The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Laura’s tongue gave another long stroke of Camille’s pussy. Camille purred as she lifted her head to make eye contact with Laura. The two smiled at each other, but as Laura’s tongue found Camille’s clit, she moaned and threw her head back. Both of her hands pressed against the back of Laura’s head, twisting her fingers in Laura’s hair.

Behind her, Laura could hear the new girl, Abby, reading tonight’s poem. This one was titled, “Substitution.” Laura had read it a dozen times. Camille said it was written as she waited for Laura K to return her affections. There was an agonizing period of time for her when Laura K knew about her, knew what she wanted sexually and carnally, knew she was a vampire and a huntress, but still didn’t care. She showed no interest in Camille as a lover or as a monster. She was amused by Camille; Camille sucked the boredom from Laura K’s life, but she didn’t care for her nor did she fear her.

One can trick the senses:

Something sickly can smell sweet.

The mind may fail the body.

But the blood knows.

It knows this young girl

Is not what I crave.

Abby was the new girl. She had dark brown skin, curly black hair, and huge thick glasses. She was adorable and nerdy. Camille had charged Laura and Miss Lancaster with finding a new reader for the Muse Sessions. They found her online. They brought her in for an interview, and once Laura saw her, she knew she wanted to eat the girl up. She was hired that day.

Laura wasn’t used to her predatory urges yet. She told Claire she had gotten violently ill that day. She hadn’t returned her friend’s phone calls in the week since it happened. But, apparently, her urges weren’t limited to Claire. Suddenly, Angelica looked delicious to her. She hoped Miss Lancaster would drop something so she could see her bend over. She felt like a pervert. Wherever she went, she imagined women naked, on their knees, their necks exposed, their pussies bare and shaved, their bodies begging for Laura to do whatever she wanted with them. It was intoxicating and terrifying at the same time. She felt like a monster.

She spent as much time as she could locked up in her room. She avoided everyone, even abandoning her search for Nikki. She wanted to fuck Nikki, but she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to stop herself at just fucking. Without controlling it, she was afraid she’d bite Nikki or something worse. It was best for everyone if she stayed in her room and came out whenever Camille wanted to see her, which was more and more often these days as they worked on their book for Laura K. Luckily, she didn’t have to hold back with Camille. If she wanted to bite, hard, Camille encouraged her.

Her blood is sweet,

But it ought be bitter.

There should be copper

And pillars of salt

If I look back.

She waited in the village

For a young lord I was.

She waited for a lover

Whose tongue I surpassed.

Camille pulled on Laura’s head, wanting her to climb up her Mistress’ body. Laura obeyed, climbing on top of Camille and kissing her. She kept her hands below, both ministering to Camille’s pussy while Abby read.

If Abby was bothered by the Muse Session, she didn’t show it. This was her first one, and her reading was good. She was steady, not distracted by the two lesbians fucking in front of her, compelled by the power of Marcilla’s words.

Lesbian. It was a word Laura was still getting used to, but it seemed to fit now better than anything else. She didn’t feel the hunger to fuck or consume when she looked at men. Jacques did nothing for her. She tried looking up porn on her phone, but it all did nothing for her. Everything seemed too fake, so forced, compared to what she did with Camille each night. They were all trying too hard to replicate what Camille did naturally by the strength of her personality.

She waited as I waited

Both of us burning with the hunt

Panting with the same frustration

As the divine escapes us.

Her last breath is the same prayer

I say for you each night.

“Please,” we both cry out.

But your silence answers.

Camille’s body went rigid as the poem ended. With both hands, she gripped Laura’s arm, the one that had two fingers deep in Camille’s pussy and one thumb rubbing Camille’s clit. She wanted Laura to stop as the sensation built, but Laura kept her thumb moving. Camille’s nails started to bite into Laura’s arm, but Laura didn’t stop. She loved to see Camille in the rush of orgasm, paralyzed by pleasure, held for a moment, by the spell of Laura’s touch.

