Homecoming Hypnotism Ch 06 Pt 01

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of non-consensual or reluctant sexual situations.

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He could enslave the entirety of high society but Mark had a better plan in mind for the completion of his kingdom, although he had a long way to go yet with all that he had to accomplish stretched out before him. Hypnotising people had never been so easy, his powers leaping to his fingers as if called there by the touch of their true master, heart in his mouth and breath pumping into his lungs, that live-giving force. His kingdom was expanding, bit by bit, the man in charge, but he had a new challenge in mind encompassing the taking of the pure.

The convent rose in an old-style building not unlike a monastery, although it was built in more recent times, unlike in the British Isles, where such historical artefacts and memories of times more religious lingered. They were devout and they spent their days in prayer, doing the work of the lord. And that was just why Mark had set his sights on them to begin with. If they were so studiously intent on their religious pursuits, tending to all around them, it only made sense that they were drawn into his kingdom too, shown the light of sexuality and bringing an element of caring into those hypnotised by his kingdom too. It was not entirely, after all, about the sexual side and a kingdom needed more than just his harem to function well.

Only nine nuns lay in the convent, set up on a cliff away from society, and the journey there would have been more pleasant entirely if he'd been able to harness his harem to the shafts of his custom-built carriage, his female harem slaves trotting and shaking their heads just like horses. They were truly a sight to behold in their jingling, flashy harnesses and the toys that the strapping kept secured neatly and firmly inside them really was the cherry on top of the oh so delicious milkshake that they put on offer to him each and every day.

But he was going for stealth, arriving as if he was going to view the convent and ask questions of them, all very much innocent and calm and quiet. They wouldn't know what hit them until it was too late and he'd even gone to the extent of having his mother, Sarah, and his grandmother, Victoria, dress demurely for the occasion so that they would not arouse suspicion either. Of course, their clothing still featured the buttoned over sections that would easily reveal their breasts and genitalia if he needed use of them more quickly, but it was irritating to him to know that he couldn't simply bend them over and take them as he pleased. But that was just why he needed to bring more into his kingdom, making his seedy acts the norm, hypnotising those who may have opposed him. After all, his life and devotion to his kingdom was all in the name of pleasure and what was so bad about that?

A river ran below, although the cliff was not so high as to be too much of a threat, the face of it worn and crumbling after being exposed to the wrath of the elements for so long. The convent itself, however, was sheltered in the crook of the slope, perhaps cut away by glacial activity many years ago. A lake in the cup of the hill too provided them with liquid with which to wash clothes, to purify and drink, washing clean of their sins before the eyes of their lord. Mark had never spent too much time in holy establishments during the course of growing up, beyond mass and Sunday Church, that was, but he knew the way of the lord and, if there was a god up there, he sent out all of his thanks to him for blessing him with such powers. But he understood too just why he'd been chosen for, after all, he was the worthiest one to wield such powers.

Nine heads turned to him as he entered the main hall of the convent, the central hub of activity where visitors were greeted and meals were eaten as one unit. The members of the convent were all one and the same, serving the word and law of one god, and they could never have expected what Mark brought to their doorstep, flanked by Sarah and Victoria who were, as always, a single respectful step behind him.

"You are mine," he murmured, the eyes of the woman nearest him widening, blonde hair featureless on her head, although they did not seem to be the denomination that covered their hair. "Pacta Sevanda."

Oh, they resisted, moaning and twisting and falling to the floor as if they were possessed; some of them, truly, thought they were. Their pain was not to last for long, however, as he repeated the trigger word over and over again, letting his power seep into them, flowing and pulsing while they moaned and fell prey to the power of a man who was so much greater than they could ever hope to be. For he was King Mark in all his glory and he would have them, see them naked, stripped of their dignity, for they had that too, even in their convent, the privacy and seclusion that space offered them.

