The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

BRIAN PHILLIPS

I am not, by nature, a snoop.

I know that’s the kind of statement that’s usually followed up with a “but” and, I’m sad to say, this is no exception. I guess I’m a little cliche that way.

I’ve been going out with Lauren Stewart for three months now and things have been going great. She’s honestly the nicest, sweetest girl I’ve ever met. I’m actually a little afraid of what I’m going to do to truly win her over on Valentine’s Day next month.

Yeah… here comes another “but.”

…But she’s so nice and so sweet that she still talks with her ex-boyfriend Mark and something about the guy bugs me. It could be how dismissive he is with me. It could be that I get why she was with him and his ruggedly handsome good looks and why this lovely angel is with skinny old me is still a mystery.

We have some things in common.

We’re both med students.

We both like seeing movies in theaters.

We both think her ass is divine.

Wait.

That last one is just me.

Lauren’s actually the type of girl who isn’t aware of how shockingly beautiful she is. She’s curvy where it counts — hips, butt, breasts. She’s got a little bit of baby fat on her face that makes her all the more adorable.

(Though I’ve learned not to call her “cute” because apparently, that’s one of her words that should be a compliment but is never received as such. It doesn’t help to tell her that it is a compliment when I say it. Thankfully, her trigger words, to the best of my knowledge, are limited to “cute” and “moist.”)

She has shoulder length blonde hair that always smells like vanilla and coconuts. That’s either her shampoo or she truly is a magical being.

But — and this is a good but — the thing that I probably love most about Lauren is her soft and charming smile. It’s a little bit crooked, which just adds character and makes it more “her.” It perfectly compliments her easy-go, mellow, take it as it comes nature. Nothing fazes her.

Rain on our picnic turns into a mud fight.

Laryngitis becomes an excuse for some epic charades.

Mark showing up randomly is cause to invite him along.

I gently probe her about him and she says, “The past is the past is the past. You’re my now and tomorrow.”

It’s a lovely statement and all, but brunch interrupted by Mark has me wondering how he’s constantly showing up.

I want to give her an ultimatum, but I don’t want to, you know, give her an ultimatum. When does that ever work out? I don’t want to do anything to drive her back to her ex, but jealousy is a bitch that has me in her grip.

All of this is my reasoning for hijacking her laptop when she’s in the shower.

It pays off.

I didn’t know and she never told me that her phone was a gift from Mark… a gift he’s still geo-tracking like a stalker.

I wait until she’s out of the shower and clothed to approach her with this news. “Okay, so you know how I have a bad feeling about Mark?”

“Brian. How many times do I have to tell you? You’re my guy. No one but you.”

“Right, but haven’t you found it weird how often we run into him?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Eh. I like what I like. Breaking up with someone isn’t going to break me from my habits.”

Having heard enough of her sunny disposition excuses, I say, “He’s been tracking you through your phone.”

She squints at me, a serious look on her face that seems out of place. “How do you know this?”

I don’t really want to put this back on me, but I come clean immediately. “I went onto your laptop while you were in the shower to try to —“

“Snoop? Dig up dirt?” She looks and sounds a little mad, another unusual occurrence for my bright, sunshiny girl.

I reach out to touch her shoulder, “Honey —“

She pulls away. “Where’s your laptop?”

“Why?” I ask.

“People who suspect people of hiding stuff are usually hiding stuff themselves. Go take a shower. Take a nice, long shower. I’m going to have fun on your laptop.”

I open my laptop and log her in. “I have nothing to hide. To save you some trouble, the folder labeled ‘taxes’ is actually porn.”

I walk away and leave my girlfriend in control of my laptop adding only, “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

LAUREN STEWART

I’d actually expect the snooping from Mark, but not Brian. Mark was a control freak and, as much as I like a guy who knows how to take charge, there are lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

I bounced off of a relationship with Mark into one with Brian because he’s so sweet and caring and wants to make decisions mutually. Sometimes I wish he’d be a little more commanding though. I don’t want to always have to decide where we’re eating or what we’re watching. It’s nice to be taken care of. I miss that about Mark, but nothing else. Of course, I’d never tell Brian this. He seems to have a sore spot around all things Mark.

