The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

My heart skipped a beat as I heard the sound of the motorbike engine draw up somewhere behind me. My heart stopped beating altogether as the Kawasaki Ninja H2 998 cc roar changed down, and I knew the rider was slowing down and following me.

I didn’t look back. I kept on walking. My high heels clicked on the sidewalk.

I was having my morning run, the three mile run I went on every morning to keep myself fit, except…

… I was swaying in five-inch Christian Louboutain spike stiletto heels…

… Swaying voluptuously, seductively, irresistibly…

… My tube skirt’s butt-hugging hem clinging to my toned ass-cheeks, the slit up the back of my dress offering my supple spine, my sumptuous softness, to the rider’s eyes as he pulled into the curb behind me…

I kept on walking.

The 998 cc roar was so loud it drowned out the clicks thrilling up my spine, the tingle where the clicks reached my brain and carried me along on the floaty, mellow feeling that was engulfing my body from my painted toenails to the tips of my lustrous blonde hair.

The rider’s eyes drilled into my back as he cruised along behind me. Usually when I went on my morning run I didn’t sway voluptuously like this. Normally I wore my trainers, not these peep-toe high heel strappy sandals. Usually I went running in a pair of gym shorts and a sports halter, not this black fuck-me tube skirt, skin-tight and slit all the way up the back offering the rider a glimpse of Agent Provocateur thong tugging in my taut ass-cleft. I could feel his eyes all over me. Normally I went running to keep fit and maintain a healthy mind in a healthy body, but this morning was different. The way I was sashaying along the sidewalk, the way I could feel the rider’s eyes savoring my bootylicious butt, I knew he was going to fuck me.

It was hot for this early in the morning but a shiver ran up my spine. The clicks thrilling up my spine, the tingly glow in my head, the floaty mellow feeling getting me ready for anything, the click in my brain… it had been happening more and more frequently lately… the gaps in my memory when the brainwashed feeling was over were getting longer and longer… it had been proving more and more impossible to recall the things I’d done in the gaps… just blurry sensations of impossible ecstasy and a raw stickiness aching between my legs.

I swayed along, my high heels clicking on the pavement. Something terrible was happening but the floaty feeling was too nice for me to care.

Had my son really read all those books and visited all those websites I saw on his computer? ‘Mind Control, an A to Z of Brainwashing Techniques’? ‘Mind Break’ by Professor Stanislaus Wyszinski of Harvard University? ‘Radio Wavelengths and Neural Receptivity’? ‘The CIA Guide to Long Distance Mind Control’?

Why on earth was Walt studying all that stuff? It wasn’t on his college course.

Was this click in my brain my son brainwashing me? Was the tingle of light in my head Walt breaking my mind’? Was this lovely mellow feeling flowing through my body the effect of ‘CIA Long Distance Mind Control’?

No.

Surely not.

Impossible.

It couldn’t be.

I thrust the thought from my mind.

The idea was too terrible to even entertain for a single instant.

Walt?

My own son?

My clever, hunky, lovely nineteen-year-old son doing such a terrible thing to his own mother?

I shook my head. No. It was impossible. Except…

… There were other things on Walt’s computer that had upset me too…

… A notice from the college that he’d failed his college course. A message from Walt’s Head of Department demanding an interview about his ‘slack attendance’ and ‘disruptive attitude’! It couldn’t be. It must be a mistake. Walt was top of his class in computer science and radio wave technology…

… And even worse…

… A message from some creepy guy demanding money… threatening Walt with all sorts of horrible punishments if he didn’t ‘pay up the three thousand dollars pronto’… it couldn’t be true. My son didn’t have friends like that! Walt was upright and honest and decent, he didn’t mix with nasty people, gangster types who were into heavy gambling…

The bike drew up beside me.

… The rider was all in black…

… Black leather from his throat-clip down to his heavy biker’s boots…

… The helmet’s black visor drawn down, reflecting nothing but the glare off the street, his face completely invisible…

… The only thing I could be certain about was his ripped, muscular body, his pumped, leather-clad thighs gripping the hot paintwork…

His voice came out eerie and unreal from a speaker grid in the front of his helmet, eerie and unreal but somehow weirdly familiar too:

“Hey! Gorgeous. Where ya goin’?”

I shrugged. I murmured the answer I had prepared:

“… Dunno…”

He nodded at the shiny saddle behind him. The voice came cool and gravelly, and strangely intimate, out of the helmet’s speaker:

“Fancy a ride?”

I shrugged:

“… Yeah… okay… why not…?”

I climbed up onto the bike behind him.

“Ouch!”

The saddle was red hot. Burning vinyl stung my inner thighs where my tube skirt rode up around my butt. My bare ass-cheeks clung to the scorching seat. My moist pussy sizzled, dropped naked and juicy onto a barbecue hotplate.

I didn’t have time to complain or even get myself comfortable. There was roar. The guy gunned the engine. We took off so fast I was almost thrown off. I grabbed hold of him. I threw my arms around his ripped leather abs.

“Hey!”

We were leaning into a high-speed curve. I held on tight.

The bike swept out of the bend and picked up speed. The guy was a maniac. He wanted get us both killed.

The wind tore through my hair.

I wound my arms tighter around his waist. Holding onto him felt nice at breakneck speed. His body was pumped and muscular under his biker’s leathers.

His back straightened going into a bend and my sumptuous breasts spread out on his ripped spine. I held on for dear life. I crushed my jelly-soft tits into his back through my slot neckline, wondered if he could feel the racing of my heart through all that leather.

“… Oh… oh…”

There was a jolt and the bike shot forward even faster. My toned inner thighs gripped hot metal. If the guy was trying to scare me he was succeeding. If we came off at this speed he had his big black helmet on. My head had no protection against the hard asphalt whipping by beneath us, the thrilling terror coursing through my body.

We were out in the country, flashing past dusty fields and stands of trees. Suddenly the road became appallingly straight. Another jolt jerked my pulsing pussy hard against his tail-bone, my inner thighs lifting helplessly, gripping his stallion buttocks.

