The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Bonnie — July

Nighttime was becoming masturbate myself to unconscious time, followed by dream of even more sex time.

Though I awakened on Saturday morning with my bedsheets smelling like I’d stuffed them inside my pussy for a wash and rinse cycle, my morning meditation was an untroubled one. I changed the sheets and cleaned my dildo, and I was freshly dressed and more or less relaxed when Martin buzzed downstairs, arriving to see the neighbors’ loft.

Martin was punctual, eleven on the dot, and I checked him out on the video screen. It was while he leaned into the speaker-box that I saw a figure behind him, the face of an extremely attractive woman. I’d known through Laura that he had a girlfriend, but hadn’t figured she’d be so cute.

I felt a pang of jealousy, which was absurd, probably instinctual. Although I had spent more time than necessary getting my hair just right, and making a point of wearing a brand new push-up bra that emphasized every ounce of the recent swelling on my chest. My ass had been great since forever, and I’d put on my tightest pair of shorts, trying to convince myself that it was just about looking good, not flirting, not making an impression.

With a man, fuck. I had to be crazy to even be thinking about that. I was, though. It seemed to me that, underneath, I was thinking about that all the time.

When I met the couple at the elevator, a surge of lust hit me and I wasn’t sure which of them I wanted in my bed the most, Martin or the girlfriend. I’m sure my eyes widened when I got my first good look at the woman introduced as Dawn, and I had to stifle a cry of “Tits!”. I’d seen her before at the campus store; she was a sight you didn’t forget, and even more now that she was showing off copious cleavage, something I couldn’t remember ever seeing.

The name Dawn fit just right, because I sure did feel the awakening of fresh dew in my panties. I looked back and forth between Martin’s eyes and Dawn’s eyes and Dawn breast one and Dawn breast two, trying to keep my expression neutral. How much did those sweater-puppies weigh? I loved the slight strain in my arm muscles when I lifted Mirabella’s breasts in my hands, but this girl was put together in a wholly different way, like Belle’s double-D’s were only the a hint of how much pillowy oomph could be stuffed inside a bra. I know I licked my lips as I shook hands. I peeked at the ensuing bounce on Dawn’s chest, but when it came time for Martin, he looked away, and it seemed to me that the avoidance of eye contact, or any contact, was deliberate. He didn’t want to shake my hand because his racked and loaded girlfriend would object? That seemed old-fashioned, and somehow not the real answer.

I felt squeezed tight in the elevator with the couple, even though we all had plenty of space. Maybe it was that I kept stealing glances at how far Dawn’s boobs extended out from her torso. I was bigger than I’d ever been in my life but nothing like that, where Dawn’s boobs created fan-shaped folds in her shirt that went on for miles. I couldn’t stop looking, and felt like the three of us were creating an atmosphere of lust that could coat the walls and ceiling like condensed steam, which might start to drip.

On my floor I had the keys to 8C in my hand, and of course they loved it. I walked behind them for a time; Dawn was wearing a sunshine yellow button-up blouse, and it looked to me that if her breathing became as runaway as mine, there might be damage in the apartment from projectile buttons. Trim and streamlined as she was, this girl had me wondering if the Kama Sutra had ever said anything about classifications of breast sizes. Rabbit, horse, elephant—I’d be a rabbit, but not as much of one as I’d been just a week before.

Martin was into tits. Laura’s were really good, and then these...

I knew they’d fall in love with the great room, with its west wall almost entirely made of glass, the skyline of Manhattan like a giant painting. Martin mimicked an aperture with crossed hands, moving about the room and leaning this way and that as though envisioning photographs he might take. Dawn sidled alongside and leaned into him, and something passed between them through body language that made me want to check out how well the neighbor’s bathroom served as a masturbation space. Dawn’s huge breasts looked to me like they’d come alive in some indefinable way, and though I couldn’t see Martin’s front with Dawn standing there, I just knew he had a big thing. I was no expert on such matters, but there was no doubt in my mind.

