The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Volunteers were probably Lilra’s favorite little discovery to make while gardening.

That said, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of these.

They were something like roses, the botanist decided, biting her lip as she delicately felt the stem. Thornless, it seemed, or at least the thorns weren’t strong enough to do more than tickle anything tougher than a caterpillar. Carefully, knowing the perils of unknown plants, she took a sniff. Very fragrant, and they certainly smelled like roses—exceptionally sweet ones, at that—but their complex inflorescence reminded her more of something like marigolds, bachelor’s buttons or dandelions.

Lilra felt a little self-conscious as she looked around, making sure there was nobody nearby before she dropped to her knees in the mud. She wasn’t sure why she always checked. Nobody ever came up to her little cottage—a sick villager, sometimes, but usually the village folk just took their problems to the alewife up the road, who didn’t live quite so perilously close to the Evergreen Forest’s borders.

Herbalists, brewers and Rangers were in high demand from just about all corners—the villagers always needed their help and the creatures of the forest tended to view them as ‘fun challenges’. Nobody really bothered a botanist—not a lot to gain, practically speaking.

This hadn’t stopped the random fey from paying her a visit over the years—dryads, satyrs, fauns, even a few nymphs at one point. The fey were gorgeous, salacious creatures, if you were in to that sort of thing. Lilra wasn’t, really. Fey were always charming company, and they found her quite easy to fluster most of the time… but when the ‘hypnotic breasts’ and ‘mindmelting pleasure’ and that sort of silliness came out of the bag, they always quickly found her a fairly unimpressed receptacle.

She was just too strong-willed for them, frankly, though she didn’t like to boast about that. A couple particular Toxin Rangers were still a little prickly about how easily she’d resisted the same nymphs that had turned them into mewling boytoys in minutes.

Overall, she had come to prefer the privacy. This way, there was less chance of someone making fun of her for silly things like dropping to her hands and knees and getting her clothes muddy just to look at some interesting new flowers.

But these were interesting. She wrinkled her cute freckled duchess nose as she gave another cautious sniff, and was rewarded with a little waft of dizziness.

Mild witched pollen, she mentally noted, and allowed one last small sniff. Another wave of dizziness hit her, and she actually felt a little bit dazed for a moment. Make that moderate-to-powerful.

Her cheeks flushed as she pinched her nose between her thumb and forefinger. Careful. The sweet, distinctly rosy scent was deceptively addictive; too many breaths of that pollen, and she’d be flying on clouds the same color as these flowers.

That color. The colors, actually. The petals cycled through brilliant mixes of red and pink, forming a gradient so delicate it might as well have been a painted sunset.

She paused and looked around. She was still alone. Only jays, juncos and the odd robin could be seen hopping about, pecking at the numerous colorful bird feeders she’d added to the trees around her cottage over the years.

Keeping her breaths shallow, she turned back and leaned forward to give the stem a curious little lick. A mild bitterness greeted her tongue, and she relaxed her shoulders, realizing how tense she’d gotten.

Mundane hypnotic plants tended to only produce hypnotic pollen, or mind-melting sap, or dazzling petals, or animated tickling roots, and so on. Magicked hypnotic plants engineered by nymphs or mages tended to produce all of the above and then some. The sap tasted mundane.

She hadn’t been too worried, of course. She leaned away from this formerly empty flowerbed, rising up to her knees and surveying the scene. She had hoped to plant some honeysuckle in there, to help out the hummingbirds. She had intended to pull the volunteer plant out a few weeks ago, when it was just a shoot. But now that it was blooming, and it was some sort of flower she didn’t recognize… a hypnotic flower, at that…

She bit her lip. Lilra couldn’t quite tell if it would be more responsible to keep the potential discovery or to… well, remove a potential temptation.

Not that she was tempted. Lilra had plenty of hypnotic plants in this little garden, she told herself, frowning slightly. She’d never once sampled any of them. She’d never succumbed to the… to the temptation that did not exist, she told herself, feeling her cheeks heating up a little bit.

