The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Author’s note:

To new readers! This tale is set in the same fictional world as “the Ancients” and Corelle D’Amber. I will keep in mind those folks who may arrive to this fresh, but you will find a minimum of exposition about what has gone before.

This story follows “Ecstasy and Vengeance” and the “Ecstasy” arc in chronology but stands alone.

This story is particularly gruesome, nasty and bloody. Unpleasant people do unpleasant things here. If you are looking for arousal only, then pass on by. Thanks.

My tales will often contain mc, fd, ff, and edi (Extremely Disturbing Imagination). All stories copyrighted.

The library of my stories and “Corelleverse” series characters are referenced at: http://www.asstr.org/~EyeofSerpent/library.html

Xizang Takeover

Eye of Serpent

He did not see the Xizang temple, the mountains, or even the inside of his eyelids. He saw the Great River. His eyes closed, his breathing sweet and regular, his body thought he was dreaming, and was relaxed as only deep sleep allows.

The River moved like a dream of sunlit undersea silk. Rushing points of amber light went by him at speeds much greater than the local current. He thought he could smell the slight tang of lightning and fresh snow.

Something dark and painful was coming.

He did not strain towards it. That was not needed. The dark was coming now. He felt the ache of it coming closer and reflected on last night’s dream. He dreamt that a ruined dragon wept in his arms. In his sleep, he talked to a broken man who came to this room to steal his dearest treasures. Those dreams sang the first indication that he might die today.

His breath moved in the same pattern as the Great River. He was ready.

The dark was coming very quickly now.

* * *

The old wooden doors pushed inward slowly. The monks entered the intimate room with the balcony overlooking the lake. Three small men in soft yellow robes presented themselves formally and waited to be recognized. There was no glazing in the windows. The High Lama preferred to breathe the cold Tibetan air.

The Lama opened his eyes and though his back was to the three, he signaled them in the silent way.

The eldest spoke. “Most Learned, they are nearly here. The village runners say there are seven hundred mercenaries with equipment and supplies. They carry automatic weapons, of course. They have already captured the Chinese garrison. The village is surrounded. A small force has been left there and the rest are making their way here.”

The Lama reached within his robes and took off a pendant from his old mentor, a small white river stone on a leather string. He placed it reverently in an incised wood box and closed the lid. “I understand.”

The youngest spoke. “Most Learned, there are also two flying craft coming up the pass. Helicopters. They bear weapons on their carriages.”

The Lama’s thin eyebrows rose. He was a fine figure of a man, though shorter than his three students were. He turned his head slowly, as if his old bones ached in the cold. “How is that? Those machines do not work at the top of the world.”

The youngest spoke again. “They are flying here now. No one knows the manner of it. It is noted that the helicopters are of strange aspect, perhaps a new design for high altitude. I think that leaving for the caves will not work. We will be seen.”

The Lama nodded sadly. “Get the old and sick out of the temple first through the tunnel. Take them to our small compound in Lhasa. In my arrogance, I thought the approaching troops Chinese and thus hoped they could be dealt with fairly. I am sorry, my old friends. I accept responsibility for this. Go now, Bin Du.”

The youngest did not move. “Master, we have talked. You need the three of us here. You should not battle an army alone.”

The Lama looked at the three of them. “I see.” There was a long silence. “Consider this, the force moving on us disturbs the River. Also, the Chinese have been attacked; there are few with the power or arrogance to do this. I fear that what we face are enemies from the Crane’s past. This smells of an Ancient Blood Dance.”

The eldest spoke then, “Most Learned, history shows that mortals cannot run from the Ancients. Might we not resist even with death as our only reward?”

This is a sorrowful day. The Lama smiled slightly and smoothly stood. “That is so.”

He walked to the youngest. They looked into each other’s eyes for several moments. Then the Lama took the graying head of the youngest gently in his hands and kissed his forehead. He stepped to the next and repeated this, then to the eldest and did it again. “I will not battle. You are my finest students. If none of you survives, then none of me survives. All of you should go, but at the very least, I need one of you with the ones we send away to Lhasa. Please, go now, Bin Du.”

The youngest nodded and left with a calm face.

The Lama looked back at the wooden box holding his memento and treasure. He wanted more time. Just a moment’s meditation to put a thin hand on the lid as he had so many times in the troubled years and draw comfort, but there was no more time. He whispered, “Why can they not put aside the fear?”

There was no answer to his question.

So he prepared to die in peace. He would not give them the satisfaction of a fight.

* * *

The Golden Master looked out of the bulletproof canopy of the helicopter at the Tsangpo pass moving below him. He spoke to the crowded compartment. “Commitment is everything in this. Not even one mistake is acceptable.”

All of his captains’ heads nodded.

