The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“This place had better be spotless in the morning or I’ll box yer’ ears and toss you back on the streets, so help me!” the ox-like barkeeper admonished as he hurried home to bed and wife, “An’ if any more liquor goes missin, I’ll kill ya, by God!”

“Good night to you too, asshole,” Jim muttered at the slammed door. “Fucking Irish Bastard.”

Jim looked at the sea of spilt beer, broken bottles and ashes that was his kingdom and asked himself for the millionth time what the fuck he had been thinking.

What Jim had been thinking was that he could learn much more by traveling Europe than by attending mythology classes back home in Iowa. And he had been right. He had learned that an unstable economy could wreak havoc on your budget, especially if you don’t have one. He had learned that shooting craps was a foolish way to make up for monetary short falls. He had learned that you don’t have as many friends as you seem to when you’re buying a round. Finally, he had learned that a broke and stranded American expatriate is not nearly as attractive to the opposite sex as a wandering foreign ‘scholar’ with a full wallet.

Yes, it had been quite and education. Now he was doing an in depth study of beer and vomit stains in a dive bar on the outskirts of Belfast.

It was going on 2 in the morning when Jim heaved the huge dustbin full of detritus out behind the pub to the large dumpster. There was something back there, making a horrendous noise. Jim surmised that a drunk had passed out on the pile of burlap sacks behind the dumpster and was snoring with the ferocity of a true devotee of Irish whisky. Perhaps this was the very thief that had been steeling from the stock! Jim quietly set down his load, reached back into the pub, and grabbed the stout wooden bat that was kept there for just such an occasion.

Brandishing his weapon, he snuck around the dumpster, ready to strike. There sprawled on the sacking was a tiny person in disheveled clothing, less two feet tall. To his chest, with tiny arms, he clutched a whisky bottle and a black iron pot filled with bright yellow gold nuggets. It could only be a leprechaun.

It was a fantasy Jim had had since the day he entered Ireland, so he didn’t pause a moment for thought. He reached out and snatched the pot of gold with a lightening motion that had it in his hands before the bat clattered to the ground.

He looked to the leprechaun to see if he would wake. Indeed, he did stir, eyes still closed, groping with his empty hand for the pot and instead grabbing his breast. His breast? Jim did a double take. The wee person was, in fact, female. A deeply ugly female, but a female nonetheless.

“A lady leprechaun?” Jim wondered aloud. All the stories of wee folk had always indicated they were men.

“An’ howrya thinkin’ leprechauns be makin’ more leprechauns, ya bleedin’ idyat?” she demanded, opening one bleary eye “Ya think the men folk fuck each other up their arses? Even when they do, ya don’ get no babies that way!”

She snorted and chuckled drunkenly, then started, both eyes wide.

“Me pot o’...You bastard son of a goat-fucker—Give that back!”

“You have to grant me a wish first. It’s tradition.” Jim pointed out.

The little drunken fairy turned crimson. She leapt to her feet, stamped and grunted, steam literally coming out of her ears and nose.

And then she started to grow.

She rose up and expanded out, her flesh rippling and bulging grotesquely. Soon she was 8 feet tall and at least 500 lbs. of corded muscle. Her eyes glowed red. Her mouth was full of huge, sharp teeth. She roared and the stench emanating from that ugly maw made him remember her prior odor with fondness.

His first instinct was to drop the gold and run, but he fought it. Jim had never heard of a shape-changing leprechaun. Maybe it was peculiar to the female. Whatever, he was sure he had read that once you had their pot of gold, a Leprechaun couldn’t take it from you by force, mendacity, or magic, only by trickery or barter. At least, he hoped that was what he had read. Swallowing hard, he stood his ground. If his thinking were wrong, staying would get him killed. But, of course, there was no guarantee running would save him.

“So, do you want to make a deal or what?” he asked the foul beast as nonchalantly as he could manage with it hulking over him. The creature stared daggers at him, but then folded its arms crossly and shrunk down to become the drunken little leprechaun again.

“That’s a pretty neat trick,” said Jim, “Can you turn into anything else?”

