The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Doll of Chros

3

The fuckdoll was on her knees facing the entry when the door to Chros’ playroom opened.

Eria lowered her face submissively. In point of fact, however, the doll felt no true sense of submission—she felt nothing—yet the doll’s body language was all but mechanical in its deployment, meant to convey an appropriate, if false, sense of submission to others; and this worked just as well.

Briefly, before her eyes rested on the floor, they gazed coolly upon the two men who had come in.

To the rear was her ostensible owner, Chros, her eyes bright and eager-filled. He was, as usual now, drunk. He had been completely broken. In front of him was a dark-haired Deinian male that the former Eria Scarphn’s memories recognized as the Man-Wizard Alcaeus.

The two had never actually met, but the former noblewoman had seen his picture in the newspapers. He had not been broken yet.

“Allow me to present to you the Lady Eria Scarphn,” Chros said unctuously to the wizard. “Head of House of the Great House of Scarphn.” He rubbed his palms together in clear, impish glee.

The doll ignored him. She spoke, instead, mechanically, to the wizard.

“I am yours, master. How may I serve your pleasure?” A flush spread throughout her body. Her pussy moistened. Her nipples went stiff. The only true physical sensation Eria was still capable of, as a doll, was sexual arousal. She did not feel pain. She experienced neither warmth nor chill. She did not eat, and even if she had eaten she wouldn’t have been able to appreciate any taste.

But the magic that had created her was sexual in origin—really, all magic was sexual—and that sexuality had impressed itself heavily upon the doll’s essential make-up. It had made of her a creature that lived only to fuck and serve . . . really, just Serve, for any fucking she did was service . . . to her Mistress.

For this was, in truth, Eria’s primary function: to dominate others into slavery for her Mistress. The doll might have been, technically speaking, “mastered” by Chros; but Eria only truly belonged to her creator, the Woman-Wizard Noalassa.

The doll was Noalassa’s sexual instrument. Every time she squeezed a cock, every time she licked a clit, it was for her Mistress.

This was a secret. Chros thought he had mastered Eria—he had, in fact, paid a great deal of money for her possession—but the doll had only been given to the nobleman in order for the doll to seize control of him. This control had been achieved through pleasure, for without pride, without vanity, without any sort of self-acknowledgement whatsoever, the doll knew herself to be quite the superb fuck.

She was, in fact, a superlative piece of ass. So excellent was she at sex that she could be, quite literally, addicting; and through pleasure-addiction she could induce others to follow the commands of her Mistress. Earlier in the day, for instance, as her tongue had lapped at the sex of a still-human slave girl, the living doll that Eria Scarphn had become had had to make a determination. Should she or should she not erotically dominate this slave, Cala?

It was not a thought, in the ordinary sense of the word. It was functionality, an almost clockwork process that guided the living doll’s every action in the absence of direct command. She hadn’t received a direct command from her Mistress in months. Yet it was enough like a thought that it, perhaps, served as one: Would it benefit her Mistress to make Cala her own?

Under her lips, Cala had begun moaning. Using those moans as indicators, Eria had increased the friction of her touch, vibrating her tongue in precisely the correct vibration to bring about an ecstatic response. Then, as Cala had climaxed beneath the attentions of her teeth, tongue, and fingers, bucking wildly like the helpless slut she was, the doll had to determine: break this slave girl or not? It was a not unimportant matter. Nothing concerning her Mistress was unimportant. All men and all women should belong to the Mistress. But though the doll could not think, she was not stupid. There was no paradox in this: while Eria might have been without consciousness, she was not without intelligence, of a sort. Just as she could recall all the events of Eria Scarphn’s life, when needed, the doll could use Eria Scarphn’s reason on command. Cala had not yet been erotically trained to obey Noalassa, through her instrument, the fuckdoll Eria. Chros, on the other hand, had long since succumbed to his erotic training.

He whispered in trance-state commands back to her now whenever they shared a bed. ‘Obey Noalassa.’ ‘Obey Noalassa because you are strong.’ ‘Invite your friends to fuck Eria.’ ‘Make them strong, too.’ ‘Obey Noalassa.’ ‘Obey the doll.’ ‘Obey the doll.’ The reason he no longer used Eria as much was because he was already so thoroughly broken.

