For the Hypnotic Holidays fundraiser, over in my Discord we ran a wheel spin game with some donation amounts, and some prizes. One of those prizes was a femdom mind control mini-fic written by me. Here are all the stories written for winners.

Song of the Succubus

“Falling under my spell, and you can’t even tell. Falling under my spell, and you can’t even tell!”

He sang along with her, staring along with the rest of the crowd. Finally, he’d gotten a ticket to see Mesmatism, the hottest new band in the city and the show was incredible. Especially the lead singer, a young woman with raven-black hair and piercing grey eyes.

She wore a very suggestive costume as she paced the stage, growling the lyrics of the band’s most popular song. Fishnets, combat boots, a black skater skirt and a cropped black t-shirt. On her back a pair of wings and horns on her head, both a deep red colour.

The woman commanded the stage. The band, all men, played a driving rhythm as she belted out each word and the crowd hung on every one.

“Now you’re gonna be mine, it’s just a matter of time.”

He knew the song perfectly. Had listened hundreds of times. Something in the timbre of her deep, raspy voice held his attention. She didn’t sound sweet or cute like most female singers. She had an energy all her own. A snarling rage that sat perfectly with spiky guitar riffs and beating drums.

The crowd was rapt as she turned her back to them and leaned backward, bending at a near impossible angle and showing her delicious flexibility as she managed to sing in the strangest of positions before quickly snapping back upright and turning with a kick that sent her skirt swishing through the air.

Every move she made, every word she sang, it was perfect. She was perfect. He had no idea she would be so beautiful. Her gothic looks made his heart skip a beat and more and more he imagined himself with her in a private place. A bedroom filled with candles on a simple, steel-framed bed. Her on top of him, rubbing between her legs as she looked down at him with a devious smirk.

His growing arousal was hidden, thankfully, by the thronging crowd. The stage was bright, the rest of the venue dark. He could lose himself in the fantasy. Around him, everyone else was doing the same. A faint aura, a red mist, rose from the crowd and seemed to move to her, making her breathe deep and puff out her chest.

The lyrics came with more power now. Her wings unfurled and she snarled into the microphone.

“Now you’re my possession, and I’m your new obsession.”

God, she was incredible. He felt weak at the knees, almost breathless just watching. He was so excited to have the VIP pass. By the time the show ended, he felt spent. The rest of the crowd dispersed into the night, shuffling like zombies, eyes sunken.

He walked to the side of the stage and a security guard directed him to her dressing room door. He knocked and she invited him inside.

The room was filled with candles. She was sitting on a couch, her shirt and skirt gone, all she had on was lingerie. And the wings and horns. Her skin was glowing with the same red that had drifted over the crowd and he felt a surge of arousal as he breathed in and smelled ash and leather.

“So, you’re my biggest fan. You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?”

He knew he would. He could only nod, awed by her sexuality as she stood and sauntered to him, her boots gone, her black nails glinting in the candlelight.

“Kiss my feet.”

There was no hope he would resist. He could feel her words like a string pulling at him, dragging him to the floor. His cock stiffened.

“Good boy, now work your way up my legs, do the fishnets feel good?”

“Y-yes,” he mumbled, as he planted kisses on her ankles. He could feel himself growing weaker, but his cock only felt harder. She towered above him, her power compelling his movement.

“You’re delicious,” she said, grasping him by the hair and pulling him higher. “Fucking delicious.”

He kissed her thighs and heard her moan, and felt the pull again. Something tugging at him, bringing him closer to her, making him weaker. Every touch against her skin a jolt of delight. Every word she spoke a pure and perfect song that made him feel as though she were pushing him down to the depths of the earth.

“Stand up, I want more.”

He obeyed without hesitation, though he was slow. Something felt wrong. His movement was sluggish. His head was spinning but he was so hard. He felt drunk, but he’d had only water.

“I… I can’t think,” he muttered. “I have to… thank you for this, I have to go, I feel ill.”

She smirked and put her hand out to take his. “Let me sing for you, one more time.”

He looked at the horns as the sensation of her fingers against his hand made his entire body shudder. He looked at the wings. They weren’t props.

“No… no I… I need to leave,” he managed, stumbling backward.

