The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Melanie had found it, found it on the beach; smooth, white, long and rounded. It was an unusually shaped stone; very unusual; quite enough to make a young girl blush; especially given how long she had stared at it and held it in her hand turning it over and over; it was fascinating and she did not want to let it go. She had thought of burying it in the sand but in the end had wrapped it in her towel; it was not something to carry up the beach or let her aunt see; and had taken it back with her.

That night she had unwrapped it from her towel, slowly unrolling the striped towel across her bed. The stone had lain there in the moonlight looking as white, long, smooth and rounded as she had remembered on the beach, the pale light giving it an almost phosphorescent glow. In her room, on the bed, in the moonlight it looked even more like what it had appeared on the beach, even more—yes phallic—than it had done in the afternoon.

Why had she brought it home? Curiosity, a memento, perhaps just for amusement. It was, after all, quite funny being so like a man’s... thing: so like a man’s thing, that is, when... erect. Melanie was half minded to show it to her friends, as a giggle; bring it along when they met but she paused: what would they think of her bringing such an odd thing along, would they really find it so funny, would they think her a little odd to have been interested in it in the first place, did she really want to show them what was, after all, her secret?

Melanie knew why she had really brought it home, why she had so carefully wrapped the stone in a towel; she had not admitted that to herself then, not on the beach, but, if she was honest with herself, she had really brought it home to see... to see if it would—no of course it would—to try it out—yes to watch and feel it sliding into herself. In the quiet of the night, in the silence of her room she whispered, “Come on Melanie, spit it out girl, to masturbate with because it is just like a cock, a willy, a penis, a todger.”

She giggled at saying the words to herself. Was she really going to slide that big cold stone up into herself and pretend she was being fucked? Yes, she was! It was so smooth, so rounded, so right shaped, so right for what she had in mind. She placed it between her thighs to warm.

It was quiet in the house. Her aunt would have made her way to bed by now. Down below the lights would be out.

Melanie slipped her nightdress over her head, feeling the cotton on her skin as it slid up her back leaving her naked, indeed very much as she had been all day on the beach, save she had then been wearing her bikini. Days of sun had had its effect and, actually, she looked as if she was still wearing a bikini—almost. Her skin browned by the sun contrasted starkly with the whiteness of skin, usually covered by the material of her bikini. It looked like she was, sort of, wearing a white bikini—at least at first glance anyway. Really it just brought the nakedness of her breasts and sex into prominence.

Melanie put her hand over her left breast, immediately conscious of the touch on her sensitive nipple. She always found her nipples sensitive, wondered if her friends found theirs as sensitive, whether alone in their beds they enjoyed stroking their breasts as much as she did. There was so much more to Penny’s but were they as sensitive? Penny’s breasts were ‘generous,’ ‘ample’ or, it might be said, just downright large. Melanie reached and cupped her other breast holding them like a brassiere. She wished they were larger. It was not that she was flat chested but they were not really womanly.

Her mother had told her not to be impatient. Had said a large bosom like her own was a bother, even if the cleavage looked fine in a dress. She had said they would grow particularly if she had babies. Melanie smiled at the idea of a baby at her breast, suckling. What would that feel like?

She would need a man suckling her breasts first; a man in bed with her doing things before making her pregnant. It was not that she was anxious to be pregnant, not for a long time, but most definitely she imagined having a boy or man with her in bed often enough—and, yes, doing things.

That had not happened, as yet. Not to her friends either. Leastways not that any had said. But she did not know what they were getting up to now on their summer holidays. Was Penny, on holiday in Malta, making out in the sunshine with some nice boy she had met. Melanie looked up and out of the window. Was she at that very moment having her big breasts fondled by a naked boy, his penis hard and swollen?

Lucky Penny—if such a thing was happening. Melanie squeezed her breasts imagining some nice boy doing just that. Would he find her breasts too small? He could hardly complain, though, about her nipples and areolae. They were a bit embarrassing in their own way and meant she could not wear skimpy bikini tops. Big, big brown areolae surrounded her nipples. Nothing like Penny’s pale pink little things. But whereas the skimpiest top would hide Penny’s nipples—though not, of course. her breasts spilling out all over the place—such a top would just not hide Melanie’s brown circles. They would show, their brownness peeking out, certainly would titillate the boys but it would be embarrassing, even if she would like to see those interesting bulges in their swimming shorts or trunks expand!

