The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

With the morning came new texts and calls from Mira, unknown to Dee since I had my phone turned off most of the time. We went for an early walk on the beach, getting our bare feet wet in the chilly water, and as promised I bought her a wide-brimmed straw hat, coupled with a long-sleeved shirt to keep harmful UV rays away from her perfect pale skin.

Agreeing to spend some time in the sand, I also bought swim trunks and a big beach umbrella. Dee stuffed her tits inside the tropical one-piece she’d brought along, and wow, the look of this woman and those tits in swimwear. Out in the sand with the beach sparsely populated, I put up the umbrella for shade, but even so Dee wanted high-SPF sunscreen rubbed all over her body. I tried to be gentlemanly with my hands, but that wasn’t easy when I applied lotion to where her thighs met her ass, nor could I keep my touch from becoming erotic when massaging the tops of her breasts.

My semi-groping technique made her smile. “I do believe you have quite the crush on my boobies,” she said, pecking me on the cheek while one of her hands brushed against the hard-on distorting my swim trunks. “Whoops!” she said, laughing. “Don’t be upset that I’m pointing this out, but you were not designed to get excited in a pair of swim trunks. You’re going to need to calm down before we get arrested.”

The trunks I’d chosen, navy blue, managed to keep bare flesh concealed, but it was quite the obscene scene down there.

“If I were a comedienne I’d be able to come up with a dozen great-white jokes,” Dee quipped. “Comedy isn’t one of my talents… I have others, though.”

She directed me into pulling our third beach towel from the bag. It was a big one, and she carefully arranged it over herself, creating a kind of tent at my midsection. Underneath this tent, she undid the ties to my trunks and pulled out my dick.

“Don’t let this towel fall off me,” she said, her voice muffled.

Was that all about privacy for fellatio, or sun exposure? Out of sight she tongued the crown of my cock while working the length with a hand that she’d made slick with sunscreen. I didn’t know if anyone was looking at us; even so I tried to keep my face imive, serenely watching the waves crash while managing to only grunt-exhale while Dee pulled another load out of me.

She got to giggling after showing me the cum in her mouth. “Goes well with all the salt in the air,” she commented.

“I’ve never had a day at the beach like this,” I said, really impressed that she had done that.

“Maybe, sometime, we could watch the movie Swept Away together. We’re not the first to have sex on a beach.”

With my cock shrunken, Dee suggested we go for a quick dip. Her face and limbs were streaked white with an almost absurd amount of sunscreen, and when we braved the surf I learned that she was a much better swimmer than I was, or way more tolerant of the cold water.

As we arrived back in the shade to towel off, I felt that distinct tingling of being watched again. I immediately pictured Mira nearby, even though that would be impossible. My sunglasses-shielded eyes darted among other beachgoers.

“Something wrong?” Dee asked.

“You ever get the sensation that someone is spying on you?”

“When I’m in a swimsuit? Ever since I turned fifteen.”

I kept surveying our surroundings and there it was, a twenty-something guy down the beach with binoculars, ogling Dee’s body from afar.

“Perv at two o’clock.”

She spotted him and grinned. “I think I’ll give him a little show. I am an actress, after all.”

The performance consisted of Dee standing under the umbrella and toweling her body theatrically, with her back frequently arched, boobs jutting. There was no telling what the effect was on her distant irer, but showing off like that seemed to put Dee into a mood. She took no prisoners in the way she dressed afterwards, changing into white cotton pants that really hugged her ass, and a blouse whose deeply scooping front had me and others ogling her cleavage over an oyster lunch. The seating was two rows of picnic tables under an awning, and Dee, seated opposite from me, leaned forward frequently, deliberately jiggling and then giggling at my riveted eyeballs.

“Knock-knock,” she said, when we were sipping beers.

“Who’s there?”

“I just told you, my knockers,” she answered, doing something with her arms that just about had her tits falling onto the table. A guy behind me made a helpless sound and Dee winked at him, and then at me.

“You have an exhibitionist streak,” I said, careful to keep any judgment out of my voice.

“Hello, actress? But it’s really just the mood you’ve put me in. You’re bringing out the wild child in me.”

And all without a lick of hypnotism, which should probably tell me something.

