The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I

II

The next week, Mildred suggested hypnosis.

Tracy, still dressed in torn jeans, a baggy tee shirt, and ripped sneakers, dropped her jaw.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Eventually she agreed.

Just a little hypnosis to plant confidence-building suggestions.

Tracy stared at the tip of Mildred’s pen as Mildred spoke to her in a soft monotone about how good it was to relax, to watch the tip of her pen, to focus on the tip of her pen, how hard it was to do that with your eyelids getting heavier and heavier, how good it was to relax into a deep sleep, but not really a sleep, just a deep state of listening, listening to Mildred’s words, listening to Mildred’s voice, letting Mildred empty Tracy mind of the clutter of doubts and misgivings and low self-esteem.

Just like going to a long slide on the playground of her childhood, a wet slide, warm and long and smooth and slippery. A warm, wet slide.

A warm, wet slide to an empty and peaceful space, where only Mildred’s voice mattered, where only Dr. Scott’s voice counted.

So nice to just listen to Mildred speak, to empty your mind, to let go.

To let Mildred do the thinking.

For now, anyway, until she counted up to ten, then Tracy could wake up, wake up and be herself, her confident, wonderful self, but whenever Mildred and only Mildred said “Down the warm wet slide, Tracy” Tracy would go back to this wonderful peaceful, so peaceful and relaxing empty state, ready to her new things, beautiful new things about her mind and body.

“’I am sexy, and I am confident, and boys like to look at me.’ That’s what I want you to say, Tracy. I want you to say it and think it and believe it. Say it to yourself right now. Say, ‘I am sexy, and I am confident, and boys like to look at me.’”

Tracy, slumped in her chair, barely stirred as her mouth moved in a slow, dazed fashion.

“I am sexy, and I am confident, and boys like to look at me.”

“Say, ‘I want boys to look at me.’”

Tracy said it.

“Good, Tracy, because it’s important to dress so boys can see your body. You need to look nice for boys. Boys like it when you look nice. It’s important to look good so you can feel good because when you feel good, it shows how confident you are.

“It’s important to know what boys like, Tracy. So you can do the things that boys like. In order to get a boyfriend, you need to know what boys like.”

Mildred varied her suggestions, repeated her, emphasizing how much Tracy needed to think of herself as a confident young woman, a good-looking girl for boys to like to look at. Because that was the important thing: what boys like. It was important for Tracy t always remember that, to always put that first in her mind. To always ask herself what boys liked, and to consider her behavior, her looks, the way she dressed and held herself.

“You should think about wearing dresses and skirts, Tracy. Not baggy jeans and sweatshirts, but nice dresses and nice skirts and nice shoes with heels and buckles and straps.

“You can trust me, Tracy. I’m Dr. Scott. You can trust Dr. Scott. Mildred. Mildred knows best.”

She brought her up, asked her questions, meaningless questions, really, just to daze her, just to confuse her, just to confuse just a little bit. Then she said, “Down the warm wet slide, Tracy.”

And Tracy went down the warm, wet slide.

And then she woke her up for the final time, and Tracy remembered her session, but she didn’t worry too much about it. It seemed strange, all that talk about what boys liked, but it didn’t alarm her. She had nothing to compare the experience to, and besides.

It’s why she even went to this session, isn’t it?

To break out of her shell a little?

To get friends?

Even boyfriends?

III

Tracy dressed differently that week.

Somehow a change had taken place.

Oh, nothing too outrageous or remarkable.

One day she wore a nice blouse to school, pastel colors with cute pastel capris showing her ankles, ankle socks in cute loafers. She styled her hair. At least she tried to, calling her mother in that morning to get her hair brushed out and blown, a little curling to give her hair a wave.

Her mother smiled, recognizing the good results already of Dr. Scott’s influence.

She had heard so much about the therapist, and she had been so highly recommended by her friends.

But the next day, when Tracy wore a pleated pink skirt with just about the most adorable fuzzy pullover she’d ever seen, Tracy’s mother gasped.

A skirt.

She never thought she’d see the day her daughter wore a skirt.

The boys at school began to notice, filling Tracy with a warm feeling of something very close to pleasure, that kind of satisfaction a person feels when achieving a purpose or goal.

It was good to know what boys liked.

And boys liked her, evidently.

Tracy’s experiments with dressing held to skirts and dresses, long enough to cover her thighs, very often long enough to cover her knees and more. But it was enough to give the boys an eyeful and a guess at to what remained beneath.

Even the girls started to pay attention to Tracy, who as an upperclassman, a senior, should have had several friends by this time. If only among the outcasts. But she had turned out to be an orbiter of orbiters, and the outcasts did not exactly cast her out, but they only carelessly gave her a place at their table.

Oh, no effusive outpouring of sudden affection exploded around her.

But a few girls, a few girls is all, would smile at her and say, “Hi, Tracy.”

But it proved enough.

Enough to convince her to go to further sessions.

If Dr. Scott can do this for me in just one week. Just think what she could do to me in a month.

She walked into the kitchen, found her mother pulling out something wrapped in cellophane, and asked her the question she’d been meaning to ask that week.

“Do you think I should wear hose, Mom? Pantyhose? Can we go get pantyhose? I think Dr. Scott would like it.”

Tracy’s mom, Helen, reeled.

Pantyhose? Her daughter wanted to wear pantyhose?

The mind wobbles.

That comment about Dr. Scott cause a momentary alarm to ring out, but it quickly faded into the general din of a mother’s mental noise. She needed to take her daughter to get underwear and pantyhose.

Her daughter wanted to keep dressing nice.

IV

Tracy faced her therapist, sitting straight in her chair, feeling neat and nicely dressed in her pale green blouse, blue skirt, and black heels. The day before her session she had remembered how Mildred, Dr. Scott that is, wore hose, and she asked her mother about it.

Now she sat facing her therapist, casually glancing at the short stack of catalogs spread out in a fan on the coffee table between the two of them. They looked like fashion catalogs, as far as Tracy could make out. She caught a glimpse of one cover, which should women modeling very skimpy lingerie.

But Dr. Scott steered Tracy’s attention back to her.

“I see you’ve changed your style a little, Tracy. That’s wonderful. It means you’ve really decided to alter your habits, go outside your comfort zone, and start thinking about how others see you, about how to consider what other people like.”

Tracy snickered to herself.

Other people. You mean boys, don’t you, Dr. Scott?

