The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Magical Girl Syn

Chapter Sixteen

by Jennifer Kohl

The cheap, aging car coughed and sputtered its way along the country lane. Inside, its cramped, hot, miserable passengers sat in silence.

“We really couldn’t do better than this?” Lawrence asked, finally breaking the long silence.

“Look,” said Morgan. “I just had whatever cash there was in my getaway back, and this car took most of it! You can’t exactly get a lease on a new car with no ID and no credit card!”

“Syn doesn’t sweat,” Cynthia said bitterly. “This heat wouldn’t bother her at all, and she could just run next to the car forever without tiring.”

“Drawing who knows what kind of attention,” Morgan countered. “Besides, after what that guy did when you were in Syn form...”

“I know,” she admitted. “He has some kind of power over Syn, and over me. And we don’t know he can’t find Syn again.”

“But maybe he can’t find Cynthia,” Lawrence concluded. “We’ve been over this again and again, can we please talk about something else? Like where we’re going?”

“Somewhere I hoped never to return,” Morgan muttered. “If we had any other choice... but for all I know I’m already wanted for murder, and you two are accomplices. There’s nowhere safer for me to hide out than this, and as long as you’re with me, you’ll be safe, too.”

“I’d feel safer if you’d say what it was,” Lawrence said.

Morgan sighed. “Fine. It’s my parents’ house, OK? They bought a little farmhouse when they retired and now they pretend to be farmers.”

Lawrence boggled, and Cynthia noticed. “What is it?” she asked.

“Morgan and I dated for a year before we got engaged, and we were engaged for months after that, and that is the most she has ever said about her parents.”

Morgan scoffed. “Of course it isn’t!”

“It is,” Lawrence replied. “You never mention them. I asked once and you said you don’t like to talk about them. I thought they were dead! Sorry, Cynthia.”

“It’s okay,” Cynthia replied. “I never knew my parents, so there’s nothing much for me to grieve.”

“Yeah, well, I really don’t like talking about mine,” Morgan said. “We don’t have the greatest relationship, y’know?”

“But they’re there where you need them, right?” said Lawrence. “That’s why you can flee there now?”

“Sure,” said Morgan. “As long as it’s on their terms.” She left it at that, and neither of the others much wanted to press for more.

* * *

The car pulled up to the farmhouse and, with a final groan, turned off. Morgan emerged first, followed by Lawrence and Cynthia. With the grim air of a funeral procession, the three grumpy, tired travelers walked to the front door, which opened just as Morgan was raising her fist to knock.

“Morgan!” cried the woman who opened it. “You should have called, told us you were coming!” She threw herself at Morgan and hugged her tightly.

She was elderly, as round and pale as a dumpling, and generally could not possibly have looked less like Morgan.

“Hi, Mom,” Morgan said, giving her a desultory hug in return. “Dad here?”

Morgan’s mother shook her head. “No, he’s busy with that stand of his. He’ll be back by supper.” She ushered the three into an aggressively plush living room and beamed at Lawrence and Cynthia. “Who’re your friends?”

Morgan sat next to Lawrence on the couch and took his hand. “This is my fiancé, Lawrence,” she said.

He started slightly, then smiled. “Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Mason.”

She clapped her hands in delight. “Oh my goodness, Morgan, why didn’t you tell us sooner!”

“Uh, well...” Morgan started.

“I insisted,” Lawrence replied. “I wanted to tell you in person. It felt more respectful.”

Morgan shot him a grateful glance. “Yes! Lawrence is very respectful. He’s a good man. Takes great care of his patients!”

“Oh, a doctor?” Mrs. Mason smile widened until it seemed like the top of her head was going to fall off. “That’s Morgan, always setting her sights high. We were beginning to despair she’d ever bring a man home.“

“Uh, well, no,” said Lawrence. “I’m a nurse.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Mason replied, her smile faltering. “Well, you know, that’s a very fulfilling career too, I suppose.”

“We’re very tired, Mom,” Morgan said hastily.

“Of course! Where are my manners? Can I get you anything to drink? A snack?” She smiled and bustled into the kitchen.

“What the absolute fuck?” Lawrence hissed to Morgan.

“Now you know why I never talk about them!” she whispered back.

“She seems like a nice lady,” Cynthia said. “I don’t get it.”

