The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Doll of Chros

2

The slave quarters in Lord Chros’ mansion, like most in De, were in the basement. After finishing the foyer, Eria proceeded downstairs. Her rendezvous with the Man-Wizard Alcaeus wasn’t for hours yet, but she had been charged with no other task in the meantime. There was nowhere else for her to go.

She didn’t need sleep.

She didn’t eat.

She had no possessions of any kind to safeguard (she herself was a possession).

She was kept almost constantly nude, so there wasn’t even a need for the doll to store clothing.

But she had to go somewhere when she wasn’t otherwise employed, and the slave quarters were explicitly intended for slaves. So that is where she went.

Eria entered the small corner basement. There were no beds, only thick blankets spread out on the otherwise cold stone flooring. Chros saved much money by only heating his own quarters. He was wealthy but cheap. The toilet and shower was in open view, only one. There were, however, several mirrors set in the walls, and multiple sinks, all leading to the same drain. Two of her owner’s slave girls, Cala and Hesione, were sitting on blankets, talking and eating, when the former noblewoman came in.

The slaves stopped talking when they saw Eria. They glared at her.

Eria stood in the doorway. Then her head turned stiffly in one direction, like a clockwork mechanism, and she walked over to an unoccupied corner of the room. The slaves tracked her with their eyes. The doll’s machine-like functionality—she was not literally a clockwork, but for all intents and purposes she acted as one—recognized the hatred the human slave girls had for her. Had the question been posed, had she been asked for an answer, Eria would have correctly determined that the source of this hatred was a combination of rampant jealousy, for since Chros had brought the fuckdoll to his mansion he had sometimes neglected them in favor of fucking her, and general unease, for while she appeared to be a female slave like them, in broad form anyway, it was apparent in every ordinary respect that she was not. They suffered the pangs of hunger, temperature, and sexual deprivation; she did not. They could socialize amongst themselves, in the little free time afforded them; she did not. They slept, held opinions, enjoyed being sex slaves, even if their current master was less than idyllic; she did not.

As it was, Eria had not been asked this question, so she did not know these answers.

Instead, she took up her standard position in the room’s unoccupied corner and stood, tirelessly, content to wait until her rendezvous. However, after a few minutes during which Cala and Hesione crouched with their heads together, whispering, they climbed to their feet and approached the fuckdoll.

“The master doesn’t use you as often as he did,” Hesione said to her in a condescending tone of voice.

“That is correct, Hesione,” Eria said blandly. This was true. For the last few months, Chros had spent more time pimping than fucking her. “The master does not use me as often as he did.”

“He no longer cares for you,” Cala declared haughtily. “You are nothing but used goods.”

“Yes, Cala,” Eria said. “I am nothing but used goods. I am the master’s cock-loving whore. The master prefers to give his whore to others to entertain.”

“No one likes you,” Cala added, sniffing. Hesione nodded agreement.

“Yes, that is correct,” Eria said. “No one likes me. All I am good for is being fucked. I am a fuckdoll.” There was no emotion in the words, no emotion felt in the speaker of the words, only truth.

The two slave girls whispered to one another again. They then looked at Eria as one.

“Get down on your knees, fuckdoll,” Hesione ordered Eria; and Eria complied immediately. “Yes, Hesione.”

“Lick me, whore,” Cala told the former noblewoman; and the slave pressed her groin to Eria’s face.

“Do it better this time, or we’ll hit you.” This was an empty threat: neither of the slave girls would have dared to strike one another, even her, for fear of leaving a mark that might be detected by their stable keeper, let alone by Chros himself. Moreover, the Mark of Daox magically reduced non-sexual aggression in those who bore it, making it difficult, though not impossible, for a slave to be truly violent.

It was an empty threat in two other ways as well. First, even had Hesione struck her, no mark would have been left behind. Eria’s flesh was no longer capable of bruising in that fashion. Secondly, and ultimately, there was no need: the doll complied immediately, without the slightest bit of hesitation.

“Yes, Hesione,” Eria told the slave, then leaned forward and proceeded to fulfill her function.

* * *

The house of Leusa’s Master boasted multiple bedrooms. Her Master’s guest had used both her and one of them quite thoroughly. They lay together, Leusa’s legs partially overlapping Jereg’s beneath the covers, the slave’s plump breasts pressing into the enslaver’s hard chest. She was cooing softly.

