The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The mood this morning is one of fleeting happiness. Everyone has the same thought swimming around their heads—wouldn’t it be great to just stay here?—but they all bite their tongues, not wanting to derail the greater-good with their selfish whims. I wonder, if they could read each others’ minds and realized I’m the only one who would object, would they still hesitate?

Even if I hadn’t sensed Gwen and Bell eavesdropping and fooling around last night, I’d still be able to tell that they’d gotten up to something—Gwen is giggly and blushing around her former bunkmate, and Bell seems, for the first time, to be less tense—dare I say, almost relaxed with their happiness, allowing themselves to stop waiting for someone to snatch their joy away from them.

Breakfast is grilled tomatoes and bell peppers, both fresh from the garden—not two things I’d generally associate with breakfast, but fresh produce is a rare luxury for me, and we all enjoy our meals in near-complete silence as knowing glances flutter around the table.

“This was a good call,” Jen finally builds the courage to say, finally broaching the subject on everyone’s mind.

I know where this is going. I smile to her, and nip it in the bud. “It was. And I was thinking, we should set up shop out in Misthaven.”

Jen opens her mouth to object—to suggest that we stay here—but she stops herself to process what I just said (either by mine or her own accord, I honestly couldn’t tell you). “The rich community?” she finally asks.

I nod. “We wouldn’t be able to sustain many people with the little garden here. But the estates out that way have acres of land we can use to feed an entire community.”

Jen glances to the window, eyes narrowing at the little garden while crunching some numbers in her head.

I reach out and cover Jen’s hand, bringing her attention back to me. “Even an expanding community,” I add. True as it may be, I still feel a bit bad for using her desire for children to change her opinion. Which is probably more than a little ironic considering the fact that I’ve been observing and tweaking her thoughts with my little ability thus far, but I choose not to think of that.

The uncertainty fades from her mind, and her lips draw into a smile. She knows it’s silly and immature, but she finds herself relishing the idea that I’m building a home just for her.

“Besides,” I add, in case any of the others aren’t quite sold yet, “we’re not the only victims left in town. With the help of everyone that’s left, might be able to get solar power, water treatment... fuck, we might even be able to rig up a warm bath.”

The suggestion of other survivors doesn’t bring quite as much excitement to the table as I imagined. Mentioning surviving victims brings to mind surviving sentinels, watchers, and clergy, most of whom are likely hell-bent on returning things as close to the bad times as possible, and who are absolutely running around gathering survivors of their own.

“I bet most of you have never even been to Misthaven” I blurt out, desperate to lighten the mood, and adding a little subliminal excitement to nobody-in-particular.

Bell smiles and shakes their head, and Gwen’s face lights up as she asks, “Is it as big and nice as here?”

I chuckle to myself, knowing full-well that nothing I say could prepare her for the gated mansions. “Some of them could fit this whole house in the lobby.” I have no idea if that’s true—the closest I’ve been to one of those ridiculous buildings has been to marvel at them from the bars of the front gates—but the movies always have a giant lobby, and they wouldn’t lie, right?

Gwen furrows her brow with doubt. “In the lobby.” It’s said like a statement instead of a question.

I chuckle. “Some of them, basically, yeah.”

She glances to Jen, who shrugs it off.

“I bet you I’m right,” I say with a smile.

Gwen’s hand snaps out to grab mine and give it a firm shake. “You’re on.” A moment later, she adds, “Er... what are we betting?”

I quickly retrieve my mind from the gutter and say, “Dealer’s choice.”

Gwen nods, not knowing what that means (though, honestly, I don’t exactly either) but not wanting to look foolish.

“Excellent. Now, Jen,” I turn to my blonde companion, “can I have a quick word with you?”

Jen’s eyes flash with concern, and she follows me up the stairs and to the master bedroom, where Karen has already meticulously made the bed and perfectly reassembled the mountain of throw pillows on top.

I suddenly realize that I had zero thought as to where to start. Hey I know I basically promised you that I would father your children, but I also want to fuck a flaming-hot ghost lady with exceptional tits in some extra-planar dimension. Also, why yes, this is a designer-label straight jacket. Now if you’ll excuse me, it’s imperative that I now wear my Napoleon hat and eat crayons in the corner.

