The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


This story is copyrighted by the author. Reader comments welcome at .

WARNING: This story contains erotic mind control, immobilization, gay sex, and extreme silliness. Sometimes all at once. So if you are under legal age, exit this file and go write your own like everybody else!

(Dream casting: Brendan Fraser, Keanu Reeves, Jonathan Pryce, and Judi Dench as Colonel Crabbe.)

NOTE: At the time that this story was first posted, I had no idea that there was a real-life wrestler named Lance Storm. Needless to say, no resemblance to the real Lance or his personal life is intended. (Although I have to say, now that I’ve seen his photo, he would look awfully good in the uniform!)

Captain Lance Storm, pride of the Allied Space Fleet Rocketeers, strode briskly through the bustling corridors of Rocketeer headquarters, exchanging salutes as he passed fellow officers in that elite corps of heroes. His broad, powerful chest swelled with excitement, straining the already-tight blue uniform, and his large blue eyes were bright, for a summons to the colonel’s office could mean only one thing—a new, daring mission into the unknown depths of outer space! For this was the great age of Earth’s exploration of the cosmos—a time of technology triumphant—and the Rocketeers were the guardians and defenders of the new galactic civilization.

Colonel Crabbe welcomed Lance to her office with a crisp salute and a brief smile. The silver-haired commander of the Rocketeers was like a mother to her men—a very butch mother whose steely glare could melt a space shuttle. “Have a seat, Captain Storm,” she said briskly, waving him to a hard and uncomfortable, but very futuristic, metal chair.

“Have you a new assignment for me, sir?” he asked eagerly, letting his eyes stray to the always-thrilling sight of the launching pads outside her office windows, and trying to ignore the cold steel chair that was freezing his balls.

“A new assignment. And a new partner,” was her startling reply.

Lance blinked in surprise. “But, sir—what about Cadet Timmy?”

Colonel Crabbe lifted last month’s issue of Thrilling Planets Magazine off her desk and thumbed through it to the end of “Lance Storm and the Asteroid Outlaws”. “According to this report, Cadet Timmy fell into a bottomless pit on the fourth moon of Jupiter.”

Lance Storm looked embarrassed. “Well, it’s not really bottomless exactly. It comes out the other side. And he’s got plenty of nutri-pills to eat for the eight months until then.”

“How reassuring,” the colonel said icily. “In the meantime—ah, here he is,” she said as the office door opened. Lance turned to see who had entered, and his square jaw dropped. The man in the doorway wore a Rocketeer’s uniform, but he wasn’t human. His exotically handsome features were an almost glittering golden-bronze color. His long, straight hair, and the feathery, upswept brows of his beautiful dark eyes, were icy blue. And the tightness of that blue spandex uniform made it clear that his endowment was Not Of This Earth.

“Captain Lance Storm,” announced Colonel Crabbe, “meet your new partner, Lieutenant Eros of the planet Orgasmia.”

Lance turned back to her in a state of shock. “But, sir! Everyone knows about the Orgasmians! It’s said they have the alien power to turn the manliest of men into... (gulp!)... into screaming space fairies!”

“Cosmic legends and bushwah!” snapped the colonel.

“Wishful thinking,” murmured Eros in a deep, sexy voice. He smiled a lazy, insinuating smile, and Lance felt a weird quivering run through his whole body. “In any case,” Crabbe continued, “Lieutenant Eros is an officer in the Allied Space Fleet Rocketeers. He took the same oath that you did, never to harm, exploit or betray a fellow member of the ASFR.”

“But—" Lance began, raising a hand to gesticulate, then gasped as Lieutenant Eros reached out to shake his hand firmly. “Brothers beneath the skin,” smiled the alien, as Lance felt his head spin, his pulse race, and his cock snap erect just from the feel of Eros’ hand against his own.

“I’ll expect you both to live up to that proud tradition.” The colonel’s tone made it clear that this part of the discussion was over. “Now, as to your assignment. Five days ago the space cruiser Hephaestion left Mars en route for Saturn, transporting a group of entertainers from Chippendale’s Pleasure Planet. The ship disappeared from deep space radar after less than 24 hours, before it even reached the asteroid belt. Your orders are to retrace its flight path, find out what became of it, and render assistance to its passengers and crew if possible. The necessary data has already been transmitted to your ship’s computer. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” they chorused.

“Then hop to it!” she barked. The two men exited the office, Lance keeping as much space between himself and his unwanted new partner as he could reasonably manage. Colonel Crabbe watched him go with a fondness she would not have revealed to his face. He really did have the most adorable bubble butt, she reflected. Too bad he had a head to match.

