The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Angie and Claude spent every moment together as often as they could.

One Saturday, they had a romantic dinner and a night at the theater. Afterwards, the pair returned to Angie’s room—for both Tanya and Nisha were away for the evening. It was one of those nights where the two couldn’t stand to be apart. Angie dimmed the overhead lamp, lit some candles, then settled herself down in Claude’s lap. She felt soft and sexy in his arms.

“So what do you want to do for the rest of the evening?” Claude asked, caressing her cheek.

“I would love it if you would hypnotize me,” Angie said, batting her eyelashes at him.

She’s such an irresistible flirt, Claude thought. He tried to look reluctant, and failed. “I’m glad to see that you’re enjoying this as much as I am.”

She nodded. Her long dark hair was drawn back in a clip over her left ear, so her thick brown-black tresses swished sensually over her right shoulder. “Don’t misunderstand me—I care about you for who you are—but you do realize I’ve wanted this all my life and never been able to have it before. I feel like a kid who just inherited a candy shop.” She paused. “You are enjoying this as much as I am, right?”

Claude stared at her. “Hmm, let me think about that. Hmm. The prettiest, sexiest girl I’ve ever met trusts me to get inside her head and help her experience her daydreams. You trust me to take care of you and not let anything hurt you. I’ve never had anyone put so much trust in me before.”

“It’s because I know you respect me,” Angie said. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Claude smiled and hugged her.

“I know it’s safe to let you control me,” she continued. “You see me as a person, not as a toy, so I can just lie back and let you drive.”

“Is there anything you had in mind for tonight?” he asked.

She nodded. “I want to play hard to get.”

He kissed her cheek, and she wiggled appreciatively. Her body was enticing in his arms; her glances were sultry and tantalizing. “Looks to me like we’ve already got each other,” he said.

She grinned at him. “I want to see how long I can hold out—so you can keep trying, even if I say stop.”

The world churned to a standstill. Whoa, Claude thought. His surprise must have shown on his face, for Angie touched his cheek.

“S’okay, I trust you,” she said.

“But...” This was a bit much! How could he possibly do that? Of course, he thought wryly, he’d gone on sending her gifts after she’d told him to stop. But this was striking close to home, and he didn’t want to remind her of it.

“It’s just a game, don’t worry,” she reassured him.

“But... Angie, I have a problem with continuing after you’ve said no,” he told her.

She looked up at him, her brown eyes as dark as chocolate in the soft light. “I give you permission this time.”

“All right, um, safe words?”

“Safe words? Oh yeah, the S and M thing.” She looked away, considering that. He admired the smooth tan skin of her cheek. “I think we’ll be all right,” she concluded, and met his gaze again. “I give you permission to hypnotize me, and if you give me any suggestions that I don’t like, I just won’t follow them. You know that as well as I do.”

“I thought I did,” The psych major said slowly. Heavens, he didn’t want to bring this up, but it would be better than risking her feelings accidentally. “But there was that incident when you couldn’t find your clothes.”

Angie frowned. “Yeah, I did some thinking about that,” she confessed. “I have a theory on why that worked.”

“Mmm-hmm?”

“I have a damsel in distress complex,” she said. Claude opened his mouth, but she kept talking. “Yeah, I know I don’t need a man to rescue me. I also don’t need to bike to class. I could take a bus, or walk. I bike because I like it. Just because I don’t need you to rescue me doesn’t mean I don’t want it.”

Was she saying what he thought she was saying? “So then...” he began, and trailed off.

She nodded slowly. “I was hoping you’d show up and save me.”

Claude stared at her, then snaked his arm around her head, drew her to him, and kissed her. She kissed back, lovingly; her lips were gentle and trusting.

After a while, he asked, “But your parents were almost home. What would have happened if I hadn’t logged in?”

Her face clouded. “I don’t know. I’d like to think I’d have broken through it, but I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry to have brought that up,” he told her.

She smiled up at him. “S’okay, I know you’re just trying to protect me. If you didn’t respect what I want, you wouldn’t be concerned!”

“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Claude marvelled. Whoops, he thought, that was probably the wrong question to ask!

