The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It began at a party. I forget now the occasion that called for another party, but this one was like many at the time. There were a number of other math graduate students there, all male like me, and another contingent of veterinary students, mainly female. Finally, there were various friends of friends who came from all backgrounds. All were drinking too much, talking too loud, dancing too energetically. For me the evening became a blur of laughing faces, snatches of conversations. I decided to stop drinking and start to sober up a little—I was having too much fun and might do something I regretted.

I’m not sure how I began talking to her. I was attracted to her, but the conversation was a little irritating. She was tall—5′11″ to my 6′—and had long dark hair which hung loose almost to her waist. When I first saw her I thought her pale face was unattractive, but as the conversation developed my perception shifted and she seemed beautiful. She was slender but I could not easily see her figure under the long, baggy, purple/black dress she wore. It was hard to tell her age, but she was perhaps five or ten years older than me.

She was telling me about her diet—which seemed to consist largely of herbs. She explained about the uses of this one and the nature of that one. Initially, I feigned polite interest, but soon lost patience. I started to ask probing questions about how she knew that Lovage was effective at removing moles and spots. It didn’t make sense—moles and spots have completely different causes. Of course, she could cite no studies, experiments, meaningful theory. Instead she resorted to claims about “time tested knowledge,” and the “power of ancient healers and witches.”

I became a little nasty and sarcastic. Some pink came to her cheeks as we argued heatedly. This made her seem more attractive. She stood closer to me—getting in my face, I guess. I was starting to be just a little bit turned on. Combined with the feeling that I had proven my point to anyone with the ability to understand it, I started to ease off on the argument. She was still going strong, however, on the “ignorant scientists who think they discovered all knowledge since the Rennaissance.”

“I bet you don’t even believe in magic”, she said.

“No, I don’t,” I replied. “Well, I suppose I have an open mind—it’s impossible to disprove that kind of thing, but I sure haven’t seen much evidence of it.”

She smiled at me. Kind of a strange smile.

“Ok,” she said. “If I cast a spell on you, will you believe in it?”

“A spell,” I said. “So you’re a magician?". This last said skeptically. “What kind of spell?” I added. “What would be involved?”

She explained that it would not be a big deal. We would go out into the back yard of this house, away from the party itself; she needed a little quiet to concentrate. I would have to sit still on the lawn for about five minutes while she did her thing, whatever it was. I would not have to co-operate in any way, except for sitting fairly still and not being actively disruptive.

“But, what would it be a spell for?” I asked.

She frowned and seemed to choose her words carefully.

“It would be something to demonstrate to you convincingly that magic is real. I don’t want to say more than that.”

I figured she was thinking the effect would be a surprise. I was still a little hesitant.

“Look,” she said. “If you are such a big rationalist, what are you afraid of? This will be a meaningless bunch of mumbo-jumbo and nothing will happen. Are you scared?”

Well, to tell the truth, my faith in rationalism was not so absolute that I was one hundred percent confident about having an unknown spell attempted on me. Irrational images welled up out of a subconscious that was well-stocked from childhood nursery rhymes. But, I decided I was being ridiculous; math students do not get turned into frogs in the United States in 1995.

“Ok, I agree,” I said, laughing. “Do your worst.”

She just smiled slightly in response. She seemed to be thinking hard, looking distracted.

She lead the way as we threaded through the party-goers to the back door. Outside, it was chilly—cold enough to keep the party inside, but not so cold as to be bone freezing. We walked silently together down the length of the moonlit lawn. At the bottom, she stopped and gestured for me to sit. I sank cross-legged onto the dewey turf.

“Please don’t take too long,” I said. “My ass is getting wet.”

“Five minutes at most,” she promised.

Her dress had deep pockets at the front. From these she produced some small, brown, paper bags. She rapidly sorted through the bags. From some she removed what looked like crushed leaves. She measured some leaves out, and then ate them. From other bags, she produced small round objects—berries or small stones perhaps. There were other substances I could not see. She rapidly mixed these together in her hands, and then trailed the mix on the grass. She trailed it in a circle, perhaps eight feet in diameter and centered on me. The mixture disappeared into the lawn without trace.

Throughout, she moved in a rapid, fluid way. Then, she stopped briefly and seemed to be thinking, or mumbling very quietly to herself. She looked uncertain. Then, she seemed to pull herself together and take a deep breath—composing herself for the rest of the procedure, perhaps.

I watched interestedly, forgetting the cold and my wet behind. I was sceptical, no longer afraid, but curious what could possess somebody to imagine such strange rituals could have a useful effect.

