The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

By the time Jake awoke on the day after his birthday party, it was nearly noon. He had a sour, metallic taste in his mouth, and his head felt packed with cotton wool, and he remembered the agonising headache he had experienced last night.

But the strange feeling dissipated quickly under the restorative effects of a shower and a shave, and by the time he was casually dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, Jake was more than ready to face the world

The events of last night seemed surreal. The headache had surely not been that bad—and had he really believed that he had somehow mind-controlled Amy? He must have drunk more alcohol than he thought.

And of course, if his paranoid thoughts about mind control were a delusion, then the future presented interesting new possibilities. Because, after all, Amy had wanted him to feel her breasts—had seemed to enjoy it—and if she had felt that way once, she might possibly feel that way again.

He had missed breakfast, it seemed. The aftermath of bacon-and-eggs lay upon the kitchen benches. He didn’t know whether to feel put out that his mother had not woken him up to eat, or grateful that she had let him sleep. Either way, he was suddenly aware of a ravenous hunger, so he began to inspect the contents of the fridge and cupboard—but the pickings were slim.

“Mom!” he called out. “What’s in the house to eat?”

“Jake, I’m right here, there’s no need to yell,” said his mother, walking into the kitchen with a cup of coffee. Miriam Niles was a tall, willowy woman with honey blonde hair, who looked effortlessly elegant in even the simple housedress and robe she was wearing that morning. Jake was vaguely aware that she was a subject of interest and attention from men her age, but she had never (to his knowledge) shown any interest in pursuing new relationships since Jake’s father had left when Jake was young.

“Hi, mom,” he said, and gave her a quick hug.

“How does it feel being 18?” she asked him.

“Pretty normal,” said Jake. “What’s in the house to eat for breakfast?”

“Very little,” said Miriam. “You’ll recall that yesterday’s shopping trip was focused on your party, remember?” She fished in a pocket of her robe, and brought out a bank card. “How about you take a walk down to the local shops and find something for yourself, and a meal for both of us tonight?”

“The local shops” was a small collection of shopfronts collected next to the school in the heart of Jake’s suburb. There was a hairdresser, an accountant—and a small supermarket, which usually employed only a single cashier.

In fact, Jake recognised the cashier today. Her name was Emily, and she had been two years above Jake in school, before graduating. She was pretty, dark-haired—and possessed of a superb pair of plus-size tits, which had endeared her to Jake’s memory even though he had never really spoken to her.

But Emily had other things on her mind than entertaining Jake. There were three girls Jake’s age clustered around her checkout—and Jake knew just from seeing them that there was mischief afoot.

This was the Cat Clique—the three most popular and attractive girls in Jake’s school—and, in the estimation of everyone who had had the misfortune to encounter them, the three biggest bitches.

“Oh, look,” said one of them. “It’s Emily Big-Tits, the dyke slut.”

The girl speaking was a thin, classically beautiful redhead, with full lips pursed in a permanent look of bitchy cruelty. Her name was Gwen Love, and it was common knowledge that she had secured a significant local modelling contract at the age of 17, and would likely head to New York or Paris after graduation to pursue the glamorous world of fashion. Gwen was a terrible person, and Jake didn’t like her—and yet he had certainly more than once had the fantasy of putting his cock between those pouty red lips and fucking her perfect face.

Emily was crossing her arms over her breasts defensively. “If you’re not buying anything, can you just leave?” she asked.

“Oh, are we not welcome in your dirty little shop, little lesbian moo-cow?” asked another girl. This was Juno South. She wasn’t exactly small-breasted herself, although her generous bust had to vie for attention with her lustrous waist-length black hair, and her beautiful ethnically-ambiguous features. (Latina? Asian? Hawaiian? No one knew, and Juno did not invite questions on the topic.)

Even at the age of 18, Juno already had a massive social media following as an influencer. She was rarely seen without a phone in her hand and an expensive and fashionable outfit, and she was the idol of teen girls and the fantasy of men of all ages.

