The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The year of Ilan brought bloody strife upon Middle-Urth.

At first, the rumors were disbelieved. Evil from the South slithered out of deserts and mountain passes, freakish armies boiling out of the Shadow lands to wreak havoc and destruction.

The Nine were as one, Ring-bearers standing in staunch defiance. The unbroken lines had passed on the gift of power from Queen to Princess, from Mother to Daughter.

Nine Kingdoms standing united against the Enemy.

There was no fear of defeat until word of the One Ring surfaced.

Many among the Council of Magi stared on with ancient, disbelieving eyes when it was presented to them. The twin sisters of blood and sword, Gelentha and Gallimede, fated to bear this poisoned gift no one would dare claim, stood in the Great Halls as sages debated the course to be taken.

Thus, the fateful decision was made, for the sake of the Nine and their Kingdoms. A quest of great peril to bring the One Ring south... a Fellowship gathered in secrecy, sworn to carry it in stealth to the fires of its forge, where it would be cast in flames and unmade.

The Nine, united in their blessings of the Company, offered prayers as the heroes departed.

The eldest among the Nine, well versed in ancient lore, did live in fear of the dark whispers that would enter their minds, for it was said that no Queen would hold dominion over her soul if Sauriann were to emerge in wicked glory from her abyss, and take possession of the One Ring.

Darkness came, but Death did not follow.

Gelentha had expected no less. Her swordmaiden’s soul burned when the call of war horns sounded, but she often mused wistfully by the fireside in the aftermath of battles won, knowing how fickle the fortunes of arms really were. She never made the mistake of treating the Reaper as an old companion, a touch of superstition not shared by her boisterous and fearless companions. Perhaps she had understood the dangers facing them better than anyone, even as she led her troupe East, drawing their abominable pursuers away from her sister and the terrible burden she carried.

It had been her last thought, a fleeting image burning in her mind as her blade struck down beasts leaping out of shadows. She wanted, above all, to carry the memory in the After-the smiling, tearful face of her twin, grasping the One Ring in slender, white fingers.

Gallimede had stubbornly objected, even as all others agreed it was best for Gelentha to lead a small party and drive a obvious trail towards Eriondor. The Fellowship would be free to continue unhampered towards the South, into the Broken lands.

Gelentha had smiled back at her sister, deep sadness tinged with hope. For all the perils she would face, the nine Queens and Ring-bearers of Middle Urth were in greater jeopardy. All of the noblewomen had refused to forsake their mystical bands, serving dutifully at the side of Princes and Kings, using the power of their birthright to safeguard the lands of men against the malfeasance that even now threatened to sweep over all. Their noble courage shone radiantly against the darkness, inspiring those who rallied to their banner.

Gelentha had known long before her final steps on the lone road to Eriondor that she would see the One Ring destroyed, no matter the cost.

Not even the strangled, death-screams of her companions had shaken her resolve. She’d stood her ground as the last flurry of arrows rained around her, wielding a lethal and furious blade until the circle of beasts tightened. They clawed at her and forced her down, screaming.

She knew such monstrous creatures preferred the blood of the living.

The dagger she meant to bury in her breast was torn from her hand before it found its mark. A fist struck her on the side of the head, hard enough to knock her helm loose.

Darkness.

But not Death.

In the haze of Gelentha’s sluggish contemplation, Queen Herani’s bedchamber became a place of rich, vibrant colors. Tasseled carpets led her eye on a chase of prismatic windings, until she fled them for the deep purple of the heavy curtains, royal and soothing. Beyond them, arched windows allowed the pale orange rays of dawn to creep in.

The swordmaiden struggled to remain still, her back rigid, her shoulders thrown back. She wondered why the pain of her bound wrists was a minor inconvenience, while trying to remember the proper dress etiquette for an audience with nobility.

It was an afterthought, and mattered little in any case. Gone was her cuirass of boiled, studded leather, and the gilded cape she wore on festive occasions. The silky trappings of a dainty gentlewoman did not appeal much to her, but perhaps she would have tolerated them in this instance. The choice, however, had been made for her, and she did not especially mind appearing before the Queen without a single item of clothing to hide her lean, naked form.

Her ankles did protest as she remained immobile, arched on her tiptoes. Her cramped muscles, used to the hardship of forced marches, held the difficult pose through sheer will. Kneeling would have been more appropriate in Gelentha’s judgment, but abiding by the Queen wishes was of paramount importance.

A draft of air from the open window swept inside the chambers. Late summer clung stubbornly to the forests of Eriondor, but mornings downright chilly, with a hint of winter’s bite. Gelentha’s nipples remained flushed and warm as she squirmed. In her silent shudders, she didn’t pay much heed to the moans coming from the canopied bedside.

