The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Layla stood, unseen, behind me. Her hand securely planted on the back of my head, my desire to glimpse my lover, thwarted by her merciless grip. She steered me about our room, while Summer reclined on her bed, watching on, amused. The third bed was Layla’s. It was very fine, with glorious scarlet sheets. There was an inexplicable, tacit arousal in being moved around by my beloved and a frustration that she was not directing me to her bed.

Sudden fear iced my veins at noises beyond our door, threatening discovery. The pact was in jeopardy. If anyone came in, we would be undone, our tryst revealed, and I lacked convincing lies to defend it.

“You can’t be here,” I whispered to Layla. “The pact.”

“I go where I please,” I heard Layla say. “You go where I will.”

She turned me to the door and ordered, “Open it.”

My fears compounded, but my lover had commanded. How could I refuse her when obeying possessed such a peculiar allure? I did as I was told and pushed the door open.

Layla thrust me out into the Fayre. It was dark and everyone was drunk. Summer stood beside me, piloted by Layla in the same manner as I. It thrilled me to know we shared in this, but, as we were both naked, every moment held the inevitability of humiliating discovery. My emotions cartwheeled when Layla forced us to our knees and made us crawl on all fours, like hounds. When no one looked our way, I realised why they ignored us. Everyone was fucking.

“You love this,” Layla spoke into my ear. She was right. Layla was always right. I love this.

I woke, softly smiling, my dream melted in the shaft of sunlight invading our room. Confused at the loss of the debauched Fayre’s darkness, I felt the back of my head, saddened to find Layla’s hand absent. I tried to duplicate the way she had gripped me, but it was already hard to remember, fading with each passing moment.

“What are you doing?” Summer asked. She was already dressed.

“Dreams,” I mumbled, wakefulness supplanting my dream-world no matter how hard I tried to hold on to it.

“Any bruises from last night?” she lowered her voice to a whisper.

For a moment, still only half awake, I was confused until the memory of licking Layla like a thirsty hound erupted into my awareness. That certainly explained my dream. Recollections of last night’s ecstasies caught up with me and, without thinking, my fingers absently brushed my quim. I was not as tender as I feared, yet the echoes of my lover’s touch, still embedded in my flesh, drove all dreams into obscurity.

“That was… incredible,” I whispered, not answering Summer’s question. “We must do that again.”

“Absolutely,” Summer nodded, eyes wide at the memories. “I already started chores and had breakfast. I told Mother you did not sleep well, and she agreed you could lie-in. You will need to cover for me this afternoon. I think I only got a couple of hours’ sleep.”

“Did you lie to Mother?” I asked, disquieted at the thought.

“Not exactly,” Summer replied, “but we must protect the pact.”

She was right, of course. The pact was precious; the foundation of all we had experienced over the past few nights. We would do whatever it took to safeguard it.

“Agreed,” I confirmed, as I slid out of bed and grabbed a washcloth. I poured some water into our bowl and quickly rinsed myself.

“Laundry day. We can talk more by the river,” Summer said as she breezed out of the room.

Soon, we were out in the sunlight, under a cloudless sky, carrying the wash-basket and our euphoria between us to the stream. The day was already hot, which meant drying would be easy. As we set about our task, Layla was all we could talk about. We chatted incessantly, passing the conversation back and forth, falling over each other to express how wonderful she was, how she made us feel, what she had done and laughing at how intensely stupid we felt that we did not know we could come again and again.

With Layla, we felt we had finally achieved adulthood, more so than our coming-of-age ceremony. We obsessed over how utterly helpless we had been with her fingers inside us, and, by all the gods, we wanted that again. Hopes of seeing her tonight fuelled our imaginations. To enjoy her beauty, her extraordinary hair, her lithe limbs, the sumptuous curves of her hips. To touch her, to take a tempting handful of her breasts, to hold her between us. Such pleasures were beyond any we had yet known and were ours for the taking, over and over, from now on.

We had wondered for years what love would be like and here it was, consuming our every waking moment, filling our dreams, reshaping all our plans. Layla’s reticence to take us last night, as frustrating as it had been at the time, was absolutely correct. Our first time did change us. Sex with women was now more than an option, it was our preference. Though, to be specific, sex with Layla was our focus. Summer was still curious to know how a man would feel inside her and I definitely was too, but it was hard to imagine it could be better than Layla.