Melanie looked downwards to where her hair grew thick and brown. A little trimmed by her for the bikini—she did not want stray curls peeking. She wondered if the boys would perhaps prefer her all shaved—but she had to have a boy first! She was not going to bother until then.

She took the stone out from between her clasped thighs and placed it back on the bed. It was a little warmer now, but not much. White, rounded and long, and a little bulbous one end. It really was very phallic—not that she had held or seen the real thing in that state but she had seen pictures. She was not going to touch it, sexually, yet. Melanie imagined a boy sitting opposite her on the bed as naked as she; him looking at her breasts; she at his thing all hard and, like the stone, bulbous at its end. Her fingers moved on her breasts, would he do the same—did boys like playing with their nipples too? It would be nice to just watch and masturbate like that before touching each other. A delicious waiting, a postponed touching whilst they self pleasured and watched.

Her fingers plucked at her nipples imagining the boy touching his penis. She knew she would love seeing that.

After a time her fingers fell lower, touching her curls and then sliding further. Melanie knew she was wet, had felt that coming as she had unwrapped the stone. As usual she was ‘sopping.’ Was Penny like that? Melanie had hardly liked to ask. With her forefinger she slid, avoiding the hard little bud of her clit—at first.

She imagined the boy leaning forward and kissing her as his hand moved up and down his penis. Just their lips touching—nothing else. She closed her eyes imagining, as her fingers played with herself. Her fingers reached out and touched the stone, lifting it and moving it to the vertical, bulbous end up—of course—like the boy’s thing would be.

It was cool to the touch as stone would be—not like the boy’s erection certainly! Melanie’s fingers slid as she imagined they would do on the boy’s cock. Her hand replacing his.

How long would it be before he wanted to get on top of her? She imagined lying back on the bed leaving her thighs wide open in invitation. It was a funny thing to imagine. What men and women did. The woman lying back to receive the man in her vagina. Funny, yet... yet so much what she would like to do—receive indeed!

She could do more than imagine—with the stone in her hand. The stone was still cold when it touched her clit. It made her jump but in a nice way. Its coldness deliciously stimulating right where it counted. Up and down she rubbed feeling the wetness pouring from her.

A little confusing imagining the boy on top of her rubbing yet his penis feeling cold! Melanie touched the stone to her entrance and pushed.

Fuck! She had pushed things into her before. Had masturbated with a hairbrush handle and even a carefully washed carrot but nothing like this. Bigger, more phallic, cold and so hard. Smooth certainly—there was no resistance to its entry but so cold. It made her gasp but it did not stop her pushing, pushing the phallic stone into her, virginal actually, vagina.

Melanie pulled back her hand and clamped her thighs tightly together and just rolled on the bed. Not something she could do with a boy but there was no boy or body attached to the cold hard phallus now squashed inside her and between her thighs. Big, hard and male! Melanie rolled, gasping and plucking at her breasts as the feeling of fullness and coldness made her more than tingle.

It was one big orgasm—and not a short one. Had her aunt come into the room Melanie would not have noticed so wrapped up in her pleasure and with her eyes squeezed so shut.

Gasping she lay on her bed in the moonlight, her thighs falling open and not just her sex drenched. She was sweating profusely. In her mind she imagined the boy on top of her, his hot body pressing her down and his hard penis inside her ejaculating. Pouring his ‘stuff’ into her, however that might really feel like or how much actually came out of a penis. The stone had not been dislodged, was still deep inside her, feeling so big and hard but now rather warm.

Melanie breathed out slowly. Was she glad she found the stone! That had been quite something.

It was odd. The stone looked even more penis shaped the next night when Melanie took it from its hiding place and unwrapped it. She could not resist another intimate session with it after she had turned her light out. Melanie was sure it had not been curved like that the night before. She shrugged—it must have been.

Not a day for the beach. She and her aunt had gone visiting. A grey day with the threat of rain. Now, outside the window, the rain was starting, the promise of rain finally realised, she could hear its pattering beginning. Just lightly at first.

Melanie sat on her bed with her the covers back and her knees drawn up inside her nightdress. A pretty cotton nightdress with frills and bows. Very much in keeping with the age of the house—Victorian or Edwardian. Right at the top in the attic, Melanie’s bedroom had probably been for the servants. Perhaps two young maids sharing a room, perhaps even in the same almost double bed. It made one wonder what happened in those far off days! It was the sort of nightdress that would have been worn in those days though not probably by maid servants. A simple cotton shift would have done. Had the simple cotton shifts been removed and the girls cuddled and played in a rather friendly way?

