The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Flames licked at the walls and windows, their orange wrath destroying wood and heating metal to breaking point. There was a crack as windows and glass exploded into a million pieces, all propelled in different directions. Had there been people inside the structure, none would’ve survived. Heat increased, the smoke thicker than water, and a second cracking sound that seemed to rip the air asunder reverberated inside the edifice. A second storey came crashing down, the building soon-

“Gisela!” Pollo’s voice brought Gisela back from her daydream. She looked disoriented at a pair of snapping fingers uncomfortably close to her nose. She shied back, slapping the hand away.

“That hole must burn.” She whispered, ominously, her stare on the clothing store across the street.

“If you had your way everything would burn.” Spine said absentmindedly.

Gisela frowned.

Pollo rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh of frustration. “Fucking Christ, Gee. We can never have a nice conversation with you in this place, can we? Every single time we come here you zone out!” He punctuated every word, ending with a hissing sound.

“It’s the store—she hates it.” Spine sat across the table, her legs bunched against her chest. She had her drawing pad supported against her knees, a hand absentmindedly scribbling and sketching.

Gisela gave the store—with its clean-looking façade, its devious pink colour, and its evil displays of fancy dresses—an angry stare. She hated the store for taking up space that could be used for a perfectly good bookstore, or a videogame store, or anything else she liked rather than something somebody else liked or needed. How dare something she despised take up space near her home!?

“Sorry, you know I really hate that store. What were you saying?” She said, turning to Pollo.

Pollo waved his hand as if to slap a demon. “Screw it, Gisela. I am not wasting my breath if you’re not gonna pay any attention.” He drank from his cup of water, making excessive noise.

Gisela sighed, slumping her shoulders. “All right... sorry.”

There was a sullen silence. Pollo turned his head and looked at the store. It had a beautiful façade with several plants dangling from the underside of the apartment right above it. It looked old, yet new, with a fancy air to it. “Why do you hate it, Gisela? You always go on and on about how it is a blight upon the land.” He turned to look at his friend, who tried to hide behind the little hair she had.

Spine’s eyes looked away from her work; she stopped drawing and settled her pad on the table. A rendition of the scene before her was painted in black and whites. “That’s true. You do bitch quite frequently, but never explain why. Why do you hate that store?” Spine looked at Gisela with black, inquisitive eyes.

The pair of expectant eyes made Gisela uncomfortable. Then again, most things relating to humans made Gisela uncomfortable. Lest the stares continue for a prolonged period of time, Gisela gave in. “It is just that... it sells girly clothes!”

Spine groaned, hitting the table with her hand, and looking away. “That’s it? That’s why you rant about it all the time!?”

Gisela nodded. “And that they are right under my place. They could sell books instead, that way I wouldn’t have to walk all the way to the store.”

Pollo rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell, Gisela. You always have these... childish excuses.” Pollo shook his head. “Besides... the book store is a hundred meters down the road! It is close by!”

Gisela frowned. “They’re not childish! If the store doesn’t sell useful things like videogames or comics then why should it be there, so close to my flat? And I don’t like walking.”

Pollo sighed. “Well, I don’t care if you hate it I still have to go in there.” He stood, shaking the tiny desk they were eating at. “See you later, girls.”

Spine smiled. “See you, Pollo.”

“What? What are you doing!?” Gisela turned around her seat, eyes frantic. She couldn’t believe her friend was going into the gates of hell.

Pollo gave her a half-smile. “Got to find something nice for my girlfriend, Gee. And, luckily, you haven’t burnt that place down yet. See you.” He waved and then was off.

Gisela stared as the bear of a man walked across the street and into Miss Eleva’s Boutique. She didn’t turn around until she heard Spine picking up her things. The girl in the dark clothes placed her drawing pad in a skull-shaped bag and then rose from her seat.

“You have to learn to respect other people’s likes and tastes, Gee.”

“If they don’t like what I like(,) they’re stupid.” Gisela said. She tried to sip some coffee but realized she had already finished it.

“My point exactly.” Spine stood, smoothed her long, unappealing black dress, and placed her bag on her shoulder. “See you around.”

And with that Gisela was left to stare at the store with sullen, angry eyes.

Gisela was halfway through solving a puzzle in God of War 2 when she heard frantic knocking on her door. She ignored it for a while, wanting to finish the next sixteen levels before she had to get off her comfortable seat or, gods forbid, deal with people. But the knocking just got so annoying and distracting that she had to get up and go to the door because it kept making her die against a centaur.

She groaned loudly, paused her game just as a the same centaur that had killed her for the past ten minutes tried to flank her—again! She slipped her naked feet into a pair of fluffy, Grinch-shaped slippers, and walked towards the door. She opened it a notch to see Pollo’s grinning beard. She recoiled in surprise, frowning slightly. Pollo never visited, and Pollo never grinned. Something curious must’ve been happening, but Gisela didn’t quite care. She had more interesting things to do, like finishing the God of War series.

She reluctantly allowed him in, and was all but knocked aside in his frantic entry. He started pacing up and down the room, looking surprised, amazed and a bit neurotic.

“What’s the matter, Pollo?” Gisela said, showing what could be mistaken by an actual empathic emotion—concern. If things kept going in that direction, pigs would start flying that day.

Pollo turned abruptly, stopping in his tracks. Correction, he looked very neurotic. “You wouldn’t believe what just happened to me, Gisela! You just wouldn’t! Hell, I can’t even believe it myself.” He folded his arms around his chest, hands tapping his elbows. “I had to tell someone. And you were so close...”

