The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1 First night

Love is madness. Out of love, I freely gave away everything I was. Out of love, I believed anything my beloved told me. Out of love, I was joyfully complicit in my own downfall. I thought of myself as a good person, but it took barely two weeks to deprave me completely. I walked the path I was shown willingly, eagerly but I did not walk it alone. Every step towards my doom, every bad decision that seemed like wisdom was encouraged, approved and shared by my twin.

My sister and I were half-bloods, born on the night of the vernal equinox. This prompted Mother to name us Summer and Winter. We had an idyllic, if isolated, childhood in a wooden cabin built by our father, Osen the hunter. He was human; a taciturn, dependable presence who we idolised, but was often away for days working. Our mother, Vesna, was of high elven stock; warm, graceful, full of beguiling fables and a love of growing plants in our vegetable garden which she would make flourish with the whispered charms of her people. We adored her. She taught us how to read and write and through her tales of youthful travels we learned of the world beyond our woods. Summer, the elder by mere minutes, and I were blue-eyed, golden-haired and carefree, blessed with the keen senses and deft grace of our mother’s blood. When we were not doing chores, we spent our days in the forest, practising the skills our parents imparted and imagining how we would forge legends of our own one day. Mother called us her little huntresses, unless we were in trouble, which was rare, because we were good-natured and obedient.

In truth, our family were very poor, but we knew little else. Ours was a life of simplicity and little need. Mother’s skill with crops kept our root cellar full in winter and father’s hunting, fishing and trapping provided plenty of meat, which he would cure in a smokehouse he made at the edge of our vegetable patch. We were isolated and knew no other way of life, so coveted little. These were nominally human-ruled lands, though we lived on the fringes of the kingdom. Mother was the only elf within a hundred leagues and father was adamant he had encountered no other half-elves on all his travels. Though we knew the forest we lived in intimately, we never travelled beyond it, but we longed to. Mother had built a hunger within us from an early age with tales of the many far-flung places she had seen in before we were born. Our sole clear ambition was to travel the world when we were old enough, see them all and discover new ones even she had never been. Whatever we ended up doing with our lives we swore Summer and I would do it together.

Some twins rebel against their similarities, seeking their own individuality apart from their sibling. Not us. We revelled in it, preferring to dress the same, match the style of our hair, and learned to speak as one, which often perturbed people. Once, when I tore my shirt scrambling down a slope, Summer rashly tore hers in the same way, so the repairs would still look the same. When Mother taught us to dance, we wanted to learn ones which we could match our movements. It was always a moment of triumph when Father could not work out which of us was which, though Mother always knew. Of course, we had differences in character, but it was our way to pretend we did not. Summer was more impulsive, charming and confident; I was quieter, stubborn and cautious. If there were any disparities in our qualities, we made a point to help the other work on them to equalise our ability.

We lived many days travel from any settlement large enough to be described as a town. The nearest settlement was a human village named Mesto, a few hours walk away, at the mouth of our valley, where, as identical half-elves, we drew attention. It was a sleepy place most of the year and, since our family was largely self-sufficient, our visits were infrequent. The exception was its annual summer fayre which drew crowds from the surrounding lands and was our favourite time of year. There was always something new and exciting going on and, when we were younger, it had been our first experience of staying out late to enjoy the festivities. If we had traded for a few coppers, we would each buy the same things from the stalls. We reasoned we never wanted to be jealous of the other over any bauble or treat. It sometimes caused arguments over what we spent our money on, but we often struck deals and always made up quickly if we quarrelled.

In our eighteenth year, we were having our best fayre yet. Now that we were “in bloom”, as mother would say, we caught the eye of many young men and had been flirting and diverting as best we could. To the fair, we found the attention flattering and the presence of our father, known as someone not to be trifled with, discouraged impropriety. We had bought new dresses by working as one when trading some pelts father had given us. One particular merchant had bought us matching items every year since we were children and the previous year, we had requested dresses. They did not disappoint, presenting a brace of gowns, simple, long and green, with lacing down each side. We thought them lovely and had slipped into them as soon as we could, taking great care not to get them soiled as we did the rounds of the stalls and attractions while the day wore on. Being of age it was understood we could come home when we wanted, so our parents left us to our own devices for the most part and we were determined to make the most of our time.

