The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had all started the day someone destroyed the machine in central park. Nobody had known it was there until it had blown it up.

Some said it was SuperTeen’s doing, despite evidence that he was in New Orleans at the time battling the monstrous Orgy Creature. Others said it was a secret government conspiracy or a corporate waste disposal scam. Whatever its cause, its destruction had sent a pulse of energy out across the city.

Brad Davies had been in central park at the time, practicing his X-treme blading. The pulse of the rainbow energy had swept toward him expanding outward at a leisurely 30km an hour, hitting the frightened crowd at about waist height. Mostly it seemed to go straight through people, but here and there the energy field would touch someone,.. (90% of those touched were young males statistics later showed) and implode as if being sucked into that person.

Brad turned and began blading away from the weird shit, but the path ahead of him curved in a right angle and blading on grass wouldn’t work. The multi-colored pulse of energy seemed to surge forward attracted to him as if he were a magnet...and...

Then it was gone, expanding further into the city seeming to follow the contours of the ground at a regular 3ft above the grass.

On the roof of the Trump Tower, buried under a charity issue blanket and some soggy cardboard that formed his resting place, Olav Putin experienced a flash of vermilion color that briefly disturbed his morning slumber. After the color had gone he returned to sleep, no longer bothered by the epileptic twitch that so often denied him true sleep.

On the 53rd floor of the world trade center Gerald “Studz” Studenheim was extremely pissed off, it was the first day of his first job and he’d been assigned to help out in the mail room...it wasn’t his fault the guys thought it humorous to send the new kid to find the non-existent Director Ivor Gott..and it definitely wasn’t his fault that a mysterious energy surge reassigned every email account on the 53rd to ivrgott@trade.co.us ..they sacked him anyway of course.

Sam Boddenham, resident of Salisbury, UK was lucky, they all said so. Lucky to be alive that is. A broken neck and paralysis from the neck down is considered lucky, (and news worthy) when a blast of multi-colored energy smashes you through the head of the Statue of Liberty and out into the path of a very surprised seagull, the press just love you. Sam felt quite relieved that he didn’t remember anything after the seagull, the amateur video that CNN were broadcasting of his bouncing off the ground looked painful.

Project Fast Asleep

Director Skimmer sat down in the vid-conference chair and waited. A few seconds passed before the figure on the other end resolved.

“Report” demanded the electronically altered voice, a trace of cigar smoke wafting upward.

“The NYC reality inhibitor was destroyed... catastrophically. We’re still trying to figure out why. Our best guess is that we were hacked.” replied the director

“You are authorized to use extreme measures, until such time as the back-up inhibitor can be flown in from Houston. It is imperative that they don’t realize what Project Fast-Asleep is about. When you find the hacker he’s to be given the full treatment.”

“With respect sir, Her methods are....extremely questionable” protested Skimmer

“She’s proven she can neutralize their powers. In the final analysis that’s all that matters.” snapped the voice, breaking the comm. link.

Skinner sat for a moment, wishing he was wrong and wishing that the device had never been necessary in the first place.

Brad was somewhat surprised, and disappointed, that the energy wave had not made the news. From chatting to his buds it was clear that everyone had seen it. For a short time he was even a minor curiosity in class, the only guy who had been “Surged” ..his buds had sworn he’d glowed like a neon streetlamp for a couple of seconds, where, for the others, it had just passed straight through.

But the incident was soon forgotten as conversation switched to the play-offs, and for Brad, a new area of interest. He’d never really noticed until now, but when his buds stripped to the waist to play baseball, it was like his eyes were drawn to their tight washboard physiques. It was getting embarrassing, they’d started dissing him about being more interested in the player than the ball.

The dreams, weren’t helping either. Everyone agreed SuperTeen and his sidekick WonderTeen were kewl, even if they were fags. But having wet dreams about them was something he’d not been ready for.

“Play the damn ball!” shouted Paul

Brad blinked and looked at the ball in his hands, what had he been doing? Having a nice daydream about SuperTeen’s go-faster striped cock! In that moment he had understood something important..he was gay..it seemed so obvious. He wondered why it had never occurred to him before. At the same instant it felt like a bubble of silence bursting.

