The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Francis had been visiting Ely Place much of late, as he placed great importance on winning the hand of the young widow Lady Needycunt Hatton (her patriotic parents had named her for their beloved Queen). Her husband Christopher had died the previous year, and left her, at the age of 20, a great deal of wealth and property, and Francis’ appointment as the Queen’s Counsel Designate had not resulted in the financial windfall he might have hoped. That accursed Sir Edward Coke had managed to have himself appointed Attorney General in Francis’ stead. He had come into a small estate at Twickenham, but he had immediately been forced to sell this simply to keep up his debts. If he was unable to convince the Lady Hatton to marry him, he might be arrested and sent to debtor’s prison, regardless of his position.

He also had to it that, though his visits to Lady Hatton’s home took away from his duties at Court, as well as his scientific endeavors, they hardly constituted a chore. She was red of hair, and white of skin, and enjoyed a deserved reputation for carrying out her duties to the Master with great enthusiasm. This latter quality might in fact have contributed to her elder former husband’s untimely demise, according to rumor. It was a risk that Francis was willing to take.

Thus when he was ushered into Lady Hatton’s most well-appointed Drawing Room by one her manservants and found her being railed from behind by another gentleman, Francis was not particularly surprised. It was not unusual for Lady Hatton to entertain multiple gentleman callers at once these days, given her status as London’s most eligible bachelorette in quite some time. He was, however, surprised that he did not recognize the stranger, and by the man’s familiar manner despite their lack of acquaintance.

“Oh, hey,” the man said casually, as Lady Hatton’s incredible bouncing ass cheeks gyrated on his cock. “Francis Bacon, isn’t it? Just the man I was looking for.”

“You have me at a disadvantage, sir,” Francis replied as he removed his hat and gloves. To his distaste, he had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over her Ladyship’s wanton moans. “Who are you and what business do you have with the Lady Needycunt?”

“Please Master, may I come?” Lady Hatton screamed out. “Please may I come?”

“Shut up, Cunt,” the stranger growled. “The men are talking. One sec.” He raised a finger toward Francis, then growled as he shot his load into her pussy. Lady Hatton cried out in frustration, then pulled her needy snatch off of him. She knelt on her marble floor, breathing hard, her cheeks red. “Well,” the man asked her, “aren’t you gonna clean it off?”

Lady Hatton brushed her hair out of her face hurriedly, muttered, “Sorry, Master,” and rushed to wrap her lips around his dick.

“And make sure to keep yourself on the edge, too,” the man said, before turning back toward Francis. “Sorry about that. They call me Dr. Tempus. And I actually have something of a proposal for you, Frank. May I call you Frank?”

“If you must,” Francis replied, as he sat in one of Lady Hatton’s fine chairs, “though why you would, I know not.”

“That’s good, bitch,” the doctor said to Lady Hatton, and her lips popped off of his cock. “Now, go clean yourself up real quick in case Frank here wants to use you. Maybe if you’re good, he’ll let you come.” She stood up, and he sent her on her way with a healthy smack on the ass. “I actually didn’t come here for her, I came here to talk to you. Though I think Her Cuntship might be helpful to us in any case.” He dressed himself and took a seat across from Francis.

“You are not here to court the Lady Hatton?” Francis asked in confusion.

“Nah, I’m good,” Dr. Tempus waved him off. “And I hate to break it to you, Frank, but she’s not gonna marry you, either.”

“I have the favor of the Queen,” Francis pointed out. This was not entirely true, but the Lady need not know this just yet. “When Lady Hatton makes her decision, that is not…”

“No, I mean, she’s going to marry Sir Edward Coke.”

“Coke! To the devil with that bastard!” Francis blurted out before he could stop himself. “My apologies, but Sir Edward and myself are…not on the best of .

“Unless,” Dr. Tempus pressed on, “I tell her to marry you.”

Francis raised an eyebrow and crossed his legs. “What causes you to believe the Lady will take your council in this matter?” he asked. “What relation are you to her?”

“I can be extremely persuasive. But don’t worry about that. You’re a man of science, right Frank? You like to figure stuff out through deduction?”

