The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I have been celibate for about six months when I come across your ad on the Internet. I am intrigued; the site is visually attractive, cleverly laid out, and projects a warm and welcoming aura. And your picture are stunning. I am tempted....

Thereafter, I come across an increasing number of links and references to the “Cassie’s Place” site ...and to Cassie. The latter are always positive and enthusiastic. I check out your site so often that I begin to feel I almost know you personally. This illusion is heightened when I send you an e-mail complimenting you on your site’s style, wit and content, and receive a friendly and gracious reply.

“What the hell,” I figure. “At worst, I’ll be out a few bucks.” So I call you to make an appointment.

Your voice on the ‘phone is quieter than I expected, soothing and putting me at ease. Almost before I know it, I have made an appointment with you.

I arrive at the designated time, and knock at your door, trembling slightly with suppressed excitement...and trepidation. You have a formidable reputation! The door opens, I enter, and am stunned by your appearance framed in the entrance way. You are dressed, as the French say,en negligee’. A silky pale opalescent robe, loose but clinging, is cinched tightly at your waist. This raiment bearly conceals what the garments worn underneath do not conceal at all. The robe is open at the throat low enough for me to see your black silk bra, which is almost as sheer as the dark hose which encases your leg. Since your robe is also open from the hem almost to the waist, your legs play peek-a-boo as you stand there.

You greet me warmly,in a soft mild voice, bearly above a soothing murmur. “You must be Wilhelm.” You take my hand and then my arm, and lead me into the living room. As we walk, you brush against me with hand, shoulder, hip, thigh, buttock, breast. Throughout my visit, you keep touching me, holding hands, rubbing my shoulders or the back of my neck, or brushing across my erogenous zones with body, limb, or fingers. And you keep talking about touching, describing what you could do, or will do, or are doing...

Your scent is subtle rather than overwhelming: natural, warm, feminine. But within minutes it fills my head and makes rational thought as difficult as looking through a fog. Is it a perfume or your own natural pheromones?

You seat me on the couch and bring me refreshments. “Nothing alcoholic,” I warn you, “I’m on medication.” You serve me an iced coffee, strong and almost as thick as a milkshake with sugar and cream. You sit beside me, close enough to touch, but far enough away for my eyes to take in you from head to toe. When I can tear my eyes away from your gaze, that is, for your blue eyes hold eye contact with mine intensely. You look away no more often than you leave off physical contact.

At first you ask questions to draw me out, letting me babble on about myself, urging me on with your intent stare and appropriate “mmhmm”s, until I begin to trail off, like a record player running down. Then you pick up the slack in the conversation, until you are rambling on without a pause, scarely allowing me to get a word in edgewise. You steer the conversation from mundane topics, to your sexual practices and preferences, to the power you have over men through your sexuality, changing subjects blandly and mater-of-factly, in the flicker of an eyelash. This is disconcerting. It is also quite charming; literally charming. And soon my eyelashs are flickering on heavy lids. You smile in triumph to see that I am falling under your spell.

“Wow!” I exclaim, trying to recover my composure,...and my will. “Cassie, do you always mesmerize men before making love to them?”

“No,” you reply in the same quiet murmur that you have used to lull me almost into a trance. “I mesmerize men by making love to them!”

Then you stand and taking me by the hands, draw me after you into the bedroom. There you caressingly help me to disrobe. Help me, do I say? Make me take off my clothes is more like it! After such a lead in I am operating less than 25% on free will and more than 75% under your influence. When I am naked, completely vulnerable to you, you seat me on the edge of the bed while you slowly, teasingly remove your robe, and reveal the sheer black bra, panties and long-line, waist-cinching garter belt from which are suspended your black silk stockings, scarcely more sheer than your undergarments. You move closer with each item you remove. Next your bra. Closer... You are standing right in front of me as you take off your panties, and you say, “I have something for you.”

You crumple your briefs into a ball and hold it under my nose. “Do you like my scent?” you say. “Breath it in...deeply. It will help you relax and enjoy yourself. Breath in...hold it...let it out slooowly. Again: in...out...Relaaax...”

You turn to the night stand, put down the wisp of silk and pick up an ornate glass perfume vial...and something else I don’t see at the moment (at this moment I’m not seeing anything too clearly). You return and sit down beside me, smile into my bedazzled eyes, and unstopper the bottle.

“This is my special perfumed oil, the odor of which seems to give you so much pleasure.” You waft the vial under your own nostrils and breathe in the scent, at the same time putting your other hand on my shoulder. “It is blended just for me, to enhance our pleasure when we’re making love. Smell it!” As you bring the bottle under my nose, wafting the fragrance up into my nostrils, you slide your other hand to the back of my neck, caressingly but very, very firmly holding my head so I can’t turn my face away. “Breathe it in slowly, hold it, let it out. In...out. Again.” Then you take the vial away and sniff it—once—yourself. And then back to me to repeat your commands. You repeat the sequence...how many times I’m too dizzy to tell.

But I notice two or three disconcerting things which ought to warn me that I am getting much more than I bargained for. First, beneath the perfume, which matches and blends with the scent of your body, there is a whiff of some sharp aromatic hydrocarbon. Amyl-nitrate? Whatever, my face flushes, my heart beat speeds up. Second, you are watching me closely, keenly observing the effects of your actions and words. It appears that my reactions are what you expected, for you smile a little with satisfaction, and a hint of a note of triumph colors your voice as you withdraw the vial of perfumed oil and say, “How do you feel, Billy?”

“A little light-headed, Cassie, but fine..fine,” I mumble in reply. “But no one has called me ‘Billy’ since I was a little boy...”

