The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Damien paused. Taut, eager faces stared up at the stage, hidden in the darkness but for the reflected powerpoint glare. They hadn’t heard anything not to like.

He took a deep breath. “Then we’re going to have to do something about the men,” he said.

A cloudburst of murmurs rippled across the crowd. Damien tried hard not to roll his eyes. Turn a girl into a dreamy little fuck toy? Oh certainly. Do anything to a boy? Well, that was a bridge too far, sir. We aren’t gods. We are men.

“We have no choice,” he thundered, silencing the crowd. “They need to want it. They need to pinch a girl on the ass because they like the way it looks. They need to expect that good-morning blowjob. We’re reworking the world here, people. You can’t do it half-assed.”

There was a canister of a very potent gas in the middle of the ballroom. He could trigger it. If the crowd wanted to do things the hard way.

The assembled ranks quieted down. Damien took a deep breath. He had shown the stick. It was time for some carrot. “In fact,” he said, “I think the boys are really going to like it…”

“Did you feel something?” Kurt said. “Like a.. like something you, uh…” he trailed off. It was already gone. “Like a fizz,” he finished.

He shook himself and returned to the book. Calculus loomed. And studying wasn’t any easier when Naomi and Karina were peering at figures. Both didn’t bother to wear anything more then old jeans when Kurt was tutoring, but all the girls at school had their chests on display. Karina, from the wrong end of town, liked cheap H&M jerseys with frayed cotton hems. Naomi had her own credit card, and wore eighty dollar tiered camis with lots of tie-dye.

Both had fantastic tits.

Kurt stared at both of them—all four of them—as his tutees puzzled over transcendentals. Usually he just glanced, nervous, from time to time. But this time he let his eyes linger, noting that Naomi hadn’t even bothered with a bra, and that Karina’s were maybe a bit bigger.

Hormones started to churn. More so. Directions were sent out to undeveloped, flabby muscles, to a weak and flaccid sense of confidence, to sweat glands and to the entire nervous system.

Naomi caught him staring.

“What?” she snapped.

Kurt caught her gaze. For the first time in a long while, he didn’t look away. He just raised an eyebrow.

“Yes?” he said.

Naomi knitted her eyebrows, flustered. “Shouldn’t you be helping us study?”

“I’m keeping up on my curves,” he told her, and marveled at the line. It was topical, flirty, direct. Usually he came up with a line like that late at night.

Naomi’s eyes bulged. Karina giggled, and flashed her teeth at him in a wide smile.

“Can’t you just do this problem? It’s.. it’s really hard,” Naomi said.

“Maybe you should try a little harder,” Kurt suggested. He stretched his arms out. They suddenly felt tight, uncomfortable, like he had just gotten through a long plane ride.

Naomi caught his eyes again. Rebellion flashed. Then, slowly, she dropped her eyes back down to the page. And her cleavage right into Kurt’s field of vision. He appreciated it. Karina had never stopped giving him a show.

“Ladies,” he said, standing up. “I think we’re good for tonight. I suggest you either study harder for our next session or lose a few more buttons.”

He strode downstairs, stretching. It was a two mile walk back home, and, suddenly, he felt like running it.

Naomi showed up to their next session in a resolutely demure hooded sweatshirt, her dark chestnut hair curling around the drawstrings. That was the bad news. The good news is that Karina was very comfortable in a pair of short jean shorts with the hem turned up, and a tanktop that probably came in a three-pack. She looked fantastic.

“You look ready for some calculus,” he told her.

Kurt had started lifting weights just a few days ago. Seemed like every guy in town had flooded into gyms, intent on lifting heavy things. Eventually Kurt and a few friends had found a set of weights in a parent basement, and were taking turns.

“Naomi, you look… fine,” he told her. “Very presentable. Want to get down to this?”

He plunked the book down in front of them. He had carried it on the run. It was silly from a strength perspective, but hey, it was fun.

“Did you RUN here?” Naomi asked.

“Sure. Exercise.”

“You’re all.. you’re all sweaty,” she said. “You’re sweating all over everything.”

Kurt was barely sweating at all. It had only been two miles. But Naomi and Karina both had a strange expression on. Karina licked her lips. Naomi chewed hers.

And both girls were abysmal with their math.

At first Kurt suspected it was just him putting on more pressure, doing fewer questions for them. But then Karina forgot to carry a four, and mewed softly with disappointment, like a cat.

