The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Demi sat at the reception desk. It had deliberately been chosen to be too small, much like her clothes, to keep her exposed and uncomfortable. Today she wore a crop top, a sexy parody of a pinstripe business suit, putting strong emphasis on the globular shape of her enhanced breasts. Too many things pulled at her attention right now, so she started to preen, as was her conditioned stress response.

She looked at herself in the teeny tiny mirror of her makeup compact. It was very inconvenient and made any task twice as long, but that was all the doctor allowed. She knew that was the point and always made sure to play up how frustrating it was. But when, like now, she was stressed out and needed to fix her look to be able to think, the frustration was genuine.

The receptionist first evaluated her platinum bleached hair, dark roots had started to show down her flawless middle part. That wasn’t a problem, the doctor actually liked it better that way, it showed everyone how artificial she was. Once, she took the initiative to dye her eyebrows darker, she still felt the echoes from the doctor’s praise whenever she refreshed them. She plucked a few offending follicles, applied two more coats of mascara, and took out her lipstick brush.

That’s what was on her mind!

She had a lip filler appointment coming soon, but still didn’t know how she was going to pay for it. She scarcely made enough for basic necessities, and the doctor insisted her receptionist be at her desk from sunrise, even though she never took consultations until sundown. That left Demi with very few ways to save for her essential beauty procedures. She’d find a way though, the doctor always used her extensively for the couple of days after the injections, when her lips were swollen and tender. She wasn’t going to miss that for the world.

Then Demi looked up and remembered the other thing bothering her. There was a woman sitting in the waiting room. A woman without an appointment. A walk-in.

She wanted to scream at the woman to run away, to get out while she still could. Tell her to leave, get as far as possible, and never look back. She knew better than anyone that behind these doors laid immensurable danger. But instead, she just looked at the woman with practised nonchalance, taking her in: sitting there in her shapeless brown cardigan, in that unflattering floor length skirt, and with that bland pearl necklace. The more she looked, the more something else welled up in her.

Anger. This woman... what was she doing here, who did she think she was to demand the doctor’s precious time like this.

Jealousy. That bitch... trying to take the doctor away from her, to stand between their perfect love, to break them apart.

Hate. Fucking cunt... she hoped the doctor would fry her, make her destitute, send her to die in a ditch cold and alone.

Seething, barely able to keep her shaking hands steady, Demi pressed the intercom button, and with the tone of a bored teenager, announced: “Dr. Thorper, there’s a walk-in here to see you.”

The doctor had been pinching the bridge of her nose for some time when she heard the message. She was dealing with a letter from the Council, painstakingly calligraphied onto thick fibrous paper, it had arrived in a wax sealed envelope. The Council did so love their theatrics, and then somehow accused her of being too conspicuous. The frustrating part was that they would never outright threaten, or make demands, divining the true nature of their missives was left as an exercise for the reader. Suffice to say, any attention at all from them was bad news.

She straightened herself up, fixed one of the gold accented buttons on the sleeve of her stylish form-fitting pantsuit, re-tightened her blood red tie, and pondered for a moment. A walk-in patient this late was highly unusual, but if someone mistakenly delivered a delicious dinner to your doorstep, you would not just let it go to waste, would you?

Dr. Thorper put down the letter and replied: “Send her in, pet.”

Carole was starting to question her decision to come to this clinic. She’d seen the sign a few weeks back and thought, if she came by in the middle of the night she could get the information she needed and no one would find out. Having to deal with that... that secretary however, underlined why she only ever went to good Christian establishments. She steeled herself, this was for the good of the girls.

She felt a short dizzy spell as she crossed the threshold into Dr. Thorper’s domain, but quickly recovered. The plush carpet felt like she was sinking in quicksand with every step, its bold repeating patterns tricked the eye and made it hard to focus on. On the walls were several modern art paintings, no doubt very expensive, but Carole had never understood the appeal of such pieces. She preferred art that made its intentions clear, rather than staring at squiggles and trying to give them meaning. She made her way to the antique looking roman sofa, choosing to sit uncomfortably on its edge, not willing to lie down in front of a stranger. She did not hold on to that opinion for very long.

