The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Desire Dating

by Pan

Abigail winced as the artist went to work—her newest ink, she knew, would be her masterpiece. She’d been nervous about getting such a large tattoo, but as soon as the idea popped into her head, she couldn’t resist...

She couldn’t resist.

This would be the piece that truly got her the attention she so desperately craved. The piece that finally put her above the rest of those sluts. This would, finally, make her stand out more than anyone and everyone else.

This tattoo would complete her.

* * *

“FW: fw: re re RE: Looking for luv? Sin up NOW!”

Despite the fact that no, she wasn’t looking for ‘luv’, Abigail found herself opening the email.

It was idle curiosity, she told herself—her interest had been piqued by the fact that the piece of obvious spam had come from her co-worker Rob. She didn’t know Rob particularly well—they’d never exchanged more than idle chatter, the occasional conversation over the water cooler.

He’d either thought she looked lonely and forwarded her the email, or (much more likely) he’d been caught out by some kind of dating site virus. Abigail was happy to find a distraction from her monotonous day-job, however, and so she opened the email and clicked through to DesireDating dot com.

A smile crept over her face as she browsed the site. No matter what she clicked, she could only find female profiles—it seemed more like a catalogue than a match-making site. After a few minutes of reading about the site’s members, she realized how it worked—girls could make a profile for free, but only guys could message...for a price.

Some of the profiles were obviously fake—porn star-esque models with albums full of lewd pictures, and self-descriptions that read like advertisements for hookers.

“Want 2 take ur cock in evry hol”—probably, Abigail smirked, written by the same person who composed the site’s spam email headlines. They must have filled the site up with these fake women to convince men to join, force them to spend $5 a message to attempt to pick up clearly made-up “easy women”.

The ridiculousness of the fake profiles made her laugh, and after a few minutes, she closed the site and continued calculating the estimated annual percentage increase of inner-city mortgages.

That night, after half a glass of wine, Abigail found herself opening up her laptop and typing in the URL once more—just to have another laugh, she told herself, but after reading through a few dozen profiles, she had to admit that it was something more than that.

It had been a while since she’d dated...work was so draining, and it took all of her energy just to organize a weekly meal with friends, let alone go to all the effort of putting herself out there, meeting men, dealing with rejection, creeps, the whole scene...

If the site only let men contact women, all she’d have to do was upload a few photos, a bit of information about herself. Surely there were a few nice, normal men on the internet—looking for someone like her, not just a “hot milf ready 4 ur cum”.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Abigail finished her glass, and clicked the big, glowing “sign up now!” button. Within a minute she was typing out information about herself, picking the most attractive shots she could find of herself, and trying to work out if the user-name “officechick” was going to put people off.

After she finished, she sat back, lips pursed, and tried to work out what was wrong.

Play to your audience, she thought with a cheeky grin, adding a “sexy” to the beginning of her user-name.

If that was what men came to the website to find, it couldn’t hurt to play along, just a little bit. Maybe this would be good for her—a chance to let her flirty side out. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d dressed for men, instead of comfort.

A few minutes later she closed her laptop, having uploaded a slightly saucy picture of herself in a bikini, added a few sultry phrases to her self-description, and quickly taken a self-shot showing off her cleavage.

That night, Abigail’s dreams were consumed by the scrolling, glowing, blinking logo of the site. “Desire Dating”—it drew her in, enthralled her, and when she woke up, she was slightly embarrassed with the speed which she logged into her email, keen to see if anyone had selected her, to see if anyone had sent her a message.

She had no new emails. Even her spam folder was empty.

Trying not to be disappointed, to tell herself that it was just a stupid site, and that it was unlikely that anyone would even have had a chance to notice her profile overnight, Abigail saw a button that she hadn’t seen before—“top girls.”

Why, she wondered, would a site want to highlight the most-messaged girls? Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of a dating site? Once a girl’s taken, she’ll surely delete her profile…

Clicking through, her confusion grew. The list closer resembled a “top 10 porn stars”—it was made up of all the profiles that Abigail had pegged as obviously fake. Artificially enhanced breasts, profiles that could have been sex phone-line transcripts, women with piercings and tattoos and dresses so short they could have been worn as belts.

