The King’s Hypnotist: Chapter Four
Tiberius woke up with the worst taste in his mouth and wondered if, once again, he had tried roast camel last night for dinner. Or maybe he had tasted roast pigeon again? Yuck.
He blinked and realized something was going on with his lower body. Something nice. No doubt the reason he had woken up. He glanced down.
Sheena, one of the King’s more mature wives, was sucking his cock. She was doing a very good job, her eyes closed, totally focused on giving the Roman his morning blow job.
He sighed happily and leaned back. He would call his slaves to attend him after she finished. Must never hurry Royalty.
His plans were working perfectly. Most of the Royal Family of Nile was eager to be his friend. And they were well mannered, easy to handle, and very friendly to each other too. The King was, frankly, amazed at the Roman’s skill and had even given him a bonus in the form of a few thousand extra Deben. Whatever those were.
Of course Tiberius took full advantage of the new outlook of the court. First he made sure that he was invited to all the best parties and some of the formal dinners. Not ALL of the formal dinners, being that they were so frightfully FORMAL, but a few. Some had important guests from other planets, such as Mars and New Gaul, and old fashion politics was still useful even when the brainwashed Royal Family was in your toga.
Then he also used the princesses and princes as a spy network. It was amazing on how many dirty secrets were floating around that he had never even guessed at. You could not believe how many generals, teachers, cooks, guards, and maids were blackmailing or backstabbing each other.
And finally there was the sex. Not ALL the women of the Royal Court were to his tastes. The King seemed to prefer small, petite women, but a few with large breasts had somehow become his wives. Tiberius preferred large breasted women. Maybe it was a reaction to the tastes back home, where men seemed to lean towards tall, slim women. But Tiberius thought himself a man of the universe and believed in trying out new things.
So here he was with Sheena, a woman who seemed to have more African blood then anybody else he had met so far in the Palace. With dark skin and nice, full breasts, she looked more like one of the female slaves who worked in the fields than one of Royal Blood. Funny enough, this seemed to make her look more Egyptian then the rest of the harem. This made sense when you remember the first colony ships to the planet Nile were from India.
He enjoyed watching her use her tongue and lips on his manhood. Not only did it make her look submissive, putting him in a position of power, which always seemed to turn on all Romans, but it gave him a good view of her breasts as they brushed against his legs.
He had dreams of sucking on the nipples, whipping them with lashes, and all other types of fetishes he could think of. Sheena was one of the many women who had responded to his brainwashing without a hint of resistance.
The King did not truly understand his wives. So many of them felt he had forgotten them, that he did not have their best interests at heart, and even that he was thinking of replacing them. The wives worried about what would happen to their children if one of the other newer wives gained the King’s notice. To the wives the interaction within the harem was life and death. Yet the King sometimes treated it like a game.
That was why they were always trying to kill him, to blackmail his other wives, to discredit his other kids, and trying to get members of the court to support them. The fact was that many wanted a powerful protector, to help them become number one in the harem, as well as keep their children safe.
Those factors made the wives easy to sway with the use of his Trance Induction Interface. They would now all work together, like it or not, against the King. They would work together and, if they were good little boys and girls, Rome would become their protector.
Rome, while outside the structure of the Nile’s society and culture, was powerful. It had been the center of civilization for over two thousand years. So who better to help them then the most powerful Roman on the planet?
Tiberius moaned as Sheena pulled his wet cock out of her mouth, spat on it with a generous helping of salvia, and then sucked his shiny, moist member back into her pouting lips with a slurping noise.
It also helped that many of the wives and princesses had not had sex in a VERY long time. Sheena had almost tossed him into the bed when he first hinted that he wouldn’t mind having sex with her. The only problem with all those horny, happy to serve, females were keeping the whole thing private.
Luckily he had used his network of spies to find all the listening devices in his villa and had those in his bedroom removed. He didn’t mind the other microphones—let them hear his chit-chat at meals, his morning meetings with clients, his bathroom breaks.
Between Sheena’s nursing his cock, making wet suckling noises, and his dreams of power, he finally started to climax, his dick throbbing as it poured his seed into her mouth.
The moans and groans she made suggested that she was VERY happy to receive his gift and the way her fingers worked on his balls made him increase his gift with a soft gasp.
Tiberius sighed and said, “Lovely. You make my mornings a joy to wake up to. Out of all the Queens you are the best of the cock suckers.”
Normally, Sheena would have stabbed anybody who said that to her, in public or in private. But now she just smiled and licked his soft penis clean of any remaining sperm. He had made sure, under the Interface, that she had come to enjoy the taste. In real life few women ENJOYED the taste of a man’s salty load in their mouth. Porn stars and hookers had to train themselves to not gag after years of practice. Sheena had come to enjoy it with only a few sessions.
