The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Her story starts out in relatively standard ways. She’s twenty-six, in that strange interstitial stage of life, after school, before the post-graduate parts of life really come together. She’s moved to a new city to pursue a job that she’s interested in but not sure that she loves. She was sad to leave the city where she’d done her undergrad, but not too sad, since most of her friends had done so before her, moving to bigger markets, more exciting spaces, hipper communities—Portland, OR, Brooklyn, NY, etc.

She’s in Richmond, VA, surrounded by alienating monuments to racist history, big tobacco, and a southern hospitality that feels, to her, a New Englander, too aggressive, bordering on hostile.

Most of her friends are on the west coast, so she can talk to them late into the night. It’s a simulation of friendship and community that keeps her sane. Every night when she finally falls asleep after a long conversation with someone far away she promises herself that tomorrow she’ll go out and explore the city, find people she wants to be with who are nearby. She doesn’t, of course. When none of her friends answer the phone she ends up watching TV on her computer. She’s recently discovered bittorrent, hulu, streaming netflix—a whole world of media available at her fingertips. She’s read David Foster Wallace—she knows how dangerous and alienating it is to fall into the trap of watching TV to cope with social isolation and anxiety. She knows that she’s starting to feel like the most valuable quality a person can have is “watchableness”—after all, that’s what separates her from the beautiful, entertaining people on television. She also knows that she looks forward to the blank, relaxing emptiness of watching and listening and feeling what the television writers and the actors/characters that she’s watching want her to feel.

Work has been busy lately—she’s an electrical engineer, and with a new product launch coming up, she’s been spending longer and longer hours at work, coming home more and more tired, more and more ready to fall into bed with her laptop and watch and listen and feel and drift off until another day. She keeps saying that after the product launch, when she has more energy, she’ll start going out, really getting to know the city, her neighborhood, the people around her. She’ll find someone to be with, to feel less lonely with, less frustrated with....

She’s given herself a deadline, though. One of her favorite bands is playing a club near her neighborhood the weekend after the product launch. She looks forward to having a break, to keeping her promise to herself.

The weekend comes and she goes to the show. She wears a short ruffled skirt and a close-fitting peasant-top without a bra, thinking, as she prepares her outfit, about ‘watchability’. She hasn’t been out in a social situation in months now, practically, and she wants to be noticed. She looks at herself in the mirror, admiring her small breasts, wondering, idly, whether her nipples are so hard because of the chill in the air or because of how excited she is just thinking about being noticed after feeling invisible for so long.

She used to hate being the object of a constant set of male gazes. During undergrad she felt like she couldn’t have an honest interaction with anyone with a penis, or anyone straight, anyway. Maybe she’d been exaggerating her own appeal, maybe it was all in her head— certainly, now, she can’t quite remember how it felt to be frustrated by her own desirability. As much as it used to bother her, she’d gotten used to it and now, separated from anyone who cared enough to watch her, she misses it more than she’d ever admit.

She is sexy, though. Looking in the mirror, looking at herself, feeling her own admiring gaze, she feels more confident than she has since she moved here. The show’s gonna be awesome.

The show was awesome. She went to the bar, drank, danced, smiled sweetly at cute boys. She danced with one of them extensively, pressing her body closer to his with each song, brushing his hands with her, imagining more insistent touches, tastes, acutely and deliciously conscious of the outline of his erection poking her when they pressed together.

She asked him if he wanted to come home with her. He did, of course. They fell into her bed, his hands caressing her gently, their lips exploring each other’s bodies, listening to each other’s breaths and sighs and moans. She was so happy, so turned on, so relaxed— totally outside of herself, outside of her daily stresses and loneliness, she found her attention drifting, found herself getting lost just watching his body move, watching his face contort, watching his eyes open and close.

Suddenly his hands became more insistent, less gentle. He grabbed her wrists with one hand, pinned them behind her head, found her pussy with his other and began insistently fucking her with his fingers.

She was so shocked by the sudden change that she couldn’t imagine responding in any way beyond moaning her surprise and pleasure, overwhelmed by the desire she saw in his face.

“You like that, don’t you? Like to be fucked? Like to be mine?”

