The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Nightly Needs

—Chapter 5—

by Olivia Palmer, © 2017

(F-solo, M+F, mc, Fdom, inc)

Beverly pulled into the spacious three-car garage shortly before midnight. She punched the button to close the garage door, killed the purring engine, and sat utterly still for several minutes.

Finally, with careful purpose, the gorgeous middle-aged woman spread her feet as widely as the floor board would allow, lolled her shapely legs open, and began to slowly hunch and rotate her bottom against the expensive leather seat.

And there it was. Finally! She didn’t just feel it—now she could listen to it, too! She clearly heard the sticky, squelchy proof that the last several hours hadn’t been just a daydream. She’d really been filled, to overflowing!

Beverly looked down at herself as she slowly gyrated her hips, reveling in the slippery, slimy feel of the semen. The sensation—along with the animal odor of it filling the car—began to arouse her. She sat in her driver’s seat, completely naked except for her shoes, and tried to remember how many men had fucked her that night.

Twenty? Thirty? Forty?

She’d begged them. No. She’d demanded that each one of them come inside her. And they all did. One after another after another. Many of them more than once. Her pussy still felt a little bruised and busted open, in fact.

Sweetly, savagely used.

And then, driving home, in nothing but her Loubuitons, the subtle sensations of her cunt drooling all of that precious spunk back out of her... well, it had been all she could do to concentrate on staying in her lane, keeping up with the flow of traffic, trying not to miss her exit.

The first time she’d fucked more than one man at a time was in her undergraduate days, when she was still barely 20 and thought it was a rite of passage. How many of her sorority sisters had pulled a train while she watched and sucked on the boys lining up to go next? How many of her housemates had squealed and laughed and clutched at their tits while getting pounded, head thrown back, a cock or balls poised just above their slobbering, drunken mouths, while dozens of boys stood around her, stroking themselves or getting slowly suckled, drinking a beer, smoking a spliff, waiting for their turn?

Her first gang bang, in fact, had resulted in Christina.

And now... well? She certainly wasn’t that old yet, was she? Thanks to good genes, excellent nutrition, and daily workouts, her periods were regular, short, and light. And, perhaps, no longer about to happen for a while.

Wouldn’t that be... what?

What would that be?

Beverly paused, her fingers lightly lingering over her stiff nipples, her slippery ass sliding to a halt as she considered it.

Pregnancy. Baby on the way. Could it really be happening?

At forty-nine, could she manage it again? Alone again?! She hadn’t married until her mid-thirties, when Christina was already in middle school and so mature for her age—more like a sister to Beverly rather than her kid.

Beverly had been proud of what she’d managed to make out of their lives up to then, just the two of them, a couple of gorgeous girls against the world. Her older husband, whom she’d married more for business advantages than any real romantic interest (at least on her part), had often marveled at his sexy wife’s obvious success as a single mom. Christina had been a smart, talented, outgoing, level-headed marvel of teenaged perfection.

And now... was Beverly in the midst of making another little gang bang gift to the world?

In a flash, she thought she knew. She had little doubt. It was at least very possible that’s what had just happened. So much sperm had been pumped inside her. Right at the peak of her cycle. Beverly was keenly aware of her own rhythms, and she felt that urge to mate the most intensely for four or five days right around her most vulnerable time... and today had been smack in the middle of it.

Since her husband had died... well, she’d taken a long, relaxing break from men... and gone off the pill. And now she’d just been fucked by more men than she could even remember.

So.

The possibility... the new reality... slowly settled upon her.

Beverly rubbed her bare breasts slowly, luxuriating in the tightening of her fat nipples. She hefted them, cupping from below, and ran her thumbs lovingly over the stiffening tips, laying her head back against the seat, closing her eyes.

A baby inside. Another gift from a stranger.

Just as she had done shortly after that first time twenty nine years ago, the mere thought of how wicked, how slutty, how insane she’d been to fuck so many men—to fuck them and breed with them—sent shivers of lust throughout her body. An orgy baby. Inside her. It would be growing for all those months, constantly reminding her what a whore she really was.

No matter how smart. No matter how successful. No matter how rich.

She was a whore.