“Out with it, Pollo.” Gisela interjected. “I am busy.”

Pollo raised an eyebrow and gave the television set a look. “Centaurs have you busy? Heh.” Pollo always considered busy as being a term you attached to your work or sexual intercourse, not videogames.

“Pollo...”

“Oh, all right. The thing is, Gisela,” He smiled broadly. “That store you hate so much? Well, it is filled with very attractive girls!”

Gisela’s thoughts stopped for a second. “What?”

“I went in there to buy my girl some clothes and, wow, the clerks? Utterly hot.”

Gisela made an annoyed face.

“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you the story. I get in( there), start to look around for something nice, and suddenly this... beauty walks up to me. She has big tits, big ass, curves like a raceway...”

“A slut.”

“No! Not a slut, just a very... hot girl.”

Gisela sighed. “All hot girls are sluts. And none of them are as amazing as I am.”

Pollo sighed. “Okay, okay. Yes, a girl that for no reason gives me a b.j. can be considered a slut. And, let’s agree, nobody is as great as you are Gisela.”

Gisela was pleased. “So, you go in and get a blowjob for buying stuff?”

Pollo nodded.

“So, how did they look? And be quick about it, I have to play.”

Pollo gave Gisela a questioning look and then started talking. “Well, they all had on risqué outfits. Very short skirts made of some shiny stuff, probably leather; stockings and heels so high I thought they should be banned; and those tops that just don’t hide anything. Man, and the make-up? Fuck! You could scoop it out of their faces and use it as concrete...”

Gisela listened to Pollo drone on about how delicious the girls had looked. The more he described, the more interested Gisela was; but she couldn’t show that. No. She was a tomboy and proud of it. She didn’t care for sluts, so it was wrong to feel excited just hearing the word. She didn’t need it. She was Gisela and she was the best there was, and a tomboy. She lived by the usually-mocked Tomboy Code, which she created so she never dressed like a furry bat again!

“Okay, okay, okay.” She said, covering her moan with a hiccup. “Enough. I have to play.”

Pollo gave Gisela a friendly smile. “Can I join in?”

Gisela stared at him as if had asked her to produce an octopus from her nose. “What!? No! Games are for me and me alone, no, shoo, I want to play.”

Pollo reluctantly left his weird friend’s home. He stopped at the door and gave Gisela a worried look.

Gisela sat down and finished the puzzle game and kept playing, but her heart was no longer in it. She found a save stage, saved the game, and abandoned her console. She then went to her computer, logged into a chatroom, and started to moan about how tomboys were the best. Eventually someone picked up her bait and she got the roleplay she desired.

The phone rang six times before Gisela gave up and forced herself to pull away from her television set. She hated it when people interrupted her very important alone time to watch her shows. Didn’t they know how important that was to Gisela? People should be more considerate, Gisela thought.

“Hey, love. I need you to do something,” A voice shock-full with static

“What is it, Dad?” Gisela sighed.

“Forgot to get your mother a birthday gift and I won’t be going into town for a while. Would you mind buying her something?”

Gisela moaned. “But I am so bad at getting gifts! And I don’t want to.”

“Nonsense, you’re excellent. Now go and find her something nice, and don’t be shy about expenses.”

“But...”

“No.” The voice was harsh. “Do you have a job yet? Have you finished your classes? The answer is no, Gisela. As long as I pay for that flat of yours, you do these little favours for me and I don’t tell your mother about the cats.”

Gisela squirmed in place, but gave a defeated sight. “Okay. But what should I get her? Throw me a bone, please.”

Silence and then, “Get her clothes. She might faint if she sees you giving her clothes.” A chuckle.

The line went dead before Gisela could mount another complaint.

“Well...” She mused loudly as she sat down to continue watching her show. “I’ll go to that cursed store. At least I won’t have to walk far.”

Gisela slid soundlessly into the accursed store. Soundlessly, but not unnoticed. Minutes before, she had decided to disguise herself so no one would recognize her. With a hat and sunglasses, Gisela silently walked out of her apartment and was greeted three and a half times on her way to the elevator. She ran back into her flat, removed the sunglasses and hat, and decided to walk down the fire escape. That way only a friendly vagrant saw her.

She avoided the cashier’s gaze and then slipped into the maze of aisles when the overly made-up girl got distracted. This had been a mistake; the store seemed to sell the sort of clothes Gisela hated: anything but jeans, t-shirts and sneakers. She saw high heels and dresses, short skirts and lingerie, boots and bikinis and... stockings. Gisela froze in place, all but gasping at the wide display of stockings that covered a whole wall. She looked, her right hand moving as if to touch them.

She stood there, transfixed in a minute of indecision and skin tingling, before she shook her head. It didn’t matter if they had stockings—she didn’t want to spend more time than needed in that store.

Gisela turned around and cringed at the forest of pastel dresses. God, did she hate dresses! And pastel colours! Still, she had to go through them if she wanted to get out of this hell quickly. Stubbornly and only one-fourths invested in it, Gisela looked through collections of blue satin dresses she figured were the kind her mother enjoyed.

Finally one dress caught Gisela’s eyes, not because she had liked it, but because it was just scandalous enough to make her mother think of herself as still being sexy. It was sky blue, with a short skirt that could be mistaken for a handkerchief, a cleavage window shaped like a star, and an open back that made Gisela think about people sliding coins into her bumcrack. Though, she had to admit that the puffy shoulders and lacy waist did make for an interesting contrast. Her mother would love it, if only because it would cause her father to faint and young things to rise.

