The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Wrath of the Wizardess

Chapter One

Well go on then, since we’re all trapped here anyway. Better be quick though, because I don’t know when I might have to rush off. Evil deeds to be done. One little puff-piece interview can’t hurt. Might even fit right into the Mistress-plan.

So… where to start?

Well, I’m a bitch with a capital ‘B’. Also a witch. Well, I’m ‘The Wizardess’ really, but that’s basically the same thing. And a flipsider in both senses of the word.

I’m a super-heroine turned super-villainess and I’m a card-carrying, pussy-loving, carpet-munching dyke. Except for the card-carrying part. And I like my snatch shaved Brazilian-style. But apart from that just like I said.

My fall from grace?

I like to think I’m still pretty graceful. I mean when I stretch like this, my pale legs just seem to go on forever don’t they. And the swell of my breast, isn’t it delightful? Odd rule for super-villainesses is the protection armour offers is inversely proportional to the area of flesh covered.

These heeled thigh-high boots, elbow gloves and one-piece leather armour – cut in the French swimsuit style, high over the thighs with a cut-out panel around my cleavage – protects me a hell of a lot better than the heroine spandex bodysuit getup did. Italian leather, my sweetnesses. Only ever buy the best. Of course I sort-of stole it but let set that aside for now. I enchanted it myself too.

That’s the one thing. You can’t trust another super-villain’s work. Ever. Period. You’re far better off paying, or abducting someone’s hot teenage daughter and demanding whatever you desire. Of course quite often by the end I desire the daughter more than the ransom and she doesn’t want to go back anyway, but hey, plenty more babes in the woods.

Oh. I’ve sort of wandered off the question, haven’t I?

Well it hardly matters. It’s such a long story anyway.

As you know I was in the Mayflower League of Heroines, profile in Superhero’s Weekly, cover of Time, the whole bit. Set to become champions, saving the world or at least Boston and looking good doing it.

Anyway it was after we’d just foiled, you know, I quite forget, something to do with the Midwest and oil and Texan women I think, and we’d just finished up giving a talk on ‘values’ at a high school. Kind of ridiculous, actually, proselytising on the basis of three or so more years life experience than the teenagers we were talking to, because the ability to fly automatically comes with great judgement.

But the Mayflower League did as the great Klystron, our leader, wanted. Some of those girls weren’t wearing more than a scrap either: a halter-top, a micro mini and heels. You know—the standard issue horny teenager outfit.

I can’t help that it made me all drippy wet.

It’s like I’d bottled my nascent carnal consciousness away, when I chose the long path to mastery of arcane magic. Ever since I was a little girl all I’d do was study, school work and spell books, for hours and hours every night. I was a glasses girl long before Potter made them the wizard fashion accessory.

Nevermind. I have the cutest glasses now, and lots of very interesting women are very interested in me, and I’m very well in touch with my carnal side.

But back then, in that school, the bottle only recently opened, the dam recently broken, years of restrained lust pouring free, back then all I wanted to do was Charm one of the schoolgirl babe sluts and have her quick and dirty and hard up against her gym locker.

She’d be a cheerleader. A rare flame-headed and spunky cheerleader just like Klystron used to be and we’d lick and fuck and giggle our way into orgasm. Or she would. The Wizardess doesn’t giggle. We’d have done every dirty thing, whilst Kly droned on about how cute boys were, and the importance of self respect and restraining yourself till marriage.

Ding!

Wrong on every count, Ms Prissy Fearless Leader Klystron. I’d have screwed whichever gorgeous girl I chose, and wished it were Klystron’s lips on my mons, her tongue in my cunt, on her knees with her precious morals pouring out of her sopping slit.

It definitely made me hot, and it was a good thing our spandex was liquid-proof, or I’ve been mucho embarrassed in front of all those schoolgirls. Then, anyway. Now I’d let my juices trickle down my bare thighs, and Klystron, I’d have zapped her right there, obviously, and had her lick up those little trails, before they reached the tops of my patent leather boots. In humiliating public, before a stunned audience. Then I’d drop a Mass Suggestion and turn that whole hall into a nibbling, tasting, moaning girlslut orgy.

I like to share the love, really.

So anyway, I was hot, and wet, and a little ashamed. My uniform needed a wash, and I needed a shower. It should’ve been a good thing, when everyone was so accepting that I said I needed one. Not so good that they all decided to join in. The whole girl power thing. Kinda wonderful, too, of course, that it led inevitably to this. So we showered together.

We always had, of course.

Years with the Mayflower League, years of close quarters living had made group showers unsurprising, working together for noble goals: peace, justice, morality, it just seemed natural to wash the dirt of the world away together.