I didn’t forget that Dee needed to be at her hostessing gig by five, so we headed back towards home right after lunch. We didn’t talk much in a comfortable way, and a couple of times when I glanced at her and she looked back, she slowly shook her head and let out deep breaths. The message was communicated wordlessly, that she could barely believe how romantic and sex-filled our little beach excursion had been.

When we pulled in front of her house, she said, “It’s been more than delightful, being temporarily irresponsible with you. It’s another gold star, that I’m returning to real life feeling like a character in some romantic film.”

Our lips and tongues met in the middle of the car again, and I couldn’t resist digging under her blouse to feel up her tits. I rolled a nipple and she hissed, and I found myself saying, “You have exquisitely sensitive nipples. And you really like having them played with.”

She was the one to end the embrace, saying, “You should have been a medical doctor, with observational skills like that!” Then she put on an officious voice: “I’m still not going to invite you into my apartment on a first date!”

We both laughed, then kissed again, more like a parting smooch this time. She had an eye on the distorted crotch of my pants when she asked when we’d see each other next.

“What about dinner tomorrow night?” I couldn’t say it, but to wait any longer might be the same as this being the last time I saw her.

“I work tomorrow evening. I’m not back until almost midnight.”

With nothing to lose I leaned her way and teased at her right nipple through cotton. “Midnight could work for me.”

“You are such a naughty man! Let me think about it. Maybe…”

I took one of her hands and placed it on my hard cock.

“Michael, no, I need to… But oh hell, yes, only tomorrow night. Come here a little after midnight, and bring condoms. I might get on the pill, but it’s condoms for now.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She reached for the door handle, but stopped. “I never thought there could be such a thing as a first date like this.”

“I hope you’ve taken note that I never brandished an axe.”

“You kind of gave me chills in other ways.”

And that’s where we left things, our blind date officially over.

I learned on the short drive home that Grace had called, and I brought her up on speaker.

“So? Dee?”

“I like her. I like her a lot.”

“Duh. But what size is her bra?”

“Ah, of course. Okay, drumroll… She’s a 34-G.”

“Fuck! That means Lucinda wins!”

“She’s a sharp one, that Lucinda. And Grace, I want to thank you for setting me up with Dee. I never thought a blind date could go this well.”

“I’ve got you figured out now. It takes boobs to close the deal, am I right?”

“I guess you are.”

“Let’s get beyond the obvious to the juicy details. How sensitive are her nipples? What positions does she like?”

I laughed. “Sorry, no kissing and telling.”

“Rats. I’m going to have to call her and dig out the gossip all by myself. And here’s a juicy tidbit already known, from the party last night after you left. I happened to have my eye on Miss Torso after you and Dee slipped out the back way. She stopped dancing and she knew you two left together, and I would swear her expression went to DEFCON 1.”

“Okay, noted. I guess it’s a good thing it was only DEFCON 1.”

“You dummy, that’s the highest one! Like imminent nuclear attack!”

“Oh.”

“I take it you got plenty of eyefuls of Miss Torso parading the goods in that fuck-me dress. I got questions about her from all over the place; the woman certainly stands out in a crowd. I think ten people asked me if she’s single.”

“Which she certainly is not.”

“Which, more gossip, since Lucinda and Mira talk…”

Uh-oh, here came the report of Mira getting me hard in the bathroom, and whatever else.

“The word is that Mira has sweetened on her hubby of late, as it should be. I actually think she was showing off in that dress for Taylor’s benefit.”

I paid attention to my driving, a little relieved. Lucinda, and possibly Grace if she was informed, must truly believe that my bathroom encounter with Mira was nothing more than one last gasp of habitual cock-teasing. And there was no indication that Lucinda had blabbed about kissing me.

Going with that, I said, “Mira exists in the rear-view mirror for me, Grace. Especially after meeting Dee.”

“I do have a really good feeling about that. Treat her well, Michael. I won’t stop looking if you two don’t become a long-term item, but I can’t promise I’d find anyone you’d like this much. I mean, I’m quite the hottie with big and perfect boobs, but it isn’t like we grow on trees.”