Thankfully, nothing there held anything worthy of her attention. the spotty remembrance of her arrival in the bedchamber during the night still held the disgusting sight of King Hardbeld, writhing in his cocoon of crimson sheets. Only his manhood-shriveled by age and chafing-emerged from the covers, caught like a sword hilt in the man’s gnarled fist. Gelentha knew not what lustful whispers Herani had dropped in the King’s ear to forsake him in such an abyss of carnal torment, but the mystical Ring the Queen wore on her finger had evidently burned devious and overwhelming commands into the deepest parts of his psyche.

Gelentha roused herself from her reverie with a smile. There was a far more pleasant sight in the far corner.

Herani stood before a full-length mirror ornately framed in silver, a string of mystic runes etched in the precious metal. Gelentha’s eyes, naturally drawn to the Queen’s luscious backside, feasted eagerly on the lithesome shape of her legs. Undulant veils, wrapped loosely around her, did little to hide the beauty of her curvaceous figure.

Her hips swung in a lewd dance matched exactly by her reflection. Gelentha’s bonds bit into her wrists as she struggled to peek over Herani’s shoulder, hungering for a better glimpse of the Queen’s generous bosom.

The swordmaiden broke into a sweat, her mind reduced to a puddle of lust-ridden thoughts. Fleeting impressions pranced at the edge of her mind, but she vanquished them with a squeeze of her tights. Pleasure coursed inside her, and she likened it to the strum of a harp’s chord plucked by sensual fingers, before that, too, melted into incoherence. She arched her back a little more, feeling her breasts rise up, unexpectedly thrilled by the display she made of herself.

The Queen paid her no heed, whispering softly to the mirror, her words interrupted by numerous moans. Her hands caressed her body shamelessly, her eyes gazing through the looking glass, past its strange, surreal luster.

Herani finally nodded to her reflection, as though agreeing to a request. Gelentha sucked in a shaky breath as the Queen then turned to face her.

It was impossible not to notice the budding tips of the Queen’s breasts, outlined clearly through the semi-transparent veils. They clung to her skin, sweeping down from her delicate shoulders in a display of elegance that commanded lust. Herani’s oval face rested high above, her noble features accentuated by delicate brushstrokes of red and gold. Her lips were painted dark and glossy, and a jeweled band of leather stretched tightly around her neck. She wore it as a favored pet might his master’s collar.

“Highness..?”

Gelentha whined a little as she spoke, her body remembering caresses her mind would not. She noticed the golden Ring on the Queen’s finger, and a brief sense of unease clouded her thoughts anew.

Herani touched the Ring with the fingers of her other hand. It flickered briefly, a spark of ethereal light which twinkled like starlight. Gelentha sighed in relief as her disquiet faded, lust washing over her in gentle, rolling waves.

The Queen’s eyes held a glint of pale silver, bereft of all save hunger and need. They matched the intensity in Gelentha’s own eyes, but dark secrets lay hidden in their mysterious depths. They laughed on, wickedly, as she beckoned the swordmaiden closer.

Gelentha glided forth, obeying the irresistible impulse. She saw her reflection rising in the mirror out of the corner of her eyes, but couldn’t tear herself away from Herani’s enthralling gaze. Wanton desire needled her nipples into hard marble, but she yielded softly as the other woman pressed her bosom against hers.

“We are pleased to have you in our presence, Gelentha of Erengar... when word reached us of your trek into our forests, we sought to have you brought here forthwith...”

Her mouth edged closer to Gelentha’s, as if she sought to warm her lips on the swordmaiden’s breath. Her hands circled Gelentha’s waist, and pulled her closer.

“We are delighted by your growing acceptance of the Change... I would not have dreamed a Lesser Ring could hold such power... fortunately, the mirror has taught us many secrets...”

Gelentha reeled, fighting against the heady, sweet perfume numbing her thoughts. She leaned in despite herself, her nose brushing against Herani’s cheek, and she breathed in more of the Queen’s intoxicating scent.

The Queen’s hands slipped down, capturing the firm flesh of her buttocks, caressing them in deliberately languid motions.

“Secrets... in the... mirror?”

Gelentha wondered about the note of fear creeping in her voice. She focused on it, and disturbing images came to her like the flashes of a striking blade. Her heart thundered as visions of blood on a distant battlefield bubbled to the surface of her consciousness. How had she arrived to Eriondor Keep? Where were her companions? What manner of beasts were the dark servants who carried her here? And why was she greeted thus, in the Queen’s bedchamber?

