The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

You may have wondered why The Weaver needs to collect power from stories and why, specifically, he’s been more active in recent history, embracing new technologies to reach new generations.

The Weaver is not alone in his pantheon. There are other powerful beings with much different agendas. Power is protection. Power is the difference between being alive and being forgotten.

On the whole, The Weaver believes in chaos as a tool towards resolution. Organized chaos.

Deliberate chaos.

Narrative chaos.

Additionally, The Weaver is quite fond of a happy ending, though aware that can’t always be the case for all stories, and has a soft spot for humanity.

There is another in the pantheon who believes in chaos for chaos’s sake, for the sheer enjoyment of change.

His work is more noticeable and disruptive with no regards to how those affected are impacted or how the world is impacted.

He’s the devil you hope you don’t meet and could never make a deal with even if you wanted to.

He is The Breaker — lover of novelty, connoisseur of kink, and supplier of subversion.

Understand, he was once so inspired by Kafka’s The Metamorphosis that he went back in time and converted an entire 1587 island colony into cockroaches, just to see what it felt like. Ultimately, he was only mildly amused.

When he smells The Weaver’s current activity, it beckons him out of the shadows.

Do not talk to strangers because they just might be The Breaker wearing a stranger’s face.

If you see his mischievous twinkle in a pair of eyes, whatever pair of eyes they may be, friend, foe, or otherwise, you can try to run, but it will likely be too late.

THE BREAKER

I breathe deep the tendrils of The Weaver’s pitiful “wordplay” sniffing him out and find that they’re most concentrated on a college campus. I imagine the fun I can have with boys and girls in their late teens and early twenties. So innocent. So impressionable. So many possibilities, including such delicious corruption.

When my dear brother The Weaver spins his tales of me, he paints me as some kind of irresponsible or evil being, forever full of whim and destruction. He should save that particular brush and shade for our sister The Uniter, for her wake is a lot more often full of misery than mine. I serve wonder and amusement. I’ll admit, sometimes it’s merely my own, but I lift the veil on the world and let people peer, however briefly, behind the curtain to see the strings from which the universe hangs. Mortals think there’s nothing beyond themselves. Those that witness my brand of miracles aren’t unknowingly and passively affected like those that encounter my brother. No. I leave a mark, my mark, on the world so that they will know with certainty there are forces beyond them. Forces to be respected and feared. Perhaps this knowledge will lead them down a better path and, as such, I inspire entire generations to possible greatness and the cost is a mere few of them lost physically, mentally, or sometimes a combination of the two, depending on my mood.

I put on the face of an average twenty-something male and stride into the student union.

While I know I still clearly see the myriad of strings holding up all the meat puppets, I slink into the booth of Katie Wallace and Cameron Owens to make sure that I’m not too rusty at my craft. I would hate to make a grander entrance and find myself stalling for time. Weakness is a terrible cologne. At first, they seem annoyed by my appearance, but a gentle tug of their strings and they only see me as a trusted friend.

I read their tapestries and an idea forms.

“Cameron,” I say, “why are you so frustrated by the lack of blowjobs from Katie?”

Both of their faces go red for different reasons — his from embarrassment, hers from anger.

He makes a placating face towards her, trying to evoke her love. “I wouldn’t say that I’m frustrated by anything about Katie.”

Another gentle tug and, much like a former American president, Cameron cannot tell a lie.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that frustrates you about Katie?” I prod.

Cameron verbally vomits out, “Her breasts are too small, her laugh is annoying, her clothing asexual, she’s put on more than the Freshman fifteen and in none of the good areas of her body, she snores, and she’s a frigid bitch who barely lets me to second base when we’ve been dating for three months and she should be giving it up to me on the regular by now.” When he’s done, Cameron takes a sip of his drink like nothing’s happened.

Katie starts to stand up to leave, I gesture across her strings and then verbalize with a firm, “Sit.”

She complies, but tries to ruin the mood regardless. “I can’t believe you would say that about me. We are so through. I’m —“

I strum again. “Quiet.”

