The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

On a stolen steed, I gallop across the bridge leading into the City of Floating Plazas. Only chainmail over a woollen shirt, and rags wrapped around my pelvis, protect my flesh from the rain. The storm has obliterated the moon, and hurls bullet-sized hail into the canals along the plazas’ edges. Through the slashes of rain, oil lamps dangle like stunned fireflies before a stone building. It’s an inn, and a goodly inn at that.

I stable my horse and kick the door open, revealing a room of dark mahogany, crimson upholstery, and total insulation from the storm. All eyes swerve to me. Dagger-like eyes of merchants’, dull eyes of noblemen, moist eyes of sensual women stick to me, a woman but recently thrashed by storm and sword. I don’t waste my gaze on these men wearing shiny jerkins and feathered caps. I march to the fireplace. I drop my satchel on the bear-hide rug, then cast down my chainmail and shirt, then my loin cloth. Naked down to my rain-glistening breasts, I collapse into an upholstered chair, putting a leg over the armrest, so to bear my inner thighs and cunt to the flame’s warm licks.

Gazing at the painting of the Chief Magistrate above the fireplace, my eyes almost close, but for a gruff voice yelling:

‘Harlot! Harlot! I will have no harlots!’

I twist around to better look at the clientele. ‘Do you truly believe,’ I ask, ‘that all these women are wives?’ Only a few women scoff or flush. Most of them hug their clients with a giggle.

The innkeeper keeps shouting, not at me, but for someone to throw this ‘naked wench’ out. I reach into my satchel for my money purse. With my thumb, I flick a gold coin at his forehead.

‘Ale!’ I say. When he just stands dumbfounded, I flick a coin into his nose, drawing a scream from him. ‘Ale!’ I throw a handful of coins at him, which hit him like stones. ‘Ale! Get me ale, old man!’

He shakes with fury, for he knows the gold coins at his feet are magnets. He kneels to gather them up. He yells to the barkeep to pour me a mug. ‘Our special-special for the harlot.’

‘It is pronounced “Judith”. And I am in no doubt,’ I say, returning my eyes to the fire, ‘that there was enough in there to rent a room for the night.’

When the mug is delivered to my hand, I shut my eyes. I have no chance to relax before the heels of a dandy’s boots come clacking to my side. His codpiece points at me. ‘You need not waste money on a room, you most intriguing kitten.’ He lowers his face down to mine, close enough for his breath to brush my eyeballs. ‘I can tell by your way of speaking that you do not ride through this storm by choice. I can intuit that Fortune has taken away what your Birth had given.’ His eyeline rolls from my cleavage down to my cunt. His hand lays on my shoulder. ‘I am willing to aid you in courting Fortune’s favour, if you would be forthcoming with a little… payment in kind.’

I wrap my hand around his as I rise from the chair. I smile into his eyes, and he smiles into mine, a smile which becomes a grimace when I tighten my grip on his hand.

‘Before my family, before my nation, before God,’ I say, ‘I made a vow that I would only relinquish my maidenhead to the one I would marry, and I would only marry the one who could best me in combat.’ As I twist his wrist, he screams. I wash down my pleasure with ale. Good God! This is a strong ale!

I told the dandy a lie. Before family, before nation, before God, I could piss on an oath and suffer no guilt nor shame. I did not make this oath to find a suitable man to marry; rather, on seeing the men my parents thought suitable to marry, I made this oath. It would not do, I convinced my father, the King of Mander, for a future king to be weaker than his own Queen. After five suitors fled our kingdom with wounds from my sword and fists, the Court agreed that having a King who was bested by a lone woman was less shameful than being ruled by a lone woman, and so they arranged a marriage. And so I fled.

‘Are you man enifff forsa duel?’ I hiss to the dandy, screwing around his arm. The mug of ale swirls in my hand, a hand attached to an arm that has turned to a noodle. ‘No h’f-measure, none o’ that first touch shit. Forfeit ors die.’

His red and reddening face sheds sweat. He falls to his knees. The innkeeper has regained his tongue:

‘Are you mad, you harlot!? He’s the Chief Magistrate’s nephew.’

Shit. Going to prison in a foreign land would be bad enough, but if the Chief Magistrate realises he has a princess in his dungeons, my Kingdom will pay whatever ransom he sets, and ignore whatever protests I raise.

I release the dandy’s wrist. To take the edge off defeat, I gulp down the rest of the ale, which hits me like a sack of dead rats. How strong do they make their ale? I am about to sit back in my chair, but the dandy mocks me. No, he doesn’t mock me yet, but I see it in his eyes, I see it in his smile, he knows he’s beaten me. This wine-skin of piss thinks he’s beaten me.

He’s still on his knees. I kick him in the face. I scream because I’m not wearing boots, so my bare foot just smashes against his skull. That doesn’t stop me bashing my skull against his.

