The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The time for hogkilling in the Ozarks takes place in the late fall of the year, when the heavy rains, not quite cold enough for snow, beat the leaves off the trees. What was one time a matter of necessity to prepare meat for the winter has changed to become an item of folk culture to be celebrated. It’s that way in Taney County Missouri where the county seat of Branson, Missouri hosts an annual hog festival. For this event numerous hogs are slaughtered and their butchered carcasses are brought to Main Street. There, the eager contestants set up black cast iron kettles to render the lard. This is then used to fry up and salt different pig parts to be sold to the tourists and rubes as they amble from the-A-ter to the-A-ter.

Always a favorite with the visitors, the festival also draws most local townsfolk to see and smell the boiling pork. Just about everyone turns up, everyone except those non-paying visitors in the Taney County jail. These guests cannot attend the festival in person, but the jail’s many broken windows allows inmates to enjoy the bracing fall air, smell of the cooking swine, and listen to the sounds of the jostling crowds.

It was on this kind of day in the late fall that Craig Smallwood, Jr. arrived at the jail for an initial interview with his new client.

Normally a dealer in divorce cases and an expediter of probate, Mr. Smallwood Jr. had been assigned to this case as a mandatory pro bono, or free case. The work is required of active members of the bar in serving legal needs of indigent people in the county, there being no money for a full time public defender.

Mr. Greg Smallwood Jr. walked down the corridor of the jail wearing his casual Thursday attire: khaki dockers, a light blue checked Egyptian cotton shirt with a button down collar and silk rep tie all overlaid by a charcoal grey cashmere sweater. The hand tooled Italian moccasins were an added touch of luxury. All articles were chosen to give the appearance of a prosperous practitioner of the law, all very appropriate for a fall Ozark afternoon.

Craig frowned on entering the interview room. He had not wanted to be here and the noise of the crowds and smell of the frying pork drifting in through the broken window added to his discomfort. And then there was the client himself. He’d hoped to have a few moments alone to review the arrest report again before he met his client but he was already there.

“Hello Mr. Mills my name is Craig Smallwood. I’m your court appointed attorney...” He extended his hand toward Shane in greeting but Shane only looked at it as if he didn’t know what he was expected to do.

Quickly withdrawing his hand, before it was obvious he had been insulted Craig sat down at the table in front of Shane lying open his briefcase and taking out some folders.

Shane began the conversation:

“What am I here for?”

“Mr. Mills weren’t you advised of the charges made against you?

“The charges?”

“Yes,..the charges, the reason you were arrested,...Mr. Mills did they read you your rights ?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Craig took off his gold rimmed glasses and stared at his client. Without them, he looked much younger than his 34 years. With an athletic body and only a bit of grey showing in the thick black hair he could still easily pass for a man 6 years younger than himself.

“Mr. Mills, I am required by the court to take a case pro bono, but I’m not necessarily obliged to take this case. If you’re to have proper representation, I suggest you drop whatever attitude you may have come in with.”

At that he put his glasses back on and sat down at the table staring at Shane.

These vagrant cases are always such a mess, Craig thought to himself. People like these have absolutely no self-discipline. And that was one thing Craig prided himself on. Slogging through law school, passing the bar, building his practice, and covering his tracks with the occasional female dinner date. Only on the rare trip to Kansas City, far from Branson, would he permit himself to drop his guard and show his real sexuality.

Shane looked down, “I’m sorry,” he said softly. He seemed a bit lost inside the overly large orange county jail costume.

Craig frequently liked to establish the power relationship at the outset, especially with a client in a criminal case.

“Perhaps if we can look at the complaint it may tell us something about how to defend you.”

He sighed heavily and sat down at the straightback metal chair. Not looking up he opened the Italian leather briefcase and ruffled some papers before pulling out a document bearing an official looking stamp on it from the Court Clerk.

“Says that you are charged with outraging public decency, and performing lewd acts in public.”

Craig put down the papers and looked up at his client.

For the first time he noticed the blonde hair was exactly the same shade as the intern his firm had hired the previous summer. It muscular builds too, by the looks of him even through the rumpled jail suit.

