The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It took skill and guile to smuggle the Maharaja through his own palace. Cecilia ordered the man to dress in a servant’s uniform—luckily there were plenty to spare in the harem—and then to throw a blanket over the Royal head and shoulders. When he slouched and lowered his head, it wasn’t possible to detect the Maharaja’s princely manner… Cecilia hoped. She covered her own nudity with her discarded robe.

And then the two made their escape. His Royal Highness shuffled along behind Cecilia, looking only at the tiled floors as they moved. Because it was late in the evening, most guests and servants were in the lower floors; the two were able to steal down to Mr. Turpin’s suite.

Waiting in the massive luxury apartment was Tanvi, Mr. Azad, and the Royal Envoy himself. Tanvi broke into a wide smile when Cecilia entered, her latest catch in tow.

“He was easy to enslave, mistress,” Cecilia reported, handing over the magic pendant.

Delighted, the Indian woman pulled the blanket from the Maharaja’s slumped frame. “Excellent, sahiba, excellent!” she exclaimed, her eyes dancing. “You have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams. I am most pleased.”

“Thank you, mistress,” Cecilia blushed. The hypnosis that enslaved her commanded her to see Tanvi as nothing less than a goddess who must always be obeyed. Praise from the goddess made her spirit soar.

“Yes, most pleased…!” Tanvi repeated, now inspecting her latest prize closely.

The Maharaja, like Mr. Turpin, stood completely still, his expression and mind blank. Under the power of the crystal, he could do nothing until commanded.

Openly gloating, Tanvi let out a low chuckle.

“Mistress,” warned Cecilia, “I was able to smuggle the Maharaja from his private quarters. But soon, his guards will realize—“

“That he is missing, yes,” the Indian hypnotist agreed. “They will search the entire palace. We only have him for a limited time.”

Mr. Azad stepped forward. “Then it is time to implement the plan?” he asked anxiously.

“It is time,” confirmed Tanvi. “But I think we will revise the plan. I have broader ambitions now.”

Stiffening, Mr. Azad said, “Oh?” His voice was cold.

The beautiful Indian woman flashed an angry glare. “You object, Azad? You question my decisions?”

“General,” said Mr. Azad patiently, “you promised that I was to become the new Maharaja of Jhansi. I have followed all of your instructions, and—“

“Yes, yes,” Tanvi interrupted. “And you will be rewarded. Have faith. But I have a more pressing need for you.”

Mr. Azad’s mouth thinned.

“I have been questioning your master extensively,” Tanvi said, now moving to stand before the immobile Mr. Turpin. “He is vile and corrupt, as you told me. But he also has numerous friends in Queen Victoria’s government. Several in Parliament. We can use that.”

“What are you planning?”

“We shall travel to London,” said Tanvi, using a grand tone. “Using Cecilia as our secret erotic weapon, we will hypnotize these government men, one-by-one. We will build a network of brainwashed slaves, all in Victoria’s court. And when the time is right…” She snapped her fingers. “I will seize power.”

Mr. Azad gasped. “That…” he reeled, “that is too ambitious, General!”

“Heh,” Tanvi sneered. “The pendant gives me complete control over my victims. Wielded properly, it has no limits. Observe…”

To the entranced Cecilia, Mr. Turpin, and Maharaja, Tanvi bellowed, “Slaves! Remove all of your clothes! Now!”

Cecilia’s hands immediately slipped her robe off her shoulders, completely exposing her nude body. Beside her, Mr. Turpin and the Maharaja were obediently stripping off their clothes.

“You see?” said Tanvi plainly. “If I wished it, I could command these fools to gouge out their own eyes with a spoon. They have no will of their own. They are mine.”

“But the British court…” Mr. Azad said, worried. “There are hundreds of dignitaries under Queen Victoria! How could you possibly mesmerize and control so many?”

“It can be done,” Tanvi said confidently, watching Mr. Turpin and the Maharaja shed the last of their clothes. “Do you not remember how I hypnotized the local warlords, right here in India? How else was I to unite them? How else could I command their armies to rise up against the British?”

“The Uprising failed,” Mr. Azad reminded her.

“It failed only because my hypnotized commanders possessed too few troops,” snapped Tanvi. “The British poured thousands of soldiers into India to stop me! How was I to combat that?”

