The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I lived in part of the world where there was a lot of poverty. Keeping up with expenses was difficult. Sometimes, keeping up with expenses became impossible.

The city I grew up in was divided into two sections. The middle class and rich lived in “Townside”. Those people were called “Townies”. The poor lived in “Bogside”. Those people were called “Boggers”.

When I was young, my family lived in Townside. We were all Townies. We talked with the Townside accent. When I was twelve years old, my father died. Mother was sickly and couldn’t work enough to support a family of five. We barely scraped by. When I was thirteen, we moved from Townside to Bogside.

Moving to Bogside was the most traumatic thing that has ever happen to me.

Mother’s heath issues got worse. She worked when she could, but sometimes she couldn’t work more than ten or twenty hours a week. We could no longer afford Townside clothes, but we still talked like Townies. I REFUSED to pick up the Bogside accent.

I was the oldest of four kids. There was me, my brother Stanley, then my two sisters. Plus, Mother.

When I turned 16, I dropped out of high school—to get a job. I had to work to support the family.

Work or starve.

My teachers were very upset. They told me that I had a real chance of achieving great things. These reminders of missed opportunities didn’t make me feel any better.

Seven days a week, I would walk from Bogside to Townside for work. I was smart. I worked hard. I strived. But, an eighteen year old from Bogside (no matter how well he spoke) could only make so much. The money I made was never quite enough.

Right after my 18th birthday, Mother’s health took a turn for the worse. She was only able to work occasionally. My younger brother Stanley was already working part-time and going to school full-time. The money he brought in helped, but it wasn’t enough.

Stanley offered to drop out of school, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Stanley was “the smart brother”. He was the child that was going to succeed. I would do whatever it took for him to graduate high school, graduate college, and prosper. Honestly, at this point, Stanley was the only one of us that had a chance of escaping.

Every month, we got a little further behind. Every month, the bills were bigger. Every month, there was less money for essentials. There was no money for luxuries. I smoked briefly—but I had to quit, because I couldn’t afford the cigarettes. Any money I spent on tobacco, meant that there was less money for food.

Dating? I had no time for dating. I worked so many hours. Any time I wasn’t actually working, I was sleeping or getting ready to go back to work.

Every couple of weeks, when the pressure got too much, I would take an hour of my precious sleep time—and hire a “professional lady” for transactional sex. I couldn’t afford any of the nicer ladies. The nicer ladies worked Townside, just off the main shopping district. The ladies that I could afford were Bogside; very Bogside. The Bogside “ladies” worked out of the abandoned fishing shacks. These old shacks were down the coast; they smelt of dead fish and despair. The Bogside ladies also smelt of dead fish and despair. Fairly cheaply, I could hire a lady for ten minutes. I was young, strong, and beautiful. Most importantly, I was QUICK. The ladies would give me a serious discount. I would pick the first woman that presented herself. I didn’t care who she was, or what she looked like. I just wanted to get off, get home, and get some sleep.

This was my life. This was going to be my life for a long time. For as long as I could keep everything together.

One of my Townside bosses had a wealthy friend named Paul. Paul wasn’t “private jet wealthy”, but he was rich enough. Not only did he live Townside, he lived in a big house right on the beach. He drove a nice car. He said he was “semi-retired”. I guess that means that even though he was only in his 50s, he never needed to work again. He had “retirement accounts” and “business interests”; whatever that meant.

I had met Paul several times. Each time we met, he managed to let me know that he was interested in me. Not in a “friendly” way; but in a “hands down the pants” way. I wasn’t Gay. I wasn’t interested.

Paul bought me lunch a couple of times. Nothing fancy; usually food from a street vendor. Once he bought my family groceries. There was never any hint that he wanted anything from me, other than friendship. But, I knew—if I kissed him, he would kiss me back. Like my situation with the ladies in the abandoned fishing shacks—if I wasn’t careful, Paul and I would create a “transactional situation”.

Then, Mother’s health collapsed. She could not work. And, more damning, she needed expensive medicine. Keeping up with the bills became flatly impossible.

My brother Stanley and I worked every hour we could, but it wasn’t enough. Again, my brother offered to quit school. I TROUNCED on that idea.

One month later, we were going to have the electricity cut off.

I hated myself, but I went to Paul. I explained to him what was going on, and how little money we were short.

Paul didn’t say a thing. He just took the money I needed for the electricity out of his wallet, and placed it on the table behind him.

I walked up to him and closed my eyes.

Paul kissed me.

For less money than Paul would have spend for a fancy coffee, I was letting him kiss me. I kept my eyes SHUT. I imagined I was being kissed by a beautiful woman. I kissed back. I ignored the stubble on his chin. I ignored how he towered over me—and his large, strong hands.

Then, the kiss was over. Paul handed me the money. I ran from his house.

The next week, it was the water bill. Paul paid without hesitation. We kissed, while he groped my dick through my pants.

The week after that, we needed groceries. Paul paid. We kissed, then he sucked my dick. While he sucked, he stroked himself off.

Paul called all of this ... our “arrangement”.

Two weeks later, Mother went to the hospital’s emergency room. Paul paid. He sucked my dick. He tried to stick his finger in my ass, but I refused. While he sucked me, he stroked himself off. I knew that he was unsatisfied, but I would not let him fuck me, even with a finger.

After I left, I wondered if I had spoiled things with Paul. Had refusing to let him put his finger up my butt marked the end of our “arrangement”?

A week later, my brother Stanley needed books for school. It was a lot of money. More than “kissing money”; or even “sucking money”. I didn’t know if Paul would be interested. Maybe I had already messed things up with him. I didn’t know if Paul would help.

To my frustration and relief, Paul wasn’t at home. He had traveled to the mountains “for business”. I suddenly realized how much I had come to depend on Paul’s help; on Paul’s money. I wasn’t able to buy my brother’s books. I had nowhere to turn.

