The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Owned — The Rival

By Nadia Nightside

Chapter 7

Maria loved her life.

She was the Supreme Queen, the Number One Girl, the First Slave, the Mega Bitch, the Dream Empress, and of course, her favorite title, Master’s Favorite.

In Robert’s expansive office suite, she sat on his lap as he inspected the latest batch of recruits that had been brought in. Her gloved hand openly stroked his cock. She wore a tight lingerie skirt that didn’t even bother to cover her ass, eagerly attending the brilliant curves of her heart-shaped phenomenon of a behind. The majestic bronze curves of that divine sight were matched only by the rest of her body, similarly clad in smoky dark lingerie with red trim. Tight stockings leading into six-inch heeled platform ballet shoes. Suede gloves with ruby buttons attending her hands, wrists, forearms, and elbows.

Her bra was encrusted with heavy jewels, the product of an annual fashion company’s runway show that no one was supposed to afford. She now possessed more than fifteen of the dream bras, each of them worth more than a million dollars.

Robert had bought her every one. Money was easy to come by for him. To stretch out his enjoyment, he was only giving them to her a month at a time. This was the third one. She looked spectacular in it, of course—better than any of those models would have or did.

She had tested it out—some of those models had ended up in Robert’s employ, thanks to a few tactfully planned vacations over the past several months to some beach fronts where they were shooting for their summer swimsuit magazine.

Alice, the Brazilian supermodel with legs that went on for miles, had been conquered on a yacht off the coast of Monaco. Maria had approached her at the bar, complimenting her bone structure while Robert watched from across the deck. Within twenty minutes, Alice was grinding against Maria’s thigh in a private cabin, begging to know what moisturizer gave her skin that impossible glow. Maria had whispered the truth—that she was owned by a God—and Alice had laughed until Robert walked in. One look at his transformed physique, one whiff of his pheromones, and the model was on her knees. Robert fucked her against the porthole window for three hours straight while cruise engers watched from boats nearby, Alice’s perfect face pressed against the glass as she screamed her submission. She signed over her modeling contracts before they even made it back to shore.

Yuki, the Japanese runway sensation known for her icy demeanor and refusal to do nude shoots, had broken in Bali. Robert had simply walked past her at a beach resort, his massive frame drawing every eye. She’d followed him back to his cabana like a woman possessed, her English dissolving into desperate Japanese as she clawed at his swim trunks. Maria had watched from the bed, fingering herself lazily as Robert transformed Yuki’s tight body into something even more exquisite—adding three inches to her height, expanding her modest breasts into perfect C-cups, lengthening her hair until it pooled on the sand beneath her. Yuki came so hard when Robert finally entered her that she ed out. When she woke, she could only speak three words: “Master,” “please,” and “more.”

The Conti sisters—well, not actually sisters, but two models who happened to share a last name and had built a brand around their supposed rivalry—had been a package deal in Ibiza. Maria had orchestrated their downfall with surgical precision, arranging for both to be invited to the same exclusive party at a villa Robert had rented. She’d spent an hour with each separately, using her hypnotic eyes to plant suggestions that they were competing for the same prize: Robert’s attention. By midnight, both were in the master bedroom, tearing each other’s designer dresses off in their desperation to prove who could please him better. Robert had fucked them simultaneously, one impaled on his cock while the other rode his face, both screaming that they were prettier, sexier, more deserving. He’d filled them both with his supernatural cum, and by sunrise they were referring to each other as “sister-slave” and begging Maria to teach them how to properly serve their Daddy.

Svetlana, the Russian ice queen who’d graced more Vogue covers than anyone else in history, had required a different approach. She was too intelligent, too cynical for simple seduction.

So Maria had simply told her the truth over cocktails in Moscow:

“My Master can make you immortal. You’ll never age another day. Your beauty will be permanent, eternal, untouchable by time or gravity or any force of nature. All he asks in return is total submission.”

Svetlana had laughed, that cold aristocratic laugh that had intimidated photographers and designers for two decades. “And what makes you think I would trade my independence for parlor tricks?”

Maria had smiled, removed one of her gloves, and placed her bare hand on Svetlana’s wrist. The Russian’s pupils had dilated instantly, her breath catching as Maria’s power—Robert’s power, channeled through his First Slave—flooded her nervous system with pleasure so intense it bordered on religious experience.

“Because you’re already forty-three,” Maria had whispered, “and you know the agencies are looking at the twenty-year-olds now. You can feel it slipping away, can’t you? The attention. The adoration. Everything you’ve built your entire identity around.”

Svetlana’s hand had trembled as she reached for her wine glass. “What... what would I have to do?”

“Kneel,” Maria had said simply. “Worship. Obey. Become his property, body and soul. In exchange, you’ll be the most beautiful woman in any room that doesn’t contain me or my sisters. You’ll never lose what you have. You’ll only become more.”

The Russian had been on her knees within the hour, her Hermès dress pooled around her waist as she begged Robert to remake her. He’d been gentle with this one, recognizing her desperation. He’d fucked her slowly, methodically, pumping his transformative cum into her aging body while she wept with gratitude. When she’d looked in the mirror afterward, she’d seen herself at twenty-five again—but better, perfected, all her flaws erased. She’d kissed Robert’s feet and sworn herself to him in Russian, then English, then French, cycling through every language she knew as if one tongue wasn’t sufficient to capture the depths of her devotion.