When she looked at the doctor, all of her doubts evaporated. Here stood another godly woman, compassionate and understanding. It was clearly His will that had led to their meeting, she could trust the good doctor with her sensitive issue, she could trust the good doctor would solve it. It was time for salvation.

She introduced herself, and when Vivian did the same, she focused on the doctor’s words. It was very important to pay attention to those words. To focus on their rhythm. To focus on their shape. To focus on the slight changes in intonation which implied more than they told. To focus on the musical sounds which, through sustained, focused listening, revealed meaning, and laid bare intent. When the time came to explain why she was here, her eyes stayed focused on the doctor’s. Locked within those deep grey pools of fractal wonders.

She was a counsellor at a Christian college, looking for information to help the flock of young ladies under her tutelage live good lives. The room, background noises, all faded away, fully focused on the conversation.

These new adults faced countless sources of bad influence, despite the staff’s best effort, they often fell victim to Satan’s work. Slowly she blinked, wanting to close those eyes, but they had to remain open.

A fad, a plague, young women mutilating their pure Christ given bodies, permanently defaced with vile tattoos, and for what? She felt righteous right now, she was doing the right thing, open and trusting.

She needed some kind of insight, knowledge, something to reach out to her charges. Save them, before they were corrupted by this world. So good to tell the doctor everything. Right where she was meant to be.

The words kept dripping out of her sluggishly, but determined. When Dr. Thorper gave her a nod, she finally allowed her tired eyes to close, and gently collapsed on the cushion beside her. There were more questions, and she kept answering them, but she had stopped listening. Carole laid with a satisfied smile, untroubled, in the good doctor’s care.

“It seems to me,” the doctor’s word struck her patient like a lightning bolt, “that you already know what you must do. You only came here for confirmation, because the conclusion scares you.” Carole faced the truth with grim determination. She’d known all along what she would have to do, it was hard to face, but she had to... had to... The doctor didn’t give her time to finish her thoughts.

“The only way to learn what you need to help those ladies, is to experience it yourself.” Unthinkable! She couldn’t possibly... But yet...

“You must take this great sin upon yourself, to protect them, it is your duty.” Was it truly the only way to gain the perspective she needed? To... martyr herself so others may be spared?

“Even more importantly, to reach the proper insight, you will need to enjoy the process.” That was shocking. At this point, Carole was breathing hard, her cheeks flushing deeper.

“Admire tattoos and the art they represent.” She had to learn of their beauty, their... attractiveness.

“Desire them for yourself.” Wanting, needing them on her body.

“Love the pain of inking.” The roller coaster of sensations, and its release.

“Cherish those that adorn you.” She was rubbing her arms, her skin felt electric.

“Crave more. Always more.” She cried out, whether in pleasure or in need, she did not know. For the first time of her life, she wished she had a husband waiting for her at home.

Dr. Thorper looked at her handiwork with a smirk. Her patient was dazed and weak, her mind twisting itself around the new ideas she had been gifted. The seed was planted, but the roots would take time to grow.

The doctor paged her receptionist: “Demi, be a dear and escort our friend back to her place.” She thought for a second. “Make sure she makes it home unharmed. And set her up with a follow through consultation, would you?” Her face then lit up with a predatory grin. “Close up when you are done precious, I will be going out tonight. I simply am famished.”

She put away the Council’s letter. That would be dealt with another time.

On her second visit, Carole went straight to reclining on the sofa. She was talking to Dr. Thorper like they were old friends, sharing the developments of her life over the past few months, and more interestingly, of her growing tattoo appreciation. She had come wearing a long sleeved button-up shirt and a pair of mom jeans, modest apparel that did a good job hiding most of her skin. The only visible hint of a change were the quarter inch earring plugs that now adorned her earlobes.

