The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

Dart’n was quite proud of the results of the enhanced Mind Control he had imposed on the camp. That and the fervor shown by all for the new Fight Cult religion had changed the labor camp, not so much outwardly, but very much in its operations and mentality of the guards and inmates.

The Hark’n masses, he thought, were so easily manipulated by religion. Without much ameliorating the harsh conditions of the camp, and actually reducing most inmates’ meager rations so his Fight Cult Warriors would have extra feed, the new cult fervor had boosted mine production a bit; and this while his warriors spent most of their time training for Fight Cult exhibition bouts instead of slaving at the minehead. Daily Parade and Exhibition had become the center of camp life.

Of course, his big Gladiator was the best of the best, beating all challenges. Dart’n had become deeply enthralled by the powerful fighter, devoting all of his free time to coaching and worshipping the naked slave. Except when duty or training required, the two were together in the cabin assigned to the Propagandist.

There they would lie together for hours before sleeping. Dart’n would explore the strong slave’s body with his hands and mouth, massaging and stroking; bringing them both to the edge of orgasm and keeping them there, while continuing the fighter’s mental conditioning, talking him into a deeply entranced state, until at last, with the Gladiator riding on top of his trainer, both would cum against each other in waves of mutual pleasure and satisfaction.

Often when sexual satisfaction had left the big slave exhausted and sleeping deeply, the young Propagandist would hold the Gladiator against him, just feeling his breathing, gazing at the bulging curves of his massive musculature, caressing and kissing wherever he could reach. Even when they were apart, Dart’n could still feel, smell and taste him.

2.

The great air ship of Lord Faidruath arrived on its appointed day. All the camp administrators were present to greet him, along with the standard honor guard of prisoners and guards. He nodded to Dart’n as he passed by, before following the Commandant into the labor camp. As he toured the camp, he quickly realized something had changed. While aboard his ship he had reviewed the camp reports and noted a small but significant increase in production—something that had not happened in many years. Later, while listening to the Commandant, he saw the Propagandist’s hand in it all. That is when he called his young cousin aside to him and asked, “I see the benefits of improved mind control. Even the Commandant seems enthusiastic! What have you done?” Dart’n briefly explained about the enhanced Mind Control Module and his augmentation with a new religious movement he called Fight Cult.

Duke Faid had become increasingly enthusiastic as he witnessed the improvements his young cousin had accomplished. After touring the minehead, where more efficient effort had resulted in higher production, he was looking forward to seeing the cultic process Dart’n had called “Latchdown.” But now he accompanied his cousin to what the Propagandist cryptically called his “New Production Project.”

“My Lord, if you will follow me to this restricted building, I can show you something that I think may increase the camp’s profit potential significantly. Just through this door. But this Special Project is for your eyes alone.”

The Duke’s curiosity was peaked; waiving his retainers to stay behind, he followed into one of the nondescript buildings that were set in regimented lines in the center of the camp. As they entered the dimly lit interior, he was not exactly sure what he was seeing. There was however, a slight but noticeable aroma, sweet and a bit pungent, like the Spice itself, but moreso.

The place looked like a typical Hark’n laboratory—white walls and tile floor; grey metal tables and cabinets; various computing devices blinking and whirling; coded labels on various items in bright Hark’n orange. At the far end was a triangular stack of barrels, racked from floor to ceiling in four rows.

There in the middle if the room was one peculiar table. It had a metal framework around it, reaching to the low ceiling, and, latched to the framework in a crouched position were half a dozen naked inmates. As they were facing away from the door, Faid was not certain what they were there for. Waiving at them as he walked toward them, he spoke, “Cousin, what is this about?” As he approached, the enticing aroma became stronger.

“This, my Lord, is an experiment. Although I was primarily educated as a Propagandist, I have also had an interest in human biology and specifically in the subtle differences between the various branches of humanity that have developed over the millennia of interstellar disbursal. The Hark’n population is rather distinct from others as it was the result of what would now be considered genetic manipulation, outlawed by the Imperium. While a student I discovered some very old records that led me to this experiment.”

