The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was a quiet, humid morning, just on the cusp between Summer and Autumn as the sun began its climb into the sky. There was little movement within the town surrounding the Rosewinter estate, and even the earliest risers among the townsfolk had emerged from their homes to begin the day mere minutes earlier. There was neither rush nor bluster among them, and they began their day like they would any other, unheeding of the approaching shadow far off in the sky, at a distance greater than the eyes of the commoners could perceive.

Lady Suraya Rosewinter, the longstanding ruler of the town and matriarch of her ancient, noble house, however, was not afforded such a bliss which the ignorance of her people provided. Her aged yet keen eyes sought out the shape inevitably, and it only took a few moments of gazing upon it to discern what it was—the shape belonged to a creature all knew to fear. It was that of a Dragon, and, Suraya guessed, it was that of a very particular Dragon who had been tearing unchecked through her lands in the last month.

This was not an inordinate occurrence, not for Suraya, anyhow. Her lands seemed to attract that sort of creature every few years or so, and her people would wail and cry out their grievances for a time. Then the Dragon would come to her city, to the Rose of the Mountains… and suddenly it would vanish, leaving not even a whisper behind. Many among her people, and even those in neighboring lands, had taken to calling her some variation of Dragonslayer, Dragonsbane, Dragon-Ender—the titles went on, and Suraya, with what was always called humility, ignored them all.

Really, thought Suraya, it was much kinder to her people to bring upon them a month or two of strife every five-odd years, than to acquire what she needed some other way—she knew of at least two of her immediate relations who simply abducted and murdered members of their populace whenever they found themselves Hungry. This, Suraya knew, was unsustainable, and inefficient to boot.

Suraya, rising from her position leaning against the railing of her balcony, turned to go inside. The Dragon would arrive soon, and dressing appropriately for the visit of a creature such as that was always a good idea.

The city had no idea that he was approaching, and the thought made the young Red Dragon incomparably pleased. He had been watching the estate—the Humans called it the Rose of the Mountains, he recalled—for some months before showing his face, and despite his careful observation predicting an utterly satisfying result, the endeavor had been more fruitful than he ever could have imagined. But, of course, now the surrounding towns had been depleted, the burden fell to their capital to pay tribute—and from what he had heard, it would be a beautiful tribute indeed.

How fitting for the beginning of his empire, he thought. A nation brought to its knees already, and he had scarcely begun to make his mark upon the unshaped earth.

Accelerating his leisurely pace slightly in his anticipation, the Dragon soared closer toward the city, coming swiftly into the view of the townsfolk—and thereupon the lovely screams he was beginning to know and love met his ears, as the people below clamored to escape the oncoming threat of the thirty-foot winged reptile above them. But he was not here for them—a city of this scale was bound to have wealth, and he would not risk destroying it in a proper attack. The sole focus of his outing was the manor at the heart of the center, hanging proudly the banners of house Rosewinter with their rose-and-snowflake designs. From his current altitude, he could make out the tiny shape of a Human woman with hair just beginning to turn silver, well-dressed and well-groomed as she simply gazed up at him with an unreadable expression upon her face. The Dragon bared its fangs in a wide, grim smile, and further accelerated. Within moments, he came to rest upon the grassy hill before the entryway, in which the woman stood. He needed no words to introduce himself. His majesty, and newfound reputation, preceded him.

“It’s rather rude of you to arrive so early, don’t you think?” The woman spoke in a low, even register, a cadence that was almost rhythmic as it emerged from her blood-red-painted lips.

“I have no care for the timings of mortals,” said the Dragon impassively. “Your little customs are beneath my notice.”

“Great as your kind may be,” replied the woman, in that ever-so-patient tone, “There is little harm in being polite, no?”

“For your kind, perhaps,” growled the Dragon. “But it is unnecessary for my aims to be accomplished. You know why I have come, do you not?”

“For your tribute, I assume,” said the woman with a gentle inclination of her head. “Very well. I do not wish death upon myself or my populace—I have little reason to defy you. What are you called, great Red Dragon?”

“Alventar,” rumbled the Dragon, “of the greatest among Draconic bloodlines, descendant from Ampyreon himself.”

“I see,” said the woman, seemingly unimpressed. “You may call me —”

“I will call you Human,” said Alventar, cutting her off. “Ssso, Human, what tribute do you have to offer me?”

“Much,” the woman answered, smiling easily, the curl of her lips so inviting and unthreatening that Alventar found himself relaxing despite himself, if only slightly. The promise of tribute, too, and the ease with which it had been secured, were if nothing else pleasing to the Dragon, and he allowed his fangs to show in a returned smile. “But it cannot be described simply by words. A treasure as great as that which resides within my vaults must be taken in by one’s own eyes to truly be done justice. If you’ll follow me, great Alventar?”

