The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Because of the inevitable bad traffic around Washington, D.C and its suburbs, driving home took more than four hours. Actually, the traffic needed to share the blame for that slowness with the soreness in my entire groin area—I had to pull over three times, getting out of the car to stretch those aching muscles, then walking gingerly to take very deliberate, very delicate leaks in rest area washrooms.

While driving I had time to think, and I had time to regret. I didn’t regret one second of the sex with Julia, nor having my dick aching like this, nor having my penis photographed. No, the only thing that ate at me was the fact that I never managed to hypnotize her.

I did try, up to the point of suggesting, once we were functional and dressed, that she let me do my special relaxation technique with her. I posited that she must be feeling some of the same soreness that was afflicting my midsection, and I spoke gently but confidently about the methods I had for lessening physical aches and pains.

She responded, very quickly, that she was having none of it. Her initial response: “Fucking your big thing and coming so much relaxes me, so screw your technique.” And then the words that really made me hit the brakes: “I already have a therapist. I don’t need a second one.”

Maybe I should have pushed or tried something clever, but it just wasn’t in me. We didn’t fuck again after that but we did talk some in an intimate way, and she told me she would want to see me again, sometime in the next couple of weeks. I could practically hear my dick screaming in alarm—wait two weeks for more of what she could do? Fuck no—maybe two days, but not two weeks!

I decided to be a verbal advocate for my dick’s opinion, commenting that I’d like to see her sooner than that, if possible. She didn’t react coldly or rigidly, although the corners of her mouth might have gone a bit tense. She told me she would be seeing plenty of me on her computer screen in the next few days, surveying and contemplating in vivid detail what her cameras had captured when we’d gone at it on her bed.

“These are the first reference photos I’ve ever taken that aren’t just me,” she added. “I don’t even know what that’s going to be like, looking at your thing on my screen, seeing us melding, seeing us fucking. I might… I have no idea yet, how that’s going to make me feel.”

By necessity it had been left at that, and driving home was the first step on a vague and uncertain path back to that woman’s insanely sexy body, and the sex-goddess things she could make it do.

When I got home, I showered and ordered for pizza delivery. My brain felt foggy, maybe listless, and after eating I ended up napping for half an hour. That refreshed me physically, but my head still wasn’t right. Or not my head; it was more like—this was probably it—my cock was in mourning. Feeling bereft, needing to grieve being so many miles and hours away from Julia’s fucking body.

I went to the fridge to pull out a beer, then changed my mind and went with single-malt Scotch instead, over ice. It was still hot as hell outside but I hadn’t really ed any of that on the drive home. I could credit my car’s excellent air conditioning, but I’d also been in my own world where my groin ached and my dick moped like an abandoned puppy-dog.

It wasn’t just being separated from Julia’s body and the ways she could fuck me with it; it was the cloud of frustration that hung over me because I couldn’t see how I’d ever manage to hypnotize her. That had not been a pliable “maybe sometime” attitude she’d displayed; it was much closer to “fuck no and don’t ask again”.

Which left me not at all in control. It had me here feeling very mortal, alone with all the waiting and the hoping.

I did not have to be alone. One phone call or text would probably be enough to have me ass-fucking my shapely receptionist before it got totally dark, or maybe by some miracle Mira would appear.

I wondered—after Julia, did I need a copulation time-out, to keep from ending up in the hospital?

“We’d manage,” I said, and I knew I was speaking for my cock, too.

It was great having someone as hot as Gina as a backup, but what I really wished for was to get back to my underhanded hypnotism. Looking for fresh inspiration, I brought my secret notebook out of the safe and skimmed through it.

So many discoveries, so many abilities, all discovered and acted upon in such a short amount of time. I felt some satisfaction in what I had accomplished, even though there were women out there, known to me, whom I hadn’t yet hypnotized, despite very much wanting to. Susan Tinley from my old volleyball team was one. And the barista with the tits… What was her name?

Gone for the moment, and before I knew it I was thinking of Julia again. I hadn’t hypnotized her, and yet she was the one I longed for the most right now.

“Not one ounce of hypnotic enhancement,” I said, frustrated by that but also amazed. “How is it that she’s the one who can fuck the best?”

