The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ancient Rome, 38 AD

Eighty thousand spectators leaned forward in their seats, all watching the floor of the Coliseum intently. Within the arena, seven remaining gladiators, divided into two separate teams, circled one another. Their weapons were at the ready. Every warrior was tense, panting heavily, twitching with adrenaline. In the dirt at their feet, many other men lay, dead… or barely alive. The battle was nearly over.

The packed crowd was beginning to chant, “Kill! Kill! Kill!”

In a private luxury box close to the action, Julia Cranaus and her friends watched from cushioned seating-couches. The ladies all held goblets of fine wine… but for the moment, the drinks were entirely forgotten. The suspense of the battle was mesmerizing.

“C’mon, Valens!!!” yelled Valeria, sitting just beside Julia. Valeria always rooted for the home team. “Slaughter ’em!!!”

“Valens will lose,” pronounced Julia. “They just don’t know they’re defeated yet. See Gragor the Barbarian? He’ll land the kill blow.”

Julia’s other friends—Aquilia, Drusilla, Tarquinia, Scribonia, and Livilla—all reacted with derision. “Against Valens the Invincibles?” snorted Aquilia. “As if.”

“Twenty thousand denari on the barbarians, then,” Julia snapped. “Who’s in?”

The other young women hesitated. They were all wives to some of Rome’s most powerful citizens—senators, generals, proconsulars, magistrates, prefects. Each had piles of money to spare. Twenty thousand denari could be spent in one shopping spree and never be missed.

Still… Julia never gambled unless she was certain about the outcome.

“Come on, then” harrumphed Julia. “Quick, before its all over. Who’s in?”

“Me,” said Valeria defiantly. “Twenty thousand.”

Tarquinia and Scribonia nodded, indicating they would match that bet.

“Fifty thousand!” declared Drusilla, defiance in her eyes. She tossed her head, causing her thick, black hair to flick through the air.

Drusilla and Julia glared at one another. While the two shared many friends, they had grown into the bitterest of rivals.

“Fine,” smirked Julia. “Fifty thousand from you. I’m game.”

The great crowd suddenly roared in excitement. Rutilius, captain of the Valens team, had lunged forward with his sword. A barbarian shrieked as the blade sank into his chest, and the man fell instantly. There were now two barbarians and four Valens.

Throughout the Coliseum, the crowd leapt to their feet and screamed in excitement. There was nothing the Roman mob loved more than the last kill of a battle.

“Oh, this is over,” Drusilla sneered. “This is so over. Julia, you can pay me—“

Gragor the Barbarian made a hand signal. Without warning, the Valens flanking Rutilius suddenly turned, plunging his sword into the Roman captain’s lower back. Rutilius let out a bloodcurdling scream, and crumpled to his knees.

As one, the crowd shouted in disbelief and rage. Spectators began throwing half-eaten fruit and trash into the arena.

“A betrayal???” screeched Valeria, outraged. “What the fuck?!?”

In the confusion, the two remaining Valens gladiators were swiftly cut down. Soon, Gragor stood before the kneeling Rutilius, a wicked grin on his ugly, bloodied face.

Some in the crowd began a new chant: “Death! Death! Death!”

Gragor swung his sword, and it was all over. The victorious barbarian captain raised his arms, preening for the spectators. The crowd roared back.

Julia laughed in triumph. She reclined in her seat, beaconing the wine servant. There were always plenty of servants on hand.

After all, she was Julia Tatia Cranaus, the wife of Pandion Cranaus, one of the richest shipping merchants in the whole Empire. A mere seventeen years old—fully grown, by Roman standards—Julia was lovely beyond all compare. She was tall and quite thin, with large, green eyes and dark red lips that naturally puckered. Her cheekbones were high and delicate, which gave her a very regal quality indeed. Her eyes burned with a sultry fire.

Julia also matched the beauty of her face with the sleekness of her body. Roman men usually liked their women to have small busts, but curvy hips and generous bottoms. Julia had developed a larger-than-usual chest and graceful hips, but her waist was so tiny that she presented a flawless hourglass figure. In the silk dress which hugged her form tightly, this figure was on vivid display. Julia’s long legs, graceful arms, delicate hands, and thin neck completed a body that was envied by all who saw her. Many lovestruck men who saw her wondered if she might be a goddess.

