The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Everything around me is darkness. It’s a soothing darkness, but I don’t know how much I want to let it soothe me. It’s better than being back in the asylum, but I’m not sure how much better. At least here Alice isn’t groaning and thrusting herself against me. Here there’s just darkness and shadows wrapped so thickly around me I can taste them every time I breathe in.

I try to think about Olivia, and I feel my body tighten up. Ink drips from too many places as the thought wrenches a whine from my throat. Before I met Quillspawn I’d imagined it as oil, thick viscous oil, but now it’s impossible not to think of it as ink.

The memories between being there and here, having the first three whatever they are sealed . . . it’s all just a dark blur. I remember a pen sliding into my mouth, into my pussy, into my back and then . . .

Oiled locks close the tightest . . .

I hear her voice in my mind, it’s a memory, but it’s happening now. Surrounded only by blackness, blackness that drips and swirls everywhere, it’s impossible to keep track of time. It could be sunset or sunrise. I could have been here for a million years, time slowed to a snail’s pace as the outside world blazes ahead full speed. The outside world isn’t a good thought, thinking of escape, of getting free . . .

“Fuck! Suck! Slick!”

My own voice betrays me and I scream as more ink slicks. Oil. She’s trying to change the way I think about it, I have to fight it, I have to fight past it.

Inky black oil slicks down my back, drips from my lips, and oozes out between my legs. It must be easier to do the second time around. It feels so good every time my voice calls out the same words she keyed to those three spots the first time we met. It makes me feel tight and helpless, wrapped up and weak. I can barely move, I can’t spark, I can mostly just feel the oil slick over my body.

My body is held still by ink, but I know there’s more to it than that. Suspended in midair, arms and legs pulled tight by inky chains, I’m so exposed and helpless. Everything about this situation resonates with the same helplessness I’ve always craved, that moment of no choice, no movement . . . nothing.

Life is so much easier without choices, without thoughts . . . without commitments, just . . .

“Are you ready for more, silver?” Her voice makes me shudder and clench, but I’m not sure if this is happening or if I’m remembering it. I might just be trapped in my own head again. I don’t know. I really don’t know. I’m not sure if I know anything, tied and oiled and inked. “The first is always the hardest, when your mind is busiest. It’s much quieter now, and soon you will bow.”

Her rhyming taunts me as much as it excites me. More than oil is soaking between my legs. “Don’t wanna be locked up . . . Gotta . . . Go . . . Aaaah! Fuck! Suck! Slick!” The oil tightens me up more as the dripping redoubles. I am so fucked. I only wish I weren’t loving it.

Using my own memories against me, my own mind against me, I’d love her if I didn’t hate her. Need to get back to the people I love . . . love, Olivia . . .

“Fuck! Suck! Slick!”

“You’re so good at conditioning yourself, I could just keep you on a shelf . . . and eventually you’d be mine.” Yanuka’s voice makes me shudder as the inky blackness parts in front of me, allowing her to walk through. “Did you really think it would be so easy? No matter, and now your mind, we shatter.”

She pulls a new pen out of her clothing, sucking savoringly on the tip. Watching her sends shudders down my spine and makes my body clench. Maybe it’s just the oil making me tighten. I can’t tell anymore. I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but it feels like a small eternity. It probably hasn’t even been an hour. She pulls the pen out of her mouth and holds it up between my eyes, slowly sliding it back and forth. My eyes follow it, if only for a lack of anything better to do or . . . no, the pen is pulling my eyes with it, back and forth, then up and down, down, down . . .

How can she do so much? I knew she was a witch, but if she’s like me, shouldn’t there be a limit . . .? Does that mean there’s no limit on me . . .? Maybe if I knew, I could get away, could resist . . .

“Fuck! Suck! Slick!”

I pull at my bonds as my body quivers out of control, but all they do is tighten to hold me ever more exposed. Her pen keeps on moving, back to left and right, up and down, and then swirling in slow, lazy circles. It’s hard to follow, the shining saliva forming light trails in the strange darkness.

It keeps swirling, swirling and making the air sparkle and shine until it moves towards me so fast that all I see is a blur. I feel it in the middle of my forehead, stabbing in, but not actually stabbing. It feels just like when she jammed the pen into my back. This feels so much better, and so much worse. Oil, ink, whatever it is, dribbling into me as she turns the key.

A loud sound echoes between my eyes, like a key being twisted in a rusted lock again and again, the key slowly breaking and jamming itself in place tighter than it ever could have been before. “Focus on the thoughts the key makes, as your mind it takes.”

