The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Charlie felt like absolute shit. Not only was he hung over, but his back felt like he’d had a chair broken over it, or he’d fallen back onto some glass, or something.

“Shit, I feel like somebody carved last night out of my brain and didn’t clean up after.” said his roommate, Steve. Charlie’s skull throbbed with every syllable. Steve put his hand on Charlie’s back.

“Ow! Fuck!” he shouted, tumbling out of bed. Fortunately, he was on the bottom bunk. He scrambled to his feet and went to the bathroom to see if he could survey the damage. The light stabbed his eyes as it flicked on. Covering his face and hissing like a vampire, he turned it off and grabbed a glow-stick from the drawer instead. The softer, blue glow didn’t hurt nearly as much. He held it over his back and turned his head around to see what was there.

“Boss tattoo, man.” Steve said by way of a compliment. “Bitchin’!”

“My mom’s gonna bitch when she sees it this Thanksgiving.” Charlie said.

“So keep yer shirt on, duh.” Steve said. “Uh, I think...yeah, we were at the south end of the mall. It’s the only place in town with an occult bookstore anywhere near a tattoo parlor seedy enough to take our money while we’re drunk.”

“Huh?” Charlie asked. He found his friend holding a big, thick, leatherbound book with one of Charlie’s socks marking a page. He picked it up and opened it. That same symbol was sprawled all over one page of the book. The opposite page, from what little Charlie knew of Old English, especially in his current state, described the symbol as a charm to ward off hostile magics, bad luck and possession. “We gotta take this book back. It looks expensive.”

“Good luck taking that tat back.” Steve joked. He laughed, then winced as the action irritated his dehydrated brain. Charlie found some socks, his shoes—one of which was hooked on the traffic cone on Steve’s head—and a shirt. He hoped he could get his money back.

Amelie could sense a powerful magical presence nearby. A young scholar emerged from the dorms, wearing dark sunglasses and carrying a leatherbound tome under his arm.

“That...that mark on the cover!” she gasped. “The Grimoire of Tashi Myrdhynn! At last!” The youth headed for the mall. “Could it be he purchased it at that seedy bookstore? Perhaps in a state of extreme inebriation? After four hundred years, the gods at last reward my patience!” She teleported to the mall to lay her trap. She had to erase and re-draw the lines twice, because her hands shook from extreme excitement. She made herself invisible and lay in wait as her quarry approached. He passed through her magical snare and entered the bookstore without harm. Blast! She must have botched it after all! She appeared in his path, spreading out her cloak to unveil what lay beneath.

“Give me the grimoire!” she demanded. He looked confused for a moment, then looked at the book in his hands.

“Oh, you mean this thing?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said huskily.

“’Kay.” he said, handing over the book as if it were Curious George and the Magic Show, not a conduit of unimaginable power. She was taken aback at how easy it had been.

“Just like that?” she asked, clutching it to her breast.

“Well, I can’t use it, and it ain’t worth having my balls banished to another dimension or something.” he said. “Besides, I don’t hit girls.”

At the sound of the word “girls,” fury boiled within Amelie’s breast. “Impudent wretch!” she shrilled. She was about to cast lightning and make him dwell on such insolence in the afterlife, but then had another thought. Opening the Grimoire, she began to flip through its pages while her prey backed away, frightened by her tone. He tripped over a display and struggled like a turtle turned onto its back. An evil smile crept across her face as she found a suitable spell. She began her chant, holding one hand over her head. A glowing green cloud of noxious evil appeared in her hand, growing from the size of a marble, past that of a baseball, to softball, then eventually dodgeball size. The youngster had taken his feet by then and stood transfixed by the cloud. She cast it in his direction. Instinctively he covered his head with his arms. She laughed. The laugh became a scream of horror as the spell bounced back, striking her in the chest and wrapping around her like spidersilk around a fly, binding her mind and body to serve the will of another.

Charlie was still feeling about half-dead as he made his way into the mall. He bought a large Gatorade at the Snack Shack to rehydrate, and downed the whole thing on the way to the bookstore. He tossed it in a trash can next to the bathrooms and headed into the shop. He felt a tingle as he entered. Probably an electrical fault, he guessed. Suddenly, he was confronted by the Bitch Goddess of Porn Purgatory, or such was his estimation. Her legs were sheathed in black leather mid-thigh boots with six-inch stilletto heels. Her torso was encased in a black corset-suit that shaped her body and put her very impressive breasts on a shelf for display, hinting at the nipples it almost concealed. Her hands were covered in shiny black gloves that ran most of the way to her shoulders, and the whole was surrounded by a floor-length black cloak, which she presently threw back over her shoulders to unveil herself. Her face wasn’t too bad either, with fair skin that stood out starkly against the black, and flame-red hair tied up near the top then allowed to cascade down the unseen reaches of her back.

