The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Dr. Long took great pleasure in working up a good sweat, whether it was through the physical exercise that kept his body in enviable condition or a round of vigorous lovemaking. The heavy masculine odor clinging to his skin, his clothes, the very atmosphere of his surroundings was instrumental in treating patients like Wendy. However, for a man of Dr. Long’s abilities and appetites getting clean was just as enjoyable as getting dirty.

After a particularly taxing day at his practice, the good doctor was in desperate need of a shower. So much so that he couldn’t bear the thought of making the long drive home in his current state. Thankfully, a grateful former patient lived nearby.

Samantha Carlyle—said grateful former patient—was humming to herself, sitting nude on the edge of her brownstone’s clawfoot bathtub, testing the water with her fingertips as the tub slowly filled. Her contented smile shone through the smear of bright pink lipstick that surrounded her delicate mouth.

Samantha’s husband Wayne, the one who had stumbled across Long Behavioral Associates while looking for a way to help his wife quit smoking, stood gazing at his own reflection in the bathroom mirror. In a whisper he repeated, “I trust I am dreaming, I dream I am trusting” over and over to himself.

As for Dr. Long, he reclined in the adjoining bedroom enjoying the feel of the silk sheets beneath him and marveling at the sensation of erotic power one can only know after mussing another’s marriage bed. Bright pink lipstick marks stood out against the dark skin of his neck and chest. The heaviest mark of all was the bright pink ring that encircled the base of his impressive manhood, a pleasing reminder of the advantages of replacing one of a patent’s oral fixations with another.

“Oh, doooctor,” Samantha called in a playful sing-song. “The water’s just the way you liiike it.”

Dr. Long rose from the bed and made his leisurely way to the bathroom.

“You know you don’t need to call me that,” Dr. Long said from the doorway. “You haven’t been my patient in quite some time.”

“Are you sure?” Samantha purred. “You gave me quite a treatment tonight.”

“Well, if you expect me to play doctor you can play nurse and give me a well deserved sponge bath,” Dr. Long chuckled as he entered the room and approached the tub.

Samantha took a moment to admire her lover’s body, then stood to retrieve a sponge and lavender soap. “If that’s the doctor’s orders.”

Dr. Long stepped into the tub and lowered himself into the steaming water. Samantha was as good as her word. It was exactly as he preferred. Dr. Long settled into the elegant tub and closed his eyes, letting the heat relax his body in much the same way his words relaxed his patients’ minds.

Samantha returned with soap and sponge, disturbing the water as she worked up a sweet-smelling lather. She resumed humming her tune as she ran the sudsy sponge over her lover’s admirable chest and shoulders.

It really was a wonderful arrangement. When Samantha first entered Dr. Long’s office it was apparent she found him attractive. He found her more than attractive. In Dr. Long’s eyes this new patient was desirability itself, though it was hidden beneath his precisely cultivated facade of clinical detachment.

Samantha responded well to his techniques, slipping into trance easily and incorporating his suggestions into her psyche. It would have been the simplest thing in the world to take her then and there in his office, but Dr. Long was nothing if not ethical and professional. He had been hired to treat her nicotine addiction, and that’s exctly what he did.

As Samantha’s treatment continued she found it more difficult to conceal her desire. From one session to another the cut of her blouse lowered, the hem of her skirt raised, and her makeup went from subtle to practically whorish, all in an effort to catch Dr. Long’s eye. Dr. Long remained professional and objective, which only served to escalate Samantha’s flirtations. If only Samantha knew that behind his wall of cold disinterest Dr. Long’s passions were being stoked to an almost unbearable degree.

In time Dr. Long built a routine around Samantha’s appointments. Beforehand his secretary brought him relief with her mouth or hands. Afterword, he fully vented his lust upon his secretary on the same chaise lounge where Samantha so recently reclined in deep hypnosis.

Samantha’s treatment came to its inevitable end. Thank’s to a litany of carefully worded posthypnotic suggestions the taste, smell, and mere thought of a cigarette was revolting to her. Her oral fixation was thoroughly retrained. She found herself reapplying her lipstick more than was strictly necessary, repainting her now eternally pouting lips with languid strokes. She drank only from straws, taking great care to purse her lips and slowly draw the liquid forth. Her sex life improved, at least as far as her husband was concerned.

