The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lawrence stared at Grankitty. She met his gaze calmly, as only a stuffed animal with plastic eyes can.

“You’re talking,” he said.

“I am,” she replied.

Next to him, Syn shifted and murmured sleepily.

“I’m talking to a stuffed animal.”

“That you are.”

“I’m dreaming,” Lawrence said firmly.

“No you’re not.”

“Well, I’m not talking to a stuffed animal, that’s crazy!”

“Don’t be daft, talking to a stuffed animal doesn’t mean you’re crazy. You’re only crazy if it talks back.” Before Lawrence could say anything, she turned to look at the sleeping Syn, then back at him. “Lost no time in availing yourself of your property, I see,” she said, voice dripping in contempt.

“It’s not like that!” Lawrence protested. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh?” asked Grankitty. “Seems simple enough to me.”

“She—!” he began, and then stopped. “No, it is simple,” he admitted. “I wasn’t sure if it was right, but I wanted her, and she wanted me... Was made to want me.”

“Hmm,” said Grankitty. “So you might have a spec of humanity in you after all.” She sighed. “If you could, would you release her?”

Lawrence looked at Syn. Asleep, her peaceful face looked even younger than she was. He remembered the previous night, the intensity, the energy, the sheer pleasure of it. But... “Yes,” he said finally, though part of him was screaming in his head that only an idiot would let someone like Syn go.

Grankitty studied him in silence for a while. “I believe you,” she said finally. “Good. You should know, then, that sometime soon the same monster that dropped a building on you is going to return.”

“What!?”

Next to Lawrence, Syn sat up, blinking sleepily, her tousled blonde hair arranging itself perfectly to make her look recently fucked. Which of course she was, but her hair shouted it to the world.

“Is something wrong, Master?” she asked. Then her eyes focused on Grankitty. “Oh,” she said.

“’Oh,’” Grankitty mocked. “So were you going to tell him the rules?”

Syn looked away. “If he asked.”

“Well of course if he asked, you’re his slave! But were you ever going to volunteer?”

“Wait, rules?” asked Lawrence. “What rules?”

Syn sighed deeply. “If I touch someone’s cum, I become that person’s slave. But if I go a whole day without cumming, I stop being Syn, and I stop being a slave, even if I turn into Syn again. But Master, please don’t—”

“And that’s the only way to free you?” Lawrence asked.

“Yes,” said Syn miserably.

“No,” said Grankitty at the same moment.

“Wait, what?” asked Syn.

Grankitty put her hands on her hips, or tried to. Seeing as her limbs were just stubs of cloth and fluff, the effect was more adorable than intimidating. “If you wouldn’t keep running away every five seconds, child, I would have had time to tell you about the Beasts by now!”

“Beasts?” asked Lawrence.

“You mean like that thing that... uh...” said Syn.

“That killed me, yes,” said Grankitty. “It comes with curse. The Beasts are beings of pure chaos that feed on life itself. They devour the life force of anyone they get their hands on—”

Lawrence scoffed. “Life force?”

“Yes, life force!” Grankitty snapped. “Same thing that keeps me moving—my soul’s bound to Syn as long as she needs me, so her life force animates this doll and my spirit controls it.”

“Wait, I’m doing that?” Syn brushed her sex-tangled mass of blonde hair back, and it snapped into perfect, flowing waves that cascaded over her shoulders. “I thought you were... I dunno, a ghost or something.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Grankitty. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“No, of course there aren’t,” Lawrence muttered. “That’d be silly.”

“Hush,” said Grankitty. “The point is, Beasts are powerful, nasty things, and they kill people. Lots of people. Suck them dry. But Syn is different. Your strength, your healing—your life force is inexhaustible. Any Beast that tries to feed on you will drown in it, lose its grip on this world, and be forced back to where it came from.”

“Like when that thing fucked you!” Syn said brightly. It was strange to hear herself say the word, when a day earlier she would have been much more reluctant to say it than to mention Grankitty’s death. But she couldn’t remember why it should bother her—it was a good word, a fun word, like “pussy” or “Master.” Mmm... Master.

“Yes,” said Grankitty. “It got the best of me, drank its fill, and left—but in so doing it also broke the magic that made me Kat, and turned me back into old Granny Kathryn. And then, well, old Granny Kathryn hit the ground.”

“This is completely insane,” said Lawrence.

