The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“What! Another bill from that damned shrink of yours?”

Terri deftly plucked the bill from my sleep-soggy grasp and put it back in the ‘to pay’ section of the office dividers she kept on the kitchen table. Or at least I assumed that’s the section where she put it. I was never sure if I understood my wife’s various organizational gimmicks.

Terri returned to holding her morning coffee in one hand while searching through the newspaper for the want ads with the other.

I wasn’t about to let it drop that easily, though. I never could stand the idea that Terri goes to a therapist. It seemed... I don’t know. Like an admission of failure. I mean, it was bad enough that I’d married a kindergarten teacher—my old buddies from the motorcycle gang had never let me live that down, even after five years of quiet and generally contented domesticity. But a kindergarten teacher who saw a shrink? Give me a break!

Terri’s not crazy, after all. A little overweight—or at least she used to be, I’ll give her shrink credit for that—and a little depressed sometimes. Nothing serious. Nothing worth paying through the nose to let herself be hypnotized every week for years. Hell, no!

I gulped down some coffee, hot and strong and black, just the way I like it. Resting my elbows on the table, I leaned forward. “Terri, you’re not crazy.”

She glanced up at me with a twinkle in her eye. Terri has the prettiest, merriest, smartest eyes of any woman who was ever born. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Jim. Actually, I suspect I’m more sane than you are.”

“Yeah, but I don’t waste money on a shrink.”

She just twinkled at me. I suddenly realized that if I kept going this direction she’d say that I should see a shrink, and then tell me exactly why, in detail—and that wasn’t where I wanted this conversation to go. I’m not as smart with words as she is, but I’ve learned to defend myself a bit, so I steered the conversation back on track. “Terri, you know we don’t have money to waste right about now.”

With exaggerated carefulness, Terri folded back the paper to the job ads. “Speaking of which—”

A trap! I groaned.

“Speaking of which, are you going to shave today, Jim?”

I ran a hand over my cheeks. About 100 grade sandpaper. Not bad at all. “Construction workers don’t have to shave when they’re looking for work. That’s the difference between us and kindergarten teachers.” I waved a hand toward her perfectly brushed auburn hair and fresh white blouse with bright red and pink flowers embroidered above her left breast. “Nor when we go to work, for that matter. I’d say that proves carpenters are smarter than teachers.”

Terri twinkled at me. “Are you saying I have to shave my moustache? Think very carefully before you answer, James Antoine Tanner. Very carefully.”

She only uses my middle name—which I hate; real men aren’t called ‘Antoine’—when she’s mad at me. Or trying to get my goat.

I pounded the table with my fist—an action which, combined with a mean glare, had frozen many a guy in mid-argument, but which had never had any effect on my wife. “We’re talking about how expensive and unnecessary your therapist is. Not about the fact that the construction industry is in a downturn.”

As Terri looked at me, the brightness slowly left her eyes. She looked downright sad by the time she got up to put her coffee cup in the sink. Shaking her head and frowning, she came over and sat in my lap. She smelled good.

“You don’t smell so good, Jim,” she said. Regardless, she put her arm around me and rested her head against mine. “I’m just... well, I’m worried about you. You’ve never been off work so long before, and you’ve never let yourself go this much.” She slipped her hand inside my robe and ran it lightly, teasingly, over my chest. “Promise me you’ll shower and shave?”

I grunted non-commitally.

Her hand found my nipple. “And go out and look for a job?”

Again, I grunted.

Her mouth moved to my ear. “And it wouldn’t hurt,” she whispered, sending shudders of tickly pleasure through my ear, “if you washed the breakfast dishes by the time I get home.”

“Now you’ve gone too far, woman.” I turned my mouth to hers and kissed her. At the same time I thrust my hand up her skirt. By the time the kiss was done, I had two fingers inside the crotch of her panties. “Seems to me,” I said as I ran my fingers through her pubic hair, “that maybe you do need to shave after all.”

“You naughty rascal,” she said with a laugh. “Come on, I’m serious. Promise me.”

