The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

NATHAN HUNTER

We post fliers all over campus about our upcoming auditions. We, of course, keep the details to a minimum and we don’t mention hide nor hair of the term “girl group” or, you know, magically changing someone to meet our fancy. Either of those two things could potentially be off-putting to our potential members. Can’t have that.

We agreed on some basic terminology…

• Female singers wanted.
• All musical styles appreciated.
• A cappella audition for a special project.
• Guaranteed $$$.
• Saturday, 1pm.
• The Morris Music Building—Room 231.

Wilder had me add the bit about money. I protested, telling him there are no guarantees. There are never any guarantees. He told me that our little project was bound to be interesting at least and if money was required, money could be secured. Not one to doubt my “magic man” partner, I acquiesced. Then he added, “Besides, if you want a good turnout on a college campus, tell them there’s a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. And that’s either money or food… and you can smell food…”

Sure enough, Saturday rolls around and a line about twenty girls deep winds down the second-floor hallway of the Morris Music Building.

I watch the first girl stroll in and I’m wondering if I can just get Wilder to clone her four times. Is there a song for that? She’s lovely in a “doesn’t try too hard” sort of way. She wears a clean white t-shirt that perfectly accentuates a very ample bosom. Her black jeans are tight on her ass, but flare out at the bottom, nearly masking her sneakers entirely. Her hair is a wavy light brown that makes her piercing blue eyes and bright red lips stick out from her incredibly pretty face. If she can sing, beyond just asking her to join the group, I’ll ask her to marry me.

Wilder leans over and whispers, “Chin up.”

“No need for pep talks,” I explain, “I’m excited.”

“I know. You need to close your mouth or more drool will escape. But yeah. Wowsers. Really hope she can sing.”

“Hi, I’m Nathan and this is William.”

“Delilah.”

I’ll be your Samson any day, I think, but thankfully neglect to verbalize. Instead, I simply say as calmly as I can muster in the face of such prettiness, “Whenever you’re ready.”

She opens her exquisite mouth and reveals a voice both strong and true.

Initially, I think that William is tapping along to add some random percussion to her performance, but I look down and see that he wants me to decide which of the five she’ll be. Clearly, we’re in agreement that we have to have her. The ways in which I want her are innumerable—below me, on top of me, beside me… all for starters—but as a man with a girlfriend, Wilder is clearly keen on her joining the ranks of our girl group in the making. I try to clear my head of lustful thoughts to make a wise decision, but really, it’s obvious. There is no other decision to be made.

I pick.

He nods.

When she finishes singing, he steps out from behind our shared desk with his phone and earbuds in hand. “That was delightful. Like… really delightful. I was wondering if you could listen to a song for us and then maybe sing a few bars when you’re ready?”

“Absolutely.”

A girl of few words. She’s after my heart. I can’t wait to see how v2 of her shapes up. And out. And down. Just… all over.

DELILAH

I walk into the room where it happens and there’s just two dudes sitting behind a large desk and one of them glares at me with his mouth open. I don’t know what I was thinking coming here. I’d turn tail, but I came all the way across campus, so why not go through with it? Besides, they seem to be mostly harmless.

I let them know my name after they share theirs. Damn, my parents and their “god-fearin’” love for the “classics.” I’ve been saddled with this name my whole life. I should’ve taken the opportunity to change it in college, but instead, I wear it like a badge of honor… a badge that my parents are weird. Thankfully, they’re also weird in good ways, teaching me all about the rock of the ’60s, so when I belt out some Janis at these two fools, it comes from the right place deep down in my soul. They seem impressed, but also a little surprised. Hmph. Should I take that last bit personally?

But then, they want me to sing something of their own creation, I guess, because non-open-mouth-person approaches with his phone and some earbuds. Well, this at least will tell me if investing any more time in them is actually worth any of my time, so I accept them, put them in, and a song starts to play.

My first thought is—Wait, this isn’t their song? I’ve heard this a billion times before.

