The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Barbara awoke to the sensation of long fingers brushing through her hair. She stirred, blinking heavily. As her vision swam into focus, she saw Magda sitting beside her. She started, “Magda? What...what happened? What time is it?”

“It’s late afternoon.”

Barbara’s eyes widened in shocked disbelief, but to the side of the room, she could see the waning sunlight peeking through the thick, drawn curtains. The sun would be setting soon. Barbara was simply beside herself. Two days in a row, she had somehow totally slept through most of the day. She stared forlornly at the motes of dust dancing languidly in the orange shafts of light. The coming of twilight, something she usually anticipated eagerly, now only served to fill her with dread. The night would fall soon, and the thought of the slowly encroaching darkness made her throat knot. Her sudden nocturnal switch was deeply upsetting; she couldn’t understand what was wrong with her, and with that lack of understanding came an alarming lack of control. Her nerves were shot, her mind filled with a sea of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the sense of hopelessness and powerlessness threatened to stifle her in despair, but at the same time, it had stirred something awake deep inside her. Even now, she felt a twinge of perverse anticipation. The fleeting after-images of last night’s dreams haunted her, but try as she might, she could not bring them into focus. All she knew was that they’d left her in a lingering glow that was disturbingly alluring.

Magda observed Barbara’s distress with barely concealed satisfaction. Outwardly, the older woman smiled sadly, “You had quite a fright, dear. Your car broke down on your way out, and you stumbled back through those awful moors, in the middle of the night at that!” She rested a hand over the sheets covering Barbara’s knee. “Your nerves go the better of you. But you’re all right now. How do you feel?”

The beautiful blonde made to answer, but stopped short. A sudden blush colored her cheeks, and she quickly averted her eyes. “F-fine. I’m fine,” she said, just a little too quickly. Magda smiled knowingly, and gave Barbara’s thigh a glancing caress as she retracted her hand. She noted gleefully how Barbara barely suppressed a shiver.

“Fine, indeed,” she thought with a chuckle. “As horny as a cat in heat, more like! One night of nice, steamy dreams has left that pretty little pussy of yours positively dripping...”

But to Barbara, Magda simply said, “I have left you a towel, a robe, and a change of clothes. It’s not your size, unfortunately...but I imagine very few things are.” She glanced at Barbara’s barely-covered chest for emphasis.

Barbara flashed her a look, but the angry retort died on her tongue as soon as her emerald eyes caught Magda’s storm-gray gaze. Their almost magnetic pull sparked another spell of sudden, uncharacteristic uncertainty in Barbara. Her stomach fluttering much too pleasantly, she merely muttered a quiet, “Thanks.”

Magda rose from the bed, and straightened her dress. “The bathroom is down the hall. Crowley Manor is old, so no shower, I’m afraid. But I think you’ll find the accommodations more than acceptable. If you’d like, I can have a meal prepared for you while you bathe.”

Barbara hesitated, but eventually nodded. “I am rather hungry. Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”

Wordlessly, the woman in black flowed out of the room, leaving Barbara alone in the gathering dim. Despite her anxiety, or maybe because of it, Barbara found it difficult to rouse the will to get out of bed. The sheets were luxuriously cool against her too-hot skin, and the thick canopy provided a sense of closeness and comfort. It might be irrational, but Barbara felt safe there. This was a space she could claim, a space she could control. The shapely blonde lay back and stretched out beneath the cool sheets. She worked to dispel the lingering grogginess of sleep, to gather her thoughts. She was famished, and a bath sounded too good to pass up, but once those things were out of the way she absolutely had to arrange for a cab. She’d make Magda show her to a phone.

She was afraid of what another night in this weird place would do to the remainder of her senses.

Half an hour later, Barbara emerged from the steaming bath feeling decidedly rejuvenated. The bathroom had been right where Magda said it would be, and the ornate antique tub already full of blessedly hot water. An elaborate selection of crystal decanters on a low table nearby provided a multitude of soaps and scented oils. Barbara had sampled them all, settling on something that smelled delightfully of sandalwood and lilac. It was such a simple luxury, but Barbara was grateful for the momentary respite from the relentless gloom of the mansion. The sconces on the walls were laden with beeswax candles, lending the air a thick, sweet scent. Padding herself dry with a wide, plush towel, Barbara reveled in the upswing of her mood.

It was amazing what hot water could do, she mused. Opening another decanter and testing its contents, she poured a generous pool of oil onto her palm. She propped her leg onto the vanity stool, and began working the sweet-smelling fragrance into her skin. A self-satisfied smile had crept onto her face, the first, it seemed, in days. There were few things Barbara enjoyed more than a little pampering, and the sensation of the smooth liquid warming her skin was an indulgence she was more than happy to luxuriate in. She felt clean, warm, and the fragrance of the oil was so lovely. She finished her legs, running her hands over her firm stomach and over the generous swell of her breasts to rid them of the excess. The sensation of her slick hands sliding over her tits made her mewl appreciatively.

Without meaning to, she let her hands roll over them a second time, just a little harder. Her nipples protested enticingly as they grazed against her hot palms.

“Mmmm, get a hold of yourself Barbara,” she whispered, even as she squeezed her own breasts almost reflexively. Between the heat from the bath and the warming sensation of the oil, her body was positively glowing. With a reluctant sigh she let go of her heavy tits, and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Don’t forget where you are, she chided herself, this isn’t the place to get carried away...

“Later,” she promised, “just wait till you get home. You’ll have the whole apartment to yourself.” She knew just what she wanted, too; she’d open up all the blinds, kill all the lights, so that the only illumination would be from the city itself. She’d take her time, take it slow. What she wanted right now was a long, loud masturbation session with her trusty vibrator, splayed on her bed, with all the city watching her as she came over and over again.

She could feel her sex swelling in eager anticipation. Barbara shuddered. Ever since waking up, she’d been a hot, horny mess, and things were only getting worse. She shouldn’t be getting herself so worked up, but her body clearly had other ideas. She went about pulling on the dress Magda had left her in something of a daze, her thoughts constantly taking turn after torrid turn. There was no underwear to be found, but that might have been a blessing; the thought of anything pressing against her pussy right now was almost more than she could take.

Just find a phone. Call a cab. Maybe even give the driver a little show, if you can’t wait. Stay focused, Barbara. This will all be behind you before you know it.

She finished cinching the front of her dress closed, and stepped into the matching heels, all in a kind of rote, automatic rhythm. Her first good look at what she was actually wearing came a moment or two later, as she passed the grand oval mirror standing by the doorway—and the sight made her gasp.

The dress was scandalously sheer; layer upon layer of thin, gauzy fabric clung to her every curve, as light as cobwebs. The flickering candlelight cut through it to show off her perfect silhouette, the flowing material serving only to barely obscure all the fine details in cloudy white. Her shoulders were bare, and the garment was clearly meant for a woman lacking her considerable...assets. Her breasts were barely contained by the straining top. The long garment hugged her hips and thighs and chased down her legs. A slit cut dangerously high into the front left side, showing off a long expanse of Barbara’s creamy thigh.

It was like something out of a gothic lingerie catalogue, more nightie than dress.

Barbara envisioned Magda selecting this particular garment for her, imagined the lurid twinkle in the older woman’s eyes, and blushed furiously. That fucking dyke probably creamed herself just imagining Barbara in it, and now she was supposed to have dinner with this woman?

But, if she was so mad...why was her stomach fluttering so? Why was her heart pounding?

