The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tiffany’s Troubles, and Her Helpers.



Sleeping Beauty: Sweet Dreams.

Tiffany smiled and waved to the boy peering down at her from his bedroom window as she walked from her car to the basement apartment she had rented from his father. She entered the apartment and promptly forgot about the boy. Her thoughts were elsewhere: She was thinking about the new demands Buford had just made of her. She was going to have to perform in front of him, and the thought of doing so made her uncomfortable since she had never done anything like that before. She sighed. If she didn’t want to look awkward in front of him, she was just going to have to practice first.

It was getting late, but she decided to take a quick shower first before going to bed. She undressed, put on her bathrobe, and headed to the shower.

Upstairs, the boy was intently watching his computer screen. Tiffany always left her laptop open and he could see her bedroom through the camera in the laptop. He really liked this gorgeous girl who had just moved into the basement, and he had already gotten lucky and seen her nude a few times. It looked as if he were going to get lucky again tonight.

Downstairs, Tiffany had returned from her shower. She put her bathrobe away and hesitated, debating whether she should just get dressed for bed since she had not planned to go out that night. Another possibility occurred to her: She was already nude; should she practice what she had just agreed to do for Buford? she wondered. She smiled mischievously: Why not? What could it hurt?

The boy watched as Tiffany went to her bed. Fortunately, she had not gotten dressed yet, so he was watching intently. Then she did something that made his jaw drop. She had lain on her back and had then curled up and had somehow gotten her face between her legs. Wow! Was she flexible! He couldn’t see clearly what she was doing, but he thought he had a pretty good idea. He had never seen anything so hot in his life.

To her surprise, Tiffany was enjoying herself much more than she had expected. She continued to pleasure herself with her tongue until she came, then lay back and relaxed. Buford is a genius, she thought. Satisfied with her performance, and overcome with drowsiness, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.

The boy paced back and forth in his room. Tiffany was asleep, and better yet, still naked. He had to take the chance. He sneaked downstairs and into Tiffany’s apartment.

The boy quietly entered Tiffany’s room. Fascinated by her bare breasts, he each reached out and touched her right nipple, and slowly caressed it with his fingertips, causing it to move in circles like the minute hand of a clock. Emboldened by the girl’s lack of response, the boy leaned over and gently sucked the nipple into his mouth and moved his hand over to her left nipple. He began to tickle the end of her right nipple with his tongue.

Tiffany moaned softly in response. The boy did not know how to latch on correctly, so her nipple hurt.

Alarmed by the sound, the boy glanced at her face. She was still asleep, her mouth opened by the moan. He calmed down, and turned his attention to her left nipple, drawing it into his mouth between his teeth and causing it to ache as much as her right nipple. She moaned again, again without waking up.

Tiffany was a sound sleeper, the boy realized, but she could still feel the pain in her nipples. He wondered whether she was a sleepwalker. He decided to experiment on her to find out. He whispered in her ear: “Your nipples hurt. Massage them with your fingers to see if that eases the pain.”

The girl slowly moved her hands up to her breasts and squeezed her nipples between thumb and forefinger.

“Oh, no!” whispered Satan, “there are wasps on your nipples, stinging them. That’s why your nipples hurt; but now you’ve disturbed the wasps. They’re stinging your nipples again, and again, and again. You can’t scare them away; you’ll have to pull them off. Pull them off of your nipples!”

The girl gripped her nipples firmly and pulled hard, trying to get the angry wasps off of her.

“No, that won’t work,” said the boy. “They’ll just keep coming back. You’ll have to kill them to make them stop stinging your nipples. Your nipples are really hurting now, so quick, crush the wasps. They have really hard shells, so you’ll have to squeeze as hard as you can.”

The girl groaned as she pinched her nipples hard, trying to kill the wasps.

“Harder!” urged the boy. “Okay, you’ve killed them, but your nipples are still burning from the stings. The stingers must still be in your nipples. You’ll have to pull them out.”

The groaning girl tugged hard at her nipples, but to no avail.

“You can’t get them out with your fingers,” the boy told her, “you can’t get a strong-enough grip. You’ll have to use your teeth. Hurry! Your nipples really hurt! Use your teeth to pull the stingers out!”

The girl opened her eyes and looked down at her breasts. The boy panicked for a moment, but calmed down almost at once as he saw that she was focused on her nipples. She sat up and bowed her head and used her hands to guide her breasts up towards her mouth. She bit down first on one nipple and tugged hard at it, then bit down on the other nipple and pulled and twisted it, desperately trying to ease the pain.

