The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

If I have to sit through another YouTube commercial for something I’m not interested in, I’ll scream. No, Bad Algorithm, I’m not in the market for insurance, or a car, or whatever medicine that last one was selling with symptoms more horrible than whatever it was curing. I simply want to find the jingles I need for my marketing class presentation to illustrate how this prevalent campaign strategy in the past has all but gone extinct. Plus, I need an easy way to download them, too. Please and thank you.

Instead of starting my weekend, this is what I’m doing. Tied to my computer, alone in my room, prepping next week’s assignment well in advance. My parents didn’t have enough money to pay for their only daughter to go away to school, so my GPA is super important to maintain my scholarship. I take college seriously. I can find time (and money) to have fun when I’m out in the working world and making bank. For now, I have a “keep my nose in my books” philosophy.

I do a web search for “free commercial songs” and something called WeaverTunes comes up. Must be some iTunes rip-off. At free, though, the cost is right for this starving college girl. Or, as the site lists, “100% freedom.” Whatever. It doesn’t require a login and it doesn’t ask for payment information, so this site is fried gold. Once I’m through the welcome screen, though, I see that it’s actually a gold mine. Every song I can think of, it has. I immediately bookmark this site, seeing as I’ll have to come back for non-schoolwork related songs in the future.

I start to go down my list of possible options I gleaned from the internet. A chewing gum riff is at the top. I download it and give it a listen. It immediately plays over my laptop speakers.

Double your pleasure, double your fun…

“Whatcha doing?” My twin sister Judy chimes in from behind, leaning forward so that some of her blonde hair tickles my arm. Always nosy. I can’t seem to shake her. She even followed me to college and enrolled in all the same classes. Since I was born first, and I’ve got a whopping five minutes of age on her, I feel responsible. And as the younger sister, it seems like Judy is always the instigator, always the one up for hijinks. I guess if there’s a good twin and a bad twin, I’m the good one, though in all honesty, outside of her constant need to be up in my grill, neither one of us seems to get into too much trouble. We got a healthy dose of responsibility from our parents.

“I’m researching songs for my marketing project. What are you doing?”

“Watching you.” She replies and rolls a chair over to sit down and stare at me, her face mere inches from my own.

Times like these, I wistfully wonder what it’s like to be an only child. Oh, what I’d do with all of that peace and quiet.

I spin in my chair to face her. Having a twin is a weird mirror. While others can’t tell us apart, all I see is our differences. I keep my hair up in a ponytail, Judy lets her stay untethered and down to her shoulders. I contend that my blue eyes are just a shade lighter than hers to which she calls “BS.” She works out a little more than me, so I have a slightly softer look… and slightly larger boobs, though we’re still the same bra size and Judy says there’s really no difference between our two sets and any upper hand I may think I have is all in my head.

“So Judy, what’s your presentation going to be?”

“Well, Jane,” Judy says, stressing my name with formality, “I realize that assignment isn’t due until next Friday, so I’m going to take my time to come up with something really, really interesting.”

“Do you need my help? Or perhaps a thesaurus so you don’t have to double your really’s?”

“No, I’m as completely as serious a student as you are, sis. Sheesh.”

Younger sisters. Sheesh indeed. I feel like the conversation is over, but she doesn’t move. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“Not right now. Maybe I’ll listen to what you’re doing. You know, for inspiration.”

“Fine.” I say and swivel back to look at the laptop again.

I pull up, then download a soda jingle.

I’d like to buy the world a Coke…

I’ll be the first to admit that I love my sister in a saccharinely sweet way. Are we joined at the hip? I mean, not literally or anything, but I don’t really want to go anywhere without her. There’s a powerful pull to someone who is exactly you that’s hard to translate to anyone who could never experience that. You just can’t imagine how any annoyances, however big they seem at the moment, become minor ripples in the great big ocean of emotion. I adore her and I’m glad the feeling is mutual. The feeling isn’t limited to each other. I think that anytime two girl-next-door blondes walk into the room with sweet, sunshiny smiles and attitudes, they’re bound to make friends. We have loads of friends, but ultimately, my sister is my BFF.

While I’m on soda jingles, I might as well capture another one.

I’m a Pepper, you’re a Pepper…

“Red, I’m bored.”

Most twins have something called twinspeak—a way of communicating that only the pair of them understand. Judy and I never had that, but we do, somewhat uninspired, refer to each other as “Red” because of our shared vibrant, flame-like red hair. I’ve been told by common friends it gets on their nerves, especially since it doesn’t help them to tell us apart at all. That’s half the fun of twinning, though.

“Red, I’m working.”

“I know, Red. I get that. I guess I’ll also find some work to do on my laptop.”

Judy opens her laptop and randomly hits buttons like a monkey in a room coming nowhere near typing Hamlet. She does stuff to make me laugh all of the time. I know that I got an extra helping of “reserved” when our personalities were doled out. As often as I think about escaping her, I know my life would be so much bleaker without her in it. I’m lucky to have her as my sister no matter how annoying she can be at any given moment.

She stops typing and asks, “How many songs do you think you need, Red?”

I think about it for a moment. “I think five will do, Red, and I’ve already got three so we’re more than halfway there.”

“Maybe we can pop over to the dining hall when you’re done, Red.”

“Sounds delicious, Red.”

“Okay then, Red, as you were.”

I return to my jingles search to find a popular soup one.

M’m M’m good…

Judy’s temptress foot slowly moves up and down my calf and I let out a soft moan even before I realize I’ve done it.