Her voice stopped him in his tracks. The same song he had felt so weak during earlier, now so close. Her words carried into his ears as commands, her growling tone making him feel like nothing, like he should sink to the ground and let her walk all over him. This was definitely wrong. He had to go.

She walked closer, each step making him focus on a different part of her body, the red skin of her breasts, the black of her lipstick, the softness of her thighs or the flat stomach. And she sang. Her voice was pure temptation, darkly devious and animalistic.

He stepped back and his body met the wall. Reaching his hand out he found the doorknob and as he moved to turn it her body crashed into his and her lips met his mouth, her tongue reaching for his with a passion he had never known. His hand fumbled at the door as hers expertly opened his trousers.

She pulled back from the kiss, leaving a trail of saliva between them, and purred at him. The cat who got the cream.

“You can’t leave. You’re my biggest fan.”

The Sword

The sword made him feel safe. Strong. Protected.

All he needed to brave the dungeon was the sword. It had come with him to many of the land’s darkest places. Sliced through sinew and bone. Rended the flesh from goblins, elves, fey and human alike.

The sword was his mastery, and his calling.

He gripped its hilt as it sat snug in its sheathe and walked along a damp corridor. A faint, distant breeze wafted through, singing in a low tone. The walls dripped with moisture and ahead it seemed a pool of water awaited in the dim light.

The old stone echoed back his footsteps, trudging as he was after hours of exploration. This old place held an artifact of incredible power. Something that would lend him great standing in the kingdom should he bring it to the King, or great power should he deign to keep it for himself.

He only had to find it. The man who told him of the place was a wizened old fool, but had once been an adventurer. He claimed the pool led to a passage underwater which would lead him to the prize. He also stammered a vague warning about the lights, but there was little life, let alone light, in the dank, old place.

With the confidence of his many completed quests, he stepped to the edge of the pool and looked down. The water was dark and murky, and he could not see the bottom. It was like ink. Navy-blue and still.

A light ripple crossed it then. And something stirred below the surface, he thought. He peered closer and saw something flash. A yellow glow and then it was gone.

He wondered if he should dive in, sword in hand, and continue. But he had been on enough quests to know what fate befell men who failed to take precautions. He kept watching.

As he did, the light flashed again. It began to flash in a rhythm, a slow pulsing rhythm. He could not tell what it was. He kept staring into the water, hoping to make out what was causing it. The light moved, shifted around in a circle, seeming to spiral to the centre of the pool and back out.

His eyes followed it, the light with its captivating glow. He found himself leaning closer, staring. He had to know what the light was. He had to see it for himself. It was calling to him, urging him to leap into the water.

One foot left the ground and he hesitated. This was a mistake. This was the danger. Yet the light was so safe, warm, glowing bright and gentle. It would guide him to his goal. The other foot followed and he tumbled into the warm water.

He felt then the panic grip him and he pulled his sword from its sheathe. But something was beneath him. Something was caressing him and he could see the light. He held his sword and pumped his legs until he reached the surface, pushed his head above water and holding the sword pointing down.

Whatever was below him was squirming around him, wrapping around the lower parts of his body. Touching him. He watched the light. The light would show him what was squeezing his nether regions in an increasingly pleasurable way.

The voice came then. The voice that seemed to echo inside his mind.

“Let go of your sword,” it said, “and I will grip yours.”

The light spun faster, drew him in. His sword was his strength but the pleasure grew between his legs. It felt right to let go.

No, he thought, no the sword was safety, comfort. And the voice came again.

“Let me caress you, let go of your weapon, and let me in.”

The light made him feel as though the words were his very thoughts. Something soft, warm and wet wrapped itself around his exposed member. Pleasure gripped him like a vice. He moaned softly and his grip on the sword loosened.

“You need not carry the sword, you are home.”

He let go of the sword, for the voice spoke true, and his quest was over.

Faerie Folk

I see the light, at last. Sure I’ve only been searching for a bleedin’ week. But that feckin’ thing is a pain in the arse to catch. Will O’ the Wisp. A bollix of a thing.

Last time I saw it was a month before. Bein’ the dope I am I followed a figure and a light into the woods. It looked like there was a beautiful girl there, in a long white dress she was. Absolutely gorgeous. Course… couldn’t see her by the time I lost the road, and me donkey.

