The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“It’s all about your subconscious,” Dr. George was saying. “Your subconscious mind is always there, always on, always watching, helping, protecting, nudging. It’s aware of all you’re doing and thinking, even though you’re usually not aware of it. It can control your sensations, body, behavior and memory. So it’s powerful. But what it really craves is to be given instructions, directions, black-and-white rules to follow, with predictable results.”

I’ve heard him give this introduction a hundred times, now that I work for him, but I never get tired of it.

We were at the erotic hypno meetup, a monthly get-together at the Sex Positive Center that always draws at least a dozen newcomers along with the crowd of regulars. As a kink-friendly hypnotherapist, the proprietor of Deep Minds Hypnosis, Dr. George was a popular presenter.

As usual, the newbies were listening and watching closely, eager to grasp this mysterious power of mind control. And, as usual, they had no idea yet that they already were absorbing his pre-talk, the essential warm-up, the verbal net that would enable him to fully hypnotize some of them in just a few minutes. As he had told me once: The more clearly he explained hypnosis, to both the subconscious and the conscious mind, the better it would work.

“My process and method and approach are like this,” he was saying to them, his pace already sliding toward run-on sentences. “I guide your body to relax and your conscious mind to focus, and you follow my instructions until your conscious mind drifts away for a bit, leaving your subconscious awake and alert and ready to hear my suggestions, so when your conscious mind wakes up again you find that I can control your mind and body.”

It was all so inevitable.

Today’s presentation was to be about fetishes—how hypnosis can enhance or even create fetishes on the spot.

“You can eroticize almost anything,” Dr. George told them. “With old-fashioned training, it can take weeks or months to condition someone. But hypnosis gives you a shortcut to that part of the mind.”

He pivoted, looking around the ring of folding chairs.

“Who wants a 15-minute fetish?” Hands shot up.

He settled on a couple of volunteers, Kitten and Brad.

“Anything can be eroticized,” he repeated. “What should it be tonight?” With the group’s help, Kitten agreed to become obsessed about shoulders. Brad agreed to be turned on by laughter. I thought both ideas were kind of lame for a sex club, but whatever.

Dr. George sat Kitten and Brad next to each other, arms around each other’s shoulders, and slid his own chair in close.

He dangled a hand in front of each one’s eyes and commenced wiggling fingers, the butterfly induction.

“Keep your eyes on my fingers. Closely, closely. Focus on them, follow them, let your eyes swivel smoothly to track my fingers, don’t let them get away.”

His fingers bounced up and down, left and right, wiggling unpredictably.

“And while your eyes are busy tracking my fingers, watching, watching, your mind goes its own direction, lighter, upward, rising, lighter, upward, rising, toward the deep blue black of space, where it’s calm and peaceful and empty and quiet and safe.”

The calm of space feels so much better than wearing your eyes out trying to track wiggly fingers. Their eyelids drooped and facial muscles slumped.

“Sleep!” as he pulled his hands downward, their eyes following, their heads following, their minds following. He caught them both as they slumped into his lap, and eased them back into their chairs for instructions.

“Kitten, when your conscious mind is alert again, you’ll be focused entirely on all the sets of shoulders in the room. You’ll find each set of shoulders fascinating and attractive and desirable in its own way.”

“Brad, when your conscious mind returns, you’ll continue to sit right here. Your attention will be focused on laughter, any laughter, all kinds of laughter. It arouses you, and it accumulates. The more laughter you hear, the more aroused you become.”

He gently woke them both, along with a nearby young woman with purple hair who had slumped over in sympathy.

Brad and Kitten blinked, stretched, and looked around as though they had forgotten why everyone was watching them.

Kitten soon hopped up and embraced the woman with purple hair, kneading her firm upper arms. The woman, still woozy herself, just stared back.

But then Kitten gasped at the sight of the man sitting two chairs away, who had a dragon tattoo draped across his upper back. She leaped to him, and traced her fingers along the dark blue lines, humming.

Kitten seemed oblivious to all else, above or below anyone’s shoulder line. The next woman had her hair pulled up in a bun, and Kitten went straight for the back of her neck, first scraping it with her fingernails and then kissing it all over.

The room had been silent until now, but then Kitten moaned, and the giggling broke out.

“Yes, folks, meet the new shoulder slut,” Dr. George said, arms folded, looking kind of proud.

The next man’s shoulders, which looked fresh from the gym, were rewarded with a boob massage. Kitten had simply pulled off her shirt and started sliding back and forth against him. Now folks were clapping—and laughing.

“Hey look!” And attention swung back to Brad. He had a huge tent in his crotch. He was staring down at it. The giggles were working.

Kitten had reached my chair, and reached under my top. With her shirt, she polished my skin, and now was whistling away. More laughter.