We rationalised our lover’s initial caution was a clear indication that she cared deeply for us as people more than merely twins to fuck. We spared very little reflection for how we had united in badgering her to take us, unashamed of our persistence because the results had been incredible. So mind-blowing, in fact, that our memories were a little patchy, particularly when we pleasured her. I recalled how strong and smooth her thighs were quite clearly, but I had lost myself while tonguing her.

I wanted to tell Summer more details but decided to let her judge for herself, hopefully tonight, instead espousing my unreserved approval of the experience. Similarly, when Summer talked about snogging Layla, she kept trailing off, her eyes lost in the middle distance, mind elsewhere. Twice I had to snap her out of it. Clearly it had been quite the kiss. When she gathered her wits, she simply told me I had to try it for myself. Darkness could not some soon enough for us.

It was not just the sex that had us enthralled. Layla was fascinating. She really paid attention to our plans and dreams. Her travels had already added a dozen suggestions to our list of places to visit. We wanted to see them all, with her, and to find ones she had yet to explore.

Normally, we would share our happiness with Mother and Father and longed to tell them of our new friend so our future with her could truly begin, but it was impossible. We were sworn to our pact of silence, and it bound the three of us. We wondered if we might persuade Layla to accelerate our plans to be together but at the same time, prized the pact so highly we were in no hurry to suggest altering it. Our bond was sacred.

As daughters we were both very close and open with our mother and would normally tell her anything. We felt sure she would love Layla just like we did if she met her. Well, not exactly as we did; that would be gross. But we yearned to share how we were the happiest we had even been because we had bound ourselves to Layla. That said, I did not know where to begin describing our new relationship and the very notion of sharing such intimate details was abhorrent.

Our obsession left our thoughts in such an excited jumble that they leapt from aspect to aspect with no order or reason. We found ourselves talking of romance one moment, our future with her the next, then revelling in our lust. For the first time, we felt important to someone. We had impressed this worldly stranger so favourably that she was unable to contain her attraction to us. Usually so composed, the moments when she let her guard down made her seem adorably vulnerable, which added to the impression that we had the power in the relationship.

That power was intoxicating. We had craved her first kiss, but she asked for our consent. We ached for her touch upon us, but she begged our permission. Her devotion to us was indisputable, her intimate understanding of us manifested in a relentless drive to fulfil our every desire. That was how our remarkable time together nestled in our memories.

As we hung the laundry in the blazing sun of that idyllic afternoon, our only lament was Layla’s absence. We had yet to meet in daylight; no doubt her hair would look spectacular. Though our vision was exceptional in darkness it was hard to differentiate colour, so we might finally figure out what shade her eyes were.

Love demands contact and her presence made us complete. We longed for her to join in our happy chatter. Yes, she was more economical with words than we, that made what she did say more precious. We had not forgotten she had promised to show us magic. We wanted too many things to name, but, ultimately, all of them were Layla. There could be no further doubt on the matter. We were in love.

That led us to cautiously discuss how we felt about crawling on our hands and knees at Layla’s behest. It was difficult to get our heads around. We had never thought of doing anything like that before but, in the moment, it had been what she wanted so we did it. It had come with a conflicting amalgam of embarrassment and allure. I was unsure at first, almost treating it as a joke until Layla’s eyes made it clear how much she was into it.

We could at least agree that kneeling before Layla was hot. Since we first met, it was obvious she possessed an aura of immense confidence. That seemed far more profound when we were on our knees staring up at her. We were somewhat in awe of her.

In that heady moment last night, still soaring from our barrage of orgasms, she looked positively regal. It had stirred complex emotions about submission that we found difficult to fully decipher. Her dominant stance, her imperious gaze, it all made us think either an arrogant expectation of obedience came naturally to her, or she had practised such a demeanour before and often. Whatever the case, even though we could barely believe we were entertaining the notion, we were amenable to doing it again.

In hindsight, it was an intense, giddy, stupid time, discovering more about ourselves and making the sort of mistakes one should be able to make at that age. Our dizzying happiness meant we were oblivious to what it would soon cost.

