The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher & Craig

Part 84: Dessert.

“Chris,” I said as we walked back into the house, “Why don’t you go upstairs and soak in a nice long bath while I clean up down here?”

He pulled me by the wrist into his embrace. “Why don’t we go upstairs together? Leave the dishes for tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t want to have to wake up to this. It won’t take me long.” I kissed him. “I promise I’ll be worth the wait.”

I waited until Chris climbed the stairs to jog down the hall to the kitchen. This had been some night. I was so stupid to give Alan that suggestion that he had to call and come over tonight. How could I forget about the dinner party? When he’d called I had to do some fancy talking to keep him from showing up here.

I picked up the kitchen extension and dialed his number. “You can come over now.”

While I waited for his arrival I tidied up the kitchen, loading the dishwasher, and generally straightening up from dinner with Nick and Mike. Chris had done something underhanded to Mike tonight. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what it was exactly. But Mike wasn’t having an allergic reaction. I had been here long enough to recognize the signs. He was reacting to some sort of post-hypnotic suggestion.

I could hear Alan’s car in the driveway, and I didn’t want him to ring the bell, so I was standing with the door open when he reached the house. He wore a sweatsuit and running shoes.

“Hi, Alan. Been to the gym?”

He grinned. “No, I was dozing in front of the TV when you called.”

“No hot date tonight?” I led him into the den.

“No. I really wanted to see you.” Something was different about him. He walked to the couch.

“Have a seat,” I said. That was it! No swagger!

We settled ourselves and I leaned forward. “Did you have a good day at work?”

He fidgeted, twisting the ring on his finger absently. “It was ok.”

“What did you want to see me about?”

Alan spun the ring faster on his finger. His eyes darted around the room.

“ Relax, Needledick.”

Alan wavered for a moment, then lapsed into his relaxed state. That was a good sign. It was getting easier to put him under, which meant it would be easier to teach him a lesson.

“Alan, let your mind and body relax. Breathe in and out slowly and evenly. Remember you must always speak the truth to me. How was your day today?”

“Ok.”

“I noticed when you walked in here tonight you seemed to be missing your swagger. Is everything really okay?”

“Uhhhhh.”

He was fighting me. “What happened this morning when you woke up?”

He didn’t reply.

“Alan, you must answer my questions. And your answers must be honest. Understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Now, what happened when you woke up this morning.”

“Something’s wrong,” he said cryptically.

I glanced around. “What’s wrong?”

“My cock.” He faltered.

“What’s wrong with your cock? Has it gotten bigger?”

“Uh-uh.”

I was grinning. “Has it gotten smaller?”

“Uhhhhh-huh.”

“Really? How much smaller?”

“It’s small.”

“How small?”

“Real small.”

“I imagine it is small. In fact, even as we sit here tonight talking your cock is growing smaller. Did you know that, Alan? Since you came here tonight your cock has grown smaller. Your cock is now the smallest cock of any grown man on the planet.”

I let him absorb that. “It’s time for you to repeat after me, Alan. Remember that everything you say when you feel this relaxed is the absolute truth. So you must believe it because you know it is true. Understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Repeat after me. My cock...”

“My cock...”

“Is now...”

“Is now...”

“The smallest cock in the world.”

“The smallest cock in the world.” His lips were trembling.

Was it possible he’d actually cry over this? Maybe I’d gone too far? No! He’d admitted last night how badly he treated me. I hadn’t gone far enough at all. I was going to hit him where it hurts.

“Say it again, Alan, altogether. And once you’ve said it it will become the absolute truth.”

“My cock is now—” his voice broke “—the smallest cock in the world.”

“Great! Alan, you will not understand why your cock has suddenly shrank so much in size, but you fill find that your pants have become way too big to accommodate such a small cock. The next time you see your cock you will see it for it’s true size—the smallest cock in the world. Understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Tomorrow night I’m going out. You could probably come here in the afternoon. Call me early tomorrow to set up a time. Understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great. 1...2...3.” I stood up. “Alan, I hate to rush you out, but I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

He rose, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his gray sweatshirt. “Okay. I’ll call you.”

