The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Matt watched as Heather dropped her underpants. Of course, she didn’t know he was watching; she was unloading her laundry from the dryer and he was watching from behind the one-way mirror at his job in the Laundromat. He was sitting in the little 5 x 7′ room that passed as the office. It’s just where Matt usually read the paper while waiting for the excitement of unjamming the coins in the washing machines.

It was Friday afternoon, which was always a thrill—not only because he was off for the weekend but SHE was here. Friday meant that Heather was here as was her weekly ritual, and Matt’s was wondering what it would be like to be inside her and those long legs. Jesus Christ.

Today she was wearing a blue tank top and gray sweats. After all, it was laundry day. But Matt loved the way her tits left little to the imagination in the tight blue and the way those sweatpants hugged her ass.

Heather had blonde streaks on her shoulder length hair. Her light hair color beautifully set off her bronzed skin. Her tan shoulders were rounded and sexy, and their defined curves led directly to a set of B-cup breasts that complimented her athletic body. Even though her legs weren’t showing at the time, Matt could still picture them in his mind’s eye—giving him almost an X-ray power ... in a way, his memory allowed him to look right through her sweats to her long runners legs.

She was 5′ 10″ and definitely took care of her body. In addition to staying on her feet all day as a waitress at a local bar, her cross-training and regular sunbathing made her body a golden masterpiece. Though she possessed a girl-next-door-like quality and a bright smile, it couldn’t help but make her image in men’s minds into the piece-of-ass next door. No one who filled out a skirt with an ass like two huge scoops of French Vanilla ice cream could avoid that, sweatpants notwithstanding.

Not that Heather shared this image. She knew she was hot, but at the tender age of 22 had only had sex with a couple of guys. Actually three, if you counted the time she went down on a frat guy back at school (U of W), but that was another story and anyway she didn’t plan to make a habit out of that nasty deed. She was no prude and wasn’t saving herself for anybody. Heather just never allowed herself to be “that kind of girl” and she always had pretty demanding standards for guys anyway. But why did men always have to mistake her beauty for looseness? Here she was just in comfortable clothes but if some guy was here, he’d probably be leering at her body. Men were just that way.

From behind his one-way mirror Matt was watching her bend over at the moment to grab a couple of stray socks that dropped from her armful of freshly dried clothes. He could see that she wasn’t wearing any underwear. Heather’s sweats were just translucent enough to show a dark patch at the opening of her pussy when her ass presented itself in all of its taut glory. Matt supposed she could have been wearing a thong, but did it really matter? His brain was busy depositing this rear view in his “spank bank” and it was sure he would be making withdrawls often in the future. Perhaps in the very near future; Heather was the last one in the laundrymat at the moment so as soon as she left he would beat off, fantasizing about taking this princess from behind.

Heather gathered up the last of her laundry and dropped them in her baskets on top of the washers behind her. All in a quick motion, she stacked them on top of each other, grabbed her car keys and turned on her heels to head out the door. Laundry was obviously not high on her list of favorite things and was moving in a hurry.

She walked past the closed office door and wondered where the “change monkey” was who was normally here. She was relieved that he wasn’t here, a couple of times she caught him staring at her, but she should be used to that sort of thing—plus she was probably the best thing about this crappy job for that guy. Heather referred to him as a “change monkey” in her head, and then corrected herself in an internal conversation. “He’s just a guy making a living, don’t be mean Heather.” “I guess you’re right.” On her walk to her VW in the parking lot, she was glad to get out of there. The guy, even though he was average looking and about her age, did creep her out a little. Heather didn’t think of herself as a snob, but there were limits to the kinds of people she was going to associate with. She barely gave some of the hottest customers in the bar the time of day, and it was doubtful that the guy who loads the change machine was worth even the 20 seconds of passing thought that she was now giving him. By the time she started the ignition and drove off, Matt, along with the laundrymat, didn’t even register in her memory bank ... just another tedious part of daily maintenance like brushing your teeth or opening the electric bill.