They wanted the space, and I gave them Greta and Mark’s price. It was awful, watching their faces fall. They weren’t acting as they looked at each other and made “oh well” faces.

They gave me awkward thanks and started in the direction of the door, and I was the one who felt like my heart was sinking to street level. “I’m sure I can talk them down to almost half that!” I said, even though I knew no such thing. “In fact let’s go to my place and celebrate, because I know they’re going to say yes.”

They didn’t come to my place, and I thought I knew why—they were going to hurry home and jump each other’s bones. The dew that continued to gather between my thighs had to be making a visible dark spot in these super-tight shorts, and I couldn’t decide whether to hide that or advertise it. I decided to walk ahead of them on the way back to the elevators, hoping both sets of eyes would be glued to my ass. When I hugged Dawn good-bye I couldn’t resist stepping a touch closer than I should, and drawing out the hug an extra second or three to feel all that bosom pressed into my front. Martin was elusive again, but I didn’t stand for it this time.

“No shyness allowed in the building!” I proclaimed, stepping in to give him a hug, too.

That hug also lingered, and I’m not sure I would have let go if the doors hadn’t started to shut. I went all fluttery inside and felt like sinking to my knees to give his thing a hug of its own. He had an erection—I didn’t even have to look to know it was there, because I’d felt it and could still feel it, like the thing had made an indentation in me that would never even out.

He gently pushed me out into the hallway and he had a puzzled expression as the doors slid closed. I stood there reeling like I’d just been zapped with some sort of stun-gun. The feeling of Dawn’s breasts, touching me, and the feeling in my tits, like there were tornadoes whirling inside them... And my God, the pressure, the hardness down low when I’d stepped into Martin...

I walked into my loft in a daze, my entire body buzzing like I’d become a vibrator and somebody had switched me on. My boobs, especially, felt like they were electrified, and my nipples were jutting obscenely. I touched the left, just the slightest friction...

“Gah!”

Insane, to feel this much... juice, life juice and pussy juice and electric juice.

I touched the right one and fell to my knees.

The dildo, oh God I needed the dildo! Something to split me wide, something to drive into me like an express train, something to fuck!

Martin — July

With all that had already transpired in the month of June, I should have been more prepared for the sudden changes that came with the arrival of July.

Bonnie and her boobs, for one thing. The entire time we’d been around her I’d felt like someone trying to hold down the cork on a shaken bottle of Champagne, trying to keep something from bubbling out that would get all over the three of us and never dry up. I’d known her boobs were growing somehow, and that something about her had messed with me and messed with my body, and being near her had been like being in a room filled with dynamite. Only whom would go off, Bonnie? Me? Dawn? All of us at once?

Speaking of Champagne, Dawn and I popped a bottle on the first night of the new month, three days after scoring our loft space across the river, and ten minutes after we uploaded her site to the web. No one would know smokinghotscarlet was there until we sent teaser films and photos to every boob-oriented venue we could think of; still, it existed. It was as if we’d set up tables and created ambience and finally opened a restaurant serving breast ala boob with heaping sides of can-it-be-real-what-those-tits-are-doing? Now came the time to advertise our location and our menu, and draw in hungry customers.

We’d tinkered with the design here and there, and had written up a completely fictional FAQ page to titillate while preserving Dawn’s identity. The plan was to send an edited six minute version of Scarlet’s steamy—literally—masturbation shower scene to every boob-oriented site and forum we could think of, with the expectation that just that one clip, supported by a handful of photos confirming her beauty and jaw-dropping figure, would generate enough word of mouth interest to fill the place up with paying customers.

The other item on the agenda at the beginning of July was packing for the imminent move across the river. Dawn had become so relaxed with a camera following her movements that I could create photosets or videos of just about anything, like packing books into liquor store boxes. That one began innocently enough with Dawn in an oversized T-shirt, nothing else. I followed her motions, grabbing dangling downblouse footage and up-hem pussy peeks, and when she finished packing and taping each box, I sent energy into her tits, like the completion of each task raised her sexual appetite to a new level of urgency.

