The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ah, the sea! Fresh air, the tang of salt, the wind in your hair, and best of all, the sight of the Tin Islands slowly getting further away!

Next to me, Iason sighed.

“Yeah,” I agreed cheerily. “Such a relief to finally be out of that hell!”

“Really?” asked Iason. “I’m going to miss it. We had some real fun there!”

I stared at him slack-jawed. “Are you serious? You can’t be serious!”

“Sure I am! Remember that time we fought werewolves?”

I sighed. “For the last time, those weren’t werewolves!”

“I think I know werewolves when I see them, Lemma.”

“No, they—I’m not getting into it again! The point is, nothing that happened on that miserable island was fun! There is literally nothing about that place I’ll miss!”

“Well, I had some fun times,” Iason said stubbornly. “In between, you know, the terror.”

“I am leaving behind the bones of my friends and those I swore to protect,” said Iola. “Also Mira.”

Yikes. Way to kill the mood, Iola.

The three of us were on a ship headed for the mainland. Since there were no ports in the wild northern and western lands, it was going to be a long trip, clinging to the coastline all the way around to the gates of the Inner Sea, where the Sea People had a large port.

That was who the ship belonged to, a Sea Person named Milos. He had the same coloration as Iola and Iason—bronze skin, dark eyes, curly dark hair—but the resemblance ended there. He was slim where they were buff, a little shorter than either, with an open, friendly face a broad, slightly toothy grin, and a neatly trimmed beard.

To be honest (not that I’m ever not honest, of course, and if Iason says anything about werewolves ignore him), when we first met him at the port in Kyrno I seriously considered whether I wanted to make a play for him during the trip. Unfortunately, then he spoke to us.

“Arr, if it be a ship to Qart Hadast ye be seekin’, the Sea Witch be yer best ‘n’ only way t’ travel,” he said.

I pulled Iason and Iola into immediate conference. “What the hell is that accent?”

“Pirate,” said Iason, making a face.

“...Pirate is a job, Iason. It’s not an accent.“

“It is for Sea People,” replied Iola. “Piracy is... well, it’s a popular game for princes who want to have a little fun. And when they do, they use this... accent.”

“It’s their idea of how a regular sailor talks,” said Iason.

“I have never, ever heard a sailor talk like that before.”

“Congratulations,” Iola replied. “You know more about sailors than our princes.”

“So... This guy’s a prince playing pirate?” Hot AND rich and powerful? I just might be willing to overlook a ridiculous accent for that...

Iason shook his head. “A prince wouldn’t be caught dead ferrying passengers or shipping cargo. I think he’s just a merchant who wants people to think he’s a prince.”

“So can we trust him?”

“As far as any merchant,” said Iola. “So don’t let him see where you keep your money.”

I returned to Milos and we haggled a bit before settling on a price. “Now I be having to perform me favorite of all th’ duties of a captain,” he said. “If ye’ll be excusin’ me.”

“What duty is that?” I asked.

He grinned broadly. “Sup-arrrrrvisin’ th’ loadin’ o’ carrrrrrgo, of course!” he crowed.

“...I don’t get it,” I said.

“Be glad of that,” replied Iola.

Pretty soon I realized how right she was. The joke wasn’t funny the first time, and it kept getting less funny the more Milos told it: his favorite food was barrrrrrley, he became a sailor because he liked seeing farrrrrr-away lands, if he wasn’t a sailor he’d’ve joined the military and become a searrrrrrrrgeant, and so on. It was apparently the only joke he knew, and he loved it.

But now we were finally leaving port, putting out to open sea! No matter what awful jokes he told or whatever else happened, I was finally free of that awful place! Nothing could ruin my mood, not even a hot guy turning out to be annoying as hell.

Why oh why did I have to challenge the universe? I thought, not for the first time, as I leaned over the railing and heaved. There was nothing left to come out, but my stomach wasn’t about to let that stop it from trying.

I collapsed back onto the deck and moaned. “How long is this storm going to last?” I asked the world.

Iola looked up at the blue, cloudless sky, then back down at me.

