The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

CHAPTER #5.

“What piece of music is that?” she said with feigned innocence. She was overjoyed this was not a video phone call.

George pondered his options. He thought about shutting off the music. She had heard the piece. She would want to know why the music had stopped? There might be other questions. He suspected some of them would be queries he did not wish to answer. Lying was the next thing that came to mind. He was aware of her prodigious knowledge base regarding classical music. Attempted prevarication would only be a dismal failure. He could change the subject. He was also keenly cognizant of her dogged determination. he suspected She would not let this topic of a sleeping dog lie down and go to sleeping soundly. Honesty was the sole acceptable course of action—for it was the only one left to him.

“It’s the 1812 Overture,” he mumbled into the receiver.

She restrained a giggle with great difficulty. “Please, speak up a little bit, darling. I didn’t quite catch your answer.”

“It’s the 1812 Overture.” This time he spoke clearly.

“Did you say the 1812 Overture?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Whose?”

“Mistress, You know very well whose it is. Don’t be a smart-aleck, You smart-ass.” (Immediately after it left his lips, he regretted uttering that last word. Not because it was not what he truly thought. It was not because She did not deserve to be called such at this time. What spawned his regret was that using that term made him consider Her cheeks when he called Her that name. Yes, he could only think about Her cheeks. He was fantasizing about each and every muscle and sinew and nerve and millimeter of soft, smooth skin sumptuously composing the firm, full, round, and ripe cheeks of Her delightfully delicious derriere.)

Dr. Smythe had always longed to be an actress. During her school days, her height made it difficult for her to ever be cast in a romantic lead. Everyone who knew her intimately marveled at her comic genius. She would not let this chance to flex her thespian muscles slip her grasp. After several seconds of silence, she began to make barely audible sobbing noises into the phone.

George was concerned. “What’s happened?”

She sniffled a couple of times. “Nothing,” she responded.

“What’s wrong?”

“I said,” she sniffled two or three more times, “nothing is wrong.”

“Mistress, i know better than that. Please, Honey, won’t you tell me what it is?”

The next minute’s silence was broken only by a couple of Her sniffles. “I am very angry with you.”

“Why? What have i done?”

She stamped her left foot on the hardwood floor. “you know very well what you’ve done.”

George was perplexed. he tried to think of anything he might have done that would upset Her to this degree. He could think of nothing. he knew better than to verbalize this conclusion. There was only one way for him to divine why She was so peeved. “I really have no idea, Dear. Please, i beg You, tell me what is wrong, Mistress?”

“you’ve lied to Me.”

“i have never lied to You.”

“Didn’t you tell Me, in no uncertain terms, that you loathed Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture?”

“Yes, I said that.”

“And now I find you listening to it. you have been keeping secrets from Me. I assumed our relationship was built on an unshakable foundation of respect, trust, and honesty. What else have you been hiding from Me?”

“I have not hidden anything from You.”

“How can I ever count on you or trust you again? If someone will lie about something as trivial and insignificant like this, he will fabricate or prevaricate about who knows what? What is your real name? Have you been married before? How many children do you really have? Have you ever been a man trapped in a woman’s body?”

He had an answer for her last query. Fortunately, no one ever heard him utter it. “i have always been truthful with You.” He tried to speak in a reassuring manner. “i swear You have my solemn word.”

“What good is a liar’s word of honor?”

“I have never lied to You about anything.”

Again she was silent. “I’ll forgive you this once. But don’t ever let it happen again. Not! ever! again!” Her last three words were stressed with a pointed ness which could not be ignored or denied.

“i will never lie to You again.”

“So you admit you lied before?”

“i have never lied, and will never lie, to You about anything, in any way, and at any time.”

“I want the answer to one simple question. Why are you listening to the 1812 Overture—a piece of music you say you have always hated?”

“i had always hated it. I don’t hate it any more. i am listening to it because i now enjoy it.” He silently pleaded with the Heavens that she not ask him what made this music so pleasurable? he implored the universe for this with all his might.

She considered asking the very question he dreaded. She thought that might be going overboard, just a little bit, even for her. “So you have changed your mind?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I was right? you should have listened to Me and just given it a chance.”

“Yes, You were right. I should have listened to You. i should have given the 1812 Overture a fair hearing.”

“When were you going to tell Me about your change of heart?”

“I wasn’t. I mean, i don’t know.”

“And if I hadn’t caught you in your little fib, I would never have known.”

