The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Jake Niles had never asked for a power to control women through their sexuality—but it came to him anyway, and when it did, it changed everything.

The first headache had been on Jake’s 18th birthday. He wasn’t the most popular boy in his school, but he had plenty of friends, enough to justify booking out a small warehouse for a party. There was music, and alcohol (despite the town’s conservative “21+” liquor laws), and Jake was having a wonderful time. His friends were in high spirits. Everything was perfect.

“You’re thinking everything is perfect,” said a voice by his elbow. “You’re such a predictable little brat.”

“Fuck off, Madison,” said Jake. It wasn’t said with venom—but it wasn’t entirely a joke, either.

Madison was his cousin—three years older than Jake, casually gorgeous, effortlessly popular with the kind of loners and rejects that she saw value in, and indisputably cool. Nor did she ever let Jake forget that in her eyes he would always be just a snot-nosed kid—which had rankled more once Jake was old enough to start having some very explicit secret fantasies about Madison’s lithe body, long red hair, and swelling breasts.

“I’m sorry,” said Madison archly, coming up to stand beside her cousin. “Did you mean to say, ‘Thank you for buying alcohol for me and my friends?’”

Jake felt his skin prickle with resentment. As the only one here aged 21 or over, Madison had, of course, been the one to buy the beers and spirits, which meant that he was, in fact, obliged to be grateful.

“Thank you,” he said, reluctantly. “I do appreciate that.”

Madison laughed, and punched him on the shoulder. “It’s fine, Jake. I know I’m only here because your mom made you invite me. Probably because ‘we’re not in contact with many of your father’s family, after all’—right? And I know I’m probably supposed to be chaperoning or something or being a responsible adult. But fuck that, it’s your 18th. Go wild, kiddo. It’s my birthday present to you.”

The more likeable she was, the more frustrating it was. She had been a bitch to Jake in the past, and would be again in the future, no doubt, but right now he had no cause to do anything other than be nice to her. It was infuriating.

“Why did you even come?” he asked.

“Oh, I had nothing better to do,” she sighed. Then she looked at him sharply. “How about you, Jakey? You feeling good tonight? Not feeling anything… strange?”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m sober, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said.

She peered at him. “It’s not, really…. But that’s good.” Then she relaxed, and laughed again. Jake hated how… sexy… she looked when she laughed. It wasn’t fair that someone so unattainable should be so good looking.

“I’m going to circulate,” she said. “You have fun. And oh—isn’t that your girlfriend over there?”

Jake flushed. “Amy’s not my girlfriend…” he began—but Madison was already gone, drifting gracefully around the room, simultaneously far above the 18-year-olds around her, and the center of their attention whenever she drew near.

She was a bitch, Jake thought—but at least not a real bitch. Not genuinely hateful and cruel. Not like—for example—the Cat Clique at school….

He turned his attention to the girl Madison had called his “girlfriend”—Amy Reiser.

Auburn haired and effortlessly pretty, Amy was literally the girl next door, ever since her family had moved into the vacant house next to Jake’s early last year. She had gone to the same school, and quickly joined Jake’s friendship group. She was eager to be seen as “one of the boys”—and seemed constantly embarrassed by the prodigious swell of her breasts, which visibly proclaimed her as anything but a boy.

Jake had formed an instant friendship with her—but his friendship had developed into a crush, and the crush became a sexual fixation, and soon Amy became a constant fixture of his fantasies and wet dreams. With each passing day, Jake was finding it harder and harder to spend time with her without growing awkward and aroused—and yet he wanted her company, and her affection, more than ever.

She was late to the party. She had a difficult home life, Jake knew. She didn’t get on with her dad, and sometimes Jake could hear them yelling at each other late at night—fights that often ended with Amy in tears. He suspected she may have had trouble slipping out from under her father’s gaze to attend Jake’s birthday.

But now that she was here, she spotted Jake quickly from across the warehouse, and went directly to him, smiling with delight. To Jake’s embarrassment—and secret joy—Amy had even dressed up for the party, trading in her normal jeans and plaid shirt for a sundress and denim jacket. And as soon as she reached him, she hugged him—crushing her breasts against his chest—and he could smell the perfume in her hair.

He couldn’t help it. He felt his cock hardening in his pants. He blushed, as his skin heated with sudden arousal.

And then he felt something else strange—not in his pants, but in his brain. A sense—as real as his vision or his hearing, but wholly new and unfamiliar. It was a sense of something within Amy—something like her perfume, an aura that originated within her, an energy that Jake couldn’t help but be cognisant of.

It was like an ember, or a glowing coal. The hint of a fire, barely warm, and yet if only there was wind and fuel, it could be stoked into something greater. Nothing real, nothing he could see or touch—but still, something.

