The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Magical Girl Syn

Chapter Twelve

by Jennifer Kohl

“So,” said Morgan. “Now that we’ve compared notes, what do we know?” She ticked off on her fingers. “First, the gas explosions are actually... monsters. Second, Syn is... the chosen one, or whatever? To fight those monsters.”

Syn nodded. “But I also become the—mmm... the slave of the first person whose cum I touch.”

“And there’s this Feiticeiro guy who’s involved somehow, too,” added Lawrence.

“Right,” said Morgan. She shifted positions on the ancient mattress and leaned against the physical plant wall. “And he can control people, and got himself put in charge of investigating the ‘explosions.’ Which he used to come after me.”

“So we can be pretty sure he’s up to no good,” said Grankitty.

“He’s connected to the monsters, and so are you,” Morgan said to Syn. “And he’s got this ability to control, and you’re cursed to be controlled. He has to be connected to you somehow. Are you sure you’ve never met him?”

Syn shook her head. “I’ve never even heard of him!”

“You’re sure? Short guy, dark hair and eyes, kind of Asian-looking? Skinny?”

A memory struck Syn suddenly. “I have seen him! We are connected—and you are too!”

Morgan leaned forward. “Really? Where? How?”

“A dream,” Syn said. “The first night as Cynthia after I became Syn. You were there,” she nodded at Lawrence, “and my friend Ruthie, and two people I didn’t recognize. I just realized, one of them was you, Morgan! And the other was a small man with dark hair, just like you said!”

Morgan groaned and sat back. “A dream? Seriously?”

“Talking stuffed animal,” said Lawrence. “Magic girl with superpowers. Monsters. We’re dealing with magic here, we have no idea what is or isn’t worth paying attention to.”

“I have some idea,” said Grankitty. “Explaining Syn’s powers to her is the reason I exist, remember? And we should listen. She’s linked to some very powerful forces now, and her dreams are one way they can connect to her.”

Morgan sighed. “Fine. You dreamed him. What more can you tell us? What happened in the dream?”

Syn recounted it as best she could remember. As she did, she began to squirm at the memory of how hot it had been to be naked, helpless, tied...

“Syn,” Morgan said warningly. “Not right now.”

Syn glanced down at the hand that had drifted up her thigh, toward her dripping snatch. She flashed Morgan an impish smile. “You’re not my Mistress. Though if you wanted to be...” She licked her lips.

Morgan grinned. “If I were, you’d be better behaved. But I have strict rules about consent, and magic breaks ’em.”

Syn smiled scorchingly back. “I guess we’ll both just have to wait then... aware that any time you wanted, you could make me—”

“Seriously, not the time guys,” said Lawrence.

“Says Mister Already Had Her,” Morgan retorted.

“Since when are you even into girls?” he replied.

Morgan grinned. “Since long before you knew me, bud. But you’re right, for possibly the first time ever. Now’s not the time. We have more important things to do.”

“Other than sitting on a dingy mattress waiting for something to happen?” asked Lawrence.

“Yes. We know that Feiticeiro is connected to the monsters, and to Syn. So... we take the fight to him. Here’s the plan...”

* * *

Meghan looked up as the girl approached her table in the cafe. Damn, she thought. She’s gorgeous! I should take her to Master regardless... “Ruthie?” Meghan asked.

Ruthie nodded. “I’m here,” she said, a little breathlessly. “So how can—”

“Shush,” Meghan said, gently. “Sit down, get your breath. Rushing through this won’t help anyone.”

“Okay,” Ruthie agreed. There was worry in her big, dark eyes—Worries Master could wipe away, Meghan thought—but she did as Meghan said. Obedient, Meghan thought. looking her over, adding details to her prior, rushed appraisal. A good girl. She follows the rules, wants the things she’s told to want. Meghan never understood girls like that, but it didn’t matter. She’ll want the things Master tells her to want, and if she knows what I think she knows, then he’ll finally accept me back...