Beverly slipped a hand down between her thighs, playing her fingers through the sticky, slippery goo of semen that pooled at the gates of her puffy, swollen cunt. She brought them back up and smeared the combined jism of those men all over her heaving breasts. Then her hand went back down for more, rising to hover above her face as she extended her trembling tongue. Beverly groaned as the warm fluid slowly dripped into her mouth, sliding down her tongue, down her throat.

For several minutes she went back and forth, alternating smearing the semen all over her breasts with dripping it into her hungry, eager mouth. Her free hand roamed back and forth across her nipples, pinching, rubbing, teasing. Soon enough, an orgasm roared through her. As she arched her back and groaned, she felt even more of the men’s juice run out of her, as if her uterus was in a happy spasm and pumping it back down her birth canal.

Giving her more to play with.

Yes. There was never any doubt. Beverly knew she was a whore.

She heard it inside her head, words resounding from within like a deep booming gong. Ringing throughout her brain in tones sounding so familiar, so close, so knowing.

Whore... Fucking whore... Brainless whore... Fill your cunt... Breed... Breed....

Words rang through her in a voice she knew. Words from a woman who’d figured her out. Words from a woman she desperately wanted to please.

Words that suddenly flooded back into her conscious mind, murmured into her buzzing ear through that heavy plastic phone at the prison. Words that knew her too well.

“You’re at your ripest right now, aren’t you?” Stef had asked. “I know you are. I know because I’ve been paying careful attention to your behavior for many years now, Momma Bev.... I know what a true slut you are. How much you like to come....”

Beverly groaned at the memory of those words as they’d wormed their way inside her. She didn’t remember exactly when it had happened, or how, but she knew more had come through that phone than she’d been aware of.

And then she paused, her fingertips unmoving in the pool of slowly cooling semen. A shiver of doubt ran through her.

What if? Beverly wondered.

What if Stef hadn’t actually said anything at all? What if Beverly was taking the easy way out? What if she’d simply found a convenient place to lay the blame for her reckless, filthy behavior? It’s not like her former daughter-in-law could show up anytime soon and deny any of it.

And besides, Beverly had to admit, she really was a slut. She loved orgasms and fucking—whether achieved by herself or when surrounded by anonymous, rigid men, penetrating every hole available.

And that biker bar had looked so inviting, right there beside that side road she’d been lucky enough to find. After the stress of the meeting at the prison, wasn’t it really nothing more than just a horny, happy accident?

Those words. Had they really been said? Or now, after all she had done that day, was her mind making excuses for her? Was she imagining she’d been told to fuck those men? Had Stef really told her to let go? To let herself be the whore she always craved to become?

Back at the prison, earlier that day, Beverly had been so angry. She’d spent so much energy telling off her cute blonde ex-daughter-in-law. She’d been so So SO mad! And then she’d slammed the phone down, stormed out, and peeled away from the prison parking lot with her pretty foot heavy on the accelerator.

Passing through the security gate and turning back onto the road, she’d freely admitted to herself just how intensely horny all that anger and yelling and carrying on had made her. She felt invigorated and triumphant. She’d really let that snotty cunt finally know what a piece of garbage she really was!

It was exhilarating, and Beverly had been in the mood to celebrate, hadn’t she? She’d been sweaty all over. Heat had risen in her, all the way to the roots of her elegant hair, and she wanted nothing more than to find a way to come.

But now she sat there in the garage, naked except for her shoes in that sticky leather seat, trying to piece it all together. What had really happened? As she’d checked her phone’s map, looking for the right kind of sleazy bar, her hand had snuck of its own accord down between her thighs. It was then that she realized her panties were gone. Soon she discovered her bra was missing as well.

How had that happened? Had she forgotten to put them on that morning? Surely not!

Strangely, somehow it hadn’t really bothered her. Thrilled her, actually. Made her know that she really was a filthy, slutty bitch.

So she’d driven on. Found the side road off the interstate. Pulled into the bar’s dusty parking lot, full of Harleys, just as the sun began to set. Unzipped her skirt as she’d stepped through the door. Shrugged off her blouse as she came to a halt just two strides inside.

“I need to get fucked!” she’d yelled above the din of the shitty sound system and Saturday evening drunkards chomping cigars and slinging darts. “By every cock in here!”