Oh yes. yes. god yes. They’re clichéd vocalizations, but she knows that they’re what he wants to hear and she wants to say what he wants to hear, wants to be what he wants to have. She’s so gratified by the look on his face that she doesn’t notice that she’s cumming until she finds herself slightly dazed, on her side, dimly aware and slightly surprised by the presence of another human in bed with her.

“You were out of it there for a minute, you okay?”

Yeah she’s okay. It’s coming back to her, but she can’t shake a growing unease. She’s in bed with a stranger. She knows nothing about him. He could want to hurt her. He made her feel better than she can remember feeling. He could mean her ill. Because she’s been watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, her initial instinct is that he could be a demon. She’s pleasantly surprised by her strength of character when she asks him to leave. He’s surprised and disappointed but he goes. She finds herself wishing that he hadn’t.

The next morning she’s disappointed in herself for having made him leave. She didn’t even get his number or email address. She doesn’t even know his name. She looks around her apartment for a note that he might have left, but she doesn’t find anything. She masturbates thinking about being held in place and fucked again.

A few days pass and she’s back at work. She goes to the bar where she met him each night but can’t find him. She starts to browse craigslist ‘missed connections’. She feels crazy and pathetic for doing so, but he’s the only connection that she’s had to anyone since she’s moved here.

One night she’s reading the missed connections, pretending that some of them might be about her, wondering what qualities a person can have to make them noticeable. How can she be someone about whom ‘missed connections’ are posted? She finds an ad titled ‘hypnosis...’, clicks, reads.

“Surely you’ve opened this ad for a reason—you saw the title, and it sparked something in you. Maybe curiosity, maybe excitement— maybe, like me, you feel a faint but unmistakable stirring in yourself whenever you hear the words “look into my eyes”, maybe you feel your breath catch... there’s something, some reason that you’re reading this ad, isn’t there? Maybe it’s just something to do at the end of the day, maybe it’s just pleasant, relaxing, but maybe there’s something more than that...”

She’s never really thought much about hypnosis in the past, but the word catches her attention. She’s been idly thinking a lot about television, and using the word ‘hypnotic’ to describe it to herself, and to describe the peculiar satisfaction of watching.

“It doesn’t much matter though. Reading through craigslist can just be a calm, pleasant, relaxing diversion. You’re just sitting there, staring at the screen, staring at the light coming out of the screen, listening to the white noise of your computer fan...

The white noise helps you to relax, doesn’t it? To leave behind all outside thoughts, to let your breathing slow down and fall into the cadences, the rhythms of my sentences...”

She hadn’t noticed the fan before, but now that it’s pointed out to her she realizes that it does have a kind of rhythm to it. Maybe it’s dirty? Or maybe its period interacts, somehow, with the hum of the fluorescent lights to make beats of some kind? She makes a mental note to listen more closely and think about it in more depth at some point. At the moment she’s just enjoying the rhythm and doesn’t feel like thinking too hard...

“It’s so nice to read these words and relax, isn’t it? To stare at the screen, to listen to the white noise. All of these things can help you relax, to leave behind outside thoughts. And relaxing is so good, isn’t it? After all, that’s why you’re reading my words in the first place...

And my words can help you relax too, can’t they? All you have to do is read them and follow them and my words will lead you into deeper and deeper relaxation. You just have to stare at the screen and breathe in and breathe out and the worlds will lead you into deeper and deeper relaxation and you find it easier and easier to just relax and read and take in whatever I have to say...”

That’s what she’s been thinking so hard about relaxation, working so hard at it for so long. It’s so nice that someone has written this little practical guide for her, to help her relax and feel better, calmer.

“Feel your breathing in, your breathing out. It feels so good, doesn’t it? Just breathing in and letting the air fill your body, breathing out and letting it go, letting yourself go. Breathing in, being filled. Breathing out, letting go. You don’t normally think about the sensations of breathing, but you feel them now, don’t you? You feel them because my words have led you to a place where you want to feel them, and where you know how.

Breathing in, being filled. Breathing out, letting go.”

