The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chief Amateo, ruler of the people, breathed in the bitter-sweet smoke, then passed the pipe to all the assembled elders of the tribe to begin the council. After many days of feverished sleep induced by the herbs of foreseeing, the shaman had awaken and asked the chief to call a council immediately. The tribe was in great danger.

“Elders of my people” said the shaman, when Amateo indicated that he should speak “I have seen the days and years to come, even to the end of the world. The strange, pale tribe that has come from across the sea is not a friend to the people. Indeed, within but seven generations, all of the people will be dead by their hands.”

The council murmured, most in disbelief. The shaman was wise, but the pale tribe was so weak and foolish. There were many more of the people than of this tribe. True, they had strange, frightening weapons, but they were like children. They did not know what plants were good to eat, what herbs cured sickness, what water was good to drink. Many of them had died in the year since they had come to the island. Many of the elders believed that the pale tribe would die out or return to their homeland before long.

“But these are only the first!” exclaimed the shaman. “More will come—many more. They will come with their ‘guns’ and they will come with their lies, but worst of all, they will come with their sickness. The pale tribe brings with them a great sickness that will kill the people, and leave the pale tribe to dance on our graves and the graves of our ancestors. Even if we kill all the pale ones that are here now, more will come like a plague until the people are no more. The great people will be destroyed by these foolish, evil men.”

Again the elders murmured. The pale tribe’s warriors they could fight, but who can fight sickness? At last the chief spoke.

“Wise shaman, is there nothing we can do that the people may survive?”

The shaman stared for a long time into the fire. He knew he was about to awaken a great evil, but why had the knowledge been passed down to him, if not for just such a purpose—to save his people.

“There is a way.” said the old man. “The people must mix their seed with the pale tribe. The pale women confer upon their children protection against the great sickness that their tribe brings. Only by making their children our children may the people survive.”

The elders murmured once again. It was common to take the women of an enemy tribe, but these women were strange. They covered all of their flesh with cloth. Surely they must wish to cover their ugliness. And then there were the men with their strange ‘guns’. The elders did not doubt that the warriors of the people could defeat them, but still many would die. Men fight more fiercely when their women are taken from them.

“The spirits have shown me a way.” said the shaman above the din. “We can take their women and they will willingly take our seed and bear us many children. Not one warrior of the people will die, not one man of the pale tribe will live. I will use the ancient knowledge, and the pale tribe will be ours to do with as we like.”

The elders at last were silent. There were many tales of the ancient knowledge and the evils that had been done with it. But at times it was necessary. How else would the people survive, if what the shaman foretold was true? They pledged to be guided by the shaman, and Chief Amateo closed the council.

Caroline Madison was in a waspish mood. Today was the first anniversary of her arrival in this god-forsaken wilderness. Her husband, Matthew, had convinced her that if they joined up with Sir Walter Raleigh in this mad scheme, that within only a few years they would have gold enough to live a life of leisure. So here she was in the muggy heat being attacked by the ubiquitous insects of Roanoke island without any hint that her situation would ever change. Raleigh himself had never even set foot on the island, while the leader of the colony, John White, had returned to England after only a month, ‘for supplies’. They had heard nothing from civilized people since. They had little food, had found none of the promised gold, and were surrounded by godless savages. And after bringing her to this hell on earth, Matthew had the gall to suggest she fulfill her marital duties, when he had so obviously completely failed in his. She made it clear to him that as long as she was on this island, she would never again share his bed. She would not bear children in this horrible place.

They hadn’t discussed it (a proper Christian wouldn’t) but Caroline suspected that her fellow wives had taken a similar vow of celibacy. Most of the colonists were young couples, yet only Eleanor Dare, wife of the current colony governor, had borne a child in the time they had been there, and she had left England already pregnant. Little Virginia Dare was the first English child born in the new world, and if Caroline had anything to say about it, she would be the last!

There was a gathering at the Western boarder of the colony. Caroline went a little closer to see that a small group of the half-naked savages talking with several of the men of the colony. She had seen these particular natives before. One of them she found more disturbing than the others. He had somehow managed to learn the Queen’s English, or at least a perverse mockery of it. He was always staring at her and calling to her in his strange accent. He called her ‘Yellow Hair’ and seemed obsessed with her golden locks. He had actually asked her to let him touch it! The very idea! She had given him, and all of the red men, wide berth ever since.

