The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Just one more try.”

William stood in the stone circle, turning on the spot as he counted the stones yet again. As on each previous repeat attempt, he got as far as sixteen before seeing his notepad, a large number ‘1’ written on the top sheet, propped up against the next stone, marking where he had started the count.

There was no doubt about it. Just sixteen stones. So why was the ring known as the Seventeen Servants? Had there been another stone there at some point in the past, and if so what had happened to it? Why did none of the websites he’d found with information about the Seventeen Servants say anything about how one of the stones had been lost or moved or destroyed—or even mention the fact that there were only sixteen of them?

“Could be a mystery in there,” he muttered to himself. “A secondary one, maybe related to the main one, maybe just a red herring.”

Picking up the notepad, and sitting on the ground with his back to the stone it had marked, he turned to a fresh page and started making notes, thinking out loud to help give form to his ideas.

“Perhaps an ancient inscription on the seventeenth stone… and someone wanted to keep it a secret, but not destroy it.” He glanced up at the stones, estimated what one must weigh. “Better make that a group. A secret society, or a religious cult… or both!”

Absorbed in his ruminations, he barely registered the sound of soft footfalls crossing the field, entering the circle, and approaching where he was sitting. Then a shadow fell across him and the pad, and he looked up with a start to see a woman standing over him, silhouetted against the sky. Squinting his eyes, he made out that she was quite young, with shoulder-length fair hair, and wearing a flowing green dress.

“It’s you,” she stated.

For a moment William wondered if this was a mystery-lover who’d recognised him as the author of half a dozen moderately successful crime novels (one of which had almost been shortlisted for a Dagger Award), but he regretfully dismissed the possibility. The tone of her voice hadn’t been thrilled or excited, as a reader could be expected to be if unexpectedly encountering a writer whose work they’d enjoyed. More… a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

“Sorry, but have we met before?” he asked. “I’m afraid I don’t…”

“Do you know why you are here?” she cut in.

“Getting a feel of the place for my new novel. It seemed like a good fit for the setting I need when I found it online, so I came down to soak in the ambience, get some local colour, before I started the first draft.”

She shook her head, her hair swinging from side to side with the motion. “On the first of May, when the sun is at its zenith, the Lady and the Servant meet in the circle to perform the Sacred Rite.” The capitals were implicit in the way she spoke the words.

Eagerly, William started to write again. Local traditions like this were just the kind of thing he’d travelled here to find out about. “Ah, excuse me, would you mind just stepping to the side a bit? You’re blocking my light. I don’t suppose you have any idea how long this ‘Sacred Rite’ thing has been going on for? The century will do, if you don’t have a precise date.”

“You do not need to know, you merely have to play your part.” The woman reached into the neck of her dress and drew out a chain with several pebble-sized crystals strung onto it. Still holding the chain, dangling the stones, she turned, allowing the sun’s light to refract through the crystals and into William’s eyes.

Dazzled, he blinked. The chain began to swing slowly from left to right and back again, and he found his gaze drawn by the motion, and by the colours of the light passing through the crystals. Purple—could that be an amethyst? And orange—maybe a topaz? He continued to blink as he attempted to focus on the stones, but found it increasingly difficult to raise his eyelids again each time they closed. His breath sounded loud in his ears, slow and heavy, and he was vaguely aware that the woman was speaking to him, though he couldn’t make out any of her words.

And then his breath sighed out as his eyes fell shut and remained closed, and he knew nothing more until…

Snapping back to full alertness, he felt suddenly cold. Which was only to be expected, given that he no longer had any clothes on. It briefly occurred to him that he should probably be surprised or alarmed about that, but somehow it seemed normal, even right. For a moment he wondered if his lack of surprise might not be odd itself, but his recursive concerns spiralled in on themselves and dissipated, bringing him back to his immediate situation.

He was standing in the centre of the circle, facing the Lady. He felt another flicker of confusion—hadn’t he regarded her as an unfamiliar woman not so long before? But no, it was self-evident that she was the Lady. She was also naked, apart from a thin silver band around her forehead, and the chain, now partially wound around her right wrist, the crystals still hanging down. And that was also normal and right, and he really had no time for this annoying inner voice that kept trying to make out that there was anything unusual about the perfectly normal and natural situation in which he found himself.

The Lady extended her right hand towards him, and he automatically reached out with his own to grasp it. As their fingers entwined, she made a sudden motion with her forearm, and the chain swung up and around, coiling around William’s wrist too.

“I bind you to me as my Servant,” she declared.

