The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A crude wooden post stood fixed to the floor of the salon. Despite the elegance of the chamber, it was this element of old-fashioned barbarity that drew the eye; that, along with its luscious accompaniment, of course. Varnished a dark, mahogany brown, the not-so-ornamental ornament reared a squat five hands from a precisely cut hole in the carpet.

Tight, black leather, fixed in place by a ring of polished metal studs, covered the squarish top.

On opposite sides, likewise framed in leather, a pair of metal rings gleamed silver against black.

Within convenient, if incongruous reach of a chaise lounge, the post stood at stark contrast to the rest of the chamber. With its silk tassels, Deinian embroideries, lavender wallpaper, subdued lighting, and soft, elegant furniture, the room bespoke of a gentle, civilized atmosphere. Paurus found the room charming. The post contrasted, sharply, deliberately.

Yet, if taken in context, its presence was not altogether unwarranted. While jarring with the gentility of the surroundings, the post did lend itself as a convenient place to chain a slave girl.

She was a lovely, scrumptious creature: soft, naked, silent, voluptuous. She had long, dark hair and a body made for a man’s ravishing—no exaggeration, for upon the back of her shoulder Paurus saw inscribed the magical Mark of Daox. This tattoo meant that the smoldering he saw in the girl’s eyes, the steaming way her gaze fell upon the men in the room, was a psychically instilled heat, an urgent and ever-present need to be fucked . . . fucked hard, fucked often.

He was inclined to oblige her. Archetypally feminine, the slave was hooked to the post’s rings through a glittering metal chain attached to a collar, kneeling with her legs open in the direction of the foreign visitor. It was an obvious invitation.

Seeing her, any observer would have understood at once the post’s positioning in this most stylish of business chambers, as a place not merely to secure an embonded female but to balance her beauty with its purposefully barbaric character. He would have to recommend one’s use to his patron.

Paurus had known without anyone needing to tell him that the slut was a bribe.

“Would the gentleman care for a refreshment?” A servant, a free woman wearing a modest uniform, offered him a tray. “Thank you, but no, I could not possibly,” Paurus whispered. And with this modest refusal a certain Deinian ritual began which the smaller bureaucracies and island-republics surrounding De had little patience with and much cynical criticism. In De, before any serious discussion could begin, there had to be a polite declination of any proffered food or drink, made on the unstated basis of the guest not wanting to be of any trouble to his host, which in turn allowed that host to reassure said guest that his comfort was no trouble at all. Smiling graciously, Paurus tried not to let his eyes glaze over.

There were other formulas still, each with their own intricacies. Aside from himself, the servant, and the slave girl, there were three other men in the room, each with his own part to play. The first refusal graciously ignored, the designated second host made his own, this time getting up to offer Paurus a glass of wine, which the servant girl poured over his protestations. All this went on for minutes, at which time, with gentle persuasion, Paurus was finally convinced to take a small bite of food and a small sip of wine, over which he could marvel at the exquisiteness of the group’s taste, a gushing amazement which allowed them to display a proper amount of well-mannered modesty.

All in all, the affair was as structured as any play put on in a theater. Throughout most of it, Paurus let his gaze linger over the body of the slave. She was panting in her heat, surrounded by so many men.

At length, the servant woman—who, as custom demanded, had studiously ignored the slut—was allowed to leave the room. This was the signal that the negotiations could begin.

“Gentlemen,” Paurus said, taking the initiative, “I thank you for your kind invitation and accommodations. My patron, the Squiress Festinia, likewise sends Lord Philoch her kind wishes and regards. She thanks him for the multitude of gifts she has received.”

None of the men facing Paurus was Lord Philoch. Such a noble personage would not have shown here any more than the Squiress would have. This was a meeting of agents and representatives alone, for that was how affairs as these were conducted.

“Allow me to begin,” Paurus continued, “by saying that the Squiress is not unwilling to entertain Lord Philoch’s generous offer of marriage.” Paurus saw the immediate satisfaction on the faces of Philoch’s representatives. “Furthermore, she would be altogether willing to accept his lordship in marriage, were such a proposal to be made . . . provided certain conditions were agreed upon in advance.”

The smiles faded as rapidly as they had appeared.

“Conditions?” the chief of the Deinians at the table, minus an actual table, said in anger. His name was Mecloco. “By what right does she have to place conditions on the Head of House of House Ioles?”

“By virtue of the right that the Squiress Festinia is a free woman,” Paurus said bluntly, “neither a slave, poor, nor a subject of the Senate of De.” He noted that as the social dynamic in the room had shifted, the slave girl had likewise shifted position. A clever girl was she, and well-trained.

