The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

You ever think about Halloween? Most holidays are kind of silly when you really break them down, but there’s something about this one that’s just, extra strange. It has a history that led it up to its modern form, just like Christmas, and inarguably it’s far closer to those roots than Easter, but like, if you woke up in a parallel universe that didn’t have Halloween, how’d you explain it? “Oh, everyone decorates their houses with spooky shit, ornaments of ghosts and skeletons and spiders and the grim reaper and the like, the kids dress up in costumes and go from door to door ringing the doorbell and asking for candy, and you give the kids candy cause that’s the point of the holiday. Oh, and the adults dress in costumes too but theirs are as slutty as possible for some reason. And they don’t do the candy thing, they go to parties instead. Or they stay at home, which many do, because who else would be giving the candy out?” It’s odd.

Well, I woke up at 8:30 thinking about that. It’s currently 9:00 AM, October 27, and I have my house all decorated, and now I’m thinking about an even sillier tradition that’s been catching on lately. If the area you’re from doesn’t have Haltoween, it’s a bit like Christmas eve but whacky. The name, to start with, is incredibly silly. It’s, as you could probably tell, a portmanteau of “halloween” and “alt,” as in “alternative,” but that doesn’t actually make any sense because it’s very much not an alternative to Halloween (and I’ll get to that in a bit). It doesn’t roll off the tongue either, and it sounds more like a portmanteau of “Halloween” and “Halt,” if you ask me. That makes it sound like some kind of political movement to get rid of Halloween. It’s for a different demographic, is where the idea comes from-typically trick or treaters cover an age range from about four to six on the very lowest end to fourteen or fifteen. Haltoween, meanwhile, is very much an eighteen plus sort of affair. I believe it was originally meant to be a night for the teenagers a bit too old to be trick or treating and it sort of mutated as these rituals do?

Yes, yes, I do believe that’s how it started. The funny thing is that the more Haltoween’s evolved into its own thing, the more the stigma that trick or treating is for kids and the youngest of teenagers exclusively-the very sentiment that this second holiday spawned from-seems to vanish from the consciousness of the areas that celebrate it. I’m cool with this, honestly. If a sixteen year old girl wants to dress up as a cute frog and walk around a neighborhood with her buddies collecting free candy on free candy day, she should be allowed to. If a woman taking her kid around the block feels tired, she should get a snack or two along the way.

Anyway, Haltoween itself goes something like this. You (and “you” are an adult, though generally between eighteen and thirty) dress up-slutty, usually-and you go around from house to house. It’s on the thirtieth, so the same decorations are up. There’s less emphasis on spooky stuff but not by much. You ring the doorbell, a woman answers, and instead of “trick or treat!” you say “lick or teat!” I...don’t get it either. Then the woman at the door either picks one, or lets you pick one. For “lick,” she gives you either candy or a pair of her panties. For “teat,” though, that’s where things get interesting. The woman smiles and gives you permission to do one or a few things with her. Kiss her on the mouth, lick her crotch, suck on her tits, grope her, hug her and grind your waist and breasts against hers, that sort of thing. You are allowed to opt out of a specific thing in favor of another, or opt out entirely and just take candy or a kiss on the cheek if you want to, but it rarely happens. I don’t know when the whole sexual element developed, I’m pretty sure at the start it was literally just trick or treating with a higher age ceiling. The fact it’s so gendered is interesting too, although for a movement (as embarrassing as I feel it is to call Haltoween a “movement”) primarily within the suburbs of America, the entire process is downright astonishingly trans-friendly in practice. Trans girls are entirely welcome to join in, as are boys (and, naturally, that does include trans boys).

Anyway, I start my morning commute to work. I finish breakfast and walk outside where I hop on my bike. It takes half an hour to get to my destination but that’s fine, I’m a pretty fit lady so the journey tends not to leave me too winded. As I’m walking my bike out to the end of my driveway, though, I bump into a lady in robes. They part high on her legs, and that part rides higher every step she makes to reveal her legs are muscular, soft, and cleanly shaven. I find myself freezing in place to watch her. She’s white and her skin seems to have no body hair and almost as few pores.Her appearance isn’t holding me spellbound or anything else so magical, though. Her outfit just has me doing a double take.

