The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Long before the mob at the middle of society became aware of it, the high and the low knew our world had come to end. Reproductive doctors watched an ova and a sperm cell fail to do what came naturally. Hookers walked empty streets. The Event halted human reproduction as our species had known it since the first monkey-boy fell on top of a monkey-girl inventing the missionary position.

Though it would not be discovered until later, an equally significant event repeated itself around the world—people were getting sick and coming out of it healthier. All post-puberty Positives made/created/changed (choose your word) by the Event became ill to some degree or another depending on how close to the Positive-ideal they fell. As a pot-bellied and much less than average dicked male, I suffered the seven worst days of my life.

I am Erotic Mind Control Positive.

I’d already been sick for three days when I went to the clinic. With two busboy jobs and no health insurance, I always waited for confirmation that I might be dying before involving doctors.

The doctor wasn’t much help. She did not even take my embarrassed explanation about being swollen DOWN THERE seriously. In her defense, I was in the eye of my health storm so I doubt any doctor would have done more than take blood for tests and give me a prescription for some stern pain medication along with a sample pack of anti-inflammatories. I barely made it back to my place (a single-room occupancy) when the other side of the storm hit me.

It’s unsure whether any Positives died from the making process. Comparing notes, I’ve rarely met anyone that got it as bad as I did—fevers, cold chills, and losing forty pounds in a week. If I hadn’t been delirious for the second half of my illness, I would have risked owing money for the rest of my life to visit the emergency room.

I didn’t live in an area conducive to getting well. I was quite familiar with screaming babies, screaming husbands, screaming wives, screaming fucking everybody, the acoustic difference between a car backfiring and a gun firing, and the other sounds of a street that came alive only with the dark of night. It was fucking ridiculous though! Every motherfucker on the street was yelling his or her mind off.

“You fucking cunt!” Some guy yelled. “This isn’t enough money. You been out here for five hours and this is the money you got for me! Bullshit, bitch!”

“He’s going to kill us. Mickens is going to kill us. I should call the cops. Or maybe I should go with Reggie. He’ll take the three of us!”

I crawled out of my bed and slammed my window opened. Disease gave me the nerve to look around outside angrily. There was a guy, one of the pimps who hid in the shadows, berating three women. I knew one of the hookers commercially. Lisa wasn’t the hottest of the streetwalkers, but she was number three behind her two friends, Honey and Adriana. The three women made up the Mickens stable.

“What the fuck you looking at?” Mickens yelled up at me. “Get the fuck back in your hole or I’ll have you sucking dicks for five bucks a pop!”

Honey and Lisa took advantage of Mickens’ distraction to pull Adriana behind them. I’d seen a few johns have run-ins with Adriana—they didn’t come out on top. Adriana was gorgeous and not just for a hooker. I mean, flat-the-fuck-out one of the finest women I’d seen on paper, porn, or TV. I would have spent good money on getting to know her in a professional capacity if she didn’t challenge with every look, step, pose, and word. I heard she made Mickens serious bank as a hooker and stripper at the clubs.

My soul lacked the bravery or bravado it would have taken to tell Mickens to shut the hell up so I closed the window. I passed out on the way to my bed.

They never named the disease which afflicted those of us who changed. Mostly because some didn’t even know they were sick and the rest of us, no matter how bad our symptoms, went from death’s door to thriving between breaths.

The phone woke me up. I reached over to grab it. “Hello.”

“Simon Dice. It’s Paul, your boss,” the voice said. “Sounds funny, huh? Simon and Paul.”

My night job boss fancied himself a comedian sometimes. Thankfully, only sometimes! I never got his jokes.

“Are you coming to work today?” he asked. “It’s Valentine’s Day, man. Busy day! You haven’t worked all week so I wanted to make sure before I scheduled someone else again. Are you feeling any better?”

I remembered calling Paul and Anne (my day job boss) about being sick.

“Hold on,” I said. Sitting up, I stretched my neck from left to right. “Is it really Friday?”

“Yeah, buddy,” Paul replied. “So what do you say?”

