The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

April 20th, 1990

It had not been a good day. Not a good day at all.

Megan tried to hide away in her seat on the bus. Raucous laughter erupted from the back. Megan didn’t have to look, she knew who was laughing, and why. Vix, Mags, and Freddie were the culprits. Megan had never believed in the thought that every school had a group of Mean Girls, but those three were definitely auditioning for the role.

Middle school was HARD. Classes were harder, and kids were meaner. It used to just be a shove on the playground, but now feuds and grudges could last FOREVER. It was frustrating. One day, you could be talking to someone and thinking you’d made a new friend. And the next day, they were sniggering at a joke about you behind your back.

It wasn’t even like Megan had done something to any of them. She kept her head down, did her schoolwork, sat with her friends at lunch, and answered questions only when teachers called on her.

For the past week, Megan had been struggling with zits. She remembered waking up on Sunday to a particularly vivid one on the bulb of her nose. Monday she spent all day batting away “Rudolph” comments from the students. Even Ally and Anya giggled. Though, to their credit, they did try and make an effort to stifle their laughter.

Tuesday morning saw an outbreak of more zits, for a total of five. Megan could have used makeup, but her mother had told her she was too young, that she would live.

So Megan was huddled up against her bed, on the floor, crying. She had tried all day not to let the snarky comments and snide remarks get to her. She was stronger than the comments, it was words her father had shared with her when she struggled in elementary school.

Megan never stood up for herself, because she was determined to be a good girl, and good girls didn’t fight. It made her an easy target for all sorts of bullies. Her bulwark were her friends, Ally and Anya, and also Jake. She never talked to Jake at school, well, almost never. Sometimes they were able to sneak off during recess, just him and her.

Usually, however, they would hang out after school. When Megan wasn’t doing homework, or spending time with her girlfriends, she was with Jake.

Friends were the only thing Megan had going for. That and her grades. Megan was still managing to stay afloat in her classes. She worked hard on her schoolwork, her homework, and studying. In fact, half the time she spent with her friends, Jake included, was spent studying.

But as Megan sat there crying, it was her mother who came to her aid. Megan’s relationship with her mother had grown over the past few years. She had always been a daddy’s girl, but her mother had noticed her attempts to avoid conflict. Megan’s father had grown more distant, but her mother had swooped in. Still, she would not allow Megan this.

“I- I just,” Megan wiped at her eyes, tried to straighten her posture, “I can’t- the girls- ...you don’t understand.”

The way that Megan’s mother looked at her caused her stomach to drop to the floor. Pity welled there so heavy that Megan thought for a moment that her mother would join in crying too. Which meant that she remained firm on her stance against makeup.

“We’ll scrub your face with a bit more effort tonight, hmm?”

And so they did. But the next morning had reared its ugly head.

It was now Friday, and Megan had endured a relentless torrent of abuse over her pimple-ridden visage. She’d stopped looking in the mirror at it, forced herself to repeat the mantra that her mother had given her: “I am beautiful, no matter what they say.”

None of that helped. The Mean Girls were still giggling in the back of the bus about how hideous and freakish she looked. Megan struggled to find the reason in it. She was kind and quiet. She bothered no one, made no trouble, and yet she was suddenly afflicted by these zits. Life wasn’t fair. Her mother wasn’t fair.

Megan was torn between the compassion her mother had shown her, the way that their relationship had improved—and the fact that her mother was being so unreasonable about the makeup.

By the time the bus stopped and let Megan off, she was in a frothing rage. She stormed through the house, not looking for her mother, not look for her father. Those things were part of the normal routine. But there was nothing normal about her acne, and the fact that her mother wouldn’t let her do anything about it.

Instead of a hello, Megan let her parents know she was home by a resounding slam of her bedroom door. It was odd how such a violent, destructive act (though she’d never broken the door) could feel so satisfying, and yet it never failed.

The one good thing was that it was finally the weekend, she had two days to figure out how to deal with the pimples, or to pray that they went away. Her reputation had never been based on her looks anyway, if she could just figure something out in the next couple of days, then she might be able to salvage the situation with her reputation intact. Megan was certain she could not stand to be called zit-face for the rest of her life.

Interesting.

It wasn’t surprise that drove the man’s interest. He had plenty of experience with the memory modulator, and its ability to run with the butterfly effect. Specifically, even the alteration of one simple memory with the right keys would cascade into a myriad of changes deep within one’s persona and, subsequently, all other memories would be changed accordingly.

The Megan Parmenter in that memory was likely similar to, but not exactly the same as she would have been if he had gone after this memory first.

Use of the memory modulator was like a tactical formation. One had to plan all of the proper steps, predict moves, and then seize on opportunities as they presented themselves. His other, newer gadgets, took much of that out of his hands. And, while it was quicker, it was not nearly as satisfying.

Megan’s mother stepping up in their relationship was the perfect opportunity created by the previous alteration.

Without hesitation, the man began to input parameters to the odd remote-looking device. The screen went blank, then flashing lights blinked on and off in orange, green, blue, and red, with no obvious pattern emerging.

