The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Another week’s session of ‘Dungeons and Dragons’ was at an end. The party had run into serious difficulties with a Mind Flayer, but a reckless attack by Joe’s character had saved the day.

“That was quite a risk you took there,” observed Nick, the Dungeon Master, as he cleared away the figures. “You do know that if you hadn’t got that lucky crit, you’d have been dead? I don’t fudge things to keep PCs alive, no matter how long they’ve been in the game.”

Joe nodded, but said nothing.

Voices drifted over from near the door. “It’s getting dark outside,” Skeevy Eddie was saying to Chantal, the newest member of the group. “Would you like me to escort you home?”

“It’s very kind of you to offer,” Chantal loudly replied, “but Joe asked first, and I’ve already said yes to him. You ready, Joe?”

They had made no such arrangement, but he could see what was going on. “Be with you in a minute,” he called out.

Eddie strode over to Joe. “What the hell? I’ve been part of this group longer than you. I’ve got seniority. I should have first dibs on pulling any new girls.”

Joe was in no mood to get into an argument with someone who was wrong on so many levels. Giving up on neatly refiling the mass of game-related paperwork he’d accumulated, he stuffed everything into the folder and told Eddie, “Check your calendar. The Stone Age ended years ago.”

As Joe headed for the door, Eddie threatened, “Better watch your back. You think you’re so big? Maybe too big not to get in the way of the assassin’s blade, huh?”

“Sorry about that,” Chantal quietly said to Joe as she accompanied him out of the Community Centre. “If I’d known he was that much of an arsehole, I wouldn’t have bothered to try and avoid hurting his feelings when I turned him down.”

He shrugged. “No biggie. How far do you want me to walk with you to maintain the pretence?”

“To be honest, I wouldn’t mind some company on the way home. Creepy weirdos excepted.”

“Fair enough. Where do you live?”

The detour to see Chantal safely to her front door would add around ten minutes to Joe’s walk home, which was no problem for him.

Out of nowhere, she asked, “I know it’s none of my business, but is everything okay with you in real life?”

Slightly taken aback, he answered, “Er, yeah. Why’d you ask?”

“It’s just… last week you were the sensible member of the group. Rational, clear-headed, helped avoid a couple of unnecessary combats. And then tonight you just went nuts. I wondered if something was stressing you out outside the game, and that was you blowing off steam ’cause there’s no other way for you to do it.”

He chuckled. “No, nothing like that. It was just that Mind Flayer. Anything that messes with characters’ minds hits my berserk button. Can’t explain it beyond that—it’s just…” He shuddered.

“I see.” She smiled. “Would you like to hear about a pretty epic campaign I was in back in my student days?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Chantal’s account of the old adventure was nearing its conclusion when they arrived outside her house. Since she didn’t want to leave the story unfinished, and the night air was getting chilly, she invited Joe in to have a drink and hear how her tale ended.

He accepted, mentally warning himself not to read too much into her invitation. Lots of gamers enjoyed recounting their war stories, so it was quite possible that she had nothing more in mind than explaining how her band of heroes had brought down the Sorcerer-Queen of Zeninia (or however it was spelled). And if she was looking for more than just an audience, Joe was fine with that too. He wasn’t currently seeing anyone, and Chantal seemed like a fun person, based on the couple of evenings spent playing alongside her. Plus, he had to admit to a little curiosity about how far down her freckles went…

They sat in her front room, sipping herbal tea from earthenware mugs as she resumed her narrative, telling of how the last three members of her party forced their way into the throne room, only for two of them to be immobilised by a trap, forcing the Fighter who remained active to confront the villainess single-handed.

“He figured the steps up to the dais were probably trapped too, so he jumped over them. A tricky roll, with all that armour and those weapons, but he made it.”

“And then it was on.” Joe grinned. “Sword versus sorcery.”

Chantal nodded. “So she hit him with a Dominate Person, and he flubbed his saving roll. She made him kill the others while they were still trapped, and used a combination of Charms and Suggestions to turn him into her bodyguard and lover. The end.”

Joe frowned in confusion, and then laughed. “You got me there. So what really happened?”

“I just told you. Not quite a Total Party Kill, but the only survivor wound up in thrall to the baddie.”

He made a face. “That’s it? Damn, I was enjoying that, up until the ending.”

“So you didn’t like the outcome, then?”

