The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I laughed in Petra Sakimoto’s face. Actually, given I was a head taller than her, I laughed over her head.

‘What’d you say!?’

I look to the boys on the basketball court. ‘Do you believe this girl!? Challenging me to an arm wrestle!’ I waved my hand over Petra’s body. She was a short, skinny girl, and the thickest thing about her was her arse and tits. Best you could say about her physique was she kept a good posture.

The basketballers, ten boys, laughed at Petra. I may have been a girl, but only three of these boys had beaten me in an arm wrestle. Even the weakest of them was a damn bit more muscled than Grass-Blade-Petra. While we were lifting weights, she was turning textbooks into flashcards. All the time I’d sat next to her in Psych class, and all the nights in that tent we shared on year twelve camp, I’d assumed she was a sweet-enough, clever-enough girl. Now, I saw she was a cocky idiot.

‘Is that a yes or a no, Ms Adebayo,’ she chirped.

‘“Yes or no”?’ We stood on the side lines, at the halfway line. I spun around and threw the ball, arcing it right into the hoop. I turned back to Petra. ‘I don’t want a lawsuit when I break your arm.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she giggled, shaking her head so her black, shoulder-length hair flicked back and forth across her face. ‘You’re quite a bit weaker than me.’ She said it without sarcasm or snideness, like it wasn’t an insult.

‘Cocky little shit!’ I said. ‘You said this was a bet, right? What are we betting?’

‘Well, Ms Adebayo, the loser would have to do one thing the winner ordered them to,’ she said.

She tried to appear calm by standing stock still and clenching her teeth, but anyone could see her blush. So it would be that sort of request. I knew she liked girls, so did I, but what weird fetishes did she have that kept her from just asking me out? Did she get a thrill out of another girl tossing her in the air like a puppy and catching her? Didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to lose. As a consolation to her, I may even ask this pretty little thing out myself.

‘Alright, Ms Sakimoto,’ I said. ‘If—when—I win, I’m going to make you…’ I looked up and down her scrawny body. ‘I’m going make you run the state marathon.’

‘Jesus!’ said one of the basketballers. The other basketballers had their faces set to ‘R U SRS’. We’d all done the marathon, but our legs were trunks. Petra’s were twigs.

‘She has eight months to train,’ I said. I smacked her on the back, lightly (I thought), jolting her a few steps forward. ‘And that’s only if she goes through with this stupid bet.’ I bent over to look her eye to eye. ‘So, Sakimoto.’

‘Are you available now, Ms Adebayo?’

She was eager. Was she a genuine idiot? Did she really think she could beat me?

‘Yeah, we can do it now, if you want to start training for the race as soon as possible.’ I heaved up the scorekeeper’s table and banged it down between us. Two of the basketballers brought Petra and me chairs. I fixed Petra with my pre-game death stare. She gazed at me like a mouse that didn’t know what a snake was. I put my elbow on the table. ‘Give it here,’ I said, clasping and unclasping my hand.

Petra reached for my hand, pushed it into my face, and said:

‘Sleep! Deeper and deeper, deeper and deeper, so relaxed, so loose, just drifting, that’s it, just let your muscles melt.’

‘What the fuck!?’ said one of the basketballers. I would look at him, but it felt better just to sit slumped with my eyes shut.

‘Shh!’ said Petra. ‘I’ve hypnotized Ms Adebayo.’

Hypnotized? Bullshit! When I’d finished resting my eyes, I’d tell that to her face.

‘I know you don’t believe me,’ said Petra. ‘In fact, I don’t think Ms Adebayo believes me either. So I’ll show you something—And don’t worry, I would never even think of doing this if I didn’t know what she wants, and needs, in her deepest heart. But first: Ms Adebayo, I want you to do something for me. I want your conscious mind to forget everything that happens in trance. Can you do that for me?’

Can I do that? Of course, I can do… what?

SNAP!

I opened my eyes. I set my elbow on the table. All the boys are agog. ‘What’s so funny? You don’t think I’m being mean to this girl?’

Petra clasped my hand as firmly as she could. ‘Don’t worry about them,’ she said, smiling.