Melanie hugged her knees and thought it would have been rather more fun if, improbably, the young maid and the young ‘boots,’ or whatever a young servant boy was called, had been made to share the same bed. Hands exploring each other in the dark of the night, keeping each other warm and happy.

Melanie looked at the special stone she had found. It seemed to have lost some of its coldness, perhaps coldness stored within itself from the sea. She had loved having it within her the night before and the urge to slip it under her nightdress was strong.

It lay there on the sheet, a gently curving long white stone with a bulbous end. It looked like it was marble but that seemed a bit unlikely. There was not a lot of marble around the English coastline! Melanie slipped her nightdress from her and propped the stone up on the bunched material. It looked much better like that, curving and pointing upwards as she knew the real things did. Perhaps at that very moment Penny, her friend, was gazing at the real penis of her imagined Malta holiday boyfriend. How amazing it would be to be seeing the real thing and knowing you could touch. Lucky Penny—perhaps.

Her friends had told her boys liked having their erections (delicious word) sucked. Had Penny been doing that? Could she?

Melanie smiled. She could try—she had a stone penis before her, only she would have to be careful about her teeth. The stone was hard. She would not want to chip her teeth—or the stone! How hard were boys’ erections anyway? It was an organ a woman did not have any comparison in her own body. Was it hard like a finger but without the joints? Fingers had bones in them, penises did not but did they feel like they did?

She leant forward imagining she was approaching a real erection. Such a peculiar thing to do. Such an unnatural thing to do, not where the organ was meant to go, yet... yet, the idea so appealing. What would it be like? Her mouth opened.

The stone felt strangely less hard in her mouth, it was cool but not cold. It did not set her teeth on edge. She sucked as she imagined one did on a real boy. Sucking to make it... what would that feel like? Did Penny already know?

Her fingers played down between her thighs as she sucked, imagining the boys fingers working as she sucked. She gave the thing a final lick and then moved it downwards. It was wet from her mouth, she could feel the trail as she pulled the tip of the penis downwards against her skin, across her tummy and through her patch of hair.. Lovely to feel it hard against her own hardness and then she let it slip lower.

Under the sheet the naked girl lay with her thighs wide apart, a pose of abandonment and vulnerability—open for a man. Melanie held the stone penis ready and then pushed. It was so like—or so she thought—being penetrated by a man. Such a big thing to push into her little tunnel—but so nice to do it. Again she accommodated it, her vagina stretching as it slid up into her body and then she moved it with her hand simulating how it must be, how boys or men would surely move. And, again, a strong orgasm.

It had been a second grey day, not a day for the beach really, a day for board games with her aunt though they had also gone to the cinema in the evening. Melanie had wished her aunt good night and climbed the stairs. Bathed and in her nightdress she had stood looking out of the window across the garden. The faint light from the bedside lamp reflected back her image in the window glass and so she opened the window. Outside all was still, the rain had stopped and all was silent. Even the dripping had stopped. The scents of a wet summer garden came to her. Not the hot Mediterranean scents of thyme, fennel and hot dust but English smells of mown lawns, honeysuckle and dampness. Melanie smiled. She had gone to the Mediterranean the year before with her parents and had loved the heat and warm sea. So different from England though, perhaps, a hot English summer’s day was hard to beat.

Into her mind a thought of a Greek hillside set against the blueness of a Mediterranean sky, a hill reaching upwards and upon it an old ruined white temple with a cool stream beside it. Beautiful, peaceful, such a place to sit and think. Melanie frowned, had she been to such a place? She could not recall but yet found herself with a feeling of longing and loss. A thought for a moment and then gone.

A fox barked and Melanie turned from the window. What was Penny doing that night—perhaps nothing, perhaps...

The stone when she unwrapped it did look uncannily like an erection, curved and with the bulbous top having that curved, edge of helmet look she had seen in pictures. It seemed to Melanie her mind was playing tricks because it seemed more definitely phallic than before. Perhaps it was the way the light was falling, bringing slight indentations into sharp relief with the shadows. Yet, when she turned it, the impression of a helmet shape remained. Melanie shrugged her shoulders. It had been a lucky find. Not as good as meeting a nice boy but would her aunt have allowed more than talk or swimming together? The stone was something she could take to bed!

Once more the nightdress slipped from her body. It seemed more exciting to be naked. She touched the penis to her nipples, stroking the areolae. That felt good and the stone not nearly as cold as when she had first touched it. Again she sucked and again it went into her body.