Cleansing ourselves, Klystron called it. I’d never had friends before, really, and once I had them, experienced their acceptance I’d have done anything to please them, to keep them. But I never let my sexuality out. It was a dirty, immoral thing beyond the bounds of marriage, Klystron said.

And above all others, I respected Klystron.

Aged fourteen to eighteen, my blossoming teenage years, the Mayflowers buttressed me against boys, resisting sweet temptation of eager lips and hard bodies. That was easy. But it took me a lot longer to realise why.

I have Twister to thank for that drastic shift in my reality.

This’ll probably be a question later, so, the thing I miss the most?

The bathing, hands down. See, we had this big underground waterfall affair in our super-heroine cave beneath our super-slick pad, freezing cold of course, but Klystron’d do one big zap – you know she shoots microwaves out of her hands, right? Klystron ‘a specialised scientific vacuum tube’ just sounds classier than Microwave, she’ll tell you. Of course you’re not an airhead, Fearless Leader Klystron, but maybe if you try really hard you can have something between the ears but vacuum.

You should put that in, you know. It’ll piss her off something royal. Once the twins explain it to her, obviously.

We’re all in there, in any case, this sauna hot waterfall, and Twister’s doing her whole bit, whirling the water up into one of her pet tornadoes. Talk about your power-shower. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Twister is a major babe, a perfect Southern Belle, and I actually like her too.

That’s a bit of an understatement. In the year between our first, never again mentioned kiss and the last shower I would take with the Mayflowers, I had discovered my sexuality, realised and come to terms with my attraction to women. To my fellow Mayflowers.

I adored my friends. Loved them, even, but Twister will always be my first kiss. She’s my first in a lot of ways actually. In that year our missions had grown more daring, our opponents more deadly. Twister isn’t the only Mayflower I owe my life to.

And at one time or another, they’ve all owed me theirs.

In that burning Texan oil refinery, with flames filling her windstreams, sucking the oxygen from her lungs, Twister could’ve burned. I saved her, and in that waterfall sauna, the tornado whipped droplets felt warm as her tears against my lips.

It was disorientating, as the scattered drops became a curtain, parting us Mayflowers, until a path cleared through the mist. To Twister, arms upraised, a goddess glorious in her nudity, water swirling up around her, trickling down her alabaster skin, plastering her blonde tresses to her face as she stood in the eye of her pet tornado.

I couldn’t even have reached her if she hadn’t wanted me too. Maybe she just wanted a brush of lips again, a reaffirmation of our sisterhood.

It wasn’t what I was thinking of.

Once I was in there, in the eye with her sweet, blonde, southern tornado alley hotness I just couldn’t help myself. I brushed her lips all right, the nether ones. Then I dove in, caressing her firm, horse-riding buttocks and ass, and laid into her, fingers and lips and tongue. She was so delicious, you see. I didn’t stop. Even though I could tell she was resisting, that she didn’t want to feel pleasure from my lips, I didn’t stop, because I knew she was enjoying me all too much.

Yet despite or maybe due to warring joy and guilt she stood quite still for a while, begging in her gorgeously rich Alabama drawl, as I overcompensated for inexperience with vigour. I swear I didn’t mean to make her go wild with her first ever orgasm but the tornado went all crazy just the same.

I guess joy won that battle.

Anyway, we were tough warriors of justice and the bruises healed all up eventually. But still they; Kly and ‘Trancica and ‘Pathica hauled me off Twister – I think that was just after her second big ‘O’, (that’s spelt, orgasm, if you didn’t know) and just before ‘Pathica’s. It must be nice to be able to ride shotgun on another girl’s ‘O’s. Not that slim waisted, exotic eyed ‘Pathica couldn’t get laid anytime she wanted, it’s just that she’s too shy to actually do it. And come to think of it ‘Pathica didn’t do much of the hauling.

That was left to her twin sis and Kly.

Next thing I knew they kicked my perfectly formed ass right out of the League. Ostensibly because I got them all hurt—but just between us girlies that’s a load of BS. ‘Pathica’s done worse leaking her PMS all over us – eww. Eww eww eww. I mean psychically through our team link you dirt grubbing reporter you.

So it wasn’t because of the little boo-boos. It was because of Klystron and her prejudices. She had me thrown out and the others just went right along with it. Can’t forgive them for that. They’re all as culpable as if it’d been any one of them in Kly’s place.

