The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You hear Joey made the team?”

“You’ve seen him, man, he’s gotten huge. No wonder.”

“Yeah, had to train like hell to do it, though. I dunno if it’s worth it. Anyway, not to me.”

“Sssh, that’s him right there!”

Joey heard the tail end of the conversation as he walked by the cafeteria table where a few other bodybuilder hopefuls sat eating. When they noticed him coming their jaws snapped shut. Well, easy enough to fix that, Joey thought. He held his thermos sideways between his two hands and... flexed.

His arms swelled up like novelty balloons, the muscles tensing under the strain. The veins stood out immediately like rivers snaking and forking across a forest map. His shoulders puffed up like footballs, each, and in response his chest...

... well, his chest. Joey’s chest was beyond impressive. It was two big, rectangular slabs of muscle sandwiched right next to each other and barely held down by the skin of Joey’s torso, which was stretched taut over the rippling cables of muscle tissue that now tensed, coiled, and stood out proudly from his ribcage.

With the noise of shearing metal, the thermos crumpled as if it were nothing more than an empty soda can. Soup sprayed out in jets all over Joey’s muscle T, face, and hands.

The teens’ jaws fell open again.

Joey flashed them a grin as he tossed the ruined thermos in a nearby garbage can and shook the soup off. Then he peeled off his muscle T and used it to wipe his face off, and, shirt in hand, strolled topless out of the cafeteria.

As he walked by, a few of the other teen boys sitting at tables, all of them staring at him, now, came in their pants. One of the freshmen couldn’t help himself and let out a high-pitched moan and grunt as he shot a load of spunk right into his tighty-whities. But nobody could pull their attention away from Joey long enough to pay the boy any heed.

The team they’d been talking about was the bodybuilding team, a young but already revered institution at the boys school. Coach Peshkin ran a serious operation. In the three years since he’d been hired the school had leapt from the bottom of their district to the very top, though even the most extensive drug tests (financed surreptitiously—and not altogether ethically—by their sore competition) turned up not even the faintest whiff of impropriety.

Three years ago Joey hadn’t been much to look at, certainly nothing like he was now. A lanky, awkward teen, he’d seen Coach Peshkin and been inspired by the man’s demeanor and words. One Phys. Ed. class with the man and he’d gotten stars in his eyes, dreamed of assured popularity and fantastic good looks. All he had to do, Coach promised, was work. Really hard.

The man was true to his word. Joey had worked his ass off for three years straight, lifting before and after school every single day and coming in on weekends, too. Coach defied all the literature—he kept his boys working through brutal workouts of viciously hard weightlifting twice a day, seven days a week and in three years, not a single injury, not even a single case of fatigue or overtraining.

Joey had made the cut after three years of hard work and celebrated with the team by hanging out at the Coach’s house and sharing a celebratory protein shake together. No booze, no way. No unhealthy food at all. A regimented diet, a carefully moderated sleep schedule, and always the workouts.

The team was serious. Like, really serious. Joey could have sworn the varsity members had forgotten how to speak—they were stoic, focused on their lifting. Oh, they made plenty of noise, screaming and grunting and gut-wrenching shouts, but nothing in the way of conversation. In the weight room, it was you, Coach, and the metal. Nothing else existed.

It was worth it, though, Joey thought, as he walked into their private gym next to the common gym for the rest of the high schoolers. He was king of the school, now, just like he’d imagined.

“Joey, what’s with the shirt? What’s that on your face?”

“Sorry, Coach,” Joey smirked, “Just gave a little demo in the cafeteria.”

Coach just shook his head. “Boys,” he said, a universal explanation. “Well, you know what to do. Workout’s on the board. 45 minutes and then we eat.”

So began another 45 minutes of what, to most mere mortals, would seem like utter torture. Joey found after a while something had kicked in, the endorphins or something, and it was like bliss, now, forcing himself to go harder, further than he thought he could, putting up more weight than he ever had before. Sometimes when Coach got the sense it was the right day for it, he’d come over and egg Joey on, taunting him and goading him. That just got Joey even more psyched. Today was one of those days.