Still, if this was what the guys of Desire Dating wanted, Abigail knew that she would have to adapt. She could feel her competitive side coming out, and after scrolling through a few of the most popular profiles, she knew exactly what she had to do.

An hour later, Abigail glanced at the clock, and was shocked to see how much time she’d spent re-doing her photos and profile. If she didn’t run, she was going to be late to work.

Only once she was on the train did it occurred to her she probably should have changed—she’d picked out her most revealing clothes to take some new shots, and while it would still pass her office’s dress-code, her outfit showed much more skin than she was used to.

Perhaps, she reflected, perhaps that’s not a bad thing. I am sick of being single, after all…

Abigail was cute—not stunning, but certainly a looker. Her real strength was her curves, which she normally kept buried under as many layers as she could get away with. If she was serious about finding a man, perhaps it was time to stop hiding her body away.

She reached up and let her hair down, crossed her legs, and let her short skirt ride up slightly. The approving glances of the man across the aisle from her caused her to feel strangely warm, and when Abigail thrust her shoulders back to emphasize her cleavage, the warmth increased.

She felt good.

* * *

Two days later, on the same train to work, Abigail didn’t even notice the attention her outfit drew. She was too focussed on her smart-phone—Why, she thought in irritation, does the reception drop out as soon as we get into a tunnel? We’re living in the 21st century, for Christ’s sake.

Checking for new messages had become an obsession, and every day that her inbox remained empty seemed to double her frustration. As soon as she’d entered the office, she’d had the bright idea of updating her profile to reflect how men’s attention had made her feel.

“I just love making heads turn,” she’d written, smiling with the knowledge that this was sure to garner her at least a few more vistors, and—ideally—a message. “Nothing makes me happier than knowing a man is checking me out, imagining all the dirty things he could do to me.”

As the day had passed, the men she worked with had started to notice the change in her wardrobe, and her head had filled with more fantasies...which she’d dutifully typed out, in the hopes that the men of Desire Dating would enjoy them.

“I normally look so innocent, but inside, I’m thinking so many dirty thoughts. I want every man who passes by my desk to bend me over it, and fill me up. I fight the urge to jump on the desk and strip, every time we have a meeting. All I want is to be noticed, to be desired...”

A part of her had wondered if she was perhaps being too explicit, but she’d found the area of the site that listed your number of visitors, and discovered that the dirtier her writing, the more hits her profile got.

Still no messages, however.

As she’d wondered why she even wasn’t worth the $5 it cost to send a message, she grew more determined to crack it. That night, she’d stopped off to buy some more revealing clothes—as she’d called a taxi to help her take the twenty-odd bags home, Abigail had to admit that she may have gone a tiny bit overboard...

It had been easy to talk herself into new underwear—she was long overdue. The two bags full of lacy, skimpy, sexy lingerie meant that she could throw out all of her old, dowdy panties and bras. The short skirts had been harder to justify, but she’d remembered how many of the “top girls” had been wearing short skirts. And corsets. And yoga pants...

With her new outfits, she’d spent a few hours with her new DSLR. Posing for increasingly naughty pictures, only stopping to jot down the erotic thoughts that taking the photos inspired in her. When she was done, the young woman was more turned on than she’d ever been in her life.

That night in bed, her fingers slipped between her slick folds, and got herself off twice. She’d masturbated before, of course, but never twice in one evening. As she drifted off, her last thought was how she should update her profile to add details about how much she loved getting herself off, about the dirty images that raced through her mind as she did, about how she’d love to have an audience some time...some time soon.

She dreamt of the logo again. This time, it wasn’t just scrolling and blinking, it seemed to be throbbing, as well. Throbbing. And though the site had no sound, in her mind, the logo had its own...’song’ wasn’t the right word for it. It was more like an audible energy, a buzzing, a pulsing sound that slipped into the cracks of her mind and rewired her thoughts...

