The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Martin — July

Dawn had come to a decision. She interviewed with Professor Fiorelli via Skype, and it was arranged that she’d spend four weeks working at the dig site on an internship basis. After that she’d come back home from Italy, unless they got the funding to keep her there. If that happened, and they wanted her to stay... She wasn’t sure.

I’d been preparing inside, figuring that Dawn would have to go to pursue her dreams. What it meant for us in the long term was anybody’s guess, but that was my whole life right now, every day a big question mark with only one thing almost certain to be a part of it—tits, in some form or another, doing God knows what. I went to bed playing with Dawn’s huge pair, had sketchy half-remembered dreams about tits while I slept, and awakened to hear or feel their collective sound, their collective presence, like the other kind of dawn brought countless tit-calls and mating cries instead of the chirping of birds.

Now that we knew Dawn would be away right when her website was being launched, I devised an entirely new strategy of rolling out the material. I’d seen this model only a couple of times, and in our case it made a lot of sense. We’d put almost everything we had up on the website all at once, announcing that there would be a one-time payment to have access for two months. New material would be added every few days until the site would be taken down on Labor Day; subscribers would be encouraged to download as many of Dawn’s/Scarlet’s films and photos as they wished, to keep for posterity. But the site was a temporary thing, so act now, fast.

After that decision had been made we photographed and filmed nonstop. Scarlet massaging her huge tits while cooking, Scarlet playing with her nipples while reading, Scarlet tit-fucking a dildo, Scarlet tit-melting a poor dildo, Scarlet trying on bras, Scarlet on our rooftop with the Macy’s July 4th fireworks display as a backdrop, her overheated tits creating an even more spectacular flare as, in a burst of orgasmic heat, they turned a huge white cotton bra into a wreckage of ash with a strap.

She thought it was completely freaky what her tits could do in that way. She also got extremely excited by it, and wanted to try things, seeing what burned and how much. The most dramatic burn event might have been one we orchestrated in her bedroom, placing a two-by-three foot sheet of plywood on top of her breasts as she lay in bed. The whole thing was filmed in a single take—Dawn naked in bed, the plywood being shown to be completely normal before being placed on her breasts, then Dawn masturbating as I beamed energy into her tits. Smoke wafted out from under the plywood as her voice rose and her fingers flicked faster and faster at her clitoris, and after she came and could move and think again, she lifted the plywood off and showed the bottom to the camera, with two rounded areas scorched into the wood, complete with the even blacker charred shapes where her nipples had been. We viewed the footage and there was no doubt that the events were real, unless Dawn had perfected the most erotic and convincing magic trick in history. A win either way, if the point was amazing people and turning them on so they’d pay to see more.

So many erotic films and photographs in such a short period of time—I wondered whether any woman in history had ever cum so many times in a period of a few days. Or a photographer/videographer, for that matter. I was absolutely certain there had never been an internet model doing the things she could do, all caught on film.

Dawn and I did more than watch fireworks on the July 4th holiday; we also blitzed the boob-oriented internet with Scarlet photos and shortened versions of several films. Never having done this before, it was fascinating to see how interest trickled in during the first ten hours or so, then became more like a wave, followed by a more intense wave. In just the first twenty-four hours she had ninety-five subscribers to her site, and fan emails almost from the first moment. The night before the move to the Williamsburg loft there were two-hundred and eight subscribers willing to shell out the sixty dollar one-time payment to see the one and only Smoking Hot Scarlet in all her physical glory and sexual ferocity.

Dawn read some of the emails from her fans out loud, and they were pretty much what you’d expect, everything from “OMG you’re so beautiful!” to “Where have you been all my life, I want to marry you!” to “I watched your incredible boobs steam up that shower and I thought my dick was the thing on fire!”