Barbara turned slightly in the mirror. In profile the dress was almost worse; you could see the curvature of her tits right through it. She struggled with herself; should she protest, complain? There were clothes in the dresser back in her room, she was sure she’d be able to cobble something wearable together. Whatever it was, it would almost certainly be more modest than the almost-nothing she was wearing now.

But...why? What did it matter at this point? It’s not like the woman hadn’t seen her naked already...and if she changed, Magda would know that the outfit had made her uncomfortable. Maybe that was her entire point, to embarrass Barbara, and make her blink.

She refused to let that woman think she’d won.

An indignant flame lit in Barbara’s belly. If that bitch was trying to make her flinch, well, she clearly didn’t know who she was dealing with. Maybe it was time for Barbara to put her twisted hostess on the defensive for once.

Feeling more confident and brazen than she’d felt in days, Barbara gave herself one last appraising look in the mirror, and then she was off, walking quickly.

She needed to confront Magda before she lost her nerve.

She found Magda waiting for her in the dining room, a long, ornate chamber dominated centrally by a sturdy table of dark wood. High backed chairs flanked either side of it, meticulously positioned, though it seemed to Barbara that they hadn’t been moved in many years. The walls of the chamber were adorned with tall, painted portraits, ostensibly of members of the Crowley family long dead. It was before one of these paintings that Magda stood, her back to Barbara, seemingly lost in thought. She did not turn at the sound of Barbara’s arrival.

The buxom blonde took the liberty of quietly clearing her throat.

At that, Magda did turn. As soon as her eyes fell upon Barbara, she let out a pronounced gasp, her eyes widening. Barbara watched as her mouth worked soundlessly for a long moment, the sight of her figure in the dress stunning her silent. She felt a definite twinge of something then, like a swell of pride, at the effect she was having on the older woman. Finally, Magda was able to speak, her voice thick.

“Oh...my...” she murmured appreciatively, her gray eyes roving over her hungrily, “Barbara dear, you look simply ravishing.”

All the angry retorts and snappy comebacks she’d prepared during her walk to the dining room evaporated at the guileless tone of her praise. Barbara blushed a deep red, and all she could manage was a quick, “Thank you.”

She really can’t keep her eyes off me, Barbara thought with not a little relish. She stepped around the table and began slinking across the room, her hips swaying. She tossed her wild mane with practiced nonchalance, knowing full well how the motion emphasized her sender neck, and sent her breasts quivering enticingly. Indeed, Magda’s eyes were glued to her every sensual step, and the attention ignited a warm glow in Barbara’s chest.

“What the hell are you doing?” a voice in her mind hissed in alarm, “Why are you flirting with this woman?”

But...no...that’s not what she was doing...was it? She was just showing off, trying to put Magda off-balance, leveraging her sexuality the same way she did when she needed to disarm someone as Esha. Except it didn’t feel quite the same; she was enjoying the way Magda was staring at her so openly. The attention was...nice. So what if it was a little flirty? If it helped grease the wheels, so to speak...

“Don’t let your guard down,” the furtive voice clamored, “Something is wrong. You haven’t felt right since you woke up. Be careful. Don’t trust her!”

But by then she had reached Magda, and the older woman had reached out to take her hands in her own, squeezing them in greeting. “I’m so glad you liked the dress, Barbara. It suits you. A woman as beautiful as you should always wear beautiful things.”

She let Barbara’s hands slip from her fingers. Slowly, the older woman began to circle around her, her eyes taking in every sultry detail. She spoke as she walked, “But you look even more stunning than I dreamt you would. So pretty. So delicate. Mmm...you look good enough to eat...” Her fingertips traced up Barbara’s arm, touched glancingly across her back, always keeping in touch with the lovely blonde as she slowly flowed around her. Her voice was low, compelling. So easy to listen to. The nagging sense of worry that had been eating at Barbara’s mind was soon dulled into distant noise. She could feel Magda’s eyes on her back, her ass, the generous slopes of her breasts.

The sensation was making her skin tingle expectantly.

Finally Magda was in front of her again, and as she brushed a stray lock of hair away from Barbara’s face, the blushing blonde realized she was breathing heavily, feeling a little lightheaded. If Magda noticed, she gave no sign. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t join you for dinner, my dear, but I’ve already eaten. Come, sit. You must be hungry.”

She led Barbara to the table, and set her before a plate of bone china laden with fruit, cheese, and small cuts of meat. A crystal wine glass sat before her, and with flourish, her hostess poured her a generous helping from an old, worn bottle. The ruby liquid swirled darkly in the glittering glass.

“Some of our best vintage,” she crowed proudly, re-corking the bottle and settling into the chair beside Barbara, at the head of the table. “The Crowley family owns many old vineyards. This bottle, if I’m not mistaken, is older than Delta City itself.” She flashed Barbara a grin, and gestured to her food. “Please, don’t mind me. Eat.”

Barbara eyed the food. It looked perfectly normal, delicious even. Gingerly, she selected a slice of hard cheese, and slipped it past her lips. The sharp flavor exploded on her tongue, aged, smoked, delectable. Barbara swallowed audibly, only then realizing just how hungry she really was, and began eating with gusto. Magda smiled, “That’s a good girl,” she cooed, “You must keep up your strength...”

Silently she rose from her seat, and returned to stand in front of the tall painting she’d been examining when Barbara had arrived. “Perhaps you’d like a little introduction to our family,” Magda said, gesturing to the paintings on the walls. “The portraits you see are of the heads of every Crowley generation going back over four hundred years,” she said proudly, “Beginning with my distant Grandmother, Desdemona Crowley, all the way...” she turned slowly, gesturing at the sequential portraits until she arrived at the one closest to them, where she stopped, “...to me.”

Barbara followed her motion, looking at each portrait in turn, when suddenly it dawned on her. “Wait. All these pictures are of...women!”

Magda beamed, nodding, “Precisely, my dear. Our traditions are strong, and our women even stronger! Indeed, it was partly our faithful adherence to our traditions that forced us to leave our ancestral home. Our neighbors, and particularly the Church, did not...approve, of our ways.”

Barbara swallowed a mouthful of food, taking in each face. To a one, each picture captured its subject with exacting finesse. Barbara was no stranger to art, and these all bespoke of the hand of a great talent. The mark of a great portrait artist could always be found in how they realized their subject’s eyes, and in every one, Barbara saw them rendered with liquid clarity. Twelve sets of eyes stared back at her, so realistic to be almost disturbing.

Every woman depicted was absolutely beautiful.

Even the portrait of Magda showed her as a more youthful woman, perhaps in her thirties. Her hair was jet black, and showed no hint of the gray that streaked through it now. But despite the passage of time, Barbara could still see the same storm gray eyes, regal features, and that now-familiar curl of a smile of the Magda she knew.

But as Barbara looked from one picture to the another, something seemed strange, off. For an unbroken family line, all the women seemed remarkably distinct from one another. The woman who preceded Magda was blonde, but the picture just before hers showed a woman with brilliant red hair.

Weird.

Beside Magda’s portrait, the wall was conspicuously empty. Barbara didn’t need any elaboration there, the implication was sadly obvious; Magda had no heir. The Crowley name was likely to die with her.

Looking at each of the women, Barbara responded, “So the Church disapproved, did it? What, did they accuse you all of being witches or something?”

