The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive


So that he can better understand how I got here, my therapist directed me to write it down as though I was in a group session. So here it is:

Hi, my name is Charles. I went from a decent person to a slut and now a whore. It began when I met a fellow named Carl at the Y.

I suppose I could just admit I met a gay guy at the Y and that ought to be enough for everyone to fill in the gaps. But each person’s journey is unique to them, and so, as I have been directed, here is mine.

I have belonged to Y’s since I was 6. Learned to swim, to compete and then to lifeguard which ultimately led to swimming in college and later on to Master’s swimming and triathlons. Depending on where we lived, I swam either at the Y or an aquatic center. Y’s are more popular up north, not so much in the south. And in the 50’s and 60’s kids thought of them as a fun place. But once in the real world, the Y had a different meaning.

Still, as health clubs came and went, the Y was always there. Over time, they became co-ed and catered to retirees through the health plans.

Seven years ago we moved back east to be closer to family. My job had transitioned into a remote status and gave me the flexibility to travel or hospital sit as circumstances required. But then when the need for us to be on call faded away, Charlotte passed. After a brief period of mental wandering, I threw myself back into training. The knees did not much like running, but swimming and cycling were no problem. There was always a lane at the pool and spin classes every morning.

Then the Covid hit. Fortunately my state re-opened fairly quickly and surprisingly, the Y opened as soon as possible.

The morning work-out group consisted pretty much of the same folks—retirees mostly with a few in the 50s. And the locker room was the same as all others—griping about aches and pains, the chlorine level and water temperature, the sadistic nature of the 20-something that did the Tu-Th spin class, and the always cheerful demeanor of the lady on the front desk. Oh yeah—and politics.

90% of the folks were conservatives and so the 10% on the other side had to pick and choose their comments to produce the least amount of rejoinder.

One aspect of my job required negotiation and compromise so I would try to keep things balanced—not always easy given the last two years.

And so about nine months ago, Carl made a point to walk out with me one morning and express his appreciation. At my car, he then shook my hand, put his other hand on my shoulder and held me by eye for 5-7 seconds, nodded and smiled and then without a word went to his car.

I remember thinking he had a firm grip and deep slate blue eyes.

Over the next couple of weeks I noticed that when I finished the spin class at either 6:30 or 6:45, he would finish the treadmill and we would be in the room with only one or to others and sometimes alone, the majority of the guys being swimmers. Again we would walk out together, and it so happened his car was almost always next to mine. A hand-shake, a shoulder grip or guy-hug and eye contact ended the each session. Then, during the walks sometimes our shoulders would rub or he might put his hand on my back.

I thought nothing of it; the parking lot was not well lit.

Then one morning the pool was closed to repair the heater, and it was cold and wet. There were three people in the spin class and the weight/aerobic room were almost empty. I waved at Carl as I usually did. On the way back to the locker room, he was coming out as I went by so we walked side by side, only this time he put his hand on the back of neck. I did not flinch. He left it there until we reached our lockers.

I undressed, grabbed my towel and turned around. His locker was diagonal to mine and he was already standing there, towel on his shoulder.

We had never been alone and naked and that close to each other. As I looked him, he stared right back and began stroking his cock. I froze. My gaze drifted from his eyes down to his cock. He took a couple of steps closer. I could not look away but part of my brains switched my ears to high alert for any creak of a door. As he took one more step, I felt myself starting to respond.

“That’s right; I thought you might like what you see here.”

Still frozen and staring, I gulped, “Stop, please—someone is going to walk in—we can’t risk this—please stop!”

“It’s possible, but not likely. We’re in the dead zone between the swimmers and the seven o’clock folks. You’re the only guy in the spin class, so we should be safe for five minutes which is long enough—which I almost am as you can see,” he chuckled.

I had been watching him grow the entire time. He wasn’t huge, but large enough.

And I was stirring as well.

“I’m not gay,” I protested.

“Didn’t say you were,” he admitted. “But clearly you like what you see. Go ahead, enjoy the thrill, stroke yourself for me.”

As we all know from habit and custom, there is a point in the process where that one stroke takes over and you go on over the edge. I shuddered, took a couple of slow ones and then held the tip.

“Good. You’re obedient. That’s very good.”

“Obedient?” I stammered.

“Yeah,” he said. “And submissive too.” Pausing a moment, he held eye contact. “Let’s go to the showers; we’re out of time here.”

The showers were built for privacy. Six stalls, three on each side with an inner and outer curtain. He put his hand on my neck and directed me to one at the end. Turning me towards him he gave me a deep French kiss as the other hand pulled me up against his hardness. In a couple of seconds, I responded to the kiss.

