The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Whiff

By Limerick

There was just the slightest hint of chocolate in the air, and that was the only reason Annie walked up to the door.

The storefront glass still had “COWBOY BOOTS” stenciled onto it, partially scrapped off, and the old canopy overhead was a faded red stripe on dirty cream. It was on a street—Whitehall—that had ignored a large college population for decades and paid the price in shabby sidewalks and empty storefronts. There was almost nothing at all about this address to say that it was a chocolatier, that it was hiring summer employees, and that it paid well above minimum wage.

Except there was a new set of bells tied onto the doorframe. They tinkled as she went in.

The scent of chocolate swept into her before she could even close the door.

She stopped, startled. It was so unexpected in what looked like a dead office. But it had that characteristic dark cocoa nut, and not just with the usual lace of milk and sugar. With a dark, earthy note, with all hints of liquors, and even an edge of berries and cream. Her mouth opened, involuntarily, just to try and take it all in.

“Ah, you must be answering the personal ad. I mean, the want ad,” a man’s voice said, from the back of the room.

A set of track lights flickered on.

What was a dark set of shadows resolved into white display cases edged with gilt, unabashedly old-fashioned, and without a single fingerprint to mar the glass. Gold edging leapt from display try to display tray, outlining the dark brown of stacked chocolate in a decadent yellow.

It outlined Annie, too. She had worn a dark green sweater with a heavy woolen coat on top, with her dark hair piled high before tumbling down the back. It had not been a promising enough job offer to make her cake on the makeup.

“My name is Mr. Wren,” a very large man said, walking from behind the counter. He was dressed in a dark brown shirt and a pair of pants held up by suspenders. He seemed underdressed without a suit jacket, and also perhaps a cane and a pipe and a role in a Shakespearean traveling company. “You are…?”

“Annie,” she reported, barely making eye contact, still lost in the wealth of sugar. “Annie Savarino. I’m sorry, what was your first name?”

“I didn’t say,” Mr. Wren said.

“Christopher?” she guessed.

He chuckled. “No. That is a point in your favor. But no, I didn’t say. Please come in. We will be opening on Tuesday next and I am actually very glad you’ve come. If you’ll come into the back room with me.”

Annie had never been in the back room of a chocolatier before. It was a small storeroom, with brick walls, closely packed with copper instruments and machinery. Mr. Wren gestured a red-blotched hand towards a small wooden chair.

“Oh, I should offer you something,” he declared. “Do you have a preference? But no, let me decide. My homemade M & Ms.”

He rummaged through a set of steel mixing bowls lined up at the back of the room. He was close enough that Annie could survey the patches in his pants, the scratches on the heel of his shoes. Then he turned back with a bowl.

“My own recipe. A milk chocolate, nothing special, and a sugar coating. Notice anything special?”

Annie took just one. Then, seeing him wilt, a small handful. She popped the first one in her mouth.

It was… an M & M.

“They’re great,” she mock-enthused. He beamed at her with tea-stained teeth.

“I took out the brown ones!” Mr. Wren said. “Awful color. Pointless. Please, have some more.”

Annie realized, with a hint of surprise, that she had popped the rest in her mouth. Well, she told herself, that was the nature of M & Ms. She crunched down on the ones in her mouth, delighted in the childlike blast of sugar coating.

“They’re very good,” she reported, and took a second handful. This time she didn’t hesitate, and tossed the entire handful back, crunching them with abandon. A flood of milk chocolate and raw sugar filled her, and she had to work to swallow the mass. Mr. Wren smiled, pleased, and held out the bowl.

“This is a little weird,” Annie told herself, munching on candy and staring, wordless, at her potential employer. But it really was good candy.

“Let me take your coat,” he offered, and Annie gave it over gladly. It was warm in the backroom, and made warmer by that holiday scent of chocolate.

“Now, perhaps something a bit more adult?” Mr. Wren murmured.

* * *

He arranged the truffles in a row, with a hushed reverence that was pure showmanship but appreciated anyway. They were all seven of them, round, and all in black and white, with geometric precision in the drizzle of frosting on top of what had to be pure dark chocolate coating.

“I doubt you are 21,” Mr. Wren said, “but I think we can overlook that for these delicacies. Try and name the liquor in each.”

