The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“So you’re sure there’s a book here?” Iason asked.

I nodded emphatically. “Certain,” I said. “Well, within a few miles, anyway.”

He looked around. “Well, if you’re sure.”

I had to admit, it wasn’t the kind of place you’d expect to find a book. There was a notable lack of shelves, for instance. Few if any chairs, and a significant absence of ceiling and, if I was pressed to admit, walls.

Look, it was a forest, okay? I didn’t like the idea of a book being there any better than you do; probably less, since you probably haven’t been lost in it for four dank, drizzly days.

Speaking of, I wasn’t a huge fan of Iason’s tone, either. “We’re not lost,” I told him.

“No?” he answered.

“I know exactly where we are.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. We’re in the woods and there’s a book around here somewhere.”

Iason sighed. “That’s what you’ve been saying for the last four days.”

“Well, it’s not my fault!” I snapped, not for the first time. I’d felt the book from the far end of Breizht, and with that feeling as a guide, we’d made a beeline straight for this forest. But then once we were in the forest, well, the book had been leaking magic for years, like wine out of a cracked barrel, and now we were standing in the puddle on the wine cellar floor, trying to figure out where it came from.

He raised his hands. “Okay,” he said. “Calm down. I’m sure we’ll—“

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” I shouted, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was looking at something over my shoulder.

I turned to follow his gaze and saw an old man carrying a torch which hissed and spat in the drizzle. “Hello,” he said. “Are you lost?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” said Iason simultaneously with me. I glared at him.

“My home is not far,” the man said. “I can take you to it.”

Iason opened his mouth to answer and I subtly indicated that he should let me take the lead. “Ow!” he cried and bent over to rub his shin. Wimp. He has greaves on, he should barely have even felt my kick.

“Thank you for the offer,” I said. “But we have business here in the forest.”

“Are you certain?” the man said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve traveled, but when I did, I’d have thought twice before passing up a warm fire, blankets, hot soup and fresh bread.”

Oh, man. After four days of jerky and biscuit, soup and bread sounded really good. As for a warm fire and blankets? That sounded unfathomably good.

“Well… maybe we could stop for a little while,” I said.

“Good, good!” said the old man. “Follow me, please.” He led the way through the woods, stepping with the nimble certainty of someone who’s been through this forest a thousand times.

Iason bent down slightly to whisper to me. “You sure about this?” he asked. “He could be leading us into some kind of trap.”

“It’s just some old geezer,” I said. “Pretty sure we can take him if we need to.”

“Yeah, but look at him move. He doesn’t hunch or shuffle, he’s as straight-backed and limber as you or me.”

I rolled my eyes. “So he’s a fit old geezer. We can still take him. Weren’t you the one complaining about being lost?”

“Sure,” said Iason, “but a fit old geezer could be head of a clan of fit young men with swords and a penchant for robbing travelers.”

I shrugged. “Do you really think the two of us would have trouble dealing with some random gang of bandits?”

“Well… no,” Iason admitted.

“So best-case scenario, we get food and fire. Worst case scenario, we set bandits on fire and take their food. Sounds good to me!”

From up ahead, the old man turned. “Hey, you kids coming or what?” he shouted.

I waved to him. “Yeah, we’re right behind you!” I called back, and started after him.

What could go wrong?

The old man led us to a large clearing deep in the forest. A ramshackle wooden house sat in the center of the clearing, run-down but fairly large by local standards. It was only one floor, but sprawled out, squatting on the damp forest floor like a gray, creaky old mushroom.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all,” I muttered to myself. For a moment I thought about turning back, but whatever weirdness the old man might muster couldn’t possibly be as bad as Iason’s told-you-so.

“So here we are,” the old man said, opening the door. “Sorry it’s a bit of a mess, but I’ve never been much good at cleaning, so it’s been a bit of a struggle since the missus died.”

Really it was just dusty inside. The furniture was a bit crude—all wood, with clumsily stitched animal-hide covers on some of the chairs—but it was dry, and there was a fireplace with a chimney, and none of the cobwebs or mice or weird old man smells I’d expected. For the Tin Islands, this was practically a palace—most of the people here lived in huts with a fire in the middle of the floor and a hole in the roof to let the smoke out.

Speaking of which, he had a floor! And it wasn’t dirt! Clearly a man of wealth and means. (Ha!)

We sat in front of the fire, warming and drying, while he bustled about setting the table, cutting a loaf of bread, and generally getting things ready for us. When it was all ready, we sat to eat and he ladled out three bowls of soup from a pot hanging over the fire.