She had placed her face flat to the floor, and in this manner had achieved an enviable social invisibility.

“I come neither to insult you nor your lord,” Paurus said, seeing the men before him bristle. “However, I have come to ensure my employer’s best interests. The simple fact of the matter is that she is in a position to make demands while your lordship is not. She would like but does not need a noble title, whereas his lordship needs and would most definitely like the Squiress’ money.”

Color rose in their faces. While Deinians prized delicacy in business, Demenians like Paurus preferred the unvarnished truth.

The truth here, which they had hoped he would ignore, perhaps had attempted to bribe him to ignore, was that the Great House of Ioles was all but bankrupt. Rich in land he could not by Deinian law sell, even if he could find the buyers, Philoch needed the influx of his patron’s vast coffers, foreign though they were, and obtained through that detested yet all too profitable avenue of mercantilism. Paurus knew, as the men before him knew—likely the slut knew as well—that there were countless other impoverished nobles in the Republic of De who would eagerly court the Squiress and her money if Philoch turned her down. Paurus watched the three men struggle to contain themselves. One of them—his name was Fochos—was actually about to stand up before Mecloco put a hand on his shoulder.

“What conditions?” the last man, a fellow named Phaisto, asked. He appeared the calmest of the three, which likely meant he was the most enraged.

“First, and most importantly, the Squiress Dauraia Festinia will be married under the laws of the City-State and Grand Bureaucracy of Ehere-Demen, not those of the Republic of De. She will retain control over her own estate, save for a dowry she will bring of thirty thousand pledges to Lord Philoch.”

This was a considerable sum of money, though it represented but a portion of his patron’s holdings.

“That’s outrageous,” Fochos said. “The squiress is marrying a Deinian citizen. She will be expected to live in the Republic of De.”

“Moreover,” Paurus continued, ignoring the outburst, “it must be stipulated in writing, with copies of the contract kept in both the Archive of the Senate of De and the Palace of Bureaucracy in Ehere-Demen, that any children born of this union will be the primary heirs of the Squiress’ estate, not the children extant and sired by Lord Philoch.” The Deinian lord already had a daughter and two sons.

“His lordship may employ the dowry provided him as well as an allowance”—At the word ‘allowance,’ the men stiffened again—“of three thousand pledges per annum as he sees fit.”

Their ears picked up at the size of the allowance, though.

The three representatives of Lord Philoch huddled. They did not look happy; however, when they turned back to Paurus they appeared united. “These terms are acceptable, provided the marriage takes place within three months.”

“Such timing is convenient for my patron as well,” Paurus said. He tilted his head, a gesture of necessary resignation. “There are . . . other conditions.”

Fochos grit his teeth. Mecloco’s eyes hardened. Phaisto simply asked, “What?”

“The Squiress will not live exclusively in De. When not in the company of his lordship, she will maintain a mansion in Ehere-Demen as well as another in the Saale and feel at liberty to move between them as the mood strikes her.”

Again, the three men conspired. “When she is in De, she will live exclusively in the lordship’s house.”

“We are of one mind,” Paurus said. Now came the part they really wouldn’t like. He grinned without humor. “Finally, the Squiress is a woman of healthy appetite. She enjoys the vigorous use of a slave boy. When she takes up residence in De, she will bring her stud from Ehere-Demen with her.”

Mecloco and the others laughed. They also looked relieved.

“This is not an issue,” the chief of Lord Philoch’s representatives said, with an air of speaking the obvious to a dullard, “assuming the squiress takes none with our lord’s stable of sex slaves and remains sufficiently discreet with her own fucktoy.” With the degrees of wealth and social standing at discussion here in this most elegant of rooms, there was no illusion about love playing a part in this marriage. Commoners married for love. For the elite, wedlock was treated as it always was, a business contract. Moreover, there was no confusion between infidelity and the use of slaves.

Once again, Paurus admired the body of the slave girl crouched on the floor.

Sex slaves were a perquisite of the artistic, the wealthy, and the noble born. Since the ascendancy of the psychic Orders, the keeping of slaves had changed from the grubby, laborious matter it had been in uncivilized times to a sophisticated, undemanding modern practice. Industry had replaced the need for backbreaking labor. Slaves could be kept almost exclusively for the purposes of entertainment, their minds ensorcelled to never run away, their bodies modified to suit any aesthetic and sexual demand. It was a common thing in the Republic of De for gentlemen of leisure to keep a stable of sluts. The larger the harem, the greater the prestige.

Only partially was this a matter of affordability. The boost to the reputation came through an acknowledgement of the prowess a man would have to have to pleasure so many slaves. The more slaves a man could boast, the manlier he was received in public.

On the other hand, Deinian women lived under almost opposite restrictions.