“The stingers have barbs, like fish hooks, so you’ll have to yank hard to get them out,” advised the boy.

The girl grunted with the effort as she tugged hard on her nipples, shaking her head back and forth as she did so, jerking her breasts this way and that in her frantic attempts to pull the stings out. The harder she pulled the more the barbs seemed to dig in, holding the stings stubbornly in place; but there was no other way to get them out. She would just have to keep biting harder to get a firmer grip on the stings and to keep yanking harder to break the barbs’ own grip on her nipples.

Back and forth she went, alternately concentrating her efforts on one nipple until the pain became too great, then turning her attention to the other nipple until it, too, just hurt too much. The girl labored doggedly, grunting and groaning with each attempt as she strained to remove the cruel stings that she believed were causing the intense pain in her nipples. Her work ethic impressed the boy, who watched in grateful appreciation of the girl’s efforts, which were certainly making him feel better at least, if nothing else.

“Bravo!” said the boy at last, although he was still enjoying the show. “You got the stingers out! You can relax now.”

Tiffany collapsed back onto the bed, breathing hard and perspiring visibly from her exertions. Her nipples still ached terribly, but they did feel better now that she had finally managed to pull the stings out.

When the girl’s breathing had returned nearly to normal, the boy whispered in her ear again: “Your nipples will still hurt bad for a while, but at least you got the stingers out. There’s only one problem. The wasps you killed are an endangered species. If anyone finds out what you did, you could go to prison for years. You’ll have to hide the evidence.”

The girl groaned in despair.

“There’s no need to worry,” the boy reassured her, “not if you have a large wooden spoon.” To his surprise, the girl got up and walked out of the room. The boy followed her to the door and watched as she headed towards the kitchen. She returned a minute later with a 15-inch wooden spoon.

“Good girl!” said the boy. “Now put the dead wasps in your asshole,” he advised her as he placed several red-hot cinnamon candies in her hand, “no one will ever think to look there.” He paused as the girl took the “wasps” and inserted them into her anus. Her eyes opened wide. Putting the wasps up her bottom seemed to have revived them, as they were angrily stinging her again, her bottom hole burning.

“You’ll have to bury them deep,” said the amused boy. Tiffany looked confused. The boy, surprised at the disconnect in the girl’s thinking, gently suggested: “Use the spoon.” A look of understanding appeared on the girl’s face, but to the boy’s surprise she put the bowl of the spoon to her bunghole. He had expected her to use the handle, but he had to confess that she had had the better idea.

Tiffany grunted as she worked the spoon into her tight bunghole and again as she worked it deep into her derriere until only a few inches of the handle remained in view. She stopped then and seemed to be awaiting further suggestions. The boy smiled. Taking hold of the handle, he guided her back to the bed. He pulled up on the handle and she quickly scrambled up on the bed but remained on her hands and knees, with her head down.

The boy now told her: “When you wake up in the morning, your nipples will still hurt like hell; but, since the wasps you killed are an endangered species, you’ll feel guilty about killing them; and you’ll feel even more guilty if your nipples get any relief. In other words, you’ll feel better about yourself if your nipples hurt; and the more they hurt, the better you’ll feel. That’s why you’ll refuse to do anything to relieve the pain.”

The girl was slow to respond, so the boy jerked up on the handle again, so that it pointed up at an angle. The girl’s head jerked up as she went down on her elbows, and she quickly nodded her understanding.

Satisfied, the boy got ready to leave. For a moment he considered leaving the spoon where it was, but immediately thought better of it. He didn’t want her to wake up to find her ass plugged with the spoon and wondering how it got there. He placed his left hand on her bottom and pulled steadily with his right until the bowl stopped his progress. He paused for a few moments to consider how best to proceed; then shoved the spoon deep again and immediately yanked back on it in order to gain some momentum. The spoon pulled free with both an audible pop as Tiffany’s anus opened wide and shut tight in an instant and an audible gasp as Tiffany’s mouth opened wide at least.

She moaned softly: “Thank you.”

Surprised but pleased, the boy grinned and patted her affectionately on the bottom and said: “Hope you didn’t get any splinters!”

The boy walked to the door and glanced back at the girl. She still seemed to be fast asleep; and if she had actually been awake as he now believed, well, that was even better. Either way, he was going to have a lot of fun playing with her.

Tiffany slowly opened one eye and watched as the door closed quietly behind the boy. She smiled, thinking of how she had fooled him into believing she had been asleep the whole time: He’d be sure to come back now.

