The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Magical Girl Syn

Chapter Eight

by Jennifer Kohl

Morgan sighed. Nothing was working. She’d tried every possible lead and source she could think of, and no one had anything on Feiticeiro. Even the conspiracy sites she checked in desperation had nothing; the only local news they talked about was some nonsense about the recent gas explosions actually being the result of monsters fighting angels, which of course the government was covering up, but even they hadn’t latched onto Feiticeiro coming out of nowhere to run the investigation.

“I need a drink,” she muttered. Well, it might help—more than once, she’d owed a successful case to some drunken inspiration, or a connection too tenuous for her sober mind to notice.

Meghan’s call a little while earlier hadn’t helped. This was big, and big was scary. At minimum, Morgan decided, she needed to get out of the apartment and clear her head; everything looked worse from inside a dingy apartment you hadn’t left in days.

Speaking of... She sniffed herself. Yeah, okay, shower first, then out for a drink.

Half an hour later, she walked outside and blinked up at the sun. “Morning?” She checked her watch for the first time in days; sure enough, it was early morning. Even the diviest bars had closed a couple of hours prior, and nothing would be open for at least five.

Morgan groaned. Well... I guess I can go to a diner or something. Eggs and a beer doesn’t sound half bad.

Her phone rang. She was in no mood to talk to anyone, and almost didn’t pick up—but then she saw who was calling. “Meghan? You have something?”

“Yes!” Meghan said excitedly. “Listen, I can’t talk over the phone. Too risky.”

Wow, thought Morgan. She really did find something. She sounds more excited than frightened, though—she’s such a reporter. Shaking her head, she said, “Are you sure?“

“I’m sure. Are you home?”

Morgan hesitated. This was Meghan, one of the only people in the world she knew she could trust—a list even smaller now that she’d caught Lawrence with that bimbo. But something didn’t feel right. The excitement in Meghan’s voice wasn’t her usual excitement at discovering a juicy story; it was something else. It reminded Morgan of something that made her uneasy. “Yes,” she lied.

“Good,” said Meghan. “Stay where you are. I’ll come get you.”

Morgan’s eyes narrowed as she hung up. It sounds like Meghan was getting some kind of sexual kick out of this, and that made no sense. Things that made no sense made Morgan nervous.

She cautiously made her way back to her place, sticking to back streets and alleys. Then she stopped in an alley she’d identified when she first moved in, with a clear view of her building’s front door, but enough shadows to keep her hidden if she stood in the right spot. She watched as two nondescript black cars pulled up, carrying two people in each: two men in one, a woman and a man in the other. The woman and one of the men from the other car walked to the front door of Morgan’s apartment building, while the other man from that car walked around back. The third man stayed in the car.

Cops. Two headed in the front way, one around back in case I make a break for it that way, and one in the car in case I slip past the others.

Had they listened in on the call? That seemed to be what Meghan was afraid of—but if she was afraid of being listened to, why say where she was meeting Morgan? Why not use terms only Morgan would get, like “that place where we..?”

Morgan remembered grainy video of a woman’s face, and how that woman’s face had changed from fear to... something else right before she’d given the man Morgan now knew as Feiticeiro a blowjob. She imagined that expression on Meghan’s face, and shuddered.

He got her, Morgan thought, and intuitively knew it was true. It was the only explanation that fit. Whatever “got” meant, whatever drug or hypnosis or trick it was that Feiticeiro pulled on the woman in the video, he’d done to Meghan too, and she’d tried to get Morgan caught as well.

There was very little time. Morgan dropped her phone on the street and stomped on it until she was sure it was broken. She pulled her sole credit card out of her wallet and snapped it, then tossed it and the wreckage of her phone in the nearest dumpster.

Then she ran. It was three blocks to her destination, a nondescript, abandoned building that had once been a school, and then a homeless shelter, and now mostly just sheltered homeless people in a far less official capacity, and she raced at top speed the whole way.

Panting, Morgan jumped up and grabbed the ladder hanging from the rusty old fire escape. From there she clambered up and over to a broken old air conditioning unit stuck in one window. She shoved aside the bird’s nest on top, grabbed the plastic-wrapped backpack from inside the air conditioner, and climbed back down.

She tore off the birdshit-stained plastic and opened the bag. Everything was still inside, sealed in baggies: Fake ID. Cash. Burner phone. USB drive. Gun. The day she had hoped would never come, but always knew eventually would, was here.

It was time to run.

