The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Charles stepped from the showers, his brown hair still damp and clinging to his forehead as he made his way to his locker. Charles, or “Chaz” to his swim team mates, was always a bit skittish this time of day. For the past six months, he’d finished his late swim practices around the same time as this hulking mass of well, Hulk, finished his power building in the equipment room. Aaron was the brainless beef’s name. They’d never got along, and Aaron always got on Charles’ nerves about being such a tiny guy. He hated guys like that. Swimming was more of a sport than bodybuilding any day, which made Charles the much better athlete, yet if you weren’t packing hundreds of pounds of muscle, you always got disregarded when it came to athletics. It didn’t matter how many swim meets Charles had won—he’d never be considered a real athlete.

This day, as Charles rounded the corner, he heard another voice though. “Great,” he thought to himself. “Another one to talk shit about what they don’t know.” As he moved to his locker quickly as he could and braced for verbal impact, he heard Aaron’s voice call out to him.

“Yo, Chester or whatever. Come over here.” Of course Aaron couldn’t even be bothered to get his name right. Charles ignored the bully and started to get changed until he felt the hand grab his shoulder.

“Is this the guy?” The voice he didn’t recognize had asked, and he turned around quickly to jerk himself from the grip. He stood staring at an older man, low to mid thirties by the look of him. He was built, but not in the body-builder way like Aaron was. He looked more like a football player than anything else, though not one who had ever gone professional.

“Yeah, this is him. Chester, this is my trainer, Darrell.” Charles waited for Aaron to say something else, but instead his face just went blank—braindead jock—and he walked off into the showers, leaving Darrel behind.

“Good evening, Chester. As Aaron said, my name is Darrell, and I was quite intrigued watching you swim. You’re a very gifted athlete, but I think you could use my help. I’d like to offer you my services.” Darrell spoke with poise, a distant cry from his pupil, and Charles couldn’t help wonder how they ever managed to stand each other. I mean, this guy understood athletics!

“Uh, thanks—and it’s Charles, not Chester. But I don’t think bodybuilding lessons would help me out with swimming. It just gets in the way.” Charles replied politely, turning once again to put his clothes back on.

“On the contrary, boy, it would help wonders. With just a little muscle, think how much more power and speed you could have in the water. Your training regimen has been good, I’ve no doubt, but from watching your frustration out there, I’d say you’ve run into a plateau, haven’t you?” Somehow the look on Darrell’s face was neither smug nor coy, yet it was also both. Charles sighed.

“Yeah, I haven’t picked up any speed in a few weeks. But that happens sometimes. I just need more practice, and I’ll push through this one.”

“Or, you could try out a different kind of practice. I’m not saying give up your current techniques, but why not add something new? Don’t aim for Aaron’s size, but some muscles, especially in the upper body, could only help you.”

Charles sighed and shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Just think it over, and give me a call if you change your mind.” Darrell slipped a business card into Charles’ open locker, gave him a big smile, and then made his way out the door.

Charles looked after the trainer, happy to finally put his clothes back on in peace. “He was nice enough, I guess,” he thought, as he got dressed and started his journey home.

Charles pulled the stretchy material over his shoulders, obviously uncomfortable, and asked one more time. “Why the hell do I need to wear this to lift weights?”

After a week of no progress, he’d finally caved and called Darrell. He’d booked him the very next day, after swim practice ended. Since the normal gym would be closed by then, Darrell had graciously offered to let Charles—Chuck, he insisted on calling him—use his home gym, so long as he helped clean everything up at the end of the night. He’d also, however, insisted on making Chuck wear a rubber suit. It was one piece, cutting off at the thighs and shaped like a singlet up top. It made Chuck uncomfortable—he’d seen things like this on the freaks who went to that “Eagle” bar on Saturday nights—and he hadn’t stopped protesting yet.

“Because all my students start off wearing this suit. It keeps you uncomfortable and distracted, so you don’t go into workout high. You have to try and focus on everything that you’re doing, so you have a much better workout. I’m wearing one just like it—it works so well that I still use one.” Darrell used this as an opportunity to strip off his t-shirt and nylon shorts, revealing his own rubber suit. Chuck thought it weird that he wore it under his clothes, but he didn’t have time to say anything before Darrell resumed talking. “Now, we’re going to start with some poses, and I’ll take some pictures. We’ll need these to track your progress.”