I’m momentarily unsteady on my feet and my vision dims. Guess I’m glad I wore the thigh high fuck me boots and not the platform monstrosities. I probably should’ve eaten something before coming over here. My stomach grumbles and my mouth waters with a craving for something protein-y. I lick my lips seeing two potential sources for a yummy, nasty treat in front of me. I stick out my chest like a lure, just to see which one of these fishes bites first. The guy behind the desk can’t take his eyes off me. I might as well give him a show to reel him in. I rotate around a bit to the beat of the song only I can hear—a delicious song that fills my head chock full of all kinds of naughty thoughts. If he liked my breasts, I’m sure a glimpse of my ass will fill his head as well. Both of them in fact—up top and, more importantly, down below. I need his lower head nice and full if I’m going to get a good snack out of it.

Once I’m sure I’ve got him primed to eat out of my hand… and my crotch… I turn to him and say, “So..?”

“You’re in,” he says.

I laugh and say, “Wow… And I didn’t even have to suck a dick.”

I plant the seed in his mind and he takes the bait, responding, “Actually, there is room for you under our desk.”

I don’t need any more of an invitation than that. I work my body over to that desk and push him back, clearing room for me underneath. I pull him back in and start to unzip his fly.

My knees getting as dirty on the floor as my thoughts as I savor the filthy treat I’m about to receive.

NATHAN HUNTER

When the earbuds go in, Wilder hits play. I can tell Delilah recognizes the song because she starts to hum along before being fully enveloped by a lush, black cloud. When it finally dissipates, Delilah stands much improved… at least for the purposes of our group… and maybe some other bonus things as well.

“Actually,” I say, “there is room for you under our desk.”

Drinking her in from the bottom, gone are the sensible sneakers, replaced with tall, black high boots that accentuate every curve of her calves up through mid-thigh. Her midriff is bare. Her breasts seem even more impressive, and gravity-defying, in her tube top, also tight enough to show that she has lovely, proud nipples. Her skirt is decent enough to only leave an inch or so of skin between it and her boots, but so tight that she looks like she’s about to bust out of it just standing there. The tattoo on her left forearm reads “try me” and the complimentary tattoo on her right forearm reads “now.” Her previously naturally pretty face is now a sultry combination of makeup and expression that echoes the sentiment of her new arm tattoos. Delilah is the perfect name for a temptress and, in a way, that’s what she now embodies.

I was half-joking, half-serious, testing the magical waters, as it were. Regardless, she saunters—there’s really no other word to properly describe her minx-like walk—over to us where we’re seated, clears her throat so we back our chairs away to give her clearance, then folds herself under the desk. With a strength I don’t expect, she pulls me back to the desk and starts to unzip my fly.

“You sure we can’t just—oh—hit them all with Dirrty?” I ask Wilder.

He shrugs and says, “You’re the one with the five girl theme, genius. You want to bail on it?”

“Right.” I shudder as her tongue does some intricate circles around my enlarging cock. “You want to go ahead and bring the next girl in? I’m a little—oooh—preoccupied.”

As Wilder goes to the door, I grab his pen and cross “Lust” off our list.

One down, four to go.

The next few girls clearly didn’t see that it was a singing audition, literally line one of our ad, and no amount of magic was going to fix them and their pipes. I mean, there’s probably enough magic, it seems pretty formidable, but I assume if it takes that much work, it’s going to always be a lot of work. We want naturals, at least natural singers, to lessen the workload. Thankfully, I’m perfectly content to sit at the desk with Delilah under it for as long as necessary. She knows exactly when to back off to prolong the experience. She’s even taken to alternating between a blow job and a tit job. Either way, I’m so glad we gave her a job.

When my eyes roll forward and I catch sight of the next contestant, I believe we have a winner. She has a poise beyond her relative youth that draws your attention in and perfectly quaffed and styled looks, from her blonde hair on down. She looks like she’s been entering, and likely winning, beauty pageants since she was one or two. She has an overabundant cockiness that comes with knowing exactly how pretty she is. All of that makes me examine her for flaws. She’s a bit thin for my liking with not too much up top or in back, but otherwise, flawless.

“Look,” she says before even singing a note. “I’m in the all female a cappella group as well as the co-ed group. I’d be in the male group as well, but, you know, rules and definitions. I’ve been the lead in our campus musical three years running. What I want to know is—what are you looking for and how do I fit in? Because if you’re starting something real, I really want it.”

“It’s real, all right,” I say to her and tap one of the words on the page.

