The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I checked the time again: 6:23. She was bound to almost be here. Cassie was never late, and indeed, often five minutes early. That was one of the things I liked about her—she was put-together, like me.

I checked all the settings I’d laid out on the table in the corner of my apartment living room: nice plates, best napkins I could find, finest cutlery I had at my disposal. Most of it was new, if I’m being honest—this was just a college apartment—but ever since my girlfriend and I had agreed to our romantic dinner last week, I’d become obsessed with getting every detail right. There was a fresh tablecloth as well, along with a beautiful bouquet of roses in a vase at the center of the table. I clicked the long-necked lighter I usually used for the tricky pilot on the stove and ignited the pair of candles at the center of the table. Everything looked perfect!

I was just putting the lighter back in the kitchen drawer when the doorbell rang—6:28, just a little early, as usual. I quickly stopped by the hall mirror, yelling “Coming!” as I passed through the living room, just to make sure everything was in place. I had on a nice dress shirt tucked into a new pair of freshly-ironed slacks, shirt not totally buttoned so you got just a glimpse of my smooth, well-built chest and the thin gold chain around my neck. I’d styled my hair about an hour ago after getting out of the shower, and it thankfully still looked immaculate. I don’t like to preen, but I was definitely in maximum lady-killer mode, and I couldn’t wait to spend a romantic evening with my girl.

Striding to the door, I flipped the lock and pulled it open, only to see not my girlfriend, but a young guy who for some reason looked strangely familiar, though at the moment I couldn’t place him. He had on form-fitting black jeans, fashionable sneakers, a black-and-gray long-sleeved raglan, and a black baseball cap slung backwards on his head. He was probably about my age, 20 or 21, and he had an angular, mischievous face that matched his lanky body. I must’ve looked silly standing there trying to place him—was he a neighbor I’d forgotten about swinging by to ask a favor?—but in that moment I hesitated I gave him the opportunity to speak first:

“What’s up, my man? Looking dapper as fuck this evening. So, aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“Of course. Right this way,” I said, stepping aside and holding the door open before I even had a second to think about it. What the fuck? Why did I just let this stranger in my apartment?

“These digs ain’t bad, man. I could get used to this!” he said, flopping down on my couch and putting his feet up—shoes still on—on my coffee table. I closed the door and turned around, trying to figure out his deal.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” I asked, finally ready to get to the bottom of this.

“I don’t know, man, I thought we met at your Fall Formal. But maybe you remember me from Dog School?”

Aw fuck. Suddenly it hit me like a goddamn freight train. I flashed back instantly to last weekend, and the first thing I remembered was running around stage in the campus activity center, chasing after some guy’s shoe on all fours. I remembered bounding back, then sitting on my haunches, head up in the air, offering the dirty old sneak to someone—this guy.

“Wide awake,” he’d snapped, and suddenly I blinked, not freshly aware of my surroundings, but suddenly viewing them in a whole new light, understanding again what everything meant when I hadn’t before. I had come up here to get hypnotized—not really of my own volition, but at Cassie’s behest, or dare, really—and this guy started talking, and the last thing I remembered was thinking he barely seemed older than I was, that he was thin as a beanpole and that I had no intention of taking orders from him. After that, it was lights out ‘til I came to sitting here, holding his shoe in my mouth. What the hell I was I doing? I was star of our all-state basketball team for Christ’s sakes. This was an embarrassment.

“Let’s hear it for Nick,” said the guy, eliciting a loud round of applause that just made me turn redder as I stood, wiping my mouth in disgust. “Back to your seat, man,” said the guy condescendingly, patting me on the small of the back, and for some reason I complied, plopping down in the small row of chairs toward the back of the stage despite my urge to resist. There were a couple girls passed out beside me, and I noticed two empty seats to my right. Looking in front of me, I saw one of my teammates, Louis, kneeling on all fours, head slumped down like he was asleep, in front of what looked like a dog bowl full of Lucky Charms, and toward the edge of the stage was some other dude I didn’t recognize, shirtless and wearing what looked like a tutu over a pair of boxer shorts and leggings. I knew I didn’t want any further part of this degrading nonsense, but before I could speak or do anything, the guy strode right over to me, stuck out his hand and said “Put ‘er there, man,” and I instinctively grabbed it. One sharp tug and it was lights out again, torso slumped between my legs, fingers scraping the floor.

