The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Visitors, Madame.”

The Comtesse pushed her chair back from the computer, the wheels rattling across the parquet floor. She gave Colette a significant look, but the girl just beamed and curtsied and was gone again, heels clicking down the grand staircase.

It had already been a tiresome day.

Still, she couldn’t just have people wandering round the Chateau. She sighed, password-locked the machine, and went down to get rid of them.

As she descended the stairs and walked, unhurried, towards the main doors (half-open, despite repeated instruction to the contrary) she began to compose the very long conversation she was going to have with Colette before the evening was done.

“I’m telling you, I still think this could be the right place!”

“Bella, we’ve been driving in the wrong direction for the last thirty miles. Does this look like a farmhouse to you? It’s a fucking chateau.”

They were standing at the top of a set of wide stone steps at the front of the house, in front of the massive arched doorway. The maid had left the doors ajar and Kate could see a long hallway; polished floorboards, vases, a suit of armour. Whoever lived here, it seemed unlikely that they also catered for tourists.

“No, I asked that guy in the village...”

“He didn’t understand you. No-one’s understood you since the airport.”

“That’s so not true! You saw him talking to me.”

“I saw him speaking to your breasts. Come on, we should just get back in the car. It’s going to be dark before we arrive now.”

Kate looked at her watch, holding her wrist up for emphasis and then looking beyond it to the sun, which was starting to lose its heat and to dip behind clouds.

“We can’t just leave. She said she was going to get someone. I think.” Bella pulled down at the hem of her t-shirt. Like her cropped shorts, it was a little tight. For Bella, holidays were always about attracting attention.

“We can’t stay here,” Kate said. “I don’t even think this is somewhere they let you stay. Did you see how that maid was dressed?”

“Someone’s coming now. I’ll talk to them.”

The doors opened wide. A woman was framed in the archway. She wore a long, tight skirt and a short, belted jacket. Her hair was black, with glitters of grey, and was cut in a short bob. There was a carven sharpness to her cheeks and to the set of her jaw and her lips. Almost a fierceness, Kate thought. A face that defied those few lines of age that marked it. A face that projected its owner’s will like a spotlight.

If Kate had to get older, that was how she wanted to look.

Bella was unperturbed. She began to repeat the explanation that had clearly baffled the maid.

Heaven help us, thought Kate.

“You’ve gone on holiday,” the Comtesse said, “by mistake?”

Relief flooded the girl’s face.

“Oh, you speak English! Thank God for that. We’re—“

“Not by mistake,” her friend interrupted. “We want to be on holiday. Just not here. We’re lost.”

Both English, the Comtesse thought, wearily. A hire car parked in the courtyard behind, caked with dirt and dust. They were tanned (but English, so it was probably fake) and depressingly young. Even so, she thought, the blonde girl’s wrap-around sunglasses were Gucci and her friend’s accent could have mingled happily with some of the chateau’s wealthiest clients.

Lost little rich girls. She nearly said it aloud. I put the “Private” sign in English for people like you, but does it make any difference?

“I’m sorry,” said the Comtesse, her English very nearly accentless, “but this chateau is in private ownership. Not for the public. You have to go back to your car and—“

“This isn’t Le Clos de la Soleil?” the blonde said, mangling even that limited pronunciation.

“No.”

“Well, couldn’t you at least tell us how to...”

“This is a private house,” said the Comtesse, “not the tourist information. Try the village, back down in the valley.”

“But we did,” said the blonde, “the man at the tabac said it was this way; up the road and turn left at the black sign.”

M. Guinard. Or Thierry, as he would no doubt have insisted they call him. He would be waiting for them to come back past his seedy little bar. He’d have the bottle ready, three glasses.

She could imagine him, smug and grinning. It made her even angrier.

“I told you, Bella. I’m very sorry Madame, we won’t trouble you any further. Bella, come on.”

Behind them, the sky was beginning to darken. The blue was turning to purple as the sun descended. Over the hills to the east, the way they’d have to go if they didn’t take up Guinard’s inevitable offer, a dark black bruise was spreading through the clouds. Ink into water. A storm was coming.

He would know that too. ‘Too late to set out now cherie...’ Her teeth clenched. ‘Too dangerous to take the mountain road in this weather...’

The dark haired girl pulled once on her friend’s wrist and then turned away from the Comtesse, walking back down the stone steps towards the car. Automatically, the Comtesse’s gaze swept up the girl’s long sleek legs, golden in the failing sunlight, to the short summer dress and the curving, toned ass that it covered.

