The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Three taps on the door, followed by “five minutes to show,” the voice said.

“Gotcha,” I called back. “Almost there.”

“OK,” the voice replied, fading away.

I was almost there. My left stocking seam was refusing to line up. The Cuban heel was straight, but the seam was drifting. Time for one more go, I thought. Shucking it down to the foot, I squared it once more and then pulled straight up. Success!

Time for my toe-to-head review: heels—stocking—seams—backless panties—rear zipper on the 20 inch black leather skirt halfway up—chemise straps up—bra low—cleavage moderate—vermillion lipstick—wig fluffed—two button black kid gloves. Check. Deep breath and out I go.

The stage is simple tonight. A straight back chair with a night stand next to it. There was a bar with two chains and cuffs attached and an overhead lamp above that. Cameras to the left and right with boom mikes to the side.

Mia, the “Star”, was already there. Taller than me (I’m 5-9+) in her flat feet, the five inch heels gave her almost 10 inches on me. Above those heels was the classic Domme black leather jump suit. It was as supple as skin and just as tight. Her nipples were well in front of the 36C’s. Equally classic dark make-up.

She sniffed, “Cutting it a bit close, aren’t we? Are you ready?”

I nodded, “Yep, one seam wouldn’t cooperate. Cleaned and lubed.”

Victor—the “Director”—stepped up, gave us the once over, “OK, you’re good to go. Any questions on the sequence?”

We both shook our heads.

He stepped back, holding up his hand. A brief pause and then, “Five—Four -Three,” he counted down showing Two, then One and then a finger point.

Mia was behind me. She grabbed my neck and pushed me into the set. I stumbled, looking around.

“Hey,” I yelled, swatting her hand down. “What’s this? What the fuck is this?”

She stepped around, grabbing me by the throat. “You said you wanted to go somewhere quiet and get to know me better,” she snarled. “So here we are.”

I reached up to pull her hand down, but she blocked it and twisted me around into a Half-Nelson with her other arm across my throat. We were facing the cameras now. She hissed loudly, “It’s real quiet in here, and pretty soon you are going to know me intimately. You thought you were going to be in charge? Little arrogant, self-centered Bitch. You should have known the moment you approached me out there, I was always in control. Or maybe this is your game—pretend to be forceful but then submit at the first sign of power. Huh? Is that it?

I got my free arm up on her forearm, but the more I pulled, the harder she squeezed the elbow. I was writhing, but even that was not loosening her grip. I dropped my arm.

Embracing me tightly, she pulled me back to the chair. She pulled my arm from behind my back and jerked it up, grabbing the manacle and sealing the Velcro in one swift move. I got my other arm free and swung a slap. She blocked and then smacked me across the cheek, my face spinning as it came across. I reeled and up went the other arm. She pushed the chair behind me.

And there I sat, glaring, struggling, mouthing off, and demanding to be released.

At which point she acknowledges my efforts, tells me to save my energy and that a release will be coming in a little while. Her leer made me shiver.

She then starts removing items from the night stand—a crop, a gag, dildos/vibrator, cigarettes.

She brings the crop and starts stroking me with it. I give her grief. I know she is not going to stop, but she tricked me, and I’m outraged.

She steps back and yells, “Enough. Dumb Bitch. You followed me down a dark hall to a back room. Did you think we were going to play with Barbies?”

And with that she whacks my cheeks with a right and return left stroke. My head snaps each time and I start up again.

“This is too damn much,” she shouts. She grabs the ball gag and pitches my nose until I open up for air and in it goes. The Velcro closes before I shake it out.

Standing behind me she caresses my neck and shoulders, encouraging me to relax. I shrug her off and stand. But she grabs my shoulders and with her height advantage, holds me there.

I feel her looking me over. “Cuban heels,” she snorts. “You are a tramp!”

She then pushes me forward and bends me as the chains allow.

“What have we here?” she wonders.

Spinning me around (the bar is on swivel), she displays my ass to the viewers. Caressing it and my legs, she slowly unzips the skirt exposing my panties.

“Oh wow,” she exclaims. “Looks like this little tramp came prepared.”

