The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Kendra Mack looked down the street in one direction, then turned and looked in the opposite direction. As the team recon specialist, surveillance expert and general commando, she was at her best when she had a definitive target in front of her. Or someone to punch. But she had neither of those things at the moment.

“I’m not seeing it,” she said, shaking her head. Her sandy blonde hair was cut short in an almost military manner, resulting in a functional yet surprisingly fashionable style. “Are you sure we’re in the right place, Val?”

Team leader Valencia Vaughn regarded their surroundings confidently. The tight curls of her raven-black hair fell to her shoulders in a soft wave, framing her soft features. Her mocha skin was flawless and she moved in a way that caused runway models to gnash their teeth in jealousy. Given two minutes and the proper motivation, however, and Val could reappear as a street-worn corner-walker, looking like 40 miles of hard road and worried about nothing more than her next fix. She was that good.

“It’s here somewhere, Kendra,” said Val. “We’ll find it. You know how Billy is. Directions don’t really work here. Hell, even compasses are useless. C’mon, Gwen. Give me something to work with.”

Tech specialist Gwen Rayburn typed furiously on her laptop keyboard. Her haircut looked like she had received it on a dare and her wrinkled clothing suggested her only contact with fashion was at gunpoint. Her fingers blurred over the keys.

“So I’m fucking MapQuest now?” she asked, although her words carried no heat. “Just give me a minute, all right? These readings are all over the place. Energy spikes, electromagnetic fluctuations, weird temperature surges. And do you know what this stuff is telling us?”

Val and Kendra said simultaneously, “What?”

“I don’t know,” said Gwen, “because you didn’t let me bring my heavy equipment.”

Val rolled her eyes. “Are you still going on about that? Because you know why I made you leave that stuff behind. We’re supposed to be low-key. Non-descript. We’re not supposed to be here, remember? Waddling around with a trolley full of electronic equipment is about as non-descript as a second head.”

Kendra snorted. “A second head would probably be more useful.”

Gwen looked up. “Oh, good. Our estrogenic Rambo with breasts is offering opinions. That’s adorable, but you should be quiet now. Adults speaking.”

Kendra’s eyes sparked. “You’re gonna need a laxative to see your laptop after I shove it up your—“

“Children! Behave or you’ll be sent to bed without supper,” said Val.

“She started it,” said Gwen, still not looking up from her computer.

“How hard can it be to find an entire circus?” asked Kendra.

Val looked up and down the street. They were on an urban roadway that looked as normal as any commercial avenue might appear, but felt as unnatural as pineapple on pizza. Depending on one’s taste.

“You know the rules here are different, Kendra,” said Val. “Maybe it already moved.”

“We should be so lucky,” sniffed Kendra.

Gwen looked up. “Try a block over.”

Led by Val, they made their way down the sidewalk. A block later they came to a stop.

“Good call, Gwen,” said Val. “MapQuest?”

“Nope,” said the tech specialist. “NoseQuest. I could smell the popcorn.”

Val gave her a dark look, then turned to look at the place in front of them.

A large circus tent took up most the space in front of them. Smaller tents orbited the larger tent like satellites. People filed in and out of the various pavilions. Organ music could be heard.

Val turned to the others. “All right, children, let’s go earn our pay. I’m going to mix in with the crowd. Kendra, you’re going to scout those outer tents. Gwen, you’re going to mill around out front without being obvious about it. If you have to change position, move just inside the main tent’s entrance. You’ll be anchoring communications and act as backup if necessary. Everybody got their earpiece in?”

Kendra and Gwen nodded. Tech wasn’t always dependable here, but it was better than nothing.

“Wait three minutes before moving in. If you see anything suspicious, observe for as long as you can, then come back and get us. No heroics.” Then she ran her fingers through her hair, changed her posture slightly and adjusted her facial expression to that of vaguely fascinated interest. It was a subtle change, but one that shifted her from agent to civilian in the eyes of casual observers. She was that good.

Kendra and Gwen watched Val walk to the ticket booth and purchase a pass, then mesh seamlessly into a group of people streaming into the main tent. Three minutes later, Kendra moved toward the side tents while Gwen casually approached the main tent entrance.

Val moved at a casual pace, not fast enough to attract attention, not slow enough to cause congestion. Completely anonymous, because that’s what she did. A chameleon, merging effortlessly into her surroundings.

