The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher & Craig

Part 88: Old Sayings.

I learned an important lesson last night: suggestions can be much stronger than I thought. I have to be more careful with my wording. Chris left me tied to that chair until this morning. I admit it; I screwed up.

Not that it was all bad. I mean, watching Chris sleep in the bed while I was cold, uncomfortable, and so fucking horny I didn’t know whether to cry or beg did suck. I couldn’t even make that part of it sound good by remember that I was tied up just like I always said I wanted to be. I never really got that saying “Be careful what you wish for” ‘til about four o’clock this morning. I had what I wished for—my Master had tied me up—but I would’ve traded ever seeing rope again for lying next to him in that bed, his arms wound around me.

This morning, after he took the sock out of my mouth, I did manage to get him to blow me. Not that it really took long. I had been ready to cum for about twelve hours. Chris untying me and carrying me to the shower was all his idea—and I was loving the romance part of him washing my back.

But my newfound appreciation for the power of suggestion didn’t let Alan off the hook. If anything, the longer I sat there, the rope wrapped around my naked skin, my cock pulsating hot in the cool air of the bedroom, the stronger I wanted my suggestions to take hold of Alan’s life. After all, I owed him a lot.

A lot of payback.

Alan had skated through his entire life using people and dumping on them. Now that I knew how to fix that, I was going to balance out his karma. I was sure there was a list of people who would be glad to know that Alan Jacoby had turned over a new leaf.

If I was looking for karma points of my own I could turn him into a selfless giver who went around playing Good Samaritan, helping those in need while sacrificing his own desires for the greater good. “Charity begins at home.” Not my home. This was more a house of revenge.

Chris decided he should get some errands done this weekend and left the house early. So I called Alan and invited him over for lunch.

I wasn’t planning to serve food.

What’s that saying? “Revenge is a dish best served cold?”

I liked that one a lot. I needed to remind myself to be cold about what I was doing to Alan. It was a little hard to see him sitting helplessly on the couch in the den while I told him all these terrible things about how his dick was shrinking and all the girls he ever slept with had been extremely disappointed in his performance. Alan prided himself on his sexual prowess. I remembered one time in high school when he told me that when I was ready to be with a girl to just ask him anything I needed to know because sex was such a major part of his life he wanted me to be able to benefit from his experience.

Bastard. Show-off. All he wanted to do was brag about how many girls he’d been with.

But he still had those puppydog eyes.

It’d serve him right if I turned him into a puppydog. Shoot, even now that Chris had freed me from being his slave, when he put that leather collar on my neck I became a helpless dog.

That was a lousy idea though. Who’d take care of a stray like Alan? I’d have to find him a Master if I made him a dog. And then I’d have to do a lot of explaining to Chris.

I busied myself straightening up the house while I waited for him to get over here. Things were going to be so much better when spring semester started and I had more to do to fill my days. It was one thing when I had been a mindless slave; now I was bored while Chris was at work! And, anyway, I did want to take some classes and meet some friends. Male friends. Cute male friends who were easily hypnotizable. You know, the kind of guys who had hot bodies and not a whole lot going on upstairs who wouldn’t really notice if they lost a few hours during the afternoon while they were sucking and fucking...

Okay, so that part probably wouldn’t fly with Chris. I can still dream, right? I laughed to myself. Last time I needed Chris out of the way I’d left him staring at his own socks. I could always do it again if I wanted to have friends over...

The doorbell rang.

Oops. Wait. No problem. I was the only one home. That hadn’t happened much since Wade got here.

I jogged to the front door and opened it. Alan’s beard had started to fill in and his hair looked unwashed. If my goal had been to make him unattractive, I’d be a rousing success. But what fun would that be? Letting his looks go was one thing, letting his life go was another!

I invited him into the den and put him under.

“Needledick, you look like hell!” I said.

He didn’t dispute it.

“You have to start taking better care of yourself. Shave, do your hair, all that stuff. Understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How’s that Needledick of yours? You been remembering all those girls you’ve disappointed over the years?”

“Uh-huhhh.”

“Your pants probably feel pretty baggy to you. You still wear those boxers of yours?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Not anymore. You don’t need boxers. Men with big cocks wear boxers to give themselves room. That Needledick of yours needs something that offers some support. Today after you leave here you’re going shopping, Needledick. Do you know what you’re going to buy?”

“Uh-uh.”

The kind thing to do would be to instruct him to start wearing briefs. I had a sudden flash of Alan in high school teasing some kid about wearing tighty-whiteys. I wasn’t feeling all that kind.

“You’re going to buy women’s panties. They can bee as plain or lacy and pretty as you want. But you’re going to buy ten pair of women’s panties and you’re going to begin wearing them everyday. What are you going to buy?”

“Women’s panties.”

“That’s right. What will you do with them?”

“Wear them.”

“Right. You’ll wear women’s panties. And you’ll do it because you need smaller underwear for your Needledick. You’ll know that other men have large cocks and balls and need the room boxer shorts provide. But you’ll know you’re too small even for briefs. You’ll have to shop for women’s panties for yourself!”

He was trying to shake his head.

I really hated that even after all these times of putting him under he was still finding some bit of will to fight me with. “Needledick, you wear women’s panties! Say it. Say it because it’s the truth!”

“I... wear... women’s... panties.”

“Say it again!”

“I wear women’s panties.”