She moves me left and right so the audience gets a good look—— bottomless panties in black lase with a bow at the top. The lace encircles the buttocks. It’s all ass and thanks to my being a runner and a cyclist, is really, really firm. She massages it a bit and then in a smooth, well-practiced move, lubes her two fingers, penetrates and thrusts as she grabs the butt plug with the other hand, inserting it. Spinning me back into the chair, she activates it. She runs the speed up and down as I writhe trying to get control of the sensation.

Reducing the speed, she grabs me by the throat, lifting my head. She sneers, “Do I keep this up or are you going to give me what I need?”

With her other hand she releases the ball gag.

“Please,” I beg. “I’ll do it. I promise, I’ll be good, please stop the egg, I can’t concentrate!”

She releases my hands and turn me sideways on the chair so the cameras are looking at our profile. She then unzips her jump suit down to her crotch and withdraws a moderately sized cock.

She then grabs the cigarette and lighter. As she lights it, she tells me to remove my gloves. She pours some lube in my right hand, and puts the cigarette in the other.

“That 120 will last about seven minutes. I want a smoking blowjob. Get me off and I’ll release you. Come up short and you’ll be here all night.”

I take my first drag and blow it gently on her shaft, and then get to work. I know how she likes to be stroked and how for me to use my tongue. Two months of practice has taught me how to draw it out or hasten the conclusion depending on the time remaining. Out of the corner of my eye I see Charlotte give me the three minute sign. So 20 seconds later, I start humming and taking her deeper. She moans and utters the appropriate compliments and epithets. 30 seconds to go she grunts. I pull out, take drag and as I exhale slowly through my nose, she begins to vibrate. Two more exhales, and she pushes my hand away, taking her cock in one hand and holding my head with the other, she cums on my face = = once, twice, then three and four. I sit back on my heels—no easy feat, or ‘feet’ rather, and take one more long inhale, I exhale towards the ceiling. I lean back and put it out on my sole.

“Lick it off,” she commands.

Facing the camera, I take my finger and wipe it up, then sucking my finger clean before taking another swipe and repeating—all with a satisfied smile.

Victor signals fading to black, and I wait for the “all clear” call.

Getting to my feet, I look at Mia and pointing to my ass, I say, “A little help please.”

She snorts, “Not my job.”

Charlotte is shutting down the equipment. “Uhh Charlotte?” I ask.

She barely looks up, “I’m busy, sorry,” she answers.

As usual, I’m on my own. I spent four years as a loadmaster on a C-17. There the crew concept was the basis of success. Not so much in the world of Saturday night BDSM pornography.

Fortunately, there’s a tail. Putting a glove back on for traction, I extract the pesky plug, sighing in relief.

There’s only one sink in the basement, it’s wide and deep, but Mia—Diva that she is—never shares. So I sit and wait as the sweat, gunk, etc. dries up.

Mia has gone upstairs with Victor to check the log-ins and settle up. Me? I’m cleaning up the toys and the props because that’s who I am. I wish Charlotte a good night and to be safe going home. She looks over her shoulder for a brief second, sighs, and then is gone. At least I got a sigh this time.

As I wait my turn with the Boss, I hear Mia arguing with him about her cut. She does this every week. True, we’ve averaged 5,000+ discrete viewers since I started. And trending upwards per Charlotte’s reports—she’s the bookkeeper too. At $25 a login, the cost of lights, internet, some lube and a couple of cigarettes leaves a huge profit margin. The clothes we get from vendors to shoot advertisements for them.

Me? I’m thrilled to be making extra cash—a lot of cash actually even as the second banana. Hah—banana, I wish; more like one of those hors d’oeuvre tiny dill pickles if truth be known.

The Company pays the new hires very well and there’s a decent bump when you “graduate” to full employment. But the grad school tuition loan needs to be gone as soon as I can, and I’ve always sent some money to Mom. The loan should be paid with a couple more weeks of shows. Then comes an IRA and municipal bonds. Putting the ethics and moderate physical discomfort aside, this is easy money.

I hear Mia leave, and I start up the stairs. But then I hear Charlotte go in and so I wait outside. I guess she thought I was gone or still downstairs. I figured she would just be a moment so I stood quietly.

“You need to put him back under,” she demanded.

“Why? What’s wrong?” came the response.

“He’s becoming more friendly, and I can’t have that!” she asserted.

“I gave him a good dose the night we recruited him; it should be holding,” Victor replied.

