The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher, Craig & Co.

Part 3: Dogs vs. Monkeys.

“Chris, wake up.”

“Huh?” I jerked up. I was at my desk. Craig was standing beside me, wearing pajama pants, a T-shirt, and white socks. His hair was tousled.

“It’s four o’clock in the morning. Come to bed.”

I stared at the laptop in front of me. I must’ve fallen asleep. I had been reading Professor Edwards’ casefile on Nick. He went into painstaking detail accompanied by digital photos tracing the evolution of his work. It was fascinating; some of his methods were very similar to my own. Yet I had never dreamt of taking a boy to such an extreme. Nick was completely fetishized. From what I could tell he was unable to function beyond having constant sexual stimulation derived from spandex.

I could only surmise that his current state of unconsciousness was caused by a sensory overload from the constant orgasm washing through his body. If I’d guessed correctly, Nick would only be able to maintain consciousness for decreasing periods of time as his body and mind became overwhelmed by the stimulation he was experiencing. He would spend more and more of his life in an unconscious stupor until he had either starved, dehydrated, or suffered some sort of irreversible neurological damage.

As for Marty, it appeared that when Edwards was unable to hypnotize him as planned he’d struggled for another solution. It seems the intention had been to replicate Nick’s results in Marty, thus proving his research viable. It boggled the mind. How many spandex slaves did Edwards intend to create? And how would this research he kept referring to really help mankind? The only segment of the population to be helped by this would be men with a fetish for shaved boys in spandex.

Of course, on a broader scale I knew that if Edwards could bring about this drastic a personality change in a boy he could expand his research to modify behavior patterns in people, creating humans programmed for any sort of lifestyle. This was well beyond creating a Master-slave relationship. This had the earmarks of a government conspiracy to create an enslaved race who would follow any order without question or fear of consequence. An army of such boys encoded to become muscular automatons would be able to control the world through brute force. Educate them enough and the person pulling the strings could dominate the world’s economy.

At least that all seemed possible in my current sleep-deprived state. And, hell, I’d taken Detective Mitch Driver, a homophobic prick, and turned him into a Leatherman with his own devoted Bootboy. If I could do that, why couldn’t I spend a few sessions with the captains of industry and slowly take over the world?

Mostly because I’d feel really guilty in the morning.

“Chris, wake up!”

I shook my head. “I’m awake.”

“You don’t look it.” Craig slipped behind me and kneaded my neck muscles.

I glanced back at the laptop. The information about the drug Marty’d been administered was still on the screen. It was known to cause complete memory loss, though dosage seemed to be an issue.

Since I didn’t know how much Marty had actually been given this information wasn’t at all enlightening.

“Chris, give it up for tonight.”

I swiveled the chair and pulled him into my lap. “You’re sweet to worry.”

He brushed my cheek with his fingertips. “I know things are a mess. But you have to take care of yourself. And if you won’t, then I’m here to.”

I kissed his chin, then his nose, finally landing on his lips. Craig always tasted great. “You wouldn’t believe what Edwards did to Nick.”

He traced my eyebrows with his fingers. “Can I read it later?”

I shrugged. “Sure. But first thing tomorrow we have to clean Marty up.”

Craig frowned.

* * *

A few hours later I had rested and eaten breakfast. Craig and I hauled a still unconscious Marty out of the basement and into the bathroom. I shaved his face and we stripped and bathed him. Once he was clean we dressed him in a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and white socks, then lay him in the guest bedroom. I was thankful he hadn’t woken when the water hit him, though, truth be told, if he stayed out much longer I was going to have to take him in for medical tests.

Next we returned downstairs for Nick. It suddenly occurred to me as I lie in bed last night with Craig pressed against me that if the spandex was the root of Nick’s orgasms it stood to reason that removing the spandex would free him from this state.

Peeling the spandex suit off of him was a slow process. The layers of dried cum under it presented a sticky and ripe problem. When we were done Nick lie motionless, hairless, a bit of stubble everywhere.

I slapped his face lightly. “Snap out of it!”

Craig rolled his eyes.

I shrugged. What gay man in America hadn’t at some point paid tribute to the diva that is Cher?

Nick’s eyes snapped open.