“That’s right. The next time you come here you’ll be wearing women’s panties. And you’ll have yourself fixed up. Understand?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Now get shopping. 1...2...3."”

To be continued in Part 89...

Christopher & Craig

Part 89: Tuesday Pen Pal.

Andrew was leaning against the house, dressed in blue jeans and a suede coat when I pulled into the driveway. I parked the car and got out.

“Hey, Christopher,” he said.

“Andrew, what are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Nobody home.”

Craig and Wade must’ve gone out. I unlocked the door and let Andrew in ahead of me. He sauntered casually into the den.

Great ass. He sure knew how to wear jeans.

Stop that, Chris! Wade was seriously interested in him. No coveting thy brother’s boyfriend’s ass. I was taking liberties with the wording of that commandment. I wasn’t ever going to have the problem with a brother’s wife, now was I?

There was a note on my desk from Craig; he’d gone to the grocery store. No mention of Wade. I glanced through the mail—mostly junk; and one plain white envelope.

This was becoming a regular thing on Tuesdays.

I tore open the envelope. Stop your experiments with Mike or suffer the consequences.

“Bad news?” Andrew asked.

“Huh?” I had forgotten he was here.

“You look like you got bad news.”

“Shine your shoes.”

Andrew slipped into his trance and momentarily out of my hair. I wanted Andrew as a friend; I didn’t want to have to explain to him that I was receiving threats in the mail due to the fact that I had been hypnotizing the pizza boy.

Something strange was going on here. Why did the letters only concern the pizza boy? He was hardly the only guy I was hypnotizing, or the one I had done the most with. I needed to talk to Mike. Maybe he had a clue to my mysterious penpal.

But first I had to do something with the hypnotized cowboy in my den.

“Andrew,” I said,” how do you like being a cowboy?”

“It’s good, sir.”

“Good. You will continue being more and more like a cowboy. You will walk and talk and act the part of a cowboy. If you need some inspiration why don’t you stop by the video store on the way home and see about renting some old westerns for research. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. When I count three you will decide to leave here immediately. 1...2...3.”

Andrew opened his eyes. “I better get going.”

“Well... If you have to,” I said, ushering him out the front door. “Bye!”

I dialed Mike’s Pizza Shop. I was in luck; he answered the phone.

“Mike, it’s Christopher. How soon can you get a pizza over here?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Damn if that boy wasn’t ringing the doorbell in nineteen minutes.

I hurried downstairs, my clothes changed, carrying my shoes.

Punctuality was a terrific trait in a boy.

I opened the door and he entered. Automatically he kicked off his sneakers.

Meanwhile I dropped my shoes on the floor and stepped into them.

“I’ve been gonna call you.” He handed me the pizza box.

“It’s been a few days, Mike. How are you?”

He shrugged. “Good.”

“Queer Pizza Boy. Anything new happening in your life?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Really? What?”

“Last night Nick gave me a handjob.”

Well, well, well. Things had become physical.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good boy. You enjoy physical contact with Nick. He is your ideal man. You not only need to picture him to cum, you become erect whenever you think about or see Nick. And you want to touch him and be touched by him.”

There was a tremendous bulge in Mike’s khakis.

“Mike, I was under the impression Nick is openly gay. Do his friends know about him?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Do they know about you?”

“They know we’re friends.”

“Do they know you’re gay?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Are you gay?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you have sex with women?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you want to have sex with Nick?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is Nick a man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“When a man has sex with a man, is he gay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Since you want to have sex with Nick and you’re both men, are you gay, Mike?”

Pause. “Yes, sir.”

“Are you gay, Mike?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Repeat after me, Queer Pizza Boy. I’m gay.”

“I’m gay.”

“Again.”

“I’m gay.”

Mike had finally experienced a breakthrough. If this were therapy I’d pronounce him cured and send him on his way. His denial of his sexual identity had ended.

Of course, he did have that penchant for exposing himself in front of men. That ought to buy him a few more months on my couch. I wasn’t about to broach the whole he-wasn’t-gay-before-he-delivered-pizza-here aspect.

“You’re a good boy, Queer Pizza Boy. You’ve finally realized you’re gay. Now, do you know Nick’s friend, Marty?”

“We’ve met, sir.”

“What do you know about him?”

“He’s Nick’s best friend.”

“But he doesn’t know Nick’s gay?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Does Nick have any other secrets?”

“Sir?”

“Do you know anything about Nick that you should tell me?”

“Nick likes to wear spandex, sir.”

Ah. A fetish. Nick seemed to be living a double life. The problem with those is that inevitably the two worlds collide at the most inopportune time.

Don’t ask me how I know.

“Do Nick’s friends know?”

“I don’t think so, sir.”

“Okay, Mike, since you’re gay you will pursue your physical relationship with Nick. You will want to touch him and be touched by him. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mike.”

“Yes, sir?”

“If you find out anything different or strange about Nick, let me know immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Cum, Mike.”

His body shuddered.

“You’re a good boy, Queer Pizza Boy. 1...2...3.”

Mike opened his eyes. I handed him a twenty-dollar bill.

“Have some fun after work, Mike.”

He grinned. “Thanks, Christopher!”

As he turned to put his sneakers on he seemed to notice the cum in his pants. He grimaced.

“Something wrong?” I asked innocently.

His cheeks reddened. “Oh. No! I better get back to the shop.” He jammed his feet in his sneakers and left. “Bye, Christopher!”

To be continued in Part 90...