The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I can NOT fucking believe you talked me into this!”

Bailey swore as she adjusted the trench coat to cover the tops of her garters. Again. For at least the ninth time. And, no, there wasn’t a secret door at the other end of that closet behind the coat. Kinda disappointing, actually. My life may not be Narnia, but it’s pretty damn interesting in its own little way. I didn’t have a witch or a lion with me—just a little bitty whacked-out, blonde schoolyard lawyer with an overactive libido and an assistant district attorney dressed like a two-bit hooker who was at this moment desperately trying to switch between the gas, clutch, and the brake of her BMW. In seven-inch heels, no less.

Yeah, just another day in the life of the King of Fuck.

“Hey, like, watch out!” Bubbles chimed in from the back as the sports car narrowly avoided the mailbox at the end of the curb. “It’s not like, you know, we’re in the land tank or anything!”

“Great,” Bailey mumbled in my direction as she tugged at the bottom of the coat for time number ten. “You’re telling me you can piece HER little brain back together but you can’t even help me get rid of this ridiculous outfit?”

“Cacophony!” I replied with a smile. “Is that a fucking GREAT word or not?”

“How about the word ‘deceased?!’” Bailey growled as I ducked a backhanded swipe from her gear shift hand. Luckily for me Henry left me my reflexes, along with most of the song lyrics from “Mary Poppins.”

“Bandy can do me easy ‘cause I’m SPECIAL,” Bubbles managed to chirp cheerfully. Good thing she was so tiny because there’s no way an ordinary human being can fit in the rear seat of a British sports car. But, like she said, she’s special.

“What the hell are you babbling about now?” Bailey blurted as she stopped less than two feet beyond a stop sign, WITHOUT the brakes screeching, even.

“Bubbles here is so set on her path to mental and spiritual nirvana that it doesn’t take much to get her refocused,” I chanted in my best fake Indian accent.

“Yeah, it’s kinda like the Yellow Brick Road, but Beige with Orange Polka Dots instead,” Bubbles added, as only Bubbles can.

The BMW squealed from the stop, then lurched mightily as Bailey missed the clutch, and I had my own visions of our nirvanas getting here waaaay too fucking early, probably preceded by the CACOPHONOUS sounds of screeching tires and busted glass. Sorry, but I just HAD to use that word. It’s just TOO cool.

“Hey!” came a yelp from the back seat, followed by a dull thud of a cute little head hitting the rear window. “You trying to, like, get us killed?!”

“I should be so lucky” Bailey muttered under her breath as the engine died and the car rolled to a stop at the curb. “All right, all right, I give,” she said as she turned to me. “She can’t drive a stick and there’s no way in hell I’m letting YOU over here in your condition.”

“Quite the CONUNDRUM, isn’t it?” I let the word roll off my tongue slowly and reached for the cute little Dogbert air freshener hanging from her rearview mirror. Sexy word, that “conundrum.” I was trying to imagine what it looked like nekkid, but best I could envision was “puzzle” in a two-piece. Or maybe “riddle” coming out of a shower with just a towel on. Mr. Chuckles even managed a twitch on the latter, and I hadn’t heard from him since this whole thing started.

“Well?” she said, impatiently, and one hand slid down to adjust her stocking seams.

I looked sideways at Bailey and shrugged as I spun Dogbert around. “If you can walk in ‘em, you should be able to drive in ‘em.”

“But I CAN’T, obviously,” she reached out and grabbed poor Dogbert just when he was getting dizzy.

“That’s prolly because you’re, like, fighting it,” opined Bubbles. “You gotta, you know, go with the flow, use the Force and all that, like, inner beauty Zen stuff.”

“Inner beauty Zen stuff?!” Bailey turned her head slightly to look into the back seat. “Jesus, Kramer, where do you come up with this crap?”

“Damn, Bailey, no wonder you don’t, like, get anywhere.” Bubbles had pulled out a beret and was in the process of putting her hair up in a tail. “It’s like someone finally gives you a present you been waiting for all your life and all you wanna do is go back to the mall and return it first chance you get.”

“All I WANT to do is drive my fucking CAR!” she reached out and rescued Dogbert from me again.

“Then, like, stop being a total dweeb and JUST DO IT!”

“GRRRRR!” Bailey snorted, reached her hand down below the seat for the slider release and suddenly shoved the seat backward a foot, squishing my little schoolyard lawyer down like an accordion with a ponytail. “Maybe all I really need is a little less advice and a little more ROOM!”

