The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sergeant Greg got a search warrant and went through Ted’s house. He seized the computer and dug up the back yard looking for the murder weapon that killed Brandi Burdock.

The press was all over it and they were pre-judging Ted, as I knew they would.

The family tried to show their support, but as none of them particularly liked Ted, they weren’t that supportive.

Frank wasn’t supportive at all. He was convinced that Ted had tried to kill his daughter and he fumed. “That bastard!

Linda was still in a coma and everyone was waiting for the time when she would wake up and tell all. The doctors however, were doubtful that she would ever wake up or even remember what had happened. They still weren’t convinced that she might live.

In the mean time I sent an email to Mr. Spackle:

Thank you for keeping up your end of the bargain. My friend seems to be moving back to his pre-Cigar Monitor state. Your therapy seems to be working.

You seem to be an honorable man.

I have a second candidate lined up for you but I need you to do me a favour. I need you to change the graphics on the URL you sent me to that of a truck’s interior. This guy is such a straight arrow that he doesn’t like to look at porn.

Your humble servant,

Bill.

After a few minutes I got response.

Dear Bill.

Your email was so ingratiating that I almost sent back a message that said, “Fuck-You!”

However you will notice that I didn’t.

The last man that you sent me was so tasty that I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt and do as you suggest.

Here is a new URL where you can take this new candidate.

Truckerviz3d.com

I’m sure he will like it.

S.

P.S. You’ve got less than three weeks left.

P.P.S. Remember. Don’t try to fuck with me. I know where you live.

Oddly, I felt relieved when I got Spackles’ email. It meant that I could communicate with the bastard without going to the detention room and I did not want to do that again.

He also told me that he was pleased with my ‘gift’ so I guess that was good.

I did wonder what Mr. Spackle found so ‘tasty’ about straight men and why he enjoyed Ted’s appearance so much. Then I began to wonder why he was doing this at all. Did he derive some sort of nourishment from forcing men to become Bear-men and smoke cigars?

I was also disturbed that Mr. Spackle seemed to know where I lived. After reading this I was tempted to close all my curtains, but I decided not to give in to paranoia.

Regardless, I went to the URL he sent me and had a look.

It was perfect. I just had to figure out how to get Officer Sergeant to visit it. I actually found I was getting off on the very idea of having him join the club.

As it was Sgt. Sergeant provided me the perfect excuse.

A day or two later, I heard a knock at my door and Sgt. Greg was standing on my threshold.

“I need to talk to you.” he exclaimed. He was obviously upset.

I motioned him in and bid him to sit down. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve got a neat trucking website that I think you’ll like.”

Greg looked interested but ignored me and he cut to the chase. “We searched the Wilson’s back yard and found nothing, we’re still looking but I’m not hopeful of finding anything. We seized Edward’s computer and he had deleted all of his email.”

I argued, “There is always something left…”

“Yes there was. But not enough! He erased everything. Only fragments were left. But there was a piece of an email that hinted at the email you described to me.”

“Shit.” I said.

“Will you be willing to state in court what you read?”

“Of course. But there may be another way. However it might require a little skullduggery and I know that you’re uncomfortable with that.”

Greg looked at me and said uncharacteristically, “I almost have this a-hole! He’s so guilty that I can feel it in my bones!”

Then he paused and said, “What have you got?”

I went into my bedroom and pulled out the floppy disc I made of Brandi’s email.

I went back into the living room and handed it to him and said, “I wasn’t completely truthful with you at our last meeting. This is a copy of the email that Brandi sent to Ted. I copied it to this floppy. I was hoping I could use against Ted if ever he got out of line. Now I’m, giving it to you.”

Greg stared at the disc like it was poison.

“All you have to do is insert the data onto Ted’s hard drive where the original was and you’ll have your evidence. Don’t think of it as tampering with evidence so much as enhancing the data that’s already there.”

Greg was clearly not happy about this but after some careful thought he said, “Let me see it.”

I went to my computer and loaded up the email.

Greg sat down and he read it in all its horrible glory.

“You took this from his computer that evening?” asked Greg.

“Yes.”

“Swear to me that you copied this file onto this floppy from Mr. Wilson’s hard drive!”

