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.

ANDY BAILEY

Valentine’s Day is for suckers. I’ve kept my heart on full lockdown ever since Lauren Whalen entered (and the ceremoniously left) my life.

When she entered, I’ll admit it, I was also one of those suckers. I was ready to do anything for her. I gave up on friends. I gave up on family. I gave up on anything that wasn’t to Lauren’s liking.

And still…

And still, I found her in our bed having sex with Gregg Fisher.

Gregg — formerly known as my best friend before their whole coitus interrupted.

Gregg who always said he hated Lauren and who repeatedly said how much he hated the way she pussy whipped me.

Apparently, saying that too often made him more than curious about her pussy. So much so that he’d sacrifice a decade and a half of friendship to get a taste. From what I hear, they’re still together. It’s bad for me to be pussy whipped, but fine for him, I guess.

Fuck. Them.

But I’m not bitter.

I’ve just got my eyes open now.

I know not to trust a woman, any woman. Or friends, for that matter.

Three G’s Gregg, which is how I refer to him now, is probably too dumb to have his eyes opened.

I’m finishing up work for the day when an odd banner ad appears in the top of my browser. Feeling jaded about V-Day? Why not tell your story here?

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 start to laugh when I think about submitting them for this contest…

To whom it may concern,

My name is Andrew Bailey, but I’m not writing for myself. I’m writing for my good friends Gregg (yes, there’s three g’s, that’s not a typo) Fisher and Lauren Whalen. When I think of couples, I can’t think of one more deserving of a VERY memorable prize.

Lauren slings juices at a juicery, but that’s reasonably average and not what makes her special. Her special skill is her insatiable desire and her willingness to do anything sexual with anyone who shows even the vaguest signs of interest. When you’ve had as much sex as Lauren has, and believe me — it’s a lot — you develop special skills. Mouth, pussy, ass, hands, feet — you name it, she’s the best she is at what she does and what she does is have shit tons of sex. She also has a hair trigger. It doesn’t matter how skilled her lover is, she always gets off and gets off loud. When not having shit tons of sex, she exercises her Kegels so her lady bits are always tight. She doesn’t want to lose her appeal. She stays fit and made up at all times.

As for Gregg, he’s so pussy whipped that he doesn’t care that his girlfriend is out sexing up every boy (and girl) she meets. He’s happy to clean up after her and basically be her human body pillow — someone to hold when she sleeps since she’s so exhausted from all the sex she has with other people. She’d still have sex with him, because, as I wrote before, she’d have sex with anybody, but since she’s very open in telling him about how often and how many ways she’s with other woman (and men), he can’t get it up.

If you can think of a couple more in need of a memorable prize, my hat off to you.

I actually feel better having written all of that.

Huzzah to the power of purging through words.

I’m ready to toast myself and my little submitted story with a beer when I actually get a response:

You are a winner!

Wow. Fuck me that’s hilarious.

LAUREN WHALEN

“One wheatgrass shot coming up!” I say with faked enthusiasm.

I hate when people order wheatgrass. It’s so much easier to toss frozen fruits into a blender than cutting and juicing grass. Who really wants to drink grass anyway? I’ve tried it. Tastes like you’re licking someone’s lawn. Eh. To each their own. I don’t really judge, so long as they tip.

The juicery is reasonably slow for the post lunch shift, but there’s two of us scheduled anyway. Me and Gavin Wallace. I used to roll with his older sister Katie before she went to an out-of-town college. I reasonably sure he’s always had a crush on me. I sometimes catch him sneaking looks at me, even in the dumbass unflattering slacks and polo we have to wear to work. He’s still in high school, barely eighteen, and stands no chance with me whatsoever. The one good thing about working with Gavin is — he lets me stay at the register and he does all of the work making the beverages. I tolerate the looks for this reason (and also have the manager schedule us together whenever possible.) Gavin doesn’t even ask for his half of the tips. He knows I’m in a relationship with Gregg and he must know he doesn’t stand a chance, but hey, easy work and free money so I’m not about to complain.

Wheatgrass guy in the bicycle shorts leaves the place and I’m suddenly unsteady on my feet. I grip the counter to stay up despite the spinning world.

I take a couple of breaths and all is right again.

I feel Gavin’s eyes on my ass and the juices aren’t the only thing juicy at the juicery anymore.

“Hey Gavin?” I say, without turning around.

“Yeah?” He responds.

“Are you looking at my ass?”

He sputters and stutters. “Wh-wh-what? I wouldn’t look at your ass, Lauren. Why would… why would you think that?”

“Oh,” I say turning around, “so what’s wrong with my ass then?”

His face is red from the last question, but finds a way to go even redder.

“N-n-nothing.”

“Wouldn’t you say I have a perfect ass?”

“Yes…”

“So… say it.”

“You have a perfect ass.”

I whimper at the compliment, but I want more. “And you like to look at it.”

He pauses, waiting for the joke or the reprimand, but then, “And I like to look at it.”

“And you want to grab it.”

“Lauren?” He says, putting a pause on the positive momentum of this exchange.

“What?”

