The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Magical Girl Syn

Chapter Twenty-Two

by Jennifer Kohl

Flames erupted across the courtyard, white-hot and brilliant, yet they didn’t harm a single blade of grass. The Beast was not so lucky. Its screams echoed throughout the school as it writhed and shriveled and dissolved into flame.

Morgan, Lawrence, and the girls froze for a second while the tentacles around them flared briefly before crumbling away.

“Is it... over?” asked Lawrence.

“She did it!” Morgan replied, and broke into a run, headed for the courtyard. She burst out into sunlight, Lawrence and the girls right behind her, and then stopped in awe. Syn stood, tall and gorgeous, her tumbling golden hair waving behind her in the breeze and shining in the bright summer sun.

Syn turned, and when their eyes met, Morgan’s heart momentarily stopped. What is this? she thought. I mean, yeah, she’s hot in a teen porn star, blowup doll kinda way, but this is... fuck if she’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen right now.

Syn smiled at her, and just like that, Morgan had a new hottest thing she’d ever seen.

“Ahem,” said a voice from across the courtyard. Everyone, Syn included, turned to face the newcomer. She was, Morgan could see, a young redhead dressed to show off killer curves, but next to Syn, what did that matter?

“Who are you?” Morgan asked. Her hand fell to her gun. “Do you work for Feiticeiro?”

“I’m Carice,” said the woman. “And he’s my Master, in more ways than one.” She turned to Syn. “He has sent me with a message, and an invitation.” She held out her hand. “Take my hand and I will take you to him.”

“Why would she—” Lawrence started, but Carice interrupted him.

“And to Ruthie.”

“No way!” Morgan snapped. “We’d be idiots to trust you or go anywhere near that guy.”

“The message was not for you,” Carice said, coldly. “This invitation is for the mahou shoujo alone.“

Behind Morgan, Maria’s mouth moved to outline the words. Mahou... “Wait, seriously?” she asked. “Magical girl?“

“Wow,” said Beccany, ignoring Lawrence shushing them both. “We really did die and go to hentai.“

“Morgan’s right,” said Grankitty. “This is obviously a trap.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Syn. “I have to rescue Ruthie! You’ve seen what I can do. I can do this!”

Grankitty sighed. “You’ve gotten stronger, yes.” She looked around the courtyard. “You defeated Beasts I never could, found power I never knew existed. But... it’s still a trap.”

“And remember last time you faced this guy? He just... turned you off!” Morgan said. “We need to figure that out before you can fight him!”

“You’re powerful as Syn,” said Grankitty. “But what can Cynthia do against his power?”

“Cynthia has power too,” said Syn. Then, ignoring the others’ protests, she took Carice’s hand. The redheaded witch smiled in cold satisfaction, and then they were gone.

“Well, fuck,” said Morgan.

* * *

Syn appeared in the mayor’s office, her hand still in Carice’s and Grankitty still stuffed in her cleavage.

Feiticeiro smiled and stood. “Welcome,” he said, and then Syn shoved Carice aside and blasted him with a column of white flame.

“Impressive,” he said when it cleared. “I barely had time to raise a barrier, and it barely held. A little more speed and force...” He looked around the room at Carice, sprawled in a corner where Syn had shoved her, and Janelle on the other side. “Ah, but of course, you don’t want to harm innocents, and as far as you know, these two girls are.” He laughed. “A politician and a witch! But they’re mine now, as you will be. As you should have been, from the start.“

“Where’s Ruthie?” Syn demanded.

Feiticeiro smirked. “Janelle?”

Janelle nodded and scrambled for the intercom on the desk. “Bring her in.” A moment later, the door opened, and in came Meghan—and behind her, Ruthie. She was cheerfully naked, her bare toes vanishing into the thick, lush carpet, something sticky on her cheeks and near the crown of the massive wave of gorgeous dark hair flowing down her back. She seemed befuddled, or perhaps slightly drugged—but she was safe. Syn relaxed, nigh imperceptibly, but Feiticeiro raised an eyebrow when he saw it.

“Oh!” Ruthie squeaked when she saw Syn. “The angel!”

“Ruthie!” Syn gasped, barely holding back the urge to run to her, but she didn’t dare drop her guard facing Feiticeiro. “What’s he done to you?”

