The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Pat Hawthorne was having an argument with himself as he walked through the Mervyn’s women’s underwear section. It was one of those Looney Tunes moments where Mel Blanc was channeling Daffy Duck as the devil on one shoulder and Porky Pig was the angel on the other. Or maybe it was Bugs as the angel. It’d been a while since he’d seen it.

Daffy was all about waiting for the video. Jessica Garcia’s tits would probably look GREAT on dad’s new plasma.

Porky kept stuttering something about manning up, doing the right thing and maybe, just MAYBE getting enough gratitude to see the real things up close and personal.

“Like that kind of thing ever REALLY happens in the real world,” Daffy slobbered. “All he’ll get for his troubles is a ‘you thould’ve gone to the polithe, ya pervert craaaaazy! Wooohooohooo!’”

“Oh, don’t be such a mi...misi...mi...misin...misinth...misinthro... fucking d-bag!”

Pat looked around the ladies section for Heather, without success. Finally, he got up the courage to ask one of the dim headed girls in the section, who vapidly volunteered to go back into the stockroom and get her. After fluffing her obviously fake blonde hair, of course.

“No bother, really, just point me in the general direction.”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” she sniffed, waving her hand towards the corner between woman’s shoes and accessories before going back to looking in the nearest mirror.

Stopping at the swinging doors that led to the back storerooms, Pat stood there for a moment and checked to see if anyone was watching, then opened the door slightly to get a peek inside. Heather was standing in the dimly-lit corridor and she was talking to someone who looked a lot like Jessica Garcia. Well, if Jessica Garcia had her head grafted onto the body of Jennifer Lopez.

With way bigger boobs.

She was wearing some killer ensemble that he was paying absolutely no attention to because the whole thing was just...well, wrong. In more than a few ways. This was a girl he’d known for years but she looked incredibly different (in all the right ways) than she did just before summer break.

He tried his best to focus on what they were saying, but it was really, really hard. Really REALLY hard. So hard that he had to adjust himself, and didn’t even bother to look around to see if anyone was watching—which was very un-Patlike. Hell, in school he’d been known to ask for permission to go to the bathroom for fear that someone would see him adjusting himself. Just Reason #343 that it sucked to be him.

The Jessica babe-thing was bowing and weaving this way and that in an obvious effort to show off to the strangely ambivalent Heather, who even a nerd like Pat could feel was faking the attitude. She clearly wanted to strangle. The vibes were unmistakable, even for a socially inept high school senior.

Needless to say, the whole scene was fucking hot.

His first wish was that the WWF Gods would provide the mud, but before he could finish the fantasy, the Jessica babe-thing danced off into a small makeshift room nearby and tapped the door shut with her foot.

Suddenly it was Daffy on one shoulder and Bugs on the other and they were both wearing matching devil suits. Elmer Fudd’s shotgun was poking a tent pole inside his pants and no sign of pronoun trouble anywhere he could see...

“Should he pork her now, or wait and watch when he gets home?”

“He doesn’t have to wait to pork her now.”

“He does too have to pork her now.”

“Pork her now, pork her now!”

Yeah, right, like that would ever happen, he thought, rolling his eyes, and mentally slapped both of them silly until they vanished in little puffs of disillusionment. But he COULD maybe still maybe play the hero...

Swallowing hard, he swung open the door and stepping into the back room trying hard to look like he belonged there. “Hey, Heather.”

“Hawthorne?” Heather peered at him. “What the fuck?”

Pat was one of those “little people” that Heather barely tolerated, mainly because he was best buds with Preston Sterling. And Calvin liked him for some reason God only knows. It wasn’t like he’d do nerdy stuff like homework assignments for the football team or forge hall passes or whatever. Truth was, she thought he was kinda cute in a “get lasik and lose the glasses” kinda way, but damned if any of her crowd was going to cop to it because of what everyone else would think. Some things just weren’t done because they, well, simply weren’t done.

And, of course, he was kind of handy when you needed extra mini-dv tapes for your perverted video projects...

“So, like, what the hell are YOU doing back here?” Heather cocked her head to one side. “You can get in trouble, you know.”

