The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You make me oozy, Joey. You really do. I want you to know that whatever happens to us, you’re my..” What was Joey to Carmen? “My..” He was certainly big and strong, and made her motor hum without any battery power. “You’re my first love,” she smirked, hoping to not make her dismissal too obvious.

The wagon bucked, shifting rockily on the dirt road. Her ponderous chest wagged back and forth beneath her confining gingham frills, but the hypnotic bounce wasn’t enough to convince her boyfriend. This was the third time he had been down to Cherub Cove to visit her and each time, she felt less and less like the girl he had come to know, and more like a backwoods betty.

“But..?” he wondered, asking the cauldron of sensuality that was her cleavage. Her boobs moved like a pendulum just underneath two lavender-bowed pigtails. “But first love just isn’t good enough for you anymore.” Joey resigned himself to that cold truth, and didn’t have to play up the dejected angle. His lip turned and quivered on its own. Carmen caught him shedding crocodile tears and couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer.

She opened her mouth wide, revealing some new fillings he hadn’t noticed before, and a heretofore-unseen gap in her two front teeth. She tugged on her checkered dress self-consciously, her fidgeting a last remnant of her city life. It was no matter. She couldn’t hide her little tummy any longer. She burped, the full meal her host parents had provided the two of them happily settling in her stomach, spicy corn bread and Virginia ham!

Carmen didn’t feel like dropping the news that she was pregnant just yet. It just didn’t seem fair, considering how good and full she felt. Plus, she didn’t want to worry him any more, not even being sure it was his and all. “Of course you’re enough for me, Joey,” she placated, merely half-aware of the words escaping her glossy lips. She shifted in the plush velvet seat of the coach, clenching anxious pelvic muscles.

“But I’ve been.. talking with other guys who are more than enough for me!” She sighed, and adjusted her new bra straps as her boyfriend of almost two years looked on, flabbergasted. One of the horses pulling the wagon was relinquishing something foul, but Carmen didn’t seem to notice. Joey tried to downplay his erection. It was going to be a long ride.

Five weeks earlier...

Pigeons danced around Shayla in the mid-morning breeze as she walked to work. A bounty of sunlight peppered her step as she trotted through the park, slyly acceptant of the superglued gazes of a couple dozen men. She gave them a soft masterpiece to take in without so much as a thought. Her dark tresses hopped up and down about her head, every follicle a siren call for her rich and creamy boobage. Her functionally round booty, attractive like some sensual velcro, shook and shimmied with every step.

It looked even nicer being accomodated by the new white wraparound boots Father Colm O’Riordan presented to her the night before. They perfectly matched the bright, glamorous cocktail dress stuck to her bursting body, but she wasn’t sure that what the priest had said about them was true. He claimed they were standard issue for all the sisters at St. Rihanna’s Shrine upstate. Shayla couldn’t quite see the practicality in them, but she wasn’t prepared to argue with the holy man. Not when he was balls deep within her as she tried them on.

The night had been weird, to say the very least. However, Shayla was cultured. She studied David Lynch films. She went to Animal Collective concerts and had eaten fish intestines while she was in Korea. Plus, she was drunk, stoned and overworked. Still, it was a bit curious to be held up by a hot girl and a cop while a man of the cloth poured watermelon-scented chrism all over her nude body. And it was even stranger how the recollection itself made her blush and sweat so easily.

But all that was nothing compared to the amount of semen that sluiced its way all over her pliable form, a gracious, copious gift from the two men. For the amount of dreamy stickiness peppering her night, her smooth body was remarkably soft and dry this morning, hot even. In the back of her mind, Shayla wondered if she had a fever. Could all that caffeine have wended its way to her molecules by now? It was getting ridiculous how every question she asked of herself seemed to make her futility grow. Every thought made her brain become flush, her thick thighs become smoother, her stupidity become law.

She had been humiliated in the hazy night before, when, after filming a facial scene for some after-hours Big Bouncers commercial she wasn’t even sure would see the light of day, she made one last-ditch pleading effort to appeal to Officer Rocky about the fire at her old apartment. She finally came to the realization that there was no way she could have set her own apartment on fire! She was on her knees not twenty minutes before she rolled up to the apartment, her knees on the club’s warehouse floor, her palms pressed deep into a puddle of cold sweat and diluted beer.

That’s why it seemed so weird to her that, not an hour before getting ready swallowing her ninth load of the night, she didn’t once think anything else was even possible. Her head, her heart, her heat were all attached to her mouth. It was weird. She knew getting addicted to raw semen just plain didn’t happen, it was the stuff of fantasy. That’s why Shayla just couldn’t account for the fact that the unmistakable taste of it still plagued her, made her hot, made her panties juicier than they had ever been. The last words she had said the night before were not poignant, nor were they useful.