“I did not fib.”

“Do you still deny it?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

She seriously considered taking him through this tangled and torturous loop of logic once more. She was fairly certain she could not do so without cracking herself up. After some thought, she selected another tactic to tenderly torment him. “Just like a typical man.” She sneered and extruded her tongue.

“What does that mean?”

“you know very well what I mean.”

“No I don’t. Please, explain Yourself?”

“you find it easy to tell a woman that she’s wrong. But you almost always refuse to let her know that she is right.”

“That’s because women know they are always right. So, there’s no need for us to tell any of you what you already know to be true.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” She sighed after another time of silence. “Well, at least you aren’t as close-minded as you used to be. And I am glad you now like the piece. There is one more thing I’d like to say.”

“What is it?”

““RELAX AND GO INTO DEEP HYPNOSIS FOR ME."” She waited for several seconds. “Just let yourself easily and peacefully fall deeper and deeper under the pervasive and persuasive powers of My halcyon, hypnotic spell.” She crossed her very long and so shapely legs and waited silently, until she heard his breathing become slower and deeper. She was well aware of how much he adored her gorgeous gams. She would use this fixation point of attraction, and her wicked sense of humor, to tantalizingly torment him to distraction and meddle with the mettle of all his humors. “Now, My pet, I want you to feel your legs with your hands. When you touch your legs, I command you to only think about actually feeling My legs. Yes, as you touch your legs, the only thought in your mind will be of My bewitching, beguiling, beautiful, bedeviling legs. you know you are completely in My power. Any other thoughts you may have will only compel you to focus more and more of your attention upon My long, lovely, lethean, luxurious legs. you know you desire to obey Me. you are always and awesomely aware of your need and your yearning and your longing to obey only Me. Any other sound you may hear or sight you may see or any other possible distraction in your tiny little piece of reality will only help you devote more and even more and even more still of your consciousness to My soft, smooth, silky, shapely, sexy, and sensuously seductive stems. The harder you try to resist the desire to concentrate upon My lovely, lovely legs, the more you will only be able to think about My long and lovely and love spell casting, bewitchingly hypnotic legs. you know you ought to obey Me. you know you must obey Me. you know you will obey only Me and Me alone and only Me. The more your mind dwells on My legs, the more aroused you will become. you will not be able to release this ever-increasing arousal and always impending preoccupation with cumming at My mesmerising command, until I give you permission to do so. As your arousal becomes stronger, you will beg Me for My permission to cum. you will plead with Me to allow you to have release. you are My pet, My puppet, My plaything, and My possession. As you perceive yourself touching my legs, you will tell Me how much you adore Me. you can not resist My will. you will not resist My will. you are My specimen. you know you are My very special specimen. you are My servant. you are aware you shall always serve Me. you are My subject. you are My subjected subject subjected to My subjecting subjugation. you are My slave. you are enticingly and entrancingly enslaved to your enigmatic and ensorcelling enslavement to Mistress Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe.”

The psychiatrist listened to his compliance with her dictums. Now she had a wicked idea. How long could she compel him to prattle on in service to her and in subjection to her masterful mesmeric mind manipulations? “GEORGE WALDERSON, GEORGE WALDERSON, GEORGE WALDERSON.” He fell silent in response to one of the posthypnotic suggestions she had given him some time ago. “Listen to Me, My pet. When you hear Me snap My fingers, you will tell Me everything you love about Me and how much you adore each of these items. you will also beg Me to allow you to cum. you will tell Me what you love about Me and how much you adore each of the items you love about Me. you will plead with Me to permit you to have the climax you desire so much. you will continue to talk about these two subjects, until you hear Me say your entire name. you will not stop talking about the two topics I have mentioned to you, until you hear Me first say your given name and lastly say your familial name. Tell Me what will happen after you hear Me snap My fingers?”

“i will tell You about each thing i love about You. i will beg You to let me have an orgasm.”

She wisely and wickedly laughed at Her publicly powerful, privately powerless prey. “When will you cease talking about these things, My perennially powerless puppet of a little slave boy-toy?”

“Whenever i hear You say my name.”

“I am so proud of you. You are doing very, very well.” The towering, trickish hypnoteuse snapped her fingers, listened to him for several minutes, switched on a tape recorder, laid down the telephone receiver atop the recorder, and went off to do some errands.

