The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Trace’s first thought when he awoke to his phone chirping at five a.m., like every day, and reached to shut it off was, Never woulda taken the lifeguard job if I’d known they were gonna give me the early shift! This was immediately followed by, Holy shit!—I’m naked!—And Curt’s in bed with me!—And he’s naked too!

Trace climbed slowly from the bed, not wanting to disturb Curt, who made a vague grumbling as the bed moved but didn’t wake. Trace shook his head and grinned—He can sleep through anything.

Last night was a blur. As he stood there beside the bed and scratched his free-swinging balls, he remembered the video game marathon, just like they used to do before Curt went off to college. He remembered Curt had started stripping down, and he’d done the same, because he liked mimicking his older brother and because he didn’t want Curt to think he was still some shy hick-town kid anymore. He remembered trying every trick he could think of to get Curt horny enough to jack off with him, and Curt saying that was kid stuff. And he remembered Curt said something about showing him something that would something-something-something, only he probably wouldn’t remember it later. What the fuck was it? Curt had been right—the memory was just gone. Not hazy or jumbled, like all the facts Trace had cram-memorized in school for history tests, but just not there.

What had Curt shown him? What had they done? Trace took stock. His asshole burned, his cock and balls felt heavy and spent, and he had what looked like dried cum on his chest, and all he knew absolutely for sure was he’d had the best orgasm of his life. Fuck, yeah! He’d had sex! Real sex!—Not just that jack-off shit; that shit was for kids—Curt had said so. They’d had sex, and the burning in his ass was proof he’d gotten fucked. Curt had taken his cherry, and now Trace was a man. Yeah! About damn time! Now, thanks to Curt, Trace wasn’t a kid anymore; he was a real man ready for college, ready for more real sex, and he couldn’t wait for it to happen again. He was already horny again. Was this what adult sex was like?—A deep itch that needed to be scratched, and scratched, and scratched? He just wished he could remember everything they’d done. Heck, maybe he could wake Curt up right now and they’d do it all again? This time Trace would remember every moment for sure!

No, no time. Trace had just enough time to get dressed and get to the gym for his shift. More sex would have to wait. He grabbed a fresh pair of white briefs, pulled it on. Baggy red lifeguard shorts. Sneakers. White T-shirt with Guard written in red across the chest and the back. His backpack. Reached for his phone and keys.

What’s that? Some little metal disk on the bedside table next to his phone? What the fuck was it? Was that what Curt had shown him? No time to think about that now. He’d take it along, maybe study it later. Trace swept up the disk along with his phone and shoved both items in his backpack and crept out the door to not disturb Curt.

His shift ended at noon. Finally! Trace burst from the gym into the hot summer sunshine and sprinted to the rack where his bicycle was chained.

Just thinking about what he and Curt did last night—or imagining what they probably did, if only he could remember—had Trace kept horny as hell all morning, the lingering soreness in his ass a constant reminder, and his tingling balls and semi-hard cock had been significant distractions. Dammit! He had been a man for less than twelve hours, and he was already desperate to do it all again.

The bike ride home normally took about fifteen minutes, but if he pedaled extra-hard, maybe he could make it in ten? His parents wouldn’t be home for hours. That left plenty of time for Trace to get home and seduce Curt into an afternoon of sex that this time he’d surely remember. But even if Curt wasn’t home, Trace’s balls needed relief, so no Curt would mean he’d have to call one of his buddies to meet up and swap hand-jobs, or maybe do more if Trace could convince him—or if no one was available, Trace would have to spend a good chunk of the afternoon jacking off like usual. His cock and balls needed relief and he couldn’t be particular!

The moment he mounted his bike, the erection he had been staving off all morning hit, and his cock was almost painfully hard in his shorts. His legs pumping the pedals caused a friction on his cock that was both wonderful and torment. Halfway home, coming up on an abandoned gas station he and his friends sometimes used as a hideout for privacy and jerking off together, Trace had decided the horniness was too much. He needed release right then and there. Maybe he’d just stop in, pump off a quick load, and then head home. Yeah, that sounded good: he’d relieve his balls and take the edge off, so he’d last longer when he got home and got Curt naked and into bed. Genius! he congratulated himself.

