The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I am not a nice guy.

Not even close.

Don’t feel sorry for me. At no time do I ask for (or, deserve) your sympathy. If you knew one-tenth of the things I have done in my life, you would hate me. If the police knew one-tenth of the things I have done in my life, I’d be in prison. I have stole, cheated, defrauded, embezzled, forged, and faked my way through life. I have run short-cons, long-cons, and every kind of scam designed to take money from people too stupid, or too greedy to recognize that what I was offering was too good to be true.

Guess what? If the deal seems “too good to true” ... it is.

I can’t blame my parents. They did the best that they could. My two brothers and my sister turned out fine. All three of my siblings do well, and seem to live happily. All of them are at the top of their respective fields. And, in a bizarre sort of way, so am I. The difference is—my parents can speak proudly of what my siblings have accomplished. The only thing that they can say about my career is, “We hope that he is happy.”

I could blame the bad influence from my high school friends. Except, I chose those people to hangout with.

I definitely can’t blame my college friends. First, I didn’t have any college friends. Second, I only managed to stay in college for one and a half semesters. My parents were so happy when I was admitted to college. Father told me that he was proud that I was finally going to “settle down” and “accomplish something”.

There was a low-bar to be admitted to my college. First, it was a junior college. There were only three requirements to be admitted:

• You had to graduate high school. (Which I barely did.)
• You had to pay the fees. (Which my parents did.)
• You had to have a pulse. (Which was the only requirement that I fully fulfilled.)

The college reluctantly expelled me after the FBI and the state police came around asking questions; hard questions. The college was reluctant, because my checks didn’t bounce. (My parents checks, actually.)

But, when the FBI established that:

• I hadn’t been in class for more than a month,
• I had been to Canada three times in that month,
• A Canadian bank had been swindled out of $125,000 during that month, and
• There were documents that showed that I probably had been involved in the swindle—

the college cut me loose.

The police couldn’t actually prove anything. I didn’t say anything to the police. My lawyer got me cleared of all charges. During later jobs, I was a lot more careful about keeping my name off documents. Even resorting to forged documents and creating fake identities.

Despite repeated demands, the college never did refund any of my tuition money.

When I first started out, I was a very junior member of that Canadian crew.

Even though there were only five of us, My share of the $125,000 was only $5,000. My boss explained that a lot of the $125,000 had to pay for “expenses”. He told me that he had spent a lot of time training me. He had spent so much time, that my actual contribution wasn’t worth much. My boss had spent time working with me and training me—because he saw that I had potential. He felt that, eventually, I could become a valuable member of the team.

When I grumbled, he gave me a choice, “$15,000 and ‘get out’—or—$5,000 and ‘get trained’.” After a half a day of soul searching, I chose the training. I have never regretted that decision.

He taught me a lot. Most of it was directly involved with running scams, and forging documents. He was very knowledgable. He had been working for years—making deals. He called it “taking and faking”.

Some of the lessons were completely unrelated. We, as a crew, would take the most bizarre classes. We took workshops in woodworking, printing, paper-making, horseback riding, brewing, sailing, cooking, baking, and a dozen other things. We attended lectures on German opera, Neo-classic painting, history, women’s fashion, and anything that struck his fancy.

Not only his fancy. I mentioned that I wanted to go race-cart driving, he paid for the entire crew to go for the day.

My boss said that you never knew when an odd bit of knowledge would come in handy, or when some obscure skill would become valuable in the middle of a job.

And acting lessons. We took a lot of classes on acting.

At the time, I wasn’t convinced—but after several years of separating money from the marks, I found that he was very right.

One of my favorites, was a series of classes on hypnosis. First, I seemed to be pretty good at it. Second, I liked fucking with people. I liked twisting their minds around. Twisting things so that their words came out wrong. Twisting things so they couldn’t count, couldn’t think, couldn’t tell right from wrong.

My crew stopped after the first set of hypnosis classes. On my own, I took a lot of hypnosis classes after that. Eventually, earning a “certificate”.

Sometimes, I would hypnotize random people on the street. I would get them to give me money, and forget that they had done it. It was never more than a couple of bucks, but gave me a serious thrill.

And, who knew ... eventually, my hypnosis could become an asset during an operation.

Ten years later, I was bossing my own crew. We were running a series of long-term Badger Games in Western Europe; mostly in Belgium and England.

