The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The bar was empty. It was almost odd, Kent mused, that a bar as successful as this one could spend so much time with no one in it. Not that he was complaining, of course; it gave him time to collect his thoughts. And he never got bored—he knew that, given time, someone would walk in. He was never short of entertainment.

As if summoned by Kent’s reverie, the door swung open at that very moment and a family of three walked in. It took the large bartender a few seconds to recognise his visitors; each of them had gone through radical changes since he’d last seen them.

Trisha led the way; when she’d left the bar, she was dressed in quite a scandalous outfit. In comparison to her current garb, however, it had made her look like the Virgin Mary.

The middle-aged housewife was wearing a corset that just screamed danger. Covered in spikes and highlighting her already prominent cleavage, it immediately told you that she was here to fuck...and that it was going to hurt you. Around her waist was a belt, with numerous whips and chains hanging off it, and her long legs (already accentuated by the spiked heels that she’d somehow managed to force her feet into) were clad in a leopard print set of pantihose.

Dominance, danger, and sex. The way she walked, the hard (yet lustful) look on her face...everything that Trisha had been when she first entered was wiped away, replaced with the scariest woman that Kent had ever seen...and the sexiest.

She held a leash in her right hand, and three steps behind her, being jerked along by her taut, musclular arm was Roger. The formerly-straight, masculine father was unashamedly wearing a corset—with no need to hide his proclivities from his wife, he’d embraced all the trappings of the opposite gender—piercings, make-up...the pink thong he wore even showed that he’d begun waxing his legs and ass.

His hair was in pigtails, and he grinned with pain as Trisha tugged on his leash, causing him to collapse on the floor. Julia almost didn’t notice him as she wandered through the door, her eyes widened as she looked at all the bright lights. Although she’d been there before, everything seemed new to her...something that Kent suspected was the case anywhere she went.

Julia’s changes were the most obvious. When she’d stumbled out of the bar two weeks ago, well-fucked by Kent and all his patrons, she’d looked essentially the same as when he’d first laid eyes on her, barring the addition of a few tattoos—a sweet, pretty, skinny young girl. But now...well, in addition to the half-dozen new tatts that she’d gotten since then, she’d grown significantly more muscular, her bust size had been artificially doubled, and the innocent young girl was dressed in an obvious imitation of her mother.

After carefully steppng over her father’s prone body, she seemed to remember something, and turned around to kick him. Unlike her mother, however, Julia posessed no natural (or implanted) cruelty, and the result was more of a nudge, from her huge black platform heels. Her corset was black, but where Trisha’s drew equal parts fear and arousal, Julia’s looked more like the type one would see a lingerie model wearing. Sexy, not scary.

Julia turned around with a smug look on her face, which immediately faded as she once more became overwhelmed by the new environment. She spotted her mother on a barstool in front of Kent, and joined her. After a few seconds, Roger began crawling over to sit at the girls’ heels.

“What can I get you?” Kent drawled, curious to see where this was going. Julia had a docile smile on her face—again, something that he suspected was a regular occurence—but Trisha looked absolutely furious.

“Don’t you fucking speak to me like that, you...you...you man,” she spat, the final word clearly the worst possible insult that she could come up with. Kent privately wondered how she balanced her man-hating ways with her lust for Julia, whose newest tattoo clearly proclaimed her status as “daddies slutt”.

“You know exactly why we’re here,” Julia added, trying—and failing—to match her mother’s dominant stance and angry tone. Kent continued to polish his glass unworriedly, wondering where this was going. It was clear from Julia’s tone that she didn’t know either, try though she did to sound sure.

“You’re trying to pull shit and...and fucking undermine me,” Trisha continued. “If this is because I wouldn’t fuck you...Jesus fucking Christ, get over it!”

“Why don’t you explain what you’re talking about,” Kent said slowly. His soft words briefly calmed Trisha, and he could see the whole family begin to relax, but she immediately shook it off and continued to glare at him.

“You really are a fucking piece of work, aren’t you? You stupid cunt...I know what you’re doing, okay? Your bullshit won’t work here. Jules, why don’t you tell this fuckwit what happened when you came home last week.”

“Okay mommy,” Julia beamed, and in her own slow way, began to tell her story, her parents occasionally interjecting to add or correct small details.