Wayne no longer had to coax his wife for oral sex. Indeed, prolonged blowjobs became the core of their foreplay. Samantha sucked her husband’s cock with not only vigor but enthusiasm. When he couldn’t hold back, she swallowed his load gratefully, smacking her lips with dreamy satisfaction. The act itself soothed and centered her like the addiction that was now a distant memory.

The sponge and scented soap had been discarded some time ago, their purpose served. Samantha now poured steaming water onto Dr. Long’s shoulders and chest from her cupped hands, washing away suds, sweat, and the last residue of their lovemaking. Dr. Long’s skin was clean, supple, and too tempting to leave untouched.

Samantha played the fingers of her right hand over Dr. Long’s shaven scalp. Her left hand stroked down his thick neck, broad chest, and defined abs, touching and teasing along the way until she found the part of him she yearned for most.

“I can still taste you,” Samantha breathed into Dr. Long’s ear. She smacked her lips for emphasis.

Dr. Long placed his hand at the small of Samantha’s back, then slowly ran it up her spine and neck, finally running his fingers through her hair. He savored his lover’s gasp as he made contact and reveled in her the hot breath as it played over his ear and cheek. Dr. Long ran his hand once more through Samantha’s blond curls, then grasped her hair agains the scalp and gave a firm but playful tug. Dr. Long snapped his eyes open and turned to meet Samantha’s gaze, his penetrating eyes boring into hers.

“And you will taste me again,” Dr. Long promised.

His touch, his eyes, his voice! Any one of these was enough to stoke Samantha’s passions. Experienced together, they awoke an overwhelming physical need. Her body shuddered. Her eyes grew wide. Her full lips quavered along with her breath as if torn between speaking her desire and screaming her need. This is what Samantha longed for. To be so desired by a man that he might take her. To be taken by one who was strong, masterful, and gave and received pleasure freely and in abundance. To have her physical cravings more than satisfied by someone other than her husband, because for all the love that existed between Samantha and Wayne, it could not make her body sing like the lust between herself and Dr. Long.

“N-no,” Samantha panted, feeling her lover’s grip tighten even as she spoke.

“No?” Dr. Long chuckled.

Samantha withdrew her right hand and placed it delicately over her exposed neck. “No,” she moaned with growing confidence and want. She ran her hand down over her proud breasts, flat stomach, and creamy thighs. At last, she slipped a manicured finger into the torrid wetness between her legs.

“I need you here,” Samantha purred. “I need you to fill me. I need to feel all of you!”

Dr. Long released his grip on Samantha’s curls and rose dripping from the tub. By his full erection it was apparent his need was every bit as great as hers. But unlike his lover, Dr. Long was ever in control.

“You’ll have all of me and more,” Dr. Long sneered. “On one condition.”

“What? I’ll do anything,” Samatha whimpered from where she knelt on the tiled floor. As if to demonstrate, she spread her legs and joined a second and third finger to the first, manipulating her sex for her own pleasure and her lover’s amusement.

From where he stood, Wayne saw his wife’s lustful display reflected in the bathroom mirror. He saw Dr. Long step out of the tub and lift Samantha’s chin with the tip of his finger, coaxing her to her feet. He saw the doctor pull his wife close and whisper a new, wicked desire into her ear. He saw, but did not witness.

“I trust I am dreaming, I dream I am trusting.”

The day Samantha’s treatment was complete Dr. Long dismissed her from his office, but she all but refused to go. She thanked Dr. Long profusely for everything he’d done for her health and peace of mind. She asked for one more session, just to be sure. She begged to come back in a few months in case her old nicotine cravings resurfaced. With each request she became more desperate until her requests verged on demands.

Dr. Long took Samantha’s hands in his own to still their shaking, the first physical contact the two had ever shared. In that moment Samantha’s body, breathing, and mind stilled. She held herself with all the suspended tension of a doe scenting wolves on the wind. She was ready to be taken.

Instead, Samantha received a firm parting handshake and was ushered out of the office and into the waiting room with an authoritative, “Goodbye, Mrs. Carlyle.”

Samantha was too shocked to storm out. In a thoroughly un-hypnotic daze she made her way to the exit. From the doorway to his office, Dr. Long admired the slow sway of her backside as she went.

