The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For the Master wears his black leather well.

He wears tall harness boots, and tight leather pants, and his heavy black vest shows his broad hairy chest. He wears a wide studded belt with a dark iron buckle, and a large biker’s cap for his shaved shiny head, and a jacket of black and glistening cold metal.

For he is a very powerful Leather Master, he is. And he cuts a commanding image, he does, when he stands towering above you, peering down at you with his stern face, shaved dome, and pepper gray goatee.

Look up at him and see – as he pulls his black leather glove over his hand and then snaps the hide tight. And his dark beady eyes are staring deep inside of you, and he can see right through you, for he is a Master who can seduce your will and plunge you into the deepest hypnotic sleep. He is a Master who will control your thoughts. He is the Master who will make you obey.

Surrender yourself into his power, you will, for you will not know how to resist.

And on your Master’s belt hang the tools of your submission: your slave collar, studded and heavy, and your leash made of chain at the ready, and a thick leather hood for your head, with two rough cut holes for your eyes oh so empty, and he even carries a paddle, a thick leather-made paddle.

For the Master will teach you to sing.

But . . .

But when he’s dressed for a simple Sunday church social, he does not seem nearly so commanding; no, he looks much more like an ordinary man. In his plain wool slacks and formal shirt, he’s just a tall, shaved, good looking man with a strong build and goatee. His eyes, however, can be just as piercing as he stalks his next prey.

And on this particular sunny spring Sunday, after church services were over, he was standing unnoticed at the back of the crowded vestibule and watching a scene very closely. A young woman was proudly introducing everyone to her new man.

“Hey everybody, this is Matt.”

To which there was quite a commotion: “Oh my goodness, Sheryl, where ever did you get him? He’s an absolute dream!” Aunt Rose was all atwitter, and it wasn’t the first such compliment Sheryl had received that day.

The topic of the conversation, handsome Matt, was clearly not enjoying being the center of all the women’s attention, nor happy to have to visit Sheryl’s church at all. But she had insisted he come with her: “It’s the only way my parents will ever approve of you, and it won’t hurt to come just once.”

Matt had hesitantly agreed.

And it had been a very long service; you could see it in his eyes. “He’d much rather be out riding his stupid motorcycle in his silly leather outfit than be here at our church picnic,” added Sheryl, “but it’s only for this one time.”

And the tall man with the shaved head and goatee circled in a little closer to see.

Rose looked shocked: “He rides a motorcycle? Good heavens! No wonder your parents don’t trust him!” and the two girls giggled and continued talking about Matt as if he wasn’t even there. He grimaced, checked his watch, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and looked like he would honestly rather be out on his cycle, or anywhere else on earth for that matter.

I swear – the things a man is asked to do for his woman . . .

. . . when hefty Mary Sue ran up: “What a beautiful service! The men’s choir was better than ever, don’t you think” (It’s true, the choir is something to behold.) And then Mary Sue whispered loudly in Sheryl’s ear: “Girl! This Matt of yours is cute! You’ve got a real keeper this time.” And Matt cringed. Yes, he would rather have been anywhere but here.

But everything was about to change for Matt.

This all happened at the annual church Ice Cream Social, always held in June, out on the lawn after the noon service. It’s a popular event and everyone attends, so what better way was there for Sheryl to introduce everyone to her new beau? She had ordered Matt to dress well, and to wear a tie, and to look his best, and to make the right impression.

But her mother, standing by the door, was still reserving judgment.

And Sheryl’s younger brother Jason was there too, but he never said much, just watching, always preferring just to watch. He watched Matt, and he also watched the tall man with the goatee, and Jason knew somehow that something strange was about to happen again, something that no one else ever seemed to notice.

Then there came a booming, welcoming voice into the vestibule. It was big friendly Pastor Bob. “Ho Ho!” said the Santa-like man, “who’s this fine gentleman? Sheryl has said so much about you Matt!” Pastor Bob’s smile was genuine as he grabbed Matt’s hand and shook it hard. “So good of you to join us! It’s our Ice Cream Social, and you couldn’t have picked a finer day.”

No, you could not have picked a finer day. The sky was clear and the trees were in bloom. And out on the lawn the picnic tables were all set, and the gas grill was smoking up the grounds with the smell of hot dogs and burgers, and the women had covered the red checkerboard cloth with pasta salads and potato salads and mouth watering dishes from favorite family recipes long protected.

But first, Matt would have to be the subject of Mary Sue’s camera. “Hey, I must get a picture of him!” she exclaimed, removing the lens cap, “ok everyone, get in close and say CHEESE!” Click.

Believe it or not, I’ve seen that picture.

In it you can see the whole group: Pastor Bob, Aunt Rose, the parents, Sheryl and her brother Jason, and everyone is looking happy, everyone except Matt. Poor Matt; he just seems so miserable. And look a little closer, and off to the side you can see the tall shaved man – and his eyes are riveted on poor unsuspecting Matt.