She couldn’t let Guinard have these two, but if she warned them not to stop in the village then they’d probably be washed off the road when the storm broke over the mountain.

Batard cochon.

“Come on Bella.” The dark haired girl was at the bottom of the steps now. The blonde girl looked back at the Comtesse, as if in apology, and followed.

“Wait.”

Both girls turned back. The blonde girl’s smile was hopeful, the other girl looked suspicious.

“There is an ... option, if you choose not to go back to the village tonight. I have a spare room in the servants’ wing.” She pointed at the blackening clouds. “A storm here is serious business. The weather will be very bad tonight.”

“Oh! We ‘d love to, wouldn’t we Kate?” said the blonde girl.

A nice smile, the Comtesse supposed. The hot pink shorts and the white t-shirt, too small for her chest so that it kept riding up to show the piercing in her navel, seemed a little obvious, even for the English. At that age, her own ideas about fucking, and how to advertise her interest in it, had been similarly straightforward.

Her friend, Kate, seemed to aspire to a slightly more restrained appeal. She wore a pale blue dress, artfully faded, with a butterfly print. The straps were thin enough, and the dress short enough, for the girl’s athletic body to be appreciated. A runner, or a swimmer, probably. She had the look of someone who was used to pushing herself.

“Wouldn’t we?” The blonde said again, a little louder.

“Bella...” Kate slid the word through gritted teeth. The Comtesse saw her take the other girl’s wrist and turn her away. She heard snatches of the conversation:

“... back down that road through the woods now...”

“... someone else’s house ... my fucking holiday too, Bella.“

“... get the chance to stay in a chateau...”

“No, I want to stay where ... paid for fourteen nights ... “

The breeze picked up now, cool and damp, announcing the end of the day. A few fat raindrops broke on the still-warm flags.

“You should decide quickly,” the Comtesse said. “It’s going to be on us soon.”

“You’re right Madame, I can’t drive anywhere tonight. It’s very kind of you to offer to let us stay and we’re very grateful. Aren’t we Kate?”

The dark haired girl hugged herself. Her bare legs were pressed together against the cold. She flinched (quite attractively, the Comtesse thought) when the raindrops struck her legs. She looked back at the car, which was starting to bead with water, and then at Bella, and then finally at the Comtesse. She nodded.

“I promise we won’t be any trouble,” said Bella.

“We’ll be leaving early,” said Kate.

“Of course,” said the Comtesse. “You’ll need to take your car around to the back of the house. Collette will meet you there and show you to the room. I’ll have her bring you something to eat. Perhaps I’ll see you before you leave tomorrow, but if not, I wish you safe travelling.”

She could see that they were still arguing when they got back into the car, but they drove around to the rear of the chateau.

“Collette?”

The girl should have been waiting in the hall.

“Collette!”

Eventually, there was the sound of her short, hurried steps rattling through the hall and the maid was there, rose cheeked and breathless. Her fingertips touched the panelling as she strained to catch her breath and stand upright in the towering heels. Her shiny black uniform glinted in the dim light of the hallway.

“What have you been doing girl?”

“I’m sorry Madame,” Collette looked down at her feet. Her face was instantly demure, contrite.

The Comtesse sighed. The girl was still a trial, but in some respects her training and responses were quite exquisite. I can strive for perfection, the Comtesse thought, even if I can’t quite achieve it.

“Those two anglaise? They’re staying the night. Speak to the kitchen and have a suitable dinner made. Make sure it’s understood that they’re not our usual guests. They’re to be put in the servant’s wing. Room twelve.”

The Comtesse looked at Collette suspiciously. She suspected there was a reason why the maid had been out of sight and that she was not breathless merely from having to run down the hallway. Nevertheless, the corset lacing looked suitably tight and her maid’s cap was straight. Her makeup was as immaculate as ever.

There would be time enough to find out later.

“They’ll be at the back of the house. Make sure that their car is out of the way and that they don’t wander. And shut this door!”

The Comtesse’s smartphone vibrated. She looked at the reminder message. Another of the Chateau’s occupants required her attention. She left the maid struggling with the heavy door and strode back down the hallway towards the guest rooms.

“Have you seen the size of this bed?”

Kate splashed water onto her face, beginning to clean off the sweat and grime of a day of travelling. She whispered another curse. Of course she had seen the bed. They had both seen it, immediately, as they were shown into the room by the panting maid. It was, she thought, quite singular. Both in the sense of being massive and clothed in what appeared to be black satin, and also in the sense of being the only bed in the room.

