The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

-1-

The black van was shinny and clean, though of an older model year. It was driving, late at night, from the Estate toward the City.

There were two in the van. They were driving in silence. The Driver, who was team leader, last saw the Romanesque towers of the Castle through the rearview mirror as the van entered the main road through the Estate; the road that ran out of the Valley and toward the City.

The two were nearly identical. They were big males, one, the Driver, appearing to be in his third decade, the other, somewhat younger; both in excellent physical condition, with identical hard squints in their eyes.

They were dressed identically in black combat boots, worn jeans, denim jackets, with grey t-shirts underneath. Each had an identical denim cap over close clipped heads. Each cap had the insignia of the Order on it, the Triscalated Circle—a circle divided in three. Under the caps, sometimes, a small wire was visible, implanted behind the right ear.

The occupants of the van were also identical in certain internal aspects. Their thinking processes had been simplified, made as uniform as their clothing. But while carefully structured, the programmed matrix of thought that was continually imposed through the control implants would have appeared bizarrely convoluted to one outside the Order. Even more outre was the great Project that led the Chief of Command to expend much of his very substantial personal fortune to create the complex that included, as it were, three concentric circles of Estate, Order and Project.

They were on a Mission from Command. All programmed thoughts related to that Mission; but each also experienced individualized response to perception. So the Driver was more aware of the roadway, although the program knew when and where to turn. The other occupant was not particularly aware of anything outside the van, and was, more or less, in a mind-numbed waiting mode.

The Members of the Order never left the mental confines of the Estate and its Castle, even though they were physically sent on vital Missions across the continent, to various cities to conscript new recruits for the Order, or to obtain needed supplies. In this way the “virtual reality”—ViRe—technology developed by the entertainment industry in the the early 21st Century was put to powerful use by the Chief of the Order.

The two in the van, though uniform, were distinguishable in the records of the Order by their ID’s and ranks. The Driver, unit 05 ZiD 963, with three pips on his cap, was a Third Degree Warrior of the Order. His companion, and subordinate, was unit 12 BeZ 144, with an “o” on the cap, showing his rank as Worker, First Degree. During the drive, between implanted thoughts, the Driver’s attention occasionally wandered to his companion, his “esquire,” as he had been taught to view the young man. He watched as the night-lights beamed through the window and rolled across his trim, evenly breathing form.

-2-

The van rolled into the City center in the early hours of the waning night and wove its way to the most disreputable section. Warehouses, cheap bars, flop houses. Places for discarded goods and disregarded people. The companion was now fully conscious, ardently concentrating on the street scene. They knew exactly for what they were searching.

It was a place called Zax. It was a sleazy punk rock bar. Hangout for skinheads and hardhats who had no real prospects—potentially good material. They had luck there before. They entered to the blare and smoke, each ordered a beer. They took a rear table, sat and waited.

After a while, as the night wore down, as the crowd cleared, they began to notice several of the bar’s patrons. They knew what to look for. And one particular youth, standing by the bar, received their attention. He looked to be just eighteen, probably with fake identification papers—not that the bouncer at Zax would have cared.

He was wearing worn work boots, pretty tattered jeans, a threadbare plaid wool shirt. Not enough to keep out the cold. But he looked clean; with his chopped dirty-blond hair and strong build, he did not look like a druggy. He had ordered the cheapest beer and had slowly sipped it for over an hour, his knapsack at his feet. The computer in the van analyzed these details, reported to Command, and directed the two to try for this one.

Inviting him over for a drink was easy, since he could not buy another for himself. After a boilermaker, on an empty stomach, the youth was tipsy and garrulous. It was easy to get him to talk about himself. The computer told them what to say to start him off. It recorded everything.

He was from the Midwest. Burned out during the Troubles. His old man had been a some kind of Neo-nazi; had joined the New Klan in some northern urban town near the antiquated steel mill that eventually took his life. He was a drunkard and abusive. So Ma ran away with some biker just after the worst of the Riots. And the boy was left on his own. When the old man died, he was out on the streets. Had been in this City for six months, doing odd labor jobs on the few remaining construction sites; living where he could, but now winter was coming. Maybe he should head south. They call him “Chopper” ‘cause of his hair and the way he fights or uses a shovel, or something like that. He was pretty cocky street wise, but still was young enough not to be soured by it. He would be trainable.

