The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Freckles”

“You should count them,” Siobhan says. Ryan chuckles, a touch awkwardly. He didn’t mean to tease her, not exactly, it was just...he’s never seen a woman with so many freckles before. They cover her face from chin to forehead, dappling her skin in so many places that there scarcely seems room for them all on such a waif of a girl. And he...he’s never quite sure how to deal with Siobhan. She always seems to put him a little bit off-balance. He thought that maybe a few jokes might do the same to her, get them on an equal footing. But now he’s not so sure.

Because now she knows he looks at her. She’s looking back at him, a cast to her eyes that won’t tell him whether or not she’s kidding. “No, I’m serious,” she says, in a voice that doesn’t exactly sound like she’s telling the truth. “I’ve never had the patience myself, but you seem like you’re interested.” She shifts position to face him directly, challenging him with her stare. “Go ahead and try to count.”

Ryan smiles nervously. He’s not sure whether this is flirting, or an attempt at harmless revenge for the joke about having too many freckles to count. He doesn’t know how to exit the topic gracefully, and he’s certainly not about to leave—this study session in Siobhan’s dorm room is the closest he’s gotten to her since they first had classes together, and he’s hoping that somehow he can turn it into something more. Assuming he hasn’t already screwed it up.

He decides to play along with the joke, or the request, or whatever it is. “One,” he begins, pretending to peer closely at a random spot on her skin. “Two, three, four...”

“Ah! Not like that,” Siobhan responds with a mock sharpness to her voice. “Count silently. And methodically. Focus on a point, say...the tip of my chin. Keep an eye on a single freckle there, really get to know it so that you’ll be able to come back to it later if you lose count. Memorize its position, its shape, watch it move as I talk. When you close your eyes, you should still be able to see it.”

Ryan trails into silence and stares, feeling increasingly uncertain about the whole thing. He’d rather be looking at her hazel-green eyes, which seem far more fun to get lost in, but she’s clearly expecting him to keep going with this and he’s not quite sure how to get out of it now without upsetting her. So he finds a freckle on the tip of her chin, part of an adorable little dusting of red specks that scatter across her jawline, and he watches it. He looks at the way it fits into the pattern of freckles around it, studies its position relative to her lips and her nose, blinks once or twice to make sure that he can find it when his eyes refocus.

Siobhan seems satisfied that he’s following instructions, because she says, “Got it? Good. Now...start counting. You can move in a spiral pattern, moving out from that freckle to the ones around it. Count each one, let your eyes go in a widening circle radiating from that spot and moving outwards. You’ll need to stay focused, of course. If you pay too much attention to my words, you might lose your count, and then you’d have to start over. It’s far more important to keep watching, keep counting...”

It’s not as easy as it looks. Ryan loses count twice within the first few minutes, trying despite Siobhan’s instructions to listen to her and pay attention to her freckles at the same time. He keeps wanting to look her in the eyes to show that he’s really listening, but every time he does that he loses track of where he was and has to begin again. But with each time, the map of her skin becomes more familiar. He begins to recognize her freckles as intimate landmarks, milestones marking a particular number as he falls into the rhythm of counting them up.

Her voice becomes a comforting drone in the background as the numbers tick on in his head. “Just let yourself center on my face, let your thoughts fade away so you can better focus on counting. Everything else in your mind is becoming background noise, as you shut out those distractions one by one and wind your eyes outward in the spiral. Counting up, up, up for me, studying the curve of my chin, the line of my jaw, the tilt of my nose. Becoming...intimate...with my face.”

Something about the sensuous purr in Siobhan’s last sentence makes Ryan blush furiously, but he’s not sure why because he can’t exactly remember her last sentence. Thinking about it distracts him from counting, and he’s already up to sixty-seven. He’s just past her mouth now, watching them move as he counts the dusting of tiny dots just above her upper lip, and he feels like he really has the hang of it. All the distracting questions in his head are gone. He’s not thinking about whether Siobhan likes him, or whether she invited him here for something more than just studying, or how he can convince her to want something more than just studying without being creepy...he’s just counting. Sixty-eight. Sixty-nine. Seventy. Seventy-one.