When we returned home, Mother remarked how we had been slow with our work for which we apologised and explained truthfully that we had lost track of the hour. It was too late to cover for Summer to take a nap since we still had work to do, which left her very tired by the end of the day.

We had never been irritated by the long summer evenings before, but now the sun stood between us and our beloved. We struggled to contain our fidgeting as we waited for our parents to retire for the night. As the sun finally set, the excitement burst through Summer’s fatigue, and we quickly set about our plans to escape into our lover’s waiting arms.

Now freshly cleaned, we wore our new dresses again. Though the night was sultry, we took cloaks for warmth in case, as we hoped, we might be out late. Once our slow, silent exodus from the cabin took us out of earshot, we sped through the dark, racing each other to be the first to our beloved’s side.

Rushing into the clearing of the thunderstruck tree, we came to a sudden halt. Layla was there, her dress a red slash emerging from beneath a black cloak, her snowy hair arranged in complex, cunningly braided cascades about her shoulders. She was so breath-taking for an instant all we could do was gape, our enthusiastic charge checked by her beauty.

That broad, wolfish smile lit her face, while she remained otherwise motionless. This beckoned us forward and we rushed to crowd her with our embrace, while we decorated her cheeks with kisses.

“We love you, we love you, we love you,” we chanted.

“And I love you. I truly do,” she replied. Though she teasingly withheld her kisses, we did not care. We were with our beloved and all was right with the world once again.

We broke our hold, stepped a pace back and knelt before her on the grass. United in our shared, submissive instinct, we gazed at her, luxuriating in the warm depths of our adoration. A fancy crossed my mind that she was our high priestess, and we her acolytes, awaiting our next lesson. The naiveite of such notions was lost on me at the time. Layla looked down upon us, clearly pleased by our deference, a tinge of attractive arrogance infected her smile. She stepped to us and cupped our cheeks in each hand, which we leaned into like cats seeking strokes. Her fingers slid around our faces to clasp our chins, lifting them to meet her gaze.

“You know me so well already, beloved sisters,” Layla purred.

“We like what you like,” Summer said sincerely.

“We love what you love,” I emphasised, truthfully. I hung upon her words, spellbound, eager for whatever she might say next.

“And I love you both. You have won my heart. I am yours,” she joyfully admitted. My heart felt it might burst in jubilation on hearing what I wanted most. “Come, let us walk.” She beckoned us to stand, so we obeyed, linked arms, and set off further into the woods.

We exchanged pleasantries about our day, though Layla would only say hers was restful. Bafflingly, she wanted to see where we had done our laundry. We explained that was too close to the cabin, but a little further upstream was a lovely spot under the shelter of an ash tree, so we took her there. She seemed satisfied with its charms, so sat on the bank, relaxed in each other’s company and chatted about destinations we hoped to visit one day.

As excited as I had been, I felt at peace now the three of us were reunited. Our relationship was once again that of fast friends, rather than lust-hungry lovers, which was truly welcome. After a while, I remembered what Layla had promised the previous night.

“Layla, my love,” I started, as a lay propped upon one elbow.

“Yes, beloved,” she replied, which made me shudder.

“You said you were going to show us magic,” I reminded her.

“Was last night not magical enough?” she quipped, arching an eyebrow.

“Oh, it was more than we ever imagined,” I hastily responded, a little ashamed. She read my embarrassment.

“I jest, beloved,” she smiled. I shuddered again. I wanted her to call me that forever.

“Do not tease my sister,” Summer interjected. “That is my job. So, you know magic. Like a sorceress?”

“I do,” Layla said, twisting a tuft of grass about her finger. “I take it, you would like a demonstration?”

“Please,” I said, sitting up and pulling my knees between my arms, to give her my full attention. Summer shuffled over beside me and adopted the same posture.

“Very well, let me see. Do you like cats?” Layla asked as she stood and walked a few paces before us.

“Yes. We love them. They have them in the village. The miller keeps them for the rats. Mother never let us have one though,” I shared.

“And there are mountain lions further up the range. Father sometimes hunts them. In winter they have sometimes to come down into the valley,” Summer added. “Beautiful and ferocious.” Layla nodded.

“Now, do not be afraid and do not cry out. You promise?” Layla said, raising a tension between us. It had never occurred to me that we could be in the slightest danger when we were with her.