Instead of promising anything, I kissed her and moved my fingers around as well as I could inside their cramped quarters. “You don’t have to leave for work just yet, do you?”

“Yes, I do. Stop it.”

I tried to get my fingers inside her puss, but she wasn’t making it easy. That, of course, just made me more determined.

“Stop it, Jim.”

My finger slipped between her lips. She was moist.

“I said stop it!” Thrusting my hand away, Terri shot to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. She stared at me, breathing heavily and looking annoyed. “Some of us actually have jobs to go to, remember?”

That was a low blow. I glared at her. She glared back for a couple of seconds, then lowered her gaze. “Promise me you’ll do something about looking for a job. Please?”

“If you’ll stop wasting our money on that damned shrink.”

She went to the sink and poured way too much soap into the plastic bowl she uses to wash dishes, then turned on the water full blast. When soap bubbles overflowed the top of the bowl, she finally turned to look at me. “When I go to my appointment tomorrow, I’ll see if I can switch to once a month, until you get a job. Under one condition.” She waggled a sudsy finger at me. “That you keep searching until you find a job, and don’t just give up and vegetate.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die. Now come here for a good-bye hug.”

“Hah. Your idea of a hug is to put your hands up my skirt and inside my panties so you can fondle my bottom.”

Actually, I’d been thinking of a normal hug, but all I said was, “So what’s wrong with that?”

Eyes twinkling again, my cute young wife answered the question by stepping eagerly toward me.

I showered. I shaved. I even did the damned breakfast dishes. And when I was done I sat at the kitchen table, getting horny from remembering the feel of Terri’s smooth ass while I hugged her good-bye hug. My wife is a hell of a sexy lady. I’m not the only who thinks so. My buddies do, too. Micky, for example, saw her in a bathing suit one time and said he’d of been ready to settle down himself, if that’s what it took.

I picked the bill from Terri’s shrink out of its file folder. Dr. I. G. Nebbleson. Expensive address downtown—at a high rise where a former biker- gang buddy of mine was the building superintendent. (Hey, you think bikers don’t have jobs? Get real, pal.) My buddy is one of those guys with a huge, macho key ring flapping against his thigh as he goes about his work. Love that key ring.

Thinking of that key ring, and of Terri wasting her time and squandering her pride with this jerk, Nebbleson, I was seized by one of the more brilliant—or insane, depending on how you want to look at it—ideas of my life.

I’d prove to Terri that she was wasting her time and our money. Yeah. This idea would work, I knew it would!

I’d have my buddy get me the key to the shrink’s office so I could set up my video camera to prove to Terri that Dr. Nebbleson wasn’t doing anything for her while she was hypnotized—probably watching television or something while she was unaware of her surroundings. Maybe I couldn’t get another job, not right away at least, but I could end this drain on our bank account.

Still, I felt like a thief as I crept into Nebbleson’s office the night before Terri’s next appointment. I was getting too old for this kind of shit—and if you must know the truth, I was, well, almost scared. Almost, mind you, not really.

This state has a third-strike-and-you’re-out law, which means one more felony conviction and I’d go to prison for life. Hey, I want you to know I never did anything wrong. Against the law, yeah, but not wrong. I just liked to fight, that’s all. Holyfield or Tyson do what I did, they make millions. I do it, I get busted. Go figure.

Of course, I don’t fight anymore. I’ve straightened out completely, thanks to Terri.

You can understand why my heart was pounding so fast I was afraid even to turn on the light for fear I’d give myself a heart attack. When I kicked a metal wastebasket and sent it clanking across Nebbleson’s reception area I thought I was going to die. Or at least get arrested.

After that I turned on the light in the inner office. Nice place. Gorgeous, dark wainscoting, a corner view of the downtown lights. Expensive, you know?

Surrounded by huge ferns and pretentious, real paintings that were no better than cheap reproductions (if you want my opinion), was a couch. I stroked the cool leather, imagining Terri’s sexy ass laying on it. In front of the couch was a comfortable leather chair—for the doc, I presumed.

