The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

CHAPTER 1: “Mom forgets what it’s like.”

Tiffany was eating alone when I groggily entered the kitchen.

“Where’s mom?”

I could’ve sworn I had heard her voice from my bedroom. In fact, it sounded like there was some kind of altercation between her and my younger sister here in the kitchen—that’s what woke me up and got me out of bed.

Tiffany only chuckled, playfully brought her eyes to the ceiling, and took a bite of fruit-salad with her right hand, her left resting neatly in her lap. “Mom? I haven’t seen her.”

I huffed, sitting down at the head of the table. “Her breakfast is right here, loser,” I gestured to the bowl of fruit in front of me, reaching down and tossing a loose chunk of apple up to catch with my mouth. “Did she storm out? What were you guys even fighting about?”

It was unlike the two of them to yell at one another, like I’d heard a moment ago. Tiffany could have a temper, I knew, but Mom kept one of the coolest heads I’d ever seen. Hell, when I was a teenager I remember hurling the worst insults I could think of her way, and slamming my bedroom door in frustration when she refused to hurl them back. “I love you, Gill, I’m just really disappointed,” was the worst I ever got.

Tiffany, in the meantime, had pursed her lips, seemingly re-living whatever argument they had. “It wasn’t a fight,” she explained through a mouthful of apple, “we just had a little disagreement, and I wanted to show her my side of things.”

I scrunched my eyebrows up, but it seemed she wasn’t forthcoming with more. “Whatever that means,” I sighed, “do you think she’ll mind if I finish her breakfast? Is she even still home?”

Tiffany giggled around her spoon. “I don’t think she’ll mind.”

I squinted my confusion her way, but received nothing back save silence and a self-satisfied smile, broken by a spoonful of chopped-apple. We sat in silence for a moment longer before my stomach groaned—it was nearly eleven, and my body was used to having a bowl of cereal every morning before heading to the campus. “Well,” I lifted Mom’s spoon to my lips, “I hope you’re right. I’m starving!”

“You would be starving,” Tiffany laughed. “Maybe Dan wouldn’t have left you if you’d laid off the—OOP!” She jumped in her seat mid-insult, clenching her legs together and clattering her spoon to the table.

I studied my sister closer, well-acquainted with her less-than-kind thoughts on my ex-boyfriend Dan, but less understanding of the weird way she was acting this morning. “Laid off the…?”

“Twinkies.” She breathed, one hand adjusting her skirt. “If you’d laid off the twinkies, f-fat ass.”

I looked around, under the table, for anything that could’ve surprised her to such an outburst; nothing. “Something wrong, Tiff?”

“Nope,” she smiled. “Everything’s peachy.”

She was lucky I didn’t have the energy to blow up about the Dan comment. The break-up was still fresh, him having only left me last week for Charlotte—my (former) best friend from work. It hurt mostly because I felt like I could’ve prevented it—not many guys are interested in dating a girl who’s “saving herself for marriage”, and fewer are willing to stick around once they find out that this means no sexual contact at all. Hell, hard as it is, it’s difficult for me to blame the poor guy. Not that I’d ever admit it out loud, Charlotte was no slouch. The worst, most down-on-myself part of my psyche almost had me convinced that if a girl that gorgeous was willing to provide a service I wasn’t able to, then maybe Dan was just doing what came naturally.

Aside from the odd half-remembered wet-dream, I’d never brought myself to orgasm (let alone have anybody see me naked), and boy has that been a challenge. But, of course, I was so close to getting my powers—marriage has nothing to do with my abstinence. Orgasms, as every witch (and daughter-of-a-witch) knows, are anathema to pre-magical development. No matter how little, any sexual contact at all will keep you from that one fateful morning around your five-hundred-and-twenty-second turn of the new moon where poof! Your powers arrive. A witch’s first twenty years, then (if she is ever to be a witch-proper) are a haze of sexual frustration.

But it’s worth it—right?

I snapped out of my daydream and returned to the task at hand. Scooping up a bit of breakfast, though, I noticed a strange subtle movement across the table. A blush had crawled up Tiffany’s chest, and was quickly gaining on her collarbone. She squirmed ever-so-slightly in her seat. I pretended not to notice, but she bit her lip and I couldn’t help but ask: “Tiff, what’s—”

That’s when I noticed the smell.

It had been in the air since I entered the room, but had seemingly grown more palpable the ten or so minutes I’d sat there with her. Deep, musky, like…like waking up from one of those dreams where—

“Tiff, are—are you wearing panties?”

My sister paused, looked up at me, smiling.

“Tiff—why do you smell like that?”

She flashed her teeth, bemused. “It’s not me.” Tiffany raised her left hand and brought into view the elegant rod of polished hardwood perched between her thumb and forefinger: Mom’s wand.

“Tiff, what the hell are you doing with that?” I shoved back from the table, knocking over my bowl of fruit. “You know how much danger you could be in just by touching it! Don’t you remember—”

“—I’d only be in danger,” she interrupted, “if I weren’t a witch!” Laughing, my little sister twirled the wand between her flippant fingers like a conductor’s baton. “And as of this morning…”

Now it was my turn to pause. “You-you got your powers?” Before me? “But you’re only eighteen!”

Tiffany winked. “Do you want to see mom?”

I glanced around the room, suddenly more anxious than I was jealous. “What do you mean?”

