The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Berto woke up and blinked at the sunlight. He stretched and yawned. He felt both rested and tired. That was something new since Diego’s return from college four days ago. Since Diego arrived, Berto had woken up feeling mentally as if he had slept well, but he was also somehow physically exhausted, his muscles feeling stretched and sore, as if during the night his body had been forced into unfamiliar poses. This morning his jaw ached, just like it had the past couple of days, though the soreness was less, as if his body was getting used to whatever the cause. And now his asshole burned a little, which was also new.

Berto pushed back the sheet, sat up, yawned again, stretched again. Naked again? Ever since Diego came home from college, Berto found he had started sleeping naked, instead of in his briefs like usual. He didn’t remember going to bed naked—but then he didn’t remember going to bed at all. The last thing he remembered last night was being in the bathroom, doing his nighttime rituals. He was at the sink, shoes off but shirt and shorts still on, brushing his teeth, while Diego stood in nothing but those weird open-assed team briefs at the toilet, pissing. Berto had seen Diego in his underwear or even naked lots of times growing up, but he’d never really looked closely at Diego’s body, not the way he was looking now, appraising it in the mirror.

Leaning forward, spitting out the last of the toothpaste, last night Berto had surprised himself by being brave enough to tilt his head to get a better look openly at the profile of Diego’s cock. Diego’d caught him peeking, of course, but didn’t get angry. Instead, as he shook off the last few drops of piss and reached for the flush-lever, Diego smiled knowingly and turned his hips and torso toward Berto, as if displaying his soft meat to him. As Berto looked, Diego’s cock started to thicken, lengthen. “Like what you see, kid?” Diego had said, using his old nickname for Berto. “It’s not fair, me being the only one showing off his cock, is it? I want to see yours too. Strip, kid.” And Berto surprised himself again by quickly wrestling off his T-shirt and shucking out of his shorts and underwear and standing stark naked in front of his brother, like he needed Diego’s appraisal and praise. And Berto’s cock had started to get hard too. The act felt mischievous, like calling his brother’s bluff during a dare, and not at all shameful. Unlike just a few days ago, when Berto would’ve been mortified if Diego saw him with a hard-on, this time Berto felt proud to have pleased his older brother, and he basked in Diego’s approving smile.

Diego had him make a bicep, and he felt Berto’s muscle. Diego rubbed his hand over Berto’s shoulder, then across his chest, seemed pleased with the catalog of Berto’s swim-toned muscles. And then Diego lifted his other hand, and there was some glow of pink and gold, and the next thing Berto knew, he was waking up in bed.

He grabbed his phone from the bedside table, checked the time. Nearly ten o’clock. Ugh. He had really slept late, missed his morning jog and his morning swim. By now, Diego and Dad were long gone on their drive to do some errands. Berto would have liked to tag along; he didn’t like the long trips for running errands, but he wanted to be near Diego as much as possible. Oh, well, a skip day on the gym work wouldn’t hurt—and Diego and his dad would be home tonight.

Berto flexed his shoulders and stood up. Time to get on with the day.

Yesterday’s clothes dumped on the floor? This was another new post-Diego’s-return development. Berto wasn’t a neat-freak, not at all, but he didn’t usually leave discarded clothing all over the floor. He bent and picked a pair of shorts—these were the shorts Diego had worn yesterday. If he couldn’t be with Diego physically, maybe wearing his shorts would be good enough, like a reminder of his brother or something, the new devotion Berto felt toward him.

Diego’s underwear from yesterday, the fancy team briefs, was gone. Berto pulled a fresh pair of his own basic white briefs out of the drawer. He didn’t have any fancy blue backless ones like Diego’s team underwear. But maybe ...

Berto got the scissors from the nightstand drawer. He carefully snipped at the briefs, cutting along the seams, cutting away the back panel, leaving intact the elastic waistband and the seams at the leg openings that went around the thighs. Soon he had something that looked like briefs from the front, and a jock-strap from the back. A clumsy imitation of Diego’s team underwear, but close enough. He hoped Diego would be impressed by the effort.

He stepped into the underwear. Wearing the modified pair felt strange, but maybe Berto just wasn’t used to his butt hanging out like that. He stepped into Diego’s shorts. Better. The difference felt less noticeable.

Berto rubbed his cock through the shorts. He felt something small and hard in one of the pockets alongside his stretching shaft. What had Diego left there? From the pocket he pulled a small disk, some dull metal, looked old, a little larger than a coin, a size that sat comfortably in Berto’s palm, and seemed to have once had a pattern etched on it, nearly worn away. The disk wasn’t a coin, had no obvious reason or purpose. Some sort of keepsake or good-luck token, perhaps? Whatever, Berto decided, and slid the object back into the shorts pocket. He had more pressing needs to take care of, specifically his full morning bladder.

He shuffled across the hall to the bathroom and pissed. Ahh! Nothing like that first piss in the morning, his body relaxed, cock still maybe a little morning-wooded and sensitive. Did all guys feel this good when they took their first piss in the morning?

