The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A long time ago, someone observed that ‘no good deed goes unpunished’. Up until a few months ago, I thought it was just a saying. But here I am, sitting in a hotel lobby in Vegas, dressed just a little too provocatively for someone my age, and waiting for a call directing me to a certain room. I only have a few moments of clarity before the call comes, leaving me this time to ponder just how in the hell I ended up as someone’s cock whore.

It was a few months ago. I’m in the logistics business and I travel a lot—a whole lot. I have all the perks and of course all the hassles that go along with it. So as I get to the gate, there’s a young soldier at the desk—arm in a sling, leg in a brace, bandage on his neck. He’s pleading with the gate agent to help him get on the next flight. The agent is polite, but the flight is over booked. So I stop and see if I can do a good deed. I let them both know I served at a time when the uniform wasn’t so popular, and that any problem can be solved with creative thinking. It takes few moments and it helps to flash the business card of the head of the airline’s base operations with whom I had met earlier today. And what do you know? The soldier finds himself in a first class seat on this flight, and I’ve got a middle seat on the next one. No big deal; I’ve got lots of work to do.

A couple of hours later, as I shuffle in, I catch a glimpse of the flight attendant working first class. There was a small flash of familiarity—just an eye-blink’s worth, but then, as I said, I fly a lot.

I settle in, go to sleep before the door closes, wake up when the wheels touch, shuffle out and head off for the hotel shuttle pick up. The shuttle is there, but the driver has to wait for a crew. So I climb in the back. The crew shows up moments later, and off we go. It’s the same crew from my flight. The flight attendant I glimpsed is two rows up. I catch his profile a couple of times and, again, there’s a nagging recognition.

First in-last out and everyone heads to the desk. Now I’m behind the guy. He steps up and gets his key, turns, and we make full eye contact. He pauses; I pause.

“I’m sure you get this a lot, but I think we’ve met before,” I say.

He smiles, “Yeah, perhaps, I imagine you’re a frequent flyer and well—so am I.”

“Yeah,” I say, “But there’s something I can’t place.”

“You trying to pick me up?” he says and smiles.

I raise my left hand, ring finger isolated.

“Sorry to bother you, it was just one of those things—sorta déjà vu, you know,” I say.

“Oh, sure,” he says, “Tell you what though, let me buy you a drink and maybe we can figure it out. I’m not ready to crash.”

I glance at the clock, back at him, over at the lounge. “Sure,” I say. “I napped on the plane. Let me go take off the tie and wash my face. Back in ten?”

“Works for me,” he replies.

The lounge is dark and quiet. Only a couple of other guys there; game on the TV over the bar. He’s over in the corner, off to the side. “Charles,” I say putting out my hand. “Brett” he replies.

The waitress is right there, we order, and settle in.

“So, do we play 20 questions?” I say.

He says, “Maybe, but let me try something first. You look like the standard real busy, real intense business guy, right?”

“It shows?” I reply.

“The problem is the clutter; and one scotch and 20 questions won’t break the log jam. You need to distract yourself for a moment and see what bubbles up. Maybe it will come to you.”

“Ok, what’s the trick?” I ask.

He lifts his right hand and removes a ring from his ring finger. It’s sort of like a class ring, with an emerald green stone.

“Take this,” he says. “Put it on your forefinger, makes a fist and turn the stone towards you.”

I do as he says.

“Now, rest your fist on the table so the ring stays in one place. Look at the stone and think of nothing. Oh, and toss down the scotch so the alcohol can get to work.”

It had been a long week, a long day, and a long evening. But whatever it was that was nagging at me about where I knew this fellow from was growing.

“Why not,” I said. I swallowed the drink, felt the burn all the way down, and relaxed.

So I’m looking at the ring for a moment, and he starts talking softly.

“Relax, breath slower, think of nothing, look deeply, go deep into the ring, no thoughts except what I’m telling you, float free and, relax,” he kept repeating softly and slowly.

As his voice wound around me and through me, I started to fall into the ring. It wasn’t vertigo, more like those spirals they use in the movies to hypnotize someone. And I kept falling.

After a while, who knows how long, the mantra changed. “Your thoughts are gone, your mind is open, floating, just like on the water, go way back, floating back, floating on the green water, seeing nothing but the green water and the waves, floating on the waves, the smooth flowing waves, and as you see the waves and relax more and more, you glimpse a memory, a long time ago, let it come to you, relax and let it come, you can remember now, I give you permission to remember, go ahead—remember me, remember our time in Hawaii.”

I fell deeper into the green. And slowly, it started to come back.

After high school, I joined the Air Force. I got assigned to supply, found I had a flair for logistics, punched my ticket at Danang for a year, survived the ’72 offensive with just a little shrapnel from a rocket attack and then got selected for Loadmaster school. Life was great. I got assigned to 141s on the west coast—flying my ass off, saving money and getting some college credits.

One fine spring day a typhoon ripped Guam a new one, so we were dispatched to haul supplies from Hawaii for temporary repairs—seven hours each way. We went as long as we could, but since I was a high time guy, I ran up against the monthly cap limit, which meant the crew had to stand down for a day or two while my time bank refilled.

As luck would have it, we were at Hickam instead of Guam or Wake or worse—Kwaj, so the crew was all for it. No one even thought to ask me to take a waiver. It’s Hawaii. It’s a couple days off.

And as luck would have it, they sent us downtown to a hotel on Waikiki also used by the commercial crews. This excited the two Pilots quite a bit—— pilot talk with other pilots and opportunities to meet stewardesses. The Nav was a lot older, and he only cared about getting home. The Flight Engineers were way senior to me and only cared about drinking beer. Me? I had spent just enough time at Hickam to know what I wanted to do.

So we checked in and assembled at the pool. Another crew was already there, and then the commercial folks started appearing. I started out in the mix, but as the junior enlisted guy, I found myself getting moved out to the periphery and then outside the orbit of Pluto. Flight attendants are not interested in the guy who just loads the cargo and gets real sweaty; they want the guy who handles the stick.

