The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“...and that concludes today’s lecture. Please use the remaining minute you have to look over your notes and fix any errors. I expect a full report about the subject on my desk by Monday.” Mr. Laughstnam’s voice drones out, prompting a small sigh of annoyance from Angie. By now, she’s half-convinced that her professor doesn’t even look at her papers before grading them. No matter how much effort she pours into each and every word, she always just barely passes, or just barely fails (more often the latter.) Now her passing relies on her writing a paper on ‘the differences between a male and female mind’, a topic which she and most of the scientific community knows is completely false.

Angie walks out of the campus building, incredibly frustrated with the unfairness of it all. She sees one of her friends walking out of the study hall as well and decides to test out a theory she’s had for a while now. “Hey, Theodore!” Angie calls out, pulling her friend aside for a moment. Theodore tucks his notebook under his arm and responds. “Hey Angie, what’s up?” “Oh, nothing much… say, you worried about that paper due Monday?” Angie asks. “Not really. All you really have to do is repeat back whatever Mr. Laughstnam said in a different tone. Why?” Angie’s heart sinks at the confirmation. “Oh, no reason… Hey, will you be attending the WAC meeting today?” She says, quickly changing the subject. “Uh… no. Sorry, I’m seeing a movie with my sister today…” Theodore says, sounding rather confused. “Oh, don’t worry about it. See you later!” Angie says with a bright smile.

“See you I guess…?” Theodore says as Angie turns and walks away. Her frustration only builds as she recalls all of the projects where she regurgitated what Mr. Laughstnam taught her onto her paper. It’s obvious to Angie that she’s being targeted, and she thinks she may have a suspicion as to why. Still, she isn’t the type of girl to make assumptions. Especially when it comes to things that could ruin someone’s career.

Later that day, at the Women’s Activism Club meeting, Angie presents her theory to the other members. “I don’t want to point fingers at anyone, but I think Mr. Laughstnam might be sexist. I’m one of the only girls in his class, and he constantly grades my papers with the same low grade no matter how well I write them.” A couple of the other women attending chime in, saying how he also seems to grade them lower, and occasionally they’ll catch him stealing glances at their breasts. The latter shocks Angie for a moment. She never caught him leering at her, and she was pretty attractive. “Well, we should tell the dean about this!” Angie exclaims. Charlotte, a long-time activist of the group interjects. “No. We don’t have anything other than ‘rumors’ for now.” She physically puts the word rumors in air quotes. “If we try to do anything now, he’ll just get a slap on the wrist, and be less likely to be punished in the future. We need to wait until we have more proof first. Until then, we should be cautious around Mr. Laughstnam.”

Angie is reasonably upset but understands why it has to be this way. After all, this still could be a huge misunderstanding, and Mr. Laughstnam wasn’t the WORST professor on campus. “Alright… But I still need a solution for my grades.” She says, suddenly feeling a little timid bringing up something that, in scale, is pretty inconsequential. “Maybe see if you can transfer into a different class? Or try and get your papers regraded by a different teacher?” One of the members’ chimes in. “Ah, right, thanks.” Angie says.

The rest of the meeting passes pretty uneventfully. Projects are planned, status updates are given, ETC. At the end of the day, Angie stumbles into her apartment and collapses on her bed. Moreso for dramatic effect than from exhaustion, as she groans and sits up only seconds later. Angie stretches and picks up her phone. She sets her alarm for about an hour earlier than she normally sleeps in, orders a pizza, and spends the rest of the night looking into research studies relating to mental disparity between genders. Unsurprisingly, she finds very little information from reputable sources. What she does find is so small it can reasonably fit in the margin of error. With yet another groan, she collapses back into bed (This time due to actual fatigue), and passes out for the night. Deciding to sleep on it rather than try and sort through it in her sleep-deprived head.

In the morning, Angie wakes up with a yawn. She still has no idea how to format the little information she found. Angie is just about to give up and just drone back whatever Mr. Laughstnam happened to say during his lecture when she gets an idea. She figures if she’s going to be switching classes anyways, and all her assignments will (hopefully) be regraded by a different teacher, then there’s no need for her to follow Mr. Laughstnam’s directions for her paper. ‘If anything,’ she thinks to herself, ‘the civil disobedience would be a great example to set, and might even help push along the movement!’ With this in mind, the bright-eyed, cheery student spends the rest of her day writing her paper on the lack of disparity between the minds of different genders.

On Monday, Angie saunters into the lecture hall, placing her paper on the stack on Mr. Laughstnam’s desk. Some of her friends comment that she seems more chipper than she usually is, or that there seems to be a certain pep in her step. She just laughs her usual, cheery laugh, as the bell rings, and everyone hurries to their seats. Her professor steps into the room, and starts his usual, boring drawl. Angie barely even bothers to pay attention, daydreaming about the prospect of switching to class where the lectures are actually interesting. As soon as the bell rings, she beelines toward the dean’s office, Leaving Mr. Laughstnam to grade her and her peer’s papers.

The secretary waves fro Angie to head into the office, and Angie does so with no hesitation. The Dean looks up from his computer as she walks in, and smiles kindly. “Hello, please take a seat, I’ll be with you shortly.” He says before resuming typing away at his keyboard. Angie nods and awkwardly takes a seat. Her excitement turns into a sense of anxiety as shes mere moments away from actually putting everything into motion. After what feels like an eternity, the dean turns his attention back to Angie with the exact same smile as before. “What can I do for you?” Angie takes a breath to steady her nerves, and replies. “Yes. I would like to know if it’s possible for me to switch my psych professor with someone else?” The dean responds “Probably. It depends on how far you are in their class, and if any other teacher has free spots open. Could I get their last name?” Angie’s heart beats a little faster. Of course, the switch wasn’t confirmed, but a ‘probably’ was a good place to start. “Yep! Laughstnam.” She says happily. The dean nods and says “alright, I’ll see what I can do. We’ll try to get back to you this time next week.” Angie thanks the dean, and practically skips out of his office. Elated at the fact that all her time and money spent in that class wouldn’t go to waste.

