The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Camp Little Bear opened the next day. There were hundreds of campers arriving, people being taken to cabins, activities, sports, singing, food, and all the miscellany of wholesome summer fun.

Most guests stayed one week, so there was a massive turn-over every Sunday.

As the season progressed, I became used to the confusion of hundreds of people arriving and departing on Sunday, and the tempo of constant activities—but the first couple of weeks were a bit of an overwhelming blur.

I was a little surprised when Martin and Scott approached Robert and I on Monday night, just before “lights out”. They were going to sneak out for a hour or so—and wondered if Robert and I would like to “watch”.

I wasn’t certain what to say. I wasn’t very worldly. I had no experience. The online videos I had watched were short on advice on “watching”. I was beginning to realize how naive I actually was.

Fortunately, while I was floundering with a completely new social situation, Robert spoke up. “Yes,” he said, “Sound great.” He pondered a minute, “If nothing else, it will be a nice break from the last two days.”

Flashlights in hand, we set out from the staff bunk houses.

We took a path that was new to me. It was a narrow path, that cut over a small hill. I could tell that we were taking a short-cut towards a different part of the camp—but I couldn’t tell exactly where we were going. When we arrived, I realized that we were at the archery range. There were hay bales with paper targets on them, the archery lanes, and a small equipment hut that had a large wooden deck in front of it.

Martin joked, “I’m going to handle Scott’s arrows.” A joke that earned him three blank stares. Martin pleaded, “Oh. Come on. That wasn’t such a bad joke.”

Finally, Robert snorted, “Yes. It was a bad joke. A very bad joke.“

By moonlight, we walked up and down the clearing; looking at this and that. There was an overhead light socket inside the hut, but we decided to not switch it on. We didn’t want to attract any attention.

Eventually, as Robert and I were looking up at the stars, the two of us heard a moan. Turning, we realized that Scott was laying on the plywood deck that was attached to the hut—while Martin was kneeling in the dirt, sucking Scott’s dick.

Robert said surprised, “Oh. We’ve started.” He sat on a hay bale that sat on the deck, and braced his back against the hut. He pulled me to his lap. I wasn’t actually sitting in Robert’s lap. I leaned against the hay bale, and braced my butt against Robert. Robert pressed his crotch onto my butt.

Two things were different than they were three days before. First—this time, Martin was the “bottom”; both sucking and getting fucked. Last time, Scott was the bottom. Second—this time, both Martin and Scott watched us; as we watched them. Last time, they had fucked while ignoring us; we had been passive observers. This time, somehow, we were participating. Even though we were fifteen feet away the entire time.

Like last time—as Martin and Scott fucked, Robert had his left hand on my chest and his right hand on my thigh. Robert’s breath was shallow and fast. His hands moved slowly, but with purpose. His erection poked my backside.

We both watched. Transfixed. Scott’s strokes were not gentle. Martin was the bottom of Scott’s aggressive pounding. Martin, it seemed, was less experienced that Scott—but Scott wasn’t taking things easy on Martin. It became vocally obvious that Scott was enjoying pounding Martin.

Martin bent upwards, and kissed Scott. The two of them kissed passionately. Then, again, they both looked at Robert and I. There was a feeling that all four of us were having sex. Not just the two of them.

I realized that I was just standing there, watching. I wasn’t actually doing anything. From a story I had once read, I remembered a word. That word was “grinding”.

I ground my butt against Robert’s crotch. I could feel his erection rubbing the seat of my pants. It felt wonderful in some way that I couldn’t adequately describe.

Apparently, Robert like it, because he stopped licking my ear and let out a little gasp. His right hand slid towards my crotch. I believe that he would have grabbed my dick—but Martin and Scott took that moment to cum. Their passion was exchanged for shouts; they thrust into each other. They trembled.

Martin and Scott kissed, then rolled onto the deck, side by side.

More kissing lead to quiet recovery.

Robert gave me a long kiss on the side of my neck, and all four of us stood up.

While Martin and Scott cleaned up, they had a silent conversation, the was mostly nods and a few words.

Eventually Scott said, “Martin and I discussed things this afternoon. If you two, or each of you separately, want to watch ... " Scott broke off, too embarrassed to continue.

