The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

John couldn’t believe his eyes when Molly walked through the door. They’d arranged to meet at his favourite restaurant, the same place that they’d had their first date. He could remember watching her enter, years ago; she’d been dressed casually (slightly underdressed for the setting, if he was being honest) and he remembered seeing her smile for the first time.

It was her smile that he’d fallen in love with; on that night so long ago, his first thought had been that she looked drab and uninteresting—but when she’d smiled, it had changed her whole face. It had made the room light up, and suddenly transformed Molly into one of the most beautiful women he’d seen.

The Molly that walked through the door, however…well, John didn’t honestly know how to react.

She looked like sex on legs. For the second time, she was underdressed, but not because her clothes were too informal—this time, it was purely because of how much flesh she was showing. John couldn’t believe that the same girl who had arrived at their first date in a sweater was wearing a dress that showed more boob than it covered.

And her ass—for Molly and her work colleagues the changes had been gradual. Previously, her work colleagues had never had a reason to pay attention to the size of her assets, and whenever Molly had spent too long staring at herself in the mirror in the last week, she’d quickly become distracted and ended up bringing herself off. As a result, no one had noticed the exact nature of Molly’s changes.

But John was seeing it all at once, showcased by the slinky black dress Molly was wearing.

Her ass had more than doubled in size, practically reaching cartoon proportions. It resembled an over-the-top parody of what a fantasy butt would look like, emphasized even further by the way she walked, sticking out so abruptly below the small of her back that you could have used it to rest your drinks.

John couldn’t stop staring at its perfect heart-shaped form as she walked from the door of the restaurant to the maître d’, who pointed her in his direction. She smiled as she saw him, and her attractiveness somehow doubled.

The rest of her may have changed, but Molly’s smile had stayed exactly the same.

She was wearing a simple black tube-dress, leaving her arms and shoulders completely bare and showing ample cleavage—and as she approached their table, John realised that it wasn’t just her ass that had grown. Her breasts, already large, seemed to have increased in size as well.

The dress was clearly made for a slightly smaller woman, and Molly’s assets were causing it to practically burst at the seams; her ass had brought the hemline up by at least half a foot, and John couldn’t work out how big her boobs had actually grown, they were so restricted (and yet enhanced) by the tightness of her ensemble.

The black five-inch heels on Molly’s feet lengthened her legs, almost forcing you to follow them up with your eyes until you reached her magnificent rear, and John realised that this was the first time he’d ever seen her in heels at all. It all came together so perfectly, creating an image of curviness and womanhood like John had never seen before that he was instantly hard, his mind immediately filled with dirty images of everything he wanted to do to her.

If he’d been capable of taking his eyes off her for a second and looking around the room, he would have seen that she had caused a similar reaction to every other man who had seen her.

By the time she reached the table and sat down, John was speechless. He felt as though his mind had been turned into putty by the gorgeous creature in front of him. He was vaguely aware that she was saying something, but he couldn’t stop staring at her cleavage and remembering that ass—that ass!—of hers.

“Sorry I’m late,” she purred. Even her voice was somehow sexier. “I had to pick something up on the way here.”

John noticed for the first time that Molly was holding a plain paper bag. The rest of her body had blinded him from noticing anything else about her. The restaurant could have caught on fire and he wouldn’t have spotted it.

“That’s okay,” he replied. It took a few seconds for his brain to catch up to what she’d been saying, and a few seconds more before he was able to respond.

“Shall we eat?” she asked, seemingly unaware that anything was different, and almost before she’d finished the sentence, their waiter was at the table, visibly struggling to stop himself from drooling.

Molly ordered first, John unable to tear his eyes away from her for long enough to look at the menu. He dimly noticed that she was moving her lips as she read. It should have been horrifying, the smart, sassy girl he’d fallen in love with, seemingly struggling with reading basic English, but John couldn’t stop thinking about how good her lips looked, how thick and full they were, how perfectly-constructed they seemed to be for sucking cock…

After Molly was done telling the waiter about the meal she wanted—emphasizing the “cream” in “creamy mushroom sauce”—John hurriedly ordered as well, not even registering what he’d asked for.

John stared, agog, as Molly munched on bread rolls and prattled about the changes she’d made in her life. He tried to listen out for any kind of information that would suggest how she’d changed from dowdy office worker to sex bomb in a week, but nothing jumped out at him, and soon he was forced to ask.

“Molly,” he said, interrupting her story about which treadmill she liked best, “what on earth happened to you?”

Molly froze, a bread roll halfway to her lips, and John suddenly felt tremendously guilty. She looked like a dog who had been told off for jumping on the table, or a child scolded for grabbing the largest piece of cake.

“What do you mean?” she asked, pouting.

“Just…look at you!”

Molly looked down at herself, and suddenly went bright red.

“Excuse me,” she said, and before John could respond, she left for the bathroom, leaving a trail of erections as she sashayed across the restaurant.

On the verge of tears, Molly burst into the bathroom and stared at herself. Dear god, what HAD happened to her? A few weeks ago, she was a respectable graphic designer who wouldn’t be seen dead in a dress like this. Now, here she was, in a classy part of town, dressed like a common street-walker. No wonder John was disappointed in her.

And if John was turned off by the way she looked, just imagine how he’d feel about how damned horny she was all the time. The way that he’d stared at her, it had made her so wet that she was surprised he couldn’t smell it…of course, now that she thought about it, that must have just been a look of disappointment.

Molly began to sob, huge, heart-broken sobs that caused her whole body to heave. She didn’t fit any of her clothes, she couldn’t go more than an hour without needing to masturbate, and she was so restless, all of the time. She could have gotten through it if she’d just had John’s support, but he thought she was a freak. She had been looking forward to fucking him, but he probably wouldn’t even want to touch a worthless whore like her.

