The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

THE BREAKER

I vowed for about five milliseconds to not step into another classroom and then I saw the stream of students going into another classroom and I realized, in the mighty words of Polonius — This above all: to thine own self be true.

Let’s face it, a breaker’s gotta break.

I wait for the class to start and then make a loud entrance, getting the attention of the twenty or so students inside.

The professor — one Thomas Cole — shoots daggers at me as he asks, “Can I help you?”

I pull on his strings and now he’ll believe everything I say to be absolutely true. “Sorry I’m late. You wanted me to show up on time to teach this session and here I am running late, but you’ll forgive me, won’t you? It’s in your nature to be kind and forgiving.”

I see the daggers melt from his gaze into concern. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble making it here today.”

I step down to the front of the theater style classroom and catch a glimpse at the board — Film Studies. I feel sorry for everyone in the room. They think they can make a living studying film. I’ll sort them out. They’ll be better off than when they entered. I’m feeling benevolent.

I grip Cole’s shoulder. “Thank you for caring. I believe that you wanted me to teach a class about film character types today, isn’t that right?”

“Of course. Of course, it is.” He says grandly. “Class, today you’re going to learn about character types from the guest lecturer I’ve brought in, Mr. —“

He goes blank when he doesn’t have a name to deliver, so I provide him with a good one. “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. Come on. You know that, Tommy.”

Apologetic, he says, “Right. Sorry. I do not know where my mind is today John Jacob.”

Seeing this entryway as a perfect opportunity to be mostly rid of him, I tell him, “It’s probably in your pants. I told you at the strip club last night that you need to stop thinking with your dick. All of your constant unending, unabashed leering is getting in the way of your teaching. That’s why you brought me in. So that I could teach and you could be free to lust away at all of your female students for the entirety of class.”

He really accepts that truth whole hog, licking his lips and openly checking out every girl in the room. He slouches down in the chair behind the desk and actively tries to find one who hasn’t been taught to properly cross her legs. As he does so, the students get a bit reckless. I pull the “don’t leave no matter what you see” threads for all of them, but allow them to keep their growing apprehensions about what’s gone on… and what’s about to go down…

“Okay, class, who can tell me a character type that you’d find in films?”

With only a little warping of their professor, which just felt to them like an honest reveal of his true nature, it’s not to the point of pulling teeth yet to get a response out of them.

A rotund girl in the front row, Claire Morgan, quickly raises her hand to answer. She is, in a word, unsightly — short, big-boned, poor skin, no style or appeal. Outside of her name and physical features, I can see in her tapestry that she tends to be a “first hand up” kind of girl. At least, she is before I hear her answer. Who knows what she’s about to do to herself?

“Leading ladies,” she says and her change begins immediately.

Claire rapidly shifts from pudge to poise and perfection, from homebody to high end, from troll to trollop. She stretches up, gaining a good six inches of height and the stretch removes the excess fat from her body as she grows. Her chest, probably her only redeeming feature before my instant makeover, remains large and appears even larger on her more slender frame. Her lanky blonde hair becomes full, like she gets a Brazilian blow out on a daily basis. Her fingernail polish is perfectly red and accents her ruby lips. Everything about her look is coordinated for maximum appeal. Her sweatshirt and jeans shimmer away, replaced by a shiny formal gown. She is now, and at all times, red carpet ready.

I can feel Professor Tommy boy’s gaze fall to the place her legs meet in that short dress before she has a newly-established presence of mind to properly cross them and I sense his very hard erection hidden under the desk at the brief glimpse of her satin thong.

The package of Claire Morgan is lovely, but inside, she’s a needy dumpster fire of a person. Because of the lovely wrapping, man after man will throw themselves at her for the remotest chance of a “sex scene” with this young starlet type. They will find themselves sucked dry emotionally, broke, and broken. Claire is basically a succubus now, but without all the demonic trappings. She will work through men like a box of Kleenex in allergy season with no regards for them beyond what they can do for her. There’s already half a room of volunteers ready to jump at the chance to jump on her. The nearest guy is already leaning in to catch a whiff of her manufactured scent.

