The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Cecilia came into the living room to find her mother flipping through a catalog. It looked like mostly fashion leather. “Mom,” she said, “I think there’s something wrong with me.” “Why, what makes you say that?” her mother said, setting aside the glossy catalog. “Goodness, but your hair is getting long, isn’t it. Why don’t you get it cut?”

“But I did! On Tuesday. And the week before too! My hair is growing like crazy. Look, it’s down past my shoulders now. What’s happening to me?”

“Oh come now, Cecilia, nobody’s hair grows that fast.”

“Mom!”

“OK, OK, let’s take a look.” She got to her feet and walked around her daughter, examining her hair from all sides. She ran one hand through the thick locks. “It looks very nice dear,” she said kindly, “You must be taking better care of it.” Cecilia rolled her eyes but said nothing. “Hmmm, that’s funny.” her mother said, examining the top of Cecilia’s head. In her heels she was several inches taller than her daughter.

“What? What’s funny?”

“Your hair is lighter at the roots. Almost blonde. You haven’t died it or anything have you?”

“Of course not!”

“Well, I can’t see anything at all wrong with your hair, dear. Maybe you’re going through a growth phase?”

“I’m eighteen! This is as grown up as I’m supposed to get.”

“Hmmmm. It is unusual, I’ll grant you that. Still....”

“It’s not just my hair, Mom.”

“Oh?”

“My breasts too. Look.” She opened her blouse. Her breasts were round and pert, the nipples distended.

“Honey, why aren’t you wearing a bra?”

“Because none of them fit, Mom. Haven’t you been listening? I’ve gone through three bra sizes in the last two weeks! I won’t be able to get into my clothes soon.”

“Well, that does seem rather fast. But you were always sort of small, then, weren’t you dear.”

“Well, that’s not a problem any more, is it?” Cecilia said sarcastically. “And besides, they’re really....sensitive. You know?”

“Oh, I see, do they hurt?”

“No, that’s not what I—”

“Look, Cecilia, you’re just blooming a little later than the other girls, that’s all. You should be delighted. Don’t worry, in a few weeks you’ll be perfectly comfortable with the new you.”

“But Mom—”

“Look, if it makes you feel better, if this is still bothering you in another week we’ll go see Dr. Bloomsworthy, all right?”

“Sure Mom.” She sighed deeply.

Her mother turned to walk away, walking elegantly in her high heels. Cecilia frowned. “Mom?”

“Yes dear.” She had picked up the magazine again.

“Why are you wearing heels at home? I thought you said those shoes pinched your feet.”

She smiled. “They do. I’m punishing myself.”

“Punishing?”

“Yes. You see, I had a cookie after lunch today. If I’m going to loose that ten pounds I’ve been talking about I have to maintain better discipline. So I’m punishing myself. Every time I take a step it reminds me that snacks are forbidden. It’s a simple system.”

Cecilia rolled her eyes again. Why did her mother have to be such a flake? She rebuttoned her blouse, and one finger accidentally brushed a nipple. She shuddered, and fought the urge to do it again.

“Sorry I’m late honeybunch,” said David Loveswell casually, setting his briefcase on a kitchen chair. “We had a late meeting about that bankruptcy. I guess I sort of forgot about the time.”

Lydia put down her book. “You always forget about the time,” she said curtly. She rose. “Anyway, your dinner is in the oven.”

David caught the anger in her voice. “Look, don’t start, OK, Lydia. I can’t go ducking out of an important meeting just to call my wife! This was a pretty intense discussion.”

Lydia scowled at him. “It only takes five minutes, David. Is your precious lawyer’s time so valuable you can’t tell your own wife she’s wasting time making supper?”

“Look, I just never got the chance, all right. Now I’ve had a long day, I’m tired and I’m in no mood for your bitching. So let it go, OK?”

“Oh sure! Just toss me aside like yesterday’s newspaper. For a change you could—I mean you should—,” she faltered, frowning. After a moment she continued in a calmer voice. “Well, you’re home now, so let’s not argue. Did you have a busy day?” She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips.

