The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There is a part of a man’s brain which changes under the influence of being horny. Things that we have been taught are wrong are done anyway, and the guilt is bottled up behind impenetrable and opaque apathy. Once orgasm is reached the guilt is set free, the opaque becomes transparent, and the eyes of the wise see all our sins prostrate. Just then, it is there that the quizzical mind wonders: ‘Why did I do it? How could I continue knowing full well what I was doing?’ Very few horny men in this altered state of mind have killed themselves, or others, except in extreme cases. Most persons consider some light playful whippings to be the extreme end of what a sexed up mind will commit to. Yet even though its spell lies solely in the domain of kink, a kind of erotic compulsion exists that seems to take over the minds of its victims, and it commands them: to pose before the mirror, to lightly and slowly flick their genitals, to stain their undergarments, to sodomize their person, to give themselves orders to do so many naughty things.

In the late 20th century there rose a profession devoted solely to connecting people of influence to other people of influence. Although this office had existed long before in the form of politicos and advisers, its practice was always an art and never a science. Thanks to the vast advances made in information technology, data mining, and the increasing ubiquity of computers (i.e., cell phones, laptops, and other personal devices) it became a much more precise profession with deterministic results. It was practiced only by a few ambitious and politically minded computer scientists and sociologists. At first it was sketchy, but as the world became increasingly plugged in, it took only a few politicos finding the right lobbyists, or CEOs finding the right managers (for a certain fee of course), to prove the value of this new and more exactly defined profession. Arising initially in the major technical hubs of the world, New York, San Francisco, Bangalore, Tokyo, Paris, and London, these data mining politicos were the first to capitalize on this opportunity and staked out different chunks of this market. Coming to own 31% (a virtual monopoly) of this networking discovery market was the achievement of a man named Tyler Archer. Tyler hailed from San Francisco, and dropped out of a job at MSR to pursue his own business idea, this idea of connecting people to others they want to meet, but never will without the assistance of more sophisticated tools than social parties and classifieds. Using standard techniques, but using them far earlier on than the rest of his competition, he created the market, and now held it at a young age: 27.

Tyler came home from his amazingly successful business on the bus. He could afford better, but he was young enough where he didn’t feel a real difference in comfort. The private car didn’t let him walk as much, and it always felt so small and well cushioned, not wide and hard like the world he made his fortune in. His business was relatively tech oriented, because of that and because it was 2011 he wore well fitted jeans to work. They looked fine, because he was a physically active guy, and his form fitting red polo with its white placket looked fine for the same reasons. Though today, because it was so hot, both his tousled brown hair, his polo and jeans, and his nut-hugging hip briefs were sweaty. Sweat. The idea of Lez, his boyfriend, obediently sucking on... The blood that activated the thought seemed to be sent from there straight to Tyler’s stiffening penis. Tyler pulled out his cell phone and dialed Lez’s number.

“Yes Tyler?", Lez casually responded.

“Lez, be home OK?”

“Yes, right away.", Lez responded, this time with authentic urgency. Tyler folded up his phone, and sat back thinking about the domination of his young friend, the entire history of it, and sweat. The bus lurched toward Lez’s apartment where the young man had taken residence while taking up employ in downtown San Francisco.

Lez was short for Lester. He’d gone by Lester his whole life, but Tyler commanded him to call himself Lez at some point. At first, like everything Tyler told him to do, it was naughty, and then eventually naughty became sexy, then sexy became common, and finally Lester became Lez. Lez still had some friends who called him Lester, and he didn’t mind, those people would always exist. Lez was a cellist and he made decent money, enough to afford an apartment, add to some savings, and to support himself in a comfortable and stylish fashion. When Lez met Tyler, he didn’t know who Tyler Archer was, that is, not really. He didn’t recognize that the guy with the curiously striking features at the open mic was Tyler Archer, but of course he knew the name and the detached face on the cover of the magazine. Lez remembered everything with Tyler clearly. There were no drugs, and despite Tyler being gay as a rainbow, with Lester being straight, he was inert to Tyler’s regular seduction. The simple core of the issue was that deep within his primal soul, it wasn’t sucking dick that got Lez panting on his knees, rather it was sucking Tyler Archer’s dick. Lez found this fact out that night at the open mic when Tyler met him. As Lez remembered it, it started with casual discussion, and then Tyler jokingly told Lez to kiss him. A new thing happened then: Lez’s heart pumped, his cock raged, and the irrefutable directive was clear: kiss Tyler now, and to both Lez’s and Tyler’s surprise, he did. It went from there, both of them slowly feeling out their apparent natural attraction to each other, and the odd master-slave form it took.

