The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Scott looked at his watch. It was 11:41, and Grant had warned him against being late. He had to find the place fast. He looked up and away at the other side of the street, checking the numbers. 536, 540, 546. He walked back, routinely scanning the numbers. 545, 543, 541, 539, 537. Stop. He turned around and looked for the 543, relieved. There it was, above a narrow doorframe. It was obvious now, and he wondered how he could have missed it in the first place. The narrow doorframe gave onto a narrow corridor, which Scott followed through many turns and a few stairs. Finally, he saw a doorway without a door and entered the tiny boutique called “Chang’s”.

“I never could get Chris to tell me who won,” said Jeff, apologetically.

Irritated, Melissa turned her attention on Sean, with whom she had always been at odds for a multitude of reasons. Even helpless as he was, he managed to have the shadow of a smirk on his face, a most inappropriate rictus for a naked guy. The patches of black hair here and there on his torso converged into a wide happy trail and dense, but well-trimmed, pubic hair. His balls hung low under his thick cut cock. The petite, dark-haired girl grinned maliciously.

“Sean, my dear Sean, you will tell me the truth, won’t you?”

“Yes, Melissa,” he said, with a hint of impatience. “I must tell you the truth.”

“Let’s start with your telling me your most embarrassing secret.”

Sean’s rictus disappeared. He struggled to stop himself from talking. “I... I... I don’t want to... Shit! I... I have a... fetish... Fuck, don’t make me say this... A fetish for men’s... underwear...”

“Go on, Sean, tell me all about it,” Melissa said, sitting comfortably behind him on the bed. She absent-mindedly watched his dimpled ass twitch as he spoke.

“I smell... my friends’ underwear... I lick it... God, this is so humiliating... I put it on... Fuck... Sometimes I cannot resist jerking off and cumming in it... Then I have to steal it.”

“So guys,” purred Melissa, relishing this little secret, “did any of you lose any underwear lately?”

The guys started to speak all at once, each mentioning at least one or two favorite pairs missing.

“John, how do you feel about Sean wearing your favorite white briefs and cumming in them?”

“I think he’s a fucking pervert, that’s what I think. I can’t believe one of my friends did that.”

Sean’s entire body drooped in shame. “It’s just a fucking fetish...” he whispered, faintly sobbing.

“Now John,” said Melissa, suddenly serious. “I’ve been dying to ask you since I came back, and you have no way to avoid answering me. Who’s that fucking whore you say you’re in love with?”

“Trip, I’m sorry, I can’t resist,” the coach said, before kneeling in front of the boy. He forcefully moved the hands away from the craved genitals, then swallowed Trip’s dick and started sucking it.

Furious, Trip tried to shove the coach away from his crotch, when Mallory announced: “Getting your cock sucked by your coach will make you all extremely horny. It will make you uneasy, but you will not be able to resist his sexual advances.” Trip calmed down, guided the rhythm of the coach’s head and moaned with delight. He soon came in the coach’s mouth in a series of spasms.

The coach swallowed, wiped his mouth and told the boys in the pool: “Come stand in line.”

The swimmers, unable to resist the order because of the drugged water, pulled out of the pool and got in file. One by one, they walked up to the coach, who tore off their Speedos and sucked their dicks. After that treatment, they stood around in a loose group, their cocks hard as rock, obviously uncomfortable but unquestionably aroused. When the coach finished his last player, Mallory said:

“Now, boys, it’s your turn. You will tear off your coach’s clothes and kiss him, lick him, suck him, fuck him, as if he was the most erotic thing in the world.”

Coach Sabban’s eyes flashed in alarm as his entire swim team, nude, jumped on him and started ripping off his clothes. The T-shirt vanished immediately, followed by the track pants. He fell on all fours on the grass as the mob made his footwear disappear. They finally tore off his black boxerbriefs shred by shred. He screamed and twisted around, but he couldn’t stop them from violating his entire body. Seth and Scott fought about who would fuck his ass, and Trip forced his dick down his mouth. One jock sucked his balls, another his dick. The rest were licking his legs, his chest, his back, and his feet. Mallory dared not join in, as it was obvious the Coinage was strong, and until he knew its modus operandi, he was cautious not to be affected by it.

Officer White wrapped his mouth around Dr. Carter’s dick, and it reminded Carter of his first gay sex, an experience with that hot Mountie at the compound that had turned him bisexual.

After the officer had convincingly sucked him, Carter said: “Good, I seem to have control over your physical reactions. Now let’s test the mental control.” He pulled up his pants. “Everything about me will arouse you: my presence, my body, my face, my voice. My touch especially will have the power to give you extreme pleasure. Since you are not gay, you won’t want me to know about these feelings, but they will increase in intensity until they get out of control. Get dressed, then forget everything that happened since you first saw the man who sprayed you.”