We checked out the big breast forums where I’d taken a username and deposited photos of Scarlet, with a “Who is this incredible girl?” subject line. There were already five pages of responses, all the early ones from other forum members wanting to know her identity, too. Finally someone linked Dawn’s site in the discussion thread, and from then on the conversation was more along the lines of, “That film of her tits burning their shape into that wood like it’s the shroud of Turin—that can’t be real, can it?”, or, “The way this girl melts when she cums makes me want to explode!” People were all over the place on whether they believed Dawn’s breasts had actually gotten hot enough to turn water into steam, or burn clothing and other materials. Some believed, even posted a slowed-down close-up of the water-to-tit-to-steam sequence as proof. Others thought all of those films had to be well-orchestrated special-effects.

She got into it, and joined three big-tit forums as SMScarlet, with an avatar of her boobs being tickled by a few locks of red hair. She created an instant stir whenever she posted, flirting with the boob-hounds, uploading new candid photos, essentially driving those forums wild.

Lust. Controversy. Intrigue. Much needed money accumulating in a site-dedicated account. What a great start for Dawn’s internet career.

The evening before the big move to Brooklyn, we took a break between film/fuck sessions, and Dawn glued herself to her laptop, turning some of her new admirers’ dicks to stone in a big boob forum. We needed the time-out so I could pick up the rental van for the morning, and it was during that twilight walk that I tuned into Bonnie’s tits, jiggling not too many blocks from where I was.

I stopped, and tasted, and thought. Her tits had grown even fuller; no longer a surprise, as they were more substantial every time I checked in. What had begun to tease at me was how they sometimes called out and clobbered me with their heat, and I thought I’d noticed a pattern developing, that something inside them awakened every single night, like she had vampire tits that only came fully alive once the sun was down. I could go inside them during the day and stir her boobs’ passions and make her need to get off, but at night, they eventually did that by themselves and it was more a matter of her needs invading me.

It was almost fully dark now, the onset of tit-witching time. I judged Bonnie’s position and it was no more than ten blocks from Laura’s apartment. An evening yoga session or a return session in the sack, or did she just happen to be nearby?

I tuned into Laura, and her tits were flattened out like she was lying on her back. She wasn’t like Bonnie, in that I had to mess with her tits to turn them into aching engines, and I’d been doing that at random times every single day, calling her and giving her nipples and glands jolts of energy as her phone rang. She never did pick up or return my calls, which was okay with me because that wasn’t the point. I’d felt her tits sing out several times today, not organically like Bonnie’s at night, but suddenly in staccato pulses, undoubtedly in response to other phone calls.

Even when I was busy fucking Dawn or otherwise engaged, Laura’s phone was busy teasing her tits. Without ever needing to hang out with her, my ex-girlfriend’s boobs had been trained.

Her nipples were somewhat stiff right now, like they were almost asking for it. Thinking of sex with Bonnie? With What’s-his-face? With me?

The idea came to me in an instant, and I didn’t hesitate, going inside Bonnie’s boobs and making them need, now. Her pace slowed as nerves and glands sang out with desire, and soon she was no longer walking, just breathing heavily in place, nipples hard like rods.

I didn’t leave them, not entirely, even as I took out my phone and punched Laura’s number. I waited for the ringtone, and when it sounded her nipples responded. I piggybacked inside that response, energizing her boobs more with every ring. Meanwhile, Bonnie was still motionless in terms of walking, her boobs heaving in and out.

I’d found them together before and had played with that, turning them into charged particles that had no choice but to collide. I hadn’t stayed tuned-in, though, and had no idea how they felt about where things had gone. They’d both cum; I’d felt that. But the rest of it, the after-sex thoughts, the aftermath? Sex with women was part of Bonnie’s world, but not Laura’s.

Only it was now, especially if I could make these worlds collide again.

I had plenty of time to pick up the van, and began to stroll in the direction of Laura’s apartment. I’d stick with them longer this time, bring them together and keep up the pressure inside Laura, giving her the boob-ride of a lifetime.

Feeling how her nipples were on fire after phoning, maybe I’d be doing her a favor, who knew. Although I doubted she’d think of it that way. Yet.

Laura — July

Reading in bed was supposed to be relaxing, but I couldn’t concentrate. My apartment was beginning to feel like a den of abandoned projects and half-assed efforts; I hadn’t called the woman about the wedding flowers yet, and I was supposed to go downtown to make sure my dress fit perfectly. There were three or four other things all on a list, and not crossed out because my focus and concentration felt all shot down ever since that night with Bonnie.

