The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was late when Roger awoke the next morning. Bright sunshine streamed through the big window facing the street. Gina was gone. She had thoughtfully pulled back the curtains. A pitcher of cold water stood on the night stand. Roger poured himself a glass, appreciated after the over-indulgence of the night before, and walked over to the window.

He found himself looking out on the stately houses across the street. Several were half-covered in deep green ivy. A chorus of flowers and birds greeted the morning. A few cars passed. Roger yawned.

As he had hoped, a pedestrian passed by. She was dressed for the day in a yellow-patterned sun dress and wide-brimmed hat. The curve-clinging dress flowed barely half-way up the slopes of her gigantic breasts and then gave up trying. The bottom was no more successful at covering her tanned and toned thighs. She wore cute yellow slides on her feet and yellow lace gloves on her hands, one of which clutched a yellow purse. Glossy hair as dark as midnight tumbled down her back.

“Sweet merciful heaven,” Roger said, admiring the yellow-clad knock-out. He watched her until she disappeared around a corner. He needed to re-assure himself that she was real. He half suspected that the babe fest of the previous evening was some sort of erotic dream.

“We’ll separate today,” Sarah said over breakfast that morning. “I’ll take the Land Rover and start checking pressure along the system. You can inspect the pumping station. It should be down here.” She pointed to a square on a map of the town spread out before them.

Roger finished his toast. He brushed crumbs off his hands. “Can you give me a lift down to the pumphouse?”

“Why don’t you walk? It’s not that far. I have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Roger groaned theatrically. “How far is not that far’?” he wondered.

Sarah shrugged. “A twenty minute walk, probably less. Take a look at the map.” She tossed back her hair and took a deep drink of water.

Roger looked at her instead. “No coffee for you today?” He was convinced Sarah’s metabolism ran on pure caffeine.

“I don’t feel like coffee this morning. Besides, this water is really, really good. We should try to find out what’s in it. Maybe do a chemical profile.”

She emptied her glass and immediately refilled it. Gina, looking delicious this morning in a shiny red microdress, had thoughtfully placed a pitcher of water on the table for them. Roger was having orange juice.

He had heard Sarah’s enthusiasm for the town water already. He studied her covertly. Sarah didn’t seem as grumpy this morning as usual. “Did you sleep well?” he asked idly.

“Like a lamb. Very comfortable bed.” She brushed back her hair again. “I think I need a haircut. What are you looking at?”

“Sorry. I was . . . You look . . . have you ever seen a pub with so many flowers in it?”

Sarah drained the last of her water. “You can admire the flowers later. Today we have work to do. I’ll meet you back here about five. Let’s get moving.”

In her usual abrupt way she got up from the table and marched out of the room. Roger watched her go. More than Sarah’s mood seemed different this morning. She was kind of pretty, if you looked closely; her nose didn’t seem as sharp as he remembered.

As soon as she was gone, Gina came over to the table. “Would you like anything else, sweetie?” she asked, resting a hand on his shoulder. “That was a big breakfast.”

He grinned. “I have a big appetite. Besides, I have a lot of work to—oof!” Without warning he found himself with a blonde, busty beauty perched in his lap.

Gina kissed him thoroughly. “I was thinking,” she whispered, crossing her knees, “maybe before you leave we could go back to your room and say good-bye—properly.” She kissed him again to make her meaning clear.

Roger quickly weighed the benefits of another romp with Gina against the prospect of getting sacked by Sarah. It was a toss-up. “Sorry, but I don’t think I should,” he said reluctantly. “I really do have a lot to do today.”

Gina gave him that deadly pout. “Does this mean you don’t like me any more?” she demanded. “You seemed so friendly last night.” She kissed him again before he could answer. She was wearing different boots this morning, tight red ones that matched her tiny dress.

Eventually she let his lips slide off hers a few millimetres. “Are you sure you don’t have time for me?” she whispered. She caught one of Roger’s hands, which might have been trying to ease her off his lap, and guided it to her right breast.

“Ah!” he cried, “well, uhm, if, if you put it there—I mean, if you put it like that, I, uh maybe for a few—mmmmmm!” Another kiss, warm and wet. He felt the softness of her through the microfibre dress.