Ignoring the high-pitched whine from behind her, Bailey gunned the engine and we lurched down the street again. For a few yards, anyway. That’s as far as we got before I sat up abruptly and grabbed for the wheel.

“Take the next left!” I pointed to the Thompson Street intersection, though how the hell I KNEW it was the Thompson Street intersection is another one of those conundrums.

“What?”

“I just got a feeling.”

“A feeling?” She pulled off a downshift that would’ve made Richard Petty proud and made the corner with a foot to spare. Score another one for “inner beauty Zen stuff.” Or something.

“Who delivers your mail?” I asked as we whizzed down the street.

“How the hell should I know?”

“You give her a card every Christmas, don’t you?”

“Do I?”

“OK, maybe you don’t, but I’m definitely seeing a card with a snowman on it.”

“You’re not making any sense,” she said finally as she slowed down for a stop sign.

“There!” I pointed to the US Postal Service jeep moving towards us slowly about a half block away. “Angela.”

“Now how the hell do YOU know my mailman?”

“Postal carrier,” Bubbles corrected from behind me.

“Heh, Henry thinks she’s cute,” I said as I sat up straight in my seat and attempted to peer over the dash at the jeep, “which would probably explain the card.”

“Great, just great,” sighed Bailey as she slowly moved through the intersection. “First the moron in the back seat, then the maid, now this.”

“Stop the car and roll down your window,” I said, leaning over her as the jeep approached. Behind it, another car slowly passed between us and the driver honked and waved to Angela, then laughed loudly as he sped away behind us.

“What the hell was THAT all about?” Bailey asked softly as she stopped at the curb and watched the man drive away in her side mirror.

“Heh, Angela found a new friend,” I smiled. “Probably a couple dozen new friends today.” I waved towards the jeep as it stopped in front of a house across the street from us. Behind the wheel was a woman in her 30s with short brown hair wearing a wide smile and the cutest red ribbon in her hair.

And nothing else.

“Ewwww!” Bubbles cried as she craned her neck between the seats to get a better view. “Totally Candid Camera.”

Bailey groaned and raised a hand to her head. “Don’t tell me.”

“Yeah, you married a closet pervert,” I snickered from the passenger seat as we watched Angela routinely open the mailbox and stuff a handful of assorted junk mail in it. I pointed to a line of five or six cars moving slowly down the street behind the jeep. “And he’s not alone, obviously.”

“Hey, Bailey, looks like we got off EASY,” Bubbles chimed in from the back.

“I’m gonna KILL him!” Bailey steamed as she leaned out of the window slightly and waved to get the attention of the local nekkid letter carrier. “HELLO!”

Angela was just about to resume her route when she caught us out of the corner of her eye. “Oh, hi there!” she waved back.

“Angela, isn’t it?” Bailey leaned further out of the window.

“Yes Ma’am!” Angela replied, wiping a misplaced hair from her eyes. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, I don’t know if you know me, but I’m Bailey Davenport...”

“Yes, Ma’am, 1250 Ivory Forest, along with Professor Henry Higgenbottom!” She smiled wide, and scratched at her bare shoulder.

“Did you see Henry this morning?”

“As a matter of fact, yes I did. He caught me just as I was dropping off a Fed Ex and asked me how much I thought it would cost to mail his watch first class. Why?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if he said where he was going?”

“No, he didn’t. I assume he’s teaching today, right?”

“I suppose so.”

“hehehe,” Bubbles laughed quietly. “What a SWEET line! Hi, there, little girl, would you like to see my watch?”

“Vacuous” I sneered. “Utterly VACUOUS.” Another sexy word, that. This experience was opening up a whole new world of carnal delights for me. Just the way it rolls off the tongue in three easy syllables. Almost made me forget about the naked civil servant across the street. But luckily Bailey was there to remind me of the seriousness of the situation with a sharp poke in the ribs.

“Hey!”

“Don’t just sit there, damn it. Fix it!” she hissed under her breath.

“What exactly do you want me to do?” I shrugged with a smile. “She’s sure not gonna fit in MY jeans.”

“See ya ‘round, Mrs. Davenport!” Angela waved from the jeep and started to hit the gas.

“WAIT!” Bailey yelled as she opened her door with one hand and reached for the glove box with the other. “A friend of mine needs to mail something!”

“Huh?” I asked. Last time yours truly used the Postal Service was to mail a letter to “Sabrina The Teenage Witch” with some suggestions on how to improve the show, though I don’t think they were big on the idea of moving it to cable. And Bubbles...well, let’s just say I don’t think her subscription to Teen Beat was due to lapse anytime soon.

