The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Nycclethnim was based on the Isle of Disten, yet like most of the wizard orders of Ramanananan it maintained enclaves outside its home. The academy in Danma was located at the crossing of two unpaved country roads, far outside the island’s rival warring capitals. In the wet months, the ground was so muddy the women-wizards occasionally had to magically petrify the soil so that coaches and slave-wagons could pass unimpeded. Despite the inconveniences presented by this rural life, though, the advantages were considered more than compensatory. Remoteness provided secrecy, often necessary in the practice of wizardry. The guild-sisters received no visitors unless those travelers had specific business with them. Most importantly, isolation meant the war that was plaguing the rest of the island and making life miserable for everyone else was something the Nyccleth sisters could watch at a distance, complain or make jokes about with little impact on their studies, and profit from when women prisoners were brought to them for enslavement, with no danger ever presented to their own persons.

The academy’s location had also been personally advantageous to Carrisa. Far from prying eyes, even her guild-sisters’ prying eyes, the headmistress had long conducted her own private experiments and pleasures in the secret tunnels and workrooms beneath the school, which she had had constructed through the use of magic and some afterwards-disposable slaves.

Groping her way ahead of her, it was through these same dark tunnels that the woman-wizard sought neither pleasure nor knowledge now but merely a means of escape.

The task was proving a slow one to the newly transformed elfslut due to both environmental and personal problems. The underground passages she had had built were completely unlit. She hadn’t even given thought to this when she had set out. Prior to today, Carrisa had used magic to provide illumination whenever she was down there, to the extent she had not bothered even to have placeholders for torches or lanterns installed. Unable to employ even the simplest magic now, she had to grope ahead of her to keep from falling down and injuring herself . . . or, worse, bumping one of her giant boobs again and eliciting another screaming fit of orgasms as a result.

For that was her other problem. Carrisa was finding it hard to maintain pace while continuously masturbating at the same time. She had to. Each step she took increased her arousal. It was only with superhuman effort that Carrisa could keep from groaning and crawling, like an animal. As it was, she had to keep her hands between legs constantly, fingers fiddling with her clit.

Consequently, she neither walked nor ran. She slid down the dark corridors, shoulder to the cold stone, naked feet to the cold floor. Even the chill air excited her. She would take a few steps, pause to penetrate herself, bite her lips, clutch one of her breasts, then proceed. It was slow going.

Hearing a voice to her left, Carrisa stopped suddenly. She bit her lip . . . her big, cocksucking elf-lips.

A man! Carrisa thought, and a blaze of heat ripped through her. Please, please fuck me!

She wanted to scream and yell and call attention to herself. She wanted to throw herself at the soldier’s feet, there on the other side of the wall. Instead, she huddled down, drawing her knees in close, concentrating. Stop it! Stop it!! The voice faded, and the woman-wizard-turned-elf put her forehead to the stone.

She had lost a huge amount of time following her self-transformation.

Could she have stayed in those workrooms, even untransformed? Unlikely. She had heard the Daoxechents searching the guild-castle; that was what had finally broken her cycle of self-pleasuring. It was only a matter of time before they came upon one of her secret entrances.

There was an exterior exit through her underground excavations. But scrying had informed her of the presence of soldiers there on the outside.

So, Carrisa had headed inward toward the keep itself.

Before leaving her laboratory, Carrisa had discovered a peculiar and rather horrifying fact. She couldn’t read anymore! Glancing at the book she had used in her transformation, the words appeared as gibberish before her eyes. She had scanned other titles of her library—she could read none of them. The words were just unintelligible scrawls.

Her elf brain was incapable of understanding written language.

Fortunately, the book was no longer necessary. Carrisa’s plan was to either sneak out of the guild-castle, if she could; or, more likely, stay hidden among the elfsluts, until her powers returned, until they were transported. The essential matrix of her true self was already a component of the first spell. With her powers returned, all she would have to do is concentrate, and her original form would be restored.

And then she would take her revenge.

Eventually, Carrisa’s silent orgasms passed. Still shuddering, she got to her feet and started sliding forward again. The narrow secret corridor she was in paralleled a public one. She moved a little ways and then stopped once more. She heard . . . giggling? The sounds of . . . sex? Her heat rose.

Her quivering shoulder came across a depression in the surface. One of her exits: fumbling about as quietly as she could—and with one hand still fiddling between her thighs—Carrisa found the peephole.