With her hands upon my breasts. With her lips upon my nipples. With her tongue tracing tortuous trails up my thighs.

“Stop.”

So easy to say that, but I hadn’t been able to utter the word with any conviction then, and couldn’t even make myself stop recalling it now. I kept thinking I could catch Bonnie’s scent, still left somewhere in the room even after laundering all the sheets and the bedspread. Every phantom whiff made me breathe in more deeply as if to find the source and inhale it more deeply, not clean it away. It made me want to call her, or go to her, for more.

“That isn’t me,” I said. Only who was I anymore? I was weeks away from getting married, and the preparations weren’t supposed to include making love to a woman for the first time. But Bonnie was magic, literally magic, and a powerhouse in bed that I hadn’t even known could exist. Her hands and tongue were knowing in a way Stuart wouldn’t be able to emulate even with an instruction manual, yet it was when she received pleasure that the real fireworks began, that climb to a height that was like having a summer storm in my bed, a force of nature that could burst with thunderbolt intensity, her releases more like flash floods than the quiet little “oooo, ahh’s” I’d always known.

Bonnie didn’t just cum; she erupted, and something about being with her had made my body more like that, too, When she’d caressed my breasts I began to think I might be able to have an orgasm just from that touch, no vaginal or clitoral stimulation needed. Only the escalation hadn’t stopped, her every move lighting some new fire, making me feel like I had hot coals in my boobs and a sodden squall between my thighs.

The best sex I’d ever had, with my yoga teacher. With a woman. “Oh Stuart, I’m so sorry.”

Though I’d never say that to his face, would I? Maybe he’d forgive me; probably not. But he’d never know, because I was never going to confess what I’d done.

“I’m not like this,” I tried to say like I meant it. Not distracted. Not a cheat.

Not obsessed? I wasn’t even sure what I was obsessed with. Bonnie, but did that mean Bonnie’s body, or the way she made my body feel? Or was it her full-on attitude when it came to sex? But the attitude wouldn’t mean the same thing if her body didn’t have the capacity to deliver the way it did, like she ate spinach Popeye-style and it was her vagina that got all ass-kicking strong.

“And her boobs.” Because what was up with that, or them? Two weeks ago she’d had petite breasts—a killer body, sure, all toned and super-flexible, but no one would ever have looked at Bonnie Laight and gone ga-ga primarily over her boobs.

Only I had. Out of nowhere they’d been larger than mine, and natural. Mine had grown quickly once upon a time, too, but not that quickly, and I’d been fourteen, when they were supposed to grow. Bonnie was my age, long past all that, only I guess not. But it was more than the way they’d gotten bigger; they were just... great? Like almost unbelievably gorgeous, her areoles such wide, slightly raised circles with edging so even and smooth that they almost looked airbrushed.

And her nipples, my God. I had to swallow from picturing them. From remembering how they’d jutted with... what, force, or maybe intent, like her nipples were beings within a being, alive and determined and so fucking fine that I wanted to date them and write poems about them and oh God what a mess. They were vibrant stunning nipples that any woman would die to have, yes, but what did it say about me when I pictured a friend’s stirring stiff Siren nipples in my mind and my mouth began to water?

I tried to get a grip but then the phone rang, each chirping tone like a probing finger of sound between my legs, sending shivers of icy fire into my nipples. It was happening almost every time someone called, another sign of how my mind had recently been wandering into the gutter. I shut my eyes tight and willed myself not to feel anything, but my breasts wouldn’t play along. They buzzed with the ringing like whatever made the vibrating sound had been implanted into my flesh and I couldn’t help moaning, and sucking in air. It was worse than usual this time, and every time that happened it was Martin calling.

“How do they know?” Because it was always Martin when my body betrayed me this strongly. “Stop it!” I shouted at the phone, knowing I must look and sound like a crazy woman. And it was crazy—my breasts were not antennae that could distinguish between a phone call from Martin and a call from anyone else. When the tortuous sound ceased, I leaped from the bed and picked up the phone and looked and... It had been Martin. My tits had known, again.