“Hold on a sec!” I gotta hand it to Bailey, she’s quick on her feet, even in seven-inch heels. Without looking, she dug into her box and pulled out—no, no, you pervert, not THAT box—an envelope from one insurance company or another and shoved it in my face, all the while sharpening her conversational skills with the local nekkid postal personage. “He’ll be RIGHT over!”

“OK, but tell him to make it quick!” Angela said, fanning her face with her hand and staring at Bailey, who was now hanging halfway out of the car.

“Boy, Mrs. Davenport, you look HOT in that!” she added.

I looked at Bubbles. Bubbles looked at me. We both looked at Bailey, who was looking down THROUGH her trench coat and I figured that if Mister Richter had a scale for irony, that line would have to be about a 9.5. Especially, coming as it did from someone wearing nothing but a hair ribbon and sunblock. I literally couldn’t think of a single thing to say. For the THIRD time in one day, even.

Not that I would’ve had the TIME to say anything anyway, seeing as half a second after she took it all in, Hurricane Bailey blew back into the car, slammed the door, and shoved me out of the passenger side all in one motion so turbulent and tumultuous that it was all I could do not to trip over the curb on my way out. “I’m gonna fucking KILL him!” was what I thought I heard it say again, though it was hard to hear over all the inane (but cute!) giggling coming from the rear of the Beemer. It almost made me feel sorry for Henry.

Almost.

OK, OK, so it WAS kinda, sorta my fault the mail person was driving her jeep naked, and I can’t totally blame the snobby rich guy for taking advantage of my marvelous mind-mucking ability while he was able, but I guess I’m just not as good at uninstalling other people’s kinks as I am at installing my own. Much less understanding the really weird ones. I mean, what kind of a warped individual goes around making the objects of their affection walk around in dangerous footwear or having them risk their career (and outer layer of skin) just so half the neighborhood can tell they don’t have tattoos or die their hair? Hell, I bet he didn’t even have time for a QUICKIE with little Miss Federal Employee. Some things just don’t make much sense, even to newfound braniacs who have all the lines to obscure Shakespearean sonnets zipping back and forth through their cerebrums. I’ve dealt with a fair number of genuine kinky goofs in my time, and Henry the Third was turning out to be one of THOSE. No dungeons under his house, but a copious number of bats in the belfry...

And since he had a good two hours head start on us, it looked way too much like this was gonna be a fucking LONG day.

“Hey, Angela!” I smiled as I ambled across the street toward the jeep.

“Hey, yourself!” She adjusted herself in the seat. “Are you new on the route?”

“Uh, kinda,” I stammered as I put the envelope behind my back and cocked my head to get a better look at her.

“Welcome to the neighborhood!” She added cheerfully, her right hand darting down to her waist as she continued to move about on the seat. “I really need to be moving on, though, ‘cause I’m getting behind.”

“Really?” I asked, trying to force my smile wider as I peered into the vehicle. Funny thing about Jeeps. No matter how they seem to fiddle with the suspensions, idles and transmissions, they’re still Jeeps. This one was idling especially roughly and it wasn’t hard to notice the effect it was having on the driver. I gotta hand it to Henry—this one was pretty amusing, like maybe something I’d do to someone I really disliked after a really BAD day. I think I prolly would have skipped the candle that was slowly melting between the hot seat of the Jeep and the even hotter Angela, though. That just screamed of overkill. “How far behind are you?”

“About five minutes, mainly ‘cause of the package for Mr. Jackson. It took him FOREVER to dig through his pockets to come up with the correct change for postage due.”

“Oh, I bet.”

She peered at the clock on the dash. “Yeah, if I don’t finish this street in five minutes, I don’t get my orgasm.”

Gotta hand it to Henry, always thinking of the public good. “Tell you what, Angela, I changed my mind about the letter,” I said as I spied the pile of clothes jammed in between two stacks of mail, “but I think you might have something for me back there.”

“Uh, no sir, the Higgenbottom house is right at the start of my route.”

“But I don’t live with the Higgenbottoms,” I lied as I pointed back towards the uniform. “I live on Elm.”

“Oh, OK!” she replied as she adjusted the brake and leaned back and grabbed the shirt and shorts. “I’ll look through it really quickly.”

One by one, the line of cars behind the Jeep slowly pulled around us and half a dozen heads turned to admire the view. I gave the last one my best Alfred E. Newman impersonation as he glared at me, noting by that time that the postal carrier wasn’t nekkid anymore. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I squinted at him as he hit the gas, squealed his tires and sped off to the local XXX video store or wherever the local pervs hung out while not gawking at nude civil servants.

