The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Helena Gibbons was sucking her husbands cock. She hated sucking cock, even her husband’s, found the whole idea utterly repulsive. Why, then, was she performing such degrading act? Well, for that, one had to go back about an hour.

The news of the rampant E. Rotic virus had not made the newspaper that Helena Gibbons read. There were, farther back in the paper, several stories of people going insane with lust, but the main story was of an airplane crash. The peculiar thing about that doomed plane (its pilots and crew and passengers all infected with a mutation of the contagion E. Rogenous), though it was not mentioned in the newspapers, was not that there were no survivors but that the corpses all sported massive erections on the men and erect nipples on the women. It was not the sole case of contagious lust in the city, and several more would crop up, its rampant spread growing exponentially.

Helena, however, was unaware of any of that. She was equally unaware that the fifteen year old paperboy (who would later loose his cherry to a forty-three year old infected housewife) had himself been infected. She was equally unaware that his contact with the newspaper had infected her the moment she’d picked it up and begun reading over breakfast. And she was also unaware that she had been exposed to neither the E. Rotic nor the E. Rogenous virus, but another mutation, which we shall simply call E. Motive.

E. Motive, unlike the other viruses, did not promote rampant sexuality. Oh, it promoted sexuality, upping dopamine and hormone levels and quickly leaving its host little more than a walking set of genitalia, but the virus had an interesting twist. In order to promote genetic diversity in its agglomeration, it also upped epherine levels, responsible for feelings of attachment and devotion.

Eugenically, this made a great deal of sense, for by localizing the same virus in two different host systems instead of several, enough diversity was guaranteed to let the germ survive without the danger of unanticipated antibodies.

Practically, this slowly turned Helena Gibbons into a monogamous walking set of genitalia.

Helena sat, eating breakfast, staring at the newspaper without reading it. She was thinking instead about her marriage. She had come to the rather painful conclusion last night that she did not love her husband Peter. She still liked him, she still respected him, but the love, the attraction, that certain je ne se qua, had long since beat a hasty retreat. It had not been an easy thing for Helena to admit to herself, but she finally had. Sitting alone, while Peter was at work at his top secret Pentagon job, she had realized that she did not miss him, was not upset at his constant absence. She’d broken down and cried.

It had not been a gradual transition, either, she now reflected. Looking back, she could clearly see time after time when the signs had been there. The most obvious of course was that they hadn’t had sex in several months. It had been years, in fact, since they’d gone to bed without one of them being at least slightly inebriated.

It wasn’t that she had any malice towards Peter, nor, she believed, did he feel any towards her. It was simply that they’d grown bored with each other. That the time had come for one of them to say to the other, I’m sorry. This isn’t working. We tried, we gave it a shot, and it didn’t pan out. It’s nobody’s fault, but it’s true, and it’s over.

She wondered if there was anything she could do to put the spark back her marriage, to rekindle whatever it was in Peter or herself that had made her love him in the first place.

It was not the E. Motive virus leading her along this train of thought, it must be noted, but it did keep it there. Helena Jordan Gibbons was, by all respects, a truly good woman, an attractive, happy, kind woman who, had she any flaws, were those universal and shared by sinner and saint alike. Peter Gibbons was an equally respectable and good man. There was absolutely no reason why the two should not stay together. But equally, Helena considered, there was very little reason why they should.

Helena sighed and stood, took her plate to the sink and rinsed them off. She checked the clock on the stove, almost seven o’clock. Peter needn’t leave for work for another hour, depending on traffic, but the man was a night owl and a chronic over-sleeper. She had to wake him several times before he actually rose.

I used to find that endearing, she considered sadly as she walked down the hall. Just when had it become a chore?

Inside Helena, it had been about fifteen minutes since she’d first been infected. The E. Motive virus rampaged through her system, focusing mostly upon the central nervous system and the brain. Its effects were not substantial at the moment, but they were existent, and growing more evident by the moment.

