The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Las Fallas and Other Stories

(mc, ff)

By Nymph

Las Fallas

I am kissed by the sun, glowing with a radiant warmth that infects my spirit; a traveler moving unnoticed in a sea of pilgrims. Bare feet pad soundlessly against the cobble stones. I smile and nod to the statue of la Virgen at the center of the plaza, a gesture of respect.

I’m surrounded by maidens. They are all decked out in finery, intricate lace petticoats, silk slippers, tiaras, ribbon, and flowers flowing through their hair—all clasping flowers to their breasts as their processional flows to the Virgin. Mary is surrounded by a canopy of riotous color – pink and red tulips, golden daffodils, purple iris.

In spite of my nakedness, no one casts a glance my way as I look to make my selection.

All around me small firecrackers are exploding. Noise and chaos combine with the color to drive an aural and visual stake in the heart of winter. These humans are casting down the dark season as they have since time immemorial.

Sure, the celebration is cloaked in the guise of Catholic ritual today, but the statue of the Virgin is a relatively new addition to this St. Joseph’s Day. I chuckle to myself as I considered my options; I suppose the fae folk should thank the Holy Mother Church for mixing the pagan so intimately with their own faith. You can graft a rose, but it still bears the mark of the old stock.

My eyes are attracted by the hazel orbs of a dark beauty ahead of me. Ringlets of black hair are intertwined with baby’s breath and red ribbon. I circle her as she marches proud and beautiful in line with her sister falleras. Her skin is a lovely olive tone and scented with jasmine. As she lays her bouquet down at the feet of the statue, I decide that she is the one for me.

I walk alongside her, still out of the ken of her sight. Around me, I begin to see other nude women, my sister nymphs, and cloven-hoofed satyrs making their selections. With a sweet smile, I reach up to stroke the neck of my choice. Quickly, I prick her neck. A lone crimson droplet of blood beads up in the field of olive—a blood sacrifice.

The magic works into her body with speed, allowing her to see the fae folk around us, and making her drunk with spring. Piety is replaced with desire as I wrap my arm around her waist to steady her. A soft moan escapes her pretty cherry lips. I whisper in her ear, “Buenos Dias, Maria-Elena, I am for you.”

The sun sets, but the light doesn’t fade. The pink gloss of the sun is replaced by flickering flame dancing across the street and sky. Bonfires and fireworks light the city of Valencia. Crowds of men and women dance around us in a bacchic cacophony. Wine, music, and laughter flow around me and my prize as I start to untie the silk cords which bind her dress.

She’s ready for me now, whispering sweet nothings of mewling want. I peel the dress over her shoulders. The finery collapses in a pool of white lace around the curves of Maria-Elena’s calves. Dark nipples rise and stir as the light of the flame washes over her body. We come together, melting into a pool of lust, as the humans celebrate around us. Their madness is fueled by the desire of my sisters and brothers; we’re omnipresent throughout the city to claim our offerings.

Without a word, I turn my falleras and grasp her full rounded hips. Her body is writhing in time to the music. The long fingers of her hand caressing tummy, mound, and back to her breasts. She tweaks her nipples as her eyes awaken to the world of sapphic possibility driven by my magic. The girl plays with herself to the thumping beat of the human’s music.

I rub my hands against her bottom and press my nipples against her back; twin stiff points of hot coal burning through her back. I mark her; change her, making her my sister. She tilts back her head and howls at the embers floating through the night sky as I enter her silken folds from behind.

The heat washes over us. Like the tide, its intensity simultaneously tries to push us away and draw us deeper into the firestorm. Sweat pours off of my lover as she kneads her breasts while I fuck her. As I lick her shoulder blade, she begins to shudder and convulse in climax. Her creamy juices drip over my hand and down her toned thighs.

I reach around to hold my pet before she collapses to the pavement in exhaustion. Her lessons are just beginning, and she seems an eager student. Next year, my nymphet will be ready to select her own Fallas maiden.

Last Acts

Silver moonlight pierced the bedroom like a dagger. An old woman lay in the elegant four poster bed. Her body was withered and sunken with extreme old age. A priest sat at her side listening to her whispered speech.

“Father, I cast myself upon His mercy, for I am a sinner who has had many transgressions, and has led a wicked life. I’ve done things,” she paused for a moment at that point as if listening to an unheard voice, “terrible things.”

The preacher spoke softly in prayer and gently prodded her to confess her sins in more detail. The old woman turned her head weakly to the man, but soon seemed distracted. Through the murky haze of her cataracts, she could see something or someone with surprising clarity.

A woman, hanging off the shoulder of the priest, was leaning in as if to lick the holy man’s ear salaciously. She has alabaster skin, and bright blue eyes. The orbs were flat and featureless. They glowed with an eerie light like a cat’s eye. She whispered, “Go ahead, tell him…”

Shaken, the old woman continued, “I’ve done things, father, to…to…women.”