Lez pulled in his bicycle and pulled out of the thoughts of his past. He locked the means of conveyance, and tapped up the steps to the door, where he searched his jeans pocket for keys to get in. Tyler had called him already fifteen minutes ago, that meant he would be home in four minutes. Lez thought strictly with respect to the deadline. He went straight to the shower, he turned on the water, stripped, adjusted the temperature, stepped in, rinsed his hair, stepped out, dried himself, then combed his long tousled blond hair, pony-tailed it, spritzed on some cologne, and applied deodorant. Now for clothes, his long legged form quickly crossed the room to the dresser, where he pulled out a pair of briefs, then from another drawer a shirt. He hiked up the clean pair of white hip briefs with a brilliant shiny golden band, and pulled on his royal blue polo with the really low placket that when unbuttoned showed off all of his chest.

With the ritual completed, he went to the front room where he heard the door unlocking, and knelt in the fashion of a martial artist, or an S&M sub: sitting on the soles of his feet, with his knees spread, his back arched forward, his hands behind his back, his neck straight, but gazing down slightly, and his shoulders back.

Few men in modern times have had the experience of totally dominating another man. Indeed our moral codes prohibit even the thought of such a thing, and for reasons deduced in ethical philosophy and empirically demonstrated across history. Fewer men still have experienced a domination so deep that the dominated has no question in his mind of his place, and no reservations about being called upon, especially for a sexual function. The experience can only be hinted at by a game of bondage, and any real incarnation of it was almost always inherently evil. Yet here Tyler had exactly that, and neither he nor Lez had really asked for it. Lez was a man Tyler so thoroughly dominated that Lez had unlearned all shame as an offering to him. Tyler opened the door, and his young slave knelt eagerly and yet patiently before him.

Tyler looked amused. Lez had a demeanor about him that was innocent and naive to how gays adapt to a society that even in 2011 rejected them. Lez was effectively straight, and Tyler was the only exception, for bizarre reasons neither understood consciously. This allowed Lez to be completely submissive and carry no strain of flamboyance or effeminacy, he simply knelt, as a boy would kneel before a master of arms in older times, or before a master of martial arts. Lez was not ashamed of his enslavement to Tyler. Lez was in fact confident and calm. Even when Tyler punished him, Lez put his all into being punished, so as to make sure for himself he would never repeat a mistake. Tyler was damp from his hot bus ride, his underwear was soggy with sweat. He walked toward Lez, closing the door behind him, and stood with his crotch an inch away from Lez’s mouth. “Lez” he spoke.

“Yes Master.” It was the reply of a serf to his lord and master, but in the apartment of a cellist in the 21st century. Lez expertly unleashed Tyler’s belt, unfastened the button, and unzipped the trousers. He didn’t have to pull them down, they dropped from the weight of Tyler’s wallet, cell phone, and other assorted gadgetry. Lez could see Tyler’s cock was in need of attention badly, it was already seething underneath Tyler’s briefs, made barely translucent by being soaked in his sweat. Lez gulped within his heart, he had been so well trained, and yet this was awkward still without Tyler’s guidance. Tyler put his hand on the back of Lez’s head, and pressed Lez’s nose into his crotch. Lez smelt Tyler, and once again his cock raged, and his heart burst. Lez knew what to do now, he knew what he wanted now, he wanted Tyler’s instrument of domination to teach his mouth how to praise again, and teach his throat how to drink again. Tyler pulled his underpants down enough so he could come undone.

“You too.” Tyler said.