Let’s wipe that smile off your face. I called a boy, Tony, to count us down.

‘Three! Two! One!’

I would play around with Petra first, let her think she had a shot. I let my hand teeter on the side of defeat, just to see her overjoyed look of undeserved pride, so I could smash that pride. She didn’t get that look. Even as I let her push me further and further down, she looked like she expected this victory. I wasn’t going to let her keep that delusion. I shifted into first gear, ready to smash the back of her hand against the table, and—Nothing! Her hand wouldn’t budge. Sweat poured down my arm as I pushed and pushed against her pale-reed of a forearm. She pushed my hand further down, like she was playing against a kitten. Putting all my strength into my arm, I shut my eyes, screamed to gather all my power to me.

Knuckles tapped wood.

‘Petra wins,’ said Tony.

I fell from my chair. I leapt up, looked up and down Petra’s arm, scowled at her sweetly smiling face. I ducked under the table to see if the bookworm had rigged up some strange magnet device. Nothing.

‘Take off your shirt,’ I said. One of the boys protested, but another punched his arm. I had to make sure she wasn’t secretly a She-Hulk or a robot.

She blushed. She said she would if the boys turned around and she could stand directly in front of me. When I agreed, she stared into my throat as she unbuttoned her shirt. When all she had on was her school skirt and bra, she looked up at me. I looked at her front, spun her around and looked at her back. Apart from learning her bra was too small for her, this strip search taught me nothing.

After she buttoned back up her shirt, I told her, ‘You hustled me. Don’t know where you get that strength, but I won’t be caught off guard again. Best two of three.’

‘Alrighty,’ she said.

‘One!’ said Tony. ‘Two! Three!’

I put all my force into my first push. I’d break her knuckles before giving her an inch. But I couldn’t move her hand. And the worst part—the worst part: she stared at me with those innocent, smiling eyes, like she was a big sister saying, ‘Don’t give up, sweetie, don’t give up.’ Easily as before, despite my resistance, she guided my knuckles onto the table.

‘Three of five!’ The boys laughed. I glared. They stopped.

‘Is this the last extension, Ms Adebayo?’ asked Petra.

‘Yes, Ms Sakimoto,’ I hissed.

No sooner had Tony counted to three than my knuckles hit the table.

‘Loser: Katherine Adebayo,’ said Tony, with too much cheer.

I heaved in a breath. I fought back the urge to punch myself in the face. How could I be weaker than, than—this stick figure with tits and an arse!? Well, I wasn’t a sore loser.

With all the mock servility I could muster, I said, ‘What is your request, Mistress.’ I shuddered saying that—from, from indignation!

Petra’s face brightened even more as she skipped to the stands and returned with a carrying case. She unzipped it halfway, but then seemed to get embarrassed, more embarrassed than when she stripped off in front of me. (There was a sex toy in that bag, wasn’t there.) She clapped her face between her palms three times, punched the air, took five deep breaths, and opened the bag. She pulled out something worse than a sex toy, more shameful and depraved. She pulled out a pink, frilly dress, in my size.

‘I would love it if you could wear this for a bit, Ms Adebayo,’ she said. She had to hold it up high because it was bigger than her whole body.

I wasn’t a sore loser, but I wasn’t that sweet of a loser. But… The dress was pretty—in a bubble gum pop kind of way—and Petra did go the trouble of finding it in my size…

‘No! Fuck no!’ I said. I was tomboy—if my classmates knew anything about me it was that I was a tomboy. I would not burn up my reputation in a pink flame. ‘A different game.’

The boys groaned.

‘No, no,’ I said to them, ‘don’t fuck with me. I know what’s going on!’ I pointed Tony out to Petra. ‘You see Tony over there? Best free thrower in the school—state! Fucking useless at everything else.’ Despite Tony’s protests, I bare my teeth in Petra’s face. ‘You’re really good at one incredibly specific thing, Sakimoto. But me? I’ll wipe the floor with you at anything else. Guys!’ I yelled to the boys. ‘Name a challenge!’

‘Penalty kicks!’ said one.

