The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

College was a great hunting ground for a budding hypnotist on the prowl. All I had to do was carry a hypnotherapy textbook around with my other psych books and it was a guaranteed conversation starter. I hypnotized a lot of classmates and bedded a few. I only hypnotized enough guys to maintain appearances or to get to more women. Although my pleasure in the pursuit and seductive conquest was always great, they don’t necessarily make for interesting reading.

Some, however, were fascinating. Mandy was a year younger than me, medium height, blonde, laughing blue eyes, a cute, turned-up nose, and a generous mouth with a dazzling smile. And an amazing body. She had a huge chest on an otherwise slim frame, and she carried herself in that fluid way many large-breasted women do—with careful grace, so that nothing jiggled or called undue attention to herself. It’s true that men are pigs and fools and all that, and seldom are they more foolish than in the presence of a large-breasted woman. Lots of guys acted that way around Mandy, and she knew it, of course. I like breasts as much as the next guy, but bigger is not always better in my book, and I often find women with sleeker lines more attractive.

Mandy wasn’t above using her attractiveness and her assets to her advantage. We’d met through overlapping circles of friends, and I liked her. It was fun walking around campus with her, just to see the looks of undying envy on the faces of other guys. But she was an interesting person and a good conversationalist, too, and we had lunch together regularly. Although she was attractive, I didn’t really have my sights set on her, for whatever reason. I think she liked the fact that I didn’t drool on her, but it also bugged her that her wiles generally didn’t work on me. One of the things I’d heard about Mandy was that despite her strong academics, she was also in college to get her “Mrs.” degree, and that her mother was pushing her hard to find the right guy.

One day I was carrying one of my hypno bait books when we met for lunch at a picnic table under some trees. She spied it immediately, and said, “Oh, hypnotherapy! Cool! I was hypnotized once when I was a little girl.”

“A little girl? Really? Why?”

She looked a little abashed. “I dunno. I guess I stopped eating. My parents got really worried, and they took me to the doctor, who recommended this hypnotist.”

“You stopped eating? Do you remember why?”

“Not really... I think I was mad at my parents or something. But he talked to me and... look at me now!”

She opened her arms, palms up, and pulled her shoulders back a bit, with slightly sexy grin. A move like that at a busy intersection would probably have caused a pile-up. But I just said, “Yeah, you’re a healthy girl, all right.”

She pouted a little at my lack of enthusiasm.

“So how did he hypnotize you? Do you remember?”

“The only thing I remember is that he would hold my hands in his and rub the insides of my wrists gently while he talked in a quiet voice.” She held one hand with the other and made a circling motion with her thumb over her delicate white wrist.

“Like this?” I said, as I took her upturned hand and imitated the motion she’d just made with her thumb.

Mandy made a strange “Aaahhh!” sound that was halfway between a sigh and an ecstatic exclamation. Her eyes fluttered, and she got a kind of blissed-out look on her face. She looked at me with a languid, dreamy smile.

“Ohhh! That feels so strange! Stop, please! Stop!”

I stopped. She took a few moments to collect herself.

“Far out,” I said. “What was that about?”

“Ohh. When you did that, it took me back, right back to the doctor’s—the hypnotist’s—office. It was so strange; I felt so happy, so peaceful, so dreamy... and so vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable?”

“Well, yeah. I wanted so much to please him. He was so nice, he made me feel so good, I’d have done anything for him.”

She saw the look on my face and quickly said, “Oh, not like that! I was just a little girl, five or six. And besides, my mother was in the room during the visits.” She thought for a moment. “It was very intense at the time, I didn’t know what the feeling meant. I haven’t thought about it in years. But I used to dream that I would grow up and marry him.”

I just nodded. Mandy looked off into the middle distance and added offhandedly, “It’s just a good thing that you didn’t rub both wrists.”

So of course I did.

She made that “Aaahhh!” exclamation again, her eyes fluttered, then closed, and her body slumped in relaxation. I continued to stroke her wrists and said, “You’re calm and comfortable, calm and comfortable, just drifting along, listening to the sound of my voice.”

She was clearly in a medium to deep trance, and I was amazed that the trigger had persisted so strongly after more than a dozen years.

“You can talk to me, Mandy. I want you to tell me things about how you feel right now, and how the doctor talked to you. Is that OK?”