And the man finally eased forward and spoke. “Who is this?” he asked, taking Matt’s hand and offering a disarming smile, and Matt glanced up into the man’s eyes and stopped there. The tall man had Matt’s gaze and held it for a moment. A little like a snake, the Master can be most seductive when he freezes his prey. Time stops and you may not even be aware of what is happening to you.

But Pastor Bob beamed with pride. “Matt, this is our choir director. He has just done wonders with the men’s choir; didn’t you hear how beautifully they sing?” Matt nodded slowly and his gaze remained locked on the Master’s eyes.

For the Master will teach you to sing.

And the Master is so very clever that he can begin to seduce you the moment he catches your attention. The rest of the room fades to quiet as you give in to him, and you feel his warm hand around your hand, and you focus on the sound of his slow steady breathing. And your own breathing soon joins his and you begin to succumb. And your heart begins to beat in time with his. Without a word, you begin to weaken as the Master holds your attention just a little longer.

And you can feel yourself just start to surrender.

Then the choir director released Matt’s hand and Matt blinked again, returning part way to the world of the conscious. And he stumbled slightly and looked confused but no one really noticed.

No one ever noticed the hypnotist in their midst.

But of course, today everyone was preoccupied with the church ice cream social. Outside, strings of balloons already hung from the poles, and banners blew in the afternoon breeze. The Miller family had brought their puppies and the children were playing with them on the grass with squeals of laughter. The blue haired ladies had hobbled over to the fold-up table where they would hold court and gossip all day. And the volleyball net was standing ready and the teens were batting the ball around waiting for the tournament to begin.

But the Master still has his eye on Matt. See, once the Master has you in his sites, he doesn’t want to let you go.

So back inside the cool vestibule, the choir director made an unexpected suggestion. “Do you like to sing, Matthew? Perhaps you would like to join our little choir. Come. Let us talk alone for a while.”

And though the thought of singing in some church choir was the very last thing Matt might have ever considered, Sheryl saw the chance to finally impress her parents. “Yes, do! That would be great!” and she looked over to her mother who was nodding in approval. And friendly Pastor Bob was just as eager: “Why, that would be just grand!” And everyone else was just as supportive.

See, they didn’t know.

This all caught poor Matt off guard. He was still trying to pull himself out of some half stupor anyway, and now, pressed from all sides, he was being carried away by an unwelcome current of events. And he simply didn’t have the presence of mind to stop it from happening. He just looked helpless as Pastor Bob innocently placed him in the hands of the director, and firmly ushered them both through the double doors and into the hallway where the offices were. It was that fast. It was that easy.

And the pastor returned quite pleased. “Well,” he grinned, “I’m hungry for a burger. Anyone want to join me?”

And as the double doors close behind the two, the noise fades away leaving them alone, the Master with his prey, and the Master proceeds to lead his prey – down the quiet hall – and into a trance. The office wing is so empty and still, and the hallway is very long. There is no sound but the sound of their footsteps echoing against the linoleum, and the director saying: come Matthew, let us talk for a while. And the director is strangely persuasive.

For the Master is a hypnotist who is so skilled that he can put you under without your knowledge, without your consent, and perhaps even against your will. Here is a Master who can trick your mind when he chooses, tricking you into focusing on his induction which is oh so enticing, coaxing you to relax, and lowering your guard. Find yourself alone in his presence and he will easily lure you in and seduce you.

And it is a very long, quiet hallway – down the steps, past the softly humming water fountain, past the clock that is ticking so slowly and rhythmically in time with the director’s pace. And as you walk, the director speaks so gently, so pleasantly in a numbing cadence. And your mind is already spiraling down helplessly.

For before you can even respond, the Master can convince you to relax, to let go and slide into a trance. You cannot resist him, no, so relax and focus on his hypnotic commands. You will never resist him, and so just accept his words as truth, and so sink even deeper into your trance.

Past the doors, they go, past doors marked ‘Deacon’, and ‘Secretary’, and ‘Social Committee’, and Matt falls in with the Master’s pace, and his eyes are growing heavy. And other doors pass by too in steady repetition, marked with names that Matt does not see.

But just relax, Matthew, for everything will be ok.

Down to the end they go, down to the door marked ‘Choir Director’, and now Matt’s thoughts are completely disconnected and he is feeling himself floating pleasantly as if in some warm bath, and he’s feeling content, and he’s only slightly conscious that he’s no longer in control. A gentle hand and firm command from his Master sends his body gliding through the door.

And once inside the office, the choir director checks quickly up the hall, and seeing it safely empty of prying eyes, he closes and locks the door.

And no one ever suspects.

“Ok, everyone! The burgers are ready! Come And Get It!” The barbeque chef rang a dinner bell loudly for fun.

Outside, the picnic was in full swing. The volleyball games had begun, the little children were laughing and shrieking on the monkey bars, and several volunteers were already setting up the ice cream table. Everyone else was in a long line winding towards the grill, and Aunt Rose, Sheryl and Jason were in the middle, holding their paper plates with buns wide open in anticipation.