The driver and his companion were allowed a feeling of impending triumph. This one would be easy. With his pale eyes and boyish looks, he would be a fine recruit. They talked until the place was closing. They all went to relieve themselves and the youth noticed, through the mens room mirror, how the two stood and moved in the same—what he might call “military”—manner. The three left Zax together, walking out into the predawn cold.

“Can we give you a lift?” “Well, I got no fuckin where to go. You guys got a place?” “Right. Out of town. Our van is down the street. Let’s go there.” “Sure.” “Then we can find a dinner and get some breakfast. Sure am hungry.” “Me too. Just too fuckin broke to buy any!” “Hey, buddy, that’s OK. We’ll feed you.” “Sure, fuckin OK! You’re alright guys. You understand me.” “Sure, buddy! We’re just like you.” The team leader put a firm hand on the youth’s shoulder, “Yup, we know where you’re coming from... We’re going this way.”

They walked a few empty blocks in silence. Came to the van. “Sure is a fuckin tough van you got here. Looks like a real classic from before the Food Riots of ‘06.” “Right. Let’s get inside. Too damn cold out here.” “OK by me.” One opened the rear doors.

The van was empty inside, except for a long cabinet that backed the black leather bucket seats. The whole empty interior was rugged in deep blue flooring, sides, ceiling, back door. The only windows were in the rear doors, and they were silvered. The back of the van was like a cave, or a womb. The Driver hopped in the front; his companion led Chopper in through the rear door. “Fuckin neat van!” “Sure, just put your sack in the corner, there’re some cushions in the cabinet here. Hey, look at this, some beer, an’ ham sandwiches too! Beer’s warm, but we don’t have to find a dinner.” “Thanks! Sure good.” He ate rapidly, did not see the two tiny pills dropped into his beer. As the van drove off, he leaned back, “You’re sure fuckin good guys... an’ I don’t even know your names.” He quickly fell fast asleep.

The team leader spoke first, “He’ll be out for at least eight hours and we will be back to the Estate by then. Check his sack. Then you can strip search and examine him. Later, if he passes muster, we’ll change places.” “Yupsur!” The sack contained some more worn clothes, nothing else.

The second then turned to the unconscious youth. Unhooked his boots and tugged each off. Then his white wool socks, pausing first to push a wayward toe back through a hole. He admired the shape of the youth’s broad and high arched foot, the cute button toes. Then he unbuttoned and worked off the shirt, reaching under to pull him up as he pulled the arms through. Even in sleep the youth’s brawny back rippled with muscle he could feel. Letting him back down, he looked his torso over, ran a finger across the ridges of his tight stomach, feeling the soft blond hairs. He continued down to the buttons of his flyfront jeans. Popped one button after the other, sniggering as the youth had no underwear.

Pushing aside the open fly, he revealed a bush of brown-gold curls, a hefty uncut cock nestled in it, backed by firm, large balls. The snickering stopped suddenly and he gazed with respect. “Suh. He’s whole and ripe!” “Good! Real good!” The tight pants were pulled down and off, and Chopper lay exposed there, naked and snoring slightly. “He has the viral vax mark on his thigh,” referring to the broad scope viral antibody and immune stimulating injection developed just after the turn of the Century, which finally ended the scourge of viral Disease, transmitted sexually or by other close contact. “Well, that’s just great; massage him and make sure he’s clean. Then I’ll take over.” “Yupsur!”

The subordinate got to work immediately. He began massaging the youth’s strong feet, handling each toe, loosening the tension between them, across the ball, arch and instep. He rotated each ankle in turn, massaging up the knotted calves and under and around the knees. Then kneading the hard thighs, he worked his hands deep into the joints on either side of the sleeper’s sex. Feeling the silkiness of the pubic hair, but resolutely kneading his hands upward, along the stomach ripples and deeply maneuvering the ribs, and the heavy musculature of the pecs and chest. The youth’s nipples were dark and firm, rising and falling with his slow breathing. Leaning close to him, filling with his aroma, willing hands stroked and massaged his upper chest and shoulders, his tight neck muscles. Last, he stroked through his scalp and across the well-formed planes of his slumbering face. He marveled at the handsome young face, innocent in sleep.