Over the following weeks Samantha repeatedly called Long Behavioral Associates, at first under the pretense of scheduling another appointment but eventually making overt inquires regarding his weekend plans and whereabouts. The secretary deflected all inquiries and overtures with curt professionalism, as she had been instructed. Samantha wasn’t the first patient to develop a certain obsession with the good doctor, it seemed.

Samantha went so far as to buy a packet of Red Nails cigarettes, her old brand, in the hope that a relapse might open the door of Long Behavioral Associates once more. Standing on the balcony of the tasteful brownstone she shared with her husband, Samantha placed the filtered tip of her first Red Nail in months to her lips, doing her best to ignore the nauseatingly bitter taste she was conditioned to associate with tobacco. She flipped open her long disused silver lighter and struck a spark.

The spark bloomed into a flame and something resonated deep in Samantha’s unconscious. She spat out the cigarette, threw her lighter onto the street below, and stalked into the bedroom where she woke her husband with the most satisfying blowjob either had thus far experienced. She never thought to wonder about that impulse or its origin.

In time Samantha’s ardor cooled and she did her best to leave Dr. Long in the past, though the question of why her former hypnotherapist was unwilling to act upon her unabashed advances remained an intriguing mystery. The answer, had she thought to ask, were Dr. Long’s often mentioned by rarely discussed professional ethics.

In Dr. Long’s view there were patients and there were clients. He never fucked his patients and he never fucked his clients. Any sexual contact between himself and those under his care, and there was quite a bit, was purely in the interest of treatment and always at the direct request of his clients, who where ultimately the ones writing the cheques.

Wayne Carlyle had paid handsomely for Long Behavioral Associates to treat his wife’s addiction. As he wasn’t in the know regarding the many specialized treatments the practice offered, treat her addiction was all Dr. Long did. Samantha’s overwhelming physical attraction was purely the result of Dr. Long’s own raw magnetism and a tangle of repressed urges that were the sexual basis of her original oral fixation. Or so it said in Dr. Long’s private case notes.

Dr. Long’s body collided with Samantha’s in a raw display of erotic choreography on the stage that was the Carlyle marriage bed. Samantha, on her hands and knees, thrashed with abandon. Her hands gripped the sheets with such force the expensive satin threatened to rip. Her lover’s strong hands on her waist controlled the rhythm and escalating force of their lovemaking as he hammered into her from behind. Samantha, expertly balanced on the edge of orgasm, threatened to lose herself to every thrust, but Dr. Long was ever in control.

Moving his body in time with some primal cadence, sinuous ripples of muscle began in Dr. Long’s neck and moved down his body until they built into a wave at his hips, a wave that crashed onto Samantha’s backside in lightning-fast thrusts. Dr. Long placed a hand on the small of Samantha’s back, the firm touch causing her spine to arch exquisitely. He ran his hand up her back, between her shoulders, and up her neck. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled.

Samantha threw her shoulders back, rising to her knees. Her moaning became a scream as she was pulled back onto her lover’s thrust. Her body quaked as Dr. Long’s manhood buried itself into the core of her being again and again, her breasts quivering with obscene aftershocks.

It was a wanton scene worthy of San Fernando Valley’s most shameless pornographers, all for an audience of one.

“I trust I am dreaming, I dream I am trusting.”

Kneeling just past the foot of the bed, Wayne absorbed the lewd display with half-lidded eyes. The hypnotic manta on his lips couldn’t be heard over his wife’s lurid cries, but it echoed in his mind nonetheless.

Sensing the moment was right Dr. Long found a new rhythm, gliding into Samantha with slow, deep strokes. Her body played like an instrument, Samantha’s impassioned moans fell to an expectant whimper.

“Listen to me, Wayne,” Dr. Long commanded. “Dream that you are telling, and tell what you dream.”

“I dream about my beautiful wife and a handsome stranger,” Wayne sighed.

Dr. Long couldn’t help but chuckle. With the right suggestions, the right conditioning, Dr. Long had become a faceless name in Wayne’s memory.

“Trust and dream, dream and trust, Wayne,” Dr. Long continued. “Dream deeper and tell me what your lovely wife and this mystery man do in your deepest dream.”