Finally, Camille gasped and let go. Laura released her Mistress and fell to her side, placing her head into the nook of Camille’s body. Camille normally liked some gentle aftercare from one of their sessions, but Laura didn’t know what happened when someone else read the poems. Normally, if she wasn’t kept from finishing by Camille tackling her to the ground, she blacked out whenever she finished a poem …

Laura sat up. Sure enough, in the chair for the reader, adorable little Abby was passed out.

“What happened to her?”

Camille didn’t sit up. “She’s under Marcilla’s spell.”

“The poem did that?”

“Yes.”

“It did that to me?”

“Of course. It does that to all my readers.” Camille rolled over languidly, like a cat.

“Why?” asked Laura.

“What do you think about the Muse Session inspires me, pet?” asked Camille. She sat up on the edge of the bed.

“The poetry? It turns you on and then the sex, right? It’s all about the sex?”

“I do love the sex, and the poems do remind me of my goal, of getting back to Laura. But have you written much in your life?”

“Not really …” muttered Laura. She blushed. She wanted to be a writer, but she had no credible or considerable body of work.

“Journals perhaps?”

“Oh, dozens of those. They don’t count, do they?”

“For this, they do. How do you feel when you read old journal entries?”

“Like an idiot,” said Laura. She stood up and went over to the corner of the room, where her robe was. She gestured to it, and Camille nodded, granting her permission to cover herself.

“It’s like that with most writing. You write it and feel like a genius. You may even publish it and feel twice that. But one day, you inevitably read your old work. It is painful. It’s embarrassing. I imagine hell for writers is simply hearing their works read to them, unable to edit for eternity.”

“So, it’s not the poetry,” said Laura as she put on the robe.

“No,” said Camille. She stood and crossed over to Abby. She stood behind the young girl. “The Muse Sessions do inspire me. The poetry puts a spell over the room. It draws out our lust. It lowers our inhibitions. It stirs our imagination. Ultimately, one of its main goals is to put cuties like young Abby here to sleep.”

Camille slapped Abby’s face gently. Abby didn’t stir. She poked her, shook her, and then slapped Abby much much harder. Abby didn’t stir at all. She instead slept soundly and quietly, caught helplessly in Marcilla’s spell.

“The fact is, the Muse Sessions could go by another name if it wouldn’t scare everyone away.”

“What’s that?” asked Laura, stepping closer to Abby and Camille.

“Dinner Time,” said Camille. She smiled widely, showing her long fangs.

Laura gasped and held her breath as she watched Camille cross in front of Abby. She undid the girl’s pants and rolled down her jeans. There, she leaned in and placed her face right above the inside of Abby’s thighs. She bent down and gave the soft thighs a tender kiss. She looked back at Laura, smiled, opened her mouth, and dug in.

As she did, Laura felt a sting on her inner thigh. She reached a hand down and found two small bumps, no larger than mosquito bites, on the inside of her legs, where her thighs would touch if she stood straight up. At first, she was repulsed to see Camille bite and feast on the girl. It felt wrong. Abby hadn’t consented. She didn’t know what Camille was doing to her when she passed out. Then again, who would consent to being bitten by a vampire? And wasn’t this a better alternative than dying from Camille’s bloodthirst?

The sting turned into warmth as Laura watched. She wasn’t repulsed. She was jealous. She felt her thighs heat up, the same spot where Camille had bitten her dozens of time. She imagined it now, herself passed out, Angelica and Miss Lancaster or whoever was joining them that day were sprawled out, exhausted from serving and fucking Camille, while she bit and drank from an unconscious Laura. They must have known, all of them, what Camille was. They were all in on it, all watching her pathetic and lifeless body as she was food for someone more powerful, more attractive, more talented, more sexual than her.

Her fantasy had come true. Camille, Marcilla, had bitten her, but she wasn’t awake for it. Laura whimpered, hoping to get Camille’s attention. She wanted to tell her that they didn’t need to play these games. She would offer herself up willingly. Whenever Camille wanted, she would let her Mistress drink from her veins.