“The idea for Misthaven wasn’t mine.”

Jen looks to me and narrows her eyes, trying to figure out who else would have given it to me—and why I would care enough to mention it.

“It was Red’s,” I continue. “She told me last night.”

Jen’s eyes slowly drag across the bedroom, half-expecting to see a magical redhead standing in the corner somehow completely unnoticed. “How?” she finally asks.

I shrug. “She can come to visit me. I don’t know how exactly—one of her powers, I guess. But she can pull me out of my body at night and... visit.”

Jen nods slowly, uncomfortable for the extra time I took searching for that word. “Visit,” she repeats.

I nod. “It’s really weird. You, like, float outside of your body where you’re both solid and vapor. You can hold someone’s hand one second, then pass right through them the next. Like a ghost.”

Jen takes a deep breath—thankfully one of thought as she wraps her mind around a weird concept, and not one of trying to gather the self-restraint to not hurl me out the window. “So you and her were... holding hands last night?” I can sense no trace of jealousy or other sadness, which is a good thing, but she does seem a little offended, feeling as though she wasn’t enough for me.

“Not like that,” I tell her, caressing her shoulders. “Last night we just talked about where you and I should go to set up shop.”

Jen sighs. “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to think I’m jealous. Fuck, to be honest, last night after you fell asleep I stayed awake fantasizing about plans to get you to fuck Karen and Gwen once we’re settled in. You know, thrice the babies in a third of the time.”

My brain struggles to comprehend what she just said, yet somehow manages to piece together a “What?”

“Sorry, I’ve been a little... one-track about your...” her voice becomes a whispered shudder as she says, “cum...” then continues, “...since that first time I tasted you. But lately I just... I don’t know, I also kind of like the rest of you, too, and I don’t know how to navigate that in a world without rules.”

My heart warms. “You’re fucking amazing. And no matter what happens, no matter what sort of society we rebuild, and no matter who’s fucking who, you’re always going to be leading right by my side.” Then a thought occurs to me: the first time she tasted me, I was projecting excitement into her mind. Was I changing a river without realizing it? Or is this something that was always with her? I’ll have to dig a little deeper later.

Jen’s cheeks flush at the mention of her leading by my side. “I’m... I’m not much of a leader,” she stammers.

“What, because you can’t yell at a nun until her brain explodes? You’re kind, you’re smart, you’re gentle, and you’re sympathetic. I might end up being the one making plans and ordering people around, but you’re going to be the heart and soul of anything we build.

Jen stares at me for just a moment with her beautiful brown eyes, then lunges at me, mashing her lips into mine, her tongue slipping into my mouth as she shares the aftertaste of grilled tomatoes with traces of fresh-mint toothpaste.

She pulls away from me and looks up with a naughty little grin. “Is it too late to get a squirt of that special mouthwash?” she asks, reaching down and squeezing my already-stiff dick through the rough fabric of my cargo shorts.

“We’re burning daylight,” I say as I gently pull Jen’s hand away. “We definitely don’t have time.” I pop the button and draw down the fly, letting the heavy shorts drop to the floor, smiling at the shock and joy of her reaction as I yank the waistband of my underwear just enough for my blood-engorged shaft to pop free.

I let it bob between us for a moment, Jen’s eyes locked onto its every motion.

I add, “Unless you ask me nicely.”

Jen opens her mouth to say something, but catches her words before they come out, still staring at my cock and taking an extra few seconds as she delves deeper into her mind, fishing for something more depraved than a simple pretty please.

Jen’s eyes finally rise to meet mine. “If you let me wrap my lips around that wonderful cock of yours, I won’t just suck it,” she says, her voice deadly-serious. “I will worship it. I will treat it like a vengeful god and thank it as it takes its wrath out on my face. I will shower myself in its delicious nectar, and proudly wear your cum on face and soaked into my clothes until your hot spunk is the most fashionable accessory in the entire fucking world.”

