The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Early the next week, on her way home from her jog—she was running the whole way by that time, and she had lost two pounds—Sandy saw Gene sitting on the front steps of his house. He waved at her, and she waved back. “Have a cup,” he said, holding up his coffee.

Well, it couldn’t hurt. She came up to the steps and gasped, “Thanks.”

He stood and smiled. “What do you want in it?”

“Milk. Two sugars.”

“Back in a second.”

Sandy sat on the top step, turned off her MP3 player, and mopped her sweaty face with the small towel she wore around her neck. When Gene got back, he handed her a generous white mug of coffee. She took a sip. “Good.”

He was giving her a long, appraising, approving stare. “So it looks like the program worked.”

Sandy glanced down. Her breasts had outgrown her bras, and now the sweaty tank-top clearly showed her burgeoning nipples. “Yeah. I’m at the goal. Mom is gonna take me shopping for bras this weekend. It’s kind of embarrassing running without one.”

“Ready for me to take the after photo?”

“Gene!” Sandy blushed. “It didn’t matter before, really—I was so flat—but now I’d feel funny.”

“Come on,” he said with a teasing grin. “You know you want me to see them.”

The world seemed odd for a second, as if she were looking through a pane of rain-running glass, and then it came together again, not quite the same way as it had been a moment before. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Sitting here with you, drinking coffee.”

She frowned. “No. What are you doing to me?”

He grinned. “Nothing you won’t like, Sandy. I’m just giving you some direction, that’s all. You’ll enjoy it.”

Sandy set the coffee cup down. “For a second there I felt like—I sort of wanted—”

“I could do it directly,” Gene suggested gently. “You might like that better.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Show me your tits,” he said, still in that easy, teasing way.

“No!” But her traitor hands had gripped the waistband of her tank top and had pulled it up already. She felt sunshine hot on her boobs. What if someone drove by? What if someone walked past?

“Nice,” Gene said. “Very nice, Sandy.”

“Gene! Somebody will see me!”

“Well, you enjoy being looked at.”

“Gene!”

“Okay, you can cover up.”

She tugged the top down and sat there red-faced. “How did you—you made me do that!”

He sipped his coffee. “Don’t act like it was something horrible. I know you enjoyed it. You feel a little turned on. Look at your nipples.”

Sandy glanced down at herself. Her enlarged nipples had stiffened, poking at the sweat-dampened, clinging fabric, leaving little to the imagination. “Damn it, stop!”

Gene sighed. “Look, Sandy, just enjoy the ride, okay? I’m going to treat you very well. You’ll have a great time. Relax and let it happen.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I ought to go.”

“No. Sit with me.”

Sandy strained, but it felt as if she had been glued to the step. She gave him a wild, despairing look. “What are you doing!”

“It’s already done,” Gene said softly. “Haven’t you realized that yet? The Y B Lonely ad was mine. I needed to get into your house and load some programs on your computer, that’s all. I figured you’d call me. Ever since then, every moment you’ve been on the computer, every time you’ve listened to an MP3, every time you’ve used the breast enlarger, your brain has been rewired a bit. But I’m not going to abuse you—you don’t have to call me ‘master’ or any of that stuff. You just have to keep me happy.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“It’s true,” Gene said. “I’ve been working with this for more than three years now. That’s why I had to get rid of my parents—”

“You killed them!”

Gene looked startled, and then he laughed. “No! My God, what an idea! No, it’s just like I told you—Dad got a promotion and moved out of state, that’s all. But I engineered the promotion. I went in to his office and put a bug in everyone’s ear. I had to do something.”

“W-why?”

“Because Mom was really pissed when she found out I was screwing my sister.”

Sandy looked at him in shock. “Y-you’re lying. You never had a sister!”

Gene shook his head. “Sandy, Sandy. Remember. It’s okay to remember now.”

And there was that momentary distortion of the world again, and then it came flooding back. “Misty,” Sandy said, her heart thumping. “Your sister’s name is Misty.”

“Step-sister, actually,” Gene said. “But I called my step-mom Mom. I don’t even remember my real mother. She died when I was two. Remember?”

Well, she would have been only one—but she did remember that Gene had lived just with his dad for a long time, and then when Sandy was twelve or so, Misty came to live next door when her mom married Mr. Stottard. Misty was just a year older, but that was the important year, so they’d never been close. But Sandy remembered, all right, remembered the girl with the cute, elfin face and the dark-brown hair.

She sat numbly, listening to Gene telling the story as if it were something interesting that had happened at school. And she found herself growing intrigued. Even a little. . . aroused.

Gene had discovered subliminals when he was fifteen, he said. He toyed with them, experimented with them, researched them. He was his own first guinea pig, using a form of autosuggestion to increase his IQ and make himself mor efficient. “I got into chemistry when I was sixteen. Amazing things you can do with enzymes. Body sculpting, endurance. Well, you can see what it did for me. And you.”

