The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Choose Your Own Transformation: Slice of Heaven

SYNOPSIS:

Does the Weaver favor writers? Find out when a writer stumbles across a Choose Your Own Transformation when struggling against writer’s block.

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

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DISCLAIMERS:

This story is a work of fiction; any apparent resemblance between the characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18 or if explicit sexual fiction is illegal in your jurisdiction.

This story contains mind control and explicit descriptions of a sexual nature. If any of these concepts disturb you, please find something else to read.

This story is a work of erotic fantasy. It is not meant to reflect real life, nor should it be read as an endorsement of the actions and attitudes contained within.

I have writer’s block and I’m on deadline. Correction: I’m on a tight deadline. I have to turn this thing around by tomorrow and I’m a good ten thousand words short. So, I hole up in the nearby diner where they’re friendly enough to keep refilling my coffee, knowing that I’ll leave a monster tip at the end of it all for camping out. Fortunately, and unfortunately, at the same time, they have Wi-Fi here and I’m scrolling through the internet seeking inspiration.

I empty my cup and look up to see someone new to the diner. She wears the standard retro diner outfit, skirt with apron, bobby socks, Mary Janes, and a short-sleeved button-up shirt. Somehow, this newcomer makes it look a lot better than my standard blue-haired servers. She’s a young twentysomething with a nametag that reads: Keri.

Keri smiles at me. Her voice is flavored with a soft southern accent. “Nate says I shouldn’t hassle you or nuthin’ and I should keep refilling your coffee.”

I smile back. “Nate and I go back to my first novel.”

“Oh,” she leans in. She smells like vanilla. “You’re a writer?”

“Yeah. I like to think so. My editor sometimes tells me differently, though.”

“What do you write?” She nibbles on her pen cap.

“You like science fiction?”

She takes a moment to consider it, then shakes her head “no.”

I smile wider. “Well, I appreciate your honesty.”

“Without honesty, what do we have?” She poses to me.

Without hesitation, I answer. “Writers.”

She laughs a laugh as sweet as her scent. “I assume you want the high octane.”

“Yes, please, I take my coffee like my women.”

“Yeah? How so?” She raises her eyebrow quizzically.

“High octane… and a heaping helping of sugar.”

“You know, there’s some pretty good sugar available in our wide selection of fresh made pies.”

“I thought you weren’t supposed to hassle me.” I feign injury.

“It’s not a hassle to offer you a slice of heaven, is it?”

A slice of heaven. Now that’s a nice turn of phrase. So nice, that I decide to Google it. Slice of Heaven could work perfectly as the last chapter title I’ve been banging my head against a wall trying to come up with. The first hit, a paid ad at that, is some sort of internet-based story. I weigh my need to be unique against my need to be done. I figure, if this story is nothing like mine, I’ll be okay using the phrase.

I click the link to load the site and my heart beats rapidly, my face flushes, and my breath catches. I’m sure a doctor would tell me to cut down on the coffee, but a writer needs fuel.

I’m asked for my name. I debate the merits of using a pen name, but something inside me sways me to honestly type in “Scott Charles.”

Are you over 18?

Yes

No

Oh. So, it’s going to be THAT kind of story. I could probably safely assume that since I’m not writing that kind of story, I’m probably safe to use the title. But I’m a completest. And fighting the good fight against last-minute procrastination… and losing.

I click yes.

From here on out, all of the sections will end with multiple options to continue.

Do you understand?

Yes

No

I click yes.

To which gender do you identify:

Female

Male

I click male as Keri steps up to refill my coffee. I thank her and look down at the screen.

Keri located. Is she a part of your story?

Yes

No

I’d like that, so I click yes.

The world spins again and I find myself gripping the diner table to maintain my upright position. I’ll have to visit my doctor after I turn the latest draft in. Thirty-year-olds shouldn’t have this many woozy moments in such close proximity. As suddenly as it struck, it passes and I start to read.

You are typing away on your keyboard when you see the brief flash of light and hear the accompanying noise. Something like lightning and thunder, but not quite. And it felt close. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when you settled in to write. Of course, you keep your office as dark and closed off from the outside world as possible, calling it your “cave.” It’s how you do your best work—alone. You resume typing, but hear a rustling from your backyard.