After being taken by the several dozen patrons of the bar last week, Julia had spent over an hour redressing. Trying to remember which items of clothing went where was a real effort, and so she’d had plenty of time to think. A small part of that time was spent on the idea of a tattoo with a “how to dress” diagram (“Everyone should have one!)” but most of her slow pondering was dedicated to Kent’s final piece of advice, the suggestion he’d whispered in her ear while he was using her hair to wipe his cock clean, after cumming inside her ass for the third time.

It had been a fairly simple suggestion, but as a fairly simple girl, Julia needed a lot of time to process it. After an hour of getting dressed, and two hours of remembering how to get home, she’d had a good night’s sleep, and when she woke up in the morning, she’d finally processed what he’d told her.

When she’d walked into her mother’s bedroom, Julia had a plan.

“Mom,” she’d said, ignoring the two teenaged girls that her mother had somehow acquired and brought home with her, “I’m going to fuck you.”

She’d paused to savor the look of delight that had crossed her mother’s normally-unhappy face, and gotten distracted by the look of disgust shared by her two guests, and so it was more than a minute before she remembered to add her condition.

“...but only if you let me fuck Dad.”

There had been a huge fight—screaming, cajoling, plenty of swearing—and by the time the mother and daughter had finished, the two teenagers had decided to explore submission somewhere else. Trisha was cunning, quick-witted, sharp-tongued, and used every trick that she had...but Julia had the advantage of stupidity, and stubbornly refused to understand anything that her mother threw at her. She’d had one idea that day, and wasn’t going to let any other thoughts enter her head.

Her hatred of men, her particular hatred of Roger—even her concern for what had happened to her daughter’s IQ, or the sudden tattoos she’d acquired...all of this was ignored, as Trisha realized that the chance had finally come for her dream to come true. She was going to fuck her daughter, and as she eventually admitted to herself, nothing else mattered.

Roger was summoned from his chores, and Trisha laid out the ground rules. He was going to fuck his daughter (no one in the family even questioned the idea that he had any kind of say in it), but only when Trisha was there to supervise. And she made it clear to Julia that after each fuck, she was to do everything and anything her mother said for the next few hours.

In a twisted way, everyone’s dreams came true that day.

As Julia lowered her father’s bikini-bottom, she finally got to come face-to-face with the cock that she’d been fantasizing about for as long as she could remember. To her disappointment, it remained flaccid, even as she reached out and slowly started stroking it up and down. Taking it in her mouth, she thought she felt a slight plumping, but after more than a minute of sucking on her father’s limp member, there was still no change.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake...” Trisha muttered—while she’d enjoyed the look of agonizing horror on her husband’s face as his daughter tried to inexpertly fellate him, every second that he wasn’t fucking their daughter was another minute she had to wait. She disappeared briefly, and when she returned, was holding one of the scariest whips that Julia had ever seen.

Roger’s eyes lit up at the sight of it.

With a flick of her hand, the cat o’ nine tails snapped into action, coming into contact with Roger’s bare back. He whimpered in pain, and Julia was delighted to find the meaty morsel in her mouth suddenly responding, hardening as the pain seeped into his body and combined in interesting ways with the velvety contact from his daughter’s enthusiastic tongue.

Trisha watched as her daughter worshipped her father’s unworthy cock (“unworthy cock”—practically a tautology, as far as the leather-clad woman was concerned), occasionally giving Roger another lashing if there was any sign of his erection beginning to fade.

Once Julia felt that it was sufficiently lubricated, she stood up, removed her panties (but left her skirt on) and gave them to her father. She felt more than a little disappointed that he was only aroused by her mother’s actions, and hoped that the panties would help focus her father’s attention back on her, without lessening his excitement.

As Roger began to rub the panties across his face, she immediately regretted handing them to him—his eyes were closed, his face in a horrible grimace, and it seemed that he was using the panties to distract him even further from what was happening. Still, she knew that she had to take what she could, and so she slowly began to lower herself onto her father’s hardness.

She moaned with pleasure as she felt him parting her still-sore pussy; he wasn’t as big as any of the men who had given her a hard pounding the night before, but to her mind, her father’s cock was perfect. Beyond perfect. Super-duper perfect. Super-duper-DUPER perfect.