She glanced around. Nothing seemed amiss. Circus smells were everywhere. Popcorn, caramel apples, pretzels, all the traditional circus aromas filled her lungs. Organ music could be heard, the hum of conversation, the bark of vendors. A number of small carnival-like booths and kiosks lined the tent walls. It looked, smelled and sounded like a typical circus.

At least as normal as a circus could be on this particular street.

Wandering vendors offered her various buttons and souvenirs, but Val waved them off. She walked to a lesser populated part of the tent, where two clowns were entertaining a small crowd with tumbling tricks. She watched for a minute, then moved deeper into the tent.

She heard tinkly music in her immediate vicinity. Looking forward, Val saw an older man turning a crank on the side of a music box. A small monkey wearing a red vest and velvet hat sat on his shoulder. As he turned the crank, the monkey jumped off his shoulder and began performing tricks. The monkey almost appeared to be dancing to the tune of the music box.

Val laughed with apparent delight and held out a coin. The monkey moved to Val and took the coin from her fingers. He doffed his hat in adorable fashion, then turned and ran back to the organ grinder. He dropped the coin into an aluminum cup hanging from the organ grinder’s belt.

The organ grinder nodded a thank you toward Val. Then he winked at her.

Val paused. He had winked at her. She was sure of it. Was he trying to tell her something?

Then the monkey leaped back to Val and made monkey noises toward her. Val, unsure of what the noises meant, looked to the organ grinder. He gave a subtle nod.

The monkey reached up and tugged on the hem of Val’s dress. Then the monkey turned and scampered toward a constructed makeshift hallway.

Val casually glanced in all directions, then sub-vocalized, “Checking possible lead.” She took one more look around and then followed the monkey into the passage.

Kendra moved around the outside of the main tent, silent and purposefully. Her baggy cargo pants and light combat boots were more functional than fashionable, but they allowed her to blend in with the workers milling around.

Nothing looked suspicious so far. She had glanced inside a couple of the smaller tents, but they appeared to serve as supply closets. Stacks of cups and popcorn buckets did not register as likely threats.

She continued following the outline of the main tent around to the back. There Kendra saw another large tent. Not as huge or spacious as the main tent, but larger than the supply tents. She made her way in that direction, but didn’t enter. She hovered in the area, staying just out of sight, and waited.

Minutes passed. Kendra watched a juggler on a unicycle exit the smaller tent and pass through the back flap of the main tent. A woman dressed in a sequined coat and a top hat strode into the big top as well. A man with a whip wearing a jacket that said ‘Leon the Lion Tamer’ entered the big tent. Several women dressed in glittery trapeze unitards made their way through the entrance.

Kendra waited a few more minutes, but no one else emerged. This was likely as good a time as she was going to get to investigate. She started to emerge from her vantage point, then stopped. Someone else was stepping out of the smaller tent.

It was a female clown. Not a clown…a mime. The mime walked several feet from the smaller tent’s entrance and then paused. She looked in both directions for several seconds.

Then she looked directly at Kendra and raised a single finger to her lips, indicating silence. She curled her fingers at Kendra, beckoning her inside with a single motion. Then the mime turned and disappeared back into the smaller tent, quiet as a whisper.

Kendra glanced behind her, then sub-vocalized, “Checking possible lead.” She then entered the smaller tent, moving as silently as the mime had before her.

Gwen moved to the ticket booth and purchased a pass. Then she wiped her forehead and fanned her face, making a show of appearing to be hot and tired and needing a brief sit-down. She made her way to a bench and appeared to collapse onto it gratefully. It was a borderline ham acting job, but she was a tech specialist, not a performer. Gwen was, however, agent enough to monitor the crowd around her for anybody milling around or taking more than a casual interest in her activities. She was a professional.

She took out her cell phone and linked it to the laptop she had put away in her small backpack. She missed her heavy equipment. A number of modifications to this phone did allow her to monitor the intense programs her laptop ran, despite the laptop being tucked away. Even with the high-capacity battery installed, this burned through the cell phone’s bars quickly, but offered more line-of-sight security—and was less suspicious—than sitting with an open laptop in front of her.

Gwen monitored the various signals and sub-vocalizations of her teammates carefully. Despite her smarmy observations and constant sarcasm, she was good at her job. But something was creating interference. Her readings were barely baseline.

The tech woman shook her head. This fucking street.

Gwen stood. To do her team any good, she needed to reposition himself. Her secondary assignment was to enter the big top, so she decided to do that. Phone in hand, she made her way through the tent entrance.