“It’s not, he’s been asking about a drink or walking me to the car. He’s trying to banter. He even tried to ask me a cost-accounting question,” she retorted.

“Well gee imagine that, a nice 30-something heterosexual male is attracted to a woman about the same age who is attractive, professional and apparently single in a business where we are up to our elbows in sex. Besides, as I recall, you got all flirty with him when we gave him the Domme obedience test,” Victor was firm. “Go put on a wedding band,” he advised.

“Fuck you squared old man. My maid of honor blowing my fiancé the night before the wedding? Nothing is going on that finger ever again. But fix him. OK, so maybe I got caught up in the moment; he’s not our typical recruit. Yeah, sure, there’s a lot about him to like, but you need to fix him. And you know why; I can’t risk it!!!” She was yelling now.

“Charlotte, I understand, but that was three years ago,” he pleaded.

“No, no. Good riddance to him. They divorced last year. He called the house looking for me a couple of months ago. Dad told him if he came within 50 miles, he’d kill him. Nice gesture, but both of them are dead to me. I don’t need to need someone. Please turn him off,” she sounded sad.

“Look, we’ve only got him until January; then he gets transferred,”

“Do it, please,” she asked softly.

“OK, OK,” Victor said. “Is he still here?”

“Yeah, cleaning up the place like the good little Boy Scout he is,” she replied.

“Go ahead and split, I’ll take care of it. Viewership was way up, I’m going to boost his cut. I’ll put him under and reinforce the wall.

I fade. Quietly. I’m puttering downstairs when he calls asking me to stop by.

As I enter, the only light is at his desk, and the computer screen behind him is swirling. He makes small talk about how hard he knows it is to work with Mia, but I’m doing a good job and the viewers seem to like my character as well. We need to discuss some variations but all is good. Good enough my share is increasing. He tells me to sit and relax and then from behind he murmurs a word in my ear. A flood of memories rush in and directions like watch, obey and so forth repeat in a loop.

So I sit back, watch the screen and wait.

He comes back in. To be honest I almost nodded off—it’s late and tonight’s show wore me out, much less the weight of the emotional puzzle as to whatever is going on with Charlotte. But as he talks, I become more alert, but careful to sound drowsy. He talks about Charlotte, how she is a private person, has no interest in anything except the business, she’s embarrassed by the business but needs the work, doesn’t want to socialize, so please respect her wishes.

He goes through it a couple of times. To prove I understand he gives me a simple test—— take home a dress, some hose and shoes and then send a picture of me in it.

With his prompting, I repeat the direction to avoid Charlotte a few times, then he counts down and I “awake”.

As I come to, he tells me I’ve got a $5,000 raise. I’m effusive, then I pause and tell him I need to go back downstairs. Moments later I’m back up with a black silky mini-dress, hose and heels.

“Hey Victor, I’ve had my eye on this for a while. Mind if I take it home?” I ask.

“Only at home,” he admonishes. “Please don’t go out. You know the rules. You’re no good to me or yourself if you get rolled.”

“Not a problem,” I say. “All this is just a means to an end.”

A quick shower to get the rest of the night off of me, and then go ahead and dress up. I had also grabbed some foundation, lip gloss, eyeshadow and a cigarette as a prop. I decide to oversell. I balance the phone and set the video. I pose in the dress, unlit cigarette in one hand with the other slowly going up under the skirt and stimulating my cock. I move against my hand for bit, and then straighten up, asking if we could add this in for next Saturday, please. Stop-Send-Delete.

That task now done it’s time to figure out what the heck is going on. Still in the dress, I pour some Scotch and take the cigarette I “borrowed” out to the patio. A couple of swallows, and then I send a couple of long, slow exhales drifting up to the sky. A few more sips and long slow exhales later, I admire the lip imprint on the glass and the filter. A shudder goes through me as my cock stirs in stimulation. I drain the glass and tap out the butt.

OK, OK—alcohol is bad, smoking is bad, cross-dressing is bad, giving head and getting analized is bad, but it’s sexy and I’m still young and this is something I never even fantasized about. I smile while I imagine my Scout Master and Track Coach having coronaries—not literally mind you.