One-and-one-half hours later, she returned to check in on her pulchritude-pixilated property. When she picked up the phone, she heard him praising her to the heavens and begging her leave for an orgasm. The power she wielded caused her to blush, smile, and contemplate.

She elected to give him that for which he besought her. “George Walderson, you will listen to Me.” He fell speechless immediately after hearing his last name’s final syllable escape her ruby-tinted, lovely, and luscious lips. “Everything I say to you is absolutely true. you know that every word you hear Me utter, while you are in My hypnotic thralldom, is the unadulterated, unvarnished truth. From this moment onward when ever you have an orgasm of any kind, you will think of Me. When you have any kind of sexual release, you will associate that pleasure with Me. And now, because you have been such a good, little boy, you shall receive a blessing from your titanic, tempting, tempestuous hypnotic Sex Goddess. When you hear Me clap My hands, you will have the most wonderful, powerful, and pleasurable orgasmic release you have ever experienced. When you hear the sound of My hands clapping, then and only then shall you cum for Me and have the best sexual experience you have ever had. After you have cum, you will awaken from your trance and have no conscious memory of anything that occurred during your time today under My hypnotic spell. After you have had your marvelous and magnificent and miraculous and magical and mystical sexual release, you shall return to your conscious state of mind and you will consciously remember nothing which took place after you heard Me use your trigger, “RELAX AND GO INTO DEEP HYPNOSIS FOR ME” today. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” he mumbled softly.

“Very good.” The striking, scintillating, and seductive social scientist and psychotherapist clapped her hands, heard George Walderson give voice to a sound she’d never heard from any other man, and smiled to herself as he returned to his regular state of awareness.

They concluded their little chat. Before doing so, She once more returned him to deep hypnosis and removed all of his temporary triggers. He was pleased she had forgiven him. He still knew he had committed no trespass against her.

Several days later he was listening to that music again. It was amazing, and somewhat eerie, that something he had detested for so long was now so desirable. A tiny voice in the back of his mind posed one simple and nagging question, “Why?” When he devoted some cogitation to the query, he soon came to realize he had no acceptable answer to this conundrum. He searched his memory to recall when his feelings about this piece began their metamorphosis. It was the concert he had attended with Andrayalexis. Now another question rapidly and repeatedly reared its head. “Why did that concert make a difference?” No reasonable explanation presented itself.

He was about to simply accept and enjoy the present situation. He had an apocalypse. It wasn’t the orchestra. It was not that concert at all. Several other peculiar happenings were now made crystal clear. “You lovely, long-legged, troublemaking, irresistible, mind molding, witch-crafty, witching witch of witcheries.”

He picked up the phone, dialed her number, heard it ring thrice, and hung up. No, a mere confrontational telephone call, email, or face-to-face conversation was not nearly good enough. Besides, he was keenly aware Dr. Smythe could discombooberate and discomboobleate (These two American English words caused him to fantasize about two things which were extremely exciting and interminably important to him.) him any time he heard her voluptuous voice. He knew there must be something far better. He would make her pay. He would deliver the next salvo in this battle of wits. Now, this! was! war!

He was at work. Someone he was talking to made an offhanded remark about being a “copycat.” He had an inspiration. “Yes,” he said and loudly clapped his hands after springing to his feet. He saw his unwitting savior regard him with quizzical skepticism. “Relax, I haven’t lost my mind. At least, not yet. You’ve just given me the solution to a minor, little problem I adore very much.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“Not nearly so glad as I am. Nor so glad as I intend to be.”

This person would receive a bonus with their next paycheck. In his opinion, such helpfulness, even if it was unintentional, should be properly and promptly rewarded.

Once George got home, he set his mind to work. Getting comfortable and smoking one of his favorite cigars usually stimulated his creative and cognitive faculties. The right piece of music was necessary for his plan to succeed. He had a thought. No. Considering what the lovable Dr. Smythe had done, the 1812 Overture was definitely out of the question. “Classical music” and “copycat” were uppermost in his mind. Surely, there must be a way to. Then he remembered. He laughed loudly and often. This composer was the perfect candidate. He played out the scenario of a future date with Andrayalexis in his mind. He would do this right. The first step was the acquisition of the proper piece of music. He hoped it was extant. He logged onto his Internet Service Provider and searched for the desired web page. He carefully scrutinized this bizarre musical genius’s list of compositions. This composer had a selection that was perfect for this occasion of pleasurable payback. George immediately ordered the CD. Mr. Walderson gleefully rubbed his hands together. His vengeance would be scrumptiously delicious. He was certain he would thoroughly relish the final drop of the last dregs of this heady elixir of getting even Stephen.