“Of course not. Remember what I said earlier about hating enemies with mind control powers?”

“Oh yes. And when you said it, I thought to myself, ‘The lad, ’e doth protest too much, methinks.’”

Joe swallowed nervously. “What… What d’you mean by that?”

Chantal gave him a predatory smile. “I reckon that, secretly, it fascinates you. Deep down, you’d love to be mind-controlled and dominated, at least as long as it was by a sexy woman. But you can’t admit that, least of all to that testosterone-fuelled bunch, so you cover it up by lashing out at anything that reminds you of your submissive streak.”

“That’s nonsense,” he lied.

“Look me in the eye and say that.”

He stopped avoiding her gaze. “I don’t…”

“Oh, but you do,” she interrupted, widening her eyes. “What with all the clichés about hypnotic eyes, you wouldn’t have dared make contact with mine if you were really opposed to the idea of being put under my spell. And now you can’t look away. Couldn’t do even if you wanted to.”

He tried to prove her wrong, but his eyes remained fixed on hers. He didn’t think he’d ever seen a redhead with blue eyes before.

“But the truth is, you want this. You want to keep gazing into my eyes and letting them drain your will away. You want me to hypnotise you and turn you into my puppet. You can’t hide the truth from me, and you don’t need to. So stop pretending, stop fighting, and just let me do what we both want. Say you want to submit to a woman.”

His teeth chattered slightly with the effort not to speak, but it was no good. “I want… to submit… to a woman.”

A wave of relief flooded through him. It felt so good to finally admit it.

“Well done,” said Chantal. “You’ve just taken your first step into a whole new world of pleasures.

“Now, stay focused on my eyes and relax. Take a deep breath in, and then breathe out all that unnecessary resistance.”

She guided him into a trance.

“In a moment I’m going to wake you, but you will remain under my control and stay where you are. Got that?”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Good. Wake up, Joe.”

His eyes opened and focused again on hers. Apart from that, he made no motion.

“That’s a good boy. Now, why don’t you get down on your knees for me?”

Joe silently got out of the chair and knelt in front of Chantal, gazing fearfully up at her.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him, “I’m not going to hurt you. Not unless you’re into that sort of thing too, and ask me very nicely.”

She leaned forwards. “Now, just because I’m dominant, that doesn’t mean I don’t take consent seriously. I know I forced things just now, but I had to break through the denial.

“Turn left and face the mantelpiece. Can you make out the time on the clock all right?”

He obeyed her directions. “It’s about ten to twelve.”

“Not long until midnight,” confirmed Chantal.” Could be the start of the first day of the rest of your life.

“In a moment I’m going upstairs. You’ll stay down here, on your knees, watching the clock, and thinking about your future. And at midnight, you’ll be able to stand up again. Get up, leave this room, and make a decision.

“You can turn left down the hall, open the front door, and go back to your home. Make sure the door locks behind you, if you do. I’ll never talk to you about what happened here tonight again, you’ll never talk to anyone about it, ever, and you can go back to hiding your submissive side and hope that repressing it doesn’t do any psychological harm.

“Or you can turn right, head up the stairs, and come into my bedroom. First door on the right at the top. You accept me as your mistress, let me take you deeper, and get to know the bliss of life as my sub. You will love me and serve me, and in return I will love you and dominate you. In public, we’ll act like any ordinary couple, but when it’s just you and me, I will be the Mistress and you will be the servant. And you won’t want it any other way.

“So that’s the choice you have to make. I hope to see you again in…” she turned to look at the clock, “about eight minutes. If that doesn’t happen, don’t slam the door on your way out.”

Chantal rose to her feet and left the room. Joe heard a couple of the stairs creak as she ascended.

He watched as the minute hand crept towards the vertical. He couldn’t see it moving, but whenever he drifted off into thought about the decision that lay before him, and then his attention returned to the clock, the hand was always a little bit further forward.

Chantal was right. He had secretly fantasised about falling under the sway of a female who could take over men’s minds. Vampires, lamias, succubi, enchantresses… And he’d never dared tell anyone, not even his past girlfriends. But Chantal had known without having to be told, and had made it abundantly clear to him that she had compatible tastes.

Did he dare to live the dream? To let Chantal consolidate the control she’d already demonstrated? To submit completely to her? He barely knew her. But she knew him in the only way that mattered. She would help him keep his secret from the rest of the world, and act on it in his private life. She would be the lover and Mistress he had thought he could never have. And he would be hers. Owned and utterly devoted.

