The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The TV over the bar was set to CNN’s election coverage. In twenty minutes, Randy would have to switch over to the game—he’d have a mutiny on his hands if he didn’t—but for the time being, Jake wasn’t the only one watching the coverage. He smiled and signaled for another beer. Only his brother could get the folks in Randy’s watching political pundits in public.

Randy’s girl brought Jake a fresh amber as a summary of some public opinion poll flashed across the screen. Mike was doing pretty good, a surprise candidate—rare in these times—moving up through the polls fast enough to worry the frontrunners. Probably because he was young, enthusiastic, looked good in front of the camera, and didn’t have a closet full of the proverbial skeletons.

Jake’s smile faded when he saw Keith Clarke heading towards his table. “Mike’s looking good up there,” Clarke said, taking a seat. “At this rate, he’ll have the nomination. President Michael Thurston,” he drawled. “What do you think, Jakey?”

“If he makes it that far, he’ll have my vote.”

“That so?” Clarke flashed that snake-oil smile of his. “It must be hard,” he glanced at the TV, at a shot of Mike stumping somewhere in Nebraska, smiling with his arm looped around Allison’s waist, “always coming in second behind your little brother.”

Jake took a careful sip of his beer. “We’ve both grown up since high school.” That was true enough, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t any resentment. Mike was perfect. He was not. Even if you tossed out the dynamics of older brother versus younger, the comparisons stung, especially coming from dad. Mike was captain of the football team—you barely made the varsity squad, eh, Jake? Mike was student counsel president—didn’t that Hu girl trounce you, Jake? Mike graduated cum laude from Yale—well, at least you graduated, Jake. And Mike married his high school sweetheart—wasn’t she yours before you fucked that up, Jake?

There was no comparison, except when it came to the ranch, and that was only because Mike wanted nothing to do with it. Jake was thankful for that. He was good on the ranch, better than Mike would be, but dad wouldn’t see that. Staying away was the kindest thing Mike could do for him, and there were still times when Mike reminded him of that.

Clarke leaned back and toyed with something—an envelope?—in his breast pocket. Something in Jack’s expression seemed to settle things for him, and he tossed a pair of Polaroids on the table between them. “Then I guess you don’t want these finding their way to a paper.”

The shots were of Mike from his sophomore or junior year of high school, judging by the way he wasn’t quite filling out his shoulders. Junior year, Jake decided, because if it had been Mike’s sophomore year, Jake would have been a senior, and he would have heard about that. Hell, he might have even been the photographer. That year had been the worst between him and Mike.

They were the kind of photographs that would ruin a political career. Jake took in the sight of his little brother sucking someone’s cock, of his little brother jerking someone off and taking it in the face, and for one moment, he wanted those photos finding their way to the public.

The moment passed. “No.” Jake set his beer down near the Polaroids.

“Well then.” Clarke drained the last of his beer and flashed that smile of his again. “It seems we reached the point of negotiation.”

“After the papers run those pictures, I’m sure a reporter will love the story of a high school football coach determined to ruin his rival.” Jake managed a mean smile of his own. He hadn’t been the only one to fuck things up with Allison. Just the last before Mike swooped in. “Usually those rivalries play out on the field. This one would be one hell of a story.”

“And where would the story leave you? No more politics, and maybe the family ranch looks downright inviting to dear little Mike. What happens to you, Jakey?”

“Well, I don’t know. Maybe I could coach football. There’d be an opening.”

“Trulson would get it.”

“Assistant coach, then.”

“Think they’re going to hire a fag?”

“Think they’re going to believe you?” This time, Jake didn’t have to force his smile. “I don’t have any photos floating around.”

Clarke’s face reddened, but then he got himself under control. “You know what I think, Jakey? I think you don’t want it to come to that, either. You don’t have it in you to ruin a man. If you did, we wouldn’t be watching Mike now, would we?”

“I told you. Mike and I have both grown up since high school.” Jake reached for his beer and glanced down at the photos. “If you’re just here to gloat, you’ve had your fun. If you’re trying to blackmail me, name your terms.”

“Well, for starters, we can see if you beat Mike in the cocksucking department.”

Jake considered. “Come out to the ranch,” he said finally. “I’ll be in the barn. There’s a room for when I’m stuck there all night.”

“Not the most inviting of places, Jakey.”