“Yes”

“Should I keep stroking your wrists?”

“Yes.”

“How does it make you feel?”

“Dreamy. Nice.”

“When the doctor hypnotized you, did you remember what happened afterwards?”

“No.”

“Why didn’t you remember?”

“Couldn’t. He folded up the dream.”

“Folded up the dream? Can you tell me how?”

“In my hands.”

I thought about that one. “Can you show me with my hands?”

She reached out and turned my hands palm-up, as hers had just been. Then she said in an almost comically masculine, authoritative voice, “Everything we’ve talked about today is here in your hands, like a tissue,” and she made a sweeping motion across my palms. “We’ll fold it, like this, and like this, and it gets smaller and smaller.” She made little folding and creasing movements on my palms in several directions, then brought them together, as though in prayer, raising them up a bit. “And when I separate them, the tissue will be gone, and you’ll be wide awake, feeling very happy.” She separated my hands, then let hers fall back to her lap, her playacting done.

I went back to stroking her wrists again and intoned, “Rest and relax, rest and relax,” as I gathered my thoughts, trying to comprehend what I’d stumbled upon. I decided to test the trance and her suggestibility and told her that upon awakening she would ask me for the pickle that came with my sandwich and that she would eat it. Then she would forget that she had asked for or eaten it. I figured this would be a good test because she hated pickles.

I then repeated what she’d just told me about folding up the dream and did the little pantomime in her open palms. I raised her hands and separated them, saying “... and now it’s gone. You’re wide awake, feeling great, very happy.”

She stretched luxuriantly, giving me another display of her awesome landscape, and gave me a brilliant smile. Then she looked startled, saying, “You hypnotized me!” I gave her a guilty-as-charged smile and shrugged. “Um, yes. Was that OK?” She looked at me seriously for a moment saying, “I guess so. So long as you don’t abuse the privilege.”

I shrugged again and turned to my lunch. Mandy opened hers, too. I took a bite out of my sandwich, and left the pickle on the waxed paper. I saw her look at it, look away, then look at it again.

“Could I have your pickle—if you’re not going to eat it?”

I feigned suprise. “But you don’t like pickles!”

The confused look on her face was priceless. “I know. But I’d like a pickle just this once.”

I handed her the pickle. She looked at it with distaste and began to eat it. I watched her the whole time. As she finished it, she looked at me suspiciously. Then the confused look came over her face again, and was gone just as quickly. She dug into her sandwich, and I heard no more about the pickle.

We dated a few times, but nothing serious came of it—we went out more as friends. I think she wanted it to be more than that (or maybe her mother did), but the chemistry just wasn’t there for me. Then I heard somthing through some friends that disturbed me. A bunch of us were going to a hotel on Spring break, and I heard that Mandy had set in motion the wheels of a somewhat convoluted plot that would have her roommate shacking up with somebody, Mandy getting kicked out of her room as a result, and begging me to sleep in my room. From there, the plot would thicken and we would wind up in bed together, and I would see what I’d been missing, and who knows....

I was disturbed and angered by this. I didn’t like being used or manipulated, but I didn’t let on. We went off on our trip, and the hotel was predictably filled with partying college kids like ourselves. The halls were a rolling, flowing party. Some rooms were open, with bathtubs full of iced-down beer. Others were closed, for minimal amounts of sleep, smoking joints, and for sex. Mostly sex. I’ve never been much of a drinker, and grass just made me paranoid. And when I was tired, I slept—there would always be plenty to do the next day, and fresh people with energy would be the ones to do them. I didn’t believe in all-nighters, either studying or partying. Mandy knew that, of course.

Mandy’s plot started to unfold. My roommate went off with a bunch of girls, with a shit-eating grin. Mandy’s roomie was getting all lovey-dovey with another friend. Their relationship was a lot like mine and Mandy’s, and now it seemed to be taking a serious turn. Maybe I was supposed to learn from this. I said my goodnights to the usual accusations of party pooper and wimp, but it was time for the drama to play out.

I headed back to my room, washed up, and did some reading, wearing my boxers and a tee shirt. Soon came the knock on the door. I opened it to see a distraught, almost tearful Mandy. I was amused to see that she had a little travel valise with her.

“Sheila and Buddy are shacked up in my room,” she cried, as she stepped in. “I don’t have anywhere to sleep.”

