The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

9 AM

Oh shit, what is he doing? Cleaning? Really?

The silent-to-all-but-me alarms were ringing loud and clear, Marc had almost touched the book. But he had it sandwiched between a couple of others, and he’s put all the books from that shelf into a cardboard box and is carrying it upstairs.

By now I’m panicking. I can’t move or touch the book, I can’t tell anyone to do anything with it, I can only refer to it obliquely outside these notes, and now—is he going to put it in the garbage? Oh shit! If it’s destroyed, I go too. And just last night I put the final patch on the breech, my work is done and it is time for me to have some fun.

I look for a way to distract him. Shit! The others who live in the house were all asleep, at work or out shopping.

Sheila next door is in though. I sent her the idea of going and having coffee with Betty. She and Carl had a time of it in the kitchen last night, much to Rose’s disgust—though they were also like this before I arrived on the scene.

“Hey Marc, Betty in?”

“Out.”

“What’s that”

“Some old books. Thought I’d take them to Andy’s and see what I could get for them, need gas money, Will and me are going to pick something special up in the big city today.”

“Hey, can I come? We can take my car, my gas, and I’ll be in the back seat, know what I mean?”

“What’s the catch?”

“Shopping in the big city of course. No more than three stores, promise.”

“Sure. I’m sure Will would like that too. Hour per store, right?”

“Three hours top for all three, we may spend more time at the special shop, ok? I want to get back to town too.”

“I’ll go wake Will. Half an hour to go-time.”

“Sounds good.”

Sheila left thinking about making-out in the back seat while speeding down the highway, she’d not done that since a teen. “Goody”, she rushed home and redressed and threw a change of clothes in a small bag, you never know, and gets some large beach towels to lay across the back seat of her Zephyr station wagon, not the most expensive car on the lot, but a workhorse, and she had Carl’s Cadillac for when she wanted to make an impression. Plus some paper towels, a jug of water, and other assorted items.

Marc put the box of books on the desk in Sam’s room and wrote a note for Vicky who would be opening the shop by herself for the first time today and who was coming in earlier to type Sam and Annette’s handwritten notes while Andy did more illustrations modeled by Rose and Stella, Troy too for when a guy is wanted—damn this book is being written fast, from what Marc heard they were almost done. He volunteered to read it—and test it—which they accepted, but not ‘till the first draft is typed. The note told her to take the box to the store for now, and they’d look and see what was worthwhile later.

Whew, not in the trash yet. I should have known, the book has 900 lives, a hundred times that of a cat, if history be judged.

When Annette came in to the room an hour later, I gave her the idea to return all the books she’s “borrowed” from Andy, though she’d never thought of doing that before, or even intended to. She went upstairs and added them on top of Marc’s stack, ensuring that the box doesn’t find its way to the trash before is emptied. The book will stop looking like a beat up trash bestseller once the similar others are removed from its proximity, though it may chameleon into a cheap porn or Grove Press-looking cover on Andy’s shelf. And those Andy doesn’t throw out.

Vicky phoned the Bullman’s and let Marc know she’s called and reserved for pick up the Brazil bathing suits and some other items, and give him the address in the big city. Marc mentioned the box of books, so the first thing Andy did when Vicky and he arrive is carry it out to the trunk of his car. Vicky had about an hour before she has to leave to open up in the Mall, so sat down and started typing the pages on her desk. Not many, the last 30 pages handwritten, 50 or so when typed double spaced. Andy set up his brand new travel easel—a gift from Betty and Sam, while Annette prepared—that is help undress and make up—Rose and Stella. Almost all the makeup being applied below the waist. Scissors and trimming and some carefully applied hairspray, Annette can’t resist wetting her fingers and prying apart the girls to get a closer view, and rubbing them until their clits stand tall. Rose had longer lips, and the bright red of her hair continues down from her head. Too bad these illustrations will be in black and white. Stella is puffier, there is a pleasing roundness that now reveals her inner-self under Annette’s administrations.

