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Prince Charming hypnotized by Jafar

Prince Charming had come to the kingdom of Agrabah seeking an alliance with the Sultan. His reputation as the noblest of princes preceded him, and his confidence that he would strike a deal was unwavering. But what he didn't know was that Jafar, the Sultan's Machiavellian advisor, had other plans. As the prince strolled through the lush palace gardens, admiring the fountains and exotic scents, a dark figure appeared in his path.

"Prince Charming," Jafar said in his deep, honeyed voice, bowing his head slightly, "what a pleasure to have a man of your caliber in our humble city."

Charming, with his regal bearing, looked at him curiously. "Jafar, the celebrated advisor. I have heard of you. I hope we can work together to strengthen our kingdoms."

Jafar smiled, though there was more than just kindness in his dark eyes. “Of course, Your Highness. I’m sure we can find a… mutually beneficial solution. Though, I must admit, I’m surprised by your visit without first consulting the wise men of your court. Agrabah is a… complicated place.”

The prince frowned, not noticing the veiled threat in Jafar’s words. “I have come on my own, I trust my own judgment.”

“Ah, the courage of a prince. Admirable.” Jafar brought his snake staff closer, allowing the golden gleam of the jewel in the reptile’s eyes to catch Charming’s attention. “But even the bravest need advice from time to time. Perhaps you could see things from another perspective.”

The prince tried to look away, but the glint of the ruby ​​on the scepter began to mesmerize him. “I don’t need advice. I’m… completely confident in my decisions,” he said, though his voice began to waver.

“Sure?” Jafar’s voice grew softer, more enveloping, as the ruby ​​sparkled brighter. "Just look... look closer."

Charming, still proud, tried to resist, but his eyes were drawn to the snake's hypnotic glare. His breathing slowed, and his will began to falter. "Perhaps... perhaps I should consider another option..."

"That's right," Jafar whispered, moving closer with his snake-like smile. "Let me guide your thoughts, prince. Just trust me... everything will become clearer."

Charming, his gaze vacant and his body relaxed, echoed, "Everything will become clearer... I trust you..."

Jafar chuckled, satisfied. He now had the noble prince at his mercy, ready to execute any wish his Machiavellian plan demanded.

Trent's bretrayed and hypnotized

Emir had successfully completed the mission Delerion had entrusted to him. Now, his best friend Trent stood before him, bound and gagged, struggling uselessly against the ropes that imprisoned him. His eyes, filled with fury and terror, kept shooting him glances that burned him from the depths of his soul. Emir knew he had betrayed him, but Delerion's will was absolute, unbreakable.

"My lord," Emir said, bowing before Delerion, who entered the dungeon with his elegant gait, his staff shining in his hand, "I have brought my friend as you ordered."

Delerion smiled, his expression full of mockery and cruelty. He approached the prisoner, his steps echoing on the cold stones of the floor, and with a simple gesture, he released the gag from Trent's mouth. Feeling the freedom on his lips, he was quick to spit out his frustration.

"If this is a joke, it's not fucking funny, Emir!" he shouted, his voice vibrating with fury and bewilderment.

Delerion laughed softly, an icy laugh that filled the air with an almost palpable tension. "A joke? Oh, Trent, you don't seem to understand. Emir didn't betray you... he simply found his place. He knows who his true master is."

Trent tried to struggle once more, but the ropes were too strong. "What have you done to make Emir behave like this? Son of a bitch!"

Delerion cut him off with a simple gesture of his hand. "Emir, dear, gag your friend again. He can't seem to control his tongue."

Without a word, Emir complied, placing the gag back over Trent's mouth, who tried to resist, but to no avail. His eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and despair, looking at his former friend, now turned into an obedient slave.

Delerion walked toward the exit as if to leave the room, and Emir followed closely behind, submissive. "Wait a moment, Emir," the sorcerer said, stopping. "Don't go yet. Watch as I subdue your friend."

Delerion raised his staff and, with a soft whisper, conjured the hypnotic green light. The floating orb began to glow in front of Trent, pulsing with seductive energy. Trent frowned, trying to look away, but to no avail. The light had him trapped.

"What is this?" Trent thought, his breathing quickening. He didn't understand what he was seeing, but the strange sensation that was beginning to envelop his mind confused him. He tried to struggle, but his thoughts were beginning to cloud.

From a distance, Delerion and Emir watched, the former with a triumphant smile and the latter with an obedient stillness, totally under the sorcerer's control.

Trent slowly stopped struggling. His shoulders relaxed and his eyes focused on the green light floating in front of him. His breathing, once labored, became slow and deep. There was no fury anymore, only the urge to obey.