“Yes Master!” Lez said rapidly. Lez pulled down his undies and started to masturbate with his right hand like a crush struck high school boy. Then that feeling swept over him, the same one every time. A hot wave, and then a feeling like he had to piss, and that he couldn’t hold it in, that he never learned how to. He was in no danger of actually wetting himself, but giving into the instruction of Tyler felt much like it. In this strange circumstance “wetting his pants” was really filling his mouth with his master’s cock, and stroking it with his left hand: he didn’t know how to hold it in, and so he let himself go. Sucking Tyler’s cock was now the most erotic thing he could do, so naughty and desirable. While sucking off Tyler Lez pulled out Tyler’s member from his mouth occasionally to tease it with his tongue and spit on it. Tyler grinned boyishly at Lez’s effort, and like a bemused and patient scout master, guided Lez’s head forcefully with his hand to keep him on rhythm. Tyler’s hips fucked Lez’s mouth, and Lez’s mouth had long lost its virtue. “Ready to cum Master!” Lez announced. Tyler was not yet, but he was on his way. Lez pulled his right hand away from his own penis, he was ready. Staying at this point for Lez was like learning how to balance on a tight rope, one of several difficult sexual skills for a man to learn. He had also learned to soften on command, and to actually piss himself. For a timed orgasm, he carefully thought more or less of the situation to keep him teetering on the verge of orgasm. It was risky, if he came too soon he’d receive a hard spanking, or be humiliated in public, but his master wanted him to cum this way as it was more convenient. Lez felt Tyler’s semen shoot out onto his tongue. The physical reminder almost pushed Lez over, but he regained his balance. Lez dutifully gulped down the ejaculation, and then pulled away staying still at attention, and on edge. Tyler wiped the spit on his cock off with Lez’s hair. He pulled his underwear back over his package, and pulled his pants up, fastening and belting them, leaving Lez kneeling with his cock erect and ready to cum. He walked around Lez and got a glass from his cabinet, and then walked back around and squatted down in front of him so he was face to face.

“Time for your medicine Lez, I don’t think you’ve taken it in a while.”

“You are absolutely right Master! Thank you Master!”

Tyler leaned forward and penetrated Lez’s mouth with his tongue. Lez knew this signal, and with his hands behind his back, his cock surged and spat into the cup. Old spirits pushed Lez into his master’s mouth, and with obedient force Lez wrestled with Tyler’s tongue while his back excitedly arched upward and forward. Tyler received him, while pumping him with his hand to get the last of Lez’s semen which only encouraged fiercer obedience from Lez’s mouth. Tyler then pulled away and put the cup to Lez’s lips. Lez drank while still kneeling at attention with his masculine yet inviting undies strapped around his poised thighs. Tyler got up and put the glass away once he made sure Lez licked it clean. The couple spent the rest of the night watching Comedy Central with Lez politely relaxing at his master’s feet, and Tyler slouching on the couch scratching Lez’s head.

Lez sat respectfully at master’s feet for some time that evening. Thinking within the quiet safety of a modern meditation enjoyed by millions where the mental object was not nothingness, but whatever images the broadcasting companies dreamed up. He reflected: this relationship had never progressed beyond sex games. Tyler used him like a whore, and both of them liked it, but he was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with a relationship that had a lot of filler, but with no nutritional value. It was time consuming, being at Tyler’s beck and call, ready on his knees when he walked in. They didn’t live together, thank God, but even that would be better than this shallow fornication. He decided he was going to end it, no matter how much his ever-faithful control rod rebelled. Sure, he’d never be able to wear another kind of underwear again, and form fitting polos showing lots of skin had become like skin itself, but he needed a relationship that was more than repeat voluntary molestation. Tyler had left his mark on Lez permanently, but it was just a mark.

Days passed, like they usually did between Lez and Tyler’s meetings. After Lez’s internal realization that last night they were together, the break up went quickly. Tyler tried to order him to stop, or reconsider, but the dominance he had over Lez was too base, and making a man drop trou and whip out his cock at attention was just a delay of execution: it was not going to fix things this time. Time numbs all wounds, and Tyler accepted the realization that he was less one slave, and one of the better ones too.

