The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Hey Mom?” Madison called from the living room. “I think something’s wrong with the TV . . .”

“Your Dad just said he fixed it . . .” Rebecca called back, her voice echoing through the hallway.

Her husband spent a literal fortune on it. Their old box was a 32 inch flatscreen, back when that was called ‘BIG Screen’. This was a big honkin’ 75 inch, internet connected, voice activated, 8k, SMART device with 2000 sports channels and confusing-as-hell to operate behemoth—drilled straight into the wall.

He spent all week setting it up. Most of the time cursing.

“I think it- it’s . . . acting weird.” Her daughter’s voice sounded odd. Fearful almost, in AWE.

It had a distinctly eerie quality and made Rebecca take a step back from preparing dinner in the kitchen to come and look.

“It doesn’t tell me what channel it’s on.” Madison said, staring at the TV. Helplessly waving the remote.

The screen winked from show to show as she impatiently hammered the channel button. Not waiting for the picture to load. Next one. Next one. Next one.

“Well if you would slow down for a minute.” Mom took a seat on the couch beside her. “Lemme try.”

Madison offered up the remote without complaint.

Her mom studied the remote, all it’s unhelpfully color-coded buttons, hit ‘Guide’ and a rainbow of spinning wheels appeared in the left hand corner of the screen. Circling. The channel switching. Next one. Next one.

CLICK

No guide appeared.

“Huh . . .” Rebecca said.

“Yeah . . .” Madison agreed.

The menu button produced a series of even more confounding options. Brightness. Contrast. Magnet symbols. Streaming services with strange names no one had ever heard of like Quibi. A alphabet soup of obtuse heavily-abbreviated tech features neither of them knew anything about. RGBs and such.

Their last tv just turned ON when you pressed ON, and TV when you pressed TV. The remote for this one came with it’s own manual and a smaller separate remote.

“Is this the right source?” Mom asked.

“It should be.” Madison answered, “I mean they we’re watching TV right? If we’re getting picture at all it must mean we’re getting something. If it was hooked up wrong it wouldn’t work at all.”

“What show is this?” Rebecca peered at the screen skeptically.

She was never much of a TV person. The only shows she watched were the news and Jeopardy.

“I think it’s—” But Madison had no idea. It was . . . something.

These channels were so without a sense of place they could be anything. Just nameless, brandless, sitcoms. Twenty-somethings living in the Big City. High school kids. Suburbia. Out of place, out of time.

“Is this Big Bang Theory?”

“No, mom, that’s the one with Sheldon.”

“Well I don’t know.”

All the channels were just . . . sitcoms.

Click!

Just . . . sitcoms . . .

Click!

A bunch of late twenty somethings living in New York-

Click!

- starting over in Seattle -

Click!

Married with Children, a housewife chopping carrots in the kitchen. Sarcastic lazy father sitting on the couch. Drinking a beer, watching TV.

Click!

Some blonde teenage boy with a 90s haircut and name like ‘Cody’ running up the stairs.

Click!

A girl named Clarrisa with a big frizzy perm laying on her bed, wearing outrageously bright 80s fashion, talking on the phone. A ladder plonks against her windowsill.

“Hey mom . . .” Maddison said, kind of lazy, kind of half asleep.

“Yeah?” Her mom responded, still sitting on the couch. Watching TV.

“Where’s the remote?”

“Oh . . .” Rebecca realised she had still been holding it. Changing channels. Turning up the volume.

“Lemme try.”

“Here.” She handed it over, not looking away.

It was so strange. They were all sitcoms. No commercials. Just a bunch of vaguely familiar people, standing around a living room, cracking wise, exchanging knowing haughty looks over the laugh track. Lounging in a coffee shop. Wandering the halls of anywhere High School USA. There was someone that kind of looked like Ray Romano, but not from Everybody Loves Raymond. Someone that kind of looked like Kevin James, but not King of Queens. A neighbor behind the fence but not Wilson. They were playing a trivia game with a knockoff Steve Harvey behind an out of tune Jeopardy score.

“We should turn this off. Stop watching. Dinner’s almost ready.”—but Rebecca made no move to get up.

“Yeah.” Neither did Maddison.

Real Housewives of the Jersey Shore. 90 day Vanderpump Bachelorette. Trashy gaudy stupid reality TV and the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air staring the Jeffersons. Tonight’s very special episode dealt with alcoholism and the boys from Mr. Feeny’s math class learn a very important lesson about how THAT’S SO RAVEN! In your face wholesome teenage angst reaffirming the family, and community, and drinking beer in Boston.