“You have heard of my Scientific Method?” Francis asked. “I it my surprise. I have not yet completed my publication of my views on the matter of learning. Though I am flattered by your interest.”

“Look, “ the doctor said, leaning forward, “what do you think the point of scientific learning is?”

Francis considered this a moment. “I suppose it is to better understand the Master’s creation, and why He has made things the way they are. For blind obedience can never carry the weight of understanding.”

“I agree,” said Dr. Tempus. “I really think we’ve got a lot in common, Frank. And what about women? The Master says they are to serve all men in all things. Why do you think that is?”

“The Master tells us that the Natural Order is that women are made for service to men. But service may take many forms, may it not? And our sovereign is a Queen, placed on the throne by the divine will of the Master.”

“Look, I get all that, but… Oh hey, bitch, get over here.” Francis looked over his shoulder to see that Lady Hatton had re-entered the room, freshly sponged off, likely by her ladies-in-waiting. She walked over and draped herself over Francis’ lap.

“Hello, Master,” she said. “It’s good to see you.” Her prodigious breasts filled his vision. “Do you wish me to please you?”

At a small nod from Francis, she slid off his lap and onto the seat next to him. Then she reached out and unclasped his tros, releasing his erection.

The doctor raised an eyebrow at the sight. “Well, I suppose that answers one of my questions,” he said. “In my research there were many who thought you might…bat from the other side of the plate.”

“Who so accuses me?” Francis replied, his wariness somewhat mitigated by Lady Hatton leaning over and taking his cock in her mouth. “Simply because the Earl of Essex and I are close friends does not mean I have engaged in buggery against the will of the Master.”

Dr. Tempus raised an eyebrow and said, “It’s cool if you’re bi, man, I’m not judging. And I’d point out that the Master never said anything like that. Maybe I should try and fix that at some point. Anyway, look, I don’t care about that. What I do want to do is propose… an experiment. You like those, right?”

“What do you propose?” Francis asked. The sensation of Lady Hatton’s wet mouth on his manhood was difficult to ignore, but the strangeness of this man was cutting through the haze.

“You say that, while the Master requires women to serve men, they aren’t inherently inferior. I say that women are sluts whose only worth is as a cumrag. I think the idea of a woman owning a bunch of shit, or being Queen, is completely against the natural order. I spoke earlier with Lady Needycunt here, and she graciously agreed to assist with our pursuit of knowledge.”

The Lady pulled her mouth from Francis’ cock and grinned. “It sounded really fucking hot,” she said, before going back to work.

“I would caution you against such talk regarding the Queen, as it edges…keep at it, Your Ladyship, your tongue is most…pleasing…edges close to treason,” Francis counseled the stranger. “Unless, that is, you wish for your head to adorn London Bridge on the end of a pike.”

“I’m not Her Majesty’s subject,” the doctor shrugged. “And anyway, you’re not gonna tell on me, are ya? Here’s my idea: for a week, you’ll have the chance to…entertain the bitch,” The Professor said. “To treat her like you’d treat a lady of her station that you’re trying to get to marry you and give you all her money. I’ll then have a week where I treat her like the worthless set of holes that she is. At the end, she has agreed to describe for us in detail her feelings during the whole thing, and whether she finds more happiness being treated with respect, or treated like shit.”

“Hardly a…ahh…a conclusive test. No matter how unbiased and truthful Her Ladyship may be on the matter, she cannot speak for all of the fairer sex.”

“Well, you’re welcome to repeat the experiment,” Dr. Tempus replied, “but to make things more interesting, I propose a wager on the outcome. If you win, I tell the cunt to marry you. If I win, she marries whoever she wants, which I’m hearing is Sir Edward. Right, bitch?”

Lady Hatton pulled away again, though her hand kept stroking him. “Yes, I near my decision. I’m sorry, Master.” She looked genuinely apologetic.

Francis stared at the Lady. She seemed in earnest, as did this stranger.

“Fine, I accept your wager.”

“Great!” Dr. Tempus said, leaning back casually in his chair and resting his head in his hands.