Shortly after dusk settled, we spied a stranger sitting on a bench beside the central bonfire the stalls were arranged around. She held herself with confidence, hands planted on the bench either side in a very open posture, looking about the throng, taking everything in, content to people watch. We had not seen her arrive, which puzzled us since her white hair, pure as a swan’s wing and at odds with the youth of her face, marked her out from the common folk. It was long, swept back off her brow to flow down her back, further than our own, the sides bound tight to her skull in neat braids, then intricately interwoven at the back to constrain the generous white waves. More handsome than beautiful, perhaps five, maybe ten years older than us, it was hard to say; wearing travelling clothes far finer than our new dresses. She was striking, exotic to our inexperienced eyes and she intrigued us.

As we watched, a clump of young men hovered around the beer cart casting indiscreet glances at the stranger. They would nudge each other until, one after another, they would conjure enough bravado to approach her. They had been trying largely the same stratagem with us throughout the day so we felt a wellspring of pity that the lady would have to fend off their advances all evening. We need not have been concerned. Each tried a different patter with the stranger, but none could elicit so much as a word from her. Instead, each received the same silent, dismissive glance that made their courage quail and sent them back to their friends, crestfallen.

Possessing insouciant confidence, she was clearly someone we should like to know. In one of those delicious twin moments when we needed no verbal expression of our intention, we decided to try our luck. We approached from behind and sat down on either side of the lady, bidding her hello in unison. She coolly swung her gaze between the two of us, taking in our uniformity, which elicited a small smile. Her skin was as pale as porcelain even in the glow of the firelight, but her lips seemed dark as if painted.

“Good evening, milady. I’m Summer,” my sister said. “Good evening, milady. I’m Winter,” I added a heartbeat later.

“So, you must be the twins,” she replied.

The twins. It seemed odd she might have heard of before, but we let it slip. There was no trace of that withering dismissive stare she had used to despatch the procession of fool-hardy boys. Instead, she half-smiled and her face shifted from cool beauty to inviting warmth. “A pleasure to meet you. Tell me about yourselves,” she requested, locking her gaze upon us in turn. Up close, her eyes were very lovely, deep, intense, though the flickers of firelight made discerning their colour challenging. Her lids framed them in most lovely arcs.

With an open invitation, we were happy to share the meagre facts of our life and found the stranger a very attentive listener. I worried the details of our lives might be too mundane for a worldly traveller, as I presumed she was, but her regular nods or gestures placated my insecurities. Summer and I would pass the conversational threads back and forth, picking up any lulls in our chain of thought and each time we did, the lady would switch her gaze and present us with variations on that small smile she had greeted us with. The effect was quite bewitching and quickly relaxed us, which in turn made us share more. We would pepper our own revelations with questions about our companion which she would answer briefly before turning the conversation back to us. We could not but help comment on her snowy hair, for instance, to which she simply replied that all her line bore it, before complimenting our honey blonde locks and then offering to buy us drinks. I volunteered to fetch them, so she passed me a few coins and I trotted off to the moustachioed man with the wine barrels.

It took a short while to get served but when I returned with, our new friend greeted me with her warmest smile yet. Summer was wide-eyed with excitement and revealed our companion had been telling of her many travels. We confessed our dreams of journeying, and she enthusiastically encouraged us, offering extensive accounts of places we might enjoy and advice for life on the road. We were enraptured by her knowledge, generosity and easy charm. We felt so at ease with her Summer ventured our new friend would make an excellent escort and, to our delight, she announced she would very much love to guide us.

We had been talking for a good while and she still had not told us her name. Try as I might, though to find the right moment to ask her, it had eluded me, and now it seemed awkward to ask. That said, she was so fascinating, and we were all getting on so well it hardly seemed to matter. I wondered to myself if she might be nobility, she held herself very straight-backed and had a practiced grace in the way she used her eyes to capture attention and hands to briefly touch us on the shoulder, arm or leg, like old friends. Not that we would have known what a noble looked or acted like. Though she was human her movements reminded me of our mother’s elven elegance.