Wilder has reservations. “We don’t even know her name… and we haven’t even heard her sing.”

“If I’m wrong, I’m wrong, but I think she’s got that… certain…” I tap the word again. “…something.”

Wilder approaches with his phone and earbuds. “Hey, I’m William.”

“Alexandra,” she says and presents her hand that could be the offer of a handshake, but could also be her desire to have it kissed and bowed down to.

“Give this song a listen and we’ll see how you sing it, okay?’

“You will so want me in your thing after you hear me,” she says and pops in the buds.

ALEXANDRA

Weird.

I’ve been keeping track of the line and I swear the first girl never came out of the audition room. I walk in and can’t see her anywhere, so it’s not like she’s a friend or anything hanging out after trying out. What’d she do? Jump out the window? Yikes. How hard is this audition exactly?

Thankfully, I have a history with auditions and I never balk and I never fail.

Mom instilled that in me. Walk into a room, own that room, and always give 110%. Doesn’t matter what the room is. Everything is an audition. The more experience I get in college, the more prepared I am for my post-college trip west to Hollywood.

I verbally download my resume to them and cap it with a desire to be a part of their project “if it’s real.” I swear, the one of the two that was sitting behind the desk looked like he was in total ecstasy just from my arrival and apparently, my resume is enough to get them on board. They don’t even want to hear what I’ve prepared. Instead, they want me to sing something off of one of their phones. The standing one’s phone. The doubting one’s phone. I don’t care what it is, they better prepare to be dazzled.

I take the earbuds in, some sort of rock song I’ve never heard before begins. I feel woozy, like the room is spinning. I’ve never been nervous, but I don’t think that’s what this feeling is. My head feels hazy. It looks like my entire world is tinted in green.

I came into this room wanting whatever they had to offer me, but, thinking about it all, that’s not enough. I want everything the world has to offer. All of the roles, all of the clothes… all of the sex.

Fuck anyone who would dare deny me.

Literally and figuratively.

NATHAN HUNTER

I watch, with as much attention as I can give being distracted by Delilah’s under the desk activities, as Alexandra puts the earbuds in and Wilder starts the song.

A shiny green curtain appears to fall all around her and when it drops, I swear she’s a doppelgänger of Marilyn Monroe from Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, pink-dressed and diamond-encrusted. Her face is a little different than the icon’s, but no less attractive. She admires her jewelry with a coo, but hears a slurp from under the desk that snaps her attention in my direction.

“What was that?” Alexandra asks.

Wilder takes his phone back and says, “Oh, the first member of the band is currently choking down his member.”

“I want some!” The entitled princess proclaims and makes a bee line for the desk, bringing herself underneath only by shoving Delilah to the side.

“I told you she was the perfect Greed,” I say with a smile and then I feel her voraciously sucking down my cock all the way to the balls. Apparently, I Want It All provides a gal with certain skills, including, but probably not limited to, advanced deep throating.

“We haven’t even heard her sing,” Wilder says with a shrug.

“She was the lead in musicals.”

My dick leaves her mouth with a pop. “I’m also in the all female a cappella group as well as the co-ed group.”

My smug face reads “see” in Wilder’s direction. He raises his hands, not wanting to fight this particular fight. I don’t know what Delilah’s doing under the desk, but I know she’s doing it to Alexandra. Lust knows no boundaries, after all.

“Ready for our next girl?” Wilder asks, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, but…”

“But what?”

I smile widely. “We’re gonna need a bigger desk.”

“How long have you been holding on to that one?”

Giddy, I reply, “I swear it just came to me.”

Another popping sound from beneath the desk, followed by Alexandra proclaiming, “I’m gonna take all of your cum.”

I know a Greed when I see one.

Two down, three to go.

This timid little, mousey, pixie-cutted thing follows Wilder in next and I’m about to spin her back around as fast as she enters. She’s tiny, which isn’t in and of itself a problem, and her physical proportions are there and intriguing, but her spirit is sadly lacking. Her appearance akin to like if you were to look up “uncertain” in the dictionary and a picture of her face would accompany the definition.

I prepare to not be impressed, but what comes out of her minuscule frame is a game changer. Apparently, she uses her whole body as an amplifier because little ol’ her creates a sound so powerful, you’d think she was singing into a mic with speaker volume turned up to 11.