“Oh yeah, kid,” Coach said, watching him on the bench, “Look at those fuckin’ pecs. Push that up there, Joey, put it up!”

Joey was already straining and threw out a few more reps but was flagging.

“DON’T YOU STOP, YOU PUNK BITCH! YOU CALL YOURSELF A MAN, YOU’LL PUT THAT BACK UP FIVE MORE TIMES. DO IT!” Coach was standing over him, shouting down at him. Joey could feel the spittle from Coach’s mouth peppering his bare chest and abs and the man’s fury, his red, angry face yelling down at him, energized him. Joey screamed aloud. He pushed. The bar moved an inch. His arms were on fire. His chest felt like it was tearing itself apart. He opened his mouth and out came a noise like a wounded beast. And the bar went up another inch.

Joey found he really liked this, the agony of struggling against total impossibility for minutes at a time. His cock was getting pretty hard in his shorts. The Coach was screaming at him and he couldn’t even understand the words anymore. His blood pounded in his ears. He always wondered, wouldn’t it be better not to get erections at times like these? Couldn’t that blood be helpful with the weightlifting? But his big dick was like a burning hot steel rod in his skimpy little shorts and something about that just made him want to push harder, want to be stronger.

“... YOU WANT TO GET BIGGER?!?!” Coach was screaming.

And on it went, and he put it up five more times, and Coach nodded and went back to whatever it was he was doing before.

After the workout, as usual, Joey could barely move his arms or legs. Coach always said if you weren’t having trouble moving, you weren’t done lifting. And so Joey crawled over to where the food was. A Coach Peshkin staple: after every workout, you crawl over to the big pot and eat as many bowls as you can. Doesn’t matter what it is. Sometimes chili, sometimes stew, on the bad days, just a protein mash.

Today was one of the bad days. Joey grimaced as he raised his face up over the lip of the huge pot and saw the beige paste. He knew better than to hesitate for even a moment, though, and so immediately he ladled himself a large bowlful and set to eating it. His body cried out for the protein so it wasn’t as hard as it might otherwise have been.

“Hey Coach,” Joey croaked through the aches, “You leave this out too long? Tastes worse than usual.”

“What’s that, Joey? You got energy to crack wise, you got energy to do a few more reps, that what you’re trying to tell me?”

Joey laughed ruefully and rolled back over on the mat, finishing the bowlful just by licking it out directly. Easier than lifting a spoon. On to bowl two.

Five bowls later, his stomach packed full, his abs swollen a bit and tight as a drum, Joey laid moaning on the mat for a while until he could move enough to get up, shower, and head home.

A month passed and it was the protein mash every time. Joey knew better than to outright complain but it was getting a little hard eating nothing else. But while the food stayed the same, his lifting did not. He tracked his lifts—they all tracked their lifts—meticulously, religiously. They knew where they plateaued, they knew where they were proceeding, and they knew their rates of growth. Joey had his share of ups and downs in everything but one area: chest development. Never a plateau, never a spike. Always the same, steady upward line.

In the past month, though, that line had taken a sharp upward turn. Joey’s progress in all areas had improved substantially but especially his chest development. He thought he could feel it, too. His pecs felt meatier, even, than before. He’d stand in front of the mirror at home at night after his parents went to bed and cup underneath them with his hands and lift the slabs of muscle up, feeling their huge heft in his hands, getting them up almost to his chin, and then dropping them, feeling them slam down and watching them bounce and jiggle back to rest.

His cock got pretty hard when he did that, too. Usually just a few minutes of playing with them and he was leaking precum like a faucet. Then he’d finish off, usually just by flexing and posing, making his pecs swell up all tight and big until he came all over the bathroom floor without even touching himself.

Lately during that little ritual he thought he could tell things weren’t the same. They were heftier, but also a little bit softer. Coach knew best, though. Maybe they were in a creatine loading phase? Maybe he was just retaining more water because of it. It sure made his cock even harder. Joey didn’t mind that part.

