The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Day 1

Some people collect stamps. Others, model trains, or passport stamps, or dolls. It’s just a hobby.

I collect boys. It’s my hobby. I find them, wherever, online, in clubs, at the grocery store, it doesn’t matter. I find them. And they come willingly. Maybe they can sense something about me, something supportive, something paternal. A sense of comfort, a warm blanket ready to wrap them up and keep them safe. The love and unconditional support they haven’t found elsewhere.

When I find them they’re in all sorts of conditions, but their one unifying trait is that they’re looking for someone to take care of them. The world’s a harsh place, after all, and no place for a lonely, unloved boy to run free. So I take them in, take them under my wing, one at a time, and love them, help them. And they, in return, love me back.

Right now I’m working on a boy I found outside a club a few Saturdays back. He was hanging out, leaning against the brick with his legs spread just a bit apart and a when I looked at him he gave me a kind of come-hither pout and ever so slightly stuck his pelvis out, just a bit, barely noticeable. I walked over and said hello, and he coyly avoided eye contact, asked if I was alone.

“Are you?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said.

“Would you like a friend?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said.

He followed me silently to my car, and got in the passenger side, and when we were in we started making out. I reached around and grabbed his ass, pleased to feel the ample flesh more than fill my hand. He reached down himself and grabbed my crotch and I ground it forward, pinning his hand against the arm of the seat. He moaned a bit as I slid a hand down the back of his pants, and we kept on going. To him it was an appetizer for the night; to me it was like an interview, a chance to meet my newest boy.

I drove us to my place and he cooed with amazement at the size of my estate as we pulled into the garage. I shushed him and told him to follow me. We had a few hours of sex, fairly decent sex, at that. He was submissive already, and liked it when I talked rough to him. I spanked him lightly—again, to him, some light fetish play, to me, just a taste of the future—and he begged me to call him names while I fucked him. Daddy’s good little boy, I called him, I whispered in his ear, as I drove my cock as deep inside him as it would go, and he shuddered and shot all over his face and chest.

I’m pretty convincing when I want to look like I’m sleeping, and I had a feeling he was the type, so when I laid, pretending to sleep, for a bit in the morning, I wasn’t surprised to hear the careful quiet sounds of him grabbing a few of the more valuable items I leave around the house. Some jewelry, some electronics, nothing out of the ordinary. Bait, really. I silently got out of bed and snuck up behind him, and when I grabbed him from behind, he was so startled he dropped it all. No real loss. I spun him around and he began to blubber and stammer.

“I’m—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t know, I mean, I don’t know...”

“Ssshhh,” I quieted him soothingly, “It’s OK. I understand, and it’s alright.”

“It... it is?” His heart still raced but he wore a look of confusion.

“Yes, of course, anyone would do the same in your position, with what you’ve been through.”

He began to look relieved.

“All you need,” I said, “Is someone who loves you enough to teach you better.”

His look of confusion returned, but I didn’t give him time to figure much out. He was in good shape for a 19-year-old, but no match for me, and I lifted him fully off the ground, threw him over my shoulder, and carried him into the empty servants’ wing of the house, while he screamed for help and pounded on my back, to no avail.

My intake room is just a converted servant’s room, but it’s large enough to do the job well. Every boy I take in needs a different degree of intake, but fundamentally it’s the same thing each time. If I’m to help them, I need to strip away the layers of their mind and regress them back to a time when they were still innocent, pure, and within reach. For some boys, this lands them in diapers and we work forward from there. For some, it’s very little. For this one, it was just going to involve taking away a bit of that stubborn rebellion. It’d be hard to really reach out to him in love if he insisted on sneaking around, robbing me blind, and trying to weasel his way out of it.

The intake room is just full of various toys and video screens and speakers, and it locks securely from the outside. I play a different little video depending on what the boy in question needs. For this one, that was the video that just gently urged him to follow orders.

Sometimes the gentle urging didn’t quite work, though, so just in case, I held him down and stripped off his clothes. I tied a strap of electrodes around the base of his cock and wrapped it all the way up the shaft and drew it taut so it was just barely pressing down into his piss-slit. Into his ass I slipped another small electric device. Since I’m not one for the full restraint, I needed a way to keep my boys from just taking the training aids off, so over his hands and feet I slipped big, puffy, thumbless mittens that tied firmly around the wrists and ankles, and a ball gag with a feeding tube finished him off. That way he wouldn’t be able to use those naughty hands or feet or teeth to get out of this predicament.

The electrodes could provide him with pleasure or pain, depending on whether he obeyed the commands or not. It never let him actually reach orgasm, because otherwise he’d be untrainable for at several minutes as he recovered, and that would be no good. And it didn’t really matter how long it took. I’d built a small cat door into the room where food automatically showed up three times a day, and there was a toilet in the corner for him and a hose that he could suck on for water. He was really living in the lap of luxury, frankly.

I’m a patient man, so I’ve never been very concerned with optimizing the intake process. I know it works, given enough time, and if they stay in there a few days too long, well, no harm done. They learn their lesson one way or another, and if they stay in there longer, they learn it that much better.