But Camille couldn’t be distracted. She was different now: stronger, more confident, more rude. When Camille finished, she stood and went into the bathroom to clean the blood from her mouth. She didn’t say anything to Laura. She buzzed for Jacques, and the large frenchman came in to carry Abby back to her room. When she was done cleaning up, she waved a hand to Laura, dismissing her, and sat down to write. As she moved, there was a glow about her.

It should have terrified Laura. It should have made her feel hurt or rejected. It should have paralyzed her with horror and disgust. But it didn’t. All it did was make her wet. She grabbed her things and scampered off to her room. She couldn’t wait for privacy to touch herself; she started while she walked.

Laura learned much of Camille’s private life over the next few weeks. She learned her Mistress’ routines and preferences. For example, Camille was not in her office throughout the day, she was asleep. Though she hated the cliche, and with technology she could get around it, she slept during the day and worked at night. While she slept, she left the previous bout of writing for Laura to work on and edit. They discussed it while Laura ate and talked about what Camille was going to write about that night. Then they had their Muse Session, which Laura now referred to as Dinner Time in her head, and Camille wrote while Laura slept.

Together, they were working on a romance story. They wanted it to evoke certain elements of the romance between Laura K and Marcilla. They suspected that would draw Laura K in and pique her interest. It would be a vampire romance, which was in vogue. They thought of making it a lesbian story, but unfortunately, lesbian stories don’t sell as well. It needed to be a great novel, but also a novel that would sell well. The wider it spread, the more likely it was to find Laura K.

What Laura had to wrestle with each day was that there was a distinct difference between Marcilla and Camille. Camille wanted everyone to refer to her as Camille. She referenced Marcilla as a way of referencing her past, as a way of talking about “the woman I used to be.”

But it was more than a game of names. Camille had different mannerisms and behaviors than Marcilla purportedly did. She was not as domineering or detached as Marcilla appeared to be in her poems. Camille was compassionate, flirty, and funny. There was a sense of insecurity from her. She needed those around her. She wanted company and needed help. She wasn’t a lone huntress stalking prey in the woods of Eastern Europe. She was more complex than that, but at the same time, less fascinating than that.

Laura had been seduced by Marcilla. There was a woman in her mind, a monster, a nightmare, that could destroy her. It wanted Laura’s body, not her mind. It wanted flesh: hot, wet, and red flesh. It didn’t care about Laura’s happiness or health. It wasn’t interested in a relationship or romance. It wanted to hunt, and Laura wanted to be prey. Marcilla should have been heartless and cruel, but Camille could only be that when pushed. She was a shadow of Marcilla.

But she was Laura’s Mistress now. She was her lover, partner, and employer. Laura found herself connected to Camille, but always holding some part of herself back. She was waiting for the monster to show up. Then, she would throw herself on the ground and offer herself to it. It would sow destruction and oblivion, and Laura would reap all her fantasies.

Laura still held out hope that there was a way to bring back Marcilla. Perhaps, if she could make herself as alluring as Laura K. If she was aloof and detached. If she held back every desire and urge to throw herself on her knees and plead with Camille, maybe then she could evoke the monster she fell in love with. Maybe if she connected Camille back with Laura K, Marcilla would return. Or perhaps, if she failed Camille and Laura K was never coming back, maybe then Marcilla would return.

It was exactly this, hoping to summon Camille’s wrath and thus bring back Marcilla, that led Laura to sneaking around the estate. She wanted to find out what happened to Nikki. No one had answered her questions as she explored, and perhaps if she was caught doing something she shouldn’t, Camille would be properly upset.

Laura wanted to wander the long hallways of the estate, looking for answers, but she didn’t want to summon the wrath of Angelica or Miss Lancaster. More importantly, she didn’t want to summon her own lust and find herself humping and biting her co-workers. This meant that Laura slowly allowed her sleep schedule to become a bit more nocturnal. She woke up, discussed the previous notes with Camille, had Dinner Time, and worked or wandered the halls in the dead of night. She slept when Camille slept. She explored while Camille was distracted and the others were asleep. It was perfect.