“Shut up,” I snapped, or tried to. It came out a lot weaker than I’d prefer.

“I said nothing,” she replied.

“You didn’t need to! Not all of us are Sea People, all right?”

“Obviously.”

I glared at her. “Don’t snark me right now, I will fry you.“

“Not on a wooden ship in the middle of the ocean you won’t.”

Grr. She was right. I couldn’t set anyone on fire, not without drowning us all. “Whatever, what are you doing here, anyway?“

“I came to see if you were well, and ask if you wanted dinner.”

“Ughh, no, I can’t even think about—ulp—food right now... oh gods...” Scrambling back to my feet, I managed to lean out over the railing just in time. Apparently my stomach had found something after all, somehow. Had to admire its dedication, I guess?

When I collapsed back to the deck, Iola was gone. I lay there for a while, feeling sorry for myself, until a shadow fell over me.

I looked up to see Milos. Oh no, please not another stupid joke—

“Arr, I be hearin’ ye have the sea-stomach, so I be havin’ me crew whip up a cure for ye.” He held out a lump of something white.

Hesitantly, I took it from him. “What is it?” I asked suspiciously, bracing myself for a lame “arr” pun. It smelled delicious, which made my stomach lurch.

“Ginger soaked in oil o’ th’ peppermint,” he said kindly.

“Oh. Uh... thank you.” Especially for passing up those two opportunities for puns... I popped it in my mouth and chewed it. The taste was incredibly strong, but not bad, and I was able to swallow it down. I felt better almost immediately, as my stomach stopped heaving. Relieved, I found myself relaxing... actually, I felt really relaxed and really good, and everything seemed to be getting farther away while staying in the same place. “What... what’s..?” I managed to ask.

“Oh, and val-arrrrrrrian root.” Milos grinned down at me while the world went dark.

I woke up lying on the floor. There was a ceiling visible in the flickering yellow light of a candle; I was belowdeck.

“Good mornin’ t’ ye,” said a voice from the darkness outside the little yellow circle of candlelight. “Or perhaps I should be sayin’ good aftarrrrrrrrnoon.” Milos chortled.

“Blorg,” I replied. My stomach was feeling better, but my head was swimming, and had a weird ache, like something was squeezing my scalp. What had that bastard done to me?

“Ye’ll be findin’ ye can’t be leavin’ this room,” he told me. “Or even thinkin’ about harmin’ me or tryin’ to escape, or takin’ off th’ circlet.”

Circlet? I touched where my head felt like it was being squeezed. Something that felt like a thin metal wire circled the crown of my head. Well fuck that! I thought and pulled it off.

Or tried to. Agony exploded through my entire body, leaving me lying on my side on the wooden floor. Hull? Whatever.

“I warrrrrrrned ye,” Milos laughed.

“Fuck youuuu!” I growled, gathering magic to fry him where he stood, wooden hull or no wooden hull. Pain exploded again, and I think I screamed.

He grinned. “Ye be thinkin’ about hurt in’ me, aye? The circlet be savvy to yer thoughts. Be a good girl and it’ll be much easier for ye.”

“Ow,” I replied. I was going to have to play along, it seemed. At least until I could think of a way to—I screamed again as the pain ripped through me once more.

Milos shook his head at me. “Stand up, girlie,” he said.

Stubbornly, I remained lying on the floor. But the squeezing on top of my head grew tighter and tighter while I lay there, a steadily mounting, pounding headache. I knew what was happening: the circlet was punishing me for disobeying, but slowly, giving me a chance to change my mind. I could guess a reward awaited for obeying. But as long as—ow—I resisted it couldn’t—ow!—get its hooks in me—OW!

I tried, but I was weak from no food and throwing up and being drugged, I was in pain, and I couldn’t help but want to stop it. Slowly, I stood.

And nearly fell again as my knees tried to buckle from the wave of ecstasy that rolled through me.

“Tharrrrr ye go,” said Milos. “Follow me orders and ye’ll be feelin’ lovely. Say that. Say obedience be pleas-arrrr.”

