The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Aaron coughed nervously as he watched the label bearing the phrase “Workout Tape” slowly vanish into the VCR. As the little door closed, he sat back onto the floor, pants around his knees, and an erection in his briefs. Without access to the Internet, and too shy to actually purchase or rent a porno, he had been reduced to shameful masturbation over Sears catalogues and aerobics shows.

The eighteen-year-old waited with an anticipatory hard-on as the VCR whirred and “PLAY” appeared in green on the tiny LED screen. He’d been so excited when he’d found this tape sitting on his mom’s bed that his hands had actually started to shake. It meant that he wouldn’t have to wait ‘til one of “his” shows came on; that he could, theoretically, watch chicks in tight leotards flounce around whenever he wanted. Without the self-confidence to ask a girl out, the idea of self-gratification on demand seemed like heaven. In practice, however, he had to wait for his mother to take off for a while before he could lose himself in lycra-bound T ‘n A. For the first time he was glad that his dad was gone, on a permanent basis.

The TV screen flashed from blue to black, and Aaron slipped his hand into his underwear, taking hold of his stiff dick. The black quickly faded into an image of a beautiful blonde standing in an empty gym somewhere. Aaron’s jaw dropped. The woman on-screen had a fantastic body, obviously the result of a rigorous exercise program. Her arms and legs were well-toned, musculature evident under the skin, but not grossly so. Her leotard was grey, with black leggings, revealing slim hips, and cut to accentuate a rather prodigous bosom. Aaron gaped. That was his MOM!

Dance music started up on the tape, and Aaron’s mother began to go through what was, evidently, her routine. Aaron continued to stare, dumbfounded. He’d always known she was pretty . . . but his mom had a BODY. Almost as if by reflex, his hand started moving very slowly over his penis, massaging it very lightly.

His mind started to work overtime. My god, he thought, that’s mom. Why make a tape of herself? Why am I still watching? Are those her nipples? Holy fuck . . . the leotard’s crawling up her ass. What an ass . . .

He was very dimly aware that as she went through the routine, tits bouncing and ass gyrating, she was talking as well, though not loudly enough to be heard over the music.

As he watched the sweat build up in a dark line between her suprisingly large breasts, the screen suddenly turned to snow, leaving Aaron somewhat dazed and with an iron dick in his hand. How much time had passed? He checked his watch. An hour? I spent an hour watching my MOTHER!? He felt filthy all of a sudden, and an inexplicable urge to play it again. With a shaky hand, he ejected the tape (narrowly resisting the REW button), and removed it from the machine. Reluctantly removing his hand from his cock, Aaron pulled up his pants just as his mother walked into the house.

Hastily pulling his T-Shirt down to make sure it concealed the fact that his jeans were still unzipped, Aaron instantly flushed with embarassment. His mother walked into the living room in her stocking feet, wearing a long skirt and a shapeless suit jacket.

“Afternoon, honey,” Mrs. Handley said with a tired smile. “Have a nice day?”

“Erm, yeah,” Aaron answered, hoping to god she couldn’t smell the precum on his hand.

“That’s good,” she turned, and began walking towards her bedroom. “You’ll have to make your own supper this evening—I’m too damn tired to cook.”

Aaron nodded, watching her hips sway as she walked, unable to avoid recalling how her ass had looked in that leotard . . . tight and delicious and . . .

Aaron’s still-hard cock lurched, and he put the tape on top of the TV, planning on returning it to her room once she’d fallen asleep; hoping, as well, that she didn’t notice that it was missing. With not a little difficulty, he walked to the bathroom to wash off the copious amount of precum that had somehow accumulated on his hand.

Over the next two days, Aaron couldn’t stop thinking about his mother’s tape. Every time he saw her, it brought to mind another part of the video. He walked around with a hard-on all that time, unable to touch his cock without a feeling incredible guilt.

So, on Thursday evening, when his mom left for the gym (covered up in a large black overcoat), he ran for the tape, and slammed it into the VCR. He didn’t even bother to unzip, and just sort of plunged his hand down into his jeans, grabbing his cock through his briefs. With a trembling hand and a flushed face, he turned on the TV.