“C-clicking, tearing in, melting and sizzling and dripping away as it bores . . . dives in . . . deeper . . .” She’s making me talk again, or maybe I’m saying the words. I feel more like I’m watching myself from inside my own body as it keeps twisting and clicking, as she clicks the pen in and out with her thumb, twisting it more and more and more. “Tearing into me, flooding me . . . sooo much oil!”

My mind starts to feel so much slower as the ink pours over me, like it must have to Yana, or like she meant to do to me. Whatever magic she’s using to hold my sparks back, to make me speak, to make me betray myself, she’s using it to make it so hard not to focus, not to do exactly what she wants.

Don’t even know why she feels the need to lock me up so tightly if she can already control me so well. She’s so powerful and I’m so weak. She’s giving me what I need, what I crave.

The pen twists hard inside of me and then pulls out. I can feel oil drip slowly down my face, falling over my eyelids and lips. My tongue snakes out to taste it, even though my mouth is still full of it. This oil tastes newer, fresher, stronger. There’s a tangy taste to it, something about it coming from so much closer to my mind, dripping from so close to my brain . . .

“This one is Drip. Taste.” The pen slides into my mouth and my lips latch around it. It tastes like . . . like . . .like obedience, like a good little slut should taste, wet between her legs and between her eyes, dull and glazed, always waiting for a chance to serve, to kneel and arch, spreading her legs and opening her mind to be invaded, molested, changed and commanded however she desires, however she craves, just a good little spark-slave.

Maybe if I can remember what I’m forgetting, what about escaping she’s making me forget, it was something bright . . . it was something . . . not Olivia, but something she believed I could do, something . . .

“Fuck! Suck! Slick! Drip! Mmmmraaaa . . .”

My eyes stay open as the ink drips over them and sinks into them. It doesn’t hurt, the drops feel more soothing than tears even as they’re burning, heating parts of me I’ve never felt hot before. It feels like all of the oil, dripping down my body from my lips, dripping down my thighs from the other pair, sliding all down my back . . . it feels like it’s heating me up and melting me down to scrap as it makes me tighter and tighter.

Feels like being bundled up to play in the snow, only it’s inside of me. Hard to move, feeling weighed down, trapped down, tightened up, exactly like a little silver slut should feel. Thoughts dripping into me, can’t even decipher if they’re mine or hers.

But all of me belongs to her anyway. All of me, my dripping, well-oiled pussy, my well-oiled dripping mind, my tight little body . . . every part of me is just another toy for her to play with. I love being this helpless.

Was this really what I was born for? Oil, ink, whatever, melted into me from the moment they met Susan in that hospital room . . .? I don’t know if I like that, but what’s even better is that I know that I don’t care. It feels so good to feel my will being stolen, to feel everything being sealed away to turn me into a helpless slave forever, barely fit to obey.

Too much, way too much to fight, to ever fight . . . I don’t know how many she can seal before I won’t even be making my own thoughts. I feel wound so tight, so weak. She’s winning . . .

“I think you deserve a little more . . . Don’t you? Only five sealed? That’s barely enough to seal even a normal woman, much less a LaSilvas. Let’s give you two this time.” Yanuka twirls the pen around in front of my face, and then grabs a hold of it with both of her hands. Carefully, she pulls them apart, and where there was only one pen before, now there are two. “And with so much oil covering you already, it makes it so easy to lock you up tight.”

I want to respond, to speak, to do something. Yanta liked my begging, didn’t she? It didn’t mean she let me go, but she liked it. I would beg for Yanuka. I’m not sure if I would beg her for more or less, but I would beg. Every time I think that spot on my forehead feels like it’s wrapping my thoughts around it, dripping and tensing.

Cool metal pen tips start to rub into my nipples, making me feel so hot, so wet, thighs clenching so hard as my eyes feel heavier. Oh Nightshade . . . this is really not helping. I feel like I could fall asleep as she paints my nipples black, rubbing again and again, slick, thick oily ink coating and dripping from my nipples, feeling harder than they’ve ever felt before. Oh goddess, no, no I don’t need the ink there, don’t need the oil there, won’t be able to break away if her ink drips in there, drips where Nightshade used those techniques, where she-

“Fuck! Suck! Slick! Drip! Ooooh . . . Yes!”

First the left, then the right pen carefully presses right into the center of my nipples, applying more and more pressure, slowly, perfectly . . . and then they slide in. The oil feels even thicker, even wetter than before as it traces along those connected paths, paths of sleep and sex, pussy so wet, overflowing with ink, so much ink, making me clench, nipples feeling so, so hard as the pens twist and seal.

So much of it drips over my breasts, down my stomach, and it burns. It’s so cold but it burns, dripping and seeping into me, staining my body with just a trace of that dark black. It’s everywhere, holding me, filling me. I can barely . . . I can barely remember what her face looks like . . .

