The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Meanwhile my relationship with Rod wasn’t going well. He was becoming more depressed and I knew he still resented what I had forced him to become. We still had great sex but I think he was in it for the sex alone. He would often leave early and go ‘For a walk.’ as he would tell me, or not come over at all. I heard rumours that he had been seen at a few leather bars.

One evening he came by very drunk. He burst in the door with a stogie firmly clasped in his teeth, dropped his jeans and said aloud, “Well… I’m a fucking faggot now!” and he pointed down at his cock. There was a huge Prince Albert on the head of his dick. He then collapsed on the floor and started crying.

I pulled out his stogie and put it in my own mouth, stripped him of his clothes and dragged him onto the bed and covered him up.

“Don’t you want to fuck me anymore?” he slurred, barely conscious. “I got it as a present for you.” Then he sighed, “You don’t love me anymore.”

I must admit the sight of that Prince Albert really made me horny.

“Of course I do.”

“Then fuck me. I want your cock deep inside my ass. I want you to fill my ass with your hot cum.” He laughed as if he found it hilarious that he could ever say such a thing. Then he started sobbing again.

I took a deep drag off the cigar and found my cock rock hard. I was fighting the urge to fuck him.

“I wanted us to get pierced together but you’re never around anymore.”

Finally I felt such pity for the man that I turned him over and lubed up my cock and started to fuck him. I didn’t enjoy it and he winced when his body pressed against his recently pierced dick.

He was barely conscious when I came.

I dragged myself off his unconscious body and went to call his wife. I told her that he had too much to drink and I was going to let him sleep it off here. She was relieved that he was somewhere safe and thanked me for the call. She then started to cry and said, “What’s wrong with him. I don’t know him anymore! He won’t touch me and spends all his time at your place or at the bar. Tell me the truth. What’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s male menopause or midlife crisis. Look Diane, I’ll have a talk with him the morning and I’ll see what I can find out. It’s obvious that he’ll be in no shape to go to work tomorrow. I’ll give you a call later.”

“He’s been absent so much work that his foreman called me and told me that if misses anymore then he may have to let him go. I’m frightened for him and for me.”

I didn’t know he had been missing work. This came a bit of a surprise to me.

“I’ll call his work in the morning and explain things to them. Don’t worry. I’ll work this out.”

“Thanks Bill. You know you’re his only true friend.”

“No.” I said, “You are. Don’t worry Diane, I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

I placed the phone gently in the cradle and stood and thought for a while. I was angry and I was guilty. Somehow I had to make things right.

I went to the web and tried to find some information on turning gay men, straight. I found nothing helpful. There were a number of sites with strong religious overtones, but none that dealt with straight men being forced to become gay and then back again. Frustrated I went back to the Cigar Monitor Site and went to the Alumni Page.

When ‘alumni’ enter the site, nooses are placed immediately around our necks and we are hoisted into place. There was none of the head on the plate stuff like the first time around. Then the hooded man would minister to us and make whatever modifications and tortures he thought were required for our ‘reinforcement’.

Apparently not all of our forced modifications ‘took’. It seems we were allowed a certain amount of ‘free-will’ in what we did to ourselves in the real world. For instance, I had not yet had my scrotum or nipples pierced. The only thing that was certain was that we all left hard-core cigar smokers, and tattoos were inevitable. Our continued visits seemed to be an effort to persuade us to make further modifications or at least keep the ones we had already done to ourselves.

As usual, when I entered the site, I got an intense feeling of euphoria. When the noose was placed around my neck and I was hoisted, I got a huge erection in anticipation of being forced to do things I would have never dreamed of doing before. I started to bliss-out in anticipation. When all twelve nooses were hung, the hooded man looked at each of us as if gauging how were progressing in our own personal modifications and our new lives. Twelve men nervously looked at each other and twelve cocks twitched nervously in the air. Part of the fun (if you could call it that) was watching what forced changes were made to other participants and to try and guess whom they would later get to fuck.