While not wholly patriarchal, only a fool could look upon the Republic of De, or Islander society in general, and not see a pattern of male dominance. In De particularly, even a woman of means, even considerable means, was looked down upon if she kept a stable of slave boys. She risked being considered a slut; and in De, by law, a woman proven to be a slut could be legally enslaved, the lawful provisions for which in recent years extended now all the way to the highest of nobility.

Well-to-do Deinian women were not forbidden to own slaves. It was their legal right. But they had to be circumspect. They either availed themselves of inconspicuous private services, which maintained stud stables for nightly rental, or they modestly kept just the one or two slave boys (or girls—in this, at least, there was no discrimination). Their watchword was moderation.

On the other hand, the Squiress Festinia was not a Deinian woman. And she detested moderation.

“In relocating her slave to the City of De,” Paurus explained, “an absence will be created in Ehere-Demen.” He noted the men’s puzzled faces. “The Squiress, you see, maintains a stud at each of her permanent residences.”

He cleared his throat. “The Squiress would like Lord Philoch’s assistance in acquiring a new stud for her home in Demen.”

The three men appeared even more puzzled. They kept glancing at one another.

“Certainly, his lordship will provide whatever . . guidance the squiress desires,” Mecloco said after a moment. “Yet surely the squiress herself must be the better judge of her own tastes.”

“Naturally,” Paurus said. “The Squiress will choose her own slave. It was assistance that is required, not guidance. Though perhaps ‘permission’ might be the better word.”

Sitting on the couch, Paurus presented a false image of calm. “When news had reached certain quarters that Lord Philoch was courting Squiress Festinia, tongues began to wag, as tongues inevitably will. For most, no attention need be paid. However, one particular conversation did reach the ear of the Squiress, even across the reach in Ehere-Demen.

“Philoch’s eldest son, Lord Thuce, was overheard in a public tavern expressing a less than flattering opinion of this marriage, and of the Squiress herself.”

Paurus coughed for effect into his hand. “I believe his exact words were, ‘She is such a disgusting slag that my father will have to wear a magic charm when he fucks her.’”

“The boy was drinking,” Phaisto said at once. “He was in high spirits and in the company of friends. Surely some ill-chosen words at a time like that . . .”

“‘She has a pestering sore instead of a pussy,’” Paurus continued deadpan, and the others winced.

“Thuce went on, at length, graphically pantomiming sexual acts that would customarily only be employed on sex slaves”—Paurus glanced at the lovely creature between them—“explaining to all and sundry that the only reason his father could ever marry such a ‘misbegotten slut with pretensions of grandeur’ would be to get her dirty money, and that as soon as they were wed his father would have her enslaved, as would be his right as Head of House, and take it all.”

It was hard to respond to something like that, at the spur of the moment. Paurus gave them time.

“Lord Philoch would never do such a thing,” Mecloco declared. “These were, as Phaisto says, but the ill-chosen words of a youth, made in the bravado of heavy drink and loose company. He will be reprimanded.”

“I am certain he will be,” Paurus said. “Nonetheless, the young lord raises a point. Forgive me if I am inexpert on the laws of the Republic of De, yet it is my understanding that as the Head of House of a Great House, Lord Philoch can, indeed, unilaterally, request a bill of enslavement for any member of his family, whether joined to his line by blood or marriage. Am I correct?”

Paurus knew he was. He wanted them to say it.

“Only under specific circumstances,” Mecloco said, carefully. He issued a nervous laugh. “Why, until only recently it was against the law to enslave someone of noble blood.” He attempted to wave the issue off.

“As a specific punishment for breaking the law,” Paurus corrected the man. “As a consequence of going into heavy debt. Neither of those circumstances apply. No, as I understand it, and you can correct me if I am wrong, but any husband in De, whether noble or not, can appeal to have his wife enslaved if proof of infidelity or sluttishness can be established in court.”

Paurus smiled grimly. “Wives cannot, which is unfair. They do have the right of divorce, though. But getting back to my point . . . under similar circumstances, any Deinian father can request his daughter’s enslavement, or even his son’s, for comparatively outrageous rakish behavior.”

He paused.

“You have the gist of it,” Phaisto snarled, looking to his associates for confirmation. “But the court need not grant such a bill.”

“That is true,” Paurus said. “For most people. Yet if a Head of House made such an appeal, with the votes he controls in the Deinian Senate, what then?” He waved his hand. “You need not respond. We know the answer. I am given to understand too that any parent in this country can sell his or her own offspring, without appealing to the Senate, yes?”

Philoch’s representatives looked anxious. “Hardly a matter of concern, sir,” Mecloco said.

