The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It wasn’t that Doris didn’t see the old man about to cross the driveway of the boutique’s parking lot as she drove her Escalade over the sidewalk blocking his path. But she was in a hurry, and he clearly wasn’t, hobbling along on his antique wooden staff, his hair and beard disheveled, his clothing rumpled.

She was late for Helen’s poetry reading, having forgotten to buy a gift until the last moment. Besides, there was a good chance she would be on the road before the old man could even take two steps.

But then a flood of traffic seemed to come out of nowhere. Doris was trapped in the driveway, her SUV straddling the sidewalk. She bit her lower lip, looking for an entrance into the swarm of vehicles, almost forgetting the old man whose path she was blocking.

She was given an abrupt reminder of his presence as the ancient staff pounded three times on her window. She found herself staring into the intense face of the old man who seemed much taller suddenly, his eyes burning darkly.

“YOU ARE A COW!” he proclaimed, the extensive and expensive soundproofing of her vehicle completely impotent.

Doris shuddered and looked straight ahead, praying that the man wouldn’t try to break her window with his staff. She hit the accelerator as soon as a tiny opening appeared in the traffic. The people she cut off honked at her, but she was away from the crazy old man.

By the time she arrived at Helen’s extensive Tudor estate, Doris’ fear had calmed and her ire was up. How dare he? How DARE he call her a cow? A Cow! She was Mrs. Doris Acerson! Wife of a wealthy industrialist! Noted philanthropist and community leader! She made a mental note to cancel her donation to the homeless shelter. That would show the old coot!

Having determined her revenge, Doris felt much better. The middle aged blonde woman took a deep breath to calm herself, pulled up to Helen’s home, took the adorable little vase she had found at the boutique and left her Escalade with the valet.

She straightened her tasteful designer dress over her slim, fit frame and strode forward to rub elbows with the upper crust.

Helen was delightful as always and invited only the best and brightest to her poetry reading. Unfortunately, that meant that everyone there but Helen recognized that her poetry was utter drivel. But it was usually short and Helen’s caterer always provided exquisite hors d’oeuvres and marvelous wines.

Helen was a Senator’s wife and her friends were glad to indulge her delusions of artistry-especially since it allowed them to indulge in deliciously catty mockery while Helen was away in D.C.

Doris greeted everyone and accepted the vacuous compliments on her outfit while giving equal shallow compliments of her own. She made her way over to the caterer’s table. She requested a fine Chablis and then perused the hors d’oeuvres. Most were far too fattening. Doris valued her svelte figure. She was drawn to the little celery boats filled with caviar. Caviar, Doris knew, is a nearly perfectly balanced food, with 30% protein, 16% fat, 4% minerals and the rest water. Celery was, of course, calorie neutral. She grabbed a couple and then a couple more and went to take her seat and endure Helen’s odes to her navel.

Doris sat beside Mary Wilks. She liked sitting beside the doughy-faced woman as she looked even thinner beside her. She sipped her wine, then daintily put the first little celery boat into her mouth, its caviar crew resigned to their fate. Helen began gushing about raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens or some other such nonsense and Doris chewed.

It was very good. The celery, not the poetry. Fresh and green inside her mouth. She didn’t want to swallow. But she did want more. She put another piece in her mouth. And then another. It was really quite enjoyable. She didn’t even notice how loud she was crunching or that the chewed vegetable fiber was now making a noticeable lump in her cheek.

Others were noticing, however, as she popped the fourth celery bit into her mouth and bit down nosily. Helen stopped speaking, looking very flustered, and stared resentfully at her. Everyone was staring at Doris. She looked lethargically about the room, at the shocked upper-class ladies. Doris stared back, eyes dull, jaw slack, a trickle of green juice escaping her packed mouth unnoticed by her.

Suddenly, Doris realized what she was doing and just how full her open mouth was and just how embarrassingly uncomfortable the gaze of her fellow mondaines was. Her mouth clamped shut and she strained to swallow the wad of fiber in her mouth.

“Excuse me,” she said, looking down, then got up and strode to the restroom with as much dignity as she could muster.

Once locked in the confines of the bathroom, Doris allowed herself the luxury of panic. What had just happened to her? She was just sitting there, making an utter fool of herself, looking like a slack-jawed uncouth cow!

The thought sent a shudder through her. Could it be…

No. That just was an absurd thought!

