The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When I caught a glance of him I wanted him so badly I wished I could buy him. I knew that he was dangerous. He would possess me just by virtue of my desire to possess him. And that could never be.

But we live in an age where men are forbidden outright to buy other men. So I had to accomplish what I needed in another way. I couldn’t buy him. I had to conquer him. But the simplest way – by force – was forbidden to individuals and reserved by the Nations of the World to their Governments, to their Rulers. So it couldn’t be by force. It would have to be surreptitiously. I’d have to worm my way undetected into his consciousness and then subvert it, disable it, extract it, replace it with something else, which would make him my creature, entirely loyal to me. He’d have to become my Puppet Government; my Captured Nation.

I approached him and when he responded to my greeting, I saw that he was a friendly guy with an open nature.

He was a good looking guy and he knew how to dress and held himself like a model in a rich man’s magazine. And he was casual, casual as hell, the embodiment of sprezzatura. It was April. The winter was quickly passing. He wore jeans, Lees, not Levis—and that makes a difference – a pair of brown leather shoe boots, a Marino turtle neck, loose at the neck, black with a subtle twill woven into it. And then a three button cotton velvet sports coat, a rich brown. Good jaw, straight teeth, long neck, amazing smile, strong nose. His eyes, the way I can describe those is to tell you that the only way I could look into them was defiantly, or the game would have been lost from the get go and I’d a been a goner because those were eyes you only read about in romances, limpid green like the forest in autumn. Somehow the smell of smoke rising from distant farmhouses was there within them too.

He said he’d be happy to go home with me but first wanted to finish his coffee. It was an espresso, which he took sips of along with bites from a square of dark chocolate. He sweetly but firmly refused the cigarette I offered. And all I could think of was I had to get this guy, put him out of commission and possess him before he got me.

So I looked around the place and spoke about the blacksmith hardware hanging on the walls; he said, yeah it really was an anomaly. I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to keep him talking. I had to get under his skin.

I asked him what he did and he said he was a book editor.

I asked him if he liked it. He said he did, yes.

I asked him if he got off on controlling the way other people said things. He looked at me with blank eyes. I liked that, but I almost lost it when he finally said with a smile, I don’t do that.

He asked me what I did and I told him I trained horses.

Really, he said.

Really, I assured him and even believed it myself and then went on to spin a tale about a horse farm upstate I had just left because I was taking two years off to go to Europe where I had an apartment in Barcelona. He was interested, and that gave me steam to keep going. I was going to capture and tame him. That’s all I could think, and like magic the stories spun themselves. And he was almost caught inside them.

And then he put his little black coffee cup down on its little black saucer and smiled.

Hey let’s go he said, winking and taking my arm, entirely breaking the thread of my story.

As we were walking he asked me how I trained the horses.

By hypnosis I said.

What? he said.

By hypnotizing them I repeated slowly.

How fascinating, he said.

What’s fascinating, I said.

Hypnosis, he said.

Why? I asked.

He was silent. I couldn’t determine whether that meant he was thinking or that he wasn’t and had gone blank.

But actually I knew why. I tried something. I slowed my pace. He did too. Then I quickened it. His quickened, too. He was good at following. I was there to lead him. Into obedience.

ii.

Sit down, I said.

He did. I took the leather arm chair facing the one he sat in and moved it a little closer.

Smoke? I said offering him a joint. Not tobacco.

Thanks, he said, taking it from me and filling his lungs with sweet magic.

I want you to feel your breath flowing in and out of you, I said, as he handed the joint back to me. Sit back in your chair. Get comfortable.

He obeyed.

I want you to relax now and pay attention to your breathing.

All your awareness is focusing on your breathing.

Your mind is becoming empty of all thought.

Empty like a mirror that reflects nothing when the lights are shut off

A blank space

A black space which is entirely mine to fill

Picture a brook of running water.

You try to hold a portion of water in your mind’s eye.

