The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Where had that come from? Cherie stared at the three-storey monstrosity which loomed before her. Gargoyles, turrets and gables sprouted from every square foot of roof, and baroque trim dripped down along the walls and around the windows. The house itself was as pink as a gumdrop.

It’s like a fairy tale witch’s cottage, Cherie thought, and laughed to ease her mind. The house must have been there all along. She hadn’t noticed it before now because she was too focused on her work; that was all. She was sick of the door-to-door routine, but five more sales would net her an office job, and she’d do whatever it took to get them. Even go into that place.

At that very moment, a figure appeared in a downstairs window of the house, waving frantically. Cherie felt a prick of excitement; she’d never seen a customer so eager. One down, four to go, she told herself, and started up the walk. The door flew open before she could even reach for the bell. “Hi,” giggled a young blonde woman, literally bouncing up and down in excitement. “Are you selling something?”

Cherie deflated a bit, but pasted on her best professional smile. “As a matter of fact—” she began, but the girl had already seized her by the arm and dragged her through the door.

“Come in, come in!” she babbled—a little tardily, since Cherie was now in the foyer. “It’s sooo nice to have a visitor!” Cherie cast a longing glance back down the walk; then the teenager shut the door behind them. Again she started to answer the girl’s question, but only got as far as “I’m—” before being interrupted.

“I saw you coming up the street,” said the girl, still clinging to Cherie’s arm, “and I could tell right away that you must be a nice person. What’s your name?”

“Um, Cherie. Thank you. I’m—”

“Come on in here and have a seat!”

The saleswoman gave up and just let herself be steered down a long dark hall and into a room that looked like a cross between an Arabian palace and a Medieval torture chamber. The girl pushed her down into a plush red velvet chair, then plopped onto a couch opposite and grinned.

“I’m Penelope,” she said. “Are you selling something?”

For a long moment Cherie didn’t even try to reply, just stared at her hostess, waiting for the inevitable interruption. Penelope looked no more than about twenty, with long, tousled hair and a face like a Botticelli Venus. She was barefoot and wore no makeup, and her eyes were as wide and clear as a summer sky. At last Cherie put two and two together. Oh, I see, she’s not all there. But this time the girl was actually waiting for her to speak.

She chose her words carefully. “That’s right, Penelope. I’m selling makeup. Is your mother home?”

“Uh huh,” Penelope twinkled. “Stay there and I’ll get her.” She leapt up and ran to the stairs, draping herself across the banister and calling out, “Mom, there’s a saleslady here!”

A voice floated down from up above, every bit as over-mannered as Penelope’s was under-mannered. “Thank you, dear. Tell her I’ll be down in five minutes. You may entertain her until then.”

“Okay!” Penelope ran back to the couch and threw herself down, tucking one foot beneath her. Then she swung the other, so that her entire body rocked back and forth across the heel pressing her crotch. Unconsciously, Cherie crossed her own legs and slid her thighs together.

“You’ve got such pretty hair,” the girl said, as her guest was about to speak. “So red and curly. I wish I had a doll with hair just like yours.”

“Uh, thank you.” Cherie noticed herself staring at the girl’s crotch and dragged her eyes away. She uncrossed her legs and wished fervently for the mother to come downstairs. As sorry as she felt for Penelope, she didn’t want to spend any more time with her than she had to.

“Did you know I’m a fairy?” the girl asked, and Cherie laughed nervously.

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, really. I’m almost two hundred years old now, but in fairy years that means I’m still just a kid.”

“Ah.” Cherie tapped lacquered nails on the arm of her chair.

Penelope was unperturbed. “So,” she asked after a moment, “do you want to play a game?”

Anything to make the time pass more quickly. “Sure,” Cherie shrugged. “What did you have in mind?”

The girl’s foot swung a little harder. “It’s a fairy game,” she smiled. “I say something, and then you say it back to me, and then it becomes true. Like, if I say, ’I like you—’” her fingers sketched quote marks around the words, “then you say-again the quote marks-’You like me.’ And if I say, ’You like me,’ you say, ’I like you.’ Got it?”

“Got it,” Cherie grimaced, promising herself again that this wouldn’t last very long. She sat up a little straighter and glanced toward the stairs.

“Great!” Penelope giggled. She closed her eyes, sang a snippet of nonsense syllables, and paused as though listening to something Cherie couldn’t hear.

Was this part of the game? Cherie had a moment to wonder if she was supposed to sing back. Then Penelope opened her eyes and said, quite deliberately, “I like you.”

Ah, that was all right then. “You like me,” Cherie shrugged.

“You like me,” Penelope shot back.

“I like you,” Cherie responded, and suppressed a slight laugh. All right, this wasn’t so bad after all. Penelope was cute, in her own way.

“I’m the leader in this game,” the girl announced.

“You’re the leader in this game,” agreed Cherie.

“You’re the follower in this game.”

“I’m the follower in this game.”

“You have to do what I say.”

Well, that was only natural, wasn’t it, if Penelope was the leader? “I have to do what you say.”

“You have to do everything I say.”

