The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

[Jason Primo, junior and aspiring school god]

Now that I had taken care of that asshole Atlas and that nerd Freddy, it was time turn my attention to that other injustice, me being left off the varsity football team even though I’m physically better than anyone on that team, especially that overrated do-gooder quarterback and team captain Brian Overman. Sure, he made all-state last year as a junior, but it was all luck, I’m telling ya. If one or two of his passes had been dropped at critical times, no one would have heard of him outside the school. I needed to take him down.

Only a few problems with that. He and I are not exactly friends, and in fact he helped the queer little team manager Billy Leddy fight off the bullying—fully justified, if you ask me—done by my man Buzz Hingam. So it’s not like I could offer him a drink in some remote location, and not have it seem weird.

Also, what could I do if I did get him under? Even if I ordered him to stink at the game, that wouldn’t get me onto varsity, and it would just mean putting his almost equally obnoxious backup Wolowitz in his place. Plus we’d lose a few games in the process, and wouldn’t make it to the state playoffs. And I definitely wanted a shot at those.

I needed a whole new approach. And one afternoon, in the locker room changing for practice, I saw my chance. Standing in a far corner, clearly hoping not to be noticed, was little Leddy, his eyes fixated across the locker room on alpha jock Overman, changing by his locker. Now, Leddy wasn’t officially out as gay, but really, no “gaydar” was needed to figure him out. He tried not to be obvious about it, and even though I’m pretty sure the whole team knew it, they left him alone. Which I thought was shortsighted; I mean who wants an outright fag ogling you naked? That’s why I suggested to Hingam that a little teasing might be called for, to maybe get Leddy to quit the manager job. Thanks to Overman, it didn’t work and Hingam got suspended.

I mean who else but that kind of person would want the manager job anyway? It involves dirty, smelly, thankless work, keeping track of everyone and everything, lugging stuff around, and collecting rancid used jockstraps and towels to be washed. You’re basically subservient to the team’s needs. And you never get to show off any athletic prowess. What’s the point?

After practice, I hung back as the rest of the team finished their showers and left. I stayed partially hidden, and watched as Leddy collected the used towels from around the room. When he got to the towel on the floor in front of Overman’s locker, instead of just picking it up he got down on his knees and started sniffing it all over, occasionally looking up as if into the eyes of the quarterback who wasn’t there. Even at a distance, I could see the loving-puppy eyes he was making at his imaginary master, just as I could see his other hand coursing over his horny-puppy prick now poking a proud five inches out of his pants.

As I watched Leddy’s excitement build over his would-be master’s scent, my idea took form. You’ve heard of aromatherapy, right? Well, I was going to crush Overman using “aroma-slavery”!

From behind the row of lockers, I jumped out in front of Leddy, causing him to drop the towel in shock, leap up and try to run. Since he was near a corner, he had to get past me, and that wasn’t happening. I grabbed him easily and kept a firm grip on him while he struggled half-heartedly. Finally he collapsed on the floor sobbing. I sat on the bench in front of him.

“So now you know. My life is over. I’m sure I’ll lose this job and be hounded out of the school,” he blubbered.

“What do you mean, ‘now I know’? That’s your queer? That’s no secret. You think the guys don’t notice you looking at them, or your throbbing hard-on when you tape their ankles, or massage a leg cramp for them?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact that I ... I guess I love Brian Overman. He won’t want me anywhere near him when he finds out. And neither will anyone else!” He broke down again.

I stroked his hair. He looked up, surprised out of his self-pity. “What if I told you I had a way to make Brian feel just as intensely about you as you do about him? I mean, not in the exact same way of course, he’s no mincing fag. But I mean he’d want you and need you, and he’d feel miserable without you. Whaddaya think?”

Now he was getting angry. “What are you talking about? Is this some kind of trick? Are you getting ready to laugh at me or pound the shit out of me?”

“Not at all. I just think Brian concentrates a bit too much on football, and maybe needs a break from his big responsibilities as quarterback. And I wouldn’t mind helping out at that position while he’s taking that break.”

“YOU? You’re not even on varsity. And if Brian got hurt or took a break, Wolowitz would move over from wide receiver and take his place.”

