The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Bruce woke up and felt amazing. The sun was shining, he felt awake and buzzing, if there were any damn furry woodland creatures around they’d have been singing and chit-chatting away. He felt so on top of the world today.

“Damn, that bitch must have been just what I needed,” he muttered out loud. “Woh, guess I needed a replay!” Bruce’s hands found the cum stain in front of his shorts.

“I’ve just got too much manly seed for one bitch!” Bruce laughed as he sauntered into his family room. He felt so alive with energy he felt the need to do something. He decided a run would be the best idea, but first he’d need his Ipod from his car.

Bruce ran out to his car, ignoring his half nudity and cum stained boxers as he was too focused on spending this energy. He also did not notice two of his apartment complex neighbors smoking cigarettes in front of their place a couple doors down.

“Damn, I wish that boy’d dress in tight revealing clothes like that all the time!” one of them commented.

“You said it,” the other replied. “I’d sure as shit visit you more often then!”

“Bitch!”

Bruce grabbed his Ipod and suddenly felt driven to go into his house and change his clothes. After all, he needed to be ready to jog today! He grabbed a large pair of Adidas shorts and a comfy old T-shirt (never being one to show up much while working out around town, at the gym was one thing when hot chicks were around, but there were too many fags around town, he didn’t want to give them a show).

However, when Bruce walked out of his door, he had on an extremely tight pair of Under Armour black briefs which left nothing whatsoever to the imagination, and no top at all.

“Damn, ask and ye shall receive,” Bruce’s stereotypical neighbor exhaled.

“You said it, queen,” his friend replied.

And the universe snickered right along with them.

After jogging Bruce did not know what to do with himself. He had the day off, and still had all this energy. Maybe he needed to get high. That would definitely calm him down some, plus, it wasn’t like he had to do anything today. Heading out to get high, maybe grab some yummy food later, hit up a bar; suddenly his day unraveled in front of him like a slinky falling down the stairs.

So he called one of his stable of fags who he let appreciate him (visually, of course, and only from afar, nothing gay, really), asking if they could get him any pot.

“Bitch, I ain’t heard from you in weeks, and now you suddenly expecting me to deliver? Whatever!” the fag bitched out Bruce.

“Dude, I’m dieing here, and you won’t even have to come to me this time! I’ll come to your place in…..uh, where do you live again?” Bruce begged, suddenly overwhelmed with the need to follow his slinky plan.

“Downtown, bitch, by Ramrod! You know, you borrowed my TV once? The one I never saw again?” the fag ranted.

“Ramrod? That fucking fag leather bar? Whatever, man, can I just get some pot or not, Bob? I’ll owe you one.” Bruce pleaded.

“Owe me one, you owe me one already. You owe me enough where you should be coming into that fag leather bar and doing whatever I want! But, fine, I need the money anyway, you can come over in half an hour.” Bob gave in, planning on way overcharging him.

“Thank you so much, dude,” Bruce said. “I’ll be there!”

“I’d like to see you in here, in leathers and begging like you should be, bitch,” Bob muttered while he hung up the phone, thinking no one was listening.

The thing is, someone’s always listening. Just ask any celebrity that.

Bruce sauntered into Bob’s apartment in his usual jockboy gait. He sat down and glared at Bob in his usual bored, I’m-just-here-to-use-you way. And he brought his wallet right out in an effort to hurry along business like always.

However, this time, he was decked out in leather shorts, a leather harness, leather wrist bracelets, leather boots, and a leather collar, with a tight fitting leather jacket on top. He was a perfect, muscled, tight vision in leather.

“Very fucking funny, Bruce,” Bob yelled.

“What are you talking about?” Bruce shot back. “Can I just get my pot?”

“Sure, once you get on your knees and beg for it like the horny leather boy you APPARENTLY are!” Bob shouted back, clearly losing his patience.

“Okay,” Bruce shrugged. He got right off the chair and onto his knees, looking up at Bob, and pleading with his hands up in the air. “Please, sir, may I get my pot?”

Bob was too stunned to continue being pissed, and couldn’t help but be a little turned on by this situation. Plus, he never even imagined Bruce would ever do anything like this. Was he getting Punked or something?

“I’ll do anything, sir,” Bruce said, suddenly seeming like he was in a daze.

“Stand up,” Bob tested, half expecting at any second a camera crew to jump out, or just for Bruce to deck him.

“Yes, sir,” Bruce answer, unflinching and unchanged. He stood right up, never breaking his gaze from Bob’s. Bob didn’t even think he’d ever looked him in the eyes this long.

“Kiss me,” Bob ordered. And Bruce leaned over (was Ashton Kutcher coming through Bob’s door?), walked a step closer to finish off the distance (any arms being raised up defiantly?), and kissed Bob, full on the lips.

Bob was floored. Here was the walking king stereotype of macho jock guys. Maybe it really was true what they said about all homophobic guys……Bob couldn’t even think for a moment, as all of the possibilities of a leather covered Bruce hit him at once. But he certainly knew where to start.

“Get on your knees, bitch!”

Bruce walked out of Bob’s place hours later, slightly sore, wiping cum from his mouth, and utterly unsure of why he had done anything he just did. He didn’t enjoy any of it, it was completely unlike him, and yet, he did it without hesitation. Would he do the same again? Was he gay now that someone came on him and fucked him up the ass? What the hell was happening to him? He walked past a couple of houses and then forgot about walking entirely, he was so confused and scared.

He kept thinking over the long list of things he and Bob has just done. Where all of those things even, like, legal?! And suddenly, trying to come to grips with all this, he realized he was covered in leather. Where the hell did these clothes come from? What the fuck was going on?! And why, above all else, was his cock suddenly hard?

Bruce was so confused; he did not know a lot of things. Like, for example, the fact that the clock and date had changed, or that, on a fine, fair weekend night like tonight, the leather bar was jam packed to the filling, and many of it’s customers were out enjoying a smoke (cock or otherwise) and a boy in the yard. He also knew nothing of the universe and it’s many tricks and schemes. Or that he was about to enter into his third and final stage of universal revenge.

“Hey, boy!” some random voice yelled from the bar across the street. Bruce immediately turned around and responded.

“Yes, sir?” Bruce inquired, suddenly getting harder (and he was aware of it, and while most of him was scared, a growing part of him was loving this).

“Get over here, boy, my cock needs attention now!” the voice commanded.

“Absolutely, sir!” Bruce squealed, suddenly overfilled with lust and glee. He ran towards the voice, suddenly so hot and hard, and it felt so good. Fuck all that other stuff he was worried about, it was time to have some fun!

While once again, the universe chuckled.

And maybe touched itself a bit, too.