The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

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.

JULIAN HILL

For me, Valentine’s Day is really Single’s Awareness Day and there’s little to celebrate on V-Day when you’re single. Maybe the lack of pressure to come up with some elaborate gift or date. Maybe the half off chocolate that goes on sale the day after…

Mainly, I just spend the day thinking about Sarah. Everybody probably has their story of the “one that got away.” Well… she’s mine. I’d never met anyone like her before her and I haven’t met anyone like her since we broke up.

Broke up… that’s probably the version of the story that she sticks to — a mutual breakup, but I would’ve married that girl in a heartbeat. I had no problem committing to spending the rest of my life with her. Unfortunately, she felt like it was either her job or me… and her job won. I don’t know why she felt like she had to choose. I would never make her, I would never stand in front of her, only alongside her. But learning that it was the job she was sticking with and not me was more than a little blow to the good old self-confidence, I’ll tell you. There’s nothing like being “there” emotionally and then learning that your significant other isn’t. When you lose someone like that… it’s hard to recover.

So I’m alone on Valentine’s Day, just like last year, doing some online retail therapy to unsuccessfully try to keep my mind off of the day.

A banner ad pops up for some kind of contest. Like it’s reading my mind, it’s sales pitch is: Lonely? I can help…

Intrigued, bored, and yes, a bit lonely, I click.

The site is simple. Just some text:

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 theweaverarcanum@gmail.com

I wonder. If I put all of my frustrations about the breakup out into the universe, maybe I can finally get over it. Maybe I can finally break free of the hold it still has on my heart.

With this in mind, I write:

My name is Julian Hill. My ex-girlfriend, Sarah Carter, is an audiologist. We met at the local game store playing Magic the Gathering. We both liked competitive Magic and spent a lot of time preparing and traveling to tournaments. We even cosplayed at a few local cons. She was not afraid to get geeky and sexy.

This is where we got to know each other. She had a smile that seemed to radiant like the sun and always seemed to be laughing. She was not afraid to bring up her insecurities about weight and pressures at work.

I thought things were going well, but one day she sat down and talked to me about our relationship. She wanted to focus on her career and take on more patients. She thought she might even need to move away. After long talks, “we” decided to break it off, but I really felt it was her.

I really miss her. She’s what I think about on Valentine’s Day… Geeky, successful, and gorgeous Sarah… and of what could have been with us.

If I could change anything (this is fantasy after all), I would have her get back together with me, be much more inclined to wear more feminine clothing especially professionally — she always insisted it wasn’t professional and I disagreed, be much more inclined to wear boots — she looked great in them but I think she thought it was weird that I like them so much, and she was kind of dominating in the relationship. She was strong-headed and thought she always knew best. So I would not mind her slightly more submissive and sexually adventurous, but still independent and strong outside our relationship.

I just wish she was back so we could play Magic again. So we can enough time on the couch together and argue about Stars Wars and Star Trek.

Anyway, that is my “entry”.

My entry gets an immediate response:

You are a winner!

I wonder what I’ve won…

SARAH CARTER

As I’m walking Mrs. Escobar out of my office, a thought strikes me — I miss Julian.

I don’t know where the thought came from, but it came with a deep and heavy sigh.

I haven’t really thought about Julian in a year or so. Not since after our breakup and the breakup was just one of those things — two people going off in different directions. No hurt feelings. Just two good people who weren’t right for each other. We had our fun and went our separate ways. You know, just the way of the world. I had my job and he had his… things. We just weren’t the right fit for each other.

But even as I think about how he wasn’t right for me, I feel an undeniable pang in my heart that doesn’t go away despite the distraction of my work and patients.

I’m not the only one who seems distracted, though.

As the day progresses, my patients seem to get weirder and weirder.