Her perfectly manicured hand goes down. She sees the fan she has in her professor and uses the opportunity to blow him a kiss from her thick, full lips. She knows that stringing him along will give her the best chance to ace this class with little to no work outside of showing up and looking stunning.

Hudson Scott raises his hand without me prodding for another answer. He’s a keen observer of details, clearly, and wants to choose his fate rather than have one chosen for him. He’s a rail of a boy and a gentle breeze could blow him to the next county. His clothes are hand-me-downs and his glasses look too big for his face. I’m not surprised to find in his detailing that he’s still a virgin. He has a wide smile as he offers up, “The romantic lead!”

The kid’s got balls. I’ll give him that… and a now a magical cock to go along with them. It might take him a while to figure it out, but anyone who looks at his enhanced Johnson will fall head over heels in love with him. How’s that for romance? Plus, they’ll definitely follow his lead. The moment he reaches down to adjust his crotch he realizes at least something has changed about him.

A hipster looking guy with a half-assed attempt at a beard and an (ironic?) “Grrl Power” t-shirt — and, of course, his name is Brayden Hayes — shouts out, “Manic Pixie Dreamgirl,” and I’m elated to help him achieve that status.

He doesn’t notice his disappearing beard, since it was barely there in the first place. However, he does feel the weight on his chest and, though modest, is a bit fearful when he discovers that he’s growing breasts. He checks his crotch and finds that each minor expansion of his chest seems to coincide with an equal minor retraction of his manhood. He loses six inches in his pants and gains three inches per breast. Who says I’m not fair always? He feels soft near-white hair start to cascade down… her face and sees her long delicate fingers topped with manageable nails, each painted in a silvery-green metallic color. A wave washes over her and takes with it her previous personality and identity. Brea Hayes, a truly gossamer girl, lives to inspire men, one bedroom at a time. Her barely there persona is matched by barely there clothing and an ingrained disgust for wearing underwear. Her quirky, funny identity broadly appeals without much real basis in reality. She knows what she needs to know to impress whoever she’s with much like her likes magically line up perfectly with them as well. She will be a very popular girl and responsible for much creativity.

When a dude becomes a chick, a room tends to get antsy and more than a little hesitant to share with their teacher. I hear a guy and girl whisper-fighting a few rows up.

They instantly go silent when I take a few steps up towards them.

“I have a rule,” I say to the pair. I don’t really have a rule, but I’m on a roll. “No secrets in my class. Care to share with the rest of the room, Jordyn or Lincoln?”

They look at each other, playing chicken with their eyes. Neither one particularly wants to open their mouths, but frustrated by her jock boyfriend, Jordyn breaks first. “He was trying to get me to say ‘The Hooker with a Heart of Gold.’”

“That… is a quality trope, isn’t it, Lincoln?”

The voice that comes out of Lincoln’s mouth is a lot higher than he expects when he says, “That’s what I was telling her.”

He slams a meaty paw over his mouth, but, much like Brayden, starts to feel his body shift in ways he never expected. For Lincoln, it starts top down. Waves of luscious red hair slide down past his shoulders. The hand covering his mouth feels lighter, thinner, unlike the much more plush lips it covers. He feels the slickness from the heavy lipstick on them, unaware that the rest of his face is also heavily covered in makeup. His football jersey is replaced by a neon green tube top that, at first, looks foreign on his torso, but the hair fades away and breasts start to push the tube top out to nearly its breaking point. These are manmade orbs — big, round, and firm — with suckable nipples to match. His waist tapers in greatly, then flushes out to flared hips below a pierced navel. He feels his dick retreat deep into his body before… her vagina replaces it entirely. Hairy legs lose that hair permanently, capped by impossibly high heeled plastic shoes. Her backpack shrinks into a tiny metal purse — the perfect accessory to store a john’s money in… when she has the heart to charge them. She believes everyone is worthy of love and only takes money when the client absolutely insists on it. Lin came to this classroom in pursuit of a lonely young man in need of companionship. She doesn’t know why she stayed for the class to start. She usually lures them away well in advance of that.

