The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was probably a miracle that Lori managed to get to her shift that night. She staggered out of Pascaline’s bedroom holding onto walls and door frames for support, and it sounded like she spent a good forty minutes in the shower. I wondered if she might have collapsed in there, and was thinking of going to check when she finally shut the water off.

I remained in Pascaline’s room and just dozed. It felt good to rest, and I hoped that was no different than gathering my strength for my chance to run a marathon inside Brandi’s pussy. The room smelled like I imagined a brothel smelled, or perhaps that was mostly me, saturated with the scent of two women for the first time in my life.

I’d never been sure when Brandi left for work, but I heard Lori’s car peel away a few minutes after six. I kept imagining the two women working behind the bar as I’d seen them that first night, not at all the same as they’d been. Lori’s system had been flooded with needs; some, like a threesome with Pascaline and having an inserted phone vibrate her to climax, would have been inconceivable until they appeared.

Her needs had been drained through action, while Brandi must be ready to jump out of her skin. She needed to show me just how awesome her body was, and needed to dream as never before. Whether that translated into a visceral and uncontrollable need for a good hard Jake fuck was anyone’s guess. Maybe she was already scheming a scenario that culminated with the walls of her pussy contracting around my dick. Maybe she believed she only intended to tease me, and needed the wisdom of a cunt-wrenching sex dream to guide her the rest of the way. That outcome had become inexorable, if it turned out I could influence her dreams as I’d tried.

I’d become used to gaming and plotting, to pulling strings and watching women jerk in response. Lying there with Pascaline sleeping beside me, I had the sense that I’d done all I could do for now. It was like the calm before the storm—I hoped that a sex event was just over the horizon, but I couldn’t seed any more clouds to make the sky burst.

It really had been a fabulous day. Though visiting Amelia had opened up tons of unanswered questions, I’d gotten psychic-sucked and fucked for my troubles. I doubled my pleasure with a pussy-eaten tit-fuck, and had phone sex where the phone was actually sexed, and even enjoyed a good hard ass fucking. There are worse ways to spend one’s time, definitely.

I couldn’t lie there basking in it forever, though. I got up before dark and showered a whole lot of woman down the drain, and thought of waking Pascaline. I decided not to—she’d more than earned her rest, and I’d been surrounded by women the entire day.

I wondered what Brandi had done while I’d been locked away fucking her two housemates. I went into her bedroom again and caught the scent of her sex, and smiled. I didn’t think she’d spent the afternoon masturbating, and her smell was strongest near her closet, not the bed. Inside the closet was a wicker basket where she tossed clothes for laundry; I picked up the lacy black panties lying on top and found the front soaked through.

God damn she had one sweet smelling pussy. I inhaled the scent of her sex like it was an aromatic preview, the cock-hardening trailer for a film that would be cumming soon. I held the evidence in my hands that she’d spent at least part of the afternoon literally dripping, and I had faith that she’d been dripping for me.

I wanted her body so badly that it was driving me half insane. I thought of driving to the bar where she and Lori worked, even if that meant making a scene to get my dick surging up her cunt. That just seemed like a bad idea, and I carefully placed the panties back in their basket, gathering my resolve to let it all come to me. The first woman I’d mind-fucked had been an obvious frontal assault, all impulse and no guile, and that landed me in a detention cell. I’d promised myself to work more stealthily ever since; it wasn’t always easy to maintain control, but patience was still the right answer.

I tried to manage the pangs by taking a stroll on the beach, watching the light grow dim over turbulent waves. The surf looked different, nervous and disjointed, and red flags affixed to lifeguard stands warned of dangerous rip currents. The air was calm, though, and I sat for a while in the dry sand, trying to breathe normally and let my mind go free.

There was no quiet inside. Too much wanting, too much anticipation and too many questions. There were the things I knew—I’d had mind-sex with two beautiful women at the same go; I’d made my best effort at setting Brandi’s dreams into a lather for me, and I wanted to fuck the woman so badly that it had my balls aching. Then there were the things I didn’t know—would Brandi have sexy dreams like I wanted? Why had my brain snapped when I first touched Amelia, and why had Amelia sucked me off and humped me out of nowhere and murmured unintelligible things about is-ness and plastic fabric? For that matter, why had Brandi—previously a hard sex-nut to crack—been so easy to manipulate in the car, like even faint desires had acquired the absorbency of a sponge, swelling instantly when touched?

