The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was an improvised move... I really didn’t know much yet about creative positioning. But it wound up being perfect. The edge of the couch caught just under my hips, elevating my ass, while I was able to sink my head and breasts deep between the sunken, dilapidated cushions. On an impulse I grabbed two throw cushions and tucked them under my hips, lifting my ass higher. Then I gave the camera a sweet, sweet smile before saying a word.

“Please, Booker... use my massage oil on me? Please?” I slid my feet even farther apart than my widely spaded knees, clearly inviting him to explore me.

“...uuhhhhh, sure...where you want it, girl?”

“MMMMmmm, pour it all over my ass and rub it in, Booker. Please? I’ll do anything you want. Just please massage my ass for me?”

He’d sank to his knees behind me before I’d finished the third sentence, an enormously endowed black man that I’d literally found on the street, centered between my completely nude legs. An involuntary shudder rippled through me, turning into a gasp as my naked bottom was suddenly bathed in cool, slick massage oil. Booker hadn’t used the handy little spout on the massage bottle; he’d just unscrewed the cap and half-emptied it on my ass. The oil flowed down the lines of my body, a healthy river of it channeling straight down my ass crack. It was trembling bliss.

Then he touched me, hard calloused fingers and palms barely allowing themselves contact with my naked bottom. I moaned and thrust my ass up to meet his touch, begging him for more. At once he overcame his hesitation and began to massage me in earnest.

“...you like that?” His voice had dropped to a hoarse, almost gentle whisper.

“...mmmmm, yeah, Booker. Squeeze me, baby. Touch me. Mmmmm, more to the middle.”

His hands at once began to round the curves of my oil-slicked asscheeks, sliding intoxicatingly over the hypersensitive flesh between them.

“Use your thumbs on me, Booker. Right in the middle. Massage me there... please?”

His thumbs were instantly there, rubbing side by side over the surface of my asshole. My whole body went rigid in response while a hoarse and very sincere gasp tore through my lungs. I remained paralyzed for a long moment, frozen beneath the exquisite shock of his hard thumbs sliding up and down, up and down over my most private place.

Except that it wasn’t that. Not until he was safely away with that film. Until then, there was nothing at all sacred about my anal virginity. It was one thing only... a well-oiled, virginally pink point of entry.

One of his thumbs slipped into my bottom, the most brief penetration before he snatched it back. My paralysis was broken instantly by a fresh, tearing gasp. At once my body responded, writhing in the grip of explosive lust. I had to feel that again!

“Harder, Booker!” I pleaded instantly, before he could become scared that he’d gone too far. “Pleeeeease, rub me harder!”

Booker wasn’t stupid. A half second hadn’t passed before one of his thumbs had penetrated my ass again. And then his other thumb, squeezing in beside it and causing me to moan and desperately grip the cushion beneath me. This man was inside me from behind... hard flesh moving, sliding inside my ass. And I knelt there, presenting it meekly for his further exploration.

Once his thumbs were inside me, they continued to massage. Just as I’d asked, they massaged me hard, pressing outward against the rim of my ass, relaxing taut muscle beneath a firm, constant pressure. Anyone could see where he was going with this.

“Mmm. You say you’ll do anything I want for this? Anything for me to massage your butt like this?”

I was breathing too hard to answer immediately, but in time I gasped out a weak “...yes...”

“Look at that camera and say it.” Still his thumbs kept moving inside me.

“...anything...” I turned my head to stare hungrily into the camcorder’s impassive lens, feeling it absorb the image of my sweat-damped bangs, my half-lidded eyes. “...please Booker take me...anything you want if you’ll please...just put on that rubber right now and fuck me...”

“You want me to fuck you?” He murmured it absently, indulgently. Teasing me.

“Yes! Please! Fuck me, Booker...” I felt my body thrashing, trying to thrust back and impale myself against the penetration of his thumbs. But he moved easily with each thrust, continuing to focus his attention right there at the point of entry.

Then he did something that almost caused me to orgasm right there and then.

He laughed at me.

It was only a chuckle, but it was enough to send the realization home to me. He was enjoying himself, kneeling behind me, his hard thumbs calmly and obviously stretching out my ass for its first fucking. He couldn’t know how he’d managed it... how could he, when even I didn’t yet know what was driving me? But he’d finally relaxed and begun to enjoy using me without reservation. Had I a change of heart, then and there, I don’t think he’d have let me back out of it. One way or another, this man was about to fuck me.

