The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mad Libby: Deus Ex Machina

AUTHORS NOTES:

This is a continuation of the world of Mad Libby/The Weaver. All feedback appreciated. Please send it to .

SYNOPSIS:

How would you change yourself if anything were possible? A lonely college student discovers the code behind The Weaver’s quiz site and uses it to start his sexual enlightenment.

DISCLAIMERS:

  • This story is a work of fiction; any apparent resemblance between the characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.
  • Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18 or if explicit sexual fiction is illegal in your jurisdiction.
  • This story contains mind control and explicit descriptions of a sexual nature. If any of these concepts disturb you, please find something else to read.
  • This story is a work of erotic fantasy. It is not meant to reflect real life, nor should it be read as an endorsement of the actions and attitudes contained within.

BRIAN COLLINS

“Oh. Hey, Brian.”

I’d been sitting next to Becca Court in the student union for a good five and a half minutes before she realizes I’m even there. Then, one flippant greeting, and she’s back to her conversation with Cecelia Shepard. They’re both in my Psych class. I secretly adore the both of them. I finally worked up my courage. I thought maybe I could use our one shared class as an opening to talk to them, but I might as well be invisible. Of course, if I were actually invisible, I could get into all kinds of fun and wacky antics, but as it stands, I’m just “Oh Hey Brian.” Don’t pay me no mind. Maybe I should consider myself lucky she even knows my first name. I bet Cecelia doesn’t.

There are times in your life when you just want a change.

When I was younger, in high school specifically, I contemplated suicide. A voice in my head seemed to constantly scream at me, “I want to die.” Eventually, I realized that was just my head actually saying, “I want change.” The stray dark thought still rears its head, but I have the decoder built in to transmute it to “I want change.” Change, though, requires power, control; it requires something I’ve felt like I’ve never had.

College was supposed to be different than high school, but really, it’s pretty much the same, but with easier access to alcohol and more sexual experimentation. It’s days like these, the wallow-y days, that the voice screams and I have to work hard to keep it in the decoder-filter. I take stock. Things aren’t that bad. I’m getting good grades, for instance. I haven’t caught any nasty STDs or anything. Not like I’ve had the opportunity to do so, though, as no one wants to sex up Brian Collins, sophomore Computer Science/Languages double major. Despite the double workload, my lack of social life leaves me with an active imagination and a lot of time on my hands. Alone.

Alone in crowds is considerably worse than actually being alone. I’m close enough to breathe in Becca’s perfume and hear her laugh. I could reach out and touch Cecelia’s soft, strawberry blonde hair. I wonder what they think of me, assuming they think of me at all. What adjectives would they put in front of my name? Friendly? Cherubic? Chubby? I spend a few awkward moments mulling this over dropping deeper into the depression chasm, hoping they will turn and see me and save me from these thoughts. When they don’t, I slip away for the long, lonely walk back to my dorm room.

I’m sitting at my computer, alone, when I get the email.

I have the fixes for your problems. All you need to do is answer the questions correctly. There’s a great storyteller in you, ready to be set free, if you’re courageous enough to take the leap.

—The Weaver

Mysteriously offering solutions and challenging my courage? Game on, The Weaver, if that is your real name.

Of course, my first thought is obviously “scam.” There’s an embedded hyperlink over the word “correctly.” I mouse over it to see what lame phishing site it takes me to, but it’s just a site crafted by this Weaver in question with some quiz aspect forward-slashed. Don’t know why this person reached out to little old me. It’s not like I have a lot of money (or any for that matter) that they could steal. Heck, if someone wants to borrow my identity, maybe they can do better with it than I have.

Nothing to lose, I click the link.

The page is reasonably bare, just a welcome message and a question about whether I would like to randomize my quiz or design my own. Obviously, I’d want to eventually design my own if I do indeed take this site for a test drive, but first I’ll need to look under the hood.

The site seems benign enough, simple enough, at a cursory glance, so I decide to examine the source. The code is intricate, complex, and like nothing I’ve ever seen. I’m not prone to hyperbole, but if I had to hazard a guess based on my limited expertise, this is the language the universe was built on. It makes me wish I’d already taken a Religion elective (instead of that dumbass Psych course) just to balance out my Language/Comp Sci impressions. I imagine, though, if we’re all puppets, I’m looking at the strings that drag us along our life’s journey. I’ve always considered myself an agnostic, but this is like a glimpsing at the face of our creator. It would take someone more than a lifetime to decipher just the code behind this landing page. And that’s just the landing page.

I put on my serious face and re-read the initial email. Could this be the universe answering my constant plea for change? Supplying me with the power to create change? I’m curious enough, and desperate enough, to find out.

