The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Saturday morning

Terri strode into Paul’s bedroom, wearing literally just her choker and carrying the tablet. “Daddy told me to give you this ...”

“What is it?” I took the tablet.

“The Making of the Whore Terri,” she muttered, then shrugged when I looked at her. “Video from Thanksgiving, when I was turned into Brad’s sex slave. Daddy ... thought you might find it interesting.

“However ... humiliating that it is for me.

“Your father had already set up several snooping teddy bears and spycams when Brad ... DID me.

“So, y’know, enjoy ...” She turned and muttered something under her breath as she walked out.

Okay.

The tablet was set to play a video, and I started it. The title, “He Made Her HIs Bitch,” played for a moment, then it cut to Mom and Dad at the kitchen table, having dinner.

Dad was playing on his phone, and seemed almost antsy-happy.

“What are you giggling about over there, Arthur?” Mom asked, apparently noticing his eager mood too, “I swear, you’ve been almost giddy the last couple days.”

“Oh, nothing. Just making sure my phone is working right.”

“Has it ... been misbehaving lately?”

“No, no, I just ... wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

They went back to eating, until a knock came from the kitchen door a few moments later. Dad practically wriggled in his seat, while Mom went to answer it.

Brad was leaning against the door frame, in an attempt to look cool or something.

Mom, to her credit, didn’t even miss a beat in handling the improper behavior of a student. “Oh, no, no, Brad—this is not appropriate at all. You do NOT just visit your teacher’s house uninvited. And you can just lose that sultry voice.”

I couldn’t help myself: you tell him, Mom! I thought.

“Now, that’s not how you want to talk to me ...” he said calmly.

Mom sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but: okay, I’ll bite—why is that?”

“Mrs. Simpson, I come from the future, bearing a message from your future, wiser self:

He cleared his throat and posed as though he were somebody else speaking, “Theresa, it’s me—you. Your future you.

“You need to be a lot nicer to Brad, because he’s much more important than you can imagine.

“Now, I’m from your future, so I know better than you. One day, you will come begging him to—”

Mom held up a hand. “Yeah, right there—over the top. Too far, Brad.

“I’ll give you a point for imagination. You tale was mediocre sci-fi up to that point. But if you’re going to compose sci-fi, one of the essential things is to maintain believability

“ME? Coming to YOU? BEGGING?” She smirked, “Brad, c’mon ...”

“Hey, Mr. S.,” Brad raised a fist-salute, “Rock on, man!”

“Hungh? What?” Mom twisted around to find Dad behind her, filming the interaction on his cell phone. “Arthur! Don’t record this!”

When he didn’t stop, she repeated, “Arthur! Quit it! I don’t want this on video!”

“So yeah, back to your insulting me,” Brad continued, and Mom spun back around to him, “Terri, I shit you not: your future self said you’d come, begging pathetically on all fours, pleading your little heart out to suck my dick.”

Mom’s astonishment at the little prick flashed onto her face.

“Truly,” he shrugged, “I shit you not.”

“I ... can’t believe you just said that to me, Brad Newirth!” Mom sputtered. “You don’t ... say things like that to you teacher!

“Jesus, Brad—do you realize how much trouble you’re in?!

“You STALK me to my HOME?! And then you—”

“You gettin’ all this, Mr. S.?” Brad checked with Dad.

“Getting it ALL, Brad!” Dad enthused back.

“Yes!” Mom called over her should to Dad, “Make sure you DO get it all, Arthur.”

Then to Brad, “We actually have VIDEO of you committing these crimes, Brad.

“It’s time for you leave, right now.

“We have recorded evidence of what you’ve done. If you leave now, I may be disposed to NOT turn that over to the police. Also, Brad ... don’t EVER do ANYTHING like this again! Understood?”

Brad just stared at her, the corners of his mouth turned up in the slightest hint of smile, that you wanted to slap off his face. “Tell ya what, I’ll stop by tomorrow for you to apologize—”

“—No,” Mom cut him off, “You won’t.”

“Bye, Terri.”

Brad walked off, and Mom slammed the door behind him. “Jesus! I can’t BELIEVE that boy!”

“I got all that recorded, honey,” Dad added helpfully, “Y’know, just in case we need it for the cops.”