“Nick,” I said, “How do you feel?”

Suddenly he leapt to his feet. His knees bent. His arms hung at his sides, knuckles dragging. He hooted.

“What the hell?” Craig asked.

“I have a horrible feeling...”


“Edwards turned Nick into a monkey for a time.”

“You’re kidding.”

I shook my head.

“Why would he want to go and do a stupid thing like that?”

I lowered my eyebrows. “You were a dog for awhile, Craig.”

Craig didn’t reply right away. Then his face brightened. “I had to wear that collar to be a dog. Why is he a monkey now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the constant stimulation from his spandex-induced orgasms snapped his mind?”

Craig slowly circled around Nick.

Nick watched him, circling around, too. He hooted again.

“Can you fix him?” Craig asked, stopping beside me.

“I hope so.”

Nick started hopping up and down, chattering loudly.

“You think he’s hungry?” Craig asked.

“We know he hasn’t eaten in at least a day.”

“What do monkeys eat? Do we have any bananas?”

I held my palms up.

“Stupid monkey. At least dogs are man’s best friend,” Craig muttered as he ran upstairs.

Rats. I was going to have to study Edwards’ notes much more closely in order to get Nick out of this. The hairless monkey in my basement was a bit incongruous.

Craig returned with a banana. “We only had one.”

“We’ll have to get more.”

Nick grabbed the banana from Craig and devoured it. He hooted more.

Craig frowned. “That’s going to be a problem. He’s loud.”

“We’ll solve it soon, I hope. For now we’ll put him in the cage.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. Thank God we hadn’t gotten rid of it yet.”

“You never had to keep me in a cage,” Craig pointed out.

“You were a good boy,” I said, patting his head. “Even as a dog. Maybe we should get out your collar later?”

“Forget the collar. Use the leash to tie me down.” Craig’s grin would’ve melted snow.

“It’s an idea. First help me get him in the cage.”

Craig grabbed Nick under the arms and pushed him into the cage, slamming the door. He slipped the padlock through the latch.

“Where’s that leash?”

To be continued in Part 4...

Christopher, Craig & Co.

Part 4: Marty’s Initiation.

Marty’s eyes darted around the room. Aside from looking a little pale he didn’t appear too worse for the wear. You’d think it would take more than a shower and shave to bounce back from a week in captivity.

“How are you feeling, Marty?”

“Thirsty.” His voice was raspy.

I got him a glass of water and he sat up and gulped it down. He stared at me over the rim of the cup. When it was empty he still eyed me suspiciously. I wondered if he remembered meeting me at the Club.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know.” He squinted his eyes shut. “Did something happen to me?”

“Yes,” I said. I had already decided how to handle his questions. I was going to lie. I didn’t think Marty could handle the truth just yet, maybe not ever. And if that drug had worked properly, it might never be important for him to know what had really happened to him.

Marty was waiting for me to explain.

“I found you unconscious last night in my yard. You had no ID. I was going to call the police this morning to see if you were a missing person.”

“I was in your yard?”

I nodded and smiled my most winning smile. “What do you remember?”

“I-I don’t know. I mean, it’s kind of confused. How did I get in your yard?”

“I was sort of hoping you’d know the answer to that.”

He was staring at the wall opposite the bed, but something told me he was looking inward. “I was in class. And I went to the gym. Um, was I tied to a chair?” He shook his head. “No, that’s crazy.”

“What’s your name?” I asked gently.

“Marty Jones.”

“Do you live around here, Marty?”

“I live on campus at SUNY.”

I nodded again. I had begun controlling my breathing, syncing it with his. I consciously slowed each breath. “Well, I think you should rest some more then I’ll take you home. Oh, my name is Christopher.”

“Christopher,” he repeated.

“Yes, that’s right. Why don’t you relax now? Let your mind just go. You’re tired and confused, and you need your rest. You need to let your body and mind relax. You feel very comfortable in this big bed. Sort of like you’re floating. You feel at peace, very safe and warm. You find that it’s very easy to just lie back, relax, and listen to my voice. You want to do what’s right for yourself. And you know to take care of yourself you must relax...”

Marty’s eyelids were beginning to flutter. His breathing was slow and rhythmic.

