The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

They called the place “FC,” for “Fetish Club,” and although the founders would likely get low marks for originality, they weren’t kidding. The club building started life as a four-story brownstone in a posh neighborhood, and as times got harder it fell into decay. That was when the club’s original owners, a group of dedicated Masters and Mistresses who wanted a place to indulge their passions without guilt or restraint, bought the place and restored it.

What was your pleasure? Watersports? There were rooms dedicated to everything from piss play to enemas. Scat? Toilets were easily obtained, even full commodes that allowed a slave to be boxed in tightly so he or she couldn’t escape whatever was offered to them by a passing client. Bondage, clothing fetishes – you name it, they were ready to provide a space for it.

And it was coed, too. You could see a Master walking his slut on a leash, chatting amiably with a Mistress whose slave was togged out in full puppy play gear, right down to the tail erupting from his ass.

Me? I had been having a great time so far that night. I’m a bit of a gym rat, so my five foot nine-inch body has a nice swimmer’s build (or would, if I could get rid of the unfortunate tendency of middle age to give me a slight paunch and a pair of small man-boobs), and my cock’s a fair size.

I had made sure I was clean inside and out, then put on my favorite clothes for a fun Friday night at the Club: worn black leather pants, minus the crotch to let my cock and balls hang free, black military-style boots and no shirt. I wore a loose track suit over it until I got into the place, then put the track suit up in a locker.

The management very thoughtfully provides showers and refreshments. Nothing fancy; if you want liquor or beer you have to bring your own, and they don’t allow anything stronger than poppers. The last guy here who wanted to use some tina was thrown out so hard he bounced twice. Of course, we played with him a bit beforehand.

I wonder how he explained to the police why he was stark naked, had his stash super-glued to his crotch, and had “Druggie” written on his back in his own shit.

To get back to the story, I stopped off at the bar and got a soda. While I was there a Mistress came up to me with a slave in tow. “Care for a rim job?” she offered. “My slave needs some training.”

“Sure,” I replied, and turned toward the bar and spread my legs.

I felt her position the man behind me and I felt his smooth-shaven face shove between my asscheeks. “Go on, lick him, Stupid!” she barked. “Get that hole all nice and wet and make the nice man feel good.” When he seemed to balk, I heard the slap of a heavy leather paddle and he moaned into my crack.

His tongue was definitely that of an amateur, but eventually he got it right, licking all around my anus before lapping at the little hole and finally drilling his muscle deep into my ass. I reached back and spread my cheeks so he could breathe a bit, then grimaced and squeezed out a fart.

He coughed and started to draw back, and his Mistress slapped him across the back of the head. “Take what your Mistress gives you, and like it!” she snapped, and turned to me. “I apologize for him. He’s only been a slave a week.”

“He’s doing okay,” I assured her.

She smiled at me. “’Okay’ isn’t good enough. If he was stupid enough to miss our wedding anniversary, he deserves everything he gets.”

I laughed and managed to squeeze out another fart for him, a bit easier than it sounded as he was prying open my hole with his tongue and I could feel some air getting trapped inside. After a few minutes she tugged on her husband’s leash and led him away.

I finished my drink and decided to go cruising for a little while. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for – male, female, vanilla, kinky – but I knew I’d find it when it showed up. I’m like that sometimes.

So I walked past an enema booth, where a top was getting a recalcitrant bottom to accept the gallon of water in the container suspended above them; past the fisting slings where men were being handballed or fucked. I walked upstairs and entered the Commons.

The Commons is the largest room in the Club, taking up most of the fourth floor. There’s a lot of couches, benches and padding strewn around the floor and the smell is one of pure sex and sweat. It’s enough to take your breath away and make your cock twitch in lust.

There was plenty of sex going on in the room, and there always is. The management must be wealthy to afford all the cleaners and stuff to get the cum out of the furniture. My cock was twitching as I watched a leather man fucking his new boy hard (to the amusement of the small crowd that was cheering him on) and I ‘adjusted’ myself to advertise as I looked around, and saw him across the room.

