The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I hadn’t meant to get hypnotized.

At our camp, most campers stayed for only one week, so the stage acts repeated every week. Every Wednesday, we had a hypnotist. I had attended several shows. They were very funny. I enjoyed watching the fun on stage. I never intended to volunteer.

But one evening, when the hypnosis “subjects” put their hands in the air—I was surprised to find that my hand was up in the air, too.

I went up on stage and joined the fun. I wasn’t certain what was happening half the time, but the audience seemed to laugh and have a good time.

At the end, the hypnotist woke us and there was applause.

After that, I went to the hypnosis show every Wednesday. Almost every Wednesday I went up on stage.

Weeks after that first show, I was walking down the hill, when I encountered one of the guests. It was James.

James was an interesting fellow. Most guests stayed at camp for only one week, sometimes two weeks; James had booked a cabin for the entire summer season. He owned his own business, so he could afford to be missing from work for weeks at a time. Several times during the summer, he had to go back to the city to work for a couple of days.

I had asked him for career advice a couple of times. My college major would fit nicely into his company. I was planning on asking him for a job in the last weeks of the summer season.

Once, in the middle of the summer, he had flown off to speak at a professional conference. He had practiced his conference speech on me. Because what I was studying at college, I understood most of his speech. I asked a couple of questions and gave him a couple of ideas. Mostly, I admired the way he spoke.

James had made a couple of passes at me. I was flattered, but I was straight.

James had seen me on stage during one of the hypnosis shows. He had a hundred questions, “What did it feel like? What do you remember? How did you feel afterwards? Did you notice the audience?”

He went on and on.

Truthfully, I was having difficulty remembering what I had “felt like”. I remember most of what happened, but not how I felt. I wanted to answer his questions, but I simply didn’t remember.

He told me that he was so curious because, many years before, he had studied hypnosis, but had never managed to actually hypnotize anyone. He had several volunteers, several attempts—but never any successes.

James said, “Well. Let’s recreate the evening in your mind. Close your eyes and think about what happened “just like being on stage”.

So, I did.

I closed my eyes and thought about what the hypnotist had said, what had happened, and how I felt.

My breathing slowed.

James said, “Good. Very good. Remember how you felt. Let that feeling return.” And, it did.

James kept talking, I kept remembering. My body became relaxed. I thought of nothing. James parroted some of the phrases that the Wednesday night hypnotist had used. Then James added some new things. New words. New ideas.

James told me that it was “just like being on stage”.

I awoke in the middle of the path. James was smiling, “That was incredible.”

I felt happy. Life was good. I wanted James to hypnotize me again.

I hadn’t meant to get hypnotized.

That evening, after campfire, instead of going back to the staff-village, to visit with coworkers and get some sleep—I found myself walking to James’ cabin. He had one of the nicer cabins—it was small-ish, but it was right on the edge of the lake.

James sat in one of the four Adirondack chairs on the front porch of his cabin, sipping a drink. His cabin had a commanding view of the lake. He seemed completely unsurprised to see me.

Inviting me to sit, he poured me a drink—whisky and ice.

I didn’t drink much, mostly a little beer. I really didn’t like the taste of hard liquor. But he was being polite, so I drank. He described it as a “blended scotch”. It came out of a fancy bottle, I could tell that the scotch was expensive. The ice made the drink more pleasant to drink; cooler anyway.

We talked for a while. He asked me about college. I asked him about his company.

He poured me a second drink, and asked me to remember the hypnosis, “just like being on stage”.

I did the best I could.

I hadn’t meant to get hypnotized.

We moved the conversation inside his cabin. His cabin was one of the nicer cabins—more like a tiny-house. The cabin was 20′ × 30′ [6m × 9m]. The front half was one big room with a sitting area, fireplace, dining table, and mini-kitchen. The back half was a private bathroom and two small bedrooms.

After a bit, I realized that it was a very hot evening. I would be more comfortable without my shirt. James helped me get my shirt off.

I knew that I would be more comfortable without my shoes and socks, but it seemed weird to be barefoot while James sat completely dressed.

James and I talked about my on-again, off-again girlfriend. We also talked about James’ on-again, off-again boyfriend.

I distinctly remember waking up several times. James seemed happy with my company.. I felt better than I had ever felt before.

It was “just like being on stage”.

After than, I spent every evening at James’ cabin. We would talk. Then I would remember the hypnosis.

We’d start with scotch on the porch, then move to the sitting room. I’d remove my shirt. Soon, my shoes and socks would join my shirt. I would be much more comfortable without my pants, but I didn’t want to strip down to my boxers.

The whole thing was easy, “just like being on stage”.

I started to like the taste of the scotch.

After two weeks of this, James had to go back to the city for several days.

I missed him.

James offered his cabin. He said I could drink his scotch and sleep in the 2nd bedroom; which would be much more comfortable than my bunk house. But, I declined. My friends had already noticed that I was out every evening. If I was found in a guest cabin without having the guest there, I could get into trouble—even fired.

He intended to be gone for three nights; it turned out to be five nights.

