The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mab About the Boy

By Captain Eazy

“Our revels now are ended….”

William Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act IV, Scene i

18

“You hold me in despite, wench!” Oberon scowled and seemed to swell. He and Mab were face to face. Well—a little more than face to face. He sat with his legs extended and had his cock thrust up into her pussy. She sat astride him and steadily pumped, holding his shoulders and frowning at him.

“I hate you for denying our people,” she said, wriggling. Maeve, who knelt beside the fucking couple, could tell she was angry. Mab wore, not clothes exactly, but flames—a roaring garment all of fire, though not hot to the touch. Maeve caressed her ass with one hand, while with the other she kneaded Oberon’s firm buttock.

“Come on, you two,” she said. “Settle your differences! Find a way out of this fix.”

Oberon seized Mab’s left nipple between his thumb and finger and pulled and squeezed. “She’s the one you should persuade! For five hundred of your years our world, faerie and human, have been separate. She’s the one who kept trying to break down the barriers, not I!”

Mab threw back her head, her teeth clenched. “That’s good! But aside from your attentions, we need human servants! We grow weak without belief! My subjects dwindle and shrink, and soon they will be no larger than ants! Why, this girl’s magic has fed and sustained us! Already my servants have grown in size—fuck me harder—and in strength! You would have me give up this newfound power and fade?”

“You know the end of it,” growled Oberon, reaching behind to clutch her ass cheeks and raise her into the air. His thighs smacked against her buttocks. Maeve took advantage to slip her hand underneath and caress his bouncing, swollen balls, slippery with Mab’s juices. The smells were driving her crazy. She slipped a finger into Mab’s asshole and felt the astonishing, huge pumping of his cock through a thin wall of flesh dividing asshole and pussy. “The girl’s world will be destroyed, sucked into the glamour of ours until nothing remains! Both worlds will die! Squeeze harder!”

“What if,” Maeve said, her pussy itching for some action, “what if we—compromise?”

Mab gasped, “What—ahh, what—ahh! I’m cumming! I’m cumming!”

Maeve nearly did too, feeling the fairy queen’s sphincter greedily clutch at her intruding finger. And then Oberon threw back his head and howled, and a flood of divine semen leaked out over her cupping fingers. She pulled her hand away and sucked it off.

The lovers fell apart, and Mab’s dress of flame vanished. Both of them lay panting and gasping, and at last Oberon said, “What is your idea of a compromise, mortal?”

Mab was fingering Maeve’s cunt, and she spread her legs and sighed. “Well,” she began, “first, I’d have to have some power. Maybe not as much as—mmm, yeah—as I had to begin with, but some. And—and there would need to be—oh, God, Oberon, could you fuck me? Need to be a place—oh, your cock is huge—a little place on our earth that—that touched your—let me lick your pussy, my Queen—swing your leg over—mmm! Mmmmm!”

* * *

Negotiations were, as they say, complex and protracted. But a year later . . . .

Two hundred and fifty happy passengers, one hundred and twenty-five couples, had trooped up the gangplank to board the S. S. Faery Queen, the only Cockaigne-registered vessel operating in U.S. waters. Captain Ron saluted Maeve and said, “All are aboard, ma’am.”

“Great!” she said with a brilliant smile. “Girls, make sure they’re served refreshments.”

“Aye, aye!” Nancy and Deena said in unison. They wore the uniform of Romagic Cruises, Inc.: red thongs, red high heels. As they went giggling toward the deck, Maeve waved her wand. Now the passengers, who ranged from honeymooners to middle-aged tubby Midwesterners trying to recapture the spark of romance, would take their near-nudity completely in stride. “Weigh anchor, Captain,” Maeve ordered.

“Aye, aye, ma’am,” he said, saluting again.

Maeve sighed. Ron was twenty-eight, muscular, handsome—tireless in the sack. And what a cock! He—

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?”

“Shut up, you fucking cat,” Maeve said fondly. She scratched Tybalt’s butt, making him purr. “Wait ‘til we get to the island and then tell me off. How many lady kitties do you have there now? Fifty?”

“Who’s counting?”

The ship’s horn gave its prolonged blast, and the liner slowly pulled out of its berth in Port Canaveral. It was a wonderful day for sailing, hot sun, clear blue sky, smooth seas. Of course for some arcane reason it was always a wonderful day for sailing aboard the Faery Queen. If a category 5 hurricane were raging just off the Florida coast, it wouldn’t matter. The ocean would miraculously flatten itself out, the sun would shine, and the breezes would be warm and balmy. The ship made thirty cruises a year, twelve days long each, with a few days left over for the crew to party. One day to the Enchanted Isle (which showed up on no map); ten days of sheer pleasure on the island; one day back, with the couples so utterly satisfied that word of mouth had given the Faery Queen an eighteen-month waiting list of prospects. Other cruise lines wondered what the hell Maeve did that let her cruise ship prosper even in times of economic unrest.

It was, they said, like magic.