Scott, do you—

Keep typing

Investigate

Keep typing? Sounds like a passive protagonist to me. I hate passive protagonists.

I select—Investigate.

Keri sits down across from me. I’ve never had one of the waitresses at the diner do this. Then again, I’ve never wanted to have any of the waitresses at the diner do this, either. She also the first one with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and not the standard blue updo hairstyle.

She seems genuinely interested when she says, “Tell me about your writing.”

“I thought you didn’t like science fiction.” I tease.

“Maybe it’ll grow on me. Like you did.”

I can feel my face blush a bit. I cover it with words, like I always do. “I feel like science fiction is the best way to hold a mirror up to society and not be heavy-handed. You can judge without being judgmental. You can call things into question without seeming elitist. All because there’s this arm’s distance between the real and the story world. Like that Mary Poppins song, science fiction is the sugar that helps the medicine go down.”

“See?” she says, standing back up. “I already like science fiction more than I did like two minutes ago.”

“Mission accomplished then,” I say proudly.

“Not yet.” She says over her shoulder while she walks away. The way that she says it makes it feel like an invitation. To what? I’m not sure. Not yet. But I’m intrigued. Pondering all that is “Keri,” I return to the web story.

Flashlight in hand, you exit your backdoor to investigate the yard. On the first sweep, everything seems normal and you wonder if maybe your imagination got away from you for a second, but then the beam catches a flicker of movement off in the distance. You focus the beam on that area and approach to find what looks to even your skeptical eyes like an angel, holding her knees to her chest, naked. There’s a singed circle of grass around her. Her dirty blonde shoulder length hair seems singed, as well.

There’s desperation in her golden eyes when she asks you, “Are you here to help me?”

Scott, do you—

Say “Yes”

Say “No”

I think, “Who says no to an angel?”

I select—Say “Yes.”

Keri is back at my table. “How can I help?”

I look up at her. “What?”

“You’re wearing your struggle face… possibly your confused face. I’m not sure. We’ve just met so I don’t have all of your idiosyncrasies down. I saw you from across the room and just felt compelled to see how I could help you.”

“I’m actually taking a short break from the writing.”

“Procrastinating, you mean.” She says pointedly.

“Something like that.”

“Is procrastination always part of your process?”

“Yep. I always say that procrastination is part of the process, it just can’t be the whole process. That’s what separates writers from hobbyists.”

“Mm hmm. You sure there’s not ANYTHING I can do to help you along?”

It could be my warped writer mind, but I swear the way she said anything left a lot of room for interpretation.

“Not that I can think of,” I say politely.

“Well,” she says, “be creative.”

She starts to walk away and I wonder if I could see the white garters previously and was just lost in my own thoughts or if I just wasn’t checking out her gorgeous legs before. The high heels set off her calves magnificently. I’m surprised she can withstand an entire diner shift wearing them.

You reach out to help her to her feet. “Are you an—“ You start to ask, but she quickly interrupts you.

“I’m an angel. It was my lot to oversee humanity. My concern for the current state of life made me feel a need to make more direct contact. I couldn’t control where I would appear. It’s of the utmost importance that I get my story out to the world to allay fear and hate and all the negative emotions currently circulating.”

On the surface, her words are moving, but there’s something about the delivery of her speech that gives you pause. She could be exhausted from what you can only assume is a difficult journey, though.

Scott, do you—

Take her story at face value

Press her for more details

If story me feels like there’s something below the surface, it’s worth investigating.

I select—Press her for more details.

Now that I’ve noticed the garters, I examine Keri in full from my booth vantage point. Her top is barely buttoned, with the top five undone revealing her white lacy bra underneath. I don’t know how I missed that before. Maybe because I was trying to be a gentleman and maintaining eye control throughout our interactions, but it’s so glaringly obvious from even my booth in the back to the front counter where she stands, bent at the hip, leaning down to talk to the cook, and giving him a very full view of her upper assets. Even at this angle, with the bend and the short length of her skirt, I can tell that she matches her bra and panties. Every detail of her form, every minute feature is particularly exact. She turns and catches my examination. I’m not met with any negative reaction, instead, she smiles. Her perfect ruby red lips setting off her pristinely white teeth. Even her hair is more stylized than I previously registered. Before, she appeared cute in a girl next door sort of way. As I see her now, she’d be a shoe-in for a diner calendar or even painted on the side of a World War II bomber. No longer just cute or attractive, she’s a bombshell. I’m a good five degrees warmer from just looking at her. I return to the story in an attempt to cool down.