“You were yourself,” she said, and closed her lovely brown eyes, awaiting his kiss.

They kissed long and deep, his hand on her cheek. Her lips were satiny and sexy touching his.

After a few moments of affection, she slid out of his lap and sat down on her bed, facing him. “You ready now?”

Claude nodded. “Listen to my voice, Angie... you are feeling very sleepy.”

“No, I’m not,” she said, grinning coquettishly at him.

“Yes, you are,” he said, smiling back wickedly. “You cannot resist my voice.”

She shook her head, and her long dark hair tumbled delightfully over one shoulder. “I can resist anything.”

“Of course you can,” he said. “But why resist letting go of all your stress?”

She looked at him confidently. “Don’t try it. You can’t hypnotize me.”

“I already have.” That caught her off guard, so Claude pressed his advantage. “You remember how it felt to be so relaxed, to close your eyes and let go...”

“I have no intention of closing my eyes,” she insisted. The look in her eyes was superior, almost insolent... and teasing.

“Of course not,” Claude said agreeably, “but you will, because you want it, deep down.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Deep down inside you want to relax and submit... as I speak to you, your mind is already succumbing to my words.”

“No, it isn’t.” Angie was grinning, her expression full of impudence. She is so unbearably sexy, Claude thought.

“But when I count down, your eyelids will start to droop,” he said.

“No, they won’t.”

“Ten,” Claude grinned. “Feeling that pleasant blanket of relaxation overcoming you. It’s so easy to give in to.”

She blinked. Her eyes were deep, and dark, and gorgeous. “You could never hypnotize me,” she insisted.

“Nine,” he continued. “Feeling your breathing becoming easy and regular, full of confidence and calmness.”

“I am confident,” she pronounced, “confident in my ability to resist you.”

“Eight,” he said softly. “Feeling my voice melting your will.”

Angie frowned prettily. “My willpower is my own.”

Claude nodded. “Seven, realizing that your willpower itself wants to relax, submit, surrender...”

She shook her head. “No, I will not submit.”

“Six, feeling more and more relaxed, more and more comfortable, no matter what you do.”

“I don’t want to...” she began. He could tell she’d lost her train of thought, and she took a breath. “I don’t want to relax.”

“Everyone loves to relax, Angie, and you’re no exception. It’s happening now, your mind is going along with it, your body is going along with it, it is so easy, so irresistible...”

“I can resist,” she said, but her eyes were saying something else. They were fixed on him; they shone like topaz in the candle light.

“Five, you don’t want to resist,” Claude whispered. “There is no part of you left that wants to resist... your whole body is peaceful and relaxed.”

She shook her head a little. “N-No...”

“Four, your eyelids are getting heavy now, and the more you resist, the sleepier you become...”

She started to blink. “I can... stay awake...”

“But you’re so sleepy,” Claude coaxed. “Three, getting sleepier and sleepier, eyelids becoming heavier and heavier, droopier and droopier, you can’t keep them open...”

Angie titled her head back, but her eyelids were rising and falling, rising and falling, her heavy lashes dark and sensual.

“Heavy, like heavy weights are pulling your eyelids down, pulling them down into sleep,” he continued. “Eyelids so heavy, you want to close them...”

“No, I don’t,” she whispered, but her eyelids were fluttering. Claude felt a stirring in his pants. She’s so beautiful...

“Two, your eyelids are incredibly heavy, so impossibly heavy... I’m hypnotizing you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me...”

“I don’t want...” she murmured. “To—be—hypnotized...”

“You can’t stop your eyes from closing, they close so naturally,” Claude whispered intensely. “You’re too tired to resist falling asleep... you can’t fight it, and you don’t want to fight it...”

Angie’s eyes closed. “Must... fight,” she whispered.

“One, eyes closed, breathing deeply and regularly and easily, feeling completely relaxed,” Claude whispered. “Zero, deep asleep, deeply hypnotized... deeply hypnotized. You are hypnotized, completely hypnotized... you can’t resist.”

“Can’t resist,” she murmured.