As Julia got louder and louder, it became more and more difficult for Roger to tune out the reality of what they were doing—he had no problem with the fact that she was his daughter, but the fact that she was a woman was killing him. While Roger lived for the humiliation his wife doled out to him, he’d come to accept that when it came to sex, it was men that he wanted. He only ever wanted to be touched by men. The distraction of the panties, the pain from the whip...as long as he was able to pretend that it was a man’s mouth around his, he’d been fine, but now that he was balls-deep in his daughter’s wet pussy, he was struggling to pretend that it was anything than what it is.

Gritting his teeth, and non-verbally indicating to his wife that he needed to be punished if he was going to get through this, Roger was able to ignore the clenching of his daughter’s pussy as she came, again and again. Some part of him knew that she wouldn’t be satisfied until he came inside her, and he thanked the stars that his wife had, in an attempt to make him suffer, forbidden him from cumming for the last few days, even as she restricted him to his new bedroom (a Barbie’s Playhouse-like room, where gay pornography played 24×7 and posters of beefy men hung on the walls, perversely contrasting the pink walls and the huge closet, filled with his new wardrobe: skirts, blouses, and heels so slutty that not even a stripper would be comfortable with them.)

He pretended that he was back there now, alone in his room, listening to the grunts and moans of men as they fucked each other silly. Instead of his daughter’s pussy, he pretended that he was fucking a fleshlight, while being pounded from behind by a huge, sweaty lumberjack...surrounded by a pack of sailors, jerking off at the sight. Roger filled his mind with images of men, men fucking, men with muscles bigger than his head...anything other than the image of womanhood who was currently bouncing up and down on his cock and having the time of her life.

Finally, after more than half an hour of pain and pretending he was anywhere else, Roger grunted, and his cock pulsed once. A tiny amount of cum dribbled out the end; barely an orgasm, as far as he was concerned, but he knew that it would be enough to satisfy his daughter.

She thanked him profusely, told him that she was his naughty little girl and that he could “use her whenever he wanted” (he shuddered at the thought) and after a terse nod from his wife, left the room to have a long, cold, shower.

As Kent refilled Trisha’s beer and watched her throw a peanut to the floor for Roger, he wondered where this was going. The family seemed calm enough, but he hadn’t been expecting a return visit. He poured Julia another glass of soda, and as she choked on the bubbles (“I forgot it was fizzy!") Trisha picked up the story where her daughter had left off.

Julia’s post-coital bliss hadn’t lasted long...Trisha hadn’t let it. The girl had barely had time to sigh in happiness when she opened her eyes to find her mother standing over her, a hungry look in her eyes.

Over the past few days, Julia had grown accustomed to her mother’s lustful gaze, but never had it been so intense, and it had certainly never been so close...she jumped in shock, and a cruel look came across her mother’s face.

“Now,” she said, “it’s time for good little girls to fuck their mothers.”

At first, it wasn’t too bad. While her mother spanked Julia’s perfect ass, she was able to close her eyes and pretend it was her strong, dominant father of years gone by. As her mother fingered her, she pretended that the slim digits belonged to the current, feminine version of her father. And when her mother’s tongue slipped between the young girl’s pussy-lips, just the fact that her father’s cum was still buried deep inside her was enough for Julia to get through it.

But over the next few hours, Julia began to discover exactly how deep her mother’s depravity went. Although Julia had no interest in lesbianism, her mother insisted that she “take her place” between her stockinged legs, and Julia unwillingly had her first taste of another woman’s sex. And after Julia asked if she could just go back to being spanked...

Though Julia had seen (and heard) elements of her mother’s tastes, from walking in on her with other women, and of course the constant interactions between Trisha and her father, she hadn’t realized how much her mother enjoyed seeing people suffer.

So Trisha had agreed to another spanking. But this time, she’d pulled out a thin cane, and made sure that it hurt.

In her position, Julia knew that her father would have loved every second of what was happening...and perhaps that was why Trisha never went all-out with her husband, because he would have enjoyed himself too much. But Julia obviously hated it, and that just got Trisha off even more.

The spanking was followed by Julia going down on her mother once more, as Trisha ground her pussy against Julia’s face, visibly enjoying the look of discomfort. And after that a strap-on was procured, with Julia feeling like she was going to split in two as her mother slowly slid it into her ass.

Depraved act followed depraved act, and eventually Julia’s brain just turned off. The simple thoughts that she normally allowed herself turned into a simple repetition of “a promise is a promise”, the only thing that got her through it; Julia knew that if she backed out now, she’d never get the chance to fuck her father again. And that thought was enough to get her through everything that Trisha threw at her, from making her sobbingly admit that she was a stupid whore, to being forced to lick out her own mother’s asshole.

