The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Your Majesty! This is going entirely too far!” the Countess exclaimed. “People will talk! Do you realize what you look like?”

The young Queen giggled.

“Wil thinks We look absolutely fabulous!” she said, flinging her hands above her head and tilting her hips to a sultry angle.

The young Queen had forgone her royal robes and dressed herself in naught but two swaths of gauzy blue silk, one wrapped about her loins, another around her bosom, which had mysteriously blossomed of late. A circlet of silver adorned her head, her long flaxen hair unbound and unbraided. Even in the torchlight of her royal chambers, there were hints of her Royal maidenhead through the fabric. The Countess shuddered to think how her Queen would look in sunlight!

“Your Majesty, I must speak frankly,” said the Countess. “I believe that peasant boy has bewitched you! Not only you, but your Royal Father and his Councilors as well! He is the source of their madness, I’d swear it!”

“Now Isabeau,” said the Queen, wagging a finger at her. “Surely you aren’t saying that Our Father was unwise in his decision to cede the crown to Us? <giggle> That would smack of treason! And who would ever dare betray such an adorable monarch as Ourself?”

The Queen rubbed her hands all along her scantily clad body in a disturbing act of self adoration that she clearly enjoyed more than was proper. The Countess swallowed hard. She was indeed treading on dangerous ground but she could keep silent no longer.

“I mean no treason, Majesty,” she said. “Nor disrespect. But surely you must see that things have been odd since that...that...boy came to the castle.”

“Hullo, My Queen! I have found us a bottle!” came a voice from the doorway. Isabeau’s heart leaped to her throat. It was him.

She spun about, eyes wide.

“Oh hello, Countess!” said the peasant in the ermine gown. In one hand was a large bottle of wine. In the other, the little bone that he always seemed to be playing with. His smile was guileless but it made Isabeau’s heart turn cold.

“What brings you to her Majesty’s chambers?” he asked.

“It..it is a private matter,” she said. “Between her Majesty and myself, as one of her, at least once, most trusted counselors.”

“Oh! Well then, please,” he said, fondling his bone. “Let me not interrupt! Forget I was ever even here! I shall be like the wind! You will see naught of me until your business with her most divine majesty is complete!”

The Countess blinked, staring into the empty doorway. Why had she been looking there? There was a sound behind her and she turned about to see a large bottle of wine on the table. Where had it come from? She surely didn’t remember it being there before.

The young Queen giggled and tipped her head to one side, as if exposing her neck to something. Her madness was disturbing. And her recently expanded bosoms seemed to be rising, propelled upward by some demonic force. What pact with hell must that evil peasant have made? She needed to pursue her case with the new Queen before the villain arrived to make more demonic mischief.

“Your majesty, I must beg of you, as your loyal servant and one who has sought to protect and support you since your sainted mother died so young, look into your heart! Call upon the powers of reason that God gave you and see that all is not right! See that the finger of the Devil is in the goings on of these past three days!”

The Queen giggled like a madwoman. A red blemish appeared upon her neck.

“Now Isabeau,” said the Queen, once she was done with her fit. “You know that We adore you! But We assure you, you worry for nothing! God is in His Heaven and has decreed that We shall be Queen and Monarch of this blessed realm! He has adorned Us with such splendor, ‘twould be a sin to conceal it from Our adoring subjects!”

“Well, yes, I mean, of course, your Majesty is correct,” said the Countess. “Truly, you are the loveliest woman in all of Christendom.”

And in a moment of epiphany, the Countess realized that her young Queen was indeed quite lovely. So much so that she felt the heat rising in her blood in such a way as she had not felt it in nearly ten years when she had let the Count at last put a man child into her. Strange that she should feel such a way towards her Majesty. But she was so very, very lovely! Would that she could touch her royal flesh...

“The only impropriety here,” the Queen said, snatching the Countess’ guilty gaze away from her royal bosom. “Is that a certain noble woman considers herself more regal than her sovereign!”

“M..my Queen? Surely your Majesty does not mean me? I would never presume to place myself above your royal Majesty!”

“And yet, you come before me wearing such finery as if you were the Holy Father in Rome!” said the Queen. “It is a horrible disrespect! We hereby decree that no woman shall stand in Our presence while clothed in more than We choose to clothe Ourself!”

The Countess looked down at her gown in horror. How gauche of her! She begged the Queen’s forgiveness for her momentary madness and went to work at once shedding her velvets and silks, her petticoats and bustle, until at last she stood before her monarch respectfully naked, her thick dark tresses in disarray. The Queen lost her righteous anger as soon as the Countess began frantically stripping and again began to laugh with mad joy.