“No fuc—OW! Owowow...” It hurt, but there was no way I was going to say—that! But it hurt. A lot! Finally, I muttered, “Obedience is pleasure.”

Oh thank any and all gods, I thought as pleasure flooded through me. That counted. I don’t care how much it hurts, I’m not speaking Pirate!

“Say it again,” Milos said, grinning.

“Obedience is pleasure,” I mumbled. Fuck, that felt good!

“Stay here an’ keep repeatin’ ’til I be returnin’!” he laughed.

Fuck no! No, I could see what he was trying to do, it was obvious. Even with the pain building in my head, I wasn’t going to do it! Not even once, that would be opening the floodgates.

Instead, I waited a few seconds after he left the room and went to the door. It didn’t even have a lock! I just had to take the handle and—FUCK! THAT HURT!

I staggered back, my whole body in agony, especially my head and the hand I’d tried to open the door with. It was everywhere, getting worse every second, and I knew how to make it stop.

“Obedience is pleasure,” I sighed. Just once was probably okay, as long as I stopped there. The danger was if I kept saying it, which I wasn’t going to. As long as I didn’t actively disobey, I could handle the slow pain buildup, and that way I could keep myself from getting addicted long enough to figure out a way to—fuck!

I’d thought about escaping, and that meant a massive flare of pain that just kept going, getting stronger and stronger. I had to say it, I had to! Just once: “Obedience is pleasure.”

Gods, that felt so, so good. But enough. I’ll just wait out the pain. He can’t be gone that long, right? I’m sure he’ll be back any second. Fuck, that hurts. But just ignore it, he’ll be back soon. Any minute now... Now! Okay, no, but he’ll be back... now! Fuck, what’s taking him so long? This HURTS, dammit! Okay, okay, calm down Lemma. Be logical. He’s gonna be back soon, right? So there’s no way that’s long enough for me to be... trained or whatever. Not if I hold out a long time between saying the thing. So if I just hold on as long as I can and then say it, that’s fine, no way it’ll be more than two or three times before he gets back. “Obedience is pleasure,” I sighed as relief washed over me again, relief and that wonderful, damnable pleasure.

Now just hold out a while. Wait as long as possible before I do it again. ...This sucks. It hurts and I hate it, why does this shit happen to me? Ugh, how long has it been? Feels like forever. Fuck it. “Obedience is pleasure.“

I sat on the floor. Looked like the command to stand up wasn’t permanent, at least. These repeated waves of pleasure and pain were exhausting. The constant pinging back and forth was wearing me down, almost worse than the pain was! Almost. Speaking of, it had probably been long enough. “Obedience is pleasure.”

How many times was that? Twice? A third wouldn’t hurt, right? It’d hurt less than the pain, anyway. “Obedience is pleasure.”

I flopped onto my side as bliss filled me. But it faded so quickly, and the pain was right on its heels. I was too tired to care, and sick of hurting. I said it again: “Obedience is pleasure.” And as soon as the pleasure started to fade, I said it again: “Obedience is pleasure.”

“Oh fuck!” That was good! Repeating it while some of the pleasure was lingering felt even better, pleasure on top of pleasure! “Obedience is pleasure,” I said again, to see if it would happen a second time. It did, and it was amazing! But it seemed to fade even faster.

I knew I shouldn’t, but I was so tired, and it felt so good. “Obedience is pleasure,” I said again. “Ohhhh, obedience is pleasure... obedience is pleasure... obedience is pleasure...”

By the time Milos returned, I was writhing on the floor chanting “Obedience is pleasure” as quickly as I could. I had no idea how long I’d been doing it; I really wasn’t thinking anything by that point, just feeling. As soon as he came in, though, I stopped. One last wave of obedience swept through me, and then I just lay there, feeling exhausted and hollow.

“Arr, ye be doin’ well, girlie,” Milos said. “Ye’ll be full trained ’fore we be arrivin’ at Qart Hadast. Ye’ll fetch me a fine price from some collect-arrr o’ exotic toys, I be thinkin’. Tell me true, be ye a virgin?”