We rang off, and Grace’s big boobs reference got me thinking about Rosita Bello again. I replayed in my mind all that I’d poured into her over multiple sessions, and I wondered if I should start keeping track of the suggestions I’d been inserting inside all these female psyches. Memories fade over time—already I wasn’t sure if I’d contributed to Grace making it her mission to set me up on dates. I thought I ed pretty exactly what I’d stuff inside Lucinda… Enhanced gratitude, right? I’d thought about her needing to thank me with a blow-job, but I hadn’t voiced that. Right?

It might become a mess if I forgot what I’d implanted inside of Mira as opposed to Rosita, that kind of thing. Four hypnotized women—Grace, Lucinda, Rosita and Mira. I could hardly believe I’d gone so far so fast, though with Mira finally poised to become my lover, I couldn’t pretend to regret a single moment.

I felt physically and emotionally exhausted as I settled back into my home. There were still a handful of hours of daylight left and I opened a beer and sat out on the back deck, not so sure what I would have for dinner or whether I would even bother to prepare it. I hadn’t gotten enough sleep in the night, so maybe this was the time for take-out and early to bed.

I found myself staring at my kayak, hanging from the back of the house. Most years, I would have taken it out two or three times by this point in the spring. It was the two weeks in Zurich and all the catching-up afterwards that had stolen that time. And all the scheming.

I might not manage any white-water adventures this spring, but I made a silent vow right then to run more regularly. My metabolism was such that I could get away with some sedentary periods without gaining a gut, but I had a professional dancer hypnotically poised to fuck me any time she could. Extra endurance on my part might result in extra pleasure.

I looked at my phone. Mira hadn’t left additional messages today, and I tried to picture what a Sunday evening would be like in her life. Lamb roast and some super-expensive wine with hubby? Hanging out with less beautiful society friends? Or maybe Mira naked in a tub filled with bubbles, stroking her clitoris, thinking of me.

I played her voice message from last night on speaker. Mira, promising to be whatever I wanted, in bed. Not knowing that she was already what I wanted—a supremely sexy woman addicted to my cock.

I ed the dream I’d had at the beach, and thought about what it might be trying to tell me. It’s rare that anyone can successfully interpret their own dreams; there are reasons the conscious mind is unaware of the truths that dreams reveal, so self-analysis will almost always be off the mark. For a couple of years after my training I had a schoolmate, Brad Hoover, that I’d share big dreams with via email, and vice-versa. Brad and I no longer wrote, but I couldn’t share a dream like this with anyone anyway. I was a man with secrets that needed keeping. I was a man who could never be totally honest with anyone anymore.

Thinking this way, I decided I should write down the dream, so I could study the symbols over time. I decided to couple that with my earlier thought of writing down the immersion suggestions I’d placed inside of Rosita and Mira, so I retrieved the notebook from my safe, the one with my earliest thoughts of how to go about hypnotizing Mira. I began by writing down every hypnotic suggestion I could , beginning at the beginning with Grace and then Lucinda. Those two were only puppets, but there had been some choice sexual elements in there when I’d inflamed their strings.

It was enlightening to some extent, to see how I’d been debatably selfless with Grace and Lucinda, meaning I hadn’t tried in any way to get them salivating for my dick. With Grace, a die-hard lesbian, there were probably no immersion suggestions that could flip her, but imagine how differently that bathroom encounter with Lucinda might have gone if I’d hammered into her that she owed me a thank-you hummer. I behaved nobly, sort of, but if Lucinda’s tits had been as irresistible to me as Mira’s or Rosita’s or Dee’s…

Not noble at all was what I had done with Rosita, and that stood out emotionally because she was a client. What was most confounding, though, was the hardening of my dick as I wrote that all down. There was no denying it—hypnotizing a woman into dying to have heightened sex with me was fucking hot.

Once I’d recorded all of Rosita’s suggestions and then Mira’s, I wrote down everything I could of the previous night’s dream. It had begun with me being blinded by headlights, and I couldn’t help connecting those headlights to Dee’s tits; I’d even had that unspoken association in my mind, that big tits were sometimes called headlights. Being blinded by them, though… I couldn’t make sense of that. I was extremely attracted to them but they were like gravy on excellent meat; Dee was a sweetheart all-around.

