The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Meg stood behind the counter, in an empty Starbucks, making a latte. She liked working at Starbucks. When on shift, she achieved a relaxing zen-like state in the steady rhythm of making various incarnations of espresso. Being a barista was the ideal job for her in college.

Right now she was finding it hard to focus on her work. She had a big exam coming up and she was worried that she wasn’t going to do well. The shop rumbled as if a semi truck had passed by outside as if to emphasize that fact.

Yet another distraction appeared to annoy Meg. While she was steaming milk, she realized she was being watched by some guy. She snuck a peak at the man while she continued to fix her drink. Even though dressed in thrift store chic and his long blonde hair shined like it hadn’t been washed in a week, he was quite good on the eyes. He looked liked he might play guitar for a grunge band that hadn’t given up the cause. Perhaps he was a reincarnation of Kurt Cobain? She wondered why he was here with her and what he represented. She was intrigued by the meaning of his existence because she was actually sound asleep. She was dreaming. The coffee shop, the coffee she was making and this strange man were all part of a most lucid dream.

“Who are you and why are you here?” Meg finally asked him.

“I’m Derek. I’m an incubus.” He replied matter-of-factly as he watched her work.

“An incubus?” Meg asked quizzically as she tried to lay a coffee colored design on her layer of foam. “Isn’t like that a demon?”

Derek shrugged. “Yeah, we get called that all the time. Just because people don’t understand us.”

“Should I be worried then?” Meg asked as she carefully laid her perfect coffee on the counter.

“That I’m going to drink your coffee?” Derek asked with a furrowed brow, not catching her meaning.

“No, that you are going to steal my soul, or cause some sort of...um...nocturnal emission.” She told him. “This is a dream after all.”

“Yeah.” He acknowledged. “And a pretty weird one at that. That’s why I stopped by.”

Meg look visibly hurt. “What’s so strange about it?” She asked, looking around at the mostly empty coffee shop.

“Well, I’ve been in, like, a kajillion dreams, and I can’t say that I’ve ever been in one with the dreamer so focused on making a latte. I mean, you can do anything in a dream. Why do something you do all the time?”

Meg pouted. “Making coffee helps me relax. I’ve got a physics final tomorrow and it is driving me crazy. I need to relax to get some sleep so I won’t totally screw it up.”

There was another tremor and the coffee house shook.

Derek laughed. “It doesn’t seem to be working. This is one of the most restless sleeps I’ve been in. I can think of more relaxing things to focus upon.”

Meg picked up another cup and filled it with coffee. “I’m sure you could, if you were real.”

Derek looked hurt. “But I am real.”

Meg laughed. “Incubuses...incubi aren’t real. You’re a figment of my imagination. You’re some distant memory from a horror movie I’ve long forgotten.”

“Oh, really!” Derek said. “Well, could a figment of your imagination do this?”

The coffee shop blinked out of existence and was instantaneously replaced by a different place. Meg found herself in the back of a crowded elevator. She was dressed differently too. Instead of wearing her black shirt and tights, fronted by the trademark green apron, she was now in a tight, crisp white blouse, a knee-length pencil skirt with a wide black belt and a silver buckle and very high heels. Her eyes were framed by a thick set of horned rim glasses. She clasped a folder full of papers against her chest. Her flaming red hair was pinned up in beehive hairdo. When she touched it, she felt a rigidity achieved through copious amounts of hair spray.

Confused and a little scared over reality’s metamorphosis, Meg tried to back up against the elevator wall but ended up bumping into someone standing behind her. She looked around to see who it was. She found Derek who was also different than he appeared in the coffee shop. He was now clean-cut and neatly dressed in a blue suit with clear tailored lines the brought to mind an early 1960s style. He looked like he could have been an extra on the set of Mad Men. Meg loved Mad Men. She had fantasies about Mad Men.

