The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jill slipped into the kitchen while the police officer talked. Ordinarily she would’ve loved to watch his biceps flex, but she had pigs in a blanket pending in the oven, plus the water jug had to be refilled, plus she really needed a second to herself.

Once the slightly-burnt rolls were retrieved, she sagged against the kitchen island, relieved. It had been such a uniquely challenging month for her marriage and her family. Successfully pulling off this neighborhood event was exactly the kind of self-esteem boost she desperately needed.

It had taken a huge hit when the family had found her licking cum off the kitchen floor.

Her sex drive had undergone a generally welcome burst shortly after Terry and Jill had moved in to the new house. In fact they hadn’t touched each other for months at a time, back in Poren River. Jill had kept her hair very short and attended to her children’s teenage years, while Terry kept puttering along in his start-stop career.

She had even thought about the door, once he announced the new position. Just late at night, and with her eyes closed.

But the new house was enormous and all theirs, and she found herself bouncing on Terry’s dick almost right away. For those first few wonderful weeks they had been a family again—excepting Jennifer, off getting her college degree. Emmaline quickly made friends. And Jill was getting fucked like a happy, horny newlywed, rediscovering not just her husband’s wonderfully hairy body, but what she herself was capable of.

“Rawr,” she told Terry, rolling over on top of him. They kissed hard. Emmaline was off with her new, innocently indie friends. They had the entire house to themselves, and had already fucked just a few hours ago. It didn’t seem to matter. Jill felt perfectly at ease: her husband’s dick was sliding neatly into her pussy, the mortgage was paid, and she had a job lined up at the chemical factory.

In fact, things were going so well…

“Isn’t your birthday coming up?” she told Terry, loving the brief confusion, realization, pleased smile. His birthday was ten months away. Jill slid down his body, stopping over his dick. She jacked it a few times.

“Lots of holidays coming up,” Terry said. He put his hands behind his head. As tough as things had gotten, she’d always blown him for his birthday. In truth, the last few times had been a chore of reluctant fellatio. But this seemed like it might be fun. She even took the trouble to meet his eyes as she slid her mouth down. It was surprisingly easy to let her mind go blank during the part where he used her mouth for his own enjoyment. Even kind of nice. And when he grunted she stayed locked on, letting him empty out. There. He was set for the next three birthdays.

The warm, saline spurt swished around in her mouth. Jill ambled over to the bathroom and spat it out before really thinking about it. She’d never once swallowed. As it drained away she felt an unusual sense of regret. Why not swallow? It took nothing at all. And men understood it like no other gesture: you were theirs, you were in for the long haul. There was no greater token of marriage then swallowing his cum.

She considered her husband, his legs crossed, pleased with himself. Well, men made more cum. Lots more. Every day, they were ready to go.

Jill licked her lips.

“Emmaline’s chest is coming in,” Jill said. “And in.”

“Am I required to act in some way?” Terry said. He was putting in long hours. They were coworkers as of that day. Jill was officially a desk receptionist, overseeing long ranks of employees entering the brand-new facility, one of which was her husband. “Is there some sort of boobs talk you’re gonna have with her? Did I miss that with Jennifer?”

“Life with huge boobs can be tough,” Jill said. She squeezed her own together. Terry noticed. They’d fucked that morning, before work. “That wasn’t Jennifer. Emmaline is going to be enormous. Boys are going to flip.”

“Oh, so this is about me beating up teenage boys,” Terry said. He swaggered around the bedroom. It was remarkable how much more manly he was, lately. Steady employment and pounding the hell out of his wife agreed with a man. His chest hair was dotted with rugged grey hairs. He looked like he’d lost ten pounds of fat, added as much muscle. “Fine.”

It was just so nonchalantly male. Jill made a marriage decision. She slid off the couch onto her knees. She misjudged the distance, needing to waddle on her knees to get to her husband’s cock. He didn’t seem to mind the view. “You need something, baby?” He’d started to joke about it, outside of sex. His wet wife, his needy spouse. During sex he was less circumspect. His horny wife and her nice hot pussy.