“I so swear.”

Greg was in turmoil. I could see that he was in pain.

I let him sit and finally he said, “Fine! This conversation never happened.” Then he ejected the disc and got ready to leave.

I now agonized in my mind whether or not to send Greg to the site. He was such as decent man and didn’t deserve to be changed into something he wasn’t. If I sent him there it would be for my own selfish reasons. Part of my mind told me that I would be doing it for Rod, but I also knew that I was doing it mainly because I would need a new companion. However, I would likely land up in the same situation I was currently in with Rod, and I would the have to make another deal with Spackle.

“ So.” said Sgt. Greg, “Where’s that site you wanted to show me.”

“I’m not sure it’s all that great.”

“Show it to me anyway.”

Against my better judgment, I reached over his shoulder and called up the new URL that Spackle had sent me.

The interior of a truck appeared.

Sgt. Greg looked interested and read the instructions and placed his nose against the screen.

I wanted to try and stop him but I seemed transfixed.

Nothing happened.

“Try relaxing some more.” I suggested.

This suggestion seemed to make Greg even tenser.

After a few more minutes Greg said, “Look I’m, not getting anything. Send me the link and I’ll try it at home later.

I was flustered and said, “Give me your email address then.”

He did and then he left.

After Sgt. Greg left, I wandered around my apartment aimlessly. I felt guilty that I had actually participated in trying to make Sgt. Greg one of Spackle’s pets. I was actually relieved that it hadn’t worked but I was frustrated and confused all the same.

Things weren’t going so well.

Then my email chimed. Mr. Spackle had sent me a message.

I opened the email and it read,

Congratulations! You’ve met a stone in your road.

Your latest candidate didn’t meet my expectations of quality.

He wasn’t accepted.

You’ll have to try again.

I’ll leave the site open in case you find another trucking buddy.

If you have any questions as to why he was rejected come and meet me in cyber-flesh.

Go to this URL and we’ll talk.

I couldn’t believe it! I was pissed off! Greg was perfect. He was straight and positively angelic. How could Mr. Spackle refuse him?

I was in doubt and depressed. I didn’t want to meet with Spackle again but I needed to know what was wrong with Sgt. Sergeant.

I typed in the address provided and placed my face to the screen.

I found myself in a white-tiled locker room complete with showers, sinks, benches and lockers. There were hard-backed chairs and mirrors lined the walls over the sinks. I was standing naked, on my own two feet, not dangling from a noose as was usual.

I looked around and could find no sign of Mr. Spackle. The sound of dripping water provided the only aural ambiance.

“Hello?”

Then the sharp sound of a whistle reverberated off the walls. I turned around and there was Mr. Spackle standing outside an office door that read ‘Coach’. He was dressed in a gray oversized team jersey with the arms cut off. The logo on the front of jersey had ‘Cigar Bears’ arched over a football. He wore a jockstrap that could barely contain his sizable package. The colour of his hair had been changed from red to brunette. His flattop was cut very short and the sides of his head were practically shaved. His goatee had been sculpted into a thick fu-man-chu moustache. He was wearing the same dark sunglasses I had seen before and a large stogie was smoldering in his left hand.

He dropped the whistle he had just blown. It bounced when it hit his chest. He placed his cigar in his mouth and walked confidently towards me.

“Welcome to the post-game pep talk. I think team moral is at an all time low.”

“Why didn’t you accept the candidate I sent you?” I asked.

“That’s all they are, candidates; possible team members. I asked for straight men and I expected you to deliver. As a precaution, there is a built in filter on the URL’s I sent you. It can detect the level of….straightness, if you will. It will only allow someone who is at least 75% straight to enter. Obviously the cop you offered as a candidate, though tasty, was less than 75%.”

“You could have told me this before.”

“Could I have? I suppose I could have but where would be the fun in that?”

I found this difficult to digest. I thought Greg was as straight as they came. The idea that he may have a percentage of gayness in him never crossed my mind. Perhaps it was just as well. I regretted trying to send him to the site in the first place. But I also thought that if he was say, 25% gay, then perhaps I could take him the regular site at some other time.

“How the hell can I tell if a candidate is more that 75% straight?

