The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

At Deep Minds Hypnosis, we believe in a very personal approach. For starters, we don’t make the client fill out the paperwork. So while Jenna got comfortable in the reclining chair, and Dr. George sat nearby listening, I held the clipboard and walked our newest client through the usual questions.

She was a bit of a hometown VIP—I’d seen her speak at a Chamber of Commerce luncheon. Jenna was the local whiz kid who had come back home with a Ph.D. and was now rising in the ranks of a biotech lab on the waterfront.

“Thanks for seeing me on short notice; my schedule is a minefield,” she said, confident and professional, pivoting between the two of us as though running a meeting in her own office. “I suppose you wonder why I’m here? I was referred to you by my executive coach, who cannot understand a hurdle that’s slowing me down, holding me back. I keep telling him my only problem is that I feel like a fraud. Since he’s paid to make me more successful, he’s stuck. We’ve tried everything. Finally he suggested, well hell, let’s try hypnosis.”

“And what do you think?” Dr. George asked.

“To be honest, I’m skeptical. But I told him I’d give it a try.”

“OK, but I’m puzzled,” Dr. George said. “From what I’ve read on the business pages, your career has taken off.”

“Thank you. It looks that way, I know. But I have to tell you, this feeling has been dogging me every step of the way, making me stumble. I’m the star manager who just gets tired, aching tired, of being in charge. ”

“What about your work tires you?”

“I suspect I’m suffering from impostor syndrome. It just doesn’t feel like my place, to be in control of people, big decisions, big budgets. Can that doubt be switched off?”

Dr. George looked at the ceiling for a few moments.

“Not really, it can’t be turned off. But it can be counterbalanced—by surrendering the rest of yourself to some higher power, a power at least as weighty as your work.”

I watched her frown, sigh, and shake her head. “I’ve tried giving up control. To God, then to this biker dude I met at the Gorge, then to some Einstein who works at Amazon. None of them were up to the job.”

I recognized that desire, that longing to be released from being in charge. I couldn’t resist butting in. “I have to say, I know what you mean, about all that responsibility. If you’re looking for a higher power, it’s hard to beat hypnotic control.” I probably sounded a little more enthusiastic than professional just then. But Dr. George had unquestionably changed me, and my life.

She glanced at me funny, then at Dr. George with wide eyes. It looked like a sudden, slight panic. “Hypnotic control? You can’t make me do something I don’t really want to do, right? You can’t push me all that far with just words?”

As much as I wanted to stay, to see how this played out, I knew he needed to be alone with her. So I excused myself. On my way out, I heard Dr. George: “Perhaps you’d like to find out.”

At my desk, catching up on billing, I thought about his term, “counterbalanced.” I knew how helpful that could be. At the candy company, right up until the conglomerate bought us out, my last six months had been my most successful stint, thanks to Dr. George’s influence.

It had started with an invisible pair of slave bells, on chains around my ankles, that only I could hear. I never worked out how he achieved it, but somehow he was always in my head. Always tweaking my daily experiences, even if I hadn’t seen him in weeks.

It was impossible to ignore the control he had over what I saw, felt and did. What had once seemed a big deal at work was, in comparison, not so hard. I swiftly became a sales superstar.

Yeah, I thought, if Jenna went down that path, she’d be unstoppable. And Dr. George would have another grateful possession.

I stood up from my desk to make some tea in the break room.

When I got back a few minutes later, there was Jenna, kneeling under my desk, staring blankly into space and babbling about her need to please me. I was a bit surprised—why wasn’t she serving him?—but I figured he was making a point that would hit home as soon as she popped out of it.

I sat down in my chair, pulled my skirt up, and slid forward. I didn’t want her to bump her head when the spell wore off, so I held her head tightly against my bare crotch.

She was inexperienced, but enthusiastic. I didn’t orgasm, but eventually she did, and sure enough she immediately woke to her surroundings and freaked. Oh, the stroboscopic expressions: utter confusion, her eyes taking in the surroundings, her gaze landing on mine, then a panic, then anger.

