The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I’ve been asked by several readers about my penname. I admit that “Hypnotic Teddy Bear” is kind of a weird name to write under, but then again I’ve seen weirder ones. Still, there’s a reason I call myself Hypnotic Teddy Bear. Let me tell you the story:

I was attending college at the time. It was during my lunch break, and I was walking out to the courtyard. I wasn’t going to eat lunch in the courtyard, mind you. The parking lot was on the other side, I merely wanted to cut across it. As I was leaving the building, I heard a slap. My natural curiosity kicked in, and I turned my head in the noise’s direction. There, standing beside one of the booths next to the cafeteria, was a couple embroiled in what looked like the mother of all lovers’ spats. The male, a man of perhaps twenty, was rubbing his cheek while the female, a young brunette with a nice figure who was a head shorter than the male, yelled in his face with the fury of a cyclone. I couldn’t make out much of what she was saying, because the pair was pretty far away, and she was facing away from me, but I did catch little snippets.

“...thinking?!?!...anyone you wanted?....bi slut?!?” Not enough to draw a solid conclusion with, but enough to pique my curiosity to be sure. She pulled something off her finger as he stood there, mouth agape. She tossed the something into his open mouth—by then I had guessed it was a ring—and judging by the look on his face, it didn’t stay in the mouth for long, nor did it go out the way it came in. She stormed off in the direction of the parking lot. I followed.

“Hi.” I said when I had caught up to her. “Saw you arguing over there. Is there anything I can...” I didn’t get the chance to finish that. I had been so busy talking to her I didn’t see the pillar until too late. I bounced off it and landed flat on by backside. She looked back and started laughing. She kept at it until I had picked myself up and gathered my books again.

“Thanks.” she said. “I needed that.”

“No problem.” I told her. “Always happy to bounce off immovable objects for a pretty lady.” She chuckled a little at that.

“I’m Dara Smith, a drama major.” she said. “I just found out that my ex-fiancée is into threesome bondage and weird stuff like that. He wanted me to give my PERMISSION for him to bring another woman to the apartment for a threesome. Sounds pretty sick, huh?”

“Yeah.” I said. “I’m Lee Michaelson. Psychology major.” We chatted while I walked her to the parking lot. It was then she realized that she and her ex had driven to school in his vehicle, and he had the keys.

“Why don’t we take my car?” I asked.

“Does it have AC?” she asked.

“Of course.” I replied.

“Delighted.” she said, hooking her arm in mine. I pressed a button on my key chain and my car tweeted twice in response and unlocked the doors. We went to Taco Bell, since we were both thrifty-minded young college students. I learned many things about her during that conversation, and not just what she told me. I learned that she was the sensitive, sentimental type; a hugger, though she never tried to hug me while we were there, her body language said in boldface letters that she needed a hug. I learned that she had been raised with old-fashioned values, but she had developed a sense of independence out of necessity. I learned that she was the kind of girl who would cancel an important job interview to comfort a friend who had lost someone. She was all this, and she had looks, too. Silently I wondered to myself where she had been all my life. My watch beeped. It was time to start heading back to the campus. We gathered up the remains of a Mexican Pizza, a bean burrito, sans onions (Dara was allergic), and a taco salad, sans sour cream and olives, which I can’t stand. As we walked out to my car, I pulled her into my arms and hugged her for almost a full minute.

“Thanks.” she said. “I really needed that. And thanks for listening to me ramble on.”

“Listening is fifty percent of psychology.” I said.

“When’s your last class?” she asked.

“I’ve got one more class that goes from 1:30 to 2:30, then I’m free for the rest of the day.” I told her.

“I’ve got classes until four.” she said. “And I guess you have to work.”

“Only on Tuesdays, Thursdays and weekends.” I said.

“Would it be imposing too much if I asked you to help me move my stuff out of Derk’s apartment?”

“Not a problem.” I told her. In ten minutes, we were back on campus. I wiped a bit of refried bean from the corner of her mouth before I locked the car again. “I’ll be driving a blue Ford pickup this afternoon when I come to pick you up. Where will you be?” I called after her.

