The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mitch never much liked the small town where he grew up: too quiet, and everyone knew everyone else’s business. He never much liked his family either. Four older brothers, and not one of them understood a thing about him. His father, the family despot, ran the household like a military dictatorship; his brothers seemed to thrive on it, growing taller, more arrogant, and tougher every day. Mitch’s mother died years ago, and without her there to balance his father’s tyranny, home and the whole town felt like a prison to Mitch. The best he could hope from his father and brothers was to be left alone.

Mitch hungered for companionship and understanding, but through the years he turned more and more to his friends and the basketball team for that. At times he felt that he was living with a house full of strangers, and that the only family he really had were the group of friends he had been hanging out with since he was ten years old, especially Ron and Scotty. They were so much like him, and in so many ways. Those two were the closest things Mitch had to brothers—real brothers, not the arrogant assholes he lived with—and everyone in the town knew that the three were practically inseparable. Mitch considered himself the smart one and the instigator. Ron was the most handsome and the most mischievous. Scotty was the most muscular, the best athlete. They had shared a deep friendship since before they could remember, so naturally they shared even their deepest secrets. When a distant cousin in another city was discovered to be a Talent, Mitch even told Ron and Scotty, disregarding his father’s insistence that this family shame was a big secret never to be mentioned to anyone, ever.

The other guys in their crowd had steady dates and bragged nonstop about their sexual adventures, though Mitch suspected most of that was made-up bullshit. Mitch, Ron, and Scotty did not date much—though Scotty did date a bit. They found that they were much happier spending time with each other, rather than going through the phony games of girlfriends and the drama that always seemed to come along with them. A buddy was a buddy no matter what. They found all the fun and excitement they needed with each other, playing basketball, zipping around town on their bicycles, exploring the nearby woods. About the only thing that Mitch did alone was jerk off, though in a house with multiple brothers he never had the privacy to indulge in that necessary release as much as he wanted.

Mitch took great comfort from the release that playing with his body gave him. No other experience came close, especially when he was really feeling oppressed by the world and his family. In those times when Mitch was alone with his pleasure-giving cock in hand, he felt that he could tackle just about anything. His dick: he was really proud of his longer—, thicker-than-average dick. He studied himself naked in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door every day after his shower. When he was younger, he had seen his father and older brothers naked and wished with all his might that his dick would someday be as big as theirs. The growth over the years had been too slow to notice but inevitable, until one morning when he awoke from a vague dream about his basketball coach. Reaching down to feel for an uncertain ache, he discovered that he had a hard-on, a particularly needy and tingly one. He had had hard-ons before, had been jacking off occasionally for a year or two but had not been able to cum yet and did not understand what the big deal was. But this time his dick was harder than it had ever been. Mitch could still remember that morning when, with great excitement, he jumped out of bed and stood in front of the full-length mirror and saw that, somehow over the years without him realizing, his cock had really grown to look enormous. Yes! Mitch pumped on his dick the way he had seen guys do it in porno flicks, and less than twenty strokes later—Ah, fuck!—something different happened in his cock and balls, and he felt that world-exploding pleasure burst through him for the first time. For those few seconds, everything went away except for the overwhelming ecstasy. Gasping in its aftermath, he felt soothed. That blissful pleasure from his cock had made everything feel all right.

As soon as he had an opportunity to swipe a tape measure from the tool box in the garage and get some privacy, Mitch measured his erection. His cock stood proudly at just past eight inches, which according to a bit of Internet research, was longer than most other guys’ dicks—well, not counting the guys in porn videos, of course, but Mitch realized a bigger-than-most dick was probably required for starring in porn anyway, so video guys did not count.

The secret of his larger-than-average cock finally gave Mitch a sense of equality around his brothers—and even gave him the self-confidence he needed to stand up to his father once in a rare while.

Mitch’s other secret was that sometimes, if he concentrated a certain way and thought it hard enough—You don’t see me; I’m not here; You don’t see me; I’m not here—his father, in one of his moods, would storm right by Mitch and find another target, or one of his brothers would pass by without seeming to notice him, no teasing, no whack on the arm. Sometimes it worked, like a mantra or an incantation, sometimes not, but it worked often enough that Mitch thought it might be magic, or more.

And then, that morning just the week before, Mitch had been walking past the bedroom his two oldest brothers shared. The door was closed, but somehow Mitch knew his brother Kenny was in there. Somehow he knew Kenny was excited and jerking off. Mitch could practically feel waves of sexual energy coming through the door. How did Kenny jack off? Did he do it on the bed like Mitch did? Same grip? Was his dick as big as Mitch’s?

Curiosity overrode his caution; Mitch turned the knob slowly, eased the door open a silent crack. Kenny lay on his back on his bed, shirt pulled up to his ribs, pants and underwear pushed down to his knees.

Maybe that secret of his would work here, if he concentrated on his mantra hard enough. Don’t see me—don’t see me, Mitch thought as hard as he could because, more and more lately, thinking it seemed to help him evade his brothers’ notice. In a house with four testosterone-fueled brothers and an authoritarian father, evading notice had become practically a survival tactic for Mitch. Now, though, if his brother caught him peeping, Kenny would smack the hell out of him, Mitch feared, maybe more. His brothers usually stopped short of beating the shit out of each other or him, but this intrusion would definitely be an offense that warranted sterner punishment. Don’t see me—I’m not here—don’t see me.

Kenny never took his eyes off his cock, which stood straight up from his crotch. Mitch watched as Kenny jacked it a few strokes with one hand, then a few strokes with the other. Doing it that way had never occurred to Mitch. Kenny spat in his palm, then smeared the saliva around the head of his cock. Mitch had never thought of using spit for lube either—he usually did it dry or with lotion for lube—and he decided he would try spit as soon as he got the opportunity.

Kenny’s body shuddered with pleasure as he began stroking again. You don’t see me—I’m not here, Mitch recited in his head, but indeed Kenny did not seem to realize he was there, had never looked away from his cock, the center of his universe. Mitch widened the door further. Somehow he knew Kenny would not realize he was there. Emboldened, Mitch crept into the room, eased the door shut behind him.

