The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Oh. My. God, that is disgusting,” Miranda said.

“Humf,” Professor Anna Stuffelmeyer replied. She was in her thirties, with wiry dark hair, glasses, and a mad-scientist level of anti-sociability which mostly obscured the fact that there were some decidedly interesting curves under her shapeless lab coat. Over the course of her twelve years at Miskatonic University, she had had many interns. For the most part she communicated with them in monosyllabic grunts. There was no need, she felt, to encourage them. Miranda, who was marginally competent and consistently wore professional attire, was not the worst she’d ever had. But neither was she so clearly superior as to require a reassessment of the general principle.

Usually Miranda subsided after a grunt—it was one of the things Anna liked about her. Not this time though. The girl scrunched up her freckled nose and turned on the professor with a full on accusation, “You didn’t tell me it was alive!”

Anna gave her a contemptuous look over her spectacles. “Not alive,” she said. “Pick it up and bring it here for tests, please.”

“What do you mean, not alive? It’s…squirming.” Her voice went up a few octaves at the end. Anna winced. “And it’s got legs and it’s…sort of pulsing. What is it anyway?” She made a retching noise, possibly involuntary. Anna didn’t much care.

“It’s a prototype neural treatment. Cloned brain tissue; boosts learning. It could be used as a stroke treatment, possibly.” She smiled. “They all said it couldn’t be done. Proved them wrong again. Now…will you or won’t you bring that over here?” She thought for a second, then added grudgingly, “You can put on gloves first if you want.”

Miranda crossed her arms over the substantial chest that had made many a male classmate, and a couple of female ones, dream dreams and walk into chairs. “No,” she said. “Absolutely not. Not without gloves, not with gloves, not in a train or on a plane. Just no. I’ve cleaned green gunk off your floor. I stayed here after that explosion and the smell. But I’m not touching that thing.”

“Hmpf,” Anna said again. She thought about firing the girl right there, but figured Miranda might actually be hoping for that outcome. And to be fair, the smell had been pretty awful.

“Fine,” she said at last. “Go away. I’ll do it. Come tomorrow please; you can help with the tests without touching.”

Having dismissed Miranda, she walked across the room to the case, reached in and pulled out the sample. Miranda made a choked noise, which really did sound involuntary this time, and sprinted out of the lab. Anna didn’t watch her go. She was examining her work.

The sample looked something like a caterpillar about a hand and a half long. It was mottled red; a kind of diseased flesh color, with folds and wrinkles in it. There were filaments along the side which swayed blindly—the “legs” Miranda had referred to. Along its top there was a fissure or split which (as Miranda had said) pulsed gently; providing glimpses of an interior which seemed to consist mostly of mucus.

Anna touched it lightly, just to the side of the fissure, and it thrashed as if electrocuted for a full three seconds before coming back to rest. When it was done, Anna grabbed it firmly on both ends and lifted it out. It squirmed a little, but she had it tightly. It was dry and surprisingly textured, a bit like a snakeskin. She walked across the lab to the dissection table.

“Alive,” she muttered to herself contemptuously as she leaned over and placed it down. Immediately, it writhed up, filaments thrashing, and hooked itself onto the side of her face.

“Ungh,” Anna said. She staggered back as her glasses flew off. The thing squirmed against her cheek; she grabbed at it futilely. Her fingers scrabbled and then sank into the fold on its back and she felt the slick mucus as the lips fluttered against her fingers. The legs seemed to be spreading across her face; she could feel them oozing almost into her pores, a kind of painful, tickling squirming. They were up in her nose, at her lips, in her ear. The sound was incredibly loud, like roaches scuttling across her eardrum. She pulled in a breath to scream…then stopped.

She wasn’t hearing the filaments scraping anymore, she was hearing….

The hum of the computers, intensely magnified, oddly layered; someone coughing (where? Out in the parking lot?), and closer than that, a voice she recognized….

“Honestly, it was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen. But she just picked it right up. Bossy, sex-starved bitch. Maybe it turns her on watching that disgusting thing twitch, I don’t know. I think she’s depraved enough for anything, is the truth. She’s probably in there shoving it in her cunt now, ….”

Anna’s hand finally got a good grip on the thing and pulled it off with a wrench. She leaned against a table, staring at it, now quiescent in her hand. Her chest heaved. The words she had heard from somewhere were still shifting and skittering in her mind, like the filaments waving, waving, waving…. It seemed weirdly important to figure them out. Her mind was sluggish, moving in a thick, mottled, flesh colored mud. The thing could…enhance senses? The medical possibilities were astonishing….

