The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For several nights we had crammed our exhaustion into scant, dreamless hours. Left to rest on that sultry morn, those private ethereal realms welcomed me back.

Layla slumbered between us, wrapped in a knot of our arms, but she would soon wake. It was my turn to attend to her nourishment so, slipping from the tangle of lovers’ limbs, I slid from the bed and left the chamber.

Bare feet upon wooden boards splashed through puddles of blood from our festivities. I resolved to make a menial mop up later. Stepping into the parlour, grabbing an unused goblet from the side as I went, I approached the fireplace, threw some logs upon it and poked it back into life. Hanging either side, strung up from the rafters by their ankles, Ma and Da slumbered peacefully, hands and hair dangling loose. I chose Ma.

Taking her arm, I sought an unbitten patch and plunged my fangs into her yielding flesh. Her eyes flashed open. Helping myself to a couple of swigs, I revelled in the scuffle of her confusion and ecstasy. As ever, pleasure triumphed. I withdrew and let the open wound dribble into the goblet. Her pleading eyes sought mine, so I stilled her mind with a glance as the receptacle filled halfway. Then I licked her wound to seal it, gently let her arm fall and returned to the Sovereign.

Taking a knee beside her bed, I bowed my head and lifted the goblet just as Master awoke.

The sun was high when we finally shrugged off sleep. Something had changed. I was the most refreshed I had felt in days, mind clear, chest so filled of love I was surprised I could breathe. Whether it was our vows or decent sleep, we shared a welcome positivity.

Dahlk’s mark had faded from Summer’s forehead, as expected, so I trusted mine had too. As we rose, I noted she was bandaged across her flank and breast. Bites from last night, I imagined. First things first, we prostrated ourselves, side-by-side, forehead to floor, hands stretched in the general direction of Master.

“Layla, my Master, I pledge you are now and forever my queen, my only true Sovereign and I, your vassal. I declare my allegiance to you and you alone. My love, my life, my desire, my mind, my body, my heart and my blood belong to you and you alone. I exist only for you. I will serve you faithfully as your devoted slave, always. I live only to obey my Sovereign,” the words quietly came as naturally as breath, moistening my quim with jubilant sincerity invested in every syllable.

It seemed routine, performed without plan or discussion, just the automatic reflex of a regular morning ritual as if we had done it hundreds of times before. We did not even mention our devotion once it was completed. Feeling invigorated, I shuffled over to embrace Summer.

“Are you tolerable, sis? Looks like we had quite the night,” I cheerily commented, indicating her dressings, unconcerned that I could not helping apply them.

“Yes, I am much rested. This is the best I have felt in days,” she replied, eyes widening in approval. She gently pressed her wounds, biting her lip at the tenderness she found, then continued. “We must beg our Sovereign to anoint you similarly tonight.”

The thought conjured butterflies to dance within my stomach. My accompanying smile drew another hug from Summer, rejoicing in our elevated mood. Last night we got everything we wanted. Master graciously welded our vows to our souls, binding us as willing slaves. What a perfect evening and what a difference satisfactory sleep made. We resolved to thank Ma again for giving us the day off.

As buoyant as we were emotionally, physically we were in decline. Our nightly bleedings had left us pale, with gathering shadows about our eyes. Exertion tired us swiftly and moments of nausea ambushed us at random. We would have to conceal our symptoms as best we could.

None of that marred our mood as we washed, dressed and reapplied Summer’s bandages from the store we had secreted in our room. Our bites looked livid but that just made me think of Master sinking her teeth into my breast soon. We secured our concealing scarlet silks about our throats, ensured our uniformity, and went in search of breakfast.

Mother was in the garden, diligently watering thirsty vegetables under the merciless heat of a clear blue sky. Not a lick of breeze brought relief. She greeted us with the most glorious grin. Knowing her ways, the unreserved welcome implied her unconditional forgiveness for yesterday morning’s unpleasantness. Mother never bore grudges and, when matters were resolved, that was that as far as she was concerned. The way she manifested the grace and serenity of her people was forever an aspiration for us. Until recently, we had spent our whole lives wanting to be just like her. Now all we wanted was to be just like Layla.

