The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“And if you ever do something like that again, I swear to God I will chop your balls off as slowly and painfully as possible!” I ducked as the stapler hurled towards my head. Jessie was upset, again, as usual. I barely even knew why this time; apparently, she didn’t like that I’d introduced her to my friends as my girlfriend, even though we’d been dating for four months.

“Okay!” I yelled defensively, my hands up in surrender. “I won’t! You’re just a friend, then!”

“’Just a friend?!’” she screeched, and I dodged a stainless steel pen this time. “After four months together, I’m ‘just a friend’ to you?!”

“No! I just, I don’t know what you want me to say, Jessie! If I can’t call you my girlfriend and I can’t call you a friend, then how do I introduce you to people?”

“FIGURE IT OUT!” She raised her “World’s Best Pet Sitter” mug as though she were going to throw that, too, but thought better of it and placed it back on the table. She stormed into her room in a huff and slammed the door without another word.

When we’d first gotten together, Jessie’s ex told me she was psychotic. I didn’t believe him; people always exaggerate how bad their exes are, right? So we’d had our first date, which was wonderful, with no red flags. But about a month later, I assume because she had gotten comfortable with me, she started showing her ugly side. If she ever saw me talk to another woman, even my friends, she’d immediately find some excuse to pull me away, clearly jealous. Hell, one time she dragged me off after I was returning a dropped $10 bill to a fourteen year old girl. I don’t know what she thought was going to happen there, but if she sees me and any females together, the alarm seems to blare in her screwed-up head.

Then there was the holiday fiasco. We’d only been together three months, and New Year’s Eve rolled around. She asked me if I would spend the day with her. I told her I wanted to spend it with my family, but she was welcome to join us, and I’d love to have her there, too. “No,” she’d said, “I don’t like your family. Come out to the club with me instead.” I insisted that family time was important to me on the holidays, but she wasn’t having any of it. I can’t even remember what my coffee table looked like before all the new cracks...

Oh, yes, and her idea of romance is “write me a poem on our monthiversary, and if I don’t like it, write it again until I do.” Of course, she never liked it the first time, so I always wrote two or three backup poems just in case. Call me whipped if you like. Others have. I know the relationship was completely unhealthy—even then I knew that—but I was so afraid of dying alone that I settled for crazy instead of looking for connection.

This time, I assumed she wanted me to leave, even though she hadn’t said anything before storming away. So headed out the door, but instead of getting in my car, I decided to take a walk around. Clear my head, you know? As I rounded the corner of the street, my head was anything but clear. Half of me was yelling that I should leave her, the other half was trying to figure out how to appease her wrath, and some immeasurable third bit that forced its way into my thoughts and wondered how I could be so stupid as to even consider staying. I walked on, and passed a small wooded area behind the neighborhood.

Glancing around absent-mindedly, I looked down and saw a path in the woods. Not a paved one, but not natural, either. “Desire lines”, I knew they were called: paths formed after grass is constantly crushed down under long periods of constant foot traffic, just waiting for a civil engineer to pave over them since people clearly prefer walking in that direction. I was about to turn around and head back to my car, but something urged me to walk on the path instead. So I did.

As soon as my foot touched the path, my mind instantly cleared. I felt no frustration, no anger, no pain. I continued walking the path unthinkingly, tracing the line wherever it went. And suddenly, I remembered something. It wasn’t a normal memory, though; it was extremely vivid, like I was seeing it in front my own eyes right now. No, not in front of my eyes...swirling around me, following me as my feet took one step after another. It was the image of a breast, but it wasn’t sexual. In fact, the only things I felt were comfort, nurturing, and...hunger. I was an infant, not now, but then. I was an infant when I was hungry, and the only thing I wanted, my greatest desire, was milk from my mother’s breast. That’s what the memory floating around my head was: my mother’s breast, the only desire my infant brain could grasp back then. I smiled, warmed by the thought, and continued walking.

The breast faded and was soon replaced with another image. I recognized this one immediately: it was the Ninja Turtle action figure I’d wanted for Christmas when I was seven. Donatello, complete with his little plastic bo staff. I’d asked for it about a hundred times, but when I tore open the wrapping paper on that magical day, I found a remote controlled car instead. My parents thought I’d like that more, for some reason. Though I was upset, my childhood anger quickly faded, and I learned to enjoy the car, but I never wanted it as much as I’d wanted that Donatello.

I kept walking, the turtle disappeared, and it was replaced with the image of a girl. I smiled to myself. It was Lanie, the twelve-year-old girl I’d had a crush on when I was in junior high. She was my first major crush, the first one that wasn’t just a little kid crush. But here, she was puckering her lips, as though she were waiting for a kiss. For a long time, I’d wanted to kiss her, but I was always too nervous to even say anything about it to her face. Throughout seventh grade, her lips were all I wanted to taste, even though I didn’t quite know what that meant yet.

