The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Seated over the bed that was to be his for the weekend, his legs stretched before him, his knees half-bent, Sebastian masturbated. Through the window, he was gazing at his brother’s friend Dalton, who was strolling back and forth, aimlessly, on the shore of Lake Mershims. Sebastian would celebrate his sixteenth birthday that Sunday, and yet the signs of his puberty were only beginning to show. His shorts and boxers down to his ankles, his dick and balls displayed like miniature toys under a few speckles of pubes, he stroked his half-hard dick with two fingers, impatient for yet another of those dry spasms he got instead of the real wet ejaculations his friends at school were, a few years before, already taking for granted.

The others were either at the local 7/11, or surveying outside, like Dalton was. Seb had the whole summerhouse of the Newmans’ to himself, at least for the next little while. His brother Eric, Dalton, and their other friends Mark and Shane had all been invited by Barry Newmans, a new friend of theirs from Boston College. When Barry had learned that Eric had a younger brother of the same age as his brother Keith, he had also invited Sebastian, who would only come if Buzz, his best friend, would come along. When they actually met Keith, Seb was thankful to have Buzz around: Keith was a true weirdo, not nerdish weird like himself, but disturbing weird. Wasn’t there always one in filthy rich families like the Newmans?

Sebastian paused when Dalton looked towards the house, but the indoor lighting was too dim, and he was too far, for Dalton to see him. This situation with Dalton, who blindly looked at him, unaware of his role in Sebastian’s fantasies, was quite stimulating. Sebastian resumed his masturbation with increased intensity, staring at Dalton’s chestnut hair as it sparkled in the sun, at his thin legs starting to tan, and at his confident attitude as he stood, hands on his hips, gazing now at some arbitrary point below the window.

It was then that the tingling started.

It began in both Sebastian’s balls, but it quickly rose up to his groin, then down his legs and up his spine. Something inside his ass was throbbing pleasantly, probably his prostate. Outside, a sudden wind was roughing up the trees; Dalton’s hair and T-shirt waved and flapped. The bed was shaking, maybe because of Seb’s intense activity over it. Dalton fought against the wind, but he was unable to move from his spot. The glass of the windows shook violently, threatening to break; the bed was gently and slowly sliding in circles.

The tingling soon spread throughout his arms up to his fingertips, and throughout his legs down to his toes. It was now crawling up his neck. His body numbed until he felt nothing but the tingling. Did Dalton’s T-shirt just rip? Did the door just open? Fuck! He had to pull up his shorts, fast. His body was not responding—his right hand went on madly stroking his dick while his left hand refused to move even half an inch.

It did not matter anymore anyway: the tingling was now invading his brain, and Sebastian was floating, drifting over the bed, a weird smile on his face, while Dalton’s T-shirt ripped off his chest, flew away, caught briefly in a tree branch, then disappeared out of view. The sight of Dalton’s bare chest strengthened the tingling in Sebastian’s body, and although he was aware that a hooded figure had entered the room and was watching him with interest, Sebastian was too overwhelmed with sensations to care.

Dalton was clutching his shorts, but a tricky gust made him lose his hold, and instantly the shorts tore apart and flew off, leaving him to stand there in plain black briefs. Sebastian then registered something even stranger despite his confused state: Dalton had a hard-on—his briefs unmistakably bulged—and he was no longer concerned about fighting the wind, having opted instead to dazedly rub his chest with his hands.

Eventually, the tingling burst into Sebastian’s dick, and he experienced a surge of pleasure beyond anything he had ever imagined. Something wet spurted out of his dick. Could it be? After all this waiting? A hot, gooey drop flew to his face, and he knew it was true: he was having his first ejaculation. The hooded figure beside his bed abruptly faded away. Did orgasms make people hallucinate?

“What the hell are you doing?” said Keith, as he boldly entered the bedroom through the open doorway. So someone had opened the door after all... Who? It had to be Keith, earlier—the freckled, dark-haired teen looked particularly devious right now. Sebastian bent over to snatch a few Kleenexes from the night table...

“Watch out!” yelled Keith, too loud for Sebastian’s taste, “you’re dripping all over the bedspread. Gross!”

Keith came to the edge of the bed, smiled impishly as Sebastian hurried to wipe himself off and pull his boxers and pants up, and then removed a neglected cum drop from the bed with his finger. As he examined the drop, his eyes briefly flared with interest, then he wiped it off with a Kleenex and resumed his bitching.

“I hope you haven’t come here to spend the weekend jerking off in your room. What’s the matter with your dick, by the way?” he asked, smirking. “It looks like a baby dick. Are you some sort of cripple or what?”

Sebastian was too humiliated to answer—his face reddened and his eyes filled with tears.

