The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher, Craig & Co.

Part 31: Sock-It-To-Him Time.

“You’re a friend of Christopher’s, aren’t you?”

From the moment I heard that question—that voice—something inside me went on pins and needles. I don’t know why. You know how sometimes warning bells go off in your head? Chris used to joke about Spider Sense. It was probably nothing. But still, something seemed off here.

I had come to Kampas to meet Alan for a drink. He was a little late and I was sitting at a table by myself. Wade was tending bar. He had a real attitude about serving me, too. Might’ve known he’d side with Chris against me.

Anyway, I was sitting watching the door when a voice behind me suddenly asked:

“You’re a friend of Christopher’s, aren’t you?”

The voice was rich; deep and resonant. It sounded like a bedroom voice, not a voice suited to a barroom. And for some reason it made the hair on my neck stand on end.

I turned around in my chair. The owner of the voice was impeccably dressed, right down to his cuff links. He looked impossibly sharp. Not to mention out of place in a college bar. His face had the rugged, weathered look that adventurous men sometimes get. His hair was neatly styled, and his eyes were soft but penetrating. Handsome as hell, but somehow he seemed dangerous.

“Christopher...?” I let the question hang in the air.

“Boldt. Are you or are you not acquainted with him?”

“We’ve met,” I allowed.

The man’s eyes dropped to my feet, then bore into my eyes again. “I see,” he said with a mirthless smile.

“Should I know you?” I asked.

“No, we’ve never met. Forgive my lack of manners. I’m Richard.” He offered his hand.

I shook it. “Richard?”

“Yes, and you’re Craig. Certainly Christopher mentioned me.”

I shrugged. “Afraid not. And as interesting as it is that you seem to know me, I’m meeting someone here, so have a good night.”

“How odd. I was led to believe you two were rather—shall we say—intimate friends.”

“Led to believe by who?”

“That really holds no bearing.”

“I think it does.”

“How so?”

I frowned. “Richard, it was...something meeting you. My boyfriend should be here any minute. Would you please leave?”

Richard placed a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the heat and electricity coming through him. His eyes seemed to hold mine.

“You will not remember our meeting,” he said.


I shook my head. “Huh? Oh! Alan, when did you get here?”

“Geez, you were a thousand miles away. I just walked in. Sorry I’m late.”

I shrugged. “No worries. How was your day?”

“Not bad. Though I kept thinking about getting home to you.” Alan smiled a wolfish smile.”

“Really? Anything in particular you wanted to come home to?”

“You tied to the headboard.”

I laughed. “Really?”

Alan did a Groucho Marxish thing with his eyebrows.

“Sounds perfect.” I slipped off my sneaker and ran my foot up his calf under the table.

Alan’s eyebrows remained raised in a look of surprise.

I slowly worked my foot up his thigh, extending my leg so my foot was nearly in his lap.

Alan shifted in his seat. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Craig—we can’t—what if somebody sees?”

“Oh, relax, Needledick.”

Alan’s trigger had the desired effect. He slipped right under.

“Alan, can you hear me okay?”


“Good. All of the sounds of the bar are fading away. You hear only my voice.” I glanced around to make sure no one was paying too close attention to us, especially Wade. He was busy at the bar.

“Alan, you will still want to tie me up. Nothing’s changed. But you will find that when I am wearing white socks it really turns you on. You will want me to wear white socks. And you will want to see them, be near them, feel them. You will be completely aroused by my white socks. And when you awake and feel my foot in your lap you will want me to keep it there while we are here. Understand?”


“Remember: you are aroused by my white socks. 1...2...3.”

Alan blinked. He glanced at my foot in his lap. Slowly a grin spread across his face. He dropped his hands from the table and began to massage my foot, smiling at me.

“You don’t have to do that, Alan.”

“I want to.”

“But let me please you first,” I said, wiggling my toes. I rubbed against his crotch. I could feel the stiffness there.

I continued rubbing my foot against him. Alan seemed tense, but it was apparent he was enjoying the sensation. Small beads of sweat appeared over his lips as his eyes darted around the bar.

“There’s no one watching,” I assured him in a hushed voice.

He withdrew his hands from my foot and wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “I’m getting close,” he whispered hoarsely.

“You like my white socks, don’t you, Alan?” I asked quietly. “You’d like them even more if my feet were tied up, wouldn’t you?”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” he grunted.

“Do you want to cum?”

“Uh-huh,” he gasped, but shook his head. “Not here!”

“Here is fine. No one is paying any attention.” I continued massaging the stiffness at the crotch of his khakis.

