The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The following Monday found Melissa with a strange mix of emotions. She was pleased to have her own hair back, though Fiona’s quip about how often she was changing her hair style these days made her a bit nervous. But the graphic designer didn’t feel right, it was if she was missing something. She fidgeted and couldn’t sit still, couldn’t concentrate. By the middle of the afternoon she couldn’t stand it, slamming her mouse down in frustration. In the end she begged off work early, hoping some extra time admiring the mannequins in the three shops might help.

As she gazed at her idols the feelings went away, but Melissa wasn’t sure whether the figures were what she’d missed or were just distracting her from the real problem. She had to admit it was a pleasant distraction, made even better when Deborah let her pose as a mannequin for a couple of hours, modelling a turquoise bridesmaid’s dress in the bridal shop. The dress almost reached to her knees, but was tight, showing all her curves and the slit in the side reached almost to her hip. She was posed with her feet together, hands in front of her clasping a small bouquet of flowers. Again her own hair was removed, this time replaced by a brunette wig, the hair piled on her head in elaborate coils, single strands drifting down on either side of her face. She wasn’t wearing the sunglasses, they wouldn’t have gone with the outfit. Melissa had to struggle not to blink too often.

“Going without the glasses will be good practice, dearie,” Deborah had said, the only words the saleswoman had said to her after Melissa had agreed to pose. Deborah had dressed her out the back of the bridal shop, without her special panties it was too big a risk preparing her in the store.

Despite the fun afternoon she’d had, Melissa felt the strange feeling of something missing return almost as soon as she was off the stand and back in her own clothes and hair. It nagged and pulled at her until bedtime, when she was in her bathroom making her final ablutions. Her eyes lit on her special panties, hanging where she’d left them the night before to dry after cleaning them.

Melissa’s eyes widened in shock. It can’t be that, she thought as she nervously considered the vinyl panties, giving them a little prod with one finger. But it would have made this afternoon so much easier, she answered herself. She wouldn’t have had to change out the back of the store, wouldn’t have had to wait until there were no customers to sneak to the display stand.

Only one way to find out. Melissa quickly pulled off the boxer shorts she normally slept in and went to slip on the panties, stopping when she realised she’d need the lube, which she remembered putting in the draw of her bedside table. That problem solved, she lifted the panties into place, carefully working the back, and then the front, dildo into place.

As soon as the phallic objects entered her the feeling of emptiness that had haunted the young woman all day was replaced with relief, quickly followed by waves of erotic bliss. Okay, the young woman thought between the deep breaths that were making her chest heave, so that was what I needed.

Slipping into bed, Melissa found that she still had one problem. The sensual feeling of fullness from her arse and pussy was making her feel too good. She needed some relief. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, masturbating to orgasm was now an established part of her nightly ritual. But with her clit and vagina now covered it wasn’t quite so easy. She could remove the panties, but that would put her right back where she started.

As she considered the problem her hand drifted to her vinyl-encased crotch. Her fingers began to play over the material, the movement accompanied by a sharp intake of breath, Melissa’s eyes flinging wide in surprise. Her fingers were producing the same effects through the vinyl as if she was actually touching herself. Better in some ways, as her fingers passed over where her clit lay the small nub on the panties pressed down, sending delicious sparks though her and as she traced the location of her slit the dildos inside her began to vibrate. How the hell? the young woman thought, then answered herself, Oh, who cares?

Melissa’s fingers danced over the smooth casing of her pussy, her arousal spiking higher and higher, her pulse pounding in her ears as she struggled to remain motionless. The vibration of the dildos rose, faster and faster, waves of pleasure surging forth from both her cavities. Sparks danced before her eyes as she came, thoughts dissolving as the muscles of her pussy clenched down on the larger dildo.

Once wasn’t enough, and her fingers stroked the vinyl until she brought herself to another climax and then another, Melissa learning how to change the speed of the dildos through the pressure of her touch. She still didn’t know how it worked, but as she drifted off to sleep, she wasn’t complaining.

In the morning she didn’t even think about taking the panties off before dressing for work. There was no repeat of the empty feelings of the day before. Her friend Fiona asked in a concerned way if she’d been sick the previous day.

“A little off colour, I suppose,” Melissa allowed. She knew that her friend wouldn’t understand the truth.

