The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

For the rest of the night I tried to act as if everything was normal.

I mean, everything was normal, right? I got some napkins, cleaned up Bruno’s cum—Bruno’s cum that I milked from him myself. Bruno’s cum that I’d coaxed from his cock, jerking him off until he came. Bruno’s cum that I’d fantasized about for days now.

Bruno’s cum that I had an overwhelming desire to taste.

I wouldn’t, of course. I mean, jerking my dog off—that was an act of charity. Tasting his cum, that would be weird. Perverted.

Everything was normal.

Bruno, to my great surprise, didn’t really seem to act any different. Like, it would have been nice if he was visibly happier, or more relaxed…but when it comes down to it, I think that dogs are just dogs. They’re happy, and fluctuate between relaxed and hyper for reasons no human can really comprehend.

But I knew on the inside he was happier. Because if he wasn’t happier on the inside, then that meant I’d just jerked him off for no reason. No, worse: it meant that I’d jerked him off for my own selfish reasons, and not to be a good pet-owner.

And that couldn’t be right.

Finally, after several hours of this internal debate raging through my mind, I threw my hands up into the air and went to bed.

Where, of course, I had another dream.

This time, there was no cult, no other women.

There was only me.

Me, and Bruno’s Cock.

Just like last time, it wasn’t obvious that it was Bruno’s Cock. It wasn’t, like, attached to him or anything—it was just a disconnected Cock, floating freely through space.

And there was me.

And I was naked.

The Cock liked that I was naked, I knew that. The Cock liked my huge tits, my naked thighs. The Cock liked how wet I was. The Cock liked that I was clean, that I smelled nice. It was my job to smell nice. It was my job to arouse the Cock with my huge tits.

The Cock liked my huge tits, and I liked that it liked them.

To please the Cock, I started playing with my nipples. I pulled and tugged on them, panting with pleasure, moaning with lust. The Cock reacted positively to this, and hardened.

The Cock liked my tits, and that made me happy.

The more I played with myself, the harder the Cock got, and the harder the Cock got, the more turned on I got. Soon, I was soaking wet with pleasure, wanting nothing more than for the Cock to cum all over me, cum onto my titties. My titties were there for the Cock—that’s why they were so big, so soft.

That’s why I had tits.

That’s why I existed.

Just like in the last dream, I realized that the Cock belonged to Master, and Master had to be obeyed. And just like in the last dream, Master slowly came into view, and I realized it was Bruno.

My tits existed to make Bruno hard, and I desperately wanted Bruno to cum all over them. I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything—I was thrusting my tits out, doing everything I could to make them attractive to Master.

God, I wanted Master’s Cock so much.

And just as I had last time, I woke up just as I was about to get what I wanted.

I woke up, panting my dog’s name, squirming with frustration. A part of me wanted to get up and find them, then and there, find my pet dog and jerk him onto my tits, just so I could get some satisfaction.

Fortunately, I realized how ridiculous that would be, and just got myself off with my fingers, tugging and pulling at my nipples as I did.

Unlike last time, however, I didn’t go straight back to sleep as soon as I came. Instead, I tossed and turned for the three hours until the sun came up, then went into work sleep-deprived and cranky.

Two nights later, I was on another date with Brad. We’d just parked and made out for…god, I don’t even know how long. Like I said, I can sometimes lose track of time when I’m hanging out with him.

Things had been mostly going well between us. My dreams hadn’t returned, which was good—I’d well and truly caught up on sleep, and had been looking forward to a nice relaxing date with the nice, relaxing boy I was increasingly enjoying the company of.

But—and of course you knew there had to be a but, didn’t you?—he just had to ruin it.

“You’re so hot,” he said, and I just smiled in response. It was something I knew, but it was always nice to hear. “You’re such a fox. I’d really love to cum on your titties some time.”

“Brad!” I said, shocked. “I…”

“C’mon,” he said, interrupting me. “You know how much fun that would be. That’s what they’re there for, after all…”

Like I said, Brad was a nice kid, and things were going well. And so I’d never expected such sexist drivel to spout from the young man…at least, that’s the best excuse I can give for what happened next.

“Ow!”

“Drive me home, please.”

“You slapped me!”

“Drive me home, please.”

I stormed into my apartment, and slammed the door.

The nerve of that little punk.

We’d driven home in silence, him still recoiling from the slap, me too angry to speak. As I’d gotten out, he’d tried to explain, or excuse himself—it didn’t matter, I wasn’t listening.

I’d never, never gotten the impression that he thought women were just a pair of tits to cum on. I knew he’d spent some time out in the country, but I hadn’t expected him to bring those backwards attitudes to New York.

For the next twenty minutes, I stamped around the apartment, ranting and raving out loud. Finally, when I felt I’d calmed down, I fell backwards onto the couch, acutely aware of the bounce of my breasts as I did.

I did have particularly large breasts…and I had been showing them off more than usual lately.

But no. No, that didn’t excuse him talking to me like that.

I mean, we’d just been making out. Perhaps he was attempting dirty-talk. He was young, it made sense that he wouldn’t have the hang of it yet.

