The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Melissa gazed up at the mannequin in front of her. It had seemed such a good idea at the time. She’d felt on top of the world after her time spent posing in public as a mannequin last week. But that had only been for an hour. She didn’t know how she was going to manage three or four times that. Her heart was in her mouth and her knees felt weak. She was sure that she was going to fail.

Looking at the mannequin helped, at least a little bit. The figure gazed out over Melissa’s head, mouth formed into a pout, chin just slightly raised. Her left hand was placed on the back of her head, fingers twining in the long red hair of her wig. Half of her face was hidden behind the locks that fell over her left shoulder. There was a gentle curve to her pose, right hip angling out and her right hand gently brushing the top of her leg. Her right foot was delicately placed in front of the left, thigh brushing against thigh.

The figure was dressed in a lacy black bodysuit and high heels, the garment hugging the mannequin’s form, the material sheer. The lower edge of the garment traced the lines where her legs met the rest of her body. Most of piece was see-through, only a patch at the crotch and parts of her breasts truly covered, the mannequin’s pale skin showing through the rest of the flimsy material.

Melissa didn’t usually spend much in the lingerie outlet, preferring the middle shop, the one that sold the sophisticated outfits that were all she now wore to work. But she didn’t want to be there now, didn’t want to think of everything that could go wrong. Much as part of her looked forward to the afternoon, the fear that she would let Deborah down bit deep. It was too long, she’d never manage it.

Nervously the young woman shuffled to the next mannequin. This one was looking to her right, her gaze locked on the previous figure. Her mouth was open, as if her breathing hitched with desire. The figure’s back was arched, head angled up, her right hand reaching for the small of her back as her chest pushed forward, tits pressing against a straining black and pink bra, ebony skin shining in the artificial light of the shop. Her long dark hair reached almost down to where her right hand rested. Her left foot was slightly in front of the right and the thumb of her left hand was hooked in the waist band of the skimpy panties, as if promising at any moment to pull them lower. Like the first figure she wore high heels.

Melissa recognised the two figures. She knew all the special mannequins. The last time she’d seen this pair they’d been in the bridal shop, demurely posed in bridesmaids’ outfits behind a glowing figure in a dream of taffeta and lace. Their green dresses figure hugging but sedate compared to what they now wore.

The young woman swallowed nervously as she looked at the time on her phone. It wasn’t even one o’clock. She’d spent the morning flitting between the lingerie shop and the bridal shop, admiring the mannequins. It had helped, but not enough, nothing quite calming the butterflies that fluttered nervously about her stomach. Melissa wondered if she was getting stage fright. Maybe that would be a good thing. Doesn’t it make you freeze up?

Deborah had shooed her away just after twelve, telling her to get some lunch, that she’d need her energy for the afternoon. Torn between dread and eagerness Melissa had forced herself to take her time over her meal. The afternoon stretched out in front of her. The thought of being still, posing for so long, left her breathless in anticipation, but she wasn’t sure that she could do it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. Just the reverse. The idea had filled her mind since the moment she left the shop last week. Melissa had thought about it all the way home, daydreaming of her next chance to join the figures she idolised. She’d imagined it as she lay in her bath, her muscles aching, protesting from what she’d put them through. She’d smiled to herself as she readied her evening meal, had gone to bed early so she could dream about the mannequins, standing amongst them. Her fingers had found her way to her slit, finally acknowledging how much the idea turned her on. Melissa admitted that it was probably a bit strange to be aroused by the idea of pretending to be a mannequin but it didn’t bother her overly much. Everyone has their fetishes. A brief thought had troubled her, that once the idea would have had no appeal for her, might even have repulsed her. Fetishising objects, being on display, little more than one of them herself, something simply for people to look at. Whatever she’d thought of all that before she didn’t bother denying the attraction it held for her now.

Melissa had forced herself to be still, the gentle movement of a finger between her lower lips her only movement, luxuriating in the images. She’d found something about herself she hadn’t realised before. People did that all the time. Silently, with as little movement as possible, Melissa brought herself to climax, fingers probing deep within as her thumb pushed into her clit, her lips tightening as she crested, taut and rigid as the bolts of pleasure shot through her, images of herself posed and motionless burning through her mind.

Melissa had practiced in front of the mirror every night that week, the images from her visits to the shops each day clear in her mind. She’d barely managed to hold a pose for three hours, and even that was being generous. Her muscles were aching and tired at the end of each session, uncontrollable shaking forcing her to stop, tears flowing down her face at her failure to hold the pose any longer.