“Why are you being so.. so BOSSY?” Naomi finally said, tossing her pencil away. She shuddered. “You’re.. we’re not just pieces of meat for you to order around.. we.. umm…” she trailed off, wrapping a strand of hair around her fingers.

“Can’t you just tell us what to do?” Karina pleaded. “We just need to pass this test next week. It’s a really, really hard test and I really, really don’t want to fail it.”

She dropped back, and let her finger stray between the cleft of her tits. Karina let her lips fall open, suggestively.

Kurt shifted, to keep from breaking his cock. “You going to pull that on your teacher?” he said. “You can’t just give him a look and breathe heavily. You’re going to actually need to know some math.”

“Karina, stop acting like such a god damn slut,” Naomi said, tossing an eraser her way.

Karina tossed it back. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she said, tossing her bright blonde hair back. “You’re just saying words so you can get the attention back on you.”

The brunette looked around for something else to throw. “I’m paying for Kurt. You’re just here because you suck at math. Your whole plan is to look like a whore and hope that Mr. Nery really likes that you wear shorts that don’t cover your entire ass.”

“Yeah, you would pay for Kurt,” Karina said. “Only way you’d get him. Only possible way. You’d have to keep sticking dollars in his pants every five minutes or he’d walk out of the ROOM, you stuck-up bi—“

“GIRLS,” Kurt thundered. They both fell instantly silent.

He wiped his brow, and dried his hand on a tissue. The tissue he tossed lightly at Naomi. She caught it.

“You are both bad girls and should probably be spanked,” he told them.

They both looked startled, and Karina slowly began to turn over.

“But instead, you are going to take instructions. You will speak when I tell you to. You will write down the equations as I dictate them. You will be taught. Okay?”

They nodded.

Karina raised her hand. “Kurt?” she asked. “This might sound weird, but… can I have a sweatball? I mean… Naomi got one.”

Naomi did very well on her first problem set, so Kurt let her sit in his lap.

She giggled and pranced over to where he sat, then nestled deep into his body. She inhaled as deeply as she could, and looked over, smugly, at Karina.

The blonde glared back, and turned to her exercise sheet. She had kept to her roots, and wore a tube top that was hopefully not sold to minors. It was a bright purple, royal purple, with a built-in bodice that didn’t try very hard to keep her tits inside. Her shorts were nearly hidden underneath the hem, and they demonstrated every curve on her rear.

Naomi toyed with Kurt’s chest hair. He had stripped off his shirt at their request, to demonstrate all the development that a religious weight room schedule could accommodate. Muscles rippled against each other. All his nerd friends had gained weight and volume with tremendous speed. Kurt had easily doubled his bench.

The girls hung on every word.

On the other hand, their math wasn’t going anywhere. If he didn’t pay rigorous attention then the ladies tended to doodle pictures of biceps. And they had stolen his shirt while he was in the bathroom.

Naomi noticed his erection. She giggled and ground herself into it. Kurt reminded himself that they were 18 by maybe five months.

“Ohhhh, this isn’t going to WORK,” Karina said. She pushed herself back, and let her legs slip apart.

“There must be some other way to pass,” she said, getting up. She crossed her arms, striding on coltish legs, and ended up just behind him. Her hands started to gently massage his neck.

“Huh, that’s nice,” Kurt told her. “Just right there.” His neck was pretty tight.

“Look girls,” he told them. “If you want to pass, either you sit there and pass a math test, or you forget to wear underwear and count on that.”

Karina paused, thinking.

“I don’t recall saying to stop,” Kurt said, annoyed.

Kurt racked the weights. Benching alone was a dangerous thing, but this was just maintenance work before he hit up the real gym. Besides, he had hit a new milestone just yesterday, and a little downtime was in order.

He barely heard the twosome come in. It was Friday. Classes were still in session down at the High School.

“We.. we passed!” Karina exclaimed.

“And then skipped school?”

“Yes, well, we passed,” Naomi said.

The girls stood, uncertain, in the weight room. Five or six guys had spent weeks training down there. It bloomed with testosterone. Karina discreetly let her hand run down the back of her ass.

“So, was it just a few easy derivations like I figured?”

“Umm… we didn’t do the math problems,” Naomi said. She wore a blue jersey skirt with big brass buttons. Up top she had found a lacy white blouse with a set of frills down the center, just beneath her boobs.

“We didn’t wear underwear,” Karina said. Her hand had moved to the front of her skirt, and flipped it up.

Naomi did the same. They had both shaved for the big occasion. They both tittered, showing off damp slits for his perusal. Kurt took his time looking them over.

“You’re still going to have to learn math,” he told them.