For the next hour, Charles spent his time posing for his trainer. It was uncomfortable at first, but he started to get into it. I mean, why not? He had a hot body, after all, and it was good to show guys like this what swimmer muscles looked like. He should be showing off his body all the time, make them jealous instead of him being jealous of them. And once he got bigger? Oh hell yeah.

Next, they moved to the exercise machines. Chuck started with the bench press—Darrell insisted on seeing how much he could bench to begin. Darrell moved to spot him and put 75 pounds on the bar, which Chuck lifted but with difficulty. Still, he thought it was impressive—he only weighed 145 himself, at just under 6 foot. Excellent weight for a swimmer. Darrell insisted he lift again, telling him to keep lifting until he heard stop. Chuck started lifting, his muscles tensing as he lifted. Sweat dripped from his brow as he repeated the motion, and he couldn’t even stop to wipe it away. He kept trying to shake it away, and as he did, he noticed some of it landing on his trainer’s suit. Darrell hadn’t seemed to notice yet, but Chuck couldn’t help but notice it. It made the suit shiny in spots—it was already shiny, but now, it was even more so. Chuck watched the droplets run down the material, pumping the bar the whole time. He vaguely remembered what Darrell had said about keeping focus, but before he knew it, Darrell had pulled the bar away from him and pulled him up for a different workout.

“Next we’re going to try out your lats. Sit down at this bar, then pull the bar down, leaning back slightly as you do. I’ll be right behind you to spot the whole time.” Again, Chuck was able to lift what he thought was an impressive amount, but it didn’t seem to satisfy Darrell. He spent thirty minutes on the lat machine. Each time he pulled down, he seemed to lean back into Darrell and press their suits together. It really drove the feeling of his suit into him—by the end of the exercise, he didn’t even think the suit was uncomfortable anymore. It felt like his own skin, really. He knew he should say something to Darrell, but it was too comfortable for him to want to switch.

They moved to squats from there. Chuck didn’t see what it was, but Darrell placed an odd cylindrical object below him before speaking. “This is your measurement. With each squat, I want you to press against this. Don’t knock it over, and make sure you touch it on every trip down.” So Chuck began, squatting with a good weight and pressing his butt against the tool every trip down. It was odd and uncomfortable at first—like any red-blooded straight male, he didn’t want things touching his ass—but before he was halfway done it began to be a goal. He wanted to feel that thing pressed up against his rubber-covered crack. It felt like he was teasing himself, in a way. Before he knew it, Darrell told him he’d had enough for the night.

“I need to go make a phone call—clean up the equipment you used, and come see me before you go home. We’ll plan for the same time tomorrow.” Darrell left the gym and Chuck began to clean up. He toweled off the handlebars from the squat machine and the lat and wiped off the seat. When he got to the weight bench though, he stopped. He took a couple deep breaths, absent-mindedly wiping off the bar. Instead of toweling off the seat though, he leaned forward and gave it a long lick. The taste of leather and sweat was intoxicating, and he’d licked off the whole bench cushion before he could stop himself. Still, it didn’t seem strange—he was just cleaning the equipment as asked. He wiped his saliva off the cushion, then went off to see Darrell.

The next few weeks passed in a blur, though not without significant changes. Chuck worked out with Darrell every day, and with Aaron most days as well. Darrell wasn’t around as often as he used to be, often saying something about “checking on his real clients.” Still, it didn’t bother Chuck. He and Aaron could work out together just fine, and they really started to get along these days.

Workouts had gotten more intense, too. Darrell, when he was around, spent more time closer to Chuck, usually speaking softly. Chuck didn’t have the heart to tell him he couldn’t hear him very well, though, especially since he was usually too into his workout to notice much. On days when it was just him and Aaron, Darrell always at least set up “his special workout music” for them to listen to, since they didn’t talk to each other much. In fact, Aaron rarely spoke at all. Their workouts were a little different each day, and Darrell always had something weird about the workouts to add, too. For instance, he told Chuck that he needed to work on his breathing, so he gave Chuck an odd gag to put in his mouth. It had a weird oblong shape in the middle, but Chuck assumed it was just to lock his lips around it for better grip, and Aaron started wearing his again too so now they definitely didn’t talk. During bench presses, Darrell’s or Aaron’s crotch seemed to always be just above Chuck’s face and now dripped sweat onto it, and Chuck made sure to do the same when he spotted for Aaron. Darrell had also shown him the zipper on the butt of his rubber suit he could use to cool off, and now he introduced a new squat routine as well. From now on, the object would be set on a stool, and Chuck had to make sure it went inside his ass. This would be uncomfortable, but his ability to fight through it to complete the squat would show his dedication and improve the workout. The further he could get his ass onto it, the better the squat. At first, he had trouble getting even a little bit of the tool inside, but he watched as Aaron went down all the way with ease and that was all the motivation he needed.

