The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

By the time Jessica left the dining room a small group had gathered around Fiona’s now distinctly tubby form. Someone had discovered that food entering any of the former athlete’s orifices produced the same plumping effect. After an intern returned from the kitchen with supplies, Fiona found herself naked on the dining room rug, fleshy thighs spread wide, as she frantically pistoned a cucumber into her olive-oil slicked ass for the reward of a tidbit every twenty strokes. Her circle of tormentors chanted the count, cheering as it was reset whenever Fiona lost her grip on the slippery vegetable, her flabby arms barely able to reach across her rapidly ballooning belly and breasts.

Jessica slipped into the hallway leading to the kitchen, hoping to avoid the attention of her co-workers. Fiona’s plight left her feeling slightly nauseous, and she didn’t even want to think about her part in provoking the whole incident. She shivered, picturing the doughy mass that had once been a slender redhead. She could imagine few things worse.

Ugh! Okay, that’s it, she thought, I’m swearing off sweets forever.

She plucked at the neckline of the red dress; it felt strangely constricting and for a panicked instant she wondered if Fiona’s favor were somehow contagious.

No, that’s silly, she decided after a moment’s thought. She didn’t feel any craving for food, quite the opposite in fact; the thought of eating made her rather queasy. Okay, at least she wasn’t going to end up performing for food like a trained seal—or in Fiona’s case, walrus. But still, she felt strangely flushed and… bloated?

The favor… Jessica fingered the string of plastic cubes, as she tried to imagine what might lie in store for her. After witnessing what had happened to Fiona, she wasn’t sure that her imagination was quite up to the task. At least Fiona’s craving for food and subsequent performance had attracted enough attention that few of the partygoers had even bothered to glance in her direction, let alone look at her favor.

What had John said? She struggled to remember. Something about a… trigger?

She jerked at the favor again, hoping against hope that this time it would miraculously release its hold on her, but the seemingly flimsy necklace remained stubbornly clasped around her neck. She tried again to find an angle at which she could read the lettering, but the string of cubes was too short to maneuver into a position to read.

She peered down the dimly-lit corridor. Didn’t these people believe in hall mirrors? Closed doors lined the corridor on either side. Jessica regarded them dubiously. Surely one them must be a bathroom.

She scampered across to the door opposite, the hardwood floor cool against her bare feet, and tried the handle. To her disappointment it opened onto a large cupboard, full of linens, crockery and silverware.

She was about to try another, when a door further down the corridor opened and a man stepped out. He glanced up and down the passage, barely missing Jessica as she ducked quickly into the cupboard.

Peeking cautiously round the doorframe, she watched, praying that he wouldn’t come her way, hoping that he couldn’t see her in the dim light. Should she run back into the dining room? No, that might attract too much attention. Better to wait and see what he did.

She thought she recognized him; Eric…something. She remembered him from her first day at Reilly; he’d been the greasy little technician that set up her PC. She remembered he’d made her quite uncomfortable by staring openly at her breasts and smiling like a Cheshire cat. Under other circumstances she might have complained to HR, but that hadn’t seemed like such a good idea her first day on the job.

She watched as he straightened the waistband of his trousers and performed the odd little jiggle and stiff-legged hop that Jessica had seen men use to adjust the position of their equipment after putting on pants.

He looked up and down the corridor again, seemingly unsure where to go, then fished a pack of cigarettes from his jacket, pulled one and lit up. The ritual seemed to make up his mind; he turned and walked in the opposite direction.

Shit, that was close, Jessica thought watching him turn a corner. Okay, we’re near the kitchen, so that room can’t be a bedroom. I just hope he wasn’t fucking someone in a broom closet. Please, please let it be a servant’s bathroom or something!

She ran quickly to the door, and paused, her hand inches from the handle. She couldn’t bring herself to open it.

What if he had been with someone? She bit her lip in frustration. He’d left alone, so they’d still be in there. What if they saw her favor and… made her do something?

Jessica drew back from the door; less certain this was a good idea.

Okay, she reasoned, if Eric had been banging someone in there, then they were probably wearing a favor. She couldn’t imagine that anyone would find Eric attractive enough to voluntarily fuck him. She hadn’t been able to read Meagan’s favor before, so Eric’s partner, if she existed, probably wouldn’t be able to read hers and screw her over anyway. If anyone was in there, she’d just apologize and leave before they could react.