“In front of the auditorium.” she replied. My next class was Introduction to Psychoanalysis, and I had a lot of notes to take, so it was fortunate I wrote the place and time on my hand. After class I drove the three miles to my house, dropped off the car and drove back to town in the pickup. I mainly drove the car to college because of its better gas mileage. I loved the truck. It had such feats as pulling a Greyhound out of the mud and towing a 145-foot trailer house from Dallas to Houston under its belt, and had never given me trouble, unlike certain other vehicles I’d had during the seven years I’d been driving, that stupid car included. Since I had some time to kill, I stopped off at CiCi’s Pizza for a bite to eat (my metabolism is notorious, even among a family with notorious metabolisms). After storing sufficient energy for the task ahead, I cleared my pocket of quarters at the claw machine, where my 78% success rate proved itself true once again. For my efforts I received a fuzzy stuffed lobster, a Fourth of July mouse, a submarine harmonica, a small blue teddy bear, a medium-sized white bear, and a hug-sized blue teddy bear which took two tries to catch.

Placing these items in the back of the cab in a box, except for the big bear, which I buckled into the passenger-side bucket seat, I continued on to the college auditorium. Dara emerged after a fifteen minute wait. After bestowing appropriate adoration on the stuffed animals, particularly Big Blue, as he had come to be called, we were off. She directed me down back roads with which I was unfamiliar, until we came to a set of buildings, each with four pairs of windows on the front side of the building, and a door between the lower pairs. Dara explained that each building contained four apartments, each apartment having two front windows and a window in the bathroom facing back. The apartments on the right were mirror images of the apartments on the left, and each apartment was almost identical to its upstairs neighbor, except that upstairs the doors were in back rather than in front. The front door opened on a narrow hallway consisting of a landing where the doors of the two lower apartments were (each door nearly touching the opposite wall as it opened, according to Dara), followed immediately by a steep staircase, then another landing with twin doors.

Upstairs and to the left was an apartment littered with dirty clothes. Dara sighed, and almost reached down to start cleaning up the mess. Almost. She showed me to the bedroom, where she pulled a couple of decent-sized suitcases and a set of garment bags from under the bed. Opening the closet, it was very easy to tell which side was hers. From the middle support stud to the left was a disorganized array of...stuff. “Nice” clothes vied for breathing room on the garment bar with T-shirts and muscle shirts from “No Fear,” “And I,” “Ain’t Skeered” and Wrangler, in varying degrees of disrepair, and fetish attire which served as testament to the man’s kinkiness. On the left wall was, of all things, a gun rack with three rifles, which also served as a display case for more fetish gear. I won’t even go into what was on the floor. I still shudder to think of some of that nasty stuff. On the right side of the support stud was Dara’s stuff. Three dresses, five sweaters, eight pairs of blue jeans and, of all things, a pair of coveralls, hung on her side. On the floor her shoes—a pair of heels for each of the dresses, two pairs of sneakers, and a pair of work boots—stood against the back wall in a row. The rest of her floor space was taken up by two boxes of paper goods (magazines, photo albums, and some books). The top part of the closet was almost entirely dedicated to Derk’s stuff, but Dara pulled down two boxes of her stuff from up there. The dresses went into the garment bags, while the rest of the unboxed material went into the larger of the two suitcases. We filled up the rest of her suitcase space with stuff from her dresser.