There she was again, doing her routine and talking too low to be heard over to jaunty dance music. This time his mom was wearing a kind of a sports bra and a pair of leggings, the first grey and the second black, so he couldn’t see the fold of fabric as they wedged in her little ass. Instead, the bra, while holding her tits in constraint, preventing the kind of gyration that had so enchanted him two days ago, went and created a deep cleavage, and Aaron found himself wondering what it’d be like to lose himself in it.

He was so lost in the tape that he almost didn’t even notice that it was a different one from last time. He just watched the sweat build between her breasts; just watched those oh-so-long legs flex and kick and spread . . . he stared at her pussy mound without registering it.

And then snow.

He even stared at the snow for a while, slowly masturbating, heart racing and face burning. Guiltily, he turned off the tape, and looked over at the wall-clock. Two hours? It hadn’t been that long, had it?

He was tempted to re-wind the tape and watch it over again when the head-lights of his mother’s car flashed through the window. Quickly ejecting the tape, he tore it from the machine, and raced from the room. He tossed the video cassette onto her bed where he’d found it, and continued going til he reached his room. Hurling the door shut, he heard the front door slam.

“Aaron? Are you home?” Mrs. Handley called out.

“Yeah,” Aaron replied in a strangled voice.

“Where are you? In your room?” She queried from the living room.

“Yeah,” he repeated. “I, uh, I’m studying for a, um, Math test.”

“Very good.” He heard the heavy tread of sneakers on the floor enter the bathroom, and released a long-held breath. It was then that he noticed that he still had one hand on his dick.

The next morning, he faked illness from behind his bedroom door, and gained a day off from school. Fortunately, his mother seemed somewhat preoccupied or rushed or something this morning, and he hadn’t had to submit to a physical once-over. Aaron wasn’t sure how he’d react to her seeing his morning glory.

He patiently waited underneath the tented bedcovers until he heard the front door slam. With a sigh, he hauled himself out of bed and stood, his cock painfully erect in his boxers.

Left hand falling unnoticed upon his hard-on, Aaron stumbled down the hall, vaguely pondering the events of the last couple of days with a kind of detatched disgust. There was no way, he resolved, that he was going to watch that damned tape again. She’d nearly caught him the last two times, and he didn’t want to think what would happen if she did.

His dick surged at that thought, but Aaron “ignored” it.

He stopped in the hall. Now why had he wanted the day off school? There was something, Aaron was sure, that he had wanted to do . . . HAD to do, badly enough that he skipped school. If only he could remember what it was . . . it had seemed clear enough when he’d woken up. Idly, Aaron glanced about.

His gaze fell in through the door of his mother’s room, landing upon a bright blue splash of colour lying on her floor. Curious, he entered, cock in hand. Stooping and picking them up, he was startled to discover that they were a pair of workout shorts—lycra, robin’s-egg blue and smelling very strongly of feminine sweat.

Aaron brought the shorts to his nose, and inhaled deeply, letting out a shuddering sigh. Precum started leaking into his boxers. He stood there for a moment, enjoying the scent, letting whatever he’d resolved beforehand slide quietly out of his head.

Aaron’s foot shifted slightly on the carpet, and he heard the dull thunk of a plastic case. Looking down, the words “Workout Tape” stared right back up at him. Reluctantly, he peeled his hand from his dick, and picked it up.

Shivering like a leaf, Aaron somehow managed to insert the tape into the VCR in his mother’s room. Still breathing in the pungent odor of his mom’s shorts, he turned on her television, and plunked down on his ass.

Aaron’s hand began to slowly work on his cock as he watched, hopelessly aroused by his mother’s perfume. This time, she was wearing the shorts he now held in his hand, and a very skimpy bikini top. He whimpered for a moment, unsure of where to look; it all looked so good; so perfect.

Fortunately, whomever was operating the camera took the decision out of Aaron’s hands, both being full at the moment. Instead of a long, constant full-body shot, like the other videos had been, this one seemed to concentrate on one region of her body at a time, as if it’s entire perfection couldn’t be taken in all at once.

