The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A little over halfway down the long, curving causeway from Miami to Key West, on the little spit of land called Conchos Key, the place to be on a Saturday night is Brego’s. A rambling place knocked together from weathered gray wood, Brego’s gazes westward to where the sun sets in the Gulf of Mexico, and as night comes on, so do the strings of lights outlining the roof and corners of the building. By ten on a Saturday night in January, it is brighter outside in the parking lot than inside, where the jukebox plays mostly Caribbean-style music and where couples lean together over tropical drinks, while the Crew, a dozen busty, smiling beauties, keeps their glasses filled and occasionally leads a lone male out to dance, just for fun. Here nights are warm even in midwinter, and the lazily spinning ceiling fans circulate air spiced with an indefinable trace of nutmeg. Here it should be impossible to feel lonely.

Charlotte Farber wondered what in the hell she was doing in such a place. Her friend Veronique Mornay seemed to have no such doubts. Early in the evening, Veronique had connected with Pete, a handsome young boat bum, and the two of them had been whispering and kissing and giggling ever since. Charlotte felt like a fifth wheel. She should have stayed in Toronto. She sipped another tequila sunrise and vaguely wondered what was going on two tables away. Some guy there was doing some kind of trick, with dice or something, and he had attracted quite a crowd.

Veronique touched her arm, making her jump a little. “Hey,” she said, “Pete’s going to show me his boat, so we’ll need the car. You can get back to the hotel okay on your own, can’t you?”

“Sure,” Charlotte said, forcing a smile. “Have fun.”

“Merci!”

Great. Charlotte watched them walk out the door, Veronique hip-bumping Pete. She’d be out with the rental car all night, and how was Charlotte supposed to get back to the hotel? She could walk it, she supposed. Half a mile or so. In the dark. Among the mosquitoes.

Hell of a vacation this was turning out to be.

One of the busty waitresses came over. “They leave, hon?”

“Yeah,” Charlotte said, suddenly aware that Veronique had just stuck her for the whole check. Just marvelous.

“Something else for you?”

“Not just now,” Charlotte said. “I’m still drinking this one.”

“Okay. If you need something, just flag me down.”

She turned, tits abounce, and Charlotte made a face at her. Toronto in January was no picnic, but right now, she’d gladly trade the spicy air of Conchos Key for the ice and snow of home. Let’s go down to Florida, Veronique had said. Let’s get some sun, she had said. Let’s find some boys and. . . .

Well, Veronique never had any trouble in that department. Trouble with me, Charlotte thought, is I’m too picky. Too shy. Too…scared.

“Oh, man! How do you do that?” one of the crowd over at the center table yelled. “Bet you a hundred you can’t do it three times in a row!”

“You’re covered. You want to roll?” A warm male baritone, edged with easy amusement and a trace of saucy challenge.

“Hand it here.”

Then a frantic rattling. Charlotte, curious, aimless, got up, took her drink, and drifted over.

A handsome man, maybe twenty-seven or twenty-eight, a little older than she was, sat at one end of the table. Charlotte didn’t usually go for that type, short, spiky brown hair, a strong nose, a firm chin, tall but not beefy. She had usually drawn the bespectacled, willowy type. On the table in front of this guy were a highball glass still a third full and—several tall stacks of money. American money, twenties and fifties.

A dozen people stood around the table, looking on, men with their arms draped over their girls’ shoulders, one older guy standing a little apart, arms crossed, head tilted quizzically, and a heavy potbellied guy of about thirty, frantically shaking something in a white porcelain coffee cup, making the loud rattling, a sound like a snake buzzing a warning.

He clapped the cup down on the table top and held the heel of his hand on it as if someone were going to try to snatch it away. “Okay,” he said. “Guess.”

“Six,” the handsome man said.

The heavy guy picked up the cup and stared down at a single white die. “Son of a bitch! That’s one. Do it twice more for a hundred, smart guy.”

He shook the cup again, clapped it down again. “Guess.”

“One.”

He lifted the cup, and everyone sighed. “How in the hell are you doing that?” the heavy guy asked. “Last time, for the money.”

This time it was a four. With angry jerks of his fingers, the heavy guy peeled five twenties off a roll and tossed them on the table. “A thousand says you can’t get six in a row!”

“No bet,” the dark-haired, handsome young man said. “I don’t want to take any more of your money.”

“I’ll figure it out. Hell, ‘s gotta be a trick! Come on, a thousand bucks you can’t hit it six times in a row.”

“No.”