“Sounds good.” I showed him out and shut the door. I sagged against it, smiling at my reflection in the foyer mirror. I wish I could see the look on his face when he next saw his cock. I began to laugh. These really short sessions with Alan were a little more rushed than I would like, but they were turning out to be a lot of fun. Not that that was why I was hypnotizing him.

I sighed. The dinner party was cleaned up, and hypnotizing Alan had been like icing on the cake.

Chris!

I raced up the stairs into the bedroom. His clothes were in a heap on the floor. I walked to the bathroom door. He was standing at the vanity, a towel wrapped around his waist, fussing with his hair in the mirror.

“Nice towel,” I said, giggling.

He turned with a start. “How long have you been there?”

“Just got here. So, what do you feel like doing?”

“Well,” he said slowly, “I was thinking about that the entire time I was in the tub. And I think you’re going to like what I came up with.”

I was grinning. “Really?”

Chris nodded. “Why don’t you take off some of those clothes? We don’t want to get you overheated.”

I began unbuttoning my shirt. Overheated? That’s what he did to Mike!

Chris stood behind me and helped slide the shirt off my arms. Suddenly he grasped my wrists and snapped handcuffs on them!

The cold metal snapped against my wrists, biting into the flesh. My cock was already on the rise.

Chris spun me around. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been restrained. I think it’s time to remind you who’s Master around here.”

He steered me backward toward the bed and gently pushed me back on the mattress. He flipped my shoes off my feet, then unfastened my pants and pulled them down my legs.

My handcuffed hands were digging into the small of my back. I wriggled on the bed, trying to get more comfortable.

By the time Chris had my briefs off my dick was pointing at my chin, stiff as a board. I wanted him inside me.

Roughly he crossed my ankles and bound them tightly together. With each jerk of the rope I felt more alive. Why was it that when Chris tied me up I felt more free? I couldn’t explain it; I didn’t even want to try. I just needed him to touch me.

“Fuck me,” I moaned.

“What?” he asked.

“Fuck me, Master. Please.”

He rolled me over and climbed up on the bed. He began kissing the back of my neck. I could feel him enter me. Pleasure mixed with pain as he worked himself against me, his hard cock inside me. I was his and I loved him.

Just as he was about to shoot he whispered in my ear, his hot breath against the side of my face, “Cum.”

We climaxed together, sweating and panting. I didn’t want it to end.

To be continued in Part 85...

Christopher & Craig

Part 85: Honorable Discharge.

Saturdays are usually my favorite day of the week. We sleep in, spend a restful and easy day, and then go to Leatherman’s Club for Mike’s weekly show. This morning when I awoke, however, all I could think about was the car that had been parked on the street until Mike left. What if that had been the person who was sending the threatening letters to me?

Craig roused himself beside me in the bed. He was smiling.

“Good morning, Master.”

I chuckled. Though it had become more of a pet-name than anything else at this point, Craig almost always called me Master after I’d tied him up. He really enjoyed being bound, and it made for some deeply satisfying sex.

I rolled out of bed and untied his ankles, purposely tickling the soles of his white-socked feet. He squirmed on the bed, but didn’t try to pull away. I retrieved the key to the handcuffs and freed his hands, massaging his wrists. He leaned his head against my chest, his hair soft against my skin.

“Go ahead and shower,” I said, kissing the top of his head.

He scooted out of the bed and into the bathroom.

Hours later, after we’d both gotten ready and eaten breakfast with Wade I decided to give Andrew a call. Apparently his behavior on their date last night had been a little too militant for Wade’s taste. I offered to have a talk with him. It was obviously time for Andrew to get out of the Army, or the Army to get out of Andrew. Whatever.

Wade decided it would be awkward for him to be here when that happened, so he talked Craig into a trip to the mall. I also suspected that with Christmas approaching he wanted to get in some quality shopping.

At 15:00 Private Brooks showed up at my door in his new uniform of boots, camouflage pants, and olive T-shirt, wearing sunglasses. He was carrying a shoebox under his left arm.

I invited him in and we sat in the den.

“Shine your shoes.”

Andrew immediately slipped into his suggestive state. One thing about this military persona—he followed orders!

