The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Trentborough was the ideal seaside town for kids growing up.

The Main Street of the original settlement leading downhill to a sandy beach. First just the preserve of fishermen and their families, today a wooden pier extended the line of Main Street out into the sea. While the fishermen’s shacks along the Beach Road had long been replaced by amusement arcades in the town’s heyday as a staycation holiday hotspot, today leading to Trentborough’s modern marina at the other end of the beach.

Philip and his school friends had started fishing on the Pier when they were 13, quickly spending all their spare time there. Now 17, the close knit crew remained angling regulars, their long suffering parents still answering the calls at the end of the day to come and pick up their kids from the small car park at the Pier entrance, halfway down the hill from Main Street to the Beach Road.

Like most domestic seaside holiday resorts who’s glory were now in the past, Trentborough projected a veneer of prosperity that belied the down at heel reality if you scratched the surface. Nowhere was that reality better seen, than in the odd looking parade of little shops running down the hill, opposite the Pier entrance.

Separating the fading glitz of holiday beach life along Beach Road from the commercial hustle and bustle of Main Street above, the rundown parade of shops cast a broody, gloomy presence, seemingly immune to the constant talk and plans for redevelopment.

Precisely nothing had change in the four years Philip had been starring across at the parade while waiting for his lift home to arrive, except for further dereliction and even more peeling paintwork. There were two of the grottiest looking beach toy and novelty gift shops on the whole seafront, which never appeared to attract any tourist customers even on the hottest and busiest of summer days. Three more of the shops units were boarded up, lettering from the closed and failed businesses occasionally visible through the ever changing sea of flyposting. That just left a small sad slot machine arcade, which was closed more often than it was open, and right in the middle of the slope down to the sea, The Tattoo Parlour, a source of endless fascination and illicit mystery to Philip and his friends over the years.

Always open, with one, if not two, young men outside, presumably touting for business, it nonetheless also never appeared to have any actual customers. Perhaps because it looked more like a Sex Shop than a Tattoo Parlour the teenagers had decided, merely adding to the erotic mystery of it in their overactive hormone driven young minds.

Unlike the couple of other modern tattoo businesses elsewhere in town, which had big windows and a selection of designs on show, The Tattoo Parlour was boarded to casual preying eyes just like an Adult Store, albeit one painted in multi-coloured swirling tattoo like designs, in stark contrast to its drab flyposted derelict neighbours. The dark corridor leading into the Parlour from the single open side door merely added to the overall Sex Shop vibe, and the illicit delights that must surely lie waiting within, Philip and his friends liked to think.

This Saturday though, Philip wasn’t to be found on the Pier fishing with the others. He was forced to make a rare visit to Main Street in search of a birthday present for his Mum. But it wasn’t all bad, as he could call in to the tackle shop on Main Street to check out the latest rods and reels too.

It was a warm late summer afternoon, so after the tackle shop, Philip decided he had time to take a stroll down the hill to Mick’s Bait Store to catch up on the latest angling gossip and reports of catches. Plus, he realised once he had set off, it would be his first ever chance to actually view The Tattoo Parlour up close from the other side of the road. Something to brag about the next time they were all waiting across in the car park.

Today there was just the one young man loitering outside The Tattoo Parlour as Philip approached, slowing down to take in the colourful spiral paintwork on the boarded up shop front in new close up detail. As he did so, Philip was surprised to also hear music, coming from a small speaker above the open side door entrance, which he realised must have been inaudible all these years on the other side of the road waiting in the car park. It was some kind of trancy hippy new-age stuff which seemed to perfectly match the swirly fractal artwork somehow.

The young man, his bare arms covered in smaller versions of the same spiralling tattoos, stepped up to Philip and said in a deep, sonorous, almost echoing voice, “Take a look at the Tattoo Lady’s best work.” Philip’s gaze followed the line of the man’s outstretched tattooed arm in invitation towards a device only visible now he was this close up, tucked just inside the open side corridor. It looked like an old fashioned “What the Butler Saw” machine, with round body on legs and viewing port on the front. The penny machines which used to provide cheap erotic thrills in the seaside arcades of yesteryear.

Ordinarily, Philip wouldn’t have been interested, all his friends knew he didn’t like the idea of getting a tattoo one bit. “Too painful for me man” he would protest when their talk turned towards the mystery of The Tattoo Parlour with no customers, and what tattoo they would dare to get themselves if they were to ever step inside. But the sonorous words of the young man, along with the spiral images and swirly music, all seemed to combine to echo around in Philip’s head, catching him off balance, and almost without conscious thought he found himself walking up to the machine to take a look.

As he stepped inside the open side door, and leaned in to bring his eyes down to the device’s viewing slot, Phillip’s senses were further assailed by a wave of sickly sweet scent emanating from the long dark corridor, so that he felt slightly dazed as his eyes starred into the blackness of the machine.

On cue, a light came on inside the viewer, and Philip’s eye were caught in the fascinating swirling spirals of intricate tattoo designs, like those sported by the young man, but now in mega compelling and colourful close up detail. Just as Philip was fighting to tear his eyes away from the pretty patterns, an additional UV light must have switched on in the machine, because suddenly the spirals seemed to jump alive in glowing pulses, pulling him in even more. A fresh wave of the sweet sent hit him, the trippy music now loudly swirling in his ears, as his eyes helplessly followed the glowing tattooed spirals around and around, utterly unable to look away.

As Philip relaxed and happily studied the lovely glowing tattooed swirls, he became aware of slight movements and animations within the image. Shocking realisation suddenly hit him. This was no simple picture, this was a real close up image of tattooed skin. As the revelation came to him, two tattooed eyelids opened in the centre of the image, large bright green eyes piercing like laser beams into his head.