Golden Master turned slightly and looked at his prize, RiverSlut. She smiled at him with adoring amber eyes that glinted in the mountain light. He smiled back. My daring will win me the world. Once I have the Crane, there is no one I fear but the Shadow Keeper, and he may be dead from the mind-thrust of my RiverSlut.

The vehicle shivered forward, the temple coming into sight.

* * *

Robed men hurried into the Temple as they landed. The heavy wooden doors shut before the rotors had stopped spinning. The bare turf surrounding the temple was as empty and silent as the icy mountains around them on every side. A crisp wind swept across the soldiers gathering.

Golden Master pulled his goggles on against the snow glare. He took RiverSlut by the upper arm, for she had no forearms at all, and helped her from the helicopter. She smiled shyly and snuggled closer to him, “Thank you, Master. There is danger here.”

“Yes.” He replied, “Do not concern yourself my little whore, we are prepared.”

“This danger—.”

He squeezed her arm viciously. “Stop. Listen to me, my slave.” He looked at the officers. “Begin.” They nodded and jogged off toward the temple. He turned to the white-haired courtesan. “Never speak to me as if you would teach me. I am no longer your Kinspawn. I am Master now.”

“I am not worthy,” she lowered her eyes, “but once I was your teacher.”

“And now you are my weapon, a weapon that I control absolutely. Other than this, you are a walking talking cunt. Cunts do not speak unless they are asked to do so, especially not in front of my commanders.”

Her eyes widened. She flushed and nodded, lowering her head even further. “Yes, Golden Master. I am a walking cunt.”

He studied her. Her white painted face; her green eyelids and wet crimson lips made him desire her even here. But was she dangerous? Could she be shaking off the golden needle effect? “What was your name from before RiverSlut?”

She shook her head. “Golden Master, forgive me, I do not recall.”

He nodded. He slid a hand under her parka and found her silk robes. Then his fingers slipped deeper. He found the bell ring in her clitoris. She was wet, as that was his command. She must always be wet and randy. “The Crane is only dangerous if he has renounced his pacifist ways. No one will expect a hostile move against the Crane. His peaceful life here ends today. Then he will become dangerous again, for I will control him. I will have another living weapon and my power will be greater than any Ancient has ever imagined.”

RiverSlut squirmed on his fingers, finding the cold draft and his warm hand a unique pleasure. Her passion flower was always hot. How she wished she had fingers that might pluck her swollen flower for hours on end. “This cunt is pleased, Master.”

He pulled his hand out of her robes and slapped her face. “And this slap pleases you.”

She rocked from the blow and orgasmed. She gasped, “Yes, Master! I obey your will!”

“Now, be silent. This is not about your pleasure. This is not about you at all. I am soon to be the Master of the top of the world. Where the Chinese have failed to defeat the Crane, I will succeed.”

She lowered her head and bowed low, falling to her knees on the ground. She put her painted forehead to the dirt.

Men approached. The Golden Master turned to them.

“Honored Patron, this peasant,” the officer pulled a craggy faced stick figure up by his arm, “was polishing the prayer bell in front of the temple. He is the only one on the outside.”

Golden Master looked at the old fellow. Mongolian extract, perhaps. “You speak Chinese?”

“Little, Honored Patron. Little.” The gangly fellow had a voice to match. His fear sounded in each word.

“Did you not hear the temple gongs calling everyone inside?” Golden Master looked over the heads of the men and watched the windows of the temple, particularly the balcony at the upper floor.

“Yes, Honored, but Miyu polish. Every day, Miyu polish bell. Bell glow. The Lama gives Miyu bell honor. Every day. Miyu polish—.”

“Cease!” Golden Master roared at the peasant. “Miyu, has anyone left the temple for the caves?”

The wretched man trembled. He shook his head quickly. “No, Honored.”

Golden Master smiled. “Good. If this is not true, then you die.” He turned to the officers. “Use the mortars. Saturate the temple interior with the gas. If anyone tries to leave, shoot them immediately.”

The men bowed and left. The captain began to drag off the peasant.

“No!” Golden Master spoke.

The captain halted.

The Golden Master smiled, pulled his pistol and shot the peasant in the chest.

The captain nodded with a blank face and threw the old man to the ground.

Miyu put thin hands over his head and curled up in powerful pain. His breath slowed and his trembling stopped. His rheumy eyes sought some pity in the face of the white-haired courtesan.

She only had eyes for the dirt.

Golden Master watched the mortars deliver the gas rounds to the temple. Explosions and vapors were soon billowing from several parts of the old structure. “Soon to be the Master of the top of the world,” he whispered.

* * *

They brought eighteen men and five women out of the Xizang temple once the hypnotic gas had done its work. The Golden Master moved among them, touching them on the head and concentrating his awareness of the Great River. He strained. Their minds were very strong even barely conscious. Stronger than any mortal minds he had ever encountered.