As Lance and Eros entered the cockpit of their sleek patrol rocket, the Starchild, a voice echoed from the forward teleceiver: “Ground control to Starchild. You are clear for orbit 089, repeat 089. Prepare for blastoff.”

“I love cock- excuse me,” said Eros, as he brushed past Lance and took the co-pilot’s seat. "—I love cockpits,” he finished. “They make me feel so adventurous—like I’m about to go somewhere I’ve never been before. Do you feel that?”

“Stand by to raise ship!” cried Lance, frantically trying to focus on his control panel and ignore the thrill of pleasure throbbing in his side where the Orgasmian had brushed against him.

“Well, naturally,” Eros replied calmly, smoothly running strong, sensitive hands across the array of shiny dials, buttons and levers.

“Energize the cooling pumps!” Lance barked.

“Oh, I already did that,” replied the alien. “Was I supposed to wait?”

“Clear tangent forward and up!”

“Absolutely. So what do you do to pass the time on these long space voyages?” Finding the lever that controlled the main thrusters to be stuck, Eros stroked it till it rose to an upright position.

Lance swallowed hard. “Call up the data files on the Hephaestion’s flight. We’ll need to study it in detail during our trip. Lots and lots of detail.”

Eros typed a command on the computer’s keypad, and a small screen lit up with a picture of a dozen handsome, very muscular men in very skimpy dance outfits. “Oh, yes,” he smiled. “I see what you mean...”

Between the door to the Starchild’s cockpit and the crew quarters lay the long, wide room that served as a lounge and conference area. When the furniture futuristically popped back into the wall, it became an exercise deck as well. After four long hours in the Orgasmian’s company, Lance Storm had retreated to this familiar spot, feeling a strangely overpowering need to work off a lot of excess energy.

There was a sense of comfort, too, in standing on the padded exercise platform, recalling the many times that he and Cadet Timmy had used the space for their daily workout. How he missed the ever-cheerful, freckle-faced lad! Their intense wrestling sessions, always followed by a bracing mutual full-body massage, had been so wholesome and innocent! Not at all like his unwanted new partner; just being in the same room with Eros gave him the shivers. The alien was so mysterious, so exotic, so very handsome, so—

Lance stopped short in his calisthenics, biting his tongue as if he had been talking out loud. So creepy, that was what he had meant! So disturbing...

Lance stared at the shiny metal wall, which threw back his reflection almost like a mirror. With a certain relief, he saw that he looked the same as ever. His jaw was still heroically square, his brilliant blue eyes still bright and fearless. His big biceps still bulged with manly power; his perfect V of a torso, clad for the workout only in tight ASFR-issue underwear, still sloped from broad, masculine shoulders to rock-hard abs. Lance Storm was every inch a real man! And there were more than a few inches, too, he thought smugly. Even Eros wasn’t—

No! He wouldn’t know about that! He hadn’t looked at that part of Eros, not at all!

“I’m looking at a heavenly body, Lance,” said a deep voice. Lance jumped in panic, then realized that Eros was calling on the intercom system. It was audio only, not a teleceiver. “Yes, lieutenant?” Lance replied formally.

“I think we’ve arrived,” said Eros. “You’d better come forward and see this.”

Quickly slipping back into his uniform, Lance returned to the cockpit. Filling one corner of the forward port was a dark, sinister-looking planet. Lance glanced at the starchart mounted on the wall, then checked the spatial coordinates on the control panel. “There’s not supposed to be any planet here. There’s not supposed to be anything for a hundred space miles.”

“Yeah, that’s the part that I thought was kind of odd,” Eros agreed.

“A rogue planet,” Lance mused, stroking his chin. “And at almost the exact spot where the cruiser disappeared. Something tells me this is no coincidence.”

“You think?”

“Yes, I do. I think we’d better find out what kind of rogues this rogue planet may be hiding!”

The Starchild landed on a bleak, barren plain. Lance and Eros stepped out onto the lifeless expanse of rock, their ray-pistols ready, prepared at any moment to confront some dread alien menace. But everything was eerily still. Not even a breath of wind.

Wordlessly, Eros pointed toward an outcropping of rock. An opening led into what looked like a cave—and, from somewhere deep within, there came faint flickers of light and a distant hum of machinery. Lance set his jaw grimly, and they moved cautiously forward.