“… Oh fuck…”

Sheer delight thrilled through me. We were going to die. This hunky stranger and I were going to die together in a pile of smashed steel. He bent forwards, picking up speed.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…”

Where my fingers gripped tight his pumped abs pulsed through hot leather. His body was like ripped steel. My molten pussy’s succulent heat was rubbing helplessly against his tense tail-bone. My sopping gash was grinding hot juice and tugging G-string into tight leather. My butt jerked on molten vinyl. My pussy kicked.

Oh! Shit! I was cumming!

My hot gash went into helpless spasm.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

He wouldn’t slow down. He gunned the engine even faster. My luscious meltdown went on and on and on, creaming his packed leathers with helpless ecstasy.

We were on a cliff somewhere, overlooking the sea.

We pulled into an empty car-park.

There was no one around. A council sign advertised some ‘beauty spot’ or other.

My knees were trembling as I slid down off the bike, my silky inner thighs a wet mess of pussy juice and perspiration. My face was hot. I was blushing to the roots of my hair. Even at top speed my orgasm had been too powerful for him not to have noticed.

The black visor shielding his face glared down at the slick seat I’d sat on. He didn’t take his helmet off. The same eerie, unreal voice came out of the speaker grid in the front of his helmet:

“You dirty bitch!”

My heart lifted. The rage in his filtered voice did something to the helpless yearning pulsing in my juicy gash. We were alone, with the sea and the cliff-face. He was furious. He could kill me if he wanted. He could beat me up if he liked, for cumming on his precious bike seat. There was plenty of slippery cream in the pussy-shaped stain on his precious seat.

The sea breeze tugged at my tangled hair. He nodded:

“Lick it off!”

The bike smelled of burned oil and hot metal. I bent over the stained seat. I cocked my butt, let my skirt ride up my moist split. Upset him some more.

“… Mm-mmmmmmmmmmmmmm…”

My juice tasted hot and tangy, headier than the vinyl’s savor. My cream tasted delicious, smearing his racing saddle. I lapped it up with long, slow, sumptuous strokes of my juicy tongue, let him see how good I licked if he fancied a blowjob. I got his saddle good and clean.

Brute anger seethed in his voice.

“Filthy fucking slut!”

For an instant his tone sounded familiar, I knew his voice from somewhere, distorted by the helmet’s speaker.

But no.

That was impossible. I’d never met this dude before. My demure life and modest lifestyle had never once brought me in contact with a pumped fucker like this. I was alone in a clifftop carpark with an angry stallion.

I perched on the seat of his bike, now one hundred percent clean, and felt a goofy grin spread across my face. If he wanted a filthy fucking slut I was his lady. I pouted:

“… Want me to suck your cock, big fella…?”

I don’t know how I knew, I was just certain it would be big.

I wouldn’t have minded kissing him first, making it personal, but he kept his helmet on, a warrior in his armor, ready for battle.

The voice came out through his speaker grille:

“Fuck you too, bitch!”

I took that as a yes.

His black biker’s leathers had a big, chunky zip all the way down the front. I reached out and grasped the toggle. I held my breath and tugged… zip tooth after zip tooth… downwards towards my destined goal, my heart beating like crazy.

Thick chest hair and glistening pecs. He was naked under his leathers. I could tell at once he didn’t bother about shorts under all this hot black leather.

Ripped abs muscles. The hairs on his belly a little less thick than the bush on his chest. Clenched navel. Muscular groin. His cock…

… I stopped breathing altogether…

… My stomach churned…

… Long and thick and raw and dangerous…

… The mist cleared… my brainwash blur came into focus… the gaps in my memory rushed to be filled… the things I’d been doing in this weird float-y state revealed themselves in full, shocking detail…

“… Oh…!”

… A cubicle in a sex shop… a whitewashed cubicle in Sam’s Sex Shop… I knew what a ‘glory-hole’ was… on my knees before a hole in a white-washed wall…

… My hour at the glory-hole, taking this big cock with the gold ring in its foreskin in my mouth…

I’d sucked this monster cock once already.

I knew how it would taste before I even got its lolling spear-head in my mouth!

He was the guy I’d blown in the sex shop!

There could be no mistaking.

There wasn’t another cock in the world inured to pain enough to wear this gold band, like a gypsy’s earring, in its tight foreskin, the shiny gold twitching deliciously, his slick spear-head already slipping out.

His eerie voice:

“Come on, baby. What’s the matter? Gone off your dinner?”

Exulting in my shock. His anger turning to sheer animal ferocity, letting me know that, yes, he was stalking me.

I took his full length in my fist. My fingertips quivered, wrapping round his throbbing thickness. I didn’t care if he was angry. I didn’t mind if he was stalking me. It was the biggest, most potent, most beautiful cock in the whole wide world, a beautiful relaxed brown color, the deep rich tan of pulsing masculine power. Even in its relaxed state, the tip swelled out to a breath-taking thickness, the slick skin an even more purple-y brown color than the shaft, a ripped spear-head relaxing before battle.

“C’m on, doll. What’s the problem?”

It was the second time he’d called me ‘doll’. He was obsessed with me. I was in the hands of a stalker. This guy stalked ‘dolls’ with a scary relentlessness. Maybe our first encounter at the glory-hole had happened by chance, but his big cock throbbing in my hand a second time was no coincidence.

He muttered:

“… C’m on… c’m on…”

I must have sucked his cock real good in the sex shop. I must have swallowed his big load extra special to make him go to such crazy lengths to stalk me—with his motorbike, in his leathers and his motorbike helmet— to make me blow his monster cock a second time.

A momentary tingle of pride turned to a lurch of dread.

This guy was insane. I was bugging him. He had a thing about me. He was completely out of his mind and I was alone with him in a clifftop carpark.

“… C’m on, bitch… suck it… I know how much you like the taste…”

He admitted it. He was admitting this wasn’t our first encounter, that he’d stalked me!