Gisela found herself smiling.

And that smile was like a freshly dead deer to a wolf. As Gisela turned around, dress in her hands, a tall woman dressed as if she was about to end her shift at a strip club barred her way. The salesgirl was wearing a pair of yellow stilettos with open toes; her legs wrapped a pair of thigh-high light orange stockings. She had a micro skirt, parodying a ruffled petticoat. Her chest was bare except for a curiously prim bikini top, and a tiny yellow jacket. Gisela noticed her fingers nails like claws, or maybe she was exaggerating. And make up. Lots of it. Lipstick and lip-gloss, eye-shadow and mascara and eyeliner, blush and fake lashes. Her hair, thankfully, was shoulder-length and flat. Gisela would’ve flipped if she had seen a hair-do of any kind.

“Hi there.” The saleslady giggled cheerfully. “I see I was too slow. Do you need help with anything else, dear?”

Gisela eyed her legs and then gave her a cold look. “No, thanks. I already have what I need.”

The saleslady noticed Gisela’s eyes travelling over her legs and smiled even more. Believe it or not, that was possible. She shifted her pose, letting more of her stockings show. “Oh, really? Because we have a great selection of stockings and skirts that you might just drool over!”

Gisela glared. “Do I look like the sort who dresses like... like you?”

The girl kept smiling, but here eyes seemed to glare. “Oh, I think you are.” She leaned closer, just slightly as to not make Gisela punch her, but enough for her whisper to carry. “We have classier and trashier in the back, miss. Lots more stockings than you saw on display.” A wink.

For a second Gisela was silent. But then she remembered this could be the girl who gave Pollo a blowjob for no reason other that she was a slut. Gisela had a rule to not treat with sluts or businessmen that ruined videogame series. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” She said in the voice of someone who met her parent’s murderer.

The salesgirl’s smile waned, but just slightly. Gisela walked past and towards the cashier, leaving an inwardly annoyed slut of a girl staring hungrily and possessively at her backside and legs.

The cashier, Gisela concluded, wasn’t any better than the salesgirl. She was tall and curvaceous and very, very plastic; the sort of beauty some TV shows would kill for. Her outfit didn’t hide it either: a skin-tight shirt with a plunging line all the way to her bellybutton, tight leather miniskirt, a pair of blue stockings, and a pair of heels as tall as Gisela’s hand was long.

The cashier leaned close, her hair-do sticking in place is if it was plastic, and asked if Gisela would like to join the merchandise club. Gisela’s face twisted, but she didn’t flip. Hair-do. “No.” She said sternly. “I only want to pay for this and get the hell out of this cursed hole.” A fucking hair-do. Gisela’s eye started to twitch.

The cashier frowned but did as she was supposed to. As slutty and dumb as she looked, the girl behind the counter was efficient. In less than twenty seconds she had passed the dress over the register, placed it in a bag, and charged Gisela a not so expensive sum. All this while keeping the frown caused by the constant tapping of her glass counter Gisela was doing a secret.

Just as Gisela paid, the salesgirl stepped from behind an aisle. In her hand she had a tiny felt box, which she held just to the side of her head. She nodded knowingly at the cashier, one eyebrow raised in a conspiratory wave. The cashier stared and nodded slowly. As the receipt was printed, the cashier took a similar box from the many hidden under the cashier, and discreetly placed it inside Gisela’s bag when she stapled the receipt on the bag.

The cashier leaned closer to give Gisela her bag, giving the tomboyish girl a good look at the naked breasts underneath the skin-tight top. “I am happy to tell you that we have a special today!” She said, but was cut short by Gisela.

“Look,” I will burn your hair-do. She thought but instead Gisela said, punctuating every word with a tap on the glass. “Unlike lesser people, I do not need free shit or blowjobs to keep me coming here.” Her eyes were looking at a burning store, not the silk gloves displayed behind the cashier. “I am not planning to return to this place. Ever.” Your hair-do made sure of it.

And with that Gisela turned around, storming off out of the store.

The salesgirl approached the cashier, a different sort of smile upon her lips. “Did you do it?”

The cashier smiled eagerly, eyes twinkling with naughtiness. “Oh, yes I did.”

“Good girl.” The salesgirl whispered, and the cashier gave a cute moan.

Swamp-Thing, in Gisela’s opinion, was a very good comic book title. Not her favourite, no, but a very good one. Since the beginning of DC Comic’s Universe reboot she had truly been enjoying this book.

Sadly, the universe didn’t share Gisela’s view on her very, very, very important comic book time. Maybe it was retribution for downloading them from some torrent site instead of buying them, but, then again, karma was surreal rather than real. Or perhaps it was that she had blown off her many dates with her friends over the last couple of days. She didn’t really know—the universe had many ways of screwing with one. Reluctantly, Gisela got up and walked to her front door to answer the insistent knocking.

She opened the door, and then stared. Gisela stared and stared and stared for what seemed an eternity.

“S-spine?” She whispered, incredulous.

Spine stood in the doorway, beaming. Spine never beamed. She was a cape of ice and crystal over a cataclysm of magma and fire. Chaotic, angry, indifferent, simply there in the background laughing at imagined secrets you had, but never showing emotion. The girl in front of Gisela was beaming, most obviously, which made Gisela think that she was looking at an alternate dimension clone.

Gisela blinked and then realised that she had been staring at Spine’s clothes.

“What... what happened to you!?”

Spine walked inside Gisela’s apartment almost with a skip. Spine turned, making a slight twirl. “Do you like it? I got it at that store you hate so much.”

