The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ethan was hot and dusty as soon as he got off the bus in Istanbul, the ancient chaotic city that straddles East & West.

He had booked somewhere to stay in Taksim, on the European side. A cheap backpacker hostel in a densely populated Arab area of the city. It had to be cheap, he had no money left, just enough for food and the metro ride out to the airport in four days’ time.

This was the end of his nine-month travelling adventure. A trip which had changed him profoundly. Ethan was the archetypal blonde, football playing, American college kid. The youngest of three Texas children brought up by Republican, gun-owning, Christian-right parents. But Ethan had always felt different. Perhaps because he was the youngest, or perhaps just teenage rebellion, he questioned the status quo, fought against his parents, and wound them up with Democrat liberal arguments. He just felt there was probably more to the world, than their insular, small-minded life in Texas. And symbolic of that, what he hated the most, was that no-one in his family even owned a port.

So at 21, fresh out of College, he shocked his family by getting a port and announcing he was using his savings to backpack around Europe and beyond for at least the next 12 months, before coming back to get a job.

His savings, and a few bits of work, had actually lasted about nine months, but he didn’t feel he had failed. Quite the reverse. He had discovered a whole world of different cultures, cuisines and world views. He had arrived in Paris and travelled through , Poland, Slovakia, Romania, Bulgaria, Greece, Italy, Tunisia, Egypt and Jordon before finishing in Istanbul.

His only regret was having to go cap in hand now to his parents to ask for help with the airfare home from Istanbul to Texas. But it would have taken him way too long to work enough in Turkey to make up his shortfall, and his parents, delighted at the prospect of having him home, were more than happy to help.

The backpacker hostel in Taksim was a typical Arabian house. A fortified single door, from an unassuming narrow street, opening out into a large courtyard garden with a central fountain, around which rooms opened onto the central area over three more floors.

It immediately had the classic backpacker feel. Run down faded grandeur, some washing hanging out and in places on each floor, little groups of young people hanging about in shady arched areas. The owner was sat taking some tea in a shaded spot near the fountain, ready to show Ethan to his room on the second floor.

“Babacigim! Babacigim!” two boys on the top floor call excitedly to the Arab owner, waving, as if hoping he will bring Ethan up another floor. The owner had told Ethan his Arabic name, and that wasn’t it, so they must have been calling him something else in Turkish.

His room was, he assumed, like all the others. A doored arch off the central courtyard walkway into a shabby main room, with a large if threadbare bed, and a tiny bathroom off. Clean at least. No aircon of course, so the open window for what little cooling breeze there was, was a necessity. But there was, surprisingly, a very old looking TV.

It was already getting late, and it had been a long bus journey, so Ethan dumped his backpack and headed straight back out to the little square next to the hostel to buy some market stall food. He noticed several Arab men were talking with the owner as he left, but were gone when he returned.

By then, his new neighbour, a young European backpacker by the look of it, was hanging over their balcony walkway, looking into the courtyard as if waiting for someone. He said an over-cheery “Hiya” as Ethan returned to his room with his supper. It wasn’t until he was sat on the bed eating, that a thought struck Ethan. He didn’t think the hostel had said it was male only, but so far he had only seen young men hanging about.

Too tired right now to care to be honest, Ethan tried the old TV, without much expectation of success. Indeed, each channel was a snowy blizzard of noisy black and white static, but seemingly no working station signals to be found.

Ethan woke the next morning, static still buzzing like angry bees on the broken TV screen. He had been very tied. He must have nodded off before being able to turn it off.

He was laying naked on the bed, his flaccid dick loosely in one hand. But judging from the dried cum stains on his chest, he’d clearly entertained some erotic dreams.

Ethan wasn’t embarrassed as he showered. It was hardly the first time he’d rubbed one out in the last nine months of travelling. He was a heathy, horny young man after all.

In fact, with hindsight, Ethan credited this trip as providing his first real sexual encounters. Sure, he’d dated a few girls back in Texas, but no-one special, nothing serious to keep him from his travels. But two girls in particular had been special moments in his foreign adventures, in between his masturbating.

The first was actually another American girl, two years his senior, he’d met in Berlin. She had been a real party animal and stoner. A bit too much of a stoner for him as it turned out, but the two days they had spent together in bed had proved a revelatory education for sure.

The second girl had been a year his younger, in a small Bulgarian town, stunningly beautiful. The girl not the town. Looking back, he suspected she saw in him, the exotic traveller, her ticket to a more exciting life. He felt slightly guilty now, having more or less ghosted her since moving on.

With barely enough cash left for food and his journey to the airport, Ethan decided to spend his two free days in Istanbul like an old-fashioned tourist, by walking about and looking at things.

He finished his shower and went to head out. It was still relatively early, so the hostel was quiet, his fellow backpackers clearly not morning people. But the owner was sat in his little office by the big gated entrance. He didn’t seem to wear an Arab headscarf, but was always dressed in the traditional white throbe. He invited Ethan to take some tea with him before he went off sightseeing.

