The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Part I

I, Shara, Empress and Chief Wife of the great Sultan Mukbar, Kalif of Bagdad, write this scroll as testament to the events that happened at this time, and a guide to those who may need to emulate my deeds in the future.

Four years ago I was a young and unschooled girl of 16, living in the poor circumstances of my father’s home, a common tent in the village of Bakar. We had some goats and a cow, and we thought ourselves fortunate with our possessions and our life.

At this time, the prince Mukbar was still young and carefree, not yet elevated to the great station he would later fill so admirably. He wondered about the lands of his father, from city to city, from town to town, looking for diversions to entertain the royal heir. He traveled with his small retinue of bodyguards, his secretary, and his close cadre of cronies and lackeys. In truth it was hard to tell the cronies from the lackeys, for the cronies prostituted themselves to gain his material favor, while the lackeys cunningly profited behind their despicable debasement.

In time the prince dutifully came to our small but venerable town of Bakar, venerable I say because of the fine reputation of its harlots and dancers—for truly what Bakar lacked in refinement and wealth we more than made up in the finer things in life. What other landlocked town smelled so plentifully of fresh fish?

The prince’s lackeys immediately cast about for suitable lodgings for the royal son, and found some acceptable villa to take over. The owner, Abu Hassan, was forced out at sword-point while the prince and his cronies ate, drank and made very merry with the stores and wares of the villa. In time, even Abu’s fine collection of maid-servants were used to the point of exhaustion, and so the prince sent his lackeys out into town to seek new meat to taste.

As the prince’s net was drawn tighter and tighter throughout the town, many of the more honorable girls disappeared, went into hiding, lest they be “invited” to the prince’s bedchamber. At this time, I too was sent by my father into hiding, for while it was a great thing to be married into the royal house, being poked by the royal member netted no profit above the common whore. So my father made the underground cistern converted into a dwelling for those of us who hid: myself and 14 virtuous young women who wished to be given in honorable marriage.

Among the 14 who hid with me was Magra, who like her mother was rumored to be a witch. She hid in the cistern with the rest of us, but never really showed any fear of the prince and his followers. When we wailed and lamented our sorry fate were we found, Magra just smiled and shrugged it off. She was always proud and strong and beautiful, and she did not ever cower from fear of the prince.

“How is it that you never fear and cry, Magra? The prince is a dog to his women, and his lackeys have torn the insides from at least 2 girls?” I asked astounded.

“Perhaps those girls had it coming,” she answered dismissively. Now I had known one of the maimed girls slightly, and knew her to be no whore or hellcat, but a pretty and demur maid.

“No that is untrue. Sarah was a kind soul,” I said in her defense.

“Well then, perhaps she just didn’t take precautions...” said Magra cryptically.

“Precautions! What precautions can you take when drunken pigs hack at you with filthy knives?”

“Well there are a few... umm.... precautions a girl can take. Some things that might be done...but I speak too much.”

“No, you do not speak enough! Magra, I am terrified, and if you can give me any small bit of comfort in this dark time, then by the prophet give it me! I do not wish to be fish bait to a prince’s fool, or jackal’s bait after they’ve torn me to pieces! We have given you everything you could ever want in this hideaway. Please, please do not withhold from me that might save my life!” I screamed. Tears fell from my eyes, and I grabbed the hem of her dress and sobbed into her lap.

“What I know is powerful, and it should not be given lightly,” she said hautily. She was going to make me beg even more for this secret. What was it; was it even real? Or was I playing the fool for her enjoyment, and all her claims and power no more than empty chaff in the breeze.

“Well,” she whispered now into my ear, “what it is is the power to control men. To turn them slave to your masterful voice, and make them fawn and cower beneath your dainty foot. To crush their insolent stupid will with your almighty gaze, and turn their martial strength into undying obedience to your every desire.”

“Can such a thing be?” I gasped. For who among us would not die to possess a truth so potent, especially a poor young girl from a backward town? “Certainly in the fairy tales...”

