The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I met Thomas at a champagne gala for museum sponsors. He was a guest; he had donated a lot of money. I was carrying a tray of champagne glasses; I was working.

I didn’t pay much attention to him, he was one of dozens of overdressed people at the event. I worked a lot of fancy parties; I was one of the caterer’s more reliable servers. After working a hundred white-tie events—all the guests, all the venues, all the charities—it all started to blend together: the mid-range champagne in fancy glasses, the ridiculous hors’d’oeuvres on tiny plates—one event after another.

It helped pay the rent.

I was carrying the tray down one of the side halls, Thomas was alone, at the end of the hall, looking into a display of ceramic bowls.

Thomas spoke to me, which was unusual. Most guest at these events never spoke to the staff. At the best, they spoke at the staff. Issuing requests (orders, really) for food or booze.

Thomas leaned over, and read my name tag, “Steven.”

I blinked my surprise, “Sir?”

Thomas gave a quick laugh, “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He gave me a quick smile, “Might I have a glass of that very adequate champagne?” There was a twinkle in his eye, like the two of us were old friends, and we were sharing an inside-joke.

I made a small laugh, quickly suppressed. We were alone, no one could overhear, “Of course sir. Would you like some ridiculous hors’d’oeuvres with that?”

Thomas relaxed, “Oh good. You have a sense of humor. I was afraid that you were merely a pretty face.”

I thought, Ah. He’s gay. I wasn’t gay, but he was guest, I should be polite.

Thomas was older than I, maybe twenty five. Most of the men at these events wore their tuxedos stiffly, awkwardly—uncomfortable with rented clothing. Thomas wore his tuxedo like clothing—very comfortably. I could tell that he hadn’t rented his tuxedo. Everything about him radiated “class” and “style”.

He took the last glass off my tray, “I know all the staff here, and all the docents. Are you new?”

I replied, “I’m with the caterers.”

I gave me an appraising look, “Set down the tray. I want to show you the most fascinating display in the museum.”

I put the tray down. He set his glass down.

He said, “Look at the small bowl on the top shelf.”

I gave it a look, it looked like any other bowl in the display.

Thomas told me, “Keep looking. Don’t take your eyes away.” He took my right hand in his right hand. Like he was shaking my hand, but mostly he was just holding it. His left hand held my forearm, just short of my elbow. He gently pulled and pushed, and twisted my hand in his, “Just keep watching that bowl. You’ll know why in a minute. Just keep staring at that bowl.

He went on in a calm, moderate tone, “Just keep looking. Watch that bowl. Relax. Let nothing bother you. Everything is fine. Watch. Look. Relax.”

He went on for several minutes.

Then I blinked my eyes. He was still there. Still holding my hand.

He said, “Very good. You are very good at this.”

I shook my head to clear it, “Good at what?”

He spoke, I was staring at the bowl.

I woke again.

I told him my story. Home. Growing up. Working three jobs. Barely staying ahead of rent. A girl that I was supposably dating—except I rarely had any time to spend with her—and when I did, she wasn’t very nice to me.

He shook my hand again.

I woke again.

Thomas slipped me his business card, and I went back to work.

On Tuesdays, I mowed the lawn and did gardening at my apartment building. I did this to help pay the rent on my tiny apartment. I would also do my personal laundry, pay bills, and take care of errands. I didn’t have to go into work at any of my three jobs—so I, laughingly, called Tuesday “my day off”.

This Tuesday, after spending three hours in the garden, I called Thomas asking him if he had any work for me.

It seemed a very strange thing to do. I had only spoken to him for ten minutes at the gala, he didn’t offer me any work. At least, I didn’t remember him offering me work. I must admit, my memory of what happened down the side hall in the museum was a little sketchy.

Thomas assured me that he had a big project at his house, and could use some help. He described the work as “steel work”, and I was to “wear sturdy work clothes”, something that I “wouldn’t mind getting dirty”.

Arriving at his house, I found him in his workshop, which was a 40 foot by 80 foot steel shed.

I was quite surprised at his house. The house in front was sprawling, almost a mansion. In the back, it was a series of sheds and working spaces.

Thomas shrugged it off, “Family money. But, I don’t slack off. I run a business out of my shop. A very odd business. I don’t care what people think of me. I’m having fun.”

It was odd seeing Thomas, who looked so at ease in his tuxedo, equally at home in dungarees and work boots.

