The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The dungeon doors opened and harsh light spilled in, hurting Laurea’s eyes. She’d gotten too used to the dark. Months of it, sitting alone in the dank cell, while the deranged Usurper tried to break her. Her resistance hurt, but she held on. Endured the mind-torture. Ignored the hissing speakers hidden in the dungeon walls and the guards’ taunts.

Never focused too hard on what life used to be, outside these dungeons.

That was the Usurper’s favorite torment. Every time he dragged her to his mind-bending chambers, he whispered about the warm daylight and the dewy meadows she’d run through as a child, and the many joys of a peaceful, sunny, careless life as his obedient doll.

His words put images into Laurea’s head, but she resisted the lure. She missed her life as royal maiden and despised the life of unwashed prisoner. But loyalty to the kingdom outweighed her personal comforts. Without her full cooperation, the Usurper couldn’t hold power legitimately. All she had to do was keep resisting until the people rose to overthrow him.

A silhouette shifted in the open doorway. Laurea frowned. She’d expected the usual thuggish guards, bringing scraps of food or brandishing their cattle prods to force her to the chambers where the deranged Usurper tried to break her mind. But this newcomer looked different. Tall, but not brawny, like the guards. He moved fluidly, rather than lumbered, and the long robe spoke of a scholar or administrator, not one of the Usurper’s thugs.

Unease pricked at her. Novelty was bad, in this place. She’d resisted the Usurper’s usual schemes, but sometimes he got creative, and she couldn’t afford to be caught unawares.

She steeled herself as the tall, graceful shadow slipped into the dungeon. Two guards behind him lit wall torches. He waved them away with a bored gesture, once they were done, and he walked to her cell, stopping a few feet from the rusted bars.

A dark hood obscured most of his features, but she caught the edges of a long, angular face, unmarred by scars, pockmarks, or the florid signs of excess drinking that the Usurper’s minions usually showed.

She clenched her fists to hide her apprehension, and she affected a bored look, as though he was not worth her attention.

“Princess Laurea,” he greeted in a musical voice that sent shivers down his spine.

Despite her resolve to not engage, her gaze searched him again. That voice—his too-smooth tones, the way he lengthened the words oddly, the volume—none of it sounded quite...human.

She swallowed hard and forced herself to not respond. But heart hammered faster.

“I am Adoreo. I have been sent to prepare you for your upcoming nuptuals.”

She gritted her teeth. He sounded so casual. Polite and calm, like a family tutor sent to train her in a new kind of ballroom dance, or on the updated visit protocols of a neighboring duchy.

Adoreo. The name was odd, too, unheard of. Danger, it told her. Terrible danger.

“It is my understanding that the Regent has the wedding planned for Whitemoon Day.” If he noticed her small, involuntary gasp, he gave no sign. “I was told the physical preparations will take most of the remaining week, due to your present condition. So I shall endeavor to be fast in preparing you mentally.”

“I’m not marrying the Usurper,” she growled. “I don’t care who he’s sent to torture me.”

The man watched her silently for a moment, then, with graceful, unrushed gestures, lowered his hood and stepped closer.

Laurea’s breath hitched. She’d been right about his flawless face. It was too flawless. His features too long, his eyes too large and too high in his face, the shape of his forehead and burnished-gold of his long hair just strange enough to betray his heritage.

Fear twisted her insides, and a sort of horrible, powerless rage.

“That traitor,” she gasped. “He cut a deal with the Air-Folk. What did he promise you? Free reign of the mountains? The Sacred Lake? What part of our kingdom has he sold off to you?”

“Several,” he said. “I did not read the contract, myself; but, as my presence indicates, my superiors found it sufficient. Rest assured, however, there will be no torture.”

Laurea backed up, until her shoulders hit the back wall of her cell. No, this creature would not torture her. The Air Folk used far more insidious weapons.

“There is less risk of damage to your psyche if you accept these preparations willingly,” he said. “With a cooperating mind, the smoothing is easy as a summer breeze rippling across a calm lake. A few things may shift, here and there, but the end result is largely unaltered.”

Laurea shuddered. “Die burning, air-demon,” she hissed.