He’s been in there for a couple weeks, now. It was exciting, at first, hearing the cries for help and the banging on the walls, interrupted first by screams of agony, but increasingly by moans of pleasure. But after the first week or so, most of the screaming stops, either because he’s too busy with the pleasure or just too exhausted by the constant sensory ravaging inherent to intake. I have some video monitors that I can use when I want to watch the intake process, monitor it. I masturbate to it nightly, watching my latest boy succumb to my control, watching as the machinery turns him into another beloved pet. After the first week, this boy was just where I expected he’d be. He lay on the floor, whimpering, mostly, but whenever the video said to do something, he’d do it, nervously at first, but eventually with a certain amount of glee, grabbing a nearby dildo or nipple clamps or some other toy and shoving it in or fumbling with his fluffy mitten-hands to clip them on or whatever the case might be, and then shuddering as he received his reward.

But there’s no harm in leaving them in to cook a bit longer just to be sure, so I left this one in for two and a half weeks, because I don’t really want any resistance from him. Sometimes when I bring in a boy I’m excited to tame him myself, bring him out of intake when he still has a bit of fight in him. But sometimes, like this time, I’m feeling a bit more tender, and just want an obedient and loving boy to raise.

Tonight’s the night I take him out of intake. I can hardly wait.

Day 2

I went home last night and headed straight for the servants’ quarters. I opened the door on the intake room to see the sweetest young man in the whole world gaze up at me with wide, eager eyes. I turned off the video, took off his mittens and gag, unwrapped the electrodes and slid the plug out of his ass and then my new, naked boy stood up and we hugged each other, boy and master for the first time, and his cock grew quickly hard as he pressed it firmly against my body.

I spent the rest of the night acquainting him with his new lifestyle. Where he previously spent his nights loitering by the club looking to get picked up and score a bit of cash, now he lives to serve me. That means cooking my meals, cleaning my house, and keeping himself in shape for me. Not so much mental—I don’t really care if my boys can think for themselves. He’s not even allowed to talk to me unless I give him permission. But physically, I expect a certain standard from my boys. As I told him last night, I feed him and shelter him and love him. The least he can do is keep that young body taut and muscled for me. Especially that ample ass. I love the boys with the nice big ass-cheeks. It cuts such a lovely profile.

I showed him his wardrobe. The only reason for him to wear clothes, of course, is for my own pleasure. And while having him walk around naked is fun, and I’ll certainly do it sometimes, I think I’ll enjoy having this boy be something of a tease, sauntering around with a bit of swish to his hips while he wears a nice little thong that quickly disappears into his ample crack, or a tiny pair of two-sizes-too-small running shorts where the bottom curve of each butt-cheek peeks out invitingly underneath.

He cooked me dinner, wearing nothing but an apron, and I stood behind him, watching, nodding approvingly when he did well and scolding him when he’d err. When the mood struck, and it did often, I’d drop to my knees behind him and bury my face deep in his crack, savoring the ripe smell and taste of my new houseboy’s ass. It was good training for him. After a few hours he learned to continue cooking undistracted while I enjoyed his body as I wanted. While he was stirring soup I’d grab him by his hips and force them forward a bit so I could drive my stiff cock into his asshole. Once I was inside, I’d take my time, slowly sliding my shaft all the way in and then holding it there, smiling, enjoying the feel of my hips against his large, soft ass, pulling his hips back onto my impaling dick. I stayed inside him, moving only very slightly, rubbing my hips against his ass, for an hour while he continued cooking.

After dinner I had him sit on the table and face me, and I enjoyed his cock as dessert. Enjoying the taste of a new boy for the first time is always exciting, since his proud 19-year-old prick stood straight up for me, so hard the skin was stretched shiny, swollen like a tight balloon ready to burst, firm to the touch of my tongue as I licked up and down, saturating his shaft in my saliva. Like a well-trained boy he held in even the slightest moan as I gobbled his shaft down into my throat, tasting the hot and horny young boy pheromones oozing out of the skin. As I took his soft, fuzzy balls into my mouth he bucked his back a bit but remained silent and I enjoyed the musky flavor of his virile, swollen sack, unrelieved now for weeks.

I pushed his hips back, exposing his taint to my greedy mouth and I took my time, savoring the soft skin and the taste, unwashed now for weeks. I’d already enjoyed his ass for quite a while earlier, and it was getting late, so I stopped there.

For the rest of the night I watched the news, and a movie, and all the while my new boy showed me how much he loved me by sitting down in front of the couch, between my legs, sucking my dick and licking my balls as I shot several loads down his throat, loads he eagerly swallowed.

I had him sleep in my bed with me, and I spooned him so I could keep my hard cock sheathed comfortably in his tight asshole, my hips resting comfortably against those soft, pillowy cheeks. I came a few times inside him and then had him move so his ass was beneath my head and his legs were by my sides, and I used his ass as my pillow, breathing deeply of his musky, ripe scent and periodically rolling off one bulging cheek to drive my tongue up his wet, stretched-out hole for a bit as I dreamt sweet dreams all night.