“Did Leusa please you, master?” she asked at length, kissing his nipple. She had been well fucked.

“Are you concerned your owner would be unhappy had you not?” They were serious words, though Jereg’s tone made them less so.

“A bit, master,” Leusa said. She was, now that he had mentioned it, not so much from fear of any punishment she might receive from Alcaeus but that she might have disappointed him. She didn’t want to disappoint any man, but particularly not her beloved Master, ever.

“Well, you have no need to be,” Jereg said, squeezing her rump and causing the former noblewoman to heat again, as a slave. “You are a more than adequate fuck, my dear former Lady Leusa.”

He tickled her nose.

A sense of slavish well-being filled Leusa, a quiet satisfaction that she had successfully given pleasure; but after a moment’s consideration that fulfillment was tinged with perturbation. “I am only ‘adequate,’ master?” she asked.

“Remember that I speak both as a man who has enjoyed, and possibly been jaded by, the attentions of many, many slave girls in his life. I am also a professional enslaver. It is my occupation to assess the pussywork of sluts like you and see that they meet the standards of being a Daoxechent slave girl. In both regards, you are more than acceptable. Rest assured, I would enjoy raping you any day.”

He tickled her nose again. “But I could stand improvement?” the slave girl nonetheless pressed.

“Yes. You were never sent to the Pleasure Pits, were you?” Leusa shook her head. “You were enslaved here in De and never made it to Daox. That is a shame. Certainly, there are greater techniques you could learn to employ with your mouth and pussy. But it’s more than a lack of skill.

“Tell me, aside from Alcaeus, how many men have enjoyed you since you came into your master’s possession?”

“Two, master, including yourself. The other was a squire in whose residency my Master and I spent the night. He offered my Master the use of one of his slave girls. It was only graciousness that my use should be offered to him in return.” She had been fucked by more than three men, though. In truth, she had lost count of the number of her users while in the company of the Daoxechents, following her Marking. But she knew what Jereg meant.

“Well, there,” Jereg said, “that’s the issue. A good slut requires experience. She should enjoy frequent fuckings from multiple and varied users. Every fucking brings with it the opportunity for new practices, new understandings of how to please a man. I have my own slaves regularly serve my friends, my colleagues, and so on. Occasionally, I’ll rent them to a brothel for a month or two, for sake of the experience. Before I leave, I’ll recommend to Alcaeus that he do the same with you.”

“Thank you, master,” Leusa said, a touch warily. She herself wasn’t sure she liked the idea and was sorry now she had brought up the subject. “How many slaves do you own, master?” she asked.

Jereg stared blankly into space. “I really couldn’t say,” he said.

Leusa looked at him wide-eyed.

“It’s not what you think,” he added hastily. “Remember, I’m a professional, and my permanent home is in Daox. I rotate through two or three new sluts every few weeks. I probably have around four or five slave girls at home. Formally, I retain but one girl here in De, though I have been assigned the use of another plaything as well.”

He mused. “She’ll well teach your master a thing or two, I wager, before she’s done.”

He didn’t explain further, and Leusa was clever enough to know when to end a conversation.

* * *

The two wizards lay naked, side-by-side, on the floor of Alcaeus’ study, both staring at the ceiling.

Alcaeus suddenly frowned. He had to know. He turned over. “Who’s really in charge of Daox? The Pecthentnim or the Daoxechent Lords?”

“Oh, our men are absolutely in charge!” Racy said, turning toward him, looking absurdly shocked at the question. “We just tell them what to do.”

She crawled atop Alcaeus before he could inquire further into the logic of that statement. She settled onto his cock again, hissing in pleasure as she penetrated herself. As distractions go, it was a good one.

Eventually, she leaned forward so that their faces were close to one another.

“Hi. My name is Racy,” the woman-wizard said. She might have been on a school playground for all the gravity she gave this delayed introduction.

Alcaeus, nonplussed, shook his head and said, “Hello?”

“Do you like quiche? I’ve been in De for months, and I still haven’t developed a taste for your Deinian apple quiche.” The wizard squeezed at him unexpectedly and took Alcaeus’ hands in her own, pressing them together. “Oh, but please tell me your favorite restaurant here in the city! Jereg promised he would bring me take-out tonight.”

Alcaeus pulled himself free. “I . . what?” he said. “What do you want with me, madam? Truly?”

