The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Brad didn’t call me for almost two weeks.

Two weeks where I was walking around topless, groping myself in front of my pet dog, cumming while his puppy eyes stared at me. Two weeks as my private shows became increasingly normal to me. To Bruno.

Not that he cared. Of course he didn’t. When I was topless in front of him, he didn’t even know anything was up.

He didn’t get hard at the sight of my huge tits, bouncing on the couch as I rode my favorite toy.

Why would he?

When Brad did call, he was apologetic. I could also tell he was still a little confused.

I suppose I couldn’t blame him. I had perhaps overreacted. It made sense that he wanted to cum over my titties. That’s what they were there for, after all—for cocks to cum onto.

I mean, not really. But kind of. You know?

But as hot as the idea of Cocks cumming onto my tits was in the abstract, it wasn’t Brad’s cum that I dreamed of rubbing into my generous cleavage.

I liked him. He was a cute kid. But I didn’t wake up cumming at the thought of his cock spurting all over my glorious orbs.

I didn’t think of anyone’s specific cock spurting over my glorious orbs.

Certainly not Bruno’s.

I was still feeling bad about my reaction, so I made a plan to see him.

“How about tonight?” I asked, then glanced at the clock. Whoa! How had I lost almost an hour?

“Actually,” I said, “not tonight. We’d be out too late. Tomorrow?”

Brad’s voice travelled through the phone, into my ears, landing directly in my brain.

“Yeah,” I said, my eyes on dog. “You can pick me up.”

After we hung up, I realized something.

It had been two weeks since I’d last seen Brad.

Which meant it had been three weeks since I’d jerked Bruno off.

Three weeks!

I hadn’t gone three weeks without cumming since I’d first started playing with myself. Generally, it was rare for me to go one week.

Heck; since I’d started playing with myself around the apartment topless, it was rare for me to go more than a few hours.

I needed to fix it. Bruno had needs.

My dog needed me.

“Bruno,” I said, very aware of the nervous quaver in my voice. “C’mere, boy…”

Bruno did as he was told—he’s such a good boy—and made his way over to the couch where I was sitting.

He wasn’t hard, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering. My beloved pet had needs, and it was my job to take care of them.

“Good boy,” I said softly, slipping my shirt off. Bruno wouldn’t care about that, of course, but…it was more comfortable.

That’s what I firmly told myself. I was doing it because it was more comfortable.

It was more comfortable to be topless. I liked being topless.

I breathed a sigh of relief as my tits came into view. My big, soft tits.

Unable to stop myself, I reached up and pinched my nipples.

“Good girl,” I told myself. I was a good girl. Just like Bruno was a good boy, I was a good girl.

He was my good boy, which made me his…

I shook my head. What was I even thinking?

Reaching down, I grabbed Bruno’s cock again. Just like last time, it hardened in my hand.

God it felt right.

Like, it felt good. Of course it felt good—it was a cock. Even if it was a dog’s cock, there was just something so yummy about having a nice, hard cock in your hand.

I’ve always liked the feeling.

But this…

This was something more than that.

I’d had boyfriends before, and we’ve always had a good time. Giving head, getting fucked—I like it all, really. Like any hot-blooded woman, I guess.

If I really liked them, I’ve even let some of them fuck my tits. Not everyone, but y’know. The guys who I really clicked with, or the ones who I was just super into.

And I don’t think I’ve ever dated someone who I haven’t given a hand-job to. I’ve always liked it—the feeling of a throbbing cock in my hand, the precision that you don’t really get when you’re giving head.

It’s sort of what I imagine milking a cow feels like, except sexy.

But Bruno…

God, it just felt right.

Where fooling around with my boyfriends has been fun, or hot, or a good way to connect or whatever…the feeling of Bruno’s cock in my hand made me feel like this was what I was born to do.

Like this is why I existed.

It felt like my entire purpose on the planet was to wrap my hand around Bruno’s erection. As soon as he got completely hard, fuck.

It wasn’t like last time. Last time, I felt like I was doing the dog a favor. Y’know, trying to be a good pet owner.

This time, as soon as I started jerking my dog off, I realized:

This time, it was for me.

That’s so fucked up, isn’t it? You don’t have to tell me:

I know.

Even then, I knew. But I couldn’t stop.

It’s impossible to describe. It just felt right. Like that first bite of a grilled cheese sandwich, or when you pop a pimple and hit the mirror with the pus.

I mean, that’s kind of gross, but so was this.

My hand was wrapped around my pet dog’s phallus. If anyone had seen me, I would have been ruined. My family would probably disown me. Brad would never want to see me again. I’d be fired from my job.

But it just felt so. Damn. Good.

…and then I started stroking.

Like I said, I’m a fairly sexual woman. I sometimes try to hide my body, just to make sure that I get the respect that I deserve, but it’s not like I’m ashamed of it. I have a collection of sex toys, and if a guy I’m seeing has any kind of issue with that, I know he’s not right for me.

I started masturbating before I even knew the term was for it, but I’ve never had any kind of shame. I like sex, I like getting off, and if that bothers you, get over yourself.

And so I guess I’d always assumed I was fairly in tune with my body, with my needs and desires. With what I wanted.

