The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Smythe was pleasantly surprised by the rapidity with which she achieved far more notoriety, success, and financial remuneration as an erotic hypnoteuse than she could ever have imagined or expected. She had initially assumed her excursions in this arena would only be an incidental, ancillary adjunct to the prestigious practice of her more traditional trade. She therefore elected not to advertise this secondary vocation. It came to pass however that word of mouth about her, nevertheless, gave her considerable talents a deservedly distinguished reputation in the realm of the ribald and risqué. From time to time she found unsolicited laudatory postings concerning—among other things—her creativity, competence, character, compassion, and perceptiveness in erotic hypnosis-related forums and chat groups. Due to the volume of email she received regarding erotic mesmerism in all of its flavors and BDSM of the Female Dominant genre, she was compelled to setup an electronic mail account specifically to handle this side of her business. After coming across the memo She had made to Herself, Mistress Andrayalexis at long last composed and conveyed that laudatory thank-you email to Soforia the Enchantress. The handwritten message appreciatively extolled the aid and inspiration The Latter had unknowingly given The Former, Formidable ‘Femme Fatale’.

Dr. Smythe cared very much for each of her psychotherapeutic clients and hypnotherapeutic subjects. She found that such was also the case for Mistress Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe’s hypnoerotic submissives. All the talents she had meticulously developed to facilitate traditional counseling, could be brought to bear in Her Hypnodom-and-subbie interactions and relationships.

In most circumstances, Mr. Walderson did not possess any fondness for the unexpected. Order, precision, and predictability were the respective cornerstone, keystone, and linchpin of his existence. his dealings with Mistress Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe were a series of notoriously notable and exultantly embraced exceptions. The potent powers of Her pervasively persuasive personality, the monumental magic of Her mysteriously mellifluous mesmerisms, and the captivating capriciousness of Her cunningly construed creativity salubriously, symbiotically synthesized to put a spring in his step and a scintillating sparkle in his mere male’s mind’s eye. She was exceptionally excellent in the confines of physical domination. Far more important and much more pleasurable to george, was Her uncanny, unorthodox, and almost preternatural grasp of knowing how to play with someone’s psyche in just the right way at exactly just the correct moment. She perfectly balanced the stability mr. walderson needed with the spontaneous unpredictability She taught him to come to crave. Due to Her incomparable influence, coquettish control, and divine domination his zest for life, work, and everything else had returned with a delightfully delirious vengeance.

It is at best a problematical sticky wicket and at worst an unforgivable deadly and mortal sin, for a therapist or counselor of any stripe to engage in any sort of a romantic relationship with any current client. Knowing of this stricture’s existence does not in any wise guarantee that said knowledge will guard one from becoming enmeshed in the aforementioned situation. Such was the case for Dr. Smythe. Though she fought with all her mental might and exerted her considerable will to the uttermost, nevertheless, there was a particularly special place in her heart for George Walderson.

Dr. Smythe had always been, and been known to be, a hardheaded, hard-nosed, nose to the grindstone, no-nonsense, sensible, shoulder to the wheel, feet planted firmly on the ground, grounded in reality type of individual. From her perspective, there was simply no good reason to give much heed to groundless, highly suspect, speculative at best, and most certainly as unscientific and nonacademic as one can possibly get concepts such as serendipity, synchronicity, and the Threefold Law of Reciprocity. Anything which smacked of the slightest hint of the smell of anything mystical was promptly, thoroughly, and unceremoniously dismissed out of hand, and was thenceforth cast out of sight and out of mind.

As she reviewed the circumstances surrounding her flowering career as an Erotic Hypnodominatrix, now Mistress Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe had reason to question Her close-mindedness concerning anything beyond the confines of the purely naturalistic ‘Weltanschauung’. Had Anna Conway not been her best friend, Andrayalexis would not have known where to turn when she required exemplary instruction in the fine facets of the alluring artistry of BDSM. If Mistress Titanaconda had been a Hypnotic Goddess, then She might have been The Superior Female Supremacist george earnestly and, until fairly recently, unknowingly sought. Were it not for Mistress Titanaconda’s thorough training, Mistress Andrayalexis Smythe would not have been in a position to be the Hypnodomme george walderson wanted and needed. Had She not met George, her life would not be nearly so rich, particularly personally speaking, as it had evidently and exuberantly become.