“Start the shower; get under and then turn and watch me—do as I do,” he commanded.

He took some soap from the dispenser and went to the back wall of the stall. He motioned for me to do the same. He then began to stroke himself, and again motioned for me to follow. He came quickly, and I followed in short order, having to bend over and grab my knees to keep from falling. By then I could hear the sounds of others; I pulled the curtain closed.

Back in the locker area, I dressed as quickly as I could with minimal chatter. I was almost to my car when I felt his hand on my shoulder. I turned; he grinned.

Walking with me up to the door, he stood so I could not open it. “What’s the rush,” he asked.

“Uhhhh. I need to be going,” I said.

Looking me in the eyes as before, his voice was soft and soothing. “No, no you don’t,” he murmured. “I want you to follow me to the Trail Lot, where the bike trail starts. We’re not finished with this yet.”

I paused. He came in closer, “Nod and say ‘yes Carl’ and then follow me.”

I nodded. “Yes Carl,” came out softly.

The Trail Lot was at the head of a bicycle/jogging trail. Being a work day, there were only a few cars there. He parked off to the side near the hedges. I pulled in beside him, and he was by my door. As I got out, he told me to give him my towel. As we stood between the cars, my back to the hedge row, he folded it into a pad, dropped it at me feet and said, “Kneel.”

“Are you nuts?” I exclaimed. “The locker room was bad enough!”

“Do as I say, now,” he demanded. “There’s no cameras, it’s too early for the mommies, and it’s the sheriff’s shift change.” He put his hand on my shoulder and pressed. His other hand loosened his shorts.

“You’re going to do this Charles,” he demanded. “Your conscious mind doesn’t know it yet, but you want this. I could tell I had you when you wrapped your tongue around mine. And then you came in just seconds in the shower. And now you’re getting hard again just thinking about it.”

Damn him, I was. I had to adjust myself and free up the erection. As he stared, I could not look away. I knelt as ordered.

He freed himself and ordered, “Take me; open up and take me in.”

I did. Without hesitation. I took him in a fully as I could, and sucked as slid back to the tip. I repeated the motion and he moaned, “wonderful; I guessed right.”

I made a humming sound as if to say ‘what do you mean? But it just made him start rocking with me.

“Have you ever tasted cum?” he said.

“Uh-uhh,” I sounded.

He then pulled my head off his cock. “We’re going to let you ease into this,” he said. “Close your mouth and your eyes.” I did as he ordered. I sensed him stroking himself and then grunt as his cum hit my face. He let go of my hair and I settled back on my heels, not daring to open my eyes yet.

“Ok,” he said. “Get up now, grab the towel and clean up.” He was looking about to see if anyone was around. I slumped back against the side of my car, wiping the best I could.

Tucking himself back in, he stood right in front of me. “Look at me; look hard at me Charles,” he commanded. “This will take you a moment to process, but first we didn’t do anything you didn’t consent to. From the time I started stroking my cock to the shower to here you could have stopped at any time. I had sized you up a while back as a submissive and just waited for the right time to see if I was right. You could not stop watching me stroke. If it did not strike some hidden trigger or fetish or desire in you, you would have walked away. But you didn’t. So, are you closeted, curious? Do you look at gay porn in secret? What?”

“No—nothing,” I said. I dropped my head. “Well, hypnosis scenes are—well, you know, sort of erotic, but that’s just on TV.”

“Ok, that’s something to work with,” he replied.

“What do you mean work with?” I demanded.

“To swing you over to being a submissive slut under my control. I need someone like you to add to my stable.”

“What do you mean stable?” I demanded again.

“Maybe stable gives the wrong impression. I have clients who have certain desires or fetishes and I need the right person for the task—age, appearance, fitness, sensuality and so forth. Like I said, I’ve been watching you for a while, and you give off a certain vibe. I need to replace a fellow who moved away.”

“And if I refuse?” I asked.

“You’re not going to. Hypnosis is a trigger for you? What do think my stroking was—you could not look away, you got hard, you kissed me with passion, you masturbated in the shower with hesitation, you sucked me with passion and you let me cum on your face. Would you do that without having your barriers removed? The moment you stared at my cock, you were captured. Think back, my hand on my cock, back and forth, back and forth. Close your eyes for me and see it. Back and forth, back and forth.”

He was right. With my eyes closed, I found myself swaying to his commands——back and forth, back and forth. His hand was now on my cock, caressing it in time to his voice and my motion.

