The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Never underestimate an accountant, I told myself with a wry smile. We have our fingers in all the pies, and yet we’re usually the last one anyone suspects. Not that I was getting away with any of the number of unethical things people might suspect of an accountant. I was no embezzler, and I’d never cooked the books in my life. No, all I was guilty of was a little networking and some scholarly interests.

For all the pitfalls and corruption of the business world, there is one good thing to be said about it. You meet all sorts of interesting people. It doesn’t matter what someone’s expertise or training or even interest lies. If they’re interested in making or even spending money, there’s a good chance they’ll need an accountant at some point.

The importance of having such a diverse group of acquaintances can’t be overstressed, particularly when you have some…unusual interests of an adult nature. No, I didn’t want to be spanked or tied up, or have hot wax dripped god knows where…at least, not primarily. My interests were a bit more esoteric, and most would say quite a bit less realistic.

For most of my teenage and adult life, I’d been fascinated with mind control. Even in high school, I would have fantasies of making all the hottest jocks do my bidding. It wasn’t just that, though. In my fantasies, it was the fact that when I was done with them, they wanted to do it. Their most fervent desire was to please me, even (and perhaps especially) sexually. This even (and perhaps especially) included the straightest of the straight guys.

It was a great fantasy, but most rational people will tell you it’s impossible in real life. That was probably true, at least with any method that existed so far. The closest thing was probably hypnosis, but that really paled in comparison. Depending on who you asked, some said it was a hoax entirely. Even the most ardent believers generally agreed you could only get someone to do something they already actually wanted to do, which kind of ran counter to the whole idea of mind control.

Still, if there were no existing method, that certainly didn’t mean one couldn’t be created. There could be answers out there waiting to be found, whether they be in medical science, technology, or even the occult. The problem was that there were more possible solutions out there than there was time. I could spend decades getting all the PhDs I needed, and still not necessarily be any closer. And what if I found the solution, only to have wasted the years of my life where I was actually young and virile enough to use it.

Instead, I took a different path. I chose instead to get my degree in accounting, and move my way up the corporate ladder. Thankfully, I had a knack for it. After a decade of putting my slowly increasing salary to work for me via some shrewd investments (and perhaps a bit of insider trading), I was officially retired. I had more than enough money that I never had to work again, which was more than most people could say in their early 30s.

At that point, I could have hired any number of escorts or even actors to play out my fantasies, and I had indeed tried that a couple of times, but it just didn’t scratch that itch. I continued to keep and build an ever-growing number of contacts, including some of the top science teams in the world. None of them were working directly for me, or even knew what I really wanted, but I kept a strict eye on several projects, especially in experimental medicine.

The first thing that came close was nanites. I’d seen them quite often in more sci-fi themed stories, and when one of the projects I watched made a breakthrough, I was intrigued. They said that once they could be made inexpensive enough to be commercially viable, their microscopic machines would replace an array of current medical treatments with their ability to remotely control processes within the human body.

Still, they couldn’t quite get the job done. Interacting with the brain on such a deep level was something that was chancy at best with the nanites. It was, however, something I thought could still be useful. Even as they were, the machines could regulate and control bodily functions, or even make larger changes to a person’s body, as long as they were given enough time to work.

Next, there was a drug that was being developed by a military contractor that had about the same goal I did. If perfected, the drug would temporarily put a subject into an extremely heightened state of suggestibility. Others had attempted similar things, but this one was more ambitious by far. The goal of the project was to put a subject into such a suggestible state, they would process anything they were told as the absolute truth, up to and including causing permanent alterations in thinking.

It seemed to be exactly what I wanted. The trouble was, when it finally came down to human trials, results were inconsistent. For most, the drug had very little effect, but for a handful, it was moderately successful. I had to know more, and with a bit of a bribe, an acquaintance inside the project revealed some fascinating information to me.

The results directly corrolated with a drug test administered to the subjects. Those who were most effected by the tested drug had traces of marijuana, of all things. The stronger and more recent the traces, the more effective the drug had been. This made further progress on the drug difficult, as it potentially meant doing research on an illegal substance.

I, however, was most definitely intrigued. It may sound strange, but I actually had quite a thing for stoners. Something about their attitude and the general stoner appearance just turned me on, even though I didn’t indulge personally. Just the thought of the trials, of the handful of stoners that had temporarily been blank slates, was enough to get me rock hard.

At that point, I had the bit in my teeth, and there was no stopping me. Another hefty bribe, especially in the face of his project possibly stalling, was enough to convince him to meet with me, and to bring a sample of the drug. If he suspected anything was odd about me offering him a brownie, he didn’t worry about it for long. In fact, he took an extra-large batch to work with him the next day. Soon enough, this military contractor was doing research that would have likely horrified the government.

The new research confirmed what I had suspected and somewhat proven. For whatever reason, smoking or ingesting some marijuana put the subject in exactly the right physical and mental state for the drug to do its work. In fact, the biggest breakthrough came when the lab laced the weed with their experimental drug. The combination consumed together would unfailingly put a subject into the desired state, leaving their minds completely open for about a half hour.