If it had enhanced her senses, then she must have heard someone outside the door.

Miranda.

Miranda had been talking. About her. The words were about her. They said what she was.

She was the bossy sex-starved bitch. She was depraved enough for anything. She was probably in there….

She looked at the thing in her hand. It began to twist again, as if sensing her need.

Her…need?

No. No. She wasn’t going to do that.

But…she was depraved enough for anything. Miranda had said so.

She carefully put it down on the table. “Stay there, you,” she said. Bossy. It stayed.

She took a step back, her eyes still on it. Its legs moved…sensuously. The slit in its back…she imagined her tongue running along it. The way it would thrash under her.

It was so hot. It turned her on.

She tried to reason with herself. It was some effect associated with the creature. It obviously enhanced brain functions in ways she hadn’t expected. She had heard Miranda’s words, and Miranda’s words had made her….

Perverted.

They had changed her brain.

The creature had changed her brain.

And the creature turned her on. What it did turned her on. So, therefore, the changes in her brain turned her on.

Being perverted turned her on.

Slowly, she unbuttoned her lab coat and let it drop. She pulled her shirt over her head.

The creature twitched. It knew, she realized. It knew she wanted it.

The thought turned her on.

She undid her bra. Her breasts swung free. She pinched one nipple lightly and gasped. It was incredibly hard; harder than it had ever been in her life.

Her tits were hungry. Sex-starved….

She stepped forward and learned over the thing. She let her breast dangle down, so that the nipple caressed the fissure on the thing’s back.

The lips opened eagerly, and then closed around her, exerting a surprising, intensely pleasurable suction. She gasped and stroked the thing delicately, loving the way it shivered as it sucked. Her other hand reached down almost unconsciously to her crotch.

She was so wet she could feel the dampness through her slacks. She pushed the heel of her hand against herself, thrusting into her palm while trying to keep her nipple in the fissure’s moist embrace. She ground down once, twice, looked at the mottled flesh pulsing against her tit, and a shiver ran through her—a kind of presage of orgasms to come.

The thing against her tit also shuddered. There was a soft, wet sound, and mucus spurted out, coating its side and her breast.

It was like it had cum all over her. It was vile, disgusting, perverted. It turned her on.

She straightened and her nipple came free with a wet pop, trailing mucus cum, which really turned her on. She undid her pants and slid them down. Next her panties. She could feel the cold air against her dampness. Her lips were wet, like its lips. Hungry.

“And depraved,” she whispered. She picked the thing up. The filaments undulated seductively. She brushed it once, lightly, against her crotch, and it spasmed, squirming. She knew it wanted to get in, and that turned her on even more. Leaning against a table, she took a ragged breath. Then she pushed its…head, for want of a better word, against her lips.

She felt the filaments latch on immediately, finding purchase, sinking in. She gasped as it throbbed and pulsed against her hands, straining to get inside her. She could feel it moving in there, searching—she groaned as some of the legs traced across her clit like a kiss. She spread her legs further, and it slithered obligingly up and in. She reached inside and stroked along its opening, its hot, wet opening. It was undulating and pushing, undulating and pushing. It wanted her to cum, she knew; it wanted her slick cunny juices running over and in it, and the thought pushed her the last little perverse, ecstatic bit over the edge.

Twenty-four hours or so later, Miranda entered the lab—and stopped short. “Professor…Stufffelmeyer?” she said.

Miranda had never seen the professor out of her shapeless and often stained lab coat. She had never really even thought about the possibility of there being anything under the shapeless and stained lab coat.

But here was evidence that there was. The woman in front of her, who appeared in most other respects to be Professor Stuffelmeyer, was not wearing a lap coat. Instead, she was wearing a snug black blouse with several buttons undone and possibly, the way her tits were jiggling (but surely not?) without a bra. Her red skirt stopped at mid-thigh, and she was also wearing…heels?. Prior to today, Miranda would have bet something of significant value that Proessor Stuffelmeyer didn’t even know what heels were. The idea that she might wear them was ludicrous.

Also, what was even more disturbing—the professor was smiling.

At her.

“Miranda!” she said. “I am so glad to see you!”

Miranda flailed helplessly. “Uh…hi,” she said. “Hello. Here I am. You…uh…you…. Hot date tonight?” Miranda almost covered her face in her hands. She hadn’t meant to say that, but…good lord, what the hell? She felt like she’d wandered into some alternate dimension.