“Ready,” she calls as she led the naked girls from her bedroom down the stairs. There are robes for them down in Sam’s room, but she “forgot” them. She takes Rose’s hand in hers, “Come along.” Instinctively Rose reaches back and takes Stella’s hand too. There’s something about parading the pair around nude like a mother duck that puts Annette in a good mood—“this is going to be fun”.

As they descend Troy walks in the front door, “Whoa, looking good.” Rose blushes to be seen to be led with Stella like a dog—or fresh concubines to a slave market—“a statuesque healthy slave girl, about to be poked and prodded and examined by a swarthy crude buyer,” she thinks, moistening.

Rose menatlly corrects herself, “Well, Andy isn’t that ugly, just hairy. Vicky seemed to find him hot.” Weird girl. Stella, on the other hand is thrilled—it was like being one of those Moulin Rouge dancers she knew from her sophomore art class that studied Toulouse-Lautrec in Paris, or the naked picnic in the park in that other painting. This was real fame, though she knows her face will not be seen, or if it is, it will be obscured. But she has other assets.

They pass Troy closely enough that he touches them as intimately as he can aiming at a moving target, with a good solid squeeze on Stella’s ass as she trails the trio.

“You’re late. Get ready,” Annette tells him.

Marc had a driver’s license but not much experience, so he gets first shift up front. Better than later when he’s tired.

As they pull out of the driveway, Will and Sheila were sitting in the back seat, Will had unfolded an Esso road map and circled the pick-up depot they are headed to. “Do you know where you want to go,” he asks her.

“Sure let me see.” He goes to hand her the map, but she snuggled in close to him and takes the pen out of his hand. She’s dressed in a long white summer gown that buttons down the front to just above the knee, with no bra her tits press loosely up to the second button down, with an inviting valley of flawless skin. “Here, here and here,” she circles the stores, and the places the pen in the clean backseat ashtray and reaches around Will, who pulled closer.

As Sheila turned to nibble on Will’s ear, Marc hit a pothole on the way up the freeway on-ramp.

“Sorry.”

“Take it easy. I guess we better be careful with the teeth back here. You OK driving?”

“Sure. We switch at Rest Stop 69.”

“Seems appropriate.”

Will unbuttoned the next two of Sheila top buttons and reached in to caress her boobs while she runs her extra sensitive tongue across the special sweet-tasting skin of his face.

Not long after Will’s pants are on the floor and dick up her pussy as they bump along the road, her facing front and leaning back to take as much of his ear in between her lips, one hand reaching around his head to steady herself, the other down under his balls, holding them close inside her.

Cruising along, Marc thinks, “Hell, Sheila’s gonna fuck us all the way there and back! When’s it my turn? 30 more miles!” and floors the gas. Just then a trucker honks at them and the inexperienced driver swerves. He recovers, but Will looks up.

“Hey, slow down!”

“Speak for yourself.”

Just then another truck zooms past and honks too after pausing for a look in the window of the Mercury station wagon.

“Shit, you two cover up, you’re on the CB.”

Will pleaded, “Not yet!”

Sheila had a bit more sense, but not much. She climbed off him and told him to do up his shirt. Then she crawled on the floor and covered herself and Will’s lap with one of the large beach towels, her head resting underneath on his lap, while curving her long prehensile tongue into a canyon to slide his shaft up and down, holding it at the base to keep it still and tight enough to prevent release. The next two trucks slide by with a peek, but no horn, and zoom ahead, disappointed at no show.

She releases her hand and he spurted his yummy seed into her mouth, and she swallowed it all down, then sat back up and redressed just as they pulled into the rest stop. One early, but Marc has had enough, and they stop in the biffy huts to clean, refresh and catch their breath. “I love the extra bumps,” Sheila said.

When they return to the car, Will takes the driver seat.

Marc asked, “Can we cover the window or something?”

