The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chrissy moved aside the next hanger on the rack. She hadn’t come out shopping today with the intention of buying something specific in mind, but maybe that was for the best. She wasn’t having any luck finding clothes to her taste, and her luck probably wouldn’t have been any better if she’d been looking for something specific.

There just wasn’t anything that grabbed her. It was making what was supposed to be a fun shopping trip into more of an exercise in frustration.

A few more hangers shuffled down the bar, under the guidance of her Chrissy’s hand. Hiding behind the last in this sequence was something a little more to her taste. It was a light sweater, with sleeves that only came halfway down the upper-arm. The base of the sweater itself would only make it down to her lowest rung of ribs, and come up shy of her stomach. The color was the pale shade of pink that she favored. It was the first thing she’d seen since coming into the store that she could even imagine wearing. She lifted the hanger from the bar.

Since it was only a sweater, there was no need to go all the way to the changing rooms. Chrissy slipped it from the hanger, and put her arms through its sleeves. As she smoothed it onto her body, and her fingers put the little white buttons through their slots to close its front, she gave a little hum of appreciation. This was more like it.

Her already forming plans to buy it were interrupted by the interjection of a stranger. “I’m not sure that’s your color.”

Chrissy looked back up from the sweater to the source of the comment. A man with dark hair was standing just a few paces away from her, watching her thoughtfully, as one might consider a sculpture.

“This is my favorite shade of pink,” Chrissy returned, bristling at the unrequested input.

“I like it on you,” the man amended. “But probably not for the reasons you’re aiming for. I think it washes you out and makes you look paler. You’ve got pale coloring, which I have aesthetic appreciation for, so I like it. But I doubt anyone else would share that opinion with me.”

Chrissy frowned. “I like the fact that the shade is pale,” she said. “It matches me.”

The man shook his head. “With pale coloring like yours, you’d be better off wearing contrasting colors. Dark shades, blacks.” The man turned briefly to the side, to reach for the rack to his left. He retrieved a hanger from it, and turned back to face her. “Something like this.”

Chrissy’s frown deepened. It was only a plain, long-sleeve top. The neckline dipped a little low for Chrissy’s taste, but in terms of design there was nothing so off-putting about it… if it weren’t for the color.

It was black, but such a deep black Chrissy couldn’t remember seeing another piece of clothing in the same color. Black like fresh ink; but way too dark for Chrissy’s liking.

“I don’t wear dark colors like that,” Chrissy said, her voice a little haughty. “I like wearing light colors— light colors match my coloring, and match my hair.” She flipped a loose section of her blonde hair forward, past her shoulder.

“That’s a shame,” the man said, in a good-natured tone. He replaced the hanger on the bar he had retrieved from. “You’d look so good in dark colors— you’d look even better with darker hair. I’m Kurt, by the way,” the man added, as an after-thought. He extended his hand, as if for a handshake.

Chrissy’s eyes went from Kurt’s outstretched hand to his face. “Chrissy,” she volunteered, tensely. She didn’t take his hand. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have a sweater to buy. Have a good day.”

She brushed past him, but he didn’t take the hint. “Did I offend you, Chrissy? I’m sorry— I didn’t mean to.”

She turned back to him. “I didn’t exactly ask for your opinion, did I? I have my own style, and my own taste in clothing. I don’t need a complete stranger to offer me suggestions on how to correct it.”

“Apologies,” Kurt said. “I have an artist’s eye— I sometimes forget that not everyone and everything is open to critique.”

Chrissy perked up at that. “An artist’s eye— is that what you do? Are you an artist?” She was a bit of a romantic at heart— and though she had no artistic skill to speak of, nothing seemed more romantic to Chrissy than an artist’s life. Kurt was standing in a new light for her. The severe colors of his outfit and his hair didn’t seem so off-putting any longer. They took on a dramatic dimension in Chrissy’s eyes that was somewhat appealing.

“I do some art,” Kurt conceded. “Some photography too. I like to consider things of beauty, and make them more beautiful, if I can. So I do apologize for letting this instinct get the better of me when I saw you putting the sweater on.”