“Well ... smart on your part, Arthur. We MIGHT need it if he tries anything like that again.” She sighed. “You have to stay on top of these teens, or they’ll try to get away with things. Crazy things.”

“But he’s a man, right?” Dad asked.

“Hmm?”

“You said a second ago that you couldn’t believe that ‘boy.’ But you were speaking figuratively, right?”

“Yeah, he failed a grade, so he’s 19 already. I just still think of him as a boy.

“His mom left his dad and him a couple years ago. For the rest of that year, he just couldn’t focus enough to pass, so his teacher that year kept him back a grade.”

They finished their interrupted dinner and then cleared the table and started the dishes.

“What?!” Mom demanded, of the universe, though she was talking at Dad, “Did he think that I was just going to welcome him into my home if he showed up at the kitchen door?!

“With his cocky, smooth voice?!” She dropped her voice in a cheesy impersonation, “Hi, babe ... ?!” Then back to her regular voice, “Like I’d get shivers up my spine and be unable to help myself?! Geez, what a conceited little asshole!”

Dad kept silent as he dried the plate Mom handed to him, and let her continue on.

The scene cut to Mom and Dad lying in bed, her reading, him tinkering on the tablet, before bedtime.

Mom stopped reading and spoke, still riled up over the cheeky little bastard, “I can’t BELIEVE that little twerp would be so forward!”

“You’re obsessing a little,” Dad replied, “aren’t you, sweetie?”

“Yeah—I know I am. But it’s just ... that was so RUDE!

“And so ... arrogant.

“The little jerk ...”

The scene cut to Mom and Dad lying in bed in the dark, except for the night light, at midnight. Mom’s foot was wriggling so anxiously that you could see the bed shake slightly.

“Hmm? Whungh?” Dad came awake at the wriggling. “Is that you, jiggling the bed?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Mom said, not halting her flicking ankle, “I’m just still thinking about that student. The GALL of him! Like I would ... let him into my home tomorrow—Thanksgiving!—if he just shows up.

“Just because he’s sooooo ... ‘ALL THAT’!

“The sheer IMPUDENCE of that little bastard!”

Dad rolled over with a sigh. “Try to get some sleep, honey. We have to cook a turkey and its dressing into submission tomorrow ...”

The scene cut to Mom and Dad in the kitchen while she sprinkled a few spices on the turkey before sticking it in the oven. “Well, if he’s coming today to (she made air quotes with her fingers) get an apology out of me, I wish the little bastard would hurry it up and get this over with, so that I can call him a little fool and send his smug ass packing.”

“’Bastard’?” Dad chuckled, “’Smug ass’? Such profanity, and about a student, too.”

“I guess he just ... brings it out in me,” Mom sighed.

The video cut forward a couple hours to find Mom reading a paperback at the kitchen table. Dad chuckled as he walked into the room, “Have you NOT APOLOGIZED yet?”

“No. He hasn’t shown up yet.

“I’ll bet the little bastard is trying to TIME it, so he gets here just when the turkey comes out.”

I’ll give Brad this much—he’d managed to annoy Mom enough to squelch her natural compassion.

“Well, I don’t care,” Mom declared. “The little sonofabitch can press his snotty nose against the window like some starving urchin if he wants, he’s NOT having any of our turkey.”

Now, Mom would normally share her turkey with anyone that was hungry, so to speak. Brad had put himself in an unusually excluded penalty box.

“He doesn’t DESERVE,” she pronounced, “any of our turkey!”

Dad gave a little chuckle, noticing like I just did, that Mom was unusually irked. “You’ve, uhm ... been sitting here stewing about this, haven’t you?”

“Yeah ... a little,” Mom sighed, deflating a little.

But then she re-inflated, “He’s NOT having any of our turkey, though!”

Dad just laughed. “Sure, all the more for us ...”

The scene cut forward to Mom opening the oven door to take the turkey out. “Oh,” she gasped, then sighed, “noo ...” She took the pan with the turkey out of the oven, set it on the stove, then buried her face in her hands.

Dad wandered into the kitchen, knowing the turkey was due to come out about now, “Hey, hey! Turkey time yet?” He stiffened when he saw Mom hunched over at the stove. “Theresa? Theresa, what’s the matter?! What’s—” He set his hand on her shoulder, “Are you okay?!”