Angie spends the remainder of her day with her friends, simply hanging out until the sun went down and everyone retired to their dorm rooms. Angie closes her eyes, and drifts off to sleep with a smile, knowing she’ll only have to endure another week of hell. When she wakes, she grabs a cup of coffee, and hurriedly walks into campus. Taking her seat, she listens through yet another boring lecture and starts heading out as soon as the bell goes off. However, as soon as she starts to walk past Mr. Laughstnams desk, he puts out his arm and says: “Actually, if you’re not in a hurry Angie, could I perhaps see you after class?” Instantly, a thousand thoughts start racing through Angie’s head. The most prevalent being ‘Crap. He’s gonna yell at me for my paper’ All she manages to speak out, however, is a simple “ʸᵉᵃʰⁿᵒᵖʳᵒᵇˡᵉᵐ”.

Mr. Laughstnam simply smiles sweetly at the poor girl and lets his gaze sweep up and down her figure. To call Angie attractive would be an understatement. The student was absolutely beautiful, while she didn’t typically wear clothes that could be considered revealing, there wasn’t much she could do to mask her natural appearance. Even with the modest jeans and t-shirt she wore, her shapely body was still eye candy for anyone who looked closely. “Please, come with me into my office.” Mr. Laughstnam said, draping an arm around her, and gently steering her into the back room of the psychology wing/office. Angie was completely and utterly tense as he did so. Finally managing to mumble out “uh… isitokifyoudonttouchmesir?” Mr. Laughstnam frowns internally, he definitely chose a difficult subject for this little experiment of his. However, he outwardly smiles warmly and lifts his hand from her shoulders.

“Of course! My apologies, just wanted to make you feel a little more welcome… Don’t worry, this isn’t an interrogation.” He jokes with a chuckle which is awkwardly mirrored by Angie. His words do soothe her somewhat, and she takes a seat. Less tense, but still on guard. “So, you’re probably wondering why I pulled you aside…” He trails off, and there’s a long, heavy moment before Angie realizes she’s supposed to respond. “...oh, yes sir.” Mr. Laughstnam silently adds social skills as a subject to highlight in the upcoming tests. “Well, I just finished grading your paper…” he turns around and rummages through his desk for what feels to Angie like an eternity. She braces herself for harsh, unwarranted criticism. “...and I must say, in all my years of teaching, I’ve never seen something more well written!” Turning around, beaming with papers in hand, he sets down Angie’s thesis on her lap. She looks at the cover, stunned to see ‘150/100’ written in big red ink on the front. “Oh. Thank you sir!” She says after taking a moment to recuperate, positively brimming with pride. If she wasn’t distracted by the big red numbers on her paper, she may have noticed Mr. Laughstnam’s smile twist into something more sinister for an instant.

“Oh please, the pleasure is all mine! If I hadn’t graded your paper, I wouldn’t have realized how outdated my material was.” Angie looks up and smiles, hearing those words. Her defenses were completely abandoned. “Well, I’m glad I could help educate and change your point of view!” She says, exuding an aura of naivety. “Now, Angie. While this is a reason to celebrate, that’s not the only reason I called you here…” He pauses, taking a moment to take a drink from a glass of water he has sitting at his table. “...I called you here to give you an opportunity. You’re slipping behind on grades, even though it’s incredibly obvious how gifted you are—” Angie frowns slightly, remembering her theory as to why she has such a low score. However, Mr. Laughstnam quickly moves on before she can dwell on her thoughts too much. “—which is why I’m offering you an incredible opportunity. I’ll teach you next year’s final unit right now, give you the final exam for next year’s final unit, and regardless of if you fail or pass, I’ll give you a perfect grade for this year. Sound like a plan?”

Angie’s head is already spinning. A chance to try and tackle actually advanced curriculum, as well as the promise of a perfect grade regardless? It sounded too good to be true, but hey, what did she have to lose? If it turned out her professor was lying, she could always just go through with the transfer and have her assignments regraded. “Yes please!” She says, eagerly, without a second thought. Mr. Laughstnam simply smirks and extends a hand for her to shake. She does so vigorously, and the deal is sealed. “Excellent! We can get started right away. The topic is hypnosis, and your final thesis will be on the effects of a well-induced trance.” Angie ponders for a moment and recalls reading about hypnosis at one point in time while brushing up on her own personal notes. From what she can recall, hypnosis is only a state of induced relaxation, and not the complete mind-control popular media makes it out to be. “Alright, I think I already know a little about that field.” She says, proudly. Mr. Laughstnam lets a smile creep onto his face, masking it as pride instead of malevolent glee. “That’s perfect! Then you know that it’s relatively safe. For your first assignment, I want you to take out a notebook, and have it at the ready. Then, I’m going to attempt to induce a state of trance onto your consciousness. If that’s alright with you?”

“Oh, um, you’re going to try and hypnotize me?” Angie is confused, she remembers reading just how difficult it is to hypnotize someone and the large amounts of prep work that usually goes into it. “Uh, sure!” She says, not to worried about actually being hypnotized. Besides, her professor couldn’t make her do anything she didn’t want to anyway, so it was relatively safe…

Mr. Laughstnam is overjoyed to hear his student agree, although he takes care to not outwardly show it. “Excellent!” He exclaims, clapping his hands together. ‘We can finally get on with the experiment’ he adds in his head. “Now, Angie. I want you to relax. Focus on the sounds of the room, of your own thoughts…” Mr. Laughstnam says, slyly hitting a button under his desk. From the button wires run down the desk beneath the carpet, and into the speakers mounted just behind the walls of the room. The speakers start to play low, indistinguishable white noise. Specifically engineered by Mr. Laughstnam to (hopefully) make it easier to induce a trance.

“Alright…” Angie says as she lets out a breath to help her relax. She finds it surprisingly easy, her stress almost melting away as she just focuses on the room. Mr. Laughstnam pulls out a string from a drawer on his desk and dips it gingerly in his glass of water. He pulls it up, and tells Angie: “Angie. You’re doing great so far. Now, I want you to look and observe the droplets of water as they slowly run down, gathering together at the bottom of the string.” Angie’s eyes lock on the string as she does what she is told. “I want you to picture each droplet of water as a thought you have. Slowly being dragged down to the bottom, joining together with all of your other thoughts as they become homogeneous. A single, large drop of consciousness dangling over the sea of your subconscious, feeling oh so heavy… ” Angie’s eyes are now lidded, and she feels exhausted. Her limbs feeling pleasantly numb, her head feeling completely scattered. She nods lazily at her professor’s words, and dimly wonders if she’s actually being hypnotized right now. However, the thought escapes her grasp as it too slides down and joins the rest in the raindrop.