What couldn’t fit into the suitcases we stuffed into trash bags. To clear some space I took the suitcases and all the boxes but one and put them in the cab of the truck. To this day I have no idea how I managed to cram the trash bags into the cab, but I did. When I returned I found that Dara had changed into the coveralls and work boots, had bagged up her share of what was in the laundry hamper, and was unscrewing the mirror from her dresser with a screwdriver from her one withheld box. I helped her with the mirror, and as we moved it to the bed, I caught a glimpse of the reflection of the open box, which contained more tools than I had, but all in a jumble. We put the drawers to one side and moved the dresser downstairs (no easy task, considering the steepness of the stairs and the width [or lack thereof] of the hall). After putting the dresser in the bed of the truck, we put the drawers back in their slots. The next thing that had to come down was a blue, very comfortable-looking recliner. Bringing it down required the use of both of our problem-solving skills, and some well-coordinated reclining and unreclining of the chair. The next thing that we brought down was the mirror, which Dara put into a thin box cushioned by torn-up biker magazines. When that was finished, Dara brought down the final trash bag and her tool box and put it in the bed. I had to dig my rope and tarp out from under the suitcases, boxes and bags to secure and cover the load. Derk showed up while we were tying on the tarp. Dara refused to acknowledge his presence (and I didn’t blame her) as we finished securing the load. He pulled a notepad and pencil from his pocket as she stepped into the cab. As I walked behind him, I noticed he was writing down my license plate number. I ripped off the piece of paper he was using, as well as the next three sheets down to prevent him from having an impression to look at. With the sheets torn into little bitty pieces, I confiscated his notepad and told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to try to trace my plates, to follow me, or in any way attempt to discover the whereabouts of my residence, or hers, or I would have him arrested. He began to protest, and I decked him hard enough to send him sprawling to the pavement. Climbing into the truck, I drove Dara to the apartment complex’s main office, where she paid her half of the rent and turned in her keys.

“I suppose I’d better find a motel to stay at until I find another place.” Dara muttered as we left the apartments.

“No.” I said firmly. When she gave me a questioning look, I continued. “I’ve got a spare room at my house. It’s a lot cheaper than a motel, and it’s out of town and away from you-know-who.” She smiled then, and gave me a peck on the cheek as I shifted into third.

“You’re sweet.” she said.

“You might not think so when we get out in traffic.” I told her. Sure enough, road rage kicked in after the second red light, and I was yelling out the window at the assorted S.O.B.s as we drove out toward the city limits. She was chuckling softly to herself as we passed the worst of it.

“You’re not quite as bad as my father.” she said laughingly.

“This is why I generally try to keep away from five o’ clock traffic.” I told her with a wry smile as the city limits sign went by with a whiz. Five minutes later she was giving my spare room the once-over. It had its own bathroom, a closet that was almost as big as her bathroom at the apartment, and a built-in dresser with a mirror, and the carpet was a nice shade of Navy blue. The room itself was ten feet by fifteen feet, which left plenty of room for her stuff, and lots of room to move around. She helped me take down the construction paper bats left over from Halowe’en ‘97 and pick up the ones that had fallen since I had last been in there. Then we cleaned the room up so it was habitable once more, and started moving things in. The hall and the door were wide enough that we were able to get the dresser and recliner in with no trouble.

“Wow, everything’s so big—even the bed!” she whispered in awe when she saw how much room was left over after her stuff had been moved in. “I’ve never had a king-size before!”

“The house was built by a claustrophobic.” I said. “That’s why all the rooms are so big, even though this is only a two-bedroom home.”

“At least we won’t be fighting over the bathroom.” she said.

“The computer’s hooked up to the ‘net, but the modem’s a bit slow.”

“Do you have a word processor too?” she asked. I nodded. “I’ll try not to be on it too often and too long.” she said. Then she hugged me real tight. “You know what?”

“What?” I asked.

“You’re a real teddy bear.” she said. I didn’t say anything. I knew what she meant.

Over the next few weeks we gathered the rest of her things—her car, her deep freeze, and several things she’d been paying fifty bucks a month to have in storage. The latter was put in a storage building in the back yard. As she started apartment-hunting, I quickly found myself pointing out the superiorities of her space at my house over this building or that apartment, until I had to admit that my behavior was rather bizarre—even for me. After several futile efforts to figure out what my problem was, I spoke with one of my professors. After almost an hour of Q and A, he chuckled, then made his professional diagnosis. I didn’t want her to leave. I thanked the professor and then adjourned to the bathroom, where I banged my head against a graffiti-laden stall partition for not having figured that out myself.