Mom spun around, on the verge of tears. “Arthur ... I am SO SORRY ...”

She took a deep breath, then let it out. “I have been so distracted ... fretting about that little snot, that I ... forgot ... the baggy of giblets in the turkey.”

Dad laughed hard, relieved that Mom was not injured, the momentary anxiousness releasing out of him in his laugh.

Mom noticed his odd tone and looked at him.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry! Whew!” More expelling his nervousness in the laughter. “We can DEAL with giblets!

“Ohgod, I thought you were HURT! That you’d burned yourself or something. Whew! You’re okay!

“We can just TOSS the giblets—no problem.”

Mom deflated a little again. “No ... the plastic baggy melted inside the turkey. I smelled the plastic as soon as I opened the oven door. The turkey is ... ruined.

“I have ... made a MESS of our Thanksgiving meal.”

Dad laughed again, not oddly this time, but full-heartedly. “I don’t CARE. So our Thanksgiving meal is ruined.

“And Paul’s not home with us for Thanksgiving this year.

“I still LOVE YOU, Mrs. Simpson.

“And we have our health, and our home.”

Mom hugged him. Sincerely. “Thank you ...

“Thank you for understanding, Arthur. I am SO sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Dad assured her, “it’s okay ...”

“This is just ... getting to me, somehow ... this business with that young man, Brad ...

“I ... don’t understand ...”

“Hey,” Dad pointed out the bright side, “at least that little bastard won’t be ‘getting any of our turkey.’”

“There IS that,” Mom agreed with a smile after a moment.

She kept her smile this time, and started to get into the spirit Dad was generating. “I think ... I may have a couple turkey frozen dinners in the freezer. I can ... heat them up.”

“See?” Dad encouraged, “We find a way, you and I ...”

“I LOVE you, Arthur,” Mom called as Dad headed back into the den. And she DID seem like she was refreshed with a clear wind having blown through, sweeping away all the tight feelings she’d been obsessing over about Brad. “You go watch some television. I’ll call you in a few minutes when the frozen dinners are ready ...”

She almost hummed in the kitchen.

Until a knock came from the door.

“Hi, babe,” Brad said, striking a pose when she opened the door.

Mom answered him flatly. “Brad.”

“Are you ready to apol—”

“No,” Mom cut him off, firmly as a brick wall. “Brad, I am DONE with you! We are finished playing whatever little game you’re trying to play here.

“You need to leave.

“And Monday, I am going to have Principal Minsky transfer you to another class. I am NOT going to put up with your antics anymore.”

They just stared at each other for some seconds.

“Do you understand me?!” Mom demanded. “I am FINISHED screwing around with you!”

“So,” Brad replied after a few moments, “does this mean you’re NOT going to apologize to me?”

“Brad?!” Mom nearly yelled at him, “No! Of COURSE not! You’ve got the—”

Her voice died in her mouth as Brad stepped forward, toward her, and she stepped back.

She just stood there, silently, breathing hard, as he took her chin his fingers.

Then leaned in and kissed her.

C’mon, Mom, I thought, push him away. Slap the little bastard silly. He can’t ... DO that to you!

But she just stood there. Being kissed. Even ... kissing him back ...

Dad wandered back into the kitchen partway through the kiss to find his wife ... kissing ... a student ...

Finally, Brad pulled back from the kiss. Mom was still just leaned forward, eyes shut, mind obviously still in the kiss.

Finally, her eyes opened enough to see Brad. Her student. Standing in front of her. Having just stolen kisses from her.

And her dignity.

Her eyes widened, and she gasped as it sunk in ... what she just did.

She flicked her eyes down, awkwardly. “I—I—I—ehr ...”

“Tsk-tsk,” Brad whispered to his kissing partner. “Terri, right in front of your husband, too.”

Mom torqued around to see Dad standing there, gape-mouthed, speechless. At ... what his wife had just done ...

Her face with flaming read with shame when she turned back around to Brad.

“Well,” the little prick chuckled snidely, “looks like you two kids have something to talk about, then.

“Sooo ... I’m outta here. I’ll be by in the morning to see you two.”

The video cut to Mom and Dad, having their Thanksgiving dinners. Which were ... turkey frozen dinners. And, actually, not much eating was going on—just sort of moving the food around in anxious slow motion.