The headlights in the dream had been from a European car—was that a detail that mattered? Dee had never said what kind of car she drove, although the car I’d parked behind at her house, possibly her car, had been a Volvo. Volvo—vulva? No, that was too much of a stretch. Dreams often play clever word games but that specific make of car had not been in the dream. I decided the headlights referenced Dee’s lovely tits and perhaps their creamy whiteness, and moved on.

There had been a transition in the dream from the blinding headlights into darkness, with moonlight touching my skin. That was when I’d realized that I was naked, which often spoke to some underlying fear of exposure. That certainly made sense under the circumstances. Secrecy, fear of exposure… Of course, when I’d needed to turn my phone off around Dee so she wouldn’t learn that I had a married woman in the early stages of going crazy for my cock.

Next in the dream had been Mira, inspiring pure sexual hunger in me that led to erection upon erection. That was hardly a revelation when the woman was inherently dick-inflating, and more so with immersion suggestions fanning naughty Mira’s flames.

I sifted through the symbols, looking for gold. Was it as simple as my attraction to Dee being like going towards the light? And then my lust for Mira being represented as more nocturnal, like it belonged more to my darker side?

I could see the logic. Dee and I had ended up in bed with no devious mind-games required, whereas look at all I had endured and all I had done to put Mira and my cock on a collision course. Mira emerging as a kind of ephemeral presence made sense, too; we were something like two months into this game, and I still hadn’t fucked her. I hadn’t even seen her tits yet, nor had she seen or touched my uncovered penis. Contrast that with Dee, whom I’d known for about a day, and with whom I was already getting tit-jobs and blow-jobs.

I had my notebook locked away and was looking through the online menu for Japanese food when my phone rang. It was Mira, and this time I took the call.

“Where have you been? Tell me you weren’t fucking your big-boob date!”

“Hello to you, too.”

“Tell me you didn’t fuck her!”

“That’s really none of your business. But for what it’s worth, no, Dee and I haven’t fucked yet.” Technically, I didn’t add.

“Yet? No, no, listen to me. I know what you must be thinking—Mira is jealous but she’s married, how pathetic. Worse, I was just begging you to help me heal my marriage, but now I’m.… I get it; I sound like a crazy woman who likes stirring up trouble, who’ll keep teasing you but I won’t ever give myself to you. But I need you to understand! I’m backsliding like crazy and now… It’s different now, completely different. I tried being the sexy wife for Taylor, but… I tried, I really did, but I need you! It’s so… I’ve gotten out of control with it!”

Fuck yes, to every single word of that. But I said, “There in Lucinda’s bathroom… That could have been disastrous.”

“I knew he’d never notice. Maybe you never picked up on it, but Taylor flirts at times, too, and he was talking to your date for a good ten minutes. He even mentioned later how sexy he thought she was, which was the last thing I wanted to hear. I don’t really give a shit if he finds your date or any other woman attractive, but I don’t want you feeling that way! You have to make yourself available to me!”

“This coming from a woman who isn’t available at all?”

“I’ll find ways, you just watch.”

“Mira, I thought we had you on a course towards wedded bliss. What changed?”

“It was... Oh, I don’t know. An hour before the party, when Taylor was taking care of some paperwork in his study... You saw how I dressed for the party. I walked in wearing that number while he was at his desk and I could practically hear his thing go ‘boing’. I knew I looked sexy as get-all, and Taylor reacted the way men react. The way I wanted you to react!”

“Taylor wanted to have sex before going out,” I pictured the scene.

“Right then and there on his desk. Only I… I just couldn’t get excited.”

“You don’t like sex on a desk?”

“When I saw that look in his eye... It’s like he expects me to suck him off now. And I did, not then but during the week. Which was okay, or even good-ish at first… It was what I wanted and you helped me with it, right? I felt like I had strong marital winds in my sails, but by yesterday I couldn’t… I just didn’t want him! I wanted you!”

“Okay, so you want me but you’re married. What happens next?”

“Tell me that you’d keep everything completely secret if we…” She was breathing heavily through the phone, right into my ear.

“If we what? I need you to say it.”

“When we have an affair.”

“Mira…”

“We’re going to have an affair; that’s an inevitability now unless you pack up and move far, far away. And when we do fuck and keep on fucking, you can’t tell anybody—not Grace, not your secretary, not some bartender and certainly not that big-boob bitch! Nobody!”