“Is everything okay?” her friend asked, “you seem a little pale these days.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” Melissa insisted.

“Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better, you seem really together today,” Fiona replied.

Melissa just smiled in return. She did feel good almost, well, complete. Even if she did have to slip off more than once to the women’s toilets and stroke her panties until she came, a fixed smile on her face every time.

At the end of the week Melissa had her last treatment at the salon. She knew she’d miss her time in the tank, the pleasant, vacant, feeling as she floated in the blue liquid. But she had no idea what Deborah had paid for her treatments and now that it was done she couldn’t expect it to continue just to indulge her.

And it definitely was finished Melissa acknowledged as she looked at herself in the mirror. The young woman could barely detect where her skin met the panties, and that was probably only because she knew where to look. That’s one thing, I suppose, she thought, I won’t have to have them off for so long anymore. Karen had made Melissa remove the panties every time she entered the tank. The young woman had protested at first, but Karen had insisted, “You want the finish to be even, and the panties will shift a bit as you move. So this will make sure there’s no unfinished patches.” Reluctantly Melissa had agreed. Their absence had allowed Ashleigh to continue her occasional ministrations, though even the skill of the girl’s tongue was hard-pressed to compete with the absolute sense of fullness and fulfilment that the two dildos gave.

The young woman was naked in front of the mirror, except for her panties. She always put them on first, after Ashleigh finished drying her off and whatever other activities the young beautician was allowed by Karen. Melissa knew that she still didn’t look quite like a mannequin. Spots and moles broke the evenness of her skin tone. But the illusion was almost complete, her skin shining from her bald head to her smooth crotch to her toes. Melissa barely noticed that she was including the panties in that summation.

Now Deborah and Karen circled the young woman as she stood motionless in front of the mirror, both making appreciative comments.

“Very nice,” Deborah said at last, “you’ve done an excellent job on her.”

“Thanks,” Karen acknowledged with more humility than Melissa thought she possessed, “it went quicker than I thought it would.”

The saleswoman came to a stop in front of Melissa, blocking her view of her reflection. Deborah’s chin rested in a cupped hand, elbow supported by the other arm held across her chest. Silently she contemplated the motionless woman.

“I’ll have to give you a bonus,” the saleswoman said at last. Melissa knew that the comment wasn’t intended for her.

“Hmm, I’ll have to think what I might like,” Karen mused before directing Ashleigh to dress the unmoving figure of Melissa.

The graphic designer couldn’t follow exactly what the conversation between the two older women meant, but she didn’t let it worry her. As Deborah drove her home Melissa stared fixedly out of the car’s window. The young woman basked in a glow of happiness that Deborah had helped her get closer to her dream.

Melissa may have looked more like her idols, but that didn’t give her any more time to be with them. She’d frown sometimes, looking at them when she visited the stores, knowing that it was only Saturdays that she could be with them for any decent length of time. Still, she enjoyed what time she had, loving being able to model new clothes every day. Now and then she’d want to buy the outfit she modelled, or something she saw when she visited the stores in the morning, but mostly Deborah would shoo her away, insisting that she simply take the clothes as payment for her time. Occasionally she’d manage to convince the saleswoman to accept some payment, usually in the mornings, as if Deborah’s generosity cycled with the day. And if Melissa did turn up at work with bags from the shops Fiona was always curious as to her new purchases.

Melissa knew that she was taking risks. The longer she spent pretending to be a mannequin, the more chance someone might recognise her. Especially as she learnt how to go longer without blinking and spent more time posing without the sunglasses. Still, it was only one shop amongst so many in the city and even if someone who knew her came in they might not recognise her, might not pay enough attention to realise the similarity between the unmoving mannequin and Melissa the graphic designer. That she often wore a wig that wasn’t her natural hair colour only made her feel safer.

Of course, her luck couldn’t hold.

“Melissa?” she heard a confused voice exclaim one Saturday, pulling her thoughts from where they drifted pleasantly. With a sinking feeling the motionless woman realised who it was, her friend Fiona.

“It can’t be,” the blonde muttered.

I’m just a mannequin, go away, Melissa thought impatiently. She didn’t want anyone to find out what she was doing, let alone someone from her work. If she just held still Fiona might put the resemblance between the mannequin in front of her and her friend Melissa down to some bizarre coincidence.