Chrissy felt her cheeks heat. It was a subtle compliment, but she didn’t miss it. Maybe a more overt one would have put her off; after all, they had just met. But Kurt’s complimenting her in a more veiled way felt less overly familiar, and more sincere.

“Well… thanks,” she said, after a beat. She was a little flustered suddenly.

Kurt was still watching her with a friendly, open expression. There was a touch of curiosity in his gaze. “You know, I live not too far from here… would you be interested, maybe, in coming back with me to see some of my pieces?”

Chrissy looked back to Kurt’s expression; open, welcoming. His intrusion had been off-putting at first, but in this new context it was almost welcome. And with a kind look like that on his face, Chrissy couldn’t imagine him turning cruel. He’d been nothing but polite in their interaction so far.

It wasn’t the kind of thing Chrissy normally considered— but then, she didn’t know any artists personally. The invitation was like something out of the kind of sweeping story she liked to read, a prelude to a romance. Again, Kurt stood in a new light for her; now, he was something of a leading man. She wanted to take the chance.

She gave a quick nod. “Yes,” she said, eagerness in her voice. “Let’s go.” She turned to walk out of the store, but Kurt caught her gently by the elbow.

“Best remember to leave the sweater,” he reminded her.

“Oh,” Chrissy let out, looking back down at herself. She’d forgotten she was wearing it. Kurt dropped his grip, and she made quick work of slipping the sweater off. She didn’t bother replacing it on the hanger, instead throwing it haphazardly back towards the rack, to hang off the metal bar itself. “There,” she added. “Now let’s go.”

Kurt gave a nod. “Follow me.”

She did.

Kurt’s apartment might have been what Chrissy expected an artist’s quarters to look like. It was small, and cluttered, but through the lens she was viewing this experience with, it charmed her. It seemed equally dramatic, equally romantic as the man himself had appeared to be when she’d learned he was an artist.

He gestured across his threshold, guiding Chrissy to step through first, ahead of himself. She took the cue, and the impression she’d glimpsed through the open doorway increased. She was completely charmed.

There was barely enough room for the table in the kitchenette corner, and the living room contained only a futon. The rest of it was taken up by art supplies, a currently empty easel, and a larger sketching table.

Chrissy frowned. There was a smaller door which was clearly to a closet, and a door in the corner opposite from the kitchen which was probably to a bathroom, but there was a third door in the middle of the wall, as if for a bedroom.

“Is it just a studio apartment?” She asked, as Kurt closed the door behind them.

“No, it’s a one bedroom,” Kurt said. “You can have a seat at the table if you want.”

Chrissy seated herself. “But you sleep out here on a futon?”

“That’s right,” Kurt said. He stepped deeper into the room, past the futon and over to his work area. He shuffled some things around, his voice distracted. “I need that room for other things. Ah, there.” He retrieved what looked like a book, and came back to the table. “Some of my sketches, if you’re curious.”

She took the book from him with enthusiasm and flipped it open.

The book was not traditionally bound as its cover implied. It was just a spiral ring binder inside, and each sketch had been carefully placed in a plastic sleeve, whose plastic lining on the side held the three hole punches.

Chrissy turned each sleeve from one side of the binder to the other as she perused the drawings. Most of them were simple depictions of ordinary objects. But there was a distinctive style to them, harsh lines, heavy shadows that made even simple objects look a bit sinister.

There was darkness in his work. Darkness wasn’t Chrissy thing— she liked light colors, liked pieces of art that were pretty to look at. Yet there was something about the heaviness of the shadows that gripped her. She wasn’t entirely sure she liked it.

When she finished leafing through the book, she closed it carefully and set it down on the table. “Very striking,” she said, politely, but it was likely clear to both of them that her enthusiasm for this visit had fizzled out.

“Not quite to your taste, then?” Kurt asked, with a laugh. He seemed unoffended.

“Just a little dark for me,” Chrissy replied. “But thank you for showing me.”

“There can be beauty in darkness,” he countered.

Chrissy made a noise that was non-committal.

“Well, since you asked about my other room, would you like a tour?” He wore the same open expression as before.