Traveling the Pacific, I always had a suit with me, so I hit the pool and swam some laps. I swam in high school and was still in pretty good shape. I even did some fly to advertise my flexibility and see if I would get noticed. Climbing out I glanced at the group—nothing, not even an insult or a sneer. Oh well, I thought, I’ll just watch the animals preen for a while, have a drink, get an early dinner and see if there is a way to get out to Point Panic or Makapu’u tomorrow and do some body surfing.

I get back to the table and there’s three guys sitting there. So I pull my towel off the fourth chair, nod a greeting, and join them. Names are exchanged. They’re all flight attendants so I’m welcome to stay. At least I can talk shop as opposed to being talked through and around.

A waitress comes over, and I offer to buy. I notice her name is Charlotte. Mine is Charles so I try to leverage that into some sort of introduction. She just looks down her nose and says, “Let’s see—from the hair cut—Air Force right? Under 25—hanging with these guys—no empty beer cans in front of you. You must be the Load? I’m an Air Force brat—Daddy’s the Base Commander at Elmendorf so I know better. Besides, I know these guys, which is even more reason for you to kiss off.” And off she goes.

This of course tickles the others immensely. The one next to me—Brett if I recall the names right—looks at me and says, “Maybe you’re just not her type.”

“Clearly—I’ve always known my place but that stung just a bit,” I say nodding over at the other tables, “Must have spent one too many winters in Alaska.”

Brett chuckles and says, “She’s feisty for sure, but what place is that?”

“On the bottom,” I say, “In the back, bringing up the rear, seen but not heard. But the ladder is long and it’s one rung at a time”

He smirks, “Profound.”

“Yeah, the philosophy of a life of hard work on hot ramps and even hotter airplanes; the sun shines in the Pacific a lot,” I say, with a grin.

He looks straight into my eyes. “The bottom, huh?” he says.

I’m not intimidated, so I look straight back. After a few seconds, I find myself noticing how green his eyes are. There’s an instant where time pauses, then Charlotte is putting the drinks down. I pay, tip more than I should by way of an apology, and turn back to the table.

So the conversation started, but after a moment or two I found myself talking just to Brett: the usual general background stuff—how I planned to spend the crew rest, how we got to where we are, places we lived, places we’ve been—the usual chit-chat.

Early on, I picked up that he had been to Bangkok because he had this two Baht gold neck chain. It wasn’t hard to miss lying against his tan. He has this habit of fingering it, but not in a nervous way. As we talked, he would take his finger and trace the chain from one side of his neck to the other. The chain caught the sunlight, as did the gold ring he was wearing, and I found myself sort of half watching it after a while. His voice seemed to get a little lower or maybe the background conversation was picking up and so I leaned in a bit to hear him better. After a while it seemed he was doing most of the talking and I was doing most of the agreeing—the Mai Tai, the sun, the fatigue from the long days, the rhythm of his voice—it was all very pleasant and soothing.

After a bit, he suggested that we move over to the bar by the pool. I agreed. As we walked, he talked about my wanting to go body surfing, noting he had watched me swim and it seemed to him that I was in pretty good shape, but the surf could be deceptive—and it would be a shame to scrape up my body. I fumbled a bit for words. He cut me off, saying it was clear I stayed in shape and there was nothing wrong with being well built and having a sexy body.

He smiled gently, “Charlotte may not appreciate you, but from where I sit, you can turn a lot of heads.”

I stammered, “I guess it’s all in your perspective.” I felt a warm flush rising, and then he had his hand on my back, steering me to the two stools at the end. For some reason, I did not resist his touch.

We ordered and settled in. Brett just kept fingering his neck chain, talking about the layout and the surf at the places I mentioned going. I found myself breathing in time to the movements—inhale as he went across, exhale as he went back. The drinks came, and the conversation continued. Well—he continued to talk, and I continued to watch and listen.

He kept talking about how important it was to trust him tomorrow when we went surfing. How it can be a challenge to let yourself go and just trust the wave to carry you to the end, just trust your companion to steer you to the right place, to the right decision.

I agreed—— he was obviously more familiar than I was with the nuances of the beaches. And it seemed to pleasant just to agree. I really was just floating along with his voice.

He kept fingering his chain, only now there was more light reflecting off of it. I had the sense it was dancing all around my face. He was talking about the pleasure of riding the waves, of the waves taking control of you but you going along willingly and taking the risk, enjoying the ride.

He asked every so often if I trusted him, and I admitted I did.

His voice gets softer. And now he says he can tell I want experience the thrill of being controlled by the waves, by the surf, and then very softly—by him. A shiver runs down my spine. I cannot look away, I cannot disagree, I cannot resist the thrill of what he is offering. He is telling me I have to agree. And I do.

He asks me to agree that if he takes control, I will experience pleasure I have never known. My senses are flooded. It so warm, and his voice is compelling. All I can do is tell him yes.

Even more quietly, he instructs me on what I need to do. Whenever he fingers the chain, I am to focus on him, hear only his voice, and do as he instructs. He tells me again and again how much I need to trust him. He will keep me safe, he will make sure my oh so sexy body is safe.

A stronger shiver runs through me. I agree again.

Now he is almost whispering. I lean in closer and can feel his hot, moist breath on my neck. I shudder, and it is all I can do to concentrate as he tells me to do. He suggests to me what I should do for the rest of the afternoon to get ready for tomorrow.

He leans back, and as he talks to me, I slowly come out of my haze.

“Two Mai-Tais are too much,” I say, standing and stretching, “I need to go rest up a bit—get on Island time. He agrees.