“Angie. When this drop falls, you’re going to be in a deep, deep sleep. Your conscious mind will be completely empty as all of your thoughts dissolve into your unconscious.” Angie absent-mindedly nods again and manages to open her mouth to try and say something. Maybe a question about how this works, or an attempt to back away before it’s too late. Regardless, before she can make a noise, the drop falls from the string and lands back in the cup with a soft Ploop; taking all of Angie’s thoughts with it. What little tension that was left in her body instantly vanishes as she slumps forward in her chair. Her eyes shut, her mouth still hanging open, and her breathing steady.

Mr. Laughstnam lets out a sigh of relief and lets his well-maintained composure drop. His shoulders dropping some, and his smile becoming more of an ominous smirk. “Now, Angie. Let’s work on your social skills. You seem to have issues when it comes to figures of authority, you would like to work on that, correct?” Mr. Laughstnam says, his voice sounding as sweet and trustworthy as ever. The corners of Angie’s mouth turn upwards slightly, and she barely nods, some drool leaking from her open mouth and onto her shirt. “Good girl.” Angie feels a small sense of gratification at the words. “Well, first off, we must address your appearance. You seem to be very reserved for a woman your age, concerningly so.”

Angie frowns slightly, she didn’t think how she dressed was a problem. She could dress however she wanted, right? “You give off the appearance of someone who doesn’t want to be with others, which could hinder future friendships or even job opportunities.” This is a concern to Angie, and she expressed it by letting another line of drool run down her chin. “In the future, try to dress more socially. Take a look at Rebeca Acebér, or Christine Juses. Both of them have bright futures, and it’s largely in part because of how they dress.” Angie visualizes both of the girls in her subconscious, remembering the low-cut skirts they wear, the form-fitting tops they’re notorious for, and the large amounts of skin they show. “It stands to reason that the same principle applies when it comes to authority, just even more so.” Mr. Laughstnam says, practically licking his lips at the idea. “When you’re alone with an authority figure, you should try and increase the intensity of your appearance. Make it a little more apparent.” Angie thinks about it for a moment. There doesn’t seem to be anything wrong with his logic, it only makes sense.

“Now, Angie. I am going to gently wake you up from your trance, and you’ll forget everything that happened here, just like waking up from a pleasant dream. But your subconscious will still remember, and still obey. Do you understand?” Mr. Laughstnam holds his breath, worried that he might’ve overstepped with that last statement. However, Angie just smiles, and says “yes… teacher…” in such a daze that her voice was barely recognizable. Her professor lets out a massive sigh of relief. “Good girl, feel my hands on your shoulders…” he quickly maneuvers over behind Angie, and firmly yet tenderly places his hands on her shoulders. “...Feel me start to slowly pull you back up, back into your own mind and body. Feel the rush of waking up after a long night of amazing sleep. Feel the water of your consciousness slowly spread back to its original shape…”

As Angie starts to gently stir, Mr. Laughstnam takes his hands off of her, and respectfully stands in front of his desk, watching as the light slowly returns to Angie’s eyes as she sorts through her own thoughts. After a moment, she lets out a wide smile at her teacher. “Wow! With all due respect sir, that felt amazing! I wasn’t aware that you were such a skilled hypnotist, or that hypnosis had such wonderful effects!” Her face is positively glowing as she sings his praises, and he smiles back politely. “Well, it was my major!” He proudly boasts “That’s all the time I have for today- there’s still some papers I need to grade -although I expect to see you back here at the same time tomorrow, hopefully in something a little less drab?” Angie is taken slightly off guard by his comment. She feels as though she should be upset about something he said, but what he said wasn’t wrong. If she wanted to maintain a professional appearance, she had to stop dressing so formally and unassuming. “Of course! Thank you again for this opportunity, I really needed it.” Without another word, she gives a respectful nod and walks out of the building, Forgetting entirely about the notes she should have taken.

The next day, after class, Mr. Laughstnam has just finished recalibrating his hidden speakers, when he hears a soft knock on the door. “Come in!” He calls out, excitedly turning to face the door as it swings open. In walks a dolled-up Angie, almost completely unrecognizable. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail in order to not cover up the ample amount of neck and shoulders she was showing. Her tube top is tight enough for her professor to easily make out the outline of her breasts. Moving down, she is wearing a skirt that rests just above the thigh, showing off her shapely legs. Noticing her face, it’s obvious that she put effort into using makeup, and surprisingly, did an amazing job. The most surprising sight Mr. Laughstnam sees, however, is Angie calmly walking over to her chair, sitting down, and flashing her usual, bright-eyed smile. Seeming completely unphased by her vastly different appearance. “Good afternoon, professor!”

Mr. Laughstnam doesn’t respond for a moment, taking a moment to compose himself. He never could have dreamed of his suggestion being so efficient, and is contemplating going a little further than he originally intended with today’s session. “Good afternoon, Angie!” He responds just as cheerfully, snapping out of a small stupor. “I must say, you’re looking amazing today, very professional!” A small blush rises to Angie’s cheeks, and she looks off to the side. “Thank you professor… but I don’t think commenting on my appearance is required, no matter the context…” Her teacher looks shocked for a moment, before letting out a genuine smile. “You’re right. My apologies, I simply thought you would like some feedback. Also, I’m a little surprised. No offense, but you typically don’t seem to be confident enough to correct a superior’s error. I’m proud!”

“Oh! Uh… Thank you!” Angie says, a little off-put by his words. In her head, she starts to silently ponder why she decided that she needed to correct him. ‘Maybe,’ she thought, ‘Maybe I’m learning something from the WAC meetings? But at the same time, it feels more like I trust Mr. Laughstnam to not get upset than I felt confident enough to correct him…’ However, her thoughts are soon interrupted by the voice of her professor. “Now, Angie. Today We’re going to be studying a faster form of induction- touch trance.” Mr. Laughstnam casually pushes the button of a remote hidden in his pocket, and the speakers start to play again. “Oh? Um, how does it work?” Angie asks, feeling a little spaced out all of a sudden. “Well, it’s pretty simple. Instead of a visual point of fixation, I’ll be using one based on contact, as touch is a much more interactive sense than sight.”

