The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Choose Your Own Transformation: The Cult of You — Wesley


The Fourth installment of a four-parter.

All of the major players and the concept were introduced, at least in some small part, in part one “Aurora”

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A quartet of nerds team up to use the power of one of the Weaver’s Choose Your Own Transformation stories in a coordinated effort to take control of bullies who have tormented them.


This story is a work of fiction; any apparent resemblance between the characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18 or if explicit sexual fiction is illegal in your jurisdiction.

This story contains mind control and explicit descriptions of a sexual nature. If any of these concepts disturb you, please find something else to read.

This story is a work of erotic fantasy. It is not meant to reflect real life, nor should it be read as an endorsement of the actions and attitudes contained within.


I look around the room at my assembled team. My friends, for the most part.

Carlos Mendoza — my brother from another mother. If I’m Kirk, he’s my Spock, but, you know, without all of that weird, emotional-denying baggage.

Max Reed, who I’ve known since kindergarten. He’s more of a McCoy — trusted advisor who always calls it like he sees it.

And then, there’s Aurora Cooper.

We’re… friends.

You know… “Friends.”

But she seems to think that just because she jumps ship from the evil crew to our group and buys a couple tight nerd shirts that we’re copacetic. Sure, joining us when she did kept her from being next door and serving detention next door through some wily machinations on my part. It keeps her from being a target of these stories… for now. I mean, if this all works, if we find out this all really works like I think it will, there’s nothing stopping me from populating another tale with her name down the line.

That was not addressed in any of our group’s agreements and is therefore not in breach of any of our pledges to each other.

If I’m keeping the Star Trek associations going, she’s probably Seven of Nine. She’s gorgeous. I’ve thought of her more than a few times when I’m enjoying alone time. But all in, she’s not someone I’m keen on trusting long term because of her lingering ties to the bad guys.

I put on my game face and get my crew in order.

“Okay, laptops open. Detention lasts an hour. We have an hour to do what we came here to do. We picked the story that would most likely to affect the targets more than ourselves, but you know the risks. We crunched the variables as best as we could from what we know, but this is not an exact science. It’s for all intents and purposes magic.”

Max chimes in, “To quote Arthur C. Clarke, ‘Magic’s just science that we don’t understand yet.’”

Like I don’t know the work of Arthur C. Clarke better than he does. Who is he kidding?

“And we don’t understand this,” Carlos adds. “So, closer to magic than science for us.”

I get that, guys. A totally valid conversation for some other time. Some other time when we’re not on the clock and trying to put it into practice.

“If,” Aurora says, “If it’s all not just a big prank. And that’s a pretty big if, if you ask me.”

If I weren’t a man of my word, a man of honor like my heroes in the Federation, I would absolutely backstab Aurora for her insolence and put her name into the field instead of Faith Phillips who I pulled in our random draw. No one wanted Brianna and I’m pretty sure that Carlos has always packed major wood for Cora, so I’m glad he got her. Faith Phillips is a top of the cheerleader pyramid, literally and figuratively, kind of girl. Small — kind of like me — but gorgeous — so unlike me. A slight and natural beauty that, if I just so happen to get a chance to explore thoroughly, I won’t be disappointed in the slightest.

“All available data backs up that this is not just some random site or some urban myth prank type thing. Worst case scenario, we spend some time reading and choosing the paths of these stories and nothing happens beyond simple entertainment. However, we’re on the clock in case of other more interesting things and the clock keeps on ticking as we continue to rehash this conversation.”

This was my research, my plan, my idea.

The time for debate is over.

It’s time to explore the potential of this strange new world.

Faith, I hope you’re ready to be Wesley’d, because I’ve just launched the “The Cult of You” story and put your name in right after mine.

The feeling of gut-wrenching excitement… I wonder if that’s what Starship Captains feel when they pull out of the station for the first time.

Your lead acolyte Faith approaches you reverently. “Are you excited? It’s not every day you start a new religion.”

“People need something to believe in. It’s time something was created that could endure with a more positive impact for once,” you say with purposeful conviction.

“So I take it, you’ve decided then? You’ve decided what is to be the central tenet of this new religion?”

Wesley, do you —

Found it with love as the basis

Found it with fear as the basis

Found it with discipline as the basis

Found it with intellect as the basis

Love fades. Discipline is boring. Intellect has no teeth.

I select — Found it with fear as the basis.

I’ve always been better than other people. I’ve known this all of my life. I’ve been unfortunately disrespected for almost as long. That changes now. If I can’t win people over with wit and charm, I will break them. Seeing as I trust no one, I’ll have to break the whole lot of them.

