The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The first inkling I had that my world was out of kilter was the giggling outside the dressing/trying room. I parted the curtains a little to look out and see who was doing the giggling when I saw those two.

Truth is, I didn’t need to buy new underwear to give the valedictorian address. It was supposed to be our secret, Lord Moonish and I had it all planned out. We’d talked about me giving the speech tonight without any underwear on, but then I had this brilliant idea. So here I was in ErotiBoutique being fitted with a whale-boned corset to be worn under the black gown and mortarboard at the graduation ceremony.

His name isn’t really Moonish and he’s not really a lord, but than my name isn’t really Cleopatrix either. And I was perfectly horrified to see those two standing outside the dressing room, obviously waiting for me.

“That’s her isn’t it?” said the little one, the one I realized must be Pimples slatternly sister. Pimples is a girl from my class, the most unattractive female in the Midwest perhaps the whole continental USA. I don’t mean she’s ugly, ugly would have been an improvement, some of the sexiest women to walk this planet have been ugly. This slut was just blechhh. Her hair was mousy and stringy and greasy and awful. Like I’d often thought ‘just that hair on a Monday would make me suicide’ know what I mean? Her face was like a freaken warzone, craters and eruptions and pores like you could just squeeze the guck right out of, know what I mean? Like, hasn’t she ever heard of a mirror, for gods sake? O my god the skin, and the filthy fingernails with half black moons and raggedy bleeding cuticles and the picking, fer crisssake, why is she always, always picking the zits and squeezing and scratching in class?

It was her, Jennifer Ann, or Pimples the Slut as I thought of her, and her sister, in the most like disgusting garish clothes I ever saw. Was I glad they weren’t with me, know what I mean? Like you could get thrown out of Walmart in clothes like that, like for violating the dress code. She was carrying this hideous little plastic pocket book, it was torn, and the clasp was broken, and it was pink with Disney figures on it. Her sandals were like beach flip-flops, and her toenails were grimy and scratched and broken, with bits of old scarlet nail-polish clinging to the inside edges. If I didn’t know she was Pimples’ older sister for sure, I could have sworn she wasn’t more than twelve, thirteen tops. Like maybe it was ratio of head to body size, or the grossness of her fat softness, it was all so ill-defined. And she had this polyester print dress with stains under the armpits, Uughh. It was shuddersville just to look at. What are they doing here? I wondered for a brief moment.

“It’s her isn’t it?” The little one asked again. “But I thought you said she was nice, real pretty and all that.”

She looked me up and down as though she could see through the curtain—beyond the head and hair—which was all of me I’d allowed to stick out of the curtain. My jaw must have dropped open because Jenny started giggling again. I looked at her and saw she was perspiring. There was a film of sweat gathering in tiny beads on her dirty gray moustache. Her tiny mouth made a little moue, and her jaws went right on chewing gum, looking at me. She was solid like slab of lead and soft like a slab of dough. You couldn’t tell where here breasts were there were so many bulges in her clothing, everything stuck out.

“I’ll need to look at her proper,” the little one said peevishly, as though put upon, “come on, let’s be havin’ you.” She looked directly into my eyes for the first time, and I was being looked at by one of those women who took their knitting and went to sit by Madame Guillotine in the French Revolution, to watch the aristos get their cumuppance. My blood started to run cold and I felt chilled.

The curtain dropped out of my hands and I was standing in front of them both in the blue satin corset with garters hanging down my thighs. For a moment I wondered whether the woman who was fitting me would return in time to catch these two pests, and call security, and have them escorted out the building. For a moment I considered calling for help. But I didn’t, couldn’t. Her look, so filled with loathing, contempt and menace was as hypnotic as the stare on a basilisk.

“She’s doing something to me,” I thought panicked, “some mind control, some, some, some thing, she’s doing something, I know she’s doing something to me. Why am I standing here like this? Why?”

“You’re not nothing like I thought you’d look like,” the little one said, “I thought you’d be nice. You said she was nice, Jen, you said she was pretty and all.” Her little wrath turned upon her slutty sister and flickered with menace for a moment before returning to me.

“You’re nothing.” She said it so simply I was staggered. “I can have you in no time, in no time at all.”