Jesus. Jen was always a little naughty, with her horror movies and her lenient bedtimes, but I never in a million years would have guessed that she had that in her.

“How’s that?” she asks, giving me a sly grin and a wink.

I can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t ask me. The angry god you have to appease is down there.”

Jen actually bounces a little, clapping her hands and giggling with glee before dropping hard to her knees on the carpet and taking the base of my cock in her hands, immediately snapping back into character.

“Oh, great and powerful one!” she says, giving the purple helmet of my dick a little kiss. A little trail of precum connects my cock to her mouth as she continues, “The beautiful god around whom my life revolves!” Her sarcastic flourish is quite entertaining, but I can feel it quickly fade, giving way to something primal and instinctive. “You are the purest symbol of love, freedom, and desire,” she lands another gentle kiss on the tip, “the ultimate meaning of life,” two quick kisses, “and you fulfil me, spirit,” kiss “mind,” kiss “and body.” Jen parts her lips and gently takes the shaft into her mouth, rolling her tongue around the head. She removes one hand to deftly unzip her own shorts and snake her fingers inside, wasting no time in feverishly stoking her already-inflamed passions.

After a few moments, Jen’s mouth pops off and she continues, “I dedicate myself to you,” she pauses to punch my member against the back of her throat, pulling out and continuing, “and your pleasure.”

With that, she jams my cock all the way down. I can feel her throat contract a little around me, but she barely makes a sound. She wiggles a little front to back, sliding me ever so slightly up and down her throat, and I find I have to focus to keep myself from getting sucked over the edge immediately.

Thankfully, mercifully, Jen pulls her mouth off my dick and gets down under it, almost balancing it on her nose so that she can see both it and my face at the same time, breathing hard as her fingers continue their torrid work.

“Compelling,” I say taking the base of my cock from her, freeing her left hand to dive under her shirt and begin caressing her breast. “Do you want to know what it thinks?”

Jen smiles and nods, not sure whether I’m going to go for funny or sexy.

Thankfully, like the Burt Reyonlds pose, I can do a bit of both for her.

“It has some notes for you, my dear,” I say, lifting my throbbing erection away from her.

Jen nods slightly.

“You’ve been bad,” I say, swatting her across the face with my meat-club. It doesn’t cause her any real pain, of course, but I’m a bit surprised how much gumption I get behind it.

Jen gives an excited yelp, her body shuddering a little as her cheek is thumped with a loud meaty slap.

“You haven’t worshipped it in so—” I smack her across the other cheek “—fucking—” smack “—long—” smack. “Would you care to explain yourself?”

Jen thinks for a moment before she starts muttering an excuse, not sure where I’m going and uncertain how to follow. “There were... extenuating circumst—”

I cut her off by jamming my dick in her mouth. “A vengeful god cares not for extenuating circumstances!” I say, stuffing myself past her tongue, stopping just short of the back of her throat. Jen’s words shift from a muffled hum to a deep moan, so I push a little deeper, sliding down her throat and holding there for a few moments, pulling out to let her catch her breath before slowly slipping back down her gullet. After an extra thrust or two I pull my divine rod out of her mouth, leaving her gasping.

I hadn’t noticed it while I was distracted by her tight throat squeezing around my cock, but when I pull out I realized that I’ve just interrupted an orgasm. Her body twitches and shudders, but she somehow manages to tamp it down, not wanting to let continue without my dick in her mouth.

Jen takes a moment to catch her breath, and then tries again. “I... I thought of you the whole time,” she begins. " Hard. Throbbing.” She leans in to take my dick in her mouth again, but I swing it out of the way.

Jen looks up me with wounded puppy dog eyes, and I smile down at her, waving my cock teasingly between us.

“I would have given anything to feel you,” she continues. “To taste you. I’d still give anything. Anything you want.”

I smile down at her. I don’t have to read her mind to know that she means it. She would throw on Karen’s collar and walk around on all fours for the entire day if I asked her to. (Which would be tempting, if not for the fact that it would almost certainly completely ruin Karen’s entire current worldview.)

