The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The continuation of The Milk Bar—Chapter 18

Jim Downing opened the door of his Mid-town apartment and, with a glance over his shoulder at Greg, walked inside. Greg followed Downing into the luxurious apartment and looked around for a few moments as he waited uncertainly in the entry. It was a sizeable apartment with a hall leading off to the right and an expansive view of the city through the French doors that opened onto a terrace. There was a beautifully maintained container garden on the terrace and even a quietly burbling fountain. Greg figured there had to be two or three bedrooms down the hall: a very nice apartment, no matter how you cut it. He certainly found the surroundings attractive and was mildly grateful that a man of Downing’s station would choose to court him! His thoughts were abruptly interrupted. “Come to me!” Downing ordered him, “Strip and place your clothes on the couch and assume the position.” Startled, Greg momentarily looked into Downing’s eyes, but quickly recovered himself. “Yes Sir,” he responded, lowering his eyes to the floor and moving quickly into the living room where Downing stood. In that moment, Downing became his Master; he became Downing’s slave.

Greg removed his jacket, folded it and placed it on the couch. Then he unbuttoned the sheer shirt he had been given by the Milk Bar and pulled it back over his muscled shoulders, exposing his fur-coated chest with the ring in his right tit for his Master’s view. The fine, soft hair swept across his pecs like brown sea grasses swirling in the tide. The sea grass narrowed to a stream that ran down his tight abs and disappeared into his pants. Master sucked in his breath. “You are magnificent,” he whispered. “Thank you Sir,” Greg answered, keeping his eyes on the floor. But he could feel his Master’s eyes on his torso.

Greg removed his shoes and socks and placed them next to the couch. Then he unfastened his belt and his pants and pulled them off, folding them and setting them next to his shirt and jacket. He clasped his hands behind his back, lowered his head and spread his feet, exposing his crotch to his Master’s perusal. “Very nice. Very nice indeed,” whispered Downing as he walked around the cop-slave, surveying his body with his eyes and his hands. He lifted the chain around Greg’s neck with one finger, holding it up as he circled him. He fingered the three-quarter ring in Greg’s tit and then bent to lick it, making Greg inhale sharply as a thrill ran down his spine like an electric current. Downing hefted Greg’s cock and balls, enjoying the weight of his heavy organs in the palm of his hand. He gripped his cock, squeezing a drop of pre-cum from the piss-slit and bent to lick it off. “Wonderful,” he said. Then he took Greg’s golf-ball-sized, weighted testicles in his hand and squeezed and twisted them, pulling down on the weight and stretching his sack even further. Greg closed his eyes and moaned as his cock throbbed in response to the pain. “You haven’t had much SM training, have you boy?” “No Sir,” Greg answered softly. That will change.. There are still many things you have to learn and I’m going to be one of your teachers. And your Masters. Maybe someday soon, your only Master.” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.” Greg remembered that his buyer at the Milk Bar had said something very similar. Why did he feel this strange sense of déjà vu when he was with Downing?

“Now, tell me why you’re here, boy.” “Sir. I need to learn. I need to serve.” “And what do you want from me?” “Sir. I want you to teach me. I want to be a better slave.” “How can I help you?” “Sir. You can teach me about submission and servitude. You can teach me about surrender.” “Is this what you want?” “Yes Sir. This is what I want.” “Do you come of your own free will?” “Yes Sir. This is my own desire. This is what I was destined to be.” “Good boy. I will teach you. I will be your Master. Come boy!” Downing had grabbed his erect cock and was leading him down the hall, past a couple of closed doors. Then he opened the last door and pulled Greg through it. “This is my training room. You’ll be spending a lot of time here, should you choose to stay with me. Now, undress me.” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.” Greg immediately dropped to the floor to remove his Master’s shoes.

Greg bent his forehead down and placed it on the black leather. Then he kissed each shoe before unlacing it. Downing lifted each foot and permitted Greg to remove his shoes and socks. Then Greg kissed his bare feet and began licking them. He savored the slightly acrid flavor of feet that had done a day’s work and inhaled the tart odor. As he licked and kissed one foot, Master lifted his other foot and placed it on the back of his head, pinning him down. Greg turned his head sideways so that Master’s foot rested on the side of his head. “Thank you for taking me Sir. Your boy is grateful.” “I’m glad boy. I’m grateful too.” Greg smiled, glad that his Master was pleased.