“You know, I’ll bet your cheeks can match them if you really put your mind to it, darling.”

Lilra jerked fully upright so suddenly she almost fell right on her back. She whirled around, struggling to her feet, heart kicking into a racing beat. “Wh—where did—”

Leaning against her old patina-green fence gate was a strikingly lovely young woman who did not, Lilra was instantly positive, hail from the little village. In fact, Lilra was momentarily speechless with the realization of how certain she was. She was… she was far too pretty, for one thing. Far too pretty. Lilra had done her share of blushing and stuttering when addressed by pretty village girls, but if the village girls had been as gorgeous as this woman, with her unusually pale burnt sienna skin, brilliant crimson locks bouncing down her cute heart-shaped face, rosy valentine dimples, big bright green eyes, thick lashes and breathtaking smile, Lilra was pretty sure she would have burst into flames years ago.

For another thing, she was simply… far, far too classy.

Lilra had never seen a woman of great wealth or status out here, so far into the wild lands near the Evergreen Forest. She’d heard stories of the fanciful ladies and lords and nobles of Nyaska, of the Honeycomb Courts, of Silverspring, but she’d never heard of anyone like that having any reason in the world to come here. It boggled her mind to even imagine a prissy noblewoman or spoiled princess setting foot in the mud and dust of a village like this one, much less coming anywhere near a grubby cottage like this one, with its muddy, crumbling stepping stone path or its dull, uninteresting owner…

Lilra cut back the thought, biting her lip. Anyways, she had never seen a woman of much standing, and now she was certain she had. What else could explain the way this woman positively sparkled in the sunlight, or the way this woman’s lips were such a beautiful, striking shade of rose red, as if she had dozens of handmaidens to see to her every need? Her pretty heart-shaped face was framed by a delicate-looking paper parasol behind her head, the kind of dainty thing that would break if you breathed on it but was worth more than your final breath, decorated with pretty little red briar rose designs.

The botanist had no idea what to think of this woman, who’s eyes sparkled with heavy-lidded disdain, as if she was used to seeing common things, perpetually disappointed in a world that had nothing as rich and distinguished as herself. Even the fey who had visited her before couldn’t compare to this woman’s… poise, the command that her posture and eyes radiated.

Lilra again cut off the thought, and realized she was staring. “H-Hi,” she mumbled uncertainly, straightening. She tried not to ogle the woman’s clothing, a gorgeous pale sky blue dress that flowed down her lithe body like spilling water and seafoam. It was further decorated with numerous little glittering precious stones, any one of which was surely worth more than every item in Lilra’s rustic little cottage. And her immaculately-styled hair, it—

She tried to collect herself. “Um, I’m very sorry… can I help you, Miss…?”

“Gallica will do,” the woman said, her voice and accent dripping with sophistication, as if sparing even a single syllable for a commoner like Lilra was a great gift, a mighty act of generosity—though, judging by the slight smile crossing those ruby-red lips, not one she seemed to resent one bit. The botanist felt herself flush.

“Miss Gallica, that is,” the woman added. “And a good afternoon to you, blossom.” She twirled her parasol behind her with a demure smile. “Who might you be?“

“Um…” Lilra glanced around her. She couldn’t shake the sense that surely this woman had to be talking to someone else, that surely this woman wasn’t talking to her. But she swallowed and gave a big, confident smile. “My name’s Lilra, ma’am,” she said, affecting an awkward curtsy—her plain skirt, still muddy from her little exploration, caught under a foot, and she almost stumbled.

Hearing the lady giggling, she blushed and straightened again. “I’m the, um…” Oh, goodness, Miss Gallicia’s eyes were certainly very pretty. She was looking at Lilra with a distinctly amused expression, as if Lilra had done something both wrong and amusing. Perhaps the thing I did wrong was being a peasant, Lilra tried to think wryly, but the smirk made her feel even more self-conscious. She found herself avoiding Miss Gallica’s eyes. “I’m the botanist,” she said lamely after a moment’s pause.

