The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Back at the house, we had only just started lounging around and kicking back with a few more brewskies when Marco stood up and called everybody’s attention.

“Guys, since this is Jase’s last hurrah and it’s Saturday night, I got us a surprise.”

“Oh, come on, man. I told you no strippers,” Jason groaned, sitting in his little plastic king crown at the back of the room.

“No, dude, even better: I was talking to the hypnotist guy after he finished with you, and he agreed to come over and put on a little bachelor party show.”

“Oh, what? Sick!” Jason beamed, surprising everyone.

“Wait… what?” Cy seemed like his brain was breaking. “Marco, why would you do that? And Jase, I thought you hated that guy’s guts after what he did.”

“I dunno… I gotta it it was pretty funny watching Marco and Ron go under,” Jason grinned. “As long as I just get to watch and don’t have to do it again.”

“Nah way, man, it’s gonna be sick, I know you’ll love it,” Marco said excitedly.

“Hold up, though. I thought this whole night was supposed to be just us. Like reconnecting and shit,” Cyrus continued to protest.

“Oh come on, dude, we can have a bit of fun for an hour or two. The whole thing doesn’t have to be The Big Chill,” Ron shrugged him off.

“Yeah! It’d be cool to have a hypnotist at my bachelor party!” Jason exclaimed.

“Alex, seriously… Isn’t this weird? I mean, we barely know this guy!” Cy continued.

I shrugged. “It’s Jase’s big night. If he likes Marco’s surprise, I say roll with it.”

“It’d be cool to have a hypnotist at my bachelor party…” Jason smiled again.

“This is weird…” Cyrus sighed, sinking back into the couch as he resigned himself to the fact he was clearly outnumbered.

As if right on cue, Marco’s phone buzzed. “There he is!” he said, dashing to the door. He pulled it open to reveal the guy from the bar, dressed casually in shorts and a tropical button-up.

“Gentlemen,” he smiled. “Great to see you again.”

“Yeah, thanks again for doin’ this, man!” Marco smiled, first shaking his hand and then pulling him in for a big, one-sided bro hug, his beefy arm wrapping around the modest-sized gentleman’s back. From my vantage point to the side, I noticed the guy’s hand ri and gently caressing Marco’s waist, theoretically out of view, but not quite well enough. That was weird, I thought. But then, Ron had remarked that the guy was probably gay—I guessed the weirder thing was that Marco didn’t freak out about it. Did they have something going on? As far as I knew, Marco was straight as an arrow, but sometimes it was the guys you least suspect… After all, with a libido like his, maybe he had to be equal opportunity.

“Eh, it’s the start of off-season. I have to do something to keep busy. And you guys are a fun group.”

“So, who you gonna put under??” Jason asked eagerly. To tell the truth, I was still surprised he suddenly seemed so into this.

“Well, I’d say that’s up to you! It’s your big weekend,” the guy smiled, letting go of Marco. “Usually when I do bachelor or bachelorette parties, the man or woman of the hour is one of the volunteers. But I get the sense you’ve had enough for one day.”

“Yeah,” Jason laughed, “I think I’ll sit this one out. Besides, I really wanna see how it’s done again. It was wild watching these guys conk out.”

“Well, I still say it’s groom’s choice,” said the guy with a smile. Jason’s eyes darted among us.

“How about… Cy and Alex?”

“ME??” gasped Cyrus.

“Aw, come on, man, haven’t I been through enough?” I added.

“You two are the only ones I haven’t seen go under. And Cyrus, you haven’t done it at all.”

“Dude… I don’t really feel comfortable. Maybe I’ll just sit this one out,” Cyrus demurred.

“Oh, come on, bro, we’re all gonna be right here,” scoffed Marco.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” muttered Cy.

“We’ll make sure it doesn’t get too wild, we promise. Besides, by this point, it’s a rite of age,” said Ron.

“Yeah. One of us… One of us…” I laughed.

“Besides, I’ll be watching too,” said Jason. “I’ll make sure these fools don’t take advantage. Just try it. The guy can just do a few tricks, like tastes or smells or something, and if you don’t like it, we’ll bring you out.”