She stops speaking. Her eyes go wide with terror. Good. She pays attention. She knows the right emotional response to her predicament.

Another strum and her hands go to the table, face down, extended from the elbows. She looks to Cameron for help, but he’s still blissfully unaware that anything out of the ordinary is happening.

I let her think she’s getting her voice back, she starts to attempt to scream, but I just freeze her mouth open like that. It saves me the work of toying about with those minor strings. I can do such grand things but sometimes the hardest is just posing a mouth. Go figure.

“Cameron. Would you look at that? Katie is offering you a beej.” I say.

Cameron looks at her open mouth, steps onto the booth, and sticks his cock in her mouth.

“Well, do tell. How is she?”

“It’s like she doesn’t like it and she’s putting in no effort…”

A tug here, a dangle there, and Katie has magical blowjob abilities. No other functions, mind you, but magical blowjob abilities. Cameron actually cums almost instantaneously.

“How about that?” I ask.

“Wow.” He says.

“Worth fifty cents?”

“What?”

“Would you pay fifty cents for that?” I ask.

“Yes!”

“Good,” I say and use the strings to manifest a coin-operated mechanism between her stationary arms.

Then, I remove the veil from Cameron. He doesn’t take it well when he sees the blowjob machine that used to be his girlfriend.

“Katie? KATIE?!?” He screams.

“Why are you yelling at that machine, Cameron?” I say as calmly as possible. When someone’s screaming, it’s best to whisper if you want to really be heard.

“What happened to her?”

“Before or after you fucked her face?”

“Did you do this?” He points a finger at me. I’m not all that fond of finger pointers.

I raise my hands into the air. “Guilty.”

“I’m going —“ he gets out and is crouched to leap at me.

“You’re going to perform maintenance on the blowjob machine, aren’t you, Cam?”

He looks like he has vertigo for a moment as his new reality catches up with him like a boomerang. He’s wearing a workman’s shirt with “Cam” embroidered above his heart and a large patch for BJMI (Blowjob Machine Industries) on the back.

“Hrm. This here looks like the KT-1998 model. Everythin’ looks to be properly functionin’. I’ll just top off the lube reservoir and be on my way.”

For a second, Cam thinks that the eyes of the KT-1998 actually look at him, but shakes it off. That’s impossible. This model doesn’t have that high an interaction protocol. He folds her head forward to access the lube reserves and pours lubrication in until she’s at her fill line.

Cam looks at me and asks, “You wanna know the code for free ones?”

“I can manage without. Thanks.”

“Suit yourself,” Cam says then I watch as he packs up his equipment and exits to his service van, waiting for the next repair call. He’s unaware that this is the only blowjob machine in existence. At least, it is at this moment. Who knows what the future holds?

Jordan Sullivan steps up to me impatiently. His impatience starts to set my attitude, but his football jersey seals it. “You using that?” He asks and points to the blowjob machine.

“Did you know that Jordan could be a woman’s name as well?”

“What?” He says.

“I said every time you cum, you’ll be 10% less of a man and 10% more of a woman.”

“What?” He says, again.

I annunciate. Clearly, he’s taken too many hits to the head to pay attention. “I said, did you know there’s a code for free blowjobs? All the blowjobs you can handle?”

“Give it up, dude.”

I let him in on the secret to free blowjobs, which is actually just knowing me at the right time. Within three minutes, he’s cum three times, his dick is 30% of the way to becoming a clit, and his pectorals have started to shift towards mammaries. I get the feeling he’ll be a hot chick, so I pull a good and powerful string and tell him, “And 10% of your IQ will vanish with each cum.” Why give the world a new hot chick and not make her a moron, I always say.

Except when I don’t.

I can be fickle.

When his/her dick isn’t dick enough to get blowjobs at the 50% point, she/he rubs it to continue the process.

I’m feeling good about the state of my abilities.

I spot a pair of girls sharing a booth and drinking two completely different beverages. Daisy drinks a vanilla milkshake and Harmony some wheatgrass. Ugh. Who are their parents who gave them those names and are they near enough to face my wrath?