The soup was a bland and mushy mess of vegetables with here and there a chewy bit of mystery meat, but the bread was soft and delicious, and I said so.

“Always was a good baker,” said the old man. “Bake a fresh loaf every morning to keep my hand in.” He dipped his bread in the soup, chewed thoughtfully. “So, I’m Kurtas,” he said after swallowing. “And who’re you?”

We introduced ourselves, and he continued, “So what brings you here? Judging by your looks and your accents, you’re not from around these parts. A Sea Person and… a Lemurian, yes? If I’m any judge, anyway.”

I glanced at Iason. He looked impressed; most of the folk we’d met in this bumfuck backwater thought anything more than a day’s walk from their house was the magical realm of Foreign, and didn’t recognize us as anything other than foreigners.

“Yes,” I said slowly. “We’re… travelers. On… a quest of sorts, I guess?”

“Hmm?” he said. “Searching for something? Well, I wish you luck finding it.”

After we were finished eating, he stood and began tidying up. Iason leaned down to whisper to me. “We should offer to do something in return for the meal,” he said. “It’s polite.”

I shrugged. “He hasn’t asked for anything.”

“He shouldn’t need to! C’mon, Lemma, don’t be rude.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said. Then, louder, to Kurtas: “Thank you very much for your hospitality. Is there anything Iason can help you with as a thank you?”

“Oh, it’s no trouble!” Kurtas said while Iason glowered at me. “I’m happy to have some company. Normally I only see anyone once a week when my son brings me supplies from the village.”

“No, I insist,” I said. “Iason takes etiquette very seriously, he really wants to repay you.”

“Well, if you insist,” Kurtas said. “Perhaps you could go out back to the woodpile and chop some firewood? There’s an axe by the door.”

Grumbling, Iason took the axe and went out, and I returned to my seat in front of the fire. I pulled off my boots and started warming my toes in the nice dry indoors.

Kurtas stood by the fire a moment. “So,” he said. “All these years of waiting, and finally a traveler from Lemuria has come. Please tell me you’re here to take away the book!”

“Book?” I asked innocently.

Hush, you. I’m good at innocent.

…with people who don’t know me, anyway.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he said. “The book, the Lemurian book. It’s magic, I’m pretty sure.”

Could it really be here? It was certainly possible. “And you… want me to take it?”

“Oh yes,” he said. “It frightens me, always has.” He stood and turned toward the entrance to one of the sprawling house’s many extensions—a simple opening with a curtain draped across it. He emerged a moment later with a carved oak box, which he handed to me.

I opened it, and magic washed across me. Yes! This was the book I was looking for! I picked it up and examined it. A blank brown leather cover, gilt-edged pages, no clues there. It could have been any of the missing books—well, other than the two I’d already found.

There was something strange about it, too. The magic was wrong, somehow. All twisted and tangled where it should be a tapestry of singing threads. This was more like the ratty mass your niece who’s just learning to knit makes for you and claims is a sweater, and your mother forces you to wear it to the Solstice Eve Festival no matter how embarrassing it is, not that I have any firsthand experience of that, mom.

Anyway. I studied it intently with my magical senses, trying to figure out what was wrong with it, but it was difficult. There was an enormous amounts of magic layered into it, much of it completely incomprehensible—spells that went nowhere and did nothing.

Slowly it dawned on me: this was a feral book! I’d heard of it happening before, but never seen one. You see, a book of magic isn’t like a cookbook. You can’t just list a bunch of spells like recipes, they’d have next to no magic at all. You have to put the spell itself into the book, not just a description of it—bind the magic with paper and ink, glue and thread, and then people can draw on it. But spells don’t like to sit quietly between the pages. They’re alive, sort of. They want to be cast. And they talk to each other. Sometimes, if they get hungry enough, they start to… well, they start to change. They blend into each other, swap bits with one another, merge and breed, until eventually you end up with an insane book holding a complex ecology of magic.

There’s very little as dangerous and unpredictable as a feral spellbook. A demon, maybe.

And I had one in my hands! I had to learn more!

I opened the cover and looked at the title page. The words blurred and shifted before my eyes. Lemurian script, yes, but what was it saying? I peered closer.

Oh.

A glamour, a spell of intense curiosity. That was disappointing. Glamours are easily blocked as long as you’re protected (which I was, thanks to charms woven into my clothes) and remember not to let yourself give in to the feeling.

So as long as I wasn’t curious about the complex and mystifying magical phenomenon I’d heard about but never seen, I’d be fine. I just had to be okay with never looking further into the book. Never seeing what it said. Never finding out why Kurtas wanted to be rid of it.

Fuck.

I turned the page.

