The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I was sitting on the toilet, reading a popular science magazine my dad had left in the bathroom when I saw the add at the very back. It said, in tiny block letter amongst dozens of other ads, “TIRED OF DOING WHAT YOUR MOM WANTS? NOW YOU CAN MAKE HER DO WHAT YOU WANT!". Beneath it was some instructions on how to order “the program” and a price of “ONLY 19.95”. The asterisk after the price however noted “*four easy payments of”. There was a website listed for ‘Downing Publishing’.

“What the hell are you doing in there?” my mom yelled, banging on the door and scaring me half to death.

“Going to the bathroom?” I replied, quickly finishing up and stuffing the magazine back down next to the toilet.

“I know what you’re doing! Come on, that’s disgusting. Get out of there and get downstairs!” she yelled again, banging on the door even harder. I have no idea what that banging was meant to do. I was not doing what she thought I was. “I need you to get out back and finish the fence!”

My mom. My mom was a stay-at-home mom who just didn’t seem to care anymore. Dad was gone every week from Monday morning until Saturday morning, as he worked in D.C. He brought home pretty good money, but it had felt for a few years like he and mom were just going through the motions. She was just a little over 40 and in good shape for her age. She had a slim waist, large, matronly breasts, and a body that was neither slim nor fat. She had great curves and looked younger than she was, but basically since a little after my brother had left for college, she had stopped wearing makeup, stopped really doing anything around the house, almost stopped getting dressed in the morning. She mostly wore an old bathrobe over a t-shirt and some plaid sleep-pants. It almost entirely hid her fantastic figure. Her dark blue eyes and jet black hair were still beautiful, but her hair was mostly unkempt and lazily pinned up behind her head.

“David, are you done?” she yelled one last time.

“Yeah, yeah!” I pulled up my pants and flushed. I opened the door, ready to bolt downstairs and get back to the fence before she screamed at me some more.

“Wash your hands! What the hell?” Her face was dark with frustration. Shit. “I can’t believe you are doing... THAT in the middle of the day!". My face flushed with embarrassment and anger.

I hurriedly washed my hands and then rushed past her and downstairs. The rest of the afternoon was a hot mess of sweat and wood finish, with occasional periods of yelling from mom because I wasn’t doing it fast enough, or thickly enough, or whatever.

Finally, it was done, and I came inside. Mom had ordered pizza for the third time this week. She made a kind of half-hearted attempt to ask my about school before I headed upstairs for shower and bed.

Leaving the shower, I took the magazine with me. I figured it couldn’t hurt to check out the website, and I did as soon as I got back to my room. I could hear mom downstairs watching something awful on reality TV.

The website was fascinating. The splash page had testimonials from all sorts of people:

“My relationship with my mother improved overnight!”

“I’m so happy I checked the program out, now I call the shots!”

and, intriguingly: “My mom takes care of my every need now. I mean EVERY need.”

I liked the sound of that. Reading more, I found out that the program’s ‘installments’ were optional. You could quit at any time. The four stages of the program were ‘Style/Attitude’, ‘Permission’, ‘Attraction’, and , lastly, ‘Obedience’. Whoa. Frankly, eighty bucks was more than I had, but I had twenty and I was so caught up at this point, I had to try it out.

I created an account and paid my 19.95. I got a verification email, and a welcome email, and was then directed to a series of questions.

It showed me a series of pictures of women and asked me which one I liked most. I chose the one that looked like a pin-up girl. It asked me all sorts of things about what I liked and didn’t, what foods I liked, what tv shows, what movies, etc. An hour and a half later, I clicked the last “submit” button and got a page that told me to expect the first part of the program in 2-4 days.

I went to bed that night with thoughts, fantasies, and nightmares all swirling around in my head.

The weekend passed uneventfully, and soon dad was flying back out and I was back in school Monday morning. Tuesday afternoon I got home from school to find a non-descript brown-paper package waiting on my bed. I tore into it immediately, forgetting to even take off my backpack. Inside was a small box, which I similarly ripped apart.

I had had no guesses as to what form ‘the program’ would take, but I never would have guessed this. The device, and I had to call it that, inside the box looked like a 1960’s-style remote control with only a single white-plastic domed button on top. There was a tiny scrap of paper that said merely: “Style/Attitude model: To adjusted Style and Attitude, Point at target. Push button.” The remote was light; it didn’t feel like it had anything inside it at all. I was sure I’d been scammed. Twenty bucks down the drain. I hadn’t realized how excited I’d been; this was almost crushing. I got online and started looking for sites complaining about ‘Downing Publishing’, the people who sold the program. I found nothing. Not one. So, either no one knew about them, or they had 100% customer satsifaction.

