The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The boy was sitting on the couch when Kim approached him. He had his arm around a blond girl and was trying to chat her up. He had wavy brown hair and large ears, a face that was boyishly handsome, with an expressive pouty mouth and slightly recessed chin. He looked to be about 20 or so.

“I don’t know if I’ve met you. I’m Kim.”

“Ryan. Nice to meet you.” He spoke in clear low tones with an Australian accent.

They began to talk casually about people they knew in common and things that were going on at the university.

“You know what Andy had in mind for this party right?” She asked.

“I know what sorts of parties he throws. What sort of people he invites.”

“Well…Are you into kinky stuff?”

“Sometimes. What did you have in mind.”

“Tied up. Tickling. Light bondage. More or less.”

He eyed her up and down. “For you I could give it a go.”

“If you want, I’ll get the room ready. Do you like it with multiple girls?”

“Sure. What man doesn’t?”

“Good. This’ll be fun. Let me get you a drink.”

She gives his mouth a quick kiss. She gets him a drink. Then another.

That’s a pretty necklace you’ve got on.”

“Thank you. I’m a witch. It helps me with my powers.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I’m a witch. It helps me with spells.”

“Um, sure. Sorry, I thought you said you were a witch.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Like a wicked witch? Or like a wiccan or a vegan or something?”

“The wicked type. I am pretty wicked. I’m not evil though. But I like to have fun.”

“Well, fun’s important. I want to have fun with you in the bedroom right now.”

“Soon. Pretty soon. A couple hours. The night is young. I’m not going anywhere, are you?”

“Maybe. I don’t need to stay here. I have places I could go if you’re not into it.”

“I’m into it. I’m going to show you how into it I am.”

She pushes him into a corner of the couch, kisses him, slides her hand under his shirt. He kisses her and puts his hand under her shirt to feel up her breasts.

“I want you.” He says. “I’m ready when you are.”

She looked into his eyes. She touches the necklace pendant. “Are you willing to do what I ask you to?”

“Depends what it is.”

“You have to wait till midnight.”

“Why? Cause it’s the witching hour?”

“You’re good.”

“I’m not making you any promises.”

“That’s all right. You’ll wait for me.”

For the next two hours they both mill about at the party while she keeps her eye on him. She handed him beer and wine and rum and coke, which he drinks and drinks. She watches him talking with other girls, kissing other girls, but intervenes, pulled him away, if it looks like he’s getting too interested and about to take one—or two—of them into a bedroom—or to his apartment.

Around 11 she pulls him aside and whispers in his ear. “Don’t go to the bathroom.”

“Don’t do what? Why not?”

“Because I said so.”

“That’s weird. You’re weird. I don’t want to be a part of what you’re doing.” He walks away to go talk to a group of people in the living room.

At midnight she pulled him aside again. By that time he was quite drunk. And he forgot that he’d rejected her.

“There you are.” He said. “Are you ready then? I was beginning to think you’d left.”

“I am. Are you?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

She leads him into the bedroom she’s prepared. There’s a bed and a modified leather office chair with a tall pole up the back and foot rests with attached straps. “Take your clothes off. Leave your underwear on.”

“I need to go to the toilet first. I have to take a piss.”

“No, sorry,” she smiles. “You get to do that later. This first.”

She tells him to sit on the chair, which he does.

“Tied and tickled? And fucked I hope. Do I get to do you or is it just you doing me?

“I’m trying to keep it a surprise. We’re starting out with tied and tickled.”

“Where’s the other girls?”

“They’re in the other room. You’re starting with me first.”

She ties his arms to the post above his head. His legs are spread hip-wide and secured in a harness with straps in several places. The chair tilts back slightly.