I missed him.

The evening he returned, I was so happy to see James—I rushed through two glasses of whisky. I practically dragged James into his sitting room, and undressed.

James talked, and my pants quickly joined my shirt, shoes, and socks on the floor.

I stood in my boxers, embracing the hypnosis. Soaked in James’ words.

James asked me personal questions about my girlfriend. Very personal.

In a fog of joy and pleasure, I answered his questions.

I woke. I was naked in front of James. My dick hard. I wanted …

I wasn’t certain what I wanted, but I was happy that I was naked in front of James. James was such a nice guy. He made me happy. He gave me whisky. He welcomed me into his cabin.

I wanted …

I was thinking about how my girlfriend sucked my dick. How she would kneel, and blow me. How she bobbed up and down. How here fingers would cup and stoke my balls. Using her tongue. Stroking my leg.

I was speaking. Not only was I thinking about getting a blowjob … I was narrating.

I woke. James was blowing me. I was thinking of my girlfriend, but I was getting blown by a guy.

I stepped back. My dick slipped out of James’ mouth.

James spoke. I didn’t think about anything.

I woke.

James was so nice. James was a good friend. James was sexy, in his own way. A guy. It was a difficult thing to work out in my head.

James was blowing me.. I wasn’t thinking of my girlfriend.

Very soon, I felt the excitement of an approaching orgasm. Moaning, my hands on James’ head—I began to thrust and tremble.

Shouting, I blew my load down James’ throat.

The next evening was awkward.

I considered staying away from James, but I found myself walking to his cabin after the campfire.

He had the whisky and ice ready.

Halfway through the first whisky, he asked, “Is it so bad? Getting blown, I mean. I could tell. You liked it. It felt good. You can close your eyes if you like, I won’t mind. With your eyes closed, I can be anyone you want.”

I didn’t really have an answer, so I finished my whisky.

Inevitably, James told me to remember. “Just like being on stage.”

I woke.

I was naked. James was shirtless. He was blowing me. I closed my eyes and focused on how he was making me feel, and not who or what he was.

Just like the night before, I blew down his throat.

I must admit. James was right. “It felt good.”

Several mornings later, I woke in James’ bed. Instead of going back to my bunkhouse the previous night, I had spent the night in James’s cabin. I don’t remember deciding to stay. I just woke up there.

It felt nice—a warm body to curl up to. Both of us naked.

Not to mention that James’ big bed was a lot more comfortable than my narrow bunk in a bunkhouse—listening to twenty-three other guys, snoring.

But, the sun was coming up, and I was going to be in trouble if I missed staff-breakfast and morning notes. Technically, I was in trouble for not being in my bunkhouse last night—but, in practice, no one got yelled at for “sleeping out”.

James rolled over, “Come back here. Breakfast isn’t for two hours.”

I laughed, “For you, breakfast is in a two hours. For me, staff-breakfast is in 60 minutes.”

Briefly, I considered kissing James.

Then I was out the door.

All day, I wondered what it would be like to suck a dick.

It was a weird thought. I had never considered sucking a dick before. It wasn’t something I had ever considered. Suddenly, I wanted to know. Needed to know. Would it be as good as getting blown? Would James let me suck him? I thought that he would. I wasn’t certain, but I thought that he might.

That evening, we sipped our first whisky slowly, watching the moon’s reflection ripple on the lake. We drank the second whiskey inside. I was naked, of course. James stood there … expectantly. I pulled down his pants. There was his dick, hard and ready.

I had never seen his dick before. Even when we had woken up together naked—I hadn’t seen his dick. I hadn’t seen a lot of hard dicks before, but he had a nice one—uncut and big.

I draped my fingers across his dick, my fingers tracing the pattern of veins along his shaft. I pushed his foreskin back, revealing his knob. He gave a sharp inhale, apparently, he liked it when I touched him.

I knelt, and slipped his dick into my mouth.

It was wonderful. You would have thought that it would be awful, but it wasn’t. I quickly found his sensitive spots. First, I was enjoying having a dick in my mouth—then I focused on making James feel good.

I wondered how I was doing. This was my first dick.

He didn’t exactly moan. It was more like a purr—a rumble from the back of his throat.

As I bobbed, his fingers went through my hair. Looking up, I saw him staring blankly. One of his hands encouraged my bobbing and set the tempo. The other hand was holding his glass. As I watched, he smiled down at me—sipping his whisky.

James said one word, “Nice.”

He finished his drink, and set the glass on a table.

He took control of my head with both hands. The tempo increased. The intensity increased. No longer was I bobbing on him; he was fucking my face. He was using my body. I was along for the ride. For the first time ever, I saw James’ sex face. Intense. Animal.

He didn’t keep me waiting. Snarling and shouting, he came in my mouth.

I did the best I could; but I couldn’t swallow his load. I swallowed a little; but most of his jizz splashed down my chest.

He kissed me. Aggressively. Possessively.

Snatching me up, he took me to his bathroom.