Amy released him from the hug, and stepped back, still grinning.

Without thinking, Jake’s eyes strayed down, to look at the breasts that had just been pressed against him. They had always been large, and in the yellow sundress they looked even larger. He couldn’t help but think how good they had felt, squeezed against his chest, and what it might be like to touch them…

And, to his horror, Amy saw him looking. She blushed deep red, and her arms rose, starting to instinctively protect her tits from his gaze.

But as she did, Jake sensed something else. It was like he could feel what Amy was thinking—and it was a complex swirl of emotions. She was thinking that Jake was staring at her tits. She was realising that Jake was interested in her breasts sexually. She was thinking it was the way her father stared at her tits—but that when her father did it, she hated it, but when Jake did it, it felt different. She was feeling guilt over how big her breasts were, and the irrational certainty that her large breasts made her a slut—after all, wasn’t that what her father always said? She was a cow—a big-titted whore—a fat-uddered fucktoy…. And then she was picturing what it might be like for Jake to feel her breasts, with her hands—how wrong that would be—but how it might feel nice, and Jake would probably enjoy it, and how there was suddenly warmth between her thighs….

The tangle of guilt and anxiety and arousal and shame was overwhelming to Jake. He staggered backwards, and reached out with his mind to push it away…

CLICK.

There was a brief sense of a connection—that two things which had previously been separate were now powerfully linked together. It was like there was suddenly a shining silver leash joining them to each other—Amy’s confused thoughts about her breasts, and that glowing ember at her core.

And then the headache hit. Sharp, sudden, brutal.

“Fuck!” he swore, his voice inappropriately loud. He doubled over, clutching his head.

Amy looked confused, and there was a sudden blush in her cheeks, but she was also alarmed, as she reached out for him, concerned. “Jake? What’s the matter?” she asked.

Jake made a moaning, choking sound. “My head…” he whispered. “I think it’s a migraine. Oh fuck…”

It was the worst pain he had ever experienced in his 18 years of life. He staggered back, and would have fallen, had there not been a fold-out chair waiting for him. He sank down onto the seat.

Other friends were noticing, and approaching, worried about Jake and keen to see what was happening.

“It’s okay,” said Amy, waving them away. “He’s just got a headache, I think.”

Jake’s friend Ben was more useful, and he produced a paracetamol tablet and a glass of water. Amy took them, and brought them over to Jake, who swallowed the tablet gratefully, even though he wasn’t sure it was going to help.

“How about we go outside?” said Amy. “Where it’s cooler and quieter.”

“That sounds good,” Jake whispered. “Thank you.”

Amy helped him up, and Jake allowed Amy to escort him outside, where it was darker and colder and less noisy. She set up two chairs, and they sat in the still night air along the side of the warehouse.

“How is it?” asked Amy.

“How is what?” asked Jake. He was acutely conscious of Amy’s breasts again, and was trying to avoid looking at them. It took him a moment to understand her point. “Oh, the headache? Yeah, I think it’s getting better.”

And it was. The initial pain was subsiding. His vision, which had been blurred, was growing clearer.

“That’s good,” said Amy. “I was worried.” She gave him a cheesy grin. “Probably just can’t handle your alcohol, right?”

He tried to laugh. “Yeah,” he said, still sounding pained. He looked at her. “Hey, Amy,” he asked casually, “How are things going with your father?”

He was remembering the confused tangle of things he had seen in her mind. It had to have been his imagination—people couldn’t read minds—and yet the things she had seemed to be thinking about her father were… wrong. Disturbing. He was worried about her.

She looked away. “They’re fine,” she said. “He’s difficult, but I’m used to it.”

Amy was a terrible liar. She was almost wholly guileless, and Jake knew at once that she was not fine. He felt a swell of worry and affection for her.

“You know, if things are ever bad,” he said, “you could come to me for help. Like… I don’t know what I’d do, but I’d work something out. We could be a team.”

Her face immediately filled with sudden deep affection for him—but also a sadness. “Thanks, Jake,” she said, putting a hand on his knee. “That means a lot. But… I don’t think anyone else would really understand.” She laughed. “Anyway, I just have to get through this year, and then I get to escape to university, right?”

“Right,” said Jake.

They were silent for a long moment. Amy looked away—and Jake could tell that she was trying to decide whether to say something. She was terrible at hiding her emotions, and it was transparent to him that she was both embarrassed and excited about what she was about to say.

He sat, and waited for her to decide whether to speak.

“You know,” she said, finally, “I have an idea for something that might take your mind off the headache. Just, you know, to help you, seeing as you’re in so much pain. And because it’s your birthday.”