In the meantime, Tiffany almost wished her nipples didn’t hurt so much; but, since she thought that having pain-wracked paps was her just reward for having killed those poor wasps, she felt she really had no cause for complaint. If anything, Tiffany felt she deserved to do even more penance for her misdeeds.

She wondered whether the rat traps were still in Buford’s barn. If not, she could surely find some other toys to play with. While Tiffany was considering what toys she might find in the barn, the patches of Devil’s thorn in the vacant lot next door came to mind: She wondered whether the thorns would make good surrogates for wasp stings. There was only one way to find out; and, since it seemed to her to be a just penance, Tiffany determined to carry it out on the following day.

The next day, after the boy’s parents had left the house, Tiffany harvested a few of the hard Devil’s-thorn seed pods. She then spread a large beach towel under the boy’s bedroom window in order to do some topless sunbathing. After she had stripped down to her bikini bottom, she knelt down facing the house. She picked up one of the Devil’s-heads and examined the long spines that represented the Devil’s horns. They filled her with dread.

Dreading what was coming, Tiffany fished some ice out of her drink and applied it to her already painfully erect nipples, hoping to numb them. Instead, the cold just made them hurt even more. Tiffany felt relieved at this, as she had felt guilty about using the ice. Fortunately though, by distracting her attention from the thorns, icing her nipples had had the beneficial effect of calming her fears.

Tiffany took a deep breath. Not wishing to allow any further negative thinking a chance to get the better of her again, she quickly thrust one of the Devil’s thorns as far as it would go into the very center of each tit tip. The stabbing pain brought tears to her eyes and a moan to her lips. She shuddered involuntarily, as if her breasts were trying to shake off the fiendish burs on whose sharp spikes her tortured teats were impaled.

When she had recovered sufficiently from this first stage of her plan, Tiffany managed to snap off the main body of each bur so that only a tiny stub of thorn remained visible in each nipple. The rest of the thorns remained invisible, still lodged in her milk ducts, tormenting her with impunity, her throbbing nipples too painful to touch.

The groaning girl fell over backwards. The devilish spines embedded in her nipples had given them some backbone, which forced those tender tit tips to remain stiffly at attention. With her lying flat on her back and her nipples standing stiffly straight up, Tiffany’s tits made superb sundials. While she kept track of the time, Tiffany could see the boy grinning down at her from his bedroom window; for this next stage of her plan had left her barely able to move other than to shudder now and again, her tits quivering nicely.

“Now I know how a worm feels,” she moaned, thinking of the grubs in which the parasitoid mind-controlling wasps she had learned about in Entomology class implanted their eggs. She was sure that the wasps last night had mistaken her long hard nipples for their usual prey.

“No, now you know how two worms feel,” she heard the boy snicker from his window, correcting her. Tiffany blushed. He was right, of course. As had happened the night before, he had proved himself to be more astute than she was. Humbled, Tiffany was overcome with feelings of inferiority, her turgid nipples painful reminders that she was on the same low level as the lowly worms she now sympathized and identified with.

Still, Tiffany empathized completely with the wasps that had stung her nipples: They had only been doing what came naturally to them, and she could hardly blame them for that. She had no one to blame but herself, for it was she who had bared her breasts and whose nipples had teased and taunted and enticed the wasps, so she sorely felt that she and her sore tit tips fully deserved the rightful punishment so pointedly being inflicted on them. They had earned it, after all.

Later, after Tiffany had revived enough to put her top back on before the boy’s parents returned home, the brassiere pressed on her forcibly erect nipples as if they were push buttons, jamming those already aching tit tips straight back into her full breasts. The stubs of the thorns kept catching on the material of her brassiere for good measure.

Tiffany felt fulfilled. She had succeeded in her desire both to punish herself in a manner fitting her crimes and to reward the boy in a manner befitting his helpful advice of the night before. She was sure he would come back now for her repeat performance tonight to watch the tit tug-of-war between her teeth and the Devil’s thorns.

Tiffany hoped the boy would enjoy the encore at least as much as he had enjoyed the premiere, for his obvious appreciation of her efforts the night before had been good moral support and had helped her to keep struggling with the stings even when she thought she might never get them out. Besides, for some reason, she felt a profound need for his approval; without it, she could not seem to bring herself to do anything to soothe her complaining nipples.

Back in her apartment, time seemed almost to have stopped. The seconds dragged into minutes, and the minutes into hours. Tiffany looked at the clock again, for perhaps the hundredth time, and groaned. Showtime was still hours away, and she could hardly wait for the spectacle to begin: Those thorns really hurt.