She begins by teasing his nipples with her fingers and with feathers. His smooth chest and arms are nicely muscled. Then she moves her fingers down at his abs and tickles his ribs. He’s ticklish and begins giggling softly. She begins to feather his inner thighs. After several minutes, he wriggles his hips. “Touch my cock.” She kisses him on the mouth instead. Then she uses the feather to trace his collarbone below a long, wide neck, then down his chest, the smooth softness of his slightly protuberant belly to the dent of his navel, which she tickles with the feather, swirling the tip of the feather around the belly button. Then she moves down to his feet and that’s what really gets him. When she tickles the sole of his right foot with her fingertips, he begins jerking and thrashing around.

“You want me to piss myself is that it? It’s what gets you off.”

“You’re not going to piss yourself. You’re not pissing at all until I tell you. You’re going to hold it all in.”

“If you keep tickling me like that I won’t be able to help it.”

“Listen. You’re not going to pee. You’re going to hold it in. I promise you. You’re going to want to pee, really badly, but you’re not going to be able to.”

“Fuck.” He seems resigned. “Whatever. Let’s get on with it then.”

Kim sends a text to two girls, who enter the room bearing pitchers of water. He cranes his neck. “What are those?”

“Bring me a couple Cokes okay? And a bowl of ice.” She instructs the girl. The girl nods and leaves.

One girl tickles the backs of his knees with a feather while Kim stand behind him and tickles his armpits with her fingertips. He laughs and jerks his knees to try to get away but can’t; the straps are fastened securely around his legs and wrists. When the girl returns with the Coke, Kim opens it and puts it to his lips. “Drink.”

“If I drink any more I’ll burst.”

She mutters a few words and looks him in the eyes. She holds his gaze and his will falters.

“Is that what you fucking want?” He asks.

“Drink. “

He drinks.

Kim and the two girls continue tickling him—feet, ribs, armpits, inner thighs, his neck under his jaw and ears. They quickly find where he’s the most ticklish. Every laugh makes him aware of how much he needs to pee. Despite his full bladder, the experience is giving him a partial erection. He’s sure he’s going to piss himself. He tries to piss himself, to spray piss all over the place, to be relieved of the unbearable strain of his full bladder and maybe they’d be disgusted and let him go. But Kim is right. He holds it in—not by choice but because he’s compelled to, not understanding why.

The need to pee becomes overwhelming. His bladder feels taut and swollen-to-bursting. The nature of their game soon becomes clear. Then they stick his right hand in ice. What the fuck. What are you doing. The freezing sensation on his hand makes his need to urinate all that much stronger. While his hand is in the ice one of the girls is using the feather on the back of his balls and the sensation is maddeningly ticklish.

“Like that?” Kim asks teasingly.

“No, fuck you,” he snaps.

They make him drink a Red Bull and vodka. He’s had seven or eight drinks tonight and it’s all sloshing around in his bladder. It’s three in the morning by this time.

“Please, just let me have a piss and I’ll come back” he says.

She doesn’t answer. Her lips find his left nipple and she sucks on it. Then she dances her fingers down in the area below his stomach over his swollen bladder. The area feels tight and sensitive. He feels like he’s going to piss himself but doesn’t. He wonders how much capacity a bladder can take before bursting. The fingers press down in that area in an excruciating way.

They tickle him some more, 10 minutes at a time, with breaks for soda that they make him drink. Every turn leaves him laughing helplessly, hysterically, and thrashing but held in place by the leather restraints.

After the next break, it turns out Kim has found a clever new way to torture him.

“Don’t move. Be still.” She commands.

Ryan feels a rigidity settle over him. He tries to turn his head to follow her when she walks around the chair he’s strapped to, but can only keep his head facing forward. When they tickle him, he can’t move or react to the tickling. He can’t flinch back or jerk away. When they tickle his feet, the straps aren’t needed to hold them still. His laughter response is suppressed. Kim climbs onto the chair and straddles his waist with her hands at his naked belly and sides, tickling without mercy. His eyes bulge as his heart begins racing and his breathing speeds up. His eyes involuntarily water. He blinks rapidly. All he can hear is the roaring of blood in his ears and the sound of his own rushed breathing. Kim is tickling his ribs and armpits with her fingertips. When she pauses, the feathering of his toes jumps into the forefront of his mind. The suppressed natural reactions—and the sense of being trapped within his own body—make the sensations more intense and unbearable. His bladder throbs. He can’t do anything but hyperventilate.

