The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Life. The beginning of life in a new place sort of sucks for anyone if they’re in a new place and unsociable. Or, like me, if you are in the same old place you’ve been in your entire life, and are unsociable and have basically no friends. I mean sure I had like one friend, but really, I mean one is not what I’d call a very happy number.

But lets be positive for a second before I get extremely negative and talk about my one friend. So I had one real friend, his name is Quentin, which, in my opinion, is somewhat of an unfortunate name. And unfortunately for him, he too was pretty much like me. Unsociable, awkward, smart. Did I mention I was smart? Yeah? Well both me and Quentin were really smart. We were Valedictorian and Salutatorian of our class. Well, that is if Quentin had ever actually made it to graduation. We were the type of kids to play RPG’s at lunch instead of discussing sports, girls, or anything else for that matter. We got straight A’s, talked about Calculus, and didn’t really know a thing about girls. Ok that’s being nice. We didn’t know anything about girls, or people for that matter.

But to Quentin’s credit he pretty much stuck by me for eighteen years and four months of his life. He was my best friend, better or for worse. And it did eventually, become worse.

So here we go, talking about the negatives. So as I said we were smart, awkward, and shrimpy. We were bullied all the time. Girls didn’t know we existed, and no one seemed to care. And as I’ve already somewhat implied by my previous monologues, Quentin didn’t make it to our graduation.

But, he did give me a big gift, one that I could never repay him for because it was nothing short of a miracle. A miracle that he so desperately wanted to destroy, but a miracle at that. This is the story, of my friend Quentin, and his wonderfully, magically, terrible voice.

You see, and as I’ve already said, we were the proverbial runt of the litter when it came to the high school food chain. The bottom rung, the losers, the outcast, the nerds, you name it, that’s what we were. Now unlike Quentin, I had a more optimistic view of our circumstances in some ways. I would work out in hopes of becoming bigger, much to little avail. I tried to dress better, wearing half-decent clothes that were considered acceptable by our peers. I even picked up DJ-ing to try and fit in, but no one wanted the lame nerdy kid to DJ their party. But I was also the more pragmatic one and had never asked a girl out in my life. I knew they’d reject me so I preferred being the silent type.

Quentin was not the most attractive guy ever. Acne on his face, he was like 5′ 6″ with glasses and skinny as a shrimp. He had mousy blonde hair that he never took care of or attempted to tame and rather dull blue eyes that were as big as saucers. I on the other hand was an undiscovered beauty. I had never really gotten a decent haircut, and my glasses were terribly out of style in every decade since before they started listing time in decades. But I was taller, a good 5′ 11″. I was skinny, but my limited workouts had yielded a layer of skinny muscle over my bone and believe it or not I had a six pack mostly due to the fact that the muscle didn’t have to go very far to show off. I had charcoal black hair and small almond shaped eyes with dark, dark brown iris’s attributed to my Korean heritage.

Looking back I might have actually been able to get somewhere on the social ladder if I hadn’t hung onto Quentin, but he was my best friend and I was as loyal as Chewbacca to Han Solo. (Cliche nerd reference I know.) So let me preface our “big event” the change in our lives, with a little bit of an intro. It all started one day when we were playing the good old RPG when an absolutely momentous occasion occurred for us.

“We are casually walking through the Forest of Dan, when in the clearing we spy our target, our goal. The Tower Aradriel. But before you leaps a rabid dragon within your path. So Axel Stormsword, what do you do?” Quentin asked.

“What does the dragon look like?”

“It is red, with deep black spines and soulless eyes, a large wingspan at least five times your size.”

“I rush forward, casting upon myself a spell of fire protection.”

“A wise move.” Quentin said, “The dragon breaths fire but you are perfectly protected by your spell.”

“I attempt to leap and stab it’s head.”

I picked up the 20 sided die to see if I landed the hit.

“What do I need? a 17 or higher right?” I asked,

“Yeah.” Quentin said breaking character for once, “risky business your undergoing. if you roll a 5 or lower he eats you.”

“All for the dramatic affect.” I replied with a smirk. “Oh hey, check out this new track I mixed with some of the sound equipment I got with my pre-birthday money!”