Lanie faded with each footstep, and that’s when I saw her: Alex. Alexandra Wolf, the seventeen year old goddess. At least, when I was sixteen, that’s how I saw her. Only I had never seen her like this: she swirled around my head, completely nude, posing suggestively. In high school, whether because of the hormones flowing through my bloodstream or an honest lustful connection, Alex was the star of all my wet dreams. If I couldn’t ask a girl for a kiss in seventh grade, I certainly wasn’t going to tell one about more carnal desires in tenth, but very time I saw her, I had to hide an awkward boner. Every night in my fantasies, I imagined her revealing every inch of her body to me, and touching every inch of it myself. I felt my mouth become a bit dry—not sixteen-year-old me, but present, path-walking, twenty-two-year-old me. The arousal distracted me, and I stepped off the line. The instant I stepped onto the adjacent grass, the image of Alex glowed bright, blindingly so, and a second later had disappeared.

That’s when I knew that Alex was waiting for me at home, probably wearing nothing at all, as usual. I also knew that wasn’t always the case, but I didn’t care; I had one of my greatest desires, and I was content with not knowing how or why. Jessie didn’t matter anymore; in fact, since Alex and I had been together since high school, I had never gone on any dating websites, so Jessie was probably still torturing some other poor soul. No more abuse for me, just a sexy goddess who wanted nothing more than my hands on her body.

I grinned joyfully as I made my way back to my car. I had a good life now, and nothing could change that.

When I walked through my apartment door—I mean, our apartment door—Alex was of course waiting for me as I knew she would be. “Sam!” she squealed as she pressed her naked body against my clothes and pressed her luscious lips against mine. “I’m glad you’re home, babe. Where were you, anyway?”

“Just...getting a few important things done. But it’s over now.”

“Good,” she said, and kissed me again. As we locked lips, she guided my hands to her waistline. “Touch me,” she begged. She didn’t need to plead, she knew that; she was just always so eager whenever we were apart that it was impossible for her not to.

I closed the door with one hand and ran my other up and down the side of her body. My tongue danced on hers as I worshiped the feeling on my fingertips, exactly as heavenly as I’d imagined in high school, but more grown-up. I kissed her neck, and her hands reached down to my zipper, tugging on it as though she couldn’t think clearly enough to undo it herself. I helped her with it and removed my jeans, leaving them on the entryway floor as we strafed over to the bedroom, our lips never breaking contact. The warm glow of the candles she always kept on our nightstand was the only light, and as I pushed her gently onto the bed and crawled on top of her, she bit her lips in anticipation.

I decided to tease her to heighten the mood. She giggled as I kissed down her neck and chest, but the giggles turned into soft moans as I took one nipple into my mouth and flicked it gently with my tongue. Without looking up, I brushed the hair out of her face and put one hand on her cheek as I turned my lingual attention to the other nipple. I could feel her eyes were closed, as were mine, and as I licked, her hips began thrusting of their own accord. I kissed downward, down her stomach, and stopped just above her sacred entrance. She opened her eyes, looked down at me, and smiled. I smiled back at her, then began licking her clit in gentle circles. Her moans grew louder, and though I knew what she wanted (and I wanted it, too), I teased her a bit more. Without stopping my tongue-work, I caressed her inner thigh with one hand, and inserted a finger from the other into her. If her hips were bucking before, now they were twice as strong, and I pumped in and out of her in time to her thrusts and to each flick of my tongue.

“Sammie,” she whispered, already out of breath. “Sammie, oh, God, just fuck me, please...”

I didn’t need to be asked twice. I slid my body up against hers, bringing our mouths together again as I freed my erection from my boxers. I slid my cock up and down her pussy lips, subtly oscillating as I gently squeezed her neck in just the way she always liked. The harder she moaned, the faster I moved and the harder I squeezed, until even I couldn’t take the teasing anymore, and I entered her. She let out a scream of ecstasy and her body began thrusting directly in opposition to mine. The pace increased, the pressure increased, the passion skyrocketed. I had never had such sensual—dare I say romantic—sex in my life. The kind that can truly be called “love-making”. The kind that only exists when both partners genuinely care for each other as more than a sexual object alone. Jessie never understood the concept of love, not really, but Alex had been in love with me since high school, and we knew exactly how to please each other in every sense of the word.

An hour later, we lay in bed holding each other, slightly sweaty but thoroughly satisfied. “Wow,” Alex sighed, “That was somehow better than usual. Not that our usual is bad,” she giggled. “What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” I replied semi-honestly. “I just really love you, and I appreciate you, and I’m so glad I got to have everything I desire in you.”

“Well, there’s only one thing I desire in me...” she said coyly. I squeezed her playfully. “No, I’m just kidding, Sam. I think it’s really sweet that after all these years, you still have moments of appreciation like that. It makes me feel wanted.” She snuggled up to me.

“That’s because you are. You have no idea what it took to get you in my life.”

“What, did you stalk me before our first date or something?” She raised an eyebrow.

I laughed. “Not quite. Anyway, it’s getting late, and we should get some sleep.”

“Fair enough; I’ll find out the mysterious details another day. Goodnight, babe.”

I kissed her forehead, then her lips. “Goodnight.” She turned over, making me the big spoon, and for both the first and umpteenth times in my life, I fell asleep with Alex in my arms.