The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

She was sweetness. She was beauty in its simplest form. She was natural and graceful, charming, inadvertently sexy, girl next door, girl in a baseball cap. A girl that can’t help herself. A girl that is nearly as beautiful in ripped sweats (ponytail and tennis shoes, hugging a basket of laundry) as she is in french cut panties and a camisole.

Perfection possessed her in impossible ways. It used her long, graceful limbs to express desire, walked with her in heels, played in her eyes and her smile.

There are such women.

Chris was to be my date for the evening. A setup by a friend. I had no idea how she would dress. A short skirt on her seemed glamorous and playful, sexy without being slutty. Perhaps her hair would be up, classy, elegant, blonde bangs playing hide and seek with her twinkling blue eyes. Or perhaps down, gentle waves framing her face, lovely, provocative, the constant tucking of curls behind one ear.

The banter was normal on the way to dinner. Yes, she’d been a cheerleader. Yes, she’d been Homecoming Queen. Yes, she’d decided against being a model. Yes, she liked who she was and was tired of apologizing for what seemed to be a gift (or birthright). She was who she was.

I nodded, of course, smiled, laughed at the right time, nodded my head and agreed. It would come up eventually. I had only to wait. It was the reason she’d gone out with me in the first place. Oh, I’m attractive enough, but it was the other element that drew her to me.

“So, um . . . " She blushed and grinned from ear to ear, looked down at her plate instead of at me.

Here it comes.

“Uh . . . Sindy tells me you, uh, y’know, hypnotize people.” She followed it up with a big swallow and a forkful of food.

I sipped my tea and nodded, keeping careful eye contact. “Just as a hobby.”

She nodded silently, still fresh with the blush and the nervous smile. Then came the unexpected.

“Think you could do me?” She laughed and glanced at me, eyes bright, playful. More direct that I was used to.

I nodded confidently. “Stare at the candle.”

“Like now? I meant, y’know, I was just wondering.”

I laughed. “Oh, okay. Just tell me when then.”

“You could really do it right here?” It wasn’t a challenge. She wanted to believe it, and why not let her. It was to my advantage.

“Well, why don’t we get to know each other a little better before I turn you into my sex slave.” I couldn’t help but grin.

She burst out laughing, covered her pretty mouth quickly with a hand, and scanned the restaurant nervously to see if anyone had heard.

I did my best to steer the conversation away from the topic and we had a nice enough time. Food, a little dessert, bill, tip, and a long movie. We neared the end of our evening.

“Mind if I come in?” I wondered.

She blushed and replied in a whisper that was so sultry that I could barely contain myself, “Okay . . . but only for a little while.”

“Shouldn’t take more than an hour or two anyway.”

“What’s that?”

“Your hypnosis.”

She became suddenly quiet. She’d been talkative through the evening, so I knew this was unusual for her. “Look, I was just teasing about that.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I didn’t mean—well, I mean, I was just playing with you.”

I chuckled. “Oh. Okay. It’s up to you, but if you change your mind, let me know.”

“I’m not, like, changing my mind.” She was quick to jump on that notion. “I just meant, you don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.”

There was a loud gulp and a wonderful tension as she fumbled with the keys to the door.

She was so young. A wonderful young. College young. So eager to know, to experiment, and girls like her who’d strived to be good and polite all their lives, to always the think the best of people, never seemed to be aware of the fantasies that drove them.

“So . . . you’re—well, I mean, I can trust you. I hope?”

“Ever heard the phrase, ‘You can’t be made to do something that’s against your nature’?”

She nodded, ran a perfect tongue over her perfect lips. Her fall would be delicious. Fallen angels are the most entertaining creatures on Earth. All that pressure, released. All that stress, gone. They were free. And usually indulgent.

“Well, it’s totally untrue.”

She stared at me for a second. I broke out in chuckles and she followed my lead. It helped with some of the excitement, some of the tension, though not much. Even I felt the charge of what was about to happen.

She made a silly face, a silly self conscious expression, and shrugged, glancing around her apartment. “Um, so, where do you want me?” I pointed at the couch and she plopped down and slid her shoes off one by one. Her soft delicate feet, still shiny with hose, came into view. She started to tuck her legs under her (and yes, she’d gone with skirt and heels, and I was oh so grateful), but I corrected her.

“Why don’t you keep your feet flat on the floor for right now.” It was half suggestion, half command.

She licked her lips, swallowed again, and smiled. “So, what are you going to do to me?”

I sat on the coffee table. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’m not sure.” Her grin was contagious. “No chickens.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. I lifted two fingers and crossed my thumb over my palm. “Scout’s honor.”

Her arms were crossed (beneath her breasts), and she seemed to be hugging herself for comfort. I reached for her hands and she settled them into mine. Slender fingers, clear polish, smooth, light as a feather. The warmth of our touch made us both blush. She gazed up at my face, and I felt like I’d just been awakened to the concept of pleasure.