Without acknowledging their collision, Derek lay his hands on Meg’s waist and pulled her tightly against his. She could feel his arousal against her ass and instantly her body was aglow. A hungry feeling pulsed like a knot in her stomach. Without looking as if anything had happened, she started to brush her butt against him, moving slowly and surreptitiously, side to side, feeling his hardness grow. Derek leaned forward, his breath hot against her cheek. His hands slid down her dress and lifted it up to expose her writhing ass. No one else in the elevator seemed to notice their secret sensual play. Yet, the thrill of being discovered just made her hotter and hungrier. Meg thought about their disapproving looks if they knew and what they might say if they found out. The danger was making making her nerves fire in waves. She tried desperately to check her breath, to choke back a moan as he....

“Hey, wait a second!” Meg suddenly cried out. The elevator doors opened and she pushed her way through its oblivious occupants, emerging back into the coffee shop. Once there, she was back in her black clothes and apron, her red hair back to its shortness and natural style. “What the hell’s going on?”

Derek followed her out, his dress and appearance returning to its former state.

“Whaddaya mean? You were totally enjoying yourself.” He chided “Don’t try to deny it!”

There was a rumble and the coffee shop trembled as if in a light earthquake.

Meg snatched up a cup of coffee and went back to making a latte. “Ok, it was fun, but very distracting. I need to get myself into the zone for my test and stuff like that is not going to help.”

“You have a funny way of getting into the zone.” Derek observed.

“Well, that is just who I am.” Meg said firmly.

“Oh really!” Derek smirked. “I know what else you are!”

Reality was once again distorted and remade, carrying Meg into a new scene. Now she was sitting at a desk like she had in grade school and she was dressed in a adult version of a catholic school uniform. She was wearing a white blouse again but now with only one or two buttons fixed in the middle. The top was spread wide to reveal the cleavage of breasts ready to burst out of a lacy bra. The bottom was tied into a knot at the midriff. Low around her waist and high at the thigh was a short pleated skirt with tartan plaid. She had white socks that went up past the knee and heavy maryjanes with thick heels and bright silver buckles. Her hair was long and set in ribbon decorated pigtails that bounced jauntily when she moved.

“You gotta be kidding me!” Meg grumbled as she looked herself over.

Derek was conservatively dressed and cleaned up again but older and exuded an aura of collegiate intellectualism. He was leaning against the teacher’s desk in the front of a room that was familiar to Meg though she couldn’t immediately place where it was.

“Passing notes is very naughty, Meg.” Derek scolded. “Come to the front of the class!”

Meg’s annoyance quickly dissipated, replaced with an intense sense of shame. Her cheeks burned nearly as red as her hair. “Yes, sir.” She said meekly as she slipped out of chair and approached him.

“What happens to naughty girls?” Derek asked with a menacing smirk.

“Um...they get spanked.” Meg said in a voice so low that it was nearly a whisper. She surprised herself by finding the the punishment surprisingly enticing.

“Assume the position.” Derek ordered.

At his command, Meg reached pulled her gripped the desk’s edge and bent over to she was not wearing underwear. Derek slid the back of Meg’s skirt up and let his hand fall on her ass with a loud slap. Meg winced in pain, but her body throbbed with a restless excitement in response as if beckoning for more. His hand spanked her again, leaving stinging red marks against her skin and her cunt pulsing and wet. He was growing hungrier too, pulling apart her shirt reaching into her bra and freeing her breasts, grasping and squeezing them. Meg swooned in his grasp, her breath growing deeper, wanting to turn and embrace him and kiss him, feel him over her, inside of her...

“No! No!! No!!!” Meg cried out pushing Derek away. “Where do you even get this stuff?” She cried out, pointing to her clothes.

“From you.” Derek noted as he shifted back into his Kurt Cobain look.

“What!?” Meg asked, angry, embarrassed and confused. She was momentarily distracted by the room shifting and remolding back into the coffee shop. Her clothes returned to what she wore to work.