I shared her sorrow and sympathized, “Well, it was nice of them to let you get a couple of things before they started their mad rutting. But that kind of freaks me out—I thought they were just friends.”

She looked at me hopefully. “Friends one day, lovers the next.... Who knows?” She looked serious again. “But I still don’t have any place to sleep. Can I, uh, could I, um, crash here?”

“Of course,” I said magnanimously. “What are friends for?”

“Oh, thank you!” she exclaimed, and gave me a hug as though I’d saved her life or something. I returned the hug briefly, and we parted.

“The bathroom’s in there if you want to wash up,” I said as I picked up my book and lay on one of the double beds.

She made some grateful noises and closed the door behind her. She emerged in baby doll pajamas, her bustline holding the short top far out from her tummy, a pink bow holding the loosely gathered top. I looked at her out of the corner of my eye as she turned down the other bed, and it appeared that she had some kind of a sleep bra or something under the PJs. It made sense—I’d heard of women with large breasts getting bruises and stretch marks, but I didn’t know if it was true or the stuff of urban legends.

We talked a little, she in her bed, I in mine, like an old Desi and Lucy skit, recounting some of the funny things that had happened during the day. I claimed tiredness, and turned out the light. We talked a few minutes more, then fell silent. She broke the quiet.

“Lucky?”

“Yes, Mandy?”

“Could I come over there? I just feel like I need to be close to you.”

We lay together, side by side, looking up at the ceiling. I could see her clearly in the light that filtered in around the blackout curtains. She turned towards me. “Would you just hold me?”

I shifted my position to put an arm around her as she placed her head on my shoulder. I could feel the weighty softness of her breast on my chest. I have to admit, it felt pretty good. Soon she was nuzzling my neck and running her hand on my chest. She moved her hand down far enough so that her elbow brushed my rising cock. She took its firm presence as a sign that things were going her way. She turned more towards me, put a leg over mine, and kissed me on the lips, then teased me with her tongue.

I returned her kiss and fondled her breast. She gave an appreciatve “Mmmm” that tickled my lips, and reached down for my shaft. She broke the kiss and said, “Oh, Lucky, I’ve been wanting this for such a long time.” I smiled and said, “Believe me, the pleasure will be all mine.”

She missed the irony, of course, which spoiled some of the fun. But one good set-up deserves another.

I turned so that she was flat on her back again, and I was half sitting. She reached up to put her arms around my neck, and I intercepted them, taking each by the wrist. I started making the little circles, and her reaction was exactly as it had been the first time—a sound of pleasure and release as she grew heavy with relaxation.

“Calm, comfortable, and relaxed, Mandy. Calm, comfortable, and relaxed.”

I asked her about her intentions, and she told me exactly what I’d heard—that she thought I was a good catch and that she was intending to entice me with some hot sex. Love would come later. I could almost hear her mother saying something like that. I was gratified to hear that I was a good catch in her book, but still angry at her manipulations. I also appreciated the fact that she would put her body on the line for me. Mandy was no virgin, but she was very picky about the guys she’d been with.

I’d given some thought to what I’d do next, and rejected some of the revenge scenarios that had occurred to me. I decided that cosmic justice would be served if she simply had the most fantastic night of lovemaking in her life—and no recollection of it.

I had my usual hypno-hard-on, even though somebody else had done all the induction “work,” more than a decade ago. I said, “Continue to rest and relax, Mandy. You came here tonight to make it with me, and that’s just what we’re going to do.”

I looked at her pretty face, expressionless in the filtered light. I wanted to see the rest.

“Stand up for me now, Mandy. Stand right here.” I drew her to her feet. I pulled the pink bow and loosened the gathers on her top, and it slid down around her, landing at her feet with that funny, hissy sound that nylon makes. She was wearing some kind of sleep bra, nearly transparent white silky material. It didn’t give her a lot of support—she definitely had a lower profile than she did in regular clothes, but I could see how it kept her breasts from going all over the place. I could see huge, dark areolas around her erect nipples, each the size of my little finger. Impressive. The bra had three little buttons between the cups, almost like a vest.

“Take your bra off now, Mandy.”