He throws everything he has into fighting the paralyzing compulsion. All he manages is a slight shake. His eyes are those of a trapped animal, full of fear and rage. They dart around as though looking for a means of escaping.

“Be still.” She says again.

Kim uses a feather to trace over his closed lips, and draws the feather across his eyelids, down the bridge of his nose and curve of septum and around the sensitive rims of his nostrils. She puts the feather up one nostril, then the other, letting his own inhalations and exhalations stir the feather’s strands to brush his nosehairs and inner lining of his nostril. For several minutes she teases him this way. It tickles and itches fiercely and makes him want to sneeze. He manages only to blink his watery eyes and effect only the occasional twitch of the nose. His furious eyes meet hers and promise murder.

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” She says. “You’re enjoying it a little bit. Obviously.” Despite his agitation—or because of it—under his boxer shorts his cock is standing straight up. She gives it a playful little flick with her fingernails.

Kim starts to taunt him with an evil little smirk. “If you want me to stop tickling you just tell me to stop.” He remains frozen in the chair, his mouth and vocal cords paralyzed, glaring daggers at her. “Just say the word and I’ll stop tickling you.” She has tickling fingers all over his waist while one of the girls has an electric toothbrush on his toes and another has a soft feather moving up and down his inner arm, elbow to wrist.

“I guess you want us to keep going then.”

The tickling continues under the paralysis command. Ryan feels his grip on reality slipping. He’s lost track of how much time has passed. Can a person be tickled insane? He wonders. He’s sure Kim aims to find out. He has a mental image of himself being wheeled out of the room by paramedics, drooling and twitching, unable to remember his own name. The whole night has been insane and he’s not sure that she’s right in the head herself. At several points he blacks out briefly, only for a few seconds, under the strain of the tickle torture, only for the adrenaline and stimulants to snap his consciousness back into overdrive.

After a while Kim decides he’s had enough. “You can move again.” He almost breaks the straps with the force he applies on them once he’s regained control of his muscles.

“Don’t you ever do that to me again.” He says. The logical response, Or what, hangs in the air, unsaid.

They make him drink another beer. Then they blindfold him and put earbuds in his ears. He can hear the sound of water through the earbuds, water rushing over cliffs, the sound of water trickling over rocks in narrow streams. They’ve actually put water noises on Mp3 to make him want to pee more. It makes him want to laugh and cry at the same time.

“You’re standing on a rock, over a river.” She’s murmuring to him. Her voice is soft and hypnotic. It’s the sound of water and the suggestion of her voice that makes him picture the river and the rock in his mind. The taunting continues. “There are mountains in the distance. There’s a green mountain, lush with foliage. You have to go to the bathroom. Don’t you feel that?” She presses the area above his stretched bladder. “Hear the rushhhh of the river. Unzip your pants and pee into the river. You have your cock pulled out of your pants. You’re pissing into the river and it feels so good to just let… it… out.”

They strip his underwear off him, then pour warm water from the pitchers over his belly. They shake up seltzer water bottles and pour fizzing water over his crotch. They pour water on his chest and let it trickle in winding droplets to pool on the leather seat under his balls. The pressure on his skin and the sensation of flowing water make him want to scream. “How much longer?” He asks. “Let me go. I have to go to the toilet so bad. Whatever you’ve done to me make it stop.”

Kim stands over him, smiling. “It’s almost done. Just some more tickling. Just a little more. A little tickling doesn’t hurt anyone.” She and the two girls go at him again. Both girls tickle his toes while Kim tickles his ribs and sides and armpits gleefully. He throws back his head and scream-laughs until he can’t breathe.

