The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A PERFECT BACK YARD EVENING

Sam looked out, and satisfied that no one else was around reached under his shorts and adjusted his manhood to lay comfortably without pinching anywhere as he shifted his weight, settling into the hammock in his back yard. “All alone,” he thought contentedly, and while there was a paved path between Wild Carl’s place and his family’s, the outside world was over a six foot high fence, and the women were all hooked on the boob tube, not looking out the kitchen window.

It was one of those perfect early summer evenings, the sun setting late, with enough of a cool breeze to keep the bugs away and freshen the air. It was the end of the TV season and there was a hen party inside watching the final episodes of a number of those super-rich and to Sam’s mind dumbass family dramas, but that meant he had some peace and quiet to read the paper, have a beer, and maybe nap a bit in the falling sun and cooling breeze.

He popped open a can of Pabst, took a sip and put it on the side table next to the evening paper. He took another slow look around, reached under the waist of his knee-length shorts and gave himself a good scratch at the base of his balls. “Ahhhh”. Life was good. Sam took another sip and started reflecting on the events of yesterday and today.

He still didn’t believe any of my explanations, but he was finding that it really didn’t matter, as long as I kept my word—that meant a lot more to him than following illogical reasoning—he’d been in the Navy almost 10 years and was used to that—before taking an Honorable Discharge to look after his ailing father, marry Betty and settle down. So he was ultimately comfortable following orders and accepted being somewhere between top dog and lowly swabbie. I was top dog, but seeing that I’m a floating ovoid with no face or genitals, he still regarded himself as alpha male. Carl was richer, but Sam had the cojones and knew it.

Still he was very aware that none of them were acting like they would normally have, and it bothered and confused him. They were red blooded Americans, who he felt didn’t act all sexed up like this. Except maybe in California with the swapping. Or Utah with all the wives. He couldn’t figure out how to push back, there didn’t seem to be anything to push against. It’d be wrong, he felt, to take it out on the women or the kids, who were as trapped in this situation as himself, and as long as the egg thing—his name for me—didn’t make him to do Annette or ask Will to poke his mother or any of the other acts that he knew to his core were deeply wrong, that was the line he’d firmly drawn in his mind, well that and deliberately hurting someone, he had no truck with that either, then he was going to get with the plan—yet he suspected that Carl probably would happily boff Rose, come to think of it, if asked, though he was sure Rose wouldn’t do it without some of that magic persuasion, and Sheila, despite her kinkiness would also object. In fact, trying to overcome that taboo wouldn’t be worth it to me—too high a cost in manna for too little return. And it proves to Sam that I keep my word. Still, if they came to break it without my direct action, I’d probably let it run its course. Sam, like most of the guys had a fantasy about doing Gail and Stella together, it seemed somewhat different for females he thought, but out of fairness included that in his core resistance to my plans, and so I bent like a willow in the wind, not snapped like an elm branch.

Sam had decided that it’d be OK if they kept what they were doing quiet, among themselves, and he was happily looking forward to following through with Betty’s command with regards to the ladies from this morning.

If not a big fan of my explanation that a program of regular vigorous sex with multiple partners was the way to generate the manna needed to fix the damage Rose and Stella had done to the fabric of space and time, he had decided not to fight it either. Out of habit he timed his morning calisthenics and expecting to pay for last night’s energetic four-way with Betty, Rose and that foreign kid, Aram, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself finished in a better than average pace, and not feeling sore at all.

Yes, he was now willing to see where it was all leading and if the fantastic promises made were going to be kept. Particularly if it meant that he’d be allowed, no encouraged to frequently go muff diving on a half dozen beautiful women, not least of which was his wife Betty, who was egging him on, and not the egg-thing giving him orders. He thought that was pretty darn good.

And he was sure that his book, even if it only ever was read by Will and his friends would improve their lives with his sage advice on pussy kissing. Who knows, maybe start a fad like the yo-yo or hula hoop.

