The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

2.

When I got back to my room after my adventure “robotizing” the two football linemen, I was still excited by the feeling of control I had had over them. As my obedient robot toys, Muscutron and Lubritron (or whatever their real names were) could perform sex acts on each other, on me, or on anyone I brought around. But had I “turned them off” correctly, or were they standing frozen, awaiting orders? And did they remember what I did to them?

After thinking about it, I realized that the two could not possibly remember, or they wouldn’t have been completely surprised by my presence and unaware of what I was about to do, since they had obviously been “robotized” many times before. So that was good. I looked through the window to see if the robots were still frozen, but the curtains were still shut (almost alone among the dorm windows). The feeling of absolute control over the two musclegods got me once again totally hot, and even though I had only recently fed my seed into Muscutron’s rear lubrication pipe, I had to jerk myself off imagining even more humiliating and obscene commands for my two robot toys. For example, I could have them buy additional “parts” to add to themselves—clips to attach to their chest “electrodes”, cleaning and expanding devices for their lubrication systems, and so on.

After I was done, I got to thinking about the other rooms highlighted in the diagram. What kind of adventures awaited me there? I found it hard to sleep.

The next morning, I looked across the street. The curtains to room 102 were now open, and as far as I could see the room was empty. There was no unusual activity that I could see anywhere in the dorm through the other windows. Excellent—it looked as if there were no consequences to my adventure the previous night. I washed, dressed, and went to my first lecture, but I couldn’t help daydreaming about last night. The day seemed to crawl by until the end of my last class.

After dinner, I went to my window to look across the street. The lights were on and curtains were open in most of the first floor windows. In 102, I caught a glimpse of what seemed to be a de-robotized Muscutron walking by the window, in a T-shirt and shorts, totally unruffled. The sight caused a brief stirring in my pants, but I suppressed the thought before it got out of control. Patience!

Looking over at room 103, the next room on my highlighted list, I thought I spotted some movement but couldn’t see what was going on. I decided this would be my next destination, if nothing went wrong. Leaving the folder in my drawer—I knew the trigger phrase and I knew it worked whether I said it or the target did—I once again crossed the street, slipped in unnoticed, and headed down the hall. The door to 103 was ajar, so I knocked briefly, stepped inside, and shut the door. Sprawled out diagonally on his bed, in all his 6′10″ glory, huge feet dangling over the edge, wearing only his boxers, was our basketball team’s star center. Everything about him seemed extra long: his well-muscled legs, his arms with the prominent biceps, his hands and fingers, even his straight chestnut-colored hair was long, flopped over parts of his face. Hearing me come in, he languidly brushed his hair out of his eyes, and said, “What up, dude?” Quite the contrast with my uptight football toys.

Wondering what kind of robot he would become, I said the magic phrase. There was an instant transformation in his expression, from a lazy “Whatever, dude” attitude to an intolerable urgency, and he jumped up as I expected and tore off his boxers. However, instead of coming to attention, he ran to his closet, opened a drawer, grabbed a cloth bag out of it, and ran into his bathroom. I couldn’t see what he was doing in there, and wasn’t sure I wanted to go over there and watch, so I just shut the curtains and waited it out.

In a few minutes, an astonishing sight emerged from the bathroom. The huge basketball center was wearing a pretty pink top and a pink skirt (with obscenely-sized frilly underwear clearly sticking out from underneath). Where he got the pink girl’s open-toed shoes in men’s size 16, I have no idea, but his feet were squeezed into them rather tightly, long toes bulging out the front. A tarty shade of lipstick had been applied to his lush, full lips. He came up to me, walking as gracefully and femininely as a little girl, timidly almost, and said in a falsetto girl’s voice, “I’m pretty Polly, I’m 15, and I like rough, nasty sex with real tough boys like you that can beat me up.” And then he/she flashed me a winning, flirtatious smile.

Me, a tough boy that could beat up this tree of an athlete? Even at 6′4″, my mouth only came to just above his nipple level (although now he had a pectoral-filled bra on under his top), and my upper body was absolutely no match for his, his biceps bulging out of his sleeveless top. What should I do? On a hunch, I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. He squealed in pain, but didn’t offer any resistance, and couldn’t break my grip. Of course, ordinarily, he would have brushed me off like a fly. But while he was “Polly”, I discovered I could completely dominate him physically. And the sight of this 6′10″ giant submitting to me totally turned me on something fierce.

I tore off the top and skirt, leaving Polly in her bra and underwear. I put the helpless Polly into several nasty wrestling holds, which caused him/her to squeal in pain. But I noticed a very long and growing bulge under the frilly underwear as I did this. Clearly Polly was getting very turned on by this dominating action. Finally, the underwear could no longer contain the long, thin pole that popped out from under. And no amount of my abuse of this near ten-inch “clitoris” seemed to lessen its excitement, although Polly’s huge but weak, limp hand struggled vainly to remove my “powerful” thin fingers from it.

Next, I sat on the bed and pulled Polly onto my lap, face down, ass directly over my knees. I took off one of her huge open-toed shoes, and began to spank her with it. Her large muscles flexed helplessly, but she could not roll off or free herself. Her lengthy cock was trapped between my upper left leg and under my right thigh and was hard as a rock as I continued to redden her sizeable bottom. Finally, she couldn’t take any more, and she erupted in volley after volley of cum. When she was empty, she slid off my lap onto the floor, cowering in fear.

