The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I woke up in a strange bed in the arms of Messalina Jones, and felt truly content. The desert sun had not yet risen, and the frigidity of the night had left us shuffling in our sleep for the warmth of covers and each other’s bodies.

I looked at the brown-pink palm blooming at the end of her highly muscled arm. Her fingers were long and firm, and she was lightly callused in the pads and the base of each strong finger. They were the sort of hands that could lift and hold someone pressed up against a wall, or stroke music out of the strings of a cello. They were the hands of a person who worked with everything she had. As a child she’d spent countless hours milking cows, pulling and squeezing teats, and I had no doubt that called upon, they could do so again.

She felt my stirring, and climbed up from dreams, pressing her hips against my ass, warming my cheeks, a hug. And then a lapse back into dozing for the two of us.

The orange desert light gradually crept into the room, and I slid myself from her arms to use the bathroom. Peeing, I organized the slight shreds of my dreams and gradually let myself shiver with the joy of realization that I had no plans. Today I was in the very capable hands of Ms. Jones. Whatever she set forth, I would slide into with thankfulness and joy.

I washed my hands, and she pushed her way past me and settled on the pot. She turned her face up for a kiss, and I planted one lightly on her dark-brown lips. “Morning, darling,” I said.

“So I noticed,” she grunted. “Back to bed, you. More sleep.”

For an hour or so we spoon-snuggled, my arm under her neck, a hand around her uppermost tit, and my cock hardening or relaxing between her firm ass cheeks when I woke enough to remember where I was.

Eventually she turned to face me, and I snuggled down against her firm breasts, admiring the darkness of her skin, laying my cock between her legs. My hand stroked her incredibly hard ass and thighs.

“Hard night?” I asked.

“Debauchery,” she replied. And then you two banging on my door, when? About 4:30?”

“Mmm,” I replied. “Sorry. We’d been on the road for hours.” We kissed and kissed. Eventually our tongues touched, then back to lips. “More sleep?” I asked.

“No. No, I’m fine.” She turned flat onto her back and stretched. Her lovely, long dark body arched up and she crackled life into her frame. Her hair was a thick black stormcloud of an afro caught on the peak of her head,covering the tops of her ears. She had strong shoulders, strong as any linebacker, and highly defined arms. Her breasts were almost all pectoral muscle, surmounted by small, black nipples. Her abs had the sort of definition you only see in comic books. The muscles of her legs were shocking in their size and power, and if you saw her in a swimsuit you would stare at their definition, you would fantasize about them wrapping themselves around you. It was only the more shocking blackness and thickness of her bush that you could see when she was naked that could make you forget those legs.

And what could be more shocking than the unalloyed beauty of her immense, powerful body? When she looked at you with those shining deep brown eyes, you saw a spirit that said, “I am here.” They said, “I am the strength of the world, and I will not be moved if I don’t want to be.” They said, “My heart reaches down into depths that would press you flat--heights so far above you, you would die of oxygen deprivation.”

I was able to work with her to sculpt a body to match her needs. But her heart held desires beyond even my skills.

This is Ms. Messalina Jones.

Her name, too, was sculpted to her needs.

My skin is naturally the off-pink with a tinge of olive we call “white.” Hers was the dark chocolate we call “black.” Would it excite you to hear of our having sex as a power struggle? Where she presses me down upon my back, and straddles me, forcing my hands up and out as she rides me hard, crushing my hips with her African desire? Or where I force her face into the pillows, my even stronger manly arms holding her in a full-nelson hold, hands pulling at great amounts of her black hair, fucking her from behind until she stops struggling, her intelligence overwhelmed by the great pleasure I force into her, over and over?

Dream on. The great range of textures of skin have nothing to do with pigment. That hers was soft and velvety had nothing to do with color. That her fingers on my cock were strong and delicate had more to do with dexterity. When they shivered and held my length, it had more to do with my stroking her wetness than anything else.