“I have to do everything you say.” Cherie felt a bit uncomfortable as she said it, but the words were out of her mouth before she could think twice; and of course, if Penelope was the leader, she did have to follow her lead.

“You have to obey me.”

At this Cherie was ready to protest, but to her surprise, she found her mouth forming the words on their own: “I have to obey you.” Startled, she took a closer look at Penelope and found that her foot had stopped swinging, the grin had left her face, and her eyes were glinting with something like triumph.

“You belong to me.”

Cherie took a deep, outraged breath. What she meant to say was, “Now, wait just a minute,” but what came out was, “I belong to you.” Her hands flew to her mouth and she stifled a shriek. “What’s going on?” she wanted to ask, but no words would come, and she was horrified to realize that this was because Penelope hadn’t given her permission to speak. She tried to get up and run, but she couldn’t do that, either.

The girl stretched luxuriously, then mimed pushing a button. “Game pause.”

Cherie’s tongue was instantly freed. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “What have you done to me?” Her eyes pricked with tears.

The girl shrugged and giggled. “I lied when I said my mother was home. That was me, throwing my voice. But I wasn’t lying when I told you I was a fairy.” She shook her finger in mock admonition. “That’s what you get for not believing me. Now you have to be my thrall.”

Cherie’s stomach sank all the way to her toes. Suddenly she did believe in fairies, very much so; and while she wasn’t sure what a thrall was, the word gave her the mental image of chains and slavery. Her toes curled in horror. “What have you done to me?” she gasped again.

“You did it to yourself. You said you wanted to play the game. You said I was the leader. You said you’d do what I said. You walked into the trap all by yourself.”

Trap. Through the lens of her tears, she saw Penelope smile. “Please,” Cherie begged, “I’ll do anything you say; just let me go. I’ve got a boyfriend, a family. They’ll worry about me if I—”

“Tsk,” Penelope cut her off with a wave of her hand. “That’s no problem. I’ll make a changeling to put in your place. It’ll drive out of here in your car and crash somewhere far away, and everyone will think you’re dead.”

Again Cherie tried to get up and run, and when she couldn’t she began to tremble helplessly. “Please, please,” she whimpered. “Just let me go. I promise I won’t tell anyone about this place if you just—”

“Stop talking,” Penelope cut her off—not angrily, but like a mother who’s heard enough complaining for one day. Cherie’s mouth snapped closed. “You’re getting yourself all worked up about nothing,” the fairy girl said. “Everything will be all right in just a minute, when I take your will away. Then I’ll make you love me, and you’ll be so happy you’ll never, ever want to go back home again. This will be your home—forever and ever and ever.”

Cherie shook her head until the tears flew, making dark spots on the red velvet of the sofa. It was all she could do.

Penelope sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically. “Un-pause,” she said, and hit the imaginary button again.

The captive’s eyes bulged. Her fingernails dug into the arms of her chair. She was going to have to respond again, and who knew what the girl would make her say next? Maybe if she bit down on her tongue hard enough....

“Your will is gone,” Penelope said.

Cherie’s eyes rolled in her head. “Nnnnnn,” she protested, but her lips were already peeling apart. “Mmmmmyyyy—” her teeth un-punched from her tongue and she tasted blood. “Will is gone!” she sobbed, and then grew quiet.

Aaaaaaah. A comfortable white mist descended on her mind, stilling all but a few sluggish thoughts: So this is what...Why did I...? No more fear... . She still saw Penelope because she was facing her, but her eyes had lost their focus. She heard the girl’s excited breathing, but paid it no mind. It would not even be accurate to say she waited for the next command, for waiting requires intent, and Cherie no longer had any intent. If the house had caught fire and flaming beams crashed down around her, she wouldn’t have lifted a finger to save herself. She knew this, but the realization carried no fear.

Penelope squirmed excitedly in her seat. The induction was almost complete, and then the fun would really begin! “You are my toy,” she declared, and “I am your toy,” Cherie answered tonelessly.

“You are Raggedy Anne.”

“I am Raggedy Anne.”

“Forever and ever and ever.”

“Forever and ever and ever.”

Penelope closed the spell with another burst of song, then squirted out of her seat and into her new doll’s lap. Raggedy Anne fell backwards, bonelessly, so that her head rested on top of the chair and her eyes gazed blankly at the ceiling. “I told you you’d feel better when it was over,” Penelope giggled, and leaned in for a kiss. Raggedy Anne’s tongue lolled limply as Penelope’s flicked around it, but that was all right; she’d fix it soon enough. The fairy girl drew back, leaving a rope of saliva dangling between their lips. She twirled her finger through it and used the wet to write across the doll’s forehead, “Raggedy Anne.” The words seeped slowly into Cherie’s skin, adding another link to the chain of her thralldom. And Cherie was still there, her mind and memories intact, her emotions stilled—but her capacity for emotion as great as ever. Yet everything was suspended, passive, dependent on her mistress’ will. If she had still had possessed the ability to reflect, this would have seemed perfectly natural to her. As it was, she lay as she’d been thrown, very much a living doll.