Well. Except ‘Trancica that is. If she’d been the leader they wouldn’t have been able to object. Except I probably would’ve been brainsmoothed into being that good girl forever if Klystron had ‘Trancica’s powers. I’ve seen villains, even super-villains, thugs of men who can put their fist right through reinforced walls pick ‘Trancica for the hostage. Big mistake because though she and her sister ‘Pathica look like sweet ‘lil Japanese schoolgirls with wussy powers it doesn’t mean ‘Trancica isn’t just as dangerous as Twister or Klystron or I. Those tough guys turn round all meek and offer her their wrists and—get this—she pulls one hair, one strand of jet black hair I could snap with a finger and binds them with it. And they struggle, boy do they struggle but it’s like they know it’s unbreakable. So for them it is.

Oh, ‘Pathica looks the same. Identical twins, remember? But they don’t pick her. Ever. She does this thing where she just sort of, blends into the background. You can still see her if you really, really look. She says it’s just like that when she fancies someone because they don’t even know she exists at all. Can’t fancy me I guess. Pity because I could’ve really gone for some hot Asian twin action.

Shall I tell you a secret?

I think ‘Trancica’s had me. Well she could’ve anyway. There have been times, even when I was a good girl that I did the whole queen bee bitch thing. It’s not my fault my room was always messy and I always skipped when it was my turn on the cleaning rota. The other girls get their powers naturally. I have to invest my hours pouring over spell books, researching, scribing, preparing. Working my fingers to the bone. It’s not fair to ask me to do housework too.

I’ve got slaves to do that now, of course, and that’s the thing I appreciate most. That and hot and cold running sex.

In any case once or twice when I’d been really obstinate and it went down to a screaming match, Klystron’s stormed off, Twister having failed at playing peacemaker, ‘Pathica crying cause we were fighting and me retreated to my room. Scribing the meanest, nastiest spells into my spell book then I’d kinda blank out and later Twister and ‘Pathica’d be thanking me for doing such a good job cleaning. Kly’d be making some comment about seeing good sense and ‘Trancica’d just smile at me, a knowing little smile. I mean, come on, if you could have me as an obedient, loving piece of slaveflesh, eager to obey, what would be the first thing you’d ask me to clean?

Your snatch, right?

Your dripping, dirty little snatch, carefully, slowly, worshipfully.

With my tongue.

I mean, it’s what I’d order me to do.

Most obvious thing in the world. I just wish ‘Trancica let me remember it. I had to figure it out and I didn’t till long after my, as you so delicately put it ‘fall from grace’.

Pity.

Anyway, ‘Trancica wasn’t in Klystron’s place so they’re all responsible. ‘Trancica especially, after what she’s probably done to me. She could’ve quite literally changed their minds, right over their objections. Made them forget they’d had objections even. She could’ve saved me. And didn’t. It hurts more that she couldn’t even be bothered to keep me around as a sex toy.

I’m wet just thinking about it, not that that’ll stop me from blasting her with Hypnosis, or maybe Geas, oh, that sounds pretty good. Make her tie a thin tress of her gorgeous black hair about each of my former league-mates necks, leash them, lead them to me, then to kneel besides them herself. And her own sister, her twin too. Ooh, I’m fucking dripping, and this outfit isn’t liquid-proof like the spandex was.

I don’t suppose you’d care to, you know? No?

Fair enough. Plenty of slavesluts around here who’d love to lap it up for me, (just the one, really, but who’s counting), and I’d like a favourable puff piece. Though I’d settle for a muff piece, if it’d help you see your way to, okay, okay, message understood. One straight reporter girl, got it. Never let it be read that The Wizardess is a sore loser.

Sore tonguer, maybe? Tongist, Tonguee? Oh, nevermind, whatever.

Well, they couldn’t let the big secret out, of course, that one of their precious, perfect Mayflower League was a lesbian. Not even Twister came to my defence. Apparently guilt won the war within her, crushing joy beyond hope. I think I threatened her sexuality, actually. If I’d stayed, might she have longed for my kisses, crept to my room at night? Perhaps, but might-have-beens can only hurt.

So they chucked me. And that’s when I swore vengeance. Part of that’s this whole interview bit, of course. Blow the lid right off, dish the dirt, give the scoop. And part of it’s that I mean to have each and every one of them, on their hands and knees, begging to be my henchwenches. I’ll be fair. I’ll decide their fates purely on the talent of their tongues, and resist the urge to treat Kly like the backstabbing bitch she is. Well, what they do with their fingers will count too, I guess. And overall flavour and texture of snatch, but you get the general idea. I won’t treat Kly any worse than the rest.

At least, I don’t mean to.

Probably.

I’ll just have to see how the mood takes me, when the time comes, won’t I?