The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Master always looked unnaturally peaceful while asleep. Maybe because so much of his power derived from his eyes, but Ellie was always struck by his serene slumbering expression. He looked calm laying in his back. And beautiful. Tall, lean-faced, with a jawline that emphasized his authority. His mouth slightly was open. ‘A mouth meant to give commands,’ Ellie thought to herself with a smile.

Her eyes fell on his pointed white teeth. Ellie instinctively bared her neck to him. She suppressed the urge to climb in bed and cuddle herself under those fangs. As sublime as it would be to spend the rest of the evening in Master’s embrace, Ellie knew she had a job to do. She was his guardian.

Dusk was only an hour away; time enough for one last full sweep of the house before Master would rise.

“Ah, my pint-sized protector,” Master had taken to calling her when waking to Ellie’s beaming face. At only 5”3’, she’d always been self-conscious about her height, but when Master stands and towers over her, it feels perfect. His smile was powerful and still tender, even when it was more than a foot above her eyeline. He’d wake and run his thumb across her lips; a reward for a good day’s work.

The terrace always made Ellie nervous. Too many easy entry points. Glass doors spanned the entire back façade, offering more than a dozen tempting targets for a would-be intruder. Ellie carefully checked each before moving on.

When she’s lucky, Master expresses his gratitude in more primal ways. A sinful glint in his eyes is Ellie’s only warning before he throws her into the bed. Master’s strong hands hold her in place while he claims her petite body. He liked to let Ellie stew a bit in her own anticipation. His lips would dance across her chest or his cock rub against her leg, but then he’d pull back, just long enough for some doubt to creep in; ‘maybe this time he’d changed his mind, maybe he was losing interest’.

Ellie had her own tricks too. A few seconds whimpering, one or two pleas to serve as a reminder of her submission, was usually enough. Master would stare at her in hunger, a second would pass, then he’d be inside her, and she’d be squealing in ecstasy. Ellie bit her lip thinking about it. Hopefully today would be one of the lucky days.

Master’s other slaves were moving through the house as she made her rounds. He kept a dozen servants to attend to his needs, each with their own set of chores to complete. His stable was collection from around the globe. Instead of post-cards, Master collected women as souvenirs from his travels. They were all exotic in their own way. Kayin, who Master picked up in West Africa was a contortionist, Adria, a buxom Columbian, had dual talents for seductive dances and shameless blowjobs. It was a varied group, but they all had two traits in common: beauty and AB- blood.

“The most delicious of all blood types,” her Master had once explained to her. “In the 18th century, I had a girl, of course I can’t but sure, but her blood must have been AB—. It was like sipping lavender honey. Rosaline, I think her name was. Or Rosalie. No, Rosamund. Ahh, I do miss her.”

Ellie wondered if Master would remember her 300 years from now. ‘Probably not,’ she decided. Ellie had O- blood; a delicacy for the Red Cross no doubt, but small appeal to Master’s refined pallet. He never drank from her.

In the bathroom, several slaves busied themselves preparing for Master’s first meal of the evening. It was a competition; who would be the lucky breakfast for Master tonight. A Dab of perfume, some clever makeup on the neck to make it look delicate, whatever it took to stand out in Master’s eyes. Like Ellie, they had their tricks. Marietta—a dark girl Master had picked up off the coast of Greece—noticed Ellie watching them from the doorway. She glared at her with a suspicion eye. Ellie had become accustomed to that look.

As Master’s guardian, she was both one of them but also separate from them. They were simple blood slaves, bound to Master only by a set of commands his red eyes had chiseled into their will. Their purpose was to be food and entertainment. Master would inevitably release them after a few months when he tired of them. Ellie on the other hand, was special. She was his thrall. A true slave, tied to him by a force none of them could comprehend. She had drunk his blood—which Ellie could best describe as tasting like a very strong tea laced with cocaine—and was now enterally tied to him until her death. He could order them, and they would obey, which was effective enough for their roles. But with Ellie, Master could sense her thoughts, see through her eyes, command her without speaking. So, the other slaves feared her, and envied her.

And ironically, she envied them. They got to be meals for Master to feast on. They knew what it was like to have their blood flow into his mouth. The bliss of being sustenance for her Master was forever denied to Ellie. As his thrall, the urge to be food for him was primal. It was an animal instinct that’d been ingrained in her mind since her turning. Thralls were naturally meant to be meals. Yet, Master insisted she remain celibate to that indulgence.

“Please!” Ellie had once cried. Only a few days into her new life, she’d struggling to coup with all of the unfamiliar urges. While watching Master feast on an ebony-skinned girl from London, desire at last had gotten the better of her. With a hungry pant, she’d pulled her copper-red hair back to expose her neck to him. “Please Master, drink from me! Just once.”