Once inside the opening, Lance was amazed to find that the cavern was huge, branching off into two wide, dark tunnels. He gestured down one, indicating that Eros should investigate it while he tackled the other. The alien nodded, and they separated.

Lance had been making his way along the lightless, downward path for several minutes when he saw an eerie blue glow up ahead. Advancing with care, he discovered a large open cavern. Except for the rocky ceiling, which was lost in the shadows, the whole space was lit by a weird phosphorescence. And at the far end, standing over an exotic instrument panel, stood a human—or human-like—figure.

“I’ve got you covered!” barked Lance in a commanding voice. “Turn around with your hands up!”

The strange figure obeyed, revealing a saturnine, bearded face topped by a horned helmet. The man’s bright scarlet cape swished as he lifted his hands, not so much in surrender as in a flamboyant gesture of welcome. “Greetings, Rocketeer!” he boomed. “Welcome to my rogue planet! I am Sleazor!” For no apparent reason, he threw back his head in a loud, maniacal laugh.

Lance eyed him warily. “Have you by any chance had visitors recently? A space cruiser, perhaps?”

“Ah, yes, the entertainers,” exclaimed Sleazor cheerfully. “I found them very entertaining indeed. So I decided to take them prisoner and keep them here forever!”

“Oh, really?” retorted Lance. “I’ll take that as a confession, Sleazor.” He raised his ray-pistol higher for emphasis. “Your evil game is up. I’m taking you in!”

“You’ll have to catch me first!” cried the sinister man, turning to flee. Lance considered just shooting him for a second, but he hadn’t found out where Sleazor’s prisoners were in this dark maze. Besides, a Rocketeer never shoots anyone in the back. So he charged forward in pursuit.

But when he was halfway across the cavern, a metal plate set in the stony floor suddenly lit up beneath his running foot. Instantly, from the concealing darkness of the ceiling, a ray beamed out, engulfing Lance in a split second. He tried to blink and shut out the piercing light, but he couldn’t blink.

In fact, he couldn’t move. At all. With the touch of the alien ray, Lance’s powerful figure had frozen in mid-stride. His right leg hovered rigidly in the air, suspended in an unfinished step. His brawny arms stuck out stiffly, the right hand holding the ray-pistol, the left clenched in a fist. In every way his pose indicated quick, vital action, yet he had become a living statue!

Sleazor ambled casually back, a gleeful smile on his devilish features. “What’s the matter, Rocketeer?” he mocked. “I thought you were in a hurry. Did you suddenly lose interest? Or could it be that you are—" He whipped a hand up in a dramatic gesture. "—a helpless victim of my Hypno-Para-Freeze-Gun!!!”

Lance stared at the fiend in impotent fury, straining with all his considerable might to break free of the force that trapped him. His ray-gun was still pointed straight at the villain, his finger only a quarter-inch from the trigger, yet it was as if his hand had been turned to stone. He could no more budge his finger, not even that quarter-inch, than he could have lifted a mountain. He could not even take his frozen eyes off Sleazor’s wickedly leering face.

“I’m sure you’re dying to know how it works,” gloated the space scoundrel. “You see, the Hypno-Para-Freeze-Gun beams a telepathic signal straight into your brain—an irresistible hypnotic command not to move from your position. There is no defense against its awesome power!” He turned slightly and bellowed, “Ho Slaves!”

From the tunnel at the far end of the cavern four figures emerged. They were all big, athletic-looking men, and Lance realized that they were part of the missing dance troupe. But instead of the lively, animated expressions they had worn in the file photos, their handsome faces were now blank, totally devoid of emotion or expression. They walked smoothly, but without a trace of the personal body language usually seen in well-built men. And it was easy to tell, since they were all stark naked.

“Strip him!” commanded Sleazor. Without showing any reaction, the four men reached out to grab Lance and lift his rigid body off the floor, like a mannequin being removed from a display and undressed—which was pretty much what he had become. Since his frozen limbs prevented them from pulling the uniform off, they simply ripped it off him, dropping the ruined tatters to the stone floor. The ray-gun was removed from his grasp and confiscated. As mindless hands tore off even his briefs, Lance discovered that there was still one thing he could do—he could blush.

