The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Today would be a good day, I’m sure. That’s what I was thinking when driving home from a long and busy day at college. I had tests in two classes and it had just worn me out completely, but I was looking forward to coming home. My mother, Greta, had just come home from a business trip abroad. It had been two weeks, and I missed her bad.

We had gone through a lot together, her and I. I think she felt she owed it to me. I was conceived on one of Greta’s “nights of wild abandon”, as she put it, and she did her best to conceal it, foregoing maternity leave benefits and the like and taking a long vacation when she started getting noticeably pregnant. When I was born, my mother explained to others that I was adopted, secretly telling me the truth, showing a side of herself no one else ever saw.

I could only think of how much I missed talking to her as I pulled up in the driveway...

“Mom! I’m home!” I called out, as I pushed my way into my house. I was hoping she’d be at the door to greet me, but she wasn’t. Perhaps her flight had been delayed? Or, more likely, she was getting some much needed rest. That was okay. I hoisted my book bag over my shoulder and strolled into the kitchen to fix myself a snack.

I stopped in my tracks midway.

Something on the coffee table caught my eye.

The object was perfectly set in its center, atop a cloth kerchief. It looked like a sculpture of some sort, made of pink glass or obsidian—an oblong cylinder type thing with a slight curve in the middle. I thought it resembled a banana, with an elongated tip at one end, but something else about its shape looked... vaguely obscene.

What was it? A little kinky souvenir my mother had picked up from England? I knew my mother to be a little wild (that is, after all, how she had me). But bringing back a glass pink dildo... and setting it atop the coffee table, no less... that extended a fair bit beyond what I expected of her.

I wanted to touch it. But I resisted the urge, knowing that my curiosity was what ordinarily got me into trouble. I tried to put the pink thing out of my mind, while I went to the kitchen and made a PBJ. But by the time I was done eating, my thoughts were centered on the object. What was it? Was it really some kind of kinky item of pleasure? Or maybe just an item of artwork?

Whatever it was, I thought as I approached the coffee table... I wanted to touch it.

I reached out, slowly, not knowing what to expect, and quickly touched a finger to the thing’s tip.

>spark<

My arm recoiled at the slight shock I received. Perhaps the damn thing was a vibrator? Whatever it was, my curiosity was piqued. Despite my better judgment, I picked up the object and observed it carefully. It was very, very shiny, and felt smooth. I brushed my fingers slowly over the tip, giggling in amusement at its lewd shape. Was it made of glass? I gave it a few taps... it didn’t seem all that fragile. After a few taps, I noticed its luster fading, so I shined the thing upon my breasts.

I paused.

I didn’t want to do that. The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but before I was conscious of what was happening, I was rubbing the pink glass against my breasts. And the sensation was very, very pleasant. I indulged myself briefly, rubbing the glass tip over my bosom, through my dress. Damn... it felt real good...

But I was wary... there was something very creepy about this. I decided to go find my mom and talk to her about whatever this thing was. So I slid it between my breasts and headed off to her bedroom.

I froze. I had done it again. Without my being aware, I had placed that thing in my cleavage. Then the pleasure hit my mind like an aftershock. I swallowed the moan that came in my throat and pulled the object out. But before I could pull it out all the way, I had pressed it back in, and I let out a whimper of delight as the glass filled my bosom with delicious feelings...

Oh God, I thought to myself. Whatever this object was, I did not want it sliding in and out of my breasts. I wanted it out... I knew that. But the erotic feelings were clouding my mind. I stood perfectly still, and cleared my mind of those feelings. Think of something else, I thought to myself. Think of roses... with their blossoming petals... shining with dew... damn. I tried chocolate, but it eventually led to naughty pictures involving chocolate syrup. I stared at a spot on the wall. It gave me a headache, but it worked.

I tried to breathe deeply, but that made the pink glass jiggle as I exhaled... God, that felt good... no, I breathed out as slowly as possible to avoid that... lovely feeling... Crap. As long as I lingered on the sensation, I’d never be free. But it was hard not to. The pleasure became stronger, and I could feel my breasts begin to grow firmer...