The muscles of her legs were hard and smooth, with only the slightest give. The dark shadows of definition were black on brown. My fingers stroked her labia open, swirling the warmth of her wetness from out of the depths of her pussy and up along the sides of her clitoris. As the hood of her clit began to open, and the light pink nub began to swell, she stroked the first few drops of pre-cum onto the head of my cock.

“Come up for a moment,” she whispered huskily. I maneuvered my hands so that I could continue to stroke my fingers into her, as I moved up towards her mouth. She moved her head, and with her afro tickling my leg she began to suck in the first couple of inches of my cock. In the cool air her mouth was a retreat of warmth, and her tongue swirled over it like a bath.

I ran my index and middle finger on each side of her clit, opening her lips further before sliding the two fingers in and out. In, buried deep, out, stroking her clitoris. My cock went in, swish, and out. It was a beautiful sight, my thick, white, lightly-blue-veined cock sliding in, delving in between those large, dark, thick lips. And my fingers burrowing into her darkness. And both of us mining up thick, flowing veins of pleasure.

When I lay upon her, and my cock finally slid into her, we lost all sight, all sense, of anything but the hard press of one body against another, the sense of burial, the sense of filling, the sense of rightness and beauty and flesh.

“Oh, yeah,” she moaned, “Get that into me.”

We ground our crotches together, pressing farther into her, pulled into her hard by her legs wrapped around me. She held me tightly, groaning in mounting pleasure, her arms like steel bands around my shoulders, my back, my hands dug into her shoulder-blades.

We grunted hard. “Uhh,” she whispered in my ear, “A man--I can’t--break.”

“Do your worst. I can take it” I grumbled like thunder back in her ear.

I pushed back equally hard, my body filling with hot blood and muscle, giving her resistance to match her increasingly hard clutching. I was prepared for the pressure of her cunt as she came, and I came as strongly as she did, filling her wetly against the desperate eager press of her vaginal muscles. I sprayed my hot cum into her, spraying up against her whole muscled existence spasming hard against me to press me out.

“Oh, yeah!” I shouted. It felt like I shouted. I probably groaned weakly.

Messalina lay back, puny as a kitten. After a moment she snuggled up against me, balling herself in my arms. “In a few minutes I’m going to want it again.”

I grunted.

“No, just hold me for now. But then I’ll go down. I want one of your bounce-out-of-bed specials.”

I held her close as we purred on each other. I stayed turgid, letting my body brew the concoction she’d be drinking in a while.

This is one of those things I worked out a few years ago on a particularly dull weekend. I drank several gallons of odd chemical concoctions over the course of the day and focused on using my body to organize long chains of molecules into the ultimate pick-me-up. I had a couple of helpers, Gwen and Beth, who were biochemists for Bayer labs. Gwen was a little dark-haired mousey thing with speciality in caffeine molecules, and a solid capacity for drinking large quantities of my hot, sticky cum. Beth, a plump Jewish woman, helped me focus on the neurological binding aspects and the flavor, taking sips from Gwen’s mouth, dipping her tongue in. We rented a hotel suite in the city with a fantastic view, filled it with EEGs and mass spectrographs and room service food--it made for a fantastically great party on some otherwise rainy days. I’ve worked on the formula over the years, and can generate something with a better kick than caffeine, totally non-addictive, pleasant tasting, freshens your breath, and kills the germs that can cause plaque and gingivitis.

Aster a while, Messalina went down on me, sucking me clean of our juices, hardening me up for another big orgasm. “Slow down, tiger,” I suggested.

“Can’t. We’ve got a busy day.” Slurp, suck. “And I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“Well, here’s one for you.” And I came in her mouth.

She clamped down around my cock, drinking all I had to give her, sucking me out as my balls emptied into her warm mouth. Damn that felt good!

“ Mmmm. What is that flavor? Buttery, fatty. Still some semen-y tang, Macadamia?”

“Go again.”

She suckled again, and again I filled her mouth.