We head back over to the group, his other two friends are still at the table. “You and Brett make a plan for tomorrow?” one asks. “Yep,” I say as I grab my towel. Then, a moment of responsibility intrudes. I make my way through the tables to speak to the AC and make sure we are still in crew rest tomorrow. He can barely tear himself away from the 38Ds cradled in his arm. “Nothing,” he says. “You’re still over the max through tomorrow so we’re released all day. I figure we’re alerted at 0800 or so the next day.”

So I tell him I’m going to go out to Makapu’u tomorrow, do some body surfing. He advises me not to break my neck please as it would involve a lot of paperwork. “Yes sir,” I say. He goes back to the38Ds.

As I walk by the Flight Engineers, their table covered with beer cans, one of them slurs, “I see you’ve met some cute guys; y’all going to go make out for a while.” I start to flip him off, but that’s risky—he outranks me by two stripes. So I just smile, shake my head no and go on inside.

I pass by Charlotte. “Dinner?” I ask. “Not a chance,” she says with a smile that rivals a sunrise.

So as I walk into my room, I somehow know what I’m supposed to do—shower, nap, get dinner, and then go back in my room by 8. It makes sense.

The wakeup call comes way too soon—I was out like a light. I pee, shower and shave and head downstairs. As I walk into the restaurant, Charlotte is walking out. “Should I get my third strike now, or save it for later?” I ask. She pauses. “Save it for tomorrow; gives me something to look forward to,” she says. “What happened to Brett and his buddies? Thought you would be going out with them?”

“No idea,” I say. “Going to meet him tomorrow early and go out to Makapu’u since I’m off all day. Other than that I’m on my own.”

“Well, I’ll save it for tomorrow,” she says, “so I have time to think of a really cruel way to tell you to go fuck yourself.”

“Clearly, I’m a masochist,” I think as I watch her depart.

Dinner comes, and I’m mindful of the time. I have to be back by 8 to get some rest. So I’m in the room early. I brush and strip to my boxers. There’s a knock at the door.

“Yes, who’s there?” I say.

“Brett,” comes the reply. “I wanted to talk to you a moment before I go out.”

I open the door. He steps in. Royal blue silk shirt open midway down, tight white pants, gold chain resting right at the collarbone, sincere smile. It’s the 70s; it’s Disco.

“Hey,” I say. “You look ready for action.”

“Hope so,” he says. “The night is young, as they say.”

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Just want to make sure you recall what we talked about this afternoon. Sit for second.”

I back up and sit on the edge of the bed looking up at him. He comes over and leans back against the dresser.

He starts fingering the necklace—back and forth. And I’m drawn right to it.

“That’s good,” he says. “That’s very good. You recall that as my finger goes back and forth, you cannot look away, you cannot resist. You breathe in time to my finger—— in and then out. Correct?”

“Yes,” I say slowly.

“Yes, that’s correct. And as you watch and breath in and out, you listen carefully and obediently, don’t you.”

“Yes,” I say again slowly. A feeling of warmth and tingling is starting to build in my abdomen.

“You want to obey me. It’s in your nature and your training. Taking orders and being controlled by someone in command is second nature to you. And you agreed this afternoon that I would be in control.”

“Yes,” I say yet again.

“Now I told you this afternoon how sexy you are. And you accepted that. You do feel sexy around me.”

“Yes,” I say more softly.

His voice got quieter, his finger still moving rhythmically and slowly. I watched, I listened, I agreed. I did have a nice body, I was sexy, I was a bit slutty, I excited him, I was excited by him, this was just sex taking hold, desires taking control.

“I am sexy, I can be slutty, I realize you desire me, I realize you’re sexy, I agree sex between two people is natural,” I repeat in time to his prompts and questions.

My cock is starting to respond to the images. I’m getting fuller and pre-cum is leaking.

“Stand up now, drop your pants, go to the bathroom and bring me your suntan lotion,” he commands.

I pause.

“Go now, obey me—be slutty, go now.”

Something breaks, I have to obey, and this gorgeous man controls my will.

As I come out of the bathroom, he is laying his pants over the chair. He is naked save for the necklace.

“Come to me,” he whispers.

As I walk over, he takes the lotion and puts it on the nightstand. He puts his hands on my low back, just above my ass and pulls me to him.

“Think of the chain, think of my finger going back and forth, surrender to me, surrender to me, surrender to me,” and as his voice fades out his lips are one mine.

I melt. I tilt my head slightly to the right and respond. A second later, his tongue and mine have found each other and are caressing. His hands are moving up and down my back and mine find his ass and caress it.

Days later, he breaks the kiss. He tilts my head and holds me with his eyes. “Delicious,” he murmurs, “So sexy, so slutty, so submissive, so responsive and obedient.”

He backs me to the bed and I sit. I’m staring at his cock. He has one hand on my shoulder and the other is fondling his cock. Not too large, not too small, just this nicely shaped cock that is starting to grow.

“That’s right, watch it grow, don’t look away, it’s growing because it wants you. It wants your touch, your lips, your ass, your obedience as a sexy, submissive slut. And you feel yours growing in response, don’t you?” he murmured.

He was right. I put one hand on my shaft and it was well on the way to fully erect.

“Take the lotion, massage your cock, stroke it slowly, just like my finger on the chain, back and forth, smooth and steady,” he voice was firm now.

And as you feel the pleasure rising, think of how you want to share that with me. You want to let me feel it too. But since your hand is busy, you need to bring your head closer, bring your head to my head now. A moment ago you could not get enough of my tongue. Now you want to savor my cock the same way.”

I hesitated slightly. But I was still stroking myself, seeing in my mind his finger on the chain, and my lust was rising steadily. His hand moved to the back of my head, and ever so gently encouraged me to bend to him.

The head was at my lips. I opened slightly and licked them and then gently touched the tip. A slight bit more pressure and my mouth descended. He moaned.

“So nice and warm, so nice and smooth, I knew you had a fuckable mouth the first time I saw you.”

I moaned; he twitched. “Do that again,” he commanded.

And I did.