“Don’t you remember?” He told her. “Last semester’s English class? You had the hots for Professor Hamilton. You daydreamed that whole scene while he was lecturing on Paradise Lost. Of course, it was with him and not me but I like to have some fun too.”

Meg gasped. Derek was right. She had a big thing for Professor Hamilton. She dreamt that scene up and added to it throughout the semester, until she found out he had slept with another student. That was why the classroom had looked so familiar.

“I get all my ideas from you.” Derek said. “The elevator scene. The naughty school girl. You thought those up. Every dream of desire you’ve had, every lustful fantasy, I pick up on them and can make them real—or at least as real as they can be in a dream.”

“Well, quit it.” Meg told him. “I’m starting to feel like Daffy Duck when Bugs Bunny was drawing his cartoon. I don’t need to be distracted by sexy fantasies when I wake up.”

The coffee shop shook more violently.

“That shaking is caused by you, you know.” Derek observed. “It is you not getting a good enough sleep.”

“Yeah, because you keep screwing it up trying to screw me!” Meg accused.

Derek laughed dismissively. “We both know that isn’t true. It doesn’t happen when we are playing out one of your fantasies. Only when you are here. You are more restful when your are fantasizing on the hot stuff.”

Meg was about to say something rude but stopped. She realized he was right.

“Would you rather be distracted from a restless night sleep where all you did was make lattes in an earthquake?” Derek asked. “Come on, try relaxing my way. What do you have to lose?”

Meg looked at him warily but realized she didn’t have anything to lose. “Ok.” She said finally. “But if I fail my test because I can’t get a hot dream out of my head, I am going to take sleeping pills and hunt down your sorry ass!”

Derek rubbed his hands together. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine. Especially after you enjoy this fantasy I’ve just been itching to try.”

Suddenly, Meg found herself nude, lying stretched out along the coffee store counter, which was unsympathetically cold and hard against her bare skin. She was was in a pose that was exceedingly compromising as it was uncomfortable. Her arms were pulled over her head and her wrists strained against chained cuffs. Bonds around her ankles kept her legs straight, taut and unmovable. The restraints she wore fixed her body as tight as a bow string. Meg could barely budge. She had to keep her breaths short as expansive inhales caused her wrists and ankles to tug against their cuffs. She gulped in surprise at finding herself this way, and her throat’s brief motion bucked against a wide metal collar of a thin but unyielding metal.

Hearing whispered gasps nearby, Meg looked around the coffee shop to find their sources. She was not the only one bound here. She saw her coworker Jenny, with her perfect little body tied to a chair. Alana, her roommate, with her long, athletic black form was pinned against tightly against a wall. There was even her ex boyfriend Fred splayed over the stand where they kept the containers of half and half and milk. They were all naked like her and all delirious with desire. Her ex’s was more than obvious with the tangible evidence of his arousal. All were marked with collars from which hung a medallion with the coffee shop’s logo. Meg knew she must have one attached to the collar around her neck too. She and the others were all like goods put on display to be sold.

Meg realized they actually WERE goods put on display to be sold. There were two men now standing over her on opposite sides of the counter. One was Derek, on the cashier side, now with a green apron over his clothes. On the opposite side was that Actor she had a serious thing for. She gazed up to dwell in his warm brown eyes and let her gaze wander through his dark brown hair streaked with gray. His manner was easy and he had an attractive contemptuousness of one who knows the world studies him but disdains its discovery.

The Actor peered over the counter at the menu sign hanging behind Derek. He was in the act of making a choice. His squint brought out the tiny wrinkles around his eyes that had a way of making him even more handsome. Meg hated to turn away from him but she was curious to know what he had grabbed his attention. The menu had her friends’ names and her name listed on it but all were transformed to make them mimic drink selections—the Skinny Vanilla Jennalatte; the Dark Chocolate Alanachino, the Double Shot Esfreddo. Hers was the Salted Caramel Megiato. The actor was deciding who to choose among the three.

