The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Tell me what you want,” Natalie urged, her red-stockinged feet dangling in front of his already droopy eyes. Oscar adjusted himself on the reclining chair, unsure if he had entered her office five minutes or five hours ago.

It was their third session in three days, a perfect record in attendance. There shouldn’t have been one in the first place because it was all a prank, a juvenile folly of lazy grown-ups who thought it was cute to harass a woman in her workplace.

“Tell her you’re madly in love with her, ask her for a date,” Rory and William had said before sending him in. They were twins, brown-haired and stupid, because the subject of jokes needs not confine to blonde women as customary. Oscar knew a lot of jokes about them because he was a joke himself, a flabby, overweight joke who followed them around because he had no one else to follow. Not until he had met her, at least.

Natalie was a licensed hypnotherapist or so she claimed. The certificates on the wall behind her desk appeared fake, printouts with beautiful frames to impress the easily impressionable. The rims of her red glasses were impressive as well. He loved a woman in glasses but no one had ever looked at him in any way other than to show some form of contempt. When he saw himself reflected in the lenses, he saw the joke laughing at him, nothing more.

“I want to be owned by you,” he replied, a sentence that had never crossed his mind until that moment. Deep down inside, he knew he needed a hefty dose of discipline to stop following two deadbeats through the road of life.

“Really? Owned? That sounds like your cock talking and I don’t remember asking your cock,” she purred.

His cock did talk a lot. It talked when it saw scantily-clad women parading themselves on the beach, it talked when the notification of a new porn video hit his inbox, it talked when there was a new erotic story waiting to be read, preferably one with a threesome.

Three was a lovely number, but there were only two persons there, and only one was talking. The other one, the one that looked like him, reflected on her glasses as if he was about to kneel to kiss her feet, listened more than he talked for listening felt wonderful and talking was a chore it was best to forget until...

“You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?”

“I want to be owned by you,” he repeated. He had wanted that the moment he had stormed into her office talking of love, the moment he noticed her hair was as red as her glasses, and her lips even redder. She was wearing a red bra on that day as well. He hated red, yet now he loved it. He loved red because red was her color, and loving her color was loving her. He loved rainbows too, yet he hated the fact they had way too many superfluous colors. Red was enough. Nothing but red.

“Do I need to ask a third time?” She insisted, red feet and red lips talking simultaneously. He listened to both, her voice coating his spirit with sensual delicacies, her feet crying out to the lascivious animal that yearned to kiss, suck, and lick.

“I want to be owned by you,” he persevered. Far too many times he had backtracked on roads, lines, and convictions, wishing for the impossible instead of fighting for what was real and, as strange as it seemed, the delirious hypnotic torpor he was in at the moment, had more substance than anything else he had experienced and the word “owned” was at its center.

“And if you were owned, Oscar? What then? What would you devote your life to?”

“To you, obviously,” he blurted. He would be a mindless acolyte of red. He blushed at the thought, happy that his cheeks were becoming the same color of his entranced mind.

“Just me? Loyal to the bone? Loyal until the end?”

“Of course!”

“That’s sweet. Terribly misguided, of course, but sweet nonetheless.”

Oscar shuddered, convinced he had offended her somehow. Sure, she had used the word “sweet” two times but “terribly misguided” stood out like a sore thumb. That was him, all right, and he was doing it again, even without knowing what he was doing. She stopped dangling her feet, his smile faded into a twisted frown.

“Your cock is talking again. It’s like a ventriloquist using you as his puppet. I like puppets but only when I’m the puppeteer. Tell your cock to stop talking.”

“But...”

“Don’t make me repeat myself. Say it now!”

“STOP TALKING!” He screamed. His trance wasn’t shattered, but rather strengthened. Her feet started dangling again.

“As much as you want to, your cock has no place in this conversation,” she admonished him. “If you allow it to speak again, this session is over. Are we clear?”

