The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There was a man sitting on a tree stump of an odd forest. It was hard to tell the age of the man since his features were mostly masked with eccentric clothing. His eyes were masked with bottle lens glasses and his head was fit with an oversized top hat. A tattered patchwork of a coat fell around him circling the stump where he sat. And in his lap sat an enormous book which he read from with a wide grin.

“Oh sad life of a Storyteller without an audience to tell. And what stories are there to tell in our strange land? Oh sad Storyteller in a land without epochs. Rhyme and Reason have fled our lands and even Chaos is absent. How can there be a story in world where reality bends more often then the weather changes?”

The strange man moved his hand over the book’s pages which were all blank.

“A Storyteller needs heroes to face challenges and adversity. But what is a Storyteller to do in a world without stories?”

The man then looked up at the purple skies as a school of fish swam by. A band of kittens with spears were surfing after them. His smile widened to almost impossible width.

“If there are no stories, then a Storyteller must go in search of them,” he said “Yes. This world must have stories. And I must hunt them”

Dylan sat on the couch on another rainy day. He was bored and broke. Meaning he couldn’t make any purchases like booze or a movie ticket. He was also stuck inside listening to the continuous patterning of raindrop of the roof of his apartment.

He hated being poor but even more he hated being bored. His job was a bit of a buzzkill, but at least he had a roof over his head. Still he couldn’t even afford a TV or a computer to watch something. It was the middle of the day but he was finding himself drifting to sleep from sheer boredom.

But then something weird happened. A flash of lightning hit his window. The startled young man freaked out trying to figure out what happened. The window flashed with various colors and various waves of light.

He covered his eyes trying to see what was going on when he suddenly felt something grab him by the shirt and pull him into the light. And then he was falling. And Falling. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t landed on the apartment floor, but then he realized he couldn’t see the apartment at all. Everywhere he looked around there was light.

The finally he saw something other than light and he then saw land and then he soon felt land with a loud thud.

“Huh?” said Dylan looking around. He realized it had been raining but now it was bright and sunny. But a cursory glance, he saw that so much of things were wrong. The sky was purple, the grass was pink. A row of nearby trees were a bright florescent yellow with blue designs carved in.

“Where was he? He had no idea. He questioned if he was dreaming, but it felt too real.”

“Wait what?” Dylan asked outloud. He had just was about to think that.

“He even wondered if he had possibly died, but he was very much alive and this was no concept of heaven he was aware of.”

“Hey you! How do you know what I’m thinking?” Dylan asked.

A strange mysterious man in bottle lense glasses looked up from. He had been reading from an old looking book. Dylan could see long brown hair kept unkempt underneath a mad hatter looking hat.

“Was he in Wonderland? Dylan wondered.”

“How do you do that? I was justing wondering that,” Dylan said looking at the strange man.

“Um excuse me,” said the weird man. “I’m trying to narrate.”

“What?” Dylan said. “You’re narrating me?”

“Of course I’m the Storyteller,” said the Storyteller.

“But why are you reading my mind? That isn’t a story,” Dylan tried to understand not fulling understanding the cloaked man.

The Storyteller sighed, pinching his nose by the bridge of his glasses. “I’m not reading your mind. I’m reading this story,” he said raising the book.

Dylan looked at the oversized book with leathered pages. There was a picture of Dylan laying on his couch and then another picture of him waking in the weird field. Sure enough his thoughts were shared within the pages.

But the page looked only half filled. The last phrase as it was “Was he in Wonderland? Dylan wondered.” Dylan saw no pen on the Storyteller. Dylan wrinkled his brow trying to grasp what was going on. Maybe he was in Wonderland. None of this made any sense.

The Storyteller gave another sigh. “The story won’t continue if you keep talking to me,” he explained. “The more we talk the more we put the story on hold. Can you move along and just ignore me?”

“Dude none of this makes any sense! I have no idea where I am and what is going on!!” Dylan said trying to not freak out and failing epically.

The Storyteller rolled his eyes, well it looked like he did. The glasses were so thick that his eyes were not visible to Dylan.

“Look you are the protagonist of thisstory. I am the story’s narrator. Narrators can’t be part of the story, so the story is at a halt while you’re engaging me,” explained the story teller.

