The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The swim coach had it pretty easy, making a full teacher’s salary for really not doing that much compared to the rest of the teachers, but reminding himself of that only went so far when he was dealing with the one thing he dreaded every year: the quarter-mile swim.

The school had decreed that every graduating high school student must be able to swim a quarter mile. For ninety-nine percent of the students this was nothing, it was ten minutes at the end of gym one day when they had the time.

But that one percent... the coach dreaded that one percent. Every year there were a few of them, and they took so much time and energy it would get to where he wondered if it was worth it.

This year it was just one kid. A single kid, made it through to the end of his senior year without ever showing up to do the quarter-mile swim. And now he was in the coach’s office, begging, pleading to be able to skip it.

“Look, kid, you can’t skip it. Nobody does.”

The kid was near tears. “I—it’s just—I’m not... I’m not that athletic. And I don’t want the kids making fun of me, I’m really thin... and...”

“What is it, kid? You can tell me.”

“I’m... It sounds ridiculous. But I’m afraid of the water.” The kid looked at the floor as he mumbled it out.

“Hey, now, that doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. You’d be surprised how many people have the same phobia.” Well, not that many, really, but enough that he didn’t feel like he had to lie to say it. And it seemed to reassure the kid. “I’ll tell you what: come by after school tomorrow and you can do your swim with nobody else around to pick on you or tease you.”

The kid perked up a lot, at that. He smiled with relief and thanked the coach and almost ran out of his office.

The next day, right on time, the kid showed up, clutching a little Speedo in his hand.

The coach held back a laugh. “You didn’t—I mean, you’re not going for a speed record, you could have worn board shorts.”

“I don’t have any swimsuits,” the kid said, glumly, “This was my brother’s, from back when he was on the team.”

“OK, kid, I’m just joshin’ ya. Go get changed and meet me out by the pool.

When the kid walked out to the pool area the coach almost gasped at how thin he was. His baggy school clothes covered it up, for the most part. No wonder the kid was self-conscious. He had an 18-year-old’s body, but lanky, lean, and clearly untouched by the hand of physical education.

He wasn’t kidding about the phobia, either. The coach had to urge him into the water, and finally after 30 minutes of reasoning, started to get desperate.

“OK, I’ll hold onto you and I’ll go in first, OK?”

The kid looked hesitant. The coach reached out and grabbed his shoulders. The kid flinched but then took a deep breath and relaxed into the coach’s firm-but-gentle grasp. The coach backed up and took his first step down, onto the steps and into the water. Then he took a second, gently tugging the kid forward. The kid stepped down, just one foot, into 3-inch-deep water, and froze.

At that moment the coach looked ahead and realized for the first time he was staring right at the kid’s crotch, downstairs and facing him like that. And he therefore also noticed for the first time that the kid’s flaccid cock was, awkwardly, quite visible through the lycra of the Speedo. Because it was very, very large.

And then it started getting bigger. The coach saw it start to swell under the lycra, bulging out. He didn’t even quite realize he was staring, because the kid seemed so fixated on adjusting to the water at glacial speed, and the crotch of the kid’s Speedo was directly in front of the coach’s face. But there was no doubt about it: the coach just stared, his mouth open and his brow furrowed in a curious confusion, as the kid’s cock started to swell up.

It looked like it had a life of its own, like a sluggish animal confined to the stretchy lycra. It kept swelling, and every so often it would slip forward, engorged enough to break the friction between the cock head and the bathing suit, pushing forward a centimeter or two at once. Each time it did, the speedo adjusted a bit and the coach’s breath caught in his throat.

The coach had no idea how long it had been—it could honestly have been an hour—when he was interrupted by the kid speaking.

“I’m sorry,” the kid blurted out. The coach looked up, a little disoriented, only just realizing he’d been caught staring right at the kid’s cock.

“Uh, um, what?”

“I’m sorry, it... it does that sometimes. When I’m nervous.” The kid’s face was bright crimson with embarrassment.

