The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I woke up to the smell of warm maple syrup and strawberries on pancakes, and a pleasant-smelling tea that I was immediately urged to drink.

“You must drink the tea,” Linda explained to me as she sat down on the bed next to me, “to maintain the protection of the ritual.” She put one hand under the sheets to find my soft, well-rested member. “It will also help you maintain… other things.”

I wasn’t used to having breakfast served to me. I wasn’t even used to eating a meal that had more than one main ingredient. My father had never learned to cook and couldn’t teach me. My mother and father had separated when my brother and sisters were young. The boys stayed with dad, and the girls virtually disappeared. It felt strange but somehow and unexpectedly right to be in this environment – beautiful girls lavishing attention on me.

Kristin was not with us, but I thought I could hear talking from the living room as I drank my tea. I guessed she was with Sky – but it sounded like more than two voices, perhaps many more.

“Doogie, you’ll be busy soon, I think, and in some danger. Sky and the senior sisters aren’t sure how Kate should be dealt with. They’ll have to make up their minds before we can do anything, or things could get much worse.”

“Have these senior sisters arrived here?”

“Just Arcadia and her entourage. The other senior sisters are communing through Arcadia.”

I’m a typical man, I guess. I wasn’t worried about Kate and the “danger” I was supposedly in. I was simply noticing that these artists – witches was still somehow a more fitting word, I felt – just wanted to fuck me. Being a wiccult clearly made me a sex object. That was somehow dangerous, yet there were clearly a lot of benefits to it.

I was still in the early stages of being in love with Kristin – and starting to get some of the same feelings about Linda – but I was wondering how and when I might get to fuck Arcadia and feel her lusting for me to come inside her, and imagining who else might be helping to bring me off as I did it. On the other hand, part of me expected that Arcadia would turn out to fit the image of a “senior” old crone, and finally more more like what I expected a witch should be.

“Doogie, I need a small favor from you.” Linda looked visibly upset as she said this. “I know that you need to save your strength for what’s coming. I know that you..”

She was becoming very emotional, so I simply set the food aside and took her into my arms. She started to talk but I simply kissed her and pulled open her robe. I felt a powerful need to protect Linda and help her feel better, and before either of us knew what was happening, I was on top of her, in a classic missionary position, pushed deep inside of her and moving in and out in a traditional, normal, non-group-sex kind of way. It was nice for a change and it seemed to be exactly what she needed. Her body wasn’t as frenetically charged as it had been when I’d taken her some hours ago – she was a little tired – but it was very sweet love.

“I was only thinking about you last night when I was with Sky,” Linda said, “Doogie, I needed this so badly.”

We were quick – I held her down with the weight of my hands and pumped into her thoroughly. I felt her pussy squeezing me so hard that I felt some of her hairs gently scratching my shaft as we continued fucking. I don’t know why I did it, but when I heard her start to moan, I put my hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, and I felt my orgasm build just as I felt hers. She pulled my hips as she pushed back up toward me and we came together, both of our bodies making many small involuntary spasms. It was quiet, short, and intense. But already, my sixth sense had kicked in – again, I didn’t feel that I had made Linda pregnant.

“Arcadia said that you gave Kristin a baby,” Linda said, “and I always thought Kristin and I should raise our babies together. I couldn’t stand the thought of us not being pregnant together. I might need to do it again, Doogie. Even if it’s wrong, I need to be sure that you have a chance to give me a baby before you go.”

I wasn’t sure what she meant by me going, but I wasn’t thinking about it for long. Kristin had crept into the room silently but made her presence known. “I felt I was needed here,” she said as she gently pulled my body away from Linda.