“I see!” Miss Gallica put a finger to her lips, distinctly intrigued—or at least doing a good impression of acting like it. Lilra felt a little better. “The village botanist, you say? Not a Toxin Ranger?”

Lilra gave a sheepish smile. “The… the village doesn’t see a Ranger visit often, ma’am. The Lodge is sorta… sort of shared, m’lady, by a few Rangers that stop by every—”

“Yes,” Miss Gallica said, smiling with the measured patience of one who was accustomed to silly peasant girls like Lilra wasting her time, and didn’t mind one bit, but was eager to cut to the chase. “Yes, of course. And you’re not a witch? I did think that this village had a witch, but a witch would… well…” She continued that enigmatic smile.

She had such pretty dimpled cheeks, Lilra noticed uneasily, as she kicked her feet. She was so… she spoke with such precision, and despite all her informal years of teaching, Lilra felt distinctly uneducated next to such an individual of taste. “Not a witch, m’lady.” She found herself curtsying again, and this made her cheeks flush rosy red. Gods, what was wrong with her? It was an excuse to avoid the lady’s pretty eyes, at least. “I’m… I’m afraid I’m just a mundane botanist. I just study the plants, is all. Is all, I… I should think.”

A pause. Lilra’s cheeks burned. She knew that botany was not generally seen as a particularly worthy pursuit to pursue as a full profession. Plant experts in the village were expected to join the Rangers, or become witches or wizardesses, or… or, well, to learn to brew something that could get people nicely drunk.

“Oh, that’s quite alright!” Miss Gallica laughed again, and Lilra felt better. Miss Gallica had a musical laugh, like ringing silver bells, and her rosy red dimpled cheeks rose up to her eyes as she regarded Lilra with obvious delight. “As a matter of fact, that’s perfect, my darling. I honestly find those witches and Rangers to be awfully tiresome. No magic, then?“

“No.” Lilra kept her answer deliberately short this time, embarrassed at how she kept babbling.

“And no training? No Order’s complex codes?”

“… No?” Lilra wasn’t sure what the direction of these questions meant. She frowned, though, staring intently at Miss Gallica’s left cheek, feeling like she was being interrogated.

Which she was. But she was being interrogated by a gorgeous noblewoman, and for some reason, it was awfully hard to muster any objection to that. “I-I mean,” she added, biting her lip, “I do have training. I attended a Songboat School for… for a short while. As many of my peers did.”

“Really! A Songboat School!” Miss Gallica beamed. “I didn’t know the bards bothered sailing all the way down here. How kind of them! Well, then, I’m positive you must know many useful things, my darling, mustn’t you?”

“Y-Yes.” The compliment caught Lilra off-guard. People didn’t give her compliments too often—or if they did, the people giving the compliments weren’t people whose opinions mattered. She very rarely received compliments that… stuck. “I mean… well, I mean, I learned some history, and I learned to fiddle—not, um, not very well, although I think I was quite good a little while ago.” She knew she was babbling again, but Miss Gallica just kept smiling at her, blinking those thick-lashed eyes, and she just kept talking. “And, and I really did enjoy it, and they taught me some cooking and quite a lot of fencing lessons that I didn’t really have any use for, m’lady, begging your pardon—”

“Indeed! I think it seems quite sturdy as it is!” Miss Gallica giggled, tapping the fence with her knuckles. “A fine fence. You were a good student, I take it!“

“I-I…” Lilra took a pathetically long time to register the pun. “Y-Yes, m’lady.” She found herself giggling. “Yes, of… of course, hee! Yes, I must have been!”

“How delightful.” Miss Gallica tilted her head, cheek resting against her fingertips, and seemed to look Lilra up and down. The botanist felt very strangely vulnerable beneath that gaze. She swallowed and nodded slightly, feeling almost as if she should curtsy again.

But the eyes held her. She blinked slowly and waited, sensing that Miss Gallica had something to say.

She waited. Her heart was racing. She had a million questions right now. Who was this woman? Why was she… was she flirting with Lilra, or just being friendly to her? Did Lilra have something Miss Gallica needed?

