The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

He could swear his mother had thrown it away, but that couldn’t be true, if he had found the old uniform hiding inside a trunk full of old clothes in the back of his closet. So many years, and it still fit him; a testament to never getting rid of old clothes. But, weeks after, Vargas still asked the question: why had he tried it on? Nostalgia, perhaps? Weird fascination? Or a hidden kink? Whatever it was, Vargas couldn’t care anymore. Sometimes, when he could question it, he reminded himself that he had never liked getting rid of clothing. If they still fit, and didn’t have any holes in them, why throw them away? He had tried on his old physical education uniform and now he could not stop working out. No matter how much he tried, he could not control his body. No matter how many times he rid himself of the shorts, they always came back. Always came back. Maybe he should’ve gotten rid of them when he could.

Thoughts became meaningless noise when he had the shorts on, they disappeared from his mind like public funds in a corrupt government. Thoughts were distractions; he had to sweat, he had to work-out, he had to get in shape and, most important of all, he had to lose his mind. Nothing in his mind but the pleasure that was the burning sensation deep within every muscle. As he pushed his body from the floor for the five-hundredth time, sweat dribbled down his face, down his torso, down his arms and absorbed by the white t-shirt and tight shorts. His sweat could’ve been his willpower dribbling out of his body and lost forever. No wonder it was harder and harder to resist.

He finished doing push-ups and stood. The blue shorts had white stripes going down the sides, and they fits him quite snugly, even more so with the massive erection that was well beyond his control. The white shirt he wore was tighter now than it was a week ago, especially around the shoulders and arms. It was astounding how much muscle he had put on in little over three weeks. His arms and hands were trembling, tired as they were. Had he any control over his body, he would be masturbating until unconsciousness. He was in no more control of his body than a kite was of the wind’s direction. Vargas could feel everything as if from far away; all the sensations—the deep, burning arousal; the heat coming out of his skin; the lack of breath; the drumming of his heart; the snugness of the shorts and how they caressed his cock; and the numbness of mind—he could feel in a way he had never felt anything before, but at the same time it was as if it wasn’t his body. He wasn’t in control, just a passenger in his body while the shorts took over everything else, rewarding him only with mind-eating pleasure.

He began to do squats, not even stopping to catch his breath. After the twenty-seventh squat, just as his thigh muscles started cramping up, just as his body began to shut down with fatigue, just as he started to lose consciousness, he had an orgasm.

Vargas locked the door to his room, twice, and checked the locks, twice. He had had to install two locks on his room over the years, much to his mother’s confusion. If she knew what his sister got up to... Vargas shook his head and contained the need to vomit; no need to think about what that creep got up to.

“Luckily, though, now no one questions the locks,” He said to no one. He was glad for the locks, for once. Whatever took over him when he was alone in that room should not be allowed to leave. He sighed, hands turning into fists—he couldn’t muster anger at them anymore.

He turned around and walked down the stairs.

She was sitting on the floor by the foot of the stairs, giving him that stare.

“Hey, bro, bro, bro!” Melisa tweeted. She sounded just like a bird perched outside your window early one morning when you just wanted to sleep in.

Vargas looked at her warily, shying away. She could do anything, and he didn’t want to deal with that at the moment. He breathed in deeply without realising. He was suddenly aware of his shirt being too tight over his chest.

“Melisa... I will not even ask why you’re on the floor.”

“Of course you won’t. You never do. But, in not doing so, you’re asking it. In a way.”

Vargas cursed; the beginnings of a trap were laid out and he never noticed. What is wrong with me? I usually notice when... Vargas lost the train of thought and shook his head. Where was he? Oh, yes! Better to escape now, or find himself discussing some stupid pseudo-philosophical question two hours down the road, or having something gross on him. She did that, sometimes. Too many times.

“Move away. I am meeting Jennifer.” He stepped down the stairs, and over Melisa.

Melisa turned in place, as if she were on a rotating display. It was a creepy thing, what she did. She sometimes looked and acted as an evil doll from Satan’s toy workshop. And with the amount of shadow she wore around her eyes, it wasn’t such a distant comparison.