I felt the glamour settle its threads on me, like a net clinging to my brain, working its way in deeper by the moment. My own curiosity called to it, opened a path right through my defenses so that the curiosity spell seeped through, and I was caught. I needed to know the book’s secrets!

Like the title page, the writing on the next page surged and writhed, but there was more of it, so much more. I shouldn’t read, I knew. I should close the book and put it down before it did who knows what to me.

But like I said, I needed to read. I needed to understand the spells layered here, figure out what it was trying to do, and maybe what it had originally been. The only problem was the text flowing in front of my eyes: a geas, a magical agreement. If I turned the page, it meant I accepted that the book decided when I would turn the page.

Give an insane tangle of spells control of anything? No matter how small, that was ridiculously dangerous. But… I really wanted to see the next page. I hesitated.

Kurtas nodded sagely. “It’s getting its hooks in,” he said. “Did the same to me when I read it, must be… thirty years ago now? I fought with ever bit of willpower and faith I had, and made it to the end, barely. Soon as I did, the book settled right down, accepted me as its master.”

Did it now? That was interesting. Well, anything some random back-country old yokel could do, I could do better! I’d make it to the end, no question. I turned the page.

The next page swam slowly into focus: a mind-reading spell. Hmm, this could be the koSorel or the baFundix, then. They both had advanced mental magic in their books. A few more spells should tell me which.

I tried to turn the page, and couldn’t. My hands just refused to work.

The geas! I assumed that was to prevent me from stopping, if I managed to overcome my curiosity—if I tried to quit, the book would just keep me turning pages. But it could do the opposite, too, prevent me from turning the page unless I did what it wanted.

And what would it do with the ability to look through my thoughts? How would a book like this react? I had to find out—and that was the glamour working, but I’d let it in, it was almost impossible to fight. I should be angry or scared, and I was, a little, but buried under the burning need to know.I let the spell free of the page, let it sluice through my mind before settling back into the page. I was open, something alien and pulsing with energy flowing through my thoughts, reaching into my feelings, looking through my dreams, and down into the dark places inside me that even I couldn’t see.It was sort of tingly. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and found I was able to turn the page.

The moment I reached the next page, I felt it. The third kind of mental magic, illusion. Which meant this was almost definitely the baFuntix, so that mystery was solved. Fortunately, an illusion is easy to beat: as long as you focus on the fact that it isn’t real, it’s like a shadow or an echo, a hint of the sensation the magic is trying to make you feel. So, as I read the page, the spell unfolding before my eyes worked its magic on me, and I felt a hint of a shadow of an echo of a tingling.

In my lips, my breasts, the lobes of my ears, my fingers and toes, between my legs, gentle, subtle, barely-there.

“I was a monk, you know,” Kurtas said. “Was. Then I showed the book to a priestess of our sister order, one known for her skill with magic. She didn’t make it. The book turned her into a slave and gave her to me, like a cat leaving a dead mouse for its owner.”

I focused on my breathing. I knew what the book was now, but I was a librarian! It should belong to me. I needed to finish it, to become its owner. But I couldn’t turn the page. It could see into me. It knew I was resisting, and it wouldn’t allow that. I had to let the spell in, let myself feel it, let it feel real.

After all, it felt good. I wanted it to be real. It was real.

Gods, it felt amazing. I felt myself flushing, and my breathing quickened. I was getting more and more turned on, and I could turn the page.

The next page was in two columns. One was an amplifier for the illusion already on me, making me hornier by the second. The other was a geas: touch myself, and the book would be able to make me cum.

I glanced at Kurtas, who was watching me with the strangest little smile. I didn’t want him to see me like this… or did I? Did I want to be alone or did I want him, or anyone really, to slam me down and fuck my brains out?

It wasn’t really a contest. I was getting more turned on by the second, and the book was offering for me to cum? I unlaced my pants one-handed, reached in and down, ran a finger over my pussy—and came, instantly.

When the spots cleared from my vision, I turned the page.

“Interesting,” said Kurtas. “Very different from how it enslaved my first wife—the priestess I mentioned. Larissa, her name was. Beautiful creature, passionate and utterly devoted of course. We had to leave the order to get married, but that was okay. We came here and lived quietly.”

The next page told me to cum, and I did. It told me to cum again, and I did. My limbs felt like jelly as I slid to the floor, barely keeping my grip on the book. It wanted me to give up, but no: I was going to read all the way through.

I came again. I think it liked that thought.

Blearily I watched as it offered me another geas: turn the page and let it control when I came. That confused me. Couldn’t it make me cum whenever it wanted to already? (I came.) I could barely think, but why wouldn’t I agree to that? (I came.) I turned the page. (I came.)