They thrashed beneath his fingertips. They fought him through the drugs. He realized someone had trained each of these monks in the Art of the Little River and trained them well. The women, who seemed to draw fully on the Little River even barely awake, shook his confidence the most. He spent twice the effort on each of the five as he had on the fifteen men. He sneered. The Little River was nothing. He drew harshly on the Great River to burn down their resistance.

He did not move on to the next groggy body until he saw them smile and heard his victim murmur, “Yesss, my Husssband.”

He rewarded each convert with a pulse of pleasure. This was stealing a technique from the hated Shadow Keeper, who had tried to enslave him, but the degree of the monks’ resistance had unnerved him.

He was very tired by the time he had mastered twenty souls. A chair was quickly provided for him.

Three temple monks could walk, seeming less affected by the gas. They were brought to the Golden Master for inspection. The Golden Master closely examined the three whom stood swaying with dilated eyes. He smiled. The Crane would not be touching the Great River today. He spoke crisply in Chinese, “Who is Master here?”

The eyes of the shortest monk glinted harshly. “If this is a challenge Dance, then things have changed greatly in the world.”

The Golden Master smiled. He looked back into the ageless eyes. “Yes. More than you can imagine, Ancient One. I come to invite you back into the world. Once you were the greatest of the Ancients. The last time you defended yourself, in Tunguska against the Ogre, was sufficient to shake the world.”

The old Lama could barely stand, but he drew himself somehow into a quiet stance of dignity. “Leave me in my peace. You will gain nothing here by your actions. You do not understand the River. I can see what you are.”

Anger cut into Golden Master’s tired mind like a whip. The comment seared along a line of truth so closely that the Kinspawn lost control. He pulled his weapon from within his robe, thumbing off the safety. His voice growled, “And what am I?”

He pointed the pistol at the old Lama’s head.

Yet, those old eyes looked easily back into that death.

“What am I?” Golden Master shouted.

The old Lama looked at the stiff body of Miyu and the tiny figure of the courtesan with her forehead on the ground. He noted the empty sleeves of her coat from the elbows down. He suddenly flexed his arms once, and the soldiers holding him released him as if their hands were on fire. “You are a coward.”

Blood rage swept the Golden Master’s mind. He felt the Great River heating his blood. With no conscious thought, he tightened the weapon’s trigger.

“No!” The eldest holy monk broke from the soldiers holding him and jolted in front of the weapon. His slender body muffled the pistol’s explosion. He jerked and hung from the pistol. His hands jerked and then stilled.

“Toad!” Golden Master cursed. He tossed the monk aside. He brought the pistol up again. Then he checked himself. Both monks had tried to interfere with the threat to the old Lama. The soldiers struggled for several moments to restore order and finally several soldiers each gripped the remaining two prisoners. The Lama and the remaining monk were forced down on their knees.

Golden Master took a calming breath. The River was a hot vibration in his heart. He felt pain.

He smiled. “That is the last time I will ask you anything, Crane. Now I will tell you.” He pointed to his pet Ancient. “RiverSlut, stand up and disrobe.”

The courtesan moved immediately. The cold weather coat came off, then the silk robes, then the boots and socks. She stood straight in the mountain wind. Her toes curled against the chill, her small clit piercing started to chime as she shivered.

Golden Master crouched down in front of the old Lama. “Look at her. Look at my plaything.”

The old Lama studied the tiny figure. Her glorious white hair swept in the wind like a glistening cloak behind her narrow nudity. He saw the four pink hard nipples centered on slight breasts. Then his expression changed as he realized who he was looking at. He composed himself, but his eyes narrowed.

“That’s right. A half-mortal has mastered an Ancient.” Golden Master laughed. “Now let’s see how much of a pacifist you are. You will submit to the golden needles and become my slave, or everyone here dies.” He pointed at the curled body of the bell polisher. “Everyone.”

“To put my self in the hands of a coward is monstrous,” said the old Lama simply.

Golden Master shot the gray-haired monk next to the old Lama in the chest. Blood spattered the soldiers holding him. The weapon’s report echoed a long time. The soldiers kept the groaning monk on his knees.

Tears fell down the old Lama’s face. He looked at the crumpled form of Miyu. He looked at his eldest student lying on the ground dead. “You do not understand the Great River. You cannot triumph this way. You are destroying yourself. Turn back or the River will eat your mind. Don’t you feel it already taking you apart?”

Golden Master shot the wounded monk in the head. Blood went across the faces of everyone. Tears of blood mixed on the holy Lama’s face with furious salty tears. The Lama thought about the river stone in the wooden box in his rooms. “Forgive me, my old mentor.” He looked at the Golden Master. “Kill us all if you can, coward. The Crane is not afraid of death.”