“Relax, Marty. Breathe in and out. That’s it. Nice and slow. In and out. Listen to my voice as it tells you to relax. Pay no attention to anything but my voice. Hear no other sounds. Think no other thoughts. Just relax. Let your eyes close.”

His eyes shut.

“Marty, can you hear me? You will find it very easy to relax and talk to me.”


“Marty, I want to help you. But in order for me to do that you have to stay here for a while and rest. You know that’s what’s best for you. You know you should stay here and rest. You know you want to stay here, don’t you, Marty?”


“That’s good. While you’re here you need to relax. You will find that when I talk to you you feel very relaxed. In fact, every time I say the words—” I paused. For all the thought I’d put into this I’d never come up with a trigger phrase for him. I didn’t know much about Marty. Think, Chris! “Every time you hear me say Frat Boy you will feel more relaxed than the last time. Do you understand?”


“Marty, I want you to repeat after me. And as you say the words you will know that they are very important and absolutely true. Do you understand?”


“Repeat after me, Marty. Every time you hear me say Frat Boy you will feel more relaxed.”

“Every time I hear you say Frat Boy I’ll feel more relaxed.”

“Very good, Marty. That’s right. Now I will count to three and you will be fully awake. You will feel calm and happy and want to stay here to rest. 1...2...3.”

Marty opened his eyes. He ran his hand over his face, then through his hair.

“Are you remembering something, Marty?” I asked.

“No.” He shook his head.

“Are you sure, Frat Boy?”

He looked at me.

“Relax, Frat Boy. Breathe in and out. In and out. Let your mind and body relax. Feeling so relaxed, Frat Boy.”

His eyes were closed.

“Marty, remember: every time you hear me say Frat Boy you will feel more relaxed. Repeat that back to me one more time.”

“Every time I hear you say Frat Boy I’ll feel more relaxed.”

“When I count to three you’ll awaken, then you’ll lie here and take a nap. 1...2...3.” I only waited for his eyes to open. “Well, Marty, you could use some rest. If you need anything just call for me. I’ll be just down the hall.”

By the time I was easing the door shut behind me he was beginning to doze.

Wade passed me in the hall as I left the guest room. “Andrew’s downstairs,” he said.

I swung the door to my bedroom open and peered inside. Craig lie naked on the floor on his side, his wrists and ankles bound together behind his back, his cock pointing at his chin. A sock was stuffed in his mouth.

“I’ll be back for you later,” I said, closing the door.

I heard him whimper with anticipation.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs I could see Andrew standing in the den clad in biker boots, tight jeans, and a tight black T-shirt. His leather jacket was draped over the back of the couch. Damn, he looked good.

As I neared I noticed a fresh tattoo of an eagle on his right bicep. It was glistening with fresh moisturizer over the new ink.

“Andrew! You got a tattoo?”

“Yeah, I always wanted one.”

First an earring, now a tattoo. If I let Biker Andrew go unchecked he’d be well on the road to self-mutilation quite soon. Still, he seemed happier than I ever remembered him being. Perhaps this was the dominant personality for him? Still, something Craig had done to Alan had given me an idea for Andrew’s continued development.

“Shine your shoes.”

Andrew’s eyes glazed, his breathing slowed. He became perfectly still.

“Andrew, this week you will continue to be a biker. You will live the part of yourself that longs to be a biker. Today when you awaken you will find that you are a real man’s man. You will spread your legs wide when you sit. You will grab yourself in public. You will behave as a sexual being on the prowl. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Spread your legs, Andrew.”

He widened his stance.

“You will find that you must sit, stand, and walk with your legs spread wider to accommodate your massive cock and balls. You’re a big man, Andrew. You should feel proud of your endowment.”

The corners of his mouth turned up.

“Oh, but as always you will treat Wade with much respect and kindness. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”


He blinked his eyes.

“Why don’t we sit and catch up while you wait for Wade?”

Andrew sat on the couch, feet wide apart, crotch open wide. His hands dangled between his legs. He looked sexy.

But he wasn’t for me.

Craig was waiting upstairs for me, helpless and horny. I wanted to go upstairs and make love to him. But it was also time to address his recent behavior.

To be continued in Part 5...