The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I guess I’m illegitimate. Well, since my mother and father never got married, there’s no doubt I’m illegitimate. Not that it ever bothered me much. I can’t remember ever being discriminated against because of it, though I always felt kind of funny myself. I wasn’t ashamed ... maybe, just a little embarrassed.

My father had money and was always generous in supporting mom and me. And he kept in touch too, maintaining his relationship with us—visiting about twice a year.

The last time he visited was in May, a little after I graduated from high school. It was Friday after my first week working at my summer job with the only architect in our town. I would be starting school at MIT in the fall, and though my father had agreed to pay my tuition and living costs, I wanted the summer job to save a little extra spending money.

As I parked my old Dodge in the driveway, mom came hurrying out the back door. “Move your car,” she said. “Your father will be at the airport at 5:45. We have to pick him up.”

I parked my car on the street so she could pull out her BMW, then got in next to her. I saw that she had changed from the tailored clothes she usually wore at work to a sleeveless white blouse and tan shorts. Her dark brown hair, which she wore up for work was down now, just brushing the collar of her blouse. I also saw that she was wearing a little more makeup than usual.

“What’s going on? He usually gives us more warning before his visits,” I said.

“He called from Chicago a couple of hours ago and said he would be arriving at 5:45, that’s all I know. But this visit is about you. He said he wanted to talk to you about something important.”

“I hope everything’s all right. He isn’t going to go back on his promise about paying for me to go to MIT, is he?”

“Whatever happens, be sure you treat your father with the respect he deserves. Remember, he does the best he can for us.”

“I will, mom ... I will,” I said, a little worried about what the future might hold.

We arrived at the airport a few minutes before the plane was due. Mom parked in the red waiting zone—not much danger of being towed at our small airport. As she walked ahead of me into the terminal, I noticed how good mom looked. The high heel sandals she was wearing with her shorts revealed how shapely her legs were. She wasn’t really old yet, just having turned 40. I could imagine what she must have looked like twenty years ago, when as a model in Chicago she first attracted my father’s attention.

We didn’t have to wait long before the small commuter plane landed. My father was smiling broadly as he entered the terminal and was met by mom and me. Then, he put his arms around me, pulling me to him in a warm hug. This was uncharacteristic for my father; he tends to be kind of reserved and doesn’t express his emotions much.

A warm feeling of affection for my dad welled up inside me. He was my father. I loved him, and I knew he loved me. I guess mom felt the same, the way she kept herself close to him. Releasing me, one arm around mom’s waist, “All set for MIT?” dad asked.

“I hope I’m ready,” I said. “I’ve got a summer job to save some extra spending money. There aren’t any problems with me going to MIT this fall, are there?”

“No ... no problems,” he said. “I’m glad you’re taking responsibility for earning some of your spending money. There’s something else I’ll need to talk to you about later, though.”

Then, seeing the expression on my face, “Don’t worry. I think you’re going to like what I have in mind.”

After we got home, dad and I sat in the den while mom fixed dinner. She had phoned the real estate agency where she worked to let them know she wouldn’t be available until Monday. She didn’t really need to work for the money, but wanted something to occupy her now that I was older and more independent. When I was younger, she had limited her activities to caring for me, housekeeping and working for the PTA and a few other community organizations.

Dad looked at me over his scotch and water. “I know you’re still a little worried about what I wanted to talk to you about. Well, it’s really nothing you need to worry about. Now that you’re getting older—in a lot of ways, you’re an adult now—I realize we haven’t had much opportunity to get to know each other. This summer, I’d like to have you spend some time with me at my place in Santa Barbara. That will give us a chance to get better acquainted with each other before you go off to MIT. Well, what do you think? Would you like to spend a couple of weeks with me?”

I was relieved to hear my worst fear wasn’t going to be realized, and a little surprised at what my dad was suggesting. I never thought he was interested in having any more of a relationship with me than what happened during his occasional visits. But, I was willing to go along with him. I loved my dad. If he wanted to try to get to know me better, I was willing to try to get to know him better.

“Yes,” I replied. “I’d like that. Will mom ...?”

“Your mother doesn’t need to come with us. She’s been to my place in Santa Barbara before. (I didn’t know that.) I’m sure she’ll agree it’s better if it’s just you and me.”

Dinner was delicious, as usual. Mom was a good cook, and she seemed to take pleasure in the praise dad gave her for the meal. We firmed up our plans over dinner. I would fly to Santa Barbara at the beginning of July for a two week visit—dad would send me the tickets. He told me not to worry about losing my job with the architect, he would fix it so I could take the two weeks off. (Not that I cared much any more about that job.) As my father predicted, mom agreed it would be better if she didn’t join us. “You won’t want your mother around when you two are doing your male-bonding thing,” she said, smiling.

As mom started to clear the table, dad said, “Laura, you take it easy, Rob and I can take care of this. You were stuck in that hot kitchen while we were talking in the den.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I think I’ll take a shower to cool off.”

Clearing the table and loading the dishwasher was one of my regular chores, so having my father’s help was actually an advantage. It wasn’t long before we had the dishwasher loaded, the tablecloth folded, and returned to our places in the den.

