The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When he awoke, Stan opened the bedroom door and walked down the hall to the living room. The girl was not there. Looking around, he saw a pile of trash bags, paper bags, plastic grocery bags, all filled with trash lined neatly up near the front door. He turned and entered the kitchen. The girl was there, on her hands and knees, carefully scrubbing his kitchen floor with a scouring pad. She was naked still, and her ass was towards him.

Completely unselfconsciously, her legs slightly parted, her hairless and beautiful pussy and anus exposed to his view, she scrubbed his floor. In spite of himself, Stan was instantly and painfully erect in his pants. He took a deep breath.

“Please put some clothes on.”

She turned to face him, bringing her knees together, resting back on her heels. She looked up and smiled that loving smile. “I don’t have any, Stan.”

“Wait here.”

“Yes, Stan.”

He went back to his room and searched for some clean clothes. No woman other than his sister had ever been in his apartment, so there was no chance of any left overs for the girl to wear. Instead, sorting through his small supply of actually clean clothes, he came up with a pair of boxer shorts, sweat pants, a ‘beater’ T, and a sweatshirt.

Returning to the kitchen found the girl in the same pose. “Here you go. The sweatshirt is for when you have to go outside.” He handed the clothes to her.

She stood gracefully and pulled on the boxer shorts. Stan winced to himself. The beater-T went on next. The girl’s large breasts filled the chest of the shirt and caused it to strain some. Stan drew an inward breath. She pulled on the sweat pants and rolled up the cuffs.

“Better?”

He looked at her. His erection throbbed in his pants. With each breath, the T shirt swelled and stretched. “Some.” He croaked out.

“Why are you cleaning my apartment?”

“Please let me clean it, Stan. I want to do something for you. I love you.”

Stan shook his head. “No. Don’t say that. You don’t love me.”

She looked at him, a slightly troubled look crossing her face. “Yes, Stan, I do love you. As much as any human being can love another, I love you. My brain is wired to love you. Whether you accept me or not, I love you with all my heart. I’ll do anything for you. Anything. Any thing at all.”

Stan sighed in frustration. “Okay, sure. Go ahead and clean. This place is filthy anyway.” He looked around with a little bit of surprise at the mess. “I think I’m a little bit of a mess.”

Stan went back to his computer and tried playing an online game for a while. Growing frustrated with that, he sat down to watch some TV.

In the rest of the apartment while he was trying to distract himself, the girl continued to clean up. She was silent and methodical, cleaning the apartment as thoroughly and completely as it had ever been cleaned.

“Stan?” He heard her voice some time later.

“Yes?”

“May I use your computer, and may I use some of your money?”

“uh, what for?” He looked back over his shoulder at her. For someone who had been cleaning all day, she sure looked neat and tidy.

“I want to do a search for open stores, and then go buy some food. The pantry and refrigerator are very low on supplies.”

“No, don’t worry about that, I’ll just order us a Christmas pizza.”

The girl turned at looked at the neat pile of cardboard pizza boxes that she’d cut up and bundled with string near the front door.

Stan blushed. “Right. Okay. Trip to the store it is. Let’s see who’s open.”

The girl leaned over his shoulder, her lush and full breasts resting against him like a weight of doom, and began using his PC. Stan was astonished to see that she typed significantly faster than he did, and made very few errors. She seemed very familiar with his computer.

Forty minutes later, Stan and the girl, both bundled up against the cold, raced out the door and into a cab waiting at the curb. They made their way to Omaha’s only open major supermarket and asked the cabbie to wait. Stan winced at the thought of what this was going to cost him. The girl noticed his discomfort.

“Stan, should I offer the cab driver sexual congress with me to pay for our ride here and back?” The girl asked him as they went through the automatic doors.

Stan dropped his arm from around her shoulder. “Look. Don’t ever say something like that again, okay. Never. It’s not okay to just have sex with random men because I don’t have a lot of money. I guess I’ll just have to make more money or something.”

She blinked slowly, absorbing the information. “Yes Stan, I’m sorry I offered that. I should have realized that.”

He shook his head.

They entered the store and began shopping. She pointed out new foods to him, asked for spices he didn’t even know the name of. In the end, she nearly squealed with delight to find a fresh cut of salmon in the deli case.

Stan was not so sure, but allowed her to buy it. Between cleaning supplies, a couple of T shirts from the discount goods aisle, basic foods and staples, Stan was not even surprised to see the total ring up to over three hundred dollars.

He paid with his ATM card, shrugging his shoulders. On the way out, Stan had an odd feeling. Looking back, he noticed a few people trying not to be seen looking at him. He led the girl out of the store and into the waiting cab, wondering what people were staring at.

Halfway home, he worked it out. He turned to her. “You know those couples you see?”

She smiled rather blankly at him.

“There are these couples. She is gorgeous, he’s a fat, ugly nerd like me. And you wonder why she’s with him. You say to yourself... what is SHE doing with HIM?”

Big, sloppy tears welled up on the girl’s face and drained down to her chin. Her lower lip quivered.

“Oh lord, why are you crying?”

She took a moment to answer, and then bawled out brokenly. “O Stan, please... I love you, don’t talk about yourself that way, you’re not fat OR ugly.” She threw herself in his arms and sobbed on his chest.

Stan’s cheeks burned with shame, knowing that he’d hurt her feelings, even if they were completely artificial feelings. He patted her on the back as she cried. When her tears stopped, she looked up at him.

And then, there it was. Christmas day, in the snow in a cab, the tires making a rhythmic squelch as the driver hummed in time to an old Arabic cassette tape... a stunningly beautiful girl in his arms, tears of love drying on her cheeks, her blue eyes (weren’t they green this morning?) looking up into his...

He kissed her. She responded with a passion that took his breath away. But she only responded, she didn’t lead. When he broke the kiss nervously, she just smiled.

He cleared his throat.

“First time.”

“What, Stan?”

“That’s the first time I ever kissed a girl. A real kiss.”

She smiled. “It was my first kiss too.”

She hugged him and together they rode home.

That evening she made him a dinner of tossed salad with pine nuts and vinaigrette dressing, a perfectly broiled cut of salmon topped with a cheesy dill sauce, delicate perfect spears of asparagus and roasted new potatoes. For dessert, she prepared a home-made caramel dip and made ice-cream balls in coconut and caramel.

Stan ate the meal with growing wonder. Never in his life had he eaten like this. His mother had made meals of rice-a-roni, green beans in mushroom sauce and lots and lots of hamburger helper. The tastes were a revelation it was like a new world opening up. The crowning moment came when she poured him a tiny glass of grocery store port.

“Wow.”

She smiled. “I’m sorry that the meal was so poorly prepared, Stan. I’ll do better tomorrow. Promise.”

“Okay now. Stop that. That was a GREAT meal. It was incredible. That salmon was amazing. You make it waaay better than Denny’s.”

She smiled shyly. “Thank you Stan, thank you.” She nearly glowed with the praise.

He smiled at her, and felt a huge well of unnamed emotion open up inside him. He didn’t know what to do with it. “I guess we’re going to make the best of this situation. You can stay here with me... consider this your home. Take care of what you need to take care of, do what you have to do to make yourself happy. Just be careful with the money, I ... I’m a copier repairman, I make about $13 an hour take-home, so I don’t have much to spare. Heck, I don’t even have a car, I have to use the company truck. But what I have to spare, I’ll share with you.”

The girl cried silent tears and hugged him. They kissed again. Stan looked down into her adoring eyes and found himself pushing her away again, his stomach doing barrel-rolls.