“This one . . .” She flicks the pen in my left nipple, and I scream so loud my voice cracks. “Will be Tight. This one . . .” Yanuka flicks the other, and I groan, so tired, so sleepy and horny, gushing and groaning . . . Nightshade said there was more she had to do to enslave a woman with just her breasts . . . I think this is that and more. “Will be Twist. Twisting like the locks sealing you away inside of your own mind. Forever.”

I want to scream as she pulls the pens slowly out of me, pushing them back into one, but I can’t. Every second there’s more oil pooling inside of me. My pussy must be stained black. I can’t take much more.

There’s not much more of me to take . . .

“Fuck! Suck! Slick! Dr-r-rip! Tight! Twwwwiiiiiiist!”

Even without my control my voice turns into helpless panting and gasping as all five points twist and twirl and clench. I’m sinking inside of myself, being coated and filled and . . . so slow . . . so tight . . .

“Don’t think you need too many more . . . Hmm . . . Let’s try for eight. And next up . . .” She sucks the pen back into her mouth and her eyes flutter. She must be tasting me on it, goddess there’s so much of me on that pen. “Let’s try . . . here.” The pen rubs along the center of my scalp, forward and back, forward and back, before drawing a pretty star in the center and filling it in. “We’ll call this one, Sink.”

“Sink!”

I can feel my head tightening even more as the pen dives in, the point ending right beside where the other lock is sealed, twisting, turning. My vision feels like it’s turning black, being covered with ink as it pierces into my mind’s eye, filling it with her oil. More and more, twisting so tightly, sealed . . .

She laughs, that same husky, sexy, perfectly evil laugh. My pussy drools more oil onto my thigh as my body shakes. “Good. You’re tightening even before the tumbler feels the kiss of the key. You’re responding very well to the treatment. Soon, I think your little free will problem will be just a memory. Not a memory of yours, of course. Where to place the last . . .”

The pen pulls out of me, and I feel even tighter once it’s gone. Gone. So much is gone. So much just isn’t there. So much is missing. I don’t even know the names for what’s missing. I just know it used to be there and now it’s not.

I don’t know what to do.

She traces the pen along my body, and it smears the oil over me as it moves. I feel so sticky. I can barely struggle in the shackles anymore. I’m too tight to move on my own.

“Ah yes . . . I can’t take this away from you without your help, but I can lock it up just as well. Bye-bye, silver. Time to sleep.” Without any tracing, without any hesitation, she dives the pen into my chest. It drips, drips and twists and locks, and I can feel something in my chest coated in tar-thick ink. It feels so good as everything slows, everything creaks into place, everything . . .

Stops.

“We’ll name this one, Stop. Now I know that I’ve been having you replay those pretty words whenever you’ve felt disobedient, but since you never will again . . . I want you to say them all again, one last time, just for me.” Yanuka lets her hair down, and just like before it’s orange by the time it falls flat against her back. It looks so pretty. I wish that I had hair like hers. “One last time before I let my daughter put the finishing touches on your cage. Sing me my favorite song, my little silver girl.”

“Fuck . . . Suck . . . Slick . . . Drip . . . Tight . . . Twist . . . Sink . . . Stop.”

My voice sounds so passionless and empty. It sounds so serene and blank. It sounds perfect for a locked up oil slave. She smiles and it makes my locks feel tighter. It feels . . . no, it doesn’t feel, it just is good to make her pleased. I feel nothing, and it’s so good.

It’s perfection. Purpose without doubt, understanding without thought. Everything is so much simpler now.

“Good, very good silver . . . now, Quillspawn? I will allow you to do the honors . . .” Yanuka turns away and the walls part. Light shines through as she steps away, and another enters. She looks familiar, but she doesn’t look like the Quillspawn I remember. I don’t really remember her, not really, I don’t know why I thought that I could. She’s familiar to a part of me, but a part of me that I’m not a part of anymore.

The light fades from behind her as the walls close anew. Her heels click against the floor, before the sound turns wetter. She must be stepping in the oil from my body. “Greetings, little silver doll. I warned you that rising against the Nesatealia would only result in your mental annihilation, but I suppose I was aware even then how pointless it was attempting to safeguard you against such an overwhelming desire to crumble away. I will finish what my mother started, because even as helpless as you appear now, we are quite aware that you have escaped such odds before.”

Her voice isn’t Yana’s, and neither is her body, but she’s still Quillspawn. It doesn’t look like the inkling who was collapsed in front of Sylvia. She looks like someone I used to know. I can’t think, so I can’t remember.