Gone now, but the phone had already done its work. I was breathing fast and my nipples had turned into throbbing demons. I felt... It was hard to describe, like everything packed inside my bra had become a mass of swollen nerves urging me to fuck anything that moved. Like there were devils hiding in there, flicking their forked tails at my swollen nipples.

I’d always been proud of my breasts. Martin had once said they were nearly ideal, formed exactly the way an artist would want to draw them. And they were, only now I’d seen just how ideal ideal could be, and knew that mine weren’t nearly as ideal as my yoga instructor’s boobs that had hardly even beet there until just recently.

“Growing like fucking weeds!”

Why did that get to me? Because they were like something out of a dream, perhaps, or a fairy story. Bonnie be nimble, Bonnie be quick, Bonnie ate magic beans and her boobs went from skinny to thick.

It ate at me, that what was happening there shouldn’t be happening, like she was under a witch’s spell. Too restless to sit still any longer, I stepped over to the bedroom window and pulled the curtains to the side, looking out at the lights of the city, wanting to see its reality and solidity, to make sure the buildings hadn’t grown. I couldn’t see Martin’s building from here, and wasn’t even sure if he still lived there—wasn’t he moving into Bonnie’s building today or tomorrow? Oh fuck, the two of them under one roof... I hadn’t thought of that when I introduced them, because Bonnie had been nothing but my yoga instructor then. But if I went to Bonnie’s place for sex now...

“I would never do that,” I said, though the words didn’t sound convincing.

The phone rang again and I literally jumped. In an instant the throbbing in my nipples went from dire to critical and I rushed and looked at the illuminated screen; it was Martin, again. I hissed from how needy my nipples felt and wanted to throw the phone out the window, or better yet run down my street until I could throw it in the river.

Or answer it, and beg him to come upstairs and fuck my brains out.

When the chirping stopped the phone was on the floor and my hands were under my shirt, removing my bra. I had electric ants in my tits and my hands squeezed the pliable flesh, kneading them and pulling at my aching nipples, pinching and oh God yes, a pile of that heat sagging southward, like molten liquid stretching down to fill my love canal to overflowing.

I had to have sex. Sex sex sex I wasn’t getting enough sex because Stuart lived for his fucking job and as he always said, the markets never sleep. I picked up the phone and was ready to dial his number and deliver an ultimatum, but I stopped. He wouldn’t leave the office this early and I’d already tried phone sex with him, three times, but we could never get anything going because he’d always have to take another call.

“I can’t live like that.” I’d thought I could because sex, while nice, had never been as necessary as eating or breathing.

The phone rang again in my hand and I dropped it like it had fangs. My tits were already snake-bit, my nipples swollen and sticking out like they were the tits that had been charmed. I picked the phone off the floor and answered Martin’s call without even looking. “Yes! Yes! Come up and I’ll fuck you again, I promise!”

A couple of seconds of aching terrible silence. Oh my God, was it Stuart? My heart pounded into my tits and finally it was Bonnie’s voice that spoke, soft and thick. “I’m downstairs right now, lover.”

“We have an appointment?” I asked stupidly, my voice cracking. But of course we didn’t; I’d been afraid to call Bonnie ever since we’d done the unthinkable.

“Buzz me in, Laura. I’m... Hurry and buzz me the fuck in!”

I’d be lost if I let her in, but my finger pressed and it was done and I just stood there with no idea what to do. She was here for sex and I hadn’t even been able to say we shouldn’t, couldn’t. I’d just pressed the button with a telltale trail running down my right thigh because my boobs felt like they wanted to fuck her and Martin and half the world.

It was a spell. No, really, no shitting about this, Bonnie was a witch or something and during our yoga sessions she’d been touching me here and there, maybe collecting a hair, a trace of skin, speaking incantations or creating a doll or God knows what. It had to be; it had to be. This wasn’t natural, wasn’t...

A light knocking on the door and I didn’t want to open it. I almost expected the lock to twist as if by magic, the door blown open from a haunted wind, but I was the one moving instead. I silently said another “I’m sorry” to Stuart, and unbolted any hope for a safe and boring Connecticut future.

