Every once in a while, people on the forums start a discussion about points of view in writing. Which is best, which is used, whether people know how to use them, etc. It always seems to wander into generalities, and I find I disagree with a few points others make.
Here’s my effort to do something about all that: I’m going to try to rewrite this story in as many different points of view as I can, so people can see what each one is, what that did to the story, and how they interact with the reader. I’m of course open to comments on any of the sections: My email is, as always, Darkmind@darkmindweb.com.
My stance: Each point of view is a tool in an author’s toolbox. The tools you use should be chosen to tell the story you are telling as effectively as possible.
A couple of general notes to authors: Pick a viewpoint, consciously. And keep to it. It is best to keep to at least the same general viewpoint (First Person, Third Person, etc) throughout a story. And never change a viewpoint within a scene. (That latter will limit me slightly in this series: This whole story is one scene, so I will not be shifting points of view at all. That means no dual-first person, or some of the other more esoteric viewpoints.)
Ok. Enough for the general introduction.
First Person:
First Person is probably the first perspective anyone ever tells a story in: It’s the perspective a child tells their parents what they did that day in. The basic definition is simple: The viewpoint character is the main character in the story. You see the story through their eyes and ears, or at least through what they tell you of their eyes and ears. (The narrator can lie, or be deceived, after all. That is best used extremely sparingly however.)
The benefits are that it is a comfortable viewpoint, both to write and read. It also immerses the reader into the story like no other viewpoint can. The downside is that you are limited to what the one character can see and hear of the story. You can get that character’s inner thoughts easily, but you are limited to what any other character tells or shows that character.
In the EMC realm, the Controller’s viewpoint allows the reader to see the plans (and possibly how they change) best, from the planner themselves. Quite often the controller is the only person who will interact with each of the other characters, and this viewpoint allows the reader to see every move made in the process of control.
Of course, that may not include attempts at escape, or any of the inner struggles which many readers find appealing: The controller is not privy to them, generally.
Painting — First Person Controller
I knew I wanted her the moment she entered. “Welcome, welcome. Would you like your face painted?”
It was a struggle to make myself sound casual. But then, I’ve had practice.
“Just looking? Of course that is fine. Have you been enjoying the fair? Good, good. Here, you should look at more than just the paints; take a look through my catalog.”
“Don’t worry about that: all my paints are water based, and wash off with just a little soap. Guaranteed not to stain skin or clothes. If they do, or if you are not satisfied in any way, just ask for your money back.” No one offers to get painted based on the paints: They want something from the painting. To look older, younger, more beautiful, more exotic. To become someone else, or to draw attention to who they are.
I wondered which she would be. Or if she would walk away, and decide her life was fine the way it was.
She choose. “You like that one? Excellent choice. So many go for the basic: cats, clothing. Truly, that design would be excellent on you. Would you like to see?”
“Oh, no! As I said: if you are not satisfied with my painting in any way there is no charge. Besides, it has been a slow afternoon. How about I try it, and if you like it I’ll only charge half price. If you don’t like it, there is water right here, you just wash it right off, no charge. It would be good advertising for the adults to see that I can do something other than a couple of butterflies on a child’s face anyway. Ok? Ok.” Ok, so I was eager. I’d come to this fair to stretch, to do something other than the mundane.
I’d forgotten who would walk through that door. Children. Girls, mostly. Oh, I could paint them. But I couldn’t paint them.
But finally, someone who saw more than an amusement for children when she walked in. And she was beautiful: A perfect canvas. And better yet, she’d found a full-face pattern that drew her. A mask she could wear, to make herself someone else.
In my hands, at least.
“Here, have a seat. Comfortable? Good. No, please, face this way, so I can use the light. Yes, perfect. I’ll start on your forehead, you can talk no problem.”
She flinched at the first touch of the paint. “Careful now, the paint will be cold for a moment. I hope you’re not ticklish. Otherwise, this could get interesting...” I actually loved it when they were ticklish. As long as they could control their reactions. It was fun to watch them struggle.
But only if they could keep themselves from moving too much. Otherwise, it just got difficult to paint.
“Hmm? Oh, you would be surprised where some people are ticklish, especially when some tiny little brush is doing the tickling.”
The comment drew her interest: The sign outside said ‘Face Painting’ after all, and she asked if I did more than faces. “Yes, I paint more than faces. Carnivals aren’t all I paint for... Why, you want the full body treatment? Ok, ok, little joke. We’ll keep it to your face for the moment.” For the moment only, I truly hoped.
Now that the paint hadn’t bit her, she opened up. “Oh, I’ve done birthday parties, receptions, anything. Mostly kid’s parties, though the local nightclub has me come down once a month or so. Once I did a bride for her wedding day, under the dress. She wanted to surprise her groom. Something blue. I have to admit I enjoyed that one. Unfortunately, I wasn’t invited to the wedding. Oh well.” That had been an interesting day. I’d considered using my special paints, but... Well, sometimes you have to throw a fish back.
