The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Eyna wanted to run, or to fall on her knees.

The small part of her that was not adrenaline nor fear recognized that the demon had told her to draw near.

Trembling, Eyna managed to walk slowly forward.

The statue—but it was not a statue—drew herself up, sliding from her reclining position to a sitting one, laying her crystal orb to the side. Her eyes never blinked, never wavered from Eyna.

Human. You may... speak.

The demon’s lips never moved; Eyna heard the voice in her head, feminine, sibilant. She swallowed and worked her suddenly parched mouth.

“I... are you... a.... a demon?”

The demon shifted a little, moving her head and shoulders like a snake considering its prey.

I? I am the Gardener. I am the Cycle. I am Rebirth. I kill, and I give life. I am Green, and I am Red. I am She who Sows, and She who Reaps. I am the Growth which Consumes. I am: Khuluub.

The name sent a shiver through Eyna’s entire body, a shiver of dread but also of... sensuality.

The wheel has turned, little mortal. The spring returns; the sprout lifts its head from the muck. Long have I dozed here, alone. But now mortals have returned to my demesne, and I awake to receive them.

Eyna’s body shuddered again. She knew, suddenly, that she was here at a great and terrible moment.

The demon—Khuluub—cupped her lower hands and squeezed her bottom-most pair of breasts together. A long tongue slipped from her lips and ran across pointed teeth.

And you, mortal? Why are you here, to meet me at my moment of wakening?

Eyna opened her mouth, but all that emerged was a long, sibilant sigh. She felt groggy, and shook her head. The air danced with perfume.

“I,” Eyna tried again. “I was running. Away. From my captors.”

Yes, the demon replied, the final sound a long, hissing ‘s’. I see it in your mind. You are far from your birth-home, and the ones you love have been destroyed. You serve now to slake the lusts of men—not for love, nor life, but for coin.

Khuluub’s upper arms rose above her head and the hands folded back, as though she were dancing.

I am merciless, mortal, came her words in Eyna’s mind, but I am not capricious. You will choose now. You may go; leave this place and descend to whatever fate awaits you. Or... you may become my slave. I am awake again and I shall take hold of my instruments. You may be one of them.

Her hands moved, slowly curling around each other, her arms twisting and stretching. It was almost hypnotic; Eyna wondered if Khuluub were ensorcelling her, but then realized that she need not resort to trickery. Eyna had no means of resisting anything the demon wished to do.

Khuluub’s lower hands ran down her belly and brushed lightly across her mons, and for the first time Eyna’s eyes went to the demon’s sex. It was bare, unadorned, her nether lips a dusky color several shades darker than her brick-red skin.

Eyna’s vision swam, briefly, and she looked away.

Choose, mortal. It will please me if you become mine; I shall think no more on you if you do not.

Khuluub’s hands ceased their dancing; one upper hand curled into a fist and the other wrapped around it, and together they rested against her fanged mouth.

Eyna squeezed her own hands together.

She could see the cost. Khuluub would have her squeeze the blood from human hearts, to water Khuluub’s garden.

Could she do that? Could she become this demon mother’s knife?

Was it worth her soul?

Eyna drew herself up, stiffening her back.

She made her choice.

“I give myself to you,” she said. “I shall do what you want; and I shall become what you wish me to be.”

The demon smiled, and seemed to swell even larger. Her upper arms spread in welcome.

Then come, Khuluub told her.

Eyna walked forward, heart racing.

Khuluub’s lower set of hands went to her lowest pair of breasts again, and squeezed. A pale green milk trickled from dusky nipples.

My teats give milk, Khuluub said, and my teats give poison. Which do you choose?

“Both,” Eyna replied, stopping at Khuluub’s knee and looking up.

Yes, the demon said, and her voice almost sounded like a smile, I shall train you into a marvelous instrument indeed.

Her lower arms took gentle hold of Eyna, picking her up like a child, and brought Eyna up to the top of her chest.

The smell of Khuluub’s skin was warm, like a garden walkway in the midday sun, a scent of brick and flower and green leaf. Eyna felt helpless and yet protected in her arms.

An areola the size of Eyna’s hand was next to her face, the nipple erect and dewed with pale green droplets. Eyna turned, took the giant breast in both hands, and began to suck.

Insects hummed and birds called as Eyna emerged from the jungle.

Her encounter with her Mistress still swam in Eyna’s mind as she stared, blinking, across the cleared fields of mud.

What she was to do had been planted in her mind; and it made Eyna feel warm and strong that she no longer cared even if she died. She had her purpose and she would obey it. Her love for Khuluub had cleansed her of other cares. Whatever Loro or Tremona or the guards would do to her was irrelevant now. Only Khuluub mattered.

