The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 1: WISH UPON A STAR

When it began on that Sunday afternoon, I was hanging out with Ken. Not that Ken is my favorite person in the whole world—basically, he’s a very handsome, self-centered moocher—but we do share exactly the same taste in adult films, and when he turns on the roguish charm I’ve always found it hard to say no to him. Plus, once he’s watched one or two of my videos, he finds it hard to say no to almost anything; so our Sunday video club has become a convenient tradition.

On the day in question, we were just getting the VCR set up when the phone rang. “I’ll get rid of them,” I promised. Picking up the receiver, I said in my most preoccupied voice, “Hello?”

“David?” the reply came slowly. “David, I—I’m in trouble. I need your help.”

“Simon?” I asked, concerned. “What’s wrong with your voice?” He sounded really weird—not so much slurred as stretched, as if he were speaking in slow motion.

“I can’t explain on the phone,” the words dragged out. “Please, just come over right—" Then silence.

“Simon?... Simon!” I repeated, really worried now. Was he having a heart attack or something?

After a moment I hung up and told Ken, “That was Simon. He’s in some kind of trouble.”

“Who? Oh, the weirdo with the mime fixation?” he said, in that brash way that I loved/hated.

“Yeah,” I said, annoyed. “He sounded like he’s hurt or something. I think I’d better go over there.”

“Now? How bad can it be?”

“I’m going,” I told him firmly, gathering up my keys. “You can stay here if you want.”

He came along, of course, still grumbling as we drove the few miles to Simon’s place. I wasn’t listening; I was too worried. Simon and I weren’t exactly close—I’m not sure anyone had ever exactly been close with Simon—but there was a bond between us. It had been there ever since that long-ago evening in tenth grade when I had found him furtively jerking off underneath the bleachers, and had first hesitantly, then eagerly, convinced him to join me in losing our virginity. As we lay panting afterward on the dirt and grass, I had helplessly fallen for blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful Simon. But though I had come out of the closet that day, he never had. Something inside him was too shy, too scared. He had never let me make love to him again, but the memory of that day had never left me.

Maybe it was that painful timidness that had made him so obsessed with becoming a mime—when he went into his performance, he didn’t have to act casual or make conversation. He had a very good executive job at our local library, but in his off-hours he had become a fixture on the neighborhood’s street corners, vainly trying to start a second career. He adopted a robot persona, making stiff, jerky movements and twitching his head from side to side like a metronome; and I have to admit, with his tall, limber body and almost-too-perfect features, he really looked the part. The trouble was that despite his athletic figure, he just couldn’t seem to develop the discipline—he always wound up losing it and doing something all too human. When we occasionally got together over the years, he always came back to lamenting his failure at what he loved most. I think I was probably the only one he felt he could confide in that way. And now, in his hour of need, I was the one he had called for help.

I pulled up in the driveway of Simon’s low-built ranch-style house, where his Camaro sat calmly in its usual place. We went up to the door and I rang the bell; no answer. As I waited, getting more and more antsy, Ken wandered off around the side of the house. A moment later he returned and announced, “The back door’s open. Come on.”

We went around back, bypassed the backyard pool, and went in through the kitchen. Everything seemed normal there—normal and awfully quiet. Ken pushed ahead to the living room; then I heard him exclaim, “Whoa!” I hurried in after him, then stopped in confusion.

Simon was standing beside the telephone table, clad in nothing but a pair of Speedos. He was looking straight at us, but he didn’t react—not in any way at all. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move, didn’t even blink. His mouth was half-open, as if caught in the split-second moment of forming a word.

“What the hell is with him?” Ken demanded. Then he suddenly grimaced. “Oh, for God’s sake! Now I get it. Mr. Mime dragged us all the way over here just to watch him do his fucking statue act.”

I stared at Simon. He stared back, unblinking. “Is that true, Simon?” I wanted to believe that that was all it was, even though it would mean I’d been made a fool of. But since when had Simon been able to hold a pose so perfectly? “If you are just doing an act, then great, you finally got it, now knock it off. I’m waiting.”