Something tugged at her memory, something about… Meagan?

The murmur of approaching voices startled Jessica from her reverie. She stepped quickly to the door, opened it and slipped inside the brightly-lit room.

Shit! Her first guess had been right on the money. It wasn’t a bathroom after all; the room held shelves of cleaning supplies, brooms, mops and dusters, a pair of industrial-size vacuum cleaners, and a surprised young woman.

She was seated on an overturned milk-crate, leaning back against the shelves. Her dark blue velvet evening dress pulled down at the top to expose a pair of small, perky breasts, and hiked up around her hips to reveal the absence of panties, and a surprising amount of pubic hair between her splayed thighs. In one hand, she held what looked like a toilet brush, its plastic handle teasing between her legs with a juicy, squishing sound. The other hand held a lit cigarette to her lips.

At the sight of Jessica, she gave a squeal of alarm and dropped the brush in a frantic attempt to cover herself. She managed to hide her nipples with an arm and pull down the dress enough to cover her pussy. The cigarette remained firmly clamped between her lips as she blushed scarlet and tried to avoid meeting Jessica’s eyes.

Jessica stared at the discarded toilet brush, uncertain of what she could possibly say. Outside, the voices in the corridor outside grew closer. The small room smelled of pine-scented cleaner overlaid with cigarette smoke, sweat and sex; the combination wasn’t helping Jessica’s vague sense of nausea.

The woman looked familiar. Jessica thought she might work on the 8th floor, but couldn’t remember her name; she’d met so many people in her first few days at the company. She looked to be in her late twenties, with dark hair in a pageboy cut; a wedding ring sparkled on the hand covering her breasts.

“I’m… sorry,” Jessica tried. “I thought… I thought this was a bathroom.”

The woman paused in pulling the blue velvet up to cover her breasts and raised a hand to pluck the cigarette from her lips. “Well, it’s not!” she snapped.

“Uh, yes... I can see that. Now.”

The voices in the corridor grew louder. Jessica could almost make out distinct words. She edged closed to the milk crate and lowered her voice to an urgent whisper.

“Look, I’m sorry I barged in on you. I’ll be happy to leave, as soon as the coast is clear.”

The brunette looked at her appraisingly, raised the cigarette top her lips and took a languid pull. She held the smoke in, studying Jessica as tiny wisps escaped from her nose and parted lips. Jessica realized that she was holding her breath too.

The woman exhaled, slowly, a strange combination of sigh and moan, and Jessica recoiled as a seemly inexhaustible stream of smoke seemed to pour from her.

“Sorry,” she said, finally.

Jessica tried to respond but it was all she could do to stifle a coughing fit.

“For snapping at you, I mean,” she continued, “It’s just…” She made a helpless gesture.

Jessica nodded sympathetically, eyes watering in the smoky haze.

The woman shrugged. She gestured again with the cigarette, the smoldering end passing uncomfortably close to Jessica’s face. “I guess I probably shouldn’t be smoking around you, huh? Does it make any difference? I mean, it’s not even real, right?”

“W... what do you mean?”

The woman looked at her curiously through the wreath of smoke. “Your favor. I mean, it is just the favor, right? You’re not actually…” She trailed off, looking puzzled.

She opened her mouth again, and then shut it again, her brow furrowed in confusion.

“Why can’t…?”

“What?” Jessica managed in a croaking whisper. The voices seemed to be right outside the door now. Two, maybe three men; an argument of some kind, conducted in low urgent tones.

The woman gestured with the cigarette, “I don’t know. I can’t say anything about your favor. I can read it just fine, but when I try to say anything, I…,” she trailed off.

Jessica watched apprehensively as she leaned back and took another slow draw on the cigarette. This time the exhalation was accompanied by a low moan of pleasure. Jessica looked at floor, embarrassed. The toiled brush was still there. The woman followed her gaze and gave a rueful smile.

“I’m Grace, by the way.”

“Jessica.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, indicating an upturned bucket. “I’m up in Contracts. You’re working in… Accounts, right?”