‘You will invite your friends to fuck your slave.’ ‘Your friends will want to see your strength.’ ‘You are very strong.’ ‘You are a strong and potent master.’ ‘You must let your friends fuck Eria.’ ‘Humiliate Eria.’ ‘Letting your friends fuck your slave will humiliate her.’ ‘Let them fuck her.’ ‘Only the wealthiest people in the city.’ ‘Bring them to Noalassa.’ ‘Make them strong.’

All the doll had to do to excite her professed master, and in exciting him summon forth these commands deeply implanted in his subconscious, was to touch Chros lightly on the thigh, brush an engorged nipple against his arm, even merely gaze upon him in a certain speculative way; and he was her slave.

And in being her slave—for, always, as a doll she owned nothing, was herself but only a possession—Chros was her Mistress’ slave. Through his enslavement, Chros had made many other men, and not a handful of women, all wealthy nobles or squires of De, also slaves to Noalassa, all through his rampant solicitation of the doll. Some of these women, hypnotized, addicted to pleasure, had even been brought into actual legal slavery through the doll, obeying whispered commands in their sleep to seek out their Mistress and offer themselves, and occasionally too their daughters.

And the men had all given much money to the Mistress, and occasionally as well their wives and daughters.

Cala, though, that afternoon, all relevant facts considered, was already a slave. She owned nothing. Rather, she herself was owned. Consequently, there would have been no value in erotically training her to obey the doll, to obey the Mistress. That Hesione was standing next to them at the time was also a consideration; yet a minor one.

Eria had brought the slave girl to another climax; but she had not begun controlling her. She had simply brought the slut to a terrific series of body-quaking orgasms. Cala had still been in the midst of these ecstatic throes, and Hesione hot and eager to take her place, when a tiny bell had rung, from the row of tiny bells above the entrance. “The master!” Cala had exclaimed and quickly pulled herself together.

Eria had remained on her knees, her expression blank.

Without another word, the two slave girls, summoned to their labors again, had departed. The doll’s face did not budge at this rapid withdrawal. It did not concern her; hence, it was a matter that held no weight in her head. Her “thoughts” had become as empty as they customarily were, as her expression was of the moment, kneeling before the wizard Alcaeus, revealing the essential truth inside. She had remained on her knees for the rest of the afternoon simply because there had been no need for her to stand. Had she been assigned a task, she would have performed it. Had she been left standing, she would have remained standing. Because she had been left kneeling, however, she remained kneeling.

It was efficiency. It was functionality. She was a doll.

Only when she had heard the approach of Chros’ stable manager had the former noblewoman risen. At this man’s direction, whom she also controlled for her Mistress, Eria had washed herself down, in and out, in preparation for her night of pleasure with the Man-Wizard Alcaeus.

She would control him.

The doll’s skin was hot, her pussy slick and inviting. She waited.

“Isn’t she beautiful, wizard?” Chros asked. He turned to her. “Stand, slut! Present your worthless body to my guest!” His voice was raucous: he was trying to puff himself up for the wizard.

Eria didn’t care. She stood. Hands resting at her sides, she lifted her balloon-tits for inspection.

This was a standard pose: the dynamics were preset inside her cranium. It was also an ideal pose, designed to reveal all that a doll was to her users. Every Nyccleth doll employed it. At the same time, this new stance gave the doll an opportunity to look upon the wizard more closely. Already, in the recesses of her functionality, a process was in motion, initiated with the flush of her heat, calculating exactly what it would take to enslave this new man for her Mistress.

She did not fear him because he was a wizard. Her body desired him; but she herself felt no emotion.

The corner of the man-wizard’s mouth lifted slightly.

“’Worthless,’ Chros?” he asked of her owner quietly. “Worthless.” His teeth grit. “By insulting her, don’t you insult me as well, in offering me such ‘worthless goods’?” He turned to face Chros squarely. The wizard’s tone had been light and sardonic. The color, however, drained from Chros’ face.

