The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Fran still couldn’t remember her life before the previous morning. On the other hand, she could remember what had happened since—so very well that her pussy leaked steadily. And now she was mooching around the pasture behind the barn, because both the objects of her desire had gone off together. Her Mistress—known to most of her neighbours as the rich and eccentric Miss Abigail Lewis (and now to several as Mistress Lewis, sorceress)—had saddled Sable up and taken him for a ride.

Miserable and restless, Fran consoled herself by munching the heads off some flowers just over the fence; and by musing, rather meanly, that said Mistress had looked just a little foolish when she rode off. Not so much because of her costume (nothing but a Stetson and a vest), but because her legs were too long and her hooves too big to fit into the stirrups. Not to mention that her horse-cock had lolled across the pommel and hung down Sable’s side.

In the event, rider and ridee were back home before midday. Even then, Fran was left to stew in her own pussy-juices, while her Mistress first methodically groomed Sable, and then disappeared into the house. Finally, after lunch (Ms. Lewis’s lunch—Fran had been eating all morning), the pony-girl was led into the barn to be harnessed. Her owner tugged and pulled various leather thongs and straps onto her; it was all brand new stuff, with lots of brass and bells and feathers. By the time the bit was in her mouth, Fran knew she was looking good.

She was also nearly beside herself, she was so randy. She swung her backside towards her Mistress, tail held high, pleading with body language: ‘Could you service me, like you promised yesterday? Please?’

Lewis laughed. “That’s definitely the Fran I remember. It looks like pony-girls are always in heat.”

‘Whatever,’ Fran thought. ‘Less talk, more action. Fuck me. Now!’ She swung her head around, and thankfully there was Mistress’s fine big cock sliding out of its leathery sheath to stand proudly in front of her. Yes—that’s what she needed! Fran watched hungrily as her Mistress held up of her formidable tool and guided it toward her juicy pussy.

When the tip of her cock was engaged, Ms. Lewis grinned, and with a swish of her own tail she stepped forward. Her fleshy pole spread Fran’s smouldering pussy lips wider and wider, until with a sudden lurch the thing plunged completely into the pony-girl’s steaming cunt. She let out a great sigh of satisfaction as she hit bottom. “At-a-girl. Relax and enjoy the ride.”

So Fran did. When, after a moment, her stallion-Mistress gripped her harness and began to enthusiastically fuck her, it was like having an itch scratched she couldn’t reach, far inside her belly. At each thrust, she staggered under the onslaught and neighed to the accompaniment of wild jingling. In her mind she was crying out, ‘Harder! Again! Yes!’

Soon, her mistress settled into a slow but steady pace, methodically pumping her probing cock in and out ... and humming. An odd memory popped into Fran’s head, just a phrase dredged up by the tune—Ride of the Valkyries. ‘What the hell is a Valkyrie?’ she wondered, even as her climax snuck up on her.

When she heard her mistress’s hum change to a growl, Fran pushed her rump backwards. Trembling with pleasure, she pressed her haunches tight to her Mistress’s belly, until she felt the lava surge of spunk spurting inside her. The sensation made her loose it: Fran gave a massive whinny of delight, and sparklers went off in her head. She might have bucked her Mistress off but for the hold her pony-pussy now had on Lewis’s straining cock. She felt her body steadily milking the length of the big tool, as semen flooded into her depths.

Her Mistress bellowed her lust as she continued to pump her scalding cum past Fran’s pussy’s tight grip. Then she actually laughed, reaching forward to stroke Fran’s sweat-drenched neck until she, Fran, had settled down enough to relax her hold. Still inside her, Ms Lewis leaned across her back and said in her ear, “They warned me you wouldn’t remember much, but I have to tell you, we’ve come a long way, you and I. I’m glad you’re happy.”

‘That’s kinda romantic,’ Fran thought. ‘Crazed, but romantic.’ She didn’t have the slightest idea what her mistress was talking about.

Finally Ms. Lewis slid her tool free, stretched her back and asked, “What do you think, girl? How about another drive?”