And Loro would be doing things to her, because Eyna was looking across the cleared earth at the wooden walls of Torr Gyn.

Twelve years ago, when King Yvend had granted the entire Trasdemere to Mark-Lord Feyne as a reward for his service in conquering Uetta, it was an uninhabited, trackless jungle. A handful of wildermen made their way in to harvest rare spices and medicinal herbs; farmers along the previous southern edge of the Uttermark cut a few ells from the jungle edges and grew tropical fruits.

Feyne’s third son had changed that. Perrer Feyne, with little chance to inherit, was as cunning as his four brothers put together. He had prevailed upon his father to enfeoff the entire Trasdemere to him, contingent on settling it and providing forty gold reins of income to the Uttermark treasury within twenty years.

He had done it in eight.

The land around Torr Gyn was free, if you could clear it. Plants whose value elsewhere in the kingdom was greater than a plowhorse grew there easily and well, provided they got constant weeding and the thin soil around each plant was fertilized twice a year; and harvesting their fibrous stalks or thorny husks wore through gloves like rain melting a mud brick.

All problems that the legalization of slavery had neatly solved.

The kingdom’s constant wars needed to be paid for; and the kingdom’s relentless expansion to the north meant that captives were being taken all the time. King Yvend’s father had taken the obvious step to legalize the slave trade. Perrer Feyne had created the perfect opportunity to use it.

Torr Gyn and the plantations were a machine for turning slaves into money.

The hasty, get-it-built nature of Torr Gyn was obvious at any distance. A wooden palisade surrounded the town, rough-hewn trunks hammered into the earth with slipshod parapets and ramps lashed on behind. There were no enemies in the Trasdemere, and a sturdy door was enough to keep out the predators that would pull a man away in his sleep; the wall was there to enable Perrer Feyne to collect his taxes on goods brought to the trade station inside.

The land was free. Selling one’s goods involved a tax.

The area around Torr Gyn was kept cleared of trees to a distance of fifty ells purely for visibility; it was not farmed, aside from kitchen gardens. The soil was better closer to the river, and the plantations spread out in that direction like a spilled ale on a dirty floor.

Eyna shuffled across the rutted mud of the cleared area, feeling light headed. In her mind she was lost in Khuluub’s embrace, her mouth kissing Khuluub’s warm flesh, but her body was on the edge of collapse, tattered and starving.

She had almost reached the gate before the dozing guard spotted her.

“Hey! Who the fuck are you?”

Eyna approached him, weaving slightly.

“What in the six hells...?” he asked, as she slumped against the palisade wall.

“I’m,” she started to say, then felt dizzy.

“I belong to Tremona. I’m her slaaaave...”

She tipped forward and the guard caught her. A second guard had emerged from the ill-hung wooden door, a fingernail working his teeth.

“Hey Ulrick,” said the guard holding Eyna, “get a load of this. I got pussy just coming out of the jungle and giving itself to me!”

“Atra’s Balls. It’s a good thing, that’s the only way you’ll ever get any!”

“Har har.” The soldier looked down at Eyna, who was limp in his arms. “Well shit, you think I can keep her?”

The other soldier stood next to his companion and looked her over. “Nah. Said she’s a slave, didn’t she? Belongs to Tremona... that’s that whoremistress at the Red Sail. She finds out you’ve got her property, next time you’re dipping your wick over there it’ll get right trimmed.”

“Yeah, but I won’t need to go there if I’ve got this at home.”

“Don’t be stupid. First of all, she’s half dead. Second, once she wasn’t half dead, she’d run right off. Best take her to Tremona, tell her about the fee for returning runaways, and see if she’d give you a freebie with a live girl if you let it slide.”

The soldier holding Eyna frowned. “There’s a fee for returning slaves?”

The second soldier laughed. “There is if you fucking say there is! Get it?”

After a moment, they both laughed. Then the first guard hoisted Eyna over his shoulder and carried her inside.

Eyna awoke between clean sheets, in a shady room, with the window open.

She looked around. The room was new wood, rough-cut, hung with cloth to make the walls look more decorative. There was a smell of smoke, and incense, and perfume. If she listened, she could hear the faint sound of...

...fucking.

She must be in the whorehouse.

Eyna rose up on her elbows and looked around again. Actual pillows, sheets, some furnishings. She actually recognized some of the linens from Tremona’s house in Gildor City, so there was no doubt about where she was. She scrutinized the room—it couldn’t be her room, with her being a slave whore, but it wasn’t nice enough for Tremona and clearly it didn’t belong to Loro.

The fucking sounds intensified. Someone was plying her trade just on the other side of the wall.

The door to the room opened.

“Ah. You’re awake,” said a silhouetted figure.