Sitting in the car, the glass slowly fogging as her body heat continued to rise, she let her fingers begin to roam once again. She touched herself to the memory of the large rough hands that had grabbed her, the urgent, thrusting dicks shoved up inside her, the stink of men’s sweat and ripe crotches, of whiskey breath and beer belches and clinging, heavy cigar smoke.

Oh. It had been so long. It had felt so good!

As she stretched her legs and braced her Loubitons against the floorboard, sliding her ass farther back in the seat, Beverly suddenly realized that her right shoe felt weirdly squishy, too moist inside, and it bothered her. How had her foot gotten so wet? She paused her reverie to work her foot out of the heel so it could get some air.

Then, in a flash, and for no clear reason she could explain, the gorgeous forty-nine year-old knew it hadn’t happened by accident. Somehow, some way, Stef had made her shoe like that.

And Stef had told her to go to that bar. To do what she did. And somehow, without hesitation, Beverly had eagerly gone and done it.

And she’d loved every second of it!

Knowing the “what” still didn’t help Beverly understand the “how”, though. She frowned, her fingertips once again dripping semen onto her quivering, moist tongue. She swallowed and went down for more, trying so hard to remember.

After a while, slowly, as if rising up out of a fog inside her mind, Stef’s voice began to come back to her....

“I’ve made sure Christina kept count of the days,” Stef had purred, “and of your cycle... and when she was sure... absolutely sure you’d be at your peak... well, she was to go in masturbation overload. I guess she did, didn’t she, Momma Bev? That brought you over to see me, just like I wanted. You raised such a good little horny girl....”

Yes, Beverly decided. Those words had been said. Right into her ear, right through that heavy plastic phone at the prison. Rather than shocked, instead of worried or horrified at the realization that she’d been used, Beverly felt a deep hot surge of lust flood through her.

She knew it was wrong. She knew her response couldn’t possibly be normal. She knew she should do something to stop it all from happening, to quit touching herself and to get mad as hell at being tricked.

But the more she tried to fight, the more the anger just... slipped away... replaced by an overwhelming need to touch herself, to find another orgasm, to find pride in being a good whore for Stef. In knowing for sure she’d been whored out. In accepting that she’d been fucked because Stef had told her to get fucked.

And the more she felt that way, the more Stef’s words kept coming back to her.

“Oh, Momma Bev,” Stef had cooed, “I know how you like to pull those trains. I know how you used to sneak out when Christina was younger, all the way until your husband died... how you’d go down to the adult theater... to the swingers’ club... to that public park you like....”

Beverly instinctively jerked in her seat, her body alive with need. She plunged four fingers inside her seeping, throbbing cunt, as an image of her Loubuiton swam up into her mind’s eye, fucking herself with it’s slippery toe, getting that angle just right, splitting herself open, rubbing it... rubbing it... right there....

“Momma Bev, you need some cock. You need that hot sperm, filling up your insides. How long has it been? How much have you missed it?”

Stef’s voice had stripped bare everything Beverly always tried so carefully to hide, but at the same time the older woman realized just how happy it made her to be finally known, finally understood!

“I get it. I do,” Stef had continued. “You think you’ve retired from that life. I know. Since your husband died you’ve been a good little masturbator, haven’t you, Momma Bev? Just a lesbian wannabe, nothing more. But now... now you’re going back to your past. You’re going to do it again.

“When you leave this place,” Stef had calmly declared, “you’re going to fuck sooooo much cock. And you’re going to love it!”

Beverly worked her left foot out of her expensive, glossy heel, the lonely one from the prison, the one that had sat unused on that ugly institutional counter top while it’s partner had done all the work. She crooked her leg to grab it, then raised her semen-slick hand and held the pricey status symbol mere inches below her flaring nostrils.

It stank of her sweat, the pungent aroma of her very long day wafting up from the open collar. She turned it over lovingly, licking her lips. The shoe still had little bits of dirt and cigar ash and mashed bits of french fries and onion rings stuck to the bottom—the evidence that she’d really walked into that biker bar, just like Stef had told her to do. Evidence that she’d really stood there—then knelt there, then laid there—and let every man in the building fuck her. As many times as they’d wanted. Filling her up. Giving her a new baby.

