The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Let’s go talk to our volunteers!” Drake the Hypnotist’s microphone-enhanced words boomed throughout the Old Roxy theatre.

Jane sat in her chair, idly thinking. What was happening? She wasn’t sure. She was unconcerned, utterly content, very peaceful, very relaxed… but a little confused. Why was she up on this stage? How were these other people sitting with her? Why was the audience laughing? Jane didn’t know.

Oh, well. It didn’t matter. Jane’s mind was largely blank, and she enjoyed the mindlessness. There was something nice about this mental tranquility that was-

Drake suddenly appeared, leaning over the Goth Chick sitting next to Jane. He peered down at her.

“Hey, ma’am,” Drake said to Goth Chick. “And what’s your name?”

“Heather,” Goth Chick said automatically. Her voice was flat, unemotional, almost dead.

“When I snap my fingers, Heather,” Drake declared, “you will immediately and automatically tell us what your deepest sex fantasy is. You can’t resist.” He clicked his fingers, then thrust the microphone before Heather’s lips.

Immediately, Heather reported, “I’m on my bed, on my hands and knees. My girlfriend handcuffs me to our headboard. Then she puts on a strap-on and fucks me hard, from behind.”

The audience whistled and cheered. Heather didn’t so much as blink.

“Kinky,” was Drake’s opinion. “Heather, sleep!”

The Goth woman instantly dropped into a deep and powerful slumber.

“Heather, next time your girlfriend fucks you with this strap-on,” Drake commanded, “you will scream out, ‘Mommy, mommy, fuck me harder!’ And you will cum so hard, you’ll probably break that damn headboard.”

More whoops of delight from the audience.

Suddenly, Jane felt a hand on her shoulder. Drake was gazing down at her.

“And what is your name?” the hypnotist wanted to know.

“Jane.”

“And now, Jane, when I snap my fingers, you reveal to us all what your deepest, hottest sex fantasy is. You cannot resist.”

Snap!

It was as if another person suddenly had full control of Jane’s voice. The beautiful young woman heard her own lips say, “I meet a master hypnotist. He looks into my eyes, says his magic words, and then I’m in his power. He makes me cum like a fountain, whenever he snaps his fingers.”

The whole theatre gasped as one. There was a crash of glass when someone out in the audience actually dropped their beverage.

Strangely, Jane was completely unimpressed.

“Whoa,” said Drake, taken aback. “Well then… ah… Jane, sleep!”

Jane’s eyes closed. Her dazed mind went blank.

Snap, snap!

Jane’s eyes blinked open. She sat up in her chair, her mind quickly rebooting. Where was she…?

Oh, right, oh right, oh right. She was on this little stage, sitting with a group of other people for… For what, again? For a moment, Jane tried to , but it was no use. She simply couldn’t recall what had happened earlier. Oh well.

“And now, my folks on stage, my folks on stage!” that Drake fellow cried out through his microphone. “Let’s meet some of ya, shall we?”

He strode to the heavyset fellow in the Steelers jersey, seated three chairs away from Jane. “You, sir,” Drake prompted. “Who are ya? What’s your name?”

“I’m Fruity Fucksalot,” Steeler Jersey replied earnestly. “I’m a professional ballerina.”

“Show us!” demanded Drake.

Without hesitation, Steeler Jersey hopped onto his feet. He did a clumsy pirouette, followed by an even clumsier jeté. Then he twirled away to stage right, his fat stomach jiggling like crazy as he danced.

The audience roared like lions. Several clapped or shouted out encouragement. Steeler Jersey took no notice.

Drake moved on to a young, sandy blonde woman in a tight, strapless dress. “And who are you and what do you do?” he wanted to know.

“I’m Turbo Dicksucker,” the sandy blonde said matter-of-factly. “I’m a breast model.”

Before Drake could say anything else, the woman pulled down her dress’s top. Her round breasts bounced free. She looked up at Drake with mild interest. “See?” she said.

“Uh, yeah,” Drake told her.

As the men in the audience all scrambled to pull out their phones, the hypnotist approached Jane. He grinned. “And you?” he prompted.

Jane’s mind suddenly went completely blank. In that moment, she found herself saying, “I’m Shapely Butt. I’m a lingerie model.”

