The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The week went by much like the previous one for Ron, although he felt like his foot addiction was gradually becoming even deeper. He managed to snuck out a “fresh” pair of Chris’ dirty socks from the laundry room every morning to help him curb the cravings and get by the day. However, as the week went on, he felt like his son’s socks were slowly becoming not enough for his desires; he found himself wondering about other “sources” where he could find more socks and shoes to sniff on, like heading to the gym just to steal whiffs of other guys’ footwear in the locker room. On top of that, Ron found himself not only craving more about the smells, but he started feeling his tongue and lips getting dry and itchy, wanting a taste of feet as well, much to Ron’s horror and disgust. But his conscious mind thankfully still have enough sense and decency to quickly shake off these perverted thoughts.

Saturday finally arrived and the day has come for the executive to be introduced to the Gentlemen’s Club. Ron was having mixed feelings inside; from his rational mind, he dreaded the evening and was angry at being forced into it. He also feared what might happen at the Club and what he might be subjected to against his true will. On the other hand, whether out of curiosity or as a result of his programming, Ron was somewhat curious about what actually goes on inside the Club, and most of all, he felt some anticipation and excitement because a faraway voice seemed to tell him that the Club will be able to help him satisfy all of his addiction needs. The executive couldn’t really dwell on his thoughts much, he was pressed in time to go and he felt his mind going on auto-pilot and got him to swiftly ready himself for the evening. He hasn’t been told on any dress code for the Club, so he decided to just put on one of his dress suits, which he felt would seem appropriate for the venue: a navy blue suit with matching tie and a white shirt, black lace-up leather shoes and black ribbed dress socks.

Ron made up some random excuse to his wife about going to some business dinner event and was out the door about a quarter past five since he needed to be at the Club before 6PM. He had no conscious idea where the Gentlemen’s Club was located (he didn’t even have an address), but it seemed like the driving directions were already printed into his mind so the executive just let himself be driven to the location by his own subconscious mind.

About half an hour later, Ron found himself on the other side of town, in the warehousing district which is mostly deserted on a Saturday evening. A few more turns and he realized he had arrived at the Gentlemen’s Club. It was a modest four-storey classic stone building that took up the entire small street block. It didn’t stood out particularly from the surrounding similar classic buildings that were mostly used nowadays as loft offices or light warehouses, yet it presented itself with a subtle sense of imposing elegance that would seem fitting for its use as a high-end private gentlemen’s clubhouse.

As he drove up to it, Ron could already see the exclusive glamour of the Club: a steady stream of limos and chauffeured luxury cars pulling up to the front entrance, and the Club members, all dressed in fine tailored suits or tuxedoes, stepping out to be greeted by the valet staff and escorted up the stairs into the club. Ron briefly wondered again about what could he be made to do to serve these men at the Club, no doubt these members would likely be from the upper crust of society. He still hasn’t really figured out what to expect inside the Club, but it shouldn’t be anything too horrible given the social status of these gentlemen, so he thought to himself.

His thoughts were cut short when he realized that he was not stopping at the front entrance of the Club. Instead, he drove around the building and found himself at the backside of the building. After parking his car, Ron made his way down a short staircase to a non-descript backdoor at the basement level of the building. He saw a keypad to the side of the door, and before he even knew it, his hand was already on the pad and keyed in the access code, which undoubtedly had been inserted into his subconscious during one of the programming sessions. The lock system beeped affirmatively and the heavy metal door unlocked itself. Upon entering, Ron encountered a heavy-build man dressed in black suit and shirt standing guard by a small desk and another closed door behind. As he walked up to him, the guard asked for Ron’s name in a cold emotionless tone. Once Ron responded, the guard stepped over to his desk and entered the information into a laptop to confirm the new servant’s identity and attendance. Then the man reached into the drawers of the desk, retrieved some items and handed them to Ron.

The executive accepted the items from the guard and briefly examined them: a bluetooth earpiece and several small pieces of fabric/garment that Ron couldn’t really decipher right away. He was quickly interrupted by the guard who instructed him to put on the bluetooth device and proceed through the second door ahead. Ron put on the earpiece and immediately the familiar tunes that hypnotized him and practically rewrote a part of his mind reached his brain. His eyes glazed over momentarily as his mind swam once again in that familiar sea of peacefulness under the guidance of the hypnotic sound waves. He resurfaced back to reality when he felt the light coming from behind the door and heard the guard’s voice telling him to walk ahead. But even then, his thoughts were still clouded and he felt even more like a passenger in his own body.