Emily was blushing bright red at the mockery of the younger girls. She wasn’t making eye contact with them—just looking down. “I’m supposed to pay attention to customers,” she said. “So if you’re not buying…”

Gwen mooed, loudly, and Juno laughed.

But the third girl now sternly corrected them.

“Please, ladies,” she said. “Stop that.”

This was Catriona “Cat” Weatherwill—the queen of Fallwood High. Head cheerleader, top student, convenor of both the Purity Club and the Student Prayer Circle. Her father Martin was the mayor, and her mother Karen the head of the Women’s Church Auxiliary. In a short white shirt, white blouse and cardigan, and with her platinum blonde bangs topped with a cute plastic headband, she was a vision of purity and perfection.

She was the leader of this little coven of bitches—and the source of their name, the Cat Clique.

“Cat?” asked Juno, pouting. “Why can’t we make fun of her for being such a big-uddered heifer?”

“Yes,” said Gwen. “And why can’t we call her a dirty lesbian whore?”

“Because,” pronounced Cat, “it’s not our place to judge.” She smiled sweetly. “After all, Emily here will certainly go to hell for being such a sinful cunt-licking skank. And the devil will whip those giant milk-balloons harder than we could ever dream of.” She looked at Emily with pure evil in her eyes. “Do you ever dream about that, Emily? Being raped by the devil in hell while he punishes your sex-melons?”

The look on Emily’s face was pure misery. Jake hardly knew the girl, and yet he was struck by the urge to come to her defence.

But as he focused on her face, he felt something.

The ember—the heat—the burning core within her. The same as he had felt with Amy last night.

And suddenly he knew what it was. It was arousal.

Emily was wet.

How could she be? These girls were abusing her, humiliating her—and Emily was clearly ashamed, humiliated, her face flushed. She wanted them to leave her alone.

He reached out a little more…

And then he could feel Emily’s emotions, the same way he had thought he felt Amy’s.

She was so humiliated. These girls were so pretty. She would do anything to date one of these girls, kiss them, undress them—the idea made her so wet. It was unfair that the girls were so hot, when they were so cruel. But even in their cruelty, the fact that they were paying attention to her was causing a reaction between her legs. She felt ashamed of her tits. Why did she have to have such large, slutty tits? All these girls had smaller breasts than her—even buxom Juno. Maybe if her tits weren’t such giant whore-melons, she could be popular like these girls. Maybe they’d like her. Maybe they’d kiss her. It felt so strange to have them all staring at her tits, like she was nothing but an animal, or an object—and yet her pussy was so wet. She didn’t like being teased—being bullied—by these gorgeous bitches, did she?

Oh, god, maybe she did…

CLICK.

It was the silver leash—a shining thread of energy—and in horror, Jake realised he had just connected three things in Emily’s mind.

Breast shame—submission—arousal.

He could see them there—two shining ideas, leashed to the red ember of her arousal.

He heard Emily mewl in sudden humiliated wetness.

And Jake doubled over, because the headache was back. And worse than before. He had only connected two things for Amy—arousal, and the idea of Jake feeling her breasts. Now he had linked three things, and the cost was proportionately higher.

He staggered to an isolated corner of the shop and sank to his knees. No one at the checkout had seen him, and there were no other customers in the shop. He grabbed his head with his hands, praying for the pain to stop.

At the front of the shop, the Cat Clique were leaving.

“Come on, girls, let’s go,” Cat was saying. “I believe I can practically smell the sin coming off this homosexual prostitute.”

“I think that’s her cunt you can smell, Cat,” said Juno, and all three girls laughed.

“Good bye, Emily Melons!” sang Gwen—and, giggling, the three girls finally departed.

Jake sat for a while by the refrigeration units, waiting for his headache to subside.

What had he done? He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t really seen Emily’s thoughts, and that he hadn’t really created some new fetish or kink in her mind—but in the cold light of day it was impossible to pretend. He knew what he had seen. He knew what he had felt.

It felt real.

