The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Mad Libby: Roommate Issues

AUTHORS NOTES:

World-building. This is a continuation of the story Mad Libby. I’m relatively new to posting here, so all feedback appreciated. Please send it to . Enjoy!

SYNOPSIS:

Libby’s roommate Deborah discovers The Weaver’s quiz site on Libby’s computer and gives it a very enthusiastic go, dramatically changing both her and Libby’s life.

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.

I’ve made it a habit to knock on my own dorm room door before entering.

I know, right? It’s my room, too. But, you see, sometimes when Libby and Dan go at it, they don’t stop to think, “Hey, would Deborah like to walk in on us mid-sex? Is that something she’d like to see? Should we make it really unpleasant and make sure to do it doggie style and forever sear that image of our backsides to the back of her retinas?”

Here’s the thing, after the absolutely boring-est of boring days that I’ve had, maybe catching the roomie and her boyfriend in the act would add some color to this gray day. I’m not saying I’d like it, but it’d be worthy of a chortle. My boring day policy is: anything for a laugh.

They don’t answer and they’re not inside. They’re apparently in Dan’s room, most likely fucking like bunnies, so my day continues its grayness. I’m feeling as bland as the oversized jeans and sweatshirt I wear. My dull brown lifeless hair seems more dull and more lifeless (and more brown) than usual. In my boredom, I’ve found solace at the dining center frozen yogurt about twenty too many times, so to top it all off, I feel pudgy.

But, since Libby’s out and about, and considerately left her laptop behind, it’s time to play my favorite distraction/game: Check my roommate’s email and web history because she has a horrible, easily-guessed password. As such, I’ve learned a lot since school started. I know what sex toy site she frequents and which toys she’s specifically had to replace… more than once. I know she gets her foul mouth from her mom, as well as her casual sexual attitude. I know that both her sister and Libby overshare via email and, as such, I know way too much about Dan’s penis.

I grab her laptop off her bed and carry it to mine.

The most recent site she’s visited was a personalized quiz site hosted by The Weaver. I grew up taking the monthly Cosmo quiz and I’m totally bored and I’m game to try this one out. I pull the site off her search history.

It pulls up a mostly blank page with the dialog: One Time Quiz Already Activated. Start new quiz? y/n.

I click “yes.”

The site asks, “Are you over 18?” and I click “yes” again. Age barrier. This could be interesting.

The site asks, “Do you already have a customized quiz created?” and I click “no.”

The next screen reads: Number of questions desired: 1-100

I type in 7. Lucky number seven. Seems like a fair amount of questions. I don’t want to commit too much time in case this site doesn’t prove to be the much-craved boredom relief I seek.

The next screen reads: Set parameters to REVERSE, EMPHASIZE, REMOVE, or IDEALIZE.

Having no idea what any of these mean, I pick IDEALIZE, as it seems positive and like it has the most possibility for interesting results.

The next screen reads: “Compel Truth in User” and I click “no.”

I should feel free to lie to you whenever I want, random computer quiz. It’s my prerogative as a free-thinking woman.

Apparently, that was the last pre-question I needed to answer as a loading screen replaces the text.

The page loads slowly, the screen flashing, almost strobing, in odd color combinations as it does, almost as if I’m being scanned. I squint a bit and rub my temples at what feels like a migraine, but the first fill-in-the blank space appears just as the pain dissipates. 1/7.

People often call me ____________.

Most of my life I’ve been Deborah, Deb, or Debbie. Pretty basic. No real cool nicknames to speak of.

Boring, right?!?

Let’s have some fun and see how this quiz reacts and/or adjusts.

People often call me Slutty McGillicutty.

I take a deep breath of air and a shiver goes down my spine, fully aware that people call me Slutty McGillicutty behind my back. I don’t know why. Maybe they have me confused with my roommate. She fits that name a lot better than I. Frankly, it’s a shitty, patriarchal thing anyway. Even if I was getting a lot of dick, which I’m not, it’d still be my choice. Why is a dude called a stud and a woman called a slut? Double standard, if you ask me.

Oof. Not sure where that mental rant came from.

What was I answering on this quiz?

Hmm. I’m on 2/7, but can’t remember 1/7. Weird.

The person I fantasize most about is ____________.

Harry Styles. British. Can sing. Can act. As an anglophile who likes men who can sing and act, he’s kind of the total package.

But such a boring answer. Ugh. Could I be any more 18?

Don’t be such a teenage girl, Slutty McGillicutty. Live a little. Explore strange new worlds. Seek out new life and adventure.

I mean, let’s be honest. Who’s the last person other than yourself that you saw naked?

Hmm. Sadly, that answer is…

The person I fantasize most about is Libby Bunsen.

I flash back to when I caught sight of Dan fucking Libby.

Fucking.

Libby.

The goddess.