“What was your address again?” she asked, finally, as she began to dig through the pile.

“Oh, never mind,” I shrugged, as I quickly grabbed something from the seat before she could turn back around. “I’ll just wait until you get to my house.”

“Oh, OK,” she smiled. Then she looked at the clock again. “Damn! Now I’ll NEVER get my orgasm.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” I chuckled back to her as I crossed the street. “I figure you’ve got at least five streets left.”

“Nine, actually,” she smiled back at me as the Jeep finally lurched forward.

“If US Postal Carriers don’t clean their own vehicles, SOMEONE in the motor pool is going to have some interesting stories to tell” I muttered to myself as I ran around the other side of the Beemer and hopped in.

“So,” Bailey glared at me. “Did you fix it?”

“Yeah, as much as I can without stomping through Henry’s head to figure out exactly WHAT he did,” I replied. “I think he’s more messed up than I thought,” I continued, softly, and pulled the half-melted candle from my pocket.

“What the hell is THAT?!” Bailey asked as she tapped the gas and we took off.

I rolled my eyes and put it back in my pocket. “Believe me, you do NOT want to know.”

“I DO!” chirped a voice from the back.

“Do you think words are sexy?”

“What?” Bailey suddenly popped the clutch and downshifted to change lanes and zig behind a Caddy and zag in front of one land-tank or another, like she suddenly channeled Al Unser. Ought to be a place in the Guinness Book of World Records for highest speed attained by someone driving in seven inch heels. Or something.

“Do you think words can be sexy?” I repeated. I was envisioning “obliquity” sunning itself on a beach of crystalline white sand...

“What the HELL are you babbling about now?” she shot back, sliding smoothly over to the freeway exit lane.

“You know, how certain words just seem to elicit poetic visions in your mind when you close your eyes and wrap your mind around them.” Mr. Chuckles was stirring quickly at the thought of “obliquity” directing furtive glances at “undulation” as it strode mightily down the beach...softly it moaned and slowly ran one hand down its stomach until...

“I always thought ‘cock’ was waaaay lot more sexy than ‘penis’ or ‘dick,’” Bubbles opined from somewhere behind me.

“Bah!” I breathed deeply and went into Obi-Wan mode as Mr. Chuckles whispered silently to me. “Base vulgarities, bastardizations of the subtle erotic essences of the English language.”

“You mean there’s, like, a SEXIER word than ‘cock?’”

“Absolutely!” I reached my hand into the back seat and gently clasped it over her face. “Close your eyes, my little schoolyard lawyer and I’ll attempt to impart on you the Secrets of the School of Seductive Semantics.”

“COOL!”

“The first thing you must remember is to visualize the word in the inner recesses of your mind as you say it,” I began in somber monotone, “concentrate only on the word and enjoy as your body follows its natural impulse...”

“OKaaaaay...”

“Now breathe deeply and slowly and imagine the word ‘inhalation’ as you say it slowly with me.”

Her little eyelashes fluttered and she squinted hard as her eyes wrestled with her brain to discern the word, while her cute little mouth did its best to speak and inhale all at the same time. “I-N-H-A-L-A-T-I-O-N,” she whispered, the air flowing back and forth working to lower her voice to an octave that, for once, critters other than dogs could hear. Mr. Chuckles jumped to attention, but that could’ve just been because “inhalation” IS such a damned sexy word.

“Now, ‘exhalation,’” I continued slowly, “and remember to visualize the word, wrap your very mind around the ‘e’ and work your way through the beauty of it until you get to the ‘n.’”

“E-X-H-A-L-A-T-I-O-N,” she repeated slowly, alternating between a breathy yawn and mournful sigh that was so damned sincere that Mr. Chuckles was fighting the zipper. Her lashes stopped fluttering and her brow raised ever so slightly as she focused, a sure sign that she was indeed beginning to understand.

“Now, “respiration,’ I said, and say it slowly, very slowly as you continue to breathe in and out and concentrate totally on the word as your body follows your mind.”

I glanced down at her hands and managed to intercept them between the seats before they got TOO close to their destinations—no cheating allowed in the School of Seductive Semantics. “R-E-S-P-I-R-A-T-I-O-N,” she finished slowly and didn’t fight too hard with me, finally leaving her hands in mine as she continued to keep her head up and body rigid, an amazing feat in itself considering we were in a teeny tiny little British sports car going 60 miles an hour. Her cute little ponytail didn’t even waver.