“I can’t wait to tell the others. My brother Barry will throw you and your retarded friend out, and stop hanging out with your brother. I can’t believe he thought I’d be remotely interested in spending time with such pathetic losers as you and Buzz. By the way, your squeaky voice gets on my nerves and...”

He was interrupted by Dalton, who said: “Shut up Keith!” as he walked into the bedroom, still wearing only a pair of black briefs, but without the hard-on. “Why are you on Sebastian’s case, all of a sudden?”

Sebastian’s face brightened up. There was his knight in shining... well, without his shining armor. Sebastian controlled his stare—Keith was studying him from the corner of his eye, registering his interest in Dalton.

“Well, I’ll tell you in a sec, sexy boy, if you tell me where the hell your clothes are!”

This ‘touché!’ at Dalton succeeded, and the half-nude guy muttered weakly: “The wind was... strong and... well it ripped my clothes... they flew... my T-shirt, my shorts flew off... in the wind... very strong wind.”

Keith exploded in laughter, a cacophonous series of shrieks and grunts. “That’s ridiculous! Wind doesn’t do that. It makes no sense: the physics of it... What, were you jerking off too like Baby Dick here?”

Dalton threw a surprised and disappointed look at Sebastian—who was mortified by it—but then said: “So that’s what this is about? You caught Sebastian doing something every male in America does? As if you didn’t jerk off five times a day, Keith Normans. Barry told me an interesting story about a boxful of dirty...”

“All right, you win!” said Keith, in a panic. “I don’t want Baby Dick here to hear this... What do you want?”

“Keep his secrets and I’ll keep yours. And stop calling him Baby Dick or I’ll tear your tiny pecker off.”

Keith was defeated, for now. Sebastian jumped out of bed, smiling and relieved. “I saw it happen,” he said, in an attempt to change the subject. “The wind ripping off your clothes, I mean. I saw it through the window. It was so weird! It doesn’t make sense, though. How could the wind do that?”

“I have no idea,” said Dalton, turning around; was he embarrassed about the hard-on and the rubbing?

“Do you mean,” said Keith, intrigued, “that there really was some force that tore your clothes off? Fuck! When my dad bought this place last month the agent said it was hard to sell because it was haunted. I was the only one in my family paying attention, ‘cause I read a lot about this supernatural shit and...”

The sound of a car pulling in outside interrupted him. Dalton said: “I’m gonna get dressed. Look, Keith, it was the wind that tore my clothes off, nothing else. Remember not to say a word to them about Seb.”

He left, his briefs-hugged buns the only target of Sebastian’s attention until they vanished from his sight. Keith followed him, pensive and silent. Once he was alone again, Sebastian checked the Kleenex he had used to wipe himself. There were dark streaks in the cum, too bluish to be blood. Dark purple streaks.

Keith had only agreed not to tell about Sebastian’s embarrassing moment, but had said nothing about Dalton’s close encounter of the supernatural kind—that experience soon became the main topic of discussion while the gang was seated around the kitchen table making sandwiches for Saturday’s picnic.

“I’m just not buying it, Dal,” said Eric with apathy. He was seated directly across from Sebastian, coldly scrutinizing him with narrow green eyes. “It’s just a pathetic attempt to spice up the weekend. Keith told you about the agent’s ghost stories while we were at the store and you all decided to make one up.”

“As if I’d participate in anything organized by this little twerp,” said Dalton, irritated. “Sorry Barry,” he quickly added, to calm down Keith’s older brother. “Come on, Eric, you know me better than that.”

“I wish.” Eric, a real hunk, had a square jaw and smooth healthy skin. His auburn hair was gelled in long loose shiny strands. He took himself seriously and smiled rarely. “Where are Marc and Shane, by the way?”

“Avoiding work,” said Keith, smugly. “They’re taking a stroll in the forest. I was with them, but grew tired of Shane’s boring court stories. Marc decided to stay, but I’m sure he was as fed up as I was.”

“Anyway,” continued Dalton, “I never said I was attacked by a ghost. I said the wind tore off my clothes.”

“Oh, that makes a lot more sense,” said Barry, sarcastically. Their rich blond host was unpretentiously spreading mustard on a simple slice of white bread. He had listened carefully to the conversation, and this was his first intervention. He shook off a few crumbs that had fallen over his gray sweatshirt, then added:

“This whole thing stinks. I think we should get to the heart of this, so that we don’t spoil the weekend.”

Someone knocked at the door; Sebastian went to answer it, thankful for the escape. A cute guy in blue track pants and a tight T-shirt went right past him and headed for the kitchen. He didn’t even look at him once.

“Eh Roger!” said Barry. “Guys, this is Roger Farrell. He owns the property next door. He’s an actor...”