She then began to shuffle slowly around the rim of her circle. At each quarter and one eighth point, she muttered something that I could not make out—it sounded as though it was a foreign language. After she had made a full circle, she stopped and stood stock still for a long time—a full minute perhaps—head sunk onto her chest. I was beginning to wonder how long this would last when she flung her head up. She began chanting, while making some strange twisting motions with her hands. The chant rose briefly in volume—ending in a shout.

“Ok,” she said. “I’m done. Let’s go, it’s cold.”

I was cold too, so I got up and we started to walk up the lawn towards the house. I sensed no change at all in myself—it seemed like the spell was a dead loss.

“Did you think the spell worked,” I asked. “I don’t feel any different. I’m not a frog.” I laughed, a little relieved actually.

“I think it did,” she said. “We’ll find out in a few minutes.”

I was still pondering that, when, as we approached the house, she grabbed my hand and said, “Let’s go around the side.” She pulled me after her.

“Ok,” I said, instinctively. Then, as I followed her up the entryway at the side of the house, I started to wonder why we were going this way. I caught up with her as we emerged at the front of the dwelling. The sound of the party inside was clearly audible from here.

“Why did you bring me round here,” I said.

“Come with me,” she said, as if in reply. She pulled me down the front driveway, away from the house.

I started to follow her, but then stopped. “Where are we going? I want to go back into the party.”

“I know you do,” she said. “But I’m telling you to come with me.”

I started to expostulate with her, but almost immediately, I felt a powerful compulsion to take steps down the driveway. Not quite realizing what was happening, I started to walk. She fell in beside me. I looked across at her, confused as to what was happening. She looked back at me, half in an appraising way, and half sort of nervous, tense. We turned out of the driveway into the street.

“Why am I doing this?” I said. “I’m going back to the party.” I stopped, and started to turn around.

“Keep walking with me,” she said. “You must come with me.”

Again, I felt this powerful urge to start walking again. I fought against the feeling. It’s hard to describe the sensation I had; the nearest I can come is a strange buzzing feeling in my head, a feeling of stretching and tension in my neck and face muscles, and a sense of the rest of the world falling away from me. Noises seemed far away and my vision receding.

Finally, I gave in to the compulsion, and immediately, the world and my mind returned completely to normal. I was just walking along the road in the cold night air, no big deal. For a moment, I was relieved. Then realization began to set in. I was being ordered around and I felt a strange compulsion to obey. What was this strange feeling?

The spell. Was this what it meant? That somehow she could order me to do things and I would feel compelled to obey her? A cold fear settled around my stomach, which started to knot up in response.

I said to her, “What’s going on? Why am I obeying you?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” she said.

“The spell? It gave you some kind of control over me?” I asked, panicky.

She only smiled in response, but that seemed to confirm my worst fears. By this time, we were walking along the street away from the party. Wild thoughts began to go through my head. How did this spell work? Could she command me to do anything at all? That was a very bleak prospect indeed. And what did she want with me? Where were we going? It kind of looked like I was being abducted—she was taking me away from the party with no explanation.

I started to think about what I could do. The feeling of compulsion had been so strong. If I made a sudden run for it, would I escape her control before it could be exerted? Would it be best to try and physically attack her? In my panicked state I tried to reason. Clearly I was in a lot of trouble. Out in the cold night; nobody knew where I was except for a strange woman I didn’t know; a woman who had me in her control somehow; a woman who was taking me away somewhere.

Not an ordinary woman, I realized, a witch. And a witch I had been rude to earlier in the evening. Angering her further seemed a dangerous plan. I came to the simplest plan of resistance. I just stopped and stood solid on the street, braced to resist.

“Keep walking,” she said, quietly. Her voice sounded tense, as though she had some doubt of my obediance. I felt the strange sense of compulsion again. This time I was ready; I focussed my whole mind on standing exactly where I was. The world started to fade away, and my mind expanded and buzzed with noise. I ignored it. I ignored the passage of time, everything, except for standing exactly where I was. I imagined being a tree, rooted to my chosen spot in the sidewalk. I would not move, as the compulsion grew and grew.

I’m not quite sure how long I resisted—it was probably ten or twenty seconds rather than the minutes it felt like. Suddenly, I felt a sharp jolt—she had physically pushed me from behind. In stumbling off balance, I found myself walking again. By her side again. I felt deeply tired and drained, but also, I felt a spark of hope; maybe there was some limit to her spell’s power over me.

