The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It was 6AM, and Brad was still asleep. The young businessman’s bedroom was tastefully decorated with modular furniture. There were no posters of bikini babes in his room. No empty beer cans. Brad’s image was clean and mature—nothing like his fuckboy reputation at work. The man himself laid in his bed snoring softly. His broad shoulders, firm pecs, and his fit four pack were all uncovered. As was his toned right leg. His left leg and his cock were covered by sheets stained with the mess he made last night.

And so was Mona Lisa.

Unlike Brad, the guidette was awake. She had snuck into his bathroom and turned on the lights. And now she was staring at herself in the mirror. Her expression was empty and blank.

Mona Lisa had gotten drunk last night, but she still remembered everything that happened. And without the pendant and in the wave of post-sex clarity, she was thinking more clearly than ever.

She remembered leaving the club and coming home with Brad. The whole way home her eyes were squarely on him, flitting between his handsome jaw, his strong arms, and his tented pants. He carried the guidette up the stairs to his second floor apartment. The moment the door closed, Mona Lisa had lost her dress and pushed Brad to the couch.

Mona Lisa’s memory of the night before mixed with her first true thoughts about her new body. Her first time seeing it without the influence of liquor, arousal, or the pendant. She looked at her big hair with its tawdry highlights and her thick makeup. When she had pushed Brad to the couch Mona Lisa had immediately relieved him of his pants and took all 7, thick inches of his cock into her mouth. Mona Lisa had never given a blowjob before. But her eagerness made up for her sloppiness. She ran her lips up and down Brad’s shaft. And eventually her rival grabbed her hair and started pulling her further and further towards his base. Brad’s pubic hair was short, well-groomed, and had the faintest hint of cologne mixed with his natural musk. Mona Lisa in turn dropped one hand to her crotch and began sliding her fake nails and fingers in and out of her pussy. Just as Brad was about to burst he pulled her off and held her by the hair. Brad came for the first time that night, sending ropes of sticky cum into her hair and smearing her makeup with it.

That was the first time he came. The two hadn’t stopped there.

Mona Lisa’s eyes moved from her cum-stained face and hair to her most prominent features. Her enormous, fake breasts. Lisa reached up and touched them. They felt like unusually stiff water balloons. They were too high on her chest with no natural sag. They were too round. And her stretched areola and nipples were off-center now, poking in slightly different directions.

They were sticky, too.

Once Brad had recovered from the blowjob Mona Lisa gave him, he stripped the rest of his clothes off and carried Mona Lisa to his bedroom. He laid her down, took her tits in his hands, pushed them together, and began to piston his cock between them. A tit-job. Lisa Ricci hadn’t even had enough tit for a tit-job. But Mona Lisa cackled and cooed as Brad pumped his dick through her botch-jobs. Once again, Brad pulled up as he came. He kneeled above the prone guidette, his twitching cock and dangling balls poised above her, and came again. This time he shot his load over the tits she’d just fucked, and Mona Lisa had wiped up the heaviest bits with her fingers and licked them clean.

Still at the mirror, Mona Lisa’s eyes turned to her shaved crotch, her wider hips, and her still-shapely legs—now all coated in the garishly orange tan she’d developed. Her whole body felt leathery. Whatever blemishes and stretch marks Mona Lisa had before were more obvious. And there was a sheen to her figure.

Before he ran out of steam, Brad had taken Mona Lisa one more time. This time from behind. She had squealed as she felt the head of his cock push against the lips of her pussy. She’d told him to do it. To get inside of her. And Brad had done just that. Mona Lisa squealed loudly as Brad pounded her with total abandon and without a hint of protection. The two went at it until Mona Lisa felt that telltale twitch inside of her. She felt Brad’s cum coating her vagina and her own juices leaking out. By then the both of them had been spent. The naked guidette fell asleep in Brad’s arms. But she hadn’t stayed asleep for long. And now she was awake. She was lucid. And she was looking at herself.

“What the fuck happened ta me?” Mona Lisa whispered to herself.

The question could have meant so many things. The changes to her body were genuinely impossible, just like Clark had tried to tell her. The way she spoke made no sense. But Mona Lisa had seemingly forgotten how to speak without her new accent. Her conduct at work was unforgivable. She’d have fired herself yesterday for even coming in looking like this. And the other things she had done—her hair, her tan, her makeover, her Picstagram, the way she’d screamed at Clark for trying to help her. Mona Lisa couldn’t recognize the woman staring in the mirror at her. And she couldn’t make sense of her actions.

…but that didn’t mean she regretted them.

The guidette leaned on the sink and sighed. She would have loved to tell herself that whatever magic altered her body caused her to act this way. And it certainly gave her a push. But even thinking clearly, Mona Lisa had to admit to herself that she’d had fun this week. She loved her tacky nails, her big hair, her orange tan, and God help her, she even loved her impossible bolt-on boobs. She had come to adore Big B as the kind of friend and fellow adventurer she’d never had in her prim and proper upbringing. And her night with Brad had been incredible. She could have blamed the vodka, but she’d have done it sober. Well…maybe she wouldn’t have let him jizz in her hair. His stuff would be impawsuhble to get out. But that was on the margins. She let out the tiniest giggle and the tiniest snort at those thoughts. And then she put her hands on her head and sighed.

Mona Lisa knew that something had been done to her. That becoming Mona Lisa had not been entirely her choice. And she was certain Brad had something to do with it. There were doubts in her mind. She could call Clark, she knew. She could never truly go back to the way things were before. But she could salvage some semblance of her career. She could control her new urges. She could make a living. She could try to be a professional even now.

But fawk. There was no way Clark was going to help her if she kept going to the Tiger Cage. If she kept fucking Brad. Sure he’d probably forgive her for yelling at him. But he’d want the old Lisa back. And even if Mona Lisa could make it happen, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

But she could just embrace Brad. As scummy and douchey as he was, he was hot. He was sexy. He made Mona Lisa feel like a woman. And if this had been his doing, then maybe he knew something about Mona Lisa that she didn’t. If Lisa Ricci preferred being Mona Lisa, maybe she’d prefer what Brad had in mind for her. Maybe she wasn’t the woman she thought she was. And maybe Brad knew what she’d want.

And it would be so easy. All Mona Lisa would have to do is climb back into bed. All she had to do was pull the sheets off of Brad. Suck his dick good morning. And then do whatever he said to make sure he got the promotion. He’d certainly gone all out for it.

Mona Lisa returned to the bedroom. Her eyes flitted between Brad and her phone.

And she made her decision.