“Seriously, Sheryl,” whispered Rose with delight, “your new boyfriend is perfect. Where ever did you get him?” Sheryl couldn’t contain her excitement: “He attends the same gym as me; can you believe it! And, Aunt Rose, I’m going to keep this one!” So Rose hugged her favorite niece “Well, you’d better keep a close watch on him.” She paused long enough to accept a fresh steaming burger on her plate, and then she offered some good womanly advice: “Don’t ever let him out of your sight. You never know what trouble a man will get himself into!”

And upon hearing this, Jason looked up at the building, and stared.

Trouble, indeed.

For inside the building, Matt is now sinking further into his warm stupor, just floating happily deeper and deeper, and there is no one there to stop him, no; no one is there to help him. And although he is sitting on a cold hard, dirty floor, Matt doesn’t know, for he is floating, just floating peacefully in space.

The choir director’s office is a barren room, harsh, filled with cobwebs, and covered in grime. There’s a big heavy oak desk, piled high with papers, sheet music, and books. And there’s a swivel chair too, and some cabinets, and some strong metal hooks in the ceiling, but Matt doesn’t see.

And on one wall is a closet door, securely locked, which when unlocked, reveals the director’s secret, a trove of gleaming black leather, chains, paddles, and straps.

But just relax, Matthew, for there is no reason for concern. Just sit there with your distant eyes unfocused and that pleasant smile on your face, yes. For you are totally at peace, and only half aware that you are drifting ever deeper, unable to gather any strength to resist.

And while you are floating so happily and swaying from side to side, you find that you need to remove your tie. Reach for the knot, loosen and pull, and off it comes. And now reach for your shirt.

Matt’s arms and hands follow the director’s commands as though controlled by strings, and he is quietly unbuttoning, unsnapping, untying, and removing his clothes, his shoes, his socks, and his jocks. And he is being rewarded by pleasure as he does. And as he becomes naked by his own hands, bare, exposed, and therefore ever more helpless and small, the Master is growing. The Master is growing taller and stronger and more powerful – for the Master is donning his pride.

Look up at him and see. For your Master is now clothed in his great leather uniform of full black: boots that rise to the knees, tight leather pants, a studded belt with rings and hooks, and a heavy black vest that shows his broad hairy chest.

And now his dark beady eyes meet yours, and he peers right down inside of you, and he leers at you for a moment. And then he pauses to reach for his jacket.

But there is something about that leer that finally registers fear. It is something foreboding, almost evil, and subconscious cries at last begin to fight to the surface.

As the Master stands with his back turned away, Matt subconsciously yearns to escape. And he senses an exit, for the office has a window, a bright window to the outside world. It faces the yard and is slightly ajar, allowing sweet sounds to enter: people laughing, children playing, dogs barking. It is as though it’s coming from the other side of the universe, but it is right outside: happy people enjoying a sunny afternoon picnic, a church ice cream social. Safety. Rescue. So close. Crawl to it. Reach for it.

Yet even as you are trying to reach for the window and its hope of escape, you cannot help but focus on His voice, and concentrate on His voice, and His voice works so deep. And when your Master counts to three, your body will freeze in place, solid. Your muscles will lock and you will be unable to move at all.

Matt’s knees inch forward on the floor so slowly, and his arms feel as though weighed with sand. Trapped in some slow motion nightmare, Matt is climbing up the wall to the window. One. Through a thick fog, from the bottom of his trance, the window seems so far away yet he strains to reach for it. There are people talking outside, people who can help him. Two. Now so much closer, he can feel the cool breeze waking him, and he can hear the voices so near, people laughing outside. And he takes hold of the sill.

Three.

Ah, dear Matthew, did you really think you might escape? Your body is now frozen in mid motion, your hand locked upon the sill, your face stopped short of the window pane, and your mouth so close to the open air, so close to calling for help, so close you can almost taste it. Yet your call is frozen, never to be heard. And through the open window comes the breeze still, and the wonderful sounds of freedom, and someone shouting something about someone’s Frisbee. But you cannot move; you cannot speak, for you are now a statue.

The Master finishes putting on his jacket, adjusts his biker’s cap in the mirror just right, and then reaches across the solidified Matt and pulls the window shut. Then he pulls the blinds closed too. Matt remains a statue, frozen solid, mere inches from rescue.

So close to rescue . . .

And just outside the window, and just below: “Hey Mom! Tommy brought his Frisbee! Can we go play Frisbee?”

Most everybody else was still at the tables, munching down their potato salad, pickles and chips, but the young boys, having finished first, grabbed the Frisbee and ran down past the cooler full of sodas.

And Sheryl and her mother were there by the cooler, digging through the ice, searching for a couple diet sodas (no beer, of course; Pastor Bob would never permit alcohol at a church function). And her mother finally spoke “This Matt of yours seems like a good catch,” cautiously offering a positive judgment, “but, Princess, what about money? What does he do for a living?” A mother is always concerned for her princess.

