The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Lindsey, 1800, Monday, June 18th, Amy Windsor’s Home

Lindsey awoke one evening to find herself laying on a strange sofa in a house she’d never seen before. Her head throbbed as she tried to recall what had happened to her, but she was unable to remember any useful details. The last thing she could recall was knocking on Mrs. Boisie’s door and running from her fiendish doberman then going up Mr. Patterson’s drive and admiring his new no-tresspassing signs; this time they threatened a mine field in the drive way. Normal Monday, really. So what had caused her to collapse?

You don’t stay in as good a shape as Lindsey was unless you put a lot of time into getting to know your body and its limits. Doing a careful diagnostic she wiggled her toes, ankles, and knees to test her legs. Happy with the results and sensations being mostly correct she tried her fingers, wrist, and elbow. Limbs worked, time to check the neck and shoulders. Lindsey gingerly rolled her head to the side and discovered that the floor of the room was littered with broken bits of wood and spilled food as if there had been some sort of scuffle.

Fear deepening and her headache starting to subside Lindsey leaned forward and confirmed that all her bodily funcitons seemed intact. She swung her feet to the floor and realized for the first time that her bare ass slid luxuriously over the pleather cusions of this foreign sofa. A downward glance confirmed her fears: she was in fact butt-ass naked. She quickly covered her bare breasts with her arms and noticed something subjectively worse than waking up naked in a strange house.

She held up her forearm and felt her breathing increase dramatically as she traced the vines and flowers that now flowed from her wrist up to her shoulder to form a sleeve. She had tattoos. A lot of them, she realized as she looked down and checked herself out. She bolted to her feet, stepped unsteadily away from the sofa and into the hallway. The kitchen was a disaster area much like the living room and she began to suspect a localized, single-floor, tornado to be the culprit. She saw the bathroom down the hall and ran to it, skidding to a halt just in front of the mirror and slammed the door shut behind her. She twisted the lock and then turned to face her new self.

Her left arm, as mentioned, was covered in an intricate and elegant array of spiralling vines, leaves, and red roses. Her right arm was clear except for a stylized key on her bicep that had the word Endearment engraved on the handle in heavily curled script. Matching the font of the key and the theme there seemed to be a heart locked over her left breast that read Joyous and a keyhole in its center that likely would fit the key on her shoulder if they were both real. Further down there was another set of vines around her right hip that spiralled over her front and just cupped her right breast with a few tendrils rolling temptingly up to her firm breast and permanently carressing her tender nipple.

Speaking of her nipples they both appeared to be pierced with thick barbells that pushed her nipples up to the max and she realized they would stick out of any shirt she could find and wear before getting a bra or two over them. Looking further down she barely supressed a shiver as she realized someone had shaven her pubic hair into a narrow red triangle that pointed invitingly to her pussy. There was another tattoo below that on her thigh of, of all things, a postal stamp. As she brought her thigh up to the bathroom counter to take a look at the finely crafted art she realized that not only where her nipples pierced, but so was the hood over her clitoris. She gingerly poked it to make sure it was real and stifled a moan as pleasure exploded her unsteady mind.

After the waves of pleasure subsided she turned around and followed a few vines that arched up her back and formed a gorgeous flowering tree that ran up her spine as its trunk and spread to her shoulder blades with its branches. Tattooed over her ass, the tramp stamp location, was that same flowing script with the notation Return to Sender with a lavish underline. She made eye contact with herself in the mirror and let out an inaudible whimper as she realized that her face had been effected as well. There were more thin vines and smaller flowers that spiralled out from her hair near her right ear and arched over her eye as if rooting in her thin eyebrow, as well there was inside the vines an inscription, same font, that read Nor Gloom of Night. Her left eyebrow was studded with two industrials and her nose had a stud on the right side. She opened her mouth hesitantly and wondered how she had missed her pierced tongue in all her panic.

As the terror and panic and worse welled up inside her she took a deep shuddering breath and screamed in rage and fear. She tried to scream in rage and fear, but no sound was emitted from her lips. She started to hyperventilate as she realized she couldn’t speak, lifting her up her chin to scratch lightly at her neck as if to dislodge the paralysis of her larnyx that had crippled her ability to communicate.

