The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tayla had never had a dinner as strange and degrading as her first meal at the Rutman house.

She was already feeling completely humiliated. Her breasts were still exposed in front of everyone, and hurting from where Edward had whacked her tit with his shoe. She wanted to pull her shirt back down to hide them, but whenever her hands came up towards her chest, they hesitated, and she felt strangely unable to complete the action that would conceal her modesty.

No, don’t touch your udders. Bad girl.

In addition, she still had the metal plug the doctor had forced up her anus—which she had almost grown used to—and her pussy was still a little wet from the drugs she had been given. Nothing about her situation was okay, and ideally Tayla wouldn’t have let anyone see her in this condition. And yet, here she was, in front of three strangers—the oddest and most worrying family she had ever met.

It got worse when she pulled her chair out from the table to sit down for dinner. There was a thick rubber phallus attached to the seat of the chair.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“For a first time breeder, it can be very painful to deliver a baby,” said Sheriff Rutman. “It’s going to stretch your vagina right out. We find it’s easier for a girl if she prepares herself by regularly stuffing her pussy with objects of increasing size leading up to the birth. This one’s a starter. Go ahead and work it into your hole.”

Tayla’s instinct was to back away, and wait for someone to say that this was ridiculous and that of course she wasn’t really going to be made to sit at the dinner table with a dildo up her fuckhole. But the whole family had watched Edward try to milk her tits into a coffee cup and then beat them with a shoe for being dry. No one was going to help her. They really meant for her to do this.

Blushing, avoiding eye contact, she lowered herself onto the chair. She wasn’t wearing panties, and she immediately felt the tip of the dildo poking at her pussy lips. Her cunt was wet, and it slipped between them easily, but it was also quite thick, and she had to work her way down it slowly, until all six inches of it was stuffed inside her, and her ass was flush with the wood of the seat.

She had never been this full—and with a plug in her ass, as well!—and it was hard at first to concentrate on anything but the monstrous invader stuffed in her twat. And then it became worse—the dildo began to vibrate gently inside her. She felt her cunt throb, and become wetter, and she moaned, unable to keep quiet.

Sheriff Rutman smiled, and reached out to ruffle her hair affectionately as he walked past her to his seat. “Feels good, huh?” he said. “We know how to spoil our little cows in this household.”

Then Bessie brought her meal out. It was steak—but there was a white sheen across the meat, and Tayla immediately guessed what it was. Cum.

“I can’t eat this,” she protested.

“Yes, you can,” said the sheriff. “You heard what the doctor said. Semen is good for a pregnant woman. You’ll have some with each of your meals. I expect to see your plate clean by the time you’re done.”

From across the table Edward’s eyes were shining with cruel amusement, and Tayla could hear the implied words “or else”, even if no one said them.

Sheriff Rutman led the table in saying grace. Tayla half expected the prayer to be more weird misogynist ranting, but to her surprise it was the normal form of words.

And then it was time to eat.

Rutman and his son were watching Tayla expectantly. With no options, Tayla used her knife and fork to slice off a corner of steak, and put it in her mouth.

It actually didn’t taste that bad, she thought. The salty taste of the cum complemented the meat. But did she really think that, or was it just that her thoughts were scrambled by abuse, and fear, and the maddening buzzing of the dildo in her cunt? She didn’t think she had ever eaten dinner with her cunt so wet before. She felt sure that her pussy juices were drooling onto the seat of the chair between her legs, and pooling under her ass, and it felt intensely lewd to put anything in her mouth under those circumstances, let alone literally semen. But she chewed the meat, and then cut herself another piece of the cum-soaked meal, and put that in her mouth as well.

The glass by her plate was full of milk. She couldn’t help but look at Bessie, and blush. She avoided the drink, until Edward finally said, “Why aren’t you enjoying your milk, Snowball?” and she had no choice but to sip at the cool white liquid.

Was it breast milk? Was it Bessie’s? Or was it normal milk? She couldn’t tell. Did it taste strange—or were her taste buds just skewed from eating cum? Or maybe it was all in her mind?