“Well, we might have to convince him otherwise, wouldn’t we? By the way, I notice that the water cooler bottle is about half full. How long does it take between refills? And how much Gatorade do we use?”

This change of subject completely floored him, but having nothing to lose, he was willing to play along. “It takes about four days to go through a bottle. And we only use Gatorade for on-field hydration, not for long pre-practice and pre-game, because that would be too expensive and would mean too much sugar too soon, in Coach’s opinion.”

Then he smiled. “But Brian always drinks a whole pint after practice. Why’d you ask?”

The next day I waited at the side of the field for varsity practice to end, and caught up with Overman as he was leaving for the locker room. He was surprised and a bit suspicious at first—we didn’t really “hang” ever, and I suspect he thought of me as somewhat of a lowlife troublemaker (who, me? lol)—but he warmed up when I asked him a few strategy questions, supposedly for our upcoming JV game. My real purpose was to stall him so he would be the last guy to finish showering and dressing.

Then I carefully observed as little Leddy came up to him with a bottle of post-practice Gatorade. “Hey, Brian, great practice today. There’s a new flavor of Gatorade they just came out with, I thought you might like to try it.” Leddy opened the bottle so Overman wouldn’t notice that the seal on the bottle had been already broken.

Overman looked up and smiled gratefully. “Thanks, little buddy. You know how much I appreciate everything you do for us.” Leddy blushed, but just said “Thanks,” and walked away. We watched as Brian quickly downed his “Obedience”—flavored Gatorade. Now we had ten minutes to wait, maybe less since Brian’s body fluids had been depleted practicing in the heat.

After about eight minutes, with Overman sitting on the bench with his head resting on one hand, looking dizzy and confused, it was time for us to move in and plant some commands deep in his brain that he wouldn’t remember being given. Within days, he’d be moving down the popularity ranks!

I can tell you exactly what happened later that night, even though I wasn’t there. Brian went home, had dinner, settled down to do his homework or listen to music or update Facebook, whatever. At exactly 9 o’clock, his cellphone played a little tune. Brian zoned out, went to his backpack and pulled out a small flask we had kindly put in there, and drank the contents. At 9:10, his phone rang, and about ten minutes of further instructions were inserted into his brain.

When the call was over, he went back to his backpack and pulled out a second gift we had put in there, a grungy, sweat-filled, piss-stained jockstrap with the name LEDDY written in magic marker on the waistband. Putting it on his head and pulling the pouch over his face, his mind worked to memorize and imprint the mind-blowing aroma that filled his senses. He freed his rapidly-firming long jock cock from his pants and began jerking on it wildly. In less than thirty seconds, his hot cum was firing over his feet, part of his carpet, his left size 14 running shoe, and his fingers. Licking his fingers clean, he put the jockstrap back in his backpack and calmly went back to finish his homework, or whatever he was doing previously.

Later that night, he would go to bed and try and try to get to sleep. Normally, he would be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, but not that night. He would toss and turn, feeling that something essential was missing. Then, somehow, it would dawn on him what he needed to do. He would retrieve the jockstrap from his backpack, put it back over his head with the pouch over his face, sigh contentedly at the familiar, all-powerful Leddy crotch-fragrance, climb back into bed and fall asleep immediately, face-jockstrap firmly in place.

My only regret was that I couldn’t order him to dream on command!

Today was the big day. The day the great Brian Overman would find himself a new place in the school’s social hierarchy: under Billy Leddy’s little-boy-sized feet. Normally, I don’t look forward to afternoon football practice, but today it would be a high point in my life!

Except here this morning, running up to me in the hall crying, was Leddy. Dammit! Was he having second thoughts? Was he going to wreck this whole thing? This was the only way I could accomplish my goals without my fingerprints being all over it.

As he ran towards me crying, he began attracting attention, so I grabbed him and pulled him into a still-empty classroom. “I... I can’t do it,” he sobbed. “I love him too much, I don’t want to hurt him in any way, I don’t want to wreck his career. I have to tell him what we did to him yesterday.”