This morning I woke up and he’d already cooked breakfast. As I ate he sucked gently on my cock, and when I finished I bent him roughly over the table and fucked that adorable ass with quick, harsh thrusts until I came inside him again. He did such a good job of taking it like a good boy, never so much as letting out a peep, that I decided to reward him for his good behavior with his first orgasm in weeks.

I brought him back to the servants’ quarters and into another of my favorite rooms. It’s a pretty standard dungeon room, but as much as I enjoy giving in to my malicious side and torturing my boys, it’s not good for their training to do it when they haven’t misbehaved. It sends the wrong message. But I really wanted to make him squirm, so even though he’d been good, I though I’d treat myself to a little cruelty at his expense nonetheless.

I tied him to a rack and then opened it out until his limbs were spread but not uncomfortably so. I love a boy in this particular pose, head held back at the wall, arms and legs splayed wide out, suspended off the ground, legs open giving me full access to the tasty bits between. I flipped on the video camera and went to work on him, giving in fully to my lust, sucking on his cock and shoving my fingers up his hole, licking them off and then licking his hole directly, jerking his dick stiff, drizzling any manner of liquids onto his genitals, onto his ass, licking, sucking, stroking, and toying with him as he writhed on the rack above.

After an hour his balls were visibly swollen, and he twitched every time I brushed over them, so I guessed that they were getting sore. With a mean grin I grabbed them and squeezed, just a bit.

And he did it. It was almost inaudible, but he made a noise. A little whine. I stopped, and I could sense his heartbeat race.

“Did you say something?” I asked, coldly.

Silence.

“Answer me!“ I shouted, and he began to cry a bit. My cock grew even harder.

“Yes,” he answered, eyes downcast, through sniffles.

“That’s a bad boy,” I said, “And now you’ll learn what happens to bad boys.”

I could hardly believe he’d given me license to punish him. My boys are usually well-behaved, so it’s a rare treat that they misbehave. I love them, of course, but there’s a darker part of me that likes nothing more than to see them squirm and cry and plead for mercy as I sneer and laugh and spank them all the harder.

When I took him off the rack he started to resist, and I didn’t stop him. I like it better when he’s resisting. I like straining all my muscles to hold him down, telling him in a condescending, sing-song voice what a bad boy he’s been while I light up his body in a pain he won’t forget.

And I tell myself it’s good for their training. And it is, I suppose, because it keeps them obedient, and when I finish with each of them they’re models of good behavior. But really, when I’m being honest, that’s not why I punish them. I punish them because I love to punish them.

He kept struggling as I wrapped a leather strap around the base of his cock and then tightly up the shaft, and his dick swelled grotesquely in spite of itself, the blood forced to the head and held there. He kept struggling as I tied his arms into the sling and then his legs.

I opened a nearby drawer and lifted out one of my favorite little torture devices. It’s a sheath for my cock, like a condom, but snug and it ties around the base, and the outside is coated in rough bristles, like horsehair. When I fuck one of my boys while wearing this, it’s painful for them, for sure, but it also itches, it itches worse than anything, worse than fiberglass insulation or itching powder, and the itch is deep inside and they can’t do anything to stop it. And, best of all, I get to fuck them. Nothing satisfies that gripping urge to torture like being able to vigorously thrust my cock into a new, rebellious boy.

I drove my sheathed cock home and he cried out, and as I grinned wider and thrust more, he squirmed and pleaded and begged with me. I just laughed, laughed and taunted him, and called him names, told him he’d been bad, told him he’d have to learn how to serve me, obey me, how the intake was only the first step, how this would go on for years.

When I stopped, tears were streaming off his face, but I laughed and flipped him over in the sling so he was hanging down towards the ground, and then lowered him so his hips came down over my knee as I sat, and his bare buttocks were exposed right up to my face.

I could hardly resist the urge to lean down and taste his sweet hole, but that gripping urge to subjugate him won out and I began viciously spanking him with my bare palm. It stings to do it with my hand, but I wouldn’t do it any other way. That feel of the flesh jiggling under each blow, compressing and spreading to the side like a wave rippling through each buttock, plus the involuntary flinch every time I land a blow, it’s incredibly erotic, and makes me feel so powerful. Having my boy over my leg, helpless as I rain blows down on his beautiful bare ass, there’s little I like more.

I eventually sated my need to punish, and, relaxed and refreshed, I released my boy from the sling.

“Your only purpose in life now is to attend to my needs,” I explained, “And one of my needs is to punish and dominate. So that’s what you’re here for. Don’t worry, in time you won’t even remember any other way.”

I left my boy at home with instructions for the day. Clean the house. Cook dinner. And finally, exercise. Squats and lunges, mostly, to keep those big swollen ass cheeks growing even more.

My days at work pass slowly when I’ve just taken in a new boy, but it’s worth the anticipation to go home every night to a willing—if hapless—new boy, to love, to use, to punish.

I know it’s not what they want, when they meet me, but I don’t really bother asking. Because I know, deep down, it’s what they need.