The officer stood up, rearranged his clothes, then his anger melted into confusion and he said: “Whoa, doc, how did I get in here? I was in the hallway. Did I dose off? Where’s the patient?”

Carter could not believe how perfectly and smoothly the drug worked, unlike any drug he had seen at Domination before. He took an angry tone and said: “The patient is gone, Officer White, and it’s all your fault.” Carter moved closer to the officer, who flushed with shame, guilt, and arousal. Carter’s proximity and the sound of his voice gave the officer an immediate erection.

“I would report you, but I sense a bond between us, maybe because of what we shared years ago.”

Carter placed his hand on the shoulder of the officer, who immediately drooped his posture and sighed. “Thank you for not reporting me, but please,” he said. “I’m not feeling well. Can I go?”

“Let me finish, Matt,” Carter whispered in the policeman’s ear.

The overstimulated officer panicked: “I have to go, please...”

Carter hugged him from behind, and the officer became like putty in his arms, letting out a powerful moan. Carter moved his hands down the officer’s flanks and down to his ass. The touch made the officer shake and whisper: “Please, stop. This is humiliating for me. I’m not gay.” Carter felt the complete erection through the officer’s pants. “That’s not a straight man’s reaction...”

The officer squirmed around in his grasp, “You’re gonna make me cum...” he said. “Stop it.”

“You won’t come until I tell you to,” said Carter, and his words became reality for the officer.

Carter slowly removed the officer’s uniform, first the shirt, then the belt. Whatever resistance Officer White had previously shown was now abandoned for the pure enjoyment of pleasure. Carter lifted the undershirt, making sure he rubbed every inch of that muscular, fairly hairy chest. The officer was paralyzed at the brink of orgasm already, tense and all ready. The boots, socks, and pants were off next, until the Italian cop stood in only his precum-drenched white boxers. Carter tasted the cum in the material, aroused by the aroma, then tore off the bottom of the boxers, his hand finding its way in the man’s sweaty ass, fingering the hole, then seizing the balls. The officer trembled and yelled, “No, I have to cum, you have to let me cum! This is torture!” but Carter just slid the tattered white material off. He stood before the nude officer and said: “Cum, now”. The cock erupted like a volcano, jetting a rich thick white cream forward. The officer collapsed, spent.

“I guess the mental and emotional control passed the test. Very powerful drug,” said Carter.

As he went back in time, Brad became lively and assertive. “So...” he trailed, thinking of what to say. “So this girl Donna came to me and told me I had a nice ass. I mean, what the fuck!” He peeled off his T-shirt, thinking he had to change his clothes. “I mean, a girl! Checking my ass! It...” Brad noticed George’s stare, and it made him uneasy. “...Well, it doesn’t seem right, you know. You’re lucky you don’t have to worry about girls looking at you,” he said, removing his shoes while unzipping his pants. Once he was standing in his white boxers and socks, he noticed George checking out his package. There was some confusion, as if he didn’t know how to react. Unlike what he had done in the past at that moment and because of George’s “improvements”, Brad started to get hard despite himself, and had to readjust his boxers to prevent his dick from coming out of them.

“Sorry...” he said. “That was mean, telling you that girls don’t look at you.” This was another of George’s improvements; the Brad from the past never apologized for his callous remarks.

George could never get enough of seeing Brad standing in nothing but white boxers. In fact, he had made him keep and buy only this type of underwear, to make sure he’d never be disappointed when Brad visited. Brad was approaching his thirties now, and his maturity was settling into his handsome face with the blond half-beard and his sweaty wiry body, all nerves and sandpaper hair.

From then on, Brad’s actions diverged completely from history. He turned around and said: “Could you check my ass and tell me if you understand why she found it cute?” He slipped off his boxers and exposed his butt, covered with the same sandpaper hair texture as the rest of his body. “So,” he asked rather meekly, the preprogrammed lower self-esteem kicking in, “how is it?”

“It looks good enough to fuck.”

“WHAT? Look, man, I didn’t invite you here... I mean, if I gave you the wrong impression.”

George moved around Brad to face him. He stared at Brad’s crotch, which the nude construction worker was trying to conceal with his hands. “You mean that impression? I think you’re turned on by me, Brad. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone that you’re secretly a faggot...”

“I’m not... I mean, I don’t understand why... Well, I guess I am... a bit... turned on... But I’m not... a faggot, George... I really don’t think... I am a faggot.” The ambiguity of his last words con-fused him. He could not gather up the courage to oppose George anymore.

George walked up to the vulnerable nude Brad, and grabbed him by the shoulder. “It’s okay, Brad. So I excite you. Do you get horny when I watch you, when you expose yourself to me?” He paused for Brad to nod, ashamed. “Then let me look. Show me that cock, don’t hide it.”

Brad put his hands behind his head, and his cock immediately went from half-hard to painfully rigid. “George,” he said, helplessly. “I’m so horny... You’re my best friend, George, you know that? I can’t think of anything but sex, right now. Would you suck my dick, please, my friend?”

