The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I can’t believe it’s been over ten years since I last set foot in my hometown. After a couple of years working retail, I got sick of living in a small town and wanted adventure, so I did what aimless young men end up doing—I joined the military. Like I sad, I was young and restless and impulsive, and I didn’t think much about signing a couple of years away for some excitement.

I was a varsity athlete all through high school and university, and I kept up with it even when all my peers started developing beer guts and dad bods from working all day. That meant that the physical tests for the military wasn’t much of a hassle, and the recruitment officer happened to like me during my interview. She wasn’t exactly my type, but I made sure to pull the moves on her. Even though I failed some of my aptitude tests, I was able to flirt my way into the next starting class.

The rest, as they say, is history. It was a bit of a rough start being on the older side of my class, but I made it clear that I could keep up with the best of them. That did mean I had to work a bit harder outside of our usual drills, and even after I had my own platoon to do all the scut and physical grunt work, I made sure I didn’t let the sedentary lifestyle get to me.

And that’s partially why, even though I’m technically on sabbatical, I still follow a regimented routine. I wake up at 5am and do a couple of hours of weightlifting, do some volunteer coaching at the local youth centre, maybe squeeze in some PT clients, then clear my head at the end of the day with a 10 mile run. Some people might say all my ‘extra jobs’ are overkill, but I hate just faffing around doing nothing all day. I’d rather be out there helping people achieve their goals and make something of themselves, just like I did all those years ago.

If that meant I got a couple of paying gigs, I wasn’t saying no. It’s no secret that the military doesn’t pay well, and I want to set myself up towards financial independence. The PT gigs have been a godsend in that regard. Most of my clients were young and perky in all the right places, and I’m not one to complain about getting paid for one-on-one time with a co-ed.

Volunteer coaching was a different beast though. The youth centre did attract a fair share of teams from local schools, and those were a breeze to teach. But since the centre was open to everyone in the community, we’d sometimes end up with a couple of delinquents or troublemakers. In particular, there was a group from the local juvenile detention facility that had their PE classes here.

They would often hang out here after school, too. They usually kept to themselves, but they weren’t big on sharing the court if another team came in and wanted to play. Luckily, 40 years’ worth of lifting and physical conditioning on a 6′3″ frame meant any fights would get magically resolved by the time I’d sauntered over.

Their de-facto leader, Eddie, would often bristle whenever I was around. He was the ringleader, and a lot of the bullying would exacerbate when he was around. I’d offered to mentor him a couple of times, if only to get an ally so that everyone could co-exist peacefully at the community centre, but I was always met with a scowl.

One day, during a particularly nasty altercation with one of the local school’s basketball teams, I threatened that I would talk to his parole officer if he didn’t shape up. The parole officer told him that he would lose extracurricular privileges for a week, and then only be able to come back to the community centre under my supervision.

The week that Eddie was away was the most peaceful it’s ever been, and to my surprise, when he came back, he seemed a lot more calm and confident.

‘Oh, yeah, I spent a lot of time reading at the library during that one week,’ Eddie said, cryptically. ‘I learned a lot about dealing with authority figures.’

That was short-lived though. A couple of minutes before we were set to close, Eddie started bullying one of the younger players on another team, and once again, I had to pull him into my office. I told the rest of the staff that it shouldn’t take long, and that I would lock up before I left.

I walked back into my office to speak with Eddie. ‘Eddie, you know you’re on a tight leash. My meeting with your parole officer is tomorrow. You know I’m going to have to write up a report on this now. What have you got to say?’

‘Whatever, do what you want,’ Eddie said nonchalantly. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through as I made quick work of his report. I watched as he put on a pair of earbuds, and started playing some weird sound off his phone. I tried to ignore it as I kept working, but it was just so distracting.

‘Can you shut that off, Eddie? It’s giving me a headache.’

‘You don’t like it?’ Eddie asked sincerely, which actually gave me pause. ‘It’s a remix I made of one of the songs you always play in the centre. Don’t you recognise it?’

It didn’t sound like anything resembling the music we played here, but I stopped my typing and listened intently to the sound. I saw an odd smirk on his face, as if he was waiting for something to happen, but I was too engrossed in listening to the song that I didn’t think much of it.

‘So what did you think, Coach Thwaites,’ I heard Eddie say.