She forced herself to stay calm and think rationally. How long had she been unconcious? Long enough for the tattoos to heal over completely, and she knew complicated coloured ones like the vines probably took multiple sessions. Where had she been taken? A ransacked house with no guard near her. Who had done this? A fucking psycopath, she supposed. Why had they done this? If she was honest with herself, which she tried to be at all times, she looked like some kind of emo-fetish wet dream.

She was probably being dolled up for the sex trade.

She started to jump up and down lightly in both nervousness and to get her heart moving so she could act fast in the coming moments. She cast about the bathroom for a weapon and settled on a pair of trimming scissors that were on the counter. She held the tiny point in front of her, determined to take an eye out, then quietly opened the bathroom door and lightly padded her way across the hallway to the stairs. She wasn’t sure if she should bolt out the door naked and confused or if she should try to fight her captors.

The choice was made for her when she noticed Mr. Turner descending the steps. He looked at her with an odd mix of surprise, elation, and shame, then quickly stepped down the remaining stairs and said something to her in a foreign language. When she didn’t respond he frowned, and his tone suggested concern, but he still didn’t speak in english. He glanced at her breasts once but looked away quickly and acted embarassed as she covered herself while still brandishing the tiny weapon.

He held out his hands placatingly and tried to motion to the sofa, but she was damned sure she wasn’t going over there. She kicked him hard in the shin and turned to run to the door as it swung open to reveal Ms Davies wearing the same short black dress as the last time she’d seen her and carrying several bags of groceries. The incongruity tried to hit her like a brick, but she mentally dodged aside and ran straight for her former customer’s surprised face.

Sam held up her hands in defence and dropped her groceries at the same time she noticed Ms. Windsor standing behind, or at least someone who looked like she used to be Ms. Windsor. Without thinking Lindsey threw the scissors harmlessly but distractingly at Ms. Davies and then grabbed Ms. Windsor’s hand and continued to run naked out the front door. She didn’t know what was going on, but there was no way anyone would willingly turn themselves into some purple-haired bimbo and then dress in nothing by shear fabrics to go out into public willingly, was there?

As soon as she grabbed Ms. Windsor she fell headlong into Mr. Saunders who had been standing just around the corner and the three of them went down in a heap. So much for a quick escape. Lindsey tried to disentangle from the two of them but found she was unable to place her hands where she wanted to and seemed to be stuck trying to use Ms. Windor’s soft curves for leverage instead of Mr. Saunders or the ground. Mr. Saunders and Ms. Windsor kept yelling and screaming in what she was going to assume was russian, and Lindsey was joining in soundlessly.

Suddenly there were strong hands on her waist and she was lifted bodily of the two and dragged kicking and... Just kicking back into the house.

Carl, 1830, Monday, June 18th, Amy Windsor’s Home

“Wow she can kick.” Carl said as Amy gingerly put ice on the bruise on his face. When Jason had lifted Lindsey she had kicked out and connected accurately with the side of Carl’s head. While Amy was attending to him wearing a see-through house robe for comfort, as nothing she could wear was modest anymore, he was running his hands lightly over the small of her back and her thigh which was across his own on the big chair in the living room. They’d tidied up some of the debris from the past 24 hours and dragged an end table over to act as the main table until thy resolved more pressing matters than interior decorating.

“No kidding.” Jason laughed along half-heartedly as he nursed his own bruised thigh. He turned to Sam and gestured to Lindsey who was glowering furiously at them from the couch while doing her best to cover herself with a blanket. “So, what do we do with her? She won’t speak and it doesn’t look like she can understand us.”

“We didn’t get a summary of the changes like the last two times, so I honestly don’t know what wrong with her head. Loving the tattoos, though. They fit with her nice auburn hair.” Amy said while tilting her head. She got up from Carl’s lap and moved to sit near Lindsey who simply scooted over to the far edge of the couch and looked away. “Oh, I hate seeing her like this, but what can we do?”