“But, but, Sarah will be back any moment,” he gasped.

Gina began undoing his shirt buttons. “Why don’t you come back to the kitchen for a moment luv,” she suggested softly. “There’s something there I want to show you.”

Roger heard footsteps on the back staircase. Gina lept gracefully to her feet. Taking his hand, she led him docilely toward the door behind the bar. Just watching the sway of her ass beneath the red dress was making his blood quicken.

What Gina wanted to show him in the immaculate kitchen was an old oak table. It was worn with age and smooth as polished glass. It was exactly the right height, Gina explained, that if she sat up on it (like this) and spread her legs wide (like this!), Roger could step between them and aim his beam at her pussy without having to bend or stretch at all.

Roger tested that supposition. He discovered to his delight that she was right. The old table was so solid that it hardly shook as Roger pistoned in and out of his willing hostess, even after she lifted both legs and locked her booted ankles around his back. It accepted both their weights when Roger ejaculated inside her with a series of sharp groans and then half collapsed on top of her, spent and winded.

“Have a pleasant day luv,” Gina giggled, much later, as Roger stepped out into the morning sunshine. She kissed him on the cheek. Roger had a map of the town in one hand and a valise full of water-testing instruments in the other. He memorized the receding view of Gina as she wiggled back into her pub. He started off toward the pumping station.

Oddly, the well for Bimbeauville was at the edge of town, near the river. Usually the wells were sited uphill from town, so gravity helped maintain water pressure. Roger wasn’t terribly concerned. It was a fine morning. His bombshell innkeeper had seduced him again. The smell of roses permeated the air. The orderly buildings and party-coloured houses of Bimbeauville formed a backdrop for the endless flower gardens.

There seemed to be gorgeous women everywhere.

Roger couldn’t stop staring. Whether mothers out shopping with children in tow, or housewives running errands, or shop clerks leaning in the doorway to catch the morning sun, or office girls slipping out for a cup of tea, every woman who caught his eye was stunning.

They wore their hair long and combed. Roger wondered when the babe sweeping the floor of her hairstyling shop ever got to cut hair. The women all had sensational figures: narrow waists, full hips and round, undulating backsides that looked mouthwatering in the tight jeans and skimpy shorts that were so popular here.

They were all super-busty. The proportion of dazzlingly over-proportioned women went well beyond any reasonable probability. In fact, Roger reflected as he admired a short-skirted brunette bounce across the street, these girls were so big that “busty” didn’t quite cover it—rather like that girl’s top didn’t quite cover it.

Every woman he saw had a rack that a man could happily get lost in for a week. The parade of jugs and curves at the inn the night before was apparently not an aberration but a cross-section of the town. It was beyond amazing. Would a fourteen-year-old boy in this town ever lose his erection?

Roger was beginning to feel like a fourteen-year-old boy himself, when yet another sex-vision stepped into view. The woman was walking her dog. She was tottering along the walk in a blue-jean miniskirt and a yellow tank top that made no secret of her stupendous curves. Her broad sun-hat was yellow and white. Her white sandals had yellow flowers over the toe-straps and extravagantly high heels.

“Oh, good morning then!” she said, when Roger drew closer. Her smile was dazzling.

“G-good morning,” Roger replied. He was working hard not to stare. Or to stop staring so obviously. Or something. The shoulders straps on the woman’s tank extended outward almost horizontally.

“Grand morning to be out, isn’t it? Oh, Timmy, don’t do that.” She was talking now to her small white dog, who was investigating whether Roger’s leg was worth humping.

“Oh, that’s all right, he’s only being friendly,” Roger said amiably. “I don’t m-m-m-ind.” His unexpected stutter began when the woman knelt to pick up her dog. The view straight down her tank top allowed Roger to confirm both the size and perfection of her breasts. At the same time her miniskirt, brief to begin with, slid to the top of her thighs. Roger nearly started biting his fingers.

The woman stood up. “Hi!” she said, “I’m Daphne.” She extended a delicate right hand. The other held the squirming dog against her chest.