One night, while she was on the fourth floor, heard a door slam somewhere in the estate. At first, Laura’s instinct was to hide. She thought someone was coming for her. Even if they weren’t, surely Miss Lancaster or Angelica would be coming towards the sound. If it was Nikki, kept on some hidden corner of the estate, Miss Lancaster and Angelica didn’t want her to know about it. They avoided every question about Nikki besides to say that Nikki was sick and would come back in a few weeks.

Laura ducked into one of the nearby closets that held cleaning supplies. She carefully closed the door behind her and held her breath. She counted in her head, wanting to know exactly how much time passed. One minute. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Nothing happened. No one came.

With her heart thudding against her chest, Laura opened the door to the closet and crept back through the hallways in the direction of the sound. It could be Nikki. If it was anybody else, they would send Laura back to her room. They may be on to her snooping around then, but she had to take the risk.

Laura came to one of the staircases at the side of the building. She was on the top floor, so this was a dead end. If the sound wasn’t here, she didn’t know where it came from. But as she approached the staircase, she saw a thin woman, almost a girl, with white silver hair. It was short, hovering just above her shoulders in a platinum blonde that caught the moonlight. She had a simple white cotton dress on. It made her look young, almost eighteen, but something about her face didn’t fit. It looked wiser than a girl’s face, more mature and sharper around the edges. She looked out the window, over the trees outside the estate.

“I can hear you,” she said as Laura approached.

Laura froze.

“If I can, that means the others probably can too,” she said.

“Who are you?” asked Laura.

The girl turned her sharp green eyes to meet Laura’s. “You sure you want to know?” The girl’s voice was soft, but there was something off about it. It felt detached, far away, like the girl was incredibly sleepy.

Laura almost whimpered when she saw her. The hunger stirred in her. She liked what she saw. The girl looked innocent enough to eat. Laura imagined pressing her up against the window and nibbling her neck. The girl’s skin looked soft, like paper. She could bite through it and draw blood. Precious blood.

Laura shook her head, shaking off the fantasy. “Are you sleepwalking?” she asked. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Emma. Who are you?”

“My name is Laura.” She stepped closer to girl, but she saw Emma tense up. Emma’s eyes darted past Laura and down the hall. “It’s okay,” added Laura. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You should be asleep, Laura,” said the girl. “Dangerous things come out a night.”

“How do you know I’m not one of them?” joked Laura.

Emma smiled.

“Do you live here?” asked Laura.

Emma’s smile wilted. She turned back to the window. “There used to be an orchard outside,” she said. “Why isn’t there an orchard anymore?”

“I don’t know,” said Laura. “Do you live here, Emma?”

Another door opened and slammed somewhere in the estate. Laura and Emma both looked at each other, afraid. Emma bolted like a deer past Laura before Laura could turn. Laura turned to run and lost track of Emma around a corner immediately, but she wasn’t worried about Emma. She didn’t want to be caught. She started trying to map out how to get back to her room without being seen or caught.

She never saw who opened the door downstairs. She never saw where Emma ran off to. The last thought she had as she quietly closed the door behind her was that Emma was the girl in white, the girl Nikki and her had talked about. Nikki had found out who Emma was right before she disappeared.

Finding out more about Emma was either the perfect way to disappear along with Nikki, or it was the perfect thing to stir Marcilla out of Camille.

Angelica joined them for tonight’s Muse Session. Laura found Angelica joining her more and more often since she discovered Emma. Angelica would check up on her occassionally, knocking on the door and coming in, even if Laura was asleep. She’d ask if Laura needed anything, and then quietly slip away. She was staying up later, matching her sleep schedule along with Laura’s. She may not have been caught that night, but her actions weren’t unnoticed.

Abby had already finished her poem and was passed out in the chair. Camille hadn’t cum with the poem, and Laura and Angelica were doing their best to rectify that. Angelica was kissing Camille and playing with her Mistress’ breasts. Meanwhile, Laura was in her place, between Camille’s legs, serving her pussy.