And he could live with his kids ‘fishing in the same pool’—they were both of age, neither virgins; Annette had been openly promiscuous for years—Sam knew she was on the pill—she kept them in the bathroom medicine chest, and he also knew they were being taken—he’d checked by counting since they first appeared. And Will had been fooling around with Rose for about a year—they tried to hide it but couldn’t, and they’d been friends, sometimes playing doctor since the Bullman’s moved next door to her 15 years ago when Sam got his manager promotion and they could afford a bigger house.

Rose. Sam reached down and scratched himself again and thought about Rose. He’d eaten her out and fucked her and even went up her ass twice during three separate bouts of fucking over the last week. She wasn’t that little girl next door—really never little, up to recently always taller than Will. And she developed early, with a deep husky voice to go with her growing tits.

Her tits... Sam started really noticing them about the same time he became aware that Will and her were knocking boots. They were big and firm by then; he’d just not paid that much attention. Now he did. Not that she was immodest, anything but. However those shirt puppies were somewhere between being Greyhounds and Saint Bernards, not easily hid and with an exuberant bouncy life of their own. And now he knew them well. They were firm and full, nipples pointing slightly upwards, milky white with a spray of freckles across the top, and he liked how when he gently cupped them from behind with his thumb and index fingers rolling her nips there was a gentle throbbing in time with her heart which sped up when caressed, and if you timed it right, a firm squeeze and she’d buck back in orgasm from being felt up, even leaking a little milk, just enough to wet her nipples. Though it was even better if your dick was in her at the same time, Sam remembered.

A door slammed and Sam opened his eyes and removed his hand off his dick, picked up the can and had another swig of beer. Speak of the devil.

“Rose, come here for a second.”

Sam had given some thought earlier today on how he should talk to the six ladies he was expected to service. If that’s the way he wants to see it, well it works for me too.

Sam was old fashioned, yet it didn’t seem right to send Rose flowers after last night as he would have any other lover. Gail might like that, he thought, once he’d boffed her again. But it’d be creepy to even send the nineteen year-old Rose a Hallmark “Thanks for the fuck” card. But something... something... he had to do to show Rose it was all OK with him doing her, there was nothing wrong with her, that she was pretty and appreciated and that he liked her, not just as a sexy girl, but as a person. Sam was a good manager, sure strict, but always fair and compassionate to anyone with a real problem. And it was obvious from the start that Rose was, possibly after him, the person most concerned about the changes that had been stamped on them. Not that she couldn’t let herself go and fuck up a storm, red hair flying and tits leaking from when someone used the “Milky Rose” command on her to order up even more of what the group has been calling “Betty’s Tonic” so that the libido’s recover for the next round of sticky fun. In any case Sam felt that he could no longer just regard her as little Rose from next door or Will’s girlfriend. But how? The solution had just come to him and he called her again, “In the back.”

“Hiya Mr. B. Whatcha want?”

“Lean in, I want to tell you a secret.”

Her long straight red hair dangled across the side of her face. Bending down she gave Sam a spectacular view into her half-open men’s button-down shirt, which was loosely tied at the bottom showing her flat belly and slim waist—Sam recognized the shirt as Will’s. No bra. Big round nipple.

He pushed aside her hair and whispered into her ear, “Thank You”, and then kissed her cheek.

She was blushing something fierce as she stood back up, flummoxed but pleased, unable to find words.

“Rose, hey Rose, where are you?” Stella stepped out of the Bullman’s back door and went to the two, and noticing Rose’s red face blurted, “Holy Shit! You asked him, didn’t you”.

Sam couldn’t help himself, “Language young lady.” Stella returned a skeptical look. Rose may act mature, but Stella was still very much a teenage drama queen—probably would be at sixty too. Sam found her pout cute, it suited her round face and dimpled cheeks—she was vain, complained a lot, but damn she was hot, compact and curvy, curly dark black hair, and just a touch too much blue eye shadow and crimson lipstick, giving a slutty cast to her features. “She’ll learn how to tone it down,” Sam thought, “or not”.

Rose turned on the girl, “No I didn’t. None of your beeswax what we were saying. Now I’m not going to do it, you have to.”

