The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Breast Way To Get the Girls

Part 11

I mentioned that July was a time of unexpectednesses. One came in the form of a phone call early Sunday morning, from Laura. Bonnie was in the shower, good timing, because Laura’s tits piggybacked on the phone signal, rising high above the background murmur, calling out.

Much farther away than I’d been able to tune in this clearly before. And tempting me, right off the bat.

“I don’t even know how to have this conversation,” she said to start things off.

“What conversation are we going to have?”

“I had my doctor check me out. I mean my breasts, after what you said at the coffee shop.”

“I thought you thought I was crazy.”

“You are crazy, but maybe I am, too. She, my doctor... It won’t be a problem because we were alerted to it so early, but she found a potential trouble spot, deep in the tissue. No action required yet, but we’re going to keep a keen eye on it, just in case.”

She waited for me to respond, to explain, but nothing was coming to mind that wouldn’t raise more questions than she already must have.

“Aren’t you going to say something?”

“I’m glad you’ll be okay.”

“How, Martin? How did you do that?”

“I just, um... I’m not really sure.”

“You’re lying.”

I sighed. Laura always had been able to call me on my shit. “Okay, you win. I’m avoiding.”

“How the fuck did you do that? How could you know it was there, in that breast? What are you, a bloodhound?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “It came to me in a vision,” I said. Let her sniff out the lie there, since it was true in a roundabout sense.

“A jungle root vision? You tripped on jungle root and had visions about my tits?”

“No, not... I mean yes. And it’s a good thing I did.”

“It just floors me that you... And then I was mean to you because I thought you were... I should find some way to thank you.”

“You already have. Your friend Bonnie came through on a sublet space.”

“I know. She seems excited that you’re moving in.”

“Excited?”

“She’s gay, you know.”

“Oh my. And we’ll be living down the hall from that.”

“I didn’t mean... Oh, you’re messing with me!”

“Sorry. But why did you feel you needed to tell me that?”

“She seemed kind of spaced out on the phone the last time we talked. I’m worried about her. I thought, if you’re going to be moving over there...”

“You’re asking me to keep tabs on her? I don’t even know what Bonnie’s normal self is like.”

“You’ll do the right thing. You’re a good person.”

That was debatable. “Thank you.”

“Again, I’d like to.”

“To what?”

“To thank you. For having a vision about me and maybe even saving my life.”

I knew I shouldn’t. I really really shouldn’t. But they were open to me even with the distance, and here she was calling me, being the one to initiate contact. It hadn’t felt right to even contemplate it at the coffee shop; now, it not only felt right—I did it. “It felt quite natural to have a vision about your breasts, Laura.” And with those words spoken into the phone I sent my own microwave beam of energy into her tits, warming them and gently exciting her nipples.

“Wow.”

“What’s wow?” I asked.

“I can’t believe you said that.”

“Sorry, just being honest,” I said, giving them a little bit more.

She drew in a breath, just audible. A pause, then, “It’s okay. I still... you know, feel certain things about you. Maybe I shouldn’t, but...”

How amazing was this, that I had access to Laura’s breasts from so far away? They were pulsing clear as a bell, almost as tangible to my senses as Dawn’s, which were being soaped up right now.

I loved to tune into Dawn’s breasts when she showered, and feel them being lathered, lifted and caressed by gliding palms and fingers. With all of that just a couple of rooms away, there was no need to do what I did, reaching out over a chunk of Manhattan real estate to make Laura’s nipples go all hot and buzzy as I said, “What certain things do you still feel, Laura?”

I was pretty sure her hand went over her phone as she hissed. I could feel the outpouring of breath repositioning her breasts in her bra, her ribcage moving up and down as she tried to calm herself.

“Laura?” It was no different than if she were sitting in the next room. Tuning in, wanting to be inside them, I could warm them every time I spoke, the sound of my voice resounding in her body with Pavlovian persuasiveness.

“Martin, if I told you... If I were to be completely open with you...”

“I think I’ve earned a bit of openness here. I did save your life after all.”