At last that very special evening, he had so anxiously anticipated and carefully crafted, came to pass. The candles were alight. He had prepared some of her favorite dishes. The flowers were gorgeous. The CD was ready. Some cigars she adored were near at hand in his brand spanking new custom-made humidor. The only item not present was the physically and mentally monumental, emotionally and captivatingly colossal, frequently fascinating, and fetchingly feminine femme fatale and vivacious, voluptuous victim of honor.

While in his bedroom, he saw and heard the good doctor draw near and come in range of his domain. His advanced surveillance system was advantageous in a myriad of ways. He pressed a button which unlocked and opened his front door. He relished her hesitation and the slightly puzzled look on her usually perceptive and serenely confident countenance. He was much pleased with and very aroused by what she had chosen to wear. He often encouraged her to dress in attire which flattered her figure. This ensemble definitely did just the trick. He forced himself to focus on his plan. If the good doctor had been telepathic or precognitive, she would have chosen that outfit. Only seeing her move in that attire in certain ways might have dissuaded him from his dark purpose of exquisitely and exactingly executing relentlessly regimented retribution. He heard and saw the front door swing shut after she had broken the infrared beam. It was just another little trick designed to slightly and delicately rattle her powerful and orderly mind. Step one was completed.

As was expected by both participating parties, their convivial conversation was wide-ranging, urbane, and in-depth. Both thoroughly relished the excellent dinner, the well-chosen wines, and the premium cigars. While they lingered over trifle (one of George’s favorite desserts and his ‘specialite da la maison’) and freshly brewed Irish coffee, he reminded her he had a surprise in store. He initially mentioned it when she had agreed to come to his home for dinner. She had tried, to no avail, to cajole, pry, or inveigle from him the nature of this surprise. (She reckoned it would have been unfair to utilize the one means of obtaining this data which had the highest probability of succeeding.) After they were comfortably seated on the sofa, he informed her the time had arrived. He pressed a button on one of the several remote controls scattered across his marble coffee table. The music filled the room.

This was assuredly unlike any classical music she had ever heard. At times it seemed very familiar. Yet, the familiar passages were not encompassed by what she expected. She noticed the profound power this selection had on her companion. He was more overtly amorous than usual. She did not mind his attention. Still, it was just a smidgen out of character. She was unsure which was more curious the music or his behavior. At certain points his romantic ardor fervently increased. She wondered why this music affected him so?

She could stand it no longer. She dreamily looked at him. “George, dear, I do not recognize this composition. What piece of music is this?”

He arose, straddled her legs, placed his hands on her shoulders, and lovingly gazed deeply into her large, violet, penetrating eyes. A stone would have had no difficulty perceiving the passion he exuded. “Why it’s P.D.Q. Bach’s 1712 Overture for a really big orchestra.”

She was about to ask who that composer was. She felt his hands move. She had a moment of clarity. She was very ticklish. He knew the locations of some of Mistress Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe’s most sensitive spots.

“Stop! stop!” This was all she could say after several minutes of being forced to laugh. “Please, stop!”

“i can’t. i don’t understand. Something has come over me. The 1712 Overture is so magnificent. i can’t stop myself. i seem to have no will of my own. This music overwhelms my control. The 1712 Overture is so amazing. I’ve loved it ever since I planned to buy it. Every time i hear this music i must do this. Something has taken possession of me. i seem to have no will of my own. i must continue to do that which i am doing.”

She felt him begin another gentle assault. She could only think of one thing which might stop him. “I’ll do it.”

“What will you do, my beautiful and cunning hypnotist?”

“I’ll remove it.”

“Some article or articles of habiliments, perhaps?”

“Yes, yes, I will. Just stop tickling me. Give me some time to catch my breath. I’ll do what must be done.”

Her offer was more than tempting. Once more his masterful mind had to overrule his baser, bestial body’s bitty brother brain. He made himself return to his still outstanding objective. If only She’d known how close he was to forgetting about Her musical postmesmeric suggestion implanted in his subconscious mind and his retaliation for Her surreptitiously having placed it there. She would have done more than merely make him an offer he would kick himself for some time for having refused.

“What will You remove, Mistress Andrayalexis Amazonia Svengali?”