By the time the Florida coastline had vanished behind them, the passengers were getting pretty relaxed, dancing, drinking, chatting. Maeve wandered among them, wearing only her own red thong. No one knew they were speaking to the president of the company—she was just another serving girl, smiling and chatting. A fiftyish couple from Des Moines were dancing as if it were still the 1980s. They told her they felt marvelously energetic. “I feel as if I’ve even lost weight!” the lady said.

“Great,” Maeve said with a smile. She didn’t add that so far the lady had lost fifteen pounds, her gentleman twenty-one. By the time the ship arrived at the Enchanted Isle, both would be back to the physiques they had when they fell in love. And when they returned to Iowa from their cruise, their envious friends would swear they looked thirty years younger…

In the Intimate Lounge, Nancy was giving a younger, tanned couple a lesson. The woman, freckle-faced and strawberry blonde, reclined in a big egg-shaped chair, her legs spread lasciviously. Nancy knelt before her and was earnestly telling the man, a short-haired fellow of thirty-two or so, “You can’t just lick a pussy and make it enjoyable. You have to know just what you’re doing. Now, since Ellen here has been too shy to tell you where you’ve been going wrong, I’m gonna show you. Bend down and look closely.”

“I don’t know,” the guy said timidly. “I—we’ve never been too kinky—”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Ted, bend down and do what she says!” the woman gasped.

“Yes, dear. But I don’t know if I can learn this—”

“Sure you can,” Nancy said encouragingly. “After I show you, I’ll let you practice on me.” She bent forward, her thumbs spreading the tender folds of the woman’s pussy. “Now, here’s what guys don’t know. You see her clit? Put your finger on it for me. Very good! You’re ahead of the game already, Teddy! Okay, guys think you just have to sort of monotonously polish it and she’ll come, right? Not so! Watch what I do and remember. . . .”

Maeve strolled passed, patted Nancy encouragingly on the head, and saw Deena with a small group of older couples. Deena had stripped and was exhibiting her great body to them, explaining in lewd detail how sex, enthusiastic, energetic sex, could shape you and tone you. She was encouraging them to feel her hips and thighs and boobs and pussy. . . . they were following along.

Excellent.

Of course, all this was only . . . foreplay. The main event wouldn’t really happen until the ship crossed the mystical divide between the waters of this world and those of the Faerie Queen’s realm.

Which happened at noon the next day. The passengers poured off the ship. They had been transformed, though they didn’t really register that—yet. They were younger, healthier, stronger, and lustier. And stripped. Not a one of them seemed ashamed of his or her nudity. Maeve, Nancy, and Deena led the two hundred and fifty across the glittering golden sand, past magical fountains, over a lawn so soft and smooth that it might have been made of velvet.

Mab had deigned to make an appearance, Maeve saw. She sat enthroned atop a low green hill, smiling as the mortals came toward her. “Welcome,” she said. Léanth the elf stood at her elbow—no longer a tiny creature only three inches tall, but now nearly three feet tall. He had told Maeve last voyage that next year he hoped to top five feet and wished to fuck her as soon as he was large enough. From the looks of his penis, she thought, that wouldn’t be a bad idea.

But no one noticed the Queen’s guard. All eyes were on Mab herself. She wore—moonlight and pearl, droplets of water and beads of honeydew. She was gorgeous.

Maeve approached, bowed, and then gave Mab a deep, deep kiss. The Fairy Queen fondled her ass. “Us?” Maeve whispered. “Leading the orgy?”

“Yes, my pet,” Mab said with a smile, her breath scented by cinnamon.

“Where—where is Oberon?”

“Hunting,” sniffed Mab. “To your duties.”

Maeve turned. The couples had clustered close. “Welcome to the Enchanted Isle,” Maeve said. “This is the Faery Queen.”

The passengers looked at each other, murmured, and gave her quizzical smiles.

“Oh, it’s not just part of the act,” Maeve assured them. “She’s real. And she grows stronger when you dedicate acts of passion to her. The next ten days will be for her. All for her. Every time you cum, you’ll be making her and her world stronger, healthier. And she’ll reward you all by giving you youth, stamina, and sheer happy lust. We’re gonna start with a group fuck. Who’ll be first?”

Nervous chuckles. Some light caressing and petting, but no couple dropped down. It was always this way.

“Come on,” Maeve teased. “Nancy, Deena, start off with a good old sixty-nine.”

The two girls joyously lay down at Mab’s feet, head to pussy, and began to lick and finger and eat each other out. Now a few passengers were getting into serious groping.

“Doesn’t that look like fun?” Maeve said. “Mr. and Mrs. Threadneedle, very good! Look, everyone, Babs is giving Joe head! Suck it, Mrs. T! Come on, come on—great, look, Mrs. Phelps is letting her husband do her doggie style! Oh, look, all you men are getting extra hard!” Maeve waved her wand, and it was so. The ladies were gasping at the bobbing erections that popped up.

“Come on,” urged Maeve as she felt Mab’s fingers busy at her pussy. She stood with her legs invitingly spread and from behind, Mab began to tease and stroke her. “Everyone! Now! Yes, yes, that’s right! Suck! Fuck! You can do it!—

“—cum if you believe in fairies!”

The End