A moment later it’s time for replaying what I overheard. I start trying to figure out Charlotte, but am getting nowhere. I understand women like I understand nuclear physics—push this button, bomb go boom. So her fiancé blew it (I chuckle at the inverse pun—and then feel bad, really bad). But I’m not in the same universe as those bozos who try to get laid anywhere anytime. I‘m a nice guy, I think.

But she’s making serious money streaming porn videos, working with a skilled but Prima Donna transsexual, and a neophyte cross-dresser/cocksucker/ass slut as the foil. Definitely your atypical work environment. And being collegial and offering to walk her to her car is somehow an HR violation?

And then ‘pop’, it hits me. I now recall meeting Victor for the first time.

My Mother liked shopping; but not the actual buying as money was always tight. She liked looking in the windows and walking the aisles. As it was just me and her, I was her always available escort.

I never understood the benefit of looking at things you could not have, but it was a time of being together, chatting, learning and observing. It was a good time.

And so here I am in Denver, two weeks into my new job, on a Sunday afternoon, strolling through a nice Mall. Consistent with my Mother’s rules, I was respectably dressed, not that dressing “up” even slightly took much effort compared to most folks these days, but khakis, an oxford shirt and Bass Weejuns would have met with her approval.

I had completed the first floor and was halfway around the second when I reached the entryway to the Hilton that tied into the Mall. I stopped and considered having a drink. Although I lived with my Great Uncle while at Georgia Tech, 80% of my loan and GI Bill went to tuition and fees. But Friday was payday, and I was living rent free in the condo Martin-LOGEX provided for its trainees.

I mentally created a spreadsheet just as any self-respecting new graduate holding a Masters in Industrial Engineering with an emphasis on Logistics would due—risk/benefit assessment. I mean, who doesn’t use Six Sigma to decide between a glass of wine or an Old Fashioned.

The calculation was favoring wine—— too early for bourbon—— when a fellow walked up from behind and said “Excuse me.”

“Certainly,” I said as I turned. “But what for?”

He reminded me of Ray Walston—Boothby on Star Trek. He was well dressed to include a blue blazer, but not overdone. Nothing pretentious like an ascot. He looked at ease, comfortable.

“I just wanted to compliment you,” he said.

“For????,” I drew out the question.

”Look around you,” he said gesturing towards the Mall concourse.

I followed his gesture. It was still the Mall. There were still lots of people going back and forth.

“Sorry, I’m not seeing what you’re seeing.”

“The people—how they look, what they are wearing. No one has any style any more—sweat pants, bed room slippers, shredded jeans. The majority appear to be in their pajamas. You on the other hand, look respectable. So, you’re not from around here, are you?”

Looking back and forth, I could see what he saw. I never thought much about it though unless someone was spilling out of their pants or top and then it was hard to ignore. I behaved and dressed as I was raised; I didn’t judge.

I shrugged. “My Mother liked to go shopping; it was her entertainment, her reward to herself. It was just her and me, so I was her escort. And then eight years in the Air Force—fatigues and flight suits were for work only. Old lessons stay with you.”

“That is true,” he replied. “Very true. Are you staying here at the Hilton?”

“No, sir,” I replied. “Here for six months of OJT. The Company has condos for us to use. Got settled in last weekend, yesterday was safety training, and so I decided this weekend to stroll around and window shop. You?”

“Shoe shopping,” he said holding up the bag. “And going to have a drink before heading home. Join me?” he asked.

“Thanks. For the first time in 12 months, I’ve got nothing pressing.”

“Charles,” I said offering my hand. “Victor,” he responded shaking it.

I gestured for him to lead the way.

It appeared he knew the hostess and indicated where he wanted to sit. I followed his lead on the wine—I tend to defer to older people—and agreed some cheese would be good.

We made small talk; a quick toast when the wine arrived; a piece of cheese every now and then. It was comfortable. I found myself thinking I wasn’t a crew dog or a grad student anymore; I felt like an adult.

A second glass of wine appeared.

I don’t know when I noticed it, but he had positioned his left hand flat on the table. He wore a ring that had a large, clear stone with lots of facets. The light was over my shoulder and was reflecting off the ring. There was a large fan overhead on low and it was causing the light to flicker. It wasn’t irritating. But he never moved his hand; he used his right the whole time.

Pretty soon I found myself looking more at the ring than at him and lagging in the conversation.