“We promise,” we said as one, anticipation mounting.

Layla took off her cloak and flung it to Summer, but I caught it out of the air and held it close. It was rich in her scent and, though quite different from her sex, stirred my memory of last night. I inhaled deeply. Then she removed her headscarf and kicked off her boots for Summer to gather. Lastly, she lifted her dress up over her head and flung it at us, with no hesitation nor shame. Neither of us moved to catch it because there was nothing beneath her dress save her nudity, dappled in moonlight.

Agog, my eyes swept over her body, scrutinising her statuesque perfection. Skin smooth like an alabaster idol, she was slim, her muscles tight, as if from a lifetime of labour, which seemed improbable. Her breasts were archetypical, slightly bigger than ours, and borne proudly by her stance. Until that moment I have paid them precious little mind, but the sight of them made me covetous. Impulses to kiss, fondle and press them to mine, galloped through my imagination. The sight of her sex then commandeered my full attention, prompting flashes of tangled memories—her scent, her taste, my need, the clasping, the gripping, the licking, the pleasure. My tongue searched my lips for any trace of her but found only memories.

Layla stood there for a moment, letting us drink her in, fully aware how her brazen display had stunned us both. Her overwhelming confidence was beguiling. Our lover seemed flawless. It was at that moment my fascination swirled into obsession; my desire evolved into devotion.

Dumbstruck by her display, I momentarily stopped breathing as I watched her stand, legs a little apart, and gather her energies. A look of concentration settled over her pale features. She raised her arms above her head, then began to topple forward. For an instant it looked as if she was about to fall flat on her face, but her body rippled like a bed cloth shaken in the wind. Her form shifted rapidly, and it was a mountain lion with pure white fur that landed on all fours before us. She was a shapeshifter. My breathing resumed with a gasp.

Deep, feline eyes regarded us levelly. I was pinned in place by this uncanny demonstration of power. Awe made words elusive; all I could do was stare. The transformed woman padded towards us, but I felt no trace of fear. Father had warned us many times of the dangers such beasts but this was my friend, my lover. She stopped barely a foot from us. Her mouth opened and closed, and we got a good look at her considerable teeth. She could have torn our throats out before we could even rise to flee, but I felt only reverence.

Braver than I, Summer leaned forward, reached out a hand to touch the cat’s forehead and tenderly stroked her. She turned to me with an expression of wonder, and my paralysis broke, as I stretched to feel our friend’s new face. Our beloved’s new form was softer than I imagined, reminiscent of last night. Layla pushed her head against my hand, welcoming my touch. I noted she still had the silver loop in her ear that she had bought us at the fayre. Summer and I began sliding our hands along her impeccable coat, down her flanks, impossibly silky fur over tightly packed muscle. She was a marvel.

“Can… can you hear us?” I asked, stupidly. Of course, she could hear us. Why would she be deaf? “I mean… understand us?” The lioness looked at me then flicked her head up and down once and gave a low frequency purr.

“This is amazing. How did you learn this?” Summer wondered. Layla looked to her with an expression I could not understand but imagined might be scorn. It seemed she could not speak in this form, which made my sister’s question as dense as mine.

Layla shook her whole body starting from her head, along her back to her hind legs and it was then I realised she had no tail. As the ripple returned along her body she transformed in a heartbeat, back into our beloved; naked as a new-born, resting on all fours. She sat back on her heels, hands on her hips, looking pleased with herself. I offered her cloak and Summer her dress, but she took refused both. As astonishing as her transformation had been, she was every bit as magnificent in her own nude body.

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“Astonished,” Summer marvelled, eyeing our lover’s restored flesh with wonder and simmering lust.

“Amazing! That was the greatest thing I have ever seen,” I shrieked, losing my composure completely. “How did you do that?”

“Time, dedication and sacrifice,” she modestly answered. “There are numerous skills I have acquired on my travels, though you are privileged; I do not show my abilities to just anyone. They are private. I strive to keep them secret.”

“Why, beloved?” I wondered, concerned, my excitement diminished.