I honestly hadn’t even remembered that part of the show—hadn’t remembered any of it! I just came to at the end knowing I’d participated, and in fact had been so out of it over the next 10 or 20 minutes Cassie had finally ended up dragging me away and going to find the hypnotist, who spent 20 or 30 minutes in a quiet side room with her just bringing me out of it. I had no idea what had happened, but apparently I was a dynamite subject, and it took quite a bit of coaching to get me back from my zombified state.

I think Cassie had felt bad about encouraging me to go up, since she didn’t say anything about it for the rest of the evening, and kind of signaled to everyone else not to either. As for me, it quickly faded from my memory, and within a day or two I had forgotten all about the embarrassing diversion to our night, choosing instead to remember the good time I’d had with my date and what fun we’d decided to plan for next weekend. Aside from wondering where they’d dug up this guy for the hypnosis show, in fact, the entire thing had disappeared from my mind, and I had been glad to have it in the rearview mirror.

Now here he was sitting in my living room, and I had no idea why. He seemed to be wearing quite the Chesire Cat grin, though.

“I see you remember me now,” he said, kicking his shoes off straight on the table and spreading out his stinky socks. “Can you pick those up, my man? I don’t want this place looking like a sty.”

Of course, he was right. Cassie would be here soon. I stepped forward and grabbed his shoes, setting them neatly on the mat by the door, where they should’ve gone in the first place.

“Fuck, fam, I’m famished. Open DoorDash or whatever and bring it here.”

I plucked my phone out of my pocket, unlocked it and opened the app, walking over and holding it out to him. He rolled his eyes.

“On one knee with your head bowed, stupid,” he said, as though it was the dumbest mistake in the world. Which, of course, it was. I still couldn’t remember this dude’s name, but it was more than obvious by now that he was The Guy, and when he said “Jump,” I didn’t just say “How high?”—I asked if I could ask a question first.

Immediately lowering myself to one knee, the other raised, I bowed my head and held out the phone, almost like I was asking him to marry me. “That’s better,” he chirped, snatching it. I waited patiently while he conducted his business.

“That should do it,” he said, handing the phone back and adding, “And send that shit quick. I’ve been starving myself all day since I knew you were buying dinner.”

Looking up, I couldn’t see what he’d ordered, or from where—it wasn’t really any of my business—but he’d managed to rack up a hefty total of $124.37, which I figured I could fit in my budget, if only just barely. Regardless, it was what he wanted, so I pressed Send as quick as I could and pocketed the phone after waiting for the delivery estimate: 45-55 minutes.

“Great. That should put us right on time for when your chick gets here,” he said as I rose to my feet.

“You know Cassie’s coming?” I asked, shocked he was aware of the details of my private life.

“Sure, I know she’s coming. I don’t know how much longer she’s gonna be your girlfriend, though,” he said.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked, my anger rising. Cassie meant the world to me. If this guy intended to do something to her, I-

“Look, there’s a million questions you could be asking, but I know you’d rather be sucking on that doorknob,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the front door through which he’d entered. “Just grab me a beer and show me the remote first. I’ll work on your conditioning in a bit but I don’t need 45 minutes. You’re just about the easiest mind I’ve ever fucked with.”

I wondered what he meant by that—how many people had he manipulated and what did he do to them?—but instead I just leaned down, grabbed the remote off the table and turned on the television, then got down on one knee, bowing my head and presenting it to him. After a quick tutorial on how to browse the guide, I headed into the kitchen, grabbed one of the imported beers I’d bought for the evening—a kind I’d never heard of before, but which I’d thought seemed fun to try—and brought it to the living room, again dropping down and presenting it on one knee.

“Thanks, dude. Enjoy the knob job,” he said, taking a swig and letting out a little belch. As he’d said, I still felt like I had a million questions, but I knew that would cut into my knob-sucking time, so I just went over to the corner of the room and wrapped my lips around the door handle.

I probably spent a good 15 or 20 minutes trying to suck the knob off the door before the guy called me back, telling me to sit down on the couch beside him. I took a seat, and he told me to breathe in deep and remember everything we’d been talking about the week before, how easy it was to relax and go back under for him. Then he snapped directly in my face, which sent my eyes slamming shut and my head slumping forward into the middle of my chest. I remember very little about what happened after that, just him talking to me; his hand frequently touching my shoulder, neck, or arm as he issued his instructions; and how relaxed and wonderful I felt, how it seemed like every word he said was pouring straight into my mind, inscribing itself on my consciousness.