I looked around for the best place to hide the camera and decided on the top of the bookcases behind the Nebbleson’s desk, hidden behind a plant. It could point right toward the couch. You’d have to look right at it to notice anything, and I’d be coming back tomorrow night. It only had to escape detection one day.

I won’t bore you with how I adjusted the zoom to focus on the couch and doctor’s chair or how I covered the “on” light with electrician’s tape or how I set the timer or how I tested the setup for loudness and focus. Let’s just say I know what I’m doing with a video camera. Give me a piece of machinery, any kind of machinery, and I become downright brilliant. I’m rough around the edges, as Terri explains it to her family, but I’m not stupid.

Not stupid at all.

The next night at dinner, after Terri’s afternoon appointment, I asked my too-cheerful wife how her visit with Nebbleson went.

“You know I don’t like to talk about private things, Jim”, was all she said. She complained a bit about the taste of the frozen dinners—probably hinting that I should have fixed something from scratch. “Did you make any progress looking for a job?”

“Yeah, I networked.” That was a term I’d picked up from a job search video she’d gotten me from the library. Calling my buddy with the big key ring, that counted as networking, didn’t it? “So, you won’t be going back to Nebbleson for a month now, right?”

She motioned for me to wait till her mouth was empty—something I just didn’t understand. I mean, it was just the two of us, right? So why bother with manners? “I have another appointment next week,” she said.

“You told me you’d cut back.”

“Pass me a napkin, will you?”

Scowling, I gave her a napkin.

She dabbed at her mouth before saying anything more. “I’d have had to pay for it anyway if I canceled this late, so I decided I might as well go. After that, though, it’s a month till my next appointment.”

Later that evening, I made an excuse about meeting with a buddy for more ‘networking’. No lie; it was my key-ring buddy, who let me back into Nebbleson’s office so I could retrieve the camera. Piece of cake.

But I felt guilty about the caper, so I kept putting off looking at the videotape. The breaking-and-entering part didn’t bother me. Nah. It was just that the tape said I didn’t trust Terri, you know.

Except that I do. She’s a gem—the best, sweetest, most caring, steadfast, and faithful person I’ve ever known. Hell, Terri’s a lot more trustworthy and loyal than I am. Yeah, probably saner, too.

The existence of the tape said all that, too, if you know what I mean.

So I put off watching it for a whole week—until Terri left for her next appointment. Then, egged on by the thought of the bucks we’d soon be wasting on the good doc, I sat down grimly to watch.

The first twenty minutes were mostly boring. I got up to get a bag of potato chips and a beer from the kitchen, and I didn’t miss a thing. My ears pricked up only when Terri discussed how hard it was for her to try to keep up her spirits—and mine!—while I was unemployed.

She also said it was discouraging that I wasn’t helping more with the housework while I had the time, and that I didn’t pay attention to little things that bothered her, like leaving wet towels on the bathroom floor and eating potato chips in bed and drinking so much beer that I was getting a beer belly.

Hearing my wife’s heartfelt sighs, I determined to turn over a new leaf and change the things she mentioned to the doc. Well, at least some of them. I’d fix dinner tonight, for starters. Yeah, a real romantic dinner by candlelight. Then maybe I could give her one of those special hugs again, like yesterday morning....

I stopped making plans for dinner, though, when Nebbleson said he was going to hypnotize her in order to reinforce her weight maintenance program. Terri smiled and settled herself more comfortably on the couch. She always claimed that the hypnotism was the most effective part of her therapy, while I responded that it was a crock of bull. I’d soon be able to prove my point. I pushed my recliner to its full upright position and moved to the edge of the seat.

Nebbleson went over to his desk, which made him loom huge on the screen. I didn’t like the way he was now standing at the foot of the couch. You see, Terri’s dress had ridden up above her knees, which were slightly spread.

She’d always been a bit careless about such things. When we were first married, she kept me busy reminding her about tugging down her skirt. She was no biker chick to go flashing her panties to everybody, right? She was a classy lady. She was my wife.

