The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It being a work night, Sal and Zaid had gone to bed earlier than before, and in the morning, they rose earlier as well, with the master again taking his shower and grooming himself as his two young charges prepared his breakfast.

Heading to work, Sal left Rodrigo with strict instructions on how to train Zaid in the care and upkeep of the premises, and the young man spent the day carefully observing, having been implanted by his new master with a fascination with household protocol. Of course, any idea of escape seemed out of the question, and the boy couldn’t even beg for aid from his new instructor, who by this point was little more than a programmed automaton incapable of independent thought or emotion. In that regard, he was a grim reminder for the young man of everything that was at stake, a glassy-eyed harbinger of a bleak future, and the boy redoubled his commitment to the one act of resistance Sal had not thought to obliterate: his nightly filibuster.

Among their duties for the day, the two cleaned up after Sal’s breakfast, ate their own meals, cleaned portions of the house and grounds, and conducted their daily fitness regimen, with Rodrigo teaching Zaid a modified version—as instructed by Sal—to preserve and tone his slender figure, rather than build too much muscle. When Sal returned that evening, each young man had finished his personal grooming, and the two had a hot, fresh meal laid out, which included Rodrigo waiting obediently by the door with a glass of scotch.

After his repast, and amusing himself with some other activities and business about the house, Sal retired for the evening, which was fast becoming his favorite part of the day. Attractive as Rodrigo was, things had grown stale over time—as they invariably do—and the sexy newcomer, not to mention his vast repertoire of stories, made for a great deal more entertainment—erotic or otherwise—than anything on television. As a matter of fact, though Sal already had his claws in yet another patient, he was now content to ease back on this conversion a bit, if only to better savor the excitement of this newest and most unexpected addition to his collection.

After once more turning Zaid into a total top, reveling at his incredible mental control over the boy as he felt his scrawny body pound into him, Sal again curled up with his young charge and returned him to his senses, urging him to go on with explaining the background of Tom. Zaid did as instructed, hoping to draw enough out of his memory to pass the night.

As far as I know, the story of Tom goes back a ways, and started with another young man named Brian Wolton. Brian had volunteered at another of Master Rod’s orientation shows—just like mine—at Trainor College nearby. Taking a liking to the young man, Master Rod had groomed him just as insidiously as me, following a similar pattern—an implanted command to text and then go into trance when called, followed by instructions to become obsessed with Master Rod and his hypnotism act. Rod often uses this trick with young men at his shows, as it’s an easy way to quickly and surreptitiously instruct them to contact him again, in an environment where he has more time and room to manipulate them. Implanting the suggestion for an obsession with his act allows the men to train themselves, and predisposes them to give in more readily to Master Rod’s commands once he finally provides them. As you well know, I’m sure, there’s the old adage that with hypnosis you can’t get anyone to do anything they don’t want. But of course, those who are clever enough can always find ways to shift what it is a subject might desire.

Master Rod didn’t like Brian enough to fully brainwash and kidnap him in the manner he had with me, but he certainly enjoyed him that night after the performance, and left him with the usual command that he would be obsessed with Rod’s show and compelled to come watch and participate any time he had the chance. Apparently, much like when I’d been in this state, Brian had become so obsessed with seeing another of Master Rod’s acts that he too had even contemplated hiring him. By the end of the year, he had been elected to the events planning committee of one of the campus’ biggest frats—which he had pledged and moved into at the start of the year—and was able to put this plan into action, persuading the brothers to hire Master Rod to perform at their yearly benefit.

Naturally, Brian had volunteered again, and the show had largely been a huge success. However, Tom, a preppy East Coast snob who already had a vendetta against Brian because of his middle-class background, had staunchly opposed the event, and made quite a nuisance of himself heckling before some of the other brothers calmed him down. Of course, since you know Master Rod like I know him, you’ll be well aware that put the young man squarely in his sights for revenge.

Again enjoying a private evening with Brian—along with one of the other underclassmen—Master Rod spent the rest of the evening using the two as subjects to teach each other how to hypnotize, as well as instructing them to remain on the lookout for times when they might be alone with Tom, and able to engineer an excuse to walk him through some “relaxation exercises.”

