The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Tramp Stamp

This story is fictional and all characters, locations, and events are of the author’s devising. This story may not be shared or reposted without the author’s express permission. This story was originally published on the MC Forum in 2015 and only a single edit has been made from that appearance for clarity’s sake.

Madison now realized she’d made a big mistake. She didn’t regret getting the tramp stamp. It was, after all, what she’d come to Artists’ Ink to get, but she was beginning to worry that by not specifying at least the size of the tattoo, she was going to have a problem concealing it at work.

It was a thoughtless choice, coming here with no design in mind, either, but Michael seemed like a pro when she talked to him before agreeing to the procedure and he didn’t seem bothered with giving her the best tat he could within her budget, which was the one thing she did have figured out.

She felt the needle run over her spine, above her tailbone. It burned. Was it supposed to? She was clenching her teeth. Never again, she promised herself. It was too late for Michael to stop now, whatever it was that he was doing, but she vowed this would be the last time she’d come without a proper plan if she ever decided to get another tattoo.

“Relax,” Michael said, placing his hand on her upper back, between her shoulder blades. “I’m halfway done.” The consummate professional. She did as he said, closed her eyes, and let the man finish his work.

“What the hell is this?”

Michael furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t understand your problem.”

“It says ‘TRAMP’. All in capital letters. How am I supposed to cover that up?”

“A long shirt?”

Madison felt the blood rush to her face.

“It’s bold. It’s daring. It’s super sexy. And it tells the world exactly what kind of woman you are.”

Madison didn’t know how to respond to that. Words failed her. Finally, she said the one thing she could think of,“You’re such a dick!” It was a pathetic retort, not at all what she really wanted to say, but good enough to make her storm out of the shop.

“What a dick,” she said to herself as she pulled out her keys and opened the door to her Escort.

As soon as she slid into the driver’s seat, she felt it, dampness in her jeans. The hell? Did she pee herself?

She slid a hand into her panties, fishing around for the source of her discomfort. Oh, Jesus. Not urine. She raised her soiled hand to her widening eyes. When did she cum and why wasn’t she aware of it?

After wiping her hand on the knee of her jeans, Madison fired up her car, ready to leave Artists’ Ink and to get herself cleaned up.

A hot shower felt good. It eased the burning sensation of the new tattoo and Madison felt the anxiety of having “TRAMP” written on her fade away. It was a joke. That’s what she’d tell anyone who’d ask. A kind of parody of those girls who legitimately were sluts and got such tattoos.

She smiled, hot shower water running over her face, a lazy finger stroking her clit. When she stepped out of the shower, she gently toweled herself off, so as to not disturb the fresh ink before using the mirror to wrap her longish brown hair up to dry. She was a pretty woman nearing her thirties, with dark blue eyes and a face that looked twenty-three. She’d dated in college. Frequently, in fact, but when she graduated, she decided to focus on her career.

Madison padded into her bedroom and began searching for a new outfit to wear. She’d already put the shirt, jeans, and panties that she had worn earlier into the wash. She considered opening her underwear drawer, but she thought better of it, and moved on to outerwear. She’d already made one sloppy mess in panties and didn’t feel like repeating that tonight. She chose a short, black skirt that she wore slightly higher on her waist than she normally would, just to leave a little less to the imagination when she went out tonight, but not high enough to cover the advertisement posted on her back.

A tight, white halter top that she’d grown out of completed the outfit. She checked in the bathroom mirror to make sure that her tat was visible. The bold, dark letters would be easy to read from several yards away. She smiled and returned to the bedroom to investigate the goodies she bought on the way home from Artists’ Ink.

She didn’t mean to stop off anywhere. Madison’s panties and jeans had been drenched in her fluids, after all, but as soon as she saw the little shopping center near her apartment, she knew she had to stop to get a few items. The red nail polish was the kind a whore would wear, far more garish than Madison would ever wear on her fingers. Fortunately, the polish was for her toenails. “I’m not a hooker,” she chuckled to herself before slathering her digits in the vibrant color.

As her toes dried, Madi pulled the false nails out of the plastic grocery bag, ripped open the box and started the lengthy process of adhering the squared-off talons to her fingers.

When she finished, Madi stretched out on her bed as her nails and hair finished drying. Her hole was leaking again, dampening the skirt. It didn’t matter. Her eyes were already closing. The sun would be down soon and Madi needed to be ready.

Madison couldn’t believe it. What had she gotten herself into? The fingernails extended a half-inch past her fingertips and the toenails. She shook her head. She dressed herself up like a…


And her pussy was throbbing.