It felt suspicious. Especially, she realized slowly, far, far too slowly, this close to the Evergreen. Her mind quietly raced, trying to guess if this was a fey—surely this was a fey, but she couldn’t imagine a fey could be so casually beautiful… why would a fey bother with her little cottage when there were far more important villagers just up the way?

These thoughts swirled uselessly in her head, very uselessly indeed, as she stared into Miss Gallica’s shimmering green eyes. They were incredibly pretty eyes, as green as fresh blades of grass in the springtime, eyes that sang of revels and warm kisses and sunny rainstorms and… and things that made Lilra feel simultaneously awfully lightheaded and strangely… heavy.

Heavy. She blinked slowly as Miss Gallica did the same. Heavy lids. Heavy head. She stared into those shimmering, shimmering, glittering pretty green eyes…

Oh, gods, I’m staring, she thought, feeling horribly hot all of a sudden. I’m staring at her. She’s going to think I’m que—odd. She’s going to think the heat’s getting to me. Am I blushing as much as I feel like I’m blushing? Why is she smiling like that? Why can’t I look away?

“Um,” she managed, her tongue leaden in her mouth, her lips fumbling on her words, “so, um… what… what can I…”

“Do for me?” Miss Gallica supplied sweetly.

Lilra shut her mouth, suppressing a tiny whimper of embarrassment, and nodded.

“What a lovely question, my darling!” Miss Gallica smiled at her, reaching down with a casual, dainty hand and undoing the latches, swinging the fence gate open. “What an excellent, clever question. I was certainly wondering when you would manage to think of it.” She swayed forward, positively flowing in her dress as she came to stand before Lilra. She was just a little bit taller than Lilra, but standing next to this sophisticated, positively royal being, Lilra felt very, very small.

“I.” Lilra sensed that she had been insulted, and she wanted to retaliate. But Miss Gallica was very, very close. The sooner she tells you what she wants, the sooner she can leave, a stubborn voice told her. “I, um. I…“

Miss Gallica watched her stumble over her words, still smiling that sly, smug smile. Lilra felt herself positively melting with embarrassment. The air was so hot, and so sweet, and her simple clothes looked like rags next to Miss Gallica’s gorgeous silken gown, somehow untouched by the mud. Surely she was fey, surely she couldn’t be human, surely, surely—

“You want to know why I’m here?” Miss Gallica supplied again, batting her eyelashes.

Lilra felt a little swoony at the woman’s tone. Miss Gallica’s voice was as sweet as her pretty eyes, as delicate as her fluttering lashes, and yet there was an unmistakable air of… superiority.

Smugness. Confidence. A certainty Lilra had never possessed.

“Y-Yes,” Lilra managed, biting her lip. She felt so strangely dizzy right now, and it surely didn’t help that Miss Gallica’s perfume was so… so… overpowering. So sweet. It made her head spin when she breathed in, and she couldn’t help but breathe in, even though she was trying so very hard not to breathe through her mouth—she was just so panicked, so flustered, rendered so very breathless by Miss Gallica’s whole manner—

“As it happens,” Miss Gallica said smoothly, flashing Lilra a little smirk, “I happen to be looking for an addition for my garden. I haven’t had occasion to add to it in… oh, a few years now, I should think.” She smiled down at the positively quaking Lilra. “Your little garden is quite charming, and I thought… perhaps you might be able to help me settle my problem.“

“O-Oh.” Lilra stared up at Miss Gallica and took a step back, nodding slightly. “Oh! Yes! Yes, of course!” She could feel a smile spreading across her face, and sheepishly, she brushed a stray golden lock from her eyes. “Of course, of course!” she babbled, gratefully turning away to survey her garden, intensely, pathetically grateful at the opportunity to stop letting Miss Gallica stare her down. “I—did you have anything in mind?”

Of course Miss Gallica wasn’t here for her. Of course Miss Gallica was here to purchase a flower. That was the only real reason anyone other than Rangers came up here, anyways. Aside from the odd visit by a nymph or two, who, actually, were generally also interested in blossoms, come to think of it.