The small part of Philip’s mind, still trying to fight The Tattoo Parlour’s dizzying sights, sounds and smell, was screaming for him to look away from the captivating green eyes. But every time he managed to break free, his gaze was caught again by one of the tattooed spirals taking his eyes around and around until he was staring once more into the beautiful green eyes of the Tattoo Lady.

His mind filling with fog, Philip heard the Tattoo Lady’s voice spiralling through the music and spinning through his head, making it hard to think of anything but her words. “Come to me,” the sonorous sensual voice urged, “give yourself to me”, and suddenly Philip’s trapped eyes were free of the machine’s grip, allowing him to stumble mindlessly down the dark corridor, UV lighting moving swirling, glowing patterns on the walls around him, as if plunging down into a psychedelic womb.

Passing through a kind of butchers curtain of dark plastic strips at the end of the long corridor, Philip entered a darkened black room. The trippy music was much quieter in here, although the sweet sent was still as strong, and the bright UV lit spiralling walls of the corridor where replaced by jet black walls, making the size of the room impossible to judge, as if stretching away into infinity. A confusing illusion amplified by a single lit spot in the centre of the room.

There, lit up in UV, as if floating in space, was a massive chaise lounge, at least the size of a double bed, with the Tattoo Lady reclined upon it, like a teenager’s porn dream. Wearing only the skimpiest of bikinis, every inch of skin covered in the bright swirling tattoos, moving with the contours of her body, commanding every cell of Philip’s wrapped attention.

“Come to me” she urged again, as Philip started to shuffle slowly towards the chaise lounge, his glassy eyes unable to escape her piercing green gaze and swirling tattoos. His cock suddenly rock hard for the tattooed MILF before him.

“What is your name?” she asked alluringly. “Erm… I’m… erm… Phi… Philip“ he eventually manged to stammer in reply, finding it hard to remember through the thick fog swirling in his head. “No silly” she responded seductively, “You have no name, unless I give you one. You see only me. Hear only me.”

The fog in his mind seemed to thicken with each slow step closer towards her beautiful spiralling tattooed skin. The blackness of the room seeming to contract, leaving the Tattoo Lady his only focus of attention. Her words the only sound cutting through the swirling music. His cock straining ever harder with desire.

“So hot in here” she sighed, “You don’t need those silly clothes” and as if now completely in a dream, he started to shed his unwanted clothes in a slug like trail on the black floor behind him.

As he passed the halfway point, crossing the darkness towards the erotic light and promise of the Tattoo Lady, she asked again, “What is your name?”

“I….. I……” he tried to recall, but nothing would come. Wait, she hadn’t given him a name yet, wasn’t that it? No, that couldn’t be right. “I….. have….. no……” he wanted to say it, so hard to remember, when suddenly “Philip” escaped his lips in a whisper, even as the memory of it seemed to fade away again as fast as he said it. “You have no name,” she purred smiling, “unless Mistress gives you one. You see only your Mistress. Hear only your Mistress.”

Up close now, his eyes still totally captivated by the writhing, spiralling tattoos covering his Mistress’ voluptuous body, her commanding voice seemed to almost arrive in his head without troubling his ears. His engorged cock felt impossibly large, as if everything he was had drained into his member, desperate to give himself completely to his goddess.

He finally reached the massive chaise lounge, wearing only his boxer shorts, and the Mistress indicated he should lie down alongside her, as he once again starred into those bottomless green eyes. His skin tingled with lust as it brushed hers. “What is your name?” she asked. “I have no name” he answered peacefully. “And what do you see?” “I see only you” he replied, his vision full of green eyes and spiralling tattoos. “What do you hear?” “I hear only your voice Mistress.” “Good boy” she purred.

As they lay together, her hand only had to brush his boxer shorts to free the impossibly large erection within. Everything he was, thoughts, memories and freewill, where all straining to burst out of his massive cock. He wanted nothing more than to give himself completely to her.

Tattooed fingers simply closed gently around his erection, and in one earth shattering moan, he orgasmed like never before, his very soul shooting out over his Mistress’s legs, in wave after wave of unimaginable pleasure. “Yes, give yourself to me” she purred happily as he willingly emptied himself.

The Mistress pulled her skimpy bikini top aside to uncover an ample tattooed breast, as her other hand guided his blank empty head down towards it. His mouth closed around the big erect nipple at the centre of a large hypnotic spiral. “Suckle” she commanded, as her warm milk flowed into him, filling him once more, and he heard her voice directly inside his own head at last.

“Welcome. You are unit 1372” the Mistress in his head told him.

Nearly one month later, some of Philip’s fishing crew where making their way slowly up the hill from Beach Road, stopping at each lamp post.

They reached the lamp post just before The Tattoo Parlour and paused to affix a poster. Starring out was a black and white picture of Philip with his long dark hair, and above in big red letters “MISSING”.

Another lamp post done, they carried on up the hill to the next one, before disappearing over the peak to continue postering up on Main Street.

There was not a single glimmer of recognition from any of them towards the young man touting for business outside the Parlour as they passed. His short blonde hair, clearly six or seven years their elder, a selection of fresh looking tattoos on each bare arm in the same spiralling style that seemed to be The Tattoo Parlour’s speciality.

A straggler appeared coming up the hill, keen to catch up with the others now somewhere ahead in Main Street. He paused to check the poster on the lamp post nearest The Tattoo Parlour, and so that he could finally get a proper close up look at the mysterious Parlour from this side of the road.

Unit 1372 smiled and stepped up to him, a tattooed arm outstretched towards the machine just visible inside the open side corridor, and said in the Mistress’ deep, sonorous, hypnotic voice, “Take a look at the Tattoo Lady’s best work.”

Mistress was ready and eager to feed again.