The English-speaking one, he called himself Wachea she recalled, suddenly looked up directly at her, as if he had felt her gaze. He smiled broadly. There was something in the smile that froze her heart. The colony men followed the red man’s gaze. One of the men was Matthew, and seeing his wife he waved and came towards her. She was glad of the distraction from that horrid smile.

“Caroline” said Matthew when he reached her, “The natives have fish and vegetables that they want to trade. Ananias suggested that maybe they would be interested in crystal. Help me fetch the wine goblets.”

Fleeing her unease at the smiling Indian, she embraced her earlier anger.

“The Governor can go soak his head, and you can join him. We’ve given them enough. At this rate, we won’t have anything left from England by Christmas. You’re a fool, Matthew! A worthless fool who is going to sell our birthright for a mess of potage! Well I won’t stand for it anymore!”

“Please, Caroline!” pleaded her weary husband, “We need to eat! Governor White will return soon with everything we could want or need. Until then, we have to make do with what we have. You know how gullible these savages are. We can probably get enough food to feed the entire colony for a week with just one wine goblet. It’s our turn to contribute barter. If we don’t, there will be trouble with the other colonists. If I can work a good deal with the savages, everyone will all be grateful to us.”

They argued for a while, but at last Caroline acquiesced. Mostly because she herself was starting to feel hungry, and she knew how paltry dinner would be if she had to rely on Matthew and the other incompetents to provide. She brought four of the leaden crystal goblets and grudgingly gave them to her husband, who then brought them to the fish-bearing natives. Caroline saw from afar that the natives were very impressed with her wine goblets—as well they should be. Then Wachea looked up at her again, held up a crystal cup, and nodded with a smile. Caroline gasped and fled to her wooden house, feeling very warm.

There were seventy settlers left of the original 110 who came to Roanoke. Illness, snakes and alligators had taken their toll. The remaining seventy had taken to eating their evening meal together. In the July heat, they preferred to brave the insects and eat outside, sitting together at long wooden tables in the fort in the center of the colony. Tonight, they ate a rich fish stew, made collectively in a large pot over a central fire. It was much better than what they had eaten recently, and a good mood settled over the colonists. There was laughter and casual talk for the first time in weeks. Slowly, the laughter and chatter died down. Caroline turned to Matthew to tell him something, and saw that he was staring into his empty bowl with a vague smile on his face.

“Matthew, look at me when I talk to you!” she said.

He slowly looked up at her, the same odd smile on his face. Caroline had forgotten what she was going to tell him. It didn’t seem important. She took another spoonful of soup, but didn’t put it in her mouth. The fish floating there in the broth seemed so strange. Fascinating, really. She stared at it as the broth slowly dripped into her lap. She smiled.

The sun had set when at last something else caught her attention. It was a voice. A vaguely familiar voice.

“English! Look at me!” Caroline looked to see that Wachea was the speaker. With him was an old, heavily-tattooed man bearing a staff, and the four men of the watch who had taken their dinner and gone to man the fortifications. Behind them were two score of the young, half-naked savages. That was unusual, thought Caroline. There weren’t supposed to be that many Indians in the colony, especially after nightfall. She passively wondered why they were here. Wachea had told her to look at him. She should look at him. He would explain. He was smiling at her. It was a nice smile, thought Caroline. A very nice smile.

The old man spoke to Wachea. He had a nice voice, thought Caroline, but she didn’t understand what he was saying. At last, Wachea spoke again. Caroline was glad.

“English! Listen to me!” spoke the young Indian. “The men must come and stand before the wise man! The women must stay!”

Caroline saw Matthew get up and join the other men of the colony before Wachea and the old man. That was good, thought Caroline. That was as it should be. The old man made strange gestures at the men, almost like a blessing, then he nodded to his young companion.

“Men of the English,” spoke Wachea in a loud voice. “This is not your home! Your home is across the sea! You must go to your home! Go to your Great Woman across the water! Swim to your home!”

All the men cheerfully turned and strolled casually out of the colony towards the ocean. They were going home. How nice, thought Caroline. It was good to go home. But Wachea had said that the women should stay. She continued to watch the fascinating young native.

“Women of the English!” shouted Wachea, “Listen to me! You must come and stand before the wise man!”

Caroline cheerfully got up. She liked to do what she was told. Wachea knew what she needed to do. She was glad that he told her. She stood before the old man with the fascinating tattoos. Beside her was Eleanor Dare, holding her baby daughter.

