The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

We were halfway through a workout when he said the words that would change our relationship forever.

My brother Trevor and I been working out together for about a year and a half. Honestly, it was pretty much the only time we spent time together—we were both too busy to hang out much outside of the gym.

He’s bi, which once upon a time, would have really weirded me out. Two guys, muscles, not many clothes on—you can imagine, yeah? But he’s still my brother, and I love him, so when he told me that he “swung both ways”, I tried not to let it affect our relationship.

So we’d been chatting about women, and he’d said that there was this one chick that he couldn’t get enough of. I laughed at that, of course—I’d been in the same situation.

And then he said it.

“Yeah, her name’s Michelle, and there’s...there’s just something about her pussy, man.”

I’m glad that I wasn’t holding any weights at the time, because I swear I would have dropped them. That sentence, it brought it all back. Michelle, her pussy, the court order...I must have gone white as a sheet, because halfway through a set of hammer curls, he just stopped, put the weight down, and put his arm on my shoulder.

“What’s wrong, man?”

“Michelle...” I gasped, pushing away the water he’d offered me. “Oh, Jesus...is she black?”

“Well, yeah, but...—”

“Does she work in finance?”

“Yeah, I think...—”

“Doberfield Investment, down-town?”

There was a pause, and he just stared at me, before nodding.

“Oh, Christ...” I said, and lay down.

The room was spinning, and it was a few minutes before I could muster up the energy to get up and tell him the story.

“It was about a year ago…before you moved to the city.”

Michelle and I had met at a bar. She was cute, but nothing to write home about. She liked muscly guys—explained why she’d taken a shining to my brother as well, I guess. We’d gone back to hers that night, and she’d asked me to go down on her.

Now I’m not going to lie—I like pussy as much as the next guy, but given a choice, I’d rather fuck one than taste one. But Michelle was very persuasive, and so it wasn’t long before my tongue was buried in her snatch, and I was surprised to find that I was enjoying it. No, more than that—it was amazing. Better than sex.

She came a few times from my tongue, and she wanted to fuck, as well. I wasn’t going to say no, but all the time she rode me, I couldn’t help but wish that I was still going down on her. It was like Trevor said—I couldn’t get enough of it.

Not that I’ve ever done them, but the only thing I can compare it to is like being on a drug…after tasting her, I was on a high for a few hours. It was glorious.

I got her number, and kept seeing her, and every time I did, I’d insist on going down on her for an hour or two before we did anything else. She was nice enough, but the main reason I was seeing her was the taste of her pussy. Outside of the bedroom we didn’t really click.

She hinted that the bedroom visits were going to stop if I didn’t start taking her to nice places, so I figured that would be the end of the relationship. I stopped calling her for a few days, and ignored her texts.

And after about a week, it hit me. I’d been having a hell of a week, and hadn’t been able to work out why—I’d been hungry, but never really managed to be full. I was thirsty, but no matter what I drank, it never really satisfied. And then I got a text from her, simply saying “Cum by n eat me out?”

I knew, in that moment, exactly what I needed.

I needed to taste her pussy again.

“Oh, come on...” Trevor laughed. “You’re telling me you got addicted to this chick’s pussy?”

“You have no idea,” I continued.

It was withdrawal, plain and simple. And after I worked it out, I went straight around to her place…she didn’t let me in, just started yelling and screaming at me. “You’re just after my pussy! You don’t love me!”

I tried to convince her that it wasn’t true, but nothing I could say would persuade her. And I quickly realised that I’d do anything—anything—just to taste that pussy again.

I started sending her flowers at work, trying to show up and take her out for nice meals. I figured if I could just convince her that I was really into her, then maybe she’d let me go down on her again. She ignored my messages, and when I spent two grand on a mariachi band to greet her at her work, she’d had enough.

She got a restraining order put out against me. I broke it a couple of times—I had to try to convince her to give me another chance—but after spending a week in jail, I realised that it just wasn’t worth it.

“Wait,” Trevor said, “you’ve been to prison?”

“Nah,” I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. “Just jail—prison is for if you get convicted and all that.”

“You went to jail,” Trevor corrected himself, “…how come you never mentioned any of this before??”

“It was when you were looking after Mom…I didn’t want to, y’know, worry anyone.”