She’d given Ruthie a hasty once-over before, but Meghan gave the girl a fuller appraisal now. Young, of course—18, according to the records Meghan had pulled up. Thick, dark hair that hung nearly to her hips, big brown eyes so deep and dark it was hard to tell where the iris ended and the pupil began; smooth, dark skin, full lips, a triangular face. Below that, she was all soft curves and rounded limbs in a bona fide, real-life Catholic schoolgirl uniform. And she doesn’t even realize she’s a walking wet dream, Meghan thought. Well, college is gonna be co-ed. She’ll figure it out.

“So, you said you can help me find Cynthia?” Ruthie asked.

“Possibly,” said Meghan. “I can’t promise anything, but I’m working on a story on people who disappeared in the gas explosions. I’m in contact with people in the city government who might be able to help. But I need to know everything you can tell me.”

“Well...” said Ruthie. Hesitantly, and with much prompting from Meghan, she laid out the story: she and her friend had gone out after their last day of school, and Cynthia had popped into a store while Ruthie went on ahead. “Then the first explosion happened. But we didn’t hear from Cynthia until the police found her in the second explosion!”

“Hmm,” said Meghan. “She was involved in both?”

“Yeah,” said Ruthie. “She made some excuse about it, but I didn’t really believe her. But why would she lie to me?”

“Tough to say,” said Meghan. “She might be caught up in something. But you say you saw her after?”

“Yeah,” said Ruthie. “But she ran out in the night. And, uh—well, never mind, point is, she ran away after being in two separate explosions, there has to be a connection!”

“Hmm,” said Meghan. “It’s tenuous, I’m afraid. Teens run away all the time, for a lot of reasons. There’s no reason to connect it to the explosions.”

“But it has to be connected! If she was in one, maybe, but two?”

Meghan sighed. “Look, I want to help you, really I do, but you have to be honest with me. There’s something else you’re not saying.”

Ruthie looked down and to the side. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

Meghan smiled. “You’d be surprised what I’d believe,” she said, completely honestly. “Try me.”

Ruthie sighed and told the rest of the story—going out after Cynthia, being attacked, the angel that saved her. As she did, Meghan kept her face blandly supportive—but inside she was exulting. I have a name! The girl Master is looking for is named Cynthia—and this girl knows her!

“See?” said Ruthie. “I know you don’t believe me.”

Meghan shook her head. “On the contrary. I do! There’s been some strange things surrounding this story—and I think my friends can definitely help you find Cynthia. Let’s go talk to them now!” Oh yes, with this we’ll definitely find Cynthia. She can’t possibly escape now.

* * *

Melanie sighed as she juggled her shopping bags to open the door of the sorority house. The boutique she favored had their end-of-summer line out, and she’d bought about half of it—but she just had to, she looked too good in it not to. Besides, she could afford it.

She finally managed to get the door open. “You guys!” she called out. “You would not believe what I—” She froze mid-sentence, dropping her bags to the floor.

A strange man sat, naked, on the couch, while the rest of the sorority lounged, equally naked, at his feet. Carice sat on one side of him and Madison on the other. Both were naked, too; Carice wore a disturbing smile, but Madison gave Melanie a pleading, desperate look. Despite her expression, however, she was visibly wet, staining the couch upholstery between her legs.

“I believe you are ready to make the attempt, my apprentice...” said the man.

Carice’s smile widened. “With pleasure, Master.”

“OK, I dunno what Star Trek shit you’re all playing, but count me out,” said Melanie.

Star Trek?” asked the man.

“I think she means Star Wars, Master,” Carice sighed.

“That doesn’t really help,” muttered the man.

Melanie opened her mouth to tell them off again, but Carice stood up and stepped suddenly up to her, much too close for comfort. Melanie tried to pull back, but something about Carice’s face made her pause.

“Melanie,” said Carice. “Strip.”

