The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Once upon a time there was a princess. She was, of course, the loveliest, sweetest, and most charming princess in all the land. Being an only child, she was also the only princess in all the land, but it would have been terribly impolite to say so, and besides, she genuinely was quite lovely, sweet, and charming.

As is generally considered proper in these cases, she had flowing hair as long and golden as summer, big round eyes as clear and blue as sunny skies, and bee-stung lips as warm and pink as June roses. Her alabaster skin was flawless, her waist slender and her bosom high and full. She was well-trained in the high arts of princessery to boot, from embroidery and dancing to how to look up at a man through fluttering eyelashes and make him completely forget what he was angry about.

One lovely spring afternoon, following the completion of her day’s lessons (how to get a man to do as one wishes while persuading him it was his idea in the first place), she decided to take a stroll through the palace’s large and elaborate gardens. It was a lovely place, full of flowers and shade trees and hedges in the shapes of fantastical beasts, and she loved it dearly. Being surrounded with a high wall and with guards at each gate, inner and outer, it was also one of the few places she could walk without escort, a bit of blessed freedom in a regimented life.

For, lovely and sweet and charming as she might be, this princess was not without her troubles. Far from it! Despite her beauty and her status, she was yet unmarried, and this fact weighed heavily on her as she walked the garden.

Finally, she sat beneath an apple tree in full blossom, its shade spreading out over a lily-pond in the shape of a bird. Removing her tiara from its place atop her elegantly piled and shaped hair, she addressed it. “It’s all your fault, you know. Don’t look at me like that! You know it’s true. If I weren’t a princess, I’d be married to some rugged woodsman or soldier by now, having his babies. They’d be absolutely cutest babies you ever saw, not that you’d be there, since someone else would be princess and you’d be on their head.”

She sighed and looked out over the pond. “But no, I’m the princess. I suppose Mother and Daddy would be ever so sad if I were born in a hut somewhere and they never met me. Still, they almost deserve it, for all the trouble they’re causing. I know they want me to make a good match, but the Prince of Aragon was here yesterday, and he was very handsome. I know, I spied on them through the secret passage.

“Yes, I know I’m not supposed to play in there, but I wanted to see the prince! I had hoped Mother and Daddy would agree to the marriage, and then we’d have a ball, and I’d get to dance with the prince, but they said no. They said no to the last two princes that came, and the Duke of Alsace before that! At this rate, I’ll never marry! I’ll be an old maid, all because they want to save me for some mighty king or emperor who’d never normally ally with a little land like ours. Well I’ve seen the Holy Emperor, in pictures anyway, and he’s an old man! I don’t want to marry an old man, even if it will make the kingdom wealthy and strong!” She pouted most prettily, and stood.

“Well, I’m not going to do it, and that’s that. I’m going to go right on back to Mother and Father and tell them that I won’t marry anyone unless I get to see him first and decide if I like him! Or at least he has to be really handsome. And young. Nobody older than twenty-five. You hear me?” She shook the tiara angrily and, when it failed to respond, tossed it away from herself.

As soon as she realized what she’d done, her hands flew to her mouth in dismay. “Oh no!” she cried as she watched the tiara sink into the depths of the pond. “Oh, that was Mother’s when she was a princess, and her mother’s before that! I must get it back!”

She picked her way daintily as close as she could get to the water’s edge, being very careful to get no mud on her delicate slippers or her periwinkle-blue gown, cut low to show off the pride of the kingdom, renowned for their perfect cleavage: an emerald and a sapphire, each cut to look like an outstretched wing, hung from a fine golden chain.

“Oh,” she lamented, “it has sunk quite out of sight. Whatever will I say to Mother? She will be terribly upset, and may even forbid me to walk in the garden!”

“Perhaps I might be of assistance,” said a high and rather throaty voice.

The princess brought a hand to heart and gasped in surprise. “Who said that?”

“I did,” said the voice.

It took a moment for the princess to register that the voice was coming from below her. Being rather short (the ideal height for a princess as beautiful as she is demure, since it permits her to look up adoringly at her prince’s face, and him to look adoringly down her dress), it was a rare occurrence to encounter one shorter.

She looked down, and so no-one but a tiny frog, no bigger than her dainty hand. “Excuse me, but did you speak?” she asked the frog.

“I did,” it said. “I have watched you many times from my lily-pad, and so I saw you drop your tiara.” He was being diplomatic, of course. It is very important never to acknowledge that one saw a princess doing anything as improper as throwing things, as one might then be the recipient of said throwing. “I could dive down to the bottom of the pond and retrieve it for you.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” said the princess. “If you should do such a thing for me, my gratitude would know no bounds! I would grant you any one wish within my power to grant!”

“Ah,” said the frog, “at that price, and in the face of such loveliness, how could I refuse?” With that, he dove into the pond, leaving hardly a ripple.

For some time, the princess stood, at first hopeful, and then beginning to be annoyed. Had the frog forgotten her and wandered off?

Just as she was about to give up, however, the frog leapt from the water with a splash, her tiara in its mouth, looking none the worse for its brief time in the pond. “I’m very sorry that took so long,” said the frog. “The tiara was sunk in the mud at the bottom of the pond, so I rubbed it clean.”