Vargas’s right leg touched the floor without any trouble, but he found that he couldn’t move his left leg. He looked back to find his sister holding to it, tightly; the twist was a bit too much, and before he could react the air was knocked out of him as he crashed hard against the ground. Melisa was on top of him before he recover.

“See? You got your answer.” She smiled. It was such a simple thing, a smile, but it made Vargas which he were made of rocks, or weeds, or something that couldn’t feel. He liked his sister, but, for the love of everything that was holy, the girl was mental!

He didn’t blink, didn’t move. “I am going to be late, Melisa.” He said, softly.

Melisa leaned over him, closer, her face inches from his. “I hope you’re not going to do something crazy.”

Look who is talking! He shook his head. “Nope, now, if you’ll excuse me.“

With little effort, Vargas shoved Melisa aside, jumped to his feet, and hurried out of the house.

Melisa waited about two minutes before she stood, brushed some dog hair off her skirt and arms, and looked at the key ring she had removed from her brother’s pockets. For a moment she stared at the door, wondering why her brother had seemed odd, slow even, but then she remembered her plan.

“Now, to have some fun.” She said, a grin the size of France on her face.

There were iron weights clamouring in a corner, a medball in the other. The room smelled of sweat, old sweat, stale sweat, salty sweat, and that musky scent of man genitalia Melisa wished she didn’t know so well. There are things brothers and sisters cannot help but learn the empirical way.

“Now, where did he put them now?” She said, stepping towards the wardrobe. Sometimes Vargas put them there, sometimes he put them under his bed. Once, he had found a corner behind the wardrobe that had driven Melisa crazy for weeks, until she figured that one out; Melisa figured every hiding corner out, eventually. No matter how well he tried to hide his sexy clothes, Melisa could and would find them.

Melisa opened drawers, and doors, looked in the backs, and in the fronts of boxes; after about half-an-hour it looked as if Vargas had finally done a good job of hiding things, but eventually she found the black rubbish bag at the bottom of his dirty laundry pile.

“Oh, clever boy, Vargas. You’re getting better.” She said, grinning. It took her a long time to even start looking in the laundry pile. “Seems like I’ve complained a bit too much of your man-scent.” So much moaning about how smelly he and his clothes were may have worked against her—it gave Vargas an idea of where to hide them! She would have to stop giving away weaknesses from now on, or else she would find him using them against him soon.

But that wasn’t important right now. She had what she wanted right in her hands, and she could barely contain herself. Goosebumps of anticipation covered her skin as she dug into the pile. Bike shorts, Speedos, some of his old school trousers, that leather jacket that didn’t fit him anymore... Vargas really didn’t get rid of clothes at all. And, best of all, he kept all the good stuff in a single bag for Melisa’s convenience. Melisa pulled garments out, looking at them, considering, all the while her excitement grew exponentially. Everything Vargas owned, she knew personally. She had worn some of those things so often and so much that they probably were more hers than his by now. But, after six long days of work, she wanted something special to distract her. It was days like this that she wished she was remotely interested, sexually, in her own clothes; if that were the case, it would remove so much of the hassle! If wishes were horses...

Just as she was about to give up, something caught her eyes.

“Man, I haven’t seen this in a long while.” Melisa said as she pulled a crumpled pair of blue shorts. A smile came upon her face when she looked at them. The same shorts he had worn back in school, and the same shorts she had secretly worn whenever he wasn’t using them. He must’ve hidden them really well if she hadn’t yet found them. Amazing that they still looked so good, as if they were brand new; and adding to that, they looked tighter and shinier than she remembered. Memory is a curious thing, indeed.

“Wait... if he’s got these then...” Melisa considered, smiling broadly. She kept on digging in the bag of old things, digging and digging until she found the white shirt that completed the ensamble.

In the blink of an eye she was standing outside the door, locking it, and dropping Vargas’s key on the floor. Quickly, she locked herself in her room, her hairs standing on end, her facial muscles unable to show anything but a smile. With accustomed skill, and that little extra spark of devious delight, she turned on her stereo; the voice of James Hetfield filled the room. No one would hear her song of pleasure with that playing.

