The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The problem with PaintO was its transitory nature. The enhanced sensation the bodypaint brought could only go so far, and it lasted only so long, and then some other delight had to be attempted in order to achieve the same degree of pleasurable effect. Once Mira and Marlene started employing the topical agent at home, playing the roles of slaves in their own households, it was an inescapable conclusion that they would have to try it outside as well. The more control they had, the less pleasurable it felt.

The two women each had large estates. They had lots of venues for role-playing from which to choose, at least they assumed at the start.

Painted up bright and green, they knelt before Vincent beside a lake, inside a forest, on a mountaintop, even on the exposed greenfields beside their own houses, where anyone who had managed to get onto their properties (or who employed a powerful enough telescope) could see them. But that minimal risk of exposure could only do so much. Tolerances built up quickly.

Within a month they had to take it up yet another level.

The twin safetycars landed on the abandoned, rock-strewn field. After their internal whirring ceased, both pods opened quietly, almost demurely. Mira was the first to step out onto the gravelly surface, hesitantly putting her bare feet to the ground. I’m actually doing this, she thought. The cold night air hit her nude flesh in a rush, and, enhanced by the PaintO, the heiress shuddered in excitement, her green-covered skin tingling in delight. Each goose pimple emerged as its own unique bud of pleasure.

Marlene’s reaction was visibly and audibly similar. She gasped in joy as stepped away from her vehicle. The pods sealed shut with a hiss, eliciting a jump and a titter of nervousness from both girls.

The sky was dark. The stars shone without the slightest trace of pollution. The era of the Corporate Lords was green, almost as green as Mira and Marlene’s viridescent flesh. The PaintO was newly applied and burning pleasantly. The field was open, but beside it on all sides were dark, abandoned buildings left over from the Republic. If one strained, the glow of the Towers could be seen beyond. There were no lights beyond that ephemeral glow and that which was provided by the stars themselves.

“Where is he?” Marlene whispered to her friend. Somehow, it felt safer to whisper. Appropriate, too.

“I told you, Vincent’s meeting us in that building over there.” She pointed to the short tower—not a Tower—a half-a-block away. “We have to meet him.” Her lips quivered, in fright and delight.

“I hate walking,” Marlene said. She went down to all fours on the gravel. “I want to crawl to him instead.” Like Mira, she was completely naked, her only decorations the bright green PaintO and the slave spots they had meticulously pasted in place. She posed, lowering the front half of her body and raising her ass, spreading her thighs. “Ah, God, I wish he was here right now so he could fuck me.”

She preened in excitement.

Mira came up beside her. She stroked the slut’s ass, and Marlene purred like an extinct cat. “Oh, let’s just play here,” her friend said. She began to roll over, and then she jumped. “Ouch! Ohhh.” She had hit a sharp rock.

Marlene stood up, rubbing her hip. The rocks beneath Mira’s feet felt deliciously hard, too. Their discomfort was almost a comfort. “Not out here,” Mira said. “The ground’s too hard.”

“I could use something hard right now,” Marlene said. The way she rubbed herself was less pain reliefy, more indecently masturbatory. “Come on.” Mira started toward the first building. The plan was a simple one. Vincent had taken one of Mira’s surfacecars into the old city outside the Estates. The city wasn’t completely abandoned, but most of the tenant population was now centered on the ring of Towers in the middle. The leftover areas in-between were largely urban desolations of shattered hulks, broken cars, and debris from hundreds of years of on-and-off again habitation. It was perfect for their little game. Vincent would be waiting for them in one of the abandoned buildings—Mira had had it scouted out ahead of time—and fixed up right. Scurrying to meet him like the little slaves they were pretending to be, as if he were some old-fashioned corporation leader, and they his green playthings, was just the first game on their agenda this evening. A long parade of depravity followed. It was going to be fun. Mira reached the side of the building. The metal door was supposed to be unlocked, and it proved to be so. The green-painted pair entered a short concrete hallway with a staircase beside it.

“We have to climb?” Marlene whined, and Mira ignored her. Marlene never paid attention to anything.

