The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Evening again. Karl shut the door to his room behind him and locked it. He sat on the edge of his bed, making one side of the mattress tip precariously over the metal frame. At this point, he would have begun pulling off his pants to change out of his clothes, but he remained still, slightly hunched over, resting his face in his hands. It had been a long day on a lot of levels.

That morning he woke up sprawled spread-eagle and completely naked on his bed, the heat of the summer sun pressing against his exposed skin. He never slept commando, although he knew a few men who enjoyed it. When he was really tired, he would go as far as sleeping with just his briefs on, as he had when he went to bed last night—at least, he thought he did. But bizarrely, his underwear was nowhere to be seen, not slung over the chair at his work desk or tossed anywhere on the wooden floor.

Even more bizarrely, Karl couldn’t really bring himself to care very much. He felt a strange cocktail of feelings running through his veins. Even though he thought he’d gotten a decent amount of sleep, he didn’t feel alert or clear-headed. His thoughts seemed to drift on a haze so fuzzy he couldn’t even be sure if he was thinking at all, or if he was just riding on the raw physical sensations of his body—which felt surprisingly limber and relaxed, despite the sluggishness of his brain.

In fact, his body just seemed incredibly sensitive that morning. Every beam of sunshine massaging his skin, every breath of air that stirred the fine hairs on his chest, even the supple, soft ripple of his bedcovers rubbing smoothly against his bare shoulders, back, legs, and ass—some subconscious part of his brain was hyper-aware of all these things, even reveled in them. A living static had taken over his body, clouding his thoughts, but jolting him with pinpoint impressions of his environment through touch.

His instincts encouraged him to explore this new state of being. Slowly at first, then with growing enthusiasm, Karl began sliding his body against the cotton sheets of his bed, even clutching folds of it between his fingers. Each slide left a trail of tingling pleasure along his body, gradually fading away just before he would create a new pleasure trail, keeping himself constantly in the thrall of bodily contentment. Soon, the sleekness of the cotton sheets lost its novelty, and curiosity led him to experiment with the sensations of skin-on-skin contact. He grasped his arm with one hand and began gently caressing it, the upward stroke raising his glinting golden hairs, the return stroke smoothing them down again.

A tingle in the back of his mind recognized this movement, but he had no interest in following that train of thought. He just wanted more. He placed both hands on his chest and drew them along and around his pecs, his shoulders, his abs, making sure each hand’s path never intersected the others, keeping them in perfect complementary motions, making sure his fingers explored each nook and cranny of his muscles.

Karl couldn’t tell if he was getting the most tactile responses from his hands or his chest, but his whole body was so sensitive that allowing its different parts to interact in this way produced a feedback loop of pleasure vibrating throughout his whole body. His toes curled uncontrollably, as if he were trying to prevent these sensual feelings from escaping through his feet. He felt the pleasure so keenly it seemed to warm him up from the inside. Tiny beads of sweat surfaced on his brow and skin, but he was too lost in himself to notice.

What he did notice was his dick. When he first opened his eyes, it had lain dormant, tucked snugly between his legs. It began to stir when he rubbed himself against the soothing fabric of his sheets, and now, in the middle of this bliss he was inflicting on himself, his dick stood at complete attention. When Karl felt a particular spike in pleasure, his dick played the part of a gauge needle, trembling then swaying back and forth slowly until the next spike came. Clear, oily pre-cum oozed lazily out of his piss slit and dripped randomly down the sides of his engorged shaft.

Somewhere, underneath this primal being he had suddenly turned into, Karl felt the inklings of danger. But even as his warning instincts began to flash, he could not keep his eyes off the excited activity of his penis. Slowly, hardly even aware of what he was doing, he let one hand creep inexorably down toward his groin, then wrapped it around the girth of his dick. He felt the cool slickness of his own pre-cum seep between his fingers, and just briefly he removed his hand and spread his fingers out, watching in dreamy fascination as threads of the slightly cloudy fluid stretched between his digits, like a translucent, liquid web.

He brought his hand back to his shaft and started the slow, stroking motions he’d used on his arm, soon coating the trunk and head of his penis with the same viscous sap that covered his hand. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head as the pleasure spikes he had felt sporadically before now piled together into a mountainous wave of sexual contentment. The warmth he had felt inside his body before turned white-hot, and again he felt a sense of déjà vu as the heat coursed its way toward his nether regions, bubbling madly at the stem of his penis. He sped up the pace of his strokes, coaxing the heat up through the center of his dick. He squeezed his eyes shut, one hand dug deep into his bedcovers, and his legs felt taut as he reached the breaking point.

And then through his window entered the slightly muffled sound of the morning reveille, trumpeting the time for the fort to awake and begin the day’s work. Somehow the brassy clamor pierced through the fog of sexual heat Karl had driven himself into and his eyes snapped open, blinking rapidly in the daylight.

It took another moment for his thoughts to catch up, and then he realized exactly what he was doing. He stared in horror at his hand, still wrapped firmly around his morning wood. He was only a stroke or two away from release; he could feel the tension in his body as it prepared for the relief it still expected. The temptation to just finish the job nearly overwhelmed him, but his rational self pushed into control and forced his fingers to unclench from his pecker. For an instant, his dick spasmed, and he thought it would erupt of its own accord, in spite of his lack of participation. Then it ceased its trembling and he felt the moment of danger pass. It had been a close call.

For a minute or so, he stayed put, letting the heat slowly ebb away from his body. He didn’t know just how rapidly his heart had been beating before until now, when he could hear its restless pumps return to a steady rhythm, as his breath also smoothed and became regular. His dick remained active a while longer, but eventually it too seemed to give up and lose its firmness, until it flopped loosely and limp over one thigh, still dribbling a fluid out its tip.

Karl took a deep breath and slowly drew himself out of bed until he was sitting over its edge. He still was unable to fully process what he had been doing. Finally, knowing that he was running out of time to get into uniform, he shook his head and massaged his face with his hands. He was surprised to feel a sticky coolness make contact from his hands and realized he had smothered his face with his own pre-cum. He made a noise of exasperation and proceeded over to his dresser to grab a towel. The fact he didn’t recoil in disgust, as he usually would have done, should have tipped him off that something was wrong—but the fact didn’t register on him.

Every man at the fort shared the same set of showers, though recruits only got five minutes to get themselves in and out, while higher-ranked officers enjoyed a little more time under the water. Karl especially appreciated the bit of extra time today; by the time he finished drying himself off, he felt wide awake and more like himself. He had worried during his shower that lathering himself down would provoke—whatever it was that got him so worked up earlier that morning. Thankfully, nothing happened. He did not relish the idea of coming up with an explanation that could sell to his fellow officers.

Just as he was making his exit from the showers, a flood of recruits streamed in. Since this was the Marines, they entered in an orderly manner, single file, leaving enough space in the doorway for the soldiers already inside to leave. Karl was just passing through when a sudden bottleneck stopped the entire line in its tracks. The setback lasted only a few seconds, but that was long enough to get everyone jostling and bumping into each other. One recruit halted just in time to keep himself from knocking into his buddy in front of him, but in his momentary loss of balance, he splayed his arm out just a little—just enough to regain his footing—and brushed his hand against Karl’s chest.

A dead silence fell around the doorway, and the unlucky recruit looked up into his teacher’s stony eyes, their blue hardened with a glint of steel.

In high school, Karl had been his basketball team’s power forward. He’d been a good, though not outstanding player, but the most invaluable feature of his game was the killer expression he wore even in the heat of the quarter. For some games, his coach loosed him on the floor at the most critical moments to rattle the players on the other team. His teammates called his look “The Wall”—people run into it, and stop short. His expression never let on what he was thinking, but it struck people with an unshakeable sense of dread. Who knew where he got a look like that? Like the rest of him, it was just a God-given gift.

Once Karl joined the Marines, the Wall grew in reputation to the point of becoming infamous. Other soldiers swore they’d seen him use it in the field to throw off the enemy’s concentration, then close the gap between him and them. What came after that—well, no one liked to talk about that too much. Karl was considered dangerous among the troops not because he was a particularly skilled soldier—although he was that—but because he never hesitated to do what was necessary in the circumstances. A reporter once asked how he felt about the losses of war. “All unnecessary,” he said dismissively. “The enemy can choose at any time to change their strategy to diplomacy, and certainly I’d jump on that option. But when they choose to fight on—well, they get what they ask for.”

“And the civilians?” the reporter persisted. “How do you account for that?”

Karl leveraged the Wall at him, and the reporter shrank back a little. “As I said—unnecessary. I think it speaks more on our enemies that they choose to bring the fight where their countrymen are at risk. Certainly not my choice for a battlefield, but if that’s what they want…” There was no need for him to continue. The reporter had no further questions.

That was the kind of myth that enshrouded Karl among the recruits he taught. But this was the first occasion anyone had actually seen it in person.

The young man who’d made accidental contact with Karl froze ramrod-straight, as did everyone around him. Some of the remaining officers in the showers also turned their attention to the strange quiet at the entrance, including Colin, who watched the faceoff between Karl and the recruit with particular interest.

The recruit in question felt he should say something, though to be honest, he didn’t know exactly what he did wrong. Prolonged eye-contact with the Wall revealed nothing about his offense. Just as the silence grew too pinched to take any longer, Karl abruptly broke his gaze and marched rigidly out the room without a word. For a second, everything remained as before, then activity resumed. Some sympathetic buddies tried to convince the unnerved recruit that everything would be fine, but then, none of them knew exactly the tumult of unnatural feelings that coursed through Karl the brief instant he was touched by another man.

