The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lysiane—no Lizzy that was what her man called her now—sank needy fingers into her pulsing pussy as she watched her Beaford work.

His dank, musky odor was everywhere now. It permeated her nostrils, it was on her skin, in her hair… it was inside her. She licked her lips chasing the smallest taste of him on that tender, pillowy flesh.

It had been thrilling when he had ravaged her mouth. Both scary and exciting in equal measure. He had used her so thoroughly, handled her effortlessly and then filled her to overflowing. Her belly pouched slightly like she had just enjoyed an exceptionally large meal (which she had) fulfilling a craving she didn’t even know she had until it was so salaciously satisfied. She wanted more…

The workshop was transformed. The benches and work stations dragged to the walls leaving dirty great trails on the floor in their wake. Many of the tools, stock and equipment had been repurposed as makeshift gym equipment. Like the engine hoist Beaford now used as a pull-down press lifting a six-cylinder Chevrolet motor weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds off the ground in a rattle of chains and the squeal of spinning pulleys.

She trimmed at her pussy feverishly as she watched the play of straining muscles ripple down his mountainous shoulders and the rolling hillocks on either side of his spine. His bare glutes flexed and tightened as his arms—massively swollen with corded muscle—came to rest against his sculpted abs.

Her thighs squeezed tight and her hips bucked towards him as her honey coated her already soaked fingers yet again. She swallowed the cry of elated ecstasy that welled up in her throat and shivered silently through the crashing wave of climactic pleasure that threatened to curled her toes. Good Girls were seen and not heard. Lizzy was a Good Girl.

His Good Girl.

Her Beaford was a machine. An endless dynamo of pure locomotive force that didn’t know the meaning of the word quit but all machines needed fuel…

A haphazard stack of pizza boxes, take-out containers and burger wrappers was piled beside the open roller door. Her Beafords appetites were bottomless. She had to take regular breaks in her fervent, feverish masturbation to order him more food. Grâce à Dieu for the American obsession with twenty four hour food delivery and Beaford’s parents credit card.

Though working the phone was confusing. There were, like, sooo~ many buttons!

Mirrors and reflective surfaces were everywhere. Beaford had taken some time to haul them from the family home and prop them up throughout the work space to improve upon his forms. The standing mirror from his parents bedroom, his mother’s vanity, the sliding mirror doors of the built-in wardrobe and more besides had been bodily removed from the house and transported out to the workshop. The last dozen or so pages were torn out of the pamphlet and wedged into the frames for ease of reference.

They were into the early hours of morning now and Beaford was beginning to flag. Lizzy frowned at that, her clever digits slowing in their ecstatic ministrations on her little button. He was so close! He so nearly resembled those images she so desired in the torn pages of the booklet strewn about the room.

His shoulders slumped as his chest heaved, fighting for breath. He was gloriously naked, none of his clothing fit his monumental mass any longer and Lizzy’s mouth watered at the naked sight of him. He was a demi-god unrealised in his Olympian potential and he just needed more… more of something she desperately wanted him to find.

What was that again? Lizzy was having a hard time thinking when her big, strong Beaford was right there with his big, beautiful muscles and his big, yummy dick.

Big…

She craved to wrap her virgin lips around his gargantuan man-flesh again and drink down more of his potency. It was there, swinging obscenely heavy and long between his legs hanging halfway to his knee, in front of her and all she could do was quicken the frantic movements of her sticky fingers on her swollen bean at the sight of it.

She was leaning forward hard, both hands clenched between her spasming thighs. Her neck was extended and head thrust out as if she could reach that blessed member with her tongue if she could just stretch far enough.

But Beaford was busy and Good Girls did not disturb their man when he was busy. Lizzy was a Good Girl.

Good Girl. Good Girl.

She quaked again just remembering him saying those two sweet words to her. Her Beaford praising his Good Girl.

The last few exercises were borderline ridiculous. More feats of strength and balance than actual repetitions. The sort of acts you would expect to see a circus acrobat or sideshow strongman to perform.

At that moment Beaford was holding his massive form out horizontally above the floor gripped onto a support strut that ran from floor to ceiling. He looked like a human flag. His heavily defined abdominals and glutes rippled as he slowly bicycled his legs in mid-air demonstrating supreme control.

Lizzy moaned at the sight, nearly falling onto her face as her burning cunt clenched, tightening around her fingers and gushed her liquid pleasure again. Her body seized in a brief electric paroxysm and she trembled ecstatically in a growing puddle of her own juices.

Then her Beaford sagged and dropped to the hard cement floor. His hair (it was so long and thick. He had always had such amazing hair, hadn’t he?) was plastered to his skull, rivulets of sweat ran across his taut flesh and his face was twisted in a grimace of frustration.