Stanley kept asking about the money for his books. I kept telling him, “I don’t know.”

It was the worst time of my life.

[The hypnosis starts here.]

Evening One:

Paul returned at the end of the week. I went directly to his house.

As calmly as I could, I explained about needing books for my brother.

Paul stared at me calmly. For several moments, he didn’t say a thing. He studied me without moving.

I fidgeted under this close examination.

Finally, he spoke, “I want to show you something. Something that will make this easier for everyone.”

He led me through his house, to a small office near his bedroom. His office was lovely. Before this—my experience with offices were the practical, working offices of poor companies. Offices with steel desks and battered filing cabinets.

The office in Paul’s house had a wood desk with a big chair. There was a sitting area with some very comfortable chairs and a low table between them. There were shelves filled with expensive looking books. The windows looked out over the beach, and there was a spectacular view of the sea. None of which I even noticed at the time.

Paul placed an unlit candle in the middle of the table.

Paul said, “I’ll buy your brother the books he needs—if you help me with a project I’m working on. The work is easy, it will take a couple of hours per evening; for the next five evenings.”

I fidgeted. I had little choice. Stanley needed those books. My smart, successful brother needed to stay in school. I agreed.

Paul lit the candle and switched off the electric lights.

He had me sit in one of the chairs, facing the candle. It was the most comfortable chair I had ever sat in. Soft and upholstered in leather—it cradled me. Paul sat in another chair, on my left side. Watching me in profile.

Paul told me that he wanted me to do “nothing”. But, a very special kind of “nothing”. I was to look at the candle, and think of nothing, do nothing, be nothing. Just look at the candle and let him talk to me.

I asked, “That’s it?”

He confirmed, “That’s it.” “Just sit there for a couple of hours, and let me talk to you,” he went on. “Five evenings, and your brother can have his books.” He asked, “Is it a deal?”

Looking back at that moment, I should have known that his deal seemed too good to be true. At that time, I was too street-wise to overlook that he was offering too much. I should have asked more questions. Instead, I nodded my agreement.

Paul told me:

Look at the candle.

Just watch it.

Do nothing.

Just watch.

Just watch the candle.

Nothing matters.

Just watch.

Watch the candle.

Just watch.

relax

relax

watch the candle

watch and relax

look at the flame

relax

let nothing bother you

relax

nice

relax

down

down

relax

let the tensions of the day pass away

float away

This all sounded odd. Maybe this was some sort of practical joke. I looked over at Paul.

He smiled and told me, “It’s alright. Just keep looking at the candle.”

I smiled back, and looked at the candle.

He continued:

Watch the candle.

Just watch it.

Do nothing.

Think nothing.

watch

relax

Let nothing bother you.

relax

easy

It is easy to watch the candle.

easy

nice

easy

breathe easy

Let nothing bother you.

There is no worry.

Let the tensions of the day float away.

Everything is easy.

His voice became quiet and calm. He repeated himself. He would change the words sometimes. But, he was basically saying the same thing over-and-over. He was right about one thing; I was under a lot of tension, lot of stress. Money problems, work, and taking care of my mother and my three siblings. And lately, I had the balancing act of keeping Paul “happy” without letting him “touch me too much”.

Keeping my eyes on the candle, I scowled at all of this. The more he told me that there was “no worry”, the more I remembered all the things I was worrying about.

Paul keep on talking. His words blended together. I lost sight of the candle, because I was taking my shirt off. My clumsy fingers fumbled at buttons, my shirt tumbled to the floor.

Later, shirtless, I realized that something was wrong. Paul had stopped talking. He was looking at me. The sun had gone down. How did it get to be so late?

I asked, “What’s wrong?” Except, my speech wasn’t clear. There was a vague mumbling to my words.

Paul kept looking at me. He stared for half a minute. I squirmed. I was worried that I had offended him in some way. Or, he had decided that I couldn’t help him with his project. And, I needed him. More accurately, I needed his money. I didn’t know if I should speak, or wait.

I had made up my mind to speak again, when he asked me, “What is the one thing that makes your life the most difficult?”

I was surprised. It was an odd question. I had never thought about that before. Life had always been a struggle. Struggling to keep food on the table. Struggling to buy medicine for my mother. Struggling to keep ahead of the bills. I never had time to think about myself. Everything was a giant pile of stress.

I blurted out, “I’m the one responsible for everything!”

Paul thought briefly, “If someone else was responsible, would that help? If I was responsible ... would that help you relax?“

I laughed, “Yes. Definitely.”

Paul smiled. He pointed at the candle and went back to talking:

Watch the candle.

Let nothing bother you.

relax

calm

easy

I will be responsible.

I will take care of everything.

Everything will be fine.

Everything will be taken care of, by me.

I wasn’t sure what he meant by this. Was he promising to pay to take care of my family? Or was it just the books? What was he saying? Was there going to be more “work”? More evenings? More money? At that point, I didn’t really care. I was just happy that the money for Stanley’s books was sorted out. Everything was going to be ok.

For the first time in years, I relaxed.

I was naked in that chair. Paul was sucking my dick. My legs spread, I could see the back of his head. I could feel his mouth bob up and down on my dick. One of his hands was stroking his dick. His other hand ...

He had a finger up my ass.

No one had ever put a finger up my ass. In a weird way, it felt good. In another way, it just felt weird.

I closed my eyes, and focused on how good my dick felt. I tried to ignore his finger. Truth be told, the finger up my butt didn’t feel too bad. “Good”, almost.

I wiggled my toes in his carpet. Wow, completely naked. How did that happen? It felt good. Everything felt good. Dick sucked. Comfy chair. Soft carpet. There was a cool breeze in the office. I should have been concerned about the finger up my butt, but it didn’t matter. Not at all.