A recollection of tasting Mother’s blood in my dream emerged. I experienced muted surprise that the vision did not disturb me at all. It was only a dream after all. Nothing to fear.

“My precious feryth. Did you sleep well?” she asked. She called us huntresses in her mother tongue when she wanted to instil us with confidence. It always worked.

“Yes, Ma,” we said as one, double hugging her.

“We feel much better. Thank you for being so understanding yesterday,” Summer added.

“That is in the past and we should not carry it in the present. You yet look a shade pale, I must say,” Mother noted. We had been alert to the danger of her sharp perception since we were first bitten.

“But we feel wonderful,” I interjected ebulliently. In comparison to yesterday morning, that was certainly true. But in context of concealing our infirmity, it was a bald lie. Deceit came easily to us now our souls had been branded by the Master. I used to dislike dishonesty, our mother never lied, but now we deployed deception without concern. Protecting our pact was paramount and doing so made us so happy, thus any guile was vindicated.

“Perhaps we could have some yarrow tea? Maybe we are a little peaky,” Summer diverted.

“Of course. Help yourselves, girls—sorry, daughters. I misspoke. Please forgive me,” Ma corrected herself.

“Nothing to forgive Ma. That is in the past. All is well,” Summer placated, touching Mother’s arm affectionately. “We are all learning what our present means.”

We used to pester Mother about what it was like to live as long as she had. Humans found it increasingly hard to believe she was our mother, yet she was comfortably the oldest person within a hundred miles, perhaps excepting Layla. Even so, she was still considered young by the standards of her people. While being a mother to children was a tiny fraction of her life span, she always maintained that made our youth all the more precious to her, valuing her time raising us more than all the gold in all the kingdoms. That said, she found the transition to treating us as adults difficult.

“Thank you, my angel. You will have to make your own ‘breakfast’ though, noon approaches. Do you have any plans for your day?” Mother asked. I had not realised we had been asleep that long.

“Swimming by the waterfall,” we said as one. I did not recall making that arrangement, but it seemed obvious. It was an ideal place to spend such a hot day. Cooling and secluded.

“Good choice,” Mother approved. “Osen is in the lower valley. I shall let him know you are well if he returns before you. Enjoy your day and be ready to return to work tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mother. We shall. Give Father our love,” we said in harmony.

We collected some yarrow from the herb garden and brewed it into tea. It was never a flavour I was partial to, but it had helped Summer recover from her injury years back, so I had pretended to favour it. We grabbed some dried meats and bread from the pantry and skipped breakfast, planning a picnic instead.

The gaudy light of the sun proved hard to bear under the relentless summer heat. Was it always that disgustingly bright or was our burgeoning darkness making us withdraw from its pitiless glare? Whatever the case, we sought the shade of the kindly trees as we headed for the waterfall at a leisurely pace. Summer and I considered ourselves physically fit, but the exertion was proving arduous; aftereffects of regular bloodletting, we surmised. We focused on our infatuation to counterbalance the fatigue.

Knowing father was at the far end of the valley and certain that Mother would not disturb us, we abandoned every stitch of clothing as soon as we arrived at the waterfall, silks and all, and dived straight into pool. The cool water was gloriously refreshing. In moments, we fell back into patterns of innocent play we had developed since before we could swim. Our fun was cut short by fatigue, so we withdrew to recover.

As usual, we sought the sheet of flat rock overrun by a bed of moss, softening the unforgiving stone. That day, we hesitated, realising the position offered no shade. We used to welcome that, all the better to dry off, but some nascent instinct gave us pause as if we were afraid of the light. It seemed foolish, so we supressed our reservations and made ourselves comfortable on the spongy vegetation.

Optimism characterised our conversation. Of course, Layla was all we talked about but the worries and doubts of recent days, the anxieties of whether such an extraordinary relationship could even be real, were all but forgotten. We marvelled at how pervasive our vows felt, glowing brighter than the sun inside us. The oath-branding had changed everything, set our paths in stone, banished all doubts and bound us to the future we ionately sought. We were truly relaxed for the first time in days.