We went to football field. Petra had put on a jumper, and a coat, and two scarfs, and she still shivered. I didn’t shiver. Grey mornings, where the wind slapped your face, and blades of grass were shards of ice, were a performance enhancing drug.

With chattering teeth, Petra held out her shaking hand. ‘M-m-may the best p-p-player win.’

I shook her hand. ‘Yea—’

‘S-s-sleep!’

SNAP!

All the boys were smiling. They knew Petra was going to get put in her place.

It was a simple game. One of us would do three shots as shooter, and the other would be goalie, before we swapped. Whoever had most goals would win. I started as goalie.

Petra kicked. The ball went a yard to the side of the goal posts. She kicked again. The wind slapped it back. She slapper her face, jumped up and down, psyched herself up, and kicked. Finally, she was shooting straight—what little good that would do her. The ball shot straight for my gloves. I just needed to stand still-

I leapt right.

‘Sakimoto: One,’ said Tony, smiling at me.

Petra got only one point. No big deal. I still had a big advantage, in that I could kick the ball where I wanted it to go.

Petra stood in the goals, shivering from either fear or cold—probably both. Felt wrong, picking on this girl, but I wasn’t going to hold back like in the last game. I lined up my shot and kicked. And missed the ball.

‘That d-d-didn’t c-c-count!’ yelled Petra.

‘Don’t patronise me!’ I yelled at her. ‘I’ll knock you down with two shots!’

I pulled back my foot and kicked. The ball flew sideways. Petra said nothing as Tony reset the ball.

OK, Kate, just get this one, get a tie, so we’ll have to do another round. I’ve just been off my game, and with just a little break, I’ll re-centre myself. I breathed deeply, took a run up, and kicked. I stepped on the ball. I faceplanted on the cold, muddy grass.

‘Adeboya,’ said Tony. ‘Zero!’

Chin in the dirt, staring above the grass, I saw Petra offer to help me up. I got to my feet on my own. ‘What do you want me to do this time, Mistress?’ I asked, not even bothering to brush the dirt off myself.

‘Well, Ms Adebayo…’ She blushed harder than she did for her last request. She blushed so hotly that her teeth stopped chattering. ‘Given your recent fumbles, I was thinking you could read this to your basketball team. While wearing the pink dress, of course.’ She managed to sweat in the cold, as she handed me a sheet of paper.

It wasn’t enough to beat me, she had to humiliate me. Joke’s on her. Being beaten by a weakling was more humiliating than anything she could ask me to do.

Then I read the script.

I blushed deeper than her. ‘W-w-what is this sexist shit!’ I told her, slapping the script paper. ‘“I play like a girl”!?’ I read the whole thing through, my body getting hotter and hotter. I read it again, the heat not leaving, sweat pinpricking my neck, and boiling butterflies rolling in tummy, butterflies fluttering down near, below, my waist. I bit my lip, pressed my legs together, as I considered reciting this, in my pretty pink dress, telling my teammates I was a silly girl just joining in. Rage swelled, but that was only part of it. I felt something else, something—No! No, just anger!

‘N-no way am I reading this. Are you fucking mental?’

‘I would have run the marathon,’ said Petra. She tried to seem resolute, even though she shook from head to toe, and her eyes glistened. ‘There’s no shame in playing like a girl, no shame in dressing like a girl, no shame in being a s-sweet, c-cute g-girl.’ She squeaked those last words, but took a deep breath and continued, ‘But what is shameful—is not keeping your promises.’

She managed to turn my refusing to take part in her fetishes into a matter of honour. Nice move.

I breathed heavily. ‘One more game,’ I said. ‘And you get one more wish—if you win. If I win, well, I won’t even get you to run the marathon.’

I may still ask her out when I win. Once I’d taught her what was and wasn’t acceptable behaviour, then this strange girl would be a pleasant, strange girl.

She nodded and smiled. We went back to the basketball court for a free throw contest. Arm wrestling, football, those were things I was good at. I was basketball. We were both given ten shots, and I would get all ten in.

Petra started. She jumped high, but before she could throw, she realized that her skirt would fly up when she descended. The ball dropped as she pushed down on her skirt’s hem. I smiled as I ordered the boys to get her some track pants.