Master had smiled. Compelling her to come close to him through an unspoken command, he took her face gently between his hands. For one amazing second, Ellie thought she might get her wish. She had waited, feeling so wonderfully weak in his grasp. A simple tilt of the head, then he’d sink his teeth into her offered flesh and she would know true nirvana. It wasn’t to be.

“For all tools there is a purpose, my dear,” he’d lectured her. His tone wasn’t unkind, but still had inflection of an adult explaining an obvious fact to a child. “You wouldn’t use a steak knife to butter a roll, would you? Well, I won’t reduce something as useful as you to a mere meal. You have a higher function.”

She was his attack dog. Her purpose was to keep watch while he rested, and to help secure new servants when the mood struck him. At night, they’d walk together through the party districts of Europe. Master would spy a girl that caught his interest, point at her, and wordlessly, Ellie would go on the hunt. She had an innocent face, one that quickly could gain enough of a girl’s trust to allow her to be lured into a dark corner. And if that failed, a chock hold was just as effective.

The girls were simply a night’s entertainment. Master enjoyed playing catch-and-release, Ellie was just the rod and reel. Most walked away within the hour no worse for ware, save for the fact that they’d never know the joys of his permanent ownership. It was only a fortunate few that got elevated to his harem.

Ellie double checked the locks on the front door before continuing on to the next wing of the house. Sweeping through one of the large living rooms, she found nothing out of place. A quick glance out the window showed an orange sky gradually fading to black. ‘Not long now,’ she thought. This was the most dangerous hour. For a theoretical attacker, the best time to strike was at the end of her shift, when the long hours of tedium would have made her complacent.

To look at her, you wouldn’t think she’d make an ideal guard. Aside from her modest height, Ellie always thought that her cheeks gave her a babyface. Her slim frame added little to intimidate an attacker. Master however, dismissed those drawbacks.

“Your Order did a good job with you,” Master had complemented her while tracing a finger over her stomach. Ellie had failed to suppress a giggle, though if it had been from the tickle of his touch or the thrill of the compliment, she couldn’t say. “I suppose I should be thankful to them for sending you.”

Ellie shakes whenever she thinks back to that evening. Their first night together, Master had defeated her, turned her, and revealed her true purpose in life. With her mouth still stained with his blood, she stood in front of him, every inch of her pale body exposed for his inspection. His hands had explored across her bare skin, pinching at her ass and playing with her small breasts. Ellie had never felt so vulnerable. Only minutes into her new life, she’d been flooded with unfamiliar feelings. Awe that her life had completely reoriented itself on a dime. Nervousness that she might not be up to her new Master’s standards. But mostly, love—overwhelming adoration and desire for him—stronger than any emotion she’d ever experienced. Master had sensed her turmoil and had been amused by it.

“Relax, my girl. You belong to me now,” he had chuckled. His hand disappeared into her hair. With a scratch on her scalp that tickled every nerve in her body, he continued “we’re going to have a lot of fun, you and I.”

They did have fun that night, and many nights since. He’d romanced her at first, a brush of her arm, light kisses along her neck, licks in more sensitive places. At first, she thought he was a gentleman, but the animal within eventually emerged.

It had happened so quick. She felt him pull back. Glancing up in response, she’d expecting to see the same gallant smile and instead saw a look of lust that made her shiver. Before she knew it, she was on the ground and he was between her legs. The realization that she was a possession struck her on his first thrust. Ellie’s mouth discovered an octave it had never achieved before. She felt her body quake under him and knew she was his. The contract of ownership was signed and cosigned. With it, a fresh wave crashed through her body, replacing all her previous anxiety with arousal.

After he claimed her, Master had pulled Ellie close to him. She had burrowed her head into his chest while he explained her new purpose. “Your Order isn’t finished with me unfortunately, and I doubt they’ll take kindly to your corruption. Sooner or later, they’ll make another attempt on my life. Your job is to make sure they fail.”

Her footsteps echoed as Ellie move up the staircase. Marble floors; Master loves his luxury. It made her job easier at least. Hard for an intruder to sneak around undetected when every step could be heard throughout a whole wing of his villa.

Ellie made a point not to settle into a routine. Her patrols were always irregular, sometimes doubling back downstairs, sometimes randomly sprinting down a hall with no purpose other than to startle a hypothetical attacker. It was important not to become predicable. Ellie knew how her old Order operated: study your opponent, find a weakness, and blitz through it before they realize you’re even there. If they sent another hunter to finish the job, they’d have a hard to time finding any flaws in Elie’s system.