Outside, viewing, there was a group of elfsluts tittering and pawing at one another in the hallway. They were naked and brassy skinned, the lot of them. More than half were engaged in intercourse with one another. The others, naturally enough, were masturbating. Carrisa’s own hands, she couldn’t help but notice, were still busy squeezing her own cow-sized tits and fondling her overly sensitive clit. It was impossible to stop. Whenever she wasn’t focusing on something—anything—her hands inevitably roamed to those good spots. It was no wonder the elves had built nothing on their godforsaken world!

She couldn’t recognize any of these . . these creatures! as women she had once known.

The Daoxechents had been liberal with the use of their elixir: wizard, apprentice, property girl, slave girl . . . all had been forced to imbibe. Former dominators or dominated, all had been rendered equal.

This is my chance, Carrisa thought. She had tried other exits before this. Always, there had been some man in a leather uniform or woman in head-to-foot gray cloth nearby. Each time she had gone away, moving as quietly as she could, knowing that sooner or later she would be caught. If even one of her secret doors was discovered, it would all be over.

She saw no men, no wizards, so, greatly daring, Carrisa opened the secret door.

Only two of the elf-women turned when they heard her. Neither showed a hint of surprise at the sudden intrusion. Instead, they giggled and immediately pulled Carrisa into their loving embrace, so quickly she almost didn’t get a chance to shut the door behind her. Closed, it blended with the rest of the wall perfectly.

One of the elfsluts pulled Carrisa on top of her so that her mouth was right over the wizard’s elf-pussy. She immediately went to work with her tongue and teeth. Carrisa’s whole body went rabid—the bolt of pleasure that swept through her was devastatingly powerful. She started bouncing up and down on the elf’s face, all thoughts displaced. Hands discovered her breasts and squeezed. Another mouth found her own. Carrisa clutched at the elf before her, kissing and fondling. Fingers were filling every cavity.

Have to . . . have to . . . She couldn’t think. But she had to!

The elves were attached to one another through golden collars and chains: expensive but necessary, as the species was allergic to all other metals. There were empty collars already on the chain. If she could only reach one . . . Despite the many hands and boobs pressing on her, each grope and touch its own utter distraction, its own heaven, Carrisa managed to grab an empty collar.

Without thinking, without delaying, for any hesitation in the grip of so many competing pleasurable sensations would be fatal, Carrisa put the collar and chain to her throat and locked it.

It snapped shut with a definitive, very decisive “click.”

There, I’ve done it, she thought, before all other thoughts melted away in bliss. I’m trapped.

Carrisa found herself in the middle of an elf-orgy, and she liked it! A wet pussy pressed itself to her face, and without a moment’s hesitation, as before, Carrisa began kissing and sucking. She was on her knees suddenly, a clit in her mouth, boobs slapping against her boobs, thighs, and arms. She cried out in ecstasy, rapidly licking and fingering anything she could, anything that looked even remotely sexy.

Fingers explored her own sex, her own mouth. Nothing resembling human thought was possible as her tits were sucked so enthusiastically. The elfsluts pulled and prodded at one another, their legs and arms wrapping around everything. Their moans and groans were inarticulate yet completely understandable.

Joy.

Pleasure.

Happiness.

“Not again,” a voice cried out, not so much angry in tone as exasperated, and because it was a male voice it got Carrisa’s attention despite the flesh upon which she was inundated. She looked up as a trio of male Daoxechent mercenaries waded into the orgy, gently slapping every upturned rear-end that presented itself. “Come on girls, come on,” another of the men said, pulling on the golden chains.

He’s so handsome, a flash of thought flickered through Carrisa’s foremind. I hope he fucks me. But what really consumed her was much more primal: He was Man. She was Woman. They Must Fuck.

She felt an instinctive need to obey him, to obey any of them. The three men pulled the women from one another and lined them up as best they could, with the same amount of success another trio of fellows might have had in sorting cats. Only the fact that they were already chained provided any semblance of order. Carrisa felt her collar pulled, and she moved in the parade, staring into and touching the ass of the elf in front of her, the elf in back doing the same to her. Every step was a thrill.

Wha . . what? the woman-wizard tried to think, after a few steps. Her hands crept to her collar. I’m . . I’m collared? How did that happen? For a second, she honestly couldn’t recall.