“You want people seeing you walk into the back room of a bar ten minutes after me? Two men. Alone. Missing the game. Think you’ll still be coach come Monday?”

“What could they prove?”

“Randy has surveillance tapes. Come to the ranch. I won’t have any surprises for you.” Jake rose and tapped the photos. “Not as long as you have these.”

Clarke kept him waiting for two hours. Part of his power trip, Jake supposed. He calmed himself by looking after the horses, then by taking a quick shower. Couldn’t smell like work when Clarke came, after all. It would be downright rude.

He was thumbing through a trade magazine when Clarke finally showed. He looked out of his element, swallowed nervously when he saw the lube and box of condoms Jake had set on the bedside table.

So. He was mostly swagger. Jake chuckled to himself and set the magazine aside. “Change your mind? You want money instead now? Can’t help you there.”

“You’re not going to suck me through a rubber.”

“Fine. You change the terms on me, though, and those come into play.”

“You want my cock up your ass?”

“I want those photos.”

“They’re not the only ones.”

Jake rose. “I figured as much. No doubt you’ll be a regular visitor. Just tell me what you want this time, Clarke.”

Clarke licked his lips. “Just like that? You’re not going to give me any guff?” He barked out a laugh. “You are a pussy. No wonder Mike’s so wonderful in comparison.”

“I’ve heard it all from better people than you.”

Clarke fumbled with his belt. “Yeah? Bet your dad never said it all while you sucked his cock. On your knees, Jakey.”

Jake knelt. Clarke was already half-hard in anticipation, and all told, it wasn’t a bad cock. Jake had a momentary flashback to his promiscuous days when he did extensive testing on the theory that assholes had the best cocks. You’d think it would be the other way around—compensation and all that—but Jake’s experience had been that ones who knew they had a nice cock and knew how to use it were the ones who were hell to be around once the fucking was done.

“Yeah, you want it bad, don’t you, Jakey? Should I make you beg for it?”

“I’m not quite that devoted to Mike,” Jake said, and then he cut off Clarke’s next comment by leaning in and sucking him in.

He didn’t bother with the fancy tricks. What he was doing was more than enough to get Clarke fully hard, more than enough to get those fucking Polaroids so he could show them to Mike when he stopped by on his campaign tour. His schedule had him in town next month, and he’d take advantage of a photo op with the family. Security would be tight, and all the people would make the horses nervous. He’d have to remind the vet and maybe get some tranqs.

Clarke’s hand twitched in Jake’s hair. “You do this like a pro, Jakey,” he said, his breath ragged.

Jake considered what Clarke wanted to hear and made a small, helpless noise in the back of his throat. It was the right choice. Clarke bucked his hips.

“Yeah, Jakey, you’re much better at this than your brother. Bet you were at seventeen, too. You know this is how he made varsity? Sucked me and the others off, so we made him look good at tryouts.” He thrust deep, and Jake choked. “Was the team whore that entire year. Maybe the next year, too. I never asked.”

Shit. How many photos were there? And how many people had them? He’d do a lot of things for his brother, but fucking the football team? Well, a former football team. Clarke was bad enough.

Clarke came. Jake swallowed mainly for practical concerns than heat, but he was well aware Clarke liked what he saw. Clarke pulled the two Polaroids out of his breast pocket and let them fall to the floor. “Maybe I’ll wear the rubbers next time, Jakey.”

The ranch was crawling with too many people when Mike visited. It put dad in as foul temper as the horses, but he smiled nice enough for the camera. And for his grandkids.

“They’ve gotten big,” Jake said to Mike as they watched dad giving the boys a riding lesson.

“Yeah. They take to it like you did.”

“Is this where I’m supposed to say it’s in their blood?”

Mike laughed. “Proof enough they’re my kids, I guess. Everyone else we were around at the time wouldn’t know a horse’s head from its ass.”

“Hell, half the time, I don’t know a politician’s head from its ass. Present company excluded, of course.”

“This year, anyway,” Mike said easily. “You said you had something to show me when we talked?”

“Yeah. Let’s take a quick tour of the barn.”

Mike waved off his security escort. They still followed, but out of earshot, and they let them go into the back room alone.

“Can they hear?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m allowed private conversations.”

Jake pulled the Polaroids—twelve now—out of the drawer. “Keith Clarke’s the high school football coach now, you know. Patterson finally retired last year.”

