The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Christopher, Craig & Co.

Part 5: Amends.

Punishing Craig was not something I was longing to do. I would much rather use what had happened with Alan to teach him a lesson about responsibility. But I wasn’t sure how to handle it. If I didn’t stress the gravity of what he’d done, the boy would be tempted to abuse hypnosis again. A man had nearly died. I couldn’t gloss over it.

There were several things I could do. I could completely enslave him again, wiping out all freewill and turning him into a mindless servant. While that might be fun for a little while, it would also remove his personality and the parts of him that I loved. I didn’t want an automaton; I wanted a lover I could exercise control over.

I could remove his knowledge of hypnosis, blocking his abilities. But then I would have failed to pass on my knowledge as my Master once had to me. I could still hear his resonant baritone in my ears: “It is only when we walk in a slave’s shoes that we can achieve mastery.” It had taken me time to understand what he meant.

Perhaps what Craig needed most was compassion. And time to think about what he’d done. I wanted him to understand that he’d nearly caused the loss of a life. That was inexcusable. Alan, for whatever his flaws had been in high school, was now an innocent who’d been manipulated by Craig into a suicide attempt. That would follow him through life, and his state of mind would be in question for a very long time. The specter of Craig’s suggestions would haunt him.

Craig lie exactly as I’d left him: naked on the floor on his side, his wrists and ankles bound together behind his back, his cock pointing at his chin, a sock stuffed in his mouth.

I dropped to my haunches and freed his hands, moving them in front of his body and retying them tightly. I pushed him onto his back. He didn’t attempt to move, but his eyes darted around. It was apparent he was unsure what I was about to do to him. The uncertainty was feeding his erection. I didn’t want him to realize what I was doing just yet.

“My shoes are tight.”

Craig seemed to collapse in on himself. His body went completely limp.

I attached a length of rope to his wrists, wound it around his balls, and tied it to his bound ankles, drawing them to within inches of his tightly wrapped sac. Moving his hands or feet the slightest in any direction would result in excruciating pain in his scrotum.

“Craig, when you awaken you will only be able to think of Alan and what you did to him. You will consider your role in his suicide attempt and understand that you must correct the problem you created. Then you will contemplate the seriousness and care with which hypnosis must be employed. Do you understand?”

“Yethir,” he replied around the sock hanging from his mouth.


Craig’s eyes opened. He moved to stretch, then grimaced.

He focused his eyes on himself. Something flickered across his face. Recognition? Fear? Guilt?

I rose to my feet. “You have some serious thinking to do.”

Two and a half hours later I trudged up the stairs from the basement. After reviewing Edwards’ notes I had decided to take another pass at working with Nick on restoring him to some sort of human behavior—even if it was a spandex-dependent existence. Unfortunately I seemed to be unable to break through to his subconscious. He simply loped around in his cage, or shook the bars, hooting and carrying on in his monkey-mode.

I continued up the stairs to the second-floor and pushed open the bedroom door.

Craig’s cheeks were wet.

I dropped to my knees and removed the gag from his mouth. “Craig?”

He looked into my eyes with despair so deep I could feel it. “Master, please help me.”

“What is it?”

“Make me a slave again. Then I can’t hurt anyone else. Make me a slave.” Tears streamed from his eyes and his shoulders shook, jerking his hands and feet. His face contorted in pain, but his body continued being wracked by sobs.

I reached down and released his wrists and ankles from his balls, leaving them wrapped in rope. I didn’t want him to hurt himself; I only wanted him immobilized long enough to think about his actions.

Craig climbed to his knees, still sobbing. “Please make me a slave again,” he repeated.

I can’t express the shock I felt at hearing this. When I recovered I said the only thing I could. “No.”

“Please, Master. I want to be a good boy again.” He knelt before me, crying, pleading with me.

“No, that may be true, but what you want is absolution from your guilt. And I won’t do that. You must learn to use hypnosis responsibly.”

“I don’t want to hypnotize anyone ever again.”

“Who else have you hypnotized?”

“Donald, you and Alan.”

“Have you been hypnotizing me again?”

He looked at the floor.

“I thought so,” I said quietly.

“I’m sorry, Master.”

I had figured that he was hypnotizing me again, so it wasn’t a complete shock. But it still stung. “I trusted you not to, Craig. You abused my trust.”

“Please forgive me, Master. I’ll never do it again. I swear. I’ll do anything to make it up to you, Master. I want to be a good boy again. I want to be your slave. Please forgive me, Master.”

I took a deep breath. This wasn’t what I’d expected. “My shoes are tight.”

I wasn’t about to make him a slave again. No matter how much he begged. But I did need to take back control of my boy. I also needed to take control FROM my boy.

“Craig, when I count three you will awaken. Then you will say my trigger phrase. Once I am under you will release me from the trigger, making certain it has no power over me. Then you will awaken me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”


When I opened my eyes Craig was watching me intently.

“What was my trigger?” I asked.

“My white socks, Master.”

I looked at his socked feet, bound together.

I shrugged. Nothing happened.

“You’re a good boy, Craig. Let me untie you.” I freed his balls first, his hard cock in my hand.

He looked me in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Master. I will do anything to make amends for what I’ve done.”

“Alan will get out of the hospital tomorrow. Then I expect you to undo what you’ve started.”

I had his hands and feet free. He massaged his ankles.

“I never meant for him to die.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “But you didn’t think of the consequences of your actions.”

He turned toward me, resting his cheek against my chest. “Help me fix this, Master.”

I sighed. “Go shower. Get dressed. Meet me downstairs.”

“Yes, Master.”

I pushed his chin up and kissed him. “I am your Master. But you’re my lover. And I want you to call me Chris again.”

Tears welled in his eyes again. “I’m so sorry, Chris,” he whispered.

