The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The pair wasted no time in making their way back to Christine’s, formerly Pink’s, apartment. Wyatt was again struck by how Spartan the apartment was; it barely looked any different to how it had when he first stepped into it. It wasn’t a place where someone lived, it was a place where someone existed. He didn’t take much time to look however, because shortly after entering the door Christine turned to him, shucking off her top and pushing one of her massive, jiggling mounds into Wyatt’s hand.

The variety in Ditie endowments was still astonishing to him; the variety in size and shape, where they sat, how they hung. He particularly noticed how Christine’s areolas were far smaller and more evenly shaped than Jen’s. Where Jen’s were huge, pebbly and textured, a deep pink that simply gradually faded into the surrounding skin, and Siobhan’s were wide and thick, and a deep chocolate brown that set off against her pale skin, Christine’s were small, circular and puffy, the nipples forming the tip of a cone-shaped bump.

He brushed his thumb across it, watching Christine close her eyes and moan appreciatively. His thumb sank into the puffy flesh, pushing the thick nipple inside the cone of her areola. He lifted the other and suckled the whole mound into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the stiff nipple. While the size and shape of Aphrodite breasts ran a large gamut, the texture was uniformly, unfailingly erotic. Smooth and soft, without mark or blemish, with a tautness and elasticity that bounced back against the finger or tongue. They occasionally bore a tracery of blue veins, a beauty mark, an enticing tan-line or a dusting of freckles, but the flesh was always fatty, firm and full.

Christine responded with coos and low, rolling moans, her hands working away between her thighs at the plush mound of her pussy. Aphrodite pussies were so full and sensitive that even just a hand squeezing and kneading the mound would be enough to bring them off, although of course it didn’t come close to the penetrative orgasms they so desperately needed. One hand went back up, grabbing the back of Wyatt’s head and shoving him even harder into her breast, drawing in a deep sucking breath and bucking her hips.

“Mmm, fuuuck... Fuck yeah, suck them, country boy.” Her heavy hips gyrated against her hand, her juices dripping out rather side of her palm, filling the room with her sweet strawberry scent; an interesting change for Wyatt to the heady aroma of sandalwood that normally accompanied his lovemaking. He pushed her hand out of the way, inserting a finger inside her, the pad of his thumb grinding against her clitoris. His other hand roamed behind her, gripping one of her outsize ass cheeks and squeezing. Of course his hand didn’t come close to covering it, but she shrieked her appreciation all the same.

It took only a few minutes before she was shaking, humping against his hand and babbling, while he moved his mouth to her other breast and took the hand that had been groping her behind and pinched and twiddled the spit-slick remaining nipple, carefully stimulating her to even higher heights of her orgasm. It took quite some time before she came down, staring at him and panting with the occasional involuntary mewl of afterglow.

“Fucking hell, you know how to start things off, don’t you? You’ve been practising. My turn!”

She flipped him over, sliding down his body, until her breasts rested on his thighs while she unbuckled his belt and opened his fly. She swallowed with undisguised lust as she revealed the erection tenting his briefs, licking her lips as she flicked it out of its cotton prison to greet the bedroom air, twitching.

She immediately plunged her face down on it, effortlessly taking its entire length into her throat, moaning happily the whole way, before sliding back up and pulling off it, smacking her lips lasciviously.

“Hey, stud, why don’t you make yourself useful while I use your dick?” She turned around, rubbing his dick lightly as she moved, swinging a leg over his shoulders and bringing the curvaceous expanse of her ass in front of his face, before raising her legs to plunge her pussy straight down onto his face. She went back to blowing him, less forcefully to make sure she stayed anchored in place, and then even less forcefully as she began to writhe and moan from the sensation of Wyatt eating her out.

Instinct won out, though, the unnatural pleasure of her throat being stretched out enough to keep her going, even as she had to stop briefly while she came, leaking sweet juice across Wyatt’s face. Eventually Wyatt’s stamina let up, and he shot off hard into Christine’s mouth, shuddering, his hands trembling against the girl’s ass cheeks. She rolled off him, cleaning up the errant streaks of cum from his cock with her tongue then biting her lip as she stared him directly in the eyes.

Wyatt’s brow creased as he looked back, panting. He knew that in reality he was looking at Christine, her slim body, almond eyes and oversized perky breasts, but somehow the only thing he could see in his mind was Jen.

All he could perceive was Jen’s plush curves, her milk-white overflowing flesh, her enormous, soft, delectable breasts. The scent of strawberries felt cloying and sickly; he craved the tang of sandalwood. He wanted his girlfriend.

He shook his head as she gathered her breasts together, preparing to bring up back to erection. “What? You want something else? You’d prefer I keep using my mouth?”

“No, I... I don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

“Look sometimes I get tired of foreplay too, and you’d better believe I’m hanging out for the day they create a guy who’s ready to go four times in a row, but, uh, you need a bit of help before...”

Wyatt pulled back, grabbing his pants and sliding them back up his legs. “No, I mean I don’t wanna keep going. I’m sorry. It’s not you, it’s just... It feels wrong.”

She scoffed. “Didn’t feel wrong when you were shooting off into my mouth, country boy. Come on, I’m not even close to done.”

“Christine, I’m serious! I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Wyatt began to roll off the bed, when he felt Christine grip him by the upper arm. Her touch was soft, but he could feel a desperate strength behind it. “Come on, dude. Don’t be silly. Look, I’m sorry I made fun of you, okay? The whole country boy thing is sexy, in a weird way.” Christine was taking deep breaths, her hand rubbing between her thighs.

