The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher & Craig

Part 60: Craig & Donald.

Later that night I returned upstairs to untie Craig. I needed his help. Using Donald’s ID as a guide, we drove to his address and discovered Donald’s extravagant lifestyle. His sprawling home was tastefully decorated with luxurious furniture and fine art. His wardrobe was filled with designers. And his basement was a combination gym and dungeon. Beneath the sheen of wealthy, respectable, stylish banker was an abusive sexual predator.

Using Leatherman’s truck Craig and I relocated Donald’s equipment. I had procrastinated turning my basement into a gym for years. I’d still like to mirror one wall, but there was a weight bench, rower, treadmill, and stationary bike moved in by dawn. In the corner I also set up Wade’s former cage. Donald couldn’t stay in the barn indefinitely.

I climbed the stairs to my bedroom and cast off my clothes, falling onto the bed. It had been an extremely long day.

* * *

Chris was tired after we finished setting up the basement, so he went upstairs to sleep. Wade must have slept through everything because he still hadn’t come downstairs. I was too excited to sleep, so I got a bag of supplies together and walked out the back door.

I was still sorry I had hurt my Master; he seemed to forgive me, but I would be extra careful about pleasing him. And I wanted to prove to him that I could be a Master, too.

I reached the barn and unlocked the doors.

“Good morning, Donald!” I said cheerily. “I brought you a snack. I bet you’re starved.”

“Please untie me,” he said.

“Please?” I repeated in surprise.

“Please. My legs are cramping. My cock is numb. Please.” He sounded different today, less smug.

“I’ll think about it.” I propped him up a bit and offered him water from a bottle. He drank greedily. I fed him a slice of bread. This was going to be prison for Donald; he may as well get used to the food.

After he was fed I laid him back down.

“Boxer Boy, relax.”

He wavered again. Why didn’t Chris have trouble with this?

“Let go, Boxer Boy.”

And he slipped under.

“Donald, every breath you take is making you more relaxed. Ca you feel it? You are more peaceful and more open to listening to my voice.”

I untied his cock from his feet. It was red and still hard as a rock. I straightened his legs out. The increased bloodflow probably made Donald wish his feet had fallen asleep. I had tied him much tighter than Chris was ever willing to tie me, and even after just a little while I would get pins-and-needles.

“Keep breathing in and out. You’re more and more relaxed with each breath.”

I opened the book I’d found on Donald’s shelf: The Art of Boxing. I needed to figure this out. Chris knew some about boxing, but I had never known anything about it other than that two really muscular guys punch each other. While Donald was drifting further under, his breathing becoming deep and even, I read the beginning of the book.

Wow. Training to be a boxer was involved.

But probably not more involved than training to be a slave.

There was a lot to boxing, though. And Donald was old to be a boxer! I was really skipping around the book, but there was a section on control and anger management that caught my attention. “A boxer must not lose his temper, remaining logical and in control of his fighting.... This method of channeling energy from anger into quick-thinking rather than rash reaction has been likened to the idea that a boxer must stay hard, but not cum.”

Bingo.

“Donald, can you hear me okay?”

“Yes.” His voice sounded far away.

“Have you read The Art of Boxing?”

“Yes.”

“Good. It says that a boxer must never lose control of his temper while fighting. He must use his skill to fight, never going into a rage. Do you recall reading that chapter?”

“Yes.”

“It says here that a boxer must stay hard, but not cum. So, for you to become a boxer, Donald, you must stay hard, but not cum. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“What must you do, Donald?”

“Stay hard.”

“But?”

“But not cum.”

“Right. Donald, do you think you can do that?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great! You also have to train to get into better fighting shape, Donald. Beginning today you must workout every day. You will run, ride a bike, and lift weights. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Stand up.”

His hands were still tied to his chest and he had no way to balance himself to stand unassisted. I helped him to his feet.

“Donald, you may open your eyes and stay in this happy, relaxed place.”

His eyes opened halfway. He looked like he was high.

“Donald, can you see me?”

He was squinting at me. “Yes.”