After the initial shock subsided, Gisela was finally able to grasp just what Spine was wearing. She indeed looked like she had been to the store. A store that transforms and takes your soul, most likely. Gisela thought. Spine, who usually dressed in blacks and trousers, was now in pastels and skirts. She looked like a pretty, prim little girl; if that girl had been raised among fetish prostitutes. Lacy yellow fishnet stockings covered Spine’s legs—the sort of stockings that gave Gisela a fluttering in her stomach. Once Gisela managed to pry her eyes away from the stockings, she noticed Spine’s tight, yet long skirt, which was ripped at the sides as if a cat had played with it. Her chest was wrapped in a band of very tight spandex, which practically moulded to her breasts. At least the pink leather jacket she was wearing made her look a seventh decent.

Gisela blinked away from the heavily made-up face. “Just... shit, Spine! Tell me you’re practicing for a play or something.”

Spine gave Gisela a curious look and then shook her head, a pair of earrings making tingling sounds. “Of course not, Gee. I just... I don’t know,” Spine’s look was suddenly dreamy. “I simply walked into that store out of curiosity some two days ago just to see why you hated it so much. One of the salesgirls got up to me and we started talking. One thing led to another and, well...” She twirled in place.

Gisela stared, just shaking her head. “They got to you.” She didn’t know what to say, but those words seemed fitting. “God, Spine, how could you betray me like that? We agreed on being tomboys and not liking any of that girly crap! You know how horrible those things are?”

Spine’s smile suddenly disappeared. She stared at Gisela, sighing heavily. “Doesn’t it occur to you that perhaps I chose to be like this? That I like to dress up every now and then? Hell, Gee, we haven’t really hung out with each other since your father got you this place and all those games. You don’t go out. You don’t know me anymore, Gisela. I like to dress up. I do love it. It feels wonderful and so delicious.” Spine’s voice turned dreamy. She blinked, body shivering delightfully.

“No it isn’t!”

“And you can’t respect that, can you!?” Spine snapped. “Bloody hell, Gisela. You do not respect anyone’s tastes just because they’re not yours. Me. Me. Me. That’s you summed up. Ego. Super-ego. I thought you would be happy for me, but no. It always has to be about you, doesn’t it?” Spine walked back to the door, threw it open and walked out. “I hope you rot, Gisela.” And like that, she was gone.

Gisela stared at the empty hallway outside her door for a full minute before she decided to close the door. She sighed, resting her back against the wood. Had her friend been right? Gisela was conscious of her own faults: she was egocentric, selfish and arrogant. Gisela blinked. Bloody hell, I am. She slid down to the floor and brought her knees to her chest.

Her friend had been right about everything, yet something felt... off. Something wasn’t right. She once told me she hated dressing up. So, what had changed? That line of thinking would lead Gisela into the dark caves where she would start thinking about her life, and thinking about her life would make her realise what a parasite she had become and then it would make her sad. Gisela didn’t like being sad.

Gisela shook her head and moved towards the kitchen. She looked around her empty fridge and empty cabinets, and finally settled to eat a can of tuna and some crackers.

“She didn’t like dressing up. I am sure of it.” Gisela mumbled to herself.

Did she like to dress up? No, no she didn’t. Her wardrobe consisted of jeans and shorts and t-shirts. Not a single dress, not a single pair of fancy shoes, not a single blouse. And even if she did own any of those, where and when would she wear them? Gisela didn’t like to go out and lose precious game time, let alone go to a place that required her to dress in something she didn’t like.

“But there’s my collection...” Gisela was smiling despite herself. She had spent several nights cursing at her own childish taste; how could a tomboy like herself be obsessed about stockings? It just wasn’t right, not with the Tomboy Code ruling her life. And yet she had dozens of pairs hidden away.

Gisela was practical, or tried to be—she didn’t own anything she didn’t have a use for, and her stockings were not an exception, even if she never wore them to go out or show off—did she hate showing off and people that showed off! Stockings were but the only thing that could make Gisela’s legs quiver. Just thinking about them was making Gisela... excited.

She shook her head.

“No. Not now.” She told herself. Gisela couldn’t just ignore what her friend just said so she could have some quiet time of sexual fun. Or could she?

Flustered slightly, Gisela stood and decided to clean up a bit; and considering Gisela was not the sort to clean she had quite the distraction ahead. She cleared the plates, swept the floor, and dusted her collection of comics. Just as she was finishing—hours later—Gisela knocked over a pink bag she had thrown on a table reserved for laundry she never got around to do.

The bag’s contents spilled on the floor and Gisela quickly started picking them up. It wouldn’t do good to get her mother’s gift dirty—which, she just recalled, should’ve been sent two days ago. Gisela knew that inside that bag there should’ve only been the dress, but something else spilled.

Gisela picked up the tiny jewellery box, a frown upon her brow. Where did this come from? Gisela thought as she opened the tiny box, curious as to what might be inside. Her frown deepened as her eyes fell upon the shiny pair of earrings. Many things started to course through her mind. First was how these had found their way into the bag. Gisela remembered not shoplifting anything, this time at least—besides, why would she steal anything from that store? Meaning that someone else had put the earrings in there. But why? Why would they give her the earrings when she had made it clear she didn’t want them?

Suddenly it struck her. Gisela rose, slowly, realising they were the same type of earrings Spine had been using. And the girls at the store. Gisela closed the box, sighing. How stupid of them to waste the free thing on her.

She placed the tiny box on a nearby table where she had placed things she meant to throw away and kept cleaning.