Alan reached down for my foot, this time perhaps in an attempt to remove it from stroking his erect dick, but after pushing my foot away he automatically pulled it back toward him, placing my foot over his crotch. Inside him there was a battle going on: should he push my foot away, keeping any prying eyes from seeing what was going on at our table, or should he give in to his desire to be near my socked foot and surrender to the pressure building in his scrotum?

As if in answer to this unspoken question he began caressing my socked foot, guiding it up and down over his crotch.

I grinned. “You can’t get enough of my white socks, can you, Alan?”

“Uh-uh,” he panted.

“Tell me what you want.”


“Tell me what you want, Alan.”

“I want your white socks...” -he clenched his fingers around my foot—“...tied to the bed.”

“And what do you want to do to my socks?”

“I want to touch them...”


“And? And sniff them...”

“Do you want to serve my white socks?”

His entire body was trembling, sweat was beginning to run down his face. “God, yes.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”


“Tell me what you want, Alan.”

“I want—God!—I want to serve your white socks,” he rasped.

“Whenever you’re ready you may cum.”

Alan’s head rolled backward as he began to shoot; he bit his lip to keep silent. He released my foot, grasping the edge of the table. I watched his knuckles turn white as he squeezed harder and harder. The only sound he made was a small gasp as he came in his pants.

I slipped my foot back into my sneaker even as I reached for my wallet. I threw a couple dollars on the table. “We should probably leave before you have to explain a big cum stain on your pants.”

Alan nodded and stood. Already a small wet spot was forming near his fly.

To be continued in Part 32...

Christopher, Craig & Co.

Part 32: Pets & Auto-fellatio.

These quiet nights at home while Wade was working were a mixed bag. On the one hand it gave me time to read through the information I had regarding my new class at the college. On the other it gave me time to dwell on my empty romantic life; not to mention my plethora of boys. With this many hypnotized potential slave boys I should have felt happy. Still, happiness was a long way off from what I was feeling.

Tonight was a Nick and Marty night, prompted by my need to see how Marty was adapting to his role as both a leather stud and Master. Although I hadn’t originally envisioned Marty as the new Leatherman, life had a way of providing solutions to problems. Since the current Leatherman was most likely on his way to being a slave again, someone had to be appointed to run the Club and take care of Bootboy.

I answered the doorbell and admitted Nick and Marty. Nick wore jeans and a sweatshirt, but Marty wore leather pants, boots and jacket. Nick removed his sneakers and waited wordlessly.

Marty didn’t turn to him. “Pull off my boots.”

Nick went down on one knee and carefully lifted Marty’s right foot, sliding off the leather boot. Marty leaned a hand atop Nick’s head to support himself. Nick repeated the process with the left boot.

“How are you, Christopher?” Marty asked, ignoring Nick’s actions.

I was surprised to see how comfortable Marty had become with instructing Nick to perform routine tasks for him. This was a good sign. Perhaps Marty was meant to be a gay top all long?

Once they were both in their socks we walked into the den. Marty sat on the couch. Nick stood, waiting.

“You may sit, Nick,” Marty said.

I sat in my chair, a smile on my face. Marty and Nick seemed to really be settling into their new roles. Good. Now it was time to find out how the transition from friend to servant was going for Nick.

“Beach Boy, Frat Boy, how are you this evening?”

“Fine."/“Good, sir.”

“Beach Boy, I want to talk to Frat Boy first. Go out in the foyer and stand against the door until I call for you.”

Wordlessly Nick stood and walked out of the room.

I took in Marty’s appearance up close. Black fitted leather jacket, black T-shirt, black leather pants, and white socks. The outfit was good. The long messy hair and full beard weren’t.

“Marty, how do you feel in your leather?”


“I’m pleased to hear that. But your physical appearance isn’t quite right yet. Tell me, do you look like the leather man in your dreams?”

“Yeah. ...almost.”

“Almost? What is different about your appearance?”

“The leather man in my dreams is always dressed completely in black. I try to dress exactly like that, but every time I try to put on black socks I end up wearing white ones.”

I chuckled. That wasn’t what I’d had in mind, but it was an interesting observation. And what I would’ve given to see Marty pull a pair of black socks from his drawer and be unable to put his feet in them, compelled instead to don white crew socks.

I sighed. “Okay, Marty. In order for you to be in sync with your fantasy leather man from this moment forward you are free to wear whatever color socks you choose. You no longer are required to wear only white socks. Do you understand?”


“Good boy. Now, in exchange for that freedom you must give up something else, Marty. What shall we trade for your socks? Hmmm.” I could’ve been particularly hard on him and created some new compulsion in him, but I wasn’t unhappy with his progress. I was unhappy with his hair.