It was Tremona—Loro hovering at her elbow.

The whoremistress and her whiphand entered the room.

“How are you feeling?”

“I, uh, I feel okay,” Eyna replied.

Tremona pulled up a wooden chair, turned it around, and sat down, resting her arms on the back of the chair. She fixed Eyna with her dark brown eyes; her mouth was a straight slash in her weathered face.

“Why did you come back?”

Eyna blinked guilelessly. “I... where would I go? That monster attacked us and I ran away, and then I got lost in the jungle.”

Loro’s lip curled. “You mean, you ran away when you thought you could escape, and then discovered there was nothing to eat out there.”

Eyna shook her head. “That giant bug thing was going to eat me. I just... I was really scared.”

Tremona gave her a long, level look. Eyna sat still.

“Well,” Tremona finally said, “are you going to give me any more trouble? Running off into the jungle?”

Eyna shook her head vigorously. “Oh, no. It’s frightening out there. And... well, there is nothing to eat.“

“That’s right. So here’s how things will be. This town is a gold mine; everyone’s got money and no one has pussy. Princess is in charge of your bookings, she’ll do the haggling and she’ll collect the money. You’re still pretty cut up, so I’m going to give you the rest of the week working in the laundry to give your skin time to heal up more.”

Tremona paused, so Eyna interjected “Oh, thank you!”

“Yeah. You can thank me by working hard, we’re taking in almost as much doing laundry as I’m getting from any two whores. None of the cocks around here can clean for shit. I’m putting aside a penny a day from takings for you and the other slaves to buy your freedom; for all the trouble you put me to—you’ve been sleeping here in the captain’s suite for three days—I’m going to dock you fifty pence. You’ll go back in rotation on Saturday.”

“Yes, Tremona.”

Tremona stood up. “That’s right.” Her expression softened. “Look, Eyna, I think we’ve hit a good thing here, and I don’t want you getting hurt or running off into the jungle again. You pull in the coin for me and I’ll treat you right. Got it?”

“Yes, Tremona. Absolutely.”

“Good. You can stay here tonight, then tomorrow you’ll be back sleeping in the slaves’ room. If you need food, you can get some in the scullery downstairs. Don’t go outside of the house.”

“Yes, Tremona.”

The whoremistress gave her a suspicious look, then shrugged. “I’m glad you’re back,” she said, and left the room.

Loro followed, but paused in the door to shoot Eyna a dark look. Then he slipped out and closed the door behind himself. Hard.

The “captain’s suite” was a room reserved for men who paid extra or otherwise deserved special treatment—the captain of the watch, the merchant who kept the Red Sail in ale and perfume, noble friends of Lord Perrer Feyne who might do Tremona some favors at the royal household.

Eyna’s actual “bedroom” was a space little bigger than her single bed, a straw-filled bag on the floor, with hung curtains as walls to separate her from the other slave whores. The slaves’ room was in actuality just that—a single large room, curtained into a score of alcoves for sleeping. But at least the space was hers; the beds on which she and the others worked were upstairs. Men did not come down here—other than Loro.

The other slaves kept little mementos and treasures in their rooms—drawings or cheap jewelry, mementos of some small amount of good in their lives. Noebe had a small box in which was a map and some shells from the land far to the south and east from whence she had been kidnapped as a babe. Linor had a pillow with a cotton pillowcase, given her by one of her customers.

Eyna had nothing aside from her clothes.

She worked in the laundry for the rest of the week, scrubbing and rinsing until her hands were wrinkled as an elephant’s hide. A fuck with a set of clean clothes at the end of it was apparently a popular proposition in Torr Gyn, a town of soldiers, traders, and itinerant craftsmen—and no families. The plantations had women—mostly slaves—but here in town the populace was almost entirely male, and the whorehouses did a roaring business.

The Red Sail—Eyna wasn’t sure where Tremona had picked the name from—was one of the better houses, charging more, with beds whose sheets were washed every day or two and girls on about the same schedule. Most of the girls were slaves, but there were also a couple of free women who paid Tremona a rent for their own, slightly larger rooms, and put more effort into their solicitations, aiming for repeat clientele rather than a quick fuck from any soldier who had gambled his way into some coin.

On Saturday, Eyna resumed fucking.

Princess was a free woman, an employee of Tremona’s who also whored. During working hours, she took men’s coin and gave them a red chit with a number on it; the number of the room with a slave in it, ready for them to fuck.

Tonight Eyna was in room number eight.

She lay on the bed, covered by a sheet; beneath it she was nude. The free whores had some lingerie and other garments to entice, but the slave whores had none such.

The door opened without a knock.

A soldier came in. He was unshaven, and he licked his lips as he looked at Eyna, closing the door behind him.