Magda didn’t answer right away, instead letting the question hang in the air for a long, pregnant moment. She regarded Barbara with a wry flicker of a smile, “Would it shock you if I said...yes?”

The glass stopped halfway to Barbara’s lips. She looked incredulously at her hostess, her eyebrows rising. “Wait. You can’t be serious...?”

Magda’s face was an unreadable mask, but her eyes flickered eagerly. “Is it so hard to believe? You can’t tell me the thought has never crossed your mind, Barbara?” She chuckled. “Magda, the crazy old bat. Magda, the wicked witch. I know what is said behind my back, my dear.”

She took a step towards Barbara’s seat. “And what about you? Do you think I’m a witch?”

The sudden change in her tone set off alarm bells in Barbara’s head. She straightened in her chair, her plate forgotten. “Witches don’t exist,” she answered, eyeing Magda warily.

“Well, certainly not the kind that fly around on broomsticks, at any rate,” she agreed, flashing Barbara a cool grin. Her gray eyes honed in on Barbara’s, and the flustered thief suddenly found her gaze sinking into their stormy depths. She uselessly tried to mouth a response, but her throat was suddenly bone dry, despite the wine. Magda continued, her voice lilting, “So many ridiculous stories; deals with the devil, pots of swirling potions, wicked plans to devour innocent young girls...”

She chuckled. “well, that last one might just be a poor recounting of certain details, but I digress...”

The dark woman slid behind Barbara’s high-backed chair, her slender fingers tracing lightly over the blonde’s exposed shoulders. Barbara stiffened nervously, but did not flinch away from her spidery touch. With an intense familiarity, they began to gently knead at her tight muscles, and in mere seconds, Barbara let out a long, heady breath.

“What are you...talking about...” the suddenly dazed Barbara said. The warmth spreading from her shoulders was simply heavenly, and it was all she could do to keep her head from lolling back against Magda’s dress as she stood behind her. For her part, Magda relished the sensation of Barbara’s smooth skin beneath her pale fingers almost as much as she thrilled to see the busty beauty all but melting before her.

Soon, she chided herself, even as her white teeth sank impatiently into her lower lip.

“Don’t worry a moment more about it, Barbara dear,” she crooned, “It’s getting late, and you have a phone call to make.”

“Phone...call...” Barbara repeated, blinking heavily. The gentle rolling of Magda’s fingers against her neck was so easy to lean in to, to get lost in. It was hard to focus on what the woman was saying.

“Yes. You’ll find the phone in the study, down the hall to your left. I’ve left directions you can relay to the driver, so the poor soul doesn’t get lost on the way.”

Barbara nodded slowly. “Directions...”

“When you are done,” Magda’s thick voice droned, “try not to dally in any of the rooms on your way back. Crowley House is old, and some of the corners are...restless. You’ll be safest in your own bedroom. In your soft bed.” She hooked a finger beneath Barbara’s delicate jaw, and gently eased her head back so that she could look down into her glazed, green eyes. “Do you understand, Barbara?”

“I...yes...”

“Good.” She brushed the back of her finger lingeringly over Barbara’s cheek. “I have a few things I must attend to, but I will return to you soon. Rest well.”

Silent as a shadow, Magda slipped away. By the time Barbara’s eyes managed to swim back into focus, she was gone. The dazed blonde blinked in confusion, a hand absently rising to press against her flushed cheek. The last few moments were a total blur. When did Magda leave? What had they been talking about? A few words and phrases bubbled up through the unrelenting fog that seemed to be drowning her thoughts: phone, directions, hallway...but precious little else.

Shakily she pushed herself to her feet. Her body felt warm and heavy, and she eyed her empty wine glass ruefully. God that stuff must have hit her pretty hard. Still, while the alcohol might have left her a little disoriented, the heady glow itself was hardly unpleasant. She was almost tingling, in fact.

“Look at you, getting buzzed from one glass of wine. God, since when have you been such a lightweight?”

Still trying to shake off lingering fingers of drowsiness, Barbara left the dining hall to try and find the study. But as she walked through the long chamber, she couldn’t ignore the sense that twelve sets of liquid, painted eyes hungrily followed her every step.

She walked just a little faster.

“What the hell do you mean, ‘a day or so’?!”

Barbara was seething. She clutched the phone receiver in a white-knuckle grip, her hand shaking in frustration. Four cab companies, three of whom had outright turned her down, and the latest only offering the vaguest promises of a pickup in the near future. Every one of them had balked when she described the directions to get to the mansion and its remote location. One person had hung up as soon as she’d mentioned the word ‘Crowley’.

This was unbelievable. This was Delta City, not some fucking Third World shithole, yet here she was. Stranded. It was beyond frustrating.

The voice on the other end of the phone was offering some lame apology and asking for a number she could be reached at. She rattled off the number Magda had scrawled on the page, feeling dejected. The operator promised they’d arrange something soon, and that they’d call.

Don’t call us, we’ll call you, she thought sullenly.

She hung up. The silence in the study was oppressive. For a minute, all she could do was stand there, staring at the old phone with a defeated scowl. Her chest felt tight, and for a moment, the sheer weight of the hopelessness hanging over her almost brought her to tears. She’d never felt so isolated in her life. She might as well have been on a deserted island somewhere, and she was only a few hours outside the city!

“It’s like I’ve stepped into the fucking Twilight Zone,” she muttered darkly. Her car was wrecked, no paid service would come get her, and now her only recourse would be to ask Magda if she had any means of getting back to the city. She must, right? No one just lives out in the middle of nowhere without a car...

The thought of asking Magda for a favor was embarrassing, but strangely, it didn’t fill Barbara with the sense of mortified dread she expected it would. Rather, the prospect of having someone she could vent to felt...calming. The woman might be a little eccentric, but she’d been nothing but hospitable since Barbara had arrived on her doorstep. Sure, might be a bit of a lech, but...

Barbara looked down at her scantily-covered figure. Could she really blame her? Living out here, by herself...it was no wonder she was a little aggressive. Loneliness did strange things to people. Hell, she’d only been out here for two days, and the weird atmosphere was getting to her too.

Barbara turned, and with a heavy sigh leaned wearily against the dark cherry desk. She closed her eyes, and concentrated on getting her agitated pulse under control. Should she try calling a friend? That was a laugh—Barbara Cummings didn’t have friends. Just acquaintances and dalliances. No ties, no hangers-on, just the way she liked it. only now, her lone-wolf attitude meant she really was on her own, and for the first time in a very long while, Barbara felt out of her depth.

God, she could use a drink. Or a fuck. Preferably both.

Just as she was finally getting herself composed, an odd sound broke the silence of the study, startling her. What the hell was that? It almost sounded like...a moan? No, that was impossible; it had to be her overactive imagination again. She stood stock still, listening until her ears burned, waiting.

After long moments of silence, Barbara was convinced she had simply made it up...and then she heard it again.

A muffled moan, and nearby. Barbara’s hair suddenly stood on end. Where was it coming from? She circled the study, listening intently, but the noise did not repeat, and nothing in the room suggested anything unusual. It had to be coming from somewhere else.

Barbara picked up the small oil lamp Magda had left for her and stepped back into the hallway. Another long moment of silence passed, then suddenly she heard it again—louder this time. She scanned the hallway and spied a door, hidden in an alcove she had passed along the way. Could that be it? Uncertainty, but also the familiar thrill of excitement, had her pulse racing even worse than before. She crept up to the door, instinctively looking up and down the hall and finding it utterly empty, and pressed her ear against the heavy wood.

