The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I

What I have become is what I most want to be, but how much of my mind is still me, and how much has been placed there by the Ring? That I cannot tell.

Hearken!

I must tell first of the Ring and how it came into my possession. Who I was is not who I am, but it began when my name was simply Samantha Weston. It was not so very long ago....

Picture an American girl of twenty, with long blonde hair, not a bad figure—maybe not great, maybe boobs on the small side, to tell the truth, but pert and perky, and a strangely solemn face. I am five feet five inches tall exactly, and six months after my twentieth birthday, I weighed a trim 127 pounds—but I totally looked lighter because I ran every day and swam every other day. I was a senior in college at the time, and, okay, a tiny little bit of an airhead. I admit that now. I enjoyed partying, drinking, and sex, not necessarily in that order. Sad to say, although I got laid a lot back then, in those days I did not understand the power of sex, of the act of sex, or of the submission of the will.

A man gave me the ring. His name is not important. He was a veteran, ten years older than I was, and he had returned not long before from a war in the Middle East. He and some others had found themselves in the ruins of what had been a museum of antiquities, and they had all picked up souvenirs. His had been a curious ring, made of what looked to be two intricately braided strands of gold. Once he had tried to pawn it, but the pawnbroker did not know what it was or the value of it and offered him such a small amount that he held onto the ring instead of selling it. Still, the offer had convinced him that the ring was of little value.

And so one night at a party, when he was trying to persuade me to go to bed with him (I had already decided to do that, but that does not matter), he gave me the ring. I slipped it on my finger and for some little time I just thought of it as a decorative piece of jewelry. I slept with the former soldier, but I remember nothing special about him as a lover.

The changes began very soon after that....very soon.

II

“Sam! Wake up, for God’s sake! You want to miss your mid-term?”

“Mmm?” I moaned. God, it was like seven A.M. or something! My roommate Jenny was poking at my shoulder. “Go ‘way.”

“Samantha! You made me promise to get you to your psych mid-term on time. It starts in one hour. If you’re gonna make it, get your ass in gear.”

My roommate Jennifer Phelps, Jenny for short, Jen for shorter. Hair brown but on the very edge of being red, pale green eyes, chubby face, round glasses, a little overweight. She was the virgin, I was the slut. We figured the apartment averaged out to one pretty nice girl.

I groaned and forced myself out of bed. God, I had a horrible, foul headache, as though I had partied the previous night instead of the previous weekend. Brushing my hair out of my face, I noticed the braided gold ring encircling the fourth finger of my right hand, where it had been since some time last Saturday night, four days back. I kinda remembered the guy, but not really. I mean, you’ve seen one hard springy penis, you’ve more or less seen them all, or at least that was what I thought at that time. Anyway, at Jen’s urging I forced myself up, dragged myself into the shower, and got as ready as I could for Dr. Prescott’s exam.

Funny to think of it now, but Jenny was always after me to shape up, always telling me what I should do. She wanted me to make good grades and all, and to tell the truth, if she had a tiny little flaw it was that she sorta bossed me around. Funny.

Okay, let’s face it, I’m not an A student, but at least psych was my best class. If I could pull a B in that, my mom wouldn’t freak on me when the other grades came in at the end of the term. I beat Dr. Prescott in by about a nose, and he didn’t even call roll that morning, just handed out the exams. “Don’t turn them over until I give the word,” he said as he gave me one.

“Then what?” I asked him. Dr. Prescott was ancient, I mean at least forty-five, but not bad looking in a kind of fuddy-duddy way. I mean, think sweater vests, square horn-rimmed glasses, and curly brown hair just going gray, right? But he had nice brown twinkly eyes. We kinda flirted now and then, nothing serious.

“Well, Miss Weston,” he said, “then you will turn the paper over and answer every question correctly. That’s an order.”

Everybody got a good laugh out of that, but you know, I felt...weird. Kind of like my skin was burning all over, tingling, sort of. “Yes,” I heard myself say. Really weird!