“Uh… I’m not sure if I’d be comfortable with that…”Angie says weakly, her mind not entirely present. Mr. Laughstnam just chuckles and gently places his hands on Angie’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. This is a professional setting. I won’t be going any further than a simple shoulder rub.” Angie opens her mouth to protest, but before she can say a word, Her teacher starts to gently massage the nape of her neck, and any protests she may have had died in her throat. His hands feel so nice, and start to work out tension that Angie didn’t even know she had. “Oh… Well… I guess if you… uh… you can…” Angie stutters out some words, a dopey smile starting to slowly spread across her face as her thoughts slow to a crawl. “...good girl. Just focus on the feeling of relaxation my hands provide. Let me take a hold of all your stress, worries, and thoughts.” Angie nods slightly, her smile only growing wider and wider. “You’re doing so, so good. In fact, you’re dropping faster than I ever could have expected. At the moment, you’re probably so deep that anything I say would go straight through that pretty little head of yours.”

“Pretty head…” Angie breathes out, so completely and utterly calm in Mr. Laughstnam’s presence. In response, he simply chuckles. ”Here, let’s test my little theory” Her teacher walks around, and kneels down in front of her. He rests his hands firmly on her thighs and looks her straight in her dazed, empty eyes. “I am going to break you. By the time you leave my office tomorrow, you’ll be completely and utterly dedicated to me, and I’ll have your head bobbing between my legs anytime I want. I’ll clear up all of those pesky misconceptions for you, and you’ll make sure to educate all of the other women at your club on how biology and psychology actually work.” He punctuates his sentence by snatching Angie’s report off of his desk and smacking her in the face with it lightly. All of the pages scatter across the floor, and Angie looks completely and utterly stoic for a few heart-wrenching moments. Suddenly, her smile returns, and she nods gently, a thin line of drool leaking from her mouth. “Uh-huh!” She cheerfully grunts, relaxing even more as she feels her teacher’s hands planted comfortingly between her legs.

Mr. Laughstnam lets out a deep sigh of relief for the second time in two days. “Good girl.” He says, standing, and patting Angie on the top of her head, much to her delight. “Now, I’m going to explain exactly what those silly, bouncy thoughts in your head are for you, ok?” “Mmmmmh…” Angie purrs out, blissfully. “However, while I do so, could you gather up the pages I dropped? Just set them on my desk when you’re done.” Angie nods and slowly stands. Just enough tension in her body to keep her balance. “Yes… Professor…” She sighs out dreamily, and slowly bends over, her skirt riding up. Giving a rather pleasant view of her satin red panties, which barely conceal her full-bodied buttocks. She stumbles from paper to paper, absent-mindedly picking them up while giving an amazing show. After admiring the view for a couple of seconds, Mr. Laughstnam clears his throat and says: “Good job, Angie. You know, you’d make an amazing secretary.” Angie says nothing and continues to pick up papers. Dimly noting this in the back of her mind. “In fact, secretaries don’t even need to do much other than what you’re doing right now! And I know that you love doing what you’re doing right now…” Mr. Laughstnam pauses for a moment, waiting for Angie to affectionately say “Love…” before continuing “Yes, you love being bent over for a man’s entertainment.”

Hearing Mr. Laughstnam say these words was quite a shock to Angie. It was wrong, this much was undeniable. But she did love it- after all, she said she did -and it wasn’t affecting anyone else, so why was it wrong? There had to be some reason, some deeply inlaid instinct as to why it was a bad thing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t put her finger on it! She was starting to get a little dizzy from all of the thinking she was doing and started to teeter as she picked up her next paper. This one opens with the phrase “Minds aren’t something that can be simplified down enough to control.”

Noticing the lack of stability in his subject, Mr. Laughstnam decides to make a bold move. “This might be a little confusing, after all, I know you have your own view of the world. But please, just allow me to simplify, and explain to you why you feel this way.” Angie stops moving, freezing in between one page and the next. “You see, Angie. You love being bent over like this, because you know, deep down, it’s the right thing to do. You want to be an outstanding worker in your field, right? That’s why you’re such an academic, that’s why you let me improve upon your social skills, that’s why you’re letting me hypnotize you in the first place. You want to be an outstanding worker, you just don’t know in what yet. Sure, becoming a therapist may be a goal of yours. But deep down, you know you want something different. Something else. And Angie, trust me. The fact that you are picking up paper for me now so blissfully is a clear sign that you want to be a secretary.” Now for a third time, Mr. Laughstnam finds himself holding his breath, praying that he didn’t mess up.

There’s a seemingly never-ending silence that seems to completely fill the room, consuming all but the sound of their hearts pounding in their ears. Then, slowly, Angie takes another step forward, picks up the page, and walks it back to Mr. Laughstnam’s desk. Her cheery smile plastered on her face like always, behind completely blank eyes. “Oh thank god…” Mr. Laughstnam mumbles under his breath and falls into his chair. After taking a moment to breathe, Mr. Laughstnam says. “Angie… please tell me what you know about secretaries” Angie tilts her head adorable, and dutifully responds. “I know that they’re… assistants… and they’re… supposed to… look pretty…” Her professor smiles at her ignorance and calmly says. “That’s entirely right. Now, how would you feel about trying out a small internship while you’re still under?” Angie perks up, and says “Yes!” Rather enthusiastically, a small spark returning to her eyes. Mr. Laughtsnam chuckles and holds up a hand. “Secretaries are usually calm, the best are even sleepy.” He says, gently lowering his hand as he does, dragging Angie’s gaze down with it. “Oh… O… K…” Angie says, the spark diming, and her face going slack. She falls down to her knees, losing the strength required to continue standing. Mr. Laughstnam grins at the sight, his hands reach down and unbuckle his belt.

Angie’s mind is completely and utterly blank, all of her resistance already spent attempting to defy the thought of her wanting to be a secretary. Even in that regard, she lacked the willpower to succeed. However, she could suckeed at something else. Angie is too blank to notice Mr. Laughstnams pants around his ankles. She’s also too blank to hear his gloating in even the back of her subconscious. She doesn’t notice Mr Laughstnam pull his rock hard, throbbing cock from his briefs, nor how it sways gently in his hand. She doesn’t even notice him lightly smack her across the face with it, her dazed, glassy-eyed expression unchanging while she remains still in deep trance. What she does notice, though. What some stray neurons in the back of her head pick up on, was the feeling of Mr. Laughstnam slipping his dick inbetween her silky smooth lips. She’s dimily aware of it, and her body responds accordingly, just like any hypnotized secretary would. She starts to bob softly her head along his shaft, her tongue wrapping around his tip, massaging it with somehow expert control.