The zombie-like studs stood the denuded spaceman on the floor again, still in the exact same petrified position. Smirking, Sleazor draped an arm around his stiff shoulders and leaned close. “Did I mention,” he asked in a confidential voice, “that the only thing that can ever—ever—release you from the Hypno-Para-Freeze-Gun’s effect is to be subjected to an even more powerful hypnotic influence? But don’t fret, my dear Rocketeer. I have one handy! After I have you placed in my Hypnotron machine, you will become one of my Ho Slaves, like these four lovely gentlemen. With your will erased and your mind a blank, you’ll spend the rest of your life obeying my every whim!” He ran a cruel hand sensuously over Lance’s broad, immobile chest. “And I can think of a lot of whims, believe you me!” He leaned in to plant a slobbering kiss on Lance’s rigid lips, fiercely tonguing his slightly open mouth.

“But one mustn’t put the horse before the rocket,” Sleazor continued, stepping back. “Once the Hypnotron blanks your mind, you’ll never suffer again. And what fun is that? So I’ll leave you here alone to stand helpless for a day or two, contemplating your terrible fate and unable to make a move to prevent it. Never let it be said,” and he flung his cape back flamboyantly, “that Sleazor’s evil is lacking in style!”

The cosmic renegade swept out of the cavern, the walls echoing his peals of diabolical laughter from all sides. The Ho Slaves followed, in oblivious silence.

For a very long moment Lance Storm stood alone, bathed in eerie blue luminescence, and feeling pretty damn rotten. Then a movement in the shadows caught his eye. When the lithe figure of Eros stepped out into his line of vision, he found himself, for the first time, actually happy to see his partner.

“I saw the whole thing,” the lieutenant told him. “Poor Lance! It doesn’t take much to make you hard, does it?” He placed a comforting hand on Lance’s shoulder, squeezing it. The wave of sensation that rushed through Lance was like a bursting shell, but this time he couldn’t shrink away. He couldn’t move a single muscle, or even make the slightest sound, to show what he was feeling.

“There has to be some way to get you out of this,” mused Eros out loud. “I can’t just drag you back to the ship in this condition. What was it that Sleazeball said? Something about...” He looked into Lance’s frozen face, as if expecting him to answer. And, even though his very eyes were paralyzed, something in them suddenly made Eros react, and glance down in realization at his hand still resting on Lance’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah...” he said softly, beginning to smile. “An even more powerful hypnotic influence...”

It took a moment for Lance to realize what he meant. Then he saw Eros stripping off his uniform, and he tried to yell in panic. But his vocal cords were numb, paralyzed. He couldn’t utter a sound.

Eros looked deeply into Lance’s eyes, his expression grave. It flashed across Lance’s reeling mind that he was hot when he smiled, but incredibly gorgeous when he looked serious. “I know this isn’t what you want, Lance,” the alien said gently. “But trust me, once I get started, you won’t want anything else. And that’s got to be better than what Mr. Campy has planned.”

That’s not comforting!! Lance wanted to scream, but couldn’t.

Eros raised the hand from Lance’s shoulder and began to caress his cheek, fingering his dark hair and the faintly-stubbled line of his cheekbone. His other hand slipped around his captain’s waist and slowly, firmly stroked the sensitive spot at the base of his spine, just above his ass. His movements were calculated, confident, the actions of a man who knows all there is to know about arousing sensual pleasure. And his eyes stayed locked on Lance’s, until Lance felt that he was drowning in their warm, welcoming darkness. The feelings coursing through him were like nothing he had ever felt before.

He wanted to resist what he was feeling, but how could he when the alternative was to stay a living statue forever? He tried again, desperately, to move on his own, to jerk away from this unsought experience. But, though sweat streamed as if he was lifting enormous weights, every muscle remained locked helplessly in place. His arms, legs, torso, all were alive and sensitive, yet as petrified as solid marble. And now Eros was running strong, quick hands all up and down his sides, leaning in to slowly, seductively lick at his nipples, hanging on to one rigidly outstretched arm for support. Lance wanted to gasp, but his throat would not obey. He had never had anything done to his nipples before—it just wasn’t a guy thing! But this sensation, this unbelievable feeling! The licking turned to sucking, and Lance instinctively knew that if his tits were not frozen, they would be standing at full attention!

Eros lifted his head to gaze into his eyes again, slowly, softly rubbing his face against Lance’s and caressing his taut back muscles. Lance tried to think of something else, anything else at all, but it was as if every cell in his face and back was exploding—not with pain, or not exactly, but with an ecstasy so great that its power did hurt. Above all, it was driving him totally crazy that his face remained immobile, eyes unblinking, mouth stiffly open, voice muted—unable to express by the tiniest sign the incredible force of what he was feeling! Eros’ tongue began to sensuously caress his open lips, and it dawned on Lance that he probably didn’t need to do half of what he was doing; his Orgasmian powers would have filled Lance with bliss even if he had been rough and careless. But he was giving it his all, to make this the most pleasurable experience for Lance that it could possibly be.