I might also ask why I was so agitated. I wanted to get my long anticipated taste of chocolate, sure, and I was closer than ever. But I’d had more than enough sex for one day by any measure, and shouldn’t be this revved. It was like my internal organs had become all prickly and sensitive, and that other organ, too. I did cocaine one time in college, and had never wanted it again because it had made me feel something like this, all hyped and jumpy. Energy is good, but this felt like more than I knew how to handle.

A group of teens walked by, laughing and making jokes about Hurricane Irene, as though the storm beyond the flat horizon was something they could challenge and frighten off. A skinny guy faced the ocean and gave the air the finger, calling the unseen beast an atmospheric slut. They were just being stupid kids, and that reminded me how I hadn’t read any fortunes today, meaning I hadn’t made any money. Scoring multiple pussy was great on the dick but hard on the wallet, I guess.

That interior restlessness persisted as I walked back to the cottage. I found it being worked on, three beefy guys unloading plywood and ladders from a pickup to screw over the windows. I told them I was hooked up with Pascaline, and the oldest among them, speaking for the owner, said the women might have to clear out by tomorrow night if Irene didn’t swerve east, sparing the coastline.

Tomorrow night, the disaster clock ticking. Did I have a chance for a hole in three before then?

With the sound of multiple screw-guns drilling into wood, I drove off without saying goodnight to Pascaline. Hungry, I got a beer and an order of chicken wings at a tap room with an older and quieter crowd, and watched colorful satellite images of a swirling Irene inching its way towards the U.S. coast. The projected track made it look like the eye would pass right over the stool I sat on.

“It’s coming, growing in strength,” an older woman said to my left.

Something about those words got to me. It took a couple of seconds to put it together—Amelia had said the exact same thing while fucking me.

“Looks like it’s going to become a category 3,” she added, with a toothy smile that said bring it on.

Some people referred to the incessant coverage as weather porn, and the metaphor wasn’t far off. Everybody in the bar was hooked, staring at the big screen with desires flaring all over the place. I tapped in on the vibe underneath—these were mostly locals, and their livelihoods depended on a good tourist season all the way through Labor Day. At the same time, they wanted a good story to tell. If the hurricane petered out or swerved out to sea... Well, they’d say they were glad, but they wouldn’t be. Life was dull and they desired some action.

Somewhere during my third beer I realized I was doing nothing but marking time, like nothing could really matter until I got my dick inside Brandi. Meaning my night was something like I hoped hers was, only she was serving beer and I was drinking it.

I was in a mood when I drove back to the campground. There were zero tents, and fewer RV’s than ever. I tried to turn in early with the van’s doors open, enjoying a heat dissipating breeze that made me thankful for my covers. It was a perfect night for sleeping, only I couldn’t sleep.

It was getting too chilly and I closed the doors. But it wasn’t the temperature keeping me awake; it was the phone. I’d set it on the little shelf I had at the head of my mattress, and I could smell it, or all the women on it, their combined pussy scents like a rich ambrosia that couldn’t do anything but make my dick steam. It hit me that I’d had the thing for all of thirty-six hours, and it had survived insertion within three different women. Brandi’s was the only scent that had yet to coat its surface.

I picked it up and brought it right under my nose. Damn if it didn’t make me think about calling Amelia. I knew I shouldn’t—thinking about her definitely hardened my dick, but any time I imagined starting a conversation with her I heard an instinctual alert go off, like more contact with her would only lead to some sort of calamity.

Why should that be? Was it simply her mysterious air, and the way she spoke in riddles that made me extra-horny while my brain sputtered with confusion? Maybe it was worry that a light would go off in her head and she would ride to Brandi’s rescue, keeping me from getting the chocolate pussy I so desperately craved. Maybe it was the way she’d sucked and fucked me, like she was the one in control even when she was out of control.

Not that I’d tried, but I’d had the sense that I couldn’t resist her, and it bothered me how confident she’d been that I’d return to her. Call me when you’re ready to return for more, like I really didn’t have a choice.

