The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Paul Fischer leaned back in his chair as the computer shut down. He stared out the window at the Chicago landscape laid out below him and smiled. It was a gorgeous summer day, and he couldn’t wait to get outside and into it.

Being an accountant wasn’t exactly exciting work, but it paid well and in the insurance company where he worked, he could count on it being a steady career job for years to come. He hated the new “mobile workforce” and specifically had picked a company out of college with a long track record of employees who stuck around. DMB Insurance had turned out to be the perfect fit for him. It had a great location downtown and treated its accountants and actuaries like gods, giving them the entire 40th floor and a host of amenities. Paul had worked there for 14 years now and had a great cubicle facing Lake Michigan and Millenium Park. Sometimes, it was all he could do to focus on his work with the blue expanse of the lake in front of him, beckoning.

Paul grabbed his briefcase and stood up, waving goodbye to a few coworkers on his way to the elevators. Mike Thuringen met him at the elevator, smiling at him, briefcase in hand as well.

“Got anything planned for tonight?” he asked. He always asked Paul that question, and Paul alwayshad the same answer.

“Just going to the gym and then riding home,” he responded.

Mike shook his head and grinned wider. “I sure wish I had your dedication to working out, Paul. It’s all I can do to remember to spend an hour a few times a week downstairs.” There was a small gym downstairs, but Paul didn’t like it. It was usually filled with fat old executives in their 60’s. Mike slapped his stomach, and Paul shrugged at him wryly. Mike was thin and fit and had nothing to worry about, looks-wise. Both turned as the elevator dinged and got in with a couple other people already heading down.

As they rode down, Paul saw Mike’s eyes shift on to him a few times. Was he checking him out? He’d never thought Mike to be gay, but he’d gotten those looks before from other men, usually before they tried to pick him up. It made him uncomfortable, but he generally ignored the passes. Mike worked with him, though. He hoped there wouldn’t be any issues he’d have to deal with directly. He sighed with a little relief as the elevator hit the first floor.

Mike waved at him as they exited the building through the revolving doors, and they each headed off in opposite directions. Paul knew Mike drove an SUV in from Indiana every day, and he thought the man was crazy for it, with gas prices well above four bucks a gallon, not to mention the insane traffic. Mike claimed it let him relax from the day, but Paul couldn’t imagine anything more stressful than a two-hour drive home in a gas guzzler through the insanity of Chicago roads. To each his own, he guessed.

Paul walked down the street, enjoying the heat of the day, and loosened his light green tie as he did so. God, it felt good to get that off. His taste in suits ran to the expensive, though not designer. He liked the feel of silk on his skin, and it did set off his body well, but it cut into his budget too. Still, if he had to spend eight hours a day, he wasn’t going to do it in sweaty, sticky polyester or scratchy wool, and cotton just looked too damn cheap. His current suit, a charcoal two-piece with white pinstripes, hung loosely on him and slid nicely. He peeled off the suit top and hung hit over his arm as he strolled down State Street to his gym.

The gym was small and exclusive, with top-of-the-line but not flashy equipment, and rested on the third floor of State and Lake streets. He could do free weights and stare out at the bustle of people heading home from their long day at work, and watch the trains head around the loop. He nodded at the front attendant, a strong young Russian immigrant named Nikol dressed in a loose, wide-v shirt and sweatpants, and used his key card to get in to the center. He headed straight for the locker room.

One of the advantages of this gym was the dry cleaning – he could get out of his suit right after work, place his suit on the dry cleaning rack, and they’d have a clean suit ready for him the next day. It was factored into the cost of the gym, which made the billing easy, and they were good about not always actually dry-cleaning the suits; most of the time, they spot-cleaned, steamed, and perfumed the suits instead, which allowed them to last longer. Paul hung the blazer up on the rack, then stepped out of his pants and hung them as well. The socks and boxers he placed in a bag in his locker, which was automatically picked up for washing every night, and ready for him the next day. It really was the ideal arrangement, since he worked out twice a day. He’d always alternate muscle groups for morning and night, preferring it to alternating them by day.