It was only a few yards later that she stopped and produced keys. She opened the passenger door of a car parked by the sidewalk.

“Here’s my car,” she said. “Get in.”

When I was a little boy, my mother always told me not to get into a car with a stranger. I had a feeling that this situation qualified, under that guideline, as a really bad idea. Right now, I was only a hundred yards from my friends. The party suddenly seemed such a warm comforting place compared to being out here in the cold moonlight on the silent street. If I got into the car, I could be a long way away very quickly.

I tried to resist her order, but as soon as the compulsion rose, I felt weak and tired from my last effort. It was only moments before she was closing the door behind me. I tried to think about how to get out of this awful situation I was now in. I started to regret what I had said in the argument earlier—my comments seemed very ignorant and arrogant in the light of this new experience.

She went around the car, and got into the drivers seat.

“Ok,” she said. “I want you to sit still in the seat. Fasten your seat belt. Now, put your hands in your lap, and keep them there until we leave the car. You will not move your body and you will not move your hands until I tell you. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Excellent,” she said, smiling. Then it seemed as though a mask of strain and tension fell away from her face. Her shoulders relaxed and she took several deep, shaky breaths. For her too, perhaps, getting me into the car was a turning point.

“Excellent,” she said again. She turned to get a better look at me. She reached up and turned on the interior light in the car. I dared not try anything yet.

“I’ve got you now,” she said, her smile broadening into a grin. Then she laughed. “You won’t be so quick to ridicule a witch again.”

It was not a good moment. I tried to lift a hand experimentally and made a new discovery. It was much harder to take an action against her command to remain still than it was to stay still, resisting her command to do something. I was barely able to lift my hand an inch or two before I had to give in and let it fall into my lap again—resistance was such a huge effort, obedience so much easier.

“Testing the bonds?” she taunted. “I think I have your measure now, and the measure of my spell, and I think you will find these bonds more than adequate to their task.”

She paused and looked appraisingly at me again. “You’re cute too. That helps. I’m looking forward to getting you home.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. She turned off the interior light and started to put the keys in the ignition, but I interrupted, asking, “How did you do this? What are you going to do with me?”

She stopped, thought, and said, “Yes..., a little explanation now might be appropriate.”

“You won’t understand how the magic works without a lot of study, so I won’t bother explaining that. Suffice it to say that I cast a spell of control over you—I believe you understand the effects fairly well by now. I can order you to do things and you have to obey. It costs you a great deal to resist, but it takes no effort on my part to enforce my orders—the spell does that. I was rushed, and didn’t have quite the right ingredients for the job, so the spell is not perfect.”

She stopped and looked down at my hands, firmly in my lap.

“One imperfection is that you still have some power of resistance. Not enough to save your freedom, as we have seen, but some. That’s why we didn’t go back into the party, actually. I didn’t know how good the spell would be and I wanted to get you away from other people while you were still confused and unresisting. It worked quite well, but your delays in obeying me are still a difficulty. To be honest, I have’t used this spell before and I wasn’t sure it would work out. I would have tried something easier, but you got me riled up enough to try this.”

She glanced at me. I had the impression she was proud of how her spell was working on the first try.

“The other problem is that this spell will not last forever. I don’t know quite how long—probably a few hours. As it wears out, you will start to be able to resist more and more effectively.”

I felt a sudden surge of hope; maybe this was temporary? I was seeing clearly just how much trouble I was in. I would never see my wife again, or my child, my home, my car, unless this woman chose to let me. If she chose to knife me and leave me dead in a field, I would barely be able to lift a finger to resist.

“So,” she continued. “That brings me to the question of the future.”

Here she paused and stared at me for a long time. I grew uncomfortable under her gaze.

“What?” I said.

“In the long term, I’m not sure what I’m going to do with you. It’s an intriguing question. I have not outright abducted a man like this before. A little control here, a little push there, yes. But taking a man and making him mine is a new adventure.”

Here she paused and gave me a brilliant smile. “Thank you so much for giving me the motive and the opportunity.”

My stomach sank again at the phrase “making him mine.” This wasn’t looking good at all.

She turned the key and started the car. As she pulled away, she continued her explanation.

“Although the long term picture is unclear, I do know what the next few hours hold. I need to take you back to my apartment. There I have more paraphernalia, and I’ll also have more time and more privacy. So what I will do is to cast a really thorough control spell on you. One that will last a long time. One that will not allow you much resistance.”

“And of course,” she said. “You will be a ‘willing’ participant this time, yes? Well, maybe not ... but I think I can make you do enough for the spell to work. I’ve been lucky so far.”