When he was nearly seventeen, Gene began his first serious home business, writing ads for a few select online customers. They worked because they incorporated mild forms of the subliminal manipulations he was perfecting. “I was careful,” he said. “If I’d gone full-tilt, I probably could have made a million in six months, but sooner or later somebody would have caught on and investigated, so I kept the effectiveness reasonable, but I made sure my ads brought in 25% more business than my competitors. I started to make a lot of money.”

And he had started to feel, well, horny. His step-sister, who was exactly his age, was hanging with the wrong crowd. “I started to screw with her mind a little,” confessed Gene. “Just to make her stop running with the dopers and the losers. I got her to break up with her stoner boyfriend. One night I persuaded her to tell me what they did together. She’d been fucking him for a year! And she knew what a loser her was. The guy didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.”

Misty was an attractive girl, with a good figure and (Sandy remembered) a rounded, sexy ass. “I started thinking why not,” Gene told her calmly. “I mean, we weren’t really related, and she was available, and she was missing what her stupid boyfriend had been giving her. And I did want to see how much I could modify a person’s behavior. We’d been sorta-brother and sorta-sister for six years by then, so I knew she’d have all these taboos and inhibitions about fooling around with me. I wanted to see if I could take them out one by one.”

So Misty began getting subtle messages on her laptop, heard them in the white noise before a call on her cell phone, listened to them imbedded in her music—nothing that she could consciously hear. But little by little, Gene ramped up her libido and lowered her inhibitions. And then one day, when their parents were both out—

“I was coming out of the shower,” Gene said. “Had a towel wrapped around me.” Misty, who had just come in from outside, paused on the landing outside their shared bathroom, her eyes traveling up and down her step-brother’s bod. “You’re getting muscle,” she said.

And she had stepped close to feel his arm. And had mischievously grabbed his towel and yanked. “My God!” she said when she saw his cock, already semi-tumescent. “I didn’t know you were so big down there!”

Gene had not turned away. He had stood naked, smiling faintly.

And a mesmerized Misty had reached for his cock. “She put her fingers around it and led me into her bedroom,” he said. “She ripped off her clothes—I mean literally. Buttons flew everywhere. And we fell onto the bed.”

Misty was fascinated. She fondled his twitching, throbbing, growing erection. And she kept murmuring, “Oh, my God, ohmigod!” She pressed against Gene, kissing him, giving him her tongue, teasing him, rubbing her breasts against his torso, all the time squeezing and stroking his cock until it had engorged to its full length and thickness. “Fuck me,” she had gasped.

She fell onto her back and spread her legs. It was Gene’s first time. He thrust too hard, really, but she was wet and ready, and though she gasped when he penetrated her, she cooed and purred right away, riding his shaft, fucking like a little rabbit, clinging to him, her back bent, her greedy hips thrusting, and she gasped, “Fuck! Oh, yeah! Fuck me, stud!”

“I didn’t last very long,” Gene confessed. But that was all right. He had given himself extra stamina as well as enhanced size. The second time he lay back and she rode him, letting him play with her tits. When she came, she lay down against him, her breath warm on his ear, and said, “I think this is incest!”

No, he told her, not really.

But if it had been, it wouldn’t have bothered her. From then on, Misty was at Gene’s beck and call. He had her tell him frankly, openly, eagerly what pleased a girl most, how to move, how to tease, how to arouse. And he gave himself autosuggestion so he could control his orgasms, so that he could come on command.

They fucked with abandon every chance they got. Misty wanted him naked the second she was alone with him. She took him every way, pussy, ass, mouth—“Did that boyfriend of yours ever fuck your titties?” Gene asked Sandy casually. “Answer me, please.”

“N–no!”

“I’ll show you. You’ll love it, especially when your nipples get sensitized. Misty would do that until I was nearly crazy, then giggle and take me in her mouth and swallow my cum.”

“Gene!”

He shrugged. “I think we should start off with the truth.” He went on with the story: For three months, Gene was in teenager heaven, with a hot girl ready to service him, eager to please him. And then they got careless. “Mom walked in on us,” he said simply. All hell broke loose.

There was talk of counseling, talk of sending him to an institution, even. Misty went nuts, screaming that they loved each other and that was that, damn it. But Gene realized something had to be done. That was when he engineered the promotion for his dad—and wiped his family’s minds of any memory of what Misty and he had been up to. “That’s actually much easier than changing behavior,” Gene said. “I was surprised. But you can alter people’s memories so easily! I think it’s because memory is naturally malleable. Anyway, it took about three days, and Mom didn’t remember she had caught me with my cock up her daughter’s ass, and Misty couldn’t recall every giving me anything more than a sisterly peck on the cheek—not her cheek on my pecker!—and Dad had jumped over five other candidates for the position out west. Little more conditioning, and they agreed to leave me here.”

“What’s happened to Misty?”