“That’s not my problem. Perhaps you’ll just have to rely on hit-and-miss. But really Bill, I’m on your side. I want you to succeed. It’s not often that I get tasty straight men visiting the site. Now enough chit-chat. Let’s get you into fighting shape. You seem to have lost that old team spirit and I won’t stand for that. It’s time we whipped you into shape. Ten HUT!”

I was worried what was coming next but I felt that I had better humour him. I snapped to.

“Yes sir.”

“Yes Coach!”

“Yes Coach.”

“You’re going to pot man, that haircut for example. Are you trying to let it grow out?”

“No Coach.”

“Well I think you could use a trim. Sit down in that chair over there.”

I did as he suggested and Spackle grabbed a razor and started giving me a high and tight flattop. He then added some lather and shaved the sides of my head. I started to get an erection, but then I always wanted a flattop.

“Stand up!”

He looked disgustedly at my dick and said, “Go over to the sink and shave your cock and balls. You look a disgrace! I want to see a shine on that penis mister!”

I did as I was told and lathered up my testicles and ran a razor over them and my dick. The raspy sound it made as it cut my pubes was erotic and I got a sizable woody. However the idea that I was doing it myself, even if forced, I found disturbing. I was hoping that this might not be one of the things that finally ‘took’.

Spackle watched closely, enjoying every stroke of the razor. Somehow knowing that I was doing this on my own, whether compelled to or not, seemed to really get him off. His erection grew to an enormous size. When I nicked the skin and it bled he chortled to himself. After I was denuded he commanded that I rub ‘Old Spice’ after-shave on my skin and it stung.

Then he handed a cum-encrusted jockstrap and told me to place it over my head so that the pouch covered my mouth and nose. The smell of stale sweat, urine and ejaculate was strong. There was a small slit cut in the front of the pouch and through it he shoved a huge cigar and told me to light up. I did, but the jock prevented me from fully expelling the smoke from my lungs and I had to recycle the smoke and smell. I almost gagged.

He turned me around and placed a metal rod at the base of my neck. I felt a shock and I almost went into delirium. The smell that almost gagged me before, I now found highly enticing. My cock was now rock hard.

He forced me to lean over the counter and started bum-fucking me hard. I could see my reflection in the mirror and I almost looked comical. I was like some sort of cigar smoking, jockstrap-man. Each time he thrust into my ass, bits of ash fell onto the counter.

He then started talking out loud, as if he was talking to himself, “You like this don’t you Sport? Yes. Of course you do. You like it a lot.”

I must admit I kind of blanked while he was doing his business and I lost track of time and where and who I was. However, before he came, he pulled out and whirled me around and forced me to my knees. Then he grasped his huge cock, performed a few extra strokes and came all over my forehead. Cum slowly drained down through my eyebrows and into my eyes. The amount of cum was astounding. It was if he was squirting liquid hand soap over my face.

“Now lie on your back Sport.”

I did as he commanded and he then proceeded to urinate all over my body. The piss soaked into the jock and the smell increased and I shot my wad high into the air and it landed on my chest.

“Good boy. Now rub all the cum into you flesh.”

I did just as he said. I felt humiliated and he was clearly enjoying this.

I had the presence of mind to really hate this bastard and I wanted him out of my life.

In fact I wanted him dead.

The effects of the mind probe were starting to wearing off and I thought I would try and get some information out of him. So I pretended to still be under the probes influence. As I rubbed my own cum and his into the urine coating my body, I looked up at him and asked, “Why don’t you have the hooded man force me to do this? “Why do you bother do this yourself Coach?”

He was still distracted by my display and said, “Because I can you idiot! The hooded men are alias’. There’s still something about doing the job in person that gives me great satisfaction. I don’t have a lot of time to devote to special projects but you Bill, you interest me.”

“I’m flattered Coach.” And I made a great deal about rubbing the cum all over my body and my denuded cock. “It feels so good.”

“I’m glad it does. Someday you’ll do this for me in the real world.”

I got cold all over but I ignored it. “I promise I wont let the team down Coach.”

“I know you wont Bill. You’re my star player.”

Visiting Mr. Spackle like this wasn’t nearly as much fun as going to the Alumni Site.