The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or closed, it was that dark. There was nothing to hear but the sound of my breathing and nothing to touch besides myself and the smooth concrete of my cell. I didn’t know where I was, but I knew exactly where I was. I had been here before. I blinked my eyes rapidly to keep from crying. I was in the waiting room.

Pain doesn’t cause fear so much as waiting does. Pain would be a blessing, I thought.

Eventually I fell asleep. I had exhausted myself in my fear, without having moved a muscle.

I awoke to light. I could see the dropped ceiling and dentist’s light. Again I knew where I was. Out of the waiting room and onto the table. Strapped down firmly, unable to move anything other than toes and fingers. And eyes. I rolled them around, looking for him. If I was on the table he was in the room somewhere. I couldn’t see him. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep.

"No darling, there’s no use pretending. Why don’t you open your eyes and I can show you your surprise."

I kept my eyes closed.

"Tsk, tsk," he murmured, "I shall have to use your trigger if you don’t open your eyes."

I opened my eyes immediately, quelling the memories of the last time he’d spoken the magic words. Looking at whatever he had in store for me was infinitely preferable, however horrifying.

There was a short buzzing sound and then a whir as the table rotated me into an upright position. Now I could see the television and the wall beyond. As before, I could see nothing else. The television turned on to static and then there was the sound of the video playing. And then…

"Phillip," came his voice from the television, "Mammoth… hawk… chair… dance."

I watched him on the video and went under as the naked me in the video went under. There was little visual difference between the me before and after except the release of the worry lines from my face. I knew the trigger had been spoken but I couldn’t remember what it was. I passively watched myself passively watch my Master.

Master held up his left hand to his shoulder and I knelt. On the table, I had the urge to kneel and felt a headache starting as I was unable to follow his command.

"Good boy," he said. The me in the video started to get hard. I didn’t. I knew I had been bad – I hadn’t knelt on command.

Master snapped his fingers and I shuffled on my knees to kneel before him, thighs spread, back straight, fingertips brushing the floor next to my ankles. My own headache worsened as I was unable to obey him. A tear started to roll down my face. I ignored it, riveted as I was to the video.

Another signal and I unbuttoned his fly with my teeth, nosed out his cock, and started licking it, working to make it hard enough to suck properly. My own mouth watered as I watched myself pleasure Master. Master closed his eyes and sighed, placing his hands on my head, guiding me. Finally he gripped my hair to keep me still as he fucked my mouth deeply, then grunted as he came. I could see movement in my cheeks as I continued to swirl my tongue around his cock. I watched my face turn red as he held himself down my throat and I couldn’t breath. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t move until a signal from him told me to.

I could feel my own breath leaving me as I watched myself grow close to passing out. Master moved my head back by tugging my head away from his crotch and both my selves took deep gasping breaths.

"Good boy," Master on the screen said. I saw my half-mast hard-on go rigid and I moaned in shame that I had not been a good boy, too. The screen went back to snow and then went black.

"Poor Phillip couldn’t obey," came Master’s voice from behind me, "Would Phillip like to try to make it up to me?"

I whimpered in reply. It didn’t matter what I wanted, only that I make a noise to let him know I’d heard. I heard footsteps, then Master appeared. Tall, dark and handsome. At least, I thought so. I could feel his dark brown eyes on me as I looked at his crotch, eyes blurry with tears but trying to stay alert for more hand commands. Not that I’d be able to follow them, restrained as I was. But I couldn’t think in those terms.

Master nodded to someone behind me and I felt my restraints lifted. Immediately I was on my knees before him, unbuttoning his black trousers with my teeth, obeying the commands in the video as quickly as I could. Master pushed me away before I could get the second one undone. My headache got worse but I struggled to keep myself from going for those buttons again. The flap that hid them from me brushed the tip of my nose.

"No, darling, today you’re going to do them without the trigger. Jericho… New York… Albania… olives."

My fear came back, but the headache faded away. I looked at the fabric in front of my face, confused.

"You remember what you saw on the video, Phillip. Do it again."

His voice was soft but menacing. I had found out what was worse than doing something under his spell: doing it in full control of myself. I closed my eyes, the tears still leaking out, as I nosed the fabric aside and started on the buttons again. Days and days – I couldn’t remember how long - of abuse had rid me of hope. There was only obedience.

The waiting room. Pitch black, pure quiet, pure torture. I decided it was worse than doing as Master commanded, whether in control of myself or controlled by the trigger words. The fear resident in anticipation made me breathe faster and clutch at my shins, rolling into a miserable ball. Would I ever be a good enough boy to avoid the waiting room?

