The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1. The Earth Turns

How often now they return to me, those nights I stood under the trestle waiting for him. At first, I still expected him to come. Later, I knew he wouldn’t. But there I was, posed against one of the supporting pillars, waiting for him.

The nights were brown. The streets were woozy with tiredness. I pushed through waves of nearly unbreathable air.

Where the trucks used to stop, someone wanted to piss on me. Smiling I declined and kept walking.

Then I saw him in the distance: leaning against the fluorescent theater window display, on the other side of Hudson Street, someone was there, not the one I’d been waiting for, my heart’s master who had abandoned me, but another one. I breathed deeply, relaxing and becoming tense in the same moment. I slowed my walk down and became very smooth. A smile crept onto my face. It sat easily on my lips. As I approached him it broke into a grin.

I caught him.

Hi, he said, responding to a greeting I had not yet made.

Hello, I said.

You going home at this hour?

You want to come with me?

We were both cool and we knew what we wanted. There was no need to go through preliminaries. The best talking is done in silence. We took each other’s hand and sauntered as we walked, each, making the other float with the joy of feeling the world starting over again.

I let us in and I looked at him. He was even better in the light.

I’ll get a candle and shut that, I said, as I took one out of a box of utility candles I kept in the freezer. I swiveled it into the empty candlestick on the table. I struck the match and shut the overhead light at the same time and then I put the match to the wick. There was a small ball of flame giving a dim light until the fire shot up the wick in a fluted oval and gave the room the dark amber yellow brightness of candle-light. I shook the match out just as I began to feel the burn of the flame on my fingertips.

He grasped my balls with his hand and drew my mouth to his and pulled me entirely into him. I wrapped my left arm about him and held his neck in my palm and breathed my whole life into him and felt him breathe it back to me inside his own. I tasted the pot on his tongue.

You got more smoke? I said.

Sure, he answered and dug a slightly smoked joint out of his jeans, lit it by flipping a zippo, took a deep drag and then pressed his lips to mine and blew a heavy blast of smoke through my lungs and into my belly. My shaved chest heaved as if it would explode but it swelled into an imploring kiss grinding me more deeply into him, swooning with the pleasure of his body.

He told me he wanted to hypnotize me, that he wanted to have me completely in his power. He said this as he held me in his arms, and after every word he kissed my lips until my head was spinning with desire for him and all I could think was how much I belonged with him.

He put his hand on my cock repeating that he wanted to make me his slave and command me and watch me obey him. He kissed me between each word. His words fell slowly on me like the rain in spring when you’re young. My lips were quivering with kisses for him.

I heard his voice, commanding me.

Master, I said. It was easy.

I knew who I was. I was his slave. I repeated what he said without even needing to think about it. I was in his power. Whenever I heard him say, You are mine tonight, where ever I was, I would enter a trance and become his slave. I wanted it, and I couldn’t resist it even if I tried.

I liked this game, but I panicked the next moment. I had stepped into something I could not step out of. It was not going to end in the morning. Everything was up to him. I could only hope he would be kind to me.

His finger up my ass at that very moment was right. I let out a long breath and threw my head all the way back. He took me by the chin and pushed his index finger into my mouth and down my throat. He had me at both ends. I was his. I sucked on him through both my holes. He brought his head down to the level of my chest, tilted it slightly and bit my nipple. My body writhed. My cock throbbed. His fist was wrapped fast around it blocking release.

Pulling his hand from my mouth, he slapped my face hard, not loosening his grip on my cock.

I felt the sting and the wetness of my own saliva.

Smile and say thank you sir.

With all my heart. I obeyed.

Thank you, sir, I said, devotion smiling in my eyes.

It was good to belong to someone.

2. Life Goes On

I saw him looking at me. I watched him walk over. I accepted his cigarette. He lit it for me, cupping the match in his palms. I inhaled deeply and blew out the smoke with a relaxation I hadn’t felt for days.

I’d been tricked again.

Coffee? he said.

Sure, I said.

One thing was as good as another. I could spend an hour with him. Even more. And if he wanted to fuck, it was ok with me. I’m good at it. I do it several times a week with a bunch of different guys. Some are surprised, they say, that someone who -- here they falter – you know, looks like you [me], I mean, you’re, you know, in a category beyond good looking; that someone who looks like me would be interested in ordinary looking guys who don’t carve their bodies with daily workouts, the way I do. Why not? I reply. You can tell a slave by his physique. Not a Master. I smile. I can tell by their eyes how deeply they want me.

Anyhow we sat in Smiler’s for coffee, and I saw that he was nervous.

Why you nervous?

My, we’re direct.

You’re nervous; why?

He stared at his hands. How could he tell me? He wasn’t nervous. He was trembling with desire for me. It was so strong, his desire for me, that it made his bones rattle and his body shake. He couldn’t keep his teeth from chattering, hard as he tried, and clamped down on his jaw.

Tell me, I commanded.