In fact, I wasn’t concerned about anything. Nothing bothered me; just like Paul had been saying for the past two hours. Two hours? Three hours? Four? For the first time since before I can remember, I had no stress. I wasn’t in charge of ... well ... anything. The stresses of taking care of five people, putting food on the table, medicine, books, classes, multiple jobs, my sick mother, helping to raise my three siblings, and ... everything.

I glanced out the window. It was dark. What time was it? There was a desk clock, it was almost midnight. How did it get so late? It was pretty outside. There were sailboats at anchor; some of them had lights on. The Moon shone on the sea. There was no hurry.

My eyes wandered back to Paul. Why was I unconcerned about him sucking me?

After sitting for so long, my back was stiff. I shifted a little. My hips rotated forward slightly. My dick pressed slightly more towards Paul’s mouth. Paul responded with more vigorous sucking.

I brushed my fingers through his hair. Paul stroked his own dick faster.

I finally noticed that Paul was naked. How did I not notice that we were both naked? That seems like such an obvious thing. It didn’t seem to matter. Did it matter? What did matter? I didn’t know. I’d worry about it later. Better yet, I’d let Paul worry about it.

Paul was grunting and squirting.

He squirted on my leg. Warm splats. A sticky mess.

I completely missed that he was about to cum. Usually, I could tell when he was going to squirt. Thinking about it, he had made his regular noises, I should have noticed.

I couldn’t be bothered.

Paul and I had sandwiches in his kitchen. We talked about this and that. At first, I was having difficulty keeping up with the conversation. After a bit, I started to feel more like myself.

Paul paid me.

I went home.

I didn’t get home until after 1 a.m. Everyone had been concerned.

I showed my brother the money that Paul had given me. I told him, “Money for your books.”

He asked me, “Where did you get the money?”

I told him, “I got some extra work from Paul.”

He asked, “Paul paid you all this money for a single evening?”

Then, I remembered the deal I made with Paul. “No,” I answered. “Five evenings work. I agreed to work for five evenings.”

He responded, “Still. That’s a lot of money for five evenings work. Even if it keeps you out past midnight.“

For the first time, I wondered if I was being over-paid ... or, under-paid.

The next day, my brother and I went to buy his books.

I was responsible for five people. But that day—the stress of being in-charge was a little easier to deal with.

Evening Two:

Paul took me back to his office, sat me in that chair, and placed the unlit candle in front of me.

He sat to my side, and we talked. Just talked about ... nothing in particular: life in the town, my regular job, my part-time jobs, my family, my brother’s school work. Just talked about everyday life. He really paid attention, like he was really interested.

During a pause, I asked him about his life. He talked about growing up Townside, school, going to college, starting his first business, the long hours and sacrifice, and how he never managed to start a family. He talked about his ongoing projects, and how they kept him busy.

I told him that I had too many “ongoing projects”. How I had no spare time.

He smiled. Then lit the candle.

It was largely a repeat of the evening before:

Look at the candle.

Watch it.

Watch the candle.

Let nothing bother you.

relax

Let nothing bother you.

relax

nice

relax

down

down

relax

Let the tensions of the day pass away.

float away

This all seemed familiar, but nothing seemed to happen. Then he got to the interesting part:

I will be responsible.

I will take care of everything.

Everything will be fine.

Everything will be taken care of, by me.

I remembered how good it felt when he had handed me the money for Stanley’s books. How wonderful it was when Paul had taken care of that problem. How good it was to let someone else be in charge for a while.

All the stress left my body. This was someone else’s problem. I didn’t need to worry about anything. At least for a few minutes, I could relax. I would relax. There was no reason to worry.

Again. I was naked. I was in the same chair. Somehow, my clothes had been removed. Did I do that? Did Paul do that? Did it matter? I was naked. That was fine.

Someone was sucking my dick; probably Paul. I could look down and check—or, I could look out the window. The sun was going down. The sky was pretty; purple with red/orange streaks. Parts of the sky were still blue. Very pretty.

The sun was still up. Paul must have been talking to me for fewer hours than last evening. I glanced at the clock. There were numbers there ... but, the numbers could mean anything. It didn’t matter. I vaguely realized that I could do some math; figure out how much time had gone by. But, that seemed like effort. Work. I couldn’t be bothered.

I glanced down. I looked at who was sucking my dick. It was Paul. I thought that it might be. I was right. The realization brought me no particular emotion.

I was sitting. Paul was sucking.

He probably had a finger up my butt. I didn’t care. It was fine.

I squirmed a bit. Yes. He had a finger up my butt.

But, something was different. His finger was moving around. It was doing something. Something different. His finger was rubbing something inside my body. He was focused on some part of my body, inside of me. Part of my body, and Paul was massaging it. It felt weird. It felt good. Very good. My body was squirming. It felt that good. Paul noticed that I was squirming. He rubbed inside me. He was very good at this massage. A warm, white pleasure swept through me.

I asked, “What is that?”

Paul didn’t reply, he kept sucking.

I repeated, “What is that?“

Paul said, “That is your prostrate. I know how to massage it.”

I said, “Prostrate.”

He asked, “Does it feel good?”

“Yes,” I said. “Yes. Very good.”

Right then, I struggled between not liking having a finger in my butt—and liking having my prostrate massaged. Rather than make a decision, I stopped worrying about it.

Paul had already gone back to sucking, so there was nothing for me to do, except enjoying the dick sucking and the prostrate massage.

This went on for a few minutes, then I started to grunt and moan. I knew I was about to cum. I was going to spray all over Paul.

I warned him, “Paul. I’m gon’na cum. I’m gon’na. Pull off. You’re going to ...".

Paul didn’t stop sucking or massaging. He sucked with even more intensity. Faster and faster. He pleasured my dick. He pleasured my prostrate.