Eros finally took the plunge into Lance’s mouth, caressing his stiff tongue and his inner cheeks in a way he had never thought possible. I don’t want this! Lance shouted inwardly. I don’t want this! I don’t want this! I don’t want this—to stop! Oh, Eros, don’t stop! Don’t stop!

Eros didn’t stop, but he did lower one hand to Lance’s crotch, grabbing and squeezing his hardened sack and his drooping yet rigid cock. He squeezed, stroked, groped, pulled, all the time still passionately tonguing. And then there was a sound.

“Aaah! Aaaah! Aaaaah!”

Eros stopped for a moment, staring into Lance’s still-stiff face. Then the blue eyes widened, and the lips tried to twitch. Again the sound came from Lance’s open mouth: “Aaaah! Aaaah!”

“You’re talking, Lance!” cried Eros with delight. “You’re talking! Come on! You can do it! Speak!”

And, with a mighty effort, Lance’s lips and tongue and vocal cords delivered the message: “More... More!... More!!”

Grinning, Eros plunged in again, feeling Lance’s tongue and lips begin to stiffly respond, embracing his own. He forced himself to stop squeezing Lance’s balls so hard, as they began to turn flexible again. But that hand had its work cut out for it anyway, as the hanging cock began to slowly rise and expand, as if reaching out to touch him. Strangely, it now felt harder than ever. Eros caressed Lance’s naked feet with his own, groping the arches with groping muscles no human has, while his other hand slipped around back to knead and squeeze Lance’s butt. All the while, Lance’s ecstatic moans pleaded incoherently for the pleasure to never stop—moans which changed to sharp, piercing cries as Eros dropped to his knees and greedily wrapped his mouth around his throbbing cock.

At last, when the swollen organ threatened to choke him, Eros pulled himself upright, using the rigid arms like parallel bars. Moving around Lance’s quivering body, he took him from behind, jamming his own erect, inhumanly large shaft into the trembling crack of Lance’s perfect butt. Again and again he shoved, clutching Lance tightly to him with both muscular arms, groaning with both strain and pleasure. As a feeling like a nuclear explosion built in Lance’s dick, he managed to think, I’m going to die of sheer ecstasy! And Eros was right—that’s all I want!

With a sudden, final frenzy of motion, Lance shot his load clear to the cavern’s roof, splattering the hanging stalactites, at the same moment feeling Eros’ alien cum explode into his body like a tidal wave. Staggering, they sank to the stone floor, ignoring its coldness, groping and embracing and kissing and fondling as if totally unaware of their surroundings.

In the end they lay limply in each other’s arms, just trying to get their breath back. Eros poked Lance’s nose and grinned. “You know, I’m almost sorry that worked. You were one really sexy statue.”

“I’ll be your statue any time,” said Lance adoringly. “Just say the word.”

“I know,” smiled Eros. “From now on you’ll do anything I want. Can’t help it, the Orgasmian cum in your system makes you mine forever.”

“I’m glad,” Lance sighed happily, leaning his cheek against his lover’s hand.

Meanwhile, in Sleazor’s lair of evil, the Nemesis of Space was relaxing in his favorite hammock, sipping a pink fruity drink with a little silver umbrella. The Ho Slave who had mixed the drink stood within arm’s reach, holding a tray and waiting mindlessly for his master to finish. Tall and beautifully muscled, he resembled the ancient Earth movie star Sylvester Stallone, although the fact that his mind was a blank made him look more intelligent.

Sleazor gazed appreciatively at the two tall pillars between which his hammock was strung. Each was a naked, muscular young man, his hardbody now truly hard, frozen with the hammock’s strings tied around a tightly curled bicep. Their engorged cocks stuck out like steel rods, slimy with drool and other liquids where Sleazor had satisfied his lusts. Their buns, now firmer than they had ever thought possible, were coated with dried cum.

Similarly nude and rigid, and beginning to gather dust, was a huge, bearded black man with the massive chest and arms of a Hercules. Sleazor’s cape was draped over one flexed arm, his tunic and trousers over the other, while the winged helmet perched jauntily on his curly hair. Whenever he wasn’t needed as a coatrack, Sleazor liked to thank him by kicking him in the crotch, knowing that instead of the frozen cock or balls budging an inch, the man’s entire body would topple over backwards. The sight of his biggest, most powerful captive crashing helplessly to the floor, still in his immobile flexing pose, always made Sleazor laugh out loud. But then, Sleazor laughed out loud at many things, and frequently at nothing at all.