“Better,” Sheila undid the seat pins and lowers the flap over the back seat. The flat—enough area at the back is then spread with a king size sleeping bag on a foam pad, pillows and a sheet liner are added. “Zip this up, and voila, nothing to see.” Marc striped down to his boxers in the empty parking lot and climbed in, then places the shorts on the unzippered side with his clothes. Sheila steped out of her shoes and climbs in fully buttoned up. “Undress me,” she demanded. Marc slowly unbuttoned the nubile but seemingly insatiable mother of Rose, the girl he always wants to fuck, but she’s been the girlfriend of his best friend as long as he can remember, so nothing until recently—second-best ain’t half bad, and truth be told, more enthusiastic in the sack.

Sheila dived down so they are head to feet, and Marc felt himself pass her lips as she took him in. “The city Jeeves,” he calls before opening her legs to do his own wet-work on her muff. “Watch teeth on the bumps.” In response she opened his legs wide to get her through to stick her foot-long tongue right up his bum. “Wahoo, and tally-ho” he cried, as they started off down the highway.

“Mo’ eatin’. Lss taalk,” she said, as best she can as they speed up.

Why was Sheila so intent on as much sex as she could get today? Some may speculate that the quickies with Troy weren’t enough variety. Some may say that Carl just wasn’t big enough, but the truth is she saw a new wrinkle in the mirror that morning and saw a chance to make a big deposit in the Manna bank by fucking these young studs brains out all day. She’s not trapped in the car with them, they are trapped with her, a she-cat in full stinky heat.

She’s about ten minutes late when Vicky opened up Andy’s shop. No one is waiting and by the time she’s got all the things set the mall is starting to come to life. This is the first time she’s done this by herself, Andy’s still working on the sketches and will be along later.

She has the pages she typed this morning to review, but doesn’t want to be distracted if a customer comes in, so starts to sort the books from the box on a low table behind the counter, hiding the titles from a casual view. Just as well, most are of the sort that sell, but are best behind the shelf.

All kinds of porn are here, mostly things that are darker and have topics that could lead to trouble if a “delicate youth” or “uptight prude” were to see—incest, bestiality, homosexuality of both genders, hypnotism, kidnap, rape, mild pedophilia, all the pervert flavors. Vicky isn’t quite sure how to take the stronger and more violent items. But it’s just a book, isn’t it.

She sorts them by publishers, and places the ones that match items already in the small under the counter space with their other editions.

The book titles include He Schtups to Bonk Her, Whips and Whippets, Paws-she thinks the shark movie parody cover quite clever, Under Her Best Friend’s Mom’s Volcano, She-Man and the Masturbators of the Uniforms, All in the Family Way, Souled Sister, After School Special Treatment, Dark Side of the Room, Under the Evil Spell, Sunny’s Eye’s Talk, The Amputee and the Acrobat, Cannibal Circus, Star Jaws, A Priest, a Rabbi and a Minister Walk in to a Brothel, Allboystown Confidential, Suburban Stewardesses and a few others.

She recognized one of the publishers as where Annette sent The Cruel Countess and the Helpless Maid, and sets the books from them aside. She’s sure that they want to keep these for the information in it on the copyright and such to compare if they pick Annette’s book for publication.

When she gets down to the older books from the basement, she lays them out side by side. I’m there, invisible, watching closely what she does, trembling a little. She writes a note that says, “10 Cents” and starts placing them back in the box. Shit damn bugger drat and oh fuck!

But she paused when she sees the book. It’s no longer so ragged, and had a familiar look.

Two hours later Aram contemplated his future in the food court in the same mall, nursing a coffee.

He’d drawn up a pair of lists on a single page, a line drawn between them with “Pro” and “Con” near the top. Above that is “Gail.”

Since Wednesday, he’d been thinking about what was said, and just isn’t sure. The “Pro” list is longer but the “Con” list can’t be ignored.

Vicky passed Aram, Andy’s done and had come to take over the store. She waved hello as she picked up some sandwiches and he waved back.

After Andy and Vicky eat, she headed back to talk to Aram. He’s still there with his list, and seems glum.

“Whacha doing?” she asks.

