The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“I appreciate you coming on such short notice,” Mr. Drummond said. His tie looked very expensive, and was tacked with a golden clip. A hint of aftershave hung around him.

Olivia felt distinctly underdressed. Sure, it was the same sweater/jean combination she sported every day of the week, and it wasn’t like babysitters had a dress code. Still, the Drummond house made her feel coarse, like she should’ve come in through the servant’s entrance.

The call had been a surprise. After neglecting the kid and leaving the TV on some porno channel, Olivia had figured that would be it for Adventures in Babysitting with Mrs. and Mr. Drummond. The Benjamin Franklins she had acquired had gone conscientiously into her bank account... with one exception.

“Honey! I’m ready!” Mrs. Drummond chirped. She walked easily on two thick heels. The woman was wrapped in clingy red silk, and even wore what Olivia hoped was a fake fur.

“She spends at least an hour on makeup,” Mr. Drummond said, smiling. His wife saw her chance, and snuggled in next to him. He briefly examined her cleavage, then nodded, satisfied.

Mrs. Drummond’s ditzy eyes examined her. “Oh, I like you earrings!” she exclaimed.

Olivia blushed. All she had in were two simple silver hoops. She had gotten them on a whim, passing by the Macy’s jewelry department, tempted by the sparkle.

Then it had turned out her ears had closed up. It made sense, she hadn’t worn earrings since Junior Prom, ages ago.

There had been nothing for it but to head to Claire’s and let some sixteen year old put two new holes in. And now Olivia had to wear them all the time, or risk letting them close up once more. It had hurt... but they looked too good to resist.

“Mr. Drummond, I wanted to talk about how much you paid me last week...” Olivia said, toying with her right earlobe.

“Not enough?” Mr. Drummond said. He began to walk towards the door, his wife sashaying against his hand.

“No, it’s—”

“Ah, you know to bargain when the other party wants to leave,” Mr. Drummond said, and checked his watch. “Impressive. I’ll think about a raise. Good night, Olivia.”

And then he was through the door.

Olivia checked on the baby. No change. It was almost pathetically well-behaved, with perfect, quizzical features. It smiled at her and gurgled lightly. She checked that off the list.

A great deal of her body wanted her to rush to the TV and check out Slut TV.

It had dominated her thoughts all week. It was all just so new and exciting, the unrestrained sexuality, the rush of pleasure, the haze of greasy, wet fucking. Olivia had examined her slim, boring body in the mirror. No whopping tits. No clit like a gumball. Big fuzzy pubic hair.

She had masturbated a couple of times. It was sort of fun. But nothing like the all-encompassing, shattering orgasms the girls on screen seemed to reach. Was she doing something wrong? Maybe just using one tentative index finger wasn’t enough.

“Don’t do it,” Olivia told herself. The money was too good to risk daily porno watching.

Instead, she wandered into the master bedroom. And then over to a massive bathroom mirror, dominated on all sides by lit bulbs. They cast a strong yellow glow over her scrawny face.

There was a single stick of lipstick on the counter. It was bright, glossy red.

Olivia picked it up. Wide-eyed, she watched herself draw two thick stripes across her lips. She smacked them together. It had just a tint of strawberry.

Her face hardly looked right with just a wash of red. Olivia struggled with herself, for a moment, then pulled open the makeup drawer.

Mrs. Drummond had a massive stockpile of creams, powders, rubs, and lipsticks. In many colors and shades, all well-organized in a plastic tray with separate sections for everything.

The girl picked out the rouge. Lips trembling, licking at the unfamiliar lipstick, she got to work.

“I look like a clown,” Olivia told herself. She had overdone the powder, giving herself ash-white cheeks. Then too much dark-blue mascara. With all that plus the red lipstick she looked like the Flag. Plus her hair was all wrong.

But still, it had been so... exciting! She could feel hints of what it would feel like to be perfectly coifed and arranged... to be an object of desire.. to be wanted and needed.

Her thighs squeezed together.

“I’ll just... check what’s on,” Olivia said, looking towards the TV room. It was just eight, after all. Something new was starting. She left the makeup on. It felt thick and heavy on her face, and the feeling was entrancing.

The living room was just as she had left it. Olivia turned the TV on, flipped the channel upwards into the four hundreds.

The program was entitled “Back Down to Calving.”

Olivia sat down.