The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Magical Girl Syn

Chapter Eleven

by Jennifer Kohl

Morgan and Lawrence sat quietly, facing each other but carefully avoiding looking at each other.

Finally, Lawrence could take no more. “So...” he began.

Syn rushed into the little nest. Oh thank god, thought Morgan. Then: Wait, something’s wrong!

Syn was panting, even though she couldn’t possibly be out of breath; her hair was disheveled and her clothes ripped, though both were rapidly repairing themselves.

“Syn?” Morgan asked.

“What’s wrong?” Lawrence said at the same time.

“You’ve been gone more than a day!” Morgan continued, flashing Lawrence a quick glare. “Where were you?”

“Killed a—a Beast,” Syn panted. “Same one that I saved you from, Morgan.” She visibly struggled to get her breathing under control, but Morgan and Lawrence couldn’t help but notice the glimmering sheen of sweat clinging to her skin, the heaving of her nearly-bare breasts. “But I can’t... I need to...” She ran her hands up her long thighs and whimpered. “I can’t touch myself!”

“Huh?” said Morgan.

“Ohhh,” said Lawrence. “To keep from turning back into Cynthia, you mean?”

Syn shuddered. “Please...” she moaned. “Please don’t make me. She’s so frightened, so weak... I don’t want to be her!”

Morgan shook her head. What sicko set up the rules for her, anyway? “And you can’t touch yourself because...“

Syn shuddered. “Master told me not to. He’s—he’s dead now, and his orders are fading, but I need to NOW, and it’s not fast enough!”

Lawrence sighed. “OK, Syn, guess I have to—”

“Hang on,” said Morgan. “Syn, I’m trying to understand. If you touch either of our cum, you become a...” She scowled at the word. “...a slave?”

Syn nodded emphatically. “Please, I need it, I—”

“But,” said Morgan. “It’s you cumming that keeps you from turning into Cynthia, right? So if I just used my hand...“

“Oh yes, please...” Syn moaned. “Please please please...”

“Wait, you?” Lawrence asked in surprise. “But—”

Me,” Morgan insisted. “You’ve already demonstrated you can’t be trusted to keep your dick out of her.“

“That’s not—” Lawrence started, but Morgan cut him off with another glare. Then she turned to Syn and with a look and a gesture, suggested she was about to lift the magical girl’s skirt.

Syn nodded. Morgan gently lifted it, her eyes widening as she glimpsed Syn’s glistening slit. “Wow,” she said, before slowly sliding a finger into her.

Syn’s eyes rolled back and she grabbed onto the taller woman’s shoulders for balance as her legs threatened to buckle under her. In moments, she was gasping, shaking in pleasure, her hair tossing as she screamed out the word “Yes!” over and over.

Morgan soon released her, and Syn sagged against a wall, gasping. “Thank you...” she whimpered.

Morgan looked down at her finger. A hangnail she’d barely noticed was tingling, and as she watched, it healed itself as if by—“Oh. Right. Magic.” On instinct, she put her finger in her mouth, and her eyes widened. It wasn’t just that Syn’s juices tasted incredible; it was the way they tingled, the little burst of energy that flowed through Morgan’s body, the slowly fading shimmery feeling that clung to her lips and tongue afterwards.

“...huh,” she said as she looked back and forth between Syn and Lawrence.

But, if she had to be honest, mostly at Syn.

* * *

Ruthie stared at the card in her hand, and thought.

She was sure she wouldn’t be believed. The nuns had brushed her off, and there wasn’t really anyone else she could talk to. Normally, if something bothered her this much, Cynthia would pick up on it and ask—but Cynthia being gone was exactly the problem.

Well, that and the weird dream that maybe wasn’t a dream.

Ruthie remembered going after Cynthia—and then she woke up in bed. In between, there were only vague impressions, but she recognized them. The feeling of being carried, a shining figure in white, salvation, comfort, healing—she’d been raised to know what to call these things.

An angel.

She’d set out looking for Cynthia, and Cynthia had disappeared—but she’d found an angel. It had to be connected!

But if nuns wouldn’t listen to her talking about an angel, why would a reporter? She’d just brush it off as typical crazy kid nonsense, or say Ruthie was making it up for attention, or...

But maybe she could help find Cynthia. Ruthie needed her back. The world without her friend was a lot grayer and sadder, a lot less fun; she was lonely, and with school out for the year only a couple of kids—her fellow orphans—remained, all of them much younger than Cynthia and Ruthie.

More than that. Ruthie was worried for her. Wandering the city at night was dangerous at the best of times, but now? With gas explosions every few days, and something else, something that Ruthie’s mind skidded away from even thinking about...

Skidded away from that and back into the angel. That was what she’d been rescued from, she was pretty sure. Something evil, something that had wanted to hurt her—something she didn’t have to worry about now, because she was protected, wasn’t she?

Her eyes focused again on the call. Hesitantly, she pulled out her phone. I’m going to find you, Cynthia, she thought. Then she dialed the number.

* * *

Carice looked out her room’s window and frowned. She had a clear view of the wreckage of the destroyed frat house, but that wasn’t the problem, not exactly. The problem had started long before that, a mounting feeling that something wrong was approaching. She’d tried to dismiss it, but she couldn’t. She’d worried she was going crazy—and then the monster came.

In that moment, Carice understood. She understood why she’d felt so strange, and why she’d been drawn to do her degree in anthropology, and to focus her classes on magical traditions. Magic was real, and she had it.

