The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I. 2005

Mrs. Probst sat slumped in the chair in front of the principal’s desk. Her heavy eyes pointed, steady but unseeing, to an empty spot six inches from her face. Next to her, Principal Cameron was tucking her necklace with its diamond pendant back under her yellow blouse. Slowly, careful not to startle the subject, she sunk her dainty rear onto the padded leather armrest and brought her lips to Mrs. Probst’s ear.

“Seven, six. You are returning to your secret garden,” she murmured. “Five, four. Three. Your garden is becoming clear now. Two. You can smell the flowers in bloom.”

Mrs. Probst’s nostrils flickered as they drew in the perfume. The slivers of her eyes were dull, almost concave. Principal Cameron had captivated Mrs. Probst’s vision and turned it inward, fixed helplessly on the image she was drawing on the woman’s brain. “Remembering your secret garden. Where you are so comfortable, so safe. And one. The school is far, far away, and you are walking through your garden.” Mrs. Probst’s lips fell open as her jaw sagged. The crest of her tongue glistened in the dim parchment-colored light given off by the desk lamp. “So happy to be back in your special place, far away from stress, from doubt.”

The neck gave out next, head wobbling as if held up by an inner tube leaking its air. Principal Cameron—Ginny or Regina to the faculty of Anderson-Hume Senior High—cupped Mrs. Probst’s chin with her fingertips, each with its mango-yellow nail, and gently tipped her head back until it rested on top of the backrest. Mrs. Probst’s eyelids slid the rest of the way over her deeply sleeping corneas.

Skull properly secured, Ginny let go of Mrs. Probst’s chin and dropped her hand onto her subject’s. “And how are you feeling?” she asked.

“Wonderful.” Mrs. Probst’s voice came from so far away that its nasal overtone nearly drowned out the consonants, but Ginny heard her fine in the stillness of her office. She gave Mrs. Probst’s limp fingers a gentle squeeze.

“Tell me what you see.”

“Roses. Lilacs. Sun. So warm.”

“Very good, Matti, you’re doing so well,” Ginny said.

“And so many. Lilies.”

“Mmm-hmm, you love lilies, don’t you, Matti?”

“Yes.” Matti smiled, woozy with bliss.

“And you remember what being in your beautiful lily garden makes you do, don’t you?” Principal Cameron’s fingers drifted up Matti’s wrist, explored the fine bones of her forearm as Matti’s smile weakened and died. The clock on the wall ticked. Finally Matti replied, the trigger phrase anchoring what she said to the flesh of her mouth. But Principal Cameron had hypnotized her often enough over the past eight months to pick out an affirmative grunt from her trance-speak. “What must you do when you are in the lily garden?” she asked again, less softly, her manicure pressing a row of tiny half-moons into Matti’s arm.

So Matilda Probst, 41 years old, seventeen years’ experience teaching English to ninth and tenth graders, straightened her neck and dragged her eyelids back to half-open. “When I am. In the lily garden. I must remove my clothes,” she said, her voice clear but sandbagged of emotion. “To prepare.”

Ginny felt her heart drumming on her throat. She wanted to tear Matti’s clothing off for her and fuck her back to wakefulness, but she could not allow the teacher to skip the next part. Instead, she got off the armrest and pulled Matti to her feet in front of the desk. “Go ahead, Matti dear,” she said. “Show me how you prepare.”

Matti untucked her beige tank from her pants, pulled it over her head and dropped it on the floor. She stepped out of her shoes, and with the deliberate focus of a child opened her belt and undid her pants. The coal-grey slacks collapsed to her ankles.