She laughed, but I cut the laugh off with a fresh wave of heat into the core of her breasts. It was the inkblot technique that had been so effective with Dawn, now practiced from dozens of blocks away.

“Martin I... You’re going to continue living with your girlfriend, right?”

“Dawn. Yes, why?”

“And I’m engaged.”

“Your point?” I made the point two points, both of her nipples full and needy.

“The point is...” She was removing her bra. Her chest stuck forward as her arms must have gone back to the hooks, and the bra lifted away, boobs exposed to the air. “There are times... Right now, in fact, more than ever.”

“Times?”

A fingertip rolling her right nipple. “Times where I want to roll the cock back...”

“Clock?” I corrected, dripping in extra excitement.

“Clock, fuck, I can’t believe I... The point is that if we weren’t attached I could... could... thank you. Properly.”

“Thank me? How?”

Maybe she had a picture of it in her mind, or maybe she was trying not to imagine the two of us together again. I mind-nibbled her nipples and she drew in a breath, letting out a little moan, no attempt to hide it.

“Say it, Laura.”

“I shouldn’t even think it!”

“Say it,” I repeated, hitting her tits with more. “How would you thank me?”

“With my mouth. With my... my...”

She had never been able or willing to talk dirty with me. “Say it.”

“With my... my...”

More heat, infusing her tits, really having no mercy.

“With my cunt! With my... oh fuck, with my dripping cunt!”

“Whoa.” Which was an English word for stopping or slowing down, only I did the reverse by sending more energy through the atmosphere, loving where her phone call had led us.

“Oh Martin! I haven’t been this... this riled...”

“I can hear it in your voice. You’re as wet as can be, aren’t you?”

“Yes!”

“And you want to thank me by fucking me.”

“I can’t!”

“Then suck me off. It’s not technically cheating that way.” It was crazy logic that she would laugh at normally. I hit her harder, turning her tits against any remaining resolve.

“I would if... I can’t, but if we did... God if you were here right now...”

Halfway there. “Just once. One last fuck, Laura. Saving the best for last.”

“You could n...never tell!” she stammered into the phone. Her left nipple was being rolled now, the more sensitive underside stroked with both a finger and thumb.

“Just tell me when and where, Laura.”

“Now! Right here, now!”

“I can’t.”

“In an hour! I’ll wait! I’ll... I’ll dress!”

Meaning stockings and heels, and perhaps the bustier she’d been willing to wear only once, on my birthday.

I could feel from the bulging of Dawn’s tits and the way the water coursed over them that she had her arms raised for hair rinsing, the last ritual in her showering. “Laura, I can’t talk about this right now.” Largely because after we’d both showered, Dawn and I would be filming and fucking all day. “I’m going to give you a little time to think about this, to be sure, with no regrets.”

“But...”

“If you really want this it will happen, believe me.”

“But...”

“I need to go. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

I ended the call and turned my phone off, just as Dawn emerged from the bathroom. I was rock hard and it was tempting to pounce on Dawn’s tits right then and there. I took my turn in the shower instead, my cock a horizontal companion that, in the configuration of Dawn’s apartment and shower, was pointing due south, right where Laura’s hot body was.

Was it like we’d had a mission and a timetable—get my ex on a path to guaranteed health first, then fuck her? It almost felt like that, like she’d been enveloped in a funky cloud of smog that had now been washed clean.

But did I really want to rekindle that relationship? I had Dawn, and Bonnie’s weirdly energetic tits that had become invisible invaders. Living next to Bonnie was going to be a juggling act in itself, as I was certain we’d be pulled into fucking, even if she was gay. I didn’t need Laura, and it would only create a mess to go bed her, even if it only happened once.

I was trying to convince myself of that when my life changed with the unseen click of a mouse. I didn’t even know Dawn was on the computer when she whooped from the bedroom, followed by a series of “I can’t believe it!” screeches and her tits bouncing up and down like she was running a three minute mile in place.

Her tits ran to the bathroom and suddenly she was there, crying through the etched glass, “They want me, they want me!”