Pat smiled and put a hand to the back of his head. “Calvin says he can’t wait ‘till you get off.” He nodded towards the black door or the changing room. “Something about being too hot thinking about—well, you know. He’s out in the van.”

“Well, you can just go out and tell Calvin...” Just as she was about to tell his sorry ass off, she was interrupted by a sudden squeal of joy coming from within the changing room. She gave the sheetrock another kick and dug her tacky fake purple fingernails into her palms.

“On second thought, you know what? Fuck this!” She shot the finger in the general direction of the changing room door, and then turned to Pat. “I’m late for my break anyway.” She adjusted her blouse sleeves and stared at him with the proverbial steam coming out of her ears. “If I come back and find that camera is messed up, I’m gonna make sure Calvin makes you eat those glasses.”

Then she turned on her four-inch platforms and he heard her growl to herself as she plowed through the swinging doors. “Damn bitch can find ME if she wants her damned discount.”

Through the gap in the doors, he watched her stomp off and started to sweat. He figured he had about fifteen minutes before she failed to find Calvin and came back to kick the shit out of him. Immediately, he started to walk around the outside of the makeshift room looking for the camera. He made it only as far as the door, which suddenly burst open.

“Ta-da!”

Jessica exploded through the door, fully expecting Heather to be standing there, just waiting to be turned to stone by the sight of the total awesomeness of her body and the newfound amazingness of her glorious tits. She certainly did NOT expect to catch a boy’s head right between them. Letting out a little cry of surprise, she tumbled on top of him and they fell into a heap on the hard indoor/outdoor carpet covering the cement floor.

“Humph,” Pat mumbled, which translates roughly as “What the fuck?!” for those of you who have never tried to speak with several pounds of mammary flesh pressed firmly against your face.

Jess lifted her head just enough to throw her hair back and looked at him rather blankly. “Hey, you’re not Heather.”

“Hmphnommnt.”

“Huh?” She turned her head to look around the immediate area. “Where’d she go?”

“HmhelmphifIknw.”

“You work here?” She brought her head back and peered down at him, attempting to focus on his face. “Do I know you?”

“MphmPatfrmdebatclssphm.”

Pat was beginning to wonder if this WASN’T some kind of bizarre Jessica Garcia lookalike. It wasn’t just the body thing. The Jessica he knew would be the very LAST person he’d expect to find on the floor in the back room of a department store forcing a fellow student to talk through her tits. So it almost surprised him when the light bulb suddenly turned on upstairs and she sprang to her, um, knees.

“Oh, THAT Pat!” She smiled broadly, then the bulb went out again. “What’re you doing here?” She brought one hand up to fix her hair, seemingly totally oblivious to the fact that her naked (and very lovely) boobage was still hovering five inches above his face.

“I...um...uh.” He couldn’t help but stare as he struggled for something, anything to say. Two years of debate class was useful for a lot of situation, but this wasn’t one of them. “Nice dress?”

“Really?!” She jumped to her feet, looked down and finally seemed to realize something wasn’t quite right with the situation. “Oh, silly me,” she giggled and attempted to squeeze her boobs back into both the corset and the top of the dress. She’d use both hands to get one in, but when she moved her hands to work on the other, the first one would pop back out. It wasn’t so much a wardrobe malfunction as it was an outtake from a stag film Groucho Marx might’ve made. “Darn.”

Then she looked up at Pat and batted her lashes in a way that Jessica Garcia NEVER would. “Help?”

Pat closed one eye and thought for a second. “Uh, you ARE Jessica Garcia, right?” Somehow in three years, he’d graduated from the two-button peep to full-fledged boob fluffer. He felt like he was backstage at those strip clubs Calvin was always talking about. He tentatively reached out his hands.

“Of course, silly, who else would I be?” She smiled as she grabbed one of his hands and placed his fingers on the inside of the corset top.

“Uh, just, you know, checking.” And he was. Checking. With eyes and hands. She moved his hands around, supposedly to tug on the corset enough to replace her boobs. Supposedly. “You just don’t...well, you know...”

Suddenly, she pulled both his hand and pressed them against her tits. “So, what’ya think?” she whispered.