“Look” I said, trying to regain some semblance of balance and control, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but I won’t get into a discussion with you.”

“Me—is she talking about me!” I thought. “Shit, I’m beautiful, everyone knows that. I’ve been offered jobs modeling for national agencies for fuck’sake.” And she didn’t even react. It’s like my words were not even heard. She knew I was stuck. She looked at me as though I were in a jar and knew I was trapped. “I’ve got to escape this,” I thought, “I’m not going to do anything else she tells me to.”

“We’re here to look at you, you stupid bitch,” the little on retorted without a moment’s hesitation, “and we’re gonna see you and all.”

I made as if to close the curtains but the look on her face said, “No way.” Her eyes had me pinned. I couldn’t think of what to say, it never even occurred to me to say, “I don’t want to.”

“And we haven’t seen you yet have we?” she continued, “So take that whorish thing off, and step out here in the light where we can have a good look at you.” I started to undo the hook and eyelets on the side of the corset, hoping all the while the fitting-woman would come back and save me from this exposure.

“C’mon, bitch, hurry up. Fukkit, Jenny, you help the useless cunt, she’s fukkin hopeless.” I was rigid with terror as that Jenny woman pawed at me with her fingernails and blew gum bubbles in my face, and I was naked in front of them both. I shivered, with goose pimples breaking out all over my arms and legs.

The little one, my tormentor came closer, she didn’t even reach as high as my chest. She looked older close-up, like there were age marks in her face but she looked even younger at the same time.

“I can’t see your hair or anything if you stand like that over me, get down on your knees.” She snapped. O how I wished I wasn’t trapped, to be free to get up and escape. I looked into her face and crumpled. Jenny the Pimply slut giggled again. I tried to shut the sound out and succeeded for a moment, but now instead of seeing them both in the dressing room and hearing the both of them abusing me, I was listening to myself surrendering and capitulating and giving away my power, and moaning and shrieking silently.

“Stop it.” I told myself, “Stick up for yourself.”

Her filthy hands went ruffling through my hair, my blond, shoulder length hair, the hair that I’d had cut and washed for a hundred dollars for the party tonight. She yanked it and pulled the back up and parted it into two hanks and tied a knot in it. I could feel it pulling around my ears. I hung my head in shame wishing the floor would open up beneath me, or the woman would come and save me from them, when I suddenly felt the seeping, miniature trickling feeling I get in the top of my vagina when Moonish is messing with my hair. I looked up just in time to see her pulling some superglue out of her pink, plastic, Disney pictured pocket book. The clasp clicked as she closed the bag and then gaped open wide as the broken clasp gave way. She handed the glue to Jenny and told her to put it in my hair. My mouth must have been gaping wide open, because she noticed it and said.

“I didn’t forget your mouth, cunt, don’t worry.” I gulped and snapped my mouth shut, smelling that horrible, sweet cryocyanogenic smell of the superglue in my hair. Out came her fist from the pocket book again, and now full of garlic. She was really close to me standing so close I could smell the sour rancid smell of unwashed clothes. She pushed her chest into my face, my lips and nose scraped against her zipper. She yanked at it. My bottom lip caught on the cheap zipper’s metal tag and tore down the middle.

“Here, chew these.” It wasn’t just garlic, there was onion there as well, raw and sharp. “You’ll love it.” My genitals were on fire as my teeth bit into the garlic and the fresh stench of it filled my nostrils. Juice dribbled out of my mouth and trickled down my chin. She wiped my face with it all, and bits clung to my cheeks with the blood from my lip. Her toe, the big one was simultaneously kicking at my clit and edging my knees apart. I felt her foot entering me, digging around and pushing me backwards. I squirmed as I chewed and Jenny giggled. Tears were spurting from my eyes. Now Jenny was writing on my face and neck and hands and arms with a permanent magic marker, I moaned as I chewed and the little one shaved off my eyebrows with the men’s electric razor she’d next pulled out of her pocket book. When she pushed and stuck a big safety pin through my left nipple I screamed and came in a gasping pile on the floor. I almost blacked out but the orgasm was too hard and too intense and too delicious and suddenly there was the woman, the fitting woman standing over me in shock. Then, she was screaming for the police and the paramedics. And I was still coming in waves with a flip-flop sandal sticking out my cunt...