The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The next day at Practice Brian was running the ball wide when Coach Forman stopped the play. Blowing on his whistle like a freight train, he ran onto the field throwing his clipboard to the ground behind him. Forman was far from the old man Brian had painted him to be. He was a man in his late thirties with just the slightest signs of a receding hairline in his short-cropped brown crew cut. And like many men his age the extra years only made his craggy face look more handsome. The small running shorts he wore did little to conceal the peak shape he maintained. Years of playing ball had left him with a beefy physique that could still put fear into the heart of any 20-year-old on a defensive line. He was a big guy, what a lot of people would call hirsute. And it wasn’t really a bright idea to piss him off.

He bolted over to where Brian had stopped and took one massive paw and grabbed his star quarter back by his face guard. Forman lurched the younger man until they were face to face holding the plastic of the helmet so tight the veins on his forearm shot up like pythons. “What the hell was that.”

“I sized up the play and decided to run the ball out.” Brian mumbled with just enough insolence to make things worse.

“You decided?” The coach spat twisting his whiskered chin to form a deep frown. “You don’t decide nothin! We’re running passing plays!”

Brian looked into the man’s deep brown eyes hidden beneath the heavy brow and his thick eyebrows, “I saw an opening and took the spot, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Forman was in a rage. He pulled him even closer and growled in his deep voice. “I, I, I, You better learn to understand mister that there is no I in team, but let me tell you there is one in “Kick your ass” which is what I’m gonna do if you don’t start shaping up. You better start treatin’ me real sweet little girl or you’ll be out on your ass.” He punctuated the Macho threat with a smack to his helmet.

“Whatever, you wouldn’t even have a team if it weren’t for me.” he pulled out of the man’s iron grip and picked up the ball.

“I don’t give a damn, I’ll cut you too boy. Now listen up and do what you’re told boy.”

Brian was about to sling an insult back when the strangest thing happened, he got a little sexual rush. A sudden burst of adrenaline from being turned on ran down his spine and right to his jock covered groin. “What’d you say?” he asked again.

“You hear what I said boy.”

Now he was hard. Which was very uncomfortable under the restriction of his cup. In fact he was rock hard. He was really turned on and really worried. He wasn’t gay. He had checked out other guys during showers but that was just basic comparison. For some reason the coach yelling at him was turning him on quicker then any of the Coeds on sorority row ever did. His sudden sexual impulses toward the big man made him extremely uncomfortable.

Foreman grabbed his helmet again and pulled him close to give him another reaming out. This time his close proximity awaked Brian’s senses. The deep masculine smell of sweat that he had never noticed before wafted of the coach’s sweaty body and intoxicated him. The musk of Forman’s body combined with the heat of his breath made Brian impossibly harder and he began to sweat not from the heat or exertion but from erotic stimulation. And for the first time Brian realized what a good looking man John Forman was with his ruggedly handsome older face and strong jaw, the powerful almost primal brow ridge on top of that thick neck, “Listen here punk you go out there and do the plays I call or you sit on the bench and do nothing.” There was a pause as Brian just stared into those deep brown eyes “Are you even listening to me boy?”

He fumbled to recover “Yes...whatever.” Then he urgently pulled away and ran back to the huddle. Anything to get away from the other man. What was wrong with him? He did not like men. Ever. He wasn’t queer. In the huddle he nervously looked around at the other players and was disgusted. He wasn’t attracted to these pricks. The thought of one of these dudes touching him made him sick. It must have been a fluke like morning wood or something that’s all. Butt for the rest of the day he obeyed the Coach and only ran the plays he called.

The Coach was noticed how obedient Brian became after the incident; there was no more back talk or fighting. As a matter of fact Brian did exactly what he told him to do. Exactly.

Brian himself couldn’t understand his weird compulsion to suddenly behave and follow the coach’s orders either. And he sure as hell didn’t know why he all of a sudden felt this sick attraction to the bastard either.

After a hellish practice where Forman took every advantage to exploit Brian’s New found obedience by running him ragged. He and the rest of the team retired to the Locker room. All the other Team members who either lived in fear of his ego or was one of his sycophantic buddies came up to him and asked why he wasn’t giving the Coach shit. Brian just shrugged and said he didn’t care enough to get into another fight.

But as all the guys crowded around him in curiosity as he tried to change He heard a bellowing voice echo over the heads of his fellow athletes. “Tell the QB to get his ass in here.”

Brian had to catch himself from rushing into the Coach’s office when he was called. To think he was going to go running out of the locker room in just his jock and a towel. He staid himself and went back to getting ready to shower, “I mean NOW!” the voice yelled back. This time Brian couldn’t help it he turned tail and ran to the office with his well formed lightly haired ass bouncing exposed behind him.

“What?” he mumbled once in the doorway.

The coach looked up and was obviously stunned from the look on his face. He hadn’t expected Brian to come half-naked. “What’s Wrong with you Brian?” he asked confused.

“What are you talking about?” he answered with a look away embarrassed.

Jon Forman looked at him with a look of disgust and a profound curiosity, “What is going on with you? Every other day you’re spitting in my face, getting the guys all riled up against me and doing pretty much whatever your punk ass wants.”

