The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

When my husband Tom got home in the afternoon I ran down the stairs and stopped right in front of the front door. I paused for a moment and I took a deep breath. I felt enormous butterflies in the pit of my stomach. I exhaled and I opened the door.

“Hi Baby, Welcome Home. I have a litle surprice for you tonight”.

I had never been more nervous, waiting for his words about my new “mom” look. My long hair was very short compared to what I was used to and so curly. It is a classic poodle perm now.

What would he think of me? How would he react? Would he still love me?

He stood there for 5 minutes with his mouth open and eyes wide open. He walked up to me and started circling me. the only thing he could say was WOW!!!! I have never seen him speechless until then. He loves the do and so do I!!!!!

Then he held me by both shoulders. Bracing myself, I thought he was going to shake me. Instead, he held me at arms’ length and paused to examine my face again. He turned my head from side to side. He gently touched my new curls and lightly tousled her hair.

“ Rachael” he said at last, “I think you look very sexy!”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel better,” And I was so glad he did say it!

“No, Rachael, I mean it. I find that it really turns me on!”

If she had harbored doubts at that point, they were completely erased after their lovemaking that night. As we embraced, I could feel his growing excitement, and the stay turned into more than an overnight!!! I couldn’t believe how Tom was responding to me. True, he was always quite attentive in bed, and an active and thoughtful lover, but that night’s experiences were beyond anything I could remember.

The fact that Tom was enamored with my look wasn’t lost on Cindy, who took note to use it to her advantage. The day after Jack left to his work, the phone rang. It was Sandra. She announced that she was planning a new session for me.

So, here I was, stoping whatever it is that I am doing when she calls. She isn’t demanding. Nothing like that, but she has a presence about her that well, it’s hard to describe, she is certainly never intrusive, but she is now my Ruling Stylist Matriarch.

Probably by some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion that my husband put in my head, when Sandra wanted me... I could not refuse.

It is my stylist calling out to me, I have to go.

Sandra’s place is an old fashioned beauty parlor. The kind that have little bells that jingle, when you open the door. It was warm and humid with an overpowering sweet and sickly odour of hairspray perfume mixed with the chemical tang of peroxide. Grubby net curtains hung across the window, concealing a room that was decorated in several pale shades of lilac and pink. The floor was covered in linoleu, but it was chequered in pink and grey. On one side of the room there was a row of old upholstered chairs lined up in front of a bank of hairdryer hoods.

“Well HI! How are you all?

“Fine.”

She is patting the back of the seat of her big old overstuffed salon chair and looking me straight in the eyes.

“Come on Honey, into the chair.”

“What are we doing today? I thought we’d pretty much covered all the bases yesterday.”

“Yes we certainly did. And your husband was very impressed last night. He wondered if I could put some changes on your look, so that it would be a little easier to manage with. Didn’t Tom mention any of this to you this morning? Don’t worry, I actually told Tom what I had in mind and he thought it would be great. It seems that I may have done you a big favor in raising your hubby’s interest to even greater heights!”

She said then: “You were here for a deep conditioner treatment”

I bit my lip and closed my eyes. I was becoming very uneasy in the chair as she fastened a fresh plastic cape around my neck. The cape ballooned before me, as the crinoline’s volume, again displaced by my positioning in the chair, blossomed above my knees. The cape covered everything now, but clearly, there was an entirely new management system to controlling or at least adapting to this mass of stiff netting, that I needed to learn.

I didn’t know what was going to come, but I knew I was both physically and emotionally incapable of stopping it. The best I could hope for was that Sandra was telling the truth about Tom. Regardless, Sandra had control of my appearance now and would for as long as it was important to her.

I made to sit down on a chair in front of a sink at the back of the shop, while Sandra ran water through a rubber hose and spray. She placed a pink towel across my shoulders and forced my head forwards into the sink. She then washed my hair vigorously, grinding her fingers into my scalp. “Conditioner dear?” she said, but without waiting for an answer proceeded to squirt a viscous liquid from a bottle onto my head and resumed the rigorous massage. I was hit by the smell of ammonia which almost caused me to gag, but before I could react I was pulled upright and a plastic cap was placed over my head and used to secure some tissues around my forehead, ears and neck. Then I was lifted up from the sink.

She took me to the very back of the salon explaining that I needed to sit under a dryers for about 25 minutes.

I backed in and bent to sit down in the empty seat, as Sandra guided my head under the chrome helmet and then lowered the amber visor. Then she turned on the giant machine and I saw that her lips were still moving, but I could no longer hear a thing as the motor revved up to speed.