“Yet it is interesting,” Paurus said. “For male children, this foul deed can be done until they reach the age of nineteen. For daughters, it is until they are married and they become the responsibility of their husbands.”

The three men said nothing. They perhaps saw where he was going.

“For a Head of House, symbolically the father of everyone in his line, this right extends to any related unmarried girl or boy under nineteen, yes?”

“That is so,” Mecloco admitted.

“And similarly a Head of House can appeal to the Senate to have any son or daughter of his House, whether connected by blood or marriage, and regardless of age, be enslaved, if their behavior so warrants, the difference being that he earns pledges for the former while none for the latter, yes?”

“There is no danger to the squiress,” Fochos said.

“I disagree,” Paurus replied. “There is a very real danger. This is why any union between Lord Philoch and Squiress Festinia must involve a suitable hostage to fortune . . . in this case, Lord Philoch himself. The Squiress has made an agreement with the Hythcosnim Order”—an order of men-wizards in Demen—“that should any harm come to her, whether death, injury, sickness, or enslavement, then exactly the same fate will befall Lord Philoch.”

“It’s outrageous!” Phaisto said loudly and stood, threatening. The slave girl trembled.

“It’s illegal,” Mecloco said.

“It’s done. The reciprocity begins the moment they are wed.” Paurus gestured. “I do not mean to impugn base motive to Lord Philoch. I am sure he has nothing but good intentions toward the Squiress and good wishes for their upcoming marriage.” He looked each of Lord Philoch’s agents directly in the eye as he said this. If there was a shiftiness in their gaze, a tremor of apprehension in their faces, he ignored it. “Consequently, he should enjoy nothing more than an extra incentive to be protective of his new bride, an emotion which all good husbands possess in abundance.”

If they perceived irony in his speech, that was their concern, not his.

No one said anything for a long, tense minute. Eventually, Phaisto sat down, still looking muchly displeased. The agents of Lord Philoch then spoke while Paurus gave as much attention as he could to the pretty little slave girl.

She was called Polye, and she liked sucking cocks very much. They spoke quietly about that.

“Though we are empowered to speak for Lord Philoch, this matter must be drawn to his attention.” Mecloco looked back and forth at his colleagues. “We shall have to adjourn.”

“You haven’t heard the Squiress’ last condition yet,” Paurus said evenly.

They exploded.

After the hullaballoo settled down, Paurus continued. “The arrangement with the Hythcosnim is something that the Squiress brings to her marriage, along with her dowry.” He thought it prudent at this point to remind them of the considerable amount of money at play here. “The Squiress would still like Lord Philoch’s assistance in acquiring a new stud for her home in Demen.”

“You have stated this condition. We can assure you that his lordship will agree to it,” Mecloco said. “We are so empowered.” He puffed up.

“Are you empowered to ask for Lord Thuce to be enslaved and sold to the Squiress Festinia, to serve as her sex slave in Ehere-Demen?” Paurus asked, stating the matter boldly.

Dead silence.

“You can’t be serious,” one of the representatives eventually said.

“I assure you, neither I nor the Squiress make this request lightly. It is an absolute precondition for this marriage to go forward.” Paurus examined their shocked faces. “Gentlemen, let us no longer mince words. The Squiress was deeply offended by Lord Thuce’s comments, and she feels some reparation on his part is required. The young man requires discipline. She intends to provide it to him, for her pleasure.” The men looked horrified.

“Moreover, she needs an assurance from Lord Philoch that he truly wants this marriage. Simply put, she requires proof of his devotion.”

“And for this proof she demands the lordship’s son as her fucktoy?” Mecloco was visibly aghast.

“Yes,” Paurus said. “Gentlemen, let us not belabor this. The Squiress is aware of how unhappy Lord Philoch has felt in the past in regard to his son’s carousing. He has kept many a damaging story out of the newspapers. He has supported his son and sought to improve him with education and discipline, yet seen little in return. He is spoiled rotten. No doubt, the lordship has expressed concern to you, his esteemed advisors, and you him, about the future of the House Ioles in Thuce’s custodianship.” From their expressions, Paurus could see this was so.

“The Squiress has no designs on the lordship’s younger son or his daughter. They are fine children. In any event, they have not the reputation for profligate behavior as their older brother, behavior which would provide ample license to Lord Philoch to appeal to the Deinian Senate for his son’s enslavement.

“Most importantly, they have not insulted the Squiress.”

Paurus cleared his throat. “In exchange for a bill of enslavement made out for Thuce, Lord Philoch’s eldest son, the Squiress will make her own arrangements to acquire him. The bill need never be presented in public but kept privately and forever secure in the Archive of the Senate. No further embarrassment need be attached to the Ioles name.” That was a good, practiced line on Paurus’ part—an assurance of confidentiality as well as a reminder of past misdeeds. Paurus had compiled and memorized such a list, in case it was needed.