“This will be good!” Melisa told the air as she quickly removed her clothes. Her jeans were abandoned, as was her top; underwear was nearly ripped off. Naked, skin glistening with a fine, fine layer of perspiration, she looked at the shorts and the t-shirt and the Speedo pair she took, just for good measure and extra fun. She could smell her excitement. “Oh, they look so good.” Melisa nearly squealed.

Melisa was reminded of school, away from her life by six years. She was never one to participate in PE, just like Vargas, but she enjoyed the class nonetheless; some of the boys in her class were extremely attractive. Who wouldn’t enjoy looking at attractive people wearing ridiculously short shorts and tops that turned transparent with a little sweat? Do you bury me when I am gone¸ James Hetfield sang in the background.

Shuddering the memory away, she put on her brother’s old, red Speedos. Years ago, when she started dressing up like this, she would sometimes wonder why she preferred to wear his clothes rather than hers. But then the tight feeling of lycra several sizes too small (those Speedos were quite old) against her crotch dispelled the memory of doubt. Melisa shuddered, moaning softly. They fit snugly against her buttocks, tight against her crotch; the elastic was faded and useless, but they were small enough that the material dug into her skin. She pressed her legs together and the Speedo dug between her buttocks, the slow touch of the lycra going into her crack feeling like the caress of wind. It was delightful. It was magnificent. Melisa had to keep her hands from shaking as if an epileptic fit had taken over.

“This never gets old...” Her voice was a whisper of joy, need, and heat all rolled into four barely audible words. She could feel the air on her skin, and hear her heart in her ears beating in tempo to the tune of ”Nothing Else Matters”.

With too eager movements, she grabbed the t-shirt and put it on without a thought. It was near skin-tight on her chest. Her nipples showed through, and Melisa could feel some of the sweat being absorbed into it. She had to brace herself against the wall when, a second later, the sensation hit her, like a freight train crashing against a wall—her skin was way too sensitive when she was in this state. Her hands moved over her chest, over her belly, over her hips, over everything. She breathed through gritted teeth, making sweet music of pleasure. Never cared for what they do, never cared for what they know, but I know... Hetfield kept singing, swallowing Melisa’s own song.

The shorts came on soon. The material snapped over her hips, over the t-shirt. They felt... amazing; snug, tight, caressing even. Were they actually caressing her, or was it her imagination? She moaned and looked down, suddenly feeling as if she’d made a terrible mistake. The shorts were... growing tight?

It hit her like an avalanche dropping down on a geriatric house. ”Fuel” was a fitting song for this.

Melisa double over, clutching her chest, clutching her pelvis, clutching everything. Her eyes went wide, the air was knocked out of her lungs; her muscles contracted and relaxed, one by one—legs, arms, core, back, neck, face. Soon after, she felt a fire, an intense energy, filling her; it was as if someone had put the sun inside her, and it felt amazing.

“My God!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, voice trembling, body trembling. “Skin!” Words were incoherent past this point. She was only aware of the sensations, unable to put a word to them. Her body was aflame. Her skin felt everything. Her sex craved for attention. Her muscles ached. She needed to move, to move, to move!

All of her muscles relaxed as fast as they had contracted. Melisa thought it had lasted ages, but it lasted barely a second. She stood, immobile, staring straight ahead. “Workout!” She shouted, dropping to the ground with the skill of an athlete. She started doing push-ups, her arms burning, her whole body burning with energy she had to spend. She needed to workout, to sweat, to push herself over the limit. All the time, her eyes were wild with confusion, her mind screaming questions, fear taking over but not enough to keep the familiar yet alien arousal at bay.

It had been a long time since she had done anything like this. Her arms were burning soon enough. And that only made it sweeter. Her entire body was aflame, as if a lover- no, six lovers, were having the time of their life on her. The pleasure became too much soon enough. Melisa blanked out, went into trance, disappeared, but her body never stopped moving. All the time, she screamed inside her head.

Jennifer took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

It is done. I have to see her now. She thought.

Inside the house, she heard someone complaining and knocking something over. A minute later, Melisa opened the door, looking as if she had wrestled with a bear on her bed the whole night.

“Hey, Jennifer. Vargas isn’t it.” She said.