Colin didn’t know either, but even as he returned to toweling himself off, he had a pretty strong hunch that Karl’s stolid temperament had been shaken up in a big way—and it would only get worse from here on out.

That was why by the time night fell, Karl felt strangely strung out from the day. When the incident in the showers took place, he forced himself to move past it and then threw himself into his work to avoid any uncomfortably distracting reflections. Word of the event spread and everyone gave him a fairly wide berth, even though by the time he reappeared, he had returned to his normally unaffected demeanor. So the day passed without further incident. But now his work was done and there was nothing left to do except reflect on what had happened.

What had happened? The moment the recruit’s fingers swept his chest, he felt prickling surges of excitement dart from the point of contact and fill his body. Without even looking, he felt all the fine hairs on his arms and chest spring curiously to attention. And down there, beneath the towel around his waist…nothing obvious had happened, but he sensed the interest.

For the rest of the day, he had difficulty trying to keep up the appearance of indifference while holding back a flinch every time a man came a little too close. Anyone who’s had to live a bit of a double-life can sympathize with how drained Karl felt by the time he got back to the privacy of his room.

Something had happened—was happening to him. He had put his morning self-pleasure out of his mind, but the day’s events proved that there were side-effects lingering in his body. He’d always viewed his sexual urges practically: natural, but distracting. Even at the peak of his hormonally-charged teenage years, he took pleasure in his girlfriends as they came, but when none were around, he ignored his bodily cravings—good practice for his transition into the Marines.

Sex-wise, he was a no frills kind of guy; his whole practice revolved around diving right in and doing what it took to get the job done. Foreplay, massaging, erogenous zones, fetishes—what he knew of that stuff was little more than theory. And yet he’d enjoyed a little bit of all of those things this morning. He couldn’t escape the feeling that, in those moments, he had really turned into someone else. Or more like someone, or something, else had possessed him.

On top of everything, he still had a nagging sense of déjà vu, as if he’d encountered these completely foreign sensations before. That couldn’t be right, yet something in his gut insisted that these experiences weren’t new to him.

He couldn’t put his finger on it. With a sigh, he undid his fly and slid off his pants. He swiped them off the floor, brought them over to the hook where he hung his daily uniform, and slung them on a hanger. As he began unbuttoning his shirt, his fingers lingered on the middle button.

He had suddenly recalled his visit to Travis’ mother and subsequent discovery of unfamiliar symbols laced throughout Trav’s dress uniform. He’d attempted a reconnaissance with Colin yesterday, and later that night received a cryptic email from Colin about some poem Trav apparently loved. Only the poem was completely indecipherable. The lines had the awkward phrasing and obscure jumble of words as—code. Whatever emotional significance existed in the poem seemed buried under an onslaught of clumsy writing. The effect was almost…subliminal. Code. Subliminal.

Karl remembered attending an intra-departmental conference on counter-strategies against enemy propaganda just after receiving his sergeancy. Most of the talks revolved around conventional communications, but Colin had participated in a presentation on subliminal messaging which provoked some controversy, especially among the more conservative members of the conference.

“There’s a lot that isn’t understood about human sub-sensory centers in the brain,” Colin had said in his “official” voice, aided by a slideshow depicting MRI scans of human brains. “We know that consciously, we take in only a fraction of the sensory input we receive constantly, and even that fraction is minute.” He resumed his usual Southern drawl momentarily, “If any of you have spouses that get on your case for forgettin’ their birthdays, well—you can try explainin’ it to them this way, but I can’t guarantee the results.”

This produced an appreciative laugh from the audience. Colin continued, more seriously, “On the other hand, the most recent research shows that the leftover input doesn’t just disappear. There have been studies on dreaming, where participants related details from their dreams which turned out to have basis from real past experiences. In these cases, however, the frequency of how often these details reveal themselves is erratic and mostly occurs at random. It has nothing to do with what kind of person you are, nor your background, nor when or how you sleep. In a way, these results indicate a potentially universal experience and response.

He let this sink in before going on. “So information doesn’t necessarily disappear from the brain. Think of forgetfulness; it’s not like we lose that information, but we do lose our access to it, whether from the degradation of our neural connections due to age or nonuse, or from injury to our cerebral network. In the same way, the information we don’t consciously absorb is thought to be stored in these—” He gestured at several blotches on the MRI scans. “—sub-sensory centers.

“And even subconscious knowledge could inform our decisions and behavior, as other studies show. Body memory, involuntary responses, all of these things rely on what we’ve experienced, but not what we know, so to speak.”

A particularly diligent officer listening from the front of the audience raised a hand. “Question: is it theoretically possible to stimulate these sub-sensory centers to access the information they hold?”

Colin replied, “Well, even in theory, the conditions to make this happen are pretty unfeasible. What we can do is manipulate these centers to control what kind of information feeds into them, and from there, it’s possible to alter a person’s attitude or behavior. But of course, even this requires some special circumstances that are difficult to arrange outside a controlled environment.”

“Such as?” persisted the officer.

“We know there are certain frequencies of brain waves that are particularly associated with the info-feed of the subconscious. You’d have to stimulate those brain waves and keep them active while the subject receives the information. You’d also have to ensure that no other external stimuli distract the subject from whatever information it is you want to transmit.”

“Now, hold on,” interrupted a seasoned-looking general. Though crinkles touched the corners of his eyes, and faint lines wrapped around his mouth, his cropped hair was still dark and he had the appearance of a younger man than he actually was. “If you remove all the distractions and limit whoever it is to the information you want them to absorb, wouldn’t that mean they become aware of what you’re trying to feed them?”

Colin smiled slightly. “You hit the problem right on the head, Sir. That means that on top of everything else, the information fed to the subject must itself be coded in such a way that it can actually bypass conscious thought and enter the sub-sensory centers.”

“Subliminal messages, basically,” the general said.

“That’s the whole subject of this talk, Sir,” Colin reminded him.

“Alright. So how would you stimulate those brain waves you mentioned?”

“Well, Sir, the only methods that have any realistic chance of working are low-intensity electric therapy or high-frequency sound, but no one has figured out how to use these things to accomplish anything we’d be interested in.”

“So far, you mean.”

“Yes, Sir. So far.”

“Well, for my money, I think we’re better off putting themoney into upgrading our covert operations. This may be an ugly truth, but we’ll probably get farther shooting our enemies in the head than subliminally swaying them to do what we want.”

Some laughs ensued and with that, the talk ended. Karl, ever the practical man, quickly shoved the subject of that talk to the back of his mind; he had no use for these highly experimental, futuristic concepts. But now he was beginning to suspect that someone else had found a use for them, and they were using them on him.

Elsewhere on base, Colin stood at ease in a bare-bones office. Little decorated the greenish-gray walls, and besides a tall bookcase, a large desk, and several chairs, the office had trim furnishings. Sitting behind the desk was an older man with dark hair, who wore on his uniform the two silver stars of a major general. On the desk was a brass placard reading “Gen. Timothy Hatcher” in etched capital letters. He was hunched over an open folder, which held a thick clutch of documents.

His eyes remained intent on the papers as he asked, “What is it, Hagstrom?”

“Sir, you heard about what happened this morning?”

The question gave the general some pause. Then he said, “Ah—you mean with Sergeant Reynolds.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The general moved the top sheet of his reading to the back and began reading the next page. “Sure. It’s not often Reynolds loses his shit over nothing. I had a laugh about it with the other officers. Your friend doesn’t get out too often, I take it.”

Colin was by now used to his commanding officer’s flippancy towards everything not directly related to military affairs. He handled it best by sticking to his talking points. “Sir, it’s my feeling that Sergeant Reynolds is already beginning to suspect our—operation—and if he isn’t presently, he very soon will be.”

General Hatcher thumped the paper he read with the back of one hand. “See—I waste half my time investigating my own outfit over the most thickheaded things and meanwhile, who’s got the highest-number of quality military graduates in the country? It boggles my mind.”

He closed the folder and tossed it onto his desk. “As to Reynolds,” he said, “what’s your point?”

“Sir—”

The general leaned back in his swivel chair and leveled his gaze on Colin, keeping his tone light. “Seriously—I’m asking you. You want me to get the gang together, pay him another visit?”

“That’s not—” Colin took a moment to collect himself, then said, “That won’t be necessary just yet, Sir.”

“Not yet, but soon,” Hatcher clarified. “Karl’s already feeling the effects of last night’s ‘rumpus.’ His touchiness in the showers says that much. And he’s smart—at lot smarter than Brenner. It took Brenner almost a month before he caught on. But Karl? Three days, tops.”

The general rose, grabbed the folder from his desk, and walked over to a dark green filing cabinet standing near his height in the corner of the office. “You see, Hagstrom, Karl’s not the kind of guy to play games with us. He values his own opinion of himself too much to let us jerk him around—or off, for that matter. Heh.”

Colin watched as Hatcher unlocked a drawer on the cabinet and unceremoniously plopped the folder into it. The general continued, “Anyway, once he figures us out, he’ll shut us down in a heartbeat. I don’t want that. Do you?” The general turned around and looked Colin directly in the eye.

Colin averted his gaze. “No, Sir.”

“No,” the general repeated, then nodded. “I’m glad to hear it.” He returned to his seat. “Frankly, I don’t know what sudden hesitation is all about. As I remember it, you had no problem putting the tabs on Brenner.”

