The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Gabriel kept the site’s web address in his head all the way from Mina’s room back to his. His wife was watching a conference promoting family values in the office downstairs and would be busy for at least another hour, so it was up to Gabriel to amuse himself. He carefully types the address into his browser.

His screen looks hazy for a moment. He imagines this would be what it would feel like to drink a coffee. He thinks that must be a rush, but his body is a temple and he treats it with the respect it deserves. It is the only one he has, after all.

The site asks him some random questions.

Yes, he’s over 18 and knows how to answer multiple choice questions.

He is male. In fact, he’s a red-blooded American male.

The site then asks who is his romantic partner, populating the screen with two options in the form of the names of his wife, Mary, and his daughter, Mina.

Gabriel accidentally clicks on Mina.

He laughs. If the site populates the story with our names, boy, will this be awkward.

He scrolls through the list of titles and finds one on the fourth page that appeals to him—So You Want to Be A Rock Star.

Gabriel always had an affinity for music and, had his own father been a bit more supportive of what he called “the devil’s music,” he thinks he might have been able to make something of himself.

Clicking on the title to launch it, Gabriel feels that “coffee” feeling again. Hoo boy!

The Weaver Agency is the world’s top music talent agency. The fact that you got an audition was a huge stroke of luck. You’re a little nervous, but you know that will go away the moment you start playing your guitar. The rep that sees you looks older than you expected, but whispers in the hallway indicate he makes all the decisions for the agency. Impress him and your career is set.

“So, you play tuba, huh?” He asks.

You look confused holding your guitar in front of you.

“I’m just pulling your chain, young man. Oofah. Hope you have more musical talent than sense of humor.”

You feel the blood rush to your face with embarrassment. You’ve been in his office for all of five seconds and have already screwed up. You can’t screw up again.

“Let’s get that blood out of your face and into your fingers. Play a little something for me.”

You embrace your chance to shine and a minute into your solo, you can see the agent nod.

He claps when you finish. “I like what you got, kid, what kind of music do you want to play?”

Gabriel, do you choose -

Pop

Rock

Rap

R&B

Metal

Country

Christian Rock

As clean-cut and polished as he looks, he assumes the agent expects him to say “Christian Rock” or possibly “Pop.” Gabriel knows the title is about being a “Rock Star,” but ever since he thought of his father, he thought of how defiant he always wished he was, but always fell short of being. Never standing up to that authority set him on the course of his life and, while he likes it, he always felt like he missed out on something bigger. The one music Gabriel’s father hated, and he hated them all, but the one he hated most was the heaviest of the lot.

Gabriel selects—Metal.

For as long as he can remember, heavy metal has been his life. To tell the truth, he’s lived his life equal parts metal and the good word. A lot of people seem to have a hard time balancing the two, including Gabriel’s condemning father, but to Gabriel, the shred of the guitar is on par with the soaring of the soul.

The agent seems pleased with your answer. “I could tell by the way you played that there was an edge to your sound. I had you pegged for metal and had you said any different, I’d have shown you the door. You metal guys though, bless your souls, you always have a vice. So, what’s yours?”

Gabriel, do you say -

Sex

Drugs

Booze

Tough question. While he’s always loved metal, some of the more “edgy” elements often associated with that world never appealed to him. He’s never partaken of either drugs or booze. He does love his wife, so the nearest thing to his truth would have to be —

Gabriel selects—Sex.

Shit. Gabriel wishes Mary would get off that computer so she could come up here and he could get off with her. She was a wholesome girl when they met and had no idea the addiction to sex Gabriel faced every living day of his life. Waiting for marriage nearly killed him and that’s why they got married straight out of high school—so he could finally get into her panties and stop sneaking away to masturbate three, four, five, or more times a day.

“Sex,” you say a little quietly.

“Say it with pride, son! SEX!!! If I were your age, with your talent and looks, I’d be getting more tail than a toilet seat.”

You laugh at his rambunctious attitude and he continues, “Well, look at you. You DO have a sense of humor! Real glad to hear that.” He gets serious. “I don’t have to tell you, in the music scene, image is everything. You could have all the talent in the world, if people don’t find you interesting, you’re done. Where do you see your look going?”

Gabriel, do you say -

Leaning towards Punk

Leaning towards Glam

Leaning towards Death Metal

Leaning towards Pop

Leaning towards Electronic

Leaning towards Emo

Of the list, Gabriel thinks that the most fun would probably be either Punk or Glam. While he’s never worn makeup in his life, he thinks that Glam is due for a major comeback.

Gabriel selects—Leaning towards Glam.

Gabriel’s makeup collection far exceeds that of his wife. If the sex wasn’t so good, so consistent, and so often, he fears her heavily religious leanings would give her concern about his sexual orientation. As it stands, Mary’s family disowned her when they got engaged. Their narrow-minded worldview labeled him a “makeup wearing sex addict” like it was a bad thing. Who needs that kind of negativity in their lives?