She opened their bedroom door and walked over to her snoozing husband’s side. He had a night’s worth of beard, and a slight smile, as though he were having a nice dream. She smiled in turn. For a moment she remembered a day nine years ago, in early June, when she’d met him on his doorsteps with a bushel of dandelions she’d picked. They’d gone for a hike up a small isolated hill outside of town, had a picnic consisting of tangerines and champagne, and made love with a panoramic view of the city. Staring at his sleeping, smiling face now, she remembered just how handsome he had been, still was in fact, and how much she’d loved him. That day her heart was so full that it had felt as if it was going to burst out of her chest.

She smiled sadly. She recalled what her sister had said one time after dumping a boyfriend back in high school, “At first I loved him. Then I had to remember how much I loved him to keep on loving him. Then I had to remember to remember to go on...finally it just got to be too much trouble.” Helena had assured herself that she would never make that mistake. So she quenched that emotional memory. But still, he was so handsome, the innocence of sleep merging with the maturity of a man near his forties, making him young and old at the same time.

Only when Helena glanced at the bedside clock did she realize that she’d been lost in thought and happy memories for the better part of ten minutes. Shaking her head to clear it, she leaned forward and shook her husband’s arm. “Hon. Come on. Rise and shine.” She paused, and gripped his arm again. Those biweekly visits to the gym seemed to be paying off; he had a lot more muscle than she remembered.

He moaned, and opened his eyes. “I’m up,” he said with a sleepy slur. “Be there in five minutes.” Then he yawned and promptly rolled over and went back to sleep again.

Helena chuckled. He really was so endearing sometimes. The warning from her sister played again in her mind, but this time with much less force. She left the bedroom and went back in the kitchen to think before she tried to wake him again in another ten minutes.

It really was, she had to admit to herself, at least partially her fault that she didn’t love him. He still loved her, as far as she knew. He’d always been so hard to read, though, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t have time to always let them show; that mystery was part of what had attracted him to her. He hadn’t changed much since they’d married. Neither had she, really. She was just...bored, she supposed.

But was ennui really reason enough to break up a marriage? They had no children, not even a pet, so had no real responsibilities to anyone other than themselves and one another. She thought about their wedding day. It hadn’t been elaborate, their having both been very poor college students at the time, but with Peter there the small church had seemed like the Vatican. He’d seemed so beautiful, and being with him, he’d made her feel beautiful.

Perhaps that was the problem, or at least part of the problem. She was thirty-seven. Her figure was beginning to show the first stages of entropy, no matter how hard she fought it, and though she had easily another forty years in her, she felt old, and wasted. Maybe these feelings were nothing more than a midlife crisis.

That made a certain sense to her. Peter was, after all, a good man. No, be fair, a great man. He provided enough for the two of them to live in comfort, he cooked half the meals, and they almost never got into arguments. It could easily be that her boredom was nothing more than her subconscious demanding something new.

She walked back to the bedroom, praising herself at her modest psychological breakthrough. She was glad she was so pragmatic; a lesser woman might have broken up their marriage. She however, logical as she was, had identified the real problem, and now could not only fix it, but was forewarned to act against it happening again, hopefully able to prevent it now.

By now it was seven twenty-five, and the E. Motive virus was beginning to become more virulent.

Helena stood by the bed, ready to try and awaken her husband again. He really was so very handsome, she realized. She also thought how glad she was that she hadn’t overreacted, hadn’t decided to try something or someone else, but had decided to stay with him. He was as perfect a man as any woman could ask for.

She kneeled down, staring at his face, slightly puffy from sleep but still comely. Eventually, her eyes began to water, and she realized that she hadn’t blinked for a while. As she did, she also breathed in, making her realize that she’d been holding her breath. Confused, her mind slightly foggy and still focusing mostly on Peter, she glanced over at the clock. It was 7:35! She’d been sitting here, mesmerized by her husband for about ten minutes! Twice now she’d lost time! What was going on?

She tried to think again, the logic and pragmatism she’d praised herself for moments earlier finding itself sluggish to answer. Before she could start thinking clearly, Peter rolled over, pulling the loose sheets off of him.