A pleasing while was spent iring each other’s injuries with our customary reverence. Waxing poetic about being penetrated by Master’s perfect incisors, we cheerfully accepted the shifting perceptions of ourselves as vessels for her nourishment.

I remarked on the inescapable heat of the day, recalling how chilling the magic Layla had poured into us had been last night. At that, Summer popped up and trotted a few yards away to the remains of a firepit we had used a few weeks back. Returning with some charcoal firewood remnants, I grasped her plan at once—she wanted to recreate the Master’s marks upon our brows. I enthusiastically agreed. Lying back so she could work on me first, I looked forward to doing the same for her. Decorating ourselves as a declaration of our devotion seemed wonderfully appropriate.

Taking care to check the charcoal was not scratching my skin, Summer proceeded. Between my depleted blood, the accumulated late nights and the steady susurrous of the waterfall, I could barely keep my eyes open as she deftly worked. The soporific circular motion in the middle of my forehead finished me off.

“I am...”

Momentarily disoriented, I realised we stood on the vantage point above the waterfall where our Sovereign had deflowered us. The memory of those first thunderous orgasms, crumpling in pleasure on our lover’s hand, was so overpowering I could feel lithe fingers inside me. Lost in chaos and ecstasy, I raptured. Summer kissed me, fully. Our tongues entwined.

“I am...”

As I scrubbed my face, the invigorating pool water closed the distance between my awareness and my actions. Summer checked that all trace of my mark had been cleansed. Had we not just been above the waterfall?

“I am...”

A faintly familiar disorientation dissipated while we picked dianthus, stalks and all, in the upper meadow to construct flower crowns for each other and, of course, our Sovereign. Finding a shady spot by the stream, we worked diligently, weaving the stalks together into green bands, crowded with bright red blooms, matching our neck-silks. A brief perturbance that I could not recall when we got dressed after our swim was whisked away by a conviction that it was unimportant. I had to focus on my task.

Something about my industriousness amused Summer but I was too absorbed to care. We had made crowns dozens of times and wore them to the summer fayre every year, trading them sometimes. Today’s constructions seemed more important, as if for some momentous event, but then every evening with our beloved held the promise of life-changing delights.

I finished Summer’s crown before she finished mine, probably because she seemed to be struggling with how turned on she was, far more so than my own insistent level of lust, I gauged. Enduring an over-heightened libido was now a fact of life for us, but she was not helping herself by letting her hands erratically roam her body.

It was not an unattractive spectacle, but I had my tasks, so I set about building Layla’s crown next. There was something exciting about working on something our Queen would wear, so I ensured it had thrice the blooms of ours.

Summer eventually finished mine, set it aside and leaned back to watch me work, smiling at me. She knew my focus was better than hers when the mood took me.

Once finished, I held it up for her approval and she nodded, satisfied. We arranged our hair to preserve our alikeness and crowned each other.

“I am...”

Lost in a daydream, it seemed only moments ago that we had been in the upper meadow. Now we were almost home, having circled around to stash our Sovereign’s crown. We chose a spot on the edge of the stream, in the shadow of a tree, not far from the cabin but not too much of a detour on the way to meeting Layla later. We hoped the moisture would keep the crown fresh from the heat.

When we got back to the cabin, Mother was lovingly complimentary about our crowns and remarked that we had regained a little colour but still looked tired. She encouraged us to get an early night but carefully phrased her advice to not be interpreted as an edict. She was trying, bless her.

I offered to help prepare the evening meal, collecting vegetables from the garden, cleaning and preparing them. Ma was always easy to talk to and while I kept her engaged with chatter about our day, Summer slipped away to steal her silver hand mirror.

She returned moments later, shooting me a glance that told me her larceny had been successful. We silently mouthed the words ‘we obey’ and finished the meal preparations. Though we had never stolen anything before, I could feel no compunction about my complicity. We had to take it, so I gave it no further thought.

Over dinner, Father noticed we kept glancing out the window and asked if anything was the matter. Unable to answer honestly that we were both hoping the sunlight would fade faster, we deflected wondering if the weather would be as hot on the morrow. As we did the dishes, dusk descended, and we announced we would follow Mother’s advice and go to bed early, full of empty assurances of our wellbeing.