Acolyte Faith stands at attention, trying desperately to hide her quaking, as is expected from all of your followers, as small a number as that may currently be. But you have plans to expand, to lure new members under your watchful understanding.

Wesley, do you —

Lure them in with promises of sex

Lure them in with promises of clarity

Lure them in with promises of transcendence

Lure them in with promises of order

The problem with the world, if you ask me, isn’t clarity, transcendence, or sex. Sure, I would love to know more, to see more, and to do more… women. But really, when it comes down to it, the world is a mess because of entropy, plain and simple. Remove chaos from the equation and we’d all be better off.

I select — Lure them in with promises of order.

I am the person who can bring order to this world. I’m not afraid of the power created by fear. In fact, I embrace it. I always thought of myself as a Kirk, but really, I’m probably a Khan — better than everyone else with a grand destiny to rule over his inferiors through whatever tactics are necessary.

Acolyte Faith leans in and whispers, “Order is always the best option. It leads to more organized, purposeful society.”

“Are you just trying to placate me, Faith?” You ask coyly.

“As your first and most devoted follower I will always tell you the truth unless told to do otherwise,” she says, head bowed. “Look, I will follow you to the ends of the earth, because that’s my lot, but you have to be certain in your own mind just why you want followers.”

Wesley, do you —

Want to be worshipped

Want to lead

Want sexual satisfaction

Want to change the world

With every passing day, the world cries out for a leader who can actually lead us to a better place. Often, the people who rise to power have no right, nor do they care for anything other than amassing even more power. Those are the leaders who lead without a motivation toward betterment. That or they fall prey to baser urges. I can do better.

I select—Want to change the world.

I am not cruel. I don’t promote fear and order because I revel in it. I do it benevolently, knowing that the fight or flight response in people is one of the strongest impulses we experience. When we fear, everything slows down and we see the world in greater detail. I want to bless people with that insight so that they too can push us on a path toward something better than what we have now.

“A leader without followers is just a person taking a walk.” Faith says with a smile, then continues, indicating through a two-way mirror a mixed set of people. “I’ve gathered a group of potential followers. Do you want to judge them?”

Wesley, do you —

Accept all

Accept only the young

Accept only the attractive

Accept only the wealthy

Youth and attractiveness fades. Money, however, can hide all kinds of imperfections.

I select — Accept only the wealthy.

I understand the need for gilded churches, all gold and elaborate paintings — if you look like shit, you look like you’re selling shit. As a person, I have to wear only the finest in clothing because I dress for the job I want — to be in charge. Even rounding out my high school career, there’s nothing more important than looking important if you want to eventually be important.

Faith returns from a discussion with the people on the other side. The remaining people look pleased to have been accepted. She also looks content with the additions, but asks one final question of you. “Some of your potential followers are asking… Are you a god?”

Wesley, do you say —



Nothing inspires fear and order like a god…

I select — Yes.

I feel different.


Ready to take over the world…

I close my laptop and I hear the same sound of the click echo from three other laptops. My “friends.” My “allies.” My “co-conspirators.” These poor wretches mean so little to me now…


Stop me if you’ve heard this one —

Four people who think they’re gods wordlessly walk out of a room having changed themselves along with someone in the adjacent room.

Once a kind and somewhat benevolent leader, Wesley Coleman has changed himself into a pretentious, elitist who wants to control through fear and wear clothes with a high price tag. Previously, he would just wear whatever was clean (or cleanest in a pinch), but this shift has completely overwritten his wardrobe and priorities. As he walks out into the hallway, he wears dress pants, a matching vest, and a white dress shirt, its sleeves rolled up his arms. His previously shaggy hair is slicked back and there’s no trace of spotty growth on his face.

Max Reed, a doubter, has become fixated on being worshiped by those younger than himself who seek his pathfinding to transcendence. His clothes follow the latest trends and they always will to lure the young to him.

Carlos Mendoza’s focus in life shifts to sex and love, not necessarily in that order, and always with those he deems beautiful. He wears only light beige, flowing linen and, out of all of the quartet, he looks the most at peace.

Aurora Cooper’s life is now all about discipline, clarity, and leadership. This is reflected in her vinyl wardrobe, more befitting a dominatrix than a high school senior. Her dyed dark red hair is pulled tightly back into a power ponytail, its red perfectly matching her lipstick.

They stand outside of the closed detention room door, shifting uncomfortably , each waiting for the other to make the first move, to utter the first word.