Moving like a dancer, Herani swept to her side, her body still pressed against Gelentha’s. The veils fell away, and the feel of the Queen’s naked breasts against her back sent hot shivers upwards.

“Look into the mirror, child...” the Queen beseeched her.

Gelentha shuddered, keeping her eyes trained forward.

She moaned as Herani casually squatted beside her, her breasts, neck and chin gliding like a warm serpent down her leg. She was frozen, staring dead in space, desperately afraid of the mirror and of the pleasure she might find in it.

Herani’s lips kissed their way further and further down her leg, leaving smears of hot saliva. The sensations soared upwards with the rush of blood.

“Look into the mirror Gelentha... I am Queen and Ring-bearer... you must obey my every wish... ”

Gelentha gasped when the Queen’s tongue began a sensuous dance around her calf.

“Do not resist the call,” Herani whispered, “give in and embrace the Chance with all of your being... you know it is the right Fate for you... the only Fate for you...”

Licks of lust-flame soared up Gelentha’s legs, teasing her maidenhood in a relentless assault. Passion dripped between her legs, the quakes of her near-climax tearing at her fiercely. She struggled with desperation against her bonds, suddenly dying for the pleasure her fingers could provide.

The Queen sensed the futility of her struggle. Gelentha felt the lips smile wickedly against her skin, amused by her helplessness.

“Mmm... Yesss... I can feel how close you are... how you hunger for the power that makes a Queen bow at your feet, forcing her to worship your body like a harlot...”

Herani moaned through her own ecstasy, unable to resist turning her head at last. She stared through the mirror, and glimpsed the mysteries beyond it.

The orgasm was sweet, long and merciless. Herani came on her knees at the same time, her own climax drenching the floor underneath her as her lips drank the passionate quivers coursing through Gelentha’s body.

“Yes... yes Gelentha... let Her will consume you...”

Herani’s tongue rose, the serpentine dance retracing its path upwards. Gelentha’s strangled voice managed a whisper before her eyes rolled in the back of her head, the intense pleasure clouding all other sensations...

Sauriann...

Dusk invaded the sky as Helios fell in the dreaming west, but the sun’s glow had not yet left the royal garden. Llewellyn stood alone in the expanse of green grass, her white robes bright and immaculate against the myriad of pure blues and purples which mingled in pleasant harmony in a nearby flower bed.

Eriondor Keep was a haven against the rising evil, but it was also one of the handful of places where the beauty of the Lost Ages remained preserved, like an oasis of innocence untouched by a world that had long ago turned cruel.

Despite the serenity of her surroundings however, Llewellyn plainly wore a frown of deep concern.

The Magi’s shadow stretched on until it was near dark. She looked up when something stirred beyond the hedges, and she tightening her grasp around the tall wooden staff she held.

A smile blossomed on her lips as the silhouette of Herani came forth, wrapped in a dress flowing of green and gold.

“Llewellyn,” the Queen breathed, delight overshadowing surprise, “If I had known you were coming—”

“Highness,” the Magi interrupted with a polite bow, “as pleased as I am to be here, I bring dark tidings.”

Herani took another step and laid a reassuring hand upon Llewellyn’s shoulder, dispensing with the formalities as she always did with close and cherished friends. Llewellyn pulled back the hood of her cloak and looked up for an instant, as if seeking peace in the rising stars of the evening.

The weariness of her recent travels had traced new lines upon her elegant face, but she had somehow retained the timeless beauty that was hers when she’d first donned her adept’s robes. Her eyes still shone like the Eastern Sea, half-moons piercing the shroud of her luxuriant, raven-black hair.

Herani stood still, in awe of her enduring beauty.

The moment passed and her hand slid off Llewellyn’s shoulder. She cupped her friend’s elbow, drawing her gently onto the path.

“Come. Unburden yourself. Our ear is thine.”

The Magi’s voice was somber as she followed. “Sauriann moves openly towards the West. Her armies are gathering on Ganadar’s border, and there are rumors that King Lothos is struck down by a mysterious illness. Even more distressing are the reports that our Enemy has learned of the Fellowship, and its quest to unmake the Ring of Power.”

Herani stiffened in mid-stride, the fingers of her left hand involuntarily reaching for the golden band she wore on her right. She clasped both hands over her bosom, her face now deathly pale.

“I... had no knowledge of this. Has one of our messengers been captured?”

“Worse, I fear. Queen Jali has not sent word to us since the New Year’s moon. The dark armies cross her lands unchallenged. There are some among the Council of the Magi who suspect she has fallen to the Enemy’s wiles, and I have unearthed rumors that the Princess Irulan, of the Kingdom of Nahor, might be next ”

Herani was thunderstruck. “But surely Sauriann does not yet possess the One Ring!”

