The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

From the moment Anna Conway was made aware of its existence, the relationship betwixt Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe and Mr. George Walderson was for Mistress Titanaconda far more than a joy to behold. Observing Her friend rapturously experience such pleasures was almost as pleasurable for Anna Conway. On this day there came a perfect opportunity for Anna to lovingly needle and caringly tease her titanic partner in crime concerning this love affair of the heart.

“So, how is Georgie Porgie pudding and pie?” Anna asked during this continuation of her eternal gabfest with Andrayalexis.

“George is one of the most insidious, deceptive, cunning, conniving, meticulous, exacting, loving, and devoted people I have ever met.”

Anna let out a she wolf whistle. “My, my, my. Well, well do tell. I want details, and I want them now.”

Anna listened attentively as Andrayalexis recounted the events in her relationship with George—commencing with the concert featuring the 1812 Overture, and concluding with the dinner after which the stately psychiatrist removed her devious posthypnotic suggestion. Due to her intimate connection with and deep knowledge pool pertaining to her colossal ‘compadre’, Anna could virtually and vicariously think, feel, and perceive her protégé’s thoughts, emotions, and physical sensations during the unfolding of this course of events. As Dr. Smythe told this tale, Mistress Titanaconda began to wonder if Anna Conway would someday enjoy such a stimulating romance?

After the conclusion of the story’s recitation, Anna seized another opportunity to let her sense of humor run amuck. “In case I forget, please remind me to give you those boxes of Kleenex before you leave.”

“And why are you giving me tissues?”

“To wipe all those tears you’ve been shedding lately.”

Andrayalexis knew her friend well. She suspected what Anna was leading to. Anyone that small could never be up to anything over a couple of feet high. The doctor elected to let her girlfriend play out her hand. “What tears are you talking about?”

“Everyone knows that when Georgie Porgie kisses the girls he always makes them cry. So, is it his potent passion or a persistent case of horrendous halitosis or both that activates your lachrymal ducts?”

Andrayalexis would show her baby doll-dimensioned boon that two could play this game as easily as one. “Ha, ha, ha and a hardy har, har. I will have you know that when Georgie Porgie comes out to play, only Mistress Titanaconda runs away—and She takes tiny, little steps aplenty while doing so. Now, top that, if you can reach that high.”

“Hey! That is a well-aimed slam against My professional acumen—not to mention a reference to My physical challenge.” Now did She utter some choking noises. “I am cut to the quick!”

“You aren’t big enough to have a quick, or even to be quick for that matter.”

“One attempt to ruin My business, and two insults concerning My lack of height. In case you’ve forgotten, there is such a thing as the Americans with Disabilities Act. I ought to sue you for what you have said to Me.”

“Go ahead and file Your frivolous, meritless lawsuit. I dare you. I double dare you. I even triple dog dare you to. All that will happen is You will find out You don’t have one leg to stand on. Well, to be honest, You do have two legs. It’s just that they’re so short no one has ever seen them.”

“Hey, Lady Girafarig, My legs are long enough to reach the ground.”

“Only when You are lying down on it,” the hypnotherapist quipped.

“I never sleep outside. I make My subbies grovel and beg for the inestimable opportunity of having the pleasure of serving Me by doing that.”

“That’s what I call much too much information. Shall we continue this dance?”

“Only if you lead.”

“Anna Conway, you are so headstrong and stubborn that you didn’t even allow your prom date to lead.”

“I did so. I let him lead exactly where I told him to go. So there!” At this point, Mistress Titanaconda licked out Her tongue in a most serpentine style.

Andrayalexis started to laugh. “I’ve just realized what that “M” tattoo is for.”

“When did you see that?” queried Mistress Titanaconda.

“Now wouldn’t You just love to know?”

“Yes, I would. Just in case you’ve forgotten, I am your Mistress. I taught you everything you know.”

“Just in case you happen to have forgotten, when I was nine years old, I was bigger, badder, taller, and tougher than you will ever be.”

“How would you like to be on the business end of a catfight—right here and right now?” While posing this query, Anna stood up, assumed an offensive boxing stance, and clenched both her tiny hands into ferocious, fearsome, faery fists of fine, fighting fury.

“First of all, monkey business is the only business you have ever been good at. Item two, kiddy kitties are much too small to even think about jumping in to a catfight.”

“Wait til our next incarnations. I will remind you about all the short jokes you’ve made at my expense.”

“You won’t have to remind me, Hermia oh so little and fierce, I will still be making them.”

“Helena, of the legs longer still to run away, what makes you think I’ll be short in my next lifetime?”

