The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Her hotel room door was ajar, held open by the bolt. She was expecting me. I pushed the door open, closed it, and locked it behind me.

She was sitting in front of the window, her chair facing me, her smile radiant. Framed by the severe desert landscape behind her, she was a vision of soft curves and abundant hair. Her eyes half sparkled, half smoldered in anticipation.

We only saw each other when our business travels brought us together, but we spoke often on the phone and exchanged e-mails. We’d seen each other several times this year, better than our average, and had enjoyed some of the most intense lovemaking either of us had ever experienced. That was part of the effect we had on one another. Use whatever analogies you wish—lock and key, hand in glove—none of them begin to describe the way we fit together or the powerful aphrodisiac effect we’ve always had on one another. On one hand, it was tragic that we had separate lives far from one another. On the other, it guaranteed that our time together was precious, that our lovemaking was always fresh, new, different.

As I walked towards her, I drank in her image. Her dark hair, with auburn highlights, bright red sweater, her breasts swelling softly beneath it. I was gratified to see she was wearing her black cotton slacks with the elastic waist. They were soft, compliant, transmitted heat and touch wonderfully, and, best of all, they would slip off quickly and easily when the time was right.

She rose to greet me as I closed the distance between us. We kissed gently, my hands on her hips, hers on my shoulders. I always looked forward to that first kiss, the electric way it shot through me, the way her lips were at once gentle and insistent. The kiss deepened as she slid her arms around my neck and my hands moved up her sides, then roamed up and down her back. I marveled for the umpteenth time at her delicate bone structure and the way her back tapered from wide, shapely shoulders to a tiny waist, then flared again to her delectable hips and bottom.

We parted, yet continued to hold each other, weaving little kisses, hugs, and touches into the skein of our converstion, as we caught up on recent happenings. That aphrodisiac thing was in full force, and we could have easily disrobed one another right then and there and slipped into bed. We’d done it before and we’ll do it again.

But today was going to be a little different, and we both knew it. Our phone conversations had been pretty steamy of late, and we’d added a new wrinkle. We’d always told one another about our dreams, but earlier in the year, I’d had a humdinger of a dream in which I’d summoned her to me while sleeping. It was very detailed, full of magic and mystery, and the telling and the hearing of it turned us both on. I suppose it freed us to talk more about our dreams and sexual fantasies, and I had several more dreams in which one or the other of us was summoning the other, calling out with our minds, drawing the other to us, whereupon we would make explosive love. The summoning was kind of telepathic-hypnotic, and it was very sexy.

I’d first hypnotized her years ago, when we were just getting acquainted, just to show her what it was about. As hypnotic subjects went, she was about average, but a better subject than she thought she was. Definitely not one of those rare people who could go into deep, somnambualistic trances at a fingersnap, though. Over the years, I’d helped her with relaxation scripts, to calm her jangled nerves and deal with stress. I coached her in self-hypnosis, and brought her into trances, sometimes when we were together, sometimes on the phone.

Then there was that time when I was actually bruised and aching from the sheer energy of our lovemaking and we were taking a night off for recuperation. I’d playfully hypnotized her and given her suggestions that moved all of her sexual sensitivity into the fingers of one hand. She’d gotten very turned on as I stroked and kissed her hand, and she told me we’d have to stop if I didn’t want more aches and bruises. The effect was very real at the time, but it was more a game of teasing and titillation than sexual hypnosis.

I’d also written her a hypno-erotic poem some years back. It suggested that she relax, go into a trance, become aroused, then cool down, but take the pleasure with her as she awakened:

I thought it was a pretty good poem, and she liked it a lot, too. In retrospect, I probably underestimated the effect it had on her, and maybe she did, too.

We had been talking in quiet voices on the phone one day, whispering little intimacies, describing little pleasures to one another, and her voice had taken on that low, detached quality that it had when she was in a trance. Intrigued, I’d asked her, “What’s your depth,” using the self-reporting yardstick method of gauging the depth of her trance. “Seventeen,” she’d responded, in a voice that managed to be mildly surprised and detached at the same time. My low voice of sexy thoughts and conversation had become the low voice of hypnotic induction. Or vice versa.

Later, she’d admitted that she had become trancey other times when we had our intimate conversations, that she liked the warm, cocooning closeness of the feeling, the lethargy that came over her, and her heightened ability to visualize and experience the things that we talked about. “I love the places your voice takes me,” she’d said.

I found this fascinating and arousing, and I began to fantasize and think up little scripts and hypnotic scenes that I could try out with her. I was pleasantly suprised that she enjoyed them and welcomed them. Pleasantly surprised? Hell, it made me throb with desire!