“Yes,” moaned Camille. “Serve me.”

“Yes, Mistress,” moaned Angelica.

Laura looked up. Normally, she felt Angelica wasn’t quite her type. She was a bit too short and stocky. Laura didn’t like girls with hair that short. Angelica wasn’t classically sexy, and part of that was intentional. Angelica didn’t care about makeup or fashion. She wasn’t trying to attract anyone’s attention. She dedicated herself to serving and pleasing her mistress, which she did very well.

But now, with the hunger fresh in her veins, Laura loved what she saw. Angelica was so soft and eager. She was desperate to please. She was needy in all the right ways. She’d be delicious to take, to bend over. Laura imagined herself looming over Angelica. The short blonde would be collared, on her knees, of course. Laura would be in heels and leather. Or latex. Mmm … yes. Latex. She’d grab the back of Angelica’s head and shove her face into her pussy. Angelica didn’t need to talk. She just needed to serve. She’d serve until she passed out. Laura wouldn’t let her come up for air. Yes. That’s right. She’d choke her on pussy and then bite the poor girl while she was passed out. She’d do it. Angelica would be a good girl and do whatever Laura wanted.

Laura shook her head. She turned away from Angelica and brought her focus back to Camille’s pussy. She couldn’t get distracted like that. She almost got up and tackled Angelica, taking matters into her own hands. Her lust and hunger were getting stronger each day, and sitting on her knees serving Camille wasn’t satisfying it. This wasn’t enough. She was too hungry for this.

Laura knew then that she would either become Marcilla or be devoured by Marcilla. There was no third way for this to end for her.

As she got back to work, she heard Angelica stop sucking Camille’s breasts, but she didn’t look up. She couldn’t risk the hunger taking her over. She heard Angelica give a hiss of pleasure or pain, and then there was a loud slurping sound. Laura tried to stay focused, tried not to look away, but the copper smell of blood filled the room, and she gave into the temptation.

Angelica held out her wrist to Camille. Camille’s mouth was pressed against the wrist while she eagerly slurped. Angelica’s eyes were closed, and she kept hissing at the pain of it. Occasionally, her hiss would melt into a kind of moan, and Angelica’s hips would pulse forward, eager to grind against something. Laura kept her eyes as best she could on Camille’s mouth, where tiny rivulets of blood dripped down her chin and onto her neck.

Laura stopped licking altogether. She found herself captivated. She was jealous, so jealous, but she didn’t know who she wanted to be. She could be Angelica, the devoured, or she could be Camille, the devourer.

Laura’s hand moved quickly to her pussy. She was soaked. She wasted no time. Immediately, three fingers went in deep as she pumped away, mesmerized by the gorey display. Angelica had the same thought; the blonde’s hand snaked to her pussy and she fucked herself while Camille ate her.

The room was soaked with the smell of blood and lust. All three women were hungry for different reasons, for different things, but each appetite was for the body. The body was life, and life was in the body. Take the body and find life. Find life in the body.

Camille’s hand snaked through Laura’s hair and pulled tight. Laura’s head tilted back as she met the sharp green eyes of her Mistress. She felt her mind slowly dim, like the lights were turning off. Slowly, Angelica’s image became blurry and disappeared altogether. The room became fuzzy and disappeared. There was only Camille until she too became blurry, and there was only Camille’s pussy.

“You are a tongue, not a mind,” said Camille. The words reverberated and echoed in Laura’s mind. She was a tongue, not a mind. A mind cares and prefers. A tongue moves and serves. It serves the mind. It serves other minds, real minds. Minds like Camille’s mind.

The tongue lowered itself back to Camille’s pussy. It served. It always served its purpose. There was no reason to worry, no reason to desire, no reason to hunger. There was only the service.

Laura was permitted the pleasure of pumping her pussy furiously while she licked Camille to orgasm. She heard the first orgasm from Camille, and she came along with her. Laura orgasmed a second time when Angelica did. She came a third time when she saw Camille bite her reader, Abby, though blurred vision. She came again and again because she obeyed, because she served.