Maria and the other models had lingerie contests for Robert’s enjoyment, elaborate affairs that would put the Met Gala to shame. Each model-turned-slave would spend weeks preparing, using the hypnotic abilities Robert gifted them with to enslave entire fashion houses. Yuki had taken control of a Parisian atelier, reducing three generations of master seamstresses to mindless automatons who sewed twenty hours a day, their fingers bleeding onto silk as they constructed a kimono-inspired bodysuit woven with threads of actual platinum. The lead designer, once celebrated for her innovative techniques, now existed only to execute Yuki’s vision, her own creativity completely overwritten.

Alice’s Brazilian connections had allowed her to corrupt an entire diamond mine operation in Botswana. The workers there no longer went home to their families—they simply dug, sorted, and cut stones in an endless cycle of labor. She’d had them create a body chain that draped from her neck down between her breasts, across her stomach, and connected to her thong with over ten thousand flawless diamonds. The mine owner’s wife, once a prominent humanitarian, now personally polished each stone with her tongue before Alice wore them, believing this was the highest honor she could achieve.

The Conti “sisters” had enslaved competing Italian jewelry houses—actual blood feuds spanning centuries—and forced them to collaborate on matching sets. One house provided rubies extracted using slave labor they’d expanded specifically for this purpose, while the other contributed emeralds purchased with money embezzled from cancer charities. Dozens of families were financially ruined, their generational wealth funneled into creating bras, panties, and garter belts that would be worn for a single evening. The patriarchs of both houses now worked side-by-side in the same workshop, their rivalry transformed into shared worship of the Conti slaves who’d destroyed everything their ancestors built.

Svetlana’s approach had been characteristically ruthless and efficient. She’d enthralled the entire board of directors at Bulgari during a business meeting, then systematically worked her way through their families. The CEO’s daughter, a promising young lawyer, now spent her days arranging logistics for gem smuggling operations that would land her in prison for life if anyone with free will ever investigated. His son, formerly an environmental activist, personally oversaw the destruction of protected rainforest to access rare minerals. Svetlana’s latest piece incorporated stones that had required the displacement of an indigenous tribe—she’d made the tribal elders thank her personally before having them deliver the finished jewelry on their knees.

No matter how hard the other girls tried, though, Maria always won. Those who made a good showing were placed higher in the slave hierarchy.

Her victory was never in doubt; but even if she were to lose, she would adore the thought of someone even better than her (a thought almost blasphemous) of ing with her glorious Master.

Of course, not a single one of the jewels were as brilliant as her emerald eyes, shining with complete devotion to the God that her Master had become.

The girls who entered his office had seen Maria on Robert’s lap immediately. He had made no effort to hide his total domination of the beautiful, haughty Goddess. As she stroked his cock, slippery and slow, she cast an arrogant sneer toward the new crop, as if to say, “Surely, you don’t think even all three could be as good to you as I can?”

And Maria knew that her darling Robert did not think such nonsense. She was beyond mere mortal women. She was Master’s Favorite, and no amount of normal women could ever match that.

“Kneel,” said Robert, voice booming.

Just the sound of his voice was enough to make a hot, sweet little orgasm ripple through Maria’s body. She kissed the side of his face, and when he turned, kissed him full on, whispering soft love notes to him that promised her eternal devotion.

Were she to walk in the street, Maria would be likely to cause traffic accidents on every stretch of the road she strutted besides. If she, god forbid, walked into a dam or a nuclear reactor, there would be a worldwide catastrophe. Her beauty was not just distracting, it was absolute. It commanded.

And Robert absolutely commanded her.

Sometimes he was her Father. Sometimes he was her Big Brother. Sometimes he was her Husband. Sometimes he made her forget about him altogether, just so she could be taken again for the first time. Every new game they played was more erotic than the last.

These new girls belonged to Robert and his campaign. They had since they walked into the building downstairs. Their arousal spiked at first, seeing the immodestly dressed interns on the first floor, all beautiful young women. Short skirts and tight tops galore, even for their manager Quinn. As they got on the elevator up, their wills began to erode.

His presence was fighting a battle in the building that their souls didn’t even know was possible, and it was winning. On the top floor, the population was entirely lingerie-clad beauties, but the three recruits were too turned on to care. Competitiveness between them ramped up—they had to work here! They had to feel this way again—forever! They had to be good enough!

When they entered the office, Maria knew, they realized right away they looked at the man of their dreams. One had been a lesbian. One wasn’t even sure she liked sex. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered except for their new Master’s cock.

The Mayoral election was approaching. He needed fighters. He needed women who would quit at nothing to please him. All three were beautiful, but only one would serve.

“Make them deserve it…please?” Maria asked, an evil glint in her eye. “Make them each audition for the right to serve you?”

Auditions were standard practice now. Each girl would worship at the temple of their new God’s cock. Those found wanting would be alone, forever, knowing they had tasted greatness and never be satisfied with another’s touch for all their lives.

“Come,” Robert beckoned. “Let me touch you and show you the light.”

The women approached the man of their dreams, and though they did not know it yet, they approached their Master, their King, their God, and the rest of their lives.

Maria continued to stroke him, cooing worship in his ear, urging him to show these new girls just how dominant he could be.