It was not until three hours later that Gisela finished the monthly cleaning of the flat. Tired, she sat down on the sofa, thinking. Spine was angry at her, angrier than she had ever been and all because of some silly clothes. But she was right. Even someone as thick Gisela could see that.

Suddenly Gisela had an idea. But it would go against everything she said she hated. Still, if it mean to, perhaps, get Spine to calm down...

She grabbed the box with the earrings in and opened it. Inside, the earrings shone under the light, and seemed to vibrate, making a soft humming of metal. Gisela seemed to stare at them for a long while, with hatred and disgust in her eyes, and finally she allowed herself to touch them. And then things became a haze.

Blink.

They were on her palm.

Blink.

They were beautiful.

Blink.

They were gold and diamonds, shiny and powerful.

Blink.

She liked them.

Blink.

Gisela really, really liked them.

Blink.

She had to wear them.

Blink.

A mirror? Where did this come from?

Blink.

She was holding them against her ears.

Blink.

She moaned, loudly, her whole body shivering.

Blink.

A prick. A tingle. A shock of ecstasy.

Blink.

They were on.

Blink.

I look beautiful.

Blink.

Fire in her earlobes; it extended down her body, filling her veins and using them like highways. Fire, burning hot desire filled her. Gisela felt good; better than she had felt in years. Gisela wanted to dance, shop, flirt, dress-up. She was alive!

Blink.

She struck a pose, earrings holding her eyes upon the mirror.

Blink...

Blink...

Blink...

Gisela came to with a start. She jumped in place, almost dropping the hand mirror. What is this? She thought, containing her yelp. She took a deep breath, and exhaled disorientation. She didn’t remember walking into her room, let alone sitting on the floor, or even holding a hand mirror. A hand mirror!? Gisela dropped it inches from the ground in disgust. Where had it come from? She didn’t own one, she didn’t even like mirrors—they were evil tools of vanity demons.

She slowly rose from the floor, her legs weak from sitting cross-legged for so long. There were lipsticks and eyeliner around where she had been sitting, sad reminders of the very few times when she had been required to dress up to society’s standards. It disgusted her. She kept those things hidden from the world and from herself lest something like the earrings occurred to her. That she had a contingency plan against mental tampering said a lot about her mental state.

Gisela’s hand darted to her ears.

“Fuck.” She cursed, fingertips feeling gold and diamond underneath.

Gisela sighed. She already had them on, might as well check how they looked on her. They must look hideous, she thought, walking weakly towards the bathroom. Her fingers never left her earlobes until she reached the mirror.

She stared. She stared long and hard. Gisela seemed frozen, and it was all because she was astounded. They look... good! The thought felt like a jackhammer on the road—constant, annoying, powerful, and despiteful for not letting her think straight. She hated the earrings, yet she couldn’t deny how good they looked. It was... strange.

Her fingers stopped touching them, as if they had suddenly realised they could do other things. Her hands dropped to her side, and she kept staring at her face.

“They look very good.” She whispered in her croaky voice. “But something’s missing.” She frowned. Gisela was wearing earrings, and considering that they needed something else to complement the look. But what? And why was she even thinking about such things?

Gisela turned on her heels, mumbling “I won’t wear lipstick. No.” With every step she took Gisela felt her whole body shake. Not with the shaking electricity coursing through nerves would cause, no, but rather the shaking a booming ethereal voice would cause on a human body. With every step she shook, with every step shocks of things Gisela had kept to herself for years reverberated her very core. Why was this happening? Why was she oblivious? And why was it arousing her?

Gisela shook her head, hand against the wall. What was happening to her? She looked at her hands and seemed to notice the slight vibration, the shaking. She frowned slightly, and reached to touch the earrings; somehow she understood that they were the source.

Her skin reached... and she fell to her knees, moaning and groaning. Her body was on fire. Her skin was on fire. Wherever clothes touched she felt the combined happiness and arousal of her whole life repeating itself over and over. It was almost impossible, an addiction birthing and growing the longer her fingers touched the earrings, but she managed to pry them away.

She stood there, hunched, panting and moaning, a wet spot on her jeans, her nipples like bullets. She was flushed, shaking in an afterglow of non-physical post-orgasmic bliss.

It was not until an hour later when she came to herself and managed to rise with wobbly steps. She wasn’t thinking, no. She wasn’t thinking at all. Because if she so much as thought, the idea would turn to the earrings and she would touch them again. So Gisela didn’t think.

She walked to where she had decided to walk. She entered where she had decided to walk. And she laid her eyes upon what she had pushed to the back of her mind. Gisela walked over to where she had woken, knelt, and grabbed silken objects, which made her remember many, many, many joys. She stood and sat on her bed. In the blink of an eye her jeans were gone. Gisela was barely aware of what she was doing; she didn’t understand it, but knew she had to because, somewhere deep, she had already decided. She wasn’t thinking, just acting.

And when she woke, when finally the vibrations and arousal became a metronome in an empty room, Gisela was wearing her favourite pair of stockings. She gasped, the silky tightness of nylon enhanced to mindfucking levels. Her skin had, somehow, became one erogenous zone with a special sensitivity to nylon. And Gisela was wearing nylon stockings. Her nylon stockings. Her fetish. Her treasure. Her love.

She came. She came hard. She came hard and long and for hours. Over and over and over, while the earrings sent vibrations into her mind and into her body.

Gisela was remade.