* * *

Meghan trembled as her new Master hung up the phone. She could see on his face everything she needed to know: the police hadn’t found Morgan. Meghan had failed to please her Master.

And she needed to please him. It just felt too good not to. She knew she was betraying Morgan, betraying their friendship, but she craved the pleasure too badly. Master had taught her that: she couldn’t resist his will, and would inevitably do what he wanted, so she might as well receive the pleasure for it now.

She couldn’t even think of him as anything but Master anymore; she was thoroughly, entirely beaten, and she knew it. She knew, too, that she was delivering Morgan to the same fate, if not worse.

And yet she couldn’t feel any relief at failing. Displeasing Master hurt, an agonizing absence of the pleasure that obedience brought, and that wiped away anything else she might have felt about it. “Sh-she wasn’t there, was she, Master?” Meghan asked hesitantly, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

“She was not,” he replied tersely.

Meghan flinched. “You could—they can take her computer! It’s sure to have everything she knows, and it might have a clue where she went! Or, um... cell phone trace! Or her credit card!” She knew she was babbling, but she was desperate. Master had ordered her to help capture Morgan, and she needed not only for Morgan to be captured, but to contribute something to that capture herself.

“They have seized her computer,” Feiticeiro said. “And contacted the phone company, and the major credit card companies. They, in short, have done their duty to the best of their ability.”

Meghan’s big blue eyes widened further. “Please,” she said. “It’s not my fault! I don’t know why she lied about being home! You have to believe me, I did my best!”

“I do believe you,” her Master replied, and she collapsed in relief.

Meghan threw herself at his feet, kissing them repeatedly. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you Master,” she gabbled in pathetic relief and gratitude.

“It is nearly time, anyway,” he said. “I have the image of her from your mind; she will be caught, and destroyed, and whatever she has learned, the police will soon uncover. Your failure is of little import.”

Meghan flinched again, but the reporter in her was still strong. “Time?” she asked. “For what?”

“You would not understand, even if I told you. Besides, I do not wish to. All you need know is that I must depart. Continue your life as before, even your investigation of me. Contact me if you find any leaks, any sources, anything I have missed that might expose me.”

“Yes, Master.” Meghan nodded eagerly, emphatically, smiling at the pleasure of receiving an order she knew she could follow, an order she would feel the pleasure of following every moment, because every bit of her normal life was now an act of obedient service to her Master.

Which will just condition me further... she thought. She knew that he knew exactly what he was doing. She wished she could hate him for it, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t feel anything of the sort for anyone who brought her as much pleasure as her Master did; all she could feel was needy love, pathetic gratitude, and the heart-stopping fear that the pleasure would end.

But herself? She could hate herself... just not enough to overcome the unending pleasure of obeying.

* * *

She walked out of an alley, tall, beautiful, naked. Her flawless brown skin glistened in the morning sunlight; her copper-colored hair flowed behind her like a banner, waving gently in the breeze, impossibly long. Even from a distance, her green eyes flashed like poison; her perfect face cruelly indifferent.

And her body? Full, heavy breasts sat firm and high without any visible support; a flat, taut tummy of the sort normally only achievable with a combination of starvation, personal trainer, and Photoshop connected them to full hips and a pert, high ass that swayed invitingly as she walked. Long, slender, gently curving legs flowed down to perfectly formed, bare feet that seemed to hardly touch the ground as she walked.

The moment she stepped out into the street, people stopped to stare. It was a busy intersection, and the din of horns soon rose—only to gradually fade into the distance as people close enough to see her did. Men, women, it didn’t matter; she was too perfect not to stare at, too beautiful. A few distant horns still sounded, courtesy of people near enough to be impacted by the jam, but far enough not to see its cause; no one cared.

Then the ground began to split. Cracks appeared in streets, in sidewalks, in the floors of nearby office buildings whose occupants had gathered by the windows to gaze upon perfection. Tender green shoots sprang up from the cracks, and grew rapidly into vines, dark brown wood with vibrant green leaves.

Still, nobody cared. Nobody could look at anything but her, think of anything but her. Not even when the vines wrapped around them. Not even when their bodies grew weak and heavy, their thoughts slowing and eventually stopping entirely.

Still they stared as she walked on, drinking in their attention, their adoration—and the life force her vines sapped from them.

She walked on, and the vines farthest from her retreated back into the ground as she did, dumping the desiccated corpses of her victims unceremoniously on the ground, the floors of their offices. Screams replaced horns as those people near enough to see the jam but not her, and now to see the effects of the deadly vines but not her, began to panic.