A sharp tingling began to affect my scalp. It became more intense until my whole head itched as if it had been stung by a swarm of bees. I writhed in the chair as my discomfort grew, so preoccupied with the burning sensation.

I was very uncomfortable almost immediately but again for a reason I couldn’t know, I simply still sat in the heat. Small droplets of sweat started to run down my thighs and shins as the light cape inflated slightly with the hot air feeling it’s way up and around my bare legs until it reached my shorts.

For almost an hour I sat back in the chair having my hair “cooking” almost blissfully aware that her knickers where by now almost soaked in sweat. I began to think of my husband to be who would be getting up around now and bit my lip as I moved my right hand to the top of my right thigh and teased two fingers under the leg of my knickers. Again I noted calmly that there seemed to be almost a tropical feel to

the air under the cape around my legs as the vent continued to pump hot air out under my cape which billowed slightly like an under-inflated parachute.

For some reason the heat under the cape was making me feel downright sexy. I felt as though the chair was swallowing me in a warm embrace I was thoroughly enjoying so I shook my head and then against my better judgement suggested, I relaxed and just enjoy it.

Sandra started to walk towards to the salon main room when she stopped, ‘Silly me. See you in twenty minutes. Enjoy it.’

I was now feeling like a woman who had stumbled over a longing hidden for over

thirty years that was threatening to cause me to orgasm alone and with barely a touch from my own hands let alone my husband to be.

Again my right hand found it’s way inside my sopping knickers and she began to gently rub herself enjoying the dampness of my groin which felt as though a spring was being wound tighter and tighter inside me. I sat cocooned in heat as the vent

in the floor continued to feed heated air up around my thighs and legs and the ludicrously large hood dryer blasted my head and neck with hot, relaxing vented air.

As the heat under the dryer continued to blast down onto my face I came in a release I had never even dreamed I was missing. I twisted my head one way then the next pushing my forehead against the hot plastic visor as I came in a way I knew she would have to experience again.

As the orgasm faded slowly I slumped slightly allowing the heat to help me drift off into a drowsy dreamlike state where I began to plan my purchase of a hooddryer I would introduce my husband to that night .

I toyed with ideas of tying him up under the dryer as I blow-dried his naked body and then allowing him to do the same to me. As I drifted off to sleep under the hood my final thought came to me….

“Wake up Rachel, your hair is ready,” Sandra said.

“Mmm, Sandra, what happened?” I asked, as she helped me stand up.

“Nothing,” She assured me. “You just fell asleep for an hour or so. You looked so comfortable that I didn’t want to wake you”. Now, it’s time for you to get dressed and go.”

She helped me to the sink. My mind reawakening, but seeming unable to recount for my time under the dryer.

At that my head was once again thrust into to sink and rinsed with another foul smelling liquid before a refreshing stream of cool water was sprayed over from the rubber hose. I slumped with relief as the burning and itching ceased. After a while, I was raised upright and the towel was wrapped around my head before I was led to the styling station.

Sandra applied me some makeup: a foundation, rather heavy eyeliner along upper and lower lashes, heavy mascara, a trace of narrow eyebrow pencil along the thin browline, muted eyeshadow on the lids with a darker brown in the crease of the eye, and a lighter shadow which extended up to the pencil-thin brow. A deep red lipstick and some blusher completed the look. Then she sat me before the mirror.

“Snap out of it, Rachel!” Sandra exclaimed. “This is the new you! You look super!”

“It... It isn’t me,” I whispered in shock. The image that stared back at me bore little resemblance to the vivacious young woman who had arrived the previous day. The thin brows seemed to etch a look of perpetual surprise on her lovely face, completely erasing the quiet intelligence, the mature understanding, the gentle humor that had been there before.

“Wha ... what have you done to me?” I stammered.

“It’s you now, Rachel. You’ll get used to it—you’ll love it! You know you’d better get used to it. Much of what you see is permanently you!”

I stared at my face. I wouldn’t have recognized myself. I ran my finger lightly along the tiny brow. The makeup obscured the redness that the treatment had cause. The other hairs were gone, smoothly removed forever.

I was incredibly sexy, I suddenly realized. My new look was intensely feminine. My eyes were only feminine, looking huge beneath the cute, boyishly-curly hair. The overall effect was that of a cuddly doll, but one that held a deep sexual promise.

I turned to Sandra. She looked pleased as she bent to touch my cheek in another gesture of happiness. But I recognized something else in her eyes. Something that told me that my own transformation wasn’t over yet. Something that told me that Sandra was very much in control of me.