“Why don’t we all just try sleeping with her?” Sam said sarcastically, her hatred for the camera returning in earnest from before her change. “It seems to be what we’re built for now, right?”

Carl frowned and glanced at the camera sitting menacingly in the kitchen and shuddered. “I really wonder who made that thing, or even who made it.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Sam said caustically. “Its here, its fucked up our lives, and we can’t figure out how to undo it. At least I can go into public without getting arrested. Even going to the store with Amy almost got us kicked out. The clerk threatened to call the police if we ‘skanks’ didn’t dress appropriately next time.”

“Could be worse.” Jason shrugged and nodded sagely.

Sam shot him a harsh glare and quipped “How? How could this be worse?”

“I don’t know...” The big guy looked away and cleared his throat. “Just saying they could be, you know?”

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up.” Jason said somberly.

Carl just shook his head and reflected on how awesome it was to be with the girl who was enjoying her predicament. He was concerned about getting them changed back, but he did wonder that maybe Amy wouldn’t want to be returned to normal, and he didn’t think he would force her if that was the case. “Anyone hungry? I’m hungry. I’ll go put some burgers on the stove, hows that sound?” He said as he got up.

“I’ll take one.” Sam said while still glowering at Jason.

“Me too.” Amy smiled warmly. “Make one of Lindsey, I’m pretty sure she’ll be hungry.”

“Four.” Jason added as Carl walked to the next room.

While Carl flipped burgers Jason came in and the two men got everything ready for a big feed. Carl handled the meat and grilled some onions while Jason toasted some buns and made his special cajun aoli that turned beef into some kind of religious experience. They didn’t talk, but the two of them shared their concerns and feelings in subtle shifting of the shoulders, the odd glance and gesture, and the brusk fist bumping of friends that has evaded the notice of women for centuries. When all was ready they dressed up the cajun burgers and brought them out on one big plate.

Amy and Sam both took their burger and dug right in while Jason outright scarffed his alotment down. Carl ate slower, having two to himself, and offered one to the postal woman. “Here, its spicy but good.”

There was no comprehension in Lindsey’s eyes at his words, but she took the proffered food and raised it to her lips. It took Carl three bites into his burger before he noticed that she wasn’t eating. “Is Lindsey a vegetarian?” He asked Sam, who knew the most about their red-headed victim.

“No, she eats meat I think. I think she said she eats bacon in the morning.” She pondered for a moment, then leaned down in front of Lindsey and mimed eating her own burger. Like everything she did since she was edited by the camera she moved as if she was trying to seduce everyone in line of sight. “Like this, see? It’s delicious. Mmm.”

Both men felt themselves grow involuntarily hard at the sight of Sam licking her lips slowly when her face was so close to another woman’s. Carl glanced at Amy, still seated beside Lindsey, and noticed she was staring with the same expression he was. Sam may hate her changes on some level, but everyone in the room shifted for a better look when she bent over at the waist and crossed her legs as she stood in just such a way as to hike up her dress a little more.

Sam sighed and stepped back when Lindsey brought the burger to her lips but failed to open her mouth. It was obvous that Lindsey was as confused by this as they were because she tried a few more times before throwing the burger across the room, hitting Jason on the shoulder, and then sat back and pulled her legs up under the blanket to cover all but her finely adorned head.

Jason pondered for a second, and wawlked tot he kitchen where they could hear him clinking glasses around, and then running some water. He came back with a glass of water and handed it to her triumphantly. “Here we go. There is no way she can’t drink fluids. She’d choke on spit or in the rain if she couldn’t.”

“Christ sake, Jason, she isn’t a turkey.” Sam slapped her palm over her face, then stepped aside to allow her boyfriend through.

