The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Well,” Mom said, after a few moments of thought. “I guess I can help you out.”

I tried not to smile too triumphantly, and just nodded in thanks.

“Although…are you sure that this is going to help you improve your grades?”

“I’m sure,” I said firmly. “Trust me—hypnosis can do incredible things.”

“Okay,” I said, fumbling through my notes as Linda sat in front of me, slumped back in her chair, breathing deeply. “You’re going to answer all my questions honestly, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re never going to lie to me, are you?”

“No.”

Linda was firmly in what the books had called ‘trance’—a state of pliability where she wouldn’t be able to wake up without permission…and she would obey my commands.

Well, not really. She wouldn’t do anything that she wouldn’t do while awake, with one exception: while she was under, she would answer my questions with complete honesty, and I was no longer just her friend Terry—I was her friend Terry who she trusted more than anyone.

In real life, she probably wouldn’t strip her clothes off if I ordered her to.

While she was under trance, she still wouldn’t strip off her clothes just because I ordered her to. But, if I told her there was a spider on her shirt, she’d probably take it off…just to be safe.

And if I told her that being hypnotized was really good for her, really relaxing, something that she had to do normally…well, there was nothing suspicious about that, was there?

There was a lot that I wanted to experiment with. First, however, I had some questions.

“Are you sexually attracted to me?”

There was a long pause, and I wondered if I should have started with a softball instead of jumping in headfirst.

I continued mentally mixing metaphors until Linda interrupted my thoughts with her response.

“No.”

“Why did it take so long for you to answer?”

“I had to think about it.”

Huh. I don’t know about most guys, but I know immediately whether I’m sexually attracted to someone.

“Do you think you could ever be sexually attracted to me?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Again, the pause. It was interesting, watching Linda think as she seemingly slept—we were alone at my house, but had someone walked in they would likely have just thought she was napping. Except for an occasional twitch of her lips, her face remained totally immobile.

“If things were different.”

I sighed. Linda was a fairly literal person, but I’d hoped that by accessing her subconscious directly, that’d change.

“Different how?”

This time, as she paused, I took the opportunity to check her out.

Like I said, Linda and I have been friends since we were kids. When you’re running around as ten-year olds, you don’t really notice what your friend’s body looks like.

When puberty hit, that definitely changed.

Linda had filled out before my hormones had struck, and I’d spent a few months teasing her about her new tits. I remember almost bringing her to tears a few times (what can I say? Kids can be monsters, and I was no exception) before my body started going through changes of its own, and suddenly the bumps on her chest weren’t something to be laughed at any more.

She more than got her own back over the six months my voice took to break. It took a few years for everything to settle back down, but we never stopped being friends throughout the whole process.

On the rare occasion I wasn’t thinking of my Mom while I jacked it, Linda’s curves were close to the top of my mind. One of my neighbors had shown me a dirty magazine once, and despite the difference in age, body type and hair color, it had been easy enough to superimpose the only pair of boobs I’d ever seen onto the body of both Linda and my Mom.

My lips curled as I watched her think, breathing deeply. Pretty soon, I wouldn’t be imagining what her body looked like under those clothes—I’d know.

“If we weren’t so close,” Linda said, finally breaking the silence. “Or…if we were closer.”

My forehead crinkled as I wondered what she meant by that…and, more importantly, how I could use it. But I was starting to grow sick of asking her questions—I wanted to see some skin.

“Linda,” I said, going through the papers in front of me. I’d spent a while crafting the scenario. “I want you to take your clothes off.”

“No,” she said, without hesitation.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want you to see me naked.”

“Okay,” I said, having predicted that answer. “But what if I close my eyes?”

“No,” she said. Damn. I had been assuming there would be a little bit of a pause there, at least.

Now it was my time to stop and think.

You can’t make anyone do anything under hypnosis that they don’t want to do. So the trick was simple—make her want to do it.

“Do you like being naked?” I asked, and she nodded immediately. That could have gone either way, but I remembered when we were kids, skinny-dipping was always her suggestion. “Why?”

“I like the feeling of being free.”

“Would you like to feel free now?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. Good sign.

“Why don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t feel free with you here. I’d feel exposed.”

“Okay…but what if I wasn’t here?”

“But you are.”

I sighed, before glancing down at my notes and remembering the spider.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Do you trust me absolutely?”

“Yes.”

“What would you do if I told you there was a spider on your shirt?”

“Scream.”

“And then?”

“Try to swat it away.”

“And if you couldn’t?”

“Scream some more.”

I didn’t really want Linda screaming—Mom wasn’t home, but the neighbors were close enough that they might come running, and finding a seemingly-unconscious girl in the room where they’d just heard screams would be difficult to explain away.

“Okay…what would you do if I accidentally spilled paint on you?”

“I’d be furious.”

“Would you change out of your top?”

“Of course.”

“In front of me?”

“No. Obviously not.”

I hadn’t really thought this one through. Despite my preparation, I hadn’t come up with anything that made Linda want to take her clothes off.

