The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

i.

I saw him in the moonlight, on the beach, walking towards me, wearing only a pair of leather shorts.

I was in a white dinner jacket and blue tuxedo trousers with a navy satin stripe, a frilly shirt and a smart little bow tie. I had just ripped it loose, and it hung like a ribbon from the collar I had torn open as if I were dying for breath. I was lost in my own reverie, an unlit joint in one hand, an unopened bottle of champagne swinging at my side, held loosely by the neck, in the other. The sound of the surf supplanting my uneasy thoughts was a relief. The silver glow upon the ocean’s undulous back and the intensity of blue blackness stretching to forever were just what I needed to take me out of a world I did not want to be in, from which I had just freed myself, without yet taking stock of what the consequences would be. I was avoiding thinking about that. I’d try to stay in this manic phase for as long as I could. It beat depression any day. Probably a combination was the best: 3 parts manic + 1 part depression = melancholy. That felt pretty good.

He stopped.

Gorgeous night, he said, as if he were giving it to me, as if it were his to give. Maybe it was.

I smiled faintheartedly as if too weary to contradict him, but without the spirit, or the strength, perhaps, to accept his gift.

Is it as bad as all that? he said, voicing along with sincerity an awareness of the line’s camp possibilities.

It made me smile despite myself more genuinely.

Might be, I said, half yielding to his friendliness.

My place isn’t far down the beach. Come on. Maybe we can do something about it.

I stifled saying I doubt it, which was already a tribute to his power, and simply raised my eyebrows.

Goodness, are you adorable when you do that. Come on, he said.

ii.

Why don’t you get out of that thing and put something comfortable on, he said pointing at my tuxedo. I’ve got a closet full of things more comfortable, sexier, too.

You’ve gotta be joking I said, offended.

He looked at me puzzled.

I’m thinking about throwing myself in the ocean and you want to play dress-up. I was surprised at myself for having said it. Perhaps to apologize for my unfriendliness?

Drowning yourself?

Yes, I said in a half breath.

Why don’t you light that joint first.

I fumbled with the lighter that was on the teakwood table beside the leather club chair I was sitting in, but the flame sputtered and guttered and the joint remained unlit.

Here, he said, after my third failure. Let me, and he took the joint and the lighter from my hands, stuck the joint in his mouth, flicked the lighter, and flame danced before my eyes.

Look at that he said. Look at that. Flames are fascinating, aren’t they, the way they dance, the way it draws you in, the way you can’t resist it. Gaze into the flame. Let it draw you in. There is no reason to resist. You don’t want to resist. Your eyelids are too heavy to resist. Look at that. Let them fall. You want to. It feels so good to yield, to give up, to give in, to surrender. Such a relief. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to think about. Only to obey. The burden is lifted, the heavy burden is lifted and everything is light and safe and easy. It is so easy when all you have to do is follow.

Everything he said was true. I knew it. I relaxed. I gave in. I gave up. He would lead me. I heard him say it, and I knew it was true. He was my master. I let out a deep sigh.

That’s right he said. Very good.

It felt good to hear him say that. I felt grateful, expansive. Everything would be easy. Everything would be alright.

iii.

I told him everything. I told him about the money. I told him about Clarissa. I hadn’t been able to tell anyone, and here I was, and it was so simple.

And he knew what to do. It was simple.

He told me to strip, and this time I listened to him. I realized I’d never resist an order of his again, never assert my own will against his, ever again. In fact I realized I no longer had a will of my own, and that felt so good.

I should have been scared, I should have been anxious, I should have been grinding over and over in my mind what lay in store for me if I were caught. What we were about to do would only make matters worse. That’s what I should have thought. That’s what I would have thought just a few hours ago. But not now. It was a new world. I was euphoric. I was in heaven. I was aroused. My cock was hard. It felt like an electric pleasure center was charging my whole body.

iv.

