The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Louis, whatever is wrong with you?” Elle Murphy, his wife, said in a tone of surprise.

She had just come into his study to suggest a coffee break; but the study was—uncharacteristically—in chaos. Crumpled bits of paper, covered in Louis’s neat handwriting, were scattered on the carpet. A large dictionary lay open, face down, next to Louis’s desk chair. Louis himself was seated on the carpet, a notepad at his side, frowning rather desperately at a book entitled THE FAIRIES IN TRADITION AND LITERATURE. “I—well—I have to write this passage—and—I….well, I can’t.”

. “Louis! You’re—you’re BLOCKED, aren’t you? That’s happened before, and I know you hate it! It’s like being unable—”

“I know what it’s like, Elle,” Louis said grimly. “And I am hoping—”

“Louis, you know I was working with blocked writers long before I met you?”

“Um—well, I actually didn’t know that, but I’m not surprised. You can probably work with any problem like that.”

“As a matter of fact, I can!” She reached down, pinched his cheek, and tousled his hair, leaving him feeling about 13 years old, and oddly aroused. “Let’s deal with this problem, shall we?”

“What, now?” Involuntarily he checked his watch. It was 2:45 p.m.

“You have somewhere you’d rather be?”

“Um—no, of course not—I was just surprised, and I don’t want to interrupt your afternoon, you don’t need to drop everything—”

“Louis, the day I won’t drop everything to help you with your writing is going to be a cold day. Now, what is going on?”

“Well, I’m halfway through the new Adrielys mystery,” he said. Adrielys was his new main character, replacing the sexy witch, Milagro Hada. Milagro had been very popular with readers, but she had, regrettably, managed to escape from the books by way of a magic mirror at the Mysterious Stranger Inn while Louis and Elle were staying there.* For a time, Milagro had threatened to kill Elle, kidnap Louis, and take him back through the mirror to live there as her love-slave. Once Louis and Elle had gotten Milagro back where she belonged, Louis had made sure she would never threaten him or Elle again; he had quickly dashed off a mystery in which she (as usual) saved her partner, private detective Charles Winter from evil supernatural forces—and then married him and “lived happily ever after.”

Characters never come back from “ever after,” he had assured Elle. There had been no sign of Milagro since then.

But there was a catch: in order to snag Charles and use him as bait, Louis had had to create a new sexy and powerful character who could hold him in thrall while luring Milagro back through the mirror; because he had little time, he’d modeled the new character, Adrielys, on Elle; very closely. Actually completely. She was his literary portrait of his wife/domme.

“It’s Adrielys,” Louis said. “I’m having trouble writing her scenes. She sounds like a character in a radio drama. I just re-read the last chapter—it’s AWFUL. And then I thought about all the awful books that get written and published and everyone told those writers they were good writers too, but the words are just dead on the paper—I—I can’t—”

Elle laid a red-tipped finger against his lip. “There, there, Louis,” she said softly, fixing him with her luminous eyes. “You’re getting yourself all in a tizzy for nothing—nothing—I can help you and you know you want me to—you do want me to help you, don’t you? Nod your head if you do—that’s right, darling, you do—and I am going to, right now.”

Louis was staring a bit vacantly into Elle’s eyes, but he retained enough self-possession to nod vacantly. “Should I—should . . . I . . . go to your . . . study…?”

Elle had a big stressless chair in her study that she used to relax her clients. But she shook her head at this and said, “Louis, I don’t need the chair to hypnotize you, for heaven’s sake. Look at you, you’re aching for it, look at me, look into my eyes—deeper—“ Again she reached out an elegant finger, but this time she tapped her victim lightly between the eyes, at which point Louis collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut suddenly. His eyes moved back and forth briefly behind his lids, and his breathing turned slow and soft.

Anyone who had ever even heard the word “hypnosis” would have known this man was in a deep trance.