Doris ran cold water from brass fixtures into the green marble sink. She splashed her face, trying to wash away the mounting terror. She was fine. Just a slip. She had let her mind wander. Let the crazy old man get into her head.

She patted her face dry and looked into the mirror, intent on convincing herself she was fine.

Big brown eyes stared back at her. Doris’ eyes were blue. They had always been blue. She was a blue-eyed natural blonde, damn it!

The big, dark, wet eyes stared back at her, terrified and undeniably brown.

Doris backed away from her reflection. She felt the wall against her back. She covered her face with her hands, shuddered and let out a low moan as she slid to the floor.

This was impossible, Doris told herself. She must be hallucinating. Yes, that was it. She must be feverish. She felt her forehead and it was hot. Two points just below her hairline were positively burning.

And her chest felt hot too. Her breasts were aching, ten-times worse than her worst premenstrual syndrome. Was she going through menopause? So soon? She was only forty two!

She was sweating profusely now, probably ruining her outfit as she sat in a miserable heap on the bathroom floor.

But her suit wasn’t a concern. What concerned her was her bra. The straps were cutting into her trembling flesh as if it was two sizes too small. She had to get it off! It was excruciating!

She fumbled clumsily with buttons, removing jacket and blouse and letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. Her breasts seemed to be pulsating and her bra was pressing red streaks into her pale white flesh, torturing her. She struggled to undo the clasp at the back, giving out a low moan at the seeming impossibility of it.

At last, the clasp came free and Doris tore off her tormenting undergarment and threw it across the bathroom.

She let out a slow sigh, flooded with relief. Her breasts still ached but not oppressively as they had before stripping from the waist up. It was just a dull throb now, with a slight tingle in the nipples that was almost pleasurable.

She looked down at her bare chest. Her breasts seemed to undulate and swell before her eyes. Her nipples were erect—more so than she had ever remembered them being, even as a teenager. They jutted out from her pale globes, a deep russet brown as thick and as long as her thumbs.

No, at second glance, they were as thick and as long as her husband’s thumbs. And the breasts they sprouted from were larger too!

With trebling hands, Doris reached up to grasp her mammaries to confirm their veracity.

They were real. Alive, warm and growing within her hands. And touching them felt so good!

“ooooo!” she moaned lowly, her fingers caressing the smooth flesh of her swelling breasts.

“Ooooooo!” she moaned as she hefted the ever-increasing mass of flesh her bust was becoming.

“Mooooooo!” she moaned in surprise as she squeezed her elongated nipples and found herself cumming violently.

“Doris, are you all right in there?”

There was a tap at the door. Doris panicked. What was she doing? What was happening to her? Her breasts were huge!

“I....I’m not well,” Doris managed. “I need to go home.”

“Would you like for someone to call you a cab, dear?” came the solicitous voice. Mary, she thought it must be.

“Yes! That would be good,” she said.

She couldn’t drive. Not in this condition.

“Just let me get...cleaned up in here.”

“All right, dear,” said Mary. “You just call out if you need help. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Doris stared disbelieving at the throbbing cantaloupes on her chest. Nothing to be embarrassed about? This was devastating!

Doris got up, trembling, feeling the foreign weight of her growing bust. She looked in the mirror, disbelieving at the brown-eyed woman with porn-star breasts staring back at her.

There were two large pimples growing symmetrically from her forehead. Any other day and she would have found that tragic. Now she barely noticed.

She gawked, wild-eyed, at her huge tits and fought down the urge to run away from her own reflection. She wanted to just bolt and make a mad dash anywhere. But she couldn’t just stampede out of Helen’s house half naked, showing everyone her deformity.

She had to calm down and figure out a way to get out of there with as little embarrassment as possible. She closed her eyes, breathing, imagining a relaxing image of a meadow filled with butterflies, flowers and rich, green grass. Vibrant, verdant, delicious grass. She could almost smell it and she began to drool.

No! She slapped herself in the face. She had to focus!

She opened the bathroom closet, hoping to find a way to hide her deformity. She sighed relief at finding a fluffy terry-cloth robe, then shuddered as she realized her sigh had come out as a long, low ‘moooooooo’.

She quickly pulled on the robe, covering her freakish tits, but the soft cloth brushing against her huge hard nipples made her quiver. How could this possibly by arousing? It was perverse! Insane!

She fought down the urge to twiddle her teats. She found a towel and covered her head to hide the zits and also hopefully shade her eyes. No one could doubt they were brown now. She must remember to keep her eyes on her feet once she left the bathroom.