As the sound of Heather’s VW carburetor disappeared Matt’s eyes came back into focus and he headed up to walk to the tiny bathroom there in the back of the room. No one was here and he was free ... to repair to the bathroom for a TGIF masturbation session. As he walked down the row of drying machines, he saw Heather’s thong still on the floor. He took a furtive look around, no one was there, and snatched it up. The thong was bright red which Matt would have found as a surprising choice for her—if he wasn’t already very familiar with gazing at all of her clothing every Friday afternoon.

So here he was on his way to jack off and holding a thong that belonged to the object of his fantasy. In his six months with this crappy job, Matt had never gone down this road of taking a woman’s underwear, but this all kind of figuratively fell into his lap. His beeline for the restroom was quick.

Matt tossed the thong on top of the toilet tank and pulled down his shorts. His dick was still somewhere between soft and hard. He started fondling his member softly with all of the fingers from both hands, like he was tickling it to life. It predictably grew hard instantly. If there’s one thing Matt knew, it was how to beat off. His cock started getting hard as it has so many times before.

Even though his method was as routine to him as shaving, it was still the best part of his day. Actually, it was the best 4 or 5 parts of his day. Matt Olson was a slacker, unconfident with women, a college dropout with a 3.0 GPA and though he seemed to have a lot going for himself, his best relationship in his life was probably his relationship with his two hands which knew exactly the way he liked it, every time, without fail.

His cock started getting harder just from the physical sensation of his own hands, like they were playing the flute on the bottom of his pulsating tent pole of a penis. Then he launched into overdrive and saw Heather’s bent ass again, this time totally naked. She was bent over with her feet apart enough to open her slit to him like it was on a platter. Her blond California smile was looking back at him, but a dirty parody of that smile, more like a lustful begging. Matt was happy to give her every inch of his prick. As he rubbed himself out to an 8″ erection, he pictured her soft, wet, ready cunt. He could almost smell her mixture of sweat, cum and pussy juices as his constant self-stimulation continued. Man, I really can smell it, he thought.

Just then he opened his closed eyes and saw her remnant red thong on the toilet as he continued to lightly stroke across his veined dick. Matt took an intentionally deep whiff, half in fantasy still plowing Heather from behind and half aware that he was masturbating at work with a pair of stolen underwear.

He thought the smell of her was as artificial as his conjured image, but he continued. Now stroking himself with an open hand making a binding O on his erection, he grabbed the red thong with his left hand and pressed it under his nose. He took deep whiffs from the panties like an asthmatic, all the while rocking his cock with his right palm. Now he could close his eyes again. Instantly he was plunging, this time Matt really could smell Heather as he was shoving his cock in her pussy from behind. The smell of her underwear was overpowering.

He could smell her juices and his imagination created an opera comprised of her sopping cunt massaging his dick, her beautiful ass still on display and her increasingly desperate cries of “Fuck me, fuck me!” She was still bent over, rubbing his leg and licking her lips with hanging tits bouncing with each thrust. Like an animal, he could smell her moist aroma and he was dominating her in a primal way. “Fuck me, fuck me!” was all he heard and her pussy was all he could smell, courtesy of her underwear shoved into his nostrils.

Finally, his momentum reached the point of no return and he returned both hands to his pounding prick, still holding her underpants. He was rubbing her thong into his dick with still tickling with his right hand and he was experiencing the joy of the over the cliff feeling of imminent orgasm. His first blast of cum shot onto the top of the raised toilet seat in front of him, and he guided his spewing organ downward where he continued to blast his semen into the toilet.

Matt quickly wiped up the toilet seat, cleaned the remaining hanging drop of spooge from the end of his urethra, and pulled up his pants, careful to clean whatever remained to not leave a stain. This was the final part of his ritual, and even though he was operating with the complete efficiency of someone who’d done this thousands of times, he was as satisfied as his first time.

As he was about to head out of the bathroom door and back to work, he looked down at the thong, which he was still holding. He took one last whiff and uttered a “Wow” before stuffing it into his pocket and returning to his newspaper in the office.