I took his swollen tip in a succulent moue. I flicked his gold ring with my tongue. I took his big cock full in my mouth.

“… Argh… argh-llllllllllllll…”

His slick tip slipped fully out of its foreskin sheath, a delicious plum unpeeling between my lips.

I clamped his swollen tip between my teeth. I plastered loving saliva on his tight piss-slit. His gold ring twitched deliciously under my tongue.

“… Argh… argh…”

His raw tip instantly grew heavier in my mouth. His big cock wanted my mouth, and my mouth only. His throbbing spear-head was hooked on my hot tongue. He couldn’t get enough of the way my luscious mouth-meat flirted with his gold ring. His cock wanted my saliva, and my saliva only, bathing its pulsing need in juicy moisture.

“… Glurg… gla-aaarg… argh-llllllllllllll…”

The weight in my mouth grew bigger and harder and heavier. His cock throbbed deliciously between my lips. I took it in deep. I throated him real good. His gold ring battered against my gullet, his thick shaft stiffening, aching to get more of itself in the back of my throat.

“… Glu-uuurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…”

His cock was rock-hard. The beautiful relaxed brown color was packed tight with pulsing power. We understood each other. His cock and my mouth knew each other though and through.

My legs spread helplessly, perched on the edge of the big bike’s saddle. My hot gash slipped and slithered on slippery vinyl. My hand was inside my thong. My fingertips quaked in slippery wetness. My clit was sopping wet. My taut tight trigger pulsed voluptuous messages up my body to my hot mouth’s yearning desperation.

“… Argh… argh…”

My tail-bone kicked.

My pussy jerked and bucked.

Luscious cream sieved between my knuckles. Helpless juice drenched my thong. I stabbed three fingers again and again and again into my helpless wetness.

“… Glu-uuuuuuurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…”

I took him deep into my throat.

“… Argh… argh… argh…”

I impaled my succulent wind-pipe gullet-deep on my stalker’s big prong. I was cumming. I climaxed hot and helplessly on the throbbing gristle plugging my spasming airways.

“… Glu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuurg… gla-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarg…!”

Ecstatic spasms thrilled through my body. My wet gash went into rut. My hot cunt pulsed urgent demands up into my throat. I wanted him to cum. I needed to taste my biker’s hot semen.

I drew my mouth away. Strings of saliva and pre-cum stretched from my mouth down to his swollen tip, tying my lips to his raw prong.

“… Please… ple-eeeeeeease…”

I wrapped my fingers round his slippery cock. I pumped his throbbing shaft. My hot fist slipped and slid on the contents of my throat up and down his pounding piston.

“… Please fuck me…”

My fist went crazy on his slippery shaft. I pumped the big explosion pulsing up his rock-hard cock. My thumb stroked his slippery gold ring spreading luscious pre-cum round his drumming piss-slit.

“… I need your big cock in my hot pussy…”

I didn’t care that he’d stalked me. I didn’t mind that he’d hijacked me on his big bike and brought me to this lonely place. I didn’t care that he might be dangerous. I wanted him to be obsessed with me. I needed his crazy infatuation with my voluptuous body. The crazier, the better. The more dangerous he was, the more I needed his monster cock inside me.

A snarl from his helmet speaker. His black visor glared:

“Fuck what you need, sweetheart! Fuck your hot pussy, bitch!”

Slap

“… Ow…!”

A big hand, still in its biker’s gauntlet, caught me across the mouth.

Slap

“… Ow-eeeeeeeee…!”

I was appalled. The rage in his voice was scary. His fury shocked me to my core.

He didn’t want me. He hated me. This dude abhorred me.

He’d tracked me down because I enraged him, not because he fancied me. He wasn’t interested in fucking me. He didn’t even wanted to take his pleasure of my smoking hot body first before he wreaked his vengeance on me. He’d only stalked me because he wanted to hurt me. He intended to kill me.

Slap

“… Ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwww…!”

“Think you’ve got such a precious fucking pussy, don’t you?”

Terror churned my stomach. A shiver of cold dread ran up my spine.

My molten fuck-hole was wet and wide open. I churned my hot cunt helplessly with my jabbing fingers. My wet gash didn’t feel precious at all. My ex husband had been sleazy and vicious in bed, but he’d never hated my succulent entrance. He’d never wanted to punish my voluptuous pussy itself.

“Think I’m gonna fall down on my knees and worship your hot cunt do you, bitch?”

What had my pussy ever done to him, besides yearn for his big cock? What harm had my hot cunt ever done him that he wanted to hurt me and humiliate me so?

“… No… no I just…”

I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. I needed to get away from this monster, but I was surrounded by fields and an empty road and the sea crashing on rocks a hundred feet below. I couldn’t even run, my knees were trembling too much, my legs were shaking too badly, quivering with fear and helpless desire.

He grabbed my dress.

He tore my slot neckline open.

He dragged my tube skirt down around my belly. My fuck-me hem was tangled round my stomach.

My jelly-soft breasts quaked in the sharp salt air. My nipples stood up stiff and taut, yearning to be sucked, longing for an eager mouth to close around their pulsing tightness and suck the hot love out of my sumptuous softness.

Nothing.

He grabbed me and flipped me round and bent me over the saddle again.

SLAP

“… Ow-eeeeeeeee…!”

The blow he dealt my soft, curvaceous butt was so much hotter and fiercer than the slaps he’d laid on my cute face it took my breath away. My toned ass-cheek quivered like a violin’s struck string.

SLAP

A delicious burn spread across my voluptuous butt.

“… Oh fuck…!”

He screamed:

“Like that do you, bitch?”

He was a maniac. I’d allowed myself to get picked up by a ripped, leather-clad madman. I’d offered him my smoking hot body and all he wanted to do was hurt me!

SLAP

“… Ouch…!”

His voice went low and dangerous:

“I said like that do you, bitch?”

I groaned:

“… Yes… yes… I like it…”

I did. I wanted more of his broad palm’s stinging heat jellying my curvaceous butt. My hand was between my legs, teasing him, infuriating him, my fingers plunging knuckle-deep in my wet gash, churning my molten clit, pumping terror and pain to melting ecstasy.