Another round of drinks was agreed upon and our companion insisted on paying again but this time Summer fetched them leaving us alone.

“Let me take a look at you,” she said, turning to give me her full attention. “I have known twins before, but your similarity really is quite extraordinary.”

I struggled to restrict my smile and tucked my hair behind my ear, feeling a little coy. Her stare became level, more intense, and I turned my face this way and that in the firelight to give her a full view. Words fell away and we gazed at each other. The silence intense, a precious confection on the constant verge of collapse but the longer it lasted the more fascinating it became. The murmur and music of the fayre receded from my focus and the moment seemed like a conversation all its own. My eyes kept scanning her features investigating the lines and curves of her face as if she were the map of some fabled country. The deeper I looked the clearer her beauty became apparent. Her dense, snow-white hair was so conspicuous it was not until that moment I realised she was quite the most beautiful human I had ever seen. The sharpness of her cheekbones, the dignified slope of her brow crowned with a widow’s peak, the point of her chin. There was something vaguely feline about her, though she had a grin I could only think of as wolfish. She had darkened her eyelashes, lids and brows with some sort of dark substance like a gypsy dancer and it gave her expressions greater impact. Her eyes fixed unvaryingly on my own somehow encouraging my exploration. Everything about her face was an invitation, but not for everyone, just for me. It was most novel, peculiar, intimate, and it thrilled me to my core.

She broke the silence, drawing my eyes back to hers. “You’re very agreeable,” she stated. I could not tell if that was a statement or a question.

“Yes,” I replied, caught off guard by speech after our silent exchange, unsure in what sense she meant that. “Thank you,” I quickly added, in case it was a compliment.

“You are not as forward as Summer but follow her lead,” she asserted.

“Yes,” I confessed, impressed and a little confounded by the accuracy of her observation. “She is the elder, but I can get my way if there is something I want.”

“Your inner strength is clear. We shall be good friends,” she stated.

“Yes,” I agreed, urgency clear in my voice. I wanted to be her friend so much it surprised me. She struck me as the gateway to a wider world that Summer and I longed to explore. She could show us so much, I was sure of it. Getting ahead of myself somewhat, I wondered if Mother and Father would agree to us going travelling with her? “The best of friends, I hope,” I added, quite earnestly.

Oh, yes, I liked her a great deal, I was certain, but it was difficult to pin down exactly what I was feeling. She was the most interesting person I had ever met, and tonight’s conversation was the best I had ever had. Such an immediate and profound connection was unknown to me, and my instinct told me Summer felt the same way. We had been entwined in stimulating conversation for over an hour and I felt as if I had known her my whole life, though I still did not know her name.

“Layla,” she said, as if she could hear what I was thinking, which startled me a little. “Very pleased to meet you,” she added, offering her hand. I had a bizarre urge to kiss it, which was confusing and inappropriate, so I merely grasped and shook. The night air by the fire was warm but her fingers were cold and there was a ring with a large, eye-catching crimson stone on her middle finger.

“You must let me keep you both,” she placed her hand on top of mine as she spoke with a breezy tone but an incongruously fierce stare, I found hard to interpret, so I laughed briefly. I was flattered and bemused by her statement and wondered exactly what she meant. How does one keep a person? As a friend? A companion? A pet? Surely that was not what she meant yet her words seemed impregnated with all possible permutations. I puzzled over it, enfolded in her gaze, as the bonfire flames danced in the corners of her lovely eyes and a decadent heat flushed through me. I was suddenly struck that, whatever Layla keeping us meant, I found it appealing.

“Yes,” was all I could think of to say, a strange perfection rested in the simplicity of my reply, as I lost myself in the relentlessness of her stare. For the briefest of moments, it felt like we two were the only people in the entire world.

Summer returned with drinks to tear me from my reverie. I beamed giddily at her as I took a cup and a healthy swig. Summer could read the excitement in my eyes. I saw it mirrored in her own.