She walked on, and those in her path who had not yet fled saw her perfection. Their fear faded away into wonder; their jaws dropped; vines sprouted at their feet.

The Beast fed.

Morgan had no idea of any of this. She was trying to figure out the best way out of town, lost in thought; she tuned out the honking, and by the time she heard the screaming, it was too late. She saw someone across the street with vines twining upward around his legs, ignoring it to stare at something to her right, and instinctively, she turned to look, too.

She saw perfection, and her eyes widened. Perfect beauty. Irresistible sex appeal. She could feel herself getting wet, feel her jaw dropping, and it was hard to care. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the vines wrapping around people, and knew that if she didn’t move, she would be trapped, probably killed.

She felt very alone. It wasn’t sudden; she’d been aware of it since Meghan’s betrayal. No, longer: since Lawrence’s. And she’d always known, on some level, that she’d die alone. At least here there was beauty.

So much beauty. It was hard not to be happy. If she just surrendered herself to it, just relaxed and stared, she could be. She would die, but she would die happy.

Morgan relaxed and stared, and the vines began to twine around her feet.

* * *

“Right hook!” yelled Grankitty. “Right hook! Left jab! Uppercut! Left side kick!”

Syn’s bare arms and legs flashed in the morning sun as she followed Grankitty’s commands, punching and kicking the air, visualizing a Beast and attacking it. As her blows “connected” with the imaginary creature, light flared from the point of contact, bursts of magical power focused to augment her physical strength.

“Good!” said Grankitty. “Your form’s much improved, and you’re getting the magic every time.”

Still can’t do the bow, though. I’m going to have to get up close to Beasts to fight them. Close where they can grab me... pin me... fuck me...

She remembered the huge cock of the Beast entering her, how good it had felt. She hadn’t wanted it to feel good, but hadn’t been able to help it. If a Beast showed up now, would I even fight? She shivered at the thought of just giving in, letting it take what it wanted, and in the process give her what she wanted...

“Syn!” Grankitty snapped. “Pay attention! You need to learn to focus, put those needs aside! Remember, that’s just the curse!”

“Yes, Grankitty,” she replied sulkily. It doesn’t feel much like a curse. More like—

Her head snapped up as she felt it. “No,” she said. “No, I’m not ready! It’s too soon!”

Grankitty leaned back to look up at her from between her boobs. “What is it, Syn? Do you sense a Beast?”

“Yes,” she said. Put it aside. Don’t think about how horny I am, how sensitive my skin is, how every brush of my top against my nipples makes my pussy drip. Don’t think about how much I need to be fucked, and how much the Beast could fuck me if I let it...

“Then we have to go. Every second we waste puts more lives at risk!”

“Right,” said Syn. Lives. Saving lives. That’s what this is about. Protecting the people I love. She ran the short distance to the edge of the roof she was on and jumped to the next, then the next, and the next, hopping buildings to the location from which she sensed the Beast. People like Ruthie. Beautiful Ruthie... I should have kissed her before I left. Touched her. Seen if she wanted to touch me...

“Syn!” Grankitty barked, and Syn snapped herself out of her reverie. “Look!”

Syn looked down at the street below. Jammed with cars, devoid of people—living ones, anyway. Mummified corpses lay everywhere, still in their disturbingly undamaged clothing, the only signs of what might have happened to them the cracks in the street.

“This Beast is powerful,” Grankitty said. “To have killed so many people, so quickly..!”

“I’ll stop it,” Syn said firmly. One way or another...

She jumped across more rooftops, then down to the ground. People here were still alive, some of them, wrapped in vines that seemed to be draining them somehow. The vines didn’t seem to react to Syn’s presence; she tried grabbing one and calling up the magic, and it dissolved almost immediately into ash.

The woman who stumbled out of its grip looked about 80, and was dressed as if she were a quarter that age. She stumbled to the ground, alive but very weak, and Syn did the only thing she could think of: she reached down to her thigh, wiped up a little of the juices that had been dripping from her pussy all night, and smeared them onto the woman’s arm.

The woman sighed and seemed to fall asleep, but as she did, she also seemed to recover, growing younger before Syn’s eyes.

“I know you want to help them,” Grankitty said, “but there’s no time for this. Find and stop the Beast, then you can try healing the survivors.”

Syn hesitated for a second, wanting to argue, but Grankitty was right. “Okay,” she said finally, and began to run in the direction of the Beast.