Penelope crossed her arms over Raggedy Anne’s chest and peered into her eyes. The woman’s pupils had expanded until her irises disappeared completely. Their darkness was speckled with pale colors that shifted and flickered like sun-dapples on a woodland floor. Penelope giggled as she watched the spells cross and re-cross in the depths of the thrall’s eyes. “Don’t blink,” she commanded, and settled herself in for a long study.

Raggedy Anne’s mouth still hung open from the kiss, and as the minutes ticked away, drool inched down her cheeks to her neck. Eventually puddles formed in the hollows of her shoulders, darkening the velvet sofa and the expensive fabric of her power suit. She was not disturbed by this, neither was she bored. She just was.

Hours passed. Cherie’s stomach growled with hunger, although the sensation meant nothing to her. But at that sound, a frown creased Penelope’s face. “Humans,” she sniffed. “Always hungry or hurting or sick or sleepy or bleeding or dying. I bet you’ve got to pee, too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the doll answered obediently.

Penelope rolled her eyes, then sang a quick spell and flicked her hands. “There, your bladder’s empty. You better hope Mommy lets me keep you so we can lose all your nasty mortal stuff for good.” She sighed. “Oh well, I can have fun with you for awhile, anyway. So, what should we do, Raggedy Anne?” For a moment she hummed tunelessly; then her eyes lit up. “Oh, I know! I bet you liked makeovers when you were a person, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” the thrall said.

“Good, ‘cause I’m going to give you one now. Get your briefcase and come with me.”

Cherie did as she was told, drifting up the stairs behind Penelope like a balloon caught in an updraft.

The house ended at the top of the stairs, and Penelope and her mother’s own little portion of Faerie began. They stood in the midst of a large, woody dell scattered with fountains, statues, and isolated bits of architecture. The “ceiling” (for this was, in some sense, still a floor in a house), lay far above, rippling like the surface of a pond seen from beneath. It was pierced by a single spiral staircase: the path to Faerie Proper.

Penelope took her thrall’s hand and giggled. “This is your new home. You’re going to love it here! Now, come with me.” She led her doll to an arbor where a stone loom lay covered with vines. “Wake up!” she commanded, tapping it with a finger. The vines disappeared, the stone became wood, and the carvings that circled its legs sprang to life. Six tiny creatures, bizarre amalgamations of bird and spider, jumped free and bowed to their mistress. “This is my new thrall,” she told them gleefully. “Isn’t she beautiful?” The creatures bobbed and tittered an affirmative. “She’s going to be Raggedy Anne,” Penelope told them, “so make her a nice dress—oh, and shoes and underwear, too.”

The creatures bowed again, producing tape measures seemingly out of thin air. “Hold out your arms,” Penelope commanded, and the doll complied. Cherie had been afraid of spiders once upon a time, but these eight-legged creatures didn’t bother her at all. Nothing bothered Cherie anymore.

The tailors scrambled across her body, pinching and tickling and measuring every inch of her. Then they withdrew to their loom, and Penelope led her away. “They’re thralls too, you know,” the fairy confided as she steered the doll toward a large, low dais. “They’ve been in my family for nearly a thousand years. So you see, you really can live forever now that you’re my toy! Isn’t that exciting?” Raggedy Anne had no opinion because she hadn’t been given one, so she remained silent.

Penelope led her up the steps and stopped outside a ring of runes. “This is the circle of transformation,” she said, continuing on alone. “Once you step inside, you give me complete control over your body, just like you gave me complete control of your mind when we were downstairs.” She pretended to pout. “But you do have to give it to me; I can’t take it ‘cause I’m not allowed. Soooo—” she grinned craftily—“if you don’t want to give me complete control over your body, stay outside the circle. Otherwise, come on in.”

At this point there was nothing Cherie wanted or didn’t want, so she obeyed—and added another link to her chain.

Penelope embraced her and kissed her again. “What a good thrall you are, and you’re going to be even better when you’re finished! Now, let’s get you out of those silly human clothes. You won’t be needing these anymore.” She unfastened the doll’s earrings and tossed them aside. They’d been her favorite pair, but she didn’t even have the will to follow them as they fell. “Ugly necklace,” Penelope continued, wrinkling her nose. She threw it over her shoulder. “And all this silk—tsk, that doesn’t belong on a rag doll!” She began to sing again.

Cherie stood passively as her favorite power suit was unbuttoned, unfastened, and thrown away. Meanwhile, Penelope’s words cut her mind apart and stitched it back together in new patterns, while the loom whirred quietly in the background. The thrall had had few thoughts since the end of the game, and certainly no complete ones. But now a host of new ideas took shape, woven from the threads of Penelope’s song. They were as bright and fanciful as the fairy herself, and indeed every one of them centered on her. Life was so simple now, thought the thrall. She felt a burst of pleasure.

Suddenly Penelope stopped singing; she’d found Cherie’s crotchless panties. “Oooh, bad Raggedy Anne!” she crowed. “Who were you wearing these for—your boyfriend?” Judging by her tone, she found the idea even naughtier than the panties themselves.