“Mmph! Oh, yum! Chocolate covered macadamia!”

“For my big chocolate covered nut.”

She bounded out of bed, and leapt up touching the roof. “Hoo! I feel great! No wonder that Russki whoore of yours can drive all night. I could lick a hundred tigers!”

“Jeez! If I could ever get you girls to say a civil word about each other.”

“If you wanted it we would,” she purred, stretching her long dark legs into the splits, pressing her soaking pussy onto the bed.. “I think you like us all to be bit possessive. It makes you feel special.”

“I am special.”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s an affirmation for you that we want to fight over you. It must make you feel special. Here’re all of these beautiful women, and each one wants to own you for herself.” She swooped down to kiss my chest. “Each one wants this for herself. I mean, not that I’d ever get into a cat fight, or anything stupid. But all of us who are the special ones, we each wish you were ours.”

I held her face gently, staring into those deep eyes. “Messalina, I call you darling because you are dear to me. Do you love me?”

She nodded.

I kissed her gently. “And I love you too. You have strength I’ll never see in myself. You have compassionate depths I cannot plumb. What else can I do with a hurricane like you but love you? But everyone special to me also has something strange and wild and wonderful inside of them. I love each of you differently.”

“That’s what you say to children. Is that what we are to you?”

I was unsure what to say. Messalina was as much a trusted business associate as a lover. But was my love for her, for all my Special Darlings, a bit condescending, like it would be for a child?

I shared the thoughts that made me hesitate with her. “I’ve been loved by children,” I explained. “By my nieces. It’s very pure. I think my love for them is also very pure; it’s not tied up with the lust, or rather, the sexuality you and I share.

“But I think you may be right in one way. There can be a bit of the ‘bulk rate’ in it. My mother was one of eight children. I’ve been around family gatherings with multiple children in a household, and there doesn’t seem to be time to think. With eight, you must have to handle them as a herd. Anyway apart from our occasional corporate level orgies, and the staffs at the home office or campus, it’s not like you’re all underfoot with each other. Plus, I mean, you’re all adults, and professionals at that.

“It’s been my dream come true, to surround myself with beautiful, competent women, and then to have sex an open option at every single turn. Do people who work side-by-side for years love each other? I remember the song from ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ when Tevye asks Golde if she loves him after they’ve been married for many years. They suppose they do. We have so much more than that.

“And you know, anyone who works for me is free to explore love on their own.”

She smiled at me, with more shyness than I’ve ever seen on her.

“Have you met someone, darling?”

“Let’s shower and get ready,” she changed the subject.

With the steam swirling up all around us, and the warm torrents of water running down our bodies, she held me close. “I don’t ever want to lose this,” she said. “These special moments of just you and me.”

“We won’t,” I assured her, soaping up her back. “If you move to Zanzibar with the King of Botswana, You’ll always be here in my heart. And we can always have time together. That’s one of the great things I can do. There’s no guilt. Just love. And that’s never wrong.”

I soaped up between her legs, and she grabbed by cock with her slippery hand. I ran my hands over her hard breasts and under her arms, pulling her close. We kissed and our tongues danced. I turned her around facing the tiled wall, and we still kissed as water ran down our faces.

I spread her legs and stroked her wet pussy, sliding my soap-slippery fingers deep inside of her, then withdrew, and repeated the procedure between her ass cheeks, stroking her tight little bunghole. She put her arms over her head, held the wall, and grunted at me. “Yess. Hard. I want it hard. Give it to me back there. Give it all to me. Now.”

I pressed my slippery hard cock against her asshole, and continued to soap the surfaces where we touched. I pushed against her as she braced herself against the wall and pressed back. Slowly I slid my hard length into her incredibly tight black, muscled ass. It was exceedingly tight, and we slid it barely by millimeters. I grunted in tight pleasure, as she groaned and bit her lip. “Fi—fill my cunt with something.”