“Yes; I joined the company a couple of weeks ago.”

Grace gave a hysterical little giggle, causing Jessica to glance anxiously at the door. “Any second thoughts?”

Despite herself, Jessica couldn’t help but smile.

Grace nodded. “Yeah, I suppose it’s a bit late now. It’s only once you’re in that you can see the warning signs anyway.”

“What signs?”

“Like the fact that all the women working at Reilly are young and good-looking, for one. I mean, sure there are a few older women, but even they’re pretty damn hot. Have you seen any, well, average women around at work?“

Jessica thought back on the past couple of weeks. She’d been so busy settling into the new job that it hadn’t really occurred to her. “I don’t think so. When I interviewed, they told me they had a policy of hiring the best and brightest, right out of college. I assumed that was why…”

Grace snorted derisively and raised the cigarette to her lips again. The reflection from the glowing tip smoldered in her hazel eyes as she considered Jessica. She shifted uncomfortably as Graces’ gaze lingered on her breasts, before trailing down to her legs and bare feet.

Grace smiled. “It looks like we’re in the same boat,” she noted, reaching up to touch the small cube earring on her own ear. “Or different boats up the same creek, I guess, since it’s a competition.”

Jessica reflexively touched the cold metal earring affixed to her own ear. ‘What do you mean?”

“We’re competing, for Sandy’s job; didn’t someone tell you?”

Jessica struggled to recall a half-heard conversation from what seemed like years ago. “I don’t want her job. What if I don’t want to play?”

Grace giggled again. “Maybe you didn’t notice, but I don’t think what we want is high on Reilly’s list of priorities.”

“We’re trapped?”

“Fucked is more like it.”

“Are there any kind of rules?”

“If there are, no-one’s bothered to tell me. You know Pauline Surrey? No? Well, anyway, she’s also got one of these,” she tapped the earring again. “So I guess there’s at least three of us.”

“Did she tell you anything?”

“I didn’t actually speak to her. She was a bit preoccupied at the time.”

“With what?”

“Putting nipple clamps on Carol Macabee; you know her? Cute little redhead in Quality Assurance? Anyway, the way she was dressed, it didn’t seem like a good idea to interrupt.”

“But, who decides who wins? …And what happens to the losers?”

“I think some guys have a scorecard, but I don’t know who.” She took another drag of the cigarette; Jessica noticed that it was almost halfway done. Grace fixed her with a smoldering gaze and licked her lips. “Well, okay, I think one of the guys in Marketing has a scorecard, from something he said while I was blowing him, but I don’t know his name.”

The candid admission didn’t shock Jessica nearly as much as it would have earlier in the day. “Would you recognize him again?”

“I don’t think so; at least, not from the waist up. He was circumcised, if that’s any help.”

Jessica let it pass. “What about the losers? What about all these people here? How can they possibly keep this quiet?”

“Mmm, that’s the thing. I’ve been at the company for two years, and this is my second staff Christmas party. All I can remember about the last one is that I had a really great time. I can’t remember exactly what I did or anything else about it, other than I had damn good time.”

“They made you forget?”

“I think so, because when Greg Culvern was fucking my ass earlier, some of the things he said made me believe that he’d at least seen me naked before.” She smiled, “I’ve got this little tattoo, right? Just above my pussy. Want to see?” She grinned mischievously and slowly spread her legs; the hemline of the dress crept tantalizingly toward impropriety.

Jessica swallowed, feeling flushed and awkward. “Uh, maybe later.”

Grace chuckled. “Anyway, Greg mentioned it while he was assfucking me. And he couldn’t have seen it before then because…” She trailed off.

“What?” Jessica asked, a morbid fascination beginning to set in.

Grace leaned back and stretched luxuriously, seemingly quite at ease now. Jessica could see her hard nipples poking proudly through the blue velvet as she arched her back. She hadn’t closed her legs.

She took another drag of the cigarette. “Okay, maybe I need to explain a bit. When I arrived, Sandy tagged me at the door, just like everyone else. The next thing I knew, I was absolutely convinced that I was almost flat-chested; that I all I had were itty-bitty titties.”

She clenched the cigarette between her teeth and hefted her breasts in presentation, pinching the distended nipples between finger and thumb. Jessica felt her own nipples twinge in sympathy.