Juices ran down Madi’s thighs. She needed dick.

She pulled the last item out of her goodie bag, a shoebox.

Gingerly with her long-nailed hands, she opened the top and removed the platform flip-flops. The soles were black foam and the straps were a cheap plastic. Madi slid them on her dainty feet, the slutty red toenails contrasting nicely with the dark straps.

Locking the door behind her, Madi tottered her way downstairs toward her car before realizing that in her horny haste, she’d left her keys behind. All of them along with her purse, with the apartment door locked. Neither the tight halter top nor the skirt had pockets, leaving her without a place to store keys. And she’d walked right past her purse like it wasn’t even there. She frowned. She didn’t need money for anything tonight. She just craved cock and now she was going to have to walk around until someone gave it to her.

Artists’ Ink would be a good place to go, she figured. It was several miles away, a distance that was completely impractical, especially since they were closed right now. But maybe, Madi thought, if she could make that her destination, she could get her hole filled along the way and then confront Michael about her tattoo, killing two birds with one stone.

Her shoes made a clip-clopping sound on the pavement as she ambled down the street, no ID, no money, and no keys. She felt good, though. The cool wind blew across her exposed midriff and she wondered if Michael would be willing to pierce her belly button. She fantasized that a small, jeweled ring was hanging there, jostling lightly in the wind. Her thighs were slick.

An old man in a brown jacket and hat, with a snow-white beard was strolling down the sidewalk, coming toward her. She was close to the apartment. Maybe he had a cellphone so she could get a locksmith to help her gather her things. Then she could drive to Artists’ Ink after hitting a bar or club or something to get her dick fixin’s.

“Excuse me,” she said as he came within a yard of her.

He grunted. “Yes?”

“I’m in kind of a tight spot,” Madi said, trying to make the word ‘tight’ not sound sexual was difficult. “I was wondering if you could…”

Call a locksmith.

“fuck me in the alley over here.”

Shit. Is that what she really said?

The old man raised an eyebrow. “How much you charge?”

Madi’s face burned. “Do I look like a whore to you? Because I’m not.”

“I’m sorry,” the man apologized.

“I’m a tramp,” she said proudly, pointing to the word on her back. “And I demand to be treated as such.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” he smiled lasciviously.

She placed her palms on the cold brick while the old man, she’d just call him Harold, rammed his cock into her pulsating pussy. Her toes curled as the old bastard pounded his way to orgasm while she moaned loudly. It was everything she wanted.

Madison, before this moment, was always careful with regard to sex, making sure her partners had protection or were otherwise clean. But this filthy old man was no safe bet. Her need for any cock and his desire for young, vibrant pussy were a perfect match.

When he came, it was nearly impossible to tell how much jizz he’d filled her with because of all the moisture draining from her cock-hungry cunt, but it didn’t matter. It wasn’t his jism she had come here for, but his cock, and it didn’t disappoint.

When “Harold” was finished, he zipped himself up and showed himself back out onto the street, while Madi slouched down between the alleyway dumpsters with a smile on her face and basked in the afterglow.

Part II

Madison hugged her knees. She was still sitting in between two dumpsters in a back alley near her apartment. She was aware of that much, at least. She’d just had sex with a stranger- no, it wasn’t sex. She’d been fucked. Fucked willingly, yes, but the power dynamic was all wrong for it to be called “sex.”

With her cunt satisfied, Madison found herself more in control of her actions, but the only thing she wanted to do was sit here, shamefully, and pretend that none of this had happened. How could she get back into her apartment without feeling that anyone she met along the way would judge her? How could she go back to Artists’ Ink and demand the tattoo be removed when the place wouldn’t even be open again for hours and she might lose control again at any time? Just what exactly was happening to her? And why?

She stared at her candy apple-colored toenails for an answer that was not forthcoming. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had anything to eat for God-knew how long. Breakfast? Before she got the tattoo, for sure. Unless she’d stopped off at another location during her trip home like she had at the shopping center. But she couldn’t account for that. Another deep rumble came from her tummy.

Bracing herself with one long-nailed hand, she stood up and staggered out of the dark alley. There was a burger joint about two blocks away and it was still early enough in the evening that they’d be open for business.

She teetered along the darkened street alone, one hand on her gurgling stomach, the other swaying aimlessly at her side. The tattoo still burned slightly, less so than she’d expected based on what her friends had told her. Madison never considered herself a fast healer in the past, but perhaps she was?