I plunged my fingers into her wet-sloppy cunt, and pinched her clit. We were grunting and straining as my cock slid barely in and out of her ass. My other hand reached up for her breasts, and I fondled them and tugged at the nipples to her great delight. I kissed her neck, then opened my mouth and pressed my teeth down onto her velvety wet nape. She came in my arms as I felt the swelling in my balls, and I filled her ass with a strong explosion of my cum.

We gasped, gradually disentangled our bodies, and finished washing each other off. I rimmed her ass with my cleaning fingers, feeling the sticky drip of my cum coagulate as I cleaned her.

“Come stay with me,” she whispered like a poem she had memorized, “and we will travel the world having adventures. Righting wrongs and delivering justice. I would throw everything else away to be with you.”

“We can’t,” I apologized.

“I know,” she said. “And that’s the tragedy of our love.”

There was a lovely view of the desert outside her wall-long picture window. beyond the garden lay an expanse of red rock and scrub. I could see a long-legged jackrabbit nibbling timidly at a tuft of grass.

We were towelled off, and the last remaining dampness evaporated in the dry air. “So, what’s first on your agenda for today. You did mention a surprise.”

“Well, this isn’t supposed to be the surprise, but it may be. I was hoping to get your help dealing with-- Well, I’ve had to use her for a cook. She’s improved quite a bit—”

I gave Messalina a questioning look, then the possibility fell into place.

“Megan,” she said.

Outside, I saw a dark shape drop from the sky onto the jackrabbit. A large hawk tore the rabbit apart.

“Megan.”

Messalina walked over to the wall and pressed two buttons on the intercom.. “Megan, we’re going to be coming down now. How are you feeling? Are you nervous?”

I heard the voice come back the the wall grille, that sweet contralto that certainly made me nervous.

“I--I have to try this sometime. Please, let’s get it over.”

Messalina gave me a look. She mouthed “say something.”

“Hello, Megan,” I said. “I’ll see you in a moment. If it makes any difference to you, I’ve got butterflies in my stomach.”

She giggled, a little too hard. “I’m ready, Ma-- I’m ready sir.”

I toggled off the intercom, and glanced over at my beautiful black host. “It sounds like we better dress before we go down.”

“It can’t hurt,” she replied. she pulled a shimmering, silky one-piece caftan of gold and scarlet over her head and secured it with a sash.

I found a sky blue polo shirt and some dark green, mid-thigh shorts in a drawer she indicated were my clothes. And damn it if the pants in the drawer weren’t cut so that my genitals would hang right out, with only a modesty panel in front. And why not? It’s not as if I even needed to protect myself from weather, sun, or prying eyes. I wore clothes mostly out of love for fashion and habit.

But with Megan here, it would have been best to hide myself, not give her easy access. A pang of guilt stabbed at me.

Downstairs, as we stepped into the dining room adjoining the kitchen I caught my first sight of her in years, standing behind the central cooking island. Her hands were resting notably on the light-green corian counter surface, held firmly in place. She had barely changed. The same short-cropped blonde hair, the same thin body, the same overly large breasts, the same thin lips, the same sparkling green eyes, that flashed aflame when they saw me. The eyes that glittered hard. I could see her tremor visibly when she saw me. Damn! After a moment she pulled her eyes towards Messalina.

“Ma’am, s-sir, breakfast is on the table. If you’d like to sit, I’ll have coffee for you in a moment.”

The was a pile of pastries on the table. More than enough for the French army: Eclairs, cream puffs, napoleons, bismarcks, even a small pyramid of a croque-em-bouche.

I watched her nervous, puttering movements. I could almost hear her gears grinding apart. But Messalina felt Megan was strong enough to try being in my presence, and I followed her lead.

Megan still looked as if she was in her mid-twenties, though she was my age, a good fifteen-plus years more. Another one of my dubious “gifts.” Where I had let my body look closer to my real age, for distinction, hers stayed young, frozen by my desires, all those years ago.