Ah, well, Francis thought, as Lady Hatton took his cock all the way down her throat. At the worst, he would have the opportunity for a week with the Lady Hatton all to himself, which was better than any of her other suitors had done. Perhaps he could persuade her to his side. And if not, well, he was always interested in the pursuit of knowledge.

Over the next week, Francis Bacon spent as much time with Lady Needycunt Hatton as his duties as Her Majesty’s Counsel would allow. Much of their time was spent at Ely Place, where Lady Hatton was kind enough to demonstrate her skills at both the harpsichord and fellatio, as expected of a lady of her station. When she rode him, they chatted idly of current developments in art and poetry, but Francis had to it that they seemed to have little in common. Despite her agreement to participate in the experiment, Lady Hatton evinced little interest in his scientific pursuits. Still, she demonstrated great aplomb at those skills the Master required of a woman, including a level of enthusiasm that Francis had sometimes found sorely lacking among the women of Her Majesty’s Court during his time there. As is common when a man seeks a woman’s favor, he granted all her requests to orgasm.

On the final evening of Francis’ week with the Lady, he took her to the Curtain Theatre in Shoreditch for the latest play by Master Shakespeare, an outing for which Dr. Tempus accompanied them, though his new friend agreed to leave Needycunt’s attention fully to Francis. He would have preferred an offering by Jonson or a revival of one of the works of the late Marlowe, but the doctor had insisted on this particular play, the first part of a history concerning King Henry IV. Why, Francis knew not, but the entertainment was perfectly serviceable, and the company of Lady Hatton in their box during the performance was more than satisfactory.

Dr. Tempus appeared surprised at the presence of women on stage at the Curtain, which Francis supposed was fair enough, given the man’s views generally on the fairer sex. However, Francis could not see how any male actor would be able to convincingly portray a woman upon the stage, given their inherent lack of clothes, and in fact it would have been highly frowned upon by the local constables for a man to publicly perform many of the feats requested by the playwright of his feminine performers. The latter issue became of particular moment during the production’s depiction of Prince Hal’s rebellious youth with his friend Falstaff, the pair trading humourous barbs as they entered the same female performer at either end. Falstaff’s quip about the lady’s resemblance to a roasted hog upon a spit brought the most uproarious laughter of the evening.

Dr. Tempus also asked Francis a series of strange questions regarding the origins of the play performed before them, of which Francis obviously had no knowledge. He eventually itted to Francis that he was attempting to test a theory, allegedly believed by some, that Francis himself was in fact the author of some or all of the works of this Shakespeare. Again, Francis asked the man to name his sources for such a bizarre and incredulous claim, but his new friend hedged without answering.

At the end of the night’s festivities, Francis returned Lady Hatton to Ely Place in his carriage. He walked her to her doorstep, where she knelt before him and kissed the tip of cock, then thanked him politely for his hospitality before repairing within. She was the picture of ladylike refinement, as always. Overall, he counted the week a success, and he reminded himself that if it were not, he would be no worse off than before. After all, surely no English Lady would prefer the sort of treatment Francis had observed Dr. Tempus giving to Needycunt on the evening of their initial acquaintance. He had confidence in the scientific process.

He didn’t see Lady Hatton or The Professor for a few days after that. Nor did she see any of her other gentlemen callers, according to the usual rumor mill. Francis, however, kept himself busy during this time. He was even called to an audience with Her Majesty, an invitation that he found surprising given the currently chilly state of his relationship with the Crown. However, the meeting turned out to be almost entirely business-like and unremarkable, though it took two full days as he had to first make the ride out to Richmond, then wait for his audience, then make the ride back to London the following day.

Despite the arguments of Francis’ new friend against the idea of a female ruler, some part of Francis never failed to be moved to patriotism by actually being in the Royal Presence. Queen Needycunt was now sixty-five years of age, and had, since her accession to the throne, been exempted by long tradition and an official declaration of the Galder from her duties to men under the laws of the Master. In essence, the Queen was a sort of an honorary man under the law. But even at her now-advanced age, Needycunt still endeavoured to follow as many of the Master’s commandments as she could without neglecting her duties.

