The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I don’t usually use my skills to mess with people. I’m actually a pretty good-natured dude, and I generally like people and give them the benefit of the doubt. When they’re angry or rude I try to remind myself that everyone’s only human and I have my bad days too. Drivers with road rage, rude people in the grocery store line, generally obnoxious people out in society, I cut them all a lot of slack. There’s exactly one exception to this: TSA agents. Call them my guilty pleasure; call me a hypocrite. Sure, I know they’re humans too, but I travel a lot for work so I’m dealing with them all the time, and I’m convinced there’s just something wrong with them. I think it’s like cops with anger problems: I think the TSA is like a home for wayward sociopaths.

Or anyway that’s what I tell myself to rationalize it away when I decide to have a little fun.

Just yesterday I was heading to the airport and fate conspired to get me there early—two hours earlier than I’d intended. No traffic, got an early start, figured I could get some work done at the gate. I showed up and the security line was completely empty. And still, as I went through the body scanner, the agent stopped me curtly, as if he were stressed. I looked around. Nobody in sight. I decided to push him a little.

“What’s the holdup, officer?”

“Sir, I need you to wait for the results.”

“That’s supposed to take three seconds.”

No response. I decided to shoot for “obnoxious joker” and ham it up a bit.

“What are you looking for? Bombs strapped to my body?”

The agent froze and stared at me. “Sir, that’s not something to joke about.”

“What? Come on, I was just kidding. You know I don’t have bombs on me.”

The agent tensed his jaw and flared his nostrils. Ready for attack. I was getting hard in my pants already. “Sir, if you say that word one more time-”

I cut him off. “Yeah, if I had BOMBS with me they’d probably be in my bag!”

The agent shot me daggers with his eyes but I also caught the tiniest hint of a smirk. Good, maybe I’d caught one with a touch of sadism. “Sir, follow me. If you attempt to do anything but follow me calmly I will use force to subdue you.” He gestured to a taser on his belt.

“Hey, man,” I feigned fear, “Take it easy, I’ll do what I’m told. I don’t want any trouble.”

I followed him into a quarantine room. He brought my bag off the scanner. I watched him walk as I followed him. I watched his ass cheeks through his tight khaki slacks as they clenched and released rhythmically as he walked. It was making me even harder.

We walked into the room and he gestured at a chair. I sat in it. The moment he closed the door, I started gently pushing my way into his head. So subtle he’d never notice. I worked my way into his mind like warm water soaking into sand. I disturbed nothing at all. He didn’t even realize I was there.

“You think it’s funny to fuck with TSA?” He turned to me and spat the words out, now openly angry and reveling in his dominance. I gingerly looked around in his memories. He was heterosexual. Married. I saw some blurry glimpses of his wife. She was cowed. I saw him hitting her. I couldn’t tell how recent it was. He slammed his hands on the table. “You HEAR me? I asked you a QUESTION.”

I looked up at him with fear in my eyes. I wanted him to really enjoy this. “I’m... I’m so sorry, sir, I didn’t...” I shrunk my body down, folded my shoulders in, made myself small. I cowered. Just like clockwork, he puffed himself up. He was feeding on my submission. Like a psychic vampire. I told you I hate these guys.

“Didn’t what? You’re a smart-ass. A fucking joker. You wanna mess up my day? You wanna joke about national security to my face? Like you’re Mr. Big-Shot can’t be troubled by me?” And with this he leaned in and grinned. God, I was so hard I was leaking. “Well, Mr. Big-Shot, looks like you’ve got some trouble now. Who’s in charge now?”

I’m a pretty great actor, if I may say so myself. I started crying just a little as I looked up at him with terror. “Please, please don’t hurt me, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I made a joke-”

“You’re not sorry, not yet.” His grin was bigger, now, menacing, like a predator. I was still looking around in his head. I was finding my way in, finding the right pressure points for me to intercept. Just getting ready. “Stand up, SIR,” he spat, with mocking contempt. I could feel his energy building. It was like water filling up behind a dam. I could feel his heart pumping faster. I felt the first trickle of adrenaline starting to make its way into his blood. I felt all the contractions of his muscles, tensing in preparation.

I stood up.

“Turn around.”

“Please -” I cried.

“TURN AROUND.”

I turned around, sniffling.

“Arms overhead.”

