The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tyryn watched from his room, through their link, as Maida returned home. She was bedraggled and disheveled, strands of straw sticking to her hair and mud on her face, and he delighted in the look of misery on her face. That’s what you get, he thought.

He didn’t know exactly what he was punishing her for. For being ahead of him in their studies? For being desirable and seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him? It didn’t matter. He knew he was tormenting her out of all proportion to her offense, that he was being petty and cruel, and that was the point. To have the power to be petty and cruel, to torment her just before he could.

And to see just how far he could push her before she snapped, and what would happen when she did.

Maida rushed straight to her room, slammed on the door, and flopped onto the bed. Tyryn grinned and slipped out of his own room. He walked down the hall, knocked on her door, and said, “Maida? Are you in there? I’m going to make some food, do you want anything?”

“Help me,” Maida moaned.

“What was that?” Tyryn asked, trying to keep his glee out of his voice.

Maida opened her mouth to respond, but Tyryn used their link to snap it shut again immediately, and then hold it their. She whimpered, but the sound couldn’t carry through the door.

“Maida?” Tyryn repeated. “I coudn’t hear you. Are you well?” There was of course no response, so after a pause he continued, “I’ll be in the scullery if you change your mind.”

Then he tromped down into the cool tunnels under the tower to get some bread and cheese, while behind him Maida buried herself facedown in her bed and sobbed.

She remained in there all day while Tyryn observed her through their link. Occasionally she would start drifting off to sleep, but Tyryn refused to allow her that. As soon as it started, he would begin spiking her desire, watching while she began to toss and turn, then to writhe, and finally, in desperation, to stroke herself.

He would allow her to for a time, but when he saw signs of her nearing completion, he would immediately suppress it until she gave up. Then he would wait for her to get near sleep once again, and repeat the process. By the time he tired of this, the sun was going down, and Maida was a mass of frustration, unfulfilled desire, and despair.

Satisfied with his work for the day, Tyryn went happily to sleep.

Maida tossed and turned, her mind whirling and sparking. She hadn’t slept in two days, and now night was falling again, with no sign that she’d be able to sleep any time soon. Her thoughts felt slow, dull, and simultaneously fuzzy and rough, like her head had been stuffed with coarse wool.

She had never felt so ashamed, so full of self-loathing. Bad enough what she’d done with those two louts, her humiliation at the shrine, and worse still that she’d enjoyed it. But worst of all was the moment of weakness when she called out to Tyryn for help. Who knew what Karnath might have done to him if he’d heard her?

After he left, and she realized what she’d nearly done, she curled up in misery for a time, but couldn’t fall asleep. After a while she realized why: one part of her didn’t seem to be miserable or ashamed at all. One part of her was enjoying itself.

This is why the demon came for me, she thought. This is the weakness it’s using against me. I have to ignore it!

And she tried. She tried to sleep, and when that didn’t work, she tried shifting positions in the hopes of finding one where she wouldn’t feel that tingle, that growing wetness and emptiness. But there was none. It kept growing and growing, her shame and exhaustion transmuting into shivering, helpless desire.

Finally, when it was obvious there was no other way, she began to stroke herself. Mechanically at first, but it just felt so good, and it was so hard to keep her tired mind from wandering to how it had felt to be out of control, to suck and stroke, to be claimed by Karnath. Soon she was close to release, that blessed release she so desperately needed, and then she would finally be able to rest—

And she couldn’t. She couldn’t finish. Try as she might, she just could not crest that final peak, and eventually her hand began to cramp up. She had to stop, and that made her start crying again.

Eventually, out of tears, out of even the last dregs of nervous energy, she began to drift off at last—only to feel the desire begin to build again.

That was hours ago. Ever since, sleep had been defeated again and again by rising desire, only for her efforts to stroke herself to be defeated by overwhelming exhaustion. Her eyes were hot, aching and prickly, and she knew she was starting to cry again, but there were no tears left to fall. Nothing but the ache in every part of her body, the dullness of her head, her parched mouth. Nothing but misery and exhaustion and a desperate yearning for rest that would never, ever come.

This was eternity. Suspension in a single moment, never-ending wakefulness. No possibility of release, ever. No possibility of a change, ever. Nothing was ever going to happen ever again; she had always been lying here awake, and always would be.

I want to die, she thought, and recoiled in horror from herself when she realized it was true.

“No!” she said, out loud, and got out of bed. “No.” I’m not going to die, she thought. I’m going to find a way to fight! Somewhere out there, somebody has to know how to free me—and I know just where to start.

She strode to her door and opened it, expecting at any moment for the demon to yank her back to her bed, to claim her and use her, but it didn’t. Part of her was disappointed, but she forced that aside and walked down the tower to its most important, most carefully sealed room—one she had been given permission to enter during her father’s absence only for certain very specific uses related to her studies.

