The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When I opened my eyes I had a headache. Actually my whole body ached. And I had to pee. Light was shining on my face from somewhere. It was sunlight coming in the window. I tried to move out of the way and that’s when I realized my hands and feet were tied behind me.

Then I remembered my Master saying, “Slave, you’ve gotten drunk and hogtied tonight! You were very good. Leatherman was impressed with you. This is your reward.”

My reward. Master was pleased with me. More of last night started to make sense. He told me he’d be back in the morning. I couldn’t wait to see him.

I rocked a little side to side and moved so the sun wasn’t on my face. I really had to pee. But Master had said, “You will not relieve yourself until I tell you to.” I hoped he would tell me to soon!

The front door opened and I could see Master’s boots in the doorway. I strained my neck to look up at him.

“Hi, slave!” he said as he closed the door.

“Hmm Mmmmmmm!” I said back. But it didn’t sound like I meant it to.

“Unfreeze your tongue. How are you, boy?” Master squatted down and mussed my hair.

“I have to pee, Master.”

“I imagine you do. You drank a lot of beer last night. But you don’t have permission to go. Not yet. Would you like me to untie you, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

He reached over and unknotted the rope, lowering my arms and legs to the floor. “You may get up and stretch, boy.”

I slowly got to my feet. My legs felt like jelly. But my cock stood stiff as a board, pressing into my thigh.

Master walked to the phone. “No messages. Good. Slave, go fix yourself some breakfast. And you must drink two glasses of juice. That’s an order.”

“Yes, Master,” I said, and walked into the kitchen.

Those two glasses of juice should push him to the point of begging to piss, I thought as I watched slave walk out of the room. He really was a good boy.

But today was moving day. Which meant I needed to pack up a few of Craig Matthews’ things to take with him to my house. I walked into his bedroom and began at the closet. There was an overnight bag on the shelf. That would be perfect.

I looked through the clothes hanging in the closet. Typical college boy clothes; nothing to rave about. There were several pair of shoes on the floor. I selected a pair of khakis, a button down shirt, and broken-in brown loafers just to have on hand, and closed the closet door. I’d buy my slave some new clothes. He would certainly have to dress better than this. From the dresser I packed half the white briefs and white socks Craig had bought, and a few T-shirts and wifebeaters. I took his wallet too.

He wouldn’t need anything form the bathroom, I had plenty at my house, so I supposed I was all packed. I had already written a check for next month’s rent early in the week, so the place was all paid up. Craig Matthews was going to simply fade away, and no one would ever know he had become a slave.

I joined him in the kitchen where he was eating a bowl of cereal. “How’s my boy doing?”

“Master, may I pee now?”

“No, boy.”

“Please, sir.”

“I said no.”

His poor face was twisting, not knowing what to do. I could tell he didn’t want to disobey me, but nature was calling. This was actually a test to see how important following my commands had become to him. So far he was passing beautifully.

“Boy, relax. Don’t think about peeing. Think about being someplace calm. Maybe the woods. Sitting next to a little brook as it babbles and gurgles along... No, that probably doesn’t help.” I grinned. “What about on an island? You’re walking along the cool sandy beach. The breeze is blowing in off the pounding surf... Or maybe you’re outside having a nice restful picnic. And then it starts to rain, the water pouring down from the sky...”

Slave stood from the table. “Please, Master?”

“Freeze your feet.”

He hung his head.

“You’ll stay right where you are, boy, and follow instructions.” I picked up the glass of juice from the table and filled it to the top. “Drink this, boy.”

He took the glass from me and looked at me pleadingly. His eyes were adorable like this.

“Drink!” I commanded.

He began to drain the glass of its contents. When he’d finished I took the glass and set it on the table.

“Remember, slave, a good boy doesn’t disobey his Master.” I left the room and picked up the suitcase from the living room floor. It was time to load the car.

I heard the front door close. Master must have left. And he left me here in the kitchen. I couldn’t move. And he wouldn’t let me use the bathroom. I had to go so bad I couldn’t stand it. Please, oh please, don’t let me disobey my Master. I closed my eyes. Please. Please.

I could feel something warm in my jeans. And then something wet was running down my left leg.

Master was going to be so mad! He wasn’t going to want me to be his boy anymore. Good boys don’t disobey their Masters and I disobeyed my Master and he wasn’t going to let me be his boy anymore. I started to cry.

I stopped in the kitchen doorway. Slave was crying. His jeans were soaked, and he was standing in a puddle of his own urine. His white socks were no longer white even, the left one having turned a bright shade of yellow!

This was more of a reaction than I had expected. This poor boy was sobbing uncontrollably.

“Slave,” I said, “Why are you crying?”

“I-I” he sobbed.