George came in his pants before he could fulfill that request. Despite the many years this ritual had taken place, it still got too intense for him to finish it properly.

Gary lay back in his seat as he and Nick headed back to the green man’s—O’Shea’s—beach man-sion. Protective spells. Purple disappearances. He was now confronted with the reality of magic. For some reason, he had less of a problem accepting the existence of the drug he was using, however miraculous its effects. But magic? He had stopped believing in that years ago, and confronting his father about his beliefs in magic was maybe the only thing he had done to assert himself as a teenager. His father! Did the mage mean the father he had known, or was he implying another father? A father who could cast protective spells? Gary doubted very much that his father had been able to cast protective spells. However Richard Bloom had believed in magic—Gary could see his father’s lips pronouncing the many syllables of the name of that book he obsessed about: “Pos... si... de... o... no... mi... kon...”—he had never been able to prove its existence to Gary when confronted; it had been such a disappointment for Gary to learn about his father’s magical impotence.

Something else troubled him: how recklessly he had behaved in that hospital. Wielding that water gun had made him forget all about the decency that he so cherished. To be frank, he had to say that his decline in morality had not exactly started with the discovery of the drug: it had started with the discovery of the money he was using to pay for this trip. The bookstore’s profits barely covered his living expenses, and whatever savings he once had, they had been absorbed by the maintenance of the store. He never would have been able to pay for this trip had it not been for the money which had mysteriously appeared in his bank account three months ago. He had expected the bank to realize they had made a mistake, and the money to disappear within the week. None of that happened. Although he had wanted to call the bank to inform them himself, he never made that call, and he didn’t remember exactly making that decision to buy a vacation to Florida with it, yet it was what he’d done. Here he was. That was the real moment when he sensed his morality had taken a plunge, and an undefined, vague sense of dread was attached with that realization.

They drove past the Blue Sparrow Motel, past the palm-tree-covered hills, and suddenly the large mansion appeared to their left, as dead as O’Shea was, its metal gate surrounded by yellow police tape. They parked a few streets up. Nick would wait in the car, and honk if somebody came. Gary refreshed Nick’s chest with water and headed towards the mansion, eager to find some answers.

John struggled to answer Melissa correctly, yet he said: “I don’t know who I’m in love with.”

For the first time that night, Melissa seemed shocked, and baffled. She was lost in thoughts for a moment, then decided to focus her attention on the last of the four, Paul. With his rough muscular arms, the left one tattooed, he exuded animal magnetism. His chest was hairless, but his legs were slightly hairy. His lengthy dick, partially hidden under a wild bush, snaked down his thigh.

“Paul,” she asked aloud. “Do you ever fantasize about me?”

“No,” Paul said, sincerely.

Melissa frowned. She had been convinced he did. “Who do you fantasize about the most, then?”

“Your older sister Jane. I fantasize that she takes pictures of me naked, like she did with all these guys at school, and then she has sex with me, and it’s so hot that it drives her crazy.”

Melissa slapped him, her face puffy and teary. If only people knew the truth about what really happened to her sister! About what drove her mad! Paul’s thoughts made her angry, but they were probably shared by many men from Harriston.

“Melissa?” said Paul, with a clear head. “What’s going on here? How come we’re all naked?”

In the New York City apartment they shared with their gay roommate for about two years now, Kyle and Jonathan, both wearing only a pair of white briefs, were hugging Trent goodbye. Michael, who shared the apartment with them since the previous summer, waited patiently in the hall with the luggage. Finally, Trent put on his trademark sunglasses and said:

“I’ll be back in a week to prepare for final exams. Don’t throw too many wild parties while I’m gone, you know how I hate finding girl panties all around the place.”

“Don’t worry, Trent,” said Jonathan, smiling while absent-mindedly readjusting his crotch. “We’re too swamped with assignments to think about partying.”

“Like that stopped you before,” said Trent, laughing. “Well, in a few hours I’ll be in Florida. I’m sorry about this, but I really got to know the truth about everything.”

As he watched their faces for the last time before following Michael to the car, Trent once again congratulated himself for the decision he had made to leave them their free will after all. True, he had made a few adjustments to their behavior, eradicating all their inhibitions about their bodies, and increasing their need to express their affection for him, but nothing that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. He had not been able to resist, though, making Michael the lifeguard his. Oh, Michael was not his slave or anything, but he was now entirely devoted to Trent. The perfect boyfriend, although Trent was now getting bored of this flawless dedication.

He would stay at the Blue Sparrow motel that night—it was the closest one to the O’Shea mansion. He wasn’t sure what he’d find there, or who, but Michael would protect him. From lifeguard to bodyguard, the muscular man made him feel constantly safe, especially in bed when he was spooning him like a shell with his muscular nude body. Yet Trent was only afraid of one man, and not even Michael’s presence could take that fear away.