“Figuring things out. You were right, that was a proposal. Gail was serious.”

“Can I see what you’re writing?”

“I guess, sure.”

Top of the list on both sides is She’s doing it for me. Vicky nods as she’s reading this.

“So you are worried that she is giving something up for you?” He nods. “And it’ll turn bad?”

“Not so much, just that there is no real reason, other than the Feds. And we like each other, we like going out together a whole lot. I’m a bit of her boy-toy, and I think she likes the jealous stares she gets. And to get married would shock the whole crowd of her rather put up ‘friends’. And if it goes bad, well there’s divorce. No one would be hurt too much. I’d still fuck her. She’s always willing.”

“Parents,” she reads in both columns as well, with sub lists.

“Dad would approve, rich American divorced lady, gateway to more permanent residency, which is the goal of my schooling after all. In fact he’d be impressed and actually notice me. Mom would be disappointed that she doesn’t have another traditional daughter-in-law to boss around, but she’s got two of those already. I’m the third son, my older brothers have that covered, and I have a younger sister who is the family baby, though she’s almost 15. It’s a pain sometimes to be a middle son, I’m usually ignored, but it also means I get to do what I want.”

“Money,” is next.

“Not a real problem unless we break up. I’m happy enough for now to let her run the household, I can’t earn as long as I’m on a student visa, so it comes down to what she wants to do. I can contribute some, but obviously not as much. It’s OK as long as we stay together, but I don’t know if my folks would continue to pay for school if we split up. And I want at least a Master’s degree. I don’t think Gail cares that much as long as there is enough pesatas for Stella to go to wherever she wants to.”

“Sex,” she reads next under the “Pro” column, with one word, GREAT, though on the other side is Stella? She looks up at him.

“Yeah, that’s a toughie. I really like Stella too and don’t want to stop bumping her astonishing ass. I don’t know if you understand, it’s not like her pussy, or any other ass I’ve ever had, it’s something else, I guess the Egg made it so. But does this make me her step-father, and thus unable to get in because of the rules? Even so, will this make Gail or her jealous?”

“Gee, that’s tough, but I don’t think so, she has a real dad who she has a real relationship. And jealousy seems to be something we don’t do anymore. I’m pretty sure Andy was up her bottom earlier today, and it doesn’t bug me, and I was the queen of jealousy, remember.”

“Yeah, I guess we are all pretty open to having our lovers free to do what and who they want.”

The next item is “Love?”

“We like each other and have a good time, but is it love? Can we feel it anymore?”

“Look at Betty and Sam. After all this, and even with all the outside the marriage sex, they seem closer than ever. Or look at Carl and Sheila, she’s such a slut, and he—well, he’s odd. They fell out of the puppy-love stage a long time ago, but have found a way to live together. Is it Love with a capital “L”? I don’t know, but it seems to work for them. Or even me and Andy, we’re still working it out. Don’t tell anyone, but he has family issues, you know.”

Aram nods.

The last item is “Children.”

“I’ve been wondering about this too. How can we raise ‘normal’ kids when we are humping each other day and night? Will we slow down? How much manna do we really need? I just don’t know. Maybe we should ask the Egg.”

They talked a while longer, comfortable as friends and occasional lovers, no great emotional drama, and both go away with a better, calmer sense of the future.

Vicky wanted some advice about her find, and Sam may be the person to give it. He was laid off as a middle manager last year at a factory that made milk cartons, the milk-in-a-bag concept reduced demand, and he has since taken over running the day shift at a warehouse not far from the mall. When Vicky gets there it’s almost empty, the local stores restock at night and then the place is hopping with trucks and loaders, the day shift is mostly dead time for inventory and book-keeping. Sam’s familiar car is in the mostly empty lot, and surprisingly so is Gail’s.

A receptionist waved her past when she asked for Sam, telling her that he’s in his office, which is through a double door and at the top of some stairs where he can see over the whole open floor, and she heads for it.

