The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Now I am not a vain person (I hope) and I am not stupid. If you observe certain things every day of your life, you tend to accept them as fact. Growing up, I was always too thin. When you’re young, before you hit puberty, thin is a problem. Kids bigger than you tend to push you around and basically put, thin is pain. I remember when I was a kid I used to eat loads of pasta and sweets, just to put on some weight. Grow or something. As I reached 13, I realised I was late. My breasts only developed later and again, the bigger, more voluptuous girls took the piss out of me. I grew up in a school where if you didn’t follow a certain pattern, you were exorcised from any kind of social life. And this was the case with me at that age.

Looking back I do take a kind of evil glee in what happened from that point. I am not going to indulge my vanity here, but basically I stayed thin, my breasts developed, and although they were not large like every man seems to want them to be, I realised fairly quickly that smaller, firmer breasts tend to look better in most clothing. Let me just say at this point that I am not flat chested, I can definitely do cleavage when I want to, although I do have to rely on wonder bra for decent affect. My breasts are small and round.

Another perk was that I shot up to my current height of 5ft11, which is over 6ft when I wear my heels. So this brings me back to my original statement. Observation. I have over the years, noticed that I tend to have an affect on most men. When I want I can make heads turn. Tight clothing tends to get the most attention, although a stylish dress, subtly naughty but mostly imagination stimulating can certainly cause different and often better reactions. My sense of style and my control over my body language were spin-offs of my short, anger-filled modeling career. Girls, the modeling industry may seem fantastic out there, glamorous, exciting but in my short one-year tenure, I have watched one girl OD on some unknown substance and watched another go to hospital with anorexia (and a few others that should have gone!). In short, it isn’t really worth it. Myself, I got addicted to a certain brand of headache pills. Pushing long hours in high-heels, often restrictive and uncomfortable clothing and under hot, bright lights causes headaches almost every shoot and pills are the only relief.

But enough about that, I only told you that so I could tell you this. Due to my modeling training, I know how to dress, walk and act to attract guys. Apparently I am quite attractive (in terms of my face) but even without that I would do OK in the guy department. Style and mystique go a lot further than looks. Trust me on this. So when I got asked to be a promo-girl for West, I wasn’t too surprised. What followed, however, did surprise me.

I am not a big Grand Prix fan but I generally knew what was involved. Normally skimpy clothing, either that or tight, depending on the climate. Given England’s weather, it was going to be long and tight. Meet the drivers and associated people, get photo’s taken with them, generally get pissed and have fun. A friend of mine, Jo, had been one for almost eight months and I had this picture of what it was all about from her. She loved it and, since it sounded like fun, I was up for it. How hard can it be, look beautiful and know how to smile and nod at ‘important’ people. (I quote that because most of these people are important in no-one else’s mind but their own.)

When it came time to change, I admit, I was shocked by the silver catsuit that we were required to wear. I looked at it for a second whilst the other girls happily began stripping and pulling this smooth silver material over their bodies. Now I know I sound confident when I talk about my body and if any men ever read this, they will be thinking that I am perfect. Now this isn’t really true. I think, in true girlish fashion (blush), that while I have an OK body, it could be better. I need a tan for a start. Since I caught some random disease on the sun bed at the Finchley LA Fitness (my gym) I have tended to stay away from them. So I was white as a sheet, well maybe a cream coloured sheet (wink). I have a little too much flesh around my bum and a little too little around my calves and forearms. And there are a few other little things that I would really like to change about my body, but I am not going to go into them here. And as I looked at the (definitely small) silver outfit in front of me, all my insecurities came washing up. I mean this wasn’t a photo shoot. This was in public.

Now I am a logical person, I am not prone to panic and so I made as if I was searching for something in my bag and took the opportunity to look around the trailer. There were at least three girls who didn’t have quite the body I did (and a couple that did and them some—but lets not talk about that right now) and they were quite happily pulling on their catsuits. So I shook away my feeling of embarrassment and stripped off my Levis and Cute Kitty top. (A little aside here. Due to the fact that my breasts don’t require to much support, I tended to stop wearing bras, in favour of tighter tops, which provide me with the little support I do need.) I unzipped the back of the limp catsuit and stepped into the leggings, slipped the arms over mine and reached back to touch-search for the zip. Even with the zip undone, it was tight. I could feel the fabric stretching across my shoulders and I know this was going to be interesting. Having finally found the zip, it was clear that I wasn’t going to be zipping this up on my own, so I had to call in the troops (Jo) who, with a little ‘Breath out’ zipped my straight up to my neckline. Dropping my loose blonde hair over the zip, I was forced to do a little wiggle to get the catsuit to sit right, and this brought a series of giggles from the other girls in the trailer. I was clear that they had not considered my 5ft11 frame when they allocated the outfit to me.