It was only 1 o’clock now, four hours until the shop shut. Melissa wasn’t sure she could do it. She wanted to, there wasn’t anywhere else she’d rather be, but she didn’t want to let Deborah down. At least Saturday closing was 5pm, not the 6pm of a weekday. Summoning her courage, the young woman left the lingerie outlet and headed to the middle store.

Deborah wasn’t in sight as Melissa edged through the door. The young woman heaved a sigh of relief then wandered around, gazing at the mannequins, hoping the sight of them would calm her down. She jumped at the sound of the door opening and then turned to see the saleswoman coming in. The older woman must have been in one of the other stores, or perhaps on her own lunch break. An urge to run and hide swept through Melissa. A thought seeped through her mind, that she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t want to do this. But then the light caught Deborah’s earrings and the thought dissolved.

“Ready dear?” the older woman asked.

“As I’ll ever be.” Melissa answered glumly, not bothering to hide her nervousness.

Deborah patted her on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Now let’s get you ready.”

Melissa let herself be led out the back. Unlike last week the space in front of the mirror was empty, none of the special mannequins to keep her company while she changed. Melissa didn’t mind, it probably meant they were all on display, where they deserved to be.

A rack stood in the middle of the floor, Melissa guessing it held the outfit she was to model. She headed to towards it, but Deborah’s hand held her back, then signalled for her to stay where she was.

“There’s a couple of extras this week.” Deborah reached into a bag that hung from the rack and pulled out a pair of large sunglasses. “If you wear these it won’t matter so much if you have to blink, and you can even look around a bit.”

“Thanks.” Melissa knew Deborah was right, the glasses would make it easier.

“And it would be best if you wore this,” the older woman added, retrieving something else from the bag.

Melissa wasn’t sure what it was. Whatever was in Deborah’s hand was pink, the colour and even the texture reminding Melissa of the skin of the mannequins.

Deborah must have noticed Melissa frowning, as she held up the object, now clearly having the shape of a pair of panties.

“It will help if we have to, you know, remove your outfit for a customer.”

Melissa’s mind whirled. She hadn’t thought of that. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes a mannequin was wearing the only stock in a customer’s size. So they had to take the clothes off the mannequins on the shop floor. Melissa remembered the saleswomen even doing it for her once. The young woman hadn’t considered it might happen to her when she was pretending to be a mannequin. She wasn’t sure she was quite ready for that.

“Umm, I’ll have underwear won’t I? Won’t that be enough?” Melissa’s eyes flicked to the rack, sighing in relief when she saw some lingerie hanging with the outfit.

“Of course you will dear, but it is a bit sheer, and, well, just in case.”

Melissa shook her head. The idea of wearing something like that made her skin itch. It felt wrong and tacky and… Her thoughts dissolved as Deborah fiddled with one of her earrings, the artificial light of the room sparking off the blue gem.

Melissa could feel herself weakening to Deborah’s persuasive tone. The older woman didn’t have to give her this chance, and Melissa couldn’t see that it would do any harm. She just hoped that the strange panties wouldn’t be uncomfortable or ruin the line of her clothes.

“Okay.”

Melissa quickly stripped out of her clothes after Deborah left the storeroom. Carefully she hung them on the rack. The outfit she’d modelled last week had gone home with her, but she was pretty sure she’d be leaving this one in the shop. She retrieved the strange panties from the bag where Deborah had replaced them. Turning them over, she tried to work out if there was a front or a back. After a moment she saw that there was, but even so she hesitated, still a little disturbed at the idea of wearing the odd garment. She wanted to get dressed, if only because it was cold in the storeroom. More than that, she wanted to take her place out front, on her display stand. Not that it really was hers she admitted, or if it was, it was only for this afternoon. Summoning her courage, she slipped into the strange pink underwear.

The panties weren’t as heavy or as thick as she’d expected, but vinyl, or whatever it was they were made out of, was not something Melissa had ever been in the habit of wearing. She ran her fingers across the material, wondering if the skin of the figures would feel the same. With a deep breath she turned to look at herself in the mirror.

It was strange, looking at the vinyl covering her sex, making her as smooth and featureless as the mannequins. A shiver ran through her at the thought that she now looked a little more like them. But only a little. Melissa wasn’t sure that the panties would help if a saleswoman did have to remove her outfit. It was clear that they weren’t part of her. The match between the colour of the panties and her skin tone was close, the paleness of her skin almost equalling the artificial material. But it was nowhere near close enough and the edges where the material met her skin were obvious. Just like a vinyl bikini, she thought, the fantasy of looking like the mannequins fading away.