Well, he gave the word, and long story short, I did just what he had ordered. I answered every single question correctly, including the two bonus questions. I knew I had aced the test the second I turned it in. I walked out of that class very quietly, wondering what had just happened. I hadn’t studied as much as I should have for that test, or at all, hardly, so what had I just done?

He called me on my cell phone later that very afternoon. Could I please report to his office? Sure. I hurried over and sat in the chair across the desk from him. He leaned back behind his desk and said, “You really outdid yourself this morning, Miss Weston. I just scored the mid-terms. Do you want to guess what you made?”

I couldn’t tell if he was pissed or not. He was that kind of quiet guy, you know the type. “A hundred?” I asked in a small voice.

“No,” he said, handing me my paper. “A hundred and ten. The bonus questions were five points each. Now, I don’t want to accuse you of anything, but you just haven’t been making that kind of grade. Do you have an explanation?”

“I didn’t cheat.”

He pulled another sheet of paper from a desk drawer. “Would you be willing to take the first page of this test right now? It’s the make-up for students who didn’t come to class today, different questions that cover the same material. To be honest, they’re harder. If you can do the same thing on these questions, I’ll be more than happy to give you the 110 points.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. I hesitated. “I’m totally willing to try. But would you tell me to do well, please? I think that sort of encouraged me.”

He looked surprised but gave me a little smile. “Well, that would make me a great teacher, if it works. Very well, Miss Weston. Answer those first twenty questions and give me a perfect score.”

I didn’t feel it. “Is that an order?” I murmured.

He gave me a smile then, his brown eyes gleaming. “It’s an order.”

And the tingling began. I swear to God, it felt like my clit does when I’m about to start coming really good, but it was like all over my whole body, just for a second. I turned the paper over and breezed through.

Dr. Prescott took the paper from me, glanced down the row, and shrugged. “Congratulations. You just wrecked the curve for the rest of the class, but you get the 110 points.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s all, Miss Weston.”

I got up to leave, but before I reached the door, he asked, “How are you doing in your other classes?”

I sighed. “Not so great. I’ve got a D in math, a C in art history, and a low C in English. I wish that I could—hey, Dr. Prescott, could you, like, do me a favor?”

“What is that?”

“Could you, like, order me to do well on all my other midterms? I don’t know why, but that kind of psyches me up.”

He chuckled. “I suppose that’s my job, in a way. Very well, Miss Weston. I command you to do well on the rest of your mid-terms.”

Another hot, tingly flash, and I grinned at him. “Thanks!”

“Don’t mention it.”

And you know what? When the dust had settled, I wound up with a B plus on the math test, an A minus in art history, and an A in English lit. It was soooo weird.

Jenny, who was the A student, couldn’t decide whether I had pulled some scam or whether her mother-henning about “study hard to go far” had finally paid off. See, Jenny could be a really pretty girl, but she like took this oath that until she had her degree, she wouldn’t ever be serious about a boy. Not ever. And not just that, she wouldn’t even be casual about a boy. I don’t mean she was what you might call a prude. She and I talked about my dates and what we did and how many times we did it and all, but that seemed to hold her. Her sex was totally just her getting off on the stories I told her. We learned about that in psych, in fact. It’s called living—well, living something, starts with a V—vivaciously? No, vicariously, that’s it. Anyway, believe it or not, but Jen never, ever went on a date. So as I was saying, after we got our midterm grades, she shook her head and gave me the suspicious eye. “I don’t know what did it, Sam, but whatever it was, keep it up.”

Now, I didn’t think of that ring being the cause at first. I did notice something odd about it though, at the end of that week. I couldn’t get it off. It was, like, welded onto my finger. Even soap didn’t help. That was cool, it was a cute enough little ring, but it had been loose on my finger to begin with. And I didn’t think I was gaining weight, especially not in my hands.