And no one would ever believe her. How could they? Magic was nonsense! Something you studied as human behavior, not an actual power that could be used! But... well, she still had that feeling of something awful approaching, and she knew exactly what kind of books to go searching for. Quietly, unobtrusively, she’d set up wards of protection around the sorority house. She didn’t know much, but at least she could protect her own home.

She knew she didn’t completely fit in at the sorority. But, well, she was rich and good-looking, and those were the main qualifications for membership. She’d pledged freshman year because her mother insisted, and stayed because there wasn’t any particular reason to leave. Besides, the endless rounds of “socials” and frat parties gave her something to do on the weekends.

And, well, after more than two years, it was home. The other girls really were like sisters—annoying, spoiled, and hers.

And there it was again. That feeling of something wrong. Something was trying to take away something of hers—to harm her school, her sorority, her sisters. She couldn’t stand for that—they were hers! And whatever it was, it was here, in her own house!

She stormed downstairs, feeling fire in blood and electricity in her eyes, ready to do battle with whatever fiendish creature awaited her in the common room.

“Oh, hey Carrie,” said Madison with a lazy wave. A year ahead of Carice, the senior was the queen, the iron-fisted ruler of the sorority. Behind her sparkling green eyes and perfect waves of golden hair lay the steel-trap mind of a Machiavellian genius. Seated on either side of her were her favored lackies of the moment, a blonde junior named Amanda and a brunette sophomore named Cassandra, or as Madison called them, Mandy and Sandi.

But seated across from them... “Who are you?” Carice demanded.

“Carrie!” Madison snapped. “Jennifer is from a sister chapter at another school. Show some respect!”

“I’m in town for the week and I thought I’d drop in,” Jennifer explained.

She certainly looked the part, Carice had to admit. But... “How do you know she’s really a sister?”

Madison sighed. “Quit being a weirdo. She knew the motto and the cant.”

“Hrm,” Carice said, unconvinced. “I don’t like it. Something’s... off about her.”

Madison rolled her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse Carrie,” she told Jennifer. “She was raised by wolves or something.”

“No,” Carice said, shaking her head. The girl sitting in their living room... something clung to her like a stench. Something powerful, something that bound her and pushed her. It was like she was sitting right in front of Carice, but something else was speaking through her, using her. “She shouldn’t be here. She needs to leave, now.“

“Carrie!” Madison snapped. “She is a sister! This is as much her home as any of us!”

Jennifer grinned. “Just what I was hoping you’d say. Master, come in!”

Carice felt it. Jennifer had been like a bubble in the protection she’d laid on the house, permitted in but not a part of it. But when Madison—the leader of the house—said she was a part of it, it was true, and that put her inside the protection. It let her open a hole in it, and something horrible came through.

A man stood in the center of the room, smiling placidly. He was small, dark, and nondescript—but to Carice’s eyes he radiated power and terror. “Who—” she began, but he held up a hand, and every woman in the room except Jennifer froze.

Jennifer sank to her knees in front of him, and he petted her head absently. “Well done, my dear,” he said. “You will be rewarded when I’m done enslaving the others.”

“Yes, Master,” Jennifer purred. “Thank you.”

The man turned to Madison. “How many others are in this building? Don’t bother trying to lie, you’ll find it quite impossible.”

Madison opened and closed her mouth a few times, before finally giving in and admitting the truth. “Just us. The others either went home for the summer or are out somewhere.”

“Good girl,” he said.

Madison gasped in pleasure, but he didn’t seem to care as he turned to Carice.

Desperately, she struggled to move as he approached, but her limbs wouldn’t obey her. He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face this way and that, studying her. “Even if I couldn’t sense your power, I’d know you were the one who warded this house. Red hair, one eye green and the other blue, telltale marks of the witch.”

She redoubled her efforts, but she couldn’t make a sound or move a muscle. “Your wards were crude, but effective,” he said. “When I swept the campus for a suitable place to claim as my own, I sensed them immediately, but I couldn’t enter by force without damaging the place. Even if I’d found a way to slip in, my power would have been notably lessened. Fortunately, Jennifer was able to enter another way, and once accepted, she could invite me in.”

He smiled at Carice, and she wished him dead with every fiber of her being.

“Oh my. I actually felt that, like a kitten’s scratch. You are a prize. It’s been a long time since I had an apprentice—but first, I’ll need to ensure your loyalty.“

Carice braced herself for the blow she was sure would be striking her mind at any moment... but it never came. Instead, power coiled around her, vast power, power beyond anything she ever could have imagined. He wasn’t attacking her, she realized, but showing her—showing her what could be hers.

The power to protect what was hers. To control forces she had never imagined could be tamed. To make perfect bitches like Madison kneel and men eat out of the palm of her hands. All of that would be hers. And the knowledge! Ancient mysteries unlocked, the true meanings of half-forgotten rituals, the very nature of reality lying exposed before her.

And all she had to do... was whatever he wanted. She would be surrendering her free will, becoming a slave—but she could see that he meant it. He really would teach her, really would give her all the power and knowledge he was offering. But he wouldn’t do it if he couldn’t be sure of her obedience and loyalty—and she had to let him in. He couldn’t get past her power without breaking her, and she could see he genuinely didn’t want to do that.

She knew he wanted to use her. She knew that once she was his, she would happily do things that would once be horrifying to her.

But the power she would wield in exchange! And anyway... Still a better deal than being a grad student, she thought.

And then she let him in.

Carice’s eyes rolled back. Her head lolled on her shoulders—and then her posture shifted. A wicked smile spread across her face as she licked her lips. “I’m ready, Master,” she said.

“Excellent, my apprentice,” Feiticeiro replied. “We will begin with the fine art of breaking the will.”

He beckoned her over, and they got to work on Sandi.

* * *