“What did you think about the hypnosis? It wasn’t as scary as it sounds, was it? You’re just the same Tracy you were before, but do you feel different? Has anything changed?”

Tracy looked thoughtful.

“Well. Yes. I feel more confident now. More. More alive, in a way. Like I’m paying more attention to the world around, reacting to it more alertly.”

“I’m so happy to hear that, Tracy. How do you feel about continuing hypnosis? Do you think that would be a good idea? Is that something you like to proceed with?”

Tracy bit her lip.

“Yes,” she finally answered. “I would. I’d like to keep doing it.”

“Good.”

Mildred pulled out the pen she used before and held up.

“Just focus on the crystal, Tracy, keep your eyes on the crystal as I speak, and concentrate on what I say, listen so hard, so close, so attentive, you feel so good to listen to my voice, so calm, so relaxed as I pull you in deeper and deeper into your thoughts, your trance, so deep now, so relaxed, so able to listen to my voice, forgetting everything else, not paying any attention to anything else.

“It feels so good, so calm, so relaxed. So warm. You like it, it’s so easy for you to do it, to listen to me, to hear me, to fall into our trance, our little trance to keep you confident, because you want to be confident, and it feels so good to be confident, so warm, so.”

Mildred paused for a second, remembering what Tracy told her.

“So alive. You feel so alive as you fall deeper and deeper into my trance, so warm and relaxed. That’s it, Tracy. No need to think. Just feel yourself relax, your body relax, getting calmer and warmer and more relaxed. So relaxed, so calm.”

On and on Mildred’s droning voice filled Tracy’s mind as the girl focused on the crystal, so shiny and colorful, trying to hear her therapist, trying to focus on what her therapist said, but she was so relaxed, so warm, so calm. So.

“So open, Tracy, you’re so open to what I say, what I tell you. You believe what I say because you trust me, and you trust me because you believe what I say, and that makes you so warm. So warm. So warm. So.”

Tracy trusted Mildred. Trusted Dr. Scott. She trusted Dr. Scott because she believed her. Believed in her. Because she was so warm, so relaxed, so warm. So.

“Hot, Tracy. Aroused. It’s not embarrassing. It’s common. You like hypnosis because you trust me, because you believe me, because it makes you hot. Hot and aroused, you get so aroused when you let me hypnotize you, when you let me trance you.”

Tracy’s thighs pressed together; she felt a tingle of desire building in her center. Trancing made her so hot. Hypnosis made her so hot. So. Aroused.

“You trust me so much, so much. Like a little fawn trusts the doe who bore her. Like a daughter trusts her mother. You trust me so much, so much. You love hypnosis. You trust hypnosis, you don’t worry that you can’t remember anything about our sessions. You don’t want to remember anything about our sessions.”

Mildred licked her lips, eyeing the girl slumped in the armchair in front of her.

“You love hypnosis. You need hypnosis. Hypnosis turns you on so much. You love my therapy. You need my therapy, my hypnotherapy. My hypnotherapy turns you on, excites you, arouses you, makes you so wet. You love to think of me as your hypnotherapist, your own personal hypnotherapist. It turns you on. It turns you so much, it’s okay to unbutton your blouse, it’s okay to spread your thighs.

“It’s okay to spread your thighs for your hypnotherapist. If you’re hot, it’s okay to unbutton your blouse. It’s okay to spread your thighs, to show your hypnotherapist your thighs, between your thighs. You like for people to see you, for me to see you. It’s important to show me. To show me what’s between your thighs.”

Tracy groaned in her deep trance, feeling hot and aroused. Excited and hot. She fumbled for the buttons of her blouse, and she undid each button one by one, slowly, as if in a daze, letting her blouse fall partly open as she spread her thighs wider and wider and wider.

Dr. Scott observed the slumped teenager sprawled on her armchair, her blouse unbuttoned, her thighs spread to show the gusset of her pantyhose, wet with the girl’s sexual arousal.

“It’s important to think about what boys like, Tracy. You did so well last week, you should be proud of yourself, it’s so empowering to be confident and sexy, to think about what boys like.

“If you want to get a boyfriend, it’s important to think about what boys like, Tracy. And boys like sexy clothes, sexy skirts, sexy dresses, and sexy makeup. They like sexy blouses, and sexy underwear.”

Drool formed in Tracy’s mouth, and Dr. Scott watched in fascination as a thread of drool dangled from the corner of Tracy’s mouth until it dripped to trickle on the girl’s exposed cleavage.

“Sexy underwear. Sexy panties, and sexy bras, and sexy nighties. Sexy clothes and sexy fashion and sexy makeup. And to do that, to be able to do all that, you need to look at sexy women, Tracy. You need to look up sexy women on the Internet, women in sexy underwear, sexy panties, sexy bras, and sexy nighties.

“You need to see how sexy women dress, how sexy women wear their hair, how sexy women wear makeup.

“And to really do it right, you have to love it. You have to love looking at sexy women, Tracy. When you love doing things, it gets you excited to do them, doesn’t it? So it should excite you when you look at sexy women, movies of sexy women, pictures of sexy women in sexy underwear, sexy panties, and sexy nighties.

“You should get so excited when you watch sexy women put on sexy makeup, Tracy. Because it helps you be sexy. It helps you feel sexy. And that shows how confident you are.”

Mildred varied her suggestions, repeated her suggestions, emphasizing how much Tracy needed to think of herself as a sexy woman, how much she needed to watch sexy women, to look at sexy women, to imitate sexy women. How much she loved looking at sexy women. How much it excited her.

Because that’s what boys liked.

Tracy needed to do this.

“When you get excited, when you get aroused, it’s okay to play with yourself, Tracy. It’s okay to masturbate when you get excited. When you get aroused, when you look at sexy women in the privacy of your bedroom, Tracy, it’s okay to play with yourself. To masturbate at all the sexy women you see.

“And it’s so important not to remember this, not to dwell on this. It’ll make you relaxed and confident not to think about what we talked about under hypnosis. Confident people, confident, sexy women, don’t think about what happens under hypnosis.

“Sexy women, sexy confident teenagers trust their hypnotherapists. Sexy teenagers love hypnotherapy, and they trust it. They don’t worry about it. You don’t worry about hypnotherapy, because you love it. It excites you. It arouses you. And you need it.”

