The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Glam to Goth,” part 1

Meghan slowly opened her right eye. It was crusted over. When she tried to wipe it with her right hand, she found that her arm was immobilized. Panic shaking loose the cobwebs, she struggled to free it, only to learn that her entire body was immobilized. She couldn’t turn her head but, once she got her bearings, realized that she was suspended somehow, her limbs and head held in stasis, with her head cocked backward slightly. She couldn’t even see her body.

What was happening? The last thing Meghan remembered, she and her friends Alyse and Stacey were at Bonnaroo, making plans to see Cashmere Cat in the night. People used to call Meghan, Alyse, and Stacey the triplets, on account of how similarly they all looked and dressed—each was blonde, between 5′ 6″ and 5′ 8″, solid B cup, abs and asses made of bronzen steel, clothes straight off the runway, just a single, small, discretely-placed tattoo, etc. They even had a small business together—a blog / social media empire (“FashionBitches.com”) where they took turns modeling expensive clothes other folks paid them to wear. In fact, they had spent weeks coordinating their outfits and sponsors for the festival. How did Meghan go from there to here? It was so hard to remember.

Meghan decided to table that question—she sensed that she was in danger. She didn’t know how she wound up in this predicament, but she was going to figure out a way to escape. Quietly, she took in her surroundings. She was being held in a fairly dark room. A sliver of light descended from the ceiling and illuminated a nondescript wall and door.

Meghan again struggled, to no avail. With little to lose, she opened her lungs and started screaming. That’s when she felt the gag in her mouth.

After a minute, Meghan heard footsteps ascending stairs to her right. She couldn’t turn her head but felt a swoosh of air as a door opened outside her line of sight.

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

The voice was familiar, deep, and feminine. Meghan felt pressure on her back and realized she was naked. The pressure mounted and squeezed the air out of her diaphragm, and Meghan realized that her captor had sat on her. From the feeling and the scent, Meghan knew the woman was wearing leather. Pressure turned to pain as the mystery woman put all of her weight on Meghan’s suspended back, shifting her position several times. Meghan cried out in pain.

“No one can hear you, you know.”

Meghan heard a snap and smelled a lit match, followed by cigarette smoke. The woman breathed deeply, held her breath a moment, then exhaled in the direction of Meghan’s face, making Meghan cough and her eyes water. There was little she hated more than cigarette smoke.

As the mystery woman continued silently smoking and exhaling on Meghan for the next several minutes, Meghan felt the woman swivel her body so her legs rested on Meghan’s shoulders. With nothing else to look at, Meghan examined what was before her: bare legs, ivory white except for dozens of tattoos—many graphic depictions of sex acts between women—ending in ghostly pale feet. Those feet themselves were heavily tattooed, with long toes, even longer, black-painted toenails, and at least four toe rings between the two feet. Encasing those feet were what even Meghan had to admit were exquisite stiletto heeled sandals, albeit ones that were far too BDSM for Meghan to ever try on.

Putting two and two together, Meghan deduced that she had been captured by some kind of a lesbian/fetish/sex slaver. Wait—did those things actually exist? Her present predicament argued in favor of NO SHIT THEY EXIST!

* * *

Her mind raced back to the last events she remembered. She and her friends were at Bonnaroo planning their evening. Stacey had made arrangements to meet with a sponsor about a new promotion. Some boot or shoe that FashionBitches.com was going to make famous. The three went to the sponsor’s tent, away from the hustle and bustle. When they opened the tent flap, they were surprised to recognize the face before them—Liz, an acquaintance from the small college they all attended.

Despite the fact that the four of them together comprised about 1% of their total class, Meghan and her friends had studiously ignored, avoided, and belittled Liz. Whereas the future FashionBitches.com impressaria spent college looking cute and chasing boys, Liz was a dyed-in-the-black-wool goth dyke. She was glamorous in her own way, with her long, black hair, porcelain skin, impeccably dour makeup, towering heels, and closet of leather and plastic, but she was from a world separate and apart from the world of Meghan and her friends. Meghan’s squad loved to go to dive bars and dance on the bar in their cute cowboy boots; Liz spent all her time eating pussy, Meghan assumed. “I’m not homophobic, but…” Meghan would frequently begin sentences.