He looked upset. Lizzy wanted to crawl to him. To wrap her soft hands, bouncing tits or hungry lips around his cock. Anything to make him feel better. To please her man until he stood tall and proud again. To perk him back up in any way he desired.

Like a Good Girl.

She had just begun moving to do just that when his massive arm whipped out and glass shattered against the far wall. A plastic screw-top lid, yellowed with age, rolled to a stop between her hands.

The pill bottle. The empty pill bottle.

Was that what he was so upset about?

Her Beautiful Beaford slumped to his knees and the hard impact with the floor shook dust from the ceiling beams. His head bowed in exhaustion.

Lizzy crawled over to him then pressed herself against his back as she wrapped her arms around him. They didn’t even encircle half of his immense torso. She could feel his torrential sweat soak through her singlet top and her stiff peaked nipples pressed through the clingy wet fabric rubbing against his searing flesh.

Her pretty, plump pussy burned hotly for him.

“Please Beaford… just a little more.” She moaned in his ear, her needy, glistening cunt pressing and painting his perfect posterior with its nectar. “Tell your Good Girl Lizzy how she can help.”

“Supplimentation…” he growled in a rumble like a earthquake that made her breathing quicken, “I’m out. No more instant pick-me-up pills.”

Lizzy sighed and nuzzled her face into his shoulder. She smeared her face in his perspiration, filling her nostrils with the scent and licking the salt of it off her puffy lips. She wanted to wallow in him like a sow in heat, drink great gallons of his slick moisture and other of his fluids besides.

…But the little brown pills? Was that all that was troubling her Beaford?

She could help with that. She could be his Good Girl and help him become the Man she could so clearly visualize him becoming. Like in the pretty naked ones in the booklet, no?

Lizzy giggled at the memory of all the pictures of hung studs and ground herself harder against his rocky posterior. Maybe he would let her suck him again for being such a Good Girl!

“I know where you can get more pills, Beaford…”

Nick pressed his ear to his bedroom door as another loud crash resounded from downstairs. He didn’t want to go down there, he wanted to call the cops! However his phone was in the kitchen plugged into the charger on the old linoleum counter-top.

Was his home being robbed? Monterey wasn’t a big town and didn’t have a drug problem beyond the weed some of the college kids smoked. So what were the odds that some tweaked out meth-head was trashing his home? It was just his luck after the weekend he was having.

It wasn’t fair.

His absentee Dad was “gone fishing” again and his Mom? Well she was so far out of the picture that satellite imaging wouldn’t find a trace of her.

That left him alone in their big suburban home clutching a wiffle ball bat his Dad got him as a “joke” (ha ha, thank you Pops. Yes, I do appear to be overweight now you mention it) in his high-school junior year like a security blanket.

He had contemplated climbing out the second story bedroom window but an uncharacteristically honest assessment of his physical ability ruled that out.

If he could just sneak downstairs undetected he might conceivably get to the back door or out the attached garage to run for help. That was a big if…

Another crash of toppling furniture, that sounded like the front living room. Time to move.

He cracked open the door and squeezed his bulky self out as quietly as he could. He crept along the dark hallway and tiptoed down the stairs.

Step over the second to last stair, the one that creaked. He had this.

The light was on in the kitchen and sounds of movement came from beyond, further into the house. So Nick headed in the opposite direction and into the garage only to stop dead at the sight that awaited him.

The automatic garage door was rolled up. Only it wasn’t a roller door but one that was mechanically lifted up and out in one solid construct of metal and bolts. Something had crumpled and distorted the steel, frame and all, like it was made of aluminum foil. Nick gaped at it as his skin prickled on some primitive primate warning of impending danger.

“Pleeease~ please just give them to him…“

Lysiane? Nick turned at the sound of the buxom French girl’s voice and his panicked eyes widened in disbelief.

The sensor light activated as he stepped backwards into the garage and illuminated Lysiane in the doorway he had just left.

She was a mess.

In other circumstances Nick would have paid good money to see the curvy little blonde in her scanty pink pajama shorts and sheer singlet top but not like this!

Her light sleepwear clung to her full bouncy chest and thick trembling thighs, rudely disheveled and nearly translucent as though it was pasted on with glue. Her skin looked just as wet with dirt and grime smeared across her shining flesh in great filthy swaths. Her strawberry hair hung matted and greasy down to her slick shoulders in messy tangles. Her eyes—dear Jesus, her eyes!—were blown out like a junkie on a three-day binge.

“Lysiane… What are you doing here? He whispered urgently, taking a step back in shock. “Are you okay?”