Only moreso when Anna actually…giggled. “Sort of a date, yes,” she said. “With the brain worms!”

“The…brain worms?”

“Yes…I thought we needed to call it something. Referring to is as “thing” or “it” seems so impersonal.”

“Impersonal?” Miranda knew she sounded like an idiot, but repeating what Stuffelmeyer said was about all her brain felt capable of. Had the woman discovered weed or something? Had she gone on anti-depressants?

Stuffelmeyer was positively babbling now, taking her arm and leading her over to the tank. Something about the thing maybe actually being alive, something about unprecedented successes and sensory enhancements and unexpected ramifications…. Something about…treatment for sexual frigidity? What? She surely hadn’t heard that correctly….

And then there it was, the thing—or the brain worm, she supposed. Big and ugly and repulsive, the ridge on the top pulsing, the legs moving blindly. She felt her gorge rise again, as it had yesterday. The thing was truly vile. She’d never been upset at spiders or snakes, but this….

She turned to the new, weird Professor Stuffelmeyer. “It looks…damp,” she said. “Were you washing it or something?”

Stuffelmeyer smiled…was that wolfishly? Yes, wolfishly. She looked Miranda up and down, letting her eyes linger obviously on her breasts.

“No,” she said, slowly, rolling the word. “I wasn’t washing it.”

Miranda didn’t care how the brain slug thing or whatever it was had gotten damp. She didn’t care why Professor Stuffelmeyer was behaving like some sort of jolly, sex-starved lesbian. She just wanted out.

But habit is a difficult thing to shake off. Miranda had started the conversation, and a lifetime of socialization insisted she should finish it before sprinting for the door.

“So…if you didn’t wash it, what happened to it?” she asked obligatorily.

“Oh,” Stuffelmeyer said, “I put it in my cunt, just like you told me to. We’ll put it in yours in just a minute.”

Then Stuffelmeyer reached into the tank, grabbed the thing, and slapped it firmly onto Miranda’s face. Miranda was too bewildered even to suck in a breath to scream as it hit her cheek. It adhered with a wet sucking noise, its sticky flesh against her lips, its legs grabbing onto her tongue. She staggered and tried to tear at it, feeling its end squirming around, the legs in her ears.

Then someone spoke. For a minute she thought it was the creature itself, sliding up her nose, down her throat.

“There,” the voice said, “that’s not so bad, is it?”

And …no, it wasn’t so bad. Some sort of alien caterpillar thing was clinging to her face. An alien caterpillar thing damp with the cunt juice from Professor Stuffelmeyer, who was, it was now apparent, completely insane. But it was…okay. Not so bad.

She hadn’t realized that she’d closed her eyes in her panic. But now that things weren’t so bad, she wasn’t panicking anymore. She opened them.

She was half-sprawled against a counter. Professor Stuffelmeyer was…very close. Almost on top of her. Miranda had an uncomfortably clear view of her cleavage as the professor leaned forward, her arm slipping around Miranda’s shoulder. For a second she thought the professor was helping her up…but then she felt the other hand cupping her nipple. The professor’s thigh pushed frankly up against Miranda’s crotch as her mouth came down and enthusiastically kissed the thing on her face. The worm tightened and the legs waved excitedly as it shifted, slithering around off her mouth, moving itself down the hollow of her neck, its back legs still scrabbling in her ear.

The professor’s lips continued their exploration, her tongue probing. Miranda felt a last leg squirming against her lip, twisting teasingly against the professor’s tongue, and then the worm shifted up her cheek to get more filaments in her ears and Sutffelmeyer’s lips were directly on hers. The professor’s leg ground against her crotch, her teeth bit Miranda’s lower lip playfully, her hand on the nipple….

Miranda scooted back. Caterpillars on the face were not so bad, but whatever was going on with Professor Stuffelmeyer was clearly wrong and to be avoided. “Look, uh, professor, I…I’m flattered and everything, but I don’t like girls…women…,” she explained lamely. She gave her best “we’re still friends” smile, not because she expected it to be effective, but because she wasn’t sure what else to do.

At the same time, she shifted to the side, and got herself out from the professor’s grip, putting her firmly feet on the floor. She needed to get out of here. And then get the caterpillar off at some point. Though it wasn’t that bad, really….

Stuffelmeyer giggled, the voice skittering around her head like caterpillars skittering over the folds of her brain.

“Oh yes,” she said, “I know. You like cocks, right? Big, hard cocks stuffing every hole. You beg for them like a shameless whore.”