“Thuce will disappear,” he went on, “and no one outside this room, save Lord Philoch himself and the Squiress, need know of this arrangement.” No one counted the slave girl, for any number of good reasons. “In exchange for this arrangement, the Squiress will make a private purchase between herself and the lordship in the amount of an additional ten thousand pledges.”

The men’s eyes widened dramatically at this figure; and so Paurus knew.

His patron’s goal had been accomplished. No matter what these three men would say over the next several minutes, no matter how strenuously they might argue, how much they would deplore the idea, in the end Paurus knew they would agree. They would persuade Lord Philoch to accept the arrangement, which really was in everyone’s best interests.

I’ll need to contact Eudleius, he thought. The matter concluded, he turned his mind to the slave girl.

Sometime later, unaware of his father’s decision, or of the mighty forces soon to be rallied against him, the young Lord Thuce could be found sitting in a local tavern and rudely propositioning a maid.

“Come on,” he said, having grabbed the common girl by the waist. Thuce’s friends, also at the table, laughed. The girl struggled. “You know you want to. Otherwise you wouldn’t be working in a place like this.” He laughed as the pretty young thing kept trying to pull away.

“I have no choice sir,” the maid cried out. “My family is poor.” With a final, frantic burst of strength she managed to free herself. She stepped back, red in face, tears in her eyes. The men in front of her, Thuce included—and not a few patrons behind and around her—guffawed.

It was late at night, but the tavern’s barroom was full. The air smelled of ale and trouble.

“Cheap slut,” one of Thuce’s cohorts, Alcales, said. The girl heard and sobbed loudly.

“What’s going on here?” The tavernmaster, a large and burly man, necessarily so considering the neighborhood his business was located, stormed over to Thuce’s table. He put a kind hand on the servant girl’s shoulder. “Did he hurt you, Soufida?” The din around the table lowered.

“He . . he ordered me . . to suck his cock!” Again, the girl put her hands to her face.

The taverner frowned. He turned angrily toward the table, but already another of Thuce’s friends, Creteus, had stood. “Do you know . . who this is?” Creteus was a little drunk but coherent enough for the purpose. “This is . . the Lord . . Thuce! Of House Ioles.” He sat again, quickly, lest he fall.

Thuce pushed a wad of pledges into the taverner’s paws. “I want her,” he said.

“I’m not a slave,” Soufida cried softly yet defiantly. Another servant girl came and comforted her.

The tavernmaster glanced at the money in his hands, then threw it onto the table. “Get out,” he ordered.

Thuce smiled contemptuously and took a step closer to the big man. He did not bother with the bills. His friends did, though, scooping them up again in a hurry. Not one was noble.

“I am Lord Thuce Ioles,” the young nobleman said, staring up at the much larger man. “My father is the Head of House of House Ioles. And I want to fuck that girl.” He pointed at Soufida. “The other girl can join us, too.”

“You’re not welcome here,” the taverner said. He said it roughly, yet there was a slight hesitation nonetheless. “You and the others must leave.”

“No, I don’t think so. I could buy this place,” Thuce told him. “I could buy them.” He nodded at the two girls, who had drawn back in fear. Thuce looked up at the large man. “I could buy you.”

The tavernmaster raised his fist. Thuce stared him down.

“Go ahead,” he whispered. “See what would happen. To you and your family.”

“Get Out!!” the taverner roared. By this time all other noise in the barroom had ceased. All attention was toward Thuce’s table. The atmosphere had changed, too. A rude proposition or two was to be expected by the servant girls. But threats of enslavement, threats made to their friend, women they knew, that was different. The other men in the tavern stared knives at Thuce and his associates.

One or two actual knives had been drawn, in fact.

“Thuce,” Alcales wheedled, coming up behind the young lord. Thuce did not budge.

Idarac, another friend of Thuce, though “follower” would not have been an entirely inappropriate descriptor (or even “servant”), the only one in Thuce’s group who had not been drinking, quietly stood. He, too, wore a knife.

The tavernmaster took a step backwards. He looked at Thuce’s bodyguard, then at Thuce himself; and then he just slumped.

“Please,” he whispered.

Thuce’s grin got only cockier. Despite that, he picked up his hat, a motion followed by the others.

“I’ll be back,” Thuce told the defeated tavern owner. “Think about what I said.” He shrugged in the direction of Soufida. “Explain things to her. Or she’ll not be the only one with a Mark on her shoulder.”