“Because you’ve been a midget in all your lives, including this one.”

“I am not a midget or a dwarf. I am one inch taller than the maximum height for membership in Little People of America, Inc. So put that in your pipe and smoke it.”

“You know very well that I smoke cigars and you smoke a pipe.”

“Tis true. Doesn’t Georgie Porgie smoke cigars too?”

“Yes, Georgie does.”

Anna reckoned it was high time for her towering friend to pay for some of those shortness-spawned barbs she was so fond of delivering. “Well, well, well! that must be really good for you. You know what dominatrixes say about submissives who smoke cigars?”

“No. What do they say?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you the scuttle butt on that subject.”

“Okay, that’s fine with me.”

“I could tell you, if you really want to know.”

“No, no that’s alright.”

“Aren’t you even the least bit curious?” Anna inquired.

“No.”

“Shit! Why do you have to make things so difficult?” Mistress Titanaconda protested.

“That’s what they pay me for. And in your case because it’s lots of fun.”

“No they don’t. They pay you to peek inside and poke around in people’s minds.”

“And they pay me very well to be a head-shrinker. If they only knew what being a head-shrinker really entails.” Now did she send forth some sinister laughter.

During their chat, Anna slipped off her shoes and started massaging her calves, ankles, feet, and toes. “If they can send people to the Moon, then why can’t someone make stylish and comfortable high heeled shoes?” She complained exasperatedly.

As their talk continued, Dr. Smythe pondered her friend’s question. The Hypnotic Mistress Psychiatrist received an insight. This was perfect. Andrayalexis came over to Mistress Titanaconda, swept up her friend in a loving and powerful embrace, and then gave Her a passionate kiss.

“I’ve always known you wanted Me, but what’s all this for?” Anna stated stammeringly after catching her breath.

“You have given me my next weapon in my very intimate battle of the sexes.”

There was a quizzical expression on Ms. Conway’s countenance. “How did I do that?”

“That’s not the point. The fact that you did it is good enough.”

“Well, anything I can do to help.”

Anna knew it was useless to try and pump her prodigious pal for more details. She knew she would not be receiving any more information on this score, until her gigantic girlfriend was good and ready to divulge further data.

While winding down from a particularly physically exhausting and psychologically intensive session, Mistress Andrayalexis decided to play Her next hand in Her interpersonal game with George Walderson. “I have an idea for you,” She said.

Among the things george had come to learn was that no matter how well he knew Her, he would never always know what surprises She had kept in store for him. A few flickering fragments of ‘Fantastique’ fantasies flittered flashily through this fine fellow’s ‘femme fatale’ fascinated thoughts. “What is it, Mistress Head-Shrinker?” he queried while dreamily drowsing and deliriously drowning in the depthless depths of Her devastatingly dazzling gaze.

“It is a business proposition.”

The man’s stupendous disappointment was incredibly monumental and effectively concealed. “What is it, Mistress?”

“My slave, many women, shemales, and feminized males yearn for the day when high heeled shoes can be as comfortable as they are fashionable. When you initially came to Me, you mentioned you were suffering from burnout. Accepting the task I have set for you may be the most challenging mission you have ever undertaken. Well, excluding the Herculean labours of love you have faced, and shall encounter, in order to futilely attempt to validate your worthiness of being My submissive slave.”

he screwed up his countenance in disbelief as his eyes manifested immeasurable incredulousness as they gaped at Her. “Mistress! i don’t know anything about women’s shoes. i wouldn’t know the first thing about making them comfortable or stylish or both. This request is just too farfetched.”

She sniffed at him in disgusted derision. “Just like a typical male chauvinist pigheaded man. Oh all of you howl and whistle and get your rocks off whenever any female wears high heels. But now that I want you to help us not live with sore feet all our lives, all you can say is “i don’t know how."” Dr. Smythe had not stuck out her tongue at anyone since she was a little girl. Mistress Andrayalexis did so now.

“i have never insisted, or even asked You to wear high heels. You asked me what i thought about You wearing them. i told You i liked the idea because stilettos accentuate Your comely curves and Your ostrich-esque legs.”

Mistress Smythe stared fixedly at Her prized prize possession. “That is not the point,” She retorted. “Are you going to accept this project or not?” She asked pointedly.

“No, Mistress,” george replied.