Ruthie beamed. “Wonderful things...” she said dreamily. “Master is amazing.“

Syn snarled and raised her hand toward Feiticeiro, about to blast him again. But he grasped the black-and-white hanging amulet around his neck, and suddenly she was Cynthia again. She smirked and focused, her hand still raised and focused at him, and willed the flame to come forth.

Carice and Feiticeiro burst out laughing. “Are you trying to channel magic?” Carice asked. “Do you even know what you’re doing?“

Cynthia looked down at her hand. “No, I—the power, it came from... I should be able to...”

“Indeed, you do have some power of your own,” said Feiticeiro. “An impressive amount, actually. No wonder you’ve proven such a handful. With training you could be quite formidable indeed, perhaps even a match for me.”

Carice scowled. He never said that about me. Is he suggesting this child is stronger than me? Or just flattering her to get her off guard?

“Cynthia?” Ruthie asked. She’d been staring at her friend ever since she transformed. ”You’re the angel? I knew it!” She clapped her hands in delight. “Does this mean you’re going to be Master’s too? We can belong to him together!“

Cynthia darkened with rage. “What have you done to her, you monster?” she demanded.

Feiticeiro laughed again. “What I always do,” he said. “Whatever I want.”

“And what now?” asked Cynthia, very visibly trying not to look frightened. “You do the same to me? Turn me into... that?”

“No,” said Feiticeiro. “Unfortunately, the blessing of power your predecessors stole protects you. My magic cannot affect you in your mortal form any more than your immortal.”

Wait, though Cynthia. If his magic doesn’t affect me, how is he forcing me to be Cynthia right now? “Let Ruthie go,” she said.

“Oh now,” said Feiticeiro, “that depends on your choice.” He spread his arms. “I cannot control you, but I assume by now you have learned what happens if you touch a man’s seed while in your immortal state?”

“No. No! Absolutely not, I’ll never let you—”

“Ah-ah-ah, don’t be so hasty. My magic cannot touch you in this form, but mortal weapons can. If you refuse, you die.” He gestured, and Janelle drew a small pistol. “I assure you, she does know how to use it.”

Cynthia took a deep breath. “Then I die. Look at all these women! I’d rather die than end up like, like that!”

“Very well,” said Feiticeiro.He started to make another gesture to Janelle, then stopped. “Of course, you do realize what will happen then, no? The power of the magical girl will pass on to its next host. The nearest girl who is both a virgin and six and six and six years old.” He smirked. “How old are you again, Ruthie?”

Ruthie giggled. “Eighteen of course, Master!”

“You expect me to believe that you didn’t—” she broke off, horrified at what she was saying. But there was no avoiding it; Cynthia had enough experience in recent weeks to know what that stickiness on her hair and face meant, and she remembered what Morgan had told her she saw in that footage of Feiticeiro. “She’s not still a virgin.”

“Oh, silly girl,” said Carice. “You really don’t know anything about magic. Holy magic is not about your body, it’s about your heart, your will. What we do under Master’s orders won’t affect our purity!“

“You know, all this purity and virginity stuff is sexist bullshit, right?” asked Meghan.

“I don’t make the rules,” said Feiticeiro.

“Then who does?”

“Hush, Meghan,” he said. “All of you except Ruthie and Cynthia, leave us. In fact... there is no point in wasting slaves in what’s to come. Empty the building.” He half turned his head as Carice, Janelle, and Meghan dutifully filed out—and as he turned back, Grankitty leaped suddenly from Cynthia’s chest, headed straight for the center of his chest.

He caught her in one hand, grasped her head with the other, and tore her in half.

* * *

Morgan and Lawrence knelt on a rooftop across from city hall. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Do you see anything?”

“I think so,” said Morgan. “This has to be where they are, Feiticeiro’s been using the mayor’s task force as a cover. But it looks like everybody’s leaving, and I don’t see him or Syn in that crowd. What is going on over there?”


Morgan put down the binoculars and studied him a moment. “I know that face,” she said. “You’re getting an idea you know I’ll hate.”

“Well... yes,” he admitted. “But I’m pretty sure it’ll get us into the building. I’ll need your bag.”

Morgan sighed and handed him her backpack. “This better be good.”

A few minutes later, he frogmarched Morgan right up to the front doors of City Hall. Her hands were behind her back, wrapped in a zip-tie he’d pulled from her backpack. Her gun, her binoculars, and everything else she’d grabbed to escape with was in there too. “I definitely hate this,” she said.

“Shh,” hissed Lawrence and pushed her to one of the two cops flanking the door while the last stragglers filed out.