Crystal. The red returned to his mind. Her fingernails weren’t painted that color the first time around but now they were. He imagined them lulling his cock to sleep, pointy tips moving from the ball sack to the glistening foreskin. Perhaps a circumcision was in order to render it more exposed and obedient. That would be nice.

“Is your cock silent now?”

“Yes,” he nodded. He believed it to be true so it had to be true.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Then for the last time, tell me what you want.”

“I want to be happy. I want to have a life I can be proud of. I want to have goals I can achieve and look forward to. I want to stop being a joke.”

“And...?”

“... and I want to be owned by you.”

“Ah, now we’re talking the same language! That’s what you wanted to say all along, wasn’t it?”

“I think so,” he agreed.

“Don’t think, drift. No cock, no thoughts. My voice, your true self revealed. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Oscar.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”

“Now do you understand, my dear? How can you possibly serve me and be mine if you don’t take care of yourself and fight for your dreams first? It makes no sense, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t,” he conceded, wondering how something as simple as common sense had stayed buried for so long until they had met.

“Things are getting clearer, days are getting brighter,” she smiled. “You may kiss my feet now.”

“Thank you, Natalie.”

Her feet were cold, even under the stockings. It didn’t matter though. He kissed each toe with reverent lips, savoring each moment as if it were a rare delicacy he would never experience again. She guided him to a proper position of worship as she continued to work her influence on his now totally receptive mind.

“If you don’t want to be a loser, the first thing you need to do is to stop following those who are. I would ask you to bring them to me but I’ve seen your ‘friends’. They don’t want to change, unlike you.”

“I want to change,” he repeated, mouth pressed against the arch of her left foot.

“You already did yet you can always go deeper. Would you like to go deeper now, Oscar?”

“Yes, please. Take me,” he begged.

“I’ll take you to the gates of where you want to go but the rest of the crossing is up to you. I’m not your savior but I can be your Muse. Do you like the way that sounds?”

He gasped for air, eyes glazed.

“I like everything you say.”

“And I say you like everything you can be. Eyes on me, Oscar, and deep sleep. That’s right, deep sleep, sinking into my voice until its sound is a permanent piece of who you are. Sleep and imagine. Sleep and visualize. Sleep and accept that you are the catalyst of your own change, and I its harbinger. My voice and the voice of your subsconscious are one and the same. Sleep, my pet. Sleep.”

Oscar woke up a little over past 7 a.m. He didn’t remember what had transpired in the last twelve hours, let alone how he had returned to his flat, and the sanctity of his comfy bed.

A red aura enveloped every object all around, from the chipped baseball bat in the right corner to the vintage alarm clock on the nightstand, calling him to action. At the tip of his tongue, the aftertaste of Natalie’s whispers remained and perhaps a little bit of her lipstick. He got up, brushed his teeth, and checked his phone. There was one voice message. It was from William and Rory.

“Oscar, my man. Where were you last night? Did you forget we were going to throw bottles at old Clemens’ house? I guess you did. It’s not like you to forget things so we got worried,” William slurred.

“Yeah,” Rory intervened, his voice even slower than his brother’s. “And we’re still going to be worried when we stop being drunk... I think.”

“Anyway,” William continued. “It was kind of a bust yesterday because old Clemens wasn’t in the house so we’re going to do it again tonight. It’s going to be amazing, promise. Give us a call when you hear this, okay?”

“Or don’t because I have a feeling this hangover is going to make us deaf.”

“You can’t get deaf from a hangover, dumbass!”

“Sure you can. I read it somewhere recently.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“That’s because you’re stupid.”

“Look who’s talking.”

“Look who’s listening.”

“Call us, you hear, Oscar? Call us!”

“Holy Mother of...” Oscar muttered, stopping just before reaching the blasphemous part. “These guys are total dicks!”

“And to think you were on your way to becoming just like them or even worse,” Natalie’s voice echoed inside his brain.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen!” Pounding his chest like Tarzan wasn’t exactly the most eloquent way to make a commitment to himself but it was a start, at least. In the end, the joke would be on them.