The Psychiatric Sex Goddess refused to speak to him for some moments. There were times when there was just no talking to this mulish, pigheaded man She loved so much. The more She thought about his rejection of Her proposal, the more frustrated and infuriated Andrayalexis became. How many times had he told Her he wanted and needed to do something different in his professional capacity? Now She had plopped the perfect desideratum right in his lap. His response was to run away from it like a scared rabbit in a grueling, gruesome grudge match of hare and hounds. The more She cogitated upon his reluctance and obstinacy, the more irksome and loathsome did their presence and manifestation become to Her.

Her book learning and clinical knowledge of operant conditioning as well as Her know-how regarding the most efficacious actuators of motivation for reticent submissives of all sorts, had shown Mistress Dr. Andrayalexis Smythe that pain or pleasure could be an excellent inducement for the performance of some proper behavior desired by the dominating entity. In this circumstance, She elected to employ punishment in order to ameliorate or eliminate the recurrence of this slave’s refusal to stretch himself outside of his comfortable security zone. The next item on the agenda was the determination of how his correction should be administered. The psychiatrist moved her gaze about the room in search of an inspiration. Her eyes settled upon a familiar object which set loose a particular train of thought. “Yes, indeed! this will do the trick,” She said silently to herself. ““RELAX AND GO INTO DEEP HYPNOSIS FOR ME,"” were the words She spake aloud. Mr. george walderson was, unknowingly so far as his conscious mind was concerned, issued a specific set of posthypnotic suggestions, returned to his regular state of mind, and summarily sent on his way.

This argument with Andrayalexis upset George Walderson far more than he had been disturbed by anything for some time. They had gone through their share of disagreements in the past. This one, however, possessed a tenor unlike any of the previous squabbles. If she could only be made to understand how absurdly preposterous it was for him to even consider entangling himself in anything remotely associated with fashion design. His fashion sense had always left a great deal to be desired. Putting together aesthetically appealing apparel and accessories had always been far beyond his reach. Due to this failing, in his teenage years, he had been teased unmercifully and, on a few occasions, snidely rejected mercilessly by couture-conscious girls who had piqued his interest. His longstanding relationship with a fine tailor he had once aided was the sole reason Mr. Walderson was now a gentleman who could rightly be classified as sartorially satisfactory. Perhaps, if he had told Andrayalexis all this, maybe she would understand why he wanted no parts of this subject. No. Just partially remembering what he had gone through had reopened an emotional wound he had believed was long cauterized.

Whenever George was suffering through a particularly and peculiarly stressful day, at first the sight, after that the aroma, following in succession the feel, and finally the flavor of a fine cigar or two always served to raise his spirits. If he was really lucky, then during his enjoyment of this exquisite smoke he would come up with a way to smooth things over with The Statuesque Specimen of Superior Womanliness who was so dear to, and demanding of, himself.

Even when one’s humidor is functioning perfectly, a specific cigar may go bad for a variety of reasons. Not one of the several cigars he had taken from this humidor tasted as it should. He meticulously examined the appliance. So far as he could tell there was nothing amiss. Next he tried one or two cigars from a couple of other humidors. None of them tasted quite right. He sat down in his favorite chair and started scratching his head. This was the freakiest thing he had ever encountered. He all but expected Rod Serling, Allen Funt, Art Bell, or all of them in concert to materialize right before his very eyes. That would have made more sense than what was going on. Finally, with all manner of bizarre ideas and quirky notions angling for acceptance and mightily striving for supremacy in his mind, he retreated from this situation and went up to bed. Eventually, he restlessly drifted off to dreamland.

The next day, after finishing his work projects, george happily headed off to his favorite, top-drawer tobacconist. He was absolutely positive that whatever apparently had affected all the tobacco products he owned would not make its ill presence felt anywhere else. He bought two of his longtime favorite cigars and one he had always wanted to experience.

On a whim, he chose to smoke them in his car while parked on an awesomely commanding promontory with a magnificently beautiful view of the lake, the forest, and the city. As he was making ready for the lighting up of the first cigar, he wistfully thought of how romantic it would be to bring Andrayalexis here to this very private spot on a clear night with a full moon. This submissive lover admitted to himself that even when there existed a rift between them, Mistress Dr. Smythe was in full control of his inner being and everything else he possessed.

he flicked on his lighter, allowed its gentle flame to toast the cigar’s foot, and puffed and rotated the cigar. It tasted as weird and as wretched and as worthless as all the others had last night. He concluded there was no good reason to try out either of the other two. The very rational George walderson was completely confused.

What was going on with him? So far as he could determine, none of his other sensory perceptions had been adversely affected recently. Only his enjoyment of cigars was involved. he searched and searched his memory. An idea came to him. It was necessary for him to ascertain its veracity as soon as possible.