Brad’s erection was now painfully bent in his pants. He freed it, and it sprung upward, a lovely arch. He looked around wildly, as though he’d like to flee, but he was stuck to his chair.

Kitten had moved on and was now kind of straddling a guy’s neck. She slid down a few inches, aimed her crotch at the top of his arm, and commenced rubbing her clit against the bone.

This was much more hot than funny, so laughter faded. But two guys in the back, who seemed more focused on Brad than on Kitten, started laughing at his predicament. Maybe a little deliberately. OK, maybe a lot deliberately. It all plainly added up. Brad bounced and squirmed and tried to hide his hard-on under his shirt.

Naturally, everyone laughed at their game.

Just as inevitably, Brad lost control and erupted.

Kitten came too.

“Bio break,” Dr. George announced.

During the break, Lizette approached me, with a question on her face. She’s the club manager and had been sitting in the back of the room, quietly observing. I noticed she turned her back to the room to speak to me.

“Can hypnosis also remove things? Like ... inhibitions?”

“Oh god, yes,” I said. “You may have noticed that I have no limits anymore? There’s a reason.”

She laughed.

“I’m glad to hear that. Do you mind if I share something, after class? Can you guys stay a bit late?”

The last hour went by in no time for me. They were practicing induction techniques, and I like to volunteer for the first-time hypnotists. I came back to earth eventually—woozy, half-dressed and wet.

As we stacked chairs and waited for the room to empty out, I had time to think about Lizette’s question.

I didn’t know her well, but in my observations at the club—we had seen each other naked more than once—she had not appeared to be repressing anything.

But it turned out she had been. As soon as the last member left, she stretched out on her office couch. We had barely settled on the easy chairs facing her when she explained.

“It’s anal,” she said. “I just can’t go there.”

“The idea turns me on. The porn turns me on. The foreplay turns me on. The damn enema turns me on. But as soon as fingers, toys, or cocks get near my ass, it locks right up.”

Dr. George started to comment, but she cut him off.

“It’s no doubt because of something I don’t even remember, from my childhood. I get that. But I want to get rid of that barrier. How do I do that?”

As she spoke, I admired the contrast. On the outside, Lizette looked every part the modern manager — sensible boots, jeans, simple blouse, leather jacket, tattoo peeking out from her collar. Yet what were we seeing in our minds? Her tight sphincter.

“I see,” Dr. George said. He was looking at the ceiling, gears turning. “Hypnosis offers some approaches to this. I’d be happy to help you explore it. Do you want to start now, and see how far we get?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

He lowered his gaze, to focus on her. “Do you meditate, or do yoga, or spend much time in subspace?” She nodded. “Very good. Then you already know the path into trance.”

“When you’re reading a good story, or daydreaming, do you find yourself inside it, seeing and feeling it, and losing track of the world?” A nod. “Good. That means your subconscious is adept at painting vivid scenes. ”

He continued. “Would it be OK if I asked your subconscious a few questions?”

“Sure,” she shrugged.

“OK if I touch your hand and arm?”

She looked at him, then me. “Look. No more consent questions, all right? I’m trying to get fucked in the ass. You can do anything—anything—to make that happen.”

“I get it,” he said, and set to business. He pulled his chair in closer to hers.

“Hold your right arm up like this.” He planted Lizette’s elbow on the armrest and gripped her upright wrist. “Your subconscious now is in charge of this hand.”

“Hello, Subconscious, I saw you watching my demo tonight. Were you paying attention? Wiggle your fingers to say yes.”

A few fingers moved.

“Did I describe your role well?” This time they all jerked.

“Will you work with me to remove Lizette’s inhibition?” The hand turned toward Lizette and waved.

Dr. George lowered Lizette’s arm back to the couch. Lizette stared at her hand as though she’d just met it. She shook her head.

“Lizette,” he said. “Here’s the plan: Back in your past, I’m going to place a faded memory, of this one time when you remember anal sex going wonderfully well. That way, you will always know that you’ve done this before.

“So the next time you have anal sex, it will be the second time—and you’ll know it.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “Weird, but I can see that working.”

“So can you think of a person, and a time and place, when this could have happened?”

“Let’s see,” Lizette looked around for a few seconds. “There was this guy in Berlin, the summer I was backpacking around Europe. We met at a wine festival, and then spent a weekend in his apartment, doing almost everything. We’d have gotten around to anal, I’m sure, but we ran out of time before I had to leave. Dieter. I haven’t thought of him in years.”

“Very good. Dieter will do. What I’m suggesting here is permanent. From now on, whenever you think of anal sex, you’ll have this vague sensation of lowering your ass onto Dieter’s cock. Is that OK? ”

She tilted her head and started to say something.

“OK, OK. We’ll do that,” he said quickly. “Then we’re ready to get started.”

“This is going to get intimate,” I told her. She smiled and said, “I’m counting on that,” and sat up briefly to tug off her jeans and panties.

