The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher & Craig

Part 18: Bootboy

I had just finished pulling on my leather boots when the doorbell rang. I let Mitch in and waited for him to remove his boots. His jeans and T-shirt were again skin-tight.

Once he was settled on the couch I gave him his trigger. “Polish your boots. Mitch, how do you feel?”

“Good.”

“That’s good. You look good too. You certainly look different. You came here the first time as a macho cop. Tonight you came here as a total fag. That’s quite a change! And while I would just keep up with the progress we’ve been making, there are certain things you must be trained to do. You know you must always be honest with me, right, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you wear spandex today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me about it.”

“When I got dressed for work today I had spandex on under my clothes.”

“Did anybody know?”

“No, sir!”

“How did you feel? Did you feel good in the spandex?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. That’s good. You like tight clothes that show off your body. That’s why you wear such tight jeans and T-shirts. Are you wearing spandex now?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. You will continue wearing spandex under your clothes, Mitch. In fact, you will go out tomorrow and buy more spandex. You will visit a sporting goods store and buy bicycle shorts, swimming speedos, and even one of those one-piece wrestling outfits that boys wear. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” “You feel good when you wear your spandex, don’t you, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s good. Keep wearing it. The more you wear spandex, the more you’ll want to wear it. Soon you won’t be able to remember not wearing spandex. I want you to breathe in and out. Relax, Mitch. Let my words fill your mind. You don’t have to think. My words become your thoughts. It’s so easy for you to listen. And to obey. You want to obey, don’t you, Mitch?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you want me to force you to admit who you are?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you want to stop coming here?”

“No, sir!”

“Good. But if you’re going to keep coming here you need to learn a few more rules. Do you have any idea what a bootboy is?”

“No, sir.”

“Really. Well, let me tell you what a bootboy is. A bootboy is a boy who worships boots. Makes sense, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Of course it does. Now, do you remember when we talked about dogs and how they have an owner?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Bootboys have owners too. A bootboy’s owner is his Master. His Master takes care of him. And in return the bootboy serves his Master. Do you understand so far?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Breathe in and out. Mitch, I want you to think of shiny black leather boots. Picture them in your mind. Can you see them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aren’t they the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen? So shiny. So beautiful. Aren’t they?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to reach out and touch those boots? Feel the smooth, cool leather?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Wouldn’t it excite you to smell the leather? To be close to them?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Would you like that?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You would like to be a bootboy?”

“Yes, SIR!”

“Say it. And as you say it know that it’s true.”

“I would like to be a bootboy.”

“Not everyone can be a bootboy, Mitch. You have to earn the right. So you want to try?”

“Yes, sir!”

“You once told me you would like to have a master who takes care of you. Do you still want that?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Than I will teach you to be a bootboy. Would you like that?”

“Yes, sir! Please, sir!”

“Get down on your knees, Mitch.”

He immediately got off the couch and dropped to a kneeling position.

“Now ask for what you want.”

“I want to be a bootboy, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir! Teach me, sir!”

I suddenly felt very powerful. Mitch Driver was on his knees begging me to make him a bootboy. How many men were there in the world who desperately wanted to serve other men and please them and fulfill their every desire but were unable to accept their own feelings and desires? How many men would make perfect boys with just a bit of training? How many of them would never even realize they had changed, never notice the differences in their behavior, never remember not being slave to a Master’s cock? Mitch would do anything I asked at this very moment. And soon I would own all of him. Time to train him...

I stood in front of him. “Look at my feet, boy. See those beautiful, shiny boots?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aren’t they exactly like you pictured in your mind? Don’t you want to touch them, to feel them, to smell them, to be close to them?”

“Yes, sir,” he moaned.

“Do you know how to worship boots, boy?”

“No, sir.”

“You must first clean boots before you may worship them. Do you know how to clean boots?”

“Polish them?”

“Polish your boots. Relax even more, Mitch. Breathe in and out. Even more relaxed than ever before. A bootboy cleans and polishes boots with his tongue. Wouldn’t you like to do that? Wouldn’t you like to polish my boots with your tongue?”

“Yes, SIR!”

“Polish them.”

Mitch Driver, police detective, former marine, homophobe turned fag, lie prostrate on his stomach, lapping at my boots with this tongue. He tackled them with a determination and ferocity that surprised me. My cock throbbed against my thigh. This was incredible to watch. I didn’t generally get off on boot worshipping, but Mitch’s surrender to me was making my own head spin. I would have fun with my own slave later. For now I just watched the single-mindedness with which he tackled polishing my boots and reveled in the control I had gained over him in such a brief time.

After a short while I decided to stop Mitch. It wouldn’t do for his mouth to be torn apart the first night.

