The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’m a lucky guy. A very lucky guy. In fact, it’s my nickname—Lucky. These stories are from my life. They’re dramatized a bit, but they are my life. So there’s no point in disclaiming them other than the fact that I’ve changed the names and some of the situations to keep my identity private.

I’ve had a hypnoerotic sex life for about as long as I’ve had a sex life, and it just keeps getting better.

I saw my first demonstration of hypnosis when I was 9 or 10, on my parents’ old black and white Philco TV. The hypnotist had a man and two women on the stage and he did all the usual stunts—falling back, various limb catalepsies, inability to get out of a chair, then a variety of play-acting behaviors. From the moment I saw one woman’s head loll limply onto her chest and the other gazing fixedly at the gleaming pendant that he twirled before her, I was hooked. I had a huge boner, and I moved to the floor so my parents couldn’t see it and for a better view of the screen. Did he hypnotize the man? I can’t remember.

From that day, I vowed to learn how to hypnotize. After all, how else could one get a beautiful female to submit to the scrawny kid I saw in the mirror? Fortunately, I grew into a not-half-bad-looking teenager and young adult, but I still devoured every single hypnosis-related title and article in the local library, the library at school, and the dime-book table at the indoor flea market. By the time I was 13, I’d practiced on some of my younger cousins and a couple of classmates. I’d made a self-hypnosis tape on my dad’s old reel-to-reel tape recorder, and my own voice sounded sufficiently unfamiliar to me that it worked.

I had fantasies of robotized women yielding to me or becoming my passion-enslaved nymphomaniacs, then conveniently forgetting that I ever existed. As I came to discover, however, real life was considerably different. The women that I have hypnotized have invariably brought their own dynamic and identity into the trance. They’ve responded to my suggestions in unique and fascinating ways, and done things I would never have imagined. I discovered that I was generally not the type to love ‘em and leave ‘em, and that most of my hypnoerotic experiences have happened within loving relationships. That said, I have to admit to several occasions when I had the upper psychosexual hand and the opportunity was just too good to pass up. But there were probably more times when I folded my hand and just took pleasure and satisfaction in the hypnotic seduction, knowing that I could have had it all.

It’s been an ongoing process of learning and discovery, and it’s not over yet. I’ve encountered the work of a previous hypnotist with erotic designs only in one woman, and it resulted in one of the most surprising experiences of my life. But before I tell that story, I should go back to the beginning, to high school.

My techniques were primitive—I hadn’t yet read Erickson or Elman, and NLP hadn’t even been invented—but they were effective all the same. By senior year in high school I had a steady girlfriend, a sophomore named Mitsy, short for Melissa.She was smart, funny, articulate. Tall and good-looking. She was my hypnotic proving ground. She enjoyed it and was highly suggestible. I hypnotiized her in every way I’d ever read about and as many as I could dream up. I hypnotized her with a key phrase, through diguise techniques, with a variety of shiny objects, ticking watches, mesmeric passes, through wordless pantomime. I hypnotized her in her rec room, in the car, at the beach, on the phone. I elicited every hypnotic and posthypnotic phenomenon in the book: anesthesia, synesthesia, paresthesia, amnesia, hypermnesia, every kind of limb catalepsy and paralysis. I was occasionally wracked with guilt that I was turning the poor girl’s mind to Jell-O.

I got a hard-on every time I hypnotized her, or even thought about it. Our hypnoerotic activities were limited, though, to foreplay and teasing, such as moving all her sexual sensitivity to a single spot, perhaps an earlobe or her pinky. Sex was serious business back in the early Sixties, and I had a strong feeling that Mitsy would take “going all the way” as a commitment, one that I didn’t want to make. So we held the line at heavy petting. I knew that she felt more strongly about me than I did about her and that our relationship would be over when I started college. And so it was.

I learned some interesting things while we were together. Here’s one of them.

Her trigger phrase was simply, “Mitsy, sleep!” and it worked instantly, every time. Once when we were hanging out in her rec room after school, she was teasing me about something and refusing to let me see a note that one of her girlfriends had passed her in class. I jokingly threatened to hypnotize her so that she would simply hand me the note. She cried, “Don’t you dare!” and we wrestled a bit for it, all in fun.

I pretended that I was going to put her in a trance, putting on my best Svengali face and intoining, “Mitsy...” She’d been pushing with her foot at the ottoman I was sitting on, and holding the note away from me in one hand while fending me off with an outstreteched arm. She froze that way, as all the expression went out of her face. It was the first spontaneous trance I’d ever seen, although I’d read about them. Instant erection time for me.

“What are you doing now?” I asked her.

“Waiting,” she replied, in a voice that was very detached, very trance-y.

She was waiting for the second word, the one that would plunge her into deep hypnosis, with her eyes closed, every muscle relaxed. When I began the phrase and didn’t finish it, she went into a kind of stasis, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I explored the nature of the trance. Her eyes were open, pupils dilated, unfocused, unblinking. I could reposition her limbs and they would remain wherever I put them. Her skin seemed insensitive to prods or little pinches. I said, “Close your eyes.” She closed them. I said “Open your eyes.” She opened them and resumed the exact same facial expression—or lack thereof.

