The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Ch. 1 — Tuesday Tacos

The sun was beating down as the door opened and chimed. Some looked, others kept on eating, a handful offered a snide remark or two. Verah patted down the creases of her uniform while a customer approached, looking somewhat young, but also old, and no doubt sizzling under that sheet of a jacket. Meanwhile, he looked around like a serious-faced grade schooler in the toy aisle.

“Hi,” Verah greeted, trying to ignore his stare and remain professional. “What can I get for you?”

The hooded weirdo’s eyes flung to her nameplate, then back, looking like the bored food inspector that passed through just the month previous. “Is this PenTaco?”

“Yes it is.” Verah glanced back at her co-worker Hans as he passed by to retrieve extra sticky notes from the supplies cabinet. “Sir.” He caught her glance and rolled his eyes teasingly. She gave a shrug of the brow, which subtly implied having her hands full, SOS, and a ‘hey, when are you taking over’, which of course followed up with him promptly ignoring her and returning to the kitchen.

“What do ya sell here?” the clueless kid broke into her silent exchange,

“Oh,” Verah said, returning glumly to business, “um, well...” She sighed to herself, hoping he wasn’t serious, but not really bothering to care either way. “Tacos, burritos, typical Mexican cliches, there’s a menu up there,” she pointed at the sign below the ceiling. She blew the air from her cheeks as the young man began a long, uninterrupted perusal of the menu items.

“Well, we’ll be here whenever you’re ready to order, sir.” And with a hasty smile, she tagged herself out, ducking into the kitchen to see to the curly fries, or something.

Meanwhile, in the parking lot, an average sedan rolled in.

“So what’s it gonna be?” A slam of the car door revealed a dad, slight facial hair that led down to a grisly beard, skin white as a loaf, coming out of it. One of those you could spot a yard away and go, ‘a dad.’

Another door slam followed, and then silence after that, besides the sound of light tapping. The dad figure made an impatient tapping noise of his own. Finally, the girl who had gotten out the car, clad in tight jeans and a regular red tee which hugged her form nicely, looked up. “Oh, what was that?” The dad looked at her sternly. Her voice wasn’t really sarcastic, but not really sincere either. Just somewhat apathetic.

“Who was that, Melanie? Your boyfriend?”

“No, dad,” she rolled her eyes, “it was just Ari asking about tonight. You know, practice?” She added after her dad’s eyebrow raise.

“Well, don’t get so attached. ‘You know,’ to texting and Instagram-ing and whatever. You’re gonna end up being antisocial. In the real world.”

“Oh, like how?” Melanie couldn’t help but scoff lightly.

“Well,” her dad began as they came up to the entrance of PenTaco, “did you know what I just asked you?”

“About what I wanted to get?” she replied, opening the door.

He blinked. “Well dang,” he shook his head as they walked in. “Women and their multitasking.” Fatherly sternness returned to his voice as he continued, “But you still ignored me. Until you could listen, strike a conversation, and hang your head over a phone all at the same time then you should try to keep your electronics usage to a minimum, young lady.”

“Jeez, Dad,” Melanie looked down, hoping no one heard her over-attentive father’s lifestyle lesson. I’m already 19, you know, she wanted to say, before holding her tongue. That wasn’t a good hole to dive into right now, not in public. So with the same detached look in her eye she just casually dragged her feet towards the counter where they waited for an attendant.

The young man in the hood watched in partial amusement. He heard it all, of course. He was making trite observations of all the clientele. The lonesome lady in the sundress, the cookers and cleaners in the kitchen, the group that seemed to have just stumbled out of the gym in the center tables, and also that fetching young manager with the cute fringe hair bun.

He seemed to think, and finally he made a swirling gesture with his finger, as if that was necessary. But maybe it was—he must have known what he was doing after all.

“The day should be secure now,” he said candidly, and with a nod, he looked at the menu sign, a little gleam in the corner of his eye, and watched as the contents changed to suit his preferences. He sat back into a booth by the entrance as the lady from earlier returned to the counter and greeted the father and daughter.

“Get back to work, Verah,” a masculine voice said lightheartedly as she began to take their order.