But now they were all graduates, and there was no reason they couldn’t do business together. Liz was wearing a black corset as a top, proudly displaying a large crystal that had been implanted just above her bellybutton, and bare shoulders and arms coated with elaborate tattooed designs. Each nostril was pierced, as were both sides of her mouth and her left eyebrow. The corset accentuated her breasts, which Meghan gauged as size Ds. She had on a lewdly short leather skirt, from which pale, tattooed legs emerged. Those legs ended in … exquisite stiletto heeled sandals.

The last thing Meghan could recall was stepping forward, extending her hand to Liz, and saying “Nice to see you, Liz. Looks like you’re doing well.” Liz returned the handshake vigorously and responded, “I think we’re going to work well together, Meg.” “No one calls me thaaaaaaa…” Meghan trailed off as she went unconscious.

* * *

Back to reality—Meghan knew Liz had done something to her and was now her captor. Mustering up all her energy, Meghan bucked her body, moving just enough to throw Liz from her back onto the floor. As Liz stood up, Meghan saw that she was wearing that same leather skirt, but without any underwear—and was she wet? “Had she been playing with herself on top of me?!?” Meghan wondered. The thought made her dry heave.

“THAT WASN’T NICE, YOU CUNT!” Liz slapped Meghan’s cheek, then grabbed her right nipple and twisted. The pain was excruciating. “I was going to let you eat my pussy tonight, you fucking bitch, but now you’re going to have to earn it.”

“Eat pussy?? Huh?” Meghan thought to herself. She was straight and had no interest in sex with women.

That was the last thought Meghan had before Liz put something over her head that obscured her vision again. A flick of something on the object and all Meghan could see was a pattern of lights. Meghan drifted away again.

* * *

“Wakey, wakey.”

Whatever was on Meghan’s head was removed. The room was bright, causing Meghan to squint while her eyes adjusted. She had no idea how long she had been out, but she felt like she had gotten no sleep.

Composing herself, Meghan noticed Liz in front of her. Liz was dressed even more regally than usual—a black cape with bright purple lining covering her shoulders paired with a black gown ending above her ankles, the same shoes adorning her pale feet.

“Come on. You stink. We need to clean you, and you need to use the bathroom.”

That reminded Meghan of the ache in her bladder. Liz moved to Meghan’s side and fiddled around with something. Suddenly, a clamp released, and Meghan fell to the floor. Liz helped Meghan to her feet. She had never been so stiff in her life—how long was she held up like that? Meghan rolled her head from side to side to work out the kinks, remaining standing docilely by Liz.

After a moment, it struck Meghan that she was still naked and standing in front of a woman who had somehow captured her. It didn’t occur to Meghan to fight back against Liz or even to escape—Meghan’s only thought was to cover up. She crossed her arms and looked furtively around the room. There was nothing except some sort of harness contraption (apparently, what had been holding her).

“Yeah you don’t get clothes yet, bitch. Come with me.”

Meghan found herself meekly following Liz out of the room down a long hallway, bare feet on a clean (antiseptic?) wooden floor. Through windows, Meghan could see that it was daytime.

Liz stopped in front of a door and gestured for Meghan to enter. It was a bathroom. Liz shut the door, allowed Meghan time to relieve herself, then burst in once she heard a flush. “Time to clean up all those cum-soaked holes, whore.”

She pointed to the bathtub, and Meghan lowered herself into it. For the next hour, she sat there, completely placid, while Liz cleaned and washed her body and hair, then shaved her armpits, legs, and eventually, her pussy. That Meghan considered a shaved pussy a sign of low class was irrelevant—she voiced no objection.