“So,” Grace continued, around the cigarette, “I get it into my head that if I could just get some jism to rub on them, they’d get bigger. So there’s me, walking round the party asking every guy I meet to jack off on my tits to make them bigger. And it worked; each time I rubbed a load into them, they got bigger. But never quite big enough to satisfy me. After a while I couldn’t even walk anymore; I was crawling around on my hands and knees with the biggest udders you’ve ever seen dragging on the floor, begging guys to let me blow them, just so I could spit the spunk onto my boobs to make them even bigger.”

“That’s when Greg got a hold of me. I hadn’t spread for anyone at that point, just tittiefucks and blowjobs—though let me tell you, those whoppers were sensitive as all hell and I was getting off quite nicely just by having my boobs fucked. And those nips! Christ! The size of your thumb and… It felt like I had an extra pair of clits attached to those monsters. Just dragging those across the floor kept me gushing like a fountain.

Grace was breathing hard, the glowing tip of the cigarette flared in time with her breaths like a red warning light. Jessica swore she could smell her over the smoke and pine-scent.

Grace shivered, one hand dropped to her lap, resting casually on a thigh. “So, okay; no-one’s gotten near my cunt yet, right? No-one’s even seen my tattoo.”

She pulled up the hem of her dress to show Jessica a small cartoon character tattooed just above the line of wet, matted pubic hair. “Hello Pussy,” she giggled, tapping the kawaii image.

“So,” she continued, her fingers teasing apart the sticky, jism-matted tangle of hair as they moved inexorably downward. “Greg says he’ll let me scoop his cum out of Darlene’s cunt if I let him fuck me in the ass. So, I let him. I mean, I needed those titties, right? So, he’s banging away back there—and I’m having a hard enough time as it is getting what I want out of Darlene—what with him slamming my face into her hips all the time and her trying to force my fist up her ass – when he up and says that he’s a got a special favor just for me; that he’s been thinking about my cute little tattoo all year.”

‘What happened then?”

“Well, not much actually. Greg blew his load in me and I spent the next couple of minutes trying to get my hand out of Darlene’s ass. Didn’t even manage to get much of Greg’s spunk out of the greedy bitch’s cunt; not enough to make a full cup size, anyway. Greg got distracted by some slut in a cat costume – at least, I think it was a costume – and I haven’t seen him since, thank god.”

“After that, Adam sort of took pity on me, I guess. He took the favor, ’Rack ‘Em Up’ he called it, and replaced it with a something else. I found out later it was called ‘Airtight’, but all I could think of right then was to get my mouth, ass and pussy plugged. It seemed like all the life would just drain out of me unless I was sealed up tight. I was busy fucking Justin, Eli and Petros as the same time, when Sandy came up and said that I’d been promoted to contender and gave me this.” She fingered the small cube earring.

“Then she changed my favor and left. I don’t even know what this one says.”

Jessica leaned forward to read the favor, she was uncomfortably aware of the heat and flush of Grace’s skin and the fact that her fingers were now unabashedly stroking between her legs.

It read “Smoking Hot”.

“What does it say?” Grace asked breathlessly.

“It says…” Jessica paused, suddenly confused. “It’s…,” she tried again. The thought that she’d just had flitted away as soon as she tried to express it. She gritted her teeth and tried to focus on what it was she was trying to say. It would have been easier to grab a hold of the smoke swirling about the small room.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I know what I want to say, but I just can’t… say it.”

Grace nodded. “Yeah, I couldn’t tell you about yours either. I think we can read them, but not warn each other. Just another turn of the screw.”

“Mine…,” Jessica fingered her favor again. “Is it bad?”

Grace gave a small shrug, “I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not even sure what qualifies as ‘bad’ anymore.” Her fingers contained their progress between her thighs with a squelching sound. She looked at Jessica shrewdly. “I think I can see an out for you, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think I’m getting a handle on the way these things work. Most of the one’s I’ve seen are pretty fucking literal, if you’ll pardon the phrase. You might be able to stop what yours is doing to you.”

“How? Tell me!”

“I will, but you have to help me out.”

“…Help you out, how?” Jessica asked cautiously.

