The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

First Worn

The sudden silence woke Yannis. With heavy eyelids flickering against the sudden light, she wondered where that soothing sound of the engine had gone. She breathed deeply, arching her back, stretching one hand tightly, and the other behind her back, stretching, stretching, stretching. She made a sound like a steel beam bending in half under the pressure of a decaying skyscraper. Her mouth tasted odd, but odder still was the lack of movement.

“Good nap?” Asked her boyfriend. He looked over the rear-view mirror and she smiled at his silly face.

“Ya!” She beamed, curling into a tight ball and then stretching out again.

She heard the sound of keys jingling, and then the comforting clungk-thook of the driver’s door opening. Yannis blinked, and looked out the window to see the matt reflection of sunlight on beige walls. Oh, they had arrived; no wonder there wasn’t any movement. They were here! It hit Yannis, then, the fact. Suddenly she felt like a copper wire being plugged into a socket. She looked around the small car park, gravelled, and surrounded by thin trees that looked like toothpicks with a little olive on top. A canapé parking. Yannis giggled, even as her body shivered in delicious triggered sensations. So close to the amazing sensations of a good warm—

Suddenly she was falling forwards, the door moving away from her forearms and then she was in her boyfriend’s hands. She pouted, wide eyed, and looked at him, confused and feeling embarrassed she hadn’t caught herself. She looked down at his chocolate fingers contrasted against the milk of her arms and she wanted nothing more than to nuzzle against him and bite him everywhere.

“Careful there, miss. You might not like the taste of gravel,” He said and to that she made herself go really limp. She heard the sound of gravel crunching under his weight as he fumbled to hold her weight. “Hey!” He laughed, pulling her, slowly, awkwardly, to a sitting position.

Yannis giggled at him with eyes like a Quasar.

“Come on, dove,” He teased, offering a gentlemanly hand. “If we wait too long we’ll miss training.”

An excited whispering shiver went up and down Yannis’s spine like a rain drum being spun around and around by an eager child.

“Ya!” Yannis was standing and with her training bag on her shoulder in a second. “I am ready to train.

“I am ready to train,” Her boyfriend said as he hooked his arm around hers. The way he said it dropped a tint of rose water to her milk skin.

The two walked into the matt beige square building through a set of blackened automatic doors. Yannis jumped when they closed behind her with the sound of suction cups on wet tiles. She leaned against her boyfriend and the two walked down a clinically white hallway, silently. Yannis kept stroking her boyfriend’s hands, leaning her head against his shoulder. And he had his head resting on hers, feeling their hair rub together as they walked in silence down the echoing hallway. Abruptly they turned to their right, past another set of darkened doors

“My life!” A soothing, booming voice echoed. “Yannis? And, is that you, Marcos, look at your hair!? Oh, my life!” The whole of blues couldn’t compare to that sound, and jazz had nothing on it. It was its own form of music, Stephan’s voice was. “So happy you’re back. Haven’t seen you in a soddin’ life and a half.”

“Hello, Stephan,” The couple said in unison. They set their elbows on the desk in front of Stephan at the same time, and smiled in the same way. “How’re you?”

Stephan winked, “Perfect, as you may well now.” He winked at them like cymbals ring in an echo chamber. his wide, thick arms opened wide and looked about the reception room, with its plants and paintings, as if to say “how can’t I, being in this wonderful space”.

“It is good to be perfect,” Marcos said, with a laugh.

Yannis swallowed a sound and pressed her legs together. Damn, it always took her unawares when Marcos said it. It sounded so much... better when he said it. Juicier!

“Damn, man, just look at your hair! So long. It’s really been a while,” Stephan laughed melodiously. Yannis giggled as Marcos reached for his long hair, blushing in his own way. “So, what can I do for you today?” Stephan said, sitting down on his chair and taking the computer’s mouse in his hand. “Weights, yoga, pilates, bodyweight, hot yoga, freerunning... Oh, actually, we have a new thing that you two might just love!”

Yannis shared a look with Marcos, and felt her cheeks flush. It was too obvious, with her pale skin. Marcos smiled and placing a hand on her shoulder said: “Yannis here thought we could shake things up a bit.”

Stephan cocked an eyebrow. “You two are not ready for mixed martial arts.”

Yannis blushed again and quickly interjected. “We.... we want to, like, swim today.”

Stephan looked up at the smiling couple. His eyes were wide; his fingers paused over the keyboard. “You... sure?” His lyrical voice said. In the clean room it echoed again and again.

Yannis gathered herself. “Yes, Stephan. We want to... to s-swim.”

At that moment a set of doors to the couple’s right opened. Out came a middle aged woman built from hardwood floors and steam engines. The lady was stocky and muscular; a fortress few dare approach, and those who do find it too charming to ever leave. At the top of the battlements, crowned in the colour of dried corn husks, was a round bun as tall as her head. Yannis’s eyes took stock of the woman’s hair, tied so tightly that not a single strand was amiss, and that was a skill onto itself, considering the woman’s tight work-out clothes were soaked in places.

