The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“It’s nothing different than a bartender putting extra salt in the pretzels to get you to drink more, right?”

Phyllis brushed her curly dark hair away from her forehead and took another swallow of her beer. I shrugged; the day had been too long to get into another argument with my lab partner and colleague. Our boss, tall, bespectacled Dimry, sat in the booth absorbed with his thoughts. He frowned, and then looked at us with his usual owlish cast.

“Look, Phyllis, if we don’t get better results, there won’t be any moral issues to be debated anyway. You know that Ms. Bowder is about to pull the plug on us if we don’t come up with something useful to Taste Enhancement, Inc. While I’m off at the Food Additives conference this week I want you and Barry to try to come up with some product that we’re capable of developing a consumer craving for.” Dimry’s voice, monotonous as it was, still well-conveyed the urgency of our situation.

“Sorry, Mr. Dimry, I just don’t see any way around the DNA limits. We can create additives that will cause people to develop a craving for certain, but not vegetables and absolutely not any artificially created substances.”

“There goes the Tang account,” I cracked. I shied from Dimry’s scowl. He never cared for my sense of humor.

“Right, Phyllis. It really comes down to some kind of genetic memory. If some food company served something closer to our genetic material—like gorilla meat, we could develop an insatiable craving for the product with CRV-55. The closer to our own DNA, and the closeness of the product to our genetic material. Hell, if someone marketed human sweat, with CRV-55, I could make you sell your grandmother to the Libyans in return for a cup of the stuff.”

“Any chance of getting a concession with the Donner party?” I ducked, expecting Dimry to toss a bar pretzel at me. He just sighed and reached for the check that the cocktail waitress had dropped on the table.

“Yup, Barry, that’s what it comes down to. We could develop a taste craving for any part of the human flesh or excretion, but that’s about the size of it.”

We morosely finished our beers and headed out into the night. We realized that if our exalted employer, TEI, didn’t think that we could develop a substance that could induce a craving for the taste of a commercially available product, the Project Crave team would be let go. As far as we knew, human sweat was not yet on the market.

Do I credit the beer that caused me to wake in the middle of the night? Would my subconscious have set off the alarm in my head anyway? In any case, the thought sprang into my head full-blown at about 2:00 a.m., and I immediately headed to my little personal computer and worked out the necessarily formulae. I picked up an old issue of Playboy, did what was necessary into a vial, and went back to sleep.

At 6:30, I was down at the lab, mixing the contents of my vial and our most promising concoction in the centrifuge, and the elixir was created. I called my semi-steady date, Cheryl, and asked her if she was free that evening. She paused, “Well, Barry, what do you have in mind?” I shook my head. Cheryl was usually free if I had tickets to a top concert or a reservation to a trendy new restaurant where she could be seen by the right people. Otherwise, she was usually unavailable. She’d let me sleep with her twice—seemingly a matter of duty—but basically let me know that my duties consisted of a good forty-five minutes of slavish, cunnilingual attention to her needs, and then she might deign to let me enter her and take care of myself, so long as I manipulated her clitoris into another orgasm. You may ask why I continued to see her. A fair question to be sure. She was stylish, drop dead gorgeous, and had a great body. With her biting wit, she was even pretty good company.

So, only by promising her dinner at Yves’, the most expensive bistro in town, was I able to persuade her to join me for the evening. I left the office early with me newly created treasure, leaving Phyllis with a perplexed look on her face at my cheerful demeanor. I dressed in my most stylish sport coat and picked her up promptly at 7:00; Cheryl left me sitting in the car waiting until 7:20, so I had to slip the maitre ‘d at Yves’ at twenty to get him to honor our reservation. Still, her stylishly short blonde hair and astonishingly full and soft lips captivated me. As always, she did virtually all the talking, which helped me hide my own nervousness.

When the waiter came by to ask us if we wanted dessert, Cheryl paused, as though mentally calculating calories, and my throat went dry for a moment. Finally, she accepted the waiter’s recommendation of a creme brulee, and I relaxed.

When the dessert arrived, it required nothing more than an opinion by me that a fellow two tables away looked just like a local rock star to induce her to turn her head, and the requisite dose of the clear elixir made it onto her brulee well before she turned back. She wolfed down the dessert and began making the obligatory noises about having a busy morning planned, and I knew that she had no intention of inviting me to spend the evening with her. I nodded understandingly, and we left the restaurant.

On the way back to her place, she seemed oddly quiet. Looking over at her, I could see her run her tongue inside her cheek, as though search for a piece of stray food caught in her teeth. When we got to her condo, I reached across her and unlatched the door, pushing it open. “Well, Cheryl, I guess you should get in, with that hectic day you’ve got coming up.”