Cyrus still looked reticent.

“Come on, bro. Live a little. We’ll make sure he asks if you’re enjoying it and bring you back up if you’re not,” Marco said, turning to the stranger in our midst: “You can do that, right?” The guy nodded sagely.

“Jesus. Okay. Seriously though, guys, if it doesn’t work or I’m not into it, just let me go back, all right?” Cyrus said, looking cornered. It was five against one.

“We promise,” smiled Ron, seeming genuine.

“All our volunteers, climb aboard,” said the hypnotist, patting one of the couches perpendicular to Jason. “Best seat in the house,” he smiled.

With a loud sigh, Cyrus pulled himself up off the couch where he was with Jase and tromped over, taking his assigned seat. Everyone looked at me expectantly.

“Seriously?” I sighed.

The hypnotist smiled again.

“You’re a natural.”

Resigned, I sprawled down beside Cy, looking over at him. The two of us took a deep breath, like we were about to be strapped in on a very scary roller coaster. I couldn’t help but remark that Cy and me seemed to constitute the Oops! All Asians slate for our hypnotic weekend.

I turned forward, expecting the guy to launch into his spiel again, but instead, he just stooped down, grabbed my hand, yanked me sideways and snapped in my ear, and I sprawled against Cy, out in an instant.

I wasn’t too sure what was happening after that. It seemed like the guy was talking for a long time, but it felt like he was a thousand miles away, and I couldn’t really hear what he was saying. Occasionally there would be snaps or movement, but after the guy pushed me off Cyrus and back against the couch, I just kept sinking in, melting into the fabric like butter, and focusing on my breathing as I’d been instructed.

Eventually, there was a loud snap and I opened my eyes. Sitting up, I noticed the Man of the Hour in front of me, and I rose out of my seat, smiling as I knew I was about to make this a very special evening…

“Give it up… straight from Vegas… for Tiffany and Amber!” called the guy sitting next to the Bachelor Boy. He had his arm around him, so I didn’t know if maybe that was his husband-to-be or something, but I didn’t care. I’d been paid to do a job, and I was going to do it, and make sure it was done right.

Rising out of my chair, I peeled off my tank top, as I noticed the guy beside me doing the same with his baggy stringer. Striding confidently toward our target, I crawled up on the free side of the couch next to him, grabbing his hand and putting it on my tit.

“You like that?” I smiled, grabbing his other hand and moving it to my crotch. This was a private dance, so the usual rules need not apply!

The guy who had announced us smiled and rose, pulling along another, scrawnier Asian guy with him. The two walked around the couch and took their places behind us, the older man watching like a hawk, occasionally pulling the young dude in for a kiss. I didn’t get quite what the dynamic here was, but that was okay—I knew what I’d been paid to do.

The other dancer—a man for some reason—straddled the Bachelor, knees on the couch, and reached down, pulling the waist of his shorts up and down, flashing the lucky guy with glimpses of his shaved pubes. Leaning forward, he shoved his pecs in the young man’s face, motorboating him with muscle as the guy panted eagerly.

“Yeah… you like that, big boy?” the guy cooed, and I reached down and started playing with the man’s crotch. This was really wild. All three of these guys must’ve been bisexual or something.

“I bet you’d like some of this…” the guy said, pulling back and reaching down, unbuttoning his shorts and then slowly tugging his zipper up and down. The young man beneath was panting like a wolf, eager to see what was inside.

“Mmm, or maybe some of this…” I cooed, rolling onto my hands and knees beside him, reaching back and fingering my pussy through my cargo shorts. It suddenly occurred to me it might not have been the sexiest move to wear cargo shorts to a striptease, but that was easily rectified…

“Yeah…” I undid the button of my shorts and pushed them down. They were loose enough I barely had to unzip them, though they did grab my underwear and yank them down a bit, flashing some snatches of my crack before I’d intended. Meanwhile, the other guy was finally peeling apart his fly, sliding his shorts down his beefy thighs.