You answer, “As you can see by my look and hear in my chops, I’m Glam through and through.”

“Good,” he says, nodding. “Didn’t want to think you were confused about who you are. The cycle will bring Glam back to the forefront any day now and I’m looking for talent in that arena. I’ve heard you’ve been a hit in the local scene. You’ve even picked up a particularly vocal groupie named Mina. Tell me, just us boys, what’s she like in the sack?”

You worry that you’ll lose his favor with anything less than a bombastic answer.

Gabriel, do you say -

She’s alright

She’s just one of many

She’s a sexual tornado

To Gabriel, it seems like the warning of needing a good answer should be heeded if he wants the story to progress in a positive direction. It’s weird to say anything potentially odd about a character with his daughter’s name, but that’s all this is—characters. Characters in stories with nothing to do with real life outside of the coincidental similarities. While some similarities might exist between the character of Gabriel and himself, he’s not some sort of rock god wannabe. It’s just a story after all.

Gabriel selects—She’s a sexual tornado.

Gabriel might not be a sex addict, but he’s relatively certain his daughter is. Just now, he can hear her moaning in her sleep, her subconscious mind, and likely her right hand, continuing the day’s activities. She’s pretty lucky to have such a progressive father, because her mother would have probably had her committed to some sort of facility for the insane. Her father, in his wisdom, just made sure she was on the pill as soon as she could be and tried to instill as much responsibility in her so that her daily dalliances didn’t land her in any trouble—health, mental, or otherwise.

“Oh, she’s a sexual tornado,” you say, proudly.

“Look,” he says to me, suddenly earnest. “I’m an old man. I don’t live life like I used to. I need to live vicariously through others. It’s half of what keeps me alive and in the music biz. That and I’d make a terrible greeter at some stupid ass chain store. So when you say she’s a sexual tornado, that’s all hullabaloo to me. It means nothing. I need details.”

Gabriel, do you -

Provide details of your sexual encounters

Say that it’s none of his business

In for a penny, in for a pound. You’ve already said this “story Mina” is a sexual tornado, whatever that actually means, you might as well provide details as well.

Gabriel selects—Provide details of your sexual encounters.

He thinks back to earlier today when Gabriel and Mina were sharing the intimate details of their sex lives with each other. As Mina went into exquisite detail on the threesome she had with her best friend Carrie and Carrie’s boyfriend Mark, Gabriel couldn’t help but get hard. It was the single sexiest thing he’d ever heard… today. He had to admit, his girl was a grown-ass woman. Her exploits, as well as the explicit details, were masturbation fodder for Gabriel since she first discovered her unquenchable desire for sex. His wife would never know just how close her husband and daughter were and everything they shared, at least verbally.

You regale him with details of groupie fucks, focusing on your favorite Mina, but including them all.

The old man’s leer is unmistakable. This is why you’re here, to amuse him, to remind him of day’s past and pleasures explored. He takes it all in, then starts to nod.

“I’d really love to fuck this Mina groupie. You think you can make that happen? I’ve been known to just dole out contracts post-orgasm…”

Gabriel, do you -

Say you can make that happen

Say that’s entirely off the table

Gabriel rationalizes because he wants this story to have a happy ending. If Mina in the story is a groupie, she must love music. This agent has probably created more music than anyone else on the planet. So, if she loves to fuck those responsible for music, she’d love to fuck this guy.

Gabriel selects—Say you can make that happen.

When Mina’s sexual appetite grew to be completely out of control, Gabriel did what any responsible father would—he started to pimp her out. At first, it was harmless and no money was involved. Then, the occasional favor was requested in return. Now, she strips at the local club Player’s, and Gabriel makes sure that the owner and bouncers let her do what she needs to do by greasing their palms with some of the cash she rakes in with her body. He taught her to always use a condom, but since he doesn’t watch every time, he can’t be sure she follows through.

“Daddy?” He hears and sees Mina standing in the doorframe. She wears a seamless tube top and cutout short set, showing off a lot of skin. When she starts to gyrate, he gets hard as stone. “It’s time to get to the club. I need to be at the club.” She starts to edge against the doorknob, moaning and tossing her rainbow-colored hair around. Gabriel makes no gesture to hide his unyielding cock, just like her outfit does nothing to hide her popped-out nipples and puffed out pussy lips. She licks her tongue around her mouth. They’ve talked about sex, he’s watched her have more sex than imaginable, but actual contact has been the one barrier they’ve never crossed. He doesn’t plan on it happening today, either. He’ll get her to the club, quickly for both of their sakes, and find one of the other more progressive dancers to bounce and grind him to relief.

The pair sneaks out past the office where Mary watches her conference come to a finish, unaware of what’s transgressed in and to the rest of her house.

She finds her bedroom empty, but finds Gabriel’s computer open to a random webpage.

The nosy type, she hits refresh, the screen wavers and flows, making her feel a bit woozy, and she’s presented with a list of stories to choose from…

…To Be Concluded…