Her formerly precise method of arranging books in the boxes became more haphazard, and she began to make unnecessary movements that had her nipples brushing against cardboard edges, teasing her tits for the sheer pleasure of it. By the sixth box the T-shirt came off. She was packing the seventh box one-handed, fingering her pussy with the other. The eighth box never got filled, but her pussy did, with my dick.

Dawn was lying on her back with her knees raised when the head of my penis pushed its way in. Our breath caught in unison, and I think we both knew right in that instant, although we didn’t stop. I pushed into her slowly, perhaps even hesitantly, one of those one step back for every two steps forward kind of deals. She had always felt like a warm liquid glove around me; it was like that now, only the fit was different, and the glove needed to stretch more to keep the fit just right.

She was the one who said what we both knew: “You’re so... big!” And then she twisted to change our positions, and I followed her lead, letting her kneel on top. “It’s happened again,” she whispered, shifting to her feet with knees bent, sliding me up and down inside. “It’s happened again, it’s happened again,” she repeated like a mantra, a sex mantra for fucking a bigger cock than I’d had the last time we went at it.

I didn’t even know what I thought about it—had my cock grown again because I’d been around Bonnie, or would it have happened anyway? What mattered the most was that Dawn’s body approved, sliding and riding the new me. pulling me out to try the new fit inside her cleavage. Her tits were bouncing and undulating and I made every shift in their weight send jolts into her nipples, which got her sliding faster, the movement of her boobs exaggerated.

We switched back to good ol’ pussy penetration and were humping like crazy now, fuckbunny fucking with Dawn’s tits gyrating above me like something from a carnival ride. My cock felt harder than it had ever been, perhaps because there was more of it there to send sensations about the hardness. Dawn began a new mantra of, “Keep going!,” which changed at some point to, ”Keep growing, keep growing, oh God yes, keep growing!”

Did she know what she was saying? The pressure inside me felt as enlarged as everything else, like my balls had become more efficient factories. We came at the same time, flood dashing against flood, our bodies shaking and stars flashing in the fluid of my eyes. It felt to me like ten orgasms compacted into the size of one, that once released became ten again. Eventually I stopped spewing and Dawn collapsed on me with my cock still embedded, our hearts beating wild jungle drum from one body into the other. Badda boom, sex, bada boom boom, more sex, badda badda boom boom, it ain’t even as far as we can go yet sex.

It was later in the night, my cock in her hand when she said, “I’m beginning to feel like I’m a ball of fire being penetrated by a lightning bolt. How many times did we do it today?”

I hadn’t been keeping count, and said so.

“But a lot,” she said. “There are stories about this kind of thing, you know. Growing cocks, incredibly potent sex...”

“I’ve read a few,” I said, mistaking her meaning. “They’re all over the internet.”

“No, you aren’t getting my point. I’m talking about old stories, myths and legends. And art, lots and lots of depictions of enlarged sex organs in so many cultures.”

“I know about some,” I said, thinking about the pottery I’d seen at the Larco Museum in Peru. “Pre-Columbian ceramics on display in Lima, Peru, that kind of thing.”

“Those are Moche,” she said, ever the art historian. “Gigantic penises, equally gigantic breasts... There are other examples from other civilizations all over the world, going back to the very beginnings of human culture. We think of pornography as a fairly recent phenomenon, coinciding with magazine circulation or, more recently, the internet, but depictions of human sexuality or sex organs have been found in cave paintings dating back twelve thousand years or more.”

Which brought to mind the little figurine a young girl had given me, that might have been the start to every impossible thing that had happened to me in the past couple of weeks. To my eye the figurine had looked older than anything I’d seen at the Larco Museum, and perhaps stylized in a different way. A different culture? An older one? An undiscovered one?

“Was that art really a form of pornography?” I asked. “Or could there have been other uses for these things, other intentions?” Unsaid: Could they enter a person, a guy named Martin for instance, and turn him into the new version of me.