Jordyn starts to laugh at the state of her former boyfriend before realizing that she’s also going through some changes. She has a large wad of gum in her mouth that wasn’t there before and she can’t stop chewing it… loudly. The force of the chewing is enough to make her large plastic dangly earrings rattle. She turns her head quickly in an attempt to see them. She goes back and forth in these attempts so much that she starts to feel dizzy and giggly. Her giggles send jiggles through her massive mammaries. Jordyn now vaguely remembers getting them the same day as her best friend Lin. The thought was best friends could be breast friends, if they had the same breasts. It was Lin’s thought. Lin did most of the thinking for the pair. She was smarter than Jordyn, who lived up to the trope of being a natural blonde. So when Lin said they should get matching breasts, Jordyn also got her own pair of bolt-on orbs. When Lin said they should become hookers, Jordyn agreed. She even followed Lin to this classroom in the hopes of finding a nice, smart guy they could mutually please. Lin always had the best ideas.

Jordyn kisses Lin and Lin pulls away chewing the syrupy sweet gum with never-ending flavor, a dulled look in her eyes. Jordyn doesn’t know what Lin would do if left to her own devices. Jordyn thinks, I may be the natural blonde, but she’s the natural space cadet. It’s a good thing she’s so good at kissing… and licking… and fondling… and fucking.

Inspired by the sexy thought, Jordyn leans over and kisses Lin, pulling away with her gum and her spaced-out look. Lin loves everything about her girlfriend Jordyn and her omnipresent dopey expression is the cherry on top of the sundae.

They shared an idea on a specific character type together and now the pair share a brain between them. Again, I’m the fairest of them all.

“If there’s a hooker with a heart of gold in a movie, who else has to be there?” I ask the class. After no takers, I add, “Do not make me eeny meeny miney mo. You wouldn’t like me when I eeny meeny miney mo.” With still no volunteers, I start, “Eeny… Meeny…”

“The businessman who falls in love with a prostitute.”

I scan the room for the owner of the mousey voice, following the thread to find Josiah Cox on the end of it. The smaller than average boy looks like he hasn’t hit puberty yet. He dove on the trope grenade and I only had to get to “meeny,” so I give him the puberty he missed. Josiah feels his body shifting and growing and the pain as it pushes past the limits his clothes and shoes can handle. His growing frame shreds through his clothes, leaving him naked in his seat, then I go to work on his meat. Ripped muscles that long escaped him have made his smaller size dick look miniscule. As it seems like a universal misstep to give a guy with the last name Cox a tiny pecker, I go to work on righting that particular wrong. I gift him with equipment that is nearly as large as his previous arm and I let the whole scene play out for everyone else in the classroom to see. Despite putting some fitting (and fitted) garb atop his new frame, the oohs, ahs, and gasps of shock have already settled across the room. Josiah will now be a campus legend. Sure, no one will instantly fall in love on sight of his dick, but there will be a lot of interest in trying to catch a glimpse of it. So much so, that Joe Cox will make a business out of its display… and function. Of course, despite all of the gigalo money he’ll rake in, his heart will always belong to Jordyn and Lin. The trio will make the loving-est, swinging-est threesome of all time, despite the absolute punishment they’ll take daily from Joe Cox’s monster cock.

“Okay, easy question, how much time do we have left in this class?”

A cheerleader raises her hand and says, “Fifteen minutes.”

“Trick question, Lilly Ford. You are now the —“

Compelled to answer, she blurts out, “Best friend.”

