The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It seemed silly to move to another hotel when I was going to be in town for another week, but I wanted to be away from people who might recognize me. After two weeks packin’ ‘em in at the Starlight, my face had to be familiar to a lot of folks. I had moved only two blocks away, an annoyance since I had to pay a taxi to move my trunk with all my props. And after all that, the receptionist frowned at me with that puzzled look people have when something is nagging your memory. As she handed back my credit card, she suddenly grinned and said “Got it! You’re the Great Marvin!”

Drat! Spotted again. Now I would have to answer twenty questions on hypnosis before I could get to my room. Do you have a mysterious power, do only the stupid succumb, things like that. She went on efficiently filing the copy of the form I’d signed and getting me my room key. “My roomate went to your show last night and volunteered. Her name was Debbie, maybe you remember? Dark hair, short, big boobs?”

I remembered Debbie, all right. She was probably plain when she wasn’t hypnotized; I’d had her singing like Alanis Morrisette, then convinced her she was the hypnotist and had her give suggestions to another victim. Her face had been glowing, and her bust made her a real crowd-pleaser. “She was great,” I told the clerk, whose badge read Alice. “Really smart; she took suggestions like an actress. Did she say if she really believed she was Alanis?” Alice nodded. “She’s got IQ points to spare then. It takes concentration to hold the idea that firmly; most people know they’re going along and pretend. Smart girl.”

Alice giggled. “She kept asking me all morning if she seemed wide awake. I think she slapped herself in the bathroom once.”

I picked up my suitcase. “She was probably thinking back to the induction, trying to see if she could go under by herself. Which I’m sure she could.”

Alice laid a hand on my arm. “She raved about it all day. We were going to go tonight and volunteer, but it was your last show.”

I grinned. “I have a week’s layover before I go back to doing shows. I’m going to put MYSELF to sleep for a change. And drink! I can’t work drunk, so I don’t drink much on work days.”

Alice’s face fell. “Oh,” she said meekly. “I get off at eleven, I mean,” she swallowed. “I wondered if you, that is, you’re on vacation. I guess I shouldn’t bother you.” Her hand went from my arm and clutched her other hand behind her back. Little tears stood in the corner of her eyes.

I examined her. What a subject! She had autosuggested a lump in her throat and a waver in her voice. And the moist eyes. The big, blue moist eyes . . . and the grapefruit-sized breasts, caramel-colored hair and long nyloned legs. I decided that if this fine specimen wanted a trance, she’d get one. I’d rather have just dated her as Hank Marvin than awed her as the The Great Marvin. The Great Marvin doesn’t get laid much. Girls don’t like the teasing assumption that I’ve had them and made them forget. A girl so bright I could make her forget a sex act would be too bright to LET me make her forget. Sigh. Marvin wasn’t going to get this one either.

“Alice,” I told her softly. “I would love to have some company tonight, and I’ll tell you or show you whatever you’re interested in.” Her face brightened with delight. So easy to influence!

“Debbie will hate me,” she said smilingly. “She was fascinated with your show.”

“She was fascinated in my show,” I corrected. “Bring her along if she wants.” (As a chaperone, I chuckled to myself.) Women—and men—never seem to think it through. If I could hypnotize women and make them do anything I wanted, the angry villagers with torches would be after me. “See you at eleven, then?” She blushed scarlet and nodded furiously. I headed down the hall, suitcase swinging as I compared door numbers with my key.

I deal in trust. Well, that and some showbiz, and a little titilation. My posters are an essential. I paid a lot for them; they are slick and professional-looking, they are bright and impressive, and they show slim haughty chicks and big dangerous hunks transfixed by my stare. I look like Mephistopheles or an evil scientist. If your picture were on these posters, you could hypnotize a third of the audience with a few words and arm passes. They trust me to be a kick-ass hypnotist, and as long as I don’t break the trust, by God I am one. Part of this is my charisma; I’m proud of it and it’s all fake. I can turn it off and go sit by the pool and you wouldn’t call me The Great Anything. When it’s on, I project confidence. I can bully stubborn subjects into a trance because they know I’m a dangerous, mind-warping mesmerist. And they go, because it’s a stage act and not some dungeon, and because I’m a known quantity. I have posters, and an agent. I’m not Chester the Molester.