The next morning, she’d checked her email before she’d even fully woken up, desperate to find that someone—anyone—had found her worthy of messaging, hoping that the dam of silence had broken, and she’d find her inbox overflowing with horny guys, wanting to meet her, wanting to fuck...

Nothing.

Glancing at the clock, Abigail was thankful that she’d woken up with enough time to really do some research, find out what made the top profiles so popular. After half an hour putting on some of the new make-up that she’d bought, she opened 20 new tabs, one for each of Desire Dating’s top women.

Since the last time she’d checked, a new batch of women had cracked the top twenty. It gave her a lot of hope—if she could just take the right pictures, show herself off as well as these women did, she could make the list too. She could find herself swimming in male attention. She could be fucked every night of the week if she wanted.

Abigail couldn’t think of anything more appealing.

While the naked woman clicked from picture to picture, she found her hand wandering to her snatch—although she couldn’t remember her dreams, she’d woken up horny, and looking at the sexiest girls she’d ever seen just turned her on more. Scantily-clad woman after scantily-clad woman appeared on her screen, and imagining men looking at her like they did these women turned her on so much that she couldn’t help but play with herself.

She was on the 17th women when the recurring theme finally occurred to her, and she slipped a fourth finger into her sopping hole when she realized what men on Desire Dating were looking for.

Tattoos.

All of the women in the top 20 had at least one tattoo, and the higher up the list you went, the more tattoos they had. She closed her eyes and imagined herself covered in ink, every inch of her tattooed with messages proclaiming her to be a slut, a whore, a piece of meat for men to fuck.

As she came around her hand, a slow smile spread across Abigail’s face. She had a plan.

* * *

Her first tattoo idea had been small. Classy. She’d always liked bluebirds, and the image of one permanently on her shoulder made her smile.

On the way to the parlour, however, her mind had started wandering. She wasn’t just getting the tattoo for her, after all...she was getting it for men to look at.

And so when she got off the bus, her small, simple idea had turned into a list. A list that would turn her body into an advertisement for sex.

The tattoo artist raised one eyebrow when she saw the list.

“Are you sure?” she asked, and when Abigail just stared at her scathingly, shrugged. “It’s your body...”

Not for much longer, Abigail thought, a smile upon her face.

* * *

Eyebrows were raised as Abigail entered work the next morning.

The second she arrived home from the parlour, she’d removed the plastic wrap to admire her new ink. It had only taken a few moments for her to realize that none of her new clothes would completely cover the work that she’d had done—some of the worst of it, sure, but for the most part...

Oh, wow, she thought. The legs came out even better than I thought they would…

Under Abigail’s right arm and going down her side were a pair of spread, pantihosed legs. They met at her underarm—if she decided to grow out her underarm hair, it would instantly remind people of pubic hair. As it was, the resemblance was closer to a shaved snatch.

On her left side, she’d had a bimboized version of her face added—with poutier, fuller lips, and heavy make-up, it wasn’t explicitly sexual, but at a glance, it certainly suggested it.

Her favourite, however, was the silhouette she’d had inked onto her back—it was an exaggerated version of the female form, clearly naked, on all fours. Anyone behind her would instantly get the message—this was how Abigail wanted to be. On all fours, and ready to fuck.

For a second, her enthusiasm wavered. Have I gone too far? she wondered. These are much cruder than I wanted. Maybe I...maybe I’ve made a mistake…

But before her mind could continue down that path, she remembered the new light she’d bought, for the express purpose of taking better photos. Her face lit up with excitement as she thought of all the photos she could take, all the new angles she could show off...

The next morning, before work, she’d found a new tattoo parlour and added some more. Every patch of bare skin seemed like an insult to the potential tattoo that she could place there, and so when she’d entered work, a slight consternation was caused by the presence of plastic wrap around both her arms and legs, as well as her midriff.

She just gave anyone who looked at her a saucy wink. Wait until they saw what the plastic wrap was covering.