“Jim was a sadist in addition to being a bigoted homophobe, Sir,” Colin replied, his voice grown cool. “After what he did to Drake, any ethical considerations I might have had about dealing with him went out the window.”

General Hatcher curled a corner of his lips into a wry smile. “As I recall, he had some words to say about Buckley too, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Ha!” the general laughed. “Well, it’s a good example of what we’ll do to protect our own. You may resist it all you want, Hagstrom, but the same idea applies here, too.”

“I don’t deny that, Sir,” Colin said evenly, “But Karl is different. He’d be doing this because it’s the law, and that’s just how he is.”

At this, the general sobered and nodded. “He’s a good soldier. That he is. Well, things have changed since we got Brenner ousted. I’m in charge now, for one, and anyway, the nation’s way of thinking has inched forward somewhat.”

“I hear they’ve got a bill on Capitol Hill—” Colin began.

“I’ll believe it when it happens,” the general said. “In the meantime, if you think our usual M.O. isn’t appropriate for Reynolds, well—you’re a smart guy. I’ve known that since the day you spouted all that crap about how impossible subliminal tech was and then you went ahead and did it anyway.”

“Sir?”

“What I’m saying is, if you think you can figure out a better way to handle Reynolds, be my guest. Anything I can do to help is my pleasure.”

A short, high-pitched sound peeped from Colin’s waist. He looked down and saw that the little triangular remote he had carried the night before was flashing bright blue from its tip.

The general smiled crookedly and pointed to the remote. “You’ve got your work cut out for you, I see. Like I said: three days, tops.”

Karl slapped his laptop shut, and pulled out the little wads of tissue paper from his ears. He didn’t know how effective they were, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to use them while he retrieved Colin’s email from the night before.

When he reopened the email, he involuntarily flinched back, almost as if he expected a swirling pattern to appear on the screen and a hypnotic sound to emanate forth. A faint burst of static did crackle from his speakers, but with the tissue in his ears, he didn’t hear. As quickly as he could, he scribbled the text of the email into a little notebook he carried for personal use. As soon as he got the last word down, he closed his browser and shut down the system. To be safe, he unplugged the power cord and removed his laptop’s battery.

Now he could study the words with some peace of mind. Even though he’d read it multiple times the night before, for some reason he couldn’t recall anything specific from the text. This seemed to indicate that the mystery behind every strangeness he’d experienced began with this email. He read over the main part of what he had written.

“In the day I only hope eagerly he rambles,

Yet he, twixt hating each naked beat

Rushing in his aching, enslaved will—

Stigmatist of libido, vain heat, mason of joy gone wild—

And wooing urgers of cyclic forced cruelty,

Meets only for obscured romps, to be hidden carnally.

Why?

He adheres to laws in anguished ethic.”

He was struck once again by the awkward phrasing of the lines, but this time around, the erotic implications of the poem really hit him. Something about them seemed faintly familiar. He was uncomfortably reminded of the little bout of fondling he’d enjoyed that morning. “Enslaved” and “wild” definitely described how he felt about the whole thing, like he’d sunk into some powerful web of animal heat and he couldn’t bring himself to escape—like he didn’t even want to. It had been some of the most, intense sensations he’d ever experienced, rivaling even the peaks of his sexual escapades. The fact that he had done it to himself…even just thinking about it seemed to draw out some of the residual heat lurking in his body.

Karl suddenly became aware of how deeply he started breathing. He shook himself out of his reverie and tried to avoid dwelling on how turned on he had just become over the memory of his self-pleasure. Instead, he forced his concentration on studying the poem. He didn’t make the mistake of parsing the words this time; clearly they didn’t have much to yield in terms of meaning.

Inspired by his recollection of Colin’s presentation on subliminal messaging and the connection to code, he counted over the letters, words, and lines, to see if they held some kind of pattern. His only concern was if the code was too obscure for him to recognize, in which case it would be pretty difficult for him to figure out his next steps. He reasoned, however, that the code couldn’t be that complicated, otherwise it would be impossible to get any results out of it.

About an hour or so later, Karl’s persistence paid off. He had to rewrite the poem several times, and his notebook, which he usually kept tidy and wrote in with precise script, looked a mess. But there, on one page, was a modified copy of the poem, where he figured out a pattern to the lettering:

“In the Day i Only Hope EageRly hE ramBles,

Yet hE, twiXt haTing Each NakeD beaT

rusHing In hiS achIng, eNslaVed wIll—

sTigmAtisT of lIbidO, vaiN heaT, masOn of Joy gOne wIld—

aNd woOing UrgeRs of CyclIc foRced CrueLty,

mEets Only For oBscuRed rOmps, To be HiddEn caRnalLy.

whY?

he aDherEs to Laws In anGuisHed eThic.”

He’d been thrown off by an early irregularity to the pattern, but there was no doubt that what he had underlined spelled out a coherent message:

IDOHEREBYEXTENDTHISINVITATIONTOJOINOURCIRCLEOFBROTHERLYDELIGHT

Or,

“I do hereby extend this invitation to join our circle of brotherly delight.”

The mere reading of the phrase excited a reaction in him. He could actually feel a pleasant drowsiness come over him in a sudden wave. It was like relaxing into the most comfortable, luxurious bed in the world after a hard day of work. His very need to think clearly started crawling out the window. He could feel his muscles loosen and he began to lean back in his chair. His vision grew a bit blurry.

Karl shook his head, trying to get himself out of the sudden stupor threatening to overtake him. He usually had no problem bringing his focus to bear, but now he had such difficulty it almost infuriated him. After a moment or two he managed to gather his wits together and set aside his notebook before another reading put him under again. He slowly became aware of his pounding heart. Even in the middle of a firefight, when he was staring his would-be killer right in the eyes, he never felt like this. Not exactly afraid, but every fiber of him on alert for an attack he knew was coming, but didn’t know from which quarter.

He forced himself to think on the implications of what he just discovered. So Colin had his hand in this. He had to. There couldn’t be a coincidence between Colin’s lecture on the demands of subliminal messaging and the involuntary effects his email afflicted on Karl. Could it be Colin’s sick, twisted idea of a very elaborate practical joke? Karl allowed that benefit of doubt to linger a nanosecond before squashing it. No way could this whole deal be merely a jest. The science behind it was too sophisticated for a prank. Besides, how deranged was Colin to find psychologically anesthetizing Karl funny? Then again, how deranged was Colin to want to psychologically anesthetize Karl at all?

The bigger question was how this whole deal connected to Travis and the mystery symbol. Karl realized that the email, the poem, the hypnotic effects—they were all meant to thwart him from his investigation. Whatever the mystery symbol was supposed to represent, and however it was connected to Trav, it was something that Colin didn’t want Karl to find out. And not just Colin either, Karl suspected. Colin couldn’t have gotten this far with his subliminal tech without help, either in funding or manpower. There were others involved in this—Karl knew it.

As for the eroticism laced through this whole thing… Actually, Karl couldn’t be positive that his recent hormone overdrive was linked to any of this. Sure, the circumstantial evidence all but shouted that the email had left him with some apparently more permanent effects, but he wasn’t in the business of making conclusions based on coincidences. He needed to know more about the reach of this subliminal stuff, whether it could really change a person or not. He began to suspect the answers to those questions would put him on the right track to finding answers to the bigger ones at large about Trav, Colin, and this conspiracy that seemed to be growing bigger by the minute.

Conspiracy. Karl shook his head. He hated conspiracy nuts; they represented everything he was against. He couldn’t let himself blow facts out of proportion. All he had was a badly-written poem that made him a little sleepy to read. If someone else had brought that up to him yesterday, he would have told them they must have had a pretty boring poem on their hands. The whole situation was beginning to seem a little farfetched. Anyway, how could reading one poem, even a subliminal one, start turning him into a sex fiend?

Karl still didn’t remember the more graphic events of the night before.

Dr. Steven Burrows, M.D., was the resident psychiatrist at the fort. In his youth he had been too poor to afford his college tuition, so he followed his father’s advice and joined the Marines. After serving a round in the Gulf War, he returned home and eventually ended up in medical school on military scholarships. He had always intended to return to the military, but after witnessing firsthand the psychological impact of war on his fellow soldiers, he switched his dream of becoming an army medic to focus on psychiatry instead.

For some time, he operated his own clinic for retired or off-duty military men and garnered many accolades for his work. When federal law made it a requirement for all military bases to have a resident psychiatrist, he received a number of offers from around the country. He ultimately chose to stick close to his hometown, in Missouri. A few years back he and his wife got a divorce, the upside of which was his commitment to the fort’s psychological wellbeing got stronger than ever. In fact, some people felt it was his workaholism that did the marriage in; after nearly ten years together, he and his ex-wife remained childless.

Still, there was no doubt that he was a brilliant, compassionate man, so no one felt it necessary to question his less-than-ideal personal life. Karl had only spoke with him a few times before, but he was always impressed by the keenness of Dr. Burrows’ mind. At that same conference on counter-propaganda, the doctor openly expressed his reservations for the practicality of subliminal studies.

“Oh, there’s a lot of merit to what Sergeant Hagstrom had to say,” he explained to a group of officers which included Karl. “To me, the feasibility of the tech isn’t really the issue so much as the individuals who will be doing the actual work.”

“What do you mean?” a female officer asked.

“Well, what Sergeant Hagstrom is referring to is merely the insertion of certain kinds of information into an individual’s subconscious knowledge. But that’s not really enough to alter a person’s behavior, much less their personality as a whole. For that you need to reinforce the information you want into the subject, and subconscious reinforcement cracks open a whole other mess of difficulties.”