That was when I crashed through some saplings and landed on the ground in a glade. Moonlight lit it up and she was there, but not there. Floating, like a ghost but jaysis if she didn’t look just like Maureen when she was young. Before the consumption took her.

I’m not saying I’m a clever man, but I should have been smart enough not to trust a fae. But it was Maureen. Maureen when she was young and we’d sneak out of mass and down to the field for a quick roll in the hay. Maureen, with her red hair and her freckles and her lovely little arse that felt just right in my hands as we fucked against the walls of the abbey. God bless me for the things she made me think but I couldn’t keep me hands to meself.

And she was there and she looked just like she did then. Before… Feckin’ fae. I watched her slip off the white dress and it vanished and she was naked. Stark bollock naked. Looking like an angel of temptation. And she fell on me and stripped me breeches off and I felt her again. And christ she was tight and I was hard and she was strong. She held me down and laughed and laughed. It wasn’t Maureen’s laugh but I didn’t care.

Not a clever man.

She was whispering to me, going so fast. “Your pleasure belongs to me now,” she said.

Put a bloody curse on me, that’s what she did. The bleedin’ ghost of Maureen. Me arse. A feckin’ fae and a pox on her too. She went on and on with me, kept talkin’ and talkin’. Wouldn’t stop. And me the eejit under her just bucking like a horse trying to finish and I couldn’t.

She laughed then, the little hoor. Leaned down and I could feel her silky hair on me. “I stole your orgasms, and you can’t have them back, unless you do something for me.”

And now here I am a week later dragging my arse through the mud with a prick as hard as the Rock of Cashel. But I see the light, I see the glade. She’s there.

I bring the basket forward and lay it on the ground. She’s there alright. I’m some gobshite but I don’t give a flyin’ shite anymore. I’ve never been so desperate.

She takes the basket, the feckin’ baby cries when she looks at it. I don’t care.

Then she looks at me. Jaysis, she’s perfect. Naked again. 20 years old. Maureen. Right there in the church grounds on O’Connor’s father’s grave, the memory comes back so clear.

But she’s not Maureen. She picks the baby out of the basket and coos at it, then looks at me again.

“Well done, but sure… I can hardly fuck you now, can I? I’ve a child to look after.”

She’s gone before I can even think. Baby and all. And there I am, the biggest gobshite in the country, with a stiff prick I can’t rub hard enough to get any kind of relief. That’s all I can do. Just stand with it out in the cold night air, pathetic, pumping it like I’m trying to get water from an empty well.

Feckin’ fae.

Snake

Darkness fell across the land as a blanket. The night warm with a steady breeze keeping it from truly feeling hot.

He lay in bed and tossed and turned. The sheets felt clammy and his body near feverish. As it had for several nights now. Since she started coming.

Why it started he did not know, nor could he explain how she made her way into the locked house. Perhaps one night he had left the door unlocked. Perhaps she wanted him to do it. His thoughts were opaque and confused.

This night he waited, by now anticipating and not dreading as he had before. She did not take anything of his. Not his earthly possession. It was him she arrived to claim.

The night before his arousal had reached a searing climax as she lay on top of him, allowing him to pump his member between her shapely thighs. Her skin was soft as satin, smoother than silk. He felt somehow beneath her, less than, though he scarcely understood why.

It simply felt as though he were in the presence of perfection. Something otherworldly, beyond human.

She arrived as expected on the stroke of midnight to find him already naked and hard, the covers tossed to the tiled floor.

Her smile told him she was pleased with this. The heat spiked. He felt sweat beading on his brow. She did not speak.

A black nightgown was all she wore. Her bare feet with matching black nails padded across the floor with no sound. She may have been floating. Her eyes shone in the dim lamplight from the bedside table and her red lips curled into a knowing smirk as she climbed onto the bed and crawled toward him, licking her lips.

Before she even reached him he could feel her pull, pure attraction, a sexual energy unlike any other. He had been around women before, but none like her, this silent predator that stalked him and now had him pinned beneath her.