The first one was certainly rum.

Annie took a delicate bite, and then another, but it was really that good, and she soon popped it into her mouth. It WAS nice to be more adult after the kid’s stuff, to feel decadent and warm instead of just hepped up on sugar. The rum was topped up, too, not just the stale scent she remembered from mall chocolatiers. This was a real burst of booze.

It felt warm all the way down into her stomach.

In fact, she was feeling quite warm all over.

“You should take that sweater off,” Mr. Wren said. He had stepped back into a far corner of the room, and was fiddling with what looked like a set of moulds. He had seemed to even forget about her. “You don’t want to get chocolate on it.”

Her shirt underneath was pure white, and frankly a bit see-through, but that was alright. Annie struggled to get it over her head, and tossed it carelessly to one side. She made the decision to pick from the far left this time, after starting from the far right.

Orange. She bit into it, and left her mouth open, careless of propriety. But Mr. Wren hardly seemed to care, and even to notice her. The orange scent sent a shiver through her, and Annie felt it lacing her already-sugar infused body with a new brightness. Her nipples perked up, embarrassingly enough, and she had to cross her arms to keep from blowing this interview.

“The orange? Do you like?” Mr. Wren asked.

“Oh, oh yes!” she enthused, brightening. Annie giggled. This was such a wonderful job interview.

“You’re a student?” he asked.

Annie paused before picking up the next truffle. Right, questions. “Pre-med,” she declared.

“Ah! Well, of course, that doesn’t tell a potential employer much,” Mr. Wren said. “The world is littered with pre-med students and their discarded ambitions. Perhaps you will end up a communications major like so many others?”

It was insulting… right? Annie decided to answer his impertinence with another truffle. The perfect rejoinder. This one was a bourbon with a gooey, so gooey center. Sophisticated, rebellious.

He was still talking, Annie thought, but she was chocolate and her mind was chocolate and everything was chocolate. Chocolate on her tongue, a dribble of chocolate laced with alcohol trickling down the front of her chin. She nodded and smiled and tilted her head just to the side and reached for another truffle.

When Mr. Wren looked concerned she let her legs slide open.

“Perhaps a short break is in order,” Mr. Wren said, gently pulling the tray away from her. “I do need to know your social security number, next of kin information, home address. You understand. Do you?” he looked suddenly concerned. “Annie? That was your name, right?”

“It still is!” she said, head clearing. And suddenly aware, now that chocolate wasn’t suffusing every pore, filling her head with creamy nougat and little else. Annie looked around, suddenly alarmed, aware of her legs splayed open in front of her apparent boss, aware of the warmth between her thighs, aware that one hand was nuzzling at the icicle nipples beneath her bra.

“I…” she said, confused, standing up. Why was she suddenly so confused? And why was she even there? She was Annie. She needed a job. That was right. She was a student. A communications major? That didn’t sound right, but when she searched for biology or whatever else it was all lost under a swirl of sugar. “What’s going…”

“I just need your social security number,” Mr. Wren said. He held the next truffle out. “Then you can have it. I believe this one is brandy and cherry.

Her mouth watered. All of her watered. It seemed like it was just the booze but there was something else, something erasing her concerns and worries and focusing her on that next wonderful dose of chocolate. Annie recited her social security number and promptly forgot it.

He put the truffle into her mouth.

“Ohhhhhhh that’s nice,” Annie murmured, as the rivulets began to run down her tongue. She wasn’t really swallowing anymore, it took far too much effort, and besides, the chocolate seemed to know where to go.

There was chocolate running down the front of her shirt, totally ruining it. But that was fine and okay, because she could reach out and pull it over her head, and it was just wonderful that it also exposed two titties feeling so full and wet and ready to be free.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Annie said, her mouth impossibly full from just one truffle. It was hard to place the alcohol. There was so much of that, too. “It’s just that I got chocolate on my shirt and..”

“Perfectly fine, perfectly fine,” Mr. Wren assured her. “Perfectly fine, my dear.”

And it was perfectly fine. “And.. and…” Annie said. “My bra is bothering me too.”

She snapped it open before Mr. Wren could protest. And slouched low in the chair.

