The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

5

“Remember,” Finn said, and Lyla giggled immediately. He shushed her with a stern look. “Really,” her boyfriend insisted. “You need to remember this. C’mon, Lyla, don’t be dumb about this!”

She really could not stop. Not everyone giggled their way through this, but she was. At the outset Lyla had hated it, the silly titter she couldn’t repress. An outburst she couldn’t control. Then it became an emblem of the situation—the thick lips, the big boobs, her inability to say no to her boyfriend’s swiftly growing dick. Now she was just a giggly girl. And newly blonde.

Finn gave her a reproving look. He really did expect her to turn it off and on, like the cold, calculating Lyla, the one that handled their taxes, was accessible with a strong enough stare. Lyla did tamp it down to a shaky smile.

“We go in the back way, we get you situated in the cubicle, and you stay really quiet,” he insisted, unlocking the back door. “You gotta promise, okay?”

“Okey-doke,” Lyla said. “Take your mouth to work day!” She’d worn business gear for the occasion. It was all far too tight on her—her skirt especially rode up to the curve of her new butt. The blouse had already popped a button. Finn hadn’t minded in the car. He’d stopped asking permission to fondle her, and had spent much of the drive rubbing between her legs.

Which reminded her. “I’m all drippy,” Lyla said, conspiratorial. “I’m leaving DNA evidence!”

Finn seemed to have forgotten that Take Your Cocksucker To Work Day was his idea, and supposed to be fun. But Lyla had enough cognition left to recognize that he was worried about her. What she was becoming. He was reluctant to leave her alone, and especially in a large apartment building full of other men.

His insistence on normality had passed beyond reason and turned into sad. He wanted to watch their old TV shows, full of dialogue Lyla no longer cared about, featuring actresses who were now as hot and silly as her, more than likely. He thought she should give reading books “a shot”. He had made no concessions to his own, bigger, uberhot body, down to wearing the same too-small t-shirts. Lyla liked to rub at his exposed washboard abs.

“Okay, wait here,” Finn said. He slowly swiped his ID card, eased open the door, and brought them both face to face with an unsmiling older man, bald as a rock. Unlike the older ladies, who had all sucked off twenty years, older men turned into craggy epitomes of patriarchal authority. They had jawlines from every angle.

“Mr. Breslau,” Finn said. He backed up, to hide her, which would’ve worked if she wasn’t so much wider. Lyla felt a giggle brewing, and fought it off. For Finn. It barely died out just short of her lips.

“Finn… and… guest,” his eyes flickered to her, blonde hair shining.

“Lyla,” Finn said. And he stuck his chest out. Lyla would’ve cried, if she remembered how. He was sticking up for her.

Mr. Breslau rubbed at his chin. He had ice-white beard grizzle. “You’re supposed to register your cubicle girl with admin. You did do that, right? And she gets a lanyard with the pink badge.”

Finn’s shoulders drooped. “RIght,” he said. “I’m… going to get that. Right now.”

“And keep it down. Alright. Meeting is at ten,” his eyes turned to Lyla again. “If she’s shared, the badge gets a yellow sticker.”

“No,” Finn said. “Not shared.” He pulled Lyla along. His cubicle was right in the center of a vast farm of them. Were there other girls there, positioned underneath desks? The carpet was scratchy on her knees. Finn had almost no decorations up of any kind, excepting a photo of the two of them, from some time ago. Hiking or whatever.

“Sorry about that,” Finn said. He seemed down. “I—thought it’d be more fun if… it was like a sneaky thing. And not just, you’re my company suck toy.”

Company suck toy, Lyla thought. She rubbed at Finn’s leg and lowered herself underneath his desk. The carpet wasn’t THAT scratchy, she decided. “Do I really get my own lanyard?” she said, unzipping his fly.

6

“It’s getting harder,” Emelia told her therapist. “Like, here’s one of the things I torment myself with. Lets say all candy made me happy. I’d be dumb, like real dumb, but happy. Would I eat that candy? Yeah, probably. I like candy. So instead of candy its—”

“Cum,” Ms. Breslau said. She shook her hair back. “Yes. I see.”

Emelia liked her. She had old-school therapist demeanor, old-school behavior. Actual couch to lie down on, yellow legal pad. No face to face conversation, hardly any eye contact.

“And it’d be nice if just one, just one friend tried to talk me out of it,” she said, examining her shoes. Already, on the streets, she could tell who was sucking dick and who was not. No self-respecting blowjob deliverer would wear ska-friendly KEDs. “Like I feel like even my friends who did hard drugs would say, Emelia, yeah it feels great but you don’t want this. They just say its great, they’re happy. Do you know you can’t do trigonometry anymore? Yes. Don’t care.”