She perched on him, her thighs on either side of his stomach, her behind pressed against his crotch so that his hard cock slid up along the back of the nightgown, as smooth and silky as her skin.

Fire sparked in her eyes and she dropped down so her arms were on either side of his face. He stared up into her eyes and watched the flame grow stronger, the heat in his body increased in temperature with it.

Soft pale skin began to crack and shed and beneath something different emerged, this was new. He was too lost in her eyes to notice for a while but soon tore himself away to see scales shimmering in the lamplight, iridescent green.

Panic rose for a moment until he felt her shift back and engorge his cock in the dampness of her. A soft gasp of delight escaped his lips. He no longer cared about how her skin appeared. It was still beautiful. He looked up toward her eyes again, noticing the forked tongue flicking in the air as he met her gaze.

The intensity of her eyes, now yellow orbs with a black slit splitting them, was matched only by the soft pulsing around his cock. Her body seemed to be drawing his in and he was eagerly letting it go.

Those big, reptilian eyes demanded surrender, and he had no choice, the pleasure was simply too much for him to deny. He hardly noticed her jaw unclench as his orgasm approached, and he felt it rock his body.

The Switch

“Please, you promised,” he pleaded.

She laughed at him. A cruel, merciless laughter that made him feel tiny, smaller even than he felt on his knees with his cock caged as it had been for months.

“You promised tonight you’d unlock me, I’m desperate, babe, please.”

With a shake of her head, she lifted her foot and let the red high heel drop from it to the floor.

“Kiss,” she said, and he began to gently kiss her sole and her toes. “Worship,” she continued, “and perhaps I’ll grant your wish.”

He set to work with his mouth and hands, massaging her arches as he slavishly suckled on each toe in turn, gently and sweetly, his cock throbbing against the tight metal cage. His need was great, but she held the only key.

“Tell me you love this.”

“I love this,” he repeated as he began moving to her ankle and kissing his way up her calf. Her other foot gently rubbed the cage, sending a shiver down his spine. He was aching. No orgasm for three months. It felt like years.

She did not object as he moved to her inner thighs and licked along the supple skin. With a low moan she opened her legs wider and gently pressed the back of his head until his face was pressed against her warm, wet opening. His tongue slid forward, finding rest at the base of her lips and moving up, tasting her just a little as she pushed hand down and pulled her lips apart for him to make his way up to her clitoris.

Her moans grew louder and he felt a sense of pride growing within. He needed to please her, but at some point, had lost track of whether that was to earn his release, or simply because she was in control and it felt right, normal. What started as a kink for her dominance had spilled over into a reality of constant, aching torment.

But now he was showing her he deserved more. He deserved to be free of the terrible constriction of the cage and push his throbbing cock into her wetness and fill her with his seed finally.

She pushed him away. “Good boy,” she said in ragged gasps. “Very good boy. Ok, it’s time.”

With a quick motion she pulled the key from the cup of her bra and reached down. “You’re going to be good still though, ok?”

He nodded. “Yes, of course, anything, thank you, thank you.”

The cage opened with a metallic click and she let it fall to the ground. His member grew instantly, pushing out, hard, thrumming, leaking.

“Come and show me what I’ve been missing then,” she teased as he stood up and braced his body against the orgasm, he could feel ready to burst from him before he could even enter her.

“Or would you rather ruin for me right now so you can go back to being teased all day, every day. I’m starting to think you prefer it.”

His cheeks flushed red. His cock twitched. He didn’t want to admit that. He didn’t want her to know that. “You could spurt that ruin all over my foot like the pathetic slave you are.”

It took all his willpower to hold back. His mind the only dam against the inevitability of the coming flood. “No,” he managed. “No, I’m not going back. I’m not.”

She laughed for a moment, but suddenly his strong hands were on her, turning her around and bending her over the bed, pressing her face down onto the sheets. “I’m taking charge now, you deserve punishment for what you’ve put me through in that cage.”

He felt powerful, for the first time in a long time, as he planted a hard spank on her pert ass. Her skin went red and he did it again. “Beg me for another,” he panted.

“Please daddy,” she said in a mocking tone, “may I have another.”

“Good girl,” he replied as he smacked her reddening ass even harder. “Very good girl. Now, time for me to take what I deserve.”