The weather was perfect. After we’d thrown my tux, my watch, my glasses, my shoes, and the empty champagne bottle into a rocky cove right by the water, the tide came up and washed the jacket away. Once we got back to the house, the lightning cracked the shell of the empyrean, the thunder rolled stones in heaven, and rain beat upon the beach and obliterated all our tracks.

My death made the headlines the next day, and a week later the police gave up on ever finding my body. They found my watch and glasses, though, and that was good enough for positive identification.

For all intents and purposes I was gone. I hoped it would make Clarissa happy. It certainly did me.

v.

Gone.

What exactly does that mean? Absorbed into another consciousness? No longer existing? A muscular zombie with pierced nipples and a hairless body whose vocabulary consists of little more that Yes, Master, whose eyes are focused on an invisible candle flame in his mind, and who is always on the verge of coming but never released?

I don’t know and I didn’t care.

I had never lived in bliss before, and now I did.

vi.

I don’t know how much time went by but after some time, Master summoned me and explained, although he had no obligation to since I was his property and he might do with me as he would, that he had enjoyed me, but had a new interest now and that I was no longer necessary him and that he had therefore sold me, that I should be proud that I was considered desirable by anybody who wanted to purchase me, and in fact that I had gone for a good price.

I was transported by rail and acted just like any other passenger and was picked up by one of my new master’s attendants when I reached Grand Central. Everything went smoothly, and I was in a limousine being driven to I didn’t know where, and that didn’t matter, for there was obviously no reason why I should have.

There was no difficulty traveling openly as I did. No one would have recognized me. I was thirty pounds thinner than I used to be, but more muscular. My hair was a streaky, spikey blond ever since that night my owner found me on the beach, and I was dressed in high leather drag in the middle of the day. In other words I was so visible as to be completely invisible.

Once inside the limousine, which had one way see through black tinted windows, I was blindfolded and stripped naked. I hardly got to see my handler, everything happened so quickly. Once I was stripped, a ring was clamped round my scrotum and cock and then a cool ointment was gently rubbed over my sac and cock, which began to get hard. I gasped for breath and something was stuck into my ears and I began to hear a very pleasant low intensity tone.

I was a servant. I was a gymnast. I was a chef. I was a facility at fashionable parties. I rang with desire and was flooded with energy. I went to the opera and the theater and traveled on yachts and swam in far away blue waters. I gleamed like alabaster and always brought a high price

I woke in a dungeon, huddled in a damp and dirty corner.

It finally happened, I thought to myself. Clarissa and the SEC had found me, but I thought, even remembering Guantanamo and Iraq during the Bush years, the US prisons were a little more humane than this. Or were they?

I didn’t have time for such reflections long because the craggy walls of my dungeon began to move. That’s what I saw without believing it. I must have been confined here for a long time. I couldn’t remember how long. Perhaps I’d been tortured. God knows my body, to say nothing of my soul, ached badly enough. But if I were hallucinating, it became worse. And if I weren’t hallucinating, it became much worse. The walls kept undulating until the movements of the stone metamorphosed into actual human figures that stepped away from the wall. I must have been having a flashback to childhood when I used to watch in hypnotic fascination the adventures of Flash Gordon on television. Here were the clay people of Mars over whom the fatal Queen Azura had cast one of her spells.

I was dreaming and came to with a jerk at my chain. I scampered clumsily to my feet, and wondered if this whole thing was worth it. Better to have gone for a last swim in the ocean that night I couldn’t tell you how long ago. Or perhaps I had.

vii.

Something had snapped in me. I was standing in chains, my arms stretched over my head and fastened to what might have been a chinning bar bolted into a stone ceiling. My ankles, in shackles were chained to rings embedded in the stone floor. A bright light was shining in my eyes.

Do you know why you’re here?

No, I said, more surly than I’d heard myself since I left Wall Street. I expect you’re going to tell me. I thought I had forgotten how to be ironic.

You forget that in your position you are not free to have expectations.