Once inside the second door, Ron looked onto a plain service corridor lined with brown brick walls on either side, in line with the old warehouse structure in which the Club was located. There are several doorways on either side of the hallway and a staircase going up at the far end.

He tried to figure out what he should be doing and where to go. He looked down at the strange pieces of fabric he was given and on the black piece with a large circular elastic band Ron could see a label with the number “148” embroidered on it. It wasn’t much of a clue and the businessman was trying find someone to ask for directions when some undecipherable noise came through the bluetooth earpiece. Ron froze momentarily and his head buzzed for a second, and then he was on autopilot again. His body, now instructed by the subconscious buzz from the earphone, knew suddenly exactly where to go, and made his way to the second door on his left.

As he entered the doorway, Ron realized this was some kind of locker room, one of several behind these doors down the main hallway. The room was rectangular with about 50 lockers in all. There was a row of lockers in the middle and more lining three side walls to the left of the door, and a bathroom area to the right. The room was a buzz of activity with dozens of men changing and cleaning up, but at the same time, it was also unusually quiet for a locker room. Just like Ron, everyone in the room had a similar bluetooth earpiece and the same dazed face as they went about their business; it was simply a room full of mind-controlled muppets, no one was here for socializing (nor were they here willingly).

Another buzz from the earpiece dragged Ron from his observations and lead him to look up his assigned locker. Once he located his spot on the far wall of the locker room, he immediately went about changing out of his suit. The businessman felt a bit surprised by his action, and then even more shocked when he even stepped out of his underwear and left with only his dress socks on. After he put away all of his personal belongings and hung up his suit in his locker, he saw himself turn around to pick up those pieces of garments he was given at the entrance. He finally realized now in shock what these were as his body put them on one by one. Once he was done, his body allowed him to stare at himself in the full length mirror on the far wall of the locker room. To his horror and embarrassment, Ron couldn’t believe what he saw: he was dressed in nothing but a white shirt collar with a black bowtie around his neck, a pair of matching white shirt cuffs on his wrists, and a fitting black spandex jockstrap covering only his crotch, with the number “148”, his servant number at the Club, at the centre of the elastic band, leaving his backside completely exposed. The only pieces of his own clothing that remained to complete his look were his dress socks and shoes. It was “technically” a suit or tux attire, minus the actual rest of the shirt, suit and pants. Ron felt like some fetish model straight out of a porn magazine, but yet he was forced to check his “attire” to make sure everything was properly dressed. He only realized now that every other guy coming in and out of the locker room were all dressed in the same “uniform” of the Club (only their own shoes and socks were different).

Much to his horror, Ron proceeded out of the locker room and went down the hallway towards the staircase. It felt extremely humiliating for him inside to be walking out in public in such an indecently exposed manner. But the mind control in the earpiece kept his emotions at bay and he was forced to keep a dazed face, like the other servants he encountered, as he made his way up the stairs into the Club. But this service staircase for the servants revealed nothing of the elegance and opulence of the Gentlemen’s Club: it was basically an old narrow metal back staircase shaft, with no windows and only barely lit with low lighting, that was likely remnant of the building’s previous life as an industrial warehouse.

As he rounded the first flight of stairs, Ron came upon a familiar face coming down the stairs. Even in the poor lighting he could recognize his face: it was Steve, the young man on the train that had “initiated” him to the Club. He was similarly dressed in the servants’ attire, just in cuffs, collar and jockstrap, although an awkward match, he was still wearing his usual white socks and sneaks. Ron could see the similar dazed look on Steve’s face as he approached, he wanted to call out to him or gesture to the young man, but the businessman’s body refused to respond accordingly, and the two simply continued passed each other indifferently without any outward acknowledgement.

Feeling utterly helpless and vulnerable, Ron was forced to continue his march up the clanky stairs. He had no clue where he was going, but he figured that the subliminal commands from his earpiece has it all programmed already and it was useless for him to try and understand or fight it anyway. Finally, he came upon a door on the third floor and stepped into it. Despite feeling resigned to his fate, Ron felt nervous as he stepped through the heavy soundproof door in anticipation of finally finding out what this whole craziness and the Gentlemen’s Club was all about.