“Dammit, do you want to be ignored your whole life? Do you think he’ll ever want you if we don’t do this? Most importantly, do you want to get ME in trouble?”

But I could see I was getting nowhere. As I let him sob leaning into me, I stuck my left hand into my pocket and unscrewed the top of the bottle in there. Then without any warning, I grabbed his head in my right hand, yanked the bottle out of my pocket, and shoved the top into his mouth which was open with surprise. Before he could shut his mouth, I got enough fluid down his throat to do the trick. Now I just had to use my strength to keep him quiet and resist his struggling for a couple of minutes until the drug took effect, since he didn’t weigh much. Before he zoned out, I told him, “You’d thank me for doing this, except you won’t remember” as his expression morphed from frightened to completely blank.

[Billy Leddy, football team manager and soon to become Brian Overman’s Aroma Master]

I shook myself awake, and I found myself in an empty classroom. I couldn’t remember how I got there; I knew there was SOME reason, but it was if it had been somehow removed from my memory. Whatever.

I went out of the room, and down the hall I saw Brian Overman stumbling around, looking confused. Just as I had hoped! The programming I did of his mind under the influence of the “obedience”—flavored Gatorade using my grungy old jockstrap must have been successful. He must be wondering why things seem so different today. Like he’s missing something important. And he is: the smell of my crotch sweat, with a few drops of dried piss scent added, “completes” him. Without it, he can’t sleep, he can’t cum, he can’t concentrate for long. When he smells it, he’s contented, he feels great, and he’s totally open to suggestions and orders from ME, the source of his “water of life” aroma. I’m so glad I came up with this plan!

And he deserved it. I was tired of him strutting around, so tall and so handsome, surrounded by his friends and fellow jocks. OK, he never did anything bad to me, or to anyone that I know of, but by just BEING that way he was driving me insane with lust! And sure, he saved me from some nasty bullying by that Hingam guy, but even then when I looked into his eyes I saw only concern and friendship, not love being returned. It was torture for me! It’s like priests and their altar boys; if anything happens, it’s obviously the altar boys’ fault just for parading around looking so damned cute! And I seemed to remember that once I actually thought the boys were the victims!

As Overman wandered along the hall, suddenly something occurred to him. He reached into his backpack, and there it was—my repulsively filthy jockstrap! Looking around quickly to make sure no one could see, he pulled the pouch to his face and took a giant breath. Immediately, his eyes rolled back and a huge smile broke out on his face. He took a few licks, then hungrily started chewing on it to extract the precious flavor. I could see the outline of his cock lengthening and fattening down one of his pants legs. Finally, he stuffed the strap back into his backpack and started trotting towards his first class, a bit awkwardly due to his evident hard-on.

Just wait til this afternoon, I thought. The aromas and flavors of that strap will have started wearing out. You’ll need a new fix to make it through the rest of the day. And I’ll be there for you when you need me! Of course, I may force you to demonstrate exactly how MUCH you need me...

[Brian Overman, football captain and soon to become Billy Leddy’s needy crotch slave]

I was sitting in class feeling empty and disturbed, kind of. The brief relief I got in the hall from sniffing and licking that holy jockstrap was fading. I didn’t dare pull it out in class, but without it I was nervous and distracted. Just KNOWING it was in my backpack but being unable to do anything about it was driving me nuts with need and desire. I couldn’t follow anything that was being said in class. Fortunately, I wasn’t called on, or I would have made a fool of myself. Usually I’m one of the best students in most of my classes, but the way I was now I was pretty worthless.

It’s hard to describe exactly how that jockstrap smelled and tasted to me. It was if all my life before I somehow got that strap was meaningless, unimportant, but now I knew what I was missing, and I needed it all the time. It was as if the forces of heaven were all bundled up in that cockpouch. I needed precious Leddy-molecules to enter me through my nose and register in my brain, to mix with my saliva and go through my digestive system and become part of me.

And yet I didn’t dare talk to Leddy about it. How could I do that to him? It couldn’t be his fault that this was happening to me. If I even hinted about something like this, he would be totally weirded out. Heck, if I told him everything exactly as it was, he might even justifiably turn me in to the principal, and I could get suspended, or worse! I was grateful I was a senior and he was a freshman and that we had no classes together.

