The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Feiticeiro lounged in a high-backed, plush leather chair in the Mayor’s office. Janelle knelt quietly under the desk, a laptop in front of her, doing whatever it was Mayor’s did. Feiticeiro didn’t much care about the operations of the city, except where they could help him find her.

He glanced up as Carice entered. She hastened quickly to his side, and knelt.

“Why do you disturb me, apprentice?” he asked.

“Master,” she said. “I have information I believe you will want to hear.” Carice knew she could not keep her knowledge of Cynthia from him. That was too much like outright disobedience.

“Hmm,” Feiticeiro grunted. “What is it?”

“A girl,” Carice replied, smiling. “A girl who transforms into a shining being of power and fights your Beasts. I know her name, I know where she lives, I know her face.”

Feiticeiro snapped upright. MINE, his mind practically thundered, and even Janelle, who had no more affinity for magic than any random person on the street, flinched.

Carice, who had far more powerful magical senses, cringed back as if physically struck.

“Give it to me,” Feiticeiro snapped. “Everything you’ve learned about this girl.”

“Of course, Master,” Caprice murmured, returning to her knees and bowing her head. She opened up her mind to him, at least the parts that contained what she’d taken from Ruthie. But she didn’t see any need to share where the information came from—that might prove useful to keep in her back pocket for later.

“Very well done,” Feiticeiro said. “You have proven your worth, apprentice.” He looked down at her mind, and smiled. She had so many little traps and walls in there—it was adorable that she thought her thoughts of eventual rebellion were secret, or that she believed she could hold him out with such simple tricks. He could see the other child, Ruthie, and agreed with Carice’s assessment: she could prove useful to have in reserve.

“We shall flush her out by attacking her home,” Feiticeiro declared. “It is not yet time for the next summoning; I will require power to accelerate it.”

Janelle looked up hopefully, a delicate pink tongue darting out to moisten her full, red lips.

“No,” Feiticeiro said, patting her on the head. “We are down to the final Beasts, more powerful than any I have summoned before. I will need more power than your mundane heart can provide. Besides, Carice has earned it.”

“Master?” she asked. Something in her stirred, a flush of desire woken by the thought of being used by her Master. Something else, something more rebellious, struggled to keep that part under control.

“Follow me,” he said, standing. Then he was gone.

Carice stifled a whimper. That treacherously servile part of her that had taken up residence between her legs was crying out in disappointment at the sudden disappearance of the focus of its—her—desire. But the servilely treacherous part found that intensity deeply worrying—and another, more analytical part knew she’d better figure out where he’d gone, and quickly. Ah. Of course.

Then she too was gone, the world around her reshaping itself into the bedchamber of his sanctum.

Feiticeiro lounged on the bed, waiting for her, and at the sight of him her desire again spiked. Her long, dark green dress fell to the floor, pooling around her feet, almost before she’d realized she was taking it off. She reached up and pulled her claw hair clips out, then shook her head, letting the red waves cascade around her shoulders. The corner of her mouth twitched up into a slight smile when she saw her Master’s cock rising in response, but she took her time, slowly removing her bra and panties, swaying slightly as she did, giving him a show.

Then she got onto the bed and stocked toward him on hands and knees, ass swaying. “Master...” she purred, before licking her way slowly up the underside of his shaft.

Feiticeiro spread his legs slightly to give her better access. “You understand the ritual?” he asked, feeding the necessary knowledge into her mind.

“Yes, Master,” she replied, keeping most of the disappointment out of her voice. His cock looked delicious—but there was work to do. She slid forward on the bed to straddle him, bending down so that her heavy breasts were in easy reach.

Muttering an incantation under his breath, he took both in his hands and squeezed lightly. Carice cried out in sudden ecstasy, trembling as an orgasm spread through her. His hands moved, just so, on her breasts, and another orgasm pulsed after the first, then another, and another. Her mind was filled with unfolding bursts of golden light, like flowering fireworks, shattering, burning, exploding. She could feel her magic, her strength, her power, pouring down out of her mind, its containers burst by the overwhelming pleasure of being used by her Master.

The power and pleasure mingled and flowed, splashing against all those cunning steel-trap thoughts and iron walls of will in her mind, cracking them, melting them, everything dissolving down, down, down into pleasure and light and heat and darkness, a swirling mass of golden light and heat, molten metal that shimmered and shown and dripped slowly down out of her skull, through her body, igniting her as it went. Faster now, pouring down her neck and filling her chest, her pounding heart, her gasping breath, the liquid heat of it all, and then down, down, deeper still, down into darkness and emptiness, a hollowness below her stomach, between her legs, hot and wet and slick and shining and empty, so empty, crying out to be filled...

And then she was. Thought, awareness, any sense of who she was, that was all gone. There was only pleasure, and power, power flowing out of her and replaced by weakness that felt so very good, so good to be needy, and desperate, and pleading, and empty, and then another thrust filling her, the power pouring out of her faster and faster but her Master’s cock taking its place, her Master’s will, and so much pleasure! Then again emptiness, desperation, the power emptying from her faster and faster, pouring out of her into him, until he shined with all her light, he held all her power, the power over her, and then he was filling her again, and again, and again, on and on and on in empty blissful needy submissive pleasure...

Afterwards, Carice lay floating in mindless black bliss for what seemed like a long, long time. Slowly, though, she came back to herself, though she remained exhausted. She’d never been so drained, had so much of her magic pulled out of her—but it would return to her, in time, and with rest. I had no idea there was so much in me, she thought. I wonder if he knew.