My heart sank below my twisted, knotted stomach into the tense muscles of my legs. “What will this next spell involve?” I asked.

“I think I’ll leave that till later,” she said. “You’ll enjoy this one.” Again she flashed me that brilliant smile—white teeth between red lips in a pale face, all framed in long dark hair. “And so will I”.

We had pulled out onto an arterial some time ago, and presently we stopped at a light, signalling to turn left. She drove with an easy confidence—rapid acceleration and fast turns. Now however, we remained stuck at the light as a stream of traffic crossed our path.

“Tell you what,” she said. “Let me check something out. Put your hands down by your sides. Leave them there until I tell you otherwise.”

I did as I was told. There seemed little point to resistance right now. I was saving my strength. The lights changed, and a different stream of traffic crossed our path.

“Don’t move a single muscle,” she said.

Half turning towards me, she reached over and quickly fumbled at my pants closure. She undid the snap and pulled down the zipper. Every muscle in my body tensed up, but I could not move to stop her.

“Don’t!” I gasped out. “I’m married. I don’t want this.”

She ignored me, and slipped her hand inside my underwear. Her long cool fingers explored my genitals, feeling and probing. I was shocked and horrified. At the same time, there was something of pleasure in the feeling. I recognized the first signs of arousal in me, and a slight growth in my member.

“Please don’t!” I repeated.

The light changed; our left turn arrow was now lit green. She withdrew her hand, and drove forward. She left my trousers open.

“You don’t want that? Married, huh? You know what? It doesn’t matter what you want. From now on, your fate is in my hands. Right now, I could push you off a cliff and you couldn’t stop me. Tomorrow, if I tell you to jump off a cliff, you’ll do it saluting.”

She glanced over at me, dark eyes framed by dark hair, backlit sodium orange.

“Your job now is to make me happy because you need my good will.”

Despite her words, it seemed to me that my plea had moved her a little. I think it was news to her that I was married. She had done this on impulse and not thought through the consequences.

I started to plead with her. I appealed to her sense of mercy to let me go. I told her about my wife, and about my little girl. I described how they would react when I didn’t come home: the growing panic, the call to the police, the questioning of the party attendees. I would be ‘last seen leaving with a dark haired women.’ My distraught wife might be suicidal. I sketched her trying to explain my loss to our daughter.

Throughout, the witch sat silent and expressionless. When I petered out, she said simply, “We’ll see. Now be quiet for a few minutes.”

My mouth closed abruptly. Feeling that I had done all I could anyway, I settled back in my chair. We drove another few miles before pulling up at an apartment block. At this late hour, only a few apartments were lit. She got out of the car and came round to my door.

I figured that my best chance of escape was now—before she got me into her apartment. Getting into her car was a disaster, but once she had me in her lair, it would seem to be hopeless. I wondered what the inside of the apartment would look like—broomsticks, cobwebs, cauldrons and foul decaying things?

“Fasten your trousers, and get out of the car,” she said. I obeyed, but as soon as I was on my feet, I took off running.

“Stop!” she cried. Strange sensation. It wasn’t like my legs were running in sand, it was like my brain was running in sand. I took perhaps half a dozen more steps before sinking to the floor. I heard her walk over, heels clicking on the sidewalk.

She stood over me, grinning, flushed excitedly.

“Last chance,” she said. “Going, going, gone... Now, get up and come with me.”

I followed her, spent again. However, it did seem like I had a few seconds of free will before the spell asserted itself. I resolved on a more desperate expedient. We climbed the stairs to her apartment. She unlocked the door and went in, instructing me to follow her. I did, closely.

As she turned on the light, I took a big nervous swing at her. My fist caught the side of her head as she turned away. She fell sprawling on the floor. I closed in on her to try and finish it off. I started to pull back to kick her, but she yelled, “Freeze!”

My foot came forward in the kick, losing momentum the whole way, till it just kind of nestled up against her stomach.

“Don’t move a fucking muscle, asshole!” she yelled. She sprang up, shaking her head. “If you so much as shiver, I’ll take the carving knife and start feeding you your fucking fingers and toes one at a time. You’ll eat them too!” She looked absolutely furious—I didn’t even try to move. I believed in her power to carry out the threat.

She stood looking at me. “Let’s get one thing straight. Don’t ever try that again. Don’t ever try to hit me or harm me.”

I stayed frozen, as I had to.

Realizing the apartment door was still open, she stepped around me to close it. When she came back, she still looked mad.