Clothing hit the floor, naked bodies, white from lack of sunlight, exposed and gleaming. He had them masturbate for him, relishing in sensation, freeing them to something that they may never have otherwise have considered for themselves before. It was not that he forced them, at that time, to do something that they may not have wanted to do but opened them up with his trigger word to hidden desires, passions that had been waiting so very long to be unlocked and brought forth into the light that they truly deserved.

"Pacta Sevanda."

Fingers pushed into pussies and the braid of a brunette before him, on her back on the cold, stone floor, rose up as if in offering, her moans the loudest, clothes twisted around her legs. She couldn't part them as she wanted to and so she was forced to buck and gyrate, striving to bring herself off to the peak of a clumsy orgasm even though she did not know how to bring her body there as yet.

And yet there was one still clothed and trembling, a pillar of strength in the disarray, hair covered by a hood that shadowed her face even as her fingers shook, old and gnarled. As soon as Mark's eyes landed on her, she turned and fled, shoving by a shrieking Sarah who did not have the presence of mind to grab her even as her master and king lunged.

"You! Halt!"

She was not under his control as yet, however, and the nun escaped in a flurry of cloth, the pale blue flowing behind her, a shapeless blob that he wouldn't have thought contained a sexy human body underneath it. But he had others to tame and control and would deal with her later (she couldn't cause much trouble and, truly, who would believe her when the nuns returned to their normal semblance of life under his control?), smirking subtly as he swept his arms out in a grand, powerful arc, calling them to their knees.

His nun harem quivered before him, eyes alight in adoration, well and truly under his control. Considering how they had devoted their lives to the times of obedience that they had chosen, it did not appear that they would be all that difficult to control as he smiled and took in their bodies lustfully, all shapes and sizes, breasts on show and exposed, nipples perky in the cooler air. His cock throbbed to attention but he was not yet there for their bodies, only their obedience, for there was something within the depths of the convent itself that may well be of use to him. Only delving into the depths of a twisted religion, however, would tell the truth of that tale.

"I am your new god," he said gravely, his tone conveying the gravity of the situation. "Your sister will join us soon."

"Yes, God! Our Lord! King Mark!"

Enslaved, they were well and truly his to do with as he willed, worshipping him and falling at his feet, clinging with trembling hands to his legs and his coat. Already, that coat was annoying him, feeling as if he was wearing too many layers of cloth -- layers that would stop those in his service from pleasing him as he deserved to be pleased. They would be fanatics to him and him alone, seeing him as their one true god and leader, their king and their ruler.

"Head nun," he said, pointing his finger at the one who had held herself more commandingly than the rest on his infiltration of the convent, although they were all equal in the eyes of the lord, or so they said. "Tell me your name. We have much to discuss."

He didn't know her proper term but it didn't matter -- she was just another of his harem now. But a name was something with power too and could be very much useful in his lustful command of her. Her back did not straighten even as she clasped her hands in adoration, barely able to believe her good fortune in standing before him -- well, technically she was on her knees.

"King Mark... The name of this servant is Magrathe. I am yours, only yours."

Mark smiled. Their obedience was pleasing. Very pleasing.

"Magrathe it shall be then. I have gained the powers of hypnosis during my travels and studies in India, although I am told that the teachings of this manner of mind control originally came from the lord's ancient texts, not the Bible but other scrolls of the time. Is this true?"

She nodded rapidly and what he uncovered there well and truly went beyond his wildest dreams. If only he'd known what he was to stumble onto, perhaps he would have made more of a ceremony about travelling to the convent and gone less for the subtle act, harnesses gleaming in the sunshine with his suitably naked harem to lead the charge. They would have been a fine sight indeed.

"Yes, King Mark, we have an ancient book here..."

He stalled her, holding up a hand, a scrap of writing paper tucked lightly between a finger and a thumb. He would remember the symbols inscribed on it regardless of whether or not the rising, shifting wind chose to pluck it tenderly from his grasp or not.

"Yes!" Even Magrathe, caught by his spell of hypnosis, was surprised, eyes widening. "Those symbols -- they are the same! You are the one!"

"Show me this book."