Wesley attempts to grip Aurora by the ponytail to put some fear into her focused eyes, but doesn’t get even close as she grips his wrist before he can make contact. Her steely eyes fall onto his. “Not yours. Not now. Not ever.”

She only lets go when his hand starts to go white. Wesley rubs his wrist and thinks only about revenge for this affront to his person.

Carlos tries to charm Aurora, “Perhaps we could come to a mutually pleasing physical arrangement,” but she shoots him down with a severe look as well.

Max is put off by both her apparent lack of friendliness and her age as an outgoing senior — she’s only got a few good months left in her before she’s college-aged. He shudders at that term.

Wesley finishes rubbing his wrist and strides towards the door. “If you’re all afraid, I guess I will approach.”

Before he can open the door, the Vice Principal Rivera scurries from the room. She looks somewhere between shocked and frightened.

The quartet enter to some random applause from Kaiden Wagner, the only other person in the detention room now other than their acolytes. He seems neither shocked, nor frightened. He looks… amused. “Wow. You guys. You guys! Great show. Great choices.” He stands up and walks to the door, cryptically saying through an excited laugh, “I can only hope that mine turns out as well,” before making his exit.

The four scan the room, standing a good arm’s distance from each other, and when they nod in unison, their acolytes come up to each of them, kneeling before their respective “god.”

Damian Long wears a collar, naming himself as Aurora’s “pet.” Despite being a brash and reckless rogue less than an hour ago, he kneels completely submissive to his mistress. She extends her hand in front of his bent head and he kisses it lovingly. She basks in her dominance, control, and power.

Cora Jackson’s black hair is pulled back at the top, but flowing along the back and sides. Her arms are adorned with golden bands and her lack of underwear, clearly viewed through her gauzy toga dress, reminds Carlos of the time he saw her in the rain. His instantly engorged manhood, rock hard at the thought back and the current sight, immediately beckons Cora’s mouth to it. Needing no instruction, she pulls his pants down enough to free him. Despite the audience, and possibly turned on by the display, she starts to bob her head on it wildly, desperately seeking the sweet ambrosia of his cum.

Aurora sees this control and removes a strap of vinyl, revealing her naked crotch to Damian who instantly begins to tongue it thoroughly. Aurora smiles and nods at Carlos who returns the look.

In comparison to the other two disciples who have already started oral ministrations, Brianna Rogers looks especially poised and intelligent. In addition to her ponytails and bright makeup, her glasses were chosen to compliment her youthful look. Despite it being a public school, she wears a schoolgirl outfit that’s at least a size too small for her, putting her ample breasts and long tan legs on display. Max lifts her gaze to his eyes by lifting her up with his hand on her chin. “The path to transcendence is worship.” He puts his hands behind his head, thrusting his crotch towards her face. “Worship me.” She’s easily savvy enough to catch his meaning. She unzips his pants, pulls his cock out, and licks it with enthusiasm until it’s hard enough to suckle.

Faith Phillips wears a high-end corset, matching panties, and seamless stockings. She looks absolutely terrified of Wesley. She’s small enough to pick up and he does, throwing her down onto the desk, tearing at her stockings and panties as she squirms below him. Once her slit is in view, he plunges inside her, gripping the corset down so that he can abuse her nipples harshly. She’s been rebuilt to feel pain as pleasure, so ever hard thrust, ever nipple pinch or twist, has her moaning on the verge of screaming.

Aurora is the first to orgasm, but she keeps Damian’s head locked in place to keep the delight going. She will experience another two before the boys find their happy end.

Faith’s own orgasm follows shortly thereafter and she thrashes against Wesley, nearly throwing herself off the desk and to the ground. He gnashes his teeth, maintaining his focus.

The men, seemingly in competition with each other, hold off their releases as long as they can.

Carlos is first to give up, not caring about appearances or competition, merely wanting to revel in his culmination and grant his follower her grand reward.

Max follows next, filling Brianna’s worshiping mouth with his seed, and then Wesley finishes inside of Faith, slapping the side of her ass with each shudder.

Aurora, Carlos, Max, and Wesley regain their composure and bring their devotees up to a standing position. Each of them whispers into their convert’s right ear, “Go forth and lure more like you to me,” sending them out into the world and starting the four competing cults that would grow to rule this school through various means — specifically, sex, clarity, transcendence, and order…

…but even the three latter terms are often achieved through the judicious application of sex.

This is, of course, a god’s prerogative, especially if that “god” just so happens to be merely eighteen years of age, full of hormones, and surrounded by potential worshipers.