Oscar spent the next couple of hours cleaning the house, looking at job offers online, making calls. At every turn, he thought of what he wanted to be and what he had to do to keep Natalie happy. It was going to be hard, it was going to be painful, it was going to be the most memorable challenge of his life but nothing would stop him from fighting and winning. He had seen the red, and he was angry.

Still, angry or not, he knew he had to see her again that night, he knew he had to listen to her glorious voice one more time, to reinforce the desires unearthed. He called her office to check on her availability but there was no answer. An eerie silence cracked through the line, deeper than the deepest of hypnotic sleeps. He closed his eyes and saw black instead of red. Something was wrong, something was terribly wrong!

No superhero could have matched the speed in which he ran to her for the velocity of purpose easily outruns everything else. He crossed the city in record time, not once stopping to breathe. Scientists would speak of adrenaline, men of the cloth of demonic possession of sorts, but he would just remember the submissive call to be with his mind Mistress.

He arrived at her office, only to find it empty. No red anywhere, except a large stain where the chair he had sat on used to be. It smelled of blood even though it was dry for quite some time. The thin layer of dust all around made him sneeze, the cobwebs hanging from the curtains made him sick.

“Were you one of her clients?” An unknown voice suddenly asked.

Oscar turned around to face a shrivelled man with the face of ancient horrors carved in every wrinkle. He wore the dark blue uniform of an exterminator though how we was able to stand up, let alone do any sort of physical work remained a mystery. On his left hand, he held a bouquet of white lillies.

“What happened here?”

“Oh dear, don’t you know? Dr. Natalie was gunned down four months ago. What a shame, she was such a wonderful person. She could do magic, I tell you!”

“Gunned down four months ago?” Oscar parroted. “That’s impossible. I just had a session with her yesterday. Hell, I had three sessions with her in the last three days.”

The man’s eyes lit up, and so did his broken teeth.

“Did you really? Ah, so you’re one of those... I see.”

“Excuse me?”

“One of the chosen, I guess. Right after she died, some folks claimed they continued to see the office lights on and that she kept on working, inspiring others, saving souls. I dismissed those accounts the first time I heard them but you’re the tenth person or so that tells me he had a session with her. You can’t all be wrong.”

“I... and where do you fit in all of this?”

“Former client as well. My name’s Tim, by the way. I was lost sometime ago until she found me. I’m not as old as I look, you know, but I felt even older back then. She did her magic on me, allowed me to serve her.” He pointed at the flowers he was holding. “I come here every morning to pay my respects. These were her favorites, you know?”

No, he didn’t. Oscar covered the tears rolling down his eyes with his hands. How something so impossible could be true, he didn’t know. He just felt it was so and he hated what he was feeling. “Who killed her?”

“A thief, an ex, a soul that didn’t want to be saved... who knows? I doubt the police is even pursuing the case right now. Consider yourself lucky to have seen her though.”

He did. It was all strangely clear now. Natalie had revealed herself to the three of them hoping to continue her good deeds but only he had beem deemed worthy. While others threw bottles at houses, he had kissed her dead feet while having new life etched into his soul.

“I was not a client,” Oscar concluded. “I was, or rather, I am her pet. She owns me.”

The old man laughed, not out of spite, but sincere respect.

“Such strong words. I hope you’re ready to live by them.”

“I am,” Oscar looked around, at the naked walls, at the invisible chair someone had stolen long ago. He had knelt there on that spot, adrift in an otherworldly trance. He would do so again, over and over for the rest of his life. “I will serve you, Mistress. I’ll make you proud,” he thought.

“Say, you wouldn’t happen to be looking for a job, would you?” Tim asked, intterupting his reverie.

“Is your company hiring?”

“As a matter of fact... How do you feel about rodents?”

“I hate them.”

“You’re definitely on the right track then.”

“Without a doubt,” the curtains ruffled. Natalie’s entrancing voice sang in Oscar’s heart, carrying within a magic too great in life, and now even greater in death.