III

The next little bit of strangeness happened a week or so later in Art History class, when our teacher. Ms Harter, took us on a field trip to a museum about fifty miles away from campus. Ms Harter, I thought, was probably a dyke, she had that look. Mannish haircut, severe pants suits, big old horn-rimmed glasses. She never showed any interest in me, I mean I guess it’s pretty clear that I like cocks and that babes don’t flip my switches, but she gave off that lezzy vibe, you know.

Anyway, we’re going through the Egyptian exhibit, which is a sort of traveling ancient art show that has come to that museum, and we’re taking notes and shit as she lectures to us. One of the docents—that’s somebody who knows about all the exhibits and who will tell visitors about them if they stand still for like half a minute—was going on and on about the domestic arts of some dynasty or something, and all of a sudden she says to me, “I see you’ve visited the museum shop already. I didn’t know they had replicas of jewelry there.” And she was looking at my hand.

“Huh?”

“Your ring,” she said. “It’s a replica of the Ring of Hathepeth—”

the soul rides the waters of eternity, and lo, it dwells from time to time in the vessel of a body, but itself goes on from incarnation to incarnation and seeks ever the master it must serve

“Huh?” I asked again, but somehow a few minutes had passed while I was like out of it, and I couldn’t see the docent anywhere. We looked at all the broken pottery and ancient papyruses and stuff, and real dried-out wooden boxes, some blackened coins, all sorts of prehistoric stuff. It was enough to put you to sleep, honestly. But then I saw something that sort of gave me one of those tingly feelings again. It was a little wooden handle, some corroded greenish-blue scraps of copper, and a couple of bent, thick wires. That was it. The card beneath the display said, Sistrum: this simple musical instrument was probably used in religious ceremonies.

Lo, life is good, and the gods give life to men and women;

And the part of the man is to produce seed in great quantity,

And the part of the woman is to encourage the seed,

And to bend her sisters to encourage the seed,

And it is the part of all of them to receive the seed,

And the pleasure of each, of man and of woman, is holy and great;

Therefore, wear comely clothes

And anoint your secret places with sweet perfumes;

Eat savory foods and drink cooling beverages;

Indulge in love, in all its many forms:

Man, thrust into a woman’s vagina,

Into her mouth and her anus,

And spread your seed over her skin and within her.

Woman, open yourself to man, tease him with fingers,

With tongue, spread yourself wide to accept him;

Naked and holy priestess, enslave your sisters

And your lovers with the sacred sistrum,

With its enchanting sound,

Open them to pleasure, to the worship of Lust.

Weird. I mean, where did that come from?

Worse, I just itched to break that glass and grab that ancient musical instrument. Crazy weird.

So I did what any red-blooded girl would do. I went shopping. It was pretty easy to sneak away from the class and get to the museum shop.

Well, most of the stuff was overpriced and tacky. A t-shirt with, like, a gold Egyptian mask on it and saying “I love my mummy?” Puh-leeze.

But get this, just as if it were waiting for me, I found a Kid’s Kit that had all the parts for a sistrum: Wooden handle, bent copper strip in a U shape, wires, beads, paint, and round jingly things, like on a what do you call it—tambourine. It was just twelve bucks, so I shelled out for it.

Got back to the apartment and got busy with school and forgot it, until that weekend. Then while Jenny was out doing laundry, I dug out the kit and some needle-nosed pliers and got busy.

Well, first the illustration for painting the wooden handle was just plain wrong. It didn’t have the sacred vulva of Hathet on one side or the sacred penis of her twin brother Peth on the other side. So I just ignored the directions and painted and cock and the pussy on the wood in this quick-drying latex stuff, so much better than the ground-up colored earths and the palm oils we used to use in the old days, they took like forever to dry.

I pulled out the flat strip of copper already bent in a U shape and decided it was close enough. The next step was threading the beads and bangles on four short lengths of wire, and then inserting the wires through the holes in the arched copper piece and bending the ends of the wires into smooth curves to hold them in place. Then I tested the paint: dry already! Last, I fastened the sounding head to the handle with the screws provided in the kit.

