Royalty Brought Low Pt 04

Authors note - I took a risk in changing the category of the story to BDSM, and it doesn't look like it paid off. So I am returning to the mind control aspect of the story. If feedback is positive I will re write part 3.

I hope you will all give my story a second chance, and please give constructive criticism in future to help me improve it for better enjoyment.

*****

As consciousness returned, the Prince groaned as he felt every muscle in his body aching. All he wanted to do was return to blissful oblivion. But something nagged at the outer edges of his consciousness, something was different, so eventually, reluctantly he opened his bleary eyes.

The cold stone walls of his prison no longer surrounded him, instead he had been moved to a richly furnished chamber, with one door leading to who knew where. He could feel the warm, soft rug against his naked flesh as it he felt it enveloping his body, projecting a feeling of safeness and security. Glancing around from the floor, he could see a comfortable looking divan laden with cushions, a very large armoire that took up all of one wall, and next to it a full length mirror.

He wasn't aware of how long he had been unconscious, it could have been hours, or days. All he did know was the inside of his mouth was bone dry, and his wobbly limbs felt weak from lack of food and water. He couldn't recall having eaten or drank since being captured. Was his jailor going to forget him until he died of thirst or malnutrition?

As if just realising, the Princes gaze focused on a smooth ceramic bowl that had been left by the edge of the rug. Clumsily, with none of the agile grace he exhibited naturally, the prince lurched over to see it filled with crystal clear liquid. All caution and rationality left his fragile and foggy mind, as he plunged forward and began lapping up the water with loud slurping noises that filled the silent room. No ale he had drank at lavish banquets, no mead he had downed at countless celebrations, had ever tasted as good as this. It didn't matter if this was poisoned, or spiked with an unknown potion. He couldn't stop stop himself and didn't until the bowl had been emptied.

Refreshed, his head clear for the first time since regaining consciousness, the Prince crept to the mirror, his body protesting with every movement, he saw that his skin had been scrubbed free of dirt and his hair had been washed so it reflected the glowing orbs light.

"Please say it was all a dream," he muttered fervently, but as his eyes took in the red raw rope burns around his wrists and winced as he gingerly felt his swollen bruised genitals, he knew in his heart it was all too real.

The Prince's head swung in the direction of the door, expecting from experience his Mistress to appear, ('not Mistress, my Queen, no, the Queen' he thought furiously), and felt a strange mixture of disappointment and sadness when she didn't.

It suddenly dawned on the Prince that he was no longer tied up, though admittedly this was not a reckless and dangerous risk as he could not move far in his condition.

'My Mistress must be trusting me,' he thought, as a smile lit up his face and his heart swelled with pride at being a good pet. But he caught his enamoured expression in the mirror, and realised that part of him now belonged to her.

"You were never going to win," said the voice from behind. The Prince spun around and his Queen stood before him, looking magnificent in a purple silk sash that draped across one shoulder and breast, leaving one exposed and unadorned, and wrapped around her hips. The Prince sank to his knees with a moan, knowing he had not recovered enough from the previous encounter, but if she willed it he could not stop her.

Instead the Queen sat on the soft inviting divan and dropped a cushion on the floor by her feet. Resigning himself, wincing from the slight stabbing pains shooting from his ass, he crawled over and sank gratefully onto the squishy pillow.

As the Queen casually stroked his head she continued, "I knew you secretly wanted to be captured, because you came rushing in with no plan, no troupe of knights as support, and no defence against magic. Someone that reckless is practically begging to be dominated."

"I could still escape," he blurted out, with part of him wanting to wake up from this never ending nightmare, whilst the other newer part hoped she would punish him further for his defiance.

The Queen seemed to genuinely consider the possibility, her emerald eyes calmly assessing him as he shivered at the increased attention.

"You could escape," she agreed, "Return to your normal life. Marry the Princess. Live happily ever after. Shall we see what would happen?"

Uncertain as to what his Mistress meant, her prisoner was not prepared for the witches hands fasten around his head, holding it immobile. Just as he was summoning up his remaining strength to break free, The Prince felt those tendrils of power worming their way into his thoughts, burrowing into his mind.

"That's right, let me in," the Queen coaxed, her brow furrowed in concentration.

All thoughts of resisting were wiped clean as the room faded around him.

With a gasp he woke up, unsure of where he was, his body coated in sweat as he looked wildly around. The room was bathed in moonlight that poured from a single window in the castle walls, illuminating the furniture that was familiar, as he recognised every piece that had adorned his room since he could remember, as welcome as an old childhood friend. He could smell the remnants of the charcoal in the fireplace long burnt out. The chill in the air indicated it was still in the early hours of the morning, combined with the perspiration on his skin, it reminded him of the clamminess of the dungeon cell where he had been held prisoner.