“It’s gonna be a real shame seeing a guy like you go off the market…” he cooed, and the young man under him shivered, seeming nervous.

“Hey baby… why don’t you touch me right here?” I smiled, reaching between my legs and grabbing the young guy’s hand, plopping it square on my mound.

“Oh fuck…” he groaned, gently massaging my vulva. Behind him, the older man was whispering in the ear of his boy-toy, who nodded eagerly. For the first time, I also noticed a man in the background, standing in the corner in nothing but his boxers, holding a tray of beers with an arm behind his back like a butler and standing perfectly still.

“Hey, why should we have all the fun?” the male dancer asked, swatting my ass and then reaching down and grabbing the bottom of the young guy’s shirt.

“Oh, shit…” he jumped, before giving in and letting the muscular man pull it straight over his head while I turned around. The young guy sat there panting nervously, his skinny chest and taut swimmer’s stomach quivering with excitement.

“Why don’t you put on a little show for him, girls?” the older guy asked, and I noticed he now had his hands down the pants of the young man standing beside him. I wasn’t really sure why he called us both girls when this was clearly a mixed show, but at what this guy was paying, I wasn’t hard-pressed to put on a little performance.

“Mmm, come here, baby…” I sighed, pulling the muscle man in and placing one hand on the nape of his neck, the other wrapping around his smooth, tan body. We leaned in and kissed each other deeply, reaching down and fingering each other’s crotches.

“Ohhh… yeah!” said the guy beneath us, clearly enjoying things. The two of us pressed our bodies together, squirming sensuously and laying on the tease.

“I don’t need to remind you girls this is a private show…” said the older guy, and, barely even noticing he seemed to be stroking inside the jeans of his young consort, I smiled and dropped to the ground before the man of the hour, along with my performing partner.

“Let’s see what we have in here…” the muscle-guy grinned, pulling down the young guy’s board shorts. His cock sprang out the second it was freed, and I remarked that like a lot of scrawnier guys, nature seemed to have blessed him with a full tripod.

“Mmm… he’s not locked down yet,” I smiled, looking him dead in the eye as I leaned down, wrapping my lips around the glistening pink head of his cock. The young guy groaned and his eyes rolled back in his skull. He leaned back in his seat as he moaned in ecstasy.

“Don’t be greedy. Save some for me…” the muscle guy smiled, and I pulled back and watched him wrap his lips around the young man’s cock in turn. He slid a few inches down and then pulled off, running his tongue up the veiny bottom. Knowing I could do better, I dived down after, using his saliva to easily guide me an inch or two further.

“Fuckkkk…” the young guy groaned.

“Don’t blow yet. Not ’til I say…” the older man groaned, clamping a hand on the young guy’s shoulder. I wondered if this was some weird S&M thing. Glancing up, I saw he was watching us intently, eyes fixed on our display. I could no longer see his other partner, but, based on the way he was leaning back, his other hand moving rhythmically behind the couch, I had a pretty clear idea he was doing exactly what we were.

“Fuck, such good boys… You all perform so well…” the older man sighed, seeming in ecstasy as he watched my studly partner slob the young man’s knob. He seemed to have kicked things up after my last example, and was now slurping like a pro, riding up and down the shaft.

“Fuck, go to sleep,” said the older man, shoving the young guy behind the couch to the floor. It struck me as an odd thing to say.

“You, show your new husband how much you love him. And you two, to the front of the room,” the guy said, pointing toward the open space where the table had been moved away. Despite the rudeness of his command, for some reason, it just made sense to do what he said, so I marched forward and took my spot without saying anything. He was paying, and I guessed the customer was always right.

“Make out with each other,” he snapped at the two of us, rounding the couch. “And you, on your hands and knees…” He guided the young man into the appropriate position on the couch, and I just barely noticed the older man crawling up behind and preparing to mount him as me and the muscular stranger pressed our bodies together, arms and lips intertwining in feigned ion. To be honest, with a stud like him, the ion wasn’t hard to fake—I was a pretty lucky girl landing a gig like this.

