The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

In my single-minded desire to avoid thoughts of Craig and his betrayal I threw myself into my work with Mike. Sure, he wasn’t my boy, but he kept me busy, and I could exact punishment on him while I procrastinated devising the consequences for Craig’s recent actions.

Today I was taking Mike to the mall. If he was going to be a stripper he’d need a gimmick. So today we’d buy him an ensemble.

Also I had an ulterior motive for taking this naughty boy out in public.

I called and arranged to meet him in front of Lacy’s at 2 pm. I arrived on time, but I didn’t let Mike see me right away.

Mike was waiting with his back to me when I arrived. He stood with his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his khakis, rocking back and forth. He wore sneakers and a button-down shirt, as usual. I was beginning to wonder if he ever varied his wardrobe.

He appeared nervous, or anxious. He checked his watch occasionally. He rocked back and forth.

I strolled up behind him. The mall was busy, with people rushing to and fro, and he didn’t notice my presence.

“Queer Pizza Boy,” I said.

He stopped rocking on his heels.

“Mike, you may open your eyes.”

He did.

“You will follow me around the mall and do as I say. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’ve been thinking about your fantasy, Mike. All good strippers have a ‘look’. There are cops and sailors and thugs... What’s your look going to be?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Queer Pizza Boy!” I announced.

His eyes seemed glazed.

“Follow me.”

I led the way down the mall to the hippest clothing store. We walked in and browsed through racks of up-to-the-minute styles. I didn’t want a complete departure from Mike’s usual style. It just needed a bit of updating.

I selected several button-down shirts first. Mike always wore them anyway, and layers are good for a stripper. I handed them to him. “Hold these.”

He did.

“What size waist are you?” I asked.

“34,” he replied.

“No, that’s the size you buy in these baggy khakis.” I tugged on the waist of his pants. “What size are you really?”

“30.”

“Good boy.” I led the way to the shelves of jeans and picked through the baggy and relaxed fits to find straight-leg styles. I chose several different colors and handed them to Mike.

On the way to the dressing rooms we passed the underwear. I picked up several pair of boxer-briefs. Mike followed behind me, catching what I tossed at him to carry.

We reached the dressing room and he went in.

“Try on the jeans first,” I instructed. “Come out and show me.”

The first four pair of jeans weren’t right—wrong fit, wrong cut, wrong style... The fifth pair, however, was a sight to behold.

Mike stood before me, holding up his shirt, modeling a pair of low-slung black jeans. I walked around him, caressing his ass, then checking the fit in the crotch.

He looked nervous, even in his present state.

“We’ll take these,” I said, cupping his balls through the denim. “Try on the shirts with them.”

He paraded out in an array of cotton shirts, camp shirts, silk shirts... None of them were quite right. Then he tried on a shiny black polyester shirt.

I stared at him. He looked really good. I mean, I knew he was cute, but like this he was sexy.

“That’s the one,” I said. “Go get dressed.”

He reappeared in his clothes moments later. It was a bit of a letdown. He held the jeans, shirt, and boxer-briefs.

“Do you have enough G-strings and socks, Mike?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” I eyed his white sneakers. He’d need footwear. We charged the clothes and Mike followed a step behind me, carrying the bags. I stopped at a soda shop and ordered a large for him and a small for me.

“Drink up, Mike.”

He finished the soda in seconds. I like an eager to please boy.

“Would you like another? You’re still thirsty.”

“Yes, sir.”

I bought him a second large soda, which he downed in no time.

We walked to the shoe store and began perusing the rows of men’s footwear. Hiking boots, work boots, casual boots... Mitch would cum just standing here, I thought.

Sneakers of all kinds...

“What size do you wear?” I asked.

“Ten.”

Boat shoes, sandals, loafers...

I selected high-gloss black loafers and sent the salesman for a size ten. He returned and handed them to me.

“No, they’re for him,” I explained.

The salesman’s smile seemed to grow more excited.

“Try on the shoes, Mike.”

Mike sat immediately and kicked off his sneakers. The salesman knelt before him. He was cute—in a preppy, country-club sort of way. I wondered what else he’d done on his knees.

And if he’d ever been hypnotized.

Focus, Christopher!

Mike slipped his white socks into the black loafers.

“How do they feel?” I asked. “Do they fit?”

Mike stood and walked across the width of the store and back. He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

I turned to the salesman. “We’ll take them.”

He nodded and replied with that same smile, “Yes, sir!”