Sheryl popped her soda and smiled: “Don’t worry Mother, he’s in a successful law firm and he’s going to become a partner. He’ll make plenty of money for me.” And with a mutual wink and a laugh, they raised their cans in a toast, and drank down their sodas. And they both looked up just as the Frisbee made a high arc over their heads.

. . . and Jason watched as it flew right past the choir director’s window.

And just inside the closed blinds, the Master also raises his drink in a toast, only his is not diet soda. No, his is a fine smooth scotch from a cherished bottle that he keeps in his desk. At times like this he enjoys the rush of an alcohol belt so he raises his glass, and nods to his prey, now lost even deeper in his trance and so very vulnerable, swinging slowly from the ceiling hooks.

For this is a Master who likes his captive bound in a black leather harness, and hanging from straps and chains, and likes seeing him there, all naked and cock erect, swaying totally defenseless in the air. And he likes to photograph his captive – just for enjoyment of it.

But he prefers for his captive to be squirming.

So just relax, Matthew, and focus on your Master’s commands. Upon his signal, you will come awake and you will not remember how you came to be tethered there. You will not remember how, just moments before, you were standing there so passively with your arms outstretched, unconcerned as your captor fastened you to the hooks. And you will not remember standing so calm with your legs spread while he secured your ankles. No, Mathew, you will remember nothing.

So now the Master raises his glass, says cheers, and downs his scotch. Then he reaches for his camera, pauses, and then gives the trigger.

And then poor Matt jumps and startles, confused. He doesn’t know how he came to be here in this strange room, totally bound in leather and yet so completely naked. Nor does he understand why his cock is so aching hard, reaching up and out so far, but he can see his captor focusing a camera on him. Click. No! He must not be photographed nude and so he tries to call out but his voice has been silenced. Click. Stunned, all he can do is twist and pull and try to turn away from the camera. Click. He has an important career and a reputation to protect. Click. He must not be photographed so naked and cock-hard aroused, restrained in leather and chains. Click. He squirms violently but he cannot hide himself. Click. He cannot hide his pounding cock and he cannot hide his face no matter how he tries. Click. And so he makes the perfect subject for his captor’s camera. Click.

Believe it or not, I have seen those pictures.

In them you see Matt in his harness in all sorts of contorted positions, and struggling desperately to hide himself, but to no avail. He is a good looking man in his own right, tall and strong, and yet so helpless. He’s pulling hard against the chains with his broad bare chest, and his muscular arms are tugging against the shackles. His legs are powerful yet he cannot yank the manacles free from the floor. And his face looks so determined, yet confused, as he struggles to escape. But the straps are holding him too tight, and so he looks real good in those pictures, bouncing cock, swinging balls, and all.

And then the Master quietly places his hand over his captive’s eyes, and with a quick turn of a phrase followed by a little deepening, his captive again slides into a nice peaceful trance, and his mind floats unencumbered by inhibitions. Click. No longer frightened or confused, click, he calmly hangs naked for the camera. Click. But Matt doesn’t know; he just poses and shows off his beautiful cock. Click.

I’ve seen those pictures too. In them Matt is swaying complacently in his restraints with his bare feet dragging the floor, happily facing the camera and exposing his balls. He does not think of trying to hide himself; no, he doesn’t appear to have any thoughts left in him at all.

And behind him in all those photos, you can see the office window, blinds tightly drawn, oh so close.

And just outside the director’s window, all the children were chanting loudly.

“I Scream! You Scream! We All Scream for Ice Cream!” The main event was just beginning as the people wandered up to the table and made their selections. Double scoops of Strawberry or a triple scoops of Cherry, sugar cone or toasted cone, sprinkles or nuts, it all tasted so good on this fine spring day.

“I always like mine plain ol’ vanilla!” said friendly Pastor Bob to the man holding the ice cream scoop.

But the Miller boy made a mess by letting his Chocolate Chip slip off his cone and fall to the ground. “Oops,” he said, hoping the grown ups didn’t see. “Here puppy, you want some ice cream?” and his little puppy lapped up the spilled desert right away before anyone was the wiser. “You’re a good dog,” said the kid, patting the pup on the head, “you’re a very good dog.”

Yes, you’re a very good dog.

You are going to be a very good dog indeed, Matthew.

So just relax and focus on your Master’s voice, and let go of your fears and preconceptions. Surrender to your Master and feel the change happen. Just let it happen. For your Master has you under his control now, and you will learn your place and you will learn your role. Onto all fours you go now, Matthew. Now stay. Yes, boy, stay there, boy.

And the Master waits in his chair and watches the transformed being across the room, sitting on its haunches with head cocked to one side, panting with eyes empty. But Matt doesn’t know. He has been reduced to a dog and so he waits patiently, with his little tail stilled.