She was holding back, waiting for her therapist to inevitably sense it. She’d sworn and written herself earnest notes and promised she’d never drink any.

But then her roommate had come out of the room cum-drunk and absolutely out of it. Her eyes shining with inner light. The wonderful scent of spunk flooded out of her bedroom where her boyfriend was still—had never stopped—playing video games.

“Esther,” Emelia had said. “You used to be a geologist.” Her roomie wore bright pink panties and a sunny-smile tank top. This from a woman who owned five pairs of work gloves, a shovel, a pickaxe. Who had offered Emelia her work boots on a rainy day because she had “a half-dozen more.” Who smiled at Emelia with a cummy drip on the side of her chin.

It was probably—no, definitely not meant in any smug sense. This was a woman moments removed from getting her brain shattered by a facefuck, and it was surprising she could walk. Nonetheless Emelia had reached out, scraped the pearl with her finger, and sucked on it.

Her therapist didn’t really need to know about that. It had been a difficult night, once the initial high wore off. A glowing satisfaction that was only partially erotic. More of a growing realization: she could feel that good. The potential existed in her own body. With cum.

“It is a sexy, fun option,” Ms. Breslau said. “There’s a sense of—why fight it? Who can fight their own body forever?”

“Exactly!” Emelia glanced back at her therapist. The woman was gently sucking on her own pencil. She was wearing an unusually bright shade of lipstick. “I’ve been fighting my body forever and now I’m fighting it AGAIN and…” and she wanted more cum. Why sit in a chair and bemoan it? Esther’s boyfriend essentially lived with them. He had low ambition. If anyone wanted to walk in and suck his dick, he wouldn’t say no. “It’d be nice to just—”

“Give in? Is it giving in? Just because you’re fighting doesn’t mean you’re the good guy. Or girl. A good girl,” Ms. Breslau shifted closer. Her voice was very throaty and warm. “We should all be asking ourselves, what does it mean to be a good girl?”

“I know stuff,” Emelia said, lamely. “I have a— degree.” She sat up entirely. He was sitting in Esther’s room right this second, playing some dumb video game. He didn’t have to stop, or move. She could unzip and get on with the rest of her life.

Ms. Breslau’s eyes were very bright. “Its rewarding,” she said, smiling. “It’s so very rewarding. And it tastes so good.” Emelia startled. Ms. Breslau wore a fancy tube dress with a fashionable scarf. But she’d forgotten to wear panties.

Emelia walked out of the room. Her cheeks burned in the elevator. There were so many places she could go, and she knew where she was headed.

7

Spencer had lost: job, apartment, girlfriend, in a two week period, at the end of which he nearly died. The job was first, after he had said the word “solidarity” to a fellow hardware store employee, within earshot of an assistant manager. Apartment was simultaneous, although he didn’t stop living in it. He just stopped having the right to due to nonpayment of rent. When Esther had broken it off—no hard feelings, it was a one-month relationship—he already felt feverish.

He didn’t text her, or anyone, even as the fever turned into a fire, and that fire burned and consumed. Although it was all-consuming it had a certain clarity of intensity. No chest congestion or even a headache. But hallucinations were common. For example, he had the distinct feeling he had jacked off, and his cum had nearly hit the ceiling.

“I’m just here to make sure you aren’t dead,” Esther said, showing up at his door. The front door was unlocked the entire time. Her expression changed. “Oh crap you are dead.”

Then she scrunched her nose, while filling up the first of six glasses of water he would drink, one after the other. “Did you burn candles in here? Like… nice ones?”

She transported him to her own apartment, which had things like furniture, a roommate, pictures on the walls, a table. She had enormous maps of rock strata of the western United States on the walls. It was his first time admitted to the apartment—they had both understood right away that this would be a glancing contact. The relationship had been based on an interest in going on walks and also hyping up an interest in ska. Spencer laid down on clean sheets and thought: I am now fueled by pity.

And yet, Esther kept finding reasons to spend time with him. Lots of time with him. At first Spencer figured this was a new side to her—a warmth he had never unlocked. But even in a remaining feverish haze he grew suspicious. The woman cracked rocks and spit gravel. She wore boots to dates. This smiling, cheerful woman wiping his forehead was a departure. Even more so when she brightly said “hey! I have an idea!” and started to jack him off.

Esther didn’t seem surprised at the lengthy, heavy dick she found. Spencer stared at it. He was used to a pale and unremarkable cock. This one had visible veins, it changed colors, it was… dark. It liked being stroked. Soon after Esther started he began to shake, spurting thick globs of semen all over her nice clean sheets, her bedspread. Esther didn’t mind at all. She managed a single nearly-disapproving cluck at the back of her throat. “Already?” she said, “maybe you’re finally on the mend!”

“Huh,” Spencer said, once she left. Only momentarily. Soon she was back, just to chat. “Do you want to..?” Spencer said, indicating the clumps.