A moment later, she heard it again. Distinctly. Someone was in there.

“Ignore it,” the rational part of her mind implored her. “This is weird, Barbara. This whole house is weird. Ignore it and get back to your room.”

But...where was the fun in that? The lingering anger and frustration from the phone call had primed her for just this kind of bizarre exploration. She needed to burn off some adrenaline, to just do something besides sitting around waiting for the damn cab to come.

Taking a breath, Barbara tested the doorknob, and finding it unlocked, swung it open.

The room that lay beyond was totally dark, and the pool of light from her lantern only projected so far. She could make out some large, obscure shapes, but nothing at all recognizable. She’d have to come in further. Holding up her lantern to try and project more light around the room, she took a few cautious steps into the impenetrable dim, straining to see, straining to hear the strange noise again.

Behind her, the door to the hallway began to slowly and silently swing shut.

Barbara noticed the shrinking rectangle of illumination from the doorway too late; as she turned in surprise, the door clicked shut, leaving her standing in the small pool of light from her handheld oil lamp. Barbara, heart hammering, strode back to the door and tried the handle.

To her utter shock, the handle would not turn.

“What the hell,” she cursed, twisting harder, but the handle refused to budge. She was locked in.

“MMmmmnh...!”

Barbara spun around at the sound of the muffled moan, suddenly louder and closer than before. Her pulse was racing, fear gnawed at her insides. She thrust her lantern arm forward, trying to illuminate whatever it was that was making the noise. “W-who’s there?!” she demanded, “Show yourself, or—ah!”

She gasped in shock as the flame of her lamp suddenly burnt itself out, instantly drowning her in total darkness.

Barbara froze, terror slowly wrapping icy fingers around her throat. She fought back the surge of irrational panic that threatened to send her screaming back against the door, fought to control her suddenly rapid breaths. Devoid of sight, her ears burned as they tried to compensate for her sensory loss, but all she could hear was thunderous beating of her own racing heart.

Then, slowly, something in the room seemed to change. As if some unseen lights were being raised, the room around her was slowly being illuminated...but what Barbara saw made absolutely no sense. Coming from seemingly everywhere but nowhere at once, the room was suffused by a glow of the deepest ruby color, so that everything in it seemed to be a dizzying shade of black or red. Antique furniture littered the room, but every one seemed to have some kind of sinister bent to them. Along the walls were attached tall wooden frames dangling with empty manacles. There were no windows, and around the room, censures of polished brass dangled from long chains, issuing coils of white smoke that filled the room with the heady sweet smell of incense.

But Barbara was only peripherally aware of all these details; her attention was dominated by the great wooden rack in the center of the room, and the lithe, naked woman writhing against it.

“C-carrie?” Barbara whispered in disbelief, her throat clenching, “This...this isn’t possible...”

Her eyes told her otherwise though. The young co-ed was splayed across the wooden cross-beams, her arms and legs spread to the four corners and tethered there with long scarves of dark silk. Another scarf was wrapped in a blindfold around the girl’s head, while a thinner cloth was tied around her mouth in a gag. Besides the silk scarves, the poor girl was totally naked, and as she twisted ineffectually in her bonds, her ample, naked breasts quivered hypnotically in the dim red light.

The restraints were the least of Carrie’s problems though; between the girl’s trembling thighs, a thick, pale dildo curved up from the rack to bury itself in her grasping pussy. As Barbara stared in disbelief, Carrie suddenly stiffened, and issued a sweet, muffled moan through her silken gag. Her hips rocked against the unyielding phallus impaling her in wild, uncontrollable spasms, and her arms and legs strained in their bonds. Abruptly, the frenetic strength drained from her limbs, and she collapsed limply in the rack, her body weight sinking even more of the dildo’s wicked length into her sodden depths. From the copious amounts of fluid coating her inner thighs, and the thick, dripping sheen on the pale dildo, it was clear that poor Carrie had been driven to orgasm several times before this already.

Barbara’s mind reeled. How was this possible? Was she going crazy? What was Carrie doing here? How could this be happening? Amidst the cacophony of thoughts raging in her head, a small voice begged her to turn around, to try and find another way out, but Barbara couldn’t heed it; she needed to know what was going on, and there was only one way to do that.

She stepped up to the wooden sex rack to stand in front of Carrie, trying hard to ignore the undeniably erotic draw of the whole fantastic, unbelievable scene. Despite herself, Barbara couldn’t help but stare at the girl’s sensual struggle, and to her chagrin felt her own pussy starting to warm up. Her own penchant for bondage made her appreciate the wicked deviousness of Carrie’s bindings, how she had just enough slack to fuck herself on the thick phallus between her legs, but not nearly enough to escape its predations.

Whoever did this certainly knew what they were doing.

Despite her blindfold, Carrie seemed to notice that someone was standing close by, and had frozen stock still in her bondage, chest gasping in rapid, uncertain breaths. Barbara had to concentrate to steady her own tremulous hands before she could reach around the startled girl’s head to undo the knot of her blindfold. The bound brunette’s eyes blinked hard several times before they settled on Barbara, opening wide in disbelief. She stammered something incomprehensible behind her gag as Barbara went to undo that knot as well, gasping in a desperate gulp of air as soon as the strip of cloth was removed.

“M-mistress! You’re here—but, how...!” she whined, her eyes suddenly welling with tears, “Oh thank god! I thought I was all alone, please help me, please...!”

At once, she started thrashing in her bonds, suddenly desperate to be free of them, frantically begging Barbara to untie her.

“Carrie, Carrie, sshh,” Barbara struggled to calm the suddenly agitated woman, grasping her face to steady her and forcing her to meet her own gaze. “I’m going to get you out of this, but you have to calm down. Can you do that for me? Calm. Down.”

Her breathing was still a ragged pant, but Carrie managed to still her struggles, her limbs trembling. She nodded slowly, though her eyes still danced with an almost wild panic, as if she was terrified Barbara would suddenly disappear to leave her alone in the wicked rack. Once she was certain Carrie had calmed down, Barbara quickly looked up and down the rack, assessing its function and mechanism, and locating the knots that held Carrie’s arms and legs against the wooden frame. She untied these with deft skill, the simple knots no match for her own experience with restraints. Last, she reached between Carrie’s legs and found the mechanical catch that held the dildo in place. Releasing it let the device swing freely, and Barbara was slowly able to slide it out of Carrie’s grasping sex. The poor brunette choked back a cry as its formidable length finally slipped all the way out of her, and she collapsed forward into Barbara’s waiting arms, shaking.

Barbara eased her to the ground, smoothing her sweat-soaked hair back, offering soft whispers of reassurance. “It’s ok now, it’s going to be all right. Carrie, what happened? How did you get here? Who...did this to you?”

For a moment Carrie could not answer, she was sobbing so hard that her words were simply a jumbled mess. Barbara held her close, cradling her head in the crook of her shoulder, completely bewildered and increasingly angry at the same time. Did Magda do this? Who else could it have been? And how did she learn about Carrie? The poor girl was hardly even a footnote, barely a notch on Barbara’s belt of conquests; in fact, Barbara’s feeling for her stemmed more from a sense of ownership and responsibility than any kind of genuine affection. Carrie was hers, and anyone who fucked with her fucked with Barbara. She desperately wanted answers, but she couldn’t push. She had to wait. She held and rocked the distraught girl until her sobs finally began to slow down.