“Oh… your friends kiss so good. Tell me it’s a wonderful wedding night!”

“Ooooohhh fuck, it’s a wonderful wedding night!” the young guy groaned, and I could hear the old guy pounding into him from the rhythmic shudders in his voice.

“Jeeves, a drink!” the man yelled, and I barely even ed someone giving the response, “With pleasure, sir,” before he erupted in a cry of “OH, FUCK! GOOD BOYS” that threatened to bring the walls down. For my part, I just kept kissing my handsome tan stud, our lips and chins growing raw from the friction after minutes. Finally, after what seemed like quite a while, I felt a firm hand on my bare shoulder, pulling me back while commanding, “Separate now, that’s it… remain standing, and sleep…”

I raised my head and smiled at the audience. Thankfully it wasn’t too hot up here under the lights.

Turning my head to the side, I puffed my chest up and raised my arms, squeezing and giving everybody a couple complimentary tickets to the gun show. Swiveling my chest to either side, I then returned facing forward and put my hands on my hips, flexing to really inflate my pecs. I’d been busting my ass in the gym lately, and these judges are lucky to be catching me in peak physical condition.

In front of me, the was seated on what looked like a comfortable divan. There was one guy who looked to be in charge sitting in the middle, a bit older and presumably more experienced, while on either side a naked younger judge cuddled him, presumably learning the ropes. The one on the right, a shaggy-haired artistic type, had his lithe body leaned over and was gently sucking on the protuberance between the elder judge’s legs. Even though he seemed intently focused on this activity, I knew he was paying close attention by the occasional sidelong glances he’d cast at the performance area. Meanwhile, the skinny Asian judge to the left cuddled tightly against the head of the , who whispered softly in his ear, “Look at these beautiful specimens. They’re really deeply hypnotized, aren’t they?”

Hypnotized? He must have been referring to that zen state competitors get into. In that regard he wasn’t wrong: I was laser-focused on winning this thing. If anyone was truly hypnotized, though, it was probably that guy with the light mustache behind them, strutting back and forth behind the couch hunched over, clucking like a chicken. I couldn’t quite figure out what was up with that, but then I couldn’t bother to be distracted either (maybe that’s just what it was—a distraction!). I pulled the leg of my shorts up closer to my waist, working to really show off the quads as I flexed. These guys were gonna know this boy doesn’t skip leg day.

“Verrrry good, now turn around…” the chief judge cooed, and I did as instructed, flexing first to show off the lats. Next, I moved on to the traps and delts, turning and flexing and moving through my whole routine. I felt so fucking proud of all I’d accomplished.

“Excellent, boys. Now—they always leave this out—why don’t you show us all the work you’ve been doing on your glutes?”

Usually that just involves a simple contraction while wearing the posing strap, but I ed receiving specific instructions that this was a special Greco-Roman competition, and I felt completely comfortable with that. Bending down, I pulled down my posing strap—unusually baggy and checkered blue, which was strange for a competition like this—and then grabbed my ankles, freezing. I knew I was then meant to hold where I was, to really show off my defined posterior and as a test of endurance.

I heard a couple snaps and then some soft whispering behind me that went on for about thirty seconds. Then, some soft shuffling, followed by a strange wet sensation around my anus. I shuddered softly, biting my lip, desperate to maintain my composure—I ed it was vital to remain still and silent during this portion of the competition.

Whatever was stimulating my rectum kept going, harder and faster, and I heard a sound like a dog lapping. I’ve never done butt stuff before—really, if I had been thinking about it logically, the whole idea was disgusting—but for some reason I felt my dick begin to stiffen, my legs quivering as I struggled to remain frozen in place under the assault of stimulation.

“Very good, back here now. Competitors, stand: show us your erections.”

I heard the same shuffling again behind me and I rose back up, turning around. My cock—now hard as the rest of my well-trained body—jutted out in front of me, dribbling a glistening strand toward the floor. I stood proudly with my hands on my hips, swiveling 30 or 40 degrees each way to show off my protuberance from all sides.