The old man spoke again to Wachea in that strange, beautiful tongue. Wachea stepped towards her, smiling, but then turned to Eleanor.

“Woman” he said to the young mother “Give your baby to the wise man! He will care for her! You have much to do this night. The wise man can care for your baby. He is good.”

Eleanor handed the child over to the old man. He took her very gently with a sad look on his face and cradled her in his arms. How good he is, thought Caroline. It is very nice of him to care for little Virginia. He spoke once more to Wachea, and then to the other natives. Wachea stepped towards her once again and retrieved from the leather pouch at his waist the crystal goblet that her husband had given to him only this morning. He handed it to her and said “Take!” He was giving it back to her! How very nice! She stared at the goblet with fascination, vaguely noticing that the other young natives were giving each of the women a cup or bowl. Then two of the young men filled her goblet with a black liquid from a leather flask. She stared at the strange black liquid, not knowing what to do with it. At last Wachea told her.

“Drink, women of the English! Drink!” he shouted, louder than ever.

She drank the black liquid. It was very bitter, but she swallowed every drop, then she stared into the empty cup. In time, she looked up when the old man pounded his staff against the ground three times. He gestured at them with the staff, holding the baby in his other arm, then raised the staff over his head and shouted out a single word.

“Croatoan!”

The old man then turned and left, carrying little Virginia, but the young men stayed and began to chant.

“Croatoan! Croatoan! Croatoan! Croatoan! Croatoan! Croatoan! Croatoan! Croatoan!”

And as they chanted, Caroline began to feel something different from the strange euphoria that she had felt since dinner. It started within her loins. There was a heat there. A tremendous heat, and it spread throughout her. Her skin prickled and tingled. Her dress felt very tight about her chest, her nipples buzzing like two angry bees caught within her undergarments. She reached up to touch them and they sang a piercing song into her brain. She began to breath harder. Her heart was pounding. She was sweating and the trickles of moisture down her back and thighs were exhilarating. She looked up at Wachea, who now stood very close. He was smiling even more broadly at her, only at her. Such a nice smile. Such a beautiful man. His dark skin, his taught muscles, she wanted to touch him. Wanted him to touch her.

“Croatoan!” said the Indian.

“Croatoan!” she repeated, and with that word, the fire in her loins raged. The crystal goblet dropped to the ground, cracked and forgotten. Caroline tore the bonnet from her head, releasing the long golden hair that so obsessed the Indian. She ripped open her dress, letting the expensive buttons fly unheeded. She was so hot. Her clothing was intolerable. And this beautiful man stood before her. She wanted him to touch her. To touch her naked flesh. She cursed all these horrible layers of clothing, ripping and clawing. At last she discarded layer after layer until she stood naked a top a pile of torn and rumpled clothing wearing only her shoes and stockings. Her sweat-drenched flesh glistened in the light of the fire pit and she moaned with pleasure as she felt her long golden hair brush against her naked back. Her large breasts stood proudly in the night air as beads of sweat made a happy trek between them. She saw that Wachea was staring at her golden hair again, but this time not on her head. She stroked the yellow mane that crowned her loins. It felt so good. She wanted Wachea to touch it.

The Indian answered her prayers. He grabbed her with one hand by the hair of the head and pulled her towards him, her breasts mashing against his naked chest, then reached down and began to stroke her sex. She groaned with the sheer pleasure of it and pushed her sex against his big, strong hand. She felt like a wild beast. A creature driven only by instinct, and that instinct told her to mate. She rubbed her breasts against Wachea’s chest and began to suck and lick his neck. One of his thick fingers found its way into her sopping wet sex and he thrust it deep inside her. She grunted and bit his neck and he laughed, then pushed her away suddenly. She fell to the ground and looked up at the big man in surprise. She needed him. Needed him to touch her, to mate with her.

Caroline was vaguely aware of the moans and cries of the other women around her, but her attention was riveted on Wachea as he slowly untied his loin cloth and let it fall to the ground. There in front of her was a phallus the likes of which she had never imagined. It was better suited for a horse than a man. It stood out proudly, ramrod-straight. She didn’t know how it would fit inside her, but that was the only thing she wanted in the world.

“You like this, Yellow Hair?” he asked proudly, giving his member a tap that left it bouncing slightly. Caroline could only nod.