Lucky dog, thought Roger. Out loud he said, “Roger. My pleasure.” He shook hands.

“We don’t get enough visitors here,” Daphne said. “Where ya goin’ with all that serious-looking stuff?”

“Oh, I’m with the Drinking Water Inspectorate,” Roger explained. “We’re in town to check on the water supply. It’s routine to check things out five years after a new—”

“Oh, the water in Bimbeauville is like the best, isn’t it!” Daphne enthused. “I love it! Water everywhere else doesn’t taste the same!”

“Uh . . . right. Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Means the water is probably good quality. But I have to inspect the pumping station to be sure—”

“Oh my goodness, are you walking all the way down to the river?” Daphne interrupted again.

“Well, if that’s where the pumphouse is, then yes.”

She looked concerned. “Roger, honey, that’s way too far to walk with all that stuff you’re carrying. At least without a break. Why don’t you come back to my place? Put your feet up for a few minutes.” She looked at him imploringly. She had fabulous green eyes.

Roger hesitated. Another spectacularly built woman he had barely met was inviting him in. It was tempting. “Well, thank you Daphne, but I do have to get going . . .” His voice held little conviction.

She leaned in closer. The dog squirmed. “Are you sure, honey? I live right around the corner. I could fix you some breakfast. Oh!” The little dog suddenly jumped out of her arms. It landed deftly and took off down the street, trailing its leash behind. Daphne wobbled off after it. In her super-high heels she had no chance of catching up.

Gallantly, Roger ran after the dog, which had disappeared down a side street. He found Timmy where he had stopped by a lamp post to relieve himself. Roger picked up the leash. He handed it to Daphne, who was wiggling along behind them. Her enormous rack bounced with each step.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Bad dog, Timmy,” she scolded the dog. The dog hung his head.

Daphne swept yard-long, deep brown hair out of her eyes. “Now you’re my hero. Really, you must come back to my place—so I can thank you properly.” She was standing very close.

Roger said: “Well I—” Unexpectedly, Daphne leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips were moist and warm.

“Come home with me, honey,” she whispered. “Let me make you breakfast.”

“Wonderful idea,” Roger said dreamily. Daphne smiled. She slipped an arm around his back. They continued down the side street toward Daphne’s flat, the dog gambolling behind. Daphne planted little kisses on Roger’s cheek from time to time.

As promised, she did make him a second breakfast. Eventually.

It was almost lunch time before Roger finally extracted himself from Daphne’s eager embrace and continued on his way. She waved good-bye from the open door of her flat. She was dressed now in a tight, white one-piece. The zipper was half-undone to accommodate her astonishing tits. As Roger left, Timmy the dog barked at him, wagging his tail.

The day was warm, the sun was bright, there were flowers everywhere. Roger felt on top of the world. He hadn’t even arrived at the pumphouse yet.

The street was narrow and very old. Here and there the old cobblestones poked through the asphalt. The street wound slowly downhill, past inviting houses with well-kept gardens. One block was walled with red-brick row houses, topped with lines of identical chimneys. Even these however, had been cleaned and repainted, sooty black replaced with red and blue and green. There were few people on the street. That was just as well, Roger decided; if he kept meeting women like Gina and Daphne he would never get any work done.

The walk was not without distractions, however. A couple of young women giggling and wiggling along the far side of the street almost made Roger drop his equipment. They were both wearing exceedingly brief, sleeveless summer dresses, along with high-high heels, sun hats and gloves. And they were both stacked.

Farther along, Roger passed another hot babe, perhaps a young housewife, pruning the hedge around her overflowing garden. She looked up as Roger passed, smiling.

“Good day, luv!” she sang.

“Hello,” Roger replied. “Your garden is beautiful.” Though it was hardly the garden he was looking at. The woman was blonde, with the kind of impossible figure that seemed to be the norm in Bimbeauville. Those have to be at least F cups, he thought to himself. He admired the twin melons falling out of the wispy summer dress she was wearing. Her gardening gloves were forest green. They matched her high-heeled, suede boots. Who dressed like that to work in the garden?

