The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

HYPNOGEDDON!

By Interstitial

2. ALL THE SEXYWOMEN OF THE WORLD

So many bombarded questions, I cannot think! Why is it always so much detail, detail, detail?

But yes, you are right—we must look to the far-flung future. I will revisitate. Also I have a brainspiration: only the women are affected by the Hypnogeddon event. This will create many erotogenic possibilities for the benefit of my beloved readers.

And! Yes, there must be a villain, always, or at least an ambiguous mind-mastermind. Let us call him ‘THE TEACHER’. This came to me just now, from where I know not!

Who is The Teacher? What is his plan? These questions are purely rhetorical for now but we will invent answers in due course. The Teacher must be tall, and dark, with flashing green eyes, and immensely charismatic and sexy. All women must melt to their knees before him. I attach a photograph!

And! And! I will bring a true-life character to this new age from the long-forgotten past, using time-travel. Another woman, I think. Also I have a name for the main character, I will call her ‘Mindy’.

And! And! And! Mindy will be passionate and dark, voluptuous like me, Lupa Proseda, capricious, a woman of everybody’s dreams. Then the other characterwoman will be blonde. See how then they are cunningly contrasted so we can always tell them apart? Can you taste my writing-craft already?

I need to think of a good candidate from the past, from an interesting era and one that people will have heard of. I will go to the internet now and find one.

Thank you my sexydarling. This will be my best-ever story yet!

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Hi Lupa

All right, I get it. Let me know when you’ve worked up a bit more on the Hypnogeddon! project, and do try not to get too bogged down in plotting. Remember what happened with Dollifiers of Deneb.

As regards The Teacher, I see where you are going with that photograph, but please do bear in mind we must make sure any ‘characters’ are not identifiable with ‘real’ people. Leaving aside what he looks like, the important question is: what are The Teacher’s motivations for initiating / capitalising on the Hypnogeddon event?

We can return to the matter of the methodology behind Hypnogeddon later.

Meanwhile, the next section of the diaries is attached for your review, also with a few more questions.

Best wishes
Interstitial
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THE (EARLY) DIARIES OF LUPEDA PROSEDA: DRAFT, PART 2

TRANS: INTERSTITIAL

Melipilla, Chile, 1990

The world has gone mad! The teapot has been turned on its head, the spout of fate inverted, and my life is forever changed! Let me write of what happened this night, I can barely comprehend it! Here is the true sequence of events, for distant posterity’s sake.

I run home from school down Libertidad, avoiding Chica, and then to Fuenzalida street where we live. Nobody asks why I am running, and I wonder if they already know of my enslavement to Mr Sanchez., but I have to time to ask.

I dump my schoolbag in the hallway. Father is not home; I remember he is performing his hypnollusions in the town square at Vasquez Hall tonight, and he needs to practice. I am glad—for once the house is not shaking with their parental emotions. They will bicker about anything, it drives me sadcrazy.

Money: he says she spends too much. She says he earns too little. Politics: all the horsemen of the world from famine to war, and Mama always cries to watch the TV news. There is war everywhere these days, not least in our little house on Fuenzalida. Often they argue fiercest about sexylove: foolish Mama will often not do what Father wants, whatever that may be, and at night I quail in my room, in shame and fascination. (I hear every word, and learn several new ones as a result.)

Foolish Mama never pays much attention. I simply tell that I will be going to Chica’s to study and I may be back quite late. Mama nods absently. She is sitting in the kitchen distracted, working on a comedic doggerel for the Cachacala travelling song-players. She asks me for a rhyme to go with ‘hunt’, and I offer one.

She evil-stares me and mutters something like “what have I bred”, then ignores me. Obeying Mr Sanchez’s irresistible action-at-a-distance, I go to my room and dress in my most tempting and laciest joy-things. I cannot help it. I feel the panting pull of Mr Sanchez’s masterhood from afar.

I kiss foolish Mama goodbye, leave her grappling vainly with her song-words, and I skip the few blocks to where Mr Sanchez lives on the nicer corner of Vargas and Alcalde.

When I arrive at Mr Sanchez’s place, breathless, I knock on the door and he opens it. This is what happens.

“Mr Sanchez!” I cry, as his door swings wide. My arms are thrown out in joyful supplication. “Antü! You are my mind-master. I am here at your wild command. Take me, fierce brain-lord, I cannot resist. I will ride your pleasure-horse at your command. Do with me what you will!”

At his mental command, I drop to my knees in front of him, and look up at my master adoringly.

Mr Sanchez’s face has turned red; his eyes are wide with the effort of commanding me, and he waves his arms frantically in some hieratic gesture of mental control.

“For God’s sake! Shut up, Lupa!” he hisses, and of course I do; my mouth is instantly no longer my own. Behind him, another swart figure appears, tall and shadowed. I am confused.

