The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Personality Transfer

by Chester

He was just the type of man that both turned me on and scared me. I watched him as he came out of the store. He went over to the picnic area before getting back on his bike. He had bought a beer at the country store and was sauntering over to the table taking swigs of the brew on the way. Once there he jumped up on the table and rested his head against the tree next to it and leaned back enjoying the beer and the shade and the day.

He was about 5′10″, his hair was long, dark and windblown. He had a moustache of the type we used to call Fu Manchu. He was between 35 and 40 years old. He had taken good care of his body, though. He was well built, muscular and tough looking.

I continued to watch him from my car, now. I had been watching him in the store, both turned on and repulsed by his rough language, his comments to the clerk about the “tits” on the “broad” in the calendar, and how he would like to “fuck her till his balls fell off” or something to that effect.

He finished his beer, pulled out his smokes and lit up an unfiltered Camel. He drew in on the cigarette very deeply—it was a firmly established habit which had become part of him. I knew that I had to act now or I would miss my chance. I left the car, looking around to see that no-one was watching, and came up from behind him—with the tree blocking my entrance. I had the spray in my hand and it was only a second from the time that he actually noticed my presence and when the spray hit him and he collapsed.

Quickly I ran back to the car and got my equipment. I placed the headphone-like device on his head. If anyone saw me now they would think he was listening to a CD with headphones, resting by the tree. I connected the device to the wave recorder, set the parameters and turned it on. It would take about 10 minutes to do a rendering of the brain patterns of the man. The recording would not include memories just patterns and “personality”, interests and inclinations.

After the ten minutes and I had my recording, I pulled out the tape of Mark and placed it in the machine. I turned the button to reverse and quickly started it up again. This part was painful because it was rewriting the synapses of the brain, redirecting the basic personality traits. Even though he was “out cold” you could see the pain in his face and the grimacing. But it wouldn’t last long and he would wake up a new man if my theories were correct.

I had been afraid to test it out on anyone I knew. In fact, I had put it off for over two weeks even though I was sure it would work. I had recorded Mark’s ‘BP’ (brain patterns) but hadn’t done anything to him. I mean, I loved Mark.

I took the equipment back to the car. The effect of the gas would wear off in a few more minutes and I wanted to observe what happened to the man. Hopefully there would be some sign that it worked—I mean, Mark was almost the opposite personality.

He began to stir. He shook his head like he didn’t know what hit him, looked around, and decided that he must have just fallen asleep. He reached for his cigarettes, lit one, drew on it, grimaced and put the smoke out. He tossed the cigarettes into the can nearby and walked back to the store. In a moment he was out with a Diet Coke walking over to his bike. I decided to talk to him. “Hi, there. Nice bike. Where’re you from?” I asked.

“Thanks. Just live a little north of here.” He eyes studied me and he looked a little confused. “Do you know much about bikes?”

“No. I don’t. Just like the look of them.”

“Would you... would you like to go for a ride?”

I could almost feel the bulge in his crotch and his confusion about why he was being turned on by this guy. But I was most certainly Mark’s type—and now this guy’s.

“Married?” I asked.

“Yeah... I am.”

“Sure. I’d love to go for a ride.”

As we rode along I held on to him tightly and I know the feel of the leather and the obvious attraction of this guy to me was a real turn on. He stopped outside a glen about two miles down the road. I got off the bike as did he. He stopped and looked me up and down—not really understanding what was happening but he knew he had to have me. He walked over to me, pushed me back against a tree and kissed me hard. And kissed me...hard.

Once he started he lost all control. It was the most passionate hour of lovemaking I had experienced since that first time with Mark. He came three times in the hour.

Afterwards Rocky was apologetic (yes, that was really his name!)—he said that he had never been turned on by a man before—that he had been happily and sometimes unhappily married but this had been better than anything he ever experienced. He apologized that he looked so “rustic”. He didn’t know why he kept the long hair and facial hair—he really preferred short hair. He babbled on and on, then drove me back to the store and my car. He wanted to know if he could see more of me, but I told him I had a lover and I was afraid not. He kissed me deeply before I went and though I had a distinct hard on for the guy, I was more excited because I knew my machine worked.