Though the experience with her father hadn’t quite been everything she’d hoped for, it had still been a mind-blowing experience. The culmination of a lifetime of wanting, Julia knew that it would get better, the more they did it...and she wanted to do it a lot more.

And so she endured the most humiliating, disgusting and perverse acts she’d ever encountered, until her body was singing in pain, she couldn’t taste anything but her mother’s cum and sweat, and her eyes were so red from tears that she was worried that she’d never look normal again.

Finally, after almost half the day had passed, Trisha fell asleep, satisfied, and Julia dragged herself up to her room. Her father came in to comfort her, perhaps hoping to bond with another of Trisha’s “victims”, but all she could do was hold him and sob.

He stroked her hair and kissed her on the head, and when the crying finally stopped, she looked up at him and smiled.

“I love you, Daddy.” she said.

“I love you too, baby girl,” he replied, but when she went to kiss him on the lip, he recoiled.

“No,” he lied quickly, as a look of despair began to return to her face. “You remember what your mother said...only while she’s in the room.

“You wouldn’t want to anger mother now, would you?”

Julia nodded, and as she drifted off to sleep, Roger slipped out of the room, and went downstairs to wake Trisha. Hopefully having her sleep interrupted would make her so mad that she’d tie him up and beat him silly, or force him to eat dog-food again.

The next few days continued in the same vein. In the morning, Julia would force a reluctant orgasm from her father, and then as he went off to recover, spend the next several hours as the sexual slave to her mother. She always meant to specify an end-time for their deal, but would get so excited at being filled up by her daddy that she’d forget until her mother’s fun had started.

A promise is a promise.

Her father’s lack of enjoyment bothered her, and so as her mother put her through the most unpleasant tasks her creative mind could come up with, Julia distracted her simple mind by trying to work out a plan. She knew her father liked...stuff. But what stuff? And how could she...do...stuff.

It was a tricky one, but after almost a week of sexual servitude to her mother, the once-bright young lady came up with something.

While her mother slept, Julia raided her parents’ closet. Though he was smaller than either of them, she managed to find a few items of clothing that fit, and after an hour of trying bits and pieces on, had an outfit. Not a perfect one, but it would do, at least until she could order something more suitable from the internet.

The next morning, she came downstairs, and both her parents gaped at the sight of her. Everything she wore was black leather (most of it was meant to be tight, but her small frame ensured that some of the effect was lost.)

She walked over to her mother, looked her defiantly in the eyes, and said “I’m going to fuck Daddy now. Anything you want to do about it? Bi...bitch? Bitch-face?”

As Julia yanked her father up by his nipple ring, a slow smile crept across Trisha’s face. So her daughter wanted to play? She clearly had no idea who she was up against...

For the first time, Trisha’s whips weren’t needed as Julia fucked her father. Though she clearly wasn’t an expert like her mother, she’d worked out some of the buttons to push, and was doing an adequate job of it.

“You poopy face,” she was muttering, trying to ignore the waves of pleasure that swept across her body as her father, for the first time, seemed to actually enjoy the tightness of his teenage daughter. “You stupid poopy face. You’re just crap, aren’t you? You’re a crap, stupid poopy face.

“Do you like fucking your daughter? You don’t, do you? Well you know what? I like that. I like that you hate it. Yeah, Daddy. Yeah. I hope this is really bad for you. Oh, god...yeah...I hope this is...ugh...just...crap!!”

Roger’s balls tightened as he joined in with his daughter’s orgasm, cumming inside of her at the idea of how much he hated cumming inside of her. Somehow, she’d stumbled upon the key. He hated fucking her...but he loved being forced to do things he hated.

Looking up at his wife, Roger gulped at the look of fury on her face. He pulled out of his daughter and left as quickly as possible. He enjoyed pain, he enjoyed suffering, he enjoyed torture...but even he didn’t want to be there for what was going to come next.

That day, Trisha did everything she could to try to break her daughter. For the first time, she drew blood. For the first time, she whipped until her arm could whip no more. For the first time, she spent an entire five hours with her daughter without either of them cumming.

She wanted to show her daughter what happened when she tried to outsmart her mother. She wanted to show her daughter what happened when she tried to beat her at her own game. But more than anything, she wanted to destroy her daughter, to reduce her into a quivering mess who would never try to mess with mommy again.