“NO! That’s . . that’s not what . . not I what I meant at all, Lord Wizard!” His jowls trembled. He quickly stepped in front of the wizard. “What I meant to say . . . she’s a fallen noble, my lord.”

“I’m not of the aristocracy,” the wizard said. He was apparently deliberately needling her owner. Eria’s functionality recognized this.

“Uh, well, ah . . . what I meant, my . . . ah, Wizard Alcaeus . . . she’s a fallen noblewoman. She was always a slut. And now . . now her slavery sits visibly upon her, as what she should always . . . .”

The other sighed.

“I’ve only been here a minute, and I’m tired of you already,” the wizard said, interrupting. He lifted his hand and pressed two fingers together onto Chros’ forehead. Eria saw a glow flash briefly in Chros’ eyes, which widened along with his mouth. Her owner staggered back and struck the wall behind him. His face lost all expression. Wide-eyed, he slid to the floor, breathing shallowly. The doll hadn’t reacted in the slightest. The affair did not concern her, except in the degree to which it would make inducting this wizard into slavery more or less difficult. In the meantime, she spoke her formula again.

“I am yours, master. How may I serve your pleasure?”

“Climb onto the bed,” the wizard told her, and Eria immediately complied. The bed was the main feature of Chros’ playroom. It was a chamber designed not so much for sleeping as for entertaining, and over the course of the last year Eria had spent much time in it. Whenever she wasn’t in the slave quarters beneath the house or Chros’ own private chambers, she was usually to be found here, providing a suck or a fuck, and an accompanying induction into slavery for her Mistress, to someone, male or female. There were restraints on the bed, for the convenience of users. The Wizard Alcaeus stood over the bed and, at the same time, Eria herself.

He lifted a finger.

On their own the restraints pulled out of their resting places and secured themselves about the doll’s ankles and wrists. Not content with the leather, though, some of the bed sheets themselves too uncoupled from the bed, wound themselves into restraints, and wrapped about Eria: this was inconvenient, for the leather restraints could be removed by her—there was a trick to it she had learned—but the bed sheets were too simple a confinement to similarly twist out of. She was rendered helpless.

“Master,” the doll purred, “my owner has extended the use of this slut’s body to you. The restraints are not necessary.” There were certain enslavement techniques that would be easier to perform with free hands and legs. She parted her lips and ran a tongue over her lips in a way that was superbly seductive.

“I think we’ll keep them on for the time being,” the wizard replied.

Eria nodded, seemingly compliant to his wishes. “This slave obeys, master. Master, this slave desires your cock. Please, this slave is in great heat, master.” She squirmed enticingly for him.

At the same time, she modulated the timbre of her voice in a way that was proven exceptionally pleasing to the male ear. This was a matter of biology, not magic. Nonetheless, the resonance was a key component in hypnotizing her users. The doll was a seduction tool. She was a good seduction tool.

The man-wizard closed his eyes. Again, a corner of his mouth lifted in what was almost a smile.

“That . . . is effective, I have to say.” He turned, obviously aroused. He did not, however, approach the doll in the expected way. A calculation inside Eria: the resonance had not been effective.

Accordingly, the doll lifted her massive breasts to him. She increased the lubrication of her pussy. She had to be sexier so she could enslave him.

“Please, master,” she purred. “This slave is so hot.” Her body was, but she was not. The wizard opened his eyes and looked down upon her. Despite her efforts, his facial expression had not the customary look of lust the doll saw on most faces, whether male or female, influenced by her.

“You were the Lady Eria Scarphn once?” he said, his voice lifting to make the statement a question.

“Yes, master. This slut was once inappropriately noble.” This was a more familiar pattern to Eria: many of her users over the past year had tried to humiliate her with her past. The fact that she had once been a wealthy and powerful noblewoman, and was now a mere slave object, was something that many of Chros’ friends and associates liked pointing out to her. It was pointless for her, but it often improved their sexual performance. Her (supposed) humiliation increased their libido. “Now she is but a slave.”

