The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tnuc seeped out of her spacecraft and cursed. She hated Earth and always had. It was too hot, too wet, and had an atmosphere for Ynnuc’s sake. The only life on the planet worth bothering with were the slime molds, but her mission didn’t involve them.

Damn the Plutonians, anyway. It was all their fault. First they became obsessed with Earth culture. Then they got their chitin all tied in a twist because the bald apes who ran Earth started calling Pluto a “dwarf” planet. The Plutonians had actually sent a ship to this unmentionable armpit of the Solar System to punish said apes properly. And how? By making them fuck each other silly, as if the apes minded.

Trouble was, a bunch of bloggers from Jupiter had found out and spread the word. Stupid gasbags. Just because their planet had a huge red asshole, they liked to think they could act like assholes themselves. And now everybody from Mercury to Sedna was treating the whole thing like a big joke.

And who was the butt of the joke? The Plutonians? No, of course not. They joined in the laughter as much as anybody. Fucking spiders. Nobody but the Earthers ever made fun of them. (Especially after what happened to the Martians.)

No, it was the “asteroid” Ceres—home of the Solar System’s oldest and most advanced civilization—a civilization whose culture, sophistication, and smutty playing cards were bywords—it was Ceres that every two-bit comic was laughing at. Ceres, whose policy towards the unkempt yahoos on Earth was to ignore them altogether as not worth the effort.

Ceres, which had been demoted from planetary status by said yahoos.

Twice.

And so Tnuc was sliding her way across the horrid surface of this wretched rock, sent by no less that the Ceres High Elohckuf herself to show the Plutonians and all their funny pals how to punish the Earthers properly. And to do it with finesse.

Joanie crawled out of the tent well before sunrise and walked in the direction of the latrine. She was still naked, and some of Johnny’s semen was drying on her skin and dripping from her vagina and anus—oh, fuck. It sounded all perverted and dirty when she put it that way. It was like calling titties “breasts.” Johnny’s cum was all her slutty body and some of it dribbled out of her cunt and ass. There, that was better.

She rubbed her belly and smiled. She hoped he’d knocked her up. She wanted him to fuck her until she was full of a million babies, the way a woman should be. Fucking all night long, popping out babies like a Pez dispenser all day long, and drizzling milk from her tits day and night, that’s what a woman’s life should be like. Joanie giggled and started singing, “Every Sperm is Sacred” to herself. She was such a slut, and she loved it.

Too bad there weren’t any men within ten miles other than Johnny. It was her fault for suggesting that the two of them scout out locations for the annual church co-ed camp-out by themselves. They should have stayed in town. Then she could show her big brother what a slut she really was and make him proud.

It had all been kind of sudden. They’d just set up their camp and were starting to get ready to cook dinner. They’d been talking about how they wanted to spend the evening before turning in when Joanie had felt a whammy in her stomach and caught a whiff of ozone. In mid-sentence, she suddenly looked at her brother with different eyes and everything was clear.

“I know what I really want,” she’d said. “I want you to rip my fucking clothes off and knock me up but good with that beautiful cock of yours.”

Johnny had looked at her funny. “Excuse me?” he said.

Joanie started pulling her shirt off then struggled for a minute with the bra. “Damn!” she swore, cursing herself for even owning such a stupid garment. Johnny’s look of astonishment only increased. What in Heaven’s name was wrong with his sister?

Finally nude from the waist up, she looked at him hungrily. “You heard me,” she said. She walked over to him and took his hands in hers. “Here,” she said, and cupped his hands over her breasts. They felt nice and warm, and her nipples hardened appreciatively. “I want my tits to drip milk for your baby.”

He was still in shock. This was Joanie? The girl who couldn’t say “darn” without blushing? The girl who turned the lights off when she showered so she couldn’t see her own naked body? The girl who wasn’t willing to touch a boy until the fifth date? The girl whose life ambition was to recite from memory the entire Bible, backwards, and who complained about the e-word being taught in public schools?

“Fuck me, brother,” she whispered into his ear. “Make your slutty sister your own personal fucktoy,” and then she kissed him long and hard.

He gave in to the kiss for a moment without thinking before suddenly pulling out and pushing her away. “What’s gotten into you, Joanie?” he asked. He looked around for a cross to grab and tried to remember all the stuff he’d learned for his Exorcism Merit Badge.

She lunged for him. “Nothing—yet,” she said. “But get that luscious cock of yours out, and then you can get something into my pussy as much as you like.”

He dodged her and she fell to the ground. It didn’t help that she was struggling to get her pants and panties off. Why had she worn any fucking panties, anyway?