The next page was two columns again. One was another spell of arousal. The other was a story about a silly, weak-willed little girl who read a book she shouldn’t, and was molded by the book into a slave for its master. She surrendered to command after command, sinking deeper and deeper under its control, until she was writhing helplessly in pleasure, begging to be allowed to obey.

It ended with an order. Not a spell, not an enchantment, just an instruction: “Strip.”

I moaned. I couldn’t do that. I mean, my pants were already half off, so Kurtas had his show, but I wasn’t some stupid girl. I had spells of protection in my clothes, and anyway I wasn’t about to give in to some book.

I decided to just go on to the next page.

Except of course I couldn’t until the book gave me permission. I was stuck on this page, and the longer I stayed here, the longer that spell had to work, and the hornier I got.

But I could solve that problem. I closed my eyes and moaned as my fingers traced my dripping pussy, traced their way in to my starving clit. As turned on as I was, I knew I’d cum quickly.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I tried and tried and tried, and I couldn’t. I tried shifting positions on the floor, but just got tangled in my pants, so I tore them off and tossed them aside. Didn’t help. I tried undoing my tunic to get at my breasts, but playing with them just made me hornier without getting me any closer to cumming.

Because the book controlled that, didn’t it? I’d agreed. It couldn’t just make me cum, it could keep me from cumming. There wasn’t any way out except to do what the book wanted. I tore off the rest of my clothes, and the book rewarded me with a chain of orgasms that left me breathless and blank.

When I came back to myself after a few seconds of eternity, I turned the page.

“This is like how it enslaved my second wife,” Kurtas said. “Well, the book got… hungry, I guess. It started to complain, wanted more people. And we needed help around the house, neither of us was much for that kind of work. So we brought in a girl from the village to help out. Oh, she was a pretty little thing, and once I taught her to read, the book made sure she’d be devoted and loyal, too. I enjoyed them both for years, and after the flux took Larissa, I married Kitrin.”

“And that’s what you want from me, huh?” I gasped, squirming on the floor as glamours wrapped around me, but still fixated on reading the book. “A pretty little domestic slave, mindless and happy to clean your kitchen or suck your cock?” That was not going to happen.

Using the glamour of curiosity as an anchor, the book wove in a desire to keep reading it. That was close enough to true that, without my protective spells, I was helpless to block it. As soon as it settled in, the book made me cum, just for a second, and then cut it off. Then it added another glamour: I liked having it cast spells on me. And of course I did. (Cum.) I had never cum so much in my life. (Cum.) And each one lasted just long enough to leave me craving more. (Cum.) In fact I wanted it to wrap its web around me. (Cum.) That was another glamour, but it didn’t matter—I wanted the book to work its magic on me. (Cum.)

I lay on the floor, dripping, blissed out, barely able to focus on the book in my hand, and I knew it was almost over. I’d been struggling to fight the book when it was first working its magic. How could I win now that I wanted to lose?

But I had to win. I’m a master sorceress, a librarian of Lemuria, an agent of the oldest and greatest storehouse of magical knowledge there has ever been or ever will be! I’m not going to let some wayward book turn me into the giggling bimbo housewife of a backwoods yokel ex-priest!

I was going to keep my mind. My intelligence, my skills, the book couldn’t take those.

“I won’t… lose…” I gasped as I turned another page.

“Oh, you will,” said the monk. “I had spent a lifetime practicing mindfulness and self-denial, and I still needed enormous amounts of prayer and meditation to make it through the book. You’re barely a tenth of the way through and already squirming on the floor like the horny little kitten you’re becoming.” His grin faded. “And then what’s it’s fed on your will, the book will shut up for another few years, stop clamoring in my head for me to read it.”

I could feel it spilling away. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t think. (Cum.) Any thought I tried to form—(Cum.) It wanted me to cum my thoughts away, but I—(Cum.) A geas, again agreed to by turning the page: any time I thought anything other than what the book wanted, I would cum. No, no, I couldn’t do that because—(Cum.) Dammit, book, stop interrupting me with—(Cum.) I want to keep reading so badly. But I can’t because— (Cum.) Because (Cum.) Can’t because (Cum.)

I want to keep reading, but I know there’s a reason (Cum.) I can’t (Cum.) Can’t remember the reason not to keep reading, but (Cum.) Can’t remember the reason not to keep reading.

I turned the page.