The other man is staring down at me, frowning now, and Mr Sanchez is looking away, shaking his head.

“Who are you?” asks the stranger.

The thrall of silence is broken at his command. I raise my chin proudly and thrust out my chest, which has grown to an impressive embreastment even at my tender young age. “Stranger, I am Lupa Proseda. Although am I am now also called ‘Kueyen’. Mr Sanchez is my master.”

“I see. Please stand up. He is your teacher, then?”

“Yes! No!” I cry, lustfused. “My master! Although he teaches me too, also in the ways of the body. I am the palparevocable mental property of Mr Sanchez. Look at me, look at my ripeness, my openness. Admire my body! Know that Mr Sanchez owns me—truly owns me!—through his gifts of thought-control.”

The imposing stranger eyes Mr Sanchez impassively. “Does he, indeed?”

Mr Sanchez slumps against the doorjamb at this; his hand is over his eyes, as if he’s in in pain, as he concentrates on his mentipulation. It must be exhausting, actually, mind-control—I have never thought of that before. The mind-masters must suffer for their art.

“Yes. It is his thought-right,” I say. “Mr Sanchez can do what he will with me. Do you not recognise him? He is the mighty Antü himself, and I am his sex-puppet…”

And then a thought tickles, and then stabs, and stabs again, and I realise with a sudden shivershock what must really be going on here. My heart skipples and sinks. I jump to my feet, and turn to him, Mr Sanchez, gasping with the realisation.

“Mr Sanchez! Antü! Would you offer me to this man, so soon? Sell your loving slave? Very well, stranger, I am yours!” I cry, and I rip my blouse open right there on the doorstep, exposing my wonderful breasts. I cannot help it; now the other has me in his mental grasp.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

* * *

I love what you have done with the transeditation! I answer some points here.

  1. An old Chilean metaphor.
  2. He was a well-known local stage hypnotist and illusionist. He performed the famous trick of the woman-who-thinks-she’s-a-cat.
  3. She mostly wrote bad lyrics for travelling musicians. Sometimes she got very depressed and started crying weepy tears, convinced we would die in war or burn to ashes in nuclear flames. It gave me my sensitive young-girl soul many nightmares. Do you remember how scary everything was back then? And now, still, there is war everywhere! Why must the world be this way?
  4. My memory fogs with time. It may have been ‘squeezycunt’.
  5. It must be a telepathical method. If only I knew the secret!
  6. Also, it is well known that they use Artefacts of Influence to focus and transmit their power. These can come in many forms; a watch, a pen, a special amulet. You have one yourself, don’t you? I am sure you do, even if you will never admit it.
  7. The first floor. He had a lovely apartment.
  8. Still Kueyen lives in me sometimes. She is eternal.
  9. Very powerful, even more so than Mr Sanchez. So tall, so strong! And so handsome! At once I melted hot inside. I knew at once that he wanted me, and I jellied at the thought.
  10. This is a woman’s intuition, which is always correct.

Speaking of intuition! I know what you have done to me.

Last night I went to the glitzybar on Fernandez Street. All I wanted was one Mohito. But—and you know this, I know you do!—as I sat there, admiring the wonder of my womanbody in the mirror behind the bar, I felt a strange urge come over me, a wave of telethought—and I ordered another. Then another. And another.

My will began to drain away, the world turned slurry-blurry, and the sexsurge rose in me. I could not fight it. I was drawn to the dark man sitting next to me. You know what I said to him? You know what filth I whispered in his ear? Of course you do, because this was your command to say it.

This is what I said: ‘You can do anything to me, anything at all. My fluminance is yours to take. You can fuck me until I scream and I’ll still scream for more. I’ll suck you until you can’t take any more. Oh, please, treat me like the sluttress I am.’

Admit it! It was you that compelled me to take a new man to my bed, there to impenetrate me like a wanton woman of the night.

This is the only explanation. Else why would I drink so much, why would I throw myself at the feet of a stranger, whose name I have forgotten completely, wiped by your mental command; why would I let him take me like your whore?

The thought of it now inflames me with heat. I am yours. What I said to him I now say to you, and more!

(I like the idea of The Teacher more and more. You ask of his motivation. I consider this too about sexyplay, because it is only the women who suffer Hypnogeddon, you see? Perhaps he will ‘teach’ them a lesson, just like you teach me!)

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Hi Lupa

Thank you for your comments and clarifications.

I promise you I did not mentally control you into whatever happened. It sounds like you had a lot of fun though, and I note your words with great interest.

Regards The Teacher. I do not think it feasible that his motivation can simply be about sex. If this were the case, why ‘all the sexywomen in the world’? Surely even The Teacher’s appetites must have some limit? Also, if he is as charismatic as you say, and all women melt before him anyway, why would he bother?

Best wishes.
Interstitial