Of course that was what Miss Gallica was here for. Lilra felt intensely relieved that it wasn’t… wasn’t anything that she needed to be flustered about. Flowers. She knew flowers. She could handle flowers.

All the same, she felt a tiny pinprick of disappointment. She felt embarrassed that she’d even thought… but Miss Gallica had seemed so forward, and… so flirty… but wasn’t that how noblewomen always were?

“Hm. Do you?” Lilra felt her certainty start dripping away as Miss Gallica’s lovely tone filled her with the pangs of doubt. That voice positively dripped with suggestion.

“I. I…” Why wasn’t Lilra’s tongue working right? She stared into Miss Gallica’s bright, shining green eyes and swallowed her nerves. She couldn’t work out what she was supposed to say, but she knew she needed to say something. What did Miss Gallica mean? What did that question… imply?

She wasn’t used to this. Miss Gallica was too confident, too sure of herself, and Lilra was just too… too caught off-guard. Too slow.

“Aw.” Miss Gallica gave another sweet, musical laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry, darling, I think I became distracted.” She reached forward and, almost making Lilra jump, gave her a friendly pat on the arm. “You were saying, darling?”

“I. I…” Lilra’s voice came out very small as she struggled. “What… what kind of flower did you, um, need, madam?”

“Miss Gallica will do.” The eyes sparkled with amusement. “Or Miss Gallica, if you prefer. My servants call my Mistress Gallica, or m’lady, but you can call me whatever you please, darling.”

“M-Miss Gallica.” Lilra hesitated. She had asked a question, hadn’t she?

Did… did Miss Gallica want her to repeat what she’d said with the ‘correct’ address?

She hesitated. Miss Gallica seemed to wait, full of patience. Lilra’s head felt fuzzy and disoriented as she breathed in the sweet perfume and stared into those sap-green eyes.

“What kind of flower did you need, Miss Gallica?” she mumbled, surrendering.

And Miss Gallica’s smile widened. She gave Lilra another pat on the arm as she sashayed around her, forcing Lilra to spin to keep her in view. She strutted around this garden as if she owned it—and considering how pliant Lilra was being right now, she thought with a pang of embarrassment, perhaps that was a fair enough measure. “Oh, I shouldn’t know, darling. I know my garden has felt dreadfully dull of late, though. Dreadfully dull indeed. I suppose this cute little cottage caught me eye, and I’d try and see what you had to offer me.” She turned back, batting her eyelashes in a way that made Lilra’s heart flutter. “I’m looking for something to take care of, you see. I very much like my little flowers to be… well, a little… what’s the word…“

“Fragile?” Lilra offered, biting her lip. “I do have some succulents in… in my greenhouse over yonder, ma-a—Miss Gallica.” She gestured over to the suddenly rather shoddy looking greenhouse, wishing she had something considerably more high-quality to show Miss Gallica. The greenhouse was actually extremely precious, the fine glass a gift from the Toxin Rangers after she’d helped with an especially problematic group of pollen alraunes. But over the years it had grown green with algae and moss, and while she’d never felt a need to clean it up before, she had no doubt that someone as lovely and… and lavish as Miss Gallica had seen dozens, perhaps hundreds of beautiful greenhouses that made this one look like a total shack.

She wasn’t sure why she wanted to impress Miss Gallica. For some reason, it just felt like this woman’s opinion was very, very important to Lilra.

At least, she thought, swallowing, Miss Gallica wasn’t so close anymore. Wasn’t staring at her with those intense eyes, focusing the full force of her fond, spellbinding smile on her.

It was such a pretty smile.

“No, that’s not it,” Miss Gallica said with a pouty sigh. “I want… oh, I shouldn’t know. Something that needs to be… sculpted, is the word, I think?” She walked through the little garden, pausing to examine the flowers and other plants—Lilra sheepishly thought that perhaps she should have planted her vegetables and fruits and grains elsewhere, so that someone as busy and hard to impress as Miss Gallica wouldn’t have to step over gourd vines and bean trellises right now.

