The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

I couldn’t understand it. When we began our first semester as freshmen at State University, we soon found each other as the only openly gay residents on our floor of the freshman dorm. We were both smart, read similar books, and had a similar outlook on life, or so I thought. We even had similar physical features, sort of tall and thin, with somewhat sunken chests without a hair on them. We both needed glasses, although his were much thicker than mine. And yet, and yet, while I was dying to talk about sex with him, compare notes on the incredible studs we could see walking around shirtless in the Jepsen athletic dorm across the street, maybe even fool around a bit, he never once reciprocated. Whenever I brought up the topic of sex in any form, he changed the subject. I assumed I just wasn’t his type. Also most evenings he wasn’t in his room; his roommates said he was in the library most of the time.

And now it was mid-November and he was gone. I came back from a weekend at home, and when I dropped by his room, I saw that his things were no longer there. His roommates said he had suddenly and mysteriously left school, no reason given. I had a feeling of loneliness sweep over me. Even though we had entirely avoided one topic, he was still the closest thing I had to a ‘compadre’ at the school, although towards the end I saw less and less of him.

That evening, as I reached into the drawer where I kept the binoculars I occasionally used to gaze into the Jepsen windows across the street (the jocks almost never seemed to have their curtains drawn, no matter their state of undress), I found an unfamiliar manila folder on top of the storage case. On it was written, “Keys to the kingdom. Enjoy, but be careful.” And in it was a single piece of paper with some kind of simple diagram on it. The drawing was a large rectangle that filled most of the page, and it was filled with smaller rectangles, three across and five down the page, with numbers written in them. Eight of the smaller rectangles had been colored blue with a highlighting marker. At the bottom of the page were the words “banana rhinoceros”. And that was all.

I stared at it for awhile, looked for any other clues on the page or in the folder, and couldn’t come up with anything. The numbers in the boxes didn’t seem to be a code of any kind, in fact they seemed to follow a simple sequence. But it had been a long day driving from home, and I was tired, so I just put it carefully away and went to bed.

I almost forgot about the folder the next day while attending my lectures. But when I got back to my room, my curiosity refreshed, I pulled it out and examined it again. The numbers in the top three rectangles read 101, 201, and 301, with 201 highlighted in blue. The next three underneath read 102, 202, and 302. And so on, consistently down the page until 105, 205, and 305. Obviously no secret message hidden in those numbers!

I sat there thinking. Since it was November, it was starting to get dark at around 5 o’clock, after classes but before dinner. As I sat by the window, the lights started coming on in the athletic dorm. And suddenly a light went on in my head. I turned the paper sideways, and sure enough, the diagram clearly represented the Jepsen dorm: three floors with five windows on each floor. On the page, the numbers had been written sideways to fit in the rectangles representing windows. But why were some windows highlighted? And what was the significance of “banana rhinoceros”? Was this some kind of treasure hunt?

I went to dinner, trying to figure out how I could get into the highlighted rooms without being noticed. And what would I look for when I was in them?

After dinner, I took the folder from my room, crossed the street, and went into Jepsen. This small dorm was the home of the most elite athletes on the State campus, whose skills cut across almost all the sports offered at the school. It was a reward to be assigned there with some of your teammates. Jepsen was well furnished, had a 60-inch flat-screen TV in the lounge on the first floor in the back, and also had its own eating area, where each athlete’s specific nutritional needs were taken care of. I was afraid of being challenged on the way into the dorm, but carrying my folder and looking like I knew what I was doing seemed to do the trick.

Sure enough, on the first floor the rooms facing the street were numbered 101 through 105. On my “map”, rooms 102, 103, and 104 were all highlighted in blue. The doors of 103 and 104 were open and the athletes were lounging around in them talking loudly, but 102 seemed quiet, the door ajar and lights out. Unnoticed, I slipped into the room, shut the window curtain, turned on the light, and started to look around.

The room was messy and was permeated with the intense familiar odor of jock sweat. Unwashed clothes lay on the floor, there were piles of CDs strewn in the corner, and a few well-worn porn mags lay beside a bed. The clothes in the pile looked huge to me; clearly whoever lived here was a big boy. I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, or anything resembling either a banana or a rhinoceros.

Suddenly, the door banged open and in barged an angry-looking young giant, slamming the door behind him. He already had his shirt pulled off and his belt loosened for his arrival. His body was that of a football lineman, at 6′6″ not much taller than my 6′4″, but clearly weighing over 260 pounds to my 130. Cropped black hair cut in a fade, bulging hairy chest, huge biceps, long sinewy arms and huge hands, and yet with a face that made him look younger than me. He stormed in my direction, demanding “Who the fuck are you? And what are you doing in here?”

Thinking as fast as I could, I held out the folder to him, saying “I believe this is yours?” He grabbed it out of my hand, snatched the paper out of the folder, saying “What the fuck is this?” His eyes lit on the only writing, at the bottom of the page. “What the fuck is ‘banana rhinoc...’” At this he froze momentarily, letting the folder and paper drop to the floor unnoticed. Then he frantically tore off his clothes as if they were on fire, actually ripping his boxers in the process, and once he was completely naked, long hose dangling from his crotch, he stood stiffly at attention, eyes glazed, and said, in a completely flat voice with no inflection or emotion, “I am Muscutron, athletic robot. You are Master Engineer. I am in need of lubricating fluids. Will you insert lubrication from front or rear?”

