The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Wrong Address”

(written by pshadme – July 2005)

“Harper!!” yelled Mr. Bandetto from the kitchen. “Simpson!…16 Cherry Tree Lane! Before it gets cold!”

Brandon Harper was home from his expensive university for the summer and his father insisted Brandon attempt to rein in his perpetually scattered head and get a summer job to help pay for at least his books and car maintenance for his approaching Junior year. Not wanting to cut into his beach time during the day, he opted for a meek evening pizza delivery gig a few towns west of him. Brandon was an amicable, good-looking young man, so tips were not bad and despite his boss being a major prick, Nunzio Bandetto paid well. He made sure he chose a pizza place miles from his own neighborhood so he would not be embarrassed delivering to someone he’d known his whole life and also made sure that it required him to have his own car, because he was NOT about to drive one of those little, bright red, wannabe-golf-cart things with a big billboard on the roof like it was some kind of 4-cylinder, suburban shark.

Brandon walked up to the counter to grab the pie and was immediately frozen by the gorgeous woman at the register. She was beautiful, had long blonde hair, tremendous boobs, and golden-tanned skin and was probably 15 years older than Brandon, but then he had always had a thing for older women. What actually grabbed his attention, were her sparkly red fingernails that held the ten dollar bill up to the cashier. Growing up on the Jersey shore, Brandon had always been surrounded by mature New Jersey women who were all, for lack of a better term, appearance-conscious. Whether it was his older sister’s friends or his mom’s friends, Brandon’s world was never at a loss for overly made-up, heavily perfumed, older women with big hair, sexy clothes and expensive manicures. Over the years of exposure to these types, Brandon had developed a secret attraction to older women, being particularly drawn to the ones who manicured their nails like hers were; long and slender with bright polish that seemed to glimmer as she moved her hand. They were practically hypnotic in his mind.

“Harper!” Mr. Bandetto barked, breaking Brandon’s daydream and sending his feet shuffling like a cartoon character that runs in place for a few seconds before actually moving. This comical display made Brandon’s counter temptress stifle a laugh and amidst his attention being torn between the irate Italian man behind him and the giggling manicure in front of him, Brandon did not notice the name/address slip fall to the floor off of the box. He barely composed himself and was out the door, pie in hand and walking to his car mentally reviewing the beautiful features on the blonde inside, especially dwelling on how sexy her nails looked.

He got in the car and while putting the pizza in the warming sleeve on his passenger seat, he realized the address slip was missing and tried to recall his destination. He knew he could not go back inside for fear his boss would lose it and fire him, which would make his father force him to get a serious job.

“Simpson, 16 Cherry Tree” he heard in his mind in his boss’ angry, Sicilian accent as he turned the ignition key. He felt fairly confident he was correct and stepped on the accelerator. Within about 10 minutes and after a series of winding turns, Brandon approached an intersection with a sign on its corner reading “Cherry Tree Court”. He turned down the street into a small cul-de-sac and began looking for numbers on the doors and mailboxes.

“There it is, 16 Cherry Tree Court….mind like a steel trap!” he mumbled to himself as if he was boasting to his boss or his father. He stopped the car in front of a mailbox displaying a “16” on it at the end of a darkened driveway, secluded from its neighbors by high shrubs and a few tall trees.

As he made his way up the long front walk with the steaming pizza box in his hands, he noticed he could barely see any of the other houses on the block, the closer he got to the house. This address, aside for being obscured by greenery, was way in the back of the cul-de-sac, quite an exaggerated distance from the driveways on either side and deeply set back from the curb. The sun was just about set and Brandon stumbled as he stepped up onto the poorly-lit, covered porch. He managed to prevent the pie from falling over and rang the doorbell. A few seconds after the pleasant chimes subsided, the door opened and smiling down at Brandon as she chewed on a piece of gum, was a figure that rivaled the beauty of the woman from the pizzeria.

She was very tall, or at least appeared that way, being a step higher than Brandon and in a pair of those thick-soled slip-on sandals that seemed so fashionable of late. She wore a short, form-fitting, gauzy, summer dress being held up partly by spaghetti straps and partly by the curves of her voluptuous body. Its jewel-toned hemline ended just above her knees, revealing her firm calves. Her jet black hair was long, wavy and thick, almost bushy, but it neatly framed the porcelain skin of her face which was even more noticeable thanks to her bright red lipstick and purplish eye shadow. Her chest was full and round, wrapping around her mature upper body like an inner tube. She looked to be in her late 30’s, probably early 40’s, but with a very well-maintained body and as if that were not enough to make Brandon’s heart, as well as another body part swell, she lifted her hand to her cheek in a sign of confusion, allowing her long glossy plum-colored nails to reflect the dim light from the small bulb on the porch, freezing Brandon where he stood. This woman was an amalgam of all the things that Brandon had practically been bred to find irresistible in women.

Brandon audibly gulped. “One large pie, Ms. Simpson.”, he managed to get out despite his distracting thoughts.

The woman studied Brandon for a few seconds, immediately recognizing his attraction to her nails and also realizing that he was obviously at the wrong house. What Brandon was unaware of was that this woman was the neighborhood vixen. She even had the lure of being known as a witch to the younger kids in the area. She masterfully cultivated this image by using her seductive womanly wiles to constantly bewitch the minds of the young boys in the area. She easily manipulated their horny young minds to help keep her grounds clean and landscaped, run errands for her and occasionally feed her lustful desires. She was careful to only do the last with the high school juniors and seniors, but she was growing tired of “boys” and was thrilled to see this virile, handsome, and most importantly, lost young man on her doorstep.