“Ha! This is no fairy tale or Arabian Night. This comes from the knowledge of my mother, who taught me but has not faith enough in her own teachings. Yet I know, and I do believe! I have knowledge to control any man, and pity on any man foolish enough to take and force me into his bedchamber!”

Magra then told me in great detail how this magic was to be worked, what words be spoken, what places to touch, and what herb to use. She showed me the herb itself, for she never went anywhere without her “little precaution.” And then I got a little demonstration.

For that evening, when the stable boy brought in our supper meal, Magra hiked up her skirts up about her thighs and reclined close to a stone wall. Haran the stable boy entered the hideaway, and placed down his burden of food. He looked about at the 15 of us, pretty girls alone underground, and then he saw Magra. I was horrified. I’d always had a girlish crush on Haran: he had strong arms and big brown eyes. But now he was going to hurt my friend Magra.

He saw her creamy white thighs as he had never seen anything before, and he jumped on her forcibly. He kissed her pretty face with his rough lips, and grabbed her lovely neck with his dirty hands.

And then Magra smiled. She took a leaf she had been holding and rubbed it onto Haran’s arm. She took hold of Haran’s penis through his clothes and said, “Akbar abu tasin kamar. My voice rules your mind, my eyes own your soul.”

Haran stared blankly and didn’t move. Magra called me over and showed me her conquest. I could scarcely believe it. My strong powerful man was caught in a spell, in Magra’s spell.

“Bow before your mistress! What is your name, slave?” she asked Haran.

“I am called Haran, my mistress,” Haran said blankly. This was unreal. My strong powerful man was enslaved!

“Whom do you obey, slave?”

“You, my mistress”.

“Now answer truthfully, slave. What did you intend to do to me earlier?” she asked with an evil grin.

“I intended to rape you, my mistress,” he droned. I was fascinated. He obeyed! He confessed. Would he obey in all things, I wondered.

“Oh, is that all? Well, since you were all set to pleasure me, let’s continue. Remove all your clothes and stand naked before me, slave.”

Yes, he would obey! Haran instantly removed all his clothes and faced his mistress. His large manly penis hung limply between his legs. Those big brown eyes were empty, those big strong arms were powerless. And his mind was utterly enslaved, utterly obedient to our every desire.

I had never seen a man’s penis before, so I turned for a better look.

“Would you like to see it better, Shara?” she asked me. “Slave, Shara is your mistress too. Obey her! Shara, command him.”

“Haran—oops—slave! Spread your legs! Show me your penis!” I commanded my new slave. I was thrilled. My strong powerful man, enslaved by my spell, enslaved to my will!

Immediately, Haran turned to face me, no thoughts now in his blank dull eyes. He spread his legs, giving me a very nice view of his rather large penis.

“Yes, my mistess.”

I reached my hand out to touch his member. I was initially frightened, but I became bold as I realized that I was master here, and that Haran would fulfill my every wish, obey my every command. I stroked every inch of his massive rod, and probed and poked my way around his balls and ass. I squeezed and pinched and licked and punched. Each time I would check his face to look for a reaction. But there was none, Haran was as vacant as ever. Strong, powerful and enslaved. He would endure anything I did to him.

I licked his penis and balls some more, before I bent him over, his head touching the floor. I took a carrot from the tray of food and forced it into my slave’s mouth. Then I rammed it into his butt.

I pushed and pulled at the carrot until it disappeared into his butt. I bent down to his ear and whispered, “I am your mistress for all time, slave. You will always obey me, my voice will always control your mind. My eyes will always own your soul. You have no other mistress, only me, only me, only me!” I now knew what I had to do.

“Slave, " I whispered quickly, “break Magra’s neck.”

“Yes, mistress,” he droned. And then it was done.

