The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

I didn’t kill anybody. Instead I went to Pinsky’s, a bar just down the block, and got drunk.

In a whiskey-induced spark of inspiration, I looked up Dr. Nebbleson in the telephone book, meaning to do some serious damage to his mother-fucking neck.

He wasn’t listed.

Pissed at him for that, I took a piss and ordered another shot of whiskey. The bartender wouldn’t let me have it. Said I’d had enough.

Shit. Fighting words. If she wasn’t a foot shorter and 70 pounds lighter than me, I’d never let her get away with that. Probably cheats on her husband, the bitch.

I went to another bar and started over from round one. The barkeep was a guy. I snarled. He kept pouring.

By the time I got home, Terri was sound asleep. Or at least she was pretending to sleep so she wouldn’t have to deal with her drunken husband. That’s the sort of thing she’d do. She hates confrontations.

The next morning, surprise, surprise, I didn’t wake up when Terri got up to go to work.

I made sure I’d staggered out of bed by noon—Terri’s kindergarten class runs only in the morning—and so when she was due home, I was up and ready to confront her. Hell, I was ready to... to....

I don’t know what I was ready to do. Die, maybe. My tongue was made of cotton, my stomach of jello, my heart of lead. I’d slept lousy. Dreams, you know? All night long, I’d dreamed about Terri spreading her legs for that damned doctor of hers. In many of the thousands of repetitions of that scene, she looked me in the eyes and smiled as she cheerfully prepared to fuck the doctor while I looked helplessly on.

While I PAID for him to fuck her. Shit.

She wasn’t home by 12:30. Nor by 1:00.

By 2:00, I was tired of pacing; every footstep made my head pound. Every muscle in my body was sore, too, from being tensed up so hard. I sat down on the couch and stared straight into spacing. Waiting.

Not thinking. Thinking hurt too much. Just waiting.

After a few minutes, though, I realized I wasn’t merely waiting. I was staring at the TV.

Without thought, I picked up the remote control. Turned on the set and the VCR. Rewound the tape to the beginning of the hypnosis. And watched the whole thing over again.

Except this time, I... well, I... I jacked off as Nebbleson had Terri pulled off her panties for him. I came just as he began raping her.

Raping her. I had to remember that. She hadn’t done it willingly.

Or had she? She’d sure enjoyed herself. Damn, damn, goddamn....

I stared at the clock. 3:16. I rewound the tape. Watched it again, this time from the very beginning. Masturbated again.

When was Terri going to come home? Was Terri coming home?

“Wake up,” Terri said irritably.

“Huh?” I blinked as she turned on a light that was far too bright for my sensitive eyes. “What time is it?”

“Seven. But I see you haven’t bothered to make dinner.” She sniffed the air disappointedly. “Or cleaned up the mess you made yesterday when you spilled beer all over the rug.”

“Where the hell were you?”

She took a deep breath and looked me in the eye. Her features were scrunched up as though she was ready to cry. “Why was I? I have staff meetings on Thursday, remember? I worked at school till the meeting at three, then went out with some other teachers for dinner afterward.” She peered hard at me. “The question is, where were you all day? Not looking for a job, I’d guess. Watching a dirty movie and touching yourself, instead?”

I looked down. I hadn’t pulled my pants up before I fell asleep on the couch, and my cock was dangling in the breeze. I hurriedly pulled up my jeans.

“And drinking, too, I’ll bet,” Terri continued in a voice that was close to tears. “Feeling sorry for yourself just because you lost your job.”

“Terri, I—”

“Jim, you know I have that neighbor boy coming over in half an hour for tutoring. How could you leave the house in such a mess?”

“God damn it, Terri —”

She interrupted me with a loud shriek. Without another word, ran into our bedroom and slammed the door. Hard. So hard it hurt. Literally.

I tried to go in and talk to her—no; for some strange reason I was going to try to comfort her, such is the power of a woman’s tears—but I wasn’t all that disappointed to discover that the bedroom door was locked. A lot of the fight had gone out of me, even though she was the one having an affair. Pretty damned good reason to have gotten drunk, wouldn’t you say?

Slamming the door on my way out, I stormed over to the building my buddy runs. I don’t know what I was going to do there; trash Nebbleson’s office, maybe. But in the parking lot, I saw him getting into a big white Lexus.

I considered ramming him and beating the shit out of him. But there’s that Three-Strike law....

Instead, I followed him home. Good. Now I knew where he lived.

I slept on the couch that night.

The next day I cleaned the kitchen and made lasagna for dinner. Don’t get me wrong, I was still upset. Damned upset. Furious! But when I talked with Terri about her affair I wanted it to be perfectly clear just who was the injured party in all this. Namely, me.