He pulled around back of the derelict gas station, left his bike leaned against the wall, and crept through the door with the busted lock. The dusty interior looked exactly like it had last time he was there, a week ago, so probably no one had been there since.

Trace was sweaty from pedaling, decided he’d better take a shower as soon as he got home. Unless Curt liked sweaty guys? Or maybe he could get Curt naked and pull him into the shower too for shower sex? Fuck!—Now Trace really needed to jack off!

He shrugged off his backpack. Shorts and briefs pushed down to his ankles. Shirt tugged up to his nipples. No need to get naked just for a quick relief-jack; just needed the essentials freed. His free-swinging cock bobbed in the musty heat. He knelt next to the ancient mattress someone had dragged into the gas station long ago and he rummaged in his pack, wanting his phone so he could watch a favorite porn video while he stroked. He knew he was almost too excited already, but that was fine; this stroke-off was just a quick stress reliever. Porn always made jacking-off hotter—and now he needed to gather some ideas to try out with Curt.

Where the fuck was his phone? He didn’t have a lot of stuff in his pack, but somehow his phone always seemed to end up at the bottom, hidden under everything else. Ah, there it was! And what was this? Oh, right—that dumb little metal slug he’d found on his bedside table—he’d meant to examine it during his break at work but hadn’t had the time. He looked at it in his palm. It was just a plain disk, didn’t look like anything remarkable. So what was Curt doing with it? And, wait—did he just feel it move a little ...

Trace took a deep breath. Somehow, the world had just ... gone away for a while. What the fuck had happened? His legs were sore from kneeling. His cock had gone soft from inactivity. The sunlight through the dusty windows had a different angle. He checked his phone. Two hours later than he thought? What the fuck happened and where had all that time gone? Why couldn’t he remember what happened—for two whole hours? Was this little disk-thingee somehow responsible?

Spooked, Trace wasn’t horny any longer. Now he needed to get home to talk to Curt for a different reason. Curt would explain everything.

Then they’d have sex.

Arriving home, Trace stashed his bike in the usual spot. He eased the front door open, entered, and closed it quietly behind himself. Maybe he could sneak upstairs, catch Curt naked and ready to be seduced, maybe even waiting for Trace and stroking a little already. Trace’s stomach rumbled. Detour by the kitchen for a quick snack? No!—Sex first! Priorities!

He crept up the stairs, careful to avoid the well-known spots that squeaked. As he neared the bedroom door, he heard voices, not even bothering to whisper, probably thinking they were alone. Curt and whoever he was talking to didn’t seem angry, not exactly, but they did sound frustrated with each other. Something about it being a problem, and their coach being pissed with them when he found out, and how they had to tell him it was missing. Trace wondered what this it might be, and he edged closer to the quarter-open bedroom door.

The door made a noise and Curt’s buddy Diego turned in his direction. At first Diego didn’t look happy to see Trace wide-eyed in the doorway, but then he smiled knowingly. “Hey, squirt,” he practically purred. “How’s it going? C’mon in. Me and Curt were just having a conversation.”

Diego and Curt were standing in the bedroom. They were both stripped to their underwear, identical blue backless briefs—which made sense to Trace—team underwear, Curt had called it, so naturally they both wore them since they were both on the swim team, but why had they stripped to their undies? Had he interrupted them about to jack off together? The Latino stud looked almost exactly like his brother, Trace’s friend Berto, and if this was what Berto was going to look like in two more years, wow! Trace tried inconspicuously to memorize Diego’s nearly bare body—the muscular chest, flat stomach, strong thighs—but he couldn’t help but stare at the large bulge in the crotch. Holy crap! Was that real? Was he hung as big as his brother Berto?—Bigger?

Trace yanked his gaze upward. Shit! Diego had definitely caught him checking out his crotch! “Uh ... Uh ...,” Trace heard himself stammering. Was Diego’s underwear pouch getting even bigger?

Diego’s knowing smile took on an unreadable slant. “Let’s see how the training’s going.”

Which didn’t make sense to Trace, but he had walked in during their conversation—maybe this was what they were discussing before?

Diego turned back to Trace and said, “Okay, squirt, let’s see your dedication to the team. Strip.”