“Oh yes?” asked Jake.

She opened her mouth—and stopped, and closed it again. Her blush grew deeper. She looked down. In fact, she wasn’t just blushing—she looked mortified.

“What?” Jake prompted her.

“Well,” she said—and paused to bite her lip.

Jake nudged her with his elbow. “Spit it out, Amy,” he said.

She was silent—and then said what she was thinking all at once, quickly. “Would you like to feel my breasts?”

Jake was speechless. She was right, his headache didn’t seem to hurt as much suddenly. This was exactly what he had been fantasising about.

“Um… are you sure?” he asked.

She said nothing, but nodded. And she turned, so her chest was faced towards him, and she pulled back her shoulders to thrust her breasts out.

“Go ahead,” she said. “It’s okay.”

Tentatively, he reached out, and put a hand on the fabric of her sundress, over her right breast. It felt strange, and silly. Her breasts were just body parts, after all—and it wasn’t like he was even touching her skin. He was feeling the smooth curve of her tit against his palm through the fabric of both a bra, and a dress. Her bra was thick enough that he couldn’t even feel her nipple.

And yet it was erotic, because he had fetishised it, and because it was forbidden, and he felt his cock hardening again.

He squeezed her breast lightly, and Amy made a little gasp. He looked at her face, and was surprised by how adorable she looked—her face flushed with embarrassment, but also… with lust? Arousal? Biting her lip, clearly awkward, and yet just as clearly eager for him to enjoy himself with her tits, to squeeze and rub as much as he wanted.

He put his other hand on her other breast, and squeezed there too, and she squeaked. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing was becoming faster.

And as he looked into her eyes, he felt it again—the spark, the ember. Except now it was bigger—a small fire—and he could feel that connection he had sensed before, connecting the fire to her breasts. Or more specifically, to the feeling of his hands on her breasts.

It made no sense—but somehow, he was suddenly sure that he had done this. He had somehow linked Amy’s sexuality to the idea of Jake squeezing her breasts. It had led her to ask him to do this, and now that it was happening, it was making her more aroused with every squeeze.

He squeezed again, with both hands, harder—and Amy responded as if she were receiving intense sexual pleasure. Her mouth opened, her eyes half-closed, and she moaned. She was leaning forward, pressing her tits against his hands. And he had the sudden feeling that if he asked for more—for her to take off her shirt and bra, perhaps, or even to give him a blowjob—that she would say yes.

Of course, he didn’t have to ask. He could just reach out, and link that fire inside her to the idea of his cock, and she would….

He jerked his hands away.

Amy was confused. “Jake, are you okay?” she asked, still breathing heavily, clearly eager for him to squeeze her breasts some more.

Amy was his friend. He wanted her, yes—but not like this. Not because he had… somehow mind-controlled her. It wasn’t right. It was ridiculous to think it, and yet somehow, deep down, he knew it was true. He had made this happen.

“I’m sorry, Amy,” he said. “You have amazing breasts, and they feel… incredible… but I think my headache is coming back.”

And it was. Just sensing that flame within Amy had brought the pain thumping back into his head, as if he had torn open an unhealed wound. He felt like shit.

“Oh,” said Amy, disappointed. Then, “Maybe if you play with my breasts some more, it will get better though?”

“No!” he said—a little more forcefully than he intended. And then, again, softer, “No.” He put a hand on her leg. “I’m sorry, Amy. I think I should just go home. I know it’s my birthday, but I really need to sleep this off. Do you think you could manage the party, and maybe close up when everyone leaves?”

“Sure,” she said.

He stood, and Amy stood. She gave him a hug—and this time she was deliberately squashing her breasts against him as she did it, desperate for that stimulation. He looked into her eyes briefly, and knew that he could have kissed her, and that she would have kissed him back.

But he didn’t kiss her. He hugged her, briefly, then pulled away, and left. His house was only a few blocks away. He could walk.

As he walked, his mind was full of the image of Amy’s breasts, the pleasure he could have had, and his own self-doubt about throwing away that opportunity.

“Idiot,” he mumbled to himself. “You dumbass. You can’t mind-control people. You didn’t mind-control her. She was just hot for you, and you… you…” He sighed. “Idiot.”

It had felt so good to touch her breasts. To squeeze them. And he knew he would be thinking of them tonight, and the next night, as he jerked off in bed….

Jake was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice his cousin Madison leaning against the outside of the warehouse, and he had no idea how intently she was watching him as he left.

And he certainly didn’t see the expression on her face—a look of curiosity and speculation—and a level of sudden, avid interest in Jake that she had never previously shown….

(TO BE CONTINUED)