“She’s in college out there, going steady with a pre-Med student, last I heard,” Gene said. “I wish her the best. I mean, she was my first.”

“And now I’m your second?” Sandy asked with bitterness in her voice.

“Give me your hand.”

Sandy couldn’t resist. Gene took her hand and held it. “Look,” he said, “you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be. Sandy, I can be a great lover. You can feel like a queen, without a care in the world, without anything to worry about. I’ll take complete care of you. You don’t want to go to college, anyway.”

She bit her lip. It was true—she’d never particularly liked school, and she’d secretly been dreading the fall. What was she going to do at college, anyway, except look for a husband?

“You’re having all sorts of wild dreams. You want sex. You know you do, more and more every night. You enjoy showing off your body to me. And you’re happier if someone tells you what to do. You don’t want to have to think for yourself.”

“Stop it,” Sandy pleaded. “I don’t know if—if I feel this way or if you’re just making me think I do!”

Gene squeezed her hand. “Okay. You need some time alone to consider all this. Make up your mind. I’ll tell you what: I can arrange for you to go away and stay at a beach house for a week.”

“Alone with your little programs to turn me into a complete slut?” Sandy asked.

Gene smiled. “No, I swear. Just clear your head all you want. Think about it. But you won’t have sex with another guy, Sandy. That’s the only condition. You won’t have sex with any other guy.”

That shimmer in the world again, and then everything reconfigured itself. “All right,” Sandy heard herself say. She took a deep breath. “But Mom can’t take time off from work, and she wouldn’t let me go alone.”

“You can invite a friend,” Gene said. “A girl friend, I mean, of course. Not Tony.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m over Tony.”

“Good. And before you ask, I had nothing to do with your break-up. That was you and Tony. He wasn’t good enough for you anyway, Sandy.”

“No.”

“Okay. Listen, I’ve got work to do. Here’s what’s going to happen: You’ll go back home, get into your usual routine. You won’t really remember this. You’ll remember drinking coffee with me. We had a few laughs. You thought about me in a sort of sexy way. Then you’ll go online and check in at this website.” He let go of her hand and gave her a card. “Enter the Week at the Beach Sweeps. You’ll win, I guarantee it. And think of someone who can go with you.”

“Okay,” Sandy said. Inwardly, she thought If I can get away from him, I’ll never go near the computer again, I’ll never listen to an MP3, if I can just get away—

“Thanks for stopping by,” Gene said, getting to his feet and picking up both coffee cups. “You’re really looking great. Tonight should be your last time in the enlarger. Put lots of the gel from Tube B on your nipples tonight. Happy dreams.”

Sandy walked down the drive, but she ran down the sidewalk to herself, she unlocked the door with a desperate, convulsive twist of the key, she hurtled inside—

And stopped, feeling as if there were something she needed to remember.

Something, what was it?

She made her way to the bathroom, peeled out of her sweaty tank top and running pants. She stood under the flattering lights in their rosy shades and stared at herself in the mirror.

My God, girl, is that you? The mirror Sandy gave her an impish, devilish, delighted smirk. Look at those tits!

D-cups, definitely. Big, but firm and perky! Dreamily, Sandy caressed them and watched the mirror-girl cup her own breasts, saw the nipples, the size and shape of small strawberries, flush a darker coral and stand erect. Mm, felt nice. She had a quick mental flash: Gene laying his great big cock in the hot valley between her tits, pumping, as she pressed her flesh close around his shaft. She giggled, thinking of his. . . his big . . . how did she know that? Somehow she felt Gene had this really enormous cock, but how did she know?

She drifted into the shower, lathered up, and with her soapy, slippery fingers she played with her clit and her slit until she gasped in orgasm, falling back against the tile wall of the shower stall, feeling the cheeks of her ass flatten against the coolness. “Nice,” she panted. Yes, that was nice. Sex was so. . . so nice. She felt just . . . just made for sex. . . . .

She toweled off and found some old cut-offs and a pullover to wear, a baggy old thing far too large for her. It would be good to have some new bras, she thought. Though she did enjoy the bouncy feel of her tits when she jogged. Liked the way guys looked at her, too. Yeah, that made her hot.

Humming, she settled down at the computer and opened a browser—and then the phone rang. She reached for it. “Hello?”

“I’m back!”

Sandy giggled. “Lyda!”

“Omigod, I have so much to tell you! The Italian guys are totally hot! Oh, we have to get together—but Mom says not today, and I’m kinda jet-lagged anyhow, but we have to talk!”

Sandy had logged onto a site that offered a beach vacation in a sweepstakes. She entered her information, her shoulder keeping the receiver to her ear. “You sound tired,” she said.

“Yeah, but it’s a good tired. But omigod, I need a vacation from my vacation!”

With a strange sense of certainty, Sandy hit “enter” and sent her contest form on its way. “Funny you should mention that,” she said.