SLAP

He seethed:

“Take it up the ass do you, bitch?”

I froze. I stopped breathing altogether. My pussy disgusted him. My ass-hole disgusted him even more.

“… Yes… please… I take it up the ass…”

My fingers clenched on hot vinyl remembering how thick his throbbing spear-head was, the size of the smooth gold ring kicking on his big prong. I hadn’t had anal sex for nineteen years, since my brute of a husband took my virgin ring.

He hissed:

“Want me to fuck your butt ey, slut?”

I moaned into the bike seat:

“… Yes… please… I want you to fuck my butt…”

I made up my mind—I’d never fuck strangers again. I promised myself—if I survived this ordeal I’d never go to Sam’s Sex Shop again, or climb on a bike with a maniac I don’t know. Only a man you know, only someone you love, has the right to treat a woman like this, not some crazed stalker taking his anger out on a hot chick’s helpless body. Hot chick? I was thirty-seven years old! How had I ever got myself into this situation? I didn’t understand it… the click in my brain… the hot clicks running up my spine… the tingling light coming on in my head…. the lovely mellow feeling engulfing my body, lovely and mellow even now, bent over a motorbike, my hot cunt abused, my luscious ass lifted in helpless surrender.

A glob of sticky warmth landed in my ring.

He’d just spat in my ring!

Frothy warmth overflowed my clenched crater and trickled down my silky ass-cheeks.

He growled:

“Think you got a hot ass do you, bitch?”

I moaned:

“… Yes… yes… I think I’ve got a hot ass…”

“Like a thick cock up your back passage, ey?”

It was what my ex husband used to call it, my ‘back passage’. It was exactly how my sleazy ex used to say it: ‘… like a thick cock up your back passage…?’ I never used to like it back then, not like I’m begging for it now. I never used to offer it to him so desperately back when I was nineteen, not as eagerly as I was offering it up now to a total stranger who knew me through and through:

“… Yes… please… I like a thick cock up my back passage…”

His drumming tip eased its gold ring up and down my tight ass-cleft, savored my asshole’s helpless quaking. Slippery gold quivered in my toned crevasse. His slick spear-head slithered free of its pierced foreskin.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…!”

Raw gristle lodged in my quaking ring. My ex husband never used to prepare me with finger love either, before he drove his thick stake into my teenage tightness, but at least my sleaze-bag husband never stuffed penis jewelry into my ‘back passage’.

“… Ow-wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww…!”

Everything went black.

His spear-head was thicker than even my husband had been when he abused my newly-married body.

The blackness turned to red heat, a burning vice clasping his throbbing prong, my sumptuous ring savoring his size and weight and the feel of smooth gold easing into my ring on a juggernaut of rock-hard cock.

“… Ow-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…!”

My butt went into spasm. My curvaceous ass-cheeks quaked on his swollen tip. My tail-bone kicked. My ass went into meltdown. I was gripped by a pleasure I never even knew existed. I’d certainly never felt this molten delight, I’d certainly never given way to this ecstatic jerking and bucking when my ex husband took my hot ass.

“… Ouch… ow-www… yes… yes… ye-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…!”

Voluptuous walls gave way inside me. Perky bones melted in my bottom. Hot juice worked its way up from my spasming pussy and lubed the place of pain.

“… Oh… oh…”

The burning vice let go.

My hot ass was rutting on his big prong! His savage need slammed smooth gold and rock-hard cock hard and fast and deep into my rear hole and my luscious ass was rutting in reply!

“… Oh… fuck… fu-uuuuuuuuuck…”

I climaxed again and again. A sweet burn I’d never experienced before gripped my hot ass again and again.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

I made him slow down. Luscious spasms flexed my throbbing ring, told his savage staccato to take its time, change down, let my hot ass turn to luscious jelly on his big prong.

“… Yes… yes… like that… just like that…”

My hot ass brought him under its spell.

I groaned:

“… Oh fuck you’re big…!”

I needed him to know I’d never had a cock as big as his inside me before.

The sun beat down on my naked shoulders. I was getting burnt.

There were heart-stopping moments when he pulled all the way out and left my ass-hole spasming, an open-cut quarry in a luscious earthquake.

He looked down at me. His helmet flashed in the sun. His blackened visor glared:

“That’s some gape you got on you, babe!”

I loved the way he humiliated me.

I teased him:

“… Big enough for you, fella…?… gonna cum in my hot ass…?”

I drove him crazy. My body undulated in willowy heat, my tits crushed on burning vinyl.

“… Oh… oh… oh fuck…”

He slammed his rock-hard cock hard and fast and deep into my rear hole’s sumptuous depths. My ring spasmed ecstatically, clasped him tight… and the biker was pumping surge after surge of hot cum into my throbbing meltdown.

“… Fu-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck…!”

He filled me so big, my butt clasped him so tight, hot semen was pumping out of my ecstatic ring, a pulsing flood in spate, his delicious sperm streaming over my curvaceous softness and down my silky inner thighs.

“… Oh God…!”

He took a long time to pull out. He savored the after-shocks throbbing through my body.

My hot ring finally released his throbbing spear-head.

A raw ache engulfed my slippery butt.

For a second I couldn’t stand up. Raising myself to the upright position was impossible. My ass hurt too much.

I straightened my dress.

I pouted:

“… Okay, mister… you’ve had your fun…” I stood my ground. “… You gonna take that helmet off… let me see your face…?”

I needed to see what kind of man had taken me so savagely, unloaded so bigtime in my butt. I needed to know what my stalker looked like, in case he ever came after me again. We were total strangers but there was something intimate between us too. He was obsessed with me. I was obsessed with him. We knew each other through and through.

The voice from the helmet speaker sounded even less real than before.

“Why you wanna see my face, doll? Faces aren’t important.”

I mumbled:

“… Yes they are… who are you…?”

He was scaring me, the creepy way he didn’t want me to see his face.