“Kneel, boy.”

Mitch stopped cleaning my boots and got back to his knees. I looked at my feet. My boots were spit-shined and gleaming. “You did a pretty good job, boy. And you’ll get better with practice. Would you like to practice?” “Yes, sir.”

“I thought so. You know what you are, Mitch? You’re a bootboy. Say it.”

“I’m a bootboy.”

“Again.”

“I’m a bootboy!”

“Yes, you are. Do you remember what I told you a bootboy has? Whose boots does a bootboy worship?”

“His Master’s.”

“Yes, that’s right. And whose boots did you worship?”

“Yours.”

“Do you know who that makes me? If a bootboy worships his Master’s boots and you’re a bootboy and you worshipped my boots, who am I?”

“My Master?”

“Right! I am your Master. And you willcall me Master from now on, won’t you, bootboy?”

“Yes, Master.”

“You’re a smart boy, bootboy.”

He looked at me happily from his kneeling position.

“Mitch, when is your next day off?”

“The day after tomorrow.”

“Good. Tomorrow night you will return at the same time. I’ll plan a big night for you. But we’ve done enough for one day. Once again, when you awaken you will remember only that I taught you more about hypnosis. But your subconscious will retain all knowledge of you as a fag, a dog, and a bootboy. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Sit on the couch.”

He did.

“Remember you have to go shopping tomorrow to buy more spandex, bootboy. You want to show off your body. 1...2...3. And I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Mitch licked his lips. “Is it that time already?”

“Yes.” I led him to the door where he put his boots on. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

To be continued in Part 19...

Christopher & Craig

Part 19: Christopher’s Fantasy

The next day was Wednesday, and to combat the middle of the week rut I decided to devote the early evening to restoring slave to his previous look. I bleached his hair blonde again and gave him back his earring. He stood before me in my bedroom in a wifebeater and cutoffs and socks, looking remarkably unchanged after his week as Craig Matthews. I was about to put him under when the doorbell rang.

I looked at my watch. 7 o’clock. I had been so sidetracked by slave’s return that I forgot about my appointment with Mitch.

Mitch seeing Craig would be bad. Slave seeing Mitch might not be the best situation either. So I improvised.

“Lie on the bed, slave.”

As he got into position the doorbell rang again.

“Freeze your body. Can you get off the bed?”

“No, Master.”

“Good. Freeze your tongue.”

I closed the bedroom door and hurried downstairs. In the foyer I quickly composed myself and swung open the front door. Mitch looked concerned.

“I was worried something had happened,” he said.

“No, not at all. I was in the middle of a phone call. Come in.”

Mitch stepped in, took off his boots, and smiled.

“Polish your boots.”

Mitch’s shoulders lowered as he relaxed.

“Remove your jeans, Mitch.”

I watched as Mitch stepped out of his jeans and dropped them to the floor.

“Briefs too, boy.”

He slid them quickly down his legs, revealing a tight speedo which left nothing to imagination.

“I see you’re wearing spandex again today. That’s a good boy. The more you wear it, the more your desire to wear it will grow. You like wearing spandex, don’t you, boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Mitch, your right hand is no longer controlled by your body. It is as if it has its own mind and its own will. Your right hand is drawn to your cock, Mitch. It is drawn there and it will stroke your cock continuously. It’s already starting. Do you feel it?”

His right hand was stroking up and down, up and down, along the bulge in his speedo. His cock was obviously standing at attention.

“Your hand will continue to stroke up and down until I tell it to stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes, sir, what?”

“Yes, sir, Master!”

“Good, bootboy. But there’s one more thing. You are not allowed to cum. Do you understand? You may not cum. Say it.”

“I may not cum.”

“Bootboys may only cum with permission from their Masters. Say it. And as you say it it becomes reality for you.”

“Bootboys may only cum with permission from their Masters.”

“Do you have permission to cum?”

“No, sir, Master!”

“Right. Follow me into the den.”

In the den Mitch sat in his usual place on the couch, stroking himself slowly.

“Mitch, as you stroke yourself I want you to picture all the men you’ve been looking at. Picture their strong legs...their flat abs...their chiseled chests...their ripped arms...their strong backs... Imagine how sweet it would taste to kiss their lips...how hot it would be to hold them...how horny it makes you feel to be with them...”

Mitch’s hand was stroking faster and his expression was more intense. He moaned softly.

“Do you feel it, Mitch? Building inside of you? Wanting to get out? You need a man, don’t you Mitch? You need a man to kiss and to hold and to be with.”

“Yes, Master,” he moaned.

“You need a man to suck, don’t you, Mitch?”

“Yes, Master.” He was breathing hard.

“You need a man to fuck.”

“Yes, Master. Please, Master.”