No. That didn’t matter. He’d disrespected me, and he’d disrespected my journey. He’d never even laid a hand on my boobs—to ask if he could cum all over them, it…it…it wasn’t right!

Another ten minutes passed before my internal debate ended, and my attention was drawn—once again—to my enormous breasts.

Look, I get that I have big tits. I’ve had them since I was a teen, it’s not like I just never noticed. But…I’d liked Brad. I’d liked that I didn’t have to hide them for him to respect me.

At least, that’s what I’d thought.

I took some deep breaths, watching my bust rise and fall as I did.

Maybe…

Maybe the reason I was so mad…

Maybe the reason I was so mad was that, in fact, there was something hot about cum splashing onto my tits.

Don’t get me wrong: Brad was still way, way out of line.

But my reaction had maybe been a bit over-the-top. Ever since that weird dream the other night, I’d spent a lot of time thinking about my tits, thinking about showing them off, making cocks hard, eliciting a thick load onto my hard nipples and plentiful cleavage…

The idea that, as he’d said, that’s what they were there for.

Even while we’d been making out, the image had been firmly burned into my head.

But not Brad.

Sweet kid. Nice guy, when he wasn’t being a misogynist pervert. But…he didn’t deserve to cum onto my tits. That wasn’t something you do with a new boyfriend. It’s an act of love, and trust.

It’s something you do with someone who’s been loyal. Someone who’s been there for you, through thick and thin. Someone who’s always had your back, who will always be there for you…

Someone like Bruno.

I gasped at the thought. God, what was wrong with me. Thinking about my poor, innocent pooch like that.

After jerking him off last week, I’d been careful to treat him like a good, normal boy. I’d been careful to make sure not to spend too much time patting him, or to stare at his flaccid penis. I’d been extra careful not to check if he was hard each time we saw him, tempting though it was.

But imagining jerking my sweet puppy off onto my big, soft tits?

It was…

No. No, that wasn’t going to happen.

It couldn’t.

I sat back, turned the TV on, and tried to think about something else. Anything else.

I was an episode and a half into Law Show: The Criminal Show About Law (I don’t normally watch procedurals; can you tell?) before I realized that my hands were grabbing my big tits. It felt good, and so I didn’t really think too much about it.

That’s one of the joys of living alone—you’re allowed to get off whenever you like.

As the credits rolled on the third episode, I realized that Bruno had wandered in, and was watching me play with my tits.

Well, no. He wasn’t watching me. He just happened to be there, and he happened to glance in my direction.

But something about it lit a fire in me.

Turning off the TV, I told myself that it was my living room, and if I wanted to get off, I was absolutely allowed to. After all, I’d masturbated with Bruno in the room before. There was nothing weird about that—he was a dog. He didn’t even know what boobs were.

Being topless in front of my dog was no different to being topless in front of the TV. It wasn’t like it meant anything to him.

And so I didn’t even hesitate before slipping out of my date shirt, undoing my bra, and letting the girls hang free.

My nipples were already rock hard, and I moaned slightly as I pulled and tugged on them, leaning forward so that Bruno could get the best possible view.

Not, uh, that I was…not that it was for Bruno. Not that Bruno cared.

I grabbed my titflesh, enjoying the fact that they were too big to be contained by my hands. I pulled one nipple up to my mouth and sucked on it loudly, shivers of pleasure running up my spine as I did.

Bruno closed his eyes, and began to sleep.

“Oh!” I moaned loudly—‘shouted’, even, you could say—and Bruno was immediately alert, looking at me for signs of distress.

He didn’t see any. All he saw were my huge tits being roughly manhandled, my face contorted in pleasure, and one hand slipping between my legs.

“Oh,” I said again, softer. “Oh, yes, that’s so good. Oh, yes…”

Bruno dropped his head again, but his eyes stayed open, watching me warily.

“My tits,” I babbled, rubbing firmly through my shorts. “My tits are…are for you. My tits are for you. My tits are to make you hard…oh!”

As I came, my boobs wobbled majestically from side to side, and I pushed my damp pussy firmly against my hand.

“Yes!” I screamed, struggling to keep eye-contact with Bruno as my orgasm overtook me. “Oh, yes!”

Bruno yawned as I panted and huffed, slowly coming down from one of the most intense orgasms I’d ever had. I felt a little weird about what I’d just done, but not really.

Like I said, I’m sure I’ve cum with Bruno in the room before—it doesn’t mean anything.

It continued to not mean anything when it happened again an hour later, or early the next morning. It didn’t mean anything when I stripped topless and masturbated in front of him the next night, and it didn’t mean anything three times the night after that.

As far as Bruno was concerned, I was just his owner. He didn’t care that I got topless and brought myself to screaming orgasm after screaming orgasm in front of him.

And the more I did it, the more normal it felt. Whenever I was at home, it was hard to even put a top on—there was something so warm and comfortable, walking around topless with my dog, waiting for those thrills whenever he glanced at my huge boobs.

It didn’t mean anything, but it sure felt nice.