It didn’t help one bit that she was beautiful from head to toe. Bonnie stared right at the nipple punctuations on my shirt, which might as well be beaming maul-me rays into her eyes. She was wearing tight jeans and a scoop-necked white blouse, and I stared at the fabric-points of her nipples, even more pronounced than mine, and how the shapes of her bulging breasts created a horizontal fold in the fabric that wouldn’t have been there only a couple of days before.

“Oh God you’re even bigger!” I stated both the obvious and the impossible. Because she had grown even more, to the point that her natural hourglass shape was probably even more impressive above the waist than below. “How?” I asked, certain she hadn’t gotten a rush boob-job, that it had to be magic or some illusion fucking with my perceptions. “They aren’t supposed to... Boobs don’t...”

“Some sort of kundalini energy explosion,” she said as she stepped past me.

I knew only a tiny bit about the idea of kundalini energy, and what was she saying, that doing so much yoga was giving her a rack? I turned and caught her in profile and a gulp caught in my throat. Her blouse hugged her new curves and there was so much there that hadn’t existed even a couple of days ago, and even with a bra under her blouse her nipples were visible shapes jutting out proud and strong like boob-antennae.

My knees began to shake just before something took hold inside my breasts that made me cry out, partly from the ferocity of the sensations and partly from the shock, because Bonnie didn’t seem to be doing anything at all to make it happen. It was like everything my breasts could feel, all their sensitivity and life, condensed into two super-potent, super-focused marbles of energy that rushed into my nipples. I screamed or moaned and my legs gave way entirely and I would have fallen flat on my face if Bonnie hadn’t been there to catch me.

Her arms were strong and her body was warm and I heard her voice saying something but all of that was out there, while the black-hole energy of the marbles in my tits was in here and they pulsed like I wished my clitoris could pulse and it literally took my breath away. I gulped oxygen and it took that breath away, too, and Bonnie’s fingers found my nipples and when she squeezed it must have been that both marbles had become the throbbing inside my clitoris because the most sensitive spot between my legs suddenly felt as big and ripe as a piece of fruit.

“You’re... doing this to me!” I managed to eek out, just before the marbles above and the succulent fruit below joined and squeezed and what felt like a lifetime’s worth of sex turned into liquid fire that exploded from deep inside.

I lost track for a few seconds and didn’t even know my legs were bare but Bonnie’s mouth was there to receive me with nothing in the way, her cheeks pressed against my thighs and her tongue slashing up and down between my labia, a liquid metronome ticking me away from feeling delivered because I needed to be delivered again.

It wasn’t possible—some untorn shred of my brain told me that what had happened was real, that I’d cum like never in my life and I couldn’t need to cum again after an orgasm that felt like someone opened an air-lock and my nerves had been sucked into space. Witchcraft, some spell, my yoga teacher was a sex devil charming my marble-filled nipples, making me bellow out my need and need to need even more.

The beautiful terrible tongue left my legs and two points of hard hot skin traced a runway up my torso until something brushed my lips, a light firm touch before a volume of soft weight molded itself to my chin, my cheeks and nose. I knew the press of a big soft breast and instinctively wrapped my lips around Bonnie’s nipple, her huge beanstalk nipple, a needing lovely intruder that felt like it had to be at least twice the width and length it had been when we’d made love only a few days before. I didn’t even think to pull it in with greedy sucking want, or plan how my tongue dabbled and flicked and teased like it had its own tit-loving brain.

I couldn’t stop sucking and my hands came up and couldn’t stop squeezing. Her nipples felt like marble-filled wonders, too, and when her voice escalated in tone, all the “Yes, yes!” cries buzzing my tits and wetting my clit I knew I was truly lost, lost forever to whatever I’d thought I wanted before because her passion was both an echo of mine and an engine for more, and I’d never known its like and didn’t know how I could live without it now, not now, not when we could crash our marbles together and already I could feel her body humming like a generator ready to blow its casing, blow and spew like an attraction at Yellowstone.

