The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

An entire room of Mommy and Me participants, and they all wanted to fuck him.

“Tummy time, lets go!” a half-dozen infants were lumped onto their milk-stuffed bellies. Two immediately began to cry, and the other four still gaped about, eyes unfixed, pajama-clad limbs struggling with oversized heads. Nathan made his entrance, and six Mommy heads swiveled in his direction. Even the ones with mewing, unhappy kids.

“Ladies,” he said. Five of the Moms gave him what he wanted: that timid, eager smile, the one that craved approval and attention. He drank in the little things. Chloe flipping her long, dirty hair over her shoulder, raising one leg to arch, half-seductively. Breanna checking her own shoulders for baby spit-up, just in case he would notice. Christina picking up her crying baby a bit too quickly, shushing her a bit too frantically.

“Okay, tummy time up!” the instructor said. The only one that Nathan hadn’t drugged at some point. She always arrived in leopard print, and Nathan was a bit intimidated by her. She had abs.

“I’m off,” he said, to the women.

“What city?” Shelby said. Another highly enjoyable part of flirting was how perfectly made up all the girls were, to have their babies urp up on them in someone else’s living room. Shelby wore expensive valentine-red lipstick, Breanna had recently lightened her hair. A lot.

He shrugged to indicate that it hardly mattered. That was the height of wit: everyone but the instructor tittered, their babies crawling all over them. The instructor frowned. She was honestly too much of a hardbody for Nathan, who knew himself well enough to know he liked them soft. A crowd of adoring young mothers, tits swollen, in their best black tights, suited him fine. He was twenty-seven.

“Alright, bub, goodbye kisses again,” his son was presented to him, by his wife. The kid got three ceremonial forehead kisses. Caitlin looked comparatively tired. They’d figured that childrearing would be a snap—she was a stay-at-home even before the infant arrived. But babies were a lot of work, and, since he was a traveling salesman, it was Caitlin’s work. She was the lone woman, outside of the instructor, to not have some sexy accoutrement, be it earrings or powdered cheeks or making sure her legs fell open just so.

“So long,” he said, cupping her back in a half-hug. His son was still working on holding his head up.

“So long,” Caitlin echoed. A spark of the old Caitlin found a way, and she ran her tongue along her bottom lip, just for a half-second. So only he could see. She lowered the child so he couldn’t hear them talk. “You’re missing out on… hmmm… eight blowjobs and I was gonna let you fuck my tits.”

“You did the math,” Nathan said. She walked him to the door, leaving the kid in his bouncer.

“You don’t really need to go, you were promoted,” Caitlin said.

“I was wrong about that,” Nathan said. He’d made a big mistake, hinting that the promotion meant less travel. He could’ve, true. But all his success in the business world came from sharing drinks. “It’s just more responsibility.”

“I’ve seen your mileage. You get radiation, that many hours on airplanes. Your balls are already weird enough.”

He leaned down for a goodbye kiss, and was surprised when she demurred. Indignation sputtered: he’d paid for the house, he’d arranged the friends, he’d made the child, travel was the cost. Nathan tamped it down, kissed her on the cheek. Caitlin looked concerned, aware she’d made a major move. “What if he learns to walk while you’re gone?” she whispered.

“He’s three months old,” Nathan said.

“That would make it even more incredible.”

He never drugged anyone on an airplane, although it would’ve been very easy. Small glasses getting passed back and forth by tired people. Staring ahead with a glassy, vacant expression was more normal than not. He was tempted, even so, after Caitlin’s petulant little fuck-off. There was a full-figured chinese girl one seat ahead and to the right, testing the plane’s stocks of chardonnay. She wore dark brown lipstick on a regional flight, Nathan’s kind of girl. A lot like Carli.

He stirred his own gin and tonic, annoyed.

Caitlin had gotten knocked up within a month of going off birth control. He’d put off commitments and made sure that, while ovulating, they were doing it essentially all the time. It was a time he missed. They were united in purpose, and it was gratifying to turn his cum towards its initial purpose. It felt wholesome. For Caitlin’s part, her usual intense personality, deep-seated need to drain his balls, and new interest in homemaking, all came together to concentrate on pumping sperm into her. She was completely insatiable.