“Oh!” Esther said, eyeing them. Did she lick her lips? It was all very strange. “I mean, they’re white, and the sheets are white.” She smiled at him, very sincere. Soon they were spooning on cummy sheets. “You smell SO good,” she confessed, giggling.

The next day Esther jacked him off three times. She didn’t seem to have any interest in fucking him. His cock had a fascinating power that she wanted to look at, touch, smell, consider. At no point did she ever bring a tissue box in. Her outfits changed throughout the day, too. At first she stroked him in jeans and a t-shirt. By the end of the day that had turned into a cute frilly skirt and a sort of bodice-heavy dress shirt. Spencer couldn’t bring himself to ask: what the fuck is going on? Still weak, he existed in a masturbatory haze, to the calm, measured strokes of his girlfriend.

He really only saw glimpses of the old Esther as she nerved herself to suck his dick.

“I.. REALLY… shouldn’t…” she’d picked out a bright pink tanktop and a pair of very tight tights. Spencer was finally eating again. Entire boxes of cheerios at a time. His girlfriend seemed anxious, nervous. She kept holding her breath for no obvious reason.

“Shouldn’t… what?” Spencer swallowed. For the first time in a week he felt—better. Not just post-fever but able to consider the future, the world, himself. “Do what?”

Esther kept her eyes on his dick. “I just… I know its a bad idea. Really bad. You don’t think you’re gonna be this person and then—” she licked her lips. “Its all hormones and chemicals, I KNOW that. I should just…open a window.”

“Sure,” Spencer said, very confused. Everything had been so feverish, why would Esther be any different?

“I’m not just some…” her protests came after longer and longer—Spencer thought of them as breathing intervals. When Esther would just sit and take deep breaths. The window stayed closed. “...some…” She whined. There was no other word for the noise. And fidgeted in her bedside chair. It was, honestly, hard for Spencer to pay much attention. He was raw with hunger. Empty cereal boxes littered his bedside.

“Some… what?” he managed.

“A cocksucker,” Esther whispered. “Some good little cocksucker.”

This, did get his full attention. She finally looked him in the eyes. Esther was breathing in deeply, her nose flaring. A cute nose, Spencer thought. As usual his dick pulsed, hard and erect.

“Can I just lick it once?” she said, eyes wide. “Real quick?”

“While I’m eating cheerios?” Spencer said. “I’m getting your sheets dirty enough.”

“No. It won’t—” she breathed out. “Just one lick.” she swallowed. “Please.”

From the first date Spencer had never imagined that this outdoorsy rock lover would ever put her mouth on his penis.

“Esther, is… everything okay?” he said.

“Depends on if you believe the news,” she told him, which was his first inkling something broader was going on. “But… I don’t know if I… look, I’m not gonna swallow, okay?” He shrugged. That was consent enough. Esther nearly dove for his body.. She grasped the base of the shaft. “You smell even better up close,” she told him.

The first lick was incredible. It started out at the very base of the shaft and worked its way upwards. Esther jacked him softly as soon as she could. Her tongue was very wet. She’d clearly put effort in to getting the right amount of spit on it. Although often his penis had been coated in spunk it was currently pretty clean. Esther had insisted on a long shower. So she might’ve gotten away with it, with just a lick, if a spurt of precum hadn’t unexpectedly hit her in the face.

It drooled into her open mouth.

8

The actual manager was on leave because she couldn’t stop sucking dick. The district manager had walked off to build a “fucking enormous harem”. That left Brandon and Mateo as co-assistant-managers, and Brandon had already revised his lanyard to match. He’d printed out his own “co-assistant-manager” card, in Impact font.

The morning meeting wasn’t going well. They were stocking during it. What with men undergoing a dramatic sexual illness, women sucking their way to toyhood, and also normal cold and flu season, staffing was hard. They were down to a staff of six, four of them girls.

“Call Spencer again?” Mateo said. He had to grit out every question mark at the end. They were co-managers. They proceeded by consensus.

“I blew up his phone,” Brandon said. He had fired the man at the worst possible time. Any able-bodied male would’ve been an enormous help. “No good. I put a sign up at every register that says, pick up an apron and you are hired. No takers.”

They were both exhausted. Brandon seemed to be working himself to death because co-assistant-manager, pro tem, fulfilled a personal dream. For Mateo…

The four girls had turned into four strays. Marin had nowhere else to go. Amira had nowhere better. Alexus he’d pulled out of a bad situation, and Dana… Dana had shown up off the street and gotten herself hired.

“I’m putting Marin and Amira on register,” Mateo said. “Alexus will be returns, Dana can be floor.”

Brandon worked a snort. It was his sole response to anything that displeased him. Mateo had heard the snort a hundred times over the past two weeks.