When I woke back up, I felt far more acquainted with our house rules, and happy because it would be a lot easier to comply without making mistakes. At just that moment, the doorbell rang, and I got up to answer, checking my watch and seeing it was still 15 minutes before 7:30—the time I now understood Cassie was actually arriving.

Sure enough, out on the stoop was a guy from Burger Hut, who handed me a small, greasy bag. I thanked him, closing the door behind me and turning around.

“Set that up on the table, then get me another beer,” said the guy, still flipping through channels. I walked over to the table and opened the bag, extracting a large, greasy burger and fries and laying them out as neatly as I could on the plate before me. Then, operating purely on instinct, I turned around, grabbed the chair in front of the place setting, and pulled it out, waiting patiently for its occupant to arrive.

“Bravo, motherfucker,” he said, pantomiming a mic drop as he turned off the TV and tossed the remote in the air, where it bounced down onto the couch and then rolled to the floor. “Pick that shit up when you’re done,” he said, striding over and flopping down in the chair, allowing me to push him in.

I quickly made my way to the kitchen, popped the cap on another beer, returned to the living room, knelt and presented it. “Thanks, man, how’d you know I love this shit?” he snickered, grabbing the bottle. I then rose, returned to the living room, placed the remote neatly on the coffee table and returned to the dining area.

Standing at the opposite end of the table, hands behind my back, I waited patiently for further instructions. I noticed the guy hadn’t touched his burger and fries yet. He was looking at me with that smirk again.

“Saturday TV sucks,” he said. “I’d rather watch you cluck like a chicken like last weekend.”

He snapped his fingers, and suddenly that was all I wanted to do. Balling my hands into fists and stuffing them under my armpits, I squatted down and began to cluck around the apartment, kicking my legs out behind me and going “Bawwwwk, buk buk buk. Baaawk, buk buk buk buk buk,” over and over again. Right as I began, I noticed the guy grin a grin of complete satisfaction and tuck into his burger, juice dripping down onto the plate below. After a while, I heard him mutter, “They always give you too many fries. Here chickie chickie,” then dump a huge pile of them on the floor, which for some reason I instinctively knew I was supposed to eat. “Brok, brok, brok,” I clucked softly, leaning down and, with some effort, pecking the fries off the floor and chomping them down. He laughed obnoxiously, kicking his feet up on the new table cloth and leaning back with his beer.

Eventually, the doorbell rang and, even though I still had a few fries to go, the guy snapped, saying, “Back to normal, rooster boy. Go get the door.” I immediately returned to my senses, rising and opening the front door to reveal another delivery guy, an Asian dude this time, who handed me a large bag of containers.

“Thank you,” I said, shutting the door behind me, and again I walked across the room, kneeling and presenting the bag.

“Put it at the other end of the table,” he said, and I rose and did as he asked, then turned back to wait for my next command. He set his plate down on the ground and then kicked back again, looking me right in the eye.

“Your job now,” he said, “is to pick up the rest of those fries and put them on that plate. Using only your bare butt cheeks.”

He snapped again, and I knew my mission instantly. Dropping my pants around my ankles, I was forced to kind of crab-walk around the floor, trying to lower myself far enough so that I could squeeze any of the potato strands between my round, athletic glutes. Unfortunately, they weren’t like a cherry or anything with enough body to wedge in there, so I mostly ended up falling over sideways, trying to use my hands to push my cheeks close enough together to grab anything. Couple that with the fact the fries were on the soggy side, and all I really managed was generate a total mess, smearing pulverized potato all over the floor as the guy above me roared with laughter.

By the time the doorbell next rang things were in total disarray, and I was thankful when the guy said to pull my pants up, get my shirt tucked back in, and answer the door. I nodded, rising to my feet and tucking my shirttails back in my slacks, making sure the belt buckled nice and tight.

Striding to the door, I noticed the dude had traveled back to the couch and was waiting patiently, again grinning that Cheshire Cat grin. Opening the door, I at last saw my angel, Cassie, dressed in an absolutely beautiful black dress that left little to the imagination. Stepping inside, she gave me a big hug, then looked around the room, noticing the mess on the floor and the stranger on the couch. “What’s going on?” she asked, confused.