“OhMyGod. OhMyGod. He made me do this. Didn’t he?! Fuck!” Then she fell silent.

I helped her up, smoothed her skirt and my own, and hugged her.

“You’re safe,” I said. I understood her bewilderment and the flood of feelings all too well.

I walked Jenna into his office. “Back to you, Dr. G,” I said. “I think she’s convinced.”

Jenna slumped into the chair, her demeanor noticeably different. She couldn’t seem to meet his eyes. I could sense her cognitive dissonance as she grappled with conflicting emotions—longing for surrender and yet feeling terror at the prospect. She shook her head a couple of times, apparently trying to settle it.

“It’s OK to take time to process this,” Dr. George said. “You may not have words yet. Is there anything you want to say?”

“No,” she mouthed.

“OK, I’m going to tell you what happens next,” he continued. “There’s nothing further to do here today. I’d like to see you again in a month. Meanwhile, I will be communicating with your deepest mind from time to time, providing instructions. You won’t be aware of this.”

She didn’t even react to that.

“I want you to report any effects you notice. Send them to Mrs. Watson as soon as they occur, so she can enter them in your chart. I expect you’ll notice that, as my control expands, so will your accomplishments at work.”

Jenna finally found her voice: “Am I going to find myself under everybody’s desk?”

“Sexual control will get your attention. But most of the counterbalance experiences will be less ... explicit.”

Jenna asked for the restroom and spent a few minutes in there.

Then Dr. George and I stood side by side at the window and watched as Jenna walked unsteadily to her car. The morning’s events caught up with me and I moaned slightly, involuntarily. I wasn’t sure if Dr. George had heard me; I changed the subject.

“It seemed like she keeps glancing down at herself. What’s she looking at?” I asked.

“It’s a little tattoo on her hand that only she can see.” He wiggled his finger in the shape of a spiral. “It’s a constant little reminder.”

He reached up and gripped the back of my neck. Turning, he escorted me back to the staff room. It was my turn on my knees. It was not a particularly long BJ, but by the time we were done, my phone was already vibrating with Jenna’s first texts.

“OMG what’s happening to me?”

“He’s in the back of my head, there’s a hum.”

“It’s purple.”

By nightfall she was sounding more coherent.

“I seem to require permission from his voice in my head every time I need to use the bathroom. Luckily his voice always says yes.”

Then the next day:

“Crap. I was at Safeway, checking out, and I opened my purse to pull out my wallet. How did my panties get in there?”

A few days later it was getting surreal: “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find kiwi fruit around here???”

A month later, right on schedule, she was back in his chair. She seemed more composed now, but still couldn’t meet his gaze.

“More please, Sir,” she said. “This is working. I had to lay off two people this week. No problem. It felt in an odd way like I was doing it for you.”

“I’m pleased,” he said. “I’ll keep supporting you, so you can keep pushing yourself. Think of this as a board that extends out over the edge of a cliff. The more weight placed on the back end, the farther you can step out into midair.”

He suggested that, before she left, she should check her reflection in the restroom mirror. A minute later, we could hear her squeal through the closed door. She came out clutching her throat.

“A silver spiral necklace,” he told me later. “Without a clasp.”

It was apparent from her next text reports that he had turned up the heat.

“I was actually trying to watch the news tonight. But every channel was showing the same thing. You in your white coat. You make a great weatherman, by the way.”

“Until last night, I’ve never knelt by my bed and said my prayers. But I’ll keep doing it, if you keep showing up and fucking me like that.”

The sex wasn’t all virtual. Apparently Jenna had also developed a taste for strangers’ cum. “Picked up a little extra protein in the men’s room at McDonald’s.”

One of her texts was just a selfie: She now had blue hair.

And a week after that, the company offered her a big promotion, a job in their Oakland headquarters.

That’s when the script flipped; cause and effect swapped places. Now her work successes were creating a demand for deeper mind control, an ever-heavier counterbalance. Every time Jenna was complimented by the boss, was interviewed on a business channel or gained a headcount, she asked Dr. George for more.