“Very good, Louis, you go under so well, I am so proud of you, now listen carefully because you know my suggestions are always helpful, my suggestions always make you feel wonderful, my suggestions become your thoughts, so listen. From now until I wake you up, you are going to allow yourself to go as deep as you need to absorb and follow my suggestions. Remember, Louis, my will is stronger than yours and you were born to obey me. Do you understand? Nod if you—that’s good, now stop and go deeper, that’s good. Now listen, Louis, we are going to do something new and every word I say will be your truth from now until I call by your first and last name to wake you, do you understand? Good. Now, I want you to lend me that wonderful imagination because your thoughts are so busy, so powerful, that I need to give you something to think about while I work with your wonderful subconscious, you will like this, so as I talk just let the images float past your mind. Louis, you remember you told me that when you were young you were obsessed with Kaa in THE JUNGLE BOOK, and wanted Kaa to hypnotize you the way she hypnotized Mowgli, and you remember Kaa’s eyes, her hypnotic eyes that put Mowgli into a deep helpless sleep, and now Kaa is going to do that to you, and you will see only those eyes, hear only her voice saying ‘trust in me,’ until I call you again. That’s it, watch the eyes and let everything else fall away. I am talking to your conscious mind, your conscious mind only, Kaa’s eyes are swirling, you are falling into them, your conscious mind will sleep…sleep…sleep….”

She watched Louis’s face carefully as it smoothed out into complete placidity. When a few minutes had passed without any movement, she leaned over and whispered in his ear in her smoky hypnotist’s voice, “I’m talking now to Louis’s subconscious, only to Louis’s subconscious. Louis’s conscious mind is gone, it’s just you and me, you have my full attention and you can tell me everything you know without tipping Louis off and anything you are thinking or feeling is fine with me, you don’t need to worry about anyone’s approval. I am going to ask you questions and you are going to answer them and then I am going to help you make changes that will make you very happy. Do you understand? If you understand, raise your right forefinger—that’s very good. Now when I ask you questions, if the answer is ‘yes’ you will raise your right forefinger, if it is ‘no’ you will raise your left forefinger, and after a while we are going to talk, and your mouth will answer without bothering Louis’s conscious mind, do you understand? Good boy, let’s begin now . . . .’

Sunlight flickered on Louis’s face as he slowly woke from a wonderful dream, a dream of . . Kaa? Really? He had not fantasized about the seductive python in years, but now the image of those eyes swirled in front of his eyes, and he shook his head briefly to clear it away. He was standing on a low hill overlooking a forest, quite an old one from the look of it, and as his vision cleared, he could see figures walking across a field and into the woods. They seemed somehow familiar—and then he realized with a sudden shock that the couple strolling hand in hand was Milagro and Charles, his own characters, and there were others he now recognized—the Orthodontist, who was the villain Charles and Milagro had fought in his books, and Kate Collins, the spunky teen-aged detective from his Hypno-Teen Young Adult series, with her perennially hypnotized sidekick Barrett Blakeney, and their friends from Charcot University, and their arch-enemy, the Dean of Demons, and there—could it be? Yes, last to arrive—he could tell her at any distance by that proud, seductive walk—was Adrielys herself, the image of Elle, dressed in Elle’s hiking clothes, which fit her as if tailored to drive onlookers mad.

Louis didn’t know where they were going, but he suddenly had an overwhelming, irresistible desire to be there too. Within a few minutes he had reached the wood, walking softly so as not to alert his characters, convinced for some reason that they should not know he was coming. The old trees filtered and dappled the light, and Louis followed a footpath path that led toward the sunlight of a clearing. As he got closer, he heard voices—familiar voices. Hiding behind a tree, he watched them as they were gathered for—

Really? A picnic?

That’s what it was, a kind of reunion picnic, and remarkably enough it seemed like a completely happy one. There were dozens of characters from his book gathered together; villains and sleuths were drinking wine and chatting amiably—Charles and Milagro standing together as happy couples will, Hypno-Teen laughing at a joke the Orthodontist was telling her, Barrett Blakeney flirting with Cissy Cardini, Kate’s mean-girl rival at Charcot. And standing a bit apart, relaxed and amused, was Adrielys, idly swinging a wineglass in her hand and surveying the group as if idly wondering whether to pick out a man and charm him into bed.

She was his Elle; he could feel her drawing him like a moth to a flame. He wrapped his arm around the tree as if to resist a high wind, but he could hear her voice in his mind and soon he felt he would burst if he didn’t speak to her at last in person.

Fatefully, he stepped forward. “Elle—I mean, Adrielys—” he called.