“Hello!” She calls out to me in a chipper voice that, it’s easy to tell, is full of joy. I notice that her legs, wrapped in thick thigh socks covered in pink and white stripes, and her fingers-which end in long nails painted bright pink-are the only things covered by her greyish brownish robe. Not that the outfit is especially modest, as the particular way its twisting cloth clings to her body makes it readily apparent that her breasts and hips are big and full. Her face is hidden by her hood, in fact the area within said hood is almost unnaturally dark, but something inside me instinctively knows that she must be pretty.

“H-hello. Are you moving in, somewhere?” I ask. It’s the only sensible question I can come up with at the moment. The lady raises one hand to her face and giggles. Her laugh is infectious. I find that I’m smiling beside myself.

“Oh, nothing, dear. I was just wandering the neighborhood. I have a friend who lives here.” I nod. I’m not exactly in the suburbs, I live in the “quadrant of nowhere” as my ex used to call it, where my immediate area has pretty much nothing but it’s not too far away from places that do have stuff. Rural but not exactly countryside, I guess is how I’d describe it.

“O-okay.” I turn to go to work. “Goodbye then.” I cycle away before she can say anything. I make it to the office. The day’s work comes and goes. Nothing interesting happens. I think, but am uncertain, that Sheryl tries to flirt with me. She’s older than I am-she’s thirty two, I’m twenty four-but she still has the energy of an easily flustered schoolgirl. She blushes a lot, occasionally gets too flustered to talk, and is kind of a ditz. I am glad, as I often am, that she works in an office run primarily by women. Our boss is a man, but he’s also the most respectful and “gentlemanly” man I’ve ever met. Sometimes it feels like he’d challenge someone to a duel if they catcalled an employee where he could reach them. With a sword. I think he might be trans but I have literally zero evidence or reason and asking him would be rude, so I just smile and appreciate him. I work eight hours and then go home and go to bed.

It is 10:15 AM, October 28, Saturday. I don’t have work. I’m on the way out of my home when I bump into that lady again. She approaches me and somehow I know that she’s smiling. I smile back as she draws near. Her robes’ ends flutter somewhat in the gentle morning breeze.

“Hello,” she says, and takes off the hood. She has spiky pastel pink hair. Her lips are adorned with bright red lipstick. Her eyes are a vivid neon yellow-green. She’s breathtaking.

“H-hi,” I sputter. I know I should be leaving for work, but for some reason the thought of leaving is like getting yourself out of bed when you couldn’t sleep the night before.

“Hi,” she says. Her eyes bore into mine. I feel aimless and light headed. “Let’s get you inside.”

“But,” I say as she takes me by the hand. I am helpless as she leads me back into my house.

“No buts, darling,” She purrs as she takes me to my couch. I sit down obediently, and I don’t have to be told. I am unsure why. “Just breasts.”

“Just...breasts?” Her eyes pierce me again. I am a flower in the hands of a delicate gardener. I am hers to prune and preserve and beautify and pollinate.

“Just breasts.” She confirms. She grips her robes and shifts their folds around. Her breasts, full and beautiful, emerge from the gap. I am now properly stunned. They are great big pearly mounds, which hang beautifully from her chest with just enough perk and life to make them look bouncy and toyetic. The bra, which must be at least DD i…

i…

The bra, which must be at least DD, is bright neon green with black lace. It resembles a spider’s web, complete with an adorable spider wearing a cute witch hat. I like her bra.Once I’m done appreciating it I look up into her gorgeous eyes. Her pupils are a little weird and I find it exceedingly charming. Looking into them makes me feel weightless.

“That’s a good girl, darling,” She purrs in a husky tone and climbs up onto the couch, where she sits on her knees. “I like your breasts. They’re pretty big.”

“Thank you,” I answer with a big grin and not a drop of shame. I keep my eyes locked with hers. It feels good. Very, very good. She leans in and squishes her big boobs together. I am very happy with this because her pretty green eyes are closer and take up more of my vision. My blank dopey smile only gets bigger. “How about a little kiss?” I nod very, very slightly. A kiss sounds very nice. She leans even closer. Her eyes take up even more of my vision. She kisses me on the mouth. It’s very nice.