The Badger Game is a type of con. It involves convincing someone that they have done something illegal and/or immoral. You have two crews. One crew sets up the mark. The other crew are fake police officers or government officials. In the middle of the “crime”, the “police” break in and tell the mark how much trouble he is in ... but, for a “nominal fee”—the “police” won’t arrest the mark. If you set up well enough, the mark sends money every month—forever.

We were catching three or four “marks” a month. Things were good. Then, the local police caught on (the real police). The police started asking questions.

I pulled the plug on my whole operation. My crew wanted to change cities and carry on. I gave each of them their share of the money and told them, " ... Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you. But, it has gotten too dangerous. I’m out of here.” There was some grumbling—but eventually, everyone took their money and split. I promised them I would e-mail them in a couple of months, when I had another scam.

I traveled the world for a couple of months; enjoying spending cash on foreign shores. Shortly, playing the rich tourist grew old.

[The sexy part starts here.]

Eventually, I went home. Not to my parents’ house. That would never do. By that point, my parents wouldn’t let me across their threshold. My brothers and sister reluctantly exchanged emails with me. My nieces and nephews liked the presents that I sent every Christmas—and, I never forgot a birthday.

I was kicking around the city on a Friday night around closing time. All the bars were emptying out. The sidewalks were filled with drunk people weaving their way towards transportation home, or to some after-hours club. In that staggering mix of people, I saw Sammy for the first time.

Sammy was a looker.

He had a stunning beauty that would get him noticed anywhere. He was shorter than average, skinny, long flowing hair, his eyes had long curly lashes, his skin was pale and flawless.

Sammy was well dressed; his expensive clothes draped carefully. He wore his clothes slightly open—not revealing much, but suggesting that his clothes could fall off at any moment.

My first though was, “Wow. He looks like an elf.”

Based on his appearance, I guessed his age somewhere between 20 to 22. Later, I found that he was almost 30.

Sammy was a vision of loveliness. More than his physical beauty, Sammy positively glowed with an inner beauty. He had a smile that wouldn’t quit.

I was staggered.

Sammy noticed me looking at him, and approached me.

He got a little “handsy”. My first instinct was that he was trying to lift my wallet.

Then everything turned a bit odd. Sammy started running a scam on me. He was very complimentary about my coat, my boots, my shirt. He was a little too enthusiastic with his praise. He was a little too interested in getting close, getting friendly, and getting my attention.

Don’t get me wrong, I was flattered—at first. But, I quickly knew that he was trying to “play me”.

I’m no slouch in the looks department. I was in my mid-30s, and relatively good looking—but nothing deserving of the attention that this hard-blessed man was giving me.

Out of curiosity, I ran a couple of hypnosis tests; to see if he would be susceptible to hypnosis. He did very well. My guess was that he would be an incredibly receptive hypnosis subject.

I had to admire his commitment to his scam. He worked me with care. He didn’t lack enthusiasm. What he lacked was subtlety. The compliments were a little too thick. His laughs were a little too forced.

I started to wonder where he was going with his little scam.

Very quickly (too quickly), Sammy invited me to his apartment. I briefly considered refusing, but I was curious where he was going with this. I’m certain that he didn’t know I was armed. I had a revolver and a knife in a concealed holster. As small as Sammy was, I was certain I could take him in a fight.

I agreed with Sammy, and we had a lovely stroll a few blocks up the street.

Sammy’s place wasn’t a typical young-man’s apartment. It was clean, tidy, and over decorated.

Sammy’s third story apartment overlooked the main street. Bright city street lights lit up the front rooms. There was no need to turn on the overhead lights. You could literally read with just the light given off by the streetlight right outside his front window.

Garish, blue-white, mercury-vapor light blasted sideways through the rooms onto oversized posters covering every wall. The posters were from movies of the 1940s and 1950s. Apparently Sammy was a fan of black and white films, especially film noir.

Decorations filled every bookshelf. Decor was done with great enthusiasm, but without restraint.

He gave me a tour of his apartment, demonstrating too much enthusiasm when he showed me the bedroom.

I could only give his bedroom a quick glance, but what I saw was was worrying. There were two short filing cabinets under his desk that had serious locks on them. There was a large steamer trunk at the foot of the bed, also with a lock. His computer was bolted down and locked to the desk.

Extra security. Why?

All though this time, Sammy had been touching me, stroking my clothes, paying me random compliments. etc. With practiced ease, I keep his roving hands from touching my holster. I was convinced at this point—Sammy was running some sort of scam on me. This wasn’t a simple seduction; he could have had me without all the build up. He wasn’t a hustler, looking for money for renting his body to me; there had been no mention of money.