Llewellyn shook her head in dismay. “Numerous are the dark paths that ensnare the soul. Our Enemy knows them as no other on the face of Middle-Urth. None are as thorough as the One Ring, but they serve her purpose for the time being. If but one of the Nine Queens has been bound to darkness, then our secrets are revealed, and all are in danger-even if the One Ring is not yet within Sauriann’s grasp.”

Herani swayed on her feet. Llewellyn came to her side at once, offering her shoulder for support.

“Queen Jani... dear Gods... this is distressing indeed, Llewellyn. The swordmaiden Gelentha made no mention of this.”

Llewellyn’s eyes narrowed evenly, the faintest of ripples disturbing her thoughtful facade. “Gelentha’s party has reached Eriondor Keep?”

Herani bit her lip, as if suddenly remembering something of grave importance. Before she could speak, a lone figure strode onto the graveled path, as if to answer the question.

“I am here, dear friend.”

Llewellyn stood perfectly still as she beheld the new arrival, remembering every detail of the clearing she had come across three days ago. Her travels upon a swift mount from Riddermark-necessary when evidence of the Enemy’s treachery reached her-had slowed long enough to pick up the trail of Gallimede’s sister.

It had led to a ghastly battleground, and though Gelentha’s body had not been among the fallen, Llewellyn had feared the worse.

“I sense apprehension in you, Llewellyn,” said Gelentha. She took careful steps forward, smiling innocently all the while. Her eyes were wide and round, glowing strangely in the shadows.

Half a dozen incantations flashed in Llewellyn’s mind. She settled on the shortest one in the space of a heartbeat, falling back into a defensive stance. She lifted a protective hand to shield Herani. Her lips quickly began the spell-chant.

They ceased just as abruptly when Herani’s Ring finger brushed its way down her back.

The tingling elicited an involuntary shiver, and Llewellyn moaned despite herself, suddenly unable to move her limbs. The staff she held slipped from weak fingers, while a thrilling current sank deeper, making the back of her legs twitch. Shadows of the garden spun around her, and she struggled to speak, but moans remained the only sound to escape her lips.

Herani’s hand slipped down and lewdly caressed the rise of her backside.

“No doubt a Magi of the White Robes can overcome the power of a Lesser Ring in time,” came the sultry whisper, “but only a few moments will be required for Gelentha to show you the wonders she has glimpsed in my mirror...”

Llewellyn gazed on helplessly, trembling like a novitiate. She fought for understanding, wondering how dark forces might have ensnared Herani so swiftly, but her thoughts grew shallow along with her breathing, heat coursing up her legs and belly. A raging firestorm aroused unspeakable pleasures in her, and she could feel her mind slowly being consumed by it, even as a patch of her robes moistened between her tights.

She fought the urge to rub herself against Herani’s hand, but was unable to stop herself as Gelentha’s eyes bored into hers.

The uncanny sight dazzled her for a moment, until she forgot why it was so vital that she look away. Her concerns over disastrous matters dispelled as she fell deeper in the swirling abyss of light dancing in Gelentha’s silver irises.

She began to explore the patterns, her fascination increasing with the dull throb of her pulse. The Magi’s curiosity gave way to awe and wonderment.

A blissful smile crept on her lips, her excitement growing with the seeping wetness between her legs.

She could not fathom why the itch increased as she continued to watch, but she was secretly thankful for the occasional shudder which sent a ripple down her robe, tugging against her fiercely aroused nipples.

Gelentha’s eyes grew like rising suns.

Llewellyn’s attention did not waver, even as Herani slipped behind her, and caressed the outline of her slumped shoulders. She felt soft kisses in her hair, and hands sliding around to cup her breasts.

“Do give in, Llewellyn,” her trusted friend whispered, “Great power awaits you, but it is nothing compared to the joy of serving Sauriann’s dark purpose...”

Her eyes slid closed as Gelentha’s lips drew forth slowly and touched hers. The kiss simmered on her lips with unholy passion, growing more bold as she allowed it to claim her.

The pattern... still burning... in my mind.

The remnants of her fear vanished when Gelentha’s hand slid between her thighs. Llewellyn smiled through the soul kiss as she began to grind her hips, the adventurous fingers teasing the wet folds of her labia.

Awareness of being made to submit to Sauriann, of being seduced by one of her servants, made her own pleasure sweeter. She groaned in mock protest, knowing it was already far too late but hoping the sound would drive her temptresses to redouble their efforts.

“You must obey,” Herani hissed in her ear.