Chrissy’s brow furrowed. The shine had come off of the day, and she was mentally preparing her excuses for her early departure, but she had been marginally curious about the room, so she stood. “Why not?”

She followed him into the room. He had partitioned it, and put a makeshift door in the partition, which was tall enough to touch the ceiling. When they stepped into the room, he reached for a nearby standing lamp, and with a shift of the switch, illuminated their side of the partition.

“I keep a dark room in there— when I do photography, I prefer to work with real film. But I didn’t want to use the entire room for that. I’m lucky in that this room has a fairly deep closet, and I wanted to get full use of that. I left some space, so I could access it.”

That thought was amusing to Chrissy. “You’ve got an extensive wardrobe, then?”

“Most of the clothes aren’t for me,” Kurt explained. “I use models fairly often in my work; I keep a pretty extensive collection of outfits for them to wear when they pose for me. I could show you.”

A ghost of a thought occurred to Chrissy. In daydreams about artists and the romance of them, she’d occasionally had the idea of being an artist’s model, and she wondered if that opportunity were about to present itself to her. That would be worth staying for, worth forgiving the darkness of his sketches for. It might even be enough to polish the day until it shone again. “Please,” she said, gesturing to the closed closet door.

He slid it back, to reveal a double-bar closet, one bar close to the ceiling, and one about halfway down the wall. From a once-over glance, it was pretty clear that most of the clothes in the closet were for a woman.

They were all mostly in dark shades, with some pieces thrown in that were so bright they were electric.

“Try something on for me,” Kurt spoke, startling her. “Try something on, and you can pose for me.”

Chrissy found herself shaking her head. The styling of most of the clothes was dark, and gothic. She remembered the ink black shirt he had suggested to her, and thought of the heavy shadows in his sketches. She felt that same pull in her, the feeling of being gripped by darkness. She didn’t like it any better than she had before.

“No, I really don’t like that kind of clothing,” she said, firmly. “Thanks anyway.”

Kurt slid the closet door shut, and followed her back into the main room of the apartment. “Again, I say it’s a shame. You’d be very striking in it. But I think I’ve pushed you too far. I didn’t mean to.” He frowned, as if displeased with himself. “Why don’t I show you something else I’ve been using as a model? I don’t only try to draw other women, you know.”

Again, he spoke in that soothing way. His expression was still friendly, and there was a note of apology in his voice. He was almost the romantic figure of her daydreams— the mad artist carried away by his muse, overstepping social bounds without meaning to, having to come back to himself from the inspiration that had swept his good reason away.

She thought she could see a bit of the shine coming back to this visit. “Okay,” she relented.

He gestured again towards the table, and she retook her chair from before. “I’ll just try to find it among my things. I’m not sure where I left it.”

He was silent as he went back to his work area. The only sound was the rustling of paper, as before, until finally he let out a soft exclamation. “Here it is,” he said, turning to come back with it to her.

When he extended his hand, she saw he was holding a small blue crystal. “You can take it from me, and hold it if you like. It’s very sturdy; there’s no danger of you breaking it.”

“You draw this?” She asked. It seemed like such a simple object for an artistic study. She wasn’t sure there was anything interesting enough about it to merit a full drawing, and wondered what Kurt saw in it. Maybe like his other sketches, the interest lay only in the shadow it would cast.

“Yes,” He said, stepping around her to lean against his kitchen counter. “I like this particular crystal very much— there’s a flaw in the center of it, if you can find that...”

Chrissy’s focus deepened, as she considered the crystal again. It took her a few tries, and considering it from different angles, but she found the flaw.

When she saw it, she didn’t know how she could have missed it. It caught her eye, and pulled all her attention into it. The flaw was a strange, uneven little line. It was unremarkable by itself, but in comparison with the smoothness of blue crystal around it, it was striking. Her eye travelled back and forth along that same line.

It was only after a few minutes of staring at the crystal that she felt a growing sense of alarm. She couldn’t seem to look away from it, or lift her glance back out from the rough little line. She couldn’t turn her head away, or stand up.