“I need to work off this anger before I start the spell. You stand absolutely stock still.”

She pulled back her hand, measuring. Then she let fly at my face with her open hand. Smack. It hurt like hell. She did it again, and again. Then she switched hands and hit me three times more on the other cheek. Each time, it hurt a lot, and I rocked back slightly before standing straight for the next blow.

She looked flushed, but no longer angry at me. She smiled, wiped her brow and opened a few buttons at the top of her dress.

“All right,” she said. “I feel better. I hope that that was truly your last chance. Just to be clear. From now on, unless I tell you to, you will not yell loudly, make any sudden movements, or do anything violent or harmful. Understood?”

“Yes.” No other reply made sense.

“Ok. You wait here, on this exact spot, while I shower and prepare.”

She disappeared out of the apartment living room. After a while I heard a shower running. I considered my position. I decided I had gotten off lightly with my attempt to hit her—she could have done much worse than just slapping me around a little. Maybe that was a dumb thing for me to have tried? On the other hand, what better chances had I had? Now I was in her home, and the odds of freedom looked slimmer and slimmer.

I looked around the apartment. Contrary to my earlier imaginings, it looked like a clean, neat, modern apartment. The kind that thousands of young single professional women live in. It was furnished in a contemporary style that made no particular statement about its owner.

I wondered what she did for a living. Did she have a normal job? It was hard to imagine a witch going out at 7:30 every morning to work as a secretary or an executive. Perhaps she somehow used her unusual skills to provide sustenance. I wondered what other spells she was capable of, besides the one that held me fast to my spot.

I tried to move, mainly as an experiment. After a huge effort, I moved one of my feet about six inches. It took several tries, an inch or two at a time. Again, it seemed to be particularly difficult to initiate movement when I was commanded to be still. It seemed a waste of time—I wasn’t going to get far before she came out of the shower and I would waste my limited reserves of effort on trying. The best hope seemed to be determined non-compliance. I had almost been successful at that on the street outside the party. On that occasion, she had to physically push me to get me moving again.

The shower stopped. I heard the sound of steps across the floor and rummaging around in drawers. Then silence for several minutes. I continued to stand in the living room stock still. I thought again of just how much trouble I had unknowingly gotten myself in. How could I have realized? Nothing in my studies and training had prepared me for this possibility. Thus I had willingly co-operated with her for the five minutes she needed. Five minutes! That’s all it had taken for her to secure my unwilling co-operation. Not perfectly, but quite adequately, and now she was about to correct any defects in her grip over me.

As I stood lost in these gloomy thoughts, she emerged into the living room again. I was shocked.

I had expected the same kind of baggy capacious dress as before—serviceable but unrevealing. A black cape and pointy hat had even crossed my mind. Instead, she was dressed for sex. She had on a dusky negligee that came just to her thighs. It was so thin as to barely conceal what lay under it: skimpy black lace panties and a bra to match. Below the negligee, black stockings were held up by lacy garter belts. Black leather shoes with three inch heels held the whole up off the floor.

All this apparel showed off that she really had a very good figure—long shapely legs, a delightfully curvaceous torso, large breasts standing proud from her chest, nipples erect in the still cool apartment. Arms were shapely and almost hairless, but muscles moved visibly beneath the pale smooth skin. And that face. That strange, now beautiful, mysterious face.

“Like the effect?” she said, studying my expression. I don’t know what she saw there. I fully recognized that she was a very erotic figure indeed, but I felt horrified at what this must mean for me. It looked as though my faithfulness to my wife was to be the first thing that followed my control over my movements into nothingness. Horror was still the uppermost feeling in my mind.

“For sport, I’ll point out to you why I’m doing this,” she said. “I can control your body movements, up to a point, but I don’t have any magical control over your thoughts or your emotions. And certain instinctual bodily functions which go with your emotions. So, if I want you to be sexually aroused, I have to do it on my own merits. And, I do want you to be aroused.”

She smiled again at me. She looked happy, as though she felt equal to the challenge.

“Now, through that door, the bedroom is first on your left. Lie down on the bed in there,” she ordered.

I was beginning to guess where things were headed and I decided this was the best point to resist. I dug in my heels and focussed in on myself again. I devoted my whole mind to standing exactly where I had stood for the last half hour—in the living room close to the entrance door of the apartment. In the far far distance, I heard a living room clock ticking seconds as I stood fast.

This time it seemed a little easier to resist the compulsion. A faint hope was born in my breast—perhaps the spell was wearing off and I might be able to delay the new spell long enough to manage escape.

