The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’d been thinking about getting myself a tattoo for a while and as I hurried from my car through the rain, briefcase over my head, the tattoo parlour caught my eye. I hadn’t decided on a design, and I hadn’t set a date to get it done. It was still just a fancy. But a beautifully painted devil woman in the doorway caught my eye, and I decided if there was time after seeing my client, I’d have a look to see what they had. The trip up from London had taken longer than I expected though, and there was no time right now, so I hurried on past the shop and up the desolate street to my appointment.

But a couple of hours later, more relaxed with a valuable contract retaining my services, I passed the shop again and stopped for a look. I’m a business man, and a lawyer, and you might think a tattoo wasn’t appropriate, but I’ve always wanted one, and they’re acceptably daring for a professional, these days.

I went back to my car first to check that it was okay, because it seemed that sort of area. Maybe it was just the dark skies threatening more afternoon rain at any minute that gave this city such a grim northern atmosphere, but several of the shops and buildings were boarded up and the sorry newsagents and café didn’t help.. Still, I had some time to kill and the city didn’t seem to offer much in the way of sight-seeing.

The shop wasn’t much to look at from the outside. It had a narrow white front with a scrawling gothic script over the door advertising the nature of business. A painted demon-woman eyed me from the door and it was sufficiently well-done to make me stop and take a good look at it. She had a slim but powerful figure with realistic, but sensual proportions, the skin an ebony red so dark it was almost black. The eyes were dark yellow orbs like a snake’s, shockingly life-like. In it’s left hand it dangled thick chains. It wasn’t like a regular tattoo, it was more like a religious icon. I decided that if it was the tattoo artist who had done something as disturbingly convincing as that, then he had to know what he was doing.

Still intending only to have a look, I pushed the door open and entered the gloom inside. I wasn’t quite sure what I was expecting, but something more upmarket than this. I don’t know why I expected that. I was in a bedroom sized studio, the decor best described as industrial gothic. Steel framework held paintings and folio pages of work all around. Red walls made the place look like a temple to Hell. A single bare bulb did its miserable best to light the room and the air was hung with the smell of inks and paints. Numerous paintings and photographs of work hung from the struts adding to the claustrophobia. Guns N’ Roses sounded tinnily from the other side of a dark red curtain. I decided to have a closer look at one of the paintings.

To be honest, the reason that this particular one caught my eyes was merely that it featured a mostly naked girl. I crossed the room to get a closer look and thought it was worth it. I didn’t know much about art, but it looked like it had been done in pastel, the colour was red on a sepia canvas, very detailed. It depicted a gorgeous teenage girl with a woman’s figure. The artist hadn’t fully depicted the background, but there was a suggestion of a great dark throne that she sat on, and a naked man crouched beneath it with her hand stroking his head like a dog. The woman on the throne was gloriously naked.

“That one’s not for sale,” said a light voice behind me. I almost jumped out of my skin. I span around to be confronted with the girl from the picture. I did a double take from her to the picture again causing her to laugh. “Yes, that’s me,” she said. Thankfully she wasn’t naked in real life. She was dressed in tight leather jeans and a brown leather waistcoat. I could see the edges of a black bra underneath. She looked like she had filled out a little since the picture was done. Not just her chest, but her lean shoulders were broader and her thighs were firmer and fuller under the tight material. Peroxide blonde hair with long dark roots, fell over her shoulder and down her back. She was both one of the roughest-looking and one of the most beautiful girls I’d ever seen. She stood with her thumbs stuck in the tight leather pockets, a fringe of blonde hair falling over her face and biting her lower lip with perfect little teeth. It was such a sexy little girl image that you almost didn’t notice the eyes. There was a hardness there, or an aggression, that lent a dangerous edge to her looks.

“I did that when I was sixteen,” she continued. “My technique’s got a lot better since then, but it’s got sentimental value.” It was hard to judge her age, but I’d put her at very early-twenties. Younger than myself anyway.

“Is all this yours?” I asked, finding my voice at last.

“Mmmm,” she nodded, “Are you after a tattoo?”

I paused, she’d called my bluff. I dodged. “Yes, but I’m still thinking what. And I live in London. I’m just here on business, so I’ll probably have to get it done down South.”