“Shush it, Hans,” she shot a mild but pointed look. The manager luckily didn’t catch ’em goofing, or else that would have been an extra 5 minute lecture, cleaning duties, you name it. Gary still had back cramps from scrubbing the dispenser, and that was after she softened the penalty. Verah brought her attention back to the familial pair before her, offering another trained white-dentured smile. “What can I get for you today?”

Melanie blinked, looking up at the menu through her bangs. Her dad stroked his chin. After a brief pause, he pointed at one item. “Which one’s the Tuesday special again? Is that—oh sorry, honey, did you want to go first?”

Melanie looked at him and shook her head, gesturing him to continue. He was already going, anyway, like usual.

“The Tuesday special is that one,” Verah clarified, stretching her arm out and body in a way that accentuated her torso nicely against the PenTaco uniform as she pointed it out in the menu. “’The Tuesday Trap’, in part inspired by nature’s very own Venus flytrap, where you get to have the tables turned on the meal-eater and get an eating-meal carved out of your otherwise fantastically wasteful existence instead!” Verah withdrew her automated tone, breahed in some air, then continued, “Yeah, doesn’t really make sense out of paper to me, either,” her eyes sympathetically directed at the father’s furrowed brow. “Basically, it’s like... you get to be the meal for the day, instead of actually eating the meal, which usually you do, but this is one of those special Samakutra dishes, I’m sure you’ve heard of them before. I think some guy came up with ’em a long time ago, and now it’s a staple. So yeah, that’s where the ‘turn the tables’ comes from. The trap thing in the name’s kinda dumb though, in my opinion.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh, I get it. So we get to be the meal.”

“Jeez, Dad,” Melanie puffed to the side, “everybody knows about this already...”

“Well, sweetie, I apparently don’t.” With a chuckle, he looked back at Verah, shrugging. “I’m more of a seafood kinda guy. Don’t always frequent the good ’ol Mexican joints, but I know she likes the stuff, so.”

Verah laughed awkwardly, not really sure what was funny, but if the shoe fits.

“Anyways, I think I’ll have that,” he continued.

“Alright,” Verah inputted the info into the terminal, then looked up at Melanie.

“Oh. Yeah. I’ll have it too.”

“Ok, guys,” Verah exhaled once she took their orders and finished the transaction. “One Tuesday Trap, coming up!” With another sigh, she came around the counter, adjusting the bungee around her ponytail to keep it tight. An instinct, typical before more hands-on activities.

Melanie and her dad cooperated with casual nonchalance as Verah beckoned them over to one of the customers sitting by one of the big glass windows. They followed her until they were all stationed in front of the young woman, sitting alone and striking in her simply dressed but alluring appearance. The hooded kid watched from afar while the others in the restaurant glanced over with little indication of anything out of place or strange, most returning dully to their food.

As the woman looked to her new visitors, Verah warmly began, “Hi, I’m Verah, and we got some Taco-tastic news: two fresh meals, free of charge, all for you! Two very cute,” with one hand hovering over Melanie before moving over to her dad, “very handsome little meals, mm-mm. Waiting to be eaten, poked, or explored as you desire!” She winked, as she turned to Melanie and placed a hand against her stomach, circling it with her palm. Melanie didn’t seem to mind. Then Verah slapped it firmly, with expert restraint, the soft sound of flesh showcasing a tight stomach. “Mm, as you can see, this is one wonderfully young, flat tummy kept relatively hot-n’—ready by this here young, college-attending..?” Melanie nodded once she realized Verah had phrased it as a question, which she seamlessly followed up on. “...college-attending lady who is by no means a spoiled apple, no m’am! And that’s certainly not the last of her lithe, scrumptious qualities.” Verah pivoted Melanie to the side a bit as she dropped her gaze to the regions below her belt. “She also has a very, very fine, round and supple little butt tailing behind her,” the fast-food associate gave a commercial chuckle, “and might I add, one that could probably even fit into my underwear.”

A quick look down confirmed that Verah was no slouch in the trunk department herself. The woman, seated in her booth, sat back silently but with no sign of disgust or disapproval as Verah continued on.