“My god this makes no sense!” Dylan cried out. “If I’m the protagonist what am I supposed to do?

The Storyteller shrugged. “You’re the protagonist, I just read the story. What is it that is driving you?”

“Aren’t you the one writing this shit?” Dylan asked starting to lose his patience.

“That is an author. I just read and narrate,” the Storyteller said. “Listen to keep the story going I’ll help this time. You’re in a strange land and you don’t know where you are. Maybe you should explore a little.”

“Ok that makes sense,” Dylan said. Though he questioned if any of this was making sense.

“Dylan decided it was probably a good idea to explore his surroundings to find out where he might be,” the Storyteller read.

“Dylan’s head was actually spinning trying to figure out what was going on. He flicked himself on the chest and felt the impact. He wasn’t dreaming. It felt too real. But how did he get here?”

“The land seemed so strange from his mundane world that he was used to. The colors didn’t look right. The air didn’t smell normal. He even saw 3 moon hanging in the morning sky; at least he assumed it was morning. There was no sun, but the illumination of the 3 moons made it look as bright as day. One of the moons was green, another red, and other blue.”

“Part of him was scared…”

“I’m not scared!” Dylan interjected.

“Achem,” coughed the Storyteller scowling. “Part of him was scared since he didn’t know where he was.”

“Okay that is true,” Dylan admitted.

The Storyteller gave him a stern look as to say not to interrupt him. Then he went back to reading.

“Dylan decided he should explore the area to better understand where he might be.”

“How would that help me? I’m obviously not on Earth. How would exploring help me find out where I am. This can’t be New Jersey,” Dylan scoffed.

Again the Storyteller gave Dylan a look. “I’m reading the story. This isn’t like I’m giving you suggestions, so let me read so we can move on. Achem, Since this world so strange and unusual to the young man, it made sense to understand his environment. A world with three moons must have other strange things to see.”

“Okay that makes sense. I wonder what else is here?” Dylan said looking. He wasn’t sure what to explore first. EVERYTHING was weird.

“Dylan’s eyes were drawn to the forest of technicolored trees and peculiar plants. He soon started making his way to the woodland.”

“Wait the forest?” Dylan asked the Storyteller. His feet started walking to the thick patch of trees. “Shouldn’t I explore someplace safer. There might be weird animals or something in there that will eat me.”

He tried changing his path but his feet seemed determined to move closer to the forest.

“Dylan heard no animals and thus had no fear of the forest,” read the Storyteller.

‘Yeah,’ thought Dylan, ‘I don’t hear any animals. I should be safe to go into the forest.’

“The young man became more curious as he made his way to the woodland. A few of the trees looked like giant orchids, stemming up from the ground and and bending over to hold up large decorative leaves (or petals). They were every color you could imagine.”

“He came up to one of the strange orchid trees and saw the were aligned with vines that had purple flowers. He bent over to sniff the strange plant.”

“You want me to smell the flowers? That is a little gay,” Dylan laughed. But he followed through the motions “Woah! The smell like chocolate! Dude this is weird.”

“The chocolate smelling flowers made Dylan more curious of what else might be in the forest. He looked around and saw giant mushrooms of various colors. Two or three were as big as a house and one had a square shaped cap. He could see the spores of the large mushrooms floating in the forest. The spores were illuminated, giving off pale lights giving the forest a luminance of a christmas tree.

“Wow! This is amazing,” Dylan whispered to himself.

“Fuzzy vines went up some of the trees. At first he thought they could be a very long caterpillar, but touched them and found them to be extremely soft.”

“Should I be touching weird plants?” Dylan asked the Storyteller as he stroked the fluffy vines. “I mean what if they’re poisonous?”

The Storyteller ignored Dylan and kept reading.

“Dylan also saw a pool of water that seemed to released a spray of large bubbles that hovered in the air. The bubbles soon filled the air with the illuminated spored. His mind filled with wonder and curiosity. Any thoughts of fear or caution he had previously, soon slipped away by his compulsion to explore the forest,” read the Storyteller as he saw Dylan transfixed on the forest landscape.