“You okay, dude?” asked a concerned bystander I had not seen before, and have not seen since.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine after a while.” I said. “Just feelin’ dumb, that’s all.”

“Hey, been there.” the other replied.

I picked Dara up one afternoon to find her carrying armloads of notes. I helped her get her things to the car and we made a beeline for the city limits.

“I found out why I’ve been such a dork lately.” I told her.

“Oh?” she replied. “How have you been a dork?”

“You know, pointing out all the bad stuff about the apartments you’ve been looking at and all.”

“You don’t want me to get screwed over.” she said.

“If that were the case I would have found you an apartment myself.” I told her. “No, I’m afraid my motive was a little more selfish. I don’t want you to leave.” She smiled then, and put her hand on mine where it rested on the gear shift.

“That’s so sweet.” she said. “I’m glad I’m going to be staying with you a while. I’ve got this killer midterm coming that I am NOT ready for.” I smiled then.

“Anything I can do to help.” I said.

It was a few weeks later, shortly before the end of the semester, that I began to find strange things in the Netscape history. Namely, nothing. Someone had been clearing the history. Well, I knew a few things about computers, so recovering the history list was easy. What I found surprised me:

Over and over again the website appeared. Since I hadn’t been visiting these sites, I knew it was Dara. I went to her room, about to ask her about it, and found her sitting on the bed, holding my General Psychology book. I recognized the picture on the page instantly, even upside-down. Svengali and his “victim.” She was on page seven of the chapter on hypnosis.

“Hey.” I said. “When did this come up?”

“Huh?” Dara asked, taking off her reading glasses.

“The sudden interest in mind-control.” I said.

“I’m sorry.” she said. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t.” I told her, turning a chair around and sitting in it backwards. “I just don’t want you to think you have to go behind my back about it.” She lowered her head in shame.

“Sorry.” she said. “I...I just got curious. That’s all.”

“It’s alright.” I told her, touching her hand. “Just don’t be clearing out the history. I use that to keep track of the websites I visit, to see if I visit any of them often enough to stick them in my bookmarks file. If you want, I’ll start one for you, too.” She smiled, relieved that I wasn’t angry. “Now, why the sudden interest in mind-control?”

“I started looking through your psychology book.” she said. “I saw the chapter on hypnosis. I wanted to know more about it. Maybe even try it.”

“Well, I hardly think you’re going to learn how hypnosis really works by reading the naughty stories on the Internet.” I said.

“Actually, I’ve learned a lot.” Dara said. “You just have to know which ones are plausible—and I read enough in your psychology book to be able to figure that out.” She giggled then. “Day before yesterday, I hypnotized Mindy over the phone.” Mindy was Dara’s friend from high school.

“So what did you do?” I asked, scooting my chair closer.

“Okay, you remember how I told you she hates oral sex?” she asked. I nodded. “She’s been trying to quit smoking for as long as I’ve known her. So I got her into a trance, and we played around for a while, then I gave her the suggestion that whenever she saw a cigarette, she would think about a...well, you know.”

“Yeah.” I told her.

“This morning she told me she hadn’t smoked a cigarette since the phone-hypnosis session. So you see, it’s working.”

“But, what if the cravings get so strong that she smokes one anyway?” I asked. “If she associates cigarette smoking with oral sex, and can’t stop her craving for cigarettes...”

“Uh-oh!” Dara muttered, realizing what I was about to say. “I’d better call Mindy!”

“Ask her to come over.” I said. “I’ll help you.”

At my insistence, Dara didn’t say anything to Mindy about why she needed to come over. When she got here, she was probably expecting me to be unconscious on the floor or something.

“What’s the big emergency?” Mindy asked.

“Calm down.” Dara said. “It’s not a life-or-death situation, Mindy. Lee thinks I might have made some mistakes when I hypnotized you day before yesterday.”

“What kind of mistakes?” Mindy asked. “I haven’t smoked a cigarette in two days. It’s working. So what’s the problem?”

“Dara associated cigarette smoking with oral sex without getting rid of your cravings.” I told her. “I explained to her a few minutes ago that this could lead to some...problems.”