Jennifer looked at Melisa straight in the eye. She isn’t wearing eyeshadow. That is curious. She thought. Jennifer closed her eyes and took a deep breath; there was no point in vacillating, not anymore. “I know. I... I don’t want to see him today.” How could she explain? What did she know of Jennifer? “Ehm... can I come in? I would like to talk to you.“

Melisa looked as if a panther about to pounce. Eventually, she relented and let Jennifer in. Jennifer took a step forward, and followed Melisa into the kitchen. Jennifer noted that Melisa was favouring her right leg.

“You okay, Mel?” Jennifer asked, glad to have something to talk about that wasn’t why she was here.

Melisa got two glasses and a bottle of coke out before sitting down, with what looked quite a strain on her body, at the table. Jennifer joined her. “Overexerted myself during a workout.” Melisa said, flatly, wincing as she leaned over to pour the coke.

Not another one... I didn’t even knew she liked to work out. Jennifer couldn’t contain the sigh.

“Jennifer, why did you come here?” Melisa’s voice broke her thinking. Jennifer looked up and saw something she had never noticed on her boyfriend’s sister: empathy and understanding. Suddenly, she couldn’t stop herself from speaking. She told Melisa of how much she loved her brother, how attentive he was, how she could always call him at any time and he would come over without a nay word; she told Melisa how she felt when he came over, how he had made her fall in love; and she told Melisa of how he had started to ignore her calls, how he no longer spend so much time with her, and of the excuses. Vargas gave excuses where he never even thought of them. Jennifer wished she could see something behind those excuses, some lie, some made up reality, but she knew Vargas too well—if he said he was working out, he was working out, and nothing more. And then there was that lull that had befallen him. Ever since the whole business started, Vargas seemed less bright, less alert; wherein before he would easily notice when she was feeling down and give her a wonderful time, he now didn’t even seem to notice she was in the same room. He spent too much time caressing his biceps, lost in thoughts too far away for Jennifer’s liking.

“I have no idea what is up with him, Mel! He spends all his time working out, and when we do get together he cannot seem to concentrate. It is driving me crazy!” Jennifer stopped rambling, looking up from the palm of her hands to see Melisa offering a drink of coke. She took it, and the cold liquid was a godsend for her sore throat.

“You know Vargas and I aren’t exactly close.” Melisa said.

Jennifer looked at her in the eyes, setting the glass down. “I know... I know that... I thought that...” Jennifer looked away for a second. “I haven’t been into his room in ages, I thought that, maybe, if I see what he does in there I might understand... or...” She looked up and noticed that Melisa wasn’t meeting her stare. Jennifer frowned. “Mel... do you know anything?”

Melisa looked up, mouth open as if about to say something. She seemed to reconsider and finally relented. Slowly, and with much complaining, she stood. “I better show you.” She said, beckoning Jennifer to followed her up the stairs.

Halfway up, Jennifer was tempted to carry Melisa—whatever workout Melisa was doing, it left her so sore it took her forever to walk up the flight of stairs.

“About a month ago Vargas put up some locks in his room. I thought they were meant for me, as he might have told you.” Melisa said, picking up the key she had dropped in front of the door. “Though, now I have to wonder...” She trailed off, her voice tainted with what sounded like guilt to Jennifer.

She unlocked the door.

“That is about how long he’s been obsessed with the work out thing.“

Melisa only nodded. “I... I think it is better if you look inside yourself.”

Jennifer locked stares with Melisa, daring the girl to say something else, but when it was obvious Melisa intended Jennifer to find out on her own she nodded and walked in.

The room was a mess of weight irons and things Jennifer couldn’t put a name to. It smelled of sweat, and Vargas; it was a bittersweet scent.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me.” Melisa said before leaving Jennifer alone with her questions.

Something is odd here. Jennifer thought as she locked the door behind her. Melisa was acting strangely, more so than usual. Everyone was acting strangely. Just what was going on in this house?

“First, to find... find something.” Jennifer sighed. She really didn’t know what to expect, or what she was looking for. An explanation, proof that Vargas was doing just what he said he was. How do you will yourself to feel enough distrust to search somebody’s room this way? Jennifer could barely muster the courage to move from the spot she stood on, but when she did it was easier to breathe.

