The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Timeshare

AgainstMyWill@gmail.com

Jan 2011

“We’re so glad you’ve elected to spend your week with us here at Adore Resorts and Spas. Mrs. Porter and—may I ask your names? Rachel and Julia? Of course, Mrs. Porter, Rachel, and Julia, why don’t you follow my associate here. She’ll take you out to do whatever you like. Yes, of course you can ride in the golf carts! You can do anything here. It’s paradise, didn’t they tell you that on the way in? Of course, enjoy your time. Mr. Porter, if you’ll follow me, I’d love to talk to you about Adore Resorts and why our offer today is such a great opportunity for you.”

The Porters knew what they were in for (or, anyway, they thought they did, but more on that later) when they showed up to the timeshare resort island, but they’d discussed it and decided it was worth the annoyance of the sales pitch. Mr. Porter insisted he was quite able to endure the pitch without caving, and anyway it got the girls a vacation which, otherwise, they weren’t going to be able to afford with things as they’d been all year.

“Mr. Porter, if you’d have a seat.” The gentleman gestured with a well-manicured hand to one of two chairs, side-by-side, in the relatively small room he’d led Mr. Porter into, who obligingly sat down.

“Look, guys,” Mr. Porter said, trying for his best knowing smile and nod, “I’m willing to go through with this but we just don’t have anywhere near the money to consider buying a condo right now, so I just want to be honest up front so you don’t get your hopes up.”

“Condo? Mr. Porter, we’re not trying to sell you a condo.”

“You’re not? Wait, I thought that was the whole thing. Property on the resort, right?”

“Oh, no,” and the man laughed, “Just a misunderstanding. Sorry about that. When I said ‘our offer today’ that’s not what I meant at all.”

“Well, then,” Porter said, starting to get a bit irritated, “Why am I here?”

“Mr. Porter,” the man began, after a deep inhalation, clearly reciting a well-rehearsed speech, “Have you ever considered becoming a father?”

“A—what?!?” Mr. Porter was utterly baffled, now. “I am a father. I have two daughters. What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Mr. Porter, there are many residents of this island who live in poverty and need a loving parent as their caretaker. I’d like you to meet Raoul.”

At that, a teenager walked in, smiling. He was dressed in light, flowing island robes and his coffee-colored complexion shone. He looked far healthier than one might imagine an impoverished orphan would.

“Uh, he looks perfectly healthy. And how old is he, like 18? He seems like he could easily fend for himself. What is going on here? I thought this was a timeshare condo sale. Why is this kid in here?”

“Mr. Porter, we do house and feed the children ourselves. And yes, he’s 18, but do you really think that means he doesn’t deserve a father’s love?”

“Well, of course not, that’s not what I meant, I didn’t mean to imply - " Mr. Porter stammered, thrown off a bit, “You didn’t answer my question, what’s going on here?”

“Mr. Porter, we’d like you and Raoul to watch this short presentation together.”

Before Porter could object, Raoul sat down in the other chair, right next to him, and a projector turned on. It looked like an old slide reel, clicking its way through static, faded images. Only the images were unsettling. They showed Mr. Porter and Raoul doing things together, things they’d obviously never actually done.

One slide showed them laughing as they flew kites in a park on a sunny day.

The next showed them sitting on a living room floor—Porter had no idea what living room or where—putting a puzzle together.

The next showed Mr. Porter consoling a weeping Raoul as he cleaned out the boy’s wounds after a bike accident.

“Stop it!” yelled Mr. Porter, “This is creeping me out! Who made this, where is this from? Why are you showing this to me?”

Nobody replied but Raoul reached over and tenderly took Mr. Porter’s hand, who yanked it immediately away. “No! This is fucked up! I’m not your dad, I have a family. I’m sorry, I’m not adopting you.”

The slideshow stopped and the room went black.

Mr. Porter felt hands grab him and screamed. A hand clamped over his mouth. He felt cold metal against his wrists and he felt something pulling on his legs. The slideshow came back on, and in that dim light Mr. Porter saw his hands and legs cuffed to the chair, now, and his mouth gagged.

