The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

After dinner, Mira and Brea showed us to our rooms. As soon as they left, I went to see Iason.

“Hey,” I said as he answered the door. “I found some stuff out about your sister.”

“Really?” he said. “Nobody would talk to me!”

“That’s because you went around interrogating them. I pretended to be a gossipy little airhead from a distant land, and got some great story-swapping going.”

Iason turned a chair around and sat on it backwards. I plopped myself down on his bed. “Like what?” he asked.

Oh, sure. Like I would give up my hard-earned info that easily. “Well, rumor has it that Mira, who’s Brinksmoor’s favorite “serving girl”, if you know what I mean, is actually not as into guys as the boss might think.” I paused, as if in thought. “And some guard chick named Flavia said that one of the kitchen girls’ cousin is having an affair with the son of the Duke of Lesser Kirning, and—”

“What about my sister?” Iason demanded.

“Oh? You don’t want to hear any of the other scads of oh-so-interesting gossip about people I have never heard of and who therefore don’t matter?”

“Lemma.” He was not amused.

I gave one of my most dramatic sighs. “Fine, fine. I could hardly expect you to appreciate my comic genius after you so coldly undervalued my incredible beauty earlier.” I grinned at him, and he sighed.

“All right, you’re hilarious and a total hottie,” he said. “Now will you tell me about my sister?”

“Of course, handsome! She worked here just like you said. At the end of the three days, Brinksmoor offered her a long-term contract, but she said she had other business in Breizh. She was last seen heading east along the dry side of Brinksmoor Ridge.” I winked. “See how easy that was.”

He shook his head. “I’ll set out tomorrow for Breizh. What about you? Any luck with your books?”

I shook my head. “I’m sure he’s got one, but none of the girls knew anything about it. I’m going to stay here and keep digging.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “You must think I’m an idiot.”

Well, not an idiot exactly. Just an ordinary guy, better looking and more decent than most. Which, compared to the extraordinary people like me and, even more so, Master, well... “What do you mean?”

“I saw the way you were looking at Brinksmoor all through dinner, whenever you thought I couldn’t see.”

Oh no. Oh ye gods below, no. He knows!

Iason crossed his arms and looked down at me sternly. “You’re planning on trying that ridiculous ‘feminine wiles’ plan, aren’t you?”

Okay, so yes, an idiot, then. “Hey, go with what you’ve got, right?”

“I don’t want to get kicked in the crotch again—”

“Good man.”

“—so I’ll just keep my mouth shut on this one.”

“Very good man. Good night, Iason.”

“Night, Lemma.”

I walked out of his room and headed down the hall to my own, relieved and slightly guilty. Iason didn’t really deserve to be lied to, but before dinner Master had told me what to say. As long as I focused on that, I could stay happy. Anyway, I didn’t lie to him about anything major. Just that there hadn’t been any gossiping with the girls, just Master telling me where Iola had gone. I’d even told the truth about it being hard-earned! Getting that much of Master’s cock in my mouth was far from easy, let me tell you.

I walked into my room to find Mira waiting for me. “Close the door behind you and strip,” she commanded without preamble.

Master had said to obey her like I would him, so I did. As I did, she sat on my bed and stretched languorously. I had to admit, if you liked big-boobed, long-legged blondes, she looked pretty good. The short skirt and low neckline of her skimpy little uniform showed off her assets, and, like I said, she was a lot shorter and skinner than most of her compatriots. She was maybe two or three inches taller than my five even, and with her big boobs and broad hips, her solid but not fat waist fit perfectly to give her a nice curve, without being a ridiculous, overstated hourglass. Her blonde hair was curly and shoulder-length, and her eyes were big and blue in a freckled face.

Once I was naked, she ordered me to kneel. “My job,” she said, “is to turn you into a worthy slave of my Master. Tonight, you will learn what it means to serve another. Do you understand?”

“Got it,” I said. I had the feeling I was in for a long night.

Mira lectured and ranted at me for hours. Turns out I didn’t do anything like Master preferred. I spent the whole night practicing looking up from under my eyelashes, curtseying, and sucking on a cucumber, while Mira yelled at me about what I was doing wrong. By an hour in I was about ready to kill her; by morning, I had decided death was too good for her, and was plotting ways to redefine her every waking moment into infinite pain.

Finally, I was allowed to clean up and put my clothes back on to go to breakfast, and then see Iason off. I arrived at the table to see that Master wasn’t there, much to my disappointment, and Iason was. I chatted with him lightly while Brea served us what passed for nobleman-quality food in Kyrno: yesterday’s coarse bread, fried in egg and butter; thin, slightly sour milk; and honey. Nowhere near my usual standards, and certainly not good enough for Master! Something would have to be done.