“We’re evacuating the building,” the cop said. “Nobody goes in.”

“Do you have any idea who this is?” Lawrence demanded. “How much the man upstairs wants her brought in?”

The cop eyed Morgan. “Hmm,” he said, but the one on the other side spoke up.

“Shit man, that’s the bitch we turned the whole city upside down for. How’d you find her?”

“Who even are you, anyway?” demanded the first cop. “I wanna see ID.”

Lawrence raised a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he said. “I work for him. You know that’s gotta be kept on the downlow.“

The cops nodded.

“Now,” said Lawrence. “My orders didn’t say anything about an evacuation, they just said bring this woman to him, no matter what. If that’s not the right thing, I’m willing to take responsibility, understand?“

The cops looked at each other, and then the second one nodded slightly. “All right,” said the first. “Take her in. But it’s on you, got it?”

“Got it,” said Lawrence, and led Morgan into the building.

“Shit,” she said, once they were on the elevator and he cut her restraints with the scissors from her bolt bag. “That was pretty impressive, I gotta admit.”

“I’m an ER nurse, remember?” said Lawrence. “Cops are nothing, you try arguing with an insurance company some time. What floor?”

Morgan thought about the man she’d seen in that footage, the power he had and the way he abused it. “He’ll go where the power is. Top floor, mayor’s office.”

As the elevator started upwards, her stomach seemed to stay behind. We’re really doing this. We’re probably going to die, or worse. Desperate for a distraction, she said, “Seriously though, you gotta teach me that.“

Lawrence gave her a weak but grateful smile, and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. “We-ell...” he said slowly. “I guess the first trick is to learn to spot who cares more about not getting in trouble than doing a good job, because that’s who you’re going to use to clear everyone else out of your way...“

* * *

Cynthia fell to her knees, staring in horror at the tiny, torn wreckage of cloth and fluff. What had been Grankitty just lay there, unmoving, dead.

“Ah yes, kneeling would be an appropriate way to express your surrender,” Feiticeiro said loftily. “I accept.

“You killed her,” Cynthia said, her voice dull.

“That... thing died long ago,” he replied.

“You killed her!” Cynthia shouted, glaring up at him.

“And you have a choice.” He crooked a finger, and Janelle’s gun floated up from her desk and pointed at Cynthia. “You can accept your place as my slave, and in time, when I tire of her, I will allow Ruthie to go free. Or you can die, and she will become the magical girl, and my slave the instant she does. And I assure you, once I have her, she will remain in that form and in bondage to me. Forever.”

Cynthia’s lip quivered, but she held back the tears. “I won’t let that happen to her.”

“Then you know what you have to do. Suck my cock, and once you are marked, I will allow you to transform.”

Cynthia gulped. Doing this as Syn was one thing, but as Cynthia? And with him? But she had no choice. No one else, she thought. Being Syn is wonderful and terrible and ruined my life. I’m not making anyone else go through that, especially not Ruthie.

So she shuffled forward on her knees, and tried to ignore the way Feiticeiro smirked down at her while she fished his cock out of his trousers. A few deep breaths to steady herself, and then she took the head into her mouth.

He grabbed the back of her head and shoved himself all the way back. Cynthia choked and gagged on his cock, the tears she’d held back before now flowing freely. She flailed her hands ineffectively against his legs while he roughly fucked her face, and then—then suddenly he was out, and she instinctively looked up. Immediately she regretted it as the first spurt of cum hit her in her right eye, stinging and half-blinding her. Sticky white ropes squirted across her face, into her hair, and her heart felt like it was plunging into the floor, absolute despair settling over her.

“Now,” he said, stepping back. “Transform or die.”

Cynthia closed her eyes, one last time, knowing that she would never be allowed to be herself again. “I’m sorry, Ruthie,” she said. “This is the best I can do.”

Then she stood. Her legs grew, her tits swelled, her hair and outfit reshaped themselves—and the cum on her tits and face and hair absorbed into her as she changed. She felt it spreading through her, flowing down to meet the upward surge of power and joy and lust that was being Syn. The feeling of the cum spreading through her soul was even better, though, the feeling of tight cords wrapping around her, squeezing, constraining, the bliss of belonging, of being owned, of having a place in the universe—and the certainty that place was at her Master’s feet.

Then the doors crashed open and Morgan and Lawrence stormed in.

* * *