From the dungeon stairs, Delerion watched as Trent, with his back to the exit, no longer struggled or moved. The hypnotic light had disappeared, the spell having worked once more. Delerion stepped closer, releasing the ropes and gag with a wave of his hand. “Now, Trent,” the sorcerer whispered with a smile, “tell me, who do you obey?”

Trent, his gaze vacant, slowly rose, now a completely transformed man, and answered in a submissive, almost mechanical voice, “I obey you… master.”

Delerion reveled in his new conquest, gently caressing Trent’s cheek as Emir watched in silence. Both men,

under his complete control, were ready to follow him to his bedchamber.

"Come, my beautiful slaves," Delerion ordered, his smile victorious as he climbed the dungeon stairs and the two men followed him, obedient, heading towards a destiny marked by lust and total submission.

Hypnotizing the host

After weeks of being confined to his palace, Delerion decided he needed a break from his usual domain. Although he loved his harem, he missed interacting with people other than hypnotized slaves a little. But that, over time, became predictable, monotonous. He needed something different: people who were not under his influence… at least not yet. He knew that Jamal, one of his most faithful slaves, had a rather hectic social life when he was not in the palace. So, taking advantage of the fact that Jamal had been invited to the inauguration of his friend Marco's new house, Delerion decided it was the perfect opportunity to get out of his routine and mix with the real world again. Jamal, always obedient, took him as his companion. Delerion carefully chose his outfit for the occasion, obviously he was not going to go as a sorcerer. He opted for something more "earthly", although in his style: a tight black leather jacket that gave a casual but dominant image. That night he would introduce himself to Jamal's friends under the fake name Dean. Upon arriving, Delerion could see the curious glances from the other guests. Jamal was known for surrounding himself with more "posh" and formal people, so his appearance stood out among the expensive suits and well-polished looks of the other guests. However, Delerion didn't mind drawing a little attention to himself, in fact he enjoyed the subtle discomfort it caused. But what really captured his interest was Marco. Jamal's friend, host for the evening and owner of the new house, was exactly the kind of man Delerion was drawn to: handsome, muscular, robust, with a tight blue shirt that highlighted his shoulders and chest in an almost perfect way. As the evening progressed, Delerion realized that, despite his attempts to avoid it, he couldn't help but feel a growing attraction towards Marco. The conversations were fluid and lively, and to his surprise, Marco turned out to be a very nice guy. The night progressed, and after several glasses of wine and much laughter in the living room, Delerion and Marco ended up in the kitchen, away from the rest. The conversation was still friendly, but Delerion felt that the attraction between them was beginning to create a palpable tension, although he knew very well that Marco was straight, according to what he had heard in the previous conversations. Marco poured two more glasses of wine and turned to Delerion, who was watching him with a smile that seemed to hide something else. “Where did you get that shirt?” Delerion said, his eyes scanning the blue shirt Marco was wearing. “It looks great on you.” Marco let out a small laugh, a little uncomfortable but flattered. “Thanks. To be honest, I didn’t know what to wear. Jamal suggested this to me… He has good taste, doesn’t he?” Delerion raised an eyebrow, amused. “Oh, yes, he has excellent taste.” —Delerion smiled mischievously, knowing full well that Jamal's "good taste" had been shaped by his own magic. —Did you know that I taught him that "talent"? Marco laughed, not understanding the reference. "Really? I didn't know you were a stylist too." Delerion looked at him with a dark smile, moving a little closer. "Not exactly. I have other… more special talents." With a quick movement, a sphere of green light began to form between Delerion's fingers, floating in the air. Marco frowned, looking at it curiously. "Huh? What kind of wine did I pour?" he asked, incredulous. Delerion leaned closer, his eyes locked on Marco's.

"Oh, this is not the wine…" The sphere of green light floated right in front of Marco's eyes, gently pulsing with a hypnotic rhythm that trapped him. Marco tried to look away, but couldn't. He was too mesmerized by the light. “It’s… fascinating…” he murmured, not realizing his will was slipping away. Delerion smiled, knowing he already had him. “Don’t worry, Marco… Just relax and watch it. Let your mind calm down… don’t think…” Marco tried to respond, but his words faded into a murmur, as his body began to give in to Delerion’s control. “Dean…” he whispered with soft acceptance. Delerion leaned even closer, whispering in Marco’s ear. “Don’t worry, Marco. You just have to obey.” The word “obey” hung in the air, and with that, Marco surrendered entirely, his gaze empty, his body relaxed, completely submissive to Delerion’s will. “Yes… obey…” Marco replied, his voice emotionless. Delerion slid a hand down Marco's firm chest, enjoying the feel of his new conquest. "Now, you are mine. Your will belongs to me." "I am... yours... master," Marco replied, totally submissive. Delerion smiled, enjoying his unexpected conquest. Satisfied, he led Marco back to the living room, certain that no one but him knew what had really just happened in that kitchen.