* * *

Abigail craned her neck back. It was a tricky shot—she was simultaneously trying to show off the tattoo she’d just added to her collarbone, the piercing in her right nipple, and her shaved pussy.

The top twenty had updated again, but this time, the trend was nude photos. Undaunted, Abigail had matched them, and when she’d noticed that their clothes had been hiding piercings, she’d immediately gone out to get one of her own. She’d quickly found a tattoo parlour that offered nipple-rings, and while she was there, had them add a few more tatts as well.

She’d started to think of her body as a canvas...no, not a canvas. A billboard. A big, beautiful, blank billboard, that she could use to advertise herself on. And she knew exactly what the men of Desire Dating were looking for—sex.

“For a good time,” her new tattoo read, “call me.” Adding her phone number had been a unique touch, she thought. She certainly wouldn’t object to getting a call or two—maybe if she removed the $5 barrier, she’d get a bit more attention.

On the inside of her left thigh, she’d added the word “Christmas”, and on her right thigh, “Thanksgiving.” I want you to come between the holidays was written directly above her pussy mound, and while it had made her smile at the time, she was starting to worry that it was too complex. Perhaps an arrow, with “insert cock here” would have worked better...

Ah well, there was always room for that above her ass.

She reached down and stroked her wet pussy, as the camera took shot after shot. A few of the girls had been doing that—playing with themselves in their pictures. She wasn’t sure if it was allowed, but had also realized that if she wanted to get ahead, she had to start taking risks. As long as she was following the crowd, she’d never have a chance.

Abigail had missed work that day. She’d spent so much time on the tattoo artist’s chair that by the time they were done, she figured she may as well not go in. Besides, her boss had been looking at her strangely—it could have something to do with the ring of dicks that Abigail had tattooed around her neck, like a collar of cock, or the foul language that she’d started using around the office, but who knew?

Not that she cared much. Time spent at work was time that she couldn’t spend taking photos of herself for the website, and until she got that first message, nothing else mattered to her. Abigail was getting closer, she could feel it—her hits had started to increase by leaps and bounds, especially since she’d found the “what I’m willing to do” area of her profile.

Tempting though it was to enter one word—“anything”—Abigail had (correctly) guessed that specificity was the key, and had made a long, long list of the sexual acts that she was excited about.

It was several times longer than the rest of her profile put together, especially since she’d been unable to resist adding description to some of her suggestions. “You can choke me” could easily have stood alone, but she’d almost immediately gone back and added how hot it got her when her vision started to go black, how helpless she felt being fucked by a man who could literally kill her, and how much she craved the feeling of rough hands around her neck while being pounded from both sides at once...

The rest of the list similarly got out of hand pretty quickly. “Spank me” was now followed by “until my ass is red and raw, and I’ve cried so hard that you can use my tears and snot as lube.” An offer to “bring your brother around and do me from both sides” was accompanied by pictures of her masturbating at the idea, filling her pussy and rear entrance with her fingers, telling her potential suitors that she was thinking about them while she did. “Will roleplay anything” and a list of her costumes should certainly have been sufficient, but she couldn’t resist telling some of her fantasies—being kidnapped and used as a sex slave, or having to sell her body to feed her children, and constantly being knocked up in the process, causing an endless loop of sex and childbirth...

It had quickly paid off, however, and Abigail was finally in the top hundred women of the site—against some pretty stiff competition.

This should help, she thought, reaching behind herself and spreading her ass-cheeks wide. On her left cheek were the letters “W” and “H”, and on her right, “R” and “E”.

Even if they didn’t get quite what she was going for, she knew that they’d enjoy the view.

* * *

A small, small part of Abigail wondered how she was going to pay rent that month. A tiny part of her was concerned about the fact that she’d maxed out all of her credit cards. A minuscule section of her brain realized that the tattoos she’d planned cost almost as much as her entire savings.

But most of her was simply furious.

“Whores!” she yelled at her computer. “Those stupid, stupid whores...”