Practicing, she discovered her feet were nowhere to be found. She would have to choose between showing her transformed eyes or staring at the monstrosititties growing from her chest.

Mary returned at last and told her that the cab was there. Doris took a deep breath and opened the door.

Helen was there along with Mary. Doris blushed deeply.

“I’m so sorry, Helen " she said. “May I please borrow the robe and towel? I’ll have them laundered and returned when I send for my Escalade.”

“Think nothing of it, dear!” said the senator’s wife. “The important thing is that you get home and get well. Or would you rather someone take you to the doctor?”

“Oh no!” Doris insisted. “I just... need to get home and lie down. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t know that she would be fine, but she didn’t know what she would tell a doctor either. She wasn’t even sure that any of it was really happening. Hallucinations seemed much more plausible than some crazy old man turning her into a... no, she mustn’t even think it. Just get home.

Her arms extended around her demonic chest, trying to hide it without brushing the mind-blowing nipples. Eyes firmly on the ground three feet in front of her, allowing her not to make eye contact while not seeing her swelling bust line, Doris let Mary lead her to the waiting cab with a gentle hand on her arm. She mumbled thanks and got in the back of the cab.

“Are you all right, ma’am?” asked the cabbie in a thick Indian accent.

Indian...Didn’t Indian’s worship...No! She mustn’t think such things! She mumbled that she was fine and he took the hint and drove in silence.

Half way home, the cab hit a bump and instinctively Doris unfolded her arms to catch herself. Her demonic bosom leapt and bounded with its new found freedom and the robe parted, revealing deep cleavage. Only her exaggerated nipples prevented the robe from falling open entirely. Doris scrambled to close the robe, but accidentally grabbed her teats instead.

“Moooooo!” Doris exclaimed, modesty forgotten as her head lolled to one side. It felt so good! Through unfocused eyes, she saw that the cabbie was watching her in the mirror, but she didn’t care! She pulled on her gargantuan nipples through the robe and milk began to soak the cloth. It was such a relief!

A horn honked and the driver swore and swerved, knocking Doris out of her unthinking bliss and back into the nightmare she had plummeted into. Milk? This was crazy! But the robe was now sodden and plastered to her chest, which continued to heave and swell.

“ohgodohgodohgodohgod,” Doris muttered under her breath.

After an eternity, the cabbie arrived at Doris’ home. He opened the door, staring unabashedly at her burgeoning bust. Doris didn’t even know how to respond, her mind numbed by the impossibility of her predicament.

She fumbled to take cash out of her purse, her bust getting in the way. She finally grabbed all the cash she had and gave it to the astonished driver, then staggered towards her front door, the unaccustomed weight of her tits making even walking a challenge.

At last, she was in her home. Her husband was away on business. Her daughter was away at college. She was alone. Finally, she could breakdown entirely.

She sat down in her favorite chair and began to sob. Tears flowed freely. Her chest heaved. With every heave, her tits grew a little larger. They pushed their way out of the milk-soaked robe entirely. Tears streamed down her cheeks and splashed on the massive mounds of flesh. How could this possibly be happening?

She stared at the monstrous mammaries through her tears. They couldn’t be real! It was impossible! She closed her eyes tightly and reached out, praying she would find her own small breasts.

Her hands clasped finger-long teats. She squoze them.

They were real.

And God but they felt so good!

Doris pulled and pulled on her extended mammillae. All the stress flowed out of her. Everything was fine. Just fine.

She opened her eyes and saw milk spraying in great arcs across her living room. She giggled manically. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Everything was fine.

She mooed.

When at last the milk stopped flowing, Doris gave a long, dreamy moo. Her living room smelled like vanilla ice-cream melting in the warm sun. Her pants and the carpet in front of her were soaked in creamy goodness.

Through a pink fog of euphoria, Doris realized she was hungry. She giggled drunkenly and pushed herself out of the chair. The momentum of her udders nearly toppled her forward, but she kept upright somehow.

She let the robe, which hadn’t any hope of containing her now, drop unheeded to the floor as she wobbled blissfully to the kitchen, her nipples still dripping.

In the shiny black veneer of her refrigerator, Doris saw what she had become. Staring mindlessly at her was a topless woman with two tiny horns growing out of her forehead, two massive udders jutting out from her chest, and a delirious look in her big, wet, brown eyes. Doris tittered madly, gave a little moo and opened the door.