Kristin whispered into Linda’s ear, then kissed her quickly, and the two girls positioned themselves unexpectedly: Linda slowly walked her bare feet up the wall, standing on her hands and facing us, upside down. Kristin, dressed in pajamas and a robe, leaned over and began to lick and kiss Linda’s shiny, engorged vulva. Kristin paused briefly, bent to take my shaft into mouth and squeezed my dick as though it were the teat of a cow – she was milking me into her mouth. She returned her attention to Linda, quickly licking up a couple of drops of semen from her thigh, and began to tongue-fuck the other girl.

I offered Kristin a sip of my still-hot tea, which she gratefully accepted, and I ate – I was simply too hungry not to – as I watched Linda’s excitement build. Her eyes were closed, and she looked blissful, although her arms were doing hard work that they could not have been fully accustomed to. This went on for a short time when I felt moved to kiss Linda. I kissed her, upside down even as I stroked Kristin’s legs. I felt an almost electric connection and Linda moaned loudly, into my mouth, continuing the quiet passion we had tacitly created. And as I kissed Linda one last time, I felt that Kristin, with my able assistance, had fathered Linda with what would grow to be a boy.

I continued to drink my tea and the three of us shared some berries from my plate as we enjoyed the afterglow for a few minutes.

“Doogie, being with you is like being under a spell, but better,” Kristin said. “I never thought we’d be lucky enough to find a wiccult while we were still young. Not to mention that you’re delicious apart from being able to give us little artists.”

From our conversation, I gathered that the girls had been talking with Arcadia for a few hours as they let me sleep, and had themselves learned things they hadn’t known about wiccults, and about themselves.

Like everyone else, Kristin and Linda knew where babies come from. Yet despite knowing that they were in a special category of “attendants”, and knowing that they were attached to a community of witches (or artists as they insisted), they hadn’t fully understood their place in society before.

They had long known the basics. An artist was a woman who was capable of learning and perhaps mastering the arts. An attendant in contrast could not, though she could facilitate and appreciate the work of the artist. Attendants also gave life to the community – only an attendant could give birth to an artist, they all knew, though none knew exactly how. The female children of attendants were nearly always themselves attendants; and their offspring were nearly always normal boys. Artists and attendants both had normal men in their lives – fathers, sons, and brothers were all part of the community, and none of them wiccults.

The men were not introduced to the arts and in general knew little about them – a man often not knowing that his wife was an attendant. It was known from periodic bad experiences and long-standing lore that men who tampered with the arts came to a bad end because of what they could not control or understand. These calamities were best not discussed with men or boys because talking about it simply seemed to create a hunger in them to learn more about the arts and to try and practice them. Artists and attendants knew their place, for the most part, and accepted who they were.

Artists themselves could not give birth to artists. They rarely had children, and when they did, they were often normal girls – not attendants. Kristin and Linda did not know a single artist with a boy child. There were stories that males born of an artist grew up to be gnomes or trolls or some other kind of monster. They thought these stories were merely legends, but could not be sure.

Just as in normal human society, with which artists and attendants mixed, the artistic community sought status. The best way to attain status was to produce a family with many artists, and whose artists excelled in their practice.

No one knows how attendants’ children come to be artists. It appears to happen spontaneously, though it seems to run in families. In most cases, about ten attendants are born for every artist. But in some families, the number is more like four attendants are born for every artist. And in some families, few boys are born at all – so more of the children are female, who in turn could become artists or give birth to future artists. The few family lines who produced households of three artists were rare and highly esteemed, as they often produced some of the best artists as well.

Arcadia had arrived at the apartment and immediately upon seeing Kristin had told her she was pregnant and would give birth to an artist. Yet Arcadia was not pleased. The pregnancy was rushed, not subject to the normal process of rituals and deliberations that brought greater safety to the community. Unplanned artists, it was known, were more likely to grow up outside of the community and pursue paths that could be dangerous – bringing scrutiny from the normal human community and persecution. Artists could be burned at the stake and, as it was well known, did not have the power to simply fly away from their oppressors or douse the fires with a spell producing heavy rains. The arts simply worked too slowly and often required a relaxed frame of mind to perform.