I reached my arms up and without asking he yanked my button-down shirt off, ripping the buttons off as it went. I gave a single, choked sob for dramatic effect. I immediately felt him retract his lips, baring his teeth. He was really enjoying this. He undid my belt with his gloved hands and slid my pants down around my ankles. He stood up behind me. I could feel him towering over me. He grabbed my shoulders with both his hands and then ordered me again.

“Bend over and put your hands on the table.”

I figured that was the right time to start. I sobbed aloud and plead louder with him. “No, no, no, don’t make me—please don’t-”

“BEND OVER.”

I was deep inside his head now and could feel everything. He was as tense as a prize fighter, his lips peeled back in an angry sneer, his breaths coming hot and fast. He was hoping I’d cross him. He wanted an excuse. So I gave it to him. I turned around, holding my hands up in front of my face. And I kept sobbing and begging.

“Please don’t make me—I promise I won’t -”

He was quick, I’ll give him that. If I didn’t see the thoughts in his head first, I probably wouldn’t have seen his arm move in time to dodge it. He lashed out to slap me across the face. I easily ducked it and then dove under the table. His adrenaline went through the roof. I could feel it, the intensity of his energy. He was wound up like a spring now. Just like I wanted.

He lunged for me but I was already on the other side of the table.

“Oh you have no fucking idea what you just did,” he said, panting visibly and grinning like a demon. “You’re in for it now, man, you just wrote your own death warrant.”

I stood up from behind the table, and he glanced down at my underwear. My underwear tented out with my erection, with a large dark stain where I’d been leaking this whole time. I didn’t have to be inside his head to see the meter go up several notches.

“What the fuck? You some kinda faggot? You like this? You getting off on this?” He recoiled in disgust. “Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit faggot. You’re leaving here on a fucking stretcher.”

His brain, at this point, looked almost exactly like an attack dog’s. Same hormones, same activity, and basically the same intellect. OK, he wasn’t much higher to begin with. But now he was seeing red. I think at this point he was actually snarling aloud, though I can’t be sure; sometimes it’s hard for me to remember what he actually did or said and what I was just seeing inside his mind. In any case, I straightened back up and smiled.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “I’m gettin’ all boned up imagining what you’re gonna look like sucking my dick.”

There’s basically no way to describe how hysterical he was at this point. He dove over the table at me, but of course I sidestepped well ahead of his landing and he slid into the wall face-first. As he was leaping back up I gave him an erection. It’s fun to do. It’s hard to describe how it feels. It’s kind of like the feeling of making a fist and squeezing, but it’s someone else’s fist, and you’re feeling it. I was clenching his muscles to push blood up into his cock. He sprung wood immediately. He didn’t notice, of course; he wasn’t paying attention to anything but attacking me.

He dove at me again but I grabbed the metal table and slid it in his way so he crashed into it and almost flipped over the thing. He ended up laying face-down on it. I grabbed his ass cheeks and gave them a squeeze.

“You look good in this position, officer. You’re going to take off your pants and lay down just like this for me before we leave the room.”

He was shouting at me, epithets, insulting my mother, my heritage, my name, everything he could think of. A lot of it was pretty incoherent. He swung an arm at me which I dodged, again. In the meantime I was digging through his memories. It’s a little embarrassing how formulaic this part is, but it does work every time. I looked for old memories of shame. Everyone has them. I didn’t even look too closely at what his were, once I found them. I think one was his dad catching him masturbating. Another was something about him failing at some sport as a kid and his dad calling him a sissy and teasing him about it. But honestly I couldn’t say. That’s not the important part. You can’t miss ‘em, buried in anybody’s memory. I yanked them up, pretty hard. I was done being subtle. He felt it, but of course had no idea what the sensation was. It was alien, something happening in his head. But then I lit those memories up like a marquee.

“God, can’t even catch a naked guy in a tiny room? You must be ashamed of yourself. Big strong man like you tripping over your own feet! What a loser.”

I saw him visibly shudder as the memories came on full-force, coloring his entire experience with me with ancient shame. His face fell. He shook it off and stood up.

“Wow, and all your FAILURE is giving you a huge boner? You get off on being a loser? Who’s the faggot now, you sissy?”

He heard me and stopped dead in his tracks. He glanced down, needing to visually verify what his body was telling him: he had a huge, throbbing erection visible pressing out his pants leg. He shook his head, now visibly distressed, but clearly decided the best thing to do was to beat me to a pulp and be done with the whole horrible incident.

Only this time I started pushing thoughts into his head first. He looked up at me, confused. “What... what are you doing?”

“Turning you gay, you piece of shit.”

He shook his head, still furious but able only to say, quietly, “No.”