“You must obey,” Gelentha repeated softly, her fingers playing lewdly.

Llewellyn thrust herself forward against the hand between her legs, the tide of surrender gushing forth to drown her in pure bliss. She did not even make a conscious effort to speak, the words already slipping past her lips...

“I... must... obey...”

Llewellyn and Gelentha are in the Enemy’s thrall. They seek to capture the Fellowship by using your Father’s armies to block the Maurian Pass, forcing them East. Your Father is safe for the moment, but faces doom if he leaves at the end of banquet for a private audience with either of them. Come to the North tower at once, we must act quickly. I await under cover of darkness.

Princess Irulan clutched the hastily scribbled message in her hand as she hurried through the narrow corridors of Dunlan Keep, her thoughts in a frenzy. She had extirpated herself from the gathering of nobles the instant the small piece of parchment had been delivered to her. She was as distressed by the words as by the handwriting which had penned them.

Her personal maid, Brynn was but a servant girl in the eyes of all who lived in her father’s castle, but Irulan knew better. Appearances were deceiving, and no one suspected that the frail-looking wench to be a disciple of the secret Order of Solani, a woman trained in skills of arms who had sworn to safeguard the Princess’ life. The very urgency of the message upset Irulan badly, if only because it meant Brynn might have to face unknown dangers in her duties as personal guard.

In all honestly, the Princess could hardly bring herself to believe the claim, but it was said that the eyes of the Solani were everywhere.

She crossed the threshold of a stone archway carefully, surveying the darkness for guards and finding none. She slipped quietly to a nearby alcove, and tugged the hem of her gown as she began her ascent up a narrow staircase.

To the flames with the Solani and their oaths. Brynn believes it is so, and that is reason enough. She would never deceive me thus.

Her heart quivered in dismay, and her feet quickened their pace up the stairs. No one knew of the tender whispers she shared with Brynn, as dear to her as the amorous embraces they exchanged in the warm intimacy of their bed. Sadness filled her eyes every time she thought of what the comings years would bring... the marriage vows that would steal her away and force her in the arms of a stranger whom she’d been promised to.

How was it, she wondered, that such musings died with but a brush of her young companion’s lips, as though Brynn’s kisses were silent promises of love and loyalty fated to outlast time itself?

Irulan huffed as she reached the top of the stairs. She stilled her labored breathing for a moment, listening in the dark.

Echoes came from the corridor on her right. She listened intently, her shiver having more to do with dread than the damp chill of the tower’s stones.

Overcoming her apprehension, the young woman reached up and grasped the Ring that hung from the sliver chain around her neck. Her mother’s dying words flooded back, and Irulan felt wetness on her cheeks, all too conscious of the advice she had been given.

She hated the burden of the Ring for many reasons, yet one burned more fiercely in her heart than all others combined. Her grief had not dwindled over the years, the memories of her dying mother still bitterly painful. There had been no words to express the sorrow of losing the woman who had raised her with so much love and devotion, and no room in her life for a Ring of Power that could not ease such terrible suffering.

Nevertheless, Irulan had yielded to her father’s pleas, studying the Ring’s mystical workings under the supervision of the Magi. She had been proclaimed the Kingdom’s Ring-bearer when the snows of last winter were still fresh, and the subjects of the kingdom craved reassurance.

Brynn alone knew that Irulan tolerated this ordeal to honor her mother’s memory.

Quickly, Irulan took off the chain, loosened the Ring from it, and slipped it on. The band glowed faintly, and seemed to tighten around her finger.

She nodded grimly to herself, newfound courage fueling her resolve. Perhaps, in this instance, the Ring would not be a burden. Perhaps it could protect her and Brynn from the peril they faced.

Irulan strode forth with assured steps, remembering every turn of the tower’s corridors form the hiding games she played as a child. She hastened as far-away sounds became distinct. She discerned the path to their source with ease.

It seemed to her that someone was whimpering in pain, and a chill prickled her spine when she recognized Brynn’s voice.

The Ring grew hot on Irulan’s finger as she clenched her fist. She saw the flicker of torches ahead and didn’t bother approaching in stealth. Her steps resounded as she came forth and emerged from darkness. She lifted her Ring-hand and-

Froze.

Brynn’s drab tunic had been left discarded in the corner, her elbows and knees sore with abrasions as she writhed on the hard floor. A paid of daggers lay aside, discarded in the wake of sordid frolicking.

Irulan had no trouble recognizing the fair swordmaiden Gelentha, even with her face buried between Brynn’s buttocks. Evidently, the trollop reveled in the act, lapping flesh in long strokes that made Brynn squeal in pleasure. The Princess’ mouth gaped open while her beloved pressed sweaty palms against the floor and pushed back, her legs spreading wider to allow Gelentha’s tongue in her most intimate places.