“I need you. All the time. Reminding me who’s really in charge here.”

He was now selecting her meals, her clothing choices, even her new piercings.

Apparently her subconscious started adding intensifiers without waiting for instructions. Jenna reported scenes he hadn’t written, like the time all her clothing disappeared in the middle of a meeting with the CEO. Her clothing also was disappearing for real. She emailed me a gorgeous photo of herself, wearing an elaborate feathered mask, but otherwise open for inspection, at the Folsom Street Fair.

To gain some control over her long-distance experience, Dr. George referred her to a kinked hypnosis couple he knew in the East Bay. They reported that Jenna was so suggestible that they feared for her safety.

Once she phoned me, while I was at my desk, with clients in the waiting area.

She was gasping so hard, so regularly, that I had trouble making out her words.

“Are you sure he’s there? In the office? Sure? I swear he’s here, right here. Really here. Did he fly down to visit?”

“He’s bent me over. I’m pinned down. Against my car. He’s inside me, so good, so deep, so, so... He’s on top of me. On my back. I can barely move. Fucking oh fucking my oh my ass. Ahhhhh. Now my pussy! Now my ass! Back and ah forth! How does he do this? ”

I heard the phone clatter against something and then just her voice wailing in the background, rising and falling. “I need this I need this I need this.”

I was interrupted by a client walking in. By the time I got back to Jenna’s call, she was gone.

I added it all to her chart.

But then things fell apart. Jenna seemed to become more distant. Dr. George was still sending instructions to her subconscious, but we weren’t getting much feedback. Finally, Jenna’s texts simply stopped. His messages were bouncing back or just being ignored. She had ghosted us.

I was really sorry for Dr. G., losing one of his biggest clients. We both had assumed she would become a prized possession. He still had a long list of escalations all planned out for her. And I missed the hot little stories every day.

I took him to lunch to commiserate. I told him that I had peeked at Jenna’s LinkedIn profile. Nothing seemed amiss there.

“The therapy must have worked,” he said, perhaps as much to himself as to me. “I guess she just doesn’t need it anymore.”

It took two months to find out what had happened, but one late fall morning, there she was, sitting in the maple leaves on our steps when I arrived for work.

She couldn’t look at me.

I need to be punished, she said. Really punished.

I settled her, bent over an overstuffed chair, in the staff room. Between clients that day, we took turns with a crop and paddle. Between swats, she blurted out her confession.

At some point, the remote-control commands had become insufficient, unsatisfying. As her corporate commitments had grown, so had her need to actually be used hard.

She started finding that real-life counterbalance at the office. It was so convenient to be dominated in person by her administrative assistant. Unfortunately, probably inevitably, that arrangement had led to an extortion attempt. Fortunately, she had been able to quash it. But her needs hadn’t diminished.

So now she was back in front of Dr. George, chastened, asking him for forgiveness.

But that wasn’t all. She needed his counterbalancing to be carried out in person, she said.

“Are you moving back here?” he asked.

She sniffled and wiped tears. “Nooo. I can’t come back now. I’m doing so fucking well. I’m a superstar. You made me a superstar. And I need you more than ever.”

That seemed like a big ask, particularly coming from someone on her knees, her ass bleeding from long welts. The discussion took a while, but they worked something out.

Jenna bought herself a retreat. It’s 20 miles east of town, a chalet-style house on the edge of a meadow with a view of Mount Baker. It’s a gorgeous place, but she’s never even decorated it. Instead she flies up for a long weekend every month, drives out to the house, and spends nearly every minute in the basement dungeon, awaiting that month’s therapy.

Dr. G spends a lot of that time with Jenna, seeing to her needs and seeing to his own. He drives me out there some days, and back in the evenings. I have huge time gaps, but apparently he’s got us both tied up with an intense mind experiment. I’m not sure what it means, but my hair is blue now too.

I suppose I should be envious of all the time she spends with him. But I’m coming out ahead in other ways.

Did I mention I bought her company’s stock way back at $31?