I could do better than this, I knew it.

“Do you like your body?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied immediately. Then there was a brief pause, and she added: “Sometimes.”

“When do you like it?”

“When I look at myself in the mirror,” she said. “And when I…”

There was another pause; the longest so far.

“…when I touch myself,” she eventually answered, and a slight blush had appeared on her face.

Holy shit. What did that mean?

“What do you mean, touch yourself?”

“Y’know,” she said unhelpfully. “Down there.”

My mind was reeling. Did she mean…did girls jack off? In all my years, I’d never heard of such a thing. I’d never even suspected anything like it.

Did all girls do it, or just Linda?

…did Mom?

“Why did you hesitate to tell me that?” I asked.

“Because it’s embarrassing, and I was worried you’d think I was a slut.”

“How often do you touch yourself?”

“A lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“At least once a day.”

Wow. No wonder she was embarrassed to tell me—now I sort of did wonder if she was a slut.

“Would you touch yourself in front of me?” I blurted out.

“No!” she said. “Of course not!”

“Okay,” I said, my dick so hard that it was threatening to burst through my pants. “Okay.”

I took a moment to collect myself. My mind was racing, trying to imagine what it looked like. In school we’d seen some medical diagrams of vaginas, but they’d never mentioned anything about girls jerking off. How did they…how did it work? I couldn’t even begin to visualize it. Did they shoot stuff like I did, or…no, that didn’t make any sense.

When I had finally calmed down a little, I considered jumping back to my earlier line of inquiry, but I was just too fascinated with what I’d just learned.

“How do you do it?”

Again, that pause.

“Well,” she said finally, “I reach down between my legs, and I…I touch myself.”

“How?”

“I tease my lips for a few minutes, and then when my clit gets hard, I make little circles around it with my fingertips.”

“Wait…your clit?”

What followed was fifteen minutes of the most educational conversation I’d ever had. I learned about the clitoris, the G-spot, about vaginal lubrication and the female orgasm.

And the female multiple orgasm.

By the time Linda had finished explaining—in great detail—the process she used to masturbate, I was more excited than I’d been since the summer Mom had bought her first bikini.

What’s more, I’d come up with some ideas of how I could use my new-found knowledge.

“Have you ever told anyone else about the way you masturbate?”

“No.”

“Have you ever told anyone else that you masturbate at all?”

“No.”

“It feels good, telling someone about it, doesn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you feel like you could tell me?”

“Because I trust you.”

“Why do you trust me?”

“Because you’re my friend.”

“And did you like telling me about it?”

“Yes.”

“But there’s a problem,” I said, and Linda frowned slightly in response. She was hanging onto my every word so firmly that just me suggesting something was wrong was enough to make her feel bad, even before learning what the problem was. “When you tell me stuff under hypnosis, it doesn’t count.”

Linda nodded; a small nod of acknowledgement, but not understanding.

“When you’re hypnotized, you’re mostly asleep. Repeat that back to me.”

“When I’m hypnotized, I’m mostly asleep.”

“Anything we talk about while you’re mostly asleep doesn’t count. It’ll only enter your subconscious, won’t it?”

“Yes.”

This time, her assent was much firmer.

“Do you know much about the subconscious?”

“No,” Linda said, and then immediately clarified. “A little.”

“Tell me what you know about the subconscious.”

“Well,” she replied, biting her lip thoughtfully. “It’s where our deepest fears and wishes come from.”

“That’s true. What else?”

“It’s where dreams come from.”

“Good girl. Anything else?”

There was a brief pause, and Linda shook her head.

“Let me tell you about the subconscious. You trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And I know more about the subconscious than you do, right?”

“Right.”

This was actually true—my reading had taught me a bunch about the unconscious mind and the subconscious and a bunch of Freud’s theories about the ego and the id. But it occurred to me that it didn’t really matter what I knew—what mattered was what Linda would believe.

And in her current state, she’d trust anything I said.

“The subconscious is what controls your waking life. You can never know what’s in your subconscious, but it determines what makes you happy and what makes you sad. Whenever you’re hypnotized, we have these conversations in your subconscious—you won’t remember them when you’re awake, but they’ll steer your actions…and they’ll make sure that you’re happy.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“It was nice, telling me about how you masturbate, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s something you can’t talk about with most people, but you can talk about it with me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Now your subconscious knows how great it is to talk to me about masturbation, you’ll want to do it while you’re awake, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do when you’re awake?”

“I’m going to talk to you about masturbation.”

“And how will that make you feel?”

“Great.”

“And it’ll make you trust me more, won’t it?”

“Yes.”

“We would never have learned how great talking to me about masturbation can be if I hadn’t hypnotized you, would we?”

“No.”

“Being hypnotized is one of the best things that’s ever happened to you, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“What will you do if I ask to hypnotize you again?”

“I’ll let you.”

“And you won’t suspect anything, will you?”

“No.”