“Stroke me as you stroke yourself, together, up and down, in and out,” was the next command.

And I did.

I’m holding the base of his shaft and rubbing mine at the same time and the same pace. As I get closer, I speed up and moan again and again. He is now moving his hips with. And I explode. And as my moans and hums merge together, he pulls back, pushes me down on my back and cums on my chest—a lot.

“Stay there,” he commands, “Put both hands on your dick, and do not move.”

He’s off me and in the bathroom in one motion. I hear the shower start, and a few moments later he’s standing in front of me toweling off.

“Sit up, look at me,” another command is given. As he dries and dresses, he is telling me that I masturbated and fantasized about him, that this is something that happens sometimes, that is just about sex, and since I am sexy and slutty and submissive, this type of fantasy is perfectly normal. He repeats this as he fingers his chain over and over. He talks to me some more, emphasizing control, trust and obedience.

I agree to everything he says.

The door closes. At the count of 10, I realize I have made a mess on the floor and on my chest. I start to clean up, and the phone rings. It’s Brett and he’s calling to confirm our plan tomorrow—lobby at eight, he has scored a car and some fins. It’ll take about 30 minutes or so to get there, winds should be good so the surf will be too. We’ll be back by noon.

I’m grateful, and I let him know it. And as I’m in the shower washing off, I spend a little extra time cleaning my cock while visions of him talking to me at the pool bar this afternoon pop up in my mind, and he’s wearing this royal blue shirt that really sets off his necklace.

Six o’clock came early—I slept like a log, but I needed to get up and get something to eat and loosen up. But in the shower, I have this urge to shower longer—you know, ‘it’s my soap and my shower and I’ll use them as long as I want.’ For a lark I tried to think of Charlotte cooperating, but I kept coming back to this image of a blue silk blouse and being powerless to resist. Oh well—whatever works.

I went down to the pool, stretched and swam a few laps, dried off, borrowed a couple of towels and headed inside in search of quick food. Charlotte is walking in. She looks at the towels. “Don’t start,” I say. “I’m just going body surfing. I’ll bring them back, promise.”

She rolls her eyes, “You take the risk of getting court-martialed as a towel thief? Pathetic.”

“Trust me, I’ll be back—I need to ask you out once more so I can be a three time loser,” I say.

“Don’t bother—you already are,” she says.

And I was going to beat off to that?

Shaking my head, I headed to the lobby. Brett was there with an equipment bag. I picked it up, and we went out to the lot where he pointed out a car. I threw the bag in back and got in. As I was closing the door, he was putting his necklace on the rearview mirror. I raised my eyebrows.

“I like how it reflects the light while I drive,” he said, pausing, and then more softly, “and I noticed you like how it shines too.”

“Uhhh, yeah, it’s pretty, all right,” I admitted, and then for some reason, blurted out, “and it looks good on you.” I could feel myself blushing.

He just smiled. “It’s a little over a half an hour, settle back and relax. Save your energy. Relax and just watch—and listen. Trust me, I’ll get you there.”

A feeling of warmth came over me—probably a residual from the blush.

As he drove, the necklace was swinging in a random fashion. As he talked about the beach and the joy of surfing, he would reach up and touch it from time to time. As before, I watched him. And listened.

He talked about the waves, the warmth of the water and the sun, the thrill of letting go, of trusting him to show me how to let go, how to relax, to give in to the thrill, to explore the thrill.

I was swaying with the necklace, just listening, and when prompted, agreeing and promising to listen, to follow, to obey, to trust.

Over and over.

I woke up as he was parking the car.

“Sorry I drifted off,” I said shifting in my seat.

“No problem,” he grinned. “Grab the stuff while I hide the valuables. These guys can pop trunk or a door before you can blink—let me have your wallet and stuff.”

“Thanks, that’s all I need—“, I said, giving him the wallet and room key.

Rabbit Island had not moved and the beach was still intact so we were off to a good start. He surveyed the beach for a moment, picked out a spot and off we went. Spread out a blanket, he buried the valuables under a Gatorade bottle, off with the shirts, lotion on each other’s backs, some sort of lube he had on the feet for the flippers and off we go. I follow his lead.

An hour or so later, I’m on my knees in the sand, gasping. Flippers take effort—lots of effort. But the maneuverability is worth it. Still, I’m left gasping.

Brett slides in beside me. He’s breathing heavy too. “Enough?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say, “I’m gonna cramp all over if I do one more. But that was worth the price of admission.”

“Let’s go rest a moment before we head back,” he says, pointing to the facilities above the parking lot.

“No objection,” I say stumbling back to the blanket and collecting the gear.

We go inside. The beach was deserted and no one’s in the dressing room either. There’s no roof in the center and benches all around. It’s the tropics.

“Cool,” he says as he removes his trunks, “I can work on my total tan.” And he lies down on the bench, tossing me the bag at the same time. “Get your stuff,” he says. A pause, then, “Would you get my necklace,” he says.

He’s lying on his back on the bench lotioning below the navel and around his cock.

“You might want to be more generous,” I say, “that’s not a place to get burned.”

He smiles, “I’ll get it out of the sun in a moment. The necklace?”

I look down, pick it up, and then just stare at it as I pull it out of the bag into the sunshine.

Time slows down. The waves seem louder. My breathing slows. I cannot stop looking at it.

“That’s right,” he says, “It is captivating. And it makes you so relaxed and calm. You like to watch me finger it, so go ahead, pass each link through your fingers and relax more and more as I talk, listening more carefully and intently as I talk softer and softer.”

As I turned each link it was like I was falling into it. And his voice was so soothing. And I was so tired, so open, so receptive, just like he said.

And so I came over to the bench and put the necklace on the bench and bent over it as he asked. Somehow he was behind me, still talking, caressing my back slowly, going further down my back. A cool, gel-like sensation on my ass. His fingers massaging my butt and circling the opening, teasing and then entering slightly and then more and more.