I warned him again, “Paul. Dude. Watch it. I’m gon’na squirt. You’re going to get ...".

I came in his mouth. Big gobs. I couldn’t stop it. I shot my load in his mouth. I thought that he would be angry. But, he wasn’t. He swallowed. He swallowed everything I squirted into his mouth. He sucked me dry. Everything he could get out of my dick, went down his throat.

And, he liked it.

It was obvious that he liked it.

When he finished sucking me off, he kissed me. And, he liked that too.

When I got my breath back, I was pretty much normal. Awake, I mean.

I said, “Umm. I came. You didn’t cum. I wanted to make you ... “. Actually, at that moment, I could remember what I wanted. I didn’t know what HE wanted. Was he satisfied? What should I do.

I guess I looked confused, because he said, “Don’t worry about it. Let me sort that out.”

He continued:

I’ll fix everything.

You don’t need to worry about anything.

It’s all good.

I relaxed. I didn’t want to mess things up with Paul. As long as he was happy, I was fine.

relax

sleep

nothingness

sleep

relax

I’ll fix everything.

I’m make it work.

I’m in charge.

We were in the shower. Hot water sprayed on both of our bodies. I was standing, my arms braced against the wall. Paul was standing behind me; leaning against my back. We were both naked (obviously). I had something inside my butt. Bigger than a finger. (Paul’s first two fingers, I found out later.)

I was stroking my dick. I had cum half an hour before, so I didn’t think I could cum again—but I was stoking.

Paul was jacking himself off. He wasn’t pleasuring himself to “edge”. He was close to cumming—and pushing to completion. His breath was quick and raspy.

Paul was rubbing my prostrate. He was using much more force than before. Before, it had been a massage. Now, he was rubbing me with all his might. It felt good. I was having difficulty doing anything except stroke myself.

This felt wonderful. Delightful. I was very happy with how things were turning out.

I didn’t have much time to bask in this wonderful moment, because Paul started to grunt and groan. I knew that he was seconds from cumming.

I thought, What would make Paul feel the best? I said, “Cum for me. Cum now. Yes!“

Paul clenched up, and shot his load on my back. Big clumps of jizz splattered on my back and down my leg. It was warm. It was sticky.

As Paul regained control of his breathing, he turned me so I faced him. He held me in his arms. It was sort of nice; being held.

After a few minutes, we had a proper shower. Both of us bathing the other. Nothing sexual. Just two guys getting clean. He washed my hair. He used some fancy shampoo and conditioner. I had never used any fancy stuff in my hair before. I always kept clean, but this stuff was extra nice. It left my hair and body smelling of ... well, money. I smelled like a Townie.

His bathroom was so large, that there were two chairs in front of a long mirror. He dried us both off. He seemed to enjoy rubbing me with a towel. He sat me down, facing the mirrors. He brushed his own hair. I combed my hair. I normally just parted my hair and combed it smooth. Paul seemed unhappy with my results. Paul took the comb out of my hand, and redid my hair himself. He brushed and brushed and brushed. He brushed until my hair shone. The end result was very similar to how I normally kept my hair—only much better.

Paul lightly kissed my ear.

He said, “You’re beautiful. But, I have to get some sleep. So you have to go.”

I got home that night well before midnight.

The only one still awake was Stanley. He was reading his new books and studying. He couldn’t help noticing that my hair was still wet. He had only one question about how I was spending my time with Paul, “What sort of job is it?“

I couldn’t answer. He knew the answer, but I couldn’t tell him.

Evening Three

Instead of lighting a candle in his office, Paul took me onto his balcony. Paul called it his “veranda”. It was a big deck—deep and wide. I ran all down the back of the house, and up one side. It had three proper sitting areas, a barbecue, and a bar. Paul had had some serious parties on his veranda.

We stood at the handrail, and watched people walk on the beach below. Just off shore, dozens of sailboats rested at anchor. We talked about my life. We talked about his life. He tried to explain some of his “business interests”, with mixed success. I understood the basics, but some of the details were outside my experience.

It told him, “I don’t understand completely. I guess I would have to see it.”

Paul gave me a funny look, and changed the subject.

After a bit, we moved to some padded wooden chairs. From there, you could see the sailboats, but you couldn’t see the beach. More to the point, no one could see us—unless they were standing on one of those sailboats, a mile from shore, with powerful binoculars.

The chairs were comfortable, the sky was blue, and the weather was very nice.

Paul skipped the candle:

I will take care of everything.

Let nothing bother you.

relax

I will make everything happen.

It is nice to let me take charge.

It is nice to let me take control.

It was nice to let Paul take control. I was eighteen years old. I had been responsible for my entire family since I was very young. Working. Making money. Sometimes, it was all too much. I took a long, slow breath.

Paul was still going:

Let nothing bother you.

nice

relax

down

down

relax

tensions flow away

We were still on the veranda. It was still daylight. The breeze had picked up. It was slightly chilly.

I was very enthusiastic. I was with Paul, of course. I was having a wonderful time. He was naked. It was great.

What about me? Was I naked? I checked. Yes, I was naked.

There was something odd going on. Normally, Paul had his fingers up my butt. Paul was sitting back; his hands on my head. He was running his fingers through my hair. Something was odd. I felt his fingers in my butt—no, not his fingers. It couldn’t be his fingers. I squirmed a bit. Moving felt good. It felt really good. Something was massaging my prostrate. There was something in my butt; but not Paul’s fingers. I reached back. There was a piece of plastic in my butt. A bit of soft, warm plastic. Every time I moved, the plastic thing would rub against my prostrate. It was a wonderful, tingly, animal feeling.

I squirmed about. That plastic thing rubbed me. It took me a minute to remember what it is called. It was a “butt plug”. Paul had put a butt plug in my ass.

