The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had been a gift…

She cried for a long while, not sure how much time had passed. When she lifted her head again many of the candles had gone out and she was as alone as ever, save for the mirror.

It, too, had been a gift, but not on from the gods. It had been given to her by Minos. It was one of thousands of gifts he had given to her during their marriage, but this one, unlike the ones before it had not been given out of love. This had been a sinister gift, forced into being by the hands of Daedalus, perhaps the only man who had ever truly loved her, which must have made its evil intent all the more sweeter for Minos. The gift that came from the sea was a gift of compassion in comparison.

And now the man who had crafted it was gone, escaped from his prison, while the man who had given it remains ever near. Never so near as to be seen, but always near enough for his presence to be felt. In her first few days of her confinement she feared the wrath of her husband, wondering what he would say or do to her when he saw her. Now she almost preferred it, anything was better than this feeling of nonexistence. She looked at the door, waiting to hear his rage filled footsteps, but they never seemed to come. Indeed, it seemed the entire wing of the palace was completely abandoned, save for her and the guard on the other side of the door.

She had tried talking to them, asking them if the king planned on seeing her soon. They never had any information and if they did, they were ordered to talk as little as possible.

By Hera, how much longer can Minos forsake me?

This was to be her world now—trapped in a perfumed prison with no one to talk to save for the prison guard posted outside her doors and the select few unfortunate servants, pressed into service as spies for Minos. None of them had anything of value to say, not to her anyway. Her only real companion was the mirror. It was the physical embodiment of a guilty conscious, framed in garish gold and studded with gems. It was deathly quiet, yet it always spoke.

Sinister though it was, it had at least this one virtue—it never did lie to her. It had been the first to let her know that the worst had happened. Or probably had happened, as she kept telling herself, she did not know for sure yet. How long had it been now since she first saw it...three months ago? She remembered it well. That was the day when the mirror revealed the slightest bit of a curve to what had once been a flat belly. She had been holding something in her hand at the time—a glass, a vase? She couldn’t recall, she only remembered that she had dropped it, shattering whatever it had been into a million pieces just as her mind shattered into many more.

The shards of glass had scattered across the room and then came the silence that suffocated her mind and made her want to scream louder than she had ever had. It was within this unbreakable silence that she just stood and stared, mouth agape, mind emptied of all rational thought. There it was, a simple curve, a very small round bump to be sure, hardly noticeable in fact, but the tentative hand that traced her belly told her it was there, and worse, that there was no mistaking the nature of it.

It cannot be. It is impossible!

And yet there it was, just three weeks after her husband had angrily committed her to her chambers, the small curve to her belly hinted to an affair that had born fruit.

But no one woman shows as early as this! It would be too soon to show.

She stared at it for what must have been hours, turning this way and that, hoping to find the one angle that would tell her it was all just a mistake, a trick of light, or the result of an overactive imagination. She looked again and again, disbelieving her eyes and yet knowing in her heart the terrible truth: she was pregnant.

But some truths are too awful to accept, much less understand, even if their story shines brightly high above ones head.

And so she deluded herself with hope and cloaked that hope in denial.

I cannot be pregnant. It is my guilty conscience, nothing more.

Her appetite soon increased, but she told herself that it was probably a result of her boredom. She developed cravings, but these too were dismissed. She knew she could not be pregnant. It was simply impossible.

But I can’t be. It just isn’t possible. No woman can conceive from a…well, it is impossible

But that had been three months ago.

In that time delusion had turned to reluctant acceptance as the mirror showed her ever expanding belly. All that was left to her now was hope, hope that the child was Minos’ or even Daedalus’. But the hand that traced her belly feared otherwise. It was a very large belly, round, and far heavier than it should be. She carried a potent seed within her, as if the one who planted it there had done so with great determination.