And just before Terri was due home, I replayed the videotape and then hurriedly rewound it. No, this time I didn’t masturbate.

“I have something to show you,” I told her after she’d eyed me warily, then let out a sigh of relief on seeing that I appeared back to normal.

As if things would ever be normal again.

“In a minute,” she said as she dashed off to do a couple of private chores. When she came back, she asked, “Did you get a job?”

“No, I didn’t get a job.” She sank onto the couch beside me. After heaving a big sigh that unaccountably made me feel guilty again despite the lasagna, she leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes.

I think this was more from tiredness than disgust with me; maybe I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept well last night. Terri looked as though she was ready to go to sleep right there on the couch.

She couldn’t do that! This was my big moment, the moment I’ve been seething inside for over the last two days....

I held up the remote control as though it were the holy grail itself. She barely opened her eye when I prodded her arm. “What is it?” she said softly.

I’d rewound the tape to the beginning of the hypnotism section. “Watch!”

“Watch what?” she mumbled with her eyes closed.

“Just watch,” I growled. As I held the remote poised, I turned to her and said, in a spiteful voice, “Does the phrase ‘nebulous excitation’ mean anything to you?”

She stared at me blankly. I turned on the VCR. I wanted to watch for her reaction, but I found I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I stared at the TV, instead, ignoring her.

She let out a gasp. “How did you get a tape of my appointment? Jim, answer me!”

I couldn’t say a word.

“Jim, what is this?”

I didn’t answer. I was gripping the remote control so hard I thought it might break.

The metal balls on Nebbleson’s desk started clacking. “Jim,” Terri said, “this isn’t right. How did you get this tape?”

“Close your eyes, Terri,” Nebbleson said from inside the TV, “and concentrate on the sound.”

Terri didn’t repeat her complaints. Several minutes went by in silence. So, she was curious about her hypnotism sessions. Maybe she really didn’t know what went on.

But in my heart, I doubted that. Goddamn it, I couldn’t shake the image of her willingly opening her legs for this creep. My own wife, who always seemed so sweet....

“Let’s talk,” Nebblson said, “about your exhibitionistic urges. “Did you feel any of these urges since last we talked?”

“Yes,” Terri said. In stereo. The real Terri and the TV Terri.

“Tell me about it,” Nebbleson said.

“It was last night,” Terri said from beside me. “When I was tutoring Sammy Edelman.”

I turned to stare at her. Her eyes were closed. She was leaning back against the couch as limp as those Raggedy Anne dolls she makes for all her nieces—to compensate for not having children of her own, Nebbleson had told her.

“Sammy’s thirteen,” Terri said, “and he’s always trying to look down my blouse or up my skirt. I’m kind of flattered, usually, but last night—well, last night I was really upset with Jim coming drunk the night before, and laying around exposed on the couch. I was pissed at him.

“So when Sammy started peeking at the opening of my blouse as I tried to show him geometry, I didn’t move away from him; I hunched my shoulders so he’d get a better look. In fact, while he was trying to solve a problem on his own, I went to the bathroom and made sure the button right between my breasts was almost open. I didn’t want to be blatant, but I know from past experience that if I move just the right way with a button nearly undone, I can get it to come open whenever I want.”

She’d practiced this kind of stuff? My sweet Terri? I stared at her with slack jaw as she condemned herself with her own words. Nebbleson said something on the videotape. I turned it down so he wouldn’t interrupt Terri’s little confession which, I must admit, suddenly seemed more interesting than the videotape.

“Back at the table,” she said, “I moved around a lot and bent over, and I could tell I really had Derek’s attention now—especially when the button came open. The blouse was undone to below my boobs, so I know he got a good look.

“I was sorry I was wearing a bra, but.... well, knowing this horny kid was looking at my bra and the side of my boob made me so wet. I always wear bras that are a bit too big so there’s a chance they’ll gape. After this had gone on for a few minutes I started imagining that I’d taken off my bra as well as loosening my button when I went to the washroom, and that Sammy could see everything, even my hard nipple.

“It made me so excited that when Sammy got a problem right, I pulled his face against my chest and hugged him. And after Sammy left I wanted to make love, but Jim had been so disgusting, and now he’d gone out and left me alone.

Her eyes were glazed.

“Jim’s really starting to worry me, doctor.... But, well, I probably wouldn’t have had the nerve to initiate sex anyway, because I’d be afraid Jim would wonder why I was aroused, and I’d just die if he knew. I wish I wasn’t so darned timid, doctor.”

“Terri,” I said, “it’s all right.”