She stumbled forward, weaving from side to side like a drunk. A spaghetti strap of her top had slipped, nearly exposing one of her fat breasts. Her nipples were large, stiff shadows pressing clearly through sodden garment. Nick’s eyes were glued to them as she swayed forward.

“He needs them… just give them to me or…” She paused then let out a soft breathy sigh. It sounded eerily excited, “Or maybe he’ll just take them from you…”

Nick felt his skin rash with goosebumps, Lysiane was beginning to unnerve him. This wasn’t the sweet, considerate little french girl he knew had chosen as the object of his affections. She was behaving all wrong…

“What are you talking about?” He scowled, feeling heat rush to his cheeks. “I think you need to leave…”

“Not going anywhere…” She sing-songed in a high girlish tone, her hands rubbing absently at her sticky clothing. It clung to her curves like soggy tissue paper and now he could smell her, she stank to high heavens.

“...not until I have what my Beau needs. He’s almost finished. Almost ready, you know?“

Nick did not know and didn’t like how her voice was getting louder as she kept spouting incomprehensible nonsense. Almost finished, almost ready? Then he saw her eyes flick to something behind him and she gasped.

“Mon Beaford!”

“Where is it?!” A deep deep voice demanded with all the promised violence of an avalanche.

Nick spun ready to flee when a massive hand closed around his throat and he was hoisted off the floor like he weighed as much as a sack of feathers. His legs kicked involuntarily and his vision swam as he tried to focus on who—or what—had him in its grasp.

“Urgph!” He wheezed as it shook him like a rag-doll and Lysiane began to squeal and clap excitedly behind him.

“Where is the package?!” The figure dangling him in a choke-hold swam blearily into view. A distorted, brutish raging visage that almost resembled…

“Ford? Wha- what happened to y—” Nick couldn’t believe his eyes. More importantly he couldn’t breath as the massive looming mass with the face of his friendly neighbor threw him across the room.

He impacted some mounted shelving that collapsed under his weight. He felt something crack in his side and groaned as garden tools and fishing gear rained down around him.

Why was this happening to him?

It wasn’t fair…

“Where are the pills?!” Ford bellowed stomping across the garage like an angry god. Fuck but he was huge! He had to duck to avoid the ceiling supports and he was… naked?

“Tell me, little man or I will take you apart…”

“The trash! Shit dude, I put them in the trash!” Nick wailed, curling up into a ball like a frightened armadillo. “Please man, just don’t hit me!”

“Weak.” The monster that was Ford spat before lumbering back into the house.

What sort of idiot takes weird pills that just show up on the doorstep? Nick wanted to say but, for once, though better of talking back. His ribs hurt too much making it painful to breath.

Nick risked a peek at Lysiane for help and was horrified to see her standing legs akimbo, bent nearly double with one hand shoved down the front waistband of her little cotton sleep-shorts and the other clawing at a full, heaving tit.

Her big dilated eyes were plastered on Ford’s hugely muscled back as he tore the cupboard doors clean off a kitchen cabinet and upended the waste bin within onto the floor. Her knees trembled as her hand worked harder between her generous thighs.

What the fuck…

His old friend Ford had just beat the shit out of him and Lizzy was getting off on it?

Nick began to sob in pain and confusion.

It wasn’t fucking fair…

Ford had reached his peak condition, he could feel it.

Dr Zeus Mesmer had been right. He just needed to visualize the man he wanted to become. Shed away all his weak thinking and pitiful excuses. To think like the Man he wanted to be! The brilliant, mesmerizing images of the supermen in the instruction manual sure helped.

Mesmer… mesmerizing, huh. Funny coincidence that.

Then he had to take steps, implement the changes and do the hard work. He had never been scared of hard work, he always said so. What he didn’t understand was why he spent so much effort on stupid books and classes. It was so much simpler now. All he had ever needed to do was set a goal and take action… to take charge.

Lizzy let out a muted gurgle from somewhere below his immense barrel of a chest. Her happy mewls and moans were muffled by his invasive girth down her hungry gullet.

“Good Girl, Good Girl.” He growled as he felt her quiver and quake in carnal bliss below him at the basso sound of his voice.

He admired his new body, his new obsession, in the tall mahogany framed mirror he had nailed up onto the workshop wall.

It was a hand-crafted antique that had been handed down through his mother’s family for generations. Now it had bent lumber nails stuck through the ornate frame and a large crack snaking down the center of the looking glass.

He flexed his pelvis, the upwards surge of his goliath cock pulling Lizzy forward on her knees as she clung to it with both small hands. She barely managed to keep the jerking, apple-sized head of it in her distended jaw as she pumped and bathed it in her lingual affections.

Good Girl. Good Girl.