They walked around the table and Faid could see that the inmates were carefully bound in a squatting position on the table and had some contraption covering their penises. The inmates’ eyes and ears were covered by partial masking; otherwise they were quite naked, coated with a slight sheen of sweat that appeared to be the source of the sweet smell. They also were, mostly, quite still, except for a discernable tremble that seemed to occasionally tense bulging muscles.

“These are excellent high testosterone specimens.” Dart’n continued his explanation, “As I have chosen the best of the best for this experiment. The equipment in the lab was covered under the camp Mind Control set-up budget, which allowed me also to buy a small amount of the Spice that links the worlds.” Faid was staring at the bound prisoners, looking particularly at one large male, but at the mention of the Spice, turned back, remembering the aroma.

“What I discovered in the old records was an experiment where ordinary Hark’n were given small doses of the Spice. Certain hormone level changes were noted. I extrapolated from the findings and have discovered that injecting a nano-dilution of the Spice into the arteries leading to the specimen’s gonads has a remarkable effect.” Dart’n paused.

“Yes, cousin, what did you discover?” “Simply put, in these high testosterone specimens, after a short time of Spice use, modified hormones are produced in their sperm.” “And?” “Well, when ingested, the material I have made has a mind-expanding, rejuvenating and enhancing effect on the user, as though it contained a much higher amount of the Spice.” “Ah. Interesting. And who has been using this elixir?” “I have, my Lord.” “How do you make it?” “In the barrels over there. It works like a brandy distillation system. I drain modified sperm from the specimens over here and process the, as you say, elixir, over there. May I offer you some?”

“Yes you may. But, first, this one inmate looks familiar.” The young Hark’n duke rested a hand on the prisoner’s strong shoulder. “Lord Faid, this is one of your gladiators, sent here on the same transport upon which I arrived. Your note on his cage indicated you wanted special training for him, which I have arranged. He is what inspired the Fight Cult.” “Yes, I remember. Very good; he is an excellent specimen. Let us try this elixir you have coaxed from him and the others.”

While Faid continued to look at, and touch, the bound males, Dart’n retrieved a bottle with some clear liquid and two small glasses. “This is preserved in alcohol and very strong. I find it pleasant to dilute it a bit with fresh manseed. Let me prepare some.” The young Propagandist placed the bottle and glasses between the strong feet of the Gladiator. He removed the device covering the man’s penis, revealing a large, dripping and throbbing erection. Faid could see that some sort of thick probe extended from the table into the inmate’s anus. He pointed to it. “That is used to stimulate nearly continual sperm production. They can usually produce for several hours a day.” He turned a dial on the side of the table and a stronger trembling coursed through the Gladiator. Shortly thick white man cream began to pulse from his erection. Dart’n filled each glass halfway with the sperm and then reconnected the drain device. After adding some of the clear elixir, he offered a glass to Lord Faid. “Thank you cousin. To your health!”

The two sipped the elixir as Faid reached out to stroke the Gladiator’s thick thighs. “Ah, the aroma! An excellent taste. I can feel the Spice. A nano-dilution you say?” Yes, my Lord. But the process somehow enhances it, so that a very small amount has an effect.” “Indeed. No one has ever been able to amend the Spice so that less works better. You must keep this process a secret. This could give the Hark’n an advantage in these dangerous times. None but you and I, and the specimens, may enter here.” “Of course. And this camp is the perfect place for such a secret!” “You will also arrange to ship me bottles of the elixir mixed with the fresh.” “Yes, my Lord!” “And I will arrange for you to have more Spice.”

As he finished the glass, the Hark’n noble spoke again, “I have decided to extend my visit here. Remove this specimen so he can rest. I will want him brought to my quarters tonite. Thank you cousin. This is very good. I will see you at, what do you call it, Latchdown?”

