The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Ow!”

Tracy rubs the back of her head, regretting the decision to move her single close to the wall. Some space saver. She makes a mental note to slip down before she goes to bed. At least then she won’t be banging her head when she gets up tomorrow.

She massages her face and looks gazes at the neighbor’s house just a few feet away. A gentle breeze blows through the Japanese maple in the back yard, the leaves twisting and turning gracefully, almost geisha-like. The thought reminds her of a book report she has to finish for English class, some memoir or something. She isn’t even halfway through it, and it’s due this Friday. She’ll probably cobble a few paragraphs together from the book and Spark Notes or something. Not that the teachs care about one of their best and brightest—gasp!—plagiarizing something.

She hits her head again as she wanders into the bathroom, inspiring a litany of curses not heard since her application was rejected by the young writer’s workshop in Iowa a few years ago. Monday is definitely shaping up to be one of shittiest ones on record. She sighs, wondering what else the fates have in store for her on this most clear of days.

Her eyes take several minutes to adjust, but once they do some startling changes come to the fore. For one, her eyesight is no longer astigmatic. Even her peripheral vision is sharp and clear, a sharp contrast from her usual, spectacle wearing self. Probably just her imagination messing with her, as teenagers’ brains are wont to do.

But it’s not just the keen vision that jumps out. With a tinge of surprise and embarrassment, she notices her breasts peeking out under her undershirt. Not just peeking out— practically bursting, like escapees from a maximum security prison. They must’ve grown two sizes as she slept, practically unheard of in the annals of medical literature. As she steps away to get a more panoramic view, her long legs come into focus, shapely and defined, the very essence of a boy’s wet dream. Every inch of her is different, from her luscious fiery hair to her sculpted calves.

Tracy’s mind wanders to Ms. Lu’s words from two days before. ‘She used to be very ugly, no man wanted to be with her…then she was up one day, very beautiful and gracious...’

She could just as easily been talking about Tracy as her own sister. The irony is not lost on the now-bodacious young girl.

So the old lady’s right, the heirloom does possess some kind of magical power that makes people more than a little attractive. That would certainly explain how her sister could go from a spinster to a catch overnight, and now the earrings are doing the same for Tracy.

Her heart skips as she pirouettes in her jeans, hardly believing her own luck. The boys will love to see this.

Enthusiasm takes a backseat to reality. Now that her clothes are no longer useful, she’ll have to get an entirely new wardrobe. Oh well, At least some poor orphan in Ethiopia will get a chance for fit into her Levi’s for a change. It’s not like she’s attached to them, and anyway it’d be fun to browse the aisles at Macy’s or J.C. Penny and reinvent herself, courtesy of the Bank of Mom and Dad.

Right now, though, she’s got more pressing concerns. As she showers and gets ready, she tries to figure out what to wear. Not every day does a person such as her face such a tantalizing dilemma. To say little of the constraints put on her by the school’s rather restrictive dress code.

Decisions, decisions...

Sneaking into her parent’s closet, she raids her mom’s selection of shirts, skirts, and slacks, putting them on and taking them off as quietly and efficiently as humanly possible. Nothing seems to work right. A sigh of frustration escapes her lips as she fumes.

Forty-five minutes to go.

She spies something in the corner of her eye, illuminated by shafts of morning light. Tracy moves in to get a better view. It takes her awhile to notice it as first, but once she does her mouth opens in shock.

To say that the maroon slacks are tight would be an understatement. How they’ve come to be tucked in amongst her mother’s more demure apparel boggles her. She has to remind herself that her mom was a young once, too. Still, the culture shock throws her back. As she slips them on, she appreciates the way they contour to her curves, barely hinting at the treasure underneath.

Tracy puts on a crisp white blouse for fair measure, leaving a button loose just above her chest as a tease. A surge of excitement courses through her veins. Today is shaping to be less dull than she thought. Her mind is distracted by grunts and footfalls.

Probably her mother, sneaking off to get a snatch of rest in the guest bedroom before putting on a cup of coffee and getting ready for the day. Tracy retreats into her mother’s wardrobe, hiding among the many folds of cloth within.

She exhales as the bedroom door closes. Slipping on a pair of her mom’s running shoes, she darts out of the room, barely evoking a response from her dad as she clamors up the stairs and grabs her things, waiting with baited breath to get to school and show her off her new, yummy body. As she pulls out of the garage, she glances at the road ahead, eager to start on a new chapter in her life.

“Hey, gorgeous.” The security guard grins. “How come you all dolled up? You got a boyfriend or somethin’?”

“No, sir.” Tracy quips. “I just like to dress for success, that’s all.”

“It won’t be long.” He chuckles, barely giving a thought to the jewelry dangling from her ears.

She barely hears him, too busy wrapped up in her own world. She grips the straps of her bag. Anxiety floods her nerves. Suppose she comes off too strong, suppose she attracts the wrong kind of attention? Or worse, runs into Colleen. She may be a world class ice queen, but she can smell hinkiness the way some people can dunk. Inside of a week she’d broadcast Tracey’s secret throughout the whole school.

