The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Janet had been walking up the footpath about two minutes earlier. Precisely on time, she was, and considering she had stopped on the way to pick up a few “marital aids”?—a purchase she’d paid for in cash, so embarrassed was she at the prospect that the local teller would see “Jack and Jill” come up on her credit statement?—this was something to be proud of. Horny as a bitch in heat?—thoughts and desires largely out of her conscious control?—she was still finding a way to make this all work. To keep this under her thumb and get it out of her system with Owen, her loving (and suddenly virile) husband, that night.

She’d removed the recently-purchased collar from her bag of paraphernalia, fiddled with it nervously as she unlocked the front door. “CUDDY,” it read, bright yellow lettering on black faux-leather. An idiot. A moron. A donkey. Perfect.

“Owen?” Even from the foyer, the house smelled like a barn. Organic. The back-sour taste of ammonia. Her habitual, neat and tidy self irked, sniffed at the air. He didn’t clean up, she thought to herself, throwing her keys across the hall and into their designated dish. It was a goddamn MESS and he had ALL day to clean up! The frustration was already simmering when she entered the kitchen to find something worse.

Owen hadn’t cleaned up, it was true: a puddle of cum still ran off the kitchen table, down one of the legs onto the linoleum. Cutlery drawers hung open, one of them upturned, with its contents scattered across the counter, the floor. But Owen had added to the disaster. A bomb had gone off this morning, two hours before noon. Cooking oil, food scraps, frozen peas (thawed), broken glass, ripped up bits of sliced bread and a pantry-sized bag of flour, torn open and tracked all over the room?—hand and knee prints. The gumption. The living space.

“What the fuck!” Rage bubbled over. The living space! Was she expected to clean up this disaster? The lack of respect! She knew where he was, too. Playing that goddamn game, wasting his life away in the bedroom. She could hear him from here?—grunting through the walls. Oh he was gonna get a piece of her mind! She threw her bag of obscene rubber toys across the room and onto the counter. Stomped toward the heavy breathing. He was gonna get it. She swung open the door and breathed in deep to scream?—

?—and then the smell hit her. A thick wall. A hot hammer. Liquid. Pounding. A barn. A pigsty. And in the centre of the splash radius: Owen. Donkeys copulated on his computer screen. Actual donkeys. Leather black cock sliding into slick, furry cunt-lips. Her husband’s face had pushed out into a cute little muzzle, but it wasn’t cute now. It was moronic. His tongue hung out like an idiot’s. His eyes rolled back. Cuddy.

He came. He blew across the room. Across himself. Splat. Six feet away, a string marked Janet’s thigh as its territory?—hot to the touch. He?—her husband?—Owen shit. On her pillow. Where she slept. He ruined?—he soiled?—he kept cumming as a tail burst from his stupid ass. As he lost his balance and smeared his mess into the sheets.

Her eyes found focus. Her mouth un-gaped. “Oh. my. GOD.” Janet was going to murder him.

“H?—honey!” Owen rose to his haunches, fumbling with the pants around his ankles. “I was just?—” he hopped to the floor, now between his wife and the bed, trying to pull up yesterday’s trousers to cover up his equine embarrassment. “?—I swear this isn’t, like…” Nothing came to mind. Wasn’t what it looked like? What else could this be? If he weren’t so tangled up in his ruined jeans, then maybe he’d have enough wherewithal to excuse some small aspect of this mortifying scenario. Blood was flowing to his brain, again—erection subsiding, he was managing the beginnings of coherent thoughts.

But that subsiding erection was exactly what kept him from getting a handle on this situation. It was too large to fit into his trousers. “Just—” He pulled them up, his cock pinched, kinked, and bounced around his grip with cartoonish enthusiasm. He held his pants up with one hand and tried to stuff the member inside with the other, to no avail. “—so sorry—” It was glossy with sweat, with cum and prejaculate, tenacious. A python rubbed down with vaseline.

“You fucking prick!” Janet had waited long enough. Indeed caught off-guard by the scene revealed as it was, her rage redoubled with the revelation. “My own goddamn lazy husband spending his whole fucking day jerking off to ANIMALS,” she pointed to the screen, where donkeys indeed copulated in high definition, “while I like the saint I am go to work! And actually make something of myself!”