The school year came and went in a couple weeks, so little happened until the start of fall semester, when Master Rod again performed for the campus orientation and found himself, in addition to a decent crowd to start with, blessed with two additional and extremely responsive volunteers. Master strengthened the boys’ instructions that evening, yet still little happened in the crowded frat until late that semester. It was just before winter break when everyone was wrapped up studying for finals, and Tom had sprained an ankle on a ski weekend up north, and found himself both wide awake in the kitchen late one night—unable to sleep because of an impending exam—and laid up because of the discomfort in his foot.

As it turned out, the second hypnotized victim had proven unnecessary, aside from gratifying Master’s sexual needs—Brian had been the one to spring the trap. Running into Tom during his late-night foraging, Brian offered to teach him some relaxation exercises to help him sleep, as yet one more attempt at extending an olive branch he was under no obligation to provide. Reluctantly, Tom accepted, still prejudiced against the poor guy, but desperate enough because of his situation.

Making a quiet place in the house lounge, Brian skillfully walked Tom through a simple but extremely effective relaxation induction, progressively taking him deeper and deeper for quite a while. Once he was assured his housemate was totally entranced, Brian implanted a sleep trigger, tested it several times, and then left Tom with an instruction to make some private time to invite him to his room—a single, and one of the biggest in the frat—as a way of extending his own olive branch. Waking his housemate, Brian sent Tom to bed, finally texting Master to tell him the eagle had landed. Master, delighted, gave him his next set of instructions.

Immediately placing Tom back into trance once the two got together in private, Brian called Master, who had set aside the time specifically to get his claws in his new prey, and allowed him to take over, giving Tom the same sort of instructions he tended to give every boy: a strange and growing obsession with hypnosis and the campus hypnotist, and a secret desire to be hypnotized. In Tom’s case, however, Master left the young man with his conscious reticence, wanting to ensure that he would get an appropriate and public revenge during what he hoped was a repeat of his performance in the spring.

As planned, and given the success of last year’s event, Brian managed to persuade the frat to again hire Master Rod for its spring fundraiser, and in the meantime he and Master had several more private “teleconferences” with Tom, where they strengthened his ability to go quickly and easily into trance, as well as shoring up his desire to attend the show and heckle Master Rod again. Come the day of the fundraiser, Tom was sitting in the front row and making even more of a nuisance of himself, shouting Master Rod down as a fake and a fraud.

Once Master Rod began his induction, however, a curious thing happened: those around him immediately noticed Tom starting to slump over, eyes becoming glassy and melting closed even faster than the volunteers onstage. Noticing the small commotion—how could he not, after all, since he’d planned it?—Master Rod gestured for Tom’s neighbors to leave him alone and allow him to sink into trance, and once the induction had concluded, with Brian and the freshman boy—now sophomores, of course—already happily at peace among the volunteers, Master Rod hopped down from the stage and instructed Tom that the moment he snapped his fingers he would stand up, skip merrily to a chair, blow the crowd a big kiss, sit down and immediately return to sleep, ten times deeper than before. A snap of the fingers and it was as good as done: Tom instantly and obediently complied, and the crowd ate it up, astonished to see the obnoxious skeptic tamed so quickly by the power of Master Rod’s skill.

Unfortunately, due to being a fundraiser, the frat had asked Master Rod to keep his performance clean—cleaner than the orientation show, in fact—and so he wasn’t able to humiliate Tom in the manner he might have preferred. He managed to get the young man in a tutu dancing ballet, turned him into a dog, and of course used him in the end for the strip, which stopped at shirtless, but in terms of the kinds of sexualized humiliation Master Rod prefers to visit on his male performers, he was unfortunately constrained. He made up for it that night, however, inviting all three of his star performers back to his hotel, and having the two sophomores spit-roast Tom as Master Rod took a series of incriminating photos and videos.