“Yes my Lord, I believe you will find Latchdown, the daily closing of work, part of the Fight Cult religion I have spoken to you about, most interesting. Each morning we also have a Rousting ritual to begin the day. At both, we exhibit the Fighters. In the morning they lead stretching exercises; in the evening they show their fighting abilities. As one of the Fight Cult Victors, this inmate would usually need to be there in a place of honor, but instead I will see to it that he will be well-rested and waiting in your quarters for your pleasure.” “See to it that he is bound.” “Of course, my Lord. All inmates are bound, latched and controlled when not working or training.”

Lord Faid nodded and left. Dart’n busied himself with removing the Gladiator from the sperm extracting equipment. When the big prisoner was standing before him, wrists carefully bound behind him, Dart’n paused a long moment to hug him, nuzzling against his warm strength. “Lord Faid was just here.” The Gladiator tensed. “Our Lord and your Master appreciates your manhood. He wants you in his quarters tonite. You are to use all of the sex-training I have given you with him tonite, to please him completely. I hope he doesn’t take you with him when he leaves; I would miss you terribly. But I think his desire for the elixir will allow me to keep you.”

3.

The Hark’n duke saw his young propagandist cousin that evening at the Latchdown ritual. They were standing at the Review Stand on the newly constructed Parade Ground that was between the camp buildings and the minehead. Along the base of the stand was the Fight Cult slogan, “Effort—Obedience—Silence!” The Duke spoke, “Explain what I will be seeing cousin.”

“My lord, the way the camp used to be operated, inmates would be shouted at and belted to drive them from sleep, then run over to the minehead where they would be fed haphazardly as they were forced to work. Inefficient. All that has changed. By taking a couple hours to start and end each day with focused mind control and stretching exercises, more work is done, with less injuries, even in the shorter work day. Morning Rousting now starts with the inmates’ upgraded mind control collars stimulating their brains to wakefulness while they hear martial music with the Commandant’s voice ordering them to wake and attend Rousting Parade. There is no shouting or other noise, well, except for some belt-use, since the guards would not feel they were doing their jobs right if you couldn’t hear belts cracking on inmate buttocks! Helps keep everyone focused. Being toughened by corporal discipline is part of Fight Cult. Mind controlling the guards has been as important as mind controlling the prisoners!”

“All the inmates are marched into rows along the new Parade Ground, in their newly formed Work Teams. Then the Fighters are marched out, between them and the minehead to lead morning exercises. After that, the guards wheel out carts of feed for the inmates to receive their morning rations, based on their previous day’s work and rank. The martial music and mind control patter from the Commandant continues throughout all this. At the end of Morning Parade the workers are jogged over to the minehead while the Fighters remain to start their daily exercise and training routines.”

“Now, however, we have the opposite Evening Parade, or Latchdown. I’ve had open showers installed by the minehead...” The propagandist noted his Lord’s raised eyebrow, “But not to be concerned, my Lord, we do not waste any water. It is all filtered and reused to boil the slave feed; we likewise reuse all the urine that’s collected. The feed comes in powder form, on palates, by the tonne, so it must be processed for use. We’re also purchasing nutrients to add to it; with extra aminos and whatnot added to the special feed used by the Fighters and guards. Since the guards are prisoners too, I am working to reduce distinctions between guards and Fighters. With your permission, I would like to rapidly move to a condition where there are only inmate workers, inmate Fighters and inmate guards here. The Control Module can substitute for the Commandant and other overseers—except, of course, for your servant, who must remain to control that Special Project. I’d designate the best Fighter as Commandant pro tem for show purposes.”

“I see, cousin, you have been thinking this through carefully. I approve. You may have this entire facility for your use... for our, as you say, Special Project. Restricting the facility to prisoners will improve security for the Project. Continue.”

