The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Augmentation

Chapter Two: Mistress Hex Redux

“I’d love to play with you some more,” Saphron whispered excitedly, and Jill could only moan as the symbiote showed just exactly what was on her mind. “But we’ve still got a job to do.”

She didn’t feel any different, but that obviously meant nothing. In her moment of weakness she had given the symbiote carte blanche to take what she wanted, and Jill was in no doubt that she was no longer the one in charge. That knowledge should have concerned her, and the fact that it didn’t was worrying in itself.

“So,” she asked, after a moment, “What happens now?”

“You bring the witch to heel,” Saphron answered, cheerfully. “Then we take her back to the Order and, once she’s safely in custody, I get to have my wicked way with you in any manner I choose.”

“But …” Jill began, trying to find the words.

“I’m joking,” the symbiote laughed. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll figure something out.”

Jill lapsed into an uneasy silence, trying to decide if she could believe the gentle voice. In some ways it was easy. After all, the symbiote had saved her innumerable times and they routinely placed their trust in each other without a second thought. But she couldn’t get past the fact that Saphron had waited until she was at her most vulnerable, and then taken advantage of the situation to get what she had apparently wanted all along.

“But, Jill,” Saphron breathed, in answer to those unspoken thoughts. “Doesn’t part of you just melt at the thought of being controlled? Don’t even think about lying to me, little one. Remember, I know what a slut you are, and how very badly you long to be taken.”

She wanted to deny it, to throw the symbiote’s words back into her face and show her just how wrong she was. But the lie died before it even got close to her lips. Saphron was right. Even the thought was enough to send delirious twinges through her body, and the taste of the symbiote’s approval only added to those wonderfully lewd shivers.

“That’s my good girl,” Saphron sighed, and the words oozed like warm honey. “Now, you go ahead and add a witch to our collection, while I decide what we should call her. After all, Mistress is hardly an appropriate title for our newest pet.”

* * *

It occurred to Jill that she shouldn’t be accepting the symbiote’s instructions quite so readily. But binding Mistress Hex had always been the plan and, more importantly, she couldn’t quite dismiss the thought that she might no longer be capable of resisting Saphron’s soft insistence. The gentle tremors of the symbiote’s wry amusement stroked seductively down her spine and simply melted Jill’s concerns into meek acceptance.

The captive mystic’s plaintive moans drew her attention back to the here and now. Mistress Hex lolled against Jill, her body still shuddering periodically as the ‘ravisher’ continued its merciless assault. Envy lapped hungrily at the edges of her awareness, only to be immediately dampened under the cool blanket of Saphron’s concern.

“Later,” the promise dripped into her throbbing core.

Jill felt her body tense and tremble in response. That single word held so much meaning, as the symbiote’s thoughts flashed impossibly lurid suggestions through her eager mind. Her breath was coming in short gasps, and her answering groan put even the tormented witch’s to shame.

The shock of arousal took several minutes to settle, and despite her earlier protests, Saphron seemed in no hurry to speed the process. But in truth it wouldn’t hurt the proud mystic to experience a little more of her creation’s attentions. Jill wasn’t sure how tough her defences were likely to be, and although even without this ‘softening up’ she didn’t expect Mistress Hex to resist for long, it never hurt to make absolutely certain.

“What’s your name, sweetness?” Jill asked the red-haired witch, while deft fingers stroked the angle of her jaw.

She stretched her hand towards Lillian, taking hold of the confused woman’s. Lillian let her fingers lace through her friend’s, blinking slowly and shaking out her long blonde hair in an effort to understand. The witch’s spell still held her in thrall, but without commands for her to follow, she seemed eager to accept whatever support was offered.

Jill smiled reassuringly, and very tenderly let her power flow through them both. Lillian sucked in a startled breath, and a moment later Allyson echoed the sound, with more than a hint of arousal. Sparks danced across her vision, and the touch of the electrokinetic’s wings grew suddenly stronger. Carefully, Jill used the borrowed talent, and in response, static crawled hesitantly across Mistress Hex’s skin.

Lillian’s grip tightened convulsively, and the lights dimmed, then died, only to be replaced by the brilliant glow of artificial lightning. Jill let her talent wrap itself around the witch’s psyche, teasing both body and mind, using the same dark hints with which Saphron had so casual tormented her. Mistress Hex flinched, and her mind opened before Jill’s eyes, revealing a beauty and complexity that left her awestruck.

“Bryony,” she whispered softly, “I’m so very pleased to meet you.”

But her unfamiliarity with Lillian’s gift, along with the strain of her earlier ordeal, proved too much for Jill. She was already reaching for Allyson, ready to extinguish the sorceress’ feeble resistance, when it became suddenly clear that she had lost control. Straining, she tried to pull back, urging her cramped fingers to untangle themselves from the Englishwoman’s slick silver grasp.