Finally I said, “Sleep.” Her eyes closed, she let out a big sigh, and her arm dropped like a stone. I watched her slow breathing for a moment; it seemed like a normal trance. I awakened her almost immediately so I could ask her about the spontaneous trance.

As soon as her eyes opened, she looked at her hand, ascertained that the note was still there, and glared at me in mock anger.

“You big creep!” she yelled, as she swatted at my arm with her other hand, “No fair hypnotizing!”

“What was that like?” I asked.

“What was what like?”

“That weird trance you were in.”

She looked at me as though I’d said something in Swahili. “What weird trance?”

I stopped myself from describing her actions and said, “OK, tell me what just happened, from when we were wrestling for the note and I said I was going to hypnotize you.”

“You said, ‘Mitsy, sleep,’ then you woke me up,” she explained, as though I were simpleminded.

“That’s all?”

“Yes, already! What is this about?”

“Let’s find out,” I said. “Mitsy....,” and again left the phrase unfinished.

She’d been looking at me, and she continued to do so. Or more accurately, through me, as her eyes glazed over. A few tests confirmed that she was in the same cataleptic state as before. So was my pecker. I’d left one of her arms in midair again. I moved it around, and it stayed wherever I left it. I was reminded of my youthful fantasies of robotized, mannequin-like subjects, and throbbed at the memory.

Feeling a little bold, I reached over and brushed across her blouse with my fingernails, going lightly over her nipple. Her breasts were quite sensitive and she was very ticklish, so normally a move like this would have sent her right up the wall. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

I slid my hand up her skirt, between her legs. I felt the little cushion of pubic hair under her panties, and slipped two fingers downward. She warmed and moistened at my touch, but again there was no reaction on her face.

I took her hand, pulled her forward, and placed it on my crotch. Her head lolled a little, almost like a rag doll, as moved her hand up and down on my cock, and told her to keep the motion going. Other than the physical stimulation, it was very unsexy and decidedly at odds with my fantasies. I stopped her.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” I said. She tried to form words, and failed. I asked her if she recalled being in this state the previous time, and a barely-formed “yes” escaped her lips. I then said, “Mitsy, I want you to remember everything about this state and the previous one, so that you can tell me all about it after you awaken.” I then said, “Sleep!” and her eyes closed as her body relaxed visibly.

“Do you still remember everything from the state you were just in, and the one before that?”

“Yes,” she said in a low voice.

“Good. Continue to keep those memories active so that we can discuss them after you awaken.” Then, “Wide awake; feeling great!”

She opened her eyes, as was her custom, with a pretty smile. An odd look crossed her face as the memories came flooding back.

“Whoa, that was weird! What did you do to me?”

“I was bluffing you, pretending to put you in a trance, and I started to say your trigger phrase. But what happened then?”

“Everything just went... gray..., I was just waiting for you to finish it. I was floating on... nothing. I could hear your voice, but I wasn’t really paying attention to much, I was just waiting. I kind of remember you touching my arms and stuff, moving them around, but it was like it didn’t matter where they were.

“Then you.... You pig!” She blushed and grinned and swatted at me again. “But it wasn’t, um, important, if you know what I mean. I guess it was like being hypnotized and all, but not the same.”

“What was different? You responded to suggestions.”

“Yes, but this was different. When you give me a suggestion the regular way, the words, um, I don’t know, the words become actions.”

I had used a phrase very much like this in her early hypnotic training, and my cock throbbed a little in response. “But what happened when I had you uh, stroke me?” This time I blushed, and she blushed right back. Hey, we were young.

She sighed a little in frustration at not being able to explain. “It’s like you weren’t even there. I mean, I knew you were, but it wasn’t my first priority.” She brightened. “That’s it! My first priority was waiting for the rest of the trigger!” This wasn’t news to me at this point, but I thought it was cool that she had worked through it and figured it out. She was smart that way, and the most cooperative subject a guy could wish for.

“So what happened the first time I woke you, and you didn’t remember being in the weird trance?”

“It... it wasn’t important to remember. It’s like a rubber band was being stretched farther and farther the whole time, and when you finished it, the two words snapped together and everyting in between them just kind of disappeared.”

“Interesting.... Wanna experiment a little and learn more about how this works?”

“Um, OK.” She was smart, but I was beginning to think that the near-daily hypnotizing was making her kind of passive, less spontaneous. Nevertheless, it didn’t dissuade me from exploring the conditions that caused the catatonic trance.

I said “Mitsy...” in as many different ways as I could think of, from stern and commanding to an inflectionless monotone to a lilting call to a rising, questioning note. About half of them put her into the state. Her subconscious evidently found them to be plausible beginnings to the induction phrase, and rejected the rest. I also determined that nothing would terminate the state besides “sleep!” and that even when I gave her suggestions and firm commands to awaken, she would simulate wakefulness for a few minutes, then drift back into her waiting state.

Finally, I decided that the phenomenon was likely to be more of an inconvenience than something I could exploit, and now that she was “practiced” with it, she might zonk out if I called out her name somewhere in public. So I rehypnotized her and told her that she would no longer go into “listening” mode when she heard me say her name, and would not go into any kind of trance unless she heard the full phrase.

“Thanks,” she said, as she gave me a kiss. “That was getting old.”