Dr. Smythe employed every trick in the tome in her attempts to suppress or squelch her feelings for George Walderson. She told herself that these feelings only existed because he was her first erotic hypnosis client. (This reminded her of the many times she had dealt with parents trying to successfully navigate the tempestuous, tumultuous throes of their child’s first love affair.) She conjectured that whatever was occurring inside of her would pass—given enough time or distractions or both. She told Herself how unprofessional, how wrong, and how wicked was this sort of thing. There were a multitude of things she told herself about this situation. There were a number of things she did to keep her mind off of Her first submissive. None of them did her any good—as far as ameliorating Her amorous affections for this fine fellow was concerned.

There was only one way to properly resolve this conundrum. Andrayalexis was aware that it must be done quickly. There were a myriad of instances when she reached for the telephone or headed for her computer. She came to accept that what needed to be done should be done in person.

Usually, George was a very cautious driver. He had never received a citation for speeding, or carrying out any other unsafe driving maneuvre. Whenever he was traveling to an appointment with Mistress Andrayalexis, however, he had to force himself to only focus upon the minutia concomitant with operating a motorized conveyance. This was his only successful strategy for preventing himself from becoming a lead foot. Today was no different in this regard from any other day.

he arrived several minutes early for his sublime, salubrious submission session. Wondering what pleasures and surprises She had in store for him this time occupied his thoughts—while this giddy gentleman was waiting in his car, fidgeting with his hands, and staring at his watch. When the moment for their meeting arrived, a big grin was on his countenance as he first ran and then skipped to Her door. That several passersby gawked warily at him did not concern this subbie in the least.

Despite the sensual and erotic nature of their interactions, Mistress Smythe had always conducted Herself in a highly professional and circumspect manner. It seemed to george that today She was even more businesslike than usual. Although he did not understand why, this subtle alteration in Her demeanor distressed and disturbed him to the very depths of the bowels of his quick.

Once they were seated across from each other, Andrayalexis took charge of their dealings. “There is no easy way for me to tell you what I am about to say.” She took a couple of deep breaths and consumed nearly the entire glass of water sitting at her side. “I can no longer be your Mistress or Hypnotherapist.”

The look on his countenance evidently expressed his inner man’s instantaneous teleportation to a simultaneous residence on the precipitous pinnacle of perplexity and in a dwellingplace on the stygian nadir of despair. “Mistress Andrayalexis, i mean Dr. Smythe but why?” An even more horrible idea flashed in his mind. “What have i done to cause this?” he inquired. He was already beginning to reproach himself for his reprehensible words or repugnant activities or both.

“You haven’t done anything,” She reassured him. She turned Her dejected gaze to the floor. “It simply isn’t right for a romantic relationship to exist between any kind of therapist and a client or betwixt a professional Hypnodom and one of Her submissive slaves.”

All other emotions and thoughts were swiftly swept away by a torrential tidal wave of astonishment. The man arose and took two or three halting steps in Her direction. Now all he was capable of doing was fixedly staring slack-jawed in Her generalized vicinity. So far as his inner man was concerned, he had been metamorphosized into a jaw-dropping, knee-knocking, and scared of his own shadow shadow of his regular self. The psychiatrist did not ever recall seeing any human being’s eyes ever becoming quite so large. “Are you some kind of a Witch or are You a telepath?”

“What are you talking about?” she questioned incredulously.

Now his expression was changed to a scowl. “I don’t like having my emotions played with. I want you to tell me how you knew I was in love with you?” He had never used such a tone as this with Her before this momentous moment of terrifying truthfulness.