Part II

Let it not be said that I have no gratitude to Magra, the late witch. But the path I planned to tread must be trod alone, preferably without witnesses. So Magra was laid to rest in the ground, and I escaped with my new slave and extra herbs into the evening air. We went in search of the cronies and the lackeys, to get entrance to the prince. This was not an easy thing, I learned. The prince was of course always on the prowl for fresh entertainment, but like the Sultan his father, he never ate of fish that was not tasted first.

The prince liked his women a tad on the loose size, it was said, to fit his organ more comfortably.

So I conspired with my slave to be taken before a group of the louts and tried for size. All I had were my herbs and my new found courage born of certitude and destiny. Haran threw me to the floor at the feet of some lackeys, as per command. He bargained with them for the price of two pieces of gold and a sheep, which was laughingly agreed to. And the lackeys dragged me by the hair into their curtained quarters. I was stripped of my clothes—rags, they chided—— and pulled by my hair onto his proud penis. I had a magic herb in my hand.

I licked the lackey’s penis once, and rubbed the herb onto his penis. I turned quickly and rubbed the same herb on all the other lackeys crowded around me. They were all staring vacantly.

“Akbar abu tasin kamar. My voice rules your minds, my eyes own your souls,” I shouted.

Everyone of them turned to me and said “Yes, mistress.” All except the first lackie. He fell onto the floor and licked my toes, droning “Yes, Goddess. I obey you in all things. I love you before all others.”

And there it was. It seemed little miss late witch had made a small error in her demonstration with Haran. Apparently it made a difference where one rubbed the herb to insure eternal slavery and obedience. Her mistake.

I repeated the ritual (done correctly) and now had a room full of worshipping enslaved men, mine forever, never to be freed.

This time I heard ten voices implore “Yes, Goddess. I obey you in all things. I love you before all others.” Which made me smile. For truly, who among you women would not smile at a roomful of rich strong young proud naked enslaved aristocrats—all scented with jasmine and fair frankincense, all anointed with fair lotions and balms from hair to toe, all licking my poor common dusty tired smelly triumphant feet with empty eyes and wagging tongues—obedient to the death.

I let them continue with their tongue bath, on my feet and then over all the rest of my body. Dear ladies, I can verily say that if you have not had both your front and rear holes plugged and washed by the wagging tongues of society, well then... you’re just letting the best in life pass you by.

At this, the prince walked in, alone, drunk and thoroughly bemused.

“My dear friends. I have no doubt of your happy involvement, and even lesser of your enthusiasm. I know full well your taste for a full plate, but I rather thought the diners prefer to partake of the food—rather than the other way around.”

But the poor prince did not notice that none of his friends had heard his fine joke. They got up as one man (a pussy soaked naked man) and as per my previous instructions seized hold of the surprised prince. His ten attendants grabbed him by the arms and legs, by the neck and waist, until he was as firmly bound and gagged as ever was by rope. I slowly swaggered over to the formerly bemused, now terrified, prince. Captured, held and bound by his former lackeys, the prince watched in confused horror as I sashayed over, as if whoring my wares to my new client. I knelt at his feet, slowly pulled down his rich royal trousers to reveal the imperial member, and began to suck it into my soft warm mouth. Then I took hold of my magic herb, and rubbed it onto the prince’s penis.

“Akbar abu tasin kamar. My voice rules your mind, my eyes own your soul,” I shouted to the prince.

And the crown prince of the Imperial Sultanate, heir to the throne of generations that stretched from ancient mystical India all the way to the ocean-swept Moraccos, became my slave. Latest and greatest: yes. Instrument of my destiny: yes. But also just another beautiful enslaved man to lick my pussy and taste my ass, lick my toes, and do anything I desired.

And at that moment, I desired him to join the other slaves and lick me raw.

Part III

Having enslaved the heir to the throne, there were two choices of action open to me. I could either wait for fortune to find me and shower me with riches. Or I could wind my way to her sleeping confines and take my rightful desserts. Since I was young and full of life, I naturally chose to be the maker of my own destiny. And that meant another plan.