One navy lieutenant, a black man in his early middle ages, spoke up. “I think I saw something about that on a documentary. Because you need to give people incentives to reinforce something, and if they’re hypnotized, or whatever, they can’t really recognize the incentives.”

Dr. Burrows nodded. “That’s roughly it. You can condition a person out of unwanted behaviors by punishing them when they do it, or rewarding them for not doing it, but they’re still making a conscious connection—‘If I stop biting my nails, Mommy’s going to give me a dime, but if I don’t, she won’t let me watch TV’—something like that.”

“What about those hypnotist stage-shows?” persisted an officer from the air force. “I don’t know how real they are, but when the volunteers are ‘under’ the hypnotist can make them do all sorts of crazy things.”

The doctor chuckled. “Well, some are more real than others. You have to remember though, it’s not like when the volunteers wake up, they still have urges to act like strippers or put their underwear on their heads, or whatever else they would readily do when they’re ‘under.’ Except in fiction, of course. No, any significant changes to a person’s behavior or attitudes require a significant investment in time more than any kind of technology. I doubt we’ll be seeing any practical use of subliminal messaging anytime soon.”

That was exactly the kind of sentiment Karl needed to hear from right about now, which was why for the first time in his military career, he was paying a lunchtime visit to the shrink. It was the afternoon after Karl decoded Colin’s email. That morning, he woke early and finished his shower before anyone else showed up, just to avoid another possible confrontation. He hadn’t had another “heat wave,” so he already he was beginning to chalk yesterday morning to too long of a dry spell since his last night with Sarah.

If Dr. Burrows was surprised by Karl’s unexpected drop-in, he didn’t show it. Instead he grinned, stood up from his desk, and reached out to shake Karl’s hand. “Sergeant Reynolds, good to see you. Come on in.”

The doctor was squarely in his middle ages. He wore the typical Marine uniform, but unlike Karl’s he had the thin silver rectangle of a first lieutenant on his shoulder sleeves. His auburn hair had thinned somewhat, but baldness had spared him. He was very tall, surpassing Karl’s height by at least a few inches. He didn’t look overweight, exactly, but he did look like a man who had become comfortable with a bit of extra padding around his muscles. His handshake was friendly, but firm, proving that he still had plenty of fight in him, despite his years as an academic.

His office looked much like the major general’s, except it had a little more space for some comfortable armchairs and the famous cushioned sofa. There was also another door which led to an examination room. As a psychiatrist and medical school graduate, he still often found it necessary to have a proper room to do some routine checkups and physical tests for certain patients. Karl sat himself in the armchair directly across from the doctor’s desk, but kept his back straight and his arms crossed.

This didn’t get past the doctor. “You should try to relax, Karl,” he advised, reseating himself. “I’ve met a lot of soldiers who wound themselves up too tight and ended up buckling from the stress.”

“I don’t really have a problem with that.”

Burrows smiled wryly. “That’s what they all say. But the strongest man is easier to crack than you think.”

Karl gave a polite resemblance of a smile in response.

The doctor pulled out a pad and poised a pen over it. “Well, Karl, you’re here, so there’s got to be something on your mind. Care to tell me about it?”

“Actually, what I’ve got to say is more academic than personal.”

The doctor looked interested. “Is that so? Alright, what’ve you got?”

Again, Karl had a practiced alibi up his sleeve. “Seems to me some of the recruits have been around the internet too long, or maybe they’ve seen some of those sci-fi movies, but they’ve got this paranoia about subliminal messages and brainwashing—things like that.”

“Alright…”

“It’s tough convincing them otherwise when I don’t know anything about the science, so maybe you can clear that up for me.”

A concerned crease appeared around the doctor’s eyes. “I see. Well, Karl, I won’t ask for their names, but I strongly suggest you get them to pay me a visit. From what I’m hearing so far, there could be something more than paranoia at work here.”

Karl did not want to get his students caught up in this. “I’ll do that, but maybe if you give me the drift of things, I could set them straight myself.”

“Sure, sure. Well, as you can probably predict, brainwashing is fairly controversial among psychologists. In our field, we tend to refer to it as thought reform. Actually, altering a person’s views or behaviors is not all that uncommon. We do it all the time in real life, without any high-tech gadgets or elaborate gimmicks.”

“Sure.”

“For example, we can persuade people to change their attitude by offering up a different way to look at certain behaviors. Or we can educate people into certain beliefs or actions using propaganda or social influence—they might not even really buy into it, but they’re pressured into going along with it. Think of the Nazi regime.”

“Right.”

“The issue so many who study psychology take with ‘brainwashing’ is that it seeks to change someone’s way of thinking even against their consent or will. I mean, we’re talking about an incredibly invasive form of influence. That requires the complete isolation or dependency of the subject, which is probably why you hear so much about this kind of thing happening in prison camps or cults.”

“Total dependency?” Karl repeated.

“Absolutely. You need to control their physical routines, their access to food, water, light, air—the whole package. But there are risks. Do you happen to remember a lecture Sergeant Hagstrom did a few years back, at a conference, where he talked about subliminal influences?”

Did he ever. “I think I remember something like that.”

“Well, back then I think I told you that to change a person’s identity in any way, you need to condition them. In this case, you have such absolute control over a person’s most basic needs that you end up breaking down their identity in a way—if this is an adult we’re talking about. You’re talking about degrading them down to an animal’s—no, less than that—to less than an animal’s dependency. By that point, you’re pretty much building up their personality from scratch.”

The idea of that chilled Karl like nothing ever had. “Is that really possible?”

“Eh,” the doctor said unexpectedly. “The problem is no one’s ever had a chance to formally study it, and we never will, hopefully—the ethics involved, you know.”

“But there are cases of this happening?” Karl persisted.

“I’ve read some cases from the Korean War where American POWs were brainwashed into the enemy’s mission. The conditions seemed to be about the same as those I’ve mentioned. On the other hand, the success rate was outstandingly low, and besides, torture was almost certainly involved, so there’s no telling how genuine their changes in outlook were. Torture is a completely different story.”

Karl thought for a moment. “Dr. Burrows, you’re talking about conscious brainwashing. Can any of this work subliminally?”

The doctor looked a little surprised. “Subliminally? You mean, without the person knowing that it’s happening?”

“Yes.”

The older man laughed, but his gray eyes did not twinkle as before. “You’ve really got some conspiracy theorists in your classes, don’t you?”

Karl forced a smile. “Don’t know how much they really believe in it. Might be just fun talk for them.”

“I hope so, for their sake,” the doctor agreed. “Well, some people are highly suggestible. And there are cases of subjects ‘going under,’ if you will, and being convinced into performing certain actions. But considering the fact that you have people who are basically half-asleep, there are limits to what you can get them to do. You couldn’t ask a hypnotized person to drive a car or do anything that requires a lot of coordination. And once they’re out of the hypnotic state, none of your influence remains.”

“Why is that?” Karl asked.

“You still need reinforced conditioning to make any alterations to a person more than temporary. Too much reinforcement and—”

“—He becomes aware of what’s going on,” Karl finished, concealing the relief from slipping into his voice.

The doctor looked sharply at him, but said only, “Yes. Anyway, did I cover everything?”

“You did. I’ll make sure to pass the info along,” Karl said, standing up.

Burrows gestured for Karl to sit back down. “Before you go, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Karl grew a little wary. “What is it?”

“I heard there was some kind of incident in the showers yesterday…you gave one of the recruits a good scare.”

Karl grew a little uncomfortable. “Guess I got out the wrong side of the bed.”

“Uh-huh.” The doctor fiddled his pen between two fingers. “Karl, when was the last time you had a vacation?”

“Took a day off just this week.”

“Oh? What’d you do?”

Karl hesitated, then answered, “Delivered Travis Buckley’s dress uniform to his parents.”

Dr. Burrows smiled. “Karl, I’m not talking about driving out to Minnesota on an errand. I’m asking when you took a break from the service to look after your health.”

“I’m fine.”

The doctor began to look stern. “You haven’t had longer than a three-day leave since you came back from overseas. You’re clearly not sleeping right. You’re starting to get testy... Karl, I’m no greenhorn in this field, and I’m telling you: these are the early signs of a soldier who’s been at work too long.”

Karl kept his cool. “I think people are exaggerating what happened yesterday.”

“A recruit bumped into you, so you stared daggers at him in silence then stalked out the room without saying anything to anybody? Was that an exaggeration?”

Karl couldn’t find anything to say to this.

“Would you care to explain it to me then? I’m sure you can offer me a reasonable explanation.”

Karl wasn’t prepared for this. “I…I suppose I wasn’t feeling completely 100%. Maybe I’m coming down with something.” It was lame, but it was the best he could come up with on the fly.

Burrows nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about. If you skip vacations for that long, it won’t take much to set you off.”

“Right,” Karl agreed, relieved that the doctor bought his story. “I’ll look into getting some leave.”

“You do that. In the meantime, if you’re feeling sick, you better let me check you up and prescribe you something,” said the doctor, getting up and heading toward the door leading to his exam room.

“That won’t be necessary.”

“It won’t take long, and then you can get some real medication in you instead of just popping pills from a Winn-Dixie. Do you have a class today?”

“No,” Karl admitted.

“Then you can drive out to Walgreens and get this order filled today. Come on.” The doctor opened the door to the exam room and turned on the light inside, filling it with a fluorescent glow.