“Give me the grimoire!” she demanded.

The what? he thought, head still fuzzy, and the fact that this woman was diverting blood away from his already-abused brain wasn’t helping things. “Oh, you mean this thing?” he asked, once his eyes noticed the book he was still carrying.

“Yes!” she said, in a voice like a horny pornstar.

“’Kay.” he said. Having no desire to get killed by an evil sorceress in a futile attempt to keep the spellbook out of her hands, he handed it over immediately.

“Just like that?” she asked, surprised, but hugging the book as if afraid he would change his mind.

“Well, I can’t use it, and it ain’t worth having my balls banished to another dimension or something.” he said. “Besides, I don’t hit girls.” As soon as that last sentence left his mouth, he knew it was the WORST thing he could possibly have said. Oh, shit! he thought as her pretty face twisted in rage.

“Impudent wretch!” she shrieked.

Oh, fuck me! he thought, backing away as she got ready to cast a spell. She decided to try one from the book instead of using her current favorite, however. He tripped over a display and ended up splayed out on the floor, scrambling to get his feet back under him as paperback bargain books slipped and slid beneath him. The sorceress’s face took on one of those “Prepare for my Evil Vengeance” looks as she started to chant a spell. A nasty, green cloud appeared in her hand and started getting bigger. Charlie had just gotten his feet under him when she threw it. Instinctively, he covered his head. He felt something, like having a soft sponge-ball bounce off of him. The sorceress shrieked in horror.

That was the last thing he’d been expecting. A maniacal laugh, an evil cackle, or even “Booyah, beeyotch, how do you like them apples?” would have been within the realm of possibilities...but not a scream like she’d just been walked in on in the shower. By a mouse. With a gun. He opened his eyes and looked himself over. Nothing was changed, that he could see. He looked in the mirror on the display of reading glasses. Nope, still the same old average-looking Charlie. The spell hadn’t even put a wart on his nose. He looked back at the porn goddess, and his jaw dropped. She was standing there, holding the book loosely, with one of those “the lights are on but nobody’s home” expressions. In this case, it seemed literally true, as her eyes glowed the same placid blue as Charlie’s glowstick. He waved his hand in front of her face, but she didn’t respond.

“Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Yes, Master.” she said softly.

Master? He looked at the open page of the book. It was still the English of a very, very creative speller, but he managed to make out an educated guess of what the spell did. “Why were YOU affected by it?” he asked.

“Because the spell I cast was reflected back on me, Master.” she replied. He started to laugh. His tattoo wasn’t such a bad investment after all. It had protected him against the Bitch Goddess’s spell, and given her a dose of instant karma!

“Let’s go back to my place, babe.” he said.

“Yes, Master.” she said, and he felt a lurch as if the car of “The Tower of Terror” had just been released for its plunge, and then he was standing outside his dorm.

“Uh, for future reference, do you know a more pleasant transport spell?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, use that next time.”

“Yes, Master.” she said. It being Saturday, most of the residents were out, but Walter Bigsby, the dorm’s British doorman, was always on duty, like a kind of Right-Wing Inspector Gadget.

“Okay, bitch, make yourself invisible and follow me in.”

“Yes, Master.” she said, and chanted a spell that caused her to disappear. He went inside, hearing the click of her heels on the tile, and the stairs. Bigsby peered out of his booth, but saw nothing. Shaking his head, he went back to his book.

Back in his dorm room, he commanded his bespelled woman to resume her visible state. She obeyed, and stood still clutching the book, her eyes still glowing.

A prisoner in her own mind, Amelie could only watch herself obey, listen to her lips call him Master over and over. She was filled with a desire for vengeance, but unable to exert any control at all over her body. She was also terrified beyond belief. Her traitor lips would answer any question he asked of her. If he learned just how vulnerable she truly was...what would he do?