Her blue eyes flashed with suprise. “W-w-well....,” she stuttered, “you can come in for a cup of coffee if you want.” She looked at me imploringly. I feigned reluctance, and nodded.

We got into her living room, and she dropped her purse in the corner. She still looked nervous. “I can start some coffee...” Her tongue lipped at her luscious lips. I leaned against the wall, silently. She came over. Still, I did nothing.

She looked down, and I could see her mind working. She looked up, and I once again fell into the swirling blue holes that was those eyes of her. “Barry?” I remained stone-faced. “I guess sometimes I’m a bit rough on you. And... maybe...” She paused, her tongue still working over her lips. “I can maybe make it up to you.”

“Sure, Cheryl. Whatever you’d like.”

Gratefully, in relief, she ran her hand over my chest and down to my belt buckle. With surprising speed, she unhooked the belt and the clasp of my pants. Her hands were visibly shaking as she yanked the pants and my jockey shorts to my ankles in one quick tug. My slumbering soldier peeked out.

Wordlessly, she dropped to her knees on the thick carpet. She wrapped her hand and its impeccably manicured nails around my now rising cock. Her face drew to within an inch of the reddening tip. Within three or four strokes of her her hand, I was rock hard, with a dewy drop of my jizm beading at the slit at the end.

With a cry of delight, she drew her pursed lips forward and sucked at the dripping cum. I barely resisted the urge to laugh out loud at my triumph. Yes! It works!

With ill-disguised hunger, the golden-tressed goddess pushed forward. Her lips clung tightly to the engorged rod. Her tongue darted around the tip.

I cupped Cheryl’s perfect, high cheekbones and pulled her lips off my cock. “Lick me honey. Lick the shaft and my hot balls,” I cried.

“Uh-uh,” she protested. “I want to taste it. I want you to.. I want your stuff in my mouth.”

She shook her head free of my grasp and swallowed me whole. Her right hand was pressed against my groin as her throat worked at the tip. She gagged briefly and drew my engorged sword out of her choking throat. As quickly, she threw herself forward again, capturing half of me in her hungry maw. Her hand slid off my pubic hair and around the base of the shaft. With her thumb and forefinger, she encircled the base of the stalk, and began a vigorous stroking up and down.

Cheryl’s tongue and perfect lips began laving hotly at my cock. Soon, they developed a rhythm in time with her stroking hand, her face jerking forward and back in metronome like provision.

She reluctantly drew her mouth away and looked up at me. Breathlessly she panted, “What should I do, Barry? What will make you cum?” Her stroking continued, and now her left hand rose to lightly knead my hanging balls.

“Well, babe. Take me deep—as deep as you can.”

Unquestioningly, Cheryl replied, “Sure honey, but you gotta tell me when you’re about to shoot.”

She resumed her sucking, taking me fully into her mouth and into the entrance of her throat, moaning lustfully all the while. Four, five more strokes and I cried, “Yes, Cheryl, you’ve got me there!”

She continued her stroking but brought her lips back so that they just captured the end of my lust reddened rod. My hips jerked forward, but she pulled her head back so my pole penetrated no further. With a sibilant, “Yesssss” I exploded, and looked down to watch the culmination of my fantasies as I saw Cheryl’s cheeks expand as my sizzling fluid filled her mouth.

Her face contorted in a ricture of ecstasy, and I could feel her tongue joyfully sweep over the spurting helmet. Her soft fingers milked every drop out of me. I just stood against the wall, trying to keep my legs from giving way, my gaze still fixed on her perfect features. She finally let my prick, now cleaned by her slavering tongue.

I watched transfixed, as she lay back on the carpet, visibly savoring the taste of my residue in her mouth. After a moment, she guiltily looked up at me. She opened her mouth to speak, and I could see her spunk still pooled in her mouth. “Uh, Barry, that was great, but maybe... well, I guess you should go.”

As I nodded my acquiescence, I saw a thin stream of my cum trickle out of her mouth and head down her cheek. A thin finger quickly vacuumed it back into her wettened maw.

I pulled my pants back up and headed toward the door. As I headed out I looked back. She was still on the floor, fully clothed, with her head tilted back. Her cheeks were hollowed as she savored the taste of me. She seemed happy.

As I bounded down the steps of her building, I pumped my fists into the air. The potion worked! A woman who barely would be caught in my company had taken a sip of my new formulation developed a craving for man’s semen and, to get it, willingly sucked me off like a madwoman. If this didn’t make TEI the biggest name in consumer products, nothing would. I would be a hero to Dimry and that competitive Phyllis, and even the ice queen herself, Paula Whitney Bowder, executive extraordinaire, would haveto make her tight ass sit up and take notice.