When she gets to the top landing though, the shades are drawn, and she pauses while thinking if she should knock or not. It’s the sounds coming out of the office that stall her, the grunting and moaning of a couple in full rut, and sure enough, peeping under the shade, she sees Gail bent forward over the desk while Sam plows into her from behind. The sweat is coming off his brow, and her cheeks are full flush. She screamed, “Fuck yes, faster! Harder!,” as he picked up speed.

Vicky reached under her dress and started to touch herself, while trying to decide if she’ll interrupt and possibly join them, or sneak off without being seen. It’s a tough choice, Sam has always been the one that has kept the “fun and games” at a strictly “the Egg is making me do it” level, claiming to be following orders and nothing more, but this is definitely more.

“The hypocrite,” she thinks of Sam, “it’s like having an affair when he could be fucking her openly at any time, this sneaking around.” But on a little further thought she concluded that this is what made it fun. And so Vicky snickered.

Then the sounds of laughter come from inside, Gail’s giggle and Sam’s full throated laugh as though they had read her mood.

Not quite sure why she’s doing it, she reached in her purse and griped the book. And her vision changes, though not totally... It’s not quite a double vision, but more like having a second set of eyes that see a different world, and that world is Sam and Gail, with a number of old fashioned gauges, rounded needles that resemble old thermostats, switches and dials around the perimeter. It’s my control booth, set up based on a steam plant I saw back in my last incarnation in what is now called the Victorian era. Full of shiny brass and polished glass. My special place for messing with the gang. “Please don’t change anything,” I think, but while she grips the book I have no power over her.

Startled, she dropped the book and her vision returned to normal. It fell down the stairs, and she went to retrieve it. She carefully picked it up. Nothing happens. She shifted herself under the metal open-steps and thinks on the scene above and the image returned to her, the two are sharing a post-coital cigarette, though normally neither smokes.

Vicky looked around the secondary image, in no way does it block her perception of the real world, and the viewpoint is approximately from her own standing height. A list of the group’s names appear on the right, all with a background in the range between orange and purple. Marc, Sheila and Will are all deep purple, while Betty and Annette are pure orange, Carl is about halfway in-between, and the others somewhere in that range. She concentrates on Marc’s name and the secondary view shifts, a cheap hotel’s shower—in the background two paper wrapped glasses sit by the mirror, with the three road-trippers scrubbing each other off, Will has mounted Sheila from behind while Marc holds her steady. When she asks herself “What are they doing,” a quite answer tells her that they are cleaning up their road filth before hitting the stores. An indicator shows that the manna they are generating is flowing into a larger pool, and a thin rod in a gage vibrates in time to Will’s thrusts, peaking into a red zone as Sheila and he share an orgasm.

“Cool,” she thinks, then looks in on Andy, who’s reading a Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers comic book in his store. The same gages and indicators appear, but with different values. “Think about giving Vicky a loving foot massage when she gets home from work,” she sent at him. Immediately the indicator for arousal jumps three notches.

She switched back to Gail and Sam and sent a command to Sam to rub Gail’s feet. For Vicky, who’s been waiting tables for years a post-work foot massage is one of her favorite turn-ons. But looking at Sam, who’s slipped Gail’s shoe off, there is no change, and Gail says, “That feels good, but I have to get going.” Sam, unsure of why he did this, drops her tootsies and kisses her cheek, “That was terrific, come again anytime”.

Vicky slipped the book back in her purse and scooted out before the office door opens, and headed home to get ready for her weekly shift as a hostess at the “Red Lantern” restaurant.

She doesn’t think Sam would give good advice about the book at this time. “Maybe I need to talk to the Egg, let’s hope it’s not angry. But later, after work,” she thinks.

Before her pre-work shower Vicky lay in bed and started reading these notes of mine in the book, the ones you are reading now, and she starts to understand. Then she looked in on Carl, who’s sitting in his office, a stack of videocassettes in front of him, pants to the floor and semi-stiff dick in hand. He’s popping each cassette into a VCR and forwarding it to ten minutes are so, then watching and stroking himself. After about 30 seconds he either ejects the cassette or forwards another ten minutes, then repeats. The rejects are piled on the left, a smaller pile of tapes are on the right.