The lights on the cable box beneath the TV blinked furiously. A progress bar slowly filling up.

“Well, I know I’m going to . . . get back to the kitchen . . .” Rebecca tried to get up but a sudden dizziness overcame her. Her legs wobbled, the room was spinning. She took a single staggering step to the left back towards the kitchen and almost fell down. She found she couldn’t . . . turn away from the the tv-

“What the FUCK—” Rebecca’s fear rose. She had just tried to walk . . . backwards out of the room. Facing the TV.

“Mom!” Maddison called, her voice frightened, worried. A little panic too. “Are you okay?”

She craned her neck as if to look, as if to check on her mother who fell to the floor with a clumsy thud, but still held her eyes on the screen in front of her. Not diverting them for a second.

“I can’t . . .” Rebecca shook her head, trying to look away but couldn’t.

“What the . . . fuck—” Maddi jumped to her feet. Trying to shield her eyes from the screen.

“Just turn it off—” Mom cried but she was still staring at it herself. Even while trying to get up from the floor, not looking away. Unable to close her eyes. Unable to blink. Blindly scrambling back up onto her hands and knees.

She tried darting her dart side to side as if trying to juke the screen. Her eye’s tracked it. Threw up her arms in front of her face, somehow her head ducked and weaved around them. She tried holding her hands over her eyes but still peered unobstructed through the slits, unable to close them. Real terror worming its way deeper into her panic as each new attempt failed. Realising with mounting horror that she couldn’t actually see her daughter straight on, but only in her periphery, and in the reflection on the screen.

She couldn’t look away.

Staring at the TV. At the show.

CLICK

Dawsons Creek

CLICK

Maddison verged on hyperventilating. Tried to push off the couch cushions but found no purchase. The soft fabric sinking downward her handprints.

CLICK

Degrassi

Maddi shrieked, “I can’t close my eyes!” and whipped her head away—eyes staring forward. Unblinking.

Because it wasn’t Dawson’s Creek and it wasn’t Degrassi. It only looked that way.

A bunch of twenty somethings playing teenagers in an episode about a horny SLUT wearing a thong to school. A short eager schoolgirl in a trashy, whisper-thin, synthetic blue hip-hugging piece of butt floss riding high over denim booty shorts. All the boys stopped to stare. Whistled at her. Spanked her ass in the hall. She couldn’t stop giggling.

GOD! She was so fucking HOT.

That was the plot of the episode. The dramatic conflict. Dealing with the stress being a hot SLUT puts on your friendships.

A male teacher grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from some boys in the hall.

“You’re coming with me!” At first Maddi didn’t know what was going on, who this adult was, but it was obvious by how red-in-the-face angry he was and the enormous erection in his pants, that he thought she was dressed like a WHORE.

A SLUT-

a hot wet teenage SLUT-

“MADDISON AVERY B—!” Saying her whole name in anger.

She remembered the look on her mom’s face, after they called her at work to come pick her up from school because she’d been dressing like a TRAMP. They aad this big loooong embarrassing conference about how she had been “showing off” her ass. How her tiny thong hardly covered her ass at all and made her stand up and bend over the principal’s desk to prove it. How it was against school rules to let boys take pictures of her thicc young ass.

Nobody could concentrate because every boy in school was bursting at the seams for a taste of her butt.

“I can’t turn it off!” Maddi cried, pressing the OFF button as hard as she could. Right at the tv.

The show continued. Grew louder. The cable box blinking like crazy.

The next day, she didn’t wear underwear at all. It was the perfect loophole, none of the teachers could say anything about it. She loved seeing the eye-popping reaction on their faces when they noticed. Plus her plan, like, totally worked! Aiden, the captain of the soccer team, asked her out in front of EVERYONE! He told her to meet him in the boys bathroom, third period.

Maddi was like, one of the cool kids now.

“Look away! Get behind me—” Rebecca crawled to the machine on her hands and knees, pulling herself up, her fingers scrabbling along the sides of the screen—looking for an off switch. A button, any button. Something to make this STOP. Yank out the power cord if she had to.

The whole time staring straight up at it less than a foot away, fumbling blindly at the plastic ridges of the device. The fan in the cable box whirring at full peel, like a jet engine. The progress bar ticking up, not even half way full.