“My dear, that is not a crime. The Church long ago recognized the validity of homosexual congress.”

She shook her head violently in disagreement. All about the room, more and more pairs of cobalt eyes gleamed in the shadows. “No father, ,when I was young, I made a deal with a demon. For power. For lust. To control.”

A dozen shades seemed to lean towards the bed in rapt attention. The room seemed to pause as if the world held its breath.

“I was given the power to take minds,” she began to sob with thick raspy cries, “and I used it. On so many women. I changed them, made them desire me, erased their past, their future, their souls. I took and took…” Her confession broke down into salty bitter tears.

Silent voices rushed to fill the void like the tide. “I was going to be a lawyer.” “You made me forget my husband.” “I didn’t deserve to live my life as a pet.” Each voice protested the old crone’s horrid actions with acrimonious remembrances. The woman moaned and wailed at the assault. The voices rose as one to scream, “Our Minds were not yours to take.”

Oblivious to the cacophony of rage, the priest blessed her, made a cross of holy water on her forehead. “My child, all sins may be forgiven if the Maker hears your prayer.”

At that, the old woman suddenly sat up in the bed. Her cracked and parched lips wrapped around her gums in a voiceless scream. Twelve spectral shapes passed through the smiling face of the priest and descended upon the penitent like wolves. She collapsed back onto the bed and passed into death quickly.

The priest left the manor shortly thereafter taking comfort in the woman’s repentance. He failed to realize that some prayers are louder than others.

Ferryman, or Night Comes In

“This is what will be…this is what will be…this is what will be…”

The phrase dripped off the tongue like golden honey, and echoed again and again in Meredith’s brain. Her body was tense and spasming. Every nerve ending was alive and throbbing. Her brown nipples grew crinkled and taut with an ache that seared. The feeling reverberated down her neural column and jumped the connections of flesh and impulse to her cunt, which twinged and grew damp with illicit moisture.

Meredith’s eyes dilated as she struggled against the chains binding her mind to her body. Thoughts flowed rapidly as if charged by a superconductor, but action faltered. Orgasmic asphyxia coursed through her every inch. As much as she wanted to, the older woman was helpless to stop the cascade of sensation as her Junii-betrayer flesh strove to absorb every bit of the experience.

The blonde started to drift in time, blissfully aware of the trickle of cunt-juice down her toned and golden thigh. She felt the coarse fiber enflaming the skin about her throat. Bright points of light flashed and winked in her eyes. Starburst neurons fired wildly bathing her corneas in a sea of white light.

The hollow seas crashed over Meredith’s head.

“This is what will be…this is what will be…this is what will be…”

* * *

She crashed to earth in a meadow. Blinking with some confusion, she felt her nude body caress the grass underneath her. Her spine unfurled as she pushed herself off of the rich, heady earth. A crimson sunset bled out at the horizon – a pool of red seeping into the land to follow Helios in flight as night came in.

With wobbly legs, she rose. Her toes dug into the moist dirt below, still warm from the heat of the Indian summer day. Shaking her head and tucking and errant lock of hay colored hair behind her ear, the woman made for the edge of the woods. Confusion melted away and surrendered to an inexorable, unexplainable desire. A filigreed chain of gold tugged at her clitoris, nipples, and heart, evoking dimly remembered emotions of an earlier time. Meredith’s eyes were heavy and lidded as she gracefully slipped into her darkness. A long index finger rested along the top of her slit as she walked, providing a delicious friction to impel her forward.

Shadows enveloped Meredith as she crossed the border between meadow and wood. The faded foliage of autumn allowed a canopy of silver moonlight to dance across her skin. A nipple, a navel, the well of her collarbone all stood starkly revealed for a moment in the light before darting back underneath the inky cover of the wooded night. Her feet made no din as she walked. Birds and insects fell silent at her approach, except for the whippoorwill which flocked behind her in droves at a respectful distance.

The woman wanted to stop and hold herself back to figure out what was happening. But a tugging need dragged her by the nipples to an uncertain future. Skeletal tree limbs caressed her skin, reaching into her mind, and stripping away memories. Her career, her family, her favorite band, and joys of poems long remembered hung like tattered leaves in the branches behind her. The whippoorwill snatched them up like ripe worms. Meredith paid no notice to that as she went further and further astray from the straight road in the dark wood.

Already nude, the forest stripped away the trappings of life down to a kernel of keening lust and desire.

The river rose up bold and bleak in front of her. Under the silver disc above, the river flowed as molten mercury. Seeing no way to cross, and not wanting to challenge the deep current, Meredith paused along the banks and waited.

