The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nat had a gross sneer on her face as she was kicked out of the bedroom. Her skin was clammy and her heart hurt. So many girls measured their boyfriends up to the examples set by their fathers. Brothers. No one would measure up to Richie.

She understood that.

He refused to.

She stuffed her tits back into her bra and shrugged her blouse up onto her shoulders. The doorbell rang a second time. Nat shouted out a “Coming!” with Perla echoing her. Nat flicked her hair, as she cast a grimace up the staircase and finished fastening the bottom button as she opened the door.

“Goddammit!” Mary Cowie groaned and sneered at Nat’s blue bra. “Didn’t your parents teach you any sort of self respect?”

“Nothing that stuck.” Nat proceeded to button up her shirt.

Perla’s orgasmic shriek screamed throughout the house.

“Lily’s not here,” Nat said, flatly.

“I know. She’s babysitting,” Mary said. She tapped her own elbow. Nat was swaying from foot to foot. She seemed to want to rush back into the house.

“I was hoping to talk to Dick and Sheryl,” Mary said. “I called and—”

“The house phone?” Nat said, looking over her shoulder. “They’re still down at The Marriott. Or, rather they are again. Rats.”

“Rats?” Mary’s lips crinkled. What was happening to this town? Darlene was having the same problem.

“Fuck me! Fuck me!” Caitlin eagerly bleated.

“Jesus Christ…” Mary said, turning a little green. “Look, I was hoping to recruit in Dick’s help with this, but more than anything, I want to sit down and talk to Richie.”

“He’s indisposed.”

Mary’s lips twisted in frustration and a sense of betrayal. That was Harper’s boyfriend and Harper’s best friend. But then, it was Harper who had run off with… With someone she needed to ask Richie about. She took a deep breath, hoping to retain some calmness. She took a second.

“Here,” Nat said, growing impatient. She grabbed a post-it note and pen from the little table that never held her father’s house and car keys. She scribbled down the digits and a name. “This here’s, um—”

“I know the diner,” Mary said, reading the name.

Caitlin was calling in choppy rhythmic chirps. Mary ground her teeth together.

“The number’s actually Mom’s cell phone,” Nat said to Mary. “I’ll make sure Richie gets freshened up and we can all meet there.”

“That’s a good idea,” Mary said.

“Besides, I gotta remind Perla she’s gonna be late for work,” Nat said, smiling.

Mary felt the impolitic words burning in the back of her throat. Why did her daughters have to be so sex-crazed? Why did that lead them to picking these friends? But the door closed in Mary’s face. She needed a moment to stretch her fingers out of her fists. She turned to walk to the car.

“I should call the cops,” Mary said, buckling her seatbelt. “Maybe I should’ve days ago.”

She picked up her phone and groaned. This was Harper. She could be recalcitrant and stubborn for weeks. If she had run off with some strange guy, she’d be finding every shortcut and excuse not to focus on what she did.

Her new beau was probably loving it.

But it still felt wrong.

Harper was fiercely loyal to Richie.

Who the fuck could—

“Sheryl! Hi, it’s Mary.” Mary’s demeanor shifted the moment the connection was made. She had a job to do and it wouldn’t help tearing at every loose thread until she herself became unraveled. “Yes, I am calling about Richie and Harper.”

“And Harper…” Sheryl’s voice was so cold and awkward. “I know Richie’s done something… Some things stupid. Very stupid. I hope Harper’s OK. We’ve always loved her and—”

“No, no, I’m not calling to have it out about Richie! I haven’t heard from Harper in a week! From everything that’s been going on, she’s left Richie for some other guy.”

Mary frowned as the woman on the other end collapsed into motormouthed apologies and excuses.

“Sheryl! Sheryl! SHERYL! Thank you,” Mary said, when the woman finally shut up long enough for Mary to get a word in. Sheryl seemed to have not heard one word about Harper leaving Richie. “I’ve agreed to meet Richie at Alice’s. No, no, the one by the Burger King. Right. I’d like you to be there as well. Dick too, if that’s possible. We need to get to the bottom of this. Besides, I could really use a slice of pie and it sounds like you could use one too. My treat.”

“You are the big rich lawyer woman,” Sheryl said. “That sounds like something we can do. You’re awfully together. I honestly think my son’s lost the love of his life and is now turning into his sister.”