“It’s pleasant isn’t it? The way it catches the light? The steady rhythm of the fan overhead? The quiet hum of the motor? It’s all so pleasant and relaxing. It’s why I like to sit here. It’s why there is nothing to bother or interrupt us. It’s just the so, so pleasant sensation of watching the light, and listening to my voice. Don’t you think so?” he asked.

“Uhhh,” I mumbled. I was trying to process what he said.

“A simple yes will do Charles,” he instructed.

“Uhhh; yes,” I mumbled again.

“Finish your wine, please, and then focus everything on the ring. It is so pleasant, so warm. You want to relax and just listen to my voice. Will you do that for me please, Charles? We’re just two people, getting acquainted. I just want you to relax. It’s so pleasant to relax. So pleasant just to relax and listen. And the more you do, you find yourself feeling more and more warm and comfortable. Breathing slower and slower. So pleasant, so warm, so relaxed,” he said smoothly.

“Mmmm-Hmmmm,” I breathed.

“You find that you really enjoy this sensation very much. So very, very mush. This pleasant floating, listening to my voice, being guided and directed by me. In fact, you’d like to experience this again, wouldn’t you? You’ve never felt this relaxed. And since I’ve shown you how to feel this way, you will have no problem letting me do this again will you. You’d like that? To feel this way again? To feel even more relaxed and directed? The proper response now is Yes Sir. You were military; obedience should come naturally to you.” His voice was again instructive.

“Yes Sir,” I agreed.

“In a moment I am going to leave. There will be a card in front of you with an address. Be there at nine sharp. Again, the proper response is Yes Sir.”

Again, I responded. “Yes Sir.”

The last I heard was, “Count to 60, then take the card. The bill is paid.”

At 8:59 I rang the doorbell. After leaving the Hilton I had gone home, calculated the travel time and then sat and read until time to go. I gave no thought to what had happened; it was a fog. There was only my obligation to be at that address at that time. It was no different than an order or a class assignment.

He opened the door and smiled as he stepped back for me to enter.

“Right on time. That’s very, very good. I’m pleased,” he said as he put his hand on my neck, lightly steering me into a living room-den-library set up. Large couch, overstuffed chairs, a desk, a fireplace with large screen, and stuff on shelves. He led me to the center of the couch and with his other hand clicked a remote. The screen lit up with a swirling Mobius strip in smoky dark blues and greys.

“Like the reflection in my ring, you will find that as you watch the screen for just a few seconds, you are captivated. You cannot look away. All that exists is the soft, slow, sensuous motion. It is so pleasant to watch. So pleasant to listen to my voice.” His voice was so soft but firm.

“And so the longer you watch, the more relaxed you become. So pleasant to relax, to just watch, to just watch and listen to me. No separate thoughts, just my voice. Don’t you agree it is so pleasant to just sit and watch and listen and answer?”

I knew the response should be, “Yes Sir.”

He talked further about being open and trusting, relaxed and open, aware but no thoughts other than what he said and asked.

My only thought was to agree, “Yes Sir.”

He was quiet for a while as I followed the endless swirl of the strip. The colors were like smoke mixed with dark eyeshadow. I was aware of someone in one of the chairs, but it was dark. And the screen held my attention.

As I waited for the swirling emptiness to be filled, I could hear soft voices

Female—What have we here?

Male—Male, late 20’s, fit, trim, well dressed, new in town, no ring, very susceptible.

Female—Nice. He’s cute enough but not twinky. How far did you get?

Male—The ring took him right under, and he is totally absorbed.

Female—Let’s see what we’ve got. We’re running out of time.

“Charles, this is Vincent. We met at the Mall, shared some wine, and I invited you over. Do you recall that?” The male voice was firm.

“Yes Sir.”

“And we decided to continue the conversation at my home where we could talk in private, just like the friends we are, right?”

“Yes Sir.”

Female—Respectful. Southern? Military?

“So Charles, you grew up where?”

“South Carolina”

“Your family is there?”

“Just my Mother and me.”

“And after high school what did you do before Denver?”

“Air Force. Supply for four years. Loadmaster for four more. Then grad school.”

Female—Hah. Southern, Mother’s Boy, Military. Knew it.

“What brings you to Denver?”

I got hired by Martin-LOGEX and moved here for training.

Female—Oh! Oh, uhh OK. Means he’s here till mid-January. Keep going.

