The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

CHAPTER #1.

“Slave, I am your ...”

“Oh no, not again,” he thought. “i hoped this time would be different. Yes, yes i know.” he retreated deeper into his gloomy pensiveness. he seemed to know what She would say and do before She spake the syllables or made the movements. “You are the great, powerful, intelligent, beautiful, omniscient, irresistible, yadda-yadda-yadda bla-bla-bla etc (insert Elected Title of Feminine Authority and this one’s name—which in a majority of instances is a ‘nom de plume’—here) and i am the lowly and unworthy slave. i’ve heard it all before.” His disappointment was profound. He considered his options as she continued speaking. Ending this quickly was the best alternative.

“Stop. Enough!” His tone and manner were certain, and they brook neither argument nor even any discussion. He rose quickly from his kneeling position. “This just isn’t going to work.” he removed the hood, folded it neatly, and handed it to Her.

She counted the money he placed in Her hand and looked at him quizzically. “The session had just begun and this is more than we had agreed upon.”

“Mistress Titanaconda, You deserve to be paid for Your time and inconvenience.” he deferentially bowed his head. “i hope the other submissives, servants, or slaves aren’t as much trouble as i am.”

“I do not understand what you want.”

“That’s not the problem,” he replied dejectedly. “The fault lies not in my stars, or in this case my Mistress, it lies in myself.” his shoulders slumped as he turned to depart.

She stared at the door after he closed it. “At least he’s generous,” she muttered, placing her fee and a sizable tribute in her wallet.

Reclining comfortably in his favorite chair, smoking a delightful cigar, and gazing into the bright and crackling fire George Walderson took stock of his life. He had worked in several different fields after university graduation. No job satisfied his restless nature. He thrived on the unknown, the unexpected, or a good challenge. The tomes in his library and the music in his collection evidenced George’s eclectic interests. He was creative, good at solving problems, and had honed his people evaluation instincts to a rapier’s fine edge. His grasp of higher mathematics left much to be desired. Building things was not one of George’s strong suits. He knew and freely acknowledged many parts of himself.

He started his consulting firm over two decades ago. True to his nature the company solved problems in various arenas. Someone would come to him with a need or request. George created a project team by hiring people with the requisite knowledge or talent or both. The team created, implemented, and when necessary maintained the solution. His business was a smashing success. There was no other way for George to afford this handsome home and his potpourri of pleasurable passions.

Several years ago something began to go awry. George’s corporation remained profitable. This was due primarily to the members of the various project teams he assembled and oversaw. His creative spark, however, began to wane. Business success ceased to be enough.

George’s delving into BDSM was spawned by his need for change. He thoroughly and voraciously researched the subject. His initial experiences satisfied his wanderlust. He hoped its satiation would be permanent. Alas, it was not.

He knew a gloomy cocoon was enveloping his soul. The disastrous encounter with Mistress Titanaconda was merely its latest strand. It was not Her fault. He had done the right thing by telling Her thus. He forlornly stared into the dying flames. He wondered if for him there was nothing new under the sun?

An idea worked its way through the cold, lugubrious psychological fog into his consciousness. “People say you can find just about anything on the Internet.” The fire blazed slightly when he placed the cigar’s remnant in the ornately handmade fireplace. George trudged off to commence the Web searches.

Anna Conway and Andrayalexis Smythe had been friends since high school. One thing which had drawn them together was that neither matched the commonly held perception of herself. Anna fit the French and English definitions of “petite.” She, nevertheless, relished and excelled in all her athletic endeavors. Her love of physicality was an impetus to her pleasurable and lucrative career as a dominatrix. Her surprising strength, her formidable forcefulness, and when necessary her ‘fantastique’ ferocity compensated for her lack of height and size. Andrayalexis was usually called “The amazon.” Her stature and build fit the stereotype. She, however, preferred cerebral pursuits to working up a sweat.

“What is it,” Anna said watching Andrayalexis moving her legs?

“Your chairs are not very comfortable.”

“They would be if you were not head of the Lollipop Guild,” Anna said with a good-natured smirk.

“I’ve had appetizers larger than you,” Andrayalexis responded. She reached across the table and tapped her friend on the head.

“I assume shrimp cocktail.”

“Game, set, and match,” the giantess conceded.

“A sports reference from the ivory tower set,” Anna quipped.

“Tower is something you will never experience,” Andrayalexis retorted.

