Disclaimer:
All characters portrayed (and the author) are over eighteen. If you plan to
read this, you must be over eighteen (or your local age of consent) as well. If
you don’t like male/male sex and hypnotism, go read something else instead.
This is fiction; so don’t get ’em in a bunch reading more than that into it.
Finally, this is a period piece, so the writing style is deliberately
old-fashioned. Hope you enjoy it, and if you do, try writing your own
hypno-fantasy.
An Historical Romance
By
As the ship sailed on into the warm
darkness of the summer night, young Lt. Jeremy Betton stood at the porthole of
his stateroom watching the starlight reflected in the gentle swells of the calm
tropical ocean and thinking about his future. At little over nineteen, he was
already well, if not irrevocably, along the path his father, the fifth Baron
Denthorp, had mapped out for him. As a third son, Jeremy had little hope of
ever succeeding to either the title or the income of his family, nor, by the
same token, were an early marriage or potential heirs for him in any way to be
encouraged. The Baron had solved the problem of what to do with the boy in a
fashion typical of wealthy families in Victoria’s England. He sent his son to
Sandhurst and then purchased him a commission in the Guards. So Jeremy was to
be an officer, like it or not.
Actually,
the boy found that the prospect agreed with him fairly well. He liked the idea
of travel to the exotic outposts of the Empire, and, as for the military policy
of discouraging early marital liaisons, even without family pressure, Jeremy
was in no hurry there. Not that he was completely without interest or
experience. The young lieutenant was, in spite of a certain reticence, popular
with the ladies. Of average height, but slim, straight, and well-muscled, he
cut a fine figure on the dance floor, while a strong, narrow jaw and high
cheek-bones from a distant Russian ancestor, plus thick, dark, lustrous hair
and long-lashed sea-green eyes from a more recent Irish one, leant his
clean-shaven face the grave beauty of a rather serious angel. On more than one
occasion the previous season, Lucinda Chataway had allowed him to coax her away
from the cotillion throng to some private corner or other where they exchanged
a few hurried kisses, a touch or two. But, although he had found it pleasant
enough, Jeremy had never felt the kind of intense excitement that his Sandhurst
classmates claimed to feel in similar escapades. And he found that, all in all,
he preferred the camaraderie of the all-male academy to the more demanding
social life at home.
His only
real doubt concerning his immediate future was whether he was truly suited to
be an officer. He did well enough at Sandhurst, but his nature was dreamy and
introspective rather than commanding, and certainly, at home among his
imperious family, he was much more comfortable obeying orders than giving them.
And now, in a little less than two days he would make landfall in India to take
up his post with the garrison at Cawnpore. Jeremy felt a nervous thrill of
anticipation, and sighed, resting his chin on his hands.
As Jeremy leaned at the porthole and stared
out to sea, another pair of eyes was gazing with equal absorption at the young
officer. Ram Singh, who had insinuated himself into Jeremy’s employ as a
personal servant, was really an agent acting under orders from the Rajah of
Cawnpore. Whatever his official title, Singh’s primary duty was the procurement
of attractive, docile bed-partners for his prince, and he had specific plans
for handsome Lt. Betton. Ram Singh permitted himself a small, secretive smile
as he noted the way in which the tight khaki trousers of the regimental uniform
clung to the young man’s shapely, muscular legs, to his firm, elegant behind,
to his trim waist. Because of the heat, Jeremy was not wearing the uniform
tunic, and the humidity had wilted his shirt until it molded to his lean torso
as closely as the trousers hugged his legs. And then there was that deva’s face
of his. Yes, the Rajah would be delighted when Ram Singh delivered the boy; all
the moreso because Betton was one of the hated English oppressors, and the
Rajah would enjoy owning him almost as much as he would enjoy using him.