“Slave, stop crying. What’s wrong? Calm down.”

Tears continued to roll down his cheeks and he cried as though his heart had broken. I had no choice.

“My shoes are tight. Slave, stop crying.”

I watched as his breathing began to slow and become more regular.

“Why were you crying, boy?”

“Master told me I couldn’t pee and I couldn’t wait anymore and I had an accident. And I wasn’t a good boy and now Master is going to be mad.”

I melted. “Your Master isn’t mad. You were very good. You didn’t disobey me. Your body couldn’t do what I was asking anymore. But you wanted it to. Perhaps even more than I had expected. So don’t cry anymore over this. You’ve made your Master very happy.”

Slave was standing calmly now. I wished I had my camera to capture the sight of him standing in his own urine, his face stained with tears. The memory would have to do.

“When I count 3 you will be perfectly calm. You will clean the floor in here and then you will go and shower and clean yourself up. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. When you have finished cleaning up you will dress in briefs and socks and join me in the living room. 1...2...3.”

Half an hour later Slave was standing before me in the living room, dressed as instructed. It was early afternoon outside and there was no way I could take him to my car like this. And I didn’t really want his neighbors to see him leaving with me.

I walked into the kitchen and got two large garbage bags from under the sink. Returning to my boy I shook one open.

“Step into this bag, boy.”

He did immediately. I pulled it up over his legs and drew the drawstrings tight around his chest and arms, knotting them.

“Freeze your tongue,” I said before shaking out the second bag and pulling it over his head. I knotted the strings around his knees, then stepped back to admire my handiwork. Perfect.

Except for one thing. I wanted him to live long enough to reach my house. I tore a small air hole in the bag over his head.

“Let your body go limp, boy.” I caught him as he sagged and hoisted him over my shoulder. I turned off the light and locked up the apartment, then struggled a little to reach my car with slave on my shoulder.

I lowered him into the trunk as gently as I could, then closed the lid and slid in behind the wheel. Slave’s new life was about to begin.

It had been two weeks since Craig Matthews left his apartment for the last time and Slave moved into my house. I had a live-in slave who served my every need. Which makes me sound like some crazed, evil genius who should be on a secluded island, I know, but in reality I had fallen in love with the boy. The submission was just an added bonus. And I was taking good care of him. Honest.

It wasn’t like he was miserable. He was enjoying every minute of living as my slave. And my dog, which is how I often left him while I was working. Things were going perfectly.

It was Saturday morning when that changed. And the worst part was that I could have prevented all of it. But I was used to being in control. And I figured I could handle anything. After all, I’m the Master.

First thing in the morning my telephone rang. It was Leatherman. He had found a “young stud” he wanted me to meet. Those were his words, not mine. Could I come to the club for lunch? I agreed to meet them at noon.

Slave was still tied to the bedposts from last night, so I released him and let him blow me before heading into the shower. His talent for that had earned him the privilige of sleeping in my bed this week.

Slave had the morning paper on the table next to a fresh pot of coffee for me when I arrived downstairs, dressed in a gray suit. I lost my appetite when I opened the paper. A photo of Craig Matthews had made the cover with the caption “Local College Boy Missing.” This was not good.

I drained a cup of coffee. It could be handled. After all, he wasn’t missing. He was sitting across the table from me. I could fix this. I just needed to figure out how to show the world that Craig was fine yet keep slave for myself. While I was at it I could end intolerance and cure HIV.

The problem wasn’t only that he thought his name was slave—though that would be tricky enough to explain. The problem was that between diet, exercise, hair dye, and an earring, he was nearly unrecognizable as Craig Matthews. I’d have to begin immediately.

Damn! Immediately after lunch. I had to meet Leatherman and his friend.

When I entered the backroom of the club Leatherman sat at a table with a man whose back was to me. He stood when I reached the table and shook my hand.

“Young stud” actually was an accurate description. He looked boyish, with a mop of brown hair and warm brown eyes. A thin build, though he obviously worked out, probably 5′9ish. He wore navy slacks and a blue T-shirt.

Leatherman was grinning a Cheshire-cat grin. “Christopher, this is Mitch Davis. He’s interested in learning about hypnosis and I told him you’d be a wonderful teacher.”

I shrugged. So that was the pretense. I joined Mitch at the table. Leatherman left to see about lunch.

Mitch had his guard up. I could tell that immediately.

“Don’t worry,” I said, “I won’t hypnotize you.”

He forced a smile. “What?”

“You look tense. The way I understood it you’re interested in interning with me to learn about hypnotherapy. I only hypnotize my clients.”

Mitch’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Oh. Okay.”

“Tell me about yourself. Why should I take you on? What do you do?” In my experience, people generally tend to relax while talking about themselves.