But finally, she had to admit defeat. Perhaps because Julia knew she had won, perhaps her morning fuck had been so good she was immune to Trisha’s efforts, or perhaps just because Julia’s brain wasn’t big enough to be susceptible to pain...at the end of it, when Trisha was too exhausted to move, Julia still had that stupid, vacant little smile on her face.

Over the next few weeks, though Trisha agreed to help Julia out, the fury never left her eyes. She helped Julia work out, as the tiny girl added muscle to her lithe body; partially so that she could more easily inflict pain on her whimpering father’s back, before forcing him to fuck her, but also so that she could look more like the men that she knew that he craved.

Her packages arrived in the mail, but while Trisha knew exactly where to find sexy leather, Julia had just typed in “corsett” into google, and bought the first few that had come up—as a result, where Trisha’s were form-fitting and spiked, Julia’s were silky, frilly affairs, and her almost-complete lack of tits caused them to sit strangely on her body.

It hadn’t been hard for Trisha to trick the simple-minded teen into getting implants to ensure that they’d fit—Julia had wanted to upgrade her small B’s to a C, but Trisha managed to talk her into D-cups, bordering on double-D. On the girl’s thin frame, they looked huge, and completely dispelled any chance of Roger visualising her as a man, but Julia seemed quite happy with them nonetheless.

Her new, more muscular frame; the huge fake tits; her new wardrobe of black; her severe make-up...it resulted in Julia strongly resembling her lesbian bitch-domme mother, but a smaller, more feminine version (though not, of course, nearly as feminine as Roger.)

On the rare occasion that the two went out together, they attracted stares, Trisha’s glare the only thing stopping them from being constantly hit on. But though Julia could never provide Roger with the pain that Trisha did, the young girl was getting alarming close to cutting her mother out entirely, depriving her of her pet man and her young, sexy daughter.

“...and I know you’re to blame,” Trisha said, her angry eyes burning into Kent’s as Julia tried to mimic her mother, and threw a peanut into her father’s ear. “You came up with this plan in the first place. You told her what to say, how to act...and all to get back to me. All because I wouldn’t fuck you.”

Kent’s face remained passive as the woman softly ranted at him. The deal, he had to admit, had been his idea—agreeing to allow Trisha whatever she wanted, in return for time with Roger—but everything else stemmed straight from Julia’s head. Even with a reduced IQ, she was smarter than anyone expected.

“So...fine.”

He thought he’d been around long enough that there was nothing left to startle him, but Kent couldn’t hide his surprise at Trisha’s words.

“Stop what you’ve started,” Trisha specified, “and I’ll fuck you. Just once. And I won’t enjoy it. But I don’t want to lose her. I...I don’t want to lose my daughter to my husband.”

In all his years of lending an ear to his patrons, Kent had never before been at a loss for words, but it was a good thirty seconds before the large man’s mouth opened in response. The offer had thrown him for a loop, but his line of work had meant that it had been years since someone had offered him sex without him setting it up, and curiousity took him the rest of the way.

“Okay,” he said simply, and Trisha nodded, and reluctantly began taking off her clothes.

“I suppose you’ll want to see everything,” she said, contempt dripping from every word that came out of her mouth. “Typical fucking man. Julia, turn away. I don’t...I don’t want you to see your mother like this. Roger, get me the lube.”

It was fast (Kent hadn’t had a customer all day) and Trisha obviously hated every second of it. After they were done, he did as he promised, and had a quick word with Julia (“Do you think,” he asked, “that your love for your father is what makes you want to be just like him?") and as the family left, was surprised at how satisfied he felt.

As he wiped down the sink, he wondered if he was growing lazy. Perhaps there was something to be said for stepping back and letting things take their course. Perhaps he’d enjoyed the woman because he hadn’t seen it coming—surprise, he’d once heard, was the spice of life, and his life may just be too tightly controlled.

Perhaps it was time to hang up his towel, live life as it came, and see if he continued to get pleasure from simply letting people surprise him.

Kent looked up as the door opened, and at the sight of the pretty young teenage girl walking in, lost his train of thought.

“You,” he drawled, pouring her a drink, “have got something on your mind...”

“Well...” the girl replied, strangely fascinated by the bartender’s haircut, “I suppose I do...”