The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Sometimes Anne managed the teensiest, tiniest little morself of a rebellion when a boy’s hands crept between her legs. Afterwards she felt terrible of course, and spread her legs that much wider to the firm, insistent fingers working their way up her skirt. But sometimes she would manage to say something to the boy.

“I thought we were here to study,” she would tell them, archly, and with a great deal of concentration would manage to raise one perfect eyebrow.

Or, “I just washed this skirt,” which she was particularly proud of. Just that little bit of backtalk, that tiny bit of fight, gave her a glow of satisfaction she could hold on to for days.

“Backtalk?” the man asked her. He clearly meant it innocently, even flirtatiously, but it was enough to make Anne flush with shame and embarassment. A pink flood stained her cheeks, and she practically stumbled onto her knees to relieve it with a blowjob.

Even in the post-virus haze he was a hot one. So many men had let their waistlines balloon out, their pricks lovingly handled as they lied prone on mattresses. Even the lust-inflected brains of the girls called them ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ rather then towering pillars of masculinity. But Josh had a trim, steely body, and the bouquet of hormones in his pubic hair brought to mind hikes in the summer heat. And he had a great dick.

They were in the library. For the most part Anne was studying for her secretary’s license. Lipstick lessons, lots of blowjob training, some light phone and typing. Coordination of pencil skirts and skyscraper heels. She was a natural for the job with the big, bulging titties her bout with the virus had given her. They would look amazing at a desk. Very little book study was required.

But there was always the chance of a cure...

Josh’s cock was circumcised, lean and long. His balls hung heavy and full, and he obviously didn’t empty them that often. Anne was both surprised and appreciative. He worked in the library, supervised a staff of leggy blondes in wispy blouses with perfect rears. They giggled and fondled themselves absently, and buried their heads in male patron’s laps. Sometimes they brought Anne books with jism still running down their chins.

Josh exploded almost immediately. Heavy cream ran down her throat, filled her mouth. A double of tight orgasms filled her vision.

When she came to, groggy, he was gone. A low whine came out of nowhere from deep in her throat, and she tried to turn back to Principles of Accounting.

The next day he surprised her in the stacks. Anne had dressed self-consciously, in a cream-colored blouse with a black bra underneath, emphasizing her best assets, and a dark brown lipstick that set off her skin. Pink heels. It was dynamite, and when that already-familiar male scent hit her, and rubbed her ass from behind, she backed right into it.

“So easy?” Josh said. “No protest?”

It was a paradox, her already sex-sodden mind told her. Protest only to get fucked. But maybe Josh sensed it, because he took her hand and drew Anne into a side room. She made a note of the positions of the desk, the chairs, the texture of the wall, just in case they became apparatuses for sexual acrobatics.

He sat her down in a chair and sat in front of her, expectantly. He was dressed in linen pants with well-polished shoes. A few chest hairs poked over the top of his shirt. Josh wore what had to be a vintage belt—no one bothered with belts anymore, otherwise. Too restrictive.

“Tell me to stop,” he said, and grabbed at her tits.

It was too much, too fast. Her nipples were needles that scratched over the record of her consciousness. She was instantly a rutting feline, in a deep and terrible need, and her guttural grunt was probably audible outside of the library.

“Too.. too much,” she explained, to his look of dismay. “Too fast.” Josh reluctantly withdrew his hands.

“Why don’t we just... talk?” she suggested.

“Remarkable,” Josh said, and leaned back in his chair. “Just amazing.”

“Aren’t there, you know, girls whose job it is to say no?” Anne asked. They were having a conversation. Just the fact of it was a sort of refusal. The boldness of making eye contact, the sense of each other, nostrils flaring with mixing hormones. That she wasn’t being ravaged was surprising to both of them. They both pretended not to notice her dampness between her legs, his leaking cock soaking his pants.