He raised his eyes to heaven and said in supplication, “O God...” Then there was another whiff of ozone, he twisted briefly in pain—and he looked at her. “Oh, God,” he said, “it’s about time you had a real man fuck a baby into you, you slutty little cum-bucket.”

His cock practically burst from his pants. He shoved her roughly to the ground. “Time to make my sister a mommy,” he said as she plunged his shaft into her pussy. It hurt just a second as the hymen broke, but she was so wet that he was able to bury his cock up to his balls in no time at all.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Fuck me, brother. Make your little sister your whore!”

It went on from there. She had never realized that fucking would be so much fun. Why had she wasted her life? She should have been fucking everything that moved for years. She could easily have had a half-dozen babies by now. Maybe more.

Johnny had shown incredible lasting power. The little information she’d gleaned from her friends sniggering and whispering dirty secrets in the girl’s room at church had suggested that a guy could cum three or four times tops before being exhausted, but not Johnny. They’d fucked for hours. After he popped her cherry, she gave him a blow-job, then he fucked her cunt again, then she gave him a titty-fuck, then he fucked her pussy again, then he took her ass, and then she lost track.

The memory of it was making her horny. Too bad Johnny had finally come to the end of his amazing staying power. She started sucking the dried cum off of her fingers and vowed to herself never to eat or drink anything else. Except maybe her own milk when it came.

She was still a little light-headed from having spent the night getting ravished in more ways that she had thought possible. It should be no surprise that she stumbled. She threw out her hands as she fell and one of them landed in something dark and slimy.

It was some time before Johnny stirred. The sleeping bag next to his was empty. Now where had that whore gotten herself to? He had a hard-on to end all hard-ons and needed to fuck her some more.

Bleary-eyed, he crawled out of the tent and stood. His cock throbbed painfully. “Hey, sister!” he called. “Fuck-meat! Come here and get your breakfast!”

“It’s about time you got up,” a sultry voice purred from near-by. He turned, rubbing his eyes.

“So who’s a hungry slut?” he said. There was a crack and he felt a stinging on his arm. He started to say, “What the fuck,” but he finally had a clear look at Joanie and the words froze on his tongue.

Joanie stood a few feet away from him, if that really was Joanie. Her hair had changed from indifferent blonde to jet black. It was cut in straight bangs across her forehead and cascaded down her back almost all the way to the ground, long and silky. Her eyes had changed to a dark brown to match the hair. The acne scars were gone from her cheeks. Her skin was smooth as butter. It was also lighter than before and made a sharp contrast with her hair and eyes. Her lips and eyeshadow were a dark, blood red. A spiked collar was on her neck.

Her breasts had swollen several cup sizes. The nipples were barely covered by a black latex bustier. A red corset was buckled over the bustier and pinched her waist in to form a perfect hourglass. She wore tight latex pants with an open crotch. She was buckling a whip back onto her hip. Her arms were in fingerless gloves that went up above her elbow. He could see her fingernails glinting a wicked red in the morning sunlight. Her legs were tightly bound in thigh-high boots lined with small padlocks running from top to bottom. The heels were five or six inches at least and looked more like a weapon than the heel of a boot. The toes were aimed almost straight down and formed a wicked point to match the heels.

“It’s time,” she said simply, “to rethink our relationship.”

An orgy had broken out in the basement of the church where the planning meeting for the annual co-ed campout was to be held. By this point, that was nothing unusual. Fifteen girls and twelve boys—plus Pastor Mike and his wife—were sprawled around the room. The furniture was a shambles. Semen stained the walls and carpet. Everybody was naked, except for Pastor Mike, who had a remnant of his clerical collar hanging stubbornly on for dear life.

All the women were filled to the brim. Their bellies bulged roundly, either because there was too much jism for their poor pussies to hold or because they were already pregnant. They didn’t care which; they liked it both ways.

There was a tapping sound of heels coming down the corridor. The door swung open. Joanie strode through, followed by Johnny on his hands and knees. He had nothing on but a collar, blindfold, butt-plug, metal codpiece, ankle cuffs, wrist cuffs, and ball-gag, all locked securely in place. Joanie held a leash that was fastened to his collar. His right arm was bandaged and all his hair shaved from head to toe.

“Well, well, well,” she said, surveying the room. “Somebody certainly was busy.”

She cracked her whip. “Get up,” she demanded. There was a general moaning. One of the men moved to protest only to get a flick of the whip against his cheek.