Mildred varied the theme, instilling in Tracy the lack of concern about hypnosis, the total absence of suspicion or doubt.

“Button your blouse, Tracy. And sit up.”

Tracy slowly buttoned her blouse, straightening in her chair.

But she kept her legs spread wide.

Then she woke her up.

Tracy quickly closed her legs.

“I think that went very well, don’t you?”

Tracy didn’t know, she didn’t remember it. But she smiled cautiously and agreed.

Because she trusted her hypnotherapist.

Just the thought of it made her feel so.

Warm.

Hot.

Aroused.

Standing up to leave, Dr. Scott stopped her.

She stooped over the table, gathered the stack of fashion catalogs and handed them to Tracy.

“Here, you should look these over this week. Some of these ideas are really. Well, between you and me, some of these fashion ideas are hot.”

Flustered, Tracy took the proffered catalogs, glimpsing pretty women in makeup and lingerie.

She couldn’t wait to look through them.

To see what boys liked.

So she could look sexy.

V

Tracy spent the rest of the week looking at women, studying the way they talked, the way they wore makeup, the way they dressed, the way they smelled. She asked some of the girls who started talking to her what kind of perfume they wore, where they shopped.

Shyly, timidly, but with a growing confidence she asked her new friends about panties, and underwear, and nightwear.

“You mean pajamas?”

Tracy shook her head.

“No. Not pajamas. I mean. You know, where do you buy the, um, the sexy nighties?”

All her new friends laughed and poked fun of her, but then they turned serious, because nightwear, sexy nightwear, was a serious and solemn matter. One didn’t laugh too long about it.

“My boyfriend likes,” said one girl, and Tracy hung on every word.

It was so exciting to listen to pretty women. So. Arousing.

Tracy would get wet just listening to her new friends talk about negligées, nightgowns, nighties, lingerie, babydolls, lacy satin bras and soft, sheer panties.

At night she’d pour over the catalogs Mildred gave her, thumbing through and lingering over the glossy photos of women dressed in sheer nighties, pink lingerie, frilly night gowns and diaphanous night shirts, camisoles and babydolls with spaghetti straps, the models were so beautiful, so lovely.

All the models looked so beautiful, so lovely. So sexy. Tracy loved looking at them, pouring over page after page of half-dressed beauties showing nipples and outlines of their clefts, the fat outlines of the pubic regions under their sheer garments.

The outlines of their pussies.

The word sent a thrill through Tracy’s center, and she licked her lips staring at a photo shoot of two models, a blonde in a purple babydoll standing in front of a tall black model in a pink camisole night shirt who held the blond from behind, her dark arms wrapped around her body just above her hips, her hands clasped just above the blonde’s. Pussy.

The ebony model’s lips, covered in pink lipstick, closed in on the blonde’s ear, as if about to tell her a secret.

Or to kiss her.

Tracy’s pussy tingled, and she felt her body getting hot, her pussy, her center grew hot and moist as she stared at the two women, her eyes dawdling on the outlines of the blonde’s breasts under her purple babydoll, the sharp, catlike cheeks of the ebony goddess leaning in to kiss her.

Women were so beautiful. We’re so beautiful. I’m so beautiful.

Tracy was sitting on her bed, idly stroking her lips, slipping her hand under her sundress to caress herself as she looked at the catalogs.

I should play with myself. I should masturbate.

Looking at all these women gets me hot, excited, and I should masturbate.

The thought was less a combination of words and more a feeling, a desire, but every word, even unspoken, burned true in her mind. She needed to masturbate, to slide her fingers through her sultry pussy as she stared at the sexy women.

Oh god, I’m already so wet. So hot. My pussy is so warm.

Tracy ran her fingers slowly over the fleshy hump of her mons and through the wet slippery labia, usually so narrow and tight, now beginning to spread out as she urged her finger, her middle finger, between her lips.

She spread her lips with her remaining fingers, using her middle finger to glide through her pussy, but not quite in. Her heart picked up its pace, beating faster, beating wildly, her blood raced through her body under her skin, and her toes curled. She lay on her stomach, on her belly, staring at picture after picture of half-nude women, some embracing, some standing alone, some standing with a muscular half-nude man in satin briefs, but mostly just women, women, women.

Tracy began to hump her hips into her bed.

Her breath puffed from her lungs, her mouth in ragged bursts of air, and her finger, her middle finger, crept deeper and deeper into her cleft, her red crevice, her juicy, so juicy pussy, so hot and hungry for her fingers, for something.

For a fucking.

For somebody to fuck her. For a boy to fuck her.

Her bed bumped against the floor and bumped against the wall, but she didn’t stop, and she didn’t care about the noise. On the verge of an immense orgasm, she frantically turned the pages back to the picture of the blonde and the black woman, their feminine skin so glossy and beautiful against each other. She glued her eyes on the image, fucking herself faster and faster, deeper and deeper.

She thrust her clit against the palm of her hand as she fucked herself, reveling in the approaching orgasm, quickening her pace with hand and hip, fucking herself harder and harder and harder.

Her body tensed, stiffened.

And then she came.

Tracy thrust her face against the spread-out pages of the catalog and came, her face pressed against the pages, her mouth pressed against the dark and golden faces of the two beauties she just orgasmed to.

All that week she repeated variations of her masturbation sessions, never really meaning to play with herself, but becoming more and more excited as she turned the pages of those catalogs and magazines, looking at pictures of women putting on makeup, of women posing in nightgowns, of women posing with their arms around other women.

It was all so.

Sexy.

And sexy is what boys liked.

And sexy made her excited. Sexy women excited her.

And she’d masturbate when she got excited looking at sexy women.

It all seemed so natural, but part of her worried about it.

She liked boys, she knew she liked boys.

And she had to know what boys liked so she could do what boys liked and boys liked sexy women and she had to love being a sexy woman and she could only really love being a sexy women if she liked looking at sexy women, and that made her excited.

Aroused.

She’d definitely have to talk about this with Mildred. With Dr. Scott.

She didn’t want to get turned on by girls. The thought of that, of becoming aroused by women, troubled her, but only momentarily, only vaguely.

Dr. Scott would know what to say to her.

She could trust Mildred.

Mildred knew best.

VI

Now she sat facing the doctor, her therapist, her hypnotherapist (the word sent chills and thrills zinging through her body), idly gazing at the small stack of magazines on the table between them. Dr. Mildred Scott noticed what caught the girl’s attention and encouraged her.