My uncle whose name is not important was a terrible gift buyer, so his gift was always to hand me a huge check before my birthday even came. It was actually probably the best gift ever. This year I had used it to buy some serious DJ equipment like a really nice turntable and some really professional sound mixing software.

“Dude this is nice.” Quentin said, “Now roll that dice.”

I rolled the dice and it spun on it’s axis. I watched carefully, the spinning, the rotation, as the number became clearer, flipping between 16 and 18. I had a great chance...

A pair of boobs and booty shorts bumped into our table.

“Oops.” The girl said.

“Really Peyton?” Quentin cried.

“Did I screw up your ‘game’? Sorry.” Peyton said in mock concern.

I looked down at the roll, it had been bumped into a 5. She walked away with a laugh and a flash of blonde hair.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Quentin asked, seriously annoyed.

I shrugged “I’ll just re-roll.”

“No, I’m done with this.” Quentin said slamming his hands down on the table.

“The game?” I asked.

“Life.” Quentin said, “This entire fucking life we have!”

“It’s not that bad.” I offered, but Quentin wasn’t taking.

“Well, it certainly isn’t good!” Quentin said, “We’re going to make these people pay, somehow.”

I laughed, Quentin was always full of empty threats.

“How do you plan on doing that?”

Quentin began to plot Peyton and her whole entire clique of cheerleaders downfall. I didn’t really listen. Mostly because I had heard his plans a thousand times before, but also because another thing had caught my eye. From across the cafeteria I saw her. Chelsea Burkett. Well, actually, her real name was Betty, but she hated that name and she hated alliteration so she had taken the name of her favorite soccer team. She was the captain of the girls soccer team, and she was was perhaps the only girl who I had met who didn’t openly despise me. Mostly because she didn’t even know I existed, but still that was better then the open I hate I received from most of the population. She had long brown hair that bordered on red, and brown eyes. She was fit, lithe, graceful, smart, and she loved the Smiths. What more could a guy want?

“-and then we’ll take their dismembered heads and dump them in the sewer.” Quentin finished.

“You forgot about using their cheerleading uniforms to clean up the school bathrooms.”

“Ooh good catch! Yeah so we’ll do that and ooh! Another idea!”

“We’ll take their pom-poms and use them to wash off the pigs on your uncle’s farm?” I said with a smirk.

“Yeah! Hey how did you know that?” Quentin asked incredulous.

“That’s the 10th time this week you’ve gone on about this and it’s only Wednesday morning.” I said.

“Well she’s been getting worse. Everyone around here is getting worse.”

“Wait.” I said.

Quentin didn’t normally make drastic statements like that unless something had happened to make him do it. Like once in seventh grade, he had talked about life getting worse and his parents had just gotten into a big fight that had eventually led to their divorce. He had kept it quiet, if not with that small clue he had given about life sucking. I didn’t catch it then, but I had noticed it ever since and resolved to ask him about it whenever I could.

“What happened? Did Kurt-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Kurt beat you up again didn’t he?” I said more as a statement then a question.

I looked Quentin straight in the eye. He looked at me for a second, and then looked away and lifted his shirt slightly to reveal several bruises.

“He was smart this time.” Quentin said.

Kurt Mathews was your typical rock jock without a brain. Stereotypical in every way. Well at least that was the way I remember him. Looking back at a yearbook photo he had severely less acne and better hair then I remembered him with. I think he works at a gas station now, so justice does still exist I guess. But that’s besides the point. Kurt had been pestering us ever since sophomore year when he had been named the big starter for middle linebacker of our football team.

“Dude, you gotta get some medical attention for that, you could have internal bleeding!” I said.

“I’m fine.” Quentin said disgustedly.

“Alright, now I’m on board with helping you get back at Kurt and all. But what can we even do? And I don’t mean dismembering, that’s just stupidly unrealistic.”

Quentin put on a serious face and thought for a few seconds.

“I have no fucking idea.”

This of course is where it gets interesting. It didn’t happen immediately, and I’m not sure how it did, but it did happen. Of course it did otherwise this wouldn’t be much of a story, but the exact specifications of how are still a mystery to me. Let’s simplify this confusion with a convenient, and somewhat corny, excuse for an explanation as well as a convenient leaving out of unimportant monotonous days in between. Well, save for one.