Her thoughts felt like they were coated in syrup. At the same time, every emotion she felt was heightened. Each touch was exaggerated. The heat between the elf-slut’s legs blossomed anew. Her breasts swung back and forth, bringing forth even more pleasure. The parade moved thoughtlessly, and Carrisa went with it, not thinking either.

When she had been in her workroom, earlier, Carrisa had been preoccupied by the strength of her own newly awakened, elvish sexual needs; and so she had seen nothing extraordinary, save herself. Likewise, creeping through her lair, she had had nothing to see. Carrisa’s eyes widened in amazement at the sight of her own academy: Everything seemed bigger! More impressive! The stones! The pictures on the walls! Even the scents in the air! It was all the same; but she was seeing it all through elf-eyes now, and there was nothing, apparently, that an elf did not find amazing.

Following to the rear of the parade were two figures in gray, huddling close together. Their garments covered them from head to foot—even their faces were enveloped by a full cloth mask and veil. The robes were voluminous, the sleeves wide and the skirts long. The coats rustled as they moved. The figures’ hands were gloved. Not an inch of skin shown.

It was all but impossible to tell they were even female, though some part of Carrisa knew they were.

The Daoxechent men herded the elf-women into a central courtyard. “Herded” was the correct term to use, too. The elfsluts purred and giggled, cooed and moaned as they were guided. They had to be guided. They went willingly enough, Carrisa among them; but they purposefully kept bumping into the men and touching them, stroking them; and they did the same among themselves as well, constantly touching, probing, penetrating. If they weren’t watched and prevented every minute from doing so, they fell to rutting instinctively. It was distracting.

Even when they weren’t fucking or trying to be fucked, they proved a handful. Solitary elves would wander about aimlessly, eyes glazed with wonder, if they weren’t steered constantly in the right direction. They knocked things over. They knocked each other down, yet rather than cry about it the downed elf would inevitably laugh and pull her “bumper” down and try to have sex with her.

Even when not bumped, the elves fell onto their backs relentlessly, opening their legs and playing with themselves. Keeping them on their feet was a chore.

Carrisa herself fell to the ground willingly enough, more than once. Reaching the courtyard, an elfslut bent over her and started sucking her mouth. In turn, the transformed woman-wizard reached up and took the woman’s breasts in her hands, squeezing and fondling her massive brass tits. Someone else started playing with her pussy. A face was between her legs, and she was being eaten out.

She moaned around the tongue in her mouth, imagining that she was sucking a cock. She wished she was sucking a cock. A cock would be so delicious at that moment!

“Look at them,” the old Carrisa heard, from somewhere above her. “Look at them.”

“Yeah. It’s great, isn’t it?”

“Best duty we’ve had.”

Those are men, the elf-slut thought. One of the mercenaries raised his hand over the gaggle of elves. In his hand—I knew it! Carrisa thought. I knew it!—was a wand, which he waved over the group.

A degree of concern broke through the rampant arousal.

The man was no wizard, but he didn’t need to be. The wand he carried would grow hot or cold or vibrate or something if it detected magic. Any fool could use one. Carrisa held her breath, even as she was being eaten out so well, so delightfully. If the wand was sensitive enough to detect her . . . .

A moment later the soldier lowered the wand and shook his head to the man next to him.

Carrisa breathed a sigh of relief that quickly turned into another moan of ecstasy as the slut next to her felt her up. Part of Carrisa wanted to slap this offender. Instead, as much out of genuine desire as in further interest in maintaining her cover, she turned in that elf’s direction and kissed her back, passionately.

Before being completely drawn into the ensuing orgy, Carrisa’s eye caught the mercenary walking on the platform above and talking to one of the shrouded figures in gray.

Bitch, she thought, in an utterly non-elf manner. You’re responsible for this.

The attack on the Nycclethnim’s academy in rural Danma had been devastatingly effective. Surprise, of course, had played a factor; but the raiders had clearly had magical support as well. They had struck before dawn, evading the detection wards set in the grounds, in the walls, in the very air itself. They had slain the academy’s troll guards, against whom ordinary weapons would have failed. They had overcome Carrisa’s fellow instructresses, each an accomplished woman-wizard in her own right (though not, she conceited, as accomplished as she herself). While true, the raiders had been men, and consequently the Nycclethnim’s magic could not directly affect either their minds or bodies, there had still been other means at her guild-sisters’ disposal to defend themselves, from hurling stones and knives at the attackers with their minds to forcing the earth to open up beneath their feet. The woman-wizards should similarly have been able to escape their captors’ clutches, opening locks by gaze alone, securing doors with the strength of will. Yet despite these advantages, Carrisa’s guild-sisters had all either been killed or captured—along with their current stable of property girls and other slaves, it seemed, about whom Carrisa did not care so much—and she herself had only barely managed to scurry away in time.