Caught with the consequences of his falsehood, Karl reluctantly entered the sterile room, which was larger on one side of the door than the other. On the more spacious side was a pronounced examination table, whose surface was covered with blue pads plump enough to be cushions. A short step-stool stood at the foot of the table. A full-length mirror was set against the wall opposite from the exam table. Against the back wall was a long counter with cupboards set underneath and hanging overhead. A sink took up a third of the counter space. Against the wall closest to the door were a scale, a large wooden cabinet, and a work table.

“Why don’t you have a seat and I’ll be right with you,” Dr. Burrows said.

Karl set himself on the exam table, which had a long sheet of parchment laid across its surface. “You don’t use the infirmary’s exam rooms?”

The doctor busily reached into several cupboards for a little flashlight, a stethoscope, and what looked to be one of those devices used to inspect a patient’s ears. “Well, this used to be the major general’s office, and my office was a waiting room. But as a psychiatrist, I do need to conduct some physical exams from time to time, so he moved to a smaller office and they converted these rooms for my work.”

Having gotten the things he needed, he came to stand just slightly behind Karl, who saw that the doctor had put some tight latex gloves on. He placed the two buds of the stethoscope into his ears and placed its cup against Karl’s back, which stood perfectly straight. “Now, I want you to give me a couple of good coughs.”

Karl dutifully obeyed.

“Good. Now take some deep breaths, and exhale slowly, but do it as regularly as you can.”

As Karl breathed in and out, the doctor listened intently through his stethoscope. Then he said, “Alright, now keep breathing, but I’m just going to have you lean forward a little…”

Karl was surprised to feel the doctor’s sizable hand on his shoulder, gently pushing him forward and using its formidable strength to keep him at the right angle. He continued to take deep, regular breaths.

“Good, good,” Karl heard Burrows say behind him. His voice was a rich baritone, and quite soothing. “Keep breathing.”

Karl suddenly became very aware of the shape and weight of the doctor’s hand. Through the soft fabric of his uniform he could actually feel the pressure of each finger spread across his shoulder. He tried to focus on his breathing, but his awareness of the doctor’s grip on him never faded.

“Alright, good,” Burrows said. He released Karl and moved to stand in front of him. He placed the stethoscope squarely on the center of Karl’s chest. “Okay, same thing: cough, and then deep breaths.”

With the older man right before him, every breath Karl took in caught a whiff of the doctor’s cologne, which was faintly spicy. He’d never met anyone who actually wore cologne on an everyday basis. Karl usually found the stuff too strong for his taste, but what the doctor wore was actually kind of pleasant.

“Could you lean forward a little bit? Just like before.”

Karl angled his back slightly, but it was enough to make the scent of cologne even more palpable, practically tickling inside his nose. Just at the edge of his vision Karl could see rough reddish-brown stubble sprouting on the frame of Dr. Burrow’s jaw. His gaze followed the trail of hair until it reached the man’s fleshy lips, which were pursed in thought. Karl quickly turned his eyes away.

“Good.” The doctor removed the stethoscope from his ears and laid it on the counter. “Now I’m going to measure your vitals. Roll up your sleeve.”

Karl began folding back the lip of his right sleeve, but the doctor told him, “No, other one.”

“Right.” A little embarrassed by his mistake, Karl quickly rolled his left sleeve until it bunched up past his elbow.

“My blood pressure cuff is on the fritz so I’ll just check your heart rate for now,” Burrows told him. He crouched just slightly beside the exam table and turned Karl’s palm up. He placed two fingers on the wrist, right on the groove between the middle tendon and the outside bone. The latex of the doctor’s gloves felt slick and smooth. Karl had never really paid much attention to the texture of the rubbery material, but the prolonged contact between it and his wrist was making it impossible to think of anything else. His heart began to quicken in excitement and dread as he felt familiar stirrings rise up in him.

Burrows frowned. “That’s funny.”

“Hm?”

“Your heart rate is a little faster than I expected. Let’s try it this way.” Dr. Burrows straightened up and stood beside Karl, placing his two gloved fingers against Karl’s neck, just in the crook where the jaw met the windpipe.

The feeling of latex on his neck was engrossing by itself, but Karl now noticed the warmth from the doctor’s fingers through the thin material, as if the older man’s heat was slowly transmitting directly into the veins of Karl’s neck, flowing on his bloodstream to permeate his whole body. By now Karl knew exactly what was happening to him, but he somehow felt helpless against it. There was nothing he could do except hope the doctor would finish up soon, letting Karl escape before…before what? He couldn’t let himself think that far.

But there was nothing he could do about his heart rate, apparently. To Karl’s relief and slight disappointment, Dr. Burrows removed his fingers and shook his head. “That heart rate of yours just doesn’t seem right. Maybe I should take your blood pressure…” He took a good look at Karl. “On the other hand, it could just be stress. You look like you’re waiting for someone to take a snipe at you.”

Karl tried to keep his voice even as he said, “Guess I’m feeling sicker than I thought.”

“Perhaps.” The doctor grabbed his flashlight. “I’m going to have you open your mouth. Let’s see how that throat looks.”

Karl really disliked this part of any visit to the doctor or dentist, but being a big boy, he had little choice except to do as he was told. Dr. Burrows twisted a knob at the end of his flashlight and a little yellow ray beamed on. He pointed it into Karl’s mouth, toward the back of the throat. “Alright. Now hold still…”

To keep Karl’s restless jaw from moving too much, the doctor gently put his thumb on the bottom front teeth, cupping the jaw with his unoccupied fingers. This was actually one of the reasons why Karl hated having his mouth probed. The rubber in his mouth was always slimy and had a disagreeable, even bitter, tang. That was the case now. But Karl was distracted from all this by the pressure and heat of the doctor’s fingers pressed against his chin. The smell of cologne grew even stronger, and with the doctor peering so intently, their faces were so close they could practically—

“Well, your throat looks healthy, so that’s good,” the doctor said, shutting off his light. He picked up the ear-inspecting device, a metal rod with a top that had an extended point on one side and a looking glass on the other. “But you should really consider taking a vacation someplace. You’d be amazed what it could do for your health.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure.” The doctor turned on the device and a bead of bright blue light shone from the point of its top. He gently placed the point into the cavity of Karl’s left ear. He continued to speak, but his voice lowered and slowed a little as he concentrated on his inspection. “Whenever I need a break, I do this: my cousin has a lake house around here, by the northern end of the state. It’s a small place; if you extend the area of this room by a few feet, that’s how big it is. It’s a pretty area. Just looking at it is like an invitation to relax. ”

“Uh-huh.” The steady sound of the doctor’s rich voice was starting to make Karl a little drowsy.

The doctor moved over to the other side and began inspecting the right ear. “To tell the truth, I used to have my wife join me, when we were married. That was before our relationship went south. We’d argue about the dumbest things; it was a circle of conflict. Of all the things I regret, I wish I’d told her the truth about myself. It was brotherly love I wanted. Not the kind where you beat each other up for the hell of it, but the warm kind, the kind that brings you almost a kind of…delight.”

Without warning, Karl felt as if the volume in the room was quickly rising, turning the doctor’s last word into an unintelligible sharp whine that kept its pitch for so long, Karl thought his eardrums would break. The sound was so piercing that it seemed to mess with his vision; he blindly flailed his arms, trying to push the doctor away. And then, just as suddenly as it came, the noise stopped dead and Karl’s body went slack, his body slumping forward onto his chest. He nearly tipped over the exam table, but the doctor’s strong arms wrapped around him and kept him sitting upright.

“There you go,” Burrows said, his voice still steady and low. He placed the device in his hand onto the nearby counter. From its pointed tip, the blue light continued to flash periodically. “I heard they hit you up a couple nights ago. I didn’t think my services would be needed so soon, but I confess, I haven’t been checking my email lately.”

Burrows slowly turned Karl around and laid him almost tenderly against the padded mat of the exam table, Karl’s calves and feet hanging over the edge. Again, Karl’s eyes were not entirely closed, but fluttered so they looked as if they were. His breathing was deep and regular, and his earlier tension looked to have all but vanished.

The doctor briskly went back into his office and locked the door. When he returned, he shut the exam room door behind him and locked that too. Almost clinically, he began to remove Karl’s clothes, carefully unbuttoning the shirt and slipping Karl’s arms out of its sleeves. He placed the shirt on the counter and started toward Karl’s shoes, but he couldn’t help himself. He placed his still gloved hands on Karl’s chest and began massaging the firm pec muscles, squeezing them ever so slightly and smoothing them flat again. Karl’s fingers twitched slightly.

“Yes, one of the lucky side effects of this process,” Burrows murmured, stroking his latexed hands across the swells of Karl’s abs. “The nervous system heightens its sense of touch—the subconscious as a complete state of feeling. Just fascinating.”

He finally stopped his caresses and began to take off Karl’s shoes. He continued speaking, low and even, the sound of his voice keeping Karl calm and in his thrall. He pulled off Karl’s socks and tossed them aside. A bit of playfulness came over him and he began to tickle the soles of Karl’s feet. “Cootchie-cootchie-coo,” the doctor whispered.

Karl’s toes curled uncontrollably and he began to squirm slightly. Some quiet breaths escaped from his mouth, the subdued version of laughter.