Afterward, Master Rod let the two underclassmen go, while he spent the rest of the night—at last!—finally in a private, in-person session with Tom. He made sure to harden the man’s fixation on hypnosis more than most of his victims, going past the point of curiosity into a full-on obsession. I don’t fully know to what extent he was successful, but if Master Rod had his way, the boy would’ve emerged from their encounter with no more interest in sex beyond hypnosis. He did everything in his power to make sure that Tom was irrevocably fixated on being hypnotized and humiliated.

Instructing him as well to come to any of his shows within a much greater radius than most boys were usually required—since Tom came from a wealthy family, he had his own car and it wouldn’t be too much trouble—Master let him go around dawn, after a final, rough pounding, whereupon I can only imagine he spent the next several months obsessively fantasizing and looking at Master Rod’s online presence in the same manner I had.

After that, Master Rod told me the first performance he’d been able to use Tom in was the adult club show I had seen, and he’d greatly relished the opportunity finally getting to make the hot young man strip fully nude, moon, and perform various other degrading activities inside a venue he normally wouldn’t have been caught dead in. I would see Tom myself several more times on the road over the years, and Master always reserved a special place for him as the star, doling out as much humiliation as possible within a given venue, secure in the confidence Tom would readily comply.

“Mmm, fuck, I wanna see this boy. Do you know his whole name?” Salman asked, once again at full mast after hearing his charge’s tale.

“I believe so,” said Zaid, leaning in and whispering it to him. Reaching over, Sal grabbed his phone and googled it, turning up several of the young man’s accounts in no time. A quick scroll through his Instagram revealed an extremely handsome young man on a series of stereotypical rich-kid adventures, and it brought Sal immeasurable delight to know about the secret turmoil roiling within him. Despite all the photographs with his arms around beautiful women, Sal knew Tom’s innermost desire—deep, deep down—was to be hypnotized and submit, to be made to humiliate himself for the amusement of others. Sal’s heart thrummed imagining the deflation of Tom’s erection each and every time he tried to fuck one of these women—probably a common occurrence years before, but now a total impossibility, as his head would be flooded with nothing but the desire for degradation and submission. Sal clicked “Follow” through a burner account, and made a mental note to reach out to the boy at some point, hoping to ensnare him in his web.

“Fuck, I’m getting so hot imagining this,” he groaned. “Were you two ever made to perform together?”

“Once.” Zaid said it almost without thinking, and paused as if recollecting. The second the words had passed his lips, he realized this was the first time he had spoken less than the truth. While he had seen Tom in several of Master’s other shows, Rod had nevertheless kept the two largely separate. Yet there wasn’t a terrible amount of interest in that—certainly not enough to keep Sal occupied for the rest of the evening. Zaid knew that in order to keep his master at bay, he would have to keep him entertained. And after all—a story was a story, right? Yet the young man also knew even the slightest discrepancy would alert his captor to his duplicity, and leave him with his mind wiped as clean as Rodrigo’s. He would have to proceed with extreme caution. Yet at this point there was no turning back.

The boy licked his lips, and continued his tale…

It wasn’t in public, however. Master Rod had brought the two of us to a party at one of his rich acquaintances’ houses, a few hours away from where he had found both me and Tom. Of course, I was Master Rod’s personal valet by this point, so getting there was no problem for me, and Tom had no objections to driving the several hours out of town, when humiliation under hypnosis was on the table.

The party was for a guy’s birthday, and a whole roomful of his rich friends were there—all powerful, older gay men in their 50s and 60s mostly, though a few of their companions were significantly younger. The entertainment was to be me and Tom, and when we arrived Tom had already been there for some time. He was dressed in an extremely well-tailored suit and obediently taking coats by the door. He would also provide a French kiss upon request, and the guests seemed well informed as they were requesting regularly. Master himself took advantage several times upon entering, and ordered me to, as well. I had no interest in kissing Tom, but a shiver went through me—as it always did—as I obeyed Master command, and then I felt warm all over.

Inside, Master kept me close as he enjoyed the party, until around nine, when he headed to the front of the room—more of an atrium, really—clinked his champagne glass, and made a pronouncement:

“Attention, everybody. In honor of our most illustrious host’s special anniversary, we’ve arranged a bit of entertainment for the evening. May I present to you my young friend Zaid, a truly remarkable hypnotic subject, and our star attraction, whom I have no doubt you’ve all become quite intimate with already: Coat-Check Boy!”

