The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter Three

The next thing I knew I was sitting back in front of my computer staring at the monitor. The bearded face looked back at me smiling.

It was still early evening so what seemed like hours, really only lasted a few minutes.

I immediately moved my hands over my body, face and hair and ran to the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, in order to check out what I looked like in the mirror. I was back to same old me. No buzz cut. No beard. No hairy overweight body. No tattoos on my arms or ass. No cock rings or scrotum rings and above all no cigar. All of this had been a dream or a hallucination and I felt relieved. But it was so real that I thought I could still taste cigar in my mouth.

I relaxed and ran my hand through my hair again and I thought to myself I actually did like having a buzz cut and a goatee. Maybe I should give it a try. And I actually did like the taste of those imaginary cigars so maybe I’ll pick some up tomorrow and see if they taste the same in real life. Smoking a couple wouldn’t hurt.

I ran my hand over my chest and almost bemoaned the fact that I wasn’t as hairy as I was in the hallucination. I toyed with my nipples and I actually missed not having rings there to play with. I looked down to my cock and was almost sad that I didn’t have any scrotum rings. My arms now seemed naked with any tattoos. I felt a sense of loss. Suddenly I got the wild idea that I could actually do all these things on my own and the mere thought of doing this made my cock hard. I then thought if I can do this, then I could quit my job and become a trucker. I may just pick up some work clothes and try them on for size. It would be fun. Then there was this leather bar near my house and I thought that I might drop by sometime and maybe find some biker-type who looked like noisy-guy.

As I started to imagine radically changing my life, my cock got rock hard and I needed to masturbate. I went into my bedroom and jerked off all the while imaging that I was back I the torture chamber being turned into a cigar smoker. The fact that I wasn’t gay didn’t stop from thinking about pounding some hairy guys ass. A small voice inside my head seemed to ask me “What am I doing?”

I came with a great big release of cum that landed on my chest. “Wow!” I said to myself exhaustedly, “That was great!”

I staggered back into the bathroom to wipe off the cum. There was a huge amount of it there and it clung to my chest like translucent toothpaste. My boxer shorts were lying on the side of the counter and rather then use toilet paper to wipe off my ejaculate; I used my underwear to do the job. I got some cum on my fingers and I found myself putting my semen-covered digits into my mouth. I tasted my own cum and I was savoring the saltiness of it. I had never done this before and it kind of shocked me. It was such a crazy thing to do that I actually started to chuckle at the thought of it.

And with that, I turned from the bathroom to go into my bedroom to put on some clean clothes. I was actually convinced that I was going to make myself be the man I was in the dream. Not only that, I wanted to be that man! The idea of it made me horny.

As I turned around I noticed a mark on my ass in the mirror. I stopped and stretched my butt cheek around to have a better look. When I saw what it was, my cock twitched and I froze. It was a tattoo of a blue veined penis and it read, “Insert Cock Here!”

I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t there before and simply looking at it made my cock get hard again. I tried wiping it away with my hand but it was real. I did a double take and shook my head as if to shake out the last remaining cobwebs from my Internet experience.

When I looked again, it was gone.

“Jesus!” I said. “That was wild!”

I felt relieved that this was only my imagination at work and I started to feel better. Obviously fantasizing about being a beefy cigar smoker wasn’t going to turn me into one.

I glanced over at my cum-soaked boxer shorts and I suddenly got the urge to put them back on. I was actually daring myself to do it. I slowly picked them up and stepped into them. The still damp cum glistened on the fabric and felt cool as I slid them over my penis. My cock felt kind of sticky and damp. I actually liked the feel of it.

“Fuck it” I said out loud, “I want a cigar now.” And with that I turned from the bathroom into my bedroom to find some real man clothes and to go to the corner store for some smokes. I was feeling great and very manly and aroused. The mere fact that I was forcing myself to do this was making me hard.

I didn’t have much in the way of working mans clothes but I did have some Wrangler jeans, a white tank-top and a blue short sleeved shirt with the name ‘Bill’ embroidered in a blue oval over the left pocket. It had an embroidered “Shell’ logo on the right. It was a mechanics shirt that I picked up at a second hand store a few years ago for a Halloween party. I thought it was hilarious because my name I William.