“That be none of yer fucking business!” she declared “Just tell me what ye want fer me Pot O’ Gold!”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve decided to be civil about it,” Jim said, grinning. “Let me think a moment—a pot like this must be worth a bundle. It would have to be something of comparable value. And not something material. I don’t want to be accused of steeling, as I know is prone to happen to folk that make deals with wee ones.”

“Thas hardly our fault,” she protested, “If’n a thievin’ big demands somethin’, they got no right saying’ how we goes about gettin’ it! If’n ye want somethin’ legitimate, you’d best be earnin’ it like any workin’ slob!”

“Point taken,” said Jim, “Still, I think I’d best forgo the material and ask for something more intangible. Magical, as it were. You do have access to magic, right?

“Ay, as well you know. We wee folk can slip into any place in this world and others. If’n it’s magic yer after, I might well be able to find it, assumin’ you have the wits to use it. An what sort of maguk be ye thinkin’ ye want?” asked the leprechaun. “If’n I had a face like yers, I’d be wantin’ t’be able t’turn m’self invisible, thas fer sure! HA!”

“Hmmm, tempting but...Wait a minute. Let me think.”

“My God, man! If we be waitin’ on yer brain, you’ll be dead of old age an I’ll be gettin’ sober, God forbid!”

Jim glowered at the tiny person, then grinned wickedly.

“I know what I want!” he announced.

“Miracle of miracles!” she declared.

“Shove the attitude and just listen up. The sooner you get me what I want, the sooner you can take your pot and be gone. What I want is a love spell...”

“HA! I should’ve guessed it, I should! Surely it’ll take maguk t’make a woman capable o’ bearin’ yer stank! One love potion comin’ up!”

She made as if to disappear.

“Wait!” Jim cried.

“What?!” the imp demanded.

“I don’t want just any love potion! I’ve got qualifications!”

“Oh, Lard!” said the leprechaun, holding her head, “I’ll be here in this alley ‘til the end o’ time at this rate! A love potion is a love potion! I know just where I can get one!”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Jim, “And who ever I give it to will probably go all fatal attraction on me or something! I know how this works—you’re gonna screw me if I let you!”

“Oh God, what a nasty image!” declared the wee one. “Screw yerself and leave me out of it!”

“Ok, just listen to my specifications. I’m not particularly enjoying your company either, you know. Let’s just do this,” he said. “Now this is the sort of magic I want. It should work fast, like in a matter of seconds, and be in some sort of form that I can administer quickly and forcibly, like a powder I can blow in her face or a liquid I can spray or splash on her. None of this slipping it in her drink crap. In stories, that always seems to go wrong somehow or another.”

“Ay, an I doubt they’re be a lass in all o’ Ireland that’d have a drink with a mealy-mouthed cocksucker like yerself!” she observed.

Jim glowered at her but clutched her pot of gold even closer. He couldn’t let her distract him from his plan.

“Moreover, it should be permanent,” he continued. “But the most vital requirement has to be the type of love I want the magic to induce. It should be obsessive but submissive. It should make her worship me like a god, do anything I ask, endure any humiliation for my sake. She should be willing to share me with other women if I want and even help me get other women. She should be my submissive, adoring love slave for as long as she lives! Do you think you can get me something that will do that?”

The tiny creature seemed to sober and stared with even deeper contempt at the young American.

“Yer a right bastard, ain’t ye?” she said.

“Yes, I suppose I am, but I’m a bastard with a pot of gold at the moment, so tell me if you can trade me what I want for it,” Jim demanded.

“Ay, that I can and I suppose I will, but it’s a right nasty thing t’do to a girl. Bad enough t’make a person love a waste of flesh like yerself, but t’make her worship you...nothin’ good will come of this.”

“Well, just get it for me, we’ll make the trade, and you’ll never have to worry about what I do with it later.”

“Very well, very well,” said the leprechaun. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

She took a long swig from her bottle, squinted and belched.

“An keep yer grubby fingers off the nuggets while I’m gone!”

