The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Maeda led Ceilidh back to her room, or so she said. Ceilidh was still in a daze, so she couldn’t be sure if they went the same way back as they’d come, but the room Maeda took her to was unfamiliar. Instead of the blank walls and pallet on the floor she’d grown used to, come to think of as her natural place, there was a simple but serviceable bed, a wardrobe, even a washbasin.

“This—” Ceilidh started to say.

“This is your room,” Maeda said, “as it always was,” and of course that had to be true. She spoke with Master’s words. And after all, Master had magicked all that grime off of Ceilidh’s skin, to say nothing of the circlet on her head; transforming her room like this could well be within his power. Deep down some part of her knew that it made far more sense for this to be a different room, but it didn’t matter. It was her room now, and had always been her room. Anywhere else she remembered sleeping must actually have been a mistake on her part—either she was misremembering or she’d misunderstood it as her room when it actually wasn’t.

I’m just a stupid slut, after all, she thought. I make mistakes, I get confused, I break easily. She shivered in pleasure as the thought was rewarded. I should just listen to what I’m told. That, of course, felt even better.

Time passed. Maida taught Ceilidh how to kneel and to bow, to dress and move in ways pleasing to Master, to fuck and to suck. The lessons were less physical strain than the cleaning, and frequently very pleasurable indeed, though of course there was pain whenever she balked at anything.

She very rarely did.

Then the day came when she saw Master again. She was woken, as usual, by Maeda, who demanded she wash and dress swiftly, then arrange herself on the bed as she’d been taught, to emphasize breast and leg and hip.

He entered as Maeda left. His eyes flicking briefly over Ceilidh; his expression changed little, but she could tell he was pleased, and that felt so good.

“Kneel, slave” he said, and she hastened to obey. “Who are you?”

“I am your slave, Master,” she said automatically, her eyes on the floor where they belonged.

“What is your name?”

“Whatever you wish it to be.”

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and satisfied and full of dark promise.

She struggled to maintain her position as ecstasy crackled through her being, but she had practiced not letting the pleasure of serving get in the way of serving. She stayed upright on her knees, head bowed, hands on the floor and slightly behind her.

“We are going to play a game, slave,” Master explained. “In this game, you will pretend to be someone else. We will both know that you are really my slave, and you will still obey any commands I give you, but otherwise, you will be obeying me by acting as much as possible as if you are this other person or creature. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good girl. Now, I wish for you to act like you are a cat.”

Ceilidh nodded dutifully, then moved her palms in front of herself and raised her bottom in the air so that she was on all fours. She raised her head as well to look up at Master, then crawled at an angle until her side was against his legs. Purring, she began to rub herself against him.

She was rewarded by him reaching down to stroke her hair and scritch behind her ears, and she purred even more. “Wash yourself,” he ordered.

She started to turn away, toward the washbasin, then paused. Maeda had already taken away the water from this morning, so it was empty now, and Master could surely see that. And didn’t he say to act like whatever he chose as much as possible while still obeying? Stupid slut. You’re supposed to wash like a cat! So she sat back on her haunches and licked down the side of her hand, then began to rub it over her hair.

She glanced up at Master—cats, after all, were known for looking and going where they chose, and he told her to act like a cat—and saw that he was pleased. She shivered in pleasure, but that wasn’t how a cat would do it, was it? She purred again, and that felt better.

He had her continue to play the kitty for a while, then other creatures—horse, dog, snake. Ceilidh went to bed that night awash in the soft, languorous pleasure of a long day of obedience, barely even questioning what the point of Master’s game was. If I am meant to know, he or Maeda will tell me. If I am too much of a stupid slut to understand, that’s fine too. She was rewarded with an orgasm for this thought, and fell asleep immediately after.

The next day, much to Ceilidh’s surprise, Master returned. He once again wanted her to play a role: a serving maid. Maida handed her a cloth, and they began to clean the floors while Master watched. “Maids,” he ordered after a time. “Stop. Stand.”

Both Ceilidh and Maida obeyed instantly, and Ceilidh had the usual rush of pleasure, but inwardly she trembled. Have I done something wrong? What if he’s mispleased?

But all he said was, “Strip, and then continue.” So they obediently shed their clothes and got back to work, while he sat on the bed and worked. Ceilidh didn’t look directly at him—she was just a maid, after all—but she saw out of the corner of her eye that he had his cock out, and was idly stroking it as he watched.

“You,” he said. “The blonde maid. Come here.”

“Yes, m’lord,” Ceilidh said, and walked toward him. A maid would be hesitant if she saw her lord like this. She cast her eyes down and took small steps, pausing frequently, almost stumbling.

“Now, maid,” Master said sternly, but there was pleasure in his voice that Ceilidh thrilled to hear. He grabbed her arm and yanked her the rest of the way to the bed, practically into his lap, and covered her lips with his own. Her mind seemed to dissolve in a sparkling, dancing sea of delight as she surrendered to his kiss utterly, folding against him and down into his lap.

