The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The walk was quickly arranged. Less than an hour later, Roger was once again at the Bimbeauville pumping station. He was standing behind the building, beside the rocky stream that tumbled by from the hill above. The twins, Glenys and Glynis, were each wrapped around one of his arms, reluctant to let him go, as if he were about to depart on a dangerous adventure rather than take a walk in the woods.

“Be careful, promise,” said the beauty on his left. Her tall socks were orange and red today. Her shorts were as tight and brief as ever. She had left her hard hat in the pump house.

“What if you get eaten by a bear?” worried the babe on his right, whose socks were purple with white stripes. Roger had given up telling the two girls apart.

“There hasn’t been a bear in these woods for seven hundred years, my little wrens,” said Wyn, who was standing beside them. His white beard gave him the air of a Moses about to lead his people out of the wilderness. Or in this case, into it. “Besides, Anna knows the way, don’t you lassie.” He smiled at another young woman standing nearby.

“Course I do,” Anna replied, smiling in return. “Uncle Gord—Gruffydd—took me there a couple of times. Anyway, the path follows the brook, doesn’t it.”

Anna was the grown daughter of Mayor Hites. Her super-abundant curves were packed into a spandex exercise outfit that looked like it had been fashioned from leftover scraps. The straining half-top and the calf-length tights were black with random pink and yellow stripes. Roger was already sure she was wearing nothing underneath.

Her shoes were some drunk fashion designer’s idea of sport shoes, fancy high-tops with thick soles and wedge heels, all in neon pink. She wore a necklace with a heart-shaped, pink pendant and matching earrings. Evidently the notion of walking in the forest had not interfered with her fashion sense. She had a small bag slung over one shoulder.

According to Wyn, Anna worked as a care-giver at the local retirement home. The introduction of Afon Nyllrym water there had created a couple of related problems. The first was that the rejuvenated residents kept making passes at the care-givers. The second was that those passes were often successful.

“I have to go now girls,” Roger told the matching centrefolds pressing in on both sides. “Shouldn’t be gone more than a couple of hou—mmmmmm!” Girl on the left decided he needed a good-bye kiss—a long, wet, slurping good-bye kiss. When she finally let him go, girl on the right demanded equal time, plus half again. When she reluctantly pulled her lips away, girl on the left decided that wasn’t fair and she needed to kiss him again, while perhaps inviting his hands onto her tits. They would have gone on this way indefinitely if Roger hadn’t physically pushed the panting girls away.

“Let’s go, Anna,” he said, suddenly in a hurry. He turned around so no one would see the pup tent in his trousers.

“I hope we see bunnies!” Anna chirped, almost skipping away.

They headed into the forest. A narrow path, perhaps a fisherman’s trail, wound along the bank of the stream, leading steadily uphill. The lower wood was dense with blackthorns and alder, but these were quickly replaced by open stands of beech, pine and oak. Beside them, the blue-tinged water of Afon Nyllrym splashed and gurgled along.

It was a pleasant walk, even with the added effort as the path grew steeper. Anna negotiated her impractical shoes adroitly on the rocky ground. Roger followed behind, watching the sway of her asscheeks and the flex of her long legs beneath her tights. The multi-coloured spandex rode low on her hips. The outside curves of her breasts were visible from behind. She had tied back her hair in a long ponytail that swished across the small of her bare back with every step.

None of this was helping Roger’s hormone balance. He had been as horny as a rutting tomcat ever since the mayor’s office. The appearance of her jaw-dropping daughter, followed by the untempered affections of Glenys and Glynis, had only upset him further. Now he was alone in the woods with a walking wet dream whose every graceful step wafted sex appeal like the fragrance from a bower of roses. To distract himself, Roger tried to admire the wildflowers. The alternative was the rear view of Anna, which he had already memorized.

Still, there were a lot of wildflowers to admire. Bluebells, columbine, campions, pimpernel and many others that Roger didn’t recognize all seemed to be blooming at once. Wasn’t it late in the season for wild garlic? He wasn’t sure. The forest was quiet and cool. Birds sang in the trees.

“I love walking up here,” Anna offered at one point. “It’s lovely, isn’t it. So many flowers.”

“Are we getting close?” Roger asked. He was a little out of breath. He stopped for a drink of water from his flask.

