Enslaving the Princess (Mind Control Breeding)
by Nadia Nightside
Published by Nadia Nightside, 2013.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
ENSLAVING THE PRINCESS (MIND CONTROL BREEDING)
First edition. March 29, 2013.
Copyright © 2013 Nadia Nightside.
Written by Nadia Nightside.
Table of Contents
Enslaving the Princess (Mind Control Breeding)
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Camille, the young nineteen year-old handmaiden to the cruel Princess Mariana, once again found herself turning to Counselor Victor for comfort. She sat in his lap, as always. That was one of the rules he had. She could tell him whatever he wanted, but she had to sit on his lap, first.
“It was awful!” Camille shuddered. She was so glad the Counselor was there, that he was so strong when she felt so weak. “She took Ana, that damned Tryptian whore, and just led her face down between her lap as I was right there! I was brushing the Princess's hair, and she just stops to get her cunny licked by someone else! Can you believe it?”
Victor tsked. “Tell me about that.”
“Well Ana, I mean, she's beautiful. That dark skin, you know. It's like chocolate. If I wasn't so in love with the Princess myself, I would be happy to watch someone like her lick someone like that. And Ana—she looked so scared at first! Like she wasn't really enjoying it, but she had to, because otherwise Princess Mariana would punish her somehow?”
Camille ran a hand down her half-open blouse. How had it gotten so open? Oh well. Victor was so nice. He wouldn't mind her cooling off. She tweaked a nipple. Her open blouse revealed a tautly muscled young torso.
“That's kind of hot, actually,” Camille admitted. “The look in her eyes, like that. Scared, but accepting. Right before she dove in, it looked like she was smiling. Like being that close to the Princess's pussy just turned her on too much. I'm just . . . I'm just jealous, is all.”
They were in his office in his tower, located in the back of Fairmount Palace. The room was spacious, filled with piles of books on every table and desk, with long groups of flasks and burners off to one corner in the back.
His tower was sometimes known to the locals as the Cruel Spiral, due to allegations that he would kidnap portions of the populace and experiment on them—Camille didn't buy into such things, of course. Victor had never been anything but lovely to her. That's why she came straight to him with news like this.
His lap was expansive, as Victor was a large man. He had a shaved head, and a dark, trimmed beard, and was rather young to be a Counselor.
She knew he was actually the youngest Counselor in the Kingdom for over five hundred years. Counselors were the right hands of the King, offering advice to the throne and enacting royal wills on the populace. Normally, there were two or three or even four Counselors at one time. But Victor was the only one the King had currently.
His rise to power had come after a series of unfortunate deaths, sudden retirements, and one case of thorough madness from his long line of predecessors. They all had Victor as an apprentice, and much suspicion had at one time been cast upon him; but of course, he was innocent. If he wasn't innocent, how had he gotten the job?
“How does that make you feel, dearie?”
Camille shook her head, her thick, long dark hair sweeping across her svelte form. She had to struggle to look into his piercing, ice-blue gaze for long. His eyes felt like they were breaking her mind apart, but in a good way. The way that cinnamon broke apart on top of a hot cup of tea.
It felt sometimes like this was all so very wrong. That she shouldn't be sitting in his lap like this. That she should be fighting, perhaps. Or running away. Or telling someone she knew about what they discussed. But, then she would come up to him and complain, and he would calmly explain how much he cared for her and make her a special little drink that made all her cares go away.
Still, every little while, the thought crept back up. Why was she still a handmaiden? She remembered the herbalist, Dell, had offered her a job tending the garden, to be an apprentice underneath him. She even remembered being excited about it. Camille loved herbs, loved plants, loved watching the way they twisted and grew and vibrated with the force of the planet.
But after she discussed the idea with Victor, it seemed like not a good idea at all. She made fun of Dell as she rejected him, called him a dirty old man. Victor suggested it all, and Camille listened. The beautiful young brunette was lucky she had. The Counselor had made so many good decisions for her.
Victor's hand was on her thigh, fingers thumping along. He was so patient.
“It makes me feel . . . I don't know. It makes me wish that your love potion would hurry up and work.”
When Camille had revealed her love for the Princess—it was only a short time after she turned down the apprenticeship that she had realized her affection, making Victor's suggestion that she turn down Dell even better—Victor had crafted her a love potion to use.
It looked awfully similar to the little drinks he made her, but Victor promised her that it wasn't the same. And it felt so good to trust Victor. He was so right and strong.
He nodded sagely. “Yes, I can see how you would want it to work. Though I would proposition that it already is.”
She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Have you noticed any—shall we say—other instances of amorous activity of the Princess before this?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
Princess Mariana was well-known throughout the kingdom for being rather icy. Glacial, as a matter of fact, when it came to romance. At eighteen, she was years beyond the proper age of betrothal. But her father, the King, was wrapped around her pretty finger, and let her do whatever she wanted.