It was again time to return. With a satisfied smile, the man leaned back, prepared to watch the show.

Would Megan ever have a good day again?

All week it had been the same thing. The problem began on Monday when Megan woke to find a large, angry red zit resting on the bulb of her nose. The jokes about “Rudolph the Reindeer weren’t funny to begin with, they’d already been tossed around a couple of times this year and Megan had found them annoying well before she was on the receiving end.

If that zit had been the only one, then things probably would have been okay. But life had to find ways to throw a little rain cloud over her head, or so it seemed.

As the week progressed, Megan broke out into more and more pimples, until, by Friday, her face was just full of them. It was by far the worst case of acne out of anyone else in their year had ever had.

Megan was certain that it was the death of any reputation she had been building up.

Three of Megan’s classmates sat at the back of the bus, whispering and giggling and pointing at her. It didn’t take much effort to figure out who the focus of their amusement was. Vix, Mags, and Freddie were the “popular” girls in her year, though Megan thought that “mean girls” was a more appropriate name for them.

There was no way around it, Megan wasn’t a popular girl. She wasn’t a nerd or anything like that. She did well in class, but she was quiet and only answered when called on, doing her best to settle into the background. When a classmate needed help, she would do so with enthusiasm, but that was the extent of it. There were no reasons for her to be unpopular because of her excellent schoolwork.

No, the only thing that made sense was that Vix and her cronies were just better looking than the other girls. Both Vix and Mags had begun to sport budding chests, they even had to wear bras. While Freddie was still fairly fat, she had a beautiful face with refined, chiselled features that rivalled even Vix. Both of them had lost most of their baby fat, allowing their sculpted looks to break through.

When Megan looked at the three, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. Yes, she liked being the studious girl who got straight As, but that didn’t have to mean she couldn’t look pretty too. What girl wouldn’t want to look pretty? Everyone knew that no matter what they said, boys were only looking for one thing: someone they liked to look at.

To that end, Megan had taken control of one place where she could make a difference: her outfits. Megan almost never wore pants or even shorts. Skirts and dresses, even in the winter, where leggings and tights were a lifesaver. She wore her pretty auburn hair in different styles, but never cutting it. Headbands, ribbons in her hair, and other decorative items helped to give her an image she could be comfortable with.

But the zits were ruining it. They were ruining it all.

Her mother had proposed a solution the previous evening, Thursday, over dinner. Perhaps it was time for Megan to experiment with makeup. At first, Megan rejected the idea.Images of a women with horridly overdone makeup kept appearing in her head. Even though she was a kid, she couldn’t help but picture herself like so many of the older women she would see in Church who tried so hard to fight the signs of aging that they walked around with terrifying masks of foundation, several layers thick.

Makeup was her only option. Megan, still sitting against her bed, wiped the tears from her cheeks and her eyes and stood up. She would talk to her mother right then and there. They had become so close ever since Megan had stopped getting in trouble and presenting herself as lady-like.

There was the consequence of her father and her growing somewhat distant, but Megan believed it was because he recognized that she was growing up and he recognized that their interests were diverging. He still supported her a hundred percent. After the first couple of days with her zit problem, he’d called her down to the living room and went through a photo album, showing and pointing to pictures of Megan growing up.

“Look at how pretty you are.” Megan’s father said smiling.

“But I was six, Daddy.” Megan frowned slightly, “I’m not six now.”

“You’re right, but you’re still the same girl. Sure, you’ve grown a little, learned a lot,” her father reached forward and put a finger on Megan’s breastbone, “inside here you are the same, and these pimples? Temporary, they’ll go away and you’ll forget you ever worried about them.”

While Megan’s dad might have been right, the pimples didn’t feel temporary. They were multiplying, as though having pimple babies. By next Friday she’d just be one, whole, big pimple.

“We’ll get you some Oxy, alright?” Megan’s father gave her a pitying look. She hated it, but nodded.

Megan was decided. She found her mother in the kitchen with her father, the two of them preparing dinner together. It was Megan’s mother who prepared most of the meals, while her mother cleaned. However, on Fridays they did it all together. Mostly because her mother didn’t work on Fridays and her father got home early.

“I want you to show me, mommy.” Megan said plaintively. “The Oxy, the makeup. Please, can you show me now?”

After Megan was done, her mother opened her mouth to respond, then looked at her husband, who nodded. Megan’s mother smiled, “sure. I think your father can take it from here.”

There was a small break for dinner, but, all told, Megan and her mother spent over an hour going over the finer points of makeup. Megan learned more than just how to match and apply foundation, she also learned about eye-liner and eye-shadow, she learned about lipstick and lip-liner, and everything in between.

She also learned how to ensure a deep cleanse of her skin with the Oxy that had been purchased. The pimples didn’t disappear magically, as though erased from a page, but she was able to hide them after. Megan had all weekend to practice. Whatever Megan set her heart to, she perfected.

Monday morning, Vix, Mags, and Freddie had nothing to laugh about. Instead, they invited Megan to sit with them. Something they’d never offered anyone before. Megan felt pretty, and good girls looked pretty.