Now in bottoms that wouldn’t flash her panties, she tried again—and missed. I’d already won. She threw three more and missed all of them. The next throw hit the hoop, bounced back and forth over the gap, before rolling, rolling, rolling round, and then fell in. That was her last and only point.

‘Sakimoto: One!’ said Tony.

I cracked my knuckles. I’d been made a fool of too many times. I was putting my all in. Petra handed me the ball, then pulled my baseball cap down by the brim.

‘Sleep!’

SNAP!

‘Let me hold your cap, Ms Adebayo.’ Petra took my cap and stood with the boys. She sheepishly returned their high-fives.

All the boys were giggling. The last few times I thought they were laughing at Petra, but I should have known. These boys couldn’t stand that I was their equal. They loved this little fetishist putting me in my place. They’d love it if I came out dressed in that pink dress, singing how glad I was that they’d ever consider letting a silly girl like me play ball games with them.

My breathing got heavy at the thought. I licked my lips. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction!

I went up to the line, readied my throw, and threw… threw… Throw, damn you! The ball was stuck to my hands.

‘You’ve done something to this ball,’ I said. ‘Put glue on it or something!’

Tony came over. He yanked the ball from my hand, dribbled it, and threw it right in the hoop. ‘Problem’s not the ball,’ he said with a shit-eating grin.

Petra skipped over to retrieve the ball for me. I huffed and returned to the line. I tried again, but it still wouldn’t leave my hands. I couldn’t even drop the ball or balance it on one hand.

‘If you don’t throw soon, you’ll forfeit the game,’ said Tony.

Oh, Christ.

‘Ten, nine, eight.’

I shook the ball up and down.

‘Seven, six, five.’

I spun around, hoping to fling it from my hands.

‘Four, three, two.’

I tried to pry it from my hands with my foot.

‘One, zero!’

My foot launched the ball smack against the wall. I smacked onto my arse.

‘Winner, by default: Sakimoto!’ Tony yanked up Petra’s arm in victory, hoisting her off the ground.

I fell to my back and shut my eyes, until a shadow darkened my eyelids. Petra looked down on me, still innocently smiling. Why was that smile making me feel better?

‘What’s your last wish, Mistress.’ I shuddered.

‘Later,’ she said, holding up the bag she kept the pink dress in. ‘First…’

The girls’ locker room was thankfully empty. Didn’t want more people than necessary seeing this. In my school career, I’d stumbled into a reputation for being a more-boy-than-the-boys tomboy. I was tall, muscled, and loved sports, so everyone thought I was tomboy, and so assumed a lot of other things about me. Stuff like: I had a take-no-shit attitude, I spent all my time with boys, I hated girly stuff, etc. Because having an character was better than being than having no presence in your classmates’ heads, I lived up to these assumptions. The assumptions became true. Nothing would smash this hard-earned reputation more than giggling in a pink dress.

The dress wasn’t as comfortable as my sport’s clothes, but it wasn’t as restrictive as I thought. Standing in front of a mirror, I kept my eyes closed, delaying my shame. I cracked one eye open and… saw that I looked quite nice. I mean, the dress wasn’t me, but, well, it could be me if my character had developed a bit differently. If my character had developed a bit differently, I guess I would smile at my reflection, giggle, and then I would spin round, letting the skirt of my dress poof up in the air. I spun and giggled and smiled and saw someone—shit!

‘You lose a bet?’ said the brown-skinned girl.

Oh, thank God, it was my friend, Sarah Handal. She stood in boxer briefs and no bra, dripping with sweat. She was drying herself with a T-Shirt that said, ‘I DRINK MALE TEARS’.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘Three bets.’

‘Told you this would happen,’ said Sarah, fingering the fabric of my dress. ‘You play the man—as is your right!—and the boys piss their pants that a girl has invaded the playground. They’ll take any chance they get to put you in your place.’

I didn’t tell her about the speech I had to read. Reading that speech would be torture enough without hearing Sarah’s word-by-word analysis of why it kissed the arse of the patriarchy. I knew it did. I just wanted to get it over with.