I drank more, and brooded. I didn’t want to brood but it was in me much like the humidity in the air, and I found myself asking questions that made me uneasy. The biggest one—where the hell was Rosita?

No answers, and my mind wandered back in time six hours or so, to when Julia had been over top of me, genius-fucking the outer three inches or so of my cock. Somehow she had been able to maintain enough presence of mind to click away with her camera remotes, even as she activated her vaginal muscles and had them doing the incredible things they could do. Wouldn’t that be like me being able to hypnotize a woman and impart sexual immersion commands into her, all while playing a complex piece of music on a piano? Where did that level of focus come from? The woman had a one-in-a-billion body; was the same true of her brain?

I couldn’t help but wonder what those photos looked like. Were they framed super-tight, nothing but an in-your-face gooey Dick in Jane, or was there more of her astounding anatomy in the frame, like her washboard stomach or the amazing leg muscles? I wanted to see them. Hell, I’d probably want to beat-off to them, up to the time that she called or texted and I got the chance to fuck her again.

It ate at me that I could do nothing but wait for a text or a phone call. All of my immersion misdeeds had been something like a remedy for what Mira had put me through back in the day, with all of that scheming and hoping, and all the bitter disappointments. Now, here I was again, but without any bright ideas. My magic wand was immersion hypnosis; there was no second miracle tool. Julia was the one in control; even when we’d fucked, it had always been her fucking me. She’d dictated the position, and the method, and whether it would even happen. My role had been to just lie there and go with it, a guy holding his massive penis as still as possible so she could go all sex-savant on it with her undulating mini-pussy, and then her mouth and throat that one time.

And then the photographing of my cock, sex as modeling gig.

All of that was the opposite of being empowered, and yet every time had probably been the best sex of my life. All with me doing pretty much nothing, because Julia had the energy and the know-how and the focus to do everything. She was completely in the driver’s seat when it came to the rhythms of our relationship, to the point that she could determine whether we even had a relationship. She had told me when parting that she didn’t want me to call or text her, because she’d be going “into the painting cave for a little while”, with her phone turned off so she could get into a creative groove.

And the question occurred to me—why wasn’t I deeply engaged with some creative project the way she was? Where was my creative groove to be found?

“It’s the sexual immersion therapy,” I said, pouring a fresh glass of whiskey. “I’m grooving on crazy-ass mind-sex.”

That was true in every sense—sexual immersion therapy was keeping me from engaging with anything else in a meaningful way, because sexual immersion therapy was the creative project.

I thought of Gina again, and it was like my spine stiffened. My cock, too. I already had her exercising more vigorously, adding both pounds and muscle… And I grinned, because Gina was muscle-girl clay that I could mold every which way, and why not set her on a cunt-quest to learn the technique that Julia was so proficient at?

I knew the term pompoir and I looked it up on my laptop to learn more. Control of the muscles of the pelvic floor, sequential undulations, frequently referred to as “sexual gymnastics”…

So what Julia could do was a known thing, even though I’d never come across a woman with these talents, nor had any woman even mentioned it before.

I read a bit more, and started speaking some of it out loud. “Also called Kabzah in the Middle East, and the Singapore Grip in the Far East.” I laughed, adding my own, “Also known in this pervert’s life as muscle-sex.”

I read how the technique was understudied in of pure science, although some women reported needing to spend years mastering the practice. There were exaggerations with folklore aspects, of women being able to “milk” a penis with sex that went on for hours, culminating in climaxes for both partners that defied description in of the degree of pleasure.

“Maybe not hours,” I said, “but my cock could testify to the rest of it in court!”

I closed the laptop lid, feeling inspired. What if I told Gina under hypnosis that she had to learn how to do pompour or muscle-sex, not over a period of years, but months or weeks? It might not be possible, but why not try?

“And hell, what if milking my cock like that became her fucking mission in life?”

I looked at my watch. It was essentially dinner time, and I owed my receptionist a whole host of favors for canceling and rearranging all of the day’s appointments. As though the word were some sort of magical blessing, I shouted “Kabzah!” into the walls of my home, then rang Gina.

