The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

There was a little kitchenette down the hall from Janet’s corner-cubical, where employees of the mid-sized publisher filled up on coffee, tea, or more often, loitered for the simple sake of it. It was rare that anybody found privacy in that space, being open to the floor’s busiest hallway, but Janet had come in a good forty-five minutes early that morning. Looking more like her usual self than she had since the beginning of the week, she leaned up against the counter and waited for the kettle to boil.

Don’t you dare cum before me. Her words echoed out from memory to fill the empty office’s silence, embarrassing her with their vulgarity. “That’s your husband, Janet,” she reminded herself, ashamed. She’d always worn the pants in their dealings, so the saying goes, but never had she found casual cruelty so exciting. This was new, and it worried her how quickly she was falling for it. Especially since Cud—, excuse me, since Owen himself seemed to enjoy it too.

But how could he not? Don’t you dare cum before me. What a silly request. He’d blown his load three thrusts into Janet’s pussy, not even slowing down to apologize. She’d sworn at him, of course, but her frustrations built up over a day spent speaking glances at her coordinator’s rump kept her from following through on the threat implied. He kept pumping, and so she kept taking it. She needed this, but—

—but her pussy wasn’t working.

Owen had filled her womb twice in less than ten minutes—her juices, mixed with his, ran in globs down her legs into the grass clippings below. And yet she was no closer to satisfaction than she’d been in the stall, rubbing that handle against her nethers. It was like her pussy was numb or something. Disinterested.

“Cuddy,” she’d ordered. “Ass.”

Owen didn’t hesitate, of course. Oiled up more thoroughly than a reciprocating engine, he drew his piston out her cunny and slipped it in her backdoor with a single, fluid, out-in thrust—continuing his rhythm as if he didn’t notice the forbidden new tightness. His balls slapped wet against her vulva, now, hot and twitching.

This felt different, and this felt right, but Janet had already spent the bulk of her energy on that initial sprint. Cuddy glorped again, letting loose a whinny, and his wife’s headache returned in earnest. He took firm possession of her hips and pounded, slammed, slapped, filled her guts again.

Nothing. She didn’t have the stamina.

Janet fell forward, face cushioned by the soft organic layer below her. Gone was the cruel confidence that had ordered her “Cuddy” about a quarter of an hour back. Gone was the acid in her voice. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she mumbled, embarrassed. “I just, uh, don’t think I have it in me after all.”

Cuddy couldn’t hear her. He fumbled with his cock, and jerked himself to completion all over the back of her blazer.

The kettle screamed.

Janet, looking again like her put-together self, pulled two paper cups from the communal stack and tossed a tea bag in each one. Her head still pounded—her ass still ached—but she’d thought of a solution.

That energy—Cuddy’s energy. She knew where it came from, after all. She knew what had turned her husband from what he’d been into an eating, cleaning, fucking, jerking machine.

A yellow pill for Janet. Clack. And a blue pill for— she hesitated. Clack.

Janet filled the cups with freshly-boiled water and carried them off to the cubical space. Mia would be arriving soon.

When Janet swallowed her own pill, she hadn’t considered the possibility that she might have reason to regret the consequences. Bouncing back and forth behind her eyes were only withdrawal symptoms, fear of impotence and physiological craving?—pangs and longings that asked to be scrubbed free when they weren’t pounding meaningless. And the pill had indeed silenced them?—satisfied them for a time. Her headache subsided within minutes. Her morning march across the office was the first clear-headed experience she’d carried on since the morning she’d taken that first accidental pill.

But when she arrived at Mia’s desk, steaming cup in-hand, she had reason to take pause. The younger woman didn’t notice her at first. Hand extending a pocket mirror at an up-down angle, Mia primped her hair with yesterday’s brush, hardly rinsed. A familiar longing churned down below Janet’s stomach. Just as urgent as a headache, she remembered the reason she’d left work half-way through Tuesday. That was hardly a choice?—that morning, she couldn’t handle the feral ache.