She knew that I had several hypno-erotic scenarios in mind for our current time together, including a replay of a wonderful fantasy in which she’d summoned me, and that we would have ample time to indulge ourselves in them. We had the rare treat of several days together, and would be spending lots of time in one another’s company.

“Did you want to try a little sexual hypnosis, or would you like to wait until later?”

“Now would be fine; whatever you want,” she said with a smile and a squeeze around my waist. I thought I heard a note of anticipation in her voice.

“Okay. I’ve been thinking about the hypnotic induction process itself, and the way that it’s often done in a clinical, detached way today. Back around the turn of the century, the mesmerists and early hypnotists used a much more physical technique, with lots of touching, stroking, and body contact, in addition to the suggestions. They were very effective, but not in keeping with today’s attitudes.”

She looked at me quizically, not exactly sure where I was going with this.

“What if we were to take that same technique and modify it a bit, to make the touching more personal... more sexual?”

“Go on,” she said with an intrigued-amused half smile.

“Then we’d have a deep trance and a powerful arousal at the same time.”

Her “oooh” in response spanned three musical notes, and came from low in her throat.

I busied myself arranging pillows on the bed, pulling aside the spread, and retrieving a dime-sized magnifying lens in a black bezel from my bag.

I brought her over to the bed and had her lean back against the pillows and headboard. I arranged her legs so that they were slightly parted, slightly bent at the knee. She watched me expectantly the entire time.

I straightened her left arm and raised it to a 45-degree angle and said, “Just let it stay there for now.” Then I held the little lens up so that she had to turn her eyes upwards to see it. No respectable turn-of-the-century hypnotist, after all, would have done an induction without an eye-closure phase. I said, “Look at the lens; focus your attention there. Concentrate on it, focus on it. Follow the sound of my voice as you begin to relax.”

I slowly reached out and placed my other hand on the top of her head, applying light pressure.

“In a moment, you’ll feel a warmth spreading from my hand into your scalp. A soothing, relaxing feeling, like warm honey that begins to flow down through you, relaxing you, relaxing every muscle, like warm honey, flowing down through you.”

“As that relaxing, warm honey moves down, you can feel it relaxing your eyes, making them heavy and tired. The warm relaxing feeling makes them heavy and tired, heavier, and heavier, wanting to close, wanting to relax.”

Her eyes fluttered once or twice, then closed, She exhaled deeply, her body relaxing. With all the hypnosis we’d done over the years, she certainly didn’t need this long-form induction, but the journey was part of the destination in this case.

“Let that honey-like warmth spread through your entire body, melting away tension, relaxing you completely. Across your neck and shoulders, down into your arms.”

Her left arm began to lower, bit by bit, as the muscles relaxed.

“More and more relaxed, as the warm honey feeling spreads all the way down to your toes, creating a warm, golden, glowing feeling throughout your entire body.”

Her arm landed softly, noiselessly, on the bed.

“A warm, golden, glowing feeling, warm honey all through your body.”

As her breathing became slower and deeper, I gently removed my hand from her head and placed two fingers between her eyebrows, just above her nose.

“This is a place of concentration,” I said, as I pressed the spot lightly, with a slight circular motion in my fingertips. “We often touch this spot as we concentrate, as we focus on a particular thought. Right now, you’re concentrating on the sound of my voice, focused on the sound of my voice, as the words form impressions and images in your mind. You don’t hear them so much as feel them, deep inside your mind, deep inside your mind. My words become images, the images become actions, deep inside your mind, deep inside your mind.”

I took in her reclining body, breast rising and falling slowly as she settled into a deep trance. Her feet were no longer straight up, but had turned out to the left and right as the muscles in her legs had given themselves over to the soft immobility and utter relaxation of the trance state. “That paralyzed feeling,” she called it. I looked at her face, a model of sweet repose, completely unlined, untroubled, relaxed. I liked this part because I could look at her, memorizing every lovely feature, studying her face as though it would be on the final exam, without making her nervous or self-conscious.

“You’re relaxing more and going deeper, concentrating only on the sound of my voice and the pictures that I paint inside your mind, deep inside your mind.”

As before, I purposely mispronounced “mind,” leaving off the “d.”

I moved my fingertips to her lips, saying, “These are your lips, your beautiful lips, through which you speak wonderful words to me. Your passionate lips that speak volumes even when you say nothing.”

My hand was trembling from my excitement, so I shifted it so that my fingers rested on her cheek and my thumb was against her lips.

“This mouth, through which you give and get so much pleasure. Lips, teeth, and tongue, your hot breath that conveys your passion to me. Relaxed now, in repose, but with tremendous, passionate forces lingering just below the surface.”

I placed my hand on her chest, right over her heart, so that it lightly touched the gentle swell of her upper breasts.

“You feel my hand over your heart, your strong, beating heart. You find my hand soothing, calming, comforting, and it relaxes you even more. You feel the steady beating, the comfoting touch, relaxing you more, bringing you deeper.”