Wayne squirmed in place as his hypnotized gaze studied the scene before him.

“They . . . they’re in bed . . . together,” Wayne managed. “They are . . . they are making love.”

“No, Wayne,” Dr. Long smoothly interrupted. “They are not making love. The only love in your deepest dream is the love you feel for your wife. A deep love. A true love. A trusting love.”

“I trust that I love my wife, I love that I trust my wife,” Wayne recited, slipping so easily into the mantra, deepening his conditioning with every repetition.

“They are fucking, Wayne,” Dr. Long cut in. “Say it.” He thrust hard and deep into Samantha, eliciting a yelp of pleasure to punctuated his command.

Wayne’s lip trembled, his mouth attempted to form the words but failed.

“Saaay iiit,” Samantha moaned.

“They are fucking!” Wayne gasped.

“Very good,” Dr. Long soothed. “Sense you are trusting and trust your senses. Tell me what you see. Spare no detail.”

“My wife is on her knees. The man is behind her . . . fucking her. His hands are on her hips. Samantha and this man are covered in sweat. Every time he enters her, her whole body reacts. The man is leaning forward, kissing her neck, her cheek, her ears.”

“Let’s really give your hubby something to look at,” Dr. Long whispered hotly into Samantha’s ear.

Samantha purred in response, yielding completely as her lover changed their position.

The affair had been entirely her idea. Just over a year after Samantha and Dr. Long had parted ways a chance meeting at a convention center upstate brought them together again. Dr. Long was attending a conference for clinical psychologists and hypnotherapists, while Samantha was overseeing long overdue renovations to the center’s dreary interior design.

Normally Dr. Long brushed off chance meetings in a public in the interest of preserving doctor-patient confidentiality, but Samantha didn’t give him that option.

When she caught her former therapist out the corner of her eye all her desires came flooding back. She stormed up to him, unsure if she would embrace him or strike him across the face for rejecting her advances. The embrace won out and quickly escalated to a kiss.

In that moment Dr. Long reflected upon Samantha and her many charms. She was no longer his patient, and her husband was certainly no longer his client. The touch of her lips was far more stimulating than talking shop with jaded clinicians.

That afternoon Dr. Long followed Samantha back to her hotel room. He followed, but he was not led.

Dr. Long laid back against the thick pillows of the Carlyle marriage bed and settled Samantha down onto his proud erection. She needed no encouragement, no guidance. She rode him with abandon. The good doctor’s body was still for the first time in that night’s lovemaking. His hands roamed over Samantha’s body with almost casual interest as he enjoyed the sensation of feeling his lover work for her pleasure.

All the while, Wayne continued to narrate the scene before him.

“Samantha is on top of him now. He gropes her. His hands squeeze her breasts and play with her nipples. She is wet. Wetter than I have ever seen her before, wetter than I have ever made her before,” Wayne said with equal parts awe and regret. “She takes his cock so well, so completely.”

“Yes, Wayne,” Dr. Long interrupted. “Be drawn deeper into the dream, closer to a point of absolute focus and clarity, closer to that point where your wife and this handsome stranger connect.”

Wayne sank to his knees and lazily shuffled closer to the end of the bed, his chin coming to rest on the footboard. He could feel the spreading heat of his wife’s sex against his face, smell the humid fragrance of her lust.

“Dream you are telling and tell what you dream,” Dr. Long continued. “Tell me what happens as your lovely wife’s pussy takes this stranger’s enviable cock.”

Wayne licked his lips before responding. “It stretches wide,” he panted. “It gets so slick and wet. When she pulls up it clamps around the tip like it will never let go. When it slides down and takes the stranger completely I can see Samantha’s belly swell. She’s so full of his dick.”

Samantha was thrashing madly upon her lover’s meat, every fibre of her being on the verge of surrendering to orgasm. Dr. Long raised his voice to bo heard over moans that were building into screams.

“Look up, Wayne,” Dr. Long commanded. “Look into the face of your desirable wife. Look into her eyes, the eyes you dream of, the eyes you trust, and tell me what you see.”

Wayne swallowed, confusion and discomfort flickering behind his eyes. It was little more than a reflex of his subconscious. His resistance, his sense of shame, his conventional notions about marital fidelity were all eroding under the pressure of carefully worded hypnotic suggestions, and what remained was being warped to suit the needs of the affair between his wife and Dr. Long.