Being an experienced seductress, she cleverly used the thing on which Brandon initially seemed most focused….her nails. Slyly weaving a white lie, she coolly said, “Thank you, sweetie. Would you mind putting it on the counter in here for me? My nails are still a little wet.” The woman dangled the fingers on her right hand in front of Brandon’s eyes, lowered them and then sexily blew across her left fingertips right into her lost boy’s face.

Brandon’s eyes fluttered a little as he visibly inhaled the scent of her cinnamon breath mixed with the smell of the polish that she had effectively convinced his suggestible mind was still wet.

“Yes, Ma’Am.” Brandon weakly answered as he stepped into her house. This was something he rarely did. He had done so for an elderly couple once, but always tried to be aware that he was dealing with complete strangers. Brandon usually kept his cynical wits about him, but as she had done so often with countless young males, she had completely disarmed him.

He walked down the hallway, past the living room and finally saw a counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen. He laid the box down on the counter and swore he heard the door click shut, followed by the metallic sliding sound of a deadbolt.

Brandon made his way back to the front of the house and while he did, the woman took a moment to significantly hike up her dress as well as reach between her legs to massage her damp pussy to help the musky scent of her sex fill the small hallway.

Brandon’s eyes fell on the woman’s over-exposed legs as he approached her, quickly distracting him from any nervous feelings he was starting to have about being in a stranger’s house. He was also breathing deeper, as his body recognized the scent of pussy in the air. She continued to exploit his obvious attraction to her nails, by feigning an itch on her long leg and leaned over to lightly scratch her dazzling nails up and down her delicious-looking thigh as he drew nearer.

She smiled at the familiar tent forming over Brandon’s crotch. She had caused similar bulges on many boys in the past, but was particularly intrigued that her nails were a large part of his quickening downfall.

Brandon walked as far as he could until he needed to step around her, but before he could, the woman stood up from her scratching position, confirming her height advantage and then lifted her hand. Brandon barely stood as high as her shoulder. She extended her arm, which hung on a downward angle towards him. “You think this is a good color on me?” she innocently asked as she again wiggled her nails in front of his eyes.” Brandon locked onto her nails and as she lowered her hand, she noticed his eyes following it.

She had always been adept at seducing young men, but she suddenly felt as if her nails were almost entrancing to this one. She capitalized on her supposition by stating, “You MUST think it looks very good, you seem to be staring at them. It IS a very compelling color.” Without realizing it, Brandon was following her nails as she began to teasingly wave them around in slow circles and figure 8’s. However, the woman did realize it, becoming more aware of just how powerful they were to this boy and she suggestively stated, “They seem to command your attention, little one. Perhaps it would be good if you just kept staring at them.”

The woman made the movements as gracefully and seductively as she could and continued in a sing-song voice, “Following them around in circles…up and down…side to side, must make you feel so tired and weak. Why don’t you kneel down there, continue to watch them, rest a little and tell me your name, sweetie.” The smell of her wet crotch was now even stronger as she became more excited by his obedience.

Brandon weakly fell to his knees with his eyes glued to her nails and now at her crotch level, the smell was dizzying. He continued obediently following her nails for a minute or so, took a deep breath of the pussy-saturated air and then slowly said, “Brandon”.

“Very good, Brandon. I am Arianna Black, but you will call me, Ms. Black, won’t you my sweet little pet?” Arianna instructed in a sexy whisper.

Not feeling completely comfortable with seducing this boy with simply her nails, she decided to incorporate her reliable sex-as-a-weapon technique in addition to his obvious nail fetish to further mesmerize and exploit him. Pointing to her inner thigh with her shiny purple nail, she directed Brandon in a slow, tempting voice, “Come here, Brandon.” He attempted to stand, but she immediately followed with, “No, no…..crawl over here, my pet and put that sweet little face right here.” She tapped her nail on her thigh planning to weaken him further by completely enveloping him with the powerful, but sweet aroma of her wet pussy.

Brandon, not even consciously acknowledging his submission, crawled the few remaining feet to Arianna’s leg and rested his cheek just below where her shiny nailed was pointing. She separated her legs a little more as he did, helping to air out the overpoweringly enticing essence of her now sopping pussy. He instinctively breathed deeply and she followed with, “Good boy. You are SO aroused right now, aren’t you?” Her question was more of a statement of fact to his overwhelmed mind and he responded by getting even harder below his pants. Brandon shifted a little to try and make room for his throbbing erection and again, she took notice.

“Come with me, Brandon, so we can get those tight jeans off of you. You look uncomfortable, honey.” Arianna stated with a hint of amusement in her voice.

She stepped towards a room near the back of the hallway, looked down at her helplessly lust-filled young man who was still on his knees, lifted her finger to crook it and beckoned him with her lacquered nail and her lilting voice, “Crawl this way Brandon, honey. Follow Ms. Black. I want to show why the boys call my house, ‘Sweet 16’.” Brandon fell forward onto his hands and resumed crawling towards the mesmerizing temptress at the end of the hall.

The caller ID on the cell phone in Brandon’s car flashed “Nunzio’s”, but as angry as Mr. Bandetto was on the other end about his delivery man’s hour-long absence and the Simpson’s missing dinner, it would not bring Brandon back from the seductive prison that Ms. Arianna Black was creating.