“I’m not some cum-crazy whore, Mister Officer,” she had said, on her knees, eyes locked on a big pink penis. Still, she extended her neck forward and gave it a nice wet kiss anyway, her mouth letting out a loud popping sound as the thing broke free from her lips. “I’m a human being, I didn’t set my apartment on fire, I’m not some kinda pyromay.. pyron..”

“Pyromaniac?” suggested the policeman, lightly grazing her flush cheek with the tip of his cock. “Tell that to your shoulder, Shay-Belle.” She looked down in horror, both at being called Shay-Belle, and at a fairly sizable tattoo on her left arm. It was a well-manicured hand holding a lit match. The word “Firestarter” was written underneath the image. “You really think people will believe you with that tattoo?” He lazily twirled his dick in a circle just underneath her nose.

“Oh my god, I swear I didn’t get that tattoo, I bet it was one of those guys that—rmmph—” Officer Rocky shoved his meat in her mouth before she could ruin the mood with another word. After that, she had stopped worrying about her old apartment if this magic cock could get her through another couple of blissful minutes. She felt safe when his cum had covered her tonsils. It was thick and creamy and her gums wouldn’t come unstuck for another half hour at least, but by then, she would most certainly forget that she even had an apartment.

The white soup of sex was wending its way through her brain again at this moment, walking through Rittenhouse Park en route to a somewhat early shift at Café Prosperosa. Shayla couldn’t find a reason why she had to leave her new upscale apartment she started sharing with Emmie, why there was any reason to do anything but try on bras and lay in bed, fingering herself to new depths of hedonistic laziness all afternoon long. She burped and it tasted like coffee and semen. She bent over to adjust a strap on one of her white, patent leather heels, and caught a few errant whistles and a cool updraft.

Looking back and noticing a few cholos eating sandwiches on a bench not more than fifty feet behind her, she stuck her butt out and pulled her thong down and off her smooth, silky legs. She flung the undies into a full wastebasket nearby, freeing her sopping pussy and offering up her pelvis to the breeze. She had clearly lost the battle that she was anything more than a piece of meat, but now her trouble was allowing people to pick up on the fact that she was positively cookin’.

Someone caught the sizzling aroma in a matter of seconds. Someone shouted out behind a bush. “Shayla! Shayla!” The young barista turned around again to see a blonde guy about her age approach her, brandishing a newspaper wildly. “Is this you?” He pointed at a headline with a picture of her performing directly underneath it.

She just had to laugh about the fact that O’Riordan’s plan to put her face out there was already working like a charm. She was on the front page! And this desperate hunk was, well.. a total babe hunk! “I am,” she replied, and grabbed him by the wrist. A white plastic bangle shimmied toward her hand. “Now what do you think about making ourselves a bit more comfy?” With that, she directed him to the service entrance to the hotel that housed her café.

She sank to her knees and, after gently unzipping a very athletic prick, began to slovenly fellate this jock. It was only when the horny simian fratboy pulled his dick out of her mouth that Shayla could see what the crumpled headline read on the pavement beside her. Shayla Forgets To Fuck! The realization hit her as hard as the newfound, powerful thrusting in her butt.

That’s why I got thrown out of Big Bouncers! I was sucking too many dicks! The giggle she bubbled up with made her boobs lazily rustle to and fro in her sheath of white tightness. When the mighty dick-filling eased up enough so she could make out some of the words, she tried to read the rest of the paper through the rough pleasure.

Her picture took up half the top of the page. She had a microphone in her hand. Her boobs looked nice.

“This one’s for the first lion-boy that sees her tomorrow, I’m sure,” Officer Rocco Melkin said last night. “She loves to smoke cock, might even beg you for it—but I’m telling you guys, she needs to get thie big one bad.” Many births in Pennsylvania take place at home and are attended by family members. This pattern is stronger in rural areas (70% of births at home), but prevails even in cities such as Allentown or Philadelphia. Part of the problem is in the high fertility rate that results from weak contraception. Something to keep in the back of your mind if you see this girl walking around.

Shayla didn’t even register why a Planned Parenthood statistic had to follow up a quote from dreamy Captain Rocky, and the fact that anything should appear about her in the headlines of the Metro barely raised a concern. But something about the words “weak contraception” made her appetite all the more voracious. She missed the contest rules instructing readers that the first person to approach her in public got to put a dick in her!

She put one heel on a milk crate and a hand on the dumpster to steady herself as she positioned her booty forward to suck up more of this nice guy’s thick, meaty rod. She licked her gums and could still taste the faint but altogether pungent hint of cock that laced them.