In time, the sound of a pole sloshing in the water reached out to her in the night. From out of the shadows, she saw the silhouette of a wooden dory. As it approached, she could make out more and more details. Eventually, she spied two figures in the boat. At the rear of the craft, a tall figure loomed over the pole propelling the craft forward. It seemed to absorb the darkness around like a black hole.

Meredith quavered as she saw the pleasing curves of a female shape in the second occupant. The contrast between black pilot and passenger was stark. Pale, china doll white skin shone in the moonlight. Hair, dark as a raven’s wing, hung over her right shoulder. The crest of her cleavage hung in seemingly empty air as her black velvet bustier melded with the shadowy figure behind her. Garters and black stockings completed the vision. Her hands were on her hips as one used to imperious command. As her conveyance kissed the river bank, Meredith could detect a cruel smile adorning her ruby red lips.

The strange woman whispered, “I am She who Knows the Widow Spider, the Queen of Heaven. Remember, sweet Meredith.”

Arousal had already eroded the cyclopean blocks in her memory, but that trigger shattered the barriers to her past life when she served this creature will every ounce of her soul. It took the last shred of her resolve not to drop to her knees in exaltation immediately. An involuntary squeak slipped from her lips, “Mistress?”

Ivory teeth flashed in the darkness, as Mistress Morgan stepped down delicately from her boat. “Yes, child. I see you remember your time with me those many years ago.”

The force pulling Meredith’s chain drew nearer, but still she staggered back in disbelief. “But you haven’t aged a day?”

“Nor have you sweetness, although I suspect you haven’t realized that yet.”

Morgan walked confidently up to her quarry, stopping bare inches from Meredith’s lips and breasts. Reaching out, the Mistress cupped the blonde’s left tit in a sinuous caress. A plaintive moan rose out as Meredith fell back into the pool of ecstasy. She trembled and harried misty breaths escaped from her mouth.

“I was freed…”

“Your collar was removed, yes. And you were allowed to live your life apart from my influence. But that doesn’t mean I relinquished my claim of ownership.”

Morgan’s hand cupped Meredith’s sex as she continued.

“Do you remember what it means to be an owned girl?”

“Do you recall that you freely offered your body to me?

“Your mind to me?”

Meredith’s cunny betrayed her with a wicked tingle as her Mistress hooked an index finger into her sodden, greasy sex.

“And your soul to me?”

The blonde girl bit her lip and writhed helplessly under the assault. She desperately wanted to impale herself deeper on the dark woman’s finger. With a hesitant, begrudging nod, she finally hissed, “yessss…”

“You remember that part, don’t you? It’s ever so important now.” The question was punctuated by a rough tug on an enflamed nipple.

Meredith could feel the harness in her mind binding her again, and she could only mutter a weak, petulant “uh-huh.” In a moment, fifteen years of freedom evaporated under a lover’s touch.

Morgan withdrew her gleaming, dripping finger from Meredith’s cunny and lapped at it greedily. With a light touch on the slave’s shoulder, she forced the girl to her knees. Meredith, responding to the rote memory of thousands of offerings, reflexively kissed the inner thigh of her Mistress in everlasting fealty.

“I’ve waited a long while, but now it’s time for me to collect all of what is rightfully mine. You included, thrall. Luckily, there are some things that you can take with you.”

Fear, driven by an innate understanding that she couldn’t yet voice, filled Meredith as she stammered, “mMmm…Mistress, I don’t understand.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“We’re shades, love. I gave you your freedom for a moment in time, but my people made sure that you paid your debt when I passed. I’ve always held you in my heart. Come, take my hand and we’ll cross to see many of your sisters.”

Her trembling hand reached out and clasped that of her owner. As the hands of the two women melded in ephemeral, ghostly wisps of molecules, Meredith came hard, wracked by the delight of remembering the slave that she was.

* * *

Elsewhere, elsewhen…a lithe sylph of a dark-haired woman crossed another name off her list. She smiled at the evident joy written across Meredith’s face. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out a silver obolus. Wrapping her arms around her prey, the woman slid her hand down the gently-rounded tummy of the middle-aged blonde. Using her fingers to spread Meredith’s still warm folds, she slipped the coin deep into the cleft of her sex. Her lips teased the golden blonde in a final passionate kiss.

“That’s to pay the ferryman, Meredith. I’ll see you again, soon enough.”

The woman’s heels clicked against the tile floor of the hall as she made her way out of the flat. The next target was in Skopje, and she had to rush to LaGuardia to make her flight. As she gazed at her reflection in the cab, she hummed to herself the hypnotic mantra that had driven her these many months.

“This is what will be…this is what will be…this is what will be…”

As always she ached for the moment that her task would be done, and she could join her sister-thralls at the bosom of her mother-mistress.