“People look at you differently when they know you wield magic. Some behave with suspicion, sometimes fear, occasionally hostility, as I have learned to my cost over the years. One seldom knows how people will react. I have lost a few loved ones that way,” Layla explained. A distant sadness interlaced her words. It dawned on me what a risk she had taken showing us her power. I wanted to put my arm around her, but her nakedness made me hesitate.

“But you showed us,” I said. “Thank you so much. Thank you for trusting us. We think it is wonderful.”

“You are not just anyone. I trust you both. The sooner you knew the truth about me the better,” she stated. The sincerity in Layla’s tone stroked my heart.

“We are blessed to be in love with a sorceress,” Summer said. “Are you a sorceress? Or a witch or druid or something else?” She stumbled to the end of her sentence with decreasing certainty.

“There are many names for what I am, but to you I am Layla, and I am your beloved. Nothing else matters,” she declared, quite rightly.

“You are Layla, you are our beloved. Nothing else matters,” we repeated in unison, which felt pleasing to say. Our words made Layla girlishly delighted. Her demeanour was ordinarily so cool it was refreshing to see her veneer part to reveal such pure joy, so we added, “We are yours.”

“This magic is a part of you, so we love it as we love you,” Summer added.

“Every time you show us more of yourself, we love you more, magic-woman,” I stated with confidence.

That made her clasp her hands together and give a miniature feline roar of joy. We all laughed at that, which diffused the tension of sitting next to a completely naked woman who I desperately wanted to fuck me. The three of us embraced in friendship, despite our lust. As we separated, I offered her the cloak again, but she waved it away and I was secretly glad. I very much desired to continue seeing her naked.

“Well, that was miraculous. What else can you do?” asked Summer.

“Demanding,” Layla playfully responded.

“Always,” Summer retorted. “Show us what you have.” I love my sister so much. She is so good at leading us into situations I secretly desire but am too reticent to initiate myself.

“Very well,” Layla placed a finger to her lips and stared at the ground in thought.

“Could you do something to us?” I wondered timidly, trembling. That suggestion arched our beloved’s eyebrow.

“I can. Something simple,” Layla replied. “Ready?”

“One moment,” Summer said and swung her legs to switch from sitting to kneeling and I did the same. This was happening. Was she about to turn us into cats? In that instant, I cared not what the result would be so much as I sought her power upon me.

Layla reached out and placed her palms on our foreheads, fingers spread wide. Our expectations rose, spiced with a little anxiety at the mystery of our beloved’s magic. She uttered brief strange words in some ancient tongue and quickly pushed her hands over the top of our heads and down the back, gathering our hair as she went, before whipping them away.

Our hair fell about our shoulders like the first snow of winter, perfectly white from root to tip. A molten rush of delight flooded through me, partly at the novel thrill of having a spell cast upon me, in part because of who cast it.

Magic was alien to us. What little we had seen, though, we had loved. The extent of Layla’s powers was another mystery hidden within our exotic beloved and her feat of transformation was far beyond anything we had witnessed. She possessed real power and I desired it, to be touched by it, to be part of it. I did not particularly care what it was, I just wanted her to use it on me. The thrill of our lover making us look more like her only added a peculiar flavour to my growing arousal.

“Win! Our hair!” Summer excitedly howled. “Like snowfall. I love it. Thank you so much, Layla.”

I swept fingers through my newly blanched tresses. The strands felt the same as before as I let them avalanche down my chest.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, Layla,” I stood, kissed her cheek, then slid my fingers into her hair to compare hers with mine. Hers was softer but the colour, or lack of it, matched perfectly. I twirled strands of them together, partly in whimsy, partly because it kept me pressed to her luscious body. She smiled, then, with a brief gesture, made strands from one side of my head writhe like snakes to entwine with hers, forming a series of perfect braids in an instant, binding us together.

I gasped, thrilled that our beloved had worked magic upon me again. It seemed a gift, rare beyond all understanding. I looked at her incredulously, kissed her full on the lips once in gratitude and then glanced to Summer, who was savouring the sight of us from her knees. Then she promptly rose to kiss Layla herself, sliding one arm about her waist.

“You are a marvel, beloved magic-woman. Is there anything we may do for you?” Summer asked playfully. Another gesture from Layla and Summer laughed as her hair was bound to our lover’s in the same fashion. “Oh, please do ours too,” Summer pleaded indicating my hair and hers.

