The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I could feel the memories slipping away, slowly at first, then all at once as the lines of ink began to break. The hard bristles of the brush scraped across my skin, back and forth, back and forth. The tattoo had been on my arm less than a week, but I’d had more than enough of it in that time. My parents had bought the mark for me, one of several they sent each month. Each one conveyed the insight and discipline of a renowned scholar of English literature, which was my area of study at the moment. When the mark was on me, I felt a deep fascination with the written word. The most arcane verse and the obscurest prose entered past the walls of my mind and into the depths of my own knowledge with ease, but only for as long as the tattoo remained unbroken on the skin. Having completed my readings and essay for the week, I had no more need of it.

As the mark dribbled off my forearm, leaving trails of inky black down the sides of the porcelain tub, my longing for another type of knowledge returned with force. Since I was a young boy, I had always taken after my mother, a graphic novelist. She imbued in me a love of illustration, a passion the likes of which I had never felt in any other aspect of my life. I had also adopted many of her other features. I grew my dark hair out like she had. I adopted her style of nickname: instead of my given name ‘Abbott’, I preferred to be called ‘Abby’. If only my stepmother had enjoyed art, my father might have allowed me to study it now. The thought forming a knot in my stomach, I went back to scrubbing the mark off my skin.

The door creaked. “Hey there,” my roommate’s voice called in. Carter was a little older than me, and both broader and taller in frame. He and I were both students at the same school. This was originally just his apartment, until he decided to rent out the second room so that he could afford mindmarks of his own.

I cringed at the thought of being seen shirtless, and took a breath before turning around. “Hey—” I started, but he was already gone.

“I need to get in there soon,” he called from the kitchen. “I’ve got a date tonight, and these take forever to wash off.” He was talking about his own mark. Carter had been using a series of them made by a renowned bodybuilder. They weren’t always made by scholars, despite that being a requirement of a doctoral degree nowadays. Anyone with enough knowledge and experience with any given subject could make one. They weren’t always an advantage to wear though, as they tended to affect the wearer with the creator’s personality. The creator of Carter’s mark seemed to have been both presumptuous and overbearing, poor qualities for going on a date.

“Almost done!” I shouted back. It was one of the advantages of being small and soft-spoken; I could shout as loud as I wanted and even those next door would be unlikely to hear. Dropping the brush in a drawer and giving my forearm a quick wipe, I threw my bulky hoodie back over my head and walked to the kitchen.

As usual, Carter was in a sleeveless shirt, showing off his rapidly growing muscles. He turned his head while rummaging through a high cupboard, and fixed his eyes on my sweatshirt, giving me a slow smile. Instead of letting my arms hang limply, I leaned against the wall outside the kitchen, resting a shoulder against the frame. The oversized sleeves did nothing to hide how skinny I was. If anything, the loose fabric made me look weaker. In the second that Carter’s eyes looked me over, I couldn’t help but feel small and pathetic. He was a man living how he wanted to live, while I was trapped by my family’s demands. On some level I had to agree, though. My own art had never won any awards, and my father usually knew what was best.

“Done,” I said. He continued smiling.

“Thanks, Abby. I just have something I have to grab before I get in the shower.” His speech slowed for a moment, as if trying to hide something in his vagueness. I nodded, then walked to my room.

Carter could have been hiding a birthday present intended for me, for all I knew. Even wearing the mark, he was thoughtful, if in a clumsy sort of way. He exclusively dated women, but when I first moved in he mentioned that he was bi, an obvious lie designed to make me feel more comfortable. While I never had any boys over, it wasn’t any secret that I wanted to. Sometimes on the one day of the week I could read without wearing a mark, he’d open the door to my bedroom to check up on me. I’d vanish for hours at a time, engrossed in some MLM fiction. The mark tended to suppress my normal reading tastes while it was on. With it off, I would make no effort to hide the book’s cover.

Entering my room, I checked the basket next to my door to count my remaining stock of mindmarks. There was only one left. With a pang in my gut, I remembered that I’d be getting a new shipment of them this week. A whirling rush of air swept by as I leaped onto my bed, landing with a bounce on my back. Flipping a graphic novel open from where I’d left it the week before, I began to read.

A half hour later, the door creaked. “I’ll be out for the evening. Anything I can get you on my way back?” I shook my head behind the pages. I heard a shuffling sound, as if he might be reading as well. I tilted my head to one side. “I’m fine,” I said mildly. He had one hand on the doorknob and nothing else in the other. He gave me a quick smile, and left.