But it is impossible.

The water rushes on, always rushes on.

So with the thought of your mind.

You cannot hold it and your mind is entirely clear.

As clear as the brook whose bottom you can see in the sunlight

As the water you cannot hold rushes over it

Look deep into the bottom of the brook steady beneath the rushing water

The depth becomes more distant as you look

Deeper and deeper

Just as you are becoming deeply more deeply entranced

Deeply more deeply my slave

Now you feel the flow of your thoughts as the rushing of water

As the drifting of clouds

Your thoughts are not yours

Your thoughts are not you

They are only the pull of gravity on your mind

A wind blowing through your mind

But now your mind is so light that it is floating

Gracefully, gracefully

Higher and higher in a blazing empyrean

Lightened, empty, floating, flowing

Feel your breathing

Light, empty, floating flowing

Like a cloud in the blue empyrean

That is your breath

With every in-breath

With every out-breath.

His eyes had fallen closed and his breathing was deep and regular.

You are in a deep trance. You are unable to move. You feel nothing. You think nothing. You are entirely empty. And the sound of my voice is all you are aware of, and as you hear the sound of my voice, it will begin to fill you, to shape you, to create you. I own you. You are mine. You belong to me. You are my slave to do with as I will. That is the central reality of your life, and it excites you in every way. It excites you more than anything else has ever excited you.

And I was glad to see that it did, but I held back from taking hold of that beautiful thing tenting his jeans.

I want you to open your eyes now, I proceeded, thinking I was training him to be my slave, not realizing until it was too late that he had begun training me to be his master.

iii.

This is not a story about role reversal. Our roles were fixed. He was my boy, my precious, cherished boy. He needed me to command him, to control and dominate him, and every time he responded to me, he thrilled me more and more. When his body throbbed with the electric excitement that only I could make course through it, mine did, too. He was my slave and I was hooked. He was a master slave and I was an enslaved master.

He continued at his editorial job; in fact his career thrived as it never had before despite that he had always been successful. There was a gentle assurance that no one dared question, and his authority in matters was not only taken for granted but appreciated.

iv.

The little silver needle pierced one nipple and then the other one and it was all that he could do to keep from coming each time. his whole body quivered and his cock throbbed with waves of molten excitement rumbling through it, as the earth does when tectonic plates smash against each other. But he prevented it with all the force of his will and the victory he achieved gave his entire body a marble rigidity, the rigidity of a great pride. he had proven the strength of his obedience. he dared not smile but kept his eyes expressionless, his face motionless. But within he was clamoring with joy. This was no passive surrender but active, masculine, muscular surrender. he felt the pride I took in him. he felt the power of his enslavement. It was like a strong supportive armor. he realized he no longer existed as a person but only as a conception: his Master’s conception, Mine.

he heard the words ringing, circling within him, as You wish me to be, so i am, and he knew it was true, wonderfully true, for the first time in his life. It was the ground under him and he had the strength of a rock.

And now to prove it were the two silver circlets attached to his nipples, and suspended from them in a small crescent depending, a delicate silver chain. On his finger, a triple banded ring transforming two into one.

At the gym everyone knew what it meant—sculpted body, sculpted mind—and he blushed with pride the first time he took his shirt off in the locker room. And everyone congratulated him, and felt free to take him by the cock and give him a little pucker kiss on the lips.

v.

he got home at five, made dinner, bathed, shaved, his chest, his legs, his face, trimmed his pubic triangle, shampooed his hair, made it spikey, put back his cock ring, stepped into a black thong, reinserted his nipple rings, felt the pull of his erection, and set the table for dinner, giving great attention to the arrangement of the flowers and the placement of the candlesticks. he lost himself for a moment drawn to gaze into the flame of an unlit candle.

vi.

All I had to do was look at him and he stood erect and at attention; his chest blazing, his thighs marmoreal, his eyes turned inward and blank.

Sir. his voice rose from the depth of a well.