Then screwing up her face, she turned around and slipped out of the world, leaving Jim alone in the alley clutching her treasure.

Jim looked around. No one was watching. Was this really happening or had he finally lost it? Only the kettle of golden lumps reassured him that the tiny drunken woman had ever been there. It took only a moment to set his trap. The waiting was the hard part.

After a minute-long eternity alone in the alley, the leprechaun returned with a pop.

“Took you long enough,” said Jim.

“We can’t all be as fast as yer slut of a mother, now, can we?” said the churlish leprechaun. “Now stick yer comments in yer bung hold and give me my pot of gold. I got yer demonic potion right here.”

She held a little heart-shaped glass vial with a glass stopper clutched to her breast. There was a pale green liquid that glinted inside. She held her empty hand towards Jim, insisting on her cast iron treasury.

“How does it work?” Jim asked, taking equal pains to keep the pot out of reach of the wee one.

“Tis simple enough that even one o’ yer limited cranial capacity can use. If ye can manage to get just a drop e’er two in the eyes of the poor girl ye want t’get yer grimy hands on, she’ll fall madly in love with ye an’ worship ye like a god an’ do anything ye be askin’ her t’do. Fate worse than death, if ye be askin’ me.”

Jim looked at the vial, or rather its glass stopper, and grinned. He couldn’t have hoped for a better container.

“Now give me me pot o’ gold!” the leprechaun demanded.

“Not so fast!” Jim insisted to her consternation. “First, I want your word. Swear to me that the vile and potion do what you said and only what you said. And swear that you’re not going to seek revenge on me, directly or indirectly, for making this bargain with you. Swear it on your treasure.”

The little woman turned an angry shade of mauve and stamped her little foot.

“I swear, on me pot-o-gold,” she spat the oath, “That this here potion has the properties I just described and none other, that the vial ain’t nothin’ but what it appears, and that I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to yer sorry, skinny ass by way o’ payback fer being a smarmy bastard who stole me pot-o-gold. Now give it back this instant!”

“Well, of course!” said Jim, extending the little kettle towards her. “Sorry to have inconvenienced you.”

Swearing under her breath, she reached for the pot and handed the American his ransom. The objects were exchanged, but then suddenly the kettle tipped, a fish line connecting one of its three feet to Jim’s belt, and half a dozen gold nuggets tumbled out. The leprechaun shrieked and scrambled, catching each nugget before they hit the ground and then looking up in fury at the duplicitous fiend who had sought to trick her.

She was met with a glittering green splash.

“You bastard!” she sputtered, clawing at her face, “You thrice damned, goat-fucking ba...ba...Oh shit.”

She wobbled around in a daze, her mouth moving wordlessly. Her eyes glazed and Jim thought she might pass out.

“Are you alright?” Jim asked. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she could lie. Maybe she had given him poison, hoping to trick him into a murder rap.

The stricken look on her face made him think she did in fact believe she was dying. She started weeping and looked absolutely miserable.

“I...I’m...I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “I’ve been such a bitch. I can’t believe I said those things to you. To YOU! The most wonderful person in the whole wide world! Oh, you must hate me.”

Jim smiled. It actually worked.

“Oh no, little leprechaun,” he consoled. “I don’t hate you. I’m sure you didn’t mean all those nasty things you said before.”

She nodded vigorously, wiping her runny nose.

“And besides,” he grinned devilishly. “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.”

“Oh yes!” she declared, brightening. “Yes! I’ll do anything for you. Anything! Just tell me what you want and I’ll find a way to get it for you. All I want is to be able to be with you and serve you. Oh, my sweet Beloved, please let me serve you.”

“I was hoping you would feel that way,” Jim smirked. “That’s why I asked for the potion. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh no, my dearest darling!” she declared. “I was a fool before. A damned fool. You opened my eyes with your clever trick. Thank you! Thank you ever so much for wanting me!”

“Well, it’s agreed then—you’ll be my very own little leprechaun for ever and ever.”

She squealed with delight and danced a little jig.

“So what shall I call you, my pet?” Jim asked.