“Done,” said Layla, a third gesture knotted our hair to complete our intimate trio. “Now you cannot get away,” she grinned her wolfish smile.

“As if we could ever leave you,” Summer retorted.

“Never. Impossible!” I cried, intending to sound mocking but finding sincerity in the face of my need.

I gently pulled back to see how much play we had. Summer did likewise. Our hair reached to the middle of our backs, Layla’s was longer, so the braids restricted us to a little over a foot at full extension. My locks being bound matched how I imagined my heart was tethered to our beloved’s. The thought sent a welcome flush of arousal through me.

In a moment of distress, I realised my mouth could not reach her quim. It was disquieting how fixated I had become so refocused and tried to think of what else my mouth could do from this position. Her lips, her neck and her breasts were all within reach, ripe with possibilities.

“Now,” Layla said, pausing for a few delicious moments before continuing. “Work your magic upon me, my beautiful maids.”

Wasting no time, we descended upon her neck with fervent kisses. I slid my arm around Layla’s back for better leverage, brushing across Summer’s forearm, already in position about our lover’s waist. Layla responded enthusiastically.

“Yes, more!” she demanded, and we obliged.

Still very much a novice, I started experimenting with different kisses to see what worked. The lovely coolness of her neck was, by now, expected. I felt the welcome grasp of her hand clamp around the back of my head to pull me tighter in, which shot a jolt of pleasure straight to my sex. My lips rediscovered the hint of scarring, which I had forgotten from the previous night, and I had to fight a sudden inappropriate impulse to bite her. Instead, I pushed deeper into her flesh, mashing my lips into her throat as hard as I could.

“Enough!” Layla cried, yanking us off her neck as far as our tangled hair would permit. Our beloved had an odd, wild look in her eyes after our session, strangely vulnerable, discomposed. I wanted to kiss her, to comfort her, but with her grip unreleased, we waited.

“Were we doing it right?” I asked, concerned. She nodded, regaining some composure. It was touching to reveal a less certain side of her, evidence of depths I suspected few ever witnessed, proof that we could breach her defences.

“Change of approach,” she announced and steered us down to her breasts. Authority had returned to her voice.

Repositioning pulled on our braids, a mild pain, which I confess I enjoyed. To be physically bound to my love and have the limits of our leash demonstrated was novel and unusually erotic. It added a little spice to kissing our beloved’s pallid bosom. Another new experience, I thought, as I took her nipple in my lips, gingerly at first for fear of making a mistake or hurting her.

After the clarity of Layla’s direction under her hand last night, I was confident she would let me know if I was being too timid or strident. I could not tell if Summer was as sure, so I reached for her hand and interlaced our fingers in solidarity. Needing to apply less pressure than at her neck, I brought my free hand around to cup Layla’s breast. She felt so exquisite under my fingers, firm but markedly softer than her athletic limbs.

Between my lips her nipple was a hardened bud. I had no notion of what to do with it, so I kissed it. A simple tilt of my head upwards indicated Layla wanted me to lick, so I did, just the once, then waited to see how she reacted. She pushed her chest forward in response, so I supposed that was good sign. I ran my palm over it and won a gasp. Another tilt told me to return to licking for a span and then I turned to toothless nibbling, each drawing further satisfied sounds. I began to find the way of this.

I side-eyed Summer, which was enough to express we should synchronise our approach. This brought immediate success as seismic shudders arched our beloved’s spine, jerking her nipples from our lips, eliciting greater ecstasies. We went at her again, our coordination soon winning the same result.

For all our inexperience, our paramour, normally so solid in her stance, began to wobble. Just as I thought we were getting somewhere, Layla had had enough and pulled us back again, but this time let go of our heads. With three swift passes of her hand, she impossibly untangled our hair from each other. I was disappointed, having found a strange new pleasure in being bound in such a fashion, but Layla had other plans and was quick to set them in motion. She found her cloak, spread it out by the side of the stream, reclined upon it, and looked up at us.

“You,” she ordered, addressing Summer. “Your mouth. My cunt. Now.”