“That’s it,” Siobhan says. Ryan doesn’t remember what ‘it’ was, but he’s apparently doing it right because she sounds incredibly pleased with him right now. “Around...and around...and around, eyes moving in a lazy circle as you let everything else go except the steady progression of the numbers, one freckle to the next to the next to the next. Your eyes move slower and slower as the circle widens, each loop taking longer and longer as you clear your mind of all those distracting thoughts and ideas and just focus on the numbers. My voice and my words flowing into the back of your mind—there’s no need to really think about what I’m saying, it’s all just helping you with your task. You like it when I help you remember what you need to be doing, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Ryan answers, more to avoid the distracting pressure to answer than because he really agrees. He doesn’t disagree, either—it’s one of those questions that’s so vague and meaningless as to be impossible to say no to. But it doesn’t really matter. It’s not something he really needs to think about. Not when he’s up to eighty-three now. He experiences a brief flicker of uncertainty as he tries to remember just what the question was, but he can’t concentrate on that and counting at the same time without losing track, and he doesn’t want to lose count. Not now.

“Good boy!” Siobhan replies, putting just enough of a pixie’s lilt into her voice that the part of Ryan that feels condescended to is subsumed by the part of him that feels flirted with. Then both of them get smoothed away by the endless tick of numbers in his head. “You’re doing so well now, focused and concentrated and happy to be making me happy. It’s such a peaceful, relaxing thing to do, staring and counting and letting your eyes make their slow, lazy path while you let me do all the work of thinking. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Ryan says again, his mind simply supplying the word as a thing to say. He doesn’t have the mental energy to focus on really engaging with Siobhan’s conversation, not when he’s studying the freckles on her nose in intimate detail and counting every last one, even the overlapping dapple of little dots right between her eyes. It feels a bit rude, just tuning out the details of her words and vacantly agreeing, but somehow Ryan is certain that she doesn’t mind. She seems very happy to be doing all the work of...of talking...and letting him get on with his task. Ryan is almost surprised at how happy he feels too.

“That’s it,” Siobhan coos, taking Ryan’s hand in her own. Ryan almost loses count at that—the spiral she traces onto the back of his hand with her finger is surprising and more than a little distracting—but after a few moments, it becomes soothing instead. Just another thing helping him stay relaxed, stay focused, stay deeply and intimately centered on her beauty. “And I am beautiful, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” Ryan says, not sure exactly what part of that last thought was his and what part was hers. It feels increasingly difficult to tell them apart. He’s suddenly aware of how sluggish his thoughts are, how thick and muzzy his head feels. Forming an individual idea feels like a tremendous effort, like there’s not enough room in his mind for words and numbers and he’s got to keep the numbers ticking up and up and up, got to keep counting and watching and staring and focusing and...and...

One hundred eleven. One hundred twelve. One hundred thirteen. Ryan forgets what he was thinking about.

And Siobhan notices him forgetting. “Good boy,” she whispers again, getting closer as if to make the job of counting all the easier. “You love being here with me. You love listening to me. You love to relax and follow directions. It’s all so much easier than thinking, isn’t it?” She licks her lips a little, her eyes shining with excitement, but Ryan doesn’t really notice. He’s thinking about freckles.

He responds with another “yes,” but it’s subdued and quiet. He’s too busy trying to keep his eyes open—he doesn’t remember when he last blinked, and the image of Siobhan’s skin is practically burned into his retinas by now. He’s almost done, though. He’s up onto her forehead, the numbers accumulating more easily now that he’s counted off her cheeks and can just scan his way back and forth to the line of her strawberry-blonde hair. He can relax completely once that’s done. He can finally close his eyes. Ryan never imagined wanting to let his eyelids slip shut so badly. He can almost hear the voice in his mind telling him how good it’s going to feel when he finishes counting and closes his eyes...

“153,” he says dully, his eyelids already fluttering from the effort. He doesn’t really connect the number to anything anymore. It’s just a number Siobhan wanted him to know, and he wants to make Siobhan happy. He wants to be a good boy for her. His cock strains against the crotch of his jeans, but he feels the arousal only in a dim and disconnected way.

“Good boy!” Siobhan purrs. “But we’re not quite done yet.” She releases him and turns, gathering up her long hair in one hand and lifting it up off the nape of her neck. Automatically, Ryan’s mind returns to the familiar rhythm of the numbers. “You need to count every freckle, silly boy. You won’t be able to close those heavy, sleepy eyes until you know. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Ryan says. The logic of it seems inescapable to him. Siobhan told him to count, and he’s counting. There are freckles on her beautiful body, and he has to know how many. So he can...because he...one hundred seventy five. One hundred seventy six. One hundred seventy seven. One hundred seventy eight.