Now it was time for the Seasoned, Skilled Psychiatrist and Mind-blowing Mesmeric Dominatrix to be super-bowled overturned head over heels by one of reality’s recent revelations. The self-protective portion of her being, fearing that She might be rejected for some reason, compelled Her to solely discuss George Walderson’s opening up of his heart to Mistress Andrayalexis. The honorable side of Her nature demanded that She divulge the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the entire and total truth. This part of Her self had a nagging and nasty habit of ceaselessly prompting or cattle prodding its Mesmerizing Mistress to refuse to succumb to her baser, instinctual drives and take the high and risky road of doing the right thing.

Now she downed the contents of the water glass he had not yet touched. “When I was speaking about the impropriety of a psychological professional or prodomme having a love affair with a client or slave, I was only talking about My feelings for you.”

Mr. george walderson all but mindlessly flopped backwards down into his seat. There are those all too rare and exquisitely miraculous instances in a person’s existence, when no word ever utterable in any mortal being’s tongue nor any action conceived by any less than divinely perfect personage can dare to approach the pathway leading to the portico before the threshold in front of the foyer of the antechamber outside of the receiving room of correctly expressing that which is being thought or felt or perceived. As they gazed into each other’s visages, Mistress Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe and mr. george walderson experienced one such transfixing, transmutational, transcendental, symbiotic, simultaneous, earthshattering epiphany.

It took some time and a bit of doing for them to hammer out the details of their relationship. Each of them was breaking new ground while blazing a trail leading to a horizon towards which neither of them had ever ventured. To aid in this relationship’s maturation and longevity, each person was willing to make certain sacrifices for which their partner refused to ask.

Andrayalexis’s and George’s respective friends and family members noticed the changes for the better this love match wrought upon its participants. Anna Conway was particularly glad for what was happening to, and for, Andrayalexis. This joy sprang from two motivations. First and foremost, she cared very deeply and passionately for the giantess she had grown to love beginning in girlhood. Secondly, it gave Mistress Titanaconda innumerable opportunities to delicately, and not so subtly, needle Her phenomenal protégé.

This evening Andrayalexis and george covertly flirted with each other while sitting in the comfortable and acoustically sound collegiate auditorium. Both of them loved classical music. She noticed his frown as he read the program.

“What is wrong?” she inquired empathetically.

“The finale is Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture.”

“I’ve loved that piece ever since I was a little girl.”

“You were never little.” He brushed his shoe tip up and down her ankle.

“I owe you one.”

“George, be very afraid,” he quipped.

“Why don’t you care for that wonderful selection?”

“It’s all those cannons and bells. In my humble opinion it’s all but cacophonous and most assuredly overkill.”

“You might change your mind, if you gave it a chance.”

“I think not. Once I make up my mind about a piece of music the die is cast and it is carved in stone.”

“So nothing could persuade you to change your mind?”

“Unequivocally and absolutely nothing!”

“How powerful, forceful, and determined you are. Take Me, big boy, take Me now!”

He wondered how she would respond if he did so? He pondered if there was sufficient room for him to carry out this fantasy? Never before did he so regret being so inept at higher mathematics or any subject highly dependent thereupon. Fortunately, the orchestra started tuning up. “What a relief,” he thought!

Dr. Smythe did not possess a poker face. On several occasions, she had to turn her visage away from her companion’s view. Her thoughts concerning what would soon come to pass were just too delicious, delightful, devious, and devilish to ignore or entirely imprison. This was one of the few times she wished an excellent orchestra was going to play a lesser number of selections. She could feel anticipation welling up within her. She only hoped it did not subconsciously show.

She was keenly cognizant of how fervently he adored any manner or degree of physical contact with her. At the commencement of the penultimate piece’s final movement, she casually draped her arm around his shoulders. Several minutes later, her hand started playing with his earlobe, then caressing his neck, and finally massaging his shoulder. George thoroughly relished every second of what this ravishing Renaissance woman was doing to him. In addition to luxuriating in Her loveliness, there was one other reason why his massive male ego was definitely more than satisfied. He had taken note of most of the other heterosexual couples in the concert hall. He saw how often and how longingly a significant number of the other men gazed at and centered their attention upon his Dazzling Date, Heart stopping Hypnoteuse, Marvelous Mistress, and Leggy, Ladylike Love Interest. He also saw the smolderingly seething stares the women in these unions gave their muttonheaded men folk. He knew right well that these hapless, helpless horn dogs all too soon for their liking would be spending a significant quantity of quality time on the business end of a cold shoulder out in the cold in their respective doghouses.