When darkness finally fell a change took possession of us. The light-hearted positivity of the day fell away, replaced with a determination to prepare ourselves for our Sovereign. We had to do everything in stealth, so as not to betray our preparations with sounds of activity. Every so often we halted as we heard one or other of our parents moving about the cabin, for we had no lock on our door. It was our family custom to knock before entering but we dared not risk them innocently checking on us while they thought us slumbering.

Spurred by some deep devotion, we shared an acceptance that tonight was significant. Urged to look our best, we followed the familiar pattern of recent nights. Owning so few clothes, the summer fayre dresses were our only realistic option. We eschewed undergarments to better present our quims for Master’s attention. Bandages and silks were discarded to bear our wounds proudly.

We wove our crowns into each other’s hair making discrete single plaits, all the while thinking of four fangs buried in our necks. The flowers had wilted a little but still clung to loveliness.

We checked and rechecked each other like brides on our wedding day, hoping there was some minor adjustment that might please the Sovereign just an ounce more, but we had done everything we could. So, we crept into our beds still dressed, pulled the top sheet over ourselves and pretended to rest as we waited for our parents to retire for the night.

Every ing moment was a fresh tribulation. Growing need gnawed inside me, as two imperatives clashed—to be with our Sovereign as soon as possible but also to guard our secrets. Waiting until our parents went to bed was wise but wisdom seemed alien to us when our darkening souls hungered for the pleasures only our Sovereign could sate.

As our mother’s daughters, we had inherited her eyes’ ability to pierce any gloom, so the shadows of our room could not obscure every tedious detail of the ceiling I stared at while struggling to contain my needs. With a rising ire at every ing instant, I found myself resenting Father as my keen ears traced his route around the house, checking all was in order before retiring. Looking over to Summer, my frustration was mirrored in her face. Blessed sister, she understood perfectly.

She mouthed ‘we obey’, reminding me that our obedience was all we needed to endure any trial if our Master was the reward. So, we ed the interminable delay by repeating those two precious words over and over in silence. The hushed phrase dredged a profound resolve from within us.

We obey. We obey. We obey.

Monotonous repetition made each moment melt into the next. Summer’s expression gradually transitioned from frustration into relaxed, neutral blankness. The peace that came upon her was so beautiful, provoking a great swell of love. Our obsession with our Master had changed us, but my love for my twin was different, pure, I had always known its comfort. It was our essence. For as long as there had been me there was her. Our bond was as natural as existence.

We obey. We obey. We obey.

The words brought clarity; a prior realisation I had somehow mislaid. Each repetition gave renewed understanding of my joy in compliance. I owed our Sovereign everlasting gratitude for helping me discover the fundamental truth of myself. I took primal pleasure in submission. I was an unashamed slut for control. I was born to obey.

We obey. We obey. We obey.

The chant was an act of devotion to my fetish just to say it, even to think it. Each recitation, a freshly forged nail of ecstatic compliance hammering tiny jolts of pleasure into my brain, nourishing my hunger to obey. It enclosed me into a descending spiral of obedience and pleasure, each bolstering the other and taking me down and down to the point where the two were indivisible.

We obey. We obey. We obey.

Staring into Summer’s empty eyes, as her lips moved ceaselessly in time with mine, I imagined she experienced her own blissful dance with submission. The blanker her mind became the more she obeyed, the more pleasure it brought, the blanker she became. Or so I hoped.

We obey. We obey. We obey.

As her hand furtively moved beneath the sheets to hoist up her skirt, my hand did the same. We began to finger ourselves, slowly, linking each stroke to our silent chant, keeping the rhythm steady. Having raptured together so many times before, synchronisation was easy, but on this occasion, we made no effort to climax, content to drift along on wave after wave of benign, acquiescent bliss.

Locked into my own irresistible cycle of submission, I puzzled at Summer’s fetish. The same base need, yet divergent manifestation. That brief dip into my sister’s mind the other night revealed an inferno of lust at odds with her placid exterior. I longed to feel the ecstasies her fetish provided her once more but would never trade my own profound need for coercion, no matter how much we loved to be as one.