“The young man took deep breaths filling his lungs with the sweet and fragrant smells of the wildlife. His head became dizzy with excitement. He found himself wanting to touch the strange texture of the plants. One plant spiraled up from the ground like a spring and felt like rubber. Small bulbs the litter the ground had almost a marble feel to them. Another type of plant spun within the air, defying gravity as it floated around. Occasionally the bubbles and spores would dance around the spinning plants. Dylan couldn’t help from smiling and laughing at the whimsical forest.”

Dylan found himself laughing wildly, which seemed to be an exaggerated response to the situation, but he couldn’t help himself. And every time he took a deep breathy of the heady smells his head would get fuzzier, like he was high. Meanwhile the Storyteller sat on a floating stump of a tree following him and reading him the story.

“Dylan then came across another strange plant. It was smaller than a tree but twice his size and looked like a giant gourd. He touched it and it felt almost like a synthetic flesh. The plant then wiggled and jiggled in response to his touch. Dylan laughed some more and soon started using both hands to tickle the large plant. The plant flopped and bounced in a cartoonish manner. The more Dylan tickled the more it danced.”

“Soon though the plant stopped dancing and then a white liquid erupted from the top like a volcano. The white oozy substance splattered across the forest, but a large amount had soaked the young tickler. His clothes and hair were now drenched with the goo.”

“Eww, gross,” Dylan explained. “This is kind of disgusting. Why does it smell like jizz?”

“Dylan removed himself from the ooze of the plant. His clothes were sopping, as were his shoes. It felt uncomfortable to be in the wet clothes. He decided he should take them off to dry.”

“What! You want me to take off my clothes in a weird forest? Dude I’m not going around nude,” Dylan explained. “You can’t make me undress.”

“Dylan figured it would be fine since no one would see him,” read the Storyteller.

“Stop it! The clothes stay on,” Dylan cried out to the Storyteller.

“I’m just reading the story,” the Storyteller responded. “Just undress. No one will see.”

“You’ll see. You’re here!” Dylan said.

“I’m just a narrator, so from the story’s point of view I’m not here,” the Storyteller said nonchalantly. “Would you rather be covered in plant jizz or keep following the story?”

Dylan didn’t understand the reasoning, but found himself undressing. He wasn’t sure when he surrendered to the logic but soon he kicked off his shoes. He had intended to keep on his boxers, but found that he took them off as well. He threw the garments into a puddle of ooze, quickly realizing that was a terrible place to dry something off.

“Once he took off his clothing Dylan felt much more relaxed,” read the Storyteller. “The ground was soft to his bare feet and the warm breeze felt good and his bare skin. Soon a gust of pleasant smelling air ran past him with a parade of light spores and bubble and spinning plants.”

“Dylan looked up and a spinning plant right above him. There was a spiral spring beneath it and he looked transfixed to the dancing plant. He felt more relaxed staring at the spinning plant and the lights of the spores danced with it. Dylan felt like he was hypnotized by the display and felt so calm and relaxed. He couldn’t look away from the lights and spinning plant. The more he stared at the spiralling display the deeper his relaxing feel settled in. The smells of the forest made him feel giddy. The fluffy spores tickled his care skin making him laugh. Bubble bounce off his skin, not breaking and making weird sound effects.”

“He soon started chasing after bubble laughing as he did. He tried to pop them, but the merely bounced off his touch. Dylan was so lost in thought he did not notice that the body hairs starting to fall off. The liquid in the gourd’s cum must have had a strange effect on him. By the time he started climbing up some of the fuzzy vines even his public hair had fallen off. Still he did not notice; he was having too much fun in the forest.”

“Soon Dylan found another bubbling pond. The water seemed warm and inviting. The water also looked strange. It was like a soapy coloring coated the top layer of the pond. Only the color moved around like it was alive. Dylan decided he wanted to take a dip in the warm waters.”

Mentally Dylan was questioning the safety of going into a forest pond. But he he figured he might be able to wash away the sticky gourd juices off himself.

“He figured he could wash away the remnants of the fluids from the weird plant,” read the Storyteller continuously reading his mind. Though his mind was getting hazier for some weird reason.”

“He felt the warm inviting water of his skin. The steam from the bubbling pond lulled him to a mindless state. He felt himself sinking into the pond getting lower and lower. Submerging deeper and deeper.”