With what I needed.

As I started stroking Bruno’s cock, all those preconceptions went out the window. Within a moment, I was soaking wet, more turned on that I’d ever been in my life.

It felt like my entire body was throbbing, from head to toe.

In that moment, I swear, you could have breathed on my clit and I would have been shaking with orgasm. It was like I’d been running off batteries all my life, and for the first time someone had plugged me in.

As my hand ran up and down Bruno’s furry sheath, I felt alive. Electrified.

I felt like a purely sexual being.

I felt like I had a Purpose.

“Good boy,” I groaned. The words came out slurred, like I no longer had the capacity for speech.

Like I existed for one thing, and one thing only: to get Bruno off.

And then Bruno’s eyes swiveled down to my boobs.

I can’t really tell you what happened next. Everything gets a little blurry. Bruno’s attention on my chest seriously made my brain turn off—you know how people talk about your ‘lizard brain’ or whatever, the underlying part of your brain that makes decisions based on pure instinct, and overrules the higher-functioning, more evolved parts of your mind?

As soon as Bruno’s attention moved to my boobs, the lizard part of my brain took over. I was no longer a sensible, professional New York woman.

I was a cock-slut.

I was Bruno’s cock-slut.

I existed to get Bruno off, and nothing else mattered.

Maybe I talked dirty to him, or maybe that was just in my head—a stream of filth, pledging my dedication to Bruno’s Cock, to serving it for the rest of my years.

I’d like to say that I didn’t actually move my mouth to his cock, that I just thought about doing it, but the memory of my dog’s cock-sweat is something that I’ll never, ever forget.

I do remember wishing I could touch myself, knowing that I’d explode in orgasm as soon as I could move a hand between my legs, but I restrained. I didn’t want to lose focus, get distracted from my Purpose.

Everything I was, everything I did, it was all in pursuit of one perfect goal—getting Bruno off.

And so I slurped on his canine cock, reached down to play with Bruno’s balls, ran my other hand all over his body, patting him, grasping his fur, wanting to taste more of him, more, more more more.

In that moment, if I could have taken my entire puppy dog inside my mouth, I would have. As it was, I had to make do with just his cock—his big, beautiful, doggy cock.

I don’t know if I recognized the signs from last time, or if I was just exceptionally attuned to the needs of his Cock, but I could tell when Bruno was getting close. I reluctantly pulled him from my mouth, and stroked him fast, staring into his big doggy eyes as I did, begging him to cum on me.

“Use me as your cum rag,” I begged. “Cum on your tit-slut. Cum on me please, please cum on me, please.”

Bruno let out a small whine—which, in that moment, was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard—as he came, shooting strings of doggy-cum straight onto my tits.

As soon as his warm seed hit my exposed tit-flesh, my orgasm hit. I released Bruno’s cock as the most powerful climax of my life overcame me. For the first time in my life, I came with zero stimulation between my legs, falling back and cumming, cumming, cumming, as my dog’s seed splashed over me.

The orgasm was powerful but short, and within a minute or two I was able to collect myself, able to return from what felt like insanity.

I don’t know what I expected—a wave of guilt, maybe—but all I felt was a warm glow, and a hint of dissatisfaction. Before I could explore that any further, Bruno moved towards me. Just as he had last time, he started lapping up his own cum.

Unlike last time, his cum was all over my exposed chest.

Wave after wave of pleasure hit me; each time Bruno’s rough tongue made contact with my nipple, it felt like I was cumming again, a new orgasm despite the fact that the last one hadn’t finished. My boobs have always enjoyed the attention of a skilled tongue, but this was something else—this was like getting fingered by God’s hand directly.

I came and came and came and came as Bruno cleaned up his own sticky offerings—I came so hard and so many times that I passed out, being licked to orgasm by my pet.

When I awoke, I was alone in the room.

Ah, I thought to myself. There’s the guilt.

What had I done? I’d jerked my pet dog off—ostensibly as an act of charity, at least to begin with, but then selfishly.

For me.

I’d wanted to.

No, more than that. I still wanted to. A part of me was yearning to find Bruno, get him hard, and jerk him off again. I’d never been so worked up, so turned on.

I’d never felt so alive, or so sure of myself.

But I couldn’t.

I knew I couldn’t.

The feelings I’d had, they were…they were wrong. They’d felt so right, but that was a lie. That wasn’t right.

I’d been more turned on than I’d ever, ever been, and it was wrong.

That night, I got off twice more just at the memory of what Bruno had done. Of what I’d done to Bruno. The next morning was a Saturday, but I went into work anyway—I didn’t trust myself alone at home with Bruno.

When you discover Pandora’s box is under the coffee table, you stay the fuck away from that coffee table.

Even at work, I had to get off twice in the restroom before my mind was clear enough to think, to reflect.

Last night. That had been…weird.

Hot, yes. The single best experience of my life, yes.

But weird.

I’d jerked Bruno off two weeks ago, and it had been…fine. I’d felt like a good pet-owner.

Last night, I’d felt like a sex slave.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that something didn’t make sense. My reaction was so strong. Too strong.

Something weird was going on.