The older man tapped the heavy one on the shoulder. “Son, it’s time you left.”

For a second, Charlotte thought the dice roller was going to fight, but then, like a punctured balloon, he shrank a little, shrugged, and walked out of Brego’s. The crowd began to scatter.

The handsome guy at the table looked up from the money he was stacking and asked the older one, “Time to put up the sign?”

The older guy didn’t say anything, but he walked toward the front of the bar.

“Sit down,” the handsome guy said to Charlotte. “I’ll buy you a drink. I’ve made a profit tonight.”

“I don’t understand the game,” Charlotte said. She sat, not next to the young guy but a seat away from him. “What were you doing?”

“My name’s Jim,” he said as if she had asked him. “And you?”

“Charlotte.”

“No, that’s not good enough. You’re too pretty to be a Charlotte. Charlotte sounds like a maiden aunt. Charli. Tonight you’re Charli.”

Charlotte giggled. She had a little buzz going, more than she had thought. “That’s a silly name.”

“No, it’s right for you. Charli.”

“Okay, call me that,” she said. It didn’t seem worth an argument. “But what were you doing?”

He nudged the die toward her. “Guessing the number.”

She picked it up, turned it over and over in the dim light of one candle. “It’s blank. No pips on it. Just a blank white cube. So how—”

“The top is a one,” Jim said.

Charlotte glanced down, frowning. “No, it—” but it was. One black spot. “How did that happen? It didn’t have any spots until you said—”

“Now it’s a three.”

It was a three, three black dots on the diagonal. “How are you doing that?” Charlotte asked.

“With my mind.” He smiled, a devilishly handsome smile. “But you don’t believe in psychic phenomena, do you, Charli?”

She shivered when he pronounced her name. “No, actually,” she said. “No, I don’t.”

“And now it’s a spider.”

She felt the cube pulse, looked down, saw the thrashing legs and the pale bulbous body, and threw the creature across the table. He caught it, opened his hand, and showed her a blank white die again. “I don’t know how I do it, to tell you the truth,” he said. “It just happened gradually. In high school I started to be able to affect the way people thought. I practiced and practiced and got better. And now I make my living that way.” He began to separate the currency in front of him, a big pile of twenties, another pile half that size in fifties, a smaller stack of hundreds. “Not bad tonight. More than a thousand dollars here, and before that I took in about six thousand at a couple of other places.”

“But isn’t that cheating? Assuming you don’t have some sort of trick die.”

“Call me Jim, Charli.”

“Okay, Jim. But what about—?”

“I don’t think it’s cheating. I’m just using my natural talents. I’m going to see the world that way. I have a bad case of wanderlust.”

She shivered again, just at the way he pronounced the word, drawing it out deliciously in that deep baritone: “Wander…lust.”

“Must be nice,” she said. Her head was really spinning.

“Look behind you,” Jim said.

Charlotte turned, carefully because she felt so tipsy, and gasped. In a booth quite near them a man sat with his legs spread wide. The girl who had been drinking with him had stripped naked, and now she knelt on the bar floor, her head bobbing up and down as she fellated the man. She had folded her knees under her, and her gorgeous pear-shaped ass rested on the soles of her feet, her pink toes clenching and unclenching to the rhythm of the blow job she was giving the man. Charlotte could hear smacking sounds and heard the guy groan softly.

“Little party to celebrate my winnings,” Jim said. “Everyone’s joining in.”

Woozily, Charlotte looked around. In the dimness it was hard to see what everyone was up to, but people were, well, were having sex at every occupied table and booth. One woman sat on the table of a booth, naked as the day she was born, with one leg dangling and swinging, the other bent and locked around the neck of a guy who was lapping her pussy. Another guy was sitting on a nearby table, and a girl was riding his cock, up and down, slowly, sighing and chuckling as she stroked her own clit. Charlotte felt a rush of heat.

“I’ve got to go,” she said thickly.

“No, you don’t want to,” Jim told her.

It was true. She didn’t want to go. She wanted to stay right here.

“We’re going to fuck,” he told her.

“No, I can’t,” she heard herself say. “I don’t even know you. I’m not like that.”

“Then why did you take off your clothes?” he asked with a smile.

“Why did I—what?” She became aware suddenly of the leather seat cool beneath her ass, and she looked down, eyes wide. Her tits were bare. Her clothes lay in a pile on the table. She felt like screaming.

“You have very nice tits,” Jim told her. “And you’re getting turned on.”

“No,” she murmured, her heart pounding. “This is—you’re tricking me.”

