The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Calliope groaned and woke up.

What had she been doing last night? She felt oddly not-hungover, but instead as if she expected to feel hungover, if that made any sense.

Well, at least she was in her own bed. She headed to the bathroom to check the damage.

A quick look in the mirror explained the not-hungover feeling: On her forehead was printed the word ‘Drunk’. She washed it off before it could take effect again.

Once it was washed off she felt better. Still as if she expected to be hung-over, but she ignored that.

Besides, if she really felt like she should fix that all she needed to do was to write on her arm that she wasn’t hungover and the feeling would go away. She’d done that before.

It was both useful and fun, that ability: Whatever was written on Calliope’s skin became true for her. A gift from a high school boyfriend that was into hypnosis. He’d put it in as a bit of a prank, and they’d had lots of fun with it for a while.

They had broken up on good terms, and it was several months before Calliope had let anyone else know about it. When she’d finally let it slip at a party...

Well, she’d suddenly gotten a lot of attention. (As had her former boyfriend.) The boy had offered to remove it, if she wanted, but Calliope decided she liked the effect: It let her be wild, free, without changing who she was. It was just what was written on her, that’s all. When she washed it off, she was back to herself again.

And it wasn’t like anyone could just write anything on her, after all: She could stop anyone who tried to write anything, and she could try to wash it off immediately. Also, every morning when she woke up nothing was in effect until she saw it again, at which point she would have another chance to wash it off before it became true.

By the end of high school she’d gotten into the habit of bringing a marker with her to parties, something she knew she could wash off easily. Depending on the party, she could use it to help herself blend in, or to let someone else make sure she stood out...

She got invited to a lot of parties. Some of the things written had gotten a little... well, perverse, but in a way that was the attraction: Calliope could feel what it was like to be a stripper, or a blowjob machine, or whatever else, and know that no one would expect her to act that way without it written on her skin. She’d spend the night on her knees letting people use the labeled ‘fuck hole’ that was her mouth, and in the morning she was herself again.

So, when she’d gotten to college, she’d quickly let the word out again. Calliope knew everyone wanted to hold her pen for night, and loved the attention that gave her.

She was soon invited to every party anyone threw.

Calliope did have a couple of rules: No sex. (Well, not at a party anyway...) Blowjobs (or tit-fucks) were fine, but nothing more. And nothing that would hurt or leave a mark. Also nothing disgusting. Anyone tried to write any of those, and she immediately washed it off, and took the pen back. She had a short list of those who weren’t allowed to use the pen, and people didn’t want to be placed on that list.

After all—besides not being able to play with her—it meant they were less likely to attract other girls: She kept the list public, and the reasons why. No one seemed to want to date anyone who was on the list.

Usually she remembered what was written, unless there was something was intentionally ‘forgotten’. But, she’d been ‘drunk’ before, and knew to check for surprises after a party.

Must have been fairly tame: She didn’t have much written on her. Either that or she washed it all off already. A couple of attempts to get her to undress (it always seemed to surprise people that ‘nude’ or ‘undressed’ meant she thought she was naked, not that she should take her clothes off...) as well as the successful attempt (sooner or later they always figured it out). Those would wash off in the shower.

Well, a naked drunk girl would be the hit of most parties around here anyway.

Calliope started the water and stepped into the shower. She didn’t have class until mid-afternoon, but she should get some homework done.

The water was nice. Calliope stood and watched the ink run off her skin. The pages of the book that was her: That’s how her long-ago boyfriend had put it: She was an open book, with her truth written on her skin.

She was drying herself off when she noticed something in the mirror, something on her back. She turned to get a good look.

Calliope had gotten quite good at reading off mirrors this way. “Property of...” The rest was Greek, literally. The name of some fraternity: She recognized it, but couldn’t pronounce it.

How had she allowed that to stay there? Even drunk, that was something she’d have washed off immediately.

For that matter, how had she missed it earlier? And why hadn’t it washed off in the shower? She had scrubbed her back.

Obviously not hard enough. Calliope got a luffa, and started scrubbing again.

No effect.

Calliope tried again, this time with some stronger soap.

Again no effect, unless it got darker. Must have used a ‘permeant’ marker, though usually that soap was enough to at least fade even that.

Ok, people were definitely getting on her list. She took out one of ‘her’ markers and reached back: She could barely reach between her shoulder blades, but she started crossing out the words. She’d have to take care until they wore off, but she’d done this before: ‘crossed out’ was the same as ‘erased.’

Calliope turned to see the effect.

She could still read the words: Her maker strokes changed color as they passed over the ‘Property of...’ phrase. It stood out clearly.

Now she was getting worried. She was approaching her ‘time limit’ for new phrases to ‘take effect’, and she was about out of ideas on what to do next. She ran to her desk and grabbed a few other markers and pens, trying them all as quickly as she could.

None rendered the words unreadable.

What would they do with her as a possession?

The thought ran through her mind without Calliope intending it.

She recognized that she was out of time: her mind was accepting the writing as ‘true’. She tried an experiment. “I am Calliope. I am human.” No problem. “I am a possession.” She’d wanted to say ‘I am not a possession’, but her mouth had filled in the ‘true’ sentence.