Athletic build, dark hair and eyes, a bit of a bear with lots of dark hair swirled on his body. He was dressed in latex; open-crotch chaps and knee-high boots and not a stitch else. He sat sprawled on a couch, gently fondling his easy eight inches with one hand.

The other hand held two thin leather leashes, attached to the collars of the two men on the floor beside him. These were obviously slaves, probably his; they were both dressed alike in skin-tight rubber with their cocks hanging out, and they were both masked. The masks looked like black spandex, and I wondered how they were able to see. From the look of the exposed skin on the slaves, they were clean-shaven all over. They sat on the floor on either side of him, licking his rubber boots as if they were worshipping him, like all good slaves should.

The top’s eyes met mine, and I paused in my cruising. The steady gaze was both invitation and challenge: Would you like to try my cock? Are you man enough to face what I’ll give you? As we stared at each other he raised his semi-hard cock and pointed it at me, like it was a weapon or something.

I’m not one to pass up an invitation like that, so I walked over to where he was sitting, stopping when I stood between his splayed legs. “Hi,” I said. “Nice night so far?”

“Yes, so far,” he said, and his voice was deep and melodious. “Care for a taste?” and he hefted his cock, now fully erect. The two slaves raised their heads and looked at me, as if sniffing the air. It was even more obvious up close that they couldn’t see shit through their masks.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I said as I lowered myself to my knees and looked his cock in the eye, as it were.

He had a work of art for a cock; uncut, with a wide head and a smooth shaft that seemed to narrow a bit as it met his neatly trimmed bush. His balls, fat and furry, hung pendulously and he sighed as I fondled them while my tongue started to feel out the lines of his tool. It was smooth and warm, and the deep musk in his crotch made me moan involuntarily. I took him in my mouth and suckled gently until he was hard, then started to draw back and deep-throat him in earnest.

I moaned again when one of his slaves suddenly scooted under me and enveloped my cock in a warm, soft mouth. The other was rubbing my ass and gently teasing my hole open, softening the muscular lips to prepare me for entry. I was about to pull back when I felt the bear’s hands stroke my head. He leaned forward and whispered, “Do you mind if my slave fucks you? He’s well-trained.”

I paused in my oral ministrations to ponder it, while the first slave busied himself with trying to suck the cum out of my balls. I nodded and resumed my own task as I felt a warm, wet tongue slicking up my hole.

The second slave slobbered all over my hole and I moaned, pushing out a bit so that my rectum would loosen up further. He kneeled up behind me and I felt his tool slip into my ass, then set up a slow, easy stroking rhythm. He was good, timing his thrusts with his slave brother’s sucking.

I slurped on their master’s cock, fingers caressing his furry nuts as his fingers stroked my hair. He leaned over me again and whispered, “You are very good . . . would you like to join my stable? My stable of slaves?”

His question made me hesitate, his cock at the back of my throat. I shook my head as I drew back on his shaft and mumbled a “No.”

Don’t get me wrong – his cock was magnificent, as was everything about him. But I’m a lousy slave, and hardly a good bottom. Two tries at the feet of different Masters proved that to my satisfaction, at least.

He seemed a bit disappointed at my refusal, but I guess he wanted to be a good sport about it, so he leaned over me to the slave who was drilling my ass and said, “You may cum, Two.”

A quiet, hissed voice responded, “Thank you, Master,” and his strokes into my ass increased in power and depth. Oh, he was fucking me gloriously while his compatriot (I guess he was named One) deep-throated my cock as if he had no need to breathe.

Finally Two buried his bone deep and moaned as his balls emptied into my ass. I could feel his cock still twitching as he shivered and withdrew, cum dripping out over the other slave’s forehead.

I pulled my mouth off the Master’s cock and started to sit back on my heel, tapping the first slave on the chest. “Sorry, guy,” I said, and I slipped my cock out of his mouth. It takes me a while to cum from being sucked anyway, and I felt that I’d be overstaying my welcome.