I was up first. As the hooded man approached me, he shoved a huge 64-ring cigar in my mouth. I inhaled it immediately and dutifully. It was of poor quality and rough but I sucked it back knowing it would please the hooded man. It was so large that I knew it would be difficult to speak, and I had some questions to ask. Unfortunately I could feel myself starting to fall into my regular semi-hypnotic state.

He then lathered up my head and shaved me bald. My erection got rock hard and I moaned with humiliation. He then painfully pierced my nipples and forced thick one-inch rings through the holes. Then he knelt down, lathered up my cock and balls, and shaved them bare!

This was exquisitely humiliating and I felt degraded and even emasculated. I had never before even dreamed of shaving my cock. I had been force-taught to love hirsute men and their equipment, including my own hairy cock. Yet as the hooded man was finishing shaving me, my skin began to get hypersensitive. It felt really good as the cool air caressed my now hairless cock and balls. It was liberating and highly erotic. I practically came then and there.

As he was about to move to the second man, I finally I managed to gather up enough presence of mind to blurt out, “I want to talk to the Webmaster.”

The hooded man actually stopped his ministrations. He stood there looking at me for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t see his face to see if he was surprised, or pissed off, or furious. As far as I knew the hooded man didn’t have a face.

I inhaled another big drag and I mumbled again, forcing the words out around the huge cigar. “I need to talk to the Webmaster!” It was hard to concentrate. I wanted desperately to run my hands over my denuded balls and cock.

The other dangling alumni were taking notice of this stoppage in humiliation. I’m sure most of them were pissed off that I was delaying their time under his cruel tutelage. However others may have been impressed that the hooded man may actually be human and could be distracted.

The hooded man seemed to tilt his head as if he was listening to a distant voice. He then seemed to nod and he stood directly in front of me. He moved his hands toward my face and pierced my septum. Then he forced a thick one-inch diameter nose ring through the hole. The intense pain made my eyes water.

He applied some red liquid to my testicles and stretched them down until they felt as if they were halfway down to my knees. Then he placed ball weights around their length so they wouldn’t spring back. As I said before, not all of the hooded man’s ministrations took, and I desperately hoped that these new alterations didn’t.

“Please! I need to talk to the Webmaster!” I said.

The hooded man then grabbed the base of the noose and jerked me onto a different ceiling track that I had never seen before or new existed.

He then wheeled me unceremoniously towards a newly open door and thrust me through it into the darkness. I swayed and turned like a wind chime into the waiting darkness. The last thing I saw was the door closing behind me, and the hooded man returning to his class.

After several minutes, I came to an abrupt stop in what seemed like a large pitch-black room. It smelled like fear and shit. I was alone and I swayed back and forth like a pendulum for what seemed like an eternity. My stretched and denuded balls ached painfully, and my nose ring began to itch.

My only comfort was the dim glow of my stogie and my smoke filled lungs.

I thought to myself that this might be a kind of detention room where bad boys were sent when they were naughty and disobeyed.

Finally I said weakly, “I need to talk to the Webmaster.”

Suddenly, a bright spotlight, directly over my head, jabbed into the darkness.

It was focused directly on me and I was momentarily blinded.

When I got my vision back I could see a large mirror reflecting my ghostly image hanging in the darkness.

“Congratulations. You have made it to my detention room where you will receive some special tutoring. However you will probably learn to regret this dubious honour.”

“Are you the Webmaster?”

“I could be,” he said coyly. “I am Mr. Spackle and I’ll be your special tutor for this evening.” With that, Mr. Spackle stepped into the pool of light.

He was huge in every aspect. Maybe six foot four, and no neck. His cock was at least 10″ and thick. His hair was flaming red and cut into a very short flattop. His dense goatee was neatly trimmed and reminded me of a red vegetable brush. He was wearing sunglasses that looked like the kind that Bono from U2 used to wear. They were so dark I couldn’t see his eyes.

He was clad only in black leather chaps and engineer boots.

He sauntered behind me and said, ”So, I take it you’re unhappy with your modifications. Perhaps I can make you feel better about them and bring you back into the flock.”

Before I could respond he placed a metal disk against the back of my head and I groaned and felt no longer in control of my own body. My teeth clenched and I almost bit my stogie in half.

Suddenly, the noose broke loose and I dropped to the floor on my hands and knees, stunned.