Any logic in Helena’s mind disappeared as she stared at Peter’s body. For a scientist, Peter Gibbons tried to keep himself in good shape, and to Helena’s infected mind he was beginning to look seriously sexy. Time disappeared, or at least unknotted slightly. A mass of blood to her head forced Helena to sit on the bed, her horny clumsiness no disturbance to the deep-sleeper. As she stared for a good fifteen minutes, Peter seemed to change. It was neither a gradual change nor a sudden change. Simply, as she stared he seemed sexy, and as she kept staring she realized that at some point she couldn’t identify, though she hadn’t moved, he’d somehow gotten sexier His muscles seemed to grow, his muscularity seemed to grow...

Of course, they did not, outside of Helena’s perception. Quite a lot was happening in her perception, though.

As the virus attacked Helena Gibbons, she found herself at first very much attracted to her husband (not altogether uncommon), then extremely attractive (unusual without some gentle pushing on her part), then very hot (unusual without a few glasses of wine). Now, at 7:48, almost an hour since she’d first been infected, he was indescribably sexy, a veritable Zeus, a god amongst gods, the pinnacle of maleness, the zenith of virility.

She felt herself blinded by his beauty. Without finding anything unusual in his change or her change in perspective, she found herself wanting him, desiring him more than she could ever remember. A flashback to that day with the dandelions, when she felt so in love, she now realized was a laughable shadow of love. Now her heart pounded in her chest and her head, ready to explode in love and joy at the mere sight of this Adonis.

Peter stirred again, his hand coming to rest on her leg. Helena’s speedy breathing doubled. He clenched suddenly, and the feel of his fingers rubbing her leg filled her with sensations she’d never felt outside of lovemaking. Unconsciously, she began rubbing her groin, the feelings only heightening her arousal.

Finally she could stand it no more. She had to have him. What a way to wake him, she thought with a smile. What more could any man ask for, after all, than to be roused for a bout of carnality? As she delicately stripped of his pajamas, she felt wickedly proud of herself. She’d give Peter the greatest sex of his life. After all, he deserved no less, and at this point she doubted she could give less. Before, sex had always been at least in part a chore for her. She wondered quizzically how that could be, for this man was everything she’d ever wanted, everything and more, a thousand-fold, ad infinitum.

As she removed his boxers, less delicately now as wanton desire began to overcome her very soul, she was hit with a dilemma. She’d planned to mount him, but his member was flaccid in sleep. A moment’s pause gave her inspiration, and though she’d always flatly opposed oral sex in the course of their marriage, sometimes to the point of shouting, the idea was now not nearly as disgusting. In fact, it seemed downright pleasant, even more so for the knowledge that she would please her husband, this wonderful man, who had desired a good blowjob for so long. As she began sucking, losing herself in the simple but wonderfully erotic bobbing motion, she berated herself. How could she have ever refused! How could she have been so selfish, so stupid! This was so very wonderful! She wanted to go back in time and hit herself, command herself to get down on her knees and suck the cock of this gorgeous, noble, extraordinary man of hers until he was drained dry! How could she have denied him this?! How could she have ever denied him anything, this beguiling Adonis of hers!? She had planned at first to only do enough to arouse him, but had not anticipated the inexplicable rush of ecstasy that came in sucking. Her senses heightened through love, she felt him awaken, and pushed him back down, lest he keep her for one moment from filling her mouth with his manhood. She noted that he moaned most when she touched the circumcised tip, and focused exclusively upon that section, which not only let her focus on the best part but also allowed her to move twice as fast.

How had she denied HERSELF this?!

She felt a moment of warning as his penis engorged itself, and then spat out semen into her mouth. For a moment she blanched, envisioning the taste, but in the act it was purest nectar. Of course, for what else than perfection could ever come from this ideal paragon of a god/man of hers. She would do anything for him, no matter how degrading or humiliating, if only he granted her the pleasure, the honor, of sucking at his wonderful cock.

For his own part, after Peter Gibbons woke, he spent the first five minutes desperately afraid that he had forgotten an important anniversary of some kind. As the procreative virus moved into him, though, concern and worry and doubt and everything faded and then disappeared in the face of this Venus he had somehow lucked out into marrying. Within thirty minutes of his wife’s first touch, Gibbons was so far gone that he was resolute to please this goddess so long and so much that she would desire him forever.

A man of action, he quickly set upon to make good his plan.