Brian used the towel around his neck to cover his over exposed sweaty body, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under the bulky man’s glare, “So?”

“So what’s the deal? Why are you changing your tune.”

“I don’t know.” He said shrugging his big shoulders forcing his traps to flex.

“Well you had better tell me.” Forman commanded.

Brian heard the order and shot his head up shaking his mop of shaggy brown hair, ‘Because you told me sir,” he answered with knee jerk response time.

“Huh,” his superior looked even more confused then the arrogant football star felt. “And why did you come running in here without even getting dressed and leaving your ass hanging out?”

Brian’s eyes looked like he wanted to start cussing out the coach he completely didn’t respect but his mouth only said, “Because you told me to.”

The dark blue eyes of Jon Forman remained skeptical but they glinted with an abrupt comprehension. “Brian, tell me you’re sorry that you’ve been such a prick all season.”

Brian’s mouth twisted around the words in a sneer and his eyes glowed with contempt but his voice was plaintive when he repeated verbatim the Coach’s request, “Coach Forman I’m sorry I’ve been a prick all season.”

“Are you really sorry?” he asked darkly.

“No,” He spat.

Forman decided to test his theory and took a leap, “Yes you are Brian.”

And then he was. Brian was very sorry he hadn’t shown his Coach, his appointed leader the respect he deserved. He stood before the man he so often disregarded as unimportant and useless and put his head down apologetically to stair at his feet like a chastised child. He had never felt this way. It was humbling to be embarrassed by his behavior, and Brian was never humbled.

The coach smiled a scary smile that seemed filled with hidden prospect, “Now are you sorry?”

“Yes,” The cocky quarterback answered honestly his voice pleading unspoken forgiveness.

“Yes what?” The man behind the desk asked.

Brian understood the request for a term of respect. “Yes sir.” He said as he looked up from his contemplation of the floor to beg forgiveness with his eyes.

When Brian looked up the coach was sitting bare chest revealing his hulking torso and massive barrel chest. He was intensely enthralled. The sight of this half-naked bear of a man sent Brian’s cock more rigid then any girl ever had. The coach sat in his chair with only the small pair of blue running shorts to conceal the muscled bulk of his huge hairy thighs. His broad arms rested on the back of his head forcing the huge planes of flesh and hair that shaped his pecs to jut out compactly. He had a hungry look in his mature brown eyes made all the more enticing and frightening by the shadow cast by his bushy eyebrows. “You don’t seem sorry.”

“I really am,” he answered awkwardly putting his hands in front of the obvious bulge he was now unexpectedly sporting. “Can I go now sir.” His voice cracked and he visibly cringed.

“You don’t have to hide that boy.” Forman shockingly said as he gestured toward Brian’s unruly cock. “That’s a good sized piece of meat. You should be proud.” Almost instinctively Brian dropped his hands and followed the coach’s suggestion.

Forman’s whole attitude had changed after realizing Brian’s new bizarre pliant nature he became very authoritative and disturbingly sexual, making Brian uncomfortable. But still he couldn’t control the impulses of his strange acting cock.

“But that still doesn’t make up for your bad attitude today.” He leered at the young man, “In my day Boys like you would have got a good ass whoppin for that kind of behavior.”

Sweat trickled down the bow of Brian’s ripped back and he twitched from how turned on he was. All thoughts of gay, straight, man, woman, were completely lost to him all he could think about was the throbbing in his cock.

“Do you think that would be a good punishment, Brian?” Forman grabbed his own swelling crotch with both hands and massaged his balls threw the nylon fabric of his shorts “...an ass whopping? You do don’t you. In fact you think that would be just fucking great don’t you?”

“Yes sir.” He practically moaned his response.

“Then get your pansy ass over here and bend the fuck over.” His gruff voice commanded as he took control. In response he actually shuffled submissively toward his desk and gripped tightly to the far side exposing the white flesh of his meaty ass. The position was instinctual and forced his round ass in the air expectantly. He became to whimper in heated anticipation.

He hadn’t long to wait there was only a moment of hesitation before he put one wide hand in Brian’s mass of dirty blonde hair and brought the other with all the crushing force of his brawny arm onto the soft rotund orbs of his Quarterback’s ass. There was a loud thwack and he yelped loudly but quickly followed it with a moan of pleasure, which only encouraged the coach to slap the soft pliant ass again and again. Brian’s balls shook forcefully under the pressure of each smack jarring his excruciatingly stiff cock against the desk. His whole muscled body shook under the power of the blows that this other man was raining down on his butt. Yet he felt no real pain only absolute sexual ecstasy he was whimpering and writhing under the weight of his dominator rocking his hips, licking his lips, actively rubbing his nipples against the hard grain of the desk beneath him. He had never been this uninhibited acting like a bitch in heat. He had no control over himself he just moved his body to the rhythm of his need. He ached with sexual energy.

After what seemed like hours of abuse the coach paused, ceasing the hot sound of slapping flesh and whispered in his star player’s ear, “Are you sorry now?”

“Yes sir, oh yes sir.”

“Well then you deserve a reward boy.” The younger man was visibly upset at the loss of contact and his large frame contorted in need. “And I’m going to give that big punk ass exactly what it fucking deserves he growled.