“Problems?” Mindy asked, starting to get scared.

“It’s alright, though.” I assured her. “I’m going to help Dara fix the problem, OK?”

“Uhm, OK.” Mindy said. She was nervous. That could be a problem. Dara sat her down in my most comfortable recliner and began a series of relaxation exercises to alleviate Mindy’s nervousness. When Mindy seemed to be relaxed, Dara took the other woman’s hand in her own.

“Ready to go, Mindy?” she asked. At Mindy’s nod, Dara looked her straight in the eye and said “Deep, relaxed state.” Mindy went limp like a marionette with her strings cut. “Mindy, do you remember how we got you to quit smoking?” Dara asked in a low monotone. Mindy breathed a weak affirmative. “Well, we’re going to go a different way now, okay?” Mindy responded in the affirmative again. “From now on you’re not going to think of cocks when you look at cigarettes. They’re just little nasty things that you don’t really want to put in your mouth, okay?” Mindy responded in the affirmative again. “Now, Mindy, I want you to picture in your mind a happy place, away from trouble, away from fear, away from those nasty nicotine cravings. Where are you?”

“I’m...” Mindy began. “I’m on an air mattress in the middle of a lake.” she said.

“How does it feel?” Dara asked.

“It’s quiet...peaceful...nice.” Mindy said with a smile. “The warm water...mmmmm, my sunscreen smells like bananas...the wind just gently ripples the water.”

“Sounds very nice, Mindy.” Dara said.

“It is.” Mindy replied softly, smiling even more broadly.

“Whenever you get one of those nasty cravings, Mindy, I want you to go to your happy place and get away from it.”

“Okay.” Mindy said.

“Now, what are you going to do when you feel the need to smoke?”

“I’m going to close my eyes and picture myself on my little air mattress on the lake.” Mindy said.

“Good.” Dara said. She looked to me for advice on what to do next.

It has to be said that Mindy was quite an attractive young woman—not more so than Dara, but in her own way at least Dara’s equal. She had a slight figure, but it was quite lean because of all the time she spent in the gym. She was dressed in a loose-fitting T-shirt and shorts, and her blonde hair flowed over her chest in just the right way to draw attention to her breasts. Add to that the fact that she was currently in a trance, her body relaxed as if asleep, and she was quite an arousing sight.

“Leave her there for a while.” I mouthed.

“Mindy, I want you to stay in your happy place for a while, okay? No worries, no fears, just happy and peaceful.”

“Okay.” Mindy replied with a tiny smile. Dara followed me to my room, which was farther away from Mindy than hers was. When the door was closed, I turned around and kissed her full on the lips.

“Wonderful repair work, Dara.” I told her, kissing her again. She returned the kisses with enthusiasm.

“Did seeing her under hypnosis make you horny too?” she asked, drawing me toward the bed.

“Yes.” I replied, kicking off my shoes.

It was several hours before Dara woke me.

“G’morning, Teddy Bear.” she said, smiling and running her hands down my chest, along my stomach, and to my crotch, where she began twirling my pubic hair around her index finger. I smiled back, then pulled her to me, kissing her neck. I think I trailed off, because Dara sensed something. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“We forgot Mindy.” I said. With an exclamation, Dara tumbled out of bed, grabbing a pair of pants from the floor. She had one leg in the pants when she looked back at me.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

“To see what you’re going to look like in my pants.” I replied. She looked at the back pocket and, sure enough, they were my “Lee”s, not her “Rustler”s. She kicked the pants to me and grabbed her jeans from the floor.

We entered the living room to find Mindy still peacefully sitting where we had left her. Dara sat down on the footstool and began gently bringing her out of it. Mindy stretched, yawned, then smiled as she blinked her eyes.

“Wow, I feel really refreshed.” Mindy said.

“Sorry we left you there for so long.” Dara said apologetically.

“’Sawright.” Mindy said. “I haven’t woken up feeling this good in...well never. What time is it?” I checked the clock. It was six a.m. “Wow! And I feel really ready for that Biology test, too! Thanks, guys, you’re real pals!” Dara smiled as she watched Mindy go.