He grabbed my face and ripped the cigar from my mouth and replaced it with a cigar so huge that he had to force it in. My jaw ached from opening so wide. I tried to breathe in through my nostrils but I still needed the smoke. He then attached one end of a chain to the floor and the other to my nose ring.

It was short enough that I wouldn’t be able to stand up or even raise my head too far without ripping my septum in half. My new cigar was so large that the chain forced my head to one side.

Then he went behind me an attached a chain to my ball weights and ran the chain to the wall behind me and pulled them taught.

I almost passed out from the pain. He then returned to my ass and pulled out my legs one at a time and covered my feet with some sort of boots.

He walked around to my sides, knelt, and placed strange fingerless gloves on both my hands. They seemed to tighten the longer they stayed on.

I was still gasping as I watched him walk over to what I thought was a pile of rags and shook them out. I recognized that it was a sheepskin. He then applied a liquid to my skin and draped the sheepskin over my body. It seemed to adhere itself to my skin and spread covering my arms and legs and melding with the gloves. My gloves had become very tight and I now saw that they were re-shaping my hands and feet into hooves!

I panicked and tried to protest but the cigar in my mouth prevented me from talking. I couldn’t’ get up and run as I was held fast in place by the chains.

Mr. Spackle then came around the front and placed horns on each side of my head. They grafted themselves painfully onto my skull.

The sheepskin was now starting to cover my face and I now knew what Mr. Spackle meant about me returning to the flock.

“I love this moment,” said Mr. Spackle. “The moment when the student is part man and part ovine.” And with that he went back to my ass, straddled the chain, and began to fuck me.

God it hurt. With every thrust, my body was pushed away from the wall and the chains pulled against my distended balls.

On top of this I could see that my nose had started to darken and my face was being re-shaped. My mouth had changed shape so much that the large cigar fell to the floor.

With my mouth now unencumbered by the cigar, I tried to beg him to stop. I wanted to tell him that I was happy being the man he had turned me into; that I had come her for another reason. However all that came out of my mouth was a bleating sound.

Mr. Spackle came and unhooked my balls from the wall. Then came around in front of me and unhooked the chain that attached my head to the floor, and dragged me by my nose ring to the mirror. I was still trying to protest but when I saw my reflection I let out what could be considered the sheep-equivalent of a scream of horror.

“Baaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!”

I was now a sheep, or a ram to be precise.

Mr. Spackle laughed wickedly and led me to the far end of the room where several sheep were penned. He attached a plate to the top of my head and forced me into the pen and closed the gate. The other sheep, and several large rams, looked at me stupidly as I entered. All had metal plates on their heads. I heard a click as if a large switch was thrown and one ram suddenly ran behind me. Before I knew what was happening he leapt on top of my wooly back and started to fuck me. I couldn’t move. The metal caps that controlled these animals, was also controlling me. The humiliation of being fucked by a ram coursed through my mind but I could do nothing except bleat. Words kept flooding into my brain, via the metal plate, that were trying to convince me that I was actually enjoying this. The ram pounded my backside for what seemed like half an hour, and then he came and climbed off my back.

Then I got an irresistible urge to fuck one the ewes. I charged at one and clumsily climbed on top. I was unused to my hoofed hands and found it difficult to get a purchase. I managed to find her snatch (do sheep have snatches?) and started bleating and fucking her.

All this time the bestial words and ideas continued to be broadcast into my brain until the only things I could think about were fucking sheep and wishing I could have a cigar.

I lost track of time and it seemed I was kept in the pen for uncounted hours. Each ram fucked me and I fucked all of my ovine companions until I was actually beginning to think I was a sheep; that my other life as a human was only a dream.

I awoke lying on the straw with the sheep milling around me. I was human again. Still naked, head shaved, balls shaved, and scrotum-stretched. I shivered and was appalled I what I was just forced to do. This was one of those lessons that I hoped and prayed didn’t ‘take’.

Mr. Spackle was leaning against the rails of the pen and smoking a cigar and smiling at me. “Are you going to be a good boy now?”

I nodded and said, “I didn’t want to talk to you because I was unhappy. In fact I now like the life that you’ve forced me to live.”