Miranda sighed in relief, glad that the professor understood. She thought about her boyfriend Ron, and how she needed to get back right away and beg him to fuck her ass. Though…she was such a shameless whore she wasn’t sure she’d manage to make it all the way home. Maybe she could swing over to that bar, slide under the table, and start fishing out big hard cocks. She could suck one, or two, and then let them bend her over the table and pound her hard. Her cunt clenched at the thought…

Wait…what was she thinking about? Or not just thinking about…what was she planning? She knew with absolute certainty that as soon as she got away from Stuffelmeyer, she was going to find a cock, any cock, and do whatever it took to get it big and hard, and then fuck it until it came, over and over, inside her, or on her, or both. Preferably both.

But…she didn’t fuck random guys. Certainly not multiple random guys at once. Not multiple random guys with beautiful hard cocks up between her legs, and in her mouth, stroking their balls so she could feel them jerking against her lips….

What was going on? What was wrong with her?

Frigidity. The professor had said something about the worms curing fridigity. And now...

She started to back away, eyes fixed on the professor in horror. “You,” she said, “what are you doing to me? Stop…”

Stuffelmeyer smiled benignly, as if there had been no interruption. “But just because you love cock, that doesn’t mean you can’t lust after pussy too. You’ve dreamt about getting your tongue in my cunt since you first saw me, I know. You’d do anything for a taste of my hot cunt. Anything at all; the more humiliating and perverse the better. You’re a little horny bisexual treat.“

Miranda has stopped backing away. She stood transfixed. Stuffelmeyer—Anna—walked towards her lazily, She felt herself dampen as she watched those hips roll under the red dress. She thought about how many times she’d made herself cum thinking about the way that pelvis curved, imagining the ass cheeks jerking as she sucked on Anna’s delicious clit…. She thought about how she would spend hours finding the sexiest outfit she could to wear to work, and how hot and hard her nipples were every day just from having Anna near her. How she’d have to frig herself off in the bathroom two or three times…or more if Anna brushed her. How she’d imagine taking her on the counter, driving her tongue into her again and again, feeling her thrash against her, hearing her scream…

Except…none of that happened. She’d never thought of Stuffelmeyer as any more sexual than a chair. The thought of fucking her was….

Oh god. It was so hot.

Anna was in front of her now. The professor leaned forward, and this time Miranda stared at her cleavage hungrily. She trembled when Anna licked her ear. She’d almost forgotten the worm on her face. When Anna’s tongue touched it, the legs jerked. It was like they were an extension of Anna herself; as if they were part of her hot tongue. Not so bad…

“In fact,” Anna said throatily, giving the ear one last nip, “why don’t you start your life as my submissive little sex toy by licking me till I come on your pretty face, hmmm? ”

“No…,” Miranda said, but she was already sliding down to her knees, her hands pushing up Anna’s skirt. The professor was wearing no underwear. Her cunt was shockingly wet; the shaved lips glistening.

Miranda had a weird moment of double consciousness; on the one hand, she had been dreaming of this moment for months, from the first time she’d seen the Professor and imagined how she would taste, barely able to restrain herself from fingering herself right there, like the shameless whore she was. On the other hand, she had never for a minute thought of her boss’ cunt with anything but repulsion.

She tried to find the repulsion somewhere in her head. All she felt was a hot, throbbing need, squirming like a caterpillar inside her. She reached one finger out, and slid it up Anna’s slit.

“Yessssss,” Anna said, and the worm scrabbled suddenly against Miranda’s neck, moving with the instantaneous speed of an over-sized roach down her arm and onto Anna’s crotch. It wasn’t so bad, but Miranda still jerked back. The red dress, which she had partially been holding up, slid down again. There was a thrashing under it. Anna’s back arched.

“Ahhh!” she said. Her pelvis worked. Miranda watched the hips move and felt her mouth begin to water.

“Mmmm…” Anna said, “don’t…uh…be…shy, baby. There’s enough for everyone.”

Almost without knowing what she did, Miranda pushed up the skirt again. One end of the worm was buried in Anna’s wet snatch; the other end was draped rakishly over one hip, like some sort of askew invertebrate cowboy belt. The worm was undulating rhythmically, and Anna’s hips ground in time. As Miranda watched, Anna unbuttoned her blouse.

There was no bra. Her nipples, ringed by dark aureoles, were rigid. Her breasts rose and fell distractingly. Miranda could hear herself panting.