“So Charles, are you married, engaged, girlfriend?”

“No.”

“When did you last have sex with a girl?”

I paused. “I haven’t.”

Female—— He’s Gay?

“Why not?

Again a pause. “I have a very small penis.”

Female—What?

Male—Will you chill; let it play out.

“How small? We’re just friends here. Relax for me. Friends can tell friends things.

A sigh. “Very. Less than an inch.”

“So you have been affectionate with women, but no sex?”

“Not really; no use; they’ll find out.”

Female—He’s Gay. This works.

“Are you Gay?”

A longer pause. “I don’t think so.”

“You’re sexually attracted to men?”

Again a long pause. “No.”

“Have you had sex with a man?”

A longer pause

Female—He’s Gay through and through. He’s just repressing it. Pull it out.

Male—Easy. He’s way under. There’s no deception. He’s just holding it deep.

“It’s OK. Was it a teacher or coach or neighbor? It’s no big deal. We’re just chatting.”

A longer pause. A sigh. “My Great Uncle”

“Ah. Thanks. How young were you?

“A month ago.”

Female—What? Last month? And he’s not Gay?

“That’s interesting Charles. I know you have been holding it in. Share with me please. Friends share. You’ll feel so much better if you do not hold it in.”

His voice was firm. “You cannot resist. You are so deeply under my control that you must answer. Tell me.

And so it just rolled out. “Somehow Georgia Tech accepted me for a Masters. My Mother’s Uncle lived in Atlanta, and he was willing to trade room and board for chores. She is his only heir, and she is counting on inheriting to give her the financial security she’s never had. He has always been single, and I never thought much about whether he was Gay or not. None of my business. After I was there for about six months he became more touchy, as did his two friends who visited often. Then one night he made a full pass at me and when I resisted, he reminded me of my Mother’s financial status and suggested I consent. And so he taught me how get him and his friends off—either with my hand or my mouth or my ass. There was some bondage, and one of friends liked for me to smoke while sucking him off. When I graduated, he told me Mother’s future was secure. The last week, he fucked me in the ass every night. But then the day I left, he gave me $10,000 and told me I was welcome back any time. There were also checks from the other two for $5,000 each.”

Female—Holy shit!! So he knows how to give and take. And he’s still this soft looking?

Male—I think we can feminize him easy. He’s practical. He’s reward driven.

“That’s interesting Charles? So you submitted yourself to your Uncle and his friends for the benefit of your Mother?”

“Yes.”

‘Did you think of yourself as a whore?”

“Yes. Pretty much”

Did they call you names and degrade you?”

“Yes. It was part of the deal.”

Did they make you dress up in women’s clothes?”

“Panties, hose.”

“Make-up?’

“No, but they liked my legs shaved, which I did for cycling anyway.”

“You smoked because they made you?”

A bit of a pause. “I felt sexy; like a prostitute; it really gave me power over the one guy. I convinced him to buy me some clothes.”

Female—Now that’s interesting. Not totally submissive. Turned it to his advantage.

Female—Any other leverage?

“Charles, do you do drugs?

“No.”

“Gamble?”

“No.”

“In debt?”

“Grad school loan.”

“Charles, settle back and watch the screen now. Think of nothing except how pleasant my voice is. It’s pleasant to do as I suggest. No worries; no concerns; just my voice leading and guiding you.

Female—He’s what we need to replace Jason—God how close we came to getting nailed for his dealing. Let’s take him downstairs and see if he is malleable. I mean it sounds like he was a quasi-whore to protect his Mother. And whatever it is with his dick, he’s probably got lots of repressed sexuality.

Male—Don’t push it.

Female—Look. If he fits in with Mia like I think he will, the views will surge. He’s a puzzle—All-American boy who’s never had a girlfriend much less been laid and then blows his Uncle and friends to protect his Mother. But knows what and why he is doing it. He’s only here for six months though.

Male—We both know this gig will run as long as we provide what our particular demo wants. Competition is beyond brutal so we need to make what we can before we lose our share..

Female—As your CPA, no disagreements here.

Male—OK. Let’s go downstairs.

Victor told me to rise and follow him. We went to the hall and then down the stairs to the basement. At the bottom, he turned on the lights. Zoned out as I was, I saw it was cut into sections with little stage settings. One section had clothing racks and dressers. Another had a mirrors and lights and chairs. There was a bedroom set, others with benches and chairs. It was a lot to take in.