“Do I remind you of someone?”

The question was startling because it was indeed that Craig was reminded of that intern that caused him to stare. But asking the question was not expected. For a brief moment Craig was off his equilibrium.

“Uh, no. I was just,..thinking about the case, and,...” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“I just gave the man what he wanted most.” Shane’s matter of fact comment shook Craig out of his thoughts.

“Well, you gave him what he wanted in public, and that can cost you jail time,” came his tart reply.

“I hope this won’t be too much of a problem for Larry,” Shane shifted in his chair, the chains of his handcuffs rattling.

“Is he ok ?”

“He’s being defended by another attorney. And that is one thing I wanted to discuss with you. He makes some claim about you doing something to him to make him perform oral sex on you.”

“He’s not claiming that I put a gun to his head or something?” he called out in a shocked tone.

“No,” said Craig somewhat more reassuring, “but he said that you put a spell on him, or hypnotized him, or something like that.”

Shane leaned back in his chair. He gave a half smile, maybe just a one-quarter smile. It was very faint, but his eyelids crinkled up around his pale blue eyeballs so that they were hard to see.

Craig leaned back in his chair too; suddenly intrigued with this client he didn’t want in the first place.

“Why don’t you just tell me everything about what happened?” Craig spoke slowly, hoping the response would also be slow, so that he might savor what this very attractive young client of his might say, forgetting-temporarily-that he had another appointment at the law office in an hour.

Shane looked down. “We met in a bar. He bought me a drink.”

“Was this in a gay bar ?”

“No it wasn’t,” Shane raised both his handcuffed hands and brushed back the blonde hair that had fallen over his eyes. “I don’t go to gay bars,...don’t have to really.”

Craig let that comment pass without asking about it.

“Then what happened?”

“I started asking him questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

Shane had put his hands back on his lap.

“ Oh nothin’ much,..just about his family,...what he liked to do,..that kind of thing.”

Shane’s voice had changed. Instead of the hesitant or shy voice, it was now smoother,...softer,..so easy on the ears. It was as pleasant to listen to him as it was to look at him.

“That’s not a crime,” said Craig looking a bit bored,..or was he sleepy? He shouldn’t be sleepy. He had his full eight hours last night.

“I didn’t think so either,” Shane continued. " I thought there was something he wanted to do, but wasn’t telling me.”

“Uh-huh, go on.”

“I can usually tell that about people. I kind of have this gift. I just talk to them a little bit. And they tell me things.”

“What kind of things?”

Craig now had given Shane his complete attention. All good attorneys of course should pay attention to anyone they are about to defend, in a criminal trial, especially for one so young, and,..good looking. And Shane was good looking too, well, cute—really cute. He had to be innocent. But why did it feel so hot in there,...even with the broken windows ?

“They usually tell me what they would really like to do....if they had the chance.”

Shane shifted again in his chair was looking directly into Craig’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed at first how blue they were,....sky blue or robin’s egg ? Shane smiled at him.

Craig felt a bit dizzy. His head felt like it was under pressure, like being squeezed in his neck and all the blood was pushing against his head.

“And,” Craig cleared his throat and looked away. “Did Larry tell you what he really wanted to do?”

“Not at first. Not until after I showed him.”

“Showed him what?” Craig turned his head back toward Shane now and started to reach for the indictment papers but stopped as Shane spoke again.

“Showed him this,..” Shane drew his cuffed hands off the table and pushed his chair back. Arching his back somewhat as he then raised his hands above his head.

Craig at first followed Shane’s hands as they moved from the table to the point over Shane’s head. Then realizing that this was not what Shane was referring to Craig stood up from his chair as his gaze slid down Shane’s body. And then he saw it. Pointed straight at him was Shane’s erect cock. Somehow Shane had either come into the room with his pants unfastened or had unbuttoned them while Craig was not looking. The fully erect muscle had a soft pink colored shaft that was had a slight arc to it. On top sat a round mushroom shaped head, the color of purple with multiple veins running in all directions. He could also make out a few tufts of wiry black hair erupting from the prison uniform. And at the top,...at the very tip of the dick was one perfectly formed drop of precum. It was large this drop, the mechanics of liquids giving it the shape of a teardrop. It sparkled in the reflected light of the harsh fluorescent overhead. It pulsed rhythmically, in time with the blood engorged member on which it rested.

