The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Finnegan!!”

The teenager rolled his eyes. He was only Finnegan when his mom was mad; the rest of the time, he was Finn. Or worse: ‘honey’.

His mother got mad a lot, at the smallest things. Sometimes he wondered if he was being punished for something he’d done in a previous life. He’d had one parent taken when he was five, and the one he had left was an uptight bitch.

By comparison, Finn’s best friend had won the parent lottery. Not only were both of Terrance’s parents still around, his mother was a cute blonde who insisted that Finn call her Ashley.

Finn smiled. He closed his eyes and returned to a frequent fantasy—his best friend’s mother looking up at him with her big blue eyes, biting her lip, moving one hand down his pants, telling him that she knew how hard it was to be a teenager. To be so close to adulthood, with parents and teachers bossing you around, giving you crap for little stuff, like missing a few assignments. How happy she’d be to help him with how hard it could all be…

“Finnegan Michael Bell!”

He shook off the thought and sat up.

“What??”

As soon as the word left his mouth, Finn knew he was asking for trouble. Despite her own habit of shouting for him across the house, Finn’s mother couldn’t stand it when her son did the same. Especially when she was in enough of a mood to use all three of his names.

“Come here right now!”

Finn swung his legs off the side of his bed with a sigh and made his way into the kitchen. Samantha—his mother—was holding a piece of mail, glaring at him with her arms crossed. Finn’s heart sank.

“What’s wrong?” Finn mumbled, though he already knew the answer.

“Your report came in.” His mother’s thin lips were pursed. Never a good sign. “You’re failing half your classes.”

“Not half,” Finn replied, looking everywhere except for her narrowed eyes.

“Oh, so you can do basic math? Because that’s not what this would suggest.“

Finn didn’t say a word as his mother began to read out the report card. The words of his teachers blended together; all he could hear was his mother’s disappointed tone. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known this was coming—Finn had failed two tests in the past month, and his counsellor had warned him that if he didn’t turn things around fast, he’d flunk the entire year.

Repeating his final year of high school would be the humiliation of a lifetime… but he couldn’t help but feel that disappointing his mother was worse.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Finn finally muttered. “It’s just… ”

His mother sighed. It was barely eleven in the morning, and she already sounded exhausted. “Just what?” she asked, folding the report card and putting it on the counter.

“It’s just… ”

Finn trailed off. He couldn’t even explain it. School had just stopped being interesting to him.

As if she could read his mind, Finn’s mother finished his thought. “You’re failing because you don’t care enough.”

“I do care,” Finn protested half-heartedly. “I just don’t… ”

His mother raised one eyebrow. “Don’t what?”

Don’t want to turn into you, Finn wanted to retort, but he held his tongue. The day was already going poorly enough.

But it was true. His mother was the definition of a workaholic. She was constantly stressed, which manifested itself in different ways. Sometimes she’d come home late and spend the evening cleaning the kitchen or doing laundry. Other times, she’d stay up all night working.

Finn’s greatest fear was becoming his mother.

“Don’t have time,” he finally mumbled.

“Well, then, you shouldn’t be wasting your time playing video games all day,” his mother snapped in response. “I don’t know how many hours you waste on that damn phone of yours.”

“It’s not a waste,” Finn said before he could stop himself. His mother’s right eyebrow icily rose as she stared him down.

“Oh no?” she asked. “So tell me: what grand purpose does it serve, young man?”

Again, Finn didn’t share the truth: research. All he’d ever wanted to do with his life was design video games. The time he poured into playing games on his phone was fun, sure, but more importantly, it was the best way to learn what made them tick. When Finn started making games of his own, he wanted them to be great. It was research.

If his mother learned about his video game aspirations, Finn knew he’d never hear the end of it. She wanted him to be a high flyer, like she was. Doctor, lawyer, CEO. Maybe all three.

But not a game designer.

“It helps me de-stress,” he replied instead—which was at least partially true—and was met with a barking laugh.

“De-stress?” his mother asked, picking up the report card and waving it in front of him. “From all the pressure of failing??”

Finn clenched his fists. It was like his mother knew exactly how to push his buttons.

“You can’t keep failing, honey.”

“I’m not failing,” Finn argued. “I’m just… taking things slow. I’m doing fine.”

“Finnegan,” his mother said, exasperated. “Firstly, this—these—are not ‘fine’. These results tell me that you’re not ready to be… ”

“…a productive member of society,” Finn said in unison with his mother. He’d heard this speech before. More than once. His mother paused, and he continued the familiar spiel: “You need to get it together, Finnegan. You need to stop wasting time on video games and your phone and start paying attention to the real world.”