But I knew we would next meet in the locker room before practice. And I both dreaded the moment, and at the same time could barely wait for it to happen.

[Billy Leddy, football team manager and about to claim Brian Overman as his personal property]

I waited for him near his locker. Normally, the start of practice is a busy time for me, as team manager. But thanks to an “obedience” Gatorade I kindly provided earlier to Wolowitz, he now thought he was my “assistant manager” and was doing my work, on my orders. Some of his teammates were surprised to see the team co-captain running around doing my grunge work instead of getting ready for practice, but they were too busy changing and getting prepared to go out to spend any time thinking about it.

I gotta admit, when that big senior jock Wolowitz looked at me with such great respect, then gazed down at the floor in front of my feet and waited for my orders as if I were a general and he were a private, my cock started to grow. Instead of Billy Leddy, dirty laundry handler and slave to the lowliest athlete, I was now Billy Leddy, commander of top jocks. But I knew I had to keep the focus on my real target, Overman.

Brian was late. I wasn’t surprised. Although I knew he’d be feeling dizzy with need, I’m sure he wasn’t looking forward to talking to me. Until yesterday, I looked up to Brian and thought of him as an unattainable ideal, almost a boy god, to love from afar. Now I viewed him differently: as prey—powerful, built and handsome, but now weakened and ready to be brought down, his will crushed and his body and mind repurposed to satisfy my desires.

When he finally arrived, he looked across the locker room and saw me. Our eyes met, and he dropped his gaze quickly. Good, I thought, he’s subconsciously beginning to realize his relative position with me, namely below. Way below, as he’ll find out soon enough.

He came towards me, as he had to—I was at his locker—briefly confused at the sight of Wolowitz running around the room basically doing my job as I just sat there. It wasn’t Brian’s normal confident stride; he looked unsteady as he got near the bench. He sat down next to me setting his backpack to the side, unable to look me in the eyes.

He began, hesitantly, in a soft voice, using his affectionate nickname for me. “Hey, little buddy...”

I almost laughed out loud. “Little buddy?” THAT was his opening line before telling me he couldn’t live a satisfying life without my crotch sweat covering his face?

I couldn’t resist. “What’s up, ‘big buddy’? Need something from me? A fresh towel, maybe?”

I looked around. Most of the team had already headed out to the field. Only Wolowitz was still around, cleaning up some Gatorade someone had spilled on the floor.

“I... I don’t know how to tell you this, but I need... something more personal.”

I decided to put him out of his misery and get right to the point. I reached over to his backpack and opened the pocket that contained my now-fading “pheromone”—coated jockstrap. “Need a new one of these, do you?”

He was totally shocked, and then didn’t know whether to feel horrified or relieved that I already knew, and so he didn’t have to find a way to tell me the basics. He then told me how he found he had become helpless without the “magic” strap, unable to sleep at night or concentrate during the day without taking occasional “hits” from it. He explained that the precious smells were wearing off, and he begged me for a freshly-grunged strap so he could make it through the day.

I told him, “Well, I don’t have a new one ready yet.” I pulled down the edge of my pants showing him the new strap I was wearing. “I just started ‘breaking in’ this one, and it’ll take me a few days of sweating to get it to where you can use it.” He looked crestfallen. “But you know, sweat is sweat, and it’s a hot day, so I do have some good ripe stuff available in other parts of my body. I know you’re desperate, so I’ll let you try some of the other places. How about my armpits?” I said, pulling off my shirt. “Will that help you?”

Looking around to make sure no one was in the area watching, he poked his head under my left armpit and took a deep, long sniff. His eyes closed, and his tongue darted out and swept a drop of my sweat into his mouth. It was like watching my dad at a fancy restaurant sniff and then taste a drop of a fine wine.

He frowned. “That eases the need a bit, but it’s not nearly the same as that incredible jockstrap.”

“What about my feet? They’re plenty hot and sweaty from running around all day. Try them!”

