The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“You’re pathetic!” The scorn in the gorgeous young woman’s voice was brutal. “You couldn’t hypnotize a cat, much less a woman!”

The target of her mockery flinched. A mousy little man, he’d been swinging a pocket watch in front of a good-looking brunette dressed in eighteenth-century finery out of the court of Louis XVI and murmuring soothing words. To no avail—his “victim” looked more bored than captivated by his routine.

“Aw, come on,” someone in the crowd of onlookers pleaded. “Take it easy on the guy, Amanda. It’s just a party trick, after all!”

“Some trick,” sneered the blonde beauty, who was dressed in fancy clothes of her own, though of a later era. Her voice held just a trace of an upper-class British accent. “If he were a stage magician, they’d be throwing things at him from the seats.”

Red-faced and humiliated, her victim let his arm drop. The watch hung limply from his dangling hand. Everyone could see he wanted nothing more than to simply disappear.

But Amanda wasn’t finished. “Hypnotism’s bosh anyway,” she proclaimed. “It’s just a silly party trick, an excuse for people to act out. ‘Oh, I didn’t know what I was doing, I was hypnotized!’ What rot!”

George Custer watched the little tableau play out. A smile flickered over his face. This Amanda sounded just like the sort of woman he really liked meeting.

He made his way over to the knot of people surrounding Amanda, the amateur hypnotist she was reaming out, and his “subject,” who was beginning to look more annoyed than bored. Clearing his throat, he addressed the haughty blonde.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I couldn’t help hearing what you said, Amanda.”

“That would be Ms. Bellingham to you,” was the icy reply, “whoever you are. And since you’re so free with my name, what’s yours?”

George sighed. He always hated this part. “It’s George, Ms. Bellingham.”

As he expected, she snapped, “George what?”

As usual, there was no avoiding it. “George Custer, Ms. Bellingham.” As the inevitable round of laughter went up, he went on, “I’m afraid my parents had more humor than sense. At least they didn’t stick me with Armstrong as a middle name.”

“Well, Mr. Custer, why are you here? I don’t see any Indians around.”

Oh, I’m going to enjoy this, George thought. This woman was even worse than the usual stuck-up type he dealt with. And she was gorgeous, too, with bright blue eyes, red lips and a creamy complexion to go with the rich mane of golden hair she wore piled elaborately atop her head. The gown she wore made it plain that she had a nice figure, too, not so lush as to seem fake, but nice indeed. The form-fitting dress was set off to perfection by a white caplet, matching long opera gloves and neat cap. An expensive-looking leather handbag hung over one shoulder completed the ensemble.

“You don’t believe in hypnotism, you say,” he went on. “It’s all just an excuse to act out, isn’t that right.”

Amanda nodded. “Bloody right it is,” she snapped. “And nobody who isn’t simple would think otherwise.”

George smiled. “Then I guess you wouldn’t mind a challenge.”

The brunette eyed him suspiciously. “What sort of challenge?”

George laughed. “It’s simple. You made fun of this fellow here because he was trying, unsuccessfully, to hypnotize his lady friend. I dare you to let me try to hypnotize you instead.”

All of a sudden, the mood in the room shifted. Before, people had been watching the little tableau with the kind of fascination one might see in the onlookers at a car accident: nobody willing to intervene, yet everyone watching. Now, all of a sudden, they were involved.

“Oh, rubbish,” scoffed Amanda. “You can’t hypnotize me! As I said, it’s all a fake!”

George smiled. She was falling right into the trap. “Then you won’t mind letting me try, will you?” He looked around at the watching crowd. “After all, if it’s all a fake, what have you got to be afraid of?” Grinning, he added, “That is, unless you’re looking for an excuse to act out!”

Laughter erupted from the partygoers. Red-faced, Amanda retorted, “All right, have it your way! Go ahead! Hypnotize me! If you can!” She stared directly at George, challenging him with her eyes.

“All right,” George said “But first—gentlemen, if you please! Escort your ladies outside. We wouldn’t want them to be embarrassed by anything they might see here.”

Chuckling, the men in the room began urging their dates to the doors. Some of the women didn’t seem to want to go, however. Finally, Amanda spoke up: “It’s all right, ladies! Nothing’s going to happen anyway, so let’s call his bluff, shall we?”

That worked, and shortly the only woman still present was Amanda herself. At George’s suggestion, the men locked the doors.

“Now, wait a minute,” Amanda said. “None of that, now! Unbar those doors, or you can forget the whole thing.”

“What’s the matter?” George mocked. “Chickening out?” Several of the men watching made clucking sounds.

Amanda flushed. “Think what you like,” she responded. “Either those doors get unbarred or the deal is off.”