Cherie a thrill of guilt. “Yes, Penelope,” she admitted.

Penelope’s eyes sparkled with delight. Experimentally she tucked a finger under the waistband and twisted. “Weeeell,” she pouted, “they’re not what a good doll would wear—” She wound them around her finger and pulled, and the panties came free in one piece- “but they are kind of nice. Maybe I’ll keep them, for special occasions. Now, let me have a look at you.” She spread Cherie’s arms and stepped back, cocking her head thoughtfully.

The doll stayed just as she was put, her pale skin gleaming in the fairy light. Her body was petite but well rounded, with perfectly matched breasts and thighs, rosy nipples, and a well-trimmed patch of auburn between her legs.

Penelope toyed with the crotchless panties, twiddling her fingers up through the slit, and giggled. “Do you feel that, Raggedy Anne?”

She certainly did. “Yes, Penelope,” she gasped, pressing her knees together. Dew beaded the hair at her crotch.

“Do you want more?”

“Ohhh yes, Penelope!”

Penelope pretended to pout. “You’ll have to do better than that, Raggedy Anne. Do you want more?”

“Yes, Penelope! Please, Penelope!” Her arms twitched, but she didn’t lower them; she couldn’t, until she’d been commanded.

“Weeeeell,” the fairy cocked her head as though considering, then giggled. “Maybe you’ll get it, but only after I’ve had mine. And I can’t play with you until you’re finished. Mommy wouldn’t like that.”

“Yes, Penelope.” The thrall’s knees parted, but her voice remained still tight with tension.

“Good dolly. I just know she’ll let me keep you!” She tossed the panties up into the air, and they disappeared. “Now, let’s see, before I get started on your makeover, we have to make sure we save some bits of the real you, for the changeling.” The fairy reached into the air again, and this time plucked out a crystal globe bound with gold. She opened it with a tap, then pulled several strands of hair from Cherie’s head and dropped them inside. “Now spit,” she said, and the doll obeyed. “Next we need some fingernails. Hold out your hand.” A pair of clippers appeared in her palm, but she paused before using them. “No,” she decided aloud, and they disappeared. “On second thought, a doll doesn’t need fingernails anyway. I’ll just take them all off. Hold your fingers over the bowl.” Raggedy Anne obeyed, and Penelope sang a quick snatch of song. Ten bronze nails dropped into the hollow, leaving Cherie’s fingers as smooth on top as they were on the bottom. “Now the feet,” Penelope ordered, and the doll lifted her legs one at a time, exhibiting all the poise and flexibility of a world-class gymnast (“See what you can do when you have a fairy to direct you?” Penelope said), and her toenails fell into the bowl.

The fairy closed the globe and tossed it back into the air, where it vanished like the panties before it. “Now,” she said, “let’s see what else we have to get rid of before we can start your makeover.” She looked the thrall over, frowning slightly. “Okay, first let’s take off that nasty human makeup you’re wearing. No doll ever looked like that.” With a song and a wave, she erased the makeup Cherie had applied so carefully that morning. “And really, I know humans are animals, but all that extra hair is just icky. A doll doesn’t need anything but what’s on her head.” Another song and wave, and all Cherie’s “extra” hair—including eyebrows, eyelashes, and pubic hair—evaporated in a shower of tiny sparks. “Perfect!” Penelope exclaimed. “Now we can really have some fun! Lie down and let’s see what’s in this briefcase of yours.”

Raggedy Anne lay patiently as her mistress rooted through the makeup case, eventually coming up with a bottle of pale peach foundation. “This is pretty good, but it’s still not white enough for a doll’s skin,” the girl muttered. She tapped the bottle and most of the color leached away, leaving a shade like peach-tinged paper. “That’s better.” She touched the bottle in her hand to the others in the makeup case, and one by one they took on its parchment hue. “We’re going to need a lot of this stuff,” she announced, unscrewing the cap. “Now, close your eyes, Raggedy Anne.”

The doll obeyed, and Penelope poured a huge dollop of foundation across the bridge of her nose. Liquid pooled in her eye sockets and ran down her cheeks like tears. Penelope dipped her hands in the goo and began spreading it around like finger paint. If not for the spells she sang, the foundation would have made a sticky mess of Raggedy Anne’s face, hair and the dais; but because of the magic, it spread out smoothly beyond her hands and seeped into Cherie’s skin like water into cloth. Soon the face under her hands was smooth and baby-soft. Wrinkles, freckles, pierced earring holes, even pores had disappeared beneath an opaque layer of almost-white. Her hair, however, remained the same flaming red it has always been. Penelope meant to protect that; after all, the hair had been what attracted her to the woman in the first place. Another snippet of song assured that Raggedy Anne’s hair would remain as curly and beautiful as it was right now, forever. She moved on to her thrall’s chest and began massaging the foundation into her breasts, carefully steering clear of the nipples. A new bottle brought her to the doll’s arms. And as the foundation found its way into Cherie’s hands, the whorls of her fingerprints vanished like sandcastles in a tide. Even the lines on her palms were reduced to faint, stylized versions of themselves. “Open your eyes, Raggedy Anne,” Penelope commanded, lifting the doll’s limp hand to her face, “and look: all your old identity is melting away. Now, even if somebody found you on the street, the couldn’t tell who you were. Even if the police fingerprinted you, they wouldn’t get anything! And you know why? Because you’re not a person anymore; you’re just a doll. Isn’t that exciting?”

