The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Rita:

Annika and her mother had passed out, probably from the changes. They had been through more than I had, and even that was enough to make my head throb. Everything I saw was so terrifying. How could all of this stuff happen? Was this a dream?

The older man, Rogers, was humming to himself in satisfaction and started packing up the machine. He pulled apart the tubes and unscrewed some things and put them all into a kind of ratty suitcase. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was over! And unlike Annika and her mother—I gulped—I was relatively unchanged. I looked down at my body. There it was, molded in an outfit that looked like something that would be censored on WeChat.

And this was all I could wear now? All my life, my parents had stressed the importance of academics. I had worked hard and got into an elite American university, flew over from Shanghai. I had never, ever worn anything like this before.

A new view—tight clothes. I ran my hand up my waist experimentally. I felt really, really uncomfortable.

And the magic power? I thought to myself. What was that about? Inhibitions? Did it work? I tried not to think about it. Of course, I had thoughts I wanted to think, illicit thoughts, but I didn’t want to think them.

The machine was fully packed up, and now Rogers was writing some stuff down on a clipboard. I looked at Annika’s mother. She looked conspicuously good in her dress, even at her age. We had them in China, special words for them, women that would make men of all ages turn their heads when she walked in for student conferences.

And then my eyes traveled over to Annika. I had admired her all this semester—she was the prototypical American girl, open, free, the sort that you aspired to be in your secret dreams. To be free like her, free to date and dance and smile, to be beautiful, smart, well-liked. And as she lay there on the couch, her belly going up and down, I could see her cleavage, upside down, rising and falling.

It was a good name for her—Annika, I thought, uncharacteristically. Briefly, I wished I was her, and that she was me, and I would have all the things she would have, forever. To be Annika, I thought, desperately.

“Elmo, would you take this to the car? And please be careful,” the man said, handing him the case. Elmo complied cheerfully and took it by the handles and started lugging it outside. The man watched him go outside, and then turned to me with a smile.

“I’m sorry you got caught up in this, Rita dear—it is Rita, isn’t it? But these things happen.” He came up to me and put his hand under my chin and lifted it to look into my eyes with concern, like a doctor. I instinctively gave his feeble hand a push away.

He stepped back in surprise. And then he rubbed his hand self-consciously. Uh-oh. Did my touch make him lose his inhibitions? Shit, I thought. That could be really, really bad.

He looked at me thoughtfully. Then he went down to look at my waist and my hips, which were tightly covered, the swells and curves fully visible. His hands twitched. Thank god the machine was already packed up. Did I really have the power to make people lose inhibitions?

He looked out the door. He had this look on his face, he was hungry, or envious, or rabid, or something. Then he pushed into his pocket, fumbled around in it, his arms shaking with illicit intentions. I watched fascinated. I had this detachment from myself—nothing makes sense anymore, who cares.

He pulled out a vial with a strange safety cap on the top. Inside a golden liquid swished around inside sludgily, the same color as the beam the machine had cast on us. He caressed it carefully, his hands rubbing the vial up and down. He looked like a middle schooler who found his first box of porn. And then he leaned in close, his mouth inches from mine, looking me over, eyes, nose, breasts, waist.

“Rita,” he said, “I’m going to try a very special experiment on you. I’ve never tried it before, but I think you’ll be up for it.”

He pulled out a strange looking pipette and inserted it into the vial and extracted a tiny drop of golden liquid. Then he pulled out a piece of paper.

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve wanted to try this. If it works! — well, we’ll see how it goes. But who knows? Might be another big breakthrough for the effort.”

I was mesmerized by the golden liquid. Was that reality itself? It made me feel kind of calm and passive, looking it. I was lying down, and in my body-hugging clothes I felt particularly small and vulnerable. He reached down and ran a hand gently down my breast, and then continued his finger slowly down my midriff all the way to the hem of my shirt, which he lifted up carefully, exposing my stomach. Then he laid the piece of paper on it, and at the paper’s touch I trembled.

“Isn’t it exciting to be part of the Most Important Experiment of All Time?” he said with slurred words. He had a giant erection. “And this will be the most boundary pushing of them all.”

He looked around nervously. He wasn’t losing his nerve, was he? The effects of my touch are temporary, right? I thought nervously to myself. Maybe I could wait his inhibitions out. Unless, Jesus, he started kissing me or something.

“This paper has instructions on it, and the Essence should make it reality-binding. Emphasis on should.” He squeezed out the drop of golden glow on the paper, and it smelled disgusting, strongly, like some superchemical or something. But it was also compelling. It went deep up your nostrils. As it landed, ate a small hole through the paper like acid, and then reached my exposed skin and was absorbed. It felt... really, really good. Like lines of energy going through my body, and I moaned and squirmed a little. Change, I thought.

“Read the paper,” Rogers said, “And be back here tomorrow night with Anastasia and her daughter. Do nothing to resist us.”

The words hit me like divine statements, commands from a deity. They shot through me, going through my brain with absolute import. Accordingly, I opened the piece of paper. It had a small hole in it, where the liquid had went through, but it was still legible. “The first man you see, you’ll ask what his idea of the perfect woman is. As he speaks, you’ll conform to his words. Reality will conform. And you’ll want to be that woman. Only the people in this room will notice the changes.”

The handwriting was scrawled, like he had written it nervously, as a fantasy. It lanced through my brain, enlacing itself with my future.

His eyes had come off me and he looked at Annika and put his hand under his jeans. His eyes were latched on her chest. “I don’t know if this will work. It’s audacious in its use. Written words! For use after the implementation! It could end the universe, although an unlikely result to be sure. That’s why I’m so grateful you’re here, Rita. To be part of this.

“But one last experiment, while the Essence is still in you, we’ll see what the results are. Here—you have a growing attraction for Annika, don’t you?” he said with a queer little smirk. “And you’ll forget everything that has just happened here, after Elmo left.”

My head throbbed and I felt out of place. Had I passed out? It was like I was missing time. Rogers was watching me curiously and I looked back at him blankly. Evidently, he was pleased. He then stood over Annika and reached down to fondle her, looking lecherous in a way I hadn’t seen all night, squeezy squeezy—and I almost forgave him, she was so beautiful, her female body accentuated in her tight clothes—I’m wearing tight clothes too, a part of me thought, tingling—and I was suddenly curious about what Rogers was about to do—maybe some good old-fashioned lechery, take the cloths off—and I had an uncharacteristic blush at the thought of seeing Annika naked — but Rogers stood back up, like he was suddenly regaining part of himself, and he looked around, suddenly nervously, biting his lip. He looked at me, one hand on his chin, and then swirled out, slamming the door.

On my stomach was a folded piece of paper. “A love note,” I thought ridiculously at first, and I took it as another sign my mind clearly wasn’t working all that well. I would look at it tomorrow.

“It’s going to be a really... fucking weird day tomorrow,” I thought to myself, “...assuming this isn’t just a dream.”

My final look of consciousness was of Anastasia and Annika, sleeping peacefully on soft pieces of furniture, looking more alike than I was expecting.