Feiticeiro sat on the edge of the bed, naked. The elaborate tattoos on his back glowed with the golden light that Carice had given him, but slowly, it was fading. No, not fading—as she watched, she realized it was seeping in, being absorbed by the lines and runes, pulled into their pattern and transformed. Slowly, the glow was shifting toward an eerie purple.

“It will be soon,” Feiticeiro said. “We must go.” He stood, snapped his fingers, and was again clothed. Then, he vanished.

It took Carice, tired as she was, a little longer to get dressed. But she was soon clothed and at his side again, materializing next to Feiticeiro in an alleyway on the other side of the street from St. Anne’s.

He was leaning against the wall, his face pale. Even through the dress shirt he wore, the sickly purplish glow of his back tattoo was bright enough to be visible. He groaned as the purple light spread, covering his entire back—and then something emerged. It was long, incredibly long, getting longer and longer as it went, and slim—about the width of Carice’s arm, but the last foot or so tapered down to just a couple inches across. It was a dark grayish purple, and had a slight sheen to it, as if it were moist—or perhaps slimy.

It could not be anything but a tentacle. As Carice watched, another whipped out of Feiticeiro’s back, and then a third. One grabbed the fire escape of the building above him—four floors up, and still the point where the tentacles met was buried somewhere on the other side of the portal that Feiticeiro’s tattoo had become.

“The Pact protects me,” Feiticeiro said with effort. “No Beast will harm me. You... have no such defense. I suggest you... hurry. " He groaned again as two more tentacles emerged.

Carice, despite her exhaustion, ran.

Beccany sighed and shifted in her chair. This is so stupid, she thought. It’s summer! The last summer vacation ever! I don’t even go here anymore, why am I in detention? But she was, stuck sitting in a desk while Sister Hatchetface or whatever her name was glowered at them from the front of the room. It wasn’t fair! So she’d snuck off during graduation to smoke. She was eighteen, she could smoke if she wanted! And she was graduated, so the nuns couldn’t punish her! But her father had been furious when the nuns dragged her out to him. He’d threatened to take away her phone and her credit card if she didn’t listen to the old biddies!

She wondered how he would have reacted if he’d known it wasn’t a cigarette she was smoking.

Regardless, here she was, with detention every Saturday for a month, in the middle of the last summer before college. So unfair. And her so-called best friend Maddy, whose joint it was? Her daddy didn’t care, so she got to just ignore the nuns!

Idly, Beccany wondered what the other girls in the room were in for. She recognized them as fellow graduated seniors, which was just stupid, but they were all from a different crowd and she couldn’t remember their names off the top of her head.

The girl next to Beccany was staring out the window. Suddenly, she stood up.

“Maria!” the nun snapped. “Sit back down!”

“But Sister Hannah,” Maria replied, turning from the window. “Something’s out there.” She pointed, and of course everyone immediately got up from their seats to look.

Something is right, thought Beccany. What is that? It almost looks like... tentacles?

Whatever it was, it was big, it was weird, and it was getting closer. “I don’t like the looks of that,” Hannah said, crossing herself. “Girls, get away from the window. You don’t want to—”

It surged suddenly, far faster than it looked like it should be able to move. Tentacles smashed through windows, showering the shrieking girls with glass. One grabbed one of the other girls and pulled her, screaming, outside.

Fuck this, thought Beccany, and ran. The mass of girls poured out into the hallway, and then another girl Beccany didn’t know slammed the door. She stared wildly at the others as she leaned against the door—and then a tentacle smashed through the glass pane that filled the door’s upper half before plunging itself into the panicking girl’s heaving cleavage.

Beccany didn’t wait to see what else happened. She ran down the hall as fast as she could, vaguely aware that Maria was right behind her, while the other half-dozen girls had run the other way. Their screams were all Beccany needed to know that they’d chosen wrongly.

But was their a right choice? She stopped, panting, around the corner from the detention classroom. Maria slumped against the wall next to her. Ahead of them, there was a crash, and a pair of questing tentacles snaked through the smashed wreckage of a classroom door. Beccany peaked back the way they’d come. At least a dozen tentacles had emerges into the hallway, questing blindly. She couldn’t see the girl that had been grabbed through the classroom door, but she could hear her... moaning?

Maria began to giggle.

“What could you possibly think is funny?” Beccany asked.

“I don’t,” Maria answered, laughing harder. Her dark eyes, wide with terror, glistened with tears. “I’m terrified, but I can’t stop! We’ve died and gone to hentai!”

Beccany grabbed the other girl by the shoulders. “Shut up! We’re not dead!”

Behind them, the other girl’s moans turned into pleading cries, screams of pleasure—and then abruptly cut off.

“Tara is,” Maria answered. “We’re next, unless you’ve got an idea of how to get past those things!”

Beccany turned and looked at the tentacles winding their way toward her. Then she looked at the wall, at something she’d seen a million times and never paid attention to. Smash in case of fire. She grinned fiercely. “You know, I think I do?“

Morgan’s car inched slowly through the Saturday afternoon freeway traffic. Lawrence snoozed lightly in the back seat, while Cynthia twitched anxiously in the passenger seat.

“We’re not going to make it in time,” Cynthia said morosely.

“We will,” said Morgan. “We’ll be there in just a minute!”

“No,” Cynthia replied. “It’s too late. They’ve come for her.”

Morgan turned to look at her. Tears ran down the girl’s misery-crumpled face, and her lip trembled, but her jaw was set. “You can’t know—”

“I can and I do,” Cynthia answered. “I feel it. A Beast. And I know exactly where it is.” She turned to face forward again.

“Where?” asked Morgan, though she suspected the answer.

“Home,” said Cynthia. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to do this. But Ruthie needs me.” She flared with light—and then Syn pulled herself out through the passenger window and sprang away.