The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

(Fd, Mc, MF)

DISCLAIMER :

READ NO FURTHER IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18 OR IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY GRAPHIC DESCRIPTIONS OF SEXUAL ACTIVITY.

All characters, situations, and locations are purely fictional.

Permission granted by the author to archive, post, or redistribute as long as he is notified at and none of the story content is changed and no profit is attained as a result of the archiving, posting, or redistributing.

Author’s Note: This is my first foray into mind control stories. People who have suggestions, people who have positive or constructive criticisms, and people who know women who love using their breasts to entrance, feel free to email . Have a great day.

It was never about size. My weakness, my Achilles’ heel never belonged to a Kristy Canyons or Misha Mountains. It was never about the size of her breasts, it was about the size of the smile on her face when she knew how I was sinking.

The focus on my girlfriend’s breasts were at first more about her than it was ever about me. She was 5′7 and only about 110 lbs. Expecting a “C” cup is a little silly unless she happened to not have any legs, which was not the case. She had long, toned legs—gorgeous legs... but I digress. She was an “a” cup, which at least here in the states doesn’t exactly mean flat, but it does mean small and perky. If her nipples weren’t so prominent (and perfect), she could have gone without a bra everyday, but they were, and she enjoyed her miracle-click bra too much anyway.

But it all began that one day when I was teasing her about being submissive. She loved my cock and loved when I would direct her. It wasn’t mind control, just sexual control. Anytime I would put her hand over the bulge in my jeans, it would take grit and determination on her part not to start stroking. I would help matters by putting my hand over hers and start slipping it up .... And down.... Up .... And down.... By the fifth stroke she would often be licking her lips. By the tenth, she’d be licking mine.

On this particular day though, I teased a little too far. She knew I liked Charisma Carpenter, Heather Graham, and Jennifer Love Hewitt. Women with decidedly pronounced curves. So as my hand reached out to hers, I brought it to my lips and kissed it, but as I brought it slowly down, she knew what was going to happen and stopped me, laughing.

“Oh no, no you don’t!” She jerked her hand away. “No fair! What if I did that to you anytime I was horny?” I, for maybe only the seventh time in my life was without a witty retort. Sensing me on the ropes, she grabbed my hand and brought it to her breast. “Well, sweetheart? What do you have to say?” My hand lay on her breast, feeling the swell beneath her blouse, still speechless. Not moving, not speaking, barely breathing. And she took full advantage. “Oh now we see what happens when the tables are turned.” She squeezed my hand so as to have me squeeze her breast and I could only moan. I had touched her breasts thousands of times, but it was not the same... something else was at work. She began to unbutton her blouse and my hand slipped from her breast, breaking the spell.

“Um, uh, wow, look at the time!” I said, giggling nervously. Yes, giggling at 27. I started to slowly step back towards the door and she just stood up. Her mouth smiled, but her eyes didn’t. They were hungry. They knew they had the upper hand, and that was that. She started unbuttoning her shirt as she quietly asked “What’s wrong sweetheart?”

Her blouse was untucked. Her hands moved down her stomach, releasing all of the buttons, showing her black push-up bra. “Noth.. nothing sw.. sweetie.”

She mocked surprise. “Its not..” she slid her fingers over the top of her cleavage, “my breasts, is it?” My eyes continued to stare into her icy blue ones, but my peripheral vision saw everything. The bra pushing her breasts together and up. Her slight cleavage. Her one mole on the top of her left breast.

My back hit the door, but nothing shifted. It only registered with that quiet outer voice in my mind that told me “I’m standing.” “The room is white.” “The door has stopped me from progressing.” All emotion, passion, need, weakness, and hunger were focused exactly where she wanted them.

She stepped toward me, leaving only inches between us, her hand was now inside her bra. “Are you sure it isn’t my breasts?” She pinched her nipple, but didn’t let her eyes close in pleasure, she just let it drive her arousal, her desire to have this scene play out. Her eyes, if anything, grew larger, and seemed to hold me stock still right there against the door. “Well if it isn’t my breasts, you surely won’t mind if I unclasp my bra would you?” My mouth was as dry as the desert, and about just as useful. She waited, an evil smile just behind her neutral lips. Obviously silence wasn’t what she wanted for she reached her hand out and grabbed my hard thick cock through my jeans.