Mr Laughstnam marvels at the skill of the supposed shy, innocent girl he has at his feet. Mr. Laughstnam has had quite a few blowjobs in all of his years, but almost none can compare to the one he’s getting at this very moment. Her pace is completely even, her tongue is licking at every inch of him that is in her mouth, and she’s doing all of this with completely empty eyes. It feels almost lazy, in a way. Like her giving him a blowjob is akin to simply reclining on the sofa after a long day of work, book in hand. However, Mr. Laughstnam is about to make it a little more involved. He takes his hand, and gently rests it on the back of her head. For a moment, he pauses to enjoy the moment, Simply running his fingers through her hair, and letting out a couple of soft grunts. Then, this moment passes. And Mr. Laughstnam pushes her head even further down along his cock, reaching into her throat.

Angie also dully notices this, a spark of pleasure shooting up her spine at the sensation. Her throat fits snuggly around her teacher’s warm, pulsing cock. The taste of it tastes surprisingly good to Angie, who just starts to taste things again. She feels her chin tap up against something warm, and dully thinks to herself that she must be balls-deep. Another thought quickly occurs to Angie—Why was she doing this? Sure she wanted to be a secretary, and she did find this enjoyable, but It had to be highly inappropriate. As she pulls her head back to thrust his cock into her throat once more, she thinks to herself that she should probably ask her teacher about these thoughts, but another part of her screams for her to not. Her gullet starts to feel raw, but she doesn’t let it distract her from her thoughts. She starts to ponder why she doesn’t want to tell Mr. Laughstnam. Afterall, he’s a trustworthy superior to her. She then starts to wonder why he’s trustworthy. Which she quickly reminds herself is because he helped her be more social. However, there’s still that lingering hesitation and doubt in her mind, so she reaches the conclusion that she won’t tell Mr. Laughstnam about her thoughts for now, and instead mull them over by herself. Conveniently, she reaches her conclusion right as her teacher does. He unloads his cum directly down Angie’s throat, completely scattering her thoughts anyway. He pull away from her mouth, admiring the sight of a cross-eyed, grinning Agine eagerly swallowing his cum.

“Ahhhh… fuck… so tight…” Mr. Laughstnam says, dreamily to himself, before quickly regaining his composure. “Ahem, right.” He grabs a box of kleenex from his desk, and holds it out to Angie. “PLease clean both of us up.” Angie nods dully and takes the tissues. Grabbing a few squares, and wiping the drippage from her mouth off of her cleavage. Mr. Laughstnam clears his throat a second time, and starts to speak. “Now, Angie. I’d say that you had quite a good, fun time during your internship. In fact, I think that you had so much fun, that you’d absolutely love to look into this as a more permanent career choice.” Angie simply smiles and nods, but again, there’s that annoying voice in the back of her head, telling her to question her superior. Before she can dwell on it though, her teacher speaks again. “Good girl. Now, as practice, why don’t you go around campus and find some boys that are willing to ‘accept your internship’? Once you return here tomorrow, I’ll finalize your career choice.” Mr. Laughstanm gives a trusted and warm smile to Angie, who eats it up like-

NO! Angie thinks to herself, only confusing herself even more. Before she can quell her intrusive thoughts, they yell out some more perplexing words. I WILL NOT BE A PRISONER IN MY OWN BODY! I WILL NOT TRUST THIS MAN! I WILL NOT CONFORM TO HIS DESIRES! To herself, she sounds like a madwoman. She devotes all of her attention to countering these terrible, terrible delusions. No longer paying attention to any of the words Mr. Laughstanm is trying to place in the back of her mind. This is your body, this is your desire, why would you not trust this man? He’s done so much to help me… you… us? Angie’s head hurts thinking about the implications of talking to herself, meanwhile Angie continues to scream internally. SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT—! With a snap of Mr. Laughstnams fingers, Angie finds herself jarringly fully conscious again, for the first time in days.

The very first thing Angie does is take full note of her situation. She remembers dimly the past couple days outside of this office, but everything seems to go hazy whenever she tries to recall what happened inside. She remembers thinking at one point in time that the clothing she’s wearing currently was rather professional, and didn’t give off the appearance that she was willing to blow anyone who asked nice enough… Maybe I was willing she thinks to herself, and realizes with horror that the thought comes with a twinge of pleasure. So I’m still somewhat under the effects… she notes, taking care not to forget. She notices a dull hum coming from the walls. If she wasn’t so exceedingly aware, she wouldn’t have even noticed it. She also realizes the more she focuses on it, the more her thoughts slow, so she quickly drags her attention to her teacher. Mr. Laughstnam stands in front of her, a large bulge in his pants, and an expectant look on his face. The hints of kindness on his face now glaringly fake to Angie. The last thing she takes note of is the salty taste in her mouth, and the raw, tingly feeling in her throat. Internally, she both gorans in disgust and quietly squeals in delight.

“Well now, Angie, you sure have a busy day ahead of you! Don’t forget to report back here on friday, I think we should be able to pound out the last section then.” He says, a grin spreading wide on his face. Now that she can think clearly, Angie is astonished that she didn’t notice just how creepy Mr. Laughstnam was sooner, hypnotized or not! After a brief moment of hesitation, Angie smiles and nods. “Thank you Mr. Laughstnam! H-Have a wonderful day!” She puts on the most cheerful face she can muster, and tries not to trip as she hurriedly walks out of the room. Running as soon as line of sight is broken from him. Her skirt flies up as she does so, but she doesn’t care. Just running as fast as she can to her dorm. Along the way, she gets a couple appreciative whistles from passersby. She utterly hates how they’re whistling, but hates even more how she finds a small smile creeping onto her face whenever they do, feeling elated at their ‘praise’.