He dropped the ball in surprise, he could hear the emotions of everyone around him like a hissing tide of radio static. After a few moments he was able to sort of tune out the background and concentrate on just the players minds. Reveling in this new ability he watched closely noting the spike of emotion when one of his buds had decided to go for it. It seemed liked Childs play to use that split second warning to react in just the right way.

By the end of the game Brad’s side had a 10 point lead and he really enjoyed his buds team hug. Enjoyed it on several much deeper level than they did.

Olav emerged from his cocoon of cardboard and headed for the building’s public toilets. Besides being the only place he could get clean, it was also his intended place of business. Unlike Brad he knew what he was, it was why he was here, hopefully some guys would like the thrill and danger he represented, and would pay to have his eager young lips sucking their cock. That was the plan. The one flaw was that he’d not yet worked up the nerve to do it.

Standing outside his chosen “cottage” he tried striking what he thought was a tempting pose.

He didn’t actually see the gang, it was more a sensing of bloodlust behind him. He was running before the peurto-ricans were expecting it, they’d not even issued their challenge yet.

The bloodlust was undimmed however and Olav knew better than to ease up his pace. He ran on through the pain barrier, until finally the hunters thoughts were lost. Olav stopped for breath leaning against the parapet wall that separated riverside park from the Hudson river.

He was amazed, he’d started running in the Trump Tower, and now he was in Karl Schurz Park on the east coast in what seemed like no time at all...and his Nikes were ruined, nothing left of the soles at all, in despair he discarded the laces and fabric shreds.

Studz pushed several of his comics and his pristine (still in its wrapper) “Night of the Redeemer” graphic novel out of the way in order to hook up the VR suit he’d built. After losing the job, It seemed he’d picked up a knack for electronics to match his programming skill. Removing the manufacturer’s constraints soon had Pentium 1 chips acting like Pentium 6’s and modem’s speed accelerated to 5000kbs. The VR suit was a marvel of improvisation. There was even a part of Ma’s sandwich toaster nested into part of the torso. Activating the suit he was happy to note that the Presence it generated looked and felt real. All it needed now was a proper look rather than the raw shop dummy form it currently wore. Grabbing a book he hoped Ma didn’t know about, and scanned an image in.

The Presence now looked about 6ft tall with a broad muscular look and a pair of black leather bandoliers slung over each shoulder, crossing over the naked torso, The Presence wore nothing else. The book had been by some guy called Tom of Finland. Happy that his creation was ready he walked it through the wall on its first mission.

He’d been a bit worried at first, he hadn’t expected his hacking to have such a drastic effect. The DataStream he’d hijacked had been ultra secure with only fragments talking about “inhibiting the gay (something or other in medical Latin)” and the words “forced reorientation” and “Straightening”. He’d not thought much beyond “Fucking Government” before attaching his virus to an all departments memo about private photocopying.

Using his new VR skills to hamper the government’s homophobic plans seemed to fit in nicely with his private superhero fantasy.

Sam dozed fitfully. The guy in the next bed had been crying on and off all night. The poor bastard had lost both arms at the elbow, severed by a falling sheet of glass. In his half asleep state Sam wondered how either of them would cope with not being able to masturbate.

The crying seemed to change becoming a sort of breathy groan. Across the room the green sheets seemed to move up and down as if a hand were giving relief. With a final grunt a large sticky stain appeared on the lad’s sheets.

Sam desperately wished he could feel his own cock, wrap his hand around it, stroke its silky soft sheath...he guessed that like all quadriplegics he would have phantom sensations, because for a moment it felt like he had his hand firmly around a cock. The other four lads in the ward were starting to breath more heavily now...trying hard not to be heard.

Sam imagined how his cock would feel if his hand were able to stroke it...and it seemed that his imagination was pretty accurate, he could feel it...actually he seemed to be feeling it four times at once, feeling hotter and hotter until his fantasy cock exploded in an orgasm of four chain reacted surges. His eyes snapped open, it was the best orgasm he’d ever had...and the sensations had come from across the room...along with gasps of ecstasy.