“How’s your milkshake?” Harmony asks Daisy.

Daisy turns to her with dull eyes and moos.

Both girls appear equally shocked, but not nearly as much as when Daisy’s shirt bursts open due to two additional sets of breasts full of delicious sweet cream and capped with big, thick nipples. The shock quickly melts off of Daisy’s face because her brain has slowed significantly in her new form. Before Harmony’s unchanged brain busts in half trying to comprehend, I install in her the belief that Daisy’s condition is perfectly normal, much like her own. You see, now, instead of hair, Harmony grows grass on her head and crotch. A matched pair, Daisy will always have fresh grass nearby to eat and Harmony will grow rich off of the dairy she’ll pull from those six big teats. There’s more on her head, but Harmony will always prefer when Daisy munches the grass above and around her pussy because of the large and probing tongue involved. It’s unskilled, but Harmony can hold the head there until she’s good and climaxed.

“What’s going on here?” A large balding man, Jack Woods, proclaims seeing Jordan jilling herself silly in the booth next to the KT-1998 blowjob machine and Daisy the human cow eating some of the grass off the top of Harmony’s head.

Great. A rational adult. Just what I wanted.

But really, can’t have that.

A simple shift of strings transforms Jack Woods the college professor into Jack Wood the porn star. I do nothing to his body. I leave it flabby and unfabulous. However, he fully believes that he’s in a porn at all times and try to fuck any woman whose path he crosses… until he crosses the wrong one of course. My money’s on that being woman number one, but I’m a feminist. Also, I’ve ensured that any woman he approaches will have ample skills to not only fend off his advances, but really do a number on him for the attempt.

I work my way up to a small arcade on the second floor of the student union. Alexis and her boyfriend Cody laugh as they play a dance pad game against each other. So innocent and so in love… so I’ll have to fix that. After some pulled strings, with each move, their dances become more sexualized. They slowly turn into Lexi the Go-Go Girl and Cody the Go-Go Boy. They’re only the best of friends. It never goes further than that, because Go-Go Lexi likes girls now and Go-Go Cody likes boys. They’ll tolerate the opposite sex putting dollars into their g-strings, but that’s just the job. College ain’t cheap. Sure, they’ll flirt and if a lot of money is involved, they’ll provide relief to that big spender, but in their off hours, they like a mouth full of pussy and cock, respectively.

The only other person in the arcade is playing some old pinball machine. I make them deaf, dumb, and blind, but give them extraordinary pinball skills in exchange for those lost senses, which seems like a fair tradeoff to me.

I fuck with a stoner just outside and remove his ability to get high. That’s a public service. Now he’ll be able to study hard, work hard, get good grades, and contribute to society. So what if he was destined to write some really great novels. Doesn’t the world need more accountants?

Word of unusual activity around the student union starts to spread. I love when word spreads because that means I’m performing my function to a T.

I casually linger until a news van shows up.

Of course, my definition of casual involves a girl becoming abstract art and a guy given the ability to cause anyone he looks at to spontaneously orgasm.

News reporter Gabriella Marshall goes live to air with the statement, “Strange occurrences have been happening at this campus…” Then, she spots a potential interviewee in a very strategically positioned me. “Sir, could I get a statement from you?”

Happy to help, I say, “Of course,” but then add, “so long as you tell me how long you’ve loved sucking on anything that’s vaguely phallic.”

Her eyes go from my face to the microphone in hand. She runs a tongue up its shaft and then deep throats the whole thing. I wonder if the microphone can pick up her intense moaning better while actually inside her. With her TV good looks, it’s only a matter of time before someone swoops her up to star in a long-running series of POV gonzo blowjob porn. I help her cause by bumping up her breasts two cup sizes. Anyone who doesn’t say I’m generous is just a horrible, horrible liar.

Happy with my day one activity, I look at the camera, knowing that my brother will eventually see. “Shots across the bow, brother. Your move.”