The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher & Craig

Part 62: Saturday.

Saturday was a bright, sunny morning that looked like the start of a clear, cold weekend. It brought news good and bad.

The good news was buried deep in the morning paper—the disappearance of Donald Sullivan, though not a closed case, was no longer being actively investigated due to a lack of evidentiary support of foul play. It would appear that Mr. Sullivan simply packed a few belongings and took off for parts unknown. Well, the article was almost correct. Mr. Sullivan had been packed up and relocated to parts unknown. I mean, my basement hardly qualified as a typical vacation spot.

The bad news came in the afternoon mail. A plain white envelope, addressed in block letters was mixed in with the requisite bills and junk. I tore open the envelope and shook out its contents. A 4x6 photograph was all that was enclosed. That was odd. I looked more closely at the photo. It was of my den. Mike was seated on the couch, in profile, and I was in my chair. The picture had apparently been taken from outside the window.

It suddenly seemed difficult to breathe.

This photo was sent as a message. Somebody was aware of my work with Mike. Damn! I had been careful. How did this happen?

Questions were bubbling up in my brain in rapid succession. Who sent the picture? How had that person discovered what I was doing? And what did they hope to gain? The police had apparently not been contacted, since no one had appeared with a search warrant. Therefore it seemed safe to assume the sender planned to blackmail me.

That thought grew less comforting the longer I ruminated on it. I could deal with a blackmailer though. That is, if I could talk to him. Or her. It didn’t have to be a man, I realized. I stared at the photo. I had worn that blue shirt on Tuesday. This was only a few days old.

If somebody had managed to find out that I’ve been hypnotizing men, did they know about the other men involved? Would Donald’s “parts unknown” be published in tomorrow’s paper as my basement? And what about Wade? He was nearly ready to leave here. Why was Mike the guy in the picture? Could it be somebody who knows him? His girlfriend? His roommate?

Slow down, Chris. You’re making yourself crazy.

“Craig?” I called. “Craig!”

I crossed to the kitchen. Craig opened the door from the basement. He wore jeans, a sweatshirt and sneakers. There was a towel around his neck, and his hair was covered in goop.

“I’m re-bleaching,” he said by way of explanation, glancing upward.

I nodded. No matter how far his apparel evolved from his slave state, Craig was a blonde boy now. “Were you working with Donald?”

“He’s working out.”

“Where is he in his training?”

“Physically? He’s ready to fight. He’s prepared mentally to be a boxer. I mean, I haven’t changed anything about him other than that. Well, and he’ll do anything I command.” Craig looked sheepish.

I exhaled. “We have a problem.” I displayed the photograph.

He took it from my hand. “What’s this?”

“It came in today’s mail. Somebody’s been watching the house.”

“What do you want to do?”

“We need to wrap up Donald and Wade and get them out of here ASAP.”

Craig nodded. “And Mike?”

“I’d stop altogether, but if I leave him the way he is now his life will be ruined. That addiction of his has been getting out of control. I can’t just leave him like that.”

“Donald’s not ready either. If we let him go he’ll tell people where he’s been and what he’s been doing. I mean, he’s still Donald. He’s just been working out instead of beating Wade.”

Craig pulled a chair from the kitchen table and swung a leg over it, straddling the back. “Can we figure out where the picture came from?”

“I’d be willing to bet whoever sent it gets in touch.”

Craig looked grim. “You think whoever sent this knows about Mitch?”

I cringed. I hadn’t even thought of that. “And we’re supposed to go to Leatherman’s Club tonight!”

Craig smiled. “I know.”

“This is a mess—”

Craig’s watch began to beep. He pressed a button and it stopped. “I’ve got to go rinse. I’ll be back in a few.”

He stood up and paused to touch my cheek. “It’ll be okay.” Then he hurried down the hall to the stairs.

“It’ll be okay,” I repeated. Maybe. But it was going to take a whole lot of hypnosis to get there.

* * *

It was Saturday night again and that meant one thing: Mike had a show at Leatherman’s Club. I was so not in the mood for a night on the town after the day’s events that I can’t describe it. Wade had been invited to a party with a few of the neighborhood guys who had befriended him. Which was good on many levels—he was out in the world, functioning as a normal teenager, and he was out of the house in case my not-so-friendly neighborhood photographer returned.