“At the same time, your breasts are acutely aware of my touch. They yearn for my hand to move to the left or the right, to cup them tenderly, caress them, and send those fiery bolts through you. They remember a thousand other caresses, kisses, touches. A fingertip, a cradling hand, my lips, my tongue. The memory lights a warm fire in them, inflaming the passion that is building beneath this calm, relaxed state.”

She was breathing a little harder now, and a slight blush was forming on her face and neck. Her eyes were moving under her lids, as though she was seeing the things I described.

My hand moved to her abdomen and I let it rest there for a long moment before I began to speak, letting it rise and fall with her deep, steady breathing. My voice was low, inviting, but my throat was dry from my brimming arousal. I could hear the urgency in my own tone, and took a deep breath, steadying myself, slowing myself down, so I could continue.

“You feel my hand on your abdomen, the source of your sexual energy, the core of your being. You feel energy flowing into this area with each breath you take. In, out, in, out, the energy builds, you feel it growing, a powerful force, a wild, caged animal within you, yearning to be free.”

I watched my hand rise and fall, this time a little faster, as I said, “Your desire wells up within you, building, growing stronger with each passing moment, with each breath you take.”

Her leg twitched ever so slightly, as the building sexual energy within her battled the hypnotic immobility of her limbs. I placed my hand on the soft rise of her mound, gently, very gently. Her hips rocked slightly, trying to meet my touch, but again she was held fast in the trance.

“And here, at the root of your being, you feel the flame, the passion that fuels our lovemaking. You feel the driving, compelling force, the overwhelming heat, from deep within you.”

Her fingers were twitching now. I continued, “As the images and feelings continue to build deep inside your mind, your body is burning with desire. You feel the flames that will fuel our lovemaking.”

She was breathing through her mouth now, her lips parted in a particularly sensuous way. She seemed to be silently saying, “Ohhhhh.” Her eyes were moving this way and that under her still-closed lids, and the radiant, intensely sexual glow on her beautiful face caused me to swallow hard. I let my thumb follow the line from the base of her mound to the warmth between her legs. She gasped in pleasure as I touched her with a slow, circular motion, pressing lightly. Her head turned to one side, but the rest of her body remained in repose.

“This is the root of your being, the driving force that compels us to one another. Feel the flames, feed the flames. Let the flames fuel our lovemaking.” I continued on in this vein, not really sure what I was saying anymore, but they seemed to be the right words. I watched her as she responded to my touch and to my voice. It was as though I was watching her while she was having an erotic dream, but I was the one causing her dream; I was part of the dream.

Wordlessly, with her eyes still closed, she shifted her body, and in a fluid motion, her arms slipped around my neck and her hungry mouth found mine. She kissed me as though she’d been starving and I was a gourmet meal. Her upper body was across my lap, my arms cradling her, hers around my neck and shoulders. She appeared to be in a trance still, but the pent-up sexual energy within her had shifted things from passive input to passionate output.

I was burning with desire. The whole situation was so erotically charged—the induction, her arousal, acting out my fantasy, this double armful of impassioned woman in my lap—that my head was spinning. Somehow we rose together, peeled off our clothing, and fell back into one another’s arms. I distinctly remember the shocking warmth of her skin as we embraced, my insistent throbbing against her belly.

We fell back onto the bed. She took me inside her immediately; we were far beyond foreplay. She made a sound of pleasure and delight as I entered her warm depths. I let her set the pace of our lovemaking; she was urgent and fierce. Her first orgasm came moments later. Her cries of pleasure gratified me deeply and I was nearly swept along with the force of her coming. I held on, though, and rocked with her as she wound down. I could feel the little dots of perspiration that had popped out all over her body. Her eyes were still closed, and she held me tightly.

I slipped my hands under her bottom and pulled us close together. She rocked her hips up to take me even deeper. She met my motions in the timeless dance, faster, with building intensity, and soon was off on her next orgasm, her cries sweet in my ear, her hands clenched on my back.

We continued our lovemaking until we were both spent, until we lay in one another’s arms, panting, sweating, drained, and utterly satisfied. I stroked her cheek, ran my fingers through her hair, heavy now with her own perspiration. She opened her eyes and gazed deeply into mine. She had slowly risen through the depths of trance to her current state, full of posthypnotic and post-orgasmic warmth and relaxation.

“That was incredible,” she said, with a look of wonder and amazement on her face, “just incredible.”

“What did you like best about it?”

“Oh, everything! The induction, feeling so aroused, the contrast between being unable to move and wanting to so much.”

She gave me a little smile that didn’t quite succeed in being apologetic. “Then it was like the dam bursting.”

I was quite happy to be washed away in the floodwaters.