Paul pulled on his jock strap and shorts, nodding to a slightly older man who entered as he was getting dressed for the workout. He hadn’t seen this man before. He looked to be about 45 or so, but was trim and clearly muscular beneath his suit. The man nodded at him as well, but they said nothing. Paul turned back to his locker and pulled out a t-shirt and his running shoes. He finished dressing and headed out for the workout room, leaving the locker door open; there was little chance of anyone ever stealing anything in this gym.

Since he biked the ten miles home every day, he didn’t need to swim or run, and this gym didn’t offer a track or a pool anyway – just an excellent set of free weights, a couple Nautilus pieces of equipment, and two treadmills and elliptical bikes off to the side. Paul stuck almost exclusively with the free weights, only using the Nautilus pull-up machine since he liked to do his pull-ups and chin-ups slow, to work out all the muscle groups of his back and chest.

This afternoon was thighs and calves, so he warmed up and then spent an hour lifting. By the time he was done, his t-shirt was soaked through and his legs felt pumped up but exhausted. It was usually more difficult on the leg days to bike strongly home but it really did help to increase his musculature. He hated spindly bike legs with huge calves. The adrenaline rush helped too – some said that working out was like a drug, and he could see why. After every work-out, he felt like he could take on the world.

“You mind spotting me,” said a deep voice from behind him as he stood up. He turned around and saw that it was the tall man from earlier who he’d passed in the locker room. He had barely registered that anyone was even in the room while he was working out. “Oh, sure,” he said in response and moved to the front of the weight bench that the man was on.

The man smiled and said thanks, then lay back on the bench. Paul noticed that the man had an odd scar that ran from his mouth to his neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, but was otherwise unblemished. He had a strong face, with a jaw too pronounced to be truly handsome, though he supposed the man was attractive enough. His body was lanky, with long muscles disappearing into his nondescript sweats. The smile, though, was fairly dazzling. Paul wasn’t sure he’d ever seen such perfect teeth. They must have cost a fortune. The man placed his hand on the bar, said “I’m Nathan, by the way,” and lifted up. Paul counted out eight reps for him, coaching him on the final two and keeping a light touch on the bars, but the man didn’t really need his assistance. Once the reps were done, the man said thanks again and Paul offered his hand. They shook, and he said “I’m Paul. Nice to meet you. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before?”

“No, I’ve just moved to Chicago,” the man said. “I work for Harret’s Mutual.”

“Hey, that’s in my building! I work at DMB Insurance. Maybe we’ll see each other in the lobby sometime,” Paul returned.

“I’m sure we will,” the man smiled again.

Paul stood back and wiped his forehead. “Well, I have to head home. Was nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the man said with a friendly smile.

Paul headed into the locker room and stuffed his clothes into the dirty laundry bag, grabbed his gym bags, and set them at the sink beside the showers. It was a communal bath, with white gleaming tiles – the management really did keep things very clean in the gym – and there was one other man already in there, apparently just using the locker room as an after-work spa since he had definitely not seen the guy in the workout room. The man had his back turned to Paul, but he could tell that the man was well-built. His back muscles stood out in sharp relief, forming a distinct “V” at narrow hips then flaring out again to thickly muscled thighs. Paul moved into the shower and turned on a nozzle beside the other guy, who turned around at the noise of the water turning up.

“Hope I’m not disturbing you,” Paul said conversationally, as he stepped into the shower. He let the water run into his face and down his chest, relishing the warmth and relaxing into it.

“Not at all,” the man replied in a soft tenor voice, “I was just getting rid of some of the grime of the day on the way home.” He stuck out a hand. “Mac Avery, I don’t think we’ve met.” Paul was mildly surprised to have met two new people in the same day, but stuck out his hand as well and shook Mac’s. Mac turned to face Paul, and Paul’s eyes involuntarily took in large pecs, small nipples, well-defined abs, and… a rather large cock, he had to say. The eye contact didn’t last for more than a couple seconds, but it was enough to see that this man had nothing to be ashamed of.

“Paul Fischer,” Paul replied, and they shook hands.

Paul himself was very well-built, the hours in the gym every day and the long bike rides to and from home developing his body very well, but he always felt a little self-conscious. He was small, about 5′4″, and always felt uncomfortable with men that were a lot taller than him. This man had to be about 6′2″; Paul barely met his well-defined pecs. Where Paul was hairy, with a fine mat of black hair covering his chest, leading down to a dark pubic bush, the man in front of him was nearly hairless. Paul turned away from him to avoid looking like he was staring, and the man turned back into the showers as well. They made small-talk, discussing their jobs. Paul couldn’t help surreptitiously looking over at him from time to time. The man really had nearly perfect musculature – no overly bulging veins, just smooth slabs of corded muscle from top to bottom. That was the kind of look that Paul was trying to achieve, and he almost had it, but this man might be able to give him some pointers later.