Strip? Well, they were in their underwear. Maybe this was a swim team thing? Or was Diego inviting him to strip down and join them for jacking off or maybe even sex? A three-away? Cool! Trace had just become a man and already he was about to have his first three-way! Trace rushed out of his lifeguard shirt, toed his way out of his sneakers at the same time and nearly fell over. He shoved down his shorts and stood before Diego in his underwear. Trace’s cock was getting hard quickly, and that was perfect, because he was pretty sure Diego was hard too, and they were about to—

“Eager little fucker, aren’t you, squirt? Good enthusiasm,” Diego appraised. “But I said ‘strip’—all the way.”

Was this just a way to get him naked? Or some kind of dare, like a game of chicken?—Guys testing each others’ limits to see who’d be the first to blink? Well, Trace would show his brother and Diego he wasn’t a chickenshit kid. He was a man now! If they wanted to use a game to justify getting naked, Trace would show them he wasn’t afraid and played to win. He zipped his briefs down and stood up, naked, his erection bouncing out in front of him, practically daring them to look.

“Not bad,” Diego said. Trace thought Diego meant to sound casual but he was sure he heard sparks of horniness in the older swimmer’s voice. Yeah, Trace’s friends sounded the same way sometimes, when they were showing off their erections like it was no big deal and trying to disguise how much they wanted to jack off together. Trace could play this game too, and he was going to win!

“Kneel,” Diego ordered, pointing to the floor in front of his feet. When Trace hesitated, “Kneel,” Diego repeated more forcefully.

Trace went to his knees approximately where Diego had pointed. The position put his face uncomfortably close to Diego’s crotch. Surely the older swimmer wasn’t going to—

Diego hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs and pushed them down enough. His cock sprang out. “Lick it.”

Trace stared at the stiff cock directly in front of him. He had seen about eight, maybe ten, hard-ons in real life—his jack-off friends, teammates throwing awkward rods in the showers or locker room—and lots more in porn videos. Diego’s was big, not the biggest he’d seen in porn but definitely the biggest he’d seen in real life. And Diego had just said to lick it? Surely he wasn’t going to make Trace suck something that big? How would he ever fit it in his mouth?

Licking didn’t seem so bad, though, so Trace stuck out his tongue. The first contact—his tongue against the skin of Diego’s shaft halfway along—surprised him. He had expected the skin to feel more like licking an arm or something, hadn’t expected it to feel so silky, hadn’t expected the way it moved over the hard shaft it covered, like velvet cloth wrapped over an iron rod. And the taste wasn’t like licking an arm at all; salty, yes, but the skin here tasted muskier and completely different. Trace slid the flat of his tongue along Diego’s shaft. The taste wasn’t bad; he could get used to it. Plus, he wanted to prove to Diego—Curt too—that he wasn’t a chickenshit and wasn’t going to let a stiff cock intimidate him into losing this game. Besides, while he would have preferred doing this to Curt, Diego was hot-looking too, and Trace wanted to do this, wanted to learn, so he could do a good job when he got Curt’s cock in his mouth, hopefully soon.

Trace fluttered the tip of his tongue into Diego’s gapping cum-hole, imitating what he had seen in porn videos. Diego moaned, and Trace felt oddly encouraged to try more, go further. He lapped around the thick curbing of flesh around the glans, then opened his jaw as far as he could and took the older stud’s plum-shaped flange into his mouth. Seeing that cock-head in front of him and feeling it bumping around in his craw were different situations, and Trace gagged a little from the size of it, but soon he had all of the head and a third of the shaft down his greedy throat.

Trace hoped he was a quick study. Porn made cock-sucking look so easy, the way one actor would say I’ve never done this before and then immediately glomp the other actor’s bigger-than-average cock all the way down to the root. Trace figured out quickly that he couldn’t go that far that fast, not on a large-ish cock like Diego’s. Porn provided the ideas, but Trace would have to figure out the methods himself.

Okay, so a third of the shaft was all he could handle. Maybe that would be enough? He could use his hand to stroke the rest. Trace separated his mouth from Diego’s cock and returned to flicking the tip of his tongue around the older youth’s piss-slit. Then he swabbed the crown with saliva before returning it to his throat. He felt Diego’s hands rest on his skull, holding his head in place, and then Diego’s hips began to move—slow, shallow strokes that stopped just short of Trace’s gag reflex. He’s fucking my face! Trace exulted, deciding he kind-of liked this. All he had to do was focus on how to use his lips to protect the shaft from his teeth, flatten his tongue, and try not to gag. He was doing this!