Chuck had been squatting onto the tool for a week now, and he’d grown to love it. He actually went out on his own and bought a butt plug so he could keep himself plugged at other times, too. But he decided it was best not to tell Darrell this.

Chuck shaved his head almost bald, to a close buzz. He was tired of covering it with a swim cap anyway, and this cut matched his burgeoning appearance. He bought tighter, more revealing clothes. He pulled away from most of his friends and spent more and more time in the gym—sometimes even when he was supposed to be in swim practice, or class. Perhaps strangest of all, he never took off his rubber suit. Well, every couple days so he could wash it, but that was it. He even wore it to swim practice—Coach had given him weird looks and tried to talk to him about it afterwards, but luckily Darrell had been there. Darrell took the coach aside and explained its function as a scuba suit, and by the end of the conversation, Darrell had even agreed to make suits like it for the rest of the team—“with full-body coverage to cut down on resistance.” Chuck hadn’t even known that Darrell had made the suit, but that made him feel even more proud to wear it. Like he was showing off for Darrell, and that always felt good. Like when he flexed for Darrell on camera.

Darrell insisted on taking pictures of Chuck’s development weekly, and Chuck was only too happy to oblige him. It felt good to show off all his hard work on camera. They’d start with the muscular poses, with Chuck in his rubber of course, and he’d flex every last muscle for the pictures. Darrell even took pictures of Chuck’s asshole and how well he controlled those muscles, with Chuck greedily swallowing toys all the way to the hilt, and then pushing them out so hard they’d fly across the room. He felt proud to be so muscled, and after such a short time, too. He really owed it all to Darrell.

It had been six months. Chuck—named after the cut of beef, of course—was working in Darrell’s personal gym with Aaron. The two were spending a great deal of time together. Before each workout, Darrell insisted on stretching thoroughly, and knew just the stretches to bring his team together. Either Chuck or Aaron would lie on the bench in the shower room, with the other one or Darrell at his ass and whoever was left at his mouth. Both would push in at the same time, and whatever muscleboy was in that position that day—and they frequently switched—would stretch his throat and asshole as much as possible to hold the cock. During workouts, Aaron would lie on the bench to do his presses while Chuck shoved his cock down his throat for his breathing, before they’d switch. Chuck would do his squats while Aaron sat on a specially made table, and Chuck took his 10″ cock to the hilt each time, and then they would rotate. Aaron would do his quad lifts while Chuck made every effort to lick and suck on his toes—distract Aaron to better focus his workout. Both men were huge now, and Chuck had signed up for his first body-building competition, with Darrell as his coach, of course.

The three men were all very close, though Darrell wasn’t often in the workroom anymore. The last time he’d been in there, Chuck hadn’t really understood very much. Some lengthy conversation about his specialty rubber suit orders, and what kind of treatment he used. Something about how it motivated skinny boys to bulk up, and accelerated the gain of muscle at the expense of brain mass. Chuck hadn’t really understood it anyway—he’d never done well in school, and had recently dropped out. The new workout partners who’d recently joined them loved to make fun of Chuck for this—they were all swimmers wanting to bulk up, and he didn’t even know how to swim!

Still, the college swim team needed the motivation of huge guys like Chuck and Aaron if they were gonna put on muscle to ace this championship. The full-body rubber suits they wore freaked them out a little, especially the built in swim caps—since when did caps they cover the whole face? But they ignored it—after all, they really needed the edge since their star swimmer had vanished a few months ago. If this training could help them, then they’d do whatever weird stuff they were asked to do. They liked to tease Chuck a lot—he reminded them a little of their old mate Chaz, and even had a similar name, but whatever had happened to Chaz, there was no way it had anything to do with this. How could it? Chaz and Chuck were too completely different, even if they did look a little alike. Ah well, best not to worry about it. It was time to work out, after all.