He wasn’t lying. “Taxes” is full of porn — pictures, videos, stories. The pictures and videos don’t surprise me as much as the stories. I know I only have until he’s out of the shower to browse in all fairness, but scanning through some of this file reveals some kinks that he hasn’t shared with me yet. On the plus side, a lot of the pictures and videos feature girls that look a lot like me. Apparently, I am his type. He likes ’em blonde and curvy. I could stand to lose a few, but I’m generally okay with how I look.

His email is mostly stuff I’m already aware of. I do an in-email search of “Lauren” and find a very odd email from Aaron, one of his friends with the subject line “If Lauren breaks up with you, check this out.”

It’s from a week ago and all that’s in the email is a link.

Hearing the shower cut off, I jot it down on a piece of scrap paper and hide it in my purse for later investigation.

Brian’s still a bit drippy when he comes out. His t-shirt has wet marks where he didn’t do a good enough job of toweling off. Despite his protests of nothing to hide, he didn’t want me on his laptop unsupervised for too long.

I look at him with a smile, “I found all of your jiggly girls.”

“You’re the only jiggly girl I need.”

He reaches over and shows me in the Finder that these files were last opened a good week before we started dating… well, except for the ones I opened today.

“What say we make out and put this silliness behind us?” He says with a hopeful tone.

I can’t say no to his puppy dog eyes.

Also, even this little bit of fighting has me worked up and I always like to release any negativity in a positive manner. I don’t like to linger in the negative too long. It’s bad for your soul.

I find that once we start making out, the brakes come off. He’s good with the foreplay, but when we get to the bed, and we always wind up physically in bed no matter where we start, we default to missionary position. It’s not bad. It’s just not mind-blowing. I love everything else about our relationship, so I’m not about to bring anything up and ruin the moment where we’re cuddling after. I can always say I need another shower now and finish myself off with the shower head.

Brian has a late class on Wednesdays, so I’m home alone for about two minutes before I start to fish around in my purse for that scribbled out link.

I type it into my browser and some sort of Choose Your Own Adventure story series fills the page.

I don’t know why Aaron would send this in regards to me breaking up with Brian. Clearly, this needs a deeper-dive investigation. I choose a story at random from the list — Punk Rock Will Never Die.

When it immediately asks me to confirm that I’m over 18, I know that there’s going to be some “adult” element to this story. I also have to tell the system my name and gender. Maybe they cater the story to the reader. That’s actually kinda cool.

I have a momentary dizzy spell when I click off on the last checkbox. I slam my hands down onto the table to right myself, but it disappears just as quickly as it started. I should’ve probably eaten dinner before doing this. Ah well, I’ll eat after. How much of your life can a simple Choose Your Own Adventure take up anyway?

You show up to the club for soundcheck and the rest of your band is there already. Since you’re lead vocals, you figure they can set up their instruments in advance of your arrival, but they give you the evil eye anyway.

Lauren, do you —

Ignore them and check your levels

Tell them off

I’m not a “tell them off” kind of girl. I’ll let my singing do my talking.

I select — Ignore them and check your levels.

There’s a certain freedom in not caring what other people think. I vaguely remember feeling guilty about borrowing this link from Brian’s email, then following it to this site and this story. But why? That guilt is vestigial at best — something that used to be a part of me, but isn’t anymore. A rational part of my brain wonders if I should care about not caring anymore. I shrug that off.

You finish singing with the band backing you up. As you exit the stage, the owner of the club approaches you and singles you out, away from your bandmates.

“You’ve got the chops,” he says.

“If you’ve got the money, we’ll play your gig.”

“No. I don’t think you understand,” he says grabbing your arm. “I produce on the side. I see a future for you.”

“I’ll tell the boys.”

“For you. Not the rest of them.” He hands you a card with his name and contact information. “Call me tomorrow. I’ll set you up proper.”

He walks away.

Lauren, do you —

Tear up the card once he’s out of sight

Pocket it with the intention to call him tomorrow

As a music fan, I’m not particularly fond of when the lead singer gets a little too full of themselves and ruins a good thing.

I select—Tear up the card once he’s out of sight.

Why do men always have to try and ruin a good thing? They think they know better, but that’s usually (and quickly) proven to be untrue. The superiority of women is well-documented. Just look at the state of the world and think to yourself — would it be this way with more women in charge? The answer is a resounding “no.”