The work itself wasn’t complicated, but it was sweaty. Steel bars were to be cut to length, the ends ground to shape, and the sharp edges ground smooth. I had done a little metal work in high school shop, so it only took Thomas a hour to teach me to make the strips as well as he could.

By lunch time, we were filthy. We washed up and went into the house’s kitchen.

The first time I saw the inside of the house, I was impressed. I had worked a lot of fancy parties. I knew what “money” looked like. This house was top-end, and the decorating had been expensive.

He made us both lunch. He called it “le dîner d’hier soir réchauffé au micro-onde”.

I translated, “Microwaved leftovers”?

Thomas seemed impressed by my meager French skills.

Again he shook my hand and spoke quietly.

When I woke, I had finished washing the dishes.

Another two hours in the shop finished all that day’s work.

Rather than go home dirty, I showered at Thomas’ house.

My shower took a lot longer than my showers normally take.

Thomas made some soup for an early dinner. We talked for a long time, mostly about me my life, what I wanted for my future.

When he paid me, he paid twice my normal daily rate. He told me that I could have all the work I wanted. I thanked him for the extra money, but I was already working three jobs.

He said, “If something happens to one of the other jobs, I could give you all the hours you need.”

I hesitated. He went on, “Still. Something to think about.”

We got dressed, and I went home.

When I got home, I realized, that I must have remembered it incorrectly. I would have gotten dressed before having dinner.

Later that week, a group of us went to the movies. A big group. Some of them, were people that I didn’t know. My girlfriend was there. The whole thing was fine, but rushed. Work had gone late that day, and I missed having dinner with everyone. I had to meet everyone in front of the theater. My girlfriend seemed distracted. Not really present. She seemed more interested in getting to know some of the new-comers to the group.

Still, it was nice, I guess.

The next day, a shift at my third job was canceled.

I called Thomas.

He said he was “delighted”. He went on, “Come right over. I’ll show you the next step in the fabrication process.” He went on, “Bring clothes to change into, so you don’t have to put on dirty clothes to go home.”

I threw a bunch of stuff in a bag, and went right over.

In his living room, he shook my hand when he greeted me. I changed out of my street clothes and we sat at the kitchen table with coffee, and talked for a while.

Something about with coffee seemed odd, for some reason. I couldn’t put my finger on why the situation was weird. Eventually, I decided it was because we were sitting drinking coffee, when he was paying me to work. The oddness wasn’t because I was naked. But if he wanted to have coffee, that was fine.

After half an hour or so, I dressed what I was calling my “steel-working clothes”.

He showed me the band saw, and how to use it.

After a few practice runs on some scrap metal, I started work on the straps I had made a couple of days early.

Thomas watched at first, then went to another bench to cut some chain links in half.

After a couple of hours, I had finished the stack of straps. I had managed to cut almost all of them correctly. Five of them I had cut incorrectly. Thomas quietly explained what I had done wrong, and showed me how to fix three of them.

Two of the straps were a complete loss. They went into the scrap box.

My other bosses would have yelled and berated me. Thomas was calm and explained calmly, “Not bad for your second day.”

Together we heated and bent the straps into “C” shapes. He held the glowing-red straps with tongs and tools; I pumped the handle on the hydraulic press.

Finishing early, Thomas shook my hand, and we went inside the house to clean up. Our showers took awhile.

Rather than get dressed right away, Thomas took me to his basement “exercise room”.

It was filled with normal exercise equipment, plus a lot of special equipment I had never seen before.

Thomas was in great shape.

At that time, I was in “good” shape: Not fat. Not skinny. Not bad. Not great.

Thomas took my hand, and explained that exercising half an hour, three times a week would be great. And, since I was naked anyway, this would be a great day to start.

So, Thomas worked me through a routine: sit-ups, pull-ups, squats, bench press, curls, and so on. I was quickly exhausted. I couldn’t keep up with Thomas. He was moving more weight than I.

After half an hour, we switched to low-impact stretching exercises.

Thomas showed me how to relax my throat. He had some special tool that went inside my mouth and down my throat. We worked that for a long set. At first, I had some difficulty breathing using that tool. Thomas seemed to be happy at my progress. So much so, he started shouting his encouragement.

Later, in the shower, he shook my hand. It was nice showering with Thomas. It was always so comfortable being with him.

As we dressed, he explained, “Because of your workout, your body will be in pain tomorrow. So, when you hurt, think of me … and you will stop hurting.”