Liz stood her up and took her in. “Good. At least we made a little progress. You still look like a Barbie doll slut cum dumpster, but at least you’re a Barbie doll slut cum dumpster with a shaved pussy.” Liz locked eyes with Meghan, then put her hand on Meghan’s pussy. She started running her long index fingernail along the length of Meghan’s slit. Meghan’s heart raced. A small moan escaped her lips.

“Wow, you sure are getting worked up by another woman touching your pussy,” Liz said with a smirk. “I guess those rumors of you being totally straight were overblown, right?”

“No,” Meghan thought to herself, “I’m totally straight … but why can’t I bring myself to put an end to this?”

Liz abruptly stopped. “That’s enough for you. Dry off and let’s go.” She threw Meghan a hand towel. She understood that this was the only thing she was going to get to dry off, so she did what she could.

Minutes later, they returned to the hallway and continued on to a room several doors down. “You’re probably wondering where your friends were. Well, let’s resolve that at least some of that mystery now.” Liz opened the door.

Inside the room was Meghan’s friend Stacey, in a robe, sitting on a chair and reading a magazine. She appeared to be rubbing something onto her skin as well. She leapt to her feet when she saw Liz, running towards her like a couple reuniting at an airport in a commercial.

Meghan noticed a huge, new septum ring straddling Stacey’s nostrils. “That’s … pretty, I guess…” Meghan thought to herself, even though FashionBitches.com’s official position was anti-septum (“Not cute, guys! :)”).

Meghan did a double-take when she noticed toe rings on four of Stacey’s toes. Stacey had written the blog post taking women to task for wearing toe rings (“Jennifer Aniston ON BLAST!”).

But Meghan was really surprised when Stacey started passionately kissing Liz.

* * *

Meghan couldn’t believe what she was witnessing. There she stood—naked—while some kinky dyke who’d captured her and her friends had her tongue down the throat of one of those friends. A friend that Meghan had known to be totally straight, in fact. Together with Alyse, Meghan and Stacey had never shied away from bullying anyone who fell outside their social sphere, and that included lesbians. Stacey herself had been the source of some of the more perniciously homophobic rumor mongering. Yet, here she was, her hand lovingly caressing Liz’s face—a face that Stacey had belittled during college—while she bit Liz’s lip. “Fuck, that’s hot…” Meghan thought to herself unwittingly. She continued to stand there silently.

After a few minutes of making out, Stacey and Liz turned to Meghan.

“How far along is she?” asked Stacey.

“Just started. She’s been a real cunt, actually.”

Stacey approached Meghan, still standing in place, and eyed her lewdly. “She’ll get there.” Stacey put her hand on Meghan’s crotch, just as Liz had done in the bathroom. The sensation of Stacey’s nails on her lips and clit was intensely erotic, even though Stacey had shorter nails than Liz.

“I love what you’ve done with your pussy,” Stacey snarled. “What do you think of mine?”

Meghan’s friend dropped her robe, revealing her nude body underneath. The absence of tan lines was not a surprise to Meghan, who knew Stacey tanned in the buff. The tiny tattoo of a butterfly on her upper thigh was also something Meghan knew about—the FashionBitches.com team had all gotten tiny, cute tattoos there after graduation.

The diamond stud in her hood was new, though, as were the opposing rows of three rings piercing each side of her lips.

As soon as Meghan’s face registered that she saw the piercings, Stacey returned to her chair. She sat, spreading her legs in the process, and beckoned Meghan. “Why don’t you take a closer look?”

One of Meghan’s closest friends had seemingly turned into a raging lesbian. Liz had done something to them both, Meghan realized, right before deciding to ignore that thought and approach her friend.

“On your knees, bitch.” Since when had Stacey been so domineering? She was just a normal, happy, straight girl—not some sneering dyke. And yet, Meghan was powerless to resist and crawled halfway across the room until she was face to crotch with her friend.

