The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Gene Lanchester sat in front of his laptop, head turned slightly away from it, one arm folded across his chest and the other supporting his mouth as he stared into space, deep in thought. Eventually he sighed, said “Fuck it,” and switched the machine off for the night, showering and then going to sleep.

The alarm woke him at half-past six the following morning. He rolled out of bed and fired up the laptop again. While it was humming it’s way through startup he showered again. He shaved, grabbed a quick breakfast and set it to collect his email as he pulled on his clothes for work—crisp white designer polo shirt, light brown chinos, darker brown loafers. Where Gene worked, casual dress day had become just another uniform to be worn once a week. He wasn’t sure how well it worked with the metallic green shade his hair had adopted when he’d tried to add a little blue tint to the blackness—bloody cheap dyes—but that wasn’t the point, was it?

On the way out, he picked up the camera in it’s case. He caught the bus to the train station, then hopped into the train. Out of the train in London, now, and across the station and into the Underground, which he took to the office.

“Morning,” he said, poking his head around his boss’ office door. “Where’m I wanted this time?”

The boss looked up, and gestured at a portfolio. “Studio 45,” he said. “The girl’s Ashley Jerry. Have fun.”

Gene nodded, picked up the portfolio, and glanced inside. He nodded approvingly at the top photo. “No question of that. How many films?”

“Get seven—be on the safe side. There’s a lot of outfits, and we want a range of poses. You’ve six hours, break after three for lunch.”

“Thanks.”

“Hi,” Gene said again, this time to Ashley Jerry. A girl of about nineteen, she returned the smile uncertainly, though if Gene was any judge she had a figure to allow her all the certainty she wanted—with those tits, that ass and those legs, she’d make it in the glamour modelling world with no trouble. A reasonable face was framed by brown shoulder-length hair and topped with a curly fringe. It was a look that didn’t often work but somehow did here.

“Hi,” she said, meekly. “Um...”

“Gene Lanchester,” he said, extending his hand and shaking hers, a wide, welcoming smile riding his lips.

“Ashley Jerry.” He allowed her to introduce herself without letting on he already knew; she was far too nervous as it was, so he had to let her try to find her own feet.

“Nice to meet you. Right, so... First off, rules of the game. Now, they call it glamour modelling, but let’s face it, we all know the magazines you’ll appear in are basically bought as wank mags by people who can’t reach the top shelf or aren’t honest enough with themselves to go for the hardcore stuff. We know this, right?” He gave her a man-of-the-world smile, figuring she knew the business she’d come into, and she responded. The smile got a little less tentative, a little stronger.

“Sure.”

“Good. With that in mind, it’s your body we’re interested in at this agency. You could be the next Einstein or you could be the first person with a negative-figure IQ not to be running the United States of America; doesn’t matter. What goes on those shelves is the objectification of women, so what I’ve got to photograph is you as object, not you as person. That’s what all the directions I’m going to give you are about. OK?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I guess...”

“Excellent. It’s nothing personal, it’s just what the punters pay for, what makes us successful. But it’s as well to get this stuff cleared up straightaway; some of our models get a bit shirty if we don’t do this spiel first, make sure they know what we’re about, you know?” Now his smile was that of one forced to jump through bureaucratic hoops, but trying to make it as painless as possible for everyone.

“Not a problem.”

“Great. I can see you’re going to be a pleasure to work with. The only snag is, we’re down for six hours total of shoot, did they tell you?”

She nodded. “Right. Now, there’s a break in three hours for lunch, but if you need time out at any point for a drink or something, just say. The shoot time includes changes of clothes, so...” He waved one arm expansively at a rack. “Pick an outfit, nip into the changing room, and come out when you’re ready!”

Now he actually grinned, and she grinned back. She picked out a shiny silver two-piece number and disappeared into the changing room as he began to ready his camera. He stacked seven rolls of film on the table, then shut up the back of the camera and hooked up the wires to activate the flash. Arranging the lights around one of the studio’s sets—a bedroom, he hummed to himself. It wasn’t long before he was conscious of her return. He turned around, and smiled.

“Hey, you look great. We’ll make you a fortune if we can’t make you a star. OK, we’re going to start with a bunch of shots in the bedroom, right? We’ll probably do a roll of these, give the editors something to pick from for a section on you. So... up on the bed, please.”

She stepped up on the bed and took a position facing the camera, which stood beyond the foot of the bed. Striking a dramatic pose, she said, “How do I look?”