“And over here, is this a treat,” Verah gestured to Melanie’s dad, who stood with his usual good posture and broad shoulders, his decently built torso clear from outside his short-sleeved light-blue tee as he looked on commitedly, “a nice, home-bred man to take you home and for you to take to town. Strong arms, stubbly jaw, clean-cut hair, what more to ask for? Go ahead, mister—”

“Jim, Jim Bardock,” he completed for her.

“Go ahead, Jim the Rimmed!” Verah laughed, gesturing to his chest. “Go ahead, grope your yummy pecs for us, if you don’t mind!”

“Two groped yummy pecs coming right up,” he brought his hands up to his two platforms of muscle and began to squeeze and caress them. He also flicked a nipple or two whenever a stray finger brushed one, feeling them grow hard and sensitive. Two fashionably dressed women at a nearby booth blushed, trying to stay focused on their conversation about their latest salary degrade in the office as Jim’s face displayed faintly visible pleasure, which he covered well, as experience taught him to.

“Alright, thanks, you good-looking man,” Verah sweetly put an end to Jim’s groping, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Now for the finisher,” she gave a confident look to the woman. “Could you flash your abs at us please?”

Jim replied with a devious nod and pulled his shirt up, letting it linger there for a couple seconds. After what by some instinct seemed like a good eyeful, he released his fingers and let the hem fall back down, to the sighs of the two women there outside his daughter.

Frankly, he was satisfied, so far, with this Tuesday special. It was different, no doubt, but also a fairly good value for the overall serving size, and the general experience. He couldn’t wait to tell his wife and the guys about it.

Oh wait, they probably knew about it already. It was him with the blindspot here. Still, it may be worth the anecdote.

“So,” Verah’s voice came through, hands rosily clapping together. “Which do you wanna have?” The question seemed directed at the other woman. “You can either go for the full course, full body and all either way, hairy testicles, pink areolae—you know, the whole shebang—or we can split it between us. If you can’t.” Verah watched as the woman curled her fingers and pressed her chin in deliberation.

Verah, for the first time left without a trusty script template, after a moment of immobility had her hands journeying back to Melanie’s body. She decided to feel up Melanie’s thighs, midriff, and breasts while their trusty stranger reflected to help move things along. Squeeze, went one hand, and then the other, squeeze, squeeze.

Melanie sighed throughout Verah’s physical miniature examinations, trying not to make it obvious that some of it felt really good, as it was a bit embarrassing in public to be felt up by a person she didn’t really know. But then again, that was kind of what the Tuesday Trap was all about, which she really loved, as did everybody else, for that exact reason... but in the same time, it was still a kind of weird feeling, like something she wouldn’t typically allow, even in private. But, and but, it was still a good, classically delicious PenTaco meal (or rather, anti-meal) and Melanie relaxed with that reassurance, shifting her posture to give Verah more potency in her squeezes and clasps.

The seated woman, meanwhile, tapping her fingers against her sundress-covered thigh, which stopped just above her knee, studied the two with intent eyes. She had been waiting for a friend but it looked like she wasn’t going to be able to make it on time. She shuffled through her bag, and checked the messages on her phone. Still nothing. With a shrug, she turned her attention back to the presented trio and decided to just get it over and done with.

“I’ll pick Melanie, then,” she pointed, after changing her mind last-minute. She was going to pick Jim, and considering he was hot (hard not to be after that self-display) and, well, a nice strong man, it was a no-brainer—but just as quickly, the thought came that Melanie seemed to be a better use of the time, and prettier, and softer, and more luscious, and with that delicate Caucasian skin and curvy, slender ass and legs and very young, nurtured, fuckable female body, was very much the more scrumptious entree. She wasn’t into girls, at all; in fact, the thought of doing anything to another woman remotely intimate or suggestive of such kind of intimacy made her a little sick. But this was Tuesday, a PenTaco Tuesday Trap special, and it was a special kind of variation. This was evaluation as fine cuisine. So nothing lost.

Verah approved, “Good answer! Oh, and what was your name again?”

“Cass.”