‘Yooooooouuuuuusssse ffffuck!’

My hands clench around his throat, pushing his eyes and teeth out of his face, as blackness eats away at the sides of my eyes, and I realise that the barkeep put something in my ale…

My ears ring. I open my eyes. The sun stares back. I close my eyes, my vision torn in green and white. I move my arms and legs, but they drag as though through honey. From the smell, it is definitely not honey. Is the pain in my head from the hangover or the smell of shit and garbage.

I open my eyes and realise the inn’s patrons had thrown me into the canal. They didn’t want any blood in the bar, or on the Chief Magistrate’s nephew’s record, so they threw my dead drunk body into the water to die. Lucky for me, I seemed to have floated down into the slums, where the canals are never cleaned and are everyone’s sewer and garbage pit. The ‘water’ here is so thick, the basest sinner can walk atop it. A warrior princess can get stuck stationary up to her neck in it.

I paddle over to the edge of the canal and haul myself up. I’m still naked, clothed only in filth. From laundry poles, I steal two sets of rags, one to wipe myself clean, the other to wrap around myself.

In all misfortune, find fortune. Unfortunate: the city guards must despise these slums, and so criminals must love them, and I wield no weapon, nor wear any armour. Fortune: If there are no guards around, then there are no guards to stop me stealing a few pieces of equipment, killing any who try to stop me. With my fists, I can best any dagger-thrusting criminal.

The area seems deserted. I cross the bridge to yet another plaza of abandoned shacks, shacks made not of stone, but water-warped wood, which hunch over the street like old men. In a crack between the buildings, two men crouch, eyes glistening, tongues clicking to each other in a thieves’ cant. I can’t understand them, but little doubt they’re talking about me. They draw their short-swords and lurch from the alley towards me. Whatever will I do with these two short-swords soon to be in my possession.

I assume a fighter’s stance. They freeze. I know I’m majestic, but I can’t be this intimidating. They hurl their swords to the cobble-stones, as though the swords became serpents. One of the thieves roars, but his voice vanishes, when a word flows out from deep in the alley way:

‘Silence’ A high, female voice, like a harp that echoes in your head.

The voice whispers something else, so I can hear the tone but not the words. The two thieves rush at me. I ready my fists, only for them to rush past me. They dive into the filthy canal. I don’t check if they pop their heads out, for my eyes refuse to abandon the woman in the alley way. She must be seven-foot tall. Although she stands in the shadow of two dark buildings, her face glows like milk in a black saucer, her eyes and lips like floating rubies. Covering her radiant ivory body is gauzy robe, white and thin and translucent as cobwebs. The gauze hugs, but cannot conceal the swell of her breasts, her waist, her roseate nipples, her cunt. She beckons me forward with her finger, before she recedes into the blackness.

‘Follow me.’ Her voice echoes to me down the alley and in my mind. I follow her, I must follow her. Only my caution prevents me running after her. I try to call to her, but I remember the word ‘Silence’, and realise I have nothing to say.

Mid-way through the alley, she passes through a doorway. On the other side is utter blackness. I step through the door, onto nothing. I plummet into a warm pool, submerging my whole body. When I break the surface, and finish gasping, I realise the rags I was wearing have been washed away, as has every trace of filth on my skin. My hangover is gone.

I don’t have time to enjoy the honeysuckle scent which dances across the dark lagoon’s surface. The only source of light is the woman’s glow, its shimmering whiteness on the black water. She beckons me towards her, walking backwards on bare feet which never break the water’s surface. I swim toward her through the warm water, which seems unending on all sides. A dais comes into view, floating upon the water’s top, three layers high, fashioned of shining, smooth black stone, atop which sits a throne of ruby. Rising to the ruby throne are stairs, lined with red carpet, which the woman ascends. She sits upon the throne. Her glowing skin refracts through the throne’s jewels, casting crimson light down to me.

Water drips from me, staining the carpet, as I climb onto the dais, and up the stairs. I ascend, the last of my caution dying as my eyes move closer to her swelling beauty. Her full thighs part enough to tease visions of her cunt, but the gauze robe denies me. I stumble up the stairs, tripping to my hands and knees before her feet.

‘Do you desire me?’ she says. It isn’t like her voice from before. Right now, it’s melodic; before, her voice strummed my being’s every cord. ‘Had you caught sight of me, in your Court, how would you have courted me? Answer true.’

Those last two words strum me. They stir my fantasy, till I see vividly us two at the Royal Palace of Mander, and her words massage my vocal cords, forcing me to reveal all that I imagine:

‘I’d kiss you right there, take you behind a pillar, and grab your tits, tell you to come to my room—’

‘If I were to refuse or resist,’ she asks, not a tremble in her voice nor a blush in her face, ‘what would you do? Answer true.’