The clock hands stood at midnight. Joe also stood. He turned around, walked out of the door, and without hesitation went right and started climbing the stairs to his new life.

Interlude 1

The double doors gave way, and Garv, Lillitheril, and Zabar strode into the throne room. A handful of guards barred the way onwards, but most of them fell to the warrior’s sword and the Elf’s arrows, and the mage’s dagger dealt with the other.

The flame-haired Queen Hectamb watched the fight from her throne. When the last of her protectors fell, she grasped the arms of the chair and stood up. “You dare to raise arms against me? In my throne room?”

The answer came in the form of an arrow, which, narrowly missing her, pinned the drooping sleeve of her emerald-green robes to the arm of the throne.

“You will pay for that!” her voice rang out over the sound of ripping cloth as she tore herself free.

While the Sorcerer-Queen was preoccupied with this, the trio of adventurers advanced on her. Lillitheril readied another arrow as she strode forward, intent on avenging the destruction of her home town. Her focus on her enemy cost her dearly: though she heard the muffled click when she stepped onto the ornate rug at the centre of the floor, she was fractionally too slow in reacting to the sound. Though she leapt aside to try and evade the falling net, she was not quite fast enough, and one of the weights sewn into its edge caught her on the temple, stunning her.

Zabar, as inept as ever when it came to detecting traps, noticed nothing until the net hit him. Lacking the physical strength of his companions, he was barely able to move under it.

Only Garv evaded the trap, his keen reflexes, combined with the good fortune of his being on the very edge of the drop zone, enabling him to dodge out of the way in the nick of time.

His hand went to his dagger and he stepped towards the net, but before he could start trying to cut it, Zabar urged him, “No time! Kill her before she fries us all.”

Garv returned his attention to their final foe as she stood scowling at her ruined sleeve. Three steps, carpeted in red, led up to the platform on which she and her throne stood. He frowned. Where there was one trap, there could be others, and any or all of those steps could trigger something nasty. Breaking into as much of a run as he was capable of while encumbered by his battle equipment, he leapt up them in one bound, almost losing his balance as he landed heavily beside the throne.

Her eyes ablaze with fury, Queen Hectamb spat out an incantation and gestured arcanely, and the force of her spell hit Garv’s mind much as the net had done his helpless comrades. His sword arm hung limply at his side as he gaped at the Queen. His Queen.

Hectamb’s lips curled into a cruel smile as she mentally forced a command into his head. Unable to resist, he sprang down to the floor and, raising his sword, marched over to the net. The Elf and the mage struggled to free themselves, pleaded with their old friend to fight the sorcery that bound his will, but to no avail. Again and again his blade pierced their bodies, until at last only two living people remained in the throne room.

“Well done,” gloated the Sorcerer-Queen, descending from her throne (and avoiding the bottom step). Walking towards Garv, she spoke more words of power, and a thin plume of smoke drifted up from the palm of her hand. “You’ve done such a good job of defending me from those assassins, why don’t you dedicate yourself to protecting your Queen from all who would wish to harm her?”

Her words coiled around his mind like iron shackles, and he found himself on his knees before her, his head bowed, presenting his sword by the hilt to his Queen and pledging his services to keep her safe from all her enemies.

More magic words snuffed out the last spark of rage still glowing at the core of Garv’s being. “Look at me, my loyal servant,” Hectamb crooned.

He raised his head, and felt his heart flood with adoration for his Queen.

“Now that you are my bodyguard, I think you should become more intimately acquainted with the body you will be guarding.”

The ruined robes fell to the floor. She wore nothing beneath them, and Garv’s eyes widened in delight and lust as he took in the sight of her freckled body, her plump breasts, and the patch of russet hair above her inviting slit.

“You have pleased me once today. Now please me again. Take off your armour, take off everything you wear. Kiss my feet, and all the way up my legs.”

He eagerly obeyed, and by the time his lips reached the ones between her legs, he needed no further instruction. Once his tongue had teased her into orgasm, she had him turn his attention to her belly and breasts, and when his caresses had enflamed her passions once more, she directed him to lie on the safe part of the rug, and took her pleasure from his swollen cock, achieving her second climax moments before he exploded inside her.

She kissed his forehead and whispered, “Sleep, my slave. Dream sweet dreams of serving your Queen.”