Internally Dylan was panicking. His face started to submerge into the water and his muscles weren’t responding to him. He feared he would drown.

“Soon bubble started approaching the young man’s face. Although he had found them impossible to break earlier, they now seemed to intentionally enter his mouth and give him fresh air.”

The voice of the Storyteller was still clear as day despite him being underwater. Dylan felt relief every time he consumed a bubble giving him the air he needed. But is head became more groggier every time he consumed one. The air in the bubble felt weird going into his lungs and a fog of unclear thoughts became heavier in his head.

After a time nothing happened. Dylan stayed in the pool of water and the bubble kept giving him air. But then the Storyteller’s voice returned.

“After some time, Dylan emerged from the waters. He felt refreshed and jovial. The waters had relaxed him so he didn’t have a care in the world.”

Dylan felt himself lift himself from the waters. His long hair clung to the back. Wait? Long hair?

“The young man then noticed changes to his appearance. While he entered with short brown hair he had left the pond with long strands of shimmering pale purple hair. Weird patterns were now on his feet and legs that looks like tattoos of roots and colorful plants growing along the length of his legs. His skin also now had a translucent sheen to it.”

“Dylan looked at himself in the reflection of the pond’s still waters. His muscles had also become more pronounced.”

“How did this happen?” Dylan wondered. He noticed he wasn’t scared. Like he couldn’t get scared even if he tried.

“He realized he loved the new look the forest had given him. He stared at his reflection approvingly and giggled in delight.”

A flighty pitch of laughter came out of Dylan. He could barely recognize his own voice. Still he wasn’t worried. He felt gleeful. He couldn’t think what he was supposed to be concerned about.

“But Dylan did not know that his laughter brought upon him unwanted attention. A fiery colored bush began to shake behind him.

Dylan turned around to see a bush with mostly just branches and vines. The vines were a mixture of orange, yellow and red. Nothing hid within, but then the vines started to move like a snake. Some of the vines were fuzzy and soon started to tickle Dylan.

“Hey stop that,” giggled Dylan.

“Soon the more firmer vines that felt like rubber pulled him closer to the bush. The rubbery red vines seemed to have a weird sap on them and started prodding Dylan in the mouth. He tried to keep him mouth closed to the protruding plant, but the orange vines tickled him until he started laughing out loud. Then the red vine lunged into Dylan’s mouth, inserting it’s sweet syrup to Dylan’s tongue.”

“It tasted delicious, Dylan thought to himself, as he started sucking on the plant’s vines. He barely noticed the yellow vines creeping up his legs. The weird sap had strange effects on Dylan. He suddenly became very horny and his dick sprang to life.”

He was going to be raped by a bush? Dylan didn’t know what to do. He wanted to fight off the bush or even feel an adrenaline rush to fight it off, but he didn’t feel scared at all. He just kept sucking on the vines with the looming plant creeping up his legs.

“He felt giddy and happy to play with the bush. The plant’s nectar tasted delicious on his tongue. Some of the vines began to poke at his virgin hole. Dylan became giddy in anticipation. Perhaps he was drunk on the bush’s sap or maybe it was the changes from the bubbling pool, but whatever the reason Dylan now longed to have his boy hole filled.”

That wasn’t true, Dylan thought to himself. Those weren’t his thoughts. What was going on? He felt the vines begin to poke his hole and he felt his face flush as a low moan came out of his throat. He raised his legs up into the air so the vines could get better access. Dylan’s head was becoming more foggy. His ass suddenly felt so empty. What was happening to him? Why hadn’t the vines filled him yet?

“The vines soon entered his willing hole and soon found a sensitive spot on the young man. His dick began to leak juices from the stimulation. His urge to be taken became stronger. The red vine dropped from his lips as he screamed out in lust.”

“Oh gawd! Yes!” Dylan cried out. His eyes watered and his cheeks were glowing red now.

“Vines began to grope and play with the young man from every direction. They tweaked is now sensitive nipples, and wrapped around his stern dick. The tied up his arms and lifted his legs higher into the air. The thrusting of the vines became more rampant and the young man screamed for more.”

“Yes! Yes! More! Harder! More!” screamed Dylan. His body was now convulsing and quivering from all the attention the plant was giving him.