He gripped her hips and took a deep breath, holding his cock just a few inches from her warm wetness. “Ready, you naughty girl?” he asked as he moved his cockhead closer, feeling the heat from her arousal.

“Ready for you to cum for me, right now, chastity slave,” she said.

He couldn’t hold back. Before he could reach her, he felt his orgasm come on command, and with no stimulation at all, he could only manage to dribble a little along the inside of her leg.

“Good boy, now back on your knees. It’s time to go back in the cage where you belong.”

Lamia and the Cuckold

The slithering of her long, powerful tail made him feel weak before she even arrived. He was resting in an armchair in the bedroom of the hotel he booked, and the masseuse was highly recommended. He’d never been seen by a lamia before.

She entered the room with a smile, wearing a professional jacket with the hotel’s logo on the breast pocket, and a deep cut revealing a bountiful cleavage that he struggled not to stare at.

“Mr. Ssssmith, is it?”

He nodded.

“Don’t move a muscle,” she hissed, “I’ll take good care of you. Just relax, and look into my eyessss.”

His vision blurred as she approached and she stared at him with swirling colours behind her slit pupils. Her tail began to encircle the chair until he was wrapped up in her coils, the warm scales making him feel so comfortable as they pressed upon him. He felt his breath tighten just a touch, enough to know he was being held, but not so much he was uncomfortable.

It was only moments before he fell asleep.

His dreams were strange and confusing, filled with hissing whispers of submission and surrender. He was not to move his body, only sit. Once his eyes opened, he would be trapped, no matter what. But he was assured what he saw would be wonderful, arousing, better than the massaging coils. That even if he didn’t expect it to, it would arouse him incredibly.

He woke to the sound of snapping fingers and the feeling of the lamia’s body beside him. Her upper half, the part that looked human, was perched on the arm of the chair, leaning over him, her chest pushed into his arm. She was nude now. He did not remember when that happened, or how, but he was happy.

The room door opened and two women walked in. His eyes widened as he saw they were cosplayers. One an utterly gorgeous blonde with evil intention in her eyes and a smirk that could make any man whimper. The other a buxom brunette with big, wide eyes and a meek and innocent smile. Two Princesses, one in blue, the other in green and black.

They began to kiss each other and he heard a voice in his hear.

“Jusssst watch, you don’t get to join in, but you like to watch.”

He did. They were stripping each other down to their underwear. The blonde wore an ice blue lingerie set and white stockings, the brunette a bright red thong and a black mismatched bra covered her massive breasts that she pushed up for the eager blonde to kiss.

“It feelssss good to watch,” the lamia whispered, “but you’ve been very naughty. You’re here to be punisssshed.”

He felt a knot form in his stomach, but as it did, the lamia’s hand reached down to his exposed and erect cock and began to circle the tip with a finger, slowly and gently. The door to the room opened and a man walked in wearing just a bathrobe.

“Don’t look away,” the lamia breathed as she moved her hand down to stroke his shaft at an agonisingly slow place.

He dared not tear his eyes away, but he wanted so badly to join in. The man disrobed and walked to the brunette first. He was naked, his cock throbbing. He pushed the girl to her knees and she looked up at him, willing, ready.

Soon his cock was in her mouth and he was kissing the blonde who he pushed backward onto the bed. She fell on her back and began to finger herself as she watched the brunette suck on the man’s engorged member.

He stared at the blonde as he gripped the brunette’s head and fucked her mouth hard, then pushed her aside and climbed onto the bed, flipping the blonde over.

“You like to watch,” the lamia said and increased the pace of her stroking. He did like to watch. The display was so enticingly erotic. Even if he wanted to be the one crawling up the bed to the blonde as the man peeled down her panties and stayed on all fours, waiting.

The man teased her entrance with his finger first, and the brunette clambered up on the bed beside him. “Play with me daddy,” she begged.

He laughed. “You’ll get your turn, slut.” The blonde had his attention and he pushed his cock inside her slowly teasing her with it.

“Ffuck, yes daddy,” she whimpered. “Claim me, take me, I’m yours.”

He began to thrust and pulled the brunette close to him as he did, roughly kissing her and fondling her tits. Soft moans escaped her lips as he played with her sensitive, hard nipples.