“Now, I want you to search your mind and think back to the very sexiest word you can think of and visualize it as you say it.” My hands grasped hers more tightly now, pretty much sensing she’d take a while to get past the obvious. Sure enough, she half-smiled with her eyes still closed and started slowly and breathily...

“C-O-C-K-S-U-C-K-E-R,” and her hands fought me slightly as they instinctively moved towards Mr. Chuckles, but at times like these, the master must be stronger than the student if they are to learn anything. Her lips parted and her tongue slowly moved around the inside of her mouth, visibly pressing against the inside of one cheek or the other, making my job that much harder.

“OK, that’s a good start, Bubbles, now I want you to dig deeper, go back through the past and come up with another.” She took one more slow, deep breath and a wetness began to appear above her right brow. Her hands again fought against mine, but this time in the other direction.

“P-U-S-S-Y-L-A-P-P-E-R,” she moaned lightly, and she skipped a breath slightly before going back to the deep breathing. I could feel the perspiration on her hands now as I locked her fingers in mine to prevent her arms from moving. Her neck was tensing visibly and the skin above her low-cut T-shirt was coloring up.

“Hmm, well, go back even deeper, further back in your mind and search for THE word, the very first thought that comes to into your mind as you feel your body tense and your juices boil.” I looked down at her legs and they were wedged now under the seat, taught and straight and that cute little ass was as solid as the seat it rested on. Her arms began to shake, then her hands gripped mine tightly and her eyes flew open wide as she straightened up off the seat, her body firm from head to toe.

“JURISPRUDENCE!!” she screamed and came hard, her body falling back on the seat as I let go.

“What the hell?!” I remember Bailey screaming (or was it panting?) at me as dug my fingernails hard into the upholstery of her pride and joy. She probably yelled a whole lot more I didn’t catch because of the fairly loud moans of sheer joy coming from the back seat. That and the fact that my ears don’t work too well during monster orgasms. I could feel the car swerve swiftly to one side then the other, but we probably could’ve gone all the way off the road and into the railing at top speed and I’d have died happy. Reminded myself to try and remember to thank Henry for it when we finally caught up with him. AFTER I stuck his watch up his ass, of course.

Somehow Bailey managed to bring the car to a stop on the shoulder. “What the fuck WAS that?!” She repeated. “Are you trying to get us all killed?!” I really had to admire her self-control. I bet AJ Foyt couldn’t pull off that kind of maneuver during a cum.

I tried to answer, I really did, but I STILL hadn’t gotten a handle on this speechless thing, even after experiencing it several times in one day. It was all I could do to reach out to the AC controls and turn the fan on full blast. Bubbles was still mewing like a month-old kitten, curling and uncurling on what passed for the back seat. To the right of us, a homeless man had dropped his “Hungry—Please Help” sign and was doubled over in ecstasy. Behind him, four or five guys on a construction crew were staggering in different directions, trying hard to maintain macho postures. Somehow I doubted you’d find this particular example of multiple orgasms in any Masters and Johnson study...

“Of all the STUPID, irresponsible, IDIOTIC,” Bailey continued as I reached for the box of Kleenex she had attached to the underside of her dashboard, “stunts you’ve EVER pulled...”

“That was COOL!!!!” Bubbles finally managed to purr, between gasps, from the back. “I never knew words could, like, be so fucking NASTY!”

“You obviously aren’t on the same websites as I am,” I muttered as grabbed a handful of tissue and wiped down the front of my pants.

Bubbles started to reach for the box, then her eyebrows squeezed together as she squinted and stared at me with those cute little beady eyes. “I thought you, like, couldn’t do that to yourself,” she said and closed one eye.

I tossed the box to her, happy with myself for not stooping down to the obvious comeback. “I can’t.”

“Oh, Geez, Lord, no.” Bailey exhaled slowly, which is about as close as I figure she could come to a whimper. “You wouldn’t.” Put both hands over her eyes. “Not now.”

“Hey, two against one and all that,” I shrugged. “Plus, it was kinda fun not to have to do all the work for a change,” I grinned. “Besides, it’s just one word...”

“SWEET!” Bubbles peeped from the back.

Bailey groaned. “This day can NOT get any worse,” she mumbled as she reached for the shifter. “First Henry, now the walking, talking blonde orgasm...”

“JURISPRUDENCE!” Bubbles chirped from the back and Bailey jumped so high she hit her head on the ragtop. “Jurisprudencejurisprudencejurisprudencejurisprudence!” The poor construction workers were flopping around on the ground like beached carp.

“Jeez, Bubbles, even Darth Vader took two fucking movies,” I sighed and suspended her fucking license...