The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

CHAPTER I: “The First Session”

I had just finished my residency, and had moved into my new office in the downtown area, and I already had a referral. I looked at the records again. The girl (we’ll call her Crystal White for the purposes of this story) was the daughter of one of those Fundamentalist families. That was a big problem there. Fundamentalists, in my experience, all believe that humans are sinners by nature, and that basic things the species must do to survive are sinful, like intercourse, even in marriage (apparently they think that only Divine Issue is not frowned on by God). The list of this young lady’s problems confirmed my suspicions. Her mother had painted a picture for her of a God who hovered over Mankind, watching like a vulture, ready to smite the sinners with a sword of His own creation...a God who smote sinners in the parking lots of motels or wherever He found them. Her mother had told her erroneously that only bad girls developed breasts and only sinners menstruated. She’d been living on prison-issue nutrition loaves ever since she could eat solid food. Basically, according to the girl’s mother, just about anything that causes physical pleasure was sinful. Child Protective Services had taken the girl away when a Jehovah’s Witness had reported a closet in which the child was kept whenever she “sinned,” sometimes for hours or days on end, no food, no water, no ventillation except for the space between the door and the floor, and the similar space just below the ceiling. The woman never even bothered to hose out the excrement left in there! Yecch!

And now I had to undo the major psychological damage. Oh, brother! I couldn’t say I was looking forward to the session. And more than likely she wasn’t either. I sat behind my desk finishing up some paperwork. She came in precisely on time. Apparently she’d been standing poised at the door, counting down the seconds until the time to come in had arrived. I looked up from my work and smiled the super-friendly, amicable smile that all psychiatrists are taught to produce at will.

“Oh, hello, Crystal!” I said. “You’re right on time! Come in, sit down!” I told her. She mumbled something under her breath. “What’s that?” I asked. She mumbled again. “I’m sorry, but I can’t hear you. You’ll have to speak up.”

“I SAID ‘THANK YOU!!’” she screamed. Then her face turned red, and she stammered an apology.

“No, no, it’s alright.” I told her. “You shouldn’t bottle up your anger inside you, or it’ll poison your soul.” Bull’s eye. I had her attention. “Now, your mother’s been putting some weird shit in your head, and I have to help straighten you out. This isn’t an overnight process, mind you, but it’s going to work or I’m not Dr. John Doe.” (That’s not exactly what I said—I told her my real name, but I gotta keep my real name a secret)

I had come prepared for this meeting. I pulled out a copy of the Ten Commandments, holding it reverently, and looked it over. Then I looked her over. She was wearing a high-necked, long-sleeved, full-length dress that was wine-colored (probably the closest her mother had allowed her to red), and it was also form-fitting, hugging her rather nice sixteen-year-old curves like a five-year-old hugs a teddy bear. Her hair looked like someone had made it out of cornsilk and then handed it to a version of King Midas with a Ruby Touch instead of Midas’s Golden Touch, but it was pulled back in a severe bun that looked like it was giving her a headache. I handed the Commandments to her and told her to read it aloud. She did, although she choked up a little over “Honor thy father and thy mother,” an issue I was going to have to resolve, but now I could get some points across.

“Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t think I heard anything in there about having to wear your hair so tight that it gives you a headache.” I said.

“Mom wants...” she began.

“We’re not here to speak of what your mother wants, kid.” I told her. “We’re here to help you get what you need out of life.”

“But, right here in the Ten Commandments it says ‘Honor they father and thy mother.’” she argued.

“What did your mother tell you about crazy people, or bedlams or whatever she calls them.” She started reciting a speech her mother had probably given her millions of times about how the insane were in fact posessed by the Devil, about the evil deeds performed by bedlams, etc. “Sounds like your mother knew a lot about crazy people, except that she WAS one.” She started to protest, but I cut her off. “What kind of sane person would try to scare their daughter into thinking that they had to suffer their entire life to avoid enternal damnation in Hell?” I demanded. “What kind of sane person locks their own child in a closet with no food or water, to wallow in their own shit?”

“Y-you should watch your language.” she stammered.