“Whores over to my right,” Joanie ordered. “Studs over to my left.” People shambled into position. All the women were rubbing their bellies like contented cows, and all the men stroked their cocks, each one full and long and hard. Men and women flirted with each other and giggled.

“I know you all want to get back to the orgy,” Joanie said, “so I’ll make this quick.” She tied Johnny’s leash to a chair and strode over to the women. She looked over the first one (Pastor Mike’s wife, Missy) and tsk’ed disapprovingly.

“Tell me, Missy,” she said. “What are you?”

“Missy is a fuck-toy, Joanie,” Missy said proudly, and Joanie slapped her cheek hard.

“First of all,” Joanie said, “I am always ‘Miss’ or ‘Mistress,’ never ‘Joanie.’ Secondly, you are not any man’s fuck-toy. Here, let me explain.” She stepped forward and grabbed Missy by the back of the neck. She pressed her lips against Missy’s and proceeded to give her a long kiss, her tongue plunging deep into Missy’s surprised mouth. Her fingers thrust themselves roughly into Missy’s well-used pussy and finger-fucked her vigorously. Missy’s eyes went wide. There was a silence in the room.

Joanie broke off the kiss, pulled her fingers from Missy’s snatch, and stepped back. Missy’s eyes were still wide. She was breathing slowly in and out. “Oh, my,” was all she said. And then she started breathing faster and faster and her body tensed up. “Missy’s gonna cummmmmmmmm!” she shouted and suddenly her body convulsed in a combination of pain and pleasure.

As she did, a night’s worth of semen cascaded from her swollen belly and splashed down her legs to the floor. Her tummy flattened out almost immediately. The cum was followed by a black, sticky mass that spread itself rapidly over Missy’s arms, legs, and torso. As it did, her breasts began to swell, her waist narrowed and her hips widened. Her hair turned black and grew at a mad pace until it was down almost all the way to the floor. Green lipstick and eyeshadow appeared on her face.

The blackness on her skin spread quickly over her huge new breasts. It formed itself into a bustier matching Joanie’s. The middle section became a corset which grew buckles and quickly turned a dark green. The black shooting down her legs became boots; that on her arms became fingerless gloves. Her fingernails grew, hardened, sharpened, and turned themselves the color of her corset. Within a minute, her orgasm finally ended and she was hold herself steady on her feet, sweating and breathing heavily. She looked like Joanie’s twin sister.

“Oh, my,” she said again, then looked at Joanie and burst into laughter. “You’re right!” she said. “Oh, what a fool I was to think I belonged to that thing.” She pointed at her husband who tried to hold himself up and object indignantly.

Before he could say anything beyond, “Now, see here,” however, Missy strode across the room and grabbed his balls, digging her fingernails in. She kissed him roughly, the way Joanie had kissed her. As she did, his own eyes widened in surprise and he let out a long moan. Semen squirted across the room as he came and collapsed to the floor.

“You were going to say something, Mikey?” Missy asked.

“No, Missy,” he gasped, and she kicked him. “I mean, no, Miss, I mean, no Mistress.” Missy looked satisfied and beamed at Joanie. Pastor Mike looked up at his new owner with a mixture of love and adoration.

“Start cleaning up, then,” she said and he began eagerly licking the semen off her legs and feet and floor.

“But we like being knocked-up sluts!” one of the other women complained. Joanie took care of her next. Missy would have helped, but she was too busy getting her pussy thoroughly cleaned by Pastor Mike’s tongue.

And when everybody was finished with their attitude adjustment, the basement of the church was scene to another orgy, somewhat different from the first. But just as satisfying.

Now bonded to Joanie’s body, Tnuc was of course exiled from her homeworld for as long as Joanie lasted, and that was likely to be a long, long time. She didn’t really mind, though, because she was discovering all kinds of potentials in the Earthers she hadn’t dreamed of before. And since reproduction was best done by fission (as everyone on Ceres knew—fuck you, Plutonians!), she had also managed to create dozens of clones within just a few days, each one implanted in a different ape female, and each clone had made more clones, and so on, and so on, and so on.

It didn’t hurt that Joanie had become Supreme Mistress and the entire planet obeyed Her, and therefore Tnuc as well.

But the best bit was that she was able to follow the response as bloggers picked up the story and You Hollow Cylinder filled with scenes of Earth males servicing their new Mistresses. Tnuc especially liked the ones with ex-Presider Twig and Mistress Condi. The jokes about Ceres stopped. Tnuc was praised as a hero back home.

And so, in the end, and despite being stuck on Earth, Tnuc was very, very happy.

At least, until the ship from Uranus arrived.