I smiled. “Yes. See, it’s best for me to dredge up all that animal shit first. Look at you, your body is flooded with hormones, emotions. Rage, impotence, and shame. Now they’re here, right inside you and I can work with them, tie things to them, wire them up.”

He shook his head, visibly shaking with the strain of fighting me. It did him no good.

“Repeat after me,” I said to him, flapping my hand like a hand puppet. “I’m a failure.”

He felt me put the thought in there, that time, and his face twisted into a mask of rage as he fought his lips, which opened and said, “I’m... I’m a failure.”

“Good. Now, take my laptop out of my bag.”

He really was fighting. It felt weird, like using your muscles while they’re spasming. Fortunately I was much, much stronger than him. He unzipped the bag and took out the laptop. He flipped the lid up and turned it on.

“Open the Porn folder on the desktop and watch each video.”

He opened them, one by one. The first showed a man, naked, on all fours, with another man caressing his ass cheeks and licking his hole. I could feel his disgust and horror come up and I just grinned as I teased them out even stronger. Soon he was choking on his revulsion as he watched.

“We’re going to play a game, now,” I said, though he couldn’t move his eyes away from the screen. “See, the human memory is a funny thing. It doesn’t really store all the details of your memories. It just knows the high points and your brain fills in the details when you try to remember it. And every time you remember a memory it changes, a little, it morphs and shifts over time. So here’s how the game works: I’m going to dig up memories from your past. If you can stop me from getting at them, if you can resist recalling them and leave them buried, then you win. But if I can dredge them up, then I get to change them and put them back.”

He was so furiously fighting me inside his head that he could barely respond outwardly. He just opened his mouth and made a kind of squeaking nose. I kept grinning.

“We’ll start with the one I already found. Remember when your dad caught you jerking off when you were in high school?” I pushed, bringing the memory right up close in focus. He was struggling to push it back down. He was no match for me.

“Oh, no, but I think you’re remembering it wrong. Your dad didn’t walk in on you jerking off. Remember? He was drunk after dinner one night.” I started to mold the scene in his head. I pulled from the images he was watching on his screen. “You couldn’t help yourself so you slid his pants down and smelled his underwear.” The memory was so intense now he could smell the musky ball-sweat-soaked briefs in his nostrils even as he fought to break free. “Then you slipped those down. Remember the first time you saw his cock?”

“No...” he squeaked, strained, fighting.

“Oh, well,” I laughed, “Let me refresh your memory! It was thick and soft, lying in that big nest of sweaty pubic hair on top of those big, warm balls. The smell almost knocked you over. You were so hard in your pants that you didn’t even notice he’d opened his eyes by the time you extended that tongue of yours and went in for a lick.”

I gave his cock a little mental squeeze, oozing a little precum out into his underwear. And then, conveniently, he happened to watching a video of a twink sucking off a big daddy’s cock.

“Yeah, watch the video and remember how it was. You started licking the wrinkled warm skin of his soft cock and it started growing. You took it all into your mouth and got it all wet with your spit. It got really big and you could barely keep it all in your mouth, but you did. God, you were a hungry boy.”

I’ve never met anyone who can do what I do so I don’t really know what it feels like from the other side but I know how it feels when someone’s fighting back. It must be a horrible feeling, your brain changing even as you sit helplessly trying to control yourself. I was so hard I could have shot off any moment.

“And then remember the shock when you felt his hands on the back of your head.” He visibly shook as I put the memory in. “You realized he was awake and you tried to stop but then he wouldn’t let you. And how your eagerness turned to fright and you fought as he jammed his cock all the way down your throat. But a part of you loved it, that’s why you got even harder.”

“Remember at the end, when he shot? You felt your dad tense up and his hands pushed even harder on your head and you felt his cock swell rhythmically, pulsing as it unloaded a big load of boy batter down your throat. And remember how he pulled out and left a slimy trail of cum on your tongue so you could taste your shame?”

The TSA agent was openly crying, now.

“But worst of all was when he finished. The names he called you? He never respected you again. You were just his disappointing faggot son. Though his disappointment didn’t stop him from using you for blowjobs daily for the rest of your time at home.”

I wrapped it all up and sent it back down into his memory with a smile. “There we go! First one done. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Please... stop...”

“That’s up to you, my friend. If you grow a pair and can actually push me out of your head then we’re done! But in the meantime...”

I found a memory of his wife and started to pull on it. Immediately I felt him pushing it back down. It was like tug-of-war. He was fighting harder than before, I’ll give him that. But it was still like taking candy from a baby.

