The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Laura Pritchard licked her lips and ran a hand through her wavy blonde hair. It was almost time, and despite all their careful preparations, she was nervous. Would it really happen? Nothing in all her years researching the supernatural could prepare her for what could take place tonight. Up until now, she and Tom had spent most of their time tracking ghosts and interviewing psychics. But here they were on Midsummer’s Eve, in the middle of nowhere, waiting for a pack of fairies. The idea sounded ridiculous even to her.

Laura stretched her long legs and checked her watch again: thirty seconds to midnight. Her eyes strayed across the dell, searching for her husband, but all she could make out was the clump of bushes behind which he was hidden. He couldn’t see her either, of course; and more importantly, neither of them could be seen from the dell or from the dark shape that loomed above it.

Fifteen seconds. Laura checked the switches on her camcorder one last time and made sure it was focused on the mound. The thing almost seemed to pulse beneath her gaze.

Suddenly a chime sounded, a note so delicate she wasn’t sure if she’d heard it or only thought it. Then the mound split open and the dell was filled with blue-green light. Laura gasped to see the shapes that bounded through that crack. Some were huge as elephants, others as tiny as fireflies; some shaped like animals, others like plants, many too bizarre to be described in any terms but their own. Winged and wingless; translucent and solid; dressed and nude; they carried their own light with them.

The fairies spiraled into the dell to the accompaniment of flutes, drums, harps and bells; and when they were all assembled, they began to dance. Their movements were light as dandelion fluff, but as they whirled, something weightier took shape in their midst. First an emerald glow sprang up, spinning counter to the dancers and seeming to draw energy from them. Lines of force crackled out from it and grounded themselves in nearby trees. Gradually the glow coalesced into the shape of a woman, taller than the others and more human in appearance. Her skin was pale as moonlight, her eyes green as the glow which had formed her. She was clothed in a few shimmering wisps of turquoise that revealed more than they hid: the bountiful curves of her breasts and hips, the huge dark areolas, the dark triangle between her thighs. She seemed almost to hang suspended in water, for her feet never touched the ground and her masses of raven hair swirled in gravity-defying slow motion: around her, above her, in the spaces between her arms and legs. This, thought Laura, was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. There was only one person she could possibly be: Titania, Queen of the Fairies.

The music quickened and still the dancers whirled, the Queen continuing clockwise to her subjects. But each time her eyes flashed past Laura’s, they locked onto her with a frightening intensity. Surely, thought Laura, the Queen couldn’t see her. She was very well hidden; and after all, everyone knew that fairies ran from humans. If Titania had seen her, she’d be gone by now.

Again the Queen’s eyes flashed, and this time a single word reverberated through Laura’s mind: Come. Laura’s breath quickened. The Queen had seen her, but rather than fleeing, she’d actually invited Laura to join the dance!

Laura’s thoughts raced. She and Tom had only come out here to film the dance; they’d never thought of making contact with the fairies. And the whirring camcorder assured her that their future as supernaturalists was already made. All she had to do was stay put, get her pictures, and leave. But an invitation like this was totally unprecedented; how could Laura turn her down? She imagined the headlines, the pictures, the publicity. And what would Tom think, to see her skipping down into the dell to dance with fairies? Suddenly she pulled up short: she was halfway down the dell, though she’d never made a conscious decision to move!

Reflexively Laura started to crouch, but it was too late. The Queen had seen her before she ever moved, and even now those emerald eyes flashed again: Come! Laura lurched upright, gasping at the strength of the command. The fairies turned toward her as she stumbled down the hill. Exotic spices tickled her nose, and their arms stretched out in welcome.

Again she paused, but the fairies were smiling and the Queen was so beautiful that she couldn’t really feel afraid. The line of dancers broke open before her, and the cry came one final time: COME! Laura staggered through the gap...

... and into a wall of force so strong it knocked her off her feet. But even as her legs buckled, invisible hands caught her from behind and lifted her upright. The hands—which she knew must be Titania’s, even though the Queen stood before her—gripped Laura everywhere: arms, legs, torso, head. They forced her to attention and turned her head firmly back to meet that emerald gaze. The Queen smiled.

Then the tempo increased again and Titania, who had been dancing as though in her own private world, began to circle Laura. Even as she passed behind her, Laura felt the heat of that inhuman gaze. It pulsed like sonar through her head, her heart, her womb. To her surprise, she even found her clit throbbing. She’d never been aroused by a woman before—hell, she’d never been aroused this quickly by a man—but there was no denying Titania’s power. And Laura was charmed. As she watched the swaying hips, the bobbing breasts, and most of all the piercing eyes, Laura found herself drifting into a kind of rapture. The music skirled around her, but she felt no urge to move to the beat. In fact, she realized, she couldn’t move. The invisible hands still clasped her, holding her in place, fixing her gaze on the Queen.