An eerie laugh, mangled by his helmet speaker:

“Who am I? Who I am isn’t important, babe. You’ve had my cock. That’s enough for a hot bitch like you.”

The ecstasy was over, if there ever had been any in the first place.

He dropped me two miles from my house.

It was a long way to walk in stiletto heels, especially when my ass was stinging like crazy.

I felt bloated. My tube skirt didn’t seem to quite cover all of me anymore. A nipple slipped out at the top. The short hem rode up my ass. My butt felt raw and sticky. It was lucky there weren’t too many pedestrians around.

Turning into our street I felt a click in my brain, a definite click inside my head… like a thumbnail tapping a screen…

… The tingling light in my mind switched off….

… The lovely mellow feeling carrying me along evaporated…

I glanced down. I saw…

… My sumptuous softness pouring out of a fuck-me tube skirt…!

What the hell was I wearing?

… Stiletto heels clicking on the pavement…!

I never wore stiletto heels!

What was I doing in this disgusting outfit?

I tried to think.

I couldn’t.

Thinking was impossible. Remembering… even a couple of minutes back… was out of the question…

I needed to know what had just happened. My mind was a blank. I needed to cast my mind back, work out what was going on, but my brain had suddenly stopped working!

I was lost in a complete blur. My brain felt soft and mushy. Everything grew hazy. I couldn’t remember a single thing…

… I must have gone running… like I went running every morning…

… But what was I doing in these stiletto heels, this ghastly revealing tube skirt…?

I felt totally confused.

When I got home Walt was lounging on the couch.

He frowned:

“Hey! Mom! What happened to you?”

He looked me up and down…

… Almost as if he was savoring my fuck-me outfit, the fact that I was hot and bothered…!

I muttered:

“… Nothing… nothing at all… nothing happened to me…”

My son lifted a quizzical eyebrow in that mocking way that always maddened me.

“I thought you were going for a run. What’s with the high heels and party dress? You been partying or something?”

He was merciless. Why was he mocking me like this?

I tried to sound stern.

“… No I haven’t… it’s none of your business…”

His ripped, hunky body irritated me, spread out on the sofa like he was on holidays or something. I blurted:

“… Aren’t you supposed to be at college…?”

He shrugged:

“No. No college today, Mom. College is closed today.”

I frowned:

“… Are you sure…?”

It was a weekday. There’d been no notices of holidays or days off. I’d seen other kids heading off for college. I stopped dead…

… That thing I’d seen on his computer…

… A notice from the college that Walt had failed his college course…

… A message from Walt’s Head of Department demanding an interview concerning his ‘slack attendance’ and ‘disruptive attitude’…!

…. My son, who was always top of his class in computer science and radio wave technology, was being expelled from the college where he’d done so well…

… And he was lounging around on the couch in the middle of the day…!

I didn’t need to try to be stern. I was his mother. No son of mine was flunking out of college without telling me what was going on.

I raised my voice:

“… You’ve flunked out of college…?”

He gave me the innocent, little-boy grin he used to use when he’d been caught stealing cookies or breaking a neighbor’s window:

“Hell, Mom. It’s none of your business…”

None of my business? It certainly was my business, and he knew it. He blurted:

“Get off my back, willya? I…”

He was saved by his phone.

His phone was buzzing on the coffee table.

He snatched it up. A sudden worried look creased his handsome features. All at once Walt was babbling into his phone:

“… Look, Werner… I’ll pay you… I promise I’ll pay you… I’ve got the money… I’ll get the money… when…?” His eyes were troubled. “… Tonight… I promise, Werner… I’ll have the money for you by tonight…”

He jumped up. He was heading for the door thrusting his phone in his pocket.

“… Sorry, Mom… I gotta dash…!”

He left me feeling even more confused than ever.

Werner?

Who was Werner? Werner sounded scary.

And what was this about money? ‘… I promise I’ll pay you…’? ‘… I’ll have the money for you by tonight…’?

… I remembered the even more frightening thing I’d seen on Walt’s computer…

… A message from some creepy guy demanding money, threatening Walt with all sorts of horrible punishments if he didn’t pay up the three thousand dollars pronto…

… Was my son getting himself involved with heavy people? Gangster types? Gambling? Three thousand dollars? Something even worse than gambling…?

He’d grown up with me his whole life. He was my son. Nineteen years we’d spent together, and suddenly I felt as if I didn’t know him at all.

I couldn’t even question him. It was too late to ask him what was going on. He was out the door already, jumping into his car and speeding off.

I had a shower. I cleaned the itchy stickiness between my legs. My pussy ached. How had that happened? Where did this raw stinging in my curvaceous butt come from?

The more I tried to work it out the more blurred my mind became.

Slippery vinyl. A burning seat. Wind whipping through my hair… besides from that my mind was a total blank…

I dried myself and put some fresh clothes on. A pair of slashed jeans and a crisp white T-shirt.

It was hard to walk properly. My ring ached appallingly. Where had this stinging come from? It scared me how I didn’t have a clue.

I made myself a salad. I brewed a pot of chamomile tea.

I was just sitting down to lunch in the kitchen when there was a ring at the doorbell.

Walt was still out.

I sighed and went to the front door myself.

“Mrs Morel?”

Doctor Bradford.

The Head of Department at Walt’s college!

Walt’s favorite teacher.

Professor Of Computer Science And Radio Wave technology.

He smiled at me:

“May I come in for a minute?”

“… Why… yes… yes, Doctor Bradford… of course…”

I felt my face turn bright red. Thank God I was in a respectable pair of round-the-house jeans and a nice white T-shirt and not the fuck-me rags I’d unaccountably wandered home in.

I stepped aside and he came into the hallway.

Doctor Bradford didn’t look like an academic. He was a leading expert in his field but his appearance was more that of an easy-going lumberjack than a famous scientist.

He must have been in his mid forties, ten years or so older than me, but his grizzled hair and the tanned lines around his eyes were those of a younger man.

