The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Incubus

By Jennifer Kohl

Chapter One

Christina frowned down at the book, checking it against the items in the metal mixing bowl in front of her. Flesh and bone, check—a half-lamb shank from the grocery down the street. Something in the shape of a man, check—an old Ken doll, a relic of her Barbie days. The complex diagram on the floor matched the drawing in the book, and the five candles at the corner were black beeswax, as prescribed.

Am I really doing this? she thought. The other spells she’d tried had... Well, they hadn’t not worked. She’d passed her pre-calc test the day after she cast the spell of intellect, and Brandon Stevens had probably been flirting with her the afternoon after she cast the glamour, and the same night she cast that curse, Leslie twisted her ankle and had to sit out the big game against Roosevelt High. Of course they all could be coincidences, but it felt real. It felt like she was doing magic.

But this spell... Well, there’d be no doubt after this one. If it worked, it’d be obvious—and just as obvious if it didn’t. And if it worked, that meant magic was real, demons were real... And what did that say about the risks of doing it?

But it probably wouldn’t do anything. And if it did, it would be worth it! Those bitches would pay, especially Leslie.

The thought of Leslie hardened Christina’s resolve. She was going to do this. She placed the last item in the bowl—a dildo she’d used less than an hour prior, still sticky with her juices. Then she placed the bowl in the center of the pentagram and stood up.

Raising her arms, she began to chant the incantation. The candles popped and hissed, and for a heart-freezing moment she thought she felt a breeze in the basement, but she quickly dismissed that as her imagination. It wasn’t working! She was three-quarters of the way through the incantation and nothing was happening. Magic wasn’t real, and she was safe.

Relieved, she rattled off the last words of the incantation, certain now that nothing would come of them. Then the electric lights dimmed and the candlelight surged and flickered. Something opened up in the space above the pentagram, like a hole in the world. Air poured past her into it, making the candles dance in the wind, while the hole widened and stretched. Infinitely black, it hurt her eyes to look at it, the space around and behind it seeming to distort, flowing and bending to fill the gap.

Then it closed, replaced by something even worse: the objects inside the pentagram rose suddenly into the air and began to spin around, blending into a mini-tornado of meat and bone, plastic and metal. It was real. It was all real. Which meant—

Breaking out of her paralyzing shock, Christina screamed and ran upstairs, then slammed the door behind her. “Holy shit,” she panted. “Holy shit holy shit holy shit!” She’d summoned a demon! A real-life, super-freakin’—natural, actual demon! And it was in her basement!

She grabbed at the kitchen counter to steady herself and thought wildly. Okay. So. Magic: real. Demons: real. Does that mean, like... Heaven and Hell and immortal souls and all that shit are real, too? And if they are... How badly did I just fuck myself over?

Unfortunately, she could only think of one way to find out. But she wasn’t about to go down there unarmed! Rummaging through the kitchen, she found the long, heavy flashlight under the sink and some fresh batteries in a drawer. Then pulled the chef’s knife out of the block on the counter. The weapons made her feel a little better, and she descended slowly into the basement.

It was very dark, even with the flashlight. The candles had gone out and the lights were off, or maybe a fuse was blown. The only light was the faintest sickly purple glow from the far end of the basement, where she’d drawn the pentagram.

She switched the flashlight on and pointed it in that direction. There was a man standing there! She couldn’t tell much, but he was definitely there, definitely tall, and very definitely naked. Christina froze a long moment, but the man didn’t move.

Keeping her flashlight on him, she backed slowly toward the fuse box. Fumbling behind herself, she managed to flick the switch, and the basement lit up suddenly, momentarily dazzling her. Then her eyes cleared, and she saw him.

He didn’t look like a demon. She hadn’t really thought about what she expected until now, but he wasn’t it. Cartoons had caused her to imagine red skin, bull horns, goat legs. He didn’t have any of that.

He looked like movie star, the kind Christina would have posters of on her wall. Tall, but not too tall. Buff, but not too buff. Smooth, perfect brown skin. Dark eyes you could get lost in. Short black hair, not a strand out of place.

Almost without her willing it, her eyes drifted downward, then widened at the sight of his cock. Christina hadn’t seen that many, and none in person, but it was hard to believe there could exist any more perfect... What am I doing!? I’m practically drooling over a... a demon!?

She forced herself to look him in the face—not that that was that much better—and cleared her throat. “Um... hello?”