Ram Singh
had set his trap with care. He had ingratiated himself with the young officer
and struck up as much of a friendship as was possible between master and
servant. It helped that Jeremy was fascinated by the idealized India of his own
imagination, greeting all of his manservant’s tales and reminiscences with rapt
attention. The sly Indian had been able to make him believe wild stories and
(as all gifted liars can) disbelieve curious truths. It was this, indeed, that
first gave Ram Singh the seed of his current plan. Among the many reports that
Jeremy dismissed as impossible were those of the mental disciplines of the
fakirs. As a well-trained fakir himself, Ram Singh knew that many of them were
quite true. If he could use his powers to enslave the boy’s mind, he could
abduct him without a struggle. Jeremy’s triple-ringed disbelief would prevent
him from recognizing what was happening to him until it was too late.
A few
nights earlier, Ram Singh had shown Jeremy the mystery of the magic egg. After
introducing the mystery at some length, speaking certain phrases in certain
tones of voice, the Indian had produced an egg, which he tapped gently with a
short, curiously carven stick. Just as he had been told he would, Jeremy
watched the egg crack, revealing a chick which quickly grew into a fully
fledged rooster, and then, after another stroke from the stick, dwindled back
just as rapidly, first to a chick and then again to a seamless egg that Ram
Singh cracked into a dish. Jeremy had applauded delightedly and asked to be
taught the “bazaar trick”. The Indian had told him that it required great
manual dexterity, and had even given him some meaningless sleight-of-hand
exercises to practice. Of course, there was no trick involved. The Rajah’s
agent had merely taken an opportunity to prove to his own satisfaction that the
youth was highly suggestible by putting him in a light trance and making him
see wonders.
Since
then, Ram Singh had been adding certain drugs to Jeremy’s food that would
render him even more susceptible to influence. Tonight would be the night he
began the final indoctrination. Everything was going to work perfectly.
As Ram
Singh prepared the young officer’s bed for him, he pretended to notice for the
first time his master’s preoccupation. “Sahib seems to be troubled. Is there
something needed?”
Jeremy
turned away from the porthole out of which he had been staring. “No, Ram Singh,
I just seem to have a lot on my mind. After all, we land day after tomorrow, a
new country, a new post. I believe I have a few butterflies.”
“The Sahib
should try to get some rest.”
Jeremy
laughed. “Why, what a nanny you are becoming, Ram Singh! The ‘Sahib’ isn’t
ready for bed just yet.
“Then
perhaps the Sahib would enjoy a little more ‘bazaar magic’?” Ram Singh purred.
“”Oh yes,”
cried Jeremy, “That would be capital! Just the thing to take my mind off my
nerves.”
“Indeed,
Sahib, that is exactly what this device is for.” Ram Singh brought out a
curious mechanism of brightly colored glass bangles strung on wires and
attached to a small hot-air windmill with three white candles to power it. He
set the device on a small table in front of the most comfortable chair and
directed the young man to be seated. He then lighted the three candles and
turned down the hurricane lamp that lit the cabin. “The effect is best in the
dark,” he said. “Now, watch.”
As the
candles heated the air above them, the small mill began to turn, the bangles
spun and danced. Light from the flames sent sparks leaping through the colored
glass, up and down, back and forth, down and up. Jeremy watched, at first with
delight, and then with utter fascination.
Ram Singh
moved behind the chair and began to speak softly to his young master while
gently stroking his temples. “Watch the light closely, Sahib, watch them. They
are very beautiful are they not, and soon you will see wonderful things. We men
of Hind use this device when we wish to relax and be at peace. When we are
tired, as you are tired, Sahib, so tired, we watch the beautiful,
beautiful lights, and our worries, our thoughts, all fade away.”
Jeremy sat
motionless, staring unblinking at the lights. Ram Singh’s words seemed to him
to flow as smoothly as warm oil. He thought dimly that there was something
strange about all this, but he couldn’t seem to concentrate on his thoughts. It
was impossible to take his eyes from the shimmering glass, or to move his heavy
head away from the gentle fingers that sent a pleasant tingling all through
him.
Again Ram
Singh was speaking. “You are at peace, Sahib, just looking at the lights. You
will allow your thoughts to drift away. Let them go, feel them departing. Your
mind is a blank slate now. There is nothing but my voice and the lights. You
have no thoughts. Let your body relax and become limp, your muscles heavy and
relaxed, too heavy to move. Go ahead, Sahib, try to move, but you cannot.”