I’m still ashamed when I look at her. That beautiful young thing, wearing a white chef’s uniform, trembling as she pulled out cups and saucers. She never deserved this.

Many years ago, when I first gained my powers, I went hunting for Megan. And of course I found her. We had worked together, and I had become obsessed with her body. She was thin and proud, and held herself tall with self-confidence. She had high, firm breasts, a bit too big for her thin frame, and an incredibly tight, hard ass crowning her long legs. She was smoker, and never ate, and I was self-consciously overweight.

As I said, I was obsessed with her. I went to bed masturbating over her, and woke up thinking of screwing her in the lunch room. During work, I used to fantasize about having her in my lap, sliding my hands under her shirt, and frenching her for hours. In reality she despised me, and the way I kept staring at her, with undisguised lust.

In retrospect, I know it was not that odd a situation. I was still within my hormonal peak years. I was nowhere near as fat as I saw myself, and she was a nervous kid with her first serious boyfriend. But it doesn’t take much to make dear friends or life-long enemies when you’re co-workers. Very quickly we snarled at each other in the halls, I wishing to humiliate her sexually, she wishing to drive a spike through my heart.

When I became empowered, I stupidly sought her out. I found her dancing at a dark bar with a new boyfriend, his hands on her ass as they drunkenly ground to the music. I glared at her in delight, teeth bared, the absolute wolf. As the song collapsed to an end I approached them, my charm field at maximum.

“Hello,” I lilted. “Megan. Fancy meeting you.” and “Hello,” to the guy.

“Jesus! Look at you. Ben, this is a guy I used to work with.” What were the emotions going on? Surprise, disdain, memory? All fuzzed over with scotch.

“Ben, is it?“ I asked. “Go get us some drinks.” I gave him a twenty. “Megan and I are going to catch up. Come join us.”

At a quiet table away from the music I held her hand. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Not long enough. Look I’m heading out as soon as Ben comes back.” She fished out a cigarette and lit it.

I stared into her muzzy green eyes. “No. When he comes here, you get to talk.” I fished the cigarette from her lips and crushed it out. When Ben returned, I was pressing her to me, kissing her. She tasted horrible, like old smoke. I let her struggle and break free.

“Oh, man,” he said. “I’m sorry. Megan if this is an old boyfriend. . .”

“Tell him who I am,” I told her. “Don’t hold back.”

“This creep used to work with me. He’s a slimy-- slimy--creep. Every time he looked at me I felt dirty. Like I had to go wash. Ugh.”

“Well, don’t worry, sweetie,” I explained. “You won’t feel that way tomorrow. Ben, are you two living together?”

“Yeah, Last few months.”

I wrote my address on a piece of paper. “Here’s where she’s going to be living now. I want you to box up all of her clothes and things and bring them by late next week. She won’t need any clothes until then. I’m going to keep her naked.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t you want to know why I’m doing this? Taking her away?”

“Hell, yes. I love her. I’m going to miss her.”

“Well, I’m sorry about that. If it’s any help, you’ll forget about her after your bring her stuff by.”

Megan watched our exchange in horror, but I wouldn’t let her say anything until now. “Ben!” She squeaked, “What are you saying?”

“I’m sorry, Meg, but he’s the boss. If he says he’s taking you. . .”

“Ben, for being so understanding, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with her. I’m making her the first in my line of full-time--well, there’s no delicate way of saying it--cum-slaves. This bitch is going to spend all of her time obsessing about sucking me. Her future is one where she wakes up licking her lips looking for her first taste of my sperm, and begging me to fuck her mouth.”

I looked over at her, shaking in fear. I held her so she couldn’t move, and stared into her eyes. “What do you think, you bitch? Crawling around behind me, begging for me to take you. Licking out every girl I fuck in order to slake your thirst for my cum? Pretty hot isn’t it?”

She held my eyes, unable to stare away. “Ben?” she pleaded.

“Megan, stand up and remove your pants. bend over the table. Ben, I’ll let her give you a final blowjob for a farewell. Megan, you may suck him off.”

