The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The coach was talking to Tom Johnson, Professor Paul Johnson’s son, when he spotted Jason. The boy saw him too, a shocked expression on Jason’s face, and the coach smirked at him, knowing they were both ing that night in the park. He wondered whether the boy ed what happened after that. Probably not; guys seldom did after they were dosed and hypnotized. Coach had liked sucking the kid’s prick, but he especially liked thinking about what would happen soon, as soon as he sent a particular email. The results would be worth his effort: watching the boy’s apartment for a couple of weeks, getting to know his routines, following him to the park that night.

He watched as Jason walked away with the others. He wanted a piece of that boy’s tight little ass. Maybe he’d stake out the park again? Now that he knew the kid had discovered the park, he figured his chances were better. If not, he knew where the boy lived, could just knock on his door. Either way, another spritz with the chemical, maybe a little hypnotic reinforcement, and Jason would be his, would eagerly do whatever he wanted for an hour or two, even give up his ass for fucking.

Coach turned his attention back to the student in front of him. Tom. The Coach had had him many times before; he was one of the first Coach had wearing a crystal pendant that signaled he belonged to the coach’s special crew. The thrill of conquering Tom was long gone. Coach liked the process more than the end result, the pursuit more than the conquest. But Tom would do, until the Coach could start the second phase of his plans for Jason. “Come to my office after practice,” the coach told Tom. “We’ve got something important to discuss.”

Tom of course nodded. Players always wanted to make their coach happy. “Yes, sir.”

The way Tom was looking at him, Coach was sure the athlete was horny. Of course he was; guys his age always were. That horniness made them easy to seduce and control. Coach would enjoy taking control of Tom again, even if doing so had become too easy. Coach would enjoy fucking the boy like a sex toy, getting him off, emptying both of their loads of cum.

After practice, the coach was sitting behind his desk when Tom knocked on the half-open door and walked in. “Lock the door and get over here,” Coach growled, fingering the crystal pendant on his desk. “I don’t have a lot of time. I’ve got some important plans I need to get to, but I need to get a load off first.”

Tom nodded, locked the door, and walked over to the desk. He wore nothing but a pair of gym shorts, the elastic waistband of his jock-strap poking over the top, and his own pendant, the one that marked him as one of Coach’s special boys, the jock-boys Coach had hypnotized and made service him. That first time, Tom had fallen into a hypnotic trance almost too easily, too quickly, and Coach wondered whether someone had hypnotized him previously. If so, Coach was happy to take advantage of that someone’s groundwork. Since then, Tom had serviced Coach often. He knew what was expected of him. By now Coach wouldn’t need the spray to jump-start the process, which was good because he had a finite amount of the spray—for now. No, just a few minutes of trance-talk with the crystal was enough to have Tom deeply asleep and ready to obey every order.

“Well, what are you waiting for,” the coach asked as he stood up and pushed his sweatpants and jock-strap to his knees. “Get your fucking shorts off, then get down there. Kneel, boy. You’re gonna suck my dick until it’s hard. Then I’m gonna fuck your ass, so you’d better get it real wet and slippery.”

Tom pushed his gym shorts to his ankles, then kicked them off. He didn’t bother with his jock-strap. The coach hadn’t told him to remove it and anyway Tom knew Coach wasn’t going to touch anything but his ass, and his jock left that exposed, so he felt no need to uncover the rest. Dropping to his knees between the coach’s legs, Tom took hold of the semi-erect cock. Licking around the crest, he got the head wet before taking it into his mouth.

Tom could get all of the coach’s semi-thick prick in his mouth. He used the opportunity to work up lots of spit and wet the shaft before it finished hardening. Blood pumped swiftly into Coach’s dick, swelling it. Tom liked to think he gave good head, and he wanted to do a good job on his coach’s knob. He didn’t want to do this but felt compelled—and he didn’t want Coach to be displeased by a substandard suck-job. Coach was rougher when he was displeased.

Tom reached between the coach’s legs and took both big balls in his hand. He squeezed them, not too gently. He felt the cock harden a little bit more. He knew Coach liked his sex a little rough, and Tom knew how to use it to his advantage. If he could get the coach to shoot quickly in his mouth, he could save his ass. He hoped the coach would be satisfied with hurried blow, especially if the coach had plans he needed to get to as he’d said.

But if the Coach really wanted his ass, Tom wouldn’t be able to stop him or prevent the fuck. Coach’s tricks were embedded too deeply in his mind, and Tom wouldn’t be able to refuse him—and even if he was able to work up the will to say no, Coach had that spray that would shut off his inhibitions and make him unable to resist whatever the man said.

The coach’s cock was hard enough now. He pulled it roughly out of Tom’s mouth. “Get up and bend over the desk.” Tom did as he was told. The Coach picked up a bottle and for a moment Tom worried that it was the spray, but then he recognized with relief the lubricant label. Too, this meant Coach wasn’t going to dry-fuck him. Lately Coach had gotten rougher, treated him more like a hole than a person, so Tom was thankful for this small consideration.