Despite everything, the rage and frustration, he’s captivated by her, the strange sadistic bitch. She’s beautiful in her power and control. He hates her and wants her and hates this and loves this. She is leading him through a tunnel of torment that is somehow as poisonously sweet as it is agonizing.

The sun is coming through the blinds when she says, “All right, it’s morning.” She begins to unfasten his restraints and removes his blindfold. Ryan is exhausted and residually drunk and wired on caffeine and energy drinks and adrenaline.

“Get dressed and come with me. No, don’t stop in the bathroom. Like I said, you’re not going until I say.” He does what she says. They walk through the apartment, where people are collapsed on couches and passed out on the floor. There’s a man sitting in a stupor on the couch, watching TV and drinking coffee.

She stops in the kitchen. “Cup of coffee?” She asks Ryan.

Ryan glares at her and says nothing. Kim shrugs and pours herself a cup. Ryan hunches over the kitchen table while she stands by the sink, pouring milk in and drinking it.

“Worst night of my life,” He mutters.

“Your problem is, Ryan, you need to stop fighting. Let yourself go with the flow once in a while.”

“Go with the flow. Is that some kind of joke.”

“Oh because of the—“ She gestures to her crotch area vaguely. “Are you bothered about that? Give me a minute and we’ll take care of that.”

“What exactly are you going to do? What’s the point of it all?”

“I wanted to do it. I think you did too even if you won’t admit it yet.”

“I feel like shit and we didn’t even fuck. Like I said, worst night of my life. I’m going to tell everyone to stay the fuck away from you. Because you’re a crazy bitch. And whatever mind-fuck games you use on guys because that is some fucked up shit.”

She doesn’t say anything, but continues standing by the counter, drinking coffee.

“Is it drugs? Did you drug me?”

“No.”

“You said you were a witch. Is that real?”

“What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t have believed it before. Now I think you’re doing something. I mean maybe it’s psychological, but maybe you’re using spells and things. Like something supernatural. Do you do this a lot? To other guys?”

“No, not a lot. I’m just learning really.”

“Are you going to let me go now?”

She hesitates.

“Come on, it’s fucking six in the morning. You’ve had your fun. Just let me go home, have a piss, get some sleep.”

She shakes her head. “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. Come with me. I’m going to give you some of what you want. “

Kim and Ryan walk outside. She leads the way to the fountain structure in the middle of the courtyard, lit by the early morning sun. He walks stiffly, every jouncing step causing a twinge to his bladder area.

“Take off your clothes.”

“What? Here?”

“Yes. Take them off.”

He does, first pulling his pants down, stepping out of them, then pulling his t-shirt over his head. He looks to see if anyone’s watching. The courtyard is empty.

“Your underwear too. You need to be naked.”

“What are you doing? Do you want to fuck me here by this fountain, is that it?”

“You’ll see. No I’m not going to fuck you. Not yet. But you do need to be naked.”

He gives her a look but pulls his underwear down and steps out of those.

“Now, climb up there.” There’s a concrete block at the center of the fountain.

“Up there? If anyone comes out here I’m going to get arrested. And then deported.”

Still, he climbs up, looks down at her. “Now what?”

“Pee into the fountain.”

“What?” He gives a slight laugh. This could be another trick.

“You have to pee don’t you? Now’s your chance. I’m letting you. I want you to piss into the water.”

“Is this some form of blackmail or what? Or is this part of your kink?”

Still, he stands by the edge of the block and begins, after so many hours of excruciating fullness, to empty his bladder. It starts as a trickle dribbling out of his urethra but then builds force, becoming an arc of piss cascading in a stream to the pool five feet below. Ryan gives a muted groan of relief and his head tilts back with the near-orgasmic bliss of the release of long-held pressure as he’s finally free to urinate.

Below, Kim watches him, touches the pendant around her neck and murmurs some words of an incantation. A second later Ryan freezes in place. His body hardens and stiffens into bronze. The arc of liquid streaming from his penis changes from golden hued to crystal clear. He is now a piece of bronze fountain statuary, urinating pure water into the pool below in a steady continuous arc. His head tilted back with a look of satisfaction frozen on his silvery-gold features, eyes closed, one hand by his side with the other one holding his dick.

