The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Be Our Guest

by olithoi

I am running for my life.

I stumble blindly through the forest, not caring about my route, ignoring the branches that tear at my dress and scratch the skin of my arms and legs. At some point I have lost one of my shoes; I can feel the wet mud between my toes with each step I take. I’m soaked to the skin, the rain mixing with my tears, forcing me to blink over and over simply to see.

Behind me, closer than before, I hear the beast growl once again.

I look back over my shoulder. The forest is a tangle of darkness and shadows, but out of the corner of my eye I see movement, a hulking shape advancing through the trees. I have to escape. I stagger on, terrified, half-falling, struggling to push my way through a thicket, my legs caught in the undergrowth, falling again, trying to stand, slipping . . .

At that moment the beast is upon me.

I hear it crash through the branches behind me and, in an instant, its sharply clawed hands are clutching at my waist, tearing at what remains of my dress, its breath hot on my neck.

I cry out and twist my body, attempting to squirm free from its strong grip. Without warning, the ground beneath my feet slips away, and suddenly I am falling, stolen from the beast’s embrace by dull gravity. I tumble with flailing arms down a steep incline. I hit my head once, then twice, briefly losing consciousness each time as I spin.

When I open my eyes again, I am lying on my back, my limbs splayed out like those of a discarded rag doll. Looking down, I can see that my body is half-submerged in a cold and muddy pool of leaf-clogged water. I try to sit up, but cannot summon the strength. My legs feel numb and I can taste blood in my mouth.

It is too dark to see all the way back up the slope, but from out of the murk and rain above me I hear the beast raging, tearing at the undergrowth, no doubt searching for some way down to me.

Soon it will find one. Of that I am sure.

As I lie there, doomed, drawing in ragged gasps of air, I glance across to my right hand and realise that, despite all that has happened, I am still tightly gripping the stem of the cause of all my misery.

A single, perfect rose.

I stare at its pristine, blood-red petals with a vague sense of wonder before sliding slowly back into unconsciousness, my ears echoing to the sound of the insistent rain and a terrifying, ever-closer growling.

* * *

“Are you alright, child?”

The woman’s voice brings me back from my reverie. It takes me a moment to recall my surroundings; my head feels heavy, my vision slow and slightly blurred.

I am indoors, sitting at the side of a banqueting table set in the centre of a large hall. It is lit by the flickering light of many stout candles, but despite their number the edges of the hall still slip into shadow, making the exact dimensions of the room uncertain.

I’m still wearing my own torn, muddy dress, but my hair is dry and the blood and dirt has been washed from my bare arms. Before me, a lavish meal has been set upon the table, the likes of which I have never seen before. There are trays of succulent meats, steaming heaps of vegetables, heavy jugs of gravy and thin bottles of old, dark wine.

Staring at this elaborate feast, I abruptly notice that almost every item of tableware has been intricately engraved with a portrait of a different human face. Even the large candelabrum at the centre of the table has been crafted in such a way so that its base resembles the aquiline visage of a man.

Its expression is not entirely happy.

“Child,” repeats the woman’s voice, “are you alright?”

The place at the head of this bounteous table is unoccupied. At the opposite end, however, sits the woman who has just spoken.

She is dressed in a faded but still golden ball gown, its décolleté cut exposing the pale flesh of her breastbone and shoulders. The woman is middle-aged, her brown hair streaked with grey, but it’s plain that, in her youth, she would have been considered a rare beauty. She stares at me with her large, dark brown eyes.

“Um, yes,” I reply. “I think . . . I . . . I’m sorry, I . . . I don’t think I remember your name . . .”

The woman tilts her head to one side and sighs.

“I fear the wound to your head may be more severe than I thought,” she says, setting down her cutlery. “As I told you when you first woke, I am the Mistress of this house. I am the Lady Belle.”

I nod. The name does sound familiar, but it’s so hard to think clearly. Despite the size of the hall, the air in here still feels hot and smothering.

“Ah, thank you, I . . . I’m sorry. I’m finding it hard to remember at the moment. How did I . . .”

I fail to finish my mumbled question, frowning as I fruitlessly search for an answer within my own hazy memories. The Lady Belle stares at me for a second before leaning forward on the table, interlocking her fingers. It is obvious that we must have had this conversation before.

“My husband, the Lord of this house, found you out in the woods and brought you here. I tended to your wounds myself. You slept for a short time, and seemed greatly refreshed on waking. But perhaps the evening’s . . . events have taken a greater toll on you than first appeared.” She pauses. “Do you still not remember what caused you to be wandering the woods on a night such as this?”