“Ah yes. Your dear wife. She lives in terror of you, you know. You use her like a punching bag to get out all your insecurities. Well, time for a couple changes.”

His face was bright red with fury and the strain of trying to fight me. “STOP... YOU... FUCK...”

“Not good enough, my friend. So as I was saying. You don’t know this woman. You’ve never met her.” I wiped the image. I could feel him frantically flailing in his head trying to grasp at the picture of her as it sank away.

“No. You’’ve been single your whole life. You share your bed with a rotating cast of characters,” and here I just wantonly pulled images from the porn he was watching, “Trying to scratch that itch that lives deep inside you. The itch that says,” and I smirked as I implanted the itch even as I said it, “You’re not good enough, you’re undeserving. You’re only worthwhile when someone is using you. A real man. A strong man. You’re only good for serving them.”

He was shuddering and convulsing from the strain of what was going on inside his head.

“Here’s another memory—you went to the bar with your mates the other night, did you?”

“STOP IT PLEASE OH MY GOD!” He could talk now, but only because he’d basically given up on fighting me. Ah, resignation. The acceptance of defeat. He’d fought valiantly, but really he never had any chance anyway.

“Oh, but I think you’re remembering wrong. You didn’t turn into that door,” I said. “You kept walking down a few blocks,” I said, filling out the imagery with my own memories of the street, “And you turned into the dark doorway on the side. Of course the bouncer recognized you and welcomed you in. And when you paid for a locker and they handed you all your towels you went in and found a nice room.”

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME? PLEASE STOP, PLEASE!!”

“Remember how all your friends were jeering at you because you’re always the one up on the table? And sure enough, remember the feel of the cool, padded black rubber on your knees as you climbed up and then flipped onto your back. Remember the look of all of them over you, the same as every other weekend, in a circle around you laughing and calling you names and spitting on you.”

His cock was dripping, his pants were soaked in more precum than any man should be able to produce in a week. I’d been milking it out of him the whole time.

“Then remember that familiar sensation”—and here I gave his sphincter a twitch myself to help drive the point home—“of being stretched out by a nice, big cock, one of your good mates doing you the kindness of brutally fucking you while calling you a pathetic, desperate faggot. I’ll admit the rest of the evening is a bit of a blur with all the fucking but through it all, remember the feeling of the sticky, sweaty black rubber, warm against your back, and how it hurt just a little when you finally stood up because the rubber stuck to you, a little, and peeled off after the hours you spent lying there.”

He’d stopped crying, now, and stopped fighting. He was breathing a little heavy. The stages of mourning, you could call them: mourning the death of his old personality. He’d passed through acceptance. Now he was ready.

“In fact, what great timing, who’s this?”

The door opened and another TSA agent walked in, suspicious. “What’s taking so fucking long in here, man?”

I didn’t have the time nor inclination to go through the whole thing with this new guy so I just used him like a puppet. I wasn’t even subtle about it. Just pushed my way into his head and grabbed control of all the right strings.

“Here’s one of your mates right now, isn’t it? Take off your pants and get up on the table.”

The hapless new faggot did as he was told, panting, his cock straining as he slipped off his pants and underwear. I walked the puppet over to the table and undid his pants; his throbbing erection dropped right out. I had him spit on his hand and lube his cock up with it and then unceremoniously start fucking my newest project.

“As you feel his cock pumping inside you it’s going to seal in all these new memories. You’re a newly-made man. From now on, you exist to serve other men, all of whom are your superiors. You crave nothing more than to have them use you, and to relive the shame it makes you feel, over and over. Any time anyone insults you or demeans you it makes you horny; it makes you want to submit to him. And your job now is to take care of all your fellow male TSA agents, and any time you’re inspecting a male passenger who’s rude to you, you’ll bring him into this room and beg him to fuck you.”

The brainwashed faggot lay on the table moaning at my words and the cock slamming into him repeatedly.

“Oh, one more thing.”

I reached into my bag and pulled out a small metal chastity device. I slipped it over his leaking hardon. I squeezed to get enough blood out of his cock to get the device to shut.

“What—NO, NO!” He howled, desperation across his face.

“Obedient faggots like you don’t need to cum. Your reward is the pleasure of the superior man.”

I clicked the lock shut.

“I’ll be flying back in a few weeks, and I’ll bring the key with me. Maybe then if you’ve been a very naughty boy, I’ll consider letting you cum.”