Suddenly, the urge to take off her clothes dominated Jane’s consciousness. She couldn’t resist, nor did she wish to. She was focused, determined, resolute.

Jane jumped to her feet, already undoing her small belt. The belt came loose, and she wriggled her hips quickly. That released her skirt, which fluttered down her bare legs. The warm air of the theatre felt good on her newly-exposed skin.

But she was only half-undressed. With a smooth motion, Jane pulled her red top up over her head, down her thin arms, and then dropped it onto her chair. Ah, that felt so much better.

She now wore only her bra, panties, and heels.

Summoning her years of professional modeling experience, Jane struck a pose. She straightened her back, jutting out her chest and raising her head. Her right hip popped out as she shifted her slight weight onto her left leg. Her arms hung at her sides.

Then, after a few seconds, Jane boldly strode to the lip of the stage, maintaining the cool expression on her face: Head level, eyelids half lowered, lips lightly puckered, cheeks neutral, eyebrows a little elevated. It was a look of intentional disinterest, as if Jane knew she was too hot for this theatre. Yet she still kept a little arousal in her eyes. The eyes sold the look. All models knew that.

Jane hit her mark at the edge of the stage. She stopped. Posed. Turned, tossing her hair. Posed again. Turned once more, this time inviting the audience to ire her backside. One more sultry glance at the onlookers. Then she strutted back to her chair.

Drake looked impressed. “You’ve… been modeling how long?” he asked.

“Five years,” shrugged Jane, sitting back down. “Vogue, Cosmo, Elle. Paris, Milan, Hong Kong, New York.”

Jane inspected her nails. Honestly, lingerie shows were beginning to bore her. How much did her agent get her for this gig, again?

“No, no!” Jane cried out loudly.

Time had ed. The beautiful young woman was once more sitting in her stage chair. She still wore only her bra and panties, but she no longer believed herself to be an underwear model. Now she was…

“I’m a leading spankologist!” Jane shouted defiantly, her back straightening. “In fact, I’m the Chair of the Spankology Department at Harvard!”

“Me too!” yelled out Heather, sitting beside Jane.

Jane glanced at her fellow scientist. Like her, Goth Heather wore only her underthings: a black bra and tiny thong panties. Heather looked proud and resolute.

At the center of the stage, the sandy blonde who was exposing her chest and the other Goth woman… what was her name? …were about to start a spanking demonstration for the audience. For reasons Jane didn’t quite understand, the audience was laughing and clapping deliriously. Didn’t they understand how important the Science of Spanking was?

Drake, standing off to the side, reacted with mock amazement. “You two ladies are spanking experts?” he asked Jane and Heather through his microphone.

“We are!”

“Well then, please!” said Drake. “Show us how its done.”

Jane and Heather exchanged a quick, professional nod. The two women rose up and moved to the center of the stage, which was quickly vacated for them.

Immediately becoming the lecturing professor, Jane addressed the audience loudly. “To achieve optimal spanking,” she cried out, “it is necessary to slap your partner’s butt with the correct angle, force, and aim. Like so…”

Heather turned and bent at the hips, giving Jane an unobstructed view of her rear end. In that tiny thong, both of Heather’s round buttocks were on full display.

Jane’s hand lashed out, striking Heather hard on the left cheek. Heather yelped softly.

“You see?” Jane tutted. “Any questions?”

“Yeah!” an eager young man in the front row cried out. “Can she demonstrate on you?”

“…and that’s our show, ladies and gentlemen!” Drake cried, his electrically-enhanced voice louder than ever. “Let’s give our volunteers a huge round of applause!!!”

Jane rubbed her face, her thoughts a blur. The show was over? How could that be? She’d just come up onto the stage, not two minutes ago. This Drake guy wasn’t going to hypnotize her? Jane was so disappointed.

Meanwhile, the audience was cheering like mad.

“Wait, wait, let’s do one last hypnotrick,” Drake snickered at the crowd. “So right now, our brave contestants don’t fucking thing. They nothing. They have NO IDEA that they’ve just performed a show.”

The audience seemed to think this was very funny. Jane didn’t see why.