“OK, Mr. Porter, we tried it the easy way, but apparently you want to make this harder for everyone. That’s fine, we can do it the hard way. We offered your family a lovely free vacation and you took out generosity and responded with rudeness and arrogance. You don’t get something for nothing, Mr. Porter. You will love this boy as a father loves his son. It’s inevitable. You can’t stop it, now.”

Mr. Porter started thrashing as the images continued. They got more and more intense, more and more intimate. He found himself staring at huge images of himself sitting at the edge of Raoul’s bed, watching the boy sleep with a beatific smile. In the photo, Mr. Porter was gazing lovingly down at him. In the chair he was cuffed to, Mr. Porter started thrashing around, trying to get out. Raoul was still next to him, and was now tenderly rubbing his hand.

He closed his eyes and someone behind him held them open and then used an eyedropper to put a single drop of some solution in each of his eyes. At first it burned, but then it passed. He tried again to close his eyes and found the lids didn’t slide easily over his eyes, as if they were stuck. He sat in horror as his eyes grew painfully dry, staring at the images. The experience felt surreal. Maybe this is what insanity feels like, Porter thought to himself.

Just then a soundtrack started playing in the room. Mr. Porter heard babies gurgling happily, chimes playing, something that sounded like a grown man crying... the whole thing made the experience even more horrifying. It was getting really hard to think clearly.

Again he felt hands from behind him. This time he felt the prick of a needle going into his neck and the pressure as he was given a shot of something, he didn’t know what. His eyes were getting drier and drier. He felt like he was losing his mind. Raoul was rubbing his hand tenderly. Now he was staring at a photo of him hugging Raoul tenderly. He was starting to feel fond of the boy. Where had that thought just come from? He didn’t know the boy at all.

And yet he felt like he did. He felt Raoul’s hand touching his and Mr. Porter suddenly wanted to hug the boy.

The next image came up and it showed Mr. Porter cooking dinner for Raoul who sat comfortably at a kitchen table.

“I wonder if he’s hungry right now.” The thought popped right into his head. Where’d that come from? “Well, maybe he is. I’d love to cook him dinner.” There it was again. The thoughts were unfamiliar to Mr. Porter. He wasn’t sure where they were coming from. But he couldn’t shake them, and when he let himself think them, they felt like they made a lot of sense.

The next image showed Mr. Porter handing over his car keys to Raoul who was holding his driver’s license and smiling.

“I’m so proud of him,” Mr. Porter thought, his eyes now totally dry and his vision getting distorted, his mind full of narcotics and the sensory deprivation experience making him more than a little bit crazy. “I’d love to give him my car. He really deserves it.”

The next image showed Mr. Porter kneeling down beside Raoul, who was sitting on a couch, taking the boy’s shoes off and giving him a foot massage while Raoul smiled down at him.

“I love him so much,” Mr. Porter thought, no longer fighting the wonderful feelings of love and adoration flowing through him. “I wish I were untied right now so I could give him a foot massage. Or whatever he needs. I love him and just want him to be happy. I’d do anything for my son.”

At that moment the lights came back on and the slideshow stopped. Someone sprayed Mr. Porter’s eyes down and he blinked and it was one of the best sensations he’d ever had.

The well-dressed, carefully-manicured man walked back in.

“I see from the brain scan that we’re safe to uncuff you, Mr. Porter?” He pulled the gag from the man’s mouth.

“Yes! Please, let me go. I want to be with my son!”

The man smiled. “Before we can let you hug him we need you to sign some adoption paperwork. Adore Resorts is part of the United States so these contracts are valid here. Just sign right here—here—here - and... here.”

Mr. Porter happily signed them all.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, Mr. Porter. You’ve done a wonderful thing adopting an orphaned island boy.”

“I’m so happy to have found him,” Mr. Porter said, still clearly not of very sound mind. “I love him so much. Raoul, come here and give your father a big hug.”

The boy smiled and stood up as Mr. Porter wrapped his arms around him and wept tears of joy. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “I’m sorry I’m crying—I’m just, it’s just that I’m so happy right now.”

