The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Back in 1987, I was dating a young woman I’d met in college. Her name was June, she was two years younger than I, and she didn’t believe me when I told her she was beautiful.

How wrong she was! True, one of her eyes was cloudy and non-functional, the result of a doctor’s mistake when she was born. But the other eye was a piercing sweet blue, and as clear as her milky white skin. She stood about five feet four, and the only time she weighed more than 105 was if she was carrying something heavy.

She had sleek black hair, which she liked to wear long—in part to cover up her “bad” eye. And her breasts were the sweetest little A-cups, with wine-red and oh-so-sensitive nipples that became instantly erect if the wind blew the right way! Believe it or not, she used to keep these treasures unnecessarily confined in simple cotton bras; it was one of my lasting triumphs that I was able to persuade her to discard half of her underwear collection....

Anyway, after two years together, we had had a lot of fun, without violating either of our virginities—we’d made the decision early on to save ourselves until we at least got engaged. And she had trusted me completely; enough to let me put her under many, many times.

But June had never returned the favor, until one special night at my house when my parents weren’t home. I had my own room in what used to be the garage, and we had been making out as we usually did.

I honestly don’t remember how the subject came up, but I finally admitted to her that I had always wanted to be her hypnotic subject, and she told me that she was willing enough, but she wasn’t sure how to hypnotize me. (Had I known then what I know today, I could have simply put her under and prodded both her memory and confidence, but at the time, it just didn’t occur to me.) I assured her, however, that I would be the most willing possible subject she could ask for, and she agreed to give it a try.

I sank like a stone, to a warm and happy place. I remember her asking me questions, testing the depth of my trance, and then the depth of my devotion to her. Somewhere, under the trance, my mind was listening for clues, specific sexual directions, that would let me know exactly what her own fantasies and expectations were.

Instead, she gave me a general comment along the lines of, “Do whatever you want to me.”

In real life—and this I will always regret—at that point, I held back. I did everything to her that I knew she liked, but I tried nothing new. Specifically, I didn’t fuck her. That may have been the turning point; in another six months, we were apart.

But, with the power of fantasy, and knowing what I know now....

“Open your eyes and do whatever you want.”

I want to make her happy. I’d been laying on my back, relaxing, floating; with those words, I roll onto my side, brimming with energy. Sexual energy, and desire, and a new determination.

Her top is already off; I make love to her tiny breasts, her tiny nipples. I pull at them and bite them, not too hard—but not too gently either. She moans.

If I open my mouth wide and suck, I can take her entire breast inside. I do so; she groans. I alternate sucking and releasing the whole breast, without touching the nipple with any part of my mouth. It must feel something like a breast pump; when I finally let go, her nipple is fully erect and a fierce blushing red. I lick it, slowly, and she shudders.

I move lower, trailing wet kisses on her white stomach, stroking the beautiful curve of her waist and hips with both hands. As I approach her white cotton panties, I can see—and smell—her moist arousal. And she is trembling.

Slowly, silently, I work my way lower. I gently press my lips to the wetness at the front of her panties, inhaling deeply. My hands creep up, fingers curling around the waistband. She doesn’t protest, doesn’t stop me; in fact, I can feel her hips lift ever so slightly in anticipation. “Yes,” she whispers.

As I pull them down, she brings her knees up, making it easier for me to remove them. I drop them onto the bed next to her, and she wads them up and tosses them onto the small pile of her clothes on my chair. I take advantage of her raised legs, spreading the knees apart, exposing her arousal for a good look. And a good smell. And a good taste....

“Stop,” she says, and I must. But I am also still under her command to do whatever I want. By this time, my erection insists upon being released. I stand up to do so.

It is the first time we are fully naked together. Before this, we had always taken turns, believing that cotton underwear somehow prevented accidental penetration. I strut a little; she licks her lips. I don’t think she even realizes that she did so, but to my wide-open mind it becomes a signal—it’s time to proceed.

I lay down next to her, my erection laying across her thigh. Taking the back of her head in my hand, I kiss her. Our tongues dance and mingle, and she relaxes. Her hip thrusts against my cock; again, I don’t think she’s fully aware of what her body is telling me.

But my senses are focused. I can read the signs. And I know that it’s finally time.

Without a word, I roll on top. Her breath catches, as she finally realizes what’s about to happen. I see her almost telling me to stop; if she says to, I will. But she wants this, as well; she needs this as badly as I do. And she doesn’t have enough time to be afraid.

I position myself. I breathe in, and feel her own deep breath. I push, and her scream gets stuck in her throat.

I stop. I want her to enjoy this, and she needs time to recover. I listen to her harsh breathing, and wait for her signal. My cock is warm, and wet with a mixture of her arousal and her virginity.

Our virginity.

She shudders and relaxes, and I feel a small loosening down below. Instinctively I make small, slow strokes, giving her channel time to re-moisten and get used to the intrusion. When she starts responding with tiny thrusts of her own, I respond by pressing more fully, though not more quickly.

It’s only when she demands, “More, more!” that I let myself speed up.

The sensation is wonderful. For the first time, my cock is where it’s supposed to be, in a sheath especially designed for it. I feel warm, and safe, and loved.

And I believe, really believe, that she does also.

I feel my climax coming; I feel hers, too; it will arrive a little behind mine. But she had told me to do whatever I want.

I want to come. So I come. In several hard spurts.

And I want her to come, too. So, despite having shot my load, I keep my erection, and continue to pump within her. My semen helps coat her channel, making it more slippery. She thrusts back faster; her channel tightens; she climaxes.

I enjoy her climax. And when it is done, I roll off of her, hug her, and kiss her.

I see that her face is wet with tears. She asks me, sniffling, “Love? Are you still under?”

“Yes.” It’s the first word I’ve spoken in a very long time.

“Please wake up.”

Everything snaps into focus, the world returns, and I realize that things will never be the same.