The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Another late night?” Mia extended a steaming mug, placing it delicately on Janet’s desk. She held a matching one in her other hand, and sipped from it while scrutinizing her boss.

Janet, the poor woman, had been in a daze since she arrived at her desk some ten minutes ago. It wasn’t just that Owen was insatiable—that was true, but she knew he was obedient enough to tamp it down if she told him to. It was that Janet couldn’t turn down what she knew was ready and willing. Little miss punctilious hadn’t slept a wink last night.

Her arsehole ached, a pain deep into her abdominals. It had felt so perfect, in the moment. But the “moment” had pumped, sucked, licked, eaten consistently from her return last evening all the way ’till 7:45 this morning—without water breaks, without time to eat. Just long enough to wash her face and spritz perfume in her armpits before throwing on yesterday’s clothes and running out the door. Her stomach churned, digesting the last of Owen’s spunk—what had been, admittedly, a generous meal the more it accumulated as the night wore on. She wasn’t as hungry as she should have been, then, but the smell of green tea brought her pre-pill self to life.

She accepted the mug gratefully, breathing deep before tasting. “Oh my god, Mia,” Janet closed her eyes and relished that first caffeinated mouthful. “You don’t know the half of it.”

The younger woman crooked her hip and smiled. Her little lips looked ready to laugh, but she held it in with attention to the respect one owes to her superiors. That said, she made no effort to hide the enjoyment she took in seeing her boss in so disordered a state. “Usually it’s me coming into work hungover!” she joked, though that was hardly the case. Or if it was, Janet had never noticed. Mia was a two-shoes. A keener. “Two nights in a row? What’s to celebrate at this time of year?”

Had anyone else made the rib, Janet might feel the need to arrive at her own defense. Mia had clearly seen through the excuse she’d used to leave work early two days back—she hadn’t been sick, and not expecting this condition to extend beyond that night, never really made an effort to feign a nausea of any kind. But it had been Janet who hired Mia on as an intern, some three years ago, right out of university. And more, it was Janet who’d pushed for the company to hire Mia for that coordinator position six months back. Janet really liked Mia—never felt threatened by her or anything like that, and Mia seemed to appreciate the support her elder had thus far been willing and able to provide. A little teasing was par for the course, especially given the uncommon state in which Janet currently found herself.

She caught sight of her own reflection in the computer monitor and snapped out of that tea-induced reverie. “Oh my,” she ignored Mia’s question, “is that how I look?”

The coordinator couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve got a hairbrush and some pins at my cubicle,” she smiled. “You can tidy up in the bathroom if you like, Mrs. Morse.”

Janet thanked her, a little glassy-eyed. As Mia strode off to retrieve the tackle, though, the sleep-deprived Marketing Director’s eyes lit up with recollection. Caffeine may have been one way to start the day, but Mia’s plump little ass—too wide for her tiny waist—was pumping blood where it already ached so greedily.

“Saltlick…” Janet whispered, compelled.

Janet hardly bothered primping her hair in the bathroom mirror. Indeed, she looked disheveled compared to her usual self, but that could be said of almost anybody. The standard to which she usually held her appearance was unattainable without a full nine hours of sleep, a full breakfast, an uncluttered mind?—none of which she could count among her current blessings.

In their place were a few other choice assets: an extended clit, probing the inside of her used panties; hot breath, clouding the mirror with steam from a sink-length away; a mind swirling with muddled possibilities. She pulled Mia’s brush through her hair in three quick swipes, but the last one lingered.

Bergamot.

Mia’s perfume held suspended in the air, hitching Janet’s breath before she realized what it was, exactly, she was in the midst of consuming: the bright, youthful, essence of her coordinator’s femininity. It was filling her lungs, now?—diffusing into her blood and pumping through her heart to every extremity. Every extremity. Janet held the brush against her nose, tickled gently by Mia’s stray hairs. She breathed huffed deeply, making Mia her own, taking ownership of that girlish aroma.

What’s becoming of me? The question hung in the air, but didn’t seem to introduce any hesitation to what happened next.

Janet abandoned the mirror and pushed open an empty stall, hairbrush held fast to her upper lip all the while. Locked behind her, she was free to tear open her trousers, rip down her panties, and lean over the toilet’s ceramic tank. Her cellphone clacked to the floor, slipping from her back pocket. No matter.

Janet took a last deep sniff from the tool before reaching behind her and allowing its handle to probe her hot nethers. The idea of Mia casually making use of this brush later today, still sticky with her excitement, was doing wonders for her lubrication. It slid deep inside without an ounce of resistance.

“Hah…” Janet signed in relief, already pumping her assistant’s brush six inches in and out from behind.

Something was missing, though. Janet’s pussy was more boggy than it had ever been before that pill, but yet her leaping clit?—a dowsing rod of sorts?—bespoke an itch that wasn’t being scratched with this usual entrance. She pulled the hairbrush from her sopping intimates and watched from between her legs, where a comically long string of grool descended slowly to the floor.

The brush was disgusting?—creamy even to the bottom rung of teeth?—with stray hairs from her sweaty perineum mingling with Mia’s as if they had a right to.

The degraded Marketing Director gritted her teeth, relaxed her stomach, and poked her employee’s hairbrush against the entrance to her anus. It slipped, gave way, and slowly but surely came home, deeper, deeper, poke.

“Muah?—” Janet moaned involuntarily.

She couldn’t have known it, but the handle’s tail was pressed firm against the beginnings of a prostate. Her clit swelled, thankful someone had found the source of that itching.

But time and tide wait for no man; the machinations of a higher power had plans for Janet which didn’t involve her getting off, then and there. The cellphone on the tiles below vibrated to life, it’s screen glowing just within Janet’s sightline. A familiar alert, though altered: “POULTRY PRURIENCE! AN EASY LAY! SAME DAY DELIVERY! ORDER NOW!”

As she reached down to respond, Mia’s hairbrush extended out from her rump like a shameful plastic tail.