The bright colors, laughter and music suggested a festive environment, but Gwen’s cynical nature disregarded the assault on her senses. She cut her eyes from side-to-side, watching, gauging potential dangers, making mental note of possible escape routes. There was nothing to suggest this was anything but a typical circus. But Gwen knew better. Nothing on this street was typical.

The tech woman looked along the various booths and kiosks. The booths on her left as she entered consisted of various games, offering prizes for feats of skill or luck. The kiosks in the center were food-centric, with mostly traditional offerings like popcorn and lemonade, although some stands proffered more exotic selections, such as deep-fried donut bacon cheeseburgers. Gwen shuddered at the implications of what may have been the most offensive food kiosk in circus history and turned to the booths on the other side.

These booths were more service-orientated. A gypsy stood in front of a small tented booth, her sign proclaiming her to be mistress of the crystal ball, her powers of prophecy sure to amaze. A tall, dark man wrapped in fake tiger fur stood beneath a placard identifying him as the famous Asharak, master of India ink, artist of the first order. A third tented booth, apart from the others, displayed a hand-painted sign that said only “Vivian van Gogh, painter”.

The last one caught Gwen’s eye. As she observed, a woman stepped out from the tent. She wore paint-smeared denim overalls, with a black beret covering her blonde bob. A random smear of blue paint streaked down her cheek. Her feet were bare.

Her eyes narrowed. Interesting that this free spirit would use a name evocative of an intense, disturbed genius. She wondered briefly if she warranted a bit of prudent investigation.

The question was rendered moot when the blonde met her gaze squarely. She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back and beckoned Gwen with a single curled finger. She glanced around one last time, then disappeared back into her tent.

Gwen looked over her shoulder, but there was no doubt it was she the artist was signaling. Interesting. She obviously wanted to tell her something and she didn’t want anyone to know she was doing so.

Prudence warred with duty for several seconds. Then she sub-vocalized “Checking possible lead” and headed for Vivian van Gogh’s booth.

Val followed the monkey down the makeshift, poorly-lit passageway. The walls and ceiling were composed of haphazardly-nailed sheets of oddly-sized plywood, with the ceiling was perhaps a foot higher than the top of Val’s head, giving the corridor a slightly claustrophobic, slightly ominous ambiance. The monkey appeared unperturbed.

After an abrupt turn and then another, Val emerged into a much brighter area. She paused for a moment to allow her eyes to adjust before looking around.

She appeared to be in a smaller side-tent, one the size of a small room, perhaps 10′×12′. Four rows of folding chairs stood between Val and the other side of the tent. The area in front of the chairs held a barbell with black rounded spheres on each end, ‘500 lbs’ painted on the front of each sphere. A wooden tripod next to the barbell held a sign proclaiming in dated print, “Ivan Steele—World’s Strongest Man!” Beneath the words was a picture of a savage-looking muscle man with a bald head and thick handlebar mustache.

The monkey leaped onto a front row chair and sat down. After a moment’s thought, Val did the same.

A large man entered the tent. Several inches over six feet and impossibly thick through the chest and shoulders, his presence was such that it took Val a second to process that this was the same man as on the placard. As in the picture, his head was shaven bald and he sported a huge handlebar mustache. Ivan’s outfit consisted of a jungle-print unitard that was attached on one shoulder only, leaving the other shoulder and half his chest exposed. The unitard did nothing to hide the heavy bulge of his male package.

Ivan stepped up and bowed. Then he reached down, knees bent, and gripped the barbell. He straightened and brought the bar to his chest. Sweat appeared on his forehead and his unitard darkened with perspiration.

The effort required by Ivan to keep the bar at chest level was obvious. His muscles were gleaming with perspiration now. The scent created by his musk washed over Val.

Ivan remained in position for several seconds. Then he pushed the bar skyward and held it over his head. Sweat streamed down his forehead and chest as he held the bar aloft.

His scent was filling the small area. Val’s lungs filled with the aroma. His masculine essence was touching something inside her, something primal. She found her hips twitching in response, her nipples hard, her tongue sliding unbidden across her upper lip.

Pheromones, she thought. Alpha pheromones!

Val knew she had to leave the confined area immediately or she’d be on her knees giving a stranger a blowjob. She tried to get to her feet, but it was already too late. Her body betrayed her, not letting her take the first necessary step. Her sex was impossibly wet.

Ivan was there, in her space, his masculine presence washing over her in waves. She closed her eyes, breathing in his masculine scent, her knees weak. She felt herself pressing against him, sliding down his muscular body, felt her knees hit the floor. She clutched his leg, her opposite hand cupping his heavy balls.