Grace gestured with the cigarette. “See this? I don’t smoke. It’s a nasty, filthy habit. But while I’m wearing this,” she flicked the necklace of plastic cubes, “I can’t get enough of the fucking things. Sandy left me without any smokes; I had to bum my first cigarette. And I do mean bum. I think I know how a crack-whore feels now.”

“What’s worse, when I smoke I get hornier and hornier as the cigarette burns down. Playing with my pussy like this or fucking a dildo doesn’t help much; it just keeps the edge off a bit and delays the inevitable. I need someone else to get me off. By the time I’m down to the filter, I’d fuck a horse to get off – which I really shouldn’t say, ‘cause I heard Ingrid has stables out back. So then I find some guy, or girl, and beg them to fuck me. I’ll do whatever they want, ‘cause by that time I’m just a steaming piece of fuckmeat, a slut, ready to agree to anything, just so they’ll do something, anything to make me cum. And then, after the fireworks, bells and angels, some of the best fucking orgasms I’ve ever had, when I’m lying there exhausted… god, that’s when I really need a cigarette.”

Jessica shifted uncomfortably and tried her best to look sympathetic. She gauged the distance to the door, wandering if she’d be able to get it open and escape before Grace could jump and rape her.

“…Okay. So, what do you need,” she asked again, without much enthusiasm. Maybe she just wanted a pimp or something.

Grace groaned in frustration, two fingers now working industriously between her legs with wet, sucking noises, the other hand held up the dwindling cigarette. “F… first, this is my last… last smoke. I need.. need some more… and I don’t want… want to w… whore myself to… get.. them.”

Jessica nodded, relieved. “Okay; I’m sure I can do something there. Give me few minutes.” She edged towards the door.

Grace moved with a speed born of desperation. Her hand, the slender fingers slick with her juices, closed around Jessica’s arm with hysterical strength. She yanked Jessica off the bucket, pulling her into the arc formed by her splayed legs.

Jessica landed awkwardly; she barely avoided hitting her head on the milk crate. She tried to get her feet. She felt strange; heavy and clumsy, as if gravity had suddenly increased just for her. She managed to get as far as her knees before Grace grabbed a handful of Jessica’s hair with one hand and pulled her forward until they were face to face.

“I need you to get off,” Grace hissed at her. “I’m fucking desperate here. I don’t want some prick making me jump through hoops before he lets me cum.”

Jessica tried to pull away. “I can’t,” she whispered hoarsely. The voices outside seemed to be retreating.

Grace snarled and took another pull on the cigarette. “Oh, like you’re so simon-pure? You think sticking your fingers in my cunt is the worst thing you’ll be doing tonight? With what you’re wearing? You’re going to be real popular when they notice you.”

“I don’t… What do you mean?”

“Jesus Christ! Does it make you stupid too, or are you normally this dense? Look at yourself!”

“Please!” Jessica whispered urgently, “Keep your voice down; there’s someone out there!”

Grace sat back and took one last draw on the cigarette, then flicked the butt into a cleaning bucket. She looked at Jessica kneeling between her legs, and shook her head. “You listen to me, you stupid fucking cunt,” she spat, her eyes wild, “You either help me out RIGHT NOW, or I’m going to make a racket that the whole fucking party’ll hear. Either way, I’m going to get what I need, but I’m betting that you don’t want to be found. It’s your choice, bitch!”

She leaned back against the shelves, legs wide, her fingers spreading the glistening pussy lips expectantly.

Jessica looked at the door again. Could she get away? For all she knew the men she had heard were still in the corridor. Besides, if she ran she would never learn what Grace knew about her favor. She steeled herself and leaned forward. Grace shivered in anticipation.

Maybe if she just teased her clit a little; she was probably wound so tight that it wouldn’t take much to make her cum like gangbusters. She reached out and gently slid a finger the length of Grace’s slit.

“Oh, fuck. Oh, GOD!” sounded loudly in the small room. Jessica froze.

She shuffled closer on her knees and probed her middle finger into the sopping hole before her. Grace gave a high keen of appreciation, and began grinding her mound against Jessica’s fingers.