Shadows crept up the walls, keeping time for me in place of a clock. The coarse fabric of my blanket rubbed against my skin where the sweatshirt had ridden up. My own musty scent slowly crept to my nose. After a few hours, I discarded the hoodie knowing nobody was home to see, baring my flat chest to the pages filled with beautiful men I desired. Their vibrantly colored hair danced from page to page, as their slender frames would be drawn closer and closer to one another in each scene, then suddenly pulled apart by some frustrating contrivance of the author. My desire to see them act upon each others’ bodies in intimate ways simmered in my chest, kept alight by the skillful tug of the story’s plot. After an infuriating scene wherein each of the men spoke naked to each other across a steamy bathhouse, unaware of their mutual desire, I tossed the book aside. I’d easily be able to find the page later. My stomach tightened immediately as I noticed that the sky had gone completely black. It was already night.

Dread settled upon me faster for my having failed to keep track of the time, even though I knew that I had made the most of it while it had lasted. Next morning, I would be expected to attend classes with the same vigor as always, which meant reapplying my mark tonight. Standing rigid, my fists tightening as hot breath blew from my mouth and nose, I closed my eyes and pictured the next weekend when I’d be able to read the book again. Letting all else go, I slowly recovered my calm. A small nugget of yearning still tugging in my chest, I decided to get it over with quickly. I scooped my last mark from the basket, hoping that my family would have forgotten to send the next month’s package.

The process of applying it was easy: it was little more than a temporary tattoo. Stripping my sweatpants and boxers in a quick heap on the bathroom floor, I made sure to lock the door behind me before getting into the shower. The zest of Carter’s bodywash welcomed me in. Turning the tap, a warm jet of water rained upon my thigh, trickling down to the silver drain. I wet my hair quickly and streaked it back to keep it out of the way while I worked, and when steam began to rise like it had in the novel, I stepped underneath and let the water cascade down my slim frame.

I drenched the slip of paper quickly, peeling off the plastic protector. Slapping it onto my skin, I held my hand beneath the water while I pressed. It would take several minutes for the ink to seep deep enough to work, but only a few seconds for it to stick. The wooden clattering of the door sounded Carter’s return. Morose as I usually was at this time of the week, I had no desire to speak to him.

A knock at the door, “Hey, Abby. I brought some things back for you. How’re you feeling?”

I let the steam fill my lungs and didn’t respond.

He seemed to notice the intended silence, but continued, “It’s all right. If you want to talk about anything, let me know.” Twin shadows beneath the door told me that he was waiting for a response.

My stomach began to squirm, as I had never confided in Carter before and didn’t feel any compulsion to do so now. I wasn’t even aware that he knew about my frustrations, but I suppose I wasn’t exactly hard to read. “I’m fine. Just getting ready for bed. I’ll be done here soon.” My voice was a half-shout, half-squeak.

That seemed to convince him, as he walked away. Deciding that I had been holding the tattoo for long enough, I removed the paper. Like all mindmarks, there was beauty in their complexity, as they required thousands of tiny, precise strokes to create the intended effect. To make one was an act of utmost skill, and I had long wished to one day produce one that might share my love of art. Regrettably, I knew that in a few moments the foreign interest and enthusiasm for English literature would invade back into my mind, and I would once again be a student worthy of the grades I had earned so far. Admiring the lines now woven upon my skin, it occurred to me that this mark was peculiar. It was subtly distinct from the set I had been using for months already, which on account of their complexity meant that it was an entirely different mark.

Confusion fogged my brain and cast my unhappiness aside faster than the drops flung by the spout to the drain. I stood there, perplexed, wondering what mistake I had made to mix up my marks. I had only been given one set, with each mark invariably the same as the one before it. Why was this one different?

But as I stood there wondering, a new thought poked its way into my mind: I was far too clean already. I needed to get out of the shower.

Turning the tap off, the mark momentarily forgotten, I stepped out of the white basin onto a towel spread across the floor. Its texture, rough and damp from many days of being walked upon by myself and Carter, appealed to me in some primal way. It was a funny feeling, but I liked how the towel was shared by both of us. And strangely, I almost felt as though I wanted to be the towel. I rubbed my feet against it, savoring the tickling sensation of rough cotton scraping my delicate soles. Picking up a fresh towel which only I used, I wiped off the water. This towel didn’t have the same effect.