“Hmmm,” I looked around the room. A shower would help and maybe cleaning up the room. “Can you put me on as an opener? I feel good now but a little too good to believe. If I get weaker going into the night, you won’t lose anything.”

“No problem,” Paul said. “You know what—come in an hour early. There’s always extra prep work on holidays and with V-Day being a Friday, we’ll get slammed.”

“Uh-huh,” I said but Paul had already hung up. Putting the phone back on the cradle, I leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Mistake! My bed stank of dried, sick sweat. In fact, my entire room smelled. A glance at the clock made me jump to my feet. “Shit! Asshole!”

Paul waited until noon to make the call. With a two-thirty clock-in time, I’d only have time to shower and clean up my room if I took a cab to work. I hated wasting money on cab rides so on most days I bicycled to work at a pace leisurely enough to not produce a lot of sweat.

“I could just shower...Jesus!” I’d left my little refrigerator open at some point. Some milk had spilled and the rotten smell permeated every corner of my room.

Room was a misleading description. I had a tiny kitchen area, plus a bathroom with my own toilet and a small shower. Some of the tenants shared a bathroom between two rooms or with the entire floor. I’d have moved to a safer area a long time ago, if it hadn’t been nice for an SRO and cheap. With two busboys jobs, it only took one busy day to pay my weekly rent. The neighborhood wasn’t safe enough to get too many amenities so I put most of my money away.

The economy took a nice shit on me when it tanked. I graduated college to find no one willing to take a chance on a humanities major who was sure he could ‘learn’ on the job. The student loan folks weren’t understanding, so I continued my career in the lower end of the service industry. I’d done enough damage to my loans while building up a nest egg that I was almost ready to find greener and hopefully better paying pastures in another state. Worst-case scenario—I’d be bussing tables in a warmer climate.

I ignored the wince from the bodega owner when I bought general cleaner and some air freshener. There was no point in showering before I decontaminated my place. Walking back to my building, I stopped in the middle of the street. The buzzing around me got strong enough for me to notice that it wasn’t a natural sound. I heard it from the moment I woke up without really registering the noise. I looked around the street to see if could pinpoint the source—maybe a bad electric cable?

Honey, Adriana, and Lisa were walking towards me. Daytime isn’t usually on the hooker work schedule, at least not the streetwalkers in my neighborhood. The buzzing was getting louder!

“Take a shower!” Adriana said, pulling away from me as she walked by. Honey and Lisa smiled, shaking their heads. I turned to look at their asses. As I watched them strut away, the buzzing got quieter. I wished it would come back because other noises got louder. I remembered the night at the window looking down at Mickens; I could hear everyone screaming again.

It’s the middle of the fucking day, people!

I rushed back to my room to start the cleanup. Focusing on the job helped me keep the noisy street at bay. I didn’t have a lot of time so I made do with a quick shower. Very few cabs came by my street, so I had to walk ten blocks to pick up one up at their home office. It would mean walking home at night, but the denizens recognized their own and left each other alone. Usually! If I picked up a hooker, I’d be another john rushing to take care of business and under the protection of her pimp. Not that a pimp would actually protect a john, but he might take bladed offense to someone messing with his girl, so it would keep all but the most desperate muggers or whatever away from me. I only thought about the hooker because I was horny.

Considering a man can convince himself that four inches is six, six is eight, and eight isn’t enough, my thought that the swelling DOWN THERE was a second growth spurt isn’t THAT stupid. I mean, it looked the same just... bigger. The badly timed case of wishful thinking kept me from running back to the clinic. It’s not like I didn’t check myself out thoroughly, going so far as to paint the bathroom wall with cum to make sure everything worked properly. It felt better than before, which didn’t help the whole ‘I don’t need to get this checked out by a medical professional’ thing!

The massive weight loss was more troubling. I told Paul I was going to work so a clinic visit would have to wait anyway. I didn’t remember eating much during my illness so it explained the missing gut. (More wishful thinking!) Restaurant food for lunch, dinner, and a doggie-bag snack did not keep me fit.

“Better,” Adriana said as I walked by the three women on the way to the cab station. I stopped and stared at them. The buzzing was back; I preferred it to the general noise of our neighborhood, especially everyone’s newly acquired habit of screaming during conversations.