There were a series of things that felt incredibly different. For starters, Gisela felt underdressed. Obviously, a pair of red stockings was not a complete outfit, but still... She tried to correct this issue, but for some reason she couldn’t put on anything from her closet. Anything at all. It all felt just... wrong. She could deal with that later.

The second thing Gisela noticed was that she didn’t like her reflection. Mind you, she had never liked her reflection to begin with, but this time she didn’t like it not because of her face structure, but rather for the lack of make-up. How come she wasn’t wearing any make-up? She quickly corrected this, as best as she could, which wasn’t much considering her lack of any make-up.

The third thing Gisela noticed was that, somehow, she liked to dress up. It was strange; as if someone had turned on a very, very evil switch. One moment she disliked it, the next she felt very aroused at the thought. But was it arousal at the idea of dressing up, or the idea of suddenly finding a liking for something she utterly despised hours ago? Did it matter?

Gisela stood before her closet, hands idly playing with her earlobes. She closed her eyes and sighed, turning away from the cave of tomboy glory.

Her brow furrowed, angry. Why was she even considering dressing against the Tomboy Code? She was a tomboy! She didn’t like to wear delicious stockings, skirts, and girly... “Stop that!” She cried, slamming her hand against the closet.

Something was happening to her, something she had imagined and roleplayed for many years. A sudden desire to wear something she despised? A deep arousal at an idea she hated? Blushing, Gisela sat back on her bed. “The earrings are mind controlling me.” Saying it out loud made her whole body tingle. She closed her eyes, letting a billion arousing images flash before her mind’s eyes and then she stood abruptly, and hitting her toe against the bed’s leg. Cursing and nursing her toe, Gisela was set on her conviction to not be taken over by the mind control. She knew about it, she knew it was happening, and not even if she had had several fantasies in which her mind was drained and filled with someone else’s... “No!” She screamed at herself, stood, and hit her toe again.

That was it! Gisela was most definitively not going to fulfil her darkest and naughtiest fantasies by being controlled by a pair of earrings. By stockings and masks perhaps, but never earrings. Even less by earrings from that accursed store. She didn’t know why or how, but Gisela knew that the earrings would turn her into a clone of the salesgirls in there. And that would be going against the Tomboy Code and everything she believed in. Well, some of the things she believed in.

Gisela’s hands were steady as they reached her earrings. They will rip them off, they will remove the offending evil that was fancy jewellery. Her hands brushed the earrings...

Blink.

Vibrations filling her pores, touching her cells.

Blink.

Need. Touch. Hot, steaming arousal filling her every pore.

Blink.

She loved the earrings. Loved dressing.

Blink.

She couldn’t help it. She loved them. She loved them!

Blink.

Moans, arousal, deepening as she kept brushing.

Blink.

Thoughts disappear and reappear as something else.

Blink...

Gisela came to in front of the mirror again. She glared, but couldn’t help herself. She was really, really enjoying it. I have to dress... She thought. Again, she returned to her closet, staring at what she had. She liked nothing and less.

“I don’t want to go there but...” She exhaled in frustration. How would it look if she showed up again at that boutique after her display of some days ago? But where else would Gisela get the clothes she so desperately needed? Yes, she could walk to another store but... she needed to go to the boutique specifically. Why to this place specifically? Perhaps the constant vibrating feeling the earrings gave her was at fault, or perhaps it was that sudden desire to wear girly clothes. Whichever was the cause, it was well beyond logic’s powers to bring sense to what was happening. She could question it, but what was the point? Somehow Gisela knew that fighting it would lead only to mind-breaking pleasure, and she very much liked her mind, even if it suddenly seemed to need a replacement engine.

“Shoot,” She cried, a bit too loudly. “I need to go there! This won’t be good.”

With that Gisela made up her mind. But Gisela wouldn’t walk into that store and let anyone see her; she needed to be inconspicuous! Gisela donned her fluffy purple hoodie with the fluffy bat wings on the back, a pair of sunglasses, and the illusion that no one would stare at a girl wearing a hoodie with bat ears.

Gisela cringed at the sound of the door opening, and she cringed at the sound of her feet on the floor. She didn’t want anyone to realise she was there until the very last second, but she couldn’t help but think that every sound, even her heartbeat, could be heard all over the country. It was disconcerting and a bit exciting—if she was discovered, what would happen?

Naturally Gisela made her way to the stocking section, her earrings vibrating a bit harder the deeper into the store she walked. Do they know I am here? She wondered, as her eyes grew wide at the sight of so many stockings. A tingle brought her attention towards her sex, and a tingle made her feel in heaven. Gisela had a very strong liking for stockings and she had never been close to so many. Hell, just wearing them was making her walk on the edge of the precipice of spiralling masturbation; and the one time she tried to play with her whole collection she ended up unconscious.

Her hand reached, her legs rubbing against each other, rubbing the nylon under her jeans.

“May I help you?” Came a cheerful voice with a touch of irony. Gisela’s hand stopped inches away from a pair of blue stockings.

Gisela held a shiver and she turned, slowly, to meet the salesgirl she had first encountered. This time, however, there was no disgust. She looked at the heavily made-up face not with distaste or anger but with a certain amount of wonder and envy. The salesgirl looked beautiful, in a slutty way. And it was making Gisela’s body pulsate with energy. Or were the earrings at fault here?

“Uhmmm...” Was all quick-witted Gisela could come up with. Or anyone in her situation could have managed.

The salesgirl smiled knowingly, her eye moving to Gisela’s earrings. “Are you looking for something specific?”

Gisela’s eyes also wandered over the girl’s outfit—a pencil skirt over a leotard—and over her earrings. Especially over her earrings. There was a prick and tickle on her own earlobes, and she started talking before she even realised it.