Mike’s expression froze. “He was always a bastard,” he said, his voice cracking a bit on the edges, as he flipped through the photos.

“Clarke or Patterson?”

“Both, but Patterson was the right kind of bastard. The kind a coach should be.” He tossed the photos onto the bedside table. “How did you get these?”

“First, I sucked Clarke’s cock. Then I let him fuck me. Then I sucked his cock again. Then he fucked me again. There’s really not much variety. Two photos per encounter.”

“I’m sorry.”

Jake shrugged. “He’s gotten nice enough to give a man a reach around.”

Mike winced. “Jake, I—”

“Save it. He’s going to get bored with me, and then he’ll go to the press. That’s the only reason I’m showing you these. I’d have told you about them over the phone, but I’m a little paranoid.”

Mike smiled faintly. “I appreciate the discretion.” He fished his cell phone out of his pocket. “I have a friend. I think you’ll like him, Jake. He comes from a line of cattle ranchers. He’ll come in and take care of this.”

“Thought you wanted away from ranchers.”

Mike dialed. “I found myself missing the familiar.”

“Tell me something. That how you made captain, too?”

Mike was at least man enough to meet his eyes. “Yes.” He spoke into the phone. “I have a problem I need you to solve.”

Mike’s rancher friend looked like a John Wayne character. He even had the drawl. “You’re a man out of his time,” Jake said when he introduced himself as Donavan.

Donavan flashed him a half-smile. “I reckon so.”

“A smartass, too.”

“Yes, sir.” He tipped the brim of his hat in a parody of a salute. “Mike says he’s got a blackmailer.”

“I suppose that’s true enough.”

“You’re the one paying.”

“Yes, sir.”

That pulled an honest smile out of Donavan. “Tell me about him.”

“Not much to tell. His name’s Keith Clarke. Went to high school with Mike, a year older than him, one younger than me. None of us were friends, though he hated Mike about as much as I did.”

“You still hate Mike?”

“Only in my weak moments.”

Donavan considered him for a long moment. It was the first time in a long time Jake felt nervous. He wondered if it showed. Finally, Donavan said, “At least you honest.”

“Most of the time.”

“Show me the pictures.”

He took Donavan into the back room. They lingered with the horses, and Donavan cooed over Jake’s favorite. “Nice setup,” Donavan said.

“It has to be.”

“You love these girls.”

“And the boy down at the end.”

Donavan chuckled. “You taking over when your dad steps down?”

“That’s the plan. He’s all but anyway. Arthritis. Makes him a cranky old shit.”

“Yeah. I know the type.”

“How did you meet Mike?”

“As a lobbyist. Parents sent me out to get all educated. I fell into the work.”

“And Mike lured you away?”

“Was getting tired of playing nice.” He leaned against the doorframe and watched Jake fish out the photographs. “Mike doesn’t mind a blunt word or two.”

“And if you get him into the White House, you can do a bit more good?”

“Maybe.” He flipped through the photos, nothing showing on his face. “Know how many there are?”

“No. He brings two each time.”

“He due back soon?”

“Said he’d swing by tonight. I think...the time between his visits keeps getting longer. I think he’s getting bored. I think he’ll go to the papers soon.”

“Well then.” Donavan handed back the photos. “We’ll just have to convince him otherwise.”

“How?”

Donavan smiled. The lines around his eyes crinkled, and in that moment, he looked even more like a cowboy ripped out of the Old West. “That’s my job. You just get him in here like normal.”

“You’re not going to smash his head in with a baseball bat, are you?”

“I have a bit more finesse than that.”

Clarke swung by at ten. He didn’t see Donavan crouched down in an empty stall, didn’t seem to notice Jake’s nerves. By now, he was way too confident for that.

“Think this’ll be the last time I visit you, Jakey.”

“Out of photos already?”

Clarke laughed. “Hardly. I’ve just had my fun for now.”

“A pity. I was just getting you trained.”

“Don’t try pulling that macho shit with me, Jakey. Only one who’s trained here is you. I think tonight I want you on your knees for good old’ times.”

Jake lowered his gaze. “Of course. You’re the big bad coach. I tremble in the face of such manliness.”

Clarke narrowed his eyes. “You always did get a big mouth when you were nervous. Afraid I’ll start mailing off letters to the editor, Jakey? Don’t worry. I’ll let you sweat for a bit.”