“I can keep it together with a plan. How about in forty five minutes?” Mary said, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

“We went all the way out to The Marriott. Bit of a drive. Call it an hour? That’ll make it what? 6. Is 6 good?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you there.” Mary said. She tossed her phone onto the passenger seat. She knew better than to be driving on her phone. Still, she slumped inside her bucket seat. For just a moment. Then her mind clicked. She sat up straight and scanned the road.

All the cars coming back into the neighborhood, she could’ve wrapped herself around a tree like Caitlin.

“Harper… You miserable wretch. Why couldn’t you have been Mama’s best friend? Like your father.”

Maybe Mary should’ve called Aaron too.

She didn’t reach for her phone.

“Check! Microphone stage left! Check! Check!” The roadie flashed Gabrielle a thumb’s up. She smiled and took the headset off and handed it to her manager. This part of the job, she didn’t hate.

There were other parts she liked more. Performing. The energy of the crowd in a good show was addictive. But what if the show sucked? What if the crowd wasn’t feeling it? What if? Fuck that! Horseshit! She’d done enough bar shows and garbage venues to know what dying on stage felt like. The kind of lows worth slogging through to get to the highs? Worth it. This tour had been incredible. Her worst show, Regina, had still been lightning in her veins. When five thousand people came out to be entertained, they fed and engulfed each other like brushfires building into an inferno.

It was harder to fuckup than a bar show to sixty people who would’ve been out that night without the musician.

She never felt that energy until after she got out on stage. If she thought too hard on it, she was certain it would never be there.

Songwriting, when it worked, was one of the most fulfilling things she’d ever done. When it didn’t, when it felt fake, cowardly, plastic. The eighteen songs on her setlist, she’d written number six. Where Have You Been And How Will I Get There: no one’s favorite but hers. The rest of the songs she’d written, they were all juvenile and lonely and forgettable. The ones that had been written for her, energy and brightness that refused to stop digging into your ear.

Those songs were fun. She loved energy and brightness. She fit the role and it was great. Still, the songs felt like dressup. With the three costume changes the choreography called for, they looked like dressup.

Where Have You Been And How Will I Get There

She couldn’t let herself neurotically burrow into all the thoughts about the show tonight. Thus soundcheck. Prepare and rehearse. Her backup dancers were in the back room, clearing their jitters with marijuana and cocaine.

Gabrielle cleared her jitters with work.

The roadies were happy to have her. The stadium held sixty-five hundred people. Sold out for months. Then finally Newfoundland and she’d be on her first international tour.

Another thought to terrify her.

Another thought to try and break her show for tonight.

It was her show. Her face, her body, her voice, and hell, her fucking song. So it was the slowest point of the show. A moment of uncertainty and maybe heartbreak queuing up an anthem for reclaimed power and showing the world!

Her show.

“Hey, Gabrielle,” one of the roadies pointed to the standing mics for her backup singers. “You want to get those?”

“Course I do,” she smiled. “Got any requests?”

“How about a few bars from Hate Me Like You Love Me Like You Hate Me? It’s my favorite.”

“Yours and everybody’s, Curtis,” she said, smiling radiantly. “Not too many people get a one on six show, boys.”

At least not anymore. She smiled, remembering the shows to family and friends, where not even all of her family could make it. A crowd of six thousand immaterial faces. A bar of sixty strangers who didn’t give a shit. Six roadies and security guards she’d worked with for the last few weeks.

It was dressup.

She smiled her way through a chorus and walked over to the second mic. This time she licked her lips and tried Where Have You Been And—

“We’re all good Gabrielle!” Curtis flashed his thumbs up before she’d finished the first words.

Her smile was for the stage. And that’s where she left it when she headed to the dressing room.

Perla dragged Richie into the shower hopping and swinging her hips. Caitlin was still in the bedroom, fucked senseless. That’s what she claimed.

“I’m fucked senseless! Go away! Shower with the perfect ass!”

Senseless. Nothing left in her at all.

Perla was picking bottles off the shelf. Nat had good taste but, sniffing Richie’s Old Spice body wash, having that smell follow her all shift would be heavenly. She shook her head, watching Richie’s body run with showerfall as he stayed under the spray.

“Are you excited for tonight?” she asked. She tried to smile, it wasn’t difficult. Her heart and mind were still floating with post-coital bliss.

“Are you?” he asked, keeping his head under the water.

She immediately ran her hands up his back while singing Hate Me Like You Love Me Like You Hate Me. He turned around. He had a grin on. Dangerous. Driven. Doomed. If her pussy wasn’t already a mess of herself and him, she’d have wetted up instantly. He grabbed her hair and her shoulder. He pushed her back against the tiles. He grabbed under her ass and hefted her up the wall.