With a shrug Melissa returned to the rack. Underwear on she realised the panties might help a bit. The vinyl garment wasn’t uncomfortable at all and the lacy silk panties she now had on over the top of them were almost transparent in places, without the vinyl her trimmed bush wouldn’t have been obvious, not quite, but it would have been too much of a risk. And with pantyhose the contrast between her skin and the vinyl wasn’t too obvious.

The outfit was a matching pants and jacket, in an-off white that contrasted nicely with her raven-dark hair. The light cotton drifted over her skin like a cool breeze. Melissa experimented with buttoning up the jacket or leaving it undone before deciding on the latter. She thought it looked better that way, more of the orange top she’d been given to wear under the jacket showing, its curved neck not going too far down her chest.

She’d been given a simple gold-chain necklace. It matched the belt of the pants and the open-toed sandals she’d found on the floor next to the rack, their three-inch heel something she now managed easily. With some reluctance she replaced her blue pendant with the necklace she’d been given. Slipping on the sunglasses she realised that the bag was also part of the outfit, its material matching that of the pants and jacket.

Checking herself out in the mirror Melissa thought the outfit was a little more casual than she’d wear to the office. It was sophisticated though, maybe something to wear out of an afternoon. Maybe she would buy it after all. She busied herself with her hair and makeup, trying not to think of whether she’d make it through the afternoon. Instead she focused on how much she wanted to do this.

“Oh don’t you look a picture,” Deborah gushed after she shut the door behind her. Melissa allowed herself a smile. Mannequins were allowed to smile. If they held the expression.

“Ready?” the saleswoman asked.

“What time is it?” Melissa’s nerves prompting a question for a question.

“About quarter to two I think,” Deborah replied, before adding mischievously, “Why? Do you have somewhere else to be?”

“No, no,” Melissa replied hurriedly. She didn’t want to Deborah to think she was unhappy to be here, “it’s just that…”

“It’s all right,” Deborah reassured her, “Feeling a bit nervous? Worried you won’t make it through?”

Melissa just nodded.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on you.” Deborah took hold of one of Melissa’s hands in both of hers and gave the younger woman a quick pat.

Still holding Melissa’s hand Deborah led her out of the storeroom and into the shop. Two of the saleswomen smiled and nodded at Melissa as she passed them, their support reassuring the young woman.

Melissa took a deep breath as she stepped onto the display stand, Deborah offering an arm to support her. Once Melissa was on the stand the older woman offered directions for her pose.

“Hold on to the bag strap with your left hand. No, further up, on your shoulder. Yes like that. Now, put your weight on the left foot, push your hips to that side too. Feet a bit further apart, right foot just a bit in front. Now turn your head just a little to the right. Perfect!”

Melissa let her attention drift. She didn’t completely let go, she needed to keep enough concentration to hold her pose. Waves of happiness enveloped her mind. She was warm and comfortable and where she was now felt like the only place in the world she wanted to be. Customers drifted in and out of her awareness. Unlike last week Melissa wasn’t worried that someone might realise that she was a real woman. Breaths of conversation washed over her but she paid them no heed. She didn’t need to, they weren’t meant for her. All she had to do was stay still, make sure her breathing was as shallow as possible, that no twitch or flinch betrayed the illusion. Melissa could feel the slight rise and fall of her chest, but she was sure that someone watching her would have to pay very close attention to notice it.

After a while Melissa wasn’t even paying much attention to her surroundings, her eyes losing focus. Her world shrank down, became the sensation of the shop around her. She didn’t care. All that mattered was the wonderful sense of calm and fulfilment that being on the stand gave her. She didn’t know how long she’d been there, didn’t want to know. She was sure she’d make it until closing time. It was so natural to simply stand there.

Gradually she became aware that someone was calling her name, Deborah’s voice slowly penetrating the warm fog that had wrapped itself around her mind. “Melissa, dear, hello.”

Melissa shook herself, swallowed. She dropped her pose, movement feeling strange and unnatural. She staggered, almost fell off the stand, Deborah offering her arm again as Melissa gingerly lowered herself to the floor.

“What time is it?” she asked the older woman, looking around the store to see if any customers were about. She didn’t think that Deborah would get her down if there were any onlookers, but she had to check. She sighed in relief when Deborah was all she saw.

“After closing,” the saleswoman told her. “You did wonderfully well. How do you feel?”

Melissa certainly felt stiff and sore, but not as bad as she expected. She gave a few stretches, trying to persuade her muscles to start moving again, “Umm, not too bad.”

“Well, better get you out of that outfit, I need to close up.” Deborah smiled, and beckoned the younger woman to the storeroom.

To Melissa’s surprise there was a mannequin standing in front of the mirror out back. She supposed someone must have moved it in there while she was posing. Perhaps I just didn’t notice, she told herself, she hadn’t really been paying attention to anything much. It was one of the special figures, Melissa recognising it from the many times she’d seen it in one of the stores.