“Oh,” Kenny moaned quietly, which spooked Mitch for a moment, but Kenny stayed lost in his masturbation fantasy and whispered, “Fuck, yeah!”

His brother was thinking of some chick, a blond, boob-job-sized tits. Mitch was uncertain how he knew what Kenny was thinking, but he was sure he knew. This was a woman from a porn vid that Kenny had seen; she was on her hands and knees, and Kenny himself instead of the porn actor was the one fucking her from behind, feeling the heat and clench of her pussy muscles along his cock.

Which, Mitch noted smugly, seemed about half an inch shorter than Mitch’s own.

Mitch knelt by the side of the bed and watched Kenny pleasure himself. Kenny’s cock was thick, red with arousal, and his hands worked it with a familiar efficiency. Kenny was not trying to make the fantasy last, Mitch understood, but instead wanted to reach his orgasm quickly, before someone discovered him. Too late for that, Mitch thought with a smirk, only to feel whatever hold he had on Kenny threaten to slip for just a moment. Don’t see me—don’t see me, he thought frantically, trying to regain it.

Mitch felt something in Kenny flare up, bright and intense. Mitch did not realize what was happening until Kenny gasped, “Fuck, yeah! Fuck!” Orgasm?—Yes. Kenny was getting his nut. Mitch could practically feel Kenny’s nervous system flaring up with sensation, like slow lightning running through him. The first rope of cum jumped out of Kenny’s cock-head, as his body spammed. Kenny gasped again, and a second rope, a third, leapt out of his dick. More and more cum oozed out as Kenny’s body shook. “Oh, fuck,” he sighed finally, then all of his muscles relaxed. His hand slipped away from his still-throbbing cock. “Mm.”

Kenny felt drowsy, and Mitch nudged his mind further in that direction. Yeah, a post-orgasm nap. All those hormones and brain chemicals released by a good cum made a nap easy. Kenny’s thoughts slowly went quiet. His eyes closed, and he dozed. Bolder now, Mitch reached out and touched the puddled cum on Kenny’s bared stomach, felt how warm and slick the liquid felt. He wrapped his fingers around Kenny’s semi-hard dick. His brother would have kicked his ass had he realized Mitch was here, touching him like this, but Mitch could make sure Kenny stayed unaware.

Mitch became aware of his own hard-on. He had been so focused on Kenny that he had not paid attention to himself. He needed to jack off, and quickly, but Kenny would not stay asleep long. Mitch let go of Kenny’s cock and slipped away from the bed, back to the door. He exited quietly. Kenny would be waking up in moments. But by then, Mitch was safely out the door and heading into the bathroom, where the door had a lock that worked and he could jerk himself to quick release in privacy.

In the week that followed, Mitch had to learn not to hear what everyone around him was thinking. After somehow sensing what Kenny had been thinking, Mitch seemed to know what a number of people were thinking just by being near them. School was the worst, with so many other people thinking so many different things, like voices jabbering simultaneously in the background, but home was bad too, with his father and brothers thinking loud variations of the same things all the time.

Still, just remembering that day he watched Kenny gave Mitch an aching hard-on now. He shared his bedroom with his third brother, but tonight his brother was out on a date. Mitch was alone in the bedroom, had plenty of time to indulge in what was becoming his favorite hobby. In his underwear, he lay back on the bed and already felt his anticipating cock begin to rise. He wished for a way to get away from this house once and for all. He wrapped his hand around his erection and just held it, liking the feeling of anticipation. He wondered whether Ron and Scotty did that when they beat their meat. How did they stroke? Did jacking off make them feel as great as it did him? They had all seen each other naked in the locker room thousands of times, more times than he could count, and they had compared notes with a laugh about how their balls were hanging. Mitch knew that, soft, his cock seemed just a little longer than theirs were. Erect, though, how would they all match up in a contest? His cock gave another jump at the thought. He could see it all now. He and his two best buddies, sharing the common joy of a really good jerk-off. Mitch squeezed his cock, took a long, hard pull at it. This past week had been fucking rough—on top of the noise in his head, he had had trouble in one of his classes, and last night he had another fight with his dad. He needed relief badly. Looking down, he saw that first drop of juice at the end of his cock-slit, precious since it announced he would be ready to cum soon. The old curiosity came back to him again. What did a dick taste like? Big as his prick was, he just could not reach it with his tongue, so he was left to wonder. What would Ron’s taste like? And Scotty’s? Stories he read online never agreed; they variously suggested cum tasted bitter or salty or sweet, a range he found unhelpful. Those questions would have to remain unanswered for now, but Mitch wanted to find a way to discover the answers for himself.

Again, he teased the head of his hard-on and began to stroke his throbbing toy in earnest. Immediately, the week’s tensions faded, and his mood began to improve. Being horny made him eager, made him want to do things, but orgasm was even better. Every time, jerking off had the same magical effect; it could turn a nightmare week into a promising new day.

Pressing his head back against his pillow, he closed his other fist tightly around the shaft too and began to pull at his dick with slow, steady two-handed strokes. The sweet, familiar feeling made him sigh. He closed his eyes and thought of his friends. Would Ron’s dick feel just as hard in his hand? Would Scotty’s cream a really big load? His imagination created pictures of his two buddies, naked, standing at attention, hands behind their backs, surrendering their exposed hard-ons for his examination. Mitch felt his arousal spike at the thought, and he began to beat his meat faster, harder. His imagination galloped. He could practically see them in the room with him, could almost feel their cocks in his stroking hands, Ron to his left, Scotty to his right. Mitch pulled his dick hard and fast now, reaching under with one hand to bounce his balls around a little; they felt supercharged and ready to explode at any second. Mitch moaned as he felt himself climbing to the point of no return. Would Ron moan too? Scotty? He imagined their voices as Ron and Scotty gasped and groaned while he stroked their erections, pushing them both toward a massive climax. Mitch decided his jerk-offs were getting better all the time, especially when he thought of his buddies like this. How come? He felt himself about to shoot and fought to hold on just a little longer. He wanted to make these great sensations running all up and down his dick last forever—wanted to keep himself just on the cusp of orgasm, without falling over. But then his imagination gave him the image of Ron’s cock spitting cum, Scotty’s too, and Mitch’s hand went flying, and his body and brain lit up with buzzing sensation. His last thought was to squeeze his nuts again, and suddenly he was there. Red flashes erupted inside his clamped-shut eyelids, and his body blazed, and he rode a wave of bliss as he felt his balls emptying their tremendous charge. “Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!” Like a warm shower, the white fountain of cum splattered on his belly.