“But I’m not. You took off every stitch of clothing yourself. You just don’t remember. Daisy! Over here, darling.”

Charlotte wanted to leap up, but her legs felt like rubber. One of the waitresses, one of the big-busted servers, came bouncing over, completely nude. Charlotte saw how tan the flesh of her breasts was, noticed that she had shaved down there, that her pussy was as smooth and bare as. . . as. . . she thought it would taste so. . . .with a groan, Charlotte said, “I’m not a lesbian!”

“You’re bi,” Jim said firmly. “From tonight on, you’re bi. You enjoy women as much as men. Daisy, I’m going to fuck Charli here. Do me a favor and warm her up for me.”

“Sure,” Daisy said with a happy grin. She knelt on the floor in front of Charlotte and reached to fondle her tits. “Mm, these are nice,” she breathed. “I’m gonna suck ‘em.”

“Nnnn,” Charlotte groaned, but when the blonde Daisy leaned close, she reached to embrace her head, to cuddle her, and she came the second Daisy sucked her right nipple into her mouth, rolling it with her tongue. Charlotte heard herself yip at the sudden shudder of release. That had never happened before, never. Her nipples were so sensitive, so—oh, God, Daisy’s fingers were working at her slit!

“What do you want to do?” Jim asked mischievously.

Charlotte shook her head, biting her lip.

“Charli,” he said in a playful sing-song. “Tell me what you want to do.”

Charlotte heard her own voice, sounding slurred and drunk: “Wanna…wanna eat Daisy’s sweet pussy.”

“I’d like to watch you do that,” he said. “Daisy, on the table, please.”

“Okay.” The perky blonde rose and hopped onto the table, spreading her legs. Her pink sex, already wet, glimmered. Charlotte rose and leaned toward her, kissing her open-mouthed. Their tongues pressed together. Charlotte had never kissed a woman like that before. She sucked on Daisy’s tongue as if it were a small penis. Then her lips glided down Daisy’s throat, she could feel the steady hammer of her pulse, excited, could trace the heat of her blood. Her tits, oh, her tits, so full, so soft, their nipples erect and pulsing, oh, she had to suck them, to polish them with her tongue, and then lower, the scent of her pussy like some heady perfume, and my God she was doing it, she was lapping at the other woman’s pussy, long, lascivious strokes of her tongue. She teased Daisy’s swollen clit, and Daisy leaned back so that Charlotte could tongue-fuck her, forcing her pussy lips aside, sticking her tongue inside the other girl, plunging and licking as Daisy bucked with a long orgasm.

Hands on her tits, other hands on her thighs, urging her legs apart. Jim was watching, leaning on his elbow, smiling at her. Three other waitresses, all as naked as she was, were at her now, one of them caressing and fondling her breasts, another fingering her clit and—oh, God! One of them had put her head between Charlotte’s thighs and was licking her cunt and—she jerked in orgasm—even her asshole! Daisy was thrusting her hips now, grinding her wide-open, soaking pussy against Charlotte’s face. Charlotte felt her face slick with Daisy’s juices, and wanting to pleasure her even more, she thrust a finger into Daisy’s tight puckered asshole, making her gasp and buck. Dimly Charlotte was aware that everyone in the bar was fucking, sucking, mutually masturbating. The guy in the booth yelled as he came, and the girl who had been sitting on her feet got up, grinning, a string of cum drooling from her mouth, and she pushed the guy back on the booth bench, and she kissed him with that smeared mouth, and Charlotte saw her hand fumbling with his still-hard cock, and she plugged it into her pussy and started to pump, God she looked so sweet like that, heart-shaped ass, her pussy stuffed, mm, but Daisy was demanding more of her tongue—

Let me stop, let me stop, this isn’t me, I don’t love her love the taste of her slick pussy, her flowing juice, oh, my tongue so deep in her, hot and so sweet, oh, don’t stop—

Jim said something that she didn’t catch, and the four waitresses pulled away from her. Charlotte watched gasping as they rolled together on the bar floor, fingers at snatches, tongues in assholes, oh, God, a tight knot of pumping flesh—

“Undress me now,” Jim said gently.

Shaking, her fingers trembling, Charlotte came to him and knelt before him. She undid the buttons on his shirt, one after the other, ran her cool palms over the hot flesh of his chest, feeling the strongly-defined muscles. Then she kissed him, letting him savor the taste of Daisy all over her lips and tongue, and her hands tugged at his belt, loosened it, and unbuttoned his trousers. He stood up, shrugging off his shirt, and she anxiously tugged his khaki trousers down, and his boxer shorts with them, and God, his cock burst free, and it was big, so big, she looked at it with a feeling of utter worship.

