The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I hate small towns. I really do. And I can’t figure out what the hell I’m doing in this small town.

I had followed my cock here to hypnotize SubStud21. Great picture, cute smile, nice, hot body. No sense of time. Every time I look at my watch I just think that he’s never going to show. We’re supposed to meet here, at the town’s only diversion—a batting cage. What kind of town doesn’t have anything else to it but 2 churches, an old farmer bar, and a batting cage? This one, I guess.

SubStud21 said that he wanted to meet in public before going back to my motel room for his hypnosis session, a fairly wise precaution to see if I was who and what I said I was. He won’t be disappointed, of course. Part of my appeal is that I’m always exactly who I say I am. And if they like what they’ve heard from me online, they love me in person.

So, here I am, scanning a batting cage park, trying not to look impatient. Nope, no SubStud21, and it’s been over an hour. I glance at my watch in the vain hope that somehow it would make him appear, but no luck. What a waste of a day, bright, sunny, not a cloud in the sky, and here I am waiting for this ... kid, I sigh. Well, he’d better be worth it, if he ever does show.

I start looking around for something to occupy my time. And that’s when I see something worth looking at.

He’s handsome, tall, muscled ... and he can’t hit a ball worth shit. I figure he’s about 24, maybe from SubStud21’s college. What he’s doing in a batting cage is anyone’s guess, ‘cuz it sure doesn’t look like he’s there to hit balls. I count five strikeouts before he finally stops and takes a break. Poor guy. Damn fine hunk of beefcake though. Funny—

he looks nervous, like he doesn’t really want to be here. No one seems to be watching him though (can you blame them—he sucks!), so I don’t know what is making him this nervous. But every time he swings the bat at a ball, it’s all wrong.

Well, seeing as I have nothing better to do, I’ll just go down there and step in...

“Hey, slugger, I noticed that you’re having a little problem connecting with the ball,” I say, strolling up, casual, nonchalant, and above all else, friendly.

“Yeah, I guess so. Who’re you?”

“Oh, just a guy, passin’ through. I’m just waiting for a friend of mine to show up. But, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re having trouble, and thought I would stop down here and see if I can give you a few pointers.”

“Yeah. I suck. You a baseball coach or something?” he says, eyeing me quizzically.

“Something like that. I help people realize their potential.” He sucks, eh? Hmm ...

“What kind of potential?”

“Well, here’s how it works. You and I both know you can hit that ball—”

“We do?” he interrupts, half-smiling, deprecatingly.

“Yes, but don’t interrupt,” I say, letting a touch of the impatience I felt earlier creep into my voice. It had the effect I wanted—I could see his face go blank for a split second, showing that he had momentarily lost track of his thoughts. He looked taken aback, contrite, and confused all at the same time. Exactly as I wanted him, as this always puts a subject into a more receptive frame of mind. His half-smile vanished.

“It’s all about concentration and simultaneous relaxation,” I continue, watching him carefully. Yes, there it is, the subtle shift in his stance that says I’ve got his attention again, and that he’s not quite on the defensive. “You need to concentrate more and relax more at the same time, and soon you’ll be able to hit that ball. Just get into your batting stance, and I’ll walk you through the rest.”

I scanned him from head to toe, and this time I could do it openly, as I had an excuse. Nice, very nice muscles in his arms, his square pecs molded by a fairly tight gray, long-

sleeved t-shirt, his legs hugged by tight blue jeans, and white sneakers. Steel blue eyes, a crop of close-cut dark hair. Yum. Right then he’s getting into position, moving his body, spreading his legs a little, and crouching slightly, putting the bat on his shoulder and glancing to his left at the pitching machine. He then looks back at me, and again I see that slight shift in his demeanor, instantly going from jock-athlete to listening-student. Time for the next step.

“Now, this time—hey what’s your name, anyway. I’m Larry.”

“Karl.” He’s smiling and starting to move out of his stance, maybe to shake my hand.

“No, just stay right there,” I say, in that same authoritative tone of voice. His smile falters a little (another indication of the momentary confusion I cause him), but he recovers quickly and again assumes his slightly crouched stance. I can see his legs bulge slightly in his tight jeans as the muscles take up more of his weight.

“The premise behind this exercise is simple. You’re having problems hitting the ball because you’re trying to control yourself too much. You’re not letting your natural athletic instincts take over and hit the ball. You’re trying to control every tiny step in the swing, when the real secret is to relax and let go and let your instincts hit the ball. Just relax and let go of all that control.”