Right on! Testify! But I pretended one last time and said, “Mira, stop. We’ve been through all this and we know it leads nowhere. You should talk to Taylor, or Lucinda or some other friend. Hell, see a therapist for real. But you can’t talk to me, not about this.”

“Because you want to fuck me. You want that really badly, my body doing things to you.”

I didn’t say anything.

“Tell me you’re dying to fuck me. I know it’s true, and I know I can do such sexy things to you.”

I was loving this, and my dick was, too. “Yes, I’m dying to fuck you. I’ve been going half-crazy with just how badly I want to fuck you for months now.”

Even heavier breathing in my ear, that only ended when she said, “You’re going to get your chance. More than a chance—I’ll give you any fucking thing you want. Soon enough he’s going away for days and days, can you imagine?”

I could. “Tell me more about this.”

“I don’t want to wait that long. Why haven’t you left a key for me?”

Damn, she’d already been here to check. “It’s yours whenever you want it. I’ll put it under the mat at the back door.”

“Don’t fall in love with her, Michael. I can’t get away tomorrow or Tuesday for anything other than picking up the key… It’s this promotional video we’re shooting for the company, and I’m heavily into the camerawork and choreography. It’s a ton of work, but soon there will be time for you, us. All the waiting and everything else I put you through… I’ll make it right. The things this body will do to you…”

And she hung up.

No dreams that night. I was up an hour earlier than usual Monday morning, running the mile to a nearby jogging and biking trail, then completing its circuit and running home.

Later at the office, when listening to my clients’ stories, it was apparent how things were going so much better for those being helped by the immersion technique, versus the clients who weren’t. There were two clients with eating disorders, very much on the way to being tamed. A client with pretty extreme agoraphobia was now more willing to venture beyond his home and my office; he was incredulous that he’d experienced no panic attacks. A mother with an extremely short fuse when it came to her teen-age son’s rebellious behaviors, had finally felt the sense of comion she was looking for, and they were talking some things out.

Some deluded part of me still wanted to believe that this was the truest reason I had gone to Zurich, working so hard to learn this technique. I was practicing therapy given the power of an exclamation point, when in the past any results had often been accompanied by a question mark. Best of all, I knew I’d only scratched the surface of the technique’s uses so far.

All of my recent experiences had me circling back to the same all-important question—did I possess a totally unique talent when it came to the this form of hypnotism? I thought about that at home that evening, with time slowly ing before I could get my hands all over Dee’s tits again. It seemed to me that if I broadened my sample size beyond my legitimate use of the technique, taking into all I had accomplished with my gonads driving the hypnosis, then I was straying into the territory where the term “super-hypnosis” truly might apply. I could heal a great number of behavioral and psychological issues if that were true. I could also stir up cuntloads of trouble if I misbehaved.

I retrieved the notes I’d written from my safe, specifically studying what I’d implanted inside Rosita Bello. In our final hypnosis session, picking up the pieces after she’d tit-fucked me, it had mostly been about winding down some of the sex-jets I’d dialed to maximum.

In some ways I had been a real therapist in those moments, reinforcing all of our progress from the months before. My secret notes told me that at the time, I’d even thought of it as blunt-force hypnotism. Seeing cocaine would fill Rosita with revulsion, and I’d bent her towards feeling enhanced sexual excitement when performing professionally, but none outside of work unless she sensed genuine kindness in a man. Also, so wicked of me, I’d given her an escape valve in case too much sexual tension built up, which was to picture me during masturbation, resulting in fabulous orgasms.

There was no reason to doubt the technique’s power to deliver all I had placed into every woman thus far. It stirred my cock to imagine Rosita thrusting a dildo between her legs while counting the strokes of imagined Michael-dick in her brain, but the implications of the truly therapeutic instructions were also quite amazing. I wondered—by applying the technique more forcefully at the office, could I cure some of my clients’ issues in just a few sessions? That felt possible unless there was such a thing as a hypnotic expiration date, where immersion successes would gradually disintegrate because a strong enough talk-therapy foundation had never been built.