I slowly shook my head on my pillow—hadn’t I been the one secretly mocking Brandi earlier in the day, for believing we always have a choice?

I inhaled the phone’s complex bouquet again—they all blended together, but I was certain I could distinguish each pussy individually, too. Freaky, that Amelia had put the phone up her pussy without being directed to, just to mess with me. Getting in on the game; hell, knowing the game, without being told.

Maybe it was a way of calling to me, knowing I’d smell her smell and think about her and want more. With the other women, it had probably been a way of sending them an indirect message, that Jake’s voice was literally inside them. Amelia was different; she’d essentially marked my phone the way a dog marks a fire hydrant. I was territory, and she knew I’d want to return to mark her with my scent. Back and forth, again and again, tit for tat, sex and more sex.

I put the phone back on the shelf. I picked it up again and opened it, and my thumb started pressing numbers. But they weren’t Amelia’s numbers—they were Val’s.

Was it a tragedy that the only person it felt safe to call was the last woman I’d mind-fucked before coming here to mind-fuck others? And I knew I shouldn’t ring her, because that might spoil the romantic anguish angle, Val’s romance novel need to bravely endure my absence.

I ended the call before finishing it, and put the phone away again. And I kept my resolve, until I didn’t. It was after two in the morning when I gave in, and she answered on the second ring, knowing exactly who it was.

“I thought you might phone sometime. We didn’t make rules, but…”

“I finally broke down and got a cell, and you were the only person I wanted to talk to. Were you asleep?”

“Not yet. I just got home from work.”

“How’s that going?”

“The tips are great because I really like to twist around that pole. I’ve developed some signature moves that get a crowd going in a big way. Not to mention the lap dances, and making guys beg.”

“I’m going to be there sometime, watching. I might want a private dance, too.”

“And a private concert. I want you to listen to me play, Jake. I’m getting better—my fingering, and hearing the tempo... It’s all coming together.”

And I knew she’d been cumming as it came together. “I’ll bet you sound wonderful. And I’ll bet you look amazing when you do your thing onstage. Is the money good enough?”

“Best I’ve ever had. Jake... You sent me money. Why?”

“I want you to follow your dreams. Music school, all that. Start an account that’s only for making that happen.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I want to. Do it.”

“Lord, where did someone like you come from? And even then you sent too much, and it was cash, in the mail. Don’t you know you never send cash in the mail?”

“But it made it.”

“It made it. I don’t even know what to say. Thank you doesn’t even come close to expressing it.”

“Thank you is just fine. You’re welcome.”

“No, I mean it. I want to thank you in person, in a special way.”

“I’m sure I’d love that.” A few seconds of silence. “What?” I asked.

“I don’t know if I should tell you. Maybe it should be a surprise.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve developed more than just better fingering technique on my harp, or moves on a pole.”

“Go on.”

“You know where I’ve developed.”

Instant hard-on, on top of the hard-on I already had.

“It’s like I’m thirteen again, with more weight on my chest every morning.”

“How much?”

“More than a cup size, maybe close to two. You should see me in the little outfits I wear on stage.”

“Two cup sizes in two weeks? That’s insane!”

“I told you it might still be happening, and fast. It’s almost like I can hear them growing. They’re just... huge!”

I was stoking my cock without even having thought about it. The fantasy story on Pacaline’s computer came to mind, of corn-fed country girls with their tits growing like weeds. “Tell me more,” I said, speaking to the real thing.

“I haven’t bought any new bras. I mean why, when I keep getting bigger? I just let it all, you know, bulge, in the old ones. They bulge a lot, and I think I like that.”

“You’re killing me.”

“I hope they keep growing. I used to worry they’d become too big, but now that I can see them and feel them... They’re beautiful, Jake. Still so firm, and my nipples have gotten larger, too. It’s so easy to put them in my mouth, and suck...”

“This is torture!”

“Payback for all the times you tortured me. I’m pulling at a nipple as we speak… Oh God, ever since you they’re so alive, so… Ohh...”

I could see her in my mind, getting lost in it, her tits gone from fucking huge to fucking extra-huge. I should be there to witness it, to put my ear to them and hear the cells multiply. To fuck the crap out of them, and make her need me to fuck the crap out of them more.