I perfectly remember the glorious curve of her ass. The light sheen of sweat on her back. The sound she made when he reached over and pulled her hair AKA the most erotic sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I was too embarrassed to walk around the pair, but ever since, I’ve pictured in my mind all the different combinations for how her breasts might look. What are they like when freed from their bra? Her cleavage is everything, and I love that she’s not afraid to flaunt it, but I must know more. Do her breasts sag or are they still high on her chest when set free? What are her nipples like? Her areola? It’s really why I’m on her laptop. I have to know more about her. I have to know everything. She’s kinky, so maybe she’s kinky enough to have a couple nudes floating around on her machine. So far, no luck, but I won’t lose out on that possibility for lack of trying.

I never thought of a woman sexually before that moment, but seeing her like that, I can’t think of anyone else. I’m half tempted to use one of her toys. It’s not like it’s a big secret where she keeps them. She has a system for everything. But what if she caught me? What if she couldn’t understand? What if she left and never came back? I couldn’t handle that. The little smiles she shares with me keep me going. The swell of her breasts in her tank top send me to the showers so I can work my dripping pussy to completion. Because of that, I’m the cleanest fucking girl on campus.

Maybe I’ve been overheard.

Maybe that’s how I picked up the Slutty McGillicutty name.

If so, I’ll wear it with pride. A badge of my lustful thoughts towards Libby. Sadly unreturned. Maybe if I had a body like hers, she’d want me as much as I want her, but unfortunately, she excels in the breast department. And the ass department. And the face department. And I’m a solid average in all of the above.

Also sad, no nudes, so I’m just answering a random quiz on her computer which is apparently so forgettable I can’t keep the questions I’ve answered in my head for approximately two seconds… disappointed.

Question 3/7 is on the screen.

Something you’d never guess about me is ____________.

I’m in love with my roommate?

Eh, it’s probably not love, probably more like lust.

Pining for a roommate who’s off boinking her boyfriend. How pathetic and dreadfully boring.

Perk up, girl. You’re a special girl with special qualities.

This isn’t one of them, but wouldn’t it be great if it was?

Something you’d never guess about me is my pussy smells and tastes like cherries.

Breathing in, it’s clear I’ve been thinking about Libby, because our dorm room smells like someone just baked a cherry pie. So now I’m hungry, just not for food. I remember when I first found out that my arousal was like a freaking Yankee Candle. A classy one, but one nonetheless. Way before Libby, there was a boy in my English class. Distant. Brooding. The kind of guy you like in high school because you think he’s deep, but he’s just another form of doofus. So we’re sitting there in AP English and my mind drifts to us, together, intertwined. Suddenly, the rest of the class is asking if someone is baking pies in Home Ec across the hall. I’m thinking the same thing until I find that the smell is following me around specifically. I duck into the girl’s room, probe myself and discover that I not only smell like cherry pie filling, I taste like it, too. I’m just glad I was a late bloomer. If that had happened before Senior Year, there’s no way I could’ve handled the abuse I got once word started spreading. And let’s face it, most high school girls are just looking for any weakness, any reason to be mean. It’s not always easy being different. I can still sometimes hear them chanting.

Slutty McGillicutty smells like pie.

Slutty McGillicutty, my oh my.

Bitches.

Okay. Let’s focus on the present and apparently question 4/7.

If I had to change something about myself, I would change ____________.

I’m tempted to write my cherry pie pussy. Amusing and sad, but way too truthful than this quiz warrants. Cheeky is more entertaining than truthful.

If I had to change something about myself, I would change my perfect body to be even more perfect.

I love the way my pussy smells and tastes. I am the absolute embodiment of perfection and should be treated like a queen. I jump up off the bed and shed the clothes I’m wearing, strutting over to the closet mirror to get a better look. My arms and legs are toned. My breasts are the perfect size to fill my hands, tits for days, and, as I lift them up, my prominent nipples come to complete attention. My blonde hair is the stuff conditioner commercials are built on. My pussy lips are full, pouty, and ready to be licked until I scream. I’m easily better looking than Libby. It’s a shame I’m so fixated on her and it’s for no good reason a one-way street. Maybe if I parade around naked more often, Libby will catch sight of my perfect body, become fixated on me for a change, and therefore helpless to do anything but worship me with her tongue. The air fills with even more cherries at the thought.

I’m finishing this quiz in the buff.

Where was I?

Ah, 5/7.

The best sex I’ve ever had was ____________.

In my head.

When I picture me and Libby in a marathon 69 session.

Maybe once we both had a good cum, we’d take turns with one of her strap-ons.

The best sex I’ve ever had was with Libby Bunsen.

I remember the day I walked in on Libby and Dan like it was yesterday. I somehow missed her moans, and the slapping of flesh on flesh, but it was impossible to miss the sight as soon as I opened the door.

My ass is perfect, but her ass is perfect to me.

Hearing her moans and seeing her like that, I immediately fill the room with my sweet cherry scent. They both turn to me.

Libby breaks the silence. “You in or you out?”

I shut the door behind me, but otherwise, I’m paralyzed until she says, “Don’t just stand there, slut. Get naked and show me that body you’re so proud of.”