I changed into my leather pants, boots, and a crisp white shirt. I glanced in the mirror. I looked pretty good for a guy with these problems.

Craig emerged from the bathroom, still fussing with his hair. It was blond and spiky, though a bit longer than usual. He looked adorable in his slave clothes—a tight T-shirt and cutoffs up to there. Truth be told I would much rather stay in with him.

But Mike had a show tonight and I needed to show my support. He had been having a rough time of it lately and watching him strip publicly was the least I could do. The things I do for friendship... I drove to the Club and parked around back. The front entrance had been packed, with men lined up waiting to be allowed in. I knocked at the door to Leatherman’s office.

Bootboy answered the door on his knees. He was naked. Apparently Leatherman had stepped up his workouts because his muscles were bulging. His pecs and abs rippled as he knelt before me.

“How may I serve you, sir?”

I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed his body until I saw it again.

“How are you, Bootboy?”

“Good, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Craig followed me inside. He smiled at Bootboy. I wondered if he was thankful he wasn’t that type of slave. He was probably just admiring his body.

It was then I saw Bootboy’s backside. Or rather the sole of his right foot.

I bent down to examine it more closely. Tattooed in big bold letters: Property of Leatherman.

That did it.

“You like that, don’t you?” Leatherman’s voice said behind me.

I turned. “I specifically told you no tattoos or permanent markings.”

“How else will the world know he has an owner?”

“That’s the point. Men are no longer legally owned. Do you know the trouble this will cause?”

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, Christopher. In a few more days he’ll be able to walk again.”

“A few days! I can’t believe you found somebody willing to tattoo the sole of his foot.”

“You transformed him from a cop to a slave and you can’t believe that?”

“Don’t be idiotic,” I snapped. “There’s been a threat to the whole operation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Somebody’s on to us.”

“About Bootboy?”

I grimaced. “About the kind of work I did with him.”

“Who?”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be here talking to you about it. But if trouble starts he’s going to have to be released from the rest home that Mitch Driver is currently checked into, if you get my drift. And that stunt of yours on his foot could be a disaster!”

“Oh, no!” Leatherman wagged a finger at me. “You told me I have a year with him at least. There’s no way you’re taking him back early.”

I knocked his finger out of my face. “Leatherman, leave us. I need to speak with Bootboy.”

“He belongs to me, Christopher.”

I glared at him.

“I’ll check the bar.” Leatherman stalked out to the club.

“You’re mad,” Craig stated.

I nodded.

“That’s not good.”

I nodded.

“What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see. Go out to the club. Have some fun. I’ll be out soon.”

Craig paused. “Okay.”

Bootboy was kneeling before me, staring vacantly.

“Polish your boots.”

He pitched face first to the floor.

Oops.

“Mitch—Bootboy—can you hear me?”

His voice was faint. “Yes, sir.”

I took a breath. I hadn’t intended to put Mitch under tonight. But Leatherman had just complicated an already tenuous situation.

“You have a new assignment this week, Bootboy. You are going to study your Master. You will note every word, every gesture, every motion, every action. You will remember the tone of his voice, his manner of dress, his walk, and his attitude. You will learn as much as you can. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will soak it all up like a sponge. But you will not tell your Master what you are doing. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. 1...2...3.”

Bootboy pushed himself up to his knees. He looked at me for a moment. “How may I serve you, sir?”

“While you’re down there, give me 20 push-ups.”

Mitch’s arms flexed as he began the set. His back and shoulder muscles undulated with each push-up. Was it getting warm in here?

He completed the set and returned to his kneeling position.

“That was...very nice, Bootboy. Go upstairs.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Bootboy crawled out of the room.

I walked to the wall of televisions. Craig was dancing in the middle of the floor. He looked really good. He was drawing the attention of the men around him. That’s my boy.

On another screen I saw Leatherman approaching the office.

The door opened.

“Where’s Bootboy?”

“Upstairs.”

“What did you do to him?”

“Asked how he’s been treated. Leatherman, you need to tone this down.”

“He’s a slave; he can take—”

Wrong answer. “Don’t touch my ass.”

Leatherman stopped talking.

“Don’t touch my ass,” I repeated.

His eyes slid shut.