Shit, this isn’t going to work, Jessica thought. She’s probably a screamer; she’ll let the whole house know where we are. On the other hand, she realized, shrieking orgasms at this party were probably something that might very well go unnoticed. Or at least, no-one would care.

She shrugged. In for a penny… and leaned closer. She’d thought that the smell would aggravate her nausea, but the nausea seemed to have vanished, replaced by a mellow complacency. She felt fine, though still strangely off-balance.

Grace’s pussy was a sopping mess of her juices mingled here and there with blobs of jism. The second finger slipped easily in beside the first. Space for a third? She was pretty sure that with a bit of effort she could get her whole fist in there. The thought made her flush, bringing a hot tingle to her nipples.

Grace thrust herself against the fingers with a raw, animal intensity that both shocked and strangely excited Jessica. Experimentally she flexed and wiggled her fingers, evoking another gasp of delight.

“Oh god, oh god, please don’t stop, please…”

Maybe now was the time. “Grace. Listen to me, Grace.”

“Oh yes, please... right there… just there…”

Jessica felt herself warm to the task; her boobs felt hot and heavy and she could feel the slick wetness from her slit begin to ooze down one thigh. “You like this, slut? If you want me to keep fucking you, you’ll need to answer a question.”

“Ah… anything. So... close… PLEASE!”

Jessica let her little finger join the others in Graces’ sopping hole, squishing them in as far as she could until they were well coated with the rutting girl’s lubricant. Then she removed them with a squelching pop. Graces’ eyes snapped open in surprise.

Jessica trailed her fingers across Graces’ pussy, pausing to gently tease the sensitive area between ass and cunt.

“Do you really know how to stop my favor, Grace? Tell the truth now.”

“I… I think so. Please, I need to…”

“After you’ve told me. What do I need to do, Grace? Tell me and I’ll make you cum.” She teased her thumb over Grace’s swollen labia and easily found the nub of her clit.

“What do I do, Grace?” Flick.

Grace whimpered, trying desperately to rub up against the teasing fingers again. Jessica pulled away and tickled her lightly down to the pucker of Grace’s asshole.

“I saw the way you were squirming when you told me about Greg, so I’m guessing you’re a bit of an ass slut, hmmm?” she said, running a finger over the rosette as it twitched, eager for her. “I bet hubby just loves doing your ass, doesn’t he?”

“Oh god, yes. I LOVE it when he assfucks me! I’m… I’m such a dirty fucking whore!”

Jessica smiled, and inserted her middle finger until it could reach no further. Grace twitched and moaned.

“I don’t… cant…”

“So, what’ll we do next?” Jessica mused, absently slipping a second finger into Grace’s ass. “That hot puss of yours looks pretty juicy. Maybe I’ll have nibble. If you tell me what I need to know…”

“Sh.. shoes,” Grace managed to gasp as Jessica teased the swollen labia apart and slipped her thumb into the dripping cunt, holding the gasping woman like a six-pack of slut. “Sh.. shoes. Need your... shoes.”

“What?!” Jessica asked, startled, thinking she must have misheard. “That doesn’t make any..”

“Can’t have… one… without… other,” Grace managed. She grabbed Jessica’s hand with both of hers and mashed it against herself, grinding frantically against the trapped digits.

Jessica could do little but hang on as Grace frantically humped her hand. Fortunately, didn’t take long; with a stifled squeak and a series of convulsive shudders that seemed to last forever, she finally came, wide-eyed and gasping for air. Jessica managed to throw an arm around her and lower her gently to the floor as she slid off the crate.

As far as she could tell, Grace seemed to be okay, albeit unconscious. Easing her hand from the gooey mess between Grace’s legs, she looked about for something to wipe it with. She raised the hand to her nose and sniffed experimentally. Grace’s juices smelled much like her own did; she wondered if… yes, quite similar, perhaps a little sharper, almost bitter, but that could just be from the jism. Not unpleasant at all, she decided.

She tried to make Grace as comfortable as she could amid the cleaning supplies. She had to admit, fingering her had certainly been exciting; her breasts felt hot and heavy, constricted, the nipples almost painfully sensitive. In fact, the whole dress felt tight, almost as if it were a size too small.

Alarmed, she reached up to her breasts, and found the bodice around them soaking wet.