Her body starts to ripple outward, causing her perfectly fitted cheerleader getup to look like it’s child-sized on an adult’s body, revealing chunk where only tone existed before. She will be a friend to all of the cheerleaders, but not in good enough shape to be one herself. They like hanging out with Lilly because they always look thin and beautiful by comparison. She has a sparkling, hilarious personality if anyone will actually take the time to get to know the girl inside the oversized body beneath the clothes of an old cat lady.

“Okay, there’s about ten of you and like thirteen minutes left. We’re going to have to lightning round this fucker. And don’t think you’ll stay silent because all I’ve got left in my head is the Femme Fatale and I don’t think the campus could survive ten of those walking around…”

I hear their gears whirring.

They’re trying to sort out what will benefit them most and cost them the least.

That’s human nature — easy fixes and fast food.

Of course, that’s also what I’m typically here to disrupt. There’s a reason why I’ve been associated with the genesis of genies and why the most common thing said about their wishes is — be careful what you wish for.

A guy in the fourth row reads off his phone, “Gentleman thief?”

“You googled that, didn’t you, Nicholas Bryant?”

He nods, proudly.

I’m not mad. It’s a good idea. Also, it will make things easier for me, so I plan on going easy on him.

“Go on. How are they described?” I ask.

“A sophisticated and well-mannered thief.”

“Touché,” I say and go to work on Nicholas.

I outfit him with dandy clothing, making him look idiosyncratically old-fashioned. I do similar changes to his personality, bringing out of fashion formality to the forefront with, of course, a penchant for thievery. His odd charm will be endearing to some, but off-putting to most.

“Now,” I say, “can I have your phone?”

“But of course, my good man,” he says with an affected accent.

I scroll through the list of character tropes that Nicholas was kind enough to pull up from the internet and make my way through the classroom.

I pass by a very hip looking girl, Emery Adams, pointing to her. “You’re a…” I scroll through my options. “Yokel”

With a heavy southern accent, she asks me, “What’s a yokel?”

Emery loses any and all elements that could be considered sophistication from her brain. All of her knowledge is handily replaced by lyrics to every country song ever sung. Physically, her polished look fades into stone-washed, cut-off jeans and a plaid shirt tied underneath her breasts, showcasing a developing muffin top. She’ll go by “Ems” from this point forward, as Emery is two syllables too many for her simplified mind, and will be increasingly popular as she works her way through the entire staff and clientele of the local country line dancing bar.

I point to Isla Rodriguez, seated behind Emery. I can tell she’s a lesbian from the way that she’s checking out the newly formed Ems’ delectable milky white thighs and the bottom of her buttocks revealed by her cut-offs. Her harsh look demands revamping of a high order. I find the exact right trope for her, saying, “Ingenue.”

Isla’s eyes go wide with dewy innocence and wholesomeness. Her partially shaved, dyed black hair rapidly grows out into crown of corn-yellow hair. Her all-black ensemble, replaced by a light sundress and her army boots by Mary Janes. Every kiss, every touch, every bit of sexual contact that she’s ever experienced vanishes from her mind, leaving her as immaculate as a field freshly dusted with a winter’s first snowfall. Innuendoes will be lost on her. She will cover her eyes during sex scenes and even make out scenes in movies. She will never get over the feeling that contact beyond a gentle hug is “icky.” Her girlfriend will break up with her later today. Isla will not understand the vast majority of the conversation because she can’t fathom the intimacy of having ever been in a relationship with another person.

The average looking boy two seats over from Isla, Evan Peterson, catches the word “Hotshot” from my lips. He now the type of person who hasn’t met a challenge that he’s capable of turning down — the bigger the risk and recklessness, the more the appeal. A dozen tattoos that he got “on dares” appear all over his body. One of his eyebrows is shaved because of a similar situation. He lives his life by a Jackass kind of code, full of idiotic stunts and dumb pranks.

In front of him, Ariel Roberts looks confused by everything going on around her. I steer into that ice, calling her out as a “Damsel in Distress.” Her revamped look leaves her pretty as a (princess) peach, but she’s also now incapable of solving even the most mundane and minor of inconveniences without the help of a white knight or prince. She’ll be pleasantly dependent on the kindness of strangers for the remainder of her life.