“I don’t cuss just for the hell of it!” I replied. “There are few enough words in the English language as it is. I say a person oughtta use every word they know. Besides, there’s swear words in the Bible. Ass, damn, Hell—and it goes on. The trick is not to overdo it so you’re cramming eight swear words in every sentence. But that’s not the point. The point is, some of the stuff your mom told you is bullshit.” She gasped. I continued. “God does NOT walk the parking lots of motels, smiting people with a sword. You do NOT have to do EVERYTHING your mother tells you to just because she is your mother. Sometimes you do your mother more honor by getting her psychiatric help if she goes nuts. I don’t think God would want His children abusing their children, making slaves of them, and all that.” I told her about the many good and benevolent things God has done, and my patient began to question what her mother said—in other words, my plan was working. I asked her to let her hair down. She hesitated a little, but complied, and her hair flowed down around her. It came down to her buttocks in long, flowing streamers. Then I moved behind her and gave her a scalp massage, all the while telling her to relax. I could feel the veins throbbing in her temples, and I knew that she’d had a headache from the tight bun. The massage eased the pain while I stood there, almost whispering to her, until I had her in a trance. I moved back around to the front so she could hear me better as she sat there, her eyes closed as she concentrated on my words, and began with the main part of the treatment. She remained in a trance for almost ten minutes before I realized I had a very painful erection. I’d never had anyone so beautiful in a trance before.

I undid my tight pants to give my swollen, throbbing cock some breathing room. All the while she was answering every question I asked her. I changed the course of questioning to her body’s needs, and found out that her cunt had started to swell and itch a lot, and it would bother her the whole day or until she cleaned it with a sponge in the bathtub. I told her that the itch in her cunt was her body’s signal that she needed sexual stimulation. She told me she was afraid, because intercourse was a sin. It took a few minutes, but I convinced my entranced patient that sex was a normal biological function. Then I got a wild idea and locked the door. Then I had her open her mouth. I put my ten-inch throbbing cock in her mouth and had her suck it. Oh, yes! Oh, yes! She was an excellent suckstress! I shot my jism in her mouth and had her swallow it.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked. She replied in the negative. We continued the session, and after ten minutes I was hard again. Her cunt had started to swell and itch, too, so I asked her to take off the dress and show me. Her inhibitions kicked in then, and she couldn’t bring herself to undress. The trance was broken. I helped her back into the trance and told her that those inhibitions were from her mother’s brainwashing, that she needed to let them down, just like she’d done with the hair. With her inhibitions down, I let her out of the trance, and got her undressed. She got onto the couch, spread her legs, and showed me her wet, swollen pussy.

“That’s easily remedied.” I told her, then I put my face near her cunt and began to lick her clit. She gasped each time I licked her, and the clit and lips began to swell more. I lost control and began to suck on her clit.

“What are you doing?” she gasped. I ignored her words and continued eating her, tasting her sweet honey in my mouth as she moaned her pleasure and had an orgasm all over my face. I went and got a napkin to wipe my face and two glasses of water for me and my panting, naked patient. She drank the water gratefully.

“So, how was that, my pretty patient?” I asked her.

“Wonderful.” she sighed. I turned off the ringer on my telephone and turned down the volume on my answering machine. My erection was becoming painful again. I undressed myself as she watched, and we were both naked, and she could see my hard, throbbing cock. I told her how much I wanted her, and her nipples hardened, her pussy swelled again and she became wet with the suggestions I was whispering to her. I had her lay back on the couch, then I used my fingers to stretch her virgin womanflesh so I could get in there. I inserted my cock and she gasped at the penetration. I put the whole of my cock inside her, and she cried out in pain, and then I began to fuck her. She begged me to stop, but I ignored her pleas The pain ended eventually, and she could feel only the pleasure. She began to moan again, and she grabbed my buttocks and tried to grind on my cock and pull me in all the way, cock, nuts, legs, feet, chest, etc. Her moans became screams as I intensified the thrusting and began to bite her hard nipples in my teeth. I licked her over as much of her body as I could with my cock jammed in her virgin cunt. She came repeatedly as I took my pleasure in her body, and eventually, I shot my load inside her and she came one more time simultaneously with me. As I pulled out, I saw blood from where I had popped her wonderful virgin cherry. She lay there, limp as a wet noodle, smiling wearily. I told her to wait while I went to the restroom, and when I returned, she was happily mopping up the fluids on the couch.

“I want you to buy yourself some tee shirts, some nice inexpensive sneakers and some drawstring pants.” I told her. “A big part of undoing your mother’s insane influence is freeing you of her style of clothes.”

