The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The crowd was nearly rioting, or so it seemed, as the man stepped slowly and gently into the arena. He didn’t look like much... handsome but not vividly so, in shape but not ripped, every possible description of him accompanied with a “but...” that made him drift into the back of memory. Clarissa found it difficult to focus on him, her eyes sliding off to look again at the others in the crowd who SURELY would answer her challenge: was actual hypnosis actually real, or just a byproduct of mind linking? Could a mind be bent by simple repetition, focus, carefully stated words, or was it all the work of those extraordinary people who could simply lever it to their desired setting, the way a strong man could easy beat a child in an arm wrestling contest?

She’d made the challenge in the middle of one of their conventions, and watched as they ground their teeth. It galled them, she knew, that she dared to make such a statement in their midst, but the Psycorps knew about them now, and watched these events like a hawk. Any putting even a finger out of line with her would be begging to be hauled of to that brain gulag of theirs, and another perverted sicko would be removed. On the table in front of her was a small sphere that released beta waves that neutralized all but the strongest of mind links, and she’d be able to feel the strongest coming, cry for help. All they had were their parlor tricks, and not one had... had yet...

She blinked several times, shook her head and tried to focus. He’d sat in front of her, the man who she’d seen before and yet had trouble remembering actually approaching. Upon closer inspection, she saw that he was smiling, a look based, not in malice or humor, but simple contentment.

“And you are?” she asked.

“You’ll see,” he replied.

It took a bit for her to come up with an answer for that. “Look, I don’t think...”

“You made the challenge, did you not? Now I simply want to know if you meant it. If not, I will leave you alone.”

She swallowed. Control her here, with no mind link, in front of witnesses, and she consented to whatever you wanted to make her do in the meantime until the end of the convention. She even had a form ready, like they used at the MC clubs that had started springing up all around the country, the sick fucks. Clarissa had got one, read it carefully, and then put the times of consent on it. It was disconcerting, how he glanced at it. Like he already knew the words. Like he’d read them, or versions of them, a thousand times. Still, she wasn’t going to let him think she was scared. “Every word.”

“Have you signed it?” She pushed the paper towards him, and he smiled again, reaching out a hand for a pen and then signing it himself when one was provided. He knew how to make it binding, knew that once she was entranced it was legally impossible for her to enter into any kind of deal. The one she had now was contingent on oral consent... at any time, if she said she wanted it to stop, it would. The idea, of course, was that the hypnotism would take her ability to refuse away from her, and she started feeling better. Of course he couldn’t do that, even with his parlor tricks. She could always say no, so long as he couldn’t take her by mental brute force.

“So what now? Swinging watch? Spiral?”

He shook his head. “Left them all at home. You have your purse?” She nodded. “Good. Could you take two items of no value to you out of it? Any two items, and you don’t have to show us anything you don’t want to. At least, not yet.” His smile remained, didn’t really twitch even when she made the joke. One of her escorts stepped over to warn her, but she waved him of... she would enjoy putting this insufferably arrogant ass in his place. Flipping through, she pulled out two items and laid them in front of him... a rubber band and a paperclip. “I’m getting so sleepy...” she mocked.

His smile never dimmed, and he picked up the paperclip, holding it up. It was a metal piece, perfectly formed, and as he tilted it around, bits of light from the numerous fluorescent bulbs glinted off of it. She paused at that... she hadn’t considered that the paperclip would be shiny. Maybe a trick of the light he had, some kind of... no. She’d looked at paperclips all her life and never felt the need to suck off the office supply guy. She’d be fine, he was a fake, like the rest of them, a total fake. She did, however, wish she’d grabbed a plastic one. Did she even have one, she should have looked...

His fingers, long and dexterous, started bending the paperclip, distorting it out of its shape. Shit. She definitely should have found a plastic one. Now it could be whatever he wanted it to be, like a spiral or a... a... another of any one of a thousand fake props that charlatans like this one used to fool crowds, but he couldn’t fool her, not HER, she was too smart, too prepared... and besides, he was a FAKE. They were all fakes!

Now what was he doing? The paperclip had been reshaped into a kind of octagon, except where the last side would be, the last section stuck upwards towards the center of the thing from the bottom. “It reminds me of a window at home,” he said, almost conversationally. “Well, my grandma’s home, really. She had a little candle in it, not much more than a votive, used to use it to relax. There was a crack in the window, see, just a small one by the edge, but the draft would make the candle flicker back and forth, back and forth...”

Huh. That did sound relax... wait. “You’re trying to hypnotize me!”