Kim happily surveys her work from below. Then she climbs up on the concrete landing where he stands, now frozen in a perpetual act of pissing, the water arching in a clear stream from his penis to the crystal clear pool below. Her hand drifts down to his cock, partially cradled in his left hand, every bump and vein preserved in bronze, and glides her finger up and down, up and down, from base to head. Not that he could feel it, or even think, since Kim had opted not to use the spell that would preserve his consciousness during his transformation. He was an inanimate object now and would stay that way until she reversed the spell—if she reversed the spell. She tapped her long fingernails against the side of his dick, hearing the soft clink clink of fingernails against the metal.

She climbs down and wades in the water, looking up at him. At this angle, he looks like a statue of proud youthful demigod urinating on the world with his arrogant young cock. A son of Zeus punished by an elder god or goddess for his hubris, or some transgression or another, or out of jealousy, cursed into a bronze form forever, a conversation piece to become the foundation for a myth by bored and curious minds. Kim snaps a picture of him. She then gathers his clothes, goes to her car and drives home.

The statue in the apartment courtyard became notorious over the next few weeks. People jumped on the platform to pose with it, be photographed with it and take selfies with it, which they posted to social media. His metal cock, which vibrated softly from the steady flow of water piping through it, was groped and fondled, women and men both knelt down to simulate fellatio with the statue, licking and sucking the bronze head and gulping down the water that continued to stream from his dick, caressing his bronze ass and sticking their fingers between his buttocks.

When the courtyard was empty of people, birds appeared in the fountain. Some of them landed on the naked bronze statue, perching on the bronze penis that jutted out and drinking from the cool clear water he pissed out, nesting at his feet, leaving their droppings on his head and shoulders. Every other morning the maintenance employee came out to the fountain to wipe him down and polish him, a nude bronze statue gleaming in the summer sun.

There was controversy of course. Some people tried to get the statue taken down, or at the very least covered up. Kim passed the story around that the statue was done by an art student for which Ryan served as the model. It was a story that seemed to suffice—particularly when she used a spell to compel the right people to believe her story.

Kim came by every so often, sometimes just to walk by, sometimes to eat lunch sitting on the edge of the fountain, and chat with a friend, and respond to emails and look up every so often at the bronze statue five feet up with some pride of accomplishment. Seeing his familiar presence up there day in and day out created a strange sense of satisfaction. It was her spell and she had managed to pull it off successfully. Transforming strangers was hard for witches new to the craft. The spellbook she used recommended only attempting transformation on oneself or very close companions. She had spent those last few hours in close sensual contact with him, pushing him to the brink physically and emotionally, which formed a partial temporary bond and acquaintance with his mind and body. Sexual contact would have likely strengthened the bond…or could have weakened it; unresolved sexual tension carried some power of its own. She didn’t know enough about the craft on these matters. Maybe next time.

A month later…

It’s another bright clear Saturday morning in early summer. Kim and another woman are walking across the courtyard to the fountain. Kim carries a pile of clothes and walks with a brisk stride. The other is a step or two behind and walks with a slight limp.

When they get to the fountain the girl strips down and gets into shallow end of the fountain where slabs of gray river rock have been placed. She squats over the rock arrangement, the water just above her ankles. She leans sideways for a second, then rebalances. A few moments later she begins to pee. She moans softly and a smile crosses her face and she tilts her head back slightly as the urine sprays out. Kim watches her from a few feet away. She touches the pendant at her neck.

It’s at that moment that the girl in the fountain turns to stone. Frozen in place, her skin and hair lose color and turn the same gray hue as the river rock. The gush of piss spraying out between her legs becomes clear liquid water and never ceases. The water is piped up through her feet and pumps out in a continuous spray out of her vulva, between the twin boulders of her crouched legs. After a few minutes, water begins trickling from the pebbly nipples on her small downward-angled breasts. The fountain has another sculpture, this one made of slate-gray stone where the other is made of bronze.