So, it was little wonder that I walked into the office the next morning—early, with a considerable spring in my step and a shit-eating grin on my face. I stopped by Phyllis’ office to give her some generalized grief of the “I’ve got a secret that you know nothing about” variety. Just as I was about to barge through her closed door, I heard a moan from ins. Softly but audibly, Phyllis’ voice came from the other side.

“Yes, honey, right there. Yes, now lick my clit now too... Come on, not just inside. Please... lick my little button... Oh shit.”

I quietly unlatched the door and peeked inside. Phyllis was sitting in her chair, her legs spread and her hand rubbing her slit. Well, it seemed to be rubbing her pussy, but I couldn’t see her pussy because a dark-haired, broad shouldered man was kneeling between her thighs. His mouth vigorously was attacking, exploring her loins.

I enjoyed the sight for a moment, and then slipped my head away and quietly shut the door. Just as I closed it, I could her her moans rise in pitch and volume, signaling her orgasm in the mouth of the hunk between her legs. Hell, with her brassiness, I wasn’t sure she even went for guys, but she sure was going for this one in a big way.

I hung around at the lab bench outside her door, and sure enough her oral servant emerged within a few minutes. Damn, it was Big Norm, the company’s top salesman! Norm was a former Calvin Klein model and as smooth as they come. He’d reportedly slept with half the beautiful women in town, including the mayor’s wife and both of the female anchorwomen at the local TV stations’ news departments. He could have any woman he wanted; what in hell was he doing ministering to the needs of our own Phyllis. I mean, Phyllis was attractive enough and all, but she wasn’t the sort of sleek, over-made up, and—usually—rich woman he usually dated. What in hell was going on here?

Phyllis’ door opened and she emerged with a smile of superiority that surpassed even her own world record standard of arrogance. I just stared at her. She stared back haughtily, capped with a sigh of contentment. Her eyes widened when she realized that I had heard her tryst with Norm, then narrowed in alarm.

Double damn! I realized what she’d done, and she immediately sensed my knowledge. You don’t slave over a lab bench with someone for eighteen months without acquiring a sixth sense about their scientific discoveries. With a flip of her head and a conspiratorial—but still superior—wink, she turned and went back into her office.

The next morning, I persuaded Ronelle, the young, busty law student intern in the legal department to join me for a doughnut in my office on the pretext of discussing patent application matters. With her long, straight dark hair and college cheerleader looks, she’d been the focus of numerous fantasies around the water cooler. From a casual conversation sitting beside me on my office couch, she was—within ten minutes—lying full length along it with her face buried in my lap. As with Cheryl, she was little interested in preliminaries, but rather focussed her attention on running her rosebud lips up and down my quivering erection, pumping energetically with her hand. She did not protest when I took her dark-tressed head in my hands and guided her mouth up and down my cock, even when I exerted extra pressure and forced my rod almost into her throat.

Within minutes, Phyllis had arrived at my door—which I quite intentionally had left a few inches ajar. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her gasp in surprise, then frown as she realized she held no monopoly on her discovery. Even so, her curiosity kept her glued to the door as my balls jerked and delivered up their load of my sticky seed into Ronelle’s hungry mouth. I lay back and enjoyed the sensation of her cheeks pressing in on the sides of my sensitive organ while she drew every last drop out of me.

I quickly looked to the door and caught Phyllis’ eye, returning the wink she’d delivered the previous morning. Phyllis flushed—out of either embarassment or anger—and left the doorway.

By midmorning the next day, Phyllis had a short, red haired woman reporter and her bearded photographer from a major science journal down on their knees in front of her couch, both fighting for the honor of drinking from the vessel of my colleague’s cunt. Phyllis of course had also left her door cracked open and was particularly vocal about enjoyment, knowing that I’d be drawn to peek from her doorway.

The competition between us intensified. I had two of our sales representatives and a visiting copier repairwoman extract my cum with their suddenly hungry mouths. Phyllis enjoyed the work of two more of our executives and an investigator from the FDA nursing at her loins, the last of these sucking her from behind while she sat perched on he shoulders and knees with her ass sticking in the air. Because Dimry was still at the Additives conference, there was no risk of others walking in on us.

I did discover one oddity when I invited the tall, willowy young blonde secretary from the personnel department by. While I waited for her “doughnut” to take effect, she confided how Jesus was such an important factor in her life and guided her thoughts and acts. After a few minutes, she grabbed for an eclair, insisting that she just felt hungry that morning but wasn’t sure why. After she’d polished off everything in the box, it occurred to me—she was a virgin who’d never tasted a man’s cum and therefore had no reference by which to target her craving.

Our little game was interrupted by an unexpected call from Jerry Basehart, Dimry’s boss, who announced that Paula Bowder herself, the CEO and all-round bitch on wheels, had just popped in for one of her famous surprise visits and wanted to see our lab for a progress report. Damn again, I had no idea she even knew our project existed.