“Of course he’s an actor!” said Buzz, previously low-key, now overexcited. “He plays Eddie Wells, a cop on Something Blue. I can’t believe Roger Farrell’s here with us! Can I get an autograph?”

“Stop that, Buzz,” said Barry. “He’s not here for that. He’s here for... Roger, what are you here for?”

“I found these on my lawn a few minutes ago.” He was holding a tangled mass of fabric in his hands. He laid it out on an empty corner of the table. It used to be a T-shirt and a pair of shorts, now both in tatters.

“That’s mine!” said Dalton. “Fuck, they look as if someone actually ripped them to shreds.”

“Guys,” said Buzz, his face pale. “If you’re joking about this, stop. I’m starting to be scared, here.”

Sebastian stood in the kitchen doorway, remembering how the clothes had been torn, almost aggressively.

“What’s the story here?” asked Roger, confused about the general reaction. “Who did this to your clothes?”

“The wind,” said Dalton. Everyone except Sebastian started to giggle, anxious to release their tension.

Sebastian, though, was questioning his state of mind as he was checking out Roger’s pleasing frame. Was it that sudden burst of puberty that was now making him horny all the time? For the last hour, he had been getting sexual thoughts about everyone in the room. Dalton, Barry, Keith. Even Buzz, with his trademark buzz cut, white T-shirt, jeans and work boots, looked sexy to him! Fuck, now he was even imagining his brother without his plaid shirt, his massive shoulders exposed. Sebastian discreetly got out of the house.

Even though it was late afternoon, it was still sunny outside. Sebastian found a tree trunk to sit on; the pure air helped clear his thoughts. He stayed there for a little while, then, as he was heading back to the house, he saw Roger coming out, laughing at something. Roger saw him, but didn’t even acknowledge his presence—he just headed right back towards his home. Sebastian’s horny thoughts resurfaced instantly. The wind rose, and the rustling of the leaves grew louder. Roger stopped, noticing the sudden change. He glanced at Sebastian, shrugged, and then walked a few more steps. He froze again, this time concerned.

“Are you feeling anything?” he asked Sebastian. “As if the wind was stinging? It’s as if it was... charged with something magnetic... Whoa!” he burst. “I definitely felt that in my head. Well, do you feel it?”

“Not really,” Sebastian said, honestly. He wasn’t feeling anything like the actor was describing, just a bit hornier now that the cute guy had deigned speak to him. Well, maybe a slight prickle in the balls too.

Roger wasn’t paying attention anyway. He started to lift off his T-shirt, then moved it back down. “Fuck, this is weird! It’s making me hot.” He took a step forward. “It’s hard to fight. Fuck, I can’t...” He stripped from his T-shirt in one single-minded move, and then the tension vanished from his face. Sebastian was stunned to see the shirtless actor totter in place and look at him with a dumb smile on his face.

“Could you help me lie down a second,” Roger said to him, “I’m not feeling so well...” He looked as if he was going to faint. Sebastian dashed to his side, and helped him lie down on the table. Roger’s skin felt hot and silky; he smelled faintly of a pine-like deodorant. Restless, he wriggled all over the table, still with a naïve smile. He put his arm on his forehead to shield his eyes from the sun.

“I’m so hot. Take my pants off, please,” he muttered feverishly.

Sebastian was torn. Should he go get the others? Yet, he longed to expose more of the actor, who had asked for it. Trembling, Sebastian grabbed the waistband of Roger’s track pants. He slowly slid the stiff blue fabric down. Roger wore dark green CK boxer briefs, tenting upwards from a huge erection. As soon as he saw the actor’s aroused state, Sebastian hesitated. Was he taking advantage of Roger at a weak moment?

“Please,” said the actor pleadingly.

Sebastian resumed the stripping, exposing a nice pair of almost hairless legs. Roger slipped his unshielding hand within his boxer briefs, stroking himself unashamedly. Seb was paralyzed with both shock and desire.

“Take these off too,” Roger whispered, “I’m so horny.” Sebastian’s hands moved despite his good judgment. He snatched the green cotton in a bunch, tugged it off fast, and then tossed it to the ground. Below a patch of neatly trimmed pubic hair, the actor’s long lean cock, its tip shining with pre-cum, pointed to the sky. Just as Sebastian was about to swallow that tempting cock and lick the thick, low-hanging balls, he heard Eric call his name. He backed away, let his eyes linger on the nude actor dish before him, and then looked back towards the house. Someone was upstairs at a window. Who could it be? Had he seen the action below? Sebastian ran back to the house, leaving the nude Roger squirming on the table.

No one was missing from the kitchen. If one of them had been upstairs, he had to have run down in a flash.