Melissa held her breath, stared fixedly ahead. Minutes ticked by as she desperately waited for the sound of Fiona’s footsteps retreating. Her vision started to swim, sparkling dots appearing before her eyes as the pressure in her chest built. She had to breathe. Just a little, just a small gasp of oxygen or she was going to pass out. Maybe Fiona wouldn’t notice if she took a small breath. Nervously Melissa sucked air between her painted, unmoving, lips.

“Ha! I saw that! It is you!” Fiona cried in triumph.

“Can I help you Miss?” Deborah’s cool voice cut in.

“C’mon Melissa, stop mucking about.” Fiona insisted, ignoring the saleswoman.

“If you mean the mannequin, Miss,” Deborah continued, unfazed, “I doubt that you’ll get a response.”

Out of the corner of her eye Melissa saw Fiona turn to confront the saleswoman. “It’s not a mannequin, it’s my friend Melissa. I saw her breathe. And look, she just blinked! Is it some modelling thing? It’s okay, I get it. I wondered how she was affording all those new clothes.”

Deborah looked at the heavens and sighed. Melissa knew the game was up. She let her shoulders slump as she dropped her pose. Gingerly she climbed down from her stand and smiled shyly at her friend.

“Oh wow,” Fiona said, all wide-eyed surprise, “I knew it was you. Well, I thought it was, but you were so still.”

Deborah crossed her arms and shook her head, “Maybe you two girls should have a little talk. Melissa, why don’t you take your friend out back?”

As Melissa led Fiona to the storeroom she looked back at the saleswoman. Doubt fluttered in her stomach, as she worried that this could be the end of her adventures. Being discovered might be too much for Deborah. With relief she saw that the saleswoman didn’t look angry or upset, if anything there was an amused smile on her lips.

Once in the storeroom her blonde friend was all questions. “How long have you been doing this? What’s it like? Has anyone noticed?” Melissa skirted around the truth, using the idea Fiona already had in her head, of part-time, if rather strange, modelling work. She had a question of her own for her friend.

“Why were you here today? I mean, I’ve been here for a while and you’ve never come in before.”

Fiona shifted uneasily in embarrassment from where she was leaning against one of the boxes, “Well, I was wondering where you were getting all these new clothes. So, I, umm, snuck a look at the receipt the last time you had a bag with you at work.”

Melissa sighed, realising that something like this had been bound to happen.

“Hey,” Fiona interjected into her gloom, “is this why you’re always so keen to get away early these days?”

Melissa nodded.

“You like doing it?” Fiona asked, eyes wide with incredulity, “Every day? I mean, doesn’t it get a bit dull?”

“No,” Melissa smiled softly, “I like it, it’s relaxing, you can just let yourself drift.”

“Must be a pain though,” Fiona mused, “trying to get from work to here before the shops close.”

“Yeah,” Melissa agreed with a shrug, “it gets hectic.”

Fiona looked thoughtful for a minute, then grabbed Melissa’s hand. Soon the blonde was pulling her back out into the shop.

“Hey, um, Deborah?” Fiona called, getting the saleswoman’s attention.

“Yes, dear?” Deborah replied, an eyebrow arched as she walked towards the two young women.

“So, Melissa’s told me everything, and I was thinking, wouldn’t it be easier if you knew what time she’s going to turn up every afternoon?”

The saleswoman arched an eyebrow in Melissa’s direction before replying. The young woman shrugged, trying to wordlessly convey that she hadn’t actually told her friend that much. “Well, it would be nice if it was a fixed time,” Deborah agreed thoughtfully.

Fiona turned to Melissa, “Why don’t you just ask to change your hours at work? Say 7 to 3? I’ll cover for you if it’s a problem.”

“Wow, thanks,” Melissa gushed, then paused, “but, umm, why? I mean, I’m grateful for the offer and everything, but…”

“I just think it’s sorta cool,” Fiona shrugged, “and maybe if I help you out I can get a bit of a discount?” The last was said with a hopeful look in Deborah’s direction.

Melissa wasn’t entirely convinced, but she did know how much Fiona loved her clothes.

“Well dear,” Deborah said at least, “it would have to be performance based. But if Melissa can keep to some fixed hours, I’m sure that something can be arranged.”

Fiona was smiling so much in satisfaction that Melissa thought the blonde was about to start jumping up and down and clapping like some animated toy. Melissa was happy as well, but she didn’t feel the need to be as demonstrative. Then something occurred to her that made her rethink the arrangement.