I didn’t even let her say hello when she answered. “I owe you so big-time that I want to shower you with gifts. To begin with, have you eaten dinner?”

“No, but—”

“But nothing. You name the cuisine and I’ll bring you the city’s best. I also want to give you a substantial gift certificate of some kind, online shopping or a store you like. That was above and beyond, what you did for me with today’s clients. I can’t thank you enough, Gina. I really mean that. You’re—”

“Italian. And that’s what I want to eat tonight. Il Giardino Segreto’s signature pasta, that’s what I want. And an incredible Sicilian red to go with it.”

“Done. I’ll be there just as soon as the food can be ready.”

“I’ll set a table. But you might as well be forewarned that even food like that isn’t enough to make up for all that hassle. I want to fuck, too.”

Did I have the best receptionist in the world, or what? “Me too,” I replied. “Like you wouldn’t even believe.”

Gina and I dined by candlelight in her living room, sitting opposite each other at a small table she’d set up. The food and the wine were excellent, and I loved the way the warm flickering light colored her bare arms, and her neck, and the cleavage she was showing. It seemed to me that the muscles in her arms were a little more pronounced than before, and the planes of her face might have filled out a tiny bit. She was putting on more weight as hypnotically instructed, and I would swear that some of it was already going to her boobs, just as I’d hoped.

“I got cannoli, too,” I said, when I only had a couple of forkfuls of pasta to go.

“I saw that and I approve. I’m glad that you’re thinking clearly enough to…” She stopped and looked at me oddly, in a way that almost made my skin crawl. “Michael, are you okay? You haven’t said what held you up enough that you had to skip appointments, and I won’t pry. But you look sort of…”

She paused there, peering deeply into my eyes, and my mind supplied the next words: pussy-whipped. Or, because of the extent of Julia’s talents, pussy-blended, or pussy-pulsed, or pussy-frapped.

“…blue?” she finished, as a question. “Like, is somebody ill, or…”

“No, nothing like that,” I responded with my head shaking, thinking that the only thing that had died during my time with Julia was my conceptual framework of what a woman’s vagina could even do. “It’s kind of a long story, but nothing to worry about.”

“Good. And again, I’m going to be disciplined and not get into your business. However… I don’t want to overstate this, but if you’re deeply unhappy about something, that might feel to me like the earth isn’t spinning quite right on its axis.”

Had life-altering phenomenal sex with Julia somehow left a mark on me? Had I been changed in some way that others could see?

I decided to wiggle past any awkwardness here by bringing up the changes in Gina that were apparent to the eye. I began with, “Gina, I love drinking in your beauty by candlelight; maybe we should do this more often. But candlelight can’t make a woman look like her shoulders are rounder, or her biceps are popping more. And your legs, your butt… Have you been living at the gym or something?”

She smiled in a way that left any others from the night in the dust. “I wondered if you’d notice,” she said, rising from her chair and stepping far enough from the table to spin in a slow circle, giving me views of her figure from all sides.

“Wow!” I said, and even after spending time with a marvel like Julia, I meant it.

“It’s only a little bit, but I’ve been deliberately putting on a few pounds. A friend noticed when I worked-out at the gym this afternoon. I was pissed at you for making me call all those clients… Sorry, I wasn’t meant to say that. The point is, I channeled those emotions and I just attacked the equipment, lifting more and doing more reps than ever. I’ve been that way almost all of the time recently, super-focused on increasing my mass. It’s working, too; just about everything is a little bigger. Can you tell?”

My throat tightened and my cock was hardening, because the look in her eyes and that smile of pure delight about becoming fuller and even sexier… “I sure can, Gina. Frankly, you look incredible. You were already so sexy, but now... You’re just scorching.”

Those words had an effect on her. She licked her lips and said, “When you asked on the phone about a gift certificate… There’s this online shop I like, bras and lingerie. Fact is, my boobs have grown a little bit. I’ve been putting on muscle and pounds, and I think a fair portion of the weight is going to my boobs. I’m pretty sure I’ll feel more at home in a triple-D bra now, so naturally I’ll need to buy some new ones. New lingerie, too.”