“In a moment we will stop this. When we do, I will ask and you will give me your number and email. I am going to send you some links, which I want you to watch in order. First we have to help you think a little differently about yourself and then we need to get you to taste yourself. You will call me after you watch each one. Understand?”

His voice was so soothing and is touch was so gentle; I had not felt this relaxed in years. Of course I agreed.

Once I got home, I showered for 30 minutes, paced for 15 and then pushed my heart rate to its max on my 50 mile route. I couldn’t wash it off nor sweat it off. But I could ignore his messages and avoid him in the locker room.

But when I finally got the courage to open the my email, instead of deleting his message, I opened it and then read it—it was firm and direct, reminding me I had agreed to do this and of the control he had over me. And as I paused, I flashed back to taking him in my mouth as deep as I could. I could feel the pre-cum started to leak out as I typed back ‘I will’.

His instructions were to play them on my TV, with the room dark and wearing head phones. To calm me down, I had a couple of shots of Tequila. There were two groups, one which encouraged me to accept being gay and to accept a cock willingly. The second encouraged me to eat my own cum. The first group were sort of vanilla—you are gay, you can suck cock, etc. But the two “CEI” as I now know they are called were in fact very powerful.

A dominatrix encouraged and instructed me on eating my cum while a very sexy woman smoked in the background and images of cocks and ejaculation flashed in rhythm to a tone. I found myself focusing on the smoking as the directions and images imprinted themselves. My pre-cum started leaking again, and so I tasted it. I then decided to go try after playing one video twice more. The domme was so very persuasive and the smoker’s long exhales—mouth and nose—were beyond sexy.

My thoughts were pretty fuzzy, but I focused on her commands and the images. After an evening of stimulation, I came pretty quickly—catching it in a washcloth. I hesitated for a second, touched my tongue to the pile, took a deep breath and licked it up. I had no idea what to expect but it was warm, soft and smooth. Cleaning up a moment later, I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. I’d French kissed a man, sucked his cock and eaten my cum. And I didn’t catch fire.

And so as instructed by Carl, I called him and told him what I had done. He was quite complimentary and told me to do it again tomorrow and then meet him on Tuesday morning after the Spin class.

Tuesday came quickly, just like I did the night before. As I pulled into the lot and parked next to his car, my cock was stirring and my mouth was dry. I was aware that I was on auto-pilot. I was not thinking or anticipating; I was just doing as I was told.

As before, he was obscured by his truck. As I approached I noticed two things—a towel at his feet and his cock was in his hand. Just as he did in the locker room, he was slowly stroking it.

“That’s right, keep watching me stroke—up and down; back and forth. You find yourself breathing in and out as my hand moves up and down; back and forth, up and down; back and forth, up and down; back and forth,” his voice was so soft. “You can’t resist, you don’t want to resist, so come on over and kneel down—keep watching and listen.”

I knelt

“So how many times did you eat your cum?” he asked.


“And so you accept that you can eat cum on command? Just like the videos told you to?”

“Yes,” I nodded in time to his stroking.

“Very good; that’s is so good and so slutty. You’re OK with becoming a slut aren’t you or more specifically, my slut?”

“Yes,” I whispered watching as his stroking slowed and he steered his cock towards my mouth.

“Open up—go down on my cock just like I was stroking it.

In my mind I saw his hand going up and down and so I wrapped my lips around the head and did the same thing. I gripped his thighs for balance and he put his hands on my shoulders to control my rhythm. He gradually increased my pace, and I felt him getting harder with each couple of strokes.

A moment later he stiffened, grunted quietly and let loose. He held my head just below the tip until the spasm subsided. Then one word, “Swallow!”

I did. It was similar to mine but a little tangier. But it went down easy—like an oyster.

Catching his breath, he pulled me up along with the towel. He leaned against his truck and wiped himself quickly and then wiped my face. “Just in case somebody drops in,” he smiled.

“Now, look at me and relax—no thoughts, no concerns,” he directed. “We need to do this a couple more times to get you used to giving head and then to get your ass ready as well. So, for the rest of the week I will be coming over to your house for some sessions. I’ll also send you a couple more videos to watch. The clientele I need you for prefers their ‘dates’ to be more soft, submissive and feminine than hard core. So I need for you to invite me over now.”

I paused, processing what he was saying.

More direct this time, “Charles, invite me over you your house to teach you how to improve your skills and to be the whore I know you can be. Tell me you want to be one of my whores. Say please and mean it.”