Damn.

Well, at least for the moment, she could still think for herself. She still had a chance to get this off.

But she’d tried everything she had in her apartment.

Oh, sure, she could cover it with something, but if it wasn’t ink, it wasn’t written, and it would still be ‘true’. She’d done the experiments years before.

Out of a sense of desperation, she took her ‘permanent’ marker and tried to write on her arm. ‘I belong to...’ She meant to write no-one, but found her hands starting the same sequence of Greek characters.

Well, this one she could wash off. She went back into the bathroom and washed her arm with the strong soap, which got the ‘permanent’ marker as it hadn’t had time to sink in yet.

She tried her back again, and just managed to clean off the mess of scribbles she’d made.

She needed to find out what they’d written on her skin with, so she could figure out what to remove it with. Calliope sat down a moment and tried to think how to do that.

Well, maybe she could bluff her way through. If she covered it, she would be ‘in hiding’ and she might be able to get them to tell her by pretending it hadn’t worked.

Carefully, she made a bandage that completely covered the words on her skin and in her mind. Having done that, she dressed: conservative, dark. ‘Professional’ clothes. Heavy turtleneck and loose pants. It was a good look on her.

She could handle this.

Frat row was walking distance, and Calliope only made one stop along the way.

That stop was to the pet store: She’d been wondering what type of possession they wanted her to be when she saw the collars through the window.

Pets and slaves wore collars. She had to have one.

At least she managed to get outside and discreetly into an alleyway before she put it on. And the turtleneck covered it.

She quickly found the frat house with the same Greek letters. It wasn’t the one the party had been at last night, but it was close by.

Her heart raced as she rang the bell. She’d rehearsed in her head what she was going to say. Just walk in, admit that she’d had trouble removing the words, but imply that she’d been successful, and get them to tell her what they had used ‘for future reference’, and then head out at soon as she could. The trick was to take the initiative the moment they opened the door, to not give them a chance to think...

The door opened. Calliope waited for her owners to tell her what to do.

The moment she’d seen one of them she’d realized the flaw in her plan: She could hide from the world what she was, but she couldn’t hide from her owners that she was their property. She didn’t know what they wanted from her, but they didn’t want her to trick them, and she couldn’t do anything they didn’t want her to do. She didn’t have a plan that could work, so she had to wait for instruction.

“Well well. Looks who’s here. Come in.” He held the door, pretending to be gallant. Calliope entered, heart in her throat. “Come over here where we all can see you.” He led the way to the center of their common room.

The property followed.

“Show us all what we own.” The whole fraternity was gathering, and Calliope understood the instruction. Against her own will she started to remove her clothes.

Her owners cheered and hollered as her clothes hit the floor.

“What are those?” He was pointing to the bandages on her back.

“I tried to hide the words, so I could hide what I was. I wanted to come here and see if I could get you to tell me how to remove the ink.”

In it’s own way, admitting that was worse than standing there naked.

“Remove them.”

Of course. She reached back, and tore the adhesive bandages from her skin. Now she was dressed only in the new collar she’d bought.

She actually felt better. Less ashamed: She wasn’t hiding what she was, she was acting proud of it, letting her owners command her. Her mind fought with itself, both hating her owners for doing this, and wishing they’d do more, so that she could be lost in the feeling.

She was the center of attention.

The guy who’d been ordering her around noticed something, and formed a slight smile. “You are wearing a dog-collar.”

Calliope blushed. “I... Walked by the pet store on the way here. I was wondering what type of property you wanted me to be, and I realized a slave or a pet wears a collar. I... couldn’t help myself.” She left the collar on.

“How do you feel standing in front of us like this?”

“Embarrassed, and afraid. I can’t stop myself: I’m your property, and part of me wants to know what you want from me next. But at the same time, I didn’t choose to be here.”

“Yes you did. You walked up to our door all on your own. You choose to be property.”

“I...” She’d had plans. She’d wanted to get them to release her. That’s why she’d come, wasn’t it? She wasn’t so sure anymore. Her owner’s words made sense. How could she fight that?

Had she really wanted to be property?

“Still, I’ll help you out a bit. Clarify what you are going to be. We still have some ink left.” It was on the table next to her, with a brush/pen in it.

“Hold still.” Calliope couldn’t move. “This was my idea; that’s why the guys are letting me control you first. We all worked on the ink. Its a special formula: It doesn’t take long to set in, but it takes a while to dry. Once it does its invisible until it mixes with certain types of soap.” He looked up from what he was doing on her chest and winked. “We knew we were going to have to send you home.” He looked back down. “After that, its a permanent stain: Nothing short of removing the skin itself will remove it. Its harder to get off than even a tattoo.” He stepped back. “There. That should clarify what you are.”

The rest of the room whooped.

Calliope looked down. She could just read the ink before it started to fade: ‘Fucktoy and Robo-maid.’

She knew she couldn’t erase it. It was part of her. It was her. She was a fucktoy and robo-maid, the property of this fraternity. She had no chance to resist it.

Her mind cleared and emptied. She knew what she was, and who she belonged to. Her only desire now was that she be told in which capacity she would serve first.

The leader set down the last of the ink, and led the toy to his bed for his test run.