“Yes, Penelope.” She gave a happy little shiver.

It took about half an hour for the fairy child to complete her work; she was enjoying herself and in no hurry to finish. Besides, there were so many spells to lay down: spells of protection, so the doll couldn’t be hurt if she fell into the wrong hands; spells of prevention to keep her from suffocating in the absence of pores; spells to suspend some of her body’s systems and augment others. Most of these were stopgap measures, for her mother could make her captive immortal and erase all her human weakness at once.

Penelope did so hope her mother would like the doll. She’d never made one by herself before.

At last the job was complete. Raggedy Anne’s skin had a rubbery, too-perfect look, with not a wrinkle or a vein or a dimple of cellulite showing anywhere; yet it was soft as a baby’s bottom. Penelope turned back to the makeup case and selected a tube of lipstick. “And now for your sexy parts.” Singing softly, she drew a rose-dark ring around Cherie’s areola. Color spread inward to its center, drawing the nipple erect in its wake. “That’s right,” the fairy child murmured, “these are mine, too, and they’ll always be hot the moment I touch them.” Cherie groaned and arched her back and Penelope raked her tongue across the painted nipple. “You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes, Penelope.” The doll bit her lips and rolled her clouded eyes. Again her knees ground together.

Penelope finished the other breast and closed her teeth gently around the nipple. Raggedy Anne shuddered with delight.

“Now spread your legs and lift up where I can reach you. Hold still.”

The doll’s fists pounded the floor and she groaned through clenched teeth; yet her pelvis stayed motionless as Penelope painted her labia and clitoris rose red. Then the girl reached back into the makeup case and pulled out a black eyeliner pencil. Laying a hand on Cherie’s clitoris, she shrank to insect-size and flew into the tiny folds of skin surrounding the organ. Raggedy Anne screamed with delight as her owner wrote, in bold block letters across the head of her clitoris, “Property of Penelope.” Then the fairy darted out of the opening and, in a flash, returned to her normal size. “Okay, now you can move,” she said, and watched gleefully as the thrall bucked and screamed her way to orgasm.

When it was finally over, Penelope drew a big, red lipstick heart over the doll’s pubic mound and wrote in the middle of it, “For Penelope ONLY.” Cherie quivered with delight as the words sank in, became a part of her skin, a part of her self. The spells throbbed through her pelvis, taking her thralldom to new depths. Yet it still was not complete.

“Remember this, Raggedy Anne,” Penelope said. “Your sexy parts are all mine, just like you are all mine. You’ll never feel anything for anyone but me, and you’ll never feel anything except when you please me. So don’t forget how good you felt just now, because in just a little while you’re going to make me feel twice as good.

“But you’re still not quiiiiiiite finished yet. So, let’s see, what should I give you next? Oh, I know! Raggedy Anne dolls always have stripey legs!” She chose a new shade of lipstick, a deep, pure red, and painted a wide, horizontal stripe around the top of each of Cherie’s thighs. But the thought of Raggedy Anne pleasuring her made her hurry through this step to reach the end. She let her magic do most of the work, copying the stripes all the way down to her toes, then filling in the spaces with solid white. Now the doll seemed to be wearing thigh-high stockings, except that her skin was the stockings.

“We’re almost done now,” Penelope giggled. “So here comes the really good stuff: the face. Hold still, now.” She leaned in across Raggedy Anne’s torso, causing the doll to moan with fresh pleasure. Foundation had reduced her lips to a colorless line, but now Penelope re-drew them with the same lipstick she’d used on her legs. Raggedy Anne’s new mouth consisted of a thin, red, smiley-face smile arcing out on either side from a pair of tiny rosebud lips. Penelope set the change with a burst of song; and the thrall’s physical lips realigned themselves to her owner’s drawing.

“Open your mouth,” the fairy commanded, and the rosebud formed an ‘O’ just big enough for the doll’s tongue to poke through. Penelope caught it in both hands and began to pull, singing all the while. Soon Cherie’s tongue had stretched to nearly a foot long. ”That’s for when you’re pleasuring me,” Penelope explained as she painted it red. “But when you’re not using it that way, it’ll just be normal size. That way you’ll still be able to talk and kiss me.” She released the giant organ, and it snapped quickly back into place.

Raggedy Anne, prompted by the patterns in her head, cooed, “You’re so clever, Penelope.”

Penelope nodded, as if she’d expected as much. “And now it’s time for the eyes. Mommy says that’s what puts the finishing touches on a thrall. So once I’ve done them, you’ll be finished and we can play!” She squirmed excitedly at the thought. “Close your eyes now, and when you open them again, you really will be my rag doll!”