“Because when I showed him this,” Shane continued, “he got all quiet. Just like you are now.”

“No, I,..” Craig’s voice trailed off.

“It doesn’t matter if you say anything. Because when I show a guy my cock, he usually just relaxes, just like you’re doing now. ‘Cause they want to look at it so much. And that little drop of precum. See how it sparkles ?”

“Uh-huh.” Craig nodded.

“It’s just so easy for guys to look at it, ya know ? Like looking at a sparkling diamond. Real relaxin’.”

Craig’s jaw opened slightly. He was staring at the erect dick. His eyelids were drooping.

“And after a while, when the guy has looked at it,...I just ask the guy what he really wants to do. And then he tells me. And if I can help him with that, then I help him do it. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Craig replied in a small voice not taking his eyes off the shining phallus.

“I guess it’s ‘cause they get so relaxed, that they can let their guard down. Kinda like you are now. You’re more and more relaxed now aren’t you ?”

“Yeah...”

“So tell me counselor, what would you really like to do?”

The drop of precum was quivering. The facets of its’ sparkling light shined arrows straight into Craig’s brain.

He felt dizzy from staring at it and there was a kind of buzzing in his ears. Peripheral vision was failing him. He was motionless. What a combination of feelings this was. Was he really there? Or was he back at his desk,..solving the problems of another uptight white man who had his ass in a crack, and just sitting there, dreaming about this?

“What would you really like to do?” Shane’s voice was soft, but the tone was insistent. He would not allow Craig’s relaxed state, his vulnerable and suggestible condition to absolve him from revealing his most desired secrets.

“I want,..” Craig began slowly, moistening his lips, and used a soft voice, a far away sweet voice.

“I want to suck your dick.” There. He said it. He’d never admitted that to anyone out loud before, though he had sucked dick before.

“Um-hmmm,” Shane hummed approvingly, “..and what else?”

“There’s nothing else.”

“No? You just want to suck my cock here don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You want it in your mouth don’t you”

“Yes I do.”

“You want me to hold your head. To guide and direct you as you take me in, don’t you Craig?”

“Yes.”

“To control you.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Shane made a motion with his handcuffed right hand. Suddenly Craig felt the floor rising up. Or was it he was sinking down? Whichever it was, Craig next found himself lying face down on the dirty linoleum floor. The floor had a smell the mixture of disinfectant cleaner, tobacco spit, and dirt from the streets. He was lying face down with his cashmere sweater absorbing all the stains and odors while his head was looking up toward the object of his desire. Under the table Craig could see the base of Shane’s huge cock. It was slowly coming down, not really losing the erection, just pointing more directly out, toward Craig’s face on the floor, whereas before it had been pointed up at him. Craig could no longer see Shane’s face, but he didn’t need to. He saw what he wanted and needed and had to have. And he could hear Shane also.

“Craig? oh, I can call you Craig can’t I?”

“Yes Sir.”

“You see my ol’ dick here, don’t you Craig?”

“Yes Sir, I do.”

“You want it, don’t you Craig?”

“Yes Sir, I want it.” Craig was straining his neck, holding his head up in order to see Shane’s cock. His forehead was wrinkling as he kept his eyes fixed straight on the cock.

“Crawl to me, baby.”

Craig raised himself up to his hands and knees so that he could get closer..

“No !!,” Shane commanded. “Don’t get up on your knees, crawl to me flat on your stomach.

Craig dropped down flat to the floor.

“Uh,..gruhhh” he croaked as he began a swimming like motion in his arms and legs and started to propel himself across the filthy surface. Twisting his body from side to side, somewhat like a snake, Craig made progress toward the lucious prize.

“That’s right baby, come to me,” Shane purred as he began to see Craig’s head wiggle toward him under the table.

“This is what you want isn’t it?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And you want more don’t you Craig? There’s more that you want to do isn’t there?”

“Yes,.....Sir.”