Not much talking was going on, either. Just ... feelings, scraping along feelings, until they just rubbed raw, there in the thick silence ...

Friday morning

The scene cut to the next morning, with Mom stepping into the kitchen. Dad was sitting at the table, playing on his phone. And he looked to be in a grouchy mood.

“You were ... showering, weren’t you? For you new boyfriend!”

“Arthur ...” Mom sighed.

“Don’t try to deny it. I heard the water running. Twice! Two showers!”

Mom sat down at the table next to Dad, conciliatory, open, compared to Dad’s closed surliness. “I just don’t want to stink, okay?” She prodded him with a little chuckle. “Hey, you ought to be GLAD about that. You,” he glanced at her with a scowl that could wither plants, and Mom finished in a smaller voice, “benefit the most from me showering ...”

“Awww,” Dad howled when he finally fully looked at her, “and you’ve put on makeup. It’s because HE’S coming over this morning, ISN’T IT?!”

“Arthur ... no,” she said softly. “I just ... want to feel pretty today, okay? I thought I might fix up a little nice.” He was glaring at her. “For myself ... and for YOU TOO!” She nodded encouragingly.

“Well,” he looked back down to his phone, then grumbled with pursed lips, “You DO look nice.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” she said quietly, gently, while he pressed buttons on his phone.

Finally, he gave a big sigh. “I know it’s just me and my unfounded suspicions. Still ... STILL, I just can’t help ... but to ...”

“And I explained to you yesterday, darling,” Mom said gently, encouraging him to continue out from behind the shell of tinkering with his phone, that he kept hiding behind, “that the little bastard stepped in and HE kissed ME. I didn’t—I didn’t even reciprocate.”

“I know ...” he grunted reluctantly.

Mom continued with her gentle, don’t-scare-him-out-of-his-progress voice, “And I think the boy is JUST VILE. He simply INFURIATES me.”

“Yeah ... it just bugs me—I mean, I KNOW it’s coincidental, but ... here you go, fixing up and looking pretty this morning.”

“Arthur,” Mom slid over and took his hand in hers, “I love YOU. YOU! My HUSBAND! Nothing will EVER change that.

“You and me ... TOGETHER FOREVER. We FIND A WAY, you and I ...”

Dad sighed. “We do ... don’t we?” He softened, and dropped his gaze to their hands, holding together. “We find a way, you and I ...”

“Mm-hmm ...”

I thought she had him. I thought she was going to re-strengthen the union that had held them together all these years. Through thick and thin, they’d always managed to hold togeth—

“Where’s ... you ring?” he asked.

“W-what?”

“Where’s your ring?” he jerked his hand back from hers. “Where’s your GODDAM WEDDING RING?!”

“I—I, uh—” Mom stammered.

“Yes?!”

“It was irritating my finger. The gold was irritating my skin, so I slipped it off. Just—for today ... until the skin ... gets better ...”

“You TOOK OFF your wedding ring?! But you’re a MARRIED WOMAN!”

Mom flared angry. “For godssake, Arthur! I have a rash on my finger!”

“Yeah?! Let me see it, then!”

“Not the way YOU’RE acting! You can just—”

A knock came from the front door then, and Mom’s head snapped toward it with interest.

“That’s HIM!” she whispered.

“Oh GOD, Theresa!” Dad called as she hurried to the door, “You’re like a GIRL before a DATE!”

Mom paused at the door, whispering to herself, “Okay, compose yourself! Stern, but ... open ...”

She opened the door. And ... posed. “Brad,” she said after a moment.

She DID look REALLY pretty. Her makeup went on well that morning.

“Terri.” Then a sneer grew up on Brad’s face, “Hungh. You clean up nice. What’s the occasion, I wonder?”

“Oh, no reason,” Mom preened her hair a moment, “Sometimes I just ... fix up a little.”

“Well, it looks good on you.”

“REALLY?” she gushed, then caught herself and reined her enthusiasm back in. “I mean ... thank you.”

“So, did you and hubby make up after out little MAKE-OUT SESSION yesterday?”

Mom did have the grace to at least look embarrassed about that. “Oh, uh, I don’t know if I would call that a ‘make-out session’ exactly ...”