The Dragon inclined his head. The woman was well-spoken, more than the average mortal, he thought as he shrank down into a form not at all dissimilar from hers with a tiny flex of his magic. Perhaps she could be helpful to him in the future. “Lead the way, little Human,” he told her, and graciously she began to lead him into the estate.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the vault of which the woman spoke was buried below even the wine cellar of the expansive manor, which even Alventar had to admit was tastefully decorated(and the cellar boasted multiple vintages older even than Alventar’s late father). The woman led him on a winding route through multiple flights of stairs, her friendly speech beginning to turn to a blur as he descended down further. Little of what she could possibly have to say was of interest to him, and the closer they got to the vault, the more powerful the scent of treasure became—treasure easily triple the worth the total of his own hoard, if not even more. It was thick on the air, heavy in his nose, metallic and inviting and oh-so-delicious, distracting him so thoroughly from the words of his guide that it was all he could do to quietly nod his head at various intervals whilst she prattled on.

Finally, however, they arrived at the door—a locked, metal double set that was as imposing as it was obviously protective. Alventar had no doubt his flames could tear through the puny iron, but for mortals, this was likely the finest protection money could buy. For a moment, the Dragon simply stood, taken by the sweet scent of the wealth that lay just beyond.

He was brought from his reverie by the woman’s voice. “Just a moment, dear; I must unlock it.” She began to fiddle with the lock, turning the dial ever so slightly to produce the desired result, leaving Alventar’s apparent rapture seemingly unnoticed. After a moment where the silence was broken only by the clicking of the dials, the door came unlocked, and the woman pulled sharply upon the door with much greater strength than Alventar would expect from a woman of her age, and for a moment he was briefly bemused, before the door swung open and his eyes fell upon the most magnificent pile of treasure he had ever seen. His jaw fell open for a moment as he completely lost sight of why he had come—surely this was all that mattered now; every instinct he had told him as much.

He shook the cobwebs from his brain. “Your praise of these treasures was not unwarranted,” he said, his words ever-so-slightly slurred. “It is truly a miracle that a Human such as yourself could have amassed… so much… so quickly.” His breathing was becoming ragged, his slurring becoming more pronounced, as he stared at the vault’s contents, his vision long since having tunneled, yet he could not seem to bring himself to care. He felt so good standing where he was, staring into the gold; why would he want to fight that feeling? This, he could not answer.

“Now… H-Human,” he slurred, “Do you… have some way of bringing this to the… the surfacccee? It would be ever so… s…”

“Oh, but why would you leave?” Suddenly the woman’s voice was thick and sweet, like syrup, flowing into the dragon’s ear, traveling deeper, coating his brain, leaving his thoughts sticky and slow. “There’s so much treasure here already...” She crept closer, moving up to the lightly-scaled neck of the Dragon’s Human form. “And I promise I won’t make a fuss... you can have it, and stay here... doesn’t that sound nice?” He nodded, slowly, still focusing on the magnificent pile of gold. “All I ask in return is one thing. One little thing. You’ll hardly even notice, I promise... Doesn’t that sound so... very... reasonable?” He nodded once more... yes, it did... there was no need to resist her request. The woman moved even closer, silently, running her tongue along his neck, the sensation strange, yet still calming. Everything was calming.

Suddenly, the briefest pinprick, and a feeling of pressure. What was that? Yet even as the thought entered his mind, the echoing tones of the woman’s voice returned within his mind, still as sweet and convincing as ever. You don’t need to worry about that... it’s just that one little thing I mentioned. A little blood. You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. Just keep listening to me, and focus on the lovely gold in front of you. That sounds so nice right now. So much gold. And it’s all yours, right?

He nodded again, just the slightest tilt of his head this time. Yes... yes... that was right…

Good. That’s so good. You’re so good. Her words kept flowing, like a never-ending waterfall of calming warmth through his mind. He could never have fought them if he tried.

And you want to be good for me, don’t you?

He did not question the answer which bubbled up instantly within him. “I want to be good for you,” he told her, a strange vibration echoing within his voice which left him feeling even more fuzzy, even more at peace.

That’s exactly right. It’s so intelligent of you to know that, Pet, and I’m so proud of you. You’ve done everything exactly as I asked on our way down, and you know you’re so glad to have followed what I said.

“P… Pet?” slurred the half-asleep Dragon, only barely comprehending the words spoken by the woman but confused by that particular phrase.

Pet. Yes. You’re my pet. You’re my pet. Are you my pet, Pet?

“I’m your… your pet… I’m your pet…” Alventar repeated, his pride withering and dying as his mind fully embraced his new owner. He never wanted to leave. He only wanted to be here. Like a good pet.

Her pet.

Good Pet. You’re going to be ever so delicious for me.

Warmth flooded Pet’s body as he found himself sinking to his knees, found his owner’s hand stroking his hair and neck so gently, so calmingly. He could think of nothing better than feeding his owner, like she deserved.

Good Pet. Sleep for Mistress.

The command came like a death knell, yet Pet did not resist, not even for a moment. He closed his eyes, and he slept.