He waited a second for me to bring my foot up onto the bench, but I made it clear that I wasn’t going to. He dropped to the floor, where he carefully removed my left running shoe. He stuck his nose in the shoe and took a whiff, got a faraway look on his face, then put it down. Next he peeled off my sweaty sock, brought it to his face, moaned softly through the sock, then set it aside. Finally, he lay flat on his back and brought my foot directly onto his face. As he sniffed and licked, I wiggled my toes to give him the full effect of my foot odor, and to give his tongue access to my toe jam. His dreamy look returned while his tongue dug between my toes, which continued until I removed my foot from his face, putting a disappointed expression on his face.

Brian was somewhat relieved. “Much better... thanks, you’re saving my life here. I mean, I’m not at 100 percent without a jockstrap full of your fresh sweat, cum and piss to smell and chew on. But I’m hoping your smelly sock will be enough to tide me over until you get the new strap ready to wrap around my face.”

I moved in for the kill. “Whoa, Brian. I can’t just let you take that sock, it’s mine. I need to wear it. And it sounds as if you’re expecting me to give you a steady supply of stinking, sweat-filled clothes. That’s a lot of work on my part.”

Now came the time for me to demonstrate to him the depth of his problem: “Maybe it’s not me. Maybe anyone’s crotch sweat would work for you. Hey, Wolowitz!”

The tightly-muscled big athlete came scrambling over at my call. “Yeah, boss?” His subservient attitude took Brian by surprise.

“Brian here would like a taste of your crotch sweat.” Brian was mortified, but Wolowitz just said, “Sure, boss,” as if it were the most natural request in the world. And for him, it was. Anything I asked my “assistant” to do seemed normal to Wolowitz now. The team’s co-captain pulled down his clothes to allow Brian to get his nose and tongue into the area between his balls and his asshole, inclusive of both. Brian started by sniffing and licking at Wolowitz’ ball sweat. Stimulated by the action, Wolowitz’ impressive fat cock rose proudly, forcing Brian to grab it and push it out of the way. I was tempted to help hold it out of the way for him, while secretly stimulating the tip between my thumb and forefinger to drive Wolowitz crazy with lust. But I knew that now I could have Wolowitz’ cock anytime I wanted just by ordering him to give it to me, so I let the opportunity pass.

Brian’s nose and tongue continued from Wolowitz’ substantial balls down across the choad area. When he reached the asshole, Brian led with his nose and then followed up with his long tongue. After a few licks in there, he retraced his sniffing-licking path back to the heavy balls. Suddenly, he stopped his exploration.

Brian pulled his face out of Wolowitz’ crotch with a dejected look. “No, his sweat doesn’t help me. It’s nice, but—it just isn’t YOU.” Of course I already knew the answer in advance, but I wanted Brian to absorb the lesson totally. He was all mine, and only mine, and there was no escape.

I dismissed Wolowitz, who with another deferential “Sure, boss,” went back to cleaning up around the locker room as if nothing unusual had happened. I was running out of time. Soon, the varsity coach would be in here wondering why his two best players weren’t out on the field yet. He’d be very unhappy when he found out why.

I contemplated my situation, and was happy about my prospects. The total conquest of Brian Overman was just the beginning of what promised to be a big improvement in my social situation. From lowly team manager, I could use my water / Gatorade weapon to slowly take over the whole team. Soon, instead of cleaning up after a bunch of “superiors” asking me to do favors for them, I would have my choice of the school’s finest prime jock meat available for my own personal pleasure. Visiting the showers after practice would be like visiting the beef display case at the supermarket. I’d have my pick of the choicest cuts—or uncuts—depending on my mood. Yes, life was definitely looking up.

Now, I turned my attention back to Brian, who in the space of a day I had converted from unattainable jock god and object of many a jerk-off session, into a sock-chewing crotch-sweat slave forced to do anything I told him to. Exerting a lot of effort to put on a fake sad face despite my inward exuberance, I began to lay out the conditions of his enslavement.

“You know, Brian, I think I know what’s causing this problem of yours, and how we could solve it together. It’ll take a lot of effort and sacrifice on your part. But if you’re willing to try, I think we can get you through this...”