I design my quiz.

The number of questions can be anywhere from 1 to 100.

I decide to go with my lucky number of 3 aka the magic number.

There are a lot of options to choose from, far too many to quickly scroll through, so I select a trio towards the top of the list. I could also write my own, but I’ll save that option for later.

For the first fill in the blank, I choose—I am the _______ man in the world.

For the second fill in the blank, I choose—Women find me _________.

Lastly, for the third fill in the blank, I choose—The term that best describes me is _____.

The next option is to set answer parameters to: REVERSE, EMPHASIZE, REMOVE, or IDEALIZE.

I go back into the code to try to learn what these terms mean. From what I can make out, reverse, apparently, will invoke the opposite results of the question. I’m guessing if I were to write “I like apricots,” reverse will change that to “I don’t like apricots.” Emphasize creates a greater focus, so I don’t just like apricots, I love apricots. Remove nixes, so I basically lose my awareness of apricots, I guess. Maybe apricots aren’t the best lens through which to view remove. Idealize seems the most complex option. Apparently, it takes the answer and runs with it. Not only do I like apricots, I smell like apricots and probably someone way back in my family tree was an apricot (or discovered apricots).

Learning that idealize is the whammy, I choose “Idealize.”

The site asks: For all?

I click “Yes.”

The site asks: Compel Truth in User?

No. Definitely not. If this site has any power, I don’t want to just make me an even more “me” version of me. That’s an awful way to be. Just thinking that makes me feel a bit Seussian.

Launching the quiz, the site asks, “Are you over 18?”

Now it asks that. Pretty adult material, you know, possibly reshaping reality. Thankfully, I am and can truthfully click “Yes.”

The load page launches some weird strobing screen effect that gives me a bout of motion sickness. I nearly have to squint, but it stops just as quickly as it started just seconds away from a bitch of a headache. The first fill-in-the blank space fills the screen.

1/3I am the _______ man in the world.

Smartest.

If I’m going to be anything, I want to be the smartest.

Of course, I wonder if I do put “smartest” into that space, will that make me smarter or will it just make the rest of the world dumber. I’m hoping it’s the former as the latter would be awkward. Maybe I should have put more thought into these statements. I try to back out of the quiz, but find I can’t. I can’t even pull up the source code now that I’ve launched it. With a modicum of concern, I realize I can’t even leave my chair. No path but forward, I type.

I am the smartest man in the world.

And it’s true. I am the smartest man in the world. If it can be known, I know it. I imagine I could even decipher the source code now as I speak all languages. Of course, now gifted with perfect recall, I see all the errors I’ve made in my short nineteen years on Earth. Every right thing said wrong. Every opportunity lost. The girls that got away that I didn’t even know I stood a chance with. All the fun I never had. Maybe intelligence isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Maybe ignorance actually is bliss. It’s far too late for that. I’ve tasted the apple of knowledge. Done bun can’t be undone and all that.

2/3Women find me _________.

I’m smart beyond measure, but I’m equally lonely. Monumentally so, because of my increased understanding. I don’t even have to think about this.

Women find me irresistible.

And I have an endless supply of names and numbers in the digital Little Black Book app on my phone. An app and people who, mere moments ago, didn’t exist, at least not to me. I know I could call any one of them and they’d be real, and they’d be real fun, but they don’t feel real. I’m too aware. I know the fictitious nature of the change. Perhaps if I didn’t elect for intelligence, I’d now be the happiest man on Earth. I’m believing more and more that maybe ignorance actually is bliss. I shake it off. Moving forward loaded down this this amount of charisma, I imagine I can thankfully banish the idea of “alone” from my life.

3/3The term that best describes me is ________.

Infinite permutations on ways I could benefit from this simple answer cascade through my mind. I could pluck down any one of them and benefit greatly. While there are wiser choices, more responsible choices even, I want a dollop of fun.

The term that best describes me is sex god.

I’m surprisingly still me, but infinitely better. The second answer is probably now redundant as I am perfection made flesh. No longer doughy, but chiseled—a perfect Greek sculpture made real. I don’t even need a mirror to know it. I’m just aware. Strength. Power. Virility. A masterful cock. It’d be wrong to call yourself a sex god, to live your life as a sex god, without one. It’s a powerful tool over which I have complete control. I flex it and it tears through my jeans, standing upright and proud. The things I can, and will, do with this. I’m sure, just one look at it, and I’d have acolytes by the dozen. And while I radiate benevolence, it’d be a shame not to spend some time undoing the years of loneliness I personally experienced if, for no other reason than to refine my techniques so that I may better apply them to others. I have a new mission in life: bringing love, lust, and all that comes with it to the lives of the lonely. It’s a difficult undertaking, but I have the stamina of a god.