“You must always do what I tell you, Donald. You like to do what I tell you. It helps you to stay hard, but not cum. And you must stay hard, but not cum, right, Donald?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Follow me.”

I led Donald, naked and bound, across the yard to the house. He stumbled through the grass, barefoot. This was a long way from the designer suit and Italian shoes he had worn when he’d arrived here.

We walked through the kitchen to the basement door. Donald followed me down the stairs.

“Donald,” I said, “You will run three miles on the treadmill.”

He stepped on the treadmill.

I laughed. He was in no condition to run like this. But it was a good sign that he followed my instructions so easily. I couldn’t wait to tell Chris.

I untied Donald’s hands. They hung limply from his arms. They probably ached from being bound so long.

I tossed him a pair of socks and the running shoes we had taken from his house. “Put these on.”

He stooped to pull on the socks and sneakers. His numbed fingers fumbled with the laces. After clumsily knotting them he stood. His red cock stood hard and ready, sticking straight out from his body. I decided to be nice and tossed him a pair of briefs to keep his cock from bouncing too much as he ran.

Donald ran three miles, went through a weight routine, bicycled, and skipped rope. He would do this every day now, working up more and more. I watched him work out, admiring his hard body as the sweat poured off of him. He didn’t look thirty-six like this. I continued reading the book. There was a lot of work to do to make him a boxer.

After Donald had finished going through his new routine he was panting and sweating. I gave him water to drink, then took his shoes, socks, and briefs. Naked once again, I shoved him into the cage and locked it.

“Donald, you have no desire to leave here. You will follow your work out plan every day. That is the only thing on your mind. You must work out to be a boxer. And you want to be a boxer. Because real men fight. You want to be a real man. You will have to be very disciplined to be a boxer. And I will keep training you. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Remember you must stay hard, but you can’t cum. And every time I call you Boxer Boy you will return to this happy, relaxed place and follow all my instructions. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“1...2...3.”

Donald roused himself. He seemed disoriented. He focused on his surroundings. Then he grabbed the cage door.

“Let me out! You have no right!”

“Quiet, Donald. This is your new home.”

“No!”

“Yes. You’re a boxer now, Donald. You have to train. Real men fight.”

“Real men fight,” he echoed.

I bet he didn’t even realize he said it. “Yes, that’s right. Lie down and rest. You won’t be leaving here for awhile.” I turned and walked up the stairs.

To be continued in Part 61...

Christopher & Craig

Part 61: Modifying Mike.

Two weeks passed. At the end of it I was in dire need of a vacation. The highlights:

My physician—and friend—gave Wade a clean bill of health. He was in normal weight range and healthy. His bloodwork was great and he was disease-free. He had also made several friends in the neighborhood.

Craig had moved Donald into the cage in the basement. He spent his days running and cycling and lifting, preparing his body. Craig spent his nights preparing Donald’s mind.

Craig had also registered for spring semester at the college. I was pleased with that. I loved Craig, and I wanted him to constantly better himself. I also had a few ideas for fun with mind control on campus...

Andrew was busy with work and I hadn’t pursued keeping in touch with him. I was trying to scale back the number of boys putting demands on my time.

And Mike—well, Mike stripped at Leatherman’s Club on Saturdays. Craig and I attended weekly. Mike had grown to quite an entertainer. His body was in incredible shape from his running. His life, however, was a bit out of control...

A week ago he showed up at my door just after dinner.

“Hi. I really need to talk to you.”

“Come in.”

Mike’s sneakers were off immediately. He was sweating.

“Did you run here again?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve been running a lot.”

I nodded. We sat in the den. Mike was tense and fidgety.

“What seems to be the trouble?”

“I saw Marty today.”

Marty had been staying with friends since the night Mike attempted to perform an unsolicited blowjob on his high, straight friend.

“How is he?” I asked.

“Pissed.”

“Oh. Queer Pizza Boy. Breathe in and out.”

Mike settled back on the couch.

“What happened with Marty?”

“He hates me. He thinks I’m queer and I’ve been trying to suck his dick.”