Everything seemed to be large scale. There were twin dressing tables, with wide tops of polished walnut and large oval mirrors. There were also two tall, heavy-looking wardrobes that they hadn’t investigated yet. No couch or chairs though. The Comtesse obviously expected her servants to be standing up or lying down.

Still, this would only be for one night and the bed was wide enough that she and Bella wouldn’t be bumping into each other when they slept.

And the bathroom, she thought, as she dried her face and looked around, was palatial. It echoed and reflected with creamy marble and old brass. A huge roll-top tub stood on carven feet by one wall. The curving glass of a shower enclosure filled another corner. It would have been big enough for two people to use at once, if you were sharing the room with someone that you wanted to shower with.

Two sinks were set into a wide marble shelf and behind them were stacked bottles and jars of soaps and gels and creams. Whatever it was that they were doing, the Comtesse must want her staff to be fresh and fragrant.

Kate went back into the bedroom. Bella was sitting up on the bed, bare legs outstretched. She had kicked her sandals across the room and now she had a silver tray balanced on her thighs and was spooning up large mouthfuls of pasta and creamy sauce.

“Brought us food,” said Bella. “Really good.”

It certainly smelt good.

There were two other trays on the dressing table nearest the door. Metal domes covered the plates. She lifted them in turn.

“No pasta for me. Looks like fish stew or something.”

“Sorry,” said Bella, not sounding it.

“Still smells good,” said Kate and by this time in the evening she didn’t care what she ate as long as it was filling. She turned back at Bella. “I know you think this is your fairytale chateau, but we can’t stay here Bella. It’s the poor woman’s home.”

“I don’t think she’s all that poor. Anyway, she’s probably glad of the company.”

“So, you saw the way that she was looking at you?”

“Kate! Don’t be mean. And you can hear the rain, can’t you? We’re better off here than on the road.”

“One night. We leave first thing, OK?”

“Fine! But when the farmhouse turns out to be a dump, it’ll be your fault.”

This, Kate thought, is what I get for dumping Rob the week after our final exams. Karma makes me go on holiday with Bella again.

“Have we got anything to drink?”

“Fizz.” Bella dangled a precarious hand over the side of the bed and lifted up a fat bottle, the neck crowned with torn gold foil.

Kate found the other glass and held it out. Bella filled it, letting the white foam rise and settle.

Bella held up her own glass now.

“Here’s to two glorious weeks of sun and champagne!”

“If we ever get there,” said Kate.

Bella leant back against the satin pillows, and took a deep sip from her glass.

“This,” she said, “will do quite nicely for a start.”

Candles flickered. They illuminated the centre of a room, a dark lacquered floor beneath a high vaulted ceiling. The guards had moved the heavy dining furniture out to the edges of the room to give the Comtesse the space that she required.

Outside, rain was battering against the windows. The iron railing on the balcony was rattling enough to make her think that the servants would be picking pieces of it out of the courtyard cobbles tomorrow morning. She was glad now that she’d let those two English girls stay the night. It was no weather for travelling.

The Comtesse let the heavy drapes fall back into place.

“Now,” she said, turning back to the candlelight and to Collette, “let’s discuss some of the events of the day.”

Collette strained against her bonds, arching her back and pulling with her wrists. The short lengths of chain drew straight and tight but Collette was held there, waiting. The whipping horse was solid and unmoving. The piece reminded the Comtesse of a bar stool that had been redesigned for heavy duty use; the legs were thick and oaken, and the “seat” was like a cube upholstered in black leather, with Collette bent pleasingly over it.

The maid’s clothes had been folded neatly on a wooden chair by the side of the horse. She was naked now, apart from the maid’s cap and the towering heels. Her feet were planted wide apart, her legs straight. Straps around her ankles were fastened to eye-bolts in the legs of the whipping horse. Chains linked her wrists to bolts on the other two legs, so that her body was stretched over the cushioned leather cube.

Collette’s hair was tightly bound up, and forest-dark. The smooth skin of her neck was pale and the muscles were taut as she tried to look back the Comtesse, to see what was about to happen.

“At what time are you required to wake, Collette?”

“At six o’clock Madame.”

“And at what time did you wake?”

“At,” Collette took in a sharp breath as she felt the Comtesse’s fingers stroking the soft skin of her inner thighs.

“Speak up, Collette. It’s hard for me to hear you when you’re looking down at the floor.”

“At seven-thirty Madame.” Collette said each word carefully, feeling the fingers stroke upward and her self-control begin to ebb.