“Hold on, I have to put a stop to this right now,” Liz interrupted. “You haven’t earned the right to eat pussy, slut.”

“I wasn’t actually going to let her eat my pussy, Liz,” Stacey laughed. She pulled her right leg back and rested the length of the foot on Meghan’s face. Meghan could feel the soft soles and the metal of Stacey’s toe rings as Stacey slowly extended her leg, pushing Meghan away from her crotch.

“You love feet, don’t you?” Stacey said to her friend. At that moment, a light went on in Meghan’s head. Yes, she did love feet.

“What do you think of this foot on your face?”

“It’s … nice.” Meghan said, her first words all day.

“Hold it in front of you and tell me what you’re thinking.”

Meghan complied. “Your soles felt good on my face. You have really pretty, long toes. Your French pedicure is super cute. I don’t really like toe rings but these look good on you. And… I’d like to kiss your feet.”

“Where did all that come from?” Meghan wondered to herself, before forgetting the question.

“What’s stopping you?”

Meghan brought Stacey’s tan right foot up to her face and tentatively extended her tongue until it touched the base of Stacey’s big toe. There was almost no taste, but Meghan enjoyed the smooth texture as she slowly licked the length of the toe. Stacey and Liz watched, beaming.

Meghan opened her mouth and maneuvered the middle three toes inside. While sucking on them, she ran her tongue in between and around the toes. The slight metallic taste of Stacey’s toe rings, combined with the minor tug on her tongue as she sloshed around them, was erotic to Meghan in a way she couldn’t have comprehended a few days ago. Neither she nor her friend had ever had a gay thought or a foot fetish, yet here Meghan was, on her knees before Stacey, prepared to eat her pierced pussy but “settling” for the chance to worship her foot.

Reflecting on the change in circumstances drove Meghan crazy with lust. Her toe sucking became more passionate, and she took Stacey’s other foot and rubbed the soft soles up and down the side of her face. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, the moment was so erotic, and she found her own toes curling. She eventually glanced up and made eye contact with Stacey, who was tracing the outline of her own pussy. Looking down, Meghan saw that Stacey’s finger had drawn an unmistakable glisten from the pussy. The aroma permeated the room.

Meghan was, by now, very curious about what that glistening pussy would taste like, but somehow she knew that she was not allowed even to beg for the chance. She had done something wrong, and until she fixed it, she would be denied the joy of eating pussy. Meghan refocused her intense oral needs on the beautiful feet in front of her, planting kisses up and down both soles before licking their lengths.

A flick of match on matchbox and a cigarette was ignited. Meghan didn’t have to look up to know that her friend—previously, an ardent non-smoker—was holding the cigarette. Nor was Meghan surprised that this aspect of her friend’s personality had also changed. The smell of tobacco was growing on Meghan, too.

This continued for several more minutes, until Liz abruptly put an end to it. “OK fun’s over, dykes. We’ve got shit to do.”

Stacey retracted her wet feet from her friend’s mouth and stood. She and Liz walked to a corner of the room away from Meghan, who was left kneeling on the floor. Meghan only heard bits and pieces of the conversation.

“Hair and nails today … how many more treatments? … can’t wait to get my tits done.”

The conversation complete, Liz left Stacey and returned to Meghan, still kneeling. From the vantage point below, Liz really looked like a dark goddess, Meghan thought.

“Come with me.” Liz gestured for Meghan to stand, and the two left the room, walked down the hallway, and went into another spartan room down the hall. In it was just a nicely-made bed, with white satin sheets, several racks of magazines, and a tray with some food and drink on it. Meghan knew her gaze should never leave Liz, but out of the corner of her eye, she was able to see that at least several of the magazines concerned tattoos and piercings.

Liz walked to the center of the room and turned around. “I don’t need to tie you up any more, do I?” Meghan didn’t understand the question and didn’t respond.

“Good. Enjoy your meal and get some rest.” She left, shutting the door behind her.