“As the workers are showering, the Fighters, already showered, assemble on the Parade Ground, as you will see. Then, while the workers are being fed, the Fighters exhibit their fighting forms. On special occasions, such as today, fight bouts are held and workers are given an opportunity to try for admission to Fight Cult.”

The two Hark’n nobles sat on chairs under a Hark’n Orange pavilion that covered the review stand. The ritual of Latchdown unfolded before them, governed by the Control Module’s instructions to all. It started with a loud whistle blowing, to indicate the end of the workday.

Lord Faid could see several hundred inmate Fighters jogging from the shower area which was a couple hundred yards away, by the minehead. At that distance the only way he could distinguish them was by the special orange bandanas covering their shaved heads, otherwise they were as naked as the rest of the inmates, their manhood bulging their orange jocks. As they arrived, they lined up before the review stand, facing the minehead, their strong arms clasped behind, between bare buttocks and muscled backs. Dart’n noticed Lord Faid admiring the rows of hard manflesh.

The area between the mine and the review stand had been covered with mine tailings that were hard packed into an even gray surface. It stretched from the minehead to the tall metal shield wall the surrounded the camp buildings. There were additional walls enclosing the area and running to the minehead, so that no inmate was ever outside the walled compound. Shortly, long rows of worker inmates were marching toward the parade ground. While they were arriving and lining up opposite the rows of Fighers, guards brought out feed carts and proceeded to process the Fighters first.

Dart’n commented: “We’ve made the feeding process much more efficient. Instead of providing pails of gruel to each prisoner, we use a pump cart system. Each holds enough feed for a hundred inmates and has five pump tubes so we can process five inmates at a time. They swallow the tubes and a predetermined amount of feed is force-fed; a quick process. It is thus very easy to exactly control the amount of feed provided each category of prisoner and, of course, there is no fighting over feed, or any ability by the inmates to secure any but the amount allocated. Food control is mind control.”

“Very good cousin! You are bringing a level of control and efficiency none have brought here before. I am authorizing you to make whatever changes you deem needed to increase camp efficiency. You can have you pick of inmates from any of our prisons here on Gheddiprime. I want this facility expanded to allow higher production of your special product. I envy you, Dart’n. If my Uncle did not need me to work with our diplomatic service, I would like nothing more than to spend much of my time here. I am anxious to see your Fight Cult in operation.”

“You need not wait, my Lord. Since we have only a couple hundred Fighters and several thousand inmates, the feed process has already moved onto the worker inmates. The Fighters will begin their exhibition now.”

The two, joined now by the Commandant and other soon-to-be reassigned camp overseers, watched as the rows of Fighters separated. The background martial music got louder and increased in tempo. The Fighters turned as though one man, coordinated by the Control Module, and bowed to the review stand. They then began a series of traditional Katanas, or martial arts poses and positions. The Fighters moved in unison, fluidly, but with great concentration and intensity. Lord Faid could see all the inmates staring at the exhibiting Fighters. He too became mesmerized and watched.

After a couple minutes, the rest of the inmates began a series of stretching exercises that echoed, in a type of submissive response, the martial movements that the Fighters continued. Then all came to silent attention. The Commandant’s voice announced, “Now is the time for Fight Cult! Let all who would fight remain standing; all others become humble!” With that word, while all the Fighters remained standing, moving in unison from attention to brace, nearly all the other inmates squatted. The few worker inmates who remained standing then walked forward to stand opposite the nearest Fighter.

Dart’n whispered to Faid, “Any worker may stand to fight. If they survive three bouts, they are admitted to Fight Cult in the First Degree. I’ve introduced a branding system to denote status in the cult. You’ll see all the Fighters and many of the worker inmates with small brand marks over their breast, just below the collar-bone. Small circles on the right indicate these qualifying bouts. As I said, when they have three they are initiated into Fight Cult. Small triangles on the left indicate status in the cult.”