Jeremy
Betton remained as he was, motionless except for the soft rise and fall of his
chest. His eyes were fixed on the flashing lights, his handsome face empty.
“Very
good, Sahib. You may stop trying. As you see, you are now completely in my
power. Nothing has meaning to you but my will. You cannot choose but obey me in
all things. Now, close your eyes and let go.”
The young
man’s eyes closed, and his chin tilted forward onto his chest. The Indian
looked at his helpless erstwhile master and smiled. These Western Devils were so
easy in some ways. They were so secure in their beliefs that they made no
defense against anything not contained within them. So now, here was this
handsome boy, an officer in the proud British Raj, rendered more completely Ram
Singh’s slave than the best-trained dog could ever be.
Ram Singh
relit the lamp and blew out the candles in the hypnotic mechanism. He put it
away and then turned back to his young captive. “The Rajah shall not receive
any damaged goods,” said Ram Singh, “So I must see that you are truly perfect
and suited to your new role. Open your eyes, Sahib, and stand up.”
Obediently
the boy rose slowly to his feet.
“You
understand that you must do anything I tell you, do you not? Answer me,”
commanded the Indian.
“Yes, I
understand.” There was no longer any trace of the young lieutenant from
Sandhurst Academy in Jeremy’s enthralled voice, only the gentle
nineteen-year-old dreamer.
“Very
well, remove your clothing,” Ram Singh ordered.
As Jeremy
slowly stripped, Ram Singh also undressed. He knew better than to touch the
Rajah’s prize, but there was pleasure he could have without touching. When
Jeremy finally stood naked before him, the Indian instantly felt the heat begin
to rise in his own body. The boy was magnificent! The long voyage on these
tropical seas had given his flawless skin a thorough tan (there having been no
women on board to make the wearing of scant garments seem improper), and his
insistence on being useful during the trip had kept him beautifully trim.
Except at the armpits and crotch, the young lieutenant had little body hair,
which, Ram thought, would please the Rajah, who preferred a smooth skin, and,
like most Asians, had little body hair himself.
All of
this, of course, the Indian had seen already, to one degree or another, in his
capacity as body servant, but the young officer’s remaining attributes,
revealed to him now for the first time, more than satisfied both Ram Singh’s
hopes and the Rajah’s requirements. Jeremy’s mates in the Sandhurst dormitory had
dubbed him R.A. for “Royal Artillery”, and not because he had any special knack
for gunnery.
“You are
very beautiful, Sahib,” Ram crooned. “You will take care from now on that you
remain so. Now, make yourself hard.”
The boy
began to stroke himself, and slowly his handsome organ rose heavily before him
until it stood out stiff and straight at its full nine inches. His skin shone
with a light sheen of sweat.
“Very
good, Sahib,” Ram said somewhat hoarsely, as he began to fondle his own
not-inconsiderable endowment. “Continue to play with your tool, and now use one
of your hands to explore your buttocks. You must learn to enjoy this as well.
You will keep on until you spend.”
The young
Englishman did not immediately commence this new activity, until Ram Singh
repeated the instruction, adding softly, “You cannot resist me, Sahib. Do not
try.” Then his left hand, as if with a mind of its own, reached into the cleft
of his arse, and he began, first with two fingers and then with three, to frig
his virgin rosebud. At the same time he massaged his penis with increasing
abandon. His splendid body began to writhe with pleasure, his expression an
intriguing mixture of passion and blank innocence.
Ram Singh
also increased the pace of his stroke as he watched the boy helplessly
masturbate and finger himself. As the Indian reached his climax he cried out,
“Let loose your seed now, boy!”
Jeremy’s
body stiffened on cue, and spurt after spurt of creamy sperm shot from his
engorged prick onto the table in front of him. He continued to milk himself
until it was obvious that he had drained the uttermost drop. Then his hands
fell limply to his sides as he waited for further orders.
“You will
do very well, Sahib. Now scoop up your spend and lick it from your fingers.”
Jeremy obeyed, and when he was finished, his sensuous lips glistened. Ram
cleaned himself with a small piece of cloth.
