The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dimashq, 1873 B.C.

The sun glittered from the water in the bowl in her lap. She smiled into the bright lights that danced in her eyes. In the water, a battle moved around the city, dust sometimes obscuring what she could see. She knew the bright colors of the Egyptians and wondered at the unfamiliar faces of the men who were defeating them. She smiled to herself; within a year, the foreign Egyptians would lose control of Dimashq.

She liked that idea.

She narrowed her eyes and whispered to the victorious leader in the bowl, trying to find out his name.

“What are you doing, Little Yashmak?”

She jerked, her grandmother’s voice pulling her out of the vision. ”Wallahagga. Nothing, grandmother.”

Her grandmother settled on the hard-baked step next to her. She reached out and gently took the bowl from Yashmak’s hands. “If your mother catches you looking at tomorrow out here, you’ll be spanked again, you naughty girl.”

Yashmak pouted. “The city will change hands soon.”

“Yes, dear. I know. You also know that humans may walk into this alley here at any time and wonder why you are staring into a bowl of water. Don’t do it again where you can be seen.”

Yashmak sighed behind her veil. “Grandmother, if I had a boy of my own, I’d be less likely to have time for stretching my—.”

A gentle hand settled on her little shoulder. “Oh, you are so much like me when I was your age. You cannot have a boy of your own until you are fifteen summers. Wait five years and ask again; your mother will say ‘yes’ then.”

“Phht!” She sighed and stuck her toes out from under her robes, admiring their dusty dark brown symmetry.

The older woman studied the younger girl staring at her feet. “Yashmak, I have to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye? Shloon? Please explain why? Are you traveling?” She glanced up at her grandmother.

The woman appeared to be of an age ripe for the coming of a second or third child, but she was older than the city in which they sat. Her smile was inviting, and today very serene. “Oh, child. It is very hard to talk about.” She ran a fingertip down the girl’s soft cheek. “You see—I cannot see tomorrow.”

Yashmak smiled. “That’s silly. Even Alk can see tomorrow and he’s a boy.” She grinned up at her grandmother.

And received a silent nod. “Yes. Please give me a hug and your blessing, there is not so much time.”

Yashmak stood, thinking all the while. She hugged the hot black clothes of her grandmother, squeezing the soft curves, smelling the cooking herbs in her hair. She offered the traditional blessing of her Clan. “May you have the wisdom to hold your hand from the things—.”

A spark of insight snapped into Yashmak’s head. If there is no tomorrow—. “NO! Grandmother, no!”

“Quietly, Little Yashmak. Quietly.” She drew her fingers through the burnished red highlights in her granddaughter’s beautiful dark hair and tucked it gently back under her head-swathe. “Quietly now.”

“No, grandmother.” She began to sob quietly. She nestled her head against the familiar black fabric. “Nooo.”

They spoke softly to one another for a while. Her mother came outside and Yashmak was taken into the house before the soldiers came. Her mother put her on a sleeping pallet and told her to stay. Yet, after her mother went to close the shutters, she scampered to the roof ladder and quietly watched from the parapet.

Less than an hour later, there were twenty men in the alley. Her grandmother stood silent in the doorway of an empty house down the alley that had seen no tenant in months.

The men were stern; they knew who they were looking for. “You are called Shroud-eyed. The prince wishes you to come immediately and speak on his dreams. We will take you to the palace.”

Her grandmother nodded. ”Inshallah. As god wills it. I am alone here. These people do not appreciate me properly. I am glad to be finally recognized by a great one. I am sure the prince will be kind.”

The soldiers eyed each other; they forced smiles.

Yashmak read the smiles for the wooden and false things that they were. She bit her arm to avoid making a sound. Tears slid down her face. She wondered how her grandmother could be so brave, so clever as to distance herself from the people of the alley; humans and Ancient blood alike.

Yashmak hated the humans. They were quick to anger and their blood did not sing.

And she watched her grandmother leave with them. Her teeth bit down harder into her arm and she tasted blood. May you have the wisdom to hold your hand from the things that are not yours to change.

Dimashq, 538 B.C.

The sun glittered from the water in the fountain. Yashmak frowned into the bloody colored light and pulled against the uncomfortable ropes on her arms. Her thoughts jumbled over the day’s long battle. As her mother had foreseen, the Persians were victorious.

She bit her lower lip and reminded herself she was too old to cry.

Cyrus, the Persian king, came down the steps from the archway and walked slowly to where she and her mother stood by the mosaic-ringed fountain. The courtyard breeze tickled at her naked flesh. She stood straight and proud. She was relieved, but bitter that her brother and her uncles were not here to see them reduced to this state. She and her mother were the last. Over two centuries since her brother, Alk, died in Athens. She and her mother were the last of her blood. The last blood of Judgment and it was important to remember that today.