‘You bet,’ Fran thought, and then she watched Ms. Lewis’s tackle retract on itself, and it occurred to her that her Mistress had meant ‘another drive’ as in with the cart. Okay—that worked for her, too.

She soon found herself back between the cart shafts. Ms. Lewis fussed with the harness and rig until satisfied, then climbed aboard. Fran took a few eager, restless steps, and then with a shake of the reins her Mistress launched her off down the lane.

When they came up to the pond, Fran caught a glimpse of something sliding off the bank, like a giant pink otter. Then two pairs of arms waved from the middle of the pond—it was Alice and May, skinny-dipping.

“Hello again,” said Ms. Lewis, as she reined Fran in to a stop at the water’s edge. “Would you two care for a magical Sunday afternoon pony-girl drive?”

“Oh! Yes, please!”

“Nothing too exciting,” Mistress warned. “My Fran is unique, but she doesn’t fly or anything. Still, I expect you can take turns riding her bareback while we take a trip around the valley.”

The two were out of the water in a shot. Any resemblance to otters was gone—at close range, the two now looked like nubile water-nymphs ... complete with emerald necklaces of waterweeds. They scooped up their towels and wiped the water out of their eyes, then quickly rubbed their proud breasts, before systematically moving lower to their clefts, and finally to their feet. After this cursory towel down, each pulled her sundress over her head—which immediately clung to its owner’s damp frame. It was all done in a rush—not out of shyness, just so as to get on with the adventure.

The girls approached Fran from either side. “Me first,” both said together.

“Think of a number between one and ten,” said Mistress.

Alice won the first turn. She scrambled up over a shaft and between the reins like a pro, and dug her fingers into Fran’s latex mane. Fran could feel the girl’s damp bare bottom against her back. There was warmth there that suggested not all the liquid was pond water. Apparently Alice was finding sitting astride a rubberized pony-girl to be exciting.

Fran looked back and watched May climb onto the cart seat next to her Mistress. The cart had a front mudguard, so that the girl couldn’t easily see Lewis’s bottom half. Once alongside her, though, her eyes opened wide, and her mouth began working, although no sounds were coming out. When her gaze finally found it’s way past cock and on down to hooves, she gave a strangled ‘erk’ sound, but Alice was too busy stroking her mount’s mane to notice.

Fran thought the whole performance was interesting—it confirmed her suspicion that her Mistress was more than a little out of the ordinary.

Ms. Lewis—the woman or creature in question—just gave May a big wink, and then told Alice to hang on ... which was a little pointless, because the girl was already clinging to Fran’s neck and back like a horny limpet. With a shake of the reins they were off.

Fran trotted along happily in the sunshine, her harness bells tinkling, and started off for the top of Big Tit Hill. Once at the viewpoint, Mistress Lewis pulled her up and stepped out of the cart to stretch her legs.

It was Alice’s turn to gape. “You’re a satire,” she blurted. “A lady satire!” Then she clapped her hands over her mouth, with an expression that clearly said, ‘don’t turn me into anything ...’

Ms. Lewis gave the girl an odd look, then smiled. With a tiny bow, she said, “You mean satyr; and yes, that’s me—near enough.” Her status as a sorceress, and more, was pretty much confirmed.

Although they did their best to hide their interest, the girls were obviously fascinated by her glossy bottom and tail (which were much like Fran’s). And then there was her cock, which seemed to have a mind of its own—extending and retracting without its owner’s apparent intent or concern.

After a drink of spring water, Ms. Lewis focussed her guests’ attention on the valley view, and had a long chat with them—but not about herself. They talked about the scenery, the weather and, mostly, about the care and feeding of magical pony-girls. Fran was even included in the discussion, insofar as occasionally nodding ‘yes’ or ‘no’, or rolling her eyes at appropriate places, counted. The girls were suitably impressed, although the exact details of conjuring such a creature were glossed over.