Then the Master leans forward and speaks: Come to me, boy, yes; come now. Come lick your Master’s hand. It takes barely a moment for the command to take effect, and Matt starts crawling across the linoleum on all fours. Then the tail starts wagging and the crawl turns into a happy trot.

And he reaches for his Master’s gloved hand and nuzzles it, and sticks out his tongue and proceeds to lick, and it feels right. He continues to lick eagerly and the Master chuckles aloud. You’re a good boy, Matthew. And then the Master opens the waiting collar and places it around the small animal’s furry neck and locks it tight.

The collar is big and wide and heavy and pierced with long metal studs, and the little dog’s eyes close as it stretches its neck and luxuriates in the feel of the thick leather against the fur. Yes, the collar belongs around his neck.

You like that, don’t you boy? It helps you to know your place. You like the feel of leather on you, and now you want even more. And the Master reaches for the black hood on the desk, and holds it open and the dog doesn’t flinch, it doesn’t cower; the pup lifts its head and obediently accepts the hood.

And as your Master pulls the hood down over your head, your mind goes completely dark. Across your skull it slides, and as it fits tight, it smothers any remaining memories. Down across your face it glides, and like shade being drawn down, it closes off all last sense of awareness. The hood is then fastened and secured, and the holes in the hood now reveal your eyes and your eyes are absolutely as empty as they can be.

Feel the leather surround your skull. Feel the leather cross your forehead and face, caressing your cheeks, brushing your skin. Now just let the feeling drift away; let all awareness slip out of you. And it’s gone.

Yes, you are going to be a very good dog, Matthew. And the Master allows his hooded pet to again nuzzle and lick his gloved hand.

Good boy, Matthew.

And outside on the lawn, the Miller kid tossed a chew toy for his puppy. “Fetch, boy!” And the toy landed at Sheryl’s feet and the little dog piled right into her legs and everybody laughed hard, even hefty Mary Sue who almost spilled her Pistachio.

And Mary Sue pulled Sheryl aside, away from where all the blue haired ladies might hear, and whispered “So, Sheryl, tell me, just between us girls, is this Matt of yours good in bed?” There was a twinkle in her eyes.

Sheryl feigned shock at the question. “Why Mary Sue! I can’t believe you’d ask such a thing! And here at a church function, of all places!” Then with a playful gleam, she whispered “He’s alright. Oh, I still need to teach him what I want, but don’t worry, he’ll soon learn.” And both girls giggled the way girls will.

Then Mary Sue teased just a little further “Well, he’s so good looking and sensitive too; you don’t suppose he’s gay now, do you?” She winked at Sheryl.

Old Mrs. Grace, gossip queen of the blue haired ladies, grabbed for her hearing aid and turned up the volume just in time to hear Sheryl laugh: “believe me, Matt is definitely not gay!”

And the hysterical girls headed back up for more ice cream, up to the table right beneath the director’s window.

And just above them, and just behind the blinds . . .

. . . Matt is now on his knees, gazing vacantly from inside his hood, his eyes moving back and forth so slowly, so glazed and so empty. He is slipping even deeper into hypnosis and there is no one there to help him; no, there is no one there to rescue him.

A leather ring now surrounds his sack, holding it full and keeping his cock erect. But Matt doesn’t know. Black leather belts circle his thighs, crossing his waist, connecting to cold metal rings that connect to bands that cross his nipples and back, and reach up to his neck. There the straps connect to the collar, and then to the hood that covers his face. And through the two holes of the hood, the cur’s eyes are gazing vacantly, moving back and forth so slowly, so glazed and so empty.

For the Master is luring you still deeper into his power.

So just relax, Matthew, and let your eyes follow your Master’s cock, swinging back and forth so slowly before you, and feel yourself sink deeper. You cannot look away from him, you cannot look away from his pendulum of flesh, and you cannot resist it. And so just relax, and open your mouth – and take it in.

Matt’s mouth opens and his lips slide easily down around his Master’s cock. It’s long and wide and hard, and its head moves like silk across Matt’s tongue, and it fills the hollow of his throat. Then Matt rises up again, his lips and tongue keeping the shaft wet and slick as instructed.

Yes, very good, Matthew. Just kneel on the floor between your Master’s boots and take him in again. The Master’s boy has so much to learn, but learning that his place is between his Master’s boots servicing his Master’s cock comes first. Up; then down. Take it in deeper, all the way back. Yes Matthew. You’re learning very quickly.

And Matt’s mouth is beginning to water.

For the Master is an excellent tutor, massaging his pupil’s soft, pliable subconscious with steady encouragement: now in; now out. You like this, don’t you, boy. You want this and you will always want this. Matt snorts and moans, runs his tongue along the warm shaft, and looks up into his Master’s eyes a dreamy admission – and plunges rapidly back down again.

Oh yes, very good, Matthew. And for a long while, the darkened silence of the room is broken only by the soft slurping sounds of Matt’s sucking. And the director reaches across his desk to pour himself another scotch.