“Uh, yeah, great, uh...dress.” His eyes were trying to ogle her boobs, but his brain slapped his mouth silly for being such a wimp, which caused his head to jerk downward and stare at the carpet, while his cock was tearing at his jeans, desperate to get out. It was like five different Pats were in there fighting each other over what should happen next.

“I wasn’t talking about the dress, silly.” She grabbed one of his hands and slowly moved it down across her tummy. “I’m standing here showing you an absolutely PERFECT pair of titties and you’re staring at your feet.”

“Oh, THAT,” he stammered, swallowing hard. Did Jessica Garcia just say ‘titties?’ He raised his eyes to halfway up her body and made it where her hand was now holding his, pressing it hard against her. And it wasn’t on her ‘titties.’ He fought hard to keep from staring down at his shoes again. For some reason he thought of “Ghostbusters,” and felt like Bill Murray trying to figure out what to do with the Gatekeeper. And then there was the whole Genevieve craziness about the old witch lady and the magic red whateveritwas...

Suddenly, the Jessica babe-thing tightened her grip on his hand. “Hey!” she giggled, and pulled on both his arms, moving him quickly towards the open door of the changing room. “I need to show you something!” And before the rest of his body could react, his feet and legs shuffled him behind her and into the room. Next thing he knew, she was kicking the door shut behind them and shoving him over next to a deck chair set up in one corner.

“Uh...” was all he could manage as she shoved him down into the chair. “Show me, something?” His mouth was open and he was sure he was drooling. She had the top of her dress bunched up under her boobs and the bottom of her dress bunched up around her waist. What the hell else did she have to show?

The part of him that wasn’t being overwhelmed by adolescent hormones did notice the red corset thing peeking out from the top and bottom of the dress, but it hardly registered when it had to compete with perky womanly nipples and silky black pubic hair and the sudden giggly-voiced freshman crush who was kneeling down and trying her best to unbuckle his belt.

“I read this really neat article in Cosmo about blow jobs that I’ve been positively DYING to try out.”

‘Cosmo?’ ‘Blow jobs?’ For some reason, part of him was still fighting the urge to just lay back and enjoy it. By the time she had managed to get the belt unlocked and was working on his zipper, his head turned and he noticed the mirror and, for maybe the first time, the absurdity of it all hit him. He was in the back storeroom of a mall department store, being ravaged by the smartest, most level-headed girl he’d ever known. These kinds of things just don’t happen. It was like a movie...

“Aaaaaah,” he managed to scream just as she’d peeled his jeans down to his knees. His head jerked wildly from one side to the other, scanning the room up and down, right and left. “Camera!”

“Where?” The Jessica babe-thing calmly raised one hand to her hair and tossed it back behind her shoulders, even as Pat tried desperately to jump out of the chair and pull his pants back up.

In his rush to possibly prevent himself from being famous all over the world for all the wrong reasons, he tripped over one of the legs of the chair and bumped his head into a wall, twisted his right knee and fell onto the hard carpet and laid there on his stomach. “I’m dead,” he moaned.

Jessica scanned the room for a few seconds, primping her hair and running her hands under her magnificent chest, posing several times in four different directions just in case the silly boy was right about a camera she couldn’t see. Finally, she shrugged and bent down to try and turn him over. “Seriously, if you didn’t wanna fuck, you could’ve just said so. You didn’t have to try and kill yourself. Now stop acting like a whiny little puppy...”

He put one hand over his eyes as he turned over onto his back. “You don’t understand...”

“Oh, pooh, you’ve been peeking down my tops since I was 15,” she giggled as she tugged at his zipper. “I’ve got two years of payback coming.” Finishing the unzipping proceedure, she moved on to the de-panting phase.

“But, the camera.” He put both hands over his face now. For all his objections, well, he DID sound a lot like a whiny little puppy. “They’ll make copies....”

“Well, then, I hope they’re all paying attention. Maybe they’ll LEARN something,” she laughed as she fished him out of his boxers and popped him into her mouth. As usual, crazy sexed up or no, the head of the debate team managed to get the last word in.