The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Camille felt the warm delicious caramel smooth slippery silky stickiness of the goo as Richard injected it, guided it, drove it lustfully into her enthusiastic and very receptive tingling totally aroused ass. She had not been penetrated or violated, Camille had invited, welcomed, no forced, it, him, deep in frenzy, in her. Where it could do the most good, give it’s greatest pleasure, seek every crevasse within. She wanted it, needed it oozing from every orifice were she ever to be satisfied. She prayed to hedonistic pagan gods of excess that Richard would last long enough to do her, all of her, every opening, every crevasse, everything that might be made silky and sticky and lustfully yellow. She could still taste the sweet honey-like texture coating her mouth and throat, dripping from her parted moaning screaming lips past her chin and down her throat. There was so much of it.

Richard was a summer eclair: filled with endless sweet yellow summer cream. He was the bakery of her love. The master baker. The cream confection of her dreams. It tingled, it throbbed, it excited, it titillated both literally and figuratively. Camille swirled a single thin finger over and around one aureole and it’s tip. It sent her orgasmic waves that surged past her knees, made her back arch like in an involuntary nerve response. Everywhere it touched became an ultra sensitive goo covered slimy sticky G-spot. She was almost covered now. Richard had goo’d her, made her a wet yellow horny love toy, slithering and twisting and spasming with uncontrolled ever increasing enthusiasm.

It was then Richard began first licking, then sucking, infant-like, at the tit she was giving so much attention. The goo left in her now filled ass continued to please her so much she had not even realized he had evacuated her in favor of another position. He had moved under her hanging dripping mammaries to catch and savor the juice that fell like popsicle drippings on a warm day, then more enthusiastically to try to suck and coax from these hanging pillars addition sweet syrup. To her surprise his hard painful erotic sucking did coax milky goo from her. The sensation of being milked, mothering the nurturing goo, the sensation was unbelievably satisfying. She was breathing so irregularly now she was seeing everything through a reddish oxygen-less hyperventilating haze. She was so excited her breath came in gasps, which matched each suck. His teeth on her as he grew more into her, the mother of goo, grew sharper, he was almost gnawing, but she was now forcing him onto her, encouraging him to almost consume the breast whole. She wanted to be consumed whole, by Richard, by the goo. She wanted to suffocate in an erotic sea of it. She couldn’t give it to him fast enough, and he couldn’t extract the love syrup/milk from her enough to satisfy him either.

She maneuvered on top of him so he could re-inject her while he sucked the love from her. He made a disgusting flatulent sound as he forced the excess goo from from the gooey hairless vertical cave. It was a cycle of love that neither wished would ever be broken. Her hungry mouth found her other dripping tit and began to suck.

Camille sucked until every muscle in her face hurt. When she came up for proper air she found her face continuing to make sucking motions. Something almost immediately filled it and gratefully she resumed consumption of goo. The tit was strangely rounder and firmer and had a harder more dimpled knob on the end. But Camille didn’t care. The flavor had subtly changed as well, but this didn’t matter either. This goo was riper, richer, welling up in greater volume. She suddenly felt more warm and secure than she had in a very long time, suckling, safe. A squeal of surprise as she began sucking, then it and its equally ample twin were thrust in her face which disappeared in the welcoming flesh. She never questioned the fact that they couldn’t be Richard’s, she was simply grateful that they had been added to the mix, the goo.

Richard collapsed under the growing pile of writhing femaleness. Room service certainly had been. And the woman down the hall had brought back her companion after the room service girl had served and serviced the pair of them via the goo she had shared with Richard while Camille had been in the bathroom prepping her pretty little self for bed. The room service girl had just come from another room on the floor above. She had been tipped by another couple and the bellhop who had shagged her baggage for free. They had given her something better and more lasting than money. The lesbian couple from down the hall were now goo-sexual. Which meant anyone gooey was desirable, male female, household pets and farm animals.

Richard was now growing tired and stiff but nobody in the pile seemed to notice. He was extremely yellow and plastic-like but still no one noticed. When he completely stopped moving he became a sex play prop. A life sized (and a bit) dildo with arms and legs and that oozed sweet goo with the slightest prompting.

Curt and Wanda had been pounding on the hotel room wall for almost an hour. They had been on the road for days and just wanted to get one good nights sleep on this cross country trip. They had called down to the hotel desk at least a dozen times but got no response there either. It sounded like they were making an adult movie next door. How could nobody else be disturbed? When the manager finally showed up he told them they would have to stop disturbing the other guests with their non-stop pounding. Curt was dumbfounded. As much by the request, as by the attire ,or mostly lack of it, on the part of the manager who was dripping some sort of disgusting honey-like stuff onto the hallway carpet. The massive bulge in his pants disgusted Wanda. He seemed strangely unaware of his aroused state. He didn’t seem to notice, or have his formal, extremely proper (pompous?) demeanor effected by any of this weirdness, the orgy, or his unusual condition. “What the hell sort of whore house hotel is this?,” Curt demanded. The manager was anything but apologetic. “This is a fine hotel, with all the amenities. I willhave you know that we got a three and three quarter star rating. That’s out of four!” he shot back. “We pride ourselves on our fine facilities and...".