“No,” I said, obeying without thinking, just wanting the pleasure back. Yessss...

“A pity,” he said. “Yer price’d be far finer. Still, at least it be meanin’ thar be no reason not to sample me wares. Strip!”

I hesitated a moment, but I could feel the beginnings of that damn headache coming back. And at least he was hotter than most of the guys who’d gotten into my brain, and it was guaranteed to feel good. And it wasn’t like I had a choice. I stripped slowly, to make the feeling last longer. He seemed to enjoy that, and ordered me to take his clothes off next.

I peeled them off, stroking smooth skin and tight muscles—not as big as Iason’s, but definitely there and definitely the right shape—as I revealed them, trying to make it as slow as possible without him noticing I was stretching it out.

After taking off everythign else I reached for the silver torc around his neck, but he caught my hand. “Not that, luv. That stays on, ye savvy? Now lie back and spread yer legs.”

I scrambled back, riding the waves of pleasure. Fuck, this is gonna be good... feels so good to obey... obedience is pleasure.

Milos slid a finger into my wet pussy and grinned. “Arr, a slut be fetchin’ near good a price as a virgin. Get on yer hands and knees, slut!”

Slut!? The last person to say shit like that got lit on fire! But those kinds of thoughts hurt, and rolling over onto my hands and knees felt amazing.

“Every time I be thrustin’ into ye, ye be sayin’ that ye be a slut who be luvvin’ gettin’ fucked,” Milos said, and then pushed his cock into me.

“Ohhh, I’m a slut who loves getting fucked,” I moaned. Pleasure exploded in my head, flowed down my body and into my pussy, where it met his thrust and exploded back out through me. “Fuuuuuckkk... I’m a slut who loves getting fucked...” The second time felt even better. As he settled into a rhythm and picked up speed, I chanted faster and louder, pleasure mounting higher and higher. “I’m a slut who loves getting fucked! I’m a slut who loves getting fucked!”

There was no cumming, no peak. Just pleasure that built higher and higher, like an orgasm without end, his cock sending it pulsing higher, a rolling burst of pleasure that swept up through my body and out my mouth as yet another cry of “I’m a slut who loves getting fucked!” My brain wasn’t even involved anymore, it was overloaded and switched off—it was all just my body dancing to Milos’ puppet strings.

Eventually he came, and I passed out right there on the floor.

I woke up naked, cold, and sticky. For a moment I didn’t remember where I was, and then I remembered—I was trapped below deck somewhere, with some kind of magic circlet I couldn’t remove binding me to the captain’s will, while he trained me to become a sex-slave he could sell when we reached port! And somehow Iason and Iola still hadn’t noticed I was missing after what had to be at least a day!

I have to do something to get out of—“Ah! Fuck!” I shouted as my head exploded. I shut my eyes tightly and tried to think about something else, anything. Sea monsters popped into my head for some reason, and I started trying to list all the types I could remember. Serpents, obviously; sea-dragons, which were almost but not quite the same thing, merfolk—

My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening and Milos entering. “Kneel when ye be in me presence” he said.

There wasn’t any point to resisting right now. I obeyed, and shuddered with insidious pleasure.

Milos grinned. “Good girl. Now, I be bettin’ ye be wonderin’ why I wouldn’t let ye touch me torc.”

I shrugged. It hadn’t really occurred to me, since I was a bit busy at the time.

“Because it be made o’ me favorite metal, silver!” His grin grew even wider. “Go on, ask me why it be me favorite metal.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. Not doing it would hurt, but would it hurt as much as the pun I was sure he was about to reveal? Probably, I suppose. “Why’s it your favorite metal?“

“’Cuz it be arrrrrrrgent!” he crowed, and laughed.

“Oh!” I couldn’t help the little squeak as pleasure filled me.

“Nah, truly it be part o’ the spell that be controllin’ ye. Ye’ll not be disturbin’ it, that’d be tryin’ to escape.”

I sighed. Figured as much.