She did so, and the huge, pale orbs swung free as the garment dropped to the floor. They were almost incomprehensible in size, but the nipples tilted skyward at a jaunty angle. She was young and taut-skinned, after all.

I decided to remove the puffy little baby doll panties myself. I slid them down over her nicely rounded bottom and curvy hips. Her tummy was flat and her bush was a medium brown, with a little wispy peak of tiny, down-like hairs that ran up to her navel. I thought briefly of all the guys who would have given their left nut to see what I was seeing. Well, I’d be giving her both of mine before long. I figured I had two or three shots and a couple of dry orgasms in me, if it came to that. I’d never talked to her about sex, but if she wasn’t multi-orgasmic, there was no time like the present to start.

I seated her on the bed, deepened her trance, and said, “Mandy, As you know, there’s a wonderful difference between men and women. We’re designed to give one another ultimate pleasure. You like to do that, don’t you?” She nodded in assent. “And right now, you’re thinking about my pleasure, what would please me the most. You’re thinking about my body and how much you want to please me.”

“You’re especially thinking about how wonderful a man’s cock is, how it can grow so big and firm, how it can be so hard, with such delicate, velvety skin on the outside. How it has so many wonderful places, ridges, tastes, and textures, all a delight to your senses. And you realize that its sensitivity is not unlike your own. How it seems almost like a giant clitoris, with all the same mind-blowing sensitivity. And as you think about those things, you think how good it feels to be touched and all of the pleasure that it brings you, and you find that you want to touch me in the same way. And as you touch me, you’ll feel like you’re receiving the same pleasure that you’re giving. The more you turn me on, the more you’ll feel turned on, and the more you’ll want to give me even greater pleasure. Everything I feel will be reflected in your mirror, a pleasure mirror. Let your imagination run free; everything you’ve ever wanted to try, heard about, dreamed about, it’s all possible and you want to do it all. You want to do it now.”

She was breathing harder, her nostrils were flared, and as nearly as I could tell in the dim light, the pale skin of her chest was flushed, the color moving up her neck.I brought her hands together, saying, “As I separate your hands, you’ll feel all the intensity, all the desire, all the need. Let the feelings overwhelm you.” I didn’t really care if she remembered the induction or not; I’d take care of all that stuff later.

She opened her eyes and looked at me with naked desire. She rose, embraced me, and kissed me hard, her breasts bulging out on either side of me. She pulled back, grabbed at the hem of my shirt, and pulled it over my head. She reached for the waistband of my boxers, considerately pulling it out to clear my hard-on. Then she pressed me down to the bed, looking hungrily at my crotch.

She sat down next to me and put a hand on my abdomen, fingers pointing down. My throbbing member was beating against the back of her hand as she slid her fingers into my hair. She roiled the curls gently, stroking and scratching with her nails.Her fingers went on either side of my shaft, squeezing lightly at the base, making little massaging movements, then scratching in my curlies again. My balls were pulled up tight against me, and I let out a gasp as her hand slid over them, cradled them gently, and tugged lightly on my scrotum. Then back into my hair again, then a deft touch along the sides of my shaft.I gasped again, and the pleasure mirror that I’d set up in her mind had clearly kicked in. She was breathing harder and making sounds low in her throat.

She moved her fingers up and down the sides of my shaft, feeling those under-the-skin ridges and bumps, sometimes sliding over the skin, sometimes moving the skin against my inner hardness. Her fingers touched me in a hundred different delightful ways and she continued to get more turned on as I moaned and gasped and made incomprehensible noises of pleasure.

She shifted her position and took one of her breasts in two hands, shaping it, almost like a pastry bag, and brushed the nipple with a finger to make it more erect. She bent down, bringing it closer to my throbbing cock, and began rubbing her nipple across my glans, that super-sensitive line leading to the tip.I thought I would die of pleasure. I sought out her other breast and fondled it, rubbing her areola lightly, then capturing the stiffly standing nipple between two fingers as I moved my hand against her surging softness. That set off some more pleasure bombs in her head, and she redoubled her efforts on my shaft.This girl had an incredible imagination. Or a rich autoerotic sex life that I was now enjoying the benefits of.

The pleasure mirror was working great and her hips bucked and thrusted every time mine did. She caught a drop of lubricating juice from the tip of my shaft and glided down the entire length of it. Then two fingers massaged up the sensitive bulge that ran up the front of my shaft, which milked another drop, and so on. I had never had anyone lavish anywhere close to this much attention on my cock, and even in my own autoerotic moments had never protracted the pleasure until it was almost agony.