She slams her door shut, locks it, and drags her bed stand over to further barricade it. Immediately, she throws her clothes off, and practically jumps into the shower. Turning the water on the coldest setting it could possibly go, and letting the water run over her. She desperately tries to think back to her previous sessions with her professor, trying to recall if anything …more happened. After what feels like an eternity of combing through hazy memories, she breathes a sigh of relief, and determines that he didn’t go that far yet. Well, I guess I have to go out and serve some of the guys on campus now… She thinks to herself, almost taking a step out of the shower before catching herself. “No!” She audibly yells out, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. Although she can’t shake the feeling of pleasure at the idea.

“Fuck fuck fuck…” She whispers to herself, now dressed in her comfiest pajamas as she paces her tiny dorm room. “I can’t trust my own thoughts… Fuck.” She says out loud. Fuck. Maybe even this isn’t real. Maybe I was hypnotized to think that sucking off anyone I make eye contact with is wrong, when it’s really right! She thinks to herself again. She once again finds herself almost agreeing with her thoughts, before she has an epiphany. “Wait a second, I’m not saying these other thoughts out loud, despite them being just as loud as the ones I do wind up saying!” She feels a sudden pressure release in her head, as she finally has a frame of reference for what is and isn’t her real thoughts. “Alright, now that I can think somewhat clearly, I need to make sure it stays this way.” So, she grabs a small pocket notebook from her bed stand, and starts to write useful tips in it. Such as ‘question your mind’ and ‘you are a smart, talented, strong woman’ and, most importantly of all ‘DO. NOT. TRUST. MR. LAUGHSTNAM’. The following pages are simply filled with what is and isn’t considered normal. Whenever she’s doubtfully for an answer, she simply zones out and thinks to herself about the thing in question ,and typically writes down the opposite of her immediate thoughts.

By the time she’s finished, she’s completely and utterly exhausted. She barely manages to put the book away and fall into bed before passing out. Her dreams are concerning to say the least. Often consisting of one or more of her classmates doing obscene and objectifying things to her, all while she smiles and giggles at them. A very, very recurring character in these dreams is Mr. Laughstnam. The sight of him send terror shooting up Angie’s spine, but then he snaps his fingers, and Angie simply smiles and drops to her knees like a good girl should. Unfortunately , Angie wakes up before much else can happen. She sits up, stretches and yawns. The memories of the last couple of days instantly shooting back into her head. As she goes to swing her legs over the bed to get up, she finds that they’re more parted than how she usually wakes up, and feels a very, very damp spot on her panties. She then catches a waft of her own juices, and comes to the sickening realization that she came herself over those disgusting dreams.

Her face is completely and utterly red as she cleans herself up, and gets dressed for the day. Feeling a little more comfortable in her normal attire. Unfortunately, she’s recently been slacking on her laundry, and the only pair of replacement underwear she has is the pair that her friends bought her as a joke. The lace black pair that was so skimpy that it might as well had been a thong. Regardless, she throws the pair on, and begins to formulate a plan of action…

She only has one day to prepare, so she spends it as well as she can. The very first thing she does as soon as she walks out the door, is beeline towards Charlotte’s dorm. She doesn’t know her too well, but she’s one of the only people that she thinks she can trust to hear her out. Especially with her being so involved in the WAC. She reaches her door, and knocks a little timidly. After a few moments, Charlotte opens the door. Looking rather frazzled and disgruntled. “Oh. Uh… Come in, come in. Is everything ok?” She asks Angie, noticing the look of anxiety on her face. “”Um… no.” She says, walking inside. A fresh wave of doubts wash over her as she takes a seat on the couch. There’s no way she’d believe me, she’d think I’m crazy. “Here, I’ll give you some time to think while I go get a cup of coffee.” Charlotte’s voice interrupts Angie’s thoughts, and she nods absent-mindedly as Charlotte walks into the other room. Angie then realizes that her thoughts were dictating how she felt again, and felt a sudden boost in confidence seemingly purely to spite herself. A few minutes later, Charlotte returns, mug of coffee in hand. She takes a sip, looks down at Angie, and says “Alright, what’s the matter?”

While her confidence may have partially returned, her pride had definitely not. And Angie almost breaks into tears as she starts to recount her story. Or at least, what she remembered of it. She tells Her new-found friend about the feeling of her mind melting into liquid. About how she blindly and blankly trusted Mr.Laughstnam, all because of a single instance of glowing praise. She tells her about how Mr. Laughstnam tricked her into becoming some sort of erotic-slave, and how he had messed with her mind so much that even just describing it to her now made her cunt ache and twinge desperatly. Charlotte looks very disturbed by this information. She doesn’t believe most of it, not even for a second. But It’s obvious that twisted fuck did something horrible to Angie, if she’s in that much of denial. “I believe you.” She says, bringing a look of pleasant surprise to Angie’s face. “Really!?” She exclaims, not expecting it to be so easy. “Yeah,” Charlotte replies, deciding that Angie could deal with her trauma later, and that the current priority should be to get Mr. Laughstnam behind bars. “I trust you with all of my heart, Anabell.” “Oh, uh, I-It’s Angie.” Angie says, suddenly being reminded that Charlotte is basically a stranger to her.

The two spend the rest of the day formulating a plan. If Mr. Laughstnam had so much power over Angie, then she shouldn’t go anywhere near him until they were sure it was safe. Charlotte would go in by herself, but with pepper spray and (if things went REALLY bad) a pocket knife. She’d also be carrying in a tape-recorder, and try to catch Mr. Laughstnam trying something on her. She’d pretend to be interested in studying the next semester’s hypnosis course, and record how Mr. Laughstnam reacts, reporting anything off he says to the Dean, as well as posting the recording online for all to hear. The new-found duo hammers out the details of the plan, and eventually have their outline fully set in stone. Angie finds herself nervous and rather hesitant to go through with it, questioning if she would be nervous normally, or if it’s just another modification that was made to her. Charlotte, on the other hand, is ecstatic. For so long, she’s been such an avid member of the WAC, but still hasn’t been able to DO anything. Sure, she would put up posters, and help lobby for change that would eventually happen. But right now, this very moment, she has an opportunity to make a difference. To put a horrible misogynist behind bars. She knows, deep down, that she won’t fail Alice.