I laid her hands on her legs, palms up, and took a deep breath. “We’ll begin . . . now.”

I stared at her eyes for a long time. She met my gaze, lost it, looked away nervously, swallowed, met them again. “What do I do?”

“Remain very still. Inhale deeply when I say ‘Become’ and hold it until I say ‘Sleep’. You are not to exhale until I say the magic word, understand?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t worry about what to think or do. You’re already doing it. You’re paying attention. That’s all I need. All I need is your attention and the rest will take care of itself.”

She swallowed.

“From now on, you’re not going to move unless I tell you to. You may flinch or feel a twitch, that just means your body is responding. You will sit quietly. You will let your thoughts go. If they intrude, redirect your attention to my voice. Answer yes or no. Is that understood?”

There were some instructions she clearly didn’t like, but she answered “Yes” nevertheless.

“Close your eyes now.”

She licked her lips, held them open for a brief defiant moment, the closed them. A more angelic face, I’ve never seen. So soft, so perfect and clean and beautiful.

“Sit up straight.”

My tone was unyielding, a command, not a request. She sat up tall and began to breathe through parted lips.

“I’m going to count from ten to one backwards. When I reach one you’ll be in a trance. It may not feel like it. You may think that it hasn’t worked. For now, trust me. You will be in a trance. Keep your body as still as possible. Don’t move it. Not an inch. Fingers must be still, perfectly still on your legs. Your feet must not move from their place on the floor. Your back might grow tired, but you must keep it perfectly still. You must not move it. You must not move a muscle. Become aware of the strain of every muscle. Do as I say. I will not ask you to do something you don’t want to. I will only tell you to do things that you can and will do.”

There was already the visible effort on her behalf to remain motionless. It was hard to do. Impossible actually, which was the point. While she was so wrapped up in keeping every muscle still, becoming aware of each little muscle, each sway of her torso, each slight nod of the head, I could talk her to her subconscious. Misdirection. It’s really as simple as that.

“Open your eyes now. Look at my eyes. Directly into my eyes. Listen to me very carefully. Don’t move a muscle. Don’t think. Don’t move. I’m going to count from ten to one backwards and when I reach one you’ll be in a trance. Take a deep breath. Become.”

I breathed with her. “Deeper, all the way in, fill your lungs, try to breathe in all the air in the room . . . hold it, hold it in your body. Hold it . . . hold it . . . sleep, close your eyes now. All the way out. Don’t move a muscle. Your feet, flat on the floor, must not move. You knees must not sway. Your hands must remain open on your lap. Don’t move. Don’t move.”

But she had moved. She’d relaxed and now she was trying to straighten her spine again and sit still. Her mind was moving in several ways at once, trying to obey all the instructions, none of which were really important by themselves.

“I’m going to count from ten to one backwards and when I reach one you’ll be in a trance. When I reach one you’ll be in a trance. Open your eyes. Become. Hold it. Think of nothing. Think nothing. You are nothing. Let yourself become nothingness. Become still, a statue, hold it, hold it. Close your eyes. Sleep.”

I can’t tell you how long this went on. I wasn’t exactly aware of time myself. My concentration was on her, watching for any telltale signs that she was going under. Of course, they were all there. The reaction to instructions, automatic, without forethought, the body struggling to remain still, fighting the relaxation that deep focused breathing always brought. Lots of twitches that I carefully told her repeatedly was evidence of her going under. I kept promising to count from ten to one, but it was a very long time before I actually did it.

She was focusing on her body. Focusing on my instructions. Focusing on her breath. Focusing on her anticipation of me counting backwards, focusing on what it might be like to actually be hypnotized, and of course the mind can’t split so many ways at once. After awhile, it gives up. It starts going with the flow, accepting what comes, switching its attention on whatever it is told to focus on.

When that happens, you can easily make it concentrate on one thing.

I was talking faster and faster. “When I reach one your body will let go your body will release your body will relax. When you hear the number one you can let go you can collapse into total relaxation BECOME eyes remaining closed this time holding in all that relaxation all that breath that wants to release and let go wants to release and let go and collapse and relax hold it in hold it in waiting for me to count backwards from ten to one SLEEP knowing when I reach one every single muscle in every single part of your body will release every bit of tension every bit of tightness gone all the strain released as your entire body relaxes you must remain still until I count must remain perfectly still waiting for me to count waiting for me to count waiting—”

There was the slightest swoon, the slightest movement of her head, as if she’d experienced a moment of dizziness.

“Ten nine eight seven six five four three two, two, waiting, two, waiting to let go to relax to let go of every muscle, two . . . ONE.” I reached out and firmly pressed her head sideways, directing her collapse. Her arms sprawled as she fell.