“Awww, yeah!” Now Mitch’s sigh was one of tremendous relief, as all his cares were washed away by the orgasmic flood. He was always amazed by how just a few short minutes of pulling on his joint could have him feeling so blissful and content and confident. He wiped up his mess, tucked his softening prick back into his underwear. Fully relaxed now, he fell asleep, only to find that his slumbering fantasies were just the same as his jerk-off ones. They featured his two closest buddies, and sometimes his dad or one or two of his brothers. But always the dream was the same: They played with each other’s dicks, they orgasmed together, and they became much more compatible because of what they had shared.

When morning arrived, Mitch awoke with a start. Was that the answer? Was his constant restlessness because he needed the intimate companionship of other guys?—As intimate as any companions could get? At first, the thought both thrilled and frightened him. He knew, yes, that he wanted it, but people had names for guys like that, and none of them were good. Even if he was willing to risk the humiliation and aversion by all his other friends and family, could he face the danger that Ron and Scotty would also be repulsed by just the mention of the subject? He could try to do more than listen to their thoughts, maybe try to get inside their minds and see what they were thinking, like he had done with Kenny, but what if that did not work?—or worse, backfired? The idea of touching their bodies intimately was so appealing, so arousing, but was it worth the possibility of losing their friendship forever? He depended on those guys. On the other hand, if Ron and Scotty did go for it, then the three of them might discover a richer relationship in a whole new world of sexual thrills that they never knew existed.

Mitch rushed down to an early breakfast so he could beat his brothers to the table. He desperately needed the time to be alone with his thoughts. This would not be an easy decision. Even if he chose to take the risk and approach Ron and Scotty, he had to decide on just the right way.

That afternoon was basketball practice, and all three were on the team. Being such close buddies, they always hung out together as they showered and dressed, and then they walked home together. If his nerve held out until the end of the day, Mitch decided, their private time on the walk home might be a great opportunity to start the ball rolling. If his nerve held out.

Most of the school day went by in a nervous haze. Mitch found himself unable to concentrate on almost anything except what he hoped would happen after basketball practice. He worked through various scenarios in his daydreams, but all he really knew was that he had to find a way make his fantasies come true. If he could just manage the courage to start this, Mitch was sure he would figure out a way to get them to agree to the end result he craved. He was always the instigator, so why not now too? He had done it with them a dozen times before, even if it was only during his masturbation fantasies.

Mitch expected that he would also be too nervous to do anything halfway decent at practice, and he was amazed when the coach patted him on the shoulder and told him this had been one of his best practices ever. Mitch told himself that all that extra adrenaline of anticipation must be the reason. Just thinking about what might be happening soon had given him the spark to bounce that ball all over the court and to net almost double his usual total. He was glad he wore a jock-strap, because this afternoon his hard-on was a dick to be reckoned with. He was grateful that his erection was tightly under wraps, to save him the embarrassment of having the whole team see his unexplainable stiffy.

But keeping his wood trapped in his jock was damned painful. His swollen prick begged to be free of the confining fabric, and its hardness threatened to break right through his shorts at any moment. But the moment practice ended, with the first step of his plan immediately ahead of him, fear made Mitch’s erection vanish. The sudden limpness left him almost relieved; ten minutes more of that hard-on, and he probably would have strangled himself. Mitch rushed to the showers ahead of his buddies and zipped through the process of soaping himself, thinking he might have a better chance of success if he smelled nice and clean. What the hell! he berated himself. They were all guys and could stand a little sweat. He admitted to himself that he was terrified of rejection, and he worried that even a little thing like sweat-stink might become the one reason they turned him down.

He left the shower and hurried back to his locker. He watched his naked teammates stroll into the steamy showers, heard them laugh and jostle each other into the spray. Guys flicked towels at each other’s asses on the way back to their lockers, and no one thought anything of it. Even when a guy grabbed another’s ass, they still thought everything was all in fun. Good, wholesome fun, the coach might say. But would they still call it good fun if that grab lasted a little longer?—or if something else touched those asses? Looking at his teammate’s faces, Mitch could not tell what any one guy in particular liked for his masturbation fantasies. He tried to listen in on one or two’s thoughts, but he could not focus on just the one—the background yammer of so many other minds in the locker room turned every attempt into a noisy din that threatened to give Mitch a headache. But he just could not believe that he was the only dude in the whole school who had come up with the idea of making it with another guy. He knew at least one other guy in this bunch must have the same kind of dreams as him and must share the same needs. He needed to find just one besides himself who wanted the hand on the ass to linger just a moment longer, wanted it to lead to something more. If not Ron and Scotty, maybe one of his other teammates? Who might be interested? If only he could decide on some way to find out!

That dick looks like it might swell up really big, and that one really looks delicious, Mitch thought—then he immediately chided himself. What was he thinking? Big? Delicious? That sounded like he actually wanted to suck someone off!

At that moment, as he pulled on his underwear with all his study teammates horsing around in front of him in the shower room, Mitch realized that he was probably gay. Not just curious about sex, but actually, really, and truly gay. Gay, queer, homosexual. Were all those terms supposed to describe him too? So many conflicting thoughts went through his head. Fag, cock-sucker, fudge-packer. He admitted to himself that, yes, he probably was gay. Now that these ideas were all collectively bubbling to the surface in his mind, the sum total of his new, unique sense of manhood nearly overwhelmed him. But he rejected the idea that being a gay guy made him a sissy. In fact, he felt even manlier than he ever had before. Guys in porn videos he had downloaded strutted and sucked cock and took it up the ass without being sissies. They seemed manly, and Mitch felt manly too. The feeling came from the satisfaction of knowing that he had finally found an identity where everything in his head would fit together like a puzzle. But the configuration was still all in his head and churning around in his balls. Gay. He needed to say the word out loud, to tell someone, in order to make his new identity concrete. His cock was beginning to stir again; Mitch decided to pull on his pants before someone spotted it.

