The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

How to train your slave 5

7/2017

OK, I got a ton of email when I threated to terminate this series, so, one more!

This is part 5 of a multipart story. It will make a lot more sense if you read the first four parts before you read this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic fiction. If you are under the legal age to read this, or are offended by the idea of male-male sex or mind control, DO NOT read further.

There was meeting of Masters in the dorm’s break room early one evening. I couldn’t remember who called it or when, but suddenly there we all were engaged in serious discussion.

Master Donkey was speaking. While he spoke, he was idly fingering his incredible meat, which swayed back and forth hypnotically. I don’t know for sure whether watching that forced our minds to give greater weight to what he was saying, but naturally we were all kind of helplessly staring.

“You know, I’m getting tired of us having only a one-way relationship with our slaves. I mean, we order them to let us fuck them, and then they just get to lie there while we do all the work.”

Well, maybe that wasn’t a completely accurate representation of what was going on, but I believed I could see where he was going with this.

“So I think tonight it’s only fair for us to turn this around. Let’s all order our slaves to fuck US. To make them put in some extra effort, I’ve bought a bagful of toys—dildos, penis whips, butt plugs, riding crops, spurs, holed face masks, and a few even more unusual items, and I think we should command them to use these things on us. That should force those lazy slaves into exerting themselves more in pleasing us!”

I was a bit confused, but there seemed to be complete agreement around the room. Of course I had recently had the fine experience of having Slave Benny gently but firmly take my ass virginity, but there were no whips or anything involved, just that spanking I had ordered him to do. But I followed the group downstairs to the slave room anyway, curious to see what might happen.

I was last among the group on the stairs. As I looked into the room-sized slave cage, I noticed that all the slaves were already there, except for that annoying little Lonnie kid who was owned by Master Towerboy, the seven-foot blond basketball star. While the other slaves and Masters paired off for the big event, the blond giant stood bolt upright in the corner, staring obliviously straight ahead, obviously waiting for his slave. And in the opposite corner, Master Ginger, the 6′11″ sophomore basketball player who didn’t have his own bonded slave, stood looking around, shifting his weight from foot to foot, as if waiting for someone.

I noticed that Master Bigfoot’s slave Petey had his Master’s feet wrapped in two layers of some kind of plastic airtight boots, and I understood why. If his giant feet were loose and their powerful aroma overtook the room, soon many of both the slaves and Masters would be helplessly crawling over to him.

Before I walked in the door, I was stopped by Slave Benny. He pulled me back out into the hallway. “Hey, Master Bieber, we don’t have to do this, you know. I don’t think we could top our loving experience of the other day.” And I agreed completely with him.

“But there is something you can help with. Master Ginger recently had the very latest Slave Compliance Device installed, the implanted kind. Now, the newer versions aren’t any more powerful than the old ones—it’s all still a function of willpower and dominance. The new ones just have the command relay feature, and of course the implanted ones are invisible unless you know where on the skin to look. But I haven’t had the chance to completely test the implanted version.

“So here—” he handed me a metal cap with antennae—“is the original version. I want you and Master Ginger to kind of go at it and see what happens. You two have engaged in a dominance battle before—” I blushed as I remembered swallowing what seemed like a gallon of sticky strawberry milk—“but you were ‘unarmed’ at the time. He’s much bigger than you, but he’s also only a sophomore, so he’s two years younger and less mature. Let’s see if you can put that to use in this, um, ‘engagement’.”

Slave Benny shoved the metal cap on my head, adjusted one of the antennae, and pushed me into the room. Master Ginger noticed me immediately and started walking towards me. As he approached, I felt a certain weakness begin to enter me. Intellectually, I knew he held the initial advantage, since he already had had the device implanted for days and by now instinctively knew how to use it, while I was new to the metal cap.

He stopped when he reached me, towering over me and smiling evilly down at me. “Back for some more strawberry milk, eh, Bieber-boy? I haven’t been able to cum in days, so I probably have enough in me to drown you! Or would you prefer to have it taste like honey, or like milk from your mommy as you suckled on her breast? I can make it taste like any of those things! Just kneel facing me if you want it that way, or facing away if you’d prefer it shot up into your stomach from the other direction!”

He held out a giant hand, and opened his palm facing me. I suddenly felt immense pressure to drop to my knees. I began sweating profusely, desperately fighting the giant 19-year-old’s powerful mental order to submit.

“Look at this body,” he intoned. I couldn’t stop myself from admiring the magnificent chest, the long arms, the huge hands. “Look at these pecs. Look at that cock, yours is nothing by comparison. Look at these feet,” he said, wiggling his long toes. “Wouldn’t you like to have them crush your pitiful cock underfoot? You could have that if you were my bitch.”

The need to drop in front of him became overwhelming. I fought back inside: “No, no, those feet are only size 16s, not 18s like Bigfoot’s. They’re nothing!” I knew I was running out of time to fight back. I could feel the weight of the metal cap on my head as I forced a thought into HIM.