“Yes,” she whimpered, bending over the table so her naked ass was before me. It was a perfect white, round ass, and as she spread her legs open to lower herself down to the table, her moist blonde pussy lay dripping before me.

“Yes, master,” I prompted her, and slid my thumb into her wet vagina, my finger along her hardening clit.

“Oohhh,” she groaned, helpless to my overpowering will. Ben’s cock had been in her mouth, and she removed it long enough to moan in that sweet, high, sexy voice, “Ye--yess. Master.”

“You are my cum-slave.”

Suck. Remove. “Yes master.”

“All you care about is pleasing me, and tasting my cum.”

Slurp. “Yes master.”

“Ben you may come, and then go.” He came in her mouth, zipped, and then left without looking back.

I stroked her to a frenzy, then took his place at her mouth. Her pussy gaped open damply around the other side of the table. Other people in the bar chuckled audibly at her state as they noticed her. “That was the last time you will taste another man, unless I bid it. The next taste you have will be me. The taste of my cum will fill all of your senses. It will set you on fire. You will have the longest orgasm you’ve ever had. You will do anything I tell you to taste it again. And when you can’t have my cum, you will think about it. You will suck me if you can, and beg to be fucked if you can’t. I own you and you are mine, forever, you bitch. You whore.”

I was holding her hair as she desperately sucked at me, moaning and shrieking around my cock. Her legs were clenching in desire. I felt a wave of power as my orgasm approached and I burned my instructions into her brain as I came, wave after wave of jism shooting out of my cock and into her mouth. I filled hr mouth and her nasal cavity. My cum was dripping out her nose, before I allowed her to swallow down the waves.

She bucked and shuddered as she came, her stomach slapping the table, each squirt sending her into new waves of ecstasy. When I finished she fell off the table and curled into a ball on the floor. I looked down at her with contempt.

Gradually she got to her hands and knees. She raised her eyes to the level of my cock, and whispered, “More. Please. Master?”

A drop of leftover cum and saliva dripped off the end of my cock, and she licked the filthy floor where it landed. I felt an intensely evil glee. She was mine!

The beeping of the microwave brought me back to the moment. Megan pointedly ignored it, and brought the coffee service out, pouring for us. We were silent, lost in thought.

Messalina broke the silence. “Megan’s made incredible improvement. She’s not out in public yet, but she’s been able to watch movies and tv shows with men in them. She’s moved well beyond still pictures and books. And what a cook! She does amazing things with yogurt.”

The microwave beeped again. “Do you want to get that?“ Messalina asked.

Megan looked at her shoes.

Messalina was more pointed. “Dear? What’s in the microwave?”

Megan shamefacedly removed a large cucumber, and broke down. “I thought I could get myself off quickly before you came down. God, I’m such a mess,” she sobbed.

In the months after I made her my slave, she had wandered naked throughout the house, sucking me off whenever I wanted. It wasn’t breakfast for either of us without her swallowing a good load of my cum, and then eating out whatever woman had been my sex partner overnight. When we went out in public she wore a trenchcoat with the collar turned up over the dog-collar she wore, along with the tube-top and thin cotton shorts. If I sat at a table at a restaurant, she lapped at me during dinner. Any movie I took her to, she spent the entire time with her head buried in my lap, her wet mouth suckling on my length.

She stopped talking except to reply, “Yes Master,” to direct inquiries. Eventually she could only go to sleep with my cock in her mouth. And then I’d wake up in the middle of the night with her grunting and sucking furiously. Needless to say this put a cramp in my “dating” or getting regular sleep.

I made her sleep in an oversized dog basket at the foot of the bed, She had caught a terrible cold, but said night clothes were too good for her. I convinced her to cover herself with a blanket. I wrapped a pair of my old underwear around a blue jelly dildo, and she slept sucking that. As I learned more about manipulating bodies, I had to keep re-aligning her jaws. Even a bitch like Megan didn’t deserve this.