Relieved I was not going to be beaten to a pulp, but taken completely aback, I stammered, “Er, uh, what do you mean?”

In the same flat voice, he said, “Invalid response. I am in need of lubricating fluids. Will you insert lubrication from front or rear?”

I thought about what he might be asking, and I began to realize the nature of the gift I had received in my desk. “Rear,” I said, waiting for the reaction. It was immediate.

“Muscutron” walked to the back of the room, and stood up against the wall, face first, with his muscular back and the firm globes of his glorious ass pointed invitingly towards me. He intoned, “Say ‘go’ to start lubrication assistance process.”

Unsure what to do, I said “Go.” Immediately he began to move his ass and crotch forward and backwards in a rhythmic fashion. As he did so, his cock, rubbing against the wall, began to rise from its flaccid state to a rigid and impressive eight fat inches. I tore off my clothes almost as quickly as Muscutron had, but found I could not enter his ass while it was pistoning forward and backward. “Stop,” I said, and the pistoning action slowly ground to a halt, the way it might with a machine that was shutting itself down.

Next, I ran into the common bathroom between rooms 101 and 102; fortunately it was unoccupied. In the medicine cabinet I found what I was looking for: a container of Vaseline jelly. I lubed myself up, then ran back into the room to find Muscutron simply staring straight at the wall, motionless. I positioned myself behind his ass and found my way inside, then said, “Go.” Immediately the pistoning started up again, and I was in heaven. Fortunately I was tall enough that we made a good fit: my legs were longer (but much thinner) than his, and his torso was much bigger than mine.

I was well on my way to providing Muscutron with his required lubricating fluids, when I heard the door open and shut again, a pause, and then a voice half-shrieking, “What the FUCK is going on here?” Immediately I popped out of the firm ass I was in, although Muscutron continued to piston his crotch against the wall as if nothing had happened.

As Muscutron’s evident roommate came towards me with rage in his eyes, I said, “It’s not what you think, it’s... banana rhinoceros.” And instantly, the roommate’s face glazed over, he went through the same emergency clothes-removal activity that Muscutron had done earlier, then stood stiffly at attention and intoned: “I am Lubritron, service robot. You are Master Engineer. Which unit am I to lubricate?”

Now that the roommate was under control, I had a chance to look him over more fully. He was only about 6 feet tall, sandy blond hair, blue eyes, smooth where Muscutron was hairy, with a build as perfect as Muscutron’s in a smaller version. But there was one other immediately noticeable difference: Lubritron’s cock was nearly as long SOFT as Muscutron’s was HARD. I immediately saw why my friend had chosen these two for their respective roles.

It was my guess that Lubritron had been used to insert fluids into Muscutron on command on more than one occasion. I also figured Lubritron could be ordered to “lubricate” me, front or rear, if I wanted it. But I was horny to finish what I had started, and I wasn’t sure I was ready for a cock of Lubritron’s size to be put anywhere inside me. So, leaving Lubritron staring blankly into space, I went back over to Muscutron, ordered him to stop his pistoning, reinserted myself, and restarted the action. In almost no time, I was ready to fill Muscutron with all of my freshly made fluids. Exactly when I began to do so, he intoned, “Ejecting used fluids” and produced shot after shot of cum over the wall in front of him. Even after I pulled out after several of my own loads, satisfied, he continued to piston and shoot.

Finally, when he was done, he turned from the wall and said flatly, “Rear lubrication complete.” That gave me the idea I needed to activate the frozen Lubritron. Walking over to him, I said, “Lubricate the Muscutron unit, front!”

With a “Yes Master Engineer”, Lubritron “robotically” walked over to where Muscutron was standing at attention and said, “Commencing front lubrication”. Immediately Muscutron dropped to his knees in front of Lubritron, said “Ready,” and opened his mouth wide and extended his tongue. Lubritron then began to mechanically stroke his cock, which rose to an incredible near-ten inches, which would have looked impressive on a body like Muscutron’s but seemed especially out of place on this smooth baby-faced blond only 6 feet tall. Lubritron inserted himself into the mouth of the waiting Muscutron, who somehow swallowed it all without gagging or hesitating—clearly these two had done this before many times—and then Lubritron began pistoning in and out of Muscutron’s impassive face. Muscutron’s flexible deep throat was getting all the exercise it needed with this action, but it was big and strong enough to take it.

Even though I had just cum, this scene was so hot that I was getting excited again. On a whim, I said “Faster,” and somehow with no hesitation Lubritron seemed to double the speed of his pistoning in and out of Muscutron’s throat. Soon, Lubritron was shooting load after load into Muscutron, who managed to take it all in without any seeming effort. Finally, Lubritron said “Lubrication complete”, and pulled out, and stood once again at attention, staring forward. Right afterward, Muscutron stood and did the same.

I didn’t want to push my luck, so I forced myself to calm down and go soft despite the incredible scene I had just witnessed, not to mention the hot sight of these two mindfucked football robots standing at attention awaiting orders. I wasn’t sure what to do; how did I turn them “off”? And did I really want them to go back to normal while I was still in the room?

To help eliminate the evidence, I ordered: “Muscutron, Lubritron, lick the wall and floor clean of used fluids, then turn yourselves off.” The two “robots” dropped to the floor and began the process of eliminating the evidence. As exciting as it was to watch this, I felt I had better get out of there while the getting was good. I threw my clothes onto my still-dripping body, let myself into the hall closing the door behind me, and flew back across the street.