Oh, that’s good, Matthew.

But outside on the volleyball court, the teens were getting loud and careless in their fun, and the ball went way out of bounds.

The ball flew up and out, and finally rolled to a stop beneath the balloons, so Sheryl took it and tossed it back into play, and then she looked impatiently up at the director’s office window. “I wonder what’s taking them so long!” But Mary Sue reassured her with “Don’t worry; the choir director is probably just giving your boyfriend his very first singing lesson. Really, it’s a wonder what he’s done for all those men’s voices.”

For the Master will teach you to sing.

And the two women walked off to further discuss Sheryl’s new beau, and on their way they passed by Aunt Rose. “Jason!” she shouted. “Come here and give me a big hug!” Jason always dreaded his clingy old aunt.

Up till now, Jason had been standing quietly by himself with his eyes on the window at the end of the office wing, and he alone had noticed when the blinds had closed. Of the whole congregation, only Jason had an inkling of what was going on inside that room, though he tried hard not to think about it.

See, he had a reason.

Once, when he was still in school, and while working part time as the church janitor, he had discovered something. It had happened one night while he was all alone, mopping floors and dusting shelves. He had cleaned all the children’s classrooms with their walls of finger paintings and crape paper art, and then he had begun the office wing, mopping the dust from the corners. And he had come across a secret niche.

And Jason discovered a key.

Curious, he tried the key in all the cabinets and closet doors, and in the office at the end of the hall, he found its fit. The director’s closet door opened and Jason stood there staring at the secrets hanging there: the chaps, the vests, the jackets, the boots, the straps, the paddles, the collars and the leashes.

And there were things in there he couldn’t imagine their use for.

He stood there that dark evening, alone in that office, alone in the silence, alone at that end of the hallway, with one hand still gripping the mop while his other hand reached in and touched the garments in the closet. He trembled, his heart racing, as he gaped and ran his sweating hand through the clothing, stroking the hide tenderly, fondling the chains, and wondering of its effect over him. He was frightened by what he was seeing and touching and learning, and how it made him feel.

And there was a crystal pendulum hanging there too, and a cardboard disk covered with a bold black spiral. And it all made his heart pound so fast, and it made his cock rise up through his shorts so hard, but it also made him think.

He had seen so many things at the church that had seemed unexplainable and now he had a clue, though he dared not think it through. Nervously aroused, and afraid of being caught, he quietly closed and locked the closet door and returned to his work.

Jason returned the key to its secret niche.

He had not dared enter that office since.

And after that night, he had closely watched the director and his carefully chosen choir of men. Steadily, more and more were joining: Jimmy from the gas station, and Paul the police officer, and the red headed twins from the roofing company, single men all. They and others had surprisingly taken a sudden interest and had joined. And Jason had detected changes in their behavior, the way that they all became docile and submissive in the director’s presence. Yet no one else ever seemed to notice and so Jason had never spoken a word to anyone. He had just watched.

The memory of that office left him scared, and yet his mind tingled with excited, odd, unfocused fantasies of what must be happening to all those men inside.

Suddenly a bright orange Frisbee flew right past Jason, catching his attention and jarring him back to the present. It was not some dark night, no, it was afternoon, a warm, wonderful, sunny afternoon. And he was not alone; a long, line of noisy parishioners stood in front of the ice cream table beneath the window. And his Aunt Rose was still hounding him.

“Jason, your father says you’ve taken a job at the grocery;” she continued, “that’s wonderful! Here, let me fix you a bowl of Chocolate and you tell your favorite aunt all about it.” The pungent smoke from the grill still drifted across the crowded lawn as the two sat beneath the banners with their bowls of Double Dutch. And Rose pelted her young nephew with questions about his new job, and about all the girls he should be dating, not that he had ever wanted to date girls.

Yet, despite her prodding, he was allusive and his attention was elsewhere. He kept glancing back up at the office with the closed blinds and wondering. Nervous, frightened, yet strangely aroused, he only wished that he could reach up and peek inside that window and see. Just imagine what he might see.

But Rose just thought her odd nephew was being more shy than normal that Sunday afternoon, and so she finished her desert before leaving him to his thoughts, and she joined the table of blue haired ladies to gossip. And another round of volleyball began amid shouts of harmless boasting. The teens were having such a great day.

But if he could only reach up and peek inside that window and see.

Just imagine the scene that Jason would see.

For the Master has his hypnotized slave now lying across the desk.

It is a heavy old oak desk, covered with books, and papers, and piles of sheet music, and the surface is hard and flat. But Matt doesn’t know. He is not aware of anything at all, for he is but a puppet now, dressed in a leather slave’s bindings, lying back upon the cold grain with his legs raised high and held wide, with his bare ass exposed to the cool office air. His eyes face a blank ceiling and his mind is just as blank, for his mind has gone into some distant oblivion. He does not think of running and he does not think of resisting; no, he does not think at all.

So just relax, Matthew. There is no cause for fear.