I realized what I had to do. Bite the bullet time. Gritting my teeth, I took hold of the thing by its tip and, ever so slowly, slid it up, up, out... tried to detach my mind from the pleasure... from my hardening breasts and dampening sex... Gawwwwdddd... I closed my eyes and my mind, ignoring the lurid fantasies that my overactive imagination was developing. I had one purpose—remove the damn thing... remove it... Gawwddd slide it back in.... NO...

It was an hour before I was finally free of the pink object. Or at least, that’s what it felt like. As I did, I felt cool air all over my body. I realized that I had been sweating. And I was fucking horny... no, not really horny. I was feeling amorous. That was the best way to describe what I was feeling, because at that moment I felt the overpowering desire to... hold someone...

I needed to find Mom.

I climbed up the stairs and called for her. “Mom! MOM!!” No response. Chills flooded my spine as I softly, slowly headed towards her bedroom. I squeezed my hands together and found that I was still holding that damn glass. Let it go, I thought to myself, it’s not worth the risk. But... I wanted to find out what the hell this thing was. I should have thrown it out, but something inside of me wanted to keep it around, and I didn’t let it go.

I had reached Mom’s bedroom, and I had a sick feeling sweep over my stomach as my hand caressed the doorknob. And I wasn’t prepared in any way for what was to come as I opened the door and looked upon her plush bed...

“Oh my God,” I was going to say... but the words never left my throat...

My mother was splayed out on the bed, nude, sleeping, covered in sweat... breathing very heavily, looking very much exhausted. I saw her chest rise and fall with each breath... her breasts moving with it... her limbs flung around the bed, giving me a full view of her body... her beautiful body... my mother was very beautiful, I thought...

She looked so vulnerable and tired... I wanted to... hold her.

Oh God.

I nearly dropped the pink object, whatever it was, but instead, I slid it back to its original position; between my breasts. I choked... terror gripping my body. Now was not the time for this... but I was already sliding the thing in and out... in... out... in... out... watching my sleeping mother... in... out... the pleasurable feelings in me grew as I just stared.... wanting... in... her... out... wanting... in... my mother... out.

I... was...

“MOM!” I screamed. She started to stir, groaning and moving her limbs in a way that I found... attractive... and rose up on the bed, rubbing her eyes. I noticed her lips were large and shining, with red lipstick that perfectly matched her. And when she opened her eyes... her big hazel green eyes... I could actually feel myself fall inside her. It was such a wonderful feeling. But then I was able to put together what was happening, and the end result sickened me.

I was falling in love... with my mother... and it was all the fault of this vile pink glass that I was still having fuck my breasts, which were now hard, pert, sensitive. I tried again to pull the thing out, but my body refused to obey the commands I gave it, and my hand continued to push the thing... in... out... in...

My mother groaned and smacked her lips, then realized what I was doing. “No! Kathy!” she screamed. “Take that thing out! Now!”

“I want to!” I yelled, my voice breaking with arousal. “But I... can’t... I keep pushing it back in!” I started to cry, and my mom rose from the bed. She was a good deal taller than I was, so when she embraced me, it was like she surrounded me, and I sank my head into her breast as she stroked my hair. I was filled with contentment, but I knew this feeling was fake, brought on by that glass, whatever it was, and I tried to fight it.

“Mom...” I said breathlessly. “What the fuck is this thing?”

“I don’t know,” my mother said, starting to cry herself. “I had lost a piece of luggage and got a suitcase with it inside... and since then... oh god, Kathy, I haven’t been able to stop... God...”

She continued to stroke my hair, trying to comfort me, seeming not to know (or care) that I did not need to be comforted right now. That was the last thing I wanted... to be comfortable in this situation. I loved my mom, yes, but now I wanted her for a lover too. It was sick. And I tried to fight it... I tried...

“Mom...” I said. “Why... why did you put that thing on the coffee table? If you knew how... horrible it was... why didn’t you hide it?”

“I don’t know, Kathy... I should have... I’m so so sorry...”