“Oh, of course!” Karina said, distressed. “Oh my goodness yes! We LOVE math!” She wore a brown pleated skirt and a loose top with a cartoon sun on it.

“You can put your skirts down now,” he told them, and settled back on the weight bench. A few more reps couldn’t hurt.

They watched him tense, biceps tensed around the iron. The girls squirmed, rubbing their thighs together.

“Is there.. is there anything we can do to help?” Naomi said, nervous.

Oh, fine. He was only human. The world wouldn’t punish him too much for this one.

“ONE blowjob,” he told them, sternly.

The girls rushed to be the first to kneel.

CASSANDRA’S CLOSET

By Cassandra

I think it’s time for a little controversy, readers. I think we need to do something about chivalry.

Basically, I want some.

I grew up on the doctrine of equal dating as much as anyone else. Split the check. Right down the middle. Split the movie. Dates were a meeting of two people trying to establish some kind of connection. Giving in to old-fashioned ideas of boys and girls was inherently inequal. If the boys paid for the date and drove the car and picked the movie, the girl had to do something only GIRLS could do.

But you know what? I’m tired of that. I’m ready for chivalry. I want it. Dates aren’t about two people having a business meeting, they’re about BOYS and GIRLS, and I’m ready to acknowledge that.

So girls, here’s the deal. I want the boy to pay. I want him to pay for everything. I want him to open the door for me, pull out my chair, pick the flick, and basically to do every little thing. I want to be treated like an absolutely fragile princess that doesn’t have to make a single decision. I want to be treated like a girl!

And deep breath in exchange, I think girls need to be ready to show a little… appreciation. No more dates in jeans, ladies. Show a little skin. If it’s a second date, show a LOT of skin. The good lord gave us boobs to use them! Put on a little makeup, add a little lipstick, go to the trouble to put on earrings. Nice ones!

He’s treating you like a girl. Treat him like a man! Bend over from time to time. Let him appreciate you for your mind AND your body. Smile, don’t talk if he wants to talk, LET him be the big manly man that nature intended him to be. You’re his entertainment, and you need to act like it!

I don’t mind telling you girls, I just went on one of these dates. I was as closed off and protected as always. Medium-length skirt, high-necked blouse, just a touch of color on my cheeks. And at first, shocked and chagrined each time he reached for his wallet without consulting me. He ORDERED for me at the restaurant.

But you know what? It was delicious. I felt so comfortable, so relaxed. All the tension from following all those stupid rules was gone. I just let him take the lead, and I never had a more fun date. And I know it violates ALL the rules, but there was no way I was going to let such a fun, forceful MAN leave without a bit of… appreciation.

Girls have knees for a reason. Get on them!

Rebecca had been taking notes. Something was wrong.

She wasn’t the first to note it, of course. It was obvious to everyone across the world that the dress code had just taken a decisive turn towards skin and flash. It was clear that a nipple on network television was no longer the big fucking deal it was years ago.

Just last week, on the Disney Channel, they had done an episode on Carly’s chagrin after falling out of her top and flashing half the world. At the end of it they had all sat down and discussed how boobs were natural and beautiful things, and it was okay to show them off, and everyone had hugged.

There had been a lot of talk about changing social norms in a world of heavier chests. Lots of talking heads had gone on earnestly about the realities of a D-average world.

Rebecca wasn’t having any of it.

She watched as one of the cheerleaders ambled her top-heavy way across the middle of the quad. The pretty little thing was wearing kneesocks, for crying out loud. Like those were acceptable schoolwear! But the only thing her sparkling white socks were getting her were appreciate looks from the boys.

Something was GOING ON. She just had to consult the fun-loving nipples on her own chest to make that clear. Rebecca could get to orgasm just by tweaking them. And did.

Her own friends were hardly spared. Anne was getting weirdly into her whole anime-princess thing, to the point where she had purchased pink mary janes and was talking about learning Japanese. Candice was wearing perfume, unusual in a studious college-bound girl who usually wore 100% cotton. And Rebecca herself was packing big ‘ol titties.

It was time to do something.

So she began to sidle up to the few remaining sane boys and girls at school. The ones who clung resolutely to old sweaters, who still swum around in jeans that were too large. Who hadn’t started caking their lips in Pink brand lipstick. And the boys that still had that startled, alert look of adolescent boys. Who weren’t casually looking the ladies over like available toys.

She cornered John in the library. It was a safe space.

“Something is going on. I know you’ve seen it,” she told him. He wore a baggy polo with a collar. It was promising. “It’s gotten way too easy for boys. They’re so full of… swagger.”