And she definitely couldn’t let him see her tattoo. Any chance of a reconciliation would be destroyed if he saw her new tattoo, saw how proud she was of it. He already thought she was a slut, he didn’t need to see that she’d gone out and labelled herself as one.

As her tears hit the washroom basin, the sound reminded her of the rain. The rain…

Molly stood up straight, closed her eyes, and let the rain wash over her.

It felt like seconds, but was minutes later when she re-opened her eyes and examined herself in the bathroom mirror. If she’d learned nothing else from the past week or two, she’d at least learned how to turn every situation, no matter how bad, into a positive one.

So what if John didn’t want to fuck her? That was his loss. Molly was horny, and if he wasn’t going to satisfy her needs, she wasn’t going to wait for him to come around.

And so what if her current clothes made her look like a slut? That sort of worked for her; Molly was in the mood to fuck, and her clothes absolutely helped advertise that fact. Any man looking at them would know exactly what she wanted, and be ready to give it to her.

So what if she didn’t fit any of her old clothes? They definitely weren’t going to help her get laid. Her new wardrobe, however, was perfect…it was almost as if it had been put together for that specific purpose.

And if she didn’t want anyone she knew to lose respect for her by seeing her tattoo, there was an obvious solution: she just had to do her fooling around with strangers.

As she fixed up her hair and make-up, Molly giggled; she’d been doing that a lot lately. It was as if the world had become a lot more amusing suddenly, or maybe she was just now learning how to enjoy it.

(It was useful, too—whenever someone asked her a particularly hard question, a giggle gave her a few more minutes to think about the answer…and for some reason, everyone had been asking her particularly hard questions lately.)

Molly looked at herself in the mirror, and blew herself a kiss. She looked great, and even if John wasn’t going to appreciate it, someone would…maybe that cute waiter who had kept staring at her, or maybe she could ask to thank the chef personally, or even that cute old grandpa, sitting all alone a few tables over…

Dinner had gone slowly for John. Molly had taken a ludicrously long time to return from the bathroom—he must have really upset her with his questions. After she’d returned, he’d waited a few minutes and tried to ask again, but Molly had simply excused herself in response, and been gone for nearly as long the second time.

Rather than make the dinner any more awkward (or deprive himself of the view any more than necessary) John stuck to safe topics for the rest of their meal. He got the feeling that he was boring Molly—she kept staring, looking around the rest of the restaurant restlessly—but at least she was no longer upset.

Just before they’d left, she’d excused herself one last time. John had waited impatiently, trying not to notice how long she was gone, and was proud of himself for not saying anything when she returned.

They’d gone straight from the restaurant to a movie—a film that John knew Molly had been looking forward to for a long time. The cab ride there was awkward; as John spoke about recent developments at his work, Molly seemed unable to sit still, unable to concentrate.

John wasn’t sure what had happened to her since he’d last seen her, but he wanted to be supportive. He wanted to be there for her. He loved her, after all.

When they got to the theatre, Molly immediately excused herself, and practically ran to the bathroom. It had taken all the will-power she had left not to play with herself in the taxi; as John had droned on, she’d been mentally replaying the escapades she’d had at the restaurant, whenever she was away from the table.

The waiter had been the fastest—she had simply called him over as he was on the way back from the lone gentleman’s table, and asked if he could “help” her with something. He’d followed her into the ladies room, and just a few minutes later, she was gulping down a fresh load of cream.

Excited by his enthusiasm, Molly had played with herself immediately afterwards, and he’d stayed to watch. By the time she came, he was sucking on her nipples and caressing her enormous ass, and had become so excited that she’d rewarded him with a titty-fuck (making sure this time to swallow as much of his load as possible, and wipe the rest off immediately after.)

After she returned to the table, she’d realised that the waiter’s disappearance had caused the elderly gentleman’s dinner to be delayed—when John started asking her some question about something, she’d again made an excuse to leave, and “apologised” to the older man in the best way she knew how.

Molly had planned to blow the old man but she’d somehow ended up completely nude, the gentleman’s hands running over her body, and when they’d reached her dripping pussy, he’d asked politely if he could fuck her…

Molly was a sucker for politeness.

When she’d returned to the table, her meal had been delicious (if a little cold; the older man had decided taken his time. Molly had admired his staying power, and by the time they finished and she returned to the table, her dinner had been waiting for her for quite a while) and so before they left, Molly had decided to thank the chef personally.

She knew she didn’t have all the time in the world, so she’d settled for giving him a blow-job. (he hadn’t complained.)

As she knelt below the the chef inside the restaurant freezer before, she wondered why she wasn’t cold. Her attire should have caused her severe discomfort, but the pure heat of their sexual act seemed to keep her from freezing, and as the chef came, it felt like the warmth radiated out from her mouth, thawing her whole body.

As they’d departed, Molly had only just remembered to take her brown paper bag, and thinking about what she’d purchased earlier in the day had done nothing but add to her excitement in the cab.

Within a few seconds of arriving at the movie theatre, Molly ran to the bathroom in excitement, and within a few minutes of arriving in the stall, she was crying out in orgasm, just at the thought of opening her brown paper bag and finally getting to try out the contents.

As the blissful afterglow of orgasm washed over her, Molly smiled. As she’d dashed for the toilets, she was sure that she’d noticed a few single men…and considering what she was wearing, she was sure that they’d noticed her.

Once the movie had started, and John was settled in, she was sure she could just excuse herself, pretend to be craving popcorn or a drink. She could head back into the foyer, find a man standing by himself (or, at worst, tempt one away from his girlfriend.)

She could persuade him to join her in the bathroom, and she could recruit his help with her new purchase.

And afterwards, she knew exactly how she could thank him.