For my first act of sex godliness, Becca Court and Cecelia Shepard are going to receive some transformational emails of their own.

BECCA COURT

Oof. I could really stand a course in speed reading. I don’t know how people “do” college. It seems like every class assigns reading as if it’s the only class you’re taking. Unfortunately, it’s not. I’m spending my Thursday knee deep in reading. There’s a point at which my vision goes bleary, so I decide to take a social media break. Fun fact from Psych class—taking a twenty-minute social media break actually improves performance in workers. Good and good for you.

I’m scrolling through Instagram when I get an email notification from Brian Collins.

Brian… Collins… I feel my face scrunch up in thought. Who is that? Could it be the random guy from my Psych class? I shake my head. That’s not right. There isn’t a random Brian in my Psych class. There’s an epic hottie named Brian. If I weren’t sitting, I’d topple over from the weak knees just picturing him in my head. I’m comparatively too studious for such a stud. There’s no way he’d give me the time of day. But a girl can dream from afar. Cecelia and I have an ongoing bet: whichever one of us that works up the nerve to talk to him first gets her meals bought by the other. It’s a bet that might never pay off for either of us. I once got within about a yard of him and nearly passed out from nerves. He’s just so… perfect. I once caught Cecelia step boldly forward but then immediately started staring at his crotch and she actually started drooling. For real drooling.

Let’s see what Handsome McHottie Brian Collins has to say for himself.

I feel like you’d get a kick out of this site. Give it a look and maybe after we can chat.

—BC

First, he knows my name. This is indeed oh so very squee-worthy.

Second, if he chats with me after I visit this site, that should totally count for the bet with Cecelia. I mean, all I have to do is get an “uh huh” out before fainting and I win.

Third, we have the same initials. It’s kismet. There’s some force out there working on my behalf and pulling Brian into my orbit. I can think of all kinds of places I’d like to pull him into.

I click on the link. My screen goes fully completely wonky for a good couple of minutes. I swear, I feel my eyes cross before it rights itself. After that, it launches some kind of series of fill in the blank questions.

A pop-up immediately blocks me from the rest of the page, asking if I’m over 18. I click “yes,” curious to see where this is going, especially if kids aren’t allowed.

1/4 My favorite of the Seven Dwarfs is _______

I don’t know why I’d have to be over 18 to answer that. I think every child could. I’m probably most like Bashful myself, but I’ve always been fond of a smile on others, even if I’m not necessarily one who can muster one up regularly. I’m more than a little bit jealous of someone who can be stay positive all of the time.

My favorite of the Seven Dwarfs is Happy.

What a fun quiz already! I’m so pleased to do it and downright delighted Brian would take a moment to share such a neat thing with me. Golly, let’s scroll to the next thrilling question.

CECELIA SHEPARD

I feel like you’d get a kick out of this site. Give it a look and maybe after we can chat.

—BC

An email from Brian Collins. I think that means I won my bet with Becca Court. Technically, if he’s emailing me, we’re e-conversing. It’s a technicality, sure, but I’m not one to let a technicality stand between me and victory. Free food shall be claimed and had!

I click the link. It does what could best be described as “psychedelic things” on my screen before shifting to some sort of list of questions. I’m not one for psychedelic things. I’ve seen Pink Floyd’s The Wall once, but I was stone sober like usual and didn’t understand the fascination in the slightest.

A pop-up keeps me from reading the questions until I click that yes, I am over 18.

1/4 My favorite of the Seven Dwarfs is _______

Cartoons.

Brian finally breaks our dense sexual tension with a question about cartoons.

I barely remember this one. My parents were keener on education than entertainment. That’s probably how I ended up so straight-laced. Thanks, mom and dad.

I think I remember liking the silent one who just seemed friendly.

Dummy..?

Doofus..?

Oh!

My favorite of the Seven Dwarfs is Dopey.

I take a deep toke from my vaporizer, holding in my breath for a long, long while for maximum impact. As I breathe out, I feel the smile pull tight across my face as a truly mellow haze coats my body. Mellow is the way to be.

BECCA COURT

2/4 I can’t leave in the morning without putting on my _________

Hmm. Totally great question, quiz, thank you for asking. There’s only one thing I can think of that I can’t go out without.

I can’t leave in the morning without putting on my smile!