Strictly speaking, Julia was not a noblewoman. Her family had not descended from aristocracy, nor did her husband have a title. Nonetheless, Julia mingled with the women who populated the most elite of Roman society. All of her friends with her in the luxury box were young, beautiful, and wealthy… but their husbands had Imperial titles.

Julia’s natural charisma tended to erase these class distinctions. Like now. She applauded wildly as Gragor waved at the crowd, thrilling his ers and goading the haters.

With a livid expression, Drusilla turned to Julia. “Gragor cheated to win that battle!” she accused. “That shouldn’t count!”

“No, no,” Valeria grumbled. “Betrayals among gladiators are rare, but they’re not against the combat rules.”

The other women looked disgruntled, but no one argued.

“How did you know?” Tarquinia asked Julia. “I mean… how could you have known that that man would turn on Captain Rutilius?”

Julia laughed again. “Everyone knows Rutilius treated his men like shit. Of course one of them was open to a bribe. You didn’t see the hand gestures between Gragor and the traitor?”

“It wasn’t a fair fight,” insisted Drusilla.

“Betrayal is life, baby,” Julia taunted. “Now, about the denari you ladies owe me…”

Across the Coliseum, trumpets blared in fanfare. All conversations fell silent as the entire crowd rose to their feet in respectful silence. Julia and her friends rose, too.

The Imperial Platform, easily the grandest luxury box in the enormous stadium, was filling with the Praetorian Guard. The elite soldiers marched crisply, each in perfect synchronization. Their silver armor glinted in the midafternoon sun. Their dark red capes fluttered in the light breeze.

“The emperor is attending?” Julia asked in surprise. “But… most of the games are done.”

“Maybe he got bored up in the palace,” wondered Valeria.

There was a second fanfare, this one grander than the first. A tall young man strode onto the platform, thin and handsome. He wore a toga of shimmering white silk, with a crown of laurel leaves encircling his brow. The man had regal features, especially his hawklike nose and piercing blue eyes. Even across the chasm of the Coliseum, Julia was drawn to the man’s handsomeness.

The man raised his right hand, a single, plain gesture.

At once, the thick crowd roared in approval. “Hail Caesar!” they whooped and bellowed. “Hail Mighty Caesar!”

“That’s Emperor Caligula?” Julia murmured to Valeria. She’d never seen Rome’s new ruler before.

“That’s him,” replied Valeria. “Only twenty-six years old, and master of the world. Single, too.”

The emperor waved again, but seemed not to notice the crowd. He turned his back.

Upon the Imperial Platform, there were three thrones, the throne in the center being the grandest. With the authority of one who is accustomed to absolute power, Rome’s monarch assumed the center seat. He gestured once more.

And as one, all the spectators sat back down. Conversations throughout the stadium resumed, but at a respectful volume.

Julia settled back onto her couch. Her eyes never left the emperor. There was something about him, something alluring. Suddenly, Julia found herself recalling every detail, every opinion, every rumor she’d ever heard about the man. She didn’t doubt that they were all true.

As Julia watched, a young and pretty woman appeared on the Imperial platform. She was wearing a delicate purple dress, one sporting a dye that was quite rare, even in the heart of the Empire. Her long hair was tied up in ribbons, in the Mediterranean fashion, and a sparkling necklace of silver and gems glittered about her throat.

The emperor beaconed, and the mysterious lady sat in the lesser throne to his left. Immediately, the two began chatting.

“Who’s that woman?” Julia wanted to know. “Caligula’s wife? His consort?”

“Her? That’s Tullia Lucretia Macro,” replied Drusilla, jealousy simmering in her voice. “She and her husband presented the emperor with the first full-body statute of him, at least since his coronation.”

“Now Tullia’s husband is being named the governor of Egypt,” Tarquinia added tartly. “Little bitch. I’m certain she’s fucking Caligula, too. See how she flirts with him?”

“Wait,” said Julia, “her husband, Quintus Naevius Macro… the biggest idiot in Rome… is going to rule Egypt? All for a statue?”

“This is the New Age,” Valeria snorted. “If you please or amuse our new emperor, he showers you with wealth. Bribes to his vanity are eagerly accepted.”

“Shh!” fretted Tarquinia, casting worried looks about.

“Oh, its just us girls here,” scoffed Valeria.

Julia said nothing. Her gaze was still upon the emperor. Caligula awarded the governorship of Egypt, all for a statue? Was his ego so easily flattered?