There was a gallon jug of milk in the fridge, which Doris found funny. Her own jugs were at least three gallons each now.

But she had no need of the 2%. She wanted a salad. And there was a big plastic bag of baby greens! Doris mooed in utter delight!

She grabbed the bag of greens and let the refrigerator door close. Dressing wasn’t even considered. Opening the bag proved frustrating, though. Holding it in front of her, she discovered that her new udders prevented her two hands from meeting. Holding the bag under her gargantuan tits her hands could work together, but she couldn’t see the zip-lock mechanism.

Finally, she held the bag over her horned head. Completely out of patience, she ripped the thing open. Green leaves fell everywhere. Doris grabbed up the several that came to rest on her udders and stuffed them in her mouth. Chewing, everything became blissful once more. She chewed and chewed and chewed, mouth open, cheeks packed. Green vegetable juice dribbled from the corner of her mouth and dripped onto her massive milkers.

Eventually, she swallowed about half of the wad in her mouth and began looking for more while chewing what remained. Most was on the floor. She dropped to her knees then flopped forward, resting her udders on the cool tile. Pivoting on her monstrous tits, she raised her ass and lowered her head, grabbing up a mouthful of green with her teeth and working much of it into her mouth with exaggerated motions of her jaw and lips. Using her hands didn’t even occur to her.

She rocked forward again and retrieved some of the leaves that fell from her mouth initially. She chewed, open mouth dripping. She stared contentedly at the reflection in her refrigerator: a brown-eyed woman with impossibly huge mammaries and small horns growing out of her forehead, chewing her cud in slack-jawed bliss. Life couldn’t get any better than this.

Doris woke before dawn. For a moment, she thought it had all been some horrible nightmare. But the agony coming from her breasts belied this fantasy of normalcy and the huge pale globes jutting upward before her big brown eyes were undeniable.

And oh how they ached! She could see little drops of milk exuding from her exaggerated teats. She needed milking!

But that was what had made her embrace what was happening to her the day before! After milking herself, she had spent hours grazing, chewing her cud and mooing, not caring about anything at all, her mind completely lost to her.

Her pants reeked of sour milk and—oh god!—Had she soiled herself? Had she sunk that far?

No, she mustn’t milk herself again. No matter how her udders ached. No matter how her teats tingled. No matter how sweet the release would be. Her mouth watered at the thought.

No! She mustn’t! She needed to call a doctor...a psychiatrist...a priest...a veterinarian. Someone that could save her!

She pushed and heaved herself to a sitting position. Her massive milk jugs jostled and sloshed, throbbed and dribbled as they came to rest in her lap. Doris gave an agonized moo, then shuddered in bleak horror at her exclamation.

Staring at her impossible bust, she realized that it had grown even more in her sleep. Her tits were actually resting on her knees! She doubted she could even reach her nipples.

Doris’ eyes went wide. All resolve not to milk herself fled with the realization that she might not have any choice. She reached out and was horrified to confirm that, even squeezing her mammoth mammaries together with her arms, her fingertips could only brush the edges of her puffy aureoles. Depressing her tits did indeed cause an increase in the flow of milk dribbling onto her kitchen floor, but it only emphasized to her how urgent her need for a proper milking was.

Her brown eyes went wild as panic mounted and she let a mournful moo of despair escape her lips. She began to weep openly.

The sun was peeking through the kitchen windows when three loud knocks echoed through the house. Someone was at the door.

Doris shook herself out of her melancholy funk. Someone was at the door! Someone who could rescue her! But who could it be?

A cold lump formed in her stomach. She had no idea who it could be. Could she really let a stranger see her like this? She trembled in indecision and shame.

Three more knocks and Doris sprung up, lifted as if by invisible strings pulled by some insistent puppeteer. Doris found herself staggering inexorably toward the front door through no will of her own, her jugs sloshing and shuddering with every mechanical step. Walking past her living room mirror, she saw her horrified brown eyes staring from a face crowned by two long horns.

She arrived at her front door, unable to resist the imperative to open it. There, with the rising sun behind him, looking much taller than before was the crazy old man from the day before. He still held the old walking stick, but his rumpled old clothes were replaced by a rumpled old robe. He was smiling wryly.

“Good morning, Doris,” he said in a voice like desert wind.

