The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The sudden knock at John’s bedroom door startled him back to consciousness, and he had barely enough time to collect himself and recall where he was or what he’d been doing, that the door was already un-latching, his mother’s soft voice addressing him by name.

He jolted upright in his computer chair, blinking rapidly, and was flooded with horror as his eyes adjusted to his computer screen: dozens of individual tabs on display, a collage of tits, asses and vaginas, in all shapes, colors, sizes and quantities.

He fumbled for the mouse, found it, and began frantically minimizing each window as fast as he could, like it was a high-stakes video game.

“What the fuck, John?” he screamed in his head. He had never gone this hard with porn. He didn’t even remember opening this many tabs—had he seriously gotten himself so horny that he blacked out!?

He didn’t have time to play detective right now—he was grateful that he’d oriented his desk so it was behind his open door. It bought him a few extra seconds. Just enough for him to close the last window, and pull up Reddit. Still, this was too close. Being fresh home from university, he had forgotten what it was like to live with family again. He had to be more careful next time.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched his mom peer into the room through the reflection of his monitor. He briefed a glance down at his waist and realized his pants were fully unzipped.

Shit. Too late now. All he could do was avoid having to turn and face her, or have her peer over his shoulder.

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to walk towards him. She said with warmth “just letting you know that dinner is ready in five minutes.”

“Okay-mom” he blurted out, failing to suppress adrenaline.

“Are those dirty?” her voice had a melodic inquisitive tone to it.

“What’s dirty?” he didn’t mean for his response to sound as defensive as it did.

“I’m doing laundry, can I take those?”

“Oh—yes,” he said. Still scrolling the mouse but not actually reading anything. He was noticing a weird sound that he hadn’t detected before during the commotion. He realized his headphones were around his neck, not in any strategic fashion—it seemed like they might have fallen up when he blacked out. A noise was emanating from them, just faint enough to hear. Something he had been listening to was still playing. He stealthily glided the mouse over to the volume control, anxious that any moment there would be a loud moan that break the awkward silence from the tinny speakers. But at the moment, all he could hear was a constant, low, droning hum. The hum cut out as he toggled MUTE on his computer.

The sound was replaced by a new piece, from behind him. An original melody by his mother, humming absent-mindedly to herself, her timbre feminine, buttery, soothing. John felt his muscles relax, listening to the pretty melody and taking it as a sign that he had avoided danger. Everything was okay. Everything was lovely, in fact. His mother’s voice lulled him as he continued to scroll on the wheel of the mouse. And scroll. And scroll. And scroll…

John jolted upright again. The sound of his door shutting was gentle, and yet it snapped him to reality again. He looked around the room and confirmed it was empty.

“What is with you,” he muttered to himself. He promptly zipped up his pants. Now alone, he furrowed his brow, trying to recall what had happened.

When people first go off to college, many of them are overwhelmed by the sudden newfound freedom. Some exercise this by gaining 15 pounds on a new diet of junk food. Others take up drugs. Some just pull all-nighters and skip classes up until midterm season when they start freaking out.

For John, it was porn. He’d occasionally watched it at home beforehand, but couldn’t handle the paranoia, the footsteps outside his room. In his dorm room? He got brave. He knew his dorm mate’s class schedule better than his own. Those were his favorite times of day. And second quarter, when he learned his dorm mate would be studying abroad? It was music to his ears. John disappeared so far down the pornographic rabbit hole he would sometimes worry that he had finally seen everything the internet had to offer him. But he was always proven wrong.

By the time the pandemic hit, and the universities shut down, and he and every other student was returned to their parents’ roof and told to remain indoors, John was a changed man. Screw paranoia. His mom being just outside his room was no longer a deterrent for him—he was a full-blown addict. Whatever it took. He developed a whole sixth sense for when it was time to hide the tabs on his screen—or until today, he thought he did.

He certainly had never blacked out. And because this was such a constant habit, John really had to think for a while to recall what specifically he had clicked on, what he had searched. It wasn’t to much avail, other than some vague memory of finding a “DOWNLOAD” textbutton strategically obstructing a low-res image of topless college girl, and clicking it.

John wasn’t a moron, he knew the risks of downloading and opening mystery items from the internet, especially from somewhere this far off the map. But guys are funny—at their horniest, they can rationalize away anything that could get in the way of a free pair of tits. “THIS one won’t be a virus. And if it is, I’ve got nothing to hide, right?”

