The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Queen Caoimhe sat next in her throne next to her husband’s and tried not to squirm or look uncomfortable. She managed it, because she had a lifetime of training and practice, but inside her there was a storm going on. She was trapped, ordered by Tyryn to go about her duties and her life as if nothing were different, but of course something was: his orders.

Inwardly, without a hint of it appearing on her face, she shuddered. He had used her body last night, forced her to enjoy it, to feel pleasure as he humiliated and abused her. Not just the physical pleasure of sex, though he demanded that and the circlet ensured he received it; he wanted her to feel pleasure at being humiliated, and the circlet ensured he received it.

She had to find a way to break free—and every time she thought that, the circlet hurt her, though with all her practice she was able to keep it from showing on her face while she stoically sat through some dispute between minor nobles over whose household had sheep-grazing rights to a field on the border between their lands. If she could just tell someone what was happening—but that hurt too much even to contemplate.

Perhaps she could order someone to remove it—but that thought, too, hurt her. There had to be a way! (Pain.) But she couldn’t even think of one without hurting. (Pleasure.) How could she possibly escape if she couldn’t even think about disobeying? (Pleasure.) She couldn’t disobey without thinking about it. (Pleasure.) She couldn’t disobey. (Pleasure.)

“Are you all right, my dear?” the king whispered to her out of the side of his mouth, a technique they’d developed to talk while holding court when both were still quite young.

No, she thought, which hurt. “Yes, I’m fine,” she whispered back, which relieved the pain. “Just worrying about Ceilidh.” That was neutral, and didn’t hurt or trigger pleasure.

“She’s back!” the king replied. “Unharmed, thank the gods.”

“I’m just worried something might have happened to her that she didn’t tell us about.” That, too, was neutral. If I can get him to suspect Tyryn—but that thought hurt too much to continue. I can’t even think about a way around his orders. Which felt good. I’m rewarded for being discouraged and feeling trapped and punished for anything I do to resist or even if I think about trying to resist—so I really am trapped. And that felt very, very good.

I can’t plan an escape. Pleasure. But if I wait for an opportunity.. Pain, but not overwhelming. And that’s the wait ou— Pain.

After the latest round of the interminable bickering between Lords Rian and Fionn came to a close, the next item came up: a petition from Princess Ceilidh herself, the first time she had ever done so formally.

King Cathal was surprised to say the least, but of course he and the queen would hear it. Ceilidh entered the chamber and smiled prettily up at her father. His advisors, seated off to the side, buzzed with curiosity.

“Your Majesties,” she said formally. “I know that Lord Donal has died without heir. None of his siblings live, nor did any of them have children. His lands therefore revert to you.”

Cathal nodded. “That is correct. I had been thinking of elevating one of the neighboring vassals and giving them Donal’s land in addition to their own.”

“Of course you could,” said Ceilidh. “But that might lead to unrest if any of the other neighbors felt slighted.”

Cathal snorted. “I would be happy to meet any who do and explain the error of their doubt, in court or on the battlefield.”

“Of course, father, but I worry for the common people. I have been among them much these past few months, and I fear the disruption to their lives that such a merger—or worse, unrest arising from it—might cause. Already Donal’s people have had to harvest without a lord; they succeeded well, but winter is hard enough for them without such changes.”

“Hmm,” said Cathal. Next to him, Caiomhe watched carefully. Ceilidh was under Tyryn’s control—and although she tried not to append like me to that thought, she did, and felt the pleasure of doing so. So this could be something he wanted her to do—but to what end? If I know his plans, I might be able to disrupt— Pain. No, don’t think it! Pain. Don’t! Pain. But the thought slipped in despite her painful efforts: Or help. Pleasure.

“What would you have me do?” Cathal asked Ceilidh.

“I think you should give authority over it to Tyryn,” she replied. “As a reward for saving me.”

The murmurs of the advisers rose to a hubbub. They weren’t quite outraged enough to jump to their feet and shout, but they were clearly surprised and concerned. In the midst of them Tyryn sat quietly, smiling ever so slightly.

“I have already rewarded him,” Cathal replied. “He is court mage now, a role in which he has served acceptably.”

“But that was because he demonstrated superior magic to Niall,” Ceilidh replied. “It advantaged you, not rewarded him.”

Cathal frowned. “Careful,” he replied. “If you were not my daughter—”

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Ceilidh said quickly. “But think of it this way: tradition would reward him with half the kingdom! This is far less, and you gain a vassal with valuable skills, a tighter bond to you than the court position he has now. Which he could still serve, as many other small lords and ladies do in other court roles!”