Martin continued, " ... watch us, whenever. I mean, you are good guys, and ...", he broke off.

Scott finished up, " ... watch, or ... what ever. If you want to have us watch, or be part of ...”

There followed a long, nervous pause. Eventually, Robert said, “That’s something to think about.” There was more pause, “Thank you,” he added, “Yeah. We’ll think about it. Thank you.”

Cleaned up. We went back down the path to our bunk house, talking about everything, except what had just happened at the archery range.

Since the guests were with us for only one week, we had the same entertainments week after week. Sunday night was the welcoming campfire, where the staff would entertain the guests. Saturday was the farewell campfire, where the guests showed off the skits and songs they had prepared during the week. Tuesday night was cowboy-night square dancing. Thursday was the “night swim”. And, so on.

Wednesday night, every week, we had a hypnotist named Charley. Charley was a professional hypnotist that worked his show in a circuit of bars and taverns. Every Wednesday, Charley came to Camp Little Bear and did a “family friendly” version of his act.

I had never been hypnotized before. I had no idea what to expect. I had decided to watch everything from the sidelines, and not get directly involved with the hypnosis. Charley made his little speech, then he started his “induction”. I wasn’t paying much attention to the hypnotist. I was watching Robert across the room. Robert was chatting with some guys from another staff cabin, when I realized that I was feeling ... faintly jealous.

While I was thinking about Robert, I became aware that my arm was in the air. Thinking about that—I realized that, while I hadn’t been paying attention to the hypnotist, he had hypnotized me. I was thinking that through, when I found myself up on stage.

I was walking around the stage, or maybe it was a dentist office. I wasn’t certain why I was flying/sitting/clapping my hands. The audience was laughing. I could see smiles. There was a dog, perhaps it was a horse—a flying horse? Everyone laughed. I could see the audience. They were having a good time. Charley kept pulling me to the front. Did this mean that I was a good hypnotic subject? Or, a bad hypnotic subject? What did any of this mean?

I saw Robert watching me. And, I knew. KNEW. That he had an erection.

Charley was asking me questions. I answered, without knowing what I was saying. The audience laughed. There was a bird in my hair? Was there really? Was it an illusion?

Robert was staring at me. I was hypnotized. He was hard. I could tell. His face was impassive. The way he stood, behind Martin and Scott—Robert was hiding an erection.

I wanted Robert. I had wanted him since I had first seen him weeks ago, but now I was certain. I was committed.

Charley stated a game of musical chairs. Did we had too many chairs? Was there a sandwich? Howling at the moon?

Then, there were eight of us, standing in a line on stage. Charley shouted, “Let’s thank all of our volunteers!!” The audience applauded. There were shouts and laughter.

I felt wonderful. I felt horny. I wanted Robert. I would have him.

Following the show, dozens of people shook my hand and told me how wonderful I had been. I felt a bit like an imposter. Not only was I not responsible for the show; I didn’t even remember the show.

Charley looked me up. He told me that I was “a natural”—and, if I ever wanted to go on tour, he would hire me to be a “shill”.

I asked him, “Why can’t I remember anything?”

Charley gave me a little smile, placed the palm of his hand on my forehead, and said theatrically, ”REMEMBER!” Then, he asked conspiratorially, “Did it work? Do you remember? Sometimes that works. Sometimes it doesn’t”

It did work. I remembered everything. Charley’s little speech. His “induction”. The suggestions. The games. What I had said. All the laughs. And, ...

I asked him, “I feel so good, because you keep telling me how good I feel. Felt. Still feel.”

Charley gave me a smile and a wink, “Just a little perk. A perk for being such a good subject.” He paused and asked, “You are doing next Wednesday’s show, right? You are wonderful up there.”

“Yes,” I said. “Probably.” I thought for a moment, “If I feel this good every week, definitely.”

We were both surrounded by people. Charley by fans. Me by ... well, ... fans, too.

At some point, Scott came forward to shake my hand. I told him, “Archery tonight.” They way I told him, left no room for debate.

Scott was a little surprised by how adamant I was. He temporized, “Well, I’ll see if ...".

I cut him off, “Archery. You tell Martin and Robert.”

Scott was surprised, “You don’t want to tell Robert?”

I replied, “Nope. Robert is invited by you.“