While almost all his teammates looked good enough to fuck, like being in a candy store and not knowing which flavor to pick, Mitch decided to stick with his plan. He should approach Ron or Scotty first, singly or together, no matter how good any other teammate looked. Mitch just could not trust his plan to unfold the way he wanted it to, at least not yet. First, he needed to see if he could actually succeed with his closest buddies. After all, he acknowledged a good chance that they might beat the shit out of him. So why he was not really scared? Even though, as he pulled on his T-shirt, he had turned his back on all that succulent teammate meat, his own cock had again turned into an iron pipe in his pants. Nothing seemed to bring it down. And the swollen tip of his dick felt so good rubbing against the fabric of his underwear. The tingle went from the cock-head all the way to the base. How come underwear had never felt so good before? Even the brush of his T-shirt against his nipples felt good. All his senses were coming alive and his cock gave a jump. Mitch had been concentrating so hard on his own thoughts of fucking with one of the guys that he had forgotten they were even there, and now he felt like he was close to cumming right there in the locker room—

A fist nudged his arm. Not a hard punch, but the contact snapped Mitch back to reality. His buddy Ron, still wet from the shower and wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. “Earth to Mitch. I’ve been standing here for, like, five minutes while you’re off in another world.”

“Ron, you don’t know how right you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m still working on that one myself.” Mitch chuckled nervously, because just the touch of his friend’s hand on his arm had his cock throbbing again in his pants. The locker room was almost deserted except for Mitch and Ron and a couple of other guys, and Mitch did not even think to ask where Scotty was.

“Okay, if that’s the way you want it.” Ron pulled his clothes out of his locker and sat down on a bench. The side of his towel fell open. While the front still covered Ron’s cock and balls, Mitch had a view of a strip of intimate bare skin from Ron’s waist to his knee, and something about that skin today made his breath catch.

Mitch jerked his gaze away from that skin to find Ron was still talking about something or other as he sorted his T-shirt from the wad of clothing. “But,” Ron continued as he began to wrestle the shirt over his head, “if you have something you wanna talk about, you know I’ll be willing to listen.”

Ron always got dressed from the top down—shirt, then underwear, pants, socks, and finally shoes—because when they were kids he had read a western story that said cowboys always got dressed from the top down, starting each morning by putting on their Stetsons; Ron, fancying himself growing up to be a cowboy, adopted the practice and somehow had stuck with it. Mitch smiled, knowing no one but him, Scotty, and Ron would ever know each other well enough to understand how they came to develop their various quirks.

But right then, Ron was looking at him, seemed to be waiting for a response. Mitch nodded. “Sure, Ron. Thanks.”

Ron was a good-looking guy; just about all the girls thought so. He stood up and whipped off his towel, reached for his underwear. Mitch decided that, even limp, Ron’s cock looked kind of terrific. Mitch’s hands itched from the desire to reach right in there and grab onto Ron’s swinging stuff. He was staring so intently that Ron flashed Mitch a questioning look, for the first time sensing that there was something new in the air, something that Ron did not understand.

“Uh ... What’s up with you today, Mitch?”

“Just trying to work something out.”

“You think you can do it by yourself?”

“Not likely. I’ve just been thinking about what great pals you and Scotty and I are. Between guys like us, it just seems that there could be something a little more. You know what I mean?”

“Not exactly. Listen, I’m getting tired of these word-games.”

“Sorry, Ron. I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk. I just, uh, don’t know how to say what’s on my mind.”

“Why don’t you just spit it out?”

Again Mitch was grateful for the close relationship between himself and his buddy. He hoped that, even if Ron turned down his sexual advances, maybe Ron would still want to be his friend. But was Mitch really willing to risk everything?

Ron looked up at him once more and cocked an eyebrow. His buddy’s stare fascinated Mitch; his expression was strange and mysteriously exciting, and Mitch could not quite decipher it. Regardless, he knew he would have to break the tension that was passing back and forth between them. Ron, always impatient and sometimes inconsiderate, would not be willing to wait much longer for an answer. Maybe, Mitch decided, he could risk opening his mind just a little, just to see if he could catch a quick flash of what Ron was thinking, some clue to help him know whether to proceed and how.

Mitch patted Ron on the shoulder, and then let his hand linger there for a meaningful extra second. If Ron caught the emphasis in the touch, he did not jump. The two of them had been buddies so long that something as small as a touch was hardly unusual. Mitch opened his mind and reached his thoughts toward Ron and felt—

—felt Ron’s mind reaching toward his.

What the hell!

Mitch’s jaw dropped. He thought at Ron, Did you just—?

And Ron thought back, You can do it too—?

Yes! they thought in unison, then, Holy fucking shit!

The two looked at each other, wide-eyed, and grinned with wonder and disbelief and a new understanding.

Mitch felt Ron brush against his mind, as if probing for what Mitch had been trying to say, and he knew Ron would understand what he saw in Mitch. Even Ron’s eyes were glittering—wild and adventurous. Mitch pushed his own thoughts toward Ron. He felt amped up on adrenaline, his breathing jittery, and sweating a little. From what he saw in Ron’s head, he knew he was right to trust his friend; Ron seemed to want many of the same things. Take it slow—nice and easy, Mitch kept telling himself over and over. Whatever this is, don’t blow it now.

Mitch slid through Ron’s thoughts, and he felt Ron flit though his own. Memories came out of nowhere—some he recognized as his own, which must have been Ron’s doing, and some he didn’t recognize, which much have been images he stumbled upon in Ron’s mind. The imagination picture of Ron naked and jacking off—well, now Ron understood what Mitch wanted. A moment later, Mitch found an image of himself naked and hard in Ron’s head, along with a sense of intense curiosity, and Mitch smirked when he realized Ron had not imagined Mitch’s erection being nearly as large as the real thing. What would Ron say when he saw it in the flesh?

