The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“A what?”

Dave chuckled a little at my confusion. “A hypno-erotic cruise,” he repeated, as if it were the most commonplace idea in the world. “It’s Eleanor’s latest brainstorm. You get a bunch of people who have a jones for hypnosis and offer them a cruise package tailored to play up to that. She floated a trial balloon across a couple of newsgroups and the response was good enough that she wants to do it.”

“Well, it’s certainly a new idea,” was all I could think of to say. After eight years booking talent for the cruise line I thought I’d covered just about every slant there is on these specialty packages. All but one, it seemed. “What kind of entertainment are we supposed to book for that?”

“Hypnotists, I guess,” Dave offered. “Get a mix of different styles. The racier the better.”

“Sure, that’s a start,” I agreed. “But we can’t just book hypno acts for the entire week. What else do these kind of people like?”

“Beats me, Tina,” he replied. “That’s why I’m glad as hell that Eleanor wants you to run with it instead of me.”

I was afraid he’d say that. Eleanor seems to enjoy challenging me with the oddball packages; it’s her way of keeping the job interesting. “All right,” I grumbled, “Give me what you’ve got.”

It wasn’t much: a couple of names and phone numbers, a few hypnotists’ web sites, and a book title. Clearly I was going to have to do some research.

Fortunately for me, the first number on the list belonged to a hypnotherapist named Rob. He and his wife Toni gave me a crash course on the so-called hypnofetish community, pointing me to web sites and other resources to find the kind of entertainment this group would want. I had several well-known hypnotists in my contacts file, of course, but I quickly found out that erotic hypnosis acts are a whole other genre. Rob and Toni helped me put out some feelers. I bounced a lot of ideas off them, and eventually things started to take shape.

We settled on a program combining a variety of stage acts with private sessions, seminars, a panel of hypno-erotic authors and video screenings. The erotic angle figured heavily into the stage performers and videos as well as the authors; several of the people we contacted were professional dommes, people who make a career out of using hypnosis to sexually dominate people who are turned on by the power. I was surprised to discover how many of those dommes are women.

Then came the difficult part, the actual booking of the acts and participants. Rob and Toni took care of the professional types and authors and I farmed out the videos and music to Dave. That left me primarily focused on finding and booking the stage acts. I traded emails with dozens of performers or their agents. Most sent demo tapes or referred me to pictures and clips on their web sites.

After sifting through the demos I could see there were a couple of different basic types emerging. First were the strictly entertainment-oriented acts—they were pretty much the same as the conventional stage hypnotists I’d seen before, except the stunts they used had an R-rated flavor. Instead of telling the volunteer to be stiff and suspending them between two chairs, for example, they’d tell the volunteer that she’s a stripper and have her start to perform. The volunteer in the demos was almost always an attractive woman, I noticed.

The second group consisted of the professional dommes. The majority of these were women; all of them were way out there, from my perspective. Some of them had stage acts which went even farther than the R-rated entertainers. I saw clips of people getting naked, answering questions about sexual fantasies, being told they were having sex with a favorite celebrity, even having orgasms on stage in front of an audience. Watching those clips felt a little like staring at a highway accident. Part of me was disturbed by the shameless way these people were being used, but another part found it weirdly fascinating. Every so often as I looked at these clips I’d remember the hypnotist I’d gone to a year or so before to get help with my smoking habit. The contrast between that dry, bookish man and these larger-than-life personalities was almost comical.

As the booking deadline approached, things got very hectic. There were contracts to be dealt with, schedules to make, accommodations to arrange—a mountain of details that come with the planning of a successful cruise.

The mountain felt particularly steep and rocky one Wednesday. Dave had the day off, which left me alone to deal with the phones, and Eleanor dropped by to let me know that passenger space was nearly sold out. I spent the day hopping between the phone, the fax, and the computer trying to get everyone nailed down. I barely noticed as morning gave way to noon.

I had just hung up from perhaps my tenth phone call of the morning when I became aware of someone standing in the doorway just behind me: a woman, early thirties I’d guess, with long blonde hair and piercing green eyes. She wore a simple but well-tailored business suit which suggested a great figure and carried a slim attaché case. “Excuse me,” she said in a rich, flowing voice, “are you Tina?”

“Yes,” I said. There was something very familiar about this woman as she came closer, but I couldn’t quite place her. “Can I help you?”

She held out a well-manicured hand. “I am Mistress Ursula,” she explained. “We were discussing the hypnoerotic cruise.”

It took me a few seconds, but then it clicked. Mistress Ursula was one of the professional dommes I’d contacted early in the talent search. I dimly remembered a checking out her web site and references and sending her an email outlining the basic premise of the cruise package. She had expressed a preference for doing business in person rather than over the net, so I’d told her to stop by whenever, expecting never to hear from her again. But here she was, those distinctive eyes waiting patiently while I rifled through my memory.

“Yes, of course,” I said, acutely aware that it had taken me way too long to reply. “Won’t you sit down?”