Doctor Bradford certainly didn’t dress like a faculty man. His checked flannel shirt was unbuttoned on thick, silver chest hair. His tan chinos hung baggy on his tree-trunk thighs, not particularly well-ironed for a potential Nobel Prize Winner.

For such an eminent man he was polite and courteous:

“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, Mrs Morel. Unannounced.”

I felt flustered:

“… No… no… it’s quite alright… I wasn’t doing anything…”

I could see from the concerned expression on his face that he was the bearer of bad news. He’d come to tell me that my son had failed his college course, but his smile was still warm and friendly. He said:

“I wanted to have a word with you… in private, hopefully… about Walt…”

I mumbled:

“… Why… yes… of course… thank you… thank you so much… do come in…”

I’d never had much of an education. I felt nervous in the presence of such a learned man, particularly as he had such kind, gray eyes.

I led Walt’s Head of Department into the kitchen. I blurted:

“… Would you… erm… like some salad… couscous salad…?… or a cup of tea…?… only chamomile I’m afraid…”

He smiled:

“Mm-mmm. Yes. That salad looks delicious…” I did make a very nice couscous salad. “… A cup of chamomile will just touch the spot…”

I poured him some tea in my best earthenware mug. Doctor Bradford sipped judiciously.

“… Mm-mmm… delicious… chamomile’s very refreshing isn’t it…?”

I mumbled:

“… Yes… yes it is…”

We ate in silence for several minutes. I think Walt’s Head of Department liked my couscous salad.

Finally I said:

“… You needed to speak to me… about Walt…?”

His forehead creased:

“… Yes… yes I do… I’m afraid I’m worried about your son, Mrs Morel… very worried indeed…”

He meant it. His concern was obvious. Doctor Bradford’s concern for my son was far stronger than any concern Walt’s father had ever felt for his son.

I trembled:

“… Oh…? Worried…?”

He shook his head.

“… Yes… Walt’s such a brilliant student… he’s always been top of his class… I don’t know what’s happened… his results… and his behavior… have suddenly dropped off…”

All I could do was murmur:

“… Yes… so I’ve heard…”

Doctor Bradford’s hazel eyes were filled with a powerful intelligence, softened by his obvious caringness. He frowned:

“… I have a feeling something’s bugging Walt… I’m sure something’s preying on his mind…”

I gasped:

“… Really…?”

“… Yes… Walt’s such a nice boy… incredibly brainy… he’s the brainiest boy I’ve ever taught… but in the last few months, ever since he turned eighteen he’s been… I don’t know… not himself…”

I set my cup down, too heavily, on the table.

“… Not himself…?”

Doctor Bradford was a good man. Only the most conscientious of teachers would show such an interest in one of his pupils, such a deep concern as to come and speak to his pupil’s mother at home.

I’d heard Doctor Bradford’s tragic story. The sorrow in his life was well known round the college. He’d arrived at the college as a newly-married junior professor. He and his wife had been a model couple. His wife young and beautiful, his devotion to her evident for all the world to see. When she’d died in a car accident, before they could have any children, Doctor Bradford had been devastated. Devastated and totally loyal to her memory. Doctor Bradford never remarried. Rumor had it that he’d never even had another girlfriend to comfort him in his loss. He’d thrown himself into his studies rather than take up with any of the many women vying to be his second wife. He’d dedicated himself to his work so fastidiously he’d become the leading expert in his field.

He shook his head:

“… Yes… I’m worried he might be getting himself into trouble…”

I felt a pang of heart-warming gratitude. Doctor Bradford had never had a child, he didn’t have a son of his own, but he cared about Walt as if my son were his own flesh and blood.

He frowned:

“I don’t know what it is, but I’m sure something’s eating at Walt. He’s not himself. He’s become slack in his studies. He refuses to work. He never hands in his assignments. He can even be quite rude and disruptive in class. I wish I knew what was going on.”

I stirred my salad with my fork. I didn’t feel hungry any more.

“… Walt never hands in his assignments…?”

Then what were those books and weird websites I’d seen on his computer?

‘Mind Control, an A to Z of Brainwashing Techniques’? ‘Mind Break’ by Professor Stanislaus Wyszinski of Harvard University? ‘Radio Wavelengths and Neural Receptivity’? ‘The CIA Guide to Long Distance Mind Control’?

I shivered. What was Walt doing reading that stuff if it wasn’t for his assignments?

Doctor Bradford’s lips pursed:

“… No, not a single assignment in the last nine months… it’s almost as if he’s got something on his mind… something else that’s obsessing him so much he can’t study any more…”

He looked at me. Doctor Bradford was worried for my sake too. He thought I was squirming in my chair because I was embarrassed about my son’s problems. I was embarrassed about my son’s problems, but the hot sting in my butt—almost as if my ring had been painfully stretched—wasn’t helping.

I blurted:

“… I’m so grateful, Doctor Bradford… I’m so glad you’ve come to speak to me…”

No. That sounded all wrong. As if Walt’s Head of Department cared about me more than he cared about his student. I’d offended him. I was taking his good nature for granted. For nineteen years my son, my lovely Walt, had been enough ‘men’ for me… but if ever a man other than Walt could have a place in my heart it was this big, caring, gray-eyed lumberjack professor…

I blushed to the roots of my hair. I felt terrible even just thinking it. Professor Bradford was big and beautiful and heart-warming because that was all he’d ever be to me, big and beautiful and heart-warming, a conscientious teacher maintaining his distance from all personal involvements.

He frowned:

“… Even worse, Mrs Morel…” I stopped breathing. “… I’m worried Walt is getting himself into bad company… there’s talk that Walt’s been running with some gang… he’s joined a group of thugs doing petty crime… low-life chancers getting him addicted to gambling…”

My heart stopped beating.