Tom, meanwhile, almost knocked over his camera when he saw his wife join the fairies. What was she thinking? Didn’t she realize her danger? Or—and this was a new, horrible thought—had Titania already put some kind of spell on her? He shouted Laura’s name, but knew she’d never hear him over the pounding music. And so, cursing quietly, he tore down the hill.

The fairies turned outward to watch him, just as they had with Laura. But no spices wafted up to meet Tom; and the moment he breached their circle they whirled on him, pinning him down with limbs as strong as tree trunks. He tried to scream, but a vinelike arm wrapped his mouth and choked off the sound. Tom bucked and thrashed, but he was only one man against a mob. At last he sagged, exhausted, into their arms—and was surprised to find himself carried into the center of the circle.

There stood Laura, quite still, with legs spread slightly apart and arms limp at her sides. Her pupils were dilated, her face slack as a sleepwalker’s. The Queen spun around her like a slow-motion dervish. Again Tom screamed; again he thrashed. And this time, for sport, the fairies let do him so. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t break their grip; and neither the Queen nor Laura seemed to notice him at all.

The music slowed, deepened. Drops of emerald streamed from the Queen’s fingers and moved into orbit around Laura. Then, one by one, they arced inward and impacted on her skin. To Tom it seemed that the sparks snuffed out on contact, but if Laura had been able to talk she would have told him they’d only gone further in. The sparks that breached her body settled between her legs, touching off an arousal like nothing she’d felt before. But the sparks that breached her head weighed down her thoughts and obscured her memories.

At last Laura sensed her danger. Tom saw her brows crease as she tried to fight back, but it was too late for that. In fact, it had been too late the moment she set foot inside the circle. The Queen was too strong, and Laura could hardly concentrate anyway, with her clit still throbbing like a drum. As for the sparks that held her mind, they were every bit as powerful as the hands held her body. All this should have terrified her, but just then the emerald eyes whirled past her face, and she was lost in adoration.

The moment passed, and when the Queen slipped behind her Laura tried again to struggle. The problem was that there was less of her to struggle by the moment. Already large pieces of her childhood had disappeared, and she couldn’t remember why she’d even come here. As for the figure struggling on the edge of her vision, he might call her by name, but she didn’t remember who he was and couldn’t spare the energy to try.

The sparks continued to pile up, as slow as drifting snow, for the Queen was enjoying herself too much to rush the process. She left her captive’s will free even as she stole her thoughts, one by one. Already the woman’s eyes had glazed over and a string of saliva dangled from her lip, but still she fought on. Long minutes passed.

At last there was nothing left of Laura but a naked will, still struggling although it had long since forgotten why it must do so. All she knew now—all she was permitted to know—was that every loss of self had been coupled by a gain in pleasure. Even now she quivered on the cusp of an orgasm she couldn’t quite reach. There was only one thing left she could do. And so, with her final act of free will she turned herself over to the invader. The Queen’s power gushed through her, and the resulting orgasm drove the last feeble thoughts from her brain.

Laura’s eyes rolled up in her head until not even a sliver of iris remained. Saliva pooled between her breasts and a stain Tom recognized all too well spread between her legs. He would have hung his head in despair, but his horror was so great that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it.

The music crashed to a halt as the Queen’s feet at last touched grass. The dell grew silent as she glided across the lawn toward Laura, stopping a pace away and cocking her head to inspect her handiwork. Despite the aftershocks that wracked her body, the thrall didn’t move a muscle; she couldn’t, without her mistress’s permission. Titania looked deeper, gazing across the silent landscape of the woman’s mind. All the thoughts, all the memories, all the emotions she had ever possessed were bound like flies in amber. Titania could do with them as she chose.

And there lay the thrall’s will, as immobilized now as the rest of her. It would be a simple enough matter to crush it. And yet, thought the Queen, it might be amusing to give her back her mind at a later date...just for a little while, of course. Just long enough to watch her plead. Titania left the will where it lay; and after a cursory inspection of the thrall’s memories, left them in place, too. It wasn’t as though the creature could access them without her permission. She couldn’t think a single thought unless her mistress allowed it. But because it pleased her to do so, the Queen raised a tiny nub of awareness in her puppet’s mind. Then she stepped back.

Again the music began, a slinky beat with throbbing undertones. And at last the thrall began to move. At first only her hips swayed, but then her arms caught the beat, rocking upwards and across her body until her hands slipped to the buttons at her chest. Her blouse dropped soundlessly around her feet, followed quickly by her brassiere. Sickened as he was, Tom still noticed the blush of her areolas and the sharp jut of her nipples. They glistened in the fairy light, for even though Laura had ceased to drool, the saliva on them hadn’t quite dried.