“What? Uh, yeah, pretty busy I guess. Lot of referrals lately, which is good. Shows the partners trust me.”

“Well, come have supper. I kept it warm for you.” She patted his chair.

David sat and ate, studying his pretty young wife warily. She was acting a little strangely. They had been fighting of and on for most of their four-year marriage, and David privately feared a separation lay ahead. But they were arguing less and less lately because Lydia kept quitting half-way through. In the midst of a furious exchange she would stop, gather her thoughts for a moment, and then capitulate. Tonight David had anticipated a stormy reception at home, but Lydia had abandoned the argument almost before it got started. Now she was being extra nice to him, as if she were somehow embarrassed about having raised her voice. She must have noticed the alcohol on his breath when she kissed him, but she never even mentioned it, even though it blew a gaping hole in his concocted story about a long meeting. In fact the only meeting he had attended was in a bar with Monica, the stacked secretary.

“I’m sorry I blew up at you like that,” Lydia said a few minutes later, taking his empty plate away. “I should have realized you would be working. Would you like a martini?”

“Yes! Sure. But I thought you didn’t like me drinking the strong stuff at home.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, never mind that, I was just fussing. No, don’t get up, I’ll get it.” She tripped over to the bar and began mixing spirits. Still unsure of what was going on, David followed her into the livingroom and settled comfortably into his favourite chair.

A moment later Lydia slipped into his lap with his drink. “Here you go,” she said, “olive and all.”

David sipped it. “Mmmm, perfect.” He decided to press his luck. “So, what say you and me go to bed?”

“Now? It’s only seven-thirty!”

“I know.” He pawed one breast crudely.

To his amazement, Lydia did not pull away. “Ooooh, David you randy man. Come on, finish your drink and let’s go!”

As usual, once they got undressed David was on her in an instant, apparently incapable of grasping the concept of foreplay. But this time it hardly mattered because Lydia was already wet. Just the thought of giving her husband sex, of doing something to please him, was enough to turn her on. And David’s powerful, artless strokes pleased her like never before. She wrapped her legs around his back, pulling him to her. “Oh yes yes yes!” she thought dizzily, on her way to a blinding orgasm, “it feels so good to co-operate!”

Cecilia stood before the mirror in her bedroom, examining her nude reflection critically. She had to admit it looked pretty good. Her hair was getting lighter, no question about that, and it fell down over her shoulders in rich, inviting tresses. She had cut it herself the other day, carelessly whacking off big chunks with a scissors, but it had already grown all that back and more. Now it fell down the middle of her back, well below her bra strap. Or where her bra strap would be if she were wearing any these days. It seemed pointless to invest in new ones until her “growth spurt” was over, which didn’t look to be anytime soon. Smiling, she hefted her full chest in both hands, admiring the swelling roundness of them. She had always wondered, back in her bee-sting days, what it would be like to pack a pair of proper 36’s. Well, now she knew.

Although the rapidity of their growth still alarmed her, Cecilia conceded privately that she liked her new look. Her breasts were as round and flawless as those of the pin-up girls she saw on the covers of men’s magazines, jutting proudly out from her chest like twin balloons. Yet somehow despite their size they defied gravity so well that she was able to get away without a brassiere. Her hair, previously limp and thin, was growing thick and bouncy even as it lengthened. She was getting lots of looks at school; from classmates, sometimes even from teachers. She was getting asked out on dates too. For Cecilia that kind of attention was a new thing and she was basking in it. It was becoming increasingly difficult to find clothes in her closet that she could wear, however. A major wardrobe upgrade was definitely called for.

She was still holding her breasts, and inevitably her fingers began to gently knead and caress. “Mmmmmmmmm, that feels nice,” Cecilia muttered, as her fingers strayed to her reddening nipples. Her boobs were so incredibly sensitive these days. Sometimes even the feel of clothing against her bare chest was enough to set her off, which made for interesting times at school. Especially when she wore the green wool sweater.