The questions spill out of your mouth, all at once. “What does it mean to oversee humanity? How did you get here and what do you hope to accomplish? And how?”

“Ah.” She says, getting up. Her frightened vestige immediately shifts to serenely calm. “You’re an inquisitive one.”

She takes a step forward. You match it backward, trying to keep your distance.

“I thought, taking this form, I could maybe insinuate myself into the world more easily.” She raises her hands above her head and dramatically drops them. When they stop, her angelic look is gone, replaced by something more altogether demonic. Her hair is now jet black and slick. Her skin bares a redder tinge. Her white wings gone and small bumps of horns appear just below her hairline. She points up. “I’m not one of those angels.” She points down. “I’m one of those.”

She strides forward. You nearly fall as you take a big step backward.

“I have been watching humanity. It’s our time now. Make things easy on yourself,” she coos, dripping with sex and threat. “Bow before your better.”

Scott, do you—

Bow before her as she asks

Make a run for it

I am not one for bowing to demonesses, even if they drip with sex (and threat.)

I select—Make a run for it.

Keri plops down opposite me. I feel like she’s playing some sort of chicken-esque game of increasing distraction, waiting for me to blink. Or maybe it’s just that every time I look at her, she’s more attractive. Oddly, the more attractive she gets, the more interested in me and my writing. She could be a supermodel just posing as a waitress for some men’s magazine photo shoot, but instead she sits opposite me and smiling wide. I wonder what would prompt that sort of Cheshire grin when I feel her foot probe my crotch.

“How’s the writing going?” She asks, her eyes fierce and testing my resolve, but not as much as her foot. “Still procrastinating?”

I pause before answering, not wanting to squeak like some pubescent boy. “I feel like I’m becoming properly inspired.”

“Good. I want to see you… finish.” She punctuates “finish” with a flick of her foot. “Maybe then you’ll stop retreating from my advances.”

With that, she’s up, out of the booth, and back at her post at the cashier stand, enticingly bent at the hips, sucking on a lollipop, sex eyes locked on me.

I rub my eyes and return to my laptop.

You turn and run. You’re about five strides away when you feel a burst of heat on your back, the force of which sends you tumbling to the ground. Like playing with a paper doll, the demoness flips you over. She stands astride you, eyes aflame. She licks her lips. She seems amused, possibly aroused.

“It’s rare that one such as I can take a mortal, physical form, so I’ll offer you a choice. You can give me your sexual all, and I will only steal a small portion, or you can be my very first slave as I work to take over your world. Answer quickly or I’ll decide for you.”

Scott, do you choose—

Sex

Servitude

I don’t see how servitude could be fun. I mean, maybe for some, but definitely not for me.

I select—Sex.

Keri physically pulls me away from my booth and my laptop. Looking at her, her latex waitress outfit is tight in all the right places—which is to say everywhere—painted onto her tight, young body and leaving nothing to my admittedly vivid imagination. She kicks in the door to the men’s room and throws me to the floor.

When she straddles me, I see that she wears nothing underneath the latex, catching a glimpse of her glistening womanhood. She feverishly pulls my belt from my pants and then my pants from my legs. I feel exposed in just my boxers with a rapidly engorging cock. She unzips and frees herself from the latex and starts to grind against me. After a second, I’m as hard as I’ve ever been in my life… and I’ve had hot science fiction convention groupies three at a time. Even that didn’t prepare me for this level of sexual energy that Keri radiates. It might be her wordless control of the situation. She pushes me behind her and raises her ass into the air. I slide into her tight wet hole and she uses her free hand to savagely rub her clit.

“Faster!” she screams and I increase my pace.

“FASTER!” she screams and I step it up to eleven.

She screams and shudders and I feel her pussy pulsate around me. I lose myself right then, coating her insides with my seed.

I try to catch my breath as Keri rises above me, pulling her latex outfit back over her body. “You’re done procrastinating.” She commands.

And I am.