She realized that the longer she herself waited to be served, the longer she would have to serve (or worse yet—serve herself!) Her brain was telling her it was simple logic; she could do all of these beautiful things at once! Shayla’s hyperactive torso emphatically agreed. It had been almost a year since she had some decent sex.

She almost cried as she directed this young, studly man’s cock a little lower, into the misty cunt that had been crying for attention for what seemed like forever, even if it was only a day, at most. “I’m your boyfriend now,” the Temple junior commanded, “my name is Dick Coogan.”

Shayla preened, squeezed her thighs as much as she could and sighed, smiling at the easiness of that name. It wouldn’t be hard to remember. But it might get pretty hard! “Your name is Dick.. coochie..” A tiny drop of spittle landed on the concrete. Nick would just have to understand that she was going to show up a little bit late. He had to. She loved the way her jello-melon hooters swayed this way and that as she was getting a good pounding. Maybe she could use those things a bit more for excuses and tips today! They were so much more powerful than money now.

Carmen propped herself up with the newspaper and couldn’t believe the kind of trash that was printed like breaking news. She couldn’t believe it. “Catholic Porn Found in Vatican.” There was even a picture of what looked like King David with a hardon. She had to do a double-take for that one, but still she read on.

“I don’t know what’s happened to me since my father brought home that popey porn,” says Shirley Tiegs of Appasapp County. “Everyone here at Cherub Cove just got blessed, I s’pose.” Tiegs may be referring to the spreading of hips and “gland ballooning” as has become common in that area of the state in recent months. 92% of the female population is with child, some with families with members in the double digits. Area officials are launching an investigation into Saint Brittany’s, a theme church/roadside diner currently serving six counties in Pennsylvania!

The journalism major started up in disbelief. “92 percent?” she asked aloud, to her sleeping boyfriend, Joey. Deep in slumber, he scratched his back, brushing near a tattoo of Joe Strummer. He had an important job at some insurance agency. Top tier, top dollar. He was perfect. There was nothing he could do that would ever possibly make her unhappy. Even so, she had agreed just that past Wednesday to tolerate his porn watching. Ever since he gave her a copy of the key, it wasn’t uncommon for her to walk in on her man watching Latina hoochie porn, cocoa jungle girls that were sexually molded in opposable doll form.

She looked down in dismay at her own body and lit an American Spirt, letting the smoke fall over her, lacy and light. Their sex life wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t really good either. She felt inadequate, but angry. She could see her own ribs. Most of them. What was going on? She was only 18, but it felt like she had been secretly anemic for years, her body hiding it well. She was a Mendoza girl, and though neither her nor her sister Shayla got their mother’s big hangers, Shayla got her babymaking hips. But poor Carmen looked like some pomo Kate Moss. A more than pretty face maybe, but a body that betrayed her heritage.

Her phone buzzed and she was so worried about it waking up her boyfriend that she answered it on the second ring. “Hi, Shayla.” She took a drag of her cigarette and slinked soundlessly out the bed and into the bathroom. “No, I haven’t forgotten about church.” She bent over to pick out a prim wine-colored dress from storage in her closet, sticking her bony naked butt out. “Cherub Cove?” She put her fingers around the bridge of her nose and crimped it. She yawned as she pulled her clothes on. “I don’t know, I can’t really stop school right now. I love being close to Joey, too.” Carmen put out her cigarette in her cup of tea and advanced toward the kitchen. “We’ll talk about it at your coffeeshop afterwards.”

She hung up the phone and threw it down in the salad bowl on the table, littered with keys and other knicknacks. Shayla sounded a little.. weird. If it wasn’t her imagination running wild, she could have sworn she sounded lustier or something. It was hard ot put her finger on it, but Carmen almost thought her sister was about to coo over the phone, just making plans to go to church. What was the name of that church, anyway? She wanted to google it. She picked up a note from the table. It read: “Saint Brittany’s Steak Pit”. Seemed like an odd place to have a church service, but who was she to judge? She was only going to please her sister. She held her head high and retreated to the bedroom to wake Joey up, and who knows, maybe something more. He had to get ready for church!

Carmen and Joey ambled into Café Prosperosa at almost one o’clock. The noon mass had clearly done something good. They had their hands in each other’s back pockets and were blushing, heavy with food and the love of the Holy Spirit. Shayla rushed over to them, bouncing in step, trying to keep up with her—Since when does my sister have boobs? Carmen thought, but she couldn’t stop staring at them.

“I’m up here, Carmen,” Shayla said, but she clearly wasn’t. She was bursting out of her wifebeater and was clearly not wearing anything else to support her new carriage. Before her sister could ask what was going on, Shayla chimed in, like a pastel giggling bell. “You have to try these,” she bubbled, and shoved some candies in Carmen’s mouth. Carmen chomped down and was overcome by a sweet but bitter taste with a shade of.. cinnamon.