I pulled her up onto her knees between my legs. Her torso was so long that even with my long legs dangling from the tall bed, while kneeling her face was well above my raging cock. I grabbed her head and pushed her face down onto my cock. At first she tried to keep her mouth shut, but I smacked her on the head and said “Open,” which she did, and I inserted myself into her large mouth. I had to smack her once again when her teeth scraped my cock, but she didn’t make that mistake again. With my right hand, I shoved her face completely onto my cock, which slid down her throat without a problem. Grabbing her hair, I then repeatedly pulled her head up and down onto my cock, fucking her face until I exploded into her mouth. She had clearly been used this way before, because she managed to spill just a little onto her bed. I dragged her face over to the spill and she promptly licked it up.

I pushed her onto her back on the floor, putting one foot on her face and the other on her once-again rising cock. Again, she struggled to push my foot out of her face, to no avail. “Lick,” I said, swirling my foot around her nose and mouth. When she didn’t respond, I applied painful pressure with my other foot on her cock, and she relented, her tongue working on the sole of my foot and between the toes.

It was getting late, time to leave. I told Polly, “Put your clothes away and wash up, you disgusting little bitch. Look at the lipstick you got on my cock!” She hesitated, and I flexed my scrawny arm and raised a fist: “Now!” Frightened, the obscenely tall and muscular little girl scurried into the bathroom, showered for a minute, and came out with her clothes in the bag, which she put away.

“Now go to sleep, and I’ll be back later to check on you!” I said, as I dressed, left and hurried back across the street. Another incredible adventure! I was already looking forward to the next night.

3.

As darkness fell after yet another long day, my window reconnaissance showed me that there were several people in my next target room, 104. They were not reading or lying still, either; each was in motion on his side of the room, although again I couldn’t see who it was. So tonight would involve multiple jockslave action, I thought. But I had no idea what to expect, since the first two nights had been very different from each other (although equally exciting)! I went across the street and entered the dorm.

Slipping into the room, I surprised the occupants working out with hand weights. I immediately recognized them; they were the Nelson twins, freshmen star gymnasts who were alternates at the last Olympics. They were about 5′6″, with bowl-cut blond hair, well-built smooth upper bodies and nicely muscled legs with a bit of downy blond fuzz. As they looked up, startled, I said the magic phrase, and they went blank, stripped, dropped on all fours, and became Mop and Flop, two naughty little puppies who couldn’t keep their noses and tongues out of anything. And their favorite place to stick those cute little noses and tongues was a butt—each other’s or mine.

They were feeling very playful, with their imaginary tails wagging constantly. At one point Mop jumped on me, pinning me down with his powerful arms while he licked my face all over. Meanwhile, Flop was sniffing and licking Mop’s doggie butt, getting it ready for his perky 6″ cock. He then proceeded to take Mop doggie-style, while Mop yelped in delight.

When Flop was done, the hypnozonked gymnast-puppy pulled out and demonstrated one of the benefits of his flexible worked-out little bod: he rolled over, raised one leg, and proceeded to clean his cock off with his tongue. I was finally over the top and was so horned that I had to do something. I grabbed Flop, positioned him on his hands and knees, and took HIM the way he had taken Mop. Meanwhile, Mop came over and started to work my ass with his nose followed by his tongue. It wasn’t too long before I was pumping load after load into Flop’s ass.

Exhausted, I climbed into their lounge chair and lay back. Both of them came over and began to sniff and lick my feet—my size 13s took their cute little tongues awhile to get around. Then they curled up contentedly at my feet and dozed off.

Both Mop and Flop were covered with cum and sweat. I knew I had to clean them up so there wouldn’t be any obvious evidence of the incredibly hot session we had just had. I woke each up in turn and dragged them into their bathroom and into the shower, where I had to soap and rinse their muscular chests and asses. They weren’t very cooperative—they kept trying to shake the water off as I washed them—but eventually I got the job done. When I dried them off and brought them back into the room, they immediately fell asleep again at the base of the chair. I sat down to contemplate what had just happened.

As I sat there stroking their hair and faces with my feet, I longed for the day when I could buy them each a collar and leash and lead them around the dorm naked, or even the campus. Of course, they would be straining at the leash to sniff every butt and pair of shoes they could get to. Bad puppies!

4.

The second floor rooms had their own joys. There was the room with the two tall, lean senior swimmers who dropped to the floor and became Sssssteve and Sssssam, snake boys with obscenely long tongues who slithered across the floor on their lean stomachs and knew how to use their prodigious tongues all sorts of ways. Then there was the room with our star sophomore quarterback, blond hair and blue eyes and all “Aw shucks”, who could be regressed back to any age, including early ones where he liked to put everything in his mouth, and later preteen ones where he thought I was his much older brother and completely believed everything I told him about the facts of life. There was the room with the super macho, deep-voiced, dark-haired, trimly muscled 180-pound-class wrestler, who on command helplessly became the most mincing, effeminate fag you ever saw, still constantly cursing and badmouthing gays even while he desperately tried get me to fuck him. I could just guess why he had been selected for this role.

But something different was waiting for me on the third floor...