Her voice thick with tears, Carrie at last managed an answer, “I don’t know what happened. Last night I was coming home from class, had just reached the door to my apartment, when I heard someone call my name. I turned around and saw this lady standing there, all by herself. I didn’t know who she was, but she seemed to know me. She started walking towards me...”

Barbara stopped her, “Carrie, this woman, what did she look like? Was she older?”

She wiped at her tear-streaked face with the heel of her hand, but shook her head. “N-no...well, older than me anyway. She had really bright red hair. I’d never seen anything like it before.”

Red hair? It wasn’t Magda? Now Barbara was even more confused, but before she could say anything else, Carrie continued her story.

“She caught up to me, and we were both standing by my door. I mean, it was weird, sure, but she was another girl, you know? I wasn’t worried or anything...then she pulled out this stone...”

Barbara’s head whirled, “Stone? What stone?”

As Carrie recounted her story, her speech had gotten slower and slower, and now her eyes seemed to be distant, unfocused. Her voice had an almost sing-song lilt to it that made Barbara shiver. “Pretty stone...red, so so red...she wanted to show it to me, she said...it kept flashing...flashing...so hard to look away...”

Suddenly she sagged in Barbara’s arms, a weak moan whimpering from her lips. “I don’t know what happened next. I fell asleep. So tired. I woke up here, with her, tied to that...thing. I was naked, helpless...and when she started touching me, I couldn’t make her stop...”

Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “And...then...I didn’t want her to...”

Barbara’s eyes rose helplessly to the towering wooden frame dominating the room, and felt heat suddenly rise in her cheeks. Despite herself, listening to Carrie’s story was starting to affect her very badly; she was suddenly hyper aware of the girl’s warm body pressing up against her, the rhythmic pulse of her breath against her neck, and the heady, overwhelming scent of sex filling the air. She was getting insanely turned on, even as the details of Carrie’s story filled her with sinking dread. The stone she described, it was just like the one she had brought to Magda...just like the one...that...

“Uuugh,” Barbara moaned, tilting on her knees as a swell of sudden lethargy and drowsiness threatened to send her toppling to the ground. She seized onto Carrie, clinging to her desperately so as not to fall down. She screwed her heavy eyes shut, trying to blink away the fog that was sinking over her vision. The nascent arousal she felt suddenly began to climb, uncontrollably, until her nipples surged to aching stiffness and her clit swelled to attention. God, what was happening? What was...

“Mistress?” Carrie whispered, looking at Barbara’s face with concern. “Mistress are you all right?”

“I-I don’t know...” Barbara grimaced, sweat beading on her forehead. Her vision swam, and her heart was pounding. “I need to get up, we need to l-leave...”

She struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on Carrie to keep her balance. Even that simple act was almost too much for her; her limbs felt like they were made of lead, and all at once the strength had almost totally drained from them. Her only saving grace was that she was actually on her feet; if she were to fall, Barbara seriously doubted she’d be able to get herself back up again. It was all made worse by the liquid heat steadily growing in her over-sensitized sex, making it hard to concentrate, to think. Sweat beaded on Barbara’s furrowed brow. She wanted to take a step, but her knees were trembling terribly.

It was then she noticed Carrie’s hand had wandered down her back to cup and stroke the sensual curve of her ass through the gossamer dress. Her other arm, ostensibly wrapped around Barbara’s ribs to help steady her, had slid upwards to nudge against the under swell of her tits, until the heaving mounds threatened to spill past their too-tight restraints and into glorious, naked view. Barbara squirmed, “C-carrie, wait a minute, what are you—”

“I-I’m sorry,” she said, nuzzling against Barbara’s neck, “It’s just...you’re so beautiful...and I’m still so...hot...” Discarding any measure of pretense, the naked brunette sank her fingers possessively into Barbara’s firm ass, moaning appreciatively. She turned her face into Barbara’s neck, fastening her soft lips and wet tongue against the struggling blonde’s feverish flesh. The pleasure lanced through Barbara, making her gasp.

“Carrie!” she started, trying vainly to twist away from the girl’s suddenly aggressive advances, “Stop, you have to stop—oh!”

Barbara stared in hazy confusion as the insistent pressure from Carrie’s arm finally paid off, and her tits spilled over the top of the thin gauzy fabric. Her nipples surged to attention, hard and aching, as Carrie trailed wet kisses past her collarbone to reach the top slope of her breasts.

“Doesn’t it feel good, Mistress Barbara?” she whispered between kisses, “I’m doing it...just like you showed me how...”

“I-I don’t...no...oh...” Barbara whimpered, even as the growing wetness between her legs belied her denial. But then, something Carrie said suddenly cut through her erotic haze. Her eyes snapped open in horrified clarity, and with a mighty exertion of will, Barbara managed to force her hands between her and her lovely assailant, and shoved hard.

Carrie cried out in shock, her wide, brown eyes reflecting surprise and hurt, “M-mistress, what’s wrong? Did I upset you, please, I’m sorry, I—”

“Cut the bullshit!” Barbara snapped, trying to steady her trembling limbs. She glared at Carrie, “You called me ‘Barbara’. Carrie doesn’t know my name. So if you aren’t Carrie...just who the fuck are you?”

“Carrie’s” face darkened, lips pursing in a wicked smile. “Mmm, you’re a clever one, aren’t you?” she sing-songed, straightening. She gazed admiringly up and down Barbara’s near nakedness, biting her lower lip hungrily. “And here I thought you were just another dumb, blonde sextoy. Maybe you’re worthy after all.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Who are you?” Barbara demanded.

“Still...it’s probably best to be sure...” not-Carrie quipped casually, ignoring Barbara’s angry outburst, and pointed a slender, manicured hand at Barbara. She spread her fingers ominously, then with a snap, shut them into a fist.

There was a surge of movement out of the corner of Barbara’s eye, but the dim, and her treacherously leaden limbs, gave her no time to react. From the four corners of the massive wooden X-frame, the suddenly animated silk scarves exploded towards her, lashing at her with the speed of uncoiling serpents. Barbara cried out in shock, but faster than she could blink, the scarves wrapped around her wrists and ankles and gave a massive pull. Barbara was yanked backwards, and slammed against the rack with such force that the air was driven out of her lungs in a painful gasp. She crumpled, and would have slid right to the ground but for the scarves now binding her arms against the wooden beams. She hung limply in her restraints, coughing raggedly. Not-Carrie sauntered forward until she was standing in front of her, tittering an airy laugh.

“Now this is a sight,” she giggled, “There’s nothing quite like a gorgeous woman all tied up and helpless to get a girl in the mood.” She gave a casual wave of her hand, and the scarves pulled tight, drawing Barbara into a rigid spread eagle in the devious frame.

“F-fuck...you...!” Barbara spat, choking past the pain of feeling her limbs spread. She pulled at the scarves, but the silk was unyielding. She had no leverage. Just like that, she’d been totally overcome. Anger and shame raged inside her, the former directed at the smirking imposter standing in front of her and the latter solely at herself. A surge of hopelessness threatened to send tears spilling from her burning eyes, but she refused to give the woman the satisfaction. She glared balefully at the naked brunette, even as her stomach turned with the bitter pangs of defeat.