The other five patients were all looking at him. They knew that it had been him doing it. But there seemed to be no accusation in their glances...just a sort of love sick puppy look.

The boy that had lost his arms was first to snap out of it.

“....LOOK!” He shouted holding up his arms, the bandages on the stumps had been pushed aside by perfect replacement limbs, pale white in contrast with his tanned physique. Seeing what had happened, the other patients started checking their own wounds.

Each in turn found by experimentation that bandages were no longer needed, the noise level rising in their excitement.

Experimentally Sam tried to move his hand. It moved, but not by itself, it was some sort of telekinesis, lifting the still numb limb, it had the same feeling as the imaginary hand he’d used on their cocks.

The ex-amputee, Paul, hissed at the others putting his hand over his mouth. “We can’t stay here! They’ll see what’s happened and take our Master away, probably do experiments on him..and we’d never see him again!”

“Where can we take him?” said the second, his face a patchwork of healed burns.

“I’ve got an apartment” volunteered a third.

Sam was confused, they were talking about having a “master” and from the way they were bundling him into a wheelchair..it looked like they meant him!

Something odd was going on, the campus seemed to be full of what could only be called “men in black”, everyone was being asked to go for a medical exam.

Brad heard that Doug and the queers club had been seen being bustled out the door under heavy guard. That sixth sense he’d come to rely on was telling him that this was bad.

It came to his turn and he was asked to step through an archway of glowing high tech devices that had been set up just inside the gym door. Something beeped as he went through it.

“Please sit down ...Mr Davies” said the agent sat at the desk, checking his list of names.

“I regret to inform you that a highly virulent form of TB is loose amongst certain sectors of the community. Please roll up your sleeve so that you can receive a booster shot.”

Brad did as he was told, and at the last instant suddenly got an impression of deception..it was a lie!

The needle was already in and depressed before he began to struggle. Two hands held him in place until a wave of tiredness swept over him, his head slumping.

“Mr Davies, you will get up and follow this Agent, do as she says, do nothing more or less.”

Brad got to his feet and shambled after the Agent, thinking was so hard to do, why wouldn’t they let him sleep?”

Olav was running again, only this time it wasn’t Puerto’s, this time it was the guys in suits, the sort who wore black sunglasses at night and a hearing aid. They weren’t messing about either, the hunters were using a van, a Ferrari and several dirt bikes...he’d given them the slip twice, out accellerating them, only to find another team coming at him from another direction. He was in South End Avenue now, nearly at Battery Park and Manhattan’s southern tip. Three separate groups hemming him in. He had no idea why they were after him, but each emanated that bloodlust/hatred he found he could sense.

He dodged the first five or six tranq darts, the seventh hit him in the thigh.

The alley cat that had watched the abduction, padded along close enough to hear the agents congratulating themselves on the capture the mutant faggot. Satisfied that he’d learned enough he padded down the footway and into Battery Park, Three sixteen year olds were walking toward him talking in an animated way about some issue or other.

The cat pixellated out of existence and was replaced by the Studz’ Virtual Presence in all its bench pressed muscular glory, the sun glinting off the chrome studs and polished black leather bandoliers that criss-crossed his muscular chest. “You will be doing nicely!” he said in a caricature Scandinavian accent, pointing his fingertips at the three stunned teens.

Virtuality fields pixellated over the teen’s clothing, fading it to invisibility. 2inch wide leather manacle belts appeared on their wrists and ankles followed by a chrome studded leather sash across each chest and a slave collar about the throat.

Karl Meyer looked down at his transformed clothing in amazement. But it wasn’t finished, his flabby overfed physique seemed to suck itself in like vacuum packing to give a lean muscular look, and then re-inflate to quarterback proportions... At the last moment something brushed against his mind, a link forming, he was a Slave, the other was a Master, it didn’t need explaining, it was just nature, a feeling that for the first time in his life he was precisely where and what he was supposed to be...and there was a name for what he now was, he was a Tom-o-Finland. Orders flowed into his mind, filling him with purpose.