I can see that he’s thinking about what I’m saying. I’m watching his eyes and take note of the way they dart around slightly, a sign that he’s imagining himself relaxing and hitting the ball. Great! He’s good subject material! Now for the tricky next step.

“Now, to help you get in the right frame of mind for this,” I continue, “we’re going to have you close your eyes, just for a little while and run through a visualization exercise, just like all the athletes do in the Olympics.” He nods, and then closes his eyes, and I feel the horniness in me creep up another notch. He is so handsome! And soon to be mine.

Ahem! Focus on the task at hand! He’s not quite there yet...

“Now, just breathe deeply, nice deep breaths. Let your mind clear of all the distractions around us, and only focus on the pitching machine, your body, and my voice. Let yourself just feel good. Let your body feel the air around you as you focus all of your attention on where you body is right now, where your feet are, where your legs are. Focus on your breathing and your body right now.”

I can tell he’s relaxing and getting into this—the bat on his shoulder bobs a little as his grip loosens for just a second. His stance wavers slightly, his body adjusting to muscles suddenly becoming more slack and loose. He’s balancing with his toes now, and I can see his arms and shoulders loosening up more as my words affect him.

“Now, I want you to envision the pitching machine, getting ready to toss you another ball. No, don’t open your eyes. In fact, squeeze them tightly shut so you don’t accidentally open them.” He does so, and I can see him starting to concentrate on visualizing the machine. “Good, very good. Just relax. Everything in this picture is going in slow motion, so you can see the ball loading up, the pitching machine getting ready to hurl it at you, but slowly, so slowly. Just relax and let yourself see it getting ready.”

I can see the slight frown lines on his forehead, indicating he’s concentrating very strongly on the visual I have just given him. I can tell that he’s devoted his entire attention to getting it right, all of which is exactly what I want him to do.

“Now, I want you to look at the ball there in the machine. Inside that ball is all your tension, all your stress, all the things that stop you from concentrating on my words and hitting. Inside that ball is all of the control that you need to get rid of. All those things are inside that ball, and what you need to do is hit that ball out of here. Can you see all those things in that ball, Karl?”

“Yes,” he says, slightly fuzzily. The visualization seems to be taking up most of his concentration, which is what I want at this point in the game.

“The ball is starting to leave the machine, Karl. Just breathe deeply and watch it starting to come towards you, slowly, tumbling through the air so slowly. And as it approaches you, you need to relax even more. You need to let go of that control and get rid of the ball. That’s the key, just relax even more and let go of your control, as it comes toward you, spinning, tumbling, rolling towards you. More relaxed as it comes closer. Your arms, neck, shoulders, everything just relaxing as the ball comes closer. You really want to hit that ball and everything inside it away from you and out of the park.”

As I continue the talk and describe the approaching ball, I have an opportunity to openly watch him. His stance wavers ever so slightly as I see his shoulders loosen up even more, and the bat slides farther off his shoulder as his hands relax their grip. He’s breathing deeply and evenly now, even with his eyes still tightly screwed shut and his forehead showing the concentration on the imagery I’m feeding him.

“That’s good, Karl.. Just keep relaxing as the ball gets closer. It’s coming so much closer, and you feel all the anxiety and anticipation moving into the ball, all of the control that you need to get rid of, and just relax even more as all that stuff leaves you, relax and let it go into the ball. You really want to hit that ball outta here. And hitting that ball will feel so good. You’ll feel so happy when you hit that ball. You can just imagine the pleasure you’ll feel when you hit that ball, such a good feeling. Just relax more as it comes toward you.”

I can see now that he’s really relaxing, standing there, swaying a little to keep his balance, but definitely in a very relaxed state of mind. The bat is nearly off his shoulder, and I can see his arms relaxing even more. His legs, while steady, are bulging with the strain of holding the rest of his body upright—the rest of his body wants to lay down and relax. I have to keep rigid control over my voice and not get too excited yet. This is just the prelude to what is to come.

“Karl, now the ball is almost ready to be hit. You need to be ready to swing the bat and hit it. It’s coming closer and closer, and you really want to hit it and feel good. Because when you hit that ball you’re going to feel really good, all the way from your head to your chest, stomach, hips, legs and feet. All up and down, you’re gonna feel it so good. So just get ready, boy, and watch it come closer, take a deep breath ... and swing!”