“Hmm...I don’t know if I’d use such harsh words if I were in your position, darling,” Not-Carrie smiled, slinking up to Barbara’s prone form. Her hands fell to Barbara’s spread legs, and she began to graze along the bound woman’s thighs with long, wandering strokes. Barbara jerked as her skin erupted in goose bumps beneath the pressure of her surprisingly sharp nails, but the scarves around her ankles left her no slack. Not-Carrie inched closer, until the peaks of her breasts nearly brushed against Barbara’s own. Barbara continued to glare furiously at her, but the tantalizing dance of those nails was making her skin tingle, and a hot blush surged unbidden over her cheeks. Her lovely captor observed all this with clear amusement, smiling into Barbara’s angry stare.

“So stoic,” she laughed, “We’ll see how long that holds up.”

“Bitch,” Barbara snarled, “Get your filthy hands off me!”

Not-Carrie stepped back, tilting her head. “Such language,” she pouted, favoring Barbara with a disapproving look, “I really had hoped to spare you a little, but it seems you leave me little choice. I can’t have my pets disrespecting me, now can I?”

She held up her hand, and showed Barbara the long strip of black silk dangling from her fingers. She smiled all too pleasantly, and proceeded to raise the fabric over Barbara’s wide, startled eyes.

“What—no, don’t touch me—stop!” Barbara protested, trying to twist her head, but Not-Carrie was both skilled and patient, and in a few moments had the blindfold pulled over Barbara’s eyes and knotted securely in place. Barbara was instantly plunged into total, disorienting darkness, and her pulse ratcheted up furiously. Not-Carrie suddenly grabbed hold of the cloth on either side of her head, using it to quell her struggles and hold her still with surprising strength.

“There there honey,” she soothed, “As much as I want to see the look in those pretty green eyes of yours when you finally break, I think you’ll find this much more...exciting.” Forcing her head back, the imposter began trailing kisses from Barbara’s exposed neck to her hot cheek, slowly inching towards her full lips. Her hands clenched and unclenched uselessly as her captor finally found her mouth, and pressed their lips together in a wet, smothering kiss.

Barbara couldn’t twist away. She couldn’t see anything. She could barely move. There was only the soft, relentless pressure of those lips sliding against her own, the brush of an inquisitive, probing tongue, and the awful, wild flutter that thrilled through her belly despite her efforts to ignore it. Come on, open up, that kiss seemed to whisper, open just a little...let me taste you...

Barbara whimpered, but fought back the urge, and in a moment Not-Carrie pulled away with a disappointed gasp. “Aw, you’re no fun,” she chided, sighing. “why do you have to be so stubborn? Well, don’t say I didn’t give you a fair chance. If you’re not going to play nice...”

Suddenly, Barbara felt another strip of fabric pressed tightly over her lips, and she uttered a muffled protest as the gag was summarily wrapped behind her head and tied off. She thrashed in place, blind, mute, and totally trapped. She fell still, breathing heavily. Not-Carrie tittered.

“I should warn you, I have a bit of experience with this sort of thing. You see, everyone always starts out all strong and resolved. Pretty soon though...” Suddenly, she slinked forward, easing her naked body hard against Barbara’s until she could brush her full lips against Barbara’s ear. The blonde shuddered uncontrollably at the intimate contact, barely suppressing a groan. Not-Carrie whispered airily, “...’strong’ and ‘resolved’ turns into ‘wet’ and ‘willing’. Anger gives way to lust, to need. You can feel it already, can’t you? These big, soft breasts of yours are feeling all hot and heavy, and here, between these sweet, silky thighs...”

She raked her fingers against Barbara’s spread legs for wicked emphasis. Barbara drew in a sharp breath.

“...things are starting to heat up, too. There’s no reason to be ashamed. Being all tied up, vulnerable...it does things to a girl. But you don’t need me to tell you that, do you, Barbara?”

As much as she hated to admit it, the bitch was right. Barbara struggled against the chords of silk, but she was held fast. There was no way out. Already, a feeling of helplessness was descending upon her, a sense of futility. It was a feeling she knew to be a potent weapon, having used it so often herself in the past. Her world was utter blackness, every muffled sound she made echoed in her own ears. She could feel the blood pounding in her veins. Deprived of her mobility, her senses, her mind desperately tried to compensate by ratcheting up every other sensation.

Her captor, eyeing her beautiful, bound prisoner hungrily, knew exactly what she was doing. “Now, let’s see how strong you really are.”

Her threat hung ominously in the air, but after a long, expectant pause...nothing. Not-Carrie had uttered not a single other word. Barbara couldn’t tell where she was standing anymore, whether she was across the room or right in front of her. Barbara hung stiffly in her bindings, wanting desperately to struggle but knowing it was futile. She would only wear herself out faster that way. She needed to calm down, to stay focused. She couldn’t hear anything but for her own labored breathing.

Where was her captor? Barbara’s skin tingled uncontrollably, hyper-sensitive to anything that might betray Not-Carrie’s location. The anticipation was maddening, but irrepressible.

Then, Barbara felt something graze against her bare thigh, and she stiffened, her heart leaping into her throat...but just as quickly, the feeling was gone, so fleeting she was hardly sure she felt it at all. She squirmed, waiting...but no follow up touch came.

What the hell was she doing? She had to be there, somewhere, just watching her. Was she circling her? Standing still? Where...AH!

Barbara recoiled as much as the bonds would allow, as the sensation of something hot and wet suddenly swiping against her rigid right nipple cut through her like a knife. What was that? A tongue? It was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving an echo of sensation tingling in her breast. She fixated helplessly on the sensation of saliva cooling on her throbbing nipple, twisting uselessly on the rack. Once again, it was followed by a long pause...then something brushed over the swell of her other breast, the briefest of contact. It might have been the tips of fingernails, or the brush of a feather, Barbara couldn’t tell, but instantly goose bumps erupted all over her, and the skin of her breasts tingled intensely.

She groaned through her gag. Her skin was a riot of anticipation. From her arms to her legs, she felt the smallest shift in the air, like a thousand invisible fingers teasing against her. Once in a while, the blackness of her isolation would be intruded by another touch, sometimes fleeting, sometimes not, somewhere on her hypersensitive body. Something brushed against her neck, her ears, her delicate collarbone. She felt something press into her hips and ass, squeezing possessively. Something trailed, hot and wet, against her leg, following the long slit in her dress to where it terminated above her hip.

She squirmed helplessly, the sensations rampaging through her until she was nearly a manic, panting mess. Soon she couldn’t tell if the things she felt were real, or if they were purely in her head. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t move. There was only blackness, and the unseen touches of her wicked captor. Her nipples throbbed, and despite her attempts to resist, her pussy was getting wetter by the second. She felt (or did she imagine?) a subtle shift in temperature about her hips, thought she could feel air against her naked pussy lips. Had her dress been moved up to expose her? The fabric was so light, she couldn’t tell. She imagined herself spread in a wide X, her heavy breasts bare, the dress bunched around her dress to reveal the smooth, swollen lips of her sex. She imagined her captor circling her, eagerly taking in every inch of exposed flesh, quietly contemplating her next torturous caress. Would it be her breasts? Her legs? Or...!

Suddenly, she felt it, that touch she had been fearing most of all. It was the lightest of things to start, but to Barbara’s over-taxed body it was like a current of electricity. Fingertips were slowly tracing up and down her swollen labia, taking the tell-tale wetness and spreading it all over her quivering sex. With each stroke the fingers grew bolder, delved deeper into the folds of her pussy, spreading her beneath their knowing touch. Barbara trembled, pulling uselessly at her bonds, helpless to stop the wicked assault on her unprotected womanhood. Insidious pleasure coursed through her body, battering her will. It was all Barbara could do to keep from moaning into the gag, but she refused to give her captor the satisfaction. Her breathing grew ragged as she fought to suppress every unwanted gasp elicited by the steady manipulation of her weeping sex.

