The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lisa awakened. But not to the sound of her alarm clock this morning. The young professional had turned it off. If she wasn’t meeting Big B until noon, why did she need to be up early? And besides, she was up pretty late last night. Lisa had a lot of clothes to try on. A lot of outfits to put together. And a lot of pictures to take. Lisa had spent the previous evening flitting between the pile of new clothes, her bathroom for the good lighting, and her Picstagram account. By the time she practically passed out in bed, her generic ’gram had given way to XoMonaLisaoX. Her wall was plastered with pictures of her makeup, her nails, and a few outfits—though none on her yet. And a short was posted for the growing number of followers who came to the page.

“Hey dawls,” “Mona Lisa” said to the camera with her big, wide smile. “It’s ya best girl Mona Lisa. I know you fawkers are prawbably gettin’ tired of my face by now. But I can’t give away the goods fa’ nuthin! Get me to a thousand follows and I’ll let ya see a bit more.” She blew a kiss to the screen. “Later!”

That follower count was the first thing Lisa checked when she woke up. 600, up from 300 the night before. Not bad. One of her face pics had gotten to a few thousand likes. The thought of so many people seeing her new look gave Lisa a jolt of energy…and a little something else. The budding guidette squealed a bit as a fuzzy feeling of arousal spread through her. This wasn’t just fun. It was hot.

Lisa considered staying in bed a bit longer. Maybe to browse for more advice influencing. Or maybe to do something about that horny little feeling. But she saw it was already 9:30. It would take her at least an hour and a half to get ready. Maybe two. And then she’d barely have enough time to make it to the mall with Big B. Fawk. So Lisa got out of bed, shed her big shirt and shorts, and headed for the bathroom.

Now naked and looking at herself in the mirror, Lisa could see her appearance had changed again. Now shot with pink and blonde, the further darkening of her hair was obvious. Almost as obvious as the growing weight on her chest. Lisa’s handfuls from yesterday were now two large orbs resting proudly on her chest. But more than her size, Lisa’s boobs felt…different. They rode higher on her chest. They were rounder and smoother. Her nipples stuck out prominently. Lisa reached up and felt them. They were…firmer. Almost like they were fake.

For just a moment, Lisa stared into the mirror. She felt a creeping sense of alarm at the woman in front of her. The way she looked was wrong. The way she was acting was wrong. And why was she still wearing the silver necklace with the pink pendant…

…and just like that, the moment passed. Lisa’s nerves faded and she smiled into the mirror. She felt a swelling of pride in her (slightly artificial) chest. She was hot. For the first time in her life she felt like a babe. And it was only going to get better. Her new best friend was going to make her fawking hotter.

Lisa stopped vogueing in the mirror and stepped into the shower, setting up her phone to play videos as she washed herself off. Normally Lisa might put on a podcast for a long shower. But today she had a series of videos on how to expand social media reach. Instructions on how to do her hair. And of course, shows about guys. What to look for in a guy. How to pick one up. Red flags. That twinge of arousal from before hadn’t gone away. And now Lisa found her mind increasingly occupied by thoughts of strong arms, washboard abs, firm butts…

…big, long, penises…

…no. Big, hard cocks.

Lisa let out a giggle-snort at just the thought. She’d been with a few guys. She wasn’t a virgin. But she’d never felt so boy-crazy. She was almost ashamed to admit that Brad—that fucking douche—crossed her mind. Poor Clark. He was a nice boy, for sure. But a bit too flabby. A bit too soft. She loved the guy. But he was a guy. Brad might have been a douche, but he was a man.

By the time she was done in the shower, Lisa was thoroughly frisky. Too frisky to reply to the texts from poor Clark. She had let work know she wouldn’t be in today. But she hadn’t told her friend. She left his texts asking where he was and if she was okay on read as she toweled herself off and applied her thick makeup once more. Soon her face lit up once more with orange foundation caked across it, yellow eyeshadow, and bright pink lip gloss. A final dousing of cheap perfume was what finally tipped her over the edge. Lisa had woken up horny. She’d driven herself further thinking about men. But nothing turned her on more than herself. No…nothing turned her on more than Mona Lisa.