The woman gave the coupe a friendly wave, and whispered something that the two knew so well because parts of their brain now were devoted solely to knowing that whispering, thundering caress right in the nerves. The woman nodded at Stephan, and Stephan gave one of those “I know what you mean” nods. Silently the woman brought her hands to her hair and, in one swift move, undid her bun. Both Marcus and Yannis did a sharp intake of breath. The woman gave Stephan a hair tie, about an inch thick, rubbery and fancy-looking. And then the woman was gone, and Yannis blushed again as the sight of those taut muscles moving under those tight leggings disappeared behind the doors.

Without a word, the couple turned back to Stephan.

“Did you two bring swim gear, or should I ring Patricia?” Stephan asked, and the air shimmered in the power ballad riffs of his every enunciation.

Yannis’s fingers clutched at her training bag, as the smile on her lips betrayed her.

“No need, Stephan, but thanks,” Marcos added, “Yannis and I bought some last time we were here, as a way of forcing ourselves to go for a swim.”

“Perfect thinking,” Stephan said, his fingers typed in tune with his words.

“Perfect thinking,” The couple said in unison, leaning together against each other. They shared a secret smile.

The only sound in the room was of Stephan’s fingers on the keyboard. He asked them for their membership cards, and then it was done. He placed two white hair bands, long and thin, with a little pearl in the middle. “And here’s your keys. Enjoy being perfect.”

“You know we will, Stephan,” Yannis said, voice vibrating like the rain drum sounds like moved up and down her body. “And thank you.”

The couple went through a set of doors to the left, down a short hallway with plastic curtains and tiled, textured floors. Past the third curtain they each sat down on opposite concrete benches and took their shoes off, leaving them in a row of dozens of other shoes. Afterwards, they walked through another curtain into a wide open space full of half-naked people, lockers and showers. Silently the couple turned left and found a quiet corner where to undress. All around them, people moved in and out, silently, naked or dressed for a myriad of sports; here a man in jogging leggings and Drifit brand shirt, there a woman in cycling unitard and gloves, there an old man in a wrestling singlet. As many sports as there were people, nearly, and to the untrained eye the only commonality was their temporality in the shower room and, indeed, the whole facility. But Yannis saw their hands holding their white headbands with the little pearls in them and she knew; Yannis saw and smiled at the bounce in their step, at the joyful smile splitting their faces, at the blushes on their cheeks, and on the tiny, tiny wet patches close to their bellybuttons, visible through their spandex and lycra, that betrayed the real feelings they were feeling. And they moved, happily, each going towards their respective training session, faces betraying an otherworldly eagerness. As the couple walked to the showers, Yannis couldn’t help but sneak glances at the other members. Some had extremely toned bodies, others less so. Some were stocky, some were lean and long, some were voluptuous and some weren’t at all. They were all here to train, to be trained, to become a perfected version of themselves. The riveting, drumming feeling of a hundred million little, tiny drops came back. Yannis bit her lips, waiting the sounds of the rain drum to stop tickling her skin so nicely.

The couple felt the warm water hit their bodies at the same time, and they couldn’t help but sneak glances at one another. Behind them a woman walked past, and stood under a shower just across from them. As it was the case, no eye contact was ever given. Shower etiquette was paramount, even if parts of your brain had been given new meanings by the facility itself. Lathering their bodies in minty freshness standing next to the other, Yannis and Marcos were like the two sides of a chess game: same height, same pieces, even same way of thinking, but beautifully contrasting colours. Another woman stood next to Marcos and she began to lather herself up too. Yannis snuck a glance, noticing the woman’s wide shoulders and red bush of pubic hair and her loose red hair flowing unbidden and yet to be controlled by one of the pearl-encrusted head bands. Yannis found herself blushing at the thought of wearing her band and her bun. It had been so long! In the distance, the rumble of thunder.

The couple finished in unison and went back to their bags.

“Can you pass me my swimsuit?” Marcos said, his voice breaking at the last word. She saw his lips pursue in an embarrassed but excited pout as he turned to use the pearl in the headband to unlock the locker. That embarrassment made Yannis a hundred times more excited than the sight of his growing erection.

She opened her training bag and pulled out their swimsuits.

“Oh, they are swimming,” Yannis heard someone whisper nearby. She turned to look and saw a young man, dressed in a wrestler’s outfit, look at her in awe. He was soft-skinned and with bulging muscles and a growing bulge between his legs. Yannis eyes followed up to see his long hair tied in a beautiful, perfect bun at the top of his head and the band with the shiny pearl sitting at the base of that bun. Yannis’s skin shivered and she pressed her legs together. Damn it, damn it, damn it. She wanted her bun now. The pelting sound of rain filled her with an electric, arousing sensation going up and down her whole entity. She wanted her hair and mind and self tied with the band now. But... damn it. Neither she nor Marcos could tie their own hairs. It wasn’t the way.