He bowed his head, though his eyes remained fixed on hers. “Hello.”

“Are you a demon?”

“Yes.”

“Fuck.”

He didn’t respond, just continued to watch her with those big brown eyes. Even though he looked in her eyes, it felt like he was checking her out, and something inside her squirmed at the thought. She was very, very aware that she was wearing nothing but bra, tank top, and panties.

“Am I... damned now?” she asked.

The question seemed to surprise him—he arched an eyebrow, and hesitated a moment before answering. “Not as far as I know,” he said finally.

“What does that mean?”

“The concept is new to me. I have no knowledge of what happens to mortal souls after they die, if anything.”

Christina thought hard. How could a demon not know anything about damnation? He was a demon! “Wait... If you’ve never heard of it before, how do you know it has to do with the afterlife?”

The demon shrugged. “I know what it means because you know.”

“You can read minds!?” So he knows what I was thinking about his...

He shook his head. “Not exactly. I simply know the meaning of any language I hear, and am able to respond in kind. How else could I speak your language, when I haven’t been on the mortal plane in thousands of years?”

Christina relaxed a little. Phew, he doesn’t know.

“Also I can sense your desires and fantasies.”

Fuck. Was he smirking? Christina shook her head to clear it and went on, “So... You don’t know what happens when we die, never heard of damnation... Does that mean Hell isn’t full of dead people being tortured?“

“If by Hell you mean the place you summoned me from, then no. If the place you described exists, this is the first I’m hearing of it.”

Christina sighed in relief. She’d been so scared when it worked! Now she just had to deal with a large man of unknown supernatural powers in her basement. “You’re trapped inside the pentagram, right?”

He pressed a hand against it and leaned forward. Even with all his weight visibly on it, the hand remained where it was in midair, just above the lines drawn on the floor. “Yes. I cannot leave without your permission.”

“And if I make you agree to terms before you can come out, you have to stick to them?”

He nodded.

“So if I told you to curse someone—not, like, kill them, just something painful and embarrassing—and then come right back, you’d do it?”

“No.”

“What!?” Christina hadn’t expected that. “Why not?”

“I’m not that kind of demon,” he explained. “If you wanted a demon to make your enemies bleed, you should have used blood in the summoning.”

“Then what can you do?”

“You know what fluid you used. What do you think?” He smiled, and it sent shivers down Christina’s back, of terror or desire she couldn’t be sure. “So, Mistress, what woman would you like me to make yours?”

He can read your fantasies! Christina thought, but it was too late. She’d already thought of Leslie, tall, pretty, strong Leslie. Awful, treacherous, cruel Leslie. The whole reason she’d summoned a demon in the first place was to get back at her, her and her nasty new friends. But this... “What exactly do you mean, make her mine?“

“What do you want it to mean?”

“Can you make her want me? Want me like—like I want her.”

“Yes.”

“Even though she’s... You know... Het?”

His smile grew a little, and Christina knew for sure that it wasn’t just fear shooting through her at the sight. “That will not be an issue,” he said.

Christina took a deep breath, feeling like she was on a high-dive board looking down at the water. “Then I want you to make Leslie mine, and come straight back afterwards and get back in the pentagram and be trapped in there again unless I release you. If you agree to all of that—oh! and that you won’t do anything else while you’re out—then you can come out of the pentagram this one time. Agreed?”

The demon nodded slowly. “It shall be as you wish.”

“Okay, then, um, you can leave and go do it.”

As quickly as that, he was gone.

* * *

Leslie hummed as she entered her bedroom, wrapped tightly in one towel while another was wrapped around her head. She swayed a little, half-dancing, half-singing to herself. She grinned as she plopped into the chair in front of her vanity. Tonight was going to be epic—even if Tyler hadn’t asked her, the concert would’ve been great, and he had. And once he got a glimpse of the dress Kim and Sarah helped her pick out at the mall last weekend, he’d be putty in her hands.

She kept humming as she dried and brushed her long, straight blonde hair. Then she went to the closet and got out the dress. She held it against herself and admired it in the full-length mirror in the closet door. The dress was short, shimmery, and blue, close-fitting v-neck to show off her breasts—which, she had to admit Sarah was right, they did need the help. More importantly, it also showed off plenty of lightly tanned thigh and brought out the blue in her eyes. Tyler wouldn’t know what hit him.