“Sebastian,” said Barry, formally, “you weren’t here when we talked about this, but we’ve made the decision to investigate what happened to Dalton. I’m convinced the truth is out there, although I am more of a Scully than a Mulder. I also want the truth about the rumors that say this place is haunted. We’ll have our own little ghost hunt this weekend, and hopefully we’ll debunk this supposed haunting. Are you with us?”

“I think you’re blowing this way out of proportions,” said Sebastian, who rather enjoyed the effects of the ‘haunting’ up to now. “I don’t want to ruin the party, but aren’t we here to take advantage of the outdoors?”

“We will,” said Barry, calm but with a slight edge to his voice, “once this mystery is cleared out. I can’t allow these rumors to keep building now that we own this place. My family won’t be embarrassed by this!”

Sebastian looked around: Buzz still looked shaken, Keith seemed rather unimpressed, Eric was glaring at him, and Dalton was making him signs to cut it out. As he was about to agree with Barry for now, Mark and Shane appeared. “Whose boxers are these?” asked Mark, holding up Roger’s green boxer briefs. “We found them beside the picnic table. There’s traces of fresh cum in them.” All eyes turned towards Sebastian.

Wearing only a pair of jeans, Dalton entered the bedroom he shared with Mark and Shane; they were still arguing for the same reasons as when he had left to brush his teeth—Mark was smoking and Shane hated it.

“... your tight ass, you’d let the rest of us free to indulge our filthy habits,” Mark was saying. He was sprawled across his bed, in the middle of what seemed like the aftermath of a vicious tornado scattering the contents of his suitcase on and around his bed. His dark brown hair, parted in the middle, was carelessly combed; his features were soft and his eyes dreamy. He wore a pale blue shirt and loose white boxers.

“You know what your problem is, Mark?” said Shane, as he was neatly hanging his suit pants and jacket in the closet. “You’re a fucking pig, and you impose it on others.” He loosened his tie and pulled it off. “You don’t respect your peers. We study dozens of cases like yours.” Shane’s dark hair was elaborately styled. His features were more definite than Mark’s and he had small sideburns. He started to unbutton his shirt.

“Who do you mean, ‘we’? Lawyers-to-be? I don’t think student lawyers are in any position to judge...”

“Come on, guys,” said Dalton. “You usually get along fine. Does sharing a bedroom have to change that?”

“Dalton, stay out of this!” said Mark. “Go share a bed with your faggot protégé. And bring him back his dirty laundry.” He threw the green underwear in Dalton’s face. Shane snickered; having finished removing and arranging his clothes for tonight, he was left wearing only black Versace boxer briefs.

Dalton was furious. “Just because I don’t go along with bullying a kid who’s an easy target, and who happens to be my friend’s brother, doesn’t mean he’s important to me. The kid’s no faggot, by the way.”

“If you say so,” said Shane, slipping within the covers of his bed. “But I’ve seen him stare at you. He’s undressing you with his eyes, Dalton. I know, I’ve seen Mark here do the same to anything with a vagina.”

“Fuck you,” said Mark. He got up and put out his smoke on Shane’s suitcase. Shane jumped out of bed.

“You fucking jerk!” he screamed. “That Pullman was imported from Italy. You’ll pay me for that!”

Dalton sensed a buzz around, as if the air had suddenly become dry and charged with static electricity.

“You don’t need my money,” said Mark. “Your parents are loaded. Just ask mommy to replace it... Eh, what’s going on here? I have goose bumps... Look at the hair on my arms, it’s all up... My head’s buzzing.”

“Don’t change the subject. And don’t take this out on my family. At least my dad’s not in prison.”

Mark pounced on Shane, wild with rage. Dalton hurried to put himself in between the two of them. While he moved, he felt as if the air was dense. He had to wade his way through it—it prickled and stung him.

“Guys, what’s the matter with you? Shane, I hate smoking as much as you do, but we’re on vacation. We’re here to let loose a bit. Can’t you just tolerate a little smoke? You know Mark won’t exaggerate unless you provoke him. And Mark? To damage Shane’s suitcase wasn’t too bright a move.”

The young men yielded: they stopped trying to reach each other through Dalton, who breathed with relief. They usually didn’t respond well to the Jiminy Cricket stuff. Who was in the shadows of the hallway?

“You’re right, Shane,” said Mark, surprisingly calm and controlled. “I’m a jerk who doesn’t respect others.”

“Do you think agreeing with me will make it all ok? You need to be punished when you act like...”

“I want you to punish me,” said Mark, way out of character. Dalton’s jaw almost fell to the floor. Mark turned around and lowered his boxers to bare his ass. “I want you to spank me, Shane.”

“You deserve to be spanked, Mark,” said Shane, in a cold and strict voice. “Call me sir.”

“Spank me, sir,” said Mark, assuming the position.