Being filled. She remembers being filled. Remembers being held down and being filled by a stranger and feeling her conscious mind flee, leaving something more sensitive, more open, behind. She used to meditate regularly, counting her breaths. She’s used to thinking about breath. Thinking about breath has never felt like this before. She feels herself stretched as she inhales...

“You feel that relaxation with every breath, don’t you? With every breath you let go of some of your cares and of some of yourself.

Breathing in, being filled. Breathing out, letting go. And you start to feel a tingling, a relaxing tingling, spreading out from your lungs, from your center, all throughout your body. Breathing in, being filled—you feel now in your shoulders and neck, in your torso, in your chest. Breathing out, letting go—and now it spreads throughout your body, even further, all the way through to your fingertips and toes.”

She’s impressed by how well the poster can predict her body’s responses. He must know a lot about bodies. She feels the tingling in her lungs, in her neck, in her breasts, hardening her nipples, in her arms and hands and legs and feet, flexing her fingers, curling her toes, tensing her body but pulling it back immediately into total relaxation.

“It’s amazing to feel this tingling relaxation all through your body, isn’t it? It feels so good, this sensation. It feels so good to be so aware of the fact that you have a body, so good and calm and relaxed and heavy and calm and pleasant to just keep reading my words, following my words, letting them take you to this wonderful place with these wonderful feelings.

Oh you’re doing so well. I just want you to keep breathing for me, breathing just for me. Breathing in, being filled. Breathing out, letting go. Can you do that for me? Just keep breathing just like that, feeling so good, so relaxed. That’s all I want you do to right now. Breathing in, being filled, breathing out, letting go.”

Breathing in being filled. Breathing out, letting go. She’s chanting it to herself now with each breath as her eyes scan, taking in words without really parsing them.

“It feels so good to do this, doesn’t it? So good to just breathe like I want you to and to feel this wonderful relaxation. That’s all that I want from you right now and it feels so good to give that to me, doesn’t it? Just relax and follow my words. Breathing in, being filled. Breathing out, letting go—letting go of your worries and cares and stresses, letting go of yourself.

And now that you feel so good, that you’re just here breathing for me and feeling so relaxed, it’s pretty clear to you, isn’t it, that this is how you wanted to feel, this is why you started reading my words in the first place. You started reading my words, following my words— words are like a path on the page, aren’t they, one just leads to another leads to another and then you’re in a sentence somewhere in a paragraph absorbing whatever it says and it doesn’t matter how you got there, does it, because you’re just following the words, one at a time, just following them in the way that you know you wanted to from the moment you started reading my words...”

She’s reading faster now. She feels like she’s skimming, feels like she can’t pay any attention to what she’s reading because she just has to keep reading, but somehow this rush, this hurry, doesn’t feel stressful. It feels nice, relaxed. She’s reading quickly, absorbing everything she can, taking everything she can into her, because she knows that she doesn’t have to think hard about what she’s reading. She’s tired of thinking hard. She loved being filled like this.

“It’s so wonderful how good my words can make you feel, isn’t it? You want so much to keep reading my words, to keep feeling this way.

Breathing in, being filled, breathing out, letting go.”

God yes. She chants it. She can’t tell if she’s speaking out loud. She wants to whimper. Maybe she does.

“Now I’m going to take you down a slightly different path. It’s okay, though—you want to follow me down this path, maybe even more than you want to just keep reading my words. You want to follow me down this path because I’m going to take you deeper and deeper into relaxation, going to make you feel better and better....

I want you to very slowly count to ten with me and as you are counting I want you to imagine that, with each number, you take a step forward, down a corridor leading deeper and deeper into yourself. Just count with each breath now with me and know that when you reach ten you’ll feel perfectly content inside yourself, feel absolutely calm and relaxed and content..”

Now she definitely whimpers. She’s imagining feeling better. Imagining feeling more relaxed. She can’t quite do it, but now that the possibility has been suggested to her she’s looking forward to it.

“One—breathing in, being filled, breathing out, letting go. Take that first step forward into yourself and with it feel more relaxed and know that you’re choosing to follow me, know that with each step you’re choosing to follow my words and to let me make you feel so good, so relaxed, so blissful...