Madi thought it had a nice ring to it. It wasn’t as degrading as being called a slut or whore. In fact, it was kind of funny, given the word’s historical usage. Maybe she’d end up sucking some hobo’s dick on a train just to play up both meanings of the word.

She licked her lips. Regretfully, she hadn’t put on any lipstick before leaving the house. A shame it was, really, because she would have liked to have left a ruby ring on the base of some dude’s cock. A little reminder that he’d just gotten the best blowie in his entire life.

Madi’s formerly idle hand now fidgeted under her skirt. The restaurant was in sight and she was starving for something meaty.

Ass. Mngr. That’s what it said on his nametag. He was in his late twenties, she figured. Her age, if she’d be willing to ever admit it aloud again. Guys seemingly always wanted younger chicks to fuck and if she could pass as twenty-three, then by God, she’d do it. Men were so easy to manipulate once they had a tight, hot body in front of them.

“I’d like you to manage my ass,” she purred just loudly enough to make him blush.

He pretended to ignore her, but she had him glued to her every word now.

“Yes, um, I’d like…” She licked her lips, “A thick, juicy piece of meat. Nine inches, I think, would really fill me up.”

The poor bastard shuddered with excitement. Madi smiled at his discomfort.

“I get off in fifteen minutes,” he said.

“Oh,” Madi cooed, glancing at his nametag again, “I suspect we both will, Ben.”

She was already on her knees in the grass behind the drive-thru sign when Ben exited the back door. He was nervous, maybe had a girl at home, maybe a wife. Didn’t matter. He was here with her now and she was going to have the most nutritious meal of the day at his establishment.

Taking the zipper from Ben’s workpants between her talon-pasted thumb and forefinger, she slowly let his modest beast of a cock drop from its confines. A bit smaller than she would’ve liked, perhaps, but size didn’t really matter to her anyway. The need was too great.

Madi let her tongue take the lead, licking the underside of his cockhead to keep Ben interested.

He stuttered something, but she ignored him, letting her nails play with his jiggling balls.

Ben gasped as Madi took him fully into her warm, wet mouth, still leading with her tongue on the underside of his shaft.

“Mmm,” she moaned, knowing that men appreciated women who showed enthusiasm for cocksucking.

A voice sounded out behind her. Somebody was ordering food. Ben had tried to warn her about the upcoming car because he heard it and she hadn’t. But it didn’t matter. When the car finished ordering and pulled up, the customer would see her, sucking on him, oogling the spectacle she was putting on. And that made her hotter and hornier.

Madi continued sucking, slowly, lovingly, at Ben’s cock. It was sweaty from his workday and she savored the flavor.

The car pulled up and sure enough, Ben tensed up when he saw the customer looking at the pair in the throes of lust. It was time.

With a vengeance, Madi went after the cock hard and fast, forcing Ben to begin bucking his hips and letting loose his seed into her waiting mouth.

“Ah, God!” His voice echoed into the night despite his efforts to control himself.

Madi chuckled to herself on the inside. It felt good to be a naughty girl.

She swallowed most of his pearl-colored juice, but let some stick to her lips. It would give them a shine they didn’t have since she’d forgotten her lipstick. Gently she coated it over the length of her upper and lower lips with an index finger while Ben zipped up and fled from the scenario. The disbelieving driver pulled forward, putting the newly-minted tramp out of view.

It was fine. Her hunger was sated, for now.

This wasn’t Madison. Two sexual acts with strangers in, what, less than two hours? And each time after she’d been filled, she felt, well, mostly like her old self. But it wouldn’t last, Madison knew. It might be mere minutes before the need to have another cock buried in her would manifest.

Perhaps a sex toy would ease the shift?

She frowned. It almost certainly came down to one of her holes being filled with semen and no sex toy would be able to provide that. Michael was the answer. Artists’ Ink had to be the destination. But she couldn’t continue walking. The distance was too great and the need to be fucked would soon overtake her. Madi would overtake her. Public transport was out of the question. How embarrassing would that be? But maybe hitchhiking. She just had to remain in control.

There was still the problem of having to wait until the store opened. There was a lot of night left to go. But there weren’t many other options that she could choose from.

She flagged down the first driver she saw. Yes, she thought. Score a victory point for Madison!

Two for two, it seemed, as she approached the vehicle. The driver was a woman. Take that, Madi!

The lady rolled down the passenger window. “You’re not…”

“Oh, God, no,” Madi said. “I’ve just had the worst day. You wouldn’t even believe me.”

The driver seemed doubtful.