I was totally hard now, and totally happy for the rich pasta dish and cannoli, and also happy with everything I had ever put into this woman through hypnosis. Seeing how she was becoming more gorgeous than ever, and the way she was reveling in that…

Okay, maybe her vaginal muscles couldn’t blow my mind the way Julia’s could—yet. But Gina had even more important attributes that were lacking in Julia right now, just by being such a programmable fuck-doll.

I leaned heavily into that by also standing, so she could see the distortion in my pants. “My God your tits must be more glorious than ever. I mean, is there a sexier woman in the entire city? And because of what you did for me today, I want to gift you with a thousand dollars to buy all the bras and lingerie and anything else you want. But you mentioned something on the phone about fucking, and seeing how hot you look tonight, bigger and stronger and… I think you deserve special rewards for that, too.”

I stepped over to her, grabbing her ass and pressing my erection into her thigh. She made a delighted sound, music to my cock’s ears.

“I feel bigger than ever, too,” I said, pressing in to poke at both her flesh and her fetish.

Gina’s head was tilted down, her gaze locked onto the straining fabric making with her body. I pressed in even harder, and lowered the hand on her ass so it went down onto a thigh and then up under her skirt

“Fuck, you have such a sexy body!” I triggered.

“Ah!” came out of her, like the words had just licked her clitoris. And then I slipped a finger into her panties and touched hot wet heaven.

She groaned and I whispered right into her ear, “Why don’t you say a lot more about putting on a few extra pounds so your boobs grow even larger. There’s some part of me, a very excitable part, that could listen to you talking about how your boobs are growing all night long.”

I emphasized the word “long”, and dying to fuck me was written in every one of her facial features, plus her stance. Her scent was everywhere and it seemed to me that I could hear the nerve endings of her clitoris filling with blood-flow, that whole region of her body hidden by the black of her skirt becoming engorged and in fucking need.

“Touch your beautiful clitoris,” I said, my voice as soft as a whisper, but the demand as hard as my meat.

“Oh fuck, the cannoli can wait!” she shouted, grabbing at my hand under her skirt not to deny it, but to pull me towards the bedroom.

I laughed as we both lurched towards Gina’s bed, not at the absurdity of her statement but because she’d just given me such a wonderful idea, that I would jam inside of her hypnotized mind just as soon as we’d recovered from fucking. In her bedroom she kicked off her shoes and I went for boldness, lifting her skirt and pulling her panties down, and jamming multiple fingers into her pussy while the middle finger of my other hand found its way up her ass.

Gina roared. Sex for her had never been about tameness, even before I’d gotten my voice inside her brain and body. There was a clear message about how she wanted to begin when she climbed onto the bed and got in a position where her ass-cheeks were pointing up at me like they were clear guides for Michael-cock splashdown.

Lubricant came from somewhere and I went at her the way she loved most, plumbing her rear while she fingered her clit. My hands were all over her dangling boobs as I moved inside her, exalting in the fact that I could detect her tits’ added weight while feeling its effect in the added sway. I kept my mouth right at her ear and I just kept pulling triggers, grunting how beautiful and sexy she was, and telling her that I just fucking loved this thicker hotter bustier version that she’d become.

We erupted nearly simultaneously, and from the sounds of it, this might have been a very special night for Gina in of the number of eruptions, and how much she gushed when they rocked her. And the night was far from over—as soon as she was semi-recovered, I hypnotized her as I had many times before, this time ready to impart a new agenda.

I put it into her that because she was so dedicated to overall fitness and further developing her muscles, she must also learn how to activate the muscles of her pelvic floor, and master their use during sex. She loved taking a great big cock in the ass, but just imagine the blazing heat inside her vagina if she could turn that part of her body into a wriggling genius-level thrill zone.

I found half a dozen ways to accentuate the importance of this—she needed to research and master this rarified vaginal capability, and fast. Michael had the massive cock she desired more than anything in the world, and he needed to experience how the Singapore Grip could become the even hotter Italian Grip when she drew him inside.

Next, I amplified her desire to keep doing everything she could that might make her breasts grow. Michael loved huge tits and hers were fabulous, but they could become more fabulous still. More calories were essential to make this happen, but that also meant more dedicated work at the gym.