“Just follow me.” The route they had to take was up this flight of stairs, onto the roof of this building, across a walkway—suitably inspected, of course—then from that roof down another stairs, and then into the office of their Master! She got wet just thinking about the word. Mira touched her bare tits. She could hardly wait!

“I like your ass,” Marlene said, behind her. She giggled. “Shut up, slut,” Mira said, wearily.

“I am a slut, heh heh.” She sounded high, and not for the first time that evening Mira wondered if in addition to the PaintO Marlene had taken a hit of actual O.

They made it to the roof. The access door was again unlocked. The two stepped out into the moonlight. The exposure did help a lot. The thrill Mira felt in the open air like this, in the middle of the city, was like being on O again. Almost. She was wet between her legs again, anyway, and her nipples were stone-hard. For a few minutes, as they made their way across the iron walkway connecting to the two buildings, Mira visualized this kind of play as a form of recovery. She would never take another dose of O. Never. Never again. The PaintO and the role-playing were a more than suitable substitute.

The girls entered the next building over and made their way downstairs. They were half-way down the first landing when Mira thought she heard a voice. She stopped, and Marlene pushed up against her.

“Hey, I like that,” she said, and reached around to fondle Mira’s breasts, eliciting a sighing moan from her. “Stop it, someone’s . . .” and then the heiress couldn’t think straight for a minute or two because Marlene had flipped her around and was sucking her tits like no tomorrow.

Mira moaned. Marlene was kissing her breasts, her expert tongue licking and curling around each engorged nipple. Her hands were clutching at Mira’s navel. There’s something . . , Mira tried to think. . . there’s something wrong. She grabbed Marlene’s head and kissed her on the mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” Marlene said, and tried to bend her over.

Abruptly, Mira’s eyes opened. Oh my god, she thought. With great difficulty, she pushed Marlene off her. “Get off,” she hissed. “I think there’s someone else here.”

“I don’t care,” Marlene moaned. “He can fuck me, too. Fuck me, bitch. Fuck me!” Then they both heard a sound, right below them this time, and they stiffened.

“What’s that?” Marlene said, too loudly. The noise below was repeated, Mira heard voices—multiple voices, and definitely none of them her Vincent—and the sound of footsteps coming up!

Oh my god, Mira thought again, and started running back up the stairs. Her bare feet padded against the cold concrete. Marlene pushed by her, shoved her, and Mira stumbled. Marlene ran through the exit at the top of the stair. “Wait!” Mira cried. She followed hot on her friend’s heels and opened the door on the rebound. Marlene was already heading across the roof.

Mira ran after her.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a pair of young street toughs stepped out of the shadows of the roof and grabbed Marlene’s arm as she tried to run past. “Where do you think you’re going, slut?”

Marlene gasped. Her eyes gaped. A third boy stepped into view.

Mira froze. She was standing right there in the middle of everything, totally exposed, yet none of them were looking in her direction. The men’s gaze was solidly on the green-and-naked Marlene. In turn, Marlene’s eyes were on them, terrified.

Mira backed up, then looked behind her.

The security door she had stepped out of was closing. She saw at once that the handle had been broken off. Once it was closed, it would be closed! She would be trapped, with them!

Who were they?

Mira whimpered, fled back, and managed to slip her hand through the portal a half-second before it shut. She turned around. She was clearly visible. The area was well lit by the moon. All they had to do was look behind them and . . . .

“Please, let me go!” Marlene struggled in one man’s grip. He didn’t release her arm, though, where he had it by the shoulder. The three men were dressed in city-street leathers. They wore Indian makeup, which was the current city-dweller youth fad. They weren’t armed; but, then, they didn’t need to be.

“Where’s your tag, slave?” The man in front of Marlene questioned her. He put his hand to her throat, as if expecting to see a collar tag dangling. He let his hands wander downward and felt Marlene’s breasts. Still infused with the PaintO, she responded instantly, wantonly, pressing herself against him.

“I . . I’m not a slave,” Marlene said. Everything about her, though—her voice, her movements, her lack of clothing, the bodypaint—made the statement a lie.