Melanie shuddered. There was power in Carice’s voice, like nothing she’d ever heard, and for a moment part of her wanted nothing more than to obey. But that was ridiculous, of course she wasn’t going to! “Fuck you, I’m not going to strip!”

The man frowned, and Carice sighed. “Melanie,” she said softly. “You’re the only one dressed like that. It’s all wrong, isn’t it? You want to fit in... you want to be one of us... you want to strip.”

“Well, obviously,” said Melanie. “Don’t try to stop me!” Typical Carice, trying to stir trouble all the time.

Melanie stripped quickly while Carice closed the door behind her. It was only once she stepped out of her panties that she realized what had just happened. “What the fuck?” she demanded. “What are you—why did I—”

Shh,” said Carice, and Melanie’s mouth snapped shut. “Relax.”

Melanie shook her head, but she couldn’t stop her body from sagging a little.

“That’s right,” said Carice. “Feels so good to do as you’re told...”

Melanie whimpered as Carice leaned forward. “If Master wanted to, he could break you in seconds,” she whispered in Melanie’s ear. “But I’m still learning. I need to work a little harder. But one way or another, you will belong to Master...”

“You’re crazy!” Melanie said thickly, but she couldn’t deny something was happening. Her head felt heavy, and it was just so much easier to let Carice’s words echo than form thoughts of her own.

“I know,” Carice whispered. “You want to fit in. You want to belong. We all belong, Melanie... we belong to Master... and you can too...”

Melanie’s head spun. “I... I...”

You belong, Melanie. You’re one of us.”

“Yes...” she mumbled, feeling like something inside her was crumbling.

“That’s right. Just surrender,” said Carice.

Surrender, Melanie thought. It echoed around her head, smashing the last of her resistance away.

“You belong to Master now,” said Carice.

“Yes,” Melanie agreed, her eyes cast down. “I belong to Master now.”

Madison squirmed, moaning, but couldn’t move her limbs.

The girls’ Master smiled. “Well done,” he said to Carice, and her knees began shaking as she came. Then he turned to Madison. “That’s all of them,” he said. “With every one, your arousal has increased, just as I promised.”

Madison whimpered. “Why are you torturing me? Why not just force it, like everyone else?”

Feiticeiro shrugged. “Because I want to. Because I enjoy the idea of making you beg to be enslaved.”

“You might as well,” said Carice. “I can see how desperate you are to cum. Beg Master to enslave you, and you will.”

“I won’t...” Madison groaned.

Feiticeiro shrugged, and patted Madison on the knee. “I begin to bore. Carice? Continue raising her arousal while suppressing her movement. When she gives in, make her cum. At that point she will become your personal plaything.”

Carice grinned while Madison’s eyes widened in fear. “Happily, Master,” said Carice.

Feiticeiro nodded, then stood. And then, he vanished.

* * *

But he didn’t go far. He stood on the roof of the sorority house, and bent over, gasping for air. He’d held it as long as he could while he played—while he taught his new apprentice—but the pressure was building and building. He had a Pact to keep.

He groaned in pain as the clothes on his back burned away, the arcane tattoos underneath glowing a deep purple. Something pale clawed its way out of his back, and dropped to the rooftop.

It stood, the figure of a nude woman, slender and beautiful from knees to brow—but instead of hair, huge wings sprouted from the sides of her head, and from the knees down she had the scaly, clawed legs of a bird of prey. She turned slowly, getting her bearings, and then sensed her objective, a flare of invisible light in a dim landscape. She leaped, spreading her wings, and soared across the campus.

Feiticeiro snapped his fingers while watching her. Something swirled around his ears, a shimmer of energy. Slowly, it spread around the sorority house, shielding it—and just in time. The Siren began to sing as she circled over the campus, and one by one at first, then in a trickle, and then a flood, people came out of the buildings to stare up at it in awe.

“Now, my dear,” Feiticeiro said to the air. “You’ll simply have to save them, won’t you? And then you’ll be mine...”

* * *