It made her sick to think she’d entered Master’s service by trying to kill him. Most of her life had been spent training to hunt his kind. Endless hours split between the dusty library and sparing grounds of the small convent she was raised in. She never even left its grounds until her 20th birthday. Two decades wasted.

‘No, not wasted,’ she silently corrected herself. ‘I was raised in ignorance of the joys of serving Master, but at least they gave me the skills to be useful to him.’

Ellie had actually come close to ending Master’s life. Remembering it now almost made her wretch. Garlic power snuck into the central air unit and portable UV lights hidden on person had weakened her soon-to-be Master to the point where Ellie had gotten within inches of sinking her stake into his chest. Thankfully, she had underestimated his strength. A failure in the dossier the Order provided had incorrectly estimated his age.

“They said you were 120 years old, Master,” Ellie had explained while laying naked in his arms. Her nipples pressed against his chest, she offered up everything she knew about her Order and what they had on him. There was something intimate about betraying all her old loyalties to her new Master. Like her virginity, secrets could only be given to him once.

“Only off by a millennium,” Master laughed while his hand roamed down Ellie’s leg. It made her toes wiggle. “For the record, I was reborn during the reign of Charlamagne. Those were the days. Saxons, Avars, Lombards… there was so much plunder for the taking. Then the Danes came along, and the plunders became the plundered. Such times is when my kind thrive.”

Ellie had never been much of a history student. The nuns used to lecture for hours about the founding of the Order and the many victories it had won over the centuries. It’s amazing how boring epic battles can become when reduced to lists of dates, places and names. That night though—as Master recounted his adventures with peoples she’d never heard of—Ellie had listened with rapt attention.

Or tried to; admittedly it hadn’t easy. Aside from her historical apathy, the fresh euphoria of Ellie’s enslavement had made it difficult to focus on anything other than his hands on her. In those early hours, even a slight brush from him sent shivers through her body. Still, she’d wanted to learn everything she could about her new Master, and so resolved to pay attention. She’d felt honored that he was sharing his history with her.

“That was well before your Order, of course. There was a time when Popes had other things to concern themselves with,” he spoke wistfully. “Too busy trying to conquer the Holy Land or warring with Luther to worry about a few humans vanishing in the night. I suppose now that the church’s influence has waned, they have to keep themselves occupied with something. Everyone needs a hobby.”

The patrol continued. In one of the spare bedrooms, Ellie found another blood slave lingering by the mirror checking her makeup. Marie, the newest edition to Master’s stable, a French girl with curly blonde hair. ‘Lazy and unworthy,’ in Ellie’s opinion. An upper-class upbringing had given her a sense entitlement and a talent for avoiding work. This—more than Marie’s obvious distain for her—had grated on Ellie, who believed anything less than full devotion to duty was a betrayal to their Master. She’s a beauty, which no doubt was why Master tolerates her idleness.

“Master’s laundry is all sorted, then?” Ellie chided, and was answered by an indignant glare from Marie. It was a token show of defiance to spare her dignity. As much as she might dislike it, Marie knew Ellie outranked her. After a long stare, she scampered wordlessly out of the room to join the rest of the slaves. Ellie made a mental note to inform Master later. It was a privilege to feed him, one that Marie should earn through work rather than shirking her chores to spend more time making herself pretty.

Master was dreaming. Ellie could sense his emotions spill over into her mind as she weaved through the bedrooms on the second floor. She paused to see if she could pick up more.

The nature of their special connection was still a mystery to her. Master had unfettered access to her mind, but Ellie could only make out vague emotions the other way: Happiness, anger, amusement. Like peering through a fogged window, shapes and outlines are easy enough to discern, but details always frustratingly allusive. Even with her limited view, it helped Ellie feel close to him. It was a reminder the bond they shared was deeper than that of her fellow slaves. Master was enjoying this dream, she could tell that much. He’ll be in a good mood when he wakes. Selfishly, that boded well for her.

The study was the last room Ellie checked. An antique desk sat at one end, a great fireplace at the other, first edition books lined the walls in between. It was one of Master’s favorite rooms in the house, and—for different reasons—one of her favorites as well. Master loved to read in the hours before sunrise. A seat by the fire, Dumas or Dostoevsky in his hand and Ellie blissfully curled up at his feet. For her, the treat was when his free hand drifted down to play with her hair; weaving affectionately through her red locks, idly tucking back a few strays behind her ear, then giving her head a messy tousle so he could start the process over again. When he had to turn a page, Ellie would sneak a quick kiss against his leg.

A strong crackle confirmed the fire was already blazing to Master’s desired strength. One of the servants had seen to the room. Ellie was about to exit when she felt a draft tickle her skin. Looking back, she noticed the window was open.

Ellie felt a clang of panic. The window shouldn’t be open.

To be continued…