The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You realize this is your own fault, right?”

“It’s my own fault that they were tickling me!?”

“I meant that this whole show was your idea, so in a way, yes. You wouldn’t be in this... ‘predicament’ if you hadn’t agreed to it.”

Unfortunately, my husband was right. We were at a magic show, and my body volunteered to be the main attraction because I had been hypnotized. The “magician” was a hypnotist that my husband knew from high school. She was performing nude in front of a small audience.

I don’t know if it was because of the magic or the hypnosis, but I’m the lady who got cut in half—or, into pieces I guess? I know it’s not possible, but I was trapped in a segmented magic box. The magician had my husband come up on stage with me so he could be the one to slide the “razor-sharp sheets of metal” between the panels, chopping off my head, my chest, my hips, my legs, and my feet.

So there I was on stage. She opened the front panel on the box with my head in it so I could see the “feet” box getting passed around the audience so they could all get a turn tickling me!

Let me explain how I got myself into this situation, and why I now need to be in bed each Wednesday before 10:00.

I’ve always had this weird fetish for magic and hypnosis. It’s not really about all the sexy things that can be done with hypnosis, but some unexplainable thing that just gets me squirming in my seat anytime someone starts swinging a pocket watch. And there’s really nothing sexy about pulling the ace of clubs out of a top hat, but my husband has figured out that if he shows me a two-minute YouTube clip of a magic trick, I’m dragging him into the bedroom before it’s over!

Sometimes we lie in bed and tell each other about our fantasies. Mine often involve getting hypnotized on stage by a magician. Despite this, I’ve never had the guts to go to a real hypnosis show. We were just getting ready for bed one night when I wondered out loud “Do you think it’s possible to hire a stage hypnotist for a private show, Jack? Maybe invite a few friends that we know really well?”

“Just how well do you plan on getting to know these ‘friends’ after the show?” he joked, pulling off his shirt.

I rolled my eyes at him as I unclasped my bra and set it on the bedside table. “Seriously, though... We wouldn’t need to hire a ‘kinky’ hypnotist, just one who’s willing to do a small show for a nervous horny girl!”

He was pulling down his pants now, and I saw he was sporting a good-sized tent in his boxers. “Well,” he said, stepping out of his pants, “I found out today that one of my friends from high school is a professional hypnotist.” He paused to watch my reaction. “She does shows, and she has friends in the area.

I must have looked like a deer in the headlights. I know my heart was racing as I ran through the possibilities in my head. Could this actually be something we could do in real life? I imagined him watching me while his friend puts me under. Perhaps he would start to fall under her spell at the same time without even realizing it. Then when she—

“You’re wearing too much.”

I looked up, startled back to reality. Jack had finished getting undressed and had climbed onto the bed. And he was right.

Her name is Tracey. She’s single, and she looks like a supermodel. If I was at all insecure about my marriage, I probably would have been worried. Instead I was terrified—not about my husband’s fidelity—about actually being hypnotized by a professional. Right now. Right here. For real. By the sexiest woman to ever sit on my couch.

So yeah. There she was. The last few months were a blur. Heck, I was probably going half into trance every time I started to think about it. We planned everything out in advance. She was going to be in town for a few days, so she stopped by to meet me, and to reminisce about old times with Jack. She said that if we were comfortable with it, she’d be more than happy to work with me on a hypnosis session—nothing too crazy, just down into trance and back. If I was ready, maybe a simple trick like a levitating arm, or “forget the number 7.”

There’s probably something seriously miswired in my brain that just the idea of forgetting the number 7 is enough to make me so horny I start squirming in my seat. ...and I was definitely squirming. My panties were so soaked that I should probably worry about dehydration. Maybe that’s why I felt so light-headed. I was also hoping that my jeans weren’t visibly damp. But should I really be worrying about my jeans and being embarrassed when I’m about to let someone inside my head?! And she’s just patiently sitting there with a reassuring smile, waiting for my answer.

“Um, yes. I... I guess I’m ready?”

She chuckled. “That sounded more like a question. We don’t have to do this unless you want to, and you can take all the time you want until you’re sure.”

I took a deep breath to steady my resolve. “I’m ready.”

“Then just lean back and look up at the ceiling as you listen to my voice...

“Think about everything we talked about in the days leading up to here and now...”

We had gone over every detail of my upcoming session. She really wanted to make sure she knew exactly what I wanted to get out of this.

“You are in complete control as we work together to help you relax into hypnosis...”

