The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mark found the worry doll while on business in Peru.

The meetings were boring, the other Americans as long-winded and full of shit as only Americans can be. Mark had roots in Peru—his father was from Cusco—and, having been back and forth a few times in his childhood, could read that the Peruvian businessmen were annoyed. It didn’t seem like the deal would go through. Mark didn’t care either way, but seeing which way the wind blew made him far less interested in all the paperwork he should have been attending to in his hotel room.

Walking through Lima was almost heartbreaking. The way global business was going, everyplace that wasn’t China was getting poorer and poorer. There were even fewer jobs than when he’d been out last year. Fewer reasons for anyone to have hope. Mark wished the American businessmen weren’t such blowhards; the contract would’ve helped some of the men he saw as he wandered through downtown.

By the time he felt hungry enough to think about dinner—there was no way he’d be joining the rest of his contingency at the hotel bar for drinks and cheap whores—he’d realized he was way out of not only the tourist area but also the restaurants and nightlife. He pulled out his iPhone to try to figure his way back but couldn’t get a signal. That was surprising. Lima wasn’t a backwards town and reception had been up to four or five bars wherever he went. He looked around, trying to figure out who might be willing to show him the way to a good eatery, when he saw a store, just off the corner of the intersection where he stood, with rows and rows of dolls of every size.

Worry dolls. Olivia had asked him to get her a few on this trip.

“What are you worrying about?” Mark had teased, “You know you can tell me anything. I’ll be your worry doll.”

“I just think they’re cute and sweet. I like the idea that dolls will listen.”

“Because I never do?” he’d asked. She’d merely smiled.

Mark crossed the street and turned left, walking past a dry cleaner’s and an architect’s office before opening the door to the store. “Tienda de Muñecas,” the little sign read.

The bell over the door tinkled. Mark paused as the door closed behind him. While the window had been full of worry dolls, the rest of the shop was taken up with all sorts of Western dolls, from china to rag to plastic. From Barbie to Raggedy Anne to porcelain princesses.

“Puedo ayudarlo?” asked an elderly woman as she stepped out from behind a beaded curtain. She looked porcelain, as well, her joints stiff but smooth, her carriage upright.

“Habla usted inglése?” Mark asked automatically. Forcing shopkeepers to speak English sometimes helped him save money. He could pay in American dollars—very valuable on the black market—and save a little bit and everyone would be happy.

“Si, yes, I speak English,” she replied, smiling a little, “Are you from the US?”

“Yes. I’m here on business.”

“And your daughter asked for a doll as a gift?” she asked.

“No. No, my wife asked for a worry doll. I saw you had some in the window.”

“Oh, none of those dolls are for sale. They are like family to me.”

“Oh,” Mark said, confused, “Then why do you have them on display?”

“So everyone knows who my family is,” the shopkeeper replied, still smiling that tiny little smile.

“Well, then. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. Do you mind telling me how to—”

“Marco wants to go home with you,” she interrupted, moving slowly toward the window display, “take him.”

“Um. . .” Mark said, feeling completely at a loss. His usual skill of reading a person’s body language had abandoned him and he really wasn’t sure what was going on until the woman had placed a handsomely-dressed worry doll in his hand.

“How much do I—”

“Nothing. Marco wants to go home with you, so he shall go home with you. Just treat him well. And here,” she said, moving back across the room to the old-fashioned mechanical till. She came back to him with an antiquated business card. “Here’s my address, in case Marco decides to come back to his family.”

“I really can’t. . .” Mark protested, reaching for polite words as he slid his wallet out of his pocket, “Please let me pay you something, as a thanks for—for sharing your family with mine.”

“You can always buy a doll if you really feel the need to pay me for anything,” said the shopkeeper, looking offended. Mark could tell that, if he did buy a doll, she’d actually be angry with him. She wasn’t trying to trick him into buying a more expensive doll.