“I brought some more magazines for you to look at, but first tell me about your week. How did it go? Do you feel different? More confident? Do you feel you understand what boys like yet?”

Tracy stammered a little, and Mildred tightened her lips.

“Hm,” she replied. “That doesn’t sound very confident. Tell me about last week. Did you look through your catalogs? Did you notice how women, pretty women, dressed and wore the makeup, styled their hair? Did you look at the photos of pretty women in skimpy outfits? Did you look at all the pretty lingerie, all the sexy underwear?”

This time Tracy sat straight in her chair and answered clearly.

“Oh gosh, Dr. Scott—“

“Please, call me Mildred.”

“Oh gosh, Mildred, all I did last week was pay attention. I really focused on girls, on women, at school, on TV, whenever I went out, I made sure to really pay attention to women, especially pretty women, beautiful women, their makeup, their hairstyles, I wanted to see and know. Everything.

“And I,” Tracy paused.

“Don’t be shy, Tracy. You’ve come so far.”

“Well. I did. I did look at those catalogs, those fashion magazines. Oh my god, I learned so much about wearing makeup, about dressing right, dressing to get, um, people to look at me, to enjoy my body. It felt so. Wonderful. And I.”

Tracy hesitated again, but before Mildred could encourage her, she continued.

“It excited me. I got so aroused, especially looking at the women in lingerie and sexy panties. Oh my god, it turned me on so much. I masturbated, Mildred. I played with myself every night looking at those pictures. I couldn’t help it. It turned me on so much.”

Tracy stopped speaking, looked down, and said softly.

“Is there something wrong with me, Mildred?”

Dr. Scott gazed in affection on the teenager sitting in front of her across the coffee table with magazines fanned over the top. The girl she saw looked so different from the girl who first came to her only three weeks ago, slouching and slobby in her baggy sweats and bedraggled, unkempt hair.

Now her soft brown hair fell in highlights over the left side of her face in a waving perm giving her hair an alluring body and texture.

Look at her, she mused to herself. So pretty. Almost elegant, she’s styled her hair, she’s wearing makeup now, lipstick and eyeshadow, her skirt is cute and short and she’s wearing dark hose. And just look at those heels. Four inches.

It was true. Tracy wore a pale green skirt, not quite a mini, but close, set off by a smoky mocha hose. Dark burgundy heels covered her dainty feet, and a pale blue blouse, opened from the top four buttons, showed off the lace of a very sheer black bra. Tracy was altogether stunning to the point of glamorous. Prominent cheeks sat high and wide on her angular face, her nose ran long and straight to her lips, the tip lip upturned in a kind of squarish arch, the bottom lip protruding and round, both covered in red lipstick.

A soft, square chin rounded out her face, giving the girl at once a serious, mischievous, and straight-forward demeanor. Here was one who did not dissimulate, her brown eyes seemed to say, almond shapes protected by wide, light brown brows tapering to a point just above the outer corners of her eyes.

She must have spent hours learning how to do that eyeshadow, Mildred thought. An almost perfect, almost professional smoky red and flesh-colored shadow rose above her eyes, bringing her brown irises into focus.

That old anger, usually kept to a slow slimmer, again boiled in Mildred’s veins, remembering Tracy’s last question.

Is there something wrong with me? My god, child. How can you think such thoughts?

“Down the warm wet slide, Tracy.”

Trust and confidence, protection in the safe space of Mildred’s office, faith in whatever Mildred said. Whatever her hypnotherapist told her. She’d do it. Because she believed in her, believed in the words of her hypnotherapist, her sexy therapist, her lovely Mildred, so sexy and hot, her doctor, her Dr. Scott. Her hypnotherapist, so sexy, so hot, so womanly, so much faith in her now, her words are so right, so real, so true.

Trust.

Trust in the sexy doctor.

The sexy therapist.

Her hot hypnotherapist.

It’s all right to what she says, even if it seems weird. In her office, in Dr. Scott’s office, in Mildred’s office, it’s okay to do things, certain things, sexy things. Hot things, so hot.

Mildred was so hot and glamorous, and Tracy wanted to be hot and glamorous too.

She liked looking at hot and sexy women.

She loved looking at hot and sexy women.

Sexy women made her hot.

Aroused.

Aroused in an intense sexual heat and need.

She needed it. Needed to look at sexy women.

She needed to obey Mildred, needed to obey Dr. Scott without question.

Dr. Scott knew best. Mildred knew best. Sexy women knew best.

She needed to obey sexy women.

Then Tracy woke up, and her blouse was unbuttoned and pulled apart, showing off her breasts squeezed by her sheer and sexy black bra. She saw Mildred standing over her, but she didn’t try to cover herself.

Sexy women like to look at sexy women, and Mildred is looking at me.

Does she like what she sees?

A sudden worry, a rising panic stormed her mind.

Mildred doesn’t think I’m sexy.

“Stand up, Tracy. Come over here.”

Mildred walked to the tall, wide mirror attached to the wall. She carried a shopping bag, pink and floral with the logo of a shop Tracy recognized from the lingerie catalog.

VII

Mildred stood behind Tracy and positioned her to stand in front of the mirror.

“So pretty,” Mildred whispered into Tracy’s ear, and Tracey shivered. Seeing Mildred behind her, her lips, her red lips so close to her ear, reminded her of her favorite picture, the one she loved best to masturbate to, the one of the blonde model and the black model, so sweet and hot, so sensual.

Mildred pulled Tracy’s blouse apart, completely revealing her bra-encased breasts, small grapefruits pushed up in and in, highlighting her cleavage, making her look so sexy, so sensual.

So hot.

Tracy bit her lip as Mildred slipped the blouse lower and lower down her arms and torso.

“Mildred,” Tracy said in a whisper, not protesting, but not.

“Sh, baby. I’m your hypnotherapist. I’m your Mildred.”

Tracy’s legs felt weak, and her center grew moist and warm. Then Mildred unclasped the hook of her lacy bra, and Tracy caught it in her hands, holding the bra up to still cover her pretty mounds, the swelling arches of the breasts.

“No. I want to see your breasts, Tracy. I want to look. I want to see. Your boobs. Your tits. Show them to me. And show them to you, let yourself see yourself, Tracy.”

Mildred’s lips met the tense muscle of Tracy’s shoulder as the therapist brushed her lips across the slope of the shoulder to her neck, grazing her lips lightly on Tracy’s skin.