“Thank you very much, good frog,” said the princess, and reached down for the tiara.

“Hold up!” said the frog. “Have you forgotten our bargain?”

“Ah me, yes,” said the princess. “What is your wish, frog? A banquet of flies, perhaps? I shall have the groomer’s boy collect them. More lilies in the pond? Lady frogs imported from an exotic land? Simply tell me your desire, and it is yours.”

“Very well,” croaked the frog. “Lift me up so I can whisper it, and I will tell you.”

Lifting the hem of her voluminous skirts so as not to get them muddy, and revealing a most lovely pair of ankles in the process, the princess bent down and extended her left palm, hesitating only slightly at the thought of the frog’s slimy skin on her own. As it happened, the frog was indeed slimy, but the tingling his touch caused in her palm was not entirely unpleasant.

She straightened, and brought the frog as near her face as decorum, and her own delicate temperament, would allow. “So, noble frog, whisper to me your wish, that I may grant it!” The princess was feeling rather proud of herself, like a grand queen, dispensing noblesse oblige to a commoner who’d achieved some great deed.

In a hoarse whisper, the frog responded, “A kiss.”

So startled was the princess, she nearly dropped the frog. “Me? Kiss a loathsome, slimy frog like you?” Recovering from her startlement, she collected herself and continued, more calmly, “I mean, I’m sure you’re very handsome for a frog, but I’m not a frog, you see? I can’t tell. Besides, it’s not proper for a princess to kiss an animal. It simply wouldn’t do.”

“No,” said the frog, looking crestfallen, “I quite understand. I am indeed loathsome in this form.”

“This form?” asked the princess, intrigued.

“Indeed,” he said. “In my natural form I am a man—a prince, no less! I am heir to a mighty kingdom, and normally quite handsome. But, alas, an evil wizard has enchanted me, and so I am a frog. The one cure for this spell, as, I am given to understand, is traditional, is a kiss from the most beautiful princess in all the land.”

The princess blushed, as well she might. Though she was, as we know, the only princess in all the land, and had therefore heard that she was most beautiful many times, she never tired of hearing it. Still, she wasn’t about to kiss a frog! She lifted the jeweled chain from her breast. “Maybe you would prefer this instead?” she asked hopefully.

“It is lovely,” said the frog, “but I do not think it would suit me.”

“Well, it is said to be magical, though none now remain who remember what it does. Perhaps you could use it to return to human form?” She smiled and fluttered her eyelashes. “If what you have told me is true, I should be much more inclined to kiss you then.”

“I don’t know,” said the frog. “I was told only a kiss can break the spell.”

“Oh,” said the princess. “So, there’s no chance of you changing your wish?”

“None, I fear,” said the frog.

“Then I have no choice. Will a peck on the cheek be sufficient?”

“Admirably so, dear princess.”

The princess closed her eyes and half leaned forward, half brought the frog to her lips. She brushed them against him as quickly as she might, and felt the frog immediately grow so heavy she dropped him.

He did not fall, however, but remained in midair, glowing with a golden light. The princess stared, quite in awe, and as she did she instinctively licked her lips where they tingled from the frog’s slime. The tingling exploded rapidly through her mouth and then faded, leaving the slightest echo of mint; it was, she decided, really quite pleasant.

The light around the frog coalesced and grew ever brighter, until a golden figure of light stood before her. Then the glow faded to reveal a man, just a few years older than she, tall and strong and darkly, cruelly handsome. Her heart skipped a beat as she noticed that he was also extremely naked. She licked her lips again, quickly, reflexively, as she looked down his broad, strong torso, following the rivulets of hair to the point at which they met.

“Oh my,” she said, feeling a flush spread across her cheeks and down onto her breasts. He was long, and thick, and hard, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away, not that she particularly wanted to.

“Thank you, princess,” he said in a voice deep and resonant, and she tingled to hear it.

“You are quite welcome, my prince,” she breathed, still unable to move her eyes. The tingle was now spreading through her entire body, concentrated deliciously on her nipples and between her legs, where it was transforming into something warm and melting.

“Ah,” the prince said, flexing his arms, then feeling his face and chest. “It is so good to be back in my proper form.” The motion drew her eyes back up, and she slid her gaze slowly down his chiseled form before fixing once more between his legs.

“It is a very proper form,” the princess muttered, barely aware she was speaking. She wanted to touch him, so she toyed with the jewels at her breast instead. She felt hot, lightheaded, out of control, and she liked it.

The prince followed his gaze. “Oh!” he said. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me; my clothes fell from me when I became a frog. I assume they are still in my castle.”

“It’s okay,” the princess said, her mouth dry. “I understand.” With an effort of will, she tore her eyes away to look him in the face. Her whole body was warm. She could feel her hard nipples pressing against the inside of her dress, aching to be free.

“I do apologize for my,” he gestured down at his crotch, “reaction.” The princess’ eyes followed his hand automatically, and she wondered what it would feel like on her breast. Her breath quickened, and her knees trembled. “It is my first time back in my body in some days, and your considerable beauty is having a potent effect.”