“Suit yourself,” she said. “The living room will do fine. But come over here into the middle of the room.”

Damn! This second instruction caught me off guard as I was relaxing from my success at avoiding the bedroom. I obeyed her and stood in the middle of the living room. I had to be more careful.

“Stay still,” she said. I knew that instruction was futile to resist.

She came right up to me, and started to stroke my face while gazing calmly into my eyes. Her 5′11″ put her eyes on a level with mine.

“Look at me,” she said. I obeyed, staring deep into her brown orbs.

“I am about to give you a good time,” she said, in a soft seductive voice. “Relax, enjoy. Resisting me is futile in any case. Just do as I ask you and enjoy the ride. Everything is going to be fine.”

She came closer, till her breasts pressed up against my shirt.

“Relax,” she repeated. “Just do your part and enjoy what I’m going to do for you.”

I was not relaxed. I knew I was fighting for my freedom against very difficult odds. Every time I had obeyed one of her orders, my situation had gotten more desperate.

“Don’t move a muscle,” she whispered, her face still ten inches from mine. I felt her hands at my trousers again. The trousers dropped to the floor, and my underwear soon followed. All the while I gazed into the deep dark eye-pools of this witch, wondering what was held there for me.

“Please don’t,” I started to say. She just laid a finger on my lips to indicate silence and carried on with her slow disrobing of me.

“I will do what I want with you,” she said.

She stepped back and unbuttoned my shirt, throwing it off my arms. Then she knelt and pulled off my shoes, pants, and underwear. There was a short mental struggle with each leg when she ordered me to lift it—a struggle I lost. I didn’t try too hard though. I sensed that she was slowly losing her active control over me, and I was hoarding my strength for a desperate attempt later. Finally, I stood completely naked before her.

She disappeared into the back of the apartment with my clothes, and came back out with a blanket and a pile of wooden boxes. She laid the blanket down behind me and told me to lie on it.

I fought this instruction, but a sharp push sent me sprawling. I sat up on my elbows, still fighting. She came over and sat on me, and calmly pushed me all the way to the floor. I realized that she was physically strong as well. She continued sitting across my hips, staring at me. The sense of her body pressed against my member with only a thin negligee in between started to have a powerful effect on me. I tried to think of differential geometry problems to avoid having any reaction which would only encourage her. I was only partially successful. She smiled. I was starting to dislike that smile.

“Now, I have you where I need you,” she said. “Lie right there till this is over.”

My heart fell again. If it was really true that all she needed now was for me to lie still while she cast another spell, I was done for. I was now quite certain that the most difficult disobedience was to move when I was commanded still. Her earlier spell did not need any more co-operation from me than stillness. Then I had complied out of ignorance; this time I would have no choice.

She rose from sitting on me and went over to the sofa. She arranged all her wooden boxes in some order along it. Some boxes were old and had strange writing on them. Others seemed fairly new. There were large ones and small. Fetching several bowls from the kitchen, she began to mix things from the boxes. Her body hid my view of what was being used. In any case, it was tempting to admire her curvaceous, lace-cleft behind rather than concentrating on procedural details I did not understand.

After a while, she turned and sat cross-legged facing me. She began to eat from the contents of one bowl. It looked like difficult chewing. I could see fine pubic hairs sticking through the lacy fabric of her panties. Next, she came over to me as I lay flat on my back and sprinkled some fine powder over my face. It got in my eyes and up my nose. I sneezed several times. The contents of the third bowl were again spread around me in a circle—larger this time. I idly wondered if she did her own vacuuming.

Next, she lit several candles and oil lamps around the room, and turned out the electric light. Eerie shadows of her figure were cast on the wall, while her body itself seemed doubly mysterious and tempting in the shifting shadows and half-tones of the flame-light. She lit some incense and a strange sweet smell began to permeate the room.

At this point, she began the same ritual of shuffling around the circle, muttering. My eyes followed her as best they could. After going full-circle, however, the routine changed. Instead of a lengthy silence and then a chant, she immediately launched into a long monologue under her breath. This went on for a number of minutes. At the end, it became repetitive—the same phrase over and over again. Finally she stopped and was silent for a minute or so.

I was wondering if the nature of this second spell called for her to have sex with me, rape me in fact, as part of the ritual. Perhaps this would be the final act of the spell. There must be some reason for her attire, her manner, and for her disrobing me. If so, there was some hope left to me; my task would be to stay unaroused. She could not rape me if I was completely flaccid. And she had indicated that she could not command me erect with her current spell. She was very sexually overpowering, but surely I could focus my mind on some uninspiring math problem and keep my member down? If the spell needed me to orgasm, her task would be yet more difficult—I was sure I had enough control to prevent that.

