The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Fucking hell. Unbelievable.”

“Looks like that’s me again.” Salman Tan—Sal, to his friends—reached out his lanky arms and wrapped them around the pot at the center of the table, pulling the array of goods that by now included Poker chips, a Rolex watch, two wallets, a couple pairs of men’s underwear, and other assorted odds and sods, back into his kitty. Sal smirked. He’d never been a poker prodigy, so—along with a little luck—tonight’s winnings constituted a triumphal monument to his study of the mechanics of the game. Usually, things came to Sal much more easily, but on poker nights he was at a deficit because the other players shared his most prominent advantage.

That advantage, specifically, was hypnosis, and both Sal and the other men seated around the table were exceptionally well versed in it. The four had met over the years through the various highways and byways of gay hypnosis fetishism, though most had made their first contact through Rodney Field, an aging stage hypnotist who was again passing through town on tour. Though part of the older guard, Rod was nevertheless famous for his bawdy college and club shows, which usually ended with most of the participants—namely the males—stripped to their underwear and slathered in whipped cream or something similarly debauched. When a few of Rod’s fellow hypnotists had discovered they shared a mutual interest in cards, Poker Night was born, though Rod’s increasingly erratic schedule meant they hadn’t met in quite some time.

As was tradition, Rod had supplied the party favors. It was a curious result of Rod’s shows that afterwards usually at least one—if not several, and always male—participants would invariably become curious about the subject of hypnosis, and seek Rod out to assist in their education. Maybe it was because of the subject’s inherent intrigue they were so taken with it, or perhaps because of Rod’s dynamic performing style, or maybe it was simply due to a few quietly whispered words to the right participants during a hectic portion of the show, but whatever the case, handsome young gentlemen always seemed to find their way into Rod’s dressing room, and, when he was on the road, to one of his poker nights. Several were present now, in fact, and each was all too delighted to volunteer to ensure the evening went off without a hitch:

On their knees beneath the table, two handsome young men dressed only in football jerseys were sucking slowly and contentedly at several of the players’ cocks. Both star players on one of the local college teams, the two had gone under together at a campus charity event, and had been delighted to expand their humanitarian duties by helping out at the star performer’s poker night.

Standing beside the table, meanwhile, with a tray of snacks and drinks in hand, was Zaid Sher, perhaps one of the most beautiful males the world has ever seen. Lithe as the other boys were muscled, dark as they were pale, Zaid had his hair cropped tight on the sides, a tuft of scruff topping his scalp, his well-defined features revealed clearly by a smooth, fresh shave and a formal attire that included a tight pair of black briefs and nothing else. He’d caught Sal’s eye the moment he’d seen him, the handsome young hypnotist having always been more enchanted by beauty than pure brawn, and Sal had been laying his trap throughout the evening…

“One more round, or shall I abscond with my winnings?”

“Damn it, I can’t believe my luck. I want that watch,” Rod muttered, brow drenched with sweat. In point of fact, the watch wasn’t really “his”—or at least, hadn’t been until quite recently—having previously belonged to one of the football players, who’d happily bequeathed it to help shore up the hypnotist’s wager.

“Looks like you’re all tapped out,” Sal smirked, waiting for the old guy to walk into his trap. He’d noticed over the years that Rod, while a skilled player, could sometimes be goaded into stepping over the line when he got caught up in things. Couple that with the fact Sal had never been great at the game himself—before studying like a madman over the past several months—and he figured he had the perfect plan to take the guy for a ride.

Rod cast another glance at the pile of men’s garments in front of him. “You’ve already got their wallets and their underwear. What do you want, their jerseys? I can’t send them back with too much missing. People are gonna get suspicious.”

“I don’t want their damn jerseys,” Sal scoffed.

“Then I’m tapped out,” muttered Rod. He’d never had luck like this. Sal was on a streak.

“You still have assets,” Sal said.