“Whatever you want.” she sighed. She got dressed, leaving the bra and panties with me, and leaving her hair down, then kissed me as I unlocked the door and let her out.

CHAPTER II: “Making Her Mine”

She showed up dressed just as I’d asked her to, in white sneakers, blue Old Navy drawstring pants, and a white tee shirt. She was wearing her hair in a ponytail, and she had accessorized with a watch, a pair of heart-shaped shades, and a blue scrunchie. She hugged me as I locked the door.

“I missed you.” she said. “I felt so empty without you inside me.”

“We’ll fix that soon enough, my love.” I told her. “But first, we have to get business out of the way.” And thus it was for three weeks; each day, we did two-hour sessions, with the first hour being for legit therapy to bring her out of the Twilight Zone, the second hour being for us. I introduced her to different positions, to erotic fantasies aided and abetted by my hypnotic skills, and with the help of some clothesline I had bought at the dollar store, I introduced her to bondage. Oh, how she would squirm in her restraints, partially to try to obtain freedom, partially out of her pleasure at the fuck. Sometimes, while she was in trance, I would leave post-hypnotic suggestions for her, and she lived by them as she lived by house rules. Soon, however, it was decided by those who had observed her behavior outside the therapy room that she was healthy, and we were allowed only one more session, which we devoted entirely to ourselves.

I locked the door and closed the shades, and she was naked and ready for me before I even got them all the way down. I began with a fingering session, stretching apart her pussy lips and sticking two fingers inside her while I bit her hard, peaked nipples. I took her clit between my thumb and index finger and began to rub it, then roll it. She surrendered to the sensations flowing through her young body almost immediately. She was dripping on my hands, and I caught the juice in my palm and began to drink of it. Soon she started to grind on my fingers, and I knew she was close to coming.

“Hold on.” I told her. “I want to savor what I can do to your body, my babylover.”

“Please, love, I need to come!” she pleaded. I made her try to hold it in for almost a minute before I let her come. I made her suck my fingers clean. When she had calmed down from coming, I put her into a deep trance.

“I want you to promise me that you are mine.” I told her.

“I promise.” she replied.

“I want you to promise me that you will do everything I tell you to do without question or hesitation.” I continued.

“I promise.”

“I want you to promise that you will never let another man have you, that your body is mine and mine alone, that you are my loveslave, that everything you have is mine for as long as we both shall live.”

“I promise.”

“I want you to promise that you will come whenever I want you, and whenever you need to get off.”

“I promise.”

“Good.” I told her. I told her where I lived, and commanded her to come whenever she wanted sex, and whenever I called for her. There was a beeper in the pocket of the jacket she had been wearing since the weather had turned chilly. I made her promise to wear the beeper at all times except while naked, but to keep it always near, and whenever she recieved a page with a certain code, she would come to me.

“I promise.”

“I want you to tell me everything you’ve promised.” I told her.

“I am yours and yours alone.” she said. “I will do everything you tell me without question or hesitation. I will never let another man have me. My body is yours and yours alone. I am your loveslave. Everything I have is yours for as long as we both shall live. I will come to you whenever you want me, and whenever I need to get off. I will always wear my beeper or keep it near me, and I will come to you whenever you signal for me.”

“Very good. Now repeat it.” She repeated her oath. “Again!” I told her. She obeyed without question, and I made her repeat it several times.

“Very good. Now swear that I am your master, and you are my slave.”

“I swear that I am your slave and you are my master.” she replied flatly. I made her repeat that several times as well. Now that both oaths were firmly ingrained in her subconscious, I let her out of the trance. She blinked, then smiled. The rest of the time we devoted to lovemaking. The session was over much too soon for us, but we didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Just before she left, I made her repeat her oath one more time. That night I would summon her to my home for the first time.

CHAPTER III: “Summons”

My slave stood at the door, dressed only in a pink nightgown. Her ruby hair hung unbrushed about her as she stared at my door, waiting for me to open it. I did, and she came in with lust in her eyes. At my command, she pulled the string on the back of her nightgown and it loosened. At my command, she turned around so I could undo the buttons on the back. The gown dropped around her ankles. I looked her over. Her cunt was swollen and dripping all over the rug. Her nipples were hard and peaked. Her eyes advertized lust and obedience in big letters. I checked to make sure the door was shut and locked, then I picked her up and carried her upstairs. I set her down on the waterbed. She squealed in delight as the bed sloshed and rolled under her. I had the candles lit, and soft music played on the computer.