Golden Master stared in shock. He hesitated. He needed the Crane to increase his opportunities against the other Ancients. Inspiration bloomed. He snapped the pistol down twice on the old Lama’s head, dropping him into oblivion. He stood up and walked to the shivering RiverSlut.

“Come my little cunt. Warm yourself by sucking this pathetic old man’s cock. I will get the golden needles and we will have the Crane without fail.”

RiverSlut nodded quickly and smiled her lust. “Master, may I have a word about the Crane?”

Golden Master stopped about to move away and put his tired discipline to balk his anger. He did not like how loquacious RiverSlut was becoming. He had commanded her to be more circumspect. She needed stronger controls, perhaps another treatment of the needles. “Later. Not now. You are a cunt. Suck him. Hurt him. Make the gas even more effective by drowning his mind in hot pleasure. I will bring the needles.”

“Yes, Golden Master.” She did not even think of dressing again. She walked nude over the stony ground to the old man’s unconscious body and unfastened his robes with her teeth. Her hot mouth went down on his member. She loved this abasement. She loved being a cunt. Moreover, in front of all these mortals, the power of her humiliation was divine. She felt the Great River begin to thread its way through her swollen flower.

I am nothing but a walking cunt. I am a hot piece of flesh empowered to my Master’s will. I am a cunt weapon of the Great River.

The old Lama’s mind began to heat and melt under her hot sucking mouth.

The Master is right, this will not take long. Perhaps Master will slap me again if I finish this quickly.

The Lama’s mind struggled to resist from within the daze of drugs and pain.

Yes. This is what I was re-made for. This is what I am. I am a sucking walking cunt who should be silent and obey.

She started to slam her hips down on the invisible Great River. She sucked warm cock. She sent twisted heat through her mouth and into the old Lama.

This would not take long at all.

* * *

Golden Master ordered the unconscious Lama moved to the Holy One’s own rooms. Once secured upon a table there, he began the Needle Dance that would make a slave of the old Master’s mind. One by one, the needles were brought forth from their ordered trays and slipped into the flesh of the old monk.

Dozens of needles. Dozens of dozens. It was tedious exacting work. The Golden Master was fatigued from capturing the temple’s disciples, but his concentration was slowly rewarded. One needle at a time the flow of life within the old Master was sculpted and changed.

Three hundred steps in the Dance. The Lama was silent but strained.

Four hundred needles. The old Master’s eyes were dull.

Five hundred. The eyes were flat opaque.

Golden Master stretched and worked his hands. Sweat beaded on the Lama’s face and chest. The shining golden needles stood trembling in mesmerizing display along the old Master’s flesh. Leaning closer, Golden Master watched the old man’s breathing closely.

Yes.

Golden Master called for water and salved his own fatigue. He sent for RiverSlut. She came at once. Still nude, for her Master had not told her to dress again. She shivered with waves of chill and hot arousal.

Her Master waved her to his side. “I have beaten him. You did well. Between the drugs and the trickery of your hot mouth, he has crumbled after only five hundred and thirty-three steps. I thought he would be more difficult than the Serpent, given his legend. I am pleased. This has gone well.”

He stroked his hand down her tiny white face. “I am well pleased with you. So much so that I ask you to give the broken Crane his new name and nature. The Crane will become the slave of my slave. His humiliation shall be a greater reflection of your own.”

RiverSlut’s eyes widened and she orgasmed with the thought of the Crane as her own toy. She nodded her excitement even as she tried to imagine what perversions she could do.

Golden Master gestured magnanimously at the helpless figure. “Proceed.”

RiverSlut bowed and stayed with her face lowered. A tiny shiver passed through her flesh.

Golden Master laughed. “He is yours. Take him. All my dreams are made reality and I am feeling generous.”

She remained prostrate.

“What?” he asked shortly. “Speak.”

She straightened, her nipples hard and pink with arousal and shame. “This is not the Crane, Master.”

Golden Master stood rock still.

“You shot the Crane and left him for dead outside. This is the High Lama, the Crane’s best student and oldest champion.”

Golden Master felt a pain sear through his heart. The Great River was roaring in his head. The edges of the room seemed to melt.

“Miyu. The Crane is Miyu.” RiverSlut bowed again. “Shall I go and have his body brought here?”

Darkness. Pain and heat tearing at his mind. RiverSlut’s words were destroying his accomplishment. His hands flew to his ears, but the roaring could not be silenced. The Golden Master shuddered and he slipped to the floor. Senseless.

RiverSlut watched him on the floor and shivered with the chill. She did not see the room, the lake, or even the mountains beyond the unglazed windows. She did not care about anything so trivial. She waited eagerly for her Master’s will.

END