“Definitely, though it’s difficult to know. Art wasn’t a hobby or a dalliance in ancient cultures; it was inseparable from all other aspects of life, especially in the spiritual sense. We know that in India and China, for example, depictions of sexuality were tied to what were seen as forces of creation on a cosmic scale. Figurines of a special nature were thought to possess magical powers, bestowing pregnancy, bringing bountiful hunts or harvests, that kind of thing.”

“People believed that if they depicted something, a whole bunch of bison grazing in a field, for instance...”

“The depiction would have a real and tangible effect. And who knows, maybe it did, how could we ever know?”

I was thinking about the figurine and my ayahuasca vision of super-huge breasts, but there had also been the energy in my cock in the dream, like it had been far overscaled, too. “You brought this up because of depictions of super-huge breasts and penises. I think I know why.”

She gave my cock an empathetic squeeze. It was normal as apple pie that a cock would grow; they just weren’t supposed to, you know, grow. And across the river, Bonnie Laight’s boobs were doing the same thing, although Dawn didn’t know that. She had even commented after meeting Bonnie that she had really great tits, and must be proud of them the way she’d been showing them off. I wondered how Dawn would respond if she knew Bonnie’s breasts had been much smaller the day I’d met her.

“It might be a chicken or egg scenario,” she went on. “It’s possible that, at one time, a fetish object actually held that power, and was able to change people to some degree. Or, conversely, a special member of the group, later depicted by a work of art, became something like a catalyst, changing others.”

“By special, I think you mean a woman with pronounced endowments. Like you.”

She paused, and her voice was different when she spoke again. “Maybe. I was far from average even before, you know...”

“My dick grew. Or your boobs melted things.” And I had been led to Dawn by a kind of sixth sense. The titwareness was in me and had been before we’d hooked up, but maybe it did take more than just me to make the real magic happen. If so, when she took the credit or blame for everything happening, she might be partially right.

“I’m not trying to change you, to do this to you,” she said, still holding tight to my cock. “I’m not trying to make it happen, and I don’t know how I’m making it happen. But I won’t lie; I like the way it feels and I like being special. It’s not anything I’m doing deliberately; it’s more like a feeling I have that I’m being used as a channel or something.”

She was being used, by me. But then I wondered if I was being used, too, by something I couldn’t quite get a handle on. “Dawn, couldn’t people have had abilities or skills like you have in the past? Not necessarily the same in every way, but could a tribal medicine man or woman, for instance, have controlled sexual appearance or vitality?”

“I would say it’s possible. Just look at us, and we aren’t even medicine people.”

Or so she thought. Though it had struck me as ridiculous at the beginning, I’d reached a point where I had my doubts now about not being a brujo, or something else that I didn’t even have a word for. Maybe Dawn’s occasional term, “freak”, wasn’t so bad after all.

“Super-sexual demigods,” she said.

“What?”

“Legends and stories in so many cultures... Demigods, human but with more-than-human capacities, like they’d become flesh and blood vehicles for supra-human powers. You read Greek mythology in school, right? So much of the action and mischief comes from the intermingling, sometimes coitally, of gods and humans. The male gods were always tricking great-looking human females into having sex with them, creating semi-divine beings that were like living links between the heavens and the earth. It’s the same in most cultures that the gods, and the demigods they created, are one lusty bunch.”

The hand around my cock had begun to move as she talked. From the way her tits were humming, the direction of the conversation was getting Dawn excited, like the power she thought she had to light up her tits or change the size of my dick had hit a fetish spot inside her. Like being what she thought she was was becoming less freak-oriented, more fuck-oriented.

“So we’re becoming flesh and blood vehicles for godlike sex,” I responded, just to see how the words fell on her sex jets. Without doing anything else to make it happen, her nipples gained size, gained need, because Dawn was discovering that she had a fetish for this kind of freakish.

“The sex we’ve been having,” she said, and had to stop to breathe. “We aren’t normal anymore. It’s obvious that we’re...”

I didn’t even let her name it, flooding Dawn’s breasts with Olympian heat.