“Well, there goes one satisfied customer.” I said.

“What about you?” Dara asked in a mock-hurt voice.

“I’m not going anywhere.” I said, pulling her into an embrace. “My first class isn’t until 9:30, and you don’t have any classes today.” I was late to class that day, but I didn’t care.

The next day was Saturday. I was writing a story, as I usually do on my days off. The unusual thing about this story was that it was a romance. I usually didn’t write romances, especially with as much sex in them as this one had, but my Muse had been bugging me to get this written for hours. When I finished, some time around noon (I’d been writing it continuously since I’d gotten up at six), I decided to email it to one of the fiction archives on the ‘net. The only ones I knew of that would accept a story like mine and weren’t pay sites were modified bulletin boards, so I had to copy and paste from my word processor to the textbox. It took three posts to get it all up there, due to memory limitations and all. I had signed the name “Teddy Bear” to the byline of the story, partly because I was thinking of Dara at the time.

The next day, when I checked my email, I had three hundred sixty-two messages from readers who had enjoyed the story. Thus the writing career of the Teddy Bear began.

It was at the beginning of summer break that Dara brought up the subject of hypnosis again. She’d been reading stories on the Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive almost daily since she learned it was okay. The stories turned her on in ways she hadn’t previously imagined. Sometimes I’d watch her stare into the monitor, one hand on the mouse, scrolling down the length of multi-chapter stories. The ones she REALLY liked she printed. The ones she printed I read. I quickly began to notice that several authors’ names began to appear in the bylines over and over again. Authors such as Simon Bar Sinister and Anynom, for example, were among her favorites. She wanted so much to try it with me.

Okay, I admit I’m something of a dominant personality. Dara respects this, and she feels comfortable submitting to me. I’ll never forget our first hypno-erotic session. I had Dara wait for me wherever she felt most comfortable. She headed straight for my room. That was fine by me. She would have ended up there anyway.

For the purposes of the induction, I had had an old friend of mine—an electronics major—rig up a pair of flashing sunglasses. These I strapped to Big Blue’s head with one of those sports-strap things. I carried Big Blue into the room. Dara had already made herself comfortable in one of the chairs.

“Cute glasses.” Dara said. “What’re they for?”

“Big Blue’s going to help us with the induction.” I said. I started her on the most calming relaxation exercise I had learned, beginning and ending with deep, cleansing breaths (which seems to be a recurrent theme in relaxation exercises, have you noticed?). When she was nice and relaxed, I pressed a tiny button on the side of the glasses, and they began their flashing sequence. “I want you to keep your eyes fixed on Big Blue, Dara.” I told her. “Just stare into the pretty glasses Big Blue’s wearing, Dara. We both know why you like teddy bears, Dara. They make you feel relaxed and comfortable, Dara. Relaxed and comfortable. Big Blue’s making you feel relaxed and comfortable, Dara.”

You may have noticed if you’ve read any of my other stories that I don’t include the inductions. This is because, as a psychology major, I have read of cases where people have begun to identify with characters they read about. There may even be some who actually hypnotize themselves while reading well-written mind-control stories, whether they’re true or not. Suffice it to say, Dara was quite deeply entranced within the span of a minute. I had turned off the glasses when her eyes had sagged shut, but I had her envision the flashing lights in her mind, so they continued to pull her deeper.

“Do you wish to be controlled, Dara?” I asked.

“Yes.” she replied.

“Is this truly what you want, Dara?” I asked, wanting to be sure.

“Yes.” she replied.

“All right, as long as you really want it.” I said.

“I do.” she replied.

“How much control do you wish to give me, Dara?” I asked.

“Com...plete.” she said. “I want to know what it’s like to be in an MC story.”

“You want me to put you in a state of absolute obedience?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Open your eyes, Dara.” I said. Her eyes fluttered open, her expression that of a daydreamer. “You have said that wish to give me complete control over you, Dara. That power is in your hands. Look at your hands, Dara. There is a control device in your hands. Your control device, Dara. What does it look like?”