"Bad dreams again my love?" a soft voice asked, radiating concern and tenderness for his wellbeing. The Prince smiled and turned to gaze at his wife, the moonlight reflecting off her cornflower hair giving it a silver sheen, her eyes still heavy with sleep. A delicate hand snaked under the heavy covers and rubbed his taught bicep, not effective in easing the tension, but it felt warm and reassuring and real, anchoring him to reality.

"Just memories, which always fade in the presence of your beauty," he reassured her, lifting her hand and pressing his lips to her knuckles with a chaste kiss. Comforted, her eyes closed and his wife was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Despite his pacifying words, and the cheerful bravado he displayed throughout the daytime, a part of him didn't believe he had escaped, that he was still trapped in the Queen's castle, enslaved to her will. And every time this doubt arose, he frantically checked his memories, clinging to them like a child with a favourite stuffed animal.

One day his luck had changed, there had been a lapse in guard duty, and the noble had seized the opportunity. Overpowering the servants in the stables, finding his horse and riding back in nothing but a stolen blanket, those memories were all still present. The Prince had been welcomed back with fanfare and celebration, with the whole kingdom rejoicing at the return of the lost heir to the throne. The prince had insisted that both he and his betrothed were married that very day, having come so close to losing her. And his face broke into a wolfish grin at the best bit, giving his father valuable information about the false Queens' defences and magical abilities, knowing right this minute preparations were being made for the kingdoms armies to march upon the cursed stronghold and wipe its evil influence from the face of the earth.

Satisfied, the heir to the throne snuggled back under the covers and waited for sleep to claim him once more, knowing this time he had nothing to fear. Just as he was drifting off, his leg twitched, as if responding to some subtle stimulus. He smiled as he recognised the feeling of delicate fingers tracing the curve of his outer thigh, and opened his eyes anticipating the sweet lovemaking he experienced as a married man. But became puzzled as he saw his wife sleeping soundly, her genteel snores slightly muffled by her face pressed into the feather pillows.

So whose hand was on his leg?

With a strangled cry, the Prince threw back the covers, causing goose bumps to raise on his exposed skin as he reacted to the rooms chill. There was nothing to see, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel. His hands slapped at the area where the ghostly hand was stroking, all that accomplished was to add some pain to the already oversensitive skin, heightening the sensations of those relentless fingers. Memory finally clicked into place, the Prince knew where he had encountered this trick before. But it was impossible.

(italics)

[i]You really didn't think I'd let you go so easily.[/i]

The Prince only just stopped himself from crying out, as he heard that voice, the one he had hoped to never hear again as long as he lived. His ear tickled as if she was laying right next to him, whispering her honeyed words of seduction and the promise of pleasure.

"You're not here," he hissed, his eyes frantically darting around the room, terrified to see her step out of the shadows, with that confident smile on her lips, and those commanding green eyes reaching deep inside him and reading his secret desires, his forbidden lusts.

(italics)

[i]I don't need to be present to cast a spell now I have your essence. I could be the other side of the world and still play with you. Observe.[/i]

The Prince gasped as the second hand to its counterpart began to circle his left nipple, as the other slide up his inner thigh to trace the curve of his hip. His cock was already half hard from all the stimulation, responding naturally to his former owners caresses.

"I could summon the guards, get help," he said, as the noble slide to the edge of the bed determined to find some clothing.

(italics)

[i]And what will happen if you come across one of the servants in your condition, aroused but unable to find release without some outside...stimulation.[/i]

The Prince froze, as her words conjured up a new set of images in his mind, coming across an unassuming chamber maid, consumed with lust and need, with the enchantress urging him on, planting obscene suggestions in his mind which in his weakened state he acts upon. And the scandal that would inevitably erupt if he was caught.

With a whimper, the Prince abandoned any thoughts of help, biting his lip to prevent any moans escaping and waking his wife, at the mercy of those relentless ghostly hands as they sought out every erogenous zone on his body. He thought he had escaped, but it was all happening again, it didn't matter where he fled to, he would forever be her prisoner.

(italics)

[i]That's right pet. And I'll tell you why it too late. You let me in, I'm already inside. And as much as you want to protest, you don't ever want me to leave.[/i]

"No..." he groaned, whether he was denying what the witch said or agreeing with her, he did not know. Those wicked hands were pumping his hard dripping erection, as he writhed in thrall of her enchantment, his will gradually submitting to hers.

(italics)

[i]Yes, my puppet. I pull the strings and you obey.[/i]

One of the ghostly hands glided down to caress his balls, and the Prince wantonly spread his legs wide, knowing what would come next, and yearning to feel that pleasure once more. He no longer cared if he was caught in this shameful position, as he felt the fingertips press lightly against his hole. The noble remembered why he had renounced all he knew, and had pledged his soul to her dark will.