She nodded. I’m sure she sensed my hedging for the trepidation it was. She pulled a chair from the corner of the room and swung it round to sit on it backwards, tanned arms resting on its back, leather thighs straddling the sides. “Do you have to go back right now,” she asked? It was too late in the day to pretend I had another appointment back in London—I shook my head. “So don’t you like my work, then? You’ll not find many artists better than me.” Looking around at the array of dragons, spirits and tribal patterns painted or photographed, I couldn’t argue.

“Maybe you’re broke? Is that what you don’t want to admit?”

“No,” I said indignantly, “I’m on sixty-thousand a year.” Admittedly that was a big over-reaction. I think I probably rely on my career a little too much for my self-respect. I had to admit that I wanted to impress her too. She raised an eyebrow at my unsubtle outburst.

“Lucky you,” she said, and there was a pause. “So that leaves us with balls.”

I swallowed. She was really making a meal out of me. “I’m going to get one—I just haven’t decided what would suit me yet.”

“So decide,” she said, rising to her feet. She fixed me with the hottest look I’d ever seen. It was a challenge to me on the most sexual level, telling me she expected more from a man if he wanted her. But there was a hint in it that she’d like me to rise to the challenge. She walked back into the other room and I couldn’t help notice the rocking of her hips as she walked and the full tight arse. She paused in the doorway, looking back at me and studied my face.

“I’ll break out the needles,” she called, letting the red curtain fall back into place.

There were so many photos and paintings around the room, it was impossible to consider them all. I had been thinking about an animal, but I really couldn’t decide which would suit me. Wolves and eagles were everywhere, but I wasn’t sure that was what I really wanted. Instead I looked at some of the patterns, South American and African tribal symbols looked appealing. And then I saw an interesting design that was completely unfamiliar. I couldn’t work out if it was just decorative or some sort of ancient script. It looked a little like a modern interpretation of an ancient form of writing but it was symetrical and wasn’t linear. It was twisted into a labarynthian pattern that was hard to follow with the eye. Wherever it came from, I decided that I liked it. I unpinned the picture from the wall and took it through.

On the other side of the curtain was a chair like a dentist’s. In fact on second glance, it was a dentist’s chair. The woman sat between it and a little stove where she had a pan simmering. She nodded me towards the chair while she fiddled with a little bowl over the pan. A sharp inky stink came from it. As I watched, she opened a little sachet of some dried plant-stuff and poured it into the bowl. A sweet heady aroma was added to the already potent fumes. I sank into the thick padded chair and lay back. “You mix your own inks,” I asked?

“Special formula,” she replied. “Take your shirt off.” I handed her the picture I’d selected and started unbuttoning. She barely glanced at the picture, “S’ one I was going to do anyway,” she said. I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that, but it was a little late now.

“I think I want it on my right arm,” I said.

“You think,” she said, but it wasn’t a question. “It wont fit on an arm, it’ll look too cramped. Let’s do it between the shoulder blades, that way I can broaden it out a bit.” She saw me hesitate. “It’ll look like wings,” she said. “You’d like some devilish wings wouldn’t you?”

When I still didn’t answer, she leant forward and kissed me lightly on the cheek. Her lips were very warm. I was too surprised to say anything. “Trust me,” she said, “I’m the best.” I looked into that delicate face with the iron eyes, and found it hard to doubt.

I turned over and lay down on the chair. The cool vynyl pressed against my bare chest and made my skin shiver. “What’s your name,” I asked by way of conversation.

“Annabelle. Now shush.”

I felt her swab something over my back, across and between my shoulder blades which I supposed was to clean the area. I knew nothing about this really. She ran her fingers over the area and sent tingles up and down my spine. When she brushed me lightly with her nails, I was sure that it wasn’t a professional thing to do. She leant over me, very close and I felt her breasts through the thin bra and leather of her waistcoat. Then her lips were softly pressing against me at the base of my neck and kissing their way down my spine between the shoulder blades. “I’m just making your skin alert,” she said. “I want you to feel this.” A moment later something stabbed me. I yelped in shock.

“Baby,” she said. I resolved not to flinch again.

“I’m making you beautiful,” she said as she continued to stab me, “Say thank-you Annabelle.”

“Thank you Annabelle,” I said dutifully as began to light up with tiny fires. I silently prayed that I hadn’t just come in when the tattooist was out and was being scarred for life by his crazy girlfiriend.