His little office lead into the large lounge area of the owner’s personal accommodation. If the hostel was rundown and in need of repair, oh boy, his flat was decked out like an opulent Arabian palace. Clearly the backpacker trade was booming. Ethan was prepared for the tea to be strong and sweet, so he grimaced when the first mouthful tasted strong, yes, but almost salty. Nonetheless, he quickly found himself craving a second glass as soon as it was offered.

Incongruously, opposite the highly cushioned large sofa on which they sat drinking tea, Ethan noticed another ancient looking TV, with a video recorder. He wondered if they were from the same vintage as the broken TV in his room.

Seeing Ethan eyeing it up, the owner animatedly picked up a battered looking VHS tape and went to inset it. “I have, how you say, a document, yes, about history of Istanbul” he told Ethan as he fired it up. “I have paperwork in office to do” he said, “but you stay, have another tea, and watch for a few minutes, quite short, good orientation before you walk around our beautiful city.” And with that, he left Ethan alone to watch the short history documentary.

The TV was better than the one in Ethan’s room, it actually worked, but the old video had clearly seen better days. Right from the start, bands of random static would intermittently move across the image, even as the title ‘Cross & Crescent: the Arab defeat of the crusaders” appeared. Ethan smiled, the title alone would have triggered his Dad’s blinkered, narrow-minded, Christian rage.

The documentary started talking about the founding of Istanbul. As waves of static washed across the screen, Ethan didn’t even notice he was nodding off, leaving the narration to carry on seeping deep into his subconsciousness.

Invading Christian crusaders had marched Eastwards, expecting to find an imagined enemy, only to discover their Arab Masters instead. Little white knights, locked in their tight cages of steel armour.

With hindsight, the invaders inferiority should have been obvious. Only in Europe, women were so unsatisfied by their men that they shut themselves away as nuns. Only in Europe, failed men locked themselves away as celibate monks.

Once proud knights, discovering the truth of superior Arab Stallion Cock. Real men who had no need of fake armour. On their knees obediently worshiping their new Masters. On all fours, locked in their little steel cages, submissively submitting to superior Arab Stallion Cock.

Consciousness retuned to Ethan as the short documentary ended. He quickly realised that at some point while watching, his hand had slipped into his pants to rub his little white dick. Embarrassed, he glanced around guiltily. Fortunately, Babacigim was still in his office dealing with the paperwork, so no-one had seen him masturbating.

Feeling he was now suitably well reversed in the local history, even if the details were hazy, Ethan headed out into the city for his walking tour.

The hostel was buzzing once more, with a nighttime air of excited anticipation, when Ethan returned, another load of cheap street vendor food in his hand for his dinner.

Groups of excited bois were hanging over the balcony arches on all the levels, shouting down to Babacigim and his pals in the courtyard below. Still no women to be seen Ethan noted.

One of Babacigim older Arab friends was heading up the stairs in front of Ethan as he returned to his room. For a moment Ethan thought the man was heading for his own room, as he walked along the same second floor walkway, before being waylaid by his next-door neighbour. The boi kissed the older Arab man, who put his arm protectively around the boi’s waist as they went into his room.

Ethan felt a sudden wave of horny excitement wash over him as he realised the pair were going to have sex. He hurried into his own room, dinner forgotten, to lay on the bed, his hand rubbing his little dick in horny anticipation.

At first it was quiet. Ethan imagined the boi next door on his knees sucking the big Arab Stallion Cock. So much bigger than his own rock hard little shrimp dick. A powerful hand holding the submissive, obedient bet boi’s head.

Then muffled groans and cries, growing ever louder, started coming through the wall, causing Ehtan to rub himself faster and faster as the little beta boi next door was fucked harder and harder by the hot Arab Stallion. Ethan thought only of that superior Arab Cock, stretching his own boi pussy wider and wider, filling him impossibly deeper and deeper, as he leaked pre-cum. He moaned as the slut next door cried out in climax, and Ethan shot the biggest load of cum ever all over himself.

Ethan fell into a deep sleep, dreams full of big Arab Stallions.

He woke late the next morning, still covered in dry cum, mind cloudy, confused, hard to think straight. Hard to think of anything but hot juicy Arab Stallion Cock, and how horny he felt.

He definitely needed a shower to clear his head, but Ethan’s little room shower gurgled, spluttered, and remained dry. Broken. Shit.

Ethan padded down the walkway to the communal bathroom instead. Three other bois were already there, laughing and spraying water over each other.

As Ethan showered to one side of their frolicking, he noticed all three were wearing small steel chastity cages over their dicklets. It made him feel… something… like missing out… jealous. Yes, he was jealous of them. It was all so confusing. He decided he would go and ask Babacigim about it, he would know what to think.