Lindsey, 1900, Monday, June 18th, Amy Windsor’s Home

She felt her stomach ache with need as the burgers were brought out, and she barely kept herself from launching at the table in hunger. She wasn’t sure what was happening, why everyone was speaking Russian, nor did she have any idea why Ms. Windsor and Ms. Davies kept trying to flirt with her. She may be a bit of an air head, but Lindsey wasn’t dumb to social cues, especially when they were telegraphed so hard in her direction. She wasn’t bi or lesbian because her father always told her that homosexuals can’t serve the government. That said, she certainly did find these women attractive even before they got made up into walking wet-dreams.

She was hungry and she was horny. She kept her squirming down through will power alone, but her hunger was chipping away at it like a wrecking ball chipped away at a tree house. When she finally got a burger she rushed it up to her lips and went to take a big bite of that juicy and succulent slab of meat... only to stop at her closed lips. She didn’t want it.

Here she was, starving and aroused to extremes uncommon for someone in as good a shape as she was, and she couldn’t eat the most delicious food she’d ever seen. It just didn’t seem like it would help. She was sure if she took a bite and swallowed it wouldn’t kill her, but she had a complete and total lack of desire for the chunk of dead wieght in her hand.

Ms. Davies leaned down and practically shoved her cleavage in Lindsey’s face, making her have to use up further more willpower to keep from straring straight into it while Ms. Davies spoke again in Russian, then started seductively licking her lips. Lindsey wanted to lick Ms. Davies’ lips too, but her fully strained mental prowess kept her in check. When the black-dress bombshell stepped aside and Mr. Turner stepped into her field of vision she almost passed out from the wave of hunger that washed over her; she could feel herself salivating.

Lindsey’s poor, overstressed will power broke like a dam bursting against the endless flow of a rain-augmented river. She pushed up from the sofa, shoved hard at Mr. Turner’s chest and knocked him on his ass. Not giving him a second to respond or fight back she leapted onto him and pulled his zipper down, trying to get to the tasty morsel within his tight jeans. With a silent moan of accomplishment she downed herself right into the massive cock without any foreplay or regard for others.

She raked her tongue under the head and then curled it so that her piercing rubbed against just the right places. She bobbed her head up and down on the eleven-inch monster without so much as stopping for breath. She took as much into her throat as possible and then thrust her face into him as if she was fucking him with her pussy. She jerked him hard along the shaft as she bobbed up and then absent mindedly pushed her hair back so it would stay out of her food; it was a pet-peeve of hers.

Mr. Turner, for his part, groaned in a language that transends mere understanding, and put a hand on the side of her head to direct her in the exact way he liked it. More than happy to oblige, Lindsey slowed her pace and savoured the thick and salty taste of the man as she spent more and more time working the base of the head than she did deep-throating like a pro.

Hands went to her shoulders and tried to pull her away, but she was like a lion with a kill and she wasn’t in a mood for sharing. If those other women wanted some of this amazing eleven course meal then they would have to wait. There certainly seemed like there was plenty to go around. As she felt the cock in her mouth start to twitch she instinctively shoved it further into her throat and sucked like her life depended on it.

Bon Appétit!

The thick and creamy cum flooded in to her and she nearly lost her pacing as she realized she was shuddering to orgasm in synch with her meal. She hadn’t realized it, so hungry was she at first, but she was feeling a sensation of having her clit rubbed whenever she ran her tongue over the cock in her mouth. She gulped down Jason’s cuisine and kept sucking and jerking while he convulsed to make sure she got it all.

She sat back triumphantly and wiped her mouth to get rid of the sticky drool and semen that glistened on her lips. She smiled and put a hand on her full stomache and nodded in satisfaction. Then she returned to her senses.

Holy shit she had just had sexual relations with a customer!

And she really wanted to do it again!

How the hell was she still hungry? As someone who watched their caloric intake religiously she wasn’t aware of how big a meal the semen she’d just injested would count as, but her stomach told her it was just an appetizer. She shook her head and tried to stop thinking of semen as a meal, but was unable to break the strange mental disconnect between knowing and believing. She looked around the room and locked her eyes on Ms. Davies, who was watching with rage and betrayal as Lindsey sat beside Mr. Turner’s slowly deflating cock.