I held him and stroked his hair for a time. Then I stood. “Oh, and lose the erection. You won’t be cumming today.”

By the time I’d left the bedroom his cock was nearly flaccid.

To be continued in Part 6...

Christopher, Craig & Co.

Part 6: Marty’s Secret.

Nick was unresponsive to another hour of my best attempts at drawing him into his suggestive state. His previous trigger phrases seemed to have no effect; he simply jumped around and chattered like a monkey. One thing was certain—keeping him and Marty here would eventually lead any investigation into their whereabouts to my front door.

Been there, done that.

I was going to have to medicate Nick. I loathed using drugs to open a boy to hypnosis. But it couldn’t be helped. I sent Craig to the store to pick up some supplies.

Marty was awake when I looked in on him.

“How’s the patient?” I asked.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Something’s wrong.”

“What is it?”

“I keep having these really weird dreams.” “What about?”

He shifted in the bed and looked away from me.

“You can tell me, Marty. After all, you can hardly be held responsible for something you dreamt.”

“I dreamt that a friend of mine gave me a blowjob.”

I pulled the chair back over near the bed and sat down. “Why is that an odd dream? You’re a good-looking guy. I bet many girls have done that for you.”

“It wasn’t a girl,” he said. “It was my best friend. And that’s crazy! ‘Cause I’m straight. And, yeah, he’s been acting weird, but nothing like that could ever happen.”

“What else do you remember from the dream?”

He didn’t say anything.


“I was begging him to stop.”

I patted his forearm. I was convinced this was more than a dream—a memory of his time in captivity, perhaps? But I thought it wise to downplay the idea of Nick giving him a blowjob. Marty was visibly shaken by the very thought of it. From Edwards’ notes I had surmised that Marty was homophobic. I didn’t want to force him to confront the memory of a homosexual act being performed on him while he was still recovering from the effects of the drug Edwards had given him. It wasn’t that I supported his homophobic mindset. I could address that at a later time.

“It’s okay, Marty. You’ve been through a lot. I’m sure you’ll be fine now, Frat Boy.”

I waited. Marty was hovering on the edge of consciousness.

“Relax, Frat Boy. Let go. Breathe in and out...”

His eyes drifted closed and I watched as his breathing slowed to a steady rate.

“Marty, remember each time you hear me say Frat Boy you return to a place of deeper relaxation. How do you feel, Frat Boy?”


“Marty, I don’t know much about you. So today I’m going to ask you some questions. You will find that you enjoy answering my questions and you feel good telling the truth. In fact, you will find that you cannot lie to me while answering my questions. Do you understand?”


“Remember, you cannot lie to me under any circumstances. You will answer completely and honestly without hesitation. Do you understand?”


“How old are you, Marty?”


“What year are you in at school?”

“Freshman. No, uh, Junior.”

“What do you want to do after college?”


“Who is your best friend?”

There was a long pause.

“Marty, describe your best friend.”

“He has dark blond hair and he’s shorter than me. He likes acting, too. He’s been my best bud since we met a college. He’s been acting kind of weird lately.”

“What’s his name?”

“I can’t remember.”

Hmmm. Interesting. “Marty, your best friend’s name is Nick Phillips. Repeat that back to me.”

“My best friend’s name is Nick Phillips.”

“That’s right. Now let’s move on to some harder questions. How old were you when you lost your virginity?”


“Marty, are you straight or gay?”


“Have you ever been with a man?”


“Have you ever received a blowjob from a man?”

“Yes.” His face twitched.

“It’s okay, Marty. What do you remember about the experience?”

“I was tied to a chair. The Professor made him cut my clothes off with scissors. Then when I was naked he started to suck me off. The Professor told him exactly what to do. He told him to go real slow. All I wanted was for him to stop.” Marty’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Fuck. It’s like rape.”

I shivered. Marty was right. He had been raped. Death was too good for Professor Edwards. He should have been exposed for his crimes and punished severely. Well, maybe not exposed for having Nick rape Marty. Marty seemed like a good guy who’d gotten in over his head. He didn’t need the fallout from that revelation. But Edwards should have had to pay for his wrongs.

“Marty, who was ‘he’?”

“Nick,” he whispered.

“You said you were tied to a chair and they cut your clothes off. Have you ever been tied up in bed?”


“Did you like it?”


“Whose idea was it to tie you up in bed?”

“This girl I was seeing wanted to try it.”

“Marty, I want you to think about something you really like to do that maybe you’ve never told anyone about. I want you to tell me a secret about what you like to do.”

The only sound in the room was Marty’s breathing.


His breath was quickening. “I like to go to the leather store at the mall and try on stuff. It makes me kind of horny to feel and smell the leather.”

“Relax, Frat Boy. Breathe in and out. Have you always found leather sexual?

No answer.

“When did you first find that leather made you horny?”

“When I was a kid my sister had a poster of this guy in leather pants and a vest leaning up against a motorcycle. I used to sneak in her room to look at it and think about what it’d be like to be that guy.”

I wanted to explore that further, but I was afraid to press him too far tonight. He’d already remembered a traumatic event.

“Marty, I’m going to count three and you’ll come fully awake. For now you won’t remember anything about getting a blowjob from a Nick or being tied up and raped. Do you understand?”


“Good. You will continue to want to stay here and rest. You have no desire to leave here yet. You want to stay here and feel very relaxed whenever you hear me say Frat Boy. 1...2...3.”

Marty turned his head to look at me as I stood and headed for the door.

“You’re leaving already?”

“I’ll be back soon.” I eased the door shut.

There were definitely gaps in Marty’s memory. I suspected it would take some time to discover many of them. Some I could fill in. Others he may never truly fill.

His interest in leather both surprised and intrigued me. Maybe it was time for a new Leatherman to hit town?

To be continued in Part 7...