I offered a hand to the Master and said, “Sorry about that. You’ve got two really great slaves there.”

He smiled as he took my hand. “Perhaps we’ll meet again tonight,” he said.

I shrugged. “Maybe,” I admitted. “There’s a lot of action here tonight.” I stood up a bit stiffly and walked away.

I could feel the slave’s load oozing from my hole, so I went to the bathroom and cleaned up – and out - before going back downstairs to the bar for another soda. I don’t usually drink alcohol when I’m cruising, just in case a scene develops in the wrong way and I want out. After I downed the last of it, I went back upstairs.

It happened on the second floor.

In the semidarkness of the second floor there are small rooms off the main hallway equipped with slings and beds for various bondage scenes, and I saw him coming. It was the bear top again, leading his two slaves on their leashes. One of them, the one who had been blowing me, now sported nipple clamps (I guess to punish him for not making me cum).

The top stopped right in front of me. “We meet again, it seems.”

“Yeah, looks like it.”

He reached out slowly and gently cupped my chin, fingertips caressing my smooth-shaven cheeks. “Are you sure you don’t want to join my stable?” he asked. “You’re a very pretty boy.”

His eyes were boring into mine as he asked, his hand sliding under my chin to rest lightly against my throat. His fingertips continued to stroke my skin as I replied, “I’m sure. I’m not a good slave.”

“Oh,” he said, “I’m sure you would be, given proper training.”

I don’t how he signaled them, but the slaves suddenly grabbed my arms, and one slapped a soft cloth over my mouth and nose. I recognized one smell instantly: poppers. The other I couldn’t identify, but as I struggled against it I could feel myself getting drowsy.

As I slipped into unconsciousness I could still see his eyes gazing into mine . . .

I woke up and instantly recognized my surroundings. I was in one of the basement rooms, set aside as a dungeon for the hardcore S/M crowd. Various implements hung from the walls, and there was suspension bondage equipment hanging from the support joists. I was strapped onto a table, my feet raised and tied into stirrups and my hands tied behind me to loops on the table. My clothes were nowhere to be seen.

As I blinked and focused I flinched as I felt warm lube being gently massaged into my asshole and I looked up to see the master looking down at me, with that calm, penetrating gaze of his. I opened my mouth to speak and one of his slaves suddenly slipped a gag into place, blocking my mouth and preventing me from uttering anything but an irritated grunt.

“I was saying, boy, that given proper training you would make a good slave,” and that warm, melodious voice drew my attention upward again. I felt fingers caressing my shaven balls as he said, “I want to acquaint you with a little theory of mine.

“You see, I believe that a man’s willpower, his machismo if you will, is directly associated with his testosterone. All I need to impose my will on another man and make him my slave is to replace my will with his.” I felt his thick, long cock at my hole, and he slowly thrust his way up my chute. I groaned through the gag, and breathed through my nose as he bottomed out in my rectum and waited until I adjusted to his size.

“Your balls are large,” he said, fondling my nuts, “so you have a great deal of willpower. As I fuck you, slave, your balls will swell as your will concentrates in them, and when you cum – and you will cum – your will is replaced by mine.” With that, he started to withdraw his cock, his eyes boring into mine. He paused with just the head of his cock in me, then thrust back in, setting up a slow but deep pace, his shaft rubbing against my prostate with every stroke.

I squirmed in my bounds and an attempt to tear myself away from his gaze revealed that I was collared, my head immobilized. I closed my eyes, and he grabbed my nipples and pinched until I opened them again. I looked up into his eyes as he continued to talk to me.

“Yes, boy . . . you’ll soon feel it . . . your will being replaced by mine . . . every stroke of my cock takes you closer . . . “ He nodded his head and one of the slaves held a cotton swab coated in poppers to my nose. The rush hit me and I felt lightheaded. Into that moment of weakness I heard his voice echoing in my mind.