“Well, um,” he said, taking a step backwards and feeling the doorknob at the small of his back, “I guess I’ll just take Marco here back to the hotel and get myself some dinner. Th-thank you so much for the lovely gift.” And, with that, he fled back into the street and walked quickly in a direction that generally headed for the brighter lights of downtown Lima.

“He’s so handsome!” cried Olivia, lifting the worry doll from its nest of pale blue tissue paper. She stroked the black yarn hair and snuggled the doll up against her chest. “I didn’t know worry dolls got so big. I thought they were all tiny little things that fit in a bag.”

“I’ve never seen any that size, either,” Mark said, sitting beside his wife on the couch. “That doll store was a crazy place.”

The trip back had been uneventful except that, when Mark packed up for the return flight, the worry doll had seemed larger than when he’d first held it in his hand. And now, seeing Olivia holding it, it seemed even larger. Mark shook his head and attributed the uneasy feeling to jet lag. He leaned back and shut his eyes.

Olivia pulled the doll away from her chest and looked at it again. It wore a straw-yellow poncho, blue wool trousers and had black circles of wire around his beaded eyes to indicate glasses.

“Marco, I’m happy you’re my worry doll,” she sighed, petting the doll’s hair again.

“How did you know his name?” Mark asked, alarmed and wide awake again.

“Did—didn’t you tell me?” Olivia asked, looking at Mark in confusion, “I could have sworn I heard you tell me his name was Marco.”

“No, I don’t think I did,” Mark said.

“Oh, well, it must have been a lucky guess,” Olivia said, shrugging. She put the doll on the coffee table and stood, heading for the kitchen.

“What do you want for dinner?” she called over her shoulder.

“Pizza,” Mark said, leaning back into the sofa again. His muscles were sore and stiff. He closed his eyes. “Good, old, American pizza.”

That night Mark dreamt he was back in the doll shop in Lima. He was standing by the window, looking out at the passers-by. The sun was out, making their skin glow beautifully, even the very old. He wanted all of them. To have them all around him, snuggling against him, petting him. They were so pleasing to watch, each of them with their own stories, their own inner lives.

But it was odd how large they looked to him. A little girl paused and pressed her nose against the glass to look at him and her face loomed above his. He was looking up at her. He realized he was small. He looked down at himself and discovered he was a doll. And the discovery wasn’t surprising but oddly sensual. He realized he was horny. Not because of the little girl, but because he was a doll. It was so exciting to be one, the passive nature of being a doll nearly made him orgasm.

“Mark,” said the little girl, pointing a finger at him.

“Mark,” said Olivia, poking him in the ribs. Mark opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Oh, thank goodness!” she said, looking relieved, “you were lying there so stiffly I thought you were dead!”

Mark tentatively stretch his fingers, then raised his arms above his head and gave a huge yawn, stretching his whole body.

“What a bizarre dream,” he said to no one in particular. Olivia had already gotten up and was dressing herself.

“What did you dream?” she asked, pulling up her jeans and buttoning up the fly.

But by then he’d forgotten. He was watching her dress and was feeling lazy and horny.

“Come back to bed,” he said.

She looked at him over the top of the shirt she was pulling on.

“Now?” she asked, but she didn’t look offended. She was smiling.

“Come snuggle. We’ve got time,” he said, putting on his best smoldering look. She giggled and took the shirt back off, let it slide to the floor. Her breasts swung as she put one knee on the bed, then the other.

“‘Snuggle,’ huh?” she teased, putting her hands on his shoulders and moving one knee over to straddle him.

Mark looked up at her. In this moment, he adored her. He didn’t just want to fuck her, he wanted to connect with her in some deep, deep way. He reached a hand up to touch her cheek. Olivia grinned at him and shook her head.

“Stay still, my little fuck doll,” she said.

“Your what?” he asked, confused, putting his hand down by his head, palm up, a gesture of surrender. He tried to roll her over and pin her down but he couldn’t move.

“My little fuck doll,” she said again, “That’s what you are. You’re going to stay still and let me use you, aren’t you.”