It was easy to let Mariana do whatever she wanted. The young blond was beyond gorgeous—most of the populace was convinced she was a living divinity, some physical form of one of the Seven Divines.
There was a saying—as Princess Mariana went, so went the Kingdom of Elysia. Certainly the King went along with anything she had to say, even more so since his wife's death some years past.
“Well,” Victor ran a hand through her hair. Camille trembled again, harder this time. She could feel it in her nipples, starting to stand up firmly against the loose cloth of her half-open blouse. “I would take that as a good sign, my dear. She was obviously overcome with emotion in your presence. Perhaps, being so long without a partner, or without any real affection, she simply didn't know how to proposition you correctly?”
Camille nodded eagerly. That made perfect sense. Victor was always making such good sense.
When she had first come to him, weeks ago, he made sense right away. Well, she hadn't so much come to him as he had shown up in her quarters. But then he took out his wonderful crystal of truth.
He explained, quite well, how no one could lie when the crystal was taken out.
Look at how well it sparkled and shined. It was impossible to think that anything he said was something other than the truth, wasn't it? Wasn't that crystal nice?
That night, he revealed how much he cared for her. How he saw her as a daughter, or maybe a little sister. And how she needed to confide in him.
When Camille had first started talking to Victor, she believed silly things—like that she didn't want to be a handmaiden forever, even a royal one. That she had big, grand aspirations. Become an apprentice to someone. Maybe the herbalist? Maybe even be the royal herbalist someday?
Victor helped her realize that was just p
art of her latent repression of her sexuality. That what she really wanted was to fall in the arms of sweet, gorgeous Princess Mariana, and lick her pussy forever after.
“I think you must be right, Counselor Victor,” she said sweetly. “It's just...it's so hard to see things how you do, sometimes. You're so wise and kind.”
“Perhaps my little crystal could make things a bit more clear?”
“Oh yes,” she said breathily, her chest heaving, one hand coming up to paw at his bicep. “Please, let me look into the crystal again?”
“Very well,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Assume the truth position, my dear.”
Obediently, she slid off his lap, and knelt down in front of him. Staring up at him with her deep, dark brown eyes. He had explained to her that this was the only proper way to receive the truth he had to deliver.
“The oath, first.”
The young beauty nodded, her pouty lips forming a serious line. She knew the oath by heart. She held a hand to one breast, tweaking a nipple, as she raised her other hand in the air.
“I hereby promise to honor the crystal of truth, to recognize its power, to open my mind to its revelations, no matter how strange or foreign, and to enact its vision however I may.”
“Good girl.”
Camille felt a slickness in her thighs at his words—in fact, at just saying the oath. That was new. When he took out the crystal from a pocket in his robes, the slickness intensified a hundredfold.
“Let's start with some affirmation, yes?”
“Affirmation,” Camille said, her voice sleepy. “Yes.”
Her mind was barely capable of describing the crystal, its effects. She felt like she was swimming in the universe, in the time before time began, bumping up against all the vibrations of the stars.
“You trust me.”
She nodded slowly. “I trust you.”
“I am your counselor.”
“You are my counselor.”
“My words are always right.”
“Your words are always right.”
He stroked her face. His touch so gentle, so caring. She moaned appreciatively. The wetness between her thighs increased.
“You love Princess Mariana.”
She nodded eagerly. “I love Princess Mariana.”
“She deserves to be Queen, right away.”
“She deserves to be Queen, right away.”
Camille's hand was still on one nipple, tweaking and fondling. Had it been there the whole time? Oh well. It was wonderful. Victor was wonderful. And so right.
“You'll do anything to make this happen.”
“I'll do anything to make this happen.”
“Touch your clit, dear. Finger your hot little pussy. You'll listen better.”
Camille complied with a moan. That made perfect sense. With as slick as she was, her fingers slid right in.
“I am the true King of this realm.”
“You are the . . .” she fingered herself harder, struggling to make it make sense.
“The true king of this realm. Remember your oath, Camille. Open your mind.”
Yes. Open her mind. Be a good girl. Her fingers pumped in and out, the soft wet noises filling up the space between her and the crystal.
“True king,” moaned Camille. “Mind open.”
“I am the true King of this realm.”
“You are the true King of this realm.”
She just trust Victor. So much. He had to be telling the truth. If she had been able to see herself, she would know that her eyes—deep dark brown—had been turned shining and blue as she stared into the crystal.
“The current King is an imposter.”
“The current King is an imposter.”
Yes, of course he was. Victor was the true King of the realm. The current King had to be an imposter.
“He deserves to die for his treasonous crime.”
“He deserves to die for his treasonous crime.”
They repeated this a few more times. It was drilled thoroughly into her head.
“The Princess deserves a real King.”
“The Princess deserves a real King.”
This only made sense. Camille's fingers plunged ever deeper into her cunt, her thumb working harder on her hot little clit. A puddle had started to form underneath her. Yes. A real King for Mariana.
“The Princess deserves me.”