John scratched his head. He was blonde. “I know,” he said. “You’re right. Look, I know you’re friends with Anne?”

“Yeah.”

“She flashed me. Her underwear. You know? She had this look in her eyes, like she was half-drunk on something. It’s not supposed to work that way. I’m supposed to be a virgin through college. I play dungeons and dragons. But I KNOW that I can just reach out and… take what I want.”

Rebecca nodded. She wore a fleece pullover from Old Navy, and beneath it, a bra with multiple straps and heavy elastic.

“I’m making charts,” she told him. “I think something is going on. Really slowly. I think we should, you know, band together. Those of us who are still sane. Start a new club. The… Science Club.”

John nodded, thoughtfully. “What’s it like, being a girl? These days? What’s changed?”

Rebecca stared at him. She noticed things, things that had never been particularly important before. That no one would ever find them this far back in a deserted library. That John was decisive, intelligent. That she wanted to look at the floor whenever he stared right at her. That her boobs burned to be touched.

“You know how I’m wearing a jacket?” Rebecca said, finally.

“Yeah, sure.”

“It’s fifty-five degrees out. It’s COLD. And I had to fight my own body to put on something that heavy. THAT is how I know something’s up.”

“Last night, thank god,” Jackie said. She pulled the ponytail loose and shook her hair out. It was a light blonde, unfortunately. In this era of whoppers, guys gravitated to whoever had something more than a heaving chest.

“Oh, really? Jackie, no! You can’t leave!” Bridget said. “You’re the only one who knows how to do… all sorts of stuff! Like cleaning out the taps and how to break into the manager’s office and how to work the televisions!”

Bridget was a true Juggernauts girl. God had put her on earth to have fantastic tits and dispense drinks and giggle.

“I’m here to get money for the GRE. Mission accomplished,” Jackie explained. She decided not to tie the tanktop underneath the kittens.

“Ohh, for grad school, right? Aren’t you already a school graduate?” Bridget said. She squeezed into the bright blue shorts. She had arrived wearing the chunky white heels, which Jackie privately found amazing. They hurt.

Jackie glanced in the mirror. She plastered on a smile, checked her legs for blemishes, and pulled down the tanktop just enough to get that ‘pop’ that guaranteed a tip.

“Last night,” she told the mirror.

Table 5 was having way too much fun, and for some reason, Jackie was letting it get to her. Not in a bad way. In a GOOD way. She had found herself grinning at some of their lame jokes and smirking at the transparent flirting and hustling over with additional wings and beer.

And for some reason the blonde was… really sort of noticing the muscles behind the polo shirts. These were cute boys. Usually she could think that objectively. But this time she watched biceps flex and chests strain and her heart skipped a beat.

“You don’t mind that Chester here is checking you for lumps, right?” one of them said, slapping the birthday boy on the back. “He’s gonna be a doctor. He’s checking for problems.”

Usually Jackie chirped a nervous laugh and scooted. This time she leaned over the table. The boys smirked. “In this shirt?” she said “I think it’d be pretty obvious if there were any issues, right? You see anything to be concerned about, birthday boy?”

What was wrong with her? Tables six and seven had to be checking out her ass, too.

Chester nearly choked on a beer. “A plus!” he managed. The whole table cheered. Jackie giggled.

“Aw, it’s fine, really. They’re not that heavy. They’re just big, you know? You gotta be… careful! Or you’re gonna knock a glass over or something,” Jackie told Table 8. The nice boys were wondering what life was like with balloon-shaped boobs.

She giggled again. No one had told a joke, but… it felt like the right thing to do.

“I had this… GREAT plan,” she said. She was leaning over tables again. Her boobs were melting from all the boy attention. “I got big boobs, right? So I go make some easy money, showing them off and stuff, and then I go to fuckin’ grad school.”

The boys said that that sounded boring.

“Oh… I guess it’ll be okay…” Jackie said. She tossed her hair back, and smiled at them. “I guess I’ll miss this job a little bit. You know I never had anyone try and stick a dollar bill down my boobs? I’m sad that never happened, kind of.”

Every boy at the table reached for their wallet.

Chester slapped her on the ass. Jackie squeaked. This was totally unacceptable behavior and she was supposed to call the manager. There was a procedure for this.

On the other hand… it was CLEARLY just an affectionate tap on the butt. Very affectionate, the way Chester had kneaded it slightly. And she was kind of leading him on what with the long discussion of why shiny shorts were sexier then yoga pants. And Chester was kind of adorable.