Bowder was known as a woman of intellectual force and presence beyond all imagining. It had been speculated that she had each item in the company budget memorized, and woe be it to the department manager who had extra soft toilet tissue stocked in a bathroom where the budget called for a bargain brand. She’d graduated at the top of her class at Stanford business school and, at the age of 32, the head of our company and reputedly on her way to Chairman of the Board of the entire conglomerate.

Phyllis and I scrambled around, tidying things up, surreptitiously scrubbing off incriminating stains from our couches, and printing out test results. I shoved my box of doughnuts in a corner, straightened my tie, and tried to set up my lab station so that it looked like a had a hot project going.

Precisely at 11:00 a.m., the woman herself showed up. Although only of average heighth, Paula Bowder had a magnetism about her that is impossible to describe. Her honey blonde hair was pulled tightly back, and her piercing blue eyes took in all that she scanned, even—I’m sure—the jelly stain that I hadn’t been able to get out of my tie.

With no time wasted, Bowder walked us through each of our projects, asking for current results and likely future prospects. While no chemist, she knew the right questions to ask and could tell when we were blowing smoke. “So, what you’re telling me is that all you’ve been able to do is to develop with this CRV-55 is a substance that will, in some people, enhance their craving for a good steak, but not for much of anything else.” Her cool voice sent a tremor down my spine, landing right between my balls. Phyllis and I nodded glumly.

Bowder sighed and rose to her feet. “Well, get me your expense actuals and give me a quick tour of your facility here, and I’ll move along.” Phyllis walked her to the centrifuge in the corner while I went to my office for the reports. When I emerged, Bowder was happily munching on a croissant and chatting with Phyllis.

The blood drained from my face. The croissants! I’d doctored a couple in anticipation of a visit from the sexy manager in accounting. Did Bowder have one of them? She didn’t seem affected, and in a business-like sweep of her arm took the reports from me and headed toward the door. As her hand hit the doorknob, I sighed with relief. Phyllis’ brown eyes glanced over at mine.

Bowder turned. I could see her hand, still clutching our expense reports, shake slightly. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, “could you direct me to your ladies’ room?”

Phyllis stumbled forward and pointed her to the door just across the hall. Phyllis came back in and glared at me accusingly. “Well, what do you suppose that was about, Barry?”

I couldn’t meet Phyllis’ big brown eyes. “Beats me,” I muttered, then put on a jocular air, “but it sounds to me like the woman had a full bladder. You want me to alert the New York Times?” Phyllis said nothing, but just returned to one of the lab stations. I sat at another on the far side of the lab.

Fifteen minutes later, the door of our office came crashing open. Bowder strode through, a look of menace on her face. Her make-up seemed a bit askew and her linen skirt was visibly wrinkled. She sat across from a petrified Phyllis and motioned me over with a jerk of her head. I scuttled to a seat next to Phyllis.

“Okay you two assholes, let’s see if I got this straight.” The elegance was gone from her voice. This woman was a street fighter if I ever heard one. “You’ve developed an additive that will cause whoever ingests it to develop a craving for certain ... shall we say sexual secretions, right?” I froze, Phyllis dumbly nodded. “Let’s see; you put some on the croissant to see if the old lady would fall prey to it and come slavering after you, get your rocks off and give you a huge bonus?” Phyllis and I began to sputter our protests. Bowder held up a hand to silence us.

“Enough! Phyllis, your conniving lesbian ass is fired. I’ve spent the last ten minutes in the john fingering myself and sucking on my finger to satisfy the craving brought on by your stupid formula brought on. Not only is your stunt mean and dangerous, it’s pointless. What woman is going to go down to the store to buy a product to make her man suck her pussy? That’s just not gonna happen. Grab your purse, and the security man outside the door will escort you to personnel to pick up your paycheck. You’re not taking any notes or vials out of your office, am I clear?” Phyllis bit her lip in shock, and nodded through her brimming tears. She grabbed her purse and ran out of the lab.

Bowder turned to me. Her voice now took on a lower, conspira-torial timbre. “Now, Barry, I assume you will be able to find any remaining vials of that substance, and maybe even replicate her formula? After all, even though we can’t market that product, it would be a pity to let it go to waste when there’s an attractive but busy woman who might be able to make use of it, right?”

I nodded again. Bowder leaned back and chuckled. “It’s a pity, though. While you couldn’t market this stuff to women, it would be pretty easy to develop a lucrative black market for the male equivalent. Every executive I know would pay into six-figures for a substance that would make women crave the taste of semen.”

She looked at me evenly, scrutinizing my face.

“Ms. Bowder—or maybe I could call you Paula. I wouldn’t know about the financial end of things, but ... well... could I interest you in another croissant?”