Tracy closed her eyes to the sensation.

She let her bra drop, but she still held her breasts, cupping them in her hands. Her tits.

Mildred wants to see my tits.

Slowly her hands released her fleshy glands, and she dropped her arms to hang loose at her side.

My therapist will tell me what to do, she thought. She hypnotizes me.

Mildred stooped, squatting behind Tracy to unfasten the skirt’s zipper at the side of the teenager’s hips. She opened the skirt and let it drop to the floor in soft rustle of cloth. Tracy shivered and trembled as Mildred’s soft hands ran up and down her hose-covered legs, sliding over and up her thighs towards her warm and wet center. Her hands slid over her hips, and Tracy caught her breath, waiting.

Mildred knows best.

She’s so hot.

Sexy.

I’m so aroused.

Mildred lifted the band of Tracy’s pantyhose from her skin and gently, so gently pulled it down.

Tracy’s thighs touched. Mildred slipped the pantyhose further and further down, revealing inch by inch the trimmed brown fur of the teenager’s pussy until finally the whole cleft came into view.

“You’re so wet. Look! Your pantyhose is sticking to your wet cunt lips as I pull them down.”

Mildred tugged the pantyhose carefully down the rest of her legs, and Tracy stood fully naked in front of the mirror, with Mildred standing behind her, clasping her waist, her hands flat on her smooth skin, just below her bellybutton and just above her. Pussy.

Just like the black woman in the photograph.

Tracy trembled.

Mildred’s chin rested on Tracy’s shoulder, and her lips grazed her ear.

“Spread your legs a little, darling. I want to see it. I want to see your pie. Can you do that for me, pretty girl? Can you spread your thighs for me?”

Tracy could.

Mildred giggled, a short burst of bird-like chirps.

“Do you think boys would like to see us like this? Do you think boys would like to see your hot little body, so naked in front of me as I touch you?”

Tracy squirmed, and her head bobbed rapidly in short nods of agreement.

Yes. They would. They would like it.

Mildred released Tracy and bent over. Tracy watched her in the mirror, how she spread her feet shod in black 6-inch heels, how her skirt tightened against her round derrière as her knees bent slightly. Mildred held one hand lightly on the small of Tracy’s back, just above the swell of her butt, and pulled a piece of cloth from the shopping bag.

Holding it up, Tracy saw two hangers.

Pink negligées hung from the cushioned hangers.

“One for you and one for me,” Mildred giggled. “So sexy and fun. Just what boys like. Just simple babydolls, but you’ll love yours. I promise. We’ll look so cute together.”

Mildred’s new light mood amazed Tracy, who only had experienced her therapist’s (her hypnotherapist’s) serious, analytical side. She liked it, this side of Dr. Scott. She liked it a lot.

She pulled the babydoll over her head, smoothing the fabric over her, admiring the long soft ribbon of the pink bow tied between the sheer mesh cups of the negligée’s bra. She stared at the reflection of Mildred unbuttoning and removing her blouse, unzipping and letting her skirt drop, slipping off her heels, and rolling down her pantyhose.

Then Mildred unhooked her bra, let it fall to join her blouse, skirt, hose, and shoes in the pile near her bare and adorable feet. So dreamy and delightful. Her toenails polished bright red, just linger her fingernails, matching the glossy red lipstick of her lips.

Mildred’s lingerie was a shade darker than Tracy’s.

She stood to the side and behind the cherished teenager, so obedient. So compliant. She hadn’t resisted anything Mildred told her, and the therapist felt a keen satisfaction at that realization.

Of course she would, Mildred thought. She just needed. Guidance. A firm hand, maybe. Maybe later.

Tracy’s eyes quickly dilated, lust rose from her center, and her eyelids grew heavy in a daze of heat.

“Are you excited,” Mildred asked. “Are you aroused? Do you like looking at us? Is it everything you imagined, playing with yourself and looking at all those beautiful models? All last week you played with yourself, all last week you masturbated looking at beautiful women dress, all last week you fingered your hot slippery pussy to a climax just looking at women.

“Are you aroused?”

Tracy bit her lip again and nodded her head once.

“Yes.”

The word came guttural and low from her throat.

“And what do you do when you’re aroused?”

Tracy groaned and squirmed against Mildred’s imposing bosom.

“I. I. I touch myself. I. I play with it. I play with my pussy. I finger my.”

“Cunt,” Mildred finished the sentence for her. “You play with your hot cunt, Tracy. When you get excited looking at hot women, you play with your hot cunt.”

Tracy’s hand drifted to her vagina, barely hidden by the sheer fabric falling just below her pubic area.

She touched her lips doubtfully. Could she, could she really do this?

Mildred kissed her neck.

“Do it, sweetie. Touch yourself for me. Look at the mirror, at our beautiful bodies and touch yourself.”

Tracy’s finger slipped between her wet folds, and Mildred kissed her shoulder, her neck, her ears. She murmured and cooed softly, encouraging the girl to go further, to continue stroking herself.

“Finger yourself, Tracy. Finger yourself for me. Look at yourself, look at me. I’m almost naked, I’m just in this babydoll. Just like those models, those sexy models you wish you could fuck.”

Tracy slumped into Mildred’s breasts, leaning the back of her shoulders, leaning her shoulder blades on the soft, yielding flesh of her therapist’s tits, her hypnotherapist.

She’s hypnotized me. She’s hypnotized me to play with myself in front of her.

She almost stopped, the briefest moment of doubt clouded her mind, but it passed as soon as came, and her mind blazed clear in the sunlight of her lust.

Mildred knows best.

Mildred’s hands moved from Tracy’s shoulder to slide under her negligée and up her body to caress the girl’s breasts, rubbing her nipples until they stood out, eager, erect, hard and ferocious.

“That’s it, baby. Rub yourself, feel how wet you are. Feel how hot you are. Are you getting ready to cum, girl? Are you getting ready to cum?”

She was.

Unbelievably turned on, dazed by the exquisite vision of her therapist caressing and kissing her neck, her ears, her face while massaging her breasts, her boobs, her tits, sent a charge of eroticism thrilling over her body, through her skin, her spine, lighting her skin on fire, and enflaming her brain. Her toes curled, and her hair turned to fire.

She wanted it.

She wanted it so bad.

She wanted to cum so bad.