In my position, I retorted, having nothing to lose, I’m free to have whatever I choose.

I felt a lash.

You are free to have pain.

I said nothing. I had come to love pain. It had become my pleasure, the burning of the skin, the sense of panic that rushed through me—it was the natural consequence of years of submission—the feeling of emptiness in my heart, the warmth of tears that were blocked in a pool behind my eyes. The flirtation with death, being led to the brink of extinction like being taken to the edge of coming, and then ebbing back into consciousness, always with a dirty feeling of regret that something had not been accomplished.

The light was getting to me. It wasn’t a steady beam but a rhythmic pulsation that varied its intensity and my eyes got heavier and heavier until the lids slammed down and I couldn’t open them no matter how I struggled. I don’t know why I did struggle because deep down I didn’t give a damn whether they were open or shut. I didn’t care about anything. But I was being made to struggle just like I was being forced to have feelings. Another lash of the whip, and for the first time I felt the pain as pain. Now they were really fucking with my head.

viii.

My wounds had healed, but I was aware of my vulnerability. There were many dark spaces where memory ought to have been. I had achieved, or rather I had had cast upon me, a kind of goofy saintliness. I was entirely aware of the present but unaware of its trajectory into the future.

Until the future slapped me in the face. She had red hair and green eyes. She wore a metallic bronze colored mini skirt, a similar tight fitting top, looking like chain mail, silver tinted stockings, black stiletto heels, open-toed and with ankle straps. She was heavily made up and wore jade bangles in her ears.

This was something new to me. Since my enslavement I had only served masters.

Who this woman was who had slapped me I did not know as I knelt before her, head bowed, palms pressed together.

But not for long. Things never are as they seem, not even when you’re asleep in a trance. Two men came, pinned her arms behind her back and dragged her away, so brusquely that the resplendent mane of fiery hair slipped off her head and she was shaved as bald and smooth as a window manikin.

I however was unable to move and was left alone in that peculiar chamber worshipping nothing.

ix.

The light, cool clarity of the April night rang in my ears. The narrow, ancient, empty streets of the Marais haunted me with a longing which became cloudy. The cafés were closed and the sexual arousal which had become my constant companion illuminated me. The guys in leather, arms round each other, smiled a greeting as they passed me. Being aflame themselves they could sense I was a glowing member of their fraternity. I smiled back and blew them a kiss which I imagined they would cherish and which would join with theirs later when they held each other lying beneath, I imagined it, the moonlight which would stream through the double window across from their bed.

I lay chastely, my hands behind my head as I slept, forbidden to touch myself. Nevertheless my cock stood hard with desire and my nipples were stiff with longing. I was dreaming of ocean foam in the moonlight and of a distant man in leather pants walking upon the beach.

x.

I was exhausted. The house was gleaming. I had been on hands and knees, barelegged but for a pair of white sox, white briefs cut with just an intimation of a boxer leg circling lean-muscled thighs. Sleeveless shirt, white hugging my chest, emphasizing its cut, hard nubs of nipples. Veins of lean, muscled arms stood out like tattoos.

The table was set, with candles and flowers (yellow and red roses in profusion), champagne glasses and a silver box of freshly rolled joints.

My body was shaved and smooth and healed and young again.

xi.

The bridge over the Seine between the Trocadero fountains and the Field of Mars, crowded with tourists. Muslim merchants, their cloths spread, mill about selling key chain size replicas of the Eiffel Tower, a hundred meters away, daytime. In the park, after dark, hustlers look for customers. By benches lining a branching lane I am wearing tight sleeveless DIM black body shirt, well-wrought abs, black leather hot pants, sleek thigh muscles, black vinyl boots.

I’m expensive. The American cowboy gropes me. One o’clock in the morning.

The American poured vodka into blood orange juice. I stripped slowly. He liked to watch.

In the morning I was alone, uncovered, naked on top of the bed with a hard-on. I only remembered there was money to bring to a man who waited for me in a café near the Pompidou.