Melanie stood and heard a clattering, spattering sound upon the floorboards. She switched on the light and stared at the little pieces of white marble lying across the boards. Had she somehow broken the penis? She turned but there it was lying in the warm indentation on the bed where she had lain, where she had rolled in ecstasy. It was wet but entire, not damaged in any way and looking so penis like. There was even the faint outline of veins climbing up the shaft. She was sure they had not been there before.

Turning, she reached down and picked up the small pieces of white marble. There was nothing jagged about the pieces, rather they were smooth, shaped like water droplets. Melanie could not imagine where they had come from, could not at all understand but she felt so exhausted, so tired that she just dropped them into a pot with a tinkling clatter and fell back into bed to sleep.

“Were you hot in the night?”

Melanie blinked and sat up. It was morning and there was her aunt with a cup of tea.

“N... not terribly.” Melanie was about to ask why her aunt thought that when she realised she had not put her nightdress back on and was sitting up in bed bare breasted under just a sheet. Worse, she felt the hardness of the stone against her thigh. Her aunt, though, could not see that.

After her aunt had gone, Melanie looked again at the little drops of marble in the jar and at the stone penis. It really was much more detailed than when she had first found it. It worried her, worried her during the day, yet when she came to go to bed she could not resist bringing it from its hiding place and unwrapping it. Her desire to touch, to use it to assuage the sexual desire which was coming stronger and stronger to her as each evening came was growing once more. It was almost as if the stone was encouraging her to touch.

It was lovely, it was beautiful and it was not simply a stone that had happened to be smoothed by the sea. It was a carving, a marble carving of a male erection, perhaps part of a statue—Melanie was unsure.

She had no idea how old it was or how it had got into the sea or why it was, seemingly, becoming more real every day. Was she somehow rubbing away a residue of the sea which had totally obscured its finer detail?

It was so good to take into her mouth. It even felt almost warm. Melanie’s hand played in her very wet sex as she sucked. Pulling it from her mouth she had the momentary impression of just the faintest outline of a man beyond it.

Ridiculous!

Melanie switched off her bedside light and surrendered herself to the pleasures of pretend sexual intercourse, her own fingers stroking but with the very real shape of the now warmed stone pushing into her. Was Penny perhaps with her supposed Maltese lover, was he on top of her and thrusting as she was with her stone? She imagined her friend with the sheets thrown back and the boy’s penis pushing at her, her body spread and perhaps his hands holding hers up high above her head, one in each hand, as he used her with his penis. Lovely to imagine it sliding to and fro in her friend just as her stone was doing. Melanie reached up with her hands towards the headboard imagining what it would be like to have both hands held by a strong man so she could do nothing about the thrusting penis between her thighs—being ‘taken’—the idea strangely thrilled her.

Her fingers had left the penis, had left it curving up inside her and so it should have been still: yet to Melanie it was not. It was as if it was thrusting against her and, further, it was just as if as well her hands were strongly held above her, it was as if a male body was atop her and she felt cool lips on her own.

The mind is a funny thing. What appears real can be merely illusion. Melanie was so far gone in her sexual excitement she just accepted she was half dreaming Penny might be being taken for real far away in the Maltese Islands but Melanie was imagining it in a very graphic way. As her orgasm built and broke she felt the penis withdraw and it was if hot liquid rained down upon her stomach as her sex quivered and contracted in exquisite orgasm.

Perhaps she passed out but as a feeling of warm contentment settled over her. The stone was no longer within her. She must have dislodged it in her excitement. She reached and brought it, all wet to her chest and dropped off to sleep cuddling it as you might a teddy bear.

In the morning Melanie found, as she made to get out of bed, pellets of stone upon the sheets, pellets of stone in bed with her, pellets like white frozen droplets of liquid. They seemed to be marble. She was wide-eyed. It had happened again. As she slipped them into the jar with the others, hearing once again the tinkling sound, she wondered what was happening. The stone erection was, she was not surprised to see, even more detailed in the morning light. The artist had even carved the urethral opening.

Melanie was sure something very strange was happening. It was not simply an oddly shaped stone she had found on the beach: it was something more. It was not just a physical thing, it, and she was quite sure it was the stone, was drawing her to itself, causing her an intense sexual desire. The pleasure was exquisite and not something she wanted to give up. Not at all. It was like a drug and it had her hooked. She loved the feeling of the stone sliding into her, she loved feeling it with her fingers and taking it in her mouth.