The three Tom-o-Finlands raced out of the park taking the agents by surprise. Karl backhanded the nearest enemy, sending him slamming against the Ferrari.

With brutal efficiency he rolled the dazed agent over onto the car’s hood so that he was face down with arse in the air. A powerful tug on the pants ripped open its crotch seam and allowed Karl’s new virtually enhanced penis to ream in a full 8 inches. Three quick thrusts later and he was cumming...and as he did so he flickered back to normal, the Agent that he was impaled on becoming naked and then tastefully leather bonded.

Karl pulled out and did up his newly returned flies. He had done his duty and it was now time to get out of the way. His Master’s presence faded to almost nothing. He hoped that one day the Master would call for him again.

Meanwhile the ex-Project Fast Asleep agent was firing tranq darts at the agents that had not been transformed by Karl’s fellow Tom-O-Finlands.

Suddenly Gerald was back in his room. Ma was standing in the doorway holding the four way power lead.

“Ma!” he protested

“Time for Dinner! And I mean now! I don’t care if you are old enough to get sacked from a decent job, While your under my roof you eat when the family eats!”

At the edge of Battery Park the battle was over. The agents had wasted no time tranqing the confused ex-Tom-O-Finlands. Karl felt something brush against his sleeve...and then nothing at all as the fast acting chemical felled him.

Sam concentrated, experimenting with the telekinesis that he’d used to jack off his slaves. He could lift his wheelchair off the ground easily, even with his own weight in it, and even lift off with his five beautiful lads trying to hold him down.

Once they’d arrived at the apartment, Sam had begun asking questions. None of the five had even thought of gay sex before what had happened in the hospital. None of the five had suffered any unusual effects from the mystery energy wave. Yes they were all still straight, they said. But because he, Sam, wasn’t, they would just have to change their lifestyles in order to make him happy. Would they go back to living their old lives? Yes...if that’s what Sam wanted..but they would have to check in regularly just in case he changed his mind..or needed anything..anything at all.

In the end Sam decided to keep them close by. If he didn’t they were quite capable of doing things because they “might” please him. He had visions of a string of unwanted gifts and attention seeking scenes.

A knock came at the door. Kano, the Maori owner of the apartment quickly grabbed a towel and went to answer it. A few seconds later the muscular teen flew back into the room a tranc dart stuck 3″ above his right nipple.

A horde of black suited Agents charged into the room shouting “Go!,Go!,Go!”

Not understanding how he did it Sam formed a wall of force between his wheelchair and the hail of tranq darts, his slaves were not as lucky, dropped almost instantly by the first volley.

He backed up his, back to the seventeenth floor’s floor to ceiling window. Experimentally he mentally grasped one of the tranq pistols and squeezed bending its barrel into uselessness. Satisfied he started concentrating on gun after gun.

The lead agent seemed to speak into his headset, the words unheard behind his shield.

The window behind him shattered as an 8 feet of armored mecha smashed into the apartment, it’s jetpack engine powering down as it swung the maw of a massive weapon toward the startled Sam.

Realizing he only had seconds, Sam curved his forcewall shield to cover the exo-skeleton’s direction of attack and lashed out with a crude push of TK power. The heavy, armored feet began to scrape slowly backwards, but flaps opened on the boot sides allowing harpoon like bracers to fire into the concrete floor. Held firmly in place the mecha fired its weapon, even braced the massive recall nearly unbalanced it.

Sam’s shields nearly held...and then the electro-charge surged through him, he didn’t feel it, its disabling power useless against already deadened nerves. He didn’t feel the tranq dart that slipped through his downed shields either..but its chemical load was much more effective.

Director Skimmer once again sat before the conference screen.

“We’ve picked up 15 so far, and have a further 300 confirmed latents on the re-education program. Three were caught actively obstructing our efforts...And He was seen heading North East out of New Orleans.”

“Do not concern yourself with Him, something has been arranged to distract him for a few days..a distress call from Dr Hammond’s Cretaceous Menagerie.”