The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

CHAPTER 3

After our therapist read our last letter, she insisted that we should try to be nicer to ourselves. So we’ll do that, and let’s stop referring to ourselves in any sort of plural context. It makes me feel weird.

So that night, I... lost a bet. I hated to it it, but I wouldn’t want my cheerleaders doing cheers that didn’t rhyme either, so as much as it pains me to it it, he had earned the spot where I normally slept. I would say that I felt like a loser, but as I said, I’m trying to be nicer to myself. I felt like a “not-winner.”

But me and Catherine talked about it while Brady stayed in the living room playing his video games with the volume turned down to be respectful.

“Honey, I’m going to be honest, I don’t want that guy sleeping in our bed with you for two days. I also don’t want to sleep on the couch. I don’t know why I don’t just take the guest bedroom; we have a bed in there.”

Catherine looked slightly distressed, her eyes darting a little bit from side to side until she finally focused and took my hand. “Honey, we had it in the bag. You’re the one that suggested double or nothing for some reason.”

I had suggested that. Idiot. But everyone makes mistakes.

“Yeah, I did do that, but you seemed like you were in the zone.”

“I thought I had it, too, but why’d you choose his cock?”

I thought about Brady’s large penis. I didn’t want to think about it. But it’s like when someone says “don’t think of red elephants”,all you can think about is Brady’s cock. “Well, we were a few beers in, so I thought it would be funny. I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well, clearly.” She gave me a deep hug before starting to strip. It was quite a sight to see those big pale tits of hers bounce out of that undersized cheerleading uniform she’s been wearing. I was slack-jawed. “Mikeyyy,” she always calls me Mikey when she’s in the mood, “you act like you don’t see them every day.”

“And every day I’m blown away.” I couldn’t help myself; maybe I was just horny or maybe it was the beers, but I grabbed my wife and picked her up, her legs wrapped around my waist as I dug my face into the mountainous cleavage before me, motorboating her with all my might. It left a huge, dumb smile on my face. “You’re so sexy.”

She released herself from my grasp and took off her skirt and panties. My hot wife was completely naked in front of me, and I laid back on the bed in distress. As much as I wanted to, I knew we were both tired and it was getting time for bed since we had work in the morning. I didn’t want to keep Brady up either since he has his important shift tomorrow at Subway; maybe I’ll see if I can DoorDash him something to give him some extra strength for his couple hours making “art.” I just laid down in place. I could not sleep that night and let my hand rest on my crotch.

Catherine put on her oldest bra, an old white T-shirt with a bunch of cats on it, and a pair of plaid pants which make her ass look great,except it was impossible to see said ass because of the length of the shirt. It was the perfect cover-up since she’d be sleeping with Brady tonight.

“I appreciate you dressing like that.”

“Well, duh,” she said, “I’m not gonna dress all sexy.”

“Yoooo,” Brady knocked at the door. “Is it bedtime yet or what?”

I moved like someone coming off of laughing gas, but eventually, I found the door. “Brady. A deal’s a deal, man.” I turned to look at my wife. She was putting on her reading glasses and putting her hair into a bonnet. “Bed’s all yours.” I could’ve laughed because I knew what he really wanted was to see my girlfriend sleeping all sexy, but what he doesn’t know is that I find her sexy all the time, even when she sleeps in the least sexy attire possible.

“Thanks, man,” he said, “I’m tired as fuck. I might have to tone it down tomorrow.” “Tone it down tomorrow” is a weird way to talk about work, but Brady’s always been a bit of an oddball, so I chose not to think too much about it.

Brady started stripping. As soon as his shirt came off, his big belly tumbled out. Man, he really let himself go. He took off his pants, too, until he was just standing there in his boxers.

“Dude, what the hell? You can’t just sleep like that.”

“Why not? I usually sleep naked; I’m maintaining my decency. Plus, all of you already saw my dick.”