Her legs flashed on screen, long, lightly tanned and absolutely perfect. Then, her breasts—large, jiggling tits that danced on the screen, thick nipples clearly evident through the thin lycra. The image flashed to a head shot. Sensuous lips moved, speaking to him, too low to be heard.

The camera focused on her hips. Aaron’s hand began moving faster on his cock. His breath came in short gasps. He stared at the mound of her cunt, hidden only by skin-tight shorts. He stared as a line of sweat appeared, right at the crotch. Unconsciously, his tongue slipped out of his mouth, and began to lap at fabric held to his nose.

The final shot was taken from her feet, staring up at the perfect vista standing tall above the camera. Aaron was barely breathing now. Precum soaked the white cotton of his boxers to transparency. He wanted . . . he needed . . .

He pumped furiously away at his cock. The shorts were halfway into his mouth now, her taste on his tongue, in his nose, throughout his head. Some kind of text was now superimposed on the image, and Aaron screamed. He fell back onto the carpet, semen flooding his boxers, eyes rolled far back into his head.

As the screen switched to snow, Aaron passed out.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Aaron came to, still lying flat on his back, with a cold load of semen in his pants. Slowly, he sat up, head swimming, and muscles cramped, especially those in his left hand, still clamped, as they were, about his dick. He noticed that the shorts had been removed from his mouth, somehow, and idly wondered what had happened.

From behind him, there was a loud “Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

Face hot, Aaron whirled about as best he could on the floor to see his mother standing a few feet away. She was wearing a thick, white, terry cloth robe, from the bottom of which incongruously stuck a pair of mirror black pumps with 5-inch heels.

“Ah, look, ah,” he began, “I can explain . . .”

“Explain what, Aaron? Explain why I found you on my floor, covered in semen with a pair of my shorts in your mouth?” Mrs. Handley shook her head. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”

Aaron hung his head, mouth too dry to respond.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, Aaron.” He raised his head. She had her hand on the loose knot holding the robe together.

“Of course, I guess I should have known better,” his mother began to untie the knot. “I should have known that you couldn’t resist.” The knot fell open and the terry cloth rope hung loosely at her sides. Underneath the robe, Aaron could make out something black.

“Even now, you can’t really resist, can you?” She shrugged her shoulders and the robe fell to the floor with a cottony clump. Aaron momentarily forgot to breathe. The magnificent body that had fascinated him these last few days was exposed to him in almost all its glory, covered only by the briefest of possible bikinis—like her shoes, the material was black, and shimmered like polished glass. Aaron’s hand began to move of its own accord on his dick.

“Look at yourself,” she mocked him, and slowly started to grind her hips. Light danced on the black material. “You’re staring at my legs, drooling like some kind of an idiot. You’re turned on by my legs—long, strong, and oh, so smooth. I’m your mother, and you can’t even bring yourself to stop staring at my legs. Or is it my ass you like?” She turned around, still slowly moving her hips to some inaudible music. “You like that, too, don’t you, sonny-boy? You just want to stare at my ass. Just sit there, watching my ass all day long, and diddle yourself. Say it, sonny-boy.”

“I . . . I just w-want . . .”

“To stare at my ass all day. What’s the matter, boy? Can’t say it? Let mommy help you. All you want to do is stare at my body all day,” she was dancing now, gyrating and grinding. “You could die happy, just staring at me, couldn’t you? I bet I know what else you want, too. You want to touch me, don’t you? You nasty little cock! You can’t resist your own mother at all. And I bet you don’t even want to, do you?” Weakly, Aaron shook his head.

“No, of course not. Why would you want to? It’s soooo much easier to just ogle my tits, isn’t it? Or is it my ass? Or my legs? Or maybe my cunt? Wouldn’t you just love that, you dirty little fuck!? To watch my sweet little cunt descend on your face, dripping its sweet, nasty juice into your mouth?” Aaron nodded. A nasty smile spread itself over his mother’s face.

“Good. Now get up on that bed, you little dick.” He quickly complied. She snaked up onto the bed with him, and gave his earlobe a lick. “You lose, little boy.”