His belly rubbed against my balls and I stared up at him.

My balls did, in fact, feel as though they were swelling up.

“Yes . . . your balls are starting to grow . . . when you cum, your will be gone . . . replaced by mine . . . you’ll be my slave . . . “

His voice was soothing, and my efforts to get away from him quieted as I felt a warmth expanding from my ass. My cock was drooling precum all over my belly, causing a squelching sound as his body slid against mine. The sounds in the room were taken up by our breathing, the squishing sound, and his voice as his eyes sucked me in deeper.

“Two,” he said softly, “let him . . . taste what a slave tastes like.” With that the slave (Two was a bit fatter than One, with slightly larger manboobs) brought his erection close to my gag, removed it and spewed a load of cum right across my face, then placed a rubber mask over my mouth and nose.

I could still breathe, but the air I took in was redolent with the smell of cum. It had a fresh smell, and as his load dripped into my mouth it tasted sweet. I moaned again, feeling my orgasm approaching and starting to buck under the Master as far as my restraints allowed.

“You cannot cum, slave . . . “ I think he sensed that I was at a tipping point. “You cannot cum . . . until I order you to cum . . . you need to feel my cum . . . you want to feel my cum, my will, replacing yours . . . “ He timed each utterance with a long, deep stroke that left me gasping each time he did it.

His gaze still held me, trapped as my balls churned with pent-up seed. His two slaves stood on either side of me and started to suckle at my tits. My back arched and before I could stop myself I moaned, “Please, Master . . . “

A soft laugh. “Yes, slave . . . here,” and with that he slid all the way to his furry bush and held it there.

It was like an explosion, a warm wet surge deep into my guts as he bred me, marked me, filled me with his cum, his power, his will. I moaned and squirmed under him as his slaves withdrew and he leaned close, his eyes inches from mine, so close that he filled the whole world.

“Cum, my slave.”

I arched and screamed as my balls emptied, blowing my load in long ropy strands between our bodies to coat my skin all the way to my nipples. I came and came until it felt like my balls were turning inside-out. I sagged against my restraints, panting as his voice whispered in my ears and I felt his load of Master cum slosh in my bowels.

He withdrew from me, almost torturing me in its slowness, and I didn’t want him to leave. Finally he pulled out and my asshole puckered shut as the slaves unbuckled me from the table and assisted me to the floor, pushing me down onto my knees. I knelt there, panting, almost sobbing, wearing only my new collar.

I looked up as Master stepped close, his still-dripping cock swinging loose. He looked down at me and said, “Clean me, worship me, worship your new Master, Slave Three.”

I leaned forward, tonguing the gaping slit at the point of his cock before taking him into my mouth, my senses reeling from the scents and tastes. His cum made my dick drool again, even as I nuzzled closer, breathing in his musk and deepening whatever hold he had on me. I worshipped his cock, the cock that had driven my will out of me, to replace it with His.

After I was cleaned up I was shaved all over, and hooded after putting on what would be my standard slave uniform, the same latex gear that One and Two wore. Finally I was presented again to our Master, who smiled as he gazed again into my eyes before hooding me in black spandex and clipping a leash onto my collar.

That was the beginning of a long weekend, as I was taken to my Master’s home. Master explained I needed to be more fully broken and then trained, so over the course of the next two days he would fuck me slowly, taking hours before filling me with his cum while mine spewed out, replacing my will with his and cementing my submission to him. After the first day I found myself wanting him, wanting to worship him as not just my Master, but my god.

I also learned that I would not abandon my ‘normal’ life; the Master allowed his slaves to keep their jobs, forfeiting only a portion of their pay to him for our upkeep. I learned this while the other two slaves took their turns ravishing me, making sure I knew where I was in relation to them. I was the newest in the stable, after all.

So outwardly, I am normal.

But every Friday night I am Three, hooded and collared, a slave to my Master’s will after he pumped mine out of me.