Though mercifully detached from time, my senses were not completely dulled. Our sensitive hearing, another gift from mother’s lineage, instantly yanked my attention from our reverie to the sounds of footsteps about the cabin close by. A moment of breathless terror at discovery ed as the steps receded to the far end of the building.

At the sound of the distant door closing, I stirred, and Summer’s trance vanished as if it had never been. Bounding out of bed, we looked at our fingers still slathered in the copious slickness of sex. I was gripped by an impulse that brooked neither doubt nor delay. I daubed a full circle upon her brow where the centrepiece of the mark of Dahlk would surely later soon be placed, all while whispering ‘we obey’.

Summer stood patiently as I worked, her body subtly appreciating the transgression. With a nod to indicate I was done; she did not hesitate to dip her fingers inside herself once more and then anointed me likewise.

A murmur at the back of my mind, like the dying moments of an echo, begged me to recognise the strangeness of our actions, but the flame that rushed from my daubed forehead to my sex quashed all other considerations.

We donned our cloaks and ensured Summer had Mother’s hand mirror fastened to her belt. It was the only looking-silver our family owned, though Mother seldom used it. When very young, we were fascinated by it, holding our reflection next to each other’s face to prove our perfect likeness. Now it was simply an offering.

With one last surreptitious look around our room, we slipped out the window.

In the welcoming warm night air, we belonged. Creatures of darkness, slipping through the gloom beneath the feeble light of a moon, almost completely waned, the merest silvery sliver above the forest. We softly picked our way through the garden and into the trees. No word was shared until we reached the riverbank where we had concealed Master’s flower crown. The arrangement had survived the heat in the shallows, a few blooms had withered, corruption transfiguring its charm.

It was only then, as we marched to our assignation, that I thought to question the half-rapture at the cabin.

“What happened back there. You felt it too, right?” I asked Summer.

“The waiting was the worst. It was so frustrating I wanted to scream,” Summer retorted.

“Me too, but that was not what I meant. When we touched ourselves, we were entranced. You fell into your blank state so swiftly. Being mindless… it suits you,” I remarked. “Master gave me a taste of what it is like for you a few nights ago. It seemed a storm inside you. Hard to tally that with how peaceful you look.”

Summer slowed her stride, then said, “It is a strange brew, to be sure. Tranquillity on the edge of rapture. Being leashed to the Sovereign’s will is incredibly arousing, as you know, obviously, but being mindless magnifies it for me. Pure feeling, no thought. I cannot get enough. I orgasm so hard the moment she brings me back.”

“Sounds heavenly,” I mused. “And at the cabin just now?”

“The more I said the words, the less I could think until I became oblivious. It was a decent substitute for Master’s grasp,” she explained, eyes lingering on some distant point for a moment, before she shook her head to stop herself drifting. “It has been a while since we raptured as we used to.”

“Our cunnies have seen much service recently,” I joked.

Summer snorted and we shared a laugh.

“What was it like for you?” Summer asked.

“Peaceful. It brought insights into our slavery. Pleasure is the chain that binds our obedience,” I pondered.

“Of course. We are our Sovereign’s creatures,” Summer said with a smile, then asked, “Do you still have reservations?”

“No. None. I have been purified of doubt. I am our Sovereign’s slave, nothing more. My vows are my core. Always,” I declared.

“Good. Thank you for today. It was… really quite extraordinary,” Summer commented with unusual sincerity. As lovely as the day had been, her phrasing was a little odd. “How are you now?”

“Happy, extremely turned on and ready to obey,” I stated. No point denying it.

“Aye,” she agreed and squeezed my hand.

I squeezed back as we hurried through the dark, rushing to our doom.

Still a distance from the clearing, as we approached illumination fought back the night. Yellowed ghosts danced across the perimeter, cast from a bonfire still out of sight on the far side of the fallen tree. Glancing back in the direction we had come, we reasoned that we had not seen the light when we stole from the cabin, so there should be no need to worry about discovery, but it was unusual not to meet in darkness.

Then there she was, the locus of our hopes, dreams and desires, silhouetted like a pagan goddess atop the fallen trunk of the thunderstruck tree.