“Cass,” Verah withdrew her hand from Melanie’s left, moderately sized breast and grabbed Melanie by the shoulders. Her other hand was rubbing Melanie’s crotch absentmindedly, until with a sudden remembrance she removed it, looked for a tissue to wipe it on, then gave up and elected to wipe it against Melanie’s cheek, who took it indifferently.

“As you can see, she’s wet for you, if you want to dock your wandering rover inside her,” Verah explained, and Melanie confirmed with a nod. “On the other hand, the rest of her body is also currently clothed but available with or without the articles.” After a pause, Verah had an idea. Walking up to one of the occupied tables, where two gym bros and another pair of girls were seated across from each other, she asked if she could borrow one of their soda cups, to which one of the girls said it was not a problem, apparently, because the next thing they knew, Verah was bringing the drink back to Melanie.

“Okay, and now,” she said with the same professional, presenting tone, as she removed the lid of the drink. Then she grabbed Melanie’s collar and tugged it outward, leaving an opening below, and proceeded to pour all the soda (and ice) into the inside of her shirt, some falling into the slopes of her bra as Melanie’s eyes went wide and looked down. “She’s wet on the top as well! And... " Verah leaned forward to sniff Melanie’s damp, shirt-covered breast. “...tasty, too!” She brought one hand out to pinch the goosebumped girl’s hardening nipple.

“O-oh, wh-whoa!” Melanie squawked. Her body was trembling a bit from the ice that was now melting inside her brassiere. She didn’t dare look, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if her dad was giving her another stern stare, more B.S. about standing her ground or whatever, just like after pretty much every soccer game she runs through. Well, try having an ice cube dissolve against your nipple, she mentally whispered. She shuddered, another course of cold going up her body.

Cass half-smiled, having now scooted up, her face only a foot away from Melanie’s crotch, which Verah had also helped prepare. Speaking of which, the PenTaco attendant threw a discreet glance back, and held a breath. The manager was there, in her little corner, appearing to be directing her attention over to the little Tuesday Trap deluxe on the other side of the restaurant. The precise one Verah had the honor to be serving today. Today!

It was a good thing she was, though—this would be as satisfied a pair of customers as she’d ever see!

“Thanks,” Cass flipped back her hair, then her fingers went up to Melanie’s zipper and pulled it swiftly down, followed by the waist of the tight jeans that hugged her butt, until they creaked halfway down her thighs, “that’s very thoughtful of you. But I think I’m just going to stick to ‘docking my wandering rover’ into her little snatch for now.”

“Oh, if you say so,” Verah shook her head. “I’ve personally never licked Pepsi off a pair of tightening female nipples myself, but with Melanie here, well,” Verah guttered out another made-for-TV laugh, “it’s something I imagine is hard to resist.”

“No doubt. But still, I don’t have the whole day, as much as I hate to admit.” Cass made a sympathetic look, both for her case and Verah’s, who did put in a little extra just for her. Verah provided her understanding and prompted Cass to continue with the Tuesday Trap. She, meanwhile, would be riding Jim cowgirl-style—or, maybe, get recreational with some fruit, if she could acquire some. Preferably a banana.

Melanie’s eyes widened again for the second time in that quarter. Below, Cass gripped one ass cheek and one sturdy chunk of thigh as she plunged headfirst into the girl’s trimmed nether-regions, tongue out and pussy wet. She threw her tongue in every possible direction, lapping up all the juice and skin she could come into contact with. As she did so, her fingers dug into Melanie’s warm, soft skin. She brought her right hand up then back down against cheek of Melanie’s buttock, then again, and again, as she felt her own vaginal juices beginning to flow from under her sundress.

Wow, this is crazy! Cass thought, as her actions began to speed up. I never would have figured eating out another woman’s pussy would be such an interesting, fun... ‘exercise’. I don’t think I’d ever do or feel the same way about this again, but this is still really—ergm.... really—oughh, shoot... really—oooooohhhhmygawwd!

