The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I am a dairy man. I suppose that might lead you to think that I manage a dairy farm, and herd dairy cattle, but, in fact, I am part of the herd. And I need to tell you this as a warning before I completely lose my ability to communicate as a human being. That ability is rapidly disappearing. So let me tell you my story and always remember: caveat emptor.

I’m in my mid-30s, 36 to be exact. I’m 6′1″, well-muscled, weighing in at about 190, though I don’t do the gym thing; this is just how I developed and I’ve maintained my physique through running and a little lifting at home, just to keep the muscles in shape. I have, or had, a nice coating of brown fur on my pecs with a treasure trail running down to my dark and curlies. Now, of course, that’s all gone and the doctor tells me it will never come back, just as my mind, once it’s completely gone, will never come back. God, I was pretty happy; how did I get into this mess? Why was I so stupid?

So it started like this: as I said, I’m in my mid-30s and was fairly comfortable, financially, psychologically, sexually. I’d always liked women and, with a nice 8″ hard cock, had no trouble satisfying my partners, although my cock was more on the thin side of the spectrum. But more than one woman had remarked on the scantiness of my load. One even remarked she wouldn’t call it a load; more of a sample. So I’d developed a bit of sensitivity about my output.

Anyway, I was checking my e-mails and, amidst the usual spam, I saw one addressed to me, specifically from a doctor. The subject caught my eye because it wasn’t the usual “Bigger and harder” crap. This spoke directly to my concerns. The subject was “Science-based enhancement for semen production”.

“Concerned about the volume of your output? Would you like to produce more? The average ejaculation is about 1 tsp. but I can help you get more, even if you’re not producing even that much. Many men believe they’re unusual in that they produce small amounts of ejaculate, but it’s rather common. Are you concerned about infertility? I can help you with that. Scientifically formulated ejaculate enhancing elixir that will increase your ejaculate, sperm count and, as an added benefit, will increase the girth of your penis. Women will be satisfied all-around and you’ll be a happier, more satisfied and satisfying lover. Call: 1-888-EJACULATE (888-352-2828”

This sounded promising. It certainly sounded more genuine that the usual crap about miracle male enhancers. I thought about it. What the hell? What’s to lose? It’s a toll-free call; if it sounds bogus, I’ll just hang up and go back to my slightly bruised sense of my sexual prowess. I dialed.

“Good morning. Male fertility clinic. How may I help you?”

The man who answered the phone sounded efficient and business-like. His masculine voice gave me a sense of comfort somehow.

“Um, good morning. I saw your email and I’m calling to ask about your treatment.”

“Yes, good morning. I’m glad you called. Is this Bradley?”

“Well, Brad. Yes, I’m Bradley, but I prefer Brad.”

How did he know my name? Of course: caller ID.

“Great Bradley. I’m so glad you called. How can I help you out?”

“And you are?”

“Oh yes, sorry; of course, you wouldn’t know my name. I’m Dr. Milchmann. I run the male fertility clinic. So, how can I help you today Bradley?”

Why did he keep calling me Bradley? No one had called me that since I was a boy and it always made me feel like a boy when someone called me that. I suppose that’s what was showing on his display and it was simpler for him to read the name. But what difference did it make? Oh well; if he could help me, I didn’t care what he called me.

“Well, doctor, it’s kind of embarrassing…”

“Of course; I completely understand. Everything will be fine Bradley. I’ll tell you what; why don’t you come see me today. How does that sound? Then we can go over your questions, run a couple of tests and I can prescribe the right treatment for you. Sound good Bradley? It does sound good, doesn’t it Bradley?”

His deep voice was certainly reassuring; seductive, even. I said yes, I could clear room in my schedule. We made an appointment for 3:30 and ended the call.

I left the office about 3:00 and took a train across town, arriving at Dr. Milchmann’s office around 3:25. I took the elevator to his floor and found his office. There was no one in reception, so I knocked on the door leading from reception into the back.

“Come on in Bradley. Third door on the right.” Dr. Milchmann called from the back.

I went through the door and down the hall. There was this continuous sound that distracted me slightly, a sound of electric motors running and these low vocalizations, like men moaning quietly. But I was really focused on a solution to my problem, so I entered the doctor’s office through the open door. Dr. Milchmann rose from behind his desk to greet me. He was a handsome man, probably in his 40s with a full head of dark brown hair with flecks of grey. He stood a little taller than me, and appeared trim under his white lab coat. He gripped my hand strongly and I looked into his dark green eyes. I couldn’t take my eyes off of his; there was something in them that held my brain in their thrall. How long did he hold me in his gaze? Five seconds? Ten? Fifteen? I lost track of time. Then he released my hand and grinned at me, motioning me to sit.

