The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

As the young woman stormed into the bar, Kent couldn’t help but admire her body. The girl was stick-thin, with a perfect face—cheekbones that a model would have killed for, surrounded by long and curly black hair. Though she was conservatively dressed, the large bartender could imagine exactly what she’d look like unclothed; like a pixie, lithe and graceful, slender without ever being bony.

The room was empty—the Friday night crowd wouldn’t start drifting in for another hour or so, but though Kent could tell that the angry girl wasn’t here for a drink, he asked her anyway.

“What can you get me? What can you GET me!? You can get me my parents back, you sick fuck!”

Tiny though she was, Kent had to admire the girl’s efforts to tower over him. She’d reached out and grabbed his bow-tie with one hand, and in an attempt to pull him toward her, had only succeeded at bringing herself over the bench, her furious countenance inches away from Kent’s passive face.

He didn’t move at all, and when his face didn’t even show a glimmer of recognition or understanding, the brunette’s anger subsided slightly, only to flare up again when she saw his name-tag.

“Kent!” she thundered, and Kent nodded in response. “I know you had something to do with this! My father said that I should talk to you, and he wouldn’t have done that if you weren’t up to...up to something!”

Slowly, Kent pulled out a glass and poured the girl a glass of water. His calm manner relaxed her, somehow, and after sniffing to make sure that there was nothing unusual about the beverage, the girl took a sip.

“Now,” he said, his deep Southern drawl unhurried and relaxed, “why don’t you start by telling me your name, and then fill me in on what you’re talking about, little lady?”

She continued to glare at him, but as his hands went to adjust his bow-tie, she found her eyes strangely drawn to the red accessory. It was odd, she couldn’t help but muse, how infrequently you saw bow-ties these days. Such a big man, such a small piece of clothing...and what color is that? It’s not quite red, but I don’t know what you’d call it...

While she stared at the bow-tie, the girl took a deep breath and started to explain what had happened to her.

“I’m Julia,” she said, not realizing that it had been more than three minutes since either of them had spoken. “And I don’t know how, but I think you’ve done something to my parents...”

It had all started at the start of the week, when Julia’s mother Trisha had come to pick her up from school. She was late, which was unusual for her, but it wasn’t until Julia jumped in the car that she realized that something was wrong. Very wrong.

Trisha reeked of alcohol, she was dressed like a street whore, and her breasts had somehow more than doubled in size. Julia would have suspected surgery, but that morning when Trisha had given her a lift to the community college she attended, everything had been normal...and she knew that at least a few days’ recovery was needed after implants.

“Mom?” she’d asked, and when Trisha had turned to face her, recoiled in shock. It was as if she’d gotten into a car with a stranger—her mother had a wild, lustful look in her eyes, one that Julia had never seen in anyone but criminals on the news, or drunken jocks at frat parties.

When Trisha had smiled, Julia’s skin had crawled, and another smell hit her—the smell of sex.

Her mother had just been fucked.

There’s only so much weirdness you can cope with before a tiny bit of you shuts down, and Julia simply sat in shock as her mother began to drive. She didn’t comment on the recklessness of the driving, and she barely noticed that they were going the wrong way.

Only when they parked under a clearing in the woods outside of town did Julia attempt to say anything, and even then she was barely a few words in before her mother interrupted.

Though she couldn’t remember the exact wording of the conversation, there were two things she knew she’d never forget: the strange, lustful sound of her mother’s voice—raspy, yet somehow stronger than Julia had ever heard it. Forceful, dominant...proud. It was alarming, but not nearly as worrying as the content of what her mother was saying.

As Julia stared at the bartender’s sparkling bow-tie, she recounted her mother’s insistence that it was the role of a good daughter to please her parents, to please her mother. It was her job to serve her, sexually, and in that job, Julia had failed. She had failed as a daughter.

She’d shied back in fear, considered getting out of the car and running, but there was nowhere to go, and her brain still wasn’t quite coping with the fact that her mother—her dear sweet mother—was lewdly telling Julia of the lesbian acts she wanted to engage in with her. Before that conversation in the car, Julia would never have even guessed that Trisha knew the word “felching”, let alone wanted her own daughter to do it to her.

Again, Julia would have suspected that it was an extremely good disguise, or perhaps someone else wearing her mother’s body like a suit, except that she was still Trisha. She had the same mannerisms, the same facial expressions (though thickly coated with lust) and, except for the swearing, the same turns of phrase that her mother had always used.

As Trisha had wrapped up, she’d even become a bit emotional.

“I love you, Julia.” she’d said, the first sentence since Julia had gotten into the car that didn’t contain any curses. “...and I just want to fuck your sweet young cunt.”