“Where the fuck is this off switch . . .” Behind her she could hear Maddi stifle a sacred sob. Her voice cracking.

In front of her she saw a whole universe of horny oversexed housewifes with big Disney-mom dumptruck asses and slubby husbands. She was Tim the Toolman Taylor’s domestic sex object. She was Selma Hayek in Modern Family, stirring up brownies in her panties. A big poofy bimbo hankering for sex in Married with Children. Prancing around in the kitchen in clacking high heels, spray on pants, and big stripper tiddies.

She heard her husband’s friends, in an episode of Malcolm in the Middle, boasting how often they fucked their wives. None of them were claiming double digits except hers—and he had assumed they meant every week. Becky could count on getting at least two to three good hard railings every night. IF she let him.

Which of course she always did.

“MOM!” Maddison called out, frightened.

Becca fell back on the floor, a wave of unsteadiness crashing over her. A rush of brain freeze, tickling with sensation. She felt suddenly very drunk. Tilted. The room spinning and the soft white carpet of the living room rushing up to meet her as she feel back again in a fit of giggles.

OMG her mouth was impossibly dry. Her lips kept quietly sealing shut of their own accord. She had to keep licking them—applying more lipstick. Somewhere above the sound of the TV, she could hear a sound like someone slicing through the skin of some kind of watery vegetable. A subtle insidious out-of-control noise, like a lopsided turbine spinning off-kilter.

LOOK AT THE SCREEN.

She looked up at the screen. A monolithic black box shouting at her to shake her ass like a whore. Barking orders into her mind-

LOOK AT THE PEOPLE.

THIS IS YOU

It frightened her. Excited her. Made her hair stand on end. Beautiful sexy moms prancing around the kitchen in nothing but a white and red polka-dotted aprons, smiling, baking, bending over and showing off her boobies-

“HAhahA!” Maddi giggled hysterically, watching her mom fall over. One hand on the remote, the other in her pants. “You’re such a klutz!”

CLICK

“Stop it- change the . . .”

CLICK

Daytime jazzercising blasted into the room. Dozens of fit, taut, dancers leapt onto a studio stage and began jumping and strutting and kicking and working themselves into a frenzied celebration of 80s cocaine fueled home-exercise. The women all had big hair, big titties, and perfect makeup. They wore high-hipped french-cut lycra leotards in fantastic colors, showing off incredible bodies with no worry of visible camel toe. All the men were lean and muscular with handsome bulges and Mom loved working out with them.

LOVED watching them move in tandem. Pumping high energy gymnastics. Smiling sweating men with mustaches. Leaping. Stretching. Becca adored the way their workout clothes showed off their fit sexy bodies-

“ChaAnGe theee channel—” Mom wheezed. Crawling backwards with one-hand, she couldn’t fight the other working it’s way under her pants. Her own pair of air-tight workout leggings pulled over her ass like a drum. She was so fucking wet. She had to be drooling right through them-

CLICK

The TV “SPROINGED!” with whacky sound effects as the cartoon bumper in between commercial breaks ended. Now it was time for a very special episode of Hannah Montana the Teenage RAVEN Explains It All going on her very first date with Aiden the dreamy soccer captain!

“What- No, I hit—”

Everything is going, like, super perfect! Aiden was like, the most popular guy from school and he just like, asked Selena Gomez if she wanted to hang out with him in the boys bathroom—but Maddi felt so nervous, because like, she knew Aiden liked super big titties, and her own titties were like—like—what if they weren’t BIG enough!

Maddi did everything she could to show off her boobs. She wore the tiniest crop tops she could find. She bought expensive bras that hefted and squeezed them together. She was constantly finding ways of dropping things in front of Aiden, so she could get on her knees in front of him, look up with big helpless puppydog eyes and wonder aloud where she dropped that big HARD ewasur . . .

“I—CAN’T—I can’t turn it off—” Maddison whimpered. Deep down, she knew there was no Aiden. She didn’t dress like that.

But she couldn’t stop touching herself. Her nipples ached and she pawed at them as never before. She wanted to squeeze them, wanted boys to squeeze them. Her clothes were suffocating and Adien had such a pretty-boy handsome face and he called her cute and laughed at all her jokes. He would be the first boy to ever play with her titties.

Maddi wanted it to be special. She wished her boobs were bigger.

The cable box by the TV beeped incredulously that it had reached 100%. More than 100%. It seemed angry, confused. It’s LED panel flickered and the number flipped over to 101%.