“I need a change of wardrobe. A new style.” She frowned when the words were out, not quite believing they had been hers, but believing it was what she wanted. Or needed. Or was told to need and want. The details were sketchy once she started questioning it, which she wouldn’t.

The salesgirl smiled knowingly, her own earrings chiming in her mind. She knew exactly how to treat a girl like Gisela—she had been in her place before and had helped many in the situation since.

“Oh, I know exactly what it is you need.” The girl’s smile didn’t seem to disappear, more like it flowed into different types of smile, never stopping being a kind of smile. She turned around, skirt fluttering, and beckoned Gisela to walk with her.

Gisela looked from side to side at the dresses and variable outfits of girly and sexy stamp. Days ago she hated them, and now she looked at them with wonder and greed. She wanted them, all of them. At least just as a collective item. Gisela knew that even if her mind was being scrambled she would never put on the ballerina outfit she just passed by.

“I hope you like the earrings, miss.” The salesgirl started, her voice like glitter. “They are a very special gift.”

Gisela smiled despite herself. “That they are.” And there was a Pavlovian discharge of delicious goodness into her core. Whatever constraints and apprehension Gisela had had about the earrings, it was deeply buried inside a planet of need.

“Tell me, what is it you find most attractive?”

“Stockings.” Came an immediate answer.

The salesgirl only nodded. “Well, stockings alone, sadly, do not make for a new style, do they?” She winked. “So, we have to find something that fits your new tastes! Stockings, yes. You would like to show them off, right?”

Against all previous logic, Gisela nodded eagerly.

“Meaning you cannot wear anything that covers your knees.”

It made sense; if Gisela wanted to flaunt and show her shapely legs in orgasmic stockings, she had to do it right.

“Skirts, yes.” The salesgirl seemed to mutter more to herself than to her client. “But what sort? I doubt you’ll be the kind to wear some silly, simple, and boring skirt, are you?”

Gisela frowned. What did the salesgirl mean by silly, simple and boring skirt? Could skirts be boring and silly? They all looked the same to her, yet she wanted something that didn’t look the same. Perhaps if...

“I could wear a tutu or a leather skirt.”

The salesgirl’s smile seemed to be made of emeralds then. Precious and beaming. “Oh, of course you could! And you could also wear tight lycra shorts. Stockings always look better with lycra.”

Gisela found herself humming happily in tempo with the earrings’ vibrations. Lycra sounded like a good idea to her, all of a sudden. Yes, she could picture it: lycra shorts and stockings. She did have a nice enough figure to pull out that look, but did she dare?

Finally the salesgirl stopped before a wall with many, many, many lycra items; some ranging from presentable sportswear, and some looking so scandalous even the bedroom wasn’t for them. Gisela found herself wanting to try the latter.

“Well, these are what you should wear.” The salesgirl said in a chirpy voice, a thing like a bikini bottom in her hands. “They would look so hot with your stockings!”

Gisela frowned. She did want to try something risqué but these seemed a bit too much for the first time. Blink. Ding. And a vibration of sexual need. But what the hell? If she wanted to show of her stockings she might as well show them right.

“Uhmm... do you have those in...” What colour did Gisela want? Pink? No, too girly. Black? No, too gothy. “Dark orange.” She said. Orange was eye-catching, yes, and Gisela wanted to be seen.

“Of course I do, what kind of store would this be if we didn’t have so many colours?” The salesgirl smiled, turning her attention towards the wall. “Why don’t you start undressing, dear?”

Gisela looked around, uncertain. Where would she change? But the salesgirl nodded, and Gisela got the idea. There is no one in here but her and me. She thought. No one would know...

Quickly, Gisela undressed. She removed her up, and her down, and was standing in lesser up and lesser down. The salesgirl stifled a laugh, and pointed at Gisela’s underwear.

“Oh, Miss, sorry to say this but that won’t do. No, no, no. Won’t do at all. You need to take those off too!” She was smiling inside.

Instinctively Gisela covered herself, ironic considering what she had just done. She gave the salesgirl a wide-eyed, incredulous stare. “How come I can’t wear this? They’re functional and okay! And I am not undressing before you.” She wanted to scowl angrily, but the vibrations told her to pout instead. Pouting, her brain rationalised, was much becoming of a young, overly-sexualized lady like what she would become.

By now Gisela didn’t—and couldn’t—pay attention to what her mind was coming up with.

“Oh, don’t be a silly tomboy.” The salesgirl giggled, condescendingly. “White underwear just won’t do! Have any idea how bad that looks? Specially through lycra? No, no, no. You have to take ‘em off.”

Gisela only frowned.

The salesgirl sighed. “Well... look at it this way...” The salesgirl touched her earlobe and then Gisela did likewise. Gisela’s body rocked and moaned and exploded in pleasure. No, not her body. It felt as if her body was on fire, but it was her mind. Her mind was intoxicated, poisoned. And she didn’t care.

With a pleasant smile, Gisela said: “You’re right.” And removed her up and her down.

I am starting to think this is an art, the salesgirl thought as she looked at Gisela’s, surprisingly, fit and attractive body. How, just how the tomboy type managed to keep their attractiveness hidden so well was something she could just not comprehend. The salesgirl shrugged, gave Gisela an intoxicating smile, and extended a hand holding a dark orange thing.

Gisela’s eyes were wide, all of a sudden, and there were many factors. Her hand moved, slowly, and touched the thing like a bikini bottom as if expecting it to render her in a speechless, slutty state. Nothing happened. Smiling at her own comic-book induced silliness, Gisela put on the bikini bottom thing.