Principal Cameron’s heart had pushed through her throat and waited, pulsing expectantly, on the roof of her mouth. It had taken months of manipulating the teacher’s psyche to reach this level of compelled response. Bared to the lamp’s moonlight, she was slender but not bony like thin women her age tended to be. In fact, the flesh on her stomach sagged slightly, but her thighs were toned and smooth, building into the perky swell of her ass. “Now the underwear,” Ginny said. Matti’s bra unhooked from the front, landed on top of the tank, and as she slipped her functional cotton panties past her knees, Ginny admitted to herself that she had been nervous about today’s session. Not about getting caught, or Matti breaking her conditioning, but about Ginny’s searing desire to prod, suck, and lick every fissure in the teacher’s body overwhelming her. Causing her to lose control. None of the other women had given Ginny nerves like this. Not during the euphoria of massaging away their wills, not even at the black instant of doubt as they gazed up at her from the floor, or in bed, crouched between her knees, before pledging their undying devotion to her. Now here Matti Probst stood, wearing her sexy little body and nothing else. Close enough to smell the potpourri of her deodorant, breasts like two pink squashes, her pubic hair a neat blonde triangle with threads of silver, and Ginny discovered her breath was regular, if shallow. She decided that she did not give herself enough credit for self-control, ignoring the trembling in her knees and the wonderful moist ache in her pussy.

A tiny orange bulb on the desk came on, held for a second, and began to blink, casting shadows in the dim office. Principal Cameron had put her phone directly to voice mail, but the message signal reminded her that they did not have much time left. Fifteen, twenty minutes at most until Matti’s sixth period class began to wonder about her. Ginny took hold of both of her hands. “Now you are prepared,” she said.

“Yes.”

“For the spiral.”

Matti shuddered. “Yes.”

“The spiral that turns your thoughts round and round and—”

“Round. And round,” Matti finished. Ginny could tell that she was already there, that the garden had melted into a vast, endless tunnel of brightly insistent colors, inside of which Matti floated, drifting toward its heart without any hope or desire to reach it.

“Twirling them all into yes.” Ginny watched Matti watch the spiral turn. Just as Ginny had trained her to do, rising silently from bed in the dead of night, careful not to wake her husband, padding downstairs to the living room, sitting cross-legged on the carpet for a midnight meditation session. Picturing the lilies, then losing herself in the spiral and peeling her nightgown from her shoulders, the latest mantra Ginny had tucked into her subconscious trickling from her lips again and again. Preparing herself for today. No real-life pinwheel could dominate Matilda Probst’s mind like the one in her own imagination. “So that you are ready for instruction.”

The wall clock ticked. Ginny breathed. Matti sighed. She said, “All my thoughts. Are twirled into yes. I am ready for instruction.” Ginny ran her knuckles up the teacher’s cool thigh. She embraced Matti and kissed her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. Twenty minutes can be a long time.

“Listen closely, Matti. This week you will sleep through the night. This is what you will dream,” the principal whispered. “And this is what you will decide about your dreams in the morning.”

II. 1988

My cousin Mike picks me up at the curb of the Norfolk airport. He tosses my suitcase and my laundry bag full to bursting with dirty clothes into the flatbed of his Ram 50. The bag does not burst.

On the interstate he tells me about his new baby boy, and his wife only getting three weeks’ maternity leave from the grocery store where she works. “Lot of good her union dues are doing us,” he says. “Hey, how’s college going?”

“It’s fine,” I say.

“What’s that?” Mike points to his right ear, the one that does not hear well.

“Fine,” I say more loudly. I turn my face back toward the window, unhappy that we have already made it to the turn-off for the highway that will take us to Danford. Silently I had hoped for heavy tourist traffic heading for Williamsburg or Yorktown, but no such luck.

Mike is looking me over out of the corner of his eye. “Cut your hair pretty short, didn’t you? Is that how girls wear it in Connecticut?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Go to hell, Mike.”

“What?”

Thirty minutes later, I am home. Mike hauls my stuff out of the flatbed, and I take the suitcase. We walk up to the front door and ring the bell. When Mother answers, Mike, hugging my laundry bag, pretends his legs have turned to rubber. “Damn, Aunt Nancy, I don’t think Ginny here has done a load since she left,” he says. Mother laughs and tells us that there is a pitcher of lemonade on the kitchen counter, but Mike says he has to go watch his son so his wife can go to work.

Once we are inside, Mother hugs me and kisses me on the cheek. After a moment I hug her back. “And how did your exams go, angel?” Mother asks.

“Pretty good,” I say.

“Better than last semester?”

“Sure,” I say. “Seen Dad lately?”