Owen couldn’t bring himself to look his wife in the eye, instead busying himself in the futile attempt to cover up. He’d managed to cover his ass, but still his package bulged out and over, spilling like a musky, primal cornucopia. His balls swung with the effort, pendulums pumping hormones through his veins. His cock, still engorged, bobbed and leaked.

Janet licked her lips. She crossed the room and shoved him onto the bed, which squelched beneath her husband’s weight. “Stop fucking playing with yourself and look at me for one second.”

Owen found himself splayed out, legs akimbo, tangled in denim and dirty sheets. Obedient, he slowly found his wife in the dim light. Her eyes held fire. Her lips, fever. She chewed on them hard enough to draw blood. Flush, her cheeks, her chest. Breathing deeply—the smell. The air. Thick, a fog in here. His sweat. His fucking cock.

She was slobbering over his meatstick before he could make sense of the sensation. One minute she was hovering, staring with a silent intensity he’d never seen before. The next minute, she was choking him, tying something around his throat, ending him, he thought, and then—and then warm lips. Warm aggressive lips.

Janet sucked him like she owned him. Like he owed her cum and she was taking it forcibly. She would breed him, Owen’s mind wandered. She’ll find me Jenny.

Janet coughed, pulled back, spat, and started jerking his shlong in earnest. “Cuddy,” she hissed through her teeth, “you fucking moron.” Faster, wetter. “You fucking animal. Gonna bray for me, Cuddy? Gonna c—”

“HEE HAW!” Owen burst without warning: it splatted square on Janet’s red lips, three more jets ruining her favourite work top. Again he pushed, tail poking out longer, hot log after hot log soiling jeans, Fruit-of-the-Looms. Full. Packed. Leaking from every conceivable hole. Pulsing in her hand. He breathed, the air intoxicating. Was this absolution? How had he shit himself twice in a row?

Janet licked her lips without thinking. “You fuck!” She leaped on the bed and straddled his face. When had she lost her pants? How long had she been sucking on him? How could her hands (both of them?) already be greasy with sweet-smelling juices? Questions lost in the next one: What was wrong with her pussy!?

“Fucking eat me!” Janet shoved her three-inch clit in Owen’s mouth. Her lips enveloped his chin. His cuddy brain did as it was told, and sucked. She fucked his face and closed her eyes. Humped. Ground. “Yeah…” His stupid tongue licked at her like a sugar cube. “Mmmm…” And Mia’s lips were delicate. “Ah—?” Her ass was...juicy. “Mmhyea?” Janet had never fantasized about a woman before, but suddenly… suddenly? Mia was getting her there. She was Mia’s saltlick. Janet is Mia’s saltlick. “AHHh? OHHHH!”

She blew. Owen recoiled, but the jets kept coming. “OH MY G— GG— GUUH!” she screamed, having no point of reference for these waterworks. A new and beautiful odour filled the bedroom, soiled the mattress: saltlick.

And so eternity hung in the air, a few seconds. Janet collapsed. “Fuhghk…” She lay beside her husband, spent. Her eye wandered to the framed picture perched on the nightstand next to her pillow. Before all this. Within, she wore a conservative gown. Navy. Owen, a suit. Terry’s wedding—they’d been in the party. And Janet wasn’t even on that side of the family, but still she’d helped plan the whole thing. She smiled at the photographer, through a smeared layer of girlcum. The paper was soaked through.

She turned her head toward her husband. Together, they breathed in this new world, ill prepared and seeing it through together. Every breath was a sigh—for their addled minds knew what was coming.

Because eternity only lasts for so long. The air was thick, and descending. Barnyard denizens still fucked on the floor, where they’d fallen in the commotion. Janet rolled onto her stomach, arching her back to expose her anus, add her own spice to the room’s bouquet. She was still capable of speech. “Cuddy,” she moaned. He sniffed. “Ass”.

Owen fumbled in the dark. His fat, slippery cock slapped against her thighs twice before it found its target. The prudish Janet hadn’t given up her anal virginity, just then. She’d thrust it into her husband’s hands. And a gift he hardly knew what to do with, he wasn’t ten pumps deep before he blew his another load, deep and hot into her stomach.

“HAWWW—”

But he didn’t slow down.

“Hee…” Janet breathed. Her anus relaxed. Dripped cum and grool down her pinkie-finger clit. “Hawhe…”

Owen’s donkey dick gushed precum like a leaky faucet. He was already halfway back to cumming. The night had just begun.