I check my face in the mirror I keep on my desk. Not to be confused with the mirror on my closet. Or the mirror near my bed. Still looking pristine, girl! I spend a good hour putting on the exact perfect amount and type of makeup before ever leaving my dorm room. I accentuate my lips with bright red lipstick, a side effect/bonus is that it really draws people’s attention to my smile. Not to be outdone, the light blue eyeshadow draws people up to my eyes. The blush accentuates my cheekbones. I top it all off with the perfect coif. Even my trips to the gym get this much attention. I know I’ll leave a sweaty mess and have to reapply and redo immediately after, but that’s half the fun. Perfecting my happy, pretty look has been a lifelong art project and one I’m glad to share daily with everyone I meet, stranger or friend.

CECELIA SHEPARD

2/4 I can’t leave in the morning without putting on my _________

I mull this over in-between vape pulls. I don’t have a favorite outfit. It’s usually just whatever’s clean and, failing that, whatever’s cleanest.

Whatever.

I can’t leave in the morning without putting on my comfy clothes.

Oh, hey, boob!

I must’ve been leaning over a bit too much on that last toke because right boob decided to flop out of my gauzy top and say hi to the world. I kiss it and stuff it back in. Just one of the hazards of never wearing a bra. But bras are too confining and so, SO uncomfortable. I can’t ever see myself ever wearing one. The other hazard of “bra-free for life” is all the attention I attract from guys. I don’t think a single guy I know actually knows my eye color—green, btw—but they could probably very accurately describe my nipples, having stared that them through all my flimsy tops. Thankfully, none of them have figured out my other secret, hidden underneath my flowy skirts. I think panties are uncomfortable, too.

BECCA COURT

3/4 College is predominantly _________

There are a lot of things that college is. New friends. New opportunities. New possibilities. Everything so exciting and new. I look around my desk and the only thing that seems to be on equal footing with my beauty supplies in terms of representation is all my assigned reading. Seems like as good an answer as any.

College is predominantly education!

Uh…

CECELIA SHEPARD

3/4 College is predominantly _________

I wonder if I can just type in “the thing that separates me from my weed.” That would be accurate.

College is predominantly class.

I slouch down into my desk chair, spreading my legs wide to get more comfortable. If someone was across from me, they could easily see up my skirt and stare into my pussy. But I’m alone, so it doesn’t matter. And even if I weren’t alone, if I were out and about, it wouldn’t matter either. Fuck you, buddy. I do what I want. I say what I want. I live how I want. Take your conventions and rules and shove ’em up your ass.

BEX

4/4 Water is _________

Sound it out, Bex.

Wuh. Wuh. Water..?

Oh! Water! I give myself a happy little high five and do a little happy dance.

Reading isn’t one of my better skills.

Not math, neither.

Or writing.

Crap.

How do I spell “wet?”

Sound it out, Bex.

Wuh…

Wuh…

Water is wet.

Oh! Someone else is happy right now. My pretty pussy. All happy and sloshy.

And… a little bit lonely.

Bex needs a friend right now.

Bex don’t want pussy to pout ’cause it’s lonely ’cause then Bex might pout and Bex doesn’t like pouting. It makes her face sad.

CECELIA SHEPARD

4/4 Water is _________

How about “this quiz is bullshit?” Is that a viable answer?

Water is for drinking, dick.

God, I need to wrap my lips around a cock right now.

BRIAN COLLINS

Immediately after I get the ping alerting me that the girls have finished my quiz, I knock on Becca’s door.

“Come in!” She calls out.

I check the knob. The door is locked. I jiggle it a little bit.

“Oh!” She exclaims and I hear her fumbling on the other side of the door, trying to open it without unlocking it.

“Oh!” She exclaims, again, a new realization crossing her mind.

CLICK.

She pushes against the door for a second before finally pulling it open.

I’m greeted by a Becca much unlike the one I remember from the student union. She looks impossibly perfectly put together. Unlike the girl she was, who was conventionally pretty, but effortlessly so, this Becca clearly dedicates time and energy into her appearance. She’s bright and lively, with a perma-smile on her face. Her blue eyes pop with color, if not life. For as good as she looks, she looks equally stupid. And she looks incredible.

She falls back onto her bed and starts wiggling out of her jeans. Unfortunately, having not unbuttoned them, her efforts are futile. I step over to her, grip her jeans, and tear them in half. She coos and I look down to see her panties are completely utterly soaked through. I tear through her shirt, her bra, and then her panties, leaving her naked below me and remnants of her clothes scattered around her room.

“Like fuck Bex, k?” She says with a smile.

I pull my pants down and reveal my massive manhood. She’s enraptured but silent. I’d say struck dumb, but that apparently happened before my arrival.