"My love, what are you doing?"

The Prince's head rolled on the pillow to gaze at his wife, wide awake and frowning in confusion at her husbands behaviour. Then the Princess gasped in horror and paled at what she saw in the depths of his eyes.

She made to move but the Prince was too fast for her, capturing her slender wrists in one hand and pinning her body under his weight. Her fear made his cock throb in anticipation, and with his free hand tore at her night dress, feeling the cotton fabric tear under his strength. Laughter rippled through his pleasure saturated mind.

(italics)

[i]Good pet. We will both enjoy this.[/i]

"NO!"

The Prince surged forward and crashed into the stone floor, as pain radiated through his jaw and right shoulder at the sudden impact. With his eyes watering, his blurry vision could just make out redness of the rug he had slept on, and the water bowl beside it. For the first time the Prince felt relieved he was in the Queen's castle rather then back in his own kingdom. He was still reeling from the potency of the vision, and felt the bile rise in his throat as he almost vomited at the thought of raping his beloved.

Familiar yet strong hands gripped his shoulders and guided him back to the divan, the former nobles trembling body leaned gratefully against the support as his sweaty forehead was placed against one cool smooth leg. Gentle hands stroked his golden tresses, in mockery of the reassuring caresses he experienced from his wife in the hallucination. And yet they were comforting all the same.

"How did you like your triumphant return home, my Prince?" the enchantress asked, her grip tightening in her prisoners hair as he flinched at her question.

"Yes, that's just one of many possibilities, we haven't even scratched the surface of what I can do to you," she informed him, "I don't need to be anywhere near you to take over your body, your senses, your mind."

"No..please no more," he whimpered. The Prince shuddered at what his Queen was implying. He would become her puppet, her spy, turned traitor and committed to sabotaging the kingdom from within. His eyes widened at the thought of prostituting himself to win other nobles over to the Queen's cause. Or assassinating any who suspected his change of allegiance, perhaps going so far as to murdering his own family!

"Yes, I see you understand," she purred, watching his agonised expression, "And if you're not hung as a traitor to the state, then eventually you would return to me. Or be forever haunted, craving to sate your yearning for the pleasure you received at my hands."

"You're right!" he sobbed, as the last bastion of his defences crumbled at the realisation. He had been irrevocably changed by his experiences in this cursed castle, introduced to perverse pleasures he could not have invented in his wildest fantasies. His Mistress had unearthed and pulled out a dark streak he hadn't known existed, she had awoken a hunger that he yearned to sate at her hands. No one who hadn't tasted the black witches forbidden fruit could ever understand. The Prince finally admitted to himself he didn't want to return home, he belonged here with his Mistress.

The Queen watched the last spark of defiance die in her captives eyes, it showed in his open and vulnerable expression as fresh tears ran down his face. The change to his demeanour was instant, becoming more subservient, much more relaxed as the tension drained out of his posture.

"You are much more interesting then I originally anticipated," she told her pet, "I thought once you were broken I would discard you, but perhaps you are just the tool I need to bring my long term plans to fruition."

The prince smiled serenely at his owners praise, if he were a puppy his tail would have been wagging in earnest.

"Now you are wholly mine, we can start your proper training," she informed him, wiping his tear tracts away with a brush of her thumb, "You will learn to anticipate my wishes, and prepare yourself for my arrival. Depending on how well you carry out my orders will depend on how well you are rewarded."

The prince moaned at her words, his heart leaping at the chance to be taught some ability so he could gain access to those dizzying heights of sensuous pleasure.

"Which is all too complicated for you to worry about pet," she said condescendingly, "You just need to remember this: the more you obey, the more pleasure you feel."

"The more I obey, the more pleasure I feel," he intoned like a mantra, one so important he was prepared to burn it into his mind.

"Very good pet, time for your reward." The enchantress leaned down to his upturned face and captured his lips with hers for a searing kiss. Their taste reminded him of the same nectar he had been allowed to lick from between her legs. Was there no part of this woman that didn't taste good? He ached to find out, if he was a good pet and obeyed. All too soon the Queen pulled back, and he caught the wicked glimmer in her eyes that meant she had withheld some vital bit of information.

"This particular lipstick is a powerful hallucinogen, for a couple of hours your mind will be filled with fantasies involving you as my fuck toy," she informed him with glee, as his vision grew foggy. All the strength seemed to leech out of the prince's muscles as his body slumped to the floor.

"But I'm not completely heartless, you have permission to climax as many times as you can endure," were the last words he heard before the fantasies started.

The Prince's hand went to his stiffening member, as in his mind he watched his Mistress straddling his hips and roughly using her fuck toy, him tied to her bed helpless and powerless, as it should be.

"Thank you my Queen," he whispered reverently as the first of his orgasms approached.