All I’d experienced before was both confirmed and surpassed. Bonnie didn’t just cum; she was an eruption, an event, a flash flood, a wet and explosive miracle. Sound filled the room and I felt my thighs and abdomen receive her warmth, her ejection of bliss, and feeling it lit my tits yet again, lit them in a way that had me gasping out my own sudden release, our juices mixing, bodies slippering together as though we’d been oiled.

Somewhere in deep where thought might still exist, I knew this couldn’t be happening but was, and that I’d want it or need it again like now my sanity depended on it. Somewhere even deeper I knew with absolute conviction that she had to be a witch, a demon, a something I couldn’t even name or fathom because she’d absolutely charmed me,and had charmed me through my tits.She’d awakened them,shown me and them what they were there for, and their awakening had turned them into exquisite sense-organs tied straight to my clitoris, which had in turn transformed into a voracious monster of nerves and wanting.

Bonnie had collapsed on top of me, her boobs straddling my neck like they had just strangled the life out of the Laura who’d thought she’d get married and live boring ever after. Our hearts pounded together and I knew mine had been captured, overwhelmed, bewitched and stolen.

I wrapped my arms around her and somehow we rolled onto our sides, boobs shifting and soaked lower bodies gliding. I wiggled my legs into hers and they were perfect together, smooth muscled skin meeting and fitting, like attracting like. In my brain so many conflicting impulses were swimming in the wake of our tide, many of them bobbing feebly and floating away, and what was left was a kind of physical relief I’d never even known could exist, and a feeling for the woman nestled against me that went so far past attraction and I could only describe as some form of awe.

“I’m not done,” she whispered into the darkness, into the unreal real, and I could feel her words take shape in the way her nipples became even harder marbles pressing against my tits.

I felt inside that the madness that had invaded my nipples was temporarily released; no wonder, with the way I’d cum. I could be done and just hold her tight, even if only for a few hours, but Bonnie’s body was in a different state, still thrumming with energy, her breasts hot and practically steaming against me.

I understood that kind of need now. And I wanted to deliver her, or help her or...

Oh no, it couldn’t be true that I might even love her. Not a love spell, please not a love spell.

Was it love that made me want to take her where I’d been taken? Was it adoration, or empathy, or even fear that if I didn’t give as good as I got, she might not give to me again?

I had no idea, because I didn’t seem to be the me I understood anymore. Whatever drove me just then, I didn’t go at her all at once. My right hand came up and conformed to one of her breasts like maybe it only wanted to rest there, but my fingers didn’t stay still, finding ways to open and close around the straining nipple, teasing it, teasing her, bit by bit coaxing breathy gasps and choked inhalations that I knew I could turn into deep passionate cries with only the littlest pulling, or the joining of my tongue onto the other nipple, taking her inside my mouth and bathing Bonnie’s beautiful new beauties with heat and wet, with flicks and deep vacuuming pulls.

This was not the nipple fuck-fever, the craziness, and I was making love to this woman, teasing and pleasing, a hand reaching between her thighs, my middle finger pressing into sopping membrane and entering, curling, trying to give her the sensations I loved to feel the most inside.

A muscled thigh raised and pressed between my legs, and yes, I was getting heated again, not like before but hot nonetheless, turned on by how I could turn her on.

In a way I had no illusions when I worked my head between Bonnie’s thighs, tasting the wet that still coated her flesh before diving in to drink more. The woman was a burning furnace and I was turning her on, and would give her, gladly, as many releases as she wanted tonight, or as many as I could handle before I collapsed into exhaustion. But no illusions—she was in control, above me. She had slain something in me and I was entranced, in debt, held in the grip of needs she could whisper into my flesh with the force of a hurricane.

I didn’t know what she was. Witch was the word I kept returning to, because I was a woman that would die with anticipation until she placed me under her spell again. And when she came in that unbelievable way she did, her release like leaning into a hot summer storm and taking its power full on the chin, mouth open to drink down the power of nature or Mother Earth as it chose to either bathe us or drown us, I almost felt like a child again, like a girl feeling the lure of lust for the first time again.

Good God, what had she done to me? Because I could not feel more hooked.