“Well, then,” the man smiled, “I’m going to give you two some alone time.” He led his associates out of the room, leaving only Mr. Porter and his new legal son, Raoul.

“Daddy,” Raoul spoke for the first time, with a grin, “You said you love me, Daddy?”

“Yes, of course, Raoul, Daddy loves you.”

“And you’d do anything for me, then, if you love me that much?”

“Anything at all,” Mr. Porter said, a sweet loving look in his eyes.

“Good, then take off my shirt, Daddy.”

Mr. Porter reached over and slid the boy’s robe off over his head. Raoul’s smooth, oiled island skin gleamed in the soft lighting of the room and the boy smelled of musk and sweat.

“Now take off my pants, Daddy.”

“Raoul, that’s not really-”

“If you love me, Daddy, take off my pants.”

Mr. Porter reached out and unclasped Raoul’s pants, which fell to the ground. The boy was wearing no underwear. His cock sprung up, rock hard, sticking a good seven inches out from his pubic bush.

“Oh, God,” Mr. Porter exclaimed in dismay.

“Now take off your clothes, Daddy.”

Mr. Porter started visibly shaking as he lost the internal struggled and stripped off his clothing items, one by one. Unlike Raoul, he was completely flaccid when he was naked.

“Daddy,” Raoul said, batting his eyes sweetly, “I feel empty.”

“Empty?” Mr. Porter asked nervously, afraid he knew the answer already. Indeed, Raoul turned around, showing his narrow, muscular back tapering down into a perfect pair of pert, full ass cheeks.

“No, Raoul, I can’t do that. That’s not something Daddies and Sons should do together.”

Raoul pouted. “I thought you said you loved me, Daddy.”

“I do! Raoul, I love you so much. You’re my boy, I’ll always love you.”

“Then if you love me, don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Yes, Raoul, I want you to be happy so badly. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Do you know what would make me happiest in the whole world, Daddy?”

“No, Raoul, tell me, please tell me.” Mr Porter was feeling frantic, anxious, desperately wanting to hear what he could do to make his beloved son so happy.

“I want you to make love to me all the time, Daddy. I want to spend the rest of my life making love with you.”

“Oh no, no, no—no!” Mr. Porter cried, but it was too late. He knew he’d do anything for the boy. And if this is what it took, well, that’s what it took.

Mr. Porter stepped closed to the island teen and reached out, tenderly wrapping an arm around the boy’s midsection. He felt the warm, soft skin of Raoul’s belly as he gently tugged him backwards against him. Mr. Porter’s cock was rigid and dripping precum, now, in accordance with Raoul’s wish, and so his own juices were lubricant enough when he pressed his hard cock against his boy’s tight, shaved asshole and it slid in.

Raoul started moaning and Mr. Porter moaned along with him.

The soundtrack in the room morphed. There were still, distressingly, noises of gurgling babies, but mixed with them were moaning noises, slurping noises, sounds of depraved sex. The soft sobbing was there still, too. It was a horrifying accompaniment to Mr. Porter’s worst nightmare.

The kind of nightmare, that is, where he fucked his adopted son in the ass until he pumped him full of jizz. When he came it was the most intense, explosive orgasm of his life. He clutched Raoul’s small, fit body against his, wrapping him in his arms as he unloaded into the boy’s ass.

From behind him he heard a gasp, and when he turned he saw his wife and two daughters standing in the doorway, with the well-manicured man standing next to them, holding the door open, smiling. His wife’s jaw was on the floor and she stood paralyzed with shock. His daughters began to cry.

“It looks,” the man at the door said, “like your husband is a big faggot, now, in love with his faggot son. I think they make a good couple. Just look how well his big cock fits up the boy’s ass.”

And he laughed.

Mr. Porter looked at his wife and two daughters and started to sob with shame and the devastation of his sudden reprogramming.

But then Raoul reached out for him and wiped away his tears.

“It’s OK, Daddy.”

Their lips locked and Mr. Porter knew his son was all that mattered now.