“Wow. What’s your name?” I ask.

“Paige. Like Turn the Page, but with an ‘i’ so… you know…” She looks down at her little feet. “That, but not…”

“Are you alright with singing in front of a crowd?”

“I’ve never done it, so… I think I could learn. Maybe. I sing in the shower a lot, if that counts. It’s a shared bathroom. I get a lot of applause. It might be the acoustics, though.”

Wilder taps, but looks up at her to say, “I’m reasonably sure it’s not the acoustics, Paige.”

I look at the role he’s tapping and ask, “Really?”

He nods. “Trust me.”

I feel like, having shoehorned him on Alexandra and Greed, I should appreciate his call on this one. I gesture for him to approach her.

PAIGE

I didn’t even want to come to this audition. My picture perfect roommate Alexandra dragged me here and then, once here, proceeded to ignore me. I don’t want to think that she brought me along because she wanted to look good by comparison, but I can’t help but question her motives. She’s always stricken me as a “by any means necessary” type. Having met her “stage mom” mom, it’s not out of the realm of possibility or upbringing. I guess I’m Professor X to her Magneto—a coexistence type. A “maybe we can all win” type. She did seem shocked, standing outside of the shower stall after I finished singing to see that it was me, though. Maybe she does appreciate my voice, when I can find it.

Alexandra isn’t all bad. She once tried to explain what was wrong with the way I approach life with the lyrics from The Smiths’ song “Ask”—mostly, “shyness can stop you from doing all the things in life you’d like to.”

I don’t set out to be “shy” when I leave the dorm room every day. I just don’t know how to, you know, not be.

Maybe actually singing in front of people is a good step.

Maybe Alexandra’s act of dragging me along actually was a benevolent one.

I really shouldn’t think otherwise.

That’s kind of horrible.

Sheesh. What’s wrong with me?

Once inside the room, I take that nervous energy and redirect it, belting out a little bit of a song. I blush throughout, then make a random Bob Seger song reference to my name that I think is completely lost on the pair, only to find myself blushing even more. Who needs makeup when you have involuntary antisocial anxiety reactions?

They look shocked. Something about my singing shocked them.

In turn, I feel shocked, but apparently, I’m good enough for step two—singing something they want to hear.

When the music starts in the earbuds, I feel the song claw at me, body, mind, and soul and I’m stronger for it.

Angrier for it.

Pissed off and ready to take on the stupid fucking world and all of the stupid fucking people walking around it.

I look down at my black nails, then up at the losers in the room.

NATHAN HUNTER

Once again, Wilder approaches with his phone and earbuds.

Once again, a girl, Paige in this case, slips them on.

I see her grit her teeth as the music starts and she’s ensconced in what looks like barbed wire. When the change is finished, the visual around her doesn’t just vanish, it shatters. I nearly duck to avoid the sharp bits it sends flying, but they disintegrate into the air, leaving a fully reformed Paige behind, though reform only applies to her now if you think more along the lines of “reform school.”

The first thing about v2 Paige that first draws my eye is her sneer. She looks like she’s judging everything around her and loathes it all. It’s a bold difference from the girl who didn’t seem capable of holding eye contact. This Paige is ready to challenge, ready to fight. Her hair is half-purple, half-blue now and very spiky. Her makeup is equally severe. She’s pierced everywhere a person can be pierced, at least, as far as I can tell and I assume it holds true throughout. She wears a tattered Ramones rock tee above a heavily studded leather skirt. Ripped and torn fishnet stockings dip down into her high boots.

“Question, fuckheads,” Paige says, her voice harsh and powerful.

“Shoot,” Wilder says.

“Will I get to fuck shit up with this shit you’re putting together?”

I answer, “I don’t see why not.”

“Cool. I’m down then. Could one of those whores under your desk come suck my twat?” Despite all her rage, there’s something appealing about our little Wrath. It could be that she’s got her legs spread and I can now confirm she doesn’t wear underwear and she’s pierced everywhere.

“Whatever whore you want to spare,” she says. She taps her inner thighs. “This twat ain’t gonna eat itself.”

“What song did that?” I ask Wilder.