“A little way yet, that’s what it is. Do you need to rest, luv?”

The front view of Anna was even more impressive than the rear view. She had surprising grey-green eyes and an impish smile. Her giant knockers threatened to break free of the skimpy top at any moment.

Roger closed his flask. “No, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

The pair continued up the hill. The trail had petered out and disappeared, but the forest was open and walking was not difficult. Several times the stream forked. Anna always followed the branch with the deep blue water.

As they ascended, Roger noticed that the forest about them changed. The trees became bigger, stronger. The flowers became brighter and more numerous. Even the chirping of the birds seemed louder. The brook gradually narrowed as they moved upstream, but the colour deepened, intensified, until at last Afon Nyllrym was a tiny spring-brook, barely two feet wide, but it’s water was deep violet.

“Here we are then,” Anna announced.

They emerged into an expanse of open ground, interrupted here and there by jagged outcrops of lichen-spotted stone. Much of Bimbeauville was visible below them. A bit farther off rose the shaft-heads of the abandoned mine. The middle of the clearing was occupied by a circle of oak trees, whose twisted trunks and massive branches suggested great age. “The spring is over here,” Anna said, advancing on the ring of trees.

The trees formed an almost perfect circle, a living henge, around a large meadow. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere. On the near side of the clearing, a cluster of boulders thrust out of the hillside like a giant’s fingers. From the fissure between them issued the spring of sparkling, violet water that fed Afon Nyllrym.

“This is it then?” Roger asked. “This is where Nyllrym is buried?”

Anna’s ponytail flew as she shook her head. “Gruffydd told me it wouldn’t be an ordinary grave with like bones and stuff. Nyllrym died in a battle of magic, didn’t he. This is where they like, scattered his ashes or laid his spirit to rest or . . . like, whatever.” She giggled, a dangerous activity given the strain on her athletic top. “Try to count the trees.”

Roger did so. At first he thought there were twelve, but he might have counted one twice. He counted again, lost his place, started again, lost his place again, and finally arrived at eleven. Give or take.

He frowned. Several more counts were equally ambiguous. Usually he lost track part way through. Finally he marked one tree as a reference point and turned about, systematically counting, until he saw the same tree again. He was up to nineteen before he realized he was going around the circle twice.

“No one can count them,” Anna said, when he looked to her for explanation. There was laughter in her green eyes. “That’s how Gruffydd knew there was magic here. And the water, of course.” She skipped across the meadow to the spring beneath the rocks. The water bubbled out merrily.

Roger joined her beside it. “Does it ever go dry?”

More swings of the ponytail. “Never ever ever. Not even in the driest summer. Oooh, I wonder what it tastes like!” She bent down to cup some water in her hands.

Roger stopped her. “I wouldn’t do that,” he warned. He had no idea if the concept of concentration and dilution applied to magically enhanced spring-water, but a bit of caution seemed wise. “Here, try this.” He opened his water bottle. It was still half-full. He used one hand to scoop up a few drops of the lavender water and pour it clumsily into the flask. He swirled it about for a moment, then handed it to Anna.

She drank eagerly. She tipped her head back and poured cool water down her throat, swallowing quickly, thirsty for more. “Ooooh, yummy yummy yummy!” she exclaimed, when she finally had to pause for breath.

The change in her was immediate. Roger couldn’t say exactly what changed, she was beautiful to begin with, but in moments her already sensational form became more dramatically curved, more captivating, more intensely sexual. Her hair grew fuller, the gloss on it now deep and shimmering. Her wonderful green eyes grew brighter, as if by a stiff drink. Then they softened to a faraway daydream. Her long lashes fluttered.

She dropped the flask. “Rogerrrrrr,” she purred, in a voice that shivered straight to his crotch, “oh Roger, darling, I want you to love me more than anything in the world right now. Please, please, please darling fuck me with your big tool until I scream from happiness.”

She closed the distance between them as she spoke. She slipped both hands around his neck, pulling herself closer. “You like my body, don’t you Roger darling? You do want to fuck me, don’t you? Please?” She gazed into his eyes with almost worshipful desire.