A stolen rose.

The single memory blossoms in my mind, unbidden but vivid in its clarity. Without thinking, I look down at my right hand. It is empty, but my palm shows a series of freshly-scabbed wounds that recall a thorny stem, tightly held.

“No, Lady Belle,” I say, quickly looking back up. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember. But I was being chased, I think.”

“Ah yes, that would the ‘beast’ you were raving about when my husband brought you in. I wonder . . . I wonder if perhaps in the confusion of the storm you might have imagined such a nightmarish creature?”

A snarl in the darkness . . . A claw at my waist . . . Heated breath upon my neck.

“No, Lady,” I reply, shuddering at the memories. “I did not imagine the beast.”

The Lady Belle stares at me for a long moment before nodding and leaning back in her seat.

“Well then, I shall speak to my husband when he arrives. It would not do to have such a creature roaming our lands, preying upon . . . innocents.”

It is at that instant the candles on the table gush and flicker, the result of a door opening and slamming shut in the darkness at the far end of the hall. I squint into the shadows past the Lady Belle, but I am unable to make out who has entered the room. My hostess, however, has no such trouble.

“Ah, perfect timing,” she smiles, not bothering to turn in her chair. “My husband joins us.”

A figure moves out of the gloom behind the Lady Belle. I know immediately that something is wrong. Its form is too large to be a man, its uneven gait demonstrably inhuman. The dank smell of rain-sodden fur fills my nostrils.

It is the beast.

I cry out in horror and try to rise from my seat.

“No,” snaps the Lady Belle. “You will sit.”

Meekly I find myself obeying her, despite the terror that is rising in my throat. Paralysed with fear, heart beating at my chest, I watch as the creature ambles into the candlelight.

It is truly hideous to behold.

The beast is twice the size of a man, its huge, muscled form covered in thick, dark hair that is matted and wet with the evening’s rain. Its hands are large, with long crooked fingers each ending in a claw. A pair of curved horns protrudes from its forehead, whilst from its mouth jut an uneven series of sharp incisors. It is unclothed and quite blatant in its nakedness, its ugly, thick cock swinging down between its legs.

“Lady Belle,” I manage, my voice weak with fear, “it is the beast!”

“The beast?” The Lady Belle frowns at me. “But you must be mistaken, my child. This is no beast. This is my husband, my consort, my Prince Charming.”

The creature’s motion is almost ape-like as it heaves its bulk forward, positioning itself behind the chair of the Lady Belle. She remains seated, smiling up at it, seemingly unruffled by its monstrous appearance. The beast’s narrow eyes are fixed on me, and the mess of teeth and fangs that serve it as a mouth appear to rise in a hungry smile.

“Your husband? My Lady, how could you marry that . . . that abomination?”

The creature growls and leans forward. The Lady Belle pouts and raises her hand to stroke its mane.

“Such unkind words from one we have treated as a guest,” she says. “Have you nothing better to say; nothing to admit to, perhaps?”

“My Lady,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. My heart is now beating uncontrollably fast, but still I am unable to kick away my chair and run. “My Lady, I fear you may have been . . . enchanted in some way. Though he may appear to you a handsome prince, I can assure you that he is no such thing. He is the fiend that pursued me tonight. He is a monstrous beast, a foul, misshapen . . .”

“How dare you!”

The Lady Belle is on her feet, brusquely pushing past the great beast in order to reach me. She bends over me, her face close to mine, her eyes wide with anger.

“I will not be lectured on my marriage by some common little thief.”

I blink stupidly up at her. “Thief? What do you . . . ?”

“Do not play the innocent with me. I know what you took, what you stole. That is why my husband was forced to pursue you. You are fortunate that I welcomed you into my house at all. I had hoped that perhaps you might admit to your crime, seek some measure of forgiveness, but instead you wish to insult my husband and play games with your betters.”

I stare at her, momentarily lost for words.

“So be it,” she says, stepping back. “If you wish to play games, then we shall play games. Remove your clothes.”

I start to protest, but then find that I’m already climbing out of my mud-spattered dress. Bewildered by my own actions, I sit back down, naked and vulnerable, the cold fabric of my seat pressing uncomfortably against my bare flesh.

“How did you . . .”

“You stole a rose from the garden of an enchanted castle, you silly little bitch. Don’t you know what that means?” She leans back in, even closer than before, and whispers in my ear, “You belong to me now.”

As soon as she finishes saying the words I am shocked to realise what she says is true. I am hers, truly hers. I feel it physically in every part of my body, but also deep within my mind. The Lady Belle owns me—thought, flesh, and soul.