She blew him fluently. He’d gotten into the habit of stroking her hair, which never failed to turn her on. Actually, she’d been developing a lot of new habits during this new period of horniness. She’d sucked him off every day that week, and not a single drop had escaped her lips. It was funny to think she’d made such a big deal out of ritualistically spitting it away. Hard to even consider now. Although it was still the same salt spray Jill felt totally different about the experience. She looked forward to it. Even craved it. It was a reward, for a good job giving head.

“Good girl,” he murmured. That was another new thing. Plus his forcefulness: no longer did he stay motionless while she did the work. There was some face-fucking now, especially when he started to think about work. That was fine, too. More of a give and take.

Jill had somewhat downplayed Emmaline’s new fascination with her own boobs. She’d come across her daughter just sitting on the couch, stroking her nipples, totally lost to the world. Jill imagined her grades were slipping. But that didn’t seem like a real problem. Nothing did. Good for her daughter, having big ’ol tits. Easier for men to aim at.

“Let loose,” Terry ordered, frowning. Jill instantly complied, but with a sense of regret. This was new, him skeeting on her face for kicks. “Better close your eyes.”

Oh. In truth Terry was treating her a little.. porn-y. Maybe that was inevitable for all available, easy women. Men liked porn for a reason. In a natural state they really would indulge in constant, casual sex, visually focused, marking their territory. Terry came all over her face. His loads were getting bigger, she was sure of it.

Her husband seemed a little abashed about painting her, post-cum. “Sorry… I… had that image in my head,” he said, turning away. “It’s a good look on you.”

Jill didn’t respond. A lot had gotten in her eager mouth, but he’d pretty clearly aimed for her face. This was a dilemma. No, of course it wasn’t. Her older self reasserted itself. It was one thing to have a fun sexual awakening. Quite another to lick cum off her face. She should duly go to the bathroom and mop it all up. With a washcloth. Rinse all that yummy stuff down the drain.

Jill licked her lips, and then again, as far as she could reach.

Jill knew, at some level, that she needed to be analyzing the dynamics of her marriage.

In fact that was the second most important thing that required analysis. If she had not been getting brainsucked and dumbed-down with regular cumshots right to the face, plus a panoply of other agents numbing her mind, she would’ve thought of others. First and foremost: why were her boobs bigger? Why had all the accumulated stress and age of the past fifteen years started to wipe off her face? She looked and felt like a horny 27 year old. One getting regular cumshots down her throat. There was a thickening, sluttening process that went on at a steady clip, expressed solely as uneasy moments in the mirror. Momentary concern as she wondered: was she really going to ask Terry to blow him? Again? For the fifth time that day?

What was going on with her and semen?

But her relationship status was not getting diligently wiped out by a subtle set of chemicals. Jill COULD have sat at her new receptionist job and thought: things aren’t going well with Terry. She chose not to, sort of. Kind of.

Things really weren’t going well with Terry.

At first she had accepted his interest in her craven, simpering submission as an understandable reaction to her dick sucking. It made sense. When your wife is clearly desperate to get your dick in her mouth, and eager to swallow, it was okay to call her a cum whore in the bedroom. And sometimes outside the bedroom, like when Jill had asked to blow him before they even got to the restaurant.

In fact she had kind of enjoyed it. Or perhaps not, it was all tied up with getting access to Terry’s dick, which was what she really wanted. If Terry wanted her to play dress up and wear Emmaline’s too-small skirts, that was fine, if it meant she got to suck his dick. If Terry wanted her to beg for a taste of cock, that was no problem, since he would inevitably relent and let her have a shot. Even the way he tended to just fuck her mouth was okay. That one was actually better than okay, since it meant her body responded with red hot shards of pleasure, usually ending with her passed out, a new quart of cum inside of her.

But boys will be boys, and Terry kept pushing things. Now she was to keep her eyes downcast around him. She was to keep the house in completely clean condition, not a speck of dust, or she would lose penis privileges. She was to call him Sir. Underpants had gone from standard hygienic clothing to yet another thing she had to earn. And she hadn’t earned it all week. Jill was pretty sure she was dribbling into her skirt, there at work. Just that morning he had given her her first spanking. Yes, she had cum. Quite a lot.