“Did you have any trouble getting out when I summoned you?” I asked her.

“No. When you paged, I told my foster parents that a friend I had met while I was in therapy needed me.” she replied. “Did I do good, Master? Please tell me I did good.”

“Yes, my loveslave.” I told her. “You did very good. Have you eaten?” She shook her head. I kissed her on the forehead and went to the phone and ordered up a cheeze pizza. It arrived in ten minutes, and soon I brought the steaming dish upstairs to my waiting slave. We ate together, careful not to drip any of the scalding hot cheeze on us. I threw the box into the kitchen trash, then ran back up to get on with the business of the evening. She watched me undress, licking her lips in anticipation. Just behind me, she caught a glimpse of a package of Jawbreakers on my dresser. She got up and took one, and I laughed softly as she tried to bite it.

“Jawbreakers aren’t for chewing, honey.” I told her. “You keep them in your mouth until they dissolve.”

“Oh.” she replied. She saw my big, hard cock and instantly she was on her knees and she took it in her mouth while the jawbreaker was still in there. It rolled around as her mouth worked, sending immense pleasure through me. She softly dragged her fingernails up my inner thighs to my balls as she continued to suck, and a primal growl started to rumble my throat as the pleasure grew. I grabbed her head and forced her into the rhythm my body needed. I shot my load into her mouth, and she came from the excitement of what she was doing to my body. She swallowed my hot jism, and her greedy throat took the Jawbreaker with it. I laughed at the look of surprise on her face as the candy went down.

“Are you alright?” I asked her. She nodded. “Good. I’d hate to see you hurt in any way, my loveslave, my most prized posession.” She blushed slightly. I sat down on the bed beside her and held her in a gentle embrace. She felt so warm and soft in my arms I was starting to get hard again. I asked her if she was having any problems at home. She told me about her foster parents’ eight-year-old son and how he was always teasing her. The telling took almost three minutes.

“Boys will be boys.” I told her. “When you get home, my sweet, I want you to tell your foster parents about it.”

“Yes, Master.” she sighed. It wasn’t a happy sigh.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“When are we going to tell my foster parents about what we’re doing?” she asked. “I’m not sure I can keep it a secret for much longer.”

“It wouldn’t be as much fun if it weren’t a secret.” I told her. “Come on, don’t tell me you don’t like the feeling of knowing something that no one else knows!”

“You know.” she replied.

“Well, it is OUR secret.” I replied. “What’s the matter?”

“What am I going to tell my foster parents when I get home?” she asked. “I never really thought out the excuse...I just had to get here, to be with you. I love you.”

“And I love you too, sweetling.” I replied. I began to rock her like a babe in my arms. “We’ll say I dropped my class ring down a vent, and I needed your nimble hands to get it out.”

“We?” she asked.

“I’ll take you home in my car.” I told her. “You’ll be wearing one of my overcoats over that nightgown you wore over here. It’s cold outside!!”

“I understand, Master.” she replied. “It’s a wonderful plan. I’m sure it will work.”

I smiled. I could see the sincerity and relief in her eyes. I silently counted the amber flecks in those hazel gems. There were seventy-three in all. She smelled faintly of a perfume I hadn’t smelled before. I asked her about it. She said it was called “Surrender.” Then she smiled as she told me that it sounded appropriate, then laid back on the waterbed, opened her legs, and waited. I laughed softly as I pushed my dick inside her. As I fucked her, she wiggled and moaned. By the time we were finished, it was nearly midnight. I put the nightgown back over her unresisting body, put an overcoat on her, and then began to dress myself. She was asleep when I rubbed a little grease on her hands to authenticate the story, then picked her up and put her in my car, and she didn’t even wake up when I pulled into her driveway and opened the door. I rang the doorbell and a little man answered. He looked like the lawyer type—Italian suit, balding with a combover, bifocal glasses, and a shrewd glare.

“Terribly sorry for keeping your charge out so late, but you see I lost my class ring in a vent and I needed a pair of nimble hands to get it out.” I said in the very sincere voice of a psychiatrist. “She’s been fed and everything. She told me that she told you that she’d just been paged by a friend who needed her, and I’m sorry to say I think it was very irresponsible of you to let her go out dressed in only a nightgown.”