“Take your pants off Jake.”

“They already are. I’m in bed.”

“Just listen, then. I won’t say anything else. In a minute I won’t be able to. Just listen and see it all in your mind. I miss you, and when you return… This. Or should I say these, even bigger. You’ll see.”

I listened. The sound was clear, and it didn’t hurt to have a phone that smelled like so many pussies. I could picture her lying on her back, one hand between her legs, her massive tits cradled in the crook of an arm, fingers pulling and rolling, lips puckered in self-suck mode. The progression of her passion was easy to follow through her gasps and groans, and I timed my released to match hers. I was so close when she screamed, and a few strong sliding pulls was all it took to set me off.

I thought about Val long after ending the call. She hadn’t asked where I was or what I was doing; she hadn’t even asked for my number. No demands, no strings. It wasn’t indifference; it was space, months long and hundreds of miles wide if I needed that.

I tried to sleep again, and kept picturing her lying in her bed, boobs slowly growing. Sleep did come, finally. I had dreams of being with Val, my arms reaching around her torso from the back, cupping her swelling monsters and squeezing them tight. They were hot in my hands, alive with untamable growth, swelling at a speed that spread my fingers wide, taking my hands for a ride. It was one of those nights when you awaken and realize the dreams aren’t real, and fall back asleep hoping the same story could repeat.

The dream did repeat, as regular as destiny. I was with a huge set of tits all night long, palpably swelling in my hands, the cries of a fuck-crazed woman buzzing in my ears, sex droning like insects drone, on and on and on. I tasted sex, breathed it in and let it wash all over my sandpile, the molecules gathering power before being breathed back out and carried aloft on salt spray breezes. Spreading, distributing, infiltrating.

Gathering in strength, spinning forward. Advanced waves, changing the fabric.

I was up early, and could see that even more camping spots had been vacated overnight. The place was emptying out fast and there could only be one reason for it. That big bitch Irene, an angry spiral rotating out to sea.

I showered and made coffee on my little camp stove, and spent some time gathering towels and clothes together, putting trash in a bag, tidying up to leave. I kept staring at the phone and finally used it for something other than performing or talking about sex, accessing the web to check on the hurricane’s progress. The news wasn’t good—it had indeed strengthened into a Category 3. The governor of North Carolina would be making a statement later in the day and it looked like all the coastal states above this one were nervous as hell.

I’d just put the phone down when it buzzed, someone calling through.

“Hello?”

“Jake! I had dreams! They were... I have to see you!”

Brandi, sounding like she’d swallowed an ocean’s worth of coffee. Or, with luck, dreamed a few cuntfuls of highly sexed dreams.

“Hey, slow down. Maybe we could meet later and...”

“You were there! I could... My body was... I feel all... You need to see me!”

Her tone of voice and what she was saying, without ever quite being able to say it, had me stone hard. “You need to see me,” sounded like she was still stewing in that need to show off her body, and it sounded like I might have been successful in churning up the sex juices while she slept in the night. If so, I could only imagine how hot those dreams must have been. And I was there.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m packing up my van, and just about to head out for breakfast. Do you want...” I had the sense that I was speaking to no one. “Brandi? Are you there?”

My first dropped call? I checked the phone—it seemed to be working, and there was even a humming sound, not dead silence. I spoke into it, got nothing, and ended the call. I thought about calling her back and it was tempting—I had to figure that she was still primed to get wet over any physical compliments I gave. I could say something nice about her, in hopes that the sound of my voice would have her moaning with need... But I didn’t. I wanted all that but in person, where I could read her inner state and manipulate her desires.

All packed and ready to leave the campground for good, I drove down the beach road half a mile, to the bagel/smoothie shop that had become my morning favorite. Inside, the hurricane was the sole topic of conversation, and it sounded like most people were thinking of heading inland.

I had a bag and a cardboard tray with two drinks in hand when I exited the store. I stopped in my tracks—Brandi stood right next to my van, her phone clenched in her fist like she meant to crush it.

“Brandi, how did you...”

I stopped speaking, because it was obvious that she’d called while looking for me, always intending to show herself in the flesh. And she was mostly flesh, wearing sexy heels and that red and blue striped bikini she’d described, looking like a woman straight off a calendar—the kind of calendar that people like me would want to beat off to.

