The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Part Two — Paul Burton!


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A librarian enters a Valentine’s Day themed writing contest with the wish for a more dominant, manly boyfriend.


This story is a work of fiction; any apparent resemblance between the characters in this story and any actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Do not read this story if you are under the age of 18 or if explicit sexual fiction is illegal in your jurisdiction.

This story contains mind control and explicit descriptions of a sexual nature. If any of these concepts disturb you, please find something else to read.

This story is a work of erotic fantasy. It is not meant to reflect real life, nor should it be read as an endorsement of the actions and attitudes contained within.

All stories start with “What if?” the Weaver’s most powerful tool.

What if, for instance, the Weaver decided to host a writing contest for lovers on Valentine’s Day. A contest wherein the prize is completely decided by the writing… and everyone is a winner.

* * *


I watch Missy, Paul’s step-sister, walk all over him again. I know family is family, but she’s a step sibling, does that apply to her? Can’t we just kick her out on her ass and get on with our lives?

Then, after she storms off, he apologizes to me.

Honestly, he should apologize to himself… and probably take Missy, bend her over his knee and give her the spanking of a lifetime that she has somehow avoided. Her toxic behavior and personality cost her a job that a well-behaved monkey could have succeeded at and now that Paul has offered to put her up until she’s back on her feet, her essence is spoiling our great relationship. Sure, there have been times when I’ve wondered what it would be like if Paul had a little more backbone, but he gentle heart and soul are what drew me to him and what keep us together no matter what, so I also wonder what that would sacrifice.

A web search for adult behavior improvement randomly sends me to some sort of writing contest.

No one celebrates love like The Weaver. As such, this St. Valentine’s Day, I want you to write me a story about your significant other. Tell me who you are and who they are. The story aspect though is for you to tell me who you want them to be. Unleash your fantasies onto the page and you could win a truly memorable prize to share this holiday. Send your stories to

As a librarian, I appreciate a tale well told. Maybe putting my frustrations into print (or as close to “print” as digital delivers) will purge this feeling of woe lingering over my relationship like a black cloud. I’d hate for it to ruin our Valentine’s Day, any more than Missy likely will with demands and attitude…

I bite my lip and bare my soul, writing:

Hello, my name is Susan Kim and I’m a librarian. My boyfriend is Paul Burton, an accountant for a pharmaceutical company. I love Paul. He is very kind and compassionate, but he is far too timid. His obnoxious step-sister Missy Jordan moved into our apartment eight months ago after she got fired from her job, but she is not paying rent and has made no effort to look for a new job. Paul knows she’s taking advantage of him, but is too timid to say anything. And that’s not to mention the fact that I would prefer having a more dominant partner sexually. I’ve only had one other boyfriend, but he was very assertive and commanding and I loved every second of it. Paul.... Bless his big heart… isn’t that.

I wish that Paul could be more assertive and masculine.

Someone who could stand up to his step-sister and be a little more dominant in the bedroom. Or a lot more dominant, and in every room, if you know what I mean.

I click send, immediately feeling a little guilty for painting that horrible picture of Paul. I get a return message immediately with four little words:

You are a winner!

I can’t help but wonder — what did I win?


My boss, Jeremy, lingers at my desk. “Paul, we’re going to need you to stay late tonight.”

“But — it’s Valentine’s Day. I need to get home to Susan. We have dinner plans. And I was going to cut out right at five to make sure I get to the florist before they’re super swamped.”

“Yeah… You should probably call her now and let her know you’ll have to put off date night. If I had to miss a date with my wife, she’d kill me.”

It strikes me that he’s basically admitted that he’ll get to leave at a reasonable hour but expects me to stay. Maybe it’s because I always agree to do so as the resident “team player.” That’s never been respected or rewarded with a pay bump, but I continue to do it regardless.

Before I acquiesce, like always, a feeling sweeps over me. I don’t know if it’s the frustration or I’m coming down with something, but my head starts to pound like the onset of a migraine. I take a couple deep breaths and the feeling passes.

Unfortunately, Jeremy is still standing there. The smug prick. He thinks he can just pass his work onto my desk and make me work late when I have a hot woman waiting for me at home. He’s got another thing coming.

I stand up so that I can look him in the eye. “Guess you should call your wife and tell her you’re going to be working late. Hope she doesn’t kill you. I’d hate to feel obliged to attend your funeral.”

His face scrunches. He looks confused. He looks… weak. “Paul..?”

“Paul will be at home pounding his girlfriend tonight. Jeremy, on the other hand, will be doing the work he’s supposed to be doing and not passing it along to his subordinates or Paul will make sure to speak with corporate before going home.”

Jeremy stumbles over some words that never fully form and then stumbles over his feet walking away.