Gingerly dabbing the fresh ink on my arm, I was comforted by the realization of newfound knowledge that always came with a new mark. It was familiar, it was normal, it was safe. Or was it? My spine began to tingle. Something about those basic sentiments felt false. Before I could pick out any reason why, I realized that I was talking to myself in my own head, repeating a strange message, something that seemed both unwelcome and wrong. I’ve always wanted this, I said. This is who I am. I staggered. My heart began to sink. Something was very wrong. I thought of my father. Had he sent me this? But I realized that it didn’t matter, as I no longer cared what he thought of me. Bewildered, I thought about school. I didn’t care my grades. In fact, I hated school. The mark’s glistening presence smiled up from my arm. Such skillful craftsmanship. I wish I could make—wait… no. I have no interest in art. I never have. Looking further down, I saw something I did care about: my tiny, fuckable body. The entire world swirled around me in dazzling confusion, pieces of me detaching, reforming, breaking apart, being replaced. I looked at my body again, admiring it. I liked what I saw. A shapeless chest, a soft stomach, sticklike arms, a diamond of hair pointing to my stretched navel and dangling cock. Devoid of body mass, I could be overpowered by any man with ease. This gave me a thrill. I liked being weak. I’ve always wanted this. This is who I am.

Standing in silence, dead to the world, my hair plastered to my shoulders, my mantra burning its way into my core, I felt rivulets of water streak down my back in between my cheeks, tickling my arousal from my reverie. I still felt wrong, powerless, alone. I felt as if some part of me, securely nestled so deep inside my mind that I’d never consciously noticed its presence, had been ripped from within completely. A gaping chasm opened inside my chest, some part of my life destroyed. Someone had taken something from me, by force, something that I had never wanted to lose. But now that it was gone, I didn’t care. I was a pathetic, ruined person. I disgusted myself. My own weakness invited this. I asked for it to happen. Forcing my deadened arms to lift the towel, I realized that nobody had made me this way; I had chosen it myself. This really was what I had always wanted. And shattered as I was, I felt that I owed myself the confidence to admit it and move on. This is who I am. This is who I am. This is who I am.

Ruffling the cotton through my hair, a discovery under the door drew me from the solemn numbness inside my hardened heart. A stubborn shadow had returned. My arms over my head, I smiled down at it, finding relief in its companionship. If Carter wanted to be near while I was drying off, I was glad. At least I was no longer alone. Glancing back at the loose pile of clothes I had left on the ground, I felt my knees bend to pick them up, then stop. Why had I stopped? Carter was outside. He would see me naked if I were to leave them there, and I had never allowed him to see me naked before. The thought of him walking in on me shirtless made me feel uncomfortable, but that had been today, and yesterday, and the day before. Dropping the towel overtop my clothes, I opened the door.

Carter’s muscular frame was leaning, cross-armed, his back against the cream-colored paint of the wall, presenting the side profile of an athlete in his prime. The dropped opening in the side of his shirt was the first thing I saw—it showed the hair of his pit underneath, and the slight browning of a nipple at the peak of his hair-covered chest. My breath stopped short. This was a man who was displaying power, showing virility, offering his desire for sex. My mind clouded with a rosy haze and my mouth rested agape as the mindmark’s purpose overtook me in a riptide, my identity comfortably drowning to death in wet sand. In my stupor, I hadn’t noticed the expression on his face.

“I was hoping that’d work,” he said as the expectant smile crept slowly across the length of his sinister mouth. The pink of his lips reminded me of the reddish head of his cock. But no, I had never seen his cock. I had never wanted to see his cock… I think. I wanted it now, though. And from the looks of things, Carter wanted that too.

“You stress way too much about school, Abby,” he instructed. He was right. “I figured I’d give you something to make you have a little more fun.” I approved so strongly, I simply left my mouth slack, but words wouldn’t come. “You’ll enjoy this, don’t worry. I made sure to get one from a decent dealer. It’ll just make you a little more outgoing.” His prospecting eyes had made their way down to my cock. I believed him, while also spotting the lie. A conflagration of desire erupted deep inside my belly. I found that as my entire body flushed, my composure returned. My heart racing, I closed my mouth into a diabolic smile. He knew exactly what he’d done.

Shaking the daze away from my head, I realized that I was moving. Carter was slowly walking me toward his bedroom, pouring promises of wonder and excitement we’d share for the next few years inside my mind. I lapped them up. I shuddered at the caress of his calloused hands steering me by my shoulders, readying to grab me if I ran away. If only he knew how that wasn’t possible anymore, how strong my instinct compelled me. Turning the corner, I saw that the bedroom was almost a mirror image to my own. He had a desk to one side, a dresser covered with clothes near the far window, and a small bed with ropes tied to all four of its posts. I narrowed my eyes into a lustful gaze and fixed Carter with my look of understanding. Without needing to be told, I left his grasp and climbed onto all fours on the bed, arching my back to expose my newly cleaned hole. Turning my head to face him, heat radiating from my every pore, desire dripping from my every word, I spoke, “Are we going to fuck already, or not?”