Please! Not by him. Not by…it

I feel the warm glow of the last rays of a declining summer sun upon my face and I close my eyes and listen. Up ahead the sounds of nature greet my receptive ears—the chirping of crickets, the rustling between trees, the music of birds. It is a peaceful melody, one so very different from the artificial noise of the palace. I sense a frisson in the air, too, as if the world itself were pregnant with possibilities. I open my eyes and sigh contentedly.

I am in the countryside, journeying along a path not much travelled anymore. The summer air warms my cheeks, but a gentle breeze cools them again. My furry ears waft behind me as I am trundled along my path.

Somewhere in the distance I can hear the sea lapping upon the shores of my kingdom. Though my journey takes me inland, the sound of the waves grows louder as I advance toward my goal. I pay it little mind.

I roll pleasantly along, enjoying the ride, bouncing every now and again upon the hard ground of a little used path. I realize that the inventor must have built wheels into my hooves. Hooves? That is right, I have hooves like a cow. I giggle at the very thought—a queen with hooves, what a silly sight! I wonder if Minos would find it as comical as I do, if he were to see me like this just now. His beautiful wife with hooves and covered in cowhide, all big fat and round with her boobs hanging out. Yes, I think he would find it a lark, just like I do. Hm, I wonder if my hood has horns on it? I bet Minos—

Minos is a deceiver. He has broken his promise to me. Tonight, you too shall deceive. Tonight, you shall break a promise to him.

My cow costume rolls over another bump, and I bounce about harshly. I hear the inventor say something about older paths being rougher. He mutters something to himself that he thinks I cannot hear—he is worried that my breasts have grown bigger since we have left his workshop. That sure seems strange, but the waves tell me to forget that I heard this and so I do.

I am free and that is what matters. For the first time in a very long time I am free. I have spent too many years trapped away in that cage that Minos calls a palace. I needed this, I needed to be free. I shift about as best I can in my cow suit, happy to no longer be a slave to court functions and the pressures of queenship. I know I feel this way, genuinely so, because the waves tell me to feel this way.

All around me are gentle slopping hills, willowy trees, underbrush, and of course the endless sky above all. This is my world now, not the suffocating halls of the palace and a court filled with petty intrigues. Up ahead I see small creatures, creatures of nature, free like me. They are my brothers and sisters now, I am one of them. I look out from my costume with pride, hoping that my new friends will like it too. I greet my new surroundings with a joyful smile.

But something is wrong.

All the world that was so full of life just a moment before is made silent and still by my approach. Woodland creatures scatter and the crickets that had been so loud before are like the grave. The trees that has swayed lazily in the breeze become eerily still. A deathly silence is all that greets my approach as if nature itself will not have me. The creakings of my wooden cow fill the air, just as the sound of the waves fills my mind. I see birds high above me, huddled on their branches—they are watching me, watching my progression with a solemn silence. It has the feeling of a funeral procession. Nature is in mourning.

You want this. This is what you have willed.

But yes, I do want this. It is my will. The inventor’s grips the rounded cheeks of my bottom tighter as he pushes me up an incline. I had almost forgotten about that—the inventor is pushing me with his hands on my bottom. I giggle again, it seems so silly to have spent all those years wearing clothing and covering up around him and now here he is with his hands on both my cheeks. I…I enjoy his hands on my bare flesh. I had not realized it until now but I find it oddly reassuring. It has been some time since I have been touched by a man. I wish Minos had shown me more attention, more genuine attention anyway. His touch was never loving, just…possessive. The inventor is different. His touch is…genuine. It feels good to have the inventor’s hands on my bare flesh, to be touched by a ma—

It is not a man you want. Your lust is for something far more powerful than a mere man.

But then I remember it is not the touch of the inventor’s hands on my flesh that I crave, but something far more…powerful. Something with the power to pin me and claim me in a way that no man can. A man cannot satisfy the desires that churn like a maelstrom within me.

We hit even more bumps and I feel the strain on my breasts as the chains keep them from moving, but the rest of me bounces about in my leather padding. The pain really isn’t as bad as it was before, I just feel the pull and tension each time we hit a bump. Although even without the bumps I don’t like how it makes my breasts jiggle in place as we move along.