I look over at her and she smiles knowingly… seductively… back at me. We have a game we play called “good girl.” The rules are simple: see how far you can push someone through excessive teasing and still be considered a good girl. We practice on each other all of the time, finding new and interesting ways to needle, but the game extends beyond just the two of us. We just like to practice on each other, but we have a whole friend network we like to work to a frenzy. And when it’s just us, it’s not like it’s twincest or anything. We keep it wholesome, mostly. We do each want to maintain our good girl status after all.

“Question, Red?” My sister asks.

“Yes, Red?” I say back.

“Do you know why a girl should masturbate with these two fingers?” Judy says and holds up her pointer and middle finger.

“Why?”

“Because they’re mine.”

“Ha!” I laugh, but then I raise my own hand and my own pointer and middle finger. “Yours don’t seem all that different from mine, Red.”

“You make a good point, Red. Maybe we maintain our good girl status even if we were to use them on each other. Since they’re so similar and all.” She smiles widely. “I’m just sayin’…”

“Red, I’m trying to finish some school work. Can we not right now?”

“Sorry, Red. Let me know when you’re done and maybe we can get to your bottom of the problem.”

I roll my eyes. Innuendo is a mainstay of our little sisterly game. Faux Freudian slips aplenty. You have to roll with it though, because if you’re the one to call it out, you’re also the one accused of having a dirty mind and therefore not a good girl. Of course, escalation is half the fun of the game. I’d never admit it to Judy, but there have been a bunch of times when the game actually got to me and got me intensely turned on. Since we’re twins and all, I’d be willing to bet it’s had the same effect on her. Neither of us could ever admit it though, because that would totally be a loss. And we’re responsible enough to not let it go too far.

Four songs down and downloaded. Of course, all of them are food related, so I should probably find something that isn’t, just so my presentation has breadth. I find a toy store jingle that should do the trick.

I don’t wanna grow up…

Ugh. Why am I sitting at my computer on a Friday night studying when there’s fun to be had doing pretty much anything but this? Including my delectable sister/plaything.

“Reeeeed.” I groan, nasal and needy in the direction of my sister. “I wanna have some fun. Let’s pull out some of our toys.”

In response, Judy holds up her pointer and middle finger with an ever-so-sly smile. “Who needs toys when you have these?”

“You asked for it,” I say as I leap from my seat and tackle her to the ground.

Judy and I have a shared philosophy—fun by any means necessary. It’s often at the other’s expense. For instance, I rip off her t-shirt with glee even as she wiggles out of her pants. Then it’s my turn. I whip off my top as she tears off my jeans. We’re nothing if not fair and we know the game isn’t done until we both feel completed.

I don’t know if other redheaded twins match as identically as Judy and me, all the way down to our freckles. I trace some of the ones on her arm, sending shivers through the both of us, before I impatiently remove her white cotton “good girl” panties.

“Judy!” I exclaim, so shocked I actually use her real name. “You shaved!?!”

Her pussy, sweet to the taste and to the touch, is bare and glistening.

“Boys need some way to tell us apart. Especially if we decide to share. And you know they say that sharing is caring, Red.” She pushes my head down. “Kiss it and maybe you’ll decide you still need to match me completely.”

I’d say something snarky and childish in response, but my lips brush against her lower set and I can’t help but start to lick. I savor her sugary juices as she gets wetter and wetter, but all this accomplishes is to increasingly turn me on. She wiggles in an odd way and I look up to see that she’s produced a toy from our collection—my personal favorite, our double ended dildo. That way we don’t have to decide who gets fucked. We both do. Win win.

“You ready, Red?”

I pull away from her cunny, her candy juices coating me mouth to chin. “Pretty sure you owe me some licks, Red.”

I lose my own white cotton panties and drop my muff down on her face before diving back down into hers. It’s a race, of course, to see who can get the other to cum. On our best days, we effectively work it into a tie. Thankfully, she’s of the same mind and despite my head start, she works her tongue extra hard to get me to my breaking point as she gets to her own.

Still riding that first cum, we position the dildo at, and then into, our honey holes. We perfectly match thrusts and I feel the rod fill me entirely. When I tease one of my engorged nipples, Judy does the same. When I hoist a tit up and bring it into my mouth, she mirrors that, too. It’s like fucking in front of a mirror, but I can also reach over and play with her, too, so it’s infinitely better. She reads my mind because she shares my mind. Perfect synchronicity in our mutual grope-fest. And when the mind blowing second orgasm sweeps over my body, I see Judy’s eyes roll into the back of her head just before mine match.

Just when our breathing begins to slow, she lunges forward and forces her tongue into my mouth. As she retreats, she says, “Keep the bush. It’s sexy.”

“Good, because I think your shaved hole is sexy.” I say, then flick her in the nipple for good measure.

So, it turns out, we’re not perfect mirrors of each other.

Maybe this is a point where we should diverge.

Maybe a tattoo or two. Something sweet, but flirty to up our teasing game.

Maybe a piercing or three. Oo, maybe the next time Judy pulls off my panties, she’ll be the one in for a shock.

I pull Judy into a big spoon embrace. Such is the lot of the older sister, always the big spoon. I catch sight of my laptop, still open to the music website. While I don’t feel any big pull to do any work, thinking play is so much more fun than homework, I do have an inkling that my presentation to the class will turn out to be a good time had by all which is, ironically, how’d I describe myself and my twin sister—a good time had by all.

And I wouldn’t change that for the world.