He expected his mother to be mad. To turn red, or shout at him, or maybe even storm out of the room. But instead, she leaned back against the kitchen counter and put a hand to her temple.

When she looked back up at him, she was smiling. That was bad.

Worse: it was a small, sad smile. Finn felt his soul shrivel up into a tiny ball at his mother’s expression.

“We’ve done this dance before, haven’t we?” she asked. She sounded small, and Finn was hit with an urge to cross the kitchen and hug her. Instead, he leaned against the doorframe and gave a sullen nod. “And it doesn’t work, does it?”

“Not so far,” he answered, using a glib tone to mask his shame.

Samantha rolled her shoulders back and stood up straight. Not for the first time, Finn was struck by how similar their features were. Like him, she had a slender build, with a sharp nose and thin lips. Both of them had flaming red hair—Finn wore his long, while his mother kept hers in a tight bun. She looked like a woman who worked in a cubicle. She looked like a mom.

“Well then,” she said, a note of determination in her voice. “Let’s try something new.”

Finn raised one eyebrow. For all his criticisms about his mother, he had to it: when she put her mind to something, she pretty much always accomplished it. It was how she’d gone so far in her career.

Samantha walked over to the counter and picked up a framed picture of Finn as a kid. He watched, curious, as his mother took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and placed the photo carefully on the table.

The picture was old—Finn had been four years old, and his Mom had taken the picture just a few days after they’d moved into the house. It showed Finn in his Halloween costume, a dragon with a long tail. In the background, Finn’s father was standing next to the door, dressed as a knight.

Finn stared at the photo. He ed the costume and the candy, but nothing else about that evening. He almost felt robbed, like it was one of the few memories of his father that should have.

“You wanted that costume so bad,” his mother said softly. “And so we told you: you make your bed every day for a month, and we’ll get it for you.”

“And I did?”

“And you did,” she said, her finger running down the side of the frame.

There was a pause, then Finn’s mother looked up, her cool green eyes staring into his. “What’s your dragon costume?”

“What?”

“You have one semester left. This is your last chance. You have just enough time to turn it around, if we can work out the right motivation. So tell me—what’s your dragon costume?”

Finn shrugged awkwardly, and his mother smiled, her gaze never leaving his face.

“You still play those phone games?”

“Yeah… ”

“So how about this: pick a game. If you can get your grades up, I’ll buy you crystals, or boosts, or whatever you spend to level up.”

“How many?”

“As many as you want,” she replied coolly. He’d never asked how much money his mother made (not that he’d really have a frame of reference if she answered), but he knew that they were doing okay. More than okay. Better than most kids in his class.

Finn stared at his mother. “Seriously?”

“Seriously. Finn, you’re a smart kid. If you apply yourself… ”

“… you can do anything. The world’s your oyster.” Finn finished for her, and was surprised when his mother blushed in response.

“Yeah,” she said. “Also something I’ve said before, apparently. But it’s true, Finn. I just want to help you make good choices. You know what you need to do: you these classes next semester, and you’re back on track for graduation. If you really work at it, you could even finish high school with honors. If you start taking responsibility for this, I’ll buy you all the gems you can handle. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Good. Go pick a game.”

Finn left the room, his head spinning. He always knew his mother loved him, of course, but over the last year he’d only been able to see her stress, her need to be in control— to control him… it was exhausting.

But now, she was offering him something he really cared about. So that he’d do what she wanted, of course, but still, he hadn’t expected her to know him as well as she did; she was offering her son something that mattered to him, and all Finn had to do was something that… well, something that knew he should be doing anyway.

Opening his phone, Finn began scrolling through his list of games. He usually avoided games with in-app purchases—paying to win had always been out of reach for him—but now that his mom was offering to bankroll him…

There were infinite options. Over the last few years, he’d spent hours browsing the app store, checking out the latest trends. Looking into the kind of thing that someday, he’d be making. He had a long list of stuff to check out… but now he had new criteria. What game would provide the most bang for his mother’s buck?

Finn spent the rest of the morning scrolling through his list, searching for inspiration.

A game he’d already ed? His thumb hovered over his most recent , one which he’d stopped playing once he realized how expensive moving forward was. It was a risque game called ‘Slave Princess’—an erotic game about controlling a busty CGI monarch. He’d almost reached the scene where the surprisingly-realistic princess would strip, revealing her ample chest… until he’d discovered that it cost almost 50,000 “energy” (the in-game currency) to see the royal jewels.