“There were definitely two of them, Mike,” one man said to the fellow feeling Marlene up, who, from the rapturous expression on her face, albeit against her will, was clearly enjoying every moment of it.

The fellow nodded.

“Where’s your girlfriend, slut?” He pinched her nipples, and Mira saw Marlene climax again, shuddering in abject slavelike pleasure.

“I don’t . . . I’m not a slut!” She seemed to recover for a second, regain a modicum of her sense against the sway of the powerful drugs in her system, but then the man holding her pressed up against her from the back, and she melted. “Shah!” She closed her eyes in bliss. “Ohhhhh, oh master!”

As silently as she could, Mira cracked the door and crept through it. She continued to watch, electric thrills running up and down her skin. Mira’s nipples were still as hard as stones. She was conscious that people were coming up the stairs behind her. She was trapped between them. Trapped!

Her pussy was hot and wet. “Please,” Marlene begged the trio, when she could. “I was only pretending to be a slave. Please let me go!”

They laughed. “So,” their leader said, still clutching Marlene’s boobs, “slut.” She spasmed, climaxing, squirming. “You’re one of those elite girls who likes to dress up as a slave to have a good time, eh?”

He fondled her. “Yes!” she cried out ecstatically.

“You wanted to know what being a slave felt like, eh?”

“Yes!”

“You’re about to find out, you know that, right?”

“No, please. Please, I was only pretending!”

“A slut like you, you want to be a slave, don’t you? That’s why you’re really out here. You were hoping someone would catch you and make you the slave you were ‘only pretending’ to be.” Mira’s heart quickened. Was that true? She closed her eyes for a second, moaning softly. Yes. It was true.

She could feel it in her burning hot pussy. They had wanted to be made slaves. A sudden mad impulse came over her: to open the door wide and cry out, “Here I am!” She actually opened her mouth to say it. She even opened the door a little wider to step through it once more.

Then the reality crashed in, and Mira huddled back inside, closing the door nearly all the way. She heard a noise from the flight below her. She whimpered. What was she going to do?

“Let’s take her back to my place,” one of the men said, now also putting his hands on Marlene. Her struggles were less attempts to escape, Mira observed, than struggles to make greater physical contact with her masculine captors. “We can take her by a processing facility tomorrow morning.”

“Uh uh,” the man in charge said. “That won’t work. She’s still technically free, though that won’t be a problem long.” He emphasized his words by putting his fingers between Marlene’s green thighs. Her whole body shook as she climaxed yet again. “She’ll be easier to get processed right now. At night, undressed as she is, all high on O, no one will ask any questions.”

“Oh please don’t make me a slave,” Marlene moaned. But she pressed herself up against her captor like one nevertheless. Marlene’s going to be made a slave, Mira thought. She moaned, so hot, so wet at the very thought. She opened her mouth again, then closed the security door firmly, shuddering all over. Girding herself, she ran back downstairs, then made the first turn she could on the next floor down. She heard men coming up the stairs. She stopped and crouched down, aroused and frightened beyond belief. From just around the corner she spotted a face, and despite the PaintO she went cold.

One of the boys was her old pusher. The one who had tried to overdose her. If he caught her . . . .

Mira ran, not looking back. The fact that she was barefoot may actually have helped: her footfalls were practically noiseless. She crossed a deserted hall on that floor, then went down the flight of stairs on the other side of the building. She heard no one behind her.

Looking both ways, being very careful, she worked her way outside and tried to make her way back to her safetycar, taking the long way around. But it was no use. Sneaking around the corner, she spotted more of the gang members. They were everywhere. Where’s Vincent? Mira thought, panicking.

There was no way she could get to her vehicle. She was surrounded. Somehow, her old pusher had tracked her down. Another signal device? One the safetycar hadn’t found? Maybe. She couldn’t stay here—she would be caught. But how was she going to get back to her house? It was impossible!

Tears in her eyes, Mira fled, a naked girl covered in green bodypaint.

Sometime the next day, the two safetycars would be registered as abandoned and lifted away.