“It’ll never catch on. It’ll make a bundle. It’ll never catch on. It’ll make a bundle,” he chantd to himself.

“A new business venture?” Vicky wonders. She tries to move her “second site” perspective to see the tapes names—as suspected, porn movies from the past, the classics, Debbie Does Dallas and more recent ones like Pretty Peaches.

She asks, “What is Carl thinking?” but all she gets back is some deep admiration for Desiree Cousteau’s hooters. She tries backing off to a more general question, and sees that he’s thinking about setting up a video rental business. VCR’s are still pretty rare, and the few businesses that rent movies also rent the machines. And Carl has a good line on getting cheap machines, but isn’t sure about the movies, in particular the people supplying them. And if “Wild Carl’s” should be associated with them.

Vicky starts to think about Andy’s porn book connections. “I bet they sell tapes too.” Maybe a new business could work with Carl providing the hardware, Andy getting the movies, and Vicky running it. It has possibilities.

But!... Well, she knows that with the book in hand she could force it to happen, would that be the best, would it mean success? She’s starting to learn that it’s one thing to push action, but when you let something bounce against the boundaries and find the road-blocks, that the result is tougher and more resilient having met the barriers first hand. Sort of like the way that the manna is generated. She could have pushed Sam and Gail on the foot massage, but they weren’t particularly turned on by it, whereas Andy lit up at the thought.

She’d have to think about it more. “I bet I can suggest to Andy to learn pedicure and get him to do psychedelic patterns on my nails. And the way to do it using the book is to link-in with his natural turn-ons, not to just tell him to do it. That makes it cleaner. It’s like convincing someone that what you want them to do is their idea. And have a good time while at it.”

Her big insight comes next, “That’s what the Egg has been doing to us.”

Her shift at the restaurant passed uneventfully. She’s been carrying the book around with her, afraid to let it get too far away. Leaving it in her purse in the employee’s change room isn’t the best, she’s going to have to learn to keep it safe.

I’m no longer so worried. I think the book has found itself a new guardian. I hope she calls me to talk about it soon, I have so much to tell her. But it’s up to her to make the call.

On coming home, she finds Andy snoring away in bed. The drawings from earlier today are spread across the kitchen table, and they are excellent. The first draft of Sam and Annette’s book is typed and in a file folder beside it, ready to go tomorrow to a print store to make copies for the folks who volunteered to read it before it’s sent off. “What will the printers think when they see the drawings?”, she wondered. “Maybe the Egg can help with that. I need to talk to it tomorrow. First thing.”

“Whew!” I think. Just what I hoped for. If I had sweat glands, I’d be a puddle of yolk by now.

And later when she closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep, she realizes that she hadn’t had any sex at all, all day.

About 3 AM Andy is up for his usual early morning whiz, and on returning to bed sees Vicky’s feet poking out of the end of the blankets. Gently he touches them and slowly starts rubbing, at first with a light touch and then with a firmer touch. Vicky moans and opens her eyes a crack, the dream she was having had flowed into the massage, “Keep going,” she murmured. Andy gripped her right foot in both hands and while stroking bent over to kiss her toes one by one, then popped the first two into his mouth for a strong suck. “Ahhh!” She cried, now fully awake and feeling like an “On” switch had been thrown in her pussy. “Now do the other one.”

Andy switches feet and she throws off the covers. Spread wide on the bed in a nightie that pushed above her tits after she undid it’s belt, when Andy sucks her left big toe she squirts a little from her gash. “Put it it! I need your cock!”

Afterwards as they snuggle spooned together, Vicky whispered, “God you turned me on. I want you to suck my toes all the time. Well a lot. Promise?”

All she hears is a snore. But then she remembered the book, and still slightly wondering if she caused Andy’s foot worship with her earlier request. Interesting. But was it real? She’d come to believe many unbelievable things recently.