“With a resisting mind, the smoothing resembles more a raging torrent passing jagged rocks,” he continued, in the same cultured, conversational tone. “Chips will breaks off. The water shall leak into the cracks. Whole chunks of rock may wash away, never to return to their original place. Be warned, Princess: I cannot change the process, once you choose your path.”

Bile rose in her throat. “Lady,” she choked out. “I’m no princess. The Usurper’s plan to make himself legitimate ruler through marriage will fail. I am not one of the First Twelve Royals: merely a distant cousin, many times removed. He won’t have the power to grant you the boons he’s promised, and you’ll have expended your efforts in vain!”

He smiled. The stale, thick air in the cell lightened for a moment, leaving her light-headed. Laurea stumbled back, heart racing, gaze frantically searching for a way to defend herself. But her cell held only a pile of dirty hay, a worn blanket, and an old bucket made of flimsy tin.

“I have read your kingdom’s bylaws, Princess. When the First Twelve are dead, the next six cousins and their families inherit royal status. You are the last living heiress of that line—so your marriage to the Regent will make him rightful king and let him fulfill his deal with us.”

“He’ll renege,” she cried out. “He’s never upheld a promise! Look how he stole the throne!”

“My superiors can enforce the agreement. Please quit stalling and consider my suggestion that you cooperate. The smoothing will be painless, either way, but more of you shall be preserved, if you do not resist me.”

Laurea’s hands searched the cold stone behind her, but there was nothing—not even a shard of sharp rock to use as weapon, not a crevice to hide herself from his gaze or his voice.

“Release me, instead,” she said, “and I will uphold the contract when I take the throne.”

“Even if I believed that, your position is weak. The Regent has announced your wedding. The general troops are falling into line, and the population shall follow after the feast. If you escaped, it would take you months to challenge for the throne. Civil war in the kingdom does not serve our goals. The Regent will. Will you cooperate, or not?”

Laurea threw herself at the bars, grabbing his throat. She’d learned to snap a neck with a quick move, and the foul creature had stepped close enough to the bars to be within reach. Her fingers found the right spot, and she wrenched, putting her weight into it—

—nothing happened.

The Air-Folk beast gripped her wrists, covering them with cold fingers. “How eager you are, sweet Princess, to welcome me.”

Laurea thrashed and tried to pull away, but his grip, deceptively light, kept her pinned. Her body pressed against her bars, her feet scraping helplessly against the floor.

Cold began to seep into her skin, from the place where the creature held her wrists.

“Let me go!” she cried out. “A curse upon your ilk!”

“Hush,” he murmured, the word soft and pure like music. “This will not hurt at all. Just relax and feel the sheer relief of knowing your struggles are at an end, Princess.”

The cold traveled up her arms, like ice water in her veins. No—nothing so painful. Like the touch of healing mint salve after a sunburn. Cooling a fire inside her she did not know had been hurting her with its burn.

She shivered and tried to pull away again. “Let go.” Her lips were beginning to feel numb. “Monster. Demon-spawn.”

“You are so fortunate, sweet Princess,” he sang, his words spinning in the air around them, rustling like the wind in autumn leaves. “You will never feel fear, or doubt, or shame, or sorrow. Only the joy of the smoothing, the pleasure and peace of obedience.”

“No!” The words jolted Laurea, and the soothing cold that ran across her skin cracked, like thin ice on a lake in spring. The spell lesseed, and the jagged shards of the it dug into her. She thrashed harder. “I won’t do it! I’d rather die!”

“We don’t kill,” whispered the cursed creature, smiling at her. “We don’t hurt. You are safe.”

The spell wove back together into heavy, soft cold, thick and smooth as a healing balm. It spread gently across her arms, her neck, her cheeks.

Laurea moaned. “You’re a monster. You’re a nightmare from the earth’s darkest days.” Her words barely formed, against the glacial relaxation coiling around her body. “You’re evil.”

“I am the soother of sorrows, the gentle breeze of hope and lightness.” His melody wrapped her, rocked her. Fresh air filled her lungs, for the first time in months. “I am the one who grants you freedom and solace. Breathe in, sweet Princess.”

Laurea blinked, her fuzzy sight showing her only her hands, still captive in his grip. The air smelled of flowers and fresh water.