“Kiss it, Charli,” he said softly as he sat down again, naked now.

Reverently, she leaned forward, and her puckered lips touched the springy purple head of his cock, and her tongue darted out to taste the salty, vinegary surface. She heard herself whimpering like a puppy. Like a bitch puppy, she thought wildly, suppressing an urge to giggle.

“Do you want to say something, Charli?”

“Mm,” she said, murmuring around the mouth-filling orb of his cock head.

“What do you want to tell me?”

She could not help herself. She looked up at him, and though she had taken her mouth away from his cock, she still cuddled it with her hand, stroked it rhythmically. “I’ve never done this before,” she said. “I’m—”

“You were the only virgin in the place,” Jim said easily. “Why do you think I chose you?”

Charli wanted to cry with joy. He had chosen her! He had chosen her! He could have had any woman here, could have explored their mouths and pussies with his glorious cock, and he had picked her instead!

“Lean over the table,” he told her. “I’ll take you from behind.”

Obediently, Charli stood and bent over, feeling her tits flatten against the table top. She spread her legs as wide as she could, wanting to welcome his cock, feeling her slit dripping with anticipation. His hands on her hips, then a pressure on her pussy lips, and then aahhhh, then he was inside her, and it hurt for a moment, but then she screamed, “Oh, God! Fuck me!” Charlotte would never have said that, but Charlie yelled it with abandon, and lying there with him pounding into her, with his balls slapping against her at every thrust, she drunkenly saw the orgy before her. Two women sucking off one guy, another woman taking two men at once, one in her pussy, one in her asshole, her head thrown far back, a rumbling purr of lustful appreciation coming from her open mouth. The four waitresses, now daisy-chaining, mouth to pussy or asshole, writhing, ass cheeks pounding the floor. Charli felt herself thrusting back, hard, wanting more of Jim inside her, wanting to take him so deep, oh, and she came again and again.

He gripped her hard, painfully, and drove into her, pile-driving his cock hard, and she loved it, God help her, she loved it. She felt him twitch, felt his rod swell inside her and then jerk, felt the hot jets of his cum, and she came hard then, too, so hard that she thought she would pass out, and she heard herself screaming his name.

And then she was being passed around, and she loved that, too, women sipping her juices and virginal blood and Jim’s cum from her pussy as she sucked one man’s cock and jerked another with her hand until he shot a hot load across her tits, and then some woman licked that up, her tongue teasing Charli’s nipples into tight rosebud peaks. Someone took her in the ass, and yes, that was good, too, and she sucked another guy while the first one fucked her ass, and one of the other waitresses slipped underneath her and she could feel her tongue wiping over her clit and plunging into her pussy. The guy came, and she gratefully swallowed his cum.

Somehow, she wasn’t sure how, Charli became aware that Jim was getting dressed, that he was walking away. She tore herself away from the latest threesome, two women, and the other two let her go. One of them had a bottle, and she was using it as a dildo on the other. So sweet, Charli thought as she ran naked to catch up with Jim. “Wait.”

He turned around, one eyebrow lifted. “Yes, Charli?”

“Where are you going from here?” she panted, wiping cum from her face with the palm of her hand.

He shrugged. “I’ve got enough to buy a boat. I thought I’d get a crew of three or four women, cruise around the Caribbean for a while. I told you—I have a bad case of wanderlust.”

She stooped and picked up a man’s shirt that someone had dropped on the floor. From the bar behind her came the groans and whimpers and the wet slaps of sex. “How long will this go on?”

Jim shrugged. “An hour or so. They’re all enjoying it. If they’re able, maybe a little longer.”

Charli pulled the shirt on. It was too small for her, wouldn’t button over her big boobs, and the tail barely covered her naked ass. She felt cum and her own juices dripping down the inside of her thighs. “You’re gonna need a first mate,” she said.

“You’d be mine,” Jim warned her. “My property.”

“Yes.”

He looked at her for a minute, and then the two of them stepped out of the bar. A moon shimmered a silver trail across the Gulf. Despite the warm air, Charli shivered, feeling goosebumps on the swells of her breasts. Her tits. “I’m yours,” she said huskily.

Jim nodded and then put his hand beneath the shirt onto her bare ass. He guided her down the steps, across the warm asphalt of the parking lot, to his BMW, and into the next part of her life.