She grabbed him from behind, sliding around until her breasts were in his face, subtly but inexorably coaxing him to lay back in the bed. Wyatt capitulated, his face surrounded by pneumatic warmth, but as Christine straddled him with his cock starting to grow back to erection against her slick pussy, looking up at her slim, busty, olive-toned body, he again had the uncomfortable dual-sensation of seeing Jen riding him cowgirl, every inch of her thick body shaking or writhing...

He tried to pull away, but he felt Christine’s unexpectedly strong thighs grip harder. “Christine, please, I don’t want—”

His sentence was cut short as Christine’s fist connected with the side of his face. He looked back up in shock, his hand moving up to cradle the impact site. Fury was etched in every line of the pink-haired harlot’s face.

“Listen, fucker. You do not get to leave me stewing in my own juices all night. You are meat, do you fucking understand, and you are here for one goddamn purpose. You are going to lie there, you are going to get hard, and you are going to fucking plow me until I am done!”

Despite his shock and the ache in his cheek, he grew hard under her writhing hips, biological reflex betraying his wishes. Intellectually he knew he could have overpowered her—that she was strong, but not that strong, but the thought of another punch left those thoughts cowering, in favour of just laying back and accepting feeling his penis slide into Christine’s sopping, squishy folds.

He didn’t plow her as she’d demanded, but she unquestionably rode him, wringing the pleasure her unnatural appetites demanded from his supine body. He may as well have been a living dildo, but realistically that’s all Christine actually needed.

If anything his lack of enthusiasm for the task helped delay his own release, giving space for Christine’s next two orgasms. When he finally came, it felt good, of course; how could ejaculation ever not feel good? It was hollow, though, toxic and tainted, and even as he shot cum deep into Christine’s mutated womb, looking up at her fuck-fantasy body, the spasms of pleasure in his gut were overlaid with nauseous revulsion.

She rolled off him, falling back onto the bed and panting. She didn’t react as Wyatt slid out of the bed; not a single acknowledgement or so much as a goodbye as he pulled his clothes back on and stumbled out the door. He barely got more than a few feet from the apartment building before he turned into a side street and threw up.

Wyatt slumped back against the shower wall back at home, letting the hot spray run down his skin, wincing slightly where it hit the raw bruise on the top of his cheek. The strawberry smell that clung to his skin turned his stomach, and he shuddered as it washed away.

His mind was swirling with thought, but somehow empty and numb at the same time. He focused on cleaning himself, particularly around his mouth where he could still smell and taste traces of Christine’s juices.

He could hear filtered thumping and moans as Jen and Siobhan entertained themselves with their guests, or more accurately sated themselves, which did nothing for the revulsion he was feeling. He finished his shower dragged himself back out into the kitchen for a glass of water and some ibuprofen, the thumping still following him downstairs.

That was how Jen found him when she finally exited the bedroom, coming downstairs in a filmy nightgown to rehydrate, leaving her paramour snoring in her bed. “Oh, you’re back. Why aren’t you still out wit- Jesus Christ, what happened to your face? I’d have thought you’d be getting your dick wet, not getting into a fight.”

“Why do you care?” He winced. The bruise must have been getting worse, because Jen actually looked concerned.

“Oh fuck off, man. You’re an asshole and I’m pissed off at you, I didn’t want to see you get beaten up.” She got up and headed over to the freezer, grabbing a tea-towel and filling it with ice. “What happened?”

“Uh, Christine did.” Saying it out loud made his stomach turn again, as memories of what came after flowed back. Jen kept wrapping the towel, snorting. “What, hit the bedpost? Fell off the kitchen table?”

“No, s-she...” Wyatt had to stop as a hacking sob rose from his throat, tears beading in the corner of his eyes. Jen sat down across from him, still holding the makeshift icepack.

“Jesus dude, she- wait. She hit you?”

He nodded, sniffing, tears rolling full stream down his cheeks. “I t-told her I wanted to leave. We’d s-started, but I... I didn’t want to, and I tried to l-leave and shee—” he broke down, bawling into his hands. Jen sat wide-eyed, still holding the icepack, then got up, made her way around the table and pulled Wyatt into a gentle embrace.

“It’s okay... It’s okay...” Her sandalwood aroma wafted up around Wyatt, her embrace soft and warm. He sniffed, accepting the ice pack off her and pressing it against his swollen face.

“Heh. It must sound weird to y’all, a guy, y’know, losing it like this because he didn’t wanna have sex.”

“Oh, Wyatt. Guys don’t want to have sex all the time. Believe me, I know what it means to want to have sex all the time, and I’ve literally never met a man who comes even close to my appetite. Unlike me, you’re not just a walking sex drive.”

She sat back, letting out a deep breath. Wyatt could tell by how she shifted her legs that she was still feeling the urge.

“Also nobody likes being hit- uh, nonconsentually, anyway. I’m sorry, Wyatt. One of the things Aphies have to learn is that no means no. We’ve got a bad enough reputation without people thinking we’re rapists.”

Rapist. The word sounded out of place and Wyatt went to object, but stopped, mulling the concept over. Jen looked at him levelly, although Wyatt could tell the look in her eyes betrayed lust. “It’s the line we can’t cross. Sure, guys are a means to an end. Don’t get attached, don’t have expectations. But if you’re not wanted, there are fifteen other guys who’ll give you what you need. You don’t need it from the one who’s done.”

It was cold, clinical, but of course that was the mentality you had to have to survive the Aphrodite. Men were satiation first and foremost, and silly things like feelings just got in the way. Jen had taken a major gamble on him.

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Literally, I can’t. I think you should talk to somebody; somebody who isn’t me. You know, a real person.”

“I think I just need ice an’ a good sleep.”

“Whatever you think. I’m going back up to see if I can get some more of what I need.” She paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking back and Wyatt and sighing. “You know what passed me off the most?”

“What?”

“That he isn’t half as good as you.”