The girl continued to sob as the lord and his group filed past, Idarac drawing up the rear. They were followed out of the room by angry stares. This was not an uncommon event in their lives.

“Where to next, Thuce?” Creteus asked out on the street. Thuce glanced hard at him. “My lord,” the sycophant added.

Thuce thought about it. There was a slave brothel in the Heres District the memories of which stirred his appetites. He desperately needed to get his cock sucked tonight. The last time he had been there, he had enjoyed both of the former Scarphn twins, Dyno and Eida, at the same time. But Heres was an expensive place, and while Thuce didn’t mind spending the pledges his father gave him on himself, that place was a trifle too steep for his whole gang. The place was too good for them. There were cheaper stables nearby. Closer, too. The one thing that was certain was that he needed a good cocksucking.

The slut in the tavern hadn’t been all that pretty, considering; but there was something about her mouth that just needed a cock to complete it.

In the distance, Thuce heard the clock bells near the Senate Hall. He smiled. It was late, or very early, depending on one’s point of view; either way, it was too early to go home.

“The Bridge,” he declared loftily.

This was the name of a favored establishment of the group. Everyone save Idarac cheered.

They headed off in the brothel’s direction, the cobblestone streets of De beneath their feet. They had not traveled far when, as they passed through a back alley along the way, a convenient shortcut, they found a man leaning against the side of a building, apparently waiting for them. What distinguished this individual from other figures they might have run across at night in this part of the city, and had beaten on more than one occasion for their amusement, was the man’s dress.

It was by no means cheap. In fact, it was at least as fine and expensive as their own. It featured most prominently a single-breasted tailcoat, with large revers of figured silk. He wore a tight pair of white trousers, too, fashionably cut in the latest style, and a waistcoat.

Contrarily, the man’s hair was a huge, shaggy mess, a veritable mane extending high above the man’s head and low along his back.

Desperate men had attempted to rob Thuce and his men before. Every man of them carried a knife. Idarac in particular was skilled in the arts of mayhem and defense, and cold enough in personality not to be disturbed by the sudden appearance of a waylayer at night.

As Thuce drew back, smirking, Idarac surged ahead, a blade almost magically appearing in his hand.

The well-dressed, albeit extremely shaggy man pulled himself from the wall, lazily, and met Idarac, without raising his fists or a weapon of any kind. Idarac raised his dagger . . . and stopped. He lowered the blade again without a sound.

Thuce’s bodyguard then turned his face to the building wall and stood there, like an errant child. The tough, deadly soldier began weeping.

A warmth ignited against Thuce’s chest, beneath his shirt next to his skin. For a moment the nobleman had no idea where this burst of heat was coming from. He thought he might have been stabbed. Then he recognized it. My charm, Thuce thought. His protective charm against ensorcellment, prepared for him by the Ainchonnim Order.

He turned to run. But others were in his way.

“You and you, step aside,” the shaggy man ordered, and Creteus and Alcales did exactly that, clearing a path for the man-wizard—for that is what he surely was—as he approached. They stepped aside so quickly they slammed against the opposite sides of the alley and knocked themselves out.

Thuce tried to push past the three others behind him. And then a cold, smothering presence swept over him, without any actual physical sensation of cold. This cold was a mental sensation, like fear, and it caused the flesh along his arms and legs to crawl, needles of panic sparking along his whole body.

Thuce stopped. He did not have a choice in stopping. His body simply refused to go any farther. The charm around his neck blazed furiously.

The man-wizard stepped between Thylaos and Oedes, two of Thuce’s other hangers-on.

“You two go in that direction,” he said, indicating the end of the alley from which he had come. “Forget everything that has happened tonight. Drink up all your money and forget everything that has happened to you for the past month. Then reconsider your lives. Go.” They went, hurriedly.

The heat from Thuce’s charm gradually worked its way through his limbs. He felt his body loosening up. His hand crept slowly for his knife.

The wizard spoke to Diorast, the last of Thuce’s group.

“Take out all your money. Get money from those other idiots as well.” He motioned over his shoulder. A minute later Diorast had a handful of pledges. “Give these to that servant girl from the tavern, Soufida.” He gave him the girl’s address. “Slip it through her door. Then go away from the City of De and never return. You will have no memory of this evening.”

Diorast rushed off to obey.

Thuce found he could move again, albeit slowly. He lunged for the wizard, who but had to step aside to avoid the ponderous blow.

“That is a good charm,” he told the nobleman.

Thuce ran. As he ran, the heat from his “good charm” spread through him, loosening up his body and limbs; and soon enough he was sprinting, twisting out of the alley the way he came and down the streets he had just walked, then master of everything he had seen. A hard lesson taught him.