Everybody has a different ideal, a certain kind of face, an overall look that lights a fire from moment one. It’s the same when it comes to bodies—there are particular attributes of tonality and shaping that shoot straight into the hormones and make them scream. This woman was like that for me, her form tight and trim where I’d desire that, or full and sleekly bulging where I wanted that. There wasn’t an ounce of flesh on her that shouldn’t be there, yet she wasn’t at all skinny and she carried tanned softness over all that hard muscle, remaining sublimely female.

Her legs were crazy good, all sleek and obviously strong. The triangles of material covering her breasts were tiny, probably even the wrong size for what they were trying to contain, and I no longer had to wonder if it took a certain bra to make them project out the way they did. The vivifying force was in the woman, not the garment, and I had to admit that I’d misjudged how much volume there could be in a set of D-cup breasts. They were fuller than I’d expected, and creamy smooth.

Better than simple ice cream. This was girl gelato, making my tongue feel like it could grow hard like my dick.

“Good God you’re one healthy looking woman,” I said, not even thinking of the effect the words might have on her.

“Oh Jake, that’s exactly what you said!” She inhaled, exhaled, her tits looking downright deadly as she chomped on her lower lip. “It’s happening! It’s actually happening!”

I was so busy staring that I hadn’t thought to probe inside, to read the turmoil there. When I did—fucking Christ. I couldn’t actually see the waves of lust coming at me, not visually. I could read them, though, and they emanated from Brandi’s pussy in palpable bands, like she’d absorbed the weather forecast, grabbing the energy of the hurricane and stuffing it inside to let it drench her box.

“I had dreams and they’re...” She stepped in close almost quicker than I could follow, smelling freshly washed and like a pot of brewed pussy all at the same time. “The dreams told me... We need to... I’m even saying what I said! Your van, inside your van!”

The woman’s nipples looked ready to pop through the sleek material of her bikini, and I didn’t have to be told twice. I opened the side door and stepped aside to let her climb in first, ogling every moving muscle from behind. My eyes hooked onto the glory of her double-bubble ass cheeks, and the tiny strip of fabric trying to cover a pussy that churned like a storm. I climbed in behind, put breakfast aside and slid the door shut, negotiating the elephant’s boner in my shorts.

The light was dim like this, but I could see plenty of woman facing me, sitting on my tidy mattress with bent, spread legs.

“I started to write my dreams down this morning but... You were in them and I... My breasts... Oh God!”

She clutched at her breasts, kneading them through her top. Her lips twisted with the pleasure of it and I envied her hands, and the way they looked like they couldn’t get enough or squeeze enough. I reached inside Brandi’s breasts to make them insanely sensitive and came to a screeching halt—they already were super-sensitive, like I’d done it without doing it.

One of Brandi’s hands tore away to reached behind her back and undo something. The bikini top loosened and fell part way with the fabric catching on her protruding nipples. She shook herself like a wet dog and it flew off, and for the first time I got a good look at just how perfect her breasts were, especially for me. I’d always had a thing for torpedo tits and puffy nipples, and this treasure of womanhood had both, like she’d been designed with Jake in mind. Her tits were practically cantilevered in the way they jutted out, and I just gawked at their glory as hands slipped the bikini bottom down smooth tanned legs. It felt to me like a fuck-wish I’d had for years had just blown into my van.

“I follow my dreams!” she declared. “I make them come true!”

My underhanded influence served back to me on a verbal plate. Actions proved that louder than words, and so did anatomy—Brandi’s pussy looked wetter than wet, and was visibly swollen, too. It wasn’t so extreme that it looked freaky, but her vagina reminded me of an animal in heat, her need enlarged, advertised.

I could have probed inside and tried to take a good look at the dreams that had fueled this sudden onslaught of lust; I didn’t, wanting to be surprised, wanting to learn of it by how she orchestrated our joining. The expression on her face spoke of rampaging lust and iron determination, and a woman didn’t get a workout body like hers without the ability to stick with something until her goals were achieved. She was going for it all by herself; at the same time I’d planted potent seeds that had played a part in her being here, and I used them.