“My name is Maureen O’Dery, beloved, but I’ll gladly be called by whatever name pleases you best!”

“Maureen...hmm...I like that. Maureen you shall stay,” Jim proclaimed.

“You truly like it?” she asked, delighted.

“Yes, I do,” he affirmed. “It’ll do nicely.

“And what may I call you, beloved?” she asked shyly.

He toyed with the idea of ‘Master’ but it seemed trite.

“Jim will do,” he said.

“Oh, tis a beautiful name, Jim, my love! The most beautiful of names!”

“Glad you like it,” he said. “But back to the subject of changes, I can think of a few things other than your name which could use changing, Maureen, in order to go along with your wonderful change in attitude.”

“What?” she begged. “Please tell me—I’ll do anything! Just tell me how to please you!”

She looked at him with maniacal devotion.

“Well, Maureen dear, you smell something awful and you’re not the nicest thing in the world to look at. In addition, I think if we were to really use your newfound devotion to its fullest advantage, you’d have to be a bit closer to my size. Is your shape-changing ability up to the task?”

She blushed furiously, embarrassed.

“Forgive me, my dear one, for having kept this offensive form for so long”

Then she writhed and steamed and slowly grew until she was only a hands-breadth shorter than he. Her blotchy, mottled complexion resolved into one of peaches and cream, a small troupe of freckles dancing across her nose. Her matted hair became clean and lustrous, forming wild, copper-colored ringlets that spilled down her back. Her dark eyes became a vibrant emerald green.

Her clothing changed as well, morphing into a clean velvet gown that matched her eyes in color. It had a tight-laced bodice and a long slit up the left leg. Her body beneath the dress bubbled and rippled until she had the sexiest pair of legs, wide, sumptuous hips, and a pair of tits to die for. Her bodice presented the creamy freckled mounds to their full effect. A gold necklace appeared around her neck with a large emerald pendant that nestled in her cleavage.

“Is this pleasing to you?” she asked timidly, “I can change it if you would prefer something else.”

Her look of adoring submission had been amusing on her tiny leprechaun face. Now worn by the curvaceous goddess before him, Jim found it far from amusing. He had the most urgent hard-on of his life.

“Oh little leprechaun,” he said. “This....This I like!”

“Really?” she asked, delighted.

“Sweet Mercy yes!”

She clapped her hands with glee and looked at him with anticipation. She knew what he wanted and desperately wanted to give it to him, but she awaited an invitation. Jim grinned, delighted.

“So why don’t you be a good little leprechaun and kiss my Blarney stones?” Jim suggested.

She squealed and in an instant, the red-haired sexpot was kneeling before him, desperate to get the treat he had for her in his too tight trousers.

Jim undid his belt and her eager hands did the rest. Soon his package was free in the cool midnight air, but with absolutely no chance of shrinkage.

“Ay, me” Maureen breathed reverently, “It’s beautiful! It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in me whole weary life!”

She gently kissed both his balls, then gave a long, slow lick up the underside of his rigid cock.

“Oh Jim,” she cried, “Thank you, Jim! Thank you for making me yours!”

Those were the last coherent words she said for a while, but she continued to mumble, moan, squeak and squeal as she proceeded to give him the best head he, and quite possibly any man, had ever had. She was incredible. It was as if her mouth and throat were designed with this sole purpose in mind, which indeed they had been.

Her deft little fingers kneaded his pubis as her head bobbed along on his shaft, her tongue working overtime. Then she released his cock, ducked under, and took both balls in her mouth. That marvelous tongue tickled them gently while her fingers worked his shaft. He might have come right then, but a gentle squeeze from one hand and a firmly placed finger from the other held it off.

She looked up at him, seeking his approval. When he smiled back, she might have come herself.

He reached down to stroke her face, then entwined his fingers in those gorgeous ringlets and guided her mouth back onto his shaft, indicating that he wanted to go deep.

She was deliriously happy to oblige. She thrust her head forward and soon that little freckled nose was being tickled by his pubes, his balls being tapped gently by her chin. She let out a musical sigh that reverberated all along the length of his rod and sent him careening over the edge of orgasm.