“After I suck your cock one last time.”

Clarke’s voice dropped a notch. “Yeah. After that. Be proud. You’re good at something, Jakey.”

Jake knelt, curling his hands into fists. Donavan had never mentioned when he would make his move, and Jake suddenly realized he wanted it to be now, that he didn’t want Donavan to see him sucking off Clarke.

And Donavan, apparently, didn’t want to see it, either, because he was suddenly there in the doorway. “I think the wrong man’s kneeling.”

Clarke turned. “Who the fuck are you?”

“New wrangler.” Donavan brought a small whistle to his lips. The sound didn’t seem to bother the horses, but Jake reeled back and had to brace himself with his palms.

Clarke stood, dazed. Donavan smiled. “Sorry, Jake. Caught you up in the fire, but you won’t complain.” He moved and stood directly in front of Clarke. “Time for the truth, boy. How many photos?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Who else has them?”

Clarke shook his head. “I kept them all.”

“Good. When we’re done here, you and I are going to collect them.”

Clarke nodded.

“Get up, Jake. I think this one needs a lesson.”

Jake rose. His limbs felt rubbery. The sound of the whistle was still echoing in his head. He wanted to ask Donavan what that whistle was, but he couldn’t form the words.

“You like me, Jake?” Donavan asked.

Jake nodded.

“Clarke’s going to strip.” He glanced over at Clarke. “Start now, boy.” He focused on Jake before Clarke started with the buttons of his shirt. “If you want a hand in what I’m going to do, you’ll strip, too. Otherwise, I’m going to have to leave you there until I come back with those photos.”

Jake hesitated. On the one hand, Clarke was right. He didn’t have it in him to ruin a man, and he was pretty sure whatever Donavan intended would ruin Clarke on some level. On the other hand, he was pretty sure he would be stuck like this until Donavan came back and that if he didn’t act now, he’d fail whatever test Donavan was giving him.

He stripped. Without further instruction he and Clarke stood in the middle of the room, shivering slightly in the cool air. Donavan poked around in the bedside table, setting the envelope Jake kept the photos in down beside the lamp, pulling out the lube and condoms.

“Either of you boys got anything I should know about?” Donavan asked, rattling the box of condoms. “Any unprotected slip-ups?”

“No,” Jake said, and Clarke shook his head.

“Good.” He tossed the box back in the drawer. “Hate those things.” He flashed them both a brief smile. “Don’t worry. I’m clean, too. Of course,” he winked at Jake, “I have the advantage of knowing you can’t lie right now. Come here, Jake.”

Jake hesitated. It wasn’t much, but it made Donavan reach for the whistle in his pocket again. The blast was louder this time and seemed to strum through Jake’s body like the vibrations from a tuning fork. Jake stumbled forward. He watched Donavan slip the whistle back in his pocket and tried to ask what it was, but again, he couldn’t form the words.

Donavan caught his gaze. His expression promised an explanation later. At least, Jake hoped it did. It was hard to tell exactly what he was seeing.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m going to use you as a demonstration of how helpless our boy Clarke is right now, Jake. Get over here and kneel behind Jake, boy. You’re going to get him nice and slick now.”

Jake heard Clarke move behind him. “Give me the lube, then.”

“Only one bottle, and I’m going to use it.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?”

“Haven’t made Jake here give you a rim job?”

Jake blushed, and he was pretty sure that told Donavan all he needed to know.

“You fuck,” Clarke said, and then Jake felt his tongue, tentative, then growing bolder at Donavan’s urging. And fuck, it felt better than it should! Jake was somewhat ashamed at how quickly it made him hard, but he liked the way Donavan was watching him, eager and wanting and hard against his jeans.

“That’s good, boy,” Donavan said, and Clarke stopped.

Jake bit back his whimper.

“Turn around, Jake. I think our boy earned the chance to suck your cock, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jake said, surprised by how much he wanted it.

Clarke’s expression was a mixture of horror and need. “Please,” he said, and he sounded nothing like his previous self. “I don’t know how you’re doing this, but I’ll give you the photos. I’ll—”

“Oh, I know you’ll give me the photos,” Donavan said, and Jake heard him sliding out of his pants. “You’ll do everything I say, and if Jake says you’re good, I’ll make you like it.” There was the snap of the cap from the lube, then Donavan’s pleased little exhale. “So focus on Jake, boy. Put him in a forgiving mood.”