Of course, he’s already gone and made me angry.

Looks like instead of working late, this worker bee is going home early.

I don’t know why I told Jeremy I was going to stop by a florist on the way home when I’m really going to stop by a sex shop to pick up lube and accessories. Flowers only get a smile. If I wanted a smile, I’d tell a joke. I want to punish Sue with more orgasms than her tiny body can handle. I want to fuck my sexy librarian silly.


The absolute best thing about crashing at my stepbrother’s place isn’t the lack of rent. It isn’t even the magically restocking fridge and cupboards. No, the best part is abusing my stepbrother and watching him take it and take it. I don’t know what my mom was thinking marrying his dad, but the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Since I was banned from mom and Jerk’s… Jack’s place… I can take out my frustrations on Paul. It’s not quite the same, but it still puts a smile on my face. Maybe mom likes a man she can easily bend to her will. To me? That’s the biggest turnoff imaginable. A neutered man isn’t a man. He’s barely a boy. And Paul is a neutered man.

I hear him come in the front door with some bags. He’s probably got them full of rose petals to surround his bed and bathtub or some of that lame ass corny shit. I’m not about to look away from my daily Soaps to look in on that. I’m comfortable. I’ve got my feet up on his coffee table. I’ve got snacks spread out on the couch. It’s a nice and easy life for me.

I don’t even see him approach, but he kicks my legs off the coffee table, momentarily surprising me.

“Hey!” I scream at him, but that’s just the beginning. He’s about to get quite the earful from me for not paying attention to where he’s walking. “Paul, I’m watching —”

He grabs the remote and clicks off the television. When I go to grab it, he forcefully throws it to the ground, shattering it into uselessness.

“What the fuck?” I yell, standing up.

He shoves me back down to the couch. Now he’s got me mad. I start to stand up again and before I can even get my feet down, I’m shoved again.

I fume, but I look at Paul and he looks different. He’s not hunched over like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He’s standing up straighter. His shoulders look broader. So does his chest. His arms look bigger. He been taking steroids or something?

I start to get up and he shoves me down once more. “What. The. Fuck?”

His voice is calm yet powerful as he commands, “Missy, do not raise your voice to me.”

I nod, before even realizing that I nodded.

“I want you to go to the guest room and start packing.”

“But —”

“No buts. You are done abusing our hospitality. I want you out before Susan gets home.”

“You can’t —”

“I absolutely can. Since you don’t have any money, I suggest you go out, find some boy, and convince him to take you home. It’s Valentine’s Day. There’s bound to be some desperate single guys out there. You’ll probably have to put out, but let’s be honest, that’s probably all you’re really good for.”

I can’t believe he’s talking to me like this. More than that, though, I can’t believe the way he’s looking at me while telling me to go have sex with a stranger as he’s sizing up my body. But even more than that, I can’t believe how fucking turned on I am right now.

I decide to tease him to see what happens.“You’re a boy. Maybe I should just put out for you.”

I start to get up and this time he lets me. I move my hands to his chest and find pecs where I assumed none existed. Up close, even his jawline looks more chiseled. I run a hand over some stubble on his face that always seemed babylike and smooth before. I take that hand and run it down to his crotch only to discover a monster in his pants. A hard and angry one, at that.

“Missy, you owe a lot of back rent.”

With that, he tears my shirt in two like it was nothing. He spins me around pushing me over the edge of the couch and pulls my underwear down with my sweatpants, nearly ripping them apart as well.

I yelp when he slaps a big, meaty hand down onto my ass. It stings painfully but I ignore that when he slaps my other cheek.

I feel him rub a big hard cock against those cheeks. It feels gentle, in comparison, but threatening nonetheless. I’m glad I can’t see it. I think I’d be terrified and I think I’d never be able to take my eyes off of it.

He walks away for a moment. I wonder if his courage has given out. I’m about to give up on him when he pulls me up by my hair like some kind of caveman. He thrusts a vibrator in front of my face. “Keep this on your clit.”

He turns it on and pushes it into my hand.

He shoves me forward again.

I do as I’m told.

“Missy, has anyone ever told you that your ass is your best feature?”

I manage a “no” between moans.

“It is. Your tits could be bigger. Your pussy could be shaved. And I won’t go into why your mouth isn’t appealing, but this ass…”

He grips my ass with his hands so hard I think I’m going to have bruises.

“…This ass is a thing of beauty.”

I feel him start to push his meat between my cheeks.

“N-n-no. Wrong hole.”

His only response is, “Back rent, Missy,” and then he forces his way into my ass. I feel torn up immediately. I know I’m going to be sore for days, if not weeks. I feel used… and dirty… and nasty… and more turned on than I’ve ever felt in my entire life. He starts to work his stroke, increasing in speed. The switch flips. What was pain is still pain, but it’s also pleasure. I leak onto the vibrator rubbing against my clit.