In the next instant her fingers were replaced by the shoe. It went right up inside!

OH. That was the spot!!

* * *

An hour later, Beverly had come enough to finally consider exiting her Porsche.

The garage door had been closed behind her after she’d parked, and her entire body was now soaked in sweat, her hair clinging damply to her face and neck and shoulders. She was sticky from her forehead all the way down to her knees with the large puddle of semen that she’d managed to smear all over her skin. The windows of the sexy sports car were thickly fogged and impossible to see through.

As she gradually returned to a semblance of self-control—her breathing slowed and steady, her mouth no longer hanging slack and craving the taste of male ejaculate—Beverly was struck once again by those words. Stef’s words.

Telling her what to do.

“Momma Bev, admit this to yourself,” her imprisoned ex-daughter-in-law had commanded, whispering her way through the phone and deeper inside Beverly than anyone had ever gone. “You like being a sexual toy. You like being used. From now on, you will crave to have me use you. You will admit to yourself that I’m right, that this is who you are because I know the truth about you: you are a slut, a whore, a slave for me to use....”

Beverly groaned and slowly pulled the Loubuiton from her pussy, which squelched loudly in protest to be left so gaping and empty.

“Because I’m always right, Momma Bev,” Stef had gone on, “and that means you will always do what I say....”

Beverly sighed and nodded her head ever-so-slightly as she raised the cunt-slicked shoe to her mouth and began to lick it clean.

“And when you do what I say, Momma Bev,” Stef had murmured so sweetly through that phone into her ear, “you will feel the best you’ve ever felt—the horniest, the happiest, the most fulfilled, the most satisfied, the most complete. Every time you do what I say you will feel all of that the most intensely—whenever you’re doing what I tell you to do—and that is what you are going to want to do for the rest of your life....”

Finished cleaning the shoe, Beverly swallowed one last time and looked down at herself. She’d been told to leave her blouse and skirt in the bar, of course. Two drunk biker hags had wrestled over them after she’d dropped them on the floor within seconds of entering the place. The shoes, though, stayed on. Because her mistress was gracious, of course. She knew how much Beverly loved her swanky heels!

“From now on you live to serve me and do what I say, Momma Bev,” Stef had repeated, over and over, “because that is what makes you the happiest, horniest little whore that you can ever hope to be....”

* * *

Well after midnight, Christina heard a quiet creak. The door from the kitchen to the garage had opened. She listened to the padding of bare feet across the tiles... then across the wood... coming closer and closer to her end of the house. To her room.

Then her bedroom door silently, slowly, swung wide. And there was her mommy.

Naked. Hair plastered to her flushed, sweaty body. Her breasts heavy and high and round, slimed with shiny stuff, a shine that seemed to be all over her in the moonlight, a sheen of something slick and sweet.

She held her Loubuitons in one hand, the heels dangling from one finger each. Her other hand roamed across her breasts, spreading the sweat and slime all around.

Christina was still nude on the floor, still clutching her phone in one hand, still lazily rubbing at her own slick, sweet spot.

Her mother took one step into the room, then stopped and smiled. She looked tired—exhausted, hungry, trembling, more or less a wreck—but her eyes were bright and when she spoke, her voice was husky and low. And urgent.

“Come here and clean your mommy,” Beverly said. “My sweet Little Thing.”

That name! Her heart suddenly pounding, throat tightening, ears ringing, Christina rose up onto her hands and knees, smiling back at her mother.

Her head suddenly felt light. Maybe she’d gotten up too fast. The room seemed to spin a little. Everything felt a little tilted inside her skull.

Something... Christina struggled to pin down the thought. Something... wonderful had just happened....

“Yes, Momma Bev,” she said automatically, confidently, pleased with the blank expression that snapped instantly into place in her mother’s pretty eyes. And then she licked her dry lips and grinned, staring straight at Beverly’s swollen, shaved pussy, coated with juice.

As the girl crawled over to kneel between her mother’s widespread feet, neither woman noticed the phone left sitting nearby on the floor. Or that Christina had dialed it just before setting it down.