And the Master now stands above you in his powerful uniform of black. He stands between your raised legs held high, and he looks straight down into your eyes and deep down into your soul where you no longer exist, and his gloved finger is carefully circling your muscle, relaxing it, relaxing it open as it has never been opened before. And then he enters.

Relax, Matthew. That’s right, just like that, relax.

And as he enters you, he speaks, and his voice reaches the dimmest recesses of your subconscious. His voice reaches the depths where his words will stay unchallenged forever. So just relax, Matthew, and let him in.

For the outside world is an unfriendly place.

You are nothing but an object to them out there, to your girlfriend, her friends, her family, and all the rest of them. It is a cold world out there, Matthew. The Master pulls himself out a little, and then carefully pushes himself in again, further this time, and there is a reassuring warmth to the motion.

The women will always treat you as a curiosity, or some kind of tool to be used, or some kind of trophy. That is all you will ever be to them. But in here you are special, for you are Your Master’s Slave. And as he speaks the truth, the Master continues to enter Matt, gently, yet steadily quicker, and Matt’s emptied subconscious is starting to register the reward.

For you belong in here with your brethren and with your Master. You belong with us here in the choir. You will join us and become one with us, and be owned for ever by your Master. The Master is pushing deeper now, past the muscle and far into the hollow, and the sensation is flooding through Matt’s body, and his body is starting to respond, squirming, and he’s crying out with pleasure.

And when you awaken, you will be glad, and you will remember all that your Master has told to you, and you will know it is the truth. Even more intense now; the Master takes a firm grip of his slave and enters much faster, with the sharp sounds of creased black leather slapping hard against the soft bare flesh. And Matt’s body is bucking wildly up and back, and from side to side, and his subconscious is totally awash in ecstasy.

For your Master will always love and protect you.

And with a final long push, the director muffles a sudden shout and grabs hard, and Matt shoots thick cum all across the desk. Matt’s cum streams once, then twice, and then yet again. And it lands all over the piles of books and papers everywhere, running freely down the music, staining the pages, lifting the ink, and blurring all the notes.

The director then collapses over Matt in a sweating, wet heap. Matthew, you are now and forever the choir director’s slave.

And outside, the balloons and the banners still blew in the afternoon breeze. The parishioners were all laughing and talking, the children were playing, and the puppies were barking. Yes, everyone was still enjoying their day, but the afternoon was getting late and the sodas were running low, and the grill was closed and cooling now. The picnic was just beginning to wind down.

“Oh, there you are!” said Sheryl. “You two men were sure talking a long time!”

Sheryl’s beau was returned to her as she stood with the pastor, and Matt was staggering and acting strangely bemused yet no one paid much attention. And when the news spread that he had agreed to join the choir, everyone was thrilled, though somehow, no one looked nearly as glad as Matt himself, who seemed almost giddy with the announcement.

And everyone gathered around and there were handshakes and back slaps and congratulations from all corners. So Mary Sue raised her camera. “Hey everybody, I must take a picture! C’mon, let’s see some smiles!” And they all moved in close. “Say CHEESE!” Click.

I’ve seen that picture taken that late afternoon in June.

They’re all there. Sheryl has a firm grip on her new boyfriend, and Jason is standing just in front. Her parents and Aunt Rose are looking on approvingly, and behind them stands big friendly Pastor Bob with his arms stretched around them all. They are one big happy family and everyone is smiling for the camera. But if you ever get a look at that picture, notice Matt: his hair is messed and his clothes are wrinkled. Yet the expression on his face is one of absolute relief.

And look at the photo a little closer and you’ll see that off to one side stands a tall man with a shaved head and goatee, but he is not smiling, and he is not facing the camera at all. No, his eyes are riveted on Jason.

Mary Sue was just putting the cap back on her camera when: “Young man,” said the director, “you look like you’re old enough now to join the choir. Come. Let us talk alone for a while.”

Jason’s mouth fell open and he took a step backwards, but his sister and his parents and Aunt Rose were immediately supportive of the idea. “Oh that would be just grand!” agreed Pastor Bob. Jason purposely looked away from the director, aware of those snake’s eyes peering at him, and he politely shook his head “no thank you sir.” But “Yes, yes!” clapped his parents, and Jason knew the unavoidable conclusion with fear, and his knees became weak, and he looked about for any means to escape from his well intentioned family.

“Go with the director, Jason. It will be good for you,” concluded Sheryl, ending all further discussion.

And Jason shrank dismayed, feeling the defeat. And then he began to feel something else. He began to feel something new, something different, a nervous excited erotic anticipation slowly rising up through him. And he felt his heart beginning to pound and his crotch beginning to respond. Just do it; go for it Jason. Then he began to shake. But no, don’t. Don’t do it. Run.