“My only contact with your father is through his attorney,” Mother says in a bright tone that means I have company over, so don’t start. I look through the sliding glass doors, and sure enough, I see an arm and a leg relaxing on one of the lounge chairs facing the pool. Near the arm, a highball glass halfway full with ice and a brown drink rests on a small marbled glass tabletop. The drink sweats condensation. “Why don’t you go out there and say hello to Heather?” So the woman in the deck chair is who I thought it was, who I hoped it was.

I push open the sliding door and walk into the back yard. “Hello, Miss Thorpe,” I say.

The woman in the deck chair sits up, cranes her neck around. She is wearing large sunglasses and a canvas hat with a wide brim. “I’m sorry,” she says, her face a mask. “Do I know you?”

Trying hard not to grin, I say, “Oops. Sorry ma’am. Guess I have you confused with a different Miss Thorpe.”

“Well, it happens. We Miss Thorpes are everywhere,” she says, pretending to consider the possibility as I crack up. “Anyway, for God’s sake, Ginny, call me Heather.” I sit sideways on the end of the deck chair next to Heather’s so I am facing her. She asks me about school and I tell her it went fine.

It is a hot afternoon, and I wish I had a clean swimsuit to change into. Mother comes out of the house with a glass of lemonade. “Heather just spent a month in Europe,” she says. “She even went to East Berlin.” Ms. Thorpe—Heather—modestly waves away Mother’s bragging.

“What was it like?” I ask. I look at Heather, so beautiful and still youthful in her red one-piece bathing suit, and wonder how she and Mother were still friends. They were sorority sisters together at the University of Virginia. I cannot imagine Mother as a college girl.

“All the streets are named after old Communists,” Heather says. “Waiters couldn’t serve me fast enough once they discovered that I had American money.”

Mother shoos me further down the leg rest of the chair and sits down beside me. Heather tells us more about Germany until the phone rings in the kitchen and Mother goes inside to answer it. “Why, hello,” she says when she hears who it is, then she looks at me. She tells whomever it is to hold on a minute and puts the receiver on the counter. She walks back to the patio door and slides it shut. I turn back to Heather to find that she is watching me with a small smile I have not seen before.

We listen to Mother’s muffled voice until she hangs up the phone and opens the door wide enough to stick her head through. “I’m so sorry, Heather honey, but I have to go out for an hour or two,” she says. “Ginny, will you keep Heather company until she’s ready to leave?”

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“Something got screwed up at the store. Missing receipts or something, and now we all have to go in and look for them,” Mother says. “I’m so sorry, Heather.”

“Don’t apologize, dear. I’m having just a lovely time with Ginny,” Heather says with that strange smile still on her lips. She sips her drink and lies back on the chair. Neither of us says anything until after Mother’s car pulls out of the garage and leaves. Then Heather turns to me and says, “Don’t you care for your lemonade?”

“I’m not too thirsty, I guess,” I say, watching the water flow in the pool. I am dying to know who had really called, but I am also afraid to ask.

“No?” She waves her glass, making the remnants of ice tinkle cheerfully. “Can I maybe interest you in one of these instead?” She notices my gaping mouth and her smile widens into something friendlier and more familiar. “Don’t tell me that you haven’t learned to drink alcohol while you were away. And of course I won’t tell your mother if you won’t.” She stands up and says, “Back in a flash.” A minute later she returns from the kitchen with two Seven and Sevens. “I believe I’ve had enough sun. Let’s go sit under there,” she says, aiming the brim of her hat at the patio table and its large umbrella. We sit in the plastic picnic chairs and Heather tells me more about Europe, and about the friends she has, their parties and fundraiser events in Washington—senators and their wives, ambassadors from countries I hear about in the news, heiresses. Her impressions of them are so funny. Determined to show her that I have learned to drink in college, I drink my Seven and Seven down quickly. The drink begins to relax me and I study Heather’s face as she talks. Her clear, round forehead with its carefully plucked eyebrows. Her longish but delicate nose and her tight cheeks without any wrinkles. I have known Heather Thorpe my whole life and she has hardly aged at all. Instead, in her forties without a husband or kids, she has settled into a kind of second adolescence, her skin tinged with sun, just a few freckles above the cheekbones and almost no makeup, glowing with vitality.