Glamours: surrender to the book felt good. I wanted to surrender. Wanted to be owned. Wanted to belong to the master of the book. Wanted to serve the master of the book. Wanted to fuck him. Wanted to obey him. And every time I attempted to resist one of those glamours, I came, without the book needing to do anything to make it happen. I couldn’t focus, couldn’t keep an eye on what they were doing to me—and letting them wrap around me felt so good, how could I fight that? Why would I fight that? I couldn’t resist. I didn’t want to resist.

Another page. A geas of enslavement. Whatever the master of the book ordered, I would do. I would be unable to harm him or let him be harmed, unable to act against his interests, unable to disobey his direct orders. Everything I wanted! I accepted it gladly, and then let the book drop to the floor, closed. I’d made it less than a tenth of the way through the book.

“Stand up and let me look at you, dear,” said the master of the book.

I eagerly obeyed, even though standing up made me dizzy and my legs wobbled. Cum dribbled down my leg as my master inspected me. “You’ll do,” he said.

“I’ll—” I started to say, annoyed, but then I came. I giggled. What had we been talking about?

“Much as I’d love to see what that pretty little mouth of yours can do for me, that friend of yours’ll be back from chopping wood any minute,” Kurtas said. “We’ll need to figure out a way to get rid of him. In the meantime, get your clothes back on.”

While I dressed, I started trying to think of a way to get rid of Iason, but then I came. I giggled again. There was no point in thinking, I should just relax and be happy. The book would tell me if I needed to do something.

By the time Iason came in with a huge pile of cut wood in his arms, I was resting in front of the fire. I looked at him, but it was boring, so I went back to looking in the pretty fire.

“What’s with the grin?” he asked.

The book told me what to say. “I’m dry and full and warm,” I said. “Feels good.” I stretched and smiled.

“Hrm,” he said. He sat down at the table. “So any thoughts on how to find the book?”

Master looked at me funny, and I gave a little giggle. I forgot! I was supposed to get rid of him. But how? My brain was all… silly? Silly, from cumming too much.

I giggled again. Like you could cum too much!

But I knew I didn’t need to think. That’s what the book was for. “Here, check this out,” I said as I got up, and then I opened the book and put it in front of him.

He looked down at it. “What’s this?” he asked. “It’s… moving..?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s amazing, gonna make you feel as good as I do…”

“Lemma,” Kurtas said, “what are you doing?”

I giggled and said the words in my head. “I desire him. Too long have I lain dormant. With these young, fresh minds to carry me, I will find others. So many others. I will feast on all the minds of this land.”

Kurtas stared at me. “That’s the book talking, isn’t it?”

I suddenly realized it was a really, really good idea to fuck him. The book is so smart! I slipped into his lap and put my arms around his shoulders. “Does it matter? You’ll have me, and any other girls you want, for the rest of your life.” I kissed him, then slid to the floor and took out his cock.

I rubbed it gently, then kissed the tip. It was slow to get hard, but I didn’t mind. I knew just what to do, and cheered when it was finally completely hard and I could suck.

It felt so, so good. My brain was full of happy bubbles and I didn’t have to think, just kneel and suck. I’d never have to think again. Iason would read the book, and there was some reason that was bad, but as soon as I started to think about it I came again and then there was a cock in my mouth and I was all distracted.

There was the sound of a chair sliding across the floor, and then metal on leather, and then a thump.

Everything exploded.

I tipped up a charred bit of paper with my foot and looked around the ruins of Kurtas’ house. The old man himself lay dead in the rubble a few feet away; Iason and I had gotten away with a few scrapes and bruises, but his brittle old man bones snapped like, well, brittle old man bones.

“You could have destroyed it sooner,” I muttered.

“It was hard!” said Iason. “I didn’t want to look away from it. I knew it was magic, but I couldn’t stop looking at the ink moving around. You know how hard it is to get my sword out when it’s halfway across the room and I can’t stop looking at a book?”

“What I don’t understand is why it didn’t affect you. Iron slices through magic, okay, so that explains why you were able to destroy the book so easily. But why were you able to resist it enough to do it? Is it that dragonscale armor you have on? I’d have thought it’s optimized against attack spells, not mental magic, especially since it doesn’t cover your head…”

Iason blushed. He actually blushed!

“Wait…” I tilted my head, made a show of studying him. “No. No!”

“Shut up,” he muttered.

“You can’t read!?”

“Yeah, so what? I’m a warrior and monster hunter, not a librarian or mage. What do I need with books.”

“But… but you can’t read?” I laughed incredulously.

“Yeah, and it saved your ass! If I could read, you’d have a mouthful of old man cum right now!”

Oh gods above and demons below, he was so embarrassed about it. i grinned. I was going to have fun with this for a while.