“We didn’t LET her go, sir. She yelled out something about going to a friend’s as she bolted down the stairs and ran out the door. I didn’t see what she was wearing.” the man replied coldly. “Where is she?”

“Asleep in the car.” I replied. “Again, I’m sorry I kept her out so late.” I opened the car door and undid her seatbelt. She was still asleep. I picked her up gently and carried her toward the house. A matronly woman appeared at the door.

“What is it, Harold?” she asked, then she saw me carrying her daughter, with grease on her hands. “Oh, God! Crystal!”

“No worries, Ma’am.” I told the lady. “She’s just sleeping.” As if to confirm what I’d said, Crystal sighed and mumbled something in her sleep. The relief on the woman’s face was palpable as I brought the girl to her. “I suppose you’ll want to take her upstairs.” I said.

“I’m afraid you’re the only one here strong enough to lift her.” the woman replied. She escorted me to Crystal’s bedroom and opened the door for me. I set her down on the top bunk of the bed as indicated by her foster mother, and I covered her modestly with the blankets.

“She helped me recover my class ring. It cost me eight months’ allowance to buy it back when I was in high school.” I said, showing off my white gold ring with the big amber stone in the middle. “I feel I should pay her for her trouble.” I pulled a fifty dollar bill from my wallet and handed it to the woman, telling her to give it to Crystal when she woke up. She started to protest, but I insisted. “I suppose you’ll want to have a talk with her about running off in a nightgown in this weather. I’ll wager you were worried.” The woman nodded.

“I’m Dr. John Doe, a therapist.” I told her.

“I’m Moira Johnson.” the lady replied.

“So your husband’s Harold Johnson, the District Attourney?” I asked. She nodded. “I thought so. He looks like the lawyer type.” I would have to watch out for him. Lawyer types like to bring those under their care in to the gynecologist whenever someone so much as looks at them funny. He may even have to die.

CHAPTER IV: “Caught!”

But for almost six weeks, life was good. Several times my slave came in, despirately needing to come, and so I gave her the pleasure she so despirately needed. I worked during school hours, so there wasn’t too much of a time problem, but the need often came over her while she was in school, and she couldn’t come to me, so I gave her a vibrator and told her to imagine me as she used it in the bathroom when she needed to come. Then came the weekend when Harold Johnson allowed her to spend a weekend with me.

I knew something was wrong when I kept seeing the same black car in my rear view mirror over and over again. Unfortunately, they didn’t count on me using the full capability of my four-wheel-drive Ford to lose us in the woods. I had a little shed nearby where there was a “turtle shell,” and I had some paint in the truck. I repainted the truck and put on the shell when it was dry (which took all of an hour), then I put on some fake plates and we were off, having ditched the fake boat we had been pulling behind us as camouflage for the two jetskis we disguised as four-wheelers, while they followed us from above, and we reverted them to their jet-ski form and repainted the truck again with new plates while under a thick canopy of leaves. Several times during the trip my slave had to use the vibrator, because I couldn’t fuck her in the truck. Once the craving came over her while the vibrator’s batteries were charging, and I had to finger her on the go. As part of my planning for this trip, I had pulled an RV into a rather large cave shrouded by trees, where we would spend the remainder of our time together. And so, within the cave, blocked by a giant styrofoam boulder, I brought my loveslave into the privacy of the RV.

She was dripping wet when I brought her inside. Her breathing was heavy and the lust in her eyes was so great that just looking at them gave me an erection. She dropped the shirt and cutoffs she’d been wearing, and I pulled off her bra and panties with my teeth. I was sucking her nipples as I pulled off my pants, and only let go for a short time while my shirt came off. Her body was warm and soft in my arms as I simultaneously tortured her and pleased her. Several times she came without me even touching her pussy. Then she just couldn’t take it anymore and begged me to fuck her, and when I did, she gasped and moaned and screamed her pleasure as I moved my hot, throbbing dick inside her, shooting my seed into her body and, as she calmed down, I got her into a trance and played with her for a few hours. She played the part of submissive, doting wife, amnesia patient with a major itch, and I even had her replay our first session. But eventually I ran out of ideas and let her out of her trance.

We were in the middle of what was to be our last fuck before leaving when the door was kicked in. We were forcibly separated and I was put in cuffs and arrested for statutory rape.