Eventually, I went downstairs for dinner. I was going to microwave myself a burrito. Mom was down there, on the couch, watching TV, a drink in her hand.

“You got a package,” she said.

“Thanks, mom, I got it,” I replied.

“What is it? Did you order something? Is it porn or something?” she turned to face me, a scowl on her face.

“No, mom, it’s... it’s nothing.”

“You are spending your money, OUR money, on ‘nothing’? Is that it? What did you get? Damnit, answer me!” She stood up, angry.

I was shrinking in front of her. I knew she’d keep pushing, keep getting worked up. I pulled out the remote.

“Here it is,” I said. I pointed it at her.

“What the hell is that?” She put her drink down.

“It’s... it’s for school. It’s like a science device,” I lied, terribly.

“Give me that,” she demanded, holding her hand out.

“No, it’s mine.”

“GIVE IT TO ME,” she yelled, advancing.

I pushed the button. There was a little buzz and an almost imperceptible whirr, and that was it. Shit.

Abruptly, mom turned around and sat back down on the sofa.

I waited for a moment, then a minute.

“Mom?” I asked, suddenly worried.

“I’m watching TV, sweetie.”

Sweetie?

“Are you ok?” I asked.

“I’m fine. I’m watching TV.”

I moved around the couch to look her in the face. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated and fixed on the screen.

“OK, mom. I’ll talk to you tomorrow...” I crept back upstairs, dinner forgotten. She still stared straight ahead.

I got into bed and listened for mom’s steps up the stairs, but I must have drifted off. When I woke up, it was four, and the tv was off. She must have gone to bed. I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. It took a while.

I woke up to a strange smell. It took me until I was almost dressed before I recognized it: cooking. I pulled on some clothes and rushed downstairs.

At the door to the kitchen, I stopped and just stood there in shocked, unbelieving surprise.

The smell came from pancakes and bacon cooking on the stove, but more surprising was the woman who stood at the range. She turned as I came in and flashed me a brilliant, welcoming smile. She was wearing an almost ankle length white dress scattered with red polka dots. The neckline was low, low enough for a generous glimpse of creamy white cleavage. Her breasts seemed to have been lifted up and together too. Her lips were a scarlet red, her eyes dark with eyeliner and mascara, and a subtle touch of purple eye-shadow. Her black hair was washed and lustrous, and was pulled back from her face with a white headband. She was wearing white high-heels. Gold flashed at her wrists and earlobes and a perfect pearl necklace made her a vision of elegance. She was perfect.

“Good morning, sweetie!” She sounded genuinely glad to see me.

“Um.... good morning, mom,” I said. She turned back to take some bacon out of the pan and arranged it on a plate. A moment later, she was pouring orange juice into a cup as she called cheerfully over her shoulder, “Sit down, David, and have some breakfast.”

“OK,” I said, sitting, still mostly stunned.

She put the plate down, bending at the waist, giving me what seemed like an obvious view down her dress. Her breasts were heavy and full, hanging only a little. It was a strange pose, one obviously considered rather than accidental. I was staring and realized that she was holding the pose even though she’d already let go of my plate. I looked up from her deep cleavage and she was looking right at me. I blushed an immediate beet red. She just winked and went over to the counter to grab my orange juice.

What a glorious day.

After breakfast, mom was a whirlwind of activity, cleaning the house, doing little things that had been left undone for weeks or months. I watched her re-apply her lipstick at least twice, keeping it vibrant red. She didn’t do it alone, either. She was asking me for help all along, but just the fact that she was asking, rather than yelling commands, made it an absolute pleasure. A lot of my help was lifting boxes or reaching high things that mom, being only about 5′3″, couldn’t reach. Each time I was rewarded with a little “ooh” of appreciation, or “you are so strong!” or “my boy is so big and tall!". It was almost a caricature, but it did it for me, especially after all the names I had gotten used to her calling me. A few times up on the step-ladder, changing out light-bulbs, I was sure she had positioned herself so I’d get a view straight down her dress. I worked alongside her until about 11:30, when she said she had to go get lunch started, and set me up on the couch with some home-made iced-tea. She made sure I had the remote, then flounced into the kitchen.

Lunch was some delicious sandwiches that she and I ate together on the patio. She asked me all about school (which I was missing today, but no one seemed to have noticed) and my job, and she was relentlessly complimentary about how hard I tried, and I just felt so listened to for the first time in like three years.

“What about girls?” she asked, sipping her iced tea carefully so as not to smudge her lipstick, “I bet you have dozens of girls begging to spend time with you.” Her dark blue eyes were intense.

“Not really, mom,” I said. “I had a girlfriend for a while, Laura, but she started going out with this other guy, Zane, and kind of forgot to tell me.” It had been a pretty brutal couple of weeks.