She acted as though she couldn’t hear me—which of course she couldn’t, because Nebbleson had said she could hear only his voice. She wouldn’t even listen to me. My rage flared again. Goddamn them both....

I glanced at the silent TV. Nebbleson was finishing his instructions to my wife to exhibit her body when I wasn’t around. I waited until after he said ‘carbuncle stew’ to restart her memory. Then I turned the volume up.

“I’m going to play the weight tape now,” the doctor said. I watched Terri closely as she went deeper into her trance, urged on by the video doctor’s nefarious urging. When she seemed extremely relaxed, I gently shifted her so she was laying down on the couch.

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

She did. From the floor beside her, I stared at her legs and the hourglass-shaped patch of white at her crotch. Plain cotton panties, as unsexy as a person could buy—but still, so sexy like this....

“Terri,” the TV said, “take off your panties.”

You can probably figure out the rest. Yes, I stared at my wife’s cunt when she spread for the doctor. I touched her. Opened her lips. Fucked her when she was making love to him. She deserved it. She was paying that bastard to screw her. No, she was getting ME to pay for him to screw her.

My thoughts made me pump harder into her, not caring if she were sore tomorrow. Goddamn, goddman, goddamn, goddamn....

I understood now why she always seemed so happy after her appointments, and why she wouldn’t give him up even after I’d lost my job! Godamn him! Godamn her!

I’ll tell you something. I lasted a hell of a lot longer than that wimpy bastard. I had to hurry before he told her to put her panties back on.

Over the next few days I had sex nearly as often as I wanted—for the first time in my life. Two, three, four times a day. No need to waste time with romance, either; just get Terri seated and relaxed, say ‘nebulous excitation’, pop in the tape, and let Nebbleson hypnotize her for me. Terri’s slightly naughty little tales of exposing her bra or letting someone look up her dress always got me ready to tango.

Christ, she even let the little boys in her kindergarten class see up her dress. At lunchtime after class she got one of the older boys in sixth grade—that would make him what, 11?—to hand her students’ pictures up to her while she stood on a table and stretched high to staple them to the wall. It seemed as though everyday she tried to show off a little something—which I would never have expected. It made me mad, like she was cheating on me with every man in the world, not just Nebbleson. Made me god damned mad!

Yet excited.

The fundamental innocence of the episodes she described to me finally started to get boring, though. So did screwing a woman who wasn’t awake. She never knew how thoroughly I was enjoying my power and my revenge. That just made me madder.

I took to playing the videotape with the curtains open. I don’t know if anyone saw her with her panties down and legs spread, but I realized that I kind of hoped they did.

Still, I couldn’t be sure if we had an audience. She wanted to show off so bad, and was willing to spread like a centerfold for that creepy doctor. Well, I’d make sure that she showed off everything!

That weekend, the janitor of our apartment building told me he’d be coming by around ten to fix the leaky faucet in our master bedroom. Perfect!

At quarter to ten, I had Terri lay down on our bed so I could rub her back a bit. Then I uttered my favorite words: nebulous excitation. I rolled her over on her back, then played the tape on the VCR (which I’d moved into our bedroom the night before). When she was hypnotized I dimmed out the TV picture and put earphones on her. (We’d gotten the old TV in the bedroom from her father, who was deaf yet liked to watch TV till late at night; every set he’d ever owned had earphone jacks.)

The earphones were so Terri, but not the janitor, could hear the TV. He wouldn’t be able to tell what was going on. I got her to the point were she was laying down really relaxed, then turned off the tape until the janitor arrived. I had the remote control in hand, ready to start it up again at the point where she was raising her legs with her panties still on.

And while I waited, I touched her breasts and ran my hand under her skirt, through her thick pubic hair, getting myself excited.

I heard a knock on the door. Right on time. I looked down at Terri and primly pulled her dress down to her knees.

I showed Pedro, a third generation Mexican who knew less Spanish than I did, into the washroom off our bedroom and told him my wife was resting with a headache, and to try not to disturb her. He offered to come back later, which was nice of him. I pointed out the earphones and said she was listening to a relaxation tape to help her get rid of the headache.

Then I went into the kitchen—but not before I started up my trusty video recorder hidden on a closet shelf, still with electrician’s tape over the ‘on’ light. I wanted to be able to see exactly what happened.

Pedro took a long time to fix that faucet. I puttered around in the kitchen, making enough noise that, hopefully, he wouldn’t fell comfortable enough to rape Terri.

When he finally left, I went into the bedroom, she was still asleep; I’d stopped the tape before Nebbleson roused her, because I didn’t know exactly how long Pedro would be in there, and I didn’t want her coming to and screaming at the top of her lungs.