What was particularly infuriating was that it wasn’t even a particularly clever idea. It was one that she could have implemented any time in the past week—taking photos of herself for men to stare at, the looks of arousal she got when walking down the street...her libido had skyrocketed, and she’d started building a collection of toys to help her deal with the need.

Her email inbox was empty, her phone hadn’t so much as received a text message all day, and so the only way that she could get the cock that she so desperately craved was by using the rubber ones that her newest tattoo parlour sold.

She had all the materials. But taking photos of herself using them hadn’t even occurred to her, not until she’d seen the top girls doing it. One of them had even included a video!

“God damn it,” she muttered under her breath, before picking up her camera and deciding to make up for lost time.

She thought she’d been horny when she’d photographed her fingers entering her pussy—it didn’t even compare to the feeling of her largest red dildo sliding in between her lips.

Good, she thought. Maybe it’ll come across in the pictures…

She was more than an hour into the photo session when she came up with the idea of using two at once. At first, she stuck to one in each hole, but as her arousal grew and intensified, she was able to fit both of them into her pussy at once.

* * *

The silhouetted woman was no longer alone. As well as the silhouetted man that Abby had asked her newest artist to find, there was a long line of men behind her, a queue of horny silhouettes travelling right around to her front, waiting their turn.

“Insert cock here” hadn’t been quite as funny as Abby had hoped, and so she’d had an “s” added to the end of “cock”. Fortunately, her anus was loose enough that the message was clear.

She’d had a red ring placed around each nipple, making them look like little targets—and just in case, the words “titty targets” were printed up one breast, and “shoot & score” down the other.

Abby had added some spurting cocks, just to make sure that there was no ambiguity.

She lay naked in her apartment as the Brandon added what she knew would be her masterpiece. When her funds had run out, she’d been forced to approach amateurs, new tattoo artists who needed skin to practice on. The young man in her room couldn’t be any older than eighteen, and when she’d told him what she wanted, he’d started stammering, and told her that he wasn’t sure if he could do it.

It wasn’t until she’d ridden him to orgasm thrice that he’d finally agreed. He probably would have agreed after the first time, but the feeling of cum splashing into her increasingly-loose pussy was so nice that Abby just had to feel it again, and again. It had been so long since she’d gotten laid, and since she’d slipped back into triple figures on Desire Dating, she wasn’t holding out hope of getting a message from there any time soon.

She’d considered filling the large gap on her back for a while, but once she came up with this tattoo idea, realized exactly why she’d been leaving it bare. Almost every other inch of her was inked—the sole of her left foot read “if you can see this, someone has stolen my high heels”, and on her right was simply a detailed sketch of her pussy. She’d had slutty make-up permanently tattooed on her face—it saved her that hour and a half every day, and the only downside that she could see was that it wouldn’t run when a man came on her face.

On her left knuckles she’d had “C.U.M. S.L.U.T.” tattooed, and on her right, “D.O. M.E. N.O.W.” The back of her legs were covered in the faces and bodies of her favorite porn stars—on her right was James Deen, cumming on Alexis Texas’s body, and on her left was Stoya having her ass filled by both Manuel Ferrara and Evan Stone at once. Starting on her left shoulder ran a series of pink cunts, each one slightly different to the next, until by the time it reached her right shoulder, they’d turned into spurting cocks.

And on her left ankle, she’d gotten the bluebird that she’d wanted in the first place. She didn’t remember whether or not it had a huge erection in her original vision, but she was too happy with it to care.

Brandon started work, using the photo she’d taken as a reference. It was her favourite shot—in her ass were the three dildos that had become standard. It was rare to find a profile that didn’t have the three-dildos-in-ass shot, but Abby was particularly proud of the two-litre bottle of coke that she’d managed to fit into her ass.

Her ass now read “whOre”, but she didn’t mind. It sort of helped emphasize the point.

She’d asked him to take a bit of artistic license—as well as the dildos in her pussy, she’d asked him to add a real cock or three (in reality, five was her limit, but she figured most advertisements lied a little) and she wanted him to replace the corded shutter release in her hand with another cock.