She let her eyes flutter close as she imagined dancing with him. She could practically feel him behind her, just a bit taller than her—a rare and precious thing in a guy, since she was a hair under six foot two. She ground back against him, feeling his hands on her hips, the tickling tease of his lips against her neck, the quick nibble at her ear. The dress fell, forgotten, to the floor as she reveled in the fantasy. His hands on her breasts, the slight roughness of his palms as they brushed over her nipples. She wiggled her ass against his hard cock and smiled as she heard him moan.

She gasped as he nibbled at her neck, stroked his fingers down over her flat tummy the way she liked. She opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror, flushed, panting, wet. I’d better stop, she thought. If I keep going, I’m going to need another shower, do my hair all over again...

But she had time, didn’t she? If she wanted to. And she did want to... Knowing it was a mistake, she put the dress back in the closet and lay back on her bed, imagining Tyler. Again she felt his touch, teasing, stroking, exploring. He seemed to know every trick, every caress, every sensitive spot to drive her wild. She opened her eyes again, panting, and stared straight up into the dark gaze of the man above her. She opened her mouth to scream, and he covered her lips with his own.

His touch was just like what she’d imagined earlier—but it wasn’t imaginary, was it? He’d been there, touching her, blending into her fantasy, lurking invisibly. It should horrify her, and it did, distantly, but it was hard to feel anything other than how good the kiss felt, how hot it was making her.

He broke the kiss and smirked down at her, an infuriating, exciting confidence. He looked a little like Tyler, and a lot like a rock star, tall and skinny and pale, with arm muscles like whipcords and long, curly black hair around his shoulders. She tried to smack him, and he effortlessly caught her wrist, then turned it and began kissing her fingers.

She moaned. This was wrong, she knew it was wrong, but the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen was playing her like an instrument, and part of her just didn’t care how wrong it was. She wanted him, like she’d never wanted anyone before. “Fuck it,” she said, buried her hands in the hair at the back of his head, and hauled him in to kiss her again.

She threw her head back, still clutching his head, as he kissed his way slowly down his neck. His hands on her thighs felt incredible, his tongue on her skin felt incredible, and then his mouth found her small, sensitive breasts and her world exploded.

He pulled away from her nipple after an all-to-brief eternity of bliss. “No,” she groaned. “Don’t stop!”

“You’re going to be mine,” he whispered in her ear, his hand running higher and higher up her left thigh. “Surrender to me completely.”

“Yes...” she moaned, far past caring what he was saying. “Please...”

He nipped at her ear again while he stroked her wet pussy lips with one finger. “Your soul will be mine. Your will replaced by my own. Your body and mind will be mine to do with as I please, forever.”

“Ahhhh...!” she cried, humping her hips up and down desperately, trying to rub against his hand. What he was saying was weird and wrong and dangerous. She should say no, kick him out, drive him away... And then his cock, his long, perfect, magnificent cock, was sliding into her, filling her more perfectly than any she’d ever had, more perfectly than she’d ever imagined possible.

“More!” she managed to gasp, clutching him as he glided smoothly, slowly in and out, driving her higher with every thrust—and higher, and higher. And higher. “Please,” she panted, her slim, trembling figure writhing under him in need. “Fuck me, please, more, harder, please, please..!”

But he still kept that same, maddening pace, pushing her right up to the edge and then leaving her there, and she needed more. Had to have more. “Anything you want,” she moaned. “Take me, make me yours, fuck me!”

And he did. He picked up speed, pounding her harder, and she screamed in delight, urging him to take her. She could feel something shifting, changing, draining away from inside her, something important, but she was past caring. She screamed as she came, and it went on and on, plunging from dazzling light into deep darkness. A moment later, he came, but by then Leslie was gone.

Not in the sense that he was gone—the moment they were finished, he faded away, returning back to wherever he’d come from. She was gone in a different way. Her body was still there, her mind intact as she stood up to take another shower. But what animated it wasn’t Leslie anymore, it was him. She no longer wanted to go to the concert with Tyler; she didn’t want anything. Master wanted her to go to Christina’s house and be her love slave, and therefore that was what she would do. There was no conflict, because she no longer had a will to conflict with his; her body, her mind, his will.

She was happy because Master was happy, and Master was happy because, through her, he was going to claim a great many more girls—Christina included. S/he couldn’t wait.

* * *