The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I brought Chinese!”

I had my yellow-gloved hands sunk in sudsy water, washing dishes, when I heard Tiffany come in and announce she had brought home take-out.

“’kay,” I called over my shoulder, not bothering to turn around, rubbing at a stubborn spot of dried food on a plate.

We eat in more than most college students, mostly because I like to cook. But I hate doing dishes, so they sit in the sink and accumulate until I break down and break out the playtex. Of course, by then doing the dishes takes as much brillo and elbow grease as it does a sink full of hot soapy water.

Tiffany burns everything she touches, and has ever since she was a kid, so she is banned from using the cooking utensils. So when its her turn to “cook”, we usually eat take-out. Tiffany keeps offering to help with the dishes, but she tends to break and chip the dishes when she does, or else leaves a poorly rinsed plate with a film of soap on it, so I banned her from dishes too. It’s always been like that, even before ...

It’s been two weeks since she sank her sharp teeth into my neck for the first time. Our relationship has definitely changed. Subtle in some ways ... not so subtle in others.

Tiffany has been feeding on me every other day for the last two weeks, and has been grinning and glowing and been generally vivacious, as if everything was right in the world and life was good.

My life however, had turned upside down. My emotions had turned inside out.

She was my best friend, and had been for most of my life. I trusted that she really did need me, that she needed someone close to her that she could trust, instead of relying on random strangers to “donate” blood. Especially with how intimate the act could be.

But I was torn inside about it, in more ways than one.

I feel violated and scarred every time she feeds on me, every time she bites me. But it’s also impossible to deny her. Every session feels like one long orgasm. Except that “orgasm” can’t possible describe what it feels like to be bitten. It’s intense, and overwhelming.

I sighed, rinsed off the plate I was working on, stood it in the plastic drying rack we had setup on the counter, and went to work on the next plate.

“What’s up?” Tiffany asked from behind me, hearing me sigh.

I bit my lip, and focused on scouring the plate in front of me. “Oh, nothing. School stuff. What’d you pick up for movie night?”

I heard her fish something out of the bag she was rummaging around in, and assumed she was waving DVDs at me.

“Tomb Raider and Wanted.”

Tiffany was on an Angelina Jolie kick. We’d watched Hackers last week.

I bent back to the dishes, and Tiffany laid out cartons and chopsticks on the table

Tiffany had handed me a shiny pamphlet the day after bitting me. She wouldn’t look me in the eye and was blushing deeply when she did it. I blushed too when I read the title:

“Donor Do’s and Dont’s.”

It suggested that I take iron supplements and drink lots of fluids to keep up with the blood loss, if I was going to be donating regularly.

It also explained that vampires had evolved certain adaptations in reaction to having to feed on people on a regular basis. Some of these adaptations would affect me.

After two weeks of constant ... I wasn’t sure what to call what happened during a feeding session. Vampire sex? I certainly melted into a puddle with Tiffany attached to my throat. But after two weeks I was already changing.

Tiffany seemed fascinated with my breasts when she was feeding. I wasn’t sure that my breasts were growing, but they certainly felt more pert. My nipples more pronounced. And more sensitive. My Clitoris as well.

It was embarrassing. It was frustrating.

So was my reaction to Tiffany on an emotional level. I felt bound to her. Sealed. I was happy when she smiled. I went to pieces when she frowned or cried.

And on a physical level ...

Tiffany walked up behind me and rested her chin on my shoulder. “Come on Abby, finish up!”

I rolled my eyes and glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “I’m almost done, jeez. Keep your pants on will you?” I turned back to the sink. “So, did you stop at the Happy Panda this time?” I asked her, “or is this from that new place you said you were going to—”

I froze up and gasped as Tiffany snuck her hands under the front of my shirt, slid them up my stomach, and squeezed my breasts.

“Tiff! Please! Let me finish the—”

She bit me. Hard.

I jerked and grunted. Stabs of pain gave way to the burning heat that swept through me. I heard the plate I’d been working on fall to the floor and shatter. I plucked at her hands under my shirt with dripping wet playtex fingers, before they fell nerveless to my side. My head lolled. I moaned and cried out in agonizing pain, in excruciating pleasure.

Oh.

Oh.

My knees buckled and I fell. And Tiffany was there with me.

I woke up looking at the ceiling, with Tiffany’s face looking down at me. “Hey,” she said with a smile, stroking my hair.

“Hey,” I said shyly. Despite the accompanying pain, it’s so hard to stay mad at someone for something that feels so damn good. I shivered a little from the after effects of her feeding on me, and hugged my arms to myself. Which abruptly reminded me my hands were still soaking wet. “Gyah!”

Tiffany laughed as I held my arms up away from myself and my wet shirt. She helped me sit up, telling me to be careful of the broken pieces of plate on the floor.

“Go get cleaned up and change. I’ll take care of the mess. It was my fault anyway,” Tiffany said, though her tone and smirk said that she wasn’t very repentant.

I stripped off the gloves and threw them at Tiffany, who just laughed again.

I made my way to the shower. I was embarrassed further when I realized I squished with every step.

I soaped up in the shower, hot water splashing around me. I bit my lip again as I washed the newly sensitive parts of my body. I still wasn’t used to how I was changing in reaction to Tiffany.

I rinsed off, reflecting again on how my life was changing. How I was changing.

And reflected on the fact that there wasn’t much I thought I could do to prevent it from happening.

I leaned against the front of the shower stall with my forearms, letting water stream over my scalp and back. Caught up in my emotions, I fought back a sniffle.

“I won’t cry tonight. Not tonight,” I whispered. “I wont.”

But I stared down at the fresh water washing down the drain, and watched it mix with drops of salt water.

I waited until the water ran fresh again, and washed my face. I shut off the shower and reached for a towel.

Empty Chinese food containers littered the table in the kitchen, and Tiffany and I were huddled up on the couch in front of the TV.

Tiffany had a large bowl of popcorn on her lap, which I snitched pieces from occasionally. She scooped up large handfulls to munch on with one hand, watching the movie intently. Her other hand was twined with mine, our fingers laced together.

Even before her change, we had been pretty inseparable, but now physical contact seemed very important to Tiffany. So we were often holding hands or touching when together now.

Partway through the movie, with the actress running by in skimpy clothes, I felt Tiffany tense up. I glanced up at her.

She stared at the woman on the screen. But instead of the admiring looks of lust that she had started using after her change, she was staring with longing. The same kind of look she had had on her face when she came home and bit me the first time. Sitting beside her, holding her hand, I tried not to shiver.

For some reason, after having eaten two whole cartons of Chinese food, after having fed on me a few hours before ...

Tiffany still looked hungry.