“Bro, you went to prison!”

“Jail.”

“Jail! You went to jail…just because you wanted to go down on a chick??”

“You’ve tasted her,” I said. “You know how amazing it is.”

“Sure, it’s nice,” he said, “but I could easily go without it.”

“Ha!” I laughed, and finished my tale.

I decided that I just had to get her out of my head. So I went out and slept with every girl I could. I went down on as many of them as I could, but it just wasn’t the same. No one tasted like Michelle—no one even came close!

The whole time, the hunger, the...desire...it was still inside me. Growing, and growing. I needed that pussy. I needed to taste it, to lick it. Just one taste, and I would have been fine. Just one little taste...

I’m not proud of this, but for a while, I considered kidnapping her. I drew diagrams of her room, of her house—I remembered everything that I could about where she lived. I even waited until she went to work, and scouted the place out—I made sure that no one saw me, of course, and I went right into her apartment block.

I had a whole plan laid out, because it had started to take over my mind. All I could see, all I could smell, all I could taste was her pussy—I needed it more than I needed air.

It wasn’t until I was at the chemist, trying to buy chloroform that I realised what I’d become. It must have been the weirdest fucking conversation for the dude behind the counter—one moment I was asking where chloroform could be bought, the next I was suddenly bolting out of there.

I hated myself. It’s the lowest I’ve ever, ever been. All because of that woman’s fucking pussy.

And so I went and lived Buddhist for a while. Meditation, clear your mind, all that shit. It helped—it didn’t completely remove the cravings, but it definitely helped. As long as I don’t think about it, I’m fine. I haven’t been able to sleep with anyone without it triggering the need, but I can get through the day.

“Jesus…that’s where you disappeared to when Mom died?”

“Yeah,” I said, avoiding my brother’s eye contact. “I should’ve been there, I know. I…I’m not proud of it.”

There was a silence as we sat there, two brothers sharing a work-horse. I remembered coming back from the retreat, finding a million missed calls from my brother, stuff to do with Mom’s funeral. I had disappeared at the worst possible time…but he’d never questioned me, never judged. I figured he’d thought I was just hit by Mom’s death, and I’d never corrected him.

“Jesus,” Trevor said again, and I could tell he was processing what I said…and that he didn’t completely believe me. “Sorry to bring it up, I guess.”

“Do me a favour,” I replied, and he nodded. “Tell Michelle that you’ve got a meeting somewhere. Tell her that you’ve got to be out of town for a week, but make it clear that you don’t want to be. I’ll buy you a ticket to anywhere you like—L.A., Paris, Antarctica—go away for a week, and then tell me that I’m bullshitting you.”

“What?”

“I’m serious, Trev. Get out of town for a week. Spend a week away from her pussy.

“And then tell me that you don’t believe me.”

He took me up on my offer. I think the fact that he watched me buy the ticket for him really convinced him that I was serious. He went over to Perth—Nan had been bugging him to visit for a while, and he had enough hours stored up at work to take the week off.

I met him off the plane back, and could immediately tell that he believed me. He was shaking, he was white, he was sweating...but more than anything, the look in his eyes told me that he knew I was right.

Trevor was hooked, just like I’d been.

Fortunately, I had a plan.

At first, he didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to do anything except for get straight over to Michelle’s and taste that pussy of hers again. But I managed to convince him to listen, that if he didn’t plan, he’d be in the same boat that I was—she’d know that he was only after his pussy, and she’d cut him off as well.

I wrote a script for him, and when he called, he followed it to the letter. She seemed to buy it, too…back when I’d been utterly obsessed, I’d made friends with one of her friends. I’d written out a portfolio of her perfect guy…and though it had been too late for me, I’d kept my notes.

Where I’d failed, Trevor was going to succeed.

Since he’d mentioned Michelle again, I’d…well, you could say that I’d gone a little crazy. I’d never thrown out my extensive notes on her likes and dislikes, everything I knew about her…a part of me had known that there was always a chance she’d come back into my life again, I guess, and I’d wanted to be prepared.

The last few days had been spent pretty much just reading Michelle’s notes. I’d accidentally missed work, something that I hadn’t done since the first time she’d entered my life.

But this time, I had a plan. This time, I wasn’t going to let that precious pussy slip out of my reach…