First Person Controlled is quite logically the opposite of the Controller’s viewpoint: The reader gets to read every moment of struggle, every thought going through the head of the controlled. They learn the fate of the controlled as the controlled themselves learns it, through the same words.
The biggest disadvantage is that in EMC stories, quite often the controlled are either not aware of the changes happening to themselves, or their minds are not coherent for the changes. The latter especially can be a problem: It is very hard to present a coherent picture to the reader when your narrator isn’t able to think straight for themselves.
Painting—First Person Controlled
I entered on a lark: I hadn’t had my face painted since I was kid.
“Welcome, welcome. Would you like your face painted?”
Not really: Mostly, I just wanted to see what they did these days. What I remember was butterflies on kid’s cheeks. I told the owner so.
“Just looking? Of course that is fine. Have you been enjoying the fair? Good, good. Here, you should look at more than the paints, take a look through my catalog.”
Ok, that was what I was actually looking for anyway. There was some good stuff in there. I wonder how long it takes to get it off?
“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.”
I flipped pages for a moment, just looking at the pictures and patterns. About halfway through one just stopped me. It was... I don’t really have the words. It was me, if you can understand that.
“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?”
I hadn’t come in there to get painted. And something like this... It must take ages. I didn’t have the time.
And besides, what if I didn’t like it? What if it only worked on the girl in the photo?
“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, yeah. Even I hadn’t believed that. The painter saw right through me, and had me seated and waiting before I even knew what I was doing.
“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.”
I jerked, just a bit, as the brush first touched my skin. It felt... Electric. Like it was there to change my skin, not just cover it.
“Careful now, the paint will be cold for a moment. I hope you’re not ticklish. Otherwise, this could get interesting...”
Ok, perhaps I was just surprised at it being cold. I mean, how did he manage to keep it cold on a day like today?
I did have to wonder how someone could be ticklish on their forehead.
“Hmm? Oh, you would be surprised where some people are ticklish, especially when some tiny little brush is doing the tickling.”
He sounded like he didn’t just mean foreheads.
“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.”
Where else do face-painters work?
“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.”
“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...”
Relaxing wasn’t a problem: It was a very relaxing experience. Just sitting there, having someone carefully work on my face. It took me back to when I was a little girl. I’d always loved the face-painting booths, always had my mom stop for me to get a flower or something. This felt a lot like that.
“Hmm, this green matches your eyes. Excellent, it will make the final art a better piece.”
“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.”
Now, why did he have to say that? It only made me want to do it more.
And for that matter: If it wasn’t safe to lick, was it safe for skin?
“No, it’s perfectly safe. It even tastes good, but it messes the effect.”
It had been an amazingly short amount of time. He stood back, to evaluate his work.
“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.”
Sure.
I had accidentally tasted a bit of his paint, and I have to say it tasted quite a bit better than the watercolors I remember from when I was a child.
“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.”
“Would you mind loosening your shirt? I just want go a little under the collar, make it look like it continues on. No? Good!”
Just a bit under wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, I have to admit: I liked the feel of the paint of my skin. After that first cold touch, it felt warm. Soothing.
“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.”
Why not? It didn’t take him long to paint, after all.
“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.”
“Just a moment, I think I’ll use a bigger brush for the arms. We don’t want as much detail anyway.”
Well, of course he couldn’t just leave off at the wrists.
“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?”
Right. That way it looks like it continues all the way.
“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...”
“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.”
It took some focus: A paintbrush on your palms almost has to tickle. Still, I didn’t want to mess up the paint. We wanted a complete illusion, after all. To make it look like I was completely this pattern that had called out to me.
Which brought up a point: We had my face, my hands, and my arms, but I was wearing a skirt and sandals. My legs were uncovered, and they were skin too. If we wanted the full illusion, they needed to be painted as well.
“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.”
I’ve always been proud of my legs. My last boyfriend had liked them too: He loved to look at them, to run long stroking caresses up and down them, just like the brush was doing...
“You’re being awfully quiet up there, what are you thinking about? Just enjoying the paint? It is quite nice isn’t it? Soothing, just feeling the brush strokes... I’ve had clients comment on it before.”
The paint felt really good. Being painted felt really good. I could stand like this all day, just having him paint my legs, in those little strokes, teasing at me...
Which was really more that just painting.
“Me? Oh, just enjoying the view. You have very nice legs.”
Well, I can’t blame him for being male, after all. And he was being very professional, except for that one slip.
“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.”
He had a point: I didn’t want the paint getting into the skirt. It might stain. Or worse: mess up the pattern.
“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. What do you think so far? Good, isn’t it? It’ll be stunning when we’re done.”
It was stunning already. I felt transformed: Like I was turning into someone else. Someone who the paint would show to me.
How did he make this paint, anyway?
“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.”
Side effects? A lot of me was covered with stuff already. It was safe, wasn’t it?
“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?”
It did feel good. And that was harmless. He wasn’t even charging me extra for this.
And I was really enjoying being painted.
“Spread your legs a little, so I can get to the insides here... Good.” He’d better remain a professional, if I was letting him inside my legs. “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.”
I stepped down, to let him analyze his art.
“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...”
Well, he could go a bit further, couldn’t he? It’s just a bit of paint. And we want things to look seamless.
“Yes we could go a little further, but the only real way to do that would be for you to remove your blouse.”
Well, of course. That made sense.
“Here, let me help you with that: your hands aren’t quite dry yet...”
He’d said one of the side effects was that it felt good to be painted. As he took off my blouse, I wondered about others.
“Other side effects? Well, there is one that few people complain about...”
“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. 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.”
That explains me thinking about my last boyfriend. I’d dumped him a few weeks ago: He was great in the sack, but unfortunately he couldn’t be counted on to limit himself to one sack at a time.
This was so much better, even then he had ever been.
“Here, how does that feel?” He painted up the curve of my breast, just a bit. I could feel the side-effects clearly on that one. “You like? 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...”
“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?” If it meant more of those brushes on my skin, I didn’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.”
Yes, because if I didn’t keep still, he couldn’t paint.
“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.”
This wasn’t being professional, but I didn’t care. It was like he had hot-wired those brushes directly into my pleasure centers, via my nipples. Every touch, every stroke, was nearly earth-shattering. I was amazed I was still standing. He could continue as long as he wanted.
“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.” I wasn’t hearing the words, not really. But, just for a moment, the thought crossed my mind that this wasn’t what I was here for. That I had an appointment I needed to get to soon... “Besides, you would have to focus, which I can see you are having trouble doing. Hmm, I think I missed a spot on the right nipple...”
Of course, I’d rather he kept doing that.
“Well, that’s just about everywhere. The only place I’ve skipped is right... Here.”
Oooh. I know my knees buckled a moment for that.
“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.”
Please. I need the paint. I need to be covered. So that it is seemless.
“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?”
Come on, stop teasing me. The other end of the paintbrush: the one with the paint. That’s what I needed.
“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.”
He heard my silent plea, and the pleasure was all I could hope for.
“There, all finished. You are a good little canvas; turn around, let me look at my work. Mmm, I have outdone myself.”
“You will wait in the back room. I have a couple of buyers coming by later, I may show you to them. Perhaps.”
Whatever he says. Maybe when he’s done, he’ll paint me again.
“On the other hand, I’ve always wondered what happens if I paint someone who is already under the full effect...”
Please.