The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1.

I awoke early—early on a Saturday, which ought to be against the law. Beside me, my brother Erik stirred too.

“G’morning,” I groaned, feeling his hip rub my morning wood. I was so fucking glad we stopped wearing anything to sleep in years ago.

“Morning,” he grumped back. Neither of us were morning people.

No time to deal with our erections. I—we—had things to do. Somehow I knew that. I sat up and climbed out of the bed we shared. Erik did the same.

Where was my pendant? I knew I’d had it the night before? Erik’s was missing too. They were just like the one Dad wore, only a little smaller. He’d given them to us last year, as gifts for our twentieth birthdays. Where were they? Did Dad still have them? If he did, did that mean I was still hypnotized? Was I? That might explain why I felt this need to get up early and do something, rather than sleep late and jack off with Erik like usual on Saturdays. Dad always thought sleeping late was about being lazy. No, sleeping late about companionship—spending time together, feeling good, and making each other feel good. But just try convincing Dad of that! He’d been single so long he’d forgotten about that part.

I pulled on a pair of cut-off denim shorts and trainers. Erik’s my twin and we wore the same size, but we don’t dress alike; haven’t since we were kids. He pulled on a pair of shorts too, different from mine—board shorts—and sneakers. We went to the bathroom, pissed, and then headed downstairs.

I claimed a banana in the kitchen. Erik, an apple. We walked into the garage. We both had something to do. What was it? In the garage, I turned left toward the lawn mower. Erik turned right toward those shelves that needed clearing and sorting. Oh, right—how could I have forgotten? I was supposed to mow the lawn. Erik was supposed to get started on cleaning off those storage shelves.

I ate my banana while I mowed. Eating a banana always reminded me of sucking cock. I’d rather have been sucking Erik’s cock and feeling him suck mine, but right then I had to get the mowing done. Eating the banana satisfied my desire for something dick-like in my mouth—probably Dad’s doing, to make sure I didn’t find some loophole in his orders that would let me spend all morning blowing Erik instead of mowing the grass. Erik and I would take care of each other later. We’d been doing sexual things with each other ever since we started figuring out what sex was. We kept that secret from Mom, but Dad found out—especially after that one weekend five years before ...

Fortunately, we didn’t live with Mom anymore. We lived with Dad. Mom and Dad divorced about a million years ago when Dad came out of the closet. We lived with Mom after that. When we went off to college, Mom remarried, sold the house, and moved into her new husband’s small apartment downtown, too small for us to move in with her. Erik and I graduated college in the spring a couple of months ago, but we were still looking for work. Meanwhile, since we couldn’t move back in with Mom, we moved in with Dad instead, in his house in the suburbs. Dad was a psychologist and he made a good living even in this bad economy; he had a nice house. A nice house with a big-ass lawn that I was mowing.

Dad knew what we were up to, which was probably why he’d given us the compulsion to get out of bed first thing that morning. He’d known since we were sixteen and we had an official “experimentation” weekend with him and our older brother Mark, where we all played with sex and hypnosis and control—theoretically under Dad’s watchful psychologist eye—for the whole weekend. He was cool with it mostly. He was gay; our brother Mark was gay; so why shouldn’t Erik and I play around with each other too? Dad did sit us down once for a little talk that went something like: “You know, boys, it’s natural for you to feel close to each other and all, and it’s natural for brothers to experiment with sex together. But you have to be ready to understand that, someday, one of you may become interested in someone outside of the two of you. You have to be ready to move on. Do you understand what I’m trying to say? Society just isn’t ready to understand the physical part of what you two have been sharing.”

I tried to defuse the situation by saying something along the lines, “Don’t worry, Dad. Erik gives lousy head.” Which was kind of true. He was good, but he wasn’t great. I’d had better.

And Erik shot back with, “And Derik would rather play video games than fuck around half the time.” Which wasn’t true at all. Though, maybe yeah, video games were a close second to fucking around.

