The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


The Bay of Biscay welcomed another squall. A clash of clouds, the crash of thunder. Lightning lit up the sky.

A show of terrible brightness across the dark. Boom! Another bolt from the sky.

Animals had scurried into their holes and homes. Afraid of the awesome display of nature.

But one set of eyes showed no sign of fear.

Layla stood at the edge of the cliff. The howling wind threatening to tease her from it. The rush of wind caught her back.

She looked down at the ground. Her bare toenails extended out into long claws. These talons dug into the ground, fixing her safely to the spot. Her left hand, near the remains of a tree grabbed it, and similarly her nails grew out into claws, cutting into the wood; anchoring her there.

Her dark eyes returned to the sky. She cursed the weather; a sunny break.

It was not what she was hoping for. Her heart sank. She knew that soon the storm would break, having never brought its destruction to these shores.

She waited for a turn in the weather, but the storm continued to dissipate. Her claws drew back in. She saw the sun emerging and she would not wait for its awful warmth.

As an afterthought, as if to see something to eat…she peered fearlessly over the brink to the waves below. It was only when she felt the rock edge crumble that she took a step away. She smiled to herself. Only four days earlier on this very spot she had tumbled when a large shelf of rock suddenly gave way. The sandstone surface was wind-worn. Feebly, stone fell and she had tumbled with it.

That day; sixty feet below! Her body had come to a sudden thud, broken on the rock. The pain that shot through her body was short-lived. It took about five minutes for her broken back and ribs to mend.

Her leg, she pulled into place and waited impatiently another few minutes for the bone to set. Had she eaten before the healing would have gone even quicker.

Her bruises vanished even as she looked them over.

Thinking about that, she turned and went home

Her home was back atop but set further from the edge. Wooden, worn, the tall timber house looked as if it had been dropped into place.

She stopped at the doorway to survey the sky one more time. The sun was now breaking through. A beam touched her arm and it stung her with its warming glow. Smoke rose up off her burning flesh. She moved inside quickly.

She hated the sun. She hated it and she cursed it.

Inside, out of direct sunlight, as the sun beat against her house outside she took a moment to nurse the burn.

Sun’s burn took longer to heal.

She looked about the small building, pathetic. Dirty. Dingy.

It was a large single room, and a mezzanine above housing the ‘bedroom’ that over-hung where she stood.

Immediately she heard him wheeze; her father.

Layla sighed.

Near her was a small wobbly wooden ladder. She used this to climb up to the loft-like bedroom

There he lay, eyes almost fully closed over. Breathing shallowly. With difficulty.

He said nothing to her. He gazed at her pathetically. She felt no love for him anymore

Majnun was old. Very old. He had lived for more than seven hundred years. There was very little life left in him.

Above his head was the rusted old remains of his chain mail armour.

Once, he had ridden across half the world. From Spain into southern Francia he had come as the bonded servant of the great warrior; the greatly named Abd al-Rahman ibn Abd Allah al-Ghafiqi.

In battle Majnun’s master had been slain by the Hammer of the Moors—Charles Martel. Charles of the Pippinids, from the region of Austrasia would be the foundation of a dynasty, as well as the death of Majnun

Majnun was freed from his bondage at the death of his master. Within moments he was freed from his life, from the wounds he’d received from the Franks. But as he lay dying temptation came in the form of a wide-eyed Jinn.

Her name was Maryam. She hovered over his broken bloodied body. “Give me your soul, and I will save you” she whispered to him.

His eyes closing, focus fading, he managed to nod.

She whisked him away to the coast. But she did not carry him to safety. The demoness was not an oath-keeper. Her deal with him was only that he would continue to exist.

She fed from his seed, her mouth coupling to his cock like a oral vagina. She drained him of his his remaining life-force.

She offered him her own sex, bleeding. He mouthed it and tasted her coppery life. From gently flicks with his tongue he became like a ravenous monster

“That’s it” she smiled as he forced his face in between her thighs “Feed!”

And he was transformed


She stayed with him for a month, guiding him in his new life. He fed, they fed, on pilgrims passing.

He could never return home to Syria. She had told him. He could never venture out into the sun. Syria and land of the sun would be death to him. Better to stay here… she said.

He was ‘better off’ where he was. So she said. And then, one day, or rather one night, she was gone.

Ten months later she returned with a new-born babe; his baby; their child. Another vampire.

She again stayed with him for a short while. Her breasts bled blood, feeding a voracious young bundle of joy.

Layla’s eyes were as black as her mother’s. Her hair, as it grew as dark as night

Layla was his only companion.

They hunted together. They fed.

They made love.

For centuries they were everything to each other. She grew bored with her father-lover. But they were bound by their hunger—and the need to protect each other.

But… the pilgrims stopped. Constantinople, far to the East had fallen. What reason to travel to Turk-controlled places; the Crusader states long failed.

Only occasionally a ship would come by, and if lucky the storm would drive it ashore. Layla and her father would go rushing down to the beach.

People, thinking they were being rescued; screaming as terror realised. Vampires leaping around with so many to chose from to feed.

Majnun grew weaker as the feasting days diminished.

For a year now he was bed-ridden. Wasting away, but so slowly. The blood that gave him his power refused to let him die.

Layla climbed into bed with him. She caressed him, but he was unresponsive. She felt nothing but hate for him. Vampires hearts are cold. What was in it for her now? He no longer served a purpose.

He was no longer strong enough to pleasure her. He was no longer strong enough to protect her—should she need it.

He was only a burden

She stopped caressing him and instead pleasured herself.

As if to add insult to injury, as she came she aimed her sex at him and squirted onto his chest her clear fluid.

He barely noticed, anyway.

She felt frustrated that he didn’t suffer her insult.