“What’s wrong, Ginny honey?” Heather asks. Her hat rests on the table and her hair curls at the base of her neck. I realize I have not been listening.

“Nothing,” I say. “I don’t know. Is my mother seeing another man?”

Heather laughs. Her laugh is so beautiful, a clear alto bell, that I wish I had said something funny. “Oh, honey, don’t cry,” she says. “I’m sure she’ll tell you about it when she’s ready.” She disappears into the house with our drink glasses and returns with her pocketbook. She pulls out a piece of jewelry and a tissue and sits down again. “Let me show you something,” she says as she gives me the tissue. As I dry my eyes, she reaches into my lap and puts her hand in mine. I hold it tight until I stop crying. When I look up at her the strange half-smile is back, as if Heather is keeping a secret from me that she knows I will love once I learn it.

“I want to show this to you,” she says. She picks up the chain from the table and holds it up to me. It is a gold necklace with a crystal pendant as large as the last knuckle of my thumb. I do not understand what is so important about the necklace right now, but I tell her that it is very pretty. “Isn’t it?” she says. “Now, I want you to do something for me. Just let your eyes rest on the center of the diamond.” She unclasps my hand and points to where she wants me to look. “That’s it. Very good.” She begins rolling the chain between her thumb and her fingers so that the diamond begins to spin. It turns in place, back and forth, twisting all the way left, then right. The facets move around and around.

“What’s going on?” I ask, still tipsy, my eyes watching the diamond spin. “Are—are you trying to—”

Heather makes a gentle ssssssssshhhhhhhh through her teeth. “That’s right, honey. I am trying to hypnotize you.” The diamond turns left and right, left and right, at a heartbeat rhythm. “Hypnosis is something that we ladies use to help each other relax.”

“Really? Will it help me relax?” I have been a girl, a kid, a young woman, but no one has ever called me a lady before.

“It works best if you don’t talk.”

“Oh, sorry,” I say and grimace.

“That’s okay, honey, but try not talk now. Just rest your eyes on the center of the diamond, and let the edges pass through your vision, sweeping back and forth, listening to my voice.” I bite my lip and focus on a spot in the heart of the diamond. It is beautiful and way too large to be real, but I try not to think about that. “Back and forth, round and round. Hearing only my voice. Let the stress of the day slip away, it is so easy to let it go, and keep your eyes on the pendant. Just relax and let go of what you cannot control.”

Watching the pendant and paying attention to what Heather is saying is not easy, so I focus on not focusing on the center of the crystal and letting my stress out. After all, Mother and Dad have been split up for months. It is not fair for me to blame Mother. The melody of Heather’s voice is like some rare tropical bird. Anyway, I am nineteen years old now. I need to learn to relax and let go of what I cannot control. Relax and let go. What I cannot control. The pendant turns on its invisible axle, the facets sweeping back and forth, back and forth. Relax and let go. In my mind I begin counting down without wondering why. Seven. Six. The numbers fall away, old pages in a calendar. Five. Four. Three. Relax. Let go. Two. What I cannot control. One.

My eyes open. It is cooler. The umbrella over the table is casting its shadow down almost to the azaleas on the other side of the yard. I look up. Heather sits next to me. The fingers on my left hand are woven with Heather’s right. I cannot read her face except to see that the smile is gone. “How do you feel, Ginny?” she asks.

I manage a confused laugh. “Good,” I say. My body is as limp as a pair of blue jeans on the floor, but my skin tingles with happiness. “Really good.”

“I’m so glad, honey,” Heather says.

I sit up in the chair. The peace and joy do not scatter, but settle in my stomach. And lower down, which is where over the next five years Heather will program me to get the feeling. On her command, lust will drip from my pussy onto her kneading fingers, a reinforcing control mantra echoing through my memory. When she does not simply drain my head with a few words, refill it with some new commands cooed in my ear, and leave me mindlessly repeating them like a tape player on an endless loop until they are etched into my personality. “I feel really, really good,” I tell her now. I reach out with a bare leg and give her shin a couple of shy strokes with my toe. I am naked. My clothes are draped over the back of the empty patio chair. I do not remember taking them off and I care enough only to hope that Mother does not come home tonight. “Can we do it again? Like, now?”