Dad knew we were still fucking around. He’d known since we moved in with him, and he barged into our bedroom one morning to find us curled up together in the same bed, naked as puppies. Now he made sure he knocked every time. He knew from the way we hung out naked around the house a lot, and one of us would look over at the other, and we’d smile, and one or both of us would start getting a hard-on. If he really was waiting for us to outgrow it, he’d have to wait a while longer. He didn’t encourage us, but he didn’t discourage us either. He knew we’d eventually decide what was right for us.

I finished the lawn and pushed the mower back into the garage. Erik was still working on the shelves. I felt the compulsion change; the urge to mow the lawn had been satisfied; now I needed to help Erik clean the garage. We had to make room on these shelves.

If we’d been inside, we’d probably have been naked. We liked being naked—a lot. Dad didn’t encourage or discourage that either. He just laughed and said living with us was like living in Borneo or some other place where the natives don’t wear clothing. Erik and I have, like, zero modesty around each other. We went naked around the house a lot. But we were in the garage, where the door could open at any moment when Dad got home and the neighbors would see. That meant we had to behave ourselves. Behave and focus on getting our chores done.

Yeah, Dad was definitely behind this. He must have done something, said something, to us last night that he made us forget—a little of his pendant persuasion, as he called it. But knowing he had given us this compulsion to do our chores and doing something to fight it were two very different things. Dad had been hypnotizing us since we were four or five years old to “encourage” us to behave. Now that we were twenty-one, the hypnosis was pretty deeply ingrained in us.

The problem with having a psychologist for a father? They can be manipulative sons of bitches.

Sure enough, the garage door started opening, right about the time we were finishing up. We still had to finish bagging up some of the crap to be thrown out, but that was all we had left to do.

Dad pulled his car into the garage. “Hey, guys,” he said. “Derik, give me a hand with the groceries.”

“Derik” meant me. Yeah, twin brothers named Derik and Erik—so clichéd, right? We had an older brother named Mark—he escaped the curse of being a twin and of having a clichéd name.

Oh, who’m I kidding? I wouldn’t trade being a twin for anything.

But right then, Dad had a trunk-full of groceries that needed to be hauled into the kitchen and put away, and I felt the compulsion change again.

These days, he didn’t really hypnotize us that much, not like when we were out-of-control kids—these days, he only did it for something important. But that didn’t mean Erik and I weren’t hypnotizing each other every chance we got, especially after Dad gave us each our own crystals last year.

For Erik and me, the purpose is not just to hypnotize each other. The purpose is to compel each other’s behavior afterward, to make the other do what you’re told him to do. Knowing that he knew he couldn’t stop himself was part of the turn-on. A short period of trance, followed by a longer period of compulsion. Erik and I were having a lot of fun with that with each other.

Twenty minutes later, the groceries were all put away. “Thanks, Champ,” Dad said, patting my shoulder. He’d recently resurrected the nickname he’d called me before he and Mom divorced. I was Champ; Erik was Chief. Back when we were eight, we had long, serious discussions about whether the Champ won out over the Chief, or whether the Chief outranked the Champ. That sort of question is really important when you’re eight. Our brother Mark was Sport, which didn’t even register in the hierarchy in our opinions.

“Thanks, Champ,” Dad said. “Couldn’t have done it without you.” Which was flattering but untrue—it just would have taken him longer. “The yard looks good too.” He rummaged in his pocket. “I guess you’ve earned these back.” He handed me the quartz pendants, mine and Erik’s. Dad wore one too, larger than ours, though his was hidden under his shirt. He used his to hypnotize us. Erik and I used ours to ... well ... We’d also started hypnotizing each other around the time we started learning about sex, though Dad had only a year ago given us both crystals of our own. The crystals were just tools that made the hypnosis easier.