The woman beamed. “Why thank you! I do put a lot of time into it. I’m home by myself . . . all day long.” She gave him a meaningful look.

Roger felt his composure slipping. The fabric of the woman’s dress was semi-transparent. “Well, uhm. . . uh,” Roger stuttered, “you have simply amazing big boobs . . . I mean . . . uh, b-bee’s-balm! That’s it. Your uh, flowers are amazing. I’m sorry, it’s just so very sheer, I can see every—No! I mean, I mean, I can see you’re doing some f-fine work with those shears.”

“Oh, I’m so flattered you noticed,” the over-built babe cooed. “I do like to keep my bush neatly trimmed. Would you like a closer look?”

“Wh-what?” said Roger stupidly.

“At my garden, silly. I love to show it all off. Come on, let me show you everything that’s blooming.”

“Uhm, uh, no I- I, I mean, I would love to, but I really should be going. Supposed to be checking the water supply.” He hoisted the valise of equipment in his hands.

“Really now? I loooove the water here! I’m dead sure the water is the reason my garden grows so big and healthy. Bimbeauville water just makes everything grow so good! Don’t you think so?” She indicated her expansive flowerbeds with a wave of one gloved hand. Her chest bobbled.

Roger gulped. “They’re . . . bursting . . . w-with life!”

“Come on in and let me show you everything.”

“No, I-I really, I . . . supposed to be working . . . water supply . . .”

“I won’t keep you long, I promise,” the gorgeous gardener replied. “Just a quickie.” She beckoned with one finger.

Roger groaned. “I shouldn’t be doing this!” he said to himself. But his feet were already moving toward the gate that led to the woman’s yard. He set down his heavy equipment on the grass.

The woman wrapped herself around one arm. One pneumatic breast pressed against his chest. “I’m Rosie,” she said. “And you are . . . ?

“In heaven.” He was staring downward.

“What was that” She snuggled closer.

“Oh, uhm, R-Roger. I’m Roger.”

She stroked his arm. “You’re not like, from around here, are you.”

“Uh, no, I’m up from the city for a few days. We’re with the Drinking Waa—!” He looked down. One of Rosie’s green-gloved hands was feathering lovingly along the erection bulging his trousers.

“And you brought something so lovely with you,” she murmured, still stroking. “Please, can I—can I see?” She began to deftly lower his zipper.

“No, wait!” Roger protested, though he didn’t stop her. “You can’t just—we’re outside in the middle of—I mean I can’t—” He abandoned the sentence when he realized he had no idea how it ended. Anyway, Rosie was already defeating his belt buckle. Moments later his trousers were sliding down his legs.

She gazed admiringly at the bulge in his shorts. “Please, Roger darling,” she said, “Rosie wants to play with your garden hose.” She peeled off her gloves and tossed them away. Then she returned to finger-teasing his shaft, more effectively now that only one layer of cloth protected it. Roger twitched. “Mmmmm, darling,” Rosie whispered, “let me welcome you to our town.”

She was already sliding to her knees on the plush grass. Her boobs rubbed excruciatingly against Roger all the way down. She gently lifted his shorts over the end of his shaft and shoved them down his legs. Despite the earlier romp with Daphne, his prick was standing hard and proud, ready for action.

Rosie grasped him gently in both hands, as if she were lifting a sacred chalice. She made murmuring sounds of appreciation. She kissed the helmet, then licked up and down the underside with her tongue. Then she leaned forward and slid his length between pursed red lips.

Roger looked about. They were standing in Rosie’s front yard, in full view of the street. Only the hedge hid Roger’s lower half, and the boob-erific blonde whose head was now bobbing up and down. “Oh fuck I’m going to get arrested,” he muttered. “If a copper comes along I’m for it.”

Rosie let him slip out of her mouth with a loud slurp. “I’m sure I know what you want,” she said. She shrugged her loose dress off her shoulders, then tugged it down her arms. Her breasts came into view, hardly contained in a pink half-bra as bright as the giant dahlias in her garden. Rosie lifted her boobs out of the cups. She gently folded them around Roger’s shaft. Roger’s pre-cum soon lubricated the groove between her breasts as she slid them up and down along his member. She leaned forward a little to kiss his cockhead.