It was laid out in the library, although the religious tomes of other times did not interest him, despite it being one of the most complete collections in the world. Magrathe set it on a stand for him, the book at an easy height at which to peruse, and blew the dust off it for him, tiny, greying specks clinging to her tits as if she had been splattered, very lightly, with paint. Mark pressed his lips together, concentration wavering as he turned the first page.

Blank. His brow furrowed. It was blank. But not all of it, strangely enough. Some parts were in a language of icons and symbols that should not have made sense but he read them flawlessly, going over the spell of servitude, the enslavement triggers and also something that he did not know -- something to do with transformation? That was something that he would have to return to later as he thumbed through the ancient tome, frustration growing as blank page after blank page greeted him, thwarting him with purity where he craved debauchery.

"Why can't I read it?" He growled, fingers closing into a fist. "Is this some kind of trick?"

"No, my king!" Pressing her hands between her breasts, clasped, imploringly, Magrathe shook her head. "You must grow more powerful, my king, to read this book and then all shall be within your reach. Bring more people into your service, claim them as yours, and the knowledge contained here will be open to you."

It was all he could do not to roll his eyes, but he was not a child anymore: he was a king. And it was his due right to act like one in all its regal gravity and sexuality.

"More... How many more?"

She shook her head, eyes respectfully downcast, although her breasts quivered as she shuddered in breath, not quite able, seemingly, to fill her lungs with air in his presence. He was simply too powerful, her wanton master.

"Many more... But I cannot say how many, I do not know. There is a ritual that could help, however, if it would please you that we prepare it."

"Do so. Immediately."

His voice left no question as to his intentions and she bowed, hastening off to the central chamber where they could prepare the ritual, which Magrathe knew of but none of the other nuns. Its explanation and execution was easy for them, however, even though it was not in line with the religious texts and servitude that they had before followed. Drawing a pentagram on the floor in that large hall, tables pushed back against the walls, they prepared for it nude, no clothing required in the presence of their lord and master.

"Dim the lights."

Magrathe took charge, although she would never be above Mark and would never again want to be, sealing them away in an artificial twilight, the shades of thickly, coarsely woven curtains covering the windows, although even those were cast up in a rudimentary, basic fashion. The convent shunned worldly luxuries in their service of religion and Mark made a mental note to himself to look at that, seeing how they could be best of use to him. At the very least, they would need to explore the avenues of electricity even though the candles and lanterns flickering and dancing in wicked glee did so make for a pleasant ambience.

"This is a ritual of debauchery," Magrathe explained softly, her tone respectfully hushed so as not to disturb the rite to come. "It will bring power to you and build on what you know."

Mark nodded, scrawled instructions to the ritual in his hands, for it was for him to execute if he was to take power from it. Magrathe could not do it for him and even Sarah and Victoria had left the room, taking their leave and peace in a private chamber. It had to be him and him alone, claiming what was due to him.

The nuns awaited him, dressed simply as they had gone about their preparations, for it was to be the beginning of the rite, long dresses falling to their ankles, although it was not necessary for them to wear shoes or sandals. They only wore their clothes again before Mark for the sake of the ritual and his fingers itched to see it torn from them, revealing those bodies that he had not had nearly enough time to take in, to lust after and adore so. And that time had come.

Licking his lips, he moistened his mouth to give the order.

"Strip."

And they did, one by one. They put on a show for him, wriggling and arching to show off their best features, although there was nothing in particular that stood out to him about his nun harem, the angels that were now his to command. Nipples still, however, drew his attention and he smirked at one woman shyly groping her breasts, seeming to pay them due mind for the first time in her life. They all must have been virgins and that thought spurred him on, cock hardening in his pants, desperate to claim that sweetness away from them too. It would all be for the better.

It was for Magrathe, however, to be the first and the woman held her head high even as she scurried to the centre of the pentagram, down on all fours with her backside pointed at him. Firm and round, there was a fair bit of muscle there too from working on the site of the convent, which was self-sustaining and requiring manual labour that nuns such as themselves most certainly did not hire in. No, all had to be done for themselves and Magrathe rocked her hips and arched, under his control and influence, striving to entice him to fuck her with every last little sexy trick she had. Undoubtedly, that left her with a short list of things to try but he could not help but appreciate the effort made as she dipped a finger tentatively into her pussy, perhaps for the first time. He didn't care as long as he got to fuck her.