Still meeting no resistance, his confidence continued to grow. The fingers of one hand turned downward, eliciting another gasp as I felt his thumb turn inside my body. The fingers began to explore my sopping pussy, at first only curious... probing, tickling. Then two of them thrust easily into my channel, enjoying the advantage of copious lubricant over the instinctive tightening of my sex. They drove into me, exploring inside me, making themselves at home while his thumbs continued softening up my bottom.

By this point I was absolutely wild. Bucking, moaning loud enough to scare any prowlers... completely out of control. So much so that I might have spooked Booker a little, because suddenly his digits slid out of my flesh and he stood behind me. Leaning forward, he got a handful of my hair and guided me in turning around until I knelt facing him, his massive cock pointed right between my eyes.

“You want this, you gotta prove it. You gotta kiss it. Show me how much you love it.” And he let go of my hair and thrust it expectantly forward, waiting.

I took it gently into my mouth, caressing it for only a moment between warm wet lips and tongue before letting it slip out to press, slick and wet, against my face. I gazed up at him, my eyes begging, then took his cock back into my mouth and began sucking in earnest while the camcorder whirred on.

A long time passed, immeasurable. Half an hour? An hour? I still don’t know. He changed our positions a few times, but my mouth never left his cock throughout. Once he sat back on the sofa while I knelt between his knees, industriously slobbing over his upthrust shaft. At another point he had me on my back, my head rested against three pillows on the floor, while he knelt low over me and thrust firmly into my mouth. Sometimes he was harder as I did something just right... other times softer, but I was learning quickly from the mistakes that caused those.

The touch of my teeth against his cock was bad, I discovered. He would soften under too much of that. So I tucked my lips up under my teeth at one point, “gumming” him while I sucked. He loved that, and demanded often that I return to doing it between other varieties of sucking.

Another of his favorites was to have me force my mouth as wide open as possible, my lips alone sliding soft and wet along his length while he probed into me. Sometimes I took liberties with my tongue, letting it alternately tickle and massage along the underside of his cock. He didn’t seem to mind.

It lasted so long, my steady slurping over Booker’s shaft, that I eventually became numbed to anything else. There were no distractions, no expectations, nothing. Just the singular focus of my mouth and his cock moving together, the one devoted to pleasing the other. So when he suddenly pushed me back so that his cock popped out between my lips, I was taken completely by surprise.

Then he turned me around and crawled forward on his knees, positioning himself behind and between my instantly splayed thighs. I braced myself for his thrust into me, even as it flashed into my numbed mind that the condom lay forgotten somewhere around us. Booker wasted no time in responding. For one brief instant there was a pressure, slick and warm against my pussy... then I felt the indescribable stab of entry as that massive cock thrust its way into me.

And kept thrusting... and thrusting, slow and steady, inch after inch riding up into my body while I knelt wide open to catch it all. His hands slid over my hips, sliding warm and smooth as they sought purchase against my oil-slick flesh. They finally dropped to hook against my thighs, gripping me firmly and spreading me open even wider for his next thrust.

He was fucking me. God, how that man fucked me. Again we ran through a wide variety of positions. Once he had me riding him, bucking my hips while he simply reclined and enjoyed the sensation of my fucking myself on his cock. Once he had a fist in my hair, forcing my spine to arch deeply backward while his cock continued its steady thrusts into me from behind. He moved me into new positions often, displaying a stunning variety of tastes.

The most riveting moment was when he had me flat on my back upon the carpet, my legs trapped underneath his weight, bent back so firmly that it seemed my toes might at any moment press into the pillow on either side of my head. That moment stands out, a landmark, a changing of the seasons in my life. Because that was when he finally penetrated my ass. And that was when he finally covered my mouth, to muffle the screams of my orgasm.

And still he continued to fuck me.

At length he was gone, our first home movie completed and tucked safely into his jacket. I lay naked (but for my sodden socks) on my living room floor, an unused condom clenched in one trembling fist. My entire body throbbed, thoroughly used until it twitched with shock and exhaustion. Booker’s semen drooled from my pussy and ass, mixing with body oil to create a tingling slick between my asscheeks and thighs. My belly knotted around the memory of the come that had poured down into it.

My eyes intently watched the digital clock on top of my television. I wanted Booker to have a solid hour to do whatever he liked with that tape. I trusted him to follow my careful instructions, to leave it with a trusted friend and make sure I never, ever got my hands on it again. To be honest, I entertained no doubt that he understood perfectly. When he’d left my house, his was the grin of a satisfied wolf.

I waited patiently until the hour was passed, Booker and the tape safely lost into the surrounding night.

Then at last I was able to weep.