The moment he opened the app, he realized it couldn’t be his pick. His mother would surely ask what she was paying for, and Finn had no interest in showing her the porno plot she was funding.

As he went to close it, an ad popped up, offering 350 energy to watch it. He tapped it; if he couldn’t get his mother to pay his way to cartoon tits, perhaps he could get there the slow way.

The ad began playing. A beautiful woman, sitting in a small office. Her eyes were closed, her hands rested lightly on the surface of the desk. She wore a white dress, which was open at the front, revealing her ample cleavage. Finn was reminded of his friend’s mother, and his cock began thickening as he imagined Ashley dressed in a similar outfit.

A man walked into the office. He was wearing a suit, and his tie was loose around his neck. He had short brown hair and a strong jawline. He looked like a businessman, but his gaze was fixed firmly on the woman. He stopped a few feet away from her, and a confident smile appeared on his face.

“Change your life. Take Control.” the ment read in a bold white font, before fading away and providing a link to the app store.

Raising his ginger eyebrows, Finn clicked through. The ad had been vague enough to pique his interest, well-made, and strangely erotic. He didn’t even know why he was turned on.

The app was called ‘Control’. The description was as non-specific as the ad had been; it described itself as a motivational app, simply saying that it would change the ’s life. Standard marketing rhetoric, but Finn was surprised to discover that (despite listing extremely expensive in-app purchases), it had several thousand five-star reviews.

It wasn’t a game, but he decided to check out the free trial. Hell, maybe he could use one of its motivational techniques to determine which other app to use.

The UI was straightforward: a single page with a timer, a “Start” button, and a “Level Up” button. When it loaded, a short statement appeared:

For best results, allow access to your personal information. If you are uncomfortable with these , we recommend that you do not continue.

Finn normally refused these requests, but the frankness of the app’s disclaimer was surprisingly disarming. When the second prompt appeared, he clicked “approve” so quickly that he didn’t even notice the odd phrasing:

Allow Control to access your innermost wishes? Your data will be used to maximize effectiveness.

Instantly, the screen faded to black, and then his phone vibrated twice. After a few moments, Finn found himself staring at a new page.

Welcome, Finn. Control is here to help you achieve your goals. Are you interested in:

1. Attracting a girlfriend?
2. Achieving higher grades at school?
3. Your friend’s mom?

The young man smirked at the third answer—he hadn’t expected jokes in such a serious-looking app. The first choice tempted him, but in the interest of upholding his end of the deal, Finn tapped on the middle option.

Education is important, the app continued. Who will provide the greatest motivation in achieving this goal?

1. Jenny.
2. Samantha.
3. Ashley.

Finn’s eyes widened. When he’d given the app access to his data, he’d figured it would just see what sites he was using, or how long he spent on the app. He hadn’t expected it to go through his s. It must have picked three names at random—his mother and two of his crushes. Jenny was a quiet girl in his geography class, one of the few subjects he excelled at.

A quiet, extremely busty girl. The kind of quiet that tries to hide one’s body; the kind of busty that can’t be hidden.

Again, Finn was severely tempted to pick his best friend’s mother or his cute-as-a-button classmate… but he stuck to the plan and selected his mother from the list.

Calibrating…

As the screen pulsed gently, Finn wondered what kind of app he’d just given his information to. It wasn’t a game, but he still had no idea what it actually… did.

After a few seconds, the screen flickered, and a new prompt appeared:

Free trial available. You will not be charged for this preview.

Finn stared at the words. The prompt simply read ’Control’, with an opt-out button beside it.

“Okay,” he muttered. There wasn’t even a credit card attached to his , so what was the worst that could happen?

He tapped Control.

One-hour sample: Any request granted.

The teenage boy narrowed his eyes as a large red countdown clock appeared. He watched as it began to tick down; there was no other indicator of what the app did.

“Uh… ”

As the app counted down from 59:59 to 55:56, Finn tried tapping, swiping, and clicking on the screen. Nothing he did had any effect, though the timer continued to count down.

After a few more minutes of playing, Finn gave up, minimizing the app with a sigh and once more scrolling through his list of games.

He’d finally narrowed his choices down to Cave Escape or Dungeon Raid (two well-reviewed strategy games which promised a lot of depth) when his mother’s voice echoed throughout the house.

“Finnegan!” she called. “Trash!”

Finn groaned. His chores included taking out the trash; he was meant to empty it each night, but he’d gotten lost in a game the previous evening and completely forgotten about it.