“She is nice. As long as you behave. And don’t make a fuss. And aren’t too different.” Morgan loaded the last word with every bit of the misery of her childhood. “They’d freak out if I admitted Lawrence was my ex, and if I mention magic? They’ll be praying over us and calling the minister before you could blink—and you do not want to be prayed over.“

Mrs. Mason returned bearing a tray of cookies and lemonade. “I hope this is fine by all of you,” she said, setting it down.

“Oh yes,” said Lawrence. “It looks great!” He picked up a glass and began sipping at it. Morgan did the same, wishing it were water after that long, hot drive. Or a beer. Or practically anything other than the cheap instant lemonade her mother insisted on pretending was an old family recipe.

“I’m glad you like it,” Mrs. Mason said. “Old family recipe.” She turned abruptly to Cynthia. “And how about you, dear? What brings you to visit us? How do you know Morgan?”

“Uh...” Cynthia started.

“Cynthia’s a friend,” Morgan said. “I’m, um, mentoring her.”

“Really? She doesn’t look the type.”

Morgan leaned forward and whispered to her mother. “Orphan.” Cynthia pretended not to hear.

“Oh!” Mrs. Mason said. “Oh, I understand. And of course it’s good for a child to get out into the country for a bit, away from...” She waved her hands vaguely. “All that stuff.”

“The ghetto?” Morgan couldn’t help herself. It just slipped out, dry as her parched mouth, and earned her only a familiar glare from her mother.

“Can, um, can I use your restroom?” Cynthia asked in the awkward silence that followed.

“Of course, dear. I’ll show you where it is.” Mrs. Mason led her out.

“Okay, so...” Lawrence began quietly.

“Adopted. Obviously.”

“Ah,” he said. “And...”

“And it’s bad enough I haven’t grown out of being black. They don’t know what I do for a living, or that I’m bi... they’d probably die on the spot. Or maybe kill me, I don’t know.”

“Wow,” he replied. “Um... okay, dunno if I should ask this, but...”

“Why would racists adopt a black kid?” Morgan’s tone turned even bitterer. “Because they don’t know they’re racist. Because they think it proves they’re not. Because they thought they were rescuing me, that they could fix me.“

Mrs. Mason returned alone and resumed her seat. “So, what kind of trouble is she in?”

“Uh—” Morgan started.

“Don’t deny it. I’m not stupid, and I know a frightened child when I see one. You didn’t come out here after two years of silence just to introduce your fiancé, much as I wish that were it.”

Morgan took a deep breath. “There’s a man,” she started.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Mason. “Say no more. I assume you’re staying the night?”

Morgan and Lawrence glanced at each other. Morgan’s mother had jumped to the obvious, wrong conclusion—but was it wrong? It occurred to Morgan that she had no idea what Feiticeiro was really after, but given what he’d used his power to do in the footage she’d seen, it was entirely possible that was his interest in Syn. Probably not his entire interest, but somehow Morgan suspected that once he had control, he’d indulge himself.

I know I would. Morgan recoiled from that thought, and addressed her mother. “Yes, please,” she said. “It was the first safe place I could think of.“

Mrs. Mason hugged her. “I love you too, Bucky.”

Lawrence met her gaze over her mother’s shoulder and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Later, she mouthed back. But what she thought was, Hopefully never.

* * *

“So what do we do?” Janelle asked.

Carice shrugged. “We continue to search as Master commanded us until he returns.” Of course, if he doesn’t... She patted Meghan’s head.

Meghan looked up worshipfully from her position, kneeling at her Mistress’ feet. She knew what Carice was thinking, and the idea excited her. If Feiticeiro could be defeated and Mistress freed from his control, especially now that she knew how to find all his accumulated centuries of knowledge, she would be unstoppable! But she knew her Mistress was still bound by her servitude to the ancient wizard—a servitude from which he had foolishly freed Meghan. It’s up to me to find a way, she thought.

There was a pop of air shoved aside, and Feiticeiro appeared in the middle of the room, unharmed. Meghan stifled the disappointment that filled her—if he saw that, who knew what he’d do?

“Good,” he said. “You’re both here. I have seen the girl; I now know what she looks like in both her forms. She can hide from us no longer.” He held up an age-yellowed sheet of paper on which he’d sketched—quite skillfully, Meghan had to admit—a rather ordinary-looking young girl in a school uniform, and what could only be described as the pornified version of her.

“Come,” he said to Janelle. “I will instruct your police, and we will find her.” Then they were gone.