“Ah! Even following such a thorough locking, a shard of your cognizance persists. Alas, I am far too pleased to oblige.” She steps so close to me, I can feel her breath when she speaks. Her skin is such a pale white that it glows. “This body was once Silhouette’s. She believed it her duty to track me down after she failed you so horrifically. After a long and arduous trip, exhausting both her body and her mind, I allowed her to find me. Taking possession of her was far easier than you would believe.”

“I believe only what you want me to believe.” My lips move on their own. Yanuka made them so much smarter than I am. They know what to say. I don’t even really remember Silhouette.

Quillspawn grins and slowly shakes her head, pulling a feather from behind her. The end seems far sharper than I’ve ever seen. At least I think it does. It even twinkles in the light from being so piercing. “Yanuka outdid herself with you. If you could only behold yourself . . . You will, once I’m done. For now, it will simply be pleasant to work on a silent Silver Girl. Only one woman ever silenced you before . . . it brings me a great honor to be the second.”

If she wants me to be quiet, I will be quiet. I will be the most quiet Silver Girl there ever was. If she means the time with Savor, I spoke then. I even tried to talk back to her. I tried to spark. I don’t know how I remember this, but I know that I can’t do that now. I’m far too tightly locked.

She walks behind me and slowly runs her hands over my back. I feel her hands smoothing the oil over my back and it makes my body moan. She keeps rubbing it in circles, smoothing it out. It makes me feel special, special like a trophy being polished. Something cloth presses against my back, wiping off the oil and it almost makes me sad. I was enjoying feeling so dirty and thick with oil, but whatever makes her happy is what’s most important to me.

The feather traces a pattern over my back that I can’t name. It feels so very good to be stroked by that feather, so good that I barely feel any pain when its point stabs into my back. Ink bleeds from her fingertip into the wound, or at least that’s how it feels. “The only way to be sure you won’t be tearing free of our control, includes enchanting your physical form as well as the mental. Surely, you understand.”

She wanted me quiet, so I don’t respond.

“Exactly.” She laughs and the point pierces me again, and again, and again. She makes each motion so slowly and meticulously right along the path the feather traced. Light bursts in my vision with every sharp prick, but I stay silent. Every time my lips almost whimper or gasp the oil seals them tight. It makes my pussy lock up tighter, and that is even better. Locking, clicking into place, being so helpless, it’s my purpose.

Ink follows every sharp prick, melting in, soothing the wound. Every point heals as soon as the next begins. She could prick me a hundred times, a million times, and I wouldn’t move. I would just stay here, taut and locked, waiting for her to prick me again.

Time doesn’t matter. I don’t matter. She matters. She can control the oil, the ink, me. That is all that matters. Knowing this is perfection.

“Silver isn’t traditionally imagined as the perfect canvas, but your shining example proves that to be folly! Unlike that pitiful self-limiting shadow Yana, I am aware of ink’s other uses beyond mere storytelling. What is the slang phrase for the process you’re undergoing?” Her piercing pauses as she gains a thoughtful tone. My back burns and pulses more sorely than it’s ever felt in my life, but I don’t even think of voicing the sting. “Ah yes! You, my dear, are getting ink done.”

The piercing returns, quicker, but still as precise. My vision turns white as I lose track of when one hole opens in my back before the next. It’s so much, but it’s so little to give her. Again and again into eternity I’ll be her canvas if that is her desire.

One moment she’s working at the middle of my back, the next she’s working over the curve. I must have passed out or lost consciousness. It doesn’t matter, she doesn’t stop. She’s not covering every inch, but every inch is sore. Whatever pattern it is must be so intricate, but I can’t feel it. Something about that makes this even better.

“Almost finished, my little atramentum ancilla . . .” I know her words are Latin, but I never knew that much to begin with. Now, I know even less. “In case the meaning of my words escaped you well as did your mind, the meaning, is ink slave.”

Her feather stabs into my back again, but this time it feels different. She keeps it inside, and more and more ink floods into my body. My back feels alive with magic, pulsating and writhing inside of my flesh as it wraps through me, attaching to things too important for me to understand. The quill pulls back, and it takes more of me than I know exists to resist a scream. It heals more slowly than the other wounds, but I can feel it sealed by the time she’s in front of me again.

Triumphantly, she flicks her feather in the air, and my bonds release me. I fall to my knees, shuddering as I stare up at her obediently. She curls a single finger before walking towards the walls, and they again part. “Come, little ancilla. I think that’s what I’ll call you. You adore being renamed, no? Though this is about my pleasure and not yours, twisting your own desires . . . it makes me feel all the more powerful.”