I returned to my room, since I didn’t have any assignments or anything, stretched out on the bed and conked out. I was awoken a couple of hours later by the door slamming open. “What are you doing?” demanded Mira.

“Smrgl,” I said, getting up from the bed and shielding my eyes from the light. “Grashl foob,” I explained.

“Wake up, slut!” she snapped. “You’re Master’s slave—if you can prove you deserve it—not His guest! Why aren’t you in the slave quarters?”

“I didn’t know—” I started to say.

“Shut up! Get to the slave quarters, now!”

I hurried out of the room, my cheeks burning. Obeying Master was natural and good, but being pushed around by this bitch? I had half a mind to fireball her into next month, or at least give her a good slap, but Master wouldn’t be happy about that. I had to put up with her at least long enough to learn how to be a good slave. But that didn’t mean I didn’t have to make it easy for her.

“Well?” Mira said as I just stood in the hallway. “Get going!”

“You haven’t told me where they are,” I said innocently.

Mira glared at me. “Fine. Follow me.”

We came to a large room lined with bunks. An open wardrobe stood in the corner, holding a couple of dozen dresses like all the servants wore, in various sizes. “Change into a French maid uniform,” Mira ordered, pointing at the wardrobe. “Master said you are to be trained as a house-slave.”

House-slave? Me, cook and clean and all that crap? No way! I mean, if that was what Master wanted... No. He must not have realized what a powerful sorceress I am. Once I saw Him again, I could just explain, and He would let me serve as a soldier. Or, even better, I could teach Him magic. As I changed into the uniform (to this day, I have no idea what a “French” is; I can only assume it’s barbarian for “uncomfortable and impossible to do any work in”), my mind wandered into fantasies of teaching Master, spending hours every day with Him. He would be so pleased with everything I could show Him! That, and the constant presence of my natural charms, would make me His favorite slave in no time. We’d spend our days practicing magic and our nights in bliss—

“Leave your panties off,” ordered Mira. “They will not be required.”

Right. Before I could even get to see Master again, first I’d have to deal with the bitch. And she wasn’t about to make it any easier than I was: I spent the day cleaning, polishing, dusting, and cooking, and none of it was satisfactory to Mira. “Master deserves better!” was her constant refrain.

“Yeah?” I finally snapped after four hours of this. Clearly, it was time to delicately broach the matter of the quality of our repasts. “Master deserves better than that crap you Kyrnans call food, too!”

“You little bitch! How dare you waltz in here and question my menu planning? I am Master’s first and favorite slave! Before I was a slave, I was Lady Brinksmoor! Apologize, foreign slut!”

“I’ll apologize when I say something that warrants it, barbarian bitch!” Ooh, bonus points to me for alliterative insults.

“Master commanded you to obey me! Now get on your knees and apologize, or I will tell Master what an undeserving slut He has accidentally enslaved!”

What. A. Total. Bitch. She’d do it, too. I could see it in her eyes—she was afraid of me, just like that asshole Archmage boKorell. And if I wasn’t obedient enough, Master wouldn’t let me be his slave anymore! That thought filled me with fear. Not to mention that I would lose any opportunity to search for the book. With both geas and glamour working against it, my pride didn’t stand a chance. Fists and teeth clenched tightly, I knelt in front of Mira and growled, “Sorry.”

She smirked. “Again. Like you mean it, this time.”

I sighed and forced myself to relax. “I’m very sorry I insulted you, Mira.”

“Good,” she said, and flipped her skirt up to reveal her slit and the little patch of yellow hair above. “Now eat me out, foreign slut.”

“What!?” I gasped.

“Now!”

“But I don’t go for women!” I protested.

“I do.” Mira was practically purring. “More to the point, Master goes for women who do. Now shut up and get your face in there.”

Well, if Master liked it... I sighed and leaned in. I’d never done this before, but I knew what I liked, so maybe I’d do okay. The better a job I did, the sooner she’d let me stop, right?

“Oh shit!” yelped Mira. “You’re a little liar, foreign slut. You’ve done this before!”

“Nah,” I said, slightly muffled. “That’s just my naturally superior tongue at work.”

“Shut up and keep going!” Mira snapped. She didn’t say much else, unless there’s a barbarian language of moans and gasps I don’t know. Certainly possible, I suppose.

After I made her cum, Mira sent me off to have dinner with the rest of the slaves. The food was even worse than what we’d had as Master’s guests—just bread and cheese and water. Lemurian rats ate better than that!

I was just about finished when Mira walked in. Later I found out she never ate with the other house-slaves—as Master’s favorite, she served him meals and then ate the leftovers. “Well, everyone,” she announced to the room, “meet the foreign slut! She doesn’t like girls, she told me!”