For a while she in worked silence, save the occasional ‘Mmm-mm.’

“I come from London,” she said a little later, once she was in her rythym. “Well, so I was told. I’m adopted. I don’t know who my parents were, but I’ve got a few suspicions.” I closed my eyes and let her continue to talk by this point I was feeling a little hypnotised by the constant pricking and the quiet. “Well, I’m suspicious of at least one of them anyway.” I could no longer distinguish the individual needle strikes. The whole area was just becoming one field of heat. “It’s an interesting design you picked out,” she continued. “I came across it in a book on the occult, a grimoire actually, but the designs come from Ancient Sumeria and they were old then. They’re called Enochian.” I made an ‘Mmmm’ sound of acknowledgement and she laughed. “Say that’s interesting, Annabelle.”

“That’s interesting Annabelle,” I said into the chair. For some reason I was starting to drift properly. I guessed it was just my brain’s response to the pain. I was coasting along on a cloud of endorphins probably, but I thought maybe the fumes from her herbal inks was responsible too.

“The moment I saw the symbols, it was like an awakening. They called to a part of me that had always been waiting for its time. No-one else does this design. It’s my signature piece.” I was beyond nodding and mmm-ing now. I just let the words roll over me. “Actually, it more is my signature. I’m putting my personal mark on you. Do you like that idea?” Pause.

“Say yes, Annabelle.”

“Yes, Annabelle.”

“It’s like a brand. I use it to mark my property, my true property. You like that idea.” It wasn’t a question, but I replied anyway.

“Yes, Annabelle.” And some part of me did like that idea.

“The ink I use is part of me too. That’s why it’s got that deep deep red colour. I like to think of it as sewing a little of myself into you. The ink is the thread that I pull on when I want you. That makes sense doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Annabelle.”

“Good boy. All these needles; you’re like my little voodoo doll. Are you my little doll?”

“Yes, Annabelle.”

I heard her laugh. A hand took the back of my head and turned it into the material of the chair for a moment so I couldn’t breathe. “Shhh, now,” she said.

“I never had any dolls when I was a girl. Tough childhood, you see. I collect them now though. I’ve already got a small group. Useful ones. I don’t have a well-paid london businessman though. I think you’ll be a fine addition.”

“How about you? Good childhood? Lots of toys? I bet it was fine. Why don’t you think about it now... be a little boy for me. Can you do that? I want a little pet boy. That’s it, I can feel you now. The ink is entering your blood system. I can feel how you feel. Be my little boy for me... that’s it. Good boy.”

“I’m almost done with the basic tattoo. But I want to add a few extra features. You’ll let me add a little more, wont you?” I felt a fingernail run down the back of my neck. “I’ve got my mark on you but I want to bind you a little bit tighter, stitch a few more threads into you. It’ll mean really binding yourself to me. But you want that don’t you? Say it.”

“Yes, Annabelle.”

I felt a hand on my head, stroking it. It felt good. Like it belonged there. It pulled gently and I rose up a little blinking in the light. My back was throbbing with heat. I looked up into the beautiful blonde-framed face above me. “Hurts,” I mumbled.

“Poor baby,” she said. “Come with me and I’ll help soothe it. She took my hand in her soft slim one, and helped me off the chair. I felt so weak I could barely walk as she guided me around it and through another door in the side wall. Behind it was a flight of steps and she led me up them, whispering in my ear all the way about how I was her little boy, and I was hers. I just kept nodding and mumbled, “Yes, Annabelle.”

At the top was a little landing and she led me from there into a bedroom. It was dark and the bed was large. She lay me face down on it and straddled my butt. She leaned down over me and her hair fell across my back. The sensation was pleasant as she trailed it up and down. The she began to blow on my back. It felt so good and so cooling that now I was out of the fumes and off the chair. My mind began to clear a little and the first seeds of doubt began to grow. As everything came back to me I began to shake in fear. What had she done to me?

“Hush,” she whispered. “Be a good little boy.” And as she said it, I felt something inside myself responding to her, but it wasn’t a part of myself that had been there before. It was something in my mind. I wanted to run away but I couldn’t. Something held me back and all I could do was shake on her bed.