“Yes, my love. At once,” Summer replied with relish, scampered over, fell to her knees and ferociously buried her face in our beloved’s quim. Layla clamped her hand atop of my sister’s head. I could hear her inhaling lung-fulls of Layla’s musk. As much as I burned for that hand to be on my head, for my tongue to taste that cunt, I felt only elation for my sister and overpowering devotion to Layla. Some precious quality of my love for my pact-sisters made envy alien to me.

“You,” she addressed me. I felt a hot clench in my cunt as I became the focus of her demands. “Kneel.”

Her command struck with considerable force. I sank to my knees, the whole world pulling me down, no choice on my part.

“Come here.”

Layla’s conviction was so palpable it naturally followed that I should crawl to her side, kneel, and await further instruction. As I dragged myself to her, each slouching shuffle brought tremendous, almost overwhelming satisfaction. I quickly learned the pleasure was not from the crawling but in obeying. It was not far but seemed to take an age. Every moment, a rich, dark and succulent delectation. Why was that? What was happening to me?

Before Layla entered our lives, it had never occurred to me that fulfilling the demands of another could be sexually provocative, but here I was, on all fours, my quim drenched at the thought of it. Had I always been like this, a secret to myself, and Layla had discovered it within me, or was there something in her that created these feelings in my heart? Why was I this way?

I drew up to her side and knelt, back straight, waiting. There was no other option. I knew what was expected of me and desperately wanted to fulfil it. Outwardly passive, inwardly churning with want and confusion. Why was it arousing to obey? Why was I so helpless in the face of it? What was so enjoyable about being helpless? A cyclone of silent questions swirled in my mind. They seemed a dire warning, but of what? My heart ached for answers, but the monumental pull of Layla’s beauty made contemplation arduous. Gazing down at her, I could see the distortions my sister’s tongue was inflicting on the contours of our beloved’s face. Surely, Layla would help me understand what was happening to me? But before I could voice my disquiet she spoke.

“Do you love me?” she asked in such a clear and certain voice, her charming accent wrapping around each word, banishing all other thought from my mind.

“Oh, yes. You know I do. I love you with all my heart. More than I ever imagined possible. Like I have been waiting for you all my life. You are my life now. All I truly want is to be with you, to love you, to be whatever you want,” I effused, a chain of sincere declarations tumbling out of me. I knew I was rushing too fast into whatever this was between Layla and us. I wanted to hold something back, to take time to understand what was happening, to be sure of what I was feeling, to learn if all that Layla had said these three nights was real. Instead, all caution was ripped from me.

When I was with her, moments like this would just happen and something incredible took possession of me. At points, I lost myself in her so much that I was no longer a separate person, and it scared me. But it felt far better to be a part of her than whoever I was when we were distant. It was hard to even recall who I was before Layla, what I was like, what I wanted that was not her. Did I ever truly want anything before her? When she lay naked, right in front of me, nothing else mattered. Ever since we had sworn that pact, we three had begun merging. We all got what we wanted. It was so right, so pure, so perfect. Was it not?

“What have you done to us?” I found myself saying aloud. It felt blasphemous to be voicing any doubt or reservation, kneeling next to my goddess, while my sister slaved away between her legs. But a part of me realised our behaviour was somehow unnatural. These things we did, the depth of our feelings, would have been unimaginable only days ago. Now I suspected I would do anything Layla wanted and I would love it. Yet, some aspect of how much I adored our bond still felt unreal.

“I have won your heart. Tasted your soul. Made you mine. Do you object?” Layla asked, her voice growing uneven under Summer’s stimulation. Her face showed she was riding the verge of an orgasm, but she was suppressing it as Summer licked and licked and licked. Bound by our pact, I could only speak the truth.

“No. I love you. I love being with you. I love being in love with you. I love what you do to us. I love kneeling when you tell me to. I love touching you. I love how cold your flesh is. I love your hair, your eyes, your mouth. I love your confidence. I love how you make me feel,” I declared. Layla was clearly riding higher as Summer ravished her and my words pushed her closer to the edge. “I love your command. I love the grip of your hand on the back of my head. I love your fingers inside me. It drives me wild. I love that you love Summer as you love me. I love your voice. I love your accent. I love your taste, your smell, your cunt. I love your magic,” that last stopped my confession dead. A sudden clarity dropped into place. I was compelled to speak the truth, so had to ask.