She didn’t need to tell me twice. I don’t think I’d ever stripped from fully dressed to fully nude in less time in my life. Dan was struck dumb, either by the fact that he had two living, breathing, panting girls naked and in the same room as him or by the sheer goddess nature of my awesomely hot bod.

When he finally speaks, he says, “You smell good.”

I answer him, but I look into Libby’s wanton eyes, “I taste better.”

Libby screams, “Taste test,” and they throw me down on the bed, taking turns lapping up my precious juice. I push Dan’s head down there and keep it there while I make out with Libby. She’s a phenomenal kisser. Just the right amount of pressure. Just the right amount of tongue. Dan doesn’t do too bad a job on my pussy, but it’s best to keep him out of sight, as across the board average as he is.

“I want to taste you,” I moan back into Libby’s face as she pulls away.

She doesn’t hesitate to straddle me right then and there. While her pussy doesn’t taste as good as mine, the bucking that immediately starts as soon as I flick my perfect tongue across her bud turns me on like no one’s fucking business. My tentative licks build to vigorous ones. As soon as she cums, I cum as well, flooding Dan’s face with my juices.

The poor guy passes out and that’s when Libby starts to share her toy collection with me. We do everything two flexible and open-minded girls can do to, with, and for each other. By the time we’re exhausted, Libby’s lost count of her orgasms, but I kept track. She came nine times. I came seven. So she owed me. And I’m not one to let an inequity like that stand.

I’m dipping two fingers into my sopping wet kitty just thinking of that night.

I hope she comes home soon and I hope she’s thirsty when she does.

Sigh.

6/7 will have to do until another 69 is possible.

The world would be a better place if ____________.

No more hunger?

No more war?

Nah.

The world would be a better place if Libby Bunsen did porn.

I pull up one of my favorite Libby videos. Using her computer means access to her porn site free of charge. I mostly like the POV stuff because that way there’s at least 85% less guy blocking my view of her. Her solo adventures do the trick in a spot, but I feel like her potty mouth is best served directed at someone. Once, she even asked me to run camera for one of those because her sister was unavailable. I was easily distracted so I wasn’t an ideal camera operator. She was used to the professional eye of her sister, instilled in them both by their mother, a sex advocate and feminist icon who made her own porn to break down the artificial barriers of genders and sexuality enforced upon us by society. Seems like a mouthful to me, which, oddly enough, is the title of a series of Libby pornos. To be honest, my favorite is Libby Bun-sex. I love a good (bad) pun!

Have I longingly played with the artificial Libby Bunsen pussy? Yes. Yes, I have.

She tells me that with a body like mine, I could be in line for a serious contract, but while that’s her thing, that’s not my thing. Unfortunately, she really only has time for her studies and the sex she gets paid for. Dan, her go-to co-star, gets all of the action and I’m left masturbating to her videos like some adolescent boy.

As revenge, I always use her toys. Most of the time, she laughs that off, but once, when she was rushed and apparently wanted the one I was using, she yelled at me, “Hey! Slutty McGillicutty! Get your own!”

I tossed it at her.

She wasn’t so rushed as to not lick it clean, eye-fucking me the whole time.

You’d think that calling my porn star roommate who barely has time to fuck me a “tease” seems wrong, but to me, it’s all too accurate.

I’m working her vibrator right now as I look down at her laptop. Half of the screen is a hot scene of Libby. She’s yelling “fuck my cunt full” as I see that I’m on question 7/7.

My superpower is _________________.

I wonder if sexual repression causes supervillainy. Someone should explore that in fiction because I feel like I’m experiencing that in real life. Slutty McGillicutty, villainess supreme.

The ultimate revenge I could have would be—

My superpower is complete and absolute control over Libby Bunsen’s orgasms.

My life took an interesting turn in college.

I came to college seeking a career and direction and I got both, in the most unexpected way possible. Shortly after catching my porn starlet roommate mid-fuck with her porn star boyfriend, I discovered I the ability to make her cum on command.

Conversely, I can make her not cum for ages.

AGES.

At will, really.

The fucking ultimate edging power and it’s mine all mine.

As a highly-sexual woman, one who’s orgasm is her means to money, this gave me almost utter and complete control over Libby Bunsen. Her fans started to make memes about when she was “faking it.” No matter how hard, how long, however she tried, if she wanted a real orgasm, she needed me.

My help came at a price.

I’m integral to her existence now. I direct all of her films.

We’ve even done some live work where the audience decides the level of turned on she is at any moment. I enact the will of the highest bidder. Libby sweating, angry, and begging for release is a cash cow. That’s a meme now, too. “Fuck, Slutty McGillicutty. Let me cum!!!” I’ve become the poster girl for giving females blue balls.

Libby’s mother absolutely hates me. Thinks that no one should control anyone else’s orgasms. If I could bar her stupid ass from orgasm, I could bring her under my control, too. I’d go after Libby’s sister first. She looks enough like Libby to turn me on. I tell “mom” I’m taking the power back from the men.

And I’m taking Libby back from the men, too.

For myself.

And only myself.

One delayed orgasm at a time.

Mwa.

Ha.

Ha.