After
dressing himself on Ram’s suggestion, Jeremy was once again seated in the
chair, staring blankly straight ahead. The hypnotist continued the enchantment
of his subject.
“In a
moment I will return you to yourself,” he informed the entranced boy, adding
with a smirk, “At least temporarily. Before that, however, I have a few
instructions, which you will hear and you will obey. First, you
will forget all about everything that has happened since I showed you my magic
lights. You will even forget these instructions though you obey them. You will
have no knowledge of having been under my spell at all. Instead of the play of
lights, you will remember that I showed you… let me see… ah, yes. I showed you
a lovely flower that grew from the seed, budded, blossomed and faded again, all
in the space of a few moments. You will notice that the seed is still on the
table when I allow you to awaken. Second, as a symbol of my continuing control
over you, you will find, when you come to dress yourself tomorrow morning, that
you will no longer know how to button your trousers, but will have to ask me to
do it for you. This will seem quite reasonable to you. Finally, and most
importantly, whenever you hear me say, ‘Obey, Sahib’, you will once again be as
you now are, completely in my power, without thought or will of your own. Now,
awaken.” And Ram Singh clapped his hands.
Jeremy
started slightly, and animation returned to his face. “That was amazing, Ram
Singh! Please show me how it is done,” the young man exclaimed, and reached
over to the table to pick up and examine the non-existent seed his manservant
had told him he would see there.
“Oh, it is
as I told you, Sahib; just more bazaar magic. All it requires is a pair of
skillful hands. Now perhaps the Sahib wishes to retire?”
The young
lieutenant had strangely erotic dreams that night, none of which he remembered
in the morning. They were not about the charming Lucinda however, but instead
featured glittering lights, a soft voice, gently caressing fingers, and
stiffness thrusting into him. And the following morning, he did indeed have to
ask his Indian servant to do up his trousers for him, although, oddly, he did
not find this remarkable.
Ram Singh
increased the dosage of the herbal drugs in the boy’s food, relying on the hot
spices to disguise any telltale flavor. That evening he once again set about
the domination of his young master, hypnotizing him and re-hypnotizing him,
again and again, piling trance upon trance, until he was satisfied that his
hold on the boy’s mind was unbreakable.
The ship
reached land the following afternoon, and Ram Singh shepherded Jeremy into the
train that would take them to Cawnpore and the garrison. They were booked into
a private car (there was to be no common troop-train for the son of a baron),
and so all through the long ride, the Indian was able to continue his
conditioning of the helpless young man uninterrupted. Upon their arrival at the
station they climbed into a waiting carriage. Jeremy was too unfamiliar with
the characteristics of Indian culture to recognize the difference between a
carriage-for-hire and this conveyance sent specifically for them by the Rajah
in accordance with Ram’s secret communication. He did ask about his steamer
trunks, but the wily servant reassured him that the staff employed by the
garrison would be taking charge of all the luggage and delivering it to his
quarters. It was not until they reached the palace that Jeremy had any inkling
that circumstances were otherwise than he supposed.
“This is
the palace of His Highness, the Rajah of Cawnpore,” said Ram Singh.
Jeremy
looked out the carriage window. “It’s a very handsome building, certainly, but
I am expected at the fort. Why are we here?”
“Because,
Sahib, this is where we are going. Now, obey, Sahib!”
The young
lieutenant stiffened instantly into immobility as the pre-arranged trigger
phrase fell upon his ears. Ram Singh smiled with satisfaction. “Get out of the
carriage and follow,” he commanded. With the slow, even pace and blank
indifference of a sleepwalker, the handsome puppet who had been Jeremy Betton
trailed after his master, up the steps and into the palace.
Two hours later, the Rajah of Cawnpore
entered a private chamber where Ram and the hypnotized officer were waiting.