She stared off, into the past. “That was why I created the persona of General Laksurimanan. Under hypnosis, my warlords were convinced that Laksurimanan actually existed, and would rally their troops in battle. But when the Uprising collapsed…” Tanvi’s voice grew soft and wounded. “When I failed to save India, I had no choice but to flee. Everyone was searching the battlefields for the body of General Laksurimanan. No-one noticed me, a mere servant woman, escaping among the flood of desperate refugees.”

“You are General Laksurimanan,” Mr. Azad insisted. “You are the Great Leader who will free India from the British yoke.”

The beautiful woman’s eyes flashed once again. “No. The General was never real. But I will free my beloved India, I swear it.” She lifted her head higher. “I will simply do what I did before. Using the pendant and now with Cecilia as my white dancing-girl, I will hypnotize the leaders of the British Empire. I will control their minds. And when I rule all of Britannia… Well, then we will all see a new world.”

Cecilia listened to every word with a detached interest. Her befuddled mind understood everything that Tanvi said, yet some strange force prevented the young Englishwoman from caring in the slightest. She was to be used as a tool to enslave her own people? That seemed… unremarkable.

Tanvi paced before the naked Mr. Turpin and Maharaja. Both men stood motionless, their arms at their sides, their expressions vacant. Unlike Cecilia, neither had a body which was particularly attractive in the nude.

“I will require a large house, one near Parliament, one I can use as a power center,” Tanvi mused, absently tapping her fingertips together. “That will be your first task, Azad. Find me such a house.”

“But… General…” protested the tall manservant. “I have no such experience in these manners.”

“You know the English people, no?” Tanvi countered, scowling. “You went to an upper-class English university. You’ll know how to solve this problem for me.”

“I would need money, in British pounds,” said Mr. Azad weakly.

The hypnotist nodded, then moved to stand before the blank-faced Mr. Turpin. “Tell me, slave,” she said contemptuously, “how might you get me thousands of British pounds?”

Without hesitation, Mr. Turpin replied, “I can get that for you, mistress.”

“How?” demanded Tanvi.

“I am about to exploit Jhansi, mistress,” the hypnotized fool said. “I have issued orders for the British soldiers to seize the tea-warehouses under a falsified pretense. I am planning to ship the tea to Singapore and sell it to black market traders. The profit would be all mine. I have arranged the same to happen to Jhansi’s copper trade. And I have also hired some British mercenaries who will raid the Maharaja’s treasuries. The Maharaja is a fool, he deserves to be robbed blind. All of his monies can be converted to pounds with a friend of mine at the Chancellor of the Exchequer in London, where—“

Tanvi laughed, a cruel sound. “You see, Azad?” she chortled. “Your master’s lack of scruples will be our biggest asset. Money will be of no concern.”

Mr. Azad, clearly worried, shifted his weight on his heels. “I must point out, general… Your plan has a fatal flaw.”

Tanvi sighed angrily.

“Queen Victoria,” continued the manservant. “She sits on the British throne. She wields enormous power, and you will never be able to isolate her to be hypnotized. That I assure you.”

“You’re correct,” Tanvi agreed.

Mr. Azad’s face twitched. “Then…”

“The heir to Queen Victoria is a man?” asked the beautiful hypnotist.

Mr. Azad was silent.

“Tell me, slave,” Tanvi demanded, speaking to Mr. Turpin.

“You are correct, mistress,” the Royal Envoy said blankly.

“You see?” Tanvi said to Mr. Azad. “All men are pigs, driven by their sexual lusts. This heir, whomever he is, will not be able to resist Cecilia. Once he is mine, we will assassinate the Queen.”

For once, a flicker of alarm danced within Cecilia’s tranquilized thoughts. Assassinate the Queen?

“How?” gaped Mr. Azad, startled.

“I already have the assassin,” Tanvi said easily.

She gestured to the far end of the expansive suite. “Slave!” she bellowed. “Join us!”

Across the enormous sitting-room, another man stood and approached. Cecilia had not noticed him earlier, but now as he drew near, she could tell this fellow was under the same hypnotic spell that she was; he moved without purpose, as if sleepwalking.

The man was Clement.

Poor Clement! The young reporter’s face, normally alive with delight or wonder, was now washed of any emotion. His dull eyes stared straight ahead.