He paid me, and I went home thinking, What a great guy Thomas is.

When I woke the next day, my body was screaming. I couldn’t believe how much I hurt.

But, like Thomas said, I thought about him and my body stopped hurting. I wasn’t sure how this worked, but it did. The more I thought about him—the more the pain was blocked off, the better I felt. It was amazing.

I spend the entire day working and thinking about him.

I had a date with my girlfriend that evening. She seemed distracted, and I was thinking about Thomas. It was awkward. When she did speak to me, she was bitting and difficult. Not a fun evening.

A couple of days later, I again had a canceled shift, so I called Thomas.

He had work for me to do, so he invited me over, “Bring your ‘steel-working clothes’. Better yet, also bring your work clothes—in case you want to spend the night here, and go directly from here to work tomorrow.

I thought that it was unlikely that I would spend the night at Thomas’ house, but I took everything with me, just in case.

When I arrived, we both showered and had coffee.

The day before, Thomas had welded the chainlink halves to the metal straps in various places.

That day’s work was more complicated than previous. The strap ends had to be rolled. Pins needed inserting, to form hinges.

Thomas said, “This is the trickiest part of the whole process. You need five hands to make this work. I have some special jigs and clamps so I can do it by myself, but it is easier to do with two people.”

If it was easier with two people, I would hate to do it with just the jigs. It was awful. Everything was odd angles, the parts were hard to hold. We kept dropping things.

Eventually, everything was connected. We rubbed all the metal bits with oily rags, to give everything a protective coat, and we were finished.

We celebrated with a shower, a nice dinner, and a trip to the Thomas’ gym.

A good strong half-hour workout.

After, Thomas used his special throat tool to help me relax. Then he used a back straightener. He leaned me across the table, climbed on top of me, and aligned my back.

Thomas told me that it would feel good, and it did. Not at first. At first there was some pain, some pressure. But after a few minutes. I was feeling incredibly good. I lost track of how good I felt.

Thomas must have felt good, too. He was shouting. I was shouting. It was great.

Much to my surprise, while the two of us were showering, I decided to spend the night.

The guest room was in the basement, in the same room as the gym.

Thomas has an unusual guest bed. There are two straps that wrap around a guest’s wrists, and two hooks on the ceiling. The guest hangs there. A sleeping mask covers your eyes, to blockout all light. It was very relaxing.

After a few photographs—some with the mask on, some with the mask off—Thomas decided that I would be more comfortable sleeping in his bed. So, we moved upstairs.

His bed was very comfortable.

It was nice waking up with a warm body next to me. I would have preferred my girlfriend, but Thomas was nice, too.

In the early morning, while Thomas slept, I used his special throat tool to relax my throat. I choked less, each time I used it.

Thomas used his back straightener on me. It felt very good.

We showered, I had breakfast, got dressed, then I went to work.

On the way to work, I thought that through, I must have dressed before breakfast. I wouldn’t have had breakfast naked. We didn’t shower together. Did we?

Because of the workout, I had body pain all day. I kept thinking about Thomas to blockout the pain. It worked. This day, instead of neutral thoughts of Thomas, I was constantly overwhelmed with how wonderful he was. So nice. Such a good boss. Fun to be with.

My girl friend canceled our date. She was going on a two day trip, and knew that I would be stuck at work. She was going with a group, including the new people that we met on movie night.

I was disappointed, but I understood. Quite honestly, with everything going on in my life at that point, the last thing I wanted was to deal with my abrasive girlfriend.

Then she mentioned that one of the new people that she was going with was “Larry”. She was excessively casual when she mentioned his name. I knew instantly that she was double timing me.

For some reason, I was not angry. You’d think that I would be. But, I wasn’t. Realistically, I hadn’t had a lot of time to spend with her. I didn’t have a lot of money to spend on her, which she originally said wasn’t going to be a problem, but it had been.

And, lately, she had been extra annoying.

We didn’t actually break up. She was going out, and I was staying behind. That was all. At least for now.

I told her, “Have a great time.”

And, that was that.

My second job canceled again. The supervisor that called-me-off was an old friend of mine. He hinted that the project was coming slowly to a close, so it might be time to find outside work. I thanked him for being honest. He was apologetic. I explained—he didn’t need to worry, I had already picked up a new side project. He seemed relieved.

A call to Thomas got a shift at his workshop.