The unitard did nothing to hide Ivan’s thickening erection.

Eyes closed, Val breathed deep, her lungs filling again with Ivan’s scent. She had never felt so aroused, so overheated, so feminine. Every part of her body was alive. She pressed herself against his leg, mewling in need as she rubbed her sopping wet sex against his calf.

And when he pressed the head of his cock between her lips and over her tongue, when stroked his rigid cock back and forth in her warm, wet mouth, and when he finally emitted a primal growl and released a hot, heavy stream of semen into her throat, filling her mouth, filling her belly, Val found herself moaning around his cock as her hips bucked in helpless release.

Kendra entered the tent and then slid into the shadows. Until she was sure of the mime’s intentions, she preferred to stay out of sight. The tent was not well-lit, making it easier to keep to the darkened areas.

Racks of various outfits filled the tent, looking much like the floor of a clothing department store. This was obviously a changing room of sorts for the performers. The tent was silent, so it stood to reason that all the performers were presently in the big top. Kendra likely had the tent to herself.

Well, not to herself. There was at least one other person in the tent.

Kendra moved silently between the racks, a plan forming in her head. She’d find the mime and get some information. Then she’d grab one of these costumes and use it to move around more anonymously.

She was wondering if she could pull off a master of ceremonies look—she always did love top hats—when a foot drove into her side. Caught off-guard, she caught the full brunt of the attack, but she exhaled and instinctively rode the blow, allowing herself to hit the ground and roll to her feet in battle stance.

Rather than the expected follow-up attack, however, she found only silence.

Kendra moved forward, moving quietly between the racks of clothing. A low rustling was her only warning when the next assault came. She sensed the incoming attack and sidestepped just as a dark figure sailed past her in an attempted flying kick. The figure landed on their feet, pivoted and whirled, their foot just missing a ducking Kendra. Then they were gone, disappeared amongst the clothing racks.

Kendra had gotten a brief look at her attacker. She wasn’t surprised to note that it was a mime. The mime, however, was dressed differently than the mime who had beckoned her into the tent. So Kendra knew she was dealing with at least two attackers.

She moved between the racks of clothing again, trying to look in all directions at once. She didn’t like playing hide-and-seek in a maze she wasn’t familiar with. The advantage lay with the home team.

Kendra backtracked through the racks, then took a turn deeper into the maze, rather than toward the door. Moving as unpredictably as possible was her best course.

It wasn’t foolproof, of course, but when the next attack came, she was better prepared to fend it off. The mime snapped off two kicks, then rolled forward in an attempt to knock Kendra’s feet from under her. Kendra leaped over the rolling mime and rolled a safe distance away herself. She spun to her feet in a defensive stance, but her attacker had already disappeared into the maze of racks.

Kendra scowled. The silent attacks from dark corners were disquieting. She needed to find a more level playfield. She moved toward the center of the tent, toward the open area.

Twice more she was attacked by silent mimes, and twice more she defended against the shadow attacks, only to see her opponents disappear into the maze of clothing racks.

At last she made it to the open area in the center of the tent. Folding room dividers formed changing areas for the performers. A narrow path through the clothing racks ran between the open center and the tent opening to the big top.

Kendra moved on silent feet through the open area. She narrowed her eyes. The area was lit slightly better than the rest of the tent. She could just make out human-shaped shadows moving behind several of the room dividers.

Almost on cue, the shadows left the changing areas and moved into the open. Kendra found herself facing four mimes. All female, all equally silent.

The battle commenced. Two mimes moved in on Kendra simultaneously, but Kendra defended successfully, driving the two mimes back and positioning herself advantageously for any follow-up from the other two. The other two mimes then stepped in and attacked, but Kendra again fended off both assaults.

It was an eerie, silent fight that soon became a battle of attrition. No more than two mimes ever attacked at once. Kendra was able to fend off the simultaneous assaults, but was unable to take the offensive herself. It was as they were trying to wear her down rather than take her down.

Finally, mentally tired and physically drained, Kendra backed into against a room divider, aware she was running on reserves at this point. And that was when the clown appeared.

She was tall and dressed head-to-toe in full clown regalia. Red body suit, big clown shoes, red wig, white face paint, even a big red clown nose. She looked like any typical clown, if clowns could be considered typical. But she emanated a sense of menace beyond that of even the mimes and Kendra knew she was the most dangerous opponent she faced.