We stopped in the middle, and he pulled me close.

“Look at me; look hard at me and listen and obey. You are an attractive person. I can see why your Uncle and his friends had you service them. So we want to give you a chance to realize your potential. To give others the thrill you gave them. There’s a subtle sexiness about you, and we want to enhance it. So you will obey us and learn. Is that understood?”

“Yes Sir.”

“So, you become more alert now, more awake, but still totally under our control. You will obey us; you will not refuse us; you will do as instructed without hesitation. Is that understood?

“Yes Sir.”

“Fine. This lady is my associate. She will instruct you now.”

I looked over. This must have been the other voice I was hearing. Although lost in concentration on the screens as I was aware of what they were saying, and I had a sense of what they wanted. A little thrill went through me.

She stepped in front. A bit shorter than me, fit, trim, short auburn hair, greenish-brown eyes, thin dark lips, a hint of cleavage in a crop top, stretch jeans, black pumps, attractive but not hard, serious but not bitchy. Think Phoenix in Maverick—Top Gun.

“Get undressed all the way. Put your clothes and shoes there, then stand in front of me,” she ordered.

I returned. Feeling the goosebumps starting to rise, I put my hands in front of me.

She now had a little crop and she smacked my hands, “Put your arms by your side,” she snapped.

I complied, waiting as she circled me twice, tracing my body and limbs. She then stopped in front and slowly brushed my penis with the strap.

“What’s this?” she demanded.

“It’s all I have,” I said.

It was brief, but she flinched—like she wanted to chuckle, but instead allowed herself a little smile. It was endearing, but moreover it told me that like my SERE training, this was staged. Endure, tolerate, do not give a reason to be punished, stay in character, don’t lose yourself. All underneath a strong compulsion to obey. It was easier to obey.

“It looks something like a penis but it’s so much smaller,” she observed.

“But it still works,” I replied, earning a smack on my thigh from the crop.

“That wasn’t a question. You speak only if I have a question,” she emphasized.

And so the game begins.

“So what did you say caused this?” she asked.

“It’s called a microphallus, ma’am. I was born that way. Genetic hormone imbalance I ‘ve been told,” I replied. “Same thing that gave me 2% body fat and being able to run a 33 minute 10K. Not that either of those are a marketable skills.”

“Sort of like the Johnny Cash song about a boy named Sue,” she replied.

“Well, my Father was never around, but I don’t think he intended to leave me with that. It wasn’t until high school with the communal showers that it got a little tough. But I ran varsity track as a freshman and my cousin was the left tackle and shot-putter so nothing got too far out of hand. And only a couple of girls wanted to go out just to see it.”

“So you’re still a virgin.”

“In that regard, yes ma’am. But not oral or anal.”

“Do you beat off? Well, not so much beat as stroke,” she sort of giggled.

Another small opening. “Rarely, the endorphin release from a half or full marathon has a lot in common with an orgasm.”

“Well, let’s see.” She took the crop and pushed me in the chest hard enough to make me step back.

“Up there,” she gestured. “In the chair. Sit and don’t move.”

She Velcroed my legs in place, went to a small night stand and came back with a bottle.

“Right or left handed?” she demanded.

“Left,” I mumbled. I dropped my head, repeating the SERE mantra as the humiliation rose.

She poured some in my hand. “Too much?” with another twinge of a grin.

“Mmm,” I said.

“Good point,” she said as she went back to the stand and pulled out a ball gag. She grabbed a cloth out of another drawer.

She dropped the cloth in my right hand and as she fastened the gag, she said, “Catch your cum in the cloth and then eat it.”

She then got right up against my ear and whispered, “You may not recall, but while Victor had you in the trance you admitted to eating other men’s cum and that you saw yourself as a whore. So be a good little whore for me now.” She then smacked each of my thighs with the crop.

My head jerked and that’s when I noticed Victor had set up a camera. I shook my head in protest and got two more slaps.

“You’re going anywhere. You’re going to stroke that little thing until you get off and then eat it!” she hissed and then hit me twice more.

So help me, the first thing I thought was I’ll have to wear bike shorts on the run to hide welts. She raised it again, and I nodded vigorously. And then I got to it.