She was extremely hot, making low grunting noises, getting close to orgasm. She had one hand behind my cock and one in front, constantly shifting the pressure, touching, tickling, teasing, stroking. I felt the big buildup, my hips bucking, and I yelled as I shot my wad. She caught it in the palm of one hand, milking me, emptying me with the other. She came as I did; I wasn’t even touching her. Calling this a hand job would have been like calling the Sistine Chapel a painted ceiling. It was a remarkable work of art.

She collapsed beside me, breathing as hard as I was, but with one hand still holding my throbbing member. I still tend to stay stiff for a while after orgasm, and she wasn’t letting me fade in the least. I caught my breath after a few minutes, then reached for her wrists again.

This time, I told her, she was a bottomless pit of desire, a yearning vacuum, begging to be filled, a vessel of pleasure, of giving, of getting. She didn’t need a lot of convincing. But I would set the pace. Her desire would build and build, but she couldn’t be satisfied until I entered her. I gave her one more suggestion, reminding her of how she played freeze tag when she was a child. But I put a different twist on it.

As I awakened her, I rolled her onto her back and knelt over her. I traced curlicues on her belly with my cock. I circled her nipples, rubbed between her breasts, and always ended at her navel. And each time I did, I slid the tip of my shaft down that downy line leading to her curly thatch, through the thicket, and grazed her moist lips. She curled her hips up each time in response, seeking penetration, trying to engulf me. I rested my cock on her lips, with pressure on her clitoris, as I leisurely sucked and tongue-flicked her breasts. She writhed against me, thrusting, rubbing, trying to capture the tip of my shaft and bring me in, but I always moved just out of reach. Her breath was ragged and she was making the low sounds again, but my hypnotic injunction kept her from coming.

She looked as if she would go mad. I slipped down until my head was poised right at her lips. Her hips moved frantically, sliding her lips back and forth on me, but powerless to bring me any deeper, desperate for more. I held her gaze and cradled her sweaty head gently as I slid into her.

She started coming immediately, with a low moan. And, per my suggestion, went back into a trance, one that didn’t limit her physical activity in any way. “On next stroke, it’s going to be twice as intense,” I told her. And it was, for the next several thrusts.

“Twice as intense,” I said, and continued my slow, deliberate motions. Her moans got louder, ending with a little gasp on each breath. Her orgasm was continuous, but continually building in strength.

“Twice as intense.” She began a high, keening sound. Her eyes were rolled back in her head. I picked up the pace.

“Twice as intense.” I was banging away as hard as I could and she was meeting me stroke for stroke. But the rest of her body was writhing as though she were posessed. Her head was turning this way and that, and her hands were spasmodically clutching at me, at the sheets. tearing at her own hair.Her breasts ebbed and flowed, each doing its own crazy dance, Her nipples surged and scraped against my chest. She babbled and prayed. And kept on coming.

I grabbed her bottom and thrust hard. I came with the curiously pleasurable agony of having little wad left, with a shout that would almost have deafened her if she could have heard it. But she lost consciousness instead, as her already-overloaded synapses melted down under the sheer pleasure she was experiencing.

I fell asleep on top of her, which wasn’t in my plan.

When I awoke, I was still on top of her. I pulled up with a start, and she was looking at me, with two tracks of tears running down the sides of her face and into her hair. I hadn’t created amnesia for any of our activities, because I thought I would do that last.

She looked up at my face, inches from hers. “You knew, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” I thought she would say something about my taking advantage of her, but she was just silent for a while.

“I’ve never experienced anything remotely like that before. You’re outrageous.”

“You’re an awesome lover yourself, Mandy. But you don’t love me, do you?”

“N-no, but I really like you. Or at least I did. I’m not so sure now.” She cried again and banged a fist against the bed. “Damn! Damn! It was supposed to be so different.”

“Don’t worry, it will be.”

She looked puzzled, then her eyes grew round with surprise. “You’re not... you wouldn’t....” She looked a little defeated as she said, “I’m not going to remember this, am I?”

“No,” I said sadly, reaching for her wrists, “and I’m going try to forget about it, too.”