The only way to have a good relationship with a man is to be in absolute and total control of it.

That’s why I latched onto a pushover like Brian and ditched a guy like Mark — sure, he was better in the sack, but a bigger pain in the neck so ultimately not worth it. Besides, a vibrator is a girl’s best friend.

You catch the rest of your band in the green room and tell them all about your interactions with the “producer” and how you tore the card up in solidarity.

They all seem to reach the end of your story looking at their feet and you know that something is up.

“What?” You ask your bassist, the most upfront member of the band.

“We’ve been talking…” He starts, but trails off.

“About?” You prod.

“We think you need a new look if you’re going to keep fronting this band.”

“What’s wrong with my current look?”

“It’s a little pop.” The guitarist chimes in.

“Fuck pop.” You say in response.

“So?” The drummer asks. “New look?”

Lauren, do you —

Adopt a new look

Tell them to fuck off and go find that “producer”

Her punk apparel may look “pop” to the boys in her band, but there’s nothing more punk than —

I select—Tell them to fuck off and go find that “producer”

Not only are boys awful — and let’s face it, there are no men left in the world, just little needy boys — they need to be told as much whenever possible. I can’t wait for Brian to get home so I can rail him for earlier. My stuff means do not touch. I don’t care what it is and what situation it is. That’s a set in stone rule. If he doesn’t like it, the jag-off can slag off.

“You know what, fuckers? I’m better than you. I’ve always been better than you. See how your gig goes tonight without me, but don’t come crying because I’m already gone.”

You flip them the bird for good measure and to send the message home.

How dare they question your punk?

If blonde hair was good enough for Gwen, it’s good enough for me, you think. Besides, you already have someone interested in your talent.

You go out to the bar area and find the producer.

As you approach, you see him hold up two pieces of a business card.

Lauren, do you —

Approach him anyway

Go back to your band and tell them you were joking

Give up and go home

Eh. Maybe he likes attitude.

I select—Approach him anyway.

I’d rip it again if I had the choice just to show him what a bad girl he’s dealing with. Personally, I like being rewarded for bad behavior. The more I can get away with, the better. Telling people off, ruining a day, being a total bitch — there’s nothing I like more in life. I’m self-aware and just don’t care. Brian is the perfect boyfriend because he’s also my perfect punching bag. He’d never leave me because he’ll never meet another girl like me in his life.

“Hey…” you say, approaching him.

“Missing something?” He says, tossing the torn card at your feet.

You lean into him and whisper in his ear, “If you don’t like me enough for two business cards, you don’t like me nearly enough.”

His face remains serious for all of five seconds before he breaks into a laugh. He hands you another card. “So… what sound do you see for your solo efforts?”

Lauren, do you say —

“Pop punk, just to stick it to my former bandmates”

“I want to try something different like emo”

“Hardcore. All the way”

They called me pop like it was a bad thing. I’m going to make it my thing.

I select — “Pop punk, just to stick it to my former bandmates.”

When I think about it, the reason I don’t care… the reason I like to abuse those beneath me… is because everyone is beneath me. I’m better than them all. I’m basically a princess and, as such, I’m entitled to do, be, act, say, and take what I want.

The producer laughs. “You know? I saw that coming… that’s what makes you so special — that cross-market appeal. Good on you for recognizing it.”

“Do you always blow sunshine up a pretty girl’s skirt? Or do you just pay with words and not, you know, cash?”

“I see a lot of cash for the both of us in the near future, but in the very near future… I see drinks. What are you having?”

Lauren, do you ask for?

Diet Coke

Cosmo

A lot of moving parts to a Cosmo and I’m sure I don’t trust this guy.

I select—Diet Coke.

My bony ass starts to hurt.

I think I’ve already been sitting too still and too long for this rail-thin body of mine. I stand up and stretch for a moment, feeling my shirt lift up and reveal the bottom of said bony ass to the world. No point in wearing too much at home. My smaller-sized breasts have never required a bra, plus I relish ridiculing anyone I catch checking out my noteworthy nipples. In general, I’d just rather be comfortable, especially when home alone, and not prescribe to some male-derived fashion sense.