“The young man now knew he loved having his ass played with. He would now look for ways to keep it filled. But all the attention became too much and his cock exploded. Large amounts of it splattered on the ground, by the plant’s roots, which soon feasted.”

“Having been fed the plant’s vines released the young man, who became disappointed at the abrupt end. He lifted himself from the ground and felt a longing in his now empty hole.”

So empty. Why wouldn’t the bush play with him any more?, Dylan wondered. His thoughts were heavy and mostly now consumed about his longing ass. The taste of the sweet sap was still on his lips and he felt groggy in reason.

“But he was able to find a bulb that felt like marble, but was very flexible from the ground and plugged his needy ass. The bulb occasionally vibrated, stimulating the sensitive spot causing the young man to giggle more.”

So much better, Dylan thought to himself as he giggle gleefully.

“He then began to skip and frolic within the wondrous forest. His mind remain dull and curious of all the amazing things of the forest. But then he noticed he felt hungry. All the playing in the forest had taken a lot out of him. He looked around for something that might bring sustenance.”

Dylan was hungry. He saw some plants that looked like vegetables: carrots, zucchini and possibly potatoes. He tried eating a carrot he plucked from a tree, thinking it was probably weird for carrots to grow off a spiraling tree. He took a bite anyhow. But then his mouth felt hot. Very hot. Like he bit into a pepper.

“Unfamiliar with the vegetation, the young man ate a spicy ghost carrot. His mouth felt like it was on fire. He looked around for something the quench the heat in his mouth. He had wandered too far from the bubbling pond.”

Shit what was he going to do? Dylan wondered. He wanted to stop the sensation of burning. He recalled that milk was supposed to him. But he didn’t have a clue what to do. His head was a muddle of confusing thoughts now. He looked up at the Storyteller with a pleading look as if to ask for help.

“Luckily the young man saw smaller versions on the gourds that had soaked him earlier. He quickly put his mouth on a fair sized gourd and began tickling the plant. He cleverly also used his tongue to also ticked the gourd and ran his mouth up and down the wiggling plant. Again he became aroused by the activity and his dick became hard again.”

“Within do time at all the gourd erupted its milking and musky fluids into his mouth. The young man drank for the gooey liquid. The burning sensation abated as did his hunger. However his sexual hunger was again awaken.”

“The horny young man then started to suck on more gourds to consume more of their musky juices. He loved the sensation of the wamy gooey liquid going down his throat and filling his stomach. Soon the silly, dim man became wasteful and kept stroking the gourds to shoot copious amount of goo onto his nude body.”

“A wicked though then went through his head as he removed the vibrating bulb from his boy hole. He found a decently sized gourd on the ground and inserted it in his hole. He bounced himself vigorously up and down on the gourd, moaning all the while. Again his cheeks flared a rosey color as a joyous look came upon his face; all from having his needy hole filled with another phallic object. After some time the gourd blew its load into the slutty man’s hole. The sensation made him arch his back was his own juices flew high in the air.”

“The man giggle to himself savoring the feeling of the warm goo him his ass. He then felt weary and his eyelids heavy and took a nap on the forest floor.”

A picture of the sleeping nude man with white juices dripping from his mouth, chest, and ass appeared in the Storyteller’s book. The picture matched perfectly to what he infront of him.

The Storyteller smiled. His first story! His world was taking more shape now. But more importantly he had a story to tell. He knew borrowing a protagonist was a good way to start the stories flowing.

He watched the boy sleep as time moved faster for a narrator. He skipped through time to the next portion of the story. A Storyteller only existed to tell stories after all.

“Eventually the young man awoke. Again he was hungry, but now new where to find food. He sucked and fucked on gourds until he was full. Then something new happened. He heard whistling. The dim witted man then walked closer to investigate the weird sound. He found himself at the edge of the forest. Outside the forest was a road. And on the road was a wooden cart pulled by an enormous chinchilla.”

“The whistling came from the man in the cart. He was a middle aged man with a pot belly and a large mustache. Something about the tune made the young man whistle as well. He whistled loudly though a strange harmony from the forest matched him.”

“Ah good,” said the man halting his cart. “I was getting tired of whistling the forest song. Hello. Hello Forest Boy! Have you come out to play?”