When I arrived at his house, he had a friend with him. His friend was a photographer. I stripped naked, of course. His friend seemed very friendly, and fiddled with his camera equipment. Then he fiddled with my camera equipment.

Thomas shook my hand, and when I woke, I signed a “photo release” and a “modeling contract” for some pictures.

The three of us went down into Thomas’ basement. His friend, jokingly, called Thomas’ basement, the “dungeon”.

In the basement were the metal straps that Thomas and I had worked on over the past couple of weeks. Thomas had me put some on. They were cold against my skin. Around my neck, wrists, and ankles.

Thomas and his friend arranged me on the guest bed, across the table, on the floor, on top of the sawhorse, and several different places. The sawhorse wasn’t like a regular sawhorse. It was large and padded. It was difficult to see how it would help in carpentry.

Chains were clipped on. Padlocks were used. Various clothes: the sleeping mask, a sort-of leather coat, skin tight pants, and a bunch other stuff.

And, the photos. Dozens of photos. Maybe hundreds. They were for a catalog, Thomas was selling the metal straps on-line, but now he was planning on “boosting production”, and “selling a lot more”.

After the photo session, Thomas’ friend helped me relax by using his throat tool to help me relax my throat. Then Thomas used his throat tool to relax my throat, while his friend used his back straightener. We all ended my exercise with shouting.

Thomas served lunch, then his friend went home.

Thomas and I changed into our steel-working clothes, and went into the shop. There were more strips to cut to length. After getting me started, Thomas went to “finish a side project”.

After a couple of hours, when all the strips had been cut and ground smooth—Thomas had me sit on the work bench, with my left foot on the anvil. At the time, I had no idea why.

Then there were showers, exercise, another shower, then dinner.

Again, I spent the night in Thomas’ bed.

I woke in Thomas’s arms. It was nice.

In the morning: throat exercises, back straightening, showers, then off to work.

My girlfriend sent me twenty text messages while I was working at a catering gig. I had my phone on silent, but it kept vibrating.

During a ten minute break, I called her. She was mad. I had made her wait over an hour before I called.

I explained, “I was working. I have responsibilities.”

She was completely unreasonable, “What about me? Don’t you have responsibilities towards me?”

I said, “Yes. But, that’s different.”

She said, “I don’t know why you ignore me.”

There was a long pause, to which I added. I thought, God! She’s such a bitch!

Finally, I asked, “How is Larry?”

She said, “Who?”

I asked, “Or, is his name ‘Gary’? You know? The guy you had a date with last night?”

She hung up the phone.

That was that.

I went back to work.

A month or so later, I bumped into Larry. I asked him, “So? You’re dating my ex-girlfriend?”

He looked nervous, like he thought I was going to punch him. He nodded.

I smiled, “No take-backs.”

Two months after that, I heard that she had publicly and loudly berated him. Larry had been treating her to a dinner in a very fancy, and very expensive, restaurant—when she suddenly caused a huge scene.

He dumped her two days after that. I tried not to laugh.

But, that was later.

Two days after the photoshoot, after bending steel all day, and after our shower—Thomas asked me if anything was bothering me. I guess that I had been moping all day.

I found myself telling him about breaking up with my girlfriend. We talked for a while, then he shook my hand and made everything ok.

He decided to use my special throat tool to relax his throat that evening, “as a treat”.

At first, I didn’t understand why relaxing his throat would be a “treat” for me. I quickly found out that relaxing someone’s throat felt amazing. He eagerly used my tool. I could tell that he was enjoying the entire thing, but I don’t think that he enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed relaxing him. As he relaxed, I found myself bucking and thrusting at him. I clamped my hands to the side of his head, as I had often seen him do to me. There was a certain amount of grunting and shouting.

The next morning, Thomas asked me to use my back straightener on him. He shook my hand and spoke to me. Thomas had been so good to me. He had given me a job. He paid twice my normal day rate. He was teaching me a skill. He relaxed my throat and straightened my back at every opportunity, sometimes twice a day.

I climbed on top and gave him, and gave him the best back straightening I knew how.

He lay on his back, his legs splayed out. I straightened over and over. Pounding away. Under me, his hand was franticly trying to get his special throat tool ready.

Because of something he had said while shaking my hand, I was having difficulty thinking. I became completely focused on the physical act of straightening his back.

It was obvious that Thomas was enjoying being straightened.

It was pleasant for me as well. Using my body to make him feel good. Using my body to straighten his back.