“Please,” Clarke tried again.

“Better tell him what you want, Jake. Unless you like him like this.” Donavan looped an arm around Jake’s waist and pulled him back.

Donavan’s cock, cool and slick, slid between his cheeks. Donavan guided Jake onto him, and Jake didn’t fight his pleased little sound as Donavan slid into him, thick and full and so right. Even the rub of Donavan’s flannel shirt against his back was intensely erotic.

“All right, then?” Donavan asked, spreading Jake’s legs apart with his thighs.

Jake rocked back. “Oh, fuck, yes.”

“Ready for our boy, then?”

“Yes,” Jake breathed.

Clarke crawled forward. “Please, Jake. I’m sorry.”

“Show him,” Donavan ordered.

Clarke bowed his head, mouth closing over Jake’s cock. Jake stopped worrying about what Donavan was doing—what he was doing—and gave into the pleasure.

It ended much too soon. Sex often did, but this was the first time Jake was so aware of wanting it to last just a little bit longer. Donavan knew just how to play him, and Clarke...well, with the right motivation, Clarke was pretty damn talented.

“I’m going to ask you to wait here,” Donavan said, watching Jake dress. “I want to have a little talk with our boy here, and it’s nothing I want you hearing.”

“Your finesse?” Jake managed. It wasn’t quite the question he wanted to ask, but it was the closest he could come. That whistle of Donavan’s was still rolling around in his head.

“Yeah.” Donavan nudged Clarke with his foot. “Get dressed now, boy. We’re going to collect those photos, and then I’ll be nothing but a nightmare for you.”

Clarke whimpered and crawled towards his clothes. Donavan caught the way Jake watched him. “Don’t pity him, Jake. You were right. He was done with you, and he was going to go to the papers.”

Jake found himself nodding.

“I’ll be back when we’re done. Go groom the horses. Seems like a task that would soothe you.”

It was. Jake could lose himself in the ritual, and he did. He didn’t stop until he had groomed them all, even though Donavan came back when he still had three to go. He didn’t interrupt Jake, didn’t offer to help, just leaned against the back wall and watched. Jake was thankful for that. By the time he was done, his head felt clear again.

“What’s the whistle?” Jake asked, putting away the grooming tools.

“A focus.”

“Horses didn’t hear it.”

“No.”

Jake turned. “So what’s it focus?”

Donavan gave him a half smile. “My will.”

“What did you do to Clarke?”

“Put the fear of me into him. If there’s ever a rumor your brother is anything but the perfect man he seems, I’ll pay him another visit. Got some friends who wouldn’t mind someone like him doing the chores. It’ll make what your brother went through look like a harmless prank in comparison.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“He’s not a nice guy. Neither am I.” Donavan pushed off the wall. “I’ll take the pictures he left with you.”

Jake turned to examine the tack. “You know where they are.”

“You disapprove.”

Jake shrugged. “He had to be dealt with. I couldn’t do it.”

“No. I don’t think you could have.”

“You use that whistle on Mike?”

“Not yet.”

“But you plan to.”

“Power tends to go to a man’s head. I may have to.”

Jake swallowed his retort. It seemed impolite to argue with Donavan considering he saved him and Mike from a world of embarrassment, so he kept quiet. He heard Donavan shuffling around in the back room, heard the snick of the drawer on the bedside table, the rustle of an envelope as Donavan tucked Jake’s Polaroid’s away. Then he heard Donavan step out of the room and start down the isle. The horses snorted.

“Got anything you want me to pass onto Mike?”

Jake didn’t turn. “I can run my own messages.”

“Yeah. I reckon you can. Be seeing you, Jake.”

Jake listened to Donavan leave. The barn door clicked shut behind him. Only then did Jake turn and go back into the room.

Donavan’s whistle sat on the bedside table on top of a note. Donavan’s neat cursive was, unsurprisingly, as archaic as him. You’re thinking you’re going to need to save your brother from me someday. I’ve got years of practice and experience on you, Jake, but I’m one to give a man a fighting chance. Don’t disappoint.

Jake tucked the whistle in his pocket. The note he folded and tucked into his wallet. He’d have to become the man Mike needed if Donavan was going to stick around. He wondered how long he’d hate Mike this time.