Thank GAWD Sabrina’s mom had just the thing! A super-cute black, fuzzy little half-sweater that like, cut-off like, five inches above her belly button, and like, within seconds of putting it on, her boobs doubled then TRIPLED in size!

It was, like, fucking ridiculous! They were like, cartoonishly huge. Her sexy mom cursed her with big fake stripper titties right before her first date! Aiden was going to take one look at her chest and nut all over her face.

It was so fucking hot. She was going to suck her date’s fucking brains out. Make him cum with her big fat fucking titties-

Madison couldn’t stop touching them, it was sooooo embarrassing!

“Don’t . . . look . . . at the . . . TV . . .” Maddi could feel her mom grabbing at her leg, could SEE her squirming on the floor just below her periphery. Rubbing her pussy and moaning like a bitch. Neatly painted fingernails lacquered ivory thick, glossy hot-pink lipstick slathered on her face. Wearing her skimpy bimbo spandex.

Fingering herself on the floor and telling HER not to cum?

It was Mom’s stupid big-boobs genes anyway. It was her fault guys always wanted to fuck them.

The mom in the sexy teenage witch episode fell immediately into the same fate. Seeing what happened to her daughter, she insisted on wearing the cursed titty sweater herself and so of course, her titties swelled up too! Sabrina the Teenage Bitch and her Mom basically just ended up running around the house in hysterics, blaming each other, and bumping their enormous boobs boobs together like bumper-cars.

Tearing off eachother’s clothes. Making out like a pair of horny bimbo sluts-

“I’mmmm—tr-t-tr-tryinggg—” Maddi took a deep breath and held it, her whole body shivering as she came hard. Splashing the cushions a little, wetting the sofa. Her blue thong down by her ankles. She pressed buttons on the remote at random. Volume Up. Picture in Picture. Shuffle. Anything.

The remote buzzed and began vibrating hard enough to rumble her whole arm.

The big.

Long.

Black.

Remote.

It had a head on it. Like a helmet.

Rebecca leaned her back against the foot of the couch and pushed with her feet, trying to stand. The show was insane. The TV was crazy, broken—DOING SOMETHING TO HER MIND—making her see things. Remember things. Episodes from her own life that weren’t her life.

She held in her mind one experience of her daughter’s troubled but steady development through school. Graduating with academic honors and headed off to a state school. And a second, wholly separate experience of her daughter’s rapid ascension to the eye of the high school popularity pyramid by growing huge boobies overnight.

Mom remembered Madison’s experience growing boobs just like that. As if one morning, Maddi came prancing downstairs with a pair of beachballs strapped to her chest. She remembered her daughter, embarrassed, nervous, lips smacking in slow motion with strands of gooey sugar sweet saliva from taking long hungry licks of her cherry red lollypop, asking sweetly:

“Mommy, why do my tiddies feel so good?”

“Huh?”

“OH GAAAWWWWWWWD!!!! WHAT’S HAPPENING?!?!” Maddi shrieked, sliding the vibrating remote into herself.

For a moment, Rebecca could see her. Through a reflection in the TV, or just off in her periphery, or maybe just imagined it, see it only in her mind’s eye, a vision of her daughter—topless, looking like a slut, grabbing her tits and excitedly masturbating on the couch.

“You’re okay. We’re going to be okay. Just give me the—” Becca repeated, righting herself up and into the couch. She went to reach over and grab the remote from her daughter, eyes not leaving the screen.

Just as soon as she was . . . done with it.

The realization that her daughter was sitting next to her splayed out on the couch, thong panties wrapped around her ankle, vigorously fucking herself with the remote prickled her mind. A shower of individual embers going off as she saw the sleek black dildo plunging deep within her. Maddi’s throaty, drooling, gasping breath as she coated it in her oil. Clear shimmering fluid splashing out with every primal thrust. The pink meat of her slit stretched around it. Her mouth hung open, gasping hard. Not looking away from the screen.

“Stop it—” Rebecca reached for it. “STOP IT—”

Maddi’s legs shook and spasmed, and she squeezed them together suddenly. Eyelids flickering. Humping into her palm. Jittery all over.

The cable box let out a piercing whistle and a bit of plastic blew off the front. White plumes of smoke circled up through the casing and there was a clunking sound, as if the TV were changing the image manually. It began strobing rapidly, haphazardly. Gathering speed.