She now confirmed my suspicion by stepping into the circle and kneeling by me. She looked down at me for a while.

“Look at my breasts,” she ordered. I wanted to resist, but it seems particularly difficult to avoid obeying commands that require a very small movement. My eyes had moved before I even formed the intent to resist.

“Gaze at them,” she said. “See their shapely curve through the lace? Admire my cleavage plunging down into the black lace of my bra. Would you like me to take off the bra?”

“No,” I replied.

Laughing, she said, “I will anyway”.

She first slipped off the negligee, stretching her arms up languorously over her head as she did so—taking her time. Her fine breasts stood out from her body. I still had to watch them as ordered. I felt the first stirring in my cock. I tried desperately to think of my differential geometry problems again, but somehow the manifolds in the problem kept turning into pendulous breasts of pearly white flesh as I gazed at her removing her bra. She stared down at me as she did so.

“I’m having an effect,” she chuckled. She reached out and very gently caressed my penis as I gazed up at her chest. My penis grew—slowly, but it grew. I fought my own desire as best I could.

She stood up, towering over me. “Look at my legs,” she said. “Gaze up and down them.” I did as I was told. She slowly rotated around, posing for me in a variety of fetching ways as I was forced to look up at her slender and shapely legs. Teasingly, she removed the garter belts and the stockings. She was very beautiful. I forced myself to try and think of something else.

Standing gorgeous, in her panties and shoes alone, she stepped back to me. With the toe of one high-heeled shoe, she began to gently caress my balls. I felt my arousal grow, my resistance slip, one notch at a time.

“Keep looking at my legs,” she said. Slowly, ever so slowly, she teased her panties down her thighs, calves, over her shoes, and off . She stood beside me, gorgeous, statuesque, in only her shoes.

“Look up and down my body. Don’t you like it? Admire my long, slender legs. Take in my pendulous breasts, my erect nipples. As I turn, examine the curve of my rear.”

I was forced to follow her instructions and gaze at her body in sequence. I realize that I was shivering with desire for her, even at the same time that I felt deep horror over the way events were shaping up.

“Am I not beautiful and arousing to you?” she asked.

The only truthful answer to her question was “Yes, you are beautiful and arousing.” However, I managed a strangled, “No... ,” instead.

She glanced down at my penis, now fully erect. “I beg to differ,” she intoned quietly. She knelt down beside me and reached for that errant member. With one hand she gently kneaded my balls, while the other slipped gently, sensuously, up and down my penis. My erection began to go from full to straining. She smiled sweetly at me. A brief wave of rage came over me. I wanted to rant and fight and crush her. I was powerless to move.

“Not only do you find me arousing, but I find you arousing,” she said. “Seeing this six feet of manhood, or is it six inches of manhood, here on my blanket, captively mine, is a tremendous turn on for me. Here, smell.”

She reached between her legs and her fingertips came out wet. She held them under my nose—no mistaking that smell.

I realized that her ability to arouse me was a good deal better than my ability to focus on other things. Not good.

“Look at my face,” she said. Her ability to direct my gaze freely whenever she wanted to was a tremendous asset for her. At no time was I successful in resisting one of those commands.

As we looked at each other, she sensuously licked her hands thoroughly. Her hands were themselves beautiful, and the sight of her tongue flicking over and through them was erotic. I knew what was coming too; soon she returned to her massage of my penis. The huge increase in the sensation brought by the lubrication immediately started to weaken my limited control over my feelings. As she worked me over, she whispered to me how hot she was for me, and how aroused I was for her. She directed my gaze again and again to different parts of her body, telling me how much they aroused me and how much I wanted her. She assured me again and again that resistance to her was futile; if I just co-operated and obeyed I would have a wonderful time. All the while her skilled hands slipped over my penis, finding all the sweet spots on it, while also caressing my balls and occasionally slipping between my ass cheeks.

Frankly, I lost it. I lost the will to resist. She said, “You may move your middle if you like, but your head and feet and hands must not move.”

She continued to work on me, and to whisper sweet dirty nothings in my ear, and I began to buck around in response. I could feel myself building to an orgasm. In a small, lost, corner of my mind, I knew this was a horrible mistake—if she wanted me to do this, it must be bad news for me—but she was too gorgeous and too skilled and too persuasive for me to hold out, when I was unable to walk out.