“Well, your head’s out of shot,” Gene said. She blushed. Gene carried on. “Now, I realise most of the readers probably wouldn’t notice, but the editors will. So if we could start with you kneeling... You can be upright from the knees upward, it’s just that we need.”

She kicked off her shoes and followed his instructions. He ducked back behind the viewfinder and clicked off a shot. The flashes went off and she blinked. Gene smiled, his expression hidden by the camera.

“Ok, that’s good... now give me a pout...” <click> “...and an expression of total boredom...” <click> “A yawn...” <click> “OK, now work your legs out forward and sit instead of kneel, sit upright...” <click> “The expression we’re going for here is total relaxation, if you could try to relax yourself that’d help...” <click> “OK, that was good, but a little more relaxed...” <click> “That’s it, that’s good, you’re doing very well, now start to lean back, not much, but allow yourself to gently” <click> “recline... that’s it, we’ll do a couple” <click> “of photos like this as you gradually relax further and further back” <click> “getting further and further back,” <click> “more and more relaxed,” <click> “relaxing more and more as you sink further and further back...” <click> “Very relaxed now...” <click> “very relaxed indeed, getting deeper and deeper...” <click> “and now your head’s come to rest on the pillow, that’s good.” <click> “Just concentrate on getting relaxed now,” <click> “very good, getting relaxed to look relaxed...” <click> “looking relaxed to get relaxed, just very” <click> “relaxed...”

Gene took a few moments out from his spiel to just examine Ashley now. She was lying on the bed, eyes half-open but apparently unseeing. He kept the flash going at regular intervals, all the same, keeping her in the light trance he’d got her too, and she looked hot. He was ready to take her to the next stage now; setting the auto-shutter so that the flash would continue to go at the same regular intervals, he pulled a syringe out of the camera case and a small vial of liquid.

He stuck the syringe needle into the vial through it’s membrane lid, and drew a measured amount forth. Flicking the needle, he carefully removed any air bubble problems and set the syringe aside for a moment. Returning to the camera and the entranced Ashley, he continued the induction.

<click> “Now, Ashley, you’re so relaxed, so” <click> “very relaxed indeed... In a second I’m going to” <click> “ask you to go to sleep.” He disengaged the automatic shutter and began operating it manually again. “When I do that, you’ll see three bright flashes from the flash equipment, very quickly together.” <click> “I want you to count down from three with each flash,” <click> “three down to one.” <click> “I want you to count them down out loud,” <click> “and I want you to go so deeply asleep that you won’t notice anything until the flash goes off again.” <click> “You’ll sleep with your eyes wide open,” <click> “but until the flash goes off you’ll be so deeply asleep you’ll feel nothing,” <click> “hear nothing, ”<click> “and see nothing.” <click> “When the flash does go off you’ll forget you went to sleep,” <click> “you’ll forget relaxing on the bed.” <click> “You’ll get back into a kneeling position like you were before the first photograph, ” <click> “and only then will you notice things again. Can I trust you to do that? Say” <click> “yes.”

“Yes.” The voice was breathy, tired, nearly asleep.

“From now on, when I say ‘you look tired’” <click> “you’ll got back to the same trance you’re in now.” <click> “Can I trust you to do that?”

“Yes”

“Are you ready to go to sleep?”

“Yes.”

<click> “Three.”

<click> “Two.”

<click>

On the third flash, Ashley’s eyes opened wide. They stared out, eerie, unseeing. Gene retrieved the syringe and made his way toward her. Locating a vein on her neck, he gave her the measure and sat back, noting the time. Five minutes later, when it had made it’s way around her bloodstream and taken effect, he stood again and pressed the shutter once more.

Ashley’s eyes blinked, and opened again.

“OK?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Gene said. He opened the back of the camera, picked up the first film of the day, and loaded it in carefully. “We’re about ready to start. Though I’ve gotta say, you look tired.”

Ashley’s eyes half-shut and she slumped back, coming to rest on the bed. Gene smiled.

“Right,” he said. “Looks like some of the suggestions took, at least. Ashley, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” she barely whispered.

“OK,” he said. “Now, after the three flashes, I’m going to climb on that bed with you, and you’re going to give me a blowjob. You’re going to make it the best, most effective blowjob you can, and you’re not going to complain. Afterward, you’re going to eat gather up all my cum and drink it, making sure you don’t miss a drop, and then you’re going to masturbate for me. Then you’re going to forget all of that and go back to the photo shoot. Clear?”

“Yes,” she said.

Gene smiled.

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