She returns to stand by the side of the beast.

“You will ask no more questions.”

Instantly I feel my next query die in my throat. Though there are still things I desperately want answers to, I can no longer find the words, nor even the thoughts, I need in order to ask.

“Would you like to play a game with me and my husband?” asks the Lady Belle. She moves her small hand down over the creature’s large belly to its cock, which she starts stroking, all the while staring at me.

“No!” I cry, trying not to watch as the beast’s erection slowly rises under her attentions.

The Lady Belle frowns. “Yes you do. Say yes.”

“Yes,” I say, and suddenly it is true.

“Excellent! Very well then, climb on the table and lie on your back.”

Without hesitation I clamber up on the table, knocking plates and cutlery to the floor with a loud clatter. I lie back carelessly on top of the food that’s been laid out there. My arm rests on a hunk of greasy bird meat. Against the small of my back I can feel a chunk of butter warm and give. My hair is soaking in a puddle of red wine from a fallen goblet.

The Lady Belle sits down at the table next to my head. She leans forward and speaks softly into my ear as I continue to stare at the ceiling.

“Despite your crimes, my husband has taken a . . . physical liking to you, and it is a wife’s joyous duty to see that all of her husband’s appetites are met. So he is going to fuck you now, little thief, and you are going to love it and do everything you can to please him. All that you crave, all that you desire, is . . .” She pauses, searching for the appropriate words before smiling wickedly. “. . . is to be fucked by Belle’s beast. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lady Belle.”

I nod once, and with abrupt clarity I realise that I’m desperate for the attentions of this vile creature that the Lady Belle calls her husband. I yearn to have it climb on top of me, to be smothered by its bulk, to feel its engorged cock forcing its way inside me.

The table beneath me creaks and groans as the brute clambers onto it, scattering what remains of the meal onto the stone floor. It hunches forwards and leans over me, its immense form blocking out the candle light as it pulls me roughly up towards its broad and hairy torso.

A long tongue flicks out from its mouth, licking round my face, my neck, my cleavage, leaving perfect patterns of drool on my skin. The beast’s breath is hot against my hardening nipples and reeks wonderfully of rotten meat. This smell excites me all the more, and I pull at the beast, half stroking and half gripping the thick sinews of its upper arms.

“Please,” I say, “do me. Please. Do me.”

Hairy claws grip my thighs, drawing blood as they lift my behind into the air. Its swollen cock is flicking and pressing against my groin, its huge girth sliding against my wet pussy, seeking a way inside me.

“Help him,” says the Lady Belle.

Longing to feel his disgusting member within me, I raise myself slightly higher, allowing the beast to find me at last and push himself inside. The pain of it is sudden and glorious. The beast grunts in triumph and begins thrusting against me. I am panting now too, groaning, as animalistic as my brutish lover, spreading my legs as wide as possible to allow it full access to me.

“Well,” I hear the Lady Belle say, “I see you are not only a thief but a whore to boot.”

Oh yes. I am a thief. I am a whore.

I manage a nod in reply, unable to speak, as between moans I am busy licking at the beast’s tousled chest hair, entirely undeterred by its stale taste of old sweat and dried blood. I hear movement behind me and realise that the Lady Belle is climbing up on the table herself. The beast slows slightly in its treatment of me and lowers me to the table, allowing me to tilt my head back and look up.

The Lady Belle is kneeling on the table behind me, holding her golden gown bunched up at her waist, allowing me to see her pussy with its unruly patch of pubic hair. She is smiling down at me without embarrassment, her brown eyes dark with intent.

“Have you ever pleasured another woman?”

“No,” I reply, shocked at the notion, yet still eagerly grinding myself against the beast’s cock.

“Well then, this will be educational for you, won’t it? You desire me, little whore. You want me. You’re going to stroke that lying tongue of yours against my beautiful pussy while my dear husband has his way with yours, and you will love every second of it. Say you understand.”

“I understand, Lady Belle.” And I do . . . I really do. I am the Lady Belle’s whore, and my slut tongue is already impatient to press apart her lips and lick at the glorious wetness between her thighs.

“Excellent.”

With the leering gargoyle faces of the tableware watching on, the Lady Belle lowers her pussy onto my waiting tongue whilst the irresistibly revolting beast growls approvingly and pushes hard into my own sex.

“We will play our little games this evening,” the Lady Belle says, “and then, my little thief, my little whore, when we are done I will decide whether or not to let my husband eat you . . .”