“You promised”

“I did not.”

“Ladies! What’s this about?” Sam nodded at Rose.

She passes the buck with a giggle, “She has something to ask you.” And she nudges Stella with her elbow. “Go on. He doesn’t bite, much. Except in a really good way.” She snorts a laugh in Stella’s direction and grins, cocking her hip.

“Well, er, um, I’ve been hearing how great you, er, eat out. You know. Cuntalingis.”

“Cunnilingus. Sorry to interrupt.”

“Yeah, beaver pie, rug munching, the soul kiss... and I want some too. Please Mr. Bullman, go down on me. Like tonight.”

Stella is wearing a short mid-thigh skirt, which she coyly lifts at the front showing her tight plain white panties which have camel-toed around her cunt lips. “Please,” she asks with a semi-curtsy, moving close enough to Sam in the hammock that he recognizes the sweet odor of horny girl.

She turns and bends over, as she does flipping up the back of the skirt to show her magnificent bottom. “You can do my ass afterwards. I promise.” She wiggles it.

“What here?” Sam asks.

“No, up in my bedroom,” Rose says. “Everyone’s out until the store closes and the soaps are over. And I want a licking too.” She holds up a small key hanging on a chain around her neck. “My mum gave me her toy drawer. For now. Stella and me are heading over there to totally lez out on them.”

“For practice,” Stella adds.

“For practice. How can you turn down an invitation to suck off not one but two almost ex-cheerleaders in one of their bedrooms? I really want to show you my posters. I have a black light.”

“C’mon Mr. B. I gotta see if you are as good as Rose says.”

To say anything but an enthusiastic “yes” to Sam would seem to be churlish, and possibly a blow to the girls self-esteem. And Rose had reached down and started squeezing his dick through his shorts; it was stiff as an iron rod.

Sam pushed her hand away, stood up and then got a sly look in his eye, “This doesn’t have anything to do with my promise to go down on your moms later does it? I’m to be lapping both of them up at 10 after those silly shows are all over.”

Stella said, “It’s sorta their idea. Rose made a joke and I laughed and they got mad and sent us away.”

“I said they should call it ‘Fuckinquest’. That’s pretty funny, right?”

“So Sheila reaches in her pocket and tosses that key to Rose and says to her, ‘Go. Take this and get out of here’ and Rose goes, ‘Fine’ and my mom looks at me and says, ‘You too’ even though all I did was laugh. So we’re leaving together and Annette calls at us, ‘Go lez out.’ And we look at each other and look at the key and think ‘why not?’ and then we think ‘you know what would make it better? To find some guy and have him watch us lez out. Make suggestions. Put some pork in the sausage.’ But you know our guys seem to have some project going on tonight, big secret.”

Since Rose and Stella were at ground zero during the accident they are still both super-suggestible. OK, and so also I pushed hard against any sense of resistance to the idea of “lezzing out” their brains generated after Annette’s suggestion. It seemed to them exactly like the thing to go do. Normally they would have resisted anything Annette ordered them to do. Not today. Looking for a guy was their own idea, though they weren’t going to let that delay them much. Sam was a male of opportunity, in the right place for a tight time.

The “secret from Sam” project was the setup of an extra-dimensional room that adds endless space to the Bullman’s house, like the world’s biggest and ever expanding storage locker, miraculously sited in a pocket universe located up Stella’s butt, with a second hidden more human sized trans-dimensional portal in the Bullman’s main floor hall between the living room and kitchen. One of my proudest accomplishments was figuring out how to do it—still gives me a giggle. It was going to be shown completed to a useable stage to Sam on Saturday as a gift, but it was still in rough shape and the guys were going to knuckle down to it tonight, and then go looking for some pussy. They made their plans as Will and Andy took care of arranging the larger furniture, second hand but solid. Carpets had been laid to stop the vertigo that came with walking on the infinite-seeming whiteness that opened indefinably in every direction plus up and down. Marc was wiring a few outlets—he’d done some roadie work and had the tools. Troy was fetching boxes and bringing them in for Vicky to unpack and put in order. Aram had a set of instructions spread out, along with all the parts required to assemble the complicated looking bench in the cardboard box at his side. The English language step by step was badly translated; fortunately they were also in a language that he could read, which was more clearly written.