Embarrassing, it was; and if she got out of this nightmare alive and in her right mind her senior guild-sisters would have harsh words to say to her, or worse; but she would worry about that later.

At first, waking to the sounds of struggle outside her own bedchambers—that was how close the raiders had come—Carrisa had thought the assault a consequence of the Danmanan Civil War, now in its third year. Being wizards, and therefore above petty local politics, save where those politics could be bent for their convenience, the Nycclethnim Order had cared little who would end up ruling the war-torn Island-Republic of Danma, and so they had remained officially neutral. Carrisa hadn’t seriously considered either side would launch a raid on their regional academy. Neither side had anything to gain from such an attack, and, more importantly, such an attack would have been suicidal without the aid of magic, which so far as she had known was unavailable to either side. That was why nobles came to the Nycclethnim in the first place.

When Carrisa determined that the raiders were Daoxechents, not Danmanans, she had understood, then, a little.

Like most of the Nycclethnim in Danma, the Lords of Daox were foreigners; yet as the war was turning out here in Danma, they were the ones winning it, for as the armies of the fractured Island-Republic’s rival noble families fought for control, smashing cities and stealing properties, the Daoxechents were sweeping in ahead or behind them and cleaning up.

Why? The Danmanans were fighting for supremacy, for politics, for glory. The mercenaries’ only purpose in the war was the acquisition of female slaves.

Neither side tried to stop them. For the privilege, they sold too many of the enslaved wives and daughters of the enemy factions to one another. Carrisa had watched the progress of the war and the Daoxechents’ particular participation in it from afar, not caring. She was paying for that lack of attentiveness now, it seemed.

The woman in head-to-toe gray gestured at the soldier. He tilted his head and went to speak to his fellow soldiers, all standing above the courtyard festivities, yet watching avidly. Carrisa tried to stop sucking clits and nipples long enough to observe what was going on; but she kept being pulled back in.

Daox was an utterly male-dominated republic, with virtually every woman on that small island a slave.

This was what made the Daoxechents’ famous alliance with the female wizards of the Pecthentnim so strange and remarked upon. The Lords of Daox would buy or capture the girls; the Pecthent woman-wizards would then bind them into perpetual sexual obedience. It was a long-standing relationship, and one that had puzzled the other island-republics and wizard guilds for generations.

She could still hardly believe the Pecthentnim had attacked her sisterhood, for it had to have been at their instigation. The Pecthent women-wizards were cowards, the lot of them, afraid to reveal themselves to the world like the Nycclethnim did, always clad in their all-encompassing robes from head to toe, not even their eyes visible. The only way one could tell there were actually women beneath those gray shrouds was because their magic, like the Nycclethnim’s, worked on women. The common consensus was that the Pecthentnim were hags, the lot of them, disgustingly ugly creatures, and that was why they had allied with the Lords of Daox, to get back at beautiful women and make them slaves.

Focusing on their charms and elixirs, their magical tattoos, they had hardly been considered a threat by the Nycclethnim Order.

Well, Carrisa and her guild-sisters had been wrong, obviously. It was a hard pill to swallow. Outside of her own personal safety (always the highest priority to Carrisa), she had to escape now in order to inform her fellow guild-sisters of the Pecthentnim’s attack. This could be the start of a guild war.

The elf-girl working on Carrisa’s pussy grew more intense in her ministrations, and once again she lost her train of thought. Warm sexual fluids were running down both legs. She fucked with abandon, no different from any other elf in that orgy.

The morning slipped into the afternoon. Carrisa discovered the joy of being an elf. They were passionate creature, the elves; but they were also simple ones, and at once their pleasures were plain and profound. When they were fed at midday, Deinian apples and other fruits, the first bite all but drew tears of joy from the transformed wizard. Never had she tasted anything, even an elf’s clit or nipples, that was so delicious. And it was the same with every single bite! She had another orgasm, from eating that apple. That’s how good it was.