For the next part I had to be naked, so I shed my clothes. Then I took the sistrum and made it jingle. In the Old Tongue I recited the prayers to Amun, to Mut, and to Khonsu, asking them to consecrate the instrument and to make it a thing of power. Last, I spoke the name that only priestesses like me knew, the high and holy name of the god of lust. The music of the sistrum took on an insistent, demanding note, and I could totally feel the pulsations of force in the air.

I looked down at my white body. “O Lord of Pleasure,” I prayed, “make this vessel like unto the vessel my ba wore when I walked the streets of many-templed Miwt-Waset in the days of thy glory. Make brown my skin, swell my breasts, fill me with the gift of unending lust.”

A great peace descended on me then, and I felt that my prayer would be answered in due time. I put away the sistrum and pulled my panties, jeans, and t-shirt on just in time. Jenny came in lugging a laundry basket and said, “You look like you’ve been having a good time.”

“I have,” I told her, but I was thinking she didn’t know the half of it.

IV

So more weeks pass, and I’m getting horny as hell about then, because come to think of it, and thinking of it was the only way I had come, ha ha, I hadn’t been with a man, as they used to say in the olden days, since the soldier-boy who had given me the ring. But I didn’t exactly want to be with just anybody. I had an itch, somehow, but not just any old cock could scratch it, if you get what I mean. Anyway, it had been several weeks, more than a month, even.

The only action I was getting was in my dreams.

Naked, clothed only in the indigo-dyed fishnet tunic that fell halfway to my knees, I walked the evening streets of Miwt-Waset of the golden pillars. .. . .

I was a priestess, or something like a priestess. I was also a whore, but a sacred whore. Each time a man had me and came, and I came with him, the pleasure of our joining spread beyond us and strengthened the gods I served, the old, old gods of lechery and of lust. My favorite time of day was the long-shadowed evening, when I could shed even my sandals and walk with that supple-legged grace that made my round buttocks sway and roll lasciviously, in open, brazen invitation. And the tiny silver bells on the hem of my flimsy garment tinkled, scattering their wanton music on the darkling air.

I loved all physical sensation, the intoxicating scent of the lotus flowers in bloom, the fading heat of the sun coming through the soles of my feet from the pavement stones. I looked down at myself, at the swelling globes of my breasts, their taut, thrusting nipples glistening with perfumed oils. My skin was the color of cinnamon, with a brick-red flush under all, my erect nipples a dark and tempting coral. My round stomach moved smoothly to my bare cleft, for when the gods accepted me and consecrated me as their servant, they took from my body all hair save that on my head, to make my body smooth to touch or taste. I had no menses either, no periods, for my role was not to reproduce, but to experience the sharp delights of sex myself and to inspire the act in others, in men and in women.

It was my delight to walk the streets when the eastern sky grew purple with dusk, and one high star glittered like a jewel hung aloft in the darkness, and the spice-scented wind from the Nile cooled the delicious beads of salty sweat which made my body glow. And a man would take me by the hand and plead, “Lie with me, woman,” and I would go with him to an inner room, or to the Temple of Lust, or even take him openly there, on the street, with an admiring crowd looking on (I loved loving in public, for that excited others to follow my example and so serve my god). I did not even need to undress, for the mesh of my garment was so wide that a man could penetrate vulva or anus by thrusting through the blue-dyed net.

And sometimes a mother would ask me to show her maturing son the ways of love, and those times were very good, too, taking a young virgin boy and showing him the seven steps to pleasure, teasing from his cock the first spurts of his divine semen, consecrating it within me to the gods of lust. And it was good when a woman pleaded “Show me how to please a man,” and the two of us lay entwined, her mouth on my mouth, our fingers questing, slippery, exciting each of us, and at times the spirit of my lost brother Peth entered me and I took her as a man would take her, but very gently, and if she tasted the golden semen of Peth, she would forever be a servant of lust and might, in time, become a priestess-whore such as I.