Julia reflexively crossed her legs. Wheels in her head were turning. The Imperial governor of Achaea had been removed, and it was rumored that the emperor was looking for a replacement. Outside of Rome itself, Achaea was the most renown land in the Empire; it contained Athens, Sparta, Corinth, and Macedonia. The gem of the Empire!

The young woman smiled to herself. She and Pandion, her husband, would do well as the Imperial rulers of Greece. The thought was almost… sexually arousing.

Meanwhile, down on the Coliseum floor, the next battle was being set up. But Gragor the Barbarian, an irrepressible showman, was still working the crowd. He was still grandstanding, waving both of his meaty arms in the air. The man was positively huge! He bristled with sweaty muscles and scars. His face was lumpy and ugly, but there was an undeniable, savage muscularity about him.

“Ladies,” Julia said, “I’ll collect my winnings now.” She turned in her seat to gesture to the luxury box’s chief steward.

The steward, a well-groomed fellow and one of the businessmen who ran the Coliseum, hurried to Julia’s side.

Julia smiled, then indicated Gragor. “How much to have the champion pleasure me?”

The steward looked shocked. “My lady… the man’s a barbarian! He might—“

“I can handle him,” Julia said confidently. “Strip him naked, take him to one of the pleasure-rooms, and then chain him to the bed. How much?”

The steward pursed his lips together, making rapid calculations. He’d overheard the sums that Julia and her friends had been wagering. “I’d… imagine perhaps fifty thousand denari would be a fair sum?”

“Of course,” laughed Julia. “Lady Drusilla here will pay you.”

Drusilla’s eyes flashed with rage. But she said nothing.

“I’ve never been pleasured by a barbarian before,” Julia said playfully. She impishly licked her lips. “Hmm. Oh, steward? Don’t wash Gragor off. Leave the blood on him.”

The house Julia shared with her husband was a small palace, built in the Palatine, which was Rome’s most exclusive neighborhood. The house had twenty servants and slaves, all tasked with keeping the dedicant mansion sparkling and clean. Julia wanted for nothing.

That evening, she and her husband, Pandion, dined in their private courtyard. Pandion was the rare non-Roman to obtain fantastic wealth in the heart of the Empire. He was a shipping merchant, responsible for a fleet of over three hundred vessels, all ferrying commerce to all over the Mediterranean. Few knew the map of the world as well as he.

As usual, Julia and Pandion dined Roman-style, meaning they lay on their sides on plush couches while eating. Julia eyed her husband. Pandion had just turned thirty years old, and his lean body was beginning to develop a small pot belly. The man had a gaunt but handsome face, framed with one of those well-trimmed beards that the Greeks favored.

Preoccupied, Pandion was reaching for his third spicedbread.

“Darling,” Julia said delicately, “I was at the Coliseum today. Do you know whom else was there?”

“Uh… Julius and his wife?” grumbled Pandion. He spoke with a thick Greek accent.

“The emperor, my love,” Julia said. “Emperor Caligula himself came, right at the end of the games. And then, when he grew bored, he commanded that the games be extended! Right for his own amusement! They had to pull gladiators out of the barracks and throw them into the arena.”

“Hmmgh,” Pandion grunted.

The doors to the kitchens opened. Tatia and Avita, the two new slaves, glided forward. The young women carried a tray of roast pheasant and dried fruit, plus a fresh pitcher of wine. Immediately, Pandion’s eyes lit on the young servers.

The ends of Julia’s mouth turned down. Despite their drab tunics, one could ire that Tatia and Avita each had supple bodies and plain but lovely faces. Both girls were just sixteen years of age. Julia suspected that Pandion had bought the girls for their beauty, not their abilities with a broom and serving-platter.

Moving silently, the girls set the pheasant platter before their master. They refilled goblets, then stepped aside. Pandion’s gaze remained on their slender bodies.

“Darling,” Julia said with an edge in her voice.

He husband glanced at her. “Eh?” he mumbled. “What?”

“Darling,” Julia said impatiently, “don’t you think you could be the next Governor of Achaea?”

Now she had Pandion’s attention. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

Julia raised her goblet. “I think you should rule Greece on behalf of the emperor. After all, that is your homeland right? Who better to dominate Achaea than you?”