Finished and flushed, Berto paused to appraise his shirtless look in the bathroom mirror. Yeah, swimming had given him a great body, and Diego seemed impressed by all his efforts. Berto knew he looked good, but somehow in the last few days getting Diego’s approval had become significantly more important to him, almost the way in high school he had needed—craved—his hero-coach’s validation. Well, he wasn’t in high school anymore, Berto chided himself. In just a couple of months he would be going to college, on the swim team with Diego, hanging out with him whenever he wanted. Yeah, maybe hanging out shirtless together—comparing chests and biceps—even jacking off together like Trace had suggested, or licking—

Wait. Why was he thinking of jacking or sucking off his brother? A few days ago, that first night home, Diego had said something about jacking off with the swim team, with his friend Curt ... Somehow just the thought seemed both scandalous and sexy. How would the team do it?—In the showers, naked bodies crowded together and jostling each other under the spray?—Or in the locker area?—Or even in the pool itself, where the water surrounded their hard-ons and added to the sensations? Just the thought of his naked future teammates, maybe even Diego himself, nudging bare-assed into him as they stroked off together seemed not just sexy but sexual—not just an abstract action

he might have thought about one or twice but something he now wanted very much to do—and Berto felt his cock begin to chub in his shorts—Diego’s shorts—

Ding-ding!

The doorbell? Who the fuck—!

Berto stuck his head out into the hallway and listened. Diego and Dad were away for the day. He didn’t hear his mother walking to the door—maybe she was out too, doing her own weekend errands? Berto sighed and willed his cock to go down and headed downstairs to answer the door.

“Hey, Berto!” Curt said when Berto opened the door. Curt was Trace’s older brother, Diego’s best friend, and Berto’s soon-to-be swim teammate once college started. Curt gave Berto’s shorts-clad body a quick up-and-down appraisal. “Looking good! How’s summer treating you?”

“So far so good,” Berto answered, trying to ignore the way Curt’s glance made him feel, like he was too vulnerable, too much on display—an odd reaction, Berto thought, since he was used to parading around in front of teammates and spectators while wearing an even more revealing swimsuit. But his teammates and spectators had never looked at him like he was a piece of meat—

“Diego around?”

“No, he and Dad left a couple hours ago. Won’t be back ’til tonight, I think.”

“Oh? Damn, I guess I missed him,” Curt replied, not sounding surprised at all. “Listen, I came over to borrow something from him. I bet it’s up in his bedroom. You mind if I go look?”

Berto knew Diego and Curt were close friends and loaned each other stuff all the time. Surely whatever Curt wanted to borrow would be all right? “I guess that’s okay,” Berto began.

“Great!” Curt was already sliding past him and heading for the stairs.

By the time Berto got the front door closed and hurried up to his bedroom too, Curt had the ventilation grate in the floor open and was feeling around inside, around the curve of the ductwork. That was the supposedly top-secret hiding spot where, before college, Diego used to keep the thumb drive loaded with big-titted porn that he didn’t want his parents, or Berto, to find out about. Made sense that Curt would know where Diego kept his hidden stashes, and Berto again remembered what Diego had said about the two of them jerking off together. “What are you looking for?” Berto asked as he reached for a T-shirt, hoping to feel less exposed around Curt—Curt was Diego’s friend and Trace’s brother, but Berto didn’t know him too well.

“You don’t have to get dressed on my account,” Curt said. Giving up on the air duct, he extracted his arm, replaced the floor grate. He then went to a drawer that was another of Diego’s old hiding spots.

Which meant, whatever Curt was after, it must have been something super-secret, something Diego didn’t want anyone to know about. Berto couldn’t decide whether to be intrigued about possibly learning another of Diego’s secrets or annoyed because Curt was going through Diego’s shit. Berto reached for his phone on the nightstand. “I’ll call Diego and ask where whatever you’re looking for is.”

“No, don’t interrupt him. I know he was looking forward to spending some time with your dad,” Curt said, casually moving between Berto and the nightstand, blocking in a way that kind of annoyed Berto. “But maybe you’ve seen it? It’s, uh, small, metal, about this big around.” Curt held his index finger and thumb in a circle roughly the same size as—

“Oh! You mean this?” Berto stuck his hand in the shorts pocket, retrieved the disk, held it up. “This it?”

Curt grinned. “That’s it!” And before Berto could react, Curt quickly plucked it from his fingers, which really-really annoyed the youth.

“What is it?”

“Hasn’t Diego told you about this?” Curt placed it flat on his palm. “It’s really old and kind of special ...”

Berto woke and stretched. He was lying on his bed, bare-chested, wearing just his shorts—Diego’s shorts. Hadn’t he put on a shirt earlier?—No matter. He must have been tired, must have laid down for a nap—yeah, that was it—though he didn’t remember the particulars. Didn’t remember Curt leaving either, but he wasn’t here anymore. Berto sat up. His jaw really ached now, but it was somehow a good ache, satisfying, and echoed by a heavy, spent feeling in his cock and balls. His ever-present horniness definitely felt blunted, at least for now.

Berto yawned and reached for his phone. Just past noon. Damn. Definitely time to get up and get moving. He’d slept a good chunk of the day away.