Mentally, she cursed herself. Her problem was that she daydreamed too often, and got caught up in the narratives she found in the world around her. She’d stayed in one too many a bad situation for this reason in the past, and she had again let it happen to her, had come up here with a stranger, had agreed to stay longer than she’d felt comfortable: all because she’d liked the narrative of it. She’d wanted the story of ‘eccentric artist discovered me and invited me back to his home’ and she’d ignored all the other warning signs to do it.

But pretty soon she wasn’t worrying about this anymore. She kept staring at the crystal, no longer fighting it. Her mind had fallen silent; her thoughts had all trailed off and lost their endings.

“If you spend enough time considering it, it has a lovely way of quieting your thoughts and putting you into almost a meditative state,” she heard Kurt speak from over her shoulder. “You’re feeling that now.”

She was. Her mind was emptier than it had been a minute before. She wasn’t upset about looking at the crystal, wasn’t upset with herself for coming back with Kurt. She didn’t feel anything about it. She was empty, and open. There was no distress left inside her anymore.

“You’re more agreeable to me now,” Kurt went on. “You’ll take my suggestion now, and put on the clothes I give you. You really would make a striking vision in a darker styling, and it would be a crime to let this opportunity pass because of your stubborn refusal. You are a beautiful thing, but you can be even more so.”

She kept staring at the crystal. The moment of panic was long over, and she could no longer remember what she’d been worried about at all.

“Stand up, now,” Kurt instructed. Her mind stayed empty, but her body rose to its feet. It didn’t mean anything to her. It was beneath her consideration. “Come back with me into the other room,” was the next command, and Chrissy found herself following after Kurt, back into the room.

He had left the closet open, and when she came to stand beside him, he was already filing through the closet. She stood patiently beside him, as he shifted hangers in the closet.

He cast her a side-long glance. “Undress yourself.”

Chrissy complied to the order, and by the time she’d gotten out of her clothes, Kurt had turned back to her from the closet holding an outfit.

“Put these on, and I’ll be back.” He left her to the task, stepping out of the room. She pulled the top on first, then stepped into the pants. Carrying out the order slipped away from her in a blur, and then he was back in the room with her. “Hold still, I’m going to make you up.”

This experience, too, blurred away from her. His hands worked quickly, painting the makeup onto her like she was his canvas, and all she was left with was a hazy impression of rushed movement.

Kurt pulled back once more, his work complete. “Follow me, again.” Silently, she did. He led her back through main area, this time to stand in front of the closed closet door. He opened the door, revealing a full-length mirror hanging on the back of it. Then he shifted her a few paces to the left, his hands on her arms, so she was centered in front of her reflection.

“Now look at your reflection— and be fully aware of it.”

Obedience came easily to her. She had been oblivious to the clothing he’d chosen for her as she’d dressed, and oblivious as he’d painted her in his colors with the makeup he’d used. But now, as instructed, her eyes went to her reflection, and she could fully see herself, could properly take in her appearance.

She was wearing a long-sleeved off the shoulder top, which had corset detailing on the torso. The top itself was black, but the faux boning of the corset was crimson. The top was also embellished with black lace. The sleeves ended in a triangular point that came out to center of the back of Chrissy’s hand, and that was lined with a lace flourish too.

The pants were a soft material, but they, like the top, hugged close to Chrissy’s body. They had no specific detailing at first glance, but when Chrissy shifted slightly to the side, she could see they were open down the side and held together by a crisscross fabric pattern all the way down. Her bare skin was visible beneath that open crisscross.

Her eyes went up to her face. He’d painted her lips a deep crimson to match the boning on the corset, and given her a heavy eyeshadow to match the black of both her top and pants. Against her skin tone, the entire ensemble was severe. She looked ghostly… otherworldly… like some kind of supernatural creature. And she couldn’t deny, there was something sexy about it. The top left her shoulders completely exposed, and it hugged her close in the front, so her breasts were pushed out. The neckline was in a sweetheart style, so her cleavage was visible. And the openings down the sides of her pant-legs bared the skin of her hips, her upper thighs, and her calves.

All in all, the contrast of the darkness to her pale coloring was arresting.

“You are a vision,” Kurt commented. “I knew you would be. You were born to wear clothing like this; it suits the structure of your body perfectly, and your coloring couldn’t be more perfect. You are a work of art.”