He tried to reach out to Emily again—but whatever sense he had had before had faded. He didn’t know what he wanted to do, anyway. Possibly undo what he had done—he had no reason to dislike Emily, and the thought that he had messed with her mind somehow filled him with guilt.

But it was done, and he did not yet know how to take it back.

When he finally felt better, he staggered to his feet, and half-heartedly gathered up some potential purchases—sandwich fixings for lunch, and steak and vegetables for dinner. Then he headed to the counter.

Emily was there, and she was still blushing. He put the food in front of her, and watched her scan it and bag it.

He could have just left—but he had to know. Was what he had done real?

He had to experiment.

Very deliberately, he stared at Emily’s tits.

It took her a while to notice—but when she did, she started to blush.

“Is something the matter?” she asked.

Jake blushed himself. He wasn’t used to being direct or sexual with girls, certainly not in the way he now planned. But he had to know.

“Do you like having big tits, Emily?” he asked.

And just like that, he felt it—the ember kindling inside Emily again. She was blushing, embarrassed by his question—but at the same time, it had made her sexually aroused.

And she could have yelled at him, chased him out, or just refused to answer. But instead her eyes looked down in submission, and she replied.

“No,” she said. “They’re embarrassing.”

“I think they’re very pretty, Emily,” Jake said. He was still blushing, but Emily wasn’t looking at his face, so she wouldn’t see. “I think they make you look like you’d be fun to fuck.”

Emily was even more embarrassed—and more aroused. She made a whimpering sound.

Jake could have left it there. He was certain now that what he had done was real—he’d really given this girl a kink for being ashamed of her breasts.

But his sudden power over this pretty girl had given him an erection, and he pushed further.

“Say thank you, Emily,” he said. “Thank me for saying you’d be fun to fuck.”

Her voice was a choked whisper. “Thank you for saying I’d be fun to fuck.”

“Sir,” said Jake. “Call me sir.”

He was really pushing it now, but the sense of power and control was exhilarating.

“Thank you for saying I’d be fun to fuck, sir,” whispered Emily.

Jake went one step further.

“Given how big and slutty your tits are,” he said, “I think from now on you should always call me sir. And you should ask me whether I like your tits, no matter who else is listening. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Emily. She paused, and then said, “Do you like my tits today, sir?”

“I do,” said Jake. And then he swiped his mother’s bank card across the EFTPOS machine, collected his shopping bags, and left.

He was smiling so hard he thought he might strain a muscle in his jaw. He knew it was wrong to have done that to Emily, of course—and yet the feeling of power had been so erotic, he just couldn’t help himself.

He was still smiling as he walked away from the shops—and he only stopped as he rounded the corner of the shop building, and found himself face to face with Madison.

“You little SHIT,” said Madison, and slapped him hard across the face. “Is this who you’re going to be, now that you’re 18?”

“What the fuck?” protested Jake. He put a shopping bag on the ground so that he could use the hand to massage his sore cheek and jaw.

“You know what you did,” said Madison. “I could sense what you did to that poor girl from half a block away.”

Jake was stunned. Sense what he did? Could Madison really know that he’d messed with Emily’s mind? How?

Acting purely on instinct, he reached out to Madison, looking for that same ember in her that he’d seen in Amy and Emily. If he found it, he’d know what she was thinking, and then…

But immediately, he felt as if his brain had been caught in a vice. His muscles went rigid, and he dropped the other shopping bag. He started to choke. His lungs didn’t seem to work right.

“Don’t you dare, Jakey boy,” hissed Madison. “Don’t you even dare. You may have more potential than me, but you’re not there yet, not just turned 18, not even close. You try and use your power on me, and I will fuck you up, you understand me?”

He couldn’t reply. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even breathe.

“Maybe you made a mistake,” she said. “Maybe you didn’t mean to exploit an innocent girl. Is that what you did, Jakey?”

He tried to nod.

“All right,” she said. “I’m going to give you a chance.”

He felt the vice relax. He fell to his knees, gasping, feeling like he might vomit.

“But you and I,” said Madison, “are going to need to talk. Now.”