A deathly silence fell over the clearing. Every eye turned toward Louis, and on their faces he could see recognition and dismay. And he knew somehow that he was not supposed to be there, that this was wrong—

And then, suddenly he found himself alone, listening to the sigh of the wind, which died heavily away through the forest. The characters had softly and silently vanished.

All of them but one.

Adrielys was walking toward him, her eyes fixed on him like an owl looking at a mouse. He felt suddenly that he should run—this was wrong—but it was far too late for that. As she walked up to him, he could no more move a muscle than a bronze statue. She seemed to take hours to cross the tiny clearing, her eyes getting bigger and bigger, until he smelled her perfume—Elle’s favorite, Hypnose by Yves St. Laurent—and she put her hands lightly on his shoulder, reached up, and ever-so-lightly touched his lips with hers. “Hello, Louis,” she said in a familiar seductive voice. We meet at last.”

Louis felt his knees give way. As he often did at charged moments in Elle’s presence, he felt the urge to kneel. But Adrielys saw what he was about to do and stopped him. “None of that, Mr. Wentworth. You cannot kneel to me. You created me, you made me, I am a part of you and I will kneel to you.” And she did.

The spectacle of this double for his domme-wife kneeling at his feet and gazing up with adoration was shocking (and, he later realized, extremely sexy). He reached down to pull her to her feet. “El-Adrielys, you can’t bow to me. You’re my mistress, you are Elle—I am your—”

“Oh, am I Elle? Are you sure?”

He nodded, his head buzzing.

“Take a careful look—don’t avoid my gaze, look into my eyes—look deeply. What do you see?”

“You—or Elle—they’re the biggest eyes in the world, and they are the color of the sky, they are such a clear—blue? Elle, your eyes aren’t blue! Your eyes are green!”

“No, darling, Elle’s eyes are green,” said Adrielys. She got to her feet and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek so lightly that her lips felt like the wind. “I’m not Elle. You belong to her. But I belong to you.”

And then, as suddenly as the other characters had vanished, she disappeared.

What do I do now? He thought.

Louis Wentworth, said a voice that came from nowhere and nowhere. Louis Wentworth, come back to me.

“Open your eyes.”

With great effort and corresponding unwillingness, Louis pried open one eye, then the other, to find himself looking up at familiar features.

He gave a start, as if he’d had a small electric shock, then breathed out a sigh of relief. “Green,” he said.

“What?”

“Your eyes are green.”

“Why, how gallant of you to notice, sir.” She fluttered her eyelids at him in mock flirtation.

“Thank God.”

“I’m going to need an explanation of that,” she said, a bit severely. “But first, tell me what happened while you were out—if you remember.”

“Oh, I remember,” he said. “I don’t think I will ever forget.” He proceeded to recount to her the entire story—the vantage point on the hill, the gathering of the characters, his following the footpath to the clearing, the sudden vanishing.

And then Adrielys. His face turned red as he recounted their encounter, how she’d kissed him twice (even though, he insisted, chastely both times) and how he’d spotted, after a disorienting moment, the Adrielys had blue eyes, not green. “I didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry, but I knew she wasn’t you.”

“That’s right, Louis. She wasn’t me. That’s the point.”

“What do you mean?”

“While you were happily under Kaa’s spell, Louis, I had a very interesting conversation with your subconscious mind, and together we worked out what has been bothering you. It’s the eyes.”

“Eyes?”

“Not really your eyes, it’s just that you can’t write about Adrielys because you think she’s me, Louis. That’s why your subconscious told me. You remember that some years ago, before we married, you wrote about me—”

“How could I forget? You broke up with me and commanded me never to speak to you or come near you again!”**

“Of course you remember.” Now her face in turn flared red, because she knew her behavior at that near-final breakup had been caused by her fear of being seen, or being portrayed, and that fear would have cost her the love of her life had Louis not gone literally to the ends of the earth to prove his devotion.*** “And you don’t know it, but inside, your subconscious was terrified that you would lose me—and we are so much closer now than we were back then, your subconscious isn’t sure you or it could survive that.”

“So when I wrote about you—her—”

“You deliberately wrote badly, darling. You worked very hard at blocking yourself from capturing the full character. Whenever she came into the story, it turned into, well, mush.”

“I was doing it to myself?”