“What do you mean? I’m not giving you my damn pocket watch, you know it’s an antique.”

Sal motioned toward another player’s lap, where one of the football studs was sucking contentedly.

“I can’t give you one of the kids,” snorted Rod, shaking his head.

“Why not? Easy come, easy go.”

Rod knew as well as Sal they each approached enslavement differently. While Rod was content to be flexible, enjoying most guys while he was in town and erasing their memories afterward, Sal’s approach was different. Where Rod was catch-and-release, Sal was a trophy hunter.

Emigrating at a young age from Singapore, Salman Tan had always been fascinated by the all-American male. Feeling out-of-place in school, often picked on because of his differences and accent, he had grown to both fetishize and despise that type of stereotypical American masculinity. For Sal, it wasn’t so much a matter of race—he was attracted to all races—but of comportment. You could tell the all-American male by the way he dressed, the fashions he wore, the words he used, his body language. Sal had committed himself to enslaving this archetype—enslaving it, and then destroying it.

A young Sal hadn’t known much about hypnotism aside from seeing it in cartoons, but he wondered if it could be real, and how effective it could be at controlling another mind. The young boy had wanted nothing more than to institute order on his disordered world—to make people stop bothering him, to put them in their place. Hypnotism had struck him as a potential tool for that.

The young man had committed himself to studying the subject as hard as he could, practicing it on what few friends he had and trying to see how far he could push things. In college, he majored in psychology, studying not just hypnosis but all the other effects and behaviors of the human mind, and how he could combine and leverage them to achieve control. After college, he’d studied for a certificate in hypnotherapy, obtained his masters and then a doctorate in psychology, and now ran a successful behavioral counseling practice, where he used hypnosis, combined with other behavior-modification techniques, to help clients change destructive patterns.

What few knew outside the darker edges of the male hypnosis community, however, was that Sal also selected certain specimens for additional reshaping. He would wait patiently for the right targets to pass through his door, bluffing them—just as he had bluffed Rod—with astounding success in whatever changes they were trying to cultivate. Meanwhile, he was laying the groundwork for a total and complete enslavement of the selected parties.

With the official therapy concluded, Sal would continue conducting sessions with the young men in private, using extremely deep hypnosis and other techniques to convince them to make permanent changes in their life—cut ties with relatives and lovers, become obsessed with committing themselves to their therapist, and finally to disappear completely, moving into Sal’s house as kept men. Upon their entering his residence, Sal would wipe their minds, turning them into little more than human automatons, robots programmed to have no will beyond serving and providing him pleasure. While Rod’s turnover rate even for boys he kept long-term (and these were only the occasional specimens, like Zaid) could be anything from a few months to a few years, Sal’s lasted longer. Since he took great care in his selection and it took more time to break his men, he would keep them around until he lost interest. After that, the men would be disposed of, usually left wandering abandoned byways throughout the American heartland with no memory of who they were, what had happened or what had been going on over the last number of years. Since all traces of their original minds had been destroyed, their personalities and previous lives were lost irrevocably. It was a state none had yet come back from—or ever would, if Sal’s technique was as good as he believed.

All this weighed on Rod’s mind as he mulled his decision—the amount of personal effects belonging to all the boys currently in Salman’s kitty and his desperate need to get them back before the night was through, balanced against the dark knowledge of what might happen to any one of the young men if Rod failed at his next hand. And yet, as Sal knew it would, Rod’s confidence and competitive spirit got the better of him, and he found himself asking, almost as an out-of-body experience, “Which one would you want?”

Sal jerked his thumb toward Zaid without a second’s hesitation.

“The kid?!” Rod was gobsmacked. He thought for sure either of the BMOCs below the table would have been who Sal had his eye on, and had even weighed that into his calculations. Like a lot of jocks, both were kind of pricks, and Rod had reasoned that if one of them went missing, sucked into Salman’s vortex of perversion, it wouldn’t be any great loss to society. But Zaid was different. He had been a sweet kid, guileless, smart and eager to please. He had made an excellent hypnotic subject, and an even better lover and assistant over the past few years. The thought of sending him into Salman’s clutches broke Rod’s heart.