I turned that one over for a time, and my thoughts went back to my clandestine work. I believed that everything I had done with Mira, in a single session, had been constructed on a very firm foundation. Her repressed side was a real thing; I had not created the highly sexed Mira who fantasized about having affairs. It might be the same with Rosita—she had been masturbating to thoughts of me before any hypnosis, so all I had done was to raise the intensity. Lucinda might be the weakest link when it came to durable hypnotic suggestions; if Grace reported an ebbing of her lover’s drives over time, I could learn from that.

I skimmed through my notes, going over everything I’d planted inside Mira, and I felt a mix of elation and concern when I came upon one particular age. After tying her sexual pleasure to having sex with me, I had said that Mira would never feel that she’d had enough of my cock. I had allowed her plenty of elation and satisfaction, yes, but she would always need more. I was pretty sure the exact words had been: “You can find sexual fulfillment with Michael, but the need for more will always return.”

Did always mean always, or would the hypnotic force fade over time, so that it meant “for a good long while”? I didn’t even want to contemplate the opposite direction, which brought in words like “forever” or “eternal”. In the case of a human being, that could be summed up as for the rest of your life.

Before hypnotizing her, Mira had asked if the hypnotic suggestions inside of Lucinda had staying power. I had responded—again I was pretty sure I was quoting myself exactly here—“If they are ed by inherent abilities and desires, they might be permanent, yes.”

Permanence, like Mira Cassidy needing my cock for the rest of her life? Could careless language or a few moments of exaggerated lust have bound Mira to me even more than I’d intended?

I felt chills, but not all were about Mira and what I may have done. Imagine the possibilities if I decided to specialize in marriage counseling. Imagine people at the end of their rope because they’re trapped in various addictive behaviors, trying so hard to escape them. Think of people who’ve lost all hope. Think of people in need of something very much like a miracle.

I had gone into a helping profession for a variety of reasons. The money was excellent, yes, and working in a respected profession hadn’t hurt my chances with a beautiful woman like Dee. But at the core of it all was a deep fascination for what made human beings tick, and what could be done when, for a multitude of reasons, they found themselves behaving erratically or destructively.

Thinking about all of this, I saw myself as something like a pioneer, with the opportunity to explore unforeseen territory in my field. Even in Switzerland where I’d trained, no one had believed that immersion therapy could be this powerful. I was beginning to think I must have a savant-like talent, taking me into territories of possibility that no one had ever set foot in. If so, didn’t it make sense for me to keep pushing, and discovering?

I thought of my conversation with Mira’s husband just two night’s before. He was a specialist when it came to the mechanical functioning of the human heart, and he would soon be away from his wife to participate with Doctors Without Borders. What if I, by having breakthrough abilities with immersion hypnosis, could manipulate the functioning of an entire human being, becoming a Therapist Without Limits?

“Including that aspect of duration,” I mused, picturing Mira in her mid-thirties or mid-forties, still gorgeous as fuck and still hopelessly craving my cock.

I locked my notes back into the safe, since what I’d actually behaved like lately was a therapist without boundaries. My phone rang just as I closed the safe door, and my first thought was that it was Dee, needing to cancel our date.

It was Mira again, and my dick was completely hard by the time she’d finished her first sentence.

“It’s like I already know how you’ll feel inside me and it’s driving me crazy! I’m not crying wolf, Michael; I fucking need you!”

“You’re at home right now?”

“Yes, dammit.”

“And where is Taylor?”

“In his study. I’m in the basement and I swear I might go crazy of we can’t hook up soon. This filming we’re doing at work… Ahh!”

“Are you in the dances?”

“Of course I am. My body in leotards or skimpy outfits sells tickets.”

That got a belly-laugh from me.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“No, I guess not.”

“Michael, I’m hotter than she is, your big-boob date. That’s not me being vain, it’s just… The only thing she has on me is the size of her boobs, okay? But mine are so lovely, you wait and see. And they want you, like… I’d swear my body wants to literally yank me in your direction. I keep having these fantasies of us together and they’re… It feels like sex is leaking out of my pores!”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Fuck you I’m exaggerating! You don’t know!”

I did know, because I’d caused it. The tugging and aching she felt must be very close to the way she’d had me feeling almost from the time I’d first met her. Wanting something almost desperately, and having to wait.

Not much longer now. As for the duration? I hoped I was right about the staying power of my hypnotic misdeeds, because I didn’t think I’d ever want it to stop.