She couldn’t help it. She whimpered. She wanted him so bad it hurt! But a princess couldn’t do such things! Even if she could, no prince would accept such a wanton woman as his bride.

“Princess, are you all right?” asked the prince.

“Ohhh...” she moaned. “I need...”

“Yes?” he asked, smiling strangely and stepping closer. He was within reach, she just needed to stretch her hand out and she could touch him.

“I...”

“Command me, princess. I am yours.” He continued to smile.

“Oh, God,” she moaned, and pressed her melting-hot body against the hard planes of his torso, her hands grasping his shoulders.

His strong hands cupped her cheeks and pulled her face to his for a deep, hard kiss. She groaned against his mouth, her tongue dancing with his, all her training and pride and morals gone in the intense pleasure and desire rushing through her. “Take me,” she gasped as he broke the kiss.

“As you wish, princess,” he said, and began to unhook her dress. After that, it was a simple matter pulling down her petticoats, peeling off her slip, and unlacing her corset, until she stood before him in silk panties. All told, it took nearly ten minutes, and by the end of it she was moaning and clinging to him, stroking and licking his shoulders and chest and arms and hands as the opportunities arose.

It was utterly wrong. Terribly wrong. She was supposed to be a princess, pure and virtuous and untouchable, until at last she surrendered her virginity on her wedding night to some heroic prince. But she didn’t care. Every part of her body was singing soaring burning all at once. She was beyond reason, unable to form a clear thought or make any sounds that weren’t pants or moans.

Her panties were gone, and she was lying on her dress in the mud. He stroked and licked her breasts, kissed her neck and her belly, and she writhed and moaned and pleaded. Her carefully coiffed hair was a tangled, damp mess, strewn golden across the blue of her dress, tossing as spasms of pleasure and desire surged through her.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her long, slim legs around his hips. He rubbed against her swollen, wet outer lips, and she groaned. “Ah, ah,” she pleaded, unable to form words.

He thrust hard into her, and she cried out, not at the momentary pain but at the overwhelming sensation of unbelievable fullness. She bucked wildly beneath him as he pulled out and thrust back in, her hands clasped desperately on his back and her legs clamped around his waist.

The prince grasped her legs and pulled them apart, then pushed her knees up nearly to her shoulders. He resumed thrusting, pounding her hard, and she cried out each time he bottomed out deep inside her.

The princess panted and moaned and cried as she wound tighter and tighter, thrusting back in rhythm with the prince. Then her breath caught as something inside her exploded. A moment later she was shrieking with pleasure, her body twitching and trembling against him.

A moment later, his harsh breathing faltered for a moment, and then an enormous hot, wet explosion filled her.

But her own climax went on and on, as she thrashed and screamed in unbearable ecstasy.

At last it was over, and she collapsed back onto her now-filthy dress, her pale skin shining with sweat and her hair bedraggled. Her eyes fluttered once, and then she was unconscious.

It was a matter of only minutes before, drawn by the screams, the gardener found the princess, lying nakedly and peacefully asleep atop the wreckage of her clothes, her jeweled chain and tiara gone. Worse still, her cum and his leaked slowly from between her legs, in full view of all the servants and guards who swiftly gathered.

Afterward, she told a fantastic tale of an enchanted prince and overwhelming lust, but no trace of either prince or frog was ever found. In the end, her mother carefully schooled her in pretending to be a virgin, a matter in which she was suspiciously expert, and the princess was shipped off to marry the aging king of Portugal, well away from any rumors. He soon died, leaving her wealthy and young and beautiful, and a long line of handsome second sons of kings came to her, seeking her hand and the throne of Portugal.

Alas, she was never entirely satisfied with her husbands or many lovers. None could fill her with that overwhelming need and shattering pleasure she had experienced her first time.

Still, she was rich, and beautiful, and had her pick of handsome and powerful men. She lived, if not happily ever after, at least far better than most.

In a high castle atop a cold mountain, the evil wizard examined his newest acquisition. It seemed he’d been right: the Wings of Manarra really had ended up in the hands of a royal family that had no idea how to use them. Well, now they were in the hands of someone who could use them properly.

Putting it aside, he pulled a book across the table, and opened it to a dog-eared page. “The aphrodisiac properties of the slime of frogs of the genus Fornibatrachia are, of course, well documented,” he read. “However, as is also well known, the slime loses its potency in mere minutes, unless continually replenished by the frog itself. It must, therefore, be licked directly from the frog. This has limited its use to consensual partners and certain dinner parties best not discussed in a scholarly setting.”

The wizard smiled to himself. “Until now.”

He stretched and looked out the window. The princess three kingdoms over was said to be a great huntress, possessed of a magical quiver that never ran out of arrows, with which she pursued boars and wolves that threatened her people. She was also said to be exquisitely beautiful, tall and slender, with long raven hair she wore in plaits down her back.

She was also said to be extremely kind to animals and people in distress. She could almost certainly be persuaded to cure a wayward frog prince, cursed by an evil sorcerer.

The fact that the evil sorcerer and the cursed prince were one and the same? Well, he seemed never to quite get around to mentioning that part.

He swirled his cloak around himself, and was gone.