Trisha hadn’t been threatening, either verbally or physically, and aside from the passion with which she’d described a number of the sexual acts she wanted to share with her daughter, hadn’t been aggressive at all either. To Julia’s relief, that didn’t change, even as the young woman sat there numbly, not saying a word, not sure what to say.

After more than fifteen minutes of silence, Trisha had seemed to take the hint. She’d taken another swig from an unmarked bottle in the back seat, and begun the drive home, neither mother or daughter saying a word for the entire trip.

Julia hadn’t told her father—how could she?—and when he came home, she was locked in her room, holding her knees and rocking back and forth, over and over again. Something had happened to her mother, something bad.

Two days later, it happened to her father as well.

Her sensible, manly (if quiet) father had disappeared for a few hours, and when he’d come home, been dressed in nothing but a blouse and a pair of panties, sporting a pierced nose and a number of camp affectations that wouldn’t go away. Though Julia hadn’t spoken to her father about what had happened in the car on Monday night, there had been an unspoken solidarity between them, a shared confusion about what had happened.

Trisha had barely acknowledged Roger as a human since her grotesque transformation; it seemed to Julia that her newfound love of women was matched (if not exceeded) by a sudden hatred of men, and Roger seemed to be the one to bear the brunt of it. Julia’s father had been patient, and though he’d tried—unsuccessfully—to get her to talk to him, he wasn’t able to break through, get to the bottom of whatever was happening to her mother.

That day, when he arrived home wearing ladies’ garments, Roger had become just as bad as Julia’s mother, if not worse.

Where Trisha had seemed quite happy to leave her teenage daughter alone in her room, the new Roger was constantly pushing for her to come and join the family. He was obsessed with the idea that Julia must obey her mother, and seemed to get off on the disgust that Trisha poured his way.

And most horribly of all, though he never overtly said so, he seemed to want Julia to sleep with her mother.

The idea disgusted her, her new home situation scared her, and the fact that both her parents seemed to be acting completely out of character…Julia was exhausted by the whole thing.

And so that morning, she hadn’t gone to school. For the first time in her life, she’d just lay in bed, and listened to her parents fighting. Well, fighting was hardly the word for it—her mother was simply debasing her father, who seemed to be grovelling in apology, and barely concealing how much he was enjoying his punishment.

This went on for a few hours—there was nothing that Trisha could say, no term of abuse that was too far, nothing that Roger didn’t lap up, while all the time crying out what a naughty boy he was, what a piece of human filth he was, and how he should be punished.

Just when it all seemed to be over, when Julia was thanking the stars that it had finally ended, her door opened. She held the covers up in fear, but it wasn’t her mother, finally giving into temptation and taking her daughter by force—it was her father.

“I’m sorry, darling,” he said sadly, and for a second it was like Julia had her father back. “This must all be very confusing to you.”

When Julia nodded, he stepped forward, suddenly more confident than Julia had seen him in days. If it weren’t for the cheerleader outfit he was wearing, a skirt so short it barely covered his ass, and the obvious welts from Trisha’s beating, she could have pretended that nothing was strange. She could have pretended that her life hadn’t abruptly been turned into a strange kind of hell that she never could have dreamed of, not in her wildest fantasies.

But then Roger spoke, and any thought of life being normal was dispelled.

“Here,” he lisped, and held out an address. “Go here. Talk to the bartender, Kent.

“He’ll help you understand.”

With that he was gone, slinking out of the room as if he’d been walking on platform heels his entire life. He paused briefly by the underwear drawer, and when Julia checked, she tried to pretend that the pair of panties she’d left on top weren’t gone. She tried to pretend that her father hadn’t stolen them while standing directly front of her.

“And that’s how I knew,” Julia said. Her voice was no longer loud and angry, but had gradually become quieter as she’d told the story. Now it was gentle, almost reflective. “That’s how I knew you had something to do with it—neither of my parents have gone to a bar in their life, and I remembered mother mentioning that she’d stopped by here before picking me up from school that day.”

Kent had waited patiently as the girl said her piece, polishing a glass and enjoying the trance that Julia had let herself fall into as she stared into his twinkling bow-tie. Now that she was done, he leaned forward sympathetically.

“I’m sorry that you’re mad,” he said, his soft tone matching Julia’s. “But there’s one thing you haven’t explained.”

“Mmmm?” Julia replied, all of her anger gone. “What’s that?”

“You haven’t explained why you need to seduce your father.”

Julia nodded sadly, and then looked up, snapping out of her stupor.