Soon, they ran out of small talk, and the doctor inquired: “Ready to show me your progress?” Carole’s cheeks turned red with embarrassment. She fumbled with her words until she was interrupted. “Really now? I am your doctor, there is nothing to be ashamed of. You must trust me.” She avoided the doctor’s gaze and, with trembling fingers, started to work down the buttons of her shirt. Before she had time to notice, Dr. Thorper took position between her legs, towering over her, helping her get out of her pants.

Hugging herself, she was mortified at how exposed her body was in her white bra and panties, but she also felt apprehension. Fear that the doctor would judge her for her tattoos, or for not enough of them. Unsure which would be worse.

Dr. Thorper meanwhile, looked on at the living canvas below her, assessing her work. There were a good number of tattoos, more than she had expected in fact. However, they were all disjointed, spread out pieces of varying sizes, styles, and quality. The obvious mark of experimentation, not yet the gorgeous tapestry she was envisioning.

“Show me the first one.” She commanded. Carole unfolded her arms and pointed at a small cross on her left breast, right over her heart. The doctor gingerly drew her finger along the narrow lines, the coldness of her touch causing a shiver to run down her patient’s spine.

“Wonderful. Next one.”

Carole’s heart was thumping, she lifted her foot and pointed at a small rose. Goosebumps ran up her leg, her skin turned electric again from the gentle touches. Her mind returned to the thought of a husband, as it had done often over the last couple of months. But before things could get any more heated, she urgently blurted out: “There’s something I have to tell you!”

“Oh?” The doctor paused, fingertips hovering millimetres above the cute cartoon bird on her thigh.

“I- I lost my job.” Dr. Thorper looked unfazed. “Someone must have seen something and told on me, but they knew about my tattoos. And- and they fired me for it.” Shame and guilt overwhelmed her as tears welled up her eyes.

“What are you going to do with your research?” The doctor’s question stopped her in her tracks. She hadn’t given it much consideration. She thought back to the excitement, the anticipation of getting a new piece. She thought back to the sting, the pain of the sometimes multi-hour process, and that sweet moment when it all turned to pleasure. She thought back to the pride, the admiration she had for the gorgeous art that she was now a part of.

She didn’t want to stop.

“It seems to me that you are in fact dealing with a blessing.” A blessing? How could Dr. Thorper say that? She’d lost her job, her vocation, all the young people she could have still guided towards good.

“You will now find different employment, that will allow to push your research further.” Not having to hide her tattoos with long clothing did sound appealing. She might also be able try out some of the piercing she saw at the parlours. Would she find anyone to hire her looking like this though?

“What you have learned, so far, has been lacking in one significant area.” Dr. Thorper’s fingers resumed their teasing, having held their hovering position this entire time. “You already know your own feelings, but others’ reactions are crucial.” Reflecting the state of her mind, Carole’s body opened up to the doctor’s caresses and manipulations, her legs spread out, her arms limp at her sides.

“Yearn for those that desire this body, crave their approval.” Their support, their lust would sustain her. Her skin tingled in pure ecstasy.

“Seek those that are offended, appalled, revolted. Like a compass, they show the way.” Just like her ex-boss, allowing her to progress. She was tensing up, mewling yelps escaped her lips.

“The stronger the negative reactions, the closer to the true self.” She abandoned herself to the bliss.

“A living art piece.”

Carole’s first ever orgasm ripped through her, body and soul. She lost all coordination, all comprehension. She had discovered rapture, heaven on earth, divine purpose. No pleasure for the rest of her life would ever compare to this powerful moment, and not for lack of trying.

“Check this out!” Kevin had a small crowd gathered around him in the computer lab. It was the start of his first semester at Bethlehem Holy College, but already he enjoyed quite the popular following. He navigated to a page featuring a host of women, all wearing very little. A large 18+ banner blinked rapidly in the middle of the screen.