“Give Erik’s back to him for me, will you? And please don’t get into too much mischief with them today, okay? I’ve got to leave to pick up Mark at the airport soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

I slipped the cord of my crystal—and I knew it was mine because the two looked almost identical but weren’t quite, just like Erik and me—over my head. Having my crystal back made me feel clearer-headed, made me feel more like a man, ready to take responsibility and have authority in the world. Yeah!—I fucking loved this feeling. I strutted my stuff back to the garage to give Erik his, though I wasn’t planning on giving it back to him right away. Nah—first I was going to show him mine and say the little magic trigger phrase. This time, the Champ was definitely going to win out over the Chief.

Today was the day my older brother Mark moved in with us. But Erik and I still had some time for a little mischief first—as long as Dad didn’t find out.

2.

Mark was our older brother, a fact he never let us forget. He’d lost his job recently when the company he worked for downsized his whole division—that’s a fancy way of saying they fired everyone. Now he was in the same boat as Erik and I, unable to find a decent job in this shitty economy. Erik and I worked retail jobs during the weekdays while we looked for permanent jobs, but we didn’t make enough to afford a place of our own. That’s how all three of us college-graduate sons came to be living at Dad’s place.

Once upon a time, Mark and Dad didn’t get along so well. Mark was old enough to remember the divorce when it happened, and he blamed Dad for a long time afterward. Erik and me?—We were just little kids when the divorce hit, and we didn’t remember any of the yelling and fighting. All we remembered was Dad being this cool guy who came to visit us a lot after he came out of the closet. Sometimes he had boyfriends, and they were usually cool guys too, though he was single right now.

Mark was about three years older than Erik and me. He hated Dad for years after the divorce, and they didn’t really make peace until one day when Mark was nineteen and Erik and I were sixteen. We were living with Mom at the time, back when we were still in high school, and one long weekend she had to be out of town and Mark came home from college to keep an eye on Erik and me. Erik and I hated having Mark called in to babysit us. Like Dad, Mark sometimes used hypnosis to make us behave, which sucked. We managed to turn the tables on him and get him hypnotized, which fucking rocked. Dad dropped by to see how things were going, and one thing led to another, and Dad ended up hypnotized too, and I got to be the one in charge. After some heavy shit went down that weekend, Mark and Dad ended up dealing with some of their emotional baggage and getting back on good terms. These days they get along pretty well, I think. Mark’s gay too, like Dad, and I guess that helped. It gave them something in common to bond over, though Mark thought it was weird that Dad’s boyfriend at the time was a lot younger than Dad, like around Mark’s age.

The sound of the garage door opening woke me. Erik and I were floating in the pool and semi-napping following quick, but satisfying, blowjobs right after Dad left to meet Mark at the airport. We rolled off our air mattresses and into the water and pushed ourselves out of the pool; this had the dual effect of giving us an answer to Dad’s inevitable question of What did you guys get up to while I was gone (“swimming”) and rinsing off any lingering sweat and stink of sex. Heh, heh—Erik and I knew lots of tricks like that.

I practically tackled Mark with a hug as he got out of Dad’s car, and we fell against the fender, Erik piling on top of us.

“I’m glad to see you guys too,” Mark laughed. “Gross—you’re all wet.”

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” Erik asked, because Mark had a backpack and that was it for luggage.

“I’m traveling light. Minimal baggage these days.” Which was probably a psychology joke to make Dad laugh. “Most of it’s in storage. The rest, like my clothes and stuff, I had shipped. It’ll get here in a few days.”

“Cool,” I said, because it sounded like such a sensible Mark solution.

Mark looked up at Dad. “You got them crystals of their own? Is that, uhm, safe?” He probably felt mine or Erik’s pendants grinding against his chest when we tackled him. But he was grinning when he said it.

From behind me, Dad said, “They’re men now. It’s time they handled the responsibility.” Dad had, after all, given Mark a pendant too, a few years back.