I get a few ideas, but my rational mind, somehow still occupying some distant corner of my consciousness, pumps the brakes a little. After all, I don’t know what we’re walking into today. We could be meeting more survivors who came out here to loot. I need to think of something that wouldn’t make our heart and soul look like a cum-splattered cock worshipper.

“Are you willing to prove your faith and dedication?” I ask with a grin.

Jen nods, mouth wide below my member, tongue out, waiting patiently and obediently as the hands under her shirt and in her panties keep her on the edge of bliss.

“When you get its divine issue, I want you to taste it as long as you can,” I say, bringing my cock down so close to Jen’s mouth that she could easily lift her tongue and give it a lick.

Jen resists the urge and stares up at me, the corners of her mouth pulling into a smile.

“We need you to look presentable, so you’ll have to keep it in your mouth.” I hear a little mewl from her, and I add, “Where it belongs” and slap the underside of my cockhead on her tongue, spraying it with slick salty precum.

Jen gives an adorable whine as she feels me lift my leaking member from her tongue.

“Are you ready to prove your loyalty to my cock?” I ask.

Jen’s face goes solemn as she nods and squeaks submissively, mouth and tongue still in position to receive me.

“Are you going to orgasm while I fill your mouth?” I ask, stroking faster. “Show me how much you want your mouth full of cum?

Jen nods, eyes shut tight. I can feel her body start to lose control, cresting into an early orgasm in anticipation for her reward.

Somehow her sensations run through my body as well, and I follow her over the edge. I hear myself grunt as my balls contract, my dick throbbing as it splashes spurt after spurt of hot white essence into her hungry, desperate mouth.

Jen strokes herself into overdrive as she feels me fill her mouth, her body shaking and twitching as she finds herself overwhelmed with sensation. Somehow, she manages to find the wherewithal to cup her tongue, letting my spunk splash and pool in her mouth so as not to lose any of her precious prize.

My member bobs with each shot, and once it’s spent, it slouches down to rest on her tongue, dipping into the white pool. I’m a bit surprised at the volume considering the night before, but I’m too lost in bliss after playing out Jen’s incredibly filthy fantasy, and don’t give it a second thought.

Jen closes her lips around the cockhead and gives the underside a couple more licks, carefully cleaning out any final remnants of cum.

“Let me see,” I say.

Jen smiles for a moment before opening her mouth, swirling my load around her mouth with her tongue.

I lean in and give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Good girl,” I tell her. “Now, let’s pack up anything worth taking and head out.”

Jen hums, nodding in the affirmative before striding over to the walk-in closet and silently digging through musty old clothing.

The house we’d stayed at doesn’t have as much as I’d hoped in terms of bags. I was hoping that all the houses out this way must have someone outdoorsy in the family, or at least a kid who went backpacking overseas, but the only shoulder-slung bags we find are two battered old school bags.

Still, the school bags are big enough to fit the rice and oats, and we find a piece of wheeled luggage that we can use for the preserves, the toothbrushes, several tubes of toothpaste and bottles of liquid soap, two small first-aid kits, and a couple outfits that Jen quietly stuffs in there, presumably to make sure that the glass preserve jars don’t smash together.

My eyes may deceive me, but I would swear the materials of the clothes she jams in there are less the sort of thing you’d wear running around rebuilding society, and more like the sort you would find in a ballroom or a sex shop. She did pull them out of the giant closet in the master bedroom, so maybe it’s formalwear or Halloween costumes or something?

I can’t ask, as Jen is deliciously silent throughout the rest of the morning. I decide not to probe her mind because I get the feeling that I’ll find out eventually, and I don’t want to spoil the surprise.

I quickly assess the number of bags full of supplies and notice a couple of comfort items snuck in here and there—some more clothing in the school bag that Bell packed, some expensive-looking scented candles that Gwen had jammed into the large suitcase, and what looks like a nylon zip-up case that Jen pops into one of the backpacks while giving me a wink, her excitement about having a brand-new 100-piece sewing kit at her disposal radiating from her mind.

I guess you could say raiding the three-and-a-half bathrooms in this place for soap and toothpaste could be considered a selfish ask, but decide that if everyone gets a luxury item then I get to pop upstairs to grab the guitar.