So this is what he’s after, Caoimhe thought. But he’s given me no command regarding it. I can’t speak against him— Pleasure. —but I don’t have to support him. Pain. No! Pain. I can see where he’s going with this, and I won’t— Pain, ongoing and unrelenting, and she knew there was only one way to relieve it. I have to speak in his favor. Pleasure, though the pain still lurked behind it until she finally spoke. “I agree,” she said. “He has done great service for us and our kingdom, just as great as if he had changed the tide of a battle. His elevation is a just and appropriate reward.“

That silenced the hubbub. The queen was, technically, in a way, traditionally the overseer of the harvest, and by extension all domestic matters. Despite centuries of degradation of that power as what had once been war-leaders became warlords and at last kings, while the queen’s power became more and more ceremonial, her words on such matters still had some weight. Caoimhe’s foremothers had been high priestesses whose words were the words of the gods of sky and earth, planting and harvest, the warriors they chose to take temporarily to their beds merely generals, and some trace of that ancient way still remained. Her word was not remotely law, but it carried respect at least.

The king sighed. “Very well,” he said. “Tyryn, come forth. You are hereby named Lord Tyryn of the southeast reach, and granted the domain and keep of the House of Donal. The duties of vassalage belonging to that House are now yours as well: to govern your lands wisely and well, to provide grain to the royal stores and men to the royal armies, to remain loyal and true to your king and his house. Do you understand?”

Tyryn came out to stand next to Ceilidh, and bowed deeply. “I do, Your Majesty. I thank you for this honor, and pledge to serve you and your house, and to carry out my duties to the best of my abilities.”

“Very well,” said King Cathal. “For now, you will remain here and carry out your duties as court mage. Come spring, you will go to your land to oversee the planting.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. “My thanks to both Your Majesties, and to you as well, Your Highness.” Bowing to each in turn, he returned to his station among the advisers, who eyed him warily.

Now there is nothing to stop him from marrying Ceilidh and becoming king except my husband and... She could feel her mind hesitating, flinching away from the thought, but she forced it. And me. The pain struck, but she remained resolute. I won’t let him marry my daughter and take the realm! she insisted to herself, despite the pain it brought. But her treacherous mind was learning quickly and well, and another thought floated up from it that relieved the pain and brought pleasure: Unless he orders me to.

For her part, Ceilidh was awash in bliss behind her formal posture and light smile. I’m advancing Master’s plan! Moving him closer and closer to the power he desires. I love being a good, obedient slut for him!

That night, the queen sat in her chamber, dreading the visit from Tyryn that she knew was coming. That feeling was punished by the circlet, but she couldn’t help it, nor did she want to. At least I can still feel bad. I can hate him. For now. In the brief burst of relief and pleasure that came with that last thought, she saw her future and Ceilidh’s present. He’s going to make me love him, love this. Unless I get free. And with that thought, the pain returned.

The door opened, and to Caoimhe’s surprise, the king walked in. Surprise, and a complex blend of hope that he might end up helping her, and despair that he might not.

“It is a cold night, and it has been a while since we kept one another warm,” he said. “Shall I join you?”

She tried to keep the thought that would get her punished at bay, to hide it from the circlet, but it came through anyway: I can’t take off the circlet. But if he strips me...

Something must have shown on her face, because he stepped forward looking concerned. “Something is wrong, isn’t it? What is the matter, my love?”

She tried to tell him. “I—” She flinched as pain exploded through her, the most intense yet.

“What’s wrong? You’re in pain!”

“I... I am,” she admitted. “It’s...” she winced again. “My head.” That was allowed.

“Oh dear,” said the king. “I hope you aren’t taking ill? I’ll have Tyryn attend to you, perhaps his magic can help you.”

No, please don’t, she thought. But thinking it, let alone trying to say it, filled her with agony. It hurt so much. But I have to resist. I have to save my kingdom from him. I have to save Ceilidh! And those thoughts gave her strength—but that made the circlet punish them even more harshly. Her legs wobbled, and she had to catch a small table to keep from falling over.

“This is bad!” said Cathal. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

“Just today,” she managed. “Since last night.” That was true, and it was permitted. “This is... the worst it’s been.” Also true, and also permitted. For now she just needed to stay within what the circlet allowed—a thought which was rewarded, and the shock of the change nearly toppled her.

“I’ll send him up at once!” the king said.

Caoimhe tried to say nothing, but she was so tired from the pain, and she knew how good it would feel. “Please have him hurry,” she said, and hated herself for it even as the pleasure soothed away the echoes of her earlier pain.