“Look,” Curt snapped angrily. “I don’t know or care what you do here, but we need to get some sleep. If you have a quieter room away from whatever is going on?” The manager seemed indignant, but finally after considering, “Yes, I can move you if you wish. We do wish to keep all of our customers well satisfied. And perhaps make it up to you by offering to send up some complimentary room service?” Curt grumbled that that would be acceptable. After the long day on the road he was kind of hungry. The manager looked at his watch. “Would you like dinner or breakfast sent up. Curt considered. “Breakfast, that way we can head straight out in the morning.”

Curt and Wanda were immediately shown to their new room. It overlooked the pool. This was definitely not the hotel they had expected from it’s appearance and prices. Two o’clock in the morning and there was still quite the rowdy little crowd around the pool having an apparently topless party. The manager again didn’t seem to notice the rather shocking behavior. Was the pool area clothing optional? What sort of hedonistic hotel had they checked into? In the moonlight the people and the pool appeared strangely yellow due to the odd overhead lighting and moonlight. Wanda simply assumed that it was the lighting, or just a matter of the pool not being clean. In a place “like this” either seemed possible. Wanda wasn’t all too sure about the food when it finally arrived, or the new room, in light of everything else. The room was only slightly quieter, although it was a very nice three room stylish suite that other than as a courtesy upgrade they never would have been able to afford. The meal that came to their new room was pancakes and sausage with juice, toast, marmalade, coffee, and real cream milk. It was a surprisingly sumptuous spread with all the little extras. The sauce for the pancakes was an odd yellowish syrup that although strange smelling was somehow very pleasantly sweet. It was almost like a honey.

Wanda just picked cautiously at toast and marmalade, but Curt was very hungry and ate heartily, commenting on how exceptional everything was, especially going back for extra syrup. Curt heaped the syrup onto everything. The pancakes, the sausage, the toast, and a very surprised Wanda...

Bob pumped his piston into her wax cylinder-like ass for all he was worth. She was a well oiled (goo’d) lust machine. Her engine raced better than th big v8 in his cab, and from the way it was going it looked like she was going to get more miles to the goo gallon. And he was fully expecting she wasn’t half as likely to break down. She was a fine tuned sex machine.

When he finally removed his dipstick to check her oil level, he full and reasonably expected it to be either brown or bright red from all the friction. Considering the natural lubrication he had encountered without any obvious additional lubing (via something petroleum based) he was betting firmly on brown. When his dick came back looking like a shiny waxed banana still in the skin.... “Geez- m-h- keeee- rice- d!” Look at that! Just look at it woman. What the hell did you do to me?”

“Made you better,” she huskily panted, as she plunged four gooey fingers into her wet red and yellow pussy. Were she an apple, she would be very ripe. What had he stopped in the hotel to do again? Bob couldn’t remember for the life of him. Come to think of it, why did he care? She was checking more than his hat (as one might consider customary of a hat check girl). Talk about a full service hotel! She had pulled him into the hat/coat room before he could get through sentence number one. She was wonderfully large where a girl should be large, and half hanging out of her uniform, what she wanted to check was perfectly clear. Bob hated small talk. Nothing about her was small. And talking was the last thing she wanted to do anyway.

Her skin color was exotic, was she partially oriental? He couldn’t tell, but from his perspective it didn’t really matter. She was somehow different, excitingly so. It wasn’t just that she was easy, there was “something” about her. She... (oozed?) sexuality somehow. Like she was some exotic, erotic, and irresistible forbidden fruit drenched in its own sensual musky syrup, begging to be eaten. A wedge of hairless pie begging to be eaten with his fingers. It made him completely forget... forget about the directions.

Oh yah, directions... he had come in to ask for... directions. She directed him to his knees. Who says a man can’t get useful directions from a woman, he told himself gratefully. She gestured him with the dripping sweet fingers to follow them inside. Being a modern woman she held the door open for him, indicating he should go first. Tongue first. Her goo pie was even sweeter inside.

No... it wasn’t directions, but he was glad to have them. He waited for more. Men should stop for directions more often. Why were men always so afraid to ask for help? This was better than testosterone any day. It wasn’t fair... fare? Fare! He was here to pick up... hat check girl, woman, this was no girl. Was her meter running? Meter? Cab, fare, she wasn’t fair, she was awesome, and sweet and deep, and so into him, into her. She massaged his back with the refreshing tingling warm stuff she was producing so bountifully like it was the finest massage oil.

The yellow cab outside continued to run up an incredibly ridiculous fare as the yellowing cabbie got directions he very badly wanted, needed. But hadn’t specifically came there for. Foreplay. Little of that. A waste of the chemical heat they shared. What had he come here to do again?

???

Ah, yes; to do the girl, the woman. Was that it?

Yes! What other reason could there be? Except to enjoy her wonderful, sweet, strange, thick, delicious juice. Savor and share every drop. To sweat and rut like a pair of animals, sweating sweet yellow tinged droplets of maddening, thoughtless lust. And when they were done? Done? No... delayed. Not done. Then? He would take more of her strange directions, all she had, she would drive him/direct him, and he would take her anywhere she wanted to go.

And then? Another piece of sweet yellow pie and a big breast full of (milk)...