As if an automaton, Tom immediately strode in from his post by the door, taking a position in the center of the circle that had formed around the perimeter. He stood at silent attention, eyes focused dully in the distance. I knew that look well—he was awaiting commands.

“Take your place beside him,” Master said, gently prompting me forward, and I strode next to Tom, arching my back and staring straight ahead, trying to look as attentive as him while nowhere near as hypnotized. Despite the fact I’d been put under by Master countless times, I still quivered with excitement at the thought that he was about to trance me—that I was to serve as humiliated entertainment for this group of old men.

“Very good. Both of you will remain standing at all times. Tom, simply lower your head, close your eyes and sleep now,” Master said, placing a single finger in the center of Tom’s forehead and pushing gently down. Tom’s head lowered and eyes closed in perfect tandem, and he stood motionless, bowed in trance.

“Very good. And Zaid, deep breath in…” I inhaled, feeling my lungs quickly filling with oxygen, “And sleep now,” he said, snapping next to my ear. I immediately felt the breath pour out of me and my head fall forward, dropping into as deep a sleep as Tom.

For the next half hour or so, Master put us through a simple set of parlor tricks, which nevertheless brought no small amusement to those in attendance. Tom, dressed as handsomely as he was, was given the name Cumbreath and ordered to introduce himself personally to everyone by shaking hands and saying, “My name is Cumbreath, and I’ll be providing your personalized blowjob this evening.” Of course, the handshake was programmed to give him a prolonged orgasm, which left all the assembled in stitches, and it was often a bit of a game to see who would hold on longer—the guest or Tom.

Meanwhile, Master simply left me clucking around the center of the circle, convinced I was a chicken. Some of the more intrepid guests would dart forward to tweak one of my nipples or poke me in the anus, and that would elicit a loud round of uncontrollable squawks and left everyone laughing.

Following that, Master, who still had it in for Tom (and forever would), turned him into a braying donkey, crawling around the circle in his suit yelling “Hee-haw! Hee-haw!” as the laughing crowd fed him carrots and other crudites. Meanwhile, I was convinced that the donkey could do tricks but was stubborn and wouldn’t listen to me, and the more frustrated and angrier I got, the more I felt compelled to yank off my clothes and throw them at him in frustration. I had no idea why the crowd kept laughing at my stupid non-performing donkey, but in short order I was tossing my shoes, socks, shirt and even pants at him, finally clomping around the middle of the circle in nothing but a pair of designer briefs Master had bought me as I kept yelling at the obnoxious, hee-hawing Tom.

Finally putting us back under again, Master convinced me and Tom that we were both making out with the woman of our dreams, and the two of us stood there for a number of minutes, kissing deeply and passionately, Tom’s strong hands playing up and down over my smooth, naked body while mine cradled his neck and the small of his back. Somehow while doing this, I was both aware and unaware that I was kissing Tom, thinking back to my high school girlfriend and trying to project her onto him, while simultaneously realizing to some degree—in the back of my mind—that I was making Master and his friends happy, and getting off on the thrill of obedience.

After a few minutes, Master told us to get down on the ground, and that our passion for each other was only growing. The both of us having gotten very used to Master’s sixty-nine routine from his shows, we knew just what to do and quickly lay on the floor, flipping orientations and rubbing our faces in each other’s crotches. Telling us we were both horny females now and to take things one step further, I shuddered as I felt Tom’s strong hand slip inside the fold of my fly, pulling out my already half-hard cock and wrapping it in his moist lips.

Dutifully, I reached up and unzipped the fly of Tom’s designer slacks, reaching inside and fishing out his thick tool. I could only imagine girls must’ve gone crazy for this, and so it struck me as funny and a particularly ironic punishment that it could now only get hard—just like mine—when he thought of being placed under Master’s humiliation. The sole exception seemed to be performances like this, where the arousal apparently still came naturally—though as I said, I seemed to be aware on some level that I was humiliating myself for Master, and I was sure Tom had to be too.