“Still, it sure didn’t make hubby feel all fuzzy that he has a LOYAL wife.” I could easily have used one of those metal scouring pads to scrape that smirk off his face ...

“Ehhrr ... uh, look,” Mom tried to recover, “What, uhm, brings you by today, Brad?”

“Well, Terri,” he was just freely using Mom’s first name like he was familiar with her, “I generously came by today to give you a chance to apologize.”

Mom took a deep breath, like she was bracing herself. “Yeah, see, not going to happen.”

Brad didn’t even give her time to continue. He just shrugged, “Okay. Seeya,” and turned to walk away.

“UHM! NO! WAIT!” stepped forward after him.

Without turning back around to face her, just twisting his head to show that damned expecting-this smirk, he gave a, “Hmm?”

“PLEASE, Brad! I mean, just because—I don’t—

“Okay, look—I’m sorry, all right?” Mom backtracked. “I DO apologize, okay?” She hung there, waiting, and he just stood there. Guess she hadn’t groveled enough.

In a small voice, she continued. “You can ... spend a ... little more time here today ... ?

“Just a little ... ?

“Can’t you ... ?”

She took a big swallow, and in an even tinier voice, creaked, “Please?”

He deigned then to turn back around and look at her. She was breathing heavily.

Then she took several steps back, unsure, as he stepped forward, though the door and into the house.

She did look so pretty. But also so desperate, as she stood there, awaiting whatever he deigned to do next.

Dad stepped into the foyer then, behind Mom, where Brad could see him, but she couldn’t.

In a voice smaller than her heavy breathing, she pleaded, “You COULD ... spend some ... time here ...”

Brad glanced at Dad as he chuckled, “Could I?”

“Nnng-hnng ...” she squeaked.

Brad leaned his head toward hers like he might kiss her, and Mom moved her head in anticipation, awaiting it.

“Hubby’s watching,” Brad whispered to her.

“I ...” she whispered back, “I don’t care ...”

“You fixed up for me today,” he kept up their whispered discussion.

“Nnng-hnnng ...”

“You put on makeup and made yourself all pretty ... just for me ...”

“Ungh-hungh ...”

They were hovering, their mouths inches from each other. Mom ... wasn’t slapping him for his presumptuous daring. She ... was awaiting ...

She moved to kiss him, shutting her eyes and puckering.

Brad ... snapped his head back. Like the cheap “jerking your hand back from a handshake” trick that only idiot little pricks do.

Then Brad gave a proud sneer to Dad: See? I have your wife wrapped around my dick ...

Mom noticed he had not kissed her yet, opened her eyes, realized he was just demonstrating her desperate neediness, and the folded in on herself, her cheeks blazing read with shame.

“I really like that, Mrs. Simpson,” Brad spoke in a full voice now so that Dad could hear, “that you prettied yourself up JUST FOR ME.”

“I hope you’ll fix yourself up all pretty for me again tomorrow.”

As embarrassed as she was, she ...

“Can’t you please stay just a little longer today ...?” she pleaded, in her tiny ashamed voice again.

“Ask me again, but call me ‘Daddy.’”

She took a big swallow. “Can’t you pleeease stay just a little bit longer today ... please, Daddy?” Her whole face flush read with shame. She was a grown independent woman, not some hussy pretending to talk like a little girl. But ... she DID just call the little prick “Daddy” ...

Brad saw her color too, gave a big chuckle. “You are furiously blushing all over, Mrs. Simpson. You must be just writhing in shame on the inside. Why, I’ll bet even your ass cheeks are blushing furiously.

“But no, you’ll just have to tough through it without me today.

“See you guys tomorrow morning.”

And he left.

“JESUS, Theresa!” Dad finally yelled at her. “What is WRONG with you?!

“This is a STUDENT! And you’re FAWNING over him! How can you—”

“I feel BAD ENOUGH, Arthur,” she interrupted him, still blushing pink, “I DON’T NEED you to—”

“Yes! Yes, you DO! Because if you felt BAD ENOUGH, you wouldn’t be—doing ... THIS!

“You ACT like you’re 16, and going on your FIRST DATE with the COOLEST GUY in school!

“Is that really ALL that you think of our MARRIAGE?!

“Of the last 21 years?!

“GOD!”

He stormed off back into the house.

Mom stood there, red-faced. Caught on camera in her shame.