The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

A picture is worth a thousand words ... but how many can it speak?

I often wonder that as I take up my canvas and paints ... pouring my time ... my passion ... my soul into every creation and I wonder what each will be like.

I pay very close attention to each. Each needs room for something special ... something unique and I don’t want to be cruel; I only want my art to be cherished, appreciated and loved.

I have many works, but my favorite is “Pink”.

I completed it about a year ago and as planned, it was displayed at Gretchen’s Gallery amongst so many of the Avant Guard in the city. Even incomplete, it was a stunning work, swirls of pink showing or disguising perhaps the purpose beyond ... entire worlds and landscapes of pink, if only one knew where to look ... which was the point really.

Many came to look and many women who were more perceptive than most would stare for a moment ... lost in the a land of pink, trying to pierce the barrier to what lay beyond ... but they weren’t quite right ... they could sense, but no quite see.

But she came eventually, as I knew she would. I didn’t know it at first, neither did she but that is the way of things after all.

She caught my eye of course. Sandy blond hair done up just so over a face with sparkling hazel eyes, her black dress being quite appropriate while leaving no doubt of amply endowed figure beneath. As I said, I noticed her of course, but she was like so many attractive young women in the city, wearing their best, out for a bit of culture for the evening. But what truly caught my interest was when she came across my painting in its secluded little corner of the gallery and her mouth formed the most adorable ooooh as she involuntarily gasped at the sight.

“What’s so interesting about this one Julie?” said the man at her side, “It’s just pink ... lots and lots of pink. A kindergarten drop-out could have painted it.”

“No Mike, don’t you see ... there’s something there, so intricate. It’s like ... it’s like it’s inside the pink somehow” she said in hushed tones. “It’s ... it’s amazing.”

The man looked at the picture intently, but it wasn’t meant for him and so he saw nothing but the pink.

“Well ... if you say so.” he said and moved on to the next painting.

“I’m just going to ... well just stay here for a bit” said the young woman quietly.

“Ok,” replied her date, “I’ll just get us some drinks and catch up with you in a bit.”

The young man left the room while the woman ... Julie ... yes that was her name, continued to examine the painting.

“It’s quite striking isn’t it?” I said moving out of the shadows.

“Yes” she said, still transfixed by the image. “I ... don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything like it. But ... there’s something there ... I can’t quite ... ”

“Actually, there are several something’s there.” I replied “I’m just very gratified that you can begin to make them out. It’s not easy. I didn’t just paint this picture for everyone after all.”

“You painted it?” she replied, her eyes turning toward me, somewhat unfocused and dreamy.

“Yes I did ... just for you.”

“For me?” she said turning her head slowly back to the painting. “I don’t understand”

“Look closer ... follow my finger and you’ll understand” I said standing close behind her so that I could nearly whisper in her ear. “Follow ... follow ... ”

Lazily the girl’s eyes tracked my fingers through the swirls ... sifting ... sorting ... filling her eyes ... her mind ... and then suddenly her eyes snapped open.

She turned back to me, her eyes wide with some discovered thought. “I love pink” she said, as if the thought had never occurred to her ... “I do, I REALLY love PINK!!”

She turned back to the painting; eyes locked onto the pink and the message ... the reality hidden deep within it. Tentatively she reached out one finger, touching the pink she loved so much.

“What else do you see?” I said, gently whispering in her ear.

Hesitantly, then with more confidence, her finger began tracing the pathways through the painting, her breath quickening as the pink began to flow from the tip of her finger up over her hand. Eventually her eyes locked on what they sought ...

“Ohhh ...” she said in a small voice. “I ... I love to be ... I love to be touched?” she gasped.

“Yes ... like this?” I said as my hands snake around her and gently began to cup and massage her breasts.

“Ohh ... no ... not like ... no ... not like that ... I ... you ... I ... " she whimpered.

“Are you sure?” I breathed softly into her ear as the pink reached her arm and began to taint the black velvet of her dress.

“Ohh ... I can’t ... I ... shouldn’t ... what’s ... what’s happening ... I ... " she sobbed, but nevertheless, pressed her breasts more firmly into my eager hands.

“You’re seeing sweetness ... opening your eyes ... look ... look deeper.”

She opened her eyes and her finger once again began to trace its way deeper into the painting, the pink still flowing up her arm dissolving her dress and replacing it with a slick pink material than hugged every exquisite curve of her body.

“I’m scared” she whispered.

“Don’t be ... I’m here.” I whispered in return as the pink flowed over her breasts, leaving them sheeted in pink, except for the nipples which I carefully began to caress and roll between my fingers.

“It’s ... so tight” she gasped as the encasing color began to bind her ever tighter, flowing up her neck....

“It will be fine ... just look.” I whispered.

The young girl looked back to the painting where here finger has paused ... looked at it intently as if she couldn’t believe her eyes ... didn’t want to believe them.

“no ...” she whispered

“Yes.” I replied. “Say it ...”

“I … love to be … to be … fucked!!” she gasped

“Yes … “ I said guiding her desperate eyes deeper.

“Oh god … I’m … I’m so … so Hot!! I NEED to be fucked … I want … I want everyone to … to see … how … How … how HOT I am …. I WANT to be touched … I WANT TO FUCK … I … want … want EVERYONE to SEE how MUCH!!!” she moaned …

“Yes … you do … “ I whispered gently into her ear … watching the pink begin to flow over her thoughts … her feelings … her heart. “What are you ... ?”

“I’m ... I’m a slut.” she moaned ... “Oh god ... I can’t ... I.”

“No.” I said gently, “look closer.”

She did ... she really had no choice now. “Oh god ... I’m ... I’m ... ”

The transformation was nearly complete now ... the tight pink fabric now covered her from the top of her neck to the tips of her toes ... her classical black heels replaced by bright pink high heels boots ... only her nipples and her now dripping pussy were exposed to view ... even her hair was now a pink and flowing work of art as she turned her head to look at me.

“Say it sweetness.”

“I’m your slut ...” she replied with a soft sigh of relief. “I’m YOUR slut.”

Gently, her hands took mine and pressed them down her body and to her waiting slut cunt. “I love you … oh god I LOVE You … Please … please, PLEASE … Fuck me ... HERE … NOW … please ... make me yours ... oh please. Oh PLEASE FUCK ME and NEVER STOPP!!!”

Some time later, the young man returned, two drinks in his hand. “Julie ... where are you?” he called, but of course, there was no answer. There was just a painting.

“Wow,” he said looking at it intently ... “that’s just amazing ... I wonder why I didn’t see that before?”

He shook his head once and then walked out of the room, the memory of the girl named Julie disappearing with each footstep, lost in a world of pink.

Behind him … the painting swirled … pink layered on pink as the women within it made a mere painting something more … so lost was he … that even the echoes of ecstasy within were beyond him.

Pink is my favorite work and she has preoccupied me to no end. She is complete now and like my other special treasures; she lives in a world of my making. No worries for her, just a life filled with pink softness … softness and joy when I call her to my world, or visit hers. She waits for me even now … all I need do is look upon her there on the wall and I can see her need, her devotion, her utter love for me and all that I am. It makes me impatient, makes me yearn to be with her again.

Like the others, I will never sell her and after completing such a masterpiece, what need is there to create another … to improve on what is already perfect. I have however answered that age old question ... how many words can a painting speak. In Pink’s case, few words are needed but moans sighs and screams there are in plenty.

But while I have no need for any additions to my collection, I do have a debt to pay, to Lady Gretchen who so generously allowed me the use of her gallery. “Black” isn’t quite to my tastes, but I do believe that Gretchen and at least one of her guests will be ever so pleased.