“Alright Axel Stormsword. Where do we go from here?”

We were playing the good ol’ RPG again. I was my favorite character, Axel Stormsword, a spellsword, (a guy who has a sword and uses spells for those who are unaware. They die easier but have some pack to their punch,) who was once agin back in the Forest of Dan and once again confronting the fiery black spined dragon.

“I charge forward, sword in hand, having previously dispelled the dragons initial flame burst with a spell of my own.”

“Ah yes, and you have leaped straight for his head?”

“Correct.”

I rolled the dice and it came up as a wonderful 19.

“Well then, Axel Stormsword lands right on the dragon’s head and stabs it through the skull. The dragon roars in agony and attempts claw you off.”

I rolled again, this time rolling a lowly 6.

“The dragon claws you off, throwing you off his head and leaving your sword behind! You’ve lost a fourth of your health.”

“I rush forward once again, and cast a spell of invisibility.” I said.

“The dragon breaths fire where you disappeared.”

“I cast a teleportation spell.” I said calmly.

I rolled to see if I was successful at dodging the flames. I rolled a very nice 16.

“You teleport out of the way in the nick of time. Right onto the dragon’s head.”

“I grab my sword and push it in deeper and twist.”

“The dragon roars in pain! But crumples dead! Now all that is left before you is the Tower Aradriel which you must ascend.”

“What do I know about the tower?”

“Firstly you know that the Princess of Merillen is at the top trapped by the Warlock Engmor. Second you know that there are three levels of peril you must travel through. You only know there names. The Room of Slaughter, the Dungeon of Depravity, and The Atrium of Bewilderment.”

“I’ll proceed then.”

“Oh wait.” Quentin said breaking character.

“What?” I asked.

“Who should the Princess be?”

“Uh your the game master, aren’t you supposed to know that?”

“Oh yeah, hmmm...Hah! I know, the Princess of Merillen will be a dead-ringer for Betty Burkett!”

“She prefers Chelsea.” I said quietly blushing just a bit.

“Princess Chelsea it is then!” Quentin laughed, “I’ve seen you checking her out during my long revenge rants.”

My face turned as red as it possibly could have for being a dark skinned Korean kid. My friend knew me better then I’d liked to admit.

The importance of that day will be further elaborated on in the future. I hadn’t realized it to that point that Quentin was more attentive and observant then he seemed and had noticed my rather obvious crush on Chelsea. I do admit that I was rather obvious about it but Quentin, at least to my knowledge at that point, had never said anything or taken notice. I was clearly wrong, and his observance would show up even more the conveniently “next” day.

It was a dark and stormy night. No creature was stirring, not even a mouse. For nature itself sensed the disturbance being created within the basement of a young boy named Quentin. In the confines of his suburban home, Quentin wildly mixed chemicals that bubbled, sizzled, and popped in every sort of fantastical way. The multi-colored chemicals traveled through convoluted glass tubes, to the sound of whizzing, minor combustion, and viscous liquids mixing. A poof of red colored smoke exploded out of the final beaker, then dark blue, then green, illuminating the room with the most sinister of hues. Finally, with a final minor explosion and large poof of rainbow colored smoke, the concoction was ready. With a dramatic flourish, Quentin raised the beaker to eye level, ogling the liquid as if a prized trophy wife. Then in one fell swoop, he downed the entire thing.

At first, nothing happened. But soon, his body began to tremble and shake. Shakes turned to heaving, and convulsing, and soon he was convulsing on the floor. He became pale and he began to choke. But as soon as the experience had begun, it was over. Quentin lay on the floor, chest rising and falling at a mile a minute, but he was alive, and somehow he knew, that he was a new man, and that his concoction had worked.

Of course it didn’t really happen that way. But let’s just say it did. It was after all, a rather fun read if I do say so myself. Regardless back to our story. The “next” day, Quentin was quite excited at his newfound skill and rushed to show it off to me.

“Dude, dude you gotta check this out, what I can do!” Quentin said as we walked into school together.

“Uh dude” I said sarcastically, “You didn’t like magically gain super powers over night.”

“Aha! But that’s where your wrong my faithful companion! Check this out.”