“That’s very good,” she praises me. “Just relax, sweetie. I’m going to make you feel very good.” I nod. I already feel very good. She takes my hands. She puts them on her breasts. I feel more very good. Very gooder.

“Thank you sweetie,” I whisper. Calling her sweetie feels right. She kisses me again. I feel funny. It’s a very good kind of funny, for a very good girl. I moan a little bit. She paws at my breasts. I am happy. I’m a very good girl.

“You looooove this,” she almost hisses. I don’t get why, of course I love this, but I nod along anyway.

“I looooove...tis,” I murmur. It almost sounds like I said “I love tits.” I giggle a little bit. I do, I do love tits. “I love tits.”

“Good girl,” she purrs. She nibbles on my ear. I groan and feel hot and limp and sexy. “I’m going to fuck you.”

“Okayyyyy,” I whisper with a faint smile. I fall on my side. She starts undressing me. First my skirt, then my panties. She runs her hands up and down the sides of them. It feels like she might have four hands, or even six. I giggle. That would be nice. She gingerly turns me over on my back and opens up the buttons of my blazer one by one. I love how that feels and make sure to stay relaxed and limp. I’m fairly certain I could move if I wanted to, but I’m so happy and relaxed I kinda just don’t care.

“Such a good giiiirl,” she croons over me as she turns me face down. She quickly slips my shirt off of me and then sits me up. I flop backwards against the couch. I am happy, and comfy, and a very good girl.

“I’m such a good giiiiiiirl,” I moan to myself. I’m unsure if I’m fully conscious and there’s no possible answer to the question that doesn’t fill me with delight. I am loose and limp and comfy and loved and good, very very good, a very very gooder girl. One hand cups my pussy. It feels good. I want to hump it, but not as much as I want to stay relaxed and docile and motionless.

“Now, some people get spooked by my venom, sweetie, but don’t worry, you’re fully conscious, it just feels like you’re slipping,” she explains as if I care. Another hand takes hold of each of my breasts. I moan limply and weakly. “Good girl. Big breasts. Girls should have big breasts.”

“Big breassssts,” I moan. She’s right. I have big breasts.

“Could be bigger though,” she giggles. “SHOULD be bigger.”

“Yessss,” I reply immediately. She’s right. My breasts should be bigger.

“Always bigger,” she laughs to me, “No such thing as too much boobie.” Boobie. I remember disliking that word but I’m not sure why. It’s fun and cute and bouncy and sweet. Boobies. Boobies. No such thing as too much boobie.

“No such thinnnnnng,” I moan in agreement. I love her. I love big boobies. I want bigger boobies. Girls should have big boobies.

“Everyone should have big boobies,” she growls and plants a heavy, toothy kiss on each of my breasts. I moan. They feel strange, but I like it. I like how my big boobies feel strange and good.

It’s October 29, 8:30 AM. I wake up on my couch feeling good and foggy. There’s a note on my kitchen table that I remember writing. It tells me that the fairy or spirit or whatever that I spent the day with made my tits a lot bigger and I should get new bras. I bite my lip. It’s true. My delicious bouncy mounds are much bigger than I remember them being. I grab them experimentally and a moan escapes my mouth before I can notice it on its way out. I feel lovely. The note says that I love Haltoween and should participate. It’s such a silly thing for the note to say, because if you’ve read this far you know how much I adore Haltoween. I’m excited for high school seniors and attractive milfs to suck my tits and take my panties home with...mmmm. While I’m bra shopping I should grab Haltoween panties. I wouldn’t want to run out.

I head out the door and spend the day shopping. I get some looks because my breasts strain against my shirt, but thankfully nothing comes of it. I grab several cute bras and eight or nine pairs of panties that I decide to wear around the house for an hour each the next day. Every lick or teater knows that clean but gently used panties are the best. I buy some of my favorite perfume, too, to spray them with. It’s a lot but the cashier blushes gives me something like eighty percent off. She’s cute so I kiss her twice on the cheeks and once on the lips, rub her butt a little, and ask for her phone number. She gives it to me. She seems to be about twenty.