The coach’s face blanched ghost-white with terror at being caught, but then immediately flushed an even deeper red than the kid’s. He was horribly embarrassed. What an awkward situation. He had no idea what to do. He didn’t want to make it a big deal, or the kid would be even more traumatized. But if he didn’t acknowledge it, would it just prolong the agony?

His brain didn’t come up with a good answer but at some point the coach realized he needed to say something. “Uh, it’s—it’s OK.”

Even as he said the words the coach realized how useless they were. But having said them he was again paralyzed with discomfort.

And so it continued, the coach slowly stepping backwards, the kid taking an absurd amount of time adjusting to the water. If that first step took him ten minutes, the second step took him 30, fully immersing himself just halfway up his calf.

And the whole time, the kid’s grotesquely enormous, swelling cock stared the coach right in the face. Eventually it was visibly pulsing with blood; the coach couldn’t help but see the rhythmic motion inside the kid’s speedo. It was getting thicker, too. And it still kept growing, creeping forward spurt by spurt and to the coach’s amazement, it just kept going, it didn’t stop.

It was halfway towards the kid’s hip blade, bulging out the lycra, when the coach figured it must be over 7 inches long. He could see the mushroom head imprint pressed against the straining, sheer material, and could clearly make out the thick tube running down the underbelly. And it kept pulsing and thickening. By this point the coach had stopped urging the kid into the water. He was too distracted to focus on that.

The kid, for his part, realized what was happening and was too uncomfortable to say anything. The attention of the coach staring right at his cock just made him more and more nervous, and the nerves made his cock swell up even more. His meaty dick just kept growing until finally the discomfort was too much. The kid grunted and reached down to adjust it, grabbed it in his hand and gave it a shake to free it from the friction against his skin. The coach moaned a little in spite of himself, seeing the big, thick thing sway in the kid’s hand like a club.

The coach adjusted his hands down from the kid’s shoulders, which were too high for him to comfortably hold, anyway, and grabbed the kid by the hip blades. It wasn’t really something he thought about. He just did it. All the while the kid’s dick throbbed, lengthening in the tiny speedo.

The coach watched in stunned silence as it came within an inch of the kid’s hip blade. It was thick, too; it had started to lift the whole of the speedo, the thin strap of material wrapped over it, away from the kid’s groin. The coach thought he could even catch a tiny glimpse of the bare cock underneath the speedo. But that tiny glimpse grew as the cock kept growing and eventually the thin Speedo strap popped up and over the cock so that the entire head of the kid’s cock was hanging out the side.

The coach’s jaw dropped wide open and his eyes went as big as saucers as the entirety of the kid’s dick-head stared him directly in the face, its deep red juicy head and smooth underbelly dangling pendulously out of the speedo. It kept growing, too, throbbing and bouncing up and down in time with the kid’s pulse, his giant club-like erection sticking out sideways from his wildly insufficient swimsuit. The head of the cock reached fully an inch past the kid’s hip blade, to the side. It had to be twelve inches long, the coach marveled, and incredibly thick, like a baseball bat, but not smooth wood: deep red flesh, throbbing with blood, veins criss-crossing its surface.

With a soft “thwap” the speedo finally peeled up fully, and the cock hung completely out. The speedo was just a thong, now, cradling the kid’s balls, themselves quite large. The entire shaft of the kid’s cock was hanging free, right in front of the coach.

The coach’s heart raced a mile a minute as he slide his left hand down off the kid’s hip blade and brushed the monstrous head of the kid’s gargantuan cock. The kid inhaled sharply. The coach slid his palm down around the shaft and slowly closed his hand around it. His hand barely came halfway around. The shaft was slimy, slick, and hot.

“Coach,” the kid whispered, quietly, “You said in health class we shouldn’t let anyone —”

“I know what I said, kid,” the coach said, not removing his eyes once from the enormous 18-year-old fuck-stick in front of him

“But coach, I’m... I’m not gay,” the kid whispered.

The coach just stared at the kid’s cock in silence for a moment, and then whispered back. “Neither am I.”

And then the coach leaned forward and kissed the head of the kid’s cock. The kid threw his head back, mouth open, eyes closed, in pleasure from all the stimulation.