‘I’d tell you I’m the princess!’ I blush and sweat, realising how pathetic I sound. I smash my fist on the ground, as I try to stop my tongue. ‘You do what I say. I am the princess!’ But I’m not the princess. My eyes drip tears into the carpet. I don’t need a kingdom behind me to get what I want, I don’t, I don’t, I don’t.

‘Rise.’

I stand on wobbling legs.

The woman snaps. In the pitch blackness surrounding her glow, a new light bursts into life, illuminating an ebony platform in the water to the left of us. It holds a hill of emeralds, rubies, diamonds, gold, silver, and riches I have no name for. She snaps again. To our right, there appears another platform, atop which stands a black suit of armour, wielding a sword of blackest metal. Beside it floats, frozen mid-gallop, a snow-white horse.

The woman waves to the jewels and coins. ‘Those are enough to buy all the kingdoms of this world.’ She gestures to the armour. ‘That is enough to withstand and subdue all the armies of those kingdoms, and to travel between the furthest of them in a moment.’ She looks into my eyes. ‘Believe me. What would you do to possess them.’

My throat dries and my heart pounds. With these I could have all the world in my power. None could oppose me, deny me, tell me I can’t get what I want. ‘I would do anything? What must I do?’

‘All you need do,’ she says, ‘is become my slave for a single month.’

‘What?’

‘All the world at your service, for a single month in my service.’

When she puts it like that, it sounds more than fair. I don’t know why I expected to receive my reward for any less arduous labour.

‘Should you accept my terms, you need only prostrate yourself before me, and say, loudly and clearly, that your only pleasure is obedience, and your only worth is service.’

These are just words, these are just words, I tell my knees, which tremble, but refuse to bend. These are just words, and words are just sounds compared to a month of slavery. Sounds are just air compared to an entire world at my feet. I manage to hit my knees to the ground, but to get any lower feels as vertiginous as standing atop a tower.

‘You must press your forehead to the ground before you pledge yourself to me,’ she says, ‘before you pledge yourself to a month of fulfilling my every wish, both trivial and solemn, sober and sensual.’ She chuckles at that last word. ‘I do hope that in this month you do not realise that I must pledge my soul to whosoever grants me an orgasm.’

My mind soars with the swiftness of an albatross at that revelation. The stupid bitch, revealing something like that. A month in slavery for world domination—No. I’ll buy the world with a single fuck.

I lunge to my feet, pressing my lips to hers. I force a knee between her thighs, rubbing it against her cunt. I grab her exquisite breasts, which are covered in a gauze as white as cobweb, thin as cobweb, which breaks under my hand as easily as cobweb. Beneath my kiss, I feel her smile. Over her shoulder, there comes, first coiled like an arthritic finger, then unfurling like a willow branch, a spider’s black leg. It lurches to the hand I’m groping her with. Spiders crawl from behind her, scurrying and leaping onto my naked flesh. One crawls from behind her neck onto my cheek. I leap back. I shake my head, shake my whole my body, but the swarm sticks to me. I scream.

‘Dive.’

I plunge into the lagoon. As I rise to the surface, the spiders keep falling around me, drowning in the immeasurable depths. Gasping for air, my eyes clear. The woman stands at the edge of the dais. I float below even the soles of her feet, and she must be more than seven feet tall. No longer does she wear cobwebs; the whiteness of her skin, unshaded, glows down me.

She speaks: ‘What does the girl deserve, who considers neither another’s loss, nor her own gain?’

She twirls her finger, and the water beneath me swirls. The water rises, hard as stone beneath me, spinning as fast as a whirlpool. As I spin, her white glow is my only landmark.

‘Only a devil would abandon the world to you. You are not a conqueror. You are a spoiled princess.’

The liquid platform halts, hurling me towards her. She catches me in her embrace. Before I can curse her, she says:

‘Speak only when spoken to. Before one can be a master over others, one must first master oneself. To master oneself, one must first be mastered. Will you learn to obey with a happy heart?’

Her question undeadens my tongue. ‘Fuck you!’

Her smile does not falter. ‘My mistress will have such felicity taming you as she tamed me. Open you mind…’

I blink rapidly, and realise I am riding on a snow-white horse over a misty field. The sky is grey, the sun is hidden, and the grass is blue. How did I get here? I look over my shoulder and see the City of Floating Plazas on the horizon. Nothing strange happened in the City of Floating Plazas. I feel heavier than usual. I’m wearing a full set of black armour, rather than just chainmail, and a sword at my side. I stole these from a dying knight in the City of Floating Plazas.

Cantering onward, a haze comes into view in the centre of marshlands. Cantering closer and the haze becomes a castle shrouded in fog. That is my destination. Therein lies the Vault of the Ruby King, promising wealth enough to buy the world and all that my pleasure requires.

I smirk. All the world is mine by right, and now it shall be mine by purchase. None shall oppose me, deny me, nor refuse me anything I desire. I gallop down the hill towards the castle, into my destiny.