For the first time, the mimes moved as one, forming a half-circle in front of her. Her back to the divider, Kendra looked for an opening where there was none. Then the clown was standing directly in front of her, two mimes on each side. She reached up and unbuttoned the top of her clown outfit, revealing the tops of heavy, lush breasts. Nestled in her cleavage was a gold coin hanging from a chain around the clown’s neck. The coin glittered in front of Kendra’s eyes and the clown’s voice sounded.

”Watch the pretty coin of gold, and you will do what you are told. You are relaxed, and now you’ll find, your body and your will are mine.”

Kendra’s eyes widened for a moment as she realized too late what was happening. The shadow attacks were never meant to take her down. They were meant to tire her mentally, to drain her, exhaust her mental resources, with the physical fight meant to do the same to her body without damaging her. She lacked the resources now to stop the sudden assault on her will.

She still tried to resist, to push the relentless force from her mind. But the hypno-clown was already too deep, moving past her defenses, filling Kendra’s mind with her will. Kendra felt her body relaxing involuntarily, her facial expression easing, her eyes glazing.

Moments later, she felt the hands of the mimes moving over her body, sliding her clothing from her unresisting form.

Gwen entered the tented booth and closed the flap behind her.

The area inside was small, perhaps 10′×10′. A paint-smeared canvas tarp covered the entire floor. Two heavy wooden chairs faced each other in the center of the room. A tall painter’s easel stood near the farthest chair, a blank board in place. Vivian stood by the easel, paint brush in hand, her opposite hand holding a thumb-anchored wooden paint palette. No other furniture or decorations were visible. Other than the tarp-covered floor and the wooden chairs and easel, the whole space was a consistent flat white.

Vivian van Gogh began dipping her paint brush in the various globs of paint on her wooden palette. She spoke without looking up. “Did anyone follow you to my booth, luv?”

Gwen paused, unsure of the artist’s motivations. Then she shrugged. “No,” she said. “But I did come with some friends. They’ll be looking for me soon so we can get to our seats before the show starts.”

She flicked the brush at the chair closest to Gwen. “Sit down, luv. If anyone looks in, you’re just a customer and I’m painting your portrait.”

That made sense. Gwen sat on the heavy wooden chair, her arms resting on the solid armrests. “So, Miss van Gogh, any relation to Vincent?”

“Yes, luv. Many generations ago, but he’s in my tree.”

Gwen blinked. “Well, damn. It’s hard to be a smart ass around here, isn’t it? Any family secrets you’d like to share? Was he really insane?”

Vivian offered a tight smile as she mixed her colors. “You’re cheeky, luv, but I’ll tell you this. He wasn’t mentally ill. He simply dabbled in arcane matters perhaps better left alone. Now sit still.”

Gwen became still. “Thank you for sharing, Miss van Gogh. Now why did you call me over?”

Vivian didn’t immediately answer. Her brush began flying over the canvas board.

Gwen raised her voice. “Vivian? Miss Van Gogh? May I ask why you got my attention?”

Without looking at Gwen, the artist finally answered. “Before I tell you, luv, I must know something. Are you here for reasons other than entertainment?”

Her painting speed was astonishing. A picture was already forming on the canvas, a picture of Gwen in the chair. The likeness was amazing, resembling a photograph more than a painting in many ways.

On unsure ground, Gwen decided to stall before answering her question. “You’re quite talented. Your ability to reproduce what you see is beyond compare.”

Vivian didn’t answer. Her brush continued flying over the canvas. The portrait was nearly complete, in fact. An exact reproduction of Gwen sitting in the chair.

Alarm bells began going off in Gwen’s mind, although it didn’t show on her face. “In fact,” she said, “one might say your ability was nothing short of magical.”

Vivian smiled. “I’ve heard that said before, luv.”

“All right, Miss van Gogh,” said Gwen. “I know an art mage when I see one. What is it you’re looking for?”

Vivian turned back to her painting, her brush again at work. “I just needed to get you into my studio, luv.”

Gwen felt a sudden surge of adrenaline as she realized her situation. She tried to leap to her feet, but it was too late. Iron bands appeared, clamping her forearms and ankles in place, securing her to the chair. She didn’t need to look at the picture to know that the painting in front of Vivian would now show the exact same restraints in the exact same place.

“Hey!” said Gwen, struggling against the bands. “You’d better let me go. My friends will be looking for me.”