“My posthypnotic suggestion about the 1812 Overture.”

He would soon get what he wanted. He was about to release Her. He remembered with whom he dealt.

“What will You put in its place?”

“Nothing. Nothing. I promise. I swear.”

he returned his hands to Her shoulders. he fastened his eyes on Her fair, feminine face. He sought any sign or traces of trickery unconsciously revealed by Her captivating countenance or beautiful body’s body language. (Thinking about the latter of these nonverbal modes of communication did not aid him in maintaining his focus upon his primary objective.) Not one hint of duplicity was to be found.

It took Her several moments to catch Her breath. She focused Her eyes on his. She wondered if She could employ his trigger before he reached any of Her most ticklish spots? She was uncertain. Dare She take the chance? She decided discretion was the better part of valor and conquest. She would concede him his victory. For now.

While moving one of Her legs against one of his own, She reached up and out to stroke one of his earlobes with Her dominant hand’s firm fingertips. His other ear’s lobe it was caressed with Her nondominant hands naughty nails. She saw the reactions of his body and the expressions which played across his face. She was pleased. She knew how much he enjoyed letting go of everything and losing himself in the depths of Her compelling, compassionate, and commanding gaze.

She spoke so slowly, so seductively, and so soporifically in Her most dreamy and devilishly, velvety voice. “Yes, My pet, just keep looking and staring and gazing and delving deeper and deeper down into the depthless depths of My demanding and domineering and daunting eyes. My ensorcelling eyes so easily and so effortlessly degrading and depleting and disengaging your weak and worthless will. you know you love Me. you know you want—you know that all you yearn to do is look into, and lose the very essence of your essential self inside, My mesmerizing Mastermind’s enticing, evil eyes. you need to look deeper and deeper into My eyes. you know you adore Me. you will lose your self and latch onto your submissive soul’s salvation deep in My eyes. you know you need Me. you must lose yourself deeper and deeper in the depthless depths of My depthless, depthless eyes. you know you desire to possess Me. you know you must be possessed by Me and only Me.”

She saw him relax and start to slightly sway. She gently directed him to lie down on the sofa. His head lay in her lap. She knew how attracted he was to her long and lusciously lovely legs. His eyes were lost in hers. Once more this worrisomely witching woman winningly and wilily wove her wonderful web of well-chosen whispered words. “Now, My pleasing puppet and petite pet, imagine yourself dwelling in a wonderfully calm and beautiful location. Surrender your self to My subtle and soothing siren sorceries. This locale is more lovely and lyrical than any location you have ever been and more relaxing than any place you have ever imagined before. Yes, My dear and darling, sweetly succumb to the soporific and stimulating sound of My sensuous and sexy and soothing voice of the softest silk and the strongest steel. I am your adoring Amazon Attaché, Attendant, Apotheosized Arachnid, and Gargantuan Guiding Goddess into this remarkable and fascinating realm of ultimate tranquility and universal happiness. Softly slide so easily and peacefully into the maternally mystifying and Machiavellian matriarchal machinations mysteriously made in the misty mentality of your Multifaceted, Monumental, Mesmerizing, and Magically Moving Mistress of Minds.”

While and after She spoke, She massaged various parts of his body. his muscles went limp under Her manipulative manual manipulations. She smiled broadly as She saw Her words and actions produce their desired effect. Delightfully drawing his mind and deliriously driving his will deeper and deeper down into the depths of distaff dominion. She relaxed and watched him fall: so easily and peacefully under Her control; so effortlessly and comfortably in Her power; and so eternally and completely under Her spell. Again he was in Her cunning clutches. Once more he was at Her command. He was Hers to do with as She wished.

For two reasons She did as She had covenanted. First, She had made a promise. Her word once given was not to be treated lightly, nor was it to be easily broken. Honor required this of Her. Second, She could not think of anything to do to him which was sufficiently satisfying to Her slightly sinister splendid psyche.

After arriving home, she smoked a cigar and reviewed her recent interactions with George Walderson. Verily, he was the most painstakingly devious person she had ever known. Suppose this was how his mind worked when he was angered? He would be an exceptionally dangerous and extraordinarily formidable enemy. His retaliation had been brilliantly conceived and was expertly executed. Her respect for, love of, and desire to have—nay, to possess and consume and consummate—this man of Her dreams grew immensely. She pondered her next move. Their loving battle of minds and wills was not over.

TO BE CONTINUED...