She was actively squeezing and fondling her breasts now, and her breathing was becoming rapid. “I’m soooo hot,” she told her reflection. One hand slipped downward and began to tease the outside of her sex, pushing aside the sleek curls of pubic hair. At least her hair down there wasn’t growing any faster, although she noticed that her triangle was growing lighter to match the hair on her head. Still fondling her boobs with one hand, she slipped in one finger, then another, not at all surprised to discover she was already moist. Her hips were starting to gyrate, back to front. Cecilia gazed into the mirror at the sexy, long-haired young woman who was pleasuring herself with increasing energy and had trouble believing it was her. “Ohmygod,” she groaned, stumbling backward toward the bed. “I think I’m going to be late for school!”

Dr. Bloomsworthy scratched his head, surveying Cecilia’s bare chest with a physician’s eye. Yet she wondered if there wasn’t just a bit more than professional interest in his intense gaze. They were in one of the doctor’s examining rooms, and Cecilia was seated on a high table, her new sweater in her hands. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like this before,” he said, now studying Cecilia’s silky smooth hair over the top of his glasses. He picked up a long lock and let it fall. “When did you last get your hair cut?”

“Sunday. I did it myself again, with a pair of scissors.”

“But that’s only three days growth! How much did you take off?”

Cecilia shrugged. “About a foot, maybe two. She grabbed a strand of blonde hair and pointed at the middle. “About here.”

The doctor held up the lock of hair where she had pointed, let it fall in loose curls. “But that’s—that’s over a foot of new growth! In seventy-two hours! His voice quivered with astonishment. “Extraordinary. Altogether extraordinary!”

“I didn’t believe it myself when she first told me, Doctor,” said Cecilia’s mother. She was sitting in a chair by the wall, her purse in her lap and her back straight. She was still wearing the toe-pinching high heels, coupled now with a long, tight, leather skirt in tasteful lavender. “But she showed me the cuttings. What do you think it means?”

Dr. Bloomsworthy frowned. “Maybe some kind of hormonal imbalance. I’ll have to run some tests. Have there been any other changes besides the accelerated growth?

“Other changes?” Cecilia scoffed. “Other changes! Doctor, I’m blonde! Don’t you remember I used to be a brunette? I dream of Celia with the lank brown hair. Now I’m a beach bunny! It’s starting to curl on its own too. This is just too weird.” She toyed with a yard-long strand of gorgeous blonde hair, a feminine gesture she had picked up without realizing it.

“And you say your breasts are also showing accelerated growth?”

Cecilia arched her back a little, letting the melons on her chest jut out a little further. “What do you think, Doctor,” she teased. “You saw me a couple of months ago, remember? For that flu. I was a thirty-two inch bust then.”

He was studying her with a mixture of shock, scientific interest, and, something else. “And now?”

“I was a nice 36 last time I measured myself. But that was a week ago. I’m quite a bit bigger now.”

Dr. Bloomsworthy fished around in a drawer until he found a tape measure. He slipped it around her chest and pulled it tight across the front. The tape pressed gently against Cecilia’s nipples and she drew in her breath. “Be...be careful, Doctor,” she breathed.

He pulled the tape away with his finger marking the measurement. “Extraordinary,” he said again. “You’re sure it was just a week ago?” Cecilia nodded. Still holding the tape measure, Dr. Bloomsworthy stepped back, scratched his chin and studied Cecilia’s chest for a long time. He looked fascinated. Cecilia was getting a lot of looks like that these days. In spite of herself she felt her nipples stiffening.

At last she said, “Doctor?”

He roused himself. “Hmmm, what? Oh, yes. Quite an exceptional thing. It could just be a late spurt of maturation, after all, I suppose. But the rate of growth is unusual. I’d like to do some blood work, if you don’t mind Celia. That’s the quickest way of seeing if anything is amiss. Are you feeling any discomfort?”