Anna scowled, stuck out her tongue, and clenched both hands. Andrayalexis placed one of her palms over both of her companion’s fists. Each attempted to intimidate the other by firmly fixing the other woman with an increasingly intense expression in her eyes. After about half a minute they simultaneously burst out laughing.

The statuesque lady took a sip of her tea. “Anna, we’ve had a spa day and you bought some fetish ware along with several items whose purpose I do not wish to know.” She massaged her shoulder remembering the heavy bags she’d carried in from the car. “Will you tell me why you wanted to talk?”

“It’s about a would-be client. We were getting into our first session and out of nowhere he called a halt.” The domina sighed. “This has never happened to me before.”

“What did he say?” Ms. Smythe inquired.

“He said, “This isn’t going to work."”

“Did he proffer any explanation?”

“He said,” Anna rubbed her temple. “He told me, “The fault lies not in my stars, or in this case my Mistress, it lies in myself.” You’re the shrink. What’s your analysis?”

“I am a Psychiatrist and a Certified Clinical Hypnotherapist. You are the shrink. Correction Shrinkie,” she said with a playful wink.

“I will have you know I am vertically challenged.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“My fortunate submissives and slaves do not. Correction, to them it is of no consequence, or should I say it is of little importance to their happiness and devotion to little old Me, Myself, and I. Would you like testimonials or affidavits?”

“Not presently. Back to the subject, what was his attitude?”

“He wasn’t angry. He was disappointed. He seemed like a drowning yachtsman who finds a hole in his only life raft. He left before I could say much of anything. After he left, I thought I should have given him your number. Do you think you can help?”

“I’m not certain.” Smythe leaned her head on her interlaced fingers and closed her eyelids. “What makes you believe I could be of any assistance to one of Your clients?”

“He almost seemed to be searching for something different. You are a hypnotist. You have helped people overcome many barriers. You also have a vivid imagination.”

“He was looking for a dominatrix. I am not a dominant woman. I know nothing about BDSM.”

“You could be and you could learn.”

“Are you going to start that again?”

“Yes. You know how persistent I am. It would expand your business and personal horizons.”

“Inordinately, almost inhumanly, stubborn is what you are. That is my clinical opinion. Turning to the rest of what you said. Absolutely not. And by the way, that joke’s too easy.”

“Don’t try to change the subject. I’m familiar with that trick. Some of my clients have tried it. Those who have, only tried it once.”

“Aren’t there dominant female hypnotists?”

“Yes there are. There are erotic female hypnotists of all sizes, shapes, ages, backgrounds, and flavors. I don’t know any of them personally.”

“I’m sure everyone looking for that sort of thing is well taken care of.”

“But you would be so good at it. You have the psychological and hypnotic training and experience. You know how to handle many kinds of people. You’ve been physically imposing since you were fifteen.”

“Actually, since I was eight. You didn’t know me then. Oh, and leave my personal life out of this.”

“That is not your problem. Your problem is you’ve been leaving your personal life out of this. More accurately, you have been leaving yourself out of a personal life.”

“You are the only person I would let get away with such talk.”

“That’s because you could never catch me.”

“In your minute, minuscule, Lilliputian, electron microscopic, subatomic dreams. Now, back to this client. How did he first contact You?”

“He sent me an email. I have his Web address, a phone number, and his name.” Anna arose, found the information, and handed her friend a single neatly written page.

Andrayalexis finished her tea, glanced at the note, and placed it in her handbag. “I can’t promise anything. But, I will give it some thought.”

“If you take on this case—which you and I know you should, do I get a referral fee?” Anna asked with an assumed aura of avariciousness.

“When you can slam dunk.”

“Two sports references from you in one day,” Anna said in mock surprise. “Whoop, whoop, whoop ...” She was lifted off the ground and embraced. “Hey, remember I get nosebleeds.”

“How would you know? Even those shoes of yours don’t lift you this much.” Ms. Smythe gently lowered her partner in crime. “I’ll let you know if anything transpires.”

Dr. Smythe studied Anna’s note while sitting in front of her computer in a large, comfortable, custom-designed office chair. She stared at the man’s email address. “Why did he select “EdDemmingvagus,” as a screenname?” she pondered. The last five letters seemed familiar. She searched her memory. Nothing. She retrieved and thumbed through a volume of her medical encyclopedia. “Eureka, the vagus nerve,” she exclaimed. She mentally noted its etymology and turned on her PC. One by one she typed several first names starting with “ed” along with “demming” into her favorite search engine. After perusing several articles on Edward Demming she shutdown the machine and rested her chin on her long fingers.