I watch, satisfied, as his very hunky body slowly, very slowly, brings the bat around and swings through the air at the imaginary ball. Midway through his swing, I slap the bat to simulate the impact of the baseball. He looks astonished, and I can’t help but grin as he immediately drops the bat behind him. He puts one of his hands to his forehead to shade his eyes and watch the imaginary ball go flying away from him. The shock on his face is very satisfying.

“Good job, Karl! You got it! Just watch the ball fly away from you, taking all that tension and stress with it.” As he watches the ball fly off in the distance, I watch him now, waiting for the signs that his body is accepting all those suggestions and relaxing and feeling good. A small smile comes to his lips as he looks across the field with his eyes closed, as everything about him relaxes a little more. I can see I’ve almost got him.

“Good job, Karl. That felt good, didn’t it?” He nods slightly, his smile widening. “Well, let’s do another one. This one is going to feel even better because now you know you can do it. Just get ready to hit the next one. Relax and get ready.”

The bat returns to his shoulder, but immediately slides almost all the way off again. His entire body is sagging somewhat—he’s really become very relaxed from all this—and I can see him concentrating on hitting the ball again.

“See all that control you have left in you, all the control that you need to let go of, all of that in the ball now, and this time it’s coming a little faster, so be ready to hit it. Watch it coming closer and relax, and when it’s close enough, swing and hit it outta here.”

I stand back and watch him, barely standing now as his body responds to the suggestions. I can see his muscles becoming slack and relaxed, and when the time comes he very slowly swings the bat at the imaginary ball. Again, I smack the bat with my hand—

And this time, instead of watching the ball go flying over the fence, he’s just standing there, looking out over the field. I can see that he’s breathing deeply and heavily, and there is a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead, as if he had been working out hard. And then, very slowly, his head slumps down, his shoulders relax and he just stands there, apparently fast asleep. I again drink in this hunk’s muscles, and as I stare at his crotch, I see he’s enjoying the experience more than I had anticipated.

Stepping closer, I ask, “Karl, can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can hear you” he says, slowly, like he’s fighting through a fog bank to speak.

“That’s good. You were able to hit the ball then, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was.” He smiles in satisfaction.

“And it felt really good, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.”

“Very good. Now, in a moment you’re going to stand up straight, and you will wake up and feel very good, very strong and very happy that you were able to visualize hitting the ball. When I say the words, ‘Wake up, Karl’, you’ll do just that.”

It’s a shame; he’s so handsome just standing there like that, but ...

“Wake up, Karl!”

For a moment nothing happens, and then suddenly he’s opening his eyes, straightening up, and standing in front of me, almost a little too close. I smile as he grabs me by the shoulders and gives me a typical straight-man bearhug. My smile grows wider as his fully excited package fortuitously presses against me.

“It worked! I can definitely see myself hitting them outta here! That felt great! But I need to try it out with real baseballs.” He doesn’t seem to notice or care that both of us are now fully erect, which is a good sign that he is still concentrating on the batting scenario. He steps away from me quickly and turns to pick up the discarded bat. Fortunately, this allows me to adjust ... er, compose myself for the next step.

“Okay, let’s see how well you do now,” I say, hitting the Start button on the batting cage and stepping away.

Smack! He hits one over the fence.

Smack! He hits another one, farther over the fence.

I’m so amazed at my success that it’s three more balls before I take another look at him. And to my amazement, I see his face relaxed and blank, his arms swinging automatically, his crotch bulging hard with his erection. His mouth is slightly open, and I can hear soft moans pleasure coming from him each time he swings. His body shudders slightly with the pleasure of letting go of more of his control with each ball hit out of the park.

“Karl, stop now,” I say, pressing the Start button again to stop the pitching machine. His body freezes in place for a second and then goes back to his relaxed batting stance. Ready, waiting. Obedient.

“Karl, can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can, Larry.”

“How do you feel right now?” I take a step nearer to him; his voice is becoming almost too faint to hear.

“I feel so good. All the control is ... gone.” His body shudders once again.

“That’s good, Karl.” I pat him on the back and rub his shoulder, judiciously feeling up what will soon be totally mine. His eyes flutter slightly at the pleasure of that touch. Feeling bolder, I run a hand down the tight ridges of his abs and briefly caress his erection. He responds by closing his eyes for a moment and moaning slightly..

I give his cock one last squeeze through his jeans. “Why don’t you follow me now, and we’ll have you feeling even better,” I say, and start moving up the hill towards my car.

“Okay,” he says, dully, and he, bat and all, follows me.