She slept more profoundly, too. The soldiers walked among the elfmaids, who cooed up at them and tried to draw the men into their orgy. Even Carrisa had reached for them, dreaming of cock. But as the men passed, they gently tapped the elves on the top of their heads, blew into their faces slightly; and like magic the females all fell asleep. It wasn’t magic—it couldn’t be magic, Carrisa knew, not by men affecting women—so it had to be something in the elf biology. Whatever the case, it worked.

A man stood above Carrisa and tapped her forehead. He bent down and blew in her face. She wanted so much to kiss him, to suck him, to pull his clothes off and fuck him. Instead, she suddenly felt so sleepy, and a moment later she lost consciousness.

It was an amazing sleep. It was deep, restful, and dreamless, the type of rest Carrisa had had as a child growing up on Disten, the type of sleep that adults almost never enjoy without the use of drugs. When she woke, the elfslut felt only bliss and youthful vitality unencumbered by thoughts of personal identity.

For a long while, she had no idea who she was or where she was, only that she was surrounded by beautiful, sexy creatures; and she was highly aroused.

An exquisitely feminine hand moved along her pussy. The elvish fingers inserted themselves past her plump, sensitive lips. The nameless elfslut moaned, putting her own hand on top of the one inside her, pressing down on that hand, exerting greater pressure on herself. The hand below hers moved gently but urgently, and the elf mirrored these movements. The elfslut looked around, saw a sister elf smiling beside her. She kissed her smile. They ran their hands against one another, poking, inserting, fondling.

Neither elf knew the name nor cared about the human males who joined them in their play.

Man! the first elf thought. Fuck. Good fuck. She wrapped her legs around the soldier’s back, at once pulling him into her, practically impaling herself on his hard cock. It felt so good inside her . . . he felt so good inside her. With instincts that swelled inside, like the organ inside her, the elfslut flexed around the man’s shaft. At the same time, another elf shoved her tongue deep down her throat, preventing her first orgasmic cry. Another set of hands began pulling on her feet. Every touch was good, but the cock especially surging inside her, riding her, was heavenly. The elfslut climaxed brilliantly, lights bursting.

Her hips bucked wildly. Her swollen elf-clit vibrated under its own power. The first man detached from her, and a second took his place, standing before her with his engorged cock in her face. The elfslut’s tongue swathed over the meat of him, sucking and pulling.

He filled her mouth with his cum, and the elf swallowed, overcome with bliss.

Another man took the first’s place. The tip of his cock was over the elfslut’s lips before she had fully swallowed the last load. The man took hold of the back of her head, and the elfslut was drawn toward him. She was eager to be drawn forward. She loved the taste; more, it felt so right to be giving pleasure to a man, any man. She wrapped her lips around the man’s cock and sucked him dry.

She fell into a deep sleep afterwards, as good as the last one, even though that last sleep had been but an hour or so ago. Elves slept. They ate. They relieved themselves (when provided the opportunity, that too had been a sheer pleasure). They had sex, with men and women alike. They did little else.

How long she was out, again it was impossible to say. An hour? Two? A day? The nameless female woke when she felt a man’s hand gently squeezing her thigh. Automatically, she spread her legs.

Fuck? she thought. Fucking was good. She liked to fuck.

Kneeling beside her was a soldier, looking at her speculatively. Beside him was another Daoxechent mercenary. And beside him, standing to the rear, was a woman in gray robes.

She, too, looked at her.

The elfmaid didn’t understand at first. She was only an elf, then. Mindless, searching for pleasure.

Then her presence, and what it meant, struck her, struck Carrisa the woman-wizard, the situation she was in. A Pecthent wizard! There! Right above her. Looking directly at her.

Carrisa tried to squirm away, but the two men quickly held her down. Their touch was delightful. It was lovely. Two of them may well have been the ones who had enjoyed her earlier, and whom she had enjoyed in turn. The Pecthent backed up, to give the men room; and they picked Carrisa up and unlocked her chain. They kept her in the collar, though.

No! Carrisa thought. She could only think. She tried reaching for her magic, her powers; but they were gone. She felt nothing of the energies of Ramanananan. A blasting spell came to her, one that would shatter the Pecthent woman’s spine and leave her a cripple for life. Another spell, an indirect attack on the men, a manipulation of the chains they held to choke them to death, popped into her mind, too.

But she had no power to fuel these spells, nor any jewelry or other symbols to direct that power.

She was only an elf in the hands of more powerful beings. Carrisa started to cry. She couldn’t help it.

With the Pecthent wizard leading the way, the two men carried her away.