The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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Note: Any resemblance to real people is strictly coincidental. No real people are depicted in this piece of fiction. This story contains explicit male to male sex, domination and bondage. If you don’t enjoy reading this sort of material or are under the age of 21, DO NOT CONTINUE READING. If you regard this type of material as depraved then flee from here and don’t look back!

Prologue:

Standing in front of the mirror, I look at the reflection of my tits: how large they’ve become. How did it happen? I know, of course, but must admit it was never something I’d expected, nor wanted, but now... well, I wouldn’t have them any other way. I pump a small dollop of facial lotion with hyoluronic acid onto my left index fingertip, dab at with my right index finger and then apply it to the tips of my titties. My breath catches and, as I spread the lotion over the tips and shafts of my tits, an extended grunt emmanates from deep in my throat and my back arches and shivers. I pull from the base of my titties to the tips, reveling in the feel of being milked. I’m lost in tit lust. Then I apply the almond milk hand cream to the rims of my Supplenips – 4XLs now – and apply them to those big locuses of lust and need on my chest, my chest-dicks he’s told me to call them, and manipulate the cups until they’re fully expanded, moaning as they knead my nips.

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Tit-Slave — Chapter 3

I came out of the darkness and glanced at the clock. It was 2:15. I’d been out of it for over an hour. And my nips were so sore that every time I turned, dragging my shirt across their points, I flinched. What the hell had gone on for the last hour? I tried to think back: Greg had been in my office, talking about... what? Oh yes, the report we had to have completed by next week. Then he’d said something to me; what was it? Hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember. But that was the end of my conscious memory until just this moment when I awoke. I must’ve had a really bad night last night to have blacked out and, so it seems, taken a nap at work. I never do that!

I managed to finish my appointments for the day, though some kept staring at the double protrusions sticking out of my shirt. I tried to lean forward with my elbows on the desk as much as possible, but sometimes, it would have seemed very strange to be posed that way, so I just had to swallow it and let them wonder why I was sprouting these nipples. I was going to have to buy some less-tailored shirts! When my mind wandered, I could see myself with even larger tits; points an inch long and thick like fingers hanging from my pecs. My mouth watered at the idea and I had to tear myself away from my reverie and come back to the meeting.

Finally, the day was over. I said goodnight to my admin, Roger, said I’d be staying for a little while and told him to go on his way. When I heard him leave, I got up, closed the door, locked it and went back to my laptop. I opened my private e-mail account and immediately saw what I was looking for: a new message from Ted. The subject was “Relax like a good boy.” Darkness swept me away with a rush of sound.

I don’t know whether I’d dreamt or had hallucinations or a vision, or what? I saw countless male chests; tits, pecs, big and firm and dripping. I saw huge aureoles with huge nipples protruding from them: dark and beautiful, pale pink and alluring, brown and enticing. I wanted nipples like that; that much I knew. There was a voice; Ted’s voice I think, so familiar, yet so foreign, that told me my body was changing; that my titties were going to grow longer and larger and that my areolas were going to increase in diameter. I had to have nipples like that. As they swam in and out of my dream, my cock grew larger and harder until, feeling mouths on my nipples and sucking on one of the man tits in my dream, I exploded and the vision faded.

When I came to, my shirt-tail was out of my pants and my shirt was unbuttoned, my tie flung over my shoulder. My nips were quite sore. I reached for them and winced when my fingers came in contact. I looked down and saw that my nipples were chafed, puffy and red; obviously they’d had a good mauling. The clock on my desk read 7:21. I’d been unaware for over two hours. Trailing my hand down my chest, my fingers encountered a cool, runny mess on my belly; I had come after all. That much had not been a dream. I lifted my sticky fingers to my lips and licked them, then stuck them in my mouth and sucked on them like a calf sucking a teat. More, I wanted more. I dipped them into the liquefying mess on my belly and suckled again, savoring the flavor that, to this point, I’d never tasted. As if moved by an unknown force, I once again dipped my fingers into the remnant stickiness and rubbed it into my sore tits. The pain-mixed thrill shot down my spine, straight into my dick and made it throb. I gripped my sore knobs and twisted, knowing that this additional torture would leave me with a very sore chest tomorrow, but for some reason. I didn’t care; I just kept on.

Later that night, I sat down to supper and winced as I raised my wine glass and brushed my aching right tit with my arm. I rubbed my sore nipples with my hands and stiffened and arched my back in pleasure/pain.

I got up and went in to get ready for bed. After doing my night-time “maintenance”, I climbed into bed. Lying on my back, my hands resting on my chest, I felt compelled to brush my fingers over my erect, sore titties. I flicked them with my index fingers and again, my back arched and I moaned in pleasure/pain. I flicked with my middle fingers, then ring and finally my pinkies in a ritual of stimulation. Then I grabbed hold of them and stretched them toward the ceiling until I couldn’t take it anymore. I built to a tit climax and collapsed back on the bed, my breath coming in ragged gasps from the electrical storm that had shot up and down my spine. Finally, I drifted off to sleep.