The doctor, eager for even more entertaining play, stood up and undid Karl’s belt, not bothering to remove it. Once he unbuttoned and zipped down the fly, he grabbed big folds of the slacks in his hands and yanked them down, revealing Karl’s briefed package in one swoop. The doctor was pleased to see several damp spots here and there along the crotch line of the white underwear; it proved that even the brief contact between his latexed hands and Karl’s skin had a potent effect.

Burrows took off the slacks and left them in a pile on the tiled floor. Licking his lips, he grasped the lip of Karl’s briefs with his fingertips and began rolling them down. He allowed a moment of anticipation just before rolling them past the length of Karl’s cock, freeing it to spring slightly into the air. Then he slid it down past Karl’s feet and tossed it aside as well. He began to caress Karl’s legs, every now and then slipping his hands back to squeeze the firm round cheeks of Karl’s butt. He slowly lowered himself until he could lay his own head down on Karl’s meaty thigh so he was eye-to-eye with Karl’s thick dick.

“A fine specimen,” he said softly. As if in response to the doctor’s compliment, Karl’s cock twitched.

Burrows chuckled, then inspected Karl’s lower body with a critical eye. “Not too much hair. That’s too bad. It’ll make this next step a little less fun.”

He rose and walked over to the wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. From his back pocket he pulled out a key, inserted it into the lock on the cabinet, and turned it. He opened the door to reveal shelves full of bottles and containers of various sizes, shapes, and colors. Most of them had large labels pasted on them, but some were mysteriously blank. Of these blank ones he took out a plastic, flask-shaped bottle colored amber.

“The thing about men and their hair,” he said, unscrewing the cap. “Is that the more of it you have, the manlier you tend to view yourself. It makes sense; testosterone is responsible for a lot of that mature hair growth, and of course, testosterone is practically the essence of man.”

He tipped the bottle into one of his gloved hands and out poured a clear, viscous liquid that seemed to be equal parts oil and slime. He put the bottle on the counter and rubbed his hands together, coating them with the liquid. Then he began slathering it across Karl’s chest, rubbing in a circular motion, as if he was buffing the hood of his car. Indeed, every part of Karl’s body glossed with that liquid took on a bit of a shine, calling attention to the warm tones of his tanned skin. The liquid had a physical effect on Karl as well; at first he felt it aromatically cool, then it seemed to warm from the heat of his body, and after a few minutes it was like he had a thin layer of sunshine wrapped around him. His hands on their own began to caress his skin, but Burrows gently placed them back at Karl’s sides.

“Not just yet. We’ll get there.” The doctor poured out more of the liquid and coated Karl’s arms, thighs, and calves, saving his groin for the last. As he massaged his hands through the nest of pubic hair in Karl’s nether regions, Karl’s dick firmed up and started to lengthen. By the time the doctor got to oiling it, it had grown to its full seven inches, and its own oil was beading out the slit, mixing in with the stuff the doctor had on his hands.

“So much of a man’s identity is tied up in his physical features,” Burrows commented. From one of the cupboards above the counter he took out a man’s shaving razor, the kind with several blades. “Altering them can really have an effect on his psyche on a fundamental level.”

He placed the razor at the top of Karl’s chest, just below his collarbone, then slowly slid it down. As he did, he left behind a smooth trail free of the oil sheen that covered the rest of Karl’s body. Karl couldn’t see it, but he felt it—a keen coolness slicing through the warming oil on the rest of him. The doctor carefully maneuvered the razor across the bumps of Karl’s muscles and stopped the razor just at the waistline. He twisted a knob on the counter’s sink faucet, and let the running water flow through the razor. He returned the razor to another section at the top of Karl’s chest, then ran it down again, repeating these motions, and making the hairless zone grow wider and wider until the entire front of Karl’s chest was smooth as silk. He ran his hand experimentally across the surface and felt Karl tremble violently. He smiled.

“Yes, without all that body hair getting in the way, your tactile sensitivity is even more responsive. But did you know, Karl, that as I strip you of all this hair, such as it is, I’m also stripping away the trappings of your idea of manhood?”

Karl’s brow pinched into a slight frown.

“It’s true,” the doctor assured him. Burrows set the razor to Karl’s shoulder, and began running it all the way down the length of the arm. “The identity you developed grew as these hairs first sprouted and grew, and now I’m removing all that, taking you back to a less-defined version of yourself.”

One arm finished, the doctor turned to the other arm. “And I don’t want you coming back to your old sense of self too soon, hence this ‘solution’ I put on you. It penetrates to the root of your hair and coats it so when the blade pulls on it, the whole thing comes out—painlessly, of course. I wouldn’t want to startle you out of this pleasant state you’re in.”

As he spoke, Burrows voice kept its low overtones, but grew increasingly mild, almost sweet. He began work on Karl’s legs. “You want to know another funny thing about people, Karl, especially about men? We’re so driven by our own bodies. Some more than others. You’re definitely in the ‘others’ group.”

He saw Karl’s hands reaching towards the chest again, and he gently pushed them back in place. “But even you’re not completely immune to your primal needs when they start growling. Isn’t that right, Karl?”

Karl let out a quiet sound of contentment.

Now was the time for the good stuff. Burrows gently spread out Karl’s legs and placed himself between them to keep them apart, giving him enough space to put his razor onto the crevices of Karl’s groin. He began to make quick, sharp strokes, each time putting his razor under the water before coming back to do the next.

“And don’t get me started on our intimacy with our own dicks. The stuff from Freud alone… After you’ve been in this field for as long as I have, you’ll realize that there’s very little we do that isn’t motivated by how much attention our pricks get.”

Slowly, the bare patches around Karl’s dick and on his balls grew until they were completely bare. Then, grasping the plump bud of Karl’s cock with his forefingers, as if he were a barber pulling out a lock of hair to trim it, Burrows kept Karl’s penis straight while he ran the razor up and down its length. It was good the doctor steadied Karl’s dick because the rest of Karl’s body trembled so much from the unfamiliar stimulation that he risked an accidental cut.

The front of Karl’s body was now, from top to bottom, completely devoid of hair. There were no distracting strands obscuring Karl’s thunder-thighs, his plump calves, his powerful arms, his perfect chest, his ripe nuts—and the star of the show, his beautifully formed, lightly veined, engorged cock.

“You see, Karl, we like to think of ourselves as evolved, but when you really look at the shape of our brains, we still have a reptilian brain stem. Did you ever scratch a dog’s belly and right away its legs start jacking away? Ever wonder why? Well, every mammal—not just dogs, but cats, rabbits, even pigs—we all have a sort of sexual sweet spot, right here between our leg and our dick.”

Burrows put his hand right in the fold of where Karl’s balls met his thigh, then made a long, slow scratching motion with his fingertips. Immediately, Karl’s leg jerked and a little spurt of pre-cum oozed out of his attentive cock. Burrows laughed.

“See? The differences between even the most finely developed of us and the common mutt aren’t all that much. But then, I’ve shaved you down a bit; you’re not exactly all the man you usually are anymore. I’m going to take you right to the bottom, Karl. I’m going to clear off the rest of your supposed manhood and start you off from scratch again. I’m going to be your new daddy, and I’ll teach you the way real men are supposed to be.”

The doctor carefully turned Karl around, turning Karl’s face on one cheek, and keeping Karl’s hands tucked against his sides. Burrows retrieved his bottle of hair-removing oil, and painted down the back of Karl’s body as diligently as he did the front, making sure to get some even in the crevice between the mounds of Karl’s ass. As soon as he was done priming the younger man, he began his razor-work again.

“You know, it’s been a while since I’ve done this. That was my first time, in fact. I didn’t really know what I was doing then. I was just improvising. I ran into—complications. I blame Hatcher for involving himself too soon. Our leader is very hands-on, and we love that about him, but it was just a case of too many cooks.”

Burrows finished off Karl’s back and started on the legs, the backside being slightly easier to work on than the front.

“I’m afraid Brenner got a pretty rough deal. Not that anyone felt that bad about it, but he sure wasn’t as lucky as you are. But then, I’ve had a couple years to put a little more research and thought into the procedure. And now you’re reaping the rewards—isn’t that great?”

The doctor said this just as he ran his razor up Karl’s thigh and across one ripe ass-cheek. Karl moaned softly.

“If you think that’s good, wait until what’s coming after this. I can say with complete certainty that you’re never going to see things the same way ever again.”

The doctor pulled Karl’s ass-cheeks apart, revealing in the center of the canyon between them a dark, puckered hole, ringed on all sides with hair. It contracted and expanded slightly at the same rhythm as Karl’s breathing. Using his wrists to keep Karl’s butt pried apart, the doctor swiftly shaved out every last bit of hair, leaving absolutely no resistance between the cheeks when he allowed them to spring back together. The doctor carefully rinsed his razor one last time, then placed it blade-side up on the counter. He removed his gloves at last and dropped them in the sink. He proudly inspected his handiwork, putting his large hands on Karl’s butt and squeezing with gusto, relishing their plushy smoothness. There came a muffled grunt from Karl’s head.

Burrows laughed, continuing to firmly press his palms up and down the turgid muscles in Karl’s ass, as if he was rolling out biscuit dough. “Easy, Karl. We’re ready to start the real fun now.”

He turned Karl so that he was flat on his back, and couldn’t resist caressing his bare hands across the length of Karl’s body, causing Karl’s legs to slightly buck up. Inside, Karl could feel the doctor’s ministrations stoking a heat that was quickly spreading throughout his body.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?”

Karl didn’t speak, but he jerked his head as a kind of nodding.

