to cumming again, still muttering feverishly. “Slave, slut, fuck, oh fuck, Yours, Master, cunt, toy, fuck me, gods fuck me, fuck Your little slave, Your little fucktoy, oh my Master fuck me, fuck me, FUCK ME!!!” I screamed as His hot cum filled my tight little pussy, and I came again, on and on for what seemed like hours, clutching at my Master and screaming in unbelievable pleasure.

I lay in a stupor on the couch for a while. I’m not sure how long it was, but the next thing I remember is Master standing beside the couch, telling me to get up. I shakily sat up, feeling more incredibly wonderful and relaxed than I ever had in my life.

I blinked up at Him. “The clothes you came here in,” he said. “Do they contain anti-glamour charms?”

“Yes, Master,” I said, looking down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t understand how wonderful being Your slave would be.”

“No matter,” He said magnanimously. Master is so wonderfully forgiving. “If you put those clothes on again, would they disrupt the glamours binding you to me?”

I shook my head. “They would help me see and understand Your spells, and help any efforts I made to resist them, but I’d have to make the effort. I would never do anything like that!”

He smiled. “Good girl,” he said. I beamed. Earning Master’s praise was nearly as good as being fucked by Him! “Mira will teach you the proper duties of being my slave. You will obey her as you would me. In the meantime, go clean yourself then put on your traveling clothes and return here. Quickly! Before dinner, we must discuss how to rid ourselves of your companion.”

Who? Oh, He meant Iason. “Of course, Master,” I said. “I’ll do anything you want.”

“I know you will,” He answered, and laughed. “But first...” He grabbed my hair and pulled my face to His crotch. “Clean me off, slave,” He said.

As I took Master’s cock in my mouth, tasting myself on Him, I felt nothing but total happiness. I was His slave, and at that moment, that was all I wanted to be. I’d worry about the geas that was going to make me betray Him later.