Barbara was so focused on fighting back the pleasure from her pussy that she was woefully unprepared for the next strike. Without warning, her stiff nipple and surrounding tit flesh were suddenly engulfed in hot, liquid warmth, sucked into her captor’s open, eager mouth. The sensation caught her totally off guard, and tore a strangled moan from her throat as firm, wet tongue strokes lapped circles around her throbbing peak. Her pussy surged wetness helplessly onto the rhythmically stroking fingers still nestled in her folds, and Barbara tossed her head back and forth in desperate denial.

But something had come undone in her resolve; that moan was like a breach in her defenses, a fault in her will, and Barbara found it suddenly impossible to fully control the sounds of pleasure wrung from her tortured lungs. Despite herself, the moans and whimpers began to come more frequently as first one breast then the other was subjected to the same vile attention. Each one echoed behind her gag to form a litany of defeat that rang in her ears. You can’t fight it. You’re too weak. She has you completely at her mercy, and it feels so damn good. Give in, Barbara. Give in.

You know you want to.

“Nnnnnh! Nnnnnnnnnh!” she cried, the muffled ‘no’s’ barely intelligible. She was panting now, her hips twitching in pre-orgasmic spasms as the stroking fingers began moving faster and faster. The suction around her nipple was so fierce it nearly hurt, but the erotic ache resonated with the slick hum of her overworked pussy, driving her relentlessly towards utter bliss. Then, as she finally reached the precipice of her stamina, as that great chasm of pleasure prepared to swallow her whole...everything stopped. The fingers abandoned her pussy. Her nipple was freed from its torturous suction. Abruptly, the release that had been barely a breath away halted utterly in its advance, and Barbara was left quivering on its edge. She let out an agonized groan, twisting in her bondage; all it would take was the pressure of her thighs squeezing together on her clit, the barest of sensations...but in her restraints she was completely denied.

She actually sobbed into her gag, her frustration was so raw, before suddenly realizing what she’d done. Shame burned hotly on her cheeks, and tears welled in her eyes behind the silk blindfold. Her aching arms and legs gave way, leaving her hanging limply on the rack to suffer her body’s angry protests at being denied. She struggled to catch her breath, but with only her nose clear to breathe, she couldn’t seem to get enough air. Her head swam, and her ears pounded in time to the throbbing of her neglected clit.

When her captor spoke, Barbara started in shock; her voice was so close, she had to be standing almost directly in front of her.

“Not yet, Barbara dear. I’m not letting you off the hook that easy.”

Barbara could hear the evil grin in her captor’s voice, and realized she could make out low sucking sounds. The woman was licking her wetness from her fingers, relishing her conquest, for that’s what it was; she had Barbara almost completely subdued. A moment more and she would have come like a freight train, and they both knew it. The realization made Barbara’s heart sink, while at the same time igniting an unnervingly seductive feeling of desire. There was something almost liberating about being so helpless; there was no way she could fight back, no way for her to resist...

“Yesss,” a smoldering, honey-sweet voice oozed in her mind, “It’s useless to struggle. You are trapped, open, vulnerable. She controls your body. She controls your pleasure. It’s not your fault. Your body is made for pleasure. Relax...just relax...enjoy...”

The words seemed to swell up out of her own burning need, filling her thoughts, coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The subversive, perverse reasoning of it all was so compelling, yet alarm bells were going off through the sex fog muddling her thoughts. No, this was wrong. She had to fight. That voice was evil. She shouldn’t be enjoying this.

...but how could she help it?

As if sensing the terrible internal struggle in her captive prey, the impostor stepped forward, pressing herself enticingly against Barbara’s trembling body. Barbara groaned as she felt her heavy breasts squeeze against her captor’s own sizeable tits as the woman began planting firm, wet kisses into the soft of her neck. Between lingering licks and wild sucking so intense she was surely leaving marks, her captor whispered breathlessly into Barbara’s ear.

“Your body belongs to me,” she said, “You’re mine now. You’re nothing but my toy, my hot little sex slave.”

‘No, I’m not, I’m...oh...oh god...I’m so hot...’ Barbara thought miserably, moaning her protests into the gag as the assault on her neck reignited her aching need. Her captor moved to her face, showering her with kisses. Barbara was almost grateful for the strip of cloth over her mouth; if she actually felt those questing lips against her own, she didn’t trust herself not to kiss back.

Soon, the kisses began trailing downward. Lingering love bites left her breasts tingling. A slow line of kisses down her flat belly made her squirm. She felt firm hands caress her hips before grabbing her thighs possessively, and still those devilish kisses kept moving lower. When Barbara felt the first puff of hot breath against the dripping folds of her pussy, she groaned hopelessly.

‘I’m going to explode,’ Barbara sobbed, ‘She had me right on the edge with just her fingers...if she uses her t-tongue...ooh...no...’

The first kiss landed right on top of her erect clit, followed by a long, slow lick over the full length of her swollen lips that made Barbara’s toes curl. Her hips rocked uncontrollably into the hot, hungry swipes caressing her dripping sex, urging, practically begging for more, but her assailant always stayed in perfect control. She masterfully lashed Barbara with her sinuous tongue, teasing, taunting, driving her into a wild, moaning rut. Even faster than before, the will-crushing orgasm built irresistibly, drawing closer and closer with each struggling breath.

But then, just as before, the pleasure suddenly stopped right before the crescendo. That cunning tongue slipped away, abandoning her clit at the last possible second, leaving Barbara straining in wretched agony as the pleasure built and built...but never broke.

‘No, oh god please not again, I can’t take it, I can’t...!’ Barbara cried in frustration, nearly screaming into her gag. She thrashed madly in her bonds, pulling until her wrists burned and her ankles ached, but there was no escape. No relief. The tears flowed hotly through her tightly clenched eyes to soak into the black silk blindfold. It was so awful, so horribly, deliciously awful. She needed release. She needed to come!

“Mmm, that was close,” the voice tittered between her trembling thighs, “I almost got carried away! You’re absolutely delicious, Barbara. So hot, so sweet. Oh, I could do this for hours...”

‘You bitch, oh you bitch,’ Barbara sobbed miserably, her pussy absolutely throbbing.

“Don’t worry, darling. I know how badly you need it. I am not unkind. Here...”

Her hands slid off Barbara’s quivering thighs. The bound blonde could feel her working on something between her legs, and a moment later, something...big...brushed against her pussy.

Barbara stiffened. Oh god. It could only be one thing...!

Her captor stood, and then Barbara felt the chords around her wrists slacken. As she sank down, the smooth, carved head of the dildo pressed fully against the wet folds of her pussy. Barbara gasped, standing on her toes, her legs stretched maximally to keep herself off the rigid phallus threatening to impale her. As she teetered to keep her balance, the rounded knob of the ivory cock rubbed between her glistening folds until her wetness began to run down its long shaft.