“The man smiled at the nude young man and waved him to come closer. He unbuckled his pants and pulled out a large thick hard dick.”

“I think a Forest Boy like you would love to play with this,” said the man with a smiled.

“The horny young man skipping out of the forest to the cart upon the sight of the exposed dick. All concerns of safety and restraint never even crossed his mind. His mouth soon savored the musky flavors of the traveling merchant.

“It’s always good to know the Forest Song when you’re honry on your travels,” said the Merchant. “A Forest Boy can never resist a song or a dick.”

The Forest Boy seemed elated. If the gourd juices were his meal, a dick was tasty dessert. Soon the Merchant’s dick pumps his juices to the Forest Boy. The boy’s dick was painfully hard against his abs, but he never touched it. Instead he savored the other man’s body.

“The only thing better than a Forest Boy’s mouth is a Forest Boy’s pussy,” the Merchant said before pulling the boy up into his lap. He wasted no time aiming his dick into the willing hole. “You Forest Boys always keep your holes nice a stretched and slick with gourd juiced. Always good for a quick and rough fuck.”

Soon the Forest Boy was bouncing on the Merchant’s dick with loud cries of ecstasy. He felt the heat on his face grow as the older man started nibbling on his young body.

“Oh before I forget,” the Merchant said picking up an odd shaped bottle. He placed the bottle over the Forest Boy’s dick just in time for the Forest Boy to cum. “Nearly lost all that juice. That would be very wasteful. Such a high price for an aphrodisiac like this.” He examined the jar and smile. “I think we can get 2 more bottles filled up. Are you up for me to fuck more juices out of you Forest Boy?” the Merchant asked recently.

After filling the bottles, the Merchant patted the Forest Boy on the ass and sent him back to the forest. “Such a fun Forest Boy. I hope we get to play again soon. Now home you go.”

“The Forest Boy slipped back into the forest. A warm glow of satisfaction lingered in him as he played within the forest.”

“And thus is the life of a Forest Boy. They forget who they once were to live lives of lust and merry. To be silly and think not. To service the men of the nearby villages when called. To frolic and play within the forest. But they live in the forest never to be with the men of towns. Without the forest they would grow sad and hungry and slowly wither away. The town respects the forest and the forest provides the Forest Boys for pleasure. A pact we respect to this very day.”

“The End.”

“Storyteller! Storyteller!” asked a young man raising his hand.

The Storyteller looked up from his book. A group of men were around the fire listening to him “Yes?” he said in response.

“Do all Forest Boys come from another world?” the young man asked

“Oh men from our world occasionally choose to become Forest Boys. They enter the forest to enjoy the life of being sex objects and not having to think.”

“But could a guy walk into the forest by accident? You know, not intending to become a Forest Boy. Just wanting to see the forest” asked another man.

“Oh but this is why we tell this story. We know what to avoid if you do not want to become a Forest Boy. Men from other worlds get lost in there since they do not have the stories. But they all end up quite happy to be Forest Boys,” noted the Storyteller.

The annual Night of the Forest was upon them. The music of the forest was being played and man Forest Boys danced nude around the fire. A few of them were being fucked by villagers. Other were fucking and sucking each other. You could always tell a Forest Boy by his unusual hair color, sometimes it was pink, or blue, or aqua, or green. Sometimes it was a mix of colors. The also had distinct root and tattoos of plant life on their legs. But mostly you could tell from their never ending love of constant sex.

The Festival was an biannual celebration of the pact between the forest and the town. They would play the song of the forest to call out the Forest Boys to dance with them, but by morning they would all be gone. The Storyteller would read the old story like he did every year.

The Storyteller looked for one Forest Boy in particular. One with long violet hair. The Storyteller smiled at the dumb gleeful Forest Boy as be was bent over a tree stump being fucked by a large brutish man with an impressive 13 inch dick.

“How long has it been I wonder,’ asked the Storyteller to no one in particular. His smiled was wide and the bright glare reflected off his thick glasses.

“Storyteller! Tell us some other stories. Some raunchy ones!” called out a man from the crowd.

“Yeah do you have other stories?” another asked.

“Of course,” the Storyteller said bringing out his oversized tome. “I have so many stories. WHich one should I choose. Ah this one! Once Upon a Time…”