“Now ye’ll be learnin’ to enjoy bein’ on yer knees, slut. So be still and listen, an’ I be tellin’ ye a story.”

Fuck! It suddenly felt so good to just kneel there, not as good as the sex last night but better than listening to his puns.

He told me the story of how he got the torc and the five circlets that went with it. Apparently, if he could be believed—and why wouldn’t I believe a pirate and slaver who tricked me, drugged me, and was trying to enslave me with magic?—when he was a cabin boy on this ship, they somehow got ahold of a captive mermaid. He fell for her, and pledged to free her, so she told him how to get in contact with her people. They gave him the torc and circlets, and he used them to take control of the captain and set the mermaid free. A quick thank-you blowjob later, and he was suddenly in control of a ship, training its crew into slaves five at a time, and then becoming a merchant and immensely successful slaver with the power of the torc.

A total lie, if you ask me, but I had no choice but to listen to the whole thing with rapt attention, and it did feel incredibly good while I did.

When he was done, he said, “An ye be knowin’ why I be helpin’ that mermaid?”

I sighed, knowing what was coming. “Why?”

“Because her name was Marrrrrrr-tha!” He slapped his knee and laughed uproariously while I rolled my eyes. At least I still had the freedom to do that much!

Eventually, he stopped chortling, and his expression turned serious. “Yer companions be askin’ about ye. Tell me truly, be they acceptin’ if ye be sayin’ goodbye when we be goin’ ashore?”

“Yes,” I said, and doubled over in agony. “No,” I admitted a second later, and relaxed into the pleasure. Shit shit shit shit shit!

Milos grin returned. “Then I be tellin’ them ye be restin’ here for yer stomach. If they be visitin’, ye be tellin’ them the same, savvy? Lie if ye be needin’ to, but make sure they be stayin’ ’til they be havin’ th’ certainty ye be safe and free.”

I sighed while I worked out what the hell he’d just said. “Yes...” I said finally, as reluctantly as possible given the pleasure of obedience flowing through me.

“Good girl.” He turned to leave the room, then turned back. “Get dressed,” he ordered, and then left.

I pulled my clothes back on, which felt wonderful, of course, and then curled up on the floor, trying not to think about escape or revenge. Eventually, there was a knock on the door, and Iason and Iola entered. By that time I had a throbbing headache thanks to repeated bursts of pain—look, not thinking about things is hard, all right! Especially things like escape and revenge and making the puns stop forever when you’re in a trap!

“Hey Lemma,” said Iason. “Wow, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I groaned. “I’m sick. What’s your excuse?”

He sighed. “You are sick, that was not your A-game.“

“What’s that on your head?” Iola asked.

My hand went to the circlet. Fuck! “Uh... nothing. Just something to help with the seasickness.” I shivered with pleasure as I obediently lied to my friends.

“Really?” asked Iason. “Neat.”

Iola’s eyes narrowed. “Why didn’t you use it before?”

“Um, the captain gave it to me,” I said, struggling not to moan.

“I wonder where the captain got it?” Iason studied me a moment. “Is something else wrong, Lemma? You look... funny.”

“I’m fine,” I said hastily. “I mean I’m sick!” Fuck this feels good! “But otherwise I’m fine.” I couldn’t help it, a little moan just slipped out of me.

“You don’t look sick,” Iola said. “Frankly, you look—oh. Oh, I thought I saw you eyeing him before!“

Iason looked puzzled a moment, then understanding dawned. “You mean—you and Milos, Lemma?”

“Nononono,” I said hastily, flushing with pleasure. “I’m seasick!”

Iason smiled. “You don’t have to be shy! It’s okay to have a little fun on a sea voyage, we’ve all done it.”

“It’s not that,” I said, realizing how unconvincing I sounded. “I’m really sick!”

Iola laughed. “C’mon, Iason, let’s leave Lemma to her little love nest.” They both turned to go. I was going to fail! It was going to hurt!

There was only one thing I could do. At this range, with his back turned, it has easy, even with his dragonscale armor—I hit Iason on the back of his uncovered head with a sleep spell, and he crumpled instantly.