“I’d have liked to have met the real you,” the man-wizard said to her. The words and tone were not the usual words and tone employed during this dynamic. “You were a good woman. A good Head of House. You deserved a better slavery than this.”

For a moment, the doll was at a loss. Her functionality did not know how to react. Meanwhile, the door behind them filled with another presence, further confusing her.

A female slave, not one of her owner’s slaves, entered the playroom. She was short, curly blond, and hourglass-shaped: a typical Daoxechent slave girl. Yet there were indications that she was not.

One of them was the casual tone the Wizard Alcaeus used in addressing her. “Are the women of the house secure?” the wizard asked the slave, without looking back. It was not an attitude of command.

The doll’s head turned, serenely observing the newcomer. Processes engaged. Calculations were made. “They’re sleeping,” the slave girl said, with little apparent Daoxechent-slave deference to a male.

The functionality that guided Eria’s every action assessed the other female’s disposition as she responded. Although Eria was incapable of emotion, had she still been the results would have been surprising. This slave girl did not focus her gaze upon the man in the room in the way that Daoxechent slave girls habitually did, men (and, inappropriately, not Eria’s Mistress) being the center of their worlds.

She looked at Eria instead.

Eria’s functionality made a determination: this was not a Daoxechent slave girl. Somewhere inside her, the doll filed this information away. It meant nothing to her, but it might prove useful to her Mistress.

“They’ll wake up nice and refreshed remembering nothing but pleasant dreams of being fucked well by a succession of strong men,” this apparent slave girl continued. “It’s what every slave girl wants to dream of.”

She glanced at Chros slumped on the wall. “You didn’t permanently injure him, did you?”

“I was tempted, but no,” the male wizard said. “He’ll remember nothing of this evening.” The man-wizard sighed. “I’ll take care of his men.” He left the room. With his departure, Eria’s attention focused entirely on the apparent slave.

Her functionality made another determination: this was not only not a Daoxechent slave girl . . . this was a female wizard. She had made the other women of the house—all true slaves—sleep and have pleasant dreams. This was an indication of magic.

This was a potential threat to her Mistress. She should be made aware of it.

Something automatic inside Eria—everything was automatic inside Eria—tried to make direct contact with her Mistress, something which had not occurred in months. But the psychic message was blocked.

“Hi!” the wizard-disguised-as-a-slave chirruped, approaching the bed. She waved happily to the doll.

“I’m Racy. You’re trying to psychically communicate with your creator. But I can’t have that, so I’m stopping it. I’m also going to adjust your memories after I’m done examining you, so I don’t mind telling you any of this.”

The doll tried to contact her Mistress again. She failed. She felt no fear in the wizard’s presence. She tried again to establish a rapport with Noalassa—her Mistress should know about this person—yet once more she was blocked.

“My, you’re persistent,” the wizard-slave Racy said. “Here.” She stepped even closer and gently tapped Eria on the forehead. The doll . . . blinked.

The doll . . . experienced . . . a slowdown . . . of her . . . functionality.

The wizard sat down on the bed beside Eria. Something automatic in the doll tried to reach for her—to kiss her, to hold her, to make her feel pleasure, to make her a slave to her Mistress. Her breasts heaved enticingly. The woman-wizard, Racy, smiled gorgeously.

“So persistent.” Again, she touched the doll’s head. Eria stopped trying to seduce her.

In fact, she stopped moving altogether.

The wizard put her face in front of the doll’s.

“I am going to play with your brain now while I play with your nipples. Don’t mind me.” She started fondling Eria’s breasts. She paused a moment before resuming. “Seriously. Don’t mind me.”

The doll felt the woman’s hands cup her balloon-sized tits. Eria’s nipples, already perpetually hard and ready for fondling, virtually began vibrating under this unknown wizard’s new and expert manipulations.

Smiling, the pseudo-slave leaned down and kissed Eria’s right nipple, causing the doll’s back to arch in autonomic physical response. The doll, mentally, still felt no desire whatsoever; nonetheless, Eria’s body, in and of itself, felt a positive need to respond. It was her function to please, and by pleasing to enslave; yet this time it was she who was meant to helplessly experience ecstasy.