He tilted his head to one side. “Does that surprise you? Isn’t that what you asked me to try? Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Oh, right. She had wanted this. She wanted someone to try to hypnotize her. To... to prove them wrong. To prove they couldn’t. She glanced at her disruptor. No one had even tried to establish a mind link. So she couldn’t be hypnotized. She was fine. She wanted this. “Right, sorry. Uh, continue.”

He smiled as he held up the window frame and candle, twisting it a bit with his fingers so the light from the fluorescent bulbs glinted merrily on it. “It was so great, watching the light flicker back in forth in the draft. Your eyes could just watch it for hours, breathing with the steady rhythm of the old clock she had in that room.”

It was a really vivid image. This room had no such clock, but her grandpa had owned a large grandfather clock, and she could hear its ticking in her mind, the comforting click of the massive gears as the pendulum swung back and…

Wait. She tried to shake her head. He hadn’t mentioned a pendulum. Had he? Why was she thinking of one, then? HA! She was just talking herself down into a trance like state. Well, she wouldn’t do his work for him. She’d watch his stupid candle instead. It couldn’t work. It wasn’t real.

“What did you think about, just there?”

“My grandfather’s clock.”

“Did it have a pendulum?”

“Yes. But I don’t want to think about that.”

Did his smile grow a bit, there? No matter. She’d focus on the candle, it was safe. And pretty relaxing. She could feel the tension that had come when she’d thought of the pendulum ease as she looked at the candle… no… the paperclip… he held in his fingers.

“Sometimes,” he said, there would be a strong breeze, stronger than usual. The candle would flicker harder, and sometimes it might even go out…” suddenly the paperclip was held in his palm, hidden from her. In her mind, the ticking of the grandfather’s clock had gotten louder, the pendulum rocking back and forth.

“No!” she called out, nervously. She needed a distraction! She needed the candle!

He tilted his head to one side. “Do you want me to continue, my dear? We can stop whenever you ask.”

He needed to continue. The pendulum was getting too loud, before long she’d look at it, hypnotize herself! “Yes…” she said, trying to keep the urgency out of her voice. The crowd around them had gone dead silent.

“Why do you want to be hypnotized?” he asked, conversationally.

“I… I don’t…” she whispered. Didn’t she? Wasn’t she asking him to do just that?

“Then I can always just…”

“N-no! Please continue!”

“Very well, but I do have a price.”

The ticking kept getting louder. Why wouldn’t it go away!? “Yes, okay, fine!”

“We’re putting on a show for all the fine people here. It might be a better one for them if they could see you more clearly. Why not hop up on the table? Just sit on it, here in front of me, next to your disruptor. You’ll be safer.”

Yes, safer. Safer was good. She clambered up on the table, and heard some chuckles from the audience. Well, she was safe now, on the table. They could laugh all they wanted. The ticking seemed to be lower, now, but still there, so loud it was almost like she could feel it in her body.

“We were too young to play with fire, you see, so it was really distressing when the candle went out. We wanted it back. Needed it back. We had to ask nicely, the grownups were busy.”

“Please…” she whispered.

“Please what?” he asked.

“Please bring the candle back. Light it again. Please.”

He paused, considering. “Will you be good?”

This wasn’t fair! He’d said he’s bring it back before, when she got on the table! “Yes, yes, I’ll be good, just bring it back…”

“Sir,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“We had to ask respectfully. Bring it back, sir.”

“Please bring the candle back, sir.”

Another smile, and his hand came out again, and there was the bent paperclip. The ticking grew quieter, and she relaxed as she watched the metal glint in the light.

“Why do you want to be hypnotized?” He asked suddenly, after a minute or so of silence.

“Because I wanted it to be real, and it was just…” her voice trailed off, and her eyes went wide. “I mean…”

“Mind link is too easy, too boring.” He said, conversationally. “It’s just another type of force, and anyone can wield force. You want to feel your mind get twisted around someone’s words, remade as they see fit. You came here, to this convention, calling them all frauds. What did you want to happen, when one of them succeeded?”

“If… if they succeeded...”

“A good girl tells the truth. You promised.”

“I didn’t want…” the ticking was getting louder again. She knew if she looked away from the candle, she’d see the pendulum swinging, just begging her to hypnotize herself for them. Or if he took it away. He might take it away. He’d only brought it back when she promised to be good.

“I hoped they would punish me, sir.”

“And why would you hope that?”

“Anything else might be fake, or me playacting. But if they… punished me…”

“You’d know it was real.” the ticking quieted again, but was still there, always there. She could feel each tick through the table, through her body. It tingled with each tick. “What is your name?”

“Clarissa, sir.”

“Will you be a good girl, Clarissa?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What does a good girl do, Clarissa?”

She hesitated. She wasn’t sure. Good girls probably didn’t climb up on tables in front of crowds, or say mean things to crowds to be punished. That was a bad girl thing to do, and if she was bad, the candle might go away. The ticking was getting louder.