After I had married the prince in truly astounding state, and moved into a palace that would better have suited gods than a mere upstart queen like myself, I settled into the routine of balls and gay pursuits, and of course the required games of court intrigue. I flattered myself to be quite skilled at this game, and yet I too had some small bit to learn as I accommodated myself with the real way the empire was governed. This education was fascinating, and wholly necessary to my future plans. And then when some years had passed, and I was no longer deemed the newlywed upstart princess, I could play my hand.

I had the prince banish some of his former lackeys from court over some imagined slight. My enslaved lackeys made much noise of their fall from His Grace, and made their way slowly but unwaveringly to the camp of Sheik Amuk, who was enemy to the Sultan, and rival to the throne. They feigned throw their support behind this pretender, who might then capture the throne denied him so long ago. And in the midst of the duplicitous lackeys, there I was. Still wearing the marks of my Imperial estate, I was dragged into the Sheik’s presence like a captured slavegirl, clothes torn, hair disheveled, makeup smudged and running in the confluence of my tears. The lackeys threw abuse at me, and threw pieces of fruits and meats at me sobbing half-naked on the floor.

“The Princess Shara. By way of proof of our loyalty to you and your cause!” said my lackie Ahmed.

The Sheik was amazed.

“Ahmed, truly this is proof beyond that required, and a gift beyond that dreamed.”

“Yes, my Sheik,” said Ahmed smiling. “But we want to help you to gain your throne, and we want to be prominent among your closest friends.

“You are now my most excellent friends, exalted beyond all save myself. Half my kingdom you shall have, and power and riches above all men,” gushed the delighted Sheik.

Now if I hadn’t enslaved them myself to live and die at my command, I would have worried at this point. For truly, what are friends and loyalties when compared with such power and riches. But I was sure of my slaves, and I was sure now of my future.

“Then take her, my Lord, with our greatest compliments.” said Ahmed. “The former Princess has learned some new skills from the hands and dicks of her most loyal subjects,” sneered Ahmed sarcastically, and here Ahmed made a gracious bow to include the whole lackie group.

Sheik Amuk was beside himself with laughter and delight. “Bring her to me!” he leered.

My slaves grabbed me roughly and threw at the feet of the Sheik.

“Show me your new skills, Princess!” sneered the happy Sheik.

Slowly, reluctantly, I reached out to the Sheik’s trousers, sobbing quietly. I pulled down the clothes and started to lick the Sheik’s shrunken penis. As it started to harden, I rubbed some of my magic herb onto his red member.

“Akbar abu tasin kamar. My voice rules your mind, my eyes own your soul,” I shouted to the Sheik.

The Sheik just sat their vacant eyed and motionless.

“Yes, Goddess. I obey you in all things. I love you before all others.”

“Good, you over stuffed sack of shit!” God, I hated this toad of an aristocrat who would wipe his ass with my face and misfortune. “I have some things I need you to do.”

“Yes, Goddess.”

I described in exact detail how he was to enter the Sultan’s palace with some of his soldiers, and force his way into the Sultan’s chambers. How he was to kill the Sultan in the most brutally bloody manner imaginable, using his sword to eviscerate the Emperor and remove every single one of his organs from his chest, and then tie him up with his own bloody entrails, before moving about in search of more royalty to murder. And how he was to find me and my Prince, but make no move to defend themselves while we bravely attacked his invading troop, killing them all and leaving him unconscious in a pool of blood.

And so it was done. I was in one night elevated to Queen and hailed as the greatest of all heroes. My Prince and I ascended to the royal purple, diadems affixed to our brows, while the former Sheik Amuk was subjected to the bloodiest, most brutal and vicious public execution ever mentioned in the royal annals. His family killed and their property reverted to my happy purse. And my descendants spared another rival to the throne.

And so Queen Shara does as she would, partakes as she would. My Prince had many other women, but he doesn’t see them very often. Just enough to beget some male heirs. He must have princes to succeed him. For while my Prince will certainly not live forever, I must continue with my claim to the future throne.

One would surely not expect me to partake of my own?