He shows me his phone.

You Oughta Know.

Three down, two to go.

We take a break and I lead my minty fresh trio back to my room with the promises of promiscuous activity (to lusty Delilah), whatever she wants to take (to greedy Alexandra), and whatever she wants to destroy (to wrath-y Paige.)

I guess, in my absence more than a few of the people in line got bored. Wilder managed to keep the attention of the last two stragglers who Wilder introduces me to on my return. Ruby is an average, but hyper-intelligent looking African American girl with lovely cocoa skin unfortunately hidden underneath jeans and a sweatshirt. Lydia looks like a strawberry-blonde farmer’s daughter—a little bit poor and a little bit earthy, but with kind, hopeful green eyes.

I pull green-eyed Lydia outside so I miss most of the magical transformation of dark-skinned Ruby, save what I can see over Lydia’s shoulder.

RUBY

Ruby, why don’t you show up to these singing auditions and try to make some friends?

Well, Ruby, basically you’ll be waiting around all day with a lot of people who won’t seem to have any desire to talk to you?

I laugh, then look at the other girl in line. She seems too lost in her own thoughts to have been stirred by my snicker.

I can carry on conversations with myself for days… and sadly have.

Bright red and me seem to be the last two standing. One of the two guys leading these auditions left with some… interesting… looking girls and I think that turned off the rest of the line. That and with lunchtime approaching, no one felt like waiting around hungry. After a little bit of time and finally acknowledging the mass exodus, the guy left behind brings us into the room and tries to get to know us.

“I’m William.”

I extend a hand out. “Hi William, I’m Ruby.”

“Like the jewel…”

“Actually, I was named after the programming language. That’s what you get when you’re the product of two nerds.”

“Well,” he says with a friendly smile, “I never would have guessed that you were the spawn of nerds.”

I chuckle. He joins in. The other girl just looks at her feet. William notices that she seems left out. “And you are..?”

At first, she doesn’t know he’s talking to her, but then she looks up and responds. “Oh. Yeah. Me. I’m Lydia.”

“You two like to sing?”

“Love it,” I say. “When I’m all wrapped up in my mind, which happens a lot as an introvert and a female Mech E major, nothing clears the cobwebs like some well-timed singing.”

“What about you?” William asks Lydia.

“Oh, I’m an English major.”

I smile. She didn’t seem to answer the question he asked. Is she flighty, not all there, or just really, really nervous?

“And you like to sing?” He probes.

“Yes. Yes, I do.” She says with a defined certainty and ample dash of seriousness.

“And do you both have lovely voices?”

“I’m no Beyonce, but I’ve never made dogs whine.”

Lydia stares at her feet again.

“What about you?” He asks.

“Oh, I’m definitely not Beyonce.”

William and I share a look and a laugh, but we stifle it a bit when it looks like Lydia’s about to retreat further inside herself. I’m worried about her, but also intrigued by this potential connection I’m feeling with William. Thankfully and/or sadly, boy #1 returns at that moment.

“Ladies. This is Nathan. Nathan, this is Ruby and this is Lydia.”

Nathan extends a hand to each of us. “Nice to meet you both.”

William says to him, “Why don’t I audition Ruby in here while you get to know Lydia outside?”

I know I’m probably not his type, but the thought of him deciding to audition me alone gives me the good kind of butterflies. I’m instantly self-conscious about my ability to sing and my ability to flirt.

Of course, the moment the doors close, it’s not like he knocks over the desk in an effort to get to me. Clearly, in my bottomless alone time, I’ve read too many romance novels. Looking at him, I’m certain there’s no way I’m his type—too studious, too reticent. He asks me to sing and I know he’s all business. It kills the butterflies but at least that allows me to sing and support from my macrolepidopteran clade Rhopalocera free diaphragm.

He seems modestly pleased and asks me to sing along with something on his phone.