“What?? How did you know about that?” she said sharply. She obviously still didn’t trust the bartender, but he didn’t seem offended, and with a casual shrug, he gestured for her to continue.

“I guess…”

Julia trailed off, and her brow furrowed as she got lost in her own wonderings. Why did she want to seduce her father so badly? It was a need that had always been there, as long as she could remember—there was just something about him that was so sexy.

Even now, the college student could feel her pussy getting wet as she remembered her younger years, trying desperately to peek at him in the shower, sitting outside her parents’ room late into the night in the hope that she’d hear them—hear him—having intercourse. One time, she’d seen a glimpse of his member as he got changed—she’d been hidden in his wardrobe for hours, and not for the first time, but it had finally paid off.

She’d almost rubbed herself raw that night, the split-second of soft flesh enough to fuel a thousand masturbation sessions. She’d cum screaming his name, unable to contain herself, simultaneously scared that her parents would hear…and hoping that he would, that he’d come in to investigate, and that she could finally stop living a lie and tell him how much she wanted…no, needed his cock inside of her.

It wasn’t healthy, Julia knew that. It was sick, some kind of subconscious Freudian thing. It would never go anywhere—could never go anywhere…but she didn’t care. She lusted for her Daddy, and there was nothing she could do about it. No other man compared; she’d tried sleeping with them, but the only time she could get off was when she imagined Roger storming her bed at night, ripping her clothes off and plunging his thick meaty cock into her wet pussy.

Finally, one day, just a few months back, she’d given in, and accepted that her desires weren’t going away any time soon. She’d started wearing less and less clothes around the house when it was just the two of them—so that her mother wouldn’t suspect anything, she acted normally when both her parents were home, but if it was just her and Roger…

At first it had been vaguely-acceptable nightwear. A teddy that didn’t even go down to her knees, and showed off what little cleavage she had; a man’s T-shirt that she could “innocently” pull tight against her body to show off her hard nipples.

Roger, to his credit, hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t even seemed to notice. And so Julia had started to push it, more and more: wearing nothing but underwear. Wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear. Wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear and asking to sit in her Daddy’s lap.

Wearing nothing but her sexiest underwear, asking to sit in Daddy’s lap, and grinding against him, pretending she was just getting comfortable.

To her continued frustration, however, she got no reaction; not even as much as an erection. Either he had more self-control than any other man in the history of the world, or (and the alternative was so terrible that Julia rarely allowed herself to think about it)—he didn’t find her attractive.

She’d managed to find a way to up the game, while still remaining his perfect innocent little daughter: she’d allowed him to catch her topless, calling out “come in” while she was getting changed in the bathroom. When he’d just apologised and left, she’d followed him, hoping that he’d head straight to his room to jerk off, hoping for some sign that he was human enough to notice the sexy little minx throwing herself at him.

Instead he’d sat down to watch the football game.

Most girls would have given up at that stage, but Julia wasn’t most girls. If her obsession wasn’t enough of a driving force, Julia could never back down from a challenge.

All pretence of innocence went out the window that day—if the innocent little virgin daughter didn’t do anything for her father, Julia reasoned, perhaps showing him how hot and horny she could be would.

That day, she’d gone out and picked up the first guy she could. He had been a bit uneasy at going back with her to her parents’ place, but not enough to turn down the opportunity for an easy lay. She’d marched him right past her father, still sat in front of the game, and taken the stranger to her bedroom. Without shutting the door, she’d stripped him, and begun the noisiest bout of intercourse of her life.

“Oh!” she’d shouted, desperately wishing that she could see her father right now. “Yes, ride me! Ride me like an animal!”

The boy (all men were boys in Julia’s mind, at least when compared to her hunk of a father) she’d picked up couldn’t believe what was happening to him—as Julia rode him, begging loudly for his cum, he didn’t even connect her actions to the man in the lounge-room.

Despite her best efforts, however, Julia’s open door remained empty, and her father didn’t even come to investigate.

After several increasingly noisy rounds with the stranger, whose name Julia never even bothered learning, she kicked him out of her bed, and went to check on Roger.

He’d moved into the kitchen, and started preparing a meal for the evening.

After that, it was game on. Any time Julia and her father were alone together, she’d either bring a boy home, or just sit in her room and loudly masturbate, screaming her Daddy’s name over and over. The intercourse became more and more public, moving from the bedroom to the hallway to whatever room was closest to where Roger was—one time, he’d accidentally walked in. Julia was sure this was her chance, that he wouldn’t be able to resist the sight of her fornicating body in the flesh, but he silently excused himself and left, leaving her more frustrated than ever before.