“Coach,” he asked after eating, one day, “You see what’s happening with my bench? It’s going crazy. I dunno why. You change something?”

Coach just laughed. “You let me worry about that, kid.”

“Coach, you feeding me drugs? I don’t want to take anything banned.”

Coach Peshkin stopped and stared him dead in the eye. Joey’s heart leapt into his throat. Coach was full of bluster and spittle but rarely got quiet and serious, and when he did it was time to listen up.

“Joey. How long you train with me?”

“Three years, Coach.”

“In three years, how many drug tests you fail, Joey?”

“None, Coach.”

“That’s right. You like that body you’ve got?”

“Yeah, Coach, fuck yeah, of course.”

“Good. Then let’s leave it at that.”

Joey nodded, solemnly, and ate another bowl of the protein mash.

Another month went by and something was definitely different. Joey’s pecs were so big his old shirts started ripping. His lifts were through the roof. He swept his weight class—he swept the weight class above it, too. He was a sensation. His parents were proud; his classmates were in awe; Coach was approving; Joey was thrilled.

His chest had gotten a little less lean, though. He’d always been able to see the cords of muscle, but now it was smoother, a little softer, the skin wasn’t so tight against the muscle. Well, he still looked amazing, and he still played with himself at night to very good effect. Nothing to worry about. And you couldn’t argue with the results.

One night Joey crept into the bathroom and stripped off his shirt, ready for the usual routine, and all was going quite well, until the third time he hefted his freaky-huge pecs up and dropped them, as his cock filled even stiffed with blood, some liquid ended up spraying down the mirror.

Couldn’t have been precum, Joey thought to himself, not with that kind of pressure. He grabbed a nearby towel and wiped it off but at the last bit stopped and wiped a drop up with his finger to smell it.

Before he even consciously registered the smell, he nearly had a seizure. His cock swelled up so hard it was purple, and he started spasming as he collapsed to the floor in a spreading pool of his own cum. His orgasm continued for quite a while until it was finally interrupted by his father, banging on the door, asking if he was OK.

“Yeah, Dad!” Joey hollered back, gasping for air, “I just slipped, but I’m—I’m fine.”

“OK, well, that startled your mother, Joey.”

“Sorry, dad.” Joey’s orgasm had died down by now, enough that he was able to smell his finger again without losing it.

The liquid was strange. Musky and raunchy, it reminded Joey of his own pit sweat, kind of, but concentrated, and not really the same smell. It was whitish and cloudy, but otherwise it wasn’t at all clear where it had come from.

Joey finally gave up on his sleuthing and went to bed.

The next day at school he was walking through the cafeteria again, and once again found all eyes on him.

“Hey Joey, kick-ass job at the last comp, dude!” Someone shouting from the other side of the room.

“Thanks!” Joey flashed a grin.

“Hey flex those guns, dude!” Someone else.

Joey obliged by twisting around and flashing a double-biceps pose for them. Cheers erupted through the cafeteria. Grinning, Joey felt that familiar heat building in his groin as his cock started hardening. Nothing out of the ordinary. Only then, he felt just the slightest tingle from his left nipple. He looked down and his eyes went wide with confusion at the small, dark, wet spot spreading outwards from his nipple.

And then the smell hit him, again, stronger than last time, and it was all over for Joey. He crumpled like a rag doll to the ground and on his way down the orgasm hit him like a load of bricks. He started spasming on the floor, moaning.

“Is he OK?” Someone yelled from the back. Some people rushed in to look. But once anyone got within 1 feet of Joey his concern for the bodybuilder teen faded, replaced by a more pressing concern for his own throbbing erection. The smell wafting off of Joey pulled every boy near him into a sexual haze, and soon he wasn’t the only one cumming in his pants.

Students further away saw what was happening and fled in fear. Soon word of the incident got around, and students regarded Joey still with a good deal of awe, but also a bit of terror, too. The story turned to legend within the hour, and Joey, not knowing what else to do, fled to his safe haven.