Meghan went over and over the two images in her head, one a sketch, the other seen in person. She’d only seen both briefly, but she had an excellent memory, and it certainly seemed... Yes, she finally decided. It’s the same. “Um, Mistress,” she said hesitantly, remembering what happened last time she found a lead on the girl. But Mistress isn’t like that. She encouraged me to search the library, and rewarded me for my success. She’s a much better owner. “I, uh, think I might recognize that picture.“

“What!?” Carice was clearly startled. “Who is it?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Meghan admitted. “But I’ve seen that uniform before. I’ve been to the school—the leads I was following before you claimed me led there.”

Carice’s smile widened. “Then you should go there at once, and see if you can find—”

She was interrupted by Feiticeiro’s return. “We have much to do,” he said. Without even looking at Meghan, he said to her, “Leave us.”

Meghan did immediately—not because Feiticeiro had said so, but because her Mistress had. She knew exactly what to do at the school—find this girl’s name, her friends, anything that could lead to her.

Meanwhile, Carice was alone with Feiticeiro as he sat down. “The police have made copies of my drawings,” he said, laying them on the table. “But we will try other methods of searching. Tricky and unreliable methods without a name, hair, something with which to invoke the principle of contagion, but there is always a chance.” He looked at Carice, and gave her a strange smile. “Apprentice, why are you still standing?”

“Um—” she started, and he laughed.

“I do enjoy your constant resistance,” he said, and beckoned.

Instinctively, Carice fought the force that suddenly seized control of her limbs, but to no effect—slowly but inevitably, she took a step forward. He beckoned again, and she stepped forward again. A third beckon, a third step, and she stood directly before him.

“Kneel,” he commanded, and that was a mental attack, one that she knew how to block. Or thought she did; it seemed to slip around her defenses as soon as she tried to stop it, dodge in behind them and lodge itself in her mind.

She knelt.

Feiticeiro laughed again. “Delicious. I do enjoy the occasional challenge—as long as we are both aware that you will never be anything but mine.” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up to look in her eyes, and despite herself, Carice felt a sudden flush of desire. “You are still quite amateurish, my dear. You think I don’t know when someone’s in my library? That I don’t remember you, not I, control that witless reporter, and that you could order her to act against me even while remaining bound yourself? This is simply a game that amuses me.“

No! she thought.

“Yes,” he replied. “In the end, you are just as controlled as all my other playthings. The method is subtler because you consented to it yourself—but there is no breaking free.”

“I... I...” she bowed her head, defeated. “I know.”

“So tell me,” he said casually. “What errand did you send your worthless little slave on?”

“She—” Carice tried to fight it, tried not to say it. It was the first bargaining chip, the first potential advantage, she’d found in dealing with her Master—but she had no choice but to surrender it. “She recognized the uniform the girl is wearing. She says she visited that school while searching for the girl.”

“Hmmph,” said Feiticeiro. “Doubtful. But worth keeping an eye on her, I suppose. Suck my cock. When I cum, you will forget that I know what you’ve been up to, as well as the orders I’m about to give you.”

She again tried fruitlessly to fight it. But the need to suck his cock swelled suddenly in her, overwhelmingly powerful, and in the end she had to do it. I have until he cums, she thought. To figure something out, but what?

She opened his pants and pulled out his cock, already half-hard. As she licked it up and down, her mind raced. I have to blow him, but he didn’t say anything about cumming. And he WANTS me to resist, he said he enjoys it! So resistance is obedience, hold onto that. Once he was fully erect, she wrapped her lips around him and started to suck. Don’t let him cum until I know what to do!

But what could she do? He was giving her orders, and she could feel them settling in her mind, as inescapable as the command to suck. She knew she would forget, and she knew she would obey those orders. But there had to be some way, some way to keep resisting. (Like he wants me to! she shouted at the part of her that objected that she was bound in servitude.)

There were things she could try. Longshot, desperation moves, with no certainty that they would work. But if she had no choice—

He came, and she dutifully gulped it down, then stood.

“That will be all, apprentice,” Feiticeiro told her, and she nodded, then left the room.

It’s up to you, Meghan, she thought. Find a real photo of that girl, a name, anything like that... and then when I have something he wants, then I can finally... But her mind shied away from that thought. It wasn’t yet time to rebel—she would continue playing the dutiful apprentice, even inside her own head, all without him knowing. She smiled to herself and returned to the university to wait for Meghan’s call.

* * *