Though her stomach and thighs now showed the stretching and wrinkles of age, her Royal Breasts remained surprisingly full and firm, her Royal Pussy somehow inviting. In short, Queen Needycunt took pride in remaining fuckable. Many an ode had been written by the poets of this age of the Queen’s tits, and Francis never failed to notice that the actual articles were somehow not oversold by such praise.

Her Majesty wore a small drape against the cold, a concession to her advanced age, but otherwise only her jewels as she questioned Francis about goings on at the Old Bailey. She evinced particular interest in recent treason charges against various of the Goodcuntian sect. In Francis’ opinion, the Queen of late observed conspiracies where none existed. But that was her business and not his.

On the fourth night of the week, he received a message from a glassy-eyed footman whilst engaged in his legal business at the Old Bailey, which simply read “What’s up, Frank, see you at the bitch’s house tonight.” Though it was unsigned, Francis could immediately surmise the message’s source, and its meaning, despite its obscure language.

That evening, he again arrived at Ely Place, where somewhat to Francis’ surprise he found himself conducted directly to Lady Hatton’s bedroom. There he found Dr. Tempus and Needycunt engaged in vigorous coitus, wherein the doctor drove his manhood into her quim much like a miner wielding a hammer. Presently, he spent himself within her pussy, causing his seed to spill forth prodigiously. He then ordered Lady Hatton to continue to pleasure herself up to the brink of orgasm. She nodded eagerly and remained on the bed, rubbing her clit with much alacrity, whilst her partner dressed himself and greeted Francis more formally.

First the pair engaged in some initial pleasantries, followed by the latest version of the doctor’s relentless complaints about the smells of London. He seemed convinced that the common practice of dumping one’s chamber pots into the street and allowing the effluvia to flow into the Thames was somehow in error, as if there were some alternative. Certainly, Francis could not help but agree regarding the smell… he tried to travel to the countryside for an extended period at least once each year, not least to escape the miasma of the city, but such is the inevitable price of civilization. This discussion was followed by an inquiry into Francis’ experiments, in which Dr. Tempus expressed great interest.

Their conversation was interrupted by a desperate plea from Lady Hatton, still on the bed, to allow her to orgasm. For this apparent transgression, Dr. Tempus rose and slapped Needycunt across the face, grabbed her cheeks to force her to open her mouth, and then spit within. He then dragged her from the bed by her hair, during which indignity Lady Hatton began giggling uncontrollably, as would a madwoman. The doctor insisted that he had told Needycunt she would not be allowed to come during their week together, and therefore she deserved all punishments which he could mete out.

Certainly, Francis would have agreed the doctor was well within his rights to react so. After all, the 42nd Commandment clearly stated that the purpose of a woman’s orgasm was solely the pleasure of a man. But he would have hesitated to himself treat Lady Hatton in such a way, particularly given his current desires to press his suit with her. Yet, as he watched Needycunt debase herself before her Master, her words and actions did not strike him as forced or false. When she mewled such aphorisms as, “I’m sorry, Master, I am nothing but a worthless cunt, please punish me,” the feeling behind her exhortations appeared genuine, as far as Francis could tell.

Dr. Tempus then encouraged Francis to conduct a thorough inquiry of Lady Hatton as to her experiences thus far, in the interests of the advancement of knowledge. Lady Hatton described the past few days as a haze of lust in which she had not been allowed to orgasm and found herself unable to conduct the most basic of affairs. She repeated to Francis the 16th Commandment, that when a man abused a woman, he did so in order to help her serve the Master.

Francis then onished her for simply repeating scripture, rather than giving an unbiased report of the facts of the matter. By this point she had returned to her masturbation, however, and was positively unable to provide further reporting. The doctor suggested that they wait until such time as the experiment had been completed and Her Ladyship (or as he referred to her, “the fucking cunt”) had some time to recover, as the results were, as of yet, incomplete.

Dr. Tempus’ proposal was agreed to, and Francis repaired to his residence, feeling confident that once Lady Hatton had recovered from her horny stupor, she would see that it was far better to be treated as a Lady than to be treated as an object. For the most part, at least.