“Oh. I want your help in spying on Noalassa,” the wizard, “Racy,” said, quite matter-of-factly. She had perfect teeth.

Alcaeus’ mouth opened, then closed. Opened, closed again. “What the . . ?” He didn’t bother to ask why: he could think of several reasons to motivate someone—particularly a rival wizard—to want to spy on that infamous Nyccleth bitch.

Instead, he asked: “How? And why involve me?”

“My sisters have known for a while that the Nycclethnim never really give up the slave girls they make, even after they sell them. They retain a psychic link, a ‘backdoor’ into their minds that allows a Nyccleth wizard like Noalassa to scan their thoughts or even see through their eyes at a distance.”

It wasn’t the answer Alcaeus had been expecting. However, while this information was new, he wasn’t much surprised by it, either. Knowing Nycclethnim like Noalassa and Menupao, it made sense.

“This psychic link is strongest with the Distenian dolls. We believe wizards like Noalassa use the dolls to seize control of their male owners.”

“Not through magic,” Alcaeus said, flatly. Such women-wizardry wouldn’t work on men, any more than men-wizardry would on women. These were fundamental laws of magic on Ramanananan.

“No, not directly,” Racy said, wriggling against him. They both moaned in delight. “The Nyccleth dolls are just so magically superb at sex, they addict the men who fuck them, like a drug, and through this addiction they can manipulate and hypnotize.” Alcaeus stiffened at this, metaphorically as well as literally, and the wizard atop him laughed. “Don’t worry. I would never, ever do that to a man.”

She whispered in his ear. “At least, not right away.” She giggled.

Again, while new, this information was not entirely without precedent. There were tales of wizards, both male and female, whose bedrooms skills were so impressive they could “fuck into compliance” their partners.

Why, Alcaeus prided himself that he could probably . . . .

“Anyway,” Racy said, still whispering in his ear, her small breasts squeezing against his chest, “I want to run a trace back to Noalassa through one of her dolls. I have to be sure it’s one of hers, though, and it has to be a recent transformation, too. That only leaves me three options.”

“The transformed Scarphns.” He meant the Lady Eria Scarphn and her two daughters, Eida and Dyno.

“The twins are employed in a brothel,” Racy said. “I hear the Haistos heir is raising money to purchase one of the doll-twins, Dyno. But until he does, getting one alone would be difficult, and obvious. It would be so much easier to get to the mother.”

The former Lady Eria.

“Lord Chros has been pitching her pussy to me for a year,” Alcaeus said thoughtfully. “I’ve refused him.” Mostly because Chros was an arrogant, self-satisfied prick; but also because Alcaeus had had no interest in using a Distenian doll before. He hated robotizing slaves.

The knowledge that he could be hypnotized by one now made the notion even less appealing.

“Ooooh, he’s been trying to garner favor with the big, strong man-wizard,” Racy said seductively, kissing Alcaeus’ chest with delicate touches of her mouth, “just like I am, through sex.”

Eventually, she looked up and beamed at the wizard, waiting for his reply.

“You want me to take Chros up on his invitation,” Alcaeus concluded, the notion dawning on him.

“You’re so smart,” Racy said. “Yes. As a man-wizard, you can make his male servants forget about us afterwards, just as I will make his slave girls forget. I need a few hours alone with Eria.” She reached out and tapped Alcaeus on the temple. “You can watch me play with her! It’ll be fun.”

“You want me to take you along with me? Seriously? That would be a tad difficult, don’t you think?”

She would be viewed by witnesses, and once the Nycclethnim found out about her, that would be the end of her. And him, too, probably.

“Oh, you’re so hopelessly male!” Racy giggled and bounced off him. Behind her, the wizard’s gray robes lifted into the air and straightened themselves, then flew across the room to join her. Alcaeus liked the way the wizard’s nipples hardened with this application of invisible force.

Arousal was magic, for men-wizards as much as women-wizards. He always had an erection while spellcasting.

From somewhere inside the robes Racy removed a thin vial of elixir. Without any ado, she opened the top and drank it. Almost at once the wizard’s small breasts filled out. Her hips developed greater contour. Her waist shrank. Her straight brown hair went blond and curly.

As her form magically shifted, Racy shook out her limbs and assumed the standard position of a pleasure slave, kneeling before Alcaeus with her knees apart and her hands resting upon her thighs.

Her eyes sparkled. Her whole body had gone flush.