Ursula gestured at the piles of papers on my desk. “Is this a bad time?”

“Always,” I replied truthfully. “The deadline for talent bookings is Friday, though, so it isn’t going to get any better. To tell the truth, I’m not sure we still have an open slot for you. Did I send you a contract?”

“Yes, you did.” The portfolio opened and one of our stock contracts emerged. I saw sections highlighted in yellow and a few notes in the margins. “I thought we might discuss a few points.”

Clearly she hadn’t taken the hint about there being no open slots, but I was no mood for a confrontation. I pushed aside some papers and picked up a notepad and pen. “Sure,” I said, not very enthusiastically.

If Ursula noticed anything negative in my demeanor, she ignored it. Over the course of the next twenty minutes I learned that Mistress Ursula was a very smart businesswoman. Our standard contract is naturally written to favor the cruise line, and leaves quite a few things up to the performer. Ursula wasted no time in isolating those things, finding out how much leeway I had to amend the agreement, and negotiating a compromise within those limits. We were both deep into those negotiations when another unexpected visitor came calling: my husband, John.

“Hi honey,” he said, an affable smile on his round, bearded face. “You about ready?”

“Ready for what?” I asked, puzzled. About two heartbeats later, I realized what he was talking about. “Argh!” I groaned as the details came back. “We had a date, didn’t we?”

“Lunch at Luigi’s,” he confirmed. “Did you forget?”

“Yes,” I admitted sheepishly. “I seem to be forgetting a lot of things lately.” Like the fact that I had a total stranger sitting across my desk witnessing the scene, an amused smile on her face. “I’m sorry,” I interjected. “Mistress Ursula, this is my husband, John.”

I saw Ursula taking in John as she shook his hand and muttered a pleasantry. Her eyes wandered over his broad shoulders, his thinning brown hair, his cuddly trunk. “Coming to take her away for a romantic lunch,” she remarked approvingly. “You must be a very thoughtful man, John.”

John blushed and tried valiantly not to look too closely into the opening neckline of Ursula’s blouse. “I try,” he demurred.

Time to save him. “We’ll be done here soon,” I said. “Can you give us fifteen minutes?”

“Sure,” he said, seeming a little relieved to focus on me instead of Ursula. “That’ll still give us time to get there before one.”

“I like him,” Ursula said as John retreated to the outer office. “How long have you been married?”

“Eighteen years,” I answered.

Ursula applauded quietly. “Wonderful! Children?”

“Three,” I responded, and turned their picture around so Ursula could see it. “Janet is fifteen, Megan is thirteen, and John Junior is ten.”

“Three lovely children, and a husband willing to take you on a romantic lunch date,” Ursula summarized. “You must be very happy.”

“I get by,” I replied, then realized I’d gotten completely off track. Putting the picture back in place, I picked up my pen again. “Anyway, you were saying.”

“You’ve been forgetting things lately,” she noted. “Are you feeling stressed?”

“It’s a hectic time in the planning cycle,” I explained, trying to bring the conversation back to business. “Lots of details to work out, very little time to work them out in, the usual drill. Now then, you had an issue with item 17?”

But Ursula would not be guided. “The contract can wait,” she said. “You have all the outward symptoms of someone under too much job-related stress. You’re forgetting things, your workplace is disorganized, and your husband is waiting in the outer office while you talk contracts with a client. You need help, Tina.”

I started to protest, but when I looked up at her I saw those fiery green eyes locked on my face. Ursula looked concerned, sympathetic. I said nothing.

“Tina,” she continued, “I want you to take a deep breath. Nice and deep, as deep as you can.”

I inhaled, filling my lungs to capacity.

“Now let it out slowly.”

I did as she said, letting the air out slowly through my nose. Just as my lungs emptied, she told me to do it again and I complied.

“One more time,” she said, “and this time I want you to feel yourself relaxing as you exhale. Let your mouth open, let your shoulders drop, as you let the breath take the tensions and release them from your body.”

Ursula was right, I decided as I continued to breath deeply and slowly, letting my body relax with each breath. I was stressed out, frazzled, wound up. It felt good to relax and breathe for a second. A feeling of great peace began to wash over me as I sat there, my eyes still locked on Ursula’s, breathing and relaxing. My eyes started to water, and I realized that my eyelids were becoming very heavy, very tired. I worried that I might fall asleep, but Ursula told me it was okay, I could let them close anytime I wanted to and nobody would mind. Relieved, I let my eyes close down and the rest of my face relaxed with it.

Even with my eyes closed, I could still feel Ursula’s gaze on me, watching over me. A question floated into my mind: “Have you ever been hypnotized before, Tina?”

I heard a voice answer. “Yes,” it said calmly, “I went to a hypnotist last year to help me stop smoking. He hypnotized me several times.”

“Did it work?”

“Yes. I haven’t even thought about smoking since the last session.”