But these were early hours. Maybe, hopefully, it was like getting high, and this second time wouldn’t hit her as hard. “Morning, beautiful,” she smiled, announcing her presence to the girl consumed in a mirror. She strode up to her desk as if she hadn’t been stationed there staring these last sixty seconds, and placed the cup of green tea next to Mia’s mousepad. “Returning yesterday’s favour?—and the day before?” Janet winked. “You need to stop taking such good care of me, else I’m gonna think you want a raise!”

The girl laughed. “Morning bosslady.” She snapped her mirror shut and set the hairbrush neatly in a designated basket, otherwise filled with pens, pencils, and a miniature chamomile hand sanitizer. “You know me too well!”

The two laughed, Janet pretending not to take much interest in her subordinate’s tentative sip. “Be careful,” she warned, “it’s still a little hot.”

They chatted, but not about much. Mia was kind enough to observe Janet’s “rejuvenation”?—she indeed appeared as her usual self. She’d slept alone, that night, in under clean sheets. Owen didn’t show much interest in leaving the backyard, especially when she’d brought out his laptop (as requested).

Not that she’d said any of this?—instead, Janet lamented that afternoon’s board meeting, where “Phil”?—a mutually despised co-worker?—was likely to make his pitch (again) for a bigger slice of the quarterly budget.

“That prick couldn’t sell water in a desert,” the younger woman spat, “and he thinks he’s entitled to more of your marketing budget?” True to form, she didn’t pull her punches, especially when it involved the notoriously lecherous Phil. Mia wondered why she even had to be there?—it wasn’t like a Coordinator was ever asked to offer her opinion, and she wondered if that kind of discussion even concerned her. “We’re the only two women in the room, and do you think they’d use us or anything more than to sneak looks at our tits?” The conversation ended with a shrug. A half-awkward silence. Janet agreed, of course, but wasn’t exactly in a position to second the motion. Her clit had leapt at that word coming from Mia’s sweet mouth: tits.

Once poor Mia had consumed at least half of her morning cup, Janet thought it safe enough to depart. She made an excuse, and strode off to her own corner cubicle—grool dribbling into her pantyhose.

By the time two o’clock rolled around, Janet found herself in a bit of a situation, to put things lightly. On tuesday—the day of her last supplement—she’d tapped out by now, rushed home to her revved-up husband, left hand on the steering wheel, right hand wrestling down the fly of her trousers. But today: last day of the week, and she’d already missed so much. If she didn’t make it to this board meeting, then what was to stop Phil from rolling over her department, taking a third of her next quarter’s budget? That’s what she told herself, at least, every time she checked her watch and found only forty-five seconds had passed.

The justification likely wouldn’t have been enough to keep her in the office had she not slipped that little blue vitamin in Mia’s tea this morning. She was so horny she could smell herself—leaking through panties, hose, and rising up from under her pencil-skirt. Musk: a smell that would find itself at home in Owen’s new grassy quarters. This was a predator’s heat. Janet was on the hunt. And had her prey not been here, in the office, there was little that could keep her from rushing home again and making Owen pay for humiliating her the way he had, yesterday. For cumming when she couldn’t. For turning the tables, whether he had intended to or not.

He’d pay for that. All would pay, in time. And Mia, sooner than later.

Janet had been keeping an eye or her, across the office. She could make out the top of her head from here, and watched her hair grow more and more dishevelled as the day progressed. The poor girl must’ve gone to the washroom a dozen times by lunch hour—to powder her nose, no doubt.

The meeting started in five minutes. Janet rose on warm heifer thighs, flexing with aggressive anticipation. She walked across the room, clipboard in hand, to collect the girl.

Mia smelled her before she spoke.

“Ready for the big meeting?”

The Coordinator swiveled round on her chair, eyes wide and out of sorts. Her shirt had somehow come half untucked from her pants. “I—I think so.”

Janet smiled. “Let’s go! We’ll be late.”