The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Stark

by Pan

Chapter 3

As Merrida drifted awake, she thought that she could hear the bard’s music. Laying in bed, a smile slowly formed on her face at the idea. It was so beautiful…so compelling.

Soon, she’d confirmed that the music was a figment of her imagination. The smile was quickly wiped away by the discovery that—for reasons she couldn’t even imagine—she’d gone to sleep completely naked the previous night.

The thick woolen blankets meant that her nightgown wasn’t truly necessary, but if there was a problem with the children, or the castle, she would sometimes need to step out in a hurry, and so on nights that she was alone it was rare that she slept without it.

At her insistence (and through her husbands protestations) a thick wooden screen had been placed on the window of the master bedroom, and with some effort Merrida pushed it open. Sure enough, the weather outside was just as it had been the past few days. It certainly hadn’t been a songbird that had roused her from her slumber.

Was she hearing things? Perhaps she just missed Mikkon—typically his away journeys didn’t last more than a few days, but the journey to the capital wasn’t short, and she knew that Frost’s Keep would be missing him for some time to come.

It wasn’t until she had combed out her hair and dressed that she truly began to grow suspicious. When she turned the handle to her bedroom door, it wasn’t latched—sleeping without a nightgown was suspicious (though not impossible) but anyone of her significance made many enemies, and sleeping with the door unlocked was something she had never, ever done.

Her brow wrinkled with thought, and it wasn’t long before her sharp mind had reached a conclusion:

The bard.

Though she had no hard proof, she didn’t need any. She was the Lady of Frost’s Keep, and he was a simple traveler. If she felt uncomfortable with his presence for any reason, she just needed to give the word and he would be sent out into the cold.

Without hesitation, she marched to the servant’s quarters, where he had been given a bed, and stood over his sleeping form.

“You,” she said sternly. “Bard. Awaken.”

Merrida was accustomed to smallfolk obeying her commands without hesitation, and her anger grew as he slowly opened his eyes, blinking at her with a docile smile.

“Lady Frost,” he said sleepily. “You are a true vision to behold.”

“Get up,” she said, her tone hard as stone. “You are to leave my lands immediately. I recommend you head south, though if you are foolish enough to make your way south, be it on your watch.”

“I understand,” he said with a nod, and began to gather his things. She’d expected protestations, or at least for him to question her, but it was clear that he knew his place.

As he picked up his flute, a smile flashed across his face, and instead of packing it with the rest of his belongings, moved it to his lips. Merrida went to object, but before she could, he started playing.

The song had none of the rhythm or upbeat tempo of the tune that she had fallen asleep to last night—this one was mournful, drenched in sadness; it conveyed better than words ever could the bard’s feelings of hurt and rejection.

But Merrida didn’t become the most powerful woman in the south by allowing a simple tune to sway her feelings, and so she fought through the numbness his playing caused, and insisted that the bard stop playing and leave at once.

“Of course,” he whispered, and departed immediately.

Didn’t he?

Of course he did. Yes, he left straight away, and Merrida lay down in the bed that he’d just vacated, allowing herself to immediately drift into a deep, trance-like sleep.

The lady knew she was asleep, because she felt just as she had the previous night: free.

She was free, free to do whatever she liked. Free to be whoever she wanted to be. There was no need to be Merrida Frost, wife of Mikkon, daughter of Storm and Stone. No more did she have to follow so many rules, obey the standards of others instead of simply allowing herself to follow impulses, chase her unchecked desires.

Clothes. Those were a restriction that she’d never chosen, never wanted. Last night, when she’d been dreaming as she was now, she hadn’t needed clothes. No, while she was asleep, while she was dreaming, she could be totally free.

No matter how many fires were blazing, no matter how many windows were closed or how well-built the room was, Frost’s Keep was always cold, and so when Lady Frost had gotten dressed for the day, she’d put on so many layers. But she wasn’t Lady Frost, not any more—she was just Merrida, free to live in the moment, and so she got up and began removing those clothes, throwing them aside, enjoying the mischievous bite of the cold on her skin, knowing she would be warm enough soon. She didn’t know why, but she knew that she didn’t need to question it.

Her nipples hardened in the chill, and though the thick patch of hair between her legs kept her warm, she knew that she needed to move and be active if she didn’t want to freeze. A dream it may have been, but she could still feel the cold, and so she began to dance.

The music was too slow to repeat the dance she’d invented in her dream the previous night, and so she came up with a new one—slow, sensuous, but still engaging every part of her body. Her long legs slowly bent, her fingertips ran over every inch of her skin, and her hips repeatedly thrust forward, until soon her entire self was warmed by a healthy glow.

She was panting with exertion when a thought struck her. The warmth of her dance, combined with the sheer thrill of being naked in her servant’s quarters where anyone could walk in (if it hadn’t been a dream, that was) had excited her, and she was feeling moist between her legs and lustful in her heart.

What’s more, she was deep in slumber. It may have felt as though she was naked in the servant’s quarters, but she knew that in reality, she was dozing, asleep on the cot in the corner. Since she was asleep, everything was happening in her mind and she didn’t need to limit herself—Mikkon, though she had a deep and infinite love for him, didn’t need to be the subject of her fantasies. It could be anyone, anyone she’d ever encountered.

Why not the bard?

Yes, she thought, a slightly dazed look in her eyes. In her dream, there was no reason for the bard to ever be sent away. He could still be here, still be standing in the corner, playing his flute and watching her dance. Her dance was for him, a sensual stripping of her outer layers so he could see her naked form. She’d stripped for a stranger, a man she’d never met before—someone she didn’t even know the name of.

She’d displayed her body for him, in this dream, and now she wanted to do so much more.

Turning to the corner, she knelt before the bard, who was watching her with a pleased look in his eyes.

“Please,” she said humbly. “Please, sir, is there any way I can serve you?”

To her delight, he nodded, and the music changed in tone. No longer was it sombre, conveying heartbreak and rejection…no, it was suddenly alive, just as it had been the previous night. The tunes were very similar, but not identical; this was more involved, more personal.

More intimate.

The bard hadn’t told her what he wanted her to do, but this was her dream, and so Merrida knew she could follow her body’s demands, her every impulse.

Her long fingers trembled with excitement as she unbuttoned the front of his pants, and pulled out his member. Oral contact was another sin, forbidden by the old gods and the new, but again it was something that Merrida had long yearned for, and within the freedom of the dream, she was finally free to partake.