Inside there was a dimly lit small entryway area with another scantily-dressed staff standing guard. To the left, there was another door up an extra few steps, but straight ahead, right behind the guarding staff, Ron noticed a portal that was only about waist high and a metre wide, shielded by some thick black rubber blinds.

Before he could figure out what’s happening, Ron heard himself blurt out to the guard: “Number 148 reporting to Foot Service”. The guard nodded, keyed in some information to a tablet device in his hand, and then responded robotically: “Number 148 presence acknowledged”, after which he stepped aside from the mid-height portal. Ron was momentarily shocked as he realized he was expected to go through that low portal, which would be only high enough for him to crawl in. Already he was humiliated in being dressed in this nearly-naked uniform, and now he has to crawl into what looked like a dog hole was just further shattering any remaining bits of dignity in his conscience.

Unfortunately, his mental debate didn’t last long. A buzz in his earpiece and the next thing Ron realized was his craving suddenly hitting him with full intensity and he couldn’t think of anything but men’s socks and feet. He probably would have grabbed the guard’s feet and feasted on them right there if not for his subconscious commands taking over his body and pushed him down and into the crawl hole.

Once inside the portal, past the rubber drapes, the executive could see that it was a sort of tunnel/corridor, a metre tall and wide, with soft padding on the floor, and dimly lit by some soft floor lighting. The corridor was laid out in some kind of a network, with a rectangular peripheral path and another two aisles in between. As he crawled further in, Ron could see some cubby-holes, spaced about a metre or so apart, on both sides of the corridor. Most of them were closed with a small sliding door and Ron thought he could hear some heavy breathing, more like inhalation, sounds from them. But at this moment he couldn’t think clearly as he was overwhelmed by the induced heavy dose of foot craving, on top of the ever-lingering one he already had. He head was buzzing like crazy and he was desperate to latch his nose onto the first pair of smelly men’s feet or footwear he could find.

Finally, he came upon an open cubby-hole which he crawled in and locked the small door behind him. Immediately, a low red light lit up the small cubicle. Ron was just able to sit up in the small space, which was really no bigger in floor space than a phone booth. Facing the backside of the cubicle, he noticed a sloped padded ledge installed by the back wall at about chest height, which looked like the extension of an ottoman. Above that padded ledge was a round covered portal in the wall about the same width as the ledge itself. With his heightened senses, Ron swore that he could somehow smell a lingering stench of foot sweat permeating the small cubicle.

His thought was quickly confirmed as large pair of feet suddenly poked through the hole in the wall and rested themselves on the ledge/ottoman. Even in the low lighting, Ron could tell that they were a pair of man’s legs, with the dark dress pants and dark dress socks. Given the setup of the tight cubicle, the feet rested at the perfect height and were practically shoved right up to Ron’s face. The large wide feet were perhaps at least a size 11 or 12, and Ron could only imagine that they belong to a member of the Gentlemen’s Club on the other side of the wall. But Ron didn’t have time, or the mental capacity, to think about these things at the moment, as the smell of those powerful feet invaded his senses and his addiction took over. He didn’t need to be told as he immediately dove nose-first right into the sole of those sweaty executive feet. It was only Ron’s second encounter with an actual pair of male feet, but just as it was with the last time when Steve initiated him, he immediately lost himself into the euphoric heaven that his artificially-implanted addiction brought him. He lost sense of where he was, what was happening or whose feet they were, his only uncontrollable interest in that moment was to suck in a much of the sock odour as his nose could take, to rub his hands and face all over those warm sweaty feet and to nibble, suck and lick up as much of the foot sweat and taste until his tongue went numb. He would have exhaled moans of intense pleasure had the programming not instructed servants to remain quiet during their service, so as not to disturb the members.