Paul finished washing his hair and beard and turned off the water to the shower, saying goodbye to Mac as he left. Mac said he’d be in a while longer, since he was just relaxing after a long day, so Paul left him in the showers. He trimmed his beard quickly – he enjoyed having a full beard, though it made eating sometimes difficult, and his girlfriends said that they loved the feeling of the beard as it tickled their chin when they kissed. He didn’t bother putting on any cologne, as he was going to get sweaty again shortly into his ride. He quickly dressed and threw his dirty gym clothes in with the rest of the dirty clothes in his bag in the locker, shut it, and grabbed his gym bags for the trip home. Mac was just leaving the shower as he left the room. “A moment, if you don’t mind?” Mac said before he could leave the room.

Paul waited as Mac came up to him in a towel and handed him his business card. He was actually standing a little too close to Paul to be comfortable, but Paul’s back was to a wall and he couldn’t back up. He had to look up to see Mac’s face, which generally put him on the defensive. He looked down at the card in his hand. “Mac Avery, Life Coach,” it said, and gave a number and address. “I am not saying you need coaching or anything, but if you want any pointers on working out, or need to talk to someone about your life direction or anything, I’m available at any time, and my rates are reasonable,” he smiled. Paul nodded and thanked him, trying to get away in the most polite way possible, but the man started going on and on about his clients and what he did, and after a while Paul started to zone out.

“Am I boring you?” an amused voice said and Paul shook his head to clear the cobwebs out, noticing for the first time that Mac had his hand on his shoulder. “No, no,” Paul protested, but the man chuckled and said “I’m sorry to have kept you for so long. I can go on and on if I’m not stopped! Don’t let that deter you from calling me, though, if you need anything.” He released his grip on Paul’s shoulder and pulled back. Paul smiled tentatively at him and said thanks, then hustled out the door. It wasn’t until he was out of the gym that he realized that sometime during the conversation, he’d developed an erection. Now that’s odd, he thought. He was definitely not gay, but something about Mac’s closeness had aroused him. He adjusted himself in his short shorts and tried to hide the bulge as he left the building, waving hastily to Nikol as he fled.

He reached his bike outside and unchained it, tucking the card into one of his gym bags. He attached the gym bags on either side of his bike seat, pulled off his shirt and stuffed it in the back of his shorts, and grabbed his digital music player out of one of the bags. He stuck it in his front pocket and attached the earplugs to his ears from his back. The breeze off the lake was blowing a cool wind in the afternoon sun, playing along the hair on his chest, and he grinned with unfeigned delight at the feeling. It was nearly sensual, and he felt his nipples go erect at the caresses of the wind. It would be a lovely ride home, he could already tell. He got up on the bike and balanced himself on it, testing the tires for any sign of deflation, then sped out of the sidewalk and on to the street.

Biking in downtown Chicago could be a more extreme sport sometimes than bungee jumping without a cord, but 14 years of experience had taught Paul the best side streets and alleys to take home. He usually meandered the streets of downtown, giving cars as much preferential treatment as he could, staying behind busses and generally just taking the first part of the trip with as much leisure as possible. About a mile of this, and he could turn on to Clark Street and have a more relaxing trip, only stopping at stop lights and zooming around pedestrians. There were several other bikers out too, and he caught several people staring at him in admiration as he sped past them. Hell, he worked hard for his body, someone had better be admiring it, right?

The day was just gorgeous, with Lincoln Park in full summer bloom. The trees were lush and dark-green, and dozens of people had blankets laid out on the manicured grass, sunning or reading books in the shade. Paul used the sidewalk part of the way, even though it was illegal to do so in the city, dodging and weaving among the pedestrians and joggers. He rode on into Broadway and the gay district of Chicago, Boystown, past the rainbow flags and phallic skyscraper sculptures of the neighborhood, and on into Uptown and Andersonville, with its quirky shops. The city was alive this evening, and everyone seemed happy to be out in the warmth. It had been a particularly brutal winter, and people were thoroughly enjoying the glorious summer.