Chuckling at the thought of his own laughter, the Master of Galactic Evil reached up to caress the stiff lips of one “pillar”, a blond Adonis with stunningly intense green eyes. Those eyes now stared blankly, the tanned face as expressionless as those of the Ho Slaves. But Sleazor knew that looks were deceiving, for once they had been posed and frozen, he had made a point of releasing his statues from the Hypnotron’s spell. It was so much more fun to know that their minds were their own again, that they were raging at their helplessness—hating every moment of being turned into living furniture and sex toys, but unable to show their feelings by even the twitch of an eyelid. Sleazor giggled at the thought of these strong-willed, powerful men standing motionless for centuries, unable to age or die, unable to even sleep—trapped forever in beautiful immobility.

The door from the caves opened, and two more slaves entered, carrying the statuesque figure of Lance Storm. Sleazor beamed malevolently. This latest prize was the hunkiest of all! He clambered out of the hammock and went over to where the slaves had stood Lance up, eager to gloat some more at his new toy’s expense. Then he thought of something.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I don’t remember telling you to bring him here.”

“Oh, that’s the trouble with zombies,” said a casual voice. “They’ll take orders from just anybody.”

Sleazor’s eyes widened at the sight of Lieutenant Eros leaning nonchalantly in the doorway. He spun around to shout a command to his slaves, only to be met with a blur of fast-moving muscle as Lance’s piledriver right connected with his jaw. The Fiend of Fiends fell to the floor in a heap, out cold before he knew what hit him.

“Nicely done, captain,” Eros applauded.

“My pleasure, lieutenant,” Lance bowed. He looked around. “But what about these poor devils? How do we get them back to normal?”

Eros took in the collection of drop-dead-gorgeous studs, standing frozen or mindlessly waiting for commands. He grinned and cracked his knuckles. “A hero’s work is never done!”

Back in the cockpit of the Starchild, the Rocketeers set a course for home. “Missing persons found. Prisoner in the brig. Another space mission accomplished!” Lance exclaimed proudly.

“Still wish you had a different partner?” Eros teased.

“Never!” Lance’s eyes drank in the beautiful sight of his teammate’s nude, muscular body; there was nothing wrong with Eros’ uniform, but Lance had begged him not to put it on until he absolutely had to. Lance’s clothes, of course, had been shredded.

Eros kissed him lightly, then said, “Better go see how our passengers are doing.” Lance wanted only to be alone with him, but he did as Eros suggested. He could no longer imagine doing anything else. Together, they opened the cockpit’s inner door and entered the exercise deck.

A dozen voices greeted them, joyfully exclaiming, “Eros! Eros!” The rescued dancers flocked eagerly to their side—all still nude, since Sleazor had discarded their dance outfits. But nudity wasn’t going to be an issue on this ship any more, Lance thought. He watched with some amusement as they vied for his partner’s attention, some posing to show off their chiseled physiques, others reaching out to touch and stroke Eros adoringly. Lance could almost have been jealous, but Eros had told him not to be. And how could he blame anybody for wanting Eros?

Striding through the crowd, the spacemen mounted the exercise platform and were joined in a passionate embrace, eagerly exploring each other’s bodies with clutching hands. Moaning as an alien tongue stroked his throat, Lance felt a delirious joy beyond anything he’d known before this day. But there was something else he wanted even more, and Eros knew it.

With a wicked little smile, Eros said casually, “Freeze.”

Lance stiffened, petrified in mid-grope. But this time, if he had been able, he would have emitted a blissful sigh. This was how it had been their first time; and so to be helpless in Eros’ power, immobile putty in his hands, would always be the ultimate turn-on. And this time nothing would release him, let him move or speak or cum, till Eros gave the word. He was totally at his lover’s command!

Playfully running a finger across Lance Storm’s unmoving bicep, Eros considered the possibilities. He could jump on Lance and fuck him silly. He could topple him over into the arms of the others, commanding them to use him as their plaything. Or he could leave Lance standing, rigid and helpless in his pose of embrace, while he himself had wild sex with all the others. No matter what he did, Lance would be in ecstasy, just from being so completely in his power. They all would.

Eros of Orgasmia grinned. His adventure with humans was just beginning!