That message on Walt’s computer…

… Some creepy guy demanding money… threatening Walt with all sorts of horrible punishments if he didn’t pay up the three thousand dollars pronto…

… The panic in Walt’s voice gabbling into his phone… ‘… Tonight… I promise, Werner… I’ll have the money for you by tonight…’

Doctor Bradford’s wise eyes wrinkled with concern. He was a good man. An honest man. He was the most decent human being I’d ever met. He cared about Walt. He was concerned for my son’s welfare. I needed to tell him what I’d seen on Walt’s computer. I had to tell him about ‘Werner’, the threatening call my son had received.

I couldn’t.

Something stopped me.

My heart was full. My lips moved but no sound came out my mouth. I was unable to breathe a single word. At last I managed:

“… I’m… I’m so grateful, Doctor…”

He cut in.

“… Greg…”

He wanted me to know his first name, to make me feel more easy in my mind accepting his help.

“… I’m so grateful, Greg… I’ll… I’ll have talk to Walt… I’ll have a word with my son…”

I sounded like an idiot. I kept repeating myself, ‘… I’ll have a word with my son…’ I wasn’t making sense. Doctor Bradford thought I was just a bimbo Mom, too dumb to control her own son.

He stood up. He smiled at me:

“Well. I guess I’d better get back to campus. Why don’t you give me a ring, Mrs Morel? When you’ve spoken to Walt. Let me know the results of your conversation.”

I felt a warm sensation in my chest. He was the nicest, most decent, most thoughtful man I’d ever met. The most loving and caring too, when it came to his students.

I stood up too. Doctor Bradford looked me up and down.

It was nice to be looked up and down by a man who wasn’t interested in ‘a nice rack’ or ‘a bootylicious butt’, who just saw a mother worried sick about her son.

Walt didn’t get home till late that night, and when he did get home…

… He was drunk…

… His dark, lustrous eyes, that had always been so alert and intelligent, were glazed…

… His breath smelled of whiskey…

He’d escaped from me in the morning, jumped into his car and sped off, his handsome features creased with worry, talking on his phone to someone called Werner… ‘… look, Werner… I’ll pay you… I’ll have the money for you by tonight…’

Walt never usually drank. I’d never seen him inebriated before, not with this dangerous look in his eye.

I was worried sick:

“Where have you been?”

His strong brow, his broad generous forehead, formerly so innocent and care-free, darkened:

“Nowhere, Mom. I’ve been out with some friends. Get off my case, will you?”

I couldn’t bear it:

“What’s the matter, Walt?” I tried to touch him. I attempted to tousle his lovely black wavy hair, the way I’d always tousled it for nineteen years when I wanted to show some affection, show him how much I loved him. He pulled his head away. I moaned: “What’s eating you, Walt?”

It was true. Something was eating at my beautiful son. That was what Doctor Bradford had said too, a generous teacher concerned for an errant student. ‘… I’m worried Walt is getting himself into bad company, Mrs Morel… there’s talk that Walt’s been running with some gang… he’s joined a group of thugs doing petty crime… low-life chancers getting him addicted to gambling…’

I tried to embrace him, give my son a motherly cuddle like I’d always given him for nineteen years. He was still just a teenager. I blurted:

“… Is it…?… is it… a girl…?… has some girl been upsetting you…?”

Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? It was the answer! It explained everything. Girls! My son was hunky. Walt had a ripped physique and a stunning face. Some girl had got her claws into him! He was in love and it was making him neglect his studies! He was obsessed with some girl and she was leading him astray!

He pushed me away. He was furious. He yelled:

“Just leave me alone will you, Mom?”

I blurted it out:

“It’s not just me that’s worried, Walt! Your teachers are worried too. Doctor Bradford’s been here. He came to the house! Doctor Bradford came to see if you’ve got some trouble or other, to find out what’s going on. He says you haven’t handed in any of your assignments. You’ve stopped studying. You’ve got other things on your plate. Doctor Bradford doesn’t want to flunk you, Walt. He says you’re the most brilliant student he’s ever had. He doesn’t want to see you get kicked out of college. He hates the thought of failing you, but the way you’re carrying on he has no alternative!”

I knew how much Walt respected Doctor Bradford. As well as being the top man in his field, Doctor Bradford was by far the most admired professor on campus.

My son sneered:

“Oh yeah? Doctor Bradford’s been here, has he? And did you do anything to help me?”

I felt my mouth drop open. I was stunned.

What did he mean ‘… did I do anything to help him…’? What could I possibly do? Why was it up to me? What did stopping my son getting kicked out of college have to do with me?

I stood gaping:

“They’re your exam results, Walt, not mine. What can I do if you don’t hand in your assignments?”

His glazed eyes narrowed:

“There’s plenty you could do, Mom!” He looked me up and down. My slashed jeans. My white T-shirt. My full, motherly breasts. My toned, curvaceous butt. Walt had never looked me up and down like this before! “There’s plenty you could do besides moan about how freaking worried you are!”

He was drunk. He wasn’t making sense. He was upset about being flunked out of college. Walt was trying to act tough, pretend he didn’t care, but my son was super intelligent, top of his class, failing all his exams was devastating. Getting kicked out of college was a disaster.

I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea what to do. I mumbled:

“Do you want me to go and see Doctor Bradford? I could talk to him again. Tomorrow?”

He jeered:

“Oh yeah! See him! Talk to him! Load of good talking to him’s going to do!”

I faltered:

“… Maybe he might give you some more time… to hand in your assignments… perhaps he might let you re-sit the exams you flunked… if I asked him… he seemed so anxious to help…”

Walt’s voice turned harsh and unforgiving:

“Oh yeah! Re-sit my exams! Hand in my assignments! Talk talk talk! That’s all you ever do, Mom! When you know perfectly well the way you could really help me!”

I was baffled. My own son… and he was a mystery to me. A drunk, angry mystery hell bent on getting himself into deeper and deeper trouble.

I was worried sick.

I decided to go and see Doctor Bradford anyway. Walt had been so negative, but his teacher’s concern for his well-being had been so obviously sincere, perhaps talking to him might do some good. I’d seldom met a man as upright and decent as Doctor Bradford, as genuinely willing to help. He’d seen how worried about Walt I was when he came to the house. He was worried about Walt himself. Walt had sneered at my suggestion of re-taking exams and getting extensions of time to hand in his assignments but there might be something Doctor Bradford could do to help my son.