After a few moments, Master lifted his foot from the cop-slave’s head, allowing him to kneel up. He rose and pulled his Master’s jacket off of his shoulders, folding it and placing it on a nearby table. Then he moved in front of him to remove his tie and unfasten his belt. His hands were trembling, he was so anxious to get a glimpse of his Master’s body. He saw the soft hair poking out of the cuffs of his shirt and imagined a hairy chest beneath the covering shirt. As he looked down, he realized that he could see the outlines of body hair through the fabric of his shirt and that made him even more excited. His cock was throbbing by now and leaking pre-cum. “Don’t get pre-cum on my clothes boy, or you’ll be punished. I don’t need to be paying for extra dry-cleaning because of you.” “Yes Sir, I mean no Sir. I’ll be careful Sir.” Greg stepped back a little to ensure that his rigid dick didn’t brush against Master’s clothing and unbuttoned the front of his shirt. Then he undid his cuff links and gently pushed his shirt over his shoulders.

As his Master’s shirt parted, Greg could see the thick brown, almost black fur covering his chest. Involuntarily, Greg licked his lips. He’d been pretty sure Master was a bear and this confirmed it. Greg stepped behind him and pulled his shirt off. He folded it, placed it on the table and went back to stand in front of his Master. His chest was magnificently sculpted, with large brown nipples that poked out of the fur that covered his chest and washboard belly and tapered into his pants. Greg’s mouth was watering and his eyes grew large as he looked hungrily at his Master’s chest. “Please Sir?” Greg voice trembled. “Yes slave, what do you want?” “Sir, may I. may I nurse your nipples?” he stammered. “Put your mouth on my chest boy!” Master ordered and Greg eagerly complied, fastening his mouth on his erect right nipple. He licked and sucked it like a calf as his Master held his head. Then Master, grabbing his hair and an ear, pulled his mouth to his left nipple and Greg clamped onto it, sucking for all he was worth, making noises like a baby nursing at its mother’s teat. He nuzzled the tit and whimpered in his desire. When the hair surrounding his tits was sloppy with saliva, Master pulled him off. “Enough boy. Remove my pants!” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir,” Greg murmured and dropped to his knees.

He unbuckled his belt and undid the hook on his waistband. Then, using his teeth, he pulled his zipper south, holding onto his Master’s hips, careful to keep his trousers from falling to the floor. He gently lowered Master Jim’s pants and Master stepped out of them, using his slave’s head as a brace to balance. His briefs were tented out and where his prick stopped, there was a splotch of pre-cum. Greg’s mouth dropped open as he stared at the dampness. “You may suck on it slave,” his Master said, graciously giving his permission. Greg licked the tip of his Master’s dick through the cloth, tasting the wonderful saltiness of the pre-cum, coupled with the roughness of the cotton on the surface of his tongue. Then he put his lips around his cock and pressed his mouth over it as far as he could, the cloth of his briefs preventing him from taking very much in. As he mouthed Master’s covered dick, he moaned and whimpered, wanting more of it; wanting to take it down his throat. Master Jim held onto his head, his own rolling back savoring the feel of the damp fabric being pressed and rubbed over the exquisitely sensitive head of his cock. Finally, the Master pushed the slave off of his dick. “Pull my briefs down!” he ordered. Greg reached forward to grasp the waistband of his Master’s briefs between his teeth. He hadn’t yet learned the trick to removing a man’s shorts without manual assistance, so he struggled to get the elastic band over his Master’s very stiff cock which, seeking to point straight out, pushed out and down to match his efforts to stretch the elastic far enough to free it. Finally, and at last, he succeeded in extricating Master’s flag pole from his briefs. But in doing so, his dick slapped against the slave’s cheek, surprising him and making him release the elastic band from his teeth. Master’s shorts snapped back smartly against his balls. But at least his dick was free. “You’ll pay for that slave! It’s obvious there are some techniques I’m going to have to train you in, but I didn’t think I’d have to start with something as rudimentary as removing a Master’s shorts!”

