The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Stark

by Pan

Chapter 4

“Mother, what’s in your hair?”

Merrida froze, embarrassed. After removing the bard from the premises, she’d lain in one of the servant’s beds and had an extremely lewd dream. For reasons that her waking mind couldn’t explain, she’d imagined taking the bard in her mouth and bringing him to climax with her tongue, something she’d never previously allowed herself to even fantasize about, let alone do.

From there, the reverie had grown hazy. She remembered smiling, an action that had caused his seed to dribble down the side of her mouth. She recalled him telling her that he’d wait in her chambers that evening, and visit her dreams once more.

Then she’d redressed, lay back down on the small cot, and awoken just a few moments later, horrified by the images her subconscious mind had conjured up for her.

“Nothing, dearest,” she responded, moving her slender fingers up to her long hair as gracefully as she could. The Others knew what sort of substances were in those servant beds—she just hoped she hadn’t lain in something that would be too hard to wash out.

The rest of the day passed in a daze for Merrida Frost. Without her husband it was so hard to focus, and so she gave the horse’s load of her daily tasks to Rin, to aid in his attempts to master the running of Frost’s Keep.

Instead, she drifted from place to place, entering almost each room in the castle at least once, except for her bedroom.

If she went to her bedroom, Merrida knew she’d be too tempted to lay down and rest, and she was still processing the last few lurid dreams she’d had—adding another to the roster wasn’t something she welcomed.

But after dinner was eaten and the children were in bed, Merrida ceased trying to postpone the inevitable, and made her way to her living quarters. Hopefully tonight she would have a pleasant, dreamless slumber, without any of the bard’s insidious tunes making their way into her dreams.

As she approached her bedroom, she found herself humming another of his tunes. But was it? He’d only played a handful since arriving a few nights earlier, and this didn’t sound like any of these. It was more adventurous, more…important, somehow. It had gravitas and significance, and yet there was a fun, dangerous undertone.

The closer she got to her room, the more the new tune permeated her head, until it was all that she could think of. She opened the door and the music got louder; she paused at the entranceway, trying to take a minute to adjust, trying to understand what was happening in her head, but suddenly everything was swimming—the walls, the ceiling, the door. It all got muddled up, and she felt like she was going to faint.

A minute later, she was in bed, naked, her eyes tightly screwed shut. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gotten there, but she knew for a fact that she was in bed. The music had never stopped running through her mind—it almost sounded like it was coming from the corner of the room, but she knew that couldn’t be. The bard was gone; she’d seen to that personally that morning.

The bard was gone. She was alone in her room, a song she’d never heard running endlessly through her head, and she was naked. Naked in bed.

A smile slowly appeared on Merrida’s face. Bed. She was in bed. And that meant she could drift off to sleep, allow slumber to overtake her. She could return to the land of dreams, where there were no rules, no one to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. The door was locked, and she’d instructed the servants to take all inquiries to her son Rin—if he wanted to test his ability to run Frost’s Keep, she was more than happy for his sleep to be interrupted in place of hers.

And so Lady Frost closed her eyes, and Merrida opened hers.

She was in a dream. She knew this for certain, because when she’d gone to sleep, she’d been alone. Merrida was still naked, but she was no longer alone—in the corner of the room, the bard was back, playing his flute, staring at her with lust in his eyes.

And she was staring back at him with lust in hers.

The dream she’d allowed herself to have that morning, of taking his hardness in her mouth, of running her tongue up and down his shaft until he peaked in her mouth, letting her swallow as much of his seed as she could and then dribbling the rest out the side for him to see…

It had been the most erotic moment of her life.

While awake, Lady Frost had a life of pressure. Of chores and obligations and duties, a never-ending list of tasks to be completed. But in her dreams, she could be anyone she wanted to be. She could allow herself to give into pleasure, into submission. She could parade her body in front of men and allow them to touch her however they wanted. She could devote herself entirely to pleasing them, to getting them hard and bringing them to climax.

And now, here she was, naked in bed, with a man to please.

“Come,” she whimpered, and the bard put down his flute. The music stopped, but it never stopped running through Merrida’s head. Somehow, she knew that it would be running through her head for the rest of her life, bringing her pleasure, guiding her movement. The undercurrent of wickedness swelled, and came to the forefront, and she knew exactly what she wanted to do in this dream of hers.

She wanted to get fucked.

“Please,” she begged, and the bard was tripping over his clothes in his hurry to take them off. He was stripping as quickly as he could, but it was all too slow for Merrida. She needed to see his manhood again, she needed access to his flesh. She wanted to feel his flesh against hers; sucking his cock wouldn’t be enough, not now. She needed everything, she needed him to enter her, to make her whole.

“Oh gods…” she murmured as he finally removed the last of his clothing and stumbled onto the bed. There was no hesitation, no foreplay—he reached down to check her wetness, confirming that she was dripping onto the woolen sheets that Mik and her had shared so many times before, and then he was inside her, filling her up, making her gasp with his enthusiasm and vigor.

Lady Frost had made love with her husband hundreds, possibly even thousands of times. But now Merrida was in control, and she wasn’t interested in making love; she was interested in being fucked. She wrapped her legs around the bard’s lithe form, pulling him into her again and again. She squeezed her muscles, desperately trying to make her wet cunt as tight as it could be, delighting in the sensation of getting pounded, the roughness of it.

She didn’t want to be tenderly loved, like Mik was always careful to do. She wanted to be used, something that her Mikkon had approached, once or twice, when he was on the verge of climax. She wanted that experience from start to finish, and it seemed as though the bard wanted the same thing.

He didn’t murmured tender lovings in her ear, or ask her what she wanted. When he did speak, it was singular dirty words—“Slut”, “whore”, “cunt”. They had more impact than the sweetest nothings that Mik had ever whispered, and each time he swore, she redoubled her efforts to be the sluttiest little whore cunt she could be.

It wasn’t long before he was panting with pleasure, non-verbally warning her that he was going to cum. One can’t get pregnant from a dream, but even if that was a risk, Merrida knew that there was no chance of slowing down—she so desperately wanted to feel the bard cum inside her, no matter the consequences, and she ensured that her hips raised up to meet his every thrust.

“Gods,” he grunted, and as he filled her with his seed, Merrida could hear the music swelling, and the room faded to white as her own orgasm overtook her.