The next day, the two of them meet up after classes are over. Angie is looking visibly less comfortable in her revealing clothing, but it was necessary for her to not draw suspicion in psychology class. Both of them are positively shaking, even if it’s for opposite reasons. The two of them barely share a word as they walk into the lecture hall, and stand in front of Mr. Laughstnam’s door. Angie wished that Charlotte would’ve offered any words of affirmation, or encouragement. But Charlotte was two busy going through the plan again in her head. It was a little over half an hour until Angie was supposed to meet up with her professor, so Charlotte had plenty of time. Without even a whisper between them, Charlotte knocks on the door. Angie stands to the side as it swings open, Mr. Laughstnam’s voice is painfully recognizable as he speaks to Charlotte. “Oh, uh, Hello! My apologies, I was expecting a student of mine. Please, come in!” As Charlotte walks through the open door, she briefly casts a glance at Angie, standing just out of view. For the briefest of instants, she flashes a small smirk, and a wink. And then, she’s gone.

Angie sits outside and dwells on her thoughts as the clock ticks slowly away. All of her worries and anxieties buble to the surface of her mind. What if he overpowered her? What if he doesn’t say anything? What if he shows her just how good it feels to be under his contr- She interrupts that last thought by once again creaming in her head. A practice she was getting disturbingly comfortable with. All of her negative thoughts come to a catalyst when she finally sees the door swing open again, and are dashed when she hears the voice of Charlotte say: “Angie. It’s alright to come in now.” Angie jumps to her feet, and takes a moment to compose herself. Simply breathing for a solid second. She finally has control again, for the first time since she turned in that damned paper. She wanted to make absolutely sure that she wouldn’t waste it. After around 3 seconds had passed, Angie walked through the open door. Her look of confidence dissolves into a look of horror once she sees what is inside.

Charlotte is standing in the center of the room, Her eyes completely vacant. Fitted around her ears are a pair of headphones. The casing removed, and extra modifications quite obviously made. In her hands, she holds a single, long candle. Her empty eyes locked onto it almost lovingly, as the wax slowly drips down into the catching tray. Her face holds a dopey, entirely empty smile. However, more notable is attire. Or rather, her lack of attire. She is completely nude, her clothes laying in a heap around her ankles. Her breasts are certainly an eye-catcher, rather round and ample. A more important detail about them, however, is the fact that they are currently in the hands of one Harold Laughstnam. He bounces them and jiggles them around in his hand, occasionally squeezing, prompting zero reaction from Charlotte, who just continues to look at the pretty flame.

Angie is completely frozen in shock, and Mr. Laughstnam simply locks eyes with her and smiles. Finally, he reveals his genuine grin. Not a single ounce of compassion or kindness showing on the other side. Only cruel, calculated sadism. “Well well, Angie. I do have to say, this week, you exceeded my expectations.” Hearing him speak is enough to snap Angie out of her stupor, who simply stumbles backwards, stuttering. “Y-y-you. Y-you did this. You d-did something to me. W-what did you do? Please tell me what did you do?!” Angie slumps down against the wall, tears streaming down her face. Mr LAughstnam sees this, and only laughs. “Angie, I simply helped you see what you already saw. You saw the way the world works, you saw how men are meant to dominate, and you simply decided to turn a blind eye to it. I helped you see things from a different view. I also got to test out a new form of hypnosis while I was at it, so I guess everyone wins in this situation.” He takes his hands off of Charlotte’s breasts, and plants a firm smack on her ass as he walks toward his desk. She fails to react in any way whatsoever.

“I must say Angie, you took to my suggestions well. Did you even think about going to the Dean, the police, or anyone else who could’ve done even the slightest thing to help you?” Mr. Laughstnam says with a chuckle, much to Angie’s horror. As soon as the words leave his lips, she remembers vividly silencing those thoughts along with her other voice. Not thinking anything of it at the time, and barely even remembering after the fact. At the look of pure distress on Angie’s face, Mr. Laughstnam only laughs harder. “And tell me, Angie. Did you keep your in-trance self nice and separated from your real self?” He says, his girn only growing wider with each sickening word he says, and his hand reaching into his drawer. Angie’s eyes widen in terror as a recolection perices through her foggy memory of her time in trance. She remembers the words that she thought she ignored while she was breaking free from Mr. Laughstnam’s hypnotic grasp. She remembers him whispering his commands and suggestions in her ear, telling her to make sure that her mind stayed in turmoil, even if she did break free. This terrible memory is accompanied by soft giggle in the back of her head. Did I do good~? She thinks to herself. A thought she quickly ignores simply out of habit.

Angie looks up at Mr Laughstnam, who pulls a small remote from his drawer. His finger hovers over the button, as he points it towards where Angie knows the hidden speakers are set up. Probably amplified now, judging by the blank look on the once-defiant Charlotte’s face. All that Angie can do is look on in fear, and beg. “Please… P-please professor, I’m sorry. I-I’ll do whatever you want. J-Just… Let me continue to be myself. Please…” The look on her face morphs into one so pitiful, it looks like Mr. Laughstnam pauses for a moment to consider, his finger hovering inches above the button. “Alright, I must say. You make a tempting offer. I mean, I could have you do anything I want, with the caveat of you one hundred percent calling the police at some point. OR I could have you as a loyal and happy fuck-pupet for the rest of your days. Sorry, but I’m going to have to go with the latter.” Mr Laughstnam says with a slick, weasley smile. His finger pressing down on the button that will completely ruin Angie’s life, while her mouth opens in a silent, terrified scream.

It’s a very odd sensation, having your mind directly altered. Sure, Angie had been hypnotized before, and suggestions had been left for her to follow. But that was all under the veil of hypnosis, her mind not actively aware and thinking as her entire psyche was tinkered with like a cheap toy. She could feel the frequencies of Mr. Laughstnam’s now-perfected audio buzz around in her head, and she could feel them wriggle their way in-between her thoughts. It became harder and harder to focus on more than one thought at a time, and half of the time she couldn’t tell whether a thought she was focusing on was hers, or the twisted version of her that listened to her professor. Her eyes gradually become less focused as it becomes harder to think about what she sees. Drool slowly leaks from her mouth as it becomes harder to focus on swallowing. And most concerning of all, her slit started to moisten as the distincion between herself and Mr. Laughstnam’s version of herself became more and more non-existent.