He looked at my face to see how he ought to take those words and saw that I was impenetrably serious, and it worked on him like a medicine, and he became calm.

I want to kiss your feet.

3. Things Burn

Crazy Benny’s was boarded up after the fire. Flowers, teddy bears, Judy Garland CDs, black leather harnesses and other such items were placed outside in a large crate in memory of Rory, one of the bartenders.

Police and fire officials had no doubt that it was arson and promised swift action.

Benny announced at a neighborhood meeting that he would reopen. Right there people began pledging contributions earmarked for rebuilding. A steering committee was formed and three months later, after mentions in The Times, The Voice, The New Yorker, and several radio stations, an amazing $643,281.67 had been donated.

I had gone out on the fire escape to get a little air. It was a large loft, and it was packed – hundreds of guys, each more of a killer than the next. Who was the hottest depended on who you were looking at. I was dizzy. It was a still July night, quite warm, and it was only the proximity of New York Bay that gave the air a current slighter than a breeze but nevertheless noticeable.

I felt a hand pressing against my bare chest and the fingers gently twisting my nipple.

I started to turn my head to see who it was when I felt his warm breath on my neck and I shivered.

Don’t move, he said. You are mine tonight.

The tension lifted from my body like the air out of a balloon when its neck is let go. I fell backwards on to him.

You can stand, he commanded, twisting my nipple and blowing softly into my ear.

4. A Moebus Strip

They come, they go, they come back again. They leave again -- old ones, new ones, hopeful ones. But here I am. Here I remain. The river flows; I stay still. It makes sense. I like it when they parade by and stop now and then for climactic moments. But I don’t stay with them. A side effect? Literature becomes necessary. So I write these stories conjuring up possibilities, amazing phantoms I want to transmute into flesh, whose kisses you feel when you breathe.

5. After the Kiss

It was a leaden day in August. It had been raining since last night. Bank Street crossed Fourth five stories below. Dawn was just spreading like gun metal through the layers of the sky.

He yawned. I held his face.

You are beautiful, I said.

You are very promiscuous, aren’t you?

I grinned.

Don’t be coy, he said. It’s ok. It’s gonna make it even better when you can’t get hard for anyone but me.

6. Lost Moments

I saw her walking out of a café with Erick at her side. I tottered, but I kept my balance even if not my inner composure. I remembered how I had given her up, thrown her away. I remembered how he had once pressed himself against me and taken me with a kiss when he was drunk. The loss was tragic, but somehow – I still wasn’t sure how – essential. I remembered her bitter coldness and the toneless, bitten down curse she uttered when I left. I shook then. I was shaken. She might have let me go cleanly without trying to wound, leaving a bruise.

Our paths crossed. She recognized me and smiled with a hint of triumphant irony. I nodded my head and smiled acknowledging hers. We passed on without stopping. She hadn’t gotten older. She was only more beautiful. Erick was somewhere else.

I walked over to McDougal Street and headed for The Peacock, pocketed in the winding alley which connects McDougal and Sixth Avenue.

It was dark and woody inside, and nobody bothered you if you if it wasn’t tobacco in your pipe. I ordered a small café a la française, put enough sugar in to make it sweet and took a few pulls on my pipe and then tamped it.

Jenny was on tonight and had brought over the espresso.

She was a beauty, and sweet with a gentle kindness and a melancholy listlessness. She was lithe, soft, and angular. She had thick curly brown hair like a poodle. Her features were sharp. Her mouth was full and rich and her white teeth sparkled, but not as incandescently as her eyes.

Hello, Jenny, I said.

I’m so glad to see you, she said as if repeating a lesson.

Tell me why, I said.

Because I need to see you.

Why do you need to see me?

Because without you I am nothing.

It was quiet and it was late and Jenny had no trouble getting Marie to let her leave work early.

So we headed over to her place on Fourth Street off the Bowery.

She was a peach, naked, warm, ripe and tasty with a richness of flavor that was overwhelming and a juiciness that made you want just to gush her up. She looked at me with big, happy eyes and we kissed like we were singing songs.

She was quiet in the morning. Hanging her head down, but looking up over her defeat with gentle but gone eyes, she said, We shouldn’t see each other again.

I understood her. My eyes went too. They were happy but gone, and I understood her.

7. A Parting Glance

I looked at him from a distance. I had never seen the ideal male form so perfectly embodied. I couldn’t take my eyes away and stood transfixed on the corner watching. An orange shirt with tiny sleeves clung to his torso and stopped before his ribbed midriff. He wore a pair of tight fitting short brown corduroy shorts, slit at each side and a pair of Roman sandals with leather cords that laced up to his knees forming a diamond pattern up his calves. His beautiful handsome face had no trace of disdain in it. Another guy, just about as good as him, wearing tight jeans and a burgundy chest-hugging polo shirt met him. They took each other by the shoulders. Quick on the lips they kissed. Then hand in hand they were soon out of sight.