I could think of only one thing that would get her blissed-out like this. Sure enough, she’d gotten an email from a Professor Andrea Fiorelli, saying that he would like to interview her about coming to his dig site near Pompeii, to help in excavating a newly found courtyard. The arrangement was an internship that had the possibility, depending on funding, of turning into a paid apprenticeship.

I knew what to do—be happy for Dawn, hug her and kiss her and bounce and smile with her, even though the news put everything about us and what we were doing in question. Which she realized once the endorphins and adrenaline had settled down.

“Oh my God, if I do well on the interview, we’ll just have moved and I’ll have to fly away!”

I waited for the rest to settle in.

“Oh my God, what about the crazy-good sex?” she asked, hand to mouth. Her eyes were so wide that with a different hairstyle she might be a right out of a Roy Lichtenstein painting in Ben-Day dots, and what a great word-balloon—”Oh my God, what about the crazy-good sex?”

“You don’t have it yet. You have to interview, right?”

“Right. It’s a skype interview, and he might hate me.”

Or she could wear the right blouse and sit just far enough back that he could get a load of her figure, and he might jerk off to the memory for a month. “Even if you get it, you’d come back to visit, right? Or I could fly there, spend a week in Italy and all that.”

“Right, you’re right. But even a few days without... Oh, this is awful! What if I get the job? I’d be so far away and...”

“We can’t feel bad if your dreams come true. We’ll figure something out.”

Although what was there to do? This eventuality had been there since moment one with Dawn, though I never thought we’d have to deal with it so quickly. She should be over there doing her ancient Roman art thing, and as much as I loved the look of a good Italian girl, I could only see myself visiting, not living in Italy. We’d move into our new space together across the river and she’d stay for how long, a couple of days before flying off?

And what about the whole website thing? We had enough photo sessions and films to get her website going and give it updates for a number of weeks, or maybe even a couple of months. After that, she’d have to give me new material to upload, and I wasn’t sure how well Dawn would do without me there juicing her tits. Which brought up the question of what sex, even solo sex, would be for her across the pond. She wasn’t the awkward and sexually uncertain woman I’d met at the beginning—had I opened her up where the effect of all that tit stimulation would continue, like an echo? Would she feel satisfied? Could she? Would she go into withdrawals?

And what about Laura, or Bonnie’s breasts, living across the East River? Even while discussing Italy I could close my eyes and simply reach out, and feel four additional breasts, Laura’s sexy D’s and Bonnie’s smaller...

Only they weren’t smaller, were they? Bonnie’s tits hummed or pulsed as no breasts I’d come across, and they were perhaps only a tiny fraction less full than Laura’s. And more than that, they reached out to me with incredible force, giving me exclamation-point knowledge of whatever they were doing, especially if it involved screwing or masturbating. What I felt in her, in her tits and even in a strange way inside her pussy...

I was going to fuck Bonnie; I had no doubt about that. I’d been thinking it would be a matter of us fucking Bonnie, me and Dawn, but now I wasn’t so sure.

Dawn said she needed to take a walk to think about things. She asked me to come with her, but I declined, needing to do some thinking of my own. Once alone I sat on the sofa and closed my eyes, and tuned in as I could to the multitude of breasts out on the streets or high in buildings. Dawn’s were immediately apparent, and Bonnie’s, and Laura’s. Others hummed as background breasts, there but not so distinct, not so personal.

I focused on Bonnie’s, the signal so clear and strong that she might as well be sitting right next to me and rubbing me with them. I’d been cautious up to this point, perhaps afraid to deliberately touch her crazy growing tits with my mind. They were special in some way, and in my sphere of influence even when I did nothing. If I became one with them, attuned myself to feel their pulse and heat and weight, to feel their interior life and the connections to the woman herself...

She, and they, throbbed with sexual energy. It was like my mind making contact with twin organic generators, with a level of power disproportionate to what she actually had on her chest.