“I was in the Marines for awhile, and now I’m looking for a job. I’ve always wondered about hypnosis, so I thought I’d look into it.”

“Military, huh?” That was a definite plus. The military trains boys to follow orders. Isn’t that nice of them?

“Yes, sir.” He barked the response.

I had to suppress a grin. Leatherman may have found the ideal boy.

“You seem like a bright guy, Mitch,” I said. “We could give this a try. I’ve honestly never taken on an intern, so we’ll have to work it out as we go. You impress me as a quick study.” I had lowered my voice and though I knew he didn’t realize it Mitch’s breathing was slower. He began to blink rapidly.

“Take deep breaths, Mitch. In and out... In and out... In and out... Your eyes look like they feel heavy. Do they feel heavy? Wouldn’t it be nice to let them slide closed? Breathe in and out... In and out... In and out... Your whole body is relaxing. Your eyes close. Do you feel relaxed?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied distantly.

“Good. When I count to 3 you will be wide awake and you won’t remember closing your eyes. But every time I say Polish your boots you will return to this state of relaxation and feel more relaxed. I want you to repeat after me and as you say the words you know that they are true. Every time I say polish your boots you will return to this state of relaxation and feel more relaxed.”

“Every time you say Polish your boots I will be relaxed.”

“Good. Now I’ll count to 3 and you won’t remember any of this. 1...feeling more alert...2...more aware of your surroundings...3.”

He blinked.

Leatherman arrived with two glasses of soda. “Lunch should be out shortly. Are you two hitting it off okay?”

I nodded and he left. “Polish your boots.”

Mitch’s eyes slid shut.

“How do you feel, Mitch?”

“Mmm. Good.”

“Answering my questions makes you feel even better and more relaxed. Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to clasp your hands together in front of you.

I waited as he slowly did.

“Your hands are stuck together. Somehow someone spilled the strongest glue in the world on them. The more you try to pull them apart, the more stuck together they become. Try to pull your hands apart, Mitch.”

I watched as he strained to separate his laced fingers. He put on quite a struggle.

“Relax, Mitch. Your hands have come apart. Let your arms return to your sides.”

He did.

“Okay, Mitch, one last thing for today. Do you wear boxers or briefs?”

“Boxers, sir!”

“No, you don’t. On your way home from the club today you will stop at the store and buy white briefs. You will no longer wear boxers. You don’t like to wear boxers. You like to wear tighty-whiteys. You like the feel of them tight against you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What will you do on the way home?”

“Buy briefs, sir!”

“What will you wear?”

“Briefs, sir!”

“Good. Now remember, every time I say Polish your boots you will return to this state of deep relaxation. 1...You will not remember any of my orders consciously, but your subconscious will act on them. 2...You feel relaxed and refreshed. 3... You are wide awake.”

Mitch opened his eyes.

“Polish your boots.”

His eyes closed.

“1...2...3.”

He opened them.

“Polish your boots.”

His eyes snapped shut.

“1...2...3. Mitch, let me give you my address.” I jotted it on the back of a business card. “Why don’t you call me tomorrow and we’ll set something up?”

“Sure.” He smiled.

“I have appointments all afternoon so I think I’ll leave you and Leatherman to lunch. Excuse me.”

Mitch stood to shake my hand again before I left.

Leatherman intercepted me on the way to the door.

“So?” he asked anxiously.

“He’ll do. I left him my number. Convince him to call me.”

“You’re going to leave?”

“I have some things to take care of.”

Leatherman looked at me skeptically. “I’ll just bet you do.” He gave me a pat on the ass and walked away.

I sighed. I hate when he does that.

I stopped at the mall on my way home and bought an armload of supplies. I had already figured out how to solve the problem of Craig Matthews’ whereabouts. But it wouldn’t be simple.

Slave met me at the door when I arrived home.

“Go on up to the bathroom and strip, boy.”

By the time I joined him, Slave’s wifebeater, briefs and cutoffs were in a discarded heap.

“Socks too, boy.”

He peeled them off quickly.

“Get in the shower, slave.”

He did.

“Freeze your feet. Close your eyes. Freeze them shut.”

I quickly dyed his bleached hair back to a medium brown. I was going to miss having a blond boy. After the dye had set I instructed Craig to shower. Once he had toweled off I handed him a pair of briefs and socks and led him down to the den. I had him sit on the couch. Deja vu.

“My shoes are tight.” I hadn’t used Craig’s trigger in weeks. He didn’t need it anymore. But this was going to take a very deep state of relaxation to pull off. I needed to recondition Craig, and very quickly. I walked over and removed the gold hoop from his left ear, then settled into my chair.

It was time to return Craig Matthews’ personality. But I still wanted his mind and body.