Wrapping my lips around Tom’s cock, I engulfed the head and slid halfway down the shaft, using my tongue and the muscles in the back of my throat to massage the tip while my lips worked the rod. By this point, I had become a good cocksucker through sheer, forced practice, and it was easy to lose myself in the process, not really thinking about the fact I was sucking another guy’s dick. Instead, I tried to focus on the wonderful, velvety sensations in my own, something that for some reason never seemed incongruous with the fact that, at the moment, I also believed I was a woman.

Eventually, I heard Master say that Tom wouldn’t be able to come, but at the count of three someone named Zaid would find himself shooting his load. I wasn’t quite sure who Zaid was, so instead I just concentrated more than ever on sucking Tom’s cock, even as I felt the first sensations of orgasm starting to boil inside me.

“One… two… and three,” intoned Master Rod, and he snapped. I groaned as suddenly I felt a hot torrent of sperm gushing out of my penis. The wet lips around it gobbled it down as I pumped into the face, gasping and moaning like a slut as I continued sucking on the cock. Heaving a sigh of contentment, I continued slurping away—since no one had told me to stop—until the round of applause had died down (huh?) and I felt Master Rod telling both me and Tom to put our dicks away and return to standing sleep.

I did as instructed, pulling away from the penis and slipping my own dick—still slick with saliva and strands of semen—back into my briefs. Rising, I noticed Tom rising beside me as well, though fairly soon I had turned back to face the audience, lowered my head and sunk back into focused concentration. There I remained, receptive, while Master Rod gave his final commands.

Waking us back up, Master Rod proclaimed, “Let’s have a hand for these boys!” and elicited another loud round of applause from the audience. Filled with pride, I turned around and flashed my ass, which just seemed like the right thing to do at the same. I noticed Tom did the same.

Afterwards, I returned back to my Master while I noticed Tom kneeling in the center of the circle, still looking quite dashing in his formalwear, mouth open and eyes blank. All around him, men were stepping out of the crowd, each undoing their fly and pulling out cocks of various length and tumescence, the first to reach Tom grabbing him by the back of the head and sliding it neatly into the appropriate socket. Tom’s lips wrapped around it like a vise and he began sucking with machinelike regularity. The rest of the crowd laughed and clapped the lucky recipient on the back as he enjoyed his party favor. Tom would stay there for the rest of the night, a perfectly calibrated instrument, providing service to anyone and everyone who might choose to avail himself. As for me, Master had other plans.

“Boy, I’d like you to meet an old friend of mine,” he said, introducing me to a well-dressed older gentleman with the air of a businessman or producer.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, after he gave me his name. “I’m…” I stopped, suddenly unsure of myself. What was my name? I was sure I had known it before.

“Don’t you know your name?” asked the old man with a smirk.

Fuck! Suddenly I had no idea. I must’ve been so nervous…

“Please,” I said, desperately, “If you grab my cock and balls, I know I’ll remember.”

“Well, if you think it’ll help,” the guy chuckled, as Master grinned nearby. How embarrassing! I couldn’t believe he was trying to introduce me to his friends and I had forgotten something as simple as my own name.

The guy reached out and wrapped his hand around the tight bundle in my briefs. I shuddered. Of course! I knew my name!

“I’m Zaid, sir,” I gasped, enjoying the sensation of touch far more than I normally would.

“Glad to know you, Zaid. And where are you from?” he asked.

Where was I from? Fuck. I used to know. Suddenly I was so nervous, I was forgetting everything.

“I… I don’t remember…” I sighed.

“But you know a way to find out,” prompted Master.

Of course!

“Sir… If you finger my butthole, I’ll remember,” I sighed, still enjoying the feeling of his hand on my crotch. I sure was glad I had devised all these neat memory tricks—you never knew when they’d come in handy.

Turning me around with a hand on my shoulder, the old man reached down and pressed his index finger straight into the depths of my crack, fingering my hole through my underwear. For some reason, this felt unusually good, too.

“Mt. Augustus…” I gasped, the name of my hometown coming back in a flash. I couldn’t believe how well this trick worked, nor how wonderful it felt—for some unknown reason—to be felt up by this old letch.