“Well, there are two possibilities, then,” said Grankitty. “Either you don’t know everything about the world, or you’ve gone mad. Which do you prefer?” She stared at Lawrence a moment, daring him to speak. “That’s what I thought.”

“Okay, so a Beast can turn me back, but what are the odds of that happening?”

53 years earlier...

The woman was clearly out of place. Pale beneath her freckles, beautiful, her bright red hair and clothes just a little too nice for a dive bar in a coal mining town. She appeared to be in her late 20s, maybe early 30s, but something about the look in her eyes and the way she moved suggested she might be considerably older than that.

Kathryn was, in fact, 45, but since the day she’d turned 18, more than half her time had been spent in the ageless, changeless form of Kat, hence her much younger appearance. She’d enjoyed it at first—the adventure, the excitement, the sex. But in time the danger, the inability to stay in one place, and the isolation took their toll.

She’d tried to run. The Beasts still came for her. Wherever she was, that was where they would attack, and if she fled, they would follow. Slowly, stopping to kill everyone they could on the way, but inevitably. She’d taken to wandering the back roads and the small towns, trying to minimize the damage.

She’d taken to drinking. It didn’t matter anyway—even as Kathryn, she couldn’t get sick, and that apparently included the longer-term effects of drinking too much, from hangovers to heart problems. And if a Beast showed up, the instant she became Kat any drunkenness would evaporate away.

Even drunk, though, she heard the thumping footfalls outside, the shouts, the screams. Another one had found her.

As the few bar patrons—at four in the afternoon, there weren’t many—started to realize what was happening and panic, she calmly walked out, transforming as she stepped through the door. Her red hair unrolled from its bun into a waist-length cascade of scarlet; her modish sweater and slacks became a black corset and fishnets, idealized versions of the outfit she’d worn as a burlesque dancer, back when the curse first found her in ’38.

She began to run toward the noise of the Beast. It wasn’t hard to find as it smashed its way through the woody hillside. She caught it with a kick in its head, driving it back, then another in its gut, but it soon swung back with a clawed blow across her torso that shredded her corset and dug into the flesh beneath.

She sprang back, healing almost instantly, and then resumed her attack. Both combatants were inexhaustible, both determined, both strong; it was only a question of who would make a mistake first.

But Kat had an advantage. Her senses had encompassed the area the moment she transformed, and she had a plan. She drove the creature back slowly, toward an abandoned mine, its coal deposits long ago exhausted. Again and again she pushed the creature back, unrelenting, and finally, with one last kick, she caused it to stumble backwards into the mineshaft.

It screamed as it fell into the darkness, and then it was gone.

“Then I collapsed the mine on top of it,” Grankitty said as she finished her story. “I hung around for a while, but there was no sign of it. I thought I’d killed it, so I moved on... but then the next one never came.”

“Next one?” Lawrence asked.

“There’s always a next one,” Grankitty said. “A Beast’ll keep coming back until you kill it, and once you do, you get a respite for a while—but then the next Beast comes, stronger than the one before. But that never happened, and I realized I’d trapped the Beast. Years and years went by, and I got to get old at a normal person’s pace! But in the end... it must have dug for decades, but it finally got loose and came for me.”

“How did it know?” Syn asked.

Grankitty shrugged. “Even when you’re not transformed, the magic’s still there. Dormant, but there. Maybe the Beast senses that somehow.”

For some time now, there had been sirens outside. But that was a normal part of living in the city, and all three had instinctively ignored them. But they were getting closer now, louder, and there seemed to be a lot of them. A resounding crash echoed from outside, and buried in it, the sound of a howling, animalistic roar.

Grankitty raced to the window. “It can’t be!” she said. “We should have time! Weeks, or at least days! How is it back already!?”

Syn sprang up on the bed. For a moment she stood there naked, but then light pulsed around her, and she was back in her normal slutty schoolgirl ensemble. “Don’t worry, Master,” she said. “I’ll protect you!”

“Wait!” Lawrence sat up as well. “If this thing drains her, she goes free and it stops hurting people for a while, right?”

“Yes,” said Grankitty. “But—”

“Great! Syn, go out there and let it drain you!”

“Yes, Master,” Syn said cheerfully.

“Wait!” Grankitty scrambled after Syn, but it was too late. She had already run through the still-open balcony door and jumped off.

Grankitty turned back to Lawrence. “What have you done, you idiot!?”