The Beast, meanwhile, simply walked on, impassive, silent, beautiful. It walked past its victims without seeming to notice them, without caring whether they had been killed yet or were still being drained. Its pace was slow enough that, by the time it passed far enough away that the vines retreated, everyone held in them was dead, but sometimes they were still alive when the Beast drew close.

Morgan couldn’t bear it. She’d gone back and forth a dozen times, sometimes trying to pull at the vines slowly creeping up around her, struggling to keep them from getting a grip, and other times giving in, relaxing, letting them grow. But no matter what she did, she kept looking at the perfect beauty, the irresistible sexuality, and the slowly approaching woman. She couldn’t not look at her, the very idea was impossible.

And then a second image of perfection descended. Someone strangely familiar, shining with a light that actually managed to momentarily distract Morgan from the beauty of the Beast.

It was enough for her to start struggling again, fighting the vines that held her legs, her torso, one of her arms. But there was nothing she could do as the shining, angelic beauty struck the monstrous beauty that was killing everyone.

Holy shit, thought Morgan. Those conspiracy nutbags were right!

She watched as the angel punched the monster in the face and vaporized her entire head, which didn’t strike Morgan as a particularly angelic thing to do. The monster collapsed, dissolving, as its vines crumbled into ash.

“Holy shit,” said Morgan. “How—what are you?”

The angel turned to answer and Morgan’s jaw dropped in recognition. “You’re—you’re her!“

Syn stared at the woman she had just saved. The woman whose life she’d accidentally destroyed, Lawrence’s fiance. Oh shit, she thought.

“Look out!” shouted Grankitty. Syn turned just in time to catch the vine that lashed out at her. Her hand flared with light and it crumbled—but more were coming. A mass of them had emerged from the Beast’s hair, which still floated serenely along as if nothing had happened. As Syn dodged or struck the vines lashing at her, the mass of vines took on a vaguely human shape, and then congealed into the form of the beautiful woman whose head Syn had just punched off.

“Okay, what?” asked Morgan.

Fuck, Syn thought. She... it’s so hot. I wonder what it would feel like to touch her—skin? Wood?

“Syn!” Grankitty called out. “Pay attention!”

Syn looked down. Vines twined toward her, wrapping around her legs. The beautiful Beast was focused on her entirely now, ignoring all the other people on the street who had been freed when Syn destroyed its head. Of course, Syn thought. It’s hungry, and I’m a feast. The vines were cool, smooth, hard, delicious against the bare skin of her legs.

I could destroy them, Syn thought. Just a little magic in my feet... just have to concentrate... Her eyes tracked slowly up the Beast’s body. If she looked closely at its feet, she could see where the vines emerged from the sole, dug into the ground to spring up elsewhere. Her eyes traveled up its legs, so perfect, so smooth. She wanted to run her hand up its thighs, kiss them, lick them. She wanted to cup its breasts, feel their weight, the nipples in her palms. She wanted those perfect lips against her own breasts, between her own legs, licking, stroking, sucking...

The vines finished climbing Syn’s legs, reached her pussy, and she gasped in pleasure. It was entirely unlike the feeling of being fucked by the other Beast; that had been a fullness, a pressure; this was ten thousand tiny caresses at once, a gentle suction that overwhelmed her entirely with pleasure.

She cried out as she came, and the Beast cried out too, the first noise it had made, as it vanished.

Morgan stared down at the young girl crumpled on the sidewalk. She looked like the angelic being who had stood there a moment before, but if Morgan hadn’t seen the transformation she’d have written it off as a coincidence. It was like the difference between a picture of a movie star in a magazine, and seeing a friend who everyone said looked “just like” that movie star. The girl on the sidewalk looked just like the angel, but nobody would ever think they were one and the same if they didn’t already know.

Also she had a stuffed animal in her boobs that could talk, but Morgan had reached her limit of strangeness and would think about that later.

Morgan grabbed the girl’s arm as she stood. “Listen,” she said. “Come with me, we need to talk.”

Cynthia sighed. She didn’t want to, but she probably owed it to the woman after what she’d accidentally done to her, and anyway she wanted to get away from here as quickly as possible, before people started showing up and asking questions. “OK,” she said reluctantly. “Where?”

That’s a good question, thought Morgan. But there really was only one answer—one person left she still sort of trusted, especially now that it became clear something very weird really was up with the woman he’d been with. “Lawrence’s,” she said.

* * *