To tell the truth, though, I thought her legs were too pretty to hide, and back when we first got hitched I wouldn’t have minded if she’d showed off a bit to my buddies. They’d have understood better why I got married and settled down.

Terri, though, always seemed so grateful when I reminded her, so it got to be a habit for me. She’d gotten less careless over the years, but here she was being immodest again. I wished I could remind her now.

Nebbleson did something that started a clicking noise. I’m pretty sure it was one of those thingies with four or five metal balls hanging next to each other so that when you lift and send it clicking against the others the ball at the other end swings out and then swings the first ball out. Et cetera. I’d noticed one of those on his desk. It caught my eye because it was motorized to keep the balls clicking rather than winding down.

“Close your eyes, Terri,” Nebbleson said, “and concentrate on the sound. As you listen, picture the balls swinging back and forth, back and forth. You know how tired and relaxed that makes you. Picture the balls and let yourself relax and drift away to your quite place.”

Quiet place? Terri had mentioned this as her way of dealing with anger, although I didn’t know it had to with the hypnotism. She imagined herself in a park in British Columbia we’d visited a couple of times, in a dense evergreen forest beside a wild mountain creek. Nice spot, I had to admit—but only if you didn’t imagine the whine of all those mosquitoes!

“Relax, Terri,” the doctor said. “Let yourself relax completely.” He said a lot more stuff like that, repeating himself over and over. It’s too boring to go over.

I’d never seen anybody get hypnotized before. Terri seemed to go under awfully quick, but then what do I know? Maybe it was just that after a couple years of this, she’d gotten good at going under. Anyway, after just a minute of Dr. Nebbleson’s soft suggestions and the clicking of the metal balls, I could tell she was growing limp.

“Terri, how relaxed are you?”

“Almost all the way to my quiet place,” she mumbled in response to the doctor. For a half a minute, neither of them spoke; I got the impression Nebbleson was waiting for something. Then she sighed. “I’m there.”

“Good,” Nebbleson said. “Very good.” He paused, then spoke in voice that seemed important somehow. “Nebulous excitation.”

Huh? What’s that mean?

Nebbleson didn’t explain his odd remark. “Before I play the tape, Terri, let’s talk about your sex life.”

Sex life?

“My sex life is... okay,” she said.

I grinned and lifted my beer to my lips. I paused, though, before I chugged. Wait a minute. Just okay? How could she possibly have any complaints in that department?

Nebbleson asked, “But still not up to the standard you’d hoped when you lost weight?”

“Well... no.” Her slender shoulder heaved in a giant sigh. “No. Not at all. Doctor, I don’t know if my marriage is going to survive. I just don’t know....”

What the hell? I squeezed my beer can hard. What was she talking about? Our marriage is great?

“Let’s talk,” Nebblson said, “about your exhibitionistic urges.”

WHAT kind of urges?!? I squeezed the beer can a bit harder.

“Did you feel any of these urges since last we talked?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. Tell me about it.”

“The first time,” Terri said in a dreamy voice, “was at the Harrison’s party. I was standing there wearing a dress with a U neck that showed a bit of cleavage. Kareem Harrison was standing next to me, and I could tell he was trying to peek down the top of my dress.”

Kareem, I thought as I clenched my teeth, was the husband of a teacher where Terri taught. Whenever there was a teachers’ party, he and I always seemed to end up talking, because we were both blue-collar guys in a room filled with college graduates. He knew the difference between a Harley and a Kawasaki, you know what I mean? I’d always liked him. Till now.

“What did you do when you had this urge?”

“Nothing.”

Good girl!

“At least not at first,” Terri added.

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Nebbleson asked.

“Well, I was wearing a skimpy bra, and I thought that if I bent over he’d see that my nipples had gotten hard at the thought of him seeing me, and he’d know that I knew and was doing it deliberately. And of course Jim was there.”

Yeah, I’d been there. But I hadn’t know what was going through that dirty little mind of hers.

Our marriage was in trouble?