“Be still,” she said and something in me made me obey. I lay there silent on the bed looking at her as she got up and stood before me. My fear wasn’t helped by how beautiful she looked. She shrugged the thin leather waistcoat off and reached behind her to unclasp the bra. It fell to the floor to join the waistcoat and left her breasts bare. They were large and firm. I could make out the proud nipples in the half-light.

“I know what will make my little boy feel calm again,” she said. She kicked off her heeled boots and climbed onto the bed with me. She lay next to me, and pushed me downwards flat on the bed so my face was level with her chest. An arm slid under my head and hooked me into them.

“You want to suck on my breasts, don’t you?”

“Yes, Annabelle.” I was helpless not to say it.

“Good boy,” she said pulling me in.

I took one of the nipples in my mouth and began to suck. It felt so good to have her tit in my mouth. It made me really feel like her little boy, her doll, her toy, whatever she wanted me to be. I sucked and sucked at her breasts while she told me I was hers.

Her body next to mine began to move in rythm to my sucking. Very gently at first, but finally with a moan, she began to really writhe as I continued. Her free hand began to roam about my body. It slid down my back and over my hips and her fingers tucked into the waistband of my trousers, tugging at them.

“Get them off,” she demanded.

I urgently rolled onto my back and pulled them off. “Yes, Annabelle.”

“Call me Mistress,” she said.

“Yes Mistress,” I said and she laughed at me.

I was naked now and she eyed my cock hungrily. She peeled off her own tight jeans. Showing a tiny black thong underneath. Her butt was a perfect shape and made me even hornier. She ripped off the thong that divided her cheeks and rolled onto her front, getting onto all fours on the bed.

“Mount me,” she snarled at me, “fuck me and give yourself to me.”

I couldn’t help myself. I knew that this could be a terrible mistake but I had to obey. I was too horny to resist when I saw her butt swaying there before me.

I grabbed her by the hips and plunged my cock into her. I thrust into her violently again and again and she bucked against me. “You’re mine,” she panted at me over and over. I had never been so aroused before. I was desperate to cum. Something was stopping me though. I knew that it was her. I grabbed her hips and span her over, never letting her slip off me. I pushed her on her back onto the bed so that I could see her as I thrust into her. Her eyes shone up at me, lust on her face.

“What have you done to me,” I demanded?

“You’re mine,” she said. “Your body is mine now.”

I continued to hammer her with my cock. The pressure was terrible. I couldn’t stop and I couldn’t cum until she let me. I was desperate to have her properly. She ran her fingers down my spine teasingly and laughed nastily.

“Please, I need to cum,” I begged.

“Say, please Mistress.”

I should have resisted, put up a fight, but I had lost the moment I lay down and she jabbed that poisoned needle into me.

“Please Mistress,” I said.

“Say you’ll be a good boy for me.”

“I’ll be a good boy for you.” I was pounding her pussy like a machine overheating now.

“You’ll suck my tits every night like a little boy.”

“I will mistress. I’ll suck on your tits.” I could feel the muscles of her pussy squeezing my dick.

“Beg me to let you cum. Say that you want me to finish the tattoo and belong to me.”

There were tears on my face as I helplessly fucked her.

“Please let me cum. I want to be your slave,” I whispered.

“Louder,” she demanded!

“Please let me come,” I begged.

“Louder,” she said and wrapped her thighs about my waist, dragging me against her pussy and my cock deeper into her. I didn’t care any more, I just had to come inside her.

“PLEASE LET ME COME, MISTRESS.” I cried out.

“Good boy,” she said and suddenly I could cum. I thrust into her, spasming uncontrollably. She bucked under me, her pussy raping my cock. And my cock spat great gobbets of cum into her pussy, cumming and cumming as she gasped with the hot fluid spurting into her. And as my cum flooded her, I knew that there was no going back now. I was hers. I was her boy.

“You belong to me,” she said.

“Yes Annabelle,” I said. Soon I was lying in her arms sucking on the breasts of my new owner as I slept.

Epilogue:

Now I’m part of her stable, one of her toys. I obey her and I worship her. But I don’t know her. Sometimes I do things for her and I don’t know why or sometimes even what. I deliver things, or give my money to her friends; and always I’ll service her needs in whatever way she wants. But she meets people in secret sometimes, and I think they are women. I think, though I love her and need her and crave her, that she is not unique. There are others, out there. And I think they have a goal.