He boxed the shoes and rang up the sale. He handed me a business card. “Have a good day, sir. And if you need anything else, you can reach me at this number.”

I cocked an eyebrow at him. He knew how to say sir. I may have to call him. The name on his badge was Andrew. “I’ll keep that in mind. You’ve been most helpful, Andrew.”

His cheeks flushed when I used his name.

Mike continued to follow behind me down the mall. We passed a pretzel and lemonade shop. I bought one jumbo lemonade.

“You’re thirsty, Mike. Drink up.”

“Yes, sir.” He shifted the bags to one hand and gulped down the jumbo lemonade.

When he’d finished we went to the music store. I needed to round out my collection of bump-n-grind tunes for him to practice to. After a bit of browsing I purchased a handful of cds and we ambled farther down the mall.

The food court was really hopping this afternoon—crowds of people milled about. Vacant tables were few and far between. I left Mike at a table with all the day’s spoils and went to purchase two large sodas. There was a small permanent stage set up in the middle of the food court. Today there would be quite a show.

Mike was absently tapping his foot when I returned to the table.

“Drink up, Mike,” I instructed.

He eyed the cup.

“Go on. Your mouth is dry.”

He drank slowly, pausing between swallows.

“Unbutton your shirt,” I said. “You want to.”

He quickly unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a white undershirt.

“Now take off the shirt and hand it to me.”

He hesitated.

“Look me in the eye, Mike.”

He locked gazes with me.

“There’s no one else here. It’s only you and me. Take off your shirt and hand it to me.”

He shrugged off the shirt and handed it over.

I tucked it inside one of the bags while he finished his soda.

“Mike, take off your sneakers and hand them to me.”

He stooped over and pulled off his sneakers. While he was under the table I slid his empty cup in front of me, and my full one in front of him.

He handed me his sneakers.

“Keep drinking, Mike. You still have some left.”

He sipped the soda.

His left leg was shaking as I bent to tuck the sneakers into a bag.

Mike was now breaking the Shirt and Shoes Required rule at the local mall.

“Finish your soda,” I commanded.

He struggled to down the rest of it. This made four large sodas and a jumbo lemonade. His feet were both tapping now, his legs shaking a mile a minute. He must be ready to burst. But he hadn’t asked to visit a bathroom.

“Mike, why are you shaking?” I asked.

“I need to pee.”

“You need to pee?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How bad?”

“Real bad, sir.”

“Mike, you’re right. You need to pee real bad. More than you ever have in your life. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Would you like to go?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Listen to me very carefully and then you’ll be allowed to pee. Do you see that platform over there?” I pointed to the stage.

His eyes followed my finger. He nodded.

“When I give you the command you are going to walk over to that platform and climb on it. You are going to stand in plain sight of everyone in this food court. You will stand with your feet spread shoulder-width apart and your hands on your hips. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Once you have assumed that position you will relieve yourself. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” His voice contained a bit of doubt.

“You will relieve yourself. Say it and know that you must obey.”

“I will relieve myself.”

“In front of all these people. With everyone watching. And you will watch their faces and see their reactions. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When you see me leave you may go to your car and drive to my house. Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Now go and climb the platform.”

Mike stood up from the table and strode briskly across the food court, wearing a white T-shirt, baggy khakis, and white socks. I had been wrong, this look wasn’t such a letdown.

My seat afforded me an excellent view of Mike’s stage debut, as he climbed the steps and took position center-stage.

He spread his feet to shoulder-width apart, then placed his hands on his hips.

I watched as dread crept over his features. A small wet spot formed at the front of his khakis. As it spread down his left pantleg the color rose in his face.

People began to notice immediately. It isn’t every day a grown man—especially a good-looking young man—strikes a pose in the middle of the food court, wearing no shoes, and wets himself.

The more the wet spot stretched down his leg, the redder Mike’s face got. Soon his pants were dripping and his left sock turned from white to yellow.

Children pointed. Men stared. Women looked appalled. Laughter erupted in the food court.

And there stood Mike, looking from face to face, registering the expressions of shock, disappointment, disapproval, and disgust, without moving from his pose.

His face was crimson. His hands were twitching. His knees seemed to be shaking in his now very wet khakis.

He couldn’t handle much more today, I knew. I also knew that mall security must be on its way to apprehend the shoeless guy who just wet himself in full view of the crowd at the food court.

I stood, gathered the bags from today, and walked away from the table.