On the final evening of Dr. Tempus’ week with Lady Needycunt Hatton, Francis Bacon agreed to meet with both in a tavern in Southwark, the Queen’s Tits. It wasn’t the most savoury of areas, and not known as particularly safe after dark for those with a heavy purse. But the concentration of vices is not only the downfall of such areas, but the allure, and Francis still had enough coin for a few guards.

The air in the Queen’s Tits smelled of stale beer and fucking, as most taverns do, and Francis immediately spotted several women in various stages of fulfilling their duties to the Master. Fat-titted barmaids ed between the tables, occasionally pausing to flirt with one or more gap-toothed male patrons.

At first he did not see Lady Hatton, but then he realized that she was at the center of a group of men near the center of the main room of the tavern. Dr. Tempus sat nearby, not partaking at the moment, but wearing a sly smile and slowly drinking an ale. Francis walked over and greeted the doctor, then asked how his week with the Lady progressed. The man just gestured to the nearby group and told Francis to see for himself.

He found Lady Hatton with a cock in each hand and another in her mouth. Her face and tits were already dripping with what looked like cum from several men. Her eyes had half rolled up into her head. When she pulled her mouth off the stranger’s dick, her expression was almost blank. Francis greeted her formally. The Lady just made a wanton, wordless groan.

“Aye, she’s cock drunk,” commented the heavily pregnant bar matron behind him. “Seen it before. She only ’ad ’alf an ale, but I doubt she even re ’er name right now.”

In response, Lady Hatton just moaned again around the dick stuffed in her mouth, as one of the cheering crowd of men around her grunted and splashed yet another load of cum into her red hair.

Francis sat down at Dr. Tempus’ table, and the two idly chatted about the latter’s strange theories while Her Ladyship took one cock after another, until Francis lost count of their number. He had hoped that night to interview her regarding her experiences, but it was clear that, even if she had been able to speak coherently, she was far too busy for such matters. Perhaps it was just as well, it would give Francis another excuse to call on her the following evening.

Despite Lady Hatton’s performance being hard to ignore, Francis did find himself almost distracted by the conversation. Dr. Tempus soon found himself back on the topic of the smells of London. He insisted that men should bathe as much as once per day. Obviously this was ludicrous, and clearly unhealthy, as Francis told him. Women, of course, had to clean themselves regularly in accordance with the 19th Commandment, but for men once a month was probably pushing it. Still the doctor urged Francis to conduct his own experiments regarding the issue. “Much better research for your health than the effect of cold on food preservation,” he said. Francis thought this strange, as he had no plans for such research, either, but he said nothing.

As the evening wound down, Dr. Tempus told Lady Hatton, who had been continuing to masturbate fruitlessly between encounters with male strangers, “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. You can come, if you want to.”

The speed with which her furtive hand moved increased and, a few moments later, Lady Needycunt let out a scream. It sounded like it came up from deep inside her, like it had forced its way up her throat. The entire tavern turned to look.

“Lucky cunt,” sighed the bar matron.

When Francis called at Ely Place the next night, Lady Hatton was put together far more like herself. She had bathed and kept her hands demurely in her lap long enough to calmly give her and answer the questions of him and Dr. Tempus.

“In my life, I spend so much time worrying, about the estate, my prospects, the servants, it is exhausting,” she said. “They weigh on me. Spending time with Mr. Bacon was pleasant enough, but it did not lessen any of these worries. I fulfill my duties to the Master as best I can, I enjoy them greatly, but they are only temporary distractions.”

This was about the point that Francis figured out that he wasn’t going to win his little bet with Dr. Tempus. Getting Lady Hatton to marry him had always been a long shot, and now he would have to figure out another way to pay off his debts and stay out of prison. He started to mentally go through his acquaintances and figure out which he could reasonably ask for a loan.