Ron wouldn’t have figured it out, but he was actually in the under-floor space right below the member’s floor space. Given the high floor space of the warehouse structure, each floor of the clubhouse had enough space to create similar “under-floor” space for the servants to be in, while still leaving a comfortable ceiling height for the member’s space. Just like the servants’ space below, the members’ area above was similarly laid out in a network of aisles, in between which were multiple stations where members can placed themselves in to be served by the servants underneath them. Depending on the service they were receiving, all service stations were designed in such a way that the only point of contact between member-servant was the body part on which the service was being performed. Neither party would be able to see the other side and soundproofing elements were put in to minimize any sound being transmitted as well. In Ron’s case, the Foot Service room on the third floor is a large open hall lined with rows of plush recliner chairs, partitioned off into a small cabin/cubicle for privacy and peace, although windows are also available if they want to socialize with their neighbours. Once the member is comfortably seated in the chair, there is a TV screen and small desk space in front of him for his use and entertainment. He would push his feet towards the footrest area below, at the bottom of which is the covered hole through which his feet would poke through into the servant’s space for service. A privacy blanket is also provided at around thigh level to minimize any light or sound from reaching the servant down under.

Back in the stuffy cubby-hole under the floor, the sensation was intense, depraved and mind-numbing, but the desire was desperate and relentless in Ron. It almost seemed as if his cravings did not alleviate itself at all as he quenched on the nasty foot smells of the unknown feet in front of him (the subliminal controls in his bluetooth device did indeed made sure his crave levels remained constantly on edge throughout the session), so he couldn’t help but just continued his “service” on those feet with the same sustained fervour.

Then, suddenly, a buzz command in his earpiece, the reality changed and hit Ron with a slap. His cravings faded suddenly and his senses returned to him. Those delicious smell and taste of male feet that he was still desperately rubbing all over his face a second ago returned to being nasty repulsive foot stink and the businessman immediately pulled himself away from the unknown feet in shock and disgust. Ron did not realize how long had passed since he started, but he had really been worshipping those feet for thirty minutes. In fact, the “wake-up” command had been timed based on the member’s reserved session duration, which must be booked in increments of thirty minutes.

“What just happened? What have I just done?” Ron asked himself in his head. To make matters worse, he noticed his deflating hard-on and the slight dampness in his jockstrap. This is insanely degrading and perverted, to be locked in this hell hole and forced to worship some stranger’s feet and be forced to like it! He wanted to cry and run away from this disgusting nightmare as he saw the pair of feet that he had been feasting on casually retreat back behind the hole in the wall, but yet the mental control would not allow his body to comply with his own thoughts and he was forced to remain seated in his tiny box to contemplate his fear and fate in silence.

That moment of confusion didn’t last for long, within a minute another subliminal buzz came through the bluetooth and once again Ron could feel the desire for feet crawl up his head quickly. His face scrunched up instinctively out of desperation and exhaled a silent “NOOO” as the mental torture restarted with the same intensity. He wanted to resist the forced temptations, but the extensive programming that he had subjected himself to were too powerful and effortlessly squashed any last defence from his conscious will. His breathing picked up gradually, his mouth dried up and his rational thoughts were once again being forcefully replaced by images of male feet and socks. Deep down, Ron was still confused, angry and freaked out by his humiliating predicament, but those feelings were being muzzled by the renewed desires to smell and taste feet, which intensified again literally by the second, thanks to the mental control through his earpiece.

Within five minutes since the last pair of feet pulled out of the hole, another pair entered Ron’s cubicle again. This time they were a pair of more slender legs and feet, dressed in charcoal pants and navy blue patterned socks. Ron’s level of craving was already at the same intensity as the last time and, like the last time, his face flew right at those feet almost as soon as they poked through the wall. He hated it, but at the same time he needed it. He realized this was already out of his own control, that he has simply been turned into some anonymous foot worshipping drone for the Club members to use at will. As he maniacally sniffed and licked away at the feet of the second nameless member of the Gentlemen’s Club, the once clean-cut, well-educated and well-mannered executive couldn’t believe the level of degradation and dehumanization he has been put through, and he was completely powerless to get himself out of this.

And so it went on for the rest of the evening. The second member had actually booked for a full hour timeslot, so Ron’s cravings were “shut off” briefly at the hour mark. Then within five minutes, he was being “turned on” again, and another member settled in for another half-hour session, and then another one, then another one....so on and so forth, feet after feet he worshipped. At some point, Ron had given up trying to resist the forced urges and resigned to simply letting the Club’s programming and his senses do what they want him to do.