“I-I don’t know, sir.”

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you. You can keep the candle for now.” He handed it to her, and she squealed in delight as she held it in front of her eyes, shifting it to watch the light glint off of the shiny surfaces.

“First lesson, Clarissa. A good girl does as she is told. Yes?”

“As she is…” her eyes narrowed. “Wait, I don’t think…”

The ticking was louder than it had ever been. She nearly had the paperclip shoved into her eyes, but the ticking was so much. It shook the table!

“You don’t have to think. Just do as you are told.”

“I don’t have to think…?” It was a consideration, rather than a concession, but even as she said it, the ticking began to quiet. Yes, yes. That was it. She didn’t have to think. “I don’t have to think.”

“A good girl doesn’t have to think.”

“A good girl doesn’t have to think.”

“A good girl does as she is told.”

“A good girl does as she is told.”

“Very good, Clarissa.” The ticking was almost gone. He held out his hand for the candle. She pulled it back, frightened, but the ticking got louder almost immediately.

“You said I could have it!”

He grinned. “A good girl won’t need it. She’ll just do as she’s told. And she’ll be safe. Obedience is safety.”

“Obedience is safety?” The ticking receded again.

“Yes, Clarissa. Obedience is safety. So obey, and give it to me.”

She hesitated, but slowly, achingly slowly, she held over the paperclip, and and when he took it, the ticking wasn’t just quiet, it was gone.

“Obey…” she whispered.

The weekend was a blur. Clarissa waited patiently on her knees at her master’s side while he answered questions from all comers. No, he hadn’t found a way to bypass a disruptor. Yes, he had actually used good old fashioned focus based hypnosis, with the aid of some ASMR induction.

“It was just great, man. I’d forgotten all about the rubber band until you brought it out from under the table. You got it really loud when you wanted to.”

“I still can’t believe she didn’t notice when you started banging the table with your fist, but she was so focused on the paperclip…”

Master had signed some things, given out pointers. Sometimes he’d have her pose for pictures, sexy or humiliating, others not. He had hypnotized her, won her challenges, and so he would decide her punishments, though he was always open to ideas.

The crowd had wanted her to strip, of course, but he’d shaken his head. Oh, he had every intention of using her, since it seemed she shared that wish, but the view was for him alone. Still, her current attire, a slutty perversion of a school girl uniform, skirt too short, shirt tied up under her breasts, was perfect. She’d blushed red when she’d first seen it. But a good girl did as she was told, and now she felt safe. As he talked to a few of the fanboys his hand drifted over and stroked her cheek, and she leaned in to nuzzle his palm.

Moving her head like that reminded her of the collar, her main punishment. Nice and snug, any head movement or deep breath reminded her it was there, strong and restrictive, along with the tickling sensation. Where ID tags would have gone for a dog, she simply had the paperclip dangling, occasionally brushing her skin. It was exciting. It made her feel safe.

Suddenly he stood, and gestured for her to follow. She did as she was told, watching the ground in front of her. A good girl, he’d reminded her, didn’t need to know where she was going, would just follow. She would be obedient. She would be safe. She followed. She obeyed.

Suddenly, though, a hand rested under her chin, lifting her head up to face him, to look him in the eyes for the first time since she’d agreed to obey. He was holding a piece of paper. She had trouble focusing on it. Good Girls didn’t need to read, didn’t need to know. She could, she just… hadn’t. Finally, the letters refocused, and she recognized it. The contract.

“The convention is over,” he said simply. “Your time is up. You don’t have to be a good girl anymore.”

There were others around. Good girls didn’t need to pay attention to anyone but master, but she slowly remembered that they’d been around all weekend, asking her questions. They wore badges, and guns. The Psycorps. She’d asked them to come, they’d been here the whole time.

The contract was over. Her mind continued to clear, and as she raised her hand to her mouth she felt the collar again and nearly screamed, her hand racing to the buckle to undo it.

“The contract is complete,” Master… no. Not master. But she didn’t know another name for him. HE turned to the Psycorps guards with a smile. “May I go?”

“Yes…” they grumbled. He’d followed the contract to the letter, and they had no legal reason to hold him. He started walking away.

“Wait!” she called, stepping forward.

“Do you feel a compulsion to follow?” One of the officers asked, eagerly. “Instructions to meet with him later? Are you still his slave?”

“N-no…” she said, confused. “It’s just that he forgot his grandmothers…”

She held it up in her hand, and felt silly. It hadn’t done well over the weekend, bent badly and even a bit tarnished from so much time out in open air. He laughed. “Keep it, or throw it away,” he said with a wave. “It’s your paperclip.”

And so he walked away into the city, gently twanging a rubber band as he went.