“I’m very happy for you, Tina. Take another deep breath now and go deeper for me. Deeper and deeper, Tina, relaxing and letting go . " Ursula’s voice faded into a faint, melodious buzz. A wonderful feeling came over me: dreamy, distant, and serene. Hypnotized, I thought vaguely, I’m hypnotized again. I’d forgotten how incredibly good it feels to be hypnotized, “to drift along, happy and free, with nobody wanting anything, nobody needing anything, nothing whatsoever to worry about or to do, except to relax and enjoy.” Did Ursula say that, or did I think it? No matter, it was just as true either way.

Then I heard another voice, John’s voice. He sounded surprised, nervous. My eyes were too relaxed to open and see him, so I just said, “Hi, sweetie,” and felt myself sink a little further into my trance. I was fine, Ursula said, I was just relaxing. Very relaxed, totally relaxed. I heard Ursula explaining to John exactly how relaxed I was, how I had gotten that way, all the while her sing-song voice taking me even deeper into myself. John stopped talking after a while, and soon Ursula was telling me that he was relaxed too, nice and relaxed, completely relaxed. I felt happy for John, that he could share this wonderful state with me.

Then Ursula remarked about how amazing it was to her that we could be so relaxed with all that clothing constricting us, binding us, weighing us down. I hadn’t really noticed it before, but she was right. The waistband of my pants felt tight, my shirt collar rubbed uncomfortably against my neck, and my bra felt like it was beginning to chafe around my ribs and over my shoulders where the straps were. My thighs wanted to be free from the binding elastic of my panties, and my feet wanted to breathe without shoes choking them. I could be so much more relaxed, so much freer, without those things. And she was right—even as my arms and legs moved on their own to remove my clothing, I felt myself slipping farther and farther into the warmth and comfort of even deeper relaxation. By the time my last item of clothing had fallen to the floor my entire body felt alive, refreshed, warm and tingly.

Warm . yes, I realized, I did feel warm. Especially in my breasts and between my legs, I felt very warm indeed. Warm and, as I began to explore those regions with my hands, also quite wet. I caressed my warm spots freely and found that as I did so, the warmth increased. Soon I was very warm indeed, and I found that it was no longer enough to pleasure myself this way—I needed something more.

My eyes opened. I saw John standing right in front of me, his eyes fixed on me, and I realized that John had warm spots too. I reached over and touched the warm spot on his chest and heard him moan with pleasure. I kissed the warm spot on his neck, and felt his hands on my warm, soft breasts. His touch sent waves of pleasure through me. My hand found the warmest spot of all, his cock, and I was thrilled to discover how huge and how stiff it was. His cock radiated heat like a thick branding iron, and I thought I would melt if he didn’t put it into my warmest spot right away.

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I lifted my legs let my dripping slit come to rest on top of his marvelous cock. The combined heat from our joined parts threatened to overwhelm us both. Somebody put a hand on us and guided John to an extra office chair, where he sat down. I took the opportunity to lift myself up and plunge myself down directly onto his waiting shaft, my legs crossing behind him. His face was right near mine so I pulled him to me for a long, languorous kiss.

We stayed that way for a long time, the heat building as I rode up and down on him in an ever-quickening tempo. Each bounce brought us each closer to the edge and made us want it all the more. In the final seconds I felt a hand on my neck, and my body relaxed again even as the best orgasm I’ve ever had ripped through it. My head fell back, my mouth fell open, and I babbled incoherently for what seemed like half an hour as I felt John’s cock twitching inside me. There were multiple peaks with only brief pauses between, each peak bringing a shriek or a grunt and taking me to another place. At some point I stopped cumming and passed out completely.

I woke up on the floor with John. We were naked, our bodies woven together in a posture that made it very obvious what we had been doing. At first I was totally flabbergasted, then the memory of my visit from Mistress Ursula began to bubble up from my subconscious mind.

Ursula! Where was she? I got up a little too quickly, eliciting a tired groan from my barely-conscious husband, and looked around. The door was closed and locked, the shades drawn, and Ursula was nowhere to be found. As I picked up my clothes, I noticed a performance contract on my chair. It was signed by both of us—Mistress Ursula was now officially booked for the hypnoerotic cruise.

My business head wanted to cry foul, but I was too damn happy to care. Instead I started laughing. Then I realized I was standing naked in the middle of my office laughing my ass off, and that was even funnier.

“You okay?” John was awake and struggling to his feet.

“Never better,” I said, and showed him the contract. “Looks like I’m going to have to bump somebody to make room for Mistress Ursula.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Not really. There’s a couple of people who still owe me contracts—I’ll just tell one of them I couldn’t wait any longer.”

A sly grin crept over John’s face. “Something tells me it’s going to be one hell of a cruise.”

Our eyes met, and our minds met. I’d sold more than enough passages on the hypno cruise to qualify for a free cabin; when I called Eleanor and told her I was finally ready to take a vacation, she was so thrilled she upgraded us to first class.

I looked over at John, who was stepping into his pants. “You’d better start taking more vitamins,” I warned, “You’re going to need them.”