One winter’s day, cold and cranky, I walked in kissing an exceedingly dim little redhead I’d met passing by. Immediately Megan bounded down the stairs, and began nuzzling at my crotch. “Christ!” I yelled. “Just stop this! Go away. Leave me alone!”

With abject terror in her dull green eyes, she bolted. I heard the front door slam, and saw her run naked out into the cold fog. “Fuck.” I yelled. Good riddance. And swung the girl into my arms. As I stared at the young thing sighing in anticipation of the sex to come, I got a hold of myself.

“Come on, let’s go find her.” I gathered Megan’s coat and collar. “Her name’s Megan.

“She’s one big dog,” The airhead announced.

We found her shivering naked in the entryway of a little fourplex. her long body huddled up against the pink stone wall. “I’m terrible,” her teeth chattered. “I should just die.”

“No, come on sweetie,” I coaxed her.

“No! I was terrible. I was mean and evil to you, and you were good enough to let me become your slave, and even then I wasn’t good enough! I just couldn’t help myself. I only wanted to make you happy.”

“I know, dear. now come on. Let’s get you inside and warmed up.”

She shook her head, and shivered and cried.

“Come on. I’ll-- I’ll let you have a drink.” I unzipped, and the sound made her open her eyes. Fuck, it was cold!

She struggled down the stairs, and the redhead and I got her home under a blanket, staggering along.

“I just can’t help myself,” Megan sobbed.

At home I built a big fire while the redhead made us hot chocolate and warmed another blanket in the dryer.

Then I sat on the sofa in front of the fire and let her suckle off my cock, the blanket wrapped around her. I stroked her thick, short blonde hair as she swallowed the length of my shaft. Her lips pressed against my pubic bone, happily nuzzling against my pubic hair, as I reached inside her mind.

I had only recently been able to look directly at people’s minds and had only the most rudimentary grasp of the brain’s physical systems back then. But even at this point I could see how badly I had screwed Megan’s mind up. Everywhere I turned I found her scared, frightened, and mentally raw. The only thing that soothed her was the warm wet wave of my semen washing over her, filling her mind.

From experience in inadvertently fucking junkies I recognized the opiate receptors of the brain. Megan’s had been reconfigured radically, so the only pleasure she got from life was her addiction to my sperm. I tried to stroke some of them back into shape, but they twisted into patterns I didn’t understand.

I came down her throat, and tried to watch how she reacted, but it was way to complicated for me. She sighed a sigh of absolute contentment, and fell asleep with me still down her throat. My helper and I got her into bed and snuggled up on either side to comfort her.

Over the years I’ve worked to make her better, and with the help of neurologists I’d been able to get her obsession away from me exclusively. She spent a few years shuttling back and forth from various decent men I’d known as a pet to them. But after a while, ranging from months to a couple of years, they all got tired of having her fall to her knees drooling whenever she saw them.

Eventually, when Messalina set up her crew, Megan was transferred out to this amazon compound where she had managed to be fairly well self-contained. Occasionally I’d get word of her tackling and trying to eat out some girl who had just come home with a full vagina. But I’d been told she’d been doing well, and that therapy and neural blockers had been helping.

“This is a mistake,” I said to Messalina, gently.

“I think we could handle it,” she replied, hope in her voice. Messalina is a very hopeful person. Considering all she deals with, she has to be.

Megan stepped back around the island and approached me, staring at me. “I— I can do this. Ma’am. Please let me try. Please, mast-- Please?” And then she said my real name. I hadn’t heard her say it in years.

I stood, and held out my arms. She walked stiffly over, and melted into me. “You’re very strong,” I told her. “And I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

She snuggled in close, breathing deep breaths. “I wasn’t really a bad person, was I?”