And, of course, she’d asked if he could cover her in as much cum as possible, without masking any of the tattoos.

Brendon had spent the day doing some reading to make sure he could fulfil her last request as accurately as possible—she’d asked him to make her pregnant. The photo was fairly slutty as it was, but pregnant? She knew that it would be enough to make a saint hard.

A tattoo of herself, pregnant, covered in tattoos, full of cock, doused in semen, on her back for any man fucking her to look at. It was her masterpiece, and with it, she’d be complete. She wouldn’t be able to get any more tattoos unless she started getting them on her face.

And that would be ridiculous, of course. What kind of businesswoman would get a tattoo on her face?

* * *

As she pressed “record” on the video camera that one of the men had brought, Abigail smiled in triumph.

This was it. This had to be it. She was, at long last, ahead of the trend.

This was her trump card. It was going to work.

When women on the site had started recording themselves having sex with men, staring into the camera and mouthing stuff like “You could be next”, or “I wish this was you,” Abigail had been worried.

A few people had even taken video of themselves with another woman—a few profiles had become joint accounts, advertising two women simultaneously. Abigail suspected it was against the site’s terms and conditions, but since they stayed up, figured that the owners must have just been turning a blind eye to it.

Cum-shots had long been the norm (it was rare to find a default picture that wasn’t a heavily made-up woman’s face covered in cum) and that had been fine—she’d taken a few after Brandon had finished her tattoo, without even thinking about using them on the site. When the latest trend had begun,

Abigail had considered calling Brandon back, recording herself blowing him, or having him fuck her ass. But when she’d picked up the phone, an even better idea had come to her, one that would put her so far ahead of the pack it was impossible that she wouldn’t hit the top 20...if not the number one slot.

It had been surprisingly easy to set up. An ad on craigslist, a few phone calls to guys she’d gone to highschool or college with, and the stage was set.

She was going to have the first DesireDating profile that featured a gangbang video.

As the first three men slid into her, Abigail’s eyes rolled back with pleasure.

This was going to look so hot, she was sure to get her first message. Surely at least one guy on the website would see the video and be interested in going on a date with her.

* * *

It was 2am, and Abby was utterly exhausted—each of the ten men who had shown up had cum on her face at least twice each (she’d known at the time how great it would look on camera) and once they’d left, she’d spent a few hours uploading highlights from the video and updating her profile pic to a screenshot.

She’d been unable to sleep until she knew the video was uploaded, and as soon as it informed her that her gangbang vid was online, she’d collapsed into bed, convinced that she’d be able to sleep for a week. She didn’t see how many hits her video got, or watch her rank on the site rise until she finally got to number one, she just slept, dreaming of the website’s throbbing, glowing, pulsing logo.

But the second she heard the sound informing her that she had a new email, Abby was up, dashing straight to the computer to see who had contacted her.

“Dildocumslut,” the subject line read (Abby had changed her username a few times, before settling on the one that she thought best described what she wanted from the site), “you have one new message.”

Abby begun to laugh, accidentally spurting cum onto her bedsheets as she did. (she’d taken to sleeping with multiple dildos in each of her holes, but the slickness of her own juices and the sheer amount of cum inside her had caused them to slide out during the night, leaving nothing but huge, gaping holes.)

It had happened! It had finally happened! All of her hard work, all of the money she’d spent, all of the tattoos that she’d gotten...it had all paid off.

“OfficeRob69” wanted to meet her, and Abby couldn’t wait. Ignoring her hunger (she hadn’t had the time or money to go grocery-shopping in a few days; if she hadn’t swallowed more than twenty loads of cum, she didn’t know what she would have done) and her aching muscles, Abby cleaned herself off, put on her sexiest outfit (little more than a miniskirt and a bra), inserted her favourite XXL butt plug, and set off for the address that she’d been messaged.

She was going to make sure that OfficeRob69 got his five dollars worth, that was for sure.