Now the thrall’s hands slid to her hips. Not losing the beat for a second, she unfastened the button, unzipped the fly, and dropped pants and panties in a single fluid motion. Her crotch was hairless (Tom wondered sickly when that had happened) and slick with honey, the labia every bit as red as her areolas.

She stepped free of her clothes, managing somehow to leave her shoes and socks behind in the process. And then she began to dance—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say she was danced. For as the Fairy Queen lifted her left arm, Laura lifted her right; as Titania lifted her right, Laura lifted her left. Wherever her mistress went, Laura followed, although her movements were always a fraction of a beat behind, as though she were a puppet manipulated by invisible strings.

And that, the Queen told her in words that echoed in her paralyzed mind, was exactly what she was. You are my slave, my toy, my thrall. I control every cell of your body, every thought in your head. You have no will but to obey my will, no purpose in life but to serve me. I am your Queen, your mistress, your world.

The thrall accepted this without question. She felt the spells that bound her mind as certainly as a slave feels the shackles that bind her body. Because her mistress allowed it, she knew that she had been captured and enthralled; but she could remember nothing of her previous life and had no desire to do so. Because her mistress allowed it, she saw the human male hanging between his captors. She knew she had some connection to him, but she didn’t know what it was and didn’t care. She was entirely devoted to her mistress. In fact, if her mistress hadn’t allowed it, she wouldn’t have seen the man at all; for her eyes were still rolled up to straining whites. Her perceptions were controlled just as thoroughly as the rest of her.

The thrall danced in her mistress’ wake, each manipulation of her mind or body bringing a surge of arousal. It did not occur to her to crave a second orgasm; she wanted only to please her mistress. And what pleased her mistress was clear. As the beat deepened and quickened, the Queen threw her slave to the ground and straddled her hips. Seized from within, the thrall jerked upright and began to nuzzle her breasts. Her tongue found the nipples, flicking them to arousal and lavishing them with licks and kisses. Her hands, driven by the Queen’s will, slid down her mistress’ belly and into the folds between her legs. They were already moist.

This was what the thrall had been made for; this was her only goal in life: to please her mistress. The Queen pulled forward, and the thrall plunged her face into the dark, wet vulva. There was no longer any need to see, or even to breathe. The Queen controlled all. The thrall’s tongue grew long and limber; it corkscrewed through her mistress’ deepest secrets, coiling across her G-spot like a tight-wound spring.

Tom groaned as his wife’s head bobbed between the fairy’s legs. Her hands roamed madly across her thighs, her buttocks, her breasts. As for Titania, she was either moaning or singing; it was hard to tell. Her voice rose and fell in time with the music, and the beat quickened with her arousal. It pounded, pounded, pounded, until the very earth seemed to reverberate with the pulse of sex. Laura’s head was now only a blur between the Queen’s legs.

Titania’s head tipped back and she let loose a shriek of triumph. A great gush of fluid drenched Laura’s head, but still she pounded on, the Queen herself vibrating in time with every thrust. And her shrieks continued, splitting the air and piercing Tom’s heart with their force.

This went on for over an hour. When the Queen was finally sated, she climbed lightly to her feet and flicked a hand at Laura, almost as though throwing a dog a bone. A burst of blue-green light arced into the space between the thrall’s legs, illuminating her pelvis from within, like a lantern. She convulsed in instant orgasm, groaning mindlessly and spreading fresh saliva on the grass.

The display was over in seconds. When the last of the lantern glow was gone, the thrall crawled to her knees and wrapped herself around her mistress’s ankles. Then she began tenderly to lick her feet and toes. The Queen cast a haughty glance at Tom—the first time she’d looked at him—and snapped her fingers. The thrall clambered to her feet.

As for Tom, he’d lost his will to fight long before now. Even in the midst of his wife’s degradation he only sagged in his captors’ arms and watched helplessly. But now that the Queen had noticed him, he entertained a spark of hope. Perhaps, he thought, Titania had finished with her games; perhaps she’d let them go now. Tom would take Laura even as she was, if only the Queen would release her. And if she wouldn’t, he was ready to face his own thralldom, as well. At least it would mean he and Laura stayed together; and from the look of it, they wouldn’t be in any pain. He hated to admit it, but Laura did seem to be enjoying herself. If that was thralldom....

But Tom’s hopes were dashed when the Queen turned away again. She gestured to her court, and a swarm of tiny fairies fluttered forward, bearing silver rings and chains. Smiling gently, Titania took a single hoop, twisted it open, and drove its need-sharp point through the captive’s nipple. Tom cringed to hear Laura cry, then cringed again as he realized it was a sound of pleasure.