And also, Jackie… kind of liked it. Maybe she could use the experience later on, in school. Whenever she went there.

She posed for a few more pictures with Table 5. One casually rested his hand on the side of her boobs. She looked at it, trying to figure out if this was something that was a problem. I mean, her boobies were so big these days, it was hard for boys to avoid them. A hug would squash them in the boy’s faces.

Chester’s hand slipped down again, caressing the bottom curve.

“Hey, this isn’t that kind of restaurant,” Jackie said, weakly.

“I’m pretty sure it is,” Chester told her, smiling. His hand was still there. The designated photographer took his time lining up the shot.

Jackie took a quick look around. Chester was certainly right. All the girls on the floor had big contented smiles, swimming in a sea of hands and eyes, the packed house full of men cheering, men staring, men smiling and grabbing. Usually the place smelled like beer and wings, but tonight there was a musk in the air, a very boyish cologne.

Jackie sniffed, and sagged into Chester’s waiting hand.

Out back the air was just clean enough. Jackie staggered into the alleyway, turned away from the garbage, and slumped against a brick wall. She didn’t care how dirty it was.

It was too much in there. Her head swam, confused, overwhelmed by scent and this odd, unstoppable feeling like she should just go along with what the boys wanted, what they needed.

“You’ve read about this,” Jackie reminded herself. The cultural conditioning that made girls flounce, and lift their skirts, and stick their tits out, whenever necessary to make some guy a little happier. The sexist society that made every girl wonder: am I wearing enough makeup? Am I showing off skin? Does this shirt show off my tits?

Oh god, her tits. They weren’t helping anything. They were begging to be touched and sucked, to be let loose from the thin cotton shirt and heavy bra. They were soaked with sweat, and she still smelled like man wherever one had fooled around.

Something was wrong. She was having way too much fun—as an object. Letting her body take over, acquiesce cheerfully to the…

Jackie realized that she wasn’t alone in the alley.

Bridget was already there. She was very near the garbage, but that didn’t seem to bother her. The brunette was wrapped up with some customer. She stood in front of him, moaning and giggling in equal parts, while he fondled her boobs underneath her shirt. She ground her ass into the front of his khakis. The guy was bald and stocky, but with massive hands that were mauling Bridget’s boobs. She seemed to love it.

Jackie froze. She could feel those hands on her own tits, the rough calluses, the sense of fragility..

Her coworker started to moan, and the man’s fingers emerged from boob heaven, only to slip down the front of her flimsy shorts.

Jackie fled back inside.

“I’m not gonna shave down there,” Jackie told Table 7. “It’s… um… it’s totally fine the way it is! We’re all, you know, mammals. We should act like it.”

“I agree,” a patron said. Everyone at Table 7 wore expensive watches and had big, bulging wallets. “We’re nothing but mammals.” He ogled her titties.

Jackie giggled, again. Seemed like that was her default response, all of a sudden.

“Nooo, I mean it!” she said. Jackie tried to recall a clever argument, but they kept evading her. Her brain felt like a soupy mess, overwhelmed with the problem of cataloging and keeping track of so many guys. “Why does it have to be all shaved, anyways? Can’t you guys deal with a landing strip? Only porn stars go all the way bald.”

She was sitting on someone’s lap. That was another no-no. Especially the way his erection was digging into her shorts. And it was such an infantilizing, girlish position, a position of submission and weakness.

“That would make sense, except that it’s hot as hell when a girl goes bald,” one of the guys said.

Jackie couldn’t think of any response to that whatsoever. “Sexist,” she said, and ground her ass into the cock beneath her.

In response, one of the guys put another $20 in her cleavage. Jackie tucked it in deeper, and beamed at them.

“Here’s your tips, Jackie,” the manager said. He plonked a huge wad of bills into her lap. It was a massive wad of green.

Jackie stared at it. How had she been paid so much? The boys must’ve been aching to toss her hundred dollar bills. There were benjamins in that stack.

“You did good out there,” the manager said. “We’re gonna be sorry to see you go. You would not believe how much money we’re making, these days.”

Jackie held up the roll of dollars. She had been paid for getting her ass grabbed, for posing for pictures with her boobs hanging out, for smiling at boys, and showing how amazed she was at their massive muscles. For getting juicy and wet on laps, and letting them sense it. For acting like a big dumb slut.

Or she could go to grad school. But that didn’t make any sense. She had already graduated from school.

“Maybe I’ll stick around a little longer,” she told him, and giggled.