“Oh.” Lilra blinked. She followed the taller woman through the garden, biting her lip at Miss Gallica’s somewhat impressed—but ever-gracious—surveying of her humble little plants. “I… oh, do you mean, as in, like, to say…” She cleared her throat. Stop stammering. Stop babbling! “Like a bonsai tree?“

“Not quite,” Miss Gallica smirked back at her. “But close. I do like those little trees, of course, and who doesn’t enjoy binding a plant to make it grow in just the way you like?” She reached forward and, without warning, caressed Lilra’s cheek.

Lilra barely suppressed a squeak.

Miss Gallica tilted her head slightly, admiring the botanist for a moment. Or… what was she doing? Lilra felt her cheeks heating like honey in the pot as Miss Gallica’s ever-so-delicate fingertips grazed over them. The beautiful, regal woman… couldn’t possibly be admiring her, right? No one admired her. Miss Gallica had to be… had to be… was this just how a proper noble behaved? Was Lilra being rude if she objected? Was there etiquette Lilra didn’t know about?

It was a nightmare. A mortifying nightmare.

And yet, Lilra still had to stop herself from leaning in to the dainty touch. What is wrong with me?

“But,” Miss Gallica murmured, withdrawing her hand with an easy, confident smile, “I can’t say that we have much use for a bonsai. No, no, that’s not the right planet for us. Besides, a bonsai tree is such a decrepit thing, isn’t it?”

“That’s…” Lilra’s head was spinning. She hurried after Miss Gallica, feeling curiously like a… like an attendant at her heel.

An attendant. Lilra’s cheeks were positively burning embers. That had been the word she was thinking, surely. Not… not anything else. Not anything else that would follow at Miss Gallica’s heel.

“That’s the point of a bonsai tree,” she mumbled to herself.

Miss Gallica stopped short. She glanced back, one eyebrow raised. “What was that, darling?”

“N-Nothing!” Lilra yelped, jumping as she realized she’d been heard. Although hadn’t she meant to be heard? She knew her cheeks had to be obviously red, and she wondered if by this point Miss Gallica even noticed the change in her color. Maybe, Lilra thought, grasping at straws, Miss Gallica just assumed that this was how Lilra always looked. Perpetually red-faced.

And perpetually stammering and mumbling and… Lilra cut the thought short. “Nothing,” she repeated, smiling nervously. “I, um. If not a bonsai, what about a creeping vine? Trellis plants sometimes have a great use for being… ‘sculpted’, you said?”

“A trellis?” Miss Gallica nodded slightly, appearing to consider it. Her eyes darted about above her head, as if envisioning the notion. “Hm… I do quite enjoy that idea. So you’re telling me my flower would climb up the trellis and cling to it?“

“… yes.” Lilra desperately wanted to tell Miss Gallica that this was exactly what a trellis meant, but she didn’t want Miss Gallica giving her that mild reprimanding look again. She had no idea what Miss Gallica would do if Lilra was openly rude in any way, but she was scared to even try correcting her now. She told herself that Miss Gallica probably knew what she meant, even if she was phrasing it oddly. “A vine or the like. Maybe some creeping flowering ivy?”

“Hm… no, no, I don’t think so.” She tutted, walking up to Lilra and looking expectant. “Perhaps I should describe what I’m looking for in greater detail.”

Lilra wanted very badly to ask why Miss Gallica hadn’t done that to begin with, but she bit her tongue, staring up at the imposing, gorgeous noblewoman. “Yes,” she said after an uncertain pause. “Um, please do. Miss Gallica.”

Miss Gallica smiled and reached forward, taking her by the hand. Lilra flinched slightly, but tried not to show her surprise. Don’t be rude. Just… just be polite. She’ll tell you what she wants, and she’ll take it, and she’ll leave for things that matter more than you, and that’s fine. I can stop making a fool of myself soon. Just do as she says until then. “Let me see,” the lady said, slowly, as she held Lilra’s hand between both of hers. “I do enjoy the idea of a plant that needs constant support. A delicate flower that can’t grow and thrive without being… held up.“

Lilra nodded slightly. Her mind raced with possibilities, anything to distract herself from how close Miss Gallica was, how sweet she smelled, how confidently she had stolen Lilra’s hand and now held it, fingers stroking casually over her palm and over the back of her hand as if she owned it, as if it had always belonged to Miss Gallica. A passion flower? A grape? Maybe some sweetpeas?