The Queen refastened the ring, then moved on to the second nipple. Tiny beads of blood welled from the wounds, and she bent forward to lap them up, delicate as a cat with a bowl of milk. Tom shuddered along with Laura, although not for the same reasons. And here he’d thought the worst was over.

Now Titania paused, savoring the moment. To Tom it seemed that Laura could sense what was coming, for she ground her legs together and moaned softly. The Queen smiled again, then reached down and speared the sheath around the thrall’s clit with the third ring. Laura threw her head back and shrieked, but Titania cut her off with a flick of her fingers. The thrall jerked to attention, breathing hard.

Again the Queen paused, surveying at her work. Then she hooked a finger through the clitoris ring and tugged. The thrall’s breath came even faster, but she was forbidden to make any other response. Her eyes bulged, blood vessels clearly visible amid the white.

The Queen twisted the ring almost idly, enjoying her thrall’s discomfiture. Then she gestured to her attendants. The fairies brought forth a silver collar, unadorned except for a single hoop on the front. Titania fastened it around the thrall’s neck. The catch snapped shut with a click, then melted away, taking the seam with it. Nothing short of a blowtorch could remove the collar now.

Looking pleased with herself, the Queen strung chains between the four hoops, creating a diamond pattern that danced with fairy light. The thrall’s crotch and nipples grew even redder, but she remained at attention, not moving even when the attendants fluttered to the hoops and began to swing on them. They scattered as the Queen raised her hand.

Now she began to chant—in English for the first time. Tom was not comforted to realize this was for his benefit. “From this night forward to the end of time,” the Queen intoned, “you belong to me. You have no mind of your own, no body of your own, no life of your own. You exist to serve me; and I shall do with you as I exactly as I please. You will be immortal, and you will be immortally enthralled.” She passed a hand in front of Laura’s eyes, and they grew as flawlessly white as pearls. “From this night forward to the end of time, you will see only what I will you to see.”

She passed her hands over Laura’s ears, and they filled in with smooth pink flesh. “From this night forward to the end of time, you will hear only what I will you to hear.”

She ran a finger across Laura’s lips, and they melted into a seamless wall of skin. “Your mouth is mine, as is your sex—” the finger dipped to Laura’s crotch and erased her entire vulva except for the clit ring—“to make and unmake at my pleasure.

“As for your mind—” her hand fanned across Laura’s face and for a moment the wasteland behind it was visible even to Tom. The Queen laughed. “What mind? I alone control you. From this night forward to the end of time, you belong to me. Now kneel, thrall, and demonstrate your submission.”

Eyeless, earless, mouthless, the thrall did as she was commanded. Because her mistress willed it, she saw the second chain as it was fastened to her collar; she saw her mistress take the other end firmly in hand; she heard the command to do her obeisance. She groveled at her mistress’s feet, and because she no longer had a mouth to kiss them with, she rubbed them lovingly with her breasts. The rings caressed her nipples and tugged the chains connecting to her clit. As for that tiny organ, it still existed behind its wall of flesh, and it throbbed exquisitely at the stimulation. But the thrall existed only to serve her mistress, so she made no attempt to feed her own pleasure.

Sometime later Titania recalled her to her feet, then turned away. The thrall’s world vanished instantly. Lacking her mistress’s attention, she could neither see nor hear, nor even think in the meager way that had been left to her. She was capable of nothing but waiting—for centuries, if need be. Her breath slowed almost to nothing; her nipples lost their rosy glow, her skin grew cold and gray. She was little more than a statue.

Titania gestured to two of her court, who sprinted into the woods and returned with the humans’ video equipment. These they spread at the Queen’s feet, then gathered Laura’s clothes and added them to the pile. Titania passed her hands over them, and clothes and camera alike crumbled into dust. Then a breeze sprang—or was called—up, and even the dust blew away.

The Queen’s eyes met Tom’s. Although she didn’t deign to speak—it was clearly beneath her to do so—her words rang in his head. Foolish humans, she mocked, thinking to make us prey. The Queen of Faerie will never be captured, on film or in any other manner. You mortals, on the other hand....

She turned her back on him and flicked her new thrall’s leash. Laura drew a deep breath through her nose. Then her skin grew warm and pink and she bowed before her mistress. The music started up and the Queen began her final dance, back toward the fairy mound. Laura followed jerkily in her wake, and behind them spiraled the rest of the fairy court.

As for Tom, he stood rooted to the spot long after his captors released him. He watched his wife, dancing naked and mindless on the end of a chain, as she disappeared into the fairy mound. He watched the crack in the hill reseal, and knew without trying that he’d never get it open again. He watched the sun come up over the edge of the dell and sparkle on the last rusty flakes of his video equipment.

And at last the grief overwhelmed him, but the tears were a welcome distraction from the throbbing in his groin. He wished like hell the Queen had taken him.