The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Richie woke up one morning and found he had been transformed into a superhero. The small, skinny 17-year-old had no idea how it happened, but he just seemed to suddenly know it had happened, and he was not surprised to find the spandex superhero costume in his closet. It had the letter F on it, surrounded by curvy lines denoting a cloud of gas. Above the costume hung a mask not unlike that of Batman’s sidekick Robin. Somehow Richie knew he was now Fartboy, and he had some idea of his powers. He could produce an immense quantity of fart gas whenever he wanted to. He could fly by lighting his farts. And just by concentrating, he could change the chemical composition of his farts to have amazing effects on people.

The first type of superfart he could produce was the Fart of Truth. Like Wonder Woman’s lasso, anyone breathing in the Fart of Truth was compelled to tell the truth for the following twenty minutes or so. Fulfilling his superhero responsibility, Fartboy could use this power to help the police solve crimes.

But the most intriguing of his superfarts was the Fart of Lust. It could induce uncontrollable sexual needs, also for a period of about twenty minutes. Used over and over on the same person, it could have a lasting effect with no known way to reverse it. Richie never used this superfart to benefit his own sex life, since he thought it was wrong. The most he had ever used his superpowers in his personal life was when he discreetly used a Fart of Truth on his first boyfriend ever, only to discover that the boyfriend had already found another guy and was preparing to dump him. After that Richie stopped trusting potential boyfriends, and kept his sex life in the realm of fantasy.

So he didn’t really understand the full implications of his Fart of Lust, never having used it on anyone. But there were profound implications when, forgetting to change his body chemistry after an open-air “experiment”, he accidentally released a gigantic Fart of Lust backwards into the school’s locker room as he was leaving following a phys ed class.

This fart traveled through the poorly-ventilated locker room and enveloped the football team as they were at their lockers changing. It hit the unsuspecting team like a bolt of lightning, with all cocks inflating to full strength and length nearly at once. Suddenly, every member of the team had the insatiable need to “fill or be filled”, and a free-for-all orgy developed as each player grabbed the nearest teammate whose ass or mouth was exposed to them. Two beefy linemen wrestled for dominance until one finally knocked the other one onto his knees, spun him around and shoved his cock into the loser’s asshole with a grunt of total satisfaction, at which point the loser’s attitude changed completely, now NEEDING to be filled, causing him to push his asshole up as far onto the invading cock he could in order to satisfy those new needs. Nearby, the center grabbed the quarterback, who happened to be bending over in front of him at the critical moment, and plunged his average-length but fat cock into the vulnerable hole, causing a huge wave of gratification in his target.

The nonplayer freshman who functioned as team equipment manager was standing by the locker room bench laying out fresh towels, while the tall senior tight end was sitting on the bench right next to the pile. When the fart hit, the short freshman pulled down his pants, grabbed the tight end’s head by the hair and forced his long, thin cock into the player’s mouth. The tight end immediately felt the need to open wide and slide the cock as deeply down his deep throat as he could, looking up gratefully at the little manager for having “filled” him. While he was being face-fucked, with one hand the tight end grabbed his own impressively long cock and began pumping.

Groans, moans, sighs, ball-slapping and slurping sounds were heard as the group’s needy pushing, pulling, pumping and sucking continued for minute after minute, until almost simultaneously the whole team reached orgasm. With shrieks and shouts of satisfaction, cum flew everywhere: down throats and assholes, onto the bench, the floor, onto piles of previously-clean towels and clothes. As the effects of the fart reached their conclusion, each player gazed at his erstwhile partner in a new way. And when the fart wore off completely, the team didn’t know what to think.

No words were exchanged on the subject. And nobody dared mention it to anyone outside the team, either. Of course, after the event, the group remained straight (except for those who weren’t straight in the first place, including one closeted team member and the freshman equipment manager, who had experienced the best sex of his life in that incident). But the relationship among the players had changed subtly. Those who had been “on top” in the orgy retained a slight psychological edge over those they had fucked or been sucked by. Their leadership skills increased a bit, at the expense of those they had dominated, and this lasted far beyond the day of the incident. So the Fart of Lust had side effects that even Fartboy himself did not know about.