“Good boy, I knew there would be. There always is. You can feel free to tell me everything once you’ve tasted my dick. I guess it’s just the taste of it,...seems to loosen a guy’s tongue....”

Craig was grunting, straining, as he slithered across the linoleum. His $300 gold wire frame glasses were somewhere back behind him now. Back by the jagged piece of flooring where he tore the cashmere sweater. His efforts and sexual excitement caused him to sweat profusely. His mouth was open and saliva and sweat mixed as it ran down his chin. He had never debased himself like this before. He loved it.

Craig was now at Shane’s feet. Shane reached down putting his chained hands under Craig’s jaw and drew him upwards. Craig raised up but didn’t clear the table and so hit his head on the edge. He flinched and lowered himself again. As it turned out this was exactly the height he needed and came down hungrily on Shane’s erect cock. He was already juiced up and slurped greedily as he filled his mouth. The position was uncomfortable as it positioned him bent over under the table causing his leg muscles to have a tremor. He didn’t notice. The groans of delight coming from his throat meant the world could end and Craig would not have cared. This is what he wanted. He had admitted it to Shane. He had admitted it to himself, and now he was acting on it. The effect of that admission was liberating and made him enjoy the dick in his throat all the more.

“You know what else you really want , don’t you ?” Shane started to massage Craig’s head, smoothing over the sweat soaked hair and letting the chain of the handcuffs fall against his forehead. “You know you really want to do something else for me don’t you? You’ve waited so long. Denying yourself to the world. Your true self. Living a lie. There’s no more time for that is there?”

Craig didn’t want to respond. The pleasure he was enjoying was too great. Licking, slurping, he sucked on the dick as he never had before. He didn’t want to think of answering Shane but knew that he should, had to answer him. He couldn’t do otherwise.

“No Sir,” came his weak response as he briefly came up for air.

“Craig look into my eyes.” Shane’s voice was powerful now and unavoidable.

Craig paused and looked up. He was lost in the deep blue of the eyes of the one who controlled him.

“I want to tell you now what you want to do as you tell me what you want to do,...”

The two chatted a moment. One confiding in the other. Stimulus and response. Pressure and release. Craig unburdened himself and told Shane what he really wanted. Shane seemed pleased and let go his man juice to quench Craig’s thirst.

In fact both were lost in their mutual communion so that no one heard the jailer coming down the hall. His heavy feet echoing in the damp corridor of the county jail.

But both were able to hear the rattle of his keys in the lock. The turn of the tumbler was sharp and clear and left no time to hesitate on their part. After much practice the fat jailer was good with the heavy door and he creaked it open with surprising ease. So much so that Craig and Shane did not have adequate time to arrange themselves back into the positions they had originally assumed.

As was said, the jailer was a fat man. BJ, that’s what it said on the rectangular name plate over his left nipple, was about 38 years old. He had an ample belly hanging over his belt and a light brown cowlick of hair that he usually kept buzzed down.

“Mr. Smallwood, did you find everything all right?” the jailer began as he entered the room. He didn’t want to be here, this jailer. The hog festival was on and he had three or four young ones at home whom he had promised to take to it. Each one a small fat replica of himself,..ensuring that the jails would have plenty of staff in the next generation.

“Mr. Smallwood sir, are you all right ?” BJ exclaimed when he first saw Craig was pulling himself back into his chair from under the table as he walked in. Craig’s sweater was torn in two places and smeared in the grime of the linoleum; it’s navy color changing to brownish grey. The expensive glasses still lay somewhere by his feet and the once neatly styled hair was matted and sweaty and pointed in all directions.

“Are you all right, Mr. Smallwood?” He repeated his question while Craig squinted and reached for some papers hoping to restore some sense of dignity.

Meanwhile Shane resumed that same half smile he had shown earlier and began to reposition his rapidly deflating cock into the orange jump suit while trying not to be seen. But he was too late.

“What the hell,...?” BJ had caught sight of Shane’s movements and quickly turned to Craig only to see him also stuffing his own dick back into his pants. When Craig had been on his knees in front of Shane he had reached down to pleasure himself while telling him what he most wanted to do.