“You say,” urged Nebbleson, “that you didn’t do anything at first. Tell me about what you did later.”

“When Jim wandered away at one point, I just couldn’t help myself. I bent down and took off my shoe and shook it, you know, like there was a pebble in it. I was discreet; I’m so good at being discreet about such things. I didn’t look up, but I know Kareem must have seen my bra. Maybe even most of my boob.”

Shit, I thought. Shit.

“And later—”

There was more? Oh, Terri, Terri.

“Later,” Terri continued, “when I was getting a beer for Jim, I overheard Kareem’s wife whispering to one of the other teachers not to use the unfinished bathroom in the basement, because he had a spy hole in the wall behind the toilet.”

Nebbleson chuckled. I didn’t think it was very professional of him. “I gather you used this washroom?”

“Yes. When Jim wandered away again and I was alone for a minute with Kareem, I asked him to excuse me because I was going to use his washroom downstairs. When I got there I stood in front of the mirror and reapplied my lipstick, giving him plenty of time to get to the utility room on the other side of the wall, and then....”

“Then?” Nebbleson urged.

“Then, I, I lifted my dress while I was facing the toilet, so he’d see the front of my panties. I was wearing one of my few bikini pairs, because I knew Jim wouldn’t think I was being slutty wearing them for a special occasion like a party. I bunched my dress around my waist, and it stayed there while I turned around and pulled down my panties. I sort of chickened out, because I did it fast. But Kareem must have gotten a glimpse of my bottom.”

The bastard. And I’d liked the guy.

“Very good, Terri,” Nebbleson said. “You’re getting much braver about expressing your suppressed urges.”

Another bastard!

“Thank you,” Terri said. There was a note of hushed pride in her dreamy voice.

Nebbleson asked, “Did you display yourself when you got finished?”

“I couldn’t finish. Peeing, that is. I was too excited to pee. I pretended to, and I wiped myself sitting down. For a minute or so I just sat there, too scared to stand up. I’d started something I was afraid I couldn’t finish. But, well, my legs were starting to get tingly from sitting there so long, so I knew I had to do something. I pulled up my panties as fast as I could and tugged down my dress. I wanted to leave them down while I turned around to flush the toilet, I wanted that black stud to see my pubic hair, I wanted that so bad, I wanted to touch myself in front of him, wanted to pretend to scratch while I was actually rubbing my clitoris. I could have had an orgasm in seconds....”

“But you didn’t?” Nebbleson asked.

Terri sighed. “No. I was too scared.”

“I see.” And, watching the videotape, I could see what he meant by ‘I see’. He was looking intently at my wife’s legs. “Between now and our next appointment, Terri, your homework is to try to exhibit yourself subtly whenever your husband is not around.”

She giggled softly, as though this were a game.

“As always, Terri, when I say ‘nebulous excitation’, you will not remember anything that happens until I say the phrase that releases your memory again. What is the release phrase, Terri?”

“Carbuncle stew.”

Was this guy for real? Was he trying to help her? Or was he just getting his jollies listening to her little stories? This sounded awfully damned fishy to me, like he was trying to turn my wife into an exhibitionist. I ran my hands through my hair and let out a deep breath.

“I’m going to play the weight tape now,” Nebbleson said. He did something at his desk I couldn’t see—the camera was centered on the couch, remember? “As soon as the tape begins playing, you will concentrate completely on its messages. So intense will be your concentration that you will not hear or see or feel anything else, except for the sound of my voice, which you will obey without question. Aside from my voice, all you are aware of are the messages on the tape. You won’t remember them consciously when you awake, but they will burrow deep into your consciousness, where they will serve to keep you from eating too much. Do you understand?”

Terri answered without opening her eyes. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Good, Terri. Very good.”

He droned another set of boring instructions about sinking even deeper into relaxation. That went on for several minutes.

Then the doc cleared his throat. Slowly and deliberately, he crouched at the foot of the couch. Shit, he was blatantly peeping up her skirt! Damned pervert!