Richie himself was a closeted, submissive gay boy. Short, and with a cute boyish look, even as a senior he appeared younger than many of the school’s freshmen. But when he was wearing his Fartboy costume and mask, he felt more important and powerful, his self-esteem boosted. As Richie the student, because of school he couldn’t do too much superhero work during the week without revealing his identity, but he committed time on the weekend to helping the police solve crimes. While the detectives wore noseplugs, Fartboy would put his ass up against the suspect handcuffed to the chair and release a powerful Fart of Truth. Although the detectives knew the resulting confessions could not be used in a court, the information they got from these interrogations helped solve many previously puzzling crimes, and exonerated some innocent people.

Fartboy usually worked with two particular detectives. One, Paul Olsen, was fresh from the police academy, in his early twenties, a very focused, athletic person, about 6 feet tall, with blond hair buzz-cut military style. The other, Roger Travis, was the experienced one of the pair, married, late thirties, brown hair, good-looking and in good shape but nowhere near as athletic as his partner. They had gotten used to wearing noseplugs and holding their breath for certain periods of time before going out for fresh air. They had gotten a good reputation within the department, thanks to the valuable information brought in by their collaboration with Fartboy.

This Saturday they were interrogating Butch, a large 16-year-old who with his young group of hoods had been terrorizing a number of neighborhoods. Butch was very tall and well-muscled for his age, with tattoos on his arms and chest and a scar above one eye that he had received in a knife fight. He had penetrating blue eyes, punk-cut brown hair, and a face that always seemed to be smirking. He easily recruited boys his age and even older into his gang, and dominated them with the overwhelming force of his personality. Just by looking at them, he could usually tell what they were up to, and if they were being straight with him.

When Richie, dressed as Fartboy, came in the room where Butch was handcuffed to the chair, Butch stared into his eyes, measuring him up. Richie couldn’t meet the stare directly, and looked down submissively. This told Butch what he wanted to know, and he smirked even more than usual.

Richie backed up and put his ass into Butch’s face, emitting a Fart of Truth. He then stepped back and watched Butch’s expression go blank. The two cops began their interrogation, and soon Butch was providing details of all sorts of felonies the police had not even been aware of. With the seriousness and quantity of crimes, Detective Travis was almost sure he could convince a judge to try Butch as an adult once the proper evidence was gathered.

As the Fart of Truth wore off, the two detectives got up and left the room to privately discuss where to go from that point, leaving Richie alone in the room with Butch. Richie faced away from Butch so that Butch wouldn’t see the bulge in his costume, but Butch had a good idea what was going on.

“So, Fartboy, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just wanting to serve me?” Richie blushed, but said nothing. “I know your type, I got a bunch of ‘em crawlin’ to me, beggin’ me to tell ‘em how they can work for me and the gang, just so they can hang out with me. Turn around,” commanded Butch, and Richie could do nothing but obey the dominant teen.

Butch examined Richie’s bulge. “So, is that thing actually harder than steel? Better watch out, you could put someone’s eye out with that. But you’d have to get REAL CLOSE!” snorted Butch. He stretched his long legs out and began rubbing his crotch, causing a much more sizable bulge than Richie’s. “Now, I wouldn’t have to get NEARLY as close with THIS,” he said as the bulge grew and grew and Richie helplessly stared.

“Yeah, I know your type for sure. Right this very minute you want to get your slobbery superfag lips around this piece of meat, and suck on it at super speed, wouldn’t you?” Richie’s silence and continued staring told the story. “Well, I might just let you do that. But first you have to do something for me.