“Please,” Miranda said. “I need to…” She stopped. She had a vivid, almost painful image of herself as the worm; a blind sex toy, mindlessly bringing Anna off, again and again.

“I don’t care what you need,” Anna said. “I’m the boss here. Get your tongue in me now, bitch. And,” she waved a finger, “no touching yourself till I say you can.”

Miranda whined. She was a slave, she was a worm. Her crotch was wet and hot and wanted cock, but she couldn’t touch it. Instead, she leaned forward, and reverently kissed the slit. She felt the worm under her lips, twisting at her touch, sliding around against Anna’s wet, glorious folds. Miranda licked harder, tasting the worm’s mottled flesh and Anna’s juices at once.

The worm wasn’t so bad, she decided. She reached around to grab the professor’s ass, shoving her tongue in, feeling the little legs scrabbling inside the professor and against her mouth. She stroked its back, where the fissure was, as she licked. They were joined, the two of them, both working together to make Anna cum hard and cover them with her discharge, both pushing her together, both wanting her together….

Anna came, wetly and loudly. Miranda made sure to get the dampness all over her face. It spread all over the worm as well.

When she’d finished, Anna told Miranda to lick the juices off the thing, slowly. It seemed like the sort of thing a sex toy would do, so Miranda complied, maintaining eye-contact, lingering on the fissure on the back, going over it again and again. It writhed under her tongue just as Anna had.

“Oh,” said Anna. “Ummm…that does turn me on. We’re going to have to have you fuck me with your mouth again, I think. First though…,” the worm twisted under Miranda’s tongue, and skittered away. Miranda made a surprised mewling sound—and then a yelp of surprise and shock, as the thing rushed down her neck, over her back, and slid between her skin and jeans, working under her underwear, till it plunged unhesitatingly into her soaking cunt.

“Just imagine …it’s a thick, hard cock,” Anna suggested, her hand moving frantically in her own crotch.

So Miranda did.

It wasn’t so bad.

Miranda came again when Ron pushed his cock into her ass. She came again on his third stroke, and again when he ejaculated inside her. He leaned against her back, exhausted, gently stroking her nipples, and she came again, soundlessly, but obviously enough.

“Wow,” he said, kissing her back, “what happened to you, anyway? Not that I’m complaining, but you’ve never even agreed to the anal sex before, and now all of a sudden….” He slapped her ass teasingly…and ridiculously, helplessly, she came a fourth time. Louder, for this one.

Spooned against his back, she could feel his cock, flaccid now. Which was wrong. She wanted it big and hard. It had to be big and hard, for….

She tried not to think about it. She was trying not to think of a lot of things. Ron, all cuddly and surprised and happy…what would he say if he knew he was the third guy she’d fucked today? She’d gone to the bar, just like she’d planned…she remembered the look on the big bikers’ face when her self-control had broken and she’d felt his cock turning to iron beneath her hand under the table. Then outside, her knee up as he thrust…and then his friend taking his turn, like she was a shameless whore passed between them…a treat…

She whimpered and rubbed against Ron’s cock…then turned around suddenly and cupped it in her hand. It twitched, but it wasn’t getting hard. She had to make it get hard. She lowered her head….

“Whoah!” he said. “Miranda! Sweetie, that was just in your ass! Just…I’ll go wash off okay? Don’t go anywhere! I’ll be right back.”

He hurried off. Miranda lay still for a moment, listening to his feet pad, and then the water. It would be nice to lick him till he was hard, but she knew she had to move now. She got up and went over to her backpack. She picked it up and opened it just as he came back.

“Hey Miranda, I’m…what have you got there?”

She looked at him, cute, eager, semi-erect. Miranda hadn’t been dating him all that long, and she couldn’t say she loved him, really. But she liked him well enough. He was sweet and fun. She certainly didn’t bear him any ill will. She tried again to think of some way around it…but there was Anna’s cunt. She’d do anything to lick that cunt again, to feel it tense underneath her tongue. Anything.

And the more humiliating and perverse the better.

“Sorry,” she said. “I…my boss wants to meet you.”

Ron looked at her, completely befuddled. “Your…you mean Stuffelmeyer? What? I thought we were…why are we talking about her?”

“Because I’m her bisexual sex toy,” Miranda said, and pulled out the worm. She didn’t even have to direct it; it just sprang out of her hands onto Ron’s face. He gave a little cry.

She noticed with a little twinge of disappointment that his cock had detumesced.

Still, she thought, feeling a little more cheerful, just a few words in his ear and she could fix that.