Greg flushed from head to his naked toes in embarrassment and humiliation. “I’m sorry Sir. I-I haven’t been taught how to do that.” “What did you say, boy? No excuses are accepted. The appropriate response is ‘Sorry Sir. No excuse Sir.’” Once again, Greg was embarrassed and humiliated. How could he be so stupid? “S-s-sorry Sir. N-no excuse Sir.” Master Jim just stood there looking down at him. Greg didn’t dare look up. “Sir?” he ventured, timorously. “What is it slave?” “Sir? You won’t send me away will you?” “Is that what you deserve, boy?” “Yes Sir. But please Sir. I couldn’t bear it if you did.” “Why not? Why shouldn’t I send you away?” “Sir. I need your guidance and discipline. Please don’t send me away Sir.” “Alright boy. I’ll keep you. But you’ll pay for that error. Ignorance is no excuse with me.” “Yes Sir, I mean no Sir. Thank you Sir.” There were tears welling in Greg’s eyes; tears of shame and relief. He wouldn’t lose his Master with whom he felt so much connection, although the why of it continued to escape him.

The Milk Bar—Chapter 19

“Finish you task now boy, and be smart about it!” Greg moved forward on his knees and once again, took his Master’s shorts in his teeth. Master Jim moved his feet together, permitting the cop-slave to pull his briefs down. When they had finally fallen to the floor, he stepped out of them and walked to the built-in cabinets against one wall. Greg heard him open one and take something out of it. Then his feet returned to Greg’s view which was fixed on the floor. “Look at me boy!” he ordered. Greg looked up and saw that he was holding a leather harness. “This is my harness. It’s the symbol of my mastery over you. You will stand up and put it on me. That action expresses your desire and need that I be your Master and your need to be my slave. You will do this every time you come to me for training. Do you understand?” “Yes Sir. Thank you for teaching me Sir.” His Master handed him the black leather harness which consisted of two belts joined together in front and back by metal rings. Greg unbuckled the bottom buckles, gently placed the harness over Master Jim’s head and buckled the belts again. Then, of his own accord, he kissed both belts where they crossed Master’s furry chest above his pecs. Then he immediately knelt in front of his Master, head down, his legs spread, his hands clasped behind his back. “Very good boy. There are some things you understand instinctively. That’s very good.” Greg knew better than to respond.

“Now we will start your training in earnest,” Master said and, grabbing Greg’s hair, pulled him roughly to his feet. He pushed him to a St. Andrew’s cross against the wall and shoved him up against it, belly to the wall. Greg’s erect cock hit the wall and he cried out in pain. “You’re not to cry out unless given permission. Is that clear?” “Yes Sir. No excuse Sir.” “Good. You learn fast!” Master took his arms and stretched them to the ends of the cross. Greg’s wrists were buckled into the shackles already hanging there on chains. Then Master kicked his feet apart and fastened them into shackles at the bottom of the cross. Greg found that he had some give in his restraints; enough to keep his cock away from the wall, but just barely. In a couple of moments, he felt Master close to him again and twisted his head back to see him. Master had a cat-o-nine-tails in his hand! “You told me you have no experience with SM, so I’m going to be your teacher. You will learn to joy of complete trust and surrender, for when you’re like this, you have no power. I, your Master, am in complete control over you. You will learn to enjoy pain. You will learn that arousal provides escape from the pain and engages with the pain, carrying you higher. You will learn how to ride it to the most intense high you’ve ever experienced. You will learn that you can have the most extreme orgasm, far beyond what you’ve ever experienced before. But you will also learn that you can only have that experience when I permit it. For you have surrendered all control over your orgasm. The Milk Bar has taught you that, but I will reinforce that lesson. Your cum is your Master’s, and when your with me, I am your Master. You accept that.” The last was not a question; it was a statement and Greg understood it as such. He wouldn’t have been in this position, naked, spread-eagled and chained to a cross with his body entirely at the disposal of his Master were this not so. All he could say was “Thank you Sir.”