"Phillip, answer the door please."

"Yes, Master."

"Phillip, please escort this gentleman to his room and see to his needs."

"Yes, Master."

"Phillip, this is Master McMillan. You will go with him in his car and he will return you in a few weeks."

"Yes, Master."

We were in his study. He in his wingback chair by the fire with a book in one hand and a glass of red wine in the other. I kneeling by his side, hand up to hold his wine should he desire. I watched the fire in a little daze.

"Phillip, do you remember how you came into my possession?"

I blinked and answered, "It’s a little fuzzy, Master."

"Tell me what you remember."

"A bicycle. Green rolling hills. Clover and brambles. A limousine. The… a dark place. The w-waiting r-room." I shivered and found myself unable to speak.

"Go on."

"A cold hard table and a television. That’s all."

"But there was so much more," he said.

"Yes, Master."

"It’s probably just as well you don’t remember."

"Yes Master."

There was something in his voice that made me afraid. It had been a long time since I’d been afraid.

I woke to the pitch black of the waiting room. I choked back a scream. After a moment I tried to make my breathing slow and I told myself my favorite fairy tale.

Once upon a time there was a young man named Phillip who was handsome, fit, and loved to cycle. He was back in Scotland after finishing the Iron Man in Hawai’i. He had worked hard for two years to get fit enough and save enough money to go to that paradise. Then he was back in Scotland. Proud of himself, happy, on a little solo cycling trip through the southern countryside. Phillip stopped at a field of clover, by an old stone wall covered with brambles, and sat for a bite of food and drink.

I couldn’t go on. There was the rest of the story, the true story, and the story as I wanted it to end: in the pub by my home, drinking a stout with my friends and flirting with Betty.

Betty. Proud young lass. Beautiful red hair and fair freckled skin. I was determined to win a date with her.

I… well. I wouldn’t be seeing her anymore. That much seemed certain. But thinking of Betty somehow calmed me and I fell asleep.

Only to awake on the table again. I gasped and struggled with my bonds, sure that this time – this time, dammit – I was going to be able to break free. There was a soft chuckle behind me.

"I’m so glad to see the regression worked," I heard him say, "It’s as much pleasure to break you again as it was the first time. I feel like I’ve got a virgin Phillip on my hands. After all these years."

I was quiet, breathing hard from my exertion and confused by his words.

"Would you like to see today’s surprise?" he asked. I shook my head negative, not trusting my tongue to stick with a clean "no."

"Well, it doesn’t matter, you’ll watch it anyway." The familiar short buzz and soft whir. The familiar television. The familiar snow.

"Mammoth… hawk… chair… dance," said Master from the video. I saw my naked self go under as I went under at the same time.

Master raised his left had to his shoulder and the me in the video knelt immediately. The headache started when I couldn’t do so myself. Master snapped his fingers and I shuffled over to keel at his feet. Another signal and I unbuttoned his fly with my teeth, nosed out his cock, and tried my best to get it hard. He tapped my right shoulder and I rose, turned, bent at the waist, and gripped my ankles, all in one fluid and unhurried motion. My headache worsened with each command I couldn’t follow.

Master rubbed his cock against my ass and, when he raked his nails up my left thigh, I reached my right hand between my legs to guide him into me. I rocked myself onto his cock, opening myself for deeper penetration with each movement toward him, until he was buried to the hilt in my ass. I moved my hand back to my ankle and was still, waiting for his command. He and I stood like that for what seemed an eternity. His eyes were closed. When he opened them he looked at the camera and said, "Phillip, I’m in you for the first time. You are so tight I can barely breathe."

With those words he proceeded to fuck me. Slowly, silently, holding my hips to keep me still, then to move me back and forth as he desired. His pace quickened. I could see my own breath quicken. Finally he stood still and pulled me hard against him over and over again. And when he came he rose to the balls of his toes and pressed against me. It looked like I was about to tip forward onto the floor. But he held me tight. The video stopped, the snow came back, and then it went blank as Master turned off the television.

Master walked around to face me. My head hurt and I was sobbing for being such a bad boy. He pressed a button near my face and my bonds fell away. I mimicked what I had seen myself do in the video: kneeling, shuffling forward, unbuttoning his trousers, licking him into an erection, then standing, turning, bending… waiting.

"Jericho… New York… Albania… olives."

I gasped and nearly fell to the floor. I started crying even as my headache receded.

"Why are you doing this to me?" I whimpered, not daring to move from my exposed position. I distinctly remembered the punishment for disobedience.

"Because it’s more fun than doing it to you the other way, Phillip. The way we’ve been doing it for years. Now, reach between your legs…"