“Dana, helpful floor staff,” Brandon said. “Dana, can you help me find the paint? Sure! I don’t know what an aisle is! We need to fire her. She just takes guys to the bathroom and blows them. Why pay her for it?”

He knew perfectly well they weren’t paying Dana at all. Mateo wasn’t sure he was getting paid. It also wasn’t clear if he was an important, valiant soldier preventing social collapse or a dumb peon of capitalism supporting big business on his overworked shoulders. “I’ll tell the girls we open in ten,” he said, turning his back on Brandon.

“Yay!” Marin said, catching sight of him.

He’d rigged together a pile of beds in the back room. As a big box hardware store they didn’t really sell anything soft. So he’d brought sleeping bags and his mattress from his apartment, and supplemented with bags of mulch. The girls smelled earthy. They’d all gotten clothes at the TJ Maxx next door, mostly remaindered athletic gear now overly taut.

“Mateo!” they dropped into a line. This, this was what Mateo loved. Yes, society had largely collapsed, and girls everywhere were reduced to mouth open servitude. For food they relied on charity from the burger joint down the street. But the four of them in their store aprons, excited, waiting. Each girl had a different thing she did with her hands. Marin held them demurely, Amira sat on them, Dana wrung them, and Alexus clenched them. They had worked out a rota to suck his dick.

Amira really enjoyed her turn.

That was another thing—they were all so different. He could close his eyes and know exactly which girl was at work. Alexus sucked him vigorously, her hands clenching his butt, urging him deeper. Marin with her dainty licks, Dana’s patient, gentle tongue, Amira turning herself into a dedicated cocksleeve. And each had a different hair color. Sort of—Amira had colored hers a dirty red with some sort of industrial pigment they had in the store. He finished in her mouth and then let the other three dry him off. Then read off the work assignments after recovery time.

Off they went in their denim shirts and cheap nylon shorts, four pert butts wagging. Alexus, as the newest arrival, was slightly less buxom then the others, who were all fully filled out with Mateo jizz. After the first disorienting sense of strangeness had passed Mateo took pride in their development. Fat wonderful tits, full rears, glowing cheeks, all thanks to him. He allowed himself a sense of optimism and accomplishment. As strange as it all was, they were going to make it.

This lasted until ten thirty when Brandon fired Alexus.

“Hey, hey, man?”

Mateo had gotten into the zone of restocking. That was another positive. He was brimming with new muscles. Brute physical labor felt fantastic. Sometimes a girl would watch him casually toss around sacks or chunks of lumber and grin, and Mateo would feel like a god.

“Sir?” Mateo recognized the man as a regular—a contractor. He had a full beard, a pocket brimming with measurement tools, and had arrived for daily supply pickups uninterrupted. His own new biceps picked at the seams on his Dockers polo.

“You got a problem over there?” Mateo could just make out Brandon’s nasal bray. “Maybe want to check it out?”

Mateo broke into a trot halfway—as much as OSHA guidelines would allow. Once he could make out the words.

They were over by Paint. Brandon had gone with firehouse red. Alexus was a defiant snowflake white, her fingers crossed underneath enormous tits, her eyes half-lidded. Brandon waved at her with both hands. “Fired. Go. You aren’t standing around here, this is not your standing property.”

Brandon caught Mateo’s expression. “The employee was kneeling in the middle of the main checkout lane, blowing a guy.” he pointed. “That guy.”

The contractor had followed Mateo. He gave a casual, unconcerned nod.

“So what?”

“Oh, Mateo, don’t even try. We have to have what, one standard?” Brandon said. “Is fellatio on the floor not a problem for you? It is for me!”

“So you fired her,” Mateo said. He decided: hell with it. Brandon knew where his sympathies were. He put an arm around Alexus. He’d been the one to go to her apartment. They’d been coworkers two years ago, at a totally different place. He’d forgotten about her. But she’d methodically gone through her phone texting men for help. “Man, no one cares.”

“Clearly I care,” Brandon said.

“No one,” Mateo said. He stared at Brandon. He’d been lifting bags of decorative rocks all morning, and wore his shirt with the arms cut off. Brandon had added musculature as well. They all had. But not everyone felt it. The other assistant co-manager looked down at the floor.

“Its still disgusting,” he mumbled. “Its really not fair to the women.”

“Hell, I’d pay,” the contractor said. He considered, chewing on his lip. “Five dollars. Everyone likes how you got all the hair colors. And that’s the last girl we see until we’re done at the site, its like hitting the bathroom before the road. Unless you’re renting.”

“Five dollars,” Mateo said. So now he was a pimp. And yet—was it wrong? “Fifteen for four. Alexus, you okay with that?”

She considered. “Can I get like a pillow for my knees?” she said.