“Down down down down down relaxing down down down down all the way down down down down. . . .”

And so on.

A perfect moment. Still talking, still soothing her into trance, I laid my hand on her back, then on the back of her head. On her hips, on her thighs and then feet, one by one, directing her attention to every muscle group in turn, letting her relax every part of her body.

Now the real fun could begin.

“I really had a nice time.” She smiled and I could see it was true. She could think back on the evening and mean it. Dinner, movie, inviting me in, finding a bottle of wine she’d bought the night before, joining me in a few glasses. Lots of conversation and laughter.

“I’m glad. I could tell you’d be fun from all the things Sindy told me when she was under.”

Her brow wrinkled faintly. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, I’ve been hypnotizing Sindy for years.”

“O-kay,” she replied, trying to be nice. She didn’t know what I was talking about of course.

“She told me quite a lot about you. She set us up because I asked her to, because I noticed patterns in your behavior that signified a great need to submit.”

She turned white. Shocked. She shook her head, mouth agape. “I . . . don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Spinnaker. Take off your skirt.”

“Other than,” she continued, standing slowly and searching for the zipper on the back, “I don’t appreciate that kind of . . . remark, y’know? That kind of judgement. You don’t really know anything about me.” She unzipped and stepped out, folding it and draping it over the arm of the couch. There was no sign of awareness.

“I know. A true submissive really is rare. Maybe one in ten really can carry through with it. Sindy is one. Spinnaker. Remove your pretty blouse please.”

She crossed her legs and glanced down long enough to spot the first button. One by one they came undone and she slipped it off her shoulders. All that tender white flesh, that soft little belly, the cleavage so evident, soft thighs, forced me to stand and . . . readjust.

“Well, Sindy is a nice girl,” she placed the folded blouse with her skirt, “and she’s never said anything about being submissive or anything. Maybe that’s just you. Did you ever think of that? Maybe you’re the one that wants girls to be submissive.”

“Spinnaker. Remove your pantyhose.”

She stood and began to roll them down her waist, sitting to guide them down each leg and off each foot. I was surprised to see her unconsciously rub her now naked legs as she talked. “Look, you seem like a nice guy, but I guess, maybe, this isn’t going to work out. Really. I mean, I hope we can still be friends though.”

She was sincere, that much was evident. “Spinnaker. Remove your brassiere please. Chris . . . I don’t know what to tell you. This evening is far from over, and I think our relationship is going to surprise both of us.”

She leaned forward and reached around herself, twisting and releasing the clasp in one easy motion. I’ve never failed to be impressed by that.

Then as she tossed it near her other clothes, she frowned at me and made her way to the front door. Her breasts, pear shaped with small pink nipples, jostled pleasantly as she turned back to me, a hand on the door knob. I was sweeping up and down her soft skin with my eyes, amazed that she could be so much more beautiful out of the sensual clothing. “I . . . I’m sorry. I think I want you to leave now . . . okay?”

She was trying for fierce. I chuckled which only seemed to anger her more. She opened the door and I watched as her nipples responded to the cool night air. I couldn’t help wondering what a passerby might think.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” I walked to the door, turned to face her as if to make my goodbye, and touched her shoulder. “Spinnaker. Please trance now, Chris.”

She swooned for a brief moment, closed her eyes, and I helped slow her descent to the floor. She fell like a dropped flower. Delicate, more lovely than ever, limbs sprawled with bent wrists and an openness that alarmed even me. Even Sindy had never achieved this kind of response, this depth so quickly.

We were very naked. Very moist. Very much in heat for each other. She obeyed my every request. She moved when I said to move, repeated the words I asked her to repeat. The pleasure was only partially stimulate by my suggestions however. The pain of being under my control, the shame of it, and the pleasure of submitting every last bit of herself mixed in some strange netherworld and seemed to intensify every sensation.

Taboos have an amazing magnifying affect.

When I had rolled to the bottom position, I saw some intelligence seep back into her eyes. She was bucking her hips, tickling all her favorite parts (and one of my mine) when she suddenly jolted a little. She swallowed, glanced around, putting together the pieces I presumed, but a gentle rub from me (and a nice push up into her warmth) seemed enough to satisfy her for the moment.

She was too wrapped up in deep shivers, too close to climax to think about how she’d come to be here, to worry about all that missing time. I would make certain to fill in all that time with a nice dream, or perhaps a walk or long talk in my car. It didn’t matter really, just so she had something to fixate on and remember instead of what really was happening. It was like dropping a movie screen over a memory.

Moments later, after her short scream threatened to raise the dead, she collapsed on me and I held her for a long time. Then abruptly she rolled off the bed and got to her feet. She was embracing herself again (lifting those soft breasts still slick with sweat and blushing from pleasure), trying to console herself perhaps.