“Marty, tomorrow morning when you awaken you will go into your bathroom and shave off your entire beard. You will leave your sideburns intact. You will then proceed to a barber shop and get a haircut. Do you understand what you must do tomorrow?”


“And you know that you cannot resist these instructions because getting a shave and a haircut will bring you that much closer to being the leatherman you envision?


“Good. Now, Frat Boy, tell me how is it going with Nick?”

“Great. He does whatever I ask him to.”

“And what do you ask him to do?”

“Different sorts of things. Like today I told him he’s not allowed to sit on the furniture without my permission.” Marty was grinning.

I laughed. “What made you think of that?”

“Well, yesterday I was saying I take care of him like a pet. And y’know how pets shouldn’t be on the furniture...”

“I see. So you consider Nick your pet?”

“Not really. He’s like a pet. I feed him and tell him when to sleep, when to go out, stuff like that.”

“Are you enjoying telling Nick what to do?”


“Have you told him to do anything sexual?”


“Why not?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Marty, you hold within your power the methods to control Nick’s sexual behavior. You could tell him to get hard, or to stay hard, or to jerk off, or to cum or not to cum, or to eat his own cum, or anything else you want him to do. He will not resist any order you give him. You do want to tell him what to do, don’t you?”


“Good boy. Now, have you been making sure he’s wearing his buttplugs?”


“And what about you—have you been wearing your leather jock?”


“Are you the man in leather you see in your dreams?”


“Good. You will continue to tell Nick what to do. You will also control his sexual behavior. Have you been using him to masturbate?”

“Yes. He’s very good at it.”

I thought about Nick in his former incarnation as a spandex-clad sex toy. “I would imagine so. Go wait by the door. Send Nick in to me.”

Marty exited the den. A moment later Nick returned.

“Have a seat, Nick.”

He sat on the couch.

“How are you doing with your flexibility?”

“Good, sir.”

“Show me.” I glanced him over. These weren’t the best clothes for a demonstration of flexibility. “First take off your jeans and sweatshirt.”

A moment later Nick was in his briefs, socks, and undershirt. He swung both his legs up over his head and behind his neck so that his ass was exposed and his feet were behind his shoulders.

“Are you hard, Nick?”

“Yes, sir.”

I walked over to him and worked his cock through the fly of his briefs. It pointed at his face.

“Nick, there is a cock in front of your mouth needing attention. You know that it’s there and you want to relieve it. Blow the cock, Nick.”

Nick craned his neck forward and leaned to reach his own cock, taking its head into his mouth.

“Suck that cock, Nick,” I commanded. I watched him work his tongue over his own cockhead. “Nick, you don’t realize it yet, but that is your own cock you are sucking. When you cum in a few moments you will taste your own cum and realize nothing in the world tastes better to you. You will find it necessary to suck yourself off often. You will no longer masturbate. You will only suck your own cock. Do you understand?”

“Yethir,” he said through the cock between his lips.

“Now, have you been sucking off Marty?”


“Good. You will continue to find that doing what Marty tells you makes you feel proud and satisfied. Marty’s will supercedes your own. You not only wish to follow his commands, you have no means of resisting his will. You are compelled to do as Marty says, no mater what he asks of you. You must serve Marty. Do you understand?”


I smiled. I would make him repeat it to reinforce the command, but it seemed an unnecessary step, as he was currently sitting on my couch with his legs twisted behind his back and his own cock in his mouth.

“Nick, the next time you return here we will put the finishing touches on your physical appearance before costuming you for your role on the show. You will continue to stretch your ass with buttplugs. Do you understand?”


“Cum, Nick.”

With his legs wrapped around his back and his ass exposed, Nick bucked like an out of control steer as he pumped his own load into his mouth. He gulped it down greedily, relishing the taste of his own semen.

“You may put your feet on the floor now, Nick.”

Nick disentangled himself and sat upright, his cock wilting and flopping through the slit in his briefs.

“I didn’t tell you to lose that erection, Nick. Make yourself hard and keep yourself hard. You will not be allowed to lose your erection until Marty cums. Do you have any questions?”

The suggestion alone was having an effect on him, but Nick reached into his briefs and massaged his own balls briefly until his member stood erect again, still oozing the remains of his last load. “No, sir.”

“Get dressed,” I instructed him before leaving the room.

Marty stood stock-still, staring emptily at the front door.

“Marty, are you still hard?”


“You will remain hard until you get home, at which time you will have Nick relieve you. Do you understand?”


“Remember, you must instruct Nick in how to live. If he is like a pet you must care for him. Do you understand?”


“Good. Come into the den.”

Nick stood, fully dressed, looking vaguely happy and satisfied. His erection was bulging at his fly.


Both boys awoke.

“See you soon.”

To be continued in Part 33...