All were in the zone, working away while happily daydreaming of future sex, imminent future sex. Will thinks, “Closest bunch of women will be mom, Sheila and Gail, and maybe Annette too watching TV in the living room. With dad probably eating Gail first, right after 10. I bet if I stay quiet I can slip in and watch. And maybe get some sloppy seconds.” He checked the grandfather clock he’d brought down from the attic, “Still two hours to go.” Troy knew his three favorite moms would all be there spread wide and in the mood, and he intended to tear off a piece of at least two of them, any two, and Marc was weighing the idea of openly fucking Betty in front of her husband to see what happened. It should be all right, and if it was it’d make it easier to fuck her whenever they felt like it—for some reason she was slightly embarrassed when Sam knew she was doing someone else, though she had no trouble with Sam spreading himself thin. So he plans to start by feeling Betty up once Sam is engaged with Gail. And if that went well, maybe he’d fuck Annette too, doing mother and daughter one after the other. Andy and Vicky were going to slip off together when the set up was done—there was still some getting to know each other going on and neither had eyes for others today. Aram wanted to fuck Gail too, well who didn’t? But any of the ladies would do, he could probably talk Miz Sheila to dance on his dick even if Miz Gail was taken. Miz Annette was a bit bossy for his tastes, but he could shut her up by filling her mouth with something masculine and hard. With happy thoughts of the future the moving of furniture, laying of carpet and wiring of the phone and electrical extensions flew by. And none had a single thought about Rose and Stella. I did that part. Blocked them thinking about their regular girlfriends that is.

Carl installed a new high-end TV/Stereo system every year, and every few years gave the replaced units to the Bullmans for Christmas. They in turn bought him a really expensive bottle of Scotch every year. As usual the Bullman’s was the place that everyone gathered, the TV had a good picture and it seemed more hospitable than Carl and Sheila’s place, with Betty providing the snacks and Gail the liquor. Sheila hadn’t brought anything—actually she just wandered in and joined the TV viewers. Betty and her watched the night time soaps together most weeks, so it wasn’t unexpected. Gail was a special invitee. That morning Betty had suggested to Sam that he had to go to each of the women Eggy—she called me Eggy, that was the first time anyone had named me that and not called me the egg-thing or some other hideous term, it was silly, so naturally it stuck. Not that I mind, I want them to think of me as friendly as I nudge them this way and that. For example, as well as suppressing his reluctance to engage in behavior outside the social norm, I’d fixed Sam, short-term, to be incurious about this “secret project”, so he didn’t raise an eyebrow when Stella mentioned it and would be completely surprised when he first sees it.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Betty went to Sam and told him that he had to go to each of the women, Annette excluded of course, and ask respectfully to give them head. Not to leave anyone out. No hurt feelings. And do it soon. No embarrassing waiting for the women. So she was inviting Gail over that night to watch the stories on TV and then have her pussy sucked. By Sam. He didn’t have to watch the shows, just be there and eager when they ended at 10. And Sheila probably would join in as well.

In the Bullman’s backyard Rose felt her heartbeat race. Her nipples stiffen. Moistening in anticipation. She loved the way Sam’s tongue moved on her snatch, and it looked like it would happen two days in a row... She didn’t think the feeling was addictive, but it sure hadn’t worn out its welcome.

Sam had a sly look when he asked, “So you aren’t trying to wear me out before I get my mouth on your ma’s clit?”

“Hell no,” Rose replied.

“Yeah, I want you to suck mom. Fuck her too. She’s super wound-up and it’d mellow her. I just want you to do me first,” Stella added. “Don’t worry, we’ve got an endless supply of the tonic,” and she reaches around Rose and hefts one of her magic tits, popping it out of her shirt, which has shaped itself to near translucent liquidity around her chest, a stiff nipple promising excitement.