Greg’s Master, standing with his cock pressed against Greg’s crack, reached around him with both hands and fingered his tits. He rubbed them, lightly at first, in a circular motion, starting with the aureoles and spiraling inward. When his fingers reached Greg’s erect cones, he flicked the rough, erect points with his nails. Greg, looking down at those strong, manly hands on his chest, groaned as that wonderful thrill shot up and down his spine. Master grabbed his tits, pinching and twisting them between his fingers as Greg’s head rolled back, resting on his Master’s shoulder. Then, abruptly, the hands left his nipples, only to be replaced by clamps with teeth that bit into his sensitive cones. “Aaaaaaagggghhhhh. Oh God. Aaahhh,” Greg gasped as the chain connecting the clamps bounced off of his belly.

Master Jim held the cat up in to his mouth. “Kiss it,” he ordered. “I am your teacher and this is my assistant. You will learn your first lessons from it.” Greg bent his head and kissed the cat. “For you first lesson, you will receive twenty lashes. You’re expected to count them. When you’re finished, I will allow you to choose whether you want to receive your punishment for your error now or later.” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir,” Greg answered, dropping his eyes as his shame was brought back to him. Already, he was breathing shakily from fear. Master Jim moved away and returned to the shackled slave in a moment. Suddenly, Greg couldn’t see any longer. He moved his head around, desperate to recover his sight. But there was a stinging blow to his ass. “Hold still boy! You will be hooded for this lesson. This helps to teach you trust. That’s another mistake you’ve made today!” Greg felt humiliated again. “Hold still,” he told himself. “You’re in his hands. This is what you wanted. Now give in to him. You’ve got to trust him.” Greg breathed deeply, trying to center himself as his Master pulled the leather hood completely over his head and laced it up the back. Then Greg realized that, not only did it shut off his sight, but his hearing as well. His entire sensory world was now narrowed to taste, feel and smell. Yes, there was a hole for his mouth and he could breathe through holes in the hood. The smell that leapt to the front of his consciousness was the smell of fear; his own fear. “Give in to it”, he thought. “Don’t fight it. Accept it and let it happen.” So he let the adrenaline rush of fear sweep through his body and seep into his bones.

He’d experience fear many times as a police officer, but he’d been trained to push it down, to make his intellect prevail over it, to use it to help him move quickly and with greater strength. This was different; an entirely new experience and he found it strange. Here, he had absolutely no control! He was at this man’s mercy. His skin prickled and the sweat began to pour off of his body, wetting the dark-brown sea-grass on his chest and belly as he felt the prickling heat speeding into his fingers and toes. And his dick. His dick responded by becoming even harder and leaking onto the floor. He jumped slightly as he felt his Master’s hand reaching between his spread legs and gripping his cock, pulling it down and back, bending it back toward his asshole. He felt Master’s fingers milking his throbbing cock and squeezing the pre-cum out. His cock was released and he sensed warmth in front of his face. As he inhaled, the smell of his own ooze mixed with the smell of sweat and fear. Then the slippery fingers pushed their way inside his mouth and he tasted his own overflow. Salty honey. It was a flavor he’d never tire of for the rest of his life; the taste of a man’s essence. He whimpered when the fingers were withdrawn, moving his head about, searching for them like a blind animal.

Suddenly, his world exploded in pain as the cat came down on his ass. White heat shot over his backside and, reflexively, he slammed forward to escape the lash. Another explosion and stars as his erect cock and clamped tits slammed into the cross. His weighted balls swung forward and hit the wall with a thunk. He jerked his body back and howled, only to be hit again from behind. This time however, he knew that he couldn’t move forward. He willed himself to push back to welcome the whip, knowing that it was the lesser to two evils. At least there would be no answering assault on his cock and balls and nipples. As he held his butt in position to accept the blows, he sensed the warmth of his Master’s body close to his own. Then, through the muffling of the hood, he heard his Master telling him that he’d forgotten to count the first two blows, so he’d be starting over again. Twenty lashes were his for his first lesson. The heat moved away and he waited, sweat pooling at his feet. Silence, fear smell, pre-cum on his tongue. Then the explosion. “One Sir. Thank you Sir.” Wait, silence, fear, explosion. “Two Sir. Thank you Sir.” He pushed his hips back, though they screamed for escape from the pain. White heat. “Three Sir. Thank you Sir.” Sweat mixed with pre-cum in the pool on the floor as his throbbing cock responded to pain and humiliation.