But still. She hadn’t even burned the toast. She hadn’t even made toast. The accusation made no sense.

Jill squirmed in her professional chair. Getting spanked had a lot to do with the dribbling.

But the main reason she was very wet, and not surveying her swiftly disintegrating partnership marriage, had to do with her job. All she did, all day, was watch tasty penises walk through the door.

The brand new building was mostly big plate glass walls and peach-colored stone. There was a very slight incline from the door to the reception, and then on to the elevators. It was a curiously long walk, and Jill was way too distracted to wonder if it hinted at security measures. Instead it gave her a long time to watch men stride purposefully towards her. All kinds of men, but mostly men in their prime, strong and virile and ready to start the day. With their dicks temporarily hidden behind their clothes.

She spent a ton of time thinking about those cocks. Her lifetime penis experience was three. Two brief boyfriends and Terry. All the same really, all three cut. And two from a whole lifetime ago. No doubt some were bigger then others, or were wide and thick. They probably all had their own individual musk, if she knew anything at all about men. And if she licked and sucked and kissed and stroked, they all had their own individual loads of cum for her. It was driving her up the fucking wall. She kept having to excuse herself to get off in the ladies’ room.

Luckily her supervisor was very understanding.

It was getting really concerning, how much time she spent fantasizing about each man’s individual penis. Length, heft, stroke, lean, power and thrust. The tufts of hair. She knew she had to stop. It was like a thousand small adulteries. And it was ridiculous—these were men she saw momentarily, as they walked across a well-lit room. Men that rarely spoke to her. There was no reason at all she needed to fantasize about waiting on her knees in front of her desk, arms cuffed behind her head, her mouth open and waiting.

She had two kids. Although you wouldn’t know it from the reflection in the washroom. She looked great. Youthful. Sexy. Jill had bought a ton of lipstick. The stuff from the local store tingled pleasantly. Light pink was her favorite. She’d invested in her wardrobe, tossing out two decades of mom sweaters. Emmaline wasn’t the only one with the decent rack.

“Everything okay, Jill?” her supervisor put a steadying hand on her shoulder. He was half her age, with an iron grip and rough, callused hands. Caleb always made sure to ask how she was doing.

“Oh. Oh! Yes, of course!” Jill said, pulling her thighs together. Caleb gave her a comforting pat. He was always doing that, and it was always welcome physical contact. Terry hadn’t asked how she was doing. Terry hadn’t even touched her very much, except to cum in her mouth. Caleb said her lipstick made her look real damn hot.

Today he looked unusually serious. “When this scientist named Chris gets in, you mind stalling him? Chris Pauling. Just talk pretty and let him see your tits. You think you can do that, big girl?”

“Of course!” Jill said. She’d gotten used to Caleb’s sometimes crude way of talking. Actually it was rather charming. He treated her like a woman. A sexy, hot woman. He smelled good. “No problem, boss!” He’d swatted her butt just yesterday. It had caused a brief fit of marital guilt. But it was just friendly. Terry hadn’t touched her butt, therefore it was open property.

In fact the scientist in question came in later that day. He kept his head down and a pair of sunglasses on, looking to get inside. “Dr. Pauling! Chris!” she called out, waving. “I have something for you!”

She missed the security men closing in on the scientist because Caleb materialized behind her. He put his hand on her shoulder again. It tightened. From where he was standing he could see right down her blouse. “Jilly, what would I do without you? Anything I can do for you?” His paw stopped just above her tits. He smelled like the woods. His dick was right behind her. Really, this was just a work thing.

“Anything?” Jill said.

Caleb had given her a pep talk regarding her marriage. Helpfully, he had done it while thoroughly fucking her mouth. “You are a top-tier cum slut and he should appreciate that,” he’d said. “You keep up the house, you’re a completely banging hot bitch, and you drain his nuts on command. You deserve…” he’d halted, searching for the right word. It wasn’t ‘respect’. His heavy balls shook back and forth. “Well just tell him to be nicer.” He’d punctuated that advice with a cum shot. Not the only one. But one.