Heather’s grin could light up the whole town. “Not yet,” she says. Instead of reaching for the necklace, she kneels on the bricks in front of me. Her hands run up my legs and it feels so good, it feels like I am asleep, her tongue is on my pussy lips, her tongue is burrowing into me and it feels like the world ending, I palm my breasts and arch my back and imagine being a beautiful witty sparkling sexy perfect lady like Heather Thorpe.

III. 2005

Ginny found her near the cafeteria talking to Kevin Dooley, the biology teacher. Around them students were cleaning out their lockers, dumping old homework and God knows what else in the giant rolling trash bins the custodians had set out at the intersection of each hallway. Kevin was gesturing to the cast on his leg and Matti was making a face somewhere between amused and disgusted. “Ugh, Kevin, not the motorcycle accident story again,” Ginny teased.

“Isn’t it awful?” Matti agreed, exaggerating her grimace. “Two pins in the tibia. Thank goodness his doctor says it’ll heal okay.”

Kevin grinned. “It’s educational,” he said. He shifted on his crutches so that he faced both women.

“I don’t think too many people around here are thinking about their education today,” Ginny said as she looked around and ogled Matti out of the corner of her eye. The English teacher wore a light blue button-down blouse, sleeves rolled up almost to her elbows, over a black skirt, and black hose. The skirt stopped mid-thigh, and Ginny was sure she had never seen Matti wear it before. She stopped herself from imagining the hose scraping against her mons.

Kevin glanced over his shoulder. “That reminds me, I’ve got to finish cleaning out my desk. I’ll see you guys at year-end evaluations next week.” He hobbled off, waving over his shoulder. “You’ll be gentle, right boss?”

Matti’s grimace repaired itself into the grin through which she usually addressed the world. “Ooh, evaluations,” she said. “Scary.” Matti had two basic facial expressions, enthusiastic and judgmental, which were nearly identical. She spread her lips wide for both, but when she disapproved she also hiked up her sandy eyebrows and squinted her eyes, drawing her laugh lines into sharp relief. It was Matti’s body that had drawn Ginny to her, but the simplicity of Matti’s attitude toward the world, and her thin attempts to mask it, were what convinced Ginny that she needed to own her for longer than a couple of weekends, which was the usual length of her hypnotic affairs.

“You don’t think I can be tough with Kevin?” Ginny asked, still teasing. She leaned against an unattended locker and crossed her ankles.

“No, I’m sure you can,” Matti said. Her smile brightened. “Actually, I was on my way to see you. I got your email and—”

“Oh, right,” Ginny said. Trying to sound casual, she went on, “I was wondering if I could make dinner for my favorite English teacher next week sometime? Say Friday?” The eyebrows twitched, confusion ready to rise up to rejection, but Matti crossed her arms, ready to hear the pitch. Ginny touched her on the wrist. “Actually, you would be doing me a big favor. You see, I’ve got this girl from Ecuador living at my house who’s on this yearlong education program at the university. She’s going to TA in Spanish here next fall. The program was supposed to find her housing on campus, but she got accepted late and there weren’t any dorms left.”

“So she’s living with you for the year?” Matti asked. She glanced down at Ginny’s hand and Ginny removed it.

“Just until a spot opens up on campus.” The final bell rang, and the school filled with the sound of two thousand teenagers rushing out the doors for the last time until September. As they swept past Matti glanced at her watch. “Anyway, she’s really sweet, but kind of shy. I mean I don’t think she’s left my house since she moved in. She spends all day talking to her friends on the Internet. So I’m hoping that if she meets someone on the faculty, it might encourage her to, you know,” Ginny turned her palm up and waved it down the hall. “Expand her horizons a little.”

“Make friends,” Matti said, her smile wide and hard, her brows at attention. “Speak much English?”

“It’d be just a few hours of your time,” Ginny said. She pushed off the locker and stood up straight, folding her hands into prayer position. “Please? I’ll make my mother’s roast chicken.”

But skepticism had won the battle. “I’m sorry, but my husband and I are going to visit our son in—”

“Do you like lilies, Matti?”