What a vision she was in her finely made travelling clothes, dark brown leather breeches, and white, cotton shirt, the ones she wore at the fayre, but now minus the jacket and barefoot. So majestic, so dominant, so desirable. More luminous than the moon, more vital than blood. She was love and lust, hunger and feast. She was everything and she as only one thing: our Sovereign.

Our unalterable vows were now fully imprinted and thrummed within us as we approached, heads bowed just enough to never take our eyes off her. A single gesture bade us around the corpse of the tree and into the light. Three blankets were arrayed as rugs in a semicircle about the fire. We took our places, either side of the fire, the central one obviously reserved for our Master.

The bonfire evoked memories of when she first captivated us. Then, she intrigued; now, she was our world. Her imperious silence demanded our deference. Sinking to our knees we abased ourselves to her magnificence, bending forward, faces pressed into fabric, arms stretched along the ground towards her, Mother’s stolen mirror in Summer’s upturned hands, flower crown in mine.

“Oh, glorious Sovereign, lady of our hearts, Master of our minds, drinker of our blood,” we declared in unison. “We are your loving subjects, devoted to your service. Task us and we shall obey. We bring you these humble tokens to demonstrate our fealty, offered with obedience and adoration.”

Our greeting spilled from our mouths, as if we had practised them over and over, with no recollection of doing so. She made us wait in pristine patience, not for long, but enough to demonstrate her superiority.

“My beloveds, my subjects, my bondslaves,” our Sovereign spoke with confidence and control and oh, the joy at hearing that voice. I slid helplessly into subjugation, rapidly subsuming myself into an extension of my Master. “Such well-considered gifts. A crown for your monarch, a mirror for your lover. You may bestow them upon me now. Winter, rise and present your offering.”

A slight, soft, thud told me she had descended from her perch. I rose like a puppet, drawing back from prostration to my knees, to standing, in a single swift motion. Master glided into place before me and time slowed, the world shrunk to her radiant face. Love overwhelmed me, my connection to her mind absolute, my subjugation perfected. In a splendid rush, Winter as an entity ceased to exist as anything but part of the Sovereign. Though my hands moved, I was but a doll lifting the crown to set it upon her head with reverence. With a simple gesture, her white tresses coiled around the green stalks to bind them in place. Overwhelmed by the honour of crowning our queen, tears of joy struggled to the brim of my eyes.

“What a gorgeous arrangement, such a tasteful, fragrant selection, artfully confected with skill and love, and just a hint of decay. What a talent you have, Winter,” Master complimented, her tongue coiling around my name.

I was too enthralled to speak but my body responded, heart raced, nipples hardened, innards moistened and slavered.

Her hands, still warm from our blood the night before, took my cheeks, pulled us closer. My arms clasped her as if she was the last thing I would ever hold, bodies pressed tight, lightning leapt between us. She kissed me upon the forehead with dizzying pressure, paused, inhaled deeply, then released me. Abruptly, the overwhelming cloud of submission lifted. Disappointingly, I was myself again.

“Flowers and cunt. Delightful,” Layla purred. “You have obeyed. Good slave”

Her praise caressed my spine and clenched my sex. The unspoken oddness of perfuming ourselves with our own juices now made sense. Master must have implanted that impulse within us somehow. Nothing pleased me more than indulging our Sovereign for even a moment. Pleasure was obedience. Obedience was pleasure.

My wits reassembled. Had that just happened? I was completely lost to the point of no longer recognising myself as a separate person and then that had just… gone away. Did I imagine it? Had I wanted it so badly that I momentarily lost my mind? Mercifully, my confusion quickly dissipated. I ached for her to dominate me, but my desires were immaterial, our Sovereign’s needs paramount—so was my vow.

“Did you enjoy your day, Winter?” Master asked, her curiosity about the minutiae of our lives was familiar and welcome.

“Yes, Master,” I replied, still overwhelmed to have her in my arms.

“No doubts, no worries, yes?” she asked.

“None, Master. I am yours and that is all there is of me,” I honestly replied. It was only then that I realised how clear my mind had been all day, my anxieties only remarkable by their absence. “Hmm. It is unusual to be so free of doubt. Did you do that to me?”