Which was changing anyway. Every second it was like cells dividing, or breastular mass reproducing. When we’d seen her at her building I’d thought she looked a little bigger up top; now I was certain her tits were growing at an unnatural rate of speed, like an exaggerated version of whatever was happening to my dick.

I thought about what Dawn had said, the stories of the energy of the gods being channeled through human flesh. I listened further, assessed more, and for the first time intentionally stroked Bonnie’s tits with my mind. I made her breasts need to be fondled—it was crazy, but I could make them feel the need as I had earlier with Laura, even from miles away.

Curious, I tuned back into Dawn—she was walking away from my location very slowly, and I judged her to be something like nine or ten blocks away, the signal still strong. My radius of influence was expanding with her, too.

I thought of seeking out Laura’s tits next, and on an intuition I turned on my phone. Sure enough, Laura had called, leaving a message. I played it:

“Martin, I’m so confused. I don’t know what came over me. I’m engaged and... You know how I am, that I believe being engaged is supposed to mean something. I went into a nutty place... I’m so sorry, but I can’t do that. It was wrong of me to make you believe that I would... I’m sorry. Well. Bye.” Click.

I’d let her off the hook, the lure withdrawn for a couple of hours, so I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t even disappointed. But I also wasn’t going to just sit here and take it.

I tuned in and Laura was upright, clothed, either sitting or standing at home or near home. I waited, sampled from inside her breasts, trying to determine if she was in her apartment or out somewhere. Little movement, mostly a slight stretching in her right breast. I tasted the repetitive patterns for several minutes and was pretty certain she was sitting down, probably on her computer.

I punched her number. As the phone rang in my ear I could sense the jump of her body, the quickening pulse beating into her breasts. She stretched out an arm and I imagined her looking at my name on her phone.

I warmed her nipples. The phone rang four times before it went to voice messaging. I hung up, dialed again. It was the same response on her end, but I increased the energy in her nipples, only a few degrees, nothing for her to freak over.

But also nothing she could ignore. Laura was a mental type, not always in touch with her feelings. Not always in touch with her body, too, but how would that work out when, anytime I called, her body equated my name on her phone with sexual desire? Mind over matter my ass—the matter in her tits was going to matter like nothing ever had, one call at a time.

I wasn’t really sure what I was doing or why, but it sure made my cock rise like a steel skyscraper. I was laying the groundwork, perhaps, for my needs when Dawn would be away, because she did need to go. I could probably make her stay, override her dreams and impose my own, but I wouldn’t. Luring Dawn in had initially been like following a thread, and her thread was a long one, dipping under the ocean and resurfacing in the Mediterranean. She’d been something of an experiment at first, the old me getting to know the new me in the company of the girl with the biggest tits I knew. But I cared about her now, cared a lot. I might even love her, if such a thing were possible under these screwy circumstances.

I knew I didn’t still love Laura, not like that. Still, I was going to lure her into bed at least one more time, even if that shattered her self image, her dream of her own morality while engaged. After that... I really didn’t know. If she was determined to marry What’s-his-face and make rich babies, then I’d probably cut her loose.

But not yet. No fucking way.

I tried to locate Dawn and all three women came in loud and clear. Or actually, four. Surprised, I focused on this new arrival, and knew them. It was the woman I’d taken to be Italian, the one I’d dropped a boob-bomb on and helped into a cab. I thought of her as Cinderella, because I still had the high heel she’d dropped. She was in a sitting position, her breasts moving. On the subway or in a car, confirmed when, a few seconds later, she faded out, apparently traveling out of range.

Well hello. Nice to feel you. Hope you guessed my name.

I was like a man with an internal radio dial that only tuned into stations playing the greatest tits. Focusing on the others, Dawn had walked far, was still walking, every step creating a definite jiggle. Laura’s heart rate was still high, and she must be lying down now, on her back with her breasts spread somewhat flatter from gravity. Her nipples had remained stiff, and I almost jumped when she squeezed one between thumb and a finger.

It wasn’t what’s-his-face; the fingers were too small. She was touching herself, and maybe even thinking of me. Just on that chance, I plopped an ink drop into both breasts, a glandular dispersion-bomb that would creep up on her and keep creeping.