The words felt true to Chrissy as he was saying them. She was beautiful in this… the clothes were beautiful… She’d never looked so beautiful before…

He turned her back around, away from the mirror to face him. “You like the way you look, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“I think you’d like to look this way again. You want to come back and visit me another time— I have lots more clothes like these for you to put on; for me to admire on your form. You were wrong when you said you don’t like clothes like this. You’re starting to realize this now; you’ll keep realizing it until we see each other again.”

Everything he said was making perfect sense to Chrissy. She found herself nodding along to the words.

“Now, you’re going to change back into the clothes you wore here. And you’ll go straight home, and think about what happened today… how you felt… how you looked. And I’ll see you again, soon.”

The words dismissed her, and she set out to follow this most recent command. She changed back into her original clothing— she left without saying goodbye to him, and found herself coming up to her own door an indefinite amount of time later with no memory of the journey home.

The haze of that day only seemed to linger overnight. By the time she woke up next morning, Chrissy felt like her normal self again. She remembered the events of the previous day. If anything was off, it was the fact that she remembered dressing the way Kurt had asked her to... doing exactly what Kurt had asked her to, and enjoying it.

Even though she no longer felt like doing whatever Kurt said, or dressing the way he’d asked her to dress, the memory of doing so the day before didn’t bother her. She was comfortable with it. He’d been at least partly right: the style he preferred had suited her, had made her look pretty, and attractive. It had made her look beautiful, as he’d claimed it would. So, it had been enjoyable to dress that way, just for a change— just for Kurt’s appreciation, just for those few minutes.

As she went about her morning routine, preparing her breakfast, she considered that maybe the memory of the day before should have bothered her. She’d always hated dressing in darker colors. Always hated dressing in more somber stylings, and at first when Kurt had suggested it, she’d rejected the idea violently.

But maybe it wasn’t so strange that she’d taken Kurt’s suggestion... or that she’d enjoyed dressing that way, after all. He’d given her a different kind of experience. He’d challenged her previously held belief, and shown her that she could enjoy tapping into her dark side a little more. There was nothing inherently alarming about that.

In fact, the more she thought about it, as she finished her breakfast and carried her plate to the sink, she could almost shake her head at how adamant she’d been when she refused to take his suggestion. What did it really hurt to try a different style for a day? Especially if it was to pose for an artist. Wanting to storm out of his apartment from the suggestion alone had definitely been an overreaction. Actually wearing the clothes hadn’t been anywhere near as dramatic as she’d imagined it would be. It had even been fun.

At last, with her breakfast finished, and her place cleared, it was time to dress for the day. Chrissy crossed back from her kitchen into her bedroom, and opened her closet.

All things considered, even if a brief experimentation with a darker style had been fun, she was happy to be back to her pastels and light pinks as she stood there, looking over them. She pulled a cream-colored top from off a hanger, and pink skirt to match.

When she’d changed, and was brushing her hair, she hesitated for a moment before the image of her reflection in her standing mirror. Something felt... different.

She stood, a second longer, paying closer attention to the way she looked. It was a typical outfit for her; she’d worn one like it a hundred times before. But it was like her skin was... crawling. Something about the clothes she was wearing made her skin itch, made her body want to shift out of the outfit.

That was strange.

She thought briefly again of dressing so darkly the afternoon before— of how good that had felt on her skin, on her body, by contrast. Apparently, she wasn’t completely out from under that particular spell yet. She looked back to her closet, suddenly finding herself longing for a nice, black shirt.

Chrissy didn’t have many dark options to choose from. The next most common alternative to the pastels was her collection of vibrant colors. She moved some of her hangers listlessly, until her eyes fell on her purple sweater.

It was probably the darkest piece of clothing she owned, and she rarely wore it. It still wasn’t technically dark by Kurt’s standard. It was a wine color, but it was undeniable still purple.

She was slipping it on over the cream top without entirely making up her mind to do so.

Chrissy turned back to her mirror, and reconsidered her outfit for the day.