While many in the audience were filing out for intermission, Andrayalexis leaned close to her unsuspecting quarry. He loved to smell her perfume. This aroma was one he failed to recognize. He asked her what this new fragrance was? She was very pleased he was paying such close attention to such things. She was also glad he was not one of those men who was embarrassed or ashamed to admit not knowing about some subject. These good feelings did not dissuade her from her deviously diabolical, distaff dominating purpose. “This perfume is” and she whispered eight ensorcelling, wonderful words in his expectant ear. Those eight inveigling words which had so profoundly changed their lives for the better. “Now, My obstinate, little boy-toy, you hear only Me. So, My pet, you refuse to even consider changing your recalcitrant and ridiculous opinion about the 1812 Overture? We shall see, My dear. Soon, we shall all see!” She laughed at him. She laughed at what would soon come to fruition. She laughed at the potent power She possessed to perplex him. “My voice of truth is fascinatingly filling and overwhelmingly overpowering your macho male mind which is all too frequently all too stubbornly set in your ways. you need to obey Me. you yearn to obey Me. you know you must obey Me. you will obey Me because you know you love Me and love to obey Me. From now on, whenever you hear the sound of a cannon during the 1812 Overture’s final movement, you will surely become more and more aroused. With each cannonlike sound you hear during the final movement of the 1812 Overture, you shall become more erotically stimulated. The harder you seek to deny or resist or suppress this feverishly fermenting and fervent feeling, the more intense it will become. you will only be able to release this arousal when I give you permission or when you are home alone. your subconscious mind will unconsciously and completely remember and without fail it shall faithfully execute your instructions. your conscious self will be aware of nought which I have spoken to you. When you feel Me touch both of your earlobes, you will awaken from your deep, deep hypnotic trance and perfectly obey all of My compelling commandments. My thoughts are your truths. My words are your world. My instructions are your institutions.” While Her soothingly spellbinding, voluptuously vivid voice programmed his mind, She deftly utilized Her formidable fingertips and fascinating fingernails to make his body Her puppeteer’s passionate and pleasing plaything. Possessing such powerful and prodigious hands yielded some definite advantages.

She saw his glowering expression as audience members started returning to their seats. “You really dislike the 1812 Overture so much?”

“Yes, I do,” George said insistently and instinctually.

“And you will not change your mind?”

“No.”

“Not even for Little, Lovable Me?”

“Not even for tiny, little, minute, minuscule, innocent, loving, lovable, and lovely You.”

“Nothing I can say could persuade you to even consider changing your attitude?”

“Not one, solo, single, sole, singular, solitary, and unary thing.”

“I thought you were more broadminded.”

“On many subjects, yes. On this piece of music, no.”

“Why are you so stubborn, My pet?”

“I know what I like. This selection is not on my list of favorites.”

The psychiatrist sighed with seeming resignation. “I give up.”

“That is wise.”

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as the night’s final selection was extraordinarily executed to the uttermost. Her only regret was the absence of a spy camera and transmitter linked to a video recorder. The expressions playing across his countenance were beyond priceless. He, initially, manifested disgust and stoic resignation. Then there was inexplicable arousal. There was confusion, more moments of arousal, contemplation, more arousals, more confusion, and even more times of arousal. He made various attempts to suppress his changing expressions. The panoply was wonderful to behold. Particularly, when one was its undetected creatrix. She was very glad he also lacked a poker face.

She considered allowing him to experience an immediate release for his ever-increasing, pent up sexual tension. She elected not to do so. The sound he would have made would have disturbed some people’s enjoyment of the finale. And besides, the longer she made him wait—the more bewildered he would become. She concluded that this state of affairs was a very good thing.

Several weeks after the concert, during one of their phone conversations, she immediately recognized the piece of music she heard playing in the background. The desire to mess with his mind, just a little bit, was too strong to ignore or resist. The opportunity to have some fun was too good to pass up.