Two—breathing in, being filled, stepping forward

Three—breathing out, letting go, following me deeper”

She can feel herself stepping forward. Can feel herself breathing each breath. Can feel her body and mind being filled. Can feel her body lying comfortably in bed unable to move. Can feel her eyes scanning desperately. She’s so aware of all of these contradictory sensations. She feels everything. She’s swimming in relaxation, swimming in sensation, submerged in contradictions. Her body sways, slightly, quivers, and she’s dimly aware of how good doing so feels. Her thighs clench. Her nipples brush against her shirt. She moans.

“Four—breathing in, being filled, feeling so good as my word fill you up

Five—breathing out, letting go, dropping off all of your little cares and worries”

She hadn’t noticed until now, but she’d been worried about how totally she was letting herself get carried away. She’d been worried about it in pretty much the same way that she was worried when she was fucking last week. She regretted her worry so much. How wonderful to feel it dropping away.

Six—breathing in, being filled, deeper and deeper into yourself

Seven—breathing out, letting go, losing all of the little bits of yourself that you don’t need right now

Eight—breathing in, being filled, feeling so good, so relaxed

Nine—breathing out, letting go, following me with each step

and... Ten—breathing in, being filled, knowing how wonderful you’re going to feel when you take this last step and... breathing out, letting go, stepping forward, following me deep, deep inside yourself”

And she falls still, totally relaxed and comfortable, stretched to filling, filled up with her own openness, readiness, relaxation. Her mind falls blank. She reads. Accepts. Enjoys. Whimpers.

“And you know now, don’t you, that you’re hypnotized—that’s why you feel so good, totally hypnotized and relaxed and happy to be so, happy to let my words take you deeper and deeper, feel better and better, happy to let them take over and to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel...”

I want you to think about what I said before you started your relaxation the things that I sad about mental relaxation, mental submission—about surrendering your will and surrendering desire... all of those things we were thinking when you were just browsing craigslist, reading my words to help you relax—you know now that you want this, don’t you? You know now, letting me make you feel this good, this relaxed, you know that some part of you craves this kind of mental submission, some part of you craves to be mine. It’s why you click on the ad in the first place, isn’t it? And why you’ve read this far. Being this relaxed, feeling this good, totally surrendering yourself—it makes you feel wanted, doesn’t it, and it makes you feel aroused...

You crave wanting what I want for you... you need it, it makes you feel aroused. Don’t deny yourself the pleasure... it gives you a thrill, excitement, just the thought alone, is making you incredibly aroused right now, aroused and wet and slippery and compliant...

You trust me, you allowed me here, you must accept what I’m saying as a truth about you. You want to be mine. You want to be mine. Say it with me, “I want to be yours, and wanting makes it so. I want to be yours, and wanting makes it so.”

Good girl. Doesn’t my praise make you feel good? Listen again, “good girl.” So good, so nice, so relaxed...

Soon, we’re going to wake up and return to our normal lives, to our normal selves. You’ll be wide awake and you will feel compelled to email me. You will want to tell me how you feel after reading this. You will be honest about how you feel. Since you wanted to be mine, you will want to send me a picture... the idea of me looking at your image will turn you on, the idea of me reading your words will turn you on...

Know, that right now at this one moment, totally hypnotized, totally relaxed, totally filled up and engulfed... at this moment you know that you belong to me... and you do so happily, of your own free will...

So now I’d like you to count to ten one more time, this time following me further and further outside of yourself, outside of your innermost self...

With each count you’ll fell more and more alert, more and more awake, and when I get to ten you’ll be just as happily and pleasantly relaxed and alert as you were before you started reading, just exactly as you were except that you’ll feel a desire to be mine and an irresistible compulsion to write me an email. Now let us count together...

one.... two.... feeling a bit more alert now... three... breathing in and out... four.... five.... feeling very, very good and starting to feel awake... six...... seven... eight... feeling wonderful now and almost waking up..... nine..... totally alert now and feeling great.... and... ten...”

In the morning she’s embarrassed to find the following message in her “sent mail” folder.

“I feel so good after reading this ad. I love being hypnotized and just crave that feeling over an over again. It’s so incredibly arousing. I want to be yours and wanting makes it so.”