She was certainly too old to cry.

The king and all the human guards studied the two nude witches as if they were golden treasure. Cyrus stopped in front of Yashmak and frankly examined her from feet to neck, avoiding her eyes. Then he walked to her mother and his gaze at her told Yashmak everything of what Cyrus thought would happen tonight in the king’s bedchamber. “I told you I would free you both—and the city is now mine. This is a time to celebrate. I will keep my word.”

Her mother nodded and spoke quietly. “You told us so, though I did not agree to speak of your tomorrow because I believed that, Cyrus.”

Yashmak started to hear her mother speak so plainly to the King that had taken them by force from Jerusalem and dragged them into his war with Nebuchadnezzar. She glanced at her mother; admired the slight smile and the clear eyes as she faced the king bound like a slave.

He smiled. He was a handsome man. “Why did you agree then, oh beautiful seer?”

“Because once I was brought before you, Cyrus, I knew there were only so many tomorrows for me. I do not avoid my duty or my destiny.”

“Oh, no,” he laughed. “You are so wrong, my lovely. Your ideas of duty are amusing, nothing more. You and your feisty sister will become my concubines. I need your wisdom. I want your powers at my court.” He leaned closer and put a spread hand on her belly. “You will give me sons who can see the future of my empire.”

With a small crack, the arrow sprang fully-grown from her mother’s forehead. She smiled at Cyrus and folded to the sunlit court; the king’s face drained of blood. He stared at the dead woman stunned.

Now! Yashmak seized the foreseen moment of shock to scamper around the gawking guards. Cyrus screamed in rage and bafflement. Men jerked into action. Another arrow zipped past Yashmak’s throat and hit the tiles, just as she jumped sideways, dodging.

A woman’s voice shrieked from a window above. “You’ll never supplant me with turd-colored witches, Cyrus!” More arrows flew from the high windows overlooking the inner courtyard.

Commands were bawled in the sun behind her.

Yashmak jumped through a dark doorway as soldiers ringed the king to protect him from the angry Queen. She rolled to her feet, only then noticing the sting of an arrow that must have scored her thigh. She ran panting deeper into the shadows, remembering everything her mother had told her of the dream of freedom. Tears spilled from her eyes as she ran. Images of her mother’s beautiful brown face spattered with blood danced in the shadows of her mind. She still saw the black arrow crowning her forehead, the smile of defiance to the human king, the clear eyes.

Yashmak was not, as it turned out, too old to cry.

She was the last of her Clan now. Her hate for Dimashq in that moment became a terrible thing.

Dimashq, 750 A.D.

The sun glittered from the golden mosaics of the dome below their tower.

“Come back to bed, Tapestry.” The tones were gentle and wistful.

Tapestry blinked at the tears that would not come. Such a beautiful city. She whispered a blessing to the heated air outside the window; then turned away. Beauty and yet, horror. She always thought of Dimashq as the ravenous city that had lapped the blood of her Clan for too long. Her grandmother. Then her mother. She was ready to leave it behind forever.

She moved into the shadows of Hekate’s bed canopy. “I have to go. Everything is done. I am done with Damascus.”

The red-haired witch sat up straighter. “Done? Oh no, I see much yet to do. Not the least of which is the peace we have forged between the two of us. We can be the example for the others to follow. We can change things. If two Ancients can work as sisters, then the world can be made fresh and new.”

Tapestry put a bent knee on the sleeping pallet and reached out to gently touch fingertips with Hekate’s raised hand. She felt the Great River hold its breath.

“No.”

Hekate’s smile vanished slowly. “No?”

“No. I have crushed the power of Damascus with your help. Now all the great affairs of the Araby will be handled in Baghdad. Damascus is capital of the world no longer. That is why I was here. It is time for me to go.”

The sparkle in Hekate’s eyes went flat. “Politics?” She gestured to her curves and the bed. “These months were all about human politics?”

Tapestry hoped to cry, but knew it was not to be. “No. Not all. A promise I made to myself when I was young. Please understand—I loved your kindness and your wisdom. I learned much from you, oh blessed MoonDaughter. I shall miss your body and your love. I am prepared to leave with only your spite.”

Silence settled into the shadowy bedroom.

“You used me.”

Tapestry sighed. “Yes.” She pulled her leg back from the bed.

Hekate began to laugh. It was a broad and hearty sound, surprising from such a delicate form.

Tapestry quirked an eyebrow; then smirked. “What is so funny?”

“You feel awful about it.” Hekate accused giggling and then resumed a bold laughing. She doubled a bit over the silk sheets and pointed at Tapestry’s puzzled expression. The laughter spilled from her wide mouth.