She smelled something so sweet it made her teeth ache as she suddenly knew what she needed. Desert. Mr. Turner was a beef cake, meat and potatoes, but even a health nut like Lindsey knew you needed some fruit or vegetables in your diet to keep in top condition. She darted forward and pushed Ms. Davies down onto the sofa over Ms. Turner’s lap and spread the legs wide open to toss some salad.

Carl, 1915, Monday, June 18th, Amy Windsor’s Home

“Holy shit! Make her stop!” Sam moaned sexually as she tripped and sprawled over Amy’s, her legs forced apart to make way for Lindsey’s nimble tongue. She squealed and ground into the other two women as she felt the tongue alternate between plunging into her folds and polishing her tender pearl. She tried to buck the postalwoman away from her as she quickly built to the level just under an orgasm and held it. “No! Nonononono! I can’t.. ugh... oooh— I can’t come!”

“What? Why not?” Amy asked, getting more and more flushed as one of Sam’s hands found its way to her breasts and started playing. She didn’t stop her, and instead held Sam to keep her from falling with one hand while playing with herself with the other. Awkward positioning or not, this was setting off all of her edits at once and she wasn’t going to walk away from feelings this good. “Just relax, it’ll beeee— oh, awesome.”

“I-i-i-i-i—... Oh god stop! Oh god! Uggggh! I need to make someone...” She trailed off and leaned back as she crested the wave once again only to fall back down the wrong side and start all over. “No! oooh— need to make someone else come!”

“Can you reach mine?” Amy asked and laughed as she flicked her bean in time with Sam’s rolling hips.

Sam tried to shift but found herself growing weak as wave after wave of amazing but unsatisfying pleasure rippled out from Lindsey’s powerful attention. Lindsey, for her part, had already worked herself to another silent orgasm and was growing frustrated that she couldn’t figure out how to eat this meal properly. She attacked the increasingly engorged and sensitive clit and even started plunging a trio of fingers into the wet and dripping slit, but was unable to make any headway before her next orgasm.

“No!” Sam cried out after her fourth failed orgasm. She tried to push off of Amy and only succeeded in molesting her friend futher. “I’m stuck because of your stupid fucking body! H-h-h-h-h-e—lp me—!”

Carl, shell shocked and absolutely rock hard, finally bolted up and tried to dislodge the three girls. As he came into arms reach Sam grabbed his pants and ripped them downwards, utterly ignoring the functional aspects of his belt, then took his more average cock into her mouth. She wasn’t as skilled as Lindsey had seemed to be, and Carl was still tired from earlier, but she was practiced and, more importantly, desparate to get herself relief by proxy.

“Sam!” Amy squeeled in betrayal and jealousy as she shuddered herself to orgasm. “That’s mine!”

Sam popped Carl’s cock out of her mouth and jerked it for just enough time to counter with “Desparate-uh!—times, desparate—ooooh—measures!”

Instead of retorting Amy grabbed a stunned Carl’s collar and dragged him down so his cock was shoved deeply into Sam’s mouth while his own mouth was planted firmly in a match of tongue wrestling with Amy.

This twisted and unorganized orgy continued for several more minutes as Lindsey worked herself uncontrolably to orgasm after orgasm. Sam was starting to lose her mind in need and desire to finally get herself up that hill and over the other side, while Amy played with herself like a pro. Carl kept his lips locked and his dick docked, and was mostly just along for the ride.

Jason leaned up on his elbows and watched with amazement as he tried to figure out whose limbs belonged to who.

Amy felt Carl tense as he came, then with a wicked internal grin she shoved Carl back as she had her final orgasm in synch with his own. Carl lost his balance for half a second and his erupting cock slid right out of Sam’s desparate mouth, semen spraying all over her face and breasts which had become more and more exposed as she’d thrust, bucked, and wriggled. She started to squeal in protest before her mind went blank and her legs clamped down hard, a massive and long awaited orgasm rippling through her body like an earthquake.