“Richie!” she moaned and snaked her legs around him.

“She’s late for work,” Nat said from the door. Fuck her fast.

“Fuck!” Richie said. He twisted his head over her shoulder. He couldn’t see his sister through the shower curtain. Just a shadow. She didn’t seem like she was naked. “Nat! Go fix up Caitlin. I need my wing-girl at her best.”

“Of course,” Nat said, boiling with happiness to go do what he asked.

Perla grabbed his mouth in a hard kiss as soon as he turned back to her. She was on fire. She didn’t get to be alone with Richie in a bed, or a shower, too often.

Why couldn’t she just quit work?

Maybe they’d fire her for being late?

No, he told her she had to go. Oksana and Flo were at BK. Lilith had the kid. Nat. No, not Nat. So it was Caity or Zita.

Zita had to be kicking herself now. Before she had realized Richie was not only the guy for her, but that Harper wasn’t going to be in her way after realizing that, Zita had openly complained about Harper’s taste in music.

Small victories. Perla couldn’t go. Zita could go, but she was purposefully not invited. That was worse.

There was something old and familiar in this sense of social conquest over her co-girlfriend. Something to make up for the fact that Perla was just one of a harem. Sending Nat scurrying helped too.

A happiness she’d never take for herself. If Richie did it, so be it. She had spent months since high school, slowly being forgotten online by all of her clique who had gone off and done something more with their lives. Now she only had these girls and Richie. Real friends. The most amazing guy.

That heat in her kiss, it would someday burn away the last predatory feelings she had in her heart. But for today, for this amazing fuck, she’d revel in standing above the other girls.

Her ankles were crossed under his butt. Her knees squeezed his hip bones with the tremors in her thighs. She was sore, a live wire, a raw nerve. She had been fucked and used all afternoon. Her fingers pricked the back of his skull and she burrowed her nose into the side of his neck.

His cock hammered up into her. Her ass squealed on the wall tiles. The pummeling of the shower rattatatted on their skin. He was coming at her with power born on some tightly wound emotional spring.

They had all seen it. Every conversation that got even a little into feelings: love or guilt, had set Richie off like a firecracker in a frog’s ass. Oksana claimed she had set him off on purpose. Caitlin nudged the other girls to light the fuse. Perla didn’t know.

She wanted to hear an “I love you, Perla.”

She wanted to hear an “I love you, Perla.” from someone other than Oksana.

Perla had started saying it first. Oksana said it back, but was it the way she would say the words to Richie?

Would he ever say it to either of them?

Could you love more than one person?

She thought yes. But maybe not until he said goodbye to Harper. Perla could wait.

It wouldn’t be hard with sex this good.

He shifted his grip. He clutched her ass and folded her legs up so he could fuck forward, into her and into the wall. Her spine was instantly sore as her pussy. The fucks hit her like repeated shocks. Her head rolled back and she gasped. She sputtered out the mouthful of shower water.

His eyes shot to hers. Worry over her choking sounds. She smiled. His eyes calcified. He kept fucking all the way through. She leaned in, moving her lips, almost kissing him, but pressed to his mouth.

He only took a second. He was baited. He seemed so easy sometimes.

Their kiss broke. Her shoulders squealed as she dropped an inch on the wall. He heaved her back up. Her back straightened again. He was lifting and dropping her now. Holding her. Pinning her. Fucking her. She was just a tool in his hands.

Her heart had never beaten so hard.

She tried to moan and speak, but he kissed her hard. Some of her gulping breaths were of his tongue. Her face reddened like the skin of her sorely used thighs.

She was cumming again. Her pussy throbbed with spiking pain.

Too much!

But Richie wouldn’t be stopped. She wouldn’t dare say it out loud. Her head swam as she groaned through her pounding climax.

“Har…Perla!” He groaned. Shaking his drooping head. She sneezed out his wet hair whipping over her nose. “Perla!”

“Richie!” She tried to add her voice to his. Her voice was cracked and scratchy. His cum splashed inside her.

He slowed, easing her down the wall as his used cock shriveled up. They kissed lightly again.

“Hey, I don’t have much time,” she said, trying to hold his shoulders too tight as she flexed her toes and bent her knees. No, they weren’t about to collapse like rubber hoses. She held tightly a while longer anyways. She looked up at him, her wet bangs nearly blocking out her eyes. “Wash my back and hair.”