Tyryn wasn’t allowed in at all, not after what he’d done last time he got to choose his own reading.

She opened the door, then closed it behind her. She picked up one of the candleholders on the table in the center of the room, lit the candle, and began to peruse the shelves, looking for anything that might help her.

Tyryn woke to the predawn light drifting in through his window. Idly, he checked on Maida, and then sat bolt upright, near panic. She’s in the library! What if she finds the books on curses? What if she figures out what I’ve done?

But he calmed himself quickly. She was asleep, drooling slightly on one of Vilnus’ notebooks—his notes on the Daemonologie Pro Novitiis. Vilnus was a Binder, an expert in making magical books, and thus able to actually copy spells from one to another—that was where most of his library came from. But he had been too afraid of some of the books he’d once possessed to copy their spells; some he’d taken descriptive notes on, but others he appeared to have never opened at all, just gotten rid of as quickly as possible.

It was too bad—none of the spells he had copied were remotely as interesting as summoning a demon or wiping something from existence. Tyryn would have liked to have seen those.

But either way, the fact that Maida was looking at the notes on demons was good for Tyryn. It meant she still thought that was what she was dealing with. And it meant he could have a little fun, and experiment with his power over her. Could he make her move without waking her?

Slowly, he made her hand lift from the table, pick up her quill, and dip it in the ink. Then, he had it scrawl a message diagonally across the page, in heavy, jagged letters: “You won’t find me in here.”

That done, he had her put the pen back, and waited for her to wake.

By the time she did, her candle had burned out. She fumbled in the dark for a while until she was able to find another and light it, and then gasped in horror at what she saw. She turned, looked frantically around the room as if she expected to find Karnath lurking in a corner somewhere, but of course she saw nothing.

Tyryn let her look around for a bit, then, when she was facing the table again, he once more took control of her hand. He could feel her resistance, straining against her own muscles for just a second, but she gave up gratifyingly quickly. He wrote another message: “Did you think these scribblings would show you a way to fight ME?”

Maida hung her head, defeated. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Tyryn had her flip the page and continue writing. “Even if this pitiful volume had any mention of me, a pathetic creature like you would still never be able to fight me. You are weak, and helpless, and alone. You are mine.”

Maida whimpered, and Tyryn made her hand continue writing: “Say it! Speak the truth we both know.”

“I’m yours,” Maida said quietly—and came.

Tyryn had been wondering if he could do it. Could he take Maida from nothing to completion, without building up to it? Was his control that thorough? It certainly appeared to be. “Again,” he wrote through her.

“I’m yours!” she gasped, and came again. Maida sagged against the wall, her knees weak, panting for breath, and Tyryn allowed himself a cruel smile as he watched her through their link.

What will she do next? he wondered, thoroughly enjoying his game. It didn’t matter, of course—whatever she did, he would continue to grind her down until she broke. It was only a matter of time—but it was fun to watch her trying to wriggle free in the meantime. It excited him in a way few things ever had.

Maida staggered up the tower steps, blinking quickly to clear her vision. Between the bleariness of exhaustion—she had barely slept, and uncomfortably—and the tears, it was hard to see. She reached the tower’s ground floor, and hesitated. Karnath would follow her anywhere she went, that much was clear. Her room wasn’t any safer than anywhere else—nowhere was.

But there was nothing in the tower that could help her. There was only Tyryn, in danger as long as she remained, and her father, once he returned.

She considered leaving a note, but she wasn’t sure how well Karnath could see her thoughts. If she just left, he might not realize until it was too late to stop her—but if she left the note, he might interfere.

She hesitated only a moment longer, and then walked out into the morning sun. Somewhere outside the village, there were demon-fighters, Chosen Ones, sorcerers. Someone had to know how to help her! She would just have to seek them out.

Hopefully, she would be able to come back someday. Hopefully she would survive. But if she didn’t... if she were killed by wild animals or bandits... well, that might not be as bad as whatever Karnath had in store for her.

Squaring her shoulders, she headed down the hill and out into the village.

Tyryn watched Maida go, curious what she was up to. He didn’t realize she was trying to leave until she was halfway across the village green. Then he had to scramble.

Did his control have a range limit? How far away could she get before he couldn’t see her anymore? Couldn’t control her? He had no idea—but he wasn’t about to let his toy get away. Not after putting this much work into breaking her.

So he dressed hastily and then practically flew down the tower steps. He hurried down the hill after her, but slowed as he began to catch up. He didn’t want her to see him, not until he was ready. Not until the critical moment for her punishment.

So he lurked a little distance away, and, when she was nearly to the edge of the village, he took control of her again.

Time to make sure you never try to escape again, he thought.