The young Propagandist paused while they turned their attention to the action below. Quickly and furiously the Fighters attacked the inmates who had challenged them. Within just a few seconds each Fighter had decisively defeated his opponent, usually spinning, tossing or otherwise launching the hapless worker into the air and back toward the rest, all to the apparent amusement of the prisoners who. With the rule of silence suspended, were allowed to express their feelings by hooting and cheering. Most of the want-to-be cultists got themselves up to stand between the Fighters and worker inmates. A couple did not move and were dragged off by the guards.

He continued with is explanation, “My Lord, the cult degree structure runs from (1) Combat Acolyte, through (2) Fighter, (3) Warrior and (4) Champ. Each degree has its specialties. For the First, they are Exhibiting Respect for the higher degrees and Receiving Blows from them. They exhibit respect by performing personal services for the higher degrees, including fellatio. The receive blows by acting as sparring partners for the others, but being unskilled, they are more like punching bags. The Second Degree is all about Fighting Form and this is the degree that concentrates on the Katanas. The Third is about defeating all challengers and the Fourth, the Champ level, is about being a role model. With correct mind control, we ensure complete devotion to the cult. The last degree of the cultic structure, the Hidden Fifth Degree is occupied solely by yourself, my Lord, as the cultists are taught that you are the Final Ideal for them to emulate. I have the honor of standing in your place when you are not here. But since you are here for the first time, it would be helpful if you would say a few words about Fight Cult that I have prepared.” Dart’n offered a piece of paper to the Duke. He nodded his head and accepted it. Lord Faid spoke, his words echoing in each prisoner’s head,

“I am your Lord and master. You are prisoners here to be punished by hard labor. Yet in my great mercy I have devised labor camp to be something more. It is now a way station toward your perfection. I have given you Fight Cult, that you may know my Divine Will. With the Rule, “Effort, Obedience, Silence!” you will be inspired to be the best labor camp slave you can be. Fighters fight with each other; workers fight with the mountain. The Champions know the Secret! They know why you are truly here. Have faith! The Project makes the Hark’n strong. Fight Cult makes you strong for the Project!” He finished reading the paper, understanding the depth of the religious mind control the Propagandist was structuring.

But then he continued, nodding toward Dart’n. “Your camp controller has proven his value to me and I am hereby naming him my Deputy in Fight Cult.” He removed one of the rings he wore and held it up; its stone glittered orange in the sunlight, “By this Ring of Office, you shall obey him! A shrine will be built here to house it except when he wears it for special cult celebrations. You will remember today, Mater’s Day, each year with austerities. You will all worship me through him and the Master Ring! Acknowledge this by repeating the Rule now!”

In ragged union all the Fighters, inmates and guards, prompted by their control collars, responding to the cry of “Effort, Obedience, Silence!” chanted “EE-OB-SS, EE-OB-SS...” over and over, in a frenzy of submission to the Cult. Faid gave the Ring to his cousin who held it aloft and shouted, “Let the Fights begin!”

The two Hark’n nobles sat back to watch. What they saw were many of the Fighters, having defeated their inmate challengers, face off against each other. Since they were all martial arts trained, the opponents circled each other and looked for an opening to attack. And attack they did, jumping, leaping, striking—the whole area between the review stand and rows of prisoners exploded into movement and struggle. So much was happening that Faid did not know where to look first. Unlike the fighting in his Dojo in the city, this fighting was raw, testosterone driven and vicious. He was deeply impressed. After a few minutes, though, all the battles were decided and the victors came to stand before the review stand. Lord Faid could see them breathing raggedly, some with fresh bruised; a few reddened with the blood of their opponents. Meanwhile those opponents were led or carried from the field.