“This man is an acclaimed journalist,” Tanvi patiently explained. “He has conducted interviews with the Queen in the past; he can petition to do so again.” She smiled grimly. “And once he is in the same room as Her Majesty… Well, I don’t care how he kills her.”

Clement failed to react to any of these horrible words. Cecilia, knowing the power of the crystal herself, understood only too well how helpless he was in its hideous embrace.

Thoughts slowly began to turn in Cecilia’s slumbering mind. Clement, the murderer of Queen Victoria! Oh, he would be hated all around the world once Victoria’s blood was on his hands! Despised! Remembered in the same breath with Judas Iscariot or Brutus! Such infamy would follow Clement into the afterlife, no matter how hypnotized he might be. The poor man would be condemned to an eternity in Hades, no doubt.

A great, fat tear appeared in Cecilia’s eye. As her mind began realizing the scope of Clement’s doom, the tear rolled down her cheek.

“Listen!” hissed Tanvi, holding up a hand. She had failed to notice Cecilia’s expression.

The Indian hypnotist tilted her head, and suddenly all in the suite could hear: the distant voices of men, shouting, coming closer.

“That is the palace guard,” Mr. Azad said tightly. “They are searching for the Maharaja.”

“They’re on the lower floors,” agreed Tanvi. “But they will be here soon. I will have to program His Majesty quickly.”

“How does he fit into your plans?” asked Mr. Azad nervously.

“Just before my coup in London,” replied the Indian woman, “the Maharaja will lead a second Uprising here in Jhansi. It will fail, of course, but it will serve to distract the British at the crucial moment.”

She moved to stand before the Maharaja, holding the pendant before his eyes. “Stare into this, my lord,” she commanded. “Stare into this and fall even deeper under my control…”

Helpless, the Maharaja obeyed. His face grew slack.

Just feet away, Cecilia felt a sting in her palms. As Tanvi had spoken, the Englishwoman’s hands had curled up into tight little fists. Now her nails were biting into her own flesh. Anger was somehow bubbling up through the hypnotic fog that gripped her mind.

Tanvi was a thoroughly evil woman. Her mastery of the purple crystal had corrupted her into seeing all people as tools to be abused for her own whims. She would go on hypnotizing all those who could be useful to her. Mr. Turpin would facilitate the enslavement of the British Empire. Clement would be her dagger against the Queen. And Cecilia? Cecilia would be her whore, both to seduce her own countrymen, and then for Tanvi’s sexual delights in the bedroom.

A world where Tanvi was the master of all would be a hell for everyone, everywhere. No doubt it would end in bloody wars all around the globe as Tanvi’s lust for power expanded.

And Clement…? Cecilia choked back a sob. Clement would be her first and grisliest sacrificial victim. The world would never know the truth behind his wicked actions.

“No!” Cecilia screamed aloud.

Tanvi and Mr. Azad stared at her.

“Cecilia!” the beautiful hypnotist barked. “Sleep, now!”

Cecilia felt a powerful urge to close her eyes, to surrender. She nearly collapsed onto the floor.

“No!” she shrieked again, and somehow stamped her bare foot against the stone floor.

The pain in her heel did something to jolt her mind back into the present. Suddenly Cecilia was aware of her arms, her legs, her whole body. She gasped with surprise.

“She’s free!” Mr. Azad said, alarmed.

In a flash, Cecilia knew what she had to do. With a single leap, she flew across the room, her fingers outstretched.

Too late, Tanvi saw the danger.

Cecilia grabbed the pendant, ripping it from the Indian woman’s grasp. The thin chain of gold broke with an audible snap!

In the bustle, Cecilia landed on her bad knee. She tumbled, knocking both herself and the Maharaja to the ground.

“Give me that!” cried Tanvi, reaching for the pendant.

Mr. Azad drew a long dagger from his belt.

Trying to ignore the shooting pain in her knee, Cecilia scrambled to her feet. Her head spun. A great part of her still wanted to obey her mistress, to do whatever Tanvi ordered, no matter what.

But the Englishwoman’s heart pounded. Her breath came in short, desperate gasps. Unidentifiable emotions rushed through her soul at frightening speeds.

“Give me that pendant, slave!” Tanvi shouted. She snatched the knife from Mr. Azad’s hand, then rounded on the shaking Cecilia.

“No…!” the former ballerina moaned.