“Good. So tell me what’s troubling you Bradley?”

“Please, doctor, call me Brad. Everyone does.”

“I’m sure they do Bradley, but I’m not everyone, am I?”

“N-no, I-I suppose not.” I felt a little intimidated under his gaze and I was having a little trouble being articulate.

“Right. I prefer to keep the nature of our relationship… how shall I put it? unique; special. I don’t want our relationship to be cheapened through familiarity. So I will call you Bradley and you will call me ‘doctor’. Sound good Bradley?”

“Yes sir, doctor,” I answered, not at all sure why I had added the “sir”.

“Good. So tell me what the problem is Bradley.”

“Well doctor, I’m not sure where to start,”

“That’s all right. I understand. Just relax and start where you feel comfortable.”

“I guess the thing is, that, well, the thing is, you see… My loads are rather small,” I finally blurted out.

“Your loads are rather small? You mean your semen production is substandard.”

“Yes sir. That’s what I mean.”

“Then can you say that for me Bradley? Can you state your problem clearly? And don’t forget Bradley: I’m ‘doctor’ to you.”

I blushed, feeling like I was back in high-school, being examined by one of my teachers. “Bradley” indeed! In fact, a particular teacher, Mr. Kilgore, had always given me a rough time of it in class.

“Bradley,” he’d say loudly “When, in heaven’s name, are you going to learn to solve an equation? What do I have to do to teach you this material?”

I had him for algebra and that was one of the reasons I’d ended up in advertising: he always made me feel powerless and small, even though, but that time, I was taller than he was.

“My semen…” I whispered, returning to Dr. Milchmann’s question.

“Explain it fully Bradley. Give me a complete sentence and address me as ‘doctor’.”

“Sorry sir, I’m so sorry sir. Doctor, my semen production is substandard… And my cock could be thicker, sir.” I don’t know why I threw in that last big about my cock, but the way Dr. Milchmann’s eyes held mine made me want to be completely open with him, holding nothing back.

“Good for you Bradley. That wasn’t so hard was it? So, your semen production is substandard and you would like an increased girth of your penis. Is that right, Bradley? And understand, Bradley, that it’s better to use medical terms, rather than vulgar slang. That makes sense doesn’t it Bradley? After all, this is a medical issue, right?”

“Yes sir, doctor.”

“Good. You feel better already don’t you? It helps to state things clearly doesn’t it, Bradley?”

“Yes sir, doctor. It helps to state things clearly.”

Dr. Milchmann had a way of speaking, that I can’t put my finger on, but it was something about the rhythm and the pitch and the way he stated things that got me into wanting to please him and pulled me into his way of speaking. I was beginning to respond to him in ways that were quite unlike my usual style. I would never have answered someone else’s questions the way that Dr. Milchmann expected me to answer him.

“So state it clearly for me Bradley. Don’t make me ask again,” he said smiling.

“Doctor, m-my semen production is substandard, and, and, I-I want to increase the girth of my penis.

“Good man Bradley, excellent. All right, now that I understand the presenting problem, let’s go into the exam room and do a proper assessment. Come with me, my boy.”

Dr. Milchmann rose and moved toward the door. I followed him and, placing his arm around my shoulder, he guided me into one of the exam rooms. I scarcely noticed that he had called me ‘boy’; it simply felt comfortable and comforting. I’d known before arriving here that this was going to be somewhat embarrassing, but the doctor was doing a great job of comforting and reassuring me. And the quiet electrical humming and moans somehow felt comforting as well.

“OK, Bradley, you can remove your clothes and place them on the stool there. Then get up on the exam table,” Dr. Milchmann instructed me.

I did as he told me, taking off my suit jacket and hanging it on the coat hook, removing my shoes and socks, taking off my pants and shirt.

“Everything, please Bradley” doctor said, glancing up from his papers.

I flushed, but did as the doctor told me, removing my undershirt and pants and jumped up onto the table.

“Good boy, Bradley. I appreciate your ability to follow directions,” doctor said, patting my knee.

“Thank you doctor,” I said, smiling and looking into his green eyes.

“Now, let’s get started with your exam.”