“Lick or teat in my neighborhood and you can get one of these,” I tease her as I hug her close from behind. She moans under her breath and swoons. She’s a cute girl with a ponytail, small boobs, and long legs. It’s a shame about her lack of tits but that’s not her fault.

“You’re...holding up the line, ma’am,” she whispers in a daze. There are two or three milfy girls in their thirties. I ask them if they mind. They smile and reassure us, saying to take our time and that they love watching.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” I say to them. Then I give her a long sensual kiss on the lips. I clutch the back of her head. I rub her crotch. She moans and her cute body trembles with delight. All three women watching us make high pitched sounds of approval. We suck on each other’s yummy youthful mouths for a while. I hear something strange and her shirt seems to change shape as we kiss. By the time we untangle our lips and tongues from each other she has a much more noticeable chest. She looks embarrassed, but in the cute fun way.

“Thank you miss,” She says, her hands gripping her new growths without her seeming to realize. “That kiss felt really good. I…” Her blush intensifies. “Can I...bottom for you tomorrow night?”

“Yes, darling,” I answer. I fondle her new chest and she throws her head way back and groans at the top of her lungs. One member of our little audience cheers.

“Young love!” Shouts a second.

“So cute!” Trills a third.

I kiss the girl one last time with enough force to back her up and partially bend her back over the counter. She swoons helplessly and I make my leave.

It’s October 30. I’m smiling wide. I traverse the house doing chores and preparing and filling two little baskets (one with candy, one with panties). Every hour and a half or so, I take off my panties, add them to the basket, and put on a new pair. The ones I’m breaking in are sitting on a glass table in the living room. They’re dry from their perfume treatment last night. I’m so excited. I fantasize about the number of cute girls I’ll get to let kiss me, or fondle me, or wobble my big firm tiddies. I’m delighted. I wonder for a few minutes at a time about the cute cashier. Will she visit? I sent her my address. I go around the house and open all the blinds. Sure, I’m wearing undies and a blouse that struggles to stay buttoned with my chest, but it’s Haltoween! As long as I’m not naked or wearing fetish gear or something, it’s no problem.

The hours pass slowly. I feel so good and comfortable. Each pair of panties I add to the basket is another girl whose day I’m going to massively improve. I imagine an eighteen year old girl fangirling over her first pair of Haltoween panties and feel my heart flutter. I hope something even half as magical gets to happen on my front lawn tonight. I remember that, for the first time ever, this year had some Haltoween movies made and put a few of them on. It’s cute and lots of fun. I kind of want to sit down and watch it but that won’t have the right effect on my panties. Instead I continue to sweep, vacuum, and take care of laundry. I clean the windows, the floors, the carpets, the rugs.

Before long it’s 6:00 PM. The sun is setting. I double check everything, pull up a chair to the door, and start watching porn on my phone. I feel good. I’m a very good girl.

Ring! Goes the doorbell. I open it. There’s a nineteen year old girl and what I can only assume is an older sister or a mother who aged VERY gracefully. Both are black. The older woman seems annoyed, not quite distressed, but not like she really wants to be out doing this herself. I bounce my considerable boobies to get her attention. It works. She turns her eyes from her phone to my tits. I smile.

“Lick or teat!” Cries the younger woman. I smile at her.

“Teat,” I say with a smile. Her face lights up with joy like a cute jack o lantern. “You’re my first visitor tonight so I’ll let you pick what permission you have.” I bounce my breasts again. The older woman’s face slackens yet more. She seems much more at peace. I’m so glad to help her have a good time tonight.

“I-is that the rules?” The young lady asks. She looks joyous and surprised.

“It is in this house!” I laugh. “Now, how can this lady’s body make you happy?”

“Show me your pussy!” She squeals. Her older companion seems to snap out of her breast-induced stupor.

“Young woman!” She chastises, “That’s no way to talk to—”

“Shhhh.” I cut her off. I bounce my breasts gently, elegantly. The older woman’s eyes get snagged on them instantly and she loses her train of thought just as quickly. She moans happily and smiles. “It’s okay. It’s Haltoween, after all.”

“It’s...Haltoween…” the woman mutters.