I slowly, methodically work my massive dick into her sopping pussy. My size and her tightness make it a slow, but excruciatingly sensual process. When I’m buried as far as I can go into her, I start to slowly pull out. Nearly out, I speed up the process. As my thrusts become more forceful, her tits start to jiggle. I lean down so I’m inches away from her face. Her eyes give her a lost look. They don’t seem to fit the rest of her. A girl this bimbofied should clearly be a bleached blonde. I think this mid-thrust and by the time I’ve finished, Becca’s wavy brown hair has been replaced by bleached blonde locks, exactly like I wanted.

I wonder if this is a residual effect from the quiz.

“Fuck Bex! Fuck Bex!” She wails as I continue to pound her drenched cooze.

I’m a little sad at how stupid she’s left herself. I’ve heard of guys wanting to fuck girls stupid. I’m actually hoping I can fuck some smart back into her. At the very least, so that she stops referring to herself in the third person.

“Fuck Bex! Fuck me! Fuck me!” She looks a little shocked, but more importantly, her eyes look more aware. She looks a lot more like a bleached blonde, heavily make-upped version of the girl I’ve known since the semester started.

It dawns on me that the changes taking place are all at my will. I test my theory, wanting her to have the impossible dimensions of a Barbie doll brought to life. Sure enough, her waist shrinks, her hips widen, and her tits get bigger. And apparently fake. The doll is plastic, after all.

I can change her hair, her IQ, and her body.

I continue testing. I believe she can only speak French.

“Fuck me! Baise-moi!”

She seems unsurprised to be speaking French and it makes her thrusting no less enthusiastic.

“You like this?” I ask.

She quizzically responds, “Quelle?”

I think she can speak English again.

“Oo tu ressens so good.”

I reach an arm around her back and pull her up to me.

I don’t bother with clothes as I carry her down the hallway to Cecelia’s room.

I’m pretty sure that room will be clothing optional as well.

In the hallway, though, I learn that my control is not universal. I can’t just think or wish away onlookers. I increase my speed of walking, which makes Becca bounce even more quickly up and down on my shaft. To limit our attention, I put her on mute. It strikes me. My power emanates from my cock. I can change Becca because I’m inside Becca.

I push Becca up against the wall next to Cecelia’s door and knock with my free hand.

Thankfully, Cecelia opens the door without difficulty. When she opens it, the smell of pot is almost overwhelming. Her previously pleasant demeanor has been replaced with a careless kind of universal disdain. Her almost see-through clothing leaves little to the imagination and it’s clear she’s given up on underwear entirely. Her thick nipples are already at attention.

The first words out of her mouth are, “Suck that cock?”

Despite the attitude, who am I to say no?

I think that Becca should have a slow, rolling orgasm until I’m back inside her. I thrust her onto Cecelia’s bed and she starts to shudder. I pull out. Thankfully, her shuddering orgasm continues.

I tear Cecelia free from her blouse and skirt before she drops to her knees and starts to worship my dick with her mouth and tongue.

I feel like she could worship me more fully with a much better blow job. Her technique immediately improves and she’s able to take nearly all of it into her.

I think that she’s clearly a girl who gets off on giving head and she starts moaning, throwing added vibrations through the length of my rod.

With her pale skin as a canvas, I think she’d look even better as a tatted up, raven-haired goth slut. My next thrust into her face finds her strawberry blonde hair go pitch black. Dark makeup coats her eyes and lips. Red wings appear tattooed on her back and snake tattoos encircle her arms, with their heads meeting in a kiss just above her tits.

While I have full control over my cock, it’s too good a sight not to cum over.

I pull away from her mouth with a command of “stroke it!”

Using both hands she twists and turns until I cum all over her tits, covering the snake heads in gob after gob.

She leans back, naked and out of breath.

I see Becca on the bed, still writhing in ongoing orgasm.

I lift Cecelia up onto the bed next to her, her dark bitchy visage the antithesis of Becca’s blonde bimbo.

I alternate thrusts between them and have at it for hours, until they both are sated and drenched in my fluid.

With my last lunges, I return them to their normal selves… more or less. They are now both completely in love with me. More specifically, they’re enthralled to my dick and will do anything for it.

I leave them with the command to clean each other up using only their tongues and they quickly get to work, kissing and licking.

I imagine I don’t have any need for The Weaver quiz anymore, now that I have the power and control, but there’s something about the element of surprise that merits returning to.

BECCA COURT

Exhausted from another long day of learning, I open up my laptop to check some emails.

Oh hey! Brian sent me a quiz.

Those are always fun…