And in one dream I was the love-tutor of the young king and then two years later of his sister, who was his bride and his queen. First I taught the king how to make love with gentleness and care, bringing the woman to her full flowering of ecstasy. And then in a later year, when his sister was of age to marry him, I taught her the ways of pleasing a man and of receiving his love, and on their wedding night we were three. The strong young man plunged between her virgin thighs, and she lay back in my lap, and I caressed her oiled and perfumed breasts and sang to her while he took her maidenhead and shed the sacred blood, and then we loved each other for a week, with hardly any pause for food and rest, cock and pussies, mouths and fingers all, all, reaching for the highest ecstasy. . . .

And my name in the dream was Hathet, and I was the highest servant of the gods of lust of the ancient kingdom. . . .

A man stops me in tears and says, Woman, I am impotent. I undress him there, on the street, and caress his body and rub my breasts across his lips, and then kneel and take his soft member into my hot mouth, and lo! It swells and grows firm, and I suck from him a gush of hot, salty seed, and he groans and then weeps and thanks the gods of lust over and over, and I rise, smiling, wiping my lips, and the sound of my bells sends the music of desire flitting like butterflies on the soft evening air. . . .

You know, you dream shit like that, you’re getting like totally desperate. So anyway, I knew something was gonna like pop, and soon.

Now, I might’ve given you the wrong impression about Jenny. Remember, I told you she wasn’t a prude and all, but a girl past twenty, never once been laid, never had a cock in her, never even beat a guy off, you’re thinking there’s gotta be something wrong with her, right?

Well, no, there wasn’t. Jenny was just like really, really logical about needs and shit. She’d masturbate, but only in her room. I knew all about that because she was one of those groaners. Maybe once a week I’d hear her through the wall, getting herself off and groaning, “Ahhhh, awwww-w-w-w, hah!” But she didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and I liked her too much to make an issue of it. And she wasn’t, like, sensitive at all about her body. We’d walk around the apartment naked and shit like that, like when I was getting ready for a date or when she was getting ready to go out to the library.

So anyway, another weekend comes and that Saturday morning Jenny says to me, “When have you been laying out in the sun, Sam?”

And I go “Huh?” because this was in the fall, and I said the weather was too damn cold to lay out in the sun anyway.

“You’ve been skipping class to go to one of those tanning places, then.”

I happen to be in a state of unclothedness at the time, see, and I look down at myself, and damn, I do have a good Hawaiian-type tan going. And something else, my titties are fuller, too, rounder and heavier. “I haven’t,” I said. “Honest.”

“You’re darker, though,” she said. “It makes you look really exotic with your blonde hair and all.”

So I go to the bathroom, where there’s a full-length mirror, and check myself out. I’m getting there. I’m like two shades lighter than in my dreams and all, but I’ve got a nice deep tan going for sure. My blue eyes seem larger, almost almond shaped, and my blonde hair is really, really cool against my darker skin. I run my hands over my boobies and feel the nipples tense up right away, I mean I hadn’t even been fingering myself off lately, so they were more than ready. The aureoles seemed real sensitive, dark, sort of a reddish plum color, or maybe coral would be closer. But no doubt about it, I’m up from a B cup to a C. Or would be, if I wore a bra. My philosophy had always been “there’s many a slip ‘twixt the nip and the lip,” so why add a barrier, right?

“Hey, Jenny,” I called, “come here a minute.”

She came up behind my right shoulder and in the mirror I saw her cute green eyes, nearly as round as her glasses, rove over my body. I kinda noticed that the mirror, like, reversed us, so her reflection stood behind what looked like my reflection’s left shoulder. Strange I had never noticed how mirrors turned the tables like that before. Jenny was kinda looking a little bit ticked. “What?”

