The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

So, you’re probably wondering how I hooked up with Dick. I have no idea how. But at least I know when.

If you’re just looking to put some more mayo on the ol’ hand sandwich there, skip ahead—I don’t get any in this part.

I was out with this girl. I’d met her online. She was actually pretty cute—better than I expected.

A feeling I knew wasn’t mutual.

I knew as soon as the date was over I’d never see her again. We were in the park, and I’d just told a gross joke—I was desperate. It was a penis joke. I was trying to show, through humor, how I wasn’t like all those other guys. And by doing so I was exactly like all those other guys. Except that I suck at reading women and thus I don’t know when it’s time to bail out. And I’m telling this penis joke when we’re alone, in the park downtown, at night. Could I have been any more skeezy?

So she suddenly stands up. Furious. Hands on her hips and everything.

“I swear to God,” she said, “you men are all alike! It’s always about that thing in your pants!”

Guilty as charged.

Then she said something weird. At the time I thought maybe she pitied me.

Now I realize she was cursing me. As in, putting a curse on me.

She said: “That Dick of yours is going to ruin your life.”

And then she slapped me. So hard I saw stars. Everything went white.

When I came to, I was sprawled out on the ground next to the park bench. It was dawn. Damn, she hit me hard. Fucking Tae-Bo.

I picked myself up, went home, rubbed one out, and slept away the rest of the long weekend.

Next week at work, Bam! Wendy.

Fucked up, huh? Turning every man’s dream into my nightmare. Giving me the ability to have any woman, but not letting me control it.

Shit happens.

The hard-science-fiction types and dungeonmasters are at this point probably salivating for the technical details of my, um, affliction. So I’ll open it up for a little Q&

When does Dick take control, and how? Is it the same every time?

Dick’s strength is sexual arousal. Mine is mental focus. It’s a tug-of-war—sometimes it’s a slow slide, like when I’ve been reorganizing my porn to free up some disk space, or when I flip past a Baywatch marathon one too many times. (Sometimes I do shit like that just to torture Dick, knowing the only thing he’s getting is a manual intervention. But I have to be careful, because every once in a while he’ll get in a snit and force me outside, pants down, with Dick in hand, and then the neighbors call the cops, and the cleanup effort is an orgy of people I’d rather not know intimately—I’m standing around while four dudes and an old lady are twitching and staining their drawers, and then I have to coach them one at a time so they’re okay with it. Not difficult, just tedious and vaguely nauseating. Fortunately Dick does have a sense of self-preservation and he helps me out of whatever mess he gets me into, or it’d be a lot worse. I think he knows there’s no pussy in prison.)

Other times—quite a lot, actually—I’ll be distracted, and then out of the blue I’ll see something that triggers a sexual thought, and Shazam! Dick reaches in and grabs the reins. And he’s very good at steering me right into the thick of it immediately to cement his total control for as long as he can keep it up. So I generally don’t fight him on it, or even try to direct him to something a little less intense. Dick knows what Dick wants, and what Dick wants, Dick gets.

When do you get control back?

When Dick’s satisfied. Sometimes I think Dick only lets go because I’m better at damage control. Dick’s not subtle.

How strong is Dick? What’s Dick’s “range?”

The hornier, the stronger, the farther. One time after a volleyball match up at State—a buddy at work dragged me along because his little sister was on the team; I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking—and she had a wardrobe malfunction on the last serve. Ten minutes later, Dick walked me right into the women’s locker room, had me drop trou, and everyone in the room immediately came to attention, lined up, and waited their turn until Dick had shagged every one rotten. Boyfriends and parents kept coming in wondering what the holdup was, and the door’s thirty feet from where I was going at it, but they’d always lock eyes with me, freeze up, and then start watching as a smile spread across their face. Now that’s a far-reaching influence. Apparently Dick likes volleyball.

I slept fourteen hours straight after that one, and Dick left me alone for almost a week.

How do you know what Dick is thinking? Does he give you orders? Can you hear Dick talk? Can anyone else hear him?

No, it’s not like that. I can just feel Dick’s presence. I know when Dick’s awake, and I know when Dick wants something; the specifics are usually self-evident based on what he makes me do. The only time Dick really talks is when he makes me talk—and then he says some pretty stupid shit.

What’s it like getting into a girl’s head while you’re doing it with her?