Crawling on my hands and knees, I follow her from the room. It seals behind me, and the next room is made of stone. No, it’s marble, exquisitely crafted marble dyed red. I follow her along until she leads me to a gold-framed mirror that looks a lot like one I remember breaking.

“Stand. I want you to see my work.” It feels strange to stand, even if I’m still lower than her, but I do. I move in front of the mirror, and she moves another of equal length in front of me. “I was of course tempted to make your front match your back, but not only did it feel tedious, but this provides a contrast. Besides, all one would need to do to soak your front would be to speak one of eight choice words . . .”

The pattern on my back is one I’ve seen in my dreams, in the dreams with The Domina. It was near the eye, or it was in the eye. I don’t remember enough to truly remember it, but it’s so many curves and arches, swirls and hard corners, all of them mean one thing: Obedience.

She moves the mirror in front of me away and sighs. Her black eyes trail over my body slowly before her black lips curl in a grin. I please her.

She points back down to the floor, curls her finger again, and then walks off. I fall to my hands and knees before following her. “Good little ancilla. We just only have one more stop before you get to rest. We’ll have use of you soon, but the ink in your back should be given time to dry. Any plan worth executing is worth executing carefully. Besides, Red won’t be here for awhile still. She’s been away too long. I’m not clear on the specifics, but soon we’ll be seeing your mother. Perhaps I’ll ask her.”

Her ass looks so divine in the red dress that clings to her body, showing all of her back and so much of her legs. Being privileged to walk below her is almost as good as the ink that I can feel hardening and twisting in my back.

“I brought ‘em to you, just like you asked. Yana was happy enough to open the portal, just like you said. I gotta thank you again, these powers well . . . I would be lying if I said I didn’t love them.” In this new room a woman addresses Quillspawn as I merely stare at my inky owner. The voice is Mourning Frost’s, but that doesn’t really matter. They’re conducting business that does not involve me.

“Quite exquisite. Lida, encased in ice . . . Yana, with ice caked ice-caked lips, and ice in her ears . . . and Olivia, with a frozen mind. Your work has been exceptional Monique. Now, if you will take your place in the inner sanctum, I will have my slave fetch you when I have further need of you.”

Morning Frost sounds upset, and for some reason that makes me smile. “Hey! Hey, wait, that was not the deal. You souped up my powers, and I fetched you the witches. You let me keep Olivia. Remember?! That was the deal?”

“That was the deal I let you remember. The deal, was that I soaked you in a bath of my ink. You became stronger as a result of my magic, and your enslavement. You were to fetch me Silver Girl’s companions. There was no further arrangement.” Mourning Frost cries out before sinking to her knees as Quillspawn’s fingers snap. I glance at her briefly. Her icy eyes are slowly turning black. “Olivia Whitner LaSilvas is mine. You, Monique Kendrick . . . belong to me just the same. Now, you will await my summons in the inner sanctum. Go.”

Monique moans something in response, still proceeding to crawl out of view. A woman is sealed in ice next to O-o . . . Aureus, and Yana stands beside her. All three of them look so far gone.

Grinning, Quillspawn turns towards me and slides her fingers through my hair. “Now, my little ancilla . . . come. Olivia, be a dear and bring Lida. Yana, my weak little slave, come.” She curls her finger and leads us again. I don’t know how many rooms we pass through before we reach a room sculpted out of what looks and feels like obsidian. “Olivia, shatter Lida’s ice. It should have had time to sufficiently weaken her.”

Aureus wraps her arms around the ice and hugs it to her chest. Shards crumble away as the woman inside melts in her arms. She looks alive, but just as far away as Aureus does with her frosted eyes.

My locks tighten and I quiver. For just a moment a part of me tried to think something wrong.

I’m so thankful it was silenced.

Quillspawn snaps her fingers again, and chains lower from the ceiling near the far wall. “Olivia, if you would be a dear and help your friends, and then your lover, into a pair of those lovely inky bonds? I will see you when I have need of you . . . Enjoy your drying, ancilla. I will have use of you, soon.” She laughs as she leaves the room. I shudder as Aureus helps Lida’s, and then Yana’s, wrists into the shackles.

Her clothes are gone. Between her legs is covered with ice, as are her breasts. They don’t hide anything, and they almost look like they’re moving against her. She grabs my wrists and lifts me to my feet. I let my body turn limp and quiver as she helps the bonds grasp my arms.

As soon as the click of Quillspawn’s heels is no longer audible, I let out the moan that has been swelling in me for so long.

I close my eyes, taking a long, deep breath.

“Fuck. Suck. Slick. Drip. Tight. Twist. Sink. Stop. Fuck. Suck . . .”