It was impossible to think. My mind shut down. Only the physical act of straightened mattered. Only my pounding on him was of any concern. On and on. I had great need. Thomas had great need. Only the mechanical act.

With a shout, we both released our tension at the same time.

With great heaving breaths, we recovered the best we could. I collapsed onto his chest, then slid to the side, pulling him around with me, so we cuddled on our sides, face to face. We kissed. It was wonderful to be in Thomas’ arms.

In a slightly odd way, the entire experience was faintly sexual.

Thomas developed the habit of inviting his friends over for throat relaxing and back straightening, two or three times a week.

Sometimes he had one friend over, sometimes three or four of his friends. Sometimes in the living room. Sometimes in the bedroom. Sometimes in the basement. I would often be strung up on the guest bed, or spread on the saw-horse.

A couple of times he took me to a “backroom bar”, where there were dozens of men. I’m not certain what was going on in the “front” of the bar, but I was very popular in the “back”.

His friends seemed happy with all the attention. As long as I woke up in Thomas’ bed, I had a good time.

A month after the photoshoot, I was showering in my apartment, when I noticed something. I was wearing an anklet. There were two “C” shaped pieces of steel each with a small hole on each end. The “C” shaped steel pieces had been riveted into a circle. There was no hasp or connection. There was no hinge.

The anklet was permanently attached to my leg.

It would take metalworking tools to get it off.

This must have been the “side project” that Thomas had been working on. And, why my foot had been on the anvil. Why had I not noticed, when he put it on? More worryingly, Why did it take a month to notice?

The next time I saw Thomas, I asked about the anklet.

Thomas considered me very carefully. Then, he shook my hand, and explained, “The anklet is a symbol of your enslavement. You are my property. I use you for labor. I use you for sex. I have hypnotized you. You are a very good subject—very easy to control. You let me use you, and your body. I have made you love having me use you. I have made you not notice. I have made you love me—physically and emotionally, love me. When I wake you, you will notice. You will like it. You will still love me.”

I woke with a start, What had been happening?

Thomas hadn’t paid me in over a month. Thomas had been fucking my mouth, fucking my ass, and lending me out to his friends and to strangers.

Thomas watched me carefully, warily; like he wasn’t sure how I was going to react. He held my hand and my elbow firmly. He was ready to shake my hand, if things went badly.

I was horrified. I was betrayed. I was ecstatic. I was confused.

I liked it. Was it because he had made me like it? Probably. Was it better? Definitely. Did I love him? Absolutely.

I sank to my knees. I pulled Thomas’s dick was into my mouth. He was relaxing my throat, like usual—but this was better. This was sex. Hot aggressive sex. I sucked. He fucked.

Before, I had been oblivious. This time, I was participating. This was better.

We quickly came. Shouting and screaming, then there was gasping and hugging.

Thomas took me to the dungeon and strapped me down on the “saw horse”. The straps and chains that I had made—were used against me: holding me, restraining me, loving me.

Back straightening with lust and passion.

I could not think. The entire world was his dick in my ass, and my hand on my cock.

Complete lack of mental effort. Was it the hypnosis? Did I care?

I didn’t remember having an orgasm for two months. I must have had them, but I didn’t remember.

Soon, I didn’t care. I only wanted Thomas to keep using me. I wanted this to go on forever.

We had perfect orgasms.

He fell across my back; both in bliss.

I was strapped down in his dungeon.

I was happy.

I moved into one of Thomas’ spare bedrooms. Not that I spend much time in there. I slept in Thomas’ bed every night. I mostly used my room as a place to store my meager possessions.

I worked everyday in the workshop, producing more things for Thomas to sell. I actually became pretty good and handling steel. I branched out with my own designs, not just sex toys. Thomas and I joined some local blacksmithing clubs. We learned a lot, and the guys were fun to hangout with. To my complete lack of surprise, Thomas looked as natural with a bottle of beer in his hand, as he did with a glass of champagne.

Thomas took me to theater openings and museum events. Not only big popular events, but small weird shows that weren’t open to the public—art and performance offerings which required an invitation. I was immersed into an art world that I had no idea even existed.

I kept my catering job. It was nice to have a “thing” that was all my own. A place where I could have normal conversations, and be with working adults.

We still called our sex “throat relaxing” and “back straightening”.

More importantly, Thomas was doing something that no one else had ever managed to do … He made me happy.

Every morning, I woke in Thomas’ bed.

Life was good.