“What are these?” she asked, chewing and trying to pinpoint the distinct flavor. It reminded her of.. a sunset? Her body glowed in approval of the unexpected snack, still full from a bucket of spare ribs shared between her and Joey at church. They hadn’t had meat in a while, but then again, they hadn’t had such decadent potato salad in forever either. It was blessed food, and over 400 people in the diner-chapel had indulged heavily, and they didn’t want to upset the cart.

Both lovers’ eyes were locked on Shayla now as she began filling an order for a cappuccino. Her saucy womanhood seemed to occupy twice as much space as she took up in reality. There were curves and brushstrokes in all the right places. Joey’s gaze wandered up and down her smooth brown arms, taking in the way the tank-top straps dug into her back. Not to mention her shelf butt. Carmen had to smack him playfully on the cheek when she realized where his attention lay.

Shayla began to pour more of the candies into her sister’s open hand. “These are just white chocolate-covered espresso beans,” she said reassuringly. “What do you guys want to eat?” She straightened her hair, her big gold hoop earrings bobbing.

“Oh,” levelled Carmen, “I don’t think we have room for—”

“Nonsense!” Shayla retorted, “I’ll be over with two slices of Black Forest Fudge Bomb, you two lovebirds sit down! Sheesh!”

As soon as they found a seat, a thin-haired grey man of about fifty sat down across from them in their booth. They recognized him as the pastor of church dining services. He ignored their wary expressions and extended his hand. “I’m Father O’Riordan,” he said, “and Shayla says you’re interested in taking our Saint Brittany’s bus to live out the country life in Cherub Cove.”

Joey looked a lot less out of the loop than he felt, but still laid a puzzled stare at his girlfriend. Her mouth was slack and she didn’t know what to say. It came out in stammers, her tongue still soaking in the remnants of the candied coffee beans. “Well, Father, not exactly, I—”

Shayla breezed to the table, smelling like chocolate and sex. She presented the three at the table with slices of dark, rich cake and overflowing mugs of thick hot cocoa. “On the house, guys,” she said, sitting down with them for a second. Her boobs looked like they were about to fall out. “So what were we talking about, hmm?”

Father O’Riordan took out a pen and paper and slid it over to Carmen. “Your sister here was just about to sign a release form for the Retreat of Light. She was very interested to learn about our $7,000 a week locked salary for new reporters at the Cherub Courant.” Did she just hear that right? Taking college expenses into consideration especially, that was more money than she saw in an entire year! Her head was beginning to feel flush at the prospect. The pastor beaming a foot or so away from her, hair product and cologne wafting around with the pleasant coffee aroma of Prosperosa made it swim even more.

“I can see you two love each other very much,” Shayla began, treating the words “love each other” like they were snyonymous with “shit yourselves”, “but you have to let this girl make up her own mind. Cherub Cove is a new development with a lot of promise, and if we do the Lord’s work with her, that can only bring good light and God’s fortune.” Even though she was looking at Joey, her eyes seemed to be looking right through him, to some invisible teleprompter.

“And I can see that your tits rattle around where your brains used to!” Joey said, and Shayla blushed at this, attempting to cover up her showy cleavage. But there was a lot to cover up and it was impossible. “She’s not going to move to some hick town in the middle of nowhere just for some money! She’s happy where she is.”

She ignored Joey. “I just want you to think about it, sister,” she said, planting a kiss on her sibling’s forehead. After laying a hand on her shoulder, Father O’Riordan and Shayla left the booth and the stunned couple.

Carmen made sure that her sister and her priest were at the opposite end of the café before lowering her voice to a whisper in an effort to get Joey to understand. “I think something fishy is going on at that place, to tell you the truth. What the hell has this priest done to my sister? Don’t even try to lie, I saw the way you were looking at her! And since when does communion involve barbecued animals, anyway?” She eyed the paper and tapped the pen on the table in an unending rhythm. “I’d like to work for their paper, but I might as well do some freelance work on my own and figure out what the fuck is going on down there.”

Joey sulked. The biggest part of him didn’t want his girlfriend to go anywhere, even if she stood a chance at making some real headway with her journalism career. But behind Carmen, he could plainly see Shayla locked in a passionate kiss with her priest. There did seem to be something odd going on, and deep down he knew there was more than a glint in her eye, that she truly thirsted for something more, for the truth, whatever that was. “Okay,” he said, “as long as I can come up and visit you.”

“Of course! Oh, I knew you’d understand,” Carmen gushed, her mouth full, lips ringed with a coat of chocolate. “Nothing’s going to happen to me, anyway. I’ll be back so soon.”