“Down the warm wet slide, Tracy.”

Instantly Tracy stumbled backwards, collapsing against Dr. Mildred, who propped her up, wrapping her arms below her pits and covering Tracy’s breasts with her open palms.

“That’s it, darling,” she said. “You’re so sleepy, your mind is so cloudy, but I can help you, honey. I can guide you, lead you. Just listen to my voice and put one foot in front of the other. It’s so hard, so difficult, but you can do it girl. You really can do it.”

Mildred sat in the chair, and knelt Tracy between her knees, spread wide and open for the young woman.

She lifted her ass up and forward, raising the frilly hem of the dark pink babydoll, her pussy dripped with anticipation, so close, so close, just inches from Tracy’s stupefied and half-conscious face.

“You’re so turned on, so turned on. Every nerve in your body screams for release, for the pleasure of your orgasm, Tracy. You’re so turned on by the thought of what boys like, Tracy. So turned on. What boys like turns you on so much. And boys like to watch women kiss each other, have sex with each other. Boys like to watch lesbian porn, Tracy.

“So you need to like it too. You need to be turned on by it, so turned on. Just the thought of being with another woman, kissing another woman, touching another woman turns you on so much. You need to think so many lesbian thoughts, think about so many beautiful lesbian women, kissing each other, touching each other, tasting each other.”

A shadow crossed Tracy’s face, doubt and alarm. Her lips trembled, and her eyebrows scowled slightly, but she didn’t wake up out of her dazed trance.

“So sleepy, so relaxed, so calm. Mildred knows. Mildred knows best. Mildred knows what boys like, and boys like to see you kiss other women, Tracy. Boys like to watch you touch other women. Boys like to see lesbians, Tracy. Boys like to watch you turn. Watch you turn into a lesbian.”

Tracy shook her head, a fraction of inch to the right, a fraction of an inch to the left. Her eyelids fluttered, and her nose twitched, but she didn’t wake up.

“That’s it, baby. It’s the truth. It’s what boys like. And you want what boys like. You want to be what boys like; you need to be what boys like. It turns you on so much, so much. You’re so turned on right now. So turned on. You’re so excited, so aroused, so sexually aroused. Absolutely charged with sexual energy, Tracy. Sexual heat.

“Your pussy is so wet, so hot right now. You’ve been masturbating to women in nightgowns and nightshirts all week long now, cumming to half-naked women all week long now, and you want it so bad. So bad.

“It’s so hard for you to think clearly now, isn’t it? I have to do it all for you right now. You’re so sleepy, so dazed, so turned on, so clouded by thoughts and images of hot lesbian sex. You just can’t think right, can you? You can’t think straight. I have to think for you. You’ve been so turned on by all those women, you can’t think straight.”

Tracy’s mind stumbled, tripping head over heels into the barrage of Mildred’s words. She was so sleepy and dazed, her mind was so clouded, she couldn’t think right, she could think. Straight. She couldn’t think straight. All those women, that blonde model, that beautiful black model with her lips so close, so close to the blonde’s ear, to the blonde’s soft neck.

Brushing her thick, full lips against the blonde’s ear, just like Mildred brushed her lips, red, full, and thick, against her own lobes.

Even in her trance, Tracy shivered.

“It’s so hot to be turned on by women, so hot to be turned on by what boys like. So easy to look at lesbians, so easy to want to see, to want to touch, to want to feel. So easy to want to be one—for the boys. So you can get a boyfriend.”

Mildred continued to knead and fondle the girl’s breast, squeezing her boobs to pinch her nipples playfully and sensually over her babydoll.

“This is all for you, these sessions. For getting a boyfriend, for getting boys. For doing what they like, for thinking about what they like, and so many of them, so many of them Tracy, like lesbians, like to watch lesbians. Just like you do.

“It’s so important for you to watch. To watch lesbians play. In movies. In magazines. Online, on all those websites you’re going to look up.”

Mildred moved her right hand from her tit and slid her hand down the soft satin curve of Tracy’s body.

Tracy squeezed her thighs together, but Mildred kissed her ear and said, “Spread your thighs, darling. Spread your thighs for your Mildred. I want to touch you there. I want to feel your heat, your wet hot pussy. I want to feel you drip.”

Strange wordless sound gurgled from Tracy’s throat.

In her trance she could see Dr. Scott behind her, both of them in sheer nighties, fondling one breast while pushing her hand between her legs, kissing her neck in a weirdly vampiric and romantic pose.

Two lovers. One with her back to the other. In rejection, refusal, denial? The other ardent, insistent, and sensual, so sensual, so loving.

Except they weren’t lovers.

The one was a, what? Client? Patient?

The other was the client’s, the patient’s doctor, her therapist. Her hypnotherapist.

Mildred moved Tracy’s hand away from her snatch, gently and firmly planting Tracy’s hand on her own thigh, just below her own increasingly raging center.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Mildred cooed into Tracy’s ear, swirling her two middle fingers deep inside Tracy, deep inside Tracy’s wet heat.

“Move your hand into me, girl. Touch me, put a finger inside me and feel me. Feel me.”

Dr. Scott grabbed Tracy’s wrist and pressed her hand over the cunt lips, pressing Tracy’s middle finger into the juicy furrow of her opening. She pressed another finger into her dripping snatch and urged the girl into a soft piston motion, pumping her fingers with her own until Tracy managed it on her own.

“That’s it, Tracy, feel my pussy. Feel how wet I am, feel how hot you make me, how hot you make other women. So sexy, so hot.”

Mildred’s eyes closed as she breathed in the pleasure of Tracy’s clumsy fingering. Her hips lurched forward, and she humped her pussy into Tracy’s hand, still holding her wrist as her other hand, the two fingers of her right hand, pumped in and out of the teenager’s dripping hole.

“This is it,” Dr. Scott breathed into Tracy’s ear, kissing and licking her lobe. “This is what boys like. I’m going to cum soon, baby, and I want you to cum with me.”

Tracy’s and Mildred’s ragged breath puffed from their open and gleaming red lips. Mildred no longer spoke, but short soft grunts burst from her throat, and her body, her lower body, continued fucking itself on Tracy’s fingers, a third finger having joined the first two.

Tracy’s mind, not quite blank and not quite incognizant, soaked in the sensations flowing through her, the warmth surrounding her hand in her therapist’s groin, the hand in her own hot and trembling vagina, her own hips thrusting forward to meet the continual pumping of Dr. Scott’s hand.

