The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Accidentally, our Artist finds a room full of dancers. In an instant inspiration strikes, and the Artist brings a new twist to the dancers’ routine.

A Matter of Artistic Slavery

By Mr. Scade

She turned left and kept running, holding her coat tight. Her last attempt at a sketch had not resulted as she had hoped. It had been her seventh of the day, and someone had already caught on to a tattooed woman getting naked in front of people and messing with their heads. This town is so paranoid! She thought as she pushed a door open.

The Artist didn’t mind being chased or persecuted for her work; it was actually a good thing. If people censored her art, more people would want to experience it. But what the Artist couldn’t stand, couldn’t cope with, was people knowing who she was. The Artist always kept to herself, always avoided showing herself on her own art shows, the very few she had ever done. And even if she had to attend, she would keep to the shadows, only appearing when called, like a spirit. But now people had seen her face and knew what she was up to. People were persecuting her, like a crowd of fanboys. She didn’t like it.

She heard footsteps outside the room she had walked into, and quietly made her way further inside. She passed a row of folding chairs and the found another door. She had had almost no time to appreciate how the red paint was flaking off the steel door, and how the brushstrokes employed seemed to help accelerated the decay. The Artist walked through.

“Uhmm... what are you doing here?” A girl’s voice said behind the Artist, almost immediately after she entered the room.

The voice cut through the thick, thick fog that were the Artists thoughts, brining her senses to feel that she was surrounded. The Artist spun around, her coat spinning in the wind, letting people see her tattooed bare feet and ankles. Luckily no one did. Her eyes fell upon the scene before here, and they grew wide. In an instant she found it, the Spark. Or at least one form of the spark of inspiration. The Artist suddenly knew what she wanted to do with these pristine, blank canvases.

She had to smile a purple so dark it could’ve been black.

The girl looked at the Artist with curious eyes. The Artist smiled broadly, to the girl, and the other girls at the back. A dance class, or theatre, if their outfits are to be taken literally. She had accidentally walked into a group of girls practicing for something artistic. This made her think how she had end up there. Of all the places she could’ve unknowingly run into, a dance school was amongst the luckiest.

The Artist composed herself, letting her painted hands move in front of herself, leading the girls’ eyes. The five girls’ eyes followed her hands from one side to the other, and the Artist’s smile turned a naughty red.

“I was sent here to show you something that would help your act.” The Artist spoke in her dream-like voice. The girls took in her words, her meaning, just as their minds returned from the worlds they had found painted on the Artist’s fingers.

“Show us something?” A dark-haired, dark-skinned girl at the back spoke. Like the rest she was clad in dancewear; black leggings, black leotard, and a ripped black t-shirt covering all. The Artist thought of her as Umber.

The Artist only nodded. She looked at the girls again: Umber; Sienna; the pretty blonde now known as Cadmium; the tall Asian girl that looked like a Pthalo colour; and the reserved girl she named Grey. A group of five dancers practicing for their show, a perfect fit for what the Artist had in mind.

The first girl frowned. She had short-cropped hair the colour of copper. The way she pouted and held her arms around her chest made the Artist call her Sienna. Sienna shook her head and said, “Look, we’re kind of busy...” She turned to look at her mates, all who were sweaty and obviously tired. “So, would you please tell us what you are going to show us and who sent you?”

The Artist’s smile lost its colour, but she was still shining with a rainbow of hues inside. She had found the scene she needed to create a marvellous work of art! Was she one to let such an opportunity slip away?

Quickly the Artist disrobed yet again. The coat slid off her body without a sound. She closed her eyes, pushing her breasts forwards, and took a deep breath. She kept her eyes closed for an instant, and it was not until she heard a pleasant sigh that she allowed herself to gaze upon the first brushstrokes of her work.

Grey, Cadmium, Sienna and Umber were staring with rapt attention, colours and shapes reflecting on their eyes. Phtalo had stared, it was obvious, but she had also averted her eyes just in time, and was now gawking at her three friends.

For the tiniest fraction of time the Artist frowned in annoyance. But then her curiosity was sparked. It was not the first time someone had found a way to walk upon her art, to stare and understand while not losing themselves; but such occurrences happened so far between that each one felt like a new adventure. Who was this girl, and why didn’t she fall into trance by staring at her body?

The Artist grinned. “Do you like what you see?” Her voice was like thunder with the volume toned down.

Pthalo took a peek of the Artist’s chest, suddenly shuddering all over. In a moment she turned to look at the Artist’s multi chromatic eyes. “I do.” Was the only sound that came out of those beautiful lips.