A slow withdrawal and then a pause, and then a re-entry by something larger and warmer.

I don’t question. I just listen and look at the necklace.

Suddenly there is a fullness that makes me gasp.

Have you ever run hot water on poison ivy or a sunburn? It hurts, but it’s not painful. You want to pull out but part of you is enjoying the sensation, the tingle, the stimulation as it builds. Then it spreads down your spine.

I gasp as my spine tingles and shivers. I’m so full, but it is so smooth and warm. So full, so full, so full—the sensation makes me moan and exhale. The rhythm is so sensual and so so smooth. The rhythm increases, and I move with it. I want it in me, I want to feel it slide, I want its warmth. And I hear a soft voice telling me this things.

All I can do is moan, “yes, please, fill me.”

The rhythm increases and then there is a quiver and a surging of warmth and wet. Two hands grip my hips and hold me close. I can’t stop shivering.

And then it’s over.

He straightens me up, turns me to face him, lifts my chin and buries his tongue inside me. I welcome it by taking it as deep as I can. I know I am supposed to do this. This is just sex. And I am sexy. I’m slutty. I enjoy the sex. It’s just natural between two people who are sexy and slutty.

He withdraws and murmurs, “time to clean up, someone could walk in. Go shower and cleanse while I get some more sun.”

I’m in a daze. I can still feel him inside my mouth and my ass. I have a hard on you could hang a flag from. I find the shower and run the water, feeling his wetness drain out of me. Moments later he joins me and rinses himself. As he does, he is looking in my eyes, holding me there, talking softly, letting me know that everything is fine and all I have to do is relax. I just sway—

On the way back, he again hangs the necklace on the mirror. I cannot take my eyes off it. I am so relaxed and worn out, all I can do is watch and listen and agree with him.

I wake from my “nap” as we pull into the hotel.

“You did leave it all in the water,” he says smiling.

“I guess so,” I say. “But that was worth it. I really appreciate this.”

“No sweat,” he replies. “So we’ll meet up tonight for a bit? Have a drink and meet my friends?”

“Oh sure, but I don’t know about the drinks, we may be in crew rest—leaving in the morning,” I say.

“Hey, rules are rules; I know,” he agreed.

I had this sudden urge to give him a hug, but I shrugged it off, reached over and grabbed my stuff and got out. And got up too quickly. My head started to spin and wobble.

“Hey, easy,” he said. “Go take a nap or something; I need you rested for tonight.”

“Uhhh, yeah OK,” I replied, whatever he meant by that.

So I wandered back inside and then out be the pool looking for any of the crew to see what was up. I did see Charlotte slipping out the back gate, so I figured what the hell, let’s go try again. And if all else fails, I can show her I brought back the towels. As I stepped through, she was trying to light a cigarette but the paper matches were not cooperating. She looked exasperated as I walked towards her.

“Here, let me,” I said. “My parents smoked, so I learned the trick to these things.” And I’m thinking maybe this will open the door a little. She lets me light it, she takes a couple of drags and says, “Well, apparently you have some skills, but it’s not going to happen.”

“So not even a drink after the shift? A coke?”

“You’re cute, but not a chance—my Dad would shoot me if he knew I was even talking to you. Looks like you survived the morning though. Leave the towels; I’ll drop them in the hamper.”

“That’s a hell of a shot from Alaska to her, “ I smiled and shrugged. I mean, it was lame, but what else was there? Charm was not working; maybe flattering her Dad’s marksmanship.

She dimpled, “Pathetic, you know.”

I went back through the gate and saw the Engineers at the pool bar. I walked up to them, and before I could speak they started in. “Where’s your boyfriend; you going to spend the afternoon together too—saw you drive off this morning; he take you to a nice romantic spot?”

“Piss off; piss up a rope; piss in your beers,” was all I could muster.

“Well, we’re alerted tomorrow morning. Crew bus is here at eight, so be sure to ‘cram in’ as much as you can with your new friends.”

“What I just said—cubed,” I glared.

I turned and saw Charlotte was close enough to hear. I shrugged; she shrugged.

My head churned as I walked through the lobby. I was over tired from the morning, the Engineers could fuck up a wet dream, and Charlotte was just too good looking and spirited for her own good. But as I got to the elevator, Brett’s voice started to drift into my thoughts.

As I rode up and walked to my room, he was telling me how relaxed I would be as I got to my room, how I could see his chain in my thoughts swinging from the mirror in the car, listening and relaxing, just listening and relaxing.

As I walked in the room, I could barely make it to the bed. I sat on the edge starring out the window at the water. He was telling me how sexy I was, how firm my body was, how warm and sexy I felt around him. Without thinking, I started to stroke myself. Part of me wanted to think of Charlotte, but the chain and his face and the sexy, silky blue shirt on his open chest pushed her aside. I got the lotion and a washcloth as he suggested and in a very short time had cum into the cloth and cramped my calves at the same time. Trying to catch my breath, his voice came back to me reminding me how sexy I was and how it pleased him that I had submitted to him. But to be even more sexual, even more provocative, I should taste my cum. I had tasted his lips and his tongue and his cock and that was all very sexy. His cock in my ass even more so. And tasting his cum would be oh so sexy. This was just about sex, nothing more, just exploring his sensuality. And so I should take the next step. I had come this far. Go ahead now, take a finger and taste.

And so I did. My cock starting to swell as I crossed the last boundary of submission to his will.

One finger dipped in to the washcloth, then two, then three and I was bobbing up and down on them as I did on his cock last night.

When I was done, I was ready to cum again. I did and sucked my fingers/his cock like a slut would.

After I finished, something made me call his room and leave a message, “It’s done—I’m ready,” was all I said. A shower and then as I lay on the bed, he counted down from 10 as I went to sleep seeing the chain swing on the mirror.