“All right,” George said after a few moments. “Go on, guys, unlock ‘em.” In a moment, it was done.

“Satisfied?” George asked. Amanda nodded. For a few seconds there was an expectant silence, finally broken by Amanda. “Well,” the blonde said peevishly, “get on with it then, if you’re going to.”

George Custer smiled. “Well, now,” he responded, “it’s not as simple as that, you know.” As he spoke, he brought one hand up and began waving it back and forth gently, as if to emphasize his words.

“Ha!” the blonde jeered. “You mean you can’t bloody well do it!” She began to turn away.

“I didn’t say that,” George said. He’d have to handle this carefully, he knew: usually, his victims didn’t know up front what he was trying to do. “But you need to understand, hypnosis requires the subject to pay careful attention, to focus on the hypnotist. To cooperate and relax.” Back and forth went his hand, and he saw that despite herself Amanda had turned to face him once more and had begun to follow his hand’s motion with her eyes.

“I can’t hypnotize someone against their will,” he explained. “It’s not some alien mind control. I can’t just make people fall under my power, just relax and fall under my control, just forget about resisting and fall under my control. I can’t do that.” He grinned suddenly, as if at some memory.

“Of course you can’t,” Amanda agreed, still following his hand with her eyes. She didn’t look quite so scornful now, though.

“No, I can’t.” George nodded. “Nobody can do that. Hypnosis is something of a contract between hypnotist and subject, an agreement by the subject to surrender control, to relax and follow the hypnotist’s suggestions, let him guide her actions and guide her thoughts.”

“Guide her actions,” Amanda repeated, sounding slightly dazed. “Guide her thoughts.” She didn’t seem to notice how all of a sudden George was using the feminine pronoun.

“That’s right.” George nodded encouragingly. “That’s why I can’t hypnotize you, Amanda, unless you let me, so if you don’t want to be hypnotized, I can’t hypnotize you, no matter how you focus on me, no matter how you listen to me and shut out everything but me. So it’s perfectly safe, Amanda, it’s perfectly safe to relax and focus on me and on my voice, to shut out everything else and focus on me and relax.”

“Perfectly safe,” the blonde beauty mumbled. “Focus. Relax.”

“That’s right, Amanda. Focus. Relax.” George’s hand kept up its steady motion. “Keep listening to my voice, keep watching me, shut out everything else and focus and relax, let my voice guide you.”

“Focus. Relax,” Amanda repeated. She was swaying slightly side to side now in time with the motion of George’s hand.

“Holy shit,” one of the onlookers cried out, “he’s really doing it! He’s hypnotizing her!”

The words penetrated Amanda’s mind, and suddenly she blinked and looked away from George and his gently moving hand. “No he isn’t,” she insisted. “And I’m getting tired of this. How much longer do I have to play this game before you admit it’s rubbish?”

George swore under his breath. That idiot had spoken up at just the wrong moment! This woman was a tougher nut to crack than his usual targets, and the last thing he needed was for someone to butt in and distract her. He gathered himself to reply: “Just a minute or two longer.” An inspiration: “I tell you what. Let’s put some money on it. Give me five more minutes, and if you’re not hypnotized by then, I’ll pay up a hundred dollars.”

“No,” Amanda answered. “You had your shot. You failed. Admit it. That’s what I want.”

“Five more minutes,” George repeated. “Five minutes, and I’ll admit I failed and you get a hundred bucks.” He paused. “What have you got to lose?”

Amanda clearly didn’t want to take the deal, but as she looked around at the eager male crowd, she saw that refusing would look as though she’d been afraid after all. Some of these people were her friends, and they’d never let her live it down.

“All right,” she said. “Five minutes, then.” She directed a challenging glare at George Custer and repeated: “Get on with it.”

George studied his target carefully as he launched into his patter and resumed the gentle waving of his hand. “As I was saying, hypnosis is a sort of agreement between hypnotist and subject. I can’t hypnotize you against your will, no matter how much you listen to my words, no matter how you focus on my words and on me. So it’s perfectly safe, Amanda, to focus completely on me and my voice, to shut out everything else and listen to me, think of nothing but me and my voice as I keep on talking. You know you can’t be hypnotized, you know it’s all rubbish, so playing along is perfectly safe, and if you just watch me and listen to me and shut out everything else, think about nothing else, for five more minutes, Amanda, it will be over and I’ll have to admit to everyone that I couldn’t hypnotize you, and you’ll win a hundred dollars too, Amanda, a hundred dollars just for five more minutes of listening only to my voice, focusing only on me, shutting out everything else, thinking of nothing else. Five more minutes.”