“It’s a mini laptop.” Dara said. “Small, but with very powerful chips. The chips are very powerful. They can override my mind and make it yours.”

“If you really want to do this, Dara, hand me the control device.” Her hands lifted, holding an imaginary mini-laptop. The hands with the laptop moved forward, toward me. She held them there until I mimed the motions of taking it in my hand. Then her arms went limp. She had really done it. She had surrendered herself to me. I continued holding the imaginary computer while she stared with her daydreamer’s gaze at my hand, which essentially held her will. “Your will is mine, Dara.” I said. “You have given yourself to me.”

“Yes.” Dara replied.

“You have made me your master, haven’t you, Dara?”

“Yes, Master.” Dara replied. I felt a little odd making her say that, but if it would help her feel the way she wanted to feel, I was willing to do it. I had her remove her clothes, one item at a time. When she was completely naked, I kissed her. She returned the kiss passionately, because even though she was deeply entranced, she still had all of her emotions intact.

“Now remove my clothes.” I commanded. Her hands ran over my body as she undressed me, and I obligingly stepped out of my pants and shorts when she brought them to my ankles. I kissed her again and felt the warm wetness between her legs. I’d never felt her this wet, even after she had read one of those stories. Maybe the fact that she was living one now heightened her arousal to new levels?

“Get onto the bed.” I told her.

“Yes, Master.” she replied, obeying my command immediately.

“On your hands and knees.” I said.

“Yes, Master.” she said. I ran my hands over her well-proportioned derrierre and smiled. I inserted myself in her dripping love-tunnel from behind—something I had never done before, and was eager to try. She moaned as I gave her full penetration. I reached around her and grasped her bosom, tweaking the nipples in the way that had always made her moan the loudest.

“Listen to me, Dara.” I said. “Whenever you are naked, your breasts and vagina will become hyper-sensitive. The slightest tweak of a nipple or flick of the clitoris can bring you to most of the way to orgasm. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Master.” she moaned as I continued to play with her nipple.

“You’re a good girl, Dara.” I told her, and I began moving around inside her. She moaned and thrashed and screamed under my care. Her vagina spasmed over and over again as I brought her to orgasm repeatedly. Finally my own approached, and as I spurted my semen into her steaming tunnel, the trance-bound slave beneath me just about went into conniptions. “Dara?” I asked when she collapsed.

“Yes, Master?” she said weakly.

“Whenever you hear me say the words ‘my favorite toy,’ you will become the trance-bound slave again. When you hear me say ‘women’s liberation,’ you will return to normal. Understand?”

“Yes, Master.” Dara said.

“Women’s liberation.” I said. Expression returned to her face.

“That was wonderful.” Dara sighed. “I’ve never come so hard or so often in my life.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” I said, pulling the covers over her and crawling in with her.

“I love you, Lee.” she whispered.

“I love you too, Dara.” I told her. I’m not exactly sure she heard, because the next thing I knew, she was asleep.

I had finally decided to visit the site myself. I found it odd that while I was visiting the actual site, the text was between a set of margins with a colored background, but when I tried to save the HTML files to the harddrive, it appeared against a plain white background with standard margins. Most of the stories I read were about people being tricked in one way or another into becoming slaves. I decided I’d write something different. I entered my word processor and began typing a story of my own. I began with the scene in the underground parking garage, where a young woman, left for dead by her attackers, tries to reach the surface. I was quite thankful for the search-and-replace function, since it would allow me to name my characters later. The story I wove was mostly a story of a young woman’s recovery after her attack, but I added elements of mind-control to make it appropriate for the site. I named the victim Clarissa, and her rescuer Phil. I thought hard about the title, then finally decided to call it “Above All.” It seemed to fit. Now for a penname. As I considered my options, I noticed Big Blue sitting on the coffee table, his glasses slipping down over his nose, giving him an arrogant, yet warm expression. I smiled as I typed Hypnotic Teddy Bear into the byline.