After an endless moment of confused thoughts, he glanced around at all his loving family’s encouraging, supportive, smiling faces, and he gradually gave in to the inevitable. He gave in to their best wishes, but he also gave in to his own long secret, dark fantasies, and he stuttered a “yes sir.” And hesitantly, right there, right in front of them all, and with all the courage in the world, he let his eyes drift up and glance into the snake’s gaze. And his eyes stopped there and remained frozen there. And his pupils slowly grew wide and his focus became distant.

Yet no one ever noticed the hypnotist in their midst.

So the director took a hold of Jason’s hand and led him quietly away, and Jason followed as meekly as a lamb, and as they walked, Jason was already disappearing forever into a trance.

And Pastor Bob beamed. It was turning out to be a perfect ending to a perfect day and so he went to request a third bowl of vanilla. Coincidently, he was standing just below the window when the blinds closed again but friendly Pastor Bob did not see. No, he never saw. He grinned broadly out at the yard, and at all his congregation enjoying their picnic, the warm sun, and the ice cream. And he paused to wave at the teens in their final game of volleyball, and then he savored another great big spoonful of vanilla.

The very next Sunday, to be sure, the choir will introduce two new members, Matthew and Jason, and they will both add their voices to the rest.

The director will stand before them in his wool slacks and formal shirt, with baton in hand, and the whole choir will sing the old gospel hymn ‘I am Your Humble Servant’. They will be reading from their music, the pages now crinkled and stained yellow, with ink smeared, and words blurred, but no one will notice that. No, the parishioners will simply listen in awe. And Sheryl and her parents will be so proud – so very, very proud of Matt and of Jason.

For the choir director will have taught them both to sing.

But now the sun was sinking low and the picnic was drawing to a close. Families were cleaning up, and packing up, and walking to their cars. And Sheryl, with her arms full of leftovers, suddenly remembered “Jason! He’s still with the director!” Should she go and fetch him? She glanced back and stopped. “No, he can walk home when the director is finished with him.”

So she took a firm hold of Matt, who was still acting giddy though walking kind of stiff, and they joined all the others heading for their cars. And as Sheryl pushed him into the passenger seat, he finally spoke up. “You know, honey,” and he gave her the broadest smile, “I think I’m really going to like the choir! We’re supposed to practice almost every night, and the director has ordered me to come on my cycle, and to even wear my leather!”

And yes, sure, Sheryl knew this was very odd, but she decided not to think about it. And so she, herself, took the wheel and drove them both home.

It would be a couple weeks, or maybe a little more, before Matt set her down and diplomatically explained to her that they should ‘Just Be Friends’. I never heard how she reacted, or how angry she was to get the news. But, then again, does any one of us here really care?

And now the sun had finally set, and the only one left was Mary Sue. She made a frown at her camera; there was just one shot left on the roll, so why not just use it up here? She raised her camera and took a random aim at the building. Click.

I’ve seen that last picture. In it you can see the church and the yard, and it’s dusk and the place is quiet. The balloons and the banners and the puppies are all gone. The volleyball net has been taken down, and the table for the blue haired ladies has been folded away. The grill has been rolled back against the wall. The building is shadowed, gray, and the windows are all dark.

But look closer at the picture, and at the end of the office wing you can see one window with blinds drawn, and yet there is a lamp glowing behind. The light makes a sharp shadow against the blinds, the clear image of the Master standing with his paddle raised in the air, a thick leather paddle poised high, caught frozen in mid swing.

For the Master will teach you to sing.

Yet the Master is a kind and loving Master. Dressed in his black leather from his biker’s cap down to his tall harness boots, from his tight leather pants to his heavy black vest, he has subjugated so many of the lost men. He has subjugated the men and so rescued them from their responsibilities and troubles of the outside world. He has reduced them all to mindless, obedient, harness bound slaves for their own good.

So look up at him now and see. Gaze up at your great Master in his full uniform of glistening hide standing above you, so high above you upon his dais beneath this dark cathedral of his. And worship him for you belong to him. You and all your hooded brethren bent upon your knees, Jimmy from the gas station, Paul the policeman, the redheaded twins from the roofing company, and all the rest the men of the choir, for you will all forever be in the choir director’s power.

And look again, for beside him now stands his devout assistant, also dressed in total black, a uniform of his own. And though this one’s mind wades through a trance as thick as yours, he stands above you at the Master’s side, for he has been selected as the Master’s chosen one, his personal squire. And now you will also kneel before the Master’s squire.

For the Master has always sought one that would be special, one that he could keep as his pupil to teach and train, one that could be his apprentice. He has always searched for one that he could raise up to someday become his equal – and his partner.

And he had always suspected that it would be Jason. And so he observed Jason, and studied Jason, and watched young Jason grow. But Jason didn’t know.

Then one dark night, the Master let Jason discover the closet key.

And so Mary Sue looked around the silent, twilight church yard. The pleasant afternoon memories of all the laughing picnickers still echoed in her mind, and she said aloud “Well, golly gee, this was just the best Ice Cream Social we ever had!” And satisfied, she climbed into her car, tossed her camera in the back, and happily drove away.