‘I made a promise,’ I said. ‘And it’s far more honourable to keep a promise than it is shameful to wear a dress.’

‘You make your own choices, sister.’ Sarah buttoned up her school shirt, still wearing no bra, and pulled up her school trousers. (It’s thanks to her that girls at this school can wear the boys’ uniform. Never say that bombarding the school administration, the newspapers, and your local member with emails and snail mail detailing why forcibly sex-differentiated clothing was morally, legally, and aesthetically stupid, for three years, never gets anything done.)

I waited till she was long gone before I returned to the basketball court. The boys were on the stands, while Petra waited for me by the side line. The boys’ eyes shooting down at my pink clothes made me blush. Petra tapped my arm. Her eyes caught mine.

‘I’m here for you,’ she said. ‘Just relax and listen.’

She had such pretty, big, brown eyes. I was looking into two pools of milk.

‘This is not a punishment. This is a bit of fun. You can read the speech however you want, in the way that seems most enjoyable to you—even if that means not reading it out at all.’ She blinked.

I blinked. I blinked three times. ‘I’m not backing down now. I’ll read it out, and, yeah, I’ll read it exactly how I want.’ She handed me the script, but I pushed it back. The first time I’d read it, it had shocked me so much it seared into memory.

I would read it in the most girly, ditzy way possible—so the boys would know I didn’t mean a word of it! Just the thought of me being a girly girl, it just, I mean, I was just giggling thinking about it.

I skipped to my mark. ‘Thank you, boys! Thank you, for letting me play with you!’

The boys’ eyebrows shot through the roof, and their jaws broke through the floor.

I clasped my hands in front of my chest and donned a contrite pout. ‘I know it must be so annoying to play with a silly girl like me when you’re training for a big game. But the times I play with you are, are…’ I clapped and skipped on the spot. ‘The funnest times in my whole week! Even when I make silly mistakes, you giggle with me, so I know that even though I throw like a girl, run like a girl, play like a girl, I know that just by being a sweet, silly, giggly girl—I’m cheering up your day!’

Hamming it up really was fun. Couldn’t hurt to add a bit to the script, just to hammer home how not-serious I was.

I pranced over to the stands, right in front of the team captain. ‘Thank you for putting up with me, sir.’ I gave him a peck on the cheek.

I kissed the cheek of the boy next to him. Soon, the eight other boys clambered down to the bottom pew of the stands to present their cheeks. It was so delightful… ly satirical!

‘Thank you, sir.’ Peck. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Peck.

Last was Tony. I took his cheeks between my palms. ‘I am so sorry for calling you useless. We couldn’t be the same team without you, sir.’ I smooched him right on the lips, before letting him faint to the floor.

I jumped. ‘Oh! Next time, I’m going to bring you all the big chocolate cake I’m going to bake. If I play like a girl, then I can certainly cook like one!’ I giggled. The boys laughed nervously. I really would bake a cake. It would be one of those jokes that goes on so long it becomes funny again.

Petra took me aside. ‘You looked like you were having fun.’

I tamed my smile. Almost. ‘As much fun as I could make.’

‘Do you mind if I tell you my third wish?’

‘Go on,’ I said, ‘Mistress.’ I winked.

‘Would you…’ She gulped. ‘Would you go on a date with me, Ms Adebayo?’ Her instinct was to avert her eyes, but the girl kept her neck stiff and her eyes right on mine. ‘You don’t have to!’

I was going to ask her out whether I won or lost, but I pretended to think her offer, savouring the worry clouding her face, until it became too cruel. ‘I guess I’ll give you a go. And please, Petra’ I said, holding her hands between mine, ‘call me Katy.’

She leapt up and wrapped her hands around my neck. I tried pushing her back. Only when I told her I didn’t want to risk anyone barging into the gym and seeing my dress did she let me go to the changing rooms.

As I walked to the changing room, I telepathically channelled to her that just because I was going on a date with her, and that I liked the feeling of girliness more than I thought, that did not mean I was going to be her girly girl.

TO BE CONTINUED