We stood there for a minute, and Simon stood there, the phone in his upraised hand beside his open mouth. After a moment Ken rolled his eyes, said “I saw Cheetos in the kitchen”, and disappeared through the door.

I walked up to Simon and waved my hand in front of his eyes. No reaction. I started to panic—had he died and somehow remained upright? I cautiously reached out to touch his naked shoulder. It felt very warm and alive. Just as I remembered it. I felt his bicep; it was very hard, but it was the hardness of a good firm muscle, not of a body in rigor mortis.

“Hands off the merchandise,” came Ken’s mocking voice, and I jerked my hand back. He stood in the doorway, pulling Cheetos out of the bag and grinning. “Hey, how long can he keep it up, if you’ll pardon the expression?”

“I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose,” I said as Ken strolled up beside us. “There was a medical condition I learned about in my psych course—catatonia? Catalepsy? It can make someone freeze like that temporarily, even slow their body functions till they’re almost undetectable.”

“Has he got it?” Ken asked interestedly.

“I don’t know. But it’s all I can think of. He’s obviously alive, but look—you can’t even see him breathing.”

“Well, I know what to do for someone whose heart has stopped,” Ken said confidently. He stepped up and gave Simon a hard thump on the chest with his fist.

Simon’s chest popped open.

I nearly passed out. A door hung open in Simon’s torso, exposing his insides. And they weren’t human insides at all. Just a complex maze of wires, gears, electronic circuits, plastic tubes...

“He really is a robot!” exclaimed Ken with delight. “Cool!”

“But, but—he can’t be!” I gasped. “He couldn’t be a robot. I’ve—uh, I’ve known him since high school, I would have known!”

“Hello, Dave, reality calling,” Ken snorted. “Does he look like flesh and blood to you?” He leaned closer to examine Simon’s mechanical interior. “Hmm, now this is something I could get into. Why isn’t he running?”

I was aghast at his casual attitude, but even in my state of shock I realized I shouldn’t interfere. If there was anything Ken was really good at (besides sex), it was computer programming—he could have made a fortune at it by now, if his attitude didn’t keep pissing off his employers. Maybe he could figure out what was wrong with Simon; God knows I couldn’t! I was still trying to figure out how the very human man I knew and loved had become a machine. Or, nasty thought, had he been replaced by one? Had my friend been exchanged for some android body-snatcher?

“Hm, paper tape,” said Ken, examining a reel of it that wound around a spool in Simon’s chest. “Not exactly state-of-the-art.” He gently fingered a second reel and spool, a couple of inches below the first. “Two tapes. Two different programs? I wonder... ”

He pulled the top reel of tape off its spool and held it in his hand. “What are you doing?” I cried. “Don’t mess with that!”

“Trust me. I know what I’m doing.” He removed the lower reel, then put each of them in where the other had been. He watched Simon’s face carefully, then looked disappointed. “Shit. Nothing.”

“You probably just fucked him up for good!” I wailed. I felt like crying at the sight of Simon standing there immobile, staring blankly with his mouth half-open. Impulsively I put a comforting hand on his stiff back.

Something was sticking out, poking my fingers. I looked down in surprise. It was a small metal key, protruding from the base of his spine just above the Speedos.

I knew that hadn’t been there before!

“I’ll be damned,” I said in wonder. “He’s got a key. He’s got a key above his ass.”

“Really?” Ken looked up, fascinated, from putting the paper tapes back where they had been before. He came around and looked for himself. “Jeeze, a retro-tech android! Well, come on, turn it.”

I stared at him. “Turn it?”

“It worked for Tik-Tok in the Oz stories.”

Cautiously, I tried turning the tiny key. It moved quite easily, winding in a clockwise direction just like the key in a child’s toy. I wound for a minute or so, till it felt like it had reached a stopping-place, wondering if I was being a total fool.