She prayed to any gods whose name she could think of that he had as little imagination as the other drunkards she’d encountered in her long, long life, that he would use her body like a pretty doll and leave it at that. Maybe then she could starve or die of dehydration and that would be the end of it, she’d be dead, but free at least.

“So, tell me, what’s your name?” he asked.

“Amelie, Master.” her lips responded. “Amelie O’Fae.”

“This spell you’re under allows me to control you. Can I change you too? Your mind, I mean?”

NO! she thought in despair. The question she’d dreaded had been asked, and she couldn’t stop her body from responding, “Yes, Master, I am helpless against any command you give me. If you command me to forget who I am, or to die, I will have no choice.”

“Well, that second one has absolutely no appeal for me.” he said, caressing her reposed face. He took the book from her fingers and put it on his desk. Amelie cowered mentally. She would have wept if she’d had any control over her tear ducts. “Do the changes last after the spell is broken?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, because I don’t want to have to cover your eyes to keep people from noticing that they glow.” he said. “Amelie...”

She felt truly terrified now. Damn him for being so perceptive! The little...

“...from now on, you love, trust and adore me completely.”

...angel!! How could she not have seen how handsome he was? Just the thought of him melted something inside she thought had been frozen solid.

“Your mind, your body and your magic are mine. You exist to serve me. Your obsession is my pleasure.”

Of course, she thought, how could it be otherwise? He was, after all, her Master.

“You are no longer capable of jealousy. Since it is born from fear of loss, you have no use for it, because as long as you are mine, you are never free of me, and will never lose me. I can have as many women as I want. And of course, you will eagerly pleasure them because you know it will turn me on, and make me want to use you.”

Her mind reeled under the onslaught of transformation. A new self was being born in her skull, and instead of cowering, she now welcomed the changes, as they would help her realize her new purpose.

“You cannot hurt me, or try to have me hurt.”

Why would she? She could be nothing without him.

“Though you may call yourself Amelie O’Fae when we are not alone together, your true name is Amelie, Slave of Charlie.”

Amelie felt her reality lurch as her fundamental self shifted drastically, not only changing the syllables she used to refer to herself, but the name Magic knew her as, and WHO she truly was. This was her, now. Amelie O’Fae was a fading memory, and Amelie, Slave of Charlie only waited to be released from the binding spell so she could fulfill her new nature.

Charlie was still wondering if he’d missed something even as he picked up the book and started to flip through it for the counter-spell. It wasn’t written in characters he recognized, though the label was easy enough to pick out. He ordered Amelie to cast it on herself, hoping it would work. It did, and her eyes turned back to normal. She dropped the book to the floor and prostrated herself before him, mubling something he didn’t hear.

“I can’t hear you, Amelie, get your face out of the carpet and look at me when you’re talking to me.” She looked up, and there were tears in her eyes.

“Master, your slave is sorry she tried to hurt you. Sorry she frightened you. Sorry she...”

“Shh.” he said, kneeling down next to her. He wiped away her tears. “If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have gained myself a hot, spell-casting slave-girl. And that third-person stuff doesn’t work for me. Talk normally, but respectfully.” He groped her breasts shamelessly. “Mm, are these real?”

“Ooh!” she moaned. “No, Master, I gasp Oh! I enhanced them, mmm, with my magic!” He pulled them free of their corseted confinement and began to suck on one of the nipples. Amelie cried out, and her hips bucked as the lower part of her corset began to leak.

“Did you just cum?” he asked.

“Y-yes, Master.” she said. “I’m sorry, did I do wrong?”

“No, actually, making you have an orgasm is a big turn-on for me.” he said. He stood up and told her to open his pants. She obeyed, and pulled them to the floor along with his boxers. He felt a little embarassed at the size of his penis. She seemed to sense this, and told him not to worry.

“Say when.” she said, and started chanting as she touched him. Pleasure pulsed in his body as his penis began to grow. It was nine and a half inches long when he managed to get the word out, and he came all over her face and chest.

Walter Bigsby knew an orgasmic scream when he heard one. Bloody American birds, can’t keep their legs shut! he thought, grabbing his trusty police-issue torch (he would never succumb to the American habit of calling it a “flashlight”) and setting his book on the table. It had brand-new batteries in it, so of course it would blind the lovers right proper, even with it being nine in the morning. He slipped up the stairs quietly, so as to catch them by surprise. He found the source of the noises as the young man was making some of his own.

