The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Monica went to bed and was soon asleep. For a few hours, all was quiet, the sound of nocturnal animals barely penetrating the room. The sound of the city was completely absent, not a single car driving up the winding path. Below her, a few TVs played, but soon enough, they were silent as sleep came upon all the occupants.

Even those who were night owls, oddly enough.

The night wore on, and slowly tendrils of glowing mist entered Monica’s room, traveling down the long ventilation shafts.

In her room, Monica twisted and moaned, tossing the covers away from her night-gown-clad body. She lay sprawled out on the bed, her hands by her side. Then a tendril of glowing mist seemed to caress her body.

Monica shivered and murmured in her sleep. The mist teased her form, and under her light gown, her large nipples stiffened.

Monica moaned again.

Monica was walking down the hallway. She was in her nightgown; the air teasing her body, little currents running up and over her pussy. Monica never bothered to wear panties to bed. Why? But now she was walking, the sound of a party calling her.

Monica licked her lips. She should go back to her room. Her nightgown was practically transparent. It was… she shivered. What would people think, looking at her, the light shining through and showing the way her heavy jugs swayed, unbound by a bra? Looking down and seeing the juncture between her legs, the lights of the hallway and room alternately concealing and revealing her slit…

Monica gasped in the empty room, the mist seeming to pluck at her body. She pulled her legs up, spreading them, revealing her mons. A moment later, the mist was caressing her mound, teasing her stiffening clit. Monica gasped again, arching her back, presenting herself…

Monica kept walking, her hips swaying. She was… She stopped and stared at a mirror.

“That… That can’t be me!” she gasped. Monica was curvy, she had a good shape but this… she reached up and touched her lips. Red, full, they looked like they’d been designed to wrap around a man’s cock. To service him, to take the cook deep into her mouth and throat… Monica shivered at the thought. Not a boyfriend, not someone who just bought you dinner, but a dominant, powerful male who stood over you… “Ohhh…” she murmured and then looked down at the rest of her body. Monica blinked. She had to be dreaming. Her tits were big, but not just big, they were heavy. Wide… she reached up and, on a sudden impulse, ripped the nightgown open.

The soft cry in the room was accompanied by Monica’s hands ripping her nightgown open, the light fabric presenting no resistance. She spread her legs, eyes closed, a sheen of sweat covering her body in the cool room. The mist seemed to take delight in coiling around her nipples, seeming to tug on them. With each spectral tug, Monica’s cries got a little louder, her back arching, hands clenching, grabbing handfuls of the bedsheets. But the mist kept playing over her body.

Monica stared at her body. Her tits were larger, but they were also fuller, wider, and sagging just a little, even though they were still bouncy. Broad, dark nipples thrust out and Monica hissed as she touched them. They weren’t the tits of a movie star, she suddenly thought.

They were the boobs of a farmer’s wife, showing off her domesticity, her ability to care for and make a family. She looked down, dropping her hands from those sensitive jugs, and ran them over her broad hips, lightly touching her mons.

Monica’s cry echoed through the hallway, and she heard some sounds that were almost answering. Her hips were curved and full, her body… Ripe. It felt like she was being prepared for something…

Monica walked on, forgetting her nightgown as it lay on the floor.

Monica’s moans were getting louder. Her body shivered as the mist grew denser, alternately revealing and concealing her body. She was quivering, one hand descending to her pussy, fingers thrusting into her wet, welcoming opening, while the other hand cupped one meaty tit.

There was a door at the end of the hallway and Monica ran for it, her tits bouncing. She heard cheers and shouts as she entered. There were people in there. Men, women, people she didn’t recognize. Most of them were naked, their heavy nutsacks and thick cocks drawing her eye from the muscular men, while women looked like she did, curvy, big-titted, and ready to be… taken.

“Oh-oh God!” Monica looked over at the sound. It was Jennifer. The Asian was bent over a low table, a man fucking her from behind. It wasn’t Tom. Tom was fucking someone else, she noticed. But Jennifer’s heavy dugs were bouncing with every powerful thrust, her man’s cock spreading her as it entered her.

“Hey, look, another one!” There was a cheer, and Monica felt a man take her by the arm. She thought… but a surge of desire filled her as she was guided to the table. Girls squealed, and some cheered her, those who didn’t have cocks in their mouths. Men ran their hands over her body, cupping her tits, tugging on her nipples, rubbing her pussy.

Monica gasped and whimpered as they talked to each other.

“Look at those dugs…”

“Good hips on this one…” And then they were pushing her down next to Jennifer, the padded floor soft on her knees.

And then she felt the cock press against her wet slit. Monica moaned, raising her ass, presenting herself to the man, the cool wood of the table rubbing against her tits.

Then he was fucking her, thrusting into her. Monica gasped and wailed, as she felt that powerful intruder dominate her.

“Muh…muh…” Nonsense words tumbled from her mouth. Next to her, she heard Jennifer gasping out one word.

“Destiny! Destiny!”

Monica shivered. She knew what Jennifer was saying. This was her destiny. To be fucked by a man, made into his… and then she felt more hands on her and she started gasping out the same word.