Below, Syn landed in the parking lot outside Lawrence’s apartment. She ran toward the sounds of destruction, laughing at the joyous energy filling her. It had felt good to exert herself on her own account, but doing it as part of an order from her Master? Her blood fizzed and sizzled with pleasure, a bursting, happy heat the filled her entire being.

She leaped over a wall and landed in an alleyway just in time to see the Beast flatten a police car. It turned to her and roared, stepping forward. She braced herself, muscle memory she hadn’t had a day ago reminding her of how to fight it.

But she couldn’t. As the hulking brute approached her, she froze, her Master’s order echoing in her head. Clawed hands grasped her shoulders, forced her onto her back in the alleyway, and she complied. Somewhere inside her was fear and disgust at the huge, hairy, scaly monstrosity, and at the massive phallus protruding between its legs, but over top of that was the pleasure of obedience.

The necessity of obedience. I have to let it drain me, she thought. I have to let it fuck me.

There was nothing under her skirt, of course. Her back arched as the enormous cock slid into her. She was always wet, and despite its size it couldn’t hurt her. The hot fizzing pleasure of obedience merged with the feeling of it filling her, pumping her, using her.

It moved faster and faster, driving her higher and higher. It was nothing like fucking her Master. That was pure, sacred joy; this was something lower, older, deeper. She was draining away into it, her thoughts slowing, her strength fading. With every thrust of its hips, she grew weaker and limper. Every time its accelerating strokes bottomed out inside her, it got harder to think.

There was no need to think; she could simply feel. And it felt so very good to let go, to sink into the dark pleasure of being used, the rising, growing, intensifying pleasure that built and built and built and then—

Syn cried out. The Beast roared, arching back as it drove into her one last time, its entire massive phallus disappearing up into her—and then it dissolved into a cloud of dark, crackling energy, dissipated, and was gone.

Blocks away, the last wizard cursed in an ancient tongue. As the single sharp syllable struck it, the pavement at his feet cracked. Reaching beneath his shirt, he pulled out an amulet on a chain. More or less circular, it was in the form of two stylized wings, one black, one white, curling around one another. He flipped it over and examined the ancient script engraved into its back—but already the thin golden tracery was fading away, the long-dormant power behind it returning to sleep now that the one it sought was no longer near.

He needed the new girl to win! Trailing a Beast could get him close to her, but he wasn’t about to risk challenging one for possession of her—that was what magical girls were for, after all. But the amulet was useless on her human form! If she’d killed the beast and remained in her magical girl form, it would be a different story, but now? Now there was nothing to do but wait for her to transform again.

Scowling in frustration, he looked up from the amulet to see a couple emerge from a nearby bar. One was a man of perhaps 40, or a well-preserved 45, in an expensive-looking suit; the woman he had his arm around was 15 or 20 years younger, tall and curvaceous, poured into a little black dress that shimmered in the streetlights.

Well, there was always one way to relieve some frustration. He walked up to the couple and planted himself in their path. “You’re going to give me your woman,” he said to the man.

“Excuse me?” The man moved forward slightly, putting himself between the wizard and the woman.

“His woman?” said the woman at the same time.

“Give her to me,” the wizard repeated, layering a touch of power into his voice.

It didn’t take much. “She’s all yours,” the man said, letting go of her and stepping out of the way.

“What the fuck, Harold?” The woman took a step back from both of them and raised her hands. “I told you, no weird shit!”

“Go away, Harold,” said the wizard, and the man left.

The woman stared after him, then at the wizard, her eyes wide in growing fear. “Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but—”

“I want you on your knees.”

She hardly realized she was obeying; his dark eyes were just suddenly a head above her instead of a foot below, and she could feel the cold roughness of the sidewalk through the thin material of her sheer hose.

He laid his hand against her cheek, and she gasped at the warm pleasure spreading outward from his touch. “What are you—how are you—”

“Silence,” he ordered, and her voice died away.

Terror made her eyes huge and round. Was there any limit on what he could make her do?

“Suck my cock,” he ordered, and she tried to will her hands to stay still, to not unzip his fly, reach into his pants, fish out his pe—his cock.

She couldn’t stop herself. Couldn’t even slow herself. Couldn’t even think of it as anything but his cock—the moment he called it that, that was what it was. Everything he said was true, even if it hadn’t been a moment before, and that was horrific.

“My control over you excites you,” he said as she put her lips around his cock and started to suckle.