After the last of the fighting had ended, the workers who had earlier offered themselves to spar with the Fighters came forward, around the assembled Fighters, to stand before the review stand. A couple of the Fighters, prompted by a Control Module signal, came to stand with them. Dart’n explained to the Duke, “They are all here to receive their brands. Doing it yourself would be a great honor to them. May I assist you?” Lord Faid nodded. Dart’n produced a wand-like instrument, with a circle at one end, a triangle at the other. A button in the center, when depressed, caused both to glow red hot. “Ah, a useful device; it should be at the shrine too.” “Yes my Lord. Thank you for adding your stamp of approval to my work here!” The prisoners began again to chant “EE-OB-SS,” over and over, but softly, with deep feeling. Faid took the wand and proceeded to burn the marks into the waiting prisoners, each of whom took the pain stoically. Noticing the bruises, cuts and scars on the strong men lined up before him he gestured and the Propagandist spoke, “Marks on the body are testaments to toughness. They rub dirt into their cuts to produce scars as badges of honor.”

The newly branded prisoners then turned to the triumphant Fighters. Each stepping before a victor, he knelt, carefully released the standing man’s penis from his orange jock and began to vigorously suck. Dart’n remarked, “This is how the initiates show their respect for the conquering heroes!” Faid watched closely as each champion relieved his manhood.

The ritual over, all the prisoners were hustled off to sleep while the overseers and Duke went off to eat dinner. Dart’n excused himself early, stating to his cousin, “My Lord, I’ll make sure your room is ready for you.” The Duke responded, “Yes I’ll be there in a half hour.”

4.

The Gladiator was waiting in Duke Fairuath’s room. He was, as promised by the Propagandist, bound. He was naked, spread on his back, tied wrists and ankles to the four corners of the Hark’n noble’s bed. Faid could see, though his eyes were closed, he was not asleep. He stood for a long moment admiring the muscled body offered before him. He then removed his own clothes and climbed onto the bed, lying along side and partial on top of the big slave. Chuckling a bit at the slave’s pretense of sleep, he wet a finger and made a circle around one of the Gladiator’s dark nipples, wetting the tip as well. Then he blew on it, watching the nipple expand. He repeated with the far side of the slave’s studly chest, leaning across him to blow.

“I trust you are well rested, Gladiator. You are, as always, conditioned to obey. I saw the Fighters at Latchdown and was duly impressed by their skill and heart. My cousin has given this place a powerful new meaning and I have placed him in total, permanent control. While I did not see you fight today, I will. I want to spend time here, among these warriors and I shall! I will think of you often, matter where I may be. At Rousting tomorrow, before I leave to travel to far off Arras, the world of the Great Worms, I will tell all how much I value them. But now, I will show you how much I value you.”

The Hark’n noble reached a hand to his Gladiator slave’s flaccid manhood, while at the same time bringing his lips first to the man’s strong forehead, then to his closed eyes and lastly, his slightly parted lips, lingering there a long moment. Faid pressed against him. The prisoner’s eyes remained closed as he continued his pretense of sleep. Faid’s mouth began to wander around the thick neck muscles and down across the broad musculature of the chest, the tight ridges of his taut belly, the short tuft of hair over his pubes. His penis had been responding to his master’s attention and Faid’s warm mouth engulfed his growing erection.

Sucking and stroking, the Hark’n noble soon brought his bound Gladiator to a shuddering orgasm, pumping globs of Spice-laced man cream into his mouth. “This is how much I love you, slave!” Overwhelmed by the Hark’n testosterone enhanced Spice, Faid lay limp against the slave’s hard body and had a vision. He saw the Spice world, its endless desert, its Great Worms and the Fremon rebels. He knew, now, who had joined the separate rebel groups into a cohesive front. His old enemy, and rival for Princess Iras, the Art’d duke’s son Paol was still alive! He saw himself fighting his rival, but he could not see the outcome. Nonetheless, he felt, win or lose, he would be inspired by the courage and heart his slave Fighters showed him. He nuzzled against his Gladiator and fell asleep.

5.

The next morning Lord Faid awoke wrapped around his muscular slave, still bound, wrists and ankles to the bed. The Gladiator’s eyes were closed and he was breathing easily. Faidruath leaned up on an elbow and watched the big man breathing, fairly certain he was again pretending to sleep.