“Yeah, horny little fucker.” Diego seemed to be sensing Trace’s comfort level. Just as Trace began to adjust to Diego’s thrusts, the older swimmer would increase the depth just a little, his hips picking up speed just a little too. Trace tried to pull back a time or two, but Diego’s grip held his head in place, forcing Trace to get used to what was happening, which somehow he did.

When Diego abruptly pulled his cock from Trace’s mouth, Trace tried to pursue it, but Diego’s hands on his head prevented motion. Diego jacked himself with one hand—quick, efficient strokes—while his other stayed on Trace’s head. Diego moaned, “Fuck—gonna cum,” and his body shuddered, and Trace saw the first bolt of cum jet out of Diego’s cock. It slapped across Trace’s cheek, hot as lava, and the second tagged the corner of his mouth, and the third hit his neck.

Diego stepped back, grinning unreadably down at Trace. “Taste my cum,” Diego said.

Trace sent his tentative tongue to the corner of his mouth for a bit of Diego’s load. Salty, a little bitter; not a flavor Trace would go looking for, but he figured he could get used to it.

“His cock-sucking skills need some work,” Diego said, apparently to scowling Curt, “but he’s got the team spirit. You got him well on the way.” To Trace again, Diego said, “Okay, squirt, you can jack off now.”

Trace had been hoping for a reciprocal blow-job, but mention of jacking off reminded him of his forgotten erection bouncing between his spread thighs. He couldn’t wait any longer—needed to get off now! He fisted his rod and pumped at it enthusiastically. He didn’t care that Diego and Curt were watching. He had to shoot off and fast!

The beginning hit him after barely ten fast strokes, a sudden buzz in his cock and balls and then a flash: orgasm—a hard explosion of mind-numbing, face-scrunching pleasure that took over his existence for a while.

When Trace’s climax started to fade, leaving him kneeling on the floor, sweaty and panting and still stained with Diego’s cum, Diego himself had left. Trace stayed where he was and looked up at Curt.

His underwear-clad brother eyed him with an evaluating stare. “You did good. Better than I expected. But one time with the artifact wouldn’t have done all that. You wanted to do it. Did you like sucking his cock?“

“I ... Uh, I guess—kind of. Is that all right?” Still orgasm-dazed, Trace wondered whether he was in trouble. He’d thought they were going to have a three-way, but Diego had left and Curt didn’t sound happy, not at all. Had Trace misjudged the situation? And what was this artifact Curt mentioned?

“It’s fine, squirt. Maybe better than fine. Makes things a lot easier, in a way.” He sauntered closer. “But you’ve got some explaining to do. We nearly tore the room apart looking for it. You took it, didn’t you?”

Took what? The artifact he’d mentioned, maybe? What the hell could Trace have taken?

Realization dawned on him. “Wait—!”

His backpack—where had his left his backpack? Downstairs? No, there it was by the door where he’d left his clothes. Trace scuttled over on his hands and knees and grabbed his pack. He dug inside. Phone ... spare charger ... the little bottle of jack-off lube ... a condom he carried just in case ... Where the fuck had it gotten to?

There it was!

He held up the little coin disk-thingee? “You mean this?”

“That’s it,” Curt grumbled as he snatched the artifact from Trace’s fingers. “Diego thinks I lost it. Don’t worry—I didn’t say anything about you probably taking it. No one’s supposed to know about this thing.”

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to look at it. I’ve just been so horny all day, and, uh—”

“That’s what it does—keeps you horny all the time, and makes you crave how it makes you feel. I think maybe it’s addictive.”

“Huh?”

Curt looked at the artifact, raised an eyebrow. “Heh. I think it likes you, squirt. Think you can cum again?”

“Fuck, yeah!” Trace gushed, wanting to taste his brother’s cock and cum, compare it to Diego’s, wanting even more to bury his cock in Curt’s throat too and fuck his face like Diego had fucked his.

Curt smirked. “Good answer.” He held his upturned palm down, the artifact opening in the center, where Trace could see it. “Just look deeply into it.”

And for Trace, the world just went away again ...