“You want this?” he asked, with a mocking grin.

She nodded again, reaching down and spreading her nether lips for him. Why would he not take her?

“Then kiss it!” said the big man.

Caroline had never heard of such a thing, but she would do anything to make him mate with her. She pushed herself up on her knees, then took the huge phallus in her hands, and kissed the head. She looked up at Wachea, expectantly.

“Kiss it more” he commanded. “Drink it.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by drink it, but she opened her mouth and he pushed it inside. It felt strange in her mouth and made the fire in her loins burn even hotter. She felt a huge hand on either side of her head, and tried not to gag as the big Indian pushed deeper into her mouth. He drew her head back and forth along his member for a while, then again he pushed her to the ground. He knelt and rolled her over on her belly, then lifted her up to her knees with a hand on each hip. Caroline groaned in ecstasy as at last she felt the huge member push against her sex. There was some resistance, despite her wetness, and she reached between her legs with one hand and tried to spread herself out to be more accommodating to his girth. Wachea roughly grabbed hold of her hair with one hand and thrust himself into her. She screamed in triumph and passion. It was inside her at last! She pressed back, trying to get even more of him inside her. Then she started working her sex against his hard member as he began to rhythmically thrust inside her. The red man had both hands in her hair now, pulling her head back. Sometimes he pulled so hard that the one hand that she supported herself with left the ground, but if there was any pain she did not notice. She was much to intent on the pounding of the Indian’s phallus inside of her, the way her breasts bounced with each thrust, the feel of her wet patch of hair has she stoked and kneaded her sex. The fire in her loins burned until it exploded and she screamed out into the night as she felt Wachea’s seed shoot into her to quench it. She fell forward, her face in the dirt, and then knew only darkness.

She woke in the morning naked, lying in the dirt. The large red man lay beside her, their legs intertwined. That was strange, she thought. She didn’t usually sleep naked on the ground, especially not with Indians. She wasn’t worried though. She felt very good. A grasshopper landed on her face. She stared at it cross-eyed. She wondered if she should do something about it. She wasn’t worried though. Someone would tell her what to do. She stared at the insect, fascinated, until Wachea awoke.

When he did awake, the big man stretched and groaned, then sat up, looked at her and grinned. He had a nice smile.

“Get up.” he said, and she complied. The grasshopper jumped off in response. Caroline looked around to see that all of the women were lying on the ground naked with Indians. Eleanor was lying with two of them. Perhaps this was normal.

Wachea shouted out in his native tongue and the natives arose. They all stretched and groaned, but looked pretty happy. Wachea then called out in English.

“English! Pale ones! Get up!”

The colonists got to their feet, making no attempt to cover their nakedness. They stood watching Wachea with vague smiles.

“Help the men!” he continued “Carry for them! We will go!”

The natives led the naked women through the various houses and buildings, finding whatever was worth taking. Caroline took Wachea to her house and they ransacked it. At last they all gathered together again.

“Will more pale ones come?” Wachea asked Caroline.

“Yes, more will come.” she replied, though she didn’t much care.

“They will wonder where you are.” said Wachea.

“Oh.” said Caroline.

The well-hung native grinned, then pulled out his flint knife and handed it to her, indicating a post in the middle of the compound.

“Make the wood say ‘Croatoan’” he said, with a chuckle.

Caroline dutifully knelt before the post and carved out the ancient word for coitus, leaving a mystery to puzzle John White when he returned a year and a half later to the abandoned colony. Then they all left for the mainland to begin their new lives.

The shaman rocked his new charge, to settle her crying. He was glad to hear her cry. It meant that she had not partaken of the fish which he had prepared for the pale ones. Those who partook of the herbs of innocence knew only happiness, but they became half-men, with no will of their own to the end of their days.

The shaman had dreamed again of the years to come. He would continue to give the pale women the elixir of croatoan. They would bear many children for the people. They would give their protection to the people, and when the pale hordes descended, some of the people, at least, would survive.

He would take this pale child as his own daughter and would teach her the ancient ways. His son, Wachea, had shown little talent or interest, preferring to spend his time with the pale ones. Now that the object of his obsession was his, he would no doubt be even less interested, as long as his father provided him with the elixir. It was for the best. The self-restraint needed to practice the ancient arts was not his. But the shaman had great hope in this tiny child, his White Doe. And perhaps, if he raised her well, the gods would forgive him for what he had done to her parents.