She is so amazing, Claude thought. She sat there, facing him, eyes closed, head bent slightly forward, long brown-black hair streaming down over her right shoulder. Her body is so petite, her lips so soft and kissable...

“How are you feeling, Angie?” he asked her tenderly.

“Relaxxxxxed,” she whispered.

“Tell me you’re hypnotized, dearest.”

“I am... hypnotized,” she murmured.

Vizcondesa Angelisa of Cartagena awakened to a maid shaking her leg.

“I’m sorry, Señorita,” the old woman sighed. “The Conde commands your presence forthwith.”

Angelisa wanted to close her eyes and burrow back under the covers. She’d been having the most wonderful dream about a knight on horseback with a white banner... but she knew what would happen to her if her stepfather was left waiting.

With a sigh, the Vizcondesa sat up in bed.

The maid nodded, sadly. “If it’s any consolation to ye, I understand how ye feel,” she said.

“Do you?” Angelisa said, rising. She stood in front of the mirror. The maid helped her on with her undergarments, then with the voluminous, ugly, uncomfortable, faded green-and-yellow dress the Conde always demanded she wear when she attended him. He just does it to make me look silly, the Vizcondesa thought. He makes me wear this because he can.

As gently as she could, the maid began to lace up the bodice.

“You’d better make it tighter,” the Vizcondesa told the attendant. “I can still breathe.”

The old woman almost laughed. “Enjoy it while ye can, Señorita.”

Angelisa’s brown eyes flashed as she looked at their reflection. “What do you mean?”

The maid actually looked frightened. “I’m sorry, Señorita—that’s for his Grace to tell ye.”

Oh great, what has the Conde gone and done now, Angelisa wondered, and suppressed a moan. If only her mother had lived! If only her father had lived, for that matter. She sighed, and stood up.

“I’m sorry, Señorita, we haven’t done your hair,” the maid said apologetically.

“Must we?” the Vizcondesa sighed. Ironically, the only time her hair was ever comfortable was when she was asleep. With a sigh, she sat down on the nearest chair. She waited patiently while the maid twisted her hair into dozens of tiny braids, then pinned it up with jeweled combs and bodkins... each one more uncomfortable than the last.

Finally, the maid gave her a comforting pat on the shoulders. Angelisa stood, and regretted it. The dress pinched and pulled in all the wrong places. Her head was so heavy with adornments it was a constant effort to hold it up. Alone—for the maid would be flogged if she dared show her face outside the living quarters—the Vizcondesa made her way downstairs to the manor chamber.

The Condesa saw her first. “Ah, there you are,” she grunted.

“Stepmother,” Angelisa acknowledged her presence with a nod. “Stepfather—”

“I told you to be here half an hour ago!” the Conde snarled. With a grunt, he slammed the ledger-book shut and stood up. “Well, now that you’ve finally graced us with your presence, we can leave. Servants! Summon the horses.”

“Forgive me, Stepfather,” Angelisa tried. She knew the Conde probably wouldn’t listen when he was in this mood, but maybe if he—

“Speak when you are spoken to, child,” the Condesa interrupted.

“But Stepmother, I had to dress—”

“SILENCE!” roared the Conde. “DO NOT talk back to your stepmother! Now, outside! The carriage is waiting!”

Angelisa stepped past him—it was so difficult in those impossible heels—and felt his glare on the back of her head the entire way. How does he do this to me, she thought, and brushed away a tear. He’s not even my real father. It’s not my fault if his orders contradicted each other, put on this terrible dress and appear right away. What did he want me to do, show up in my undergarments?

The coachman smiled sadly at her. “This way, Señorita,” he said, and helped her into the stagecoach.

“What is it?” Angelisa asked, staring at him out the window... but he had already opened the other door to admit the Condesa.

“May I ask our destination, Stepmother?” Angelisa inquired, but the Condesa’s face might as well have been a stone wall.

“You may not,” the Conde blistered, taking a seat beside his new wife. “If I hear so much as a peep out of you before we reach the shipyard—”

Angelisa looked at her shoes and nodded. But her stepfather had given something away: the shipyard. Were they to be greeting a visitor? Or taking ship themselves?