Some point later, the phone rang. It was a message from Brett to meet at his room at seven. So I checked the clock and figured out how to fill the time until then: shit-shower-shave-dress-pack up-eat-wait: standard crew rest routine.

As I approached his room a few minutes before seven, I noticed the door was slightly ajar. I tapped lightly and opened it an inch or so. “Charles?” I heard his voice from the bathroom.

“Yeah,” I said. “You decent?

“Decent enough,” he chuckled. “Come on in; the others will be up in a minute.”

I stepped inside and went around the front of the bed to the chair. But as I passed the dresser I saw his ring and then the chain laying there. I paused. Time slowed down, and a numbness started to rise up from my feet and hands. There was this tingling again in my gut. My hand reached out for the chain on its own. I picked it up and made it to the chair and sat there holding it my two hands, passing it between them in a circle. A moment or two later I heard a soft voice.

“Yes, Charles, that’s it, keep turning it slowly, watch the light, how it reflects and shines, how it holds your eyes, how it controls you, how it absorbs your every thought, breathing slower and becoming more relaxed with each turn, hearing only me, seeing only the chain and focusing more and more on my voice.”

It felt like I was going to fall through it.

Brett continued,” You are so obedient, so sexy, so open, so slutty, so horny, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good, keep turning my chain, over and over, never ending, with each link you become more absorbed, more compliant, more open, more receptive to my voice and direction. You are obedient aren’t you?”

Yesss,” I said more slowly.

“I know you are. I got your message this afternoon. You did as instructed didn’t you?”

“Yesssss,” even slower still.

“And you came up here as instructed, because you obey me and you trust me, don’t you?”

“Yesssss,” I could only agree.

“You feel so sexy now don’t you? So horny, so wanting to please, so willing to please? It’s just sex, isn’t it; nothing else to think about now. You are so willing, so sexy, so willing to please, so willing to please others aren’t you? Remember how my cock pleased you? How willing you were to please me? How willing you are to experience the thrill again?”

“Oohhhhhhh,” I murmured as a tingle ran up my spine. His voice was vibrating through me; I was starting to tremble.

I did not hear the door open, I did not hear the others come in, I did not hear him talk quietly to them. All I could see was the chain and blurred flashes of his cock and my taking it in my mouth. My mouth began to quiver. I kept licking my lips—they were so sensitive all of a sudden.

I could hear some whispering off to the side. But I could not take my eyes of the chain.

I heard a belt unbuckle, a zipper, and a rustling.

His voice came to me soft but firm, “look up; put the chain in my hand and look up.”

I complied. He continued, “look up and tell me what you see.”

I complied. My eyes focused in front of me. There was a cock, and a hand caressing it.

“A cock,” I whispered.

“That’s right,” he whispered, “and you know what to do now. It’s just sex; you’re so sexy; so hot; so slutty; you want this don’t you?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Go on now, take it in, make love to it, make it firm, make it cum, take it all in—so sexy, you’re so so sexy, so ready, such a hot, sexy slut who loves making a cock cum.”

I opened my mouth and reached for it. It was different than the other cock that had fucked me, but it still fit in my mouth like it belonged. And my mouth took over. Opening slightly, teasing the head with my tongue, taking it further in slow and steady, wrapping my lips around the head as I pulled back and then going back in before it came out—teasing it by hesitating before sliding back down. Someone was moaning above me and twitching as their hips moved back and forth with my mouth’s caress. Moving a little faster and faster as the cock moved, humming slightly, tasting what was starting to leak and swirling my tongue. A deeper moan, followed by gasping, and then an eruption and shuddering. I didn’t stop. Somehow I knew not to stop yet, but to go until he begged me and withdrew.

I sat back in the chair smiling slightly. I was sexy, I was a slut, I made the cock cum.

Then, another belt and zipper and movement. Another cock was there. Smaller than the first but still enticing. I took a deep breath and reached for it, pulling closer, blowing my breath over it and feeling it tremble. As before, I teased it into my mouth slowly. This time I could go all the way down, it fit so nicely inside me. This one trembled more than the first, the thighs quivering with each descent. I reached behind, grabbed the ass and controlled the thrusts. Sucking firmly on the way back and again humming slightly, there was a groan and a scream and an explosion. I kept going until hands pressed on my shoulder pushing me back in the chair. Brett’s voice came into focus telling me again how sexy I was.

I sat back and looked up and smiled. A towel came forward and patted my mouth and chin.

A new voice spoke, “How much for the ass, I don’t want to be the third suck job.”

Brett said something quietly and the voice said, ”Fine, get him ready.”

Brett suggested I would be more comfortable if I undressed. I agreed. And a moment later I was sitting on the edge of the bed naked, head down, waiting. A third cock came into view. Someone took my hand and poured something clear into it. A voice said “stroke it—make it erect.” So I reached out and took the cock and just as I would with mine, started long slow strokes, feeling it fill ever so slowly. When it was getting nice and hard, Brett removed my hands and gently turned me around on the bed. He talked to me softly while his hand caressed my ass and circled my hole. Someone was then behind me, holding my shoulders. I felt the same fullness and warmth I had felt with Brett that morning. I lowered my head to the bed, raising my ass and spreading wider. The fullness sent tingles down my spine. It was just natural to move with the fullness. And Brett was telling me how sexy I was—a sexy, surfing slut. Over and over. And suddenly the pace increased, I was gripped tightly and the fullness jumped and twitched. I was collapsed and pushed down on the bed. And a moment later, the weight was gone.

I lay there, waiting to be told what to do. I heard movement and bathroom noises and a door closing. The bed jostled and Brett’s voice was in my ear, soothing, instructing. His hand was on my ass caressing and stroking, going from the bottom of my balls up across the hole and to the top, his fingers lingering on the hole penetrating and massaging before moving up and coming back down and repeating.

On my own I started tightening and holding his fingers when he penetrated, trying to keep them in longer and then lifting up to force them deeper.