The Artist cupped Pthalo’s chin and then brought her own lips against the girl’s. It was a blue, peaceful moment, which started to turn purple as red desire seeped into the kiss. Pthalo had reacted to the kiss, moaning slightly. When the Artist broke the kiss, the girl was deep in the Trance, just like her four friends.

Pthalo slipped so easily into the Trance that the Artist lost all interest in her. Initial resistance was interesting, but if it didn’t last what was the point of researching it?

The Artist smiled broadly. She spread her arms wide, letting the girls drink the many hidden meanings in her tattoos. Once the five dancers were completely transfixed, each in a fantasy Trance of their own, the Artist pushed her hip forward. The slight motion instinctively brought their eyes to rest there, eating the mysterious fruit which laid hidden between marked legs. And, ignoring all she had been doing in the past couple of hours, decided to push forth her own twisted needs.

She had the five girls stand in a line, as if in a military drill. Dressed in their leotards and thighs, they looked to be in a sort of uniform. The Artist liked the image and promised herself to paint a rendition of the scene soon enough.

The Artist closed her eyes, took a deep breath and started to bring the five girls into a deeper Trance. Flexing her arms this way and that, moving with fluid motions and learned steps, she danced before them. Her painted body was a flurry of colour and movement, flashes of emotion turned pictorial images flashing before their eyes. Each girl started sighing happily as the rapid succession of images not only brought them to the deepest reaches of their minds, but also pushed thoughts the Artist was having. Her art communicated unique images to every person who laid eyes upon it, but the Artist could actually influence what the onlookers saw. By dancing or doing entirely different things, the Artist could have complete power over her crowds. And she chose to do so now.

All of a sudden the Artist stopped, her chest pumping with energy. She looked at the five girls with a sudden sense of anticipation. She hoped her idea would work.

“And you shall wake.” She said, before kissing each girl passionately. Each girl responded to the kiss with red passion before waking, confused and disoriented. Hazy grey shadows blurring their memories.

The Artist took some steps back and shrugged back into her coat.

Sienna turned to look at Pthalo, and Grey turned to look at Umber. Cadmium stared at the other four. They didn’t speak, didn’t do a thing. For long enough they just questioned their presence, their situation. Suddenly, the lined girls snapped at attention, looking forward. They nodded in unison, smiles suddenly appearing on their faces.

“We shall paint the world. We shall obey art. And with our moves, and our dance, we will take over the heart.” The five sang in clear voices and perfect pitch. Then they stomped their right feet upon the ground, immediately turned their heads twice to the right, and started dancing.

Their movements were perfectly choreographed, as if they had been practicing for years. The freshly created routing was strong, powerful, moving with fluidity and strength in equal measures. Their steps were aggressive and soothing, at the same time being sexual and enticing.

Cadmium and Grey, standing on the extreme ends of the line, pushed their pelvises out and moved their left hands over their sexes. Phthalo and Sienna stood in a Y shape, legs parted wide, chest pushed out, arms high in the air, expression of desire upon their faces. Umber stood in the middle, her hands upon Pthalo and Sienna’s rears, rubbing, enjoying.

Their routine started artistically, and then became erotic. Each movement carrying true heat, true arousal, true passion and inspiration. Their song returned, more insidious, more powerful. Each word they sung came twice as ecstatic next time.

The Artists started clapping, clearly enjoying her work.

“We are slaves to our art. We will perfect, bring upon the Trance to the world heart.” They sang, suddenly standing at attention, hands tight against their sides. They stood separated by equal measures.

The five girls closed their eyes, took a deep breath and violently threw their heads back. “We are slaves to our art!” They shouted and suddenly their heads snapped forward, legs parting in unison.

“We are slaves to our art!” They shouted again, their hands thrusting straight forward, between their legs.

“We are slaves to our art!” Their knees bent, slightly, and their palms outstretched.

“We are slaves to our art!” They shouted again, stronger, passionately. Their voices echoed all throughout the building. Cadmium, Grey and Umber bending their knees and straightening their arms as much as they could, their outstretched palms framed their crotches, pulling in the eyes. Pthalo and Sienna straightened, pushing their hips outwards as elbows bent outwards, pulling their outstretched palms against the sides of their breasts.

“We are slaves to our art!” The five shouted again, the positions suddenly inversing.

“We are slaves to our art!” They immediately shouted, changing positions again. And again. And again. And again.

Their dance routine entered a loop, crouching and standing every time their mantra echoed in the closed space. It was only when their voices started to break in arousal, and that their expressions were of pure joy, that the Artist slipped out of the room. She was content, happy at what she had caused. Those five girls would appreciate her gift, in time, if they could ever escape the mental and physical loop staring at the spiralling tattoos on her breast had created.

Fin