Now it was her turn to shove back the chair, licking her lips and shuffling her ass to a more comfortable position. “She’s been struggling to get your attention since you came in here,” she giggled. “It’s giving me butterflies.”

My sister spread her legs and lifted her skirt in one quick motion, revealing a pair of pink-red panties soaked through with grool. It was all I could do to keep from fainting when she pulled them aside to reveal a pussy desperately red, puckered, and clenching as if in a panic. “Say hello, mom!”

The poor pussy convulsed, despairing, bringing a deeper tinge of rose to Tiffany’s cheeks. “Oh, mom…” But her gasp couldn’t match mine.

“TIFF! Oh my God Tiff!? What do you mean that’s Mom!?” I felt tears well in my eyes, too embarrassed to look my sister straight in the vulva but too horrified to look away. “What did you do!?”

Tiffany only laughed, the movement corresponding to more excited squeezes down below. The little pearl that was Tiffany’s clit was more erect than I’d ever seen my own. Was she—was Mom—getting off on this?

“Mom never understood me, Gill,” she brought my attention back to her face. “When I was thirteen and interested in boys, she threatened to kick me out if I ever risked my powers. When we all got caught drinking in Sanrda’s basement for my sweet sixteen she wouldn’t speak to me for weeks because the whole football team attended!”

I stared blankly at my sister, still fully exposed to the kitchen air. The smell was humid, thick—Mom had started drooling.

“Mom’s forgotten what it’s like being a horny young pre-witch. A witch so fucking horny I can’t think straight sometimes.”

“So you turned her into your pussy?!” I wiped a tear from my eye, adrenaline pumping.

Tiffany looked to her lap, took a deep breath in. “When I told her this morning. That I’d gotten my powers? At first she didn’t believe me. Then she said I wasn’t ready. Two years too early!,” Tiffany mimicked my Mom’s voice. “How can I trust you with magic when I can’t trust you not to act like a bimbo around every boy who gives you the time of day?”

“She’s your Mom, Tiff. She’s our Mom.”

The poor clit was throbbing, now. It had reached out beyond Tiffany’s folds like a bright red wet jellybean.

“She tried to take my magic,” she concluded. “I recognized the spell and snatched her stupid wand before she could finish it. I pointed it at her and recited the first spell I could think of.” Her vulva, my mother, opened slowly like a flower, drizzling a build-up drip of sweet-smelling goop onto the kitchen seat.

I breathed in deeply, my body reacting in ways I’ve never felt before. My knees felt like they were going to give out on me any second. “I-Is the smell—spell—reversible?”

Tiffany raised her eyebrow, studying my laboured breath. “Mhm.” She looked me up and down. “But only if I don’t cum for the three hours it’ll take her to change back.”

Now it was my turn to bite my lip. I desperately hoped she wouldn’t notice, but probably wasn’t so lucky. “So then take a break. Go have a nap or something. Just kill three hours and maybe we can—can pretend this never happened.”

My little sister giggled, patted her pink pussy with calm assurance. “Here’s the thing, Gill.” She gently wiggled the lips back and forth between her painted nails, schlick-ing, schlick-ing, to the tick of the kitchen clock. “There’s one caveat to the spell—an increase in libido.” She tweaked her index finger around her clit, teasing Mom who, if the pace of clenching was any indication, was begging for more. “Like, a lot.”

I gaped, wide-eyed.

“And it only gets worse as time goes on. By the end of the three hours, the need to cum will be more urgent than the need to breathe.”

I sniffed, tears welling. “Oh my god…”

“But here’s what I figure.” Tiffany was now openly masturbating in front of me, slowly but sensually. “I’ve only had eighteen years of abstinence training, and lord knows I’ve gotten close to screwing it up!” A hitch in her breath, drawn from a flick to the clit. “But you, on the other hand…”

Unaware that I had been staring directly into my mother’s mouth, I broke out of my trance to look my sister in the eye. “No…”

“You are already a year late for getting your powers. At twenty-one, you either have the constitution of a fucking nun, or more likely, you flick the bean on the regular, and wouldn’t be risking anything in this little wager!” She laughed at her own joke, knowing I cared about getting my powers to ever even consider what she was suggesting. “Well, nothing but your life without a permanently-needy-pussy for a mother!”

That was it, then. I knew my sister—she had decided this the moment I sat down, and there was no convincing her otherwise. If I could only make it out of the room before—

—sparks hit me before I took a second step. Tiffany had the wand primed, the spell ready. I never saw her pull her panties back into place, stand and shuffle her skirt back down over her thighs. I had collapsed—the sudden pressure emanating from beneath my yoga-pants was more than I could handle. My nipples poked through my night-shirt like obscene pencil-erasers. My tongue pressed down my inner lip like an idiot, my hands pawed with a mind of their own, confused, overwhelmed. My pussy throbbed, throbbed, throb, throb with the rhythm of my heart-beat—ever faster—closer and closer.

Tiffany’s heels clacked across the linoleum floor to where I lay, looked down at my pathetic form pityingly. “Christ, Gill, I wasn’t that horny. You smell like a goddamn fish-market.”

I felt something warm trickle down between my legs, into my ass-crack.

“Go up to your room, see if you can sleep it off.” She stood for a moment, looking at me with a blank face, then laughed cheerily. “I’m going out, kay? Gonna go celebrate summore!”

I sputtered in response, trying to raise myself to crawl.

“See you in a few!”