“I command you!” demanded Tanvi. Her strong arm shot out, and an ironlike hand was soon clamped onto Cecilia’s forearm. The dagger’s blade moved toward Cecilia’s throat…

Realizing all was lost, Cecilia did the only thing she could.

She hurled the pendant against the wall with all her strength. The tiny purple stone flew through the air, twinkling in the dim oil-lamps.

Then, striking a stone column, the pendant shattered into a thousand pieces.

“NO!!!” shrieked Tanvi, her voice a wail of despair and rage.

The Indian woman released Cecilia, rushing to the spot where the pendant had once been. Now, there was little more than a faint purple mist, vanishing into the air.

The dagger clattered to the ground.

Cecilia sprawled back onto the stone floor. Her knee throbbed in horrible pain, and her body was cold and uncomfortable.

But her thoughts were clear. The fog of hypnotism was gone. She was free!

Clement, Mr. Turpin, and the Maharaja were also blinking, their faces coming alive.

“General!” cried Mr. Azad, realizing the pendant’s spell was broken. “General!”

But Tanvi was paying no attention. The Indian woman knelt on the floor, frantically feeling for even the tiniest shard of the crystal. Her voice was a mixture of feeble cries and wordless fury.

“General!” shouted Mr. Azad again.

“I say…” Clement mumbled, putting one hand to his head. “Where… Where am I?”

“My word!” blustered Mr. Turpin, looking down at his nude body in horror and shame.

Cecilia groaned, trying to rise to her feet. Her knee throbbed, racked with pain. The old wound was torn again.

Across the suite, Tanvi’s head snapped up. Her eyes narrowed in seething rage. “You!” she hissed at Cecilia.

The Englishwoman, gripping a nearby table, pulled herself onto her feet. Her balance was shaky.

Everything happened at once. Tanvi sprang forward, snatching up the dagger from where it lay. With a tigress’s bloodlust, she rushed at Cecilia.

Clement cried out, trying to reach his wife.

Mr. Azad grabbed him, throwing the confused reporter to the ground.

And Cecilia, her heart flooded with adrenaline, turned and ran. Her knee screamed in agony.

Somehow, the young Englishwoman made it out of the suite and into the wide corridor. She startled three servant girls, who dropped their folded linens and screamed in panic.

Cecilia ignored the girls. She could hear Tanvi’s shoes pounding on the stone behind her; the vengeful hypnotist would be upon her in seconds.

Still naked and limping badly, Cecilia turned and ran towards the Grand Staircase. She could hear distant voices in that direction.

And then, a heavy weight struck her in the back. Cecilia sprawled across the floor, scraping her skin in a dozen places. Her chin banged against the stone especially hard.

A cruel hand seized her arm, wrenching her onto her back. And Tanvi was kneeling over her, pressing her powerful leg against Cecilia’s stomach. She was pinned.

“Oh, little sahiba,” Tanvi spat, her eyes wild. “You have no idea how much you have hurt my people today. I could stab you once, to finish you in seconds.” She drew the knife to Cecilia’s throat. “But instead, I will make you suffer. I shall peel the skin from your flesh, and then peel the flesh from your bones. Your agony—“

Cecilia grabbed Tanvi’s dagger wrist with both hands. Her strength was fading, but she pushed back as hard as she could.

“HELP!!!” she screamed at the same time. “HELP!!! THE MAHARAJA!!! THEY’VE GOT THE MAHARAJA A PRISONER UP HERE!!!”

Instantly, the sound of heavy boots began approaching from the bottom of the staircase.

“You filthy cunt!” shrieked Tanvi, trying even harder to plunge the knife into Cecilia’s neck.

It took every ounce of strength the Englishwoman had to push back. Her arms trembled. It was hard to breathe. Her body and knee screamed in excruciating pain.

The tip of the dagger jutted forward, just enough to puncture Cecilia’s skin, just a little. She screamed again.

And then, there were the alarmed cries of men, not thirty feet away. The soldiers had charged up the staircase, and now they were bearing down on the two struggling woman.

Tanvi wordlessly screeched in frustration and defeat. With one last yell of hatred, she released the dagger, leapt to her feet, and then fled.

The last thing Cecilia saw before she blacked out was the curious faces of the palace bodyguards, assuming a defensive huddle over her.