Gelentha’s eyes flashed upwards, and the swordmaiden smiled from the corner of her mouth as she reamed the tightness of Brynn’s rear.

Irulan flinched at the sounds of passion more profound than anything that she’d heard when she’d been the one nuzzling between Brynn’s thighs. Her Ring hand wavered, its power summoned, ready to warp flesh and muscle to her command, but she could only stand there, watching helplessly.

As if sensing her presence, Brynn’s eyes snapped open, gazing up from the floor to capture Irulan’s gaze. A vast joy filled them, and she moaned a little louder, pushed back a little harder, as though eager to demonstrate how wonderful it was to ride Gelentha’s tongue.

The short climax rippled hard inside her, but she kept her backside still until Gelentha was finished with her. She’d bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood, and licked the tiny cut with a blissful smile, heaving madly while the walls still carried the echo of her passionate cries.

Irulan stared at her through heartbroken tears, desperate for explanations that would never prove to be enough. Brynn answered her with a silent smile, which made Irulan want to scream even more.

“Forgive your loyal servant, Princess,” Gelentha spoke by way of apology. “The Change is a momentous event for all... some more than others.” She grinned lustfully as she cast down her eyes towards Brynn, much like a common solider might appreciate the nakedness of his favored whore.

Irulan glared at her, the anger she felt towards Brynn overshadowed by burning hatred for her seductress. She yearned to twist that insolent smile into a grimace of excruciating agony.

She leveled her Ring towards the swordmaiden, her face a pale mask of fearsome beauty.

Brynn rose to her feet and calmly stood between them. Sweat glistened on her skin, the muscles of her limbs still taut from the strain of her climax. Irulan shrunk back involuntarily, jealous of the feel of that body against hers.

“By the Gods, Brynn,” she heard herself say, “step aside.”

Brynn looked at her with adoration, and it melted Irulan’s heart for a moment before she glimpsed the moistness between her lover’s legs and tasted bitter hatred anew. She kept her arm raised, the Ring pulsing on her finger.

Soothing sounds came from Brynn’s lips as she floated closer, raising her hands in a welcoming embrace. She was at peace, happy and free, unburdened by strange rumors of conspiracy and doom hanging like a sword over her father’s head.

“I know what you want,” Brynn whispered.

But it wasn’t quite a whisper... and Irulan was oddly reminded of the comfort that came with a warm summer breeze. She tried to make sense of it even as the certainty in Brynn’s voice began to frighten her.

“If you know,” the Princess hissed, “then you’ll step aside.”

Brynn took another step forward, her eyes too gentle reassuring. “You want to be free of the Ring, love. Even now... I can feel the pain inside you...”

Irulan blinked without realizing it, and lowered her hand slightly. There was a musical quality to Brynn’s voice, silvery notes that sang without music, stirring something deep inside her. She wanted that voice to go on speaking, easing and comforting her, making the sting of betrayal fade away.

She shook her head suddenly, fighting to concentrate, but Brynn’s smile grew as she spoke.

“There will be no pain once you forsake the Ring... you know this deep inside, my love... the certainty of it grows with my every word... you want to be free of it...”

Brynn stood squarely in the way, her eyes full of love. Irulan fought back tears as her arm continued its descent. Pain ebbed from it slowly, the Ring’s power dissipating.

“Give me the Ring, love,” Brynn commanded.

Irulan swooned on her feet, unable to shake the power of Brynn’s words.

“Give...?”

Brynn tightened her legs together, squirming on her two feet. She reached out and rested her hands on Irulan’s shoulders, steadying her before caressing down the length of her arms.

“You want to give it away, love... you’ll see how good it feels once you are free of its influence...”

Irulan had no words to express her confusion. She looked on, dazed, hearing voices in her own mind whispering her desire to listen and obey. She tried to lift a hand to pull the Ring from her finger, but her limbs were paralyzed.

She looked down, confounded, when Brynn seized her right hand and guided it to her glistening crotch.

A soft moan escaped her lips as her fingers slipped into heat and moistness. Brynn echoed her lust as she pressed against her, holding on to her lover’s wrist like the handle of a saddle.

Gelentha’s voice called out from behind, and Irulan felt Brynn’s legs clench in response. “Very good, Brynn... I see the Princess is learning her lesson well... you must hurry... she’ll need to be prepared in order to approach her father and insure that he bows to our Mistress...”

Irulan’s thoughts raced in a current of lust. Mistress...