Finally, after the last pair of feet had pulled out of his hole, the battered executive noticed that his cravings were not turned on again and some more clear thoughts were coming back to him. He didn’t know how long he had been stuck in this hell hole, and he didn’t bother counting how many pairs of feet he had been forced to worship. After a while, everything had just become a blur and he simply shut off his conscious mind, not wanting to think about what he was doing. He felt degraded and violated, he smelled like dirty socks himself, and he was mentally and physically exhausted. He felt his body move again as he turned and unlocked the door to his cramped cubicle. His bare bottom squished against the padded floor, he realized that he had worked up quite some sweat after being crammed in this stuffy box servicing anonymous feet with “forced enthusiasm” for hours. A sense of relief surged through Ron’s mind as he realized he was finally being let out of this place; he just wanted to go home and forget about all of this nightmare. He got on all fours and crawled his way back out to the exit to the staircase.

Upon reaching out of the dog hole, the cool air of the hallway gave Ron as slight shiver on his sweat-covered bare body. As he was finally allowed to get back on his feet, he noticed that the staff guarding the doorway has changed as well. He heard his mouth blurt out the reporting commands: “Number 148 completed foot service duty”. Like when he arrived, the new guard worked on his tablet briefly and then responded: “Number 148 acknowledged. Ready to accept reward for service.”

As soon as he heard that line, Ron’s body immediately stood at attention and froze rigidly in front of the guard. A sudden wave of intense sexual energy surged through his mind, sending his body into a pleasurable heatwave. It felt similar to the intense surges of foot cravings that he had just been subjected to, but only this time it was for pure sex. Everything happened so fast it took Ron by surprise and before he came back to some sense of what was happening, he could already feel his stiff cock was throbbing and wet, straining against the tight jockstrap. The guarding staff promptly got on his knees in front of Ron and pulled his throbbing cock out. With well-practiced efficiency, the guard wasted no time in swallowing the hard cock and worked his mouth on it expertly. Ron was thrown into confusion again; how could he be letting this complete stranger randomly suck him off in public like that? It was basically rape...but at the same time, the intense sexual frenzy suddenly pumped into his brain was making him want, even need, to be relieved right this moment. In the end, the primal desires, as well as the guard’s highly-skilled oral techniques, won again, and within two minutes, Ron came fast and furious, dumping a huge load down the guard’s throat. All this time, in keeping with the Club rules, both servants did not made a sound, except for the heavy breathing and suckling noise on Ron’s dick. Ron was forced to stand rigidly throughout and couldn’t even look down to his crotch or scream out his pleasure as the intense orgasm hit him.

Once the guard had slurped away all of Ron’s ejaculation, he put the cock back in place and stood back up, same stoned face as before, and announced coldly: “Number 148 reward completed. Dismissed.” With that, Ron’s body opened the door and stepped back out into the main stairwell and down to the servants’ quarter and locker rooms.

Ron was in a bit of a shock as his body made its way down the stairs. He felt battered enough after being forced into a mad foot worship marathon, but his pride was even further shattered by this sudden sexual encounter that they label as “reward”. Although he couldn’t disagree that the blowjob by the nameless servant peer was better than any he could recall with women in the past, but all of it was still forced upon them to commit under the control of their mental programming. He was pretty sure the other guy likely didn’t want to suck him off, and wondered how many more guys the poor guard would be programmed to suck off throughout his shift. It was nauseating just to think about it, but he (or his programming) kept a straight face and calm posture from the outside.

Feeling utterly defeated, used, dirty and just thoroughly exhausted, Ron changed back into his own fine suit in silence, which saw no use after all, and exited the Gentlemen’s Club as quickly as he could. As he started up his car, his mind was starting to finally clear up more and he could sense his self-control and conscience resurfacing gradually as well. He glanced at the clock in the dashboard and was somewhat shocked to realize it was already past 10:30PM. He had just spent an entire evening in this supposedly “elite men’s club” locked in a dark tiny box and forced to act like some nasty foot pervert while the members socialized lavishly above him. He wanted to cry, to run to the cops or someone and report that this Gentlemen’s Club was actually some dirty gay brothel committing sexual slavery. But he knew that the mental locks planted deep in his subconscious would not let him express any of that. As he calmly drove his way home, he dreaded, but he knew very well that he will be summoned again and will be forced to come back and “service” the members of the Gentlemen’s Club again. It was after all, as he has come to realize now, the main purpose of his enslavement in the first place. He can’t even imagine how he would carry on with his life from now on...