“All right, cunt,” he said, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

Eyna smiled demurely. “Of course, Master,” she replied, rising slowly, letting the sheet catch on her nipples before sliding off. His eyes widened, as did his smile, and he fumbled with his belt.

“Oh, no, Master,” Eyna said, “let me do that.” He looked puzzled for a moment as Eyna crouched to approach him, dropping to her knees, then deftly undid his belt and untied his pants. She slid them down his legs with her hands as his already full erection sprang upward.

Judging by his clothes, he was just a regular soldier; at his pay rate he probably hadn’t had sex for weeks.

“Oh, how wonderful” Eyna said, looking at his cock, then up at him with wide eyes. “Can I... can I lick it?“

He shuddered, and nodded.

She smiled and looked at his penis again. “What a wonderful cock,” she said, and breathed on it, then gently took the tip in her mouth.

He groaned.

She sucked on him a little, licking under the shaft, ringing her lips forward and backward. At least he’d washed recently. She paused a moment to look up at him and whisper “Put your hands on my head, Master”, then went back to sucking, her hands wrapping around his furry thighs.

His hands came down on her head gently, and his fingertips twitched against her skull as she sucked him deeper and with more force.

Then he was coming, spurting once, twice, a half dozen times into her mouth. She kept his penis in her mouth until he was finished, licking underneath with her tongue, then leaned backward.

“Oh,” he sighed, leaning back against the door. “Fuck, that felt good.” He looked down at her, and his mouth twisted in a wry expression. “You’re good,” he said. “Three minutes and I’ve shot my load. That’s a pretty good rate for your coin.”

Eyna put on a hurt expression. “What do you mean, Master?”

His face hardened. “Don’t play stupid,” he spat. “I know the rules. One per customer. The evidence is on your cheek, and going soft in your hand. Else that pimp of yours will be in here with his knife.”

“One per customer,” Eyna nodded, her eyes wide and innocent. With a fingernail, she scraped the cum off of her cheek and popped it into her mouth. “But that was just taking the edge off. Surely your coin is worth more?”

He seemed unsure, so Eyna rose and began to work the clasps of his shirt. “Y-you’re...?” he managed, then shrugged.

Eyna quickly had him nude, then turned and walked past the bed. She bent over—being sure the soldier got a good view between her legs—and picked up the pitcher and bowl.

“If we’re going to make love,” she said, dabbing the sponge into the water, “I’d like to clean your body, first. May I, Master?”

His deflating penis twitched, and he nodded.

Her eyes demurely downcast, Eyna knelt and began to run the soft sponge over his body. Soon she was following it with kisses, swiping the sponge and then giving a soft line of kisses behind.

His breathing picked up as she ran the sponge, and her mouth, across his chest, his sides, his back. She worked around his lower back and then came around in front of him again; his penis was already stiff and straining once more.

“Such a wonderful thing,” she breathed, and ran the sponge all around his cock.

She looked up at him; his face was flushed.

“Master,” she said, “I need you inside me. Would you like to take me from behind, or shall I lie upon the bed?”

He chose.

“What did you fucking see in the that jungle?” Princess asked.

Eyna looked up from her bowl of broth. “What?”

The free whore was standing at the head of the table where the slaves were having their post-closing meal. “Three guys came in asking for you. For you,” she said. “specifically. Friend of theirs apparently recommended you.“

Princess motioned Linor out of the way and sat down on the bench opposite Eyna. On either side of her, Noebe and Yliss pretended not to pay attention while straining to hear every word.

Princess ignored them. “Loro was pissed off because you were fucking too slow, but fuck him, what does he know. What were you doing? You’re a slave, you don’t get repeat business.”

“I don’t...” Eyna shrugged. “I’m a whore. I... I see what you do, what Wylla does, how you treat the men, and I thought I should try that. I don’t want to be a slave all my life, maybe I could be like you, and... maybe make some money? Buy myself? And besides... it’s fucking. It’s not that bad. I make him happy, he treats me nice.”

Princess nodded, slowly. “Yeah, yeah. But what were you doing?”

Eyna looked into her soup. “I just... you know, I was nice to them. Said nice things. Made them feel important. Like I hear you doing in the common room.”

The whore looked at her, mouth pursed.

“Hm,” she said finally. “Well. Keep it up, we can start charging more for you. Tremona will like that. I don’t know where this new attitude came from—as I recall in Gildor City you practically gouged men’s eyes out—but it may serve you well.”

Princess stood up. “But don’t ever be ‘nice’ to my fucking customers, or I will gut you,” she added.

Eyna nodded quickly. “Yes, Princess. Of course. Your customers are yours.”

With a long look, Princess turned and left the scullery.