“Leatherman, can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

Time to teach Leatherman a lesson in obedience. “That’s good. Because you have a new assignment this week. You’re going to study Bootboy. You will note every word, every gesture, every motion, every action. You will remember the tone of his voice, his mannerisms, his walk, and his attitude of subservience. You will learn as much as you can. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You have your work cut out for you, Leatherman. 1...2...3.”

Leatherman blinked. “What?”

“I said, isn’t it about time for Mike’s show?”

Leatherman nodded. “Just about.”

I strode past him and out into the club. The music was throbbing. The place was packed tonight. Craig must have been watching for me, because he was at my side immediately.

“Chris,” he said directly into my ear, “Mike is looking for you.”

I nodded. I made my way through the throng of men to the stage area and slipped backstage unnoticed. Mike was alone in the dressing room.

“I heard you were looking for me?”

He turned at the sound of my voice and smiled. He looked radiant. This was a new outfit for him, too. He was clad from head to toe in sailor whites.

“Christopher, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I told you I’d be here. How was your week?”

He frowned.

“Queer Pizza Boy, how was your week?”

Mike slipped under. “It was okay.”

“Tell me about it. Did you talk to Stephanie?”

“Yes, sir. She doesn’t believe I’m not gay.”

“So she broke up with you?”

“No, sir. She wants to straighten me out. She says I need a real woman to set me straight.”

Poor, deluded girl. Even if Mike wasn’t being hypnotized regularly into becoming a gay stripper addicted to cum, the love of a woman wouldn’t straighten him out. “It will be interesting to let her try. What about Nick, did you see him at all this week?” Mike’s face lit in a smile. “I followed him to college on Monday. He goes to his professor’s office after class. He’s some kind of Research Assistant or something.”

I nodded. “Any news on his sexuality?”

“No, sir. But he was acting kind of different this week.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Just different.”

“Okay, well, what about you. Are you getting enough cum?”

“No, sir. I can’t jerk off enough.”

“Is there anything else that happened this week that you should tell me before you awaken?”

“Yes, sir. A man asked me if I want to be in a movie.”

“What kind of movie?”

“A porn movie. He’d pay me to have sex with some guys.”

“Where did you meet this man?”

“Here. He saw me last week and called the club.”

“Are you going to do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are?”

“Yes, sir. Maybe I can get some cum.”

More than likely he was going to be humiliated when the movie hit video store shelves. Which, for a boy like Mike, could be interesting. To be continued... “When do you make the movie?”

“This week. They shoot Wednesday to Friday.”

“You’ll tell me about it afterward. It’s time for your show tonight. Remember to find out more about Nick this week. 1...2...3.”

Mike bent and tied his polished white shoes. They were gleaming. He looked really good like this. Maybe I needed to get Craig a sailor suit? Craig!

“Break a leg, Mike. I’d better get out front.”

The music became increasingly deafening as I reached the club. I sought out Craig on the dance floor. He pressed himself against me. I spoke directly into his ear.

“When we get home tonight why don’t we get out some rope and get a little crazy?”

Craig threw his arms around my neck. “Yes, Master!”

To be continued in Part 63...

Part 63: Back to the Barn.

Mike’s show had been worth the trip. Seeing him strip out of those sailor whites down to a black thong had improved my mood tremendously. Mike’s routines were beyond what I had taught him, he had grown as an artist. Despite Leatherman’s stupidity the evening had been enjoyable. And what I had in store for him would serve him right for his behavior.

Wade’s bedroom light was on when I pulled into the driveway. I wondered how his party had been. But I didn’t want to see him right now. I didn’t want to deal with the boxer in my basement or the stranger who had apparently been lurking outside my window recently. There was only one person on my mind tonight. Craig.

I shut off the engine and opened the car door.

Craig climbed out of the passenger’s seat and started up the walk.

I stepped up behind him and tugged his arm.

“What?” he asked.

“This way,” I whispered. I led him around the house to the backyard. Craig followed wordlessly.

We reached the barn and I flung open the doors.

“What are we doing out here?” Craig asked.

I shushed him as I closed the doors, shutting out the moonlight. I reached for the light switch. Two bare bulbs cast a dim light over the space.

“I saw you on the dance floor tonight.”

“You did?”

I nodded. “Every guy in that club wanted you. But you’re mine tonight.”