I swiveled back and forth, giving her a good side view of my chest. “Take a look at these. You think my tits are bigger than they were? Rounder?”

She tilted her head on one side and adjusted her specs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I don’t look at your breasts that much.”

I ran my hands over them again. “Look at my nipples, how pointy and big they get,” I said. “They’re so much darker, too. Kinda coral.”

“Yeah.” Jenny gave them a long puzzled stare, and then she frowned. “They are a lot darker. Maybe you should see a doctor.”

“No, I’m not sick. Just a little different.” I feel real strange about then, and there’s something like music playing in my head. “Take off your clothes for a minute, Jen.”

She totally snorted in laughter. “You’re nuts.”

“I don’t have nuts. No, I wanna compare, that’s all. Come on, I’m not gonna take advantage of you or anything. I’m a girl, for godsake. See? No nuts?”

She sighed. “You drive me crazy sometimes.” But she pulled her T shirt over her head, shucked her jeans, then reached behind her to unfasten her sensible bra. “You’re not doing something dumb, are you?” she asked, suspicion making her voice sharp. “You don’t, like, have a hidden camera in here?”

“No,” I said. “Come on.”

So she took off her bra and panties and we stood side by side. She had this brown-nearly-red hair and a big pubic delta the same color, springy curls catching the light and hiding her snatch completely, not like my skimpy blonde growth, which come to think of it looked even sparser just then, so my coral-pink pussy lips showed right through. Anyway, Jenny was a bit on the plump side and her skin was really, really white.

“You could be so pretty,” I said. “You’ve got big boobies already. If you were about ten pounds lighter, got rid of those glasses, and if you had a deep, deep tan, you’d be something.”

“And if you had a great big dick you’d be a boy,” she snapped. “Come off it, Sam.”

She sounded almost weepy. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She stooped over to get her panties, and I admired her ass, really nice, rounded and firm-looking, not much work to do there. “Only—well, I know I’m not pretty. Boys don’t even look at me.”

“They would if you gave them some encouragement.”

She pulled her panties on. “No, thanks. You encourage the hell out of them. What does it get you? Oh, sometimes I wish—”

My heart was beating fast. “Wish what?”

She shrugged, and her boobies bounced enticingly. “Wish I knew how to be more like you. That’s all. But we’re different.”

Naked and holy priestess, enslave your sisters

I took her hands in mine. “Let’s talk.”

V

Jenny was as straight arrow as they come, didn’t smoke, do drugs, or drink, not even white wine. In a way it was funny as hell to think of us sitting on my big, soft bed (I had the smaller bedroom but the bigger bed, a queen size to accommodate a little fun now and then), me stark naked and dark, and her alabaster white and dressed just in her panties.

I had taken the sistrum out of my bedside drawer and was just sort of playing with it, jingling it lightly. “I don’t know,” Jenny was saying. She pulled up her knees and hugged them, hiding those bouncy, tasty boobs. “I guess I’ll meet the right guy in time.”

I was counting on that, too. Somewhere my reincarnated Master walked the earth, waiting for me to awaken his ba from its centuries-long sleep. To do that, I needed a virgin.

And I really, really liked Jenny.

I started to shake the sistrum to a hypnotic, slow beat. It jangled softly. “What is that thing?” Jenny asked.

“Just listen,” I said. I shook it and hummed the ancient hymns of submission and eagerness. The air seemed to darken. Jenny’s odd green eyes took on a drowsy look. I vibrated the sistrum harder, more insistently, in a rhythm of thrust and withdrawal, the primal energy of the world.

“I don’t think I like that,” Jenny told me. “It kinda makes my head feel funny.”

“You’ll like it more when you hear it more.” I shook the sistrum in a half circle, from her right shoulder over her head down to her left shoulder. “I’ll take care of you, Jen. No harm will come to you.”

She began to nod in a drowsy way, but mumbled, “Stop.”

Oh, God, I was starting to get totally wet—for Jenny! Me, who liked a fat cock better than anything! I heard myself whimper.