The shock on his BJ’s face bore witness to the incomprehension of what he was seeing. Could it be possible that this lawyer had been involved in some kind of perverted activity with this ..this,..transient,...this no account drifter ?

Craig said nothing but continued to rummage for papers then bent over and retrieved his glasses, now twisted out of shape and tried putting them on again.

Clink.

Rattle.

The loops of keys on BJ’s utility belt made a clanking noise when shaken.

The expression on BJ’s face had changed from nonunderstanding, to shock, to humor. The effect was quite noticeable, the way a passing cloud changes the appearance of a landscape.

Clink.

Rattle, rattle.

“Well counsellor,..”

Clink.

“I guess there’s no need for me to ask if you found what you needed.”

Clink

Clink

“ Cuz it looks like you found it.” BJ could hardly contain himself. His belly was shaking even though he was trying hard to suppress his laughter. Laughter at the spectacle of these two queers before him. The keys shook and jangled and sounded as merry as he did.

“BJ, I’ll only need another minute here,” Craig finally managed to state. A burning red had started at the base of his neck and continued over his entire face. He looked down the whole time, never glancing at either Shane or the jailer.

“That’s all right counsellor, you take as long as you need.” BJ turned and walked out, not bothering to close the door behind him. When in the hall the stifled laugh broke into a loud guffaw, that lasted all the way down the hall.

Craig had never been so humiliated in his life. Curiously, at the same time, he felt himself getting hard again.

Two days later, the final day of the Hog festival was in full swing. Branson’s main streets were a collection of nondescript buildings from the 1950’s that had been tarted up to resemble of a much older vintage construction so as to be in keeping with the overall Victorian theme of Branson.

Against his inclination, Craig had come back into town to help clear his thoughts. He had taken off work the day before and stayed home. Maybe the fresh air and crowds would do him some good. He couldn’t understand what had come over him in the jail or why he had acted that way.

The street had been closed to cars and was filled with the pots of deep frying pork and the customers eager to get a mouthful of it. Craig made his way through the jostling crowd. He wore a dark blue jogging suit. Normally he would never have worn such a thing but his mind wasn’t now on fashion and anyway it was quite comfortable. Absentmindedly he made his way to a spot near a cauldron of bubbling lard and stared into it. The smell of the festival was everywhere.

“Careful there mister,” cautioned the cook at the booth, “you don’t want to get any ‘o my hot grease on ya.” Like most of his customers at the festival the cook was fat. He was wearing a big toothy grin and overalls that were stained with grease.

“No, I was just looking for what I really want,..I think,” came Craig’s wan reply. Why had he said that?

“Well here ya are fella,.this’ exactly what you really want, I can tell ya that fur sur.”

With that the cook shoved a thick pork sandwich into Craig’s left hand.

“Exactly what I really want,” Craig repeated while his pupils dilated slightly.

What Craig wanted to say to the cook was no thanks, that he wasn’t hungry and didn’t want the sandwich. He would normally have put the sandwich down. Normally, he wouldn’t be here.

But he didn’t say any of that. The words spoken by the cook seemed to trigger a memory inside Craig. His thoughts were suddenly flooded with all kinds of images. Everything he had done two days before, all that he had enjoyed, felt, yearned for, now came back to him.

The whole apparition lasted but an instant and Craig soon had the presence of mind to put down the sandwich and walk away. But he didn’t, or rather he couldn’t. He could not put down the sandwich nor could he walk away. He couldn’t move at all. And the words he wanted to say would not come to his mouth either. He remained standing there, along side the vat of cooking pork. One hand was holding the sandwich, now dripping grease onto his expensive running shoes and the other half reaching toward his pocket where he kept his wallet. But both hands were frozen, as were his arms, torso, and legs. Nothing moved. Nothing responded.

“Are ya alright, mister?” The cook paused from his bubbling cauldron and wiped the sweat off his face with an oily rag and looked curiously at him.