Her heart pounded. Every time her swollen clit grazed against the dildo’s head, jolts of pleasure raced through her straining legs. Her knees trembled. The hard phallus pushed delightfully against her, setting of sparks of sensation impossible to deny. Even as her mind recoiled in denial, her pussy had other ideas; her labia spread eagerly against the intruding member, coating it in her juices, helping it slide against her until the rounded tip found the entrance of her pussy. Barbara was suddenly aware, painfully so, of how achingly empty she felt. Her clit throbbed. Her pussy tingled with the aftermath of two denied orgasms. Her legs were getting tired of trying to hold the awkward position, and soon, despite her every effort, her cramping feet finally gave way. She sank down, and the bulbous head of that marauding dildo slid wetly into her, spreading her with its size.

‘OOhh! Oh, no...i-it won’t fit...it’s too...big...’ Barbara gasped in reluctant pleasure. Her mind conjured the memory of seeing the long, thick shaft sliding out of Carrie’s grasping pussy, and the thought of that monster poised beneath her, waiting to impale her on its length, made her stomach flutter anxiously. But as the initial shock of penetration wore off, as her pussy adjusted to the head nestled in her opening, wicked, lustful thoughts began to dance in Barbara’s head. Thoughts of submission, of penetration, of sinking down the length of that rigid organ until it filled her completely.

Then, as if reading the torrid thoughts racing through her mind, she felt her captor’s tongue return to her sex. Barbara let out a long, muffled moan as it dragged its full length over her engorged clitoris, causing her pussy to clench eagerly around the dildo resting against her opening. Barbara’s pussy was on fire, and the cock pressing into her felt so seductive, so enticing. Oh god, she was losing herself.

“Don’t fight it,” the voice whispered hotly in her ear, “You’re too turned on to fight it. Let yourself go, darling. Sink into your desire. Let it fill you. You’re so wet. Give in. Yesss. Relax...”

The words were mesmerizing. Each phrase seemed to turn in Barbara’s addled mind, constricting her will. She moaned as the strength drained from her legs, and the first few inches of the dildo drove inside her. The movement wrenched a muffled cry from her lungs, but somehow she managed to stop herself, her pussy clenching around the thick shaft. Barbara was seeing stars. Just those few inches had been enough to set her cunt on fire. She was suddenly terrified of what the full length of that cock would do to her. She had to stop. She had...to...!

She forced her tired legs to straighten, hoping to get enough leverage with the chords around her arms to be able to pull up and off the glistening phallus buried in her sex, but as she rose, as her pussy slid up that slick shaft, something went wrong. The insidious motion of it inside her, the way it caressed her as it retreated, it felt...good. Too good. With the head once again poised at the entrance of her pussy, Barbara’s legs were again at full extension, on her toes. She just had to reach up, to grab hold of the chords by her wrists, and she’d have enough to pull herself off.

Only...only she couldn’t do it...

Barbara trembled, indecision wrenching her, as her desire for freedom was slowly but surely supplanted by a more primitive need. Her pussy ached. The head of the ivory cock held her fast. Try as she might, Barbara couldn’t summon the will to move those last few inches, and slowly, irresistibly, the strength began to bleed from her aching muscles.

‘N-no...no...oh...oh god...!’ Barbara moaned, as she slid back down the waiting shaft, Her legs were like jelly, she could barely stop herself, and this time, the cock sank nearly half its length into her before the pressure of her desperately squeezing pussy stopped her descent. She shuddered as will-wracking pleasure danced up her spine. The sensation of its initial penetration was bad enough, but this was ten times worse. The cock inside her was so hard, so thick...it was making it impossible to think of anything else.

Behind her blindfold, Barbara’s whole world was hopelessly fixated on the image of that phallus driving into her eager sex. It was disorienting, dizzying. It felt so damn good. She struggled to rise, and once again, the erotic friction of the monster in her pussy took her breath away. She uttered a whimpering moan before she sank back onto it, deeper this time, the unrelenting phallus draining her strength, her will. She quivered around it, the echoes of her own moans changing into a sinister, hypnotic rhythm.

‘That’s it Barbara. Up and down. Deeper and deeper. You love it, don’t you? You love how it fills you, how it reaches inside you. Good girls deserve to be fucked. Good girls need to be fucked. Yes. Yesss...’

“Y-yeesss....” Barbara groaned, “Oh god yes...it’s so big...it’s so good!” Her hips rose and fell over that devil cock as it wove its evil spell over her. In and out, over and over, she fucked herself on the ivory phallus. Her body moved on its own now, totally beyond her control. All thoughts of escape had fled, driven out of her by the monstrous shaft impaling her helpless pussy. She couldn’t fight it any more. The pleasure was too much, her need too great. She was a slave to that cock. A slave to its pleasures. All that mattered now was her own desire, and quenching the fiery ache within.

‘This is your true self, Barbara,’ that thick, honeyed voice whispered in her mind, ‘Weak. Submissive. Desperate to be taken, so eager to be controlled. I know what you want. I know what you need...’

A face swirled into focus out of the darkness behind her eyes. It was Carrie’s face, the face of the woman who had so utterly defeated her, her lips pulled into an alluring, victorious smirk. But as the pleasure began to mount, as her treacherous hips drove that dripping cock faster and faster inside her, Carrie’s face began to swirl, to change. Her short brown hair lengthened, swept back, black streaked with white. Her young, almost elfin features shifted, still beautiful, but softer now, and creased with age. The mischievous smile gave way to a fuller set of lips curled imperiously into a bow. The deep brown eyes faded into stormy, spiraling gray.

Barbara moaned in recognition, even as her mind went mercifully blank as she drowned in Magda’s smoldering, penetrating stare. Her hips rocked even faster onto the impaling cock, the pleasure climbing; so close now, so desperately close!

‘No woman can resist the pleasure I give,’ the voice, Magda’s voice, rang in her receptive ears, ‘You are a slave to pleasure. A slave to your desire. Sex slave. My sex slave. Say it, Barbara. Say it...!’

The strip of cloth was pulled from her lips, and at once Barbara let out a long, submissive moan. “Y-yesss...pleasure...s-slave...your slave...oh, yesss!”

‘Come for me now, Barbara. Come...slave!”

“Aah! Oh God, OH GOD YES! YESS! OHHHH!” Barbara screamed, her pussy exploding around the monstrous cock plundering her sodden depths. She writhed and twisted on the rack, pulling uselessly at her bonds, as she convulsed in the biggest orgasm of her life. The pleasure kept going and going, each uncontrollable spasm churning the dildo inside her and setting her off again. Finally, totally spent, she collapsed forward, her legs totally giving out. She hung from her arms, impaled on the ivory phallus, as her body continued to shudder in aftershocks of ecstasy.

Long moments passed, and slowly, gradually, Barbara’s ragged breathing began to slow. She panted, trembling in her bonds. Then the voice again, inside her head, all around her, whispering, ‘Good girl. Such a sweet slave. But you aren’t done yet, are you? No. A slut like you is never satisfied with just one...’

Then, unbidden, Barbara felt her hips beginning to rock again. Dimly, she realized that they were moving on their own, dancing to the strings of some other’s will. But soon, the erotic thrill of that conquering cock fucking inside her again made all those thoughts just melt away. All that mattered was the pleasure. She loved it. She needed it. She felt herself moving faster now, and as the evil phallus once more began driving her helplessly toward another orgasm, she heard her voice filling the red-lit sex chamber with sweet, eager cries.

“More! Oh please more! It’s so good, it’s making me—making me....Ohhh!”

“You’ll have more, Barbara,” Magda promised her orgasming slave, a demon’s grin splitting her face, “Oh yes. Much more. And now...you will do it again...”