Lisa ran her hand down her own tummy and towards her pelvis. Her womanhood was shrouded in a thick, brown bush—a problem to be dealt with once she could focus again. For now she snaked two fingers topped with long, fake nails through the thicket of hair and into her womanhood.

Lisa inhaled sharply and moaned. She’d had sex before. She’d jilled herself before. But sex had never felt this good. “Faaaaaaaaaaawk!” she cried out in her accented, Mona Lisa voice as two fake nails slid inside of her. She guided them to dance around her clit, teasing herself between the sensation of sharp nails and supply fingertips gliding in and out of her. Lisa fell to her knees and then backwards on her ass. She separated her knees and thrust herself in time with her own ministrations.

“Fawk,” she gasped.

“Fawk!” she moaned.

And with one more thrust inside of herself, the dam burst. A wave of pleasure flooded through Lisa. “FAWWWWWWWWWWWWK!” she screamed, oblivious to the pool of fluids she’d left leaking onto her bathroom floor.

It was incredible, just like every other new experience Lisa had gone through this week.

As incredible as it was, though, the sensation subsided. Lisa found herself naked and panting on her bathroom floor, a tiny pool of liquid having leaked between her legs. For a moment she allowed herself to lean back against the wall. She took a deep, relieved breath. Fawk indeed. That was…something. And something Lisa wanted to experience again. But a quick look at her phone told her she was already running behind.

“And now I gawta shave my coochie,” she muttered to herself. Lisa didn’t even need to force the accent. In the wake of her explosive orgasm, it just…came. Lisa giggle-snorted. It came. Like she came.

Lisa finally managed to scramble to her feet and towel off the juices she’d left on herself and on the floor. She just about grabbed her razor…but hell. Why not ask Big B to go get a Brazilian with her. Lisa clapped and giggle-snorted. Puhfect! Two birds, one stone, all that shit.

Turning back to the mirror, Lisa decided to make her hair as simple as she could get away with today. She ran a straightener through her dark, voluminous hair before pulling it back into an impossibly tight, high-angle ponytail that cascaded halfway down her back. And with her hair done, it was time for her outfit.

Lisa returned to her room and stood over the pile of clothes she had left out from yesterday. A part of her noted that she’d become one of those girls with clothes strewn all over her room. Lisa hated those girls, but suddenly didn’t seem to mind becoming one. She’d fold and hang and put all her stuff up later. After she hung out with BB.

Lisa stood over the pile for a few minutes in deliberation. She had coordinated her new clothes into several outfits. But she had to pick which one she’d use to blow Big B away. The one that would fit Mona Lisa’s big debut. After entirely too much time passed, Lisa reached down and began to pull her look together. She started with a leopard-print G-string. Lisa put her feet into the gaps in the stringy thing, left then right, and pulled it up. It was her very first thong, but it felt perfectly natural. Her matching bra was easy to find. It was a bit too small now after her growth from last night, but she still managed to wrestle her bigger, faker tits into the cups. Lisa stepped into a leather miniskirt next. And then into a pair of fake croc-skin heels.

Lisa’s search for a top, though, led her to a simple conclusion. Mona Lisa wouldn’t need a top. Her big fur coat would work just fine. And if she took it off? Who would object to an eyeful of her new and improved funbags? The thought of strangers looking at her barely-bra-clad breasts…her big fawkin’ tits...provoked another giggle-snort from Lisa. Hunky men. Their jealous, bitchy boyfriends…

“No, bad Mona Lisa!” she chided herself. “I can’t get cawt in my cooch again or I’ll be even later!”

Pulling her thoughts away from her imagined admirers, Lisa—Mona Lisa—threw the fur coat over her shoulders and grabbed the tiny, hot pink, fake-name brand purse and headed out the door. She’d grab a coffee and a snack on the way. She was already going to be late, but Mona Lisa knew a big, sugary coffee was the only thing standing between her and being a world-class cunt. And that wouldn’t do for Mona Lisa’s big day out.