The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The wheel chair moved deliberately through the darkened streets, the subdued whine of its electric motor the only sound to be heard. It’s occupant, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a floppy hat pulled low, steered the chair around the corner and up to the entrance of an all night eatery. The chair sat motionless for a few moments at the entrance while the figure studied the menu posted there, then moved into the diner, finally stopping at a table in the very back of the dining room. The waitress, an unattractive, overweight redhead way on the wrong side of forty looked up from where she was sitting.

“Be right with ya, hon,” she called out to the dark figure. She closed the magazine she had been reading, marking her place with a napkin, and got up, grabbing her pad. Her faded pink skirt rode halfway up her sweaty, chubby thighs. She stopped to brush it back into place, mumbling something under her breath. Finally she reached the table and looked down at her customer. “What’ll it be, buddy?” she asked in a bored monotone. “We ain’t servin’ up nothin’ but breakfast right now.”

The figure in the chair made a show of studying the menu it had picked up from the table. “Gimme the steak and eggs and some coffee that ain’t burnt to shit,” came the reply in a low, raspy voice. “And make the steak fuckin’ rare, not cooked to death so it’s like eatin’ boot leather.” The waitress put her hands on her broad hips and shook her head.

“Hey, asshole,” she started. “I don’t gotta take no shit from you, ya fuckin’ crip,” she started to turn and walk away, but the figure in the chair reached out and grabbed her by a wrist. She turned back to face him and almost snarled. “And you got exactly two seconds to let go of me, or I’ll kick your fuckin’ balls through the top of your head!” She looked down at the figure in the wheel chair menacingly.

The raspy voice spoke again. “Why don’t you just go ahead and fuck yourself, dearie?” As she looked down, the eyes glowed with a visible gray light. “Just sit your fat ole ass down in the booth and fuck yourself with that empty beer bottle.”

Wordlessly, she fell into the nearby booth, unable to stay on her feet. She stared wide eyed at the empty bottle on the table and she felt her legs spreading seemingly of their own volition. Her hand slowly reached out her pudgy fingers wrapping themselves around the long necked bottle.

“That’s it, you fat ole cunt,” the dark figure sighed. “Use that thing to fuck your flabby ole slit. Let’s see you shove that bottle up your nasty hole and make like it’s the biggest, nicest cock you ever imagined. You can feel yourself gettin’ all wet and horny just thinkin’ about it.”

The waitress picked up the bottle and slowly brought it down toward her crotch. Her other hand pulled her now damp panties to one side, exposing her plump, hairy pussy. She carefully placed the mouth of the bottle between her labia, finding the opening to her vagina and began to push. She was so wet that the bottle slid inside easily, her juices making it slick. She stopped when the just neck of the bottle was inside of her, and began to work it in and out.

“Now that’s a good old slut,” the stranger laughed harshly. “Give that worn out old hole a good work out. Bet you don’t get much real cock these days, do ya?” He leaned forward in the chair. “Go on, push that thing all the way in to the bottom!” She closed her eyes and pushed harder. The bottle slid in slowly until only an inch or so remained visible, and she stopped. “All the way, you fat whore!” the voice hissed at her, and she pushed some more. The last of the bottle entered her and she moaned as she felt her labia closing over the bottom, hiding it from view. It had just disappeared when a man’s voice interrupted the activities.

“And just what in the Hell is goin’ on back here?” came the irritated voice. “Delores, what the fuck do you think you’re doin’ with this guy?”

The figure in the wheelchair turned to look at the new arrival. “The old bitch was just puttin’ on a show for me,” it rasped, looking up at the large black man in the cook whites. “And just who the Hell are you?”

“I’m the damned owner of this place!” he replied angrily. “And that’s my night waitress who’s playin’ with herself in the booth.” He started forward and reached out as if to pull Delores out of the booth. The gray eyes flashed again in the dim light.

“Just leave her where she is!” The black man stopped moving, lowering his arm. “She’s enjoying herself, ain’t you, Delores?” Delores moaned and nodded her head. “In fact, the only thing she’d like more than that big ole bottle up her twat is to be suckin’ your cock right now, right baby?” She nodded again. The figure looked up at the man. “Why don’t you just take out that big black snake and let her suck you off? You know you have the fuckin’ hots for her.”

The owner felt his cock stir as the stranger spoke, and he reached down to unzip his fly. He fished it out, letting it dangle from his fly, and moved closer to Delores. He felt himself getting harder just looking at her, and his stiffening rod brushed her cheek. She reached out and took his cock in her free hand, stroking it gently.

“Come on, Delores,” the stranger goaded. “Suck that black cock like you mean it! You know how love sucking big black cocks.” She took him into her mouth and sucked on the head noisily. Slurping noises filled the diner as she used her mouth. His cock swelled until the head completely filled her mouth, and she let it slide back out, still stroking it. It kept growing until it stood a solid ten inches of black man flesh. A drop of precum oozed from the head, and Delores quickly licked it away.

“Now, mister owner man, fuck that fat face!” the stranger commanded in a low voice. “Grab her head and fuck her face like her mouth is a pussy. You’re gonna fuck her until you bust a nut down her throat and pump all your gooey seed into her fat belly! Ole Delores just loves that liquid protein, don’t ya, baby?” Delores bobbed her head in agreement, still sucking madly on the huge cock. The stranger’s voice grew louder. “And when you pop, she’s going to cum too, and spit that fucking bottle right out of her cunt like a watermelon seed.”