Jill waited for her husband. Even sitting down in a chair, at the table, felt like a transgressive act. Usually she addressed her husband on her knees. Upstairs she could hear her daughter moaning as she, probably, fondled her own new tits. It was hot and calming. At least someone was enjoying herself.

“Terry,” she said, in a level and calm voice, once he walked in. He’d taken to wearing basketball shorts around the house, apparently because his dick was often sore. It was kinda looking longer and thicker, come to think. “Can we talk?”

Terry gave her a glance, and then a longer one. “About what?” he said, his voice flat. He peered at her, and then leaned against the kitchen island. It was kind of messy. They were all eating a lot more, a lot lot more.

“Our marriage!” Jill said, nearly tearful, very suddenly. She felt a brief spasm of dizziness—what was going on? What was she doing? They’d been married for decades, and she was about to ask for better treatment during blowjobs? The occasional pat on the head, more discussion of how she was a ‘good girl’? Nothing at all about how she was addicted to cum, her daughter was screeching in orgasm that moment, and her husband was now packing a full foot of dick? Jill took a calming breath. The moment passed. Her marriage. Concentrate on her marriage. “I think—I want—you need—” he took several steps towards her.

“Jill you know you got a lot of cum in your hair, right? Some other man’s cum? In your hair?” he said. “A lot.” He stepped back. His expression didn’t change. “How was work?”

Jill froze. She rubbed at her hair. No—she shouldn’t—this was a trick, getting her to admit—actually she did have a lot of jizz in her hair. It was, in fact, sticky with cum. “It was just one guy, and he was super hot!” she said, before bursting into tears. Terry rolled his eyes.

“It’s fine, slut,” he said. He slouched away from her and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He wore a t-shirt with ripped sleeves, and had apparently been putting on real muscles. He certainly didn’t look like a scientist, or a middle-aged dad. “I get it. I’m not offended or anything. You’re just a mouth.”

Jill had one of her remaining flashes of insight. Of course he’d been fucking other girls. No wonder he was occasionally reluctant to have her slobber all over his dick. It was still a bit tired from pounding women.

Hell, he didn’t even care if she knew.

“I… I just…” she searched for a solution. “Can we… just LEAVE? Just go back?” Metaphorically or really, Jill didn’t know. She got onto her knees. It usually helped. “Anywhere? Anywhere not here?”

Terry laughed.

“Oh, baby, no. If you knew the shit they’re doing to—anyway. I’m not mad! Here, I bet you’re thirsty, aren’t you? Whoever that dude was, he had no aim at all. You need your husband for that.” He took his big dick out. It calmed Jill immediately. She’d put his dick in her mouth, and everything would be fine. That would have to be the basis for their relationship. It would be basically about sperm—her needing it, begging for it, dressing up in sexy, tight outfits to get it, talking dirty for it. Really it would be a relationship with his dick.

“You want this, right? This is what you want. You need it,” Terry said. He started jacking his cock. Lord, it was big. Bigger even than yesterday, and that was bigger than the day before that. “I thought all this would be more fun than it turned out to be, but you know what? At least I’m fucking a lot more girls.” What was he talking about? His cock was twitching and spasming. Jill opened her mouth and tilted her head back to a perfect receptacle angle. At the last second he twitched his hips and shot his load all over the kitchen floor.

Having successfully disciplined his wife, reducing her to pussy on the floor, Terry deflated. “Ah, hell,” he said, looking down at his cock. “Sorry…. Sorry. This is all just a lot, you know? I mean, of course you get that, you’re about to lick my cum off a dirty floor.”

Jill flushed at that. But it wasn’t like he was wrong. It was just lucky that Emmaline was too fuck-drunk on her own nipple play, when she came in for a drink, to register her mother, rear in the air, making sure the floor was shiny, with her tongue.