The Rajah was also extraordinarily good-looking. A face almost too beautiful for
a man was saved from effeminacy by a strong jaw and a pair of commanding, dark
eyes, as fierce and predatory as a falcon’s. Careful pampering from birth with
exotic oils and essences had given his mahogany skin and raven hair the bloom
and luster of perfect health. And a delight in horsemanship and the pleasures
of the chase for most of his twenty-six years had resulted in a physique as
lean and hard as any of his thoroughbred stallions. (It was also rumored, and
with some justice, that in one other attribute the Rajah was supplied to a
degree reminiscent of his horses.) He was a man to draw all eyes, and he wore
the awareness of his power like a mantle. Ram Singh stood aside as the Rajah
looked aver his new acquisition. Young Jeremy, now freshly bathed and shaven,
and dressed in his most flattering uniform, stood stiffly at attention,
oblivious of the scrutiny.
“I have
taken his mind, as I told you, Your Highness, and now I will yield it to you,”
said Ram. He turned to the boy. “Sahib, this is His Highness, the Rajah of
Cawnpore. Look at him.” The young officer’s eyes snapped to focus on the
prince. “He is your new master. As soon as you hear his voice, you will obey
him as instantly, totally, and irresistibly as you now obey me. You will exist
only for his pleasure and his will. You now have no memory of your name or of
who you were, and will have no identity but that which he chooses for you. You
will be unable to stir hand or foot from this room without his order. Now,
greet your new master properly. Obey, Sahib.” As he had been programmed to do,
Jeremy knelt and bowed his forehead to the prince’s feet.
“Stand up,
boy, “ said the prince, and the young lieutenant instantly got to his feet, his
will now captured by the new voice. “Ram Singh, you may leave us now,” said the
Rajah. “And take with you this small token of my thanks. I am very pleased.”
Ram looked into the tiny brocaded bag that was handed to him. In it were two
large, perfectly matched pearls of an unusual and exquisite iridescent gray color,
truly a magnificent reward. He salaamed low and backed from the room.
When they
were alone, the Rajah turned back to his prize thinking, “I cannot simply
continue to call him ‘boy’. He must have a name.” Aloud he asked, “Do you
remember your name, boy?”
Jeremy
slowly shook his head.
“Very
good,” the Rajah said. “You were told to forget it. But I want you to remember
your name once more, although as yet you will remember nothing else that you
were instructed not to. Now, tell me your name.”
“Jeremy… I
was… I am called Jeremy Betton,” the young lieutenant answered. He spoke
distantly, with the air of trying to recall some impossibly remote event.
“Well,
Jeremy, I am going to have a very fine time with you. I believe you have in
your benighted country a rather charming fairy-tale about a sleeping princess
who is awakened by the kiss of a prince. We shall play this game together, you
and I. In a moment I will give you my kiss. When I do so, you will awaken, but
only to this extent: you will be able to speak and move in a normal manner, and
you will find that you remember who you are and what has been done to
you. However, you will still be powerless to resist anything I command you to
do or to allow to be done to you, or, for that matter, anything I wish you to
think or feel. Of course, you will not be able to attempt or even to
contemplate any harm to me, nor will you be able to leave. Oh yes, and that
useful little phrase that our mutual friend Ram Singh has invested with such
power over you will still be in effect. If I say ‘obey, Sahib’, you will
instantly be returned to your current state of mindless servitude. Do you
understand all of this, Jeremy?”
The boy
nodded.
“Good.
Then come here to me,” the prince commanded. The young man walked over to stand
before him. The Rajah took him in his arms, pressing their bodies close. He
looked for a moment into the beautiful, dazed face, and then covered the soft,
unresisting lips with his own.
An
electric shock could scarcely have produced a more profound effect upon Jeremy.
Suddenly memory lit up in his head, including, for the first time, the memory
of Ram Singh’s treachery; the colored lights, the soothing voice, the
outrageous masturbation! And he was being kissed by another man! Being kissed,
but strangely unable to keep from returning that kiss. He even had,
embarrassingly, the beginnings of an erection, yet he could not pull away. His
body did not seem to know how.
As the
Rajah deliberately lingered over the sensual kiss, he felt the reactions run
through the young man; first, the body relaxing from its previous entranced
rigidity, then, almost immediately stiffening anew in shock. He could feel the
heat on his lips from the blushes rising to the boy’s face, and he could also
feel the slight hardening in the lieutenant’s crotch.
When the
prince broke off the kiss, Jeremy sprang back from him spluttering. “Dear God,
what have you done to me?! This is monstrous!”