He did.

Again Joe’s return to wakefulness was followed by a short period of reflection in order to separate fact from fantasy.

He had returned to his own home the day before, but he hadn’t left it so late, and Chantal had accompanied him rather than staying in her house. There was no cemetery on any sensible route between their houses: the one in which he had imagined himself lost was an amalgam of one near where he’d lived more than a decade before, a couple of levels of a computer game he used to own, and, of course, the picture that had inspired the original fantasy on which last night’s re-enactment had been based.

Most importantly, he didn’t need to feel guilty that the vampiress had driven all thought of Chantal from his mind, because the vampiress was Chantal. Besides, it had been Chantal’s idea to have Joe play himself rather than the unsuccessful vampire-hunter who had been the victim in the scenario he’d thought up after seeing the picture for the first time.

Chantal was still asleep, and he decided not to wake her. He needed to use the toilet, though, so he did his best to minimise the disturbance caused as he slipped out from under the duvet.

A large mirror hung on the bathroom wall near the door. As Joe turned away from the washbasin after cleaning his hands, he caught sight of his reflection. On his neck, where he’d been bitten in the fantasy, was a prominent red mark. A love bite.

He tentatively explored the affected area with his fingers as he returned to the bedroom. Chantal had woken in the interim, and was peering over the duvet and around the room.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked upon seeing Joe’s hand at his neck.

“No, it’s not painful. A little bit sensitive, but that shouldn’t be a problem as long as I avoid shirts with stiff collars.” He smiled bashfully. “I’ve just never had one before.”

“Well, I had to do something to simulate the bite. And it puts my seal of ownership on you.”

Joe’s cock began to harden.

“Ooh, you like that idea,” observed Chantal. “It turns you on to be reminded that you belong to me now, doesn’t it?”

Even if Joe had wanted to deny it, his growing erection was an undeniable confirmation of her words.

“Now get back in here and let your Mistress enjoy what she’s made.”

He hastened back to her side.

Work and social commitments limited the time Chantal and Joe could share over the course of the week, but they managed a couple of evenings and one night. Towards the end of their time together on the Thursday, Joe asked if she wanted to give the gaming group a miss the following day, but Chantal vetoed his suggestion.

“Firstly, I’m enjoying the game. Secondly, we’d be letting down the rest of the party. And thirdly,” she grinned, “don’t you want to show off your new conquest to Eddie?”

“I’m pretty sure that any conquering was done by you, my beloved Mistress.”

“True, but considering how much you love being mine, I’d say that that defeat constitutes a form of victory for you. So it’s win-win. In any case, the important thing here is showing that slimy creep that, whoever ‘won’, he is most definitely the loser.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

There was only just enough time for Joe to grab something to eat between the end of work and the start of the gaming session, so he arrived alone. Nick intercepted him at the door.

“Look, I don’t usually interfere in players’ personal lives, but during the week I got contacted by a guy who used to be in the RPG Society at Glasgow Uni, with some information I think you might need to know.”

From a couple of comments made in conversation, Joe knew that Glasgow was where Chantal had studied. “O-kay,” he answered warily.

“He knew Chantal back when she was a student, and apparently,” Nick lowered the volume of his voice, “she’s into some major league kinky stuff. So, since I saw you go off with her last week, I thought you ought to know in case you were thinking about getting involved with her. Just a friendly warning, you know?”

Joe suppressed his anger and tried to focus on damage limitation. “Was this someone you already knew, or a complete stranger getting in touch out of the blue? As if, for example, Eddie had been sniffing around trying to stir up trouble after she turned him down last week…?”

Shamefacedly, Nick looked down at his feet. “No, never had anything to do with him before. Sorry. I should have realised…”

“For your information, Chantal and I are already ‘involved’, as you put it. And no way do her preferences involve ‘major league kinky stuff’.” Not the way Joe defined it, at least, and he’d read enough online to know that there were plenty of far more extreme and obscure interests out there than the hypnotic dominance Chantal enjoyed.

Nick vanished indoors, and Joe allowed himself a moment’s pleasurable anticipation. Tonight Chantal was to be the Amazon Queen from a cheesy Sinbad movie he’d seen some years before, and on this occasion there’d be no interfering crew-member to break the enchantment.

“Just a little rôle-playing,” he quietly added before following Nick into the building.