Only then did the subordinate begin to work on Chopper’s sex. He stopped using his hands. Beginning where the soft hair sprouts below the navel, he used his lips, tongue and teeth to massage and suck on the youth’s skin, then his thick cock and his heavy balls. Even in the drug-induced sleep, a response began. His penis began to lengthen and harden to the steady mouth work. Then the subordinate began to lick and tongue below the balls, across the tender skin between them and the anus. Strong musk and other smells assaulted and excited him. He licked and probed further, spreading the sleeper’s legs, knees up and back, delving deeply into his hot, tight butt-hole. Licking and sucking, leaving the skin and hair wet and tongue clean.

The Driver, glancing through the mirror, knew when to pull over. “You’ve had enough for now. Don’t want you stainin’ your jeans. You drive.” “Yupsur!”

They were back on the road and the team leader, kneeling, now gazed at his naked prize. “Command will be pleased with this one. It would be a real pleasure to train him...” Falling silent, he rested a hand on the youth’s chest, letting it rise and fall with his breathing.

Producing a hypo from the cabinet, he leaned over, found a bulging vein in one well-formed arm, and gave him a dose of a special pentathol based preparation. Watching his breathing slow, he began talking in a slow cadence, timed to the breathing. At the same time—and in time—he was stroking the youth’s chest and thighs. What he said was carefully generated through his own implant, and began to prepare the new recruit for induction into the Order. Repeatedly he spoke into one ear and then the other, programming each side of the brain with The Order’s well developed mind control techniques. After perhaps a half hour the flow of words slowed and the team leader allowed himself to lower towards his charge’s now softened cock. It grew again as he began to grope and fondle it.

The unconscious form squirmed and groaned a little. He moved closer and began to suck on the hardening penis. His tongue and lips maneuvered to control the youth’s sex, to draw out the emission he knew was bulging the youth’s balls. Hot, strong manly orders filled his nostrils as he sucked in nearly the entire erection, while massaging his balls. He built up the speed and rhythm of his efforts and felt the cock tighten. The youth’s hips involuntarily ground up into his face as he came, came and came some more. Gasping and sucking hard to take it all in, the leader was satisfied with his effort. He leaned back and looked admiringly at the bare body still sleeping before him. He stroked the youth’s pecs, squeezed his nipple, feeling movement under his hand, smiled and covered the form with a wool blanket. They were, he noticed, in the hilly country near the Estate. He stretched out next to the youth and slept awhile.

-3-

Entering under a stone gate set against a forest lane, they were again in the Estate. They drove several more miles past fields, ponds and orchards, toward the wooded hill with its Castle barely visible through the dense growth.

The Castle was a small turreted Keep with ring wall, imported, stone by stone from somewhere in Central Europe, by some long dead millionaire, sometime during the 19th Century. It had, however, been rebuilt over a complex of limestone caves. A small portion of the caves had been converted to wine and storage cellars, but most remained unexplored and unused until the Chief took over the property and developed the Estate.

Through the wall and down a ramp beneath the Castle, the van parked next to an identical van, in a row of six identical vans. The end of the motion woke the team leader. He stretched away sleep and saw that the youth was still out. Reaching into the cabinet for another hypo and approved control gear, he pulled the blanket off the still figure. First he carefully put the socks and boots back on. Speaking more to himself than the sleeper, “You’ll get new boots when you are inducted, but these will do for Training.” Then he pulled on a white jock, stuffing the youth’s limp member and balls into it. Next he took the control gear. These consisted of leather wrist cuffs that could be hooked behind the back, and released only if you knew how; also a molded rubber bit with a strap that he deftly inserted into the sleeper’s mouth and around his head. The last piece was a thick leather collar that contained radio control circuits, which would be used until he was ready for implanting. Once the youth was bound and collared, he was given a stimulant shot, “So you’ll be aware and most suseptable to mind control imprinting...”

Shortly he began to stir, to blink away sleep. A frightened look passed across his face as he began to struggle with his bonds. “Hold it boy, don’t fight it; listen up.” The leader pulled him out of the van, and helped him stand. They were in a cave and he could see the row of vans. “You’ve been chosen by The Order to be trained and inducted. You are really lucky to have been recruited! You’ll understand better later. Now you are going to learn to handwalk an’ we’re going to plug you into a ViRe about The Order.” He grasped the youth from behind, grabbing his balls and inserting a thumb into his butthole. The boy squirmed and the leader struck him hard twice with his free hand, “Don’t fight it. Just go where my hand pushes. Breathe easy and relax. Training is strict, but I know you’re tough enough to take it. Now let’s go!” Chopper was scared and confused; something in his mind was telling him to obey, to go with the scene. He was being roughly pushed, and, dazed, moved where he was led.