“What? Did you hit the lotto and can now afford me?” Adriana asked with a lot of snarky bitchiness.

“Be nice,” Lisa told her. “So, Simon? Want some company?”

The buzzing got louder! I shook my head and walked away.

“You like him,” Adriana said from behind me.

“He’s clean and he only does it ‘cause he’s horny,” Lisa answered.

“If he weren’t a weirdo, he’d get a girlfriend,” Adriana replied.

“They’re more expensive. He wants to get out of here someday.”

“Everybody does,” Adriana snorted. Something in her voice made me turn around to look at her. For the first time, there wasn’t a challenge when she met my eyes. I nodded to her—a kindred soul in a streetwalker.

People who work in restaurants don’t like holidays; owners don’t count. Holidays suck! They also represent a major moneymaking opportunity, which sucks even more because you have to deal with the bullshit. Not all holidays are the same—Mother’s Day truly fucking sucks. There’s nothing like a jackass trying to impress mommy when he ignores her the other three hundred sixty four days a year. In the hierarchy of holidays, Valentine’s Day isn’t bad. Tables of two are easier to bus than larger tables. The owners, host, and waiters only care about turnover, turnover, and turnover. Guys also try to impress their dates by tipping bigger than normal, keeping the waitstaff in a good mood for most of the night.

The good news was that I didn’t weaken as the night progressed. If anything, the larger than normal meal the restaurant served the staff made me stronger. I felt better than I had in a long, long time. The bad news was that a singular douchebag thought Valentine’s Day had to be celebrated with all his friends, putting a table of twelve in the middle of my section. The waitress was going out of her mind since it took up three of her tables; douchebags also don’t tip well. The table ordered enough food and liquor for the owners not to gently urge them out the door. The worst news was that everyone in the restaurant had their voices dialed up to eight. The douchebag needing to be the center of attention pushed him over the normal digits on the dial and parked it at twelve. His wife didn’t do much better, keeping her voice at an eleven.

“Any more and I’m going to have a headache,” I said, pressing my thumbs against my temples.

“At least, you get to leave soon,” Mary said. “If these people don’t get out in the next half-hour, my night is ruined.”

“Maybe you got it wrong,” I said. “He could recognize his unnatural assholery and secretly be a great tipper to make up for it.”

“And someday I’ll let you fuck my ass,” Mary replied with an impossibly straight face. She pushed me with her hip, “And someday I’ll let you buy me drinks next door.”

I stared at her. “You... I don’t drink.”

“Exactly!” she replied. “Never going to happen.”

“Actually, I could buy you a drink and not drink myself,” I said slowly.

She froze.

“Only kidding, Mary,” I said. “He’s going to screw you on the tip.”

She walked away laughing.

“If you’re done flirting... with ass you’re never going to get,” Melanie, the hostess, said from a few feet away. “Can you table six-oh-two? I need it.”

I stared at her for a second.

“Simon!”

“Yes,” I said, thinking that I needed to get to the clinic the next day because I was hallucinating. All the single guys liked Mary so the fact I thought her ass rocked couldn’t be a secret, but nobody ever talked openly about Mary being all that, a bag of chips, and a fantastic ass. The restaurant didn’t seem busy enough for people to be losing it either.

The douchebag got louder over the next hour! The waitstaff and hostesses got ruder with their comments when they asked for help.

“Another hour and you can go,” Paul told me.

I nodded.

“Not a great day,” Paul continued. “Too many parties.”

I snorted, knowing he meant one party. It wouldn’t have made a difference though; it wasn’t actually THAT busy.

“He’s going to screw Mary,” Paul sighed. “I’m going to have to listen to that shit.”

Paul was trying pretty hard to land Mary. Most of the other staff thought he’d get in there eventually. I knew she had a boyfriend that for some reason she didn’t talk about, so Paul was shit out of luck. I put a finger in the middle of my forehead when Paul walked away. The douchebag found thirteen on the volume dial.

“There aren’t a lot of couples today,” Mary said, bumping me with her hip again. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“He lost weight. Looks much better!” Mary said.