Suddenly—yank!—Mitch found himself back in his own head.

“Ow,” Ron muttered, rubbing his forehead and frowning at the pain, already passing. “That never happened before.” They grinned at each other. “But it was really cool.”

Mitch nodded. He head felt a little achy, maybe over-exerted, but he felt the relief of the knot in his belly relaxing a little.

Ron said, “Wanna practice this ... whatever it is some more? Let’s go to my house.” Both of his parents worked and would not be home for over two hours. They would have time alone to—

Mitch realized something. “Where’s Scotty?”

Ron cocked that handsome grin. “Oh, I think he remembered something he needed to do. Don’t worry about him.” Mitch wondered for a moment whether Ron had said something to Scotty—or done something to him, like the way Mitch used his mantra to avoid being seen. Could the mantra be used to make someone decide he needed to be somewhere else or do something else? Mitch decided to follow up on that thought later, because he agreed with what Ron said next. “I think just the two of us should experiment with this by ourselves first, in private.“

Once they were finished dressing and their lockers were squared away, Mitch and Ron left the locker room and rushed down the hallway. Without warning, Ron grabbed Mitch’s arm and tugged him toward a door—a seldom-used storage room, Mitch recalled. As he pulled Mitch inside, Ron said, “If we’re gonna do this, I think we should try something in real life first. Just to see if we like it.”

Ron pushed Mitch back up against one wall and pressed himself in close. Mitch tried not to flinch. Ron moved in closer and closer, then gingerly put his hand around Mitch’s neck. Now there was a questioning look in Ron’s eyes, but he still said nothing. He pushed his head forward until his lips met Mitch’s. Just a small kiss. Mitch put his hands on Ron’s arms, pulled him closer. Mitch pushed his thoughts at Ron, and found Ron’s mind waiting to meet him. The sensation of rightness, the yes-yes-yes racing through both of their minds, gave them the courage to continue. The kiss deepened. Ron’s body melted against Mitch’s. Their tongues met.

Ron pulled back and smiled, nervously, glancing quickly away, and Mitch tightened his hold on Ron’s arms just a little, unwilling to let him go. Everything was unfolding just as Mitch had hoped, except in a completely different way. The pressure of Ron’s body against his felt so perfect. Ron’s presence in his head was unexpected but welcome. Mitch’s cock had gotten hard at some point, which he realized when Ron ground their crotches together. That hardness in Ron’s pants—he was erect too!

The reality was exactly the opposite of how Mitch had imagined this situation would unfold, since he had planned to be the one in charge, yet everything felt exactly right, even the tingle that ran from the top of his head all the way down to his balls. Mitch felt hot and cold at the same time. This was actually going to happen. He could not believe his good luck, and just then he saw something that was the final incentive he could possibly need. Images flashed through Ron’s thoughts: actions, sexual actions, things he wanted to try, things he wanted to do to Mitch, things he wanted Mitch to do to him. Ron’s cocky grin said he was sending those images intentionally.

Mitch ran his hand down Ron’s torso, to his groin. Ron had a needy hard-on. In addition, it felt nice and thick, getting thicker as Mitch squeezed it through Ron’s jeans. Mitch wanted to get his hands on Ron’s body. Without waiting for the extra second that might let him lose his nerve, Mitch pulled at Ron’s pants, unbuttoning the waist, unzipping the fly.

“Yeah, that’s the way,” Ron crooned. “Go for it.”

Mitch thought Ron’s voice sounded tremendously calm, much too calm to be believed. Mitch could not stop trembling as he tried to work his friend’s jeans down. Mitch reached into Ron’s underwear, found his excited cock; his fingers moved up along the base of Ron’s shaft. The thing was already big, but it continued to grow, as Mitch began to run his fingers carefully along the underside of it. Mitch discovered that he had guessed right about his friend’s size; Ron’s cock seemed a good seven inches, maybe a bit more. That dick felt too great, too nice and meaty, to even think of stopping now, but Mitch had to be sure. “You want me to stop?”

Ron frowned, and his thoughts did a curling thing. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Why not?”

“If you ask me to say something, I’ll have to tell you to get your hands off me.”

“Is that what you want?” Mitch faltered, because Ron’s thoughts instead definitely seemed to be pulling him in, pushing this action forward.

“No. But I’d have to say it.”

Now that he was sure, Mitch did not waste any more precious time with words. He grabbed the hem of Ron’s T-shirt and started lifting. If we’re gonna do this, he sent into Ron’s mind, we’re gonna do it naked.

Ron pulled back. Mitch felt a rush of panic, expecting rejection, but Ron simply took two steps, flicked the door lock, and then returned, shedding his shoes as he came. Mitch’s breath strained, hoarse wheezes, as he stripped himself. His ears told him that Ron’s lungpower was in pretty much the same condition. Ron’s mind seemed a mess of nervous arousal.

They had seen each other’s bodies a thousand times, but never before with erections, and never while their minds were touching like this. They had been nude together many times, Mitch realized, but now they were naked, their bodies, their most intimate parts, their most intimate thoughts open for the other’s inspection. Even though he was not sure what to do next, everything felt so very important to Mitch, as if his life—their lives—were changing and about to change even more. He felt excited, aroused, a hundred things too balled together to identify. He pushed down his underwear, finally, and let his hard-on swing free in the air. Ron stared straight down at it and gulped. Mitch grinned, knowing Ron was indeed surprised by how much Mitch’s real-life size exceeded Ron’s fantasy guess; Ron had not expected that his friend was so well-hung, and he definitely admired Mitch’s massive dick.

Ron looked up and met Mitch’s stare. His mind offered Mitch a series of images for what Ron wanted to do next. Mitch grinned and nodded.

Wanting a closer look at Ron’s dick, Mitch knelt. Ron stepped closer. The tip of Ron’s rod dripped just a little, and Mitch licked his lips. He longed to taste it, but he had to pull his eyes away from his friend’s cock before he lost control and creamed himself too soon.