A quick glance over my shoulder revealed Mike darting out the mall exit.

I shook my head. He was parked at the opposite end of the mall. He would have to run completely around the building’s parking lot in wet khakis and socks.

Poor boy. I shouldn’t have humiliated him like that.

Oh well.

To be continued in Part 44...

Christopher & Craig

Part 44: To Mike’s Humiliation...

I drove around the mall and followed at a safe distance as Mike raced around the lot trying to avoid the stares of passersby. Once he’d reached the safety of his car, I drove home. As heartless as I wanted to pretend to be in my training of Mike, I couldn’t bring myself to be that cold or hateful to the boy. He was cute, and sweet, and loveable in his own right, and it was sheer dumb luck that he’d even begun being hypnotized by me.

And yes, it was true, I was helping him realize his innermost desires. But toward what eventual goal? Mike was heterosexual, and I had done nothing about changing that. I had made him enjoy showing his body to men, but he would still seek sexual relations with women. Which was okay with me. I’ll never be accused of heterophobic behavior. But I was going to make his sex life more interesting...

As for the humiliation, it was true he hadn’t asked for it. But he had leanings toward it long before he met me. And he certainly enjoyed the byproduct of it. But I was feeling guilty about what I’d just done.

And what I was about to do.

Mike skidded to a stop in the driveway seconds behind me.

I walked to his car and said soothingly, “Queer Pizza Boy, breathe in and out... Relax... Clear your mind. Your only thought is to get out of your wet clothes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Follow me.”

I led him into the house and down the hall to the laundry room. He peeled off his wet socks, pants, boxers, and G-string. The bottom of his T-shirt was soaked too. He deposited the clothes in the washer and I started the cycle.

“Mike, go out to my car and get the bags from the trunk.”

I handed him the key.

I suspected the fact that he was standing there naked was the reason he paused.

“Double-time it, boy!” I snapped.

“Yes, sir!” He turned and hurried to the front door. I followed and watched from the doorway as he strode to the trunk of my car and retrieved the bags, his pale ass on full display. When he turned to walk back to the house I saw his cock was standing at attention.

The front of my house was not visible from the street, but evidently just being outdoors in the buff was enough to stimulate Mike now.

I had him deposit the bags in the den, then led him to the upstairs bathroom and left him to shower. I selected a pair of new briefs and socks from Craig’s supply and instructed Mike to meet me in the den when he was dressed.

Downstairs I attended to the mail, then checked my email. I had a letter from Craig.

Craig Matthews, I had to remind myself. Not my Craig. Christopher,

How are you? Thought I’d write again and say hi. I miss you! Can we have dinner again sometime? Write back.

Craig

I had no idea how to respond to that.

Luckily I didn’t have to dwell on it right now. Mike stood in the doorway clad in white briefs and white crew socks. That was an image I could savor.

Time to go to work on him.

I shut down the computer. “Queer Pizza Boy.”

He was already under; this was just to further relax him.

“Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, Mike.”

He spread his feet.

“Now put your hands on your hips.”

He did.

“Mike, I want you to think back to about an hour ago. You were standing just like this. Do you remember that?”

“Yes, sir.” His voice quavered.

“Where were you?”

“At the mall, sir.”

“Be more specific, Mike. Where were you?”

“In the food court. On a stage.”

“Very good. And what did you do?”

“I wet my pants, sir.”

“You wet your pants?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do good boys wet their pants?”

“No, sir.”

“Who wets their pants?”

“Naughty boys, sir.”

“That’s right. Naughty boys wet their pants. Are you a naughty boy?”

His voice was timid. “Yes, sir.”

“Mike, think back to when you wet yourself. What happened?”

“People laughed.”

“People laughed. That’s true. What else did they do?”

“They pointed. And stared. And made fun of me.”

“And how did that make you feel?”

“I was embarrassed.” His voice cracked. “I felt like crying.”

“You felt like crying? How did your body feel? Think about it carefully. Remember how each part of your body felt.”

“My legs felt weak. And my hands were shaking. And my face was real hot.”

“Wow. Were you happy?”

“No, sir!”

“How were you?”

“Scared!”

“Why were you scared?”

“Because people saw me wet my pants. That was bad. It was wrong. And they were making fun of me.”

“What did you do?”

“I ran out of there. I ran outside to my car.”

“While you were running what happened?”

“I was crying,” he said softly.

“You were?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did anybody see you running around in wet pants, crying?”

“Yes, sir.” Tears were welling in his eyes.