She swallowed anxiously, then let his spent rod slip out of her mouth, sinking down to sit on the ground and revel in the taste of his spunk.

“Oh Sweet Jim...” she breathed. “Thank you!”

Jim sighed and chuckled softly.

“No, thank you little leprechaun.”

His horniness abated for the moment, he evaluated his situation. It looked pretty damned good. Still, he was tired and dirty and dawn was just a few hours away. He decided to take his marvelous new plaything up to his room above the bar and sleep. He could decide what his next steps should be in the morning.

A brief look of disappointment flashed across the leprechaun’s face when he got into bed and announced his intentions to go right to sleep. She would have rather been screwed silly until morning, but she didn’t complain and brightened considerably when he announced his plans to fuck her good in the morning.

“Would you like me to make you a better bed?” she asked. He was sleeping on an old single mattress on the floor of the tiny room.

“Sure,” he said drowsily. He saw her blur for an instant into her original shape, then she was a beauty again and he was in a plush down-stuffed bed with satin sheets that nearly filled the small room. He barely noticed the appearance of the bed, though, because of the concurrent disappearance of Maureen’s dress.

Damn, what a body.

“May I join you?” she asked meekly, biting her lower lip in a sexy pout.

“Holy Fuck, I am a lucky, lucky man!” he declared, then pulled back the covers and she bounded in, boobs and hair bouncing wildly. Jim some how managed to ignore his cock’s suggestions, though, and after some groping, listened to the rest of his body’s desperate plea for sleep.

Maureen spent the entire night staring at him adoringly and stroking herself.

He awoke to the smell of coffee. Not the swill they made down the street either—this was good stuff. Jamaican, he later found out. As Maureen had said, she could travel nearly instantaneously to anywhere around the world. Other worlds as well, such as the one from which she had purloined her life-altering love-slave potion. She explained over breakfast that the process was taxing on her power and she always had to return to Ireland between trips, but she was glad to do it for her one-true love.

She had made at least 3 trips that morning—San Jose for coffee, Nice for croissants, and Sicily for blood oranges, which she juiced there in his room into crystal goblets.

She served breakfast to me in a white kerchief and a frilly green and white apron. He had failed to get a good look at her backside the night before. As she scurried about in her apron, though, she made an obvious effort to give me every possible view. It was almost as nice as her tits.

True to his word, once breakfast was done he tossed the dishes aside and threw the lovely leprechaun on the bed. She squealed with delight as he tore off her apron and mounted her. Before he could begin to pound her, however, his employer started pounding on the door.

“Open up so I can kill you, you whoring Yankee bastard!” he bellowed. “You left the damned back door wide open, for gawd’s sake! I coulda been robbed blind! And here you are with some tart! Open up now, I say!”

“Fuck!” exclaimed Jim.

Then he remembered just whom he was fucking and he grinned.

“Be a good little leprechaun and turn him into a pig or something?” he asked her.

“Of course, Beloved,” said the magical woman beneath him.

She kissed his cheek and vanished, then reappeared in the same position, wet and ready, while the shouts outside the door were suddenly replaced by porcine grunts.

“Do me, Jim,” begged Maureen in her lovely brogue. “Pound me hard! I want your hard prick inside me now!”

“Ha!” laughed Jim. “Your wish is granted, little leprechaun!”

He then proceeded to drill her with vigor as she cried out in ecstasy. He shot his seed deep inside her and collapsed, panting.

“Oh Beloved!” gushed Maureen as he rolled off of her. “That was marvelous!”

“Aye, my little leprechaun,” he said. “That it was. That it was.”

It was only the beginning, of course. Jim would go on to press his little leprechaun to use her powers to get him anything and everything he wanted. She would be ecstatic to comply—anything for her beloved. Together they would wreak havoc across Ireland until Maureen’s family found out and took the young upstart in hand. But at the moment, in his post orgasmic bliss, Jim was content to watch Maureen, kneeling at the foot of the bed in a patch of sunlight, staring at him adoringly and stroking her pot o’ gold.