About half the house-slaves tittered, many of them looking at me scornfully. A couple of the ones that didn’t laugh gave me pitying glances, but most just looked away. I knew, from Mira’s tone and their reaction, that I was in trouble.

“Put this blindfold on,” said Mira, handing it to me. “Make sure you can’t see.”

I did as she commanded, as I had to. She ordered Brea to strip me. She must have gestured or something, because as soon as I was naked, I felt several pairs of hands and a couple of tongues on my body, stroking and teasing.

Ew ew EW! Look, there’s nothing wrong with some girl-on-girl if you’re into that sort of thing. One of my roommates at the Academy was, and she was one of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet. But I’m NOT into it! I like boys. Tall, muscular ones with big hands and big cocks. And of course Master, too.

But of course it didn’t matter that it was girls touching me. My body just knew it was being touched in all the best places. Fingers traced my toes and lips carressed the skin below my navel, gently, softly, and insistently. With sight gone, it was like my sense of touch was magnified and heightened. Somebody tweaked one of my nipples, and a spasm ran through me so hard I fell off my chair. But the dozen hands on my body caught me, and lowered me to the floor, where they continued exploring.

“Do you like this?” Mira whispered in my ear. She nibbled at the lobe, and I moaned. “I know you do. You say you don’t like women, but the truth is you’re a slut who’ll sleep with anything, man or woman.”

“No...” I groaned.

“Master is watching in secret, you know,” she said. “He loves to see his slaves making each other cum. The only thing he likes more is seeing us humiliated.”

Oh gods, there were two mouths on my nipples, and someone was sucking my toes, and someone else was sucking my fingers, and there were hands everywhere, and Master wanted to see me cum! All I could do was shudder and gasp, and try to forget who the hands and mouths belonged to. Pretend they were all Master.

“I’m not going to order you to say you’re a slut, foreign slut,” Mira purred. “You’d have no choice, then, and that won’t be nearly as humiliating as waiting until it’s true. But no one is going to touch your cunt until you shout, for everyone to hear, that you’re a little slut who lives to be fucked. Until then, just lie there and take it!”

“Agh...” I said. I wasn’t capable of much else. I could feel myself flushed with arousal and embarrassment and rage, half at Mira for putting me into this situation, and half at myself for not doing anything about it. I could practically hear my cunt begging to be touched, but Mira’s last sentence had been an order. Nothing was stopping me from reaching down and frigging myself into a stupor, but if I did, I’d be disobeying Mira, which in turn meant I was disobeying Master.

I tried to rub my legs together, to get some relief, but slaves pulled them apart, lips and tongues running over my thighs, the backs of my knees, the souls of my feet. I twisted and writhed, going crazy from the sensations bombarding me. I had to do something. I had to! But which was more important: my pride, or obeying Master?

It was no contest. Not really.

“I’m a little slut who lives to be fucked!” I shouted, and then a finger pushed its way into me. “I’m a slut!” I shouted again, ramming myself against it as hard as I could. The finger withdrew to be replaced by three fingers curled around each other, and a mouth clamped down over my clit, sucking hard. I screamed “I’m a slut,” sobbing in humiliation and a little pain and more pleasure than I could stand.

Fingers rammed me, tongues swirled on my clit and nipples, and hands still traced all over my body, teasing me and holding me down. Mira’s tongue was hot and wet in my ear. “Say that you’re my little foreign slut, and I’ll let you cum.”

I was much too far gone to even think about whether Mira actually had any control over when I came. I shrieked “I’m Mira’s little foreign slut!” and came, almost as hard as I had with Master.

Mira tore my blindfold off and laughed. From my vantage point, sprawled on the floor, I could see the dribble running down her leg— it looked like I wasn’t the only one who’d cum. A crowd of half a dozen laughing slave girls stood over me, and I blushed furiously, but I was too worn out to do much else. I was thoroughly broken.

“Please,” I whimpered, “did I please Master? Just tell me He’s happy, and it will be okay.”

“Master?” laughed Mira. “Master’s not here, slut! He’s in his study, of course. This was for my benefit.”

I groaned. Hot tears of humiliation and anger burned behind my eyes. But I wasn’t going to let them fall. Broken I might be, but I am never beaten!

Shakily, I got to my feet. To hide my unsteadiness, I bent and picked up my clothes. Carefully folding the dress, I turned and looked Mira right in the eye, tossing back my long hair. Without letting a trace of embarrassment show on my face, I said, “Thank you for demonstrating this method of pleasing Master, Mira. I enjoyed it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go clean up.” Then I turned and swept from the room as dramatically as a naked, slightly sticky sorceress can.