“I’ve gone to them,” Josh said. “It’s faked. They tape record the stuff beforehand. And unless you pay exorbitant amounts of money you get someone else’s voice. It’s too upsetting for most girls to hear their own voice telling a man to fuck off and die.”

He paused. “I mean, this isn’t just some fetish for me. I mean, obviously it is, but it’s what I want. For good. You know.”

“An equal?” Anne suggested, again. She was so proud of herself, keeping her voice low and level. It wanted to perk up, suggest bedroom antics with a girlish lilt. Betray her aching slit and the way his handprint still lingered on her tits.

“An equal,” Josh said, savoring it. He shook his head. The virus had been around for a very long time. Some things were hard to imagine. “Listen, Anne. You will come over to my house tonight. You will move in. I want to explore this with you.”

“I’m... “ Anne took a deep breath. “I’m busy tonight.” It was a lie. Getting to her feet was agony. Juices dribbled liberally down her thighs. “It’ll have to be tomorrow night. It was good talking to you, Josh.”

And she turned her back on him.

True, she only made it three steps before turning around and impaling herself on his dick, but later they both agreed that it was very impressive.

It was intoxicating, it was paradoxical. The sex was overwhelming, mind-blowing. Anne lived in his scent, stole his shirts and inhaled deeply. She had to drink extra water to stay hydrated, she was dripping so much. Josh joked that he could follow her trail just from little droplets of sex juice on his nice floor.

It was wooden and well-kept. He did all his own chores. Even cooked for himself. When she arrived, he cooked for her, watching in delight as she managed to sit at the table and drink wine, without springing up to help. After she told him that the pasta was undersalted they fucked right there on the table, knocking wine glasses over, her feet perched on top his shoulders. And then again, flipped over.

She had gotten better, too. Anne had showed up for dinner in a full-length skirt, in a dark blue, the dowdy prints leaving everything to the imagination. It had again been too much, but after a quick blowjob and a ride between her tits she was good to go again. Once, as a surprise, she paused for one long moment while jacking him off, pulled her hand off the trembling red tip of his prick. It had been too much for Josh, too, he had erupted in spouts, without stimulation, covering her face with cum. They had looked at each other and giggled, nervously. It felt like breaking the law.

Sometimes they would spend a lazy evening in, and Josh would watch Anne study accounting, slowly masturbating on his own. She in a pair of his khakis and a white work shirt, with hardly any lipstick and barely any mascara to speak of. And when they did fuck, rabidly, the orgasms left Anne on her back, lush and trembling, and struggling to remember her own name.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so,” Robert said, eyeing her ass. He sat on the couch, in sweatpants, and twenty extra pounds piled up on his gut. Anne didn’t dislike him—he was a male, after all—but she felt like she could think that compared to Josh he was half... no, a quarter as sexy and hot.

“See, what’s going on here is that Anne still wants to please you,” Robert said. He was on his third beer. “It’s your thing. It makes you happy to have someone stand up to you. It’s your weird, sick little fetish.”

“Like your twins,” Josh interjected. He seethed in his own chair. Anne hovered around him, nervous. Robert had brought with him a matched set of blondes, who were upstairs borrowing the bed for a romp. They could all hear the bedsprings squeak.

“I didn’t say there’s anything WRONG with having unusual interests,” Robert said. “We all need to spice it up. I get it, I’m cool with it. I’m just saying, it’s not actually saying no to you. It’s saying yes to what you really want. Look, we can settle this right now. Tell her to listen to me.”

Oh, don’t, Anne thought. But Josh turned to her, grimaced, and said “listen to Robert.”

“Look, I won’t even raise my voice. Anne, I want a blowjob. I want an amazing blowjob. I want to feel it in my toes. Alright?”

She had braced herself, but the authority, the casual superiority, the opportunity for another bath of warm cum in her mouth... Anne felt her body start to lubricate, to warm up, her nipples pricking into pinpoints. The long dress she had worn felt so horribly itchy...