I wouldn’t know. I can’t read minds. It’s a write-only function. Remember, it’s Dick’s ability, not mine, though I guess Dick knows enough to listen to my suggestions, especially when it comes to cleaning up Dick’s mess. I’ve tried to “listen” before—what guy hasn’t wondered what the fuck is going on in a woman’s head?—but the only thing I ever “heard” was Dick. It’s probably just male arrogance—Dick doesn’t give a shit what anybody else thinks.

Is the mind-control permanent? Can you, er, Dick give post-hypnotic suggestions?

First off, there’s no hypnosis—or at least, no trance-like state. People just start seeing things the way Dick does and doing what he wants. They generally come away from it thinking it was something fun, like an afternoon rollerblading in the park or something. But every once in a while I can tell they’re a little distressed, and that’s where a heavier hand is needed. I’ve been successful, or rather, Dick’s been successful at getting them to think it was just a daydream or even forgetting it happened altogether. And I’m naturally paranoid of surveillance cameras, so I’m careful to do whatever it takes to collect or erase any recorded evidence after the fact. Fucking real headache sometimes. As for permanence, I once suggested to Barbara at the Help Desk that she’d be even cuter if she wasn’t chomping a chocolate bar all the time, and she hasn’t touched the stuff since. I don’t know if that means anything or not. But I’ve never had anybody’s father come back two weeks later with a tearful pointing daughter and a loaded weapon, so I guess it sticks.

Is it just sexual? Or can Dick get people to do other things?

There has to be some sexual element to it. Or at least there always is. Like the time I was late coming back from lunch because Dick took a liking to the girl behind the counter at Arby’s—two hours late—and my boss caught me. I tried just doing the Obi-wan Kenobi routine on him and he was not amused in the slightest. He’s a cool guy but he’d just been chewed out by a VP because the Internet connection was down. I had to think fast. I told him Barbara at the Help Desk had come by just before lunch and propositioned me, and I’d been so upset by it I almost didn’t come back at all. While he called Barbara into his office, I closed my eyes and thought about Wendy from Accounts Receiveable. I had to do this because Barbara doesn’t really do it for me, and I needed Dick. (Oh, jeez, let the gay jokes go already.) And believe me, Dick remembers Wendy. Dick had Barbara give my boss a hummer while Dick brought up the rear. In the post-climax stupor I suggested we all keep it to ourselves, and that was that. (If you’re asking why I didn’t just say Wendy propositioned me, remember that Wendy’s hot and I’m... not. I needed something at least slightly believeable.)

Have you ever been unable to control anyone?

Only if they were too far away. If Dick’s fully in charge of me, and they’re within five feet or so, it’s over, no matter what. Well, there might be an exception which I’ll get to later.

What about sexually transmitted diseases?

Dick wears a raincoat. Go figure. I should buy Trojans stock. Lord knows I stock enough Trojans.

(Yeah, I know, he didn’t with Wendy. That was the only time, honest.)

Your “problem” sounds like a dream come true. Why did you hate it?

Because it takes up too much god-damned time and energy. Since Dick came into my life, my days and nights have been dominated by sex. No matter how great the sex, you can have too much of a good thing. It loses its value when you can get it anytime you want it. Besides, losing control of your own body is humiliating, and even if nobody around me has a problem with what I do, sometimes the shit Dick makes me say and do is just plain stupid. I used to be a reasonable, intelligent man—now my life is a porno movie, and when did anybody ever watch a porno for the plot? Maybe being a network engineer in a mid-size company isn’t much, but I’d like to think someday I can make some kind of contribution to society, and with Dick on board that’s just not gonna happen. Plus I’ll never be able to have any kind of real relationship, and while I used to be fine with that, the day came when I saw... well, I’ll get to that in a minute.

Do you ever try to fight him? Take back control?

Until the thing I’m about to talk about, no, not once he’s up. I might occasionally try to steer him away from something really really stupid, but Dick doesn’t take direction well. If I’m particularly alert and the sexual threat is particularly weak, I’ll keep him from taking the reins in the first place, but he just comes back that much stronger later. Sometimes even when I could hold him off I’ll let him win because I can see the situation is relatively safe—or because he’s been on a kink tear lately and I could use a little servicing of my needs. (Remember, Dick be damned, the brain is the most important sexual organ.) You go eight days in a row sampling bondage chicks downtown and see if you don’t itch for a change of pace. Plus I bruise easily.

Okay, that’s enough with the questions. This isn’t a damn technical paper.

Let’s get to the good part. The real reason I’m writing this.