“Yes, silly. Nobody can spoil your writing but you! You have the wonderful talent—the brilliant brain—”

“Elle,” Louis said. He was suddenly squirming like a little boy who needed to go to the bathroom.

“Yes, darling?”

“I need to go to my study—just for a couple of minutes—I’ve got something I need to jot down—some notes—just for a few minutes—”

Elle waved a graceful hand in the air. “Off you go, then.” He was gone in a flash.

Three hours later, a very guilty-looking Louis Wentworth crept into the bedroom like a character in a comic strip hoping not to wake his wife. But no such luck: Elle was there, dealing an array of Tarot cards out on the bed in front of her. She was dressed in a pair of reading glasses, one of Louis’s long-sleeve dress shirts (a pale green, as it happens, that made her large, luminous green eyes pop out even more than usual), a striking pair of Ralph Lauren black-and-white studded Lindella spectator pumps, and nothing else.

She gave Louis an appraising glance over the rims of her reading specs. “And exactly where have you been?” she asked.

Louis stopped cold, as if surprised to see her. “Elle! Oh, hi! I was just about to…you know, turn in, you know….”

“What have you been doing, my love?”

“Well, I went to my study—just, you know, to jot down a few notes that had occurred to me—and then I thought I would, you know, just finish the chapter—less than a page, really, was all that was left—but then the next chapter came to me and the next—and by the time I looked up—Elle, I’m sorry—I should have come sooner.”

Elle stretched her back up, then assembled and neatened her pack of Tarot cards. She swung her legs off the end of the bed and regarded her husband fondly. “Louis Wentworth! Do you really think I mind? Why do you think that happened?”

“You—wait, you suggested that? When?”

“I told you, Louis, while you were dallying in the greenwood with Miss Adrielys Marvell, Louis—hush now, don’t deny it—I was arranging matters with your subconscious mind. Your subconscious is really quite charming, you know?”

“Really?” Louis said, vaguely nettled.

“Louis, for heaven’s sake don’t be jealous of yourself! I can’t be unfaithful to you flirting with your own mind. Anyway, you know your subconscious is more powerful than your conscious mind, and I am more powerful than the two of you put together—so I explained to it that Adrielys is totally different from me, and I told it to show that to you in the best way it could. I didn’t say how. Your imagination is what came up with the forest and the character reunion. But your subconscious made sure that you saw that Adrielys isn’t me. And, well, I was right, wasn’t I?

“You did that? Really?”

“Yes, dear. You didn’t think hypnosis was only good for cleaning up the sock drawer, did you?”**** She gave an impish smile. She could tell Louis was drinking in the sight of her. She reached down to scratch her left leg, and then began to swing it back and forth idly, only a little at first, and then a bit more, with the gorgeous black and white shoe dangling negligently from her toes, moving back and forth in a soothing rhythm, until she could see Louis’s eyes following the foot and the shoe. “Louis,” she said softly, “you are realizing that I am your inspiration, I am your talent. Louis, I am your muse. You follow me and obey me and you tell me everything about your writing because you know I want the best for you. Do you understand? Nod.”

Louis’s eyes never left the swinging shoe, but his head moved up and down.

“Yes, very good, Louis,” Elle said, stretching both arms above her head as if sleepy. “I bet you’d like to kiss that foot, wouldn’t you? You can, Louis, it would taste so yummy, but if you want to kiss a muse’s foot, you have to approach her from below. No, not just on your knees, lower! LOWER, little man, wriggle over to me.” Louis by now was on his stomach, moving himself forward by flailing his arms, his eyes fixed on the swinging shoe. Now Elle flipped her foot and the shoe fell off, revealing freshly pedicured deep red nails. “Go ahead, Louis. Your muse says it’s all right to kiss them now.”

Louis tenderly took the foot in his hand and began to kiss, slowly and thoroughly. Elle yawned and covered her mouth with her hand, as if bored. But there was something a bit theatrical about the gesture—theatrical and unconvincing; an onlooker, had there been one, would have undoubtedly concluded from her flushed temples and ragged breath that Louis’s ministrations were actually quite agreeable to her. She let him cover the entire foot with kisses, then reached down and put a finger under Louis’s chin. She gently propelled his head up until he was looking directly into her bright green eyes.

“Louis, do you remember how I put your conscious mind to sleep?”