“When those cops get back in here, before they put their noseplugs in, you know what you can do. I’ll hold my breath and you can hit them with one of those Farts of Lust. Pretty soon I’ll have that younger blond cop toy on the floor licking my left boot clean –“—he moved his large boot in a circle – “and the smart older one busily working on my right one. That leaves this big sausage just for you!” He rubbed his obscenely large bulge as Richie helplessly stared. “You need it, you know you do. Right now, there’s nothing you’d like to do but kneel and obey me, and put your superpowers to work for me.” Richie was mesmerized, and more sexually aroused than he had ever been in his life, and Butch could see it.

“Come on, join my gang. I could use your powers to help me take over this town. You could start with these two cops. I heard that if you hit them again and again with the Fart of Lust, the effect becomes permanent. Is that true?” Richie said nothing. “I could have two cop puppets working for me, just for the right to be my boot slaves, to lick off my foot sweat, to know they have to do whatever I say or I can wreck their lives completely. I can use your Farts of Truth to find out if anyone is holding out on me, to hear what they’re really thinking, to see if anyone is about to rat me out. And I can keep your fag self satisfied, with my incredible bod or with any of my big-muscled bodyguards, if you agree to become my superslave. Whaddaya say?”

Richie stood there, frozen. “You… you’re just saying those things so you can get away.”

Butch produced a smile of evil amusement. “Oh yeah? Go ahead, use one of those Farts of Truth on me, I don’t mind. You’ll find out what I really wanna do.”

Richie timidly turned around and farted in Butch’s face. He watched while Butch intentionally took a deep breath of the Fart of Truth. “Wh… what would you do with me?” Richie asked the tranced Butch.

Butch intoned, “I would make sure your super throat and super ass were filled every day. I would use your farts to enslave other people that could be useful to me. It would be real fun to take decent upstanding citizens and teens—eagle scouts and athletes—and sexually enslave them to my nastier, uglier, smaller gang members. I would keep you worshiping me all the time. I would force you to build a titanium cage to keep you locked up in, and let you fart only on my command. I would make you fly me and my gang around on your back whenever we wanted. I would be the all-powerful man that a fag like you needs to control his life. I might even give you that young blond muscle cop to play with when I’m gone, so you could dream of me and have someone to dump supercum into even when I’m out on a job. How’d you like to lead the blond cop toy around naked on a leash to impress me? Or would you want it the other way around?”

Richie’s mind reeled as he imagined the fantasy world being described by Butch. It was true, the Fart of Truth proved it. But could Fartboy turn evil? Through the glass in the door he could see the two cops returning from their private discussion. He had only seconds to decide. What would he do?

Richie thought fast and furiously. And then it came to him. He prepared the appropriate superfart, one that would change lives all around, and just as the cops came in the door—

It was now a couple of weeks later. Butch was having discussions with two leaders of a large Salvadoran gang. As he led them down a hallway of the boarded-up house used as the headquarters for Butch’s gang, he was saying, “I’m sure we can find a way to work together in this town. With your muscle and experience, and our local knowledge and contacts, we could get you into all kinds of things around here.”

Carlos, 27, tall, muscular, and heavily tattooed, said, “Well, kid, it’s more like YOU little guys would work FOR us, for a small cut of the action. I mean, we’re big time, we’re national, even international. For you, it’d be a big honor just to be associated with us.” His shorter subordinate, Manuel the enforcer, 25, with a much bigger build than Carlos, grunted in agreement.

Butch said, “Whatever, we can discuss the details later. Meantime, we’ve got a secret weapon locked up back here that lets us practically run this town.” At the word “weapon”, the hands of the two Salvadorans move subtly towards their pockets. Butch noticed this and laughed. “No, not that kind of weapon. This is a GUY. We use him to control people, the cops, even the mayor. Take a look.” And with that they entered a room containing a short shirtless young kid of maybe 16 with a slim smooth chest, wearing baggy pants and no shoes, his feet barely poking out from under the pants legs. At the entrance of Butch and the Salvadorans, he flashed a little-kid grin. The Salvadorans didn’t notice that he was wearing noseplugs.