The small bathroom had a tiny shower. Not designed for two people, we both managed to get inside. He washed me. Starting by rinsing his cum off my chest, he continued by washing my hair, scrubbing my entire body, then washing my dick. He was very thorough while washing my dick. He washed and washed and washed. He scrubbed my dick until I shouted and squirted. Then he needed to wash my chest again. Which started the entire process all over.

The whole experience was very nice. Running out of hot water forced us out.

I decided to sleep in James’ bed, setting an alarm this time.

Every evening was a repeat of sucking his dick.

Each time, it was better. Each time, I was more enthusiastic.

He would position me, and fuck my mouth—on the bed, on the kitchen table, on the carpet, against the stone fireplace, where ever he felt like it.

I learned how to swallow.

A week later, on his porch, I was upset.

We finished our first whisky. Instead of moving inside, I waved my glass. James gave me a look and refilled my glass.

James asked, “Anything wrong?”

I said, “I need some advice.”

James sighed and refilled his glass. He took a big sip and said, “Go ahead.”

I asked, “You remember my on-again, off-again girlfriend?”

James nodded, “We haven’t talked about her much—but, yes. I remember.”

I mumbled, “She emailed me.”

James didn’t say anything. He just made a questioning sound, Hmmm?.

I went on, “She wants to visit me. She’s lonely.. She’s sorry. She wants to get back together.” I petered off.

James considered for a minute, “What’s she sorry for?”

I answered, “Our original plan was for her to get a camp job up here; the two of us working the entire summer season together. I vouched for her, but she ghosted. And, while I was up here working, and she was in town—she never responded to any of my messages. Then she carried on with a couple of guys, one of them a good friend of mine.”

James spoke calmly, but I could tell that he was upset, maybe a little mad, “What you’re telling me, is that she: lied, bailed, ghosted, cheated, ignored, then cheated again.” He took a big sip of his whisky, “I’ve never met her, so I don’t know her personally—but I can guarantee that in the future, she will: lie, bail, ghost, cheat, ignore, and cheat again. People don’t change.. This person is trouble.”

I looked glumly at the porch decking, “She’s very nice … when she’s being nice. Mostly she ignores me.”

James looked up sharply, “She wants something from you.”

I didn’t answer.

James was incredulous, “Does she want a job here!?”

I nodded.

James shook his head, “She would get herself fired in three days, and drag you down with her.”

He sighed, “Tell her that you are dating someone else. When she asks ‘who’—and she will—tell her ‘it’s none of you business’. This girl is trouble. ‘Trouble on the hoof’.”

James changed the subject, “Look. There is another month until the end of the season. When the camp closes for the season … I go back to work, you go back to college. I want …”

He hesitated. I had never seen him “unsure” before. He went on in a big rush, as if he was afraid to stop, “… I want you to work for me part-time while you are in college. I want you to work for me full-time when you graduate. I want you to … move into my house.”

I was surprised, “Like a … what? Boyfriend?”

He looked me straight in the eye, “Exactly. I want you to be my boyfriend.”

I laughed, “I’m not gay. I don’t …” I stopped. Wait a minute, what was going on? I stood up. What have I been doing? What have the two of us been doing for the past two months?

I panicked. Jumping up, I ran down the steps. From the dirt path, I turned and gawked back at James.

James said something. Something important. Something wonderful.

I was naked.

We had barely made it inside the front door of his cabin. We were both naked. My ass was up in the air. Both his hands held the left side of my head. My right ear was being pressed into the carpet. He bore down, pinning my head with his hands, pinning my ass with his thrusting.

James was fucking me. His dick went inside of me. In my ass. It was good. It was great. I had assumed that getting fucked for the first time would hurt, but it didn’t. It was fine. It was great. He pounded away.

My right arm was outstretched, flat on the carpet—bracing myself against his thrusting. My face was ground into the carpet. My left hand was frantically stroking my dick.

I glanced up at him. His face was an animal mask of need. There was no rational thought. Only physicality. Pumping. Pounding.

I was worked up, too. We were both on the brink of cumming.

When he came, I would cum too. It would be simultaneous. A performance. It was “just like being on stage”.

Soon. Very soon.

I had never felt so good.

We came together. He filled a condom. I squirted on my legs and the carpet.

We slept in his bed. Naked and cuddling. Comfortable in each other’s arms.

The next day—I called my on-again, off-again girlfriend. I told her that the camp wouldn’t hire someone this late in the season—which was sort-of true. I told her since she ghosted a job when I had given her a recommendation, I couldn’t recommend her for a job again—which made her angry.

I said, “After you dumped me, I started dating someone.” She immediately demanded to know who it was (just like James had said she would). I told her ‘It’s none of you business’—which made her furious.

I paraphrased James, “You have ‘lied, bailed, ghosted, cheated, ignored, then cheated again.’ I can’t trust you.”. She hung up on me.

I never spoke to her again.

At the end of the summer, I went back to college. I worked for James part-time. When I graduated, I worked for James full-time. I moved into his house. He is my boyfriend. I am wildly happy.

“Just like being on stage”.