I tried to give a rebuttal, but he was right. “Fine, just don’t get my side of the bed too sweaty. I’ll try and enjoy the couch.”

“Oh,” Brady said, “dude, I think you’re going to love it. I wouldn’t be surprised if in a couple of days you don’t want to make that a permanent arrangement, especially since your girl hates sleeping by herself.” I barely had time to get angry before he started laughing as if he just told the world’s funniest joke. It was such a big, rolling laughter that I couldn’t help but him, and then Catherine was laughing, too. When he finished, he pushed past me and closed the door. I hadn’t even grabbed my blanket.

Oh well, I thought to myself as I made my way over to the couch. Brady had obviously left a mess and I didn’t want cockroaches getting everywhere, so I picked everything up, swept up all the crumbs, organized his money, and eventually found my spot on the couch where I could rest my head.

Now, during the night I had some pretty mean thoughts about what might’ve been happening in my bedroom. I trust Catherine with my whole heart, but I barely know Brady, so in an effort to be nicer to myself I’m going to tell you some of the things I believe I heard, but probably did not happen:

• Giggling. Lots of giggling. (Maybe it was the squirrels.)
• The sound of flesh slapping against flesh, but not a large amount of flesh that

would make me suspicious. At the time, I was pretty sure the worst-case scenario was that Brady was jacking himself off, and because of his large penis, it was making some pretty unmistakable sounds.

• Snoop Dogg. (I’m pretty sure this was just Brady’s ringtone.)

Now, Brady’s not right about a lot of things, so I’m going to give credit where credit is due. After I heard those noises, I had one of the best sleeps of my life. The next day I woke up feeling fresh and refreshed on a beautiful Saturday morning. Honestly, it’s kind of hard for me to leave the couch, although obviously I wouldn’t trade my wife for it.

Plus, I woke up to one of the best smells known to man: breakfast sausage and eggs being cooked on the griddle. Yummy. I walked into the kitchen to find Brady there stuffing his face. His plate was a smorgasbord of delicious breakfast proteins, hash browns, scrambled eggs, and over-easy eggs; it really made you wonder just how much one person could eat. “How much can you eat?”

“Good morning, baby,” Catherine said, sounding possibly annoyed that I had addressed Brady before I had even gone to give her her morning hug.

“Yeah, bro, say hi to your wife first, dumbass,” Brady said with a full mouth.

“Good morning, Catherine,” I said, going to hug my wife. “Did you sleep okay?” It was only halfway through our hug that I came to a startling realization. “You’re not wearing a bra?” I don’t know why I phrased it like a question when it was glaringly obvious. Every small movement sent her large tits rippling into a frenzy as if someone dropped a pebble into a small pond. It didn’t help that she had relatively large nipples, which were clearly aroused as they stood out in the shirt. Don’t get me wrong, it was super fucking hot. I love seeing the natural weight of her boobs tug down her shirt, but I know how much of a pervert Brady is, and I really didn’t want him staring. I made sure to cover my wife’s body as we continued our conversation.

But she just looked past me.

“You were totally right,” she said to Brady.

“Told ya, he’s controlling.” He put his hands up and mocked innocence. “Like, I can be an asshole sometimes, but this dude is something else. Like, I swear, back in school he used to have these crazy plans like switching up the roster so he could sit next to all the cute girls and avoid the football guys.”

“That is not true!” The football part was, but I never manipulated the system to sit next to cute girls. I was far too nervous to take that burden on myself.

“I don’t know,” my wife of almost a decade said, “Brady’s been making a lot of good points lately.”

I felt like I was in a Twilight Zone episode. A world where my wife was agreeing with this buffoon. Sure, he’s a “struggling artist,” so I get the appeal, but come on. I was about to give the best rebuttal of my life when Brady spoke first.

“Catherine, cut the guy some slack. I mean, I totally get it; if I had a wife with huge bazongas on her chest like you, I would probably also be jealous as hell if some guy got a good view of them.”