I like this, Mitch thought to Ron. It’s the way we should be.

Ron thought back, Yeah—it feels right, doesn’t it?

Mitch stared at his friend’s equipment again. This was the closest he had ever been to Ron’s dick, and that dick was hard, hard for him! Mitch could actually see Ron’s heartbeat making the veins pulse in his organ. Man, that’s one hell of a beautiful dick.

Thank you. Go ahead and touch it.

Mitch snickered. He had not been expecting Ron to hear his thought; this was all so new. His stomach jittered. Let’s do it together.

Ron’s gaze landed on a number of exercise mats stacked against the rear wall. He pulled one down to the floor and stretched out on it. Mitch joined him. Ron seemed to know what to do; he turned until they lay with their heads at each other’s crotches. Mitch knew the position from countless downloaded videos but had never done it—had never done anything with a guy. Had Ron? Mitch was about to peek into Ron’s memories when Ron’s dick gave a jump and reminded Mitch of the wonder right in front of him: his buddy’s erection.

Mitch coiled his fingers around Ron’s dick. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he felt Ron’s hand wrap around his prick, exactly duplicating what Mitch was doing. He did not see it happen because he could not force his eyes away from Ron’s crotch. This was like watching himself in a mirror as he jerked off, and yet it was something completely different, more thrilling. Again Mitch’s heart jumped as Ron started to tug at his cock. Mitch was surprised, but pleased, that his pal was taking such a big step without being coaxed into it.

Mitch stroked Ron. Ron stroked Mitch. Then Ron slid his other hand in to play with Mitch’s balls, hefting them in their sack, tugging gently on them. Mitch answered by doing the same to Ron’s testicles. Mitch kneaded the balls together in the palm of his hand. This felt good when Mitch did it to himself; would Ron like it too? He tugged harder at Ron’s dick, and Ron groaned his approval.

The images from Ron’s mind—mingled bits of porn and fantasies—were intoxicating. Mitch wondered whether Ron was trying to push those ideas into his head, but he decided to try a few of them anyway. He bent his head toward his buddy’s crotch, and he paid close attention to Ron’s reactions: the way Ron shuddered with excitement when he felt Mitch’s breath on his dick, the way he jumped when Mitch’s lips first brushed the tip of his cock-head. He found he liked causing Ron’s body to react, liked to feeling of being the one in charge of making Ron quiver and shake; this in-charge feeling was something Mitch had never experienced before, at least not in this way, and he did not know quite what to do with it. The feeling aroused Mitch, made his dick and balls tingle—almost too much. He wanted to act cool and not blow his whole manly image by emptying his nuts just when the fun was starting, so he tried to concentrate on Ron’s hard-on instead of his own. But in spite of all his best intentions, he felt himself dangerously close to orgasming.

Ron gasped, “Suck it, Mitch. Really suck it.”

Mitch was not completely sure how. He had seen sucking done in porn videos, and the act seemed simple enough: open the mouth, fit it over the cock, move forward and back. But sometimes suckers in videos gagged and retched, and sometimes their faces went red and they seemed to be choking. Mitch decided to go slowly. He put his lips around Ron’s cock-head, making him moan, and he slid his mouth an inch down the shaft. The flavor was odd, like freshly showered skin and soap with something musky mixed in too. Mitch wanted to swallow the whole thing, including his friend’s balls, but then his gag reflex threatened to kick in, and Mitch decided Ron had just too much meat to get all of it down his throat. Mitch hoped Ron would settle for having Mitch take in half of it and use his hand to work over what was left of the shaft. Ron moaned and pressed his face into Mitch’s crotch, and Mitch decided he must be doing a good job. Arousal and pleasure colored the pulses coming from Ron’s mind.

Ron nuzzled Mitch’s crotch and then took an inch or so of Mitch’s cock into his mouth too. Mitch’s eyes widened at the intense sensation of warmth and wetness around his cock-head. Ron could not take much of Mitch’s big dick, but for Mitch, just knowing his cock was penetrating Ron’s handsome face was enough of a rush to nearly push him into climax. Mitch fought to control his arousal, to hold back his orgasm. Ron moaned around Mitch’s cock, and Mitch loved the additional sensation. He did the same around Ron’s. Mitch snorted a laugh, amazed at how greedy he was for Ron’s cock—and how greedy Ron was for his too. Now that Mitch had it in his mouth, he wanted as much of it as he could get. What should he do with his teeth? What should he do with his tongue? The reaction-impressions he saw in Ron’s thoughts provided feedback and Mitch tried to figure out ways to make the experience feel better for his friend.

Mitch felt something sputter to life in Ron’s head, and he realized something similar was now unavoidable in his own body too. Gonna cum, they warned each other simultaneously.

But Mitch ignored the warning and stayed clamped to Ron’s cock as it slid along his tongue. Ron did not back away either. Who began to orgasm first did not matter, because one’s orgasm pulled the other’s into full bloom and they were cumming together. A new flavor—not pleasant at all, bitter—burst across Mitch’s tongue, and he realized this must be Ron’s cum he was tasting. But he did not have time to take in the specifics because his orgasm made his eyes clamp shut and his body shudder as it took over his entire being.

Soon, too soon, Mitch’s body went slack and he fell back. Ron did too, panting, “Fuck! ... That was so good!”

The taste of Ron’s load was still in Mitch’s mouth. Spitting it out seemed rude, and where would he spit anyway? He forced himself to swallow. Bleeh. Mitch felt Ron’s mind probing around that thought, maybe comparing their impressions of how the other tasted, but Mitch did not want to think about that, not yet anyway.

Ron rolled away, bounced to his feet, reached for his T-shirt. Mitch worried that something was wrong; was Ron having regrets, running away, about to kick his ass? But Ron said, “Hurry up and get dressed. We’re going to my house so we can do this again!”

Again? “Fuck, yeah,” Mitch whispered.

They ran most of the way to Ron’s house, usually a half-hour walk but far faster today. One would run on ahead while the other hung back, testing—Can you hear me, what am I thinking?—the limits of their mind-speaking. Their thoughts could touch at distances of up to nearly a block. Within that space, they could tell what the other way thinking, and saying it back made it more real, made all of this more real to them.