Tyler sat at his computer console in an obviously contemplative mood. His console was a large assembly of flat screens requiring custom mounts bolted into the wall to hold them all. There were several racks on his right behind a transparent plastic wall whose hard drive lites blinked busily. Separate air conditioning to that room let him keep this room at a comfortable temperature, and combined with the sound-proof walls he had absolute silence. The land lord of the trendy high rise he lived in let him get away with it because, he had to, his tenant was Tyler Archer. The room was normally not well lit except for several tastefully placed hanging lamps with colored shades, and tonight they were assisted by a crack of light coming in from the door left ajar behind him. Tyler heard the shower turn off, some drawers open and close, and he heard soft foot steps behind him. A shorter slender Philippine boy walked in wearing an unbuttoned dress shirt and a low rise trunk with a sculpted pocket for his rather large package. He stood up straight and his legs and chest sported no visible hairs. He had a short boyish hair cut. Tyler minimized the windows on his desktop.

“Afraid I’ll steal your secrets master?” The Philippine said in a sassy tone.

“I’m not going to have my lawyers draft up more than one NDA for my house boy. Besides its nothing you don’t already know Jon.”

“Oh, like what master?” The Philippine bit his lower lip and stared at Tyler’s collar bone intently, like there was a beautiful butterfly there. Tyler cupped Jon’s package with his hand. Jon put his feet together now and stood at attention facing toward the wall adjacent to the one Tyler was looking at. Tyler now let go and sat back in his chair.

“Just my hiring process.” Tyler said and glanced over at the vigilant young Philippine man and sighed. “I’ve told you my discovery before. How my company’s social networking database can find people that satisfy certain variables depending on the client. The client wants to find an employee who is independently minded, but listens to his superiors. How I can do a search for a set of people who are independently minded, but are completely unquestionably obedient to a particular individual.”

“Yes you have Master.” Jon replied, with more of him at attention than there was before.

“Sometimes the search yields no results, but usually it does. As it turns out, for each of us, there a couple thousand other people all over the world that after five minutes or so of casual conversation will realize that the most erotic thing they can do is to follow our orders.”

“Yes Master.”

“Up until I created this company, and the wealth of information for each individual in our modern society became available and searchable, it was highly unlikely to find such people in ‘the wild’, that is, not at an S&M joint. Take Lez for example, he never knew this about me, of course that was why he was one of my favorites, but he always thought our relationship was ‘natural’, and in a way he was right. Is it still a natural attraction if we use unnatural means merely to find those most susceptible to our sexual domination?”

“I’m not sure Master.” Jon said honestly.

“The scary thing for many people is they wouldn’t believe that there exists someone, or some others in this world that merely have to find them, and then start giving them sexual orders, and they will obey. This is just a part-time job for you Jon, you have a regular boyfriend right?”

“Yes Master, and he knows about the extent of my service to you.”

“Who is on top?” Tyler inquired almost rhetorically. Jon glanced away for a moment, but just a moment.

“I am Master.”

“In every relationship you have been in, who is on top?”

“I am Master.”

“What kind of low rise trunk are you wearing?”

“The one with the whole exposing the anus Master.” Jon said.

“Why?”

“So you have easy access.” The discussion was having a similar effect on Tyler as it was on Jon. He unzipped and with a condom and lube eased Jon onto his lap, injecting himself relatively easily through the hole of the 24 year old Philippine man-boy and his under pants. Jon grabbed the sturdy arm rests of Tyler’s chair so that his bare stomach and chest faced Tyler and so that he could help Tyler fuck him. Jon hadn’t pulled down his underwear at all, and his cock was still bound behind the folds of the undergarment with the specialized purpose that it was now serving.

“I know you are a top Jon, but of the several dozen attractive guys that came up for my search in this area, I picked you because when I interviewed you I found out you were a top.”

Jon shed a tear, “That is cruel Master.”

“You like it bitch”, Jon tilted his head sideways in answer to the simple truth and the euphoria now pumping into his buttocks. Tyler’s hips heaved upward.

“Yes Master”, Jon shed another tear.

“Go put your short shorts, we’re going out.”

“Master, like this? This is barely decent.”

“That’s all you deserve slave, talk back to me again and I will have you cock salute at the club while you apologize for blatant insolence.” Tyler warned.

“You know best Master, I will gladly fetch my short shorts.”

After Jon left, Tyler brought up the minimized windows and looked at Lez’s profile again. It had been four months since last they spoke. He wouldn’t let himself cry. He wouldn’t.