The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When I press the button, I will have an orgasm.

Not if I press the button. When I press the button. Because I know I will press the button.

In my neighbor’s basement, there is a button bolted to the wall. When I press the button, I’ll have an orgasm. I won’t cum; nothing will squirt out of my dick. But, my entire body will experience the most wonderful orgasm possible. Not satisfied with pressing the button once, I’ll press it again and again and again. I know I will. I have been in his basement every two or three days for months now.

I look idly out my kitchen window at my neighbor’s house. I’ll go over to his house, probably tonight. It has been two nights since I went over.

I smile slightly as I think about the button, what it does, and how it makes me feel.

I can’t stop it. I don’t want to stop it. The button is amazing. Everything about his basement is amazing. Everything about him is amazing.

I know that button is waiting for me.

Work today had been awful. I was under a lot of stress. Things can be difficult or complicated.

In my neighbor’s basement—things are easy, simple to understand.

Tonight I will go to my neighbor’s house. I will press the button over and over.

Gazing out the window, I smile.

After dinner, after TV, after sunset—I go out.

Before I leave, I text him. I send him the message “button”. He’ll know what it means. I stroll outside, crossing the distance between my kitchen door and his outside basement door.

The door opens noiselessly. Entering, I close the door behind me. He received my text message. He knows that I am in his basement. He knows that I am going to press the button. He might come downstairs to watch. He doesn’t always. Sometimes he stays upstairs. Sometimes he is not even at home.

Even those times when he isn’t at home, I use the button in his basement. I won’t stay away from his basement. I won’t stay away from the button.

I switch on the lights and stride across the concrete floor. I get naked. I neatly fold my clothes, and place them carefully into the cardboard box. The same box I have been using for months.

I spread my legs wide, and lean crosswise over the table. My mouth and ass are exposed, in case my neighbor wants to use me. I reach across and grasp the button. It is a common doorbell button—in an old-fashioned, brass housing. It is bolted firmly to the wall, just within reach. The button is not wired to anything. An ordinary bit of hardware. A bit of hardware that has such a powerful effect.

I polish the brass of the door-bell button with my fingers; buffing off a bit of grime and bringing the case to a fine shine.

While I’m distracted with cleaning the doorbell case, my neighbor comes down the inside stairs from the kitchen. Halfway down, he gives me a look.

His name is Steven, or Robert. Paul? James?

I don’t remember. His name doesn’t matter.

Funny. When I first met him, I thought that he was much older than I; forty-five or fifty. Now, I realize that he is just a little bit older than I; twenty or twenty five. He is in amazing shape; muscled and beautiful. He isn’t fat and bald at all. His hair is long and full. His smile is perfect. His teeth are not crooked.

While he is watching. I press the button.

Orgasm.

White hot pleasure sweeps through my body. My lithe body thrashes and moans. There is nothing in my mind—except the power of the orgasm, the power of pleasure, and the power of the hypnosis.

That last thought is weird—“The power of the hypnosis.” Every time I press the button, I remember hypnosis during the orgasm, but I know that I will immediately forget it.

My body shaking, I collapse on to the table. Spent.

Unnoticed, my neighbor has come down the steps. He switches on the video equipment, and adjusts the lights. He uses a still camera to take some more pictures.

I press the button.

Orgasm.

This orgasm is better than the last. I don’t notice my neighbor taking pictures. I don’t notice anything. Only joy. Only pleasure. As I gasp for breath—there is nothing in my mind—except the power of the orgasm, the power of pleasure, and the power of the hypnosis.

I briefly consider—“The power of the hypnosis.” Then I immediately forget it.

Before I can recover, my fingers press the button; again and again. Five times. Six. More than I care to count.

He moves the video camera.

I breathe and recover while he adjusts the lights.

My young body splayed across the table, he takes several still pictures.

I press the button.

Orgasm.

I press the button several more times.

Each time I squirm and thrash on the table. Each time is pleasure. Powerful pleasure. The hypnosis makes it perfect.

“Hypnosis?” What? Never mind.

There is a dick in my mouth. It is a weird experience. I’m not gay. I’m not interested in having sex with my beautiful neighbor. Despite being a new experience, his dick slides right in. I love having his dick in my mouth ... for some reason. I always enjoy having his dick in my mouth, for the first time, each time. That doesn’t make any sense.

While not-thinking about that contradiction, I press the button.

Orgasm.

The orgasms are better when my neighbor is inside of me. His dick in my mouth makes everything better.

My mouth is being fucked, or something. There is something going on in front of me. The button has been pressed two dozen times by now. I can’t stop pressing. I come down from the plateau, then immediately press the button again.

Right now, life is a constant series of orgasms.

One hand is pressing the button; my mind is on an excursion of constant orgasmic pleasure. My other hand works its way under the table; it finds my dick.

My neighbor is in front of me. Fucking away. His still camera—forgotten—sits on the table top. He must have hundreds of pictures by now; but every time he’s with me, he takes more pictures.

That is a weird thought, I press the button.

Orgasm.

I wake with a start. Did I sleep? What did he say? I am still in the basement. I am still face down on the table, spread out. My dick is flaccid. How long was I asleep?

Button. Button. Button.

Orgasm after orgasm sweep through my body.

He is behind me. His finger is in my ass. I am not gay. I don’t want to fuck. I have never had anything in my ass. The button is there. The video cameras are running.

I can’t think. I can only lay there, and stare at the button. My fingers reach out. I stroke the brass of the doorbell. The button.

I press the button.

Orgasm.

It is that simple. Easy. Life outside is complicated—sometimes. Sometimes everything gets weird. The basement is easy.

His dick is pressing against my ass. I don’t want to fuck. I have never been fucked. I’m not gay.

How long have I been down here? Ten minutes? Twenty? An hour?

With practiced ease, his dick slides inside of me. I would have thought that it would hurt. But, it is easy. Like I had done this before ... which I hadn’t.

As he enters me, for the first time, my neighbor makes a sound. A contented sigh eases out of his mouth. Almost a moan. His happy sound fills the basement.

My ass is filled with my neighbor’s dick, again ... for the first time ... ever.

I am reaching for the button, when he leans down and kisses my back. I like this. He is touching me. This is good ... for some reason.

My other hand grasps my dick, and strokes slowly.

Button.

Orgasm.

I tremble under my neighbor. My orgasm is better with him inside of me.

He runs his hands over my smooth, young body. He caresses my shoulders, my face, my arms. He runs his fingers through my hair. This is good.

My dick is rock hard. It has been several days since I have cum. I only have sex in this basement. I don’t even touch myself, except when I am in this basement. I am very ready.

He fucks me. Slowly. Faster. Then pounds away.

I lay under him. Helpless. Happy.

I stroke my own dick and I press the button.

Orgam.

As he gets close, I get close. My ragged breathing joins his. I can always tell when he is about to cum.

My virgin ass fucked ... again.

I stroke myself frantically. I won’t need the button for the last bit. His thrusts become urgent, frantic. My balls rise up.

He shouts and I shout. With shaking and trembling—he fills the condom. I shout as I squirt—great gobs come out of me. My jizz strikes the concrete floor with audible “splats”.

He collapses on top of me.

The basement is filled with the sound of our great rasping breaths.

We kiss.

He takes me upstairs. We shower and clean up. Some evenings, we sleep in his bed for the rest of the night. This is one of those nights. We climb into his bed and cuddle. Sleep overtakes me immediately.

His alarm wakes me in the morning. We kiss briefly. He gets ready for work. I go home, also to get ready for work. We barely speak. We will not communicate again, until I send him the text message “button”. Which I will, in a couple of days.