Just for a lark, I gave him another suggestibility tests. He tested well. I would have no difficulty hypnotizing him.

The tour ended back in the front room. Sammy very smoothly offered a “night cap”.

The way he said “night cap” rang alarm bells in my head. Only someone as suspicious as I would have noticed anything. It was as if he slipped the words in sideways. Like he didn’t want me to notice that the words were said. He tried to de-emphasize the words, because the words had real meaning.

I agreed to the “night cap”.

Sammy went into the kitchen to fetch our “night cap”. Like a scene from a 1940s film noir—he returned with a tray with two glasses. The glasses were filled with a dark liquor. One of the glasses was near me. On of the glasses was near him.

I finally discovered what game Sammy was playing.

Like a cheesy plot device from one of the 1940s mystery films he loved so much, Sammy had put something into one of the glasses. There was some drug or poison, something to cause me harm. Something to incapacitate me. Sammy’s entire scam was designed to get me to drink from the glass that was near me.

My old boss had taken us to film classes. Often in films made in the 1940s and 1950s, there would be a scene early in the movie where the hero was presented with a simple choice. The hero would make the wrong decision. Later in the same movie, the hero would be presented with a similar simple choice. This time, the hero would use some trick to make the right decision.

Sammy thought that this was the first act of the film. Unlucky for him, it was actually the third act of the film.

As I looked at the tray sitting on the table, I briefly contemplate what I should do. The smart thing would be to run; to turn tail and head out the door. But, what would be the fun in that?

I suddenly kissed Sammy. Firmly. I held him tightly, and caressed his body.

He was surprised. His film noir moment interrupted.

He kissed me back; returning my attentions. My hands roamed over his body. He really was beautiful. Stunning in appearance. His hands worked down my body, I carefully kept his hands away from my weapons.

While he was distracted, and his back was to the table—I placed the tip of my finger on the tray, and deftly spun everything half-way around. The drinks were 180 degrees from where Sammy had placed them.

Like a 1940s film, I changed the drink tray from Act 1 to Act 3.

Releasing him suddenly, I snatched up “my” drink. He carefully picked up “his” drink. Toasting him, I sipped the cold, dark liquor. Sammy sipped his. It was a matter of a few seconds for the two drinks to be finished.

I had drunk the drink that he had pored for him. He had drunk the drink that he had pored for me.

I hoped that I guessed wrong. I hoped that this was some sort of clumsy seduction. However—if I guessed right, Sammy was going to be effected by what ever he had planned for me.

At any rate, I had my gun and my knife.

The drinks finished, Sammy stopped being as sexually aggressive. He engaged me in conversation. His entire manner changed to someone pleasantly passing time. After ten minutes or so, he started to blink and look strangely around the room. After twenty minutes, he had difficulty speaking. After thirty minutes, his face was slack and he could barely stand.

I asked him, “What did you put in my drink?”

He said, “Rohypnol”.

“A roofie?", I asked.

Sammy nodded clumsily.

“Why?", I asked.

Sammy blathered on, “I’m going to rob you. I’m going to take your money. When you you lose control, I’m going to ask you for your wallet and take everything. Then, I’m going to fuck your mouth. Your pretty mouth. I’ll take you to my bedroom, and you will do anything I want. You won’t be able to stop me. I’ll get you to help; whether or not you want to. I’m going to fuck you. I’ll fuck you on my bed. I’ll fuck you against the wall. I’ll keep you going for as long as I like.”

I asked, “How long does it take for the roofie to be effective?”

Sammy got a serious expression on his face, “About half an hour. Two hours until the maximum effect. You’ll be fine in the morning.”

I asked, “What happens in the morning?”

Sammy answered, “When the sun comes up—I’ll get you dressed, tell you that there hadn’t been any money in your wallet, and push you out into the cold. You’ll believe me. They always believe me.”

I gave that a thought for a minute, “Why did you pick me?”

Sammy smiled blankly, “You are dressed nicely. You have expensive clothes. You probably have a lot of cash in your wallet. You’re pretty. You have a nice smile.”

I’m glad that Sammy added the last two items. I was getting a little self-conscious. “How often do you do this? Drug somebody, I mean.”

Sammy answered, “Whenever I’m short on rent. Whenever I need a little extra cash. Once or twice a week.”

I asked, “How much do you make doing this in a month?”

Sammy considered, “About a thousand dollars a month.”