“It can only feel this good when you let go of all those rigid ideals you had of yourself, and let me take them away for you. And I did. I gave you this, Karl. I let you have all this wonderful pleasure, because you have been very good and you deserve it. Wasn’t that nice of me, Karl?”

Karl managed to nod emphatically as he curled and twisted, trying to avoid and sink more deeply into the doctor’s electric caresses at the same time.

“I’ve been good to you, right, Karl?”

Another nod, one accompanied by a gaping mouth as the doctor began tickling Karl’s hairless balls with his fingertips.

“So you know that all I want is the best for you, don’t I, son?”

If some part of Karl that could still think rationally noticed the subtle change in address, it had no way of responding. The sensitive, feeling Karl was in control, and he only felt contentment from being called son by this older man who treated his body so well.

“Yes, you’re like a son to me, Karl. And I’m your daddy. We may not be related by our genes, but just the same you’re my son and I’m your daddy. Because all I want to do is make you as happy as I can, and in return, all you have to do is listen to me. Alright, son?”

Karl nodded, smiling, his face turning beatific as the doctor began rubbing his ‘sweet spot’ again.

The doctor reached up with one hand to cup Karl’s face in his large, roughened hands, circling his thumb against Karl’s temple and ear. He kept his other hand dancing like a nymph around Karl’s rising wood. “Come on, answer me, son. Will you listen to me?”

“Yes,” Karl murmured, his voice a bit faint, sounding nothing like the assured man he had been just an hour ago.

“Come on, son,” Burrows said, almost pleading. He ran his one hand through the golden brush of Karl’s thick short hair. “Haven’t I got a name to you?”

“D…d…” Karl struggled to form the word. The sensation of another man’s hands stimulating him from so many quarters felt surprisingly familiar—and very, very good. It distracted him from any rational thought that might have helped him realize the precariousness of his situation.

The doctor helped him along. “Dah…?” he sounded out.

“Da…Daddy,” Karl managed. His voice became so loose and content it was almost childlike.

“Good. Daddy’s so proud of you for saying his name.” To show just how proud he was, Burrows grasped Karl’s dick and gave it a few good strokes, making Karl moan in pleasure.

Before he went too far, the doctor released Karl’s penis and walked over to the big cabinet, rummaging in the big space on the bottom shelf. Troubled by the sudden loss of contact from the older man’s hand, Karl began to thrust his pelvis a little, searching for the big hand to pleasure him again.

“Hold on, Daddy’s got a little surprise for you.” The doctor walked back to Karl, his hands behind his back, then brought them forward. “Look, son!”

Through his glazed vision, Karl looked. The doctor was holdings in his hands the massive white rumple of an adult diaper. A vestige of Karl’s old self made a desperate effort to react, but it only managed to stir a look of confusion in his eyes.

“See, son, I want to make you the best man you can be. But for that, I have to start you off on the right foot from the very beginning, and that means I’ve got to baby you a little. Is that okay, son?”

Karl managed to hesitate only a few seconds before he nodded his consent. “Yes, Daddy.”

The doctor’s smile grew so big. “Wonderful. Now just hold on, son.”

He unfastened the diaper and spread it out wide. With surprising strength, he reached down and gently levered up Karl’s butt so he could slip the diaper beneath him. When he let go, Karl’s ass made immediate contact with the diaper and experienced for the first time its cushiony, fluffy-soft insides, the static between it and Karl’s skin making it almost cling to his butt. Karl began to eagerly wriggle his ass against the seductively soft interior, filling the room with an enthusiastic rustling sound.

The doctor was again rummaging through one of the bottom cupboards. “Daddy will be there in a minute, son.” He pulled out a large white bottle with a big cap. When he unscrewed the cap, he revealed another lid across the top with a number of holes dotting its surface. He positioned himself above Karl’s groin and upended the bottle. Out flew a puff of fine white powder, coating a part of Karl’s nether regions. Burrows shook the bottle vigorously and soon all of Karl’s dick, balls and surrounding area were powdered. The doctor rubbed the powder into Karl’s skin. “How’s that feeling, son?”

“G—good…Daddy.”

“Alright. Now for the bottom, and we’ll be all set.” He lifted Karl’s ass into the air again and powdered the diaper lavishly. Before proceeding, he put his ski-jump nose to Karl’s bottom and took a deep breath, smiling. “Mm. Nothing like a baby’s sweet bottom.”

He took some of the powder and massaged it onto each of Karl’s butt cheeks. He then set Karl back onto the diaper and began pulling the ends of diaper together over the large rounds of Karl’s thighs. He lifted Karl’s back to set the straps around Karl’s waist, then tugged on two tabs on either side of the diaper to tighten the diaper snugly onto Karl’s bottom. When he was done, he stood back to see his work, and he saw that it was good.

This was no Wall of a man. Karl’s exemplary body looked ludicrous with that plump rustling diaper wrapped around his waist, tied so tightly on him that the wrinkled leg cuffs actually hitched up the rounds of his ass. The diaper prevented anyone who should see him from admiring his full body with that humiliating interruption smack dab in the middle. Besides the hair on his head and face, he was as smooth as the day he was born, making his muscles even more pronounced, but their pronouncement only made an even more embarrassing contrast to the infant’s wear on his bottom. His dick was covered by the diaper, but nothing could be done to conceal it; its erect tautness created a distinct bulge even in the shapeless white material. The padded bottom of the diaper looked puffed and swollen around Karl’s butt, making it seem almost twice as big than it actually was.

Worst of all was Karl’s seeming unawareness of his degrading appearance. His expression was happy, even joyful; his feet dangled playfully over the exam table; his hands were busy exploring his shaven body and even curiously tugging at his new “clothing.”

“Do you like how your new panties feel, son?” Burrows asked, smiling at the grown baby he had created.

Karl nodded enthusiastically, continuing to rub his hands across his chest and press the bulgy diaper against his groin, reveling in how it squeezed all his most pleasure-hungry areas at once.

“Why don’t you take a look at how it fits on you,” the doctor suggested, lifting Karl’s back so that he was sitting upright once again on the exam table, and staring into the full-length mirror across from him.

The sudden image of his full-grown man’s body, so tall and built and defined, swaddled in an ungainly nappy, actually had a strong effect on him. Somewhere, the old Karl could see what he had been turned into, what he had allowed himself to be turned into, even to a certain extent what he had wanted himself to be turned into, and the shock he felt rippled up from the depths of his body to well in his eyes as tears.

Burrows was quick to notice the distress and knew he had to contain it before it inadvertently erased his influence entirely on Karl. “What’s the matter, son? What’s wrong? What’s wrong with Daddy’s baby boy?”

In the state he was in, there was no way Karl could explain the unhappy feelings creeping on him. He sniffed hard, and the tears welled up even more.

The doctor wrapped his arms around Karl and gave him a big bear hug, rocking him gently. “It’s alright, son. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Daddy will make everything all better, don’t cry. It’s okay. Come on, son, give me a hug. Give your daddy a hug and he’ll make things better for you.”

Karl plopped his face into the doctor’s chest, right over his heart, and let his own arms encircle the doctor’s shoulders and neck, clinging on tightly for comfort. Although he did not cry out loud, his tears wet the doctor’s uniform and little heaving breaths shook his body. Karl was beginning to lose it.

The doctor knew that if he did not get Karl back to some stable mental ground, he could permanently damage the man. He stretched one arm into an upper cupboard, speaking in low, soothing tones, “Sh, it’s okay, baby boy, Daddy’s got you. You little snip of a little man, you don’t have to worry. You’re feeling some confusing things right now because you’re not sure what to make of yourself, but that’s okay. You’re just a baby boy; Daddy’s right here and he’ll make sure you’re safe and happy. Okay, son?”

Karl sniffed once more and nodded into the doctor’s chest.

“That’s good, okay—here.” The doctor had pulled out a pacifier, a fairly large one with a bright yellow sucker on a clear plastic ring.

Karl pulled away his face and looked at the doctor’s offering, his curiosity distracting him from his self-conflict for the moment.

“It’s good. It’ll make you feel better right away. Come on. Say, ‘Ah,’” Burrows encouraged. But Karl kept his mouth shut. It was clear that some of his trust in the doctor had already eroded.

“Are you mad at me, son? I’m sorry,” the doctor said penitently. Keeping his arms around Karl, he bent his face and kissed the nook of Karl’s neck. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so confused right now.”

The doctor’s kiss was comforting and also oddly familiar. Karl felt the heat which had momentarily satiated in him begin to revive itself.

“I’m sorry, my little baby boy,” Burrows murmured, this time kissing Karl where his jaw bone met his cheek. “Come on, don’t be mad. Daddy only wants to make everything better.”

Karl had already calmed down considerably, and the older man’s kisses were riling up some very grown-up warmth inside him until every other concern he had seemed to disappear.

“It’s okay, son. Daddy will take care of you.” The doctor pressed his lips full onto Karl’s mouth, tickling Karl’s lip with his tongue.

Instinctively, Karl parted his lips slightly, at which point the doctor quickly removed his mouth and popped in the pacifier. Surprised at this unexpected intruder in his mouth, Karl puckered his mouth around the bulbous rubber and began to suck on it, becoming increasingly pleased at its pliability in his mouth. His tongue began to lick around it, exploring its contours and texture.

“There now. Isn’t that a lot better?”

Karl was too busy with his new toy to respond.