Something dark and unwholesome lurked unseen in the depths of Bryony’s mind, and its presence dragged her ever downwards. Saphron stepped close, pouring confidence into Jill’s mind, but seemingly unable to stop their breakneck descent. Lillian and Allyson grew even more distant, until she was almost completely cocooned in a blackness so intense it threatened to choke. She cried out in alarm, only to find her screams stifled by the sheer weight of horror.

Memories swirled around her, emerging from the shadows in a series of furtive flashes. Jill caught a glimpse of the bonding chamber, before it fractured into a myriad of other scenes. The council chamber warped and flickered, familiar faces fading in and out view, while she watched and tried to understand. The images piled one on top of the other, moving so rapidly she quickly lost track.

In her wildest dreams she had never imagined the depths to which Bryony had sunk. It seemed that sexual enslavement was the very least of it. The woman’s disjointed memories painted a picture of perversion that even Jill found difficult to stomach. And the terrible fates to which she condemned each of her many victims, only added to the witch’s already formidable powers.

This was a woman who had willingly, (some might say enthusiastically), trucked with demons and far worse. She had offered up a string of mindless captives for them to slake their unnatural lusts upon, and even gone so far as to indulge her own depravity on their inhuman forms. But that wasn’t the knowledge that left Jill chilled to the marrow. Because in truth, it had only been a small part of the witch’s crimes again nature and worst still, Jill now knew that she had not been working alone.

* * *

“I’ve had enough,” Bryony sighed, wishing not for the first time that she could simply make her old friend understand.

Ophelia shrugged, her expression calculatingly bland, and the witch’s weariness seemed to grow even more intense. In her heart she had always known it would come to this, but she had dared to hope that there might just have been another way. Her friend’s eyes were fathomless, and Bryony recognised the look all too well. After all, she had worn it often enough herself, just before she was forced to do something unutterably unpleasant.

“So,” the witch asked softly, her eyes unblinking. “How is this going to play out?”

“You already know the answer,” Ophelia answered, “And if you really have made up your mind to leave, this can only end one way.”

“Because no one leaves the Order,” Bryony accepted easily.

Her friend nodded, feigning disinterest, while all around them the shadows lengthened and grew steadily more ominous. The temperature was dropping, and both women’s breath fogged the air with soft clouds of warmer vapour. Pain flashed across the witch’s face, as the earlier uncertainty collapsed into her worst possible outcome.

“For what it’s worth,” Ophelia smiled sweetly, “I am truly sorry.”

“You took the words …” the witch breathed.

A shadow of doubt flickered behind Ophelia’s eyes, but then her servitors slid wetly from the obscuring darkness. The air around them seemed to shimmer and distort, as though reality itself baulked at their presence. The tall, blonde sorceress rallied in an instant, apparently unmoved by Bryony’s unexpected grin of triumph.

“If you don’t fight,” she promised, “they will be gentle, and who knows, you might even enjoy yourself … before they suck you dry.”

The witch shook her head sadly, surprised at how much the other woman’s words stung. The fact that Ophelia’s concern was entirely insincere mattered to her far more than she’d expected. But she at least had meant what she said, Bryony was truly sorry for what she was about to do. She took a deep breath, using the exaggerated gesture to mask the sound of the wax seal snapping.

“… out of my mouth,” she insisted, flinging the contents of the unstoppered vial over the sorceress.

Ophelia flung up her hands, clawing frantically at her pale face. Bryony pushed back from the table, and held her breath. Her friend’s fingers came away wet, her skin daubed with crimson. Their eyes met, and as Ophelia’s nostrils flared, Bryony knew that the other woman had recognised the scent of her special potion.

“What have you done?” Ophelia demanded unnecessarily, her confidence all but gone.

In answer, Bryony’s gaze flicked to the sorceress’ servitors, and as Ophelia followed the witch’s intense stare, her terror threatened to overwhelm everything else. The foul creatures ignored Bryony, abruptly seemingly unaware of her presence. Now all their attention was focussed on Ophelia, and their pulsing tentacles writhed in hideous expectation.

It was almost hypnotic. Even though she wanted to look away, Bryony’s eyes were glued to the spectacle before her. Ophelia raised her hands in a gesture of warding. But she had already instilled far too much power in the creatures and they simply ignored her. They had scented their prey and the promise of a soul as tainted as the one they had been offered was all the encouragement they needed to face the minor pain of passing through the sorceress’ feeble defences.

Bryony could only watch, as they took her friend, shredding her clothing in their eagerness to taste her marked flesh. The witch’s potion clung to Ophelia’s body, painting the sorceress with blood, saliva and cum. Her lungs burned with the effort, but she couldn’t afford to have them catch her scent. Thanks to the magic she had woven into the sticky fluids, as far as the servitors were concerned, there was only one presence in the chamber. But all that would change if she took the breath her body continued to demand.