He reached the edge of the city as the sun was starting to set behind the trees and brownstone rowhouses of Rogers Park, and continued up into Evanston and his home. He had a small condo on the southern edge of the close suburb, near the ancient stone and wood mansions of Chicago’s elite. By the time he arrived in the driveway, he was breathing heavily and a sheen of sweat covered him, matting the hair on his chest, and he was exhilarating in the high of the evening ride. He luxuriated in being in shape. He pulled the bike over to the bike rack and stepped off of it, pulling the gym bags with him and chaining up the bike to the post. He took the bike seat and front wheel with him – he’d had one bike stolen from his home before, and had learned to not take chances.

Paul bounded up the stairs to his condo on the third floor, opened the door and pushed it in with his legs, setting the gym bags on the counter. He removed the earphones and placed the iPod on his bags in the foyer and turned on the lights to his living room.

He’d worked hard to get this furniture, taking trips with friends into Illinois’s Amish country and trying to find the best handcrafted wood items he could. The Amish sold at very reasonable prices and he hated the modern Ikea look, preferring the simple angles and well-built utilitarianism of the Arts and Crafts movement. His hardwood floors and wide windows completed the look, providing light and a comforting warmth to the apartment. As he emptied his gym bag, Mac’s card fell out and onto the floor. Bemused, Paul picked it up. He had no interest in using Mac as a “life coach”, but the man had been rather friendly. Maybe he’d like to go out for a beer, or something. He decided to call him after he’d had his third shower of the day.

He crossed the spacious front room, picking up a protein shake from the brushed-steel refrigerator in the adjoining kitchen, and entered the bathroom. He had painted it bright yellow, to help wake it up in the morning, and laid down black tiles. He liked the contrast, though a friend had compared it to a bee. He stepped into the shower and rinsed off again, rubbing his thighs and calves to work out some kinks. The warm water relaxed his muscles and, content, he stepped out of the shower and toweled off, taking sips of the shake as he did so.

Still drying his short, black hair, he walked naked out of the bathroom and over to his kitchen counter. He set down the towel and looked at the number on Mac’s card again. After a moment’s hesitation, he picked up the receiver and called Mac.

“Mac here,” said the same soft tenor as in the shower.

“Mac? This is Paul. We met at the gym…” Paul started.

“Ah, yes, you were the tasty young man I just met, I recall.” ‘Tasty’? What an odd thing to say… “Thank you for calling, Paul. Did you have a good ride home?”

At the words “good ride home”, Paul felt a heat rush through him, and a roar started in his ears. He could hear Mac still talking on the other end of the line, but he couldn’t seem to make out what the man was saying. After what felt like an eternity of saying nothing and trying to make out what was being said, he dropped the phone and looked down. He noticed distractedly that he had an erection so hard that it was pointing straight up, and his right hand was slowly stroking his balls. Had he been jacking off while talking to Mac? Now that was perverse. He jerked his hand away… and it wandered right back to his balls. Then his left hand seemed to wander of its own accord to his cock, massaging it slowly up and down. He wanted to move his hand away – this was not the way he started his evenings – but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. It was almost as if it were someone else’s arms playing with him. He felt he should be panicking, but the heat was radiating from his groin and he let out a moan instead.

He walked over to one of his windows and stared down, still slowly fondling himself. He watched a white sports car pull in to the parking lot below, and to his surprise, Mac stepped out. He was wearing a white suit, with a white shirt and a white cowboy hat. He watched Mac walk up to his condo unit and disappear inside the stairwell. He just stayed at the window, jacking off. He heard his door open and the lights went out, and the floorboards started to squeak as the intruder – it had to be Mac – crossed the floor. No words were spoken the entire time. He wanted to turn to face him, to tell him to get the hell out, but he didn’t turn, and he didn’t move, and he couldn’t speak. He just stared out the window, and slowly beat his dripping cock.

Mac stood close behind him – he could feel the man’s suit top brushing against his back – and he could feel the man lean close into him, placing his mouth at Paul’s ear. Paul could feel the hot breath stir the back of his neck. Mac whispered one word into his ear, and Paul’s world went black.