William’s legs buckled beneath him, and he fell to his knees, his arm remaining upraised so as not to break his hold on her hand. “I embrace my servanthood, my Lady,” he heard himself reply.

Another motion, this one in the opposite direction, and the chain uncoiled. The Lady released William’s hand, and his arm fell to his side. As she refastened the chain around her neck, she told William, “Prepare to complete the Rite.”

He fell onto his back, his knees coming up with the motion. Laying his legs flat on the grass, parting them slightly, he felt his cock stiffening and standing upright. The Lady knelt over him, engulfing his erection within her slick pussy, and began to move up and down on it.

His hands came up to grasp her breasts, which were smaller than he usually liked, but right now they seemed perfect to him, and his fingertips stroked delicate circles on her areolas as his thumbs rubbed against her nipples. He could feel the orgasm building within him, and did all he could to delay it, at the same time working to accelerate the Lady’s progress towards a climax. At last her body spasmed in delight, and William also found release, pleasure exploding through his body before oblivion reclaimed him.

William’s eyes blinked open. The chill of the air on his still-naked body, and the slightly damp feel of the grass beneath him, told him that he hadn’t just dreamed his encounter with the Lady.

He sat up. The Lady, now back in her dress, stood by one of the stones, leaning back against it.

“Put on your clothes and follow me,” she told him. “Did you leave anything you need at the guest house? If you did, we can collect it on the way.”

His clothes were in a heap at the foot of the stone where he had been making notes what felt like a very long time ago. As he started to pull them on, he said, “I don’t understand. Where are you taking me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Outsiders! This would be so much easier if Freddie had been chosen as the Servant.” In a slow, patronising tone, she explained, “While I am the Lady, we will live in the Manor.”

She indicated a large building, obviously several centuries old, but appearing still to be in good condition, on a hill overlooking the nearby town. That made sense, now that she explained it. Indeed, it seemed so obvious that he wasn’t sure why he’d even had to ask.

“A year from now we will move out to make way for the next Lady and her Servant. By then you will have made arrangements for a new home for me.”

Something didn’t make sense. Her words were clearly correct and reasonable, and yet they conflicted with something else he knew. He focused on the anomalous knowledge, trying to work out what didn’t fit, and suddenly his situation felt strange, wrong, weird, even sinister. “I can’t stay here for a year! I have a life to get back to, a career. I’m a successful author, you know.”

“A year? You’re staying here for the rest of your life. You are my Servant, bound to me with unbreakable ties.” She sighed. “Anyone from the town would know this, and accept the honour gladly. But as you are from… somewhere else, I shall have to help you understand.”

As before, she reached inside her dress and pulled out the crystals on the end of the chain. Despite knowing the effect they had, despite the sensation that he was being drawn into something he didn’t want to be a part of, William could not keep himself from looking at them again, and a drowsy languor stole over him as the stones gleamed in the sunlight.

“You are mine, Servant,” she told him. “Your purpose in life is to serve me. I am the only woman you desire. My pleasure is your main priority.”

She paused for a moment, reflecting on what William had said to her. “And one more thing…”

Mobile coverage in the area was patchy, but the Manor got a decent signal, so William was able to call his agent from there. The tricky bit was getting the idiot to understand his new circumstances.

“No, seriously, Bert. Dozens of stories, enough for a proper series. When it comes to region-based crime fiction, I reckon this could be bigger than Midsomer. So what’s the point of heading back when I’d only have to keep returning here for research purposes anyway?”

William moved the phone away from his ear as Bert launched into another tirade. When the flow of words slowed again, he brought the phone close once more. “No, it’s not a gimmick. But I guess you can spin it as one if you think that’ll go down better with the publishers. Now, unless you have anything else constructive to say, my Muse is beckoning. Goodbye.”

He hung up and turned his attention to the Lady as she waved him towards the vast bed on which she was reclining.

“Your Muse?” She raised an eyebrow. “I am your Lady.”

He bowed his head. “With the greatest of respect, you’re both, my Lady. And he’ll think nothing of my using that term, but referring to you as ‘my Lady’ would have raised questions I don’t think we want asked.”

“Very well. Now, attend to your Muse’s feet.”

William knelt at the foot of the bed, took hold of the Lady’s right foot, and began to massage it, kissing each toe in turn as he did. At the same time he mentally ran through the multitude of novel ideas that had come flooding into his head at her command, trying to decide which one to start writing up first. More than enough plots to keep him busy for the next twenty years. How could he not love her after that?