In the room, the mist was glowing, a warm, earthy scent filling the room. Monica had rolled over, moaning and gasping, her as jiggling as if invisible beings were thrusting into her. Finally, she threw her head back and screamed out one word.

“Destiny!” She came, came so hard that had she been awake, she would have ed out. Monica shuddered, then sighed, falling into a deeper sleep, the juices from her pussy staining the sheets…

And the mist slowly retreated from the room, leaving no sign of its presence…

When Monica woke up, she realized…

I’m wet. The dream was still at the fringes of her mind, but she was wet like she’d had the mother of all orgasms.

And her… Monica blinked and sat up in the bed, ignoring the dampness between her legs. Her tits felt bigger. Which was pretty well impossible, because she’d stopped her growth spurt long ago before she’d graduated, which was one reason she’d been so popular.

But now… Monica hefted one gown-covered tit in her hand.

It did feel heavier.

She blinked and walked to the bathroom, the warmth between her legs reminding her of the dream. It was hard to …just a feeling of submission… Glorious submission… And pleasure.

She got to the bathroom and pulled her nightgown off, dropping it to the floor and staring at her body.

She…

They are bigger. Just a little bigger. They were wider, nipples darker and heavier, hanging a little lower on her frame.

Monica licked her lips. She cupped one meaty jug and moaned. They were actually more sensitive than they’d been.

But heavier… Not some kind of show tits after you’d hit the plastic surgeon.

She had a sudden image of waiting for a man who’d been working in the fields, working hard, and then he came in to see her body, ready…

Ready for fucking.

Ready for seeding because the farm needed extra hands… the empty land needed to be tilled…

Monica licked her lips and one of her hands descended to her pussy, fingers lightly touching her mons. She hissed, imagining what the farmer would be like.

Older than she was.

Yes, she could see a little salt and pepper in his beard, not some young buck, but a powerful, older male, with the wisdom of age to his strength.

A thick, long cock, just perfect for taking his wife and making her his, filling her womb, seeding her…

Monica’s soft moan filled the room, and behind her, a few curls of mist appeared in the early morning light. She was rubbing her pussy, and then her other hand cupped her tit, the flesh overflowing her palm.

“Mmmm….” Her moan filled the room. Her dream was fading from her memory, in favor of the daydream of just living in a little farmhouse, being fucked, day after day, and then proudly showing off her burgeoning belly to her man and his friends…

Why am I thinking this? Monica shivered in pleasure, but she’d never gotten off on the idea of an older guy—a strong man, taking his woman in hand—fucking her and she’d never really considered getting preg—finding the destiny of a proper woman—let alone living on a farmhouse.

She licked her lips and pulled her fingers away from her slit with some difficulty. They were gleaming with her juices. The air was cool, her nipples stiff in it.

Monica shook her head, banishing the image with difficulty. She’d not gotten a fuck in way too long.

With that, she turned to the shower.

Maybe a good, long shower will help me forget.

It didn’t.

When Monica came out of the shower, she was presented with her first issue. Her bras had always been a little tight, and she wasn’t about to kill herself via asphyxiation by trying to fit her jugs into a too-small bra.

So simple solution, just go braless. She pulled on a T-shirt and looked at herself in the mirror. There was something hot about the way her nipples pressed into the fabric, and her tits pulled the shirt away from her body.

In fact…

Fuck it, if I look good on top, why not on the bottom… She had some cutoffs she kept as emergency clothes in case you had to get wet, do work, or just wanted to show off. She found them and wiggled them on and realized that she just hadn’t put weight on up top.

She’d put some on in her ass and hips. Not fat, but curvy, full, the kind of hips…

A farmwife would have… She blinked, imagining the way she’d look, walking along, her hips and ass swaying in counterbalance to her tits—and later her belly.

Holy shit, I haven’t hit my biological clock, have I? I’m barely even out of college.

Still, the thought was… a turn-on.

Monica bit her lip, trying to banish the thought. She didn’t need to get wet and have to change clothes, after all.

Then, dressed, she glanced out the window and blinked.

Holy shit.

There was light shining down over the building from the rising sun. And there was a sea of fog around the structure. She bet you couldn’t even see a foot in front of your face if you were down in the front. Beyond the fog, she could see the spires of the city rising, and Monica realized that the fog wasn’t all over the place. It was just…

Here, around the building.

Between that and the tree, nobody’s getting down that road.

She shook her head and headed out of her room. Maybe there was something going on downstairs.

As she ed Tom and Jennifer’s room, she heard grunting and gasping.

She paused. I should go on, I shouldn’t listen…

“You want it, bitch? Tell me what you want, slut!”

That was Tom’s voice, but he sounded… dominant, powerful.

“P….please, sir!” Jennifer’s voice was high-pitched, eager. “Fuck your slut! Fuck me until I’m knocked up!”

“I’m gonna do that, and then what are you gonna do?”

“Wh—whatever my man wants!” Jennifer’s voice rose in a squeal.

Monica shook her head. No, she definitely didn’t need to stick around.

With that, she headed down the hallway.

Pressing her legs together now and then, because the way Tom was dominating Jennifer… was hot.