Upstairs, Melanie had one hand on her cheek and the other wrapped around the back of Cass’s head as she snuggled against her palm practically in repose. Though the other was originally traversing her wet, still shivering chest for a while, after Cass and her tongue managed to strike a certain sensitive spot, Melanie banged the table with her left knee and nearly convulsed in pleasure, bringing her hand down to Cass’s head and shoving her furiously into her puss, like an overused sponge.

“OMMMGFFHHHHGMRTT!” Cass cried, muffled, as she felt a need to touch her own self ballooning, and that of a tissue soon nearing.

“Ooohh myyy ggood,” stammered out Melanie, “tthhiis... feeeeells sooo gggooddd...”

Cass began a cat-like growl as she writhed in her own seat, squeezing thigh after thigh with one hand while already playing with her own pleasure center with the other. Melanie moaned loudly, causing one of the gym members at the other table to look at each other and stifle a giggle, though, unbeknownst to one another, more than one of them were also discreetly trying to hide their hard-ons or rub their thighs together for a quick one on the spot. One of them even snuck her own fingers under there between her tight shorts, shooting glances at the Tuesday Trap special as she tried to capture it in her cameraphone without the others noticing. She was never the type to ever touch herself or watch ‘questionable online material’. Hell, the amount of times she’d reprimanded Gordon, the blonde space case sitting just diagonal from her, for staring at the passing boobs of pretty much any B-cup-plus girl, probably matched the amount of days she hadn’t touched herself—and those were a lot of days. And yet, something about this was definitely unique, and very nourishing. She would definitely have to save that for (and frig herself off six times a day to it) later.

“OH, OH YES, OHHMMM YES, yes!” Melanie’s shouts soon dwindled into whispers as she continued to grind her vagina relentlessly into the face of her lucky Tuesday Trap ‘meal-eater’, who was also nearly on the verge herself as her partially hiked sundress would attest to, when, suddenly, the door opened to another incoming customer.

“Oh my god, is that Cass?” The hooded kid, who had been somewhat enjoying the dine-in theater so far, swiveled his head to look the newcomer over. A gorgeously slim young woman, she was dressed in a spaghetti strap top that bared part of her wholesome-skinned back, which glimmered softly under the light, and spilled out into a voluptuous pair of waist and hips inside probably brand-named pair of trousers that couldn’t hide the legginess underneath; there were some fine-looking, attractive people in the vicinity, but she was definitely a particular kind of eyecatcher. With a swish of her chic, shaggy hazelnut hair, she turned to look around the restaurant and briefly met the hooded kid’s gaze.

Ew, was her knee-jerk thought, though in part from the fashion statement, or lack thereof, looks like someone got the wrong forecast this morning...

Then she shrugged, decided that second to stop giving a whiny-shminy damn about it, then turned back to Cass, who was apparently feeding on female labia—and quite rhythmically—next to whoever the pretty girl licking guacamole off that half-naked man’s anus was. With a wry smile and tucking her sunglasses into her collar, the lissome woman approached her.

Meanwhile, with a final whimper, Melanie came, and hard, succumbing to a blissful orgasm that Cass felt in every portion of her mouth and swallowing and licking down as much as she rationally could. Then, she plopped out and lay back, part of her back against the wall with the window as her other hand reached for her vagina and began rubbing vigorously, pulling her dress up to her waist. This displayed her thighs and legs in full, toned and thick enough to probably defrost between.

“Ohhhh my gawd that—that was really good,” Melanie breathed, leaning over the table with both arms against it, out of breath and a bit heavy-eyed. Her bare ass lingered in the air carelessly, her jeans down to her knees. The sound of a snapshot could be heard a table or two away, along with another high-pitched whimper. Other sighs and grunts of relief echoed throughout the restaurant. The young man in the hood looked to the corner and grinned a bit as the manager seemed to be doing what looked like some kind of native footwork dance—one that also appeared to include plenty of clenching in the thighs. Then he looked around some more, and decided it would be fun to check out how the others were doing, or had been doing, from their perspective; the Tuesday Trap, of course, was the main dish. But he was a compulsive, uncoordinated fellow, sometimes, and would get back to it, once he felt like it.

He calmly surveyed the surroundings, and wagged his finger, slowly, harmlessly below the table.