Dr. George left his chair, squatted next to Lizette’s head, and commenced a progressive relaxation induction. He began by talking to her toes and then worked up her body, inch by inch. Her eyes fell closed by the time he was addressing her belly, and her breathing slowed by the time he reached her neck. He kept going, finally sending her mind whirling off into deep space. She was floppy, practically melted into the cushions.

“And now I want to talk with your subconscious. Subconscious, please say hello.”

“... Hello ...”

“It’s good to speak with you. Tell me what role you play in Lizette’s life.”

“I am her guardian,” the voice said. “I keep her out of trouble. I am the last resort. I am the one that fixes things.”

The voice was like Lizette’s, except flat and soft. Her eyes never opened, her face showed no emotion.

“Thank you. I know you keep her safe,” he said. “And sometimes you hide things, yes?”

“... Yes.”

“That’s important work. I’m not going to touch that,” he said. “Can you also create memories for her? Insert events that never happened?”

“Yes, I have done that.”

Lizette’s deepest mind sounded practical and straightforward.

Lizette’s subconscious agreed that she could, and would, splice an old, faded memory of happy anal sex into recollections of that Berlin weekend.

“Very good.”

Then he had more instructions for the subconscious, for relaxing the sphincter’s muscles.

“When the time comes for anal sex—touched by fingers, toys, or cocks—those muscles forget to tighten. Her bottom becomes so hungry, and the opening eases wide and loose.”

“Yes?”

“... Yes ...”

He repeated the suggestion a few different ways.

Then he eased limp Lizette onto her side, facing away from us, and scissored her legs slightly apart.

He whispered to me, “I don’t know what old trauma her subconscious is hiding. But it’s more promising to give her a happy replacement memory to recall. If it’s wrapped in arousal, it should get planted quite solidly.”

Dr. George handed me gloves and lube off a side table.

Speaking up again, he said, “Subconscious, slide her memories far back to a time when her bottom was free of tension, no stress, all the muscles relaxed. Notice that the sphincter is loose, comfy, relaxed, free, and open to sensation. Clone that sensation. Let it slide up and down inside her bottom, relaxing everywhere, loosening everywhere. Those muscles forget to clench, forget to tighten, forget.

“Now she feels fingers, Dieter’s fingers, touching her bottom, sliding, pleasuring, entering, sliding, entering, pleasing.”

In Dieter’s place, my gloved fingers were already circling gently around her sphincter, urging it to let go, reminding it to relax. I stroked it, from inside to outside, massaging the stress away.

Her bottom was not fighting me. Right away, I had two fingers inside, rotating slightly.

The odd part was her limp silence; conscious Lizette was not in the room with us.

“Now Dieter is filling her ass with his fingers. It relaxes to accommodate anything and everything.”

Her butt practically sucked a third finger in. I started outright handfucking her ass, with just my thumb and baby finger outside. Anyone else would have pushed back on my hand; she was on Pluto. I picked up the pace.

Dr. George, while still murmuring to her subconscious, slid himself around, pulled his pants off, and unrolled a condom onto himself. I used two fingers on each hand to pull her bottom open, and he pressed his cock into the gap between my hands.

“Subconscious, slide her mind forward in time, steadily, with each of my strokes. Her bottom remains loose, warm, hungry. Steadily toward the present day, stroke ... by stroke ... by stroke ... by stroke.” He was rhythmically pushing himself deeper and deeper inside her.

I was pulling her ass open as far as I could, to give him depth, but now his balls were bouncing off her cheeks. He really couldn’t push much farther.

“Subconscious, remember this setting. Utterly open and at ease.” He slowly withdrew, and I saw that her new gape was in no hurry to close.

His cock still quite hard and pink, he returned to his place at the head of the couch.

“Clean her up, please,” he told me, pressing my head toward her cheeks.

“Subconscious, when I bring her back, to the here and now, she will have no conscious memory of anything that has occurred in trance, and no memory of planting a memory. She’ll return at her own comfortable pace, gradually aware of warm, wet pleasure.”

It took her a while to surface.

“Hey!” Lizette said sleepily. She looked down her body at me. “I wasn’t expecting to find you there!”

She didn’t miss a beat, though; she pushed my head more firmly into her bottom, and I extended my tongue as far as I could.

“My mind is really fuzzy,” she said to Dr. George. “What did you do?”

I added a couple of fingers alongside my tongue.

“You were craving things in your bottom,” he said, vaguely. “Your wish is our command.”

“Whatever you did, it feels really, really good,” she said. She gently pulled her bottom away from my face. “Sorry, sweety, but ...”

Lizette slid her knees up under herself and swiveled her bottom toward Dr. George.

“My ass is so hungry,” she said. “And you look more than ready.”

He slid right in.

“Oooooh, it’s been a long time,” she said.