I could still feel his dick in my mouth; for some reason, my ass was clenching and squirming as though it needed to be touched. “Please Carl, come show me how to be what you want. I don’t know what you have stirred up in me but I want to explore it. Please.”

“Thursday at 9,” he said. “I like Scotch by the way.”

“So do I.“I agreed.

His email was waiting for me with several tasks to get done before Thursday night. There were a couple more “instructional” videos to watch, apparently custom made by him for me with heavy emphasis on submission, obedience, and femininity. I was to eat my cum at least once a day, get my nails done and shave my legs up to mid-thigh ( I already shaved below the knee for cycling) and purchase some panties and thigh-highs. I spent the rest of the morning watching the videos, shaving and then licking up one dose of cum. I then headed out to complete the tasks. There was a nail spa at the mall so that made for one one-stop shopping. But while in the chair I found myself dwelling on the two Domme smoking videos—the sheer sexiness of the exhales and the trace of lipstick on the tip. Which then had me stop at the gas station for a pack of ultra-lights and 120s and then the drug store for lips and eyes.

By Wednesday, I could light one with confidence and exhale just like the videos. The gloss imprint struck me as very sexy. And wearing the stockings and panties made me cum even harder.

An email on Thursday instructed me to wear the hose and panties under my clothes and to be prepared to do as I was told and accept what my role was to be.

When he arrived on Thursday, he had a gym bag him. Placing it on the island, he asked, “Have you done as instructed?”

I admitted I had.

“Pour us a couple of fingers and let’s talk about what I have done to you and what you are now going to do for me.”

I sat back, relaxed but anxious, as he went into more detail about his ‘dating’ service where he arranged dates or liaisons for his clients. His clients needed a wide range of serve—from male to female, hard to soft, dominant to submissive, old to young. He had a sense that I had a latent feminine, submissive side despite my appearance, my job and my interests. And so he had taken a shot at seduction with a strong dose of hypnosis, and it had worked. We would spend the next few evenings improving my cock-sucking, learning how to be fucked, and learning how in essence to be a whore. I would always be a bottom; the clients he sent to me were there to use me for their benefit. He then opened the bag and took out an assortment of dildos and some bottles. Arranging them, he looked up and said, “Go get undressed and put on what you bought.

I came back moments later in the panties and hose. I put on my tightest running shirt. With my heart pounding harder, I glossed my lips and put on a trace of eye shadow. I then picked up the lighter and VS120s and walked slowly back to the kitchen, taking deep breaths. As I came in he looked me over and nodded appreciatively. And when I pulled a cigarette from the pack and gave him the lighter, he said gently, “so you’ve gone all the way?”

“Yeah,” I said, exhaling towards the ceiling. “All the way.”

“Let’s begin,” he said dropping his shorts, and stroking his cock in that slow rhythm I could not resist watching. As I listened, I found I was no longer scared. I wanted this.

He came over the next four nights. After a period of hypnosis and instruction, I would practice sucking him using different approaches and techniques. I learned to relax and take him all the way in. Likewise I learned how to control my anus and position myself so as to take various sizes from either direction. I learned to place my legs so as to give the maximum pleasure to my ‘date’. And finally I learned how to handle the shy as well as the aggressive. Being submissive is like judo, use the opponent’s force to direct him.

And so it came time for the first ‘date’. Instructions were texted as to time and length of the visit, what to wear and the role to adopt—shy or direct, casual or formal or athletic, drink or smoke, clean or make-up. The meetings were at one of two hotels in the bar or patio as weather dictated. The ‘date’ would have the key. Make small talk, maybe have a drink, go to the room only when the ‘date’ said he was ready. I was nervous of course, but once in the room and finally getting his cock in my mouth, it all worked—my flirting and encouragement; his ejaculation.

Carl would come to my house once a week, and after a cigarette, a drink or two, and reinforcing triggers, he would give me feedback on the ‘dates’. The first time I recall thinking all managers are the same, regardless of the business. Later on, it was just routine.

I’m not sure when I understood why I had let myself turn into a whore. I was alone, but not lonely. Carl’s cock stroking and seduction were mesmerizing, but somewhere I knew that a person could not be made to act against their interest. I wasn’t bored; I had plenty of things to do. It wasn’t money. Carl never offered and I never asked. It was the thrill of being naughty: smoking, make-up, hose, making men cum under my control.

The clients for the most part were pleasant—nervous usually, but pleasant. A couple needed some encouragement to tone it down. Ranger school taught me that posture and attitude can be just as persuasive as an M4 in your hand. And then there is this lady who comes to town every couple of months. She puts her make-up on me and then a wig styled like her hair followed by a ball-gag and cuffs. She fucks my ass until I cum and then makes me kneel in front of her as she masturbates. We then have lunch and chat like old friends.