Silently, she hoped for the latter. The possibility of seeing other places intrigued her. Not that Cartagena wasn’t lovely, but there were so many memories here, of her parents, of her mother’s remarriage, and of her passing. Perhaps her stepparents wouldn’t be able to ruin the entire experience.

“Are we ready, Captain?” the Conde demanded.

“Shortly, your Grace,” the shipman nodded. “We sail for Elba upon the noon tide.”

Elba? Angelisa wondered. “What’s in Elba?” she said aloud. After all, her stepfather had forbid her to speak only until they reached the shipyard.

“Noon tide,” the Conde nodded. “That’s in a few minutes. Up the gangplank!”

The Vizcondesa felt like she was being herded like livestock, but felt almost happy when the plank was withdrawn. Perhaps this would mean an adventure, a real-life adventure, the possibility of excitement! After all, she was no longer a prisoner in her own home!

Her hopes were dashed when her stepfather smiled smugly. “Now that there’s no chance of you getting away... your husband is in Elba.”

Angelisa stared at him. The Conde’s face broke into a wide smile, and she could see his missing tooth. Her stepfather was portly, and had a dark beard. He might have been handsome once as a young man, but Angelisa couldn’t even imagine that.

“But Elba...” she began.

“Be happy that I’ve negotiated so well for you,” the Conde said merrily. The bastard was enjoying this!

“But Elba is ruled by a Chevalier,” Angelisa said. “We distantly outrank him!”

“So? I’m not sending him a valuable commodity.”

“Not a val—”

“Now,” said the Conde smugly, “to your quarters. I’m sure you will prefer them over the brig.”

Angelisa had had enough. If nothing else, she would be heard. “Me Conde,” she addressed her stepfather, “when I inherit—”

“You won’t,” he said. “Off with you.”

“But... my father’s will—” she began.

“Died with him,” the Conde sneered. “Now retire, if you wish to escape a sound flogging!”

The Vizcondesa stared at him, but he only leered at her, triumph in his greedy eyes.

Angelisa fled, tears streaming down her face.

All the times, all the years, she’d struggled to make her stepfather, then her stepmother, at least like her. All her efforts had been for naught. Now she was being bundled off to be sold like some commodity.

When she tried to leave her room, Angelisa found that her stepfather had ordered she be kept within. The captain, not wishing to alienate his employer, had agreed.

She dined on stale bread and bitter beer. She couldn’t manage either one alone, but the bread was just about palatable if soaked. With nothing else in her stomach, the beer had gone to her head, and she felt giddy. It was hard not to cry.

Just my luck, the Vizcondesa thought to herself as she lay down on the bunk. I finally get to leave my chateau, but I’m as much a prisoner in this cabin as I was before! Plus, the ship is rocking, and I’d have trouble standing even without the beer. If that weren’t enough, I’m stuck in a narrow cabin.

She looked about herself. Well, at least I have my own room, she thought, and a bed. I can put my head down on a pillow, and not have to work every moment to hold it up with these damned gold pins and ebony combs. She closed her eyes.

Angelisa didn’t know how long she’d been lying on the bunk when the booming started. Her cabin had no window, so she couldn’t see what was going on outside—but when the booming increased in volume and frequency, she knew it couldn’t be good.

Then the shouting started. She could have sworn she heard her stepmother scream at the top of her lungs. The sailors were bellowing, there were terrible loud splashes, and the ship’s rocking became more severe. Angelisa felt she was going to be sick to her stomach. When she heard the clash of metal upon metal, she knew that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

She clasped her hands. “Our Father which art in heaven,” she whispered, “Hallowed be thy name... Thy kingdom come... Give us this day our daily bread, and lead us not into temptation...”

The door crashed open.

Before her, glancing about wildly, was a tall man with wild black hair and vaguely French features. He was wearing rough pants, tall boots, and a shirt open almost to the navel. She glimpsed curling black chest hair. What truly caught her eye, though, was the naked cutlass in his right hand.

“Viarge!” he swore in French. His gaze swept the room, and their eyes met.