CLICK

The Real House Sluts of New Jersey

CLICK

MILF Island

CLICK

Reality television of hookers getting arrested and dumb trashy bitches trying to fuck in the club.

Becky grabbed the remote from where it had fallen to the floor. God, it was so wet. So slippery. It smelled like pussy. It was all over her hands. She had to . . . lick it off . . .

Beside her, Maddi just grinned at the TV, her whole body tingling. She couldn’t believe what a fucking SLUT her mom was being. Mom was being like, the biggest fucking SLUT ever! Even worse than when-

It all came back to her.

OMG! That one year, me and Mom took like the best trip ever down to Florida for MTV’s Spring Break. It was like, SUPER cool.

We even got third prize at Kid Rock’s mother-daughter wet t-shirt contest—and later that night, we even appeared in an episode of Hot Sluts Gone Wild with the local football team. We’d been out partying, you know, drinking, and like, flashing guys for beads, and whatever, and this guy called Aiden with like, a camera or something, approached us and was like—‘do you want to make $50?’

and we were like- YAH!

That was the first time Maddi had ever seen her mom give a blowjob. Or get ‘gangbanged’. It was SUPER fun. Aiden said she looked super HOT and she let him fuck her titties. It was the first time Maddi learned that BBC stood for Big Black Cock.

We shot like, ten videos or something that night and still had their very own VHS copy of Girls Gone Wild: Miami and Hot Teenage Slut Tries Anal volumes 2 and 3. From there Becky went on to a long and lucrative career in hardcore pornography.

“Oh FUK- I’m cumming!” Rebecca moaned greedily, her thick, glistening, legs shaking high above her head like two meaty drumsticks. Slamming her squirting pussy with the remote. Shrieking with delight as even now, a well-worn whore, she could still cum buckets with the best of them. Guys STILL rented her tapes.

Maddi had been telling her about something called Only Fans, cause she was apparently making hundreds of thousands of dollars just playing videogames while grinding herself against a glass table or riding some expensive Sybian.

Becky let Daddy take care of the finances.

OMG DADDY!

“OmG What time is it!” Becky jumped to her feet. A beeping timer in the kitchen was now squealing in alarm. The food on the stove blackened and smoldering.

7:30???? How could it have gotten so late?? It was just-

Rebecca looked down for her phone and saw the HUGE boobs. The big fake bolted on stripper tits. Her hips thick as two huge christmas hams of wobbling jelly, skin the color of bronzer. Wearing nothing but a tiny triangle of synthetic hotpink fabric around her crotch and collar studded with glittering white rhinestones: “WIFEY”.

DING DONG DING DONG

The doorbell rang.

“Oh FUCK!” She gasped, cupping her tits. Practically falling forwards, clomping around on gigantic plastic heels. Oh god she was so fucking wet, it was leaking down her thighs. She wiped away a stream of it and licked her fingers clean. She still held the rumbling fake cock in her hand, dripping. Daddy coming home made her so fucking horny she couldn’t STAND it!

“Daddy’s home!” Maddi squealed, rushing off towards the front door. Not paying any attention to the smoking cable box sending off sparks or the enormous crack running through the middle of the TV. Becky minced after her, taking babysteps, making sure her tits looked poppin’.

Which of course they did. Each one was larger than her head. It made tittyfucking a lot more fun. Holy FUCK, Becca wanted Daddy to blow a load on her fucking face so fucking bad she could taste it. Already a burning sensation in the back of her throat.

“Hurry!” her daughter waved her down like landing a plane.

She was such a dumb SLUT. Maddi loved her stupid dumb horny mommy.

Becca took her place on her knees next to Maddi behind the front door and swallowed hard. More thirsty than ever in her whole life. Swallowing nervously. Over and over. Her mouth flooding with saliva. Practically quaking with anticipation as she saw her husband’s shadow silhouetted in the frosted glass window.

The metal jangling of his keys turning in the lock. Her pussy burned.

Her favorite drink was hot cum and tonguing sweat off his balls. All DAY she waited for him to fuck her RAW on the living room floor.

The door opened.

“Honey, I’m hom—” He stopped mid-sentence.

Taking in his wife and daughter. Naked, kneeling, mouths wide open—pleading with their eyes—tongues outstretched. Cupping their tits.

And behind them, vibrating on floor like a confused Roomba, the cable box chirped ERROR! . . . ERROR! . . .

He put down his briefcase with a heavy sigh. “Godamnit, not again . . .”