That’s because their attention was immediately drawn across the room to a metal dog-type cage containing a boy of similar age and stature, except he was wearing some kind of bizarre costume. The boy was on his hands and knees and staring fixedly forward, as if hypnotized. And even with him in that crouching position, they could see a solid-looking bulge in the front of his costume shorts.

The Salvadorans walked over to the cage and grabbed the edge. It was a metal stronger than steel. “What the hell IS this? Who IS he?” asked Carlos. At that, Butch said, “You’re about to find out.” He stepped out the door they had entered through, and shut it behind him. At exactly that time, the shirtless kid shouted, “Lust Fart now!!” and there was the sound of an immense release of fart gas from the cage. Within seconds, the mind-altering gas filled the room, unleashing its power on the Salvadorans’ brains. The two gangbangers suddenly noticed that the most powerful, masculine man in the room was standing there, shirtless and shoeless, whose incredible feet DEMANDED to be serviced! Manuel, the bulkier shorter guy, was soon on the floor licking the top of Mikie’s foot. Carlos, Manuel’s boss, suddenly felt extremely jealous, and pulled out a knife to dislodge Manuel. “Hey, hey, don’t do that,” said Mikie. “After all, I’ve got TWO perfect feet for you maricones to worship!” Carlos immediately dropped the knife and set to work on Mikie’s other foot.

Any previous sexual feelings the two gangbangers might have had for women were displaced from their minds. And after three or four more applications of lust farts that day, their sexual desire for anything other than to perform pleasure service for Master Mikie would be permanently erased. Mikie planted ideas in their open little minds as they helplessly slurped at his cute feet, which to them seemed so commanding. “Yeah... yeah... you’d do anything to please me, wouldn’t you... to get at my feet... you’d betray your fellow gang members... you’d use your big muscles to work for me... you’d even scout out new love slaves to please me... by the way, I like ‘em big, powerful, and tough... all the further they gotta fall to earn their place at my feet...” Mikie’s two newest love slaves were absorbing all this necessary information into their souls as they tongue-worshipped their angelic young teenage master.

“But you’d better stay sharp when you work for me. Slaves who lose leadership of their gangs, or don’t bring in enough to satisfy me, are banished from my feet. That would be the WORST thing that could happen to you. The worst thing...” And Carlos and Manuel knew they would do ANYTHING to avoid that fate...

With the lust fart safely dissipated, Butch came back in the room. “Carlos and Manuel, I see you’ve gotten to know Mikie, the new leader of your gang. From now on, you’ll be reporting to him and taking orders from him. Sorry I can’t see to your gang personally, I’ve got bigger things on my plate than dealing with some small-time Salvadoran thugs. I’ve got the local leaders of the Crips and Bloods crawling to meet me almost every day now, to see if we can work out some kind of profitable arrangement. And I’m sure we’ll set up something that I like. Just like you two guys are soon gonna be quite possessive of Mikie’s feet, those gangbangers can be real territorial. Service to my left foot is reserved for Crips, right for Bloods. If a Blood saw a Crip licking my right foot, he’d probably knife the guy right there. Bad for business, so I’ve had to teach them their proper places.

“Oh, and word to the wise: any fluids that come out of Mikie’s incredible cock are property of the Latin Kings. I wouldn’t even look at it unless you want to start a gang war...”

Leaving Mikie to continue the enslavement and training of his new gang toys, Butch went back to his “office”, just as Officers Olsen and Travis arrived. “So, is the raid arranged on the drug dealers on Maple Street?” He noticed both were eyeing his boots hungrily. “Hey, no boot licking until I get the 411!”

The young blond cop spoke up. “Yes, Master Butch. The mayor himself ordered the raid. Of course, I had to give him another one of your unwashed jockstraps to encourage him to do it. He was VERY appreciative. You know, these days he wanders around his quarters naked and erect, wearing nothing but one of your smelly old jockstraps over his face. But after awhile your crotch odor wears off ‘em, and he’s begging me for a ‘fresh’ one. I’m just glad he got divorced last year, or others might notice. And of course, his security detail outside can’t stop jerking off for long, so they’re too busy, and embarrassed, to see anything.”