The silver suit turned out to be not too tight, comfortable and wearable, the only real constrictive part was from my crotch to my shoulder blades, confirming that the suit was for a under 5ft10 girl. But apart from that it was comfortable. There seemed to be a thin lining under the metallic material, which would probably keep me warm. Turning and glancing at myself in the mirror I was quite impressed that I looked OK. I glanced up to notice a particular girl looking intensely at me. So I did what any heterosexual female would do, I through her a sultry look and winked at her. She flushed and looked away and I let out a little chuckle as I proceeded to put on my makeup. Yeah, I could definitely pull this off.

The actual event itself was quite boring. Generally it doesn’t take too much to smile and nod when appropriate, look pretty for photographs. Meet a person a minute, forget their names instantly. After a while, I began to become aware of a person that was paying a little too much attention. OK, I admit that walking around Silverstone in a nothing but a silver catsuit is going to get you noticed (grin), but in the VIP lounge, there was a guy who veritably couldn’t take his eyes off me. There were several more attractive girls in skimpier outfits at the race, but it seemed he was only interested in me. Normally I would flirt a little, play with him a bit, but this one unsettled me a bit.

I decided to ignore him, and mingled with the other West girls and people. Next thing I was tapped on the shoulder and turned to find the West promotion organiser greeting me and introducing me to the creep who turned out to be one of the major investors in some or other thing that West was getting into. Simply put, I was asked to be ‘very’ nice to him. It took me all of three minutes to find out what the guy was after.

We arrived at his trailer and I was considering my options. I would definitely not shag him. He was totally greasy and disgusting, but I imagined myself being able to get away with maybe blowing him or something. That was quick and I could get away with most of my dignity intact. As soon as I stepped into the trailer I was hit just below the neck by something and fell to the floor in the little corridor. Screaming in surprise and pain I flipped onto my back and hurriedly backed away from the advancing man. I managed to haul myself onto the bed and hurriedly told him how this wasn’t what he wanted, trying desperately to talk him out of it. He jumped on top of me on the bed and grabbing the neckline of my catsuit, as I tried to beat him off, he pulled and I felt the thin silver material give as I pushed him away.

He pulled me up to a standing position and tried to kiss me and turning away I brought my knee up, but (obviously being a pro at this) he twisted his legs and my knee stopped, wedged between his inner thighs. He did however breathe into my face, ‘Bitch’ and moved back. This allowed me to do a fuller kick at him and this time I connected well and he collapsed at my feet. Quickly I jumped over him, narrowly missing his feeble grab for my foot and soon I was out the door and running hurriedly away from the trailer, looking desperately back to make sure he wasn’t following. When it was clear he would rather nurse himself than pursue me, I slowed to a walk and the full realisation of what just happened hit me and hot tears spilled down my cheeks. Finding a secluded spot in amongst the trailers I fell apart and cried.

After I had regained control of myself somewhat I fixed my hair and felt the back of my catsuit. There was a six-inch rip next to the zip and below it the muscles were bruised and tender. Pulling my hair over the gap I wiped my eyes with my fingers and made for the West trailer. I needed to fix my face and recompose myself.

The bar of the VIP area was relatively empty as I stepped up to the barman and ordered a double Captain Morgan’s and Coke. Looking a bit better thanks to the trip to the West trailer, I looked at my shaking hands accepting the drink.

I walked over to the quietest side of the bar, near the toilets, sat down on the stool and took a long drink from my glass.

My mind went into neutral for a while as I slowly unwound and my hands stopped shaking and suddenly I felt/heard someone sit next to me. As it turned out this was a crossroads in my life, but at the time I just felt like hitting him/her. I DID NOT feel like being chatted up right then.