“Zane?” she laughed, “sounds like a bond villain.” Her smile was dazzling.

“He kinda is,” and I started laughing too.

“But David, you are so tall, and handsome, and you have such great muscles,” she ran one hand over my arm and bicep. I noticed her nails had been filed and painted a scarlet red to match her lips. “I can’t believe the girls don’t drop their panties for you at the slightest wink.” My part-time job was at a sand and brick company, so I got plenty of back-breaking, muscle-building exercise.

“Um...”

She winked. Oh my god. Suddenly I wondered how much “attitude” had changed.

“Maybe YOU want to?” I asked tentatively.

“What?”

“You know, drop your panties?” My heart was pounding and I could feel my face getting hot.

She laughed, almost a schoolgirl giggle. “I think I’ll leave that to high school girls.” She winked again, grinning wickedly.

After lunch, we took an easier afternoon. She was still sprucing everything up, and the house had a light, warm, cared-for feel that it hadn’t had in a long time. Late in the afternoon, she told me she had to go out shopping, and asked if I wanted to come along. I didn’t really, but I wanted to stay with her, so I said yes, and an hour later we were in a boutique of some sort while mom tried on some new clothes. I had seen what she’d taken into the booth; white and red silk robes, some various bras and panties, and a few more of the full-length but low-cut dresses like she’d worn today. It was a quiet dressing room and I sat on a bench outside her little booth, waiting as I heard her putting on and taking off outfits.

“David, can you look at something for me?” The door opened. She was wearing the white silk robe, only it wasn’t really a full robe. It came down only far enough to belt. Beneath it were matching white silk panties. The robe was belted only loosely, and I could see the most of her breasts between the edges. Two bumps in the thin fabric showed where her nipples were, hard. “What do you think?”

I gaped. “Beautiful. Just beautiful,” I whispered.

She blushed a little and spun around. “Thank you, David!” and disappeared back into the booth.

The next outfits were similarly astounding. The next was a set of lingerie; a black bra, mostly lacy mesh, that held her enormous breasts up high and together. Matching panties left very little to the imagination, and black stockings were clipped to a fine garter belt. She paraded for a moment in front of the mirror before asking me if I liked it. I couldn’t even get my mouth to work right to say yes. She grinned, cocked an eyebrow as she took a quick glance at the bulge at my crotch, and then went back in to change. After that came the crimson robe. This one reached all the way to the floor. She wore a black leather choker with it, and underneath I could see hints of a black bra and stockings. Finally she came out in a pair of short black pants, capris, that looked like they had been painted on. She wore a red kerchief in her hair and a white blouse that had been tied up under her breasts. It looked like the knot might fail at any moment from the strain.

“Tell me you love it,” she said, doing a little pirouette, her hand running over her curves.

“I love it, mom,” I said.

“Fantastic,” she replied. “In that case, we are done.”

Dinner was just as great. Good conversation, delicious food, and beautiful cleavage to ogle. When I was done, she cleared my plate and came over behind me, giving me a short shoulder and neck rub. I ached for more, ached to touch her, or have her touch me, but I knew that was definitely not ‘Style/Attitude’.

As soon as I was upstairs, I logged back on to my program account. First thing that showed up was a page asking me to rate my experience. I gave it 5 stars. The site reminded me that only 3 more installments and Style/Attitude would be permanent and complete. What? That can’t be right. I read more and with a shock, realized that I had definitely been baited and switched. It was just Style/Attitude that was four installments of 19.95 to “ensure permanency and completeness”. Well I sure as hell wasn’t going to go back to the way it was before. $60 was a lot for me, but I could do it. “Permission” was actually 39.95 per installment and it was very clear that you could start that program even before you finished paying off Style/Attitude. Ouch. $120 just for the second stage. Who knows how much I would have to find to pay for “Attraction” and finally, “Obedience”. Even just what I had was fantastic, but I had to go further. I couldn’t take it. I got out my little debit card and ordered “Permission” and even went ahead and paid the full balance of “Style/Attitude”. The site said to expect “Permission” in 2-4 days and that I my Style/Attitude model would be enabled once a week for “follow-ups” that would ensure permanency. I was tapped, though. After that, I had 11.29 left in my account. So far, though, totally worth it.

I laid back in bed and remembered mom in the robe, the black bra, the red robe... I remembered her heavy breasts overfilling her bra cups. I thought about her nipples showing through the thin material of her robe. I thought about parting her robe, about what was beneath, about her crimson lips, and the feel of her hands on my shoulders.... about my cock between those incredible globes... and I came, hard.

With that, and wondering about “Permission”, I fell into the best sleep I’d had in months.