“Who?” I asked.

“What?”

I stared at Mary.

“You don’t look well, Simon,” she said. “I could pull some strings and get you sent home early.”

“I’m okay,” I said. “Everyone is being loud, especially your friend.”

“Really?” She looked around the restaurant. “I didn’t notice.”

“Hey!” the douchebag yelled. “You’re not earning a good tip there... sweet ass.”

Mary rushed over.

Sweet ass! Fucking really, asshole?

“Bitch!” the douchebag’s wife said, loud and clear enough for the table and me to hear. Mary ignored the woman, continuing to kowtow to the douchebag.

“Going to screw you on the tip, sweet ass!” He said as Mary walked away.

“Screw that bitch on the tip, baby!” the wife said, looking at her husband.

“Enough!“ I thought at them, wishing I had the balls to yell it at the top of my lungs. ”Fucking enough! Here’s what’s going to go down! Douchebag, shut the fuck up! For the rest of the night, listen to your friends, who you obviously dragged here instead of letting them have a night together with their spouses or girlfriends or boyfriends. Pay the goddamn check! Leave Mary a fantastic tip. Thirty-five percent and damn right you’re tipping on liquor, you fuckhead! Then park your gas-guzzling SUV at the back door, when I get out tonight, you’re going to invite me to your house where you’re going to sit in a corner like a good little boy while I fuck your wife. And you, bitch, it’ll be the dicking of your life!“

I went to the bathroom. Washing my face, I looked at the mirror and laughed. It was only a thought, but it made me feel better. Things were quieter when I went back to the restaurant floor.

“I thought you were buying me a drink,” Mary said from the sides station.

“What?” I asked. Loosening the shirt helped relieve a lot of the tension. The douchebag quieted down finally; the other restaurant patrons filled in the noise space though.

“He really is looking a lot better,” Mary said. “Almost hot... I think.”

“Who?” I asked her.

“You and drinks,” she said. “You owe me or I guess I owe you.”

“But you’re not fucking me in the ass!” she said before turning back to the sides.

“Drinks,” I said, ignoring the last part. Someone must have left the door between the kitchen and the dining room open; I could still hear the customers.

“It’s still busy out there,” I said.

“Not really,” Mary replied. “And yes, drinks. I owe you now.”

“Why?”

“He tipped me very nicely,” she said. “Enough to buy a drink of whatever you want.”

“Seriously? He tipped?”

“A lot,” Mary said in a surprised tone of voice. “Probably too much if I weren’t so good at my job.”

“And I didn’t slap him for that pat on the ass so the bastard owed me,” she continued.

“He patted your ass?” I asked. “Fucking asshole!”

“What?” she asked. “Did I say that out loud?”

“Yes,” I replied.

She put a hand over her mouth, “I’m so sorry! It’s okay, Simon. It really wasn’t anything, like he wasn’t into it or something.”

We stared at each other. I shook my head, “How about some other time with the drinks? I’m getting a headache. I want to work Saturday brunch at Emilie’s tomorrow. If I need to go to the clinic, it’s going to have to be early or I’ll miss the shift.”

“Oh my God! How bad were you?” she exclaimed. “I see you lost weight, but I thought you never went to the doctor.”

“Nothing some pain killers that could knock a horse out and anti-inflammatories didn’t take care of.” I tried not to think of the swelling below that the medication had not reduced, especially because Mary’s blue eyes were having a bulging effect on me.

“I have to go.” I moved my legs to adjust the pants for my hardening penis. Mary glanced down and her eyes widened.

“I never fucking noticed THAT!” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow night?”

“Yes,” I said, waving at her.

“Jesus, he has to be huge,” Mary said when my back was turned. “Maybe the belly hid it.”

I almost broke into a sprint. Mary had a wicked sense of humor when you got to know her—another reason I figured Paul wouldn’t be getting any from her since she wasn’t as free with her mouth around him. I never seen her that bad before though. Watching the restaurant backdoor close behind me, I thought about going back inside. Mary and drinks...

“Hi,” someone said from the street. “You work in the steakhouse, right?”