“Of course,” he said, smiling. “I gotta hurry too.”

“Not too quickly,” she said. “I want you seated at my table.”

“You sure?” he said, worried. “Nat said Harper’s Mom and Dad were there.” His face lost its color. “They’ve heard stories of you, surely.”

“Then why’d Nat give them my restaurant?” Perla said. She moaned as Richie’s hands went to her scalp.

“Because that’s where we were going anyway,” Richie said. “It’s down the street from Center 200.”

“Where you’re going to seduce a sexy rock star?” Perla said, grinning on the outside.

“Anything less would be shameful,” Richie said.

“Jesus,” Perla said. “That’s putting a bit too much of yourself on the line. Some girls say no.”

“Not if I do it right,” Richie said. “Not if I do it right.”

Zita sat in the lotus position on Flo’s old couch. It was ratty and super comfortable. It had been fucked on so many times on the night she had failed to make sure her hard partying friend had a drink.

Lilith was down on the floor, playing Legos with Trevor.

“You can play too,” Trevor said to Zita for the eighth time.

“What are you building?” she asked, but she wasn’t looking. She was just watching the time on her phone. Every second of every minute. She couldn’t see Richie again until after the concert. Would he bring Gabrielle here? Her hotel room? Her tour bus?

The only thing Zita knew was that she couldn’t spend the night by herself in the room, waiting. So she had followed Lilith out here for moral support.

“Laser guns!” Trevor said, holding two L-shapes with finger guards she pointed them at Zita and made raygun noises. He frowned when she didn’t play along. He dropped his hands and turned to Lilith. “You need more fun friends.”

“Why? I’ve got you little man!” Lilith said. She blinked for a second. “No, I only need one man.” The words weren’t quite audible.

“Then get better girl friends,” Trevor said. “But all girls hate fun. Except for you, I guess.”

“That’s very true,” Lilith said.

“Hey! I don’t hate fun!” Zita said, snapping her head up. “Fine! Laser guns it is!”

Within an hour, a dozen laser guns were built and broken. Flo would regret heading down there barefoot for the next five years before every brick was painfully found.

Morwen’s teeth were on edge. Five days and Richie had left that bean on the desk. Sitting on top of his precious backstage tickets.

Often the boys she bribed would pick out and dream of their perfect girls. Seldom would they hold out and actually seek them out.

Harper was in her cell.

Morwen wouldn’t look weak in front of her prize.

Some of the old slaves tended her. Filling her wine. Feeding her grapes. Eating her pussy. Sober. Tasteless. Anticlimactic.

Harper still had light in her eyes. The old and used could put whatever work they wanted into their tongues and jaws, Morwen wasn’t going to cum by something she couldn’t respect.

She shooed away some skinny looking girl. The girl offered an apology in German. Helga? Heidi? Slave.

Morwen climbed to her feet. There was no reason to do so but she headed out to the gardens. The girls here had burnt out all of the light, the fight, in their eyes. The job would never be half done.

Pumpkins, beans, apples, grapes. She ran her thumb over the fruit of the knowledge of good and evil. She shook her head. So many stories about her garden. Never one accurate. The fruit wasn’t ripe.

Would Harper be enough? Probably not.

Morwen walked inside. She looked at herself in a hallway mirror. She looked… imperfect. A bath. A bit of fun.

Harper stared up defiantly as her cell door opened.

“Come, I need my back scrubbed,” Morwen said.

“He’s gonna make you even more frustrated,” Harper said, not getting off her seat on the floor.

“Actually, he seems to be quite capable of satisfying women,” Morwen said. “I just need a little more work.”

“I’d say so,” Harper said. “Your lips are so thin. Your tits hang too low. You’ve got crow’s feet and—”

“Get up,” Morwen said. “If you’re so keen on flapping your tongue, I’m going to put it somewhere that does some good.”

“And you gotta change your diet,” Harper said. “Your fish taste is spoiled.”

“Are you finished with your insults?” Morwen said.

“I haven’t even started on your flat ass,” Harper said, smiling brightly and batting her eyelashes.

“No, but that sounds lovely,” Morwen said. “Now get up, or I’ll make you lick my ass before we have our bath.”

“Promises. Promises.” Harper said, her voice carried her sarcasm well but she was shaky when she climbed to her feet.

For fuck’s sake, Richie. What’s it going to take to get you to throw away that stupid bean?