The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

With her short blonde hair, plump features, and carefully law-school-appropriate-not-at-all-goth wardrobe, Cece didn’t look like a witch. She didn’t feel like a witch. She didn’t want to be a witch. She swallowed in a dry throat.

“So, you’re a witch?” Professor Ramscott asked incredulously. She dared a glance up. He had the same expression on his face as when he demolished an argument in his torts lectures. His salt and pepper beard virtually radiated skepticism. She looked back down at the close-clipped nails in her lap. They didn’t offer much in the way of support.

“I mean…it’s not like The Craft,” she explained. Did he even know what The Craft was? She hurried on. “Or Macbeth. I don’t cast curses. Hah hah. No curses here. But you know pagan rituals long time in my family funeral rites are exacting, and my grandma died so there were funeral rites. And lots of chanting.” She paused. “It was badly timed?” She paused again. “So, could I turn the paper in next week?” Third pause. “For religious observance and bereavement?”

Ramscott laughed heartily. It wasn’t a reassuring sound. “Of course you can turn it in next week.”

She felt almost boneless with relief. “Oh, thank you! Thank you! I’ll get it to you…”

He held up a hand. She stopped mid gratitude.

“And when you turn it in, I’ll dock you two letter grades. Our bereavement policy allows 2 days off for immediate family. You were gone two weeks for your great-grandmother. Is a great-grandmother immediate family, Miss Thorn?”

Cece heard her voice from a ways away. “Great grandmother was the moon’s child. We needed to set her on the silver path. Blood and bone…”

Ramscott snorted. “Yes or no, Miss Thorn?”

Cece licked her lips. “No.”

“Lawyers have to be sticklers for rules, right? Follow the rules, Miss Thorn! Get me my report on torts. You’re dismissed!”

Cece didn’t exactly remember leaving. Ramscott’s long wool coat was hanging on a rack by the door of his book-stuffed office. There was a hair on the sleeve, brown against the brown, but crystal clear, like a high-definition close up. Outside the office, she discovered she was holding it in her hand.

Cece had never liked Granny Selene much. She was intimidating and unpleasant—not unlike Professor Ramscott, but moreso, with those icy blue eyes, the long white hair, and that creaky voice. She and Selene had barely spoken, but the older woman had followed her with her eyes at family functions, sometimes, with a hungry, proprietary look. Cece had run from it all the way to law school.

She hadn’t intended to attend the funeral rites. But mom had just about thrown a fit. And then she’d had the dream where Selene…well. Cece wasn’t a witch, but she was enough of a witch to take it seriously when her ancient powerful dead witch grandmother appeared in a dream and tore her throat out with her teeth.

So Cece had found herself there, chanting and swaying with the skyclad, trying not to look at third cousin Esmerelda’s shockingly perky assets, and promising herself never, ever again. She was going to be a boring, normal corporate lawyer, make a lot of boring normal money, and leave the moon worship to Esmerelda and her assets. Or whoever. Bye bye Granny Selene.

It was a solid plan on paper. But now the witchcraft and the throat tearing and the skyclad dancing had risen from the depths like Jaws but with more chanting. What was she going to do? If she got a bad grade in torts, what firm was going to hire her? There would be no partner before forty, no comfort-lined, sheltered path with all the money in the world to keep the relatives and pentagrams and temptation at a safe distance.

So here she was, in the middle of the pentagram, skyclad again, after a three day fast, with the Ramscott hair and the snake tooth and wormwood and her own menstrual blood collected under moonlight, gross.

She drank the bitter, bubbling concoction, and made a face. This is the first and last time, Selene. She thought. One and done.

You’re done when I’m done with you, Granddaughter, Selene whispered. Which was not at all what Cece wanted to hear.

Professor Ramscott looked up impatiently. “Miss Thorn. I presume you are here at last to turn in your paper and dazzle me with your knowledge of torts.”

Cece had a sinking feeling. She had never spellbound a thrall before, so her practical knowledge was limited. But she was pretty sure that a spellbound thrall did not open the conversation with ironic condescension.

She cleared her throat and vaguely thrust out her not especially impressive chest. She wished she hadn’t worn such a shapeless shirt. Or at least had worn one that wasn’t dull brown. It had seemed like a good idea to ratchet down the overt sexuality as much as possible, but maybe she’d gone so drab that the ensorcelling had given up in despair.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, no. Next week.” She tried for commanding witch voice. “I will turn it in next week. That should be acceptable.” She caught a look at his face. “Maybe?”

There was a knock on the door. She thanked God and Selene and the Moon, more or less indiscriminately.

Before Ramscott could yell for whoever it was to come in or go away, a woman entered. A stunning woman. Mid-30s, she looked like, brown hair pulled back in a bun, cheekbones to die for, curves just about straining the structural integrity of her sweater. Like most of the conventionally hot straight girls Cece helplessly crushed on, she was so far out of her league that she might as well have been on another planet.

“Hon,” the woman said in a low, husky voice that went right to Cece’s bits. “I was going to get lunch in a minute from Rolly’s. Do you want a sandwich?” She flicked her eyes to Cece, who was trying her best to sink through the floor along with her brown shirt. The woman’s smile was like the sun turning on. “Oh, sorry, didn’t see you at first! Sorry to interrupt!”