He flexed his arms and torso. He loved the way his rocky flesh roiled like a twisting nest of anacondas beneath his skin. He was bigger than big, he was gargantuan. It wasn’t natural, no.

It was better than natural. He was better… He was supernatural.

He had reached the peak of masculinity and climbed onward into the rarefied air of a new, uncharted frontier.

He let out a deep, controlled breath as he generously released a small tidal surge of precum into Lizzy’s tight throat. She had earned it after all.

She grunted, gulped and gasped as she desperately tried to swallow it all down. Her fingers clawed at his monumental thighs, trying to cling to him as the cannonade of erupting cum threatened to rocket her head back. White lines spilled from her nose and spewed out around the tight seal of her puffy, cock-bruised lips. Her already seed-swollen belly rounded out further over her splayed, juice-soaked thighs.

Good Girl. Good Girl.

Supplementation, that was the true breakthrough though. After they had left that spineless whatsisname fatso behind Ford had gone right back to it with renewed fervor. The workout plan had been the same as his own, no real gain there, but the small unopened glass bottle of pills were what he had needed. The prescribed one dose a day was for beginners, one dose an hour was for champions.

Ford was a whirling dynamo of power now. An endless perpetual motion machine of vigor and energy. His appetites were veracious too.

All of his appetites.

His cock was constantly hard (that was true muscle control for you) and Lizzy had been more than happy to attend to it throughout the early hours of morning.

He had done back squats, levering the back end of the old chevy junker his father was restoring up over his shoulders by the tow bar. The suspension had groaned as Lizzy moaned and followed his movements up then down with her face buried in his crotch. She had worshiped his tumescent length with her soft pumping hands, hot hungry lips and eager wet tongue until her pretty, heart shaped face was glazed with his thick precum and her own sloppy saliva.

His new body’s well-spring of the molten, glossy seed was seemingly bottomless.

He had done deep leg lunges with two dusty old engine blocks tucked under each arm. Lizzy had sprawled out below him, guiding his massive, veiny manhood shoved between her big, creamy tits. She had gaped at the mushrooming tip in awestruck wonder each time it emerged from her the fleshy valley of her cleavage.

It would smack her roughly in the chin, leaving stringy ropes of his bubbling jizz connecting their two heads. She had kneaded and worked her abundant tit-flesh around his steely shaft until he had finally relented and bathed her neck, shoulders and gloriously thick mounds with a river of his cum.

He had completed the entire thirty-two paged workout program from front to back and then begun it again for a second time.

Lizzy had clung to him like a leech as he flowed gracefully from form to form. She whispered hot words of encouragement in his ears, sometimes in badly broken English but mostly in French. She caressed and teased his bulging muscles. She licked and rubbed herself on him like a wild-cat marking herself with her mate’s scent.

Or she had done so when he had allowed it. She was getting far too clingy and he had needed to push her away from him for a few of the more intense exercises. Then she had just whimpered, rubbing him into her grimy, slick skin and pawing violently at her sodden snatch as she sucked on one of his gym towels and hotly eye-fucked him relentlessly.

It was done, he was finished and he was massive. He was all the Dynamic Man that Dr Zeus Mesmer had promised he could be and more. He dwarfed the herculean forms of the sketched figures on the pages. His body rolled and sloped all over like a rocky range of fibrous mountains. He was going to have trouble fitting through normal doorways…

It didn’t seem like a heavy burden to bear, a small price to pay for surpassing peak perfection.

The soft glow of his phone in the early morning light. The batter was below five percent but the display was still open to Instagram. The screen showed young Marina revealing a lot of those long slender legs in a ruffled pink mini skirt and long white lacy stockings that ended in tiny bows at mid-thigh.

With a grunt he picked up the phone and sent off a simple three word message before casting it aside. It took longer than it should have, the damn thing was like a toy in his hands and his fingers were just too big.

Casting it aside he reached down and dragged Lizzy’s face up off his cock. She whimpered piteously.

“Wha—? No please.. B-Bea… mooore~! Lizzy is a Good Girl…” She stuttered and chirped. Her eyes were rolling in her little skull showing only the whites.

Ford picked her up and slung her over a massive shoulder as though she weighed nothing. Her hands immediately started stroking the impossible humps and curves of his back making pleased noises.

“Lizzy is a Good Girl,” He affirmed delivering a crisp slap to her jiggling ass that made her gasp and filled his nose with the smell of her gushing sex as she trembled against him. “Good Girls get rewarded. We’re done out here.”

He ducked a little to leave through the workshop’s big roller door and carried the squirming french girl back to the house as she moaned and giggled.

“Mmmmmmph… Good Girls get big Beau cock?”