The crawling feeling in her skin was gone. Instead, she felt a little more like she had the previous day. It made her skin feel good to be in this color; comfortably warm, a pleasant heat lacing through it. But the sweater clashed a bit with her skirt, since it was a deeper tone than the skirt’s light pink.

Experimentally, she eased the sweater back off again, and held it in her hands. She stared back at her reflection.

Her skin crawled again without it. It was unpleasant; she wanted the sweater back on her body as quickly as her hands could get it there.

She put the sweater back on.

It was strange... but then, maybe it wasn’t. She’d never known wearing clothes could feel so good until yesterday, and now that she knew what she was missing, it was only natural she wanted to recapture that feeling, wasn’t it? And after all, she was only wearing a piece of clothing she already owned. There was nothing really so strange about that; especially not when it felt so good to wear.

She gave herself one last look in the mirror before turning to leave the apartment. It made her skin tingle with that pleasant warmth all over again.

Chrissy walked to the coffee shop, to meet her sister Cathy for coffee in the morning like she always did. When she passed through the door, she found Cathy was already sitting at their usual table, with both of their drinks already waiting for them.

“I got here early,” Cathy said, by way of explanation, when Chrissy got to the table.

“No complaints from me,” Chrissy said. Cathy gave her a smile, and slid the cup of coffee across the surface of the table to Chrissy, who gratefully accepted it.

Cathy took a sip of her own drink, giving a Chrissy a once-over as she did. “That’s a different sweater,” she noted. There was an unspoken question in the words.

Chrissy took a sip from her cup, and gave a shrug. “I just felt like wearing something different today. I know I haven’t worn this sweater for a long time, but I tried it on and liked how it looked. What do you think?”

Cathy gave an appraising tilt of her head. “It’s definitely a nice color. A little darker than you tend to go.” Cathy squinted. “I think I remember when you bought it. Wasn’t it at that one store with the weird lighting? You thought it was two shades brighter until you got it home. You were really disappointed when you realized— you said you planned to return it. I thought you had. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it.”

Chrissy was feeling a little uneasy with this line of questioning. It had felt perfectly sensible to put the sweater on when she’d been at home, and had felt natural to wear it all the time she’d been walking to get to the coffee place.

But now Cathy was making her feel that it wasn’t normal— that it was unnatural. She found she didn’t like that: she enjoyed wearing the sweater. She didn’t want to be made to feel bad about it.

“I meant to return it,” Chrissy admitted. “I just never got around to it. I’m kind of glad now that I didn’t. I actually really like the look of it.”

Cathy’s eyes widened. “Oh, please don’t take what I said as a criticism. I think it looks nice on you. I’m just not used to seeing you in a color like that. It caught me off guard, is all.”

“Oh,” Chrissy said, in relief. The uneasiness left her, and the two of them enjoyed the rest of their coffee ritual together.

The rest of the day was without incident. After coffee, Chrissy stopped in at the bookstore where she worked for her shift. A few of her colleagues complimented her on the new sweater; a few of the store regulars did the same, but other than that it was a normal day. The only real change was that she got to feel that soft warmth tingling in her skin all day long. There was even a faint pang at the end of the day when it was time to change out of her daywear.

The next morning, when she was faced with the prospect of dressing for the day again, she ignored the pastels in favor of the vibrant colors. They may not have had the darker tint that the wine-colored sweater did, but since they were vibrant, and not pastel or off-white, they had the same depth of color. When she tried a few of those pieces, she found they gave her the same feeling of warmth as the darker sweater had.

For the following two weeks, she wore all the vibrant pieces she had in her closet in every combination she could think of, throwing the wine-colored sweater in whenever she could get away with it. In the first few days, this inspired brief comments of surprise from her sister, and her colleagues, but after that, they seemed to get used to it. And Chrissy kept right on basking in the feeling of wearing bolder colors, basking in the warmth that came from doing that.

At the end of the two weeks this pattern was disrupted. The problem was that her wardrobe was almost entirely pastels and lighter colors without that bolder depth she was suddenly craving. And she’d gone through all the pieces she had which filled this craving, she was running out of things to wear that scratched her specific itch.

Chrissy put the issue off for a few days by running a load of laundry and wearing repeat outfits from two weeks before. It was a temporary measure; it wouldn’t work forever. Cathy even asked Chrissy if she’d seen her in the same outfit recently.