Layla said she would like to stretch her legs and asked if we would like to accompany her. It would have been disappointing to end our charming conversation, so we readily agreed. In a gesture of our new friendship, she offered us her arms and we slid ours around hers to lock us in step either side of her. The wine was beginning to make me a little giddy. As we began our lazy tour of the revels, Layla flattered us that we were quite the most interesting discovery at the fayre, which made me feel coy once more, but emboldened Summer.

“We are,” Summer declared. I was embarrassed by her arrogance. “Save for yourself, of course, Layla,” she amplified the compliment and returned it making our friend smile and turn her glance to the ground. It took me a moment to realise that Summer had learned Layla’s name, perhaps when I had gotten the first round of drinks. I was a little dismayed she had not shared this with me until now but dismissed it as unimportant.

As we strolled about the fayre, it seemed we were in a little warded bubble, slightly insulated from the world. Though the white-haired woman and two identical half-elven maids should have caused a stir, no one paid us any mind. One of the more drunken members of that gaggle of young men nearly stumbled into us but at the last moment veered into a horse trough which caused an eruption of laughter from his friends as we strolled by. Though the evening was drifting into its later stages, most stalls were still open, and it was quite lively with almost everyone inebriated. Spirits were high and the mood was happy. A throng gathered about a minstrel energetically wresting tunes from a fiddle, with the crowd clapping along to the beat and a good many clumsily danced. I felt like joining but lacked the courage and holding our friend’s arm seemed more precious at the time. We listened for a while, appraisal on Layla’s face, before moving on.

We passed a lady in a scarlet headscarf and numerous brass bracelets, sitting upon the grass smoking a long pipe, with a selection of jewellery spread across a cloth beside her. We had chatted with her that afternoon and she greeted us with the grin of a woman who smiles often. Summer’s eye was drawn to the array of identical simple silver hoops, two of which we had tried to bargain for earlier, but it was those or the dresses and we could not afford both. Alcohol had only increased our avarice for them, and Layla noticed.

“Do you like those?” she asked, pointing to the exact ones we had looked at. Summer and I nodded. “Where would they look best?”

Our ear lobes were pierced at the summer fayre in years past by a lady, not dissimilar to the vendor before us. We only ever wore that same set of simple, small, silver studs, for they were the only jewellery we owned. Layla sensed we were slightly wrong-footed by the question. We did not want to seem rude by the unimaginative answer that we would put them in our ears, obviously.

“They would look quite fetching up here,” she suggested, touching a spot near the point of my left ear to demonstrate to Summer where she meant. The touch was overly familiar, but the coolness of her fingers felt pleasant against the blush of alcohol and the embarrassment at such intimacy that had conspired to make me quite flushed. I made no move to pull away, instead peering at the gold hoops that hung from Layla’s lobes and the smaller ones that crested the top ridge of her ears as she was proposing for our own. Hers were of far finer make I realised. The fingers lingers for a fraction long enough to suggest something more was meant by it, but not long enough to confirm it.

“What about those ones?” she said pointing to six identical silver ones with finer worked tiny filigree detail. “I will buy them for you. And you,” she said withdrawing her touch and glancing to me to extend the offer to us both.

“No. We could not. That is too kind,” Summer and I stumbled through a series of weak denials but none of them sounded convincing and our new friend was clearly not one to be easily swayed. She passed more coins to the lady in the scarf than she asked for and claimed the jewellery.

“’Tis done,” she said. “Come with me,” she casually instructed and walked off behind a wagon, only yards from the throng of revellers. A little unsteady from the drink, we trotted after her away from the crowd.

“Summer, come here,” Layla instructed. “Let me fix these upon you.”

Summer stood before her in the shadow of the cart, hidden from the firelight. The night sky was clear, and the stars made the field beside plain as day to us, a benefit of our elven heritage. Layla positioned Summer with light touches upon her shoulders, caught her line of sight for a moment and then leaned intimately close whispering something in her ear that the drifting music of the fayre obscured from me. Then she tilted Summer’s head to the left and leaned in close to her ear. My sister’s eyes widened for a moment, as Layla fiddled with something I could not see between them. Then she tilted Summer’s unresisting head the other way and leaned around that side. Her head was between me and Summer’s so again I could not see what Layla was doing and, with my wits wine-dulled, it did not occur to me to reposition myself for a better view. I thought I heard a slight gasp escape Summer’s lips. Moments later, Layla drew back and I immediately saw she had somehow pierced the tops of Summer’s ears and inserted the hoops.