“Okay,” he said. Or, wanted to say. He couldn’t move a muscle. His brain was so fuzzy. Was he her doll? The idea sent a chill down his spine but also make his cock jump.

Her grin grew wider and she bounced off the bed and stripped off her jeans and underwear, wriggling suggestively, keeping eye contact with her immobile husband. Once naked, she gripped the coverlet and dragged it and the top sheet off the bed, exposing Mark and his erection. Olivia stared at it as she crawled back onto the bed.

Mark no longer tried to move. He was where he wanted to be, about to be mounted and ridden.

“I have my fuck doll—you, my darling—and my worry doll, Marco. What more does a girl need?” she asked as she gripped his dick in one hand, stroking up and down. Mark could only moan in response. He felt lost in a mist in his mind, the only thing he could focus on was her hand on him. Travel fatigue, he told himself. He couldn’t recall when Olivia had ever taken the lead in sex, but that fact didn’t seem to mean anything; it faded away with all his other thoughts.

When Mark got home from work that evening he was exhausted. More so even than yesterday. He had spent the whole day remembering the amazing sex they’d had that morning. She had ridden him like a wild thing, told him not to come until she had. And she had—three times. He had been so close, edged and edged to the point of madness, but he couldn’t tip over the edge and into the warm abyss of orgasm until she finally screamed, “Come in me!” When he finally came, it was a blaze of heat and darkness centered on his groin, the only set of muscles that moved.

The sensation had been so incredible he couldn’t do anything but wish he was her fuck doll again.

“Thank you for being my toy this morning,” she’d said as she’d dismounted. His cock, now glistening with the mix of their fluids, was still rock hard. “Too bad It’s time to get ready for work.”

Now, after hungering for her all day, he found her in the kitchen, making his favorite homemade ceviche. The citrus smell hung in the air. Marco, the worry doll, was sitting at the bar-height counter. It was big enough to be a ventriloquist’s dummy. Mark stared at it. It appeared to stare back at him.

“How was your day, sweetie?” Olivia asked, distracting Mark from worrying about the doll.

Mark kissed Olivia on the cheek before answering, “It was impossible to focus. I just wanted to think about this morning.”

Olivia giggled and slid her hand along his crotch teasingly before turning to fetch a pair of wine glasses from the cabinet next to the fridge.

“I couldn’t help thinking about it, too. I told Marco all about it.”

“Why? Is it something you’re worried about?” Mark asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“No,” Olivia said, placing the glasses on the counter and opening the fridge to get the bottle of white. “No, I just tell Marco everything about everything. He’s such a good listener.” She uncorked the wine and poured a bit into glass. Mark held out a hand, anticipating a glass of wine, but Olivia didn’t move to give him one.

“Oh, fuck doll, I think you’re too little to have wine,” she said. At her words Mark felt himself freeze again. His perspective shifted slightly, disorienting him. He felt confused and aroused.

“To you, my fuck doll,” Olivia said, smiling widely and raising her glass, “I love you, and,” she added, “I love playing with you.”

Mark tried to open his mouth to say he loved her, too, but couldn’t. Despite the confusion he wasn’t afraid but delighted by her attention.

“My fuck doll,” she crooned softly after taking a sip of wine, “my sweet, little fuck doll.”

Olivia seemed taller, the kitchen countertops seemed closer. Things seemed wrong but he wasn’t sure what was wrong. Then, after another moment, everything seemed normal and he couldn’t remember what it was he was upset about. There was just his inability to move and that seemed so sexy, so hot, because it meant he was Olivia’s fuck doll. His cock flooded with need. He was so turned on by being her fuck doll.

“Little, little, little,” Olivia repeated in a soft, sexy voice. Her face seemed further and further away but it was all Mark could see. The face of his owner, his beloved.

“There, my fuck doll, I think you’re just the right size now,” she said as she reached down to pick him up. He was about twelve inches long and rigid. He couldn’t tell her how much he loved her, how much he loved belonging to her. But maybe she could see it in his face. She kissed his forehead gently.