Drake turned to his seated volunteers. “You, ma’am!” he said, pointing at Goth Heather. “Have you been hypnotized tonight?”

“No,” Heather responded resentfully.

More laughter.

“How about you?” Drake quizzed another volunteer.

“Uh-uh.”

He turned towards Jane. “And you, ma’am?”

“No!” Jane frowned. “And I wanted—“

“Now check this shit out,” Drake smirked at the audience. To the seated volunteers, he dramatically cried, “NOW YOU !” His fingers snapped.

The breath caught in Jane’s lungs as clear and vivid memories suddenly appeared within her mind! It was as if a switch had been flipped, and now there was a whole evening of experiences being ed right into her brain. Her heart skipped in shock.

Jane had confessed to a filthy sex fantasy.

She’s believed that her breasts had inflated to gargantuan sizes.

She’d competed in a striptease contest.

She’d been transformed into a lingerie model, strutting about the stage in her bra and panties.

She was utterly convinced that she was a hardcore porn star, and she’d freely discussed all the XXX sex scenes she’d ever filmed when Drake interviewed her.

She’d participated in a bra exchange.

She’d given an academic lecture on how to spank.

Jane’s face went bright red. She clamped both hands over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming in embarrassment. Nonetheless, a high-pitched “eeep!” escaped her lips.

The audience doubled over in laughter. Many of them were applauding, gazing at Jane with warm appreciation in their eyes.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that’s Dirty Drake’s Hypno Party Jam: An R-Rated Adult Show!” the hypnotist bellowed into his microphone. “I hope y’all had a great time, I hope y’all come back. Oh, and gentlemen? If you happen to whip out your dick while out on the Vegas Strip, that wasn’t my doing! You’re just a sick fuck! Good night, everyone!”

He turned and bounded into the stage wings.

Jane stared at the crowd, who were still clapping madly. That was it? The hypnoshow was over?

About Jane, the other volunteers were getting to their feet, some still looking quite dazed. Everyone had shed at least one article of clothing, and now the volunteers were searching the stage floor, seeking their lost garments.

“See? I told ya,” Goth Heather said to Jane. “A total mindfuck. I’m so coming back next week.”

“Yeah…” mumbled Jane. “I see what you mean.”

Heather sighed contentedly. “This time, he gave me three orgasms! All when he said some keyword… what was it…?”

“Gushing,” Heather’s goth friend told her.

Heather smiled, her eyelids lowering, her legs clenching slightly. “Oh, yeaaaaaah…” she sighed happily. “That was it… Mmmm…”

Jane scowled. Heather had gotten orgasms? What the hell? Annoyed, Jane stood up.

“Hey,” Heather said sharply. She grabbed Jane’s forearm. “Chick, you’re wearing my brassiere.”

Jane blinked, and looked down at herself. Sure enough, the black faux leather bra on her chest was not hers.

The show was over, but much of the audience lingered in the theatre all the same. The bar was still open, and many folks wanted to interview their friends who’d gone up on stage. Curious questions like, “Weren’t you embarrassed?” or “Did you really want to show your butt?” or “What did it feel like when he commanded you to…” or “Why can’t you act that sexy at home, baby?” crisscrossed the air.

Jane had no-one with whom to discuss. She should have left, sought out Lacy and the girls, and then gone bar-hopping with them. But Jane wasn’t in the mood to depart. Not just yet.

So Jane grabbed a stool at the theatre bar. “Double vodka,” she told the bartender glumly.

The bartender looked like he doubted the wisdom of selecting this beverage, but he didn’t argue.

As her drink was being poured, Jane took a moment to double-check herself. Yep, she was wearing what she was supposed to be wearing: Red top, skirt, pumps, her bra and panties. They were all there.

Getting hypnotized, Jane was learning, meant that you really needed to pay attention to what clothes were on your body at all times. Because if your mind wandered, look out! You could go through a complete change of wardrobe (or remove everything) and you’d never realize it.

The bartender set Jane’s vodka before her, collected her twenty-dollar bill, then vanished.

Jane contemplated her drink, reflecting on the whole evening. Why did she feel so disappointed? She’d gotten hypnotized, right? And she’d been entranced to… to… Well, what had she hoped to get out of tonight’s show, anyway?