“That’s my good boy,” said Master, patting me paternally on the shoulder. “Now I want you to go around the room and introduce yourself to everyone, so they can all see what a charming young companion I have.”

The old man had pulled his finger out of my ass, and I largely came back to my senses, panting. A few yards away, I saw another one of the guests pulling himself out of Tom as he began to ejaculate, spackling his young, smooth face with cum.

I nodded politely to Master and his friend and started around the room, doing my best to introduce myself to everyone—you never know how powerful a connection can be. The party went on in this manner for several hours, Tom continuing to provide diligent oral service to all comers as his face and suit slowly began to grow soaked in cum. Meanwhile, my initial introduction only foretold similar difficulties, as with every person I seemed to forget both my name and hometown. Thankfully, everyone was more than happy to grope and finger me until I could remember, and it wasn’t until several hours later that Master came to collect me, panting and writhing in pleasure while still dressed in nothing more than my underwear.

“You look like you need to get your rocks off. Why don’t you make use of our suction device? Quickly now, I’m ready to go,” Master admonished, and I was off like a shot, dashing over to Tom and ripping down my underwear so I could stick my cock in his mouth. Thankfully, the party was dying down by this point, and most of the attendees seemed to have had their fill with him, wide open, glassy-eyed and covered in cum in the middle of the hall.

Jamming my dick into Tom’s mouth, it was barely two or three pumps before I felt myself go off, thick, ropey torrents of ejaculate gushing into his gaping maw as he swallowed them readily. In the moment, it barely even occurred to me that Tom was a man, and that I was largely doing this of my own volition—I probably could have said no if I really wanted. But by that point, the hours’ worth of groping had left me in such a charged state I could have gotten off in a watermelon if I’d stuck it in, so it was hardly much of a challenge to let Tom’s wet cavity do its trick.

“Very good, Zaid. Can you even imagine how much sperm must be in that tight belly tonight?” Master asked, stepping up behind me and placing a hand on my shoulder. Stooping down, with the other, he gently guided Tom’s head off my deflating cock, returning it to dull-eyed stasis, then reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the short, thin decorative gourds that had adorned many of the party trays surrounding the room. Slipping it into Tom’s mouth, I watched in awe as he immediately returned to sucking, a mixture of drool and cum bubbling up around the corners of his mouth and running down his chin over his disheveled formalwear.

“Come along, boy, it’s time to go,” Master said, conducting me by the shoulder and barely even giving me time to tuck my cock back in my underwear. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught one last glimpse of Tom, his hair and eyebrows matted with sperm, still diligently sucking the gourd in the middle of the room. I have no idea how much longer he remained there or when Master released him, but that was the only time I was ever made to perform with Tom, though it was, at least on the level of my subconscious, certainly a night to remember.

The boy smiled, finishing his tale and looking Sal bashfully in the eyes. His master smiled back devilishly.

“Rod really had a hold on you guys. It’s incredible how deeply he’s able to get into your head.”

“That’s right, sir,” said Zaid. “I’d never felt anything like it before. The way he managed to turn humiliation and submission themselves into turn-ons… I should tell you about the first time I got to be onstage with him, after I became his property.”

“I’m sure it was a religious experience.”

Zaid sighed. “It was, sir.”

“Imagine what it’ll feel like to wipe your brain completely.”

“Then I wouldn’t know the pleasure of serving you.”

Salman patted the boy on the cheek. “You’ll tell me about it tomorrow. Spread your legs now; stay on your back.”

Zaid did as instructed, spreading his legs wide and, after a quick prompt from Sal, pulling them up to rest his feet on the bed, like he was about to give birth. Sal pressed a finger to his forehead, taking him down. Soon, he was writhing in an ecstasy so intense it approached agony as Salman worked his hole, the hypnotist’s cock jutting out like a flagpole as he fingered the helpless boy to multiple, screaming orgasms via his prostate. Once the boy’s energy was spent, Sal added a fresh load of his own to the nacreous spatter dotting the young man’s chest, then sent him to the shower to wash up, as Sal pulled the covers over his body and went to sleep.