He made a contented sound. “You are a slut aren’t you?” he purred. “A very sexy surfing slut with a sexy fuckable mouth and a firm fuckable ass.”

I turned my head to look at him and squeezed his fingers as they went in deeper.

“Please fuck me,” I said.

“Mmmmmmmm,” he said, “You’re going to make a nice addition to my stable. So pliable, so receptive, such a sexy, sexy slut.”

He rolled over and in a moment was naked, moving behind me and lifting my ass up in the air. I took one hand and spread it. In one smooth motion he was in, and I settled back to take him all the way. The tingle down my spine was stronger with him inside me. All I could think of was how sexy I felt and how full my ass was. In no time he was shuddering and jerking as he came.

A moment later he was turning me over and straddling my chest. He had the chain in his hands and was talking to me. I listened and agreed. I had no choice. As he said, I was captivated, controlled and enslaved. It was my choice to be a slut. His slut. His sexy, surfing slut. He leaned down while talking, his eyes holding mine, opening his lips part way, licking them slightly, putting his hand behind my head, and I raised up opening up as his lips met mine and his tongue went deep inside.

Later someone wanted to know my address in the states and phone number. I mumbled it as requested.

I woke up about 10, in a towel, my hair still damp. I rolled out of bed and tried to get my bearings. It was not time to get up, we were leaving in the morning, I was packed, I was sore all over—from surfing I guess. And I was hungry.

I pulled on my flight suit and went downstairs. The coffee shop was not too busy, people scattered all around. But over to the side I saw Brett sitting with a couple of stewardesses, and then when he moved a little to the side I saw Charlotte sitting there, her head in her hands just looking at him. The counter waitress interrupted my stareg. I asked her if the kitchen was still open. It wasn’t. I looked around, and saw a basket of fruit. On impulse I asked her if I could have the banana. She tossed it to me and waved me off. When I turned back, the table was empty.

Back in the room, I stopped for a second, looked at the banana, and without thinking slipped out of the flight suit, letting it fall to the floor. I stepped in the bathroom, got a little lotion in my hand, peeled the banana part way down and started going down on it while massaging my cock. I beat off in time to my mouth going up and down. I just could not help myself—and somewhere in my head a voice was saying “good slut, good sexy surfer slut, enjoy the sex, it’s just sex, no harm in being a sexy surfer slut.” I came in no time.

Not that I was keeping track, but I had been fucked once, eaten my own cum, sucked two cocks, been fucked by two more, and beat off giving head to a banana.

The wake-up call came on time, and I met the others downstairs for breakfast. The Nav and I seemed ready to go, but the others looked worse for wear—especially the Engineers—and not happy we were headed back to Guam. Not enough time to metabolize the beer I reckon. Part way through, I noticed Brett and some others come in. So I excused myself and went over to say “thanks” and “see you around”. Of course the Engineers could not leave it alone, talking loudly as I left: “got to say good bye to your boyfriends”, “ hope you don’t get too choked up”, “make sure you get their numbers”, and so forth. Brett stood up, I thanked him for the courtesy and the trip to the beach, and we made a little small talk about where we headed next and so forth. I noticed a couple of the guys at his table grinning and whispering while we chatted, but thought nothing of it.

The cat calls continued, just loud enough to be heard. He looked over at them and said, “Neanderthals?”

“Just senior enlisted,” I said. “Set in their ways.”

“They’re not going to make trouble are they?” he asked.

“About what? We hung out a bit, went surfing; it’s not like we did something illegal,” I said. One of the guys at the table snorted and coughed—orange juice went down wrong I guess.

“Don’t be afraid to kiss him good-bye,” came across the room.

I shrugged. “That’s my cue,” I said. We shook hands, and I turned and stopped short, almost running into Charlotte who was bringing more coffee to the table.

“Oh, hi,” I stammered.

“Yeah, sure. Move one way or the other would you,” she shot back.

I slid sideways to give her room.

“You always wear your flight suit to breakfast or are you finally leaving?” she asked.

“All good things come to an end,” I said. “Real pleasure meeting you though.”

“Yeah, sure,” came back again, as she filled Brett’s cup.

I shrugged and headed back to the Engineers still not letting up. I got back, gave them a “what the fuck, over” look, looked to the AC for some support and he just gave me the “two hands palm down chill” motion. I nodded and pulled out my wallet to leave a tip.

All of sudden, there’s a hand on my upper arm, grabbing my sleeve and turning me around. It was Charlotte, and she looked pissed.

“I’m sorry! Did I miss something? You’re leaving without so much as a good-bye? Daddy was right! Air crews—especially the Loads—are such ass-holes! What was I thinking!!!,” she yelled.

I’m just blinking at her and out of nowhere comes an open right hand and smacks my head sideways.

As I get straightened up, she grabs my chest plants a 10 second kiss. My brain of course shuts down—my cheek is stinging, I’m trying to breathe through my nose and I’m tasting strawberry lip gloss with a hint of coffee and cigarettes .

She pulls back half an inch. She sighs slightly, “mmmm—that’s not bad.” I lean in a smidge. She opens up and our tongues are wrestling. Two hours or so later she breaks again. Again a murmur, “compliments of your surfing buddy—they thought this might help, and I sort of owed you for being persistent.”

“Uhhhhhh,” was all I could muster.

“Yeah—me too. You taste good.”

A voice from far way said, “If you’re through saying good-bye to everyone Sergeant, the crew bus is due here in a couple.”

“Uhhhhhhh—yes sir,” I somehow got out.

Charlotte turns and heads off, an extra sway in her ass for the table’s benefit.

The rest of the crew is looking around for something to look at. The AC looks at the Engineers, “Anything more you want to say? If not, leave it here, get your asses back on duty and let’s go to work.”

A mumbled ‘yessir’ ekes out.