I laughed to myself. Sammy was going to a lot of trouble for chump change, pocket money. Sammy was taking huge risks here, for not a lot of reward. This could be a serious money maker, but he was only taking a tiny amount of cash. Hardly worth the effort.

Looking around the apartment, I considered my next move. The smart move would be to slip out the door quietly; never look back. Leaving Sammy in his drugged state.

Or ... I could take this wonderful opportunity that life dropped in my lap. Sammy was running a scam—and it blew up in his face. According to the information that Sammy just gave me, I had 90 minutes, or more, to have my way with him. He would be unable to resist. Everything I wanted.

I asked, “What if I want to fuck your mouth? Fuck you in the ass?“

Sammy was leaning against the table. He was barely able to keep himself on his feet. Somehow, he managed to look mad, “No! I don’t suck dick. I don’t get fucked.”

I smiled, “You have a pretty mouth. I bet it would look good sucking my dick.”

Sammy smirked.

I added, “You have a pretty bottom. I bet it will feel great when I fuck you.”

Sammy said, “I don’t suck. I don’t get fucked.” By now, he was sprawled across the table.

I grabbed Sammy. Kissing him intensely and holding his body firmly. I played with him. Despite everything else that had happened, he was still a very desirable young man.

Sammy responded. Kissing me back with eager passion. He probably still thought that he was still in charge; in control. His hands on my chest, they wandered down to my holster.

He asked, “What’s this?”

I answered, “It’s my gun. I was going to shoot you, if you tried to hurt me.”

Sammy said, dreamily, “Ok."; and went back to making out with me.

Time for action. I told him, “Get you your knees.” He did so. “Take out my dick.” Sammy zipped open my pants and pulled my dick out. I was harder than I have ever been in my life. This vision of loveliness was completely powerless in front of me. He held my dick in his hands and stared at it blankly. I looked down at him. He smiled up at me. His young face was the very picture of innocence and trust.

I smiled, “Suck me.”

Sammy slipped my dick into his mouth with one smooth motion. He seemed both surprised and pleased. He knew what he was doing; very skilled. Mine was definitely not the first dick he had had in his mouth. He quickly learned where my sensitive spots were. He used his tongue and lips to great effect. My fingers slipped through his hair.

He paused briefly, and said, “I don’t suck dick.” Then went right back to sucking me.

After a few moments, he started deep-throating me; pulling my dick deep inside his mouth. I could have squirted down his throat, but I had more in mind.

I told him, “Bedroom. I’m going to fuck you.”

He said, “I don’t get fucked”, while heading to his bedroom.

Of course he had condoms, lube, and everything I needed.

I took him doggie style, facing the mirror. I had him hold his head up, so I could see his face in the mirror while I fucked him.

I said, “I’m fucking you.”

He replied, “I don’t get fucked.”

I smirked, “Do you know why we are doing this?” He shook his head. “I switched the drinks. I drank the regular drink. You drank the drink with the roofie. You will do anything I want.”

Sammy looked surprised; then slowly horrified—as he gradually realized that he was in trouble. He had done this to himself. Caught in his own trap. He would do anything I wanted.

The tables had turned.

I went on, “This isn’t even the best part. After I finish fucking you, I’ll have another hour before the drug’s effects wear-off. And, I won’t be done with you tonight. I am a hypnotist, and a damn good one. While you are unable to stop me, I will force you to watch the candle. I will compel you to take as much time as it takes to entrance you.

Sammy looked devastated. He was unable to stop me from fucking him. He knew that he would be unable to stop me from hypnotizing him.

The panic in his eyes was enough to spur me on, fucking him harder and harder.

“When I hypnotize you, I will place commands in your mind. I will fuck you anytime I like. I will stick my dick in your mouth anytime I like. When I want more—I will hypnotize you again. If you resist, I will drug you. I will have my way with you.

I looked at Sammy’s face in the mirror. His beautify, innocent face was twisted into a look of helplessness and fear.

“You will explain to me how the drugs work. We will find other men to use the drugs on.” I was close to cumming. I was having difficulty forming complete sentences. “You and I will run the Badger Game. I’ll bring my crew here. We’ll run the Badger Game on a grand scale.”

Sammy looked at me completely hopeless.

“I own you.“

Sammy shouted, “No!!”

I came. Harder than ever before. I came. Up his ass.

When it was over. I slid, trembling onto the bed.

Sammy was still kneeling; motionless. Unable to move. Facing the mirror. Frozen in terror.

After a few minutes, I recovered. I said, “Fetch me a candle.”