I shifted my weight again. The movement of the butt plug against my prostrate was intense. I moaned.

My moan sounded odd. Something weird about how my voice sounded.

There was something in my mouth. I was very enthusiastic about that. It was wonderful to have this thing in my mouth. My mouth kept going.

I couldn’t figure out what was going on.

I looked. There was something in my mouth. It was great that this thing was in my mouth.

What was it?

I looked again. I couldn’t figure it out. I stared and stared.

It was Paul’s dick.

I was blowing Paul. I was enthusiastic about it. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. It was nice having Paul’s dick in my mouth. I keep sucking and licking and trying to get more of his dick in my mouth.

Paul was taking care of me ... I might as well take care of him. In the grand scheme of things, did it really matter?

I took a deep breath and started to really enjoy it.

I wiggled my butt around, the butt plug rubbed me just right. I worked into a rhythm. Bobbing on Paul’s dick, and moving my legs. Pleasure Paul. Pleasure me. Pleasure Paul. Pleasure me. Pleasure Paul. Pleasure me.

This was pretty good. Not as good as sex with a woman, but still ... not bad.

I used one hand to touch Paul. I used the other hand to stroke myself. I had barely gotten full hard, when ...

Paul started to grunt.

This meant he was going to cum. What was I supposed to do? I remembered yesterday, when I squirted in Paul’s mouth. He swallowed. I decided that swallowing was what he would expect. I would swallow too.

I was nowhere near cumming, so I focused on getting Paul off.

It wasn’t a long wait. In less than half a minute he was shouting and squirting. I tried to swallow his cum, and I did manage to swallow quite a lot, but most of it ended up on my chin, my chest, his legs, and the deck.

After Paul recovered, he ran his fingers through my hair and kissed me on the forehead.

In the shower, under the warm spray, Paul had me brace my outstretched arms against the wall. He gave me a bit of a wank. When he got me hard again, he slipped the butt plug out of my ass.

I was amazed how big it was. Without the plug in, I had a slightly empty feel.

He set it aside, and we had a proper shower. Again, he used his expensive, smells-like-a-Townie shampoo on us.

All my life, I was happy if I was clean, and my clothes had no holes in them. Taking extra effort in appearance ... this was something new to me.

We dried off. He put his hair in order. Then, he brushed my hair. He brushed and brushed. Facing the mirror, I saw how he did it. I thought that I could learn how to keep my hair like that. When he was finished, I looked like a Townie. Naked, but rich.

I asked, “Could you teach me how to do that?”

Paul responded, “What? Do what? We have done a lot of things lately.”

I laughed, “Keep my hair like that? You know. The brushing and shaping.” I paused, “Keeping my hair like you like it.”

Paul smiled, “Yes. Of course.”

I said thoughtfully, “You know—hair style, the way I speak, my clothes—a few changes, I could pass for a Townie.”

Paul said, “The hair style I can show you; it’s fairly easy. You speech is fine. In fact, you speak better than most people I know. You speak grammatically, you have a wide vocabulary, you don’t swear, and you don’t have the Bogger accent—there is nothing wrong with the way you speak.”

I was a bit embarrassed by this, “I always worked hard in school. I had to quit school at sixteen years old, to work, to buy food—but my teacher said ...". I stopped.

Paul pried, “What?”

After a pause, I said, “My teacher said, ‘You are a very bright student. It is a shame you had to quit.’.”

After that, Paul and I just stared at each other.

Paul interrupted the awkward silence by jumping up, “Which reminds me. I have a present for you.”

From a shopping bag in his bedroom, he produced a Jacket and a pair of shoes. They were of good quality—but not fancy. They didn’t look like the sort of thing that Townies wore Townside. They were exactly right for Bogside.

Paul said, “I wanted you to have some newer clothes, but nothing too “flash”. I didn’t want you to take any ribbing from your friends. You know, they might tease you if you showed up Bogside dressed like a Townie.”

I said, “They are exactly right. The jacket will blend right in. How did you know my shoe size?”

He seemed embarrassed, “You mentioned your shoe size a couple of months ago. I just happened to remember.”

I put the jacket on, and faced the mirror. I looked like a street tough, with a fancy haircut and naked from the waist down. Paul put on a similar jacket, and stood next to me.

He said, “We looked like two blokes, out on the town.”

I laughed, “Except that we’re half naked.”

He laughed, kissed me, and sent me home.

I dressed, and wore my new jacket and shoes. I bundled up the old jacket and shoes, and took them with me. Someone at home would be able to wear them.

The next day, I had a three hour gap between my main job, and showing up at Paul’s. I went to the public library, and looked up all those words that Paul had used when describing his business; those words that I hadn’t understood. I took notes, and ended up with several pages of questions. I hoped Paul wouldn’t mind explaining some of them.

Evening Four

I was laying on the table. Face down. Something soft. I was laying on something soft. Padded. Face down. I lifted my head. The window in front of me. It was cold outside. That’s why we were inside. In the dining room. On the table. Paul was probably naked. I was probably naked. It didn’t matter. My feet were cold. No, that wasn’t right. I was warm, the bottoms of my feet were cold. My feet were on the tile floor. The tile floor of the dining room. It didn’t matter. It was someone else’s problem. Paul was taking care of everything. I didn’t have to worry. My body was face down on the table, which was padded with something. I looked; it was a cushion from the living room sofa. I was naked. I looked up. The dining room’s bay window faced the town. In the distance—the lights of the town were pretty. If I turned my head the other way, the other window faced the sea. This window faced town, not the water. Not my problem. I felt something in my ass. Paul’s fingers? I turned my head. Paul was naked. Paul was in control. Paul’s hands were on me; one hand was on my shoulder, one hand was on my hip. Paul was in charge. I was relaxed. Not his fingers. It didn’t feel like a butt plug. It moved around, somehow. It didn’t matter.