He ran until his breath came in stitches, until there was pain in his sides, until his feet could move no more. He gave no thought to the friends he left behind, only to what he would need in order to make himself safe. I have to get to father’s, he thought. He looked around and tried to get his bearings.

A wizard! That was a wizard, and he was coming after me. Me!

He had to get out of the city. There were many places he could hide, on and off his father’s estate.

Thuce looked around. He failed to recognize the street corner.

His charm was blazing, its heat pumping through him, banishing the cold.

Still tired, Thuce pulled himself to his feet, using the heat as energy, and he ran again, ran to the end of the alley(?) Wait, haven’t I already left the alley? Thuce looked around. Where am I?

He heard a sound near him. He blinked. He unplugged his ears. It was a familiar sound . . . the same sound as before. Someone was crying.

He looked around to see who was crying, and it was Idarac, Idarac was weeping . . . but he was back in the alley, wasn’t he? Thuce fell to the ground, exhausted.

The heat from the charm was fading. It was spent protecting him, allowing him to run. Having made him run and exhaust its power.

The young lord looked up from the street of the alleyway, among the trash, Creteus and Alcales still lying unconscious, and saw the shaggy-haired wizard standing over him . . . still standing over him.

“That’s a really good charm,” he said, approving.

Oh, no, Thuce thought. Oh, no. They were still in the alley.

He had never left the alley. Or he had run around and come straight back to it. He could not tell which. Both the night and the charm were cold now. Its precious amount of protection was spent.

He ran me around until the protection was spent, Thuce realized. He tricked me. The wizard reached down, parted Thuce’s shirt, and removed the small device, snapping the chain off.

As soon as the metal trinket left his flesh, Thuce felt his limbs animating without his consent, despite his utter exhaustion. There was no cold this time, no heat, either; no sensation, other than this lack of control over his own body.

Groaning on the inside, exhausted and in pain, Thuce nevertheless stood and faced the wizard, because he had no choice to do otherwise. Panic caused his thoughts to flee; yet his body remained perfectly still.

The man-wizard stared into Thuce’s eyes for a moment. He nodded, in apparent satisfaction. Then he reached out and tapped Thuce on the forehead.

When he next came aware of things—an hour later, two hours later, a week, Thuce could not tell—the young lord found himself now standing in the middle of an empty room somewhere. He did not recognize the location. He could have been anywhere in the City of De.

Anywhere in the world, for that matter. He had no way of knowing.

Another dire fact hit him.

I’m naked, Thuce observed, panicking, horrified at the vulnerability of it. Yet despite this horror and all his willpower he was yet unable to budge. He could only continue standing naked in a room in some unknown location. Even his eyes were frozen in place.

Thuce’s frozen eyes observed the shaggy wizard in front of him, again.

He was no longer wearing his fine clothes. The wizard was all but naked himself, a source of further apprehension to the young lord. He was clad only in a brief loincloth.

His long, disheveled hair hung to the waist. He approached Thuce.

“Rejoice, young man,” he said, irony dripping from his mouth. “Your pointless life as a wastrel is at an end. You have been provided the singular honor of becoming a sex toy to your future mother-in-law.”

The Festinia scold! Thuce screamed on the inside. That slag!! Horror, anger, and revulsion overwhelmed him, though nowhere near strong enough to break the man-wizard’s psychic hold.

The wizard’s face grew neutral. He stepped closer, and Thuce saw that his eyes were glowing.

“When next you awake, your lordship, you will be a silk-boy. My wife will have the honor of training you to be of pleasure to a woman.” Those eyes, glowing green, seemed to open into their own separate world. Thuce felt himself being pulled into it, irresistibly. Green turned slowly to black.

No, no, please, he thought, all desperation. He would do anything. He would beg. He would plead!

Not me! Not me!! And as Thuce was thinking these thoughts, still solely of himself, they fled with him into the deepest darkness the young lord had ever known, or would ever know. Total blackness.

“Awaken.” Out of the darkness, out of nothingness: something new, yet familiar.

A voice.

A man’s voice.

His Master’s voice.

His Master’s voice giving him a command.

Thuce awoke. I am a slave, he thought. I must obey my Master. He was calm. A pleasant warmth flowed through his veins. He was standing naked in the middle of a room. His erection was full and prominent. Before him, on either side of an invisible, hypothetical line extending from that erection, were two figures. The figure on the left was his Master, the Man-Wizard Eudleius. His Master was clad as he had been the night he had captured Thuce, save that he had added as decoration a blue cravat to the front of his shirt. The figure on the right was a woman. She wore a blue dress with an open skirt in the front, which revealed her silk-clad legs and undergarments. The blue was the same blue as his cravat.