“You’re big, but you’re not that good-looking. You’re nothing special. That’s why you’ve admired Justin Bieber all these years, haven’t you? That incredible face, those haunting eyes, that powerful voice—you’ve always wanted him, wanted to please him. You’ve always wished you were a teen girl so you could give yourself completely to him.” His eyes lit up in astonishment as his hand fell to his side. I knew I was breaking through. Now I lifted MY hand, palm facing towards him, and projected a full-on fantasy directly into his mind.

He was in Justin Bieber’s trailer outside a concert venue somewhere. He was lying naked on his back on the floor, unable to move a muscle except his eyes. The singer was pacing back and forth walking on top of him like he was a rug, seeming to not even notice him, as he ran through some voice exercises before the concert.

And Rug Ginger noticed something else: Bieber’s groin now contained Ginger’s immense cock, bouncing around erect as he paced, while Rug Ginger himself now seemed to have what looked like a one-inch stub.

Finally, Bieber stopped pacing and sat in a director’s chair. “OK, now I’m ready for my pre-concert release. Flip over!” And suddenly Rug Ginger flipped onto his stomach at Bieber’s feet. Bieber grabbed a handful of Ginger’s curly red locks and pulled the head up onto his lap. “Open,” commanded Bieber, and Ginger’s mouth was suddenly wide open and being forced onto Bieber’s cock, that is to say the cock that previously was Ginger’s, and more and more of that cock was being shoved down Ginger’s hapless throat, and he gagged.

“Awww, too much for ya, huh? Well, I can fix that!” And Bieber’s long, slender fingers stroked the outside of Ginger’s throat, and Ginger felt his throat lengthening and getting more flexible. He now felt that he had control of the individual muscles in his throat and could now expand and contract them in just the right spots to maximize the invading cock’s pleasure.

“Oooh, that’s much better,” said Bieber as he pulled his rug-mouth’s hair forward and backward creating a skilled throat massage of his new cock. “We’ll adjust your ass after the concert. In fact, I know all my backup singers would enjoy a crack at you later, so we can make your throat and ass adjustable to the size of whoever’s cock you’re pleasuring at the time.”

I was enjoying projecting this fantasy into Master Ginger, who had a panicked look on his face, when I suddenly noticed that Master Towerboy, the seven-foot blond, was robotically marching across the cage towards us, his expression still blank. Oh God, I had forgotten about the implant device’s relay function. Ginger was desperately pulling Towerboy in to bolster his power in our duel of minds. And while I could just about overpower Ginger’s will, I knew there was no way I could take on the combined willpower of both of these teen giants at once.

And I couldn’t. My outstretched hand fluttered down, both giants raised their hands, opened their huge palms, and—

Suddenly I was in the basketball team’s locker room. I knew I was assistant team manager, that is, basically assistant to the team’s towelboy. Practice had just ended and I was walking around collecting an armload of dripping, stinking jockstraps as the giants peeled them off their sweaty bodies and dropped them onto me. Some of them would playfully rub their smelly strap on my nose before dropping it into my arms, and I would have to struggle not to shoot a load whenever this happened, my obvious internal conflict causing them to laugh.

One of them said, “Say, Bieber-boy, you’d better pre-treat all the piss and sweat stains on those things before you put them in the washer. I’d say you’d better CHEW those stains out!” And as soon as he said that, I knew I would be forced to obey his order.

Later I was in the showers, carefully washing every part of those tall muscular bodies as the jocks stood in the spray chatting with each other, ignoring me. I knew I had work extra hard on those areas that got especially sweaty, like their pits, crotches, and immense feet. Every once in awhile, when one of them would lift a foot for me to wash underneath, he would accidentally-on-purpose kick me lightly across the face, again forcing me to struggle not to ejaculate.

I tried to fight the fantasy—“This isn’t the real basketball team! They’re not all statuesque gods with immense cocks demanding worship”—but I was growing weaker and weaker, losing the battle. Soon I would be no better than a helpless, mindfucked plaything at the feet of Masters Ginger and Towerboy.

The final scene of the fantasy was ready to push me over the edge. Into the main locker area arrogantly strode the team manager, my “superior”: the head towelboy. He was a small freshman, just like the real basketball team manager. But in my fantasy, his cock was even longer than any of the players’. It was ridiculous; there seemed to be more cock than boy standing there. He had a commandingly deep voice.

“OK, Bieber-boy. Time for me to take the last of your free will. Surrender to me and I will absorb you into my cock. You will cease to exist except as an extension of my mind and body. Are you ready?”

And as much as I had tried to fight it previously, I knew I couldn’t fight anymore. The power I was facing was overwhelming. I was about to surrender completely when—

Suddenly I was back in the cage in the slave room. Little Slave Lonnie had just arrived and was standing, hands on hips, in front of his Master Towerboy. He looked angry.

“So! You order me to come down here, kick your balls around, push a variety of dildos into you, and then fuck you senseless. I’m a few minutes late, and THIS is what you do?” At the reprimand from his slave, Master Towerboy blushed from head to toe, which was actually quite a large total area of reddening skin in his case.