“Esta es su muñeco?” Mark heard a male voice ask.

“Yes, my doll,” Olivia said. She turned Mark to show him to her lover, Marco.

“Quieres devolverlo a la tienda?” Marco asked.

“Oh, no. At least, not yet. I want to play with him,” Olivia said, “Do you want to play with him with me?”

“Si!”

Olivia handed Marco the second glass of wine. He took a sip then used his free hand to pull her in for a kiss. It seemed to Mark that the kiss lasted a very long time, but he was patient. All dolls are patient.

“Let’s take him into the bedroom” Olivia said when they finally paused to breathe. She took a sip of her wine as she carried Mark to the bedroom. She seated him carefully amongst the pillows. Mark found that he could see most of the room. He watched as his wife and her worry doll met for another kiss.

Marco took Olivia’s wine glass from her and put both glasses down atop the dresser. They kissed again, their hands roaming over each other’s bodies, pulling and tugging at their clothes. Mark vaguely wondered where the man’s sombrero had gone.

Olivia pulled Marco’s poncho over his head to reveal a soft, white cotton undershirt. Then she pulled down on his wool trousers and gave a small gasp when she saw his large, hard cock curving upward like a scythe. Mark, too, stared at its absolute beauty.

Marco stripped off his undershirt then pulled Olivia closer, bending his head to nibble at her collarbone while he pushed and pulled at her trousers. She undid the buttons and the fabric puddled at her feet, revealing the red silk undies Mark had bought her for her last birthday. Mark looked at the underwear that cupped her ass and not a single spark of jealousy or rage, or even disappointment, welled up in him. He was genuinely happy for her, that she had such pretty underthings, and he hoped that Marco would appreciate them.

Marco unbuttoned Olivia’s black shirt and pushed it back off her shoulders. There was the matching red silk bra; Mark could see it, see the way the tops of his mistress’ breasts spilled over it just the slightest amount.

“Lo hermosa. . .” Marco murmured as he kissed his way down from her collarbone to the flesh welling out of her bra cups.

Olivia moaned in reply, her hands stroking his back in a rhythmic up-and-down pattern. Marco continued placing delicate kisses, one after the other, down her belly to her undies, then knelt and kissed and tongued at her clit through them. Mark saw the red fabric darken as it grew wetter and wetter.

“Ah,” she breathed, “You take all my worries away.” She ran her fingers through his hair. Her eyes were closed, her chin tilted back slightly. Mark was glad he could watch her, glad that Marco could make her so happy.

Olivia’s breathing sped up. She began to grind her hips against her lover’s face. But she stopped shy of coming, gripping Marco’s hair to pull his head away from herself.

“I want to use my fuck doll,” she said. At her words a small thrill went through Mark. She wanted to use him! She did! And he wanted to be used. He wanted it so badly.

Olivia climbed onto the bed and fetched her doll.

“Mark, my little fuck doll,” she said to him as she picked him up, “How’s my handsome boy?”

Mark didn’t even try to speak this time. He knew she wasn’t expecting a reply.

“I love the detail on your clothes,” she murmured as she stroked his stiff body through his suit. “I’m going to love ruining them with my. . .” her voice trailed off as she gripped him by the torso and positioned him feet-first at her crotch. She rubbed his feet, still in their shoes, against her clit.

“Mmm,” she moaned, her eyes half-closed.

Mark heard the bed shift as Marco got on the bed behind Olivia.

“Permítanme dar placer,” he murmured in her ear.

“Mmmm, two dolls at once to please me,” Olivia said, “I’m such a lucky girl.” She leaned back against Marco as he slid his hands over her biceps to massage her breasts through the silk cups of the bra.

Mark’s shoes were slick. Olivia rubbed them faster over the soaked silk covering her hard clit.

“Oh, oh! Oh my God! Dios mio!” She screamed as she came.

“Tengo regalos para ti, mamá!” Marco called as he opened the door to the doll store.