John continued to re-open any tabs he’d minimized, and close them, one by one. Boobs. Pussies. One of the videos was flashing so many different stills of naked women at a dizzying rate that it took John an extra second or two to find the close button.

This time, it was definitely a virus.

He sighed, partly out of relief, mostly out of shame at his stupidity. At least all the videos were closed. He stared at his desktop for a moment, eyeing the audio file that was still minimized but open. The one that he’d been listening to through his headphones, supposedly.

He felt the impulse. The curiosity. He picked up the headphones in one hand, and began to move his mouse over to the volume toggle again…

“Dinner’s ready,” came his mother’s voice from down the hall.

His body promptly released the mouse and headphones, and he arched upright, proceeding to his door, and out his room towards the kitchen. Her voice had beckoned him, enchanted him like a sailor being lured to a siren-

Wait, no. That’s weird.

Why had that analogy even crossed his mind.

He twitched his head as if to shake the intrusive thought free.

“I’m just hungry”, he assured himself.

“I made pancakes” she said, setting the table, leaning forward across from him as he stood frozen at the bottom step.

It was the first time he’d actually looked at her directly today. Her brunette hair was thick and reflective under the kitchen light, still just the tiniest bit damp from her afternoon shower, and it fell forward from her shoulders and danced freely as she stretched her soft but fit arms to slide the butter holder to the center of the dinner display. Her long brows were furrowed with a look of concentration on her long but cheeky face, biting her pink lower lip. Her shoulders were bare, freckled, all the light from above making them glow hot white. Gravity pulled at her pink tank top that was one size too large—opening a portal to a view of her flexed belly rolls and her black sports bra—and at her neck pendant, which fell forward and bounced from side to side, as if dancing flirtatiously with her breasts-

John’s inner voice was using its outside voice: “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? STOP ANALYZING YOUR MOM LIKE THAT!”

“Everything okay dear?” she was looking at him. John panicked and yanked his eyes away from her cleavage and locked eyes with hers. She was staring THROUGH him. Those big, blue eyes. Blue. Blue… Blue…

Still overwhelmed with intrusive thoughts, he found one that crossed his mind that he didn’t even understand what it meant: “I want to watch her eyelids flutter.”

“Yes ma’am”, he said, shakily. Snap out of it! He took a step onto the kitchen floor hoping that movement might be good for him.

“Want anything to drink?”

“Just water, please”. He was avoiding her gaze now.

She giggled, “yeah, you look thirsty!” She stood upright and walked over the fridge. She was in black leggings, and John stole occasionally glances at her hips sway as she walked away from him, as if that was any better than staring straight-on.

“Oh! Could you grab a butter knife?” she called.

He obeyed for reasons he didn’t like. Reasons he was currently suppressing with all his might, he didn’t even want to think about them.

He walked back to the table, staring mostly at his feet—then took his seat.

“Thank you,” she sang. He bit his tongue to make sure he didn’t just feel “good” feelings at the sound of her praise.

They ate in silence for a while, John’s legs tightening and his teeth grinding anxiously every time his mom made an “mmmmm” sound of delight as she ate.

He started eating faster so he could leave faster.

“So!” she announced suddenly with bubbly excitement. “How was your day?”

He felt a sense of dread. He suddenly had an obligation to stay, no matter how fast he ate.

He continued to focus his eyes on his own food. “Um… I mean, nothing interesting. Can’t go anywhere.”

She sighed a soft, intoxicating sigh. “Yeah. I’m sorry, dear.” And it was quiet again for a bit, then: “any girls in your life?”

He almost choked on his bite.

“Mom, we’re in lockdown!” he said it a little harsher than he meant to, but was trying to shut down the conversation. Poorly—it wasn’t much of an answer.

And sure enough his mother responded “I know, but maybe you have someone you met in college? In FACT”, she added, giddily, a little quieter as if it were a secret, “I’ve actually been talking to a guy. No in-person dates, just flirting—but he seems to think I’m fun and pretty!” She laughed, and said sarcastically “I know, I know, probably hard for you to imagine someone finding your mom cute at her age—”

John clumsily dropped the butter knife he’d just reached for.