“I see joy,” Wayne croaked. “I see lust. I see pleasure!”

“Yes, Wayne,” Dr. Long broke in. “See her pleasure. Feel her pleasure. The more pleasure your wife feels the more beautiful she becomes. The more beautiful your wife becomes the more love you feel for her. The more you love your wife the more pleasure you want her to feel.”

At last, Wayne’s mind broke under hypnotic assault. “Yes! More pleasure, more love, beautiful Samantha, so sexy,” he babbled.

Dr. Long roughly squeezed Samantha’s tit-flesh. “Tell your husband what you want,” he urged.

Samantha locked eyes with her husband and punctuated every spoken desire with lewd gyrations. “I want this! I want another man’s hands all over me, a bigger man’s cock inside me, a better man’s body claiming me, and you . . . watching meee!”

Samantha’s words trailed off into a prolonged squeal of pleasure as Dr. Long grabbed her by the hips and drove himself home, the head of his member penetrating her cervix, at last pushing her over the edge of a long-cultivated orgasm.

“Look, Wayne,” Dr. Long commanded. “Look and see and watch and remember as your wife achieves the height of beauty as only she can, by having her pussy claimed by another man!”

Dr. Long panted, grunted, roared, giving voice to the animal lust normally hidden behind his clinical demeanor, releasing himself into Samantha’s hungry womb.

Pleasure arced like electricity through Samantha’s body. Mouth agape, eyes unfocused, in that moment she was reduced to nothing more than an accessory to her lover’s cock, her entire body a base organ made only for the giving and receiving of carnal gratification.

From where he knelt, it was the most awe inspiring thing Wayne had ever seen.

The first week of the affair Dr. Long and Samantha spent every free moment exploring each other’s bodies. Each was everything the other hoped they would be. When the conference ended, the two saw no need to break things off. True, having finally given in to her desires Samantha felt all the guilt and shame expected of a wayward wife. However, the bliss that came from Dr. Long’s touch was enough to obliterate such feelings. At least until the afterglow faded.

The two continued to meet at hotels, spas, and restaurants with obliging staffs and locking washroom doors. Wherever was convenient. But never at their offices or homes.

Samantha grew adept at making little excuses to account for her occasional absence, putting Wayne’s mind at rest.

Dr. Long didn’t bother lying to his own wife about his infidelities. She was too in love to let anything come between them and too well conditioned to care.

In time the thrill of hotel rooms and brief dalliances faded. Samatha’s was a body worth savoring, and if Dr. Long was to savor it fully he would do so in comfort and when he pleased, not merely when circumstances allowed. Likewise, he felt a woman as sensual as Samantha deserved to take her pleasure whenever and wherever she desired, unfettered by the limitations of a husband of the availability of a particularly enticing lover.

One night, as Dr. Long’s hands played over Samantha’s every curve and crevice, he whispered a wicked little plan that would free her from the limitations of her marriage.

A year earlier Samantha would have been horrified by what she heard. Now, she would do anything to keep Dr. Long in her bed, even turn her own husband into a complicit accessory to her affair and the facilitator of many more to follow.

Dr. Long reclined on the Carlyle marriage bed enjoying the feel of Samantha’s languid body against his own and the sight of his thick spend running slowly down her inner thigh.

Wayne had been dismissed some minutes before. He now dozed in a hypnotic slumber on the couch downstairs, the memory of the evening’s debauchery settling deep in his subconscious where it would be so easily taken for a recurring dream. In the morning he would awake to the fading echoes of what his eyes saw but his mind couldn’t remember, a meager hard-on between his legs and with an overwhelming urge to bury his face between his wife’s thighs.

Dr. Long would be well on his way home by then. In the meantime, one task remained to be done.

“Samantha, please hand me Wayne’s phone,” Dr. Long asked.

Samantha reached over and pulled her husband’s phone from the charger. “Who could you be calling at this hour?” she teased. “Is there another other woman?”

“Something like that,” Dr. Long chuckled. He stretched and settled further into the bed, letting Samantha snuggle closer and rest her head against his muscled chest.

Comfortable and at ease, Dr. Long unlocked the phone and dialed Wendy’s number.