Sam wet his index finger and ran it around the quivering nipple. He was eager to try something weird he thought of daydreaming at work, using Rose’s dugs magic liquid-stealing properties, something he regarded as both patriotic and funny. Good thing he had an alarm on his digital watch, he set it to give himself half an hour recovery and pulled the two young women close, as he now reminded himself to think of them, not as girls. Betty, Gail and Sheila could be girls, the younger set should be regarded as women. The world was topsy-turvy.

So off they went. Sam with one girl, er young lady, tucked under each arm, his hands on their hips holding them close. One tall and muscular, the other petite and fleshy. Both real beauties in his eyes. “What a Mutt and Jeff pair, or maybe Muttilda and Jeffrine,” Sam thought, squeezing them tight against himself. They made an appreciative sound and then he asked them, “So this lez out thing... what are you going to do first?”

An all too short time later Sam’s alarm went off, and he sped up, reached down front between Stella’s labia and the tongue that was also penetrating her, putting two of his fingers deep into her snatch and saying “cilantro,” which gave him yet another spurt as the orgasming tootsie shouted “Fuuuck!” and came all over her best friend’s face. He’d used the “Ripple” trigger word earlier, and he was limited to one of each a day.

Sam pulled himself out of Stella’s bum and swaggered down the hall to use Rose’s guest shower to clean up for the next bevy of cunt-suck eager women. The two had hardly noticed him leave, earlier they’d paid attention to his oral techniques and were still 69ing—“practicing” and in general lezzing out with fevered enthusiasm.

As he was leaving Sam remembered his idea, and grabbed a pitcher from the kitchen cabinet. It was usually used for orange juice, but it was clean and glass, not plastic, and headed back upstairs.

Spread out on the bed are the contents of Sheila’s toy drawer. Stella and Rose are going through it item by item and giggling, particularly when they come across a small white insertable vibrator, which Stella holds aloft and says, “Egg Power”. So I change it in her hand, mimicking my purple and orange pattern on the outside, and souping it up so it self-lubricates on use, now it reshapes itself while inserted to seek the best nerves to pleasure, and tuning itself to the perfect throbbing pattern. “Whoa!” she goes and places it on and then in Rose’s fleshy purse, Rose’s eyes shoot open wide and she started breathing hard while Stella pushes it further in. When Rose cums, the mini-me pops out of her and skids across the bed. “We gotta go copy that key before you give it back,” says Stella. Rose nods breathlessly.

Sam clapped his hands to grab the girls’ attention, and said to Rose, “Milky Rose Fidel Castro’s special rum from his home, the one he keeps for his most important visitors”. He then put the pitcher under her left breast and started to milk the clear tan fluid with firm but careful squeezes, while Stella pulled her other tit and began sucking on the nipple. Rose flushed and moaned. “Ssssst. Ssssst,” the pitcher filled.

“Mmmm good,” Stella murmured.

Sam was finishing up, “That’s enough booze, young lady” and opened his zipper and placed his dick on Rose’s lip, she took him in, and soon he was blasting again, turning off her magic spigot with his pecker snot. He felt proud and patriotic, striking an admittedly small blow for America. Thinking this up, he had imagined the look on Castro’s face on finding his special bottle empty. The women couldn’t quite figure out why Sam was laughing as he came all over Rose and then Stella’s faces, but it was nice to see him so happy as he watched them clean each other off. He thought they were actually doing the whole “lez out” thing pretty well and told them so.

I thought so too. So I left Annette’s off-hand change in place, for now if someone tells them both at the same time to “Go lez out” they would. But not needing to use those same words, just a third party expressing the sentiment is enough. Not rush deep into each other’s charms, but mutually work to achieving lezzing out, arranging their lives to find the place and time. And maybe ask an eligible male to watch them and then probably join in. Then I wondered if any of the other folks will figure this out, or if it’ll only be triggered by accident.