Her tits felt so full, so creamy, so warm and hot. Annie hefted them in her sticky hands, heedless of the chocolate fountain dribbling from between her lips, running down the center of her breasts. She was all chocolate, a bunny, to be nibbled and snacked on by big hungry men. She was completely hollow, thoughtless, made out of sugar and giggles.

“Mmm.. Mr. Wren? What was my name?” she asked, kneading and touching herself, gasping at the sensation of sticky on skin.

“Annie,” he assured her.

“Annie, right. I feel.. I feel kind of…”

“It’s normal to feel an urge to masturbate,” Mr. Wren assured her. “Would you like another truffle?”

She did, oh she did. But both hands were occupied with rubbing raw nipples and she looked at him helplessly, thoughtlessly. Until he solved the problem by gently putting one more creamy truffle just inside her mouth, on the very tip of her tongue.

Annie bucked and moaned and rubbed between her legs. She had to jam her fingers down the front of her tights, but it was no trouble, just pushed her fingers up against her snatch. Unimportant thoughts about how to drive cars, or how to write in cursive, popped in wonderful candy bubbles inside of her head, liquidated and eliminated by alcohol and something more. And she could swear that her tits were already that much bigger, swollen with confections.

“Maybe one more?” she heard Mr. Wren say. “Too much? This is so hard to calibrate.”

She stuck out her tongue, eager for it. A slight piece of sugar touched it just as she spilled over the edge, her clit exploding into a wild and wonderful river of chocolate.

* * *

Annie regained consciousness some time later.

She had fallen asleep in the chair, or at least been knocked out, and had drooled all over the front of her sweater. There was a puddle in the chair, too, apparently from where her pussy had leaked onto the wood, through her underwear, through her skirt.

“Hello?” she called out, but didn’t hear an answer. She stood up, on unsteady legs. Annie felt odd, uncertain. The scent and warmth of the chocolate was a comfort, but she couldn’t help feeling like there was something strange going on. Had she gotten the job? What was the job?

There was a neat pile of clothes next to her chair. A handwritten note laid on top, which read: “welcome to the team. Please put on your uniform, shoes are under the bench. Terms are all the chocolate you can eat and there is a cot in the back you can sleep on.”

She HAD gotten the job, and Annie felt good about that, but shouldn’t she be paid, even if just a little bit? She couldn’t live on chocolate alone… right?

Although how much fun to find out.

Annie took off her clothes. Her sweater had already come off, somehow. Her clothes were ugly anyway, scratchy woolen fabrics and pointless, dingy tights from years ago, when she was a—from years ago.

The uniform was a dark brown pair of boy shorts, a faux-tuxedo shirt that clung tightly to her chest, and a dark black bra clearly visible underneath the shirt. The bra was way too snug for her usual cup size. And thinking about it, or at least struggling to think about it, her tits.. they were different. Warmer. Bigger. Maybe even a lot bigger.

It was hard to think. Her mouth still tasted so chocolate-y. Annie squeezed her eyes shut but her head felt like it was full of cookie dough.

The shoes were dark black boots with heels, with laces up to her ankle. It was just warm enough for the outfit, and it felt good to have her bare legs free.

But no. This wasn’t right. She grimaced. She was a student. Right. A University student. And this was some bizaare faux-fetish swiss miss outfit, a hodgepodge of sexy elements, that made her look like some dumb slut. And the nametag—Candy—wasn’t even her. She was ANNIE. That was her name. She was a student.

Annie walked out to the front of the store, and was careful to take mincing, swaying steps. The nylon underwear dug into her ass in the best possible way.

Mr. Wren was there, dressed just the same, and he was peering out of the front of the window from just behind the door.

“Mr. Wren?” she called out, timid. “I wanted to—look, thank you for the offer, and the clothes, but I think if I could think about..” she hesitated. “Think about the—the offer. And do some thinking…”

“Please, dear, keep your voice low,” Mr. Wren said, urgently. Annie dimly became aware of red and blue flashing lights from outside the frosted front pane. There were people moving out there.

“Is that the cops?” she said.

“If we are lucky, then yes,” Mr. Wren said. “I thought my retirement had been approved,” he murmured.