Her eyes had opened, and she stared, not quite blankly and not quite without thought, at her reflection in the mirror, her lecherous face leered at the image of Mildred standing behind her, she stared almost blankly at her own hand fucking her therapist, her hypnotherapist, all on her own, Mildred’s left hand now having moved to the girl’s tits, kneading and caressing it, fully exposed in the mirror.

Somehow both straps had fallen off her shoulders, somehow her baby doll had dropped to her waist, and Mildred openly pinched her nipples, licking her fingers from time to time to moisten them, or leaning over Tracy’s shoulder to drip spit from her mouth onto her tits to massage the saliva over her nipples, her areolas.

She saw it all, and it all went into her mind, and part of her somehow knew.

A pang of confusion flared through her.

Knew what?

Knew nothing.

She knew nothing.

But Mildred knew.

Mildred knew best.

Tracy sighed in the comfort of that thought, and her suddenly rising confusion dissipated, and she fell back into her happy trance.

It wasn’t long before both women shook; Mildred squeezed Tracy against her breasts, wrapping her with her free arm while the other hand continued pumping into the shuddering girl as she herself rapidly fucked her client patient’s handing, thrusting and jerking her pussy in rapid spasms.

The orgasm struck both women at the same time, and when Mildred calmed down enough to regain mastery, she removed Tracy’s juice-drenched fingers from her pussy and brought them to the girl’s red lips, smearing her secretions over her lips before shoving her fingers into the orgasm-ravaged girl’s mouth.

“That’s it baby. Lick my juices, taste my juices, taste me. God, you can’t get enough of it, so addicted, so addicted to the taste of a woman’s juices now, so addicted to the taste of pussy, it’ll driving you crazy when you cum next week, all week long when you cum to all the lesbian porn I’m going to give you, all those websites on your phone and on your laptop. So addicted. So addicted to lesbians and pussy and women.”

Mildred’s juices soaked into Tracy’s stunned brain as she lapped her therapist’s fingers, encouraged by her words, obedient to her suggestions.

“Girls in underwear won’t be enough for you, you greedy thing, you pussy addict. You’ll need to watch as much lesbian porn as you can, harder and harder, more and more, at every free moment, on your phone at school, on your phone at the dinner table, on your laptop in your bedroom. You can’t stop. You can’t stop. You need to see. You need to see. You can’t stop. You don’t want to stop. You love it. You need it.

“It’s what boys like.”

Mildred pulled the straps of Tracy’s babydoll over her shoulders, smoothed the nightie as best she could, sucked off Tracy’s juices from her own fingers, and hoped she didn’t look too terribly bedraggled.

She had decidedly gotten carried away.

Quite unprofessional.

But so nice.

Then she woke Tracy from her orgasm-drenched trance.

“My,” she said, smiling at the confused and sex-dazed teenager. “That was some orgasm. I’m so glad you’re open to this new phase, because I really think it will help you full understanding of what boys like. You know. For getting them.

“For getting boys.”

Tracy nodded, and slowly put her clothes back on, startled at having masturbated in front of Dr. Scott.

Something about it seemed so.

Wrong.

But she supposed Mildred knew best.

Of course she did.

In the meantime, Dr. Scott gathered the magazines on the coffee table and handed them to Tracy.

“These are, well, I guess you could call them girlie magazines. Girlie magazines for boys who like lesbians. You should really review the content. I really think you’ll enjoy it. Even more than your lingerie catalogs.”

Mildred winked at Tracy, and Tracy blushed. But she looked at the cover of the first magazine, showing two topless women in heavy makeup, passionately kissing with open mouth over open mouth, hands covering each other’s breasts, and she inhaled sharply.

They were both so beautiful.

Mildred fetched the gift bag, carefully wrapped the pink babydoll in pink tissue, and gave the bag to Tracy.

“You can put your dyke porn in the bag. I put some DVDs in there too. I know, old technology, but I’m kind of old school that way. I emailed you some links to a couple of websites I signed you up for. That way you can get the best of what’s online.”

Tracy thanked Mildred, Dr. Scott. She wondered if it was strange that her therapist still wore her lingerie.

She looks so good, she thought.

Hot.

Sexy.

The way her dark nipples stood hard and round below the thin sheer fabric of her magenta lingerie.

The way she could clearly see the outline of her tits, so big, so. So. Wonderful.

Mildred smiled and opened the door for Tracy

The reception area was empty, and the receptionist gone.

“Next week then,” she said, kissing Tracy softly on her cheek.

VIII

That week it became harder and harder to think about what boys liked. It felt weirder and weirder to care about what boys liked. Or even to think about them at all, Tracy realized. They just didn’t seem to matter, and all Dr. Scott’s insistence on the point struck her as. Odd.

Whatever, she thought as she sat on her bed, thumbing through the pages of one of the lesbian porno mags her hypnotherapist had given her.

So much better than underwear catalogs, Tracy decided, giggling.

Part of her wanted to resist, to put down the magazines, to not go to the websites she Googled, to not start surfing the net, looking up dyke porn sites. That part of her mind nagged at her relentlessly, continuously. She shouldn’t be like this, she should think like this, but she couldn’t.

She couldn’t think straight, and then anyway, it’s what boys liked, lesbians. Hot, lesbian sex, pretty girls in makeup getting fucked by butches in leather, tattooed from neck to cunt, cunt to toe, bodies covered in piercings and ink. So hot.

Pretty femmes kissing each other eagerly.

Oh my god.

She couldn’t stop looking; she’d almost been caught at school so many times. So many times.

At the dinner table too, sneaking peeks at her phone, double-checking to mute, spending so much time in her bedroom, quickly undressing to play with herself while watching pussies touching pussies, and breasts touching breasts, soft faces kissing pretty soft faces, butches fucking butches, femmes bent over and fucked roughly by inked-up dykes.

God she came so easily looking at all of them, practically tasting the juices in her mouth, feeling the warmth of their holes on her fingers, tasting their tongues on her lips, inside her mouth, she could vividly imagine what kissing a women full on the mouth was like.

So hot. So good.

So lesbian.

Did it even matter what boys liked? That all seemed so silly.

She’d have to ask Mildred.

But so hot at the same time.

To think about what boys liked as she fingered herself to lesbian porn, her mind imagining the erotic fascination as woman after woman took her, had her way with her.