I looked up at Paul. There was something wrong with his face. Instead of his normal happy, smiling face—his face was intense. He looked like he was in pain. I didn’t need to worry. Someone else’s problem. Paul was in charge. I had to make him happy. It was important that he feel good.

The sun hadn’t gone down. It was still full bright outside. Work with the candle must have been quick. That’s why it was still daylight out.

A “sex face”. That’s what was wrong with Paul. He was making a “sex face”.

We must be having sex. Funny that I hadn’t noticed.

My dick was under me. I was iron-rod hard. My dick was pressed into the cushion. Where was Paul’s dick?

I looked around. I didn’t see Paul’s dick. Where was it? My eyes glanced down to his crotch—but, I couldn’t see his dick. His dick wasn’t in his hand, his hands are on me; holding me and controlling my body. His dick wasn’t in my mouth. I’m pretty sure that his dick wasn’t in my mouth. I double checked. My mouth did not have a dick in it. I didn’t know where his dick was.

I couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t matter. I laid back down. I rested my head on the cushion. I looked out the window. I could see the tops of some sailboats. Paul had a nice house, and the view was amazing. I didn’t need to worry about it.

There was still something in my ass. It wasn’t a finger. It wasn’t a butt plug. I took a slow, calm breath. I couldn’t see Paul’s dick.

Slowly, I realized what is going on. Paul’s dick ... was ... in my ...

I put my head back down. I took a deep breath. Calm breath.

Paul began to grunt, he was very close to cumming. I wondered where his jizz would land. It wasn’t important. Someone else’s problem. I realized that his jizz would land inside my ass. Relax. Nothing to worry about. Paul was in charge.

I was suddenly FULLY AWARE of what was going on.

Paul was fucking me. Paul had his dick in my ass. I was being fucked by a man. A man had his dick in my ass. I realized that I was under Paul, and he was fucking me, and he was about to cum.

I flailed my arms out. I tried to get away. But, Paul was taller than me, heavier than me, and considerably stronger than me. There was no way that I could have gotten away. He was seconds from orgasm. He was in full rut. His keen intellect was gone; temporarily replaced with animal heat. He was beyond reason.

My attempts to escape seemed to have excited him. His voice, distorted by animal need, shouted, “YES!! YES!! Try to get away!! Try to escape!! You can’t!! I HAVE you!! I ...".

His voice failed him, as he thrusted inside of me one last time. His hands crushed my body with bruise-causing fury. Paul’s legs flew up. His entire weight was supported by his crotch on my backside, and his hands pinning my torso to the table. His entire body trembled as he squirted inside of me. Spasm after spasm griped him. Crushing me. He shouted nonsense.

Eventually, he trembled to a stop.

Spend, he calmly said, “Wow.” And slid gently out of my ass.

I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know what to do.

Then Paul was kissing me, and telling me, “You were wonderful. That was amazing. You are the prettiest man in town.” He went on kissing me and complimenting me for several minutes.

It’s hard to be angry with someone while they are telling you how wonderful you are. I kissed him back, and decided to be mad at him later. Maybe.

In the shower, he was extra attentive. He held me and kissed me more than usual. I liked the attention. I held him and kissed him back.

I was careful when I washed my butt. Nothing seemed to be injured. And, honestly, when he fucked me—it didn’t hurt nearly as much as I thought it would have.

He dried us both off, with a big fluffy towel.

We both brushed our hair, I tried to duplicate what he had done the night before, I was sort-of successful. Paul made some suggestions, and fixed my mistakes. When he was finished, we both sat in the chairs facing the mirrors. Paul just smiled at me.

Paul interrupted this when he said, “Earlier, you said you had some questions?”

I jumped up, and fetched the list I had written that morning in the public library.

We sat naked in the bathroom. Paul answered questions.

Some of his answers were clear, but some of his answers led to new questions. Paul seemed to enjoy explaining things; explaining what he did for a living.

Halfway through my list of questions, I had a much better idea about his “business interests”. We were both dry. Our hair was perfect.

We went to the kitchen, and loaded a tray with snacks and drinks. We took the tray out onto the veranda. We sat naked and enjoyed the sunset. Paul answered the rest of my questions. He seemed pleased. Not only did he have a chance to explain what he did for a living, but he seemed to like that I was interested in what he was doing.

Once or twice, I asked questions that made him struggle to explain. I think I impressed him with my questions. Somehow, the nature of my questions made him think that I was smart.

We talked until the sun went down, the stars came out, and the cool evening became much too cold for our naked selves.

He jumped up, “I have another gift for you.” We went back to his bedroom.

It was a coat. Very fancy. Heavy material. Lots of buttons. I have often seen Townies wearing things like this when they went to fancy restaurants for lunch or dinner.

It was very nice, but it was very Townside. It would stand out Bogside. I couldn’t wear it.

I said, “Paul. I can’t wear this sort of thing. I am thrilled that you would get me something this nice. But in my end of town; my friends would make fun of me.”

Paul explained, “I hadn’t meant for you to wear it Bogside. I thought you could leave it here. I could take you to a nice, Townside restaurant. We could have some lunch ... or, something ...".

Paul’s confidence ran out. He couldn’t finish his thought.

Our deal was for five evenings. Five. Then it was over. Was Paul thinking of ... What WAS Paul thinking about. I didn’t know. I don’t think HE knew.

He took the coat, and slipped it on me. Facing me towards the mirror, he buttoned the coat up. It fit perfectly. I looked good. He put on one of his coats. The two of us, faced the mirror, with these fancy coats. We looked prosperous. He looked good. We both looked good.

Half naked and looking good.

I got home before 10 p.m.

Everyone had gone to bed, except Stanley. He was still up, studying as usual.