The subtleties of this irony were entirely lost on her, as they would have been on any machine.

The wizard leaned over and licked at the doll’s breasts. A powerful sexual rush washed over the property girl. As the slight female pressed her attentions further downward, Eria’s body began panting. Hands slid down her preternaturally smooth back. They played with her ivory-colored thighs. At length, the wizard’s mouth settled onto Eria’s clit, and the doll began helplessly squealing.

The wizard stopped but once. “You know, I could do this without having sex with you.” She grinned happily. “But where would be the fun in that?”

The woman-wizard slipped out of her brief slave garment and straddled Eria. Her hands pressed between her own legs, touching herself and Eria, so near their naked pussies, and so molten hot, that the doll, even in spite of her emotional distance—actually, her complete and utter lack of emotion—could not tell the one from the other. Their bodies, in fact, seemed to merge, the woman atop her pounding at her clit, alternately reaching down and cupping her ass, raising Eria’s body to meet hers. Then, suddenly, the wizard leapt off and pounced, bringing her face once more to the doll’s sex. A tongue found its delicate way into Eria’s sensitive pussy and probed; and the doll orgasmed spectacularly.

This response was, again, autonomic, entirely self-contained and self-directing. Eria’s mind—she had no mind—had absolutely nothing to do with it. At the same time, however, the pleasure proved entirely distracting, to the functionality at least that governed her every action. Images began to flash behind the doll’s eyes, mental pictures of other places and other times. As the woman atop her pressed her warm flesh against Eria, kissed her, and inserted fingers in various places, rubbing important parts, images of the Mistress appeared to her; and the doll got even more excited, as excited as she ever possibly could.

Eria saw her Mistress standing amidst a complicated set of gears, a large, ornate mechanism, a machine fully twenty feet in height and depth. Jewels set around the device illuminated it, casting shadows in peculiar ways. The base and the crescents that made up its great hollow sphere were made of bronze, slightly rusted and turning black with age. This machine was important to her Mistress (it was therefore important to Eria). The “sky” above the machine and her Mistress captured the doll’s attention, furiously competing with a nervous(?) flutter of her stomach (How could she be nervous? She was a doll!). The disturbing presence of her world—of Ramanananan—floating above her shoulder broke completely the fantasy she was still on her own planet. She (the Mistress) was elsewhere.

The image rotated so as to deflect those fixed eyes, so much like her own. The device’s hinged sections split open like a flower opening its petals to the sun, revealing the space inside where the Mistress must sit. The interior was smooth and round save for the rough humanoid depression where the subject’s arms, legs, and body would recline. Eria blinked, not understanding what was going on, nor caring.

Her internal vision faded. She heard a voice inside her head, the mental voice of the slave-wizard. So, this voice said, Noalassa has found the orrery. She’s found Earth. That’s why she’s been absent.

Then Eria forgot that. She forgot everything. There was a naked woman standing beside the bed, and near her was a man. She didn’t remember who either of them were. Nor did she care. She was a doll.

“Well?”

“Well, I did it. I gained access to her memories. Also her sensory perceptions. I can now control everything Eria sees and hears, barring any direct control from Noalassa. Which isn’t likely.”

The woman was a wizard. She spoke of magical control.

“Did you learn what you wanted to learn?” the man asked, and the woman nodded, not saying anything further. The man frowned but did not pursue the subject, whatever it was.

The man approached Eria. The doll’s internal instrumentality—no thought, not ever—recognized the man’s expression as sad. “Can the transformation be reversed?” this fellow—he might have been a wizard—asked.

His tone was wistful. Eria did not answer. The question had not been directed at her. She was just a doll.

The wizard who looked like a slave spoke. “Their doll transformation is the most powerful magic the Nycclethnim utilize.” She approached Eria from the other side and took up a matching position, both of them now facing the property girl. “There is an elixir my sisters and I use, to preserve our youth. It transforms women into elfsluts.”