That was unexpected. He was asking for it. Amazing. “You may cum, boy.”

He shuddered as his cock erupted. A stain grew on his speedo.

“You may stop stroking now, boy.”

His hand returned to his side.

“Mitch, only your Master can tell you when to cum. I can also tell you when not to. You must obey me. You know that, Mitch. Say it.”

“I must obey you.”

“Right. You want to obey me.”

“I want to obey you.”

“Yes. I tell you when you can and can’t cum. Soon I will tell you when you may or may not have an erection. Then I will own your cock, bootboy. And once I own your cock I will own you. You’d like to be owned by me. I know you would. Say it and know that it’s true.”

“I’d like to be owned by you.”

“In the bathroom you will find what you need to clean yourself up. Leave your speedo in the trash and return here. Go.”

I crossed to my desk and retrieved Mitch’s leather collar. It was time to test his training. He had tomorrow off, and technically I could keep him all night. But I really wanted to get back to my slave upstairs. I had decided over the past week to allow Craig a bit more freedom, and I wanted to give it back to him. In the meantime I had two boys in the house under my control. This was a fantasy I wanted to explore.

Moments later Mitch swished back into the room, in his shirt and socks, clean and ready.

“Take off your shirt, Mitch. Kneel.”

He did.

I fastened his collar on. “1...2...3.”

Dogmitch looked up at me. I patted his head. “Stay.”

I walked upstairs to my bedroom with Slave’s collar in my hand.

“Unfreeze, slave. Stand up and undress.”

He stood beside the bed and removed his cutoffs and wifebeater.

“Briefs, too.”

He slid them off.

I latched the studded collar around his neck and guided him to the floor. “Here, boy.”

Dogcraig followed me on all fours downstairs to the den. When he saw Dogmitch he began to growl.

Dogmitch barked. Repeatedly.

“Quiet! Both of you.”

They stopped.

“Dogcraig and Dogmitch you are to make friends. Very soon I will allow you to play together. But not tonight. Tonight is for me.” I kicked off my shoes, then unzipped my pants and let them drop to the floor, stepping out of them. I sat in my chair and propped my feet on the coffee table, crossing them at the ankle. “Here, Dogcraig.”

He scampered over and sat on the floor beside the chair.

“When I remove your collar you will pay no attention to Dogmitch. You will be able to think of only one thing, and that is of servicing my cock. Your every thought will be of blowing my cock. There will be nothing else in the world for you. Do you understand?”

He barked.

I removed his collar and slave dove for my cock. He pulled it through the fly in my boxers with his lips and immediately began licking and sucking me.

“Here, Dogmitch,” I said, enjoying the attention slave was giving me.

Dogmitch sat on the other side of the chair.

I stroked his hair. “Dogmitch, when I remove your collar you will worship my socks. It’s a lot like worshiping boots. I want you to sit at my feet and sniff every part of my socks, rubbing your nose over my toes, taking in as much as you can. Do you understand?”

He barked.

“You will pay no attention to Dogcraig. The only thing in the world will be my socks. You must worship them.” I unlatched his collar. “Good boy. Go.”

Mitch sat at my feet and began to caress them with his face, sniffing and kissing them. He ran his tongue over the sole of my right foot and sent a shiver down my spine.

Or maybe that was Craig, finding new ways to use his tongue on the tip of my cock. I sat back and watched these two boys, stripped to their socks, worshipping parts of my body. I could feel the familiar tension building through me. I gasped as my cock erupted in Craig’s mouth. He drank every drop. And Mitch continued to lavish attention on my socked feet. I sat there, riding it out, feeling as though I were living a dream.

After Craig had licked me clean and my breathing had returned to normal, I got to my feet.

Mitch followed them to the floor and continued rubbing his nose up and down them.

“Relax, boys. Both of you kneel.”

I pulled on my pants and stepped into my shoes, then sat back down. “Craig, you may go upstairs to my bedroom and dress.”

He stood and left the room.

“Mitch, you are becoming terrific at worshipping socks. You’ll make a great bootboy. But you Master doesn’t like hairy boys so it’s time for you to get a haircut. Tomorrow morning you will go to the barber shop and tell them you want a buzzcut. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. You will then return here. Put on your shirt and go to the foyer and finish dressing.”

Mitch pulled on his T-shirt and headed down the hall. I followed him. I wondered if he would miss the speedo on his ride home.

Once he was dressed I counted to three. “So I’ll see you tomorrow, Mitch?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. Only instead of looking embarrassed, this time he smiled. He stepped into his boots and laced them.

“Goodnight, Mitch.” I let him out and closed the front door.

Slave was standing on the steps watching.

Time for more fun.

To be continued in Part 20...