God.

Mildred knew best.

Tracy giggled again as she suddenly wondered what her therapist’s, her hypnotherapist’s, pussy tasted like.

I bet it’s good.

I bet it’s so good.

She paused and backtracked the videos of lesbian oral sex, repeatedly watching, studying the way a woman licked and ate another woman to crazy orgasm after crazy orgasm.

Lick around the vagina, around the lips, the outer labia. Lick the thighs, the inner thighs, slowly, delicately, sensually, continually, don’t stop, don’t stop. Keep the heat up, drive the erotic assault, tongue-tip and tongue-flat, lapping and darting over the heaving and pitching flesh, so juicy and hot. Brush the skin with your lips, your tender lips, so soft and lovely, kiss her skin, her lovely skin, and then go in, go in, go in, tongue the trembling lines and furrows of her ragged lips, spread her lips with your fingers, lick the center, go inside, go inside, finger her, finger her while you suck on her fat clit with your slow and greedy mouth, lick that clit, the cunt, lick all around that clit, and put another finger in her. And another. Yes, and another.

Yes, honey. The whole hand. She can take it.

She can take so much. So much.

Tracy watched so many videos.

Looked at so many photographs.

She wanted it.

She wanted it so bad.

IX

X

Oh god.

When did she not have her fingers stuffed into her hot and greedy cunt?

The girls she’d begun to hang around with at school noticed her frequent trips to the girls room and smirked.

They also noticed how she stared after them, how her eyes lingered over their bodies, how her head turned when one of the unpopular butch girls walked by in the hall, how her eyes would fall upon the backside of some butch standing at the whiteboard or in front of the teacher’s desk to ask a question.

“Oh my god, Tracy,” she’d say. “Are you queer? Are you a rug muncher?”

They’d giggle and laugh and playfully shove her.

She’d look embarrassed.

But she never denied it.

She could never deny it now.

Girls made her so wet.

So hot.

And so very, very horny.

They were mostly biker chicks, biker dykes.

In the two magazines Mildred gave her.

Beautiful, gorgeous, domineering dykes done up in ink and leather, swinging huge dildos from their hips, thrusting their bare or hairy cunts into the waiting faces of innocent looking angels, femme girls just like her, sweet girls in sundresses and braids, with pink, pink lipstick and pink, pink nails. Tracy gazed in dumbstruck hunger at the sight of such pink tenderness kissing the harsh beauty of these terrible dyke angels.

That first night she took out Mildred’s gift of a dildo, carefully read the instructions, cleaned and disinfected the toy, and poured the lubricant over both it and her snatch as she flipped the pages of the magazine while lesbian videos played in the background, filling the room with the sound of lesbian sex and lesbian lovemaking.

She’d stopped wearing headphones days ago, and her mother never said anything about the noise coming from her bedroom, although she must have heard it. And must have heard Tracy’s cries of pleasure, her squeals of delight and climax.

But she didn’t say anything.

She never said anything about it.

And only last week her mother started seeing Dr. Scott, which came as a total shock to Tracy when her mother told her.

“Really? What for? You’re so normal.”

Tracy’s mother sighed and looked sad.

“Maybe that’s the problem.”

She tipped the dildo into her wet hole, eyes fixed on a dyke in a dark blue mechanic shirt, all the way undone to show her tattooed abs and proud jutting tits, thrusting a long black cock into a fresh-faced teen in blondish red pigtails, her sundress hike over her hips as she leaned over the opened hood of her car. The girl stood on the tips of her rope sandal, an expression of utter and complete rapture on her face as the butch mechanic behind fucked the dildo fully into her shaved pink pussy.

Tracy started wearing sundresses more and more, adorning her nails in pink polish, braiding her long auburn hair into two long tails falling behind her head, her mouth bright with pink lipstick. Somehow she knew that that is what butches liked.

What butches liked.

The very thought of it thrilled as she plunged her dildo deeper inside her, lying on her back and bending her knees to her chest, glancing from magazine to video to magazine again, adding her own moans to the moaning coming from the lesbian movies which by now played continuously the moment she came home from school.

Her mother didn’t seem to care, but that morning she mentioned the change in Tracy’s style, her more feminine, girlish, even girly way of dressing.

“Is that what the boys in your school like?” her mother asked.

“Mom,” Tracy had scolded her. “I already told you. I don’t care what boys like. I’m a lesbian, Mom. I only like girls. Women. I told you this.”

Her mother persisted, seemingly unfazed by her daughter’s declaration.

“Well is that what girls like, Tracy? Do the girls at your school like the way dress now?”

Tracy shrugged.

“I don’t know. I hope so. I think,” Tracy bit her lip and paused. “I think it’s what butches like. I only care about what butches like now.”

No sooner had Tracy finished her last sentence than a strange look flashed across her mother’s face.

She uttered a brief groan, covered her mouth, and fled to her bedroom.

Tracy finished her muffin.

A honk from the driveway announced the arrival of Chrissie, one of her new friends who started taking her to school.

Now Tracy lay on her bed ramming the medium-length dildo, a pale blue colored phallus, into her hole, which stretched to receive the six-inch toy. Never having had such an object inside her, it took her several minutes to get used to dildo, to appreciate the feelings beginning to surge over and through her. She’d started off slowly, gently, easing the cock into her hole inch by inch.

But now she drooled, her mouth gaping as she glued her eyes to the centerfold of the magazine. The anguished pleas of women in sexual torment reverberated through her bedroom.

“Oh yeah. Oh my fucking god. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. There. Yeah there. Oh god, oh god, oh god.”

Tracy stuffed her pussy, beating the dildo into her hot and sloppy cunt to the cries of the women on the verge of a wonderful orgasm. Her eyes swept over the centerfold.

A woman lay on her back, light brown hair cut short, her body long, wide, voluptuous, masculine without being manly, feminine without being too soft, so hot. Oh god, so fucking hot.

That’s her, Tracy thought. That’s what I want. That’s who I want to live for.

Another woman, her long red hair falling in curls down her back, rode her lover cowgirl style, straddling the strap-on of the brown hair woman, grinding her pussy deeper and deeper as the woman stared enchanted at her beautiful lover above her.

I want her to look at me like that.

I want a woman to look at me like that.

I want it so bad.

And then Tracy threw her head back, arched her spine, and howled above the cries of the lesbians in the video.

XI