“Swimmers?” Someone else whispered. A stocky woman in a pair of leggings and a tight tank top. “They’re brave bunslaves.”

“Yeah, brave,” Someone else muttered and by then Yannis had decided to ignore them or else feel too hot to even go into the pool.

She felt his hands on her shoulder before she heard him. “Shh... relax,” He whispered into her ear and she relaxed.

“Now, let’s put on our perfect uniforms and get closer to being perfectly trained.”

Yannis eyes went completely blank for a whole second. All she could feel was the storm, electric, rumbling, so powerful, so hot, so hot, darkening her mind, everything but the storm and the bun and being a good bunslave was outside of the black clouds and only the thunder mattered—She saw Marcos’s hand, felt it brush her hip bone, as he reached for the swimsuit in her hands. He held her fingers for a moment, squeezing tenderly. Yannis woke from her trance in time to see a flash of bright red disappear from her hands. Turning the same shade of red at having so easily fallen, she reached for her towel to dry herself between the legs before picking up her swimming bottoms.

Yannis tried to tune out the whispers of the fellow slaves all around her, but it was a bit difficult. Yes, maybe the couple hadn’t quite picked up the real uniform of a perfectly bunned, perfectly trained swimmer, but it wasn’t their fault! If the gym wouldn’t allow some variety, then, the gym wouldn’t have allowed them to get these uniforms. Yannis gave a whispering middle-aged woman a scowl and that silenced her. Good! How dare they question their obedience to the gym, and be so critical to one of the things that made this pace so wonderful—variety. The two were as obedient a slave to the gym and their hair buns and their uniforms as they came, but the couple were still themselves. And the gym did let people be themselves; and because of that Yannis and Marcos loved this place and came to this gym alone. Compared to other gyms Yannis had been a member of, stripping you of even your face at times, and of certain schools she worked with, that annihilated any semblance of humanity in both staff and pupils, this gym was a breath of fresh air after being trapped inside a petrol motor. Yannis frowned at that thought and banished to the dark realms of bureaucratic insanity that was her all too familiar existence. If the gym decided that they should wear a two-piece uniform instead of the traditional one-piece suit that Yannis had yearned to wear ever since she joined the gym, then so be it. The gym must be obeyed.

She took a deep breath and began to pull the tight, smooth and glorious outfit up her long, creamy legs. She relished in the feel of her muscles as the tight suit pressed against them on their way to her crotch, on her way to becoming that much more perfect. Slowly she covered herself up, the suit covering her ass and crotch as per the designer had intended; wrapping them in a featureless, bright red colour. She ran her fingers over her hips, especially touching the pearly white colour at the sides of the suit. Her fingers danced over her crotch, feeling the tightness so taut that she didn’t have to put much pressure to feel the outline of her pussy through the suit. It was perfect. “Oh!” Yannis yelped, her finger frozen over the visible shape of her clitoris. She blushed the same colour as the suit and quickly turned to look at Marcos. She licked her lips, seeing his hard cock disappear in the same bright red colour as hers, smoothed out to a featureless non-bulge. Fuck, she just wanted to gobble him up and obey and swim and become perfect and kiss him all night and then trick him into being nyotaimori.

She turned around, and picked up her top. Behind she could hear different voices whispering. “Oh, so that is the other swim uniform. Doesn’t look as perfect as the other one,” Someone whispered to someone else. “All uniforms are provided by the gym, love, they’re all perfect.” “They’re all perfect.” The two whispered in unison.

“They’re all perfect,” Yannis whispered in tune to thunder as she tucked her head through the top. It was long-sleeved, with spiralling white colouring around the arm down from the shoulders all the way to the wrist. The suit fit her snugly, perfectly, tightly. She shivered as the tight fabric pressed against her erect nipples, and covered her chest to three inches under her breasts. It wrapped around her neck like a collar, so tightly. Yannis could not help her skin mimicking the same shade, like an octopus eager to disappear in her environment. Her milky skin perfectly contrasted with the colour. Perfect. Perfect.

She turned her attention away from her own body to her boyfriend’s. On him it helped accentuate his muscles, his lean frame, his abs just beginning to show, the little V line going into his swim briefs, his collarbones showing through the material, and the shade of his very hard nipples.

“You look so good,” Yannis said, leaning to kiss the man on the lips.

“And you look like someone who is about to become a mindless bunslave training hard for our Mistress,” Marcos said, kissing her forehead.

Yannis eyes rolled into her head, she clutched at Marcos’s skin, hard, her legs pressed together. She bit her lip, pressing her head against his shoulder to muffle the sound trying to escape her mouth like a wild animal tried to escape a zoo cage.

Marcos simply caressed her long, golden hair in his fingers.

It took Yannis a minute to recover from the surprise wave of pleasure. Shyly, and blushing hard, she packed away their belongings into her training bag and then put it in one of the lockers. She locked it with the pearl from her band, and then the two, hand in hand, walked, ignoring the other slaves, into the special door leading to the swimming pool.