The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mark was a poor, young artist with incredible talent.

He was full of dreams and romantic notions. He spent his days working a dead-end, 9-5 job; he spent every evening and every weekend painting in his dark and musty loft. Bright lights illuminated his work—while all around him, darkness filled every shadow.

He was stunningly beautiful, but never had any time to spare on dating. So focused on his art that he would rarely notice sexual advances of women or men.

His loft was the top floor of a warehouse which was so derelict that it should have been torn down decades before. The odd shape of the room was the reason that he had the space for so cheap. At fifteen feet wide [4.5 meters] and eighty feet long [25 meters]—it wasn’t suitable for any commercial use. It was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. Gaps in the walls let the snow blow through. The dirty skylights let in gloomy light in the best of times. Chunks of glass missing from the skylights let the rain and snow in. He painted there. He lived there. He struggled there.

He was alone.

He had hosted multiple art exhibitions. Each one invoking moderate interest from the art community, and feigned/enthusiastic comments from the few friends and co-workers that he managed to talk into attending these events.

Occasionally, he would sell one piece or another. Never for much money.

He would occasionally wander the streets, parks, and museums—looking for inspiration. He would mix with people on the street, the populous going about their ordinary business. Observing and noting contrast and color. The play of light and shadow.

During one of these walks, he happened to meet a man that would completely transform his life.

It was a freezing cold winter night when Mark first laid eyes on him. Mark was dressed warmly enough, but when the gray skies dumped freezing rain, he was quickly soaked and frozen.

Ducking into the nearest bar for warmth, he quickly realized that it was an upscale bar. A lounge that charged more for a round of drinks than he made in a week.

Because of the gray and unpleasant weather, the bar was almost empty. A handful of people sat singly or in small groups. Soothing music played from an expensive sound system.

His first thought was to leave. Still ... the weather was dreadful, and a cup of coffee wouldn’t be more than he had in his wallet. He sat at the bar and ordered a coffee.

While nursing his warm drink, he noticed that he was receiving attention from a fellow at the end of the bar. The fellow was dressed warmly in a dark suit and a heavy overcoat. A wide-brimmed fedora sat jauntily on the bar. Even from twenty feet away, Mark could recognize that the clothing was expensive. The effect was of restrained elegance.

The well dressed man stared at Mark, as if he was trying to remember where they had met. The man suddenly smiled and said, “The ‘Blue Angel Exhibition’. Your name is Mark-something. You did that exhibition last year. The one with the giant blue angel.”

Mark admitted that he was.

The man quickly slid over to sit next to Mark. He identified himself as Stephen, a businessman, and as a lover of art.

Mark was rarely recognized on the street. The novelty of the situation pleased him.

After they had chatted for fifteen minutes or so, Steven asked Mark to look up at the ceiling. Mark thought the request was odd, but not unreasonable. Then Steven watched Mark closely and asked Mark to close his eyes, which he did.

When Mark opened his eyes, Steven was smiling faintly.

Stephen bought Mark a drink.

At first, Mark refused. Mark had no way of returning the favor. The prices in this club were much more than he could afford.

Stephen brushed Mark’s objections aside, “Yes. I know. You are an artist, you can’t afford a round of drinks here. Don’t worry. Let me buy you a drink or two. I very much enjoyed your exhibition. I actually bought a piece at the time.”

Two drinks later, Stephen asked to hold Mark’s hands. Again, Mark thought that the request was odd, but still it didn’t seem too personal. After all, Mark was drinking the man’s liquor.

Stephen gave Mark’s hands a bit of a twist and turn—feeling for resistance in Mark’s responses. Stephen again gave a satisfied little smile, almost a smirk.

The conversation wandered here and there, until Mark realized that he was quite drunk.

He found himself being helped out into the street. Somehow, Mark had agreed to show Stephen his loft. He rarely let people see his home and work space. Not only was it usually messy, as only an artist’s work place can be—but, he disliked having people see his partially completed works.

The rain had stopped. It was still cold, but not the bitter wet/cold that had caused him to enter the lounge hours before.

The loft was cold, but not nearly as cold as outside. Still, both Mark and Stephen kept their warm, winter coats on.

Mark showed Stephen his completed pieces. Mark asked Stephen to not look at the partially finished works; Stephen respectfully averted his eyes.

Stephen asked Mark to once again, look up at the ceiling. This time, Stephen didn’t ask Mark to close his eyes. Rather, Stephen asked Mark to keep looking at some point on the ceiling while Stephen told a story.

Mark followed the story along. He was much more sober now than he had been an hour before, but he was still having difficulty keeping track of the story’s meaning.

Presently, Mark’s eyes were closed. He didn’t remember closing his eyes. But there he was.

Mark opened his eyes.

Stephen was smiling. Not the same smile as before. Before, Stephen’s smile was of whimsy and anticipation. This time, Stephen’s smile was mostly in the eyes. A smile of accomplishment. A smile of success.

Mark didn’t know why Stephen was so happy; all he had done was tell half a story.

The conversation wandered a bit. Mostly talking about Mark’s 9-5 job.

Again, Stephen made the odd request for Mark to look at a spot on the ceiling.

Mark looked up, found a spot to stare at, and waited for Stephen’s story.

Stephen rambled on a bit, then Mark found himself with his eyes closed in the middle of his loft.

They repeated this seemingly pointless exercise a dozen times. Each time, Mark wondered why he didn’t question what Stephen was doing. But, Mark never did. Each time Stephen asked, Mark was enthusiastic about looking at the ceiling.

Mark turned up the heat. Because of the cost, he rarely kept the thermostat higher than 55 degrees [13 centigrade]—and not every day. But this was a special occasion. Mark wasn’t certain why this was a special occasion, but it seemed like it was ... for some reason. Plus, Stephen offered to pay for the electricity.

This seemed wrong to Mark. It seemed dangerous to accept money from Stephen. But, he wasn’t certain why. He asked Stephen about it. Predictably, Stephen asked Mark to look at a spot on the ceiling.

As the room warmed, protective clothing was removed. Layer by layer, the two men became naked before each other.

Mark hadn’t had sex with too many men, but he understood that Stephen’s dick needed to be in Mark’s mouth. That was obvious. Stephen helped by giving little hints and tips. Mark strove to pleasure Stephen. It was important. That is why he had brought Stephen to his loft.

Watching the ceiling again, Mark found himself laying across his work bench.

Eyes closed, thinking about the ceiling, he found Stephen behind him. He wasn’t certain what Stephen was doing, but he seemed to be enjoying himself ... or angry. Mark had difficulty keeping up with what was going on.

Still, Stephen seemed to be happy. Stephen was clawing at Mark’s back. He realized that he would have scratch marks the next day.

Then Stephen was trembling with joy.

Mark felt Stephen climb down.

A condom was removed, and Mark was once again sucking Stephen’s cock. Was this the second time? Was this the third? Mark remembered several times when Stephen was talking while Mark’s eyes were closed. How many times? Did it matter?

Now Stephen was on Mark’s thin mattress—laying on his back. Mark had a condom on and mounted Stephen.

Mark fucked slowly while Stephen talked.

Mark realized that this was the best sex that he had ever had. He would always like having sex with Stephen. Whenever Stephen wanted sex, Mark would give it to him. He would be sexually exclusive with Stephen, and never get jealous if Stephen had sex with someone else.

Of course. This is how it would be. Now and forever.

Mark had never fucked a man’s ass before, but so far it was great. The best sex he had ever had.

Simultaneous climaxes, perfectly timed.

The next morning, Mark woke in his bed—content in the arms of his long-term lover.