She looked inside his nightstand, on his desk, under the bed, and inside his hamper. She looked everywhere, and didn’t find a single thing that made her question the man she loved. Jennifer had expected to find at least some written note, or somebody else’s lipstick, or a scratched photograph, but, truth be told, she didn’t know her boyfriend that well. He had always been a wall, and since her started working out he became a fort. Sighing, she sat on the bed, noticing something familiar next to her.

“Vargas still has these?” She asked no one, picking up the pair of shorts she herself had worn in high school, years ago, when she first met Vargas. Some memories came back, unpleasant and pleasant at the same time. She found herself chuckling, wondering how Vargas could fit in such tiny shorts.

The shorts took over in a flash. Whatever curse had been laid on them, whatever spirit lay trapped inside, woke as Jennifer reminisced. In the blink of an eye, something pushed her out of the driver’s seat. Suddenly she was a passenger, feeling her body through a haze, a very subtle feeling. Like when you’re too drunk to feel your own skin, or to be entirely aware of your actions, but you know it is you doing them. Her skin came alive, her body filled with energy, and the strangest of thoughts occurred to her: I need to work out.

“What... no...” She mumbled through gritted teeth. She tensed her muscles, fighting, fighting, her own arms. Fear lend her strength. Her body felt cramped as two wills tried to use it. She closed her eyes, she pressed her legs together and arms wrapped around her chest, but nothing helped. Whatever thing was trying to take over it was stronger. Eventually she was pushed further away from the driver’s seat. Jennifer’s body stripped itself naked, and put on the shorts. The material kissed her legs, kissed her sex, and they seemed to grow tighter and tighter until they couldn’t be told apart from her skin. In that small instant before her body began to move, before she became truly trapped, she felt aroused and happy beyond belief. A contrast to how she felt just a moment before.

Jennifer felt her knees touch the floor, felt her hands spreading at shoulder length. She felt her arms burning as she did press-ups, and she felt the heat building up. The more she worked out, the hotter she felt. The hotter she felt, the less she could complain about what was happening. The less she wanted to.

“More heat, less thoughts.” Her lips moved, her voice whispered. “More heat, less thoughts. More heat, less thoughts.”

Thoughts became but noise, and noise interrupted her work out. She needed to sweat, to get in shape...

That was horrible... I could’ve told Jennifer. Now she is going to think there is something to find in the room. I am glad I threw them away. Melisa thought as she walked into her room.

She nearly jumped out the window when she saw them sitting on her bed.

“I threw you away!” She shouted at the pair of shiny blue shorts. She could feel her body cramping already, the ghost memory of how much she worked out threatening to take over. Then a thought occurred to her. What if Vargas knew?

Her heart skipped a beat and she took the shorts, running back to Vargas’s room.

Melisa hadn’t ever seen something half so hot. We all have got out personal, secret kinks; those things we enjoy to see or do, or even have against our skin, that we never tell anyone, yet, when we see it in the flesh, we can barely control the orgasm from shutting down our minds. Melisa was seeing a mirror image, a fantasy made real. She had experienced the shorts, they were a fantasy of hers, a delicious, dirty fetish of hers, but now she was seeing it from the outside, as a spectator. She had always wanted to see another woman in her brother’s clothes, and now she had. Maybe it was the lingering pain on her muscles that reminded her of what the shorts could do, or perhaps it was her own memories of the pleasure she felt when she wore them, but for some reason the simple sight of Jennifer sitting on the floor doing sit-ups, sweating like a pig in an oven, and moaning like a howling monkey, pushed her over the edge faster and stronger than any boyfriend had ever been able to. She felt her kinks grow stronger in her mind, and animalistic desires take over. The question of how it was possible that there were two pairs of shorts never occurred to her.

Her knees gave way and she fell to the ground, a hand disappearing within her skirt to press against the Speedo she wore. She convulsed, gasping in surprise; she had forgotten she was wearing that. She moaned, and in a haze peeled off her skirt. The shorts came on, pressing tight against her sex, tighter and tighter. Melisa stopped being in control.