The dress had a high, stiff collar which framed the woman’s unadorned throat. She had dark hair arranged in an Eherean bun atop her head. She was beautiful.

“Thuce,” the slave’s Master spoke. “You belong to her now. She is the Woman-Wizard Socellia.”

I am a slave. I must obey my Master’s commands. Thuce turned to the woman. A rush of pleasant sensations swept through him. The world turned, and he moaned softly. Where before the woman had merely been beautiful, she became now incandescently beautiful. Thuce’s erection throbbed harder.

I am a slave, he thought serenely.

“Thank you, master,” the slave said to Eudleius. He turned to his Mistress.

I am a slave. I must obey my Mistress. “I am yours, Mistress. How may I begin pleasing you?”

Thuce’s Mistress strolled over. In one hand she held a pony crop. Placing it under Thuce’s chin, she lifted his face up. The slave was taller than his Mistress. Judging by her appearance, Thuce knew he must outweigh her by more than seven stone. He could pick her up easily. He felt strong, yet this was not a strength based on superiority. He felt strong because that strength existed to serve her well.

The crop descended along Thuce’s chest. His Mistress let the tip rest against his groin for a moment, near the base of Thuce’s erection. Then she slid the leather along the length of his penis.

Thuce was aware he had been made bigger.

“Kneel,” the Mistress ordered, and he knelt. I am a slave, he thought. I must obey my Mistress’ commands. She touched his face. Even more warmth and feelings of submission came over him.

“You made him taller,” Thuce’s Mistress said to the man-wizard. Thuce was aware, the same way he was aware his penis had been enlarged, that he was leaner, too. All his baby fat had been burned off. His features had been sharpened. His endurance would be greater as well, especially in bed.

He had not had sex yet in his new life. But he knew now that was his very purpose in existence. I am a slave, he thought. I must please my Mistress. I am her sex slave. I must serve and obey her in all things and in all ways.

“Only a quarter of a hand,” Eudleius replied. “I didn’t want Dauraia to have to climb him in order to give him a kiss.”

“Sometimes that is an enjoyable activity, my husband,” the Mistress said. Despite her mild criticism, she appeared satisfied. “Judging by his looks, he seems up to your usual excellent standards.” She cupped Thuce’s chin once again, this time with her gloved hand directly. Lightning coursed through the slave.

I am a slave.

“I transformed him as you would have transformed him, my wife,” the man-wizard said, “had you the psychic ability to do so.” A woman-wizard’s magic could not affect the male of the species, anymore than a man-wizard’s could the female. “As you make all my chain-slaves for me.”

“And you train them to your rigorous standards,” Thuce’s Mistress said. “I thank you, husband.” She continued to run her gloved hand over Thuce’s body possessively. “And now I would prefer to be alone to begin my own course of instruction, equally the rigorous.”

The man-wizard smiled. “Of course.”

He performed a half-bow, took a graceful step back, then departed the room. After he was gone, Thuce’s Mistress released his chin and took a position directly in front of the new slave.

She tapped him with the crop. “Go to your hands and knees,” she ordered. She did not raise her voice. She had no need.

The slave complied at once. He was a slave. He had to obey his Mistress’ commands.

A chair slid across the room apparently of its own accord. The woman-wizard sat.

The Mistress placed her bare foot in front of Thuce, having removed her slipper. “You may begin at the toes,” she instructed, her leather dusting the top of his ears as she emphasized each point, “with your tongue first, then with the most delicate of kisses. Loving, perfect kisses, each and every one.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Thuce said, absorbing the lesson perfectly, and began his training.

Sometime later still, Squiress Dauraia Festinia, the woman who had built a thriving factory and fleet of merchant ships, who had outlived two husbands, one of whom she had loved passionately, the other whom she had tolerated for his impressive business skills, who was now engaged to the Deinian Head of House Philoch Ioles, and therefore soon to become the Lady Dauraia, entered the parlor of her mansion in Ehere-Demen. She stopped short at the sight before her.

A crude wooden post had been fixed in the floor, jutting through the elegant carpeting.

It was not this contrasting bit of barbarity that grabbed her attention, however. She herself had had the post built on a recommendation. No, it was the luscious hunk of man-candy chained to the post that caught her eye.

“Well,” she said, seeing her new slave boy for the first time since his delivery, “what do you have to say for yourself, you naughty young man?” Thuce was naked, save for some ribbon frippery about each of his wrists. There was some about his cock as well. He looked absolutely delicious. Dauraia could not wait to unwrap him.

“I am your slave, mistress,” the handsome stud said. “How may I begin serving your pleasure?”

And with those delightful words, at last, the Squiress was satisfied.

Or at least soon would be.