The man blinked, then turned to the female. “Why in the name of all the hells would you want to be a brainless elf?”

“Because being an elf is fun. We get fucked a lot.” The slave-wizard giggled, then sobered. “The elixir will work on a Distenian doll. Yet after drinking the restoration formula, instead of coming back rejuvenated, as most women are, a doll merely returns to being a doll again.” She shook her head.

“No. The transformation is irreversible. The Lady Eria Scarphn will always be a property girl.”

The man sighed.

The slave-wizard then tilted her head and touched a delicate finger to her chin. “Still, there might be something we can do for her.”

* * *

Later, after the business at Chros’ house was done, the two of them, master and slave, lay together in bed, caressing. Blessedly, for a change, there was no knock at the door to interrupt them.

“Jereg informed me he enjoyed you.”

“A slave is grateful that her master’s guest found her pleasing.”

“Did you enjoy him?” He had no doubt that she had. She was a slut. She would squirm well and climax hard when used by any man.

She smiled in the darkness. He could always tell. “Yes, master. He pleasured me well. Jereg knows well how to fuck a slave.” She touched his cock. “My master is better, though.”

“I’m glad you’re not a doll. I would stand no chance whatsoever.”

“Yes, master.” Boldly, she asked, “Did you enjoy Racy?”

“Yes, I did. She’s a delightful fuck, almost as good as you.”

“I’m a better fuck?” Leusa asked her owner.

“Well, it’s funny you should mention. He gave me some advice, Jereg. He tells me I should rent you to a brothel to improve your skills at sucking and fucking.” Alcaeus waited a moment before asking, “What do you think?”

There was only the slightest of hesitations, which amused him. “Your slave desires only to please you. A slave would be welcome to any instruction.”

“But you would prefer not to go?”

“Your slave is grateful only to be found pleasing, master.”

He pulled her towards him gently. “What Jereg doesn’t understand is that I’m training you for my pleasure, and my pleasure alone.” He kissed her mouth, and she yielded to him. They made love. Afterwards, he said, “I think we can safely forego the brothel, don’t you?”

“If that is master’s wish,” Leusa said, and again he could tell she was smiling. She lay her head on his chest. “I love you, master.”

“I love you. Slut.” She giggled, and they went to sleep.

* * *

Eria stepped into the entrance hall and stopped. The doll’s head tilted curiously, clearly not understanding what she was seeing yet not caring enough to understand. Her face was, as always, except while in the throes of artificial passion, expressionless. On the floor in front of her, Cala and Hesione were on their knees, naked, vigorously scrubbing with the brushes she traditionally employed in this humble task.

The slaves are performing my duty, Eria’s functionality told her. A moment later there was a blurring in her memory and a reset. The doll is performing this task, the functionality told her. The doll always performs this task, and in her mental vision she saw herself in place of the two slaves performing the cleaning, as always. Her not-curiosity satisfied, Eria the doll walked passed the two busy slaves, not noticing (and not caring to notice) how each slut lowered her head deferentially.

She had a busy day, not that she cared, nor even that all of her days were busy ones.

The doll failed to notice, however, how each of the tasks she usually performed were actually accomplished by her fellow slaves, and in some cases even by Lord Chros’ free male servants. The laundry . . . the floor scrubbing . . . the gathering of wood and coal . . . all these things and more were done for her, yet in the functionality that guided the doll it was she who, as always, performed the tasks. Eria walked through Chros’ house, busy yet not busy, working and yet not working, doing nothing yet not caring. It was the easiest, busiest day she had ever had as a slave.

Having completed a circuit of the house, Eria went to Chros’ bedroom. Aside from the slave quarters, it was the only logical place left to go.

The doll found her legal owner cringing on the floor, naked, head down, waiting for her. Although her functionality saw things in an entirely different light, some deep, deep part of her felt a sense almost of . . . satisfaction.

“Mistress,” he breathed, trembling. Eria strode over to him and ground her heel into his back, hard.

“Please me, master,” Eria commanded. And of course her Lord Chros obeyed.

She was his doll.

END (Part 3 of 3)