“You do it; I’m still choosing a game!” he cried back, a tactic which had never worked before… and was surprised to hear his mother shout back “Fine!” in response.

His phone vibrated, and a notification appeared from Control.

Request granted.

Finn frowned. He flipped back to the motivational app; the red clock was down to 41:27. There was no other text on the screen, just the same words as before: “One hour sample: Any request granted.”

No way. It couldn’t… that couldn’t be why his mother had agreed to take the trash out for him. He tuned his ears to the kitchen; sure enough, it sounded like she was taking care of his chore.

Returning his attention to the app, he narrowed his eyes. It must have just been a coincidence.

But… what if it wasn’t?

Swinging his legs off the bed, Finn made his way to the kitchen, where his mother was grumblingly putting a new liner into the trash can.

“Hey, Mom,” he said hesitantly. “I’d really like a sandwich for lunch.”

“I’m sure you would,” she replied, as though he were asking her to buy him a puppy.

“I want you to, um… make it for me.”

“I’m sure you do,” she said, closing the bin and looking at him.

“Mom,” Finn said boldly. “Make me a sandwich.”

He held his breath, but sure enough: his phone vibrated in his pocket… and his mother immediately started moving towards the fridge.

“What, are your arms broken?” she sighed, pulling out some leftover ham.

Her son watched, stunned, as she opened a jar of mayonnaise and began lathering it onto bread—exactly the way he liked his sandwiches. He checked his phone.

The same notification as before was on the screen: Request granted.

Of course, it could still be a coincidence. His mother might have been just trying to make up for snapping at him that morning. Not that she’d ever felt bad about it before.

“Mom,” he said, trying to keep his tone neutral. “Why are you making me a sandwich?”

She looked up and smiled.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you?” she asked, wiping her hands on a dishcloth.

Finn stared at his mother, who was cutting the sandwich into triangles.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thirsty, too. Make me a milkshake.”

“A please wouldn’t go amiss,” she said, reaching for the blender.

Finn’s phone buzzed in his hand once more, and his mind began spinning as fast as the blender. If this was really working, he had another thirty-eight minutes and twelve seconds—according to the countdown clock—to have his mother fulfil his every request.

Was it possible? Could the app really be controlling his mother?

He knew it was impossible… and even if it wasn’t impossible, it was morally wrong… but instead of closing the app and walking away, he found himself staring at the screen as his mom blended the milk.

“Hey, Mom,” he said, trying to sound casual. “I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“What is it?” she asked, turning to look at him.

“Can I use the car tonight?”

“What for?”

“Just to visit a friend,” Finn lied.

“That should be fine,” she said reluctantly…although the app didn’t buzz. It took Finn a moment to realize: he hadn’t actually told her to do anything.

“I’ll be home in time for dinner. Grab me the keys,” he ordered.

“Of course,” she replied, her words followed shortly by the buzz of the app.

Finn grinned as she handed him the spare set of car keys. “Thanks, Mom.”

For the next thirty minutes and forty-eight seconds, Finn ordered his mother to clean his room, make his bed, give him a back rub, and order a pizza for delivery that evening. All of his requests were fulfilled without hesitation, even when he added an expensive dessert to the pizza order.

She complied with all of his requests… except one.

“Mom?” he asked confidently. “I’ve chosen the game. Front me some currency.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head gently. “Not until your grades improve.”

Finn’s brow furrowed—the app had vibrated, just as it had for all previous requests, but when he unlocked his phone, he was met with a different message.

Request denied.

Unlike the other notifications, this one had a small i in a circle. He clicked it, and was greeted with a simple error page:

Error: Request conflicts with chosen goal.

Finn stared at the app as it continued relentlessly counting down—he had five minutes and fifty-six seconds left of Any request granted. Any request, it seemed, unless it got in the way of improving his grades.

When the timer ended, Finn was watching his mother carefully. As the phone gently vibrated in his hand, alerting him that his free trial had ended, she visibly relaxed.

“Hey, Mom,” he inquired cautiously. “ me my cup.”

“Did your legs fall off?” she snapped at him. “You do know I’m not your slave, right?”

“Of course,” he replied immediately, getting up to fetch his cup. He waited a few minutes before probing again. “I can still borrow the car tonight, right?”

His mother paused, and for a moment Finn wondered if his instructions only worked while the timer was ticking. But, to his relief, she nodded.

“But before you do, how about getting a start on your homework?”

“Good idea,” Finn nodded, getting up and making his way to his bedroom. As he opened his book and tried to concentrate, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over at the app. The sample had been Level Zero…

…so what did the other levels do?