Of course, what I wanted to get out of it was to live out a lifelong sexual fantasy. I mean we sort of talked about that, I think I had said something like “I’ve had this lifelong fascination with hypnosis and magic shows.”

“Jack is right here with you, holding your hand...”

And I’m sure she figured out that it’s a fetish thing. I mean, normal “vanilla” people (if there is such a thing) don’t get THIS worked up over some “guided relaxation.”

“I’m going to count down from 100... And as I count, you may find yourself drifting off, floating deeper into trance. Would you like that?”

I would. I answer “yes” and shudder at how distant and relaxed my voice already sounds.

“Whenever I say an even number, I want you to give his hand a gentle little squeeze. and as you relax that squeeze, you let yourself relax a little deeper into trance...

“When I say an odd number, I want you to say ‘deeper.’ And whenever you say ‘deeper’ you may find yourself sinking deeper and deeper into trance...

“100. Gentle squeeze... and relax... Good... 99”

An odd number—that’s my cue. “Deeper” I mumbled.

“That’s right, ‘deeper.’ very good. 98. Squeeze... Relax... Letting your mind wander where it wants to while you listen to my voice... 97...”

“Deeper” we said together.

“96...”

By this point it was beginning to feel weird. I could feel my husband’s hand in mine, and I could squeeze his hand whenever we got to an even number... But it felt like it was happening far away. Almost as if I was at the bottom of a well, but my hand was way up at the top of the well at the surface level where normal things happen.

“95...”

And every time I said “deeper” it felt like my voice was coming from further away. Like the walls of the room were getting farther and farther away. By this point the room must have been truly massive. And if my own voice sounded distant, it was nothing compared to hers. I could hear her clearly, but I could tell that her voice was coming from miles away and getting further by the moment.

“90.”

Did I miss some numbers there, or did she? Since the last one I remembered was a squeeze, I said “deeper” somewhere off in the distance, almost too far for me to hear.

“82”

By this point the hand-squeezing was a machine that operated on its own without my needing to do anything. It was so nice to be able to set that like a watch so that I could walk away and not have to worry about it any more. I knew that I could leave any of my things there that I didn’t need, almost like putting them into a storage box, and leave them there with the numbers while the squeezing lowered me down to my safest place.

“Yes,” somebody far away said.

I had another box down here too, right next to the big comfortable recliner in my safest place. I really wanted to leave the number 7 in this box down here. I think I said that out loud, but I said it somewhere else.

I also wanted to leave my clothes in the box. And my name, and my self control, and... I think there were other things, but I wasn’t allowed to.

“Sex.” What a strange word to hear echoing across the space between galaxies. It sounded like my voice. I think I heard voices chuckling as well. Maybe my husband? There was another voice there too. Someone who was taking care of me.

I needed to make myself a better box before putting too much in it, and I needed to practice putting things in and taking things out. Of course! That makes sense. I didn’t even know about the string attached to the lid so that, no matter how far away I was, I could always pull the string to get my things back out of the box. That’s good to know.

Now I’m stepping into the elevator that leads back to the surface where that ‘squeezing his hand’ thing was going on. Wow, it moves up fast!

“...and FIVE. Open your eyes, stretch your muscles. Let me get you a glass of water. Do you keep a pitcher in the fridge, or do you drink tap water?”

Wait... Weren’t we talking about an elevator? Tap water?

“Um?” I said.

My husband helped me sit up and hugged me tightly. I hugged him back. I felt really good.

“You’re probably thirsty. Where do you keep your glasses?”

I blinked a few times. “Uh, the cabinet on the far left...”

Tracey poured me a tall glass of water, brought it to me, and waited while I drank it down. I guess I really was thirsty.

After finishing it, I realized that I couldn’t remember much about the trance I just came out of. I know I left my worries and stress in a box in a field somewhere, and that there was some sort of machine nearby that was doing something important like a clock or a watch does.

“What.. um…” ...I tried again, but all I could remember was a wrist watch in a field… or a ‘something’ in a ‘somewhere.’ It faded before I could focus in on any details.

“I can’t remember anything.”

“Well you know, we did talk about the chance of that happening.”

We had. Some people experience hypnotic amnesia, but not everyone. I knew it was a possibility, but I hadn’t really thought about how strange it would feel to be sitting here like this. I mean, the people around me could remember everything. We were all here together the whole time, but something about what Tracey did to me just turned off my brain. Tracey was able to do things to me without my knowledge. My husband was looking at me mischievously.

“While you were under, you specifically asked for permission to forget.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised that I’d say that. I guess it worked really well. I mean, I don’t even remember asking!”