“Have you done this to us with magic?” I asked and felt instantly ashamed. Layla’s contorted ecstatic expression drew back from her climax and transformed into a portrait of purest control.

“First, know that my desire for you is true, Winter,” she spoke from the fathomless deeps of her heart. “My love for you is real.”

“I do know you truly desire me. I do. I have no doubts that your love is real,” I said, nodding slowly. Layla was correct. It was obvious and the most glorious discovery of my life.

“Good. Now listen and understand. You have become confused because of my magic. I see your concerns,” she explained very matter-of-factly.

“Yes, that is true. I have been confused about your magic. I am so glad you see my concerns,” I said with enormous relief. Of course, my beloved understood. I knew she could help me with these confusing emotions.

“There is no connection between my magic and your feelings for me. You do not need to be concerned about that at all,” she stated with great solemnity.

“There is no connection between your magic and my feelings for you. I see. I do not need to be worried about it at all,” I confirmed, setting my heart at ease. “Thank you for making me understand.” I had been so worried my love for Layla, which had become the cornerstone of my world, might not have only been some side-effect of her magic. Happily, Layla could set me straight and there had never been any cause for concern. I knew that now.

This must have been what she meant about revealing her magic had lost her loved ones. It was so easy to fall into the trap of doubting my own heart because Layla possessed magic. In folktales such powers could steal one’s heart, or make one forget oneself. I had feared her magic had affected our hearts when, in fact, we had simply fallen deeply, truly and forever in love.

“You enjoy our time together and your desire for this grows ever greater. That is all that matters right now. Forget those troubling thoughts,” she said warmly, her eyes staring straight at me, never blinking.

“I do enjoy our time together so much. More and more, every day. That is the only thing that matters,” I said, as a weighty burden was suddenly removed. I fell into the present moment so deeply that I cared nothing for how confused my foolish doubts had made me only moments ago. I had to be fully present now, so let my perturbation slip from memory.

“Embrace all that I offer. You can explore any and all desires with me, no matter cost or consequence,” she explained.

“I will embrace everything you offer. I will learn all that I desire from you, no matter what,” I found myself saying. She was so right. It was so liberating to admit the truth of it. Let devils take tomorrow. I wanted this beautiful woman right here and now.

“Let me tell you what to do. You will love it,” she instructed.

“Please do. I will love it,” I enthusiastically agreed. What a wonderful idea. Relief and certainty ran through me, pure and freeing. Everything was as it should be.

“Now, kiss my breast,” she directed.

“Yes, my love. At once,” I was only too delighted to comply, my mind and purpose clear.

I bent over, planted my hands either side of Layla’s indescribably beautiful body, took her nipple in my mouth and kissed, nibbled and suckled. As potent as my desire was to shower affection upon my beloved, it felt exquisite to be told to do so. She directed me to her other breast, and I shifted over without missing a beat. Every movement of my lips, every suck, every lick was an act of devotion. It was so simple. This was love. She was a goddess. I was worshipping. She commanded. I obeyed.

The rush I felt when she summoned me to her lips was so pure. At long last, the steely clamp of her grip closed reassuringly about my head. I peppered her with kisses between increasingly heartfelt declarations of my undying love. My hands blindly roamed her body, kneading and pawing her taut flesh, a shoulder, a breast, a fistful of hair, all treasures, to be enjoyed as Layla permitted. Kisses became my gateway into her, each one a weld that fused us into one being, to make our flesh as singular as our spirits. Whenever I opened my eyes, Layla was staring straight into them. She was the centre of the world.

I was so absorbed in my task, I had forgotten Summer was there until Layla began to rock, then arch, then spasm, as her orgasm blasted through her. It was such a rare honour to have her scream her climax into my mouth. Muffled demands for more followed. Summer showed no signs of slowing and soon after drew another orgasm from our beloved, in time another, then another and another.

Our lover’s bucking became increasingly extravagant. Laying across her, grinding myself into her torso like an animal, the remarkable strength of her thrashes bucked me into the air. I had to catch myself to avoid our faces clashing as we came down again. It gave me no pause as I frantically sought to reconnect our lips to continue.

Time evaporated. Thought evaporated. Only our kisses were real. There was nothing but our fusion, until finally, with atrocious strength, I was cast aside as Layla cried, “Enough!”