Roger was speechless. Anna’s every movement, every breath she took, every blink, every twitch of a finger, had become as erotic as a belly dance. Her giant chest was pressing against his. He could see her nipples tenting the fabric. She was undulating her hips, back and forth, back and forth, an inch either way, gently but insistently stroking against his cock, which was fit to burst the zipper on his trousers.

He remembered what Derwyn had said about shifting mental priorities. Anna’s adoring eyes revealed nothing behind them but rampant physical desire. Neural circuits unconcerned with sex had closed the door, shut off the lights and joined the street party. At that moment Roger was unsure whether Anna could remember how to tie her shoelaces.

She was too much to resist. “Oh fuck it,” Roger groaned. He pulled her in for a long, wet kiss.

The kiss was endless, and endlessly stimulating. Anna pulled his head down onto her puffy lips, almost clumsy with heat. That kiss begat more kisses, which spawned even more, a generational lineage of wet lipwork.

Anna dropped one hand to feel the length of Roger’s member through his trousers. She made a tiny sound deep in her throat. Her hands were deft, and quick. In moments Roger’s belt was open and his trousers were slipping down his legs.

Breathing hard, Anna stepped back long enough to grab the bottom of her athletic top and work it up over her breasts, then over her head and off. Her replete bosom bounced and wobbled. The nipples were pink and protruding. “You do like my body, don’t you?” she asked again. She cupped her breasts with both hands, pushing them up and together for his inspection. “It’s all for you, darling. Any way you want. Just please please please fuck me!”

Roger made an inarticulate sound. He yanked off his trousers and shoes, then pulled his undershorts off. His pecker bounced out like an escaping prisoner, free at last. He was hard, as hard as he had ever been, and longer too.

He threw his arms around the semi-naked beauty in front of him and pressed them both down to the ground, onto a bed of bluebells. He was too impatient to wait for her to disrobe. He flipped her over onto her knees, yanked her spandex tights down to her thighs, aimed his pole at the pink, wet folds between her legs and slid right in.

With a grunt he buried himself inside her. Anna let out a long, low gasp. She was soaking wet. Her pussy was warm and snug. It seemed to suck on his wang like a child sucking a lollipop. Roger began to pump in and out. He held Anna by the hips and pulled her ass back against his pelvis with every in-stroke, then flexed his own hips to draw back out. Anna’s hair fell about her face and swept the flowers. Her oversized boobs, bobbing and pendulant, swayed against the bluebells with every stroke. She gasped and moaned and cried out for more.

Roger wasn’t holding back. He couldn’t have done if he wanted to. The sex was too good, the feelings too intense, his partner too beautiful and sexy. He was banging his way toward the release he desperately needed.

It wasn’t long in coming. Roger’s climax was an eruption, and his hot cum was both lava and ejecta. He froze, shuddered everywhere, then orgasmed with a long shout of “Annnnnnna!” that reverberated off the oak trees. His spill was massive, and it seemed to Roger, endless. He spurted again and again, filling her cunny with his seed, white-coating his member and dripping excess on the bluebells.

The feeling of relief was overwhelming. He noticed Anna jerking and quivering beneath him and realized vaguely that she was cumming too. That hardly seemed possible, given how quickly matters had proceeded. She must have been as primed as he was.

At length they were both finished. Roger collapsed on the carpet of wildflowers beside his new lover. He let out his breath. Anna snuggled up next to him. She was glowing, still breathing deeply. “Wonderful!” she declared.

She wasn’t nearly satisfied. She slithered down his body until her mouth was near his crotch, then began using her tongue to clean him up. Her mouth-work was slow and delicious. Eventually, it devolved into an eager blow-job, which in turn led, soon enough, to Roger’s pecker rising again, stiff and ready for more action.

They were patient enough the second time to remove more clothing. The action that followed was every bit as intense as in the first round. Anna locked her ankles behind his back. The coupling couple rolled over and over, crushing wildflowers beneath first his back, then hers, as they screwed across the meadow.

When it was over, again, Roger lay back on the flowers, watching the clouds puff across the blue sky, while Anna knelt over him and lovingly polished his cum-coated cock between her enormous hooters. The outcome of that gesture was a third round of humping, this time with Roger lying on his back and Anna bouncing energetically up and down on his pole. Her hair was damp now. A sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin.