“What’s the matter, Joey?” Coach Peshkin looked at him with uncharacteristically sympathetic eyes.

“Coach, I don’t know what the fuck is going on... I swear to god my... I mean, this seems impossible but I swear one of my nips is giving off... something? I don’t know what. It’s really fucked up, it makes people do weird things.”

“Ah, Joey, that’s just a side effect of some of the supplements I have you on. Nothing to worry about, though yes, we should take care of it in here so we don’t have any more incidents like that one. I’m sure you’d agree.”

“Uh, Coach, no offense but as much as I’m committed to this team, I don’t really want to take anything that’s going to make me spray breast milk. That’s kind of fucked up, Coach.”

“Joey, you know I take care of you, and you know you’ve never failed a drug test, so this stuff is safe. I promise. And anyway, it’s irreversible, so one way or another we need to start draining the fluid regularly.”

“It’s what?”

“Calm down, Joey, if you get excited it’s just going to happen again. Here, let me show you.” Coach pulled a small device with two tubes on it out from under his desk.

“Is that... is that for milking?”

“Joey, call it what you want, it’s just some fluid being expressed by the tissue of your pecs, it’s normal for bodybuilders.”

“I don’t think that’s—I mean, I’d never read anything about that, Coach.”

“Joey, you’re the student, and I’m the Coach. Now do what I say, and take off that shirt.”

Joey, still confused, reacted out of instinct. The Coach knew what was best. He slipped off his shirt.

Coach smiled and reached out, plugging one of the suction cups onto each of Joey’s big, erect nipples. They stuck on with a sucking noise, each, and then Coach sat back down and flipped the switch on the machine.

It hummed to life and Joey felt suction on his nipples, at first gentle, but increasing until it was getting a little painful. He moved to protest but Coach just put his hand out to silence the boy. Joey winced as he sat, obediently, and then finally, all at once, relief.

Joey felt it spray out of both his nipples at once, and it was almost like an orgasm, the rushing, the liquid spraying out of him. He moaned aloud and doubled over, bracing himself against the Coach’s desk with one hand while his free hand went down to his crotch.

“Yeah, kid,” the Coach smiled approvingly, “Take care of yourself. Feels good, don’t it?”

Joey moaned even louder as he came in his pants right in front of his Coach. Coach, in turn, had his fly open and was fishing in his underwear to pull out his cock.

“Yeah, Joey, feels so hot, doesn’t it, getting milked? God, there’s nothing hotter than watching it happen for the first time.”

Joey couldn’t even process his Coach’s words, he was so lost in the dopamine oblivion rushing through his bloodstream in response to the milking machine. Coach just stroked his big, hairy cock, and finally shot a load all over the teenager’s shoulders and hair.

It took a good fifteen minutes for the machine to empty Joey of his milk, after which Joey lay on the floor, exhausted, and Coach had zipped back up and was happily eyeing the tall glass bottle full of milky off-white liquid.

“The first stuff fetches quite a hefty price,” Coach said, to nobody in particular, “Some guys say it’s the most potent stuff. I don’t think so, but I think they just like the idea of getting the very first. This’ll buy me a new house, kid. Thanks.”

Joey cleaned up in silence and left Coach’s office, his mind reeling from the events of the whole day. The comedown after his intense milking high didn’t help matters, either. He sat, alone in his room, holding his knees against his massive chest, shaking his head, wondering what to do.

He couldn’t escape the certainty that whatever the Coach was doing was horribly wrong.

“That’s it. I don’t know how I’ll do it but I’m just going to have to stop going.”

And he did. For days Joey avoided the gym, avoided the stares of the other bodybuilders on the rare occasion he saw them outside the gym, avoided the whole routine. It was hard, breaking all those habits, but he knew he had no choice.

Everything seemed to be going well right up until the day, a few weeks later, he was in the bathroom, washing his hands, and another student walked by and made an offhand remark.