Breasts? No little cow, queens have breasts, cows have udders. Breasts are dainty and perky. Udders are big and heavy. Breasts are covered in delicate silks and laces. Udders are exposed and meant to carry milk. Udders suit you. You are pleased that your udders are chained.

And yet, I am pleased. In some ways I am glad that they are held in place by the rings. If I wasn’t wearing the rings they would have swayed back and forth for the entire ride. They would have looked so silly! This keeps them in place quite nicely. And I am glad they are exposed. If they weren’t exposed then I would have to lie on my brea—I mean on my udd…my udd…my udd… udders.

Yes, I think udders is a better word than breasts. I prefer that term. That word does not offend me, it does not bother me, and I am not blushing with shame. I am happy to call them udders. I think it is flattering to look like cow. Now I just want to be treated like one, too.

I give myself a little twist left and right so that each nipple feels a nice tug. Yes, I am glad I did that. They are in place and that makes me happy. I wiggle about, feeling the pull and I know that I wanted to do that, too.

I give my furry ears a shake, too, only this time I hear a bell clang. That is strange, I wonder where that came from? I give my ears a good hard shake this time and the bell rings even louder. I have a cow bell around my neck! But I don’t remember a bell being put on me. I suppose it must have been added when I passed out in the inventor’s workshop. I try to look back at Daedalus, to see if he is surprised too, but I am too bulky and round and cannot see behind my costume.

Daedalus had not wanted to build my costume. When I first confessed my dark secret to him, he had refused to listen to me. He stayed away from court and ignored all my summons. But I knew no shame. I came to him. I begged, pleaded, I bribed him, I threatened him with terrible punishments, I even cried but not even my tears would move my inventor’s implacable will. I thought I had met my match. But then I offered him the one thing that I knew he could not resist. It was then that he agreed.

He made love to me that night, and in so doing I think he had hoped to burn away my unnatural desires. He cannot be faulted for trying for no man tried as hard as he did that night. But throughout it all I felt no pleasure and he excited no passion within me, I could only hear the gentle sound of the waves, reminding me of my one true love. The poor inventor. He saw it in my eyes the entire time—he saw their emptiness, their disinterest, but most of all he saw that faraway look of someone imaging that they are with someone else. Or something else. He knew what I was thinking, and it was not of him.

He began work on my cow that very night and I have never seen a man work with such speed and passion. I imagine his passion was motivated by love, and yet I thought I saw hatred in the speed of his hands as well. He was as determined as I was to see me turned into a cow.

And so now I have a bell around my neck. I wonder if anything else was added while I was asleep? Now that I think about it, I think I can feel a—but no, I suddenly remember that I don’t care. I remember that I should just enjoy the ride. I enjoy the feel of a few more bumps and shake my head to hear the merry clang of the bell.

You are happy. You are free. You want all the world to share in your joy.

I am happy. I am free. And I want all the word to share in my joy.

Up ahead I see the fence line that marks the field Gorton. My heart starts to pound. It is there that I want to be. How many times did I enter that field, only to be chased away by the great beast that makes Gorton its home? How many times did it charge me so that I narrowly escaped with my life? And how many times did I weep bitterly on that very fence line, knowing that I was forever doomed to never embrace my one true love? But that is not to be my doom, for my inventor has made me this costume so that I may at last be near to my love. I will this. This is my will! After a lifetime of being caged in the palace I want nothing more than the freedom of the fields.

I know that there is only one way to declare my joy and elation.

“Moo!”

I laugh at the sound of my voice. How happy and free I sound!

“Moo!”

I feel Daedalus’ hands tighten hard on my buttocks. I let out three more such happy little moos, ringing my bell as I do. It is joyous to hear oneself moo.

Moo for me, my little cow. Moo with all your heart and so I can hear how deep your love is. And then come to me, so I may come to you.

I shake my head and hear the merry clang of the bell and I decide to moo lustfully the rest of the way. I am such a happy little cow!