I had left my fancy coat at Paul’s house. But Stanley couldn’t help noticing my new jacket and my new shoes. He was only 16 years old, but he wasn’t naive.

Stanley was horrified, “I can’t believe that I got you mixed up in all this. I should have never have pestered you about money for my books.”

I shut that down, “I am doing what I want to do. I want to provide for this family. It doesn’t matter how we get there.” I pointed to his text books, “You need those. You are the one that is going to escape. You are the one that is going to college.“

He was upset, practically crying, “You could have. You could have gone to college. You were smarter than I ever was. If things had been a little different ...”

I was short, almost rude, “Well, they weren’t. Things happened. Here we are.”

We stood there; looking at each other. Each thinking our own thoughts. One long, awkward moment.

After a minute, I fetched my old jacket and my old shoes, “Here. These will fit you. The ones you have don’t fit properly anymore.”

He didn’t touch them. He asked, “Is there anything I can do to help?“

I hesitated, “There is one thing I might need.“

He asked, “What? Anything.”

I said, “I might need you to lie to Mother. Nothing complicated. Complicated lies get tangled and caught. If I don’t come home one night—tell Mother, Paul took me to the mountains for work.”

Stanley hesitated, then nodded.

I whispered, “I might be escaping, too.”

Stanley asked, “What do you mean by that.”

I replied, “I don’t know.”

Evening Five

The next evening, I arrived at Paul’s house the same time he did.

Normally, he would be home long before I got there. But that day, work had kept him late—and he was filthy dirty. His only concern was getting a shower. Naturally, I joined him.

In the shower, after the washing, was the touching. The touching and the stroking. When both of us were rock hard, I kissed Paul. I grabbed him with both hands, and pulled his face down to mine. It was nice kissing Paul. I had not kissed him a lot, I don’t know why. He was strong and handsome; much taller than I. I had to crane my neck up, and he had to bend down quite a bit, so our lips could meet. It was worth it.

At that point, I hadn’t cum in several days. My dick was hard, like an iron bar. Without warning, I sank down to my knees, and slipped Paul’s dick into my mouth. I think I surprised him. I know that I surprised myself.

Having Paul’s dick in my mouth was bliss. Absolute bliss. I quickly found all the sensitive places on his dick, where he liked to be licked. Deep throating him, my nose pressed into his belly. Paul seemed to like it too. He clamped his hands on my head and started to fuck my face; with more and more enthusiasm.

I thought that he was going to squirt down my throat, but after a few minutes, he pulled me off his dick and pulled me back upright, so we could kiss again.

He dried both of us. We each did our own hair. I did mine just like he liked it.

He said, “I have another gift for you.”

I said, “You are going to spoil me.”

He smiled smugly, “I’ll spoil you ... if I like.” He went on, cryptically, “Besides—it isn’t really a gift for you. It is a gift for myself.”

Not bothering to dress, we went into his office. There, on the low table, was a short stack of books and reference guides.

“What’s this?” I asked.

He said, “Yesterday, you seemed interested in what I do for a living. The questions you were asking were ‘on point’. I did the best I could to help you understand—but, I think that these books will explain better.”

I said, “I don’t know what to say.”

He replied, “Say ... that you will read these books.”

I gave him a big hug, “I promise.”

He said, “Start reading.”

I was surprised, “Now?”

He said, “Yes. Now. While I’m sitting here. So I can answer your questions.”

I sat down and looked through the books. The book on top seemed to be shortest and the most elementary. I started reading. I didn’t get too many pages in, when I had a question. Paul answered it, and I went back to reading. The information was fascinating. It opened a whole new world for me. In school, we had discussed business and commerce in the abstract, on an elementary level. These books were on a much higher level. The examples were more concrete.

I made it one third of the way through the first book, and carefully bookmarked the page. I had a dozen questions. Paul answered them all, and even provided some examples from his own experience. I wanted to think about what I read, so I picked up a different book. It turned out to be the Annual Report for Paul’s own company. It started with a “Letter to the Shareholders”. It was full of tables, charts, and numbers. It was a little daunting, but I managed to get through it all (with Paul’s help).

Paul said, “Your teacher was right.” Then, Paul quoted my teacher exactly, “’You are a very bright student. It is a shame you had to quit.’”

I was embarrassed—so I picked up another book. This one was a catalog for equipment. I just flipped through it, as it was mostly pictures of equipment with some charts of specifications.

I turned to ask Paul a question, and I was looking at a lit candle. Paul had lit it while I had been glancing at the catalog.

Paul said:

Just look at the candle.

Don’t worry about anything.

I’ll take care of everything.

Just look at the candle.

look

relax

Everything is easy.

Do nothing.

Just watch.

Just watch the candle.

Nothing matters.

Just watch.

Watch the candle.

Just watch.

relax

relax

Let the tensions of the day pass away.

float away

Let nothing bother you.

I will be responsible.

I will take care of everything.

Everything will be fine.

Everything will be taken care of, by me.