“Hey Joey, what’d you do to those guys in the cafeteria? Heard you made ‘em cum in their pants, that true?”

Joey just kept his head down. Try to ignore it. Try to ignore it.

“Yeah, that you, Joey?” A voice came from a nearby stall. “Heard you came in your pants too, that right?”

“Yuck, dude, you just spurt a big hot load of jizz right in those pants?”

Joey couldn’t tune it out quite enough. He felt the faintest tingle in his groin. And then it happened.

The hissing began softly, but once the odor filled the air and Joey smelled it, he couldn’t hold it back—didn’t want to hold it back. He flexed his pecs as hard as he could and the milk sprayed out of him, streaming against his shirt, running down it, soaking his clothing and spilling out onto the ground. Immediately all the other students in the bathroom started moaning aloud as well, the intoxicating odor overwhelming their powers of rational thought and leaving them with huge boners demanding attention.

Joey started convulsing, cumming repeatedly, nonstop. His moans were louder and louder, more and more animal, until he sounded barely human at all. They got loud enough to draw attention from outside the bathroom, but the first twenty or so other boys and even teachers and administrators who heard and came in were caught unawares and soon found themselves writhing on the floor in ecstasy, too. The bathroom ended up so full the teenagers and teachers couldn’t quite keep enough space and so they ended up intertwined, rubbing against each other, stripping their clothes off to get at their urgent erections. Those who made it, one way or another, over near Joey found themselves splashing around in a pool of his hot teenage muscle-boy breast-milk, the stench of it ruining them for anything but sex.

By the time the janitors found some rebreathers and got in there safely, they found an unspeakable orgy in progress. Teachers wrapped around students, students wrapped around teachers, raging hardons pumping in and out of mouths, assholes, fists, mouths interlocked.

In the end, they all agreed it was best never to discuss it again. After all, what would they really do about it, anyway? Nobody involved in the incident was terribly eager to bring it back up. And so they buried it.

But then the question—what to do with Joey? Coach Peshkin stepped forward with an answer.

“This happened to Joey because, I’m afraid to say, he’s been abusing illegal substances without any of our knowledge. He’s a very clever boy and managed to get it by everyone.”

Joey tried to protest, but naturally nobody believed him.

“He’s a danger now to himself and others, but we have facilities to safely take care of him. You need just to entrust him to my care.”

Joey pleaded with his parents, but they refused to believe his wild tales of the sinister Coach drugging him. “No,” they said, “We’re so disappointed in you for using those drugs, Joey. We raised you to be honest and hard-working, and this is how you repay us? Let’s just hope that coach can straighten you back out.”

And so with a mix of terror and resignation Joey found himself back at the gym he’d once called home. Coach Peshkin smiled and led him in by the arm, thanked the security personnel, and closed and locked the door behind him.

“You stupid little fuck,” he said, “I told you it was irreversible. You want to make a big scene? Sure, make a big scene. But here you are, you fucking idiot, right back where I told you you’d be.”

“You’re a monster,” Joey said, sullenly.

“Oh come on, kid, it’s not so bad. You know this is where you belong. After all, you’re part of my herd.”

Coach led Joey back past his office through a door Joey had always assumed was a storage closet. It wasn’t.

Through the door was a large, dark room, like something out of a science-fiction movie. There were hoses coming out of the ceiling; there were hoses coming out of the floor. And on the floor, on their hands and knees, were all the varsity lifters.

Joey gasped in horror as he looked around. The other bodybuilding teens posed obediently; a hose on each nipple sucked relentlessly, channeling milk out of each boy and into the floor. But there were three more hoses. One went into each boy’s mouth, and pumped a steady stream of what Joey could only guess was that protein paste down each boy’s throat and into his gullet. The next hose hung off each boy’s throbbing hard cock, sucking orgasm after orgasm out of the teens and spiriting the cum off to who-knows-where. And the final hose was snuggled securely between each boy’s ass cheeks, plugged into each boy’s asshole, and seemed also to be carrying the protein paste mixture, filling each boy from both ends.