“Really, I swear. Can you take me to Artists’ Ink. It’s just up the road a couple miles.” That sounded dumb when she said it. Once they got there, the driver would see the store was closed. She’d have to embellish. “I, uh, was up there earlier and I forgot my purse and house keys, so I called the owner. He’s supposed to meet me there in a little while and I don’t want to have to walk the whole way.”

Some truth mixed with white lies. The driver pushed the door open. Perfect, Madison, you genius.

After a short introduction where Madison discovered that her saviors name was Deborah, the two began the jaunt toward the tattoo studio. The drive was rather short. Madison was still in control. Life, maybe, was getting better. Sure there was a long way to go, but a glimmer of hope was better than none.

“This is it,” Madison said, almost too excitedly as the store came into view on her left.

“Okay,” Deborah said, pulling in to the empty parking lot. “Did you want me to stay until the manager arrives?”

This wasn’t part of the plan, so no, Madison didn’t want the woman to stay, but…

Madison’s left hand twitched. Anxiety filled her as she realized with dread that she’d made another terrible mistake. Madi wasn’t just promiscuous. She was bisexual and she wanted to thank the woman with her expert tongue. But there was nothing Madison could do to struggle against those feelings. She was already fading as Madi put her hand affectionately on Deborah’s knee.

“I don’t need you to stay, but I’d sure like it if you did for a little bit. You were super nice to me,” Madi said, in her most faux-innocent and seductive voice. “Sooner or later, everyone is nice to me. And I’d really like to repay you the best way I know how. Would you like me to take you out for a spin, Debi?”

Madi didn’t know what to expect, exactly, but it was clear that the older woman’s stoic countenance had cracked. “I would very much like that, thank you.”

Lapping greedily at Deborah’s dripping pussy in the back seat of the older woman’s car, Madi dimly recalled a time she’d seen a bunny drinking water from an upside-down bottle in its cage. She’d been younger, more innocent then. Not the sultry tart she was now.

Debi moaned with pleasure as Madi pushed her tongue into the far reaches of her benefactor’s nether regions. The cramped quarters didn’t bother Madi much at all. She was an expert in all forms of seduction and sexual gratification. Tramps like her were a rare thing, indeed.

Soon, she was guzzling as much of Deborah’s sweet juice as she could, while the remainder ran down Madi’s petite chin.

“My ex-husband would never have done that to me,” Deborah said. “That’s the best sex I think I’ve had in a long time.”

“Tramps always have good sex,” Madi said, running a fake nail over her conquest’s clit.

“Please, teach me.”

Madi grinned at her lover. “Just wait ’til Michael gets here.”

Part III

The pair continued to lay together in the back seat, giggling and sharing fantasies about what they’d do to each other. Madi played with her new playmate’s prominent nipples, while Debi necked her best friend. There was no desire to sleep for either of them, lost in the throes of post-sexual bliss.

The sun burned Madi’s eyes when it finally came up. She preferred the night now or, barring that, dark locations where a sense of danger and moral decay could bring a thrill to her.

The light exposed her for what she was, a girl playing at being a tramp, with her ill-fitting top and inappropriate skirt. Only the shoes really seemed to match the image she had of herself. That would change today. In fact, a lot would change today.

“Will he be here soon?” Deborah asked from below her.

“I don’t know,” Madi said honestly. “But when he gets here, I’ll let you know.”

Deborah tried to shift, to move out from under the smaller girl. “If he’s not here, I should really be getting home.”

“Hush!” Madi smiled. “Don’t you want to have great sex for the rest of your life?”

“Yeah,” Deborah said meekly.

“And don’t you love me?” Madi was now looking into the older woman’s eyes, tempting her.

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, then, we will be waiting for Michael because he is going to help get us nice and tarted up for our rounds tonight.”

Deborah went limp beneath Madi.

“There’s a good girl,” she said, before kissing the slut-in-training.

“He’s here,” Madi hissed. Was it eleven? Noon? It didn’t really matter. There were only two times Madi cared about. Day, with all its harshness and night, where she was fully unleashed.

The pair crawled from their makeshift love nest in the back seat out onto the pavement in front of the store. “Let me do all the talking,” Madi said. Deborah nodded.

Michael was preparing his materials in the parlor when Madi made her entrance.

“Heya, buddy, ’member me?” she asked playfully, feeling more at home in the dingy building than she did outside.

She saw that he did recognize her, his look containing also a hint of surprise. “You were in here yesterday.”