“Five more . . . minutes,” Amanda murmured. Her eyes were tracking the motion of his hand again, and she’d begun swaying gently from side to side in time to its rhythm as well, just as she’d done before.

George grinned. She might have come out of it because of that fool’s interference, but she’d been left vulnerable. The second time around, she was sliding under more quickly. Perfect.

“Yes, five more minutes,” the hedonistic hypnotist agreed. “You don’t want to bother with this silly game for longer than that, because you’re getting tired of it. You’re getting tired of listening to me and following my hand with your eyes, Amanda, getting tired, so tired.”

“Tired.” Amanda tried to nod, and stumbled a little as the up-and-down motion of her head conflicted with the side-to-side sway of her eyes. George stepped forward and steadied her with his free hand.

“Yes, so tired.” Back and forth went George’s hand. Back and forth went Amanda’s eyes. “So tired that it’s hard to keep your eyes open, Amanda, your eyelids are getting heavy, so heavy, Amanda, but you must keep them open, just for five more minutes, Amanda, keep them open, but it’s getting harder, your eyelids are getting heavier as your eyes follow my hand back and forth. Heavier.”

“Heavier,” the blonde mumbled. Her eyelids were drooping now, fluttering as she fought to keep them open.

“You know you must keep your eyes open, Amanda, just five more minutes and you’ve won,” George soothed. “But you’re so tired of this, so very tired, if you could just close your eyes for a moment you’d feel much better, and then you could easily manage five more minutes and you’d win, Amanda. If only you could just close your eyes and relax for a moment.”

“Just close my eyes . . . for a moment.” Amanda’s eyelids dropped shut and her body sagged slightly, relaxing.

“It feels so good to close your eyes, doesn’t it, Amanda.” George smiled. “And you don’t need to open them right away, because you can still hear my voice, guiding you, and you can still see my hand moving, back and forth, even though your eyes are closed, you can still see it moving, back and forth.”

“Yes,” Amanda agreed. “I can still . . . hear you. I can still see your hand moving . . . back and forth. Don’t need to . . . open my eyes.” She sighed.

“It feels so good, so restful, to stand there and listen to me, and watch my hand moving back and forth even though your eyes are closed. It feels as though you could just sink into the darkness, forget about everything as if you were relaxing in a warm bath, just let my voice guide you instead of thinking about anything. So good. So restful.”

“So good,” Amanda echoed. “So restful.” She was completely relaxed now.

“It feels as though you could just fall asleep,” instructed George. “Just fall into a deep, deep sleep in which the only thing you see is my moving hand, the only thing you hear is my voice. Fall into a deep, deep sleep, Amanda, when I say your name again, you’ll be fully asleep, but you’ll still hear me, and you’ll do as I say, anything I say, Amanda.”

“Anything . . . you say.” The blonde sighed again and her face, already slack, softened even further, her mouth dropping slightly open.

George Custer surveyed the room. He and Amanda were the center of attention now, he saw. “What do you say, fellas? Five more minutes?”

There was a roar of laughter, followed by shouts of “No! More!” and at least one of “How about five more hours?". It seemed Amanda’s snarky attitude had angered quite a few of the guys here.

“I don’t know if we can keep your lady friends out for five whole hours, guys,” George said, laughter in his tone. “So let’s see what we can do, shall we, with Miss Amanda Hypnotism-is-Bosh.”

More laughter exploded, accompanied by cheers and whistles. The laughter reached what passed for Amanda’s mind, and she giggled vapidly in response.

Smirking, George called out, “Oh, by the way, boys—you can lock the doors again. I don’t think Amanda will mind now.” More laughter greeted that remark, and in an instant, the doors were locked again.

“You’re asleep now, Amanda, deeply, deeply asleep. Say ‘Yes, Sir George’ if you’re deeply, deeply asleep, Amanda.” George’s words were pitched low but insistent.

“Yes, Sir George.” Amanda’s answer emerged in a soft murmur.

George smiled. She was under, all right. It had taken a little longer than usual thanks to that idiot’s interference and the fact that unlike his usual targets she hadn’t been softened up by alcohol first, but she was definitely in a trance now.

“You’re a lady, aren’t you, Amanda.” It wasn’t a question. “You dress like a lady, sophisticated, high-toned, much too good to associate with riff-raff like the guys at this party. Say ‘Yes, Sir George’ if that’s all true.”

“Yes, Sir George.” Amanda’s words provoked a surge of muttering among the men present. She thought they were riff-raff, did she?

“That’s good, Amanda,” George assured her. “But you’re asleep now, Amanda, and dreaming, and in dreams, all sorts of things can happen. In dreams, you don’t have to be high-class. You can be anything, do anything, and nobody will hold it against you, Amanda, nobody even has to know, Amanda, you don’t even have to remember.”