I almost came in her hands, but she slowed her rhythm near the end. Studying my face carefully, she began to speed up and slow down her strokes of me and study the effect. She quickly attuned to where I was at, and was able to keep me hovering on the very edge of coming. She tried different things—her finger in my asshole, rubbing my glans, She studied the effect of each of these. She learned what pushed me closer to the edge of the cliff and what pulled me away. I am ashamed to confess that at this point I began to beg her to finish me off with her hand. I was so far gone.

“Soon,” she promised. Still teasing and pleasing me with her hand, keeping me on the edge, she began to sing a low crooning song in a language I didn’t recognize. This bought me back to my senses a little—I remembered what all this was about. My arousal began to go off the boil. However, she was obviously expecting this. I looked at her face and saw she was watching me even as she sang. She began a tight focussed rubbing of my glans with her thumb, while caressing my asshole with the other hand. This drained the blood from my brain almost completely—I simply couldn’t think clearly at all. Pausing between verses, she ordered me to gaze at her breasts—I was unable to resist the command even briefly. Unable to study her face, but rather just gazing at her beautiful shapely curves and proud nipples, I lost all sense of my strategy.

After a little more singing, she removed her hands and swiftly flung one leg over me. Her wet pussy landed on top of my hugely erect member. I felt the heel of one of her shoes dig into my calf. I still had to gaze at her breasts as she slid herself up and down the front of my penis. I regained my senses a little, but only for a short while. The sensation of her slippery mons sliding up and down my so-hard penis was overpowering. Very soon, I was lost somewhere between my groin and her cleavage again. She continued to sing.

This lasted only a short while. With a skillful flip of her hips, my member was inside her. At this, I remembered again why I was here. Through my incredible arousal and my overpowering desire to ejaculate into her, I remembered what she was doing to me—if I let myself go, I would probably be completely in her control hereafter. Her singing was obviously part of the spell, and clearly my orgasm inside her must also be an important component. This was likely my very last chance to do anything about it.

I tried my utmost to resist. I started to try and get up from under her. With a huge effort of will, I pushed myself up onto my elbows. However, this did no good—she simply placed both of her shapely hands on my chest and firmly pushed me down to the floor again. She did this without missing a note in her song. Between the spell, my arousal, and her strength, I could not stop her, or attempt to get up again.

Still with her hands on my chest, holding me firmly to the floor, her pendulous breasts swaying over me, she moved her vagina up and down my penis. Such a simple motion, but given the extensive foreplay she had already engaged in, the sensations it produced were profound. It felt so good to have her warm slick wetness surrounding me, pulling up and down. Part of my mind just wanted to give in, to drown in the incredible sensations. Part of me realized that she had worked hard to make sure I would be in this state at this time.

I tried to think of abstract problems again in an effort to detumnify. It worked briefly—I felt another wave of horror beneath my arousal—but again she was ready for my attempt. The most incredible sensation began in my member. She had switched to hovering on the very end of my it, pulling in and out very rapidly, using the muscles at the mouth of her vagina to stimulate my glans.

Again, I literally could not think properly. My brain was oxygen deprived. I knew this was wrong and I should do something, but I could not put together a long enough train of though to remember what. The incredible sensations in my groin were too much.

The muscles in my buttocks tightened and I began to buck again. She wound me up and up. I realized that I was vocalizing—groaning loudly. At some point, I looked into her eyes again. A look of triumph was starting to grow in her face, even as her chant continued. I think she was beginning to be quite sure of me.

She stopped her rapid oscillation at the tip of my penis, and lengthened her stroke over the full length of it. This began driving me rapidly towards orgasm. My mind cleared a little. I continued looking up at her, gazing right into her eyes. She was still crouched over me with her hands on my chest, her breast swaying with her thrusts down on me. She was still studying me and still singing. I knew I would be coming in seconds, but all the resistance was gone. I gave up—she was simply much too skillful.

My orgasm started to shake through my whole frame. I have never had one like it. It felt like every nerve in my body was afire at the same time. It seemed as though my buttock muscles would tear themselves from their roots, they were tensing and bucking so hard. As the pulses shook my mind, my vision was covered in a red veil and I could not see. But somehow I could hear her singing; it rose to a loud chant, ending on a long note—almost a cry.

Slowly, the pulses in my groin died away. I began to regain my thinking capacity. My vision cleared.

I looked up into her calm, smiling face.

“I won,” she said. “Now you are truly mine.”