She looked at his pathetic form. They had once looked out for each other. When she slept he stayed awake and kept guard, and then she would do this for him. When they were asleep they were at their most vulnerable. But now she thought he was useless to her.

She tried to stay awake. It was a battle that she could not win.

She slept.

In the evening she woke.

She sat bolt upright.


It roared loud and close

She leaped to the floor and ran out into the tempest

And there too, a ship, its sail shredded.

Layla went to the signal pyre and lit its offering of false hope

The pilot saw the cliff-top light. His heart raced as he turned the wheel—but there was no port entrance yawning wide. Nothing to shelter his ship

He realised too late, when he caught sight of the cliff top during a flash of lightning. His heart sank—as his boat would later

“Brace yourselves” he screamed, turning the tiller hard anyway as a last attempt to save the ship; but the rudder stock snapped.

The crash of wood against rock. Screams of terror

Only one smiled at this.

She scrambled down the rocks.

* * *

The first ashore, a young cabin boy; strong, surged through the surf. He fell to the sand praising his good fortune. He saw her feet, near his face.

“Pitié” he called out, holding his hand up to her.

She smiled, her canines extends. She embraced him. She ‘loved’ him in that moment. His blood rushing out and into her grasping mouth.

She held him close, as if comforting him, till he was gone.

A young woman, Ana, and her mother Claudette were thrown ashore by the crash of a wave.

Ana managed to get to her knees, but her mother lay wheezing water.

Ana saw Layla run at a man and take him down. At first she was wondering why the lithe naked woman would wrap herself around him. But then she realised something was wrong when she saw his limbs go limp.

The vampire let him go and he fell like a bag to the floor.

Layla looked over and saw Ana.

Ana wanted to run.

There was something odd.

Those dark eyes.

They glared at her.

It was as if Layla could see through her.

Ana so much wanted to run, but a part of her could not but be transfixed in that gaze.

Layla approached; as if stalking prey

Ana was frightened

“Don’t kill me” she whispered.

Layla smiled, her lips reddened with blood peeled back

“Please” Ana begged

Claudette coughed

“Take my mother!” Ana cried. She realised how wrong that sounded. But she said it again, with more conviction.

Layla smiled and as she approached she looked down at the woman gasping for air.

Ana tried to reason that it was a small mercy… her mother’s suffering ended.

Layla rose to her full height

“Come” she said

Ana took her hand.

Layla lead her back along the beach.

A few others were ashore, or still battling to get through

Layla ignored them.

Up, above it all Ana trembled in the ill-lit little house. No fire burned. She shivered.

Layla had no need of a warming fire.

Layla circled around the young woman.

Ana was shivering, saturated. Her silken sleeves sodden. She wore a pearl thread through her hair still… how it had managed to stay in place—a small clasp.

Layla undid this and let it fall to the floor.

Ana wore a green cotton top, with a low neck. Below, a red skirt stiffened with reeds set in casing, now covered in sand, dirt… and wet.

Layla was careful to disrobe her. She could have torn Ana from her clothes but she savoured the moment.

A wheeze from above told her her father was still alive. It was the only thing she would let interrupt her.

“What are you going to do?” Ana finally said… her throat parched with fear—her voice timid

“I will make you my plaything” Layla said as she circled around in front of Ana and stopped

“Plaything?” Ana asked

“You virgin, no?”



“Your French is not very good” Ana said

Layla laughed. Of all the things to note…There she was, cold, wet, and now naked… but Ana was concerned about enunciation !

Laya put her hands under Ana’s armpits and lifted her. She lifted her with ease; as if Ana was weightless

She brought her up to her face and she kissed

“No, don’t!” Ana pleaded

Layla laughed

She kissed her again “No, it’s a sin!” Ana said

Layla moved her mouth down to Ana’s small breasts. She flicked a nipple with her incredibly long tongue

Her tongue was rough, like a cats. “Ow” Ana sighed as it hurt her nipple

Layla’s tongue hung out eight inches long. She eased Ana back to the floor and then pushed on her shoulders forcing her to kneel

Ana was faced with what she thought was a penis, but was in fact a clitoris. Layla pulled her face into her crotch and her clit pressed in between Ana’s lips.

“Please….” she begged, but again, those eyes. When she pulled back her head and looked at them gazing down into hers…. she found herself opening her mouth

“Suck it” Layla said

Ana leant forward and took the tanned bud into her mouth. She sucked it. Layla quivered and came… she shot a clear liquid onto Ana’s face.

Ana thought at first it must have been pee. But it had no odour.

Layla rubbed her clit against Ana’s face and came again. And yet another shot of liquid.

Ana felt some run down her face and into her mouth

Her mouth was suddenly filled with vagina as Layla again held her close. Ana lapped at it.

Layla’s mind was powerful.

Ana gazed again into her eyes.

“Yes, my Lady” she said. “Yes, I am yours…”

Layla’s stomach was bloated.

She climbed to her father and offered him her breast. She felt she owned him that at least

He fed from her milk. He was weak at first but as he drank his daughter’s breastmilk—infused with the blood of many a recent victim, some of his colour returned to him

Later she had Ana fuck her again. As she looked out the window she saw stormbreak. She hated the end of the storm. She turned to look at the young thing licking her out. She casually played with Ana’s hair… and then sleep came for her again.

In the evening she left him. Ana was with her now.

In all her life she had never left this place—because her father had never left it

In her own way she had been afraid—what might happen to her as she slept. Ana was to guard her now.

Ana would love her, serve her, live for her.

“Where shall we go, my Lady?” Ana asked

“We will follow this road… and find out” Layla said

“Yes, my Lady” Ana said.

Dressed again in her finery, and now Layla too—with clothes from those dead at the beach, the mistress and her slave headed down the road…

The End