“Isn’t that what you were trying to do?”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“Did he talk to you?”

“Just to curse me out. But he called Stephanie.”

Interesting twist. Stephanie was Mike’s girlfriend from the pizza shop. “What did he say?”

“She’s pissed. She wants to know why I’m sucking Marty’s dick when I’m dating her. She wants to know if I’m a fag.”

The hair on the back of my neck stood up. “Don’t use that word, Mike. What did you tell your girlfriend?”

“I said I was straight.”

“Did she believe you?”

“No, sir. She said straight guys don’t suck other guy’s dicks. She doesn’t want a fairy for a boyfriend.”

“Are you a fairy?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

I sighed. Poor guy. Mike was a straight man trapped in a gay boy’s body.

“Have you been naughty this week?”

“Yes, sir.” Instinctively Mike’s hand moved to his crotch and began rubbing slowly.

“Have you had enough cum?”

“Yes, sir.”

That was a surprise. “Really? So you’ve been jerking off a lot?”

“No, sir.”

“How did you get the cum?”

“When I really need it bad I go to campus.”

I wasn’t following him. “How does that help?”

“I hang around one of the men’s rooms. Then I ask guys if they want to be sucked off.”

I was shocked. “You what?”

“I offer to suck guys off. A lot of them say yes. We go into a stall and I kneel down and I suck them off. And I feel like a good boy again because they’re happy and I had cum and everything is good. And then I think about kneeling down in the dirty bathroom next to the toilet and blowing some strange guy’s dick and I feel bad because it’s wrong and I’ve been naughty again. And I have to ask the next guy....”

Anonymous sex in men’s rooms? What had I created? “Mike, you will not do that anymore. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He sounded uncertain, even though he knew he must agree with my instructions.

“You are not allowed to do that ever again,” I repeated. The health risk alone was enough to make me feel guilty for creating this addiction. But I had never suggested Mike look for strange men as donors. I thought it would be interesting to see how his friends would react to his attempts at seducing them.

“Yes, sir.” “Mike, you will no longer look for anonymous donors at the men’s room. And Marty is not a good source for you either. Is there anyone else in your life you might try? Any boy you find attractive?”

There was a pause. “Nick.”

“Nick?” I thought back over our sessions. Nick was one of Marty’s friends. “Tell me about Nick.”

“Nick is beautiful. He has blond hair, and he’s always tan, and he rides his bike a lot. He wears bike shorts.”

I was beginning to see the attraction. Mike had found a boy who wore spandex—now if Nick was gay this could have a happy ending for Mike.

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a theater major.”

“Really?” I shouldn’t jump to conclusions based on that.

“Yes, sir. He’s always in a good mood, too.”

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Is he gay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mike, your task for the next few days will be to work on finding out about Nick. You will try to discover what he does, what his interests are, what his sexual orientation is. As you’re doing this, you will find that each new thing you learn about Nick makes him become more beautiful to you. He will appear more flawless to you each time you think of him. You will grow to think of him as the ideal man. You will believe that he is the perfect man for you to love. He will fill your thoughts with lust and desire. You will become sexually excited just thinking of him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will also try to make things right with your girlfriend. Nick may be the perfect man for you, but you still love your girlfriend. You will call her or go to see her and attempt to straighten out your relationship. She will make you feel naughty, and you will address that. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy, Mike. 1...2...3.”

Mike’s eyes opened. He was no longer fidgeting. He seemed almost tranquil.

“I’m glad you stopped by, Mike. And I look forward to seeing you again in a few days. But it’s getting late and you’d better run on home, don’t you think?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And it sounds like you have quite a bit to do tomorrow, with talking to Stephanie and Nick.”

Mike’s eyes lit up. “Nick?”

I nodded. “Didn’t you say you were planning to see him tomorrow?”

Mike shrugged, the gleam still in his eyes. “I guess so.”

I got to my feet. “Sounds like a plan.”

Mike strode to the door and pulled on his sneakers. “Thanks, Christopher.”

“You’re welcome. See you soon.”

To be continued in Part 62...