All the while, both humans studiously ignored the heavy clop of Ms. Lewis’s hooves as she strolled along beside them. That is, until Alice observed to her friend that Fran had no horseshoes—except that she was looking at her host’s feet at the time.

“We all go barefoot, here,” said Mistress. Enough said—there was no further comment on Ms Lewis’s unusual form.

After all four had had a drink from the spring, they were off again. May was on Fran’s back, this time, and anticipation had made her even wetter than her friend. She ground her pussy against Fran’s backbone until they finally returned full circle to the pond.

There the girls climbed off, both looking flushed and a little spacey. Their condition didn’t go unnoticed by Fran’s Mistress. “Well, was it as magical as you expected?”

“Oh, yes, ma’am!” said Alice.

“Me too,” added May, who was not quite back to planet earth.

Both girls then succumbed to self-generated heat, pulling off their dresses and throwing themselves back in the pond.

“Maybe we’ll see you again, some time,” Ms Lewis called as she shook Fran’s reins and drove off. ‘Ha,’ Fran thought. ‘Those two will be waiting here every day until next winter.’

Sure enough, she spotted them the next morning, when she was turned into the lower pasture. Not taking any chances, the girls had been waiting on a shady knoll that overlooked both breeding pasture and pond.

They ran down the hill to join her, rubbing her nose and prattling about their day. In truth, all three were waiting for Sable. When he was delivered, obviously ready for action, the girls hopped over the fence to safety. Meanwhile Fran (having at this point gone without for the better part of a day) prepared to enjoy herself.

So far from being shy, she now actually looked forward to showing off. She even sidestepped around until she was presenting a better view. She’d thought she was ready, but Sable’s weight nearly flattened her yet again. He was as eager as she was; once he had mounted her, he found her hungry pussy with his first stroke. She could actually feel her belly bulge to accommodate him. They coupled like wild things, and when Sable was done and had finally pulled free, her body trembled with aftershocks.

They earned a round of applause—along with an apple each.

Fran no longer gave much thought to her missing past; she was now looking forward to continuing on like this forever. It was only the third afternoon of her second life, however, when things changed yet again. She was pulling her mistress in the cart down the main drive, along a deeply shadowed stretch where the trees formed a great vaulted arch overhead, when a car came up behind them.

In spite of her shaky memory, Fran knew what the thing was and pulled over to let it by. She was still uncomfortable about outsiders seeing her in harness, but she was pretty sure she could pass for a regular pony in the gloom.

“Hello?” It was a vaguely familiar woman’s voice, and it sounded acutely embarrassed. “Um—excuse me. Hi. I’m Loni. Ah, a friend of mine told me she used to—um—ride dressage ... sort of. Out this way, somewhere...”

“Is that so?” Fran felt Mistress’s glance on her. She gave a horsy shrug—‘don’t ask me.’

“Only,” Loni started again, “she left town a few days back, before I could find out more about ... I’m interested in ... riding, too.” She wound down again and stared. Fran noticed that her Mistress had pulled a blanket over her remarkable but distinctly unusual lower body.

“You’re in luck,” said Ms. Lewis. “I provide the sort of riding lessons you’re looking for. I’ll need a little time to set up, though. Come back tonight.” She gave a flick of the reins, a little harder than necessary, and drove Fran up the lane for home.

As she began to un-strap Fran’s harness, she said, “So. How do you feel about a stable mate—a sister?”

Fran neighed her assent.

“Good girl. It’ll take a few days,” she warned. “I have to break her in, first. Right now, I’m going to call Alice and May. I’ll tell them I’ll be busy creating another pony-girl, and ask them to hire on as stable-maids and take care of you, for a bit. They’re out of school for the summer, so there shouldn’t be a problem—their parents could use the money.”

Stable maids, but not at the stable, as it turned out. By that evening Fran and the girls found themselves at an old campsite in a pretty little meadow on the creek, not too far from the pond. Sable had grudgingly pulled into place a colourful gypsy-style caravan for the girls to live in, which was fitted with a cozy bed and loaded with food stores. On the other side of a big fire pit there was a weathered old shed to shelter Fran, her oats, and her brushes and tack.