“Not him…” Rod muttered. “I can’t do that.”

“Suit yourself,” said Sal, grabbing a few of the more personal effects from his pile.

“Wait,” said Rod, goaded by the gesture. Fuck. If he sent both boys home with all their wallets and watches and things missing, that was going to be a tall order to cover up. As much as he hated the idea, he needed to win this back.

“If I give you the kid, you have to promise not to brain-wipe him. What you do with your clients is your business, but—”

“If I win him, he becomes irrevocably and irretrievably mine, to do with as I please,” stated Sal, sizing the boy up like a piece of meat. “What are you so concerned about anyhow? He doesn’t care. Do you, boy?”

Sal caressed one of the boy’s smooth, tan thighs, and Zaid whispered, “I serve at the pleasure of my master. My only will is his desire.” It was a robotically programmed response, articulated in a state of ignorant bliss.

Rod signed. He didn’t like this. Didn’t like it one bit. But Sal had him over a barrel. He was a wily one, a quality which generally delighted Rod when he could enjoy his deviousness vicariously. It was quite another matter to be its victim.

“All right,” he sighed. “I’ll wager the boy.”

Sal was not without some charity, and returned most of the jocks’ effects when he inevitably won. The underwear he kept as a souvenir—it would be easy enough for Rod to convince the two they’d gone commando—but the wallets and watches and junk were of little importance to him. Besides, he’d played skillfully and left the evening with what he’d wanted, much to his host’s chagrin.

After the festivities wrapped up, Rod spent ten or fifteen minutes inducing Zaid into a deep trance, erasing all previous allegiance to him and replacing it with a total and complete obedience to his new master. After the impromptu hypnosis session, Zaid awakened with an absolute compulsion to obey Sal, whatever or however he might command him.

It was a bit of a ride back to Sal’s residence, and the hypnotist programmed the boy to experience increased arousal whenever the car would accelerate, which made for an amusing passenger-seat spectacle as he traversed the winding roads back home.

Finally arriving at Sal’s house, the door was promptly opened by Rodrigo, Sal’s current servant, who studiously attended to each and every one of his master’s whims. Sal’s newest conquest, Rodrigo had been a 28-year-old investment banker looking to commit better to his daily fitness regimen. He now found plenty of time for that, in between waiting on his master’s every whim, though any trace of “Rodrigo” beyond the name had long since vanished.

Conducting Zaid upstairs to his bedroom, Sal had Rodrigo prepare things as he got ready for bed, while Zaid waited patiently by the door, in a state of blissful relaxation. His original hypnotist had returned him to a more presentable state for transport, and he had on a pair of tight black jeans, drop-cut gray tee, and boots, all of which Sal had him remove as he climbed into bed, along with the aforementioned black underwear.

Sal usually liked to enjoy one night with each of his conquests as their former selves, before erasing their personalities completely, and he intended to do the same with Zaid, to get to know a bit more about the boy before turning him into a blissful automaton. Unlike his other conquests, Sal was able to skip the preamble of brainwashing through therapy and head right to deep conditioning. As it was a Saturday, he fully intended to spend the bulk of the next day working on nothing but Zaid, trancing and mind-fucking him until there was nothing left but an obedient servant. But first thing’s first—time to see what a cocky little prick he was about to destroy.

“When you awaken, you will remain in this position, on your hands and knees. You’ll return to your former personality, but enjoy everything that’s happening to you, delighted to be pleasing me sexually,” Sal snapped, and Zaid blinked, shocked to discover his new surroundings.

A greater shock came moments later, as he felt the hard cock of what he now understood was his new master sliding into him from behind. Zaid let out a muffled cry of surprise, but then began to groan, his brain focused only on obeying his master’s command, trying to find any available scrap of pleasure in his rectal pummeling. After all, it was his greatest and only desire to please this man sexually.