“The Princess deserves you.”
Yes, oh yes. Victor was the Real King. Mariana deserved a Real King. She deserved Victor. Of course she did.
“Princesses should serve a true King's every need.”
“Princesses should . . . should serve . . .”
“Princesses should serve a true King's every need.”
“Princesses should serve a true . . . a true . . .”
Camille whined. This was starting to feel wrong again. Her hot little fingers in her snatch began to slow.
Victor stood up for a moment, taking the crystal with him. Some of Camille's fog started to clear. Victor was . . . was a King? Was that right? It had to be, because he said it, and yet . . .
He returned with a goblet in his hand.
“You should drink this.”
Camille nodded blankly. “I should drink this.”
The liquid was warm, thick, full of happiness and warmth. It wasn't wine, not exactly, because it was too milky and smooth, but it was red and had the tinge of alcohol. Just like every time before that she had drained this sort of drink, Camille felt like she was flying. She let the goblet clank down to the ground from an empty, strengthless hand.
“Princesses should serve a true King's every need.”
Her cunt felt afire Her fingers slid in and out with renewed vigor. She felt her orgasm fast approaching.
“Princesses should seerve aaa truuue King's. Mmmmm. Oh. Every need.”
“I am the True King.”
“You are the Truuue King.”
“Princess Mariana should serve me.”
Camille's fingers were deep in her pussy now, her thumb riding ceaselessly over her clit. It was sooo good.
“Focus, girl. Give yourself a nice little cum, and focus.”
Camille came almost immediately, her hips bucking as her melting hot pussy vibrated with pleasure. It was the command. She just had to do what he said, and it was so easy to obey him. He was sooo strong.
She had closed her eyes when she came, but when she opened them, the crystal was right there.
“Princess Mariana should serve me.”
“Princess Mariana should serve you.”
Camille licked her lips. Mariana wasn't the only one who should serve Victor.
“You serve Princess Mariana.”
“I serve Princess Mariana.”
“You should serve me.”
Camille's hand had snaked up his robes, gleefully finding the lack of any impediment to his already completely hard cock.
“I should serve you,” she purred.
“I am your King.” His voice getting ragged now.
She made her strokes long, using her thumb around his cockhead to spread the precum around. Before long, his entire shaft was slick.
“You are my King.”
He pushed forward, his cock right in front of her face now.
“My cock is the only one you need.”
“Your cock is the only one I need.” Her voice breathy, hot, tinged with the need he prescribed.
“You want to be filled by my kingcock.”
“I want to be filled by your kingcock.”
Drool was sliding past her lips, running down her chin. She could not help but lick his perfect shaft as he spoke. It tasted an awful lot like the substance from the goblet. How wonderful.
“You want to be bred by my seed.”
“I want to be bred by your seed.”
Victor grabbed her by her incredible volume of hair and shoved her forward on her cock. She had no say in the matter anymore, no control. He slid her back and fo
rth, up and down his shaft, and she simply complied like a good servant. One of his hands still held the crystal over her eyes, completely transfixing her.
“I am your King,” he said. “I am your Master. I own you. I own your cunt. I own your womb.”
She moaned out affirmatives each time. Her hot lips stayed slick on his shaft, and she made sure her tongue was actively adoring every precious inch of Master's flesh that she felt. He was so good to her.
He was so delicious and perfect. She was his. He owned her. Her MasterKingOwner. He was so perfect.
Her big, lovely tits were mashing up against his knees as he fucked her pretty face. He wasn't slowing down. She didn't care. It was so hot how she didn't care how hard he fucked her face. She was his plaything. He could do whatever he wanted.
“When I cum, you cum,” he ordered.
“Mmmhmmm!”
She was so close anyway. Her cunt juices had already ruined her dress. She had no idea how she was going to walk back to her quarters without being called out for being a slut. She didn't care. She was Master's slut.
She felt his balls tense up, his every muscle tighten. Then heaven arrived in her mouth in liquid form, every Divinity singing out the praises in her mind of this Masterful Lord and King who owned her. Her orgasm frolicked across her body, burying her in pleasure, even as his seed buried itself deep in her tummy. Its taste was transcendent, the feeling euphoric. The thick hot wetness slid hot down her throat, each inch of it sliding so perfectly inside of her young, willing body.
Every hot new spurt was just dirt on the grave of that silly thing she had called a will. It made her so happy to not have to worry about any thoughts but her Master's thoughts from now on.
All the bliss must have knocked her out, because when the waves of bliss finally subsided, she was on the floor, and he was walking around naked, preparing mixtures. She watched him cum—almost as if by his own will—into a flask, and then pour that into a goblet with a few other tinctures. Camille pouted—she wanted to be the one to make him cum.
He set down the tray on a stool in front of her.
“Make yourself presentable, dearie,” he said. He pointed at the tray. “The goblet goes to the Princess, that's your second trip. Your first trip is to take the bottle to the King.”
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