“Now you must go,” he said, sitting up and gesturing towards her wig on the floor. “Maybe you will send your daughters to me tonight to wait on my needs?”
Sheena slipped out of the bed and, as she slipped on her common black wig and checked her eye make up, said, “Of course my love. We would do anything for you.”
As she left, and the slaves came in to make his bed, shave his face, comb his hair and help him dress he felt like alive. So alive!
The best part was her willingness to dress like a common street walker. The wig, eye make up, and total lack of any clothing, told every guard, porter and servant that she was a common prostitute from the back alleys of the city. Nobody would give her a second glance. She would be able to make her way back to her private quarters without anybody batting an eye.
After a shave, some food in him, and his toga he felt like a proper human being. Now to meet his clients for the day.
Their numbers had increased lately, no doubt due to the attention the Royal Court, or parts of it, was giving him. Those allies and friends of Rome, plus the few citizens such as himself who worked or lived on the planet, who were not already one of his clients had sensed that things were going his way. They had flocked to his residence with gifts, offers of friendship, even marriage proposals. He preferred the gifts—especially those that could not be traced back to the giver, such as coins, bolts of silk, and bottle of wine.
Today was like any other. Gifts, business deals, promises, and groveling. Fat rich merchants wishing rights to certain exports. Roman Nobles wishing for permission to return to Rome. Greeks, Germans, and allies of Rome asking for justice.
Tiberius nodded his head, took the bags of coin with a grin, and made only a few promises he truly planned to keep.
The last person allowed into his presence was Hector. He glanced at the last client to leave and remarked, as he took a cup of wine from a servant, “I see they leave with less than they enter.”
Tiberius laughed and shrugged, “Rome does not run the Republic on trust alone my friend. Money and weapons have a lot to do with it.”
Hector smiled. “And cheap hookers no doubt. My friend, really, if your family learns about how many women visit you at night, there could be talk.”
His Roman friend just smiled. Thos cheap street hookers were, in fact, some of the more powerful women on the planet.
“My family gave up on me long ago,” Tiberius said before drinking some wine. “Now, my friend, have you come to invite me to another shopping spree?”
“No, you fool,” said Hector after draining his cup. “I invited you to lunch today. Which it served on this planet at a sensible time, unlike at Rome. So come. My litter awaits you outside.”
“Oh yes,” said Tiberius finishing his own wine. “I hear you have air conditioning at your house?”
“Of course, “said the Greek with a gesture of both hands, as if dismissing the villa and the rest of the Royal grounds. “I prefer living in a modern house. The Royal Family may enjoy history and things of the past, but I prefer chilled wine, windows to keep out the dust, and thinking machines I can SEE!”
Hector’s house was as good as his word. It was modern design, with dark glass windows to allow in some light but keep out the heat, clean, refreshingly cool air and glowing screens in each room, responsive to the Greek’s every command. The Greeks, unlike the Romans and the Egyptians, were traditional only in their belief that they were smarter and more advanced than anybody else. The irony of this belief was that they embraced change in anything and everything. Food, fashion, art, just about everything in their culture changed at a pace that made other cultures dizzy. One of the new design ideas that Greece had taken too was using thinking machines, called computers after the men and women who helped work out complex engineering problems in the early days, to run their households.
“What point is having a thinking machine if it has to wait for your commands,” said Tiberius as Hector’s slaves helped him out of the dusty toga and removed his sandals to wash his feet. The whole house gave him the shivers—a thinking building made of brick, wood, and steel. How revolting! Why bother with thinking machines when you had slaves?
The slaves ignored the men, covering the table between them with goat cheese, bread, and rabbit fried in olive oil. Hector picked up some fresh, still steaming, black bread and started to smear cheese onto it while he decided how to respond to the Roman’s question.
“It is has some commands in its memory already,” remarked Hector as he leans back in his own couch, his feet being bathed as juice was served to him, with ice, in a large cup. “It controls the strength of the inside breezes, the flow of water in the greenhouse, how hot or cold it gets, so on. It is a smart house.”
Tiberius shook his head. “Smart ships, yes. Teaching machines for the schools, why not? But our homes are the place where we live. Where we worship the house and family gods. To make it some kind of machine. Where’s the heart?”
Hector stared at his friend in shock, trying to decide if he was serious or making a joke. Here was a Roman who once sold his old nanny to the salt mines because she once spanked him when he was three. Hector, like many people, found the Romans confusing. Maybe as confusing as the Romans found other people. And Hector had lived among them for much of his early childhood, due to his father’s wish for him to learn from travel not just old books and outdated plays.