They walked down empty stone corridors and ramps, through doors that opened as they approached, into a long stone room, with polished wooden dividers, part way from floor to lofty arched roofing. The woodwork sectioned it into individual cells. Another man was standing stiffly in one of the cells. He wore work boots, grey sweats with a wide black leather belt over them. His cap had a silver disk on its brim, below the divided circle. He looked hard. “This is DaK, your Trainer. This is where you’ll be trained for induction. I’ll see you later.” The leader released him, smacked his butt, turned and left. The Trainer spoke firmly, “First, unit, you’ll learn to stand at brace, then we will plug you in. Look at me.” He stood stiff, legs a bit apart, hands clasped behind the small of his back. “This is the way you stand unless you are told to do something. Do it!” Chopper, eyes wide, breath short, obeyed. “Good lad. Now I’ll explain the facilities here and how we use them.”

He showed the youth how to use the equipment in the cell. There was a shower/toilet recessed into an end wall; a canvas bunk chained off one divider (there were straps on it, and a ViRe setup); a feeding station with water and gruel tubes, and a contraption with pulleys, hand and feet holds which he called a “powerunner”. He took him over to the bunk, released his hands and pushed him down. Quickly strapping the youth in place, he undid and removed boots and socks, put on the ViRe helmet and watched the boy relax to its programming. After resting a hand on Chopper’s chest a few moments, he turned and left the cell as the light over it dimmed.

-4-

Chopper found himself standing in an even loftier stone hall, rows of red flags hanging down, each with the black circle divided in thirds. At the far end, high up, there was a brightly lit stained glass window with the same symbol surrounded by a red and yellow sunburst. Below was a platform, and on the platform there was a stone statue, an idol really, of a strong man, naked, standing with sword raised overhead. The statue appeared to be staring directly at him... then it moved! Turning toward him, it seemed to speak directly into his mind. He was given his code number, 673-SUM-326, and would be known hereafter as SUM (pronounced “shum”). The statute continued to speak into him, sometimes in English, sometimes in some other language he did not understand.

He began to learn, on the deepest levels accessed through the mind control process, the history of the Order, from the lips of the Chief’s image. And as he learned, he believed. He was told that the Order existed to gather warriors and workers for a great Project. The Project would be explained as he moved up in the training. He was now a Zero Degree Trainee, but he would learn more when he received his First Initiation. He believed. He was satisfied. The statute pointed its gigantic sword at him and blasted him with light! He was flooded with images, data, programmed behavioral patterns. He was changed, and he most truly believed in the Chief, the Order and—though he did not understand it—the Project.

As he awoke, an oddly compelling ditty remained in his mind, “Chief made Order. Order makes Project. Project will make us all Starmen. Work, obey, be silent!” What, he thought, does it mean? Just follow the plan, it will be explained.

Like the other base units, DaK gave him cut-off grey sweats, a worn grey tank top and plain blue cap. It was like the caps the Trainers and Warriors wore, though without the rank symbols he was taught to decipher. The Order was divided into five Degrees, each with subcategories: (1) Base Degree Workers included both trainees and regular workers; the later had caps with a small copper spot on the brim; (2) First Degree Workers’ caps had a brass “o” and they wore clean grey sweat suits, new tan workboots; they each had specialized jobs or worked as esquire, or companion, to a Warrior; (3) Second Degree Plebs, with a bronze double “o” were Warrior trainees and wore black jump suits; (4) Third Degree Warriors had specialized black armored gear and three silver pips on the cap; they had all completed training and been enhanced with the most advanced cybernetic implants; and (5) the Fourth Degree Commanders, which included the Trainers with silver disk on cap, and the Coms, or command units, with from one to five gold stars, depending on rank. All the caps, from First Degree up also carried the Triscalated Circle on the crown. The Degrees were organized in military style, into teams, squads, companies and brigades, one brigade for each Degree, except the Fourth, which was, of necessity, divided among the other Degrees. It was a grand sight when all gathered for Parade in the Castle Keep every tenth day, to salute the Chief and reaffirm their dedication to the Project.

These first months were so full of hard work and harder training that Chopper did not have time to question his circumstances. He learned to just do. The slogan “Worbeys”—“Work/Obey/Silence” was often repeated, as were the ViRe journeys into the Order’s mythos—myths of champions and conflict against vile monstrosities.