Horrific and hot. She moaned as she took his cock deeper into her mouth. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t help herself, and that turned her on—and that arousal was unnatural, something he had put there, and that turned her on even more.

“The more you obey, the better it feels.” He placed his hands on her head and began fucking her face.

With every moment she spent sucking him, she became more excited, hotter. She shouldn’t enjoy this—it was wrong, evil, she was being used—but she was ordered to, and obeying that order felt good because she was ordered to feel good, and obeying that order felt good, and...

“If you spit out my seed,” he said, “you will never be able to speak of this, but you will walk away free. If you swallow it, you will be my slave, and obey me—joyfully, with every fiber of your being—for the rest of your days. The choice is yours.”

And then her mouth was full of his hot, sticky, salty-sweet cum. He pulled out, and she stared up at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she swallowed.

Cynthia lay curled on her side in the alleyway. She was herself again, her clothes, her body, her mind, everything back to normal.

But she remembered. She remembered everything she felt, everything she said, everything she did, while she was Syn. She remembered everything that had been done to her.

A hand touched her shoulder. She looked up to see Lawrence leaning over her, and screamed, flinching away.

Lawrence took a step back. “Jesus, she’s just a kid!”

Grankitty hopped down from his shoulder. “Don’t worry, she’s 18.”

Lawrence stared. “Oh God, I didn’t even think about that! I just meant—we have to help her!”

He reached for her, but she shied away again. “Don’t touch me!”

He snatched his hand back as if burned. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—I mean I didn’t—we...”

“Shut up,” said Grankitty. “Cynthia, child, are you hurt?”

Cynthia shook her head. “Grankitty...” she whimpered. “The curse...”

“I know,” said Grankitty. “It... gets easier.”

Cynthia pulled the stuffed animal into her arms and curled up once more into fetal position with Grankitty at the center. Then she began to sob.

Morgan tossed irritably in her bed. She couldn’t sleep. She kept replaying her fight with Lawrence over again in her mind.

She’d always wondered why so many of her clients were so stupid, why so many of them took so long to see the obvious, or hesitated to leave their spouses after Morgan brought them ironclad proof of infidelity. Some of them hired her because they’d got their partners cheating before and suspected they were at it again, which of course they always were—but what did they expect after forgiving them the first time?

But she understood a little better, now. She missed Lawrence.

She was furious at him, certain she was never going to forgive him for running around behind her back with that little blonde bitch... but she missed him. Missed the good times, the comfort, his warm body lying next to hers, his arms around her.

None of which meant she would go crawling back to him. Unlike her clients, she wasn’t stupid. But none of that made it easier to go back to sleep.

With a groan, she sat up. Might as well get some work done. She slid out of bed, took the five steps to her computer, and began going through her feeds. She had a half-dozen spycams—battery-powered, weather-resistant, wi-fi-enabled little things—hidden around the city, all streaming to her computer around the clock.

She skimmed through them quickly, running through the last few hours at 30x speed, pausing whenever she saw a potentially familiar face. The first three turned up nothing, but the fourth? That struck gold.

She’d been hoping it would. The client suspected her husband of cheating, and had found an expensive bar in his credit card history. Morgan had set up her camera to watch the place’s entrance, hoping to catch hubby in the act.

And here he was, walking out with some little bimbo half his age hanging on his arm. Morgan had to admit he had good taste, the girl was cute. But it was simple enough to grab a few frames where his face was clear, to show her client. A divorce lawyer would have a field day with them.

She let the stream play a little farther, hoping to get a really good face shot, and then things got weird. Some other man, a wiry little guy, walked up to them, and hubby got all defensive of his side piece—until he suddenly stopped and walked away.

“What the fuck?” asked Morgan out loud.

She watched as the girl’s body language went from obvious fright to... well, to dropping to her knees and sucking the little guy’s cock. Had he threatened them? Morgan couldn’t see a weapon, but maybe it was small enough to hide in his palm, or under his jacket or something.

Except after the girl finished and stood, she very clearly smiled. Then she took the man’s arm and they walked out of the camera’s field of view.

Morgan looked at her screengrabs. What she captured from before the other guy showed up would be more than enough for her client. There was no reason to look into it any further.

But she still backed up the stream a minute or two and grabbed a few frames that showed the little guy’s face. The job was taken care of, but now she had a mystery, and that was even better than a job.

Plus, she hadn’t thought of Lawrence once since the stream got weird. She needed this.