“You’re so fucking beautiful!” I said, leaning in and placing my hands on her sides, moving them up to cup her protruding tits. She shuddered from the words and the touch and I kept repeating, “You’re so beautiful, so beautiful!”

She was a gasp machine, her head thrown back, dark hair cascading. I brushed her hair back and kissed her nipples in turn, my hands exploring the underside of each breast, feeling their curvature and weight. Her nipples were twin fleshy punctuations, growing even stiffer as my lips surrounded them, suckled them. She pushed against me, wanting more contact and I lightly bit into one firm nub, eliciting a deeper gasp and a cry for more. With every bite she quaked, entire body tremors that tightened her muscles in a cascade of fitness glory. My mouth was unwilling to leave such perfectly responsive tits but my hands explored, finding her body silky smooth, all the musculature beneath as tight as a drum.

The tone was not merely for show; she was strong, crying out and rolling into me somehow, turning around to give me her backside.

“From behind!” she insisted. “It starts from behind!”

It had started before she even knew, but I followed her directions, which must be the same as following her dreams. From this viewpoint she reminded me of a human violin, tight in the middle with her hips swelling out in beautiful curves, her back a mosaic of idealized shaping. I squeezed her ass cheeks hard and reached down to pull her thighs further apart, and she reached behind and began to pump my cock with a hand that must have been greased with lotion beforehand.

I had to be inside her. It was like a thunderbolt of need, like the gods had decreed that I must open this distended pussy and bury myself in it, now. I did just that and she yowled with pleasure. I was in a similar state, because the tightness of this pussy was a revelation. It was super-wet yet it clung, squeezed, Brandi hoarsely panting, choked off words trying to get out through overheated breaths.

Finally they came. “Yes! Fuck hard! Squeeze my tits and fuck hard! You do it like that! You do it like that!”

I was perfectly aligned, with Brandi on her knees, ass raised high. Her tits leaped out from her body even when standing straight, but like this they were gravity-fed missiles that I squeezed as I rammed her, creating a forceful rhythm, rocking our bodies and the van, too.

“Faster! Faster like you did! Oh God, yes, it’s coming! Growing in strength! Yes, yes!”

Her words made my skin tingle everywhere, and I felt pulled into a faster pace, pounding her with my dick, squeezing her tits tighter, feeling the soft flesh in front bulge between my fingers, more than filling my hands. Her body was hot in form and in temperature, too, her heat radiating out, the needs of her pussy feeling like they kept swelling, squeezing my cock with molten friction.

Like my dick had been given its own psychic gift, I could feel her orgasm coming before it came, everything catching fire inside her, and then a flooding release, bathing me in searing lubrication. I fucked faster still until my own heart-stopping release, matching her flood with my own.

My eyes were closed when we both came, yet what I experienced was visual anyway, like I could see her screams of ecstasy and watch the spasms that rocked her body. We collapsed and I held onto her breasts, my fingers spread across each boob, pressing in, reveling in their beautiful soft form.

“It’s happening,” Brandi slurred between rapid breaths. “Growing and growing.”

It was happening, my thoughts swirling and body temporarily stilled, tuned into nothing but warm touch and her breath of life.

Her tits were still hot and her butt pressed into me, and she made breathy mewls of continued need that made my dick ache anew. Her hands were on my cock again, still all slippery with some kind of lubricant, and they stroked insistently, then frenetically, inflating my dick like a pump. I was so wet with her and found my cock guided by a firm hand, feeling myself poised to enter her ass.

“Do it!” she prompted. “Do it, do me, do it, do it!”

The next phase of following her dreams couldn’t be clearer, and she had greased me plenty. I pressed into virgin tightness, every centimeter of penetration drawing encouraging cries, her breathing deep and ragged.

“Deeper!” she urged. “You go deeper and...”

I followed her dreams, fell into their spell, rolling her over onto her front. She went high on her knees again and I held fast to her perfect cheeks, pulling them wide, my dick sliding into enveloping compression.

“Fast, full!” she shouted. “I can take it! I have to have it!”

I complied, plunging in hard and deep, feeling her passion level rise inside and out, her ass driving back to smack against me, wave after wave of penetration rocking our flesh, rocking the van, rocking our souls.