Connor Perry announces his presence to my attention with the dumbest question of all time. “Um. Is any of this going to be on the test?”

I choke back bile and label him the “Absent-minded professor.” His brown hair lightens to gray as a couple dozen years tack on to his life. He looks at himself sitting in a desk instead of standing at the front of the room and has no idea how this happened. As he scratches his head in wonder, I realize this class has no need for two professors, so I drop Professor Thomas Cole to eighteen years of age and a student. The pair passes each other on the stairs as the still very licentious Tommy sidles up alongside Claire Morgan, desperate for a shot at what’s underneath the thong he briefly caught sight of earlier. At the very least, he plans to stare down her gown long enough to memorize the curves of her tits so he can accurately replicate them in his mind while he masturbates to the thought of them.

I look at the clock on the wall. Hrm. Time’s running out on this class. I catch the eyes of the few remaining unchanged. “We’re almost out of time and there’s four of you left, so I’m going to give you a fighting chance. We’re now playing trope tag. You will take on the characteristics of the first trope you come into contact with.”

Peyton Carr made a B-line for contact with Claire Morgan. However, she didn’t expect Tommy Cole to be so inclined to grope. As she reached out, and before she had a chance to touch the girl, he caught a feel of her upper thigh. Her desire to be an object of desire is immediately replaced with naughtier, kinkier thoughts of all the ways she’d like to see Claire pose… naked. Tommy being closer, and being clearly more open to some aggressive fondling, discovers that Peyton’s hand is quite talentedly explorative as she immediately starts to stroke his cock to orgasm through his jeans whispering the laundry list of dirty thoughts flowing through her head the whole time. Tommy is surprised to find a mind as indecent as his and decides then and there that they will combine forces to live out every fucked-up thing the two of them can come up with.

A lovely African-American girl, Aubree Bishop, trips on the steps trying to make a hasty retreat. Her hand grazes Emery Adams’ cowboy boot. Her tastes quickly shift to all things white trash and honky tonk and a desperate need to mount a cowboy as soon as possible (or the first reasonable facsimile that she comes across.) Aubs and Ems will be joined at the hip, sharing “fashion” as well as every country cock they come across.

Zach Salazar assumes that his best bet is to stay seated and keep his distance from all other students. Ariel Roberts finds him, reaching out, and begging for his help in turning on her phone. He brushes her hand away, too late to realize his mistake as his mind rapidly simplifies to vacuousness. His princely good looks will lead him to the arm of an older woman with enough resources to make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble and an active libido to keep him otherwise engaged.

I don’t see Xavier Lynch until he’s standing alongside me, reaching out to touch the hem of my coat. An interesting gambit, but I can’t have another me roaming the halls, as I like being unique. A shade of me, however, is acceptable. I craft his djinn lamp artfully and strand him (in it) in the middle of the desert a half a world away. I’m sure, having witnessed me in action, he’ll be quite clever in the manner in which he grants wishes, if and when he’s ever discovered.

Jordyn and Lin have dragged Josiah to the back of the classroom. Lin fondles his balls, a mouth full of gum, while Jordyn has a mouth full of his dick.

I look to see Tommy’s hand deeply into Peyton’s jeans and feverishly rubbing at her while she thrashes in the seat beside him. If I had to hazard a guess, she’ll be the first girl knocked up out of this particular class, though with the amount of dick she’ll be seeking, and riding, there’s no guarantee who the father will be.

I find Connor at the front of the room, slap a hand on his shoulder, and say, “As you were, Professor.”

“Where was I?” He asks me.

“You were about to dismiss the class.”

“Ah. Yes. Class dismissed.”

They scatter to the four winds, unknowingly (and wonderfully) spreading my little brand of chaos a little further out into the world.

I know the students should be learning, but I feel like I’m the one really benefiting from each class I enter. All of this growth and no student loans to worry about. College really does expand minds.