Not that she often saw it like this. The figure was naked, head even lacking a wig. Posed like that the artificiality of the figure was clear. The shiny, blemish free skin, a few shades lighter and different in texture to her own, breasts that were just beautifully shaped orbs with only a hint of a nipple, areola nothing more than a circle of colour, the figure’s sex as smooth and featureless as the rest of her body. Only her face looked real, though even then the unnatural tone of its skin was obvious.

Standing naked beside the figure Melissa was aware of how different they looked. Too much of her looked natural, even the vinyl panties were obviously something she wore, not a part of her. With a sigh Melissa slipped them off, wishing there was some way she could look at least a little more like the mannequin, but knowing it was impossible.

“She’s rather striking, isn’t she?” Deborah asked, as if sharing some dark secret. Melissa was startled by the question, having forgotten the other woman was still there. The young woman thought that standing nude in front of the saleswoman should bother her, but somehow it didn’t. Deborah saw the mannequins naked all the time. Melissa didn’t see any reason to feel embarrassed about the older woman seeing her in a similar state.

“Umm, yes,” Melissa agreed.

“I can see how much you’re fascinated by her. I don’t blame you. Look at her.” Melissa could hear Deborah’s footsteps approaching, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the figure. “She’s beautiful, flawless, perfect. Why wouldn’t you want to look at her?”

Melissa couldn’t help but agree. She felt Deborah close behind her, the older woman’s hands now on either side of her head, turning it to look towards the mirror.

“I know you enjoyed yourself this afternoon, how good it felt pretending to be one of them. Wouldn’t it be even better if you looked more like her? You really don’t look the same, do you? Someone’s bound to notice.” Deborah’s hands held Melissa’s head, her voice low and seductive.

A sinking feeling was growing in Melissa’s stomach. She knew that Deborah was right. She’d been lucky so far, no-one paying enough attention to her to realise that wasn’t actually one of the mannequins. But her luck couldn’t hold. Someone was bound to see through the deception.

“What if you could look a little more like her? Not completely, I mean she’s a mannequin and you’re a living woman. But wouldn’t even a little bit help? Imagine, someone looking at you side by side like this and having trouble telling the difference? Wouldn’t that make it even better?”

Deborah was whispering into the younger woman’s ear, her words slithering into Melissa’s mind, each one a snake seeking a gap in the young woman’s thoughts where it could coil and lurk. Melissa couldn’t help but agree with what the saleswoman said. Fear was gathering in her stomach, dark and uncertain. Her lip trembled as she thought about how someone would spot the difference next time, point out that she was a woman pretending to be a mannequin. She could barely contain the nervous shiver that ran through her.

“You’d like to look more like her, wouldn’t you? You want that.” Deborah’s hands were massaging the younger woman’s neck and shoulders.

Melissa gnawed her lower lip. The idea was enticing, being able to look more like one of the figures, better able to pass for one. But she wasn’t sure she really did want that, wasn’t sure what Deborah was offering. What if it was something permanent? No matter how much she might want it, Melissa thought that was going too far.

“Look at her, look at her image in the mirror.” Helpless, Melissa obeyed. She could have refused, could have struggled, but somehow the thought never occurred to her. Deborah held her head, turned it, just as she might turn the head of one of the figures, giving it just the right pose. Melissa looked in the mirror, could see the figure, could see herself. And over her shoulder she could see Deborah, the light catching in her earrings.

“You want to look more like her.” Deborah’s voice was firmer now, louder.

“I, no,” Melissa’s protest was weak and feeble.

“You want to look more like a mannequin.” Deborah’s voice was clear, a simple statement of fact.

“I want…”

“You want to look more like a mannequin,” The older woman repeated.

Melissa could see the mannequin in the mirror, could see her own nakedness. She felt small and vulnerable in front of the older woman, her imperfections compared to the mannequin leaving her ashamed. How could she not want to look more like one of those wonderful figures?

“I want to look more like a mannequin,” she said at last. Melissa meant every word, and wondered why she’d hesitated. Of course that was what she wanted. There’d never been any doubt.

“Good girl,” Deborah said and Melissa felt a quiver of pleasure, almost arousal, run through her at the words.

“Now get dressed, and we’ll get you started.” Deborah stepped back from the younger woman, her tone losing its insistence.

“What? Sorry?” Melissa wasn’t sure how they were supposed to start now.

“There’s this place I know,” Deborah smiled, “they’re open late, well for special appointments anyway, and there’s no time like the present.”

(To be continued)