“It’s okay now, Mike. You’re perfectly safe here with me.”

That wasn’t completely true. I’d caused this. I didn’t realize he’d been so humiliated he’d cried. I hadn’t intended to push him that far. He was more susceptible to this type of programming than I’d thought. And I didn’t have the stomach for it. It was time to refocus a bit. I could still proceed as intended this afternoon.

“Mike, breathe in and out. You were standing in the food court in wet pants. Even your socks were wet. They turned yellow! Do you remember that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When people started pointing and laughing you said you felt embarrassed. Did you feel your cock growing harder?”

“No, sir.”

“Yes, you did. Think back. You’re standing in the food court. Your pants are wet. People are staring. Your cock begins to twitch, then it begins to lengthen. It fills up and stands at attention in your wet pants. You remember that, don’t you? Your cock was hard. Say it.”

“My cock was hard.”

“That’s right. It was hard because you felt embarrassed. You were humiliated, Mike. Your cock gets hard when you’re humiliated. Say it and know that it’s true.”

“My cock gets hard when I’m humiliated.”

“Mike, every time you feel humiliated your cock gets hard. You just said it. Do you remember it? Every time in your life you’ve felt embarrassed or humiliated your cock has been hard. You know it’s true. And it makes you feel bad. Because you know it’s wrong to feel so hard when you feel embarrassed. You know only naughty boys get hard when they feel embarrassed. Say it.”

“Only naughty boys get hard when they’re embarrassed.”

“Do you get hard when you’re embarrassed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you a naughty boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Naughty boys must be punished. Do you know what your punishment is, Mike?”

“No, sir.”

I smiled. I’d been looking forward to this. Mike was heterosexual, and would continue to be. But he was going to have one small problem...

“Mike, when you’re naughty there is only one thing you can do to be a good boy again. There is only one punishment for you. Do you want to know what that is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Because you want to be a good boy. So when you’re naughty you will do your punishment. Mike, when you’re naughty you will have to drink cum. You will have an overwhelming desire to drink cum. You will need to taste it. You will not be able to eat, not be able to sleep. You will need the taste of cum to be a good boy. It will be the only thing that can save you from being a naughty boy. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Mike’s face was twisted in a mask of confusion and fear.

“Breathe in and out, Mike. I’ll explain it more easily to you. The more humiliated you feel, the harder you feel. The harder you feel, the naughtier you feel. And naughty boys must be punished, right, Mike?”

“Yes, sir!”

“When you need to be punished you will have to find cum to drink. You will do whatever you need to do for a taste of cum. You will have to drink cum to be a good boy. Repeat after me and know it’s the only way you can be a good boy. You will have to drink cum to be punished.”

“I will have to drink cum to be punished.”

“You will do whatever you have to do to drink cum.”

“I will do whatever I have to do to drink cum.”

“Good boy, Mike. Once you’ve tasted cum it will be like forbidden fruit. You will not be able to resist it. You will find that you need it more each time you are naughty. Cum will be your addiction. And like any addiction you will need more and more to feel like a good boy as time goes on. Do you have any questions, Mike?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you a good boy, Mike?”

“No, sir.”

“Were you naughty today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you need to do to be a good boy?”

“I need to drink cum.”

“Cum, Mike.”

His body spasmed as he pumped cum into the briefs.

“Drink your cum, Mike.”

Slowly he reached inside the briefs. He pulled his fingers out, dripping with cum. He raised them to his mouth.

He licked his fingers clean. His face relaxed into a smile.

“Are you a good boy, Mike?”

“Yes, sir!”

I smiled. That was enough for today. I had to wonder what lengths heterosexual Mike would go to for a drink of cum as his addiction grew. The thought made my own cock pulsate.

“Lie on the couch, Mike.”

Mike’s arms dropped to his sides as he walked to the couch. He lay on his back, smiling, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

“When you awaken today you will be forever changed, Mike. You will find that the more embarrassed you become, the harder your cock will become. Humiliation will be the biggest sexual thrill in your life. And it will make you feel naughty because you know it is wrong. Which will only embarrass you more, arousing you more, making you feel naughtier. Do you understand all of this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you understand what happens when you’re naughty?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What happens?”

“I need to drink cum, sir.”

I watched his chest rise and fall. I watched the bulge in his briefs shrink. I watched his socked feet. It was a pity he was straight.

“You’re a good boy, Mike. Rest. When your clothes are ready I will send you home.”