“Look!” Ken pointed at Simon’s chest. His breathing had started up again—slow and gentle, but he was breathing! After a moment his eyelids began to twitch a little, like someone waking up from a sound sleep. His whole body shivered slightly.

“—away,” he said anxiously into the phone. Then he looked at us in chagrin, and slowly let his hand drop to his side. “Oh, shit.”

A little while later I was sitting on Simon’s sofa, saying for the third time, “But you must have some idea!”

Simon, looking very uneasy in his easy chair, protested, “I told you, I don’t! I swear I was a normal human being when I went to bed last night!”

“A human being, anyway,” commented Ken, slurping the beer he had cribbed from Simon’s fridge.

“Go over it in your head,” I said. “What exactly did you do last night?”

Simon sighed, trying to think. “Nothing special. I worked out. I took a shower. I went out in the yard for a minute, ‘cause I thought I heard somebody’s dog messing around.” He shook his head. “Everything was so normal. Quiet night, sky full of stars... Oh my god.”

“What?” I demanded.

Simon looked stunned. “Well, I looked up at the stars, and... I know it sounds silly, but I saw a shooting star, and I made a wish. I wished... that I could be the kind of mime I always wanted to be. That I could be just like a real robot.”

We sat there in silence for a long moment. Then Ken grinned. “I always knew Jiminy Cricket had a sick sense of humor.”

“It’s not funny!” Simon and I chorused.

“Well, it is, kind of. Instead of Pinocchio turning into a real boy, you turned into a wind-up toy.”

Simon looked pale. “When I woke up I thought it was a dream at first. I kept waiting to wake up. And then I felt myself starting to run down... I just barely had time to call you. God, am I going to keep going through this all the time?”

“If you do, I’ll be here for you,” I said earnestly. “I can come over and wind you every day if you need it. I’ll be glad to.”

“And you might not have to keep running down,” Ken added cheerfully. “Once I’ve had time to do some poking around, I can probably find some way to keep you running longer.”

Simon looked at him worriedly. “You’re not going to tell anybody, are you?”

“Nah. It’s too cool to be the only ones who know. Trust me.” For some reason, he tapped his shirt pocket as he said that.

Simon looked at me questioningly. “You can trust Ken,” I said, giving Ken a meaningful look that added, if you want to keep eating all my food, among other things, every weekend.

But I was wondering how this was going to work out.

After talking for a while, and assuring Simon again that his secret was safe with us, we left. Ken said that even he couldn’t concentrate on videos after this, and I dropped him at his apartment. I was going to go home after that, but instead I just kept driving in circles. I couldn’t stop thinking about Simon, what he was going through in his mind, how vulnerable he had become. How long would it be before his key wound down again? After a while I realized I just had to go back and make sure he was all right.

When I got there I rang the bell and waited. And waited. His car was still parked, so if he’d gone anywhere, it couldn’t be far. After a few minutes I went around to the back door, which was still unlocked. I walked through the silent house, calling, “Simon?”

I found him in the bedroom. He was standing in front of the full-length mirror, naked, staring at his reflection. That is, he had been looking at himself when his motor had stopped. He was an inanimate object again, oblivious to my presence—just a hunk of metal. Or a metal hunk.

I sighed, reaching for the key; this was going to get tired very soon. I couldn’t help noticing how beautiful his butt looked in the unlit room, with shafts of light from the Venetian blinds casting striped shadows across it. So, so long since I had touched him there... I reached out and gently caressed his cheeks with my hand, feeling their warmth, feeling the metal that paradoxically still had the soft firmness of living flesh. If only I could do this when he felt it!

But he is a robot now, the thought came unbidden. And machines can be programmed.

I shook my head angrily, trying to shake the thought loose. Simon was my friend—my friend whose secret I had kept, whose fragility I had protected, all these years! He wasn’t just some object to be played with!