And then Bonnie’s tits, shouting out with need across the river, fattened nipples standing out like antennae awaiting further signals. Cinderella’s breasts were the biggest of the bunch, but Bonnie’s called the loudest. I thought about sending energy to her boobs and it was like they grabbed the thought out from me, blood instantly rushing to excited nerve endings with her breathing going awry, lust flooding her system. Her heat grew and grew, and wasn’t it just like that beneath her flesh, glands and cells and all that made a breast a breast, steadily expanding.

I could feel from the changing distribution of the weight on her chest that Bonnie was racing somewhere, now lying down, fingers pulling at her right nipple. As if to cement the deal yet to be consummated, I intentionally hit Bonnie’s tits harder, made their sensitivity haul off and smash her like a club. Her excitement went through the roof and it was an animal roar through my system, making my dick want to fuck an army of Bonnies and Dawns and Lauras and Cinderellas.

It was like fireworks over the East River when Bonnie came. What she felt coursing through her body exploded inside her tits, too, and I was there with it, every bright boom sparkling inside my dick. Her screams of rapture were too distant to hear, but the vibration of her lungs reverberated through the fabric of her growing breasts, and through them to me. The orgasms were sending so much energy into her tits that her brain had to be crying out in confusion, or crying out for help, the rest of her just hanging on for dear life.

I could have easily jerked off with all that energy in my head, in my cock. Instead I re-located Dawn, however many blocks away. I made her tits need, need more, need me.

She began to run, fast, then stopped, right breast lifting, the flesh stretched. They jostled, briefly hung down... She was hailing a cab to bring her back.

Good girl.

Because Dawn kept insisting that our lovemaking needed to be a more explicit part of the website, I had come up with a way to put myself in a smokinghotscarlet film, or even a series of films, and I hurried to set it all up. A single spotlight attached to the front wall of the apartment, and a six-foot high roll of white photo fabric, thin as rice paper, tautly suspended from a line seven feet high across the room, about five feet distant from the front wall and door. I set the film camera on a tripod at the hallway entrance, adjusted it for the light and slipped behind the screen, moving around for a few seconds as a test.

Dawn was speeding close, only a block away, her heart pounding. I quickly played back the few seconds of film and saw that we would indeed appear as two-dimensional lovers, shadow puppets at play in our world of special, or paranormal sex. As long as I kept her overheated boobs away from the paper at crucial moments, thus avoiding burning the building down, it should work like a charm.

I got the camera rolling, stripped naked and went behind the screen again, standing to the side of the door. Dawn was racing up the stairs, her tits bouncing, and when she burst inside I hit her tits hard with lusty busty need.

I caught her before she sank to her knees, kissed her passionately and helped her out of her clothes. I knew from my days in drama class that I have a tendency to overact, but it felt right to dangle each discarded article of clothing in my hand for a few seconds before tossing her blouse, her skirt, her panties through the air. I turned Dawn sideways to the camera’s position for the removal of her bra, leaning back so no part of her incredible curves became obscured by my shadow. Once unclasped, her boobs leaped out of the bra with their customary exuberance, and we had an artful profile pause that lasted perhaps five seconds before Dawn jumped my bones, her salivating pussy seeking meat.

I wondered if Italy had a place in Dawn’s thoughts as she squatted on top of me and I drove my cock in deep. The people of Pompeii and Herculaneum were burnt to cinders by pyroclastic blasts of air and ash, and could Dawn empathize, even just a little bit, as I charged her tits until they were superheated flesh-mountains, boiling her hormones, turning her pussy into a vent that had no choice but to find release for pressures poised to explode from inside?

She arched her back, hands on the floor with her boobs raised, and we found a furious fuck-rhythm, a gliding spreading pummel-path to our own epic eruptions.

We’d deal with Italy and everything that meant later; right now, pumping and humping in two-dimensions for all the internet world to eventually see, it was only about being royally, or weirdly, or demigodily, fucked.