“That’s it,” she replies, her voice seeming to brush his cock to fuller and fuller attention. Ryan can feel a tiny wet spot where the tip of his dick tents the fabric, but he doesn’t really think about it. He’s counting. “You have to be sure. Can’t lose count. Can’t think or you’ll lose count. So you can’t think.”

“Can’t think,” Ryan repeats blankly, his voice devoid of emotion. He can feel the emotion, a dizzying whirl of confusion and arousal and a peaceful bliss that makes him hope this moment never stops, but it’s all gently wrapped up in a cotton-wool fog that fills his brain and leaves his mind still and quiet. When she lowers her shirt, sliding it down off of her body to reveal the silky smooth flesh of her back, all he can think about is following the scatter of freckles down to her waist.

“You can’t think.” Siobhan’s voice is firm, irrefutable. Ryan doesn’t know when he surrendered so much control to that tone of command, and he can’t even imagine trying to get it back now. Following instructions seems so much easier. “You don’t even want to try anymore. It feels so nice to let the numbers replace your thoughts, let my instructions replace your will, and count your way deeper and deeper into my power. Deeper and deeper. Deeper and deeper.”

“Deeper and deeper,” Ryan recites obediently, his voice in perfect time with hers. He doesn’t know how many times he says it, there’s no way to count that and count freckles at the same time. Two hundred thirty? Two hundred thirty one? It continues until every freckle on Siobhan’s skin marks another step in his descent into obedience, another weight on his heavy mind. When he hears himself say, “312,” he doesn’t even know why he’s not repeating her words anymore.

“Good boy!” Siobhan says, turning once again to reveal her perfectly-formed breasts. There’s a spattering of freckles along there, too, and Ryan’s eyes struggle to stay in focus as he begins counting them automatically. They want to close so badly now, they’re so heavy, but he must obey. “You must obey,” Siobhan continues, agreeing perfectly with his thoughtless thoughts. “It sounds so much nicer than ‘following instructions’, doesn’t it? So much more powerful, so much more...irresistible.” Her breathy tones feel like they’re tugging on his cock.

“I must obey,” Ryan repeats, his thoughts occupied with too many things to consider disagreeing. He stares at her beautiful breasts, her smooth belly, he feels his cock twitching in his pants, he’s got the numbers to keep track of...how can he think about resisting on top of all that? How can he think about thinking? He obeys. He must obey. There’s just no way around it. Obedience is pleasure, after all.

“Obedience is pleasure,” Siobhan agrees. Or Ryan agrees with Siobhan. His own thoughts are so quiet now, her words tangling with them until he can’t remember what he agreed to and what he wanted all along. “Feels so good to obey now, so good to listen and let me think for you. You’re so drowsy, so hazy. So horny.” She rubs his cock through his jeans, and Ryan hears himself whimper in desire. But he’s still counting.

“407,” he says, the number escaping his lips without any conscious volition anymore. But Siobhan seems to understand what it means. She stands up and kicks off her shorts and panties, standing there with her back to him.

“You’ll have an easier time counting if you kneel,” she coos, and Ryan slides off the bed and onto his knees without even thinking about it. He stares at her ass, lost in the way it curves for almost a full minute while he adds the light sprinkling of freckles on it to his tally, then lets his eyes travel down her thighs to her calves to her ankles.

“433,” he mumbles. Talking feels so difficult now. He’s so sleepy. His mind feels like it’s been asleep forever. Siobhan turns, and his heavy eyes lock onto her pussy with a shiver of desire that makes his cock throb like a second heartbeat. He’s already counting, though. He can’t stop now, not when he’s so close.

“457,” Ryan says at last. His eyes are barely half open. His head bobs up and down drunkenly as he tries to lift it despite its sudden, impossible weight. His mind echoes with only one number. But he knows Siobhan is pleased with him. He has finally, perfectly, obeyed.

“Good boy,” she whispers, sitting back on the bed. Her legs spread wide, and she reaches out to tangle her fingers into his hair. “Now...while you’re down there...” She pulls him forward, and he inhales the scent of her musk. His tongue begins to move, his mind no longer thinking of anything but how good it feels to obey. And only then, finally, do his eyes slip shut at last.

THE END