And although I have dark urges, heh heh, heh heh, in fact HEH HEH HEH! WOO! Sorry. I have, as I said, urges which go unfulfilled. The great pioneer of modern clinical hypnosis, Milton Erickson i think thats the name had a young psychiatrist come to him for advice because he found hypnotizing an attractive woman such a turn-on that he had to wank off afterwards, and had recently begun coming in his pants during the session. The turn-on, he explained, was that he had in his power a helpless girl to whom he did no harm. And, yes, it’s a big turn-on, and I used to hypnotize my girlfriend and fuck her brains out. I made her beg for it, and then I made the mistake of making her beg for it when she didn’t really want it. I was a rat, and began trying to change her in ways I thought would improve her, or in other words abuse her as certainly as if I hit her with a baseball bat. Slavery is a great B&D game in your bedroom; in real life it’s criminal assault on someone’s sister or daughter. I had to lose a great girl to find this out and she won’t talk on the phone or anything for fear of keywords (and I never did anything like that).

And now I’m trustworthy, and make everyone euphoric when I wake them. I can hypnotize total strangers, even help a lady have a baby painlessly in an emergency. I maintain a confident humorous patter, emphasizing that the subjects are doing great, that we’re ALL laughing along. I don’t do impromptu shows on bemused waitresses or show off. I have one big screwup on my conscience and hundreds of successes. And there was my room. I unlocked it and threw the suitcase on the bed. Inside was a bottle of scotch for The Great Marvin, who was going to have to at least rehypnotize and manipulate one cute girl and maybe two. Alice had the look of someone who lost her inhibitions easily; she would expect ‘adult’ suggestions (you’re naked, fake an orgasm). The Great was going to be jacking off all night long after they left. I fed Marvin the scotch ( I find it convenient for The Great M. to be my split personality—I don’t want to act like him too much).

The hypnotist sat drinking with his split personality for half an hour, then we trundled out into the lobby. Alice sat quietly behind the desk, face pale. She started when she saw me, then smiled timidly. My stomach turned over and my dick hardened slightly. Marvin gave her his irresistible 300-watt smile until she was grinning helplessly along in contagious good-fellowship. I asked her where a good, close restaurant was; she directed me to a Chinese place a block away which was very nice. The fried rice began to soak up some of the booze in my system. I glanced at my wrist, noting the position of Mickey’s hands: 9:30. I had more eggrolls to soak up the alcohol; somehow this seemed to call for a glass of sake. I consulted Mickey again; I had half an hour.

Get hold of yourself, Marvin, I told myself.

YOU are Marvin, my self told me sternly. You goddamn drunk.

I realized I was almost panicking about this, this confrontation. I could probably use both of those nice little girls like sluts and have them like it and be grateful. My nuts were throbbing. But it would erode a moral high ground which I had carefully elevated for years, maybe even destroy some of my confidence as a hypnotist. I staggered to the front and paid, returning to cross the table with silver. Moral high ground, ya know. Don’t stiff waitresses. Unless they wanna be stiffed. God, I was tipsy. I prayed that Alice would be away from the desk, but there she sat, lost in thought. She jumped up as I entered.

“Sir?” She was biting her lower lip, which appeared worth a bite. My dick began to throb painfully at the ‘sir.’ I stood closer to the counter, maintaining my control of the situation. She confided quietly that she had contacted Debbie, who was ecstatic and wanted to know if she could be rehypnotized. I smirked.

“Call her back,” I ordered her. “Tell her I want her to drive over here, come into my room, sit down on my bed and be hypnotized. Repeat that back to me.” My manner was friendly but firm. Her eyes widened.

“You want me to call her back. You want her to drive over here, come into your room, sit down on the bed and be hypnotized.” She was pleased to get it right, pleased to follow instructions. She glowed. My dick wiggled.

I fled to my room, where the scotch awaited. It hypnotized me into pouring another glass. I sipped it, thinking that Alice wouldn’t arrive until well after eleven. Her replacement would be coming in and taking over the night desk. It was ten minutes to eleven.