“When we go, I’ll look like this,” she declared. Even her voice had become more light and breathy, the voice of a slave girl. In fact, but moments later, the wizard appeared no different than from any other Daoxechent slut in the city, missing only the tell-tale tattoo of the Mark of Daox on her shoulder. And as he watched, even that sigil slowly appeared on her skin, rising like a photographic image in solution.

“All the hells,” Alcaeus said, thunderstruck, and not a little frightened.

He had never seen a quicker total body transformation. The Pecthentnim slave paste the women-wizards concocted for the Lords of Daox took days and sometimes even weeks to take effect. Other, more direct magical transformations took minutes, but this . . . he was simply floored.

Feats of telekinesis and telepathy aside, every wizard guild had its own style, its own particular instrumentalities. The Ainchonnim, his own guild, employed cocks and rods (his own power rod was well-hidden). The Nycclethnim were into dolls and jewels. The Pecthentnim were known for being crafters of charms and inscribers of tattoos; however, they were also brewers of magical elixirs.

Extremely potent magical elixirs, as it turned out, like their famous slave paste, and whatever that formula had been.

A thought occurred to Alcaeus. “Why did you show up here in your guild’s robes? Wouldn’t it have been easier to . . ?” Come like this, he didn’t say, pretending to be a slave? Safer?

“That’s right! That’s absolutely right!” The transformed woman rocked back and forth on her heels, hugging herself and trying to keep from laughing. She more or less failed in this endeavor. “I came as I did so you would know for certain I am what I say I am, a Pecthent woman-wizard!” More giggling.

As a Daoxechent slave girl, then, she went down to all fours before him. Her enlarged breasts brushed the floor. Her now hourglass figure reminded Alcaeus of Leusa . . . really, of every Daoxechent slut.

“Let me tell you a secret,” she said in a blatantly false whisper. She inched forward. “Of course, the magic we use excites us terribly.” She put a pair of fingers to her lips, bouncing her head over her hand.

“But unlike most magic-users, we are totally in its thrall. Magic’s our sexual addiction.” She giggled. “We’re not women-wizards so much as wizard-sluts,” she said. “It’s our greatest secret. Don’t tell anyone.”

She’s mad, Alcaeus thought. She’s completely mad. This was a great secret, if true, and highly exploitable; but she had just blurted it out as if it meant nothing. And she obviously didn’t care.

In his head, he was reviewing every encounter he had ever had with a Pecthent wizard. This information changed everything. Behind every gray robe he had spoken with, there had been, apparently, a sex-crazed slut.

The mind boggled.

Alcaeus shifted into a sitting position. The woman-wizard smiled at him, eyes cheerful and animated, roaming over his naked form. “I go around the city all the time like this. Nobody ever notices me, other than as a pretty little thing they’d like to fuck. Often, I let them. It’ll be perfectly safe, Wizard Alcaeus.”

“Are you a slave?” Alcaeus asked her directly. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t tell if a woman was or wasn’t. Slaves can’t use magic, he thought. They just . . . can’t. Shouldn’t. He was hard pressed to think of a reason why, though, at the moment. “What do you want from Noalassa?”

She crawled forward, putting her face above Alcaeus’ crotch. She kissed him intimately. “The best secrets are in the open for everyone to see,” she said as he groaned (her cocksucking was goooood!).

“That way nobody sees them,” she went on to say, later, slurping. “The Pecthentnim have always been submissive. We’ve always liked being fucked hard by strong men and serving their pleasure. Noalassa and the rest of the Nycclethnim are dominants, though, so their . . . ooh, tasty . . . magic is about dominating others, stripping away their minds and wills.”

Alcaeus was soon shivering. The way her tongue worked. He put his hand on the back of her head.

“Eventually, though” Racy went on, taking a breath, “every dominant will seek to be dominated. It’s the way of things. Some will test themselves against enemies and fail. Some will seek out domination because they’ll need to know what being dominated is like. What Noalassa is up to will backfire on her. We want to be there to see it happen.” A long, wonderful lick then. “And perhaps take advantage. Don’t you think she’d make a lovely slut?”

Yes. Yes, Alcaeus did.

“So, what do you say?”

“About what?” He was flummoxed, speechless.

“About helping me spy on Noalassa, silly!” She sat up and slapped Alcaeus on the shoulder, not like a slave at all.

The man-wizard just stared at the madwoman for a long, long time.

(Part 2 of 3)