“Merely
given you the chance to experience foreign oppression at first hand, Sahib,”
the Rajah said dryly, giving the ironic title none of Ram Singh’s practiced
servility. He watched with amusement as the young Englishman stormed over to
the door of the chamber. But as the boy reached it, his body froze in place. He
was unable to lift either foot to take one more step, or to raise his hands to
the latch. He turned back bewildered.
“Remember,
Jeremy, you cannot leave,” the prince chuckled. “Besides, your body is already
telling me that you could enjoy this more than you are willing to admit to
yourself.”
“Enjoy it!!”
Jeremy shouted. “How could any normal man enjoy this?!” But even to himself,
his outrage did not sound entirely sincere.
“You grow
tiresome, lieutenant. Now be silent, and undress,” the prince commanded.
Jeremy opened his mouth to protest further,
and discovered, to his horror, that he was incapable of uttering a sound. At
the same time, his hands seemed to take on a life of their own, and began
quickly to unbutton his uniform tunic.
“No, no,”
remonstrated the Rajah. “Slow down. Make your disrobing a thing of beauty. And
while you are about it, since your body apparently knows what it wants better
than you do, allow it free reign to please itself.” He kneaded his crotch and
smiled lasciviously.
Jeremy’s
hands immediately slowed their assault on his clothing. Now, in between undoing
tunic buttons, they began to caress his body through the cloth. The boy stroked
his chest and stomach, his shoulders, fondled his throat. He inserted one
finger into his mouth to tease the tip of his tongue, and then sensuously
rubbed the moistened fingertip over his lips and nostrils.
Ram Singh
had deliberately omitted all under-clothing when he had dressed the helplessly
enthralled young man after his bath, and so, when Jeremy unfastened the last
button, his tunic fell open to reveal his bare chest. He began to play with his
nipples until they contracted into hard little peaks. Then he shrugged off the
tunic. The Rajah gave a low whistle of approval for the boy’s naked torso, and
began to rub himself harder.
Jeremy
began to run his hands over his arse and crotch, stroking himself through his
trousers. His erection was now unmistakable behind the thin material, and his
fly was stained with a damp circle of his fluid. He kicked off his boots and
quickly pulled off his trousers, to continue his explorations on bare skin. One
hand fondled his ball sac, while the other delved into the cleft between his
buttocks. His prick twitched and stiffened.
“Much
better, my young friend,” said the Rajah. “I am enjoying this a great deal, and
it is apparent that you are as well.” Noting that the young lieutenant’s hand
was still busily fingering his rosebud, he added, “I am pleased to see that you
are not insensible to the pleasures of the rear entryway. I shall want to make
some use of that. Now come here and help me to undress.”
Although
his trance-augmented arousal was making it less and less possible for the young
Englishman to function at any non-sexual level, still he made one last effort
to resist. It was useless. Even as he tried to turn away, his traitorous legs
began to take him over to the prince, where, helplessly, he began to remove the
man’s clothing.
The Rajah
was wearing only a loose dressing gown, so in very little time he too was
naked. In spite of himself, Jeremy found his eyes drawn to the powerful body
and the formidable cock.
“I think
we shall try something different now,” said the prince. “Obey, Sahib.” Jeremy was
immediately once more a rigidly attentive automaton.
The Rajah,
after making certain that the young man was again wide open to suggestion,
continued, “I have shown you that your body understands its needs better than
your mind. Cease your futile attempts to deny what has become your true nature,
and let your passion rule you. When I touch you, you will return to that same
degree of awareness I permitted you a few moments ago, but you will be overcome
by irresistible lust. Although you will not realize that it has anything to do
with my commands, you will desire me as I desire you!” He then reached
down and caressed the boy’s rigid member.
Jeremy
blinked in surprise, standing frozen for a moment, as though trying to
comprehend his sudden change of mind. Then, like any randy nineteen-year-old
whose self-control has been vanquished by his glands, the boy stopped thinking
altogether. The next instant he was upon the Rajah with his hands and mouth. So
enthusiastic was his onslaught that the Indian lost his balance, and the two of
them fell onto the divan behind them in a passionate tangle of arms and legs.