“But if I get to work earlier I won’t be able to come here in the mornings,” the young woman whined. She felt a sinking feeling in her stomach at losing one of her favourite times of the day.

“Well dear,” the saleswoman said, reproof clear in her voice, “we can’t have everything, you’ll just have to decide which you want more. Being down here or being up there.”

Melissa bit her lip as Deborah waved in the direction of one of the display stands. In the end, it wasn’t a hard choice. Her boss didn’t mind, as long as her work was done, and Fiona was happy to help. Soon Melissa’s hours were changed to 7 until 3. In the early hours before everyone else arrived she was able to work in silence, the peace and quiet helping her achieve more than she’d thought possible. By mid-afternoon she was out the door, hurrying to the stores, where Deborah or Julia or one of the other saleswomen would dress her. They always prepared her on the shop floor now, her vinyl panties her constant companion, only removed when absolutely necessary and even then she didn’t slip her legs out of them except when they needed cleaning.

Once dressed Melissa would step onto a display stand (or if customers were about, be lifted), her pose adjusted with gentle but firm hands. Then she would spend two hours or more in posed bliss. Of course, Saturdays were her favourite, hour upon hour spent motionless, with just a break for lunch that Deborah insisted upon. Sometimes she wore her own hair when on display, but usually it was another wig, blonde or brunette or red, short or long, whatever the saleswomen thought would go best with the clothes Melissa was modelling. The shops seemed to favour her brunette wig over her own raven hair, often telling her to wear that one for Saturdays. It felt odd, walking the city in hair not her own, but a day spent posing was worth any inconvenience.

At the end of each day she’d head home, to quickly prepare and eat her evening meal. If she had time Melissa would watch an episode or two of some television show. But she always made sure to be in bed by 9.30. On weekdays she had to be up at 6 if she was to be at work on time, and she always wanted to leave enough time for some self-indulgence before she drifted off to sleep.

Melissa slept naked now, apart from her vinyl panties. Not that she counted them, regarding the garment as much a part of her as the rest of her body. She’d stroke the smooth material, the touch causing ripples of pleasure to flow through her, the dildos springing into life. The play of her fingers sparking nerve endings, the touch transmitted straight through the fabric. It was better than anything she’d ever felt before, the dildos wonderfully filling and stretching her, their vibrations making her gasp in pleasure. Her clit thrummed with the pressure from the matching nub on her panties and her hands were free to roam and fondle and caress. Her body wanted to thrash and buck as she came, but Melissa always made sure to keep as still as she could. Eventually she’d drift off to sleep, images of standing with the mannequins crowding her dreams. Then she’d wake to another day, just as good as the last.

Not that her days were without incident. Sometimes the saleswomen would get interrupted as they prepared her and Melissa would be left naked, or at best half-clothed, standing on the floor of the shop. She was always worried, then, that somebody would realise that she wasn’t one of the mannequins. Her nipples and areola were too real, her skin marked with the evidence of her humanity. Surely someone had to spot the differences.

Fortunately no-one looked too closely. Not until one day, when Julia was readying her for display. The young saleswoman had undressed her, but couldn’t seem to decide what to get Melissa to model. She’d tried a few tops on the motionless woman, but wasn’t happy with any of them, frowning at the powder blue blouse she’d just put on the motionless woman. Melissa was never given underwear now when she was posing. The mannequins didn’t wear any, except for those in bridal gowns, Deborah had told her. And the ones in the lingerie boutique, of course, but that was obvious.

“Excuse me, miss,” an older woman asked, not even glancing at Melissa, “could I get some assistance please?”

Melissa watched as Julia looked between her and the customer, frustration clear on the saleswoman’s face. Then a professional smiled spread over the strawberry blonde’s pretty features and she turned towards her waiting customer. “Certainly ma’am.” Melissa listened as the footsteps of the two women faded away from her and she was left clad only in the blouse, everything else, even whatever wig she was to wear, yet to be added.

Eventually Melissa heard some footsteps approaching from behind her. She hoped it was the saleswoman returning to finish her work. There was a touch of uncertainty, though, as she thought it was two people approaching.