“That’s all right, Helen” Ramscott said. “Miss Thorn was just leaving.” He smiled too, like the sun going out. “I need that paper on my desk first thing tomorrow, Miss Thorn. Or you will fail this course.”

Cece blundered out. She had a vague image of the woman’s brown eyes wide with concern, a soft touch on her arm. Then she was blessedly through the door, into the hallway, down the stairs.

Outside in the fall chill she leaned against the building, closed her eyes, and tried to figure out what on earth she was going to do with her life. Obviously, the charm hadn’t charmed. She’d been preparing it for days and hadn’t had time to work on the paper; there was no way she could finish it tomorrow, or even by next week. And she didn’t have time for another casting before final grades were in, even supposing it would work this time, which why would it?

She was going to fail the course. She was going to fail out of school. Why had she turned to witchcraft to save her at this late date? She wondered if Selene had fucked with her mind just to torpedo her law career. Or even died just to torpedo her law career. She wouldn’t put it past her.

“Are you okay, darling?” That husky alto, a scent of soap. Cece’s eyes snapped open. The stunning woman—Helen—was leaning over her, close enough to make Cece’s heart race. Her ridiculously full lips quirked with concern.

Cece took a breath and got more of the soap scent. “I…it’s okay. My great grandmother died. No, that’s not…I don’t even like my great grandmother. The witch. But I had to go to her funeral, and the paper wasn’t done, and I think I’m going to fail out.” She blinked. She was not going to cry in front of this goddess.

“Oh, baby,” Helen said. “I’m sorry. My husband can be such an ass. Look, what’s your name?”

“Cece…Circe. Cece is the nickname. My name’s Circe Thorn.”

“Circe.” Helen rolled the name over her tongue. “Okay, Circe Thorn. I’ll talk to Michael and we can get this fixed up, I’m sure. Why don’t you give me your phone number and I’ll text you, okay?” She touched her finger to Cece’s face, and then brought the back of her finger to her own lips, as if checking for moisture. “No tears, hon, she said. “I really don’t want to see you cry.”

Cece could barely even nod. The combination of relief and lust and confusion was just about paralyzing her. Was Professor Ramscott’s amazingly hot wife flirting with her? What was happening?

“What is even happening?” Cece said. It was eleven at night. She was wearing her favorite blue cat pajamas with Siamese cats.

Helen was on her doorstep. She was not wearing cat pajamas. The black dress had straps and slits. There was a lot of bosom. A lot. It pressed firm against Cece when Helen hugged her. Then she was breezing past. She didn’t smell like soap now. Some perfume like leather and musk.

“Great news!” Helen said, sitting on Cece’s couch. Her elegance made it look decidedly more run down than it already was, which was saying something. “I persuaded Michael to change your grade! We’re all good!” she grinned. “No more tears, right?” And as Cece watched, she actually licked her finger. The one she’d brushed against Cece’s tears.

“Wait,” Cece said. “What are you doing here? Michael…Professor Ramscott changed my grade? Without me handing anything in?”

Helen leaned back on the couch and waved her hand airily. “Michael was logged into his class list; student info was up. So I changed your grade while he was distracted.” There was a pause. “I found your address too.” She licked those lovely lips.

Cece had a lot of questions. They scrolled across her brain. Scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. She grabbed at one.”

“You…distracted him?”

“Uh huh,” Helen said. “I sucked him off like he’d never been sucked off before.” She was leaning forward now, breasts taught against the dress. She sounded a little breathless. “I don’t usually enjoy oral sex that much. But I knew I was doing it for you. That made it really hot.” She smiled. “I came really hard.”

“Oh,” said Cece. There didn’t seem a lot else to say.

She picked another question. “You’re my thrall now, aren’t you? It was your hair on the jacket. Michael’s jacket. In the spell.”

“Your thrall,” Helen said. “That’s what I am. I was wondering what I was. All my life. Now I know.” Her breath hitched. “A thrall.”

“Are you…don’t masturbate in front of me!” Cece said. “Oh my god.”

Helen stopped immediately. “Sorry. You get me worked up. The way you say ‘thrall.’”

“Thrall…?” Cece said.

“Mmmm,” Helen said. If she didn’t actually orgasm, it was a close thing.

“Okay,” Cece said. She needed to sit down. But not on the couch with Helen. Definitely not on the couch with Helen.

She sat on the couch with Helen. Though on the other side of the couch. Helen looked the Siamese cat pajamas up and down in a way that Siamese cat pajamas were really not meant to be looked up and down. Then she slid over, till their knees were almost touching. Cece felt her breath quicken.

“Okay,” Cece said again. “This…this is not how that was supposed to go. I was going to thrall Ramscott and then he’d change my grade and that would be it. Because like obviously sex with Ramscott is not a thing that appeals.”

“I was kind of over it too,” Helen admitted. “Until I realized how it would help you. Then it was like my cunt was on fire.” She put her hand on Cece’s arm conspiratorially, her voice lowering even more. “And not just my cunt. He’d wanted to fuck my ass forever, but I wasn’t interested until you inspired me. He bent me over the desk and…”

“Stop!” Cece said. “That is…okay, you got him out of the way for a bit and changed the grades but that’s not going to last, right? He’s going to figure out that you changed it and then I’m going to fail anyway?”