Bessie blushed as Tayla drank from the glass, which made Tayla blush too—and then gasp, suddenly, as her pussy spasmed around the vibrating plastic cock that was stuffed inside it.

God, she was so wet. Was she in danger of orgasming, right here at the dinner table, in front of these horrible men she hated?

She worried that she was.

“Why don’t you tell us about how you were impregnated, Snowball?” asked Edward, as he ate his meal.

Tayla looked down sourly at her meal. “I was raped,” she said, in a low voice.

The Sheriff made a discontented noise. “Don’t give me that guff,” he said. “Your body accepted the father’s seed, so it was clearly willing. What really happened?”

Tayla looked at him in disbelief. “That’s… not how bodies work. That’s not how pregnancies work. Women… we don’t have a choice about….”

Suddenly she squealed. The collar around her throat had shocked her! In the Sheriff’s hand was a small control device, which he had just pressed.

“I didn’t invite you into my home to spread your feminist nonsense,” he said. “If a girl’s pussy isn’t wet, the sperm can’t reach the womb. So I don’t want to hear any more of this rubbish about being raped. Tell me the real story, of how you were willing, or you’ll get another shock.”

“Who was the father?” prompted Edward.

“A friend,” said Tayla.

“What was his name?” asked Edward.

His name had been Oscar—but Tayla didn’t want to tell them his real name. They might try to contact him. “Liam,” she lied.

“And what did you fantasise about him?” asked Edward. “What made you wet for his cock?”

Tayla’s face twisted in unhappiness. She had certainly never fantasised about her rapist. He had creeped her out before the rape, and he disgusted her now. She didn’t want to talk about—or remember—her rape, and she definitely didn’t want to do it when her cunt was dripping wet and there was the taste of cum in her mouth.

She took too long to answer. The Sheriff shocked her again, and she squealed.

“Answer my son,” said the Sheriff.

“Come on, dear,” said Bessie. “We all want to hear about the magical day that you were blessed with a baby.”

“What did you fantasise about?” asked Edward, his eyes sparkling with cruelty.

“His cock,” choked Tayla. “I used to fantasise about sucking his cock.”

She couldn’t help but picture it as she said it—her, on her knees, sucking her rapist’s cock. The dildo buzzed in her pussy, and her pussy squeezed against it tightly.

“How did it happen?” asked Edward.

“It was my 18th birthday,” said Tayla. “I went out to a bar with friends and I got drunk.”

“Were you dressed like a slut?” said Edward. “I bet you dressed in a way that invited rape.”

“No!” protested Tayla—and the Sheriff shocked her again. She made a cry of anger and frustration, and tried to rip the hateful collar off her neck—but it was tight and strong, and the Sheriff just shocked her again.

“Tayla,” he said, “you’re sitting here at my dinner table with your udders bare and a dildo in your pussy. Don’t bullshit a bullshitter. I refuse to believe that you didn’t dress up as complete rapebait for your 18th birthday. Now tell us the truth.”

She sobbed with humiliation and powerlessness. “Fine,” she said. “I dressed up like a slut. I wanted to be raped.”

And as she said it, she had to wonder—was that really a lie? She had been wearing a very tight little black dress, with a hemline just short of her panties. Hadn’t she wanted boys to look at her? Hadn’t she wanted them to want her? Sure, the boy who had violated her hadn’t been a boy who she was attracted to—but hadn’t she been fantasising that someone else—someone she liked more—might have done to her what Oscar did?

No, that was nonsense. That was the dildo in her pussy making her think perverse things. This whole experience was messing with her.

She took another bite of her cum-coated meal, and washed it down with a mouthful of what was probably Bessie’s breast milk.

“And then what happened?” asked Edward.

“I went outside with Liam to get some fresh air—into an alleyway,” said Tayla. “And then suddenly Liam put a hand over my mouth, and he ripped off my panties, and then he started raping me—ah, having sex with me.”

“How did you encourage him?” asked Edward.