“Well, slave, I doubt you are still asleep. You are used to being rousted at first light. But it is cozy here, and feeling the warm life course through your body; smelling the unique combination of your maleness and the Spice... these things I can enjoy now. Alas, though, concerns of empire weigh upon me. You lay there lightly, though bound. I, though free, am heavy. You know what your days have for you: Effort, Obedience and Silence. This is good. As for me, I know not what I face. I thought my way clear to marrying the Imperial Princess, fathering the next Emperor. Now I fear the rival I long thought dead is still a threat. But you know nothing of the affairs of empire. You know only fighting, training and giving your man-essence. This is as it should be; your mind given over entirely to your duty.”

“Let me tell you what I face, while you pretend to sleep. Our great Hark’n Noble House was locked in a struggle with our rivals, the Art’d. The Emperor has no son, so his choice of a mate for Princess Iras will determine the course of the imperium. When he allowed us to seize the Spice World from our enemies, destroying them, we thought Hark’n Orange would blend with the Imperial Purple. And so it seemed.”

“Now, though, there is a new religion sweeping the desert folk. Some messiah leading them. A rebellion. My foolish brother, as Governor, has only fueled the flames. I have been called to Arras. Rumor that even the Emperor himself prepares his forces. Now I understand the threat. I had a vision, after being filled with your Spice enhance sperm. My mind was opened and I saw myself fighting Duke Paol, before the throne of the Emperor himself. I saw our blades flashing, but know not the outcome. Empire or death? If my Hark’n blade drives true, the Empire is ours. If he prevails, a Jihad of death and destruction will be unleashed upon the worlds... if that religion of the new messiah prevails. If not, perhaps the new faith my cousin is creating here, Fight Cult, will provide the emotional drive needed to secure Hark’n domination over the worlds. Or at least survive the coming age. Either way, all things will change.”

“You, however, my handsome Gladiator, will remain here, serving me by serving my cousin. This is your fate. The religion of which you are an avatar will grow from this place, even if I fail. Do you not see this? I do. I need your strength and manhood to give me deeper knowledge of what I face when I leave this place. You will open your eyes so I may know that you are offering yourself to me completely, so that I may see what is to be. Eyes open!”

The Gladiator did not respond. Faid’s eyes narrowed. “Do not trifle with me, slave! Effort, Obedience, Silence! Remember what you are and who I am!” The Gladiator still did not respond. Faid reached between the man’s strong thighs to where his flaccid penis and hefty testicles hung. He seized the testicles and began to twist. The Gladiator gritted his teeth, eyes still closed. “Slave, I love your balls; I don’t want to hurt them, but I will twist until you obey.” He twisted some more. The Gladiator groaned but did not budge. Finally Faid released the slave but immediately dove onto him, mouth first, seizing his penis, sucking hard. The slave responded by rapidly becoming erect.

Faid released the throbbing erection, “Well, I see at least your cock knows how to obey. Is it not your best part? I am going to suck the man cream from you. Then I will see what I see.” The Hark’n lord returned to the erection offered before him, mouthing it again, drawing in the sweetness of the slave’s maleness. Savoring the aromas and taste, he bore down on the massive manhood, forcing the response he desired. After a short time of rapid sucking, the Gladiator could hold back no more. The erection pulsed, shooting gobs of sperm; and it pulsed again and again, spurting more of the Spice enhanced ejaculate. Faid greedily sucked all in. Then laying against the heavily breathing slave, he closed his eyes. Again he saw himself facing Paol. Again the blades flashing. He knew he had to prevail, but was not sure he saw it.

After a while he again pulled himself along the bound torso, up to the slave’s head. The eyes remained closed. “You will now look into my eyes, slave. I may never see you again. I would see your soul now. Please.” The Gladiator opened his deep, bright eyes. “T’please you, m’Lord, I’d do anything.”