Babacigim was in his opulent lounge, yesterday’s early morning tea having clearly today moved onto a pre-lunch smoke on a bubbling hookah, an aromatic heady smoke filling the air.

Ethan asked why the other bois were wearing cages, perhaps unwisely taking a puff on the offered hookah pipe. It made his head spin even more, but he was sure Babacigim, Daddy, knew what was best for him.

“I believe it is a throwback to your knights of old” Babacigim explained. “When the invading crusaders discovered the true nature of their inferiority to their Arab Masters, their cages of steel armour naturally evolved to better suit how they felt inside. Just as their monks and nuns already knew, pathetic little white dicklets were useless things, of no interest.”

“These bois today just want to be like modern day knights” Daddy Babacigim added. “Perhaps you feel the natural urge to them?” he asked, now holding one of the little steel devices in the palm of his hand.

Ethan bit his lower lip hornily. He knew what he wanted, but was feeling small, weak and scared. Eventually though, he slowly lowered his pants, allowing Babacigim to lock him in the flat nub-style chastity cage. It felt so humiliating. It felt so right.

Ethan ran his hand experimentally down over his steel groin. It felt like there was nothing there except two small balls between his legs. No cock. Just a little gurl. Nonetheless, he felt so horny, his physical appearance matching how he felt inside. A castrated sissy slut for his Arab Stallion Masters.

Daddy Babacigim pulled up the hem of his white throbe, so that Ethan could crawl under and take his big Arab Stallion Cock into his hungry mouth. Arab Stallion was the right phrase for sure, it was like sucking off a horse cock, so big, thick and meaty. Ethan couldn’t help but rub his tiny caged clitty excitedly in response as he sucked.

On his knees, like the knights of old, worshiping at the alter of their new gods. And when his mouth was rewarded with wave after wave of superior Arab Cum, Ethan made sure he didn’t waste a single drop.

Babacigim called Ethen back down to his lounge later that afternoon. Two other bois were also there, one his neighbour, the other apparently a boi from a few arches further down from them both. All three were wearing the same tiny skintight hot pants that Babacigim had given to Ethan in the morning, and nothing else. Tight, stretchy, shiny material that clearly showed the outline of their cages beneath.

There was a small camera set up on a tripod, pointing at the large cushioned couch were they all sat. “My friends always like to see a new boi in action before they come and visit” Babacigim said, as if by way of explanation. Ethan felt the other boi’s hands either side of him starting to touch and caress his body, and he quickly reciprocated. Each boi in turn leaned into him to share a tender kiss, as all three pulled down their little pants.

“Of course, good bois earn the right of temporary release from time to time” Babacigim continued, as the two bois obediently got up to stand before him. Babacigim took a key from around his neck, and unlocked them both. Freed, the accumulated tension immediately gave each boi a tiny white hard-on, as they skipped back over to resume fondling the still locked Ethan on the sofa.

Naturally, their pathetic foundling could only lead to one thing in the circumstances. “Little white bois can’t help but be little white bois” Babacigim commented approvingly, as Ethan ended up on all fours, a tiny dicklet fucking him at each end, until they dribbled out weak watery cum, and the bois dissolved into a fit of gurly giggles.

Re-locked in their cages, the two other beta bois were dismissed. Sat on the sofa, Daddy Babacigim lifted his white throbe, revealing his huge erect cock, and waved Ethan over to come sit on his lap.

Ethan gasped in pain as he slowly lowered himself, inch by inch, onto the huge cock, just the watery boi cum from the previous ‘fucking’ for lube. But this was totally different. This was real fucking. A real Arab man’s superior alpha cock. A dominant penetration, rearranging his guts, fucking any pretend manhood out of him. His caged clitty leaking its submission. A knight in his little steel suit riding the Arab Stallion. Worshiping his Masters.

Babacigim’s strong arms lifted Ethan to one side, and onto his back, so that with his legs in the air, the Arab Stallion could fuck him with a more furious pace. Faster, harder, deeper, until with a ionate cry, the sissy boi could feel his stomach bulging as gallons of hot superior Arab Cum filled him up. The dominant seed being absorbed by his weak beta body as he became his Arab Master’s slave.

That evening, Ethan ed the other over-excited bois hanging over the courtyard’s arches, shouting and waving down to Babacigim’s customer as they came in. All were big burly Arab Men, eager to dominate the little willing caged sissy bois.

Ethan serviced three Arab Stallions as the night wore on, until finishing with a duo, who spit roasted him at each end, leaving him to fall into a contended sleep with a month and ass full of cum.

The next morning, Ethan marched into Babacigim’s office to tell him he had decided to cancel his flight home and the other bois living in Daddy’s hostel.

He almost cried when Babacigim gently told him he wanted, no needed him to go home. “Do not worry baby” the Arab Stallion reassured Ehtan, handing him a little card. “These are my good friends in America. Look them up as soon as you get back. They are very keen to meet you.”