Tayla opened her mouth to say that she hadn’t encouraged him—of course she hadn’t, she had begged for him to stop—but her eyes were drawn back to the remote in the sheriff’s hand, and she knew she couldn’t say that. The Sheriff and his son wouldn’t accept anything but agreement with their twisted fantasy of her rape. She had to say what they wanted to hear. She had to tell them how she had encouraged her rapist.

“I… I kissed him,” she said. “On the mouth. And I was wet—my pussy, I mean. And I gasped when he pulled off my panties, and then I moaned when he pushed his cock into me.”

And that was all true. She had kissed him—because she was scared, and she thought if she kissed him, she might be able to keep control and stop him from violating her. And she had been wet—she’d been thinking of another boy, one she’d had a crush on. And of course she’d gasped when her underwear was removed—with horror, of course—and her moan when his cock slid into her wet cunt had been one of horror and despair, and certainly not a slutty noise of lust.

“And I bucked against him,” she added—because she had, struggling wildly to throw him off her, but each struggle only driving his cock deeper into her unwilling pussy.

“How many times did you cum?” asked Edward.

“Three,” said Tayla—and that was definitely a lie. She had only cum once—when she had felt him ejaculate inside her, and realised that there was no condom, and she wasn’t on birth control, and she was completely unprotected. She had been so completely horrified, violated and traumatised that something had gone wrong inside her brain—and she’d felt herself orgasm, her cunt spasming against her rapist’s cock, waves of pleasure rushing through her, her legs going weak.

That was why she’d never gone to the police, really. Because her rapist might have known that she’d cum from what he’d done to her. And he might tell the cops. And then not only would no one believe her, but the cops would tell her parents, and her parents would tell the neighbours, and…

And then suddenly Tayla was cumming—right now, here, at the dinner table, in front of everyone. She couldn’t control it. Her mouth opened and she made a slutty animal noise, and her body shook, and her hands went below the table, wanting to touch her cunt, wanting to rub her clit—but something in her brain stopped her—(bad girl)—and as her arm jerked away from her pussy it knocked the glass of milk, and milk spilled everywhere, running off the table, dripping onto the floor, puddling.

Edward was up from his chair almost as fast as it happened, moving to Tayla’s side. For a brief, insane moment, she actually thought he was coming to help her—but then his hand was in her hair, gripping it hard, and he was pulling her bodily from her chair. She fell to all fours on the cold tiles beneath the table, staring at the slowly spreading puddle of milk.

“Clean up your mess,” growled Edward, and Tayla tried to look up at him, to ask for a cloth or some other tool to wipe the floor with.

But that wasn’t what Edward meant. He pushed her face down, until her nose was touching the puddle of milk.

“Lick,” he said.

Bessie and the Sheriff were sitting at the table. Neither were making any move to help her. She knew neither would object.

She stuck out her tongue, and began to lick the breast milk up off the floor—like an animal.

Then she jumped. Edward had reached behind her, to where her ass was sticking upwards from her position on all fours. Her skirt didn’t fully cover her butt in this position—let alone her pussy—and Edward had slid two fingers between her pussy lips and into her cunt.

She tried to complain, but Edward pushed her face down into the milk with his other hand, and then slowly began fucking his fingers in and out of her twat.

She couldn’t help it. She orgasmed again—and then, a few minutes later, a third time, as she allowed Edward to keep violating her pussy while she licked obediently at the puddle like a cat.

And when it was done—when the puddle was all licked up, and Edward slowly pulled his fingers from her wet fuckhole—she knew what she was supposed to do. Edward didn’t say anything this time. He just waited.

She rose to her knees, leaned forward, and brought her milk-wet lips to touch the tip of Edward’s cock where it poked against the front of his trousers. She kissed it passionately—aiming to please, aiming to avoid being slapped or shocked or hit in the tits with Edward’s shoe. She felt his cock twitch against her mouth, and despite herself she smiled, pleased with her own performance.

And then she looked up and said, in her most submissive and vulnerable voice, “Thank you, sir.”

She could see Edward was pleased, and she shuddered internally at the implications of that pleasure.

He was pleased because she was learning.

(TO BE CONTINUED)