“Yes, Elle.”

“How?”

“You had me watch Kaa’s eyes.”

“And what happens when you watch Kaa’s eyes?”

“I … sleep . . ..”

“That’s right,” she said. “Your conscious mind can . . . sleeeeep . . . .now.”

Louis toppled over.

“Very good, Louis. You will watch Kaa’s eyes and think of nothing else while I have another little chat with your subconscious. You will not hear or think anything until I say your full name again. Off you go!”

Louis’s eyes began moving back and forth beneath his lids.

“Now,” she said seductively, “this is for Louis’s unconscious mind, only for Louis’s unconscious mind, can you hear me?”

Louis’s right forefinger went up.

“Good. Now it’s just the two of us, that conscious mind is busy, and I just thought you might want to know that I find you very…well, attractive. You’re going to tell me the truth. Would you like me to eat you up, just you, without that conscious mind to disapprove?”

Right forefinger.

“I’m about to make your dream come true then.”

She moved out of the chair and straddled Louis’s sleeping form. “All I ask is that you tell me what you are feeling, what your deepest feelings are as I eat you up. Understood?”

Right forefinger.

“And I will be busy, so no finger talk.” She touched his lips. “You now control Louis’s mouth and voice and you will tell me everything you are feeling. He won’t know you’re speaking. Begin now. How do you feel?”

“Excited.”

“Good. You should be.”

She knelt between his legs and unzipped his trousers, pulling his erection free. “And you will not come until I tell you to, and you will come when I tell you to.”

At that, she put her mouth around his rigid cock and ran it up and down several times. “Elle!” Louis’s voice said.

“Again.”

“Elle.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“Elle.”

“Who is your mistress and muse?”

“Elle.”

“Again. Convince me you mean it.”

“Elle—Elle—Elle, please Elle, only you, Elle, you, you, you—”

“That will do. You have pleased me. Now keep telling me how you feel.” After that, with great artistry and pleasure, she teased and tormented the sleeping body while a voice whispered her name over and over in a pleading tone.

She paused.

“Now, would you like to come?”

Right forefinger.

“Of course you would. Now, listen, once I make you come, I have eaten you up, you belong to me. And here is what you must do. If ever Louis is having trouble writing again, you will remind him that I am his muse, and that he should bring his concerns to me right away, and not hold back. Understood?”

Right forefinger.

“Good boy. And if you follow that instruction, then perhaps you and I can have another tryst, would you like that?”

Right forefinger.

She reached down and took his cock in her hand. “You will come—NOW!”

At that point he immediately spurted into her hand. “ELLLLLLLLE!” he screamed. She stroked him until he was done, then said, “Now you’re gone. You’re swallowed. You’re going to sleep until I wake both of you. Slip into silent slumber—float in a silvery mist. Dream of your muse, and how you serve and adore her and how she rewards you by giving you your voice. Feel grateful and obedient and submissive.”

She got to her feet and went to the bathroom. After a thorough hand washing and some attention to her hair and lipstick, she came back to Louis, who had shown no signs of life while she was away. “Louis Wentworth,” she said. His eyes fluttered open.

“Have you had a pleasant day?”

“I … have!” he answered in a tone of surprise. “It has been wonderful.”

“And do you feel better now!”

“I do.”

“What have you learned?”

As if reciting a memorized lesson, he said in a mechanical voice, “I will take all writing problems to Elle because she is my muse.”

“Very good. Now, Louis, I need a footrest while I finish my Tarot layout. Will you volunteer?”

“Footrest? Um, I mean, of course, Elle.”

“Good boy. You will enjoy it. Look at my finger, don’t look away, sleep again, that’s right, I am going to rest my feet on you and you will dream of what you will write tomorrow.”

For the third time that night, he toppled over.

She pulled up a comfortable chair and a lap desk, fetched once again her Tarot deck, and then sat comfortably, resting her feet, in the spectator heels, lightly on her husband’s chest.

She turned up a card. It was The Empress, a powerful blonde woman holding a scepter and seated on a throne next to a flowing stream. On her head was a crown of 12 stars, and her expression was benevolent but also ever-so-slightly smug.

The card perfectly matched Elle’s mood. It was a wonderful end, she thought, to what had been a most . . . amusing . . . day.