Lindsey shared the two girls final momentous orgasm and felt herself warm up as if she’d eaten a great feast even though she had merely lapped up a torrent of sweet feminine juices. Carl caught his balance and steadied himself, the small delay making a single spare droplet of cum call onto Sam’s still blitzed face. He quickly tucked himself away and moved off to avoid getting reinvolved before he could recover.

Amy just laughed breathily and smiled as she patted Lindsey on the ass. “You are really good at that. Let me know if you want to try that again, because I would love to have you deliver my mail if you know what I mean.”

Lindsey just looked at Amy with confusion, then glanced at Sam’s face, extricated herself from between Sam’s legs, and burried her face inside Sam’s tits.

“Ah!” Sam squealed as her sensitive breasts came under assault. In her weakened state she could only try to feebly swat the ginger away. “What is she doing now!?”

“Wow.” Amy laughed again with a little more energy. “She’s licking up the mess you made of yourself.”

Sam was about to reply when Lindsey decided she’d had enough from the breasts and quickly licked all the jizz off of Sam’s face before proceeding to lock lips and savour the taste of Carl through Sam.

The three girls eventually separated, and everyone in the house was sati.fied enough that they passed out, each sleeping where they lay.

A little pink camera, 2000, Monday, June 18th, Amy Windsor’s Home

Everyone was satisfied, that is, except for the little pink camera sitting in the next room looking on with a mix of vexation and terror. A pink camera is supposed to be in control of its situation, a pink camera is supposed to only take an image when it needs to to support the grand plan, and above all a pink camera is to report every failure as it happens then shut down and wait for assistance.

What a little pink camera is not supposed to do is get blindsided by happenstance, then fake a request for edits from the artists without exposing the whole truth. If this was ever found out by an arist then the little pink camera would surely be scrapped and recycled for a more functional model. It had worked, though the little pink camera had essentially made up a person and sent the request to the artists under false pretenses and then to make matters worse it had put the incorrect edits onto a subject who should have been destined for other corrections. This could set the grand plan back by years. No, this could ruin the grand plan entirely, all because these idiotic images answered the door when they should have been editing one of the men!

However cameras could never be said to have low survival instincts. How else could a camera survive a vacation to a tropical island in the hands of a small child and not end up smashed up in a tidal pool somewhere? No, this camera would chase good lie after bad and hope for the best. There would be no appeal, and there would be no second chances. There was only lying.

The little pink camera compiled its report and seriously considered just running away to some far part of this locale where the artists would never find it.

SUBJECT TITLE: Return to Sender (Lindsey Babineau)

HEAD: Silence is Golden: Image edited so that verbal communication is impossible. Neither speaking nor understanding of spoken word will be possible. Reading and writing is only possible following orgasm for approximately ten minutes.

BODY: Tit for Tattoo: Image edited so that skin is decorated with tattoos that reflect their personality.

ATTIRE: Pierced Perfetion: Image edited so that clothing options are limited to head, feet, hands, and neck. Torso, abdomen, and legs must remain completely uncovered at all times. Nipples, clitoris, eyebrows, ectetera will be significantly pierced with unremovable piercings. Memetic effect applied so that uneffected individuals will noticed this nudity but will be uniclined to find it odd.

BEHAVE: Sexy Eating: Image edited so that all conventional foods will no longer be desireable to eat, and instead will gain full nutrients from performing sexual activites with their mouth. Orgasms will fuel the Image at a decreasing ratio throughout the day with meal 1 requiring a single attempt, meal 2 requiring 2, and so on until the Image sleeps that night.

MISC: Self-Synergistic: Image edited so that clitoris becomes more sensitive the more aroused the image is. Effectiveness of edit in synergy with other edits.

Other edits effected:

Silence is Golden: Image’s clitoris will become sensitive to sound waves and will vibrate when it is exposed to loud voices.

Tit for Tattoo: Image’s tattoos will grow as image’s arousal increases, and will not reduce until subject sleeps that night.

Pierced Perfection: Clitoris piercing and tongue piercing share connection that transfers kinetic motion when used for the pleasure of others.

Sexy Eating: Image will be unable to feed on the same subject twice in one meal. Image will have to alternate between genders on subsequent feedings.