We were just passing the office and Quentin walked straight in and in an odd, high-pitched voice he said to the secretary “Can you let me into the principal’s office?”

The secretary, Mrs. Moss, was not a pleasant women and on any other day, with perfectly normal circumstances she would have politely told us to fuck off, in slightly more professional language. But today was not an ordinary day.

“Why of course Quentin. Go right on in.” She said with a pleasant smile.

Quentin gave me a smirk and a wink as we walked towards the principals office.

“Uh dude, our goal was to never get in here ever. Remember?” I said nervously.

Quentin chuckled, “Still don’t believe me eh?”

We walked into the principals office, Mr. Fitzhugh was normally an alright guy in my book, but walking into his office other than to receive a commendation of some sort was never on the top of my priority list or goals. But nevertheless, we walked in, Quentin in a confident stride, and Mr. Fitzhugh greeted us pleasantly.

“Ah, Quentin, Kyle! How might I help my star students today?”

Again Quentin went into his high pitched voice, “Can you use the intercom to call up a student for us? A Chelsea Burkett.”

“Of course.” Mr. Fitzhugh said.

And then he proceeded to call up Chelsea to his office.

“No way.” I said.

“Not to be cliche Kyle, but WAY!” Quentin said.

I wasn’t entirely convinced at that point. The evidence seemed sizable, but at the same time the possibility of what Quentin seemed to be showing me were next to impossible. A small part of me wanted to believe it, but the rational side of me said that this was an elaborate ruse, a bamboozle, a stratagem.

But then Chelsea arrived.

“Hi Principal Fitzhugh, what can I do for you?” Chelsea asked pleasantly.

She was always quite pleasant, and my thoughts were immediately distracted from stratagems and bamboozles by her mere presence. She wasn’t wearing anything special, she must have just come from a gym class of some sort as she was in running shorts and a t-shirt that was tied at the waist to reveal just a hint of midriff and be a nice tight fit. But to me, she was stunning, and this was the closest I had ever been to her ever.

“Ask these gentlemen right here.” The Principal said.

She turned, and gave us a smile, “Hi, I’m not sure I know you two. I’m Chelsea.” She said.

I quickly stammered out a reply about my name and my single status while Quentin took a far more...direct approach.

“Chelsea hop up and down on one leg. Mr. Fitzhugh leave the room for the next five minutes. Knock before you enter. Oh and send an email to our teachers that we are excused from classes today due to special circumstances.”

Chelsea immediately followed Quentin’s words with a polite, “Of course.” Which was synonymous with the Principal’s reply, who promptly walked out of the office. My mouth was agape.

“Chelsea get on the desk and dance really provocatively. But don’t take off your clothes. Ignore our conversation until I address you again.”

“Ok.” She said.

Then Chelsea proceeded to do a wildly sexually charged dance that was as close to stripping as I had ever seen without actually taking off her clothes on Mr. Fitzhugh’s desk.

I practically fainted while Quentin closed the door.

“So?” He asked with a cheshire grin.

“Dude, this can’t be real!” I said snapping my jaw back in place.

“It is real dude! I have the power to persuade people to do anything!” his point was emphasized by Chelsea running her hands up her waist and to her ample chest.

“When did this happen?!” I asked, distracted by Chelsea’s gyrations and incredulous at the magnanimity of the events that had transpired.

“Just last night.” Quentin said casually.

“How?!” I practically screamed.

“Don’t ask what you don’t want to know.” Quentin said with a smirk, “But what does it matter, now we can really get revenge!”

“Dude, this is crazy!” I said, almost angry with his plan. This was way too far. This was insane. This was borderline immoral!

“Yesterday you said you were on board with this.” He said with a hurt look.

“Yesterday you couldn’t make Chelsea be a non-clothes removing pole dancer.” I said pointing a finger in his face, my voice raised..

“Look, are you with me, or are you not?” He said, looking me straight in the eye.

I looked at him, stared him down, but I could tell he was serious. He wasn’t going to change his mind. Revenge would be nice, I thought, and besides, he’ll get in even more trouble if I don’t help him. But what we were going to do, the implications of the phrase “yes”. I had to think for a bit, but after a long pause I finally said.

“I should really say no...” I said, “But alright. I’m in.”

In retrospect, I should’ve probably said no.