Armed with this knowledge and tool, I was finally ready to get to work living out my fantasies. Despite having so many under my direct and indirect control, I still had yet to indulge myself. Especially given the nature of this drug, there was a very particular subject I had in mind.

I could easily trace all the attraction I had for stoners back to one man, Bryant Carter. Bryant was a fair bit younger than me; we’d met while I was finishing college and he’d just graduated high school. We’d had very little in common, other than both being interested in guys and living near each other. Somehow, though, we became friends, and whenever he was single, fuck buddies.

I don’t know what it was about him. It could have been his laid back attitude, his long hair, his lithe body, or his sense of adventure in the bedroom. For whatever reason, though, I found him sexier than anyone I’d met before or since.

Things hadn’t stayed idyllic forever, though. The two of us had tried to rent a place together, but he was utterly irresponsible. As if that weren’t enough, he’d come back from college with more habits than his relatively harmless pot smoking. He had a steady supply of pills to grind and snort, uppers and downers of all sorts that left him emotionally unpredictable at the best of times.

It says volumes about the depth of my physical attraction to him that despite all he put me through, I still found him the hottest guy I knew. Even when I wanted to strangle him, there was a part of me that wanted to fuck him just as much. Any chance of that went out the window when he met the girl who would become his wife.

When we met, he identified as gay, but I have to wonder how much of that came down to him being a bit of a sexist. Maybe he was actually bi all along, and when he finally met a girl he actually liked, he realized that. When they started dating, he certainly began identifying as bi. By the time they married, he was calling himself straight. Maybe he just wanted the social acceptance. Maybe, much as most of us are loathe to admit it, sexuality can shift over time. I suppose at this point, the reason hardly mattered.

I had been following Bryant on social media, more out of the habit of accepting every networking opportunity than any desire to cyber-stalk him. Still, around the time the drug project bore fruit, I couldn’t help but notice his life wasn’t going so well. After having two children, his wife had lost most of her patience with his antics. His inability to hold down a job for more than a few months, combined with his inability to ever completely kick the pill habit, had stretched their relationship to the breaking point. Finally, she had gotten a divorce, along with, unsurprisingly, full custody of the kids.

If I still had any ethical qualms at this point, I could easily tell myself that whatever life I would give him would be better than what he was heading toward. Not that I really needed any justification. My cock was definitely doing most of the thinking now, and it had wanted this for years.

It had been easy enough to tell him that I would be in the area, and to suggest that I should stop in to catch up. Still, when he opened the door, my appearance probably surprised him. I didn’t look any older than I had when I’d moved away, and I was in much better shape than I had been then, besides, with a pair of athletic shorts and a tight t-shirt clearly showing that off. Of course, most of that had to do with me “acquiring” the nanite team shortly after the drug team, but he didn’t know that.

“Hey, man!” he greeted me happily. “It’s been way too long.” He looked me over, not in a way that suggested he was checking me out, but in the detached way a straight guy sizes up another man. “You look great, though. I’d swear you haven’t aged a day since I left.”

“I could say the same about you,” I replied, and I was actually sincere. He was almost 30 at this point, but he had one of those baby faces that could easily have passed for early 20s. He clearly didn’t enjoy that, as he’d grown a neat, short beard and moustache, presumably in an attempt to look a little older. Whatever other problems he may have, though, he took good care of himself, aside from the drugs. He still looked as lithe and limber as he had at 18, at least from what I could tell under his camo cargo shorts and the baggy t-shirt of some heavy metal band. His dark brown hair was just over shoulder length, but somehow managed to be tidy rather than scruffy.

“Nah, man,” he said, chuckling and waving off the compliment. “I probably look like shit. Thanks for being nice, though. You wanna come in and sit down?” He gestured to the table and folding chairs in the small apartment.

“Sure, sure,” I told him, as I shut the door behind me. “Oh, by the way, I brought you a present. Something for old time’s sake.” I reached into the bag I’d brought with me, bringing out a dime bag of my special pot and placing it on the table.

“Oh, shit, dude!” His face now sported as wide a grin as I’d ever seen. “Do you know how long it’s been since I smoked a bowl? Let me see if I can even find my stuff.” He wandered off in the direction of the bedroom and began searching as he spoke. “I thought you didn’t smoke, though.”

“I still don’t.” I assured him. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know some people, though, and it seemed like you could use a chance to relax.”

“Yeah, ain’t that the truth,” he muttered, as he came back to the table carrying a small pipe. As he packed it, we talked a bit about how our lives were going. I made quite a bit of my side of the conversation up, naturally. “You sure you don’t mind if I smoke in front of you?”

“Nah, it’s cool.” Normally, it wouldn’t be a good idea to remain so close if I still wanted a clear head, but thanks to some careful work with the nanites, I was immune to both the weed and the drug. I smiled to myself as he began to smoke, and it was only partly because my fantasy was about to come true. Ever since I’d met him, I always seemed to associate the smell of pot with him. Maybe that was why it always seemed to turn me on a bit.

“Man,” he mumbled, his eyes beginning to glaze a bit, “I didn’t..think this shit would hit me so hard. Must have…really been a while.”