When they reached Ron’s house, they had about an hour remaining before one of his parents returned. Ron ran up the stairs to his bedroom, Mitch following closely. There, clothes were shed, and naked bodies smacked into an embrace and fell onto the bed.

Each’s horniness in their connected minds fed the other’s, arousal spiraling impossibly higher. Their cocks were so hard they hurt, begging for relief. Mitch had one overwhelming desire. While Ron’s cock had tasted so good earlier, Mitch wanted to try more, something that would cement this new stage of their friendship. He wanted to try it, while they still had the hard-ons and the opportunity. Mitch said, “Will you let me fuck you?”

“An hour ago, I’d have punched you for saying that. But as horny as I am, I’m willing to try just about anything.” Ron retrieved a bottle of the lotion he used for jacking off, passed it to Mitch, rolled onto his back on the bed, lifted his legs in the air. “I saw on the Internet,” he explained, “that this way makes it easier the first time.”

Mitch, caught in an intensity that he could not fully understand, crawled between Ron’s legs. He covered his cock with lotion. That slickness always felt good when he was jerking off, and logic suggested it would help a dick as big as his slide into Ron’s ass. Mitch squirted more lotion on his finger and reached down between Ron’s legs in search of his asshole. Fucking was something else Mitch had never done, and he felt a sudden uncertainty that he tried to mask as tenderness, though he realized Ron probably knew the truth and felt equally apprehensive. He worked the finger and lotion around Ron’s ass, tried to push into the tight bud. In porn vids, that seemed to be all that was needed: squirt lube on a finger, stick it between a guy’s butt cheeks, and then stick the dick in there. Those guys were experienced professionals, though, so Mitch worried that Ron would need more preparation first. Maybe he would need to use more lotion. Ron’s ass cheeks were round and smooth and hard with muscle, but the flesh quivered lightly against his hand. Ron tried to push his ass against Mitch’s finger, and finally Mitch got the idea of what his friend was looking for. He could not stop himself now; he had to learn everything he could about Ron’s body.

Ron was quivering and moaning, pressing his ass even more against Mitch’s finger, grinding against it. “Stop teasing me,” Ron panted. “I don’t want to shoot until you ...” Instead of words, images told Mitch what Ron wanted: Ron wanted Mitch’s cock inside him.

Mitch had never fucked before, but like sucking an hour before, the mechanics seemed simple. The only way to learn was to try, he decided. All that was left now was to scoot his hips closer, take his lotion-slicked cock in hand, and push it home into Ron’s puckered asshole. But something seemed amiss. Ron’s ass seemed clamped shut. How was Mitch supposed to get his dick inside? “Help me, Ron.”

“Tell me what you need; I’ll do it.”

“Move back to me, Ron. Move back. That’s it.” As he was coaxing his friend to grind his asshole back at him, Mitch pushed forward with his stiff dick. This was trickier than it looked on videos, where the big-dicked porn stars just poked their penises right in and sank all the way to the base. Mitch was aiming blindly, in a way that just was not working. “Come on, Ron. Spread your cheeks. I can’t get my cock in.”

“Okay, Mitch. Make it fast. I can’t wait to feel that stiff dick in me.”

Both boys were surprised at how intense their emotions felt—passion, arousal, a dozen things too mixed-together to identify. But neither felt fear or reluctance. Everything that remained was some flavor of pure lust.

Mitch felt along the crack of Ron’s ass again until his finger found the tight hole. Ron gasped as he felt the lotion-slick digit press into his virginal spot; even this slim intrusion into his ass needed some adjusting on his part. Mitch felt Ron’s mind light up with multiple thoughts: the physical discomfort of being penetrated, the thrill of experiencing real sex for the first time, curiosity about how getting fucked would feel, a small amount of shame at being the one getting fucked, but a desire to do this with Mitch, for Mitch. Ron gritted his teeth. Mitch worked his finger around in a slow circle. Could he reach into Ron’s mind and make this better for him? Ron had hinted that he had influenced their friend Scotty, so could Mitch do the same for Ron? Mitch probed deeper into Ron’s head, sliding past the thinking parts, until he found an area that reacted mostly to the physical stimulation, the part that seemed to interpret impulses as pain. Mitch worried at it a moment, found a way to quiet it. Ron sighed and relaxed.

“You ready for something bigger?” Mitch asked.

“Yeah, I’m ready now, Mitch.”

“Let me hear you say it.”

Ron hesitated. “Fuck me. Fuck me, Mitch.”

That was the go-ahead signal Mitch could not ignore. He reared back just a little so that he could get his dick pointed in the right direction. He pushed forward, felt his cock-head press at Ron’s sphincter. Where was instinct when he needed it, Mitch wondered. Or was that the answer?—Forget what he had seen in videos and just do what instinct demanded? With a grunt, Mitch suddenly lunged all the way forward. He groaned again, heavily, as he felt the first wild sensation of his cock-head piercing through Ron’s asshole. Ron’s eyes went wide, and he yelped: “Aaaaah!”

“Does it hurt, Ron? I don’t want to hurt you.” But Mitch could not, would not, stop now, not when he and Ron had come this far together. Mitch tried to find that pain-processing spot in Ron’s head again, to calm it, but his thoughts kept slipping.

“Don’t stop, Mitch,” Ron grunted, huffing through the pain. “Keep going. I can take it. The pain’s supposed to fade soon. Let’s do this!”

One more deep breath and one more heavy lunge, and Mitch felt his shaft start to slide right in, moving easily on the greasy slickness of the lotion.

Ron grimaced and sucked in a breath and moaned loudly: “Whooooah!”

Mitch fumbled in Ron’s mind again for that place that processed pain, and this time he found it, lit up like a beacon. As he pushed more of his cock into Ron’s ass, Mitch probed the place and worked at it quickly, muting it down to almost nothing. He wanted Ron to feel no pain, only pleasure. He bent forward and said to his friend, “Ron, I’m going to fuck you so good. I’m going to fuck you right up a wall. Fuck you until we both cream a river. You want that, too?”