“I see, all it takes is a please?” The slave nodded. “Yet, if you were not bound, would you seek to fight me?” “We fight, m’Lord, only upon command. Do you command me to fight you?” “No, not now. Perhaps never again. Now I command you to love me, when I release your bonds.” And so Faidruath did release the slaves bonds.

The Gladiator, showing his master his great strength, rolled himself over the young Hark’n lord, wrapping himself around the now struggling Faid; pinning him, binding him in the slave strong arms and legs. Faid stopped struggling and the Gladiator pressed even more firmly against him. Their mouths met. Faid accepted his slave’s tongue while feeling the man’s erection rubbing against his own manhood. The big slave rode against him, crushing him, over powering him. And he rode him harder, stimulating both of them to mutual orgasm. Both panting and spent, he released his hold and lay loosely against Faid.

“Is that what my cousin taught you? I will long remember this; will long to return to your arms, my Gladiator, my Avatar! I see, you are the One. No matter what mad faith may sweep the worlds, here you are the Avatar. Under Dart’n’s tutelage, all here will see you as the model exemplar. Yes, and it will be so.”

6.

Later Faid took his leave of the Labor Camp, with several bottles of the Spice Elixir. The old overseers were quickly transferred and their functions replaced by mind-controlled prisoners. Finally, the only distinction between inmates and guards was that the guards wore military boots, a special bandana, and a belt from which hung their discipline straps and shock sticks. The Gladiator stood in for Faid as Head of the Cult.

After a couple months, Dart’n was able to tell the inmates that their Lord and a great Hark’n army had embarked for Arras. To his great shock, a few weeks later Dart’n heard the news that the Emperor had been defeated; House Hark’n destroyed; the Art’d heir now proclaimed the new Emperor and Messiah.

Dart’n reacted quickly. He had all the Hark’n Orange items at the Camp quickly died a drab brown, including the few bits of cloth worn by the inmate workers and guards. He had the Spice Elixir equipment dismantled and buried. He arranged to bring in as much food and water as possible, before the enemy came.

Gheddeprime was a defeated world, but more ignored than abused. Its new off-world governor was too busy with the ‘de-harknfication’ program to pay much attention to a small labor camp in the desert. When the new government’s inspectors arrived, they were greeted by several men in long brown robes. One, who seemed to be the spokesperson, explained, “We welcome you to what is called The Penitent Mine Labor Camp. We are an old, private religious institution that receives penitents, and also the old government used to send us permanent prisoners, or excess prisoners from other labor camps. We trade the output of the mine for food and water. Other than that, we have no contact with the outside world and operate under a Rule of Silence and Isolation. None ever leave this place. We serve the greater good and cooperate with whomever is in authority.”

The inspectors found a well-ordered facility, very quiet, with hard working inmates. They saw no reason to disturb a working arrangement. The mine output, was small, as no modern equipment was used, just inmate muscle. The output, though, was sufficient to trade. It would seem to be a good place to exile troublemakers. Yes, the new government would continue to send prisoners and leave the Camp alone. Even private penitents could submit themselves.

Things settled down on Gheddeprime and nothing much had changed, though rumors of jihad and battles across the worlds were rife. The former capitol of the vanquished House Hark’n was pretty much allowed to become a backwater, uninteresting to the new powers that be.

Over the ensuing years, the Camp had very little contact with the outside. But, under Dart’n’s watchful eyes, continued to function smoothly and quietly, the minds of all the inmates carefully conditioned to the EE-OB-SS Code.

Over time the Camp got a reputation among nearby worlds as the best place to learn the martial arts. The Gladiator became, as Faid had seen, the best exemplar of the Fighter Spirit. He was their Avatar. Lives lengthened by the Spice Elixir that was secretly made in small batches, the best of the Fighters carried on, for centuries beyond the time of their Lost Lord Faid, who fell but did not surrender.