The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Musical

by Pan

“Come on,” Sandy whined, stamping her foot. “You know I have to practice!”

Her older brother Rod stood above her, a smug look on his face.

“Dude,” he said laconically, holding the flute in his hand. “You’re eighteen years old. Why the fuck are you still practicing every day?”

“Because,” his sister replied haughtily—or, at least, as haughtily as she could while jumping up and down and trying to grab her flute back, “I’m musical. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Okay…” he said, and Sandy stepped back. Where had her flute gone? “If you can find it, I’ll let you practice.”

Sandy looked around the room. He hadn’t thrown it anywhere—had he? No, she would have heard that. He hadn’t dropped it—the carpeted floor around them was clear. He must have hidden it somewhere on his person somewhere, and it didn’t take her long to work out where it had gone.

“Ah ha!” she cried out, kneeling in front of her brother triumphantly. She could see the flute bulging in the front of his pants. Undoing his fly, she quickly pulled it out. For a moment, her eyebrows furrowed—something about it didn’t seem quite right. Was it normally this thick? And warm?

“Put it together,” her brother said, and she regained her focus. Right. It was very important that the flute was put together carefully, so that it wasn’t damaged in the process. She grasped it carefully with both hands, and lightly began running her hands up and down the delicate instrument, refamiliarizing herself with its smooth length.

After a few minutes, Sandy was confident that she wasn’t going to cause any damage, and she tightened her grasp slightly.

“Oh!” her brother cried out, and she looked up at him smugly. He’d thought he was sooooo clever, hiding her favorite instrument like that, but she’d shown him. In a fit of pique, Sandy stuck out her tongue. He didn’t seem to have noticed, so she kept it out as her hands continued to gently twist and caress her flute into place.

After a few minutes, the assembly was mostly complete. It didn’t normally take this long, but her eyes never left her brother’s face—she knew that if she glanced down at the flute, she could have it done in seconds, but she was confident in her ability to put it together blind, and so she continued looking up at him, her tongue extended, her eyes fierce.

Finally, Rod glanced down at his sister, a manic grin on his face.

“Watch out,” he said arrogantly, and before Sandy could work out what he meant, her flute began jerking and twitching in her hands, expelling a thick liquid which landed directly on her face.

One spurt hit her in the eye, but the rest landed squarely on her tongue, and before she could even process what was happening, she’d swallowed it down, spluttering and coughing in shock.

“Damn it!” she said, her hands never leaving her treacherous flute.

“That’s what happens when you over-oil a flute,” Rod jeered, and Sandy’s eyes narrowed. She never over-oiled her flute; she took meticulous care of the instrument.

He must have added some oil to it when she was still searching the house for it.

She sure hoped it was non-toxic.

“You’re a dick,” she said, rolling her eyes. Well, eye. She kept the other one shut, to stop the rapidly-drying flute-oil from getting in. She couldn’t wait until her daily practice was done, so she could go and wash it off her face—Sandy knew she must look a mess.

“Time to play?” he said, and she was forced to agree. The oil must have been what made assembling the flute so hard, and so it took a few more minutes to finish putting it together. Once it was rigid in her hands again, she knew it was ready to go.

Rod sat down on the couch to watch her play, and Sandy crawled forward so that she was right in front of him, still on her knees. Once he was comfortable, arms behind his head and an arrogant look on his face, she moved her lips to the thick instrument and began to practice her craft.

Perhaps it was the audience, perhaps it was the emotions surging through her body (anger, mostly) or perhaps she was just in the right mood, but Sandy couldn’t ever remember playing better. Her hands travelled up and down the body of her flute, manipulating the buttons so expertly it was as if they weren’t even there, while her talented tongue worked on the head.

Again, she found herself looking up at her brother while she worked. At first he’d seemed bored and distracted, but the longer she played, the more excited he seemed to get. Finally, as she reached the climax of the song, he leaned forward and grabbed her hair.

“Play!” he grunted, and she closed her other eye to enjoy the taste of the music on her tongue. “Harder!”

Rod’s entire body twitched with excitement as Sandy enjoyed the music. Just as it flowed from her into the instrument, it seemed to flow right back from the instrument into her mouth, and she swallowed it down hungrily.

Her hands continued to pump the flute, eager to get more music out of it, but it quickly became clear that both her and the flute were spent, and she sat back, exhausted.

“Wow,” her brother said, and Sandy couldn’t help but grin proudly in response.

“Thanks,” she said shyly.

“I can’t wait to see you perform,” he said. “What are you going to be wearing?”

Sandy cocked her head to the side. What an odd question. Still, after he’d sat through her practicing, who was she to deny him?

“Let me show you,” she said, slipping off her top, and reaching behind her to unzip her skirt.

“I can’t wait,” Rod said with a grin.