Looking suspicious, Pandion frowned. “You know that’s impossible. I’m not Roman. Those in the Imperial court would never me.”

Julia waved a hand. “Darling, the Imperial court means nothing. Emperor Caligula would appoint you. Once he taps your shoulder, Greece is ours. Er, yours.”

Pandion opened his mouth to argue.

“I heard today,” Julia said quickly, “that Quintus Macro was been awarded Egypt. If that no-class brown-noser can be elevated, why not you? You’re much smarter and wealthier than he is.”

Pandion glared across the table at his wife, the muscle in his jaw flexing. “You’ve been gossiping with your catty friends again, I see.”

He seized two knives and began slicing up the pheasant.

“Just hear me out,” Julia insisted. “Caligula, he is young and inexperienced. By the gods, he was only crowned last year! And he’s a fool. He’s only now learning how his government works.” She leaned forward, her voice gaining strength. “There are prizes, great prizes, yet to be awarded, my love. We should get you into consideration for one of those. Before others snatch them.”

Pandion grimaced. “Julia…”

“Now is the time to push for this, my love! Or are you content being the lowly Greek moneygrubber for all of your life?”

This barb angered Pandion. He stabbed the pheasant with a snarl on his face.

“You think I haven’t thought of sucking up to Caligula?” he snarled. “Of course I have! All of Rome has.”

“Then do it,” insisted Julia. “If we can present the emperor with a suitable trinket—“

“Stop,” Pandion barked, slamming a palm onto the table. His scowl grew deeper. “You Gaius Speratus? The fat slavetrader who would eat all the quail eggs at our parties?”

Julia thought quickly. “Oh, yes. The warty guy with the big mole on his chin?”

A look of disgust flickered over Pandion’s face. “Yeah,” he grunted. “He’s the one. So one of my customers told me that, eh, maybe a month ago, ol’ Speratus has the same idea as you. Except he conniving to be the senator of Gaul, or something. So he did a little snooping, learned about Caligula’s tastes, and devised what he thought would be the ultimate amusement for our new ruler.”

Julia hadn’t heard this story. She reached for her wine.

“Emperor Caligula fancies himself a modern-day Julius Caesar, and he’s itching to launch a war of conquest, somewhere,” Pandion went on. “Britain, maybe. And Speratus learns about these ambitions, see? So Speratus hires a playwright and a troupe of actors, and they put on a new play. A play where the glorious Emperor Caligula sends his armies across the world and conquers all! Glory to the Empire!”

“That’s brilliant,” said Julia, impressed.

“So Speratus thought,” Pandion agreed. “Then, the day comes to present this little play. Speratus and his actors go up to the Imperial palace. They perform, right there in the Throne Room. And Caligula absolutely loves it.”

Julia listened, spellbound.

“But then,” her husband continued, his tone growing dark, “the first battle scene of the play arrives. The actors begin dueling with wooden swords. And Caligula interrupts the performance. ‘I don’t get it,’ he complains. ‘Why are they fighting with toys?’ He thought the play would have real combat.”

“Oh,” said Julia, taken aback.

Pandion hacked off a strip of pheasant meat. “So Caligula orders his guards to supply the actors with real swords. And commanded they continue. And of course, the poor actors balk. Caligula grows angry. He forces the players to fight, or be speared by his guards. And when the actors start slaughtering one another, he becomes disgusted. ‘This isn’t realistic at all!’ he complains. ‘Ugh, I hate this! Kill them all.’ And the guard execute whatever actors remain.”

The Greek merchant stabbed the pheasant once more. “Caligula lets it be known, right there before the whole Imperial court, that he is extremely displeased with Speratus’ gift. ‘But I’m not vindictive,’ he claims. ‘In fact, I’m going to do you a favor, old man. I’ll have the captain of my guard remove that ugly wart on your chin.’”

Julia yelped, reflexively covering her mouth with a hand. “Caligula chopped off the wart?”

“And the chin,” Pandion said grimly.

“I see,” reeled Julia, stunned.

Pandion locked an iron stare with his wife. “Caligula is a child, the world’s most powerful, dangerous child. He has the lusts and ambitions of a man, but his mind is infantile. To court him is to dance with serpents.” He pointed a firm finger at Julia. “As your husband, I forbid you to think about flattering Caligula, do you hear me? I forbid you.”

Julia and Pandion finished their meal in silence.