But Jenny was taking deep breaths, and perspiration broke on her skin like tiny beads of dew. She made a deep, murmuring sound of questioning.

“Shhh,” I said. I drew next to her, feeling her warm flesh all along my left side. “Let it happen.”

I leaned in and kissed her on the lips. She murmured again and pulled away. “No—I don’t want—I’m not—”

I moved the sistrum over her, and she sighed and relaxed, lying back limp on the bed. Her heels rolled apart, the crotch of her panties tugged over to the left, and I could see her pussy peeking through that jungle of coppery-brown hair. Her palms rested on her titties, hiding the nipples from me. My skin felt on fire with wanting. I leaned down again and caught the sweet scent of her breath. “I’m not a lesbian,” she muttered, sounding like she was talking in her sleep, talking during a bad dream—or a good wet one.

But whether she was asleep or awake, her soft hot lips met mine, and her tongue came into my mouth as of its own accord, and I sucked it. She stirred and moaned, a throaty sound.

“Don’t do this to me, Sam,” she whispered. “Don’t.”

“Shh. Just relax and listen.”

The music I played over her body had an ancient power no woman could resist. And when it was over, when I had sung the songs and spoken the spells, I knew that I could freely have all of her save only her maidenhead. That was for my Master.

But his new servant—my new servant, too, for my touch would awaken in her the spirit of lust that would grow strong and joyous, and that spirit would acknowledge and obey my will always—the servant needed to be prepared, to be encouraged, to be sweetly corrupted.

My lips glided along the curve of her throat. She began panting, and her hands slipped away from her sweat-gleaming breasts. Her aureoles had swollen, and her nipples had hardened to tight pink inviting rosebuds. I tasted the salt of her. Moving the sistrum over her, head to toe, I visualized her with dark skin, no pubic hair, proud swelling breasts even larger than they already were, and an eager vulva, ready to welcome the thrusts of our Master. Something mystic and invisible moved in the air of that room, and I felt the moment of her change begin.

My tongue and lips played with her nipples, drawing them to cones of hard desire. She reached to cup my own breasts, and I felt a wash of lewd excitement. I had never been with a girl before, not in this lifetime, anyway. Knowing that she did not want this, but that she would not only accept it but come to crave it, to need it as much as air or food or water, I exulted in my command of her desire.

“Do as I do,” I ordered her tenderly, and I crab-walked on my knees around her head, so that I leaned forward over her. I bent low so our faces were upside-down to each other, and kissed her on the mouth. Our tongues pressed against each other once more. I heard her whimper out the last of her resistance. I moved lower, my lips on her throat, and hers were on mine at just the same time, and I moved lower still. I suckled her right breast lovingly, and her tongue teased my right nipple, and we swirled our tongues in unison, so it was almost as though we were one creature.

The other breast became a taut-peaked globe, as did mine under her tongue, and then I moved with lascivious purpose even lower, across her stomach, and our tongues found the sensuous wells of each other’s navels at the same moment and plunged deep, savoring. Now her hips were quivering, wanting to thrust, wanting a cock to invade her clasping vulva, but that could not be, that had to be saved. I began to nibble at her pussy lips through the thin cloth of her panties, and I felt her lips at my wet opening, little quick embarrassed pecks of kisses first, then pinches of my labial flesh between her pliant lips, and then the lush, long laps of her tongue over my open pussy.

My left thumb and forefinger closed on the braided ring, and somehow I knew to twist, and one of the gold strands clicked over the other, and something new and strange, some primal force, came into my body.

“Oh!” I said, for suddenly my pussy felt full, as if Jenny had pressed something hot and elastic into me. No. Nothing had gone into me.

Something was coming out.

I arched my body and stared down between my hanging breasts, unbelieving. Something was growing, swelling, from between the parted pink lips of my pussy: something like a smooth, helmetless cock, six inches long, curving coral-colored and glistening. Jenny gasped, her wide green eyes on this thing quivering just above her face.