He rolled over on the bed, pinning her under him, and she squirmed, feigning terror. “My lord! Please, I am just a serving maid! I clean, I do not—”

“But you desire this,” he said, and it was not a question. It was an order, and Ceilidh’s body responded.

“Yes..” she whispered softly, eyes downcast, but something hot and dark inside her leaped for joy.

“What was that, maid?”

“Yes, my lord!”

“Good girl.” And he was praising the maid, but he was praising his slave too, and his lips were on hers again, his cock hot and hard against her soft thigh, her whole body arching in need against his. She had practiced for this with Maeda on a sculpted model of Master’s cock, but this was the real thing, warm and powerful and so, so close.

“Please...” she whimpered.

“What a needy slut this maid is,” he said, and she moaned in agreement. “So desperate for her lord to claim her, take her.”

Yes,” she replied fervently. “Yes, yes, please!”

“But if I fuck you, you will no longer be a maid. You will be my slave, my slut, good for nothing else.”

She groaned. A maid wouldn’t want that, would she? But... I need this so much! But I must play the part Master commanded. “No, I, I mustn’t...“

“It knows it shouldn’t. But it is so needy! A mere maid cannot control the slut underneath.”

“No...” she whined. “I... I can’t! Don’t stop! Take me, use me, make me yours!”

“Good slave.” Then he was in her, and her world exploded in fire and light and pleasure, rhythmic pulses that flashed through her body, her mind, her soul, fucking away all thought, all sense of who she was. Maid and slave alive dissolved into sensation as she came, and came, and came, and came.

Finally she was left, gasping for breath and glassy-eyed, her cum and his slowly dribbling out of her onto the bedspread. “You did well today, slave. Tomorrow the last test begins.”

And even barely conscious, the praise still registered enough to make her cum again.

Ceilidh woke on her own for the first time in longer than she could remember. She had been exhausted for so long, and she still was—but she was also full of eager anticipation. “The final test,” Master called it. What could it be? And what happens if I pass? ...what happens if I fail? She shuddered, but then set herself. I won’t fail. I can’t. Whatever Master wishes, I will do. She shuddered again, but this time it was from the pleasure that echoed down through her body from the circlet.

She had to wait only a few minutes before Maeda arrived with a jug of water for the washbasin and instructions of what to wear. Master wanted a dress that Ceilidh had not worn yet in their games, though she had noticed it hung in the wardrobe. Something about it was familiar, but her mind shied instinctively away from consciously asking why.

Maeda spent some time fussing over Ceilidh, brushing her hair, working some kind of minor magic that smoothed it and made it shiny. But soon Ceilidh was clean and dressed and, though she could not see herself, beautiful—she looked essentially identical to the girl who had first been transported here, bound and gagged, in a cart.

At last she was ready. “You will be alone with Master for this,” Maeda told her. “Obey, and all will be well.”

“Yes,” Ceilidh said simply. Total obedience, she thought. I’ll be anything he wants—I just have to hope that in the end he does want me, and doesn’t send me away to that traitor. Pleasing Master is the most important thing. She readied herself for his arrival, kneeling in the way she’d been taught and waiting patiently.

At last he strode in and looked her over. “Do you know what role you will be taking today?” he asked. “Who you will be pretending to be?”

“No, Master,” Ceilidh said. “I will be whoever you desire me to be.”

“Yes,” he replied. “You will. This is a more elaborate role than you have attempted so far, however.”

“Whatever you want, Master. I will do everything in my power to serve you as best I can.”

“I know you will, slave.” He smiled that cold, thin smile. “To explain your role, I will tell you a story. Once there was a girl, the daughter of the king of a powerful nation. While her father was unpopular, she herself was wisely beloved by her people. She lived a life of innocence and ease; she had her ceremonial duties and her tutors, of course, but they were not overly burdensome. She also had several suitors, as one might respect for someone of such rank in such a powerful nation, and reputed to be quite beautiful besides. However, she granted her favor to none.”

Ceilidh did not look up. She was frozen, afraid to move, to breathe, even to think, for fear she would think about—No. It’s just a story about some character.

“One day,” Master continued, “she was kidnapped and taken prisoner by a wicked sorcerer who wished to claim her for himself, to wrap her in charms and spells and make her into his plaything, his slave. Now she faces her captor at last, and must find a way to escape or be enslaved—but already, her treacherous body obeys his every command. That, slave, is who you will be playing: Princess Ceilidh of Mercia.”

She gulped hard, forcibly willing her mind to stay blank for fear of what might happen if she didn’t.

“But first,” Master said, “we must do one last thing before we can truly conduct your test.” Then he removed the enchanted circlet from her head.

Author’s Note: I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! All 11 chapters are posted on my Sponsus, and I’ll shortly be starting my next project, chosen by my sponsors: Nephil, the sequel to Incubus! If you join right now, for as little as $2 a month, you can read all of this story, plus several unpublished chapters of Cape City Chronicles, and all of Nephil as I write it! There are higher tiers with more benefits as well!