“Don’t worry about that. It’s time for you to Take Your Seat,” the guy said, patting the cushion next to him. Cassie’s eyes seemed to grow glassy as she wandered over to the couch, dazedly sitting down.

“Why don’t you go tongue-polish that mess you made on the floor? I’m going to hypnotize your girlfriend,” the guy said, and that seemed to make sense. The floor needed to be cleaned, and I would just get bored watching Cassie get hypnotized again. For some reason, I seemed to remember the guy saying that before, the last time he’d hypnotized her, after the show, and I recalled that that time he’d made me do something called Counting Myself Deeper, where I kept counting backwards from 10,000 while repeating the words “Deeper and deeper” between each number, until I couldn’t remember numbers anymore. Cleaning the floor seemed like a lot more fun (and was productive!), so I was happy to do that. After five minutes, though, I’d finished the job and the guy wasn’t nearly done hypnotizing Cassie, so he just had me sit in the seat opposite them and Count Myself Deeper again.

When I next came to, Cassie was awake and lying naked on the dining room table in front of Master, and he was telling me to lay out his meal for him. I remembered it was tradition in some foreign nations to serve sushi off the body of a naked woman, so I began opening up the cases and cartons in the bag of carryout and extracting various rolls, which I laid out on the prone body of my girlfriend. After a few minutes, once everything was arranged, Master golf-clapped and I took a bow, before he instructed me to bring him some wine.

Heading into the kitchen, I uncorked the $90 bottle I’d purchased for the occasion and poured a glass, walking back into the living room and presenting it, once again, on bended knee. Master sniffed it and said it seemed pretty good, so I rose again and returned to my position at the end of the table, hands behind my back.

Grabbing a piece of nigiri off my girlfriend’s nipple, Master dunked it in some sauce and plopped it in his mouth, savoring the bite. “Fuck, man, this is bomb-ass sushi. I never get stuff this good except when I hypnotize shitheads.” I stood quietly at attention, happy Master was pleased with his meal.

“I love me a good burger and some chicken, but this dinner is classy as fuck. I think it would go well with a little ballet. Why don’t you put on your show again? You remember the music, I don’t have to play it.”

He snapped, and of course I did remember, all of a sudden, seven nights ago, prancing around the stage in a tutu along with that other guy I didn’t recognize as some cliched piece of classical music played. Though I wasn’t sure what song it was, it nevertheless started in my head again, and it was easy to prance around, twirling and twinkle-toeing about my living room. Master snickered to himself and kept eating, playing with my girlfriend’s tit once he’d cleared it.

I don’t know how long I spent pirouetting and prancing around, but once Master finally said, “All right, show’s over, ballet boy,” I found myself again stopping in place, neat tuck on my dress shirt totally disheveled, and turning back to Him, once again at attention.

Master had moved his chair to the perpendicular side of the table at this point, so he was seated right between my girlfriend’s legs. He had them spread and had pulled her toward him, dress up around her hips and panties hanging off one ankle, so her pussy was wide open right in front of him.

“Okay, man, okay,” he said. “I think it’s time for dessert. Why don’t you serenade me with some opera while I eat this cherry pie?”

No sooner said than done, I hurried to his side, keeping my left arm behind my back while extending my right and belting out at the top of my lungs, “LAAAAA-so-la-meeeee-ahhhhh!” Master laughed and shook his head before diving into my girlfriend’s cunt. He lapped away for a while, clearly enjoying himself, as I continued giving the performance of a lifetime, belting out nonsense at the top of my lungs.

After four or five minutes, Master seemed to get his fill, and pulled his head up and interrupted me: “All right, Pavarotti. Now why don’t you go to your room and get the special outfit you picked for this bitch? And make sure to throw it on so we can see how nice it looks.”

Once again awestruck by Master’s seemingly psychic ability to know everything I had done in the last week, I nevertheless hurried to my room and grabbed the bag of things I had prepared for Cassie. Quickly stripping down, I slipped into the special outfit and bounded back to the living room as quickly as possible.