I leaned forward, my eyes narrowing. “Close your legs, Terri! Pull your skirt down!” She did nothing of the kind, of course, but somehow I felt that if I could wish hard enough she’d hear me and heed my warning.

Nebbleson started the tape—junk about will power and appetite and other crap that I didn’t care about. I wanted to stop the VCR, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

“Terri,” Nebbleson said, “you feel uncomfortable. You’ll feel much more comfortable if you raise your knees.”

“You pervert,” I roared at the TV.

But Terri did as the doc suggested. Her blue, flowered dress, which I’d always loved to touch because it felt so soft, immediately slipped to her lap, exposing her legs completely. She didn’t seem to notice.

After a minute of unabashed peeping, Nebbleson spoke during a pause in the weight-loss tape. “Terri, take off your panties.”

Something cold and wet ran over my hands. I was squeezing my beer can so hard I’d crushed it and forced beer out the top. “Good God, Terri, don’t do it!”

For one wild moment I thought she’d heard me and was about to rise and slap him in the face. But no. She reached under her dress and, raising her hips with as little fuss and pretension as though she were totally alone in the room, pulled her plain white panties down her thighs. When she got them to her knees, she lowered her ass to the couch again but continued to pull the panties down her calves. Daintily, she lifted first one foot, then the other to finish removing her underpants. She let them drop to the floor beside her.

But at least she lowered her knees again.

The damned weight control tape droned on in the background while the good doctor craned his neck to get a better look up my wife’s dress. That wasn’t hard, because although she lowered her legs when she pulled off her panties, the dress was almost up to her crotch.. Goddamn it, the bastard must be getting a hell of a view.

But not good enough, apparently. “Terri,” he said in a choked voice, “raise your knees again.”

I raised my fist at the TV, spewing beer in every direction. “Goddamn it, Terri, punch him!”

She didn’t. Instead, she raised her knees. Again, the soft material of her dress slid down into her lap. Her dark pubic hair peeked out from between her legs. I could see the crease of her lips, which I’m sure meant the damned doctor could see her pussy in graphic detail.

There was another pause in the tape. Nebbleson obviously had the tape and the pauses memorized, because he immediately spoke into the pause. “Spread your legs, Terri. As wide as you can.”

Oh, God. Aside from me and her doctor, a woman, I don’t think anyone had seen Terri’s pussy before. But now she casually spread everything open to this pervert’s gaze, one leg raised and touching the back of the couch, the other splayed wide with her foot resting on the floor. God, she wouldn’t do that for me if I asked, wouldn’t be that blatant about displaying herself. But she did it for this quack! She spread her legs for him, she spread her legs....

Nebbleson took his time, staring at Terri’s wide-open cunt. After a bit, he stuck his finger into his mouth, to get it wet, I supposed, and then poked the finger inside her. As he moved his finger in and out, he was doing something with his other hand that I couldn’t see. Probably masturbating, I thought with insane, hopeless anger.

He stood up. I could see now that he wasn’t masturbating. He was putting on a condom.

“Terri,” that bastard said, “you will feel no outside stimuli until I end this hypnotism session, except for one thing. Sexual pleasure. You will be very aware of and respond to sexual pleasure.”

I watched the rest with the same horrid, immobile fascination as I might view a fatal car wreck. Nebbleson pulled down his pants, leaving his boxers on. He knelt between my wife’s pristine legs. He gasped as he sank into her no-longer-virtuous pussy. She bucked underneath, clearly enjoying his skinny little prick.

From the way she moaned, she had an orgasm just from him entering her, before he did anything. His buttocks moved slowly at first, then more rapidly, meeting each of my wife’s wanton thrusts, until after only a minute or so he went rigid. Then he rolled off and sat beside her on the floor, touching her pussy for a few minutes as though wishing he could have prolonged his sissy-short rape of my beloved, precious Terri.

And I watched him do it. Watched helplessly.

“I’ll kill you,” I muttered. I’m man enough to admit that there were tears in my eyes. “I’ll kill you. Kill you.”