“We three did this together, my love. Your sister has been shepherding you under my guidance, to still your mind of those pernicious frets. I am gladdened it has eased your burdens. Be that as it may, I owe you an apology, my darling,” she said, which surprised me. I could not imagine what for.

“I strive to indulge your need to know every moment you are under control, but last night, in haste, I chose to cloud your mind. I became mired in my own darkness, unkind with your devotion and I have occluded your memories of it. That was unfair, so I shall return them in due course. This night shall be a time of honesty. I hope you can forgive me,” she shared, vulnerability and contrition within her iron.

“There is nothing to forgive, Master. I am your avowed slave, your plaything. You may do anything you wish to me. If you took something from my mind that is your prerogative. I am nothing but my vows,” I replied. All true. I could not imagine what might have made her think otherwise. My words won a stiff, satisfied smile from our beloved’s alluring lips.

“You are far more than that, lover. But hold fast. Save your forgiveness until you know what you are forgiving,” she warned and glanced across the fire. “But first, it is rude of us to ignore your sister.”

In the majesty of our Sovereign’s presence, I had lost track of Summer, still prostrate on the far side of the bonfire.

“Wait here,” Master instructed. Obeying even so simple a command ran ecstatic fire through my core. The feline grace of her walk drew my gaze to her comely rear, journeyed down her shapely legs to her pale and perfect feet. I spied her discarded boots and shoulder bag by the middle rug as she ed. Did the bag’s undulations denote our collars within?

Circling the fire, she stood before my twin and spent a prolonged moment gazing upon her bondslave’s abasement. A brief flick of her tongue across her lips hinted at her satisfaction and engendered a great urge to beg her to lick me, but I kept my fantasies private for now. This was not my moment. The calm resolve of awaiting our Sovereign’s attention settled upon me.

“Stand, Slave. What do you have for me?” she enquired with an assertive tone that suggested she already knew. Using her true name sent a quiver through my quim, and a subtle shift of buttocks signified it did much the same for my twin. Without worry, I immediately accepted that she had not used my true name. Master had her reasons, no doubt.

Slave swiftly stood and presented Mother’s mirror, barely able to contain her glee. A brief concern that Ma would miss the hand mirror crossed my mind. She did not use it as regularly as her hairbrush, but if she did, we would have some explaining to do. If that was a threat to our secrecy it was a concern for another time.

“For you, Master. By your command,” Slave declared. I could recall no such order. Perhaps that was one of the memories Master had removed from me.

“Good, Slave,” Master purred, making my sister shudder. The Sovereign turned it over in her hand, catching the firelight in yellow flashes. With two fingers she pulled on something about the handle. In the flickering glow of the fire it took a moment to work out it was a long strand of golden hair. Mother’s hair. I had not noticed it earlier, which was unusually unobservant of me. Our beloved licked the full yard of its length then wound it around her little finger.

“Pure-blood elf hair. Your task is fulfilled,” Master praised. She kissed Slave upon her brow, obtrusively sniffing. “Oh, how wonderful. The scent of your sister, anointed with floral notes, just for me. Bless you both.”

Oh, my goddess, she could tell our cunts apart. Her nose had the sensitivity of a mountain lion, and she had my scent. Stimulating images of her chasing and catching me, illuminated my imagination. I calmed myself. All was as it should be.

“Your day was successful, yes?” Master enquired.

“Yes, Master. It was wonderful,” Slave enthused, full of manic energy, casting a swift side eye to me. It had been a very pleasant, if overly sultry day, but I sensed there was some meaning in my twin’s words that I was missing.

“I spoke true about the pleasures of command, yes?” Master asked.

What?

“Oh, yes Master. I understand now. It was a wicked delight,” Slave excitedly shared.

What?

“Her receptivity was as promised, yes?” Master probed.

What?

“Better than I could have imagined, Master. I did all exactly as commanded. It was lovely to be shackled to your will,” Slave replied, breathily.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Show me,” Master addressed my sister, ignoring me.

“As you command, Master,” Slave huskily intoned, her arousal a writhing animal struggling to break free of her fidgeting body. “Winter. Mindless quim.”

“I am…” words instantly sprang from my mouth, “…a mindless quim.”

All my thoughts vanished.