He believed, and he tried hard to learn to be a good Worker in the Order. He obeyed his trainer, 98-DaK-431, and struggled to keep up with his workmates. They exercised, learned martial arts, ran—for hours on end—on the powerunners (DaK explained that, due to the efficient ability of the human body to process cheap feed, the powerunners made electricity for the Estate less expensively than buying it from the outside). When his trainer first demanded, “Squat an’ show respect; suck my cock!” he resisted and had to be beaten until he submitted. Soon, though, he learned that his trainer was easier on him after oral sex, and he began to look forward to servicing the tough man who he was taught to respect and obey. He was taught to meditate, to practice certain oral Tantric rituals which satisfied him and his mates’ carnal needs, while leading to profound experiences of deep levels of consciousness.

He never knew when one of the special training sessions would occur. DaK would take him to another small room. There, another trainer and trainee would arrive. The room was empty except for a metal contraption where the two trainees would be suspended, horizontally, heads by each other’s crotches. ViRe helmets would be put on them and they would be instructed to open their mouths. The trainers would then handle their trainees cocks, stroking them to hardness and inserting them into the waiting mouths. The trainees were held at the appropriate height for their trainers to lubricate their buttholes and enter them. Then the ViRe system would be engaged, and the trainees would pleasure each other and their trainers while learning that, if they were very good, they would someday serve a Warrior.

SUM was taught to respect his trainer, and learned to obey without question; to work hard and not flinch when the trainer’s belt was used on him. And always, there were the ViRe training sessions, with its reality of heroism and struggle, where he learned to respect and even worship the Warriors of the Order.

Finally, in a ceremony at Parade, the Chief pinned the copper disk on his cap. That night, he underwent a ViRe initiation of such solemn depth that he was in a daze for days after. He barely noticed his Trainer’s extra attention, the increased notice by higher Coms. His training proceeded and he was unaware that a decision had been made. There were two Routes into the Order: first the Worker Route, where he and nearly all the young toughs drafted into the Order started, and the direct Warrior Route, for the few chosen directly by the Chief. The first route could terminate three ways, usually in permanent Base Degree status, working for the Order, or less likely, entry into the status of companion to a Warrior, or least likely, a Pleb, or Warrior trainee. The other route, usually through Pleb status, ended in the third or fourth degree, or in disgrace, down to the base. It was determined that SUM would become an “esquire”, the companion of a Warrior.

He was not told until after his next initiation. Again he received his new rank mark at Parade from the Chief; again, the ViRe initiation. His routine did not change at first, but, a few days later, he was ordered to appear before the Chief. His Trainer brought him into part of the Castle where he had not been before. Through stone corridors, to a dark wood paneled study, filled with books, with old maps on the walls. There, the Chief, sitting in a deep red leather chair by the fireplace, rose to greet them. He was wearing his accustomed uniform, a deep blue jump suit, with his five star cap, black combat boots. He spoke, “DaK, you’ve done well with this unit. I am pleased, and you should be proud. He has advanced rapidly, and can now begin his special companion training. In a month, the three of us will drive to the Coast, where we will go warrior hunting. I want you to focus on teaching him how to service a Warrior. Get to work! Dismissed.” The Chief, picking up his glasses, turned back to the book he had been reading, and the two saluted and left.

The next month included very concentrated training, both in “real time” and by ViRe. SUM learned how to meet the needs of a Warrior, what was expected of him. He and DaK spend many hours practicing the various positions and services he would have to perform. Other members of the Order, Coms and Warriors, would come to the training dorm, and DaK would have him service them, using all the positions he had been taught. Often, DaK would be there, instructing him, smacking him if his focus faltered, demanding constant attention to his, and the other visitors, sexual needs. SUM came to learn that it was a real privilege when one of the Warriors would remain at lights out, to strap him, face down, onto his bunk. The Warrior would quickly enter him, fuck him hard, and remain there, implanted, while they fell asleep together, to the voice of the Chief, in their ears, telling them to Work hard, Obey always and remain Silent.

He was well prepared, he was ready. The day finally came, he was given a new uniform: grey sweats and clean tan boots. SUM and DaK went through the stone hallways of the Estate, down to the garage, where they went to one of the black vans. There they met the Chief, dressed in street clothes, with a suitcase. They entered the van, DaK driving, and began the long trip west.