The most obvious solution was to expand her wardrobe. One day after work, Chrissy decided it was time to go shopping again. This time, when she stepped into the store, she overlooked her more usual colors, in favor of seeking out the darker selection of clothes.

She let out an involuntary sigh of satisfaction at the sight of all the options waiting for her. There were colors even deeper than the wine-colored sweater she’d been slipping into her rotation at every opportunity. And there was black: so much black.

She didn’t bother trying anything on; only checked for her sizes, and then grabbed multiple pieces in multiple colors. Dark reds, ink blacks, deep navies, burnt browns. She made it home with quite the haul.

Getting dressed the next morning was easier. She bypassed the vibrant colors in favor of her new purchases. She chose a maroon top, with a black pair of pants, and considered her appearance once more in the mirror.

The image struck her. It looked even better than the other things she’d been wearing recently. There was something about the richness of the colors that did something to her... she didn’t know how she could have been so blind to it before for so long, but now she could see how well it complimented her. She felt the warmth simmering in her skin, but it went deeper than that. It was all through her body, now, interlacing with her muscles, and every time she moved, she felt a little frisson of pleasure. She wasn’t sure she could go back to wearing her other clothes again. With a light smile, she thought how much Kurt would like the look of her in her new things.

Of course, the new pieces were still pretty simple in design. They were modest, with high necklines, and no dramatic flourishes or additions. Just plain, simple clothes, like the style she’d worn before—but now, only in dark colors.

She preened in front of the mirror for a few minutes before leaving. She couldn’t get enough of her reflection. Seeing it made her whole body warm.

When it was finally time to leave, she left with a smile on her face, and wore it all the way to coffee.

Cathy didn’t match it when Chrissy sat down. “Wow...” She said, extending Chrissy’s coffee to her. “That’s really different.”

“I know,” Chrissy said, still wearing her smile. “I’ve been enjoying wearing bolder colors so much lately, I thought I’d try something a bit darker, too.”

Cathy’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t even know you had anything that dark. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed like that in your entire life.”

“I didn’t have anything like this,” Chrissy confirmed. “I went and got a few more things to wear, just to try it out. I like it so far. ”

Cathy was still frowning. “I didn’t think you had any free closet space left. You already have a lot of clothes in your style. I have to say... this really doesn’t... look like you...”

Chrissy thought she might have bristled if she and Cathy had been having this conversation a few weeks earlier. But now, she was feeling so good in her new clothes that nothing could put a damper on her mood. “It’s different than how I usually dress,” Chrissy agreed, sipping from her coffee cup. “But I’m just trying a different style. Just expressing a different side of myself. It feels good. Don’t you want me to feel good?”

“Of course I do,” Cathy affirmed, and the conversation moved on, but Cathy seemed more reserved than normal for the rest of their check-in. Afterwards, when she got to work, Chrissy’s colleagues only had compliments for her, so it seemed Cathy was alone in her reluctance to accept Chrissy’s stylistic experiments.

The next few weeks slipped away in a blur. Each day was as blissful as the last, wearing all possible combinations of her new clothes. She dressed dark consistently, wearing lots of all black outfits, and other somber colors in muted shades that she could match to black pieces.

But eventually, even this lost its glamour. It felt good to wear dark clothes, but their design wasn’t right. There had been something specifically about the gothic styling of the pieces she’d worn that day with Kurt that had satisfied something in her. And though her new pieces were dark in color, there was nothing else that made them gothic, or satisfying like Kurt’s clothes had been.

The easiest solution was to return to Kurt’s and to borrow something from him again, since he had an abundance of exactly the kind of clothes she was craving.

On her next day off, she made her way back to Kurt’s.

He wasn’t surprised to see her when he responded to her knocking. “Good to see you again, Chrissy,” he acknowledged. “You want to model something else for me, don’t you?”

She knew that this time she hadn’t been caught in the flaw of the crystal, but the drive to obey his commands and even his suggestions was as strong as before. She wondered if staring so long at the flaw, and then listening to Kurt speaking afterwards had caused some kind of permanent change in her. The idea didn’t seem to bother her.