“Nuh!” she gasped. “Martin I... Sometimes something comes alive in me so fast, so... My tits... Ohgod, ohgod... My tits are soooo...”

She said more wordlessly, doing a very wicked thing by drooling saliva down to where her moving hand was, saturating my newly expanded length to make the hand glide fluidly.

“I’m changing you,” she said, climbing on top of me, her tits hanging down like gravity could bestow majesty, which in her case was true. My cock stood up to meet her wobbling wonders, and it hit me, in light of our conversation, that we were engaged in an act that might have been little different tens of thousands of years ago, this very human act tied to hidden forces that people might have revered at one time, but couldn’t even conceive of now.

I didn’t even need to concentrate to throw more gas on Dawns breasts—we’d made love enough times that it felt like I could be inside them without effort, globally affecting her nipples and breasts just by feeling my own desire and wishing her to get off the way we both wanted her to get off.

On all fours with her hands placed to the side of my head, she gave me a hands-free tit-fuck, rocking forward and back, her big boobs swinging and flesh-clinging to the new, slightly more towering me. I’d always felt that Dawns tits were bigger than they needed to be to give me an exquisite tit-fuck; now, having added some length and bulk on two separate occasions, I was beginning to catch up to her. Not catch up and win—there would have to be even more size to my prize to have a big dick the way Dawn had big tits, but the ratio was closing, miracle by miracle.

I didn’t need to focus on exciting Dawn’s boobs specifically, but I did, because I loved to. Forget the ink-blot image, or technique; I went Gatorade bucket on game-winning tits, instantly splashing her with tits-as-clits sensations that coated her boobs and saturated deep inside. Dawn let out a silent scream, her jaw nearly unhinged, not so much tit-fucking me as body-shuddering in a way that moved her boobs into producing fresh tsunamis of activity.

Her voice finally caught and she was making strange sounds, perhaps speaking in sex-tongues, and it felt that what was going on inside her tits would be able to set books ablaze. My straining dick ate up the heat, begged for more and got it, and then I was the one trying to scream out a new and more insane kind of delight, because Bonnie’s body, or her tits across the river, entered my field in a flash of mental awareness and body sensations. Bonnie’s small breasts were being fondled, her nipples abused, and they beamed out their own hyper-sensitivity signals, adding to the sensations in my cock.

I groaned like Dawn had never heard before, my dick feeling like it wanted to grow more right then and there, squeezed in Dawn’s quaking breastular embrace as it was enchanted from afar, stimulated on this earthly plane and touched on some other, given two lovers at once with one not even there. Bonnie’s breasts burned, too, burned in some unfamiliar way, some otherness way, her nipples like hot pokers phantom-grilling my meat, turning my balls to hot coals, adding lighter fluid.

“Oh fuck!” I groaned, my cock getting Dawn-fucked and spectrally Bonnie-fucked.

I exploded just an instant before Dawn did, decorating her neck like a birthday cake, her cumming body vibrating the entire bed beneath us. Somehow she kept swinging her tits, her arms locked, breath escaping in a semi-intelligible chant of, “Fuck yes, fuck yes, fuck yes!”

Oh fuck yes, two female lovers cumming at the same time, even when there was only one female partner in the room. It wasn’t possible, couldn’t be real, but it was.

Dawn collapsed on me, her hot boobs warming the air around us but not scorching my flesh, and I wrapped my arms around and held onto her like I might otherwise be blown into a different world. She was real; I was real. It was only the sex that was becoming unreal.

Only.

I lay there with my mind scrambled, my fingers tingling, my cock spent. And through it all I could sense that I was like Dawn’s boobs, getting more sensitive still, and gaining heat. Also like Bonnie’s boobs, growing, and reaching out beyond distances, and beyond reason.

My cock was growing. Bonnie’s boobs were growing. Dawn’s heat was growing. And I didn’t know what it was all for, or how it would all intersect, but I had this feeling inside, and it was strong.

“Watch out world,” I said, sliding Dawn onto her side, holding onto her hot boobs like they could be life preservers, floatation in a cumming storm.