“You’re my little boy now, Billy,” you reply coyly. “What shall we do next, hmmm?”

My answer is somewhat inarticulate. You stand again, right in front of me, and anoint yourself with the oil: your breasts, between your legs.... You return the vial to the night stand. Then you place your right foot up on the bed next to my left hip, and slowly remove your right stocking.

“Something just for Billy, just for you,” you murmur, gazing deep into my eyes. You take the stocking and trail it caressingly across my body, shoulders, and left arm, ending by tying it loosely around my left wrist. You repeat the performance with the left stocking, then unfasten your garter belt and toss it onto the bed, behind me. As my eyes follow the motion of the belt sailing over my head, you press on my chest with two fingers, forcing me down. “Lie back and relax. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”

You slip into bed beside me, and completely take the initiative. You tell me what to do, where to touch, and how hard and for how long. Since almost anything either of us does to the other results in pleasure, I am quickly conditioned to obey your every suggestion. To my slightest question or hesitation you have one reply.... “Cassie, what are you doing to me? What do you want from me?” “I just want to give you pleasure, Billy. You do enjoy this, don’t you? And this?”

Eventually you are satisfied that I am thoroughly aroused and under your control. You sit up, moving to beside, then bestride, then between my legs. “I have something special for you,” You take out the condom you picked up and kept concealed all this time, and put it in your mouth. Then, your eyes never leaving mine, you bend down and kiss it into place. Usually, I don’t care for oral sex; I have to be very relaxed just to allow someone to do it to me, lightly entranced to enjoy it, and pretty deeply entranced to return the favor. How did you know, to make it a test of your control over me?

“You think you don’t like me to go down on you, but you respond so well!” you gloat. “Now I see you’re experiencing a high degree of sexual energy,” you purr as you run your fingers up the insides of my thighs. “Don’t you want me to help you release that energy?”

“Oh, yes!” I bearly manage to whisper.

“Then come to me. I’m going to give you a really intense orgasm.”

You lie down beside me and draw me onto and into you, while rubbing my shoulders, neck, forehead, and temples.

“Come to me...Let us swim the ocean of pleasure together...Don’t hold back!”

“Cassie...oh my...it is so intense when you look into my eyes while making love...ah!”

“Be careful,” you warn me playfully. “I might steal your soul.”

“My...soul?” I whisper, feeling the faint beginnings of alarm.

“Your will, really...” you murmur.

“My will...?” A flicker of resistance ignites in the back of my mind.

“Hush, Hush now,” you suppress the beginning of my protest, turning the pursing of your lips in the “...sh” to a kiss which stops my mouth from objecting. “Just look deep into my eyes...Let’s plumb the depths of this ocean of pleasure together...I want to give you joy...Surrender to the pleasure I’m giving you...”

By this time, my head is nodding on loosening neck muscles, and my eyelids are drooping. “Look deep into my eyes,” you continue, “and concentrate on the pleasure...Thrust deeper into me, I want to feel you inside me.” The movement of your body changes, together with your caresses and fondling, to a strange, compelling rhythm subtlely different from straight forward sex. “You’re mine, now,” you gloat. “I can make you feel things you’ve never felt before. I can make you do things you’ve never done before, and I can make you like it!” Your rhythm changes again, becoming faster, and even more compelling. I am carried along, helpless as in a wave rushing to the shore. “Release your sexual energy to me. Let yourself go. Give it to me! Don’t hold back! Give it to me!”

And I come, in a classic, spasmodic male orgasm. As I lie there, spent, you wrap your legs around my body and your arms around my neck, holding me in you until you are ready to release me. You whisper in my ear, your blond hair veiling my face, obscuring my sight of everything but you, “You’re mine, now. You will come back and see me whenever I want you. You’ll give me of yourself, just like this time, whenever I ask it of you.” Wordlessly, for I have not the presence of mind to speak coherently, I assent. Only then do you let me go...

After we disentangle, you rise, don your robe, and leave the room. I lie there on the bed, slowly recovering, my head still spinning. You return, with two towels, one wet and one dry, and gently cleanse my body. Then you stand back and let me get up and get dressed, keeping up a stream of friendly small talk. You smile to see how wobbly-kneed I still am. When I am dressed, you take my arm and escort me to the door. At the door, you stop and turn to face me, gripping my upper arms gently with your fingers and gazing deep into my eyes. I feel a touch of vertigo, as if I were looking straight down into deep pools the color of your eyes and was about to lose my balance and fall in.

“Now you come back and see me,” you say, smiling, but in a serious tone. “Oh, I think at 10 on the 8th. You should be ready for me by then.”

“Oh-ho!” I think, even as I nod in agreement. “This woman thinks she is placing a post-hypnotic command on me. She should not have waited. I’m not in a trance now, and this isn’t going to work.”

You kiss me lightly on the lips. “Go on home now,” you say. “I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah, sure!” I mumble, anxious now to get out of there.

I think to myself as I drive away, “that was pleasurable, but a bit too intense.” I feel lucky to get out of there in one piece. First you hypnotize me and then make love to me, and then you tried to compel me to come back. It was lucky for me you slipped up on the timing in placing the post-hypnotic suggestion, I muse. It would probably be a good idea to avoid you in the future, I conclude.

So what am I doing here, in front of your door at 10 o’clock on the 8th? I am trembling with anticipation...and trepidation. How did I get here? Did you draw me back to you? Now that is power! Power that I should have no business getting involved with.

The door opens, and you are standing there, a knowing smile on your lips....