Again, I wanted to get mad at him for the way he was speaking about my wife, but I didn’t want to discourage his attempts at kindness, especially for someone that was working on themselves. “Thanks, Brady.”

“Anytime, man.” He took a big bite of the toast and said, “You know what would make him feel better, Catherine?”

“What?” she asked, as she continued to make even more food.

“If you told him that thing we talked about last night.”

“What did you talk about last night?” I asked with my hands on my chest like a sassy lady in a TV show.

“Oh, nothing,” Catherine said shyly, “we got to talking about puberty and how it was hard on both of us and...”

“Go on.” I reached for a plate of food, but she slapped my hand. “Ow! What the hell?”

“Don’t touch that. That’s Brady’s food; he left you yogurt.”

“Brady’s food...”

“Yeah.”

Before I could speak again, he continued, honestly, it’s like he had a psychic sense about when I was at my angriest. “Just watching out for you, bro. Yogurt: healthy, and has good probiotics and shit. If you plan on ing me and Catherine for the long haul, you gotta be taking care of yourself, man.”

I’m guessing he didn’t actually mean to include himself in that list, so I tried not to think too much about it. “I guess you’re right.” I grabbed my plain Greek yogurt out of the fridge. Not even vanilla. I felt bad, though, since I’ve already done a ton of complaining and I promised to be nicer to myself, so I took a bite and smiled while watching my high school bully eat a fully loaded breakfast. Catherine sat down next to us eating yogurt with fruits, granola, and honey, while her perfect tits rested on the table.

“Soooo, puberty...” I continued.

“Yes. So, as I’m sure you’re aware, Brady was quite the womanizer in high school...”

“And I’m deeply ashamed of it,” he said with a smile as he took a bite of his crunchy bacon.

“So he wants to know more about the female experience. And one of his main questions was if I liked having large breasts; he asked me if I ever felt ashamed about them or if they ever made my life more difficult.”

This was something me and Catherine had conversed about a lot, especially when we first started dating. It was always hard for her to be taken seriously because of her figure, so she tried her best to hide it with minimizer bras or baggy clothing.

“So I told him the truth, and he explained to me that some of the books he had been reading talked about how it’s actually sexist for a woman to cover up and wear bras, because it’s like we are ashamed of our bodies. A shame given to us by man.”

To me, it sounded like an excuse for a guy to convince a girl to walk around with her tits out, but I didn’t want to sound like a sexist pig.

“And the more we talked about it, the more I realized that he was right. If anything, I should be more proud of my breasts and show them off more, because if I don’t, the patriarchy wins since they’re still controlling me.”

I was glad as far as that went, until she continued.

“And at the end of the day, tits are as much a part of the body as our hands. So if you want to reward your friend with a high-five, or give them a hug after a long time, or if they want to squeeze your breasts, it should all be socially acceptable.”

“Tell him that new word I taught you for them, too,” Brady said.

“Oh right, this was hilarious.” Catherine started giggling again. I’ve never known her as a giggler, so it was taking some getting used to. “Brady called them ‘fuck bags’.”

I don’t think I got the joke, but I didn’t want to seem like an idiot, so I started laughing with them. “That is funny,” I said. “So what, you’re just going to start not wearing bras now and wearing more revealing shirts?”

“Yeah,” my conservative wife said. “If I even wear shirts. To be honest, I’ll show my fuck bags to anyone I want. It’s my body.”

“You tell ’em,” Brady said.

And in response, Catherine lifted up her shirt, catching her big, pale, milky white titties on the way up, and they landed back onto her body with a small thumping sound as she gave them a nice shake before pulling her shirt back down.

“Fuck yeah,” Brady said.

I could have agreed with him if I wasn’t so thrown off that I instantly left the kitchen, came into the living room, and finished writing this section of my journal. I swear I’m going crazy, but all I could think about was how hot Catherine looked and how much I was looking forward to sleeping on that couch again tonight.

Stay sane, Michael.

You got this.