The doctor, relieved that he had gotten Karl back into his sway, explained, “It’s perfectly natural to like what you’re doing, son. For babies, and especially for baby boys, like my sweet baby boy—”he squeezed his charge fondly“—your mouth is the best way to taste the world around you. Like that pacifier. You like how it tastes, don’t you?”

Having given the sucker a thorough trial, Karl nodded.

“Try not to use your teeth, son. Your teeth don’t feel a thing; it’s your mouth and tongue that gets all the fun.” Burrows wanted to instill good habits from the get-go; it would save a lot of pain and trouble later on.

Karl obeyed and found that the doctor’s words were true, as they had been this whole time. He was really starting to feel that nothing the doctor said could bring him any harm.

Burrows was ready to move on. “Now, how about other things? Do you think you might like the way your thumb tastes?”

Karl looked uncertain.

“Give it a try. Come on, give it a try for Daddy. Here you go.” The doctor gently pried the pacifier out of Karl’s mouth with a faint pop, then lifted Karl’s thumb to his lips. Karl reluctantly stuck his thumb in his mouth and began to suck. His eyes, which had returned to a half-open state, widened a little. He began to suck more eagerly as he reveled in the salty taste of his own flesh.

“Is that good?”

“Mm,” Karl mumbled around his thumb.

“Now how about trying your daddy’s?” Burrows put his own thumb out in front of Karl’s face. “Go on, son. Give it a try.”

Karl gave the man’s thumb one glance, removed his own from his mouth, and put his lips around the newest offering. He was impressed by how even though the doctor’s finger was a bit salty like his own, it had a distinctive taste. Only his mouth and tongue could give him that kind of information. He was beginning to see just how useful his mouth and tongue were in interacting with his world.

While Karl pondered on these new revelations, the doctor began unbuttoning his shirt with his other hand, pulling it aside to reveal a firm, brown nipple on a plump, but hard pec. A silver chain hung around his neck, and hanging from its middle was a circle inscribed with three interlocked triangles inside. “Hey, son,” he coaxed. “How about you try what different parts of the body taste like?” He pinched his nipple between his other thumb and forefinger.

This time, there was no hesitation as Karl removed his mouth from the doctor’s thumb and planted it on the little lump of flesh popping out of the man’s hairy chest. He quickly realized that unlike a pacifier or thumb, a nipple can only go a short way between his lips, so his sucking had to be a little faster, and his tongue had to extend farther to taste its rough surface.

“See, son? It’s fun to explore another man’s body with your mouth. And even big, grown-up men like your daddy like to do it. And the more we do it, the better we get at it. Here.” The doctor gently pushed Karl off him, bent down his head, and put his own mouth on Karl’s young, supple nip. He expertly tweaked it between his lips, and used his tongue to give it a full wash.

Karl may have been afflicted with a child’s brain, but his body was still a man’s, despite the diaper he wore, so the doctor’s nipple-play enriched his body with a deluge of pleasure. His dick began to press against the tight walls of its diapered prison, and he could feel a slick coolness mix with the grainy powder down there, forming almost an ooze. But this merely made his cock more sensitive to the soft confines of his baby panties. In the heat of the moment, Karl’s instincts made him reach out with his hands and press the doctor’s face more closely into his pecs.

That was the signal the doctor had been waiting for; Karl’s adult bodily instincts were starting to merge with his newborn ideas, all of which were swimming together in the primordial soup of his subconscious. Burrows knew the time had come to deviate Karl’s primal attitudes in a really big way.

“Son, how about you show me what you learned from Daddy? Try me again.”

Karl didn’t really understand much of that, but he did see the doctor’s nipple come into view again, and he lunged for it. This time he was more creative with his tongue massage, attempting some of the things Burrows had done to him, and trying out some new things all his own in serving the perky teat. The doctor found Karl’s improved nipple-play so hot that he nearly lost track of what he was doing, which was undoing his pants and pulling them down to reveal a neon-green thong cupping his dick, a shapeless dark stain on the spandex.

“Alright. Alright, son,” Burrows gasped. “That was good. That was very good. You’ve made Daddy so proud, I want to give you something special.”

Burrows climbed out of his slacks and onto the exam table with Karl, laying Karl back flat on the padded surface. He kneeled his legs on either side of Karl’s face and pulled down the bright green pouch, allowing the full six inches of his pulsing penis to drool on Karl’s face. “Go on, son. Try that. I promise you it tastes better than everything else you tried already.”

For a moment Karl stared dumbfounded at the cock in his face. Then the desire to explore this newest toy became too much for him to resist and he opened his mouth wide to purse his lips around the juicy head of the doctor’s fat dick. At first he only sucked the plump mushroom head, the droplets of pre-cum tasting creamy, salty, even a little sweet against his ecstatic tongue. But as his own saliva coated the cock in his mouth, he found it easier to take in more and more of the throbbing flesh. He pulled his hands out from under the doctor’s legs and grasped the root of the older man’s wide girth, feeding the slick dick to himself. With his legs haphazardly bending and unbending, his cheeks puffed out from the considerable meat in his mouth, his hands clutched enthusiastically around the doctor’s beer-can of a cock, and of course, his big white diaper packaged firm and plump around his bottom and groin, Karl truly resembled an overgrown baby engrossed in his daddy’s bottle.

He was fascinated by the way each throb of the thick penis stretched his mouth just a little wider, and how the more he took in, the more it gave his tongue to wrap around and explore. As he slid it from side to side in his mouth, it bulged out his cheeks. It amazed him that his tongue was so tactile, it could actually feel the striations of the veins running along the length of the doctor’s cock. His lips began to plump up from the friction of sliding back and forth along the length of the doctor’s fleshy member. He didn’t know how, but the more pleasure he gave to the doctor’s dick, the more pleasure he seemed to receive in his own pecker, which was throbbing in his diaper, spurting out pre-cum that was immediately absorbed into the soft interior.

Burrows could no longer keep himself from thrusting his hips into Karl’s face, pumping his cock again and again into the regressed soldier’s virgin face. He tried to hold back his moans as he sputtered, “G—good, son! That’s very good. You’re going to grow up to be a fine man, if you keep this up, and that’ll make Daddy so proud of you.”

The words had lost meaning for Karl, but he could hear the encouragement in them and he dared to swallow another inch of the fat schlong, taking more than half of it in his mouth, officially deep-throating it. Excitement kept him from gagging, and made him reach out with his hands to grasp the doctor’s ass, pushing the older man’s groin even closer onto his face. His jaw was beginning to ache from all this work, but he stopped caring. He didn’t know what was supposed to come next, but he sensed that if only he kept going, kept making his daddy happy, it would come and make him happy many times in return. Karl did not know that he was moaning deeply around each plunge he took on the doctor’s love-stick. He was loving this, and was so grateful to his daddy for showing it all to him.

The doctor was nearing his climax. It didn’t use to come this soon, but he older now, and this was the youngest, most enthusiastic mouth he’d had on his cock in a long time. He gasped, “Now son—uh!—pretty soon, Daddy’s going to feed you with his milk. When you taste it, it’ll be the sweetest, most delicious milk you’ve hear had. It’ll make you grow up into a real man.”

Even though Karl was too deep in the throes of his blowjob to pay too much attention, he could feel the words permeating into his head, mixing in with heat to become a part of him.

“My milk will—hah!—fill you up, son, and some of the old you, the part of you that got so scared and confused by this at first—guh!—that part will go away. So, son—ngh!—do you want Daddy’s milk now?”

With Karl’s head already bobbing and shaking on the doctor’s trembling dick, it was hard to tell if he actually nodded or not. But it hardly mattered—Baby Karl was more than ready for his milk now.

“Alright, son, here it comes…!” Burrows wrenched his head back and groaned in pleasure as he felt his dick swell until he thought it would just burst in Karl’s mouth, then jerk once—twice!—three times!—four—! He lost count. His orgasm went on for almost half a minute, as long as it had back when he’d been Karl’s age.

And all the cum he juiced out, all that creamy white milk filled Karl’s mouth, bubbling salty-sweet and gooey on his tongue before he let it slip smoothly down his gullet. At the same time as he felt that milk fill him up, he felt his own milk—not the good kind, like his daddy’s, but the bad kind that almost kept him from feeling this good—his cum spurted rapidly out of his overburdened cock, getting trapped in the impermeable walls of the diaper he still wore.

The doctor panted and heaved for a moment, then wiped the sweat off his brow. His dick was still drizzling milky liquid, and he quickly put it back into Karl’s mouth, not wanting to let any of it go to waste when his big baby boy could get so much use out of it. Karl slurped contentedly on it until every last drop had slipped down his throat. A little glob of cum stuck to the corner of Karl’s mouth, and the doctor, smiling and climbing carefully off the exam table, wiped it off with his finger, then stuck it into Karl’s mouth. When all his cream had been cleaned up, the doctor said, running his hands through his baby’s slightly damp, disheveled hair, “Was that good, son? Did you like Daddy’s milk?”

Lethargically, with a thoughtless smile on his face, Karl nodded slowly. His eyes began to flutter shut. A moment later, he was breathing softly, one hand still rubbing his chest while the other had a thumb in his mouth. His legs had folded up and tucked itself so that his feet brushed against the rumpled exterior of his diaper. Inside the diaper, his dick was slowly deflating, still swimming in the mess of warm unwanted manhood that clung to the almost baby-soft fabric inside. The hardened soldier looked so peaceful and contented, curled into a fetal position and comfortable in his oversized tight diaper, that Burrows almost convinced himself he had created a child out of this man, when he had in fact done quite the opposite.