That was what had infuriated her so much—when her mother had hit on her, she could have screamed to the heavens. The wrong parent was trying to seduce her.

Trisha’s odd behaviour had delayed Julia’s plans, but not stopped them entirely—she’d been planning on having her Daddy walk in on her masturbating in his own bed, but ever since he’d started acting strangely himself, she wasn’t sure what to think. So often she’d dreamed about him stealing a pair of her panties, but in her fantasies it was to jerk off with, not to wear.

Ultimately, it was her father who turned her on, not his clothes or how he acted. Even the fact that it was her Daddy she had the hots for was sexy to Julia, and she knew that it wouldn’t take long for his cross-dressing fetish to become sexy to her as well.

“I guess that’s it,” she said finally, and Kent nodded understandingly at her answer. “I’m turned on by the fact that my Daddy turns me on.”

“That doesn’t explain the ink…” Kent said, and Julia looked down at her wrist.

At the same time as she’d started to get hot for her father, she’d started to resent her mother more and more. Why did she get to be the one who fucked him? She was an old hag, not worthy of Roger’s magnificent cock. And so Julia had rebelled.

She’d started swearing, knowing that her mother hated foul language. She’d started breaking her curfew, getting bad grades…but the piece de resistance had been the tattoo.

It had made her laugh when she’d seen it, and then the thought of how her mother would react had made it a must-have. A tattoo above her excellent butt, what they called a “tramp stamp”—of a pair of tits.

“This way,” she’d explained to her father saucily, “they’ll be thinking of my tits no matter what angle they’re looking at me from.”

A disappointing “That’s nice, dear” had been his only response, but her mother’s had been much louder, much angrier…and ensured that it wouldn’t be the last tatt that she got.

A tattoo of her pussy on her ankle, of her butt on her collar-bone…and, as Kent had noticed, a tattoo of a cock on her wrist. She’d drawn it herself, based on the memory of that brief glance she’d gotten of her father’s.

Truth be told, she didn’t even like tattoos. She hated the process—Julia was never one for pain—and she wasn’t crazy about the fact that it was permanent (especially considering the crude nature of her tattoos) but it was like an addiction—if it pissed off her mother, she had to have it, and if there was even a chance that it would make her father think of her in a more adult way, she found it impossible to resist.

At the end of the week, she had another appointment—her most ambitious yet, a big tattoo across her shoulder-blades, simply reading “Daddy”. She knew that it would finally clue her mother in on her incestuous lust, but in Trisha’s current state, she couldn’t work out if she’d even care.

Even if her mother barely noticed, Julia knew she’d be back for more ink. Ever since her first tatt, she’d become fixated on them—it was true what people said; you never just got one tattoo. Already, she was imagining every inch of herself covered in tattoos, each more obscene than the last, until it was obvious at a glance that she wanted her entire body to scream sex, that she was nothing but a slut for her Daddy.

Kent smiled as she told him this, and before she could begin rapidly describing the next four or five tattoos she planned to get, cut her off with another question.

“How,” he said, looking down at the diagram she’d drawn to show tomorrow’s new tattoo, “did someone like you manage to spell Daddy right?”

Julia’s thoughts slowed right down as she processed the pretty man’s question. Pretty man. Red bow tie nice.

She lost the next few minutes of her life staring at it, marvelling at its pretty colors, grinning like a loon. Kent had to repeat the question to get her back into gear.

“Oh no!” she said, staring at the napkin she’d doodled upon. “Whoops!”

Slowly, carefully, she picked up the pen, and crossed it out.

“There!” she said with a big grin, one that Kent matched as he saw her correction. “DADY”, it now read.

“Good girl,” he muttered, and her vacant smile somehow seemed to broaden. She didn’t know why she was in this beer-house, but the beer-man seemed to like her, and that was all that mattered. Maybe the beer-man would be able to help her fuck Dady. Julia didn’t know much, but she definitely knew that she wanted to fuck Dady. Dady had a big cock.

She wasn’t sure how she was going to get beer-man to help her, but in her experience, showing men her boobies meant that they were much more willing to help. Or if not help, at least fuck her, which was nice too.

Kent reached out and played with the small tits of the topless girl sitting in front of him. He’d been planning on asking if she really thought fucking every man she ran into helped her cope with the fact that her father wouldn’t touch her, but it seemed like a stupid question now…and one that she might not understand, at that. Instead, he enjoyed the feeling of her hard nipple as he rolled it between his fingers, and as she got up on the bar, undid his fly.

The evening crowd would be in soon, and they’d be sure to enjoy being pleasured by Kent’s latest customer. It had been a while since they’d had a Daddy’s girl in.