I’m last in line to pay—still in adrenaline shock from the encounter. I’m counting out the bills when a voice whispers from behind, “don’t turn around, don’t lose this matchbook, my number’s inside or look for me here, oh—and don’t take too long to come back.” A little squeeze on my ass and the voice was gone.

We made three more runs to Guam, and then headed home. I burned out again on the trip home, but took a waiver so we could get back. It would be a week before I had enough time to be useful. I did laundry and caught the next Space-A to Hickam.

“Coming back now, becoming more awake, more aware—3—2—1—, fully awake now,” a voice was seeping into my daydream.

I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Brett is sitting there, a small smile on his face.

“And that’s why I was familiar to you,” he said softly.

And it hit me like ice water in the lap—this guy had fucked me, several times; and then had set me up for others to fuck. Shit!!! Fuck!!! What did this asshole do to me?

I leaned forward. “You—,” was all I got out as my hand shot out towards his throat. He shifted slightly and got in a partial block so all I got was his shirt collar. But that was something.

I tried to pull him closer, but the leverage was not there, and he was trying to break my grip.

“What the fuck did you do to me?” I hissed.

“Nothing you didn’t agree to,“ he whispered back. “Now chill before someone notices.”

The place was pretty empty, but the waitress was looking over.

“Not my problem,” I grunted. “I’m about to be your problem.”

He lowered his voice. “No, no you’re not. It’s been a while but you’re still a slut—a sexy, surfing, slut. Just a sexy, sexy slut. Submissive, sexy, obedient, sexy, relaxing now, falling back under my control, no resistance my sexy slut.”

“Stop,” I said. His words were swirling around. “Please, stop.”

I was losing focus.

“Let go of my shirt; put your hand down; deep breaths now; obedient, submissive, slut,” He was speaking softer. “While you were reliving the past, I reinforced my control over you. It is fully in place now. You cannot resist, you cannot deny my control over you. You know you are still my sexy slut, you know I control you, you accept my control, you have to submit, you want to submit.”

I let go.

He unbuttoned one button on his shirt. I saw the gold chain there. He started fingering it—back and forth.

Leaning forward, he smiled. “You had promise as I recall. I was going to make some real money off you, but you disappeared on me. No problem, sometimes the seeds I show up years later. Now relax for me a little more.”

A few moments later, we’re walking to our rooms reminiscing about the time in Hawaii. He mentions he tried to call me once or twice a few months later when he got based in LA, but was told I had moved. So I thanked him for sending Charlotte to bail me out. “We hit it off,” I say, “Like Ray Wiley Hubbard sings, like a metaphor for a hydrogen bomb. And I got a short notice assignment to be an instructor and so I was off the line for a while, then a degree, then a job, then kids, you know—the American dream.”

We got to my room, shook hands, and agreed to stay in touch.

I had dropped my coat on the bed and was loosening my tie, when there was a knock. It was Brett. He smiled, “Sorry, but I think you still have my ring on your hand.”

I looked down and sure enough, I did.

“Step in,” I said as I was trying to get it off.

“Here, let me help,” he said as he took my hand in his. I didn’t pull away. “Look at me,” he said. I did. He was slowly removing the ring, pulling me closer, holding my eyes with his. The ring came off. He pulled me closer, and put his arms around my waist. His lips parted slightly and I was pulled in.

A few moments later, I’m on my knees, holding his cock, caressing it, kissing it softly and then drawing it in.

So here I am sitting in Vegas. Brett passed through town a few times to meet us for a drink or two when I was in town, or just Charlotte if I was out. And now we’ve been out here a couple times a month to meet up with Brett and his friends.

The elevator opens. This MILF walks out. CFM heels, black leather skirt with a zipper in the front, black silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to be interesting, dark lips.

She stops in front of where I’m sitting, searching in her purse.

“Excuse me,” I say. “Not to be rude but you look like a $1,000 a night experience.”

“In your dreams, geek,” she says. “Try $1,000 an hour.” She pulls out a cigarette.

“So much for that,” I say. “And I don’t’ think they let you smoke right here.”

“Figures,” she says. “This town is getting too PC. Heard from Brett?’

My phone rings. It’s Brett. “That’s him,” I say thumbing the answer button.

Moments later, I knock on the door. It’s been propped with the latch so we walk in. It’s a suite. We walk back to the bedroom. Water’s running in the bathroom. Charlotte stops by the dresser and picks up a gold chain there. She fingers it a moment, picks it up, and then sits on the bed starring at it as she turns it in a circle.

The water stops. Brett comes out. He looks at me and smiles. “She always needs a re-charge, doesn’t she? Too much spirit, but she mkes some of her clients cum so hard they faint” He comes over to me, lifts my chin, and says, “Be a sexy slut for me, now. Go wait on the sofa while I prepare her.” A light kiss with a hint of tongue, and I do as he says.

Moments later she steps out, the blouse more open, the skirt unzipped halfway. She’s standing in the doorway, swaying slightly.

There’s a knock at the door. Two men and a woman enter. Each hands Brett an envelope. The woman walks over to Charlotte. She has her cigarette out and gives the woman her lighter. The woman trembles as she lights it, and stands there as Charlotte looks her over, exhaling in her face. She takes the woman by the arm and pushes her on the bed, closing the door the door without a glance.

Brett turns to the two guys. “This is one of my better cocksuckers,” he says. “But you already knew that, since you booked the premium selection. Who wants what?”

I’m getting undressed slowly. Brett says it builds the anticipation. I look at the one on the right, smile gently and lick my lips slowly. “It’s just sex,” I say to him. “And I’m your slut for as long as you can hold out.”

A shrill voice screams “Oh god—ohhhhhhh!!!” from the other room. But that’s a long long way from where I am now.

I look at the guy and say, “That’s you in a moment,” as I get on my knees. I look at the other and say, “be thinking about what you want while you watch me fuck your friend.”

I’m Brett’s slut. It’s just sex. And these are his friends. And we’ve got a couple days off.