The blows came at no regular interval, landing on his butt, his thighs and his back. His entire backside was on fire as he counted off each blow, each count rising in pitch and volume. Then, around the eighteenth lash, he suddenly felt lightheaded and the pain turned into warmth. The nineteenth and twentieth strokes moved him out of his body. What was this amazement? On the twentieth blow, he deliberately slammed his body forward, punishing his cock and tits, seeking a new stimulation and found that it wasn’t pain; it was a new stimulation as he approached the brink. Then it was over.

The cop-slave hung on the cross, trembling and whimpering “More, please Sir. Please don’t stop Sir.” He jumped when he felt his Master’s cool hands on his backside, stroking the enflamed skin. His Master unlaced the hood on his head and, unlacing it, pulled it off, sending more sweat cascading to the floor. “Aaaghhh.” Greg gasped, “Please Sir, beat me. Please don’t stop.” “Oh, my boy. You love this don’t you. You live to be punished, don’t you?” “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.” “OK boy, I told you earlier I’d give you the option of receiving your punishment for your bad behavior now or later. Before you answer though, I should warn you that if you defer your strokes, they will accrue interest at the rate of five strokes a day. Now what will it be? You have ten lashes coming to you for losing your grip on my briefs and hurting my balls and you have ten strokes coming for trying to jerk away when I was hooding you. Twenty strokes in all. Do you want them now or later?” “Please Sir, I want them now Sir. I’ve never felt anything like that before. I want it again. Please Sir.” “Very well Lt. Barber. I won’t punish you for being so forward in asking, since what you’re asking for is your own punishment. Are you ready?” Greg looked back over his shoulder. “Yes Sir. Thank you Sir.” “Count them boy,” and the cat whooshed through the air, finding its mark on Greg’s red, striped ass. “One Sir, thank you Sir. Two Sir, thank you Sir. Three Sir, thank you Sir.”

The Milk Bar—Chapter 20

When Greg’s Master removed the clamps from his tits, he cried out in pain as the sensation in them jaggedly changed. Then Master unshackled his ankles and made him pull his feet together. But his legs were like rubber and he couldn’t support himself. So Master stood next to him, wrapped a strong arm around his chest and reached up to unclip the cuff on his right wrist. Then he braced him as he moved to unclip the other cuff. Master grabbed him before he could collapse and helped him to an examination table, where he laid him down on his belly. Greg cried out when his stiff dick was caught on the edge of the table and pushed down. Master Jim rolled him to his side and pulled his dick loose, letting him roll back down with his dick pointing toward his head rather than toward his feet.

Greg just lay there moaning as he breathed. His throat was raw from yelling. His back and ass flared with bright red stripes from the forty-odd lashes he’d received, and his skin was on fire. But overlaid on the pain was a sense of well-being, accomplishment and pride. He’d stood up to his first real trial for his Master. He’d accepted, even welcomed the pain and transcended it to a different place. He realized he still had a ways to go, but he’d tasted bliss and he knew that he wanted more. He wanted to be beaten, to be humiliated, to be used, to serve. And he knew he was home. He was home! Now he knew what Master Jim had meant when he told him that he wouldn’t have to make the decision; that it would just become apparent. Now it was apparent. He belonged to this man.

Greg raised himself slightly and reached out toward Jim, who was standing at the counter with his back to him. He had taken his harness off and stood there nude, the light glistening on the shining contours of his sweaty body. “Master,” Greg croaked, reaching a hand toward him. Jim turned, saw his slave reaching for him with a look on his face he instantly recognized. He walked slowly across the room, his eyes locked onto Greg’s. “Please Sir. Can I stay with you? Forever?” Jim took his outstretched hand, looked deeply into his eyes and his own began to fill. “Yes, boy,” he whispered. “Yes, my boy. Greg.” And he gently took Greg’s face in his hands and kissed him. Holding onto Jim’s neck, Greg pulled himself into a sitting position, but cried out again, as his assaulted backside came into contact with the table. Jim pulled him to his feet and held him by the shoulders so as to not touch his stricken back and kissed him passionately. “My boy. My only boy,” he husked. “Master. Jim. My Master,” Greg murmured. And again, they kissed, their inflamed cocks fencing with one another and the sea grass of one’s chest mingling with the grass of the other’s as their hard tits pressed into each other’s chest.