“What’s going on?” He asks tentatively.

“That depends on if you finish your sentence or not. In fact, say the whole thing all at once.”

He takes a deep breath, then mutters under it, “You have a perfect ass and I like to look at it and I want to grab it.”

“So what’s stopping you?”

I turn around and give him a good view. I don’t know if he sees that I’m already rubbing myself through these stupid work slacks.

I hear one step, then another.

Then, I feel two hands palming my ass.

“Yessss!” I say and rub faster. I look back at him over my shoulder. “Is that all you want to grab?”

Empowered by the ass grab, he says, “No, I want to feel your boobs, too.”

“Feel away.”

As he reaches around to cup my breasts, I feel his meat, hard and ready, press up against me and it makes me the juiciest in the juicery.

I turn around, grab him by the collar, and say, “Are we going to fuck or what?”

He looks at the door, like he’s going to put the brakes on our fucking. I’m not about to have that. Once I’m this turned on, there’s no turning back. The moment I grab his dick, though, his eyes go steely, regaining their focus on me and on splitting me in two. He’s probably dreamt of this very moment, so peeling my pants down and revealing my tight ass to his sight and my wet slit just beyond that, is a dream come true. He doesn’t pause anymore, seizing the opportunity to stab at my pussy with his cock. It feels divine. In this moment, it feels perfect. I squeeze him and know that he’s not long for this sex, but that’s okay, I also know I’ll cum the moment he does. I’m gifted like that. My pussy’s magical like that. As if the thought made it a reality, he starts to shoot his load up inside me and I spasm in orgasm all around his shaft.

He pulls out and grabs some napkins off the counter to clean up, suddenly a bit shy now that he’s had his cum. Typical eighteen-year-old. As a sexually active nineteen-year-old, I know all about them. I place a hand softly on his face and lean in to whisper, “I can’t wait for our next shift together, stud.”

That way he knows that anytime he wants a free sample, I’m his for the tasting.

Our next customer, a tight-bodied redhead who definitely doesn’t miss a pilates class, doesn’t come in for a good five minutes, but when she does, and when I take her order, I feel her green-eyed gaze on the outline of my breasts and know that I must have her. She’s apparently interested, offering no resistance when I swoop around the counter, take her hand, and lead her to the restroom.

Inside, we kiss like we’ve been lovers for years, kept apart, but finally reunited. It’s a hungry, wanton kiss. I tear off her pants and use that same tongue to ravage her perfectly waxed, wet, and waiting pussy in the exact same way. She digs into my hair with one hand and then squeezes and teases her tit with the other. I love that she’s the kind of girl that sounds like a motorboat when she orgasms.

“Uhn uhn uhn uhn…”

It’s so hot, it sets my own off, and I shudder with a wailing moan as I continue to feast on her, leading us both to another orgasm.

When we exit, Gavin hands her the smoothie she ordered before our bathroom tryst, the way he’s looking at me like he heard everything gets my motor running again so I suck him off behind the counter like a good girl should. The good thing about eighteen-year-old boys is that they don’t require that much recovery time.

The crowd starts to pick up, so some of my encounters can’t be one-on-one. That’s okay. One on one can be fun, but two, three, four, five… I take all comers. A favorite though from today’s encounters was the trio of men that came in together that I managed to suck off and double hand job so well timed that they also came in/on me together.

By the time I’m on my way home, I’m sticky all over from all sorts of “juices.”

GREGG FISHER

The moment I see Lauren, I’m struck by a wave of awareness. I know that she’s not my sweet, committed girlfriend, but rather my girlfriend who is committed to fucking everyone who shows the slightest interest in her. With how sexy she is, that’s a lot of interest and a lot of fucking. She looks like today’s been a record day, even for her. Her shirt and pants are covered with sex residue from easily a dozen.

“I’m going to shower,” she says as she walks by. “You wanna watch?”

I lick my lips at the idea and trail behind her as she discards clothes on the way to the bathroom. I pick each item up as we go. Each stain is a dagger in my heart. The thought of “once a cheater, always a cheater” goes through my head, but with Lauren, the emphasis is on always. Always at all times. Whenever the possibility presents itself, she will cheat, but I’ll stay with her and I don’t know why. I’m just compelled to do so, like it’s outside of my control.

I watch her wet body in the shower. She’s stunning. She’s toned and tight in all the right places with just enough cushion in her ass and chest to be a perfectly formed woman. Wet, she starts to play with herself and I start to tug on myself, watching. I objectify her. I don’t think of her as my girlfriend, just some hot piece of ass that I’m able to watch and stroke to. That does the trick. I’m hard in my hand and feel great. Then, she looks at me, but worse, she speaks. “Why don’t you come on in with that, lover?”

Hearing her words, I lose it completely.

I leave the room to get it back again at the thought of the hot stranger in my shower. I tighten my grip and jerk it faster and faster until I cum rope after rope up onto my chest.

I only know she’s in the room with me when I feel her tongue lick me clean before she snuggles her wet head onto that very same place.

I don’t know why I love her, but I do.

I can’t help but love my slutty Valentine.