Vivian laughed. “I doubt that,” she said. “Your mates are likely faring no better than you, luv.”

Her brush went back to work on the canvas, moving with impossible speed. Rather than adding to the picture, however, her brush appeared to be erasing lines, rearranging color, creating a new vision.

Looking down, Gwen suddenly realized she was dressed only in the boy shorts underwear she had been wearing under her cargo pants. Everything else was gone.

Gwen lifted her head. “Do your worst, art mage, but be aware that I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed and numbered. You’d be best served by releasing me.”

Vivian laughed, a surprisingly delightful sound. “You’re cheeky, luv. Why would I let you go? I can do anything I want with you now. What if we added a bit here or there to you?”

Her brush flew over the canvas. Then she stepped back. “How about that?”

Gwen looked down. The crotch of her panties were suddenly bulging. “I admit I might see an upside to this. Why don’t you let me go so you can enjoy your handiwork?”

Vivian laughed again. “I plan to,” she said, “but one thing you should know first.”

“What’s that?”

Vivian turned back to the painting. “I’m a lesbian. External plumbing holds no interest for me, luv. And I’d not risk it besides. My abilities don’t work if I’m up the duff, you know. Now let’s get to work for realsies, yes?”

Gwen opened her mouth to protest, but the art mage had already painted a red ball-gag into her mouth. Now silenced, she could only watch helplessly as Vivian’s paintbrush began adding long strands of thick blonde locks to her hair. Every stroke of Vivian’s paintbrush created new lengths of hair. Gwen felt the unfamiliar sensations of hair growing over her bare shoulders and back, down to her hips. Then, impossibly, her mass of blonde hair separated into two distinct pigtails projecting off the top her head and dangling down to her waist.

“Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!”

Vivian van Gogh flicked her paint brush at Gwen, splattering her chest and belly with paint droplets. “Shush, pet. I’m not done yet.”

Her paintbrush once again flew over the canvas painting. Gwen’s heart pounded as she felt her features shifting, changing, becoming more exotic. She felt the skin around her eyes shifting, becoming tighter. She felt her chest muscles shifting, her nipples thickening as her small breasts bloomed, swelled into full lushness. She felt panic threaten to take hold as her waist cinched in, as her hips widened, as her bottom became more rounded. She jerked around in a futile effort to get free as she felt her legs shifting, becoming smoother, her bare feet even more feminine.

“Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!”

She flicked her paintbrush at him again. “I said shush, luv!”

For the first time she slowed down as she focused on details. She could almost feel the brush strokes as she worked on her girly belly button, could feel the piercing taking hold. She could feel her lips thickening into lush pillows, even feel her fingers becoming more feminine. Gwen could only watch helplessly as Vivian worked color onto the painting, her fingernails and toenails becoming bimbo red before her eyes. Gwen didn’t require a mirror to know her soft, full lips were every bit as red as the painting’s.

Heart pounding, she looked at the painting. She was a lush bimbo from head to toe. Every inch of her. Except…

Vivian gave Gwen’s bulge a significant look. “Just one thing left, pet.”

“Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!”

Vivian laughed that laugh once more and then her brush zeroed in between the legs of the figure in the painting. Moving back and forth faster than Gwen’s eyes could follow.

Gwen didn’t look down. He didn’t need to. The sudden lack of weight and substance between her thighs told her everything she needed to know. And while she certainly didn’t miss the bulge—much—she realized the artist was making some other changes down there.

“Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!”

Vivian gave her a disapproving look, then turned back to the painting, her brush flying over the canvas. “I’ll not sully my artwork down there with hair, luv. You’ll just have to get used to it. Now shush.”

“Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!”

Vivian frowned, then moved her brush over the painting again.

Gwen’s eyes widened as she felt her breasts swell larger.

“That’s another cup size added, luv,” said the art mage. “I did warn you to shush. Now unless you fancy not seeing your toes again, I suggest you keep quiet.”

Vivian took a step back from the painting and looked it over critically. Then next to the painted figure on the canvas, she painted what appeared to be a bare female bottom. On the left cheek, she painted the number ‘6’.

Gwen didn’t need a mirror to know her bottom left cheek was now decorated with a tattoo of the number six. Anymore than she needed a mirror to know she had been turned into an exotic blonde-pigtailed Asian bimbo.

Vivian gave Gwen an impish grin. “I wasn’t able to push, file, stamp or index you,” she said, “but I was quite able to debrief and number you. And now I’m going to brief you. You’ll be adorable, luv.”