It seems like everyone who comes into my practice today can’t take their eyes off of my boots, which just seems weird. I always wear boots — the higher the boots, the better. The shortest ones I own — and I only own boots, no sandals or sneakers for this girl — come up to mid-calf, though I prefer them around my knee. I like how they feel, how they accentuate the curves of my legs, and how feminine they make me look, especially when I walk. My walk would be so… plain… if I didn’t have a knockout pair of boots on. A woman should be able to dress like a woman and still be regarded as a professional. I don’t know what some people’s problem is with this rather simple concept. Sheer and lacy blouses and pencil skirts do not make me any less of an audiologist. Hell, they probably make me a better one because when I’m dressed in clothes that make me feel pretty, I’m happy and a happy doctor is a good doctor. Ask anybody. A grumpy doctor probably has the weight of the world on their shoulders. They’re not about to do their best work. You want a doctor who isn’t distracted by thoughts and stuff.

I wonder if Julian still lives on Sycamore…

Boy, I can’t seem to shake these thoughts of Julian today.

Well… it wouldn’t hurt to visit an old friend after work, right?

I’m sure he’d be happy to catch up and reminisce.

And maybe if I’m a good girl, he’ll let me suck his dick.

Mmm. I can’t wait to show him what a good girl I can be…

I really hope he still lives on Sycamore and that he’s home right now.

JULIAN HILL

My doorbell rings and I just assume it’s a delivery. I don’t even bother putting pants on since I’m only going to be outside long enough to grab a box and pull it inside.

I open my door and there stands Sarah Carter, somehow looking better than the last time I saw her. Maybe it’s the outfit. Maybe it’s the boots. Maybe it’s the look of total desire on her face. She looks down at my boxers and smiles like a minx before pushing me back inside.

“Stop!” I say and she immediately complies.

Sarah was never the type to follow orders, but she seems to follow that one. I decide to press it further. “Tell me what you’re doing here and be completely honest with me.”

She shifts back and forth on her heels, which does nothing but turn me on. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I want there to be an us again.”

“You’re the one who put the kibosh on us,” I say, a little frustrated and a little angry.

“I know. I’m so sorry. I was wrong. Can you forgive me?”

It’s so much like a dream that I want to pinch myself. Sarah Carter standing in front of me in clothes that make want to tear them off of her and throw her to the ground and just fuck until we pass out… and she’s yielding to me. She never yielded to me in our relationship. It was always her way, from the start to our end.

The emotional and sexual frustration just build within me. I see her catch sight of my dick trying to peek through my boxers.

“Maybe I shouldn’t talk to you.” She says and I think that the old Sarah is back until she gets down on her knees and starts to shuffle towards me. “Maybe I should talk to him.”

If she’s offering me a blowjob, I’m not about to stop her. It won’t make up for the year and a half without her, but it’s a pretty good start.

“Do it,” I say and she immediately tugs my boxers down and inhales my cock. No teasing. No foreplay. She just takes me in, all the way to the base, pulls back to the tip, and then repeats. She works up a good and steady rhythm before starting to use her hand as well, gripping me and circling around the shaft whenever her tongue reaches my tip.

I know I’m not about to last long under this intense pleasure. Something compels me to speak. “You’re not going to swallow. You’re going to let me paint your face with my cum to mark you as mine.”

She pulls her talented mouth off of me to shout, “Yes! I am yours! Whatever you want!”

That’s enough to push me over the edge.

I pull back and she keeps jerking my cock, making sure that it’s pointed at her face.

She looks like she’s in ecstasy as gob after gob of my cum splatters her cheeks and mouth, wantonly panting.

It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

I look into her eyes, deep into her eyes, and tell her, “You’re never leaving me again.”

“No. I’m yours. I’ll do whatever you want.”

I take a deep breath and really try to live in this moment. This moment I’ve dreamt of for well over a year. Sarah Carter, spattered in my cum, ready to do whatever I want…

“Let’s play Magic,” I say and she’s as eager to do that as she was to suck my dick. “However, there are new rules. Every time I win, I get to fuck you however I want.”

She rubs herself a little at the thought of that before saying,“Mmm. I like the new rules… what happens if I win?”

“You get to give me a blowjob.”

“Perfect,” she says.

And she is.

And we are.

And we forever will be.