“My flower needs to be delicate, of course.” Miss Gallica smiled down at Lilra. Her fingertips drew a little spiral—a circle—a heart shape along Lilra’s suddenly very sensitive palm. Lilra’s head fuzzed with static as she realized that Miss Gallica was smiling right into her eyes, with a knowing twinkle, as if she knew exactly what Lilra was thinking right now. “A delicate, sensitive thing.”

“I…” Lilra’s voice was very soft. She tried to strengthen it, but she didn’t feel strong right now. She felt weak. Weak and helpless. She swallowed. “A… a flower like that is going to take a lot of work to take care of.”

“Oh, I’d imagine!” Miss Gallica beamed and released Lilra’s hand. Lilra blinked, briefly startled by a strange sense of… disappointment. Why wasn’t she more relieved? “I do so adore pretty little blossoms that require… tender care.“

“I-I see—”

“Loving care.” Miss Gallica’s fingers brushed Lilra’s cheek, stroked under her chin.

Lilra heard a tiny whimper escape her. Oh. Oh no. This was… this felt…

The fingers gave a couple little tickles, little scritches, and Lilra felt herself tilting her head up to encourage them without even thinking about it. She barely held in a whine. Oh, why did that feel so… so… how did Miss Gallica know…

She knew this was wrong. She knew this was strange. But she couldn’t think. She couldn’t think. All she could do was passively accept the touch.

“Oh, yes,” Miss Gallica purred. “As a matter of fact, darling, I believe I should quite enjoy having a… project. So I wouldn’t worry your…” Her hand rose from Lilra’s chin, and Lilra felt her head loll, sink a little, as if those fingertips had been helping her keep her suddenly very heavy, very woozy head upright. “… pretty…” Her hand gave Lilra’s head a little pat. “… little…” Pat. “… head about it, okay, darling?” Pat-pat-pat.

Lilra whimpered. She felt a strange thrill running through her, laced with a strange kind of panic. She sensed that there was something distinctly wrong about this. Something distinctly suspicious. But it was just… so, so hard to think straight, and she felt so deeply, so intently lost in those sly, shimmering eyes.

She didn’t want to worry her pretty little head about it. She just wanted to kneel here and…

Stand here, she mentally corrected herself. Not kneel. Stand. She just wanted to stand here and… and keep talking to Miss Gallica.

Keep listening to Miss Gallica.

“Yes, indeed, yes,” Miss Gallica went on, her voice chiming like soft little tinkling silver bells, so very pretty, filling Lilra’s ears with thoughts of… thoughts of…

… such a soft voice, such a pretty voice…

“Yes, indeed,” Miss Gallica purred after a moment, and Lilra blinked blearily, realizing her heavy-lidded eyes must have betrayed her, that she’d zoned out a little bit. It was just… Miss Gallica was so close, and the air smelled so sweet, and it felt like Miss Gallica was bathing Lilra in a sweet bath of dizzying, dazing scents… “I actually quite enjoy having flowers to tend to. To take care of. I think the loveliest blossoms are the ones that are utterly hopeless on their own, don’t you?“

As she spoke, her very forward hand drifted down to cup Lilra’s cheek.

Lilra breathed in and breathed out. “Uh… uh-huh,” she managed, struggling to form cogent thoughts, much less cogent words, as she drifted into those eyes. Into the scent. Into the touch. Into the intoxicating feeling of being… lost… “Y-Yeah, I mean,” she whispered. “Yeah. Hopeless. On their own.”

“Weak,” Miss Gallica said teasingly. “Vulnerable. Fragile. Delicate. Such beautiful things.”