And while I don’t mind a little conversation now and then, I prefer not to talk to my canvases. Luckily I had an excuse. “Now, you’ll have to stop talking for a moment. It moves your cheeks to much. No, don’t clench up, just sit relaxed. That’s good...”
“Hmm, this green matches your eyes. Excellent, it will make the final art a better piece.” I love it when little things like that work out. Painting is about discovery, discovering the art on the canvas in front of you. Sometimes it just creeps up at you, sometimes all you see is the skill of the painter, but the best have something beyond just the paint itself.
This looked to be a very good time.
I considered a moment, but I just couldn’t resist this one. “Now, pout your lips, like you are trying for a kiss. Perfect; just hold that for a moment. There, good. Try not to lick it off.”
“No, it’s perfectly safe. It even tastes good, but it messes the effect.”
And now, to see if I was going to be able to get what I’d wanted the moment she’d pushed aside the tentflap. “One moment... No. It needs to go lower. Do you mind if I do your neck as well? Same price. Ok, it will be just a moment.”
I relaxed: It had been enough. At least, enough to go further.
“My paint? Oh, I make my own. Secret recipe. I just couldn’t find anything that looked quite right otherwise... Besides, people like it when the paint doesn’t taste and smell like paint.”
There were more reasons that that, of course. I mean, if it was just a normal paint recipe I could sell it and make thousands, if not millions. But it was so much more than that, and to sell it would be to cheapen it.
“Would you mind loosening your shirt? I just want go a little under the collar, make it look like it continues on. No? Good!”
The initial pattern was done. We were still pretending to be client and artist here, so I played my role. “Here, take a mirror, what do you think? Beautiful is it not? Matches you perfectly. Here, why don’t I do your hands as well, strengthen the illusion.”
“Come over here to the counter, where you can set your hands down for a moment. Hmm, I really should do your nails too... I can just paint right over them, it won’t hurt the nail polish. Just wash it off.” I love doing hands: So delicate, so many ways they can move and intertwine. Hands are a challenge, every time, and the results are always worth it.
The girls at the nightclub love it too: The moving color changes their dance, and they can dance with just their hands... One of the reasons I love doing that job.
“Just a moment, I think I’ll use a bigger brush for the arms. We don’t want as much detail anyway.” Each brush is different, and each should be used for what it is best at. Still, it always pains me to do such broad strokes. The art in the paint is the delicateness, the detail. And I have to give some of that up with the big brushes.
Still, I couldn’t spend all day painting this canvas, no matter how much I wanted to.
“Hmm? Oh, I’m just pushing your sleeves up a moment. Same as your collar: we want to get it under the clothing, don’t we?” I looked into her eyes for a moment, and I knew she was mine. The flush, the slight widening of the pupil... I could still press to hard, but she wanted this almost as much as I did, now.
“Now I can come back with the little brush and touch it up a bit, put in some of the fine detail that we missed...”
And now to take away her ability to stop me. Oh, not physically, but metaphorically: The hands are the active element, and for now they would be under my control, helpless until I said otherwise. “Here’s the part where we really see if you are ticklish. Turn your hands over. No, don’t set them down. You’ll have to be careful for a few minutes, not touch anything, or you’ll smear the paint.”
Now, she finally asked for the next step. “You have a point. If we’ve done the arms, we should do the legs too. Here, take off your sandals. Come, stand on the chair. Then I don’t have to bend down quite as far. Nice legs.”
“You’re being awfully quiet up there, what are you thinking about? Just enjoying the paint?” That was obvious from even a causal glance at her face. “It is quite nice isn’t it? Soothing, just feeling the brush strokes...” I played with the brush a moment, in deliberately near-erotic strokes. I could fix up the paint later. For her I wanted to help her body tell her mind it had all it had ever wanted. “I’ve had clients comment on it before.”
“Me? Oh, just enjoying the view. You have very nice legs.”
“You know, I think it would be easiest if we just removed your skirt. At least until the paint dries. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the door, no one will come in. But if you keep it on it will keep brushing against the paint... You could hold it up, but you hands are painted already.” I should have shut the door already: I went and put up the ‘closed for lunch’ sign, and tied it shut. That counted for ‘locked’ at a fair.
When I turned back, she was trying to follow my suggestion to remove her skirt without using her hands. It wasn’t going to work, but she would keep trying unless I stopped her. “Here, let me. I’ll just put it over here, by your sandals, Ok?”
“By the way, there is a mirror over there in the corner.” I tossed my head in the appropriate direction, while I continued to paint. “What do you think so far? Good, isn’t it? It’ll be stunning when we’re done.”
I think she actually noticed the effect the paint was having on her for a moment. “The paint? Glad you asked actually. It’s just some chemicals I mix up, really. It’s based on an old herbal recipe I found. There are a couple of side effects, but most people don’t notice them. Especially if I use my normal mix, which includes some commercial paints.”
“The side effects? Well, the first one is simply the fact that it makes itself feel better. Simply put, the more you have on you the more you want to be painted. It just feels so good. Don’t you agree?”