“What the!?” shouted Iola, whirling to face me and jumping backwards in the same motion. But that was the wrong move. If she’d jumped toward me and punched me in the face or something, she might have stopped me, but she moved away. I had plenty of time to hit her with a second sleep spell, and she joined her brother on the floor.

Fuck, that felt good.

Long before Iola and Iason woke up, Milos returned. As soon as he saw Iola and Iason, he told me to make sure they stayed asleep while he was gone, and left again.

I sat in bliss, trying and failing to feel guilty. It’s hard when there’s that much pleasure running through you! Long before I needed to recast anything, Milos returned with two more silver circlets, and fitted both siblings with them.

“Arr, male slaves be worth a lot less,” he said, “but he be large and strong. They’ll fetch a decent price th’ both o’ them, and all thanks to ye, slut. Ye’ll be a slave wi’ or wi’out th’ circlet soon enough.”

He was right, I knew. There was no hope, no way out. I was caught, and I couldn’t fight it. It was getting hard to want to fight it—I was going to enjoy being a sex slave, I wasn’t going to have a choice about that.

He ordered me to sit quietly and watch him start Iola and Iason’s training, so I couldn’t even feel bad about that. I just sat there while he made them unable to leave, think about escaping or hurting him, taking the circlet off, all the things he’d told me.

“Arr, ye’ll be joining her as fine slaves,” he told them. “Men be fetchin’ less than women in the slave marrrrr-kets, but ye be big and strong, the gladiator pits be wantin’ men like ye. And as fer ye,” he ran his eyes over Iola, “I be havin’ half a mind to be keepin’ ye fer meself.”

What.

“Arr, ye be much more to me likin’ than this scrawny thing, though Lemurians be good fer sellin’.” He turned to me. “Ask me why, slut.”

“Why?” I asked, shaking with a mixture of pleasure and rage.

“Scarrrrrrrr-city value!” he cried, and laughed.

Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you.

“As for this one,” he said, turning back to Iola, “she be my favorite kind o’ woman. Know why, slut?”

Hatehatehatehatehate. “Because she’s muscular?“

“No! Because she’s muscul-arrrrrrr!”

Kill! Pain exploded through my head and I groaned, clutching at my temples. “Insult me,” I spat, visions of Milos’ fiery demise dancing in my brain even as red agony exploded through my skull. “Enslave me. Capture my friends. Fine! But no more—“

Milos wagged his finger at me, his smile smug and broad. “Now slave, ye know better than to be arrrrrrr-guin’!”

“NO!” I screamed, my brain on fire while I gathered energy. “MORE!” I howled in agony as I shaped it. “PUUUUUUUUUUNS!” I roared, my vision going a red-tinged black as I struck him with a fireball. The pain was impossible, unbearable, hideous—but it was still better than one more goddamn terrible pun.

There was a wooshing noise and a wave of heat. Milos screamed, briefly, and cut off. There was a triple twang, and I felt the circlet on my head snap and fall to the ground.

Slowly, shakily, I rose to my feet, blinking to clear the spots from my vision. I didn’t hurt! Iason and Iola staggered to their feet as well.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” I said, a little weakly.

“For which part, getting us captured or killing the captain while we’re at sea?” Iola asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Uh, guys?” said Iason. “We have a new problem.”

He pointed at the door, on the far side of the greasy stain where Milos had been. Or, rather, at the smoldering doorframe. The actual door was in pieces, smashed against another door on the opposite side of the stairs leading up to the deck. Those pieces were on fire. So were the stairs. And the other door.

“Fuck,” I said.

“I did warn you,” Iola replied. “I don’t suppose you have a spell for putting fires out?“

“Well, there was a spell like that in one of my textbooks at school.“

“Oh, thank the gods,” said Iason.

“Yeah... I never actually read it. In fact... it’s possible I might have laughed at the idea of ever wanting to put out a fire, torn the page out, and burned it.“

Iason and Iola stared at me. “You have issues,” Iola finally said. “You know that, right?”

And that’s when the ship started to sink.