Erik goosed Mark’s ribs through his shirt, which made Mark laugh and twist and try to squirm away—unsuccessfully.

Dad laughed and patted my bare shoulder. “How about letting your brother up, boys. Come on, Mark, I’ll show you to your room.” Since Erik and I were staying in the spare bedroom, we’d turned the small basement where Erik and I usually played video games into an improvised bedroom for Mark.

Dad originally tried to set the basement up as a bedroom for either Erik or me, and the other was going to take the spare bedroom. That was before Erik and I kinda made it clear we intended to share the same bedroom—and the same bed. Fortunately, no one at college thought anything about twin brothers wanting to room together. We were always careful to make sure both beds were mussed, even though we only used one. We didn’t see any reason to stop sleeping together just because we’d graduated. Dad eventually dropped the idea of separate bedrooms for us, but he had to go ahead with setting up a place to sleep in the basement now that Mark was moving in with us. Our video game shit was still down there, so Erik and I weren’t giving up all claim to the territory just because it was going to be Mark’s bedroom.

We ate a quick lunch in the kitchen: sandwiches and a salad. Dad got up and carried his plate to the sink.

“Hey,” I announced. “Remember that time back when we were sixteen and we had a contest to see who got to be in charge all weekend? We should do that again this weekend. Like, to commemorate us all being together again.”

“Yeah!” chimed Erik, always up a little adventure.

“Uh, I don’t think so,” Mark said, rolling his eyes.

“I dunno, guys,” Dad said.

“So that’s two agreed, one opposed, and one abstaining?” I tried, spinning Dad’s noncommittal response as favorably as I could.

Erik yanked his crystal and cord off over his head and patted it on the kitchen table. “I’m in.”

I pulled mine off too. “Me too. Mark?”

Mark shook his head. “No way you’re gonna call me ‘slaveboy’ again, you little pricks.” But he was grinning. I think he’d kinda enjoyed that weekend too.

“Aw, come on, Mark,” I tried. “Are ya chicken?”

“Come on, Dad,” Erik mock-pleaded.

From over by the sink, Dad looked at us and hesitated. “Same contest as before?”

Success! Well, not complete success yet, but once we got Dad moving toward agreement, it was just a matter of time ’til we won.

Mark made that heavy sigh-sound he always does when he doesn’t want to give up an argument, though. He leaned back with his arms folded across his chest, which meant trouble. We knew Dad wouldn’t agree unless it was unanimous.

Erik blurted, “Let’s flip a coin. Best two out of three—heads, we do it, okay?”

I grinned back at him. “Yeah!” We wouldn’t need more than two flips: Erik had a two-headed penny. Like I said, we had lots of tricks for getting what we want.

Dad mused, “Same contest as before, huh? Whoever wins is in charge, now through twelve-oh-one Monday morning. And the House Rules still apply, right?”

House Rules were the strongest rules of all. You had to follow them. To confirm that for Dad, Erik and I recited the primary Rule in unison: “Nothing that’s permanent, nothing that does damage, and nothing that leaves the house or the back yard.”

Dad looked across the table. “What do you say, Mark?”

Mark, still leaning back with his arms across his chest, gave Erik and me a half-scowl and shrugged one shoulder. “I dunno, Dad ...” He was probably still sore because he lost that first contest five years ago. I won that one, and I planned to win again.

We’d manipulated Dad into joining in last time. This time, we didn’t have to. Dad pulled off his crystal pendant and put it on the table. “I’m in, but only if all three of you are. It has to be unanimous.”

We all looked at Mark.

“Flip a coin ...?” Erik offered again, half-heartedly ’cause he knew that strategy probably wouldn’t work with Mark.

Me, I went with challenging him: “Come on, Mark. Man up.”

Mark said, “We’re not kids experimenting with stuff anymore ...”

“It’ll be fun, Mark. Or have you lost your balls?”