Even though it was the height of objectification to be wanted in this way, Meg felt the immediate urge to have him choose her. She wanted it so badly she squirmed, making her soft flesh rub against her bonds’ confines. She looked at him with longing but unable to give voice to her desire and, in a way, this was even more painful than being cuffed and chained as she was. She knew that the others, even Fred, hungered for this man, as if his acquisition of them would give their lives the utmost meaning. They hung expectantly on every sound he made that might signal he was coming to a decision.

Finally, the Actor spoke and his options held their collective breathes. “I’ll have the Salted Caramel Megiato, please.”

Joy welled up in Meg’s throat, joy that expanded and throbbed from her inexplicable inability to express it. Sad sighs from the others only exacerbated its power for she had been chosen...she had been chosen!

“Yes sir.” The incubus replied. He lifted a thick tube, held it over Meg’s chest and squeezed. A thick thread of sticky caramel oozed forth, moving with agonizing slowness as Meg anticipated its touch against her breasts. She clenched her teeth as the cool, slimy touch fell upon her as Derek drew spirals over each fleshy mound. Her nipples tightened with an irresistible desire to be stroked. A glow of arousal was awakened within her and slowly crawled up her spine. She took a deep breath too savor it, causing her cuffs to dig deeper into her skin, stabbing her with pain. She thought the discomfort would dispel her growing craving, but it only altered the color it manifested itself as in the periphery of her vision, changing from bright pink to a hot red.

After Derek had covered Meg’s perky breasts in caramel, he asked the actor. “Would you like whipped cream with that?”

“Oh absolutely.” The Actor replied and then smacked his lips in anticipation.

Derek picked up a whipped cream container and crafted a firm snowy summit upon Meg’s carpeted mound. She clenched her thighs as the coolness above embraced the fiery crevice below, creating a gnawing sense of urgency within her.

The Actor crawled onto the counter, kneeling astride her with his knees resting at the narrows of her waist. He was a predatory cat in the way he handled himself and she could see the hunger for her in his eyes. Surely she had been objectified, being put on display, selected and purchased, decorated with caramel and cream, but in his gaze she saw only that she was the object of his desire. He wanted her. He needed her. He desired her and would have her.

The Actor slipped down closer to Meg, leaning down on his hands while he pressed his mouth against her sticky tits. He not only tasted her but was consuming her, enjoying her flesh and savoring her spirit. She squealed and tugged at her bonds as her body instinctively writhed under his tongue lashing, feeling sharp stabs of pain as the cuffs disciplined her flesh. The pain’s warning spoke to her, ordering her to hold still and she obeyed its directive. Still she found herself surprised to find its sensation not as unpleasant as she feared it might be. Just like the corrective word of parent is not devoid of love, the pain brought order to the irrational ecstasy blooming inside her by forcing her to try to contain it. But this restraint did not weaken that bliss it just made it all the more intense.

The Actor licked his way across the lower slopes of her breasts, attending to the length of her belly with soft breathy kisses and gentle nibbles. Each touch of his surprisingly velvety lips made sent seismic ripples through her tummy. Warmth surged through bone, muscle and nerve, imparting each with the urge to diffuse and melt into a quivering mass of jelly. The cravings of her body contrasted with the wicked intransigence of her restraints. She tried to hold the one back so that it would not conflict with the other but she knew this was a losing battle.

The Actor was devouring the peak of whipped cream, its height eroding beneath his tongue. The end was coming and Meg held her breath as it approached. His lips latched on to that precious piece and he ministered to it with his tongue’s amazing dexterity. Her arms and legs fought against her restraints, making her muscles burn. Her back arched. Pain and pleasure were like fire and back fire, the one inferno pulling the other into it and becoming one. She heard a voice screaming, human in tone but pure emotion in its wordless meaning. She realized it was her own.

Meg jerked up from her sweaty sheets, panting as her dream rush faded in feeling and memory. She picked up the clock and peered at the time in the faint light.

“That was some dream!” She said perfunctorily before getting up. She was relaxed as she had ever been in her life.