“B-Beautiful.” Lilra swayed as Miss Gallica’s fingers stroked along her neck. It drifted lower, then, playing with the fabric of her simple blouse. She didn’t mind Miss Gallica touching that, she supposed. It wasn’t as if it was worth anything anyways, next to someone as clearly precious as Miss Gallica. “W-Weak…”

“Yes,” Miss Gallica cooed, “yes, exactly. My darling gardener understands, doesn’t she?”

“Uh-huh?” Lilra’s voice was filled with uncertainty, because she honestly wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure she understood anything right now. She felt so sleepy. So dizzy. So dazed and fuzzy and heavy-headed. But Miss Gallica smiled when Lilra agreed with her, so Lilra managed a tiny nod.

“Good,” Miss Gallica cooed, and Lilra found herself quivering in unexpected delight at the praise. “I looove having a delicate, beautiful thing to take care of, you see, and it’s very important that you understand that.” She leaned in closer. Lilra positively swooned at the beautiful eyes flooding her vision, at the way the rosy perfume positively drowned her in lethargic thrall. She began to circle around Lilra again, and this time, a hand remained under Lilra’s chin, stroking and scritching gently. Lilra tried to turn to keep Miss Gallica in her sight, but the hand on her chin stayed firm, keeping the botanist from moving. “It’s very, very important that you understand how beautiful you are, darling.“

“… ah?” Lilra blinked blearily. Freed from the eyes, she felt a tiny pinprick of uncertainty. That… that was so…

… beautiful? Her?

Beautiful. The word sent shivers of delight down her spine, though she wasn’t sure why. Nobody had ever called her beautiful before. The word felt oddly… nice.

It felt nice coming from Miss Gallica, she realized vaguely. Nice when it was said in that sweet, delicate tone, like a silk glove ever-so-softly stroking her cheek.

“Lovely, lovely, pretty little thing,” Miss Gallica leaned in to whisper, her voice trickled into the botanist’s ear like honey.

Lilra realized, then, that Miss Gallica was circling around her with purpose. She was examining Lilra from all angles. Admiring her. Lilra’s cheeks felt like they must be redder than Miss Gallica’s hair at this point and as hot as twin suns, and she felt even more flustered at her ratty, unseemly attire.

“Shh.” A hand appeared on Lilra’s head and began stroking her hair, and Lilra felt her eyelids flutter. To her shock, an involuntary moan of delight emitted from her quivering lips, with as little thought as a breath. “Shush. Good girl. Human girls always like headpets, don’t they?“

“A-Ah… um…” Lilra’s head swam as the fingers ran through her hair, delighting her with that tender, loving care. It felt so nice, even if she were being stroked like she was… like she was some kind of…

“Of course they do,” Miss Gallica said slyly, coming back around to face her. She had a finger to her lips, and was smiling smugly, as if she liked what she saw. “It’s so easy to drift, isn’t it, darling? And so very difficult to think of a reason why you shouldn’t.”

“D-Drift?”

“Gooood,” Miss Gallica cooed, and Lilra’s eyelashes fluttered as waves of soft, gentle, sweet pleasure wafted over her. She almost swooned, but the hand stroking her hair kept her upright, eagerly leaning upwards into the touch. “So easy to drift into my eyes. Into my touch. Such a sweet, silly girl, aren’t you? Just my adorable silly thing. You’re going to be good, now, aren’t you?”

Lilra felt her eyelids fluttering. “G-Good…” She felt the words slipping ever-so-easily from her lips, and it felt so, so easy to let the sounds slip out, to give Miss Gallica what she intuitively sensed the woman wanted to hear.

“Gooood,” Miss Gallica cooed. “That’s right, sweet thing. That’s quite alright, my darling. It feels good to drift, doesn’t it? Feels good…” She stroked Lilra’s hair affectionately, smiling slyly. “… to sink.”

Lilra felt herself nodding, dreamy and distant, as her head began to loll.

Delicately-manicured fingers slipped beneath her chin to hold her head upright. She shivered at the touch.

And Miss Gallica’s smile widened.

TO BE CONTINUED...