And this was where I went on something of a wild tangent, adding in the “Aha!”—thought that had struck me earlier in the night. There were four gourmet cannoli in the kitchen, and cannoli were very Italian and also full of calories. Gina was going to have a craving for those cannoli, an intense culinary craving but also a deeply exciting sexual craving, because those creamy calories would help to add fresh flesh to her growing tits. She would take command of the next round of lovemaking and direct Michael to eat one cannoli while also tonguing her clitoris, smearing some of the sweet filling all over her slit. Meanwhile, she would stuff her face with the other three, adding to her weight and muscle gains. She had hallucinated before that her clitoris was growing, and it would happen again, but this time it would feel to her that she could experience her boobs growing in fast-motion, too. Every tasty bite would add intensity to her gathering orgasms, bringing extra-delicious energy to them at the very same time the calories rushed to feed the growth of her swelling breasts.

Was I being absurd? Pretty much anybody would say yes, but they couldn’t know how charged it felt to be able to do this shit. I’d been stymied when it came to hypnotizing Julia and changing what could happen with her; with Gina, it might be that I was only limited by my own imagination.

“Fuck holding anything back!” I said out loud while Gina was still hypnotized, not really intending to.

Would that act in her as an added command? Had I just inadvertently shaped her overall attitude towards life?

Maybe I was twisting the very essence of lovemaking into unnatural pretzel shapes, like something basic to human biology was becoming a barely recognizable version of itself that might be seen in a funhouse mirror. But after experiencing what Julia could do to me, why not turn this night’s fun and games into an outright carnival thrill ride? Ordinary sex simply would not do, and it felt like I had immersion energy ready to burst out of me like I’d become a carbonated version of Michael that someone had recently shaken.

Gina did demand that we mix our Italian desserts into the next escapades on her bed, and after she erupted I fucked her ass like doing it brought joy and purpose to the entire world. I leaned forward so my mouth was close to her right ear, and said words, phrases, that kept raising her temperature, fueling her need. She was half-crazy with it, a woman consumed by sexual fires that kept igniting further even as she was getting exactly what she wanted, rubbing at her clit while I impaled her.

Sure, maybe a perverted version of Einstein would have come up with something much better than cannoli sex, but the results were fabulous.

We were nature. We were inevitability.

And I was a hopelessly addicted sexual immersion practitioner who would find a way to mind-fuck every woman I ever partnered with, including Julia fuckin’ Hantz.

The next morning at the office, Gina sat behind her receptionist’s desk with a somewhat dazed expression. She was wearing a white button-up blouse and a somewhat conservative skirt, and in-between morning clients I took her aside and told her to unbutton two additional buttons of her blouse.

She touched my arm and looked into my eyes, and whispered, “That would have me showing more cleavage than ever! I have more now, and your clients—”

“Some of them might get horny and dream about having sex with you. I think the same will happen to me, only I intend to turn those dreams into reality before we leave the office this evening.”

She stifled a moan and I could smell her starting to lubricate. I left her in that state, certain she could keep herself together for the next handful of hours.

I got into a therapy groove after that, and if anyone had any complaints about my receptionist smelling like pussy or choosing to flaunt the size of her tits, they didn’t express that to me. I put several of the day’s clients in the immersion state, and I practiced proper immersion therapy with them, absent any sexual overtones or undertones. When the very last client walked out my door, I felt like I was a professional healer, doing what a professional healer is supposed to do.

Only this professional healer’s office came equipped with a Mediterranean sex-bomb of a receptionist, who’d been made to smolder more than almost any other woman on the East Coast.

I personally ushered the day’s final client out the front door, and after waving good-bye, I closed the door and locked it. Gina sat behind her desk and I quickly strode that way, taking up a position behind her. I didn’t say anything and neither did she, but there was sexual tension that connected us like we were tied together with invisible strings. We both just breathed heavily, and in Gina’s case that meant I was looking down past her dark hair to the exquisite line of flesh where her boobs pressed together, all that smooth flesh rising and falling.

I didn’t ask, but I believed she could feel how the pulsing of my cock was palpably charging the atmosphere in the room. My erect dick felt as filled as the previous night’s cannoli, only this was something stuffed with a sense of purpose, a higher calling that needed to find expression right there in the center of this woman’s dynamic boobs.