“Then why did you ask for the Webmaster?”

“I asked to see you because of what I did to a friend of mine. I was selfish and tricked him into going to the site. He was happily married and straight. Now he’s miserable and gay and I’m afraid that he will eventually kill himself and/or take someone with him.”

“Someone like you perhaps.”

“Perhaps, but that’s not the main reason.”

I was exhausted and asked, “Look. Have you got a cigar? You’ve made me into a hard core smoker and I need a nicotine fix.” I was feeling more like a man now and I hoped my flippant manner didn’t piss him off.

Mr. Spackle was silent for a moment and then handed me a large stogie and a lighter. I got up on my knees and lighted up. I handed the lighter back and took a deep drag. The nose ring kept getting in the way but I tried to ignore it.

“Cyber-smoking is just as good as the real thing isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes it is and thanks by the way for turning me into a cigar smoker. I never would have had the courage or desire to do it on my own. I now enjoy it so much I can’t imagine a life without tobacco in it.”

“My pleasure.” said Mr. Spackle sarcastically.

“I could have done without the sheep though.” I tried to say humorously.

Mr. Spackle remained silent. Then he said threateningly, “I could have made you do it with dogs and there’s ample opportunity for that to come to pass. Imagine choosing a breed of dog to own back in the real world just so he could fuck you every day.”

I shuddered.

Mr. Spackle then said, “Now back to the reason why you wanted to talk with me. Why do you suppose I would have any interest in helping your friend?”

“Out of compassion?”

Mr. Spackle started to laugh uproariously.

“Compassion! Are you mad? You’re going to have to give me something a lot more than that, my soon-to-be: body tattoo’d and dog-fucked friend.”

I shuddered at the thought of being reprogrammed in this way. Chances are that he would make sure that it ‘took’.

“What if I find some already gay guy to join your site in place of him?”

“I have all the new recruits that I want. You’ll have to do better than that.”

“What about a several of new recruits?”

“Not interested.” And I could see that he was getting annoyed.

“I can’t bring another straight man to the site.”

“Why not? You were straight weren’t you?” Mr. Spackle was now interested and I tried to work with that.

I pulled at my cigar and thought about it. “In hindsight I think I was actually Bi. More hetero than gay actually, so it seemed to be an easier transition for me.”

“Bisexual men aren’t good enough!” he said tersely.

I chewed on my cigar and thought about it. The hay was making me scratch and so I sat down on my ass. That was a mistake as it hurt a lot and I winced. This seemed to amuse Mr. Spackle.

“Those sheep can fuck really hard, but wait until you feel a Great Dane’s knot stuck high up your ass. Do you live in a house or an apartment? Great Dane’s need a lot of room.” Mr. Spackle stated humorously.

I ignored his question and tied desperately to think of another way out of this. I couldn’t bring another straight man to the site.

“Then what would you think was a fair trade?’ I asked.

“As far as I’m concerned there is no fair trade and I actually have little interest in the idea. But since you ask: Three straight men.”

I shook my head “No.”

“Look pal, you don’t get it. You’re in no position to bargain. I‘m not usually so magnanimous or generous, but you’ve amused me and so I’m offering you a great deal. If you want to help your friend then you’re going to have to make some hard choices. If you’re having guilt issues with it, then just lure three straight total strangers to the site. I don’t care who they are; they just have to be straight. So, take it or leave it, or should I call the dogs out. I’d love to have you to leave here a dog lover.”

I felt trapped. There seemed to be no way out of this. I needed to make things right with Rod, but if I did bring three straight guys to the site, they might suffer the same crippling psychologically fate, and I wasn’t sure I could live with that.

“If I agree to your terms will you guarantee that my friend be returned to normal?”

“Well normal is a vague concept. All people have some degree of straightness and gayness. It’s very rare to have a person that is 100% gay or 100% straight. Most people, like you for instance, aren’t even aware of their level of gayness or straightness. As for returning your friend to normal, it depends on how many times he has visited the Alumni Site. If he went in three times a week or less then he stands a good chance of becoming Bi or even 75% straight. If he visited everyday then the outcome is far less certain. The truth is I’ve never done this before, so it might make an interesting experiment. So to answer your original question… No. But you don’t seem to have a lot of options.” He pulled hard at his cigar and chuckled.