So, it’s that blighter wot slipped by me a few minutes ago, eh? he thought. I’ll make him tell me what Harry Potter trick he used to get his girl up here, I will. He threw open the unlocked door and shone his torch in the boy’s face. “’Ere, now, wot’s this!” he shouted. Some bird in bondage gear rose up on her booted feet. She was covered in jizz, and her knockers had come loose from her corsets. She said something in a language Walter didn’t understand, and the next thing he knew, he was bouncing off the wall behind him. Pain blossomed throughout his body like lava lotuses, until blissfully, consciousness abandoned him.

Charlie waited nervously as Amelie levitated the unconscious Mr. Bigsby back to his station. Without even wiping herself or putting her boobs back, she returned and closed the door. She said another little chant, and the walls, door and windows seemed to ripple. Suddenly, it was too quiet. The climate-control unit outside, the traffic on the street, the birds in the trees, all were silent. Charlie snapped his fingers next to his ears to make sure he hadn’t gone deaf.

“There we are, Master.” she said. “Now I can serve you without worrying about that big ape hearing—and he won’t remember the last couple of hours after he wakes up.” She crawled to him on all fours, then started to lick his spunk from her body. The display succeeded in restoring his arousal.

“Do me a favor and hang my ball cap on the doorknob, would you?” he asked.

“Certainly, Master.” she said adoringly. As she obeyed, he shucked out of his clothes. He winced as his shirt rubbed up the still-raw tattoo. She touched his back and chanted, easing the pain, until finally it no longer hurt, and even his headache was gone. He craned his neck harder to see. “It’s still there, Master.” she said. “I suppose that’s how the spell got bounced back.”

“Yes, it is.” he said. “Now, lose those clothes so we can get to some business.”

“Mmm, yes, master!” she said, undoing her corset and letting it fall to the floor, along with her cloak. This left her in nothing but her boots, which he ended up helping her with. Without the added height of her boots, and after she’d taken her hair down, she stood an inch or two shorter than him, which was just the way he liked it. He pulled her close and suckled her boobs until she came again. He brought her over to the beds and maneuvered her into the lower bunk. Still suckling, he inserted his penis in her waiting opening. She was very hot, and very wet, and very tight. Her pussy hugged its new best friend with alacrity.

“Mmm, that’s good.” he said as he struck bottom.

“Yes, oh, gods, yes!” she responded. Her cries of passion were unnaturally loud in the silence of the room, but they soon had the squeaking of the box springs for accompaniment. Her magic restored his erection after he ejaculated inside her, and she let him experiment with another position...then another. They were a little limited by the closeness of the upper bunk above them, but they made do. “I love you, Master.” she sighed as she lapsed into unconsciousness. Spooning against her, he let himself smile. A nice mid-morning nap sounded like a great idea.

Steve shuffled upstairs, with his uncle Vernon’s hangover remedy under one arm. Strange, he thought, usually Bigsby would have accosted him for an identification of the foreign substance in his bag. He dared look back, and found the man slumped in his chair, with his damn hand-held floodlight sitting on the floor wasting power. So much the better. He never would have thought Bigsby would be the type to tie one on at all, to say nothing of on the job. So, he figured one of the more daring students had darted him. Chuckling, he headed back upstairs, and immediately noticed the cap on his and Charlie’s door.

She-it! he thought. The man’s a credit to the cause! He crept quietly to the door, but pressing his ear to the panel revealed nothing. He opened it softly. The room reeked of sex, and there was a second right shoulder in the lower bunk, paler and more delicate. In a pile in the middle of the room was a corset and cloak, a strange hair-clasp and, lying on their sides, the kinkiest pair of boots Steve had ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on. Ho-ho! Charlie, you stud you! he thought. The couple slept on, dead to the world, so Steve closed the door. Instantly, the room was completely devoid of noise, except for the breathing of the couple in the bed, and Steve’s shoes on the carpet. He thought for sure there was no way they could have had the dorm soundproofed, especially when there were rules against even a nail hole in the wall. Still, they did have the right idea about one thing. Cautiously removing his shoes, he carefully crawled up the ladder to his own bed and lay down.

The lack of sound kept him awake, however. Reaching over, he turned on the oscillating fan, pointed away and stilled so it wouldn’t chill the beds’ occupants. That would have to be white noise enough, at least for now. He closed his eyes and let himself have his nap. The only thing missing now was a girl to share it with, but he guessed he was just being greedy.