This wasn’t her meek touch. This wasn’t her touch of exploration, of need. This was a touch of ownership, of control. She gripped my cock firmly splitting my attention thrice: eyes, breasts, hand/cock. I shook my head, not even recalling the question, only wanting to give her whatever she wished. No watches, no candles, no spells, and she had me just by tapping into a single weakness, and I needed it so badly.

Her other hand slipped behind her and unclasped her bra. The bra released her breasts, and in so, the item slipped further down, revealing almost down to her nipple as it still hung loosely from her shoulders.

“Sweetheart,” she began. “Shouldn’t we always be truthful with each other?” She gave my cock one firm squeeze with her small hand as I nodded weakly.

“Then tell me, what has you so helpless, baby? It is my breasts, isn’t it? My lovely breasts have you all weak and hard and needy. Perhaps they’re too much for you, hon?” Her eyes looked at me, already knowing my answer before it spilled from my lips.

“No.. please....” My knees were nearly ready to buckle, her hand, still not having touched my cock, had gotten me harder than I had ever been before, simply by playing with me through my jeans. “I need them.” I didn’t know if this would instantly halt this scene, referring just to her breasts, but I couldn’t lie. I needed them, I needed her to let me have them.

As I removed any social civilities, she did as well. By hearing my words she seemed to take on a manner of pure unadulterated sex. Her movements were faster but still held grace. She brought down her bra with one hand and covered her breast with her other arm. Her dark blue eyes held mine as she brought her bra up and put one of the cups over my lips.

“Mmmm, this is what gets to touch my breasts all day.” She whispered as I felt the softness of the bra brush over my lips, cheek and nose, filling me with her scent. “This is what gets to hoooooold my breasts allll day.” She leaned closer and pressed her cheek to mine as she whispered, “Don’t you wish you could do that?”

My lips could only fumble out “Please...” as I breathed her in deeply, heavily.

Her grin turned predatory as she leaned her breasts into me, her hand unzipping the jeans. “Please? Please what darling? Please take you? Please let you suck? Please let you become addicted to my perky perfect ... tits?” Her demure mouth saying the word made my cock rush into her hand as she fished me from my jeans and boxers.

With every stroke of my prick she pressed into me. Up...press.. down.. slip away.. Up.. press.. down.. slip away.. Until the precum coated the tip of her finger. “Please make you mine?” she whispered. “Please make you my pet?” She painted her left nipple with my precum. “Please make you my slave?” She released the bra from my mouth and gripped my hair in her hand, bringing me to her breast. “Oh, please suck, baby boy.”

I didn’t feel the hand in my hair, the hand on my cock. My world was her breast, her nipple, her nipple being fed to me with my taste on it... licking my own precum... giving in to what she was doing to me. Ten seconds.. ten minutes.. she brought my head up from her breast, now wet from my tongue. Air rushed out of my lungs in a moan, my eyes barely opening as she pulled back just slightly and licked my lips. “Goooood boy”

Taking her bra she pressed it once more to my lips and then dragged it down my body to my still throbbing cock. Slipping the straps around my throbbing dick, she tugged at me. Once it was secure, she smiled once more and said, “Follow me, my good boy.” Her stride was slow, languid as she walked to the bedroom, her bra the bond between us. My body trudging on of its own accord, no conscious thought left, just pure need, hunger, lust driving my body on.

Leading me into the bedroom, she slipped me down on the bed, releasing the makeshift bra-leash from my cock. and took down her panties as she whispered over and over again, “Good boy.. oh there’s a good titboy..” My eyes followed all events peripherally as her breasts bounced a bit as she stepped from her panties. How they hovered over me when she slipped onto my cock. How they jiggled just so as she took me all the way.

And as she leaned her lithe body down towards me, her breast coming closer and closer to my lips, I opened up.. and sucked, so weakly, so needy, everything else just drifted into the distance. Her scent, her heat, her words, everything just became part of that sensation of wonderful warm breast in my mouth.

Words reached my ears just barely over my suckling sounds, or perhaps through the suckling sounds. “Breast.. suck.. love.. mine.. taste.. always.. lust.. hunger.. mine.. command.. obsession.. only.. obey... enjoy.. need... mine...” I don’t remember cumming. I don’t remember how big an orgasm it was-how my hips thrust up so sharply, burying myself so deeply inside her. I don’t remember the size of it. But then it was never about size.