“You betrayed me,” I choked out through so many tears. “I hate you!” I tried to dwell on this feeling, this hurt feeling. If I could stop loving my mother... as hard as it was to do... as much as it hurt me to think of... I had to stop, it was the only way I could think of to break this horrible spell. Slowly, painfully, I pulled myself out of her arms.

My mother looked broken... ashen. “Is... that the way it has to be, then?” she asked. “Are you... going to leave me now?”

I avoided looking in her eyes. Because I had the horrible fear that she was going through the same thing I was. “It’s the only way, Mom,” I said. “I’m sorry. Now get away from me.”

She took a few steps back. I could hear her sob. I knew this was hurting her terribly. It was hell for me too. I couldn’t bear the feeling of hurting my mother. I loved her so much now more than ever, but the feeling wasn’t real... it wasn’t real... some of it was, perhaps, but it was all mixed in with this vile and beautiful love that was growing in me thanks to that pink glass...

“I... understand...” she said.

“Don’t, Mom,” I stopped her. “Don’t. I don’t want to sympathize with you... it only... makes it harder...” But my eyes met hers, and I saw the pain. Memories flooded to my mind... all the good times I had spent with my mother... the times she held me when life seemed horrible to me, and when I comforted her when she was sick or down. I was throwing all that away.

A severe pain racked my soul. Even with all the pleasure my body felt, I was dying inside. A life without my mother. I couldn’t think of it... but I had to, to save myself. And to save her, too. I knew that she was probably falling in love with me too, and feeling just as sick about it. Hating her was the only way.

I had to...

I couldn’t.

“Mom...” I started to say... and took a step in closer. I felt a weight on my soul, a heavy unbearable weight, starting to lift, and I gave in. I surrendered. I toppled into her arms and started to cry. And her arms wound around me, and she cried with me. I realized how much I had hurt her, and that only hurt me even more. We were there for hours, it felt like, crying and holding each other and soothing each other’s wounds.

“Mom... do you love me?” I asked.

“Of... of course I do sweetheart,” she replied, in a voice that moved me to hug her even closer, pressing her nude body to mine.

“No, not like that... I mean... you know...” I stammered, not able to come out and say the awful beautiful truth.

“Yes... yes... I’m so sorry, Kathy... it’s all my fault, please forgive me.”

“What... will we do now... what will we do?” I wept into her breast, rubbing her back, feeling how soft she was, my lovable mother... fighting a forbidden desire as my lips played across her bosom... trembling as I heard her voice..

“Come to bed, sweetheart, and we’ll think of something.”

I wanted to say no, but I had hurt her so much already, I couldn’t refuse her now. I lay down on my mother’s bed, taking in the feel and the smell. I could smell my mother’s arousal on the bed, and it was turning me on too. What was I becoming? I cried again. I couldn’t stop.

Suddenly my breasts were filled with delightful, heavenly sensations. I looked up and saw my mother sliding the thing out of my bosom. Her smile was genuine, but so was the anguish that I saw in her eyes. She took the glass out so easily, and then, to my surprise, hovered it just above my lips.

I was horrified. Disgusted. She said she would help end it, but she wanted it to continue. I couldn’t accept... but I wanted more. It felt so right. But I didn’t know what was right anymore. I wanted my mother as my lover. The thought filled me with joy, much to my chagrin. Cupid’s arrows gone horribly wrong, I thought. She wanted to put that thing in my mouth. I couldn’t refuse. I couldn’t even think anymore. I was so filled with confusion.

“Mom, I...” I started to speak, but after I had said “I”, I pressed my lips to the glass. And my mother slid it inside, and the pleasure that came from it made me see stars. I fell back upon the bed, completely overwhelmed, crying and laughing inside and so scared of what would happen now. Wanting to surrender. It would be so much easier.

But my fear faded quickly... my senses seduced by my very own mother, slipping the glass in and out of my mouth... in... out... in... out... my entire being becoming wholly focused on the pleasure, building every moment, my tongue sliding and feeling the strange disgusting enchanting thing, lights flashing behind closed eyelids, until finally my entire body reached a climax... my mouth seemed to orgasm and convulse upon the glass, whatever it was, leaving behind the oddest flavor of orange sherbet, and my consciousness faded out entirely.