I put it on and I liked the way it looked. I didn’t have any steel-toed boots, but I did have some black Doc Martins that looked beefy enough. I put them over some white tube socks. I didn’t have a hard hat but I did have a baseball cap with a ‘Miller Beer’ logo on the front.

I stood in front of my full-length mirror and admired the way that I looked. I then grabbed my wallet and keys and headed out the door with a wicked smile on my face.

Halfway down the street I began to have second thoughts. I was masquerading as a workingman on his way to buy some cigars. What was I doing? I was embarrassed at what I was doing. I stopped in my tracks and started to turn around and go home ashamed. Then I saw a big guy walking down the other side of the street. He was carrying a lunch bucket and was wearing a jean jacket. He had a dark goatee and he had a lit cigar firmly planted in his mouth. His thick moustache covered his upper lip. He looked happy and quite contented. He saw me looking at him, dressed as I was in a workingman’s clothes, and nodded at me as if to say “Hi buddy.”

The urge to be like this guy came flooding back and I headed into the corner store. I had been here on a couple of occasions and they clerk seemed to recognize me. He looked a little puzzled by my clothes. I looked behind the counter and suddenly realized I didn’t know what to ask for. He stood there patiently waiting.

“Cigars!” I nervously blurted out. “I want some cigars.” The clerk moved aside and pointed to a small selection of cheap cigars. I quickly scanned the selection and recognized a brand of cigars that my father’s brother used to smoke when he played poker. “Those.” I said, and then I stammered, “Two packs.” I was nervous that the clerk would suddenly find out that I was a fraud and not a workingman and cigar smoker at all. The clerk handed me the cigars and I gave me a twenty. He handed me back my change and was stunned at how expensive they were. How could a regular working-guy afford to smoke!

I took my change and my cigars and quickly headed outside. I was trembling a little and I felt kind of faint. I also felt relieved that I had gotten away with this canard. I kept thinking the clerk would suddenly point at me and say, “You’re not a real man! You’re not a smoker! Get out of my shop!” I made a mental note that if I did this again I was going to find another place to live out my fantasies.

I was going to go immediately back home and light up in privacy but I suddenly had the urge to fire-up a stogie. I unwrapped one of the packets and pulled out a cigar. Each cigar was individually wrapped in cellophane as well. This was annoying and unexpected. I unwrapped the cigar and placed the open pack in my breast pocket, just like a real smoker would do. I placed the other pack in my hip pocket. Then I placed the cigar slowly in my mouth. As I tasted it, the memories of being forced to smoke cigars came flooding back. My cock stirred and started to get hard again. I then patted my shirt and pants and realized that I didn’t have a lighter with me. I started to panic. A real smoker would always have fire available to him and I wasn’t going to go back into the store.

Then I heard a gruff voice behind me say, “Need a light?” I turned around and saw the same guy who was walking across the street. He now had a six-pack of beer in his other hand and was obviously on his way home. I stared at him mouth slightly open with my cigar dangling inexpertly from my teeth.

“Ah… sure.” I said. The guy was a lot beefier than I had first thought and he had a couple of day’s growth on his cheeks. He put down his beer and lunch bucket and reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a Harley Davidson Zippo. He flipped the top and turned the wheel. A bright blue flame sparked into life. He brought it close to my cigar, cupping his hand around it. I looked at him and down at the flame and leant closer and started to puff on the cigar. After I got it lighted I leaned back and drew some of the smoke into my mouth but I didn’t inhale.

“Thanks.” I said, looking at the cigar.

“No Problem. It’s good to know that there’s another cigar smoker out there. You new in town?”

I wasn’t expecting to have a conversation like this and so I said “Ah no… I mean yes. I mean I just moved into this area.” What I really wanted to do was to go home and get off on myself smoking in the mirror, but this guy was so personable and engaging and oddly attractive.

The guy took a long drag on his cigar and pulled it out of his mouth. He pointed his chin upward and exhaled up in the air. He did it effortlessly as if he had been doing it all his life. I noticed that he had a very thick wedding ring on his rough left hand. He saw me look at his ring and said, “The wife doesn’t like me smoking in the house so I have to smoke outside or in the garage. You married?”