Melissa could feel a knot forming in her stomach as two young women, probably eighteen or nineteen, if she had to guess, appeared in her view. They glanced at each other before they lent in close and peered at her face. One was a blonde and the other had Chinese features, though both sounded local by their accent. Melissa thought that there was something vaguely familiar about them, but she couldn’t place it. Nervously she held her breath.

“See Tanya,” the blonde said derisively, stepping back and waving vaguely in Melissa’s direction, “I told you they weren’t real.”

“Yeah, but look at her face,” the Chinese girl, who Melissa assumed must be Tanya, said, leaning in so close that she was inches from Melissa’s nose. The graphic designer was surprised by the lack of an accent.

Don’t blink, Melissa told herself, don’t blink.

“Okay, it’s well done, I admit,” the blonde acknowledged grudgingly, “but look, umm, down there, it’s just like a doll. If she were real she’d have well, you know.” The pretend mannequin could see the blonde pointing somewhat coyly in the direction of the lower half of her body.

Melissa’s emotions mixed and roiled, her stomach feeling as if it was about to drop away. She was scared that the girls would realise that she was real. The young woman was doing her best to control her breathing, to blink only when the girls weren’t looking at her face, to stay perfectly still. But it wasn’t all bad. She was pleased that she was so convincing, that her appearance was so like the mannequins, that it was fooling the girls. With her pale, shiny, skin and bald head it would be hard to imagine her as anything but an artificial figure.

Her pussy in particular seemed to be clinching the charade. She didn’t even think of herself as wearing a pair of vinyl panties any more. To her that smooth, featureless expanse was her pussy. She knew that she had a clitoris, and labia and everything else. But to her they were internal organs, just like lungs or kidneys or whatever. Unattractive, and out of sight as such things should be. Sometimes she had to do some distasteful things with them, but Melissa didn’t want to think about that. Her pussy was smooth and perfect, just like a mannequin’s. And it seemed to be good enough to fool these two girls.

“Alright Sophie, I suppose they’re fake,” Tanya admitted, frowning.

“See, no hair anywhere, nothing.” Sophie appeared satisfied with her conclusions, giving her friend a superior look over crossed arms. But then a sly grin crept over the blonde’s face. “Hey,” she added, “I wonder what her tits look like.”

“Sophie, no,” Tanya hissed, feebly trying to pull her friend away as Sophie reached for the buttons on Melissa’s blouse.

The blonde angrily shook her friend off and undid the buttons as Tanya looked nervously around.

“Hey these look pretty real. The feel it too.”

Melissa couldn’t stop her eyes going wide as the young blonde groped her tits. Thankfully Sophie’s attention was on her chest and Tanya’s eyes were nervously darting from side to side, so neither of them saw the change in her expression.

“Sophie!”

“What?” the blonde asked, shrugging as she turned away from Melissa.

“Come away,” the Chinese girl begged.

“Geez, all right,” the blonde sighed as she wandered off, Tanya trailing behind, “it’s just a mannequin, what are you so worked up about?”

A few minutes later Julia returned, accompanied by Deborah. As the older saleswoman redid the buttons on Melissa’s blouse she whispered, “Sorry about that dear. Young people, I ask you.”

“They did seem rather interested,” Julia observed, then added, “Do you think either of them would be suitable?”

“Perhaps the Oriental,” Deborah mused, confusing Melissa with the archaic term.

“Oriental?” the strawberry blonde saleswoman scoffed, “really, that went out decades ago.”

“Yes, well,” Deborah tutted, “I shall continue to use whatever terms I think appropriate.”

“We could offer them complimentary gifts,” Julia mused, changing the subject away from something that obviously annoyed the older woman. “It’s worked before. If they come back that is.”

“Oh I think they will,” Deborah said, knowingly, “but the blonde just wouldn’t work out. Not for that anyway.”

“A place with us? You think she’d be interested?” Julia asked, frowning in surprise.

“Yes, dear,” Deborah replied, somewhat condescendingly, “I know these things. I was right about you.”

Julia nodded in agreement. “So you think the Chinese girl would be one for her?”

“Certainly,” Deborah affirmed, “And I’m sure our Miss Sophie would be quite clever enough to find a second.”

Melissa wasn’t sure what the two women were talking about. Whatever it was it really didn’t concern her, so she didn’t worry about it anymore. Soon she was dressed and posed and on her stand, her mind drifting blankly.

(To be continued)