I can’t help but call out encouragement, not that he needs any. “Oh! OH! Fuck me, Paul! Fuck my virgin ass!”

He grunts. He must not have known no one’s ever done this to me before. I can’t imagine letting anyone but him, though. He’s a machine… a sex machine. I can only hope I can convince him to let me stay and to let me keep paying like this. I’ll be a good girl until he tells me to be a bad girl. I’ll be whatever he tells me to be. I’ll do whatever he says from now on.


I duck out early from work so that I can get home and get all dolled up for Paul. Do my hair. Do my makeup. Maybe put on something silky for him to see after dinner. I think I still feel guilty for what I wrote earlier. I’m going to give him a blowjob tonight even if he doesn’t ask for one. A little treat/apology for something he never needs to know about.

I walk into our apartment to the sound of some girl screaming out, “OH! Fuck me, Paul! Fuck my virgin ass!”

Did the girl just say “Paul?” My Paul?

It’s coming from the living room, so I’ll know soon enough. I walk through the kitchen, into the doorway to the living room and what I see pulls all the air out of my lungs into one big gasp.

Paul, my Paul, has his stepsister Missy bent over the couch and is fucking her in the ass. Her face seems to vacillate between torture and rapture.

I watch them go at it for a good bit before I can finally find my voice to ask, “Paul? What are you doing?”

“Putting Missy in her place. She owes us for eight months. You want a go?”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing or seeing. “Do I want what?”

“Bag. By the door. Grab a dildo. Fuck her face with it.”

“Why would I —”

“Because I just told you to.”

A shiver goes down my spine. Paul’s never commanded me and he’s never been so… forceful. He looks good fucking Missy. His muscles shimmer with sweat. He looks like such a… man.

I find that bag and fish out one of the dildos.

I push it towards Missy’s mouth.

Paul grabs her hair and grunts, “Suck it like it’s my dick.”

And she does. She starts to work the shaft, moaning all around it, like she’s giving the best blow job she can muster.

“Hold that cock in your mouth,” he commands to Missy with a hard slap to her ass. Then, he points at me, “Strip!”

“Yes, sir.”

I’ve never said “Yes, sir” to anyone. Not even my ex-boyfriend. And he demanded it. I just couldn’t bring myself to do so. He was commanding, but in comparison, he was nothing. Paul just drew it from my lips, from my soul, and I just couldn’t help myself. Just like I can’t stop my hands from slowly unbuttoning my blouse as his hungry gaze runs up and down my lithe body. I take off my bra and his eyes immediately go to my nipples. My entire body tingles under his gaze. I flick my nipples to life and he seems to enjoy that. I stand up to step out of my skirt and panties, turning around for him, giving my man a show, and running my hands up and down my naked body. Lastly, I let my straight black hair down and to fall past my shoulders. I can tell he likes what he sees, my olive skin… my thick lips… because he pulls out from Missy and pulls the dildo from Missy’s mouth. Her lips are no match for mine.

“Clean my cock,” he commands and she immediately obliges with no hesitation about where it’s just come from. She licks and sucks even more furiously than on the dildo moments ago.

“Finger yourself while you watch,” he says to me and I do. I take in the scene of my manly boyfriend getting a blowjob from his former terror of a stepsister, now cowed beneath his will, and I furiously finger away. “Tell me when you’re wet.”

“I’m already wet, sir.”

Paul shoves Missy’s face away from his dick. “Go sit on her face. And when she does, you start licking.”

I’ve never licked a pussy in my life, but there’s a first time for everything. And who am I to deny Paul? I start to lick and I feel Paul lifting me up and repositioning me. My body feels so small in his arms. Then, I feel his hard cock break into my pussy. I can’t believe Missy had that in her ass. She’s never going to be able to walk again. It’s in my pussy and I’m worried I’ll never be able to walk again. I’m going to have a hard time explaining to my coworkers at the library why I’ll be walking funny tomorrow, but it’s worth it. God, it’s worth it. He’s iron-hard and unrelenting. I’ve never had sex like this. I feel like this tiny toy here just for his pleasure. I squeeze and tease, but he’s unimpeded. He’s unstoppable. He’s everything I’ve ever dreamt of or wished for.

As Missy cums all over my face, and Paul squirts pulse after pulse of cum into my pussy, I think about that letter I wrote earlier.

I don’t know how, exactly, but I am a winner.

“Don’t move,” Paul says, his cock still hard despite cumming load upon load into my box. “I want you pregnant.”

“Yes, sir.”

And that’s when I cum…

…And I know, I’m going to keep on winning and winning and winning.