Masturbating my cock was simple—thumb and forefinger. Like rubbing a worry stone. She was watching over my shoulder, giving little moans in my ear, running her nails on my neck.

It was very effective. Two minutes, maybe three, the tingle started, and I stiffened.

“Catch it all,” her breath was hot in my ear, and she let the gag loose.

“Eat it!”

My ears were roaring. I had never cum like that—ever.

The crop smacked my back, and I licked away. Five quick ones, then a sixth to make sure I had it all.

She murmured, “Nice.” Leaving me restrained, she went down to talk to Victor.

Moments later she was back.

“So here’s the deal. On the surface we model Crossdresser stuff for catalogues and websites. But we just also so happen to have a need for someone who is Gay and a Crossdresser. You fit both. A little makeup, prosthetics, wigs, and you’ll do nicely. The other part is we broadcast a BDSM Pay-Per-View on Saturday evening. You’re single, not dating and no doubt all that running has given you a tolerance for discomfort. You admit you’ve served as a male whore for compensation; this is no different, other than you actually get paid. The more views, the better we all do. I’m the accountant and I make sure it’s equitable. Beside that small dick of yours may get us even more hits. You have 10 seconds.”

I used the full 10 seconds, mostly to look at her. She was very pretty. “OK,” I said. I guess this is certainly confidential, but not illegal?”

“We’re all over 21; no drugs; no trafficking; I issue 1099s. But we are discrete. And Victor will talk to you upstairs as necessary if your conscience needs shoring up. He’s pretty persuasive. He could have you walking down Colfax naked in 10 minutes. But the bottom line is, it’s just business.”

I nodded. “What next?”

“Be here Wednesday at nine,” she checked her watch.

And that’s how it began

So here we are three months later. Work is hard, purposely hard—like basic. I’ve been humping 12 hours a day during the week and then six hours on Saturday learning the Company from the basement up. Sleeping, eating and training used up most of the rest of the time. Sunday was a free day but I found myself logging on mid-afternoon. Going out took money; dating took time and as previously noted, I would be investing in a dry hole after appropriate choking laughter. So Saturday was just another night.

The modeling was not too hard. Relax, look natural, and don’t look at the camera. Crossdressing was no big deal. Heels were difficult at first, but being slight, things fit pretty well. And I shaved my legs for cycling anyway. Having a runner’s chest meant the breasts fit well.

Victor worked in fashion which is how he got the modeling work, friends of friends I suppose as this stuff is only available online. He also has make-up skills and worked for several department stores. We planned the show on Wednesday after modeling, and then Saturday prep took about an hour usually.

But the actual shoot, that was harder than it looked. Sure Uncle Ralph and friends had used me both ways, but they were guys in their 70s and even as slight as I was I could push back if they went too far. But 90% of this BDSM was pretty real—sometimes uncomfortably real—last two miles of a marathon real. Mia and I worked on her pulling the slaps, but some of the restraints and positions, well let’s say my expressions of pain were real. Most of the times it worked. When it didn’t, I had Sunday to recover. Or blame it on being out in the sun.

By mid-July viewership was up. And my pay increased. There were also bonus sessions such as when in response to requests, Mia brought a friend, and I got it from both ends. My paycheck for my efforts on those shows was doubled—again no pun intended. By August, Georgia Tech was paid off, my IRA was maxed so I’m researching municipal bonds, quarterly income tax paid, money to Mom every two weeks, and I wasn’t touching Martin-LOGEX’s money.

Oh, and the essential point of this entire retrospective—Charlotte’s unknown issue—so I had to play along. The Wednesday after Victor’s reinforcement session, I politely asked if I could speak to her for a moment. I apologized if she thought any of my behavior was inappropriate or not respectful. I told her I appreciated this opportunity to supplement my income and get out of debt before starting a new career. She nodded and turned away.

And so other than holding the door for her if we happened to be there at the same time, I stayed low-key, did my job, cleaned up afterwards, was polite, and left quietly.

Still, I found myself staring at her when she was not aware and wondering what gives. What if, what’s going on, what’s bothering her, etc. And it was prominent in my thoughts on my commutes, runs and rides, and the quiet time before sleep.

I had a crush. A growing one. A serious one. A real serious one.

And no chance or hope of acting on it.

Until ……………….the first of November.