“Now kiss him on his ass-mouth,” the lead judge said nastily, forcing the other two judges together. They locked lips, Frenching messily as I continued standing there, trying to ignore how gay they were being so I could keep myself hard. I ed that a great standing in the cock-posing competition was vital for success overall. I was also still trying not to be distracted by the chicken guy, still clucking back and forth off to the side.

“Competitors, now turn to your partner and give your demonstration in Grecian erotic posing.”

I turned and faced my competitor, another well-built young man like myself. It was strange to be put in this spot, but the Ancient Greeks were a more broad-minded society in of appreciating the male form, and one key component of aestheticism was the play of one body against another. We had been told that a body that can communicate ion is a body that can communicate strength. Ergo, a key component of this event was a sincere and demonstrative display of sensuality toward our challenger.

Quickly looking over the man in front of me, I saw a strong, toned specimen, flesh olive, musculature well defined, hair cropped closely in a classical cut. It wasn’t hard to appreciate a body like his aesthetically—it was much like my own, and would complement it nicely. The key here was to demonstrate I had even more reverence than my opponent, that his body aroused in me a greater aesthetic pleasure than he was capable of gleaning from mine.

Pressing our bodies together, we wrapped each other tightly in a ionate embrace, mouths opening and pressing together, tongues colliding, erections clashing like sabers against our waists. I ran my hands up and down the muscles of my opponent’s back, up his sides, even around to his front, feeling the gentle ripple of his abs. This was a god’s body. A titan’s, like mine. And while I knew that I was the superior physical specimen, that I had a greater appreciation of aesthetics than this man, I still had to tip my hat to him for a good show. At the risk of being too grandiloquent, he was a fucking stud.

“Good boys. Aren’t they good boys?” asked the head judge, ruffling the hair of the other two ists, scrunched up beside him again, their mouths red and wet with each other’s spit.

“Come forward, gentlemen, and show me who wants to win more…”

I let go of my partner and dropped to my knees, he doing likewise beside me. We crawled forward. This final component was a demonstration of a more profound bodily knowledge, the way that not just our bodies worked, but another man’s entirely. Leaning forward, I wrapped my lips over the side of the wet protuberance jutting from between the judge’s legs, as my competitor did likewise to my side. Reaching up, I grabbed the base of the glistening rod and pulled it toward me, sliding the entire head in my mouth, where I licked and sucked it hungrily. My competitor’s firm hand clamped over mine and pulled the phallus back, sliding it into his mouth now, and each of us took turns, sloshing it back and forth every few seconds, licking and sucking to prove our profound understanding of male arousal.

“Watch your friends suck me. And after they’re done I’m going to pound your ass again…” the head judge moaned to one of his subordinates, the shaggy-haired guy, and at the same time he reached over toward the other, clicking his fingers sharply and stating, “Sleep.” The young Asian man collapsed onto the cushions as I plunged down, burying the judge in me to the hilt.

“Ohhh god, I don’t know who goes deeper, you or him…” he moaned, stuffing his tongue into the other judge’s mouth just as deeply as I was fellating him.

“Sleep…” he groaned, snapping again almost agitatedly and sending the contestant to my side collapsing against the couch in a pile of limpid muscle.

“Finish it!” he groaned, clamping a hand on the back of my head and shoving me down, plunging himself into my gullet as he started firing hot torrents.

“You’re so glad to get married to me, aren’t you?! You wanna stay together forever?!”

I heard the secondary judge groan loudly in response, a moan of absolute ecstasy as the chief of the continued pumping into me. Finally, as the rivers of juice began to subside, with a gentle snap of “Sleep, sleep…” in my ear, I drifted off, secure in the knowledge I’d surely won the competition…

I stirred groggily, opening my eyes and nuzzling into my pillow. For some reason, it almost felt like I’d done this before, awakening after a long, gentle sleep nuzzled into the feathered down, perfectly at peace. I thought back to a mere 24 hours ago, when I’d been pulling myself up off one of the living room couches, back sore and head throbbing. This sure was a better way to start the day. I couldn’t quite what we’d done last night, but it seemed we’d at least practiced a bit more moderation.