The girl’s job was to feed, groom and exercise Fran—and to ride her, whenever they liked. Their only instructions were that they were to keep clear of the house and barn, and if they heard harness-bells coming, they were to hide. This struck them all, Fran included, as Mysterious. That night, they heard Loni’s car return up the long drive.

Next morning, Fran woke at dawn, and ambled down to the creek for a drink. Then she grazed her way back to camp and put her head in the window of the caravan. She found the girls snuggled together like a pair of giant squirrels, still sleeping. She couldn’t reach them to nose them awake, so she caught a corner of their quilt in her teeth and pulled it off. They grumbled and muttered as they climbed out of bed, but they didn’t close the window.

Breakfast was oats, all round—the girls took theirs rolled and cooked, and chased with black coffee. Afterward, they brushed their charge, and tied ribbons in her rubbery mane and tail. Then they walked her around the meadow, one leading her with a halter while the other sat astride her back. Fran loved it. The only trouble was sharing—and so, after asking her permission, they tried both climbing aboard at once. Bareback, of course—theirs as well as hers.

The girls didn’t trouble to fit her with bit and reins, finding it more satisfying to gallop along, clinging to her back and shouting directions. ‘Gee’, ‘haw’, and ‘whoa’ rang through the trees, and occasionally, “Take that left fork just past the bramble bush coming up!”

Once the transport problem was licked, the pond was their first stop. One side was an easy walk-in for Fran. Cheering, they rode her straight into the middle without dismounting, and used her for a swim platform for a while. When they’d had enough, they hauled onboard and rode her back out. After they had skinned off their sodden dresses and hung them on a nearby branch, they set off down the trail at a gallop, and all three dried off in the wind.

They began exploring all the many linking fields and trails throughout Mistress’s valley. Any trail too narrow for a cart was new to Fran, so there were some treats for all of them—a secret little waterfall, and a meadow thickly carpeted with pretty (and tasty) yellow flowers. They returned to camp for lunch—beans, hot dogs and marshmallows for the girls, and grass and carrot sticks for Fran. Then they were off again, occasionally foraging on the trail for berries and for leafy shoots, respectively.

The only fly in Fran’s ointment was that she was horny all the time. After most of a day with no sign of either Master or Sable, she started to get seriously twitchy. She could barely think of anything else. That evening, May caught her backed against a fence post rubbing my pussy. “What’s the matter, Fran?”

Fran was embarrassed, but couldn’t seem to stop.

Alice walked over. “I’ll bet she’s in heat. Aren’t you, girl? Do you miss Sable?” Then, to May again, she said, “That mare of Uncle Frank’s—Breeze—she gets so worked up sometimes, she comes near to kickin’ her stall apart. One time, he couldn’t get your Dad’s stallion around to cover her, so he showed me what Grampa used to do to settle his mare.”

All the while she was talking, she was stroking Fran’s flank, soothing her. Then she started rubbing her fist in Fran’s leaking pussy juices. It felt so good that the pony-girl actually pushed back against her.

“At-a-girl. That’s the way.” Suddenly, Alice’s fist and arm were inside Fran, driving deep. “Oof,” she said, as her shoulder hit rump.

“Oh. My. God.” said May. “Uh. What’s it feel like?”

“Juicy,” said Alice, matter-of-factly. “Once Uncle Roger was inside, I think he just sort of worked his arm around, in there... Oh! Urk!”

“What? What?”

Alice giggled. “She’s got hold of my arm!”

And she wasn’t getting it back soon, either. Fran was so close ... Yes!

“I think she likes that,” said May.

“Good thing, ‘cause I’m getting squashed in there! It feels really weird!”

Eventually, Fran relaxed her grip, and Alice extracted her now slippery arm. She massaged it while Fran nuzzled her in gratitude.

“Whew! I think I need a swim,” she said.

“It worked, though,” said May, as she stroked Fran’s neck. “She’s calmed right down.”