After a good few minutes of fucking, the man climaxed and released Zaid, who crawled up in bed alongside him, wrapping his slender flesh around Salman’s naked frame. Zaid could have cuddled him forever, but the man told him to close his eyes, so he did, breathing in as instructed and focusing on letting everything go. The man was an incredibly skilled hypnotist, and Zaid felt himself melt into his warm, firm shoulder, mind opening up like a flower as the man inscribed his will:

“My boy Zaid: when you awaken, you will return to your normal self, finally aware of anything and everything that has happened to you since you began to be hypnotized. You will remain calm and totally at peace, unwilling to fight or resist me, and desiring only to entertain me by opening up about who you are and what you have experienced, so I can better get to know you. When you awaken you will do this, happy to remain obedient and docile, and submitting to each and every command as I give them, ready at a moment’s notice to close your eyes and sink back under. Nod your head if you understand…”

The boy nodded, exhaling contentedly as his new commands took hold. A moment later, Sal snapped his fingers, and the boy was suddenly blinking himself awake, groggily and bewilderedly assessing his new surroundings.

“Where am I…?” he sighed. The hypnotist briefly caught him up on everything that had happened: his first dalliance with Rod, being sucked into his web of control, being won in the poker game…

“So, I’m your slave?” Zaid asked, sounding neither indignant nor terrified, but merely curious—a result of his new master’s successful programming.

“Yes, and tomorrow you’ll undergo a special session of deep conditioning, designed to obliterate your personality and will. After I’ve concluded, you’ll be nothing more than a mindless automaton: a body operating solely to provide me physical and visual pleasure—sex, servitude, and the mere enjoyment of looking at a handsome young man.”

“And what happens when I’m no longer handsome?” Zaid asked.

“Hopefully that won’t be for a long time,” Zaid’s master said. “But when it does happen, I’ll get rid of you. It won’t matter to you then, trust me. It hasn’t mattered to any of the others.”

“Why are you telling me this?” asked the boy.

“It gives me a tremendous amount of pleasure performing that part of the transformation—stripping a headstrong and cocksure boy like yourself of every vestige of his personality, turning him into nothing more than a vessel for my pleasure. I like to get a sense of who I’m destroying before I do. Often, this occurs over a longer period of time, and I get to know my subjects quite well; in your case, I’m having to settle for a crash course. I want you to spend the rest of the night telling me everything about yourself—your personality, your experiences, your previous time under hypnosis. That will allow me to enjoy things much more thoroughly tomorrow, as I strip your mind of its individuality and will. I want to savor that moment, and so I want you to tell me everything about yourself. You want me to savor it too, so you will.”

Zaid nodded. Deep inside he felt panic, still not fully sure how he’d gotten here. He just wanted to go home, back to his dorm where the bed was safe and warm, or back to the suburbs, to his parents’, where he could sleep ’til noon and his laundry was always done. Here he had someone telling him all that would vanish—vanish in less than 24 hours, never to return. He didn’t want that to happen! And yet—some strange part of him wanted to make this man happy—to provide the stories and the information he wanted, so he could enjoy himself. Zaid tried to think of what this man would want to know—would he want to know about Zaid’s family, his life, his friends? And as he did, Zaid began to formulate a plan…

“I bet you’d like to hear something that would turn you on?” he asked. Sal nodded, slyly, hand slipping beneath the sheets and wrapping around his vestigial tumescence. He may have just gotten his rocks off, but when it came to perversion, Salman Tan was insatiable. Just watching this sweet young thing squirm in his control was making him hard all over again.

“So perhaps I should begin by telling you about how I was first hypnotized, now that I can remember.”

Sal leaned forward and kissed the boy on the lips, pressing him on. Zaid took a deep breath and began his story…