I was holding something above my head. Something that wasn’t heavy. I was holding it firmly. It was wooden. A plank or shelf. It didn’t matter. There was something soft behind my head. The now familiar feeling of something in my butt. A feeling that once would have horrified me, was bringing me pleasure. Great pleasure. Rubbing against my prostrate. Was it a butt plug? Did it matter? Someone else would worry about that. My butt situation was Paul’s responsibility. I’ll let him figure it out. It felt good, what ever it was. It felt good, being here. Where ever “here” was. The sky was green. Probably not the sky. A ... ceiling?. Yes. Probably a ceiling. Paul had brought me here. So, it must be fine. I was probably naked. When Paul took me places, I usually ended up naked. He was usually naked, too. I looked down. I was naked. It didn’t matter. Which room had a green ceiling? His bedroom? Yes. His bedroom has a green ceiling. I looked again. I was in Paul’s bedroom. Naked. Paul was naked too. I was both “surprised”, and “not surprised”. Something smacked the side of my head. I realized that this wasn’t the first time something has smacked the side of my head. What was it? A leg? Yes. It was a leg. Fancy that. I closed my eyes for a minute or two. Paul as holding my shoulders. Was he hugging me? No. I don’t think so. He was holding me down. I was ... laying down. On something soft. In his bedroom. Not my problem. I was on my back. I was “holding” the headboard of his bed. I closed my eyes. Who’s legs kept hitting my head? Are they Paul’s. No Paul’s feet are down there. They might be my legs. I open my eyes and checked. Yes. They were my legs. My calves were resting on Paul’s shoulders. Mystery solved. I bet I knew what is in my ass. I bet that it was Paul’s dick. I looked. Yes. I was right again. I felt good about being right, two times in a row. I looked up at Paul. His face had that weird look again. His ... what is it called? His “Sex Face”. Yes. Paul was having sex. That must mean that I was having sex, too. I looked. Yes. We were both having sex. I felt extremely smug. I had been right four times in a row.

I let go of the headboard and grabbed Paul’s face. I pulled him down and kissed him savagely. It felt good to kiss Paul. I penetrated his mouth with my tongue. I was halfway between french kissing, and tongue raping his face. It felt good. I hadn’t meant to kiss him, it just happened.

Just as surprising, is what I said next, “Fuck me! Fuck me, Paul! Savage my ass! Fuck me!”

I let go of his face, and I stroked myself. I was already rock hard. It wouldn’t take much to push me over the edge.

Paul went back to pounding my ass. I didn’t know what my face looked like, but I could see Paul’s face. He was close.

Several thoughts flashed through my mind: This was the first time I had been a willing participant in anal sex. Paul had been continually relieving the crushing responsibilities that I had been dealing with for too many years. This big man was crushing my ass with his dick. I hadn’t cum in several days. I would come soon, with or without Paul. I wanted him NOW!

Then, I had NO thoughts, as I shouted, “Fuck me! Take me! I’m cumming! I’m cumming! Right NOW!”

Paul clamped my shoulders with his vice-like grip. He made one last thrust inside me. He pinned me down, as he filled my ass.

I sprayed jizz onto his chest.

He shouted. I screamed. I was much louder than he. After my scream, I made great rasping shouts. Never before, had I had such a release. Everything escaped from me.

Before we had fully recovered, while we were still recovering our breath, I grabbed him and kissed him. I rolled him over, so I was on top. I kissed him and licked him, then I cuddled with him. I cuddled with a death grip. I held him tight.

I said the first rational thing that I had said in an hour, “Best. Sex. Ever.".

I woke with a start. Paul was sleeping. How long had we napped? I didn’t know. I didn’t know how long “candle time” had lasted. It was just after sunset, the sky was still purple. I was sticky.

I moved quietly to the shower. I didn’t want to wake Paul.

I needed extra scrubbing. And, I wanted a little time to soak and think in the hot water.

Before long, Paul joined me in the shower. He looked sheepish; slightly embarrassed, “I got a little out of hand.”

I grabbed him, and pulled him under the spray, “Yes. Yes, you did.” I pulled him against me, so he was pinning me against the wall of the shower. He is much taller than I. In this somewhat awkward pose, we kissed.

I ask him, “Crush me a little?” He obliged me by pressing his body against mine. My back was ground into the shower tiles. I shoved my crotch against his thigh. He shoved his crotch into my stomach. I was helpless. It was lovely.

He said, “I wish you could spend the night ... “.

I replied, “My alibi is already in place. If my mother asks, you took me to the mountains for work.”

Paul paused for a long moment, “You passed my test.”

I was surprised, “Because I have an alibi ready?”

He smiled, “No. I expect no less from you, than to be prepared.” He kissed me on the forehead, “You passed my test—because you didn’t steal from me.” He went on, with a serious tone, “Don’t you think it was odd for me to give you all your money ... on the first evening? Wouldn’t it have been smarter ... for me to hold onto the cash until our fifth evening.”

I said, “But, I needed the money right away ... for my brother’s books.”

He gave a short, barking laugh, “Ha. I forgot. You weren’t even doing this for yourself. You were doing this for your brother. But—more importantly—with all the cash in your hand, you turned up the next night. Most people (90% maybe) would have vanished. Taken my money and never come back. You came back. All five evenings. You passed my test.”

I joked, “What do I win?”

He replied, “A job offer. How much do you make now?”

I told him. I itemized how much I made from my regular job and all my part time jobs. I added, “Plus, I get some extra from you. You know, from our ‘arrangement’.”

He stared, “You support a family of five on that? Never, mind. I’ll double your pay.“

To my credit, my first thought was that I would be able to feed my family. It wasn’t until Paul added, " ... You’ll be a Townie, again ... “, that I realized that this was a great opportunity for me. My life was going to be much more pleasant.

He went on, “I will feed you and house you. I will buy you clothes; clothes suitable for a “Townie”. Tomorrow, I will take you to a stylist, and you will get a proper haircut. You will spend forty hours a week working, ten hours a week studying. And, since you will be my personal assistant—I will require you to spend at least four nights a week sleeping in my house. This won’t be a b.s. job. You will work hard. You will study hard. Or ... Or, I will fire you.”

I was flabbergasted, “All because I didn’t steal from you?”

He smiled, “You didn’t steal. You did it for your brother. And ... because you are very smart. And ...", Paul looked embarrassed as he mumbled, " ... because you are the sexiest man in the entire city.”

I answered, “I’ll take the job on one condition. Tomorrow morning ... you fuck my brains out.“

He did.

I took the job.

It was the best decision I ever made.