He started off with some random little statement about the expression “nursing the drink” and I promptly ignored him. He carried on, unbothered and it occurred to me that he might not be speaking to me, so I raised my head to try and see if there was someone else there in my peripheral vision. Seeing no one I wondered what he was trying to pull. He said something and then broke into a grin took a sip of what looked like Archers and Lemonade. I remember thinking at the time. A bit of a girls drink. I turned my head and he came into full view. He was definitely nothing special, and with the remains of his smirk playing across his lips he looked definitely harmless. My eyes were obviously still red because he made a remark immediately. He, then made some joke about buying me drinks because I looked like I needed it and grinned again and I felt myself respond to his smile, his face lit up when he smiled.

The conversation stopped there for a moment as he ordered and waited for my drink and a drink for himself (a G&T, wrong about the Archers then). During the moment he lapsed into silence and I felt a little guilty about not carrying on the conversation. He offered the drink with a joke and I accepted giving him a little false smile. I finished my own drink and placed the new on in its place and started to stare at it again.

He asked me my name, but I side-stepped the question, the way I felt, if he wanted conversation, he had to earn it. His species weren’t at the top of my ‘We come in peace’ list right now. He named me Delilah, which created some (carefully hidden) mirth and he then proceeded to tell me he was totally prepared to sit and listen to what my problem was. To be honest, at least he was willing to listen. Most men try to impress with big talk, rude jokes or non-stop chatter. This one, average as he was, had just asked to listen. So I took him up on it and asked him what he thought of the slinky catsuit that covered me. His answer was surprisingly honest along the lines of ‘every man’s wet dream’. I was a little taken aback at his candidness, but I really took to his honesty, so I told him the events of the last hour, showing my (given his reaction) bruised back and ripped catsuit.

Speaking about the incident like I did, openly and too a stranger lifted a lot of the anxiety that had been plaguing me since it happened. When I finished speaking I found I was quite relaxed and staring into his deep brown eyes. Breaking his gaze, I felt a little fluttering in my stomach. It suddenly occurred to me that I would have to go back to work or at least meet Jo at some stage. She was my ticket home. I mentioned this to my leather-jacketed friend and after a little discussion I had agreed to let him take me home (well at least to Finchley Central station, I am not going to trust anyone fully for a while I think), which is where he lives anyway. This was definitely a stroke of luck.

I looked at the time and felt a pang of guilt that decided me on the course of action to finish my shift and meet him later. The only problem that remained was the ripped catsuit, although my hair mostly covered it. After mentioning it briefly to my new ride, he helpfully gave me his collared shirt, which he fitted on me, tying it at my stomach, unbuttoned at the top. I looked at myself in the mirror behind the bar and I did look good. This stranger was not only a really nice guy, but had a really good sense of style too. I began to look at him in a whole new light. He made a flirty comment and this time I responded with one of my own and I felt a lot better all of a sudden. We finalised the meeting place after my shift. As I left the bar, I walked away a little slower, my hips swaying a bit and I imagined him watching them and I felt a little aroused. And then it occurred to me that I didn’t even know his name and he called me Delilah, how odd was that?

The rest of my shift was spent avoiding the rapist who had reappeared in the pits. I suppose I should have reported him, but I just wanted the hell out of there. I could be tied up in reports and statements for hours. I had survived and that was good enough for me. My boss didn’t give me too much hassle about my new look when I showed him the bruise and implied how it came about. Mostly, though, I kept thinking about Jim (grin). I had to name him, so I could at least think about him. In my own head, I imagined what he was thinking, maybe he was wondering the Grand Prix grounds, mind lost in thought as he went over and over our meeting in his mind, not wanting to wait the forty-five minutes or so until we met again. OK, I didn’t really think it likely, but it felt good to think he just might (yes, yes, I was 24 and not a school girl, leave me alone [grin]).

He had a strange effect on me. Little or no initial physical attraction, but the more attention I paid to his strange little jokes and his (OK I will admit it [blush]) extremely cute smile, the more I felt drawn to him. I had a funny feeling that this was going to be an interesting weekend.

Pretty soon, my shift was over and I was pretty much a blonde and silver blur getting in and out of the trailer and making my way to Gate 3.