Helen smiled. “Trust your thrall, baby. I can keep him distracted. I’m going to keep him so hard and happy he can barely think about his classes. And if he does find out…” she shrugged, doing impossibly insinuating things with her breasts. “I teach torts too next semester. I’ll just sign you up and give you an A…oh. Oh, make that an A+.” The hand on Circe’s arm clenched; Helen’s whole body tightened, her eyes closed. When her eyes opened they were full of wonder. “Oh god, I just love doing things for you. Things I know are wrong. It feels so good. How can it feel so good?”

“I…uh…I don’t really know?” Cece said. “I haven’t really done a lot of spells. I’m, um, the ethics of it…and I hate all the family rituals, and…umph.”

She stopped talking because Helen was kissing her. Long, deep, wet, and thoroughly. Her tongue explored Helen’s lower lip, then her upper one, then dove in playfully. Her breasts were pressed close; Cece could feel her nipples hard and tight through the dress. There was obviously no bra. Helen’s crotch ground against Cece’s leg.

Some infinity of time later Helen gave one last teasing nibble on Cece’s lower lip and pulled away. “It was just a rhetorical question, honey. I don’t really care.”

“What?” Cece said. She was pretty sure she had soaked through the pajamas.

“I don’t care how it can feel so good. It feels too good to care why it feels so good. You know?” She pressed the heel of her hand into Cece’s crotch. Cece made a noise. Helen’s playful expression changed to one of much more serious intent. She ground against Cece’s clit again. And again. “Oh god,” Helen said. “Watching your face when I do that is the best sex I’ve ever had.”

Cece somehow got herself off the couch and across the room and with her back to the door. “Just…hold on a second, okay? I need a minute to think about this.”

Helen pouted. “Okay. But…” her breath hitched. “Can I masturbate while we talk? I really need…”

“No!” Cece said desperately. “No masturbating! No palm fucking me! Let’s just—I need to figure this out.”

“Okay,” Helen said, straightening herself up. She put her hands in her lap, primly. Her expression was suddenly serious, concerned, professional. “I want to help you however I can. Just tell me what I need to do.”

“I guess…with Professor Ramscott…”

“That’s me too!” said Helen brightly. “Professor Ramscott. Here to help!”

“Right. With…the other Professor Ramscott, I was just going to have him pass me and then move on. I didn’t…there…”

“You didn’t want to keep him around as a subservient fuckslave?”

“Well…right. It was just temporary. Temporary help. So I could move on. And be normal.”

Helen nodded. “Okay. But I don’t feel like this is a temporary thing, a. And, b, I don’t think you’ve fully contemplated the possible beneficial implications and permutations.”

Cece blinked. “What?”

Helen leaned forward, giving Cece a presumably intentional eyeful of her really magnificent cleavage. Her voice was still all business though.

“I can do more than just give you an A+. I have contacts with law firms all over the city. Some of those contacts are people who have wanted to fuck me for years. I could whore for you. I long to whore for you. I’m going to dedicate the rest of my life to using my cunning and my cunt to get you everything you want in your career.

“Or…” she held up her finger to stop Cece from interrupting, though Cece had literally nothing to say. “Or! I could divorce Michael tomorrow, you could quit law school, and I could just provide for you. I make a good salary. I’ll get you whatever you want. If I’m not making enough money through the job, I’ll drain my retirement account. Or I could sell my ass for you. Whatever you want. You don’t even have to live with me. Or fuck me.”

She stopped, and looked up, suddenly shy. “Though I’d really like you to fuck me.”

Just fuck the bitch already, Circe, Selene said. “Then the others.”

Others?

Others.

Others…sounded nice, actually.

“Helen?” Cece said. Her voice rose alarmingly. She tried again. “Helen. There are hot girls in your classes, right? Students with, um, tits. I like big tits.”

Helen cupped her big tits. Big naked tits. She’d pulled the dress down to fondle them. Her nipples were so engorged they looked painful.

“Yes,” she said. “There are hot girls with big tits. I can roofie them so you can fuck them hard like they deserve.”

“That’s…I just need you to get a hair from their head,” she paused. “Or their pubic hair. That would probably work even better.”

Helen was nodding, still kneading her breasts. Her lips were parted. “I would love to seduce hot girls in my classes so you can mindfuck them, Cece. I’ll violate my professional ethics for you. I’ll risk my career. That would be so wrong. So hot.”

“All right,” Cece said. “I guess…I guess call me Circe, then.”

“Circe,” Helen said.

Then Helen was crawling towards her, her naked tits swaying, her eyes shining with devotion and need. Circe mentally scanned through other girls she’d known who she’d like to see with that look—that stuck up bitch Laurie from criminal law, the pretty barista—and what about Esmerelda? She came almost at once when Helen got her tongue in. And again when her own orgasm sent Helen over the edge.

“Maybe I could get used to being a witch,” Circe said.

About time, Selene grumbled.