Peth. The spirit of my five-thousand-years-lost brother Peth, entering my body and manifesting as this pseudo-cock. It was an instrument of instruction.

“Suck it,” I whispered. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not really a boy, Jenny. Suck it, take it into your mouth.”

I ripped her panties away roughly and bent my head to lap at the crevice of her sex. She groaned, her thighs opened to give me better access, and I felt her hand pressing the back of my head, urging me to explore her folds with my tongue. I felt the skin of her cheek with my incredibly sensitive member, felt the corner of her mouth, pressed tightly closed, felt the stress wrinkles of her lips. She did not want to take that alien thing into her mouth, but I had commanded “Do as I do,” and I knew that in the end she would have no choice but surrender.

I sucked her clitoris, rolled it in my lips, teased it with the tip of my tongue. Her juices flowed richly, and I licked them, lapped them, spread them on her open labia, on the tops of her thighs. She gleamed with her own juices and my saliva, and her clitoris swelled, demanding more of my loving attention.

She gasped, and with the gasp she took the smooth round tip of my member between her lips. For a moment it was only the tip, but then she sucked and I thrust, and gods! I felt even the wet warm velvet of her tongue, its patterned texture. My buttocks clenched, and involuntarily I began to move, thrusting my cock into that hot tight opening, fucking her mouth as I lapped her cunny. The wetness glistened all around her unfolding sexual flower, the frilled labia pink and pulsing. Drooping strands of her juice linked my tongue to her pussy whenever I drew back. I sucked her clit and fucked her mouth, surging toward an orgasm more intense than any I had ever known.

I understood then how sex is different for men, how for them it is all centered in the phallus, and that made me feel sad for their sex, eager to teach them the fuller, better ways of the old gods. Jenny was learning fast.

Now her hands were on my hips, fingers clenched in the muscle of my ass cheeks, guiding me, controlling the pounding of my cock in her hot, hungry mouth. Oh, she swirled her tongue and sucked and a great need filled me. She thrashed, and I knew from the flow of her juice and the intense blush of her pussy lips that she had just come, and she took me deep and I felt a rush as the golden semen of Peth shot through my member, and I pulled back and heard her cough and choke.

Oh, gods, is this what men feel when they spurt their semen? Oh, it is different from a woman’s orgasm, sharper, keener, but somehow a little empty.

But nice, though, totally nice.

In a moment I had reversed my position. She stared at me with her wide green eyes dazed, and from both corners of her lips in thick streams flowed a clear, thick, viscous golden liquid. I kissed her, sucking at the golden cum myself, and it was sweet as honey, heady as wine. I reached down to fondle my softening member, brought away two dripping fingers, and Jenny sucked the cum from them. I licked her face clean, and swallowed and swallowed. The divine nectar of Peth would hallow our new relationship and would fix it forever, make me eternally her mistress and her everlastingly my servant. It would aid and speed our changes of body and of mind. It would drive us to new heights of desire and rip away from us all inhibition, all hesitation. It would lengthen our years and our youth and keep us safe from all disease, all infirmity.

Lo, the semen of Peth is sweet like wild honey;

The semen of Peth keeps the drinker young,

The semen of Peth heals and keeps the drinker free of all disease,

The semen of Peth makes the drinker more potent,

Makes lust stronger,

Makes pleasure sharper,

It is the nectar of sacred desire,

It is the ambrosia of ecstasy,

The holy golden semen of Peth.

That first orgasm really exhausted me. I thought I couldn’t take another one, not of that kind, so I sadly clicked my ring back into place and felt the weird cock shrink back into my pussy. In a few minutes, we were just two naked, totally sticky girls, both of us still horny as hell. “Let’s do that again,” I said. “You get on top this time. We call this sixty-nine, Jenny.”

“Sixty-nine,” she said in a happy, drunken, submissive voice, and she rolled onto me.