* * *

Now I couldn’t wait to start trying the machine out on others. My first victim was Mary Sue’s husband, Sammy. They lived in the condo next to me and I was always horrified at the milquetoast she turned this guy into. He was a really good-looking guy (I really could have gotten into him if he were gay), a good provider, a wonderful friend—and how he put up with Mary Sue’s badgering, I’ll never understand. I decided to give him a new personality and Rocky’s would do just fine.

I waited until I saw Mary Sue go out shopping one Saturday, gave Sammy a call and told him I had a few new tapes I wanted him to listen to. He had some work he wanted to do around the house, so I whined a little and he said he would come over.

Sammy was about six feet tall, had golden “surfer dude type” hair, cut fashionably short in the Caesar style George Clooney had made popular, and was as straight as an arrow. I was anxious to see the kind of changes the new personality would bring.

He put on the headphones and settled back to listen when I hit him with the spray. He was out in seconds. I couldn’t resist copping a few feels while he was out and before I tried the tapes. He was very well hung.

In twenty minutes the deed was done. I replaced the device with a real tape deck and put in the new recording of Neil Diamond which I had told him he was “previewing”. By the second number he was waking up.

“What the fuck kind of shit is this?” was his reaction to the new recording. “I hate this shit, man. I can’t believe I used to like this guy. Turn this fucking thing off before I puke.”


“Where’s your pansy-assed professor boyfriend? Out rimming some college student?”

I couldn’t believe how quickly he had completely changed. Sammy hadn’t had a rude bone in his body.

“Look. Why did you really invite me over here? Were you expecting to get a piece of me? Well, I ain’t into that shit, fagman.”

He pushed me roughly up against the wall.

“Then again... how’d you like to suck me off. I haven’t fucked Mary Sue for weeks now—that bitch won’t let me near her unless she wants something—and I need to let loose my load. What’d’ya say?”

I wasn’t going to let this chance pass by! I had been lusting after Sammy for over two years! Even if he was being a prick! I knelt down on the floor in front of him and started. The only thing that surprised me—and I must say turned me on—was the really coarse language he used all the time I was going at it. I wouldn’t have thought he would even know those words!

Afterwards he grabbed my face between his hands, slapped it, told me I wasn’t a bad cocksucker and that he might be back for more. Then he left.

* * *

Mary Sue wasn’t going to last long with this new Sammy—only now it was Sam (he hated that faggish “Sammy” shit). She was over almost every day crying and telling me some new depravity that Sam had stooped to. She had even consulted a doctor because the change in personality was so strong, but there was no way that she could get Sam to go.

There wasn’t anything she liked about the new Sam—he didn’t bathe much, he didn’t shave, he drank far too much—he had even taken up smoking! At his age, to start smoking! He was forcing her to do all sorts of sexual things and became quite rough with her if she didn’t do them. Mary Sue didn’t specify “what” things.

Four weeks later Mary Sue had gone to a divorce lawyer. Sam came to see me two or three times that last week to get jacked off. His hair needed trimming but he had gelled it and bleached the ends, reminding me of a Billy Idol poster I had once seen. Amazingly, he was chain-smoking Camels unfiltered and his vocabulary had even grown worse. I didn’t think it could have. Interestingly to me, he hadn’t developed an interest in bikes as had Rocky but was forming friendships with some of the local “mafia” types and was very interested in guns. He had quit his job at the computer factory—or he may have been fired—I don’t really know.

My last image of him is leaning on a wall in my hallway, cigarette dangling from his mouth, yelling out as I sucked him off: Oh, fuck...FUCK...goddamn...FUCK..come on, cocksucker!!... You can imagine the rest. After that day he moved out, and while I saw Mary Sue often (a crushed woman). I haven’t seen Sam since.