“Roger Roger Roger fuck me forever Roger!” she chanted. She held her boobs in her hands as she bounced. Roger kept a hand on each flaring hip to steady her. She seemed to be skating along at the edge of orgasm continuously, pausing from time to time as a mini-climax took her. Soon enough her chants became louder. Her voice slid up an octave. She rocked and rolled through the big one just before Roger fired his load into her again.

Exhausted, Roger dozed on the bed of flowers. He awoke a little later to find Anna half-lying on top of him. Her breasts were flattened against his chest, one leg thrown over his. She was planting little kisses on his chest. With her free hand she was quietly stroking her pussy down below. “You were wonnnnderful,” she whispered, when she noticed his eyes open.

Anna’s eyes were glassy. Roger decided to experiment. “Anna, baby,” he said, “I want to ask you something. It’s a little quiz. For fun. How many months start with the letter J?”

She thought about it. Or tried to. “Mmmmm, lessee, there’s like January, and then, uhm . . . uhm, there’s . . . . ooooh, I’m still horny.” Her fingers stroked.

Roger kissed her forehead. “Could a person walk from Dublin to Cardiff?”

“I dunno,” came the careless reply. “Wouldn’t you like—wouldn’t you like, take an airplane?” She closed her eyes and shuddered.

He decided to try something easier. “Anna baby, can you remember the capital of France?”

She was stroking faster now. Her breath came in little pants. “F-France? It’s uhm, it’s ah! ah! Ah! It’s—oh yes, yes, it’s the mmmmmmm! the Eiffel Tower!” She closed her eyes and stroked herself through another peak.

Roger held her as she came. He glanced over at the magic waters of the spring burbling near-by. “Nyllrym, you are one perverted bastard,” he said, grinning.

Eventually he got Anna calmed down enough to re-dress. Somehow the tight spandex looked even better on her than it had before. She spent a long time combing her hair. When they were both composed again they headed back down the hill toward town.

“We’re like, all alone up here, darling,” Anna pointed out, as they passed back into the forest. “And I’m still, you know, sorta in the mood. So anytime you want we can always stop for a quickie.”

Roger greatly doubted that option, given the workout his cock had been through. He watched Anna’s ass undulate as she strolled down the trail. Halfway down the mountain, he changed his mind.

Wyn met them when they emerged from the forest. “Did you find what you were looking for then, laddie?” he asked.

Roger said: “I found it.”

“We had fun!” Anna exclaimed. She took Roger’s arm in both of hers. She laid her head on his shoulder.

Wyn noticed the change in Anna. He glanced at Roger. “Bit too much spring water?”

Roger nodded. “I think she’s going to be boisterous for a while.”

Anna stroked Roger’s arm. “What’s boys-trust?” she demanded.

Wyn said, “Let’s go talk to the rest of the board.”

“There’s still one thing I don’t understand,” Roger was saying, a few minutes later. He was back in the Mayor’s office, sitting again with the Board of Directors of Bimbeauville Water. Her Honour had returned to her sales job at Trilby’s Fashion Hive. “And that is the change in me. I’ve never had this much sex at one time before, never could if I wanted to. But I’ve barely touched the water. Not like Sarah anyway. I’ve mostly been swilling beer.”

There were chuckles from the other men in the room. Derwyn said: “Without the mine, this town was doomed unless we could find new sources of revenue. Jobs for the displaced miners. The farmers are doing very well—Bimbeauville water produces excellent wool—but we needed another industry. At last we hit on the idea of our own brewery.”

Enlightenment dawned on Roger like a desert sunrise. “You mean—”

“You’ve been drinking our special ale,” said Dr. Jones. “We’re working up to large-scale production.” He picked up a beer bottle from the mayor’s desk. He tossed it to Roger.

Roger looked at it. The beer was called Bimbrew. The label depicted two improbably proportioned honeys in broad white hats. They were holding up a banner reading “Brewed right here in Bimbeauville!”

“Ah,” said Roger. “I see.”

Wyn leaned forward. “Now then, laddie,” he said, “what about that inspection report?”

Roger considered the bottle of beer in his hand. He looked around at the four concerned men. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “if you’re going into commercial production, it might be a help to have an agent in the city.”

Suddenly everyone was smiling.