Mark shot me a dirty look. Hey, just because Erik and I had a lot of tricks didn’t mean Mark wasn’t wise to most of them!

Mark sighed. He sat forward. “Okay, I’m in.” He pulled off his pendant but hesitated before he placed it on the table. “I know I’m not going to regret this, because I’m going to win.”

“No, I am,” Erik and I chorused. Dad chuckled.

Dad put down paper on the kitchen floor. He laid out a strip seven or eight feet wide so we could stand side by side, and about three feet deep, ’cause he knew from experience I can shoot a couple of feet. That’s how I won last time.

I’d scooped up the pendants before anybody could change his mind and put them on the kitchen counter. Erik and I stripped out of the shorts we were wearing, both of us already hard and ready to go. Mark stripped more slowly, and Dad didn’t even start taking off his shirt until he’d gotten the papers laid down.

“Hey, you got your nipples pierced?” I said to Mark, because that was new. Mark already had a hard-on too, and a real intent look on his face. He also sported a little silver ring on each nip. “Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

“What do they feel like?” I reached for them, kinda mock-aggressively.

He pulled back, putting his hands over his nips to defend them, and laughed. “No way, ass-wipe. Keep your mitts to yourself, got it?”

Until I win, I thought. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Okay, boys,” Dad said, down to his boxer shorts now and then slipping them off too, revealing his half-wood. He poked a few buttons on his wrist watch. “Five minutes on the clock. Whoever shoots the farthest wins the whole shooting match. If you haven’t cum by the end of the five minutes, you forfeit.”

I had to respect my Dad so I chuckled at his lame whole shooting match joke. I mean, he was in his forties now—he had to know he couldn’t shoot like twenty-one-year-olds like Erik and me, or even a twenty-four-year-old like Mark. Hell, he went into the contest the first time, five years ago, knowing he’d probably lose to his teenage sons, and he still gave it a shot, so to speak. I had to respect a man who got his game on like that.

“Hands in the air, guys. Ready? Time begins”—Dad poked another button on his watch—“now.”

I grabbed my hard-on with my right hand and worked my balls with my left. Erik did the same, but in reverse—left hand on his rod, right on his jewels. Erik and Mark and me, we stroked underhand, with our thumbs on top of our cocks and palms underneath. Dad stroked overhand, with his palm on top and thumb underneath. Different strokes, right? Mark had his eyes shut, head thrown back; he kept one hand on his chest, flicking at his little nipple rings, and I wondered if that was cheating. I also wondered what it would feel like to reach over and give them a flick myself, whether he would like it, whether he would cum harder if I did that. No—no way was I going to risk helping him win.

A couple minutes later, Mark gave one ring a good tug and groaned. “Cumming ... Aw, fuck!” The paper made splattery rustle-sounds as Mark’s spunk rained down on it.

“Fu-guh—uh!“ Erik grunted as he shot off too.

“Gonna—” And then I was shooting, cumming, climaxing, orgasming, all sorts of words that meant my world was burning white-hot with pleasure as my balls pumped out my jizm. I pushed my hips forward to get as much advantage as I could.

“Cheater,” Erik whispered at me.

I gave him a scowl that said, Yeah, right—like you didn’t do the same damn thing, bro.

That left Dad. “Ahh ... he sighed, and his cum started. He pulled his hand to the base of his cock and pushed his hips forward too, to maximize his distance. Still, after the first burst, his cum mostly dribbled out.

I shot Erik a glance that said, See?—Playing to win runs in our family.

Erik raised his fists in victory. ”Hoo-yeah! Suck it, bitches!”

What? I checked the paper. I’d shot a good distance, farther than Mark or Dad, but—fuck!—Erik had shot nearly an inch farther than me. “You cheated!” I yelped. “I want a do-over!”