“Just do me whenever you have any seminal fluid,” she had told him. “Just roll me over and stick it in me. Stay hydrated. You know. Lets go.”

They’d never have that again, now that the kid was here. He’d fucked her doggy-style in the middle of the day, watching football playoff games. He’d mentioned, at the start of an intensive three-course dinner, that he had a little juice, and she’d insisted he fuck her at the table. While he’d hunkered down afterwards she’d sat on the couch, legs in the air. They didn’t go anywhere ever. By the end of the week even Caitlin was ordering pizza and takeout, dirty dishes in the sink, as they urged each other on. True to promise, he never saw anything leak out.

Nathan took a drink of his G&T, contemplative. Not once had he gotten sore, or tired, or even bored. And Caitlin had gotten pregnant—immediately. She’d woken up and rushed to the bathroom, sitcom style, to throw up. The pregnancy test was a formality. And immediately after that, plus brushing her teeth, she’d wanted—needed—to blow him. She hadn’t sucked him in three weeks.

“I don’t think I could’ve lasted another day,” she’d said, positive test resting on the mantle, jacking on his dick. It still gummed up plenty of new cum. His balls felt as heavy as ever. “I felt dry. Just—” she didn’t bother finishing her sentence, needy mouth descending. When he squirted into her she nearly collapsed, eyes rolling back. It took several snaps before she could even begin to wake up. She’d blown him twice more that same day, while Nathan considered—he was gonna be a dad.

The pregnancy had been uneventful. Nathan had made the decision to give her a few new interests, since Caitlin definitely had no interest in getting a job, but was still complaining about boredom. Knitting was the first one, and was an immediate success. Time-consuming, cheap, productive, he’d only needed a few hints to get her started: “you will think about knitting and making clothes. It will feel good.” Within a month she’d parked spools of Vanna’s Choice yarn on the couch, figuring out the process of sweaters.

“What brought this on?” he’d asked.

“I’m fuckin nesting,” she’d told him, mock-regretful, holding up a puke-green sack that a baby could conceivably fit into. She also made her own crochet underpants, legitimately thrilled to produce them as the last stage in a strip tease. Her belly swelling, tits filling to match, pussy still smooth, Nathan was not going to be put off by amateurish undies. But it was not a fav.

Encouraged, he’d searched online for new hobbies to give her. Stuff that would suit her methodical side, pass the time without boring. There was jewelry-making [too expensive], gardening [seasonal], yoga [he wasn’t sure what yoga was]. Photography, especially, he put a lot of thought into. It was highly technical. On the other hand, her wet, greasy pussy pics had their own charm. He didn’t need to see well-composed up-skirts on his business trip.

While he considered these things, Caitlin ballooned. She probably had always been destined to be one of those pregnant girls who turn into round balls. A few times she sent him on craving runs, typically for ice cream. The one thing she couldn’t bake herself—“I’m keeping all my ovens hot,” she said, patting her belly, and then where another batch of cupcakes was in process.

Nathan had always prided himself on not minding her weight. It would’ve been so easy to have her lose twenty pounds. “Lose twenty pounds,” it would be as simple as that, perhaps—he swirled his drink—with some modifications to previous cooking instructions. But peak swollen, ripples threatening to fold over into adipose waves… it was a bit much. It was still, post-baby, a bit much.

Not that he minded.

He’d even put together her friend group. They’d moved into a just-built neighborhood newly coated with paint, and most of the neighbors were young marrieds. Every walk ran into other preggos. Caitlin tended to shy back, surprisingly uneasy, but Nathan made a point of inviting everyone over for nonalcoholic drinks. It wasn’t hard to get the girls alone. They were often thirsty. And by the way, after he’d assured them they’d love being friends with Caitlin, she was an excellent baker. Also Nathan wasn’t bad looking, was he?

Snap of the fingers.