“Listen, I’ll just…” Annie said, and trailed off. Mr. Wren was distracted. There was a back door. She could prance out into the night and get her head together, THINK, figure out why her body ached for chocolate and cock and more chocolate. Cock? No, chocolate. Not just a dick.

There was a display of fudge left out by the counter.

It was certainly not worth getting arrested over.

But just the thought of leaving it behind made Annie feel like bursting into tears. Just the idea of it sitting on the tray, getting old and cold, when it could be filling her up with warm chocolate-y goodness. Just that scent was giving her back the happy tingles in her head that pushed aside worried, uncomfortable thoughts.

She licked it, slowly. Drooled over it. Carefully licked each of her chocolate-y fingers and let them linger in her mouth. Bent over the counter she knew she had to be a sight for Mr. Wren, if he ever turned away from the window. Her ass high in the air, rolling from side to side as she did naughty things to a plate of fudge.

The second bit had macadamia nuts in it. Annie whined and reached back to finger at her fabric-covered slit. It was just too much.

Suddenly there was a hand around her, on her ass, and instead of fondling it was hustling her back towards the cooking room.

“Lets hustle, my dear,” Mr. Wren said. Even his obvious concern didn’t stop him from tenderly gripping her rear end. “Can you walk? No? Hmm, I think I may have overdone the dosage then. Do you remember your name?”

“Candy?” Annie attempted.

“Perhaps next time the Kahlua before the Bourbon,” Mr. Wren said. They moved quickly through the back room, Annie’s legs limply paddling along. She giggled, helpless and happy. Her brain was soaked in sugar and booze, marinating in various chemicals, addicted to a chocolate haze. She was just there enough to snag a big bag of M and Ms as they passed by it.

Mr. Wren looked down as she happily munched on a handful.

“We really shouldn’t let you have that, my dear,” he said, pushing open the back door. “You’ll be too simple to work the register. Although… I suppose we can still find a position for you in the back…”

He stopped. Emerging from the shadows was a uniformed policeman, a man, with his arms crossed.

“Steven Wrenznewski?” the man said.

Mr. Wren’s knees buckled. Annie took the opportunity to snag another few chocolate pieces. Her head kept tingling and tingling in the best, most wonderful way.

“Please,” Mr. Wren babbled. “It shouldn’t end like this. I have money. I cleared all of this with Damien.”

The man looked puzzled. Annie got a better look at him. Young, red hair, solid farmer-type muscles. She licked her lips. Her body did have SOME needs that couldn’t be solved with creamy chocolate.

“Sir, we’ve received reports of you running an unlicensed brothel,” the policeman said. His eyes flickered to Annie, then down to the wet spot obvious even on her dark brown boy shorts. “We picked up two young women, they were… mostly undressed. They gave us your name.”

“Paris and Cecelia? They could remember names?” Mr. Wren said, surprised. He looked thoughtful. “I suppose I should’ve given them another milkshake to share. But sir, I believe the girls were just confused. I’m opening a chocolate shop. This is my employee. Her name is Ann—Candy.”

Policeman looked at Candy, who shot him her best, sultriest grin.

“Miss, is this true? You work for him? Making… chocolate?”

Words and sentences seemed so hard, but Candy had a gut feeling for what to do. She sauntered forward and gave Mr. Policeman the best, wettest, longest, most chocolate-y kiss he ever had. It lasted nearly a minute, and by the end, he had both hands gripping her ass.

“See? Chocolate,” Candy whispered, and let her hands trail at the bulging outline of his cock. She was pretty sure he was on the verge of cumming.

“Okay… well…” the officer sputtered. “I’m still supposed to take you in, sir. Miss, you can go.”

“Oh, certainly! Candy, if I could have… you know. The bag. I’ll be back in no time at all,” he took the chocolate bag from her before she could react.

The two men turned to leave.

“Mr. Wren!” Candy called after him.

“Yes?”

“So I got the job?” she asked.

“Of course!” he said quickly. “See you tomorrow morning! Welcome to the team!”

Candy cheered and clapped her hands as the boys headed out. And then back inside to the chocolate shop, where she treated herself to a nice lazy masturbation session in the cot she found set up for her, just like Mr. Wren had promised.

And then, just when it was already the bestest day ever, she found the rest of the truffles.