The kid’s cock-head was as big as a grapefruit, just monstrous. The piss-slit alone was as big as the coach’s lips. And it was streaming clear, thick precum out. The whole shaft was slimed up in it, and it was collecting and dripping from the tip of the cock head. The coach first licked up the collected precum, hanging heavily, ready to drip down, taking it all into his mouth. It filled his mouth entirely, hot and salty and viscous. Then he pressed the kid’s cock-head to his lips, smearing precum all over his face and making out with the kid’s piss-slit like it was another pair of lips. He shoved his tongue down inside it, sucking out all the precum he could get.

The kid’s eyes were scrunched up and he was biting his lower lip to keep from making any noise.

The coach was in a frenzy, now. He grabbed the shaft with both hands and started stroking it and wrapped his lips around the shaft as far as they could go and slid his lips, too, up and down the shaft, salivating all over the salty, precum-slick, slimed fuck-pole. His mind reeled at the texture underneath his lips, the thick veins snaking down the kid’s cock-flesh, some of them were as big as the coach’s entire cock!

Furiously he stroked the massive genitalia in front of him. The kid’s balls were tight up against him, churning away, and the kid instinctively grabbed the coach by his hair and held his face against his massive, throbbing cock.

Coach returned his mouth to the kid’s cock-head, licking the slimy swollen purple thing all over, running his tongue up and down the ridge underneath and then around the flared hood of the head. When he was satisfied he’d gotten all the delicious slimy precum off it, he returned to French-kissing the kid’s piss slit, moaning his approval as the kid fed him a thick stream of precum.

Ten minutes later the coach was pumping the kid’s cock with his whole body, sliding his hands up and down the full length of the enormous shaft by rocking his whole body back and forth, thrusting his head forward and back in time to keep his lips up against the kid’s piss slit. Finally, the kid couldn’t take it any more.

With uncanny timing, a janitor walked into the pool area. He got quite a show.

The kid couldn’t bite his lip any harder. He opened his mouth and started moaning and screaming. He started bucking his hips like crazy. The coach held on like riding a bull. He thrashed around in the water, keeping his lips fixed to the kid’s piss slit. The janitor stared, aghast, and then pulled out his cell phone to take some photos as documentation.

The coach was determined to keep his lips right over that piss slit and suck down the kid’s entire load, but that proved an absurd idea with the very first blast.

The kid started cumming. His first shot came out like a gallon of hot, thick cream thrown from a bucket. It nailed the coach right in the face. It more than filled his mouth, but it coated his entire face in gooey, white snot and nearly knocked him over backwards. He managed to swallow and reopen his mouth in time for the second shot, but it was even bigger. Bucketloads of cum spewed from the colossal cock, completely coating the coach and pooling on the surface of the water below him.

The janitor caught a cell-phone video of the biggest cumshots. It would be the primary evidence in the coach’s dismissal and utter humiliation and disgrace in front of the entire community. He avoided jail time, but was forced to flee the town, branded a sexual predator, a teacher who would willingly seduce his student.

Two months later he sat in his new apartment, his life in shambles. No resume, no job experience he could now cite... the coach shook his head, reading through the classifieds. Maybe he’d just do some manual labor.

And then his phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey, coach.”

“Fuck you, kid. You know my life is ruined because of you?”

“Come on, coach. It’s like they all said. How could someone like me force you to do anything against your will?”

“Fuck you, kid. We both know better.”

“They let me graduate without swimming the quarter mile, coach, ‘cuz of what you did.”

“Great, kid, that’s real fuckin’ great.”

“I thought so. Oh, and coach?”

“What?”

“You should send me your new address. I think I’ll come over later.”

“The fuck? If I never see you again in my life it’ll be too soon.”

“Awww, come on, coach. Here, I’ve got something for you. Check this out.”

The coach looked down at his phone. “Video received.”

Before he could hit the power button he saw it stream in. A grainy, low-light video pointed down the front of a pair of unzipped jeans. There was no mistaking whose jeans, though. Even with the grainy resolution the coach could easily make out the massve, swelling bulge filling out the tighty-whities.

“Goddamn it, kid!”

“See you at 7,” the kid said, and hung up.