Opening my eyes, I saw from the nightstand clock that it was only a little past nine. Again, a much better way to start the day. Feeling alert and energized, I pushed the downy covers off my body, looking down and iring what I saw. With a smooth, well-defined figure, I still wasn’t holding things down too bad at 28. It was a weird kind of offhand thought, but with just a bit more focus and training, I could almost see myself becoming a bodybuilder.

Rinsing off in the shower, I hopped out and toweled dry, flashing myself a grin in the mirror before running a palm of gel through my hair. Heading back to the bedroom, I grabbed a checkered pair of boxers, a baggy pair of cargo shorts and a tank top out of my travel bag and yanked them on. It was Sunday and we were set to leave in a few hours, and I’d only finally adjusted to my new travel dress code. It felt good to be relaxing in something other than a stuffy old dress shirt and slacks.

Bounding down the stairs, I heard the loud sizzle of bacon on the stove, and saw everyone else splayed around the living room and kitchen: Marco was frying up breakfast, while Cyrus was seated at the counter watching. Ron and Jason were both sprawled on the couch in front of him.

“’Sup, Alex. We were just going through some of the pics from last night,” said Ron.

“Yeah, dude—I can’t believe I ever doubted you. Hiring a hypnotist was the funniest shit ever,” laughed Jason, flipping through his phone. I wandered over, plopping down beside him and taking a look over his shoulder. He scrolled through a number of photos of us in this very room, doing some ittedly ridiculous shit: there was Ron, hunched over and looking like he was doing a chicken impression, then Jason and Cyrus, who each appeared to be twirling around like a couple ballerinas. Last was me and Marco, each with our shirts off and grimacing toward the camera, trying to do extreme bodybuilder poses. We were both pretty well built, but it still looked funny.

“Aw, shit, come on, he made me do that?” I laughed, not actually pissed and weirdly kind of enjoying it. I mean, as far as doing goofy shit went, you could do a lot worse than showing off how hard you’d been hitting the gym.

“Yeah, bro, I guess he got us all under at one point or another. None of these assholes will tell me who won,” laughed Marco, flipping the sausages.

“This was way more fun than some dumb strip club,” Jason smiled. “I know it was kinda random, but… thanks for coming up with something to make my bachelor party really memorable.”

“Dude, we’ve known you 15 years,” I said, yanking him over under my arm and giving him a noogie. “We’d do anything for your scrawny ass.”

“Yeah, and maybe we can do it again in a few months,” Ron laughed.

“I don’t know if I need you inviting a hypnotist to my wedding,” Jason chuckled, yanking himself from under my armpit.

“I don’t know, man. It’d certainly be unique,” Marco called from the kitchen.

“Yeah, I guess it would…” Jason mused, weirdly looking almost into it.

“I’m just glad we all got a chance to get back together. I really missed you guys,” Cyrus said, and we honestly had a bit of a moment after that. The dude was right. A bunch of years had gone by, and we’d definitely all gone our separate ways, but there was this strange kind of comfort that returned now that we’d all finished spending the weekend together, really letting our hair back down. Maybe it wasn’t forever, or even for that long, but for a moment, it did seem like we could go back again, right back to where we’d all been, fucking around and shit-kicking just like back in college.

“All right, dudes, grub’s up,” Marco called, pulling his last pan off the stove.

“Let’s get a picture before we eat,” said Cyrus, hopping off his stool and pulling out his phone.

I scooted over next to Jason and Ron dove in on the other side, Marco and Cyrus squatting and taking spots in the back.

“To an unforgettable bachelor weekend,” Cyrus smiled, ing his phone to Ron, who held it out in front. We counted to three, said cheese, and he snapped the picture.

“Aww… You guys really do know how to make a guy feel special,” smiled Jase, laying it on thick.

“Wait, wait, don’t move,” Ron grinned, keeping the screen right where it was. “One more for posterior-ity…

Photobomb!”