The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I have no idea what I expected, but I can tell you—if I’d had time to make an ordered list, my wife getting into the car would have been right at the very bottom.

And yet, that was what happened. I watched in shock as Mary—the woman I’d been married to for almost half my life—opened the rear door of Spat’s car, and got into the vehicle with a pair of teenage delinquents.

“Mary!” I said urgently, and my daughter’s voice responded with a gentle “Mmm?”

I turned around. Belle’s body was still naked, and her eyes were staring vacuously into the phone—the latter half was a sight I’d become far too familiar with over the past few years, and the former was one that I’d become uncomfortably accustomed to over the past few days. “I mean…Belle.”

“What is it?” she said, raising her eyes and shooting me a contented smile.

“Your mother…your body…”

She put the phone down, and sat up with concern, her large breasts swaying slightly at the movement.

“She just got in the car.”

A smile spread across my daughter’s face, and I stared at her, completely nonplussed. “What the hell is there to smile about?”

“Go Belle,” Mary said with a yawn. “I mean, the girl knows what she wants.”

There was a long silence, as I openly gaped at the nonchalant attitude my wife seemed to have about her body getting involved in a teenage threesome. Finally, she broke the silence with a laugh.

“C’mon, Andy…do you really think that our daughter would do that?”

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. She’s had a few rough years, but she’s still a good person. She’d never do something like that with her own mother’s body.”

Still lost for words, I gestured at the sight in front of me. Mary, in our daughter’s body, laying completely naked on our marital bed, while my cum still dripping out of her.

“What?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at my expression.

“Mary,” I said slowly. “I just fucked you. I just fucked you as hard as I’ve ever fucked anyone.”

“I know,” she replied, stretching luxuriously. I tried to ignore how effectively the motion showed off my daughter’s tits. “Wasn’t it glorious?”

“Mary,” I repeated. “You and I are good people. Moral. Upstanding members of society. If we did that with our daughter’s body, what’s stopping her from doing the same with yours?”

That got my wife’s attention, and I saw a flicker of worry cross my daughter’s face.

“That’s different,” she said, sounding more than a little unsure.

“How?”

“Belle…Belle’s never had sex before,” she said. “I’m sure she wouldn’t want her first time to be in her mother’s body.”

“If I’d asked you a month ago if you ever wanted to have sex in your daughter’s body, what would you have said?”

“That’s different,” she repeated, a note of desperation in her voice. “Right?”

“I don’t see why,” I said. “You said it yourself—if Belle’s nose itches, you’re the one who has to scratch it. You stopped thinking of it as her body, and started thinking of it as yours. Maybe our daughter feels the same way.”

I had expected disagreement, but—somewhat alarmingly—my wife had no response.

“Besides,” I continued, as another thought struck me. “Maybe it works the other way. Maybe she figures that since, y’know…you aren’t a virgin, there’s no real harm in using your body to get laid.”

Again, a silence that I was quickly finding unnerving.

“I mean, that’s almost the exact same logic you used, right? Belle didn’t have a hymen, so it was fine for us to…”

I gestured to the bed once more. My daughter’s face had turned a pale white.

“Fuck,” she said simply, and my eyebrows shot up.

Despite making the case, I hadn’t really…believed it. I hadn’t wanted to believe it. I had wanted my wife to convince me that I was wrong, that I was being ridiculous, that Belle would respect her mother’s bodily autonomy.

In a way that her mother and I had utterly failed to do.

“Fuck,” I echoed, and she glanced at her phone.

“Any response?” I asked, and my wife shoot our daughter’s head.

I glanced out the window once more, and my heart skipped a beat.

“It’s gone.”

“What??”

“Snoop’s car,” I said, looking at her, wide-eyed. “It’s gone.”

I didn’t sleep that night. I’m not normally an anxious man, but…well, the last week’s events had been more than a little abnormal. Between my wife’s mind using my daughter’s body to seduce me—and succeeding—and dealing with the bizarre jealousy caused by my daughter’s mind using my wife’s body to lust after a teenage dirtbag, nothing I did seemed to calm my mind enough to let me sleep.

Mary had tried to talk me down, but to no avail. Her arguments were flimsy…which I think she knew, because she offered very little defense when I attacked them.

“She wouldn’t do that,” she tried to insist. “She wouldn’t do anything to harm our marriage.”

“She’d assume I’d never find out,” I replied. “You know how smart teenagers think they are.”

“Spike and Lacey would never go for it,” she countered. “They’re into teenagers, not old women.”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” I responded. “You’re a total MILF, and Spike knows he’d be lucky to have you.”

“Lacey would never go for it. She’d think it was weird.”

“She signed on for a threesome with her boyfriend’s ex. I don’t think she’s quite as discerning as you’re hoping she is.”

After that, she fell silent, so I sent her to wash off and try to get some sleep. There was no reason for both of us to lose a night’s rest.

I’m not normally prone to anxiety, but when I only have partial information about something important, I can start spinning out. If I don’t know anything, that’s fine, I can just not think about it. And if I know everything, that’s obviously not an issue.

But when I know half the story—and it’s something I care about, not a superhero movie, or gossip about a neighbor—I can’t stop thinking about it. My mind starts trying to explore every path…but with only partial information, that’s a million, million paths. I start concocting ridiculous scenarios, but without enough information to rule them out, I keep thinking about it on a loop.

Where was she? What if they kidnapped her? What if she ran away with Spike, and my wife and daughter could never switch back? What if they got her drunk, or gave her a spiked drink, or poisoned her, or or or or…

And almost every path led me to the same, dreadful question. The question I didn’t want to consider, but couldn’t avoid.

What if, right now, my wife’s body was having sex with a teenage boy?