It was him! The source of her torment and perhaps her only salvation. She could beg him to change her back, say she was sorry, plead for forgiveness and restoration.

But no. There was something she needed much more than that. It was the only thing she truly needed. She knew that now.

“Please,” she begged. “Milk me. I need milking.”

“Of course you do,” he said. “That’s why I’m here. But you’ve made a horrible mess and you smell terrible.”

He pushed his way past her overfull udders and into the room. He shook his shaggy head and clucked disapprovingly.

“Beasts should not dwell in houses!” he declared.

Then he sniffed and looked at Doris’ backside.

“And you’ve shit yourself as well!” he observed. “Animals do not wear clothing!”

So saying, he removed a long, thin knife from the folds of his robe. Doris’ eyes went wild with fear and shame. She looked to the open front door and was about to bolt when the old man said “Doris” in a calm but commanding voice that cowed her. Then with deft motions, he shredded her $400 pants without the slightest scratch to her skin. They fell away, along with her befouled underwear leaving her naked but for her pumps.

“Out of those ridiculous shoes now, Doris,” the man commanded.

“Then will you milk me?” she asked with infinite yearning.

“Out of the shoes, Doris,” he repeated.

She complied, stepping out of the sensible pumps.

“That’s a good girl,” he said. “Now let us get you cleaned up. Then you shall be milked.”

He prodded her gently but firmly with his large staff. Doris turned as directed and, leaving her front door wide open, let herself be pushed, sloshing and jiggling, to the back of her house and out the sliding glass doors into the garden.

The garden was in full bloom, tended lovingly by a group of men whose names Doris had never bothered to learn. Pink and yellow roses filled the air with their heavenly sent making Doris’ mouth water. She wondered how they would taste.

The old man produced a leather rope form the folds of his robe and looped one end around the horns protruding from Doris’s forehead. He tied the other end around the base of a stone birdbath. Then he went to retrieve the hose.

Doris’ brown eyes went wide as she realized what was coming and pulled against her restraint, but she was helpless. Soon a cold jet of water was assaulting her ass. She gave an indignant MOOOOOOOOO!

“Heh!” the old man said derisively and sprayed her all the harder, cleaning every trace of filth from her fanny.

At last it was over and Doris stood panting and trembling, her tether pulled taught, her backside dripping and chilled. The old man came along side of her and Doris shied away.

“There, there, Doris,” the man soothed. “That’s a good girl. You’re all clean now.”

Doris stared at him, untrusting, from the corner of her eye. She strained against the tether.

And then the old man pulled something from the folds of his robe and all anxiety and distrust drained out of her. It was a large galvanized pail. Doris’ knees went weak and she let out a pitiful moo.

“That’s right, Doris,” the man said, untying her lead from the bird bath. “Milking time at last.”

He led her to one of her intricate cast iron lawn chairs and sat on the edge with the pail between his knees.

“Kneel down, Doris,” he prompted and she complied, falling heavily to her knees and causing her full udders to slosh and jostled.

And then he took each of her engorged teats in his big, callused hands and began to squeeze milk into the pail with expert precision.

The pail rang out as one stream of milk and then the other hit the bottom in perfect alternating rhythm. Doris’ brown eyes rolled back into her head and she shuddered with pleasure. The relief was exquisite.

“Oh yes,” she sighed. “Oh yes. Oh moooooo.”

“That’s a good girl, Doris,” the man encouraged, never breaking rhythm. “That’s a good girl.”

And Doris felt like a good girl and was proud of the fact, proud of how the bucket was filling with her milk, deliriously happy to have strong, warm hands pulling every last drop from her udders. Her life before was a hazy memory at best.

When at last she had been milked dry and the pail was brimming, Doris sighed contentedly.

The man stood up and took her face in his hands. He looked into her deep brown eyes with his piercing black ones.

“And what have you learned from all this, Doris?” he asked.

Doris blinked.

“I’m a cow!” she announced happily.

“Precisely!” said the man, satisfied. “And cows should not drive.”

Doris giggled. Or course not! The whole idea was absurd.

Then the man tapped on the open air in front of him three times with his large staff. A shimmering portal opened up before them. Through it, Doris could see a lush meadow filled with flowers and shrubbery and hundreds of horned naked women with enormous udders wandering about docilely and eating the foliage. It looked like heaven to Doris.

“Come along, cow,” said the man, slapping her bare ass.

Doris gave a happy moo and plodded forward, delighted to join the herd.