Craig returned my grin. He was watching me as I moved toward the BMW. I opened the trunk and pulled out a length of rope.

“I think it’s time I took your hands out of the game.”

Craig’s eyes widened.

I pressed my mouth to his. Craig’s kisses always tasted like the kiss of a lover rather than a slave. That excited me. I backed him against the wall.

I stopped kissing him and forced him around, flat against the wall. I pulled his arms behind his back and wrapped the rope around his wrists. I knotted them tightly. He wouldn’t be using his hands tonight.

“Do you like that?” I asked, spinning him back around.

“Yes, Master!” The pale light reflected off the gleaming teeth in his grin.

I pinned him against the wall, kissing him passionately. I didn’t care about the ropes. And I didn’t care about the game we were playing. I wanted him in the worst way. Watching Bootboy’s muscles, and Mike’s strip show, and countless young slaves and Masters tonight had me aroused before we’d even left the club. Now was my turn.

I reached for Craig’s cutoffs. I unbuttoned them and tugged them and his briefs down his legs. His cock was pointing straight in the air. I dropped to one knee and pushed the shorts completely off his legs.

I came up behind him and nuzzled the nape of his neck. Craig moaned softly. “Yes, Master.”

I eased him down to his knees. I opened my leather pants and slid them down. My cock was ready for attention. I pulled down my boxers.

Craig stared intently at my cock. Then his tongue darted out and circled the tip.

I shivered.

He teased my cock with his tongue, driving me further and further toward the point of no return. My body ached to climax. I wanted to stay like this forever.

And then my cock erupted, shooting cum into Craig’s mouth.

My entire body was covered in sweat as I stood there, being licked clean by Craig. There was no one I would rather be with at that moment.

I pulled up my pants and fastened them. “Your turn,” I said.

Craig looked surprised.

I crossed to the car and retrieved another length of rope.

Craig remained on his knees, waiting.

I returned to him, and pushed him backward. He sprawled on the floor of the barn.

I grasped his ankles and wrapped the rope around them, knotting it securely. I didn’t want to run the risk of the knots coming loose.

I stood and dragged Craig by his feet into the middle of the barn.

He lifted his head, craning his neck to see what I was doing.

I pulled a metal hook over to Craig’s ankles. I looped the rope around the rope which bound his ankles, then hooked it to the knot. I walked a short distance away and began to pull on the rope which suspended the hook from a pulley in the ceiling of the barn. I had always wondered what use I could put this to. Now I knew.

I heaved my weight against the rope, yanking Craig up slowly from the floor, first his ankles, then his legs.

“Master?” he asked.

I was sweating harder. My cock had also begun to lengthen again.

I pulled at the rope. Now Craig’s back was off the ground. I kept pulling. His head lifted off the floor. He was swinging in midair—several inches off the floor, his hands tied behind his back.

I wrapped the rope around a huge hook on the wall and knotted it.

Craig spun slowly around, his T-shirt drooping down his chest, his bare midriff, legs, and cock exposed in the cool night air.

I sat directly in front of him. “Do you like that, Craig?”

“Master?” he repeated.

I reached up and took hold of his hard cock. I pumped it several times.

Craig gasped.

I teased his balls a bit. He was here until I decided to let him down; I might as well make it last a bit.

I got to my feet. Craig’s socked feet were just above my face. I reached up and tickled them gently.

Craig squirmed, flexing his feet.

I spun him around a few times. The rope naturally spun back around. I stopped him; I didn’t want to make him too dizzy to enjoy himself. His face was growing redder as the blood rushed to his head.

I decided it was time to pay attention to his other head.

I stroked his cock playfully.

Craig’s chest rose and fell, his breathing quickening.

“Are you ready, Craig?”

“Please, Master,” he gasped.

“Cum.”

Craig’s body shook violently as cum shot onto the floor.

I walked to the wall and unknotted the rope from the hook, gently lowering Craig to the floor. Once his back was on the floor I jerked the rope back up, keeping his legs straight up in the air. I reattached the rope to the hook.

“I think you should stay here awhile, Craig.”

“Yes, Master!”

I knelt beside him. “You’re a good boy, Craig.”

I stooped to kiss his mouth.

He looked me directly in the eyes. “I love you, Chris.”

To be continued in Part 64...