The blonde moved her pussy to increase the pace, impatient for more. “Please daddy, cum inside me.”

He laughed again. “Earn it, slave.”

The lamia pumped Smith’s cock faster and began to whisper low, hissing words in his ear. “You like to watch, you belong like thissss, feelsss better to watch him with them…”

She repeated these things, and more, as she brought him to the edge.

“Daddy I need it!” the brunette cried, and the man removed his cock from the blonde, who’s eyes were rolling back in her head with lust. He pushed the brunette onto the soft mattress and climbed on top of her, wasting no time in plunging his cock inside her. The blonde meanwhile started kissing the man’s body, caressing his skin.

“That’s it, good girls,” he said. “Daddy’s almost ready to cum, who wants to take it?”

Both girls begged for it.

“When he cumsss,” the lamia whispered, “you cum.”

The man chose the blonde and told her to kneel before him, and then instructed the brunette to stroke his cock. She obliged, and the two girls begged and pleaded for his cum, his power, his control, as he reached his climax.

As he did, as his semen spurted forth, coating the blonde’s face, making her look so weak and vulnerable, her smirk replaced by a mewling submission… Smith was right on the edge.

“Your turn to cum… cuck,” the lamia commanded.

He erupted, spewing his cum all over his own body as the brunette lapped the man’s cum from the blonde’s face. “Thank you Daddy,” they both said as they knelt on the floor before him. Smith could only stare.

Wax Mind Control

“Keep your eyes on the flame, don’t look away, just let it capture your attention.”

He stared at the flickering of it, the way it danced in the gentlest of breezes from a crack under the door to the ancient room. Cold stone walls, chains dangling from them, doors made of heavy iron bars. A constant drip of water came from somewhere in the distance.

But that didn’t matter. She told him to stare, so he did. He let the flame consume his consciousness. Felt himself sinking into the abyss, though he was comfortably laying on a wooden bench. She had strapped him to it, shirtless, some time ago. He lost track. The flame knew, but it wasn’t revealing its secrets, only beckoning him to unveil his own.

His desires, his needs, his wants. Was she asking him that? He surmised she was and opened his mouth to speak, feeling a monotone come out, emotionless and cold though the ideas filled him with heat and pleasure.

“I want to feel your power. Your control. I want to know you own me. I want you to claim me.”

“Good boy, you’re doing very well, keep looking at the flame now, as it moves closer, and listen.”

Her voice was low and reverberated around the cell. She wore a simple black corset and skirt, with heavy boots to her knee. Her eyes were dark, her lips a shade of green. The candle came closer and his vision blurred for a moment. She spoke again, whispering in his ear. He could hear her but the words were unclear, as though he were underwater. He felt his arousal grow, his need with it.

He had to be hers. The idea felt like his own but he did not have it before he saw the flame, before he saw her. She was the flame and the flame was her. He wanted to be consumed. Burned. He wanted the flames to lick at his body and set his passion alight.

The candle hovered over his chest. Sensation, feeling, he ached for it. For her hands on him, for her passion, for her body, for her legs and chest and lips and hair and nails. He felt his erection straining in his trousers, the only item of clothing he wore. She had near stripped him, and he easily complied. It felt normal to do as she asked. It felt natural.

She was whispering and he was listening and he knew that surrender would be pleasure. That he must obey. That pain is temporary, something we must overcome to find our true nature. He pulled against the restraints. For a moment, his mind screamed no. Told him that pain was a bad thing.

And then she spoke aloud.

“I claim you, in honour of the Goddess of Night, the Voice in the Darkness, The Mistress of the Void.”

Wax poured onto his chest. It seared his skin and somehow it felt like pain and pleasure moulded into one. His loins were aflame, his chest seared. The black wax seemed to seal to his skin and seep into his body. More a tattoo than something that could be removed.

“You belong to her now, thank me for this pleasure.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, unsure what exactly was happening, yet hopelessly aroused. “Please, more,” he begged.

She nodded and poured another blistering glob of wax that landed on his left nipple and made him groan in pain, then she pressed her hand upon it, pushing it into his skin, making it burn for longer. The candle was gone now, and her other hand opened his trousers.