“That’s not all you forgot,” Tracey added.

She and Jack both chuckled. It sounded familiar.

I felt a sudden rush of excitement! What was it I’d forgotten? I did a quick inventory—what’s missing? My name? No, I’ve still got that. Address, check. The two people in the room? Nope, they’re still here, and I remember them being here from before... Oh my god, this is so much hotter than I imagined. It was like being exposed naked, helpless, and horny in a room full of clothed people, but instead of just my body on display, my mind was as well.. If I was alone I would be masturbating like mad right now. I’m NOT masturbating right now, am I? Well, I don’t think I am.

“Why don’t you count your fingers?” Tracey hinted.

You can forget fingers!! I never knew! They certainly look normal...

“1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10, 11.” Wait.

I quickly counted again with similar results. I don’t know what happened, but I was pretty sure normal people don’t have 11 fingers. I held my hands up to my husband’s. They looked the same. I compared mine to Tracey’s. I tried putting my palms together and lining up my fingers. I definitely had five on each hand. For some reason I thought that 5 + 5 = 10, but it seemed to be 11. I guessed that was okay, but something still seemed wrong. Did she hypnotize me into thinking I should only have ten fingers?

Tracey gently interrupted my thoughts. “Would you like to go back under now?”

Would I ever!

“In addition to forgetting the number <mumble mumble something>, you also asked me to give you a secret trigger to help you enter trance more quickly. Would you like me to use it?“

My eyes went wide. I squeezed my knees together and nodded my head silently.

“Then lie back and look up at the ceiling. Remember the feeling of hypnosis and imagine yourself drifting back there. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” I said confidently.

Then Tracey said something, and my eyes closed.

When I awoke, I was in bed with my husband, not on the couch. We were alone. The sun had set. My clothes were gone. I had ten fingers. I could count to 7 and beyond. And I needed that cock of his inside me NOW!

In the morning, Jack gave me the summary of yesterday’s session. Tracey had hypnotized me. I went down surprisingly fast. Or at least it was fast from Jack’s perspective. Apparently Tracey had known how close to trance I was before we even got started. Once I was under and “in my safe place” she asked me if there was anything that I wanted her to know. That’s when I started telling her all about my wildest sexual fantasies in alarming detail. Most of what I said came as no surprise to anyone. I guess Tracey feels the same way as I do about hypnosis, but from a dom’s perspective. Other fantasies were a surprise, even to me.

“Apparently you’re into bestiality.”

“What?!”

“...but you’ve repressed the urges because you understand that it’s wrong. I’m supposed to tell you that you might have some strange dreams over the next few weeks.”

Gulp. I felt a little sick.

“’It’s not wrong to have sex with a horse if you’re a horse too’—that was your idea. You just asked permission to have those dreams—Tracey and I thought it was probably ok. I know you said you wanted to be a horse, a fox, a dog. There were some odd ones in there, I don’t remember.”

“So one night I’m going to wake up to realize I’m a filly in heat and there’s a stallion over there sizing me up?”

“Well, it’s your imagination, but as far as I know, that’s it.”

“Wow. My imagination is pretty hot. I never knew that was something that I wanted. It still freaks me out a bit. What else did I say?”

That you want to keep going under for her, and that you want me to ‘accidently’ go under while I watch.”

“Uh, sorry about that...”

“Don’t be sorry!” he laughed. “It sounds like a great fantasy! She said she’s going to email you some files to listen to so you can keep practicing, but you’ll have to talk to her about your expectations while you’re awake.”

Sure enough, I had some really WILD dreams. They seemed completely real at the time, and I remember each one vividly, like it wasn’t even a dream. Remind me to tell you about them someday.

So the three of us phoned and “zoom-called” our way through my fantasies over the next few weeks. At first I thought it would be really embarrassing, but she was a great listener, and I felt like I could open up to her completely. My husband joined in on a bunch of the calls, and we figured out what we were all comfortable with.

About once a week, Tracey would email us new audio tracks to listen to. I had one to play when I woke up each morning before getting out of bed, one just after work each day, and one to play on loop while I sleep. My husband had a similar schedule with his own files.

This went on for months. Sometimes Tracey would stop by in person to practice with us. Sometimes I woke up from a recording SURE that she had been there in person. That started happening more and more often. Jack said it was happening to him too. Perhaps she really DID visit us in the middle of the night!

At some point, the event was scheduled. We noticed a date and an address written on a note on the fridge.

It was the very next day