The doctor contemplated her findings and the data provided by her erotically dominant friend. She recalled a saying she had come across some time ago, “Every creation reveals some aspect(s) of its creator. The trick is to ferret out what the creation reveals about its creator.” His screenname was no exception. (In her never-ending quest for self-improvement, spawned by her insatiable hunger and thirst for knowledge, the far more than statuesque, sagacious psychiatrist had stumbled across a very useful formula for deciphering human nature and the motivations for a particular person’s specific, volitional behavior. “Sufficient Accurate Data Plus Error-free Processing Equals Right Conclusion.” SADPEPERC was this analytical tool’s acronym. She loved such things. She had determined that if she ever located its creator, she would thank that person greatly.) She considered its two parts. “Edward Demming” relocated to a foreign culture to find what his homeland could, or would, not provide him. Vagus means “to wander.” >From these facts she drew several conclusions. This man was intelligent, well-read, a problem solver, dissatisfied with his status quo, and willing to do what was necessary to find what he sought. Both parts of his screenname alluded to traveling. To her this double emphasis indicated the depth of his need and desire. Her favorite, diminutive Domina’s perception of him was accurate. Her best friend’s information showed he possessed a high level of self-awareness and a strong unwillingness to blame external entities or forces for his personal disquiet. This man was definitely worth getting to know.

George scrolled through the entries in his latest erotica-related web search. The word “hypnosis” caught his attention. “This is something I have not yet considered,” he mumbled. He mused for some time. “What have I got to lose?” he thoughtfully asked himself. He tentatively typed in that intriguing word and began sifting through the multitude of matches.

He checked all types of hypnosis websites for several weeks. He placed informational sites in a “favorites list” subfolder for further study—if such became desirable or necessary or both. A few of the erotic sites were somewhat intriguing. He immersed himself in each website’s content. None of them quite meshed with his personality or preferences or both. This path also seemed to be a dreary dead-end. Still, he kept searching.

The words, “The Hypnotic Silken Web of Soforia the Enchantress,” came up on his screen. Somehow, he soon found himself looking at the contents of Soforia’s Recordings page. He was unable to decide which of Her voice samples he wanted to hear first. He downloaded each audio file he found anywhere on Her Website and burned every one of them onto a CD. Immediately thereafter, he settled comfortably in his chair, placed a pair of high-quality stereo headphones on his head after plugging them into his computer, and caused his system to play all the tracks on the newly created CD. A slow, sensuous, soft, soothing, soporific, sexy, spellbindingly mesmerising voice, unlike any woman’s voice he had ever heard, entered his ears and his mind and his consciousness and his soul.

He yawned, stretched, and rolled his eyes several times. It took several moments for him to recollect where he was and what he had been doing. Something seemed different. Something had happened. He tried hard to remember what it was. To his conscious mind nothing would come. He had to go to the bathroom and disburthen himself. He looked down. “What was?” he thought. Now he knew. Her name was Soforia. Her voice was. Who was She? How had She compelled him to? He had to find out. He had to know! now!!!

He plunged headlong into Her silken Internet website with unrestrained fervor. He followed each link. To each of Her inductions and spells he submitted himself on multiple occasions. He noted, and subsequently purchased, every book and CD She recommended which was not in his personal library or music collection. He scoured and scrutinized every testimonial pertaining to Her. He virtually memorized any story in which She appeared. He bought multiple copies of Soforia’s recordings. He dedicated his talents to digging out every, legally accessible, tidbit of information concerning Soforia the Enchantress.

“Why! does! She! have! to! live! so! damned! far! away?” With each word he angrily and painfully slammed his fist into his palm. “What kind of cruel and twisted joke was the universe playing on him?” he thought broodingly. Still, he ultimately realized two good things had come out of this. First, he had Her recordings. They would forever be a boon. Second, he now knew what he had lacked and unknowingly sought for so long. A geographically desirable partner, of Soforia the Enchantress’s type and hopefully of (or at least near) Her caliber, with whom he could experience and explore the arenas of erotic sensual hypnosis and psychological and physical female domination. George’s interactions with Mistress Titanaconda and his indelible experience with the potent power persuasively purveyed through the seductive sound of Soforia’s siren’s voice showed him his real interest lay in knowing a woman who was more skilled in the territory of psychological domination than in the crude confines of simplistic physical control. His next task was locating the woman—if there was such a woman to be found in his vicinity.

TO BE CONTINUED...