“Am I acceptable now your Majesty?” she asked, eyes downcast. Her forty year old flesh showed the ravages of the years. And yet suddenly it did not, her skin suddenly becoming smooth and supple, her bosom becoming as full as when she was a young mother.

“Your Queen is pleased!” she announced. “Come, now, Countess, and drink with Us! Drink to Our good health!”

She pressed a pewter chalice into the Countess’ hand. She had not seen the Queen pour the wine, but the cup was full.

“To your Majesty’s health and long life!” she said, raising her cup and draining it in one go.

The wine was strong, undiluted as it was, and the blood rose in the Countess’ cheeks. To refuse to drink to a Monarch’s health was treason and unthinkable, of course, but there was no call for her to behave like a drunkard! What could have compelled her to do such a thing?

The Queen applauded and giggled.

“Again!” she exclaimed. “Drink to Our health again!”

“As...as your Majesty wishes,” said the Countess, confused and dismayed but honor bound.

She went to fill her cup again and found it was already full. Now she was more confused than ever but she knew what was required of her.

“To your Majesty’s health and long life!” she said, silently vowing to take only the smallest sip decorum required and then pouring the entire draught down her open throat. Her head swam. Her Queen squealed.

“We are pleased! We are pleased!” said the Queen. “But not sated! No, not sated! Drink to the health of Our firm, fine bosoms!”

The Queen held up the firm, fine bosoms in question with her long, delicate fingers. The Countess blushed but obeyed. She saw her cup was again full, she knew not how, but proceeded as duty dictated.

“To the health of your Majesty’s firm, fine bosoms!” she said. “May they eber be luscious and creamy!”

She was not in the least surprised when she downed her third toast completely, nor when she saw that the cup was once again full.

“Yer Mashesty!” the Countess said before the Queen could suggest another toast. “I really muss speak wif you about the peasant boy. By making him one of yer Mashesty’s counselors, you’ve set an unheard of preshident. Only noblesmen hav’ been counshelerses to the Monarch in the entire hisssory of the realm!”

“Are We not Queen of the peasants as well as the nobility, Isabeau?” the Queen countered. “Should We not seek counsel from all corners of Our realm? Wil has told Us all sorts of things that a noble counselor would never even know! For instance, do you know what the common folk call the congress between man and woman?”

Isabeau stared disbelieving at the Queen.

“They call it FUCK!” the Queen gushed. “Fuck! Can you believe it? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! <giggle> Such a delightful word! Indeed it is as delightful to say it as it does to do it!”

“Your Mashesty!” exclaimed the Countess in horror. “Surely you do not mean that you...that you have surrendered your...that...with the peasant...that he as...no! I...I cannot believe it!”

She drained her glass of her own accord. It was to horrible to contemplate.

The Queen giggled.

“Oh Countess, you are precious!” she exclaimed. “When We were princess, of course We remained as virginal as the new fallen snow! Then, it was Our duty to be bargained away by Our royal father for political alliance. But in his wisdom, he has now declared Us Queen and Sovereign, and Our maidenhood profits us not a tinker’s dam! We are Queen of the Realm and may fuck whom We choose! And We choose to fuck Our Peasant Counselor, Sir Wil!”

“SssSir Wil?” the Countess asked, the room spinning about her.

“Yes! We knighted him the night of our coronation after he counseled Us on a manner of fucking that the peasant’s call doggie style!” the Queen confirmed. “Indeed, We find his counsel most fulfilling!”

The Queen giggled. The Countess gapped.

“You know, sometimes after bedding Ourself most thoroughly, Wil calls Us his Most Fuckable Majesty?” said the Queen with a giggle. “Is it not precious?”

The Countess was aghast.

“How horridable!” she exclaimed. “If the cheeky villain were here now, I would bossh his ears!”

The Queen found this amusing for some reason and giggled like a loon. While Isabeau tried to understand the joke, she suddenly felt something warm and wet in her left ear as an invisible hand boxed her right.

Isabeau screamed and dropped her chalice. The Queen squealed and clapped.

“Your Majeshy!” the Countess exclaimed. “There are demonic forces at work here! I have just felt the touch of the devil himself! I beg you, call the bishop and have him cast out the demons that have invaded your domain!”

She looked about frantically, expecting to see Old Nick or one of his demons, but there was no one in the chamber but herself and her mad and defiled Queen. Then her cup rose up from the floor by itself.

“You see yer Masheshy?” she said, pointing to the floating goblet. “You see! Evil spirits!”

The bottle floated up and filled the cup, then the cup floated towards the Countess. Her heart went cold but she found she could not back away.

“Take the cup, Isabeau!” the Queen commanded. “You have not yet drunk to Our Firm and Bouncy Royal Bum!”