“When I am reduced to an object, none of those concerns matter. There is only me and the cocks, the pleasure…doing what I’m told is so much more fulfilling than trying to figure things out for myself. I…during the past week with Dr. Tempus I had, not a realization, because it’s not something I thought in words. It was more something that happened to me. And I realized, that was what I was to be. A sex object. Sucking dick and getting fucked. That’s why the Master put me on this green Earth. It was one thing to know it because I learned it growing up, but to really know it, to really understand it, is something else entirely.”

The doctor turned to Francis and said, “See, it’s just a scientific fact. The Master says that women are better off being treated as nothing more than sex objects because they’re really better off that way.”

“As a gentleman, I will it that you are the victor in our wager, but what you’ve just heard expressed is only Her Ladyship’s opinion, hardly proof of any universal fact.”

“Spoken like a true scientist,” Dr. Tempus said, “but I would encourage you to repeat the experiment as many times as would satisfy you… if you know what I mean. But given the result, Lady Hatton may now marry whoever she wants, so the question becomes, who does she want to marry?”

Lady Hatton turned her head toward him. “I… I don’t know. I know my calling now, so it will need to be someone who… treats me as I deserve to be treated.”

“We’ll, I’ll tell you what, you’re not gonna get that from Sir Edward Coke,” Dr. Tempus pointed out casually.

Her Ladyship considered this. “That is true. I have never heard of Sir Edward Coke getting particularly rough with any woman who he courted.”

“If I may, Your Ladyship,” Francis put in, “I would be happy to abuse you whenever you wished.”

Lady Hatton considered this. As she did, she slowly began to run a hand over one of her tits, seemingly slightly turned on at the thought. Or more than slightly.

Then she said, “Respectfully, Master, that’s not what I need. I need you to abuse me whenever you wish.”

Francis felt this to be an entirely reasonable request.

Francis never saw Dr. Tempus again after that evening, a fact which he often wondered about. Shortly thereafter, Francis and Lady Hatton’s engagement was publicly announced. They were married at Westminster Galder, with Francis adding the flourish of choking the Lady to the traditional fucking on the dais. It brought Francis considerable enjoyment to triumphantly look his rival Sir Edward in the eye as he came in the Lady’s pussy, thus making their marriage official and giving him control of all her holdings and estates.

It was immediately clear that the Master had brought him and the new Lady Bacon together through divine providence. While he held her in some esteem, he had only begun his courtship as a solution to his financial problems. But they were very happy together. He took over her considerable wealth and lands, and she was able to live her life as a sex object for men, just as she had desired.

One of the many endeavours to which Francis put his new wealth was to conduct a larger scientific survey to prove the theories Dr. Tempus had demonstrated through their wager with Lady Needycunt. He was able to pay fifty women to participate in his study, as well as another fifty as a control group, along with several other men to assist him in conducting the study, as his stamina was not what it once had been in his youth.

What Francis soon discovered was that, while many of these women were not as cogent at describing their experiences as Needycunt, through observation of their actual actions, he was as able to see that those who were treated as just a set of holes to be fucked were clearly happier. Many of them seemed happy to live their lives in a cum-drunk haze. Even those that protested the situation came harder if treated properly, the clearest measure of happiness of which Francis was aware.

And so Francis produced a pamphlet describing his findings, that the Master, in his wisdom, had indeed correctly described the Natural Order: that the best place for women was getting used by men, and not as leaders or working in trades. Shrewdly, Francis waited until after Queen Needycunt’s death a few years later to actually publish this work. It found a far more favorable reception under the new King James. There would, in fact, never be another Queen Regnant.

With the change in regime, Lady Bacon was selected as a Lady in Waiting to the new Queen Dumbcunt. In this capacity she taught the Queen and the other highest-ranking women of the country the joys of true servitude, in spirit as well as deed. And through his wife’s favor with the Queen, Francis found himself acting as a sort of scientific and legal advisor to the King. And though the King did not partake in the fairer sex a great deal personally, he was devoted to the nurturing and spread of the Natural Order.

Though many later scientists would refine his work, Francis Bacon’s Comprehensive Theory of Bitches would be discussed in basic school science classes for centuries. And still today there is a statue on the campus of Cambridge, depicting the great scientific mind mid-fuck with Lady Bacon. She has a huge smile on her face.