“No.” I held her. “It was me. I was evil. What I did to you was evil.” I held her face and looked at her. I found tears coming, and let them. “Megan--Megan I. . . I murdered you. Your body’s still here, but the person who you were--I don’t know if you can grasp that. If there’s enough of your old memories of me to know how wrong I was. . . . You didn’t do anything except act like any person would to a--a creep. It was just your bad luck that I became a super-powered creep.

“Are you-- are you far enough along to realize it was me?”

She shook her head, no. “I still want it,” she said. “Every part of me still wants to go to my knees, wants open my mouth to worship you, to serve you as a living god. I know it’s not true, rationally. But I want that.”

I felt my cock twitch, but withdrew every drop of blood from it I could. I was going to be strong for her. I owed her too much for ruining her life.

I looked over at Messalina. “Will you sit with me? I want to explore her a bit more. My skills have grown considerably since I last saw her. Maybe I have something new.”

We three sat on the sofa, and I kept Megan’s hands from straying downwards against her will. Messalina hugged her firmly for me, and I stared into Megan’s bright green eyes.

The first thing I felt, sliding into her mind, was her devotion towards me. Still, after all of these years. I could feel the overlays and depths where she allowed herself to be with other men, first as an animal rooting for semen, then as a person again. I could feel the depths of her skills that she had been building up, socially, and as a cook.

Sliding deeper I found her older memories, from when we had worked together. Here were the places where we saw each other, here was her revulsion towards me back then--it still existed---but here was where I had twisted her revulsion towards me into revulsion against herself. I had looped things back onto themselves so that every time she thought about me, she hated herself for once hating me.

I tried to unloop the self hatred, and felt the coils loosen. I tried to give her a straighter picture of what had happened those years ago in the bar, and let her use them to see I was wrong. If she could ever forgive me, that would have to come later.

Physically things were still fucked up. I recognized how she had been using different brain centers to process pleasure than a normal person would. Her endorphin system had atrophied in places. And the neural blocking chemicals had held open some chemical receptors far too long.

I knew part of what I had to do. I built up a string of complicated amino acids that would reshape a number of receptors on the cellular level, and processed them in my main cellular replication factory--my testes.

“Let her go,” I told Messalina, and still in Megan’s mind, holding her psyche warm and close, I felt her body slide off the sofa, and her mouth open to swallow my hardening penis once again.

I heard Messalina’s voice from far off. “You know what you’re doing...”

“Hair of the dog,” I replied, feebly.

Megan slid her mouth up and down the length of the shaft, kissing the head. She was fulfilled on so many levels, back to once again sucking on my hard cock, back to being a body at my disposal, back to being my cum-slave. She was warm inside and overjoyed, but I held her head up inside her mind, so she wouldn’t be drowned. “You were this once, but are now so much more,” I whispered inside her head. “You are greater, and stronger and fuller.”

“Yes,” she whispered around the head of my penis, kissing it, stroking it. “But I still love it.”

“That’s good. But don’t lose yourself.”

She capped the head a split-second before I came, swallowing it down, revelling in the taste, but now swimming for herself on the waves. The chemicals penetrated interior membranes, and migrated towards her brain. I focused them where they needed to go, restructuring atrophied sections, re-forming others. She wasn’t wholly normal, but gradually I could feel her brain reforming. the first steps on the long way toward physical normality.

She slid her mouth off of me, and licked the saliva off her lips. She was terribly groggy, and Messalina and I wrestled her onto the sofa, where she lay, like Snow White in the coffin, barely breathing. Messalina arranged Megan’s hands below her breasts, peaceful, like supplication. I put my lips to her ear and whispered my love. “I hope one day you can come to forgive me.” And gently kissed her forehead.

Kara strode into the room, yawning, naked as a skinned rabbit, and glanced over at our tableau. She grabbed an eclair and took a big bite, catching the cream off the end onto her finger.

“I miss something?” She asked. “Who is unconscious bint?”

“A woman I ruined.”

“Well, that makes a few hundred of us, hey, blackie?” She tapped Messalina. “So is this breakfast? I’m starving.”