Tracey glides through the hall, eyes shifting left to right. But all she’s met with are heads turning. She picks up whispers of oohs and ahhs, snatches of gossip from envious girls. A catcall reverberates through the wide corridor. She brushes it off.

She smirks at the guys in home room giggling audibly, confiding in each other the things they’d want to do with her plump backside. None of it bothers her. She likes the jokes and the whispers and the interest. It’s more than she’s received, certainly more than any boy at Bentley has given her.

But the one she really holds out on is Hank, the sinewy athlete of her dreams, the one who will whisk her away into a new world, far away from the one-horse town of mills and factories, dead-end jobs and meth heads looking for their next fix. Even as her ear is cocked to the snickers of the other guys in the room, one eye is firmly planted on him, lustful fantasies fueling every thought. Yet he doesn’t turn around and stare, too deeply wrapped up in whatever he’s reading.

A part of her dies inside. How dare he ignore her! Doesn’t he know what he’s missing? She has a mind to walk over and fuck the sense into him. Alas, she has to bide her time, let him make the first move. Tracey balls her fist in frustration.

As the bell rings and the company of students shuffle off, a deep voice stops her in mid-stride, the Southern accent long, drawling and sweet, like molasses.

“’Scuse me.”

Tracey turns around.

“You’re Hank, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yes ma’am, that’s me.” He tips his hat.

“Glad to…make your acquaintance…” She stammers. “What, uh, seems to be the matter?”

“If you don’t mind, I was noticing you coming in and…” He trails off. “I’ve never seen a woman as beautiful as you.”

Tracey fights hard not to burst out laughing. But then she notices something strange about his eyes. They’re not exactly blank, but glassy, like the stoners who hang out on the benches outside. Only they don’t string a sentence nearly as well as Hank is right now, nor are they as direct. It’s a phenomenon she’s never seen. She runs a hand through her hair and pauses to gather her thoughts.

“So what you’re saying is you want to go out on a date.”

“A date sounds...nice...”

Oh, happy day. Tracey leans against the wall. Her stomach flutters. Images of marriage and children and weddings and birthdays flood her mind. A good chunk of the rest of her life, passing before her eyes, and it all starts right here, right now, the two of them caught in a vulnerable moment...

“What do you have in mind, exactly?”

A dollop of drool escapes from the corner of Hank’s mouth. He wipes it off with the sleeve of his jersey.

“You’re chomping at the bit, aren’t you?” Tracy smirks. “How about we make this simple for both of us? How does Charlie’s Steakhouse sound? Friday, seven o’clock?”

“Seven o’clock...sounds great.”

“I’ll give you my name and number and we can work out the details from there. Would you like that?”

“Phone Number...”

She writes her digits on a shred of loose-leaf paper and hands it over. As they part ways, she isn’t sure who is more enraptured, her or him. A date with the star of the football team! Finally, the answer to her prayers!

He isn’t the only one drooling over her. Over the course of her cafeteria break, she fights off no less than thirty different students, including not a few players from the other team. Each and every one as glassy eyed as Hank. Even as she swats them away they slink off, their goofy grins inspiring fear and mirth in equal measure.

For a member of the opposite sex to be attracted to her is one thing, but regardless of gender, the effect is still the same. Not that they’re zombies or anything. Tracey scratches her head. Could it be the heirloom affected them in the same way a snake charmer affects a cobra? The idea titillates her.

Clearly the heirloom has given her powers of suggestion in addition to the external improvements that has many of her classmates enthralled. She mulls the thought over as she runs laps around the gym. Something is definitely strange. Whether it’s magic or positive thinking, is hard to say.

She furrows her brow, completely unaware of the other students filing out towards the showers. How long has she been her, twenty, maybe thirty minutes? The mind boggles.

“At ease, Elgin!” The coach bellows. “You can stop now.”

“I’m not one of your Marines, coach. Where is everybody?”

“Hittin’ the showers.” The barrel-chested man jerks his thumb behind him.

“How long you’ve been here?”

“You’re asking the wrong girl.”

As he nears closer, he notices she’s barely breaking a sweat. Not a bead on her. He screws his eyes in puzzlement.

“When was the last time you hydrated yourself, Elgin?”

“An hour ago, sir.”

“Holy Jesus. Not even a green recruit can do that. You train?”

“Train for what?”

“Elgin! You’re a fresh fish and already you’re got the makings of an athlete!”

A glimmer appears in his eye.

“How do you feel about joining the track team? We’re one woman short. Want to strike a blow for Bentley High?”

“Sure, whatever.” Tracey replies, oblivious to the impact of her words. “It’s settled. Meet me on the tracks this Wednesday after school. I’ll introduce you to the girls and then you can get started on your training.”

What The hell?