If Robert had asked again, had been forced to raise his voice... but he just waited, confident, his legs spread apart. Anne’s legs took a trembling step towards him, and then again, and then she was in the range of his scent. He had obviously fucked the twins not an hour ago, the sweet scent of them blended with the heat of his... her mouth watered uncontrollably.

Anne managed just one husky, throaty “no,” before falling to her knees.

It changed the relationship. Anne felt it, was crushed by it. The dance of refusal and acceptance went on, but perfunctory, without the same erotic charge. The revelation of it all as exotic foreplay had taken the heat out of it. Anne took to practicing her refusals in the mirror while he was gone, mouthing “no!” and even “fuck off!” to the oversexed reflection in the glass.

It was impossible. And the sight of her reflection looking back just made it all the more hopeless. Taut, porcelain skin on a series of plush curves, her lips half-closed in a perpetual pout. Anne’s tits bounced up and down even when she felt the most depressed, her cherry-red nipples cutting ice in the Anne looking back at her. Plus the well-shaved slit, usually still filled with Josh cum, swollen and moist and perpetually ready for another go.

They were, ironically, fucking less even as Anne said yes more often. She even resorted to a vibrator when he was gone, pretending to study while she actually impaled herself on a studded black dildo.

It came to a head on a Monday morning. They hadn’t touched each other in well over a day. Anne felt dried out, strung out, her lips and pussy crying out for a fresh coat of her man’s seed. To smell like him. And his balls were swollen, nearly hard. It was 6 a.m. Anne had barely slept.

“Anne, come suck me off,” Josh ordered, not even looking in her direction. Her hair was a tangled mess.

Irritation and fatigue surged and crescendoed. “Fine,” she snapped, and marched over on indignant legs to roughly vacuum him dry. “Like a hoover,” she thought, before the first tang of salty precum threw aside her annoyance. Josh had barely noticed. And Anne was her usual drunk, giggly self after getting a belly full of Josh.

But Anne remembered it.

She wore close-toed shoes to dinner, and a black dress with actual sleeves. Anne sewed them on herself. She wore no lipstick and there were black bags under her eyes, as she hadn’t slept in a day and a half. At night, while Josh slept, she kept herself awake with walks in the dark. The girl in the mirror looked gaunt, overly fair, like a doll played with too harshly.

And what a contrast with the other diners. Contented men in loose, non-iron dress shirts tucked into prime rib dinners while their adoring women perched on either side. As this was a nice restaurant, actual fucking was frowned upon, but plenty of the girls vibrated softly in their seats.

“You look awful,” Josh observed. He eyed her, appreciative. There was still a hint of the old spark. She had been the one to suggest an expensive dinner. It had been ages since they fucked, properly, although Anne had made a point of keeping her man well-sucked.

“I feel like shit,” Anne said. She gritted her teeth. Her body needed to sleep and screw, in whatever order. Underneath the dress she had packed her tits into an actual vintage bra, far too small, and it pinched at the small of her back.

“I’ll have the steak,” she told the waiter, who was genuinely shocked at her order. And downright offended when she told him that Josh would also have a steak, black and blue.

“A nice try to keep me happy,” Josh said. His mouth twisted. “Good effort, Anne.”

“Then watch this,” Anne told him.

She hadn’t picked a man out in advance. But as soon as she rose he was there, perfect and turgid, with double-chins rolling out and prime rib juice trickling down her chin. Anne did it just as she had planned in the mirror, whipping her arm around, closing her eyes—and catching the man full on the cheek with an open-handed slap.

The restaurant rang with it. Forks and knives clattered. A half-pound of meat sprayed from the man’s mouth, and a dainty handprint already appeared.

Josh caught her before she fell over. And nearly sprinted out of there.

They stopped the car two miles away and he fucked her so raw Anne smiled for days and days. It was a week before she said ‘no’ again, and it drove him to even greater heights of sexual interest.

She wasn’t sure she was ready to be married, anyway.