Her friend’s pleas fell on deaf ears, and all too soon were muffled into incoherence by those slimy, thrusting tendrils. Bryony blinked away unexpected tears, still unable to drag her eyes away from the horrid scene. She had no idea what would happen to the sorceress once they had taken their fill. And even the knowledge that this was exactly the same fate that her former friend had planned for her was not enough to salve the witch’s conscience.

Tentacles slithered over squirming flesh, coiling almost lovingly about Ophelia’s slender throat and then pulling tight. More of those wet extremities clung obscenely, while feather-like tendrils drew slippery lines over the woman’s captive breasts. Their probing tips split, opening like luscious flowers, before engulfing the straining flesh and milking the proud nipples excitedly.

Ophelia whined helplessly, clearly already knowing full well what was coming. The two remaining tentacles, brushed against her body, drooling thin smears of slimy ooze. She shivered deliciously and in response the tentacles lunged forward, impaling her on their expanding tips and forcing one long despairing howl of exhausted arousal from her firmly plugged mouth.

And with that, the air folded closed around the struggling tableaux, leaving only the echo of that last plaintive cry, along with the musky scent of arousal and brimstone.

* * *

Jill snatched her hand away from the witch’s throat, but it was far too late. The link between them had already been forged, augmented by the experience of Bryony’s stolen memories. Lillian and Allyson added their own dazed excitement to that heady mix, but it was the reflection of Jill’s arousal that commanded the witch’s undivided attention.

Much as she wanted to stop, the process was now completely out of Jill’s control, and all she could do was hang on tight and try to enjoy the ride. But with her world turned upside down, the stirrings of Bryony’s reciprocal desire were an unwelcome distraction. “No one left the Order,” that was what the witch had said and yet how could she stay knowing what she now did?

Shivers of anxiety mixed with the painfully intimate heat, and added yet another layer of complexity. Jill could almost feel the adrenaline sinking its chemical claws into her nerve-endings, before her body was flooded with enough endorphins to set her thoughts ablaze with hormonal bliss. Without hesitating, she clung to Bryony’s sensitised consciousness, forcing her to experience every lurch and moan.

And only once the bond between them had been strengthened to the point where it became effectively unbreakable, did Jill finally realise that she hadn’t felt Saphron’s presence since her mind had first touched Bryony’s.

“Saphron?” she wondered softly, already fearing the worse.

There was no reply, and the frisson of fear was enough to banish any residual arousal. Saphron had always been the Order’s creature, but then Jill had assumed they were the good guys. Bryony’s recollection put the lie to that assumption, and now the symbiote had disappeared. The tang of betrayal was bitter, burning the back of Jill’s throat and threatening to make her gag.

“Okay,” she decided, filling her voice with as much authority as she could muster. “You three need to scatter, find somewhere deep and dark to hide and then just lie low.”

Jill could feel their disapproval, and knew that she didn’t have time to argue. Instead she cruelly scraped one nail down her collarbone, before letting it scratch viciously over her nipple. All three women mewled appreciatively, forgetting their concerns almost as soon as Jill’s fingers bit into the tightly puckered nub.

“Go!” She hissed, taking hold of their minds and then twisting none too gently. “I’ll find you, once it’s safe.”

* * *

The melding was supposed to have been permanent. But then so much of what she thought she knew had turn out to be a lie. Jill didn’t know what to think. Saphron had been a part of her for so long that her unexpected absence left an aching void she knew could never be filled. Tears stung her eyes, but she’d already promised herself that she wouldn’t cry.

For the moment she needed to concentrate on the practicalities. If they were going to go on the lamb, then they would need supplies. It was risky, but she didn’t think the Order would be able to get a team together at short notice. That still left the possibility that they could send someone solo, but even without Saphron’s aid Jill was pretty sure she could handle any of the local talent, should it come to that.

The safehouse would have everything they needed and, after all she had done for them, it wasn’t as if the Order didn’t owe her. But her confidence gradually eroded as she got closer to the address, and before she could stop her traitorous mind, Jill found herself yearning for Saphron’s touch.

She wanted to hate the symbiote, wanted to curse her for abandoning them and running straight back to the Order. But despite everything, she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that Saphron had abandoned her. Jill knew that her feelings were unreliable, at least where the symbiote was concerned, and yet there was a certainty to her emotions that simply couldn’t have been artificial.

By the time she reached the unremarkable townhouse, Jill had put aside all thoughts of her missing friend. At least that’s what she told herself. In reality the sense of loss and pain were far too intense to simply ignore, she merely channelled them into steely determination. After all, there were others who were depending on her and, (thanks in no small part to her gift), upon whom she knew she could rely.

From the moment she stepped across the threshold, Jill knew that something was wrong. The atmosphere in the safehouse felt off, somehow stale and foetid. Her sight was all but useless, overloaded by the sheer strength of whatever had happened. And she had just spun on her heels, body tensed and ready to fling herself at the exit, when they appeared.

There was a moment of hideous clarity, before their stingers struck home. Then the venom simply sucked the strength from her trembling muscles and sent her inert form crashing helplessly to the floor.