“Just go with it and relax,” I advised. He nodded slowly and finished the rest. By the time he was done, he was staring off into space, his breathing very slow and rhythmic, the pipe forgotten but still held in his hand. It was obvious he didn’t have a thought in his head right now. It was time to put some there.

First, though, I reached down into my bag and pulled out a small syringe. Standing, I took the pipe from his hand and placed it on the table, then carefully injected the syringe full of nanites into his neck. Taking my seat again, I opened the program on my smart phone to let me configure them. The little machines coursing through his body would make some things I had planned much easier.

“Bryant, can you hear me?”” I asked.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his expression still completely vacant.

“Good,” I continued. “You want to listen to me very carefully. What I’m about to say is the most important thing you’ve ever heard. Every word is the absolute truth, more true than anything else you’ve ever known.”

Bryant looked directly at me, his still somewhat vacant expression somehow also showing rapt attention.

“Your weed was laced with a drug that makes you completely programmable.”

“Programmable?” He tilted his head in slight confusion.

“Being programmed is good,” I clarified. “You enjoy being programmed by me.”

“Enjoy being programmed.” A goofy smile spread across his face.

“You are my property,” I told him. “I own you, mind, body, and soul. This is right and good. You love being my slave. When we’re alone or with other slaves, you’ll call me master or sir.”

“Love being your slave.” Bryant’s eyes were full of adoration.

“A slave’s purpose is to serve his master. Your most important and well-loved duty is to service your master sexually. You’re not attracted to women anymore. Instead, you’re very attracted to men, especially your master and any other slaves.”

“Service master sexually. Attracted to men, especially master.” It was hard to tell under the cargo shorts, especially sitting down, but I was pretty sure Bryant was starting to pitch a tent.

“You will be horny and ready for me at all times, and your cock will never be soft again.” I made sure the nanites would help with that one. His sex drive would be constant, though not painfully so, and they’d help him maintain a raging hard-on at all times. “You will cum exactly when I tell you to, and only when I tell you to.” Again, the nanites would be a great help. His balls would always be full, and Bryant would literally cum on command.

“In fact,” I continued, “you love cum. The smell, taste, and feel of it turns you on beyond belief.” What good was programming a slave if you couldn’t put some fetishes in there, after all? “You also love dirty talk, and swear like a sailor.”

“Fucking love cum,” he mumbled. “Swear like a fucking sailor.”

“You don’t want to wear baggy clothing or boxers anymore. When we’re alone or with other slaves, you prefer to be naked or wearing just a jock strap.” I know a jock strap on a stoner probably seems weird, but so did chocolate and peanut butter until someone tried it. “When you have to go out in public, you’ll wear the tightest clothing possible. You also hate that facial hair, and will remain clean shaven at all times.” The nanites would be a great help in that. After he shaved the thing off, they’d assure he never had to shave again.

“Finally,” I concluded, “You’ll act like your old self around anyone not controlled by me. You’re also very interested in helping me acquire more hot slaves.”

I went over everything one more time, and had him repeat it all back to me. It was interesting (and more than a bit of a turn on) to hear it with all the extra swears. I was running out of time, so it was time to wrap things up.

“When I snap my fingers, you’ll fall asleep. When I wake you up, you’ll remember everything, and know you’ve been changed.” As I snapped my fingers, Bryant’s head fell immediately onto his chest. As I let him sleep off the effects of the drug, I went into his bathroom and jerked off, keeping the door open and watching him as I did so. I was so turned on that it only took a few strokes, which was exactly why I’d taken care of it now.

When I determined that enough time had passed, I walked back to the table and clapped my hands. “Wake up!”

Bryant’s head snapped up and his eyes flew open. “The fuck? Did I fucking pass out or some shit?” He looked around in confusion for a moment, then his eyes fixed on me. “Fuckin’ A! Master!” A sexy grin I hadn’t seen in years spread across his face.

“Do you know what I’ve done to you?” I asked.

“Fuck yeah, sir,” he said, smiling hungrily and looking me over in a much more sexual way than he had earlier. “You made me your bitch, your fucking slave. That’s so fucking hot!” His hand reached down to grope his hard-on through his shorts, and a little moan escaped his lips.

I smiled. He knew what had happened, but was perfectly happy. “Stand up and at attention, slave.”

“Yes, sir!” he replied eagerly, getting to his feet and standing at rigid attention. Standing, it was obvious even in his cargo shorts that he was hard as a rock.

“Very good,” I said. Bryant smiled widely at the praise. “Let’s test something else. Cum!”

Instantly, I could see his hard cock pulse in his shorts, a large wet patch forming at the tip. The scent of fresh cum filled the room. As soon as it reached Bryant, he moaned and squirmed, his cock throbbing in his cum-soaked boxers.

“At ease,” I told him.

Bryant relaxed, as one hand slid down his pants, scooping some of his own cum onto his fingers. He brought them to his lips and licked them clean, while his other hand shamelessly groped himself through his shorts. “Fucking cum, man. Never knew it was so fucking hot.”

I chuckled, my own cock hard as a rock again after the little show. “I think you’ll do nicely, slave. But for now, I think it’s time for a shave and a shower.”