There was a mirror to one side, and Gisela was able to see her bum covered in orange, and her cooch covered in orange, and it looked perfect. It wasn’t trashy, it wasn’t proper, and it wasn’t at all tomboyish. And the best part? It showed off her stockings, perfectly. Gisela loved them. And loved the dark spot forming in front of them.

She blushed, one hand going for her earlobes.

Blink.

The dark spot grew.

The salesgirl giggled and then moaned. Gisela giggled and moaned, blushing hard. The two shared a knowing look, and then they touched their earlobes.

The end result was so delicious that Gisela had to show Spine. Was she even called Spine anymore? Spine didn’t sound like a good name for a slut. A slut. Funny how Gisela now could only think of herself as a slut. Well, I am a slut! Would anyone but a slut dress like she did? Wearing a pair of red pumps, a pair of red thigh high stockings, a perfectly presentable red bikini bottom with a sunflower painted just where her pussy was, a red tube top, and a red leather jacked half-way zipped up her chest. Not to mention her heavily made up face, the bouffant hair-do, her blood-red nails, and the tan she had somehow gained in just a couple of days. The answer to the previous question is: do you care?

So, Gisela called Spine, apologized, and called for a meeting of sluts. Spine was also calling herself a slut, so it was okay to call her that.

“Gee, you look great!” Spine had cried in glee when Gisela opened the door to her still tomboyish home.

“So do you, Spine!” Gisela giggled, and cried in glee.

The two sluts embraced each other, scantily clad breasts pressed against scantily clad breasts. They rubbed their tits against each other for a while, moaning inwardly.

When they broke the hug, the two girls’ eyes fell upon their earlobes and the beautiful thing there. Their gazes went wide for a second, and vibration made their sexes think for them.

“God, Spine, you were so right. I am sorry for being a bitch.” Gisela pouted cutesily with her red-painted lips.

Spine giggled. “Oh, don’t worry. You only had to see things from a different, mind controlled perspective, of course!”

Gisela blinked and stared. “Wait... you know we’re being mind controlled?”

Spine giggled and nodded. “Well, duh. How else would you think we would suddenly dress like this?” Spine twirled in place, her tutu bouncing slightly.

“Well... I know that. Hell, I’ve known all along but... I don’t know, feels weird for mind control.”

Spine nodded. “Yeah. I don’t’ even get how it worked. We just sort of, kind of accept what happened and live with it.” She shrugged. “Quite honestly I don’t care anymore. I am a slut now.”

Gisela nodded appreciatively. “We are sluts now.”

They hugged each other.

Blink.

Hot. Hot. Hot sexes, crying for attention.

Blink.

Skin against skin. Lips against lips.

Blink.

“Fucking Christ!” Spine pulled away, blushing redder than Gisela was dressed. “Did you feel that?”

Gisela nodded, slowly, licking her lips.

The two were silent for a while.

“Do you want to make out?” Spine said in a hushed tone.

Gisela seemed to think it over. “But we don’t like girls.” She whispered.

Spine shrugged. “Well... we’re sluts now and... very, very horny.”

Gisela smiled. “We’re sluts.” Her hands moved to grasp Spine’s. “We’re horny sluts.”

And they acted like horny sluts for the rest of the day.

Pollo walked into the boutique for no apparent reason. He had already got his girlfriend some shoes and the like, and they had been nice enough to throw in some free earrings that had really made his girlfriend see things from a different perspective. He had liked that perspective, until it became the only vantage point. A slut of a girlfriend was just so good.

So he walked into the store for... who knows. He just started to walk the aisle aimlessly when suddenly a girl in a parody of a scuba suit came up to him asking if he needed any help.

Having had nothing prepared in such a situation, Pollo said the first thing that came to mind. “Meat.” Then he corrected himself and said: “Eh... yeah... I bought something here the other day—shoes for my girlfriend—and, well, you gave me some of those earrings you’re wearing? The thing is... my girlfriend’s gone cuckoo and I have no idea what to do.”

The girl with red lips smiled. “Are you angry?”

Pollo shook his head. “Nah... just that. I don’t know. Just looking for something to tweak that sluttiness of hers.”

The salesgirl nodded, took Pollo’s hand and lead him to some room at the back. “Come, I have just the thing.”

They walked into a room where there was this girl dressed like a barbie doll (mermaid version). The girl stood just as the salesgirl pushed Pollo upon a chair. In no time he had his trousers down his ankles and the salesgirl wrapped around his waist. The barbie doll (mermaid version) girl came around him and started to rub his shoulders.

For some reason, he wasn’t really thinking about it. It wasn’t every day (more like very two weeks) that he got a chance to have a girl suck his cock.

But Pollo’s mood darkened just as the salesgirl wrapped her lips around his member. He recognized the back of her neck, and how the hands around his shoulder seemed to linger in a dangerous, I-can-strangle way around his neck.

“Gisela?” He whispered at the mass of hair masterfully going at him. “Spine?” He turned at the cute girl behind him. “What the hell are you doing?”

Spine smiled. “Earrings.”

Pollo turned to look at Gisela, nodding to himself. “What about...”

Gisela raised her right arm in thumbs-up fashion.

“Oh.” Pollo nodded, member hardening. “This is so weird.”

Gisela stopped slurping. “Well, it is. But we’re sluts. And if you don’t shut up you won’t get any sluttiness.”

Pollo shrugged. “Okay.”