Through her closed lids, Cherie felt Penelope outline her eyeballs, then expand the circles she’d made and color them in. Songs and spells seeped through her skin, refashioning her still-human eyes into something alien. And with the change in her eyes came a final change in her inner world. Her very nature became that of a doll: blank, childlike, totally passive. Her existence was meaningless apart from the whims of her owner.

“Okay, you can open now,” Penelope trilled. Raggedy Anne did so, and her eyelids (one more thing a doll doesn’t need) peeled back and disappeared. In the mirror that Penelope held to her face, she beheld her new eyes: perfectly black, perfectly blank, and as round and shiny as a pair of buttons. But she only looked at herself for a second. Her face, like most of her world, looked flat and uninteresting. Penelope, on the other hand, glowed like a beacon. Raggedy Anne’s eyes shifted to her owner and hung there, drinking in her beauty.

“Now you’re completely under my spell, inside and outside and everywhere in between,” the fairy cooed. “Forever and ever and ever.”

“Forever and ever and ever,” repeated the doll in a childlike singsong voice.

“I love you, Raggedy Anne.”

“I love you too, Penelope.”

“Good, because now it’s your turn to please me!”

Raggedy Anne left no part of Penelope’s body untouched. Her elastic tongue curled around her owner’s breasts, wove between her toes, corkscrewed through her vagina and gently tickled her cervix. Penelope shrank her, and she crawled among the folds of her owner’s labia and caressed her clitoris from root to tip. The fairy child bucked and screamed as the thrall had done, only louder; and her owner’s passion reignited the fires in Raggedy Anne. But she existed only to serve, and she was commanded to make Penelope feel twice as good as she herself had felt. So she worked even harder, the thrumming of her own arousal contributed to the pleasure she gave her owner.

The orgasms lasted for several hours. When all was over they lay, naked and quivering on the warm stone. Penelope looked into the doll’s blank eyes and saw herself reflected there. “You’re just what I always wanted in a doll, and you’re all mine.”

“I’m all yours,” Raggedy Anne agreed placidly.

The fairy’s gaze drifted across the doll’s body, then discovered the six tailors bowing humbly behind her. “Oh, goody, your clothes are ready!” She scrambled to a sitting position, sliding a little on the wet stone, and watched while the tailors dressed her doll. Raggedy Anne’s new clothes were a child’s sleeveless undershirt, a pair of bloomers, and a blue and white calico dress that barely covered her crotch. Her shoes were shapeless blocks. Penelope laughed and clapped her hands. “You look so pretty, Raggedy Anne! I did such a good job on you!”

“You sure did, Penelope,” chirped the doll. She bunched the hem of her skirt in her fists and swayed with childish pleasure.

“Sooo,” mused her mistress, head cocked to one side. “What should we do now? Oh, I know! Let’s work on the changeling!” Plucking the gold ball from the air, Penelope sang up a copy of Cherie as she had been, a mannequin warm-skinned but unbreathing. “See how funny you looked?” she twinkled. “All grown-up and ugly and human—except for your pretty hair.” She tugged Raggedy Anne’s curls and the doll nuzzled her hand. “You look so much nicer now.”

“I sure do, Penelope.” Raggedy Anne smiled, but of course she couldn’t do anything but smile,now.

“You’re so lucky I found you. Now, get your old clothes so we can dress her up.”

And that was how Daphne found them later, as she came floating down the spiral staircase from Faerie Proper. She had the same masses of golden curls as her daughter, but while her face was clear and unlined, it held an air of ancient wisdom. Gauzy, translucent robes billowed in a breeze only she could feel.

“Mommy!” Penelope cried, “look what I made!” She ran to embrace her, the doll following more slowly on her rubbery legs. The changeling, not yet animated, stood motionless.

“Penelope,” breathed her mother, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “What have you been up to?” She glanced over at the doll, who bobbed a clumsy curtsey. “Pleased to meet you, Lady,” she burbled, in a voice that could have been produced by a pull-cord. “My name is Raggedy Anne.”

Daphne laid a finger beneath her chin and raised her, peering deep into her flat button eyes. “Charming,” she murmured. “And you made her all by yourself, Penelope?”

“Yes, Mommy. She’s my very first thrall!” Penelope hugged the doll tight and kissed her on the mouth. Raggedy Anne responded as best she could. “I can keep her, can’t I?”

“We’ll see.” Daphne pursed her lips. “Did you remember all your spells? Protection?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Augmentation?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“Suspension?”

“Yes, Mommy.”

“All four levels of obedience?”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “Of course, Mommy.”

“Don’t be so sure of yourself. You know I’m going to test her, don’t you?”

“Yes, Mommy.” Penelope managed to look downcast for a second or two. “But I can keep her if she passes the test, can’t I?”

Daphne raised a perfect brow. “Perhaps. Tell me, child, what have you done with the thrall’s will?”

Penelope’s lower lip poked out. “It’s gone.”

“Well, of course it’s gone,” Daphne sighed, “but you still have it, don’t you? You know how I feel about throwing things away—”

“Aw, Mom,” Penelope groaned. She fidgeted for a moment, then muttered almost inaudibly, “Of course I kept it.” As she began to sing, her mother gestured a full-length mirror into being, in front of the thrall.