He watched Coach move into position behind him, felt one hand spread his ass-cheeks. The other hand Coach used to guide his hard dick to the tight hole and poke against it. That meat wouldn’t go in easily; with no warm-up, Tom’s ass was too tight for easy penetration. Tom readied himself for Coach to push hard, and he bent his head down and screwed his eyes shut, expecting pain.

Tom felt the coach lean to one side. “You gotta relax, boy, if I’m gonna get my dick in you without hurting you.” Coach pulled the waistband of Tom’s jock-strap, then let it snap back—Whap!

“Ow! Fuck!” Tom barked, eyes popping open and head flipping up.

Coach was dangling his crystal pendant in front of Tom’s eyes. “Hush, boy. It’s sleepytime. Just relax. You know how you love to stare into the crystal. Sleepytime, boy, sleepytime ...

With his eyes closed again, locked in that head-space almost like sleep where he drifted, Tom felt the rhythmic pumpings at his ass, as regular as his heartbeat. His ass hurt, but that was far away ... Far away and ... And what? Tom couldn’t hold on to his thoughts when he was locked this deeply in almost-sleep. All he felt was the solid desk holding him up, the steady rhythm rocking his body, the ring of red sensation starting to turn white with familiar pleasure.

Later, Tom blinked and lifted his head. He was standing alone in a familiar tiled room, still in his jock-strap, as a showerhead poured warm water down on him. He didn’t coming here—likely, when he’d finished with Tom, Coach had told him to go take a shower, and Tom had done exactly that, without stripping off his jock first. Now the hypnosis had mostly worn off, and here he was.

Only the hypnosis hadn’t worn off, not all the way. He was in a light hypnotic fugue, unable to fully wake up until ...

Coach, the bastard, had left him with what the older man called a parting gift. A fucking parting gift, like Tom was a noob or something.

Tom sank to the floor, his ass on the wet tile, knees pulled to his chest. How long? He hadn’t been under the spray long enough for his fingertips to prune. so ... not long?

Yeah, probably best to just sit here and let the shower spray protect him like a warm cocoon. He needed to cum in order to break the spell and wake up fully, but he knew he couldn’t touch his own stiff cock, not like that.

Coach hadn’t let him orgasm. The bastard liked to not let the first-timers cum, not let them wake up all the way, keep them aroused, keep them a little hypnotized. The first-timers would stay in a horny, half-hypnotized state, unable to wake up all the way until they came—either orgasmed spontaneously from being overstimulated or someone else made them cum. Being horny powered the lingering hypnotic fugue, and the hypnotic fugue powered the horniness. Bastard called that a parting gift.

Yeah, Tom knew he was easiest to control when he was horny, and Coach knew it too. Coach liked his boys easy to control. He’d probably have kept the players hypnotized all day every day, if he could. Coach loved winning, and what were being in control and fucking if not other kinds of victory? Coach wasn’t the biggest-cocked man to ever fuck him, but he was the one who hurt Tom’s ass the most. Coach usually didn’t like using enough lube, liked the feeling of shoving his cock into a half-dry ass. This was the way, Coach said, a real man fucked ass.

Well, Tom wasn’t a clueless noob to be befuddled by a parting gift. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to stroke his cock, but he knew other ways to get off and break free. He squeezed his cock through his jock-pouch, felt the rough weave scrape his sensitive head. His forearm between his legs, press his thighs together around it, hump his arm a little. Wouldn’t take much. Just a little more. A little more friction. A little more sensation and stimulation and—Yes, there!—Cumming! Tom bit his lower lip as he climaxed, ejaculating into his pouch, a weak orgasm, unsatisfying but enough to make his cum flow and break the parting gift’s hold on him. Aaah ...

Tom sank back against the tiled wall, let his legs go limp. He could feel the last of the hypnotic fugue evaporating, wondered if enough water was hitting his jock-pouch to wash away his cum. No, probably Tom would need to rinse out the inside of his jock in a minute—just as soon as he could stand again.

Little half-dream snippets came back to him. The coach hadn’t started fucking hard right away. He’d gone slow-ish at first, not for Tom’s benefit, but his own. Coach didn’t have a lot of time before those plans he’d mentioned, but he had enough to prolong Tom’s humiliation a little.

Tom wished the coach would find a new favorite ass. He hated being fucked by that man.

Once Tom had hero-worshipped his coach, loved the man practically like a second father, like all jocks do. Now, the only reason Tom let his ass be used like this was to stay on the team. He’d made the team because he was good; he stayed on it by following orders and letting the coach fuck him.

His father had been so proud when Tom made the team. How could he break his father’s heart by getting kicked off? He was sure his father would find out the real reason—the reason that would surely jeopardize his father’s career and research. The coach knew this and used it to his advantage.

Coach fucked so differently compared to Tom’s father. His father Paul always fucked with slow and gentle strokes, maybe even too gentle sometimes, fucked for mutual pleasure because he loved his son. Coach fucked rougher, fucked for dominance and because he loved to fuck.