“Do anything. Be anything.” Amanda smiled softly. “Nobody has to . . . know. Don’t even have to . . . remember.”

“That’s right, Amanda.” He paused a moment. “What’s your last name, anyway? You’re Amanda . . . what?”

“Name,” the bedazzled blonde burbled. Her brow wrinkled, as if it were a great effort to remember the answer to George’s question. “Bellingham. My name is . . . Amanda Bellingham.”

“That’s right,” coaxed George. “You’re Amanda Bellingham, and I’m George Custer. And from now on, when you speak to me, Amanda, you’ll call me ‘Sir George,’ but you won’t notice you’re calling me that, because it isn’t important. It’s only important to do what Sir George says.”

“Do what . . . Sir George says.” Up and down went Amanda’s head. Her eyes were still closed.

It was time to open them. “Amanda, listen carefully now. Open your eyes, Amanda, open your eyes but remain deeply, restfully asleep.”

“Yes, Sir George.” Amanda opened her eyes, wide, blue and empty of awareness. Staring into them, George Custer felt a familiar stirring in his pants. God, but he loved taking down these snooty beauties!

“You’re still asleep, Amanda,” George informed his captive. “Deeply asleep. But you can see now, you can see you’re at a party, Amanda, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Sir George.”

“But if you’re asleep, and you’re seeing yourself at a party, you must be dreaming. You’re dreaming, Amanda.” George paused.

“Dreaming,” breathed Amanda. “Yes, Sir George.”

“And remember, Amanda, when you’re dreaming, the way you are now, anything can happen. You can do anything, say anything, be anything, and it won’t matter, because it’s not real, Amanda, and when you wake up, you don’t even have to remember it if you don’t want to. If you remember it at all, you’ll remember it as a dream, Amanda, because that’s all it is, Amanda, just a dream.”

“Not real,” came the soft reply. “Do anything. Say anything. Be anything. Remember . . . just a dream. Yes, Sir George.”

George grinned and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “That’s right, Amanda. And in this dream, you’re in a strip club. A loud, crude striptease club, the kind of place a classy lady like Amanda Bellingham would never, ever go. But it’s all right, Amanda, because it’s just a dream.

“And in this dream, you aren’t Amanda Bellingham. You’re Mandy Mounds, and you’re the star stripper of the Club Morpheus, its very own dream girl, its wet-dream girl, Amanda. And when you hear the music, Amanda, that’s your cue to go into your act. That’s your cue to strip, and as you strip, you’ll get hotter and hotter, Amanda, hornier and hornier, turned on by the way you turn on the guys watching you, until you don’t care about anything but turning men on and having sex.” George was on a roll now; he could feel it. “Do you understand all this? What’s your name?”

“Name,” Amanda mumbled dazedly, as she’d done before. This time, though, she went on: “My name is . . . Mandy Mounds.”

“And what do you do, Mandy?”

“I’m the . . . star stripper . . . at the Club Morpheus.”

“That’s right, Mandy,” George agreed. “That’s just who you are. Now listen carefully, Mandy.

“In a moment, I’m going to count backwards from three. When I reach zero, you will be aware of the men around you. They are the audience at the Club Morpheus, and that’s where you’ll be, Mandy, at the Club Morpheus, waiting for the music to send you into your act. And when you hear the music, Mandy, what will you do?”

“I will . . . strip to the mu-sic,” came the response. “Get . . . hornier ‘n’ hornier. Till I don’t care about anything but . . . turning men on and . . . ooh . . .having s-sex!“ Amanda shivered and a few beads of sweat popped out on her forehead, as though she were already growing aroused.

“One more thing,” George told her. “While you dance, and even after you dance, you will continue to do exactly as I say. You will continue to think what I tell you to think, believe what I say, remember what I tell you to remember. Say ‘Yes, Sir George’ if you will do these things.”

“Yes, Sir George.” The hypnotist had noticed that “Mandy” no longer automatically called him by that title; evidently, his command to do so was linked only to her Amanda Bellingham personality. He hadn’t anticipated that, but it was a trivial wrinkle. He didn’t really need her to call him “sir” all the time, after all, as long as the stuck-up bitch obeyed him like the sexy robot he meant her to be. And so far, she was taking orders just fine for someone who’d sneered at hypnosis as a “party trick” just a short while ago.

“Three,” George began counting. Amanda blinked.

“Two,” the hypnotist went on. The befuddled blonde before him blinked again, and shook her head, as if trying to clear it.

“One.” Amanda blinked a third time, yawned and stretched prettily.

“Zero.”