“It’s Friday,” I said. “And I’ve been wanting to celebrate all over your gorgeous tits for hours.”

“Unh!” she expelled, her hands immediately working to free her bigger-than-ever tits into the room.

Wasting no time, I unfastened and lowered my pants and underwear, and stepped out of them. Almost growling the words, my erection doing the pointing, I said, “I want this mauled between your beautiful tits, right there in that chair!”

She could not comply fast enough, her hands forcing her boobs together and drooling into her cleavage-crack for lubrication, the office filling with pussy scents as she wobbled me into blast-off.

I hypnotized her on the office couch after that, where I further gamed her need to work-out. Gina had exercise equipment at home, but she also went to a gym, and I wanted her out in the world as she continued to build herself up. I put it into her that she should feel compelled to exercise in public almost exclusively, and she would also feel compelled to tell me about any muscle babes she came across that she thought were as beautiful or as built or as sexy as she was. If there weren’t any, then she needed to switch gyms, and keep switching gyms until she found someone.

Because I was ready for more—more beautiful women, more hypnotizing and sculpting. And more mind-altered fucking.

I slept like a baby that night, and Saturday morning delivered the kind of weather that brought people outdoors. I decided to have a relaxing coffee and croissant at a brand new cafe, wondering if there might be some lovely barista to target. There was no one there to excite me, so I ate outside at a sidewalk table, people-watching and babe-hoping. One redheaded jogger ed by that I would hypnotize and turn into a fuck-beast in a second, but I only got to ire her form for about ten seconds, and then she was gone.

Still, unknown gorgeous women like her existed, and when I got in my car to return home, I felt hopeful that someone or something new might be coming my way. I also felt determined, that today was the day when I would do whatever it took to find out what the hell was going on with Rosita Bello.

To my utter surprise when I got to the cul-de-sac at the end of my block, Mira’s Mercedes was parked in my driveway. This had never happened before, and seeing her car there got my heart racing. One cluster of brain cells thought: Taylor is in that car; he’s found out! Another one fired: Mira is so horny that she doesn’t even care where she parks now.

My front door opened as I pulled into the driveway, and Mira stepped out into the light. She was wearing a tightly-fitting and very short powder-blue dress, with a plunging neckline. Dappled sunlight described the ample curvature of her breasts, and also the drop-dead shaping of her legs. Even after Julia and an amplified Gina, this woman’s body just took my breath away.

I was barely out my car door when Mira spoke very loudly, just shy of a shout, “We’re separating! I’m divorcing him!”

I hadn’t really even started moving, but I stopped in my tracks anyway. It was like I’d gone out for coffee, and during that time a trans-dimensional portal had opened, with an alternate universe coming into being.

Mira beckoned me forward, and my feet complied. I had the strange sense that my dick was confused—it was interpreting the input from my eyeballs and wanted to get more rigid with every footfall, but it also didn’t know whether to trust that any sights or sounds or even the late spring lawn smells were real.

A ing cloud dimmed the sunlight, and a few seconds later when the sun brightened again, it was as if there was a spotlight on Mira’s legs. They cast incredibly shapely shadows onto my front stoop, managing to turn the concrete sexy.

When I got close, Mira reached out to me and took my hand, and stepped backwards to pull me into my home.

“It’s a done deal, Michael. I’ve told him and I’ve hired a lawyer. I have a real estate friend already working to find me an apartment or even a house to rent, hopefully not far from here. I want to be your neighbor if I can. We can take turns, at your place and then mine, and my place then yours… You don’t know how badly I’ve wanted that every fucking day, and especially at night!”

The enormity of her news had temporarily sapped me of motor function, except for the swift rising of my cock. Mira pressed into me and slid a hand inside the waistband of my pants, and started fondling. Her other hand reached past me and shoved the front door closed, and then she spun us so her back was against the door, and she got busy with lowering my pants.

“I need my first happiness freedom-fuck!” she demanded. “Do me for all you’re worth!”

Oh I would, but would it be a happiness freedom-fuck from my perspective? I wasn’t sure, but I was hardly going to quibble with details like that when I had a woman this sexy stripping naked for me.