Angelisa could see the man’s raven-dark eyes light up, almost as if he’d been set afire. Sheathing the blade in a single liquid motion, he bounded toward her and—before she could even react—had scooped her up in his arms.

“PUT ME DOWN!” the Vizcondesa cried, kicking wildly. She struck at him madly, and even though she had little leverage, managed to clout him a good one on the forehead.

With a cry of “maudit!” the lunatic fell to the ground, with her on top. Angelisa clawed at the floor, trying to stand—but her dress was caught in something, the ship was lurching, she was still a little tipsy from dinner... and she was rolled over onto her stomach.

Her would-be abductor was on his knees, fumbling in a pouch. She managed to sit up and glanced over at the man. He was pressing a kerchief to a flask. Angelisa reached for the bed frame, seized it, pulled herself up, and aimed a defiant kick at the man... who leapt aside at the last minute. Furious, the Vizcondesa twisted toward him. But she was in the confining dress, and he was faster. Before she knew it he was already behind her. She screamed, prepared to elbow him...

And his kerchief was pressed to her nose and mouth. She took a gulp of air...

“Sorry, Vizcondesa,” the man was saying, “I didn’t want to do it this way.”

She felt her eyelids growing heavy and wakefulness deserting her. He was apologizing?

Angelisa awoke when she landed on her behind. What in heaven’s name...?

She was sitting on the deck of the ship, and all was chaos. Men were running everywhere, most slashing blades. There, the captain was dueling with a giant of a man, a whole head taller than he was. The crew was outnumbered by men in rags. But, though poorly dressed, the intruders were better armed, and were clearly beating back resistance.

In front of her, fighting one of the mates, was the man who’d abducted her. She could see the muscles on his legs. Glancing up, she saw a lean, tanned frame. Sword in hand, he countered every attack. He was so graceful, he made it look more like a dance than a battle! She watched as, in a fluid twist, he knocked his opponent’s sword from his grasp, and it flew over the side of the ship. Baffled, the sailor stared at the dark-haired man, who knocked him over the head with the hilt of his cutlass.

Suddenly, the Vizcondesa remembered she was supposed to be escaping, so she started to crawl away... when she felt herself lifted in the man’s strong arms once again. She looked over at him, began to kick... but her limbs were feeble, and she couldn’t summon up the energy. She tried to punch him again, but could barely make a fist.

The man looked at her sympathetically. “Sorry, but I couldn’t run the risk. Hold on, please.” He ran to the side of the ship, and was light on his feet carrying her. She followed his gaze... and saw it.

Alongside was a much larger ship, painted black, with sky-blue sails. Even she, who knew little about ships, could tell this vessel was a magnificent one. And its colors...

A silver skull and crossbones on a black field fluttered in the wind.

“Holy cow, I’m being abducted by pirates,” Angelisa said. “I thought that only happened in stories.” Then she realized she’d spoken aloud.

“Not this time, I’m afraid,” the pirate grinned at her. Then, amazingly, he put her down on her feet. The world was still rocking, but she could not tell whether it was the wind, the sea, the beer, or the chloroform. “Now, you should have enough strength to put your arms around me,” he said, sliding one of his around her waist. She realized he’d caught one of the ropes hanging from the sails. Oh, good lord, he was going to take her aboard the black ship.

“Vizcondesa, I can hold you, but unless you hold me too I have a much higher chance of dropping you between the ships,” the pirate pointed out.

Angelisa looked at him, then looked at the rope, then looked at the sea.

He was right. The waves were freezing, and the black-stained ship looked ready to crash against the side any moment.

“We’re going to my ship, Vizcondesa,” her abductor told her. “You have a much better chance of making it in one piece if you hold on.”

She’d forgotten his arm was already around her. She glanced back at her own ship. There was no sign of her stepparents or the servants. None of the crew were anywhere nearby, and—as far as she could tell—no one had even seen her.

“Oh well,” the pirate said. He prepared to leap. She felt herself losing balance, and grabbed on for dear life as they swung.

She looked down, then wished she hadn’t. The sea was tumbling beneath them, frigid and hostile... she was starting to slip...