I lug the big black case to the front porch and call out, “Alright, everyone! Last call! Get on out here!”

Gwen and Bell are the first to show up, the pair bound at the hip since their reunion. I’m surprised to see Bell emerge from the house dressed in a pair of loose rugged-looking denim pants and a blousey top dripping with frills that somehow looks even more feminine on the pretty castrato than it would have on Gwen or Jen. Bell is also wearing some makeup—deep red lipstick that’s better suited to the Mediterranean-looking family in the pictures than someone with Bell’s pale complexion—and has what looks like remnants of blue eye shadow that, based on what I glean from their embarrassment about it, was likely put on way too thick and then rubbed off in a self-conscious panic.

“I take it this is your handiwork?” I ask Gwen.

She blushes a little and shifts uncomfortably, her mind a fascinating mix of guilt and pride.

“Her makeup skills could use a little work,” Bell says, twirling on the ball of their foot, “but this outfit is phenomenal.”

I raise a brow at them. “Judging by the nightshirts we found you two in, I wouldn’t have guessed you’d be comfy in denim.”

“Absolutely not!” Bell says in a flittering giggle. “It feels like wearing normal pants that were left under a damp moldy rock until they got so crunchy you could beat a friar with them. Little miss Gwenny here says they’re too loose, but it still feels like they’re trying to strangle my legs every time I take a step.”

Bell then adds in a sing-song voice, “But damn, they look fiiiiiine.”

It probably shouldn’t surprise me that Bell would be drawn to the dark blue material after being forced to wear white pyjamas for most of their life, but Gwen had gravitated towards things that were soft and pleasant to the touch.

Plus, beat a friar? The sentinels were usually quick to joke about clergy of other denominations, but civilians wouldn’t dare. Curious.

“Denim’s a solid choice,” I say. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, so rustic clothes might be the right call.”

Bell smiles and nods their thanks, eyes trailing to the house as Jen emerges with Karen in-tow, the leashed woman wearing a tiny black brassiere with cups that end below her big wonderful nipples, a matching pair of crotchless panties that do absolutely nothing to hide her obvious arousal, and those faded pink sneakers.

“We’re ready!” Jen says, giving me a wide smile that would be impossible with a mouthful of liquid. “Oh, wow, Bell! Looking fine! And I think I’ve got a shade of lipstick back at the shop that’ll look even better on you. I take it we have the lovely Guinevere to thank? Ooo, you took the guitar! Good call.” Having made her rounds, she concludes, “Now, are we on our way?”

Watching Jen release an entire morning’s worth of small-talk in a few seconds brings a smile to my face. I give her a nod, and we all grab a bag or two and hit the dusty trail.

Once we leave the driveway, I let Gwen and Bell run on ahead, still joined at the hip and talking about who-knows-what (Well, technically I know—their thoughts are going to fellow bunkmates who were still around when their cathedral fell, each wondering aloud how their other friends are faring). I hang back a little, giving them some distance before turning to Jen and saying, “My, we’re suddenly quite chatty this morning.”

Jen gives me a wink. “I’m in an unusually good mood.”

“Mmm. Honestly, I’m surprised you lasted that long before you swallowed. I thought you’d keep it for a few minutes, tops.”

Jen’s brows furrow. “Swallowed? And risk angering the Almighty Hard-on?”

“Spit?”

This draws a genuine scoff from the blonde nymph.

“Then?”

She gives me a naughty smile and leans in, whispering, “You talk like I’ve actually stopped.”

“You... haven’t?”

Jen shrugs. “It’s a little inconvenient not being able to talk. Luckily, I have a perfect little vessel for your holy seed.”

“I think a bottle may be cheating.”

Jen smiles and snaps her fingers, beckoning Karen to her with a gesture. As Karen approaches, she greets her mistress with a submissive little nod. Jen slowly reaches out and cups Karen’s chin, pulling the tall brunette’s lips to hers and planting what looks like a tender kiss that quickly widens. Jen’s tongue slips into the leashed girl’s mouth for a moment, then the kiss breaks, leaving a murky white strand briefly connecting the two.