She moaned a little louder, her hand now dripping with Brynn’s juices. Her legs became weak when she realized the Ring was becoming loose on her finger.

“It will be a great privilege for you of course,” Gelentha’s voice breathed in Irulan’s ear. “The gift of your Ring shall please Sauriann almost as much as the prize you make of yourself...”

Irulan’s limbs obeyed her at last, and she withdrew her hand to slip the band loose. It came off effortlessly, and she hear it clink on the floor when she dropped it.

The torrent swept her up in a fierce rush, and she forgot to cry out as she came. Instant realization exploded with the fury of her orgasm-the Ring had dulled her senses, keeping her from feeling the full measure of the seductive pleasure that even now poured inside her. She fell against Brynn, quivering, held up by strong hands while more of the overwhelming pleasure pried her mind open.

She did not struggle as she was laid down on the floor, her legs stretching open to welcoming Brynn’s tongue inside her. Far above, Gelentha loomed over her, smiling as the power of Sauriann claimed another servant.

The fair Princess mirrored the smile, thrusting her hips upwards against Brynn’s mouth. Her last thoughts shone through her eyes like a black flame-a longing to thank Gelentha for being taken.

The young Princess realized with a soft sigh, even as Gelentha knelt over her face, that there was no need to thank the swordmaiden after all.

All was done in accordance to Sauriann’s wishes.

“Two more have been bound to Darkness, Mistress,” the elven beauty spoke. It was a hoarse whisper, unbecoming of her timeless beauty, but it conveyed all the silent yearnings she could not bring herself to speak aloud.

Sauriann shivered as she heard it.

“Well done, Lady Yollanna,” she commended. “The magics of your mirror reach far across my domain.”

Yes, Mistress. Your domain.

Yollanna cooed as the thought coursed through her, remaining on her knees next to the expanse of clear water. The mystical reflections of its surface had dissipated. Only a moment ago, she had gazed inside the pond, to witness the mesmerizing fall of Princess Irulan.

The young whore now served Sauriann as faithfully as she.

“Our power is nothing in comparison to yours, Mistress,” she spoke faithfully. “Our purpose is but to serve.”

Her voice carried such emphatic belief in the words that she climaxed even as she uttered the words. Graceful fingers began to feel their way over the softness of her gown, but it was far more for the pleasure of Sauriann’s eyes than for her own.

Around them, what once had been a clearing of unparalleled natural beauty had been morphed into a garden of shadows. Twisted tree limbs stretched high into the sky, blacker than the night’s shroud. The surrounding forest was alive with distant, fearsome howls. Lady Yollanna had shed no tears for the changes wrought to this sacred place, far too consumed by the enthralling pleasure Sauriann had brought her.

She fell forward, her long, flowing hair slipping off her shoulders in a lustrous deluge. Her outstretched arms pointed to what once had been her sacred throne.

As all other things, it now belonged to Her.

“How may we serve you?” came the Elf’s passionate plea.

Sauriann sat and watched, a leg resting over the intricately crafted armrest of her seat. A gloved hand, covered in velvet, writhed like a dancing serpent over her naked sex. She gazed down upon her immortal slave, lost in wicked contemplation.

“The Rings have not yet driven you to madness?” the Dark Mistress asked.

Lady Yollanna answered by withdrawing her right hand and slipping it underneath her. It moved back and forth inside the folds of her dress, before emerging again, glistening in warm juices. She carefully licked each of the three fingers which held the golden Rings meant to safeguard all of the Elven Kingdoms.

“The voice and will of my Mistress command me,” Yollanna professed, wholly submerged by the power that was hers. She barely remembered the mesmerizing voice which had spoken to her from the distant hills, enticing her to don each of the Rings in turn. Somehow convinced that their combined strength would safeguard her forests against the darkness, she had never suspected Sauriann’s hand in this until it was far too late.

Later, when her fall into insanity and corruption was complete, when her Mistress had claimed her lands and taught her how to serve, she came to appreciate how little she needed to be prodded along, her fractured mind craving every whisper of guidance spoken in her ear.

Sauriann nodded, enjoying the moment. Secretly, she hoped there would be something left of Yollanna once her dark work was done.

“All my pawns are in place, my dearest, Elvish whore. We shall wait for the Fellowship to come to us.”

Yollanna crept forward on all fours when Sauriann summoned her with a shake of the chain-leash on her left hand.

She lost count of the orgasms by the time it was fastened to her leather collar.

The Fellowship veered East.

The Maurian pass was held by soldiers from Dulan keep. Disquieting rumors of Nahor’s fall to darkness chilled every member of the Company. Gallimede, still waiting for news of her sister’s safety in Eriondor, bore the burden of the One Ring as best she could. At night, she stirred listlessly, haunted by nightmares.