We sat there quietly for a few minutes, hearing only the rumble of the dishwasher, the occasional purr of the airconditioner and the faint sounds of my mother’s shower. The quiet was unusual. Most of the time, there’s noise filling the empty spaces in the house: television, the radio, my cd player. The quiet was unusual, but not uncomfortable. As my father and I sat together in the den, I felt the bond between us growing.

The faint sound of the shower stopped. Then, after a while, we heard mom from the top of the stairs, “Eric, I’m going to bed now. Goodnight Rob.”

“’Night, mom,” I shouted up.

“We’ll talk some more tomorrow,” dad said to me. Then, walking to the kitchen to freshen his drink, “I’ll be right up, Laura.”

It was still early, but this sort of behavior wasn’t unusual for them. During my dad’s occasional visits, mom seemed to want to make up for all the sex she was missing during the rest of the year. I guess it worked because she never expressed any interest in other men, even though I knew she had plenty of opportunities.

Now, bothered a little by the quiet, I turned on tv, watching the news and then an old horror movie before going up to my room. In bed, in the quiet of the night, I could still faintly hear the sounds of mom’s moans coming from her room. “How long can they keep it up,” I thought to myself. Then, covering my ears with a pillow, I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke a little after 8:30 the next morning, before my parents got up. After coffee and a quick shower, I went over to Danny’s house.

Danny was my best friend. Like me, he was one of the outsiders—the kids who weren’t considered acceptable by the cool kids at school. Most of us outsiders were pretty intelligent and did good at school, but we were never popular. We all believed we would be vindicated in the future when we would be successful and wealthy—like Bill Gates.

After hanging around with Danny for a while and having lunch with him at McDonalds, I got back home about 1:30. Mom was watering the flowers when I pulled up. “Rob, you need to mow the grass today,” she said.

“I will, mom. I’ll do it right away.”

“Your dad wants to talk to you first,” she said. “He’s in the den.”

I found my father checking his e-mail on the pc in the den. “Mom said you wanted to talk to me,” I said.

“How’s that laptop working out?” he asked. He had given me a laptop for Christmas—to help with school and take to college.

“Let’s take a look at it,” he said heading up to my room.

Within minutes, he had the laptop fired up and was reviewing my directories. I didn’t think my privacy ought to be invaded like this, but didn’t know what I could do about it, so I didn’t say anything.

Both the den pc and my laptop had high speed internet connections. I was a little concerned about what my father might discover on my laptop. I hadn’t downloaded any real porn, but I had a fairly large collection of Playboy and Penthouse photos.

Dad looked over my class work on the laptop. But after that, it didn’t take long for him to find my photo collection. I was afraid of what he would say, but he seemed to treat my interest in naked women as normal.

Paging through the pictures, he began asking my opinion about some of the girls. Stopping at a particularly large-breasted model, “Those breasts are obviously implants,” he said. “What do you think about implants?”

“I don’t know ... as long as you can’t tell the difference, it wouldn’t matter to me.”

“I guess that makes sense,” he said, then continued looking through the photo collection.

He stopped at one on the more recent playmates. Bobbi Burke was Miss November last year. A petite blonde, about eighteen years old, with a fantastic figure—large breasts, a small waist, and shapely hips. She had played a major role in several of my fantasies. “I think those are natural,” dad said. “Do you like her? Do you find her attractive?”

“Yeah, I guess,” a little shy about talking with my father about sex. Then, somehow compelled to tell him the truth, “Yeah, she’s really hot. She could turn me on for sure.”

He continued paging through the photos, commenting on one and then another, asking my opinion of several of the girls. He lingered for a moment over a centerfold from a few years back—Candace, a redhead with a gorgeous figure. He didn’t ask my opinion of this playmate, just glanced at me with an amused look on his face, then continued paging through the photos.

He stopped again at Miss February, another of the younger girls—about eighteen or nineteen. Claudia Slevik had a slimmer figure than some of the playmates, though she was far from flat-chested. With her shoulder length dark hair, dark eyes, and high cheekbones she had an exotic look, though the verbiage said she was a native of Ohio.

“What about her?” dad asked. “Does she turn you on?”

I looked at the photo of the naked model, “Yeah, she’s really beautiful, and sexy too.”

Claudia was almost the last playmate in my collection and it wasn’t long before dad finished looking over the rest. Then, turning to me as I sat on the bed, “Rob, I guess you haven’t had much experience with women ... I mean girls. That’s something I can help you with when you come to Santa Barbara. I think you’ll find the information—the secrets—I have will give you a big advantage in that area.”

In fact, I had almost no experience with girls. I didn’t have a girlfriend—I had only had a few dates and had never got more than a quick goodnight kiss—I was a virgin.

“To tell the truth, I really need help. Girls don’t seem to like me, or to be attracted to me. I just don’t know what to do with them.”

“We’ll take care of that in Santa Barbara,” dad reassured me. “You’ll find things will be different after that. Now, you’d better mow the grass, like your mother wants.”

The rest of dad’s visit passed without anything major happening. We talked some more about my visit to Santa Barbara, mom and dad had sex Saturday night, and Sunday he took the commuter plane to Chicago where he would catch a connecting flight to New York. My father had some sort of job working for the UN, though I was never exactly sure what he did.