The black man grabbed Delores by the sides of her head and shoved his cock into her mouth. He pushed until it slid down her throat and his balls rested on her double chins, then began to fuck in and out. With each inward stroke, his balls audibly slapped against her and her eyes grew wide. He pounded her, harder and deeper with each stroke until he finally bellowed.

“Here I come, you fat bitch. Here it is!!!” and he slammed into her, holding himself deep in her throat as his cum spewed from his pulsating cock and ran down into her belly. As his cum spurted into her, the beer bottle in her pussy was launched like a glass missile, flying halfway across the room and shattering on the floor. He quivered as he stood there, until the very last drops of cum had been sucked from his balls. Then, slowly, he withdrew his wilting cock from Delores’ abused mouth. She gasped for air when his cock plopped out, wet with her saliva, and fell back into the booth.

The stranger applauded. “Very nice show.” he complimented them. “Now how about my damned breakfast?” The owner put his cock back into his pants and zipped up and headed for the kitchen. Delores pulled herself out of the booth and up on wobbly legs, and straightened her skirt again. “And make sure you wash your damned hands, huh?” the stranger said loudly.

The stranger finished his breakfast and wiped his mouth with the napkin. He had just placed it on the table, when Delores came back with the check. “Here’s your bill, mister,” she put it next to the napkin. The stranger looked up at her. “Take it out of the fifty I gave you and bring me back my change, sweetheart.” Delores just stood there, looking at him. “What the Hell fifty are you talking about?” she asked. His eyes flashed briefly. “You remember the fifty I gave you when I ordered the meal. Now bring me my change, like a good little waitress bitch.” When she came back with the change, he pocketed it all.

“What,” she sneered, “no tip for the waitress?”

He looked at her in silence. “Here’s your fuckin’ tip, you ole cow. You won’t remember any of what happened here tonight once I leave.” he said to her in a low voice. “But you will remember how much you love sucking your boss’ cock and stuffin’ that ole pussy of yours with empty bottles.” He touched the controls on the wheelchair and rolled to the front of the diner where the owner stood. He paused to speak to him. “You know where I can get a room this time of night?” The owner gave him the name of a cheap hotel about a block away. “Thanks,” the man in the wheelchair responded. “And good luck with the love of your life, Delores back there.” As he wheeled himself out the door, the stranger laughed to himself.

He found the hotel easily enough. A blue neon sign sputtered and flickered, announcing there was a vacancy. As he wheeled into the lobby, the smell of sweat and stale cigarette smoke greeted him. He moved over to the front desk and sat there quietly for a moment, watching the old geezer sitting at it, working a crossword puzzle. “Nice place ya got here,” he finally said. The old man looked up from his puzzle with bloodshot eyes and just stared at him until the gray flash swept over him. “How’s about you just give me the best room you got.”

The desk clerk sat there staring at him stupidly for a few seconds, then reached under the counter for a registration form. As he placed it on the counter, the stranger in the wheelchair pushed it away. “Just give me the fuckin’ key!” he commanded. The old man turned and took a key from one of the mailboxes and handed it to him.

“Room 312,” he muttered. “Elevator’s down the hall and to the left.” As the wheel chair began moving he spoke up. “Hey, I need a credit card and how long you’re gonna be staying.”

The dark figure stopped the chair and turned to face the man again. The glow from his eyes was more intense. “Just mark it paid, you senile ole asshole!” his voice grated. “And I’ll be here ‘til I leave.” The chair pivoted and moved down the hallway. Before it turned to move out of sight, it stopped again. “Now why don’t you just sit back down in your nice comfy chair right there and play with yourself for the rest of the night,” said the raspy voice. The stranger moved on, headed for the elevator. With a shrug of his shoulders, the desk clerk sat back down and unzipped his trousers, pulling out his shriveled cock. He began stroking himself slowly with one hand. While he did that, he reached over with his other hand and picked up his pencil. With his cock in his left hand, and the pencil in his right, he worked on both the crossword puzzle and his prick.

Riding the elevator up to the third floor, he noticed that the smell of sweat and cigarette smoke had been replaced by the odor of stale vomit and beer. “Nice,” he muttered. “Really fuckin’ nice.” As the doors opened on his floor, he wheeled himself out and into the corridor. Pale green wallpaper adorned the walls, and a dingy brown carpet that was going threadbare covered the floor. A single picture adorned the wall to his right, one of the ubiquitous “Boulevard of Lost Dreams” prints with Elvis, James Dean and Marilyn sitting in a coffee shop. The glass was dusty and cracked, and the picture skewed at a severe angle. He reached up and straightened the frame as he went by. The stranger found his room and let himself in. As the door closed behind him, he flipped on the light switch and looked around the room. A cockroach skittered across the floor in front of him, disappearing into a crack in the wall. There was a small refrigerator in the corner under a sink that didn’t drip too badly, and a microwave on the counter. A single bed that looked like it might support his weight, a night stand and a chair filled most of the room. A tiny desk with an even tinier television sat against the far wall. As he took off his hat and tossed it onto the bed, the man chuckled.

“All the fuckin’ comforts of home, William old fella. All the comforts of home.”