“Think fast buddy, the dogs are getting restless.”

Desperate, I said, “OK. I’ll do it. But how? I can’t bring them to you all at once. Do I bring them to the main Cigar Monitor site and if I do how will you know that I have fulfilled my part of the bargain?”

“I’ll give you a month to provide me with three prime, straight men. That should give you enough time. As for which site, give me your email address and I’ll send you three special URL’s, one for each candidate. Candidates will enter the site the same way as you enter the Alumni Site. However, once anyone enters into the site, the page will become inactive. No double dipping. As for your friend, once I have my first convert, I’ll send you another URL especially designed for him. He’ll need to visit three times to get the full treatment; once after each tasty straight man you bring me. However he can never enter the regular Alumni Site again. If he does then he’ll revert back to his current self.

“But he may want to visit the Alumni Site.”

“You’ll just have to persuade him not to. He can enter his new special site as much as he wants and I’ll keep him amused, but he wont get any ‘straighter’ until you send me another candidate. After he’s been through the site the third time, and after I have all my new recruits, he will be as straight as I can make him.”

“How do I know that I can trust you?”

Mr. Spackle looked bemused. “You don’t! But then I don’t know if I can trust you either.” Then he paused and pointed his finger at me in warning gesture. “However. If you try to get out of this deal I will make it so that you will never be able to leave this site. You will become my special pet-project and I will keep you here for a very long time indeed.”

With that he flicked his cigar ash in my general direction and I felt a great pain in my groin and spine. I stood up and then was forced to double over in pain. As I looked at my cock I saw that it was being turned into a huge cigar complete with a cigar band around where the head of my cock was. The cock-ring still hung from the end of my cock-cigar.

Then my distended balls became rigid and changed shape. The upper half of my long ball-sack became black and glossy and my scrotum started to curl up developed a wood-like grain. My balls were being turning into bent stemmed pipes. I grunted and fell sideways onto the ground. I tried to touch my genitals but they were too sensitive. The pain along my spine forced me to roll over onto my back and I was forced to watch the transformation of my genitals helplessly, grimacing in pain.

Soon the pain eased and the transformation was complete. Then my balls began to ache.

Mr. Spackle then tossed me a small bag and it landed near my hand. “Your balls are starting to ache aren’t they?” he snickered. “Your balls are going through nicotine withdrawal. That’s pouch of pipe tobacco. I suggest you fill your briars before the discomfort becomes unbearable.

I reached for the pouch and the strong smell of pipe tobacco wafted up. Once I smelled it, my balls practically screamed to be filled. I pulled out a great wad of tobacco with one hand and gently lifted up my pipe-balls and placed equal amounts of tobacco into my newly formed bowls and tamped it down. However the ‘craving’ in my balls didn’t lessen. In fact it grew.

Mr. Spackle said, “Here.” and he tossed me a lighter and took a long pull on his cigar.

I picked up the lighter and was unsure of what to do.

“Light you balls you idiot! Take long deep drags through your cock, oops, cigar.”

I now knew why my spine hurt, it was longer and more flexible and I would be able to bend forward and auto-fellate myself if I only had a dick to suck. Even if I could get off on it, my cock had no sensation left in it. I was just a cigar attached to my body. Instead I took the end of my cigar-cock in my mouth and drew on my cigar-cock and applied the end of the flame to my briar-balls. I puffed awkwardly at my cigar-cock until I could taste pipe smoke and my balls stopped their complaining.

I leant back and exhaled. Tears streamed down my face while smoke drifted up from my smoldering genitalia.

“Not as satisfying as a good cigar is it?”

“You’ve made your point.” I said. “I wont try to screw you and I will hold up my end of the bargain.”

“Excellent!”

“Do you want me sign something in blood?”

“This is not a Faustian bargain old chum and I’m no Cyber-Satan. Just give me your email address and that will do.”

I gave it to him and he said, “Now finish your pipes. I like watching a man smoke.”