My head felt groggy and my throat felt dry, as if I’d just woken from a very deep nap. I turned to look at Eddie and felt a wave of calmness and excitement wash over me. I really felt like there was a special kinship going on between us.

‘It’s awesome, Eddie. You’re really talented,’ I said with a blush.

‘Good, good,’ Eddie said, looking pleased at me. I could feel my face heating up at his gaze. ‘Hand me your phone so I can download the rest of your training files.’

I was a little confused at what he meant by ‘training files’. These were just Eddie’s awesome remixes, right? He told me to listen to them whenever I was exercising, maybe that’s why? I didn’t really want to question his advice so I just kept silent.

By this time, I felt a bit more like myself, so I asked Eddie if I could excuse myself so that I could start locking up the youth centre. I stood up, stepped away from my desk, and paused for a beat, as if I was waiting for a cue.

‘Nice boner, Coach,’ Eddie said as he stared at my rock hard dick. It pointed obscenely forward, my generous length clearly outlined through the basketball shorts that I usually wore while coaching. This time I felt my face go completely scarlet with embarrassment, but I made no moves to hide my boner. I just stood there at attention until Eddie dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

Luckily, everyone else had already gone home, so no one was around to comment on my painfully rock hard dick. It took about 10 minutes before I finished all my tasks, and when I walked back into my office, Eddie was sitting at my desk, perusing my computer. Something felt wrong about this but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, so I just sat down on the slightly uncomfortable plastic chair I had for students to sit in.

Eddie and I talked about nothing at all for a bit, him distractedly asking me questions about the stuff on my computer, and me answering him truthfully with my hard cock in my hands. Eventually, he told me that I should go ahead and text his parole officer so that he can get out of my hair.

I had almost forgotten about texting his parole officer! That’s the whole reason why Eddie was in my office in the first place. I stood up, letting my basketball shorts and grey boxer briefs drop to my ankles as I texted Eddie’s parole officer that I was supervising Eddie this evening.

Eddie then told me to focus on the drop of precum glistening on my cockhead while he did some finishing touches. I was distantly aware that he was talking, but I was a good little coach boy and didn’t bother distracting myself with thinking at that moment.

SNAP.

My head felt groggy and my throat felt dry as I shook my head. I had a weird feeling of deja vu. I’d normally wonder why the fuck I was standing in the middle of my office with my door open and rock hard dick out, but I was too busy to worry about that right now.

I instantly stepped out of my shorts, and picked up my grey thinking cap to finish the rest of my paperwork. I had a lot of files open on my desktop for some reason, but I made a beeline straight for Eddie’s most recent record. I read through the thing and saw all this nonsense about Eddie starting an altercation. This is what I get for wearing my thinking cap on my dickhead instead of my actual head.

I deleted the file and started from scratch, detailing how Eddie re-educated me on how authority figures should act towards him and any troublemakers in the future. After a couple of minutes meticulously proofreading my report, I saved it on my computer.

Finally, it was time to go home. I felt a tickle in the back of my brain that passed quite quickly, and then I was off to packing up for the night. I picked up my rucksack off the floor (cleverly disguised as a pair of Lakers basketball shorts), and put my wallet, keys, phone in its pockets. I then slung it over my back as I exited the building.

I usually try to get in as much non-exercise activity thermogenesis, so I usually park my car a couple of blocks away from the office. Luckily, it was a nice, warm evening so it was a pleasant walk to my car. I saw a couple of Eddie’s mates loitering across the street as I walked past, and they stared at me dumbfounded. They probably were surprised I was still here and worried I would rat them out to their parole officers. Instead, I just gave them a friendly salute and strode on.

My last stop before my car was the local 7-11. On the rare occasion when I stay this late at work, I usually opt to skip my evening jog. Sleep is a big priority to keep my health in top shape, so it takes precedence over my run—but I try not to make a habit of it. Tonight though, I felt really compelled to do my run, which meant I needed some caffeine to get me through it.

I walked over to the fridge, grabbed one of those pre-packaged nitro cold brews, and went up to the till to pay. Again, the cashier looked at me like I had two heads, but then in the resigned voice of someone who worked a lot of night shifts, he just sighed and took my payment.

I looked at my watch. 11.30pm. Perfect time for an evening jog.