“Spread your legs a little, so I can get to the insides here...” She complied, but complained. “Good. Oh, don’t worry. I’ll stop anytime you ask me to. And it’s not like it is addictive or anything. The effect fades when the paint dries.”
“Here, why don’t you step down a moment. I think I’ve got your legs done. No, don’t put on your skirt just yet: the paint needs time to dry. Just stand there a moment, let me see if I missed anything.” A time to admire my work so far, and decide where it needs to go next. The canvas stepped down, following these small commands without question or thought.
“Hmm. No, that just won’t do. What? Oh, I was just thinking how the paint stops so close to the edges of your blouse. Even when you roll your sleeves back down, any time you reach it will show where the paint ends. Not to mention the neckline doesn’t follow the cut, since I couldn’t get inside...”
As I hoped, she took the bait. It always worked much better if they thought it was their idea, instead of mine. “Yes we could go a little further, but the only real way to do that would be for you to remove your blouse.”
Her hands immediately went to her buttons. Confirmation, as if I needed it, that it no longer mattered that she was disrobing before a stranger, as long as she continued to get my paint. “Here, let me help you with that: your hands aren’t quite dry yet...”
“Other side effects? Well, there is one that few people complain about...” She wasn’t worried any more, really. She was asking about her new drug.
“It is the reason your panties are already wet. The arousal level fades out as well, though not as fast as the need to be painted. I hear the sex while it is in effect is something else, too.” Yes, I’d had first-hand experience as the partner. Worth the effort. Well worth the effort. “That’s the main reason I get invited to the gentleman’s club: so the ladies can enjoy themselves with all the klutzes the place attracts. At least, that’s what the ladies I paint tell me. They prefer the full body paint too.” I have not been able to prove any long-terms effects of the diluted paint, even in a full-body application. If there are any, they are subtle.
But none of the girls at the club ever turns down getting painted.
“Here, how does that feel? You like?” A redundant question: She’d just had a mini-orgasm from the paint. “Just wait until we are finished: the effect builds strength faster the more you are painted. Just wait a little bit for me to finish...” She stilled immediately.
“You know, it would be easier if I didn’t have to worry about you bra straps. I’ll just remove them, if you don’t mind? Of course not. At this point I am basically talking to myself anyway, especially if I am using the full strength version of my paint. Which I am. The words are just to give you something to focus on, to help you keep still.” A simple trick, but otherwise the canvases tended to rub the paint at this point, messing up my artwork.
“I have to admit I was looking forward to getting a chance to paint you. You are a just about perfect canvas.”
“I always love how these stick out at this point. Here, don’t you love the feel of the brush over them? I’ll use the fine tip: put in a little detail. People will be looking anyway.” I fiddled with her nipples, as her body fought itself to keep still, instead of arching in ecstasy.
“There is one other effect of my paints. It isn’t noticeable when I water them down, but every once in a while I try it to see the full effect. The paint also makes you more likely to do what you are told. In theory you could oppose me yet, but it isn’t likely. Besides, you would have to focus, which I can see you are having trouble doing.” Just for a moment, she almost managed. “Hmm, I think I missed a spot on the right nipple...”
“Well, that’s just about everywhere. The only place I’ve skipped is right... Here.” I tapped her clit with the handle of my paintbrush.
“You want me to paint that to? I’ll have to remove the panties, and the only way to do that without smudging the paint would be to cut them off.” Tap. Tap.
“Also, if I paint everywhere you won’t be able to resist doing anything you are told. But you don’t mind that do you? Or the fact that, once you are fully covered, if you let the paint dry the side effects become permanent?” Tap. Tap.
No objections. “No, the only thing you are thinking about is what it feels like to have the paintbrush there. Not that I’m complaining. This was my plan anyway.”
I took out a scissors, cut cloth away from the last of my canvas, and started painting. She was truly the perfect place to paint: She even kept herself clean of the hair so many females allowed to run rampant down there.
I expect no less: It would detract from the art, after all.
“There, all finished. You are a good little canvas; turn around, let me look at my work. Mmm, I have outdone myself.” I had. I had known she would be an excellent canvas, but the art had intertwined with itself and with her as I’d painted. The greens matched her eyes, the brown of her hair, with just a hint of red, was picked up in a dozen different ways I hadn’t even thought about all down her torso; even the shadows cast by her breasts worked themselves into the pattern.
She stood, ultimate pleasure reflected on her face, perfectly still, showing off my art as only the best canvas can. I was so proud, and I could sense that pride reflected back to me.
“You will wait in the back room. I have a couple of buyers coming by later, I may show you to them. Perhaps.” Or, perhaps not. The more I looked at her, the more I wanted to keep her for myself: The buyers just wanted her for body, for the animal uses they could put her to. But as a piece of art she was something more than that. Something only I could appreciate.
“On the other hand, I’ve always wondered what happens if I paint someone who is already under the full effect...”
It would be a worthy experiment.