Erik wasted no time and scooped up the pendants. “These are mine for the weekend, bitches! I’m in charge. Remember the agreement: Full cooperation, full access—right? No going back on the deal.” He held up Dad’s pendant in front of Mark and Dad. My rule number one when a crystal’s being held up to somebody who isn’t me?—Look away. And I did, just before Erik recited the trigger: “Three, two, one—Deep sleep.”

After all these years of being hypnotized, the effect was immediate. Their eyes closed and their heads dropped forward. “That’s it,” Erik purred. “Deep sleep.”

“You got ’em, dude,” I congratulated him. “Now what’re we going to make them do first?”

“What’s this ‘we’ shit?” Erik swung the pendant toward me. ”I’m in charge. Three, two—”

I knew what was coming and clamped my eyes shut.

“Oh, come on, Derik,” Erik groused. “Man up. You lost fair and square, even though you tried to cheat. I won. You know the rules. Winner takes all, just like Dad said. Full access, full cooperation.”

I kept my eyes pressed tightly shut. I shook my head.

I reached blindly for the crystal Erik held. “Nuh-uh,” he scolded, forcing my hand away. “You know the House Rules, Derik. When somebody holds up the crystal, you have to look at it. Open your eyes, Derik. Focus on the crystal. Man up, dude.”

He was right. I felt the urge, the compulsion to look, through I fought it. Dad had been hypnotizing us since we were little kids to “encourage” us to behave. For Erik and me, getting hypnotized since we were around four years old meant hypnosis was deeply engrained in us. Maybe I couldn’t hold out long, but I wasn’t going to make it easy for Erik either.

“You’re just delaying the inevitable, bro. Open your eyes. Focus on the crystal. It’s one of the House Rules, Derik. You gotta.”

Against my will, my eyes opened just a crack. I clamped them shut, but a moment later they cracked open again, and there was the crystal. Fuck! I clamped my eyes shut tight again. The best I could do was stall the inevitable, as I pawed around blindly for the crystal that Erik had no doubt pulled back out of reach—but hey, if I could delay it long enough, I might be able to grab—

Erik stumbled back as we scuffled for the crystal. I felt his butt bump into the counter, but where the hell was his arm? I was flailing my arms and practically pushing him back on the countertop and coming up with nothing but occasional tags of where ... Wait and minute—I found his hand.

Erik said, “Dad, I know you—oof!—can hear me. You can open your eyes and—ow!—still remain so deeply asleep, can’t you?”

Dad’s voice mumbled, “Uh-huh ...”

Erik said, “Dad, I want you to do something for me—ow, ass-hat!—a favor. I want you to hypnotize Derik. Can you do that for me? Ouch! I want to watch you hypnotize him, and I want you to do it the slow, old-fashioned way, like you did when we were little kids.”

Oh, fuck!

Dad had made sure we would never resist his hypnosis. I stumbled back off Erik and spun around, looking for the kitchen door. Should I grab my shorts or just run for it? If Dad was coming for me, no place in the house would be safe, and I had to get outside, outside of the nothing leaves the house or back yard rule. I had to get out of there before—

Dad said, “Derik, listen to me. There’s nothing more important right now than listening to me.”

Fuck-fuck-fuck!

The glee in Erik’s voice was unmistakable. “He’s going to try to fight it, Dad. You’ll have to come on strong. Here—use this.”

“Derik, look at me, son.”

Fuck! When Dad gave me a direct order, I had to follow it—that was one of the House Rules.

Use this turned out to be a table knife. I saw it when I opened my eyes and looked at Dad. He turned it so the blade caught the overhead light and flashed it at my eyes. Dad had skills—he could probably even hypnotize somebody with a paper clip or an old sock.

“Just watch the light, Derik,” Dad said.

I protested, “Dad, don’t—”

“Shh. Don’t talk. Just watch. There’s nothing important for you to say at this moment, is there. No.”

Another direct order. Whatever I’d planned to say spiraled away. I answered him with, “No ...”

“Good. Just watch the light. Just like that, son, just like you’re doing now. That’s good.”