“Private Brooks, remove those boots!” I barked.

“Sir, yes, sir!” He bent and unlaced the black military boots. He pulled his feet from them, displaying thick black socks. He sat back on the couch. I suspected if I checked he’d be wearing military issue boxers under his camouflage pants. He had really become a living G.I. Joe from head to toe. If he hadn’t been involved with Wade I probably would’ve explore how much was fair in war with him...

“Andrew,” I said, “Private Brooks is now fading back into your mind. He can only return if you wear your military boots again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

In effect, what I had begun doing with Andrew was the exact opposite of what most therapists would do. Whereas the usual goal is to integrate the personality, I was technically inducing multiple personalities in Andrew—for practical purposes creating a form of dissociative identity disorder in him. The twist was that his personalities were governed by his footwear. Fitting, given his job as a shoe salesman.

Sometimes you have to stop and appreciate the irony in life.

And sometimes you want to wrap up with the cute shoe salesman so you can get to the paperwork on your desk.

“Andrew, when you arrive home today you will pack the boots along with all of your military clothes away in the back of your closet.” I got up from my chair and picked up the shoebox he’d carried in. What had he brought me to play with this time?

Inside the box was a pair of brown suede western boots, size 11. I set them on the floor beside his feet.

Interesting that all of his choices thus far had been boots. Bootboy would be in heaven.

“Andrew, what type of boots did you buy?”

“Cowboy boots,” he replied.

A cowboy. Now that had possibilities. But what exactly would make a good cowboy?

I sat there daydreaming about Andrew in a pair of leather chaps and a hat, lassoed.

Not that. At least, not yet...

“Andrew, in a few moments you are going to pull on your cowboy boots. And you will begin wearing them whenever you aren’t at work. When you wear your cowboy boots the part of your personality that is grad school student Andrew Brooks will fade into the background. You will adopt the personality of the cowboy who would wear these boots. You will dress like a cowboy, walk like a cowboy, and talk like a cowboy. You will retain polite manners, like any good southern boy: full of charm and a twinkle in his eye. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Oh, one more thing. Cowboy Andrew will treat Wade with respect. He will court Wade and behave like a southern gentleman. Do you have any questions?”

“No, sir.”

I picked up the military boots from where he’d left them, deposited them in the empty shoebox, and closed the lid. “Put on your cowboy boots.”

I watched as he wedged his feet into the boots. They looked nice on, and the two-inch heels would add height. I imagined they would look even better without the ridiculous camouflage pants.

“When you awaken you will go home, shower, and dress for tonight at the Club. 1...2...3.” I smiled at Andrew. “So, tonight should be fun.”

He nodded. As he got to his feet he took a moment to steady himself on the new higher heels. “See you tonight,” he said, scratching his head.

I handed him the shoebox. “Don’t forget these.”

“Thanks, Christopher.”

Two hours later Craig and Wade traipsed into the house laden down with bags from the mall.

“Wade hast GOT to get his license,” Craig announced, walking to the couch and flopping on it.

I glanced up from the computer screen at my desk. Wade was smiling at me, his eyebrows raised in hope.

“We’ll work on teaching you to drive after Christmas.”

Wade tossed a bag on my desk. “This one’s for you.”

I looked inside. Green silk.

“I saw it and thought it screamed your name.”

“Thanks. I’ll wear it tonight. And I think we’ll see a change in Andrew’s wardrobe tonight, as well.”

Wade happily left the den.

“I like to shop. I really do.” All I could see was the top of Craig’s head from his position sprawled on the couch. “But Wade is a lunatic at the mall.”

I walked around the desk. “He’s a kid, Craig. He missed out on his teen years hanging out at the mall and shopping with Daddy’s credit card.”

Craig batted his eyelashes. “Really, Daddy?”

“Shut up.” I put my hands on my hips. “By the way, you had a phone call while you were out.”

“I did?”

“Yes. Alan Jacoby called.”

Craig sat up on the couch. “He did?”

“He said he needed to see you.”

Craig kicked off his sneakers.

“Craig, what have you done?”

“Chris, look at my white socks.”

To be continued in Part 86...