The young lieutenant licked the man’s earlobes and throat, nuzzled his armpits,
sucked and chewed on his nipples until the Rajah groaned with delight. He ran
his fingers through the prince’s thick hair, and kissed him fiercely, his
tongue probing and then retreating as the Indian’s tongue in turn pushed its
way into his mouth. As he melted into the deep kiss, the boy felt himself
opening up totally. The spell was complete. He had yielded his mind and body,
will and desire, and was now truly the Rajah’s toy, to serve and be used at his
pleasure.
The
prince, sensing this ultimate capitulation, whispered, “I want to enter you,
Jeremy. Make us both ready.”
The boy
caressed the man’s thighs and fondled his balls. He lowered his head to the
prince’s crotch, where his warm breath played tantalizingly over the throbbing
erection. Then he began to lick it and suck it, more and more, deeper and
faster, wetter and wetter, until the magnificent tool was covered with a
coating of spit and lubricious fluids, and was a stiff as a rod of iron. Then
he turned over onto his stomach, submissively presenting his arse, which he
began to work with his still moist fingers.
The Rajah
gently moved Jeremy’s hand aside, and began to nuzzle and lick the youth’s
inviting cleft. He was inflamed by the firm resilience of the tight muscular
buttocks, and the musky, erotic scent of the clean, pink hole. Rendered almost
as unthinking in his lust as the young officer was by entrancement, the prince
could restrain himself no longer. He positioned his slick pole at the
spit-lubricated opening and drove it home.
Jeremy
whimpered a little, but his erection grew even harder, leaking almost
continuously, and as the Rajah built up a rhythm to his thrusts, the hypnotized
boy began helplessly to thrust against the smooth fabric of the divan in time
with him. Soon, both men were panting and heaving in the throes of orgasm. The
Indian shot a massive load into Jeremy’s arse, and the cloth beneath the boy
was covered with damp splotches from his own powerful emission.
The Rajah
held the boy in his arms and waited as the last waves of pleasure subsided, his
eyes refocused, and his breathing returned to normal. His spent prick softened
and slipped from the young officer’s arse. Almost tenderly he murmured, “Obey,
Sahib.” Jeremy stared into his eyes with rapt concentration.
“In the
chamber next to this one, Ram Singh will be waiting for you,” the Rajah said.
“When I give you permission to leave me, he will clean you and return you to
your garrison. You will remain in a deep trance until he restores your
awareness. I give you the choice to remember this experience or not, as you
wish. It will, in any case, make no difference, as you will find yourself
completely incapable of revealing anything about it to anyone. Nor will you be
able to take action against me in any way because of it. For, as long as I wish
it to be so, you are mine. However much you may appear to control your own
life, I will still own your body and your mind. From time to time (and since
you please me well, it is likely to be soon and often), I will send a message
to you through Ram Singh or another of my servants. The message will read
simply ‘Obey, Sahib’, and it will compel you just as if I had spoken the words
to you aloud. You will be seized by an irresistible compulsion to come to me as
soon as humanly possible (although without arousing suspicion – I have no wish
to war openly with your British Raj), and once here, you will again be my
devoted love-slave.” He ran his hands appreciatively over the hard young body
one more time and then said, “You may go.” Jeremy walked slowly out through
that same door that had earlier defeated him, and went to find Ram Singh.
Those who, a hundred years later, would be students of that magic Ram
Singh had used, and call it hypnotism, would maintain young Lt. Betton’s
experience to be impossible. No one, they would claim, could be so thoroughly
controlled against his will. And perhaps they would be correct. Yet, although
Jeremy’s stiff British code of moral behavior never did allow him to recall
what he did on any of the many, many occasions when the Rajah summoned him,
still, whenever that summons arrived, the charmed words never failed to send
him off to his master as obedient as a well-trained puppy. So, if Ram Singh’s
herbs and hypnotic spells were not enough to account for it, then the boy’s
susceptibility may have been due to the fact that he had finally found, in the
rough embrace of the Rajah of Cawnpore, that intensity that had eluded him in
the arms of Lucinda Chataway.