He shook his head at Tiberius as his friend was served a cup of white wine. Was his friend truly so traditional after such a life time of greed, backstabbing, and womanizing?
“The most important thing about living outside the Royal grounds,” said Hector as he waved the slaves away. “Is the fact that my residence is not bugged. Not as often as yours anyway…”
“SHHH!”
“SHHH yourself Roman,” said Hector with a smile. “You have nothing to fear here. The computer does sweeps and would detect anything recording or broadcasting our discussion. Now, tell me the truth of what you are doing.”
“Truth?” said Tiberius pretending to examine his wine to gain time.
“You are up to something,” said the Greek with a tap of his nose with his right forefinger. “Don’t pretend. You have been talking too much, thinking too much, smiling too much. It is written all over your face.”
“By the gods,” said Tiberius, “don’t say such things aloud! What do you know? Have I given something…?” He shut up and wondered if he should start carrying a weapon.
“You have given nothing away to strangers,” stated Hector. “But I know you. I know Romans. And I know that many of the…female members of the Royal Family have been visiting you. Some all day or all night long.”
Tiberius shrugged. “You remember me asking you about hypnosis earlier?”
Hector leaned back on his cushions and stared at Tiberius. He was no dupe and his training meant he could, sometimes, make leaps of logic and reason with little evidence to go on.
“I see,” he said rolling his cup in his hand, watching the juice and melting ice splash around inside. “Dangerous. All it takes is… one breaking free. And the Royal Guard will be at your door. They may skip the trial and just feed you to the river fish. In very small pieces.”
“I will take that chance,” said Tiberius, fire suddenly burning in his normally passive eyes. “For weeks I have been thinking on how I would return to Rome. Return to Rome covered in power and glory and, of course, gold. But I realized that power is everywhere. Not just in Rome. If I can bring this planet under the wings of the Great City, I will be the next leader of my family. And then…well, the Senate.”
Hector almost choked on his juice. “Such…cough…such large goals for a man who failed in most of his history and social society exams.”
“Blah!” said the Roman tossing his cup onto the floor with a clank. “Grades are for pen pushers and bridge builders. I plan to skip the whole process, to jump to the top rung of the ladder of power with one great jump or DIE trying. I will make Nile the new center of power.”
Hector shook his head. “I hope you have thought it out my friend.”
Tiberius felt a tad better on getting back home. True, it was hot inside his villa but Greek architecture, with its mixture of marble columns and steel machinery, gave him a headache. The knowledge that he was very likely being watched and, somewhere, there was tiny bugs recording his every word comforted him. He knew where he stood here. He knew how to act.
Also, funny enough, it made him feel important. For only important men had to fear assassins and spies. To be unimportant, to be ignored, to be a nobody was NOT for him.
He ground his teeth together. He would not be ignored. He would NOT be a nobody. He would teach them that back home. His family would learn how he dealt with being put away like unwanted trash. He would be returning very soon.
Yet his attention and angry thoughts was redirected to more pleasurable thoughts when his door slave told him of the visitor. Sheena had done what he had asked. Her young, lovely, and willing daughter was awaiting him at the table.
The meal supplied them with some very useful props. It is amazing how much better the taste of a slice of fruit can be after invading a young woman’s cunt. And the noises she made while intercourse made him all the hungrier for the flavored snow and nuts after the meal.
Of course, some of the food never made it to his mouth. But most of it was used to help pleasure both her mouths. She had a very large mouth and a very active tongue.
It helped that he had given her a food fetish. It was always helpful, at least he thought so, to give them a fetish. It made it so much easier to have fun with a woman when they enjoyed the same things you did.
Ropes, hand cuffs, gags, bananas, kinky uniforms and leather dresses. Just plain sex was not enough for him. Not since he had lost his virginity at the age of eleven. He wanted begging, he wanted screaming, he wants to see the face of the woman he was using.
Maybe one day, when he fell in love, it would no longer just be sex to him. But that day had not yet come. And if he gained the power he truly wished for, why would he ever need such a thing called love? But right now love was not on his mind. Even the loud, almost painful, sex he was having with Sheena’s daughter took a backseat as he thought about the assassin he was preparing. She would be perfect. Her thoughts were already twisted and dark BEFORE he had selected her. Now he just had to pick the right time.
She was Gigi, the King’s Third wife, a lovely woman with a weird name. But she was also going to have a birthday soon, turning fifty-three within a few weeks. The King was already bored with her and she had fears about being replaced.
As shot his load of white, sticky seed all over the young girl’s face he thought of a blood covered knife that would, soon, be inside the King’s chest and he moaned.