Cecilia blushed a little. “Well, no pain, if that’s what you mean. But they are really, uh, sensitive.”

“I see. Well, no need to be alarmed just yet. It could be nothing. I’ll take a little blood now, and we’ll get that out of the way.” He began pulling vials and syringes out of a supply cabinet. “Which arm would you like?”

Cecilia’s mother got to her feet quickly. “I’ll just, um, wait outside if that’s all right,” she said, averting her eyes. She hated needles.

Dr. Bloomsworthy looked up from swabbing Cecilia’s arm. “Yes, of course. But please send the nurse in, won’t you?”

Cecilia’s mother exited quickly, the enchanting sway of her derriere exaggerated by the high heels and advertised by the curve-hugging leather skirt. She had taken to walking with a deliberately feminine gait, putting one foot directly in front of the other as if she were walking a tightrope. When Cecilia asked her about it she had explained that she was trying to improve her posture. It was a simple matter of self-discipline, she said.

Dr. Bloomsworthy drew two blood samples and put the vials aside. Then he looked at Cecilia’s chest and scratched his chin again. He bent down and examined them, one at a time, with the intensity of a collector studying rare postage stamps. “Uh, Doctor?” Cecilia queried.

The doctor looked up. “These are really quite remarkable.” Unexpectedly he reached out and cradled them, one in each hand.

Cecilia gasped from the sensation. “Oh! Please, uh, do be carefulllll, Doctor!” she exclaimed.

“You must have exceptionally strong musculature, here,” he explained, running his fingers down the top slopes of her breasts.

“Doctor! Please be, be, careful. I’m really, verrrrry sensitive!”

He let go of her breasts, reluctantly, just as the nurse entered the room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Cecilia drew a deep breath and reached for her sweater. “Believe me Doctor, it wasn’t pain! When will you have any results from the blood tests?”

“Give it a week or so. Until then try not to worry too much. I’m sure it’s nothing out of the ordinary.” He seriously doubted that last statement.

Cecilia struggled into her snug-fitting sweater (it hadn’t been snug when she bought it) and threw back her long blonde locks. “Thanks, Doc.” she said, then left to find her mother.

Dr. Bloomsworthy watched her go, taking a long last look at her incredible boobs and blonde hair. Extraordinary. In twenty years of medical practice he had never seen anything like it. And in twenty years he had perfected clinical detachment to the point where even the most captivating display of feminine charms had no effect of him. Until now. He looked down at the steel-hard erection straining his pants.

“You called, Dr. B?” said the pretty young nurse.

“Oh, yes, Yvonne, could you send these boob samples over to the hospital? Sorry, I meant blood samples. Yes, please send these blood samples over to the hooterville. Have them run all the standard tits. I mean tests. I’d like to have results by mammary, er, monday.” He was perspiring. “Just send the damn samples.”

“Of course, Doctor,” the nurse said, backing out of the room.

“Why do you have to wear pants all the time,” David Loveswell complained one evening. “You have such great legs.” In this he was being perfectly honest. Lydia’s legs alone were a large part of the reason that he had married her. David was sitting in the livingroom, working on his second martini that Lydia had prepared for him.

Lydia was just putting away a couple of magazines and she looked down at her fashionably snug bell-bottoms. “You don’t like these? You told me they flattered my behind.” She was very well dressed for an evening at home, in a new striped sweater and black, wedge-heeled sandals.

David was feeling a little loose from the booze. “Sure, they’re great, but they’re still pants. Why not wear a dress now and again. Make you look like a real woman. Give a fellow something to come home to.”

“Well David, I don’t think—” She stopped and considered. The habit no longer surprised David, nor did her compliance a moment later. “You always did like my legs, didn’t you honey. Tell you what, wait here and I’ll go get changed.” She shuffled off to the bedroom in her platform sandals.

David admired the sway of her rump beneath the tight pants and smiled slyly. He still had no idea what had come over Lydia, but he definitely liked it.