Jennifer was staring at Melisa, a fight for dominance happening behind those glazed eyes, but Melisa couldn’t see it, wouldn’t see it. Both girls were in a haze, both were possessed by the old uniform. Melisa leaned closer, close enough to smell Jennifer’s arousal and sweat. It felt intoxicating. The first kiss was the longest, and the hottest. Both melted into each other, both enjoyed, both felt the powerful desire to just press against one another. Yet, as their passion grew, as Jennifer stopped working out and started to run her hands over Melisa’s near naked body, as they relented, they didn’t forget. Jennifer and Melisa were all too aware that it wasn’t them, that they could not control their bodies. They were silent and powerless inside their minds, trapped as if in a prison. The pleasure grew, Jennifer found a nipple, Melisa’s hand found a mound, skin met skin, legs intertwined, moans filled the room, but the two screamed and screamed inside their heads as the prison cell became thicker, tighter, until they could not even scream.

Jennifer pushed Melisa against the floor, pinning her arms down, rubbing her pelvis against her boyfriend’s sister’s leg, against the shorts. It felt amazing. Her skin was aflame, her muscles on fire, and the pain was delicious. She looked into Melisa’s eyes, saw the pleading reluctance, but also saw how much she was enjoying it. Jennifer smiled, and a fourth kiss ensued. Their tongues danced, their lips caressed, and one moaned into the other’s mouth; which one, they could not tell. Melisa tried to fight back, to struggle, but that only made Jennifer the more eager to subdue the other.

For hours they kept on like this. Struggling, fighting, one pinning the other down and taking before they shifted. It was a wrestling match, a training session; caught up in the phantom passion of the shorts as they were, they were still under its thrall—they had to work-out, to sweat, to ache. And that only fed their need for one another. They stopped counting how many orgasms they had. They stopped caring if they were prisoners in their own bodies. How could they care, when it felt so good?

Not even when Vargas walked in did they stop.

Not even when he screamed at them in anger, in revulsion, in worry, did they stop. They knew now why he spent so much time locked inside the room. He was as much under the uniform’s power as they were, and they knew that there was no need to even recognise him in the room. Eventually he would give into the desire. Jennifer could already see his erection, could see the struggle behind his eyes. One could only guess at how the scene was affecting him. Jennifer hated herself for not telling him to run.

Eventually, after what seemed an eternity, after Melisa brought Jennifer into a submissive, erotic arm lock, did Vargas relent.

The three joined into a group workout that lasted until the sun went down.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Vargas was glad that his room was nearly sound proof.

The three were sitting in the living room, each occupying a couch and seemingly wanting to be swallowed by it. How could you face someone after what happened?

“We should burn them.” Melisa said, her voice a whisper. Her arms were shaking and her whole body ached, ached so good. She took a deep breath, dispelling the idea; she already thought of the familiar pain of lactic acid as pleasure. She wanted to scream.

“I tried. Doesn’t do anything to them.” Vargas said. He was lying down on the sofa, an arm over his eyes. He didn’t move a muscle. “I’ve tried everything, but they always come back. They always... tempt me.”

They had discussed it so much. To burn them, to throw them away, to give them away, to put them in a box. They had done every single one of those and more, but no matter how much they tried the shorts always came back. Always. And every time they looked more tempting, their song stronger; once returned, Jennifer, Vargas and Melisa could no more stop themselves from trying them on than air could stop a bullet from hitting its mark. And every time they put them on, every time they worked out and made love and ravished each other’s bodies, they lost a bit of their willpower. They were starting to feel this, to know this; their bodies were stronger, fitter, but their minds were weaker. Melisa could barely muster a no to anything anyone asked of her. Vargas was well past that, absorbed in his own empty mind. Jennifer... Jennifer had no feelings left.

“And they reproduce.” Jennifer said, her voice devoid of emotion. She was too tired for emotion. She sighed heavily, felt her body strain against the white top she wore. Her clothes were both tighter and bigger on her. Her arms were twice as thick, her legs four times that. She felt... strong and dull. She couldn’t muster anger towards the shorts. She couldn’t muster anything but a desire to wear them and work out. Oh, the sweet heat of a workout called to her!

They fell silent for a long time. “What do you think will happen next time we... we put them on?” Melisa whispered.

The three stared at each other. There was no need to say it. They knew already—they were but waiting until the shorts came back and they put them on knowing their names for one final time.