When the strand breaks, Karen hurriedly wipes what she can back into her mouth, and Jen runs her thumb along the dribble and licks it clean.

“Clever girl,” I say. “And, if I might add, hot as fuck.“

Jen spends a moment spreading the taste around her mouth, letting out a cute little sigh of satisfaction as she swallows. “Thank you,” she finally says.

“Oh, speaking of Karen, I was thinking: when we see people, they’re probably going to have questions.”

Jen quickly looks her pet up and down. “Really? I think she actually looks quite good in the lingerie. Even if I did have to take it in a little to get it to stay on her.”

The tall brunette blushes deeper and smiles a little.

Jen’s right, of course. And Karen is much more comfortable in the lingerie (revealing though it might be) than she was walking around shoeless and completely naked yesterday. Mind you, that comfort is more than completely undermined by the burning embarrassment and arousal from walking around in public with a mouthful of sperm from a guy she’s known for about a day.

I keep the thought to myself, instead saying, “I meant explaining her position. I don’t want people to think we’re taking slaves. There’s got to be a better word for it... something that sounds less... non-consensual.”

Jen thinks for a moment. The part of her mind that seems to be so often preoccupied with sex is busy with the musky taste in her mouth, so her thought process stays uncharacteristically on-target. “We definitely don’t want to use anything punitive, like prisoner or anything like that. But at the same time we don’t want to say it’s anything that it’s obviously not, like bodyguard or just-a-friend.”

“Indentured servant?” I suggest.

Jen gives me one of her patented ‘you’re not right but that’s okay’ smiles, and I instantly know the suggestion is shit. “That sounds nice,” she says, masterfully sprinkling sugar on the medicine, “but that basically means prisoner and slave.”

I nod. “Right.” I guess. Doesn’t that just mean you work for someone you owe? “I guess Karen’s going through more of a spiritual rehab...”

Karen remains silent, but gives a nod and a little smile of recognition.

Jen gives me a playful shove and says, “That’s it! We can call her our ward.”

“Like Batman and Robin?”

The pretty blonde laughs and rolls her eyes. “You’ve always gotta make it nerdy, don’t you?”

“Live long and prosper?” I say with exaggerated awkwardness, throwing up the Vulcan greeting with both hands, crossing my arms and waving them uncertainly like I’m a lost member of the Wu-Tang Clan who also happens to be the whitest motherfucker on the planet.

I’m surprised that this gets a choked-down laugh from Karen. Most of the pressure comes out her nose, but it’s still enough to break the seal of her lips, and releases a little trickle of watered-down jizz from the corner of her mouth.

“But yeah,” Jen continues as Karen tries to subtly tuck the rivulet of man-chowder back into her mouth. “Someone we’re taking care of and helping to grow into a better person. Like Batman and Robin.”

“So I guess you’re a warden?” I ask, trying to jokingly roll it back to the thing about prisoners.

Jen thinks for a moment and nods. “Actually, yeah, that’s great. That makes total sense. ”

“Thanks, I’m very good at making total sense,” I tell her, trying a little too hard to hide the fact that the suggestion was supposed to be nonsense.

“Does that make sense to you, my pet?” Jen asks Karen.

Karen’s breath quickens at the word pet, and she quickly nods and lets out a soft humming moan of agreement.

“Great!” Jen says, practically bouncing at the resolution.

Her smile slips when she sees my face instantly go dark. Up ahead, I feel Gwen and Bell stop, paralyzed with horror and fear.

I run up alongside them, fingertips brushing the black stone knife hanging at my side, and then I stop a half-step past them.

The lot is much bigger than where we had stayed, with a row of solar panels lining the roof and a well-kept driveway winding around the house and trailing towards a barn. In the distance, the sharp metallic balk of a clucking chicken breaks up the otherwise absolute silence.

The massive lawn is a field of death. Swarms of cherubs lie motionless in twisted piles all around the yard, scorched and dismembered alongside what must be at least a dozen human bodies.

Armed humans.

Who were fighting with the little monsters.

And inside the house, I can hear the thoughts of a man praying to himself as he cradles a loaded gun.