Inside, I walked in to find Cassie on her hands and knees on the table, sucking Master’s cock, his tight black jeans now shucked down around his ankles. She was absolutely going to town—way better than she had ever sucked me—and I had to wonder if there wasn’t something to this hypnotism shit. Maybe you really could get a girl to love giving blowjobs.

“Look at that, Cumslut. Your boyfriend’s here to cheer us on. Doesn’t he look nice in his new outfit? Give us a twirl, Nicky.”

I spun around quickly, trying to get the little skirt on my cheerleader’s uniform to lift in order to give everyone a peek at my lacy panties. I remembered ordering this for Cassie last week, thinking it would be a fun little surprise, but since I’d had no idea of her measurements, I’d just put in mine. I sure was glad I did, since this had really come in useful for Master’s party.

“Flip over on your back, Cumslut,” Master said, and Cassie obligingly got in her previous position, pussy spread wide on the edge of the table.

“Now, I love fucking bitches,” said Master, looking at me, “but it’s even better when I get some encouragement from their boyfriends. You do wanna make sure I do a good job fucking your girlfriend, don’t you, Nicky?”

He snapped his fingers. Fuck yeah I did. Master deserved to have an awesome fuck with my girlfriend. Anything I could do to help I would in a heartbeat, no question.

“One—two—three—four—stick your dick inside that whore! Five—six—seven—eight—fuck that cunt ‘cause it feels great!” I started chanting, making it up on the spot and doing kicks and twirls to keep up the energy. Normally I never would’ve thought of describing my girlfriend with such vulgar language, but I knew she was a slut for Master—we both were, to be honest—so it just felt right. For his part, Master laughed again, then slid his rock-hard dick inside my girlfriend.

I don’t know quite what Master said or did to Cassie—he kept tapping her forehead and whispering things, but I couldn’t hear over my own cheering—but whatever he was doing really seemed to be hitting the spot, as pretty soon she started screaming and yelling and cumming all over the place, right as he dumped his load in her. After taking a second to collect himself, Master collapsed bare-assed in my dining room chair, told Cassie to calm down, and then told me to shut the fuck up and lick all the jizz out of her pussy.

Happy to be of service, I immediately bowed, got down on my knees, and readily lapped Master’s cum straight out of my girlfriend’s vagina. After Master had had a moment to rest—and was satisfied I had done my job—he told Cassie to stand up and get dressed and me to stand in the corner by the door and wait.

Bringing Cassie back to the couch and sitting her down, Master re-hypnotized her again (He was so fast! We sure were lucky we’d met such a great hypnotist!) and asked how long she had planned to spend here this evening. “All night, if he played his cards right,” Cassie muttered, and Master got up again, telling her to count herself down from 1000 and go deeper. Coming back to me, he instructed me to take him into my bedroom and show him the other surprises I had bought.

Reaching into my sack, I produced a large—super large, in fact—dildo with a suction base and the biggest bottle of lube I could find. I had no idea why I’d thought Cassie might be into these, as generally she’d expressed an aversion to sex toys, but Master seemed to have other plans for them anyway.

Informing me he intended to take Cassie with him and share her with some friends, he thought it only fitting that, as a Slutty Cheerleader, I should take her place for the rest of the night. Suctioning the dildo to my wood floor, he instructed me to slip off my panties, lube myself up, sit down on it, and ride for the rest of the evening, repeating “I only obey ____” each and every time I sat down (the blank, of course, was his name, which for some reason he left me no conscious memory of). He told me when the sun came up, I would get off the dildo, climb into bed, go to sleep, and forget everything that happened—that I had spent the night alone, enjoying trying something naughty I had always fantasized about, and finally realizing that I could only get off by having a huge dick up my ass. Despite my amnesia of the evening’s events, however, he added that if he was ever back in town and dropped by, I would be more than happy to invite him in and provide Dinner and a Show, and that I would immediately go under deeply any time he began to hypnotize me.

With a pat on the back and a snap of his fingers, and muttering “Have a fun night, douchebag” as he stepped out the door, Master left, and I quickly stripped off my panties, smeared a few fingers of lube all over my asshole, and sunk straight down on the dildo, groaning “I only obey ____” as I felt it slowly slip through my tight ring for the first time. I knew it was going to be a long night, but I for one couldn’t wait, and I was so happy Master had been thoughtful enough to drop by. I could only hope he made good on his promise and showed up again, as this was the best dinner date I’d had in a long time!