“Yeah, Mitch,” Ron panted. “I want that. More than anything.” Now Ron’s eyes rolled, and he seemed to be enjoying the sensations. “More. Gimme more of your meat. Fuck my ass, Mitch. Fuck me.”

“It doesn’t hurt?

“It did. Now it feels great. Keep going.”

Knowing he could tweak his friend’s mind was a rush that Mitch filed for further consideration later. Right then, he needed to push his cock in deeper, because getting more of his dick into Ron’s ass, fucking that ass, was the most important thing in the world. Mitch wanted to stay like this forever, but he wanted, needed, to fuck, and fucking involved motion—in and out. So, okay: motion. Mitch pulled back, until only the tip and a bit of shaft remained gripped in his friend’s ass. He pushed down once more, sliding in, pulled halfway back, and then went down again. Clumsy at first, too stop-and-start, he figured out quickly that the good sensations felt even better when he kept moving, found a steady pace.

Soon he felt he was fucking like a champ. Being close friends who were able to tell what the other was thinking offered unexpected advantages: They needed little time to find a compatible rhythm. Asshole and cock were moving back and forth as if they had been doing this together for years.

Mitch decided to try varying his strokes. Ron had been straining his face up to watch Mitch fuck him, but suddenly he threw his head back and arched his body off the bed. Mitch felt Ron’s mind flare up with a lightning jolt of pleasure. “Fuck!” Ron declared. “Do that again!”

What exactly had he done?—Mitch tried to remember. He had been pumping his hips just like he had done for the last minute or two, and then he had tried ... The prostrate! he realized—his dick must have found Ron’s prostate. Mitch had heard about that from videos. He tried to replicate the thrust. No, that did not seem to make Ron’s nervous system light up. Maybe this angle? No? Or this one? Mitch tried to remember exactly where the prostate was; they had studied that in biology class a while back. Let’s see, Mitch assessed, Ron’s on his back, and the prostate is in front of the rectum, so it’s above my dick, so if I—

“Fuck!” Ron swore as another burst of pleasure went off inside him.

Found it! Mitch congratulated himself with a smirk.

Ron’s cock bounced against his stomach; he grabbed it and stroked it. “Oh, man, I gotta cum!” In just a few seconds, Ron’s body was bucking and his mouth was a silent O of ecstasy and his mind—I’m cumming!—was abuzz with an orgasm that obliterated all thoughts. His load of sperm spurted out onto his chest and belly and hand. Mitch had never felt anything like the chain of sensations Ron’s climax initiated, and the clamping of Ron’s ass-ring around Mitch’s cock-shaft sent electricity down into Mitch’s balls, through his body, and he felt his own climax begin. He threw his head back and hollered his bliss at the ceiling. He knew he should pull out his cock out, but instinct overcame him and instead he drove his cock all the way into Ron’s ass and held it there as he shot and shot and shot.

When his balls were spent and his whole body went limp, Mitch fell onto the bed alongside Ron. He was starting to register the full impact of the new step they had taken in their lives, and it overwhelmed him. Mitch pushed his head in and nibbled at Ron’s neck, which made Ron chuckle drowsily. The intensity of his ejaculation and all the happy brain chemicals released by a good orgasm had Ron falling asleep. Mitch could see it happening in Ron’s mind, the way certain parts were fading down, and he yawned, suddenly aware that Ron’s descent into sleep was pulling at him too. Maybe just a short nap, he told himself ...

But suddenly something awakened him. Groggy, Mitch needed a moment to process it, and then he realized. That sound was the garage door opening—one of Ron’s parents was home! Mitch stumbled off the bed, adrenaline snapping him fully awake now. He shook Ron’s arm. “Wake up!—Somebody’s home!”

“Fuck!” Ron swore, rolling to the floor and fumble-scrambling for his clothes.

Later, as he began his walk the few blocks farther to his house, Mitch wished they had had time to take a shower. He feared his father and brothers would be able to smell the sex on him, though Ron assured him otherwise. They knew their friendship was going to be completely different now, because of the sex and the mind-talking, and both would take some getting used to.

Mitch walked slowly, so he and Ron could stay in mental contact for as long as possible. Mitch brought up the obvious question: What about Scotty?

Ron responded, Listen, we took to this easily, so we’ll be able to make it easy for Scotty too. I bet we can persuade him.

Mitch was not sure whether Ron meant the sex or the mind-talking. He chose to assume the sex. I dunno. Scotty won’t always say what he really thinks. He might be willing but think he has to say no—or he might say yes even though he doesn’t want to.

Ron sent back, Then maybe we’ll have to work him into it, a little at a time, kind of natural-like, before he knows what’s happening. With both of us working on him, how can he say no?

Again Ron’s thoughts held a hint of pushing Scotty to agree. Mitch was not sure he liked that idea. He sent back a thought with a warning tone: Scotty won’t go for something he ain’t prepared to do.

We could arrange it like a little surprise. You know. Let him kind of find us at it. Like he caught us in the act. Then when he sees what we’re into, he can make up his mind if he wants to join in or not.

That plan seemed more promising to Mitch. Yeah. I guess that might work. Either way, we’ll have to make sure he knows he’s still our friend, whether he joins in or not.

Sure. We’ve been friends too long for this to get in the way. Besides, if he wants to miss out on all of this—Ron’s thoughts carried mashed-together impressions of the mind-talking, the sex, and Mitch’s large penis, and Mitch felt himself blushing—well, that’s his problem.

Mitch felt himself reaching the limit of their range. His connection to Ron’s thoughts faltered. But we gotta play it cool, Ron. Promise me. Play it cool.

We will. Just promise me this won’t be the last time. Another impression of them naked together in Ron’s bedroom and Mitch’s erection.

No way, man. I enjoyed it too much. I want as much of your ass as I can.

Know what, Mitch? How about next time we can turn it around, and I fuck you. Only fair, right? I’ll show you how good it—

I’d like that, Mitch thought, but distance had already broken the connection to Ron’s mind.