I was fascinated by the ease that he smoked so I was surprised by the question. “Ah…no. I’m single. No woman can stand living with me.” I added wittily.

“Can’t live with them. Can’t live with them. I hear you buddy. You looking for work?”

I panicked again and said, “I’m working now but I’m hoping to find a better job.”

“Well there might be work down at the foundry where I work. You may want to apply there. Can you weld?”

I thought back to my forced Internet experience and realized that I still knew how. “Yeah. I’m a trucker by trade but I can weld. Gas and electric.”

“Ah, a jack of all trades. Well, gotta go Bill.” he said as he pointed the end of cigar to the nametag on my shirt. “Perhaps I’ll see you around. Maybe you can have me over for a stogie session sometime. I’m Rod. I’m often down at the pub in the next block.”

Rod stuck his cigar back in his mouth and thrust out his right hand.

“Sure.” I said. “Nice to meet you Bill.” and I put my cigar in my mouth like he did and grasped his. He had a grip like a vice. He shook my hand and nodded, then bent down to pick up his lunch bucket and beer and said “See yah.” and he headed off past me.

I turned to follow him and saw a great waft of cigar smoke rise over his broad shoulders. I stood there for a few seconds watching him and found I was attracted to this guy and unconsciously sucked on my cigar and inhaled. The hot acrid smoke caught in my throat and I coughed. I hoped that Bill didn’t hear me, for then he would know I wasn’t a real smoker and I didn’t want to disappoint him.

“Try ‘White Owl’ cigars next time. They’re milder.” Rod said over his shoulder.

“Will do. Thanks for the tip.” I replied.

I took the cigar out of my mouth and looked at it, then I took another drag, but this time I didn’t inhale quite as much. Then I blew out the smoke just like I saw him do. I smiled to myself. That wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. I put the cigar back in my mouth and shoved my hands into my pockets and walked back home.

When I got back to my apartment I forgot that there was ‘No Smoking’ allowed in the lobby or common areas. “Fuck!” I said, “How can a guy smoke in this fucking town.” I was tempted to finish my smoke outside but I was so horny I just marched into the lobby and up the stairs to my apartment. I fumbled for my keys and managed to get inside without anyone seeing me.

Once inside I took a lot deeper drag and inhaled it and I didn’t cough this time. I turned to look at myself in the mirror and was turned on to see myself smoke. The cigar pack jutted above the top of the pocket and blue smoke slowly curled up from the tip of my cigar. A faint trace of smoke escaped down through my nostrils.

I folded my arms and tried to look as tough as I could. I thought I looked great. Ashes fell on my shirt and clothes and I just rubbed them into the fabric.

I slowly removed my shoes and jeans and started fondling my cock through my boxers. The semen had dried and the fabric felt kind of crunchy. On a whim I knocked some cigar ash into the pouch of my boxers rubbed it in. Then I rubbed the whole mess against my penis, and my cock started getting very hard.

Then I pulled my boxers down and took off my ‘Bill’ shirt. I was standing half naked in the hallway masturbating in front of the mirror. The idea that I was forcing myself to smoke was making me even harder.

Finally I went into the kitchen and dug out an ashtray that I had had for many years but never used. I doffed the ash and I realized that the cigar was now practically a nub. I ground it out and lighted another. This time I inhaled from the start. “I said out loud, “Yeah boy. You’re becoming smoker now. You can feel it. You’re forcing yourself to smoke. You’re starting to like it. You hate that you’re smoking, but you can’t stop. You’re becoming addicted. You’re a cigar smoking fag!”

I don’t know where those words or ideas came from but I knew them to be true.

I grabbed the ashtray and headed into my bedroom and started a long night of smoking and masturbating. I wondered if this was what Rod meant when he said when he wanted a stogie session. I then started thinking about Rod and I wondered what he looked like naked. I wanted to be like him. I was smoking so much that my lungs started to ache but I kept at it.

My cock got sore but I kept pulling at it. Semen was sticking to my sheets but I didn’t wipe them off.

Finally, around two AM, I put out the last cigar and went to sleep.