The proper and most powerful practice of the arts often required the artist to control and yet amplify her normal emotions, which was often done using herbs and intense physical exertion – exercise and sex figuring prominently among them.

In fact, the benefits that the arts provided was best suited for communities with simple needs or primitive lifestyles. Many “spells” simply cured sickness, or increased the yield of wild plants and the fertility of wild animals. A spell could heal a broken leg more quickly, or make a child grow up to be better-looking. But no spell known to artists could make a broom fly, neither could one transform a Volkswagen into a Porsche or even a pumpkin into a carriage.

Artists believed that their small contributions made the whole world a better place – helped keep the human race kinder, gentler, and more compassionate to their fellows. Legend had it that in the distant past, artists had averted wars and relieved famine, all without overt action – just the practice of the arts.

Yet artists were like any community and sometimes produced unhealthy, uncontrollable individuals who either focused on their own selfish gain and committed acts of violence to destroy others who might challenge their power and unfairly aggrandize themselves.

Arcadia and the broader community had decided, after long consideration and influenced to finally come to agreement in response to Kate’s proven attempt to entrap me, that Kate and her family were examples of such outlaws. They fell into the category of artists who wished to harm the community and increase their own power without respecting the limits that the larger community of artists had agreed on – yet attempted to continue to enjoy the benefits of the artistic community through subterfuge.

Kate’s failure to capture and control me, in ways that a member of the artistic community could observe, finally made their behavior indisputably dangerous. They had attempted to control a wiccult without the knowledge of the community.

I was a bit put off by this attitude, but I said nothing to Kristin and Linda. The problem wasn’t that Kate had done this without my consent, but without the consent of the council of artists – the senior sisters.

A wiccult is a resource of great value to the artistic community, and it is punishable by the community if a member tries to take that resource through unethical means for private benefit.

I understood the attitude, but felt alienated by it. It was wrong to compare me to an historical landmark, meant to be appreciated by the community. I felt I should be seen as a person, rather than a resource, albeit one of great value.

Kristin, Linda, and I spoke at some length, and I learned a lot about the artists and the parallel world they had created and yet kept mainly hidden. It was clear to me that I could become a part of it, if I chose to, and I would most likely have an unending supply of beautiful girls who wanted to mate with me.

But there was also a dark side: it was a world where I would be considered a piece of meat. I didn’t know what would happen if this stud bull preferred not to live on the farm.

Sky opened the door to Kristin’s room and spoke. “Arcadia and the senior sisters would like to speak to all of us now. Please come in a moment, but make sure you’ve prepared him first.” She spoke to the girls, and avoided eye contact with me. I wondered if it was the result of her shame at what had happened last night or some other discomfort, perhaps related to her discussion with Arcadia.

“I think Sky means that we should let you know about Arcadia’s looks, so you’re not surprised. Arcadia doesn’t look like any of us, Doogie. She’s been an expert, practicing artist for some time, and when you’ve been doing it for decades, it affects you.”

“Decades? How old is she?”

“Arcadia is one of the oldest. I don’t know how old she is, but I’ve seen pictures of her from the seventies where she looks much as she does now. She is certainly over one hundred years old, thought she looks far younger to most people. But her skin, and her hair – they’re not like ours, because she’s been wounded.”

“What do you mean?” What they were saying reminded me of something – but I wasn’t sure what.

“She’s a great hero to the community. A major disease broke out in the community that began to affect only the attendants. Everyone was frightened and no one knew how to avoid getting it. She found a way to channel all of the disease into herself to remove it from others… and although she created spell protection for herself, it wasn’t entirely effective. She cured everyone in the community, but she was forever harmed.”

“It’s not easy to explain, Doogie – just treat her with respect,” Linda said. “She really is a great hero.”

We left Kristin’s bed and entered the living room. From the look on Arcadia’s face, I don’t know who was more shocked – her or me.