Sufficiently stretched, I sit back down to read.

The producer lifts his whiskey and clinks glasses with your Diet Coke, toasting, “To a long and fruitful partnership!”

You each take a sip and then he asks, “I know it’s new and all, but have you given any thought to a band name?”

Lauren, do you say?

Dark Tidings

Ripped and Ready

Dark Tidings sounds like a second or third novel in a YA series.

I select — Ripped and Ready.

I watch my fingerless gloves leave the keyboard. This story resonates with me because, at my heart, I’m punk in tastes and style. My ripped fishnets run up my long thin legs, diving into my leather skirt. A beat-up Ramones concert tee finishing off the look.

The producer nods. “Ripped and Ready. Love it. It’s very pop punk and I already see it on t-shirts, hats, and albums. Speaking of, any thoughts on an album title?”

Lauren, do you say?

White Teeth, Black Heart

Blood in My Nails

Who doesn’t appreciate good dental hygiene?

I select — White Teeth, Black Heart.

I brush some jet-black hair out of my face and catch my reflection in my laptop screen. Just like my hair, my blood red lipstick stands out on my pale skin. I’ve been called an “emo punk” before, but whoever said it wished they hadn’t once I was through verbally skewering and degrading them.

The producer starts to clap. “Love. It. Now, do you think that since you’re pop you’re going to be all-ages stuff or do you think I’m going to need to set aside some money for Parental Advisory stickers for your CDs?”

Lauren, do you choose?

All-ages

Swearing

Punk should know no boundaries.

I select — Swearing.

When I hear the key in the door, I turn away from the computer and yell over to Brian entering, “About fucking time…”

BRIAN PHILLIPS

The girl that says “About fucking time” as I walk into the apartment is not the girl I saw earlier today.

Her previously shoulder-length blonde hair is now short, black, and spiky.

Her curvy body is now lean and angular.

Her girl next door wardrobe has had a major goth punk makeover.

Her makeup is now as harsh as the look on her face.

In the time that I’m assessing, she stands up, walks across the room, and kisses me like her life depended on it. She grabs my hand and forces it to grope her chest. An altogether new chest that feels much smaller than before, but the way she moans at the groping indicates that it might be more sensitive as well. She’s not wearing a bra, which is new. If her face didn’t look so similar, I’d think I was being punked… or set up. She grabs me by my hardening dick and pulls me to the floor with her.

When she bites my ear and says, “Fuck me good and rotten,” I give up trying to figure out what’s going on and I tear through both her clothes and mine.

The passion is undeniably there, more so than ever before. And, to be honest, the dirty talk, deviating from her previously angelic vocabulary, is a real fucking turn-on. Even her impossibly new tattoos get me more excited. Just as I’m about to enter her, she does some sort of wrestling move to get on top of me. She grinds her pussy up and down my cock. “Oooh.” She moans. “You’re going to get me off, fucker, before you even think about going inside.”

I reach up and punch both of her nipples and she writhes and threshes as she grinds her way to an orgasm. The pleasure on her face is short-lived and returns to a sneer. “Fuck me from behind so I can rub my clit,” she commands.

I position myself behind her, gripping her ass, thrusting into her box. She lets her shoulders drop to the ground so that she can support her ass up and rub herself at the same time.

As she shudders to another orgasm, I feel my own undeniably build up. I pull out and spurt my seed onto a dragon tattoo on her lower back.

I go in for the cuddle, whispering, “That was great.”

She pushes me off then stands. “For the record, I got me off. Me. You just happened to be there.” She pauses, reaches behind to slide her hand across my goo then wipes it on my chest. “But I’ll keep you around because you seem to know how to obey…”

As she strides away, I watch her non-ass move left to right until she rounds the corner into the bedroom.

Out of sight, I hear the shower turn on and some hardcore music from the speaker in there.

I’m left sticky, spent, and confused…

I’ve come to tolerate Lauren’s shitty attitude because of the thrill of her new sexual aggression and commitment to exploration.

I’d be lying if I said that I don’t miss her sweet nature more than I like the constant sex and condescension.

But, since I don’t know what prompted this new phase and personality, I don’t know what my options are other than sticking it out and seeing if someday, in some way, things will get better.