“And what is it that you are required to do after you have made yourself clean?”

“I have to... my uniform Madame.”

“Yes, and after that?”

“To put in my anal-plug Madame.”

“Quite so,” the Comtesse moved in front of Collette now, “That would be this one, that Adele has just brought to me from your room?”

Collette strained now to look up at the slick rubber toy that the Comtesse held. When she saw the crop held in the Comtesse’s other hand, her lip trembled. She didn’t answer.

“Adele,” called the Comtesse, “take this for a moment. Bring me the brass bowl, and the flask.”

“Yes, Madame.” The girl took the squat rubber plug from her, holding with the tips of her slender fingers. There was a look of distaste that Adele was unable to fully disguise, and as she turned away she gave a slight shake of her head. Strands of her auburn hair flickered in the candlelight. Something to deal with on another day, the Comtesse thought.

Adele slipped back into the shadows at the edge of the room and the Comtesse circled around Collette, standing behind her again.

“And who had I instructed—” Collette gave a choked gasp as she felt the Comtesse’s fingertips, carefully parting the lips of her sex, teasing her open.

“And who had I instructed,” the Comtesse repeated, “to service the Guards in the servant’s wing this morning?”

She took a step back and flicked, idly, at Collette’s thighs with the crop.

Collette’s breathing quickened as the slaps of the crop came closer and closer.

“I was to do it Madame.” The Comtesse heard the slightest edge of defiance in Collette’s voice, and smiled. Oh no, Collette, that won’t get you what you want this time.

“Why is it then, that I found Helene there, performing that service?”

“Because she really loves to suck... Madame, I ... please...” The Comtesse drew the thin shaft of the crop up between Collette’s pussy lips until the leather tongue at the end pulled against them. The shaft was glistening now in the candlelight. She held it there.

“You’ve been a bad girl today, Collette.” The crop slid up, and down again. “Of course, it’s not entirely your own fault.”

Collette did not seem to have an answer to that. The Comtesse flexed the crop so that the shaft pressed firmly into the maid’s sex. Collete cried out, but still didn’t speak.

“You want to be punished, don’t you Collette? You want it so very much.”

“No, Madame, no,” Collette was trying to rub against the shaft of the crop.

“I’ve spent such a long time crafting that desire in you, that connection between punishment and reward, between receiving pain and being pleasured, between submission, acceptance and fulfilment.”

“I ... I need to be punished, Madame.”

“Yes,” said the Comtesse, “that’s exactly what I mean.”

She flicked the top of Collette’s thighs with the crop. Collette’s answering moan was weak, pleading.

“The bowl, Adele.”

The other girl bent at the waist, taking care to keep her long, sleek legs straight. She placed the wide brass bowl on the floor beneath Collette’s head.

“Pour in a good dose please.”

Liquid spilled from the flask and sloshed in the bowl. Vapours rose and there were pungent scents of herbs and oils and berries. Beneath those scents, there was a strange sickly-sweet smell and other, fainter, aromas that were harder to place.

The various changes that she had made to her own body chemistry left her unaffected (beyond a certain feeling of warmth, spreading out from her belly) by the contents of the flask. Collette however, was now taking deep gasping breaths, getting too much of the vapours for her brain to cope with, needing more. Even Adele seemed to be swaying as she stepped back into the shadows. This must have been a strong batch, the Comtesse thought.

She let Collette have a few more strikes of the crop, encouraging her to take more deep gulps of air and fumes.

“I know how much you want your punishment, Collette, and I certainly know how much I enjoy delivering it. Oh yes. But I can’t spend all my time ... correcting...”

The Comtesse paused to swipe the crop across Collette’s ass, four hard blows and each of them winning louder cries from the bound girl.

“... your mistakes. I need to give you a more ... productive object for your desires. Something new, for you to focus upon.”

The vapours were working on the girl. Each breath would be making her heart race. Her cunt was glistening wet in the candlelight.

“Anyone would think,” said the Comtesse, “that you didn’t enjoy your little anal toy, but I know that you do. Tell me Collette, tell me how much you enjoy being penetrated in your ass.”

“No, Madame ... it’s ... ohhhhh ...” To speak, Collette had to take another breath. This was enough to make thought very difficult for her. “I don’t ... I don’t want to...” she tried.

“Yes, Collette. It’s entirely what you want. You want it very badly, I think. Say it.”

“Oh god ... Madame, I’ll try harder, I promise ...”

She struck Collette again with the crop. The girl hissed but then she was breathing in, hard, and that was the point.

“You want to be filled up, don’t you?”