It hadn’t been all cummy drinks and manipulation. For the most part, Nathan figured, they did normal couple stuff. That was good. He’d been possessed of dangerous hypnotic powers for a half-decade, and instead of executing devious plans on the mayor, he was going hiking on weekends. Feeling the baby kick. Putting a crib together, then apart, then back together, apart, then to Home Depot for screws, and together. Caitlin’s group chat filled up with moms-to-be, and Nathan felt satisfied. Then she had the baby.

The birth itself was uncomplicated if bloody. He knew from experience that Caitlin had hips to birth a foal, and she hadn’t disappointed. His only intervention, besides standing bedside, was a new innovation—‘push those hips’ would reduce her pain level one tier. Eager to try it out, he’d talked her out of an epidural—on grounds of her weight—and gone in natural. It had worked perfectly. Caitlin’s ragged breath had eased immediately. Then he had a son.

The plane touched down. He was two drinks in, but hadn’t intended a rental car anyway. Rank had some privileges. The thick asian girl in front of him managed to waggle her rear right in front of him for the entire walk out of the airport. He tried not to stare too avidly. He still had Carli’s number in his phone, under ‘BOSS’.

“Holiday Inn Express,” he told the uber driver. Another girl, this one a tired brunette with her hair in a braid, underneath a plush cap. He checked his phone. Nothing.

Caitlin had promptly switched her phone background to the boy, but Nathan had kept his as the bright blue default. The new family spent their first week realizing how much time they would all require from each other. The baby, whatever his good qualities, slept poorly his first night out, and rarely improved. He was prone to impressive shits. The doctor described him as moderately colic, and recommended they methodically check for food allergies.

But the parents still had needs. Especially Caitlin. She crawled back into bed at three in the morning, feeding accomplished, and pawed at his crotch. Nathan was a little conflicted—he had a heavy, leaden feeling in his balls from too little activity. But ultimately it was 3 in the damn morning, and he’d taken the midnight diaper change.

“Go suck someone else’s dick,” he mumbled, turning away.

“Nathan, come on,” Caitlin said, a few breaths later. “I just fed the baby.”

“It’s three a.m.”

“Nathan, please. I’ll be quick.”

That reminded him—he’d made her into a cum junkie, hadn’t he? Between feedings and an emergency store run for diapers and other commitments they’d gone days without mutual relief. He rolled over. As promised, she was fast. And Nathan’s cock did feel better. He was wide awake and it was three oh five. “Go to sleep,” he told Caitlin, sunken in her usual trance.

He had a harder time going back to bed.

Could he just tell her, no need? “You don’t need to suck Nathan’s dick as much?” He resisted it. They just had to get back into a predictable routine. Babies did sleep. But the situation was tense. Caitlin got onto her knees very quietly during the danger period at the end of the 10 a.m. nap. When a fart on a different floor would wake the child.

“What if the kid wakes up?” Nathan had hissed, guarding his zipper. He had never once done that before. His dick, as usual, agreed with Caitlin. It was a lazy Sunday morning. Prime time for a slow mouthfuck.

“Well… that would make for a difficult decision,” Caitlin said. She put her hand on top of his, and for a moment they were actually scrabbling over whether or not to pull down his fly. Nathan had thought of this moment—what if she was cumdrunk, useless and tranced, and the kid busted a gut wailing? The idea was singularly horrifying. But his balls really did ache. He ended up pulling down his own zipper and practically jammed his dick in Caitlin’s mouth. She smelled like breast milk. Of course, so did he. Both of their shoulders were barfed up all over.

Redhead was at the front desk. She had her hair in pigtails, and all three of the buttons on her polo collar were unbuttoned. “Oh, hi Nathan!” she said, smiling with a perky sincerity unusual for a 9 p.m. arrival. “Got your usual room all ready!” Her name was Patricia, and, as usual, she was perfectly attired in company clothes, tits set to burst the cheap cotton despite keeping the buttons loose. Nathan signed in and left his company credit card on the desk, underneath the usual form.

Upstairs in his usual suite he stowed his suitcase in the closet, kicked off his shoes, and checked his phone. “Miss u” from Caitlin, picture of her and the kid. He put a heart emoji on it. A few minutes later came the knock on the door.