Kim observes the new statue with a wry smile. The girl was in a crouching position, hunched forward slightly, her elbows balanced on her knees. Her head tilted back with a smile on her face, the smile of relief and bliss. Water is gushing from the stone crevice of her vulva and bubbling and foaming where it meets the surface of the water. Kim touches a frizzy strand of hair that stuck out from her head where the wind had blown it and was now frozen in stone.

I’m getting a taste for this, she thinks. She reaches under the girl and traces her finger along her spread stone labia, a few stray spiderwebs of pubic hair that break off and dissolve into dust at a touch, the mineral bump of the clitoris nestled within the petrified folds and creases of the labia and clitoral hood. An hour earlier she had been teasing the girl’s swollen clit with her tongue and a small soft feather, making her whimper and squirm in her arousal. She’d let her cum once at the beginning of the session and then spent the next few hours edging her towards a second climax. Both the arousal and discomfort of needing release of her full bladder had been competing for attention, a cascade of sensations. This girl had been sweet to torment, and almost as ticklish as Ryan. But this girl was now a dumb object, as insensible as the river rock on which she stood. Next time… Kim wondered what it would feel like as a frozen solid object that could feel and think, but not move or speak. Next time I make a statue, I’ll do that, and then they can tell me.

Kim turns away and stripped to a bra and shorts, leaving her clothes by the edge of the fountain. She makes her way into the deeper end of the pool, where the water goes up to her knees, and wades under the silvery bright arc of water from the pissing bronze statue, letting it splash her face and wet her hair, sticking her tongue out to catch the stream of water. It’s just water not cum, she thinks. But the face of the statue tilted back with the smile—almost a smirk—looks like a portrait of a man in perpetual ecstasy.

Kim considers him for a few moments, on one hand delighting in Ryan being a statue with his beauty frozen in bronze, and on the other, the desire to see him alive, to be able to move and talk again. The latter impulse finally wins out. Kim sighs, touches her pendant and gestures with her hands toward the statue. The bronze material changes to the original flesh and blood of his human body as he is restored to life. The arc of water jetting from his cock slows to a dribble, then a few drops, then ceases altogether. Ryan leans forward, then leans back and stretches, “Oh yeah, that’s good.” The contentment of a man who’s just had a good long piss. Then he blinks and looks around and then sees Kim in the pool below. “You were just over there,” He points to the side of the fountain, where she had been standing when he’d climbed up a month ago. “What’d you do?”

“Come down and see.” She holds up her phone.

He climbs down and finds his underwear, jeans and t-shirt in the clothes pile Kim left by the fountain and puts them on. His display of modesty is incongruous for someone who’d just spent a month in a blatantly exhibitionist pose in public. Kim stares at him. In the sun he is beautiful, with tousled brown hair with auburn highlights, bright blue eyes and a face full of freckles. He splashes over to her and looks at the pictures on the phone of him as a statue, from different angles at different times of day, posed with strangers. He looks fascinated and horrified and dismayed, scrolling through the pictures.

He pushes her, causing her to stumble backwards and almost fall. “How could you do this to me.”

She stares. This isn’t the reaction she was expecting. “I’m sorry, I really am. I didn’t think you’d mind that much.” Was she expecting fear? Awe? Supplication?

“You didn’t think I’d mind? What was going through your head when you did this?” He shows her the screen on the phone, then throws the phone at her. She manages to catch it. She stares at him and, strangely, flushes. Ryan crosses his arms. He’s not afraid to show his anger. What could she do to him worse than she’d already done?

“I’m a witch. That’s all you need to know.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fuck right off. You’re going to make this up to me.”

“W-What do you want me to do?” She stammers slightly, wondering how he’s managed to get the upper hand here.