“Good. You two have earned my boots. But I have MUCH better, filthier ones over there in the corner. I think one of them might even have some puke I stepped in.” Butch could see his cop slaves were getting hard just thinking about this. “So why don’t you give them one of your cum-and-tongue shines?” They didn’t need to be asked twice. Racing to the corner and stripping, each cop grabbed a boot, and began alternately licking it lovingly and rubbing his distended cock against it. Soon they would shoot over the boots, covering the protein of the leather with the protein of their cop cum. And earning the right to do that kept them loyal to Butch, controlling the mayor and other key members of the force and city council.

Butch returned to the cage room, where Mikie was now sitting in a comfortable chair listening to an iPod, while the Salvadorans continued their foot worship of him.

“Hey, I gotta borrow Fartgeek for a few moments. It’s dark enough that he can fly me to a meeting in the park. I’ll have him back in about 30 minutes for the next fart programming session for your nasty friends there.” Mikie just waved a hand and continued to sway to the music and twist his feet in the faces of his adoring slaves.

Butch opened the cage, and said, “Flight mode.” Without changing his forward stare, Fartboy moved stiffly out of the cage and waited on his hands and knees to be mounted by Master Butch. His cock surged when he felt Butch’s solid legs surround his little (but superstrong) body. When Butch said, “To the park,” Fartboy went out the back door, forced open the chained fence with one punch of his superpowerful little fist, and took off into the evening sky. As Butch and Fartboy flew off, Mikie briefly looked towards the open door. Although he enjoyed his personal collection of tough gangbangers, he couldn’t help thinking what fun it would be to control a mindfucked slave with superpowers...

Fartboy arrived unseen in the wooded corner of the park, and landed on hands and knees, so Butch could dismount. There was no one there, just as Butch had hoped. During the flight, Butch’s cock had become hard as steel in anticipation of this moment. Butch said to Fartboy, “OK, I’ve done everything you told me to do today. Please, PLEASE let me at your ass. That all-powerful ass that produces the superfarts that control this city. It’s been days since I’ve been at it, and I’m going crazy. I’ve GOT to worship that ass!!!” In response, Fartboy graciously stretched his buns of steel, thus forcing open the fartflap on the pants of his superhero costume, allowing Butch’s face access to the inner sanctum. At the mere sound of the velcro fartflap peeling itself open, Butch nearly came in his pants. As of course he had been programmed to do, by Fartboy himself.

Richie was living his submissive fantasy, acting the part of Butch’s caged superslave, but at the same time using Butch to run the city, both its official and criminal elements. He tried to run things as best he could, with as little violence as possible, gathering information on everyone involved and gradually reducing their independence. He knew that someday the time would come for him to put an end to the local gangs, maybe by making them so horny for each other that they would have no time to commit crimes.

He felt kind of bad about the two reprogrammed cops. There was no way to change them back, they were by now so totally enslaved in service to Butch’s filthy boots. This seemed cruel, but after all, the younger cop had never been married, and the older one was divorced, so no one else was really hurt. When the time came for Richie to end Butch’s whole scene, he would have to do something for them. Richie figured he would “refart” them into being a loving couple, the young blond becoming the “wife” of the older cop.

The divorced mayor’s Butch-used-jockstrap fetish was also relatively victimless, athough Richie might have to make a slight adjustment so that any smelly old jock from the high school locker room would do. The mayor’s son, a rangy junior track star at the school, could easily be programmed to steal a few every couple of days and deliver them to his dad, in return for the right to chew on one himself. Maybe the two could enjoy a fun father-son bonding activity, crawling around the apartment, naked and on leashes, long erect cocks pointing at the floor, rancid jocks on their faces, being led around by a cruel hypnotized master, like Mikie...