“Ah—.” The Ancient admired the shadows in the fiery red hair of her laughing lover and tried to think of what could be funny about such an intimate betrayal. “I do feel awful about it. I am not one to—.”

Hekate’s laughter doubled. She fell backwards into the bed holding her stomach and laughed while kicking her feet in the silks.

Tapestry felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment. ”Shloon? Please explain?”

Hekate snorted. “You don’t deserve an explanation, little whore.” She giggled again.

Tapestry felt her face burn. “That is true. I’ll withdraw now.” She bent to pick up her veils and robes.

“NO!” Hekate slid out of bed. “That would be insulting. You must perform a tragedy for me. You must put on a masque before you leave and then I will not take insult for what you have done here. The record will be clean between us and we can still hope for a future as friends.”

Tapestry stopped. “A masque? What does this mean?”

“I will give you a geas.” Hekate smiled, eyes half-lidded. “Something small. A trifle that will have you remember that you risked offending me greatly to achieve your ends. Then we part friends.”

Tapestry thought a moment, amazed at the opportunity to keep the Witch as a friend. She shifted her gaze, looking into Hekate’s eyes. She used their surface as a pool of water, looking for danger.

She saw thousands of tomorrows. Whatever Hekate would ask of her, it would not be deadly or vengeful. “I agree,” she sighed.

Hekate laughed. “You are a better woman than you know, Tapestry. Perhaps even better than I deserve. I will be kind.”

Hekate’s hand moved up and traced the brown nipple of Tapestry’s left breast. She leaned forward, kissing her on the lips. Hekate’s moan was smothered as their open mouths sealed against each other. They moved slowly to the bed again.

“This doesn’t seem very hard.” Tapestry murmured.

“I’ve just started.” Hekate responded. She gently bit the brown lips of the dark Ancient. Their hands ran strongly in each other’s secret places.

They both sank into the Great River. Lips carried crimson heat. Fingertips traced sparks along sweaty curves. Scent like the honeyed nectar of rarest apricots filled the room. The Great River warmed and caressed them as they swam in its folds.

A love that was extraordinary and like no other crested and filled the tower room.

The breath of jinni danced between their savory mouths. The lights of the stars nestled in their eyes. The shadows of the bed hid nothing from them of each other. For they had known the passage of many years, both had loved the immortal and the mortal and they knew that what peace they had forged here in Dimashq might be remembered for a millennium.

Perhaps more.

Brown delta rode pale face. Ivory fingers tugged nut nipples. The afternoon could not hold their passion and so it melted into night; which then crested into sunrise, and then faded into darkness again. For two days, they ate and drank each other and nothing mundane passed their lips.

They needed nothing else.

Hekate sat astride Tapestry’s navel and tickled her brown teats. The younger Ancient was soaked in the Deepest River elements. “I may never have another pleasure like yours,” sighed Hekate.

“Mmmm.”

“Listen, little Ancient. I slip this masque over your face. You shall play behind it, enjoying things that are not decent in the world when it can see your own face. You will revel in things that others cannot do. You will perform wonders and no one can shame you. You are hidden now behind my masque.”

“Mmmm. Hidden now.”

“Yes. And the price for this is only an amusement, a trifle that shall excite you as it conjures the memory of me.”

“Mmmm. Excite the memory of you.”

“That’s right.” Hekate bent down and licked the puffy lips of that generous mouth. “Mules, Tapestry. You adore mules. Cross-breeds. Interesting mules, blends of nature, hairy or smooth, crude or polished, you delight in the crassness of sex with those not of the Ancient Blood. Kinspawn. Or humans. Even with animals, Tapestry. Especially mules, my little Ancient.”

She tweaked Tapestry’s nipples. A shudder passed through the brown flesh under her.

“Mules.” Tapestry squirmed.

“Yes, my little Ancient.”

“I delight in crass sex.” She whispered as her eyes opened a sliver.

“Exactly, my little apricot.”

“Animals. Sex with animals.” She licked her lips.

“Yes.”

“Especially mules.” She savored the words.

Hekate leaned down and kissed her again. “Especially mules.”

“Hairy, big-cocked mules.” Tapestry gushed. She orgasmed.

Hekate stretched her spread legs over Tapestry’s torso. “Aaah.”

They were both startled by the sudden return of the Great River. The power crashed over them and they went down into the depths again; pulled down quickly in an immense current.

Hekate blinked. She lifted her chin from the silk sheets. A vision of a large throbbing cock still simmered in her mind. She blinked again and looked around the room.

Where had Tapestry gotten to? What had happened after the masque ritual?

She tried to collect her thoughts. Khalas! Enough! She needed sleep after the astonishing sex with Tapestry. She licked at the milky jism on her lips and drifted back to sleep.