Craig didn’t respond. He couldn’t. How could this be happening? What had come over him? His mind cleared and he realized full well now where he was and what he had to do. He must put down that greasy sandwich and simply walk quietly away. Tomorrow he would check himself into a hospital for a complete evaluation. With all the will at his disposal, with all the strength he thought he possessed, Craig made a move to put down the sandwich. And nothing came of it. Panic. Sheer terror now came over him and a sweat that broke out on his forehead even though the weather was cool. He would have trembled if he had been able.

“Corvina come over and look at this fella.” The cook had called to his wife. A woman almost as fat as the cook with her hair hidden behind a bandanna she held a lit cigarette behind her back so the smoke wouldn’t compete with the smell of the cook fires. A couple of other people were looking that way too.

Craig watched the gathering crowd with a mixture of embarrassment and dread. He wanted nothing more than to run away. Forget about putting down the sandwich and walking away. He wanted to flee. Yet all his strength seemed to work against him and his legs held fast to the place where he stood.

And as his fear and embarrassment rose in his body Craig felt another part of him that didn’t seem to be frozen: his cock,...he was getting hard. He could hear the pounding of his heart in his ears and that mad pumping was filling his penis with blood. Pushing it up and out. The soft cotton of the jogging pants seemed to tease the dick head, making it rise faster......and harder.

“What is it Dwayne?” Corvina called out to her husband as she walked out from behind the booth.

“Ah think this guy’s a little bit sick,..like maybe he’s havin’ a stroke or sumthin. Kinda all froze up. See if he’s alright while I fish this ham outta the kettle.” Dwayne, the cook, reached into the pot with some tongs and began wrestling a large piece of meat out of the boiling liquid.

“Somthin’ wrong mister?” Corvina called over to Craig. She moved swiftly for a woman of her size, more remarkable yet considering her small feet as she approached Craig from around the side of the booth and looked at him.

Craig wished he were anywhere but here. It didn’t matter where. Back in his first bar exam, which he failed, back when his father had caught him masturbating over a Playgirl magazine. Anything would have been better than this. He was totally paralyzed and he was hard as a rock.

“AAAHHHHHgggg!!,” Corvina screamed.

“What is it Corvina!?!” Dwyane was attempting to place the huge ham on the cutting board but it was hard to control due to its size, the heat, and the grease.

Corvina had turned away from Craig closing her eyes.

Behind her Craig remained motionless where he stood, only a slight breeze blowing some locks of hair down onto his forehead. How he hated that. He had always wanted to have his hair look neat.

The force of his erection had caused his cock to erupt through the crotch slits of the jogging pants so that the head of the dick and the shaft stood out straight to greet Corvina.

“Aw, it ain’t nothin’ Dwayne just some pervert.” She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and took a quick drag on the cigarette. Taking a deep breath her initial shock was turning to anger.

Several other people hearing her had started to gather, to look curiously at the two of them, Corvina and the immobile Craig. Some gasped when they saw Craig—their slack jaws turning to whistles and catcalls.

“Look at him!”

“Hey guy, what’s wrong with you!”

“What a sicko!”

People hustled their children away from the disgraceful event. No one expected this to happen in Branson.

Craig had never been more mortified, his humiliation was total and complete. Starting at that same low point on the base of his neck a deep shade of purple spread over his face-a full expression of his shame and the only indication he was reacting to the scene unfolding. He was also fully erect now and could feel the cool air on his exposed member.

Corvina turned back toward him, her round face pinched in rage. Covering the short distance between them and raising her left hand she let out a swipe of her arm and slapped Craig powerfully on his right cheek. The fat hand left a perfect imprint on his skin, even down to the pointy fingernails. At first the imprint was white and then turned to pink and finally red as his body reacted to the blow.

Corvina turned and hurried away shouting for someone to find a policeman. The force of the punch had pushed his head upward and to the side so that he could no longer see the growing crowd that was now gaping at him. It also knocked the sandwich out of his hand. But other than changing the position of his head, he was as frozen as ever.

Craig Smallwood, who had been so careful to hide himself and his true feelings and identity all his life, had now been exposed in the most literal ways possible. Exposed and rendered to his true essence like the hogs surrounding him.

In his line of sight Craig could see the second story window advertising Donna’s Cut ‘n’ Curl. The glass pane reflected the flashing red light of the police car that would soon take him away.