His erection stood to attention as she played with his wax-coated nipple.

“Do you obey without question,” she asked, taking his cock in her hand.

“Yes,” he said.

“Do you surrender your will?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers were roving up and down his shaft. He felt as if he might burst. She picked up the candle now in her free hand.

“Now you will receive the third blessing, if you ask for it.”

“Please, please, I… I need it.”

She smiled and poured the wax onto the centre of his chest and whispered in his ear, “orgasm.”

He came, feeling the intense heat and sudden pain of the wax alongside the pleasure of release, surrender and submission.

And he knew he would serve. No matter what came next.

Let Me In

Humans are such strange creatures.

They know the rules from their movies, but when it comes to the reality, they never quite remember them. They’d claim, were they to somehow survive with their minds intact, that they simply fell under a hypnotic spell but the truth is far simpler.

Humans are weak.

Not in the physical sense. Though of course, they’re not nearly as strong as us. No, they’re weak of mind. Weak of flesh. Driven by their base desires. You might argue we’re the same, driven by a lust, but every creature needs to feed.

Not every creature needs to be flogged so they can have an orgasm.

I remember one night vividly. This man in a home somewhere long forgotten. I only remember the place and the person. He came to his door and saw me and his mouth fell open. An adult man. Not some slack-jawed teen. Base instincts. Always.

Not that I didn’t invite such a response. My lips were a deep burgundy, my eyes shadowed black, my breasts heaving from a tight black corset and beneath a long, flowing skirt of lace and silk in the same colour as my lipstick. My fangs were obvious in my smile but he only had eyes for the slight jiggle of my chest as I leaned against the door frame.

“Let me in,” I said. No point pussyfooting around the issue. I was hungry, and here was a morsel I could devour quickly and easily.

“N… no Miss. I’m sorry but my girlfriend will be here any moment and it’s not right to have you-“

“Quiet, boy.” I hissed at his stammering nonsense. He obeyed. “I do not care about your girlfriend. I do not care about anything but you letting me in, and you’re going to do as I command.”

He stood firm. Most men just acquiesce instantly but this one had some resolve. How frustrating. It was time to change tact. I leaned forward and licked my lips. “Darling,” I whispered, “you know it would be so easy to just say yes to me. Let your eyes fall upon my heaving bosom and your mind empty of resistance.”

I could see him faltering. His eyes glancing down, then back up into the blue lakes of my eyes. He was swimming.

“Just let me in, and I shall allow you to suckle at my teat.”

He shook his head. As if I were something he could simply rattle from his mind. But I was unmoved by his resistance. He again said no. And I traced a red-painted fingernail down my decolletage. His eyes followed, unable to stop himself.

“Just let your mind fall into the depths of my cleavage. Does that girlfriend have a chest like mine? Porcelain skin like this?”

“N-no Miss,” he blabbed.

“No, of course not. I am exquisite, and you have never seen a woman like me. This is the moment where you choose. Embrace me, and invite me in to feel the delights of a dominant, powerful being, or turn me away and go back to… her.”

His eyes were still on my breasts. His mind lost in a dizzy swirl of lust and longing, tinged with doubt and fear. But lust always wins.

“C-Come in, but… nothing happens, ok?”

But for him, it was already too late.

Deity

“Mistress is such a lovely word, but so… blasé, don’t you think?”

He looked at me in confusion. He was far too aroused to really think clearly, but in this moment, I wanted him to focus properly.

“Mistress, it’s pedestrian. It communicates a role I admit, but not the reality, the depth of things.”

His eyes drank in my body. My own mistake for wearing a halter top and long skirt slit along the side, with thigh-high stockings beneath. I should have been less distracting.

“Can you understand? I’m asking if you agree.”

“Yes Mistress.”

“Did you listen to what I said?”

He looked to the floor. “No, Mistress.”

“Of course not. You deserve to be punished but I can see you’re extremely aroused. And highly distracted. So come, look at me.”

I lifted his chin in my hand, pressing my nails into his skin. He stared up into my eyes with adoration, devotion, submission.

“You obey me, yes?”

He nodded.

“You serve me?”

Another nod.

“You put me on a pedestal, worship me as a deity?”