“That’s right, big daddy, and I have you to thank for this gorgeous tat! But I have a real big favor to ask.” She hopped into the inking chair in front of the bearded artist. “My friend here wants a tramp stamp of her very own. But we’re just a couple of sweet, innocent young things who need to keep the lights on at home, so we can’t exactly pay you.” Madi slid a platform from her foot and, with a dexterity she was unaware she had, took the man’s zipper between her slutty toes and yanked his fly open. “In the conventional sense, that is.”

“I-I don’t know what happened to you.”

“Can it, big boy,” Madi said. “No talk now. Just me working on you, you working on Debi over there. Just tell Miss Madi what you like.”

Sweat broke out over Michael’s brow. Madi had broken him, like all the others. He slid his key into the door and locked it. A good sign that he was putty in the girls’ hands.

When he returned to her, she expected him to say something, but instead, overcome with lust, he took her bare foot into his large, calloused hand and began sucking on her crimson toes.

He was getting hard, but his enthusiasm for her feet was making her wet, too. With a pointed nail, Madi ushered Deborah over to her the two began kissing and groping at each other while Michael licked and sucked until he could get himself off.

The experience, in the end, was satisfying for Madi. She’d gotten what she wanted, anyway. Michael was willing to tattoo Deborah now. The older woman was lying down, awaiting the sting of the needle. But there was a kind of passing grief, too. Madi was getting less and less sexual gratification each time she touched or kissed Deborah. The familiarity they’d developed over the past several hours was making Debi a less desirable partner.

But Madi could still play with Michael, once his work was finished and that was certainly something to look forward to.

Deborah whimpered as the needle touched her virgin flesh. Madi couldn’t contain her glee. Their co-dependent phase would be at an end soon.

She watched as Michael performed his art with precision and focus. His lips were moving, though Madi couldn’t hear what he said or identify any words. It didn’t matter anymore whether Michael or the ink or even Madi’s own subconscious was the thing responsible for making her act this way. Madi had embraced who she always wanted to be now. It was time to spread the love.

When the hirsute man had finished his work, Madi turned on her charm once again to get him to add belly and tongue rings to her ensemble while she contemplated what kind of sleeve she’d like to start on her right arm. Perhaps something floral, or maybe a garden of dicks. Her netherlips throbbed. She could never get tired of seeing cocks.

Debi, meanwhile, was taking off her bra and placed it near her discarded blouse. Madi saw that the fresh ink was setting quickly on the matronly woman’s back.

Debi now in just her slacks and one-inch pumps began playing with her tits, enticing her companions to come play after the work was finished.

And play they did. Madi found herself in the middle of an exquisite threesome between her two lovers. Michael unable to resist an invitation into Madi’s empty asshole, while Debi held onto the girl’s legs and went to town on Madi’s aching cunt.

Debi’s tongue darted again and again into the moist void between Madi’s pussy lips, while Michael rammed the youthful slut’s virgin asshole, his large, hairy hands cupping her soft tits.

Madi was in a state of bliss. There was no greater pleasure than sharing her body with people she barely knew. A stiff cock and a firm tongue were the only things a woman needed to take away years of stress and repression.

But Michael would be close to coming. She could tell now when a man was about to let loose. “Pull out, baby,” she said between gasps. Begrudgingly, Michael complied. Debi continued her assault on Madi’s pussy uninterrupted. Madi heard Michael grunt as his seed spilled onto the floor behind her, seed that would, no doubt, have brought that straight-laced bitch Madison back into play. There was no need for that headache again.

It was a shame, too, because Madi really enjoyed the feel of a man’s spray in any of her orifices. But Madison wasn’t completely gone yet. The tattoo still burned a little. That was the connection, she knew. In less than twenty-four hours, Madi would be free from both of the pains in her life. And with that cheerful thought, Madi felt herself gush into Debi’s eager jaws.

When it was all over, Debi sat cross-legged at her girlfriend’s feet, licking Madi’s juice from trembling fingers. Michael, despite his virility, had fallen into a deep slumber in one of his parlor chairs.

Madi looked down at her protege. “You seem to have a real tast for the ladies, Debi.”

The woman nodded, still sucking on her fingers, “Mm-hmm.”

“It would be a real shame if we were the only two tramps in this whole city. You could really help Michael grow his business, you know.”

Debi stopped sucking. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m more into dick, I guess. But you, you don’t really like the cock anymore, do you?”


Night had fallen. The city was big, teeming with easily-seduced men with throbbing cocks. There was no longer a pressing need to get back to her apartment, not even to have access to her car. She kissed Debi, who was still in a state of post-coital bliss, one last time before taking the scenic route back home.