“No, I ... please ...”

Poor Collette, the Comtesse thought. You feel it already. You never liked the plug, never liked being taken that way, but now you feel that desperate need, taking you over. “Aching for it, aren’t you?” she murmured.

“Oh Madame, I ... I need ... but ...”

“Are the feelings confusing you? I will make sure you understand. Is it ready, Adele?”

“Yes, Madame.”

She took the new plug, slicked with lubricant, from Adele. It was much more generously proportioned than the one that Collette had avoided, and so the Comtesse took care to let her see it. She wanted to let her anticipate what was coming.

“Come here,” she said to Adele, beckoning her to stand at the side of Collette, so close that their bare skin touched. “Now. Spread her.”

Adele reached to grip the reddened cheeks of Collette’s ass, and gently parted them.

“Very good,” said the Comtesse. She pressed the tip of the plug against Collette’s anus.

“Oh!”

“Hush.” She nudged it inwards, just the tip, let it slip out, pushed it back in. The pressure of her hand against the base of the plug was firm, insistent. Each time, she was working it a little deeper. The lubricant glistened on the plug, and on her fingers, and on the soft flesh of Collette’s ass. “Keep her open for me, Adele.”

“Madame, please, it’s just so big ... ohhh...”

“Yes Collette, that’s why it feels so good to you, isn’t it?”

“Nnnnnnhhh...”

“So good. So good to be stretched and filled like this.”

“I... it’s too...”

“Good girl. You’re nearly there.”

“Please Madame. Please put...” Collette’s breath was ragged, “put it inside me. I need to feel—”

“I know quite what you need Collette,” said the Comtesse. With the firm pressure of her palm she pushed the plug home and watched Collette’s ass swallow it to the base.

“Ohhhhhhh!” Collette cried out, and the Comtesse smiled.

“There,” she said. “Doesn’t that feel better? You like to have your ass stretched and filled don’t you Collette? You like it so much.”

Collette moaned, wordless.

“This is what I want you to remember the most. These are the rewards that you will crave from now on.”

She motioned for Adele to remove the bowl and then to unshackle Collette. The girl straightened up with a careful, unsteady movement, but the Comtesse was pleased to note the way she kept her legs straight and her muscles in the cheeks of her ass gripped tight, holding the plug in place.

Collette was blinking, shaking her head to try to clear it little, but the instructions and desires were already fixed into her thoughts.

“Well,” said the Comtesse, “this has been a most tiring day, but I hope that I’ve made my point.”

“Oh yes, Madame.” Collette’s breathing was beginning to return to normal now. Her hand was trying to reach back behind her, wanting to touch the toy in her ass. The Comtesse ignored this for the moment.

“M. Kaufman is due to visit again tomorrow morning. We must ensure that the American girl is ready for him to inspect.”

“Yes Madame.”

“And then Mme. F, in the afternoon. It’s hardly convenient that we have these two ... tourists ... here, but we can hope that they will be eager to move on. Did you take them something to eat Collette?”

“Yes Madame. Monsieur D’Apacher gave me something special for each of them.”

“He... What?”

“Madame?”

“What was it that he gave you for them?”

“The Carbonara, I think, on one tray, and the Bouillabaisse on the other... I described the girls and told him you would only have them for one night. He seemed very confident that there would be enough—”

“Dieu! Is there no task that you cannot turn to a disaster? I wanted them fed, not doped! How can we send them on their way now? By the morning they will be...”

“I don’t understand Madame, aren’t they to be changed, for your pleasure?”

“At whose expense? Do you know how much it has cost to synthesize the food that you gleefully fed them?”

“I...”

“Oh, Collette, I think I will have to punish you after all.”

The Comtesse pinched the base of the plug and with a sharp pull, she drew it, slick and wet from Collette’s ass.

“Ahhh!”

“Quiet.”

“But it will have to wait. Adele, have Collette taken to holding cell ... four. You can please yourself with her, but her asshole is to remain untouched. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Madame,” the two girls answered immediately.

The Comtesse sighed.

“Gag her,” she said, wearily.

Collette’s cry of indignation was muffled as her jaws were forced around the large rubber ball. The Comtesse made an impatient gesture and Adele pulled on the strap until Collette’s mouth was sealed tight. Adele traced a questioning finger over Collette’s lips, and then her own. Then she smiled and reached for the crop.

The Comtesse didn’t look back as she left the darkened hall. There were many arrangements to be made before the morning, if any of this was to be salvaged.

What was it the English said?

No rest for the wicked.