“—Chicago next week. Lilies?” Matti blinked. “Yes, I like lilies.” She stepped closer to Ginny, her forehead knotted as if she was trying to recall an important name. “It’s—it’s funny that you ask that.”

“Why?” Ginny took a half step in herself, and Matti unconsciously mirrored her, bringing the two almost nose-to-nose. “What’s funny?”

“Well, I—I think I had a dream about lilies last night,” Matti studied Ginny’s face as if for the first time. She did not back away from Ginny’s nearness. “And the night before, too.”

“Really.”

“And I think you were in the dream, too.” Matti looked as if she were remembering something that should have been impossible, but she could not help but believe it.

“I was? With the lilies?”

“No. Yes.” Matti closed her eyes in concentration. “I mean, first there was this beautiful garden, full of lilies and other flowers, and then the lilies were—in your eyes.” When her eyes opened they bore into Ginny’s eyes with doped fixedness. She tottered and Ginny grabbed her by the arm to keep her from keeling over. Glancing around, Ginny did not find anyone coming, and the building seemed quiet. The insanity of triggering Matti’s out in the open, where any straggler or maintenance person could find them, put a hummmm in Ginny’s pussy. “There you were. And the garden—the colors from the flowers. All melted together. In your eyes.”

“What did the colors do, Matti?”

“They mixed together.” Matti’s voice was nearly a whisper. “No. They twirled. Like spirals. Around and around in your eyes. And I couldn’t look away.” Their eyes locked together, Ginny listened to the other woman hypnotize herself. She resisted the urge to kiss her and instead tucked a loose few strands of hair behind the teacher’s ear before resting her hands on her hips and drawing her into a very unprofessional embrace. The skirt was a thin and airy wool. As if she were scuba diving, Matti’s floated up and wrapped themselves loosely around the back of Ginny’s yellow sundress. Her sweet breath blew on Ginny’s flushed cheeks.

“You didn’t want to look away,” Ginny said.

“N-no,” Matti admitted. “I felt your spirals. Taking control of my mind. Twirling my thoughts. Into yes. Didn’t want them to. Stop.”

“Do you see my eyes spiraling now, Matti?” Their breasts pressed together through their blue and yellow tops.

Matti sighed. “I do. Taking control. Don’t stop,” she said, and the hell with getting caught, Ginny kissed her hard, her tongue a jackhammer in Matti’s mouth. Faintly, from the depths of her dream, the teacher kissed her back. Their jaws worked, The feverish smacking of lips filling Ginny’s ears. She squeezed Matti’s ass as she moved to nibbling and sucking the teacher’s dainty earlobe. Matti whined but stared straight ahead, the spirals still in her gaze, an afterimage glowing on her retinas. “Twirling my thoughts. Ohhh. Into yesss. Taking control.” Cupping a breast, Ginny returned to Matti’s mouth, soul kisses gradually turning into soft pecks on the teacher’s slender bottom lip. Finally Ginny stopped and looked back into Matti’s eyes.

“You are ready for instruction,” she said.

“Yes,” Matti said.

“When I tell you to, you will wake up. You will accept my invitation to dinner and you won’t find anything strange about it.” Separating reluctantly from their clench, Ginny straightened Matti’s blouse and smoothed down her hair. As badly as she needed to ride the teacher’s face with her crotch, now was not the time. “This dinner is very important to you, even though you don’t remember why. So important that you will reschedule your trip to Chicago. Every day until Friday you will look forward to it more and more.” She licked her fingers and wiped lipstick off Matti’s cheeks and neck. “Nothing will seem strange about that either.” She stepped away until the two of them were at normal conversation distance. Matti stood there, head tilted, eyes droopy and vacant, a little blonde girl who had stayed up way past her bedtime playing dress-up in mommy’s clothes. “Awake.”

Blinking, Matti straightened up and brought her hand to her collar. “What just—did I doze off there?” she asked.

Ginny frowned. “Doze off? I don’t think so.”

“Huh. Anyway, I’d love to come for dinner,” Matti said. “Can I bring anything?”

“Just your sweet self,” the principal said.