I pop in his earbuds, probably the closest we’ll come to exchanging bodily fluids, and nod. He hits play and I immediately recognize Carly Simon’s voice. I feel like something’s in my eyes. Something golden. I blink to dislodge it and I see the world a lot more clearly, starting with this boy in front of me. He’s beneath me. He should be so lucky that I would deign to have the slightest interest in him. Take all the beauty of Alicia Keys, Halle Berry, Beyonce, Tyra Banks, Rosario Dawson, Naomi Campbell, and Rihanna, then distill it into a singular form and it still wouldn’t come close to what I’ve got going on. To think I bothered putting on my scrappy black thigh high sandals and daring evening gown for this plebeian. The only thing I appreciate about him is his rapt attention. His desire feeds me because it feeds the one truth this universe should, does, and always will revolve around—I’m the best that ever was.

LYDIA

Nathan asks me a couple of questions, at least a couple that I hear. Then he gets distracted, like something important is happening in the room behind us, keeping his attention. We stand in silence. When the door opens, the woman standing beside William looks nothing like Ruby. Maybe not “nothing,” just very, very different. This woman is statuesque and stunningly, radiantly beautiful. She’s dressed like she’s about to go to some dance with a prince or off to marry a prince. Did I daze out again?

I can’t help but mumble in her general direction, “I wish I could be pretty like that.”

She hears, this goddess, this queen, and looks up briefly from her mirror, slightly annoyed by the comment as well as absolutely certain of its truth.

William doesn’t even look at me, he just accompanies the woman out, eyes never off of her, handing a phone over to Nathan.

Nathan guides me into the room, equally distracted. The door closes and he says, “Look, I could ask you to sing or you could just give a listen to something…”

“I’ll listen, if that’s what you want…”

He presents earbuds and then, once I have them secured, he hits play and a song I vaguely remember—by the Gin… something or others—washes over me. For the briefest moment, the song is my whole world, my whole reason for being. The song is me and I am the song.

When that passes, I start to think of that woman I saw leave as we entered. I want her look. I want her outfit. Why does she get to have all of that? Why not me? It’s unfair. Why am I stuck wanting what I can’t have?

NATHAN HUNTER

We bring Lydia v2 and Ruby v2 to my room to meet the rest of the group. Both have benefited from Wilder’s magic music. Ruby is a stunning goddess, so she gets the Most Improved award, but Lydia’s hair looks redder, her eyes more green, and her overall being a dazzling newly styled creation. Her brighter eyes taking in the world anew and full of envy.

Inside, Alexandra is greedily tossing my belongings all over the room. Delilah’s fingering her own pussy. Paige is in the middle of smashing a picture of my family, having already tossed the contents of my closet and dresser around the room, probably with some help from Alexandra. I think we might need a leash for Paige… and possibly Alexandra.

“Ladies—” I start to say before I’m immediately interrupted.

“Ain’t no lady,” Paige grumbles, stomping on the picture for added impact.

“Congratulations and welcome to the next evolution of the girl group.”

Paige starts to walk towards the door. “I’m out.”

“There’ll be hotel rooms to trash…”

Paige stops. “I’m listening.”

“There’ll be hotel rooms to trash, new styles to see, new eyes upon you as well as new people to get acquainted with,” I say and Delilah’s moan underscores the last two words. “William and I will be your managers. We’re going to work on some covers and one original song to start and get you in front of a friendly, local crowd.”

“What’s our name?” Ruby asks. “Ruby and the..?”

“Not quite,” I say and I lift up my laptop to show them the logo I’ve already designed.

5in5

“What does five in five mean?” Ruby asks.

“No. It’s sins, but with fives replacing the s’s because there are five of you.”

“You know… Like the deadly sins…” Wilder adds when no realizations seem to cross their faces.

“Wasn’t there seven of those?” Alexandra asks, then demands, “I want more members.”

“More members would mean less money for you,” I say.

Alexandra thinks for a full second, eyeballs the other four girls and says, “Then I want less members.”

Paige sneers at her. “Watch it, bitch.”

“It’s five of you. Like the Spice Girls,” I say. “Five is the magic number… plus, I really didn’t see how Gluttony or Sloth would go with our image.”

“I love sloths. I want a sloth. Bring me a sloth!!!” Alexandra demands.

Wilder turns to me and says, “Good luck.” He walks towards the door.

“What? You’re not going to stay?”

“My work here is done. The rest is up to you.” He finger guns at me and then exits.

I look at the mess of my room. I look at the five random girls, each with a deadly look in their eyes, and I think:

What have I gotten myself into?