“Yes, I want to,” she said, and he gestured for her to come in. The door to the partitioned room was open, and she felt a pull to it. He said nothing else to her, just let her go in by herself.

It was like a dream to have so many clothes in the same style available to her, and she was impatient to get them back on her body again. She felt even more elated than she had when she’d gone shopping and found her way to the darker selection of clothes.

Dressing this time was more enjoyable to her than it had been previously. She could choose her own ensemble now, and she could savor the feeling of putting the clothes on, instead of finding after the fact that it had all been done for her in a blur.

Chrissy chose a simpler top for herself. The torso of it was not as tight fitting as the shirt she’d worn before, and this time it was entirely lace. The sleeves were what had interested her: they had a similar kind of crisscross motif as the pants she’d worn before. Overlapping x’s which exposed her skin underneath, twined all down her arms to form the ghost of a pair of sleeves, creating the illusion that the fabric had been tied around her arms, like a restraint.

She picked a simpler bottom piece to go with her shirt: a short skirt, only long enough to reach her mid-thigh, that was a deep purple color, a shade even darker than her wine sweater. She also spied a pair of tall boots in the base of the closet, and snatched them too. They looked good with the skirt; and they were the same shade of black as the top, with heavy silver laces. They came all the way up to cover her knees, and the heels on them were substantial, and thick.

Luckily, Kurt had left the makeup on the closet shelf from the last visit, so she was able to do her makeup there, courtesy of the compact mirror she found nearby. She shaded her eyelids back into that heavy black, but this time chose a purple for her lips that matched her skirt. She also applied mascara this time; there was a shade that matched her lips and the skirt, too.

Finally, she tied her hair up, splitting it in to two sections, and making two small buns towards the back of her head, like bunny ears.

She lacked a full-length mirror, so she couldn’t take the whole ensemble in at once yet, but just having it on her body felt good. This was the style she’d been craving. It felt like heaven on her body, so much better even than the simple, dark clothes had. The ensemble lit her body with pleasure, in a way she’d never known clothes could do. It was everything she’d wanted since the last time… it made her so happy she wanted to cry.

Chrissy stepped back into the main area, where Kurt was once sitting again at the kitchen table, waiting. When she came back into the room, Kurt’s eyes went to her, and drank her in appreciatively. “Beautiful,” he applauded, and she felt joy swell in her chest. “Go take a look yourself,” he offered.

She eagerly went back towards the closet, and pulled it open to look in the mirror again.

She looked as good as she felt; this combination of pieces was just as striking as the first had been.

“You’ve got a good eye for someone who claimed to hate this style. It’s like it was waiting inside of you, waiting for me to bring it out of you. You’re just as beautiful as I knew you could be when I saw you the first time.”

She had to agree with him. She looked as strange and powerful as powerful, with that otherworldly quality. With a clearer mind she could better appreciate it.

“I think you should explore this style on your own time,” Kurt said. “Maybe you could even adopt it full-time. I think it really suits you; my only note now would be that maybe, if the color of your hair was darker, it would make the overall impact that much stronger. But maybe that’s something you can do on your own time, too.”

All of it sounded good to Chrissy… she just wanted to keep looking like this… she never wanted to stop looking like this.

“I must say,” Kurt spoke again. “As an artist, I enjoy working in many mediums… but the medium most satisfying of all can be the mind… I’ve made you into such a piece of art that I’m quite proud. And even prouder to think you might be permanently this beautiful… I’ve driven the art inside of you, and it will come out on its own now.”

Chrissy’s eyes were still on her reflection in the mirror, too enchanted to entirely hear or understand what Kurt was saying. But everything he was saying about her dressing this way from now sounded good to her, even mixed in with other things she didn’t understand. She would. She wanted to. She was reluctant even to take this outfit off, now that it was on.

She turned back to look at him. “Can I keep this?”

He smiled at her. “Of course. And come back to visit any time— I look forward to seeing what other outfits you’ll choose for yourself.”

“Yes— I will— thank you—” She gave him a nod in acknowledgement, and then she was off again.

She had some more shopping to do.