The Elven Forests became the Fellowship’s only avenue of escape. If word of the rising evil had reached Lady Yollanna, perhaps she would allow them safe passage Southwards.

Some among the Fellowship gazed with undisguised fear upon the wretched trees that emerged from behind the Rhunnid hills. Where was the unblemished splendor of the fabled Elven Lands? Surely, these parts had not been conquered by the Enemy!

They found their answer when charging beasts emerged from the sick, diseased forests, and pursued them across the hills.

They evaded the Enemy for less than a day, before falling into an ambush.

Come to me...

Gallimede swam through a warm current, feeling the boundaries of her mind expanding into infinity. She smiled as her sister’s lips sought hers, and welcomed the searing kiss. She was relieved to see her thus, unharmed and now a willing servant of Sauriann. Gelentha had tasted the rapture of servitude for weeks, and it was only fitting that she had been the one to welcome Gallimede into subservience.

The young woman shied back from her older sister for a moment, breathless and aroused. In quick movements, she slipped out of her tight-fitting garments, her hands trembling in anticipation. She was completely nude in very short order, without so much as a silver chain around her neck.

The stark, twisted beauty of her surroundings was utterly lost on her, her gaze preferring the naked contours of her sister’s bosom. Her mouth watered when she cast her eyes downward, and she licked her lips in quiet hope, craving the moment when she would taste her essence...

Gelentha took her hand, kissed it gently, and slipped something on her finger, before turning and leaving her side. Longing stabbed at Gallimede’s heart, and even the splendid sight of Llewellyn and Lady Yollanna, standing obediently nearby, would not ease her pain.

“Do not despair, young swordmaiden.”

Gallimede’s sorrow drowned in quiet moans, the voice’s commanding tone resonating in the deepest parts of her being. She almost slipped down to her knees, before remembering she had not been told to do so.

“Mistress,” she breathed, awed by sudden revelation. The howl of the wind in the trees sang along with her, in praise of the power which had claimed her.

She came forth, her long legs sweeping as she stepped on the cool grass. She raised her head as she advanced, and she finally beheld the Dark Mistress, sitting gingerly on her throne.

Sauriann gazed at her lovingly. Her eyes were pools of liquid black, shining with overpowering desire. Gallimede’s body felt the kiss of a flame, quivering. She was desperate for the sound of Her voice.

“i live to serve,” she whispered, smiling back as Gelentha watched from Sauriann’s side with lustful pride.

“And you shall,” the Dark Mistress agreed. “you shall be one of the Nine, your reward form bringing the One Ring to me.”

Gallimede glanced down, seeing the shining ring that Gelentha had put on her finger. She wondered which of the Queens had forsaken her precious treasure, and the honor of falling under Sauriann’s will once she claimed the One Ring.

The thrill of her impending and eternal corruption became almost too much to bear.

“This slave has no words to thank you, Mistress,” she offered at last, bowing deeply.

Sauriann sat back, scrutinizing her. The young swordmaiden felt the heat of her gaze, a flood of juices running down between her legs.

“And where is it, I wonder?” Sauriann finally asked, her lips stretching into a smile. “I can feel its presence... it is very near...”

Gallimede frowned, making and effort to remember the last moments of her old life, fighting alongside the treacherous Fellowship. She knew them to be unimportant, save for the fact that they had ushered in the beginning of her servitude.

Gallimede moaned softly when the flash came to her-a desperate gesture that proved strangely appropriate.

She took a daring step forward, standing close to her Mistress’ throne. She bowed her head in complete reverence, her eyes closing while her thighs parted a fraction.

Sauriann’s wicked laugher filled the air as she understood. She slipped a slow finger inside Gallimede, feeling her squirm around it.

She withdrew the slick, golden Ring, and held it up in triumph before slipping it on.

Distant thunder echoed in the Eastern hills. A terrible flash of light fissured in the night sky. The wail of winds rose sharply, shrieking in their ears.

Gallimede cried out as her soul tore itself apart. The burning pain of her eyes flared up while she collapsed on her knees, swirls of black ooze filling them, gracing her with the same, unnatural sight of her Mistress. Her sex gushed in sweet, sinful pleasure. Mystical energy flowed inside her, filling her with power and purpose.

Above the roars of the coming storm, she heard the cries of her Ring-Sisters, fusing from all corners of Middle-Urth. All of them, answering the call.

The Nine were one. She could feel it.

All of them bound to Darkness.

Forever.

Gallimede smiled, consumed by the shadows, and bowed before the Dark Mistress on her Dark throne.