Later I found that Annette had grocked it, and had kept it secret until Christmas, when she told it as a “Sorry for being such a cunt” present to her brother. “And the funny thing is they don’t believe anything happened because you suggested it, they barely remember the suggestion, just as a bit of passing banter. If they can get it on right away they get wet. Stinky wet. One will blow a pussy fart that surrounds her in a thick orange and purple fog of womanly desire. The other will smell it and they will lock eyes. After a good long French kiss they’ll work out where to go to get comfortable and what guy to invite along. And then they’ll do it. Go lez out. Every time the same eau-de-cunt fart, stare and suck face. Must be an Eggy thing.” She giggled, “And as I said they don’t believe that anyone told them to do it. Afterwards they know they did it, but the why is a little fuzzy. And loud.” At this point in telling Will she puts her mouth over her forearm and wetly blows loud and slowly, “Pffffwhhhhht”, which she follows with a light “Hahaha” echoing her mother’s distinctive laugh without realizing she had done it. Annette’s vocabulary had improved as she read widely now, often with a finger or two in. “It’s so much fun I can’t resist. But the bitches almost never invite me along particularly if there is a guy around. Only about half the time. Just because I tell them how to do it right.” She’d said more than she had intended to Will, so she just laughed again, “Big ole pussy fart,” and blew against her arm one more time, “Pfhhhtt!”

Will didn’t tell anyone either, but has found it a convenient distraction with Rose. And he made the discovery that he could do it by telephone when they could all hear each other, in person or on the line. Plus as often as not he was also the most convenient male at the moment for a three-way if Stella was getting him horny and Rose was around. Though if Rose was mad enough at him—one usual reason for him to cause a distraction by telling them to go get jiggy together—he’d be snubbed they’d go off to look for some other guy to double team, most likely his dad. Sam was Rose’s second favorite fuck after Will and Stella didn’t care, any guy would do, each had his own charms.

My strategy was to plant lots of “Sex Bombs” in all the crew. But only ones that grew out of their own suggestions or fantasies and triggered by plausible circumstance, such as the other one I set tonight when I realized the TV room would soon be turning into the orgy room, Orgy room because I intended to block them from realizing that they could spread out in different bedrooms instead of getting rugburn or doing it bent over the ottoman, It’d seem natural at the beginning for all of the others to want to watch as Sam laps Gail, and it’ll not occur to them to leave until all the subsequent humping and sucking is done—except to go get snacks, use the head or fetch other useful things, like towels. Tonight all four Bullmans would fuck in the same room, if not with each other. And not give it a second thought until it was over.

I hadn’t ordered it, I used manna only to intensify their actions, they’d come to this point by themselves. I was so pleased with myself for how I set it up—like dominoes falling. The itch they’d been feeling all day was their own, all I did was make it so they would give themselves the permission to act on it. I knew I’d over-done it. I had to start thinking about how to make it all seem slightly “naughty” to them again. But not tonight. Let them have this memory.

The other “Bomb”? It’d seem natural for the three of them that if Sam and Will show up to fuck Gail at the same time, which both now will be getting additional randomly timed urges to do at least twice a calendar month, then they’d have a three-way with her. The urge just a simple stray but solid thought, “Why don’t I go fuck Gail? It’d be fun and she’d like it too.” With minimum one DP when the two were with her. As both father and son were headed to the TV room at ten, with the hope of giving Gail their best hard-ons, the first 3-way will be done tonight in company. Betty will look on approvingly as her husband and son split-roast her beautiful friend, knowing the added manna will slow aging for them all. Watching Will, Sam and Gail will give Sheila the idea to invite the father and son over for a Sheila sandwich the next day. And invite Aram and Marc for one the next week. Then the new guys’ll both go double-dip Vicky the week after and then next Carl and Troy would double-stuff her, and within seven days co-pork Annette. And so on until all possible combinations are exhausted, one week at a time. In math it’s called the transitive property. In food preparation it’s called churning.

A pure-white gelatinous glop of Sam-juice still caught in her bright-red hennaed eyebrow, Rose looked up at Sam, winked and said, “Thank you.”

When Sam walked into his house the final credits were rolling on “Dallas” and the early evening news about to start. He held up the pitcher and asked, “Who wants margaritas?”