Mrs. Handley laid a single finger on the top of his erection. Aaron shuddered silently. “Don’t worry, sonny-boy. You’ll get everything you want. Just so long as I get everything I want. And I will.” Idly, she began circling the head of his cock with her fingernail. “Little man, you’re going to be my little fuck-toy. Isn’t that wonderful? I’ll come home in the evening, and you’ll be there, waiting for me with this,” she tapped his cock. “You can serve me breakfast in bed . . . and I’ll give you yours. We’ll have such fun!” She slipped his dick out from within the confines of his boxers. “All you have to do is listen to me, sonny, and it’ll all come true . . .”

She began whispering naughty things into her son’s earlobe . . .

Mrs. Handley woke slowly the next morning, listening to the sound of bare feet padding on her carpet. Opening one eye, she was greeted by the pleasant sight of Aaron, standing at the foot of her bed, completely nude and carrying a tray laden with breakfast. His erection stood under the tray, acting almost like a third hand to steady it.

“Good boy,” she purred, sitting up slightly. She peeled the bedcovers back, revealing her nude form to the morning sun streaming in through the windows. Aaron swallowed audibly, and stared at the long, rosy nipples, and the sparse golden fleece at the apex of her thighs.

“Give me the tray.” She softly commanded. Balancing it on her creamy thighs, Aaron’s mother began to delicately pick at her breakfast.

“For being such a good boy, you may kiss my feet for a while.” With a look of joy on his face, Aaron immediately bent to his task, covering both of his mom’s feet with light kisses. She giggled as his lips tickled her soles, and wiggled her toes for him.

Nearly finished her breakfast, she took a piece of jam-covered toast, and rubbed it over her pussy, matting the hair and covering her labia with grape jelly. “Now scoot up here and eat,”

She spread her thighs wide, and Aaron eagerly dove between them, his tongue slithering up her cunt. Her strong fingers grasped him by the hair, and she ground her pussy into his face, moaning softly.

“Mmmmmmmm . . . mommy’s little fuck toy is such a good little boy . . . ohhhhhhh . . . right there . . . yess . . . such a delightful little fuck toy . . . Mommy loves her little fuck toy . . . Mommy wants you to wake her up like this everrrry morning . . . mmmmmmmm . . . oh oh oh oh oh oh God . . . Mommy’s cummmmmmmmmmmmmmmiinnnnnnnnnnnnnng!”

Once her convulsions had ceased, Mrs. Handley pulled Aaron’s head up out of her crotch. He stared at her, grape jelly and cunt juice smeared all over his face.

“Mommy’s got to go shower now.” His eyes lit up hopefully. “No, Mommy’s got to shower by herself, or else she’ll never get to work. Mommy wants you to go out into the living room, and wait for her. Okay?” Aaron nodded. “Good. And don’t clean yourself up. I like you that way . . . all dirty, like a naughty little fuck toy.”

She found her son kneeling on the living room floor, cock erect and balls blue. Mrs. Handley was wearing her standard work attire, a carpet-sweeping and an unflattering jacket. In one hand she held a briefcase. In the other, she carried a tape.

“Aaron,” she said, “Mommy’s got to go to work now. But she doesn’t want to leave you all alone in the house with nothing to do. So Mommy’s going to leave her good little fuck toy a tape to watch. Isn’t that wonderful?” He nodded energetically. “Good. I want you to watch this tape Aaron. I want you to watch this tape, and smell these while you’re doing it.” Laying down her briefcase, she extracted something small and black from the pocket of her jacket, and threw them at Aaron. They were the panties she’d worn last night. “And when you’ve seen it once, you can cum, Aaron. Mommy’s little fuck toy can cum. Then I want you to rewind the tape and do it all over again, until she comes home. Isn’t that great?” Aaron agreed. That was indeed great. “And when she comes home, Mommy and her little fuck toy can play some games. Like the one where Mommy’s the stern teacher who seduces her meek little student fuck toy. Or maybe the one where Mommy’s the doctor who plays with all her little fuck toy patients. There are sooo many games to play, Aaron.” She shivered with delight. Popping the tape into the VCR, she turned and left.

Aaron already had his mother’s underwear covering his nose as the label “Body Worship and Toilet Slavery, Vol. 1” vanished into the VCR . . .