Patricia was there with his credit card. Two quick looks down the hallway, and then he told her: bottle service.

The redhead stepped inside.

“Come on, I just have a few minutes,” she said, whispering for no reason. Immediately she was trembling, needy for him.

“Ah, I’m really tired,” Nathan said. He faked a yawn. Patricia made a noise deep in her throat and commenced to undoing his belt. She had quick hands, although without Caitlin’s practiced ease. Also she weighed about seventy eight pounds less. As usual she was completely taken aback by the size and girth of his dick. Every single time, it amazed her, and it was probably the best part of the routine.

But nonetheless, she started to diligently lick at his cock. Amateurish stuff, like it was an ice cream cone. He leaned back, leaving her to it.

Of course he could’ve told her anything, after ‘bottle service’. That she was his mistress, that she was a part-time sex worker, that she was just a slut who decided to suck a traveler’s cock. Changed her name, changed her entire personality. ‘Bottle service’ was the newest in Nathan’s jizz-tech, engrafting a brief personality for a limited time.

In the event, he kept it very close to the truth. When he said the magic words she knew she needed to walk inside, suck his dick, cum, and then get back to work. If she had subsidiary thoughts about why she was doing this, why it was necessary, Patricia had never betrayed them.

Also, she was absolutely sure she had to swallow every ounce of cum.

“You’re getting better,” he told her, as she licked at the underside. That was a lie—she was the exact same every time. It was always her first time blowing him, and she went about it the exact same way. The same tentative licks after gawping at his cock, a growing confidence, clamping her lips around him as he flooded her mouth. He said she was getting better for the momentary quizzical look just as her expression went slack.

“Do you ever suspect anything is up?” he asked her, once she was fully under.

Something else he never dared do with Caitlin, pump her for the truth.

“Yes.” Funny, he’d never once had a conversation with Caitlin this way. Under trance the girls talked very normally, just lacking any color or affect. Like a computer readout of a text. It was a little spooky, like getting a direct line into her soul. “My face smells like sperm and penis, I can taste it, my uniform is wet and sticky. I try not to notice it because you told me to, and then I forget. Like you told me to.” All in her robotic drone.

“Huh,” Nathan said. “I guess…” he stopped. Did it even matter? No, it didn’t. He tucked his dick back in and zipped up. Her tits hung forward as she waited for more commands. Still, he hadn’t touched her. It was stupid, he knew, but fondling her felt—creepy. Gross. “What’s something I can do for YOU?”

It was too much. Her brain softlocked. He’d gotten used to the signs—her mouth going extra-wide, eyelids drooping, and, most telling, a droplet of drool rounding out of her mouth. Asking too much of her limited cognition. “Nevermind,” he said.

He’d wondered this with Caitlin many times. Just tell her to be happy, just tell her to be friendly, just make her charismatic and wise and smart and funny. Tell her she was the smartest person in the world. What could he make of a person? Why couldn’t he do it, burn away all the frailty and indecision with one command?

What if he bottled himself, sold it on the market, the most effective cognitive-behavioural therapy ever devised. Not just change but greatness was locked within everyone, right? And he was made out of keys. He was a living catalyst.

Who was he even speaking to, when Patricia talked to him under trance? Some stripped-down inner cognition? It wasn’t really Patricia. Patricia was the girl who was foggily confused why her mouth tasted like jizz until she swiftly forgot it all. It was someone else. Someone only he could find.

Patricia drooled on the hotel carpet again.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” Nathan said. He shook it away. Pointless thoughts. “Patricia, you will walk out of here and return to your desk and then wake up. You will forget all of this as fast as you can, you will not care about what you do remember. Go.”

He let her get up, surprisingly agile for someone walking in a dream. He let her get to the door. “But first,” he added. “Cum as hard as you can.”

His little redhead shivered, put her back against the wall, and then slid all the way down it, shaking and moaning the whole way. She never bothered to touch herself. Her breath came in cute little gasps. Nathan watched the show, arms folded behind his head.