Raggedy Anne stared placidly at her reflection, happy to be just as Penelope had made her. At least, she was happy until her will returned. It came back to her as swiftly as it had disappeared, and in an instant Cherie knew all that had been done to her, all she’d been forced to do. A low moan built in her throat, then rose to a shriek. Her hands flew to her tiny mouth, fingers digging deep to force it open. But Penelope’s spell held, and the false smile mocked her horror. The shriek changed to a wail, and Cherie clawed at her eyes, trying to pry free the black buttons and uncover the orbs she knew should be beneath. But the buttons were her eyes now, and even if Penelope hadn’t taken away her fingernails, she couldn’t have marred those flat, hard surfaces.

Frustrated, horrified, hysterical almost to the point of madness, Cherie did the only thing she could. She ripped off the hated doll clothes and threw herself at the mirror, helplessly pummeling the cold glass.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she screamed in her childish new voice. “What have you done to me, you fucking fairy bitch?” She slammed her fists against the mirror again, and when it refused to break, slapped it with both hands and slid downwards, fingers squealing against the glass but leaving no prints. “What have you done to me, Penelope?” she moaned, and collapsed against the unyielding surface. Her body shook with unsheddable tears.

“You see, daughter,” said Daphne behind her, “how destructive these humans can be. Really, it’s a wonder any of them survive on their own.”

“Yeah,” Penelope agreed. “It is. But I hate to see her so sad. Can I take her will back so she’ll be happy again?”

Cherie looked up, stricken, but Daphne’s face was impassive. “Not yet, darling,” she said. “Show me what you’ve done to her.”

The girl’s expression grew suddenly sly. “But you can see that for yourself, Mommy.”

“You know what I mean,” Daphne reproved her. “And I’m certainly not going to let you keep her until I know she’s fully yours. Now, show me what you’ve done.”

Penelope clasped her hands behind her back and bowed her head. “All right,” she mumbled at last. “But I don’t have to show you with me, do I?”

Daphne allowed herself a tiny smile. “Of course not,” she sniffed. “What you do with your toys is your own business—as long as I know you can control them.”

“That’s okay, then.” Penelope looked up, grinning, then shifted her gaze to the terrified woman. “Raggedy Anne, show Mommy how you can play with yourself.”

“Yes, Penelope,” said Cherie helplessly. She took one breast in her hands and bent to suck on it. Her back arched perfectly, her tongue sliding down to tease first the nipple, then the areola, then the whole breast, top and bottom. At first Cherie was repulsed, but her skin was so soft and smooth, the flesh almost as sweet as Penelope’s own pussy, that soon she began to enjoy herself, despite herself. She nibbled gently on the nipple, tugging it between her teeth and letting it spring back oh so gently. She laved the whole breast with her saliva, then moved on to its twin, giving it similar treatment. By this time she’d almost forgotten her audience, but when her tongue slid down into her crotch, she jerked up with a gasp. Penelope was grinning wickedly, and even Daphne seemed to be breathing a little faster. “Please,” Cherie moaned—or tried to. But her tongue filled all the space between her lips, and even now it was questing for her clit. She shuddered and plunged down again, running one hand over her breasts and guiding her tongue with the other. Sliding it into herself, she grabbed the back of her head with both hands and pulled her whole face toward her crotch. Her back bent even further, until Cherie’s lips and teeth were suckling her own labia and her tongue had wound itself around her cervix.

I’ve gone totally insane, she thought, her face banging against her warm, wet crotch. Then her tongue slipped into her cervix and roamed the inner surface of her womb. Cherie yelped, then came harder than she ever had before, nerves sizzling, brain singing, head squelching helplessly between her legs. She could barely think at all, but images of herself shrunk to mite-size and sucking Penelope’s clit flooded her brain, and that made her come even harder. Her body locked tight around itself, spasming helplessly. And somewhere far, far away Penelope laughed.

Much later—hours later, it seemed—Cherie pulled out of her fetal crouch. Her tongue rolled back into place like a window shade, and she lay on one side, gasping like a landed fish.

“Well, Penelope,” said Daphne, “That was quite something. I commend you on your ingenuity.”

“Thank you, Mommy,” beamed the girl. “Can I keep her now?”

“I didn’t say that.” She locked her eyes on Cherie’s, her bright silvery gaze seeming to bore to the depths of Cherie’s soul. “And how did that feel to you, human?”

“Amazing,” she sighed, almost reflexively. One hand crept across her stomach, then down toward her crotch. “Beautiful.” Suddenly she pulled up short as she realized what she was doing. “Terrifying,” she whispered. “Please, Lady. Please let me go.”

“Even after that, you want to leave? You’ll never have sex like that in the human world, you know.”

“I know.” Cherie would have closed her eyes if she could. The masturbation had burnt all the hysteria out of her, but it couldn’t touch the horror—or the despair. “I don’t care. Please let me go. Please.”

“No, no Raggedy Anne!” Penelope threw herself down beside her, stroking her hair and face. “You don’t really mean that, after all I’ve done for you?”