“You know you’re only supposed to use your Master powers to force guys to top you. I’m trying to get your mind in the proper place for when we get married next week, and for that you can’t have a shred of masculine self-esteem left anymore. You have to be the ultimate power bottom. I know that in high school, you were ‘the shit’, but here you have to realize you’re just plain shit. You can lead on the basketball court, but the stronger you want to feel there, the weaker you need to feel with me. Got it?”

As an embarrassed Towerboy was shaking his head yes, I noticed that Ginger was just standing there, looking stunned as a result of the broken ‘link’. I also saw the normal, expected activity that the Masters had ordered happening around the rest of the cage: slave Bobby was using a penis whip on Master Donkey, who was braying “Hee haw!” in distress; slave Petey was torture-tickling the plastic-booted feet of Master Bigfoot, who was going insane with uncontrollable laughter; and so on. I knew that all these acts were to end with each slave fucking his Master as commanded, and I turned to see if I could retake control of Master Ginger before he came out of his stupor.

But then Slave Benny grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the cage. “Not now, Master, you’ve been weakened by those giants teaming up against you. Don’t take a chance, I’d give it a rest. After whatever submission fantasy they must have put you through, do you need to cum?” I nodded.

“OK, then cum,” he said, and instantly I unloaded six shots across the room into the corner. “Hey, good distance! Don’t worry, Master Vacuum will lick all that right up as soon as his slave Sammy finishes fucking him. It’s funny how Master Vacuum orders Sammy to cum or piss onto the most disgusting places—dirty floors, crusted urinals, pots of rotting food—and then Master Vacuum sucks it all up.

“Well, better get up to your room. You’ll want to get to sleep before Master Donkey gets back up there and has to apply ointment to every inch of his suffering animal dong. Actually, why don’t you set up your phone to take a video of that. When he’s done with that, you can rub the ointment into his violated donkey ass. Or I guess that would be an ass’s ass!” He chuckled and I headed upstairs, my cock already half-hard again.

Professor Leonard Merk was in the lab, a metal cap on his head, listening to two of his best grad students. They were going over what they had discovered about the metal caps found in the lab the previous day. Naturally, both grad students were naked with their cocks kept erect, in the usual sign of respect for their professor.

“The caps are powered by a lithium-ion battery in the shell. The antennae produce synchronized pulses tuned to the alpha, beta and gamma frequencies of...”

As the grad student continued his discourse, the professor shifted his leg so that the cute undergrad Jonas, under the desk, could get better access to his seven-inch cock. As the professor glanced down, little Jonas looked up, his mouth full and his longing blue puppy-dog eyes open wide, earnestly hoping he was pleasing his master. For a straight guy, he had learned so much about cocksucking in just a few days! The direct brain link let him know immediately when he was causing the most pleasure, and caused him to stop and redirect his actions at any hint of pain. Despite his brief experience, it could be fairly said that he was now the absolute best cocksucker on campus, if not in the whole city.

Professor Merk felt a bit guilty about this, but it felt so good that the pleasure more than compensated for the guilt. Besides, he figured that after awhile he could erase all this from Jonas’ memory and leave him good as new. Except maybe with a new skill he didn’t even realize he had. Then Jonas could get married and move on with his life. But heck, that fiancee of his was also incredibly cute, even the gay professor could see that. Maybe he could officiate at their wedding, in his office with the two of them kneeling naked on the floor in front of him, staring at his cock. Then after the ceremony HE himself could serve as the “reception dinner”, where the two newlyweds could use their hands and mouths to feed off his various bodily fluids and secretions. They could live in his spare room...

Then he would have them go to work right away making a baby. Because in 20 years, the prof would be 48 and might be needing more action. He found himself imagining Jonas’s son’s 18th birthday. Up to that point, the boy would have remained a virgin, saving himself for his Uncle Leonard. He would have read everything he could find on the internet about gay sex, but he wouldn’t have been able to try it with anyone but himself. He would be obsessed with keeping his body in great shape, spending hours on it every day.

The background screen on all his laptops and phones would show a big flashing number, the number of days until his 18th birthday. 1085! 713! 428! 33!!

And when the big day would come...

Professor Merk almost came sitting there thinking about it. But although Jonas down below was bracing for what felt like a sizable impending load, with some concentration the prof managed to suppress it. Jonas simultaneously felt great relief and tremendous disappointment.

The prof addressed his grad students. “Good job, gentlemen, it looks like we’re making great progress on understanding these caps. Tomorrow we’ll have to try some carefully directed experiments.

“In the meantime, you two are both straight, right?”

“Yes, Professor Merk.” “Yes, sir.”

“Well, it’s important that you learn what homosexuality is all about as part of your psychology education. I want the two of you spending tonight researching online as much as you can about the mechanics of homosexual sex. One of you concentrate on the dominant position, the other one focus on the submissive side. Then you two should practice extensively on each other all night and make a visual record. Tomorrow, you will show me everything you learned. Got it?”

“Yes, sir. See you tomorrow.” Now at the end of this long, rather routine-seeming day, the two grad students got up, got dressed, and went home to work on their assignment. Meanwhile, under the desk Jonas finally got the tasty reward he was longing for.

(OK, a bit more for you. But if I were to continue, where could I possibly go from here? :) )