“How did you do that?” I asked, puzzled, while a creeping concern entered the periphery of my mind that Layla had not asked, she had merely acted. Now Summer looked fractionally different from me and that did not sit well.

“How do they look?” Summer asked, addressing Layla.

“Even more beautiful than before,” Layla purred.

“What do you think?” Summer asked me as she ran her fingers over them to get a sense of her modification.

I paused, an unhappiness brewing in my gut. I hated differences between us. Summer understood at once.

“Your turn,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“But how did you do that?” I turned to Layla.

“A lot of practice, a little magic and sharp teeth,” Layla joked with a smirk. Summer laughed and I joined in with a brief chuckle.

Conflict simmered within me between displeasure at our disparity and jealousy that Layla had done this to Summer before she did it to me. Our friend seemed so glamorous, and I was not clear precisely what I felt about her, but some eager part of my mind dared me to give myself over to this unusual experience. Anxious but excited, I let Layla position me in the shadows as she had my sister. She fixed me with a look and whispered, “Be at peace and let me work.”

It seemed a reasonable instruction and, at that precise moment, the booze caught up with me, and my tipsiness segued into blissful passivity. I felt Layla tilt my head before I realised what she was doing and then she drew in close. There was no space between us, her body pressed against mine and I gasped. It did not feel an intrusion, quite the reverse. I felt the top of my ear pricked, tugged, pressed, then placed between her lips and briefly sucked before she stepped back to examine what she had done. Had she just put the tip of my ear in her mouth? She surely had. That struck me as odd, but it did not spur me to resist. She gave a satisfied nod, then tilted my head the other way and I just let her. The same swift sequence of sensations ran over my other ear, then she stepped back and smiled.

This new friendship was moving so fast, why were we going along with this? It was exhilarating to allow this glamorous stranger to be so familiar with my body, so bold it made my pulse race. Layla was not done. She held out the last two loops, one in each hand and said, “If you would be so kind.” We did not hesitate, taking one each, while she removed the gold loops from the top of her ears so we might replace them with the ones identical to ours with but a moment’s work. We stood in silence, admiring our shared adornments and I felt the beginnings of a bond between the three of us.

“There. We are as one. Come,” she said, and she paced back to the lady who had sold us the earrings. A brief exchange of words and the smoking woman produced two cords. Layla took them slipped the golden earrings we had removed onto them and tied them off to fashion two necklaces. We had no idea how much the gold was worth but substantially more than the silver ones, far more money than we had ever owned, so were astonished when she handed them to us.

“Here, I want you to have them,” she said. “Do not challenge me on this. They are freely given and well within my means.”

We looked at each other and then back to Layla, sensing that arguing against her will in this would be futile, we obediently took them and slipped them over our necks. We looked at her in wonder, slightly unsure if she was real.

“You are so kind,” Summer said sincerely, looking at the intricate work on the small gold loop.

Truly touched by her munificence, I pressed it to my heart and said, “Thank you so much, Layla.”

As soon as I spoke, Layla shot a glance to the vendor sitting beside us. The lady in the scarf stared back at Layla, eyes growing wide, like she was seeing her for the first time.

“What is your name?” Layla asked.

“Bella,” the lady in the scarf said slowly.

“Let me smoke your pipe,” Layla asked, though her tone made it more like an order. I was a little unsure what was happening, but then I was drunk, so tried to appear like I knew what was going on and nodded, hoping there was something to agree with. What little I knew of nobility was hearsay, so perhaps this was how they talked to menials? I was not sure I cared for this aspect of our new friend, but I was still so invigorated by everything thus far I overlooked it at once.

“Yes, yes,” said Bella, handing it over. She looked up at Layla, brow furrowed with intense focus, her easy smile absent. Layla took a single long draw upon it, illuminating her face as the herbs within flared in heat, she exhaled through her nose, sending plumes of smoke in twin gusts downwards. The whole scene struck me as odd. Bella’s sudden intense demeanour, Layla’s casual command of the situation, her abruptly ignoring our gratitude at her gifts but there was something else beyond that, something about the way she smoked that I could not place my finger upon.