“Mhm.” I reassure her. “The little lady can ask for anything she wants. If I don’t want to do what she asks I can just say no, right?”

“Right…” she moans, relaxing deeper. She stumbles towards me, as if my boobies have their own gravity. As if they’re pulling her in. I smile. I stop bouncing and the older woman starts to slowly recover. I turn to the younger.

“As for you, young lady, here you go!” I happily yanked my panties down with one hand and my shirt up with the other, opting to give an extra good showing (because I’m an extra good girl). The younger woman squeals with unrestrained delight. My brain buzzes with good feelings and happy chemicals.

“Can I take a picture?” She asks. “It’s SO PRETTY!”

“Now now now,” I tease, “You only get permission for one thing. Ask for what you want next time.” I turn to the elder of the two as I readjust my shirt. It takes a second, because it’s very tight. “And you?”

“Huh?” The older woman seems to fully wake up. “What?”

“What do you want?” I smile. The younger one turns to her.

“Ask for a photo ask for a photo!” The woman blinks.

“A...photo?”

“Yeah!” The younger of the two shouts. “Of her pussy!” The older one blushes intensely.

“O-okay, f-for you.”

“That’s a GOOD GIRL! HAVE SOME HALTOWEEN SPIRIT!” I cry. I yank my shirt open and my boobs burst out, flopping just a bit in their freedom. The sight of them throws the older woman back into her comfortable trancelike state. She smiles.

“Yeah...have some spirit.” Her smile broadens considerably as she becomes fond of this situation with a little help from my boobies. “Lick or teat…”

“Teat.”

“I want...photo...pussy…” I giggle. I turn around and bend over. My tits pull harder than expected and it kind of hurts my back but I push through it anyway. My hands grasp the sides of my panties and pull them down to my knees. “H...hold on a second…” I gasp as I stand back up. My tits sway almost violently. I note to myself that bending over like that is not wise. Then I turn back to them.

“Tada!” The older woman immediately snaps a photograph of my pussy with her phone. I pull my panties back up. “Have fun, both of you!”

“We will!” They cry out together, and then walk away with a pep in both of their steps. I am left feeling happy. I close the door and feel satisfied. Soon I get another visitor. This one’s a lone girl, with light skin and pretty frizzy hair and soft gentle brown eyes. She’s eighteen.

“Hiii!” I coo as I pull open the door.

“Lick or teat!” She declares boldly.

“Teat,” I say with a confident teasing grin. She giggles. I pause for a second. “Eat my ass?” She declines. “Choke on my tits?” She nods with tremendous enthusiasm. I giggle and open my arms wide. “Take a deep breath and dig in!” She rushes in for a hug and my hands deftly bury her face between my giant tits. A muffled groan escapes her body as she snuggles in, deeper, willingly allowing the soft flesh of my boobs to cover her mouth and nose. I clutch her close, purring compliments and affection into her pretty ears. Ten seconds pass. Fifteen. I don’t hear breathing but I can feel her soft little moans as they drown in my bosom. I count eighteen seconds before I release her. She’s red in the face and panting, but unharmed and delighted.

“Thank youuuuu,” she groans. She runs off. I get another visitor. This one’s a bit older. Thirty, is my guess.

“Hello,” she says. She’s wearing a sexy princess costume, with a glittering dress that splits above the crotch and sports a nice cleavage window. I smile at her.

“Hi!”

“Li-err, ahhh!” She stammers. I giggle.

“You know you don’t HAVE to say the whole—”

“Lick or teat!” She blurts out. I smile.

“Lick. Candy or my panties?” She turns, adorably, BRIGHT red.

“U-um. Your panties, please.”

“Good girl.” I take both of her cheeks in my hands and soothe her with a long, gentle kiss on the mouth. She quickly relaxes and her breasts slowly expand, almost spilling out of her dress by the time I finish. I pull away and do a cute pose. “Oopsie!” I say with a finger to my lips. I grab a cute pair of frilly pink panties from the basket. “Here you go, sugar.” She reaches out to accept it but I casually step past her hands. The panties go inside her mouth and she groans with happiness. She sucks on my panties and moans as she audibly relaxes. “Good girl.” I repeat, and gently turn her away by her hips. She wanders off to the next house down.