But then a couple of months ago, I had my annual check-up. I had always thought the doctor lingered a little bit on the prostate exam. So this time I clamped down as he withdrew and pushed back as he exited. On a dare, I turned around as said,” You should use two fingers, I think that might let you be more thorough.” He just stared. Lowering my voice I continued, “Or you could use something a little bigger and more sensitive.” Blushing, he stammered, “that’s, that’s not appropriate.” “Just teasing,” I said with a little pout. Later that day, his office called and said the Dr needed to repeat one of the exams and could I be there at eight. At 8:10 the next morning he was cumming in my ass. I gave him Carl’s number and we’ve ‘dated’ a couple of times.

I could go on but after a while they fall into certain patterns and I have worked hard to recognize and adjust. My goal? To understand why I am a comfortable with my life choice. Thanks for listening.

POSTSCRIPT: I sent the foregoing to the therapist. We discussed it generally a week or so later at the next session. He was supportive but a lot was unresolved. So a week after the session I’m outside at the bar patio, nursing a red wine (as directed) and wearing bicycle shorts and Polo shirt (also as instructed). Someone approaches from behind and pulls out a chair. Guess what? It’s the therapist.

“Hey Dr,” I say as I stand up. “Taking a late lunch?”

“Not really,” he says looking around and then shrugs. “More like an afternoon snack.”

“Uhhh, I’d ask you to sit, but I’m scheduled to meet someone; you know—.”

“Yeah, I’m your ‘date’ as you delicately phrased it.”

Insert moment of silence while I process this at the speed of heat. “Doing a field test to assess my issues?” I shoot back. “Or an existential analysis of this reality?”

“More like looking to better understand the stimulus/response reactions”

“That’s pretty easy actually; the ‘dates’ have a desire or a need or a fantasy and I respond as best I can.”

“Actually, it’s the stimulus that makes you respond.” And with that he put a pack of VS 120s on the table, pulled one out and began stroking it. After a few strokes, I found myself sitting back and watching.

“That’s right,” he semi-whispered. “It is so very hard to look away. Just like Carl’s cock when he strokes it, you find yourself captured and enthralled. That’s such a descriptive word isn’t it—enthralled. Would you repeat it with me?

“Enthralled,” I sighed.

“Yes, and because you are enthralled and content, I need to get you to agree that despite our professional relationship, it’s OK for you to keep this ‘date’ with me. Your relationship with me can be both therapeutic and professional. Agreed?”

He kept stroking. I agreed.

“And that’s because you have become a professional escort and as we have discussed you are comfortable and accepting of the changes Carl has made in you. Agreed?”

He kept stroking and again I agreed.

“Now, what did Carl tell you about this ‘date’?”

“Biking shorts, tight jersey, light make-up, oral, cum on my face,” I replied.

“Excellent,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to apply some lip gloss and I’ll light this for you. You told me how sexy it is when you leave a lip imprint on the filter. And then later on my cock, isn’t that right?”

“Whatever you want, sweetie,” I said getting into character.

“And you have no problem whatsoever with performing?” he asked, still stroking the 120.

“None; I’m at your disposal for the hour or until I make you cum,” I replied, slowly applying the gloss and then reaching for the cigarette.

It took much less than an hour. I had barely freshened my lip gloss before he started leaking. 10 deep strokes later, and he was bouncing on the bed. Two more strokes and he let go four shots which I maneuvered to both cheeks. He was still gasping for air as I wiped my face and cleaned my fingers. I left him still laying on the bed, telling him to see me downstairs.

I was on my second glass by the time he got there. Lighting up, I exhaled a couple of times in his face and then relented. We agreed I could see him or he could book me, but not both. A week later, Carl sent me a text for a repeat performance.

* * *

I went to see a counselor to figure out why I have no—or very little—guilt over my conversion. Katie is in Korea for another year, and I’ll try to explain to Charlotte when we meet again. Getting fucked, orally and anally, by strangers and regulars alike is indeed risky. I’m not paid for the ‘dates’. Don’t need the money and somehow Carl’s control suppressed that issue. So what if a consenting adult subscribes to a dating service with benefits. And to be sure smoking is bad but it’s only a couple every few days, and I can still rides 60 miles in under 3 hours. Life on the whole is good.

On the other hand, that’s just a bunch of lazy, convenient rationalization. Truth is, I enjoy being a submissive whore. Call Carl and come see me.