Jane frowned. The answer to her question was glaringly obvious.

She’d wanted to be hypnotized to have another orgasm.

For crying out loud, what had Dirty Drake said, right at the top of his show? The man had literally proclaimed: “And I guarantee you—I one hundred percent fucking guarantee you—that lady who gets hypnotized tonight will have at least one mindblowing orgasm.”

Well, that was just false advertising. Jane actually felt cheated. She glowered into her vodka.

Right when Jane was about to call her cab driver, the crowd at the bar swirled. To Jane’s surprise, Drake, the stage hypnotist himself, was claiming a barstool! The performer nodded at the bartender, apparently ordering his favorite beverage by telepathy. The bartender nodded back.

Jane stared at Drake. She experienced a flurry of emotions, most of them contradicting one another. Should she approach Drake? What would she say? Would he hypnotize her again? Could he hypnotize her, right here at the bar? Should she just escape? What to do???

Drake tasted his gin and tonic, savoring the flavor. His lips grimaced slightly, and Jane watched as his shoulders relaxed. He exhaled with pleasure.

And then, with a deliberate intensity, Drake turned his head. He looked across the bar, directly locking gazes with Jane.

Jane’s heart thumped.

The world seemed to go silent, just then. Jane stared at the hypnotist, wondering why she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Drake regarded her. He wore a tiny smirk. His left eyebrow curved upward. He seemed to be waiting.

Screw it, Jane thought.

The young woman threw back as much of her vodka that she could handle, then moved down the bar. The crowd was thick, and more than one drunken guy tried to block her way or fondle her. Jane dodged them all with ease.

Soon, she found herself squeezed next to Dirty Drake himself, less than three inches away from the man.

Up close, Drake was even more attractive than she’d ed. His angular face was very clean-shaven, and she could smell cologne on his body. His curly black hair was incredibly thick. And now that she was up against him, Jane could peek into his open shirt and see that his lean chest was well-muscled and very, very smooth. Jane wondered if the man waxed.

“Hey,” Drake said as a greeting.

“Hey,” Jane replied, going for casual / coming off as nervous. She shouted to be heard over the throbbing bar music. “Hi, hi there, hey! W-w-what’s up?”

The hypnotist smirked again, sipping his drink. His dark eyes glittered as he watched Jane.

“You were a rock star tonight,” Drake told Jane, sounding complimentary. “You’re an exceptional hypnotic subject. I coulda done an entire show with just you, alone.”

Jane blushed. “Uh, thank you?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be in show biz? I’ve been thinking about adding a sexy assistant to my act.”

Was he trying to flatter her? Jane was both amused and annoyed.

“I’m, uh, an ant,” she told him. “From St. Louis.”

“Ah,” said Drake. “Oh well.”

Before she could stop herself, Jane blurted out, “Listen, I have so many questions for you! Can I ask?”

With a knowing chuckle, Drake replied, “I bet you do have questions.”

“How do you do it? Hypnotize people, I mean?” Jane leaned closer. “You did it to us with the words you said, right? Or can you use your eyes too, like, you know, ‘Loooook into my eyes,’ that kind of—“

Drake held up a hand, and now he appeared irritated. “Hold it, hold it,” he objected. “This is a goddamn terrible place to talk.”

He was right. The bar music was loud, and the other people about them were pressing in very tightly. Plus, Jane was pretty sure that two of the nearby dudes were doing their best to eavesdrop.

“Let’s get outta here?” Drake proposed.

Jane nodded. “You wanna grab dinner or something?”

The hypnotist finished his gin and tonic. “Naw. I got a better idea.”

“What?”

“The Roxy people give me a private dressing room, behind the stage,” Drake said. “Let’s talk there.”

Now Jane hesitated. Go somewhere private and secluded with a mind-bending hypnotist? With a guy who had the power to put entrance her and then command her to take off her clothes? Nothing about this sounded like a good idea.

Drake frowned slightly, seeing Jane’s reluctance. “Eh, never mind,” he said brusquely. “It was good to meetcha.”

He rose from his barstool.

“Let’s go to your room!” Jane cried, grabbing the man by his forearm. “Let’s go!”

Drake grinned. In that moment, he reminded Jane of a shark.