“I’ll think of something. Don’t think I won’t.” He eyes her. Her posture, the blushing, the look in her eye, puts him in familiar territory. The bitch is in heat. The realization is exciting and a little terrifying.

“I am a witch, you know.” She takes a step closer, trying to regain control of the situation. “There’s a lot I can do for you. Come back to my place and we’ll talk about it.”

“Why in the name of fuck should I trust you.”

“I brought you back didn’t I. I didn’t have to.”

“But you made me a statue in the first place. You didn’t tell me you were going to do that.”

“Well, look. Would it make you feel better if I were a statue? If you took me home and I was decorating your house for a few weeks?” The moment she says these words she half wants to take them back, yet the idea of being posed and naked for him makes her briefly feel giddy. It was probably impossible, but if it wasn’t…

“I’ll think about that.” He sighs. “What am I going to tell people. What am I going to tell my mum? I haven’t called her in weeks you know. I don’t know why she hasn’t sent the coppers out to look for me. Maybe she has.”

Then he sees the statue of the girl crouching over the rocks and wades over to it.

“Bloody hell…one isn’t enough for you?”

“She’s a sort of replacement. Just like you, she’s into kinky stuff. She agreed.”

“She agreed to being turned to stone?’

“I didn’t tell her about being turned to stone.”

“Of course not.”

“She is pretty though, isn’t she. She’s such a pretty decoration.”

“She is beautiful. I don’t know how the property management would feel about a peeing statue though.”

“They’ve warmed to the idea. I convinced them.” Kim sat down beside the statue. “She’s a nice piece of art. “

“Are you going to keep her here or…”

“For now. This fountain needs a statue now that you’ve left it vacant.”

He traced her stone jawline of the open-mouthed smile stretched across her stone face. “Her face…”

“Mmm. She’s happy isn’t she.”

“Yeah. Bliss. Can she…is she aware of what’s going on?”

“No, she’s just like you were.”

“Well don’t leave her out here as long as you left me here.”

“I didn’t mean to leave you here so long. Now I’m taking you home.”

He crosses his arms. “And if I don’t want to go?”

She says nothing, but touches the pendant around her neck.

“That’s your answer to everything is it.”

“It’s served me well so far.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. Not with that thing around your neck. Give it here.” He stretches his hand out.

“I can’t. It’s mine.” She draws back from him and covers the pendant with her hand.

“You can’t give it up for a minute, can you? You can’t be with a person unless you feel you can control them, have the upper hand.”

That makes her pause. “It’s my protection.” She says finally.

“It’s your weapon.”

“It’s not—I’m not going to do anything to you again if that’s what your worried about. I like you.”

“What do you do to people you don’t like then?”

“I leave people alone who leave me alone. Except you. But we were playing a game.”

“I didn’t know the rules. There weren’t any rules. You controlled the board.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way. I can…maybe…teach you some of what I know. There’s a whole world out there that I can show you.”

“Why haven’t I heard of this before? Who else knows how to do…this?” He gestures toward the stone girl.

“Hardly anyone. Well a few people. There’s several over in India, one in Japan I think. Chile, or maybe Argentina.”

“And it’s that rock thing that does it? Or do you just use it to channel your…power.”

“It gives me power when I need it. It sometimes doesn’t give me its power though. It connects me to others who use it. I draw power from them.”

“These others…should we be worried about them taking over the world then? Aren’t you breaking magical laws by playing around with people? All the bullshit you pulled with me? And fuck knows how many other people?”

“I’m not interested in taking over the world. Like I told you that night, I mainly like to have fun.”

“Well I’ll have more fun knowing that thing isn’t around your neck when you’re with me.”

She sighs, unclasps the gold chain with the gemstone pendant from around her neck and leans over and puts it on top of her pile of clothes. “I won’t give it to you, but when it’s not on me, it’s not as strong. Is that good enough?”

“For now, yeah. It’ll have to be.” He pulls her to her feet and pulls her to him. “One last thing, before we leave. You owe me a good fuck.”

“Right here?”

“Right now.”