King Delerion giving orders to Jamal

Deep within Delerion's palace, the air was filled with a mystical green that filtered through the Gothic windows. The high walls were adorned with arcane symbols and glowed faintly with the reflection of the magical lights that floated about the room. Delerion stood tall, wrapped in his dark velvet cloak with purple edges that rippled as if alive. In his right hand, he held a staff adorned with a spherical green jewel, from which emanated unmatched power. In front of him stood Jamal, the imposing, newly hypnotized servant who remained motionless, his muscles tense, but his eyes empty and obedient.

The servant, a burly man with dark skin and enormous strength, had been subdued by the sorcerer's power only a few hours ago. He no longer had a will of his own; his mind was completely subject to Delerion's whims. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was reduced to a puppet, unable to think for himself, only awaiting the commands of his new master.

Delerion watched him with satisfaction. He approached, his leather boots clicking softly on the marble floor. He raised his staff, letting the green light reflect off his slave’s expressionless face. He had perfected the art of magical domination, and each servant under his command was living proof of his mastery.

“You have proven yourself a more than suitable subject,” Delerion said, his voice silky and condescending. “Your manhood and muscles are ideal for the games I have in mind for you and the other servants. But…” his smile widened dangerously, “your unwavering loyalty is what satisfies me most.”

The servant, whose muscles tensed with each word from his master, remained attentive to his master’s words.

“I am at your service, my lord,” he said in a deep, but emotionless voice.

Delerion walked in circles around him, like a predator stalking its prey.

“I will soon need you to carry out a task that your companions are doing very well,” the sorcerer whispered. “You are to help me recruit attractive, manly men. Friends, family, whatever, but bring them to me.”

The servant did not blink. He did not question. He simply waited for the next instructions, like an automaton waiting to be activated.

“I will do as you command, master,” he replied.

Delerion smiled, satisfied with the absolute submission of his new acquisition.

“Perfect,” he said as he raised his staff and placed it in front of his servant’s chest. “Now, remember well, if anyone stands in your way, you will not hesitate. Nothing can be an obstacle.” For you, my dear servant, are the extension of my will.

The green light of the staff glowed brighter, as if reaffirming the magical connection between master and slave. Delerion knew that with his army of servants under his control, his dominion would be absolute. And this man, with his strength and blind obedience, was but a piece on his vast chessboard of power.

The sorcerer let out a soft, dark laugh as he retreated to his throne, leaving the servant to await his next command. In this palace shrouded in shadows and magic, everything seemed to conspire to extend Delerion's control over men.

Gianluca under King Delerion's control

King Delerion watched his new acquisition with a mixture of satisfaction and perversity. In front of him, with an expressionless face and empty eyes, was Gianluca, a famous model and influencer who had recently captured the attention of thousands on social media and reality TV shows. Now, in the dim light of the sorcerer's palace, nothing remained of that arrogance and spark that he used to have in front of the cameras; only a submissive man remained, trapped in a spell that reduced him to a mere object of desire and obedience.

Delerion approached him and caressed the staff, watching as the green sphere emitted a glow that reflected on the face of his new acquisition. The palace hall was plunged into an almost reverential silence, only broken by the sorcerer's low, satisfied laughter. In front of him, Gianluca remained motionless, his gaze lost in the distance, his eyes devoid of life and will, as if all the spark that once illuminated them had been extinguished by the magic that now dominated him.

"So you were the star of that gala, weren't you? So adored, so admired..." Delerion whispered, taking a step towards him and enjoying the power that emanated from absolute control over his new slave. "Thousands looked at you, desired you, envied you. But now... now, you belong only to me."

Gianluca did not move, his posture remained firm and upright, his body perfectly straight, obeying an invisible command that kept him in that submissive position. His lips moved slowly, as if the process of speaking was foreign to him, and he answered in a low, monotonous tone: "Only to you, my master."

Delerion smiled even wider, feeling his ego swell with every submissive word that escaped Gianluca's lips. "Do you miss anything from your previous life? Do you miss the fame, the flashbulbs, the people chanting your name?"

"No, my master," Gianluca replied, his voice echoing hollowly. "I exist only to serve you."

The sorcerer reveled in his victory, coming close enough for the staff's light to bathe Gianluca's face completely, accentuating the lack of expression, the utter submission in his empty eyes. "Very well, Gianluca," Delerion murmured, enjoying the name as if he were savoring an exquisite delicacy.

"Say it again. Tell me who you belong to."

"You, my master," Gianluca repeated, without hesitation, without wavering, without a hint of emotion.

Delerion laughed, proud of his handiwork. He had taken a man whose life was filled with adoration and applause and reduced him to a mere instrument of his will. And there was nothing that could match that power, that delicious feeling of absolute control.