“It’s long past time we got you hooked in here, Joey,” Coach said, guiding the paralyzed teen forward to an empty spot in the room. “You know it’s what’s best. You can feel it. It’s what you want.”

Even as he fought, something inside Joey felt a deep yearning to give in, to do what Coach was saying. Was it just conditioning? He took faltering step after step to the spot on the floor, and then Coach pushed gently down on his shoulders.

“The hoses aren’t that long—down on your hands and knees, boy.”

Joey, dazed, sank obediently to his knees. Coach pressed gently down on his back to bring him down to his hands, and then straddled the teen as he hooked a hose to each nipple and Joey felt the suction start immediately.

“OOOOOOHHHH,” Joey moaned as he felt that marvelous sensation start back up.

To his surprise, the room erupted in moaning noises, muffled by the mouth-hoses, but moaning nonetheless.

“Oh, now you’ve got ‘em all worked up, kid,” Coach said, and laughed.

“What—why, why are they making those noises?”

“What, you haven’t guessed yet? You ever hear those varsity boys talk? Ever wonder why? It’s ‘cuz they can’t, not anymore. Same reason you can’t fight me—you want to do what I say.”

“What the fuck—ooooohhh—what the fuck are you talking about?” Joey blurted out, his fury interrupted by the intense bliss of the milking.

“All that bovine DNA and estrogen I’ve been feeding you boys does its work. You notice yourself moaning a lot more, lately? Notice it sounds a little... different? Almost, say, animal?”

Joey wasn’t putting two and two together, still. The suction on his nipples was too much for his drug-addled brain.

“Yeah, lemme spell it out for you, kid, while you’ve still got some of those brain cells left. You’re my cows, all of you, my big fucking muscle-cows, my heifers, part of my herd. You make me that hot teenage muscle milk, all of you, and that shit is just pure, liquid sex. I’m getting richer every day selling that stuff, and all I have to do is keep you kids pumped full of those drugs and lifting hard enough to keep you all freaky huge.”

“I thought—you said—no drugs” Joey blurted.

“Ha! You idiot, I said none they’d detect. Come on, you think you got this big naturally? Look at you, those huge freaky pecs. Look at them hang down like massive muscle-udders. That’s not natural. You’re a big freak of nature, my muscleboy-cow, just like I like you.”

“But—” Joey started, but Coach just shook his head.

“Enough talking—it’s not going to matter soon anyway. You’ve only got a few more days of talking left in you anyway, before all that bovine shit takes over and you’re a cow for good. Gimme a nice, loud, moooooo!“

Coach’s mooing prompted a chorus of mooing in response from the rest of the muscleboy-cows in the room. And as he heard the chorus, Joey felt something inside him well up. He wanted to join in. He opened his mouth and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“MMmmmmmmmm.... MMMMOOOOOOO!!!!”

Coach just laughed and plugged Joey’s mouth with a hose that immediately began pumping him full of the protein and drug mixture. Next Coach tugged off Joey’s pants, soggy with cum, and slipped a hose over his cock, so hard it was bouncing up and down in time with his pulse. Immediately Joey began mooing into the mouthpiece as he felt the hose sucking its first load of cum out of his cock.

And finally Coach pulled down the last hose. He reached between Joey’s legs and pulled up to get his back arched and his ass up nice and high in the air and his cheeks spread. Joey tried to resist, to pull his ass away, but Coach smeared a dollop of grease down his crack quickly and drove the business end of the hose into Joey’s asshole. Joey started mooing in protest, but the hose was only barely long enough to reach his asshole from the ceiling, so it held his ass up, his back perpetually arched. From the side Joey looked ridiculous: a ludicrously muscled teenager with an impossibly massive chest on his hands and knees with his ass up in the air, having his tits and cock milked, being pumped full at both ends.

“You get two 45-minute breaks a day for workouts,” Coach yelled over his shoulder as he left the room. “Otherwise, welcome to your new home.”