“Yeah, well, it’s your turn to settle her, next time.”

Meanwhile, there was the matter of the new pony-girl.

The next day, during their continued exploration the valley, they heard the sound of tinkling harness bells. The girls had been told to hide, but nothing had been said about watching, so they dodged into the thicket to lay a sort of voyeur ambush. They’d barely hidden themselves when the jingling stopped, close by. Fran stood stock still, and the girls clung to her neck, laying low on her flanks like Apache warriors.

Peeking through the branches, they could see Mistress Lewis riding a pretty little red-lacquered cart, her great shiny legs crossed in comfort. Between the poles was harnessed the visitor, Loni. The girl was wearing a bridle and snaffle bit, and a lovely rig of polished leather strips and thongs—complete with tassels and bells and ribbons, and a plume on her head. The shafts were secured to loops at her hips. She was nude, apart from the elaborate harness, tall hoof-shaped boots, and peculiar matching hoofed gloves. These last caused her to stand with her arms folded up oddly, so that her hands inside the imitation hooves hung down in front of her like a dog begging. Her big breasts bobbled and glowed with sweat as she fidgeted in the traces, but she was clearly enjoying herself—showing around the bit in her mouth was a massive smile.

“But that’s just a regular sort of girl, " whispered May. “Only mostly naked.”

“She has a tail,” Alice pointed out.

“Yeah, but its not hers, is it? It’s attached to her belt.”

“Actually, I think it’s stuck in her bum ... nah.”

“Nah,” agreed May, “Cool harness, though.”

But Alice had been right. When Fran saw the sheen of moisture inside Loni’s thighs, she had a sudden memory—of the sensation of six inches of progressively thicker rubber being slid into her butt until it popped inside, and of her sphincter automatically gripping the narrow neck behind it like a vice. An imitation tail’s fat root had once been lodged securely and deeply in her rear, so that no amount of prancing could shake it loose.

‘But why,’she thought, ‘would I have done that, when I have a lovely tail of my own?’

Meanwhile, Loni stepped back and forth restlessly, and then spread her legs apart and peed where she stood. Fran thought about that, too. Humans, she seemed to recall, were usually too modest to just let fly like that. (Except Alice and May, of course, who had yesterday stood side-by-side, push their pelvises forward, spread their puffy lips apart with both hands, and then competed to see who could pee the farthest. But they giggled when they did it, like they thought they were doing something mildly wicked. Indeed, they were giggling now.)

After Loni had relieved herself, Lewis gave a little snap of the reins, and they drove off. Fran looked over her shoulder—the girls were eyeing her thoughtfully.

The pair were relatively quiet for the rest of that ride. When they got back to the pond, they had a swim while Fran grazed. A while later she looked up to see the two of them marching over toward her—a dripping, naked delegation.

As usual, Alice spoke first. “Ms. Lewis told us she conjured you.” She paused, waiting.

Fran nodded her head, yes.

“And now she’s making another pony girl, like you?”

Nod. That’s what she’d said.

“Are you happy?”

An emphatic nod—yes!

“But,” Alice continued, carefully, “Before ... you were a girl, once, like Loni—weren’t you?”

So there it was. Fran nodded again, slowly. She couldn’t remember, but yes, she supposed she might have been a girl ... once.

Alice and May looked seriously tense. The prospect of being turned into toads had probably come back to their minds. Fran decided to elaborate. Stepping over to the bank of the pond, she scraped letters into the mud: I—C-H-O-S-E. She had no idea if it was true, actually; but after all, she was happy now.

The girls seemed to relax, a little. “When will that girl ... be like you?”

S-O-O-N. Another guess, but it felt right.

Fran led the way over to the shade of a big maple, and lay down. The girls joined her, leaning against her side while they digested this information.

After a long while, Alice said, “Eww! I put my arm right inside your ...” Words failed her.

“And so did Sable!” May added. “Well, you know what I mean.”

Fran swung her head around and nuzzled them—it was all okay with her.