Those first few times that the coach fucked Tom’s ass, he went slowly, started with slow, short strokes. Just enough to make his cock feel good in Tom’s ass. That ass was tight and Coach didn’t want to damage it—or, probably, his own cock. Then, as Tom’s hole opened up, Coach would make the strokes longer. He didn’t have a huge cock, not like some of the guys on the team. However, he had used it enough to know how to get the most out of a fuck. He took the longest strokes he could. Pulling out to the head and shoving back in, brutally. Tom had enjoyed the difference. His father was so gentle, almost too much so, and Coach’s rougher style was an interesting change. Most of the guys Tom had let fuck him fell somewhere between those two types.

That first time, Coach had started out bending Tom over his desk and fucking him from behind. Ass-raper, the team called Coach behind his back, and Tom had always though that was because Coach drove their asses hard during practice. But now Coach really was ass-raping him.

Suddenly Coach pulled all the way out of Tom’s ass, grabbed his shoulders, lifted and turned him over, before pushing Tom onto his back on the desk. Lifting the player’s legs, the coach reinserted his cock roughly, declared, “I like it better this way. I like watching their faces when I fuck ’em.” The coach resumed his long strokes as soon as Tom got accustomed to the new position. “Wouldn’t your old man be proud of you if he saw you now,” the coach asked sarcastically. “What would the big, important chemistry professor think if he knew you took cock in your ass like a champ? Would you still be his macho athlete son if he knew you liked to get butt-fucked?”

Tom hadn’t mentioned that he and his father had been fucking for a couple of years now; in fact his father had been the first. Well, let the coach have his little degradation talk; some guys were into that. Tom didn’t care; he knew the truth.

That first time, Coach had kept piling on the degradation. “You want me to kick you off the team and tell your daddy why? Want me to tell him what you stole?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you’d better start moving your ass. I want to see you enjoying this fuck. I don’t like fucking someone who just lies there. Move your ass!”

Tom had known what to do. He’d gotten fucked enough to know, and knew how to find pleasure in it. He’d grabbed the edge of the desk. This gave him enough leverage to raise his butt whenever the coach slammed his dick into it. Tom’s cooperation obviously turned the coach on a little more. “That’s more like it!” the man had said. Then he started to slam-pound Tom’s tender hole.

Tom had been jacking off while Coach fucked him, but slowly; Tom wasn’t in a rush to cum, wanted his coach to shoot first; Tom hated being fucked after he’d cum, so he always wanted his fucker to bust first. Coach’s cock felt like it had doubled in size inside Tom’s ass, creating a bunch of new sensations. Tom felt as if the Coach was drilling deeper in his ass than anyone ever had before. Coach’s face scrunched, and he let out a primal groan, and Tom knew he was cumming, shooting his sperm into Tom’s ass. That’s when Tom let go and let his orgasm burst through him too, thinking their sex was about to be over. But when Tom came down from his climax-high, Coach kept fucking him. He fucked long after his dick stopped pumping cum. Tom didn’t like the way this part felt, but he tried to moan and act like it was the greatest fuck ever. Coach fucked until his spent cock got too soft to maintain the penetration. Only then did he stop. “You’re a damned good lay,” the coach stated, pulling his prick out of Tom’s sore ass. “I bet no man could turn down your hot little hole once he’s tried it. Remind me to do that more often. You don’t mind me using your asshole, do you?”

“No, sir,” Tom had lied. Back then he’d still loved his coach, wanted to make him happy, make him feel good. Tom had liked the first part of the fuck, but not the way it ended.

“Good. Now get dressed and get out,” the coach had said, reaching for his pants and a towel to wipe off his sweat. Just like that, Tom had been dismissed.

What had started as sex really changed some time later, with a small act of bragging and theft—well, not theft exactly, since Tom had intended to return it after he proved what he’d been bragging about—borrowing was how he’d justified it to himself—but then events got out of hand.

Coach had been fucking him for a couple of weeks at least—Tom had been in Coach’s office for some reason or other, and the Assistant Coach was there, and Tom had opened his big mouth and mentioned his dad’s research, a little harmless bragging about his father’s breakthrough, and that was the conversation that got all this started. Tom didn’t want his father to know about that part. He wasn’t proud of what he let the coach talk him into doing, or how far thing had escalated since. Now he was too deep in this mess to turn back.

Tom held his legs tighter to his chest, face pressed into his knees as the shower spray pelted his head and shoulders. He wasn’t going to cry, not this time; but if he did, at least the shower would hide the evidence. How the hell had things gotten to this point? Tom fingered the small crystal pendant at his neck. All of this felt so out of control, and he couldn’t fix it, not anymore, not with half the team wearing similar pendants—

Pendants that meant—

He wasn’t going to cry, but he needed to figure out a way to fix this.

Suddenly, the shower went off. “Huh?” Tom mumbled. Hadn’t he been alone? He lifted his head half a second before a folded towel dropped on his chest and knees.

“Get up and dry yourself off.”

Tom looked up, blinking through water that ran into his eyes. A man in a dark blue jumpsuit towered over him. What was a janitor doing here? Tom wiped the water dripping across his eyes so he could see clearer. No, not a janitor, not really. Tom knew this man. “Langley?”