He was naked and on his knees before he could blink, hands helping him out of his clothes, the ritual progressing as the paper was taken from him. He didn't need it to tell them to perform the rite, power flooding him already, an electric tingle that raced down to the tips of his fingers. He gasped, chest shuddering, and someone's hand closed around his cock, awkwardly pumping and teasing even as he whispered the trigger words all over again, feeding them the images of wanton lust that would give them the experience to please him, all the things that he had done with his mother, both grandmothers and so much more too.

"Pacta Sevanda."

He was power. He was control. He was the king.

Magrathe moaned for him, throat trembling, her brown hair falling forward loosely over her shoulder as if she was falling apart at the seams, the semblance of her reality crumbling with candlelight dancing off her bare skin. She moaned out his name over and over again and Mark was right there to satisfy her, driving his aching shaft into what had to be a virgin cunt as he slammed in.

The others closed in, hands fluttering around, stroking his arms, his shoulders, down his back, adoring him. Magrathe cried out, arms outstretched as if in praise even then, praising the lord who had freed her from servitude and brought her into another kind altogether. Her life was to serve and it was only right that King Mark was the one to take her, virginity stripped from her just like her clothes had been. She moaned his name, the syllables blurring together in her mind, reeling from the sheer force of pleasure hitting her, too much for a single human mind to bear.

She needed him and he needed her, even though he was going to take her regardless. Her moans were merely sweet music to her ears and Mark snarled in the back of his throat, lips parted, more of a feral king right there and then than he ever had been before. Her buttocks ground back at him with greater and greater precision, his 'teaching' of her in changing how her sexual mind worked, showing her what he wanted her to do with image after image, helping with their lusty liaison. Still, even if he'd had to pin her down with her hands over her head just to get and keep her in the right position, he would have taken her anyway just to feel that sweet, sweet pussy contracting around him.

Had she climaxed? It was impossible for him to tell as her sex clenched and rippled around him, demanding that he pay her more and more attention, slamming in, hands on her hips. His short fingernails bit into her hips as he drew her back onto his cock with each and every thrust, slamming in with raw, wild abandon, head flung back and eyes desperate. Never before had he felt so in control, the sensation addictive, skin tingling as it poured into him, more and more and more. There was no end to it as he drove in harder and faster than ever, carnal desire rising up like a serpent about to strike.

Magrathe cried out, lips moving yet not always with sound coming out, whispering and murmuring, although the ritual was down to Mark now. All she had to do was be there and be fucked, to allow him to claim her, to make her his. She was enslaved and right where she wanted to be, the beautiful cock of her king driving in, pulling such pleasure to the forefront of her mind, ecstasy that she had never before allowed herself. And to what ends?

Fingers twisting in her hair, Mark fell prey to baser desires, pulling her head back with a feral snarl. Her head yanked back, the cream of her throat exposed and vulnerable, but she only cried out again for him, pain tingling in her scalp as his shaft pounded her, orgasm rising in a tightening of muscles, that delectable thrum that told her that something more was coming, even though she could not understand it. Yet her master Mark had more to do, more to say, his word the final one in the showdown between the controlled and the controller. It was now or never!

For there were other things in the book as power filled him, seeping through him like a heat that he had never before had the luxury of feeling, that could be enjoyed too in the interim. Transformation? Why, he could certainly give it a go...

"Pacta Interva."

Nothing happened and he repeated the words, clawing for the power, the vibrating energy, that seemed to come and go, still unstable in him as the ritual continued on. That second time something happened, finally, the changes visible in the women surrounding him. Bidding the nuns to stand even as he kept right on fucking Magrathe as if his life depended on it, he watched hungrily, lustfully, shaping how he changed them and beautifully so.