“Excuse me?” I replied. The douchebag from the party table was standing next to a Lexus SUV.

“We saw you inside,” he said. “My wife and I did.”

The wife smiled at me from the open passenger door window.

“It’s Valentine’s Day,” the douche said. “I was thinking maybe you could help me make it a special night for my wife. We do it every year!”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Find a beautiful man and take him home to my bed,” the wife told me.

“I’m sorry... what?” Definitely had to visit the clinic in the morning!

“We do it every year,” the douche said. It didn’t take a genius to realize he was lying, but the wife made it a moot point. She opened the car door and stepped out. Putting one foot directly in front of the other, she hip-swiveled until she stood in front of me.

“Oh, sweetie!” She said, finding my hard dick and following the length to the head. “Wow!”

She turned to her husband. Placing both her hands on my dick to show him the size, she said “Honey, he’s going to be a wonderful Valentine’s Day gift. A BIG one!”

Obviously, I had doubts! In the battle royale of Doubts Vs. Woman Playing With Penis, doubts do not take home the first place trophy often.

They talked the entire way to their house. Not to each other or to me, they just spouted about how hot the scene was. She talked about my dick, and he talked about my big dick fucking his wife. Pretty fucking disturbing shit, which added to my doubts! He didn’t talk about sucking my dick, fucking me, or having me fuck him so when she reached back for a feel, the Woman Playing With Penis side stayed ahead.

I didn’t have much time for thought as they only lived twenty minutes away. The house was nice if more show than substance with perfectly manicured lawns and trees. The multi-colored stone driveway did look good though. The husband led the way into the house; his wife pushed me along with a hand on my ass.

I stopped in the doorway, “Do you have kids?”

“Not yet,” the wife replied, walking around me. Her hands undid my belt. Grabbing each end of the belt, she pulled me to the left. “Bedroom is this way.”

“I need a chair,” the douche said. “I’ll be right in.”

While none of the other hookers on my street compared to Fab-Three (Lisa, Adriana, and Honey), it was more about the Fab-Three’s looks than the other women being ugly. Skimpily dressed women who were financially invested in looking good, albeit in not great lighting, had surrounded me for a long time. The douchebag’s wife wouldn’t have needed the tiny dresses or tight shorts to earn her keep: Italian, curly black hair, brown eyes, a sizeable rack, a bit of belly but with great hips and fine ass. She had my full attention before her hands reached in to grab my dick.

“It’s real!” she whispered. “I’m going to be filled and then some.”

She was staring at my dick. I could hear the husband in a corner of the room behind me. In a return to teenage years, I had spent most of the day on the edge of horny. Mary’s ass, an especially nicely dressed woman, and a waitress opening her shirt to fan her cleavage had pushed me into full hardness a few times throughout the night, but for the most part it stayed low-key.

The wife’s hands stroked me to fully hard. I put my hands on her beltline.

“Yes!” she hissed. “Fuck me! Fuck me blind!”

I took her hands away from my dick.

“NO!” she screamed. Kicking off my shoes, I pushed my pants down and stepped out of them. I threw the woman onto her back on the bed. Her hands and mine fought to be the one to undo her pants. She was wearing blue panties. They were so cute I... hesitated for a second then came back to the moment. Pushing them to the side, I exposed her pussy to the air.

“Fuck me!” she yelled.

“Fuck her!” the husband yelled from behind me. “Fuck my wife!”

She grabbed her legs from under the knees and pulled herself open. My hand held the panties to the side as my hips brought me in. I had never fucked into a pussy so ready for me. My new size meant it was still a struggle to get more than the head in though.

“So big!” she whispered. “He’s so big.”

Rolling her hips up, she pulled on her legs even harder. My dick didn’t need any more encouragement. I forged into her body; she was tight, but I refused to let her body’s reluctance stop the thrust. I kept pushing into her until our pubic hair tangled.

“Fuck!” She screamed. “Baby, he gets bigger!”

“Fuck her!” the husband whispered.

“He’s cumming, baby! He’s cumming inside me! This is the best Valentine’s Day EVER!”