But at the moment, that was just what he was. He was the same sweet, sensitive man I had loved for so long, yet he was no longer truly alive, just an inanimate machine—a wind-up toy, as Ken had crudely said. I stared at Simon’s beautiful body, and realized that for the first time in all these years, he was mine to do whatever I wanted with. And there was nothing he could do to push me away. He wouldn’t even be upset, because he would never know.

I looked at his reflection, trying to remind myself of his humanity. Mistake—one look into those sad, confused blue eyes and I couldn’t control myself. “Oh, Simon,” I murmured softly, and leaned in to kiss the side of his throat, gently at first, then with mounting passion. I was kissing Simon again! I grabbed him and clutched him hard, as fiercely as I had at sixteen, clinging to his strong back and broad chest with possessive hands. Simon continued staring blankly at the mirror, unaware of anything I was doing—unknowing that his tall, athletic body had become my plaything.

I roughly spun him around, looking right into his unseeing eyes, and almost gasped at the flawless beauty of that perfect masculine face, somehow twice as gorgeous in its present immobile state. Hugging him to me, I ran my hands all over the hard shoulders, the almost-hairless chest with its stiff nipples; I couldn’t resist sinking my teeth into his wide, firm neck, but Simon was apparently immune to love bites now—the skin bent to the pressure, but refused to break. His taste was that of natural man-musk mixed with a faint metallic tinge, like the metal taste that gets into food sometimes if you leave it in the opened can. I let my lips and teeth cling to his throat for a long moment, inhaling that lovely scent and feeling like some kind of vampire.

I stood back for a moment and surveyed my wonderful toy. His arms hung at his sides, the lean, hard muscles frozen in position. I tried pushing on one arm, but it wouldn’t budge; he was locked in place. Perfect, I thought, when I start him up again he won’t have a single clue to tell him that anything happened. I stroked the fine lines of his tendons for a minute, sighing happily. Then my eyes went down to his crotch, where his cock hung stiffly down at a slight angle. What a pity that it wasn’t erect, but it couldn’t be helped; in his present state it would take a bulldozer to budge it. Somehow that thought made me almost as hard as he was. I dropped to my knees and happily took that statuesque rod in my mouth, sucking and licking it with delirious pleasure. I even found that I could chew it without hurting him in the least; like his throat, it felt like living meat, but it couldn’t be damaged. I felt like a lucky, lucky doggy with a brand-new chew-toy!

At last I tore myself away enough to continue on down those long, sturdy legs, until I reached one of my very favorite places, the feet. I had almost forgotten how big they were; Simon had always had trouble finding shoes that were large enough for him. Grabbing ahold of the rigid arms, I lifted him up and placed him on his bed face-down. After all, he didn’t need to breathe. His feet stuck out over the foot of the bed, and I knelt again to worship them, kissing and licking those long, wide soles to my heart’s content, chewing on the yielding yet invulnerable metal flesh. I playfully nibbled on each toe. I took his heels into my mouth and sucked them. If only he could know what I was doing to him now! But I got a perverse pleasure from the fact that he couldn’t. When I looked up I could see his handsome face still staring obliviously into the bedsheets. He was totally in my power, mine to use in any way that amused me—and I didn’t even have to worry about his feelings, because he’d never know!

Buoyed up by this incredible knowledge, I practically floated to my feet, feeling as if I was standing on air. Simon’s perfect butt looked up at me invitingly, and I whipped off my pants so fast they almost tore. It was a race to see if I could get inside him before I came all over his ass! I barely made it in time, pumping my cum into him again and again until I thought I would pass out. I had dreamed of this for so long!

At last I lay sprawled across Simon’s beautiful, motionless body, gasping for breath. I had thought that nothing could ever feel better than that first time under the bleachers, but this had been the most incredible experience of my life. And the mischievous thought teased my mind that this was only the beginning. If Simon kept running down every day like an old clock, and depended on me to show up and rewind him...

Every day! Oh, my!

But still, I couldn’t help wondering if, beneath his closeted shyness, Simon felt the same way about me. Now that he had become what he was, with a personality that, perhaps, could be mechanically altered, was it possible that I could find out?