“Monster,” she choked out.

“Savior,” he crooned. He brought his face closer, smiling as his lips brushed her cheek. Laurea’s breath hitched.

“Monster,” she cursed.

“Joybringer,” he murmured.

His forehead touched hers, her fingers kneading now a gentle, swirling motion on the tender flresh of her wrists. The wave of icy relief pulsed through her with each move of his fingers, filling the inside of her head with cold, thick, soft tranquility.

“Mon...ster,” she slurred.

“Peacegiver,” he soothed. “Deliverer. Silencer of doubts. Bringer of harmony. Teacher. Breeze of relief. Singer of joy. Smoother of sharp edges... ”

Laurea stared at his lips as he sang, each note sealing the soft, heavy cold blankets on the inside of her head, until there were no sharp edges left, and his words seeped and trailed along the smooth ravines of her mind like honey on clear glass.

“Your mind is clear and smooth now,” he told her, gently. His hand trailed down her temple with quiet tenderness. He stood above her, now. Laurea did not remember when that had happened. Her body lay quiet and quiescent and calm on the floor, muscles cool and liquid under the soothing influence of his presence.

“Think of my name, Princess.”

Peacegiver, thought Laurea. Harmony-bringer. Tranquil breeze.

“Now you will forget all my names. You will forget me. You will forget our time together, and remember only what I have given you.”

His words rolled fluidly over the rounded, gentle hills of her serene mind.

“You will not know me, if you see me. You will not recognize my presence. You know only the peace I have given you, and the tranquility, and the joy of obedience.”

Laurea stared calmly into his beautiful eyes.

“Thank me, Princess, for my gift,” he said, “and then you will lose all awareness of me.”

“Thank you for your gift,” said Laurea, and then she blinked, slowly, and exhaled, staring at the grimy dungeon ceiling, until a guard came to take her arm and lead her out, and she followed, sedately, a blissful smile on her lips.

The Regent walked into the secret receiving chamber surrounded, as always, by guards. It paid to be careful, especially when it came to the strange folk who lived in the distant ice caves.

The hooded man waited by the window. The Regent gave him a cursory look, but it was the figure sitting in the corner armchair that drew his eye.

He grinned. “It is done, then?”

The hooded man bowed imperceptibly. “Of course.”

The Regent walked to the woman. Her gaze lifted at his approach, and she fixed him with a serene, unperturbed look. She didn’t look...mind-wiped. But that was the very skill of these odd creatures, wasn’t it?

“Will you marry me, then, Lady Laurea?”

Her peaceful expression did not waver. “If you wish it, my lord.”

“And you will obey me in everything?”

“I will obey you in everything, my lord.”

He cupped her chin. In months, the woman had never not flinched when he’d touched her. Now, the content smile remained in place, and she held his gaze placidly.

“Domesticated, then,” he murmured. “How long will this last? Will I wake up to her ready to kill me in our marriage bed?”

The hooded man shook his head. “The smoothing is permanent. She is yours as long as she lives, and she will not obey another as she obeys you.”

“And I can show her in public? They won’t know anything is wrong?”

“She will act as she is told. She will never be exuberant or given to mood swings—but none should ever suspect anything wrong beyond an even temper and gentle manners.”

The Regent turned her chin, then slipped a hand to her breast, and he squeezed. The woman’s docile smile remained unchanged. He scoffed.

“I’ll have a tame little lap bitch in my bed, then. No matter. I’ll enjoy her, anyway, after the time and effort she’s cost me. Stand,” he ordered her, and she flowed to her feet, her gaze still fixed on him. “I hope you don’t mind if I do a litle test,” he sneered to the hooded man.

The man shrugged and stepped away, turning toward the small bookcase on the wall. The Regent motioned two of his guards to watch him, while the others remained focused on his own person. True, the infernal woman seemed entirely in his power, now, but...well, one never knew.

“Kneel, my dear, and show your future husband just how skilled you are as a wife,” he told her, and he laughed as she immediately fell to her knees, and when he guided her hands to the belt of his pants, she began unbuckling it with no hesitation.

Worth selling off a couple of mountains and a lake for this, he mused, as he looked down at his smiling wife-to-be.