Fortunately, the street was deserted. A young man on a bicycle pedalled by. He waved to Roger as he passed. Roger waved back, grinning sheepishly. He felt his breath growing short. Rosie looked up at him as she worked his wang. Roger was trying to decide whether he should come in her mouth or on her tits when he heard the tap of high heels from down the street.

He looked up. “Uh-oh,” he whispered.

A woman was approaching on his side of the street. She was splendid, of course, and dressed in a travesty of a business suit. The pin-stripe skirt was micro-length with a long slit up one leg. The close-fitting jacket looked like it might burst open at any moment. Her legs were dressed in red, fish-net stockings and shiny black heels. She carried a thick book in one hand. It was decorated in bands of colour.

The newcomer noticed Roger before he had a chance to disengage from Rosie’s heavenly titjob. “Hullo!” she cried. “Lovely day, isn’t it.”

“F-fabulous,” Roger replied. His eyes dropped to her capacious chest. “And getting better all the time.”

The woman had auburn hair done up on top of her head like a crown. She wore glittery earrings. A gold pendant shaped like a unicorn nestled in her cleavage. Only the privet hedge between them shielded her from seeing Roger’s naked, thrusting bottom half. He desperately hoped she wouldn’t look down.

The redhead seemed oblivious. “Is this your garden then?” she asked. “It’s splendid.”

Roger felt a bead of sweat trickle down his cheek. “Oh, oh no, this isn’t mine. I just dropped by to . . . uhm, drop off . . . a load of fertilizer!” He jerked as Rosie licked the end of his wang.

“Oh, you’re not from around here then, are you.”

“N-no, just up from—from—from—the city for a few d-days.”

“Well, that’s lovely isn’t it. I hope you like, enjoy your stay.” She leaned toward him a little. “We do try to be friendly, you know?”

“I—I’ve n-noticed that.”

She giggled prettily. “Oh gosh, I almost forgot. I’m Rainbeau. Friends call me Bo.” She extended a slender hand.

“Roger,” said Roger, shaking hands. “The pleasure is all mine.” He meant that sincerely. He would have declared Bo’s breasts the most spectacular he had ever seen, if he hadn’t already met Gina and Daphne and Rosie.

Bo held his hand in hers. “Oh, you’re a sweetheart, aren’t you. Look, I’ve just met you and already I want to give you a big hug.”

Roger was grinning idiotically. Bo still hadn’t noticed the back and forth thrust of his hips. “With—with a kiss?” he asked.

Bo giggled again. She still hadn’t let go of his hand. “That depends where you want to kiss me,” she said. Suddenly she pulled her hand away. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Oh, darn. I’m sorry luv, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for court.”

“You—you work at the courthouse?”

“Why of course. See?” She held up the thick book in her other hand. It was a glossary of legal terms.

Roger was trying to reconcile the walking centrefold in front of him with the grim sobriety of court. He did not succeed. “That’s your dictionary, Rainbeau?” he asked. “You’re what, a recorder? A m-m-magistrate’s ass-assistant?”

“No silly! I’m a barrister!”

“Oh fuck!” Roger blurted, as Rosie did something magical down below.

Rainbeau looked sad. “I do have to run now, Roger darling. Mr. Ludmenkov gets so upset when I’m late.” She leaned over the hedge to share a secret. “Last time, he spanked me!”

Roger was breathing hard. “You, you had b-better go before I cum—I mean before I cum-pletely make you late!”

“Bye-bye,” the over-built barrister warbled, before hurrying off down the street. Her high heels made her attempt at speed into an almost comical wobble. The hem on her skirt skimmed above mid-thigh.

Roger came. With a guttural cry he spewed a load of cum all over Rosie’s tits. The release felt fabulous.

Roger was a little surprised at how much he had. It kept coming and coming. By the time he was finished, Rosie’s boobs were coated with white jism like icing on puff-pastries, Rosie was eagerly licking it up, and Roger was ready to collapse in happy exhaustion.

“Ooh, I hope that makes my bulbs grow,” the gorgeous gardener cooed.