She offered the pipe to us, and I was about to say we had never smoked before, when Summer took it. So, I suppose we are smokers now. She took a game lungful and instantly doubled over coughing hard, passing the pipe to me as she tried to stop hacking up smoke. Layla was amused and moved to pat her on the back, which seemed to help. Summer gestured for me to try, and I unenthusiastically inhaled a little, causing me to cough too but much less than she. I passed the pipe back to Bella, but she ignored me, still fixated with Layla. Our friend leaned down to Bella and murmured something, lost in the din of the fayre. When Layla stood up straight again, Bella looked to me, her eyes less wild and her grin returned. She motioned for the return of her pipe, so I handed it back. I could not say I enjoyed smoking, perhaps it is an acquired taste, but I thanked her all the same.

“See you later,” Bella called as we moved on.

We linked arms again and completed another circuit of the fayre as the effects of whatever it was that we had just smoked began to creep up on me. Though the crowds were thinning the partying did not seem to be slowing. It was now quite late but none of us wanted to part.

“This is the best evening ever!’ Summer declared. “We never want the fayre to end, especially this one. We do hope we can meet again. Please say we shall. What are your plans?”

“I have the good fortune to be at liberty to go wherever I choose, whenever I want,” Layla said. “But I hope to remain in the area for a few days. The pair of you have given me good reason to.”

“Then tomorrow,” I urged. “Please may we meet again. We live a couple of hours’ walk south of the village up the valley. We could meet you here again, tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes. You must tell us more of your travels,” added Summer and we leaned in to squeeze her between us.

“I have appointments tomorrow afternoon so cannot, I fear. And now it is late,” Layla noted. “But perhaps I might walk you home?”

As enchanting as Layla was, we were unsure. Clearly we wanted to but taking someone back to our home past midnight was not our custom. Our parents would not approve. Layla sensed our reticence.

“The forest is dark at this hour, I could light your way,” she said.

“But we can see in the dark,” we pointed out, amused because Layla clearly knew this.

“It would be safer in a group in case of wild beasts,” she said.

“But we know the woods and its threats well,” we replied, our back and forth becoming a game.

“Then just for the pleasure of your company,” she said.

“Yes, yes, yes!” we agreed in unison, laughing.

We filled the walk with talk of local beauty spots, naively hoping we were impressing our new friend. But she was receptive and attentive as we extolled the virtues of our little world, indeed she seemed fascinated by us. We were used to people finding us a little odd. Some find twins unnerving, but Layla was too self-assured for that. The walk took a little longer than usual, but it did sober us up a tad.

When we came within sight of the cabin, we knew our adventure was drawing to a close but still did not want to admit it. Layla however, made her farewells politely.

“Summer, Winter, it has been my absolute pleasure. I have seldom met two such delectable young ladies. I urge you to hold on to your openness of spirit and I assure you, when you achieve you dreams of wandering, you will be welcomed everywhere. Farewell,” Layla said earnestly, taking our fingers in her cool hands and kissing them firmly, first Summer’s then mine. Once again, I was not sure what to make of it. Was it right for a lady to kiss one’s hand? It made me feel bashful and excited, but strangely left me wanting more, though more of what I could not say. I glanced at my twin and nodded.

“And we will do it with you,” Summer said. “Farewell.”

“Promise us,” I blurted.

As Layla turned to leave, she paused, looked back over her shoulder and said, “One day, I shall take you away with me. And, if I am able, I shall call upon you tomorrow evening, but tell no one. This is our secret. Can you keep it?”

“We promise,” we said as one. And with that she left us to creep into our house. We wanted to chat about our day but were exhausted and collapsed into our beds. I had not removed the golden earring on the cord about my neck. I ran it between my fingers and thought about Layla. Was she attractive? Yes, exquisitely so. Was I attracted to her? I had never thought of a woman that way before. I did not know one could. But my last thought before sleep overcame me was, I wanted to kiss her, or rather, I wanted her to kiss me.