“Your Majesty, I...I cannot! It...it is the work of the devil!” the Countess cried, tears flowing down her flushed cheeks.

“Take it, you treasonous slut!” the Queen commanded, eyes flashing. “Drink to the health of our royal arse or it’s the tower for you!”

“Y...your majesty?” she asked, looking back and forth between her Sovereign and the ensorcelled cup. “I...I must obey. Though Christ save me, for the devil would have my soul this night.”

She took the cup and held it to her Queen. Her Queen turned her back on her and stood upon a chair, bending over to present her royal arse. The swath of silk rode up the generous curve of the royal flank, revealing the royal neatherlips. Isabeau blushed furiously, but raised her cup to the Queen’s royal bum, as was her duty.

“I drink to the health of her royal Mashesy’s most royal and regal bottom!” she said. “May its firm, round haunches ever grace the throne of this most blessed of realms.”

She drank deeply and completely. Unseen hands upon her own naked and noble arse kept her from falling upon said seat. Isabeau jumped but did not run. She was very confused, but she was grateful for the support, demonic though it might be.

“Your Queen is well pleased with your obedience, Countess, and your devotion!” the Queen declared, still bent over atop the chair. “You may kiss the royal arse.”

The Countess’ head swam. Her majesty wanted her to kiss her arse. What was the proper protocol for such an honor? Isabeau didn’t know and suddenly realized she didn’t care. She was just so proud to be chosen to kiss the arse that everyone in the realm adored.

“Oh thank you your Mashity!” she said, and staggered forth to her royal reward. She caressed the pale rounded flesh of her majesty’s majestic haunches, the heat rising in her blood, her heart pounding out its devotion to the Queen, her head swimming with joy and wine. She embraced the royal arse, her hands reaching around to stroke the royal honeypot as she nuzzled her face between the regal flanks. Her tongue probed her majesty’s bunghole, not caring one wit about the taste, only honored and fulfilled by being able to worship her sovereign so.

After far to short a time, unseen hands pulled her from the royal arse. The Queen stat down upon the chair, smiling broadly and spreading her knees. Her royal womanhood glistened beneath its golden crown of hair.

“You have served us well, Isabeau,” she said. “And you may kiss Our Royal Scepter.”

The Countess had thought that the royal scepter was kept in the throne room, and yet now she saw that the Queen held in her slender hand a scepter of sorts. It was smaller than the Countess remembered, a mere nine inches, and unencumbered by jewels. Just a simple rod of some sort with a dark headpiece. But the Countess felt honored to worship it as she had worshiped the royal arse. The hands that held her back from the Queen had vanished just before the scepter appeared, so she stepped forward once more and knelt before her sovereign. The Queen held forth her rod of office, and the Countess kissed its head. It was warm and velvety, of some material that the Countess could not guess. But to kiss it was to do honor to the Queen that she loved, and so she kissed it again. The Queen laughed and seemed pleased and this pleased the Countess so again she kissed it, with more passion, and then took the head of the scepter into her mouth and caressed it with her tongue, anointed it with her spittle. The Queen in turn stroked the rod, pulling her delicate fingers back away from the Countess’s lips. The Countess pressed the scepter deeper into her mouth, her lips seeking her sovereign’s fingers. When the head of the scepter pressed against the back of her throat, the Countess whimpered, as she could follow her Queen’s fingers no further, but the Queen released the rod and stroked Isabeau’s cheek.

“You have pleased Us, Isabeau,” she said. “Release the royal scepter.”

Isabeau did so, drawing her lips along the royal rod as her head retreated. She remained kneeling. The Queen took up the scepter again and began to work it with her delicate fingers.

“Countess Isabeau, We hereby declare your Duchess of Fellatio and anoint you as such!” she proclaimed. Isabeau smiled in wonder and suddenly the royal scepter streamed forth with some warm white fluid that bespattered the newly named Duchess of Fellatio. Isabeau had never felt so proud.

“And now, Duchess, We believe your business with Ourself is complete,” said the Queen.

And with that word, the peasant boy Wil appeared beside the Queen. In her royal hand was not a royal scepter, but the peasant’s manhood, its head exuding a white gobbet. The Duchess realized she had just been anointed with peasant seed and screamed.

“Silence, Duchess!” said the peasant, and Isabeau was silent. “You must not offend our most fuckable majesty! She has been more than patient with you. Now take your title and your fine, noble arse and return to your bedchamber. Your Queen has declared you Duchess of Fellatio, and with such office come certain duties. On the morrow, I will teach them to you. For now, I have more to teach her Royal Majesty.”

And so saying, Isabeau stood and with unsteady legs exited the royal chambers, naked and anointed, as her Queen giggled naughtily.