I popped in the video tape.

The camera captured both Terri on the bed and the open door of the bathroom where Pedro was setting up his tools. In the foreground, Terri raised her legs at Nebbleson’s cue. Her short skirt slid down to her lap, showing her legs from toe almost to crotch.

Ten feet away in the washroom, Pedro didn’t even notice.

A couple of minutes passed, during which I feasted my eyes on Terri’s unconscious exposure, to background music of wrenches. Then Pedro came into the bedroom, wiping his hands on a tiny rag he must have brought with him. He must have noticed her immodest posture, because he came to sudden stop and just stood there for a few seconds.

Then, looking resolutely at her face and not her thighs, the middle aged man said, “Ma’am? Do you have an old towel I can use, one you won’t mind getting dirty?”

At that exact moment, as though answering him, Terri raised her hips, put her hands under her skirt, and tugged off her panties!

The timing was beautiful. Pedro nearly shit his pants, from the expression on his face as my wife’s dark thatch came into view for a few seconds. He looked sharply toward the door, from which came the sounds of me banging pans and bowls.

When I didn’t charge into the room with carving knife in hand, Pedro took a deep breath and glanced at my wife’s legs. Although the most interested parts were covered again by the skirt, Terri was an incredibly erotic sight with her smooth, beautiful thighs stretched flat on the bed, the rumpled dress bunched in her lap to barely cover her most private nudity, and her panties dangling from one hand that hung off the side of the bed. The most erotic sight I ever saw. More erotic, I think, than if her skirt was all the way to her waist. I stopped the tape to look at her like that.

But I started it up again soon enough. Pedro took another deep breath and stepped toward her. “Uh, thank you, ma’am,” he said. He took the panties from her extended hand and, after the slightest of pauses, wiped his hands on them! When he was done he just held them as though not sure what he was supposed to do.

“Thanks again, ma’am.” He glanced guiltily toward the open door—and then went back to work on the sink.

As he worked, he kept glancing toward Terri. His glances grew longer and longer.

The next step in the tape was from Terri to raise her legs. When she did that her skirt, unfortunately, didn’t slip down to expose her much more than before; just bad luck.

Pedro, however, took it as an invitation. He tiptoed to the open door, checked to see if I was coming, and then tiptoed to the side of the bed. “Very beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful. Thank you so much, so very very much.”

Within a few seconds, Terri responded by spreading her legs wide.

“Oh, God.” Pedro went to his knees and leaned forward to see better. The skirt was still draped across her crotch.

“Hot, ma’am, hot.” He turned his head briefly to check the door. “May I pull the skirt up just a bit?” Terri didn’t answer, of course, lost in her hypnotic trance, but that didn’t stop Pedro. He pushed her skirt up so her pubic hair was completely exposed.

With many a guilty glance toward the open door, Pedro began inspecting my wife’s pussy. At first he just looked, then he grew bolder and reached out to touch her. At the last minute he stopped, remembering his filthy hands. He wiped his paw quickly on his pants leg, and then began stroking her pubic hair lightly, so as not to touch the skin.

When she didn’t protest, Pedro dipped his fingers lower, so they were stroking the pubic hair between her legs. He looked back at the door and reach out with both hands to put her lips apart so he could stare at her defenseless pink flesh. Again he stroked her lightly, on the clitoris, I think, although I couldn’t be sure from the camera angle. Then, holding her lips apart, he bent his head closer as though to lick her pussy. He sniffed first, and smiled. He licked her—but an especially loud bang from the kitchen startled him just as his tongue started its second swipe at her wide open cunt, and he shot to his feet.

The poor guy looked as though he was going to have a heart attack. He stared at the bedroom door. Then at Terri. Then back at the door. The sight of my spreadeagled wife was too much for him to withdraw completely, though, and he continued to stare at her. After a couple of nervous minutes he started to masturbate. His prick was a lot smaller than mine.

When he was close to coming, he rested one hand on the bed on far side of her so his prick was touching her pubic hair. The way he moved I thought maybe he was trying to push between her pussy lips, but was afraid to be too aggressive about it. The contact with her genitals was enough to put him over the edge, though. He gasped and went rigid. His cum splattered her thighs and cunt.

No sooner had Pedro milked the last of his cream than he panicked. He pulled down Terri’s skirt and finished fixing the faucet with manic haste. Within three minutes, he was out of there.

I shut off the videotape, pulled up my wife’s skirt—I could see dirt where Pedro had touched her inner thighs, and the creamy wetness that was his cum—and screwed her.

Twice.