While Angie was going through this inner turmoil, her mind obediently starting to rewire itself, Mr Laughstnam can’t help but smile at his own handiwork. Within a little over half an hour, he managed to have one of the most righteous members of the WAC happily take off her clothes for the pretty candle light, not even responding to his dehumanizing touches. Within mere seconds, he managed to take a few suggestions planted into a timid girl’s mind, and turn them into a mental onslaught strong enough to have her kneeling down completely emptily in front of him. Barely a thought in her spacious mind. And he managed to accomplish all of this with a single audio file! In fact, now that he thinks about it, this definitely isn’t the best he could do. No no no, there’s SO many improvements to be made, so much more it could be capable of. Mr. Laughstnam licks his lips at all of the possibilities, before snapping back to reality. Afterall, what’s the point of having such a powerful tool, if he doesn’t use it?

“Tits out.” He simply growls out, commanding Angie’s immediate attention. She obeys without a thought, simplys pulling down her tube top, freeing her ample cleavage for Mr. Laughtnam to use to his heart’s content. Which he does so immediately. Without any hesitation, he pulls out his surprisingly long, quivering cock. Simply letting it sway for a moment, prompting zero reaction from either of the two women, before grabbing it by the base, and plunging it in between Angie’s cleavage. Her former professor let’s out a small groan as he does so, satisfied with Angie’s blank body. “Mmmh… Angie. Now that I’ve gotten rid of those pesky resistances, thoughts, and any and all nuances that your brain shouldn’t have had to begin with… how about I start to truly show you where you belong?” Angie doesn’t even nod, she doesn’t react in any way, giving no indication that he even spoke at all. Yet Mr. Laughstnam knows she heard him, and starts to pick up the pace. His shaft rubbing even faster between her mounds, his head starting to poke its way from between her chest.

“Mmmh… You belong to me.” Her former professor says simply. Not allowing any room for doubt in his voice, simply stating so as if it was an objective fact. Her mind instantly believes it as such, a small bit of order finally being brought to her torn apart mind. “You are nothing but an object for my pleasure, you are a tool I use when I want, and own in it’s entirety” He drones on, gyrating his hips in a smooth, fluid motion. Angie starts to nod slightly, all of the pieces of her head falling back into place. “Mhhg… A ditzy little slut that obeys her master” Mr. Laughstnam grunts out, slowing down slightly to make sure he doesn’t finish prematurely. “Ditzy slut… obey… master….” Angie repeats, her eyes starting to gain some life once more. The first emotion retuning to them being lust. “Ah, fuck. You. Are. Just. A. Pair. Of. Tits.” He says, making sure to drill every word into her cracked and shattered psyche. He puncates himself by pulling away and rearing back his hand, before swinging it forward and planting a firm, hard slap on her breasts. Making them jiggle and bounce with a satisfying ripple.

Angie blinks, looking shocked for a moment. Almost as if she had awoken from a deep sleep. Slowly, a smile spreads across her face as she feels her mounds slowly wobble to a halt. “Yes master, I’m just a pair of lowly tits for you to use and abuse. I’m just a pair of holes for you to ravage whenever you feel like it. My body is yours, and my stupid, inferior brain can’t even think of another life~” She says, her eyes full of nothing but pure devotion, and her voice filled to the brim with breathy, sultry undertones. she sways her shoulders from side to side, making her chest swing lightly, as if a heavy sheet were caught in the wind. Mr. Laughstnam simply looks down at her in shock, before clearing his throat in an attempt to regain his composure. “That is perfectly correct, An- …Well, I suppose you don’t really deserve a name anymore do you? You’re absolutely right, fuckmeat. I couldn’t have said it better myself…” He says, silently sulking about his dramatics being outdone by a brainless bitch. Said brainless bitch simply gives an airheaded giggle in response, which only serves to frustrate her master more. “Thank you, master. I really—”

“Shut up. I want that skirt over your waist, those panties around your knees, and your slut holes presented to me. Now.” He growls out, a small grin on his face as he sees his new thrall instantly obey with an idiotic grin on her face. In seconds, she has her skirt rolled up around her waist. She has her panties sliding down past her thighs, resting right around her knees. And she plants her face firmly against the ground, kneeling with her ass raised to the air, exposing her bare sex to the world. Charlotte simply looks on with the same, empty smile as Mr. Laughstnam lines up his ready, hard, quivering cock against his new toy’s tight cunt. Mr. Laughstnam looks down at the body he’s being presented with, and pushes in slowly. Pleasure racking up and down his entire body. And the piece of fuckmeat sees nothing with her face against the cold, unswept ground. But she can still feel. She feels her virginity get stolen, and the burning, searing thrones of pleasure as her fragile brain melts and shatters all over again. Her entire world splinters off into its own islands of ecstasy, her body unable to even dream of doing anything other than simply moan and take her masters’ length as it slides inside of her in a frantic rhythm.

It’s an odd feeling,knowing you have complete control over another person. Sure, Mr. Laughstnam believed that men should naturally have more control over women, but to earnestly and honestly be able to say “I own this person, and they don’t do anything unless I say so” is a completely different kind of control. However, naturally, Mr. Laughstnam doesn’t find this to be off putting in the slightest. In fact, it’s an added pleasant thought that flies through his head as he buries his dick deep into his former student. It provides a stark contrast to the sheer emptiness of Angie, who currently is focused on on smiling as more moans escape her lips, and being a perfect fuckdoll for her master. Honestly, she can’t even imagine any other way it could be. It just feels right to her, just like how Mr. Laughstnams cock feels right pressed against her womb.

Mr. Laughstnam keeps on thrusting. And he keeps on thrusting. He goes on for quite a few minutes, constantly picking up the pace, catching his conquest off guard. His slave cums once, her juices flowing all over her master’s phallus. Then she cums a second time, her walls constricting even tighter around him, desperate to make him reciprocate. Finally, shortly after she cums for the third time, Mr. Laughstnam lets out a loud grunt of release, and unloads deep into the waiting, desperate cunt of his new property. She feels her entire body go limp with relief and pleasure as he does so, letting him pull out with a small amount of sadness. Mr. Laughstnam looks down at his handiwork with pride, watching as the mixture of both of their fluids flow out from her used and abused hole. He reaches down, and pats her hips with a modicum of affection, like one would pat a car after a particularly difficult start up. “Now, Angie.” He says, his signature cruel smile on his lips. “Why don’t you tell me the difference between the male and female brain?”