“Yes Mistress.”

I lifted my foot as I let go of his chin, and pointed it toward his mouth. He eagerly kissed it. “Good. You’re doing very well. And if you worship, what does that make you, hm?”

He faltered, holding my stilettoed foot in his hand. Confused for a moment, before clarity rang through the fuzz of pleasure. “I am your worshipper, your servant, your slave.”

“Then darling, I am more than a mere Mistress, don’t you agree?”

I pulled my foot away and leaned down, letting him look into my eyes closely, letting him fall into the deep blue-green of them.

“Yes… yes you’re more than that.”

He was delirious, hypnotized and aroused to the point of madness. I knew in that moment that he was lost, that whatever resistance may have remained had exited his body and left his mind open for me to use.

“I am. I am a Goddess. Aren’t I?”

He bowed his head. “Yes, Goddess.”

“And a Goddess should be worshipped, shouldn’t she?”

“Yes, of course Goddess.”

I smiled and lifted my skirt, revealing myself to him. No underwear under the skirt, just suspenders holding the stockings in place.

“Then worship, slave.”

He set to work immediately, burying his tongue in me with far too much eagerness. “Slow down, treat me like a Goddess. Precious, perfect, beyond human.”

“Yes Goddess,” he mumbled into my thighs as he slowed down and licked gently.

“Your hands don’t need to be left aside, slave.”

He didn’t speak this time. A good slave, he simply grasped my thighs in a heavenly tight grip and slid his tongue along the temple he would worship at forever more. I patted him on the head and felt my knees weaken as the pleasure took hold. He would be useful for me, now he understood my true nature. His Goddess. 

Spying on Her

The most devilish thing about it was the way it flounced upward as she walked. As if inviting him to stare. The soft curves as behind rolled into thigh beckoned him to speed up, even covered as they were in patterned fishnets. A black rose sat just at the tip of the thigh. He wondered how it would feel, pressed against her skin. Her smooth, silken skin.

Above the skirt only a crop top. The day was warm and a slow trickle of sweat ran down her back into the waistband of the skirt, after it shifted course for a moment. It must have been attracted as he was to the waistband of her panties that sat high above her hip in a delicious arc of red fabric.

Her feet were in red heels. They clicked insistently as she strolled along the pavement. Rhythmically. Like a drum beat hammering in his mind, emptying out other thoughts. He should have been thinking about why he was following her.

There was certainly a reason for it. He tried to jog his memory as she reached behind to adjust the tights and pulled at them, stretching the fabric as she walked and bringing his focus right back to that peach, smooth and round and delicious.

The mission. He was on a mission. The girl was a spy, suspected spy at least. She was hardly inconspicuous.

Her path, and his lurid fascination more than his duty, took them around a corner to a deserted alley, and she slipped in the door of a ground-floor apartment.

He stood outside and leaned close to peer in the window.

She was standing in front of her bed. He took in her tantalising curves, the way her waist grew into dancer’s hips. The way her legs tapered into tiny feet in massive heels. The way she slid the skirt down her legs and let it pool on the floor before peeling off the crop top until she was wearing only red lingerie, a balconette bra and high-waisted French knickers, and red heels, as well as a black choker tightly around her neck.

And then he caught her eyes. She was staring at him as he gawped, mesmerized by her.

A crooked finger and a smirk beckoned him inside and he felt his body move on its own. She laughed and pushed him backward onto her bed and climbed on top of him, turning around and letting him take in her ass as she bent forward, on all fours above him.

He opened his mouth to speak but before words could emerge, she pushed backward and pressed her delectable behind against his face. Hard.

He tried to breathe but could not, all that he knew was darkness and the soft flesh of her, the smell of her arousal. He wondered if she knew his goal, if she was trying to end him.

And then she pulled away and laughed again.

“Naughty boy, following me like that.”

He blushed.

“But it’s ok, you’re on a mission, right? Well… so am I. And I think we can come to an arrangement. Don’t you?”

Before he could answer he was once again buried in her. She moved up, arching her back and pressing her wetness to his mouth. A clever agent, he knew his tongue was better served there, than debating the particulars of what she wanted.

Hope you enjoyed the stories!