“Jesus! What did you do to me?”

“I didn’t do anything, Chris.” I propped myself up on my elbows and watched the emotions work their away around her body. The nipples hardened with excitement or terror. Her whole body turned red. She slapped her hands quickly over her nakedness.

“Oh, I don’t think so, sweetie. It’s too late for that now.”

She gulped loudly, glanced at a robe draped over a nearby chair. I shook my head but she started for it anyway. “Spinnaker. Footcuffs.”

She stopped in mid-stride, crossed one ankle over the other and spent several minutes trying to unfreeze them. The terror was making itself evident now. A cold shudder. Fresh tears. A sharp, alarmed blink.

She was still covering herself.

“Spinnaker. Handcuffs too I think.”

Her arms rose above her head as if pulled by an invisible string. Her wrists crossed and she looked down at her breasts, her stomach pulled taut by the stretch, and started sobbing. “What are you doing to me?”

“Chris, I’m not doing anything to you.”

I shushed her for awhile and her sobs settled into quiet whimpers of confusion. “You . . . hypnotized me.” It was a barely audible revelation, and devastating by the look of her face. She truly was shocked. “Oh god. . . .”

“It’s okay. Spinnaker. You can remember everything for now. That was how I got you to go along with this, by letting you know you’d have a choice later in the evening.”

She was too busy shaking her head to really listen, but I knew she was lifting the movie screens now. There had been no workout on the exercise bike. She was sweaty from sex. There had been no shower. She was naked because I wished her to be that way. There was no dream in which she had an orgasm. There had been no bottle of wine. No ride in a car. No movie. No dinner. No date.

There had been Sindy introducing me. There had been me. There had been her gentle slip under, the wonderful giving up of consciousness, of her mind and finally her body. There had been her revealing to me all the things she could never admit to herself, and her eagerness. . . . So much eagerness.

She cried for a moment. I noticed she’d stopped shaking her head “no”, and now was nodding in affirmation of everything she’d so easily forgotten.

“Spinnaker. You’re extremely aroused.”

Tears still on her face, she let out a little yelp and gazed at the ceiling, up and up until her eyelids closed. She stood there, frozen in position while a powerful pleasure coursed through her body.

“It feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

She bit her lip and nodded fervently. “How—how are—”

“I’m not, Chris. You are. Your mind is tickling all those nerves, stimulating that pleasure center in your hypothalamus. You’re tricking yourself into an orgasm. But, of course, you can’t have one, can you?”

“Oh my. . . .” She was squirming, rubbing her thighs together working so hard to get that climax to come. It wouldn’t come however, but it remained lingering so close that it would literally drive her the floor if I let it. I’d seen Sindy do some drastic maneuvers to push that pleasure over the edge.

“You can’t climax, can you?”

She shook her head.

It was nice to have Miss Cheerleader, Miss Prom Queen, Miss Perfect Body-Perfect Face writhing for my amusement, hands and feet tied. She was like a human bow on top of the gift that keeps on giving. Submission.

“Okay, that’s enough. Spinnaker. No more arousal. I want you sober for this, completely in your right mind.”

It took her a moment, but the pleasure did eventually subside, probably because she was fighting it. She wanted it and I was taking it away. Her long smooth body was a long smooth pool of sweat now. It dribbled down the curving lines of her figure, catching light from time to time, making me acutely aware of how beautiful she really was.

I noticed her eyes finally, blue, passionate, and locked on me.

“What now?”

“You get to make your decision.”

“About what?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions, Chris. You either give yourself to me totally permanently, or you forget all of this. Oh, I imagine it will linger somewhere in your subconscious, but not anywhere you can reach it.

“Make no mistake, I’m very good at what I do. No other hypnotist in the world can bring it back, but all submission starts with a choice. You have to choose to give it. After that, there won’t be such ample displays of pleasure. You will spend your life wanting. . . . Getting intense, brief displays but never until after you’ve served me.

“Ask Sindy. After a year or two of this, you really do start to lose yourself completely in the role. It’s more powerful than any brainwashing. It’s a conditioning you will never beat once it has hold of you. But you have to cooperate.” I grinned. “At least at first.”

She remained standing, wrapped up in her sweaty human bow, begging me somewhere deep inside to open my present. We stared at each for a long time. I assumed she was considering it. I got up and stood before, placing a hand to her forehead.

“So? What’s your answer? Do you submit? Give in? Or do I take it away forever? Make you forget all you’ve experience today?”

She shuddered, averted her eyes, and replied weakly, “You know the answer.”

I shook my head. “Not good enough.” I gave her the softest kiss I could manage, rubbed a finger across her sweaty eyebrow and gazed at her directly, whispering, “You have to say it.”

Her eyelids flickered. She took a deep breath, and parted her lips to speak.