“Whoa! How’d you get around the school’s filter?” Asked one of his pudgy cohort, wide-eyed.

“There’s always ways round that.” Kevin dismissed. “But check out this chick!”

One by one, images popped on the screen. The woman in them had an utterly alien appearance. Every inch of her was covered in tatts, including her face, shaved head, and armpits. Geometric patterns spanned her entire body and large blacked out areas had been applied on top of her existing art, presumably because she had run out of space. Her earlobes hung low with heavy metal loops, her face had all sorts of bumps topped with pointy spikes that seemed to come from under her skin. Where she smiled, you could tell her teeth had been filed, but most disturbingly, her whole eyes appeared to be dyed pure black.

“What a freak.” Cried out a lanky girl.

“Get this. This chick,” Kevin paused for effect, enjoying the hold he had over his audience. “Used to work here.”

“No way!” Retorted the pudgy boy.

“Yea way, my big bro took bible study with her.”

Before the debate could come to an enlightened conclusion, the simulated sound of bells rang over the PA system. The young adults quickly dispersed, heading to their respective classes, except for one mousy bespectacled girl.

On his way out the door, Kevin noticed her. “Hey, ummm...” He paused, obviously not knowing her name. “Close it down when you’re done. Don’t get caught.” After sharing those deep words of wisdom, Kevin disappeared down the hallway.

Emily sighed. This was turning out just like high school, but at least he’d spoken directly to her. Progress, right? She looked back at the photos with interest, scrolling through them multiple times. Was that the kind of woman Kevin was into? This had to be fake, photoshopped, yet it looked so real. It was shockingly out of the norm, but to Emily who had only known strict dress codes and uniforms, the woman felt strangely... free. So unabashedly herself.

She was transfixed, exhilarated, her mind opening up to new possibilities. And as she started to ponder how one would even go about getting a tattoo, a notification popped up.

A live performance was starting.

Carole danced slowly, sensuously touching herself for the camera. The tiny bikini she wore barely covered anything, they weren’t allowed nudity, except in private shows, but she didn’t want anything hiding her rocking body. Behind her, on the walls of her tiny room, a banner proclaimed: “Welcome to the Freak Show!". She had sold her house a while back, it mostly got in the way, and the money had allowed her much progress.

She grabbed a massive floppy neon dildo off a nearby shelf, it looked to be modelled after a horse. She licked it up and down between the two tips of her split tongue, leaving a shiny trail of spit. At first, she had hated how sexual her work turned out, but once people’s reaction started to roll, she just let her own arousal take the reins. She missed the strip club for that, seeing the discomfort on the patrons’ faces, the disgust, catching the occasional lustful glance. Those tipped very well. They’d kicked her out though, good riddance, more progress.

“fugly skank” -anonymoususer37

She straddled the rubber dick, humping along its length to the rhythm of the heavy metal beats, heat rising up, wetness spreading. Online you didn’t see many faces, but the comments sure flowed freely.

“dude, that hoe woul make ur dikk fell off 8=≠=D” -anonymoususer14

She turned around, bending over, letting the camera focus on her asshole, the thin string failed to hide anything, and her tattoos went all the way. Regular little Shakespeares, those hecklers. She didn’t mind though. Sooner or later she would catch the eye of someone who appreciated her, who desired her. Those that did would come back again and again, nothing else quite like her to scratch that itch. Plus she always had something new to show off.

PRIVATE SHOW REQUEST: bigbootylover999

She turned around, reacting instantly to the ping, waved goodbye to her adoring fans, her tongue sticking out, and switched to private mode.

“What’s your poison, baby?”

On the other side of town, Dr. Thorper closed the stream. She was bored, bored to death. She deleted the bookmark, and kicked Demi off on her augmented butt, the tip of a slender metal heel resting threateningly on the receptionist’s throat. “Get out from under my desk. Fetch me another patient. Someone interesting, this time, cretin.” Demi meekly crawled out of the office, without a word, as the doctor crossed her hands, brooding.