I parked in the college carpark.

Walking across campus towards the Computer Science Building my heart was in my boots… well… trainers… I was wearing the same running shoes and white T-shirt and slashed, round-the-house jeans I’d worn yesterday when Doctor Bradford dropped in. I was so down in the dumps I just couldn’t be bothered to put on something more becoming for an interview with my son’s teacher.

My heart was in my trainers because I couldn’t bear to see the beautiful place and wonderful way of life that Walt was about to be missing out on.

Groups of bright-eyed, attractive young students strolling to their lecture, deep in discussion of some learned topic.

The library stacked with all the wisdom you could ever want to know.

A white-haired professor hurrying to a tutorial with a stack of books under her arm.

The well-kept flowerbeds and lawns where the students congregated between lessons.

It was all about to end. In a matter of days, even hours, my son would be barred from this intellectual Eden and submerged in a life of gambling and petty crime!

Crossing the grass towards the doors of the Computer Science Building…

… I felt a sudden click in my head…

… For a second I wasn’t sure what was happening…

… Clicks, like the tap of a thumb on an i-Phone screen, were shivering up my spine, awaking a tingling sensation in my head…

… Weird images flashed before my eyes…

… A motorbike seat in the blazing sun… a plastic chair in a white-washed cubicle… a delicious stinging sensation in my butt…

A lovely mellow feeling took hold of me, a mellow warmth flowing through my body, the tingling turning to a warm light in my head… to a luscious melting sensation between my legs…

I swayed down oak-paneled corridors. I looked at my watch.

Yes. It was time for my appointment.

A polished door. ‘Doctor Gregory Bradford’, in gilded letters. My heart started beating fast. The melting sensation between my legs made me feel weak in the knees.

I knocked:

“Come in.”

The same kind, cultivated voice I’d heard yesterday in my kitchen.

Professor Bradford’s office was in the original, nineteenth century part of the college.

Stone mullioned windows looked out on the Dean’s garden. My trainers whispered on a shiny parquet floor. Leather armchairs for conducting conversations on computer science and radio wave technology were placed at comfortable angles. Doctor Bradford’s large rosewood desk was covered with files and papers.

“Ah! Mrs Morel!”

My heart was in my mouth. My son’s future depended on this interview.

Doctor Bradford’s grizzled hair shone in the afternoon light through the window. The tanned lines around his eyes were those of a much younger man, smiling conscientious warmth at this worried mother. He gestured at an armchair:

“Nice to see you. Please make yourself at home.”

At home? My bottom sank into warm leather upholstery. My butt ached. I felt as if I was sitting on a hot plate in Hell.

I mumbled:

“… I’ve… I’ve just come to see… if anything can be done to save Walt’s place at college…?”

Anything can be be done? I didn’t know what I was talking about. Walt had blown it. His case was hopeless. I shouldn’t even be here.

Doctor Bradford was in another one of his checked flannel lumberjack shirts, red and yellow, not the blue and green one he’d worn yesterday. He nodded at the papers spread out on the shining expanse of his desk.

“… Well… yes… I’ve erm… been looking through Walt’s exam papers again…”

“… Oh… oh… I see…”

So that was what the sheets of paper were, spread out on the shiny desk! The exams Walt had so badly flunked!

Doctor Bradford’s generous lips pursed:

“… I’m afraid Walt’s really made a mess of things…”

He was a good man. Upright and decent and caring in a way so few men were. He’d lost his wife in a car accident. His love for the woman who’d been taken from him was so great he’d never remarried when his uprightness and decency were so amazing.

I mumbled:

“… Oh… oh I see… his exam papers…?”

He shook his head. He frowned at the sheets of paper spread out on his desk.

“… I don’t understand it… it’s almost as if your son wanted to fail…”

Doctor Bradford’s genuine concern for his students’ welfare was obvious. He’d lived a higher life, alone and apart from the common run of things. With the death of his wife he’d dedicated himself to his students’ well-being with a passion that was even stronger than married love. For nineteen years my son, my lovely Walt, had been enough ‘men’ for me, but if ever a man other than Walt could have a place in my heart it was this big, caring, gray-eyed lumberjack professor. It was good, it was right and proper, that Doctor Bradford was unattainable. He stood elevated above the world of selfish desires.

I murmured:

“… You think… you think it’s hopeless…?”

My bottom stung on the leather upholstery. Memories, images, were tumbling through my mind… a hot motorbike seat… a gold ring, like a gypsy’s earring, flirting with my helpless butt…

… The warm light in my head tingled outwards through my eyes bathing Professor Bradford’s office in its lustrous glow…

… The hot clicks turned to delicious shivers rippling up my spine from my quaking pussy and stinging butt squirming in Doctor Bradford’s armchair…

… The mellow, floaty feeling was overwhelming my body… sitting still was no longer possible…

I murmured:

“… Can I see…?… can I see Walt’s papers…?”

I was on my feet, my hips swaying in a way I didn’t want them to sway.

Professor Bradford shook his head:

“… Yes… yes certainly… if you want…”

I was standing next to him where he was sitting behind his desk.

I looked down at shining rosewood and empty paper.

Sheet after sheet. Walt’s exam papers had no writing on them at all, no answers to the exam questions, just the occasional mocking doodle.

“… Oh…!”

I leaned closer, to have a better look at the mess my son was making of his life.

Professor Bradford frowned:

“… A complete mess… unbelievable…”

My large, wobbly breast grazed his bicep. My sumptuous softness pressed against packed red and yellow checks.

His body stiffened. He was a good man. He didn’t want this to happen.

I purred:

“… I don’t know what’s got into him…”

My winged hip rubbed against his powerful body, let him feel the luscious heat pulsing from slashed denim all the way up my slim, toned leg, growing more and more urgent the closer it got to my already moist pussy.

I murmured:

“… Are you sure there’s nothing can be done…?”