“Mom, I don’t want to talk about this!” he barked. He made the mistake of looking at her and seeing her look of shock. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable and her lips were parted, her mouth slightly open. He was immediately flooded with guilt and every other icky feeling.

He averted his gaze again. “Sorry,” he said quietly.

“Me too,” she said softly, her warm hand covering his shoulder. It went numb at her touch, even after she released him again. “I just figured, as long as we’re inside together, this would be a good opportunity for you and me to bond. I want to get to know you as an adult.”

John winced. He forced the words out: “I- I just need a little time.”

“Okay,” she said, softly, and went back to eating.

John grabbed the butter knife again, tilting it back upright, and the light from above reflected off its surface and bounced to his right. He glanced over and saw the spot of light hit his mom’s hair.

He stopped himself. Slowly, he rotated the butter knife in its place, watching the spot of light lower from her scalp, to her forehead, to her eye level, down her nose and chin, onto the table… he reverted the direction, bringing it back up to where it was.

A curiosity took over him. He found himself compelled to test a hypothesis, and he didn’t even know why he wanted to test it.

He began commanding the beam of reflected light, focusing it between the table, and his mother’s eye level. Rhythmically.

Up, and down.

Back and forth.

He watched his mother out of the corner of his eye, trying to play it cool, as if this was something he was doing absent-mindedly and not deliberately. He watched her take a bite, and her brows furrow and her eyes flinch as the spot of light hit her. She looked up at the source, and identified the butter knife. It rotated back and forth, flashing her eyes once per second, like a strobe light. She continued to stare at it with a look at first of perplexion, then of intense focus. She chewed her bite slowly around in her mouth, like a cow chewing on grass.

He found his heart rate increasing for reasons he didn’t understand. John continued to make the light dance for her. He couldn’t help it at this point, he found himself DYING to know WHY he was doing this, and the only way for him to find out was to see it through.

He was surprised to hear himself speaking, never sure what the next word was gonna be.

“Mom?” he said, his voice shaking. His heart pounding. “I don’t know about you… but I’m starting to feel my eyes getting heavy… verrrrryyyyyy heavyyyyyy…”

His mom’s eyes left the light and she turned her gaze to him, startling him—he didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He sat frozen. “She knows exactly what I just tried to do, doesn’t she,” he thought, then “well… that would make ONE of us.”

She looked at him for a few seconds concerned. Then said sweetly “do you feel ill? Need some medicine?”

“Uhhh…” he said both in his head and out loud. Then saw his outing. “No- but, I think I might go lay down, if that’s okay? I think I’m just tired.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Okay,” she said. “You’re excused, if you need, dear. I can clean up.”

He thanked her, then stood up, grateful he wasn’t erect because he didn’t check before hand, and headed to his room. He shut the door, and turned off his light.

It wasn’t totally a lie. He sat in his bed feeling absolutely disgusting, trying to justify the evening.

“It’s because you’re an addict”, he told himself. “You poisoned yourself by jerking off to the female form 24/7. AND you didn’t cum before dinner time. Your brain was still horny and wanting to look at boobs and it just so happened…” he didn’t want to finish the thought. It was enough of an explanation to calm him down. He eventually calmed, and fell asleep.

He had a dream he was back in the kitchen with her. She was wearing the same leggings and black bra that she had on at dinner—but her tank top was gone. Her rib cage, and her soft but pronounced abs on display. She was facing him, and smiling a big, happy, care-free smile, her lips wide and cheeks full.

But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyelids were fluttering, her lashes batting. And she was swaying lightly, like a tree in a gentle breeze. She looked like she was sleep-walking, maybe.

He heard his own voice say “let’s go to my bedroom.”

And she replied, eyes still fluttering, with the same giddy excitement from when she had mentioned a guy she’d met online:

“Yes, master!”

Her arms came up from her sides, elbows locked, facing directly out her. She pivoted towards the stairs to his room, and began to walk, her outstretched arms guiding her as if walking like a cartoonish zombie. Normally seeing someone do this would have looked absolutely absurd, and totally silly.

But the way her hips swayed…

John woke in the middle of the night to find he had ejaculated in his sleep.

He cursed under his breath as he changed his clothes and pulled some sheets off the mattress, into the dirty bin.

When he finished cussing and laid back down, he talked himself back into sleep, assuring himself this was just a weird fucking day, and that everything would be normal tomorrow.

But as he would soon discover, it was only going to get worse…