“Of course she means it, daughter. Remember, you’ve given her her will back.” Daphne laid a soothing hand on Penelope’s shoulder. “And mortals never know what’s best for them. Here, watch this. Human!”

Cherie jerked instantly to attention, drawn by the force of Daphne’s command. “Yes, Lady?”

“How badly do you want to leave?”

“More than anything,” she moaned, surprised to find herself sobbing again. “Please, Lady. Just let me go, and I promise I’ll never tell anyone what happened here.”

“But how will you hide it? Look at you.”

She said “will” Cherie thought, not would A spark of hope flared in her chest. “I’ll find a plastic surgeon or something,” she gulped. “And I swear I won’t say a word about how I got this way. I’ll—I’ll pretend to be mute, and to have amnesia! No one has to know a thing. Just let me go, please. Just let me go.”

“All right,” said Daphne, “go.”

Cherie sat bolt upright, knocking Penelope to one side. The girl clambered to her mother’s side and dragged her by her skirt. “Mo-om!” she wailed, but Daphne only smiled.

“Go,” she told Cherie again. “I give you my permission to leave. In fact, I give you more than that. The moment you set foot outside our house, you will be restored to your former appearance and all that happened to you here will seem like nothing but a bad dream. You may even forget it, if you wish.”

“Really?” Cherie climbed to her knees, still shaking with the force of her orgasm. “Oh, please. Oh, please don’t be lying.”

“Fairies never lie,” Daphne purred. “We merely disguise. If you want to leave, you may do so, of your own free will. Just walk down those stairs.” Cherie’s eyes followed hers, back to the steps she’d climbed before. The fairies’ living room was down there, and the door to outside. The door to her real life.

Slowly she climbed to her feet, heart jackhammering in her chest. Her legs were rubbery, but they’d work well enough to get her outside, and then-

She cast a glance at the changeling, a blank-eyed mannequin wearing her clothes. At the moment, it looked more like Cherie than Cherie did, but all that was about to change. She took a deep breath and started forward, expecting at any moment to be stopped. But the two fairies merely stared at her, Daphne coolly and Penelope utterly sorrowful.

She felt an unexpected pang at the sight, but kept walking. Sure, Penelope was a sweet child and a loving owner, not to mention her Mistress, but -

Cherie pulled up with a gasp. No. No, no, no! She was not going to think that way, not now that she had her will back, and permission to go. She could leave her Mistress behind and be a free woman again, she thought, forcing herself back into motion. She could be free to live as unhappily and self-destructively as she damn well pleased—and all without ever feeling Penelope’s warm lips on her body, or tasting her sweet juices, or experiencing the sweet silver fog of her control.

Groaning, Cherie fell to her knees. Her head was still full of Penelope’s spells, and will or no will, she loved her mistress. She ground her teeth together—at least Penelope hadn’t taken those. And because she lacked the strength to get up again, she began to drag herself slowly, painfully, across the floor. No way am I going to let them win. I’m free now, free to think for myself. All I have to do is get down those steps, and I’ll have my ugly, old, mortal body back and I’ll have to make my own decisions and I won’t have anybody to obey and I don’t know how I’ll ever care for myself since I’m just a weak human and I’ll miss my owner!

At this last thought, she collapsed onto her belly, then squirmed across the floor to wrap herself around Penelope’s ankles. She’d barely made it past the girl. “Noooo!” she shrieked in her high piping voice. “No, no, noooooo!” And then she began to kiss her owner’s feet. Sweet, soft fairy feet. The feet of the wisest, prettiest, most wonderful Mistress in the world. “No,” Cherie moaned again, running her tongue between her owner’s toes. “No, Penelope, I don’t want to. I don’t want to.”

“Aw, poor Raggedy Anne,” cooed the girl. Her voice was sweet as honey, soothing as snowflakes. It was the most beautiful sound Cherie had ever heard, and the realization made her shudder more than ever. “I don’t want you to, either.”

Something fluttered in Cherie’s chest, but she could no longer tell what it was. All she knew was that she couldn’t leave Penelope if her life depended on it. And of course, in a way it did. She broke into fresh sobs, and her mistress pulled her close and rocked her like a baby.

Daphne’s voice broke through their paired moans. “Well done, Penelope,” she said. “You may keep her.”

Some time later, Daphne, Penelope, and Raggedy Anne stood at the front door of the house, saying goodbye to the changeling